Red Dragon's Keep (The Dragon's Children Book 1)

by Natli VanDerWerken

  He walked over to the side of the track, pulling off the floppy straw hat that sheltered his head from the sun. Sweat ran down the side of his face. He unslung his water-skin from his shoulder as he reached the edge and folded himself down to the ground wearily. He untied the top of the skin and took a large swallow of lukewarm water.

  The families walking behind him followed his lead and moved to the verge of the road.

  “Ok,” Marta croaked on a dry throat. Her father handed her the water-skin without a word. She took a sip, handed it back and turned to run back down the line. “You’re doing a good job, Marta. Thank you.”

  “Thanks, Da.” She swung into a slow trot and shouted to those she passed to take a break. A third of the way down the column, she stopped as she reached her brothers. Both of them carried heavy packs on their backs and someone’s toddler on a hip. Voices rose in query and conversation as everyone welcomed the pause in relentless travel.

  “Jaiman, Kevin. Da wants you up front to scout for a camp-site for tonight.”

  Both young men sighed, and then passed the toddlers to their mothers walking beside them. “Ok. We’re on our way,” Jaiman, her older brother responded. They threw their packs into the wagon that they were trailing behind.

  Marta continued on, letting everyone know that they were stopping for the night, until she reached the end of the line of footsore holders. The last oldsters were just passing her granda. The holders gratefully moved off of the track and settled on its verge.

  “Come on Granda. Let’s get you up closer to the others. She walked with him as he shuffled after his friends, and finally caught up with them.

  Jaiman and Kevin jogged along the line that snaked up the track. It was rising steadily as it approached the first pass through the Dragon’s Spine. The little band of refugees had two more to navigate before they reached Red Dragon’s Keep.

  “Jaiman, do you think we can get everyone there safely?” panted Kevin as they hurried.

  “It won’t be for lack of trying,” answered Jaiman. “All of the men here, and most of the women, have weapons. I have a feeling we’re going to need them before we get there.”

  Faolan stood as the young men arrived, retying the neck of his water skin and slinging its strap over his shoulder. His short, graying dark brown hair was plastered to his head with sweat.

  “We need to scout out half a mile. Look for a stream and an opening in the forest large enough to handle all of us. I think I recall one right around this spot. Meet back here in a quarter of an hour.” He slapped each of them on their shoulder. “Go.”

  Each young man took a side of the track and stepped into the forest to look for a clearing.

  Faolan looked at the long line of his holders stretching back toward the Steading. He waved at the two closest men. “Let’s get everyone bunched up on the track. There’s a clearing somewhere close and I want everyone ready to move and set up camp.”

  The two men nodded at him and set off along the sides of the column, chivying their friends and neighbors to close up ranks and join those near the front of the column.

  The sun slowly dropped closer to the horizon. Marta looked uneasily at the line of trees that bordered the track. She felt awfully exposed here. A shiver of fear raised the hairs on the back of her neck.

  Shouts traveled down the length of the column of holders. A camp-site had been found about a hundred yards into the forest on the west side of the road. The line began to move.

  The holders wound their way between the trees into a small meadow, startling a herd of deer from their grazing. A narrow stream bordered the meadow. Children ran toward the water for welcome relief from dry throats.

  Everyone gratefully dropped packs to the ground where they intended to rest and others guided their horse-drawn and hand pushed carts into a line that would provide some shelter from an attack from the road. The horses were hobbled and left to graze on the dried grass, younger boys put in charge of watching them.

  Fires were started and food was prepared. Marta scooped a bowl of stew from the pot and took it to her granda. She found him leaning against a tree, fast asleep. She shook his shoulder gently. “Wake up, Granda. I’ve brought you supper.”

  With a jerk and a snort, her granda woke. He grinned at her, face drawn in tired lines. “Just taking a little nap,” he said.

  “I know,” she said kindly. “Best to eat first and then sleep,” she recommended.

