by LeRoy Clary
Ander followed him, breaking branches he stepped on, stumbling over exposed roots, and dragging the end of his staff in the dirt. He left a trail a blind man could follow.
Quint brought up the rear, scuffling along to smudge most of the marks of the staff and other telltale signs. They traveled fast and made good time. Nobody mentioned the staff marks, but Raymer carried his staff, balanced in his left hand, and kept it ready to use.
Maybe he just needs an example. Raymer waited until they entered a small clearing covered in knee high brown grass. In an instant, he swung his staff from his side to his front and grasped it with both hands as he dropped to his left knee.
The other two pulled to an abrupt halt, their eyes searching for danger. Ander hissed, “What is it?”
“I am holding my staff ready to protect myself. If there had been a swordsman attacking me, I would have blocked his blade and struck him on his head with the end of my staff.”
Ander looked down at the end of the pole he held while the other end drug behind.
Quint said to Ander, no humor in his tone for once. “In that situation, you would have died.”
Ander reached for the center of his staff. “Show me.”
Raymer stepped ahead and turned to face him. “Hold it like this. Then move it from side to side, always looking at the blade, never at the end of your staff. Swords are heavy, and you’ll see his body flex to swing before he does. Watch for him to set his feet, shift his weight, and for his fingers to turn white as he grips his blade harder. Watch his eyes. Then move your staff to block the blow.”
“Then what?” Ander asked.
Quint said, “Exactly. Then what means that you have lived long enough to consider then what, instead of dying with the first blow.”
“Okay, I think I see what you mean. You’re telling me to just block his blows, not fight.”
“One of us will come save you,” Quint said. “But, you have to block the sword, first.”
Raymer said, “We can’t take the time to teach you how to fight now, but you have to walk with the expectation that your next step will be your last unless you can defend yourself. I’ll practice as we move. I suggest you do the same.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Copy me as well as you can.”
Raymer turned and started leading them again, pleased to look from the corner of his eye and see Ander carrying his staff balanced in the same manner. At a wide spot in the path Raymer snapped his staff forward into the basic defensive position. A glance told him Ander had done much the same, but slower and with no grace. His movements were awkward and clumsy, but he was trying. Raymer gave him an approving glance before continuing to lead them.
They traveled fast and with few words. The treks up the hillsides were becoming harder on their muscles. Their breath came in gasps near the tops. Bear Mountain didn’t look any closer. The forest remained dense and closed in on them from all sides, causing Raymer to feel constricted and fearful that any enemy could be within a step before they knew of it, or them.
They abruptly burst through a tangle of vines and came to the King’s Highway, a strip of road maintained by soldiers who regularly cut back the brush and shrubs forever trying to encroach on the road. It was wide enough for two wagons to pass each other, a feature untrue of any other roads in the kingdom. Most had pullouts where one or the other had to surrender the road.
“Well, look at this,” Quint smiled. “It is so nice of King Ember to order this built for us. Travel gets easier from here on.”
“For a while,” Raymer reminded him.
They turned left, which took them south. Now and then they caught a peek of Bear Mountain behind and above the treetops, the tallest mountain known to locals. While they had walked mostly single-file for the last two days, the wide road soon had all three side by side as if out for a walk in a park.
Raymer carried his staff balanced in the middle and loosely to his side, the ends pointing front and rear, as did Quint. They were ready to snap them into position to defend or attack. On the other hand, Ander’s staff seemed to have a mind of its own as it swung from side to side and bounced up and down with every step.
“Carry it like this,” Raymer suggested, as he relaxed his fingers and showed Ander how to carry it easier, with his fingers. “Have you ever had any training with weapons?”
“There was a Weapons Master, who tried to teach me to use a sword a long time ago. He failed.”
“Because he had a poor student?” Quint asked, his voice holding no accusation.
“Yes. But saying I was a poor student is like saying fish can fly. I trained with my best friend, and we made a game of who could be the worst. The instructor was not the problem, I’m ashamed to say.”
Quint scowled, “Because it may cost you your life?”
“No, because we humiliated that Weapons Master and we thought it funny when my father lit into him because we were so inept when he came to observe our lesson. I can’t express my remorse.”
“He deserved better, but we all did things when we were young that we regret,” Quint said.
Raymer said, “Did he teach you to use your blade by the numbers?”
“Not sure what you mean,” Ander said after thinking about it for the time it took to walk a few steps.
The time allowed Raymer to realize reaching the King’s Highway was a major milestone in their venture. The troops invading Northwood would also cross it, but much farther to the north, above Bear Mountain, where the easy route lay that other travelers took to carry them to Northwood. Still, walking side by side instead of single file through the forests and underbrush allowed them to move faster and easier, for now.
Raymer said, “Most military instructors teach basic weapon handling by teaching the students to count. The first thing you need to learn is to bring your staff up to defend yourself.”
He counted out loud six individual steps that moved his staff from the carry position to grasping it an extended arm position horizontally in front of him. Returning the staff to his side again, he repeated the steps while counting out loud.
