King's Exile: Chronicles of the Dragon-Bound: Book 1

by William Culbertson

  Now, several hours down the road, his feet hurt, and he was tired. Should he find a place to spend the evening? He looked around. The weather was fine, and the road was empty. He could almost hear General Herne say, “Every mile today is one less tomorrow.” So . . .

  Dax continued walking until the sun was just above the horizon behind him. Now was the time to stop for the night. The forest would be dark once the sun had set. He forced his way through the tarry-berry barrier at the edge of the road. It was much darker under the canopy, but he pushed his way through the clutter on the forest floor until he found a spot where an outcrop of rock supported a recently fallen tree. He pushed away a jumble of branches and fallen leaves to make a shelter underneath.

  A fire would have been nice, but he was too close to the road. He could hide the light from a fire, but smoke might generate unwelcome curiosity. Dax made a meal, such as it was, from dried meat sticks and biscuits from his pack. Warm enough in his fisherman’s cloak, he had no trouble falling asleep.

  #

  Dax startled awake the next morning. The sun was not visible under the trees, but the quality of light told him he had slept much later than he had intended. He had wanted to be up and on the way at first light. As he gathered his thoughts, he realized that what had aroused him was the sound of galloping horses. He crept back to the road and watched from concealment as a group of riders thundered past up the river road.

  After they were out of sight, he sat there thinking. The riders were not in uniform, so they were not members of the guard. A chill went down his back. Could they be guardsmen in disguise? He was escaping from Mathilde. Maybe she had not wanted them to be recognized as guardsmen? He deliberated a while longer. What if Mathilde was worried about questions from the guard about why they were searching for their king? She might have her own unofficial men-at-arms to do this job. How much influence did she have in the city?

  He blinked in frustration at his confused thoughts. It did not matter who the group might have been. The important thing was that they might have been looking for him. He waited until long after the dust had settled back to the roadway before he returned to his shelter. He sat and chewed on a biscuit, and thought. If they were looking for him, he had to stay off the road today. Traveling through the forest would be safer, but harder. The biggest problem with walking in the forest was finding his way. He looked around. Morning sunlight filtered through the leaves overhead, showing him which way was east. He knew the land to the north of this part of the road rose and became hilly. If he stayed between higher ground and the road, he should be able to continue east until he found the Merrywell, the mountain stream that flowed into the Ostdell River at the western edge of the Tremayne Estate, his aunt and uncle’s farm.

  Dax sighed. Thinking about the journey was not getting him any closer to safety. He shouldered his pack and walked around the uprooted tangle at the end of the tree where he had sheltered. East. His aunt and uncle’s farm was to the east, but hiking through the forest was nothing like traveling along the road. Under the trees the air was quiet and still. Back away from the road, the trees were immense. Never touched by a woodsman’s axe, their huge gray trunks towered overhead, supporting a dense, verdant roof. The tops of the trees were so far overhead he could not see individual leaves from the ground, only a restless sea of green. The wind did not reach down to the forest floor. Except for a birdcall now and then, there were no sounds. Silence pressed on his ears. It made the rustle of his feet through the underbrush and forest litter all the louder. He was sure no one was near, but he walked carefully, making as little noise as possible.

  The road had hills and dips, but the difficult patches had been filled, leveled, and bridged to make wagon travel easier. Under the forest canopy, Dax hiked over raw terrain. Rock outcrops, ravines, and fallen trees forced him to follow a convoluted path. He detoured around several large hills, keeping to the south side to avoid heading farther north. Creeks and freshets of burbling water cut through his path from time to time. Some he could step across, but one forced him to detour until he found a shallow ford. He tried crossing one stream by walking across on the trunk of a large downed tree. Adventure stories made it sound easy, but halfway across he dropped down and finished crawling on all fours. On the other side he gave thanks that he had not fallen off.