  “You go get yours, girl. I’ll be fine.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, smiling at him. She hoped desperately that he was strong enough to make it to Red Dragon’s Keep.

  Chapter 13

  Thomas speared a carrot and chunk of potato from his bread trencher with his knife and took a bite, chewing quickly. The vegetables filled him up yet still left room for the golden roasted chicken on his plate.

  Tapestries depicting epic battles from wars long past covered the walls of the main hall of the Dragon Tower. A great mural was painted on the stones above the huge fireplace that warmed the room. Worked in brilliant colors, the scene depicted the final days of the first Great War between Dragons, their human allies and Demon hordes. Glass jewels had been set into the mortar between stones, glittering in the reflected light of candles. When not used for meals, the Duke met with his councilors and held court for emissaries and peers in this room. The head table was placed in front of the fireplace where logs were kept burning throughout the fall and winter. It faced the ranks of tables that were filled with residents of the Keep.

  Simon, the chamberlain, entered the hall from the left and walked briskly to the table where Thomas, Owen and Breanna were seated.

  “My Lord, a rider at the gate begs to speak with you. He has been sent ahead of your cousins Lord Cameron and Lord Evan who are riding here for safety.”

  Thomas paused with food half way to his mouth, and then carefully placed his knife back on his plate. His cheeks flushed. He wasn't used to 'My Lord'. That was his father.

  “Please have the rider brought in,” he told Simon with a nod.

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  Owen and Breanna snickered. Thomas shot them a glare.

  Gregory strode into the room, his face a study in concern, as the chamberlain escorted the rider to the head table.

  “What is your name, rider?” asked Thomas. He’d heard his father say the same thing countless times.

  “Colin, my Lord” the rider answered. He bowed. He was covered with dust and mud and blood from his ride to the Keep. “Lord and Lady Gobhlan have sent their sons Cameron and Evan to you from Falcon's Spire for safety. They have been called to the capital and there is unrest in the countryside.”

  Thomas frowned and glanced at Gregory. Gregory shook his head as he looked at him. “My Lord, I'll have Simon ready two rooms for your cousins.” A crooked smile crossed his face. “Lad, this is happening more quickly than your father and I thought possible. We must talk as soon as the boys are settled.”

  Thomas slowly nodded his head. He swallowed hard.

  What is going on? Am I finally going to be included in Gregory’s and Captain Mathin’s planning? Maybe I can really help.

  A little shiver of fear and excitement ran down his spine.

  Dinner was cleared away and Thomas was helping to stack the tables and benches against the wall when the convoy from Falcon's Spire finally arrived.

  Gregory stopped him. “My Lord, please allow the skullies to clear the room. We have much to discuss. Let's get your cousins settled, then meet in my office.”

  Thomas slowly put the chairs he'd picked up back under the table. This feels really strange. I've always helped with the cleanup before.

  He turned and looked at the older man. Gregory was tall and thin, dressed in brown leather trousers and jerkin over a red tunic. A frown carved deep furrows between his brown eyes and his lips pressed together in a thin line. His white hair was parted neatly and trimmed above his ears on the sides. It fell to his collar in back. Gregory h
ad been with Lord Tom since the two had joined the King’s army to fight in the last war.

  Two boys hurried through the doors from the forecourt into the great hall, escorted by the sergeant of their guard.

  Cameron, the same age as Breanna, and Evan, the youngest of all, looked tired and unhappy. The sergeant saluted Thomas and Gregory, right fist to chest.

  “My Lord, I've brought them safe. We were attacked about twenty miles north of the Keep. I’m the senior man left. Our captain and lieutenant were killed and five wounded. Do you have a midach or a crionna baen, a wise-woman?”

  Thomas’s eyes widened in dismay. Owen and Breanna gasped in unison.

  Gregory answered, “Lord Thomas, I'll send for Moirra. She’s one of the town crionna baen, the wise-women.”

  Thomas nodded his head.

  “Your name?” Gregory asked as he turned to the man.

  “Sergeant Linden, sir,” the soldier answered.