“You try.”
Ander managed to get to count to three before dropping his staff on the road. Reaching for it, he looked up, wearing a worried expression.
“Again,” Raymer said. “I didn’t expect you to get it right the first time, or you wouldn’t need teaching and practice.”
Ander reached number four and hesitated, unsure of his next move.
“Swing it up and grasp with both hands,” Raymer said.
Quint didn’t take part in the exercise. He kept his eyes on the road in front of them, reading the signs of others traveling upon it, and he watched ahead as well as behind.
“Repeat. Do it until there is no hesitation and your hands are sure at each movement. You won’t have time to think about it. The actions will come naturally if you need to defend yourself against one of the king’s men,” Raymer said.
“I’m getting the idea, but what next?”
“Next?”
“I thrust out my staff and stop the first downward swing of a sword, but what next? And don’t tell me again that one of you will rush to my side and rescue me.”
Quint nearly smiled. Raymer said, “Fair question. You’re on a count of six. Let’s make it eight. On six you block, arms thrust out. Seven you lunge-step ahead while bending one knee. Eight you use one wrist to pull, and push with the other to swing the end and strike the opponent.”
Ander said, “I’m not good at this. Show me.”
Raymer went through the first six steps far quicker than Ander managed, and then took the additional step forward and with a snap of his wrists shot the left end of the staff where the head of his opponent would be. Then, without pause, he returned the staff to the defensive position.
Raymer said quickly, “Sorry. I made a mistake. Your new count is nine. You always bring the staff back to your defensive position. That’s number nine. Your enemy may block your
strike, or you may miss, so you have to defend.”
“I think I see. Defend, then attack. Then defend.”
Quint said, “One of you two is going to hit me with your staff sooner or later. Ander got a few steps ahead of us and practice up there.”
They continued until mid-morning, Ander getting better with his repeated use of the staff, and the other two occasionally offering suggestions. Raymer and Quint didn’t speak much. Each kept a sharp watch ahead, on his own side of the road.
Quint pointed to hoof prints in the dirt.
Raymer nodded to indicate more tracks, parallel to the others. “The army rides two abreast. There were, at least, three horses in each column.”
“Yesterday?”
“Or last night,” Raymer added.
The dense foliage on either side of the road threatened to grow over the road in a season or two if left untended. It provided a thousand places for highwaymen, spies, and locals to view travelers. On the other hand, it provided adequate cover for the three to disappear if they moved off of it in time.
Movement ahead caught Raymer’s eye. “Hide.”
The three slipped into the brush and stooped low while standing still. A pair of young men carrying axes over their shoulders strode along. As they came abreast, one nudged the other and pointed to the ground. Their backs stiffened, but they didn’t break stride or look around.
When they were out of sight, Raymer led them to where they pointed. In the soft dirt were clearly the tracks the three of them left on the road. Then, just as easily seen was where all three abruptly turned at the same time. It was like shouting, “Here I am. I’m hiding from you.”
Ander said, “Next time we need to take more care to cover our tracks or head off the road in one direction, then move to the other side of the road.”
“He’s catching on,” Quint said.
Raymer said, “That army patrol was going in the same direction as us. If it were a regular patrol, they'd come back this way, probably today.”
Ander stepped ahead of them as they started walking again, repeating his nine-step routine over and over. He seldom dropped his staff, and his movements were becoming more fluid. He walked and worked as if he enjoyed mastering the technique.
The day was warmer in the afternoon, the sun brighter, and the air cleaner, at least, Raymer felt that way. If any of the Dragon Clan lived ahead, he felt confident they would allow them to pass, and perhaps even help. If there were none, he’d continue traveling with Quint until Northwood was warned of the impending attack. After that, he’d decide.
It was said that there were more families of the Dragon Clan hiding in the world, but where? Each of them hid from normal people who lived nearby. While there may be temporary truces and treaties, people distrusted his clan. Any unsolved thefts or robberies were attributed to them. If a dragon took a cow, sheep or goat his family was expected to pay for it. If a farm animal wandered off or was stolen, his family was suspect.
The simple truth was that most people hated and feared the Dragon Clan. Hated them for no good reason. They didn’t understand the powers they held over dragons, but neither did Raymer. Only trusted adults were provided with unlimited information. Raymer had been considered a child until a year ago. Like most young males, he had left home to live with another family for a time and maybe he’d find a young woman to share his life. If not, there were other families to visit. Other young women to know.
The problem was, he only knew of his home in the Raging Mountains where all were related to him, and the one family supposed to be on the south slope of Bear Mountain. To find more he would need to return home, a prospect he didn’t look forward to. When he went home, he intended to have fame, fortune, and a beautiful woman on his arm.
“Hide,” Quint said.
Raymer noticed Ander scuffled his feet and placed one clear print leading to the left side of the road while he leaped clear on the right. A wagon filled with late summer straw appeared, pulled by a mule with ears standing tall. The driver of the wagon was a young man half asleep, his eyes never looking at the road, but the ears of the mule twitched and turned to always point at them as it slowly walked past.
