Dragon Clan #2: Raymer's Story

by LeRoy Clary

The dragon shoved again, and the outside wall of the dungeon fell. It created a hole large enough for the dragon to enter. In doing so, it also pushed back the iron bars of the two cells. The front of Quint’s cell broke free and fell onto the Dungeon Master before he could move.

  The Dungeon Master lay on his side, pinned down by the weight of the iron cell bars. The dragon’s head appeared inside, and it spat in the direction of several guards racing down the stairs. They quickly retreated.

  The stairs and floor of the dungeon were soon covered in the dragon spit. The torch that had been in the Dragon Masters hand lay close to the oozing black mass. It ignited.

  Raymer leaped across the rubble and to the side of the Dungeon Master who lay under the cell bars, unconscious.

  “What’re you doing?” Quint called one leg already out of the broken wall and ready to run into the market.

  Where the dragon had spat more fires flared. The timbers were wood, dry as tinder by hundreds of years of respite from the weather. Soon they’d carry the flames to the unmoving Dungeon Master.

  “Quint, I need help.”

  “Oh, for the saint’s forgiveness,” He swore, as he changed directions and came to Raymer’s side. Quint grabbed the massive wall of iron bars in his hands and lifted, saying, “Pull him out. Fast.”

  “Okay, okay. We can’t leave him here to burn.” Raymer’s probing fingers found and locked on foot, and he tugged. “Lift higher, Quint.”

  The Dungeon Master slid free. Raymer pulled him as if he was a sack of oats in a feed locker. When he had the Dungeon Master safely from under the bars, he turned to run for the opening in the wall, noting the chaos continued outside. The dragon had turned away from them and now faced the courtyard, and it had started spitting into the distance. Where the black balls landed screams, and new fires erupted.

  “Come on, Quint!” Raymer hit the opening in the wall and leaped, his foot landing one full step into freedom. He heard Quint panting behind, but spared him no glance. Quint would either keep up or not. The gate lay ahead, a hundred steps from his cell, just as he remembered. He had already taken three or four steps. Ninety-six more to the gate and twelve more into the dense brush at the edge of the forest. Barely a hundred steps to freedom.

  Quint’s footsteps and heavy breathing were right behind. Raymer instinctively wanted to dodge arrows or guards, but none appeared, and he decided to sprint until the first came in his direction. Fire lay ahead, no larger than a campfire, and instead of avoiding it, he leaped and felt a wave of growing pleasure and confidence as he flew over it.

  If his life ended in this escape attempt, he would die contented. Two guards appeared from an alley and sprinted in his direction. Neither held a bow. One held a spear. A glance at the gate ahead and he knew they’d never stop him in time. The angle of their attack was too narrow. He was too fast.

  It didn’t matter. He heard the dragon scream again and the hollow sound of it spitting. From the corner of his eye, he saw the two guards twisting and turning to avoid the mass of black acid that splashed on the ground right in front of them. The gate lay only ten steps ahead.

  The sound of flapping wings drew his attention, but Raymer didn’t slow or turn his head. One chance.

  The wings beat faster. Raymer burst through the open gate and took the twelve steps down the road in ten. As he veered off into the forest, the dragon flew above him so low he felt the pulsating wind from the beating wings. He spared one thankful upwards glance before lowering his head and driving on. One chance. Do not slow until you are truly free.

  A larger path crossed in front of him. For the sake of speed, he leaped onto it. The footing was better, and he didn’t have to fight the clinging branches or dodge around more trees. Quint managed to stay on his heels, but his breath came in ragged gasps, and Raymer heard him stumble a few times. He should have worked harder at running in his cell.

  At a stream, a larger path crossed and led away from the castle. He took it, hoping Quint could keep up, but deciding he was not going to slow or stop for providing aid or help. The path followed the winding stream and Raymer desperately wanted a drink, but continued on.

  In a wide bend in the stream, the path turned off and went up the side of a small hill. At the top, it continued along a ridge and ahead stood a cottage on the edge of a small valley. On the side of the cottage, a corral held six horses grazing beside a ramshackle barn.