  Late in the day Dax found a place to camp. Before he settled in, he set off to find the road and check his position. The road was farther away than he had thought, but he had not done too badly. Yes, he could continue on this way. Not having seen a soul for the whole day, he felt safer. But he was lonely. Dax had never been alone for this long before. There had always been someone around the castle, someplace he had to be, or something he had to do. Now he had only the silent forest.

  Back at his campsite, he took out his dragon’s egg. Holding it was a comfort, and sitting there with it in his lap, he no longer felt alone. He looked around at the empty wood. He had no one to help him. Heroes in adventure stories were never lonely or frightened. The night closed its dark fingers around him, and he shivered. It was cold, and he snuggled the egg closer. Dax forced himself to think about his father, and he felt braver—more determined. He could do this. He would do this. Mathilde might have her plot, but she did not have him. He conjured a vision of himself grown to manhood, striding through the gate of the castle with the King’s Sword unsheathed . . .

  However, it was only a vision. Sleep did not come easily this night. Thoughts chased themselves around in his head. What was happening at the castle? Were they truly hunting him? How far did he have yet to go? What would happen when he came to the Merrywell? Surely he would have to return to the road to use the bridge, but they might be waiting for him there. He could not remember hearing anything about the Merrywell above his aunt and uncle’s farm. Maybe he could find a ford upstream and not have to risk the bridge . . .

  #

  At first light the next day, he awoke, but it was some time before he managed to shake off the lethargy from his restless night. He started to stretch his cramped muscles but froze in place when he heard a rustle in the dead leaves near the road. A moment later a red squirrel jumped up to the trunk of a tree and hesitated for a moment before it scampered up to the first limb. Relieved, Dax completed his stretch. He was awake but not refreshed. Now that he was moving, he noticed five separate itchy welts from biting midges that had attacked in the night. His stomach, well recovered by now, demanded food. He ate a couple more biscuits from Ma Cookie’s kitchen before he took up his pack again.

  The forest was different with every step he took, yet it was drearily unchanging on the whole. Near midday he attempted to find the road again, but walking on while the sun was high in the sky had been a poor decision this day. The road was not where it was supposed to be. With the sun nearly overhead, he could not be sure of his direction. Belatedly, he remembered his father telling him that people in the woods tended to walk in circles if they did not take careful sightings on distant objects. He sighed. That memory was too late to help this day.

  Disgusted, Dax sat down right where he was to wait for the sun to move far enough to show him which way was west. Since he had some time, he decided to make himself a bow. Maybe he could find a squirrel or other small game in the forest. Herne had shown him how to make a simple bow on one of their hunting trips in the past, and Dax had packed several bowstrings, arrow points, and lashing threads with that purpose in mind. He used one of his knives to fashion a small bow and some crude arrows from a sapling. Without proper fletching, the arrows were not particularly accurate, but if he stalked something at short range, it might do. He resolved to watch for bird feathers to use as arrow fletching.

  Now that he was prepared to hunt, not a single animal showed itself. The midday forest was silent. Still bored but ambitious, Dax cut himself a couple of walking sticks. His father had always used walking sticks when he carried a pack. He showed Dax how the sticks could take some of the load as well as help steady your st
eps over uneven terrain. If you found a solid place to push off, a walking stick could help you vault over a stream too wide to step across. During Herne’s training sessions, the veteran general had drilled Dax in another important use for a walking stick. It made a devastating weapon in the right hands. While a staff did not have the killing power of a sword, a well-trained person with a staff could hold off a swordsman, deflecting rather than blocking blows. With its longer reach, a stout staff could deliver an aggressive attack. The main trick was to make sure that the staff stayed at full length. Any direct collision with the edge of a sword would shorten a stick quickly.

  As time passed, the shadows shifted. Dax was finally satisfied he knew which way was east. He made for the road, and sure enough, he had gotten turned around. He did not recognize this stretch of road, but the track was deserted. He stood in the shadow of a tree and watched. After a time with no sign of other travelers, he decided to chance the road to make up for lost time.