  “Follow the skullies to the infirmary, sergeant. Settle the wounded there. The rest of your guard can find bunks in the barracks. See the staff sergeant for that. I believe they are still at dinner.”

  The sergeant saluted. “Yes sir,” he said and turned to follow the skullies.

  Soldiers carried trunks into the room. Gregory motioned for a skully to lead them to the chambers set aside for Cameron and Evan.

  “Boys, do you want to eat or would you like to bathe before bed?” asked Gregory.

  Cameron, as thin as a rail, looked at him with fear and sorrow in his brilliant amber eyes. His dark blond hair was matted with mud from the road.

  Please, could we eat? We couldn’t stop because of the attack,” he choked out. Evan clutched Cameron’s right arm. He and Evan were badly frightened by the Demons that had attacked them. Evan, a solid boy, nodded vigorously, his white blond hair as dirty as his brothers. His blue eyes glistened with unshed tears.

  “Of course. You know where the kitchen is. Tell Jalyn to set out the chicken and vegetables and fruit we had for dinner,” Gregory said. Cameron and Evan headed for the kitchen, shepherded by Simon.

  “Come to my office, Thomas. It's best to discuss what's happening where others can't hear.” They walked in silence from the great hall and down the corridor to Gregory’s domain. Thomas’s eyes were drawn guiltily to the wall where he had listened to the scouts report as he walked into the office.

  Thomas sat in the chair across the desk from the seneschal. The desk was covered with neat stacks of paper waiting for Gregory’s attention. Gregory took out his pipe and slowly filled it, then set a match to light it. Fragrant smoke curled lazily to the ceiling and spread along the dark wooden beams there.

  “Your father and mother, as well as your Uncle Jeremy and Aunt Anne, were called to the capital because the Ciardha, the Dark and its minion Demons, have risen in the south and west. The Reaches have been breached in too many places to name. Fasach is fighting for its very existence and Fearmhar has been attacked. I am very concerned with the attacks on your cousin's caravan. We must hurry with setting defenses in place. Have you talked to Captain Mathin about them?”

  “Yes,” Thomas responded. “We’ve been discussing how to feed and shelter all of the Steaders, holders, freemen, and their families coming to Red Dragon’s Keep.”

  “It’s not just that, Lord Thomas. We need a strategy to kill the Demons. I’ve read through every record I’ve had time for and can’t find anything that explains what these monsters are doing or why, what works to drive them away or to kill them. We need to send out scouts and try to find some pattern. We need someone to read more of the old records to see if anything can be found to help us. You, Owen and Breanna, and possibly Cameron and Evan, can help with that. I’ll have the records moved to the Solar, if that’s agreeable?”

  “Of course,” Thomas said faintly.

  Chapter 14

  In the early morning light, Thomas jogged along the path that ran beside the Keep. It was cold, and his breath puffed out in a cloud of white with each stride. The ground was hard but still free from snow. He continued through the village and into the forests on the slope of the mountain to the north. He and the other squires and guards trained on the path every day. Half way along the mountain path, a series of obstacles had been constructed to make the most of their conditioning runs.

  Thomas bounced over the first low jump made of a log resting on stumps on either side of the path. The ground on the far side of the jump was wet and spongy, but he saw it and jumped far enough that he missed the wet patch.

  Panting with exertion, he continued along the path. He jogged around a tree as the path turned to the right. A chest high “roll-over log” set on high stumps cut from trees on either side of the path blocked his way.

  He slapped it with his right hand and lifted up to land on it with his chest. Pain flared through his body as his hand, clothing and chest were torn by jagged pieces of sharpened metal hammered into the wood.

  He gasped in agony and pushed off of the log. Blood flowed down his chest and from his hand as he landed on his knees and rolled to his back. His left hand grabbed his right as he cradled it against his bleeding chest. The men-at-arms following him on the course put on a burst of speed when they saw him fall to the ground. They pulled their belt knives as they approached and formed a ring around the fallen heir, scanning for any threat.

