by LeRoy Clary
The fire smoked and crackled, filling the night air with pungent smells and orange light. Shell enjoyed the new smells of the hills, the dampness of the lakeside, and the echoes of an owl answering itself across the lake.
As soft as the petals on daisies, the mental touch of the wolf returned. A female touch. The wolf was not a male, he felt certain. Nothing specific was communicated except nearness and protectiveness. The mental link wormed into his mind and found a place to dwell, neither comfortable or uncomfortable, but there when Shell thought of it. He went to sleep with the gentle touch of the she-wolf and knowing he would be safe for the night.
When morning came, Quester stood and silently rolled his blanket while averting his eyes. When Shell stood, Quester said, “Have a good night?”
“I slept well if that’s what you’re asking.”
“No,” Quester said. “I was wondering about you fighting in your sleep. I almost woke you, but didn’t know what you’d do to me if I did.”
“Nightmares, I guess.” Shell didn’t remember anything about them, but the mention brought back the memory of the wolf residing in his mind. He allowed his thoughts to travel to where the wolf had been in his head, and she was still there, a soft and warm pillow within a field of brambles.
He thought of the hill across the lake and the dangers they might face today. A response came from the wolf location in his mind, reassuring him the way ahead was clear. A flash of a trail sloping down a long hillside came to mind, an unfamiliar scene with trees so large a man couldn’t wrap his arms around the trunks.
Quester said, “Outcasts, criminals, and highwaymen live at the edge of the grasslands on the other side. They wait where they have a good view and watch for people like us.”
“How can we avoid them if they are here? They can see us from so far away.”
“We stay in the low places, canyons, and gullies, and we keep trees between them and us,” Quester said as if it was the most natural thing to do.
As they started out, Shell continually felt the presence of the wolf in his mind. For the first time, it had direction. The mental signal emanated from directly across the lake. Later, it changed as they moved past the hill. It came from his right, and then from slightly behind.
Later, Shell glanced up at the side of the hill ahead where the wolf lay and watched, and thought he noticed a bush shake in response. While looking up, he stumbled and almost ran into Quester.
Quester turned and said, “Something up there?”
To deflect his attention, Shell said, “No, I was just thinking that climbing that hill might let us see what’s ahead, but it’s too high and steep.”
Without comment, Quester turned and continued. Shell fought to keep his eyes off the hillside but felt safer. After they had passed the location where the wolf hid, the newly found sensory detection told him that it too, was moving, but probably behind the hill to move where she would be out of sight. In time, she stopped again and took up a position ahead and waited for Shell to catch up.
“Hey, Quester, how big are most wolves?”
“Males usually weigh about as much as a woman, females a little smaller.”
“This one is bigger than average, right?”
“I’d say it’s on the large end, but not mystical or a freakish if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Shell hesitated, framing his next question. “Then why did you get so upset at the size of the footprints?”
“Being stalked by an animal that weighs as much as either of us, has forty-two teeth, and jaws that bite through bone without hesitation makes me feel nervous. Just having one lurking nearby scares me because I don’t know why it’s here, or why it follows us. If it was a small wolf, I’d still be upset at its actions.”
They entered an area of taller trees while Shell considered the information. The hills and valleys were green with them; the streams flowed faster and the water clearer than he’d seen at home. He didn’t correct Quester on the idea of it being mystical or a freak, which was an interesting choice of words because they almost explained what Shell believed. How else would you describe a wolf that communicated mentally and offered protection?
Shell said, “We don’t have wolves where we live, at least not many, but from what little I know, they’re usually in packs.”
Quester shrugged. “Not always. Some take off on their own.”
“Hunting in a pack would be more effective.”
“You’re right if the pack is bringing down a large animal. The pack can direct the target to one lying in wait, but a single animal doesn’t need the quantity of meat a whole pack does. Rabbits, squirrels, and other small animals will do fine.”
“For someone asking basic questions about wolves, you sure seem to know a lot.”
The laughter from Shell came quickly and naturally. “I’ve heard tales of wolves my whole life, and I know there are different kinds. I wondered what kind you had where you lived.”
Instead of getting upset, as others might, Quester nodded in agreement. He muttered, “A smart way to gain information about me.”
The slopes of Bear Mountain appeared to be right ahead, but Shell knew it was still a few days away, but he had another decision to make soon, another choice between two things. The regular roads and routes around the mountain lay to the north where most people traveled, but his objective was the southern slopes for two reasons. The first was that he’d asked the family messengers where to find the dragon lair. The second was that the Bear Mountain Family of the Dragon Clan lived to the south of the mountain, close enough to the lair that they could walk there.