  Walking with his eyes and ears fully alert, he was ready to disappear into the brush at the side of the road at the first sign of anyone approaching. After a time he passed a small farm. There were a number of small farms along the road, but this was the first he had seen. Traveling in the forest, he had missed them all so far. As he passed, he glimpsed someone out in the field planting, but Dax pulled the brim of his hat lower and continued walking.

  #

  The road stayed deserted, and Dax continued on until the afternoon shadows were long. The fact that the road was deserted made him suspicious. Did the lack of traffic have something to do with his disappearance? At the top of a rise, there was an open area that gave him a good view ahead. Sunlight caught a cloud of dust in the distance. He watched until he decided the cloud was coming toward him. It might be several farm wagons, but it might also be the riders returning from their search. Whoever it was, he did not want to be caught on the road. He retreated to the trees, careful not to leave any sign of his passage lest a sharp-eyed searcher notice and investigate.

  Just beyond the road, the forest fell away into a steep ravine on the right, which angled to the northwest. To be extra safe, he carefully climbed down over mossy boulders to the bottom and followed the course of a small stream away from the road. He found a rock overhang with a dark shadow below. The shadow held a cleft in the rock, which opened back far enough to conceal him from sight. Although it was not far from the road, it was a good hiding place.

  Soon Dax heard horses. The noise increased. Even though he knew he was well concealed, he wondered if his hiding place was far enough from the road. Over the clatter of hooves came a shouted command, and the noise stopped. In the quiet, he heard another command that made his blood go cold.

  “Dismount!”

  There was a confusion of sound from up on the road for a time before he heard the voice of command again. “All right, you uglies, let’s make camp for the night. We’ve had enough for today. We’ll be back in Tazzelton by noon tomorrow.”

  Camp? Dax was dismayed. His niche would keep him well hidden, unless they searched the ravine with torches. Still, he would have to spend the night down in the cold stone shelter without a fire or hot food tonight. He knew he would not sleep well so close to a troop of men who might be looking for him. Sighing, he sat back and tried to get comfortable in the shadows. Hungry, he dug into his pack and found something to nibble on. After a while he reached back into his pack and caressed his egg.

  #

  A short time later Dax heard rustling along the far side of the ravine. He inched forward to look past the edge of his hiding place into the ravine. Two men stood on the opposite rim. Slowly, he drew back into the darker shadows until he could just see the men past the edge of the concealing rock. The two looked down into the ravine and around at the surrounding forest.

  “Suppose we’ve gone far enough to satisfy old tender butt?” The men were not far away, and their words reached him easily.

  The second man grinned. “Far enough for me, I think. I’m not about to climb down into that hole now that it’s getting dark.” He laughed. “And so what if a bandit or two is around? There’s the twelve of us.”

  “Yeah, but what about the guard?”

  “We’re on a special mission for Her Ladyship,” came the dismissive answer. “And seeing as ta’ how the guard’s commander has been keeping her warm at night”—he snickered suggestively—“I’m betting we’re safe enough.”

  “Tork said to check the forest for at least a hundred paces around.”

  “Yeah, but after a day in the saddle, I don’t want to be late for eats.” The second man slapped his companion’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ve been counting our paces, and they’re adding up fast.” He snorted. “Won’t be much longer.”

  “Well, I certainly don’t want to go back too soon.” The first man picked up a stone and tossed it into the ravine. “We’d just have to help get all the horses fed and settled for the night.”

  “Not the kind of job for us honorable employees of Her Ladyship, huh?” He looked back over his shoulder in the direction of the city. “I tell you, that woman is a cold one. She scares the crap right into my pants.”

  “Shouldn’t want to do this kind of work regular-like.” The first man shook his head. “Do something honest like a little thievin’.”