  “Horses!” Raymer gasped, never slowing.

  “Yes,” Quint answered after a few more steps, but he lagged further behind.

  Turning, Raymer pulled to a full stop. Quint stumbled, perhaps twenty steps behind, the limp body of the Dungeon Master slung over his shoulders.

  “What?”

  “You didn’t want me to bring him? Fine time to tell me.”

  Raymer said, “I didn’t know you were carrying him. Why?”

  “If you didn’t want him, why bother to pull him from the wreckage?”

  “I didn’t want him to burn.”

  “Oh, I thought you wanted to use him as a hostage.”

  Hostage. “Bring him. We take the horses.”

  Raymer knew the palace guards and the king’s army would soon be after them if they were not already. But with the palace fires burning, walls falling down, and general confusion, the pursuit might be delayed. Raymer made a promise to himself. For any followed, there had better be a lot of them who were willing to fight for their lives, or he and Quint would remain free because he was willing to fight to the death.

  He ran for the front of the cottage, a small building of no more than two rooms. A trickle of smoke from the chimney indicated someone was inside, or at least nearby. He ran faster, outdistancing Quint.

  Nobody spotted them. He arrived at the door and threw it open. Inside stood a shocked woman at the stove. A pot simmered in front of her. She looked older than his mother, but not old by any means. “Anyone else here?” he managed to ask between gasps for breath.

  She shook her head, shifting her eyes as if searching for a weapon.

  “We need three horses.”

  She shook her head again.

  He shut the door on her, after telling her to stay inside, and turned to run to the corral where Quint had spread the body of the Dungeon Master on the ground. Quint entered the barn door.

  Raymer was at his heels, searching for a rope. When he found a horse in a stall, he grabbed a bridle instead. He slipped it onto the horse. He removed a coiled rope from a peg and tossed it to Quint as he reached for a first saddle. Quint stepped outside, the rope ready to throw.

  The old woman had emerged from her home and stood at the gate, a stern expression on her face. She held a butcher knife at her side and looked ready to use it. Raymer understood her reaction. His mother would do the same.

  “Not like you to steal horses from an old lady,” Quint said as he pulled the horse closer with the rope.

  “We need them more than she does,” Raymer snapped, not liking their actions, but trying to keep his mind centered on escaping.

  “She might disagree.”

  Raymer said, “I have an idea. Get the saddles and bridles on all three of them.” He darted to the prone figure of the Dungeon Master and patted his waist. Finding nothing, he turned him over to pat the other side. He had found a bulge before he heard the jingle of coins. The purse came free, and Raymer tore it open, spilling coins into his hand.

  Of the nine coins, two were copper, two small silver, a large silver, and four small gold. The three horses were worth at most two small silvers, or one large if they were for sale. Since she didn’t want to sell them, the price should be more. He ran to where she stood, not backing off a single step at his advance. He handed her two gold pieces, with a shrug of an apology.

  “Too much!” she snapped.

  She had probably never seen a gold coin in her life. Raymer hadn’t. He opened his hand and showed her the coins remaining in his hand. “We escaped the King’s dungeons, and these belonged to that man
lying over there. He’s the new Dungeon Master.”

  “Is he dead?”

  “No.”

  “Are you going to kill him?”

  “Of course not. But we did relieve him of his purse, and we’re in a hurry. We are good men.”

  She turned, the gold coins clutched in her hand, coins worth enough to purchase several farms like hers. “Don’t leave, yet. Wait by the front door.”

  She quickly disappeared inside as Quint tossed the unconscious body of the Dungeon Master over a saddle and tied his hands and feet so he wouldn’t slide off. The other two horses were saddled and ready to ride. Quint threw a leg over his horse, making the largest of the three look small. He took the reins of the horse with the Dungeon Master in hand.

  Once in the saddle, Quint started to ride off, away from the cottage, leaving Raymer to the old woman.

  Raymer said, “Hold on. She said to wait for her.”