While he didn’t know exactly where the Clan lived, that information should get him close, and he knew they would have lookouts watching for strangers. Once close, he only had to expose himself, and when the lookouts intercepted him, he would lift his shirt and identify himself. That had always been his plan.
But now he had Quester with him. By family law, he couldn’t take him along. There were substantial rewards for information about the Dragon Clan offered by the crown. Even though the Earl of Warrington now supported the Clan and offered a measure of protection, the King’s coin held true in any part of the kingdom.
Worse, Shell had been raised on the grasslands, well away from the political intrigue and dangers of those Family members living in close proximity to the general population. He’d heard the stories and tales, but they were like bedtime stories, barely real and often misunderstood by himself. He needed someone like Quester who had lived in a similar situation.
However, if he showed up at the Bear Mountain Dragon Clan encampment with Quester, neither of them might survive. If Shell did manage to live, he would certainly be shunned and driven from the village in shame.
While he thought, his mind told him where the wolf was, always. Now and then he stole a glance and found a flash of brown, or a shrub move, confirming his knowledge that it was where he believed.
Then, near mid-day, as he was thinking of eating a strip of venison and taking a break, he felt an odd sensation. A tickle touched his back as soft as a baby’s cheek.
Instantly, he knew it for what it was. The touch of a dragon. He’d heard of the sensation a hundred times, but never experienced it. For whatever reason, the only dragon he’d ever seen hadn’t affected him in that way. But this touch, tickle, contact, or signal hadn’t existed in his experience.
The image of a dragon on his back had been there since birth, of course, as it was on all Dragon Clan. But until today he had never felt the sensation others spoke of that said a dragon was near. While he might describe it as a tickle, that description might be confused with another sensation it was not. He knew that because the tickle conformed to the dragon on his back.
He’d seen his birthmark reflection in water and polished metal, a hundred times. Even if he had not, he would have recognized the image reflected now on his back, the gaping jaws, the claws, and the outline that started below his neck and went to his waistband.
All that aside, the most striking thing about the tickle is it turned stronger, almost into an itch with a touch of pain. He knew when he raised his eyes to the far mountains a dragon floated lazily on the wind currents. It was too far away to make out details, but the wings flapped slowly, and the dragon peered into the distance to its side, seemingly looking directly at Shell.
His emotions soared, his anticipation of seeing nearby dragons an emerging reality, and he realized he’d been holding his breath. Shell slowly let it escape, then wondered if Quester had noticed anything odd in his actions. That was the danger of traveling with someone not of the family. A simple reaction could give away his secret.
When his eyes fell on Quester, who was still walking ahead, the man’s head was held erect, his neck pink with a flush, his fingers curled as if ready to fight, and his head was raised to the heavens. He was also looking at the barely visible dragon. His left hand reached behind himself and touched his back.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The simple action of reaching behind to touch his back, as a dragon appeared, told Shell all he needed to know, and it answered a hundred questions. Quester was Dragon Clan. No doubt about it. He was trying to hide his secret from Shell, just as Shell hid his.
That’s why he kept moving this way for two years. That’s why he agreed with me to find the dragons. Now that he knew about Quester, how should he proceed? Shell and his entire family believed they lived the farthest away from other families. None of the Dragon Clan messengers ever mentioned traveling farther west to pass on information about Breslau. They had always indicated they would return to their homes after visiting the grasslands. That led Shell to believe they didn’t know about a family further away.
It also said Quester was family, somehow related, and with the same powers. That hinted that there were more Dragon Clan to the east and that direction might be a haven if the Breslau invasion was successful.
That idea brought up other questions, but before Shell could get his thoughts in order, Quester turned and motioned to a small clearing. Lush green grass covered the ground, sprinkled with white clover. A small stream flowed along the near side, and a doe and spike buck grazed on the far side. The view behind would take his breath away at another time.
The hills they’d climbed were spread below where they stood, and beyond a sea of brown as far as he could see. Closer, the colors were shades of green fading to green-brown, and finally to golden brown. His home was out there, somewhere, but he had no way to tell where. The rivers and streams down there were hidden by the rolling landscape.
Quester already knelt at the edge of the stream and scooped clear water into his hand to drink; then he washed his hands and face before turning to Shell. “Out there,” his thumb indicated the grasslands, “I didn’t get to wash often. Here the water is cold and clear, but down there it was warm and usually colored with mud. It tasted of mud and green things, too.”
When Shell didn’t immediately answer, Quester stood and said seriously, “We should talk.”
Shell realized he was about to hear the same speech about why they needed to split up that he had been prepared to give. No hard feelings, but . . . In other circumstances, it might have been funny, but he didn’t want to give Quester the impression that he was laughing at him, however, keeping a grin off his face was impossible.
Shell said, “Let me go, first.”
Quester shook his head and butted forward, “I’m sorry, but we are going to have to go on our separate ways. I can’t explain all the reasons, but I think you’re a good man, and you’ll do well.”
Shell’s small grin turned to a smile. The confused expression on Quester’s face provided a way to have fun and play a joke while revealing himself as Dragon Clan. “You say the water is cold and feels good?”
“Yes, but listen. We have to talk, I said.”
“Sure, but even though that stream is shallow, I think I’ll try to wash up a little.” He was facing Quester and let his staff fall from his fingers. The unused bow was next, followed by the quiver, backpack and finally his shirt.
Quester’s anger showed. Shell wouldn’t listen to him, talking without listening. Quester’s face had reddened as he tried to explain. As he appeared ready to shout, Shell turned his bare back to Quester.
“W-what?”
Shell turned his head, while keeping his back exposed, and gave his innocent expression, the same one he used when he’d used to filch cookies from his mother’s kitchen and pretend he hadn’t.
“You’re Dragon Clan?” Quester shouted.
“I think you’re supposed to show me your mark as a sign of respect after I show you mine,” Shell said, splashing cold water on his chest, and quickly deciding he wouldn’t be getting into the icy water after all. When he turned to see why Quester hadn’t replied, his friend had turned his back to him and held up his shirt to display a fierce dragon on his back.
Quester said in a hoarse voice, “How did you know?”
“When the dragon flew nearby. My back told me a dragon was near, you touched your back with your hand, just like I did. Oh, there were enough other clues, now that I think about it, but I missed them all.”
Sitting in the grass, Quester brought his knees up and placed his head in his hands. He was not crying, but clearly emotional. When he finally looked up, he said, “I was so scared.”
“About what?”
“I’ve been alone for so long, and I thought I was going to have to leave you, my first friend in so long. For over two years I’ve been trying to get to the Bear Mountain I’d heard about. Then I stumbled across you, and you were going there, too.”
Shell smiled, “Didn’t that alert you?”
“It should have, but you’re such a poor hunter and tracker that I assumed you were not Dragon Clan.”
“I use a staff. Didn’t that give you an indication?”
“I’ve never heard of a staff used as a weapon. In fact, I never even heard of one,” Quester said. “Is it significant?”
“Yes. It’s a weapon the king cannot ban because it is a stick. But it’s traditionally Dragon Clan. And I have never heard of Dragon Clan living in the east. All the Families are to the west of us, the Raging Mountain Clan, the Drylands Clan, and the others. I thought I knew about all our Families. I never considered you might be one of us since you came from the east.”
An odd expression had grown on Quester’s face as Shell spoke. He summed his confusion up in two words. “Other families?”
Stunned, Shell tried to organize his thoughts. He burst forth by asking, “The other Families of the Dragon Clan. You’ve never heard of them?”
“No.”
“Breslau?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Shell sat beside Quester and said, “Let’s turn this around. Tell me about your family and all you know about dragons.”
“Everything? Okay, we lived peacefully at the edge of the grasslands that we call the Green Hills. Beyond those are the Blue Mountains, but I’ve never been there. There were about a hundred of us I think when the King’s men attacked and killed nearly everyone.”
“King Ember?”
“No, King Reynard the Younger. I’ve never heard of King Ember.”
“What about other Families to the east? Are there more Dragon Clan?”
“Yes, but I don’t know where. We have to hide and pretend to be regular people.”
Shell began to realize the magnitude of what Quester was telling him. But Shell was only a shepherd. He was not qualified to make decisions or dictate policy to others. Hell, he was barely qualified to select which goat to slaughter and cook. Should Dragon Clan families send people east to live and find others? That might ensure survival if Breslau continued their invasion. Or, should they send messengers and ask for help from the other Dragon Clan families in defeating Breslau?
Dozens of other questions flooded his mind, all questions far beyond what a simple shepherd could answer. B
ut what he did understand was that the young man sitting beside him held important information for his family, and possibly for the survival of them all.
Shell’s first question he needed answered, was also a problem. Should he immediately take Quester to his mother, the council leader of the Grasslands Family? Let her decide what to do? No, he was a small branch of the larger Family, and they lived at the edge of known civilization. Taking Quester to a larger branch that had more communication with the other Families of the Clan made more sense.
Besides, that suited his plan better. And probably those of Quester, too.
Shell said, “I think we’re safe here. Before we go any further, I have to explain some things.”
“You can talk as we walk. You’ve done that for two days, already.”
The laughter came easily. But Shell remained seated as he said, “No, this is too important, and I think you’re going to want to hear it face to face.”
The look Quester wore indicated he didn’t like the answer and intended to argue. Shell didn’t know all he intended to tell, but as his mind churned through the mass of information he decided Quester didn’t know, the mental touch of the