Back on the road again, Quint said to Raymer, “You’re sure quiet.”
“Thinking. And enjoying.”
Quint nodded without looking at him. “Prison was a dark time.”
“They’ll have to kill me before I go back.”
“Why? Just call that dragon and he’ll knock down the whole palace to set you free,” Quint said.
It was meant as humor, but the kernel of truth the statement contained was also part of the reason why the Dragon Clan was hated and distrusted. He wanted to explain, but held back. Quint was little different than others. They were friends by need, but would they remain friends in a day or ten days?
As if the mention of a dragon had drawn the attention of one, Raymer felt the tingle of a dragon coming near. He allowed his eyes to scan the air behind and off to his right, in the direction of Bear Mountain. The Dragon flew just over a ridgeline and continued.
Turn to me. He watched, but nothing happened.
Turn to me. His mental image was stronger, sharper, and more intense. The dragon turned and flew in his direction. Now, what? He had no way to tell it to return to its earlier path. He didn’t want it to appear and then he’d have to answer more questions and assumptions from Quint, and most of all he didn’t want others watching it and using the location of the dragon to find them. Fly home.
The dragon hesitated. Fly home. It made a sweeping turn and flew back along the ridge, in the opposite direction it appeared from.
The poor thing was probably searching for a meal, and I sent it home hungry. The idea that a dragon did as he ordered filled his mind with wonder and fear. To control such a magnificent beast set his imagination soaring higher than the dragon flew, but to control it from a distance had him wondering what else might he do? What else did he not yet know?
Now that he was bearded and on his journey in search of a woman and his place in the world, he had more questions than before he’d left home. He wished to seek the council of his father, his mother, or his older brothers. Suddenly trust and security were more important than food, a woman, or wealth.
“Is that it?” Quint asked.
Pulling his mind back to the present, Raymer looked ahead to the massive gray boulder on the right side of the road, shaped like a giant watermelon with one-half stuck into the ground. Trying to act casual, as if he’d seen it a hundred steps earlier, he said, “Yes, of course, it is.”
Quint pointed to the side of the road where the brush was thinner and the soil hard. “Hold up here.”
All three halted. Quint was taking the measure of everything. “I think we use Ander’s little plan. We march to the right side of the road and take that little path up the side of the hill, leaving plenty of signs for anyone to follow. Then we double back to the road.”
Ander said, “How do we prevent leaving tracks where we cross the road?”
Quint smiled. “We hop. I think that I can make it across the road in about three jumps, landing only on my toes.”
“Hop?” Raymer asked.
“Why not? Who is going to know what sort of animal leaves a footprint like that?”
Raymer laughed, “Why not just step off the road here and walk carefully on that hard surface?”
“My plan is more devious and has a certain element of imagination,” Quint said.
“The chances are that nobody will notice our departure from the road, but even if they do, who will follow?” Raymer said. “Besides, we need to hurry, and your plan will take time.”
Ander hadn’t said anything and hadn’t moved. His expression was confused. “I’m following you two? Do either of you know what you’re doing?”
Raymer looked at Quint, who was shaking his head. Raymer did the same.
“May the Seven Gods protect me,” Ander muttered.
Quint said,
“I pray to ten gods. That gives me more protection.”
“Follow me,” Raymer ordered as he carefully stepped off the road onto the hard packed ground on the side. As his foot left the road, he scuffed the sand, partially obscuring the last footprint. The others did the same. He led them slowly, carefully not stepping on any plants that would leave tracks and give away their direction.
Within a dozen steps, he discerned a faint path that was unseen from the road. Stepping on to it, he followed it for fifty steps as it diverged from the road and entered some waist high shrubs and undergrowth. A larger trail presented itself, and soon they were under the canopy of tall trees again.
Raymer held up his arm for them to pause. The sounds of several horses moving fast on the road approached them. They waited, Raymer holding his breath and looking for the best direction to run if they slowed or stopped. The horses were army property for sure, but they continued on, their hoof prints probably obscuring the footprints the three had left behind.
The path carried them almost due west, directly in the direction they needed to travel. After climbing a long slope, Raymer paused at the top. Bear Mountain suddenly looked much closer, on his right. He said, “Let’s stop and rest at the next stream.”
At the bottom of the hill, a clear stream flowed next to a clearing filled with soft, green grass, a rarity in late summer. They drank their fill and lay in the grass, resting. None of them were in shape for the walking they had done in the last two days, and it was taking a toll. Worse, they were not only out of food, but their second set of sandals were falling apart.
Raymer laid on his back, face to the warm sun. His mind was frantically trying to sort out his escape. What was right to do when keeping family secrets, and controlling dragons. He had an inspiration. If he could really call down dragons, he should be able to do it on command. Fly to me.
He watched the sky and repeated his request/demand. Nothing happened. He felt relieved when he saw a speck in the distance and felt the first touch on his back. His heart rate increased, but he tried to remain outwardly calm, and he ordered the dragon to return home. The dot in the sky diminished until it disappeared.