  “Need I remind you that we’re in something of a hurry? You can wait,” but he held his horse at the edge of the corral and watched their back trail.

  After taking a quick glance at their back trail and finding it empty of pursuers, Raymer darted for the cabin door. He peeked inside. The old woman hurriedly scooped food into a blanket and folded the four corners together. She wrapped a piece of small rope around them and hefted it. She opened a trunk and pulled blankets out, along with a pile of clothing that appeared to be mostly shirts.

  She looked up at him and scooped the bundle into her arms. “Help me with this. The shirts will be small for men as large as you, but better than you have, and you’re going to need food.”

  “Thank you. You didn’t have to do all this.”

  “You could have given me two silvers, and I’d be ahead on the deal. Instead, you gave me enough for my husband to replace the horses with a hundred.”

  Raymer carried it all outside and tied the bundle with the food on the saddle of his horse while handing the blankets and shirts to Quint, “Here, carry this stuff until we rest.”

  “We won’t rest. At least, I won’t.” He turned to the old woman standing on her porch and watching. “We appreciate your help, woman. I also want to say that you have helped two good men who were going to die in that damned dungeon. Not because of what we did, but because others believe differently than us.”

  She nodded and started to turn away, but hesitated and said, “My older brother died in that dungeon years ago. He was also guilty of little or nothing but his beliefs.”

  Raymer mounted. Turning his horse to face away from the palace, he looked into her strained face and said, “Don’t let them see your gold coins and do not lie about us. They can easily track us, and you don’t need them punishing you for helping.”

  “I know how it’s done. Somebody stole three horses while I slept the afternoon away. Ride fast and far.”

  Quint took the lead, with the reins of the horse carrying the Dungeon Master behind. Raymer followed, but when he reached the edge of the forest, he waited in the shadows and watched the farm and the far ridge where they came from. He couldn’t see the palace because of the forest, and there was no sign, and or pain on his back from a nearby dragon. Satisfied, he turned the horse and trotted to catch up.

  “Raging Mountains are over that way,” Raymer waved an arm indicating a direction off to their right.

  Quint shook his head and nodded in the direction they traveled. “You’re not familiar with this area. Ahead is a canyon, too wide and deep to cross.”

  “Then why go there?”

  “Because they’ll think we’re trying to trick them. They’ll probably split their troops and send half to the crossing above the canyon and half to the one below.”

  “Where will we go?”

  “I know a secret way. They’ll protect the two crossings, and then close in from both sides to trap us, but we won’t be there, and they’ll waste a day or two if we’re lucky.”

  “If we’re not?”

  “We die.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  The Dungeon Master groaned. It was his first sound since the dungeon collapsed from the weight of the dragon. He still lay across the back of the horse Quint led, but didn’t move or ask to be released.

  As they traveled west, the forest of evergreen trees had thinned until only brush grew in the hard packed sand the color of dead skin. Juniper and cactus grew in patches. The sun felt hotter. Raymer’s eyes squinted to see across the barren landscape.

  “Are you sure you know where you’re leading us?”

  Quint said, “Of course I know. Away from that damned castle and dungeon. Any more than that you want to know? Maybe we should stop and discuss it while sipping tea?”

  No, we can’t stop. He’s right. The pace Quint set remained brutal. The Dungeon Master had missed a grueling trek in the dense forests and down the slopes of mountain after mountain. The horses were worn out and needed a break, but they kept urging them on. They crossed a flat area with little vegetation and a lot, of course, brown sand.

  Suddenly, the canyon appeared directly in front of them. At first, they couldn’t see the bottom, but as they rode closer, the immense size revealed itself. At the rim of a canyon, both sides that appeared to drop straight down to nowhere Quint paused and gathered landmarks. He pointed to a far off peak, “The Older Sister.” His head turned, and his eyes searched the upper end of the canyon. Finally, he smiled.

  “Recognize this place?”

  Quint nodded and twisted in his saddle to look behind. It only took a short time before he said, “When you know three points you can tell where you are.”