  The corporal leading the guard detail knelt at his side. “My Lord, are you all right? What happened?”

  Thomas groaned and raised his hands away from his chest. He was dizzy and felt sick to his stomach. He reluctantly looked at his right hand, not wanting to see the damage.

  He stared in amazement. As he watched, the blood flowing from his badly lacerated palm slowed, then stopped, and the cuts began to close. The pain in his chest started to ebb. He lifted his cloak and shirt to see the same thing happening.

  The corporal’s face blanched. The only evidence that remained was his shredded bloody shirt.

  Maybe the magic I’ve been practicing is helping my body to heal. I need to talk to Lady Aeden.

  He rolled to his stomach and pushed himself to his feet. “I’m fine. Somebody sabotaged the roll-over log. Check and see if the other obstacles have been damaged.”

  The men scattered along the training course as Thomas went back to look at the roll-over log. He counted thirty of what looked like the broken tips of swords sticking out of the wood. He slowly moved his hand about five inches above the log, searching for any magical trace of who might have done this. He knew he wasn’t an expert, but he thought he might be able to sense something. He shook his head in frustration. Nothing.

  One of the men shouted that the log walk had been undercut enough to collapse if stepped on. Another reported that the climb rope had been frayed at the very top. If Thomas had climbed it, he could have fallen and broken both legs.

  Shaken, Thomas ordered the men back to the Keep. It was very clear that someone wanted him dead.

  § § §

  Thomas rounded the corner from the stables to the practice field at an easy jog. He headed toward the salle where Lady Aeden was teaching unarmed combat to the squires.

  She ought to be just about done, he thought. I’ve got to tell her what happened this morning.

  He pushed the door open and entered just as Aeden threw Eagan over her shoulder to land with a solid thud on his back in the sand at the center of the room. The boards that normally covered the sandpit were stacked next to the benches on the north side of the room.

  Aeden’s hair was bound back into a tight braid that was held in a roll at the base of her neck. Her linen shirt and trousers were fitted tightly to keep anyone from grabbing loose fabric.

  The other squires snickered and laughed out loud as Eagan groaned in humiliation.

  “Serves you right,” Newlan gloated. “You shouldn’t have tripped me.”

  “Enough for today,” ordered Aeden. “Rake the sand, put the floor boards back and then off to your lessons.” The
boys scurried to their tasks.

  “How may I help you, Lord Thomas?” she asked with a small bow.

  “Lady Aeden. I need to talk to you in private. Where would you suggest?”

  Aeden gave him a sharp look and raised one eyebrow. She glanced at the squires. “Help me return this gear to the equipment room.”

  Thomas helped her gather up the training knives, quarterstaffs and batons that she used for her classes. They carried the gear down the hall past the weapons room to the equipment storage room on the opposite side of the corridor. Shelves held heavy gloves, padded jackets, and helmets. He put his armful of knives and batons on their racks as Aeden did the same with the quarterstaffs.

  “Lady, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but something happened this morning on my training run. Someone tampered with everything on the obstacle course. I cut my hands and chest on the roll-over log. That part is important, but what scared me the most was the healing that followed. Nothing like that has ever happened before. Could it have happened because I’ve been practicing magic?”

  Both of Aeden’s eyebrows rose and her eyes widened. “Show me,” she exclaimed as she reached for his hand.

  Thomas lifted his hand and placed it, palm-up, in hers. She bent to look very closely at his palm. No scars were visible.

  “Anywhere else?” she asked.

  “My chest,” he answered.

  She motioned for him to lift his shirt. No marks remained. She stared at his chest.

  “The only creatures I know who can heal like this are Dragons, and I only know that because it was written down in the records from long ago. There must be some other explanation. Do you know of any magical healers in your ancestors?”

  Thomas shook his head, more than a little afraid of her intensity.

  “After I was hurt, I stayed on the ground. I felt sick and dizzy. Do you have any idea why that happened?”