  “Yeah, her kind of nastiness makes me feel all the more diligent about this little reconnaissance, it does.” The man snorted, then hawked and spit. “Good money or not, I don’t hold with work like this.” Both men turned and moved out of Dax’s line of sight.

  “Yeah,” Dax heard, and after a pause, a voice said, “How about we just follow this gully a little farther before we circle back?”

  Dax wished they would go help with the horses, but they obviously were not looking for work this evening. He found himself wondering what kind of nastiness they were talking about. Searching for him might have been tedious, but nasty?

  He heard them a little farther up the ravine when a rock fell and clattered down the steep slope. One of the men laughed and called, “Yeah, some scout you’d make.” Dax heard a fainter sound of the other man cursing, and a larger rock crashed down into the ravine. Minutes went by before Dax let out the breath he had been holding.

  With a troop of men camped along the road, there was nothing for it but to spend the night hidden in the ravine. Wrapped in his coat, Dax made himself as comfortable as he could sitting upright in the niche with his pack next to him. Cramped and cold, he gnawed on a stick of dried meat and ate another biscuit. Every position he tried was an intolerable combination of awkward, uncomfortable, and confining. Eventually he found a way to lie that was merely disagreeable. He reached into his pack and put his hand on the egg. It was reassuringly warm and helped him bear the discomforts of his position. He lay awake holding the egg for a long time before he dropped into a fitful sleep.

  #

  In the morning Dax waited until well after he heard the troop men ride off before he emerged from hiding and climbed out of the ravine. The road was deserted. The men had headed west to Tazzelton, but he was cautious as he started. Determined to make better time today, he headed east on the road, taking shelter only when he heard a traveler approaching. He kept careful watch ahead and behind, but once, two riders on horseback came around a bend from behind and caught sight of him before he could hide. Rather than attract attention by scurrying into the forest, Dax kept his head down, his face shadowed, and plodded along the road. The riders jogged on past without interest.

  By late afternoon he was tired and sweaty. As hot and heavy as the clam digger’s coat was during the day, it was none too warm during the chill of the night. He decided to make a real effort to find a better place to spend this night, and well before the sunset, he turned into the wood. A surprisingly short time later, he stumbled across a well-used hunters’ campsite in a small clearing. A short distance off the path, a firewall built of logs shielded a stone fire ring from the direction of the road.
He heaved a sigh and set down his pack. Perfect. He could have a fire and warm food tonight.

  Once the fire was going, he made a few false starts but finally managed to rig a support for his tin cup. In it he warmed a rude mash of biscuit and beef in water. It was the first hot food he had managed since leaving the castle. Although it was not a bowl of stew from Ma Cookie’s pot, the warmth in his belly was wonderful. Pleased with himself, he stretched out near the embers of his fire. He looked up and saw the sky through an opening between the trees. He caught a glimpse of Darda, the dart, as the moon moved among the stars. It was a familiar sight that added to his feeling of well-being.

  As he relaxed, his mind wandered, and he had a disturbing thought. Hunters traveling in the area would most likely camp along the road itself instead of out of sight. People had used this campsite, but it was well hidden. There was another type of hunter who would want concealment. Outlaws preyed upon travelers from time to time. Occasional reports of robbers came in, but the guard was never able to find them. A band of thieves could use this site, waylay a passing merchant or noble, then leave. Dax abruptly felt more vulnerable. For a moment he considered the dreary idea of moving off a distance for safety’s sake, but before he could act, he fell asleep.

  #

  Nothing happened that night except a bad dream. He woke in the night with a pounding heart, but the memory of his dream peril faded before he was fully awake. The flush of fear was followed by a burning rage that moved through his system, restoring clarity to his thinking. Once he realized he was not in danger, his anger faded, but he had the same strong sense of purpose he had forned the night he had discovered Mathilde’s treachery. Dax knew he was brave enough to do what he had to do. He might not be able to avenge his father’s death today, but he would do everything he could to stay out of the clutches of the traitors who had murdered him. Someday Mathilde would pay.