  Raymer swung a leg over the horse and felt the stiffness had already set in. He hadn’t ridden in more than a year and despite his self-training in his cell, he would pay dearly for today’s ride. His hand went to the back of his neck and heat from the sun on his white skin told him it wouldn’t be the only pain he’d suffer.

  “Where are we?” He asked as he went to the Dungeon Master.

  “If the guards, or whoever the King sent after us, did what I think, they’ll wait at either end of this canyon for us ride to them. They’ll set their traps a day from here in either direction. When we don’t come, they’ll start to close the jaws of their trap.” He pointed down the valley and continued, “There’s a small trail made long ago that descends into that thing.”

  “You’ve traveled it?”

  “Of course not. Do I look crazy?”

  Raymer had to laugh. He looked behind and saw a faint rise of dust in the distance. He judged the pursuers to be so far off they might not reach the canyon until dark. “It looks like they may have split into three groups.”

  Quint scowled as he confirmed the sighting and studied the dust. “No more than six of them, I think.”

  Six? How can you tell that from so far away? The Dungeon Master groaned again. Raymer quickly untied him and helped him to the ground where he stood on wobbly legs. “Take it easy, you were hurt when the wall fell on you.”

  “I remember. I thought I’d die when those iron bars hit me,” he moaned.

  “You can thank Raymer for wasting our escape-time to rescue you.” Quint pointed down the sharp edge of the cliff again, “The trail shouldn’t be too far that way.”

  The Dragon Master swayed, and his eyes were glazed. “Who?”

  “Don’t worry,” Raymer said. “Just mount up and we’ll tell you everything. Are you hurt?”

  “No. You’re prisoners. You should both be in cells.”

  Quint still sat in his saddle, and he leaned closer, “I think you’re mistaken about those two items, sir.”

  The Dungeon Master quieted. He accepted a lift to his saddle and rode loosely as if he might fall at any time, but at each sway, he wavered and caught himself. His balance quickly improved, and his cheeks flushed as he lost the deathly pallor he’d worn earlier.

  Raymer continued to hold his position as the last in line as Quint led the way again. They took it slow and allowed the horses to
pick their own way across the rocky ground, circling around sprawls of cactus and jumbles of rock. An injured horse would cause them to travel even more slowly. The canyon wall opposite, in the far distance, appeared more red than tan, and he caught several sparkles of what could only be a river flowing down the bottom of the valley.

  A slight tingle on his back instantly drew his attention. Without being obvious, he scanned the sky and found a black dot circling where he judged the palace to be located. The dragon then turned and flew in his direction. Raymer watched it approach until he realized it would lead an army to him. Fly home, my friend.

  While he couldn’t be sure, it looked like the dragon was black. At the palace had been a red. But it was probably just because of the distance.

  “Where are we?” the Dragon Master asked.

  When Quint didn’t answer Raymer quickly said, “West of the palace. If you look hard, you can see the Raging Mountains over there.” A single glance behind ensured the dragon had turned away. The reaction of Quint and the Dragon Master to the dragon’s appearance was uncertain.

  They traveled in silence until the Dungeon Master’s dull voice asked, “Am I your prisoner?”

  “Well, yes, I guess you are. Hostage might be a better explanation. Not that we intend to hurt you,” Raymer said. “We just wanted to escape, and it seemed a good idea to bring you along.”

  Quint spoke without turning his head. “What you are is an accidental hostage. You were hurt and unconscious. That idiot riding behind you insisted we rescue you before escaping. You can imagine how upset I’d be if our escape failed because of him taking the time to drag your sorry ass out of the flames.”

  “Call me Ander. I’m not a very good Dungeon Master, it seems. You talk as if you don’t like Raymer.”

  “Only two reasons to talk about a man like that. Maybe it’s because I don’t know him too well. Or perhaps it’s because I do.” Quint laughed again, throwing his head back and roaring at his own joke.

  Raymer said, “The air is dusty, gritty, and my eyes sting. My butt hurts, and I have a dozen cuts and scrapes. It’s the best I’ve felt in a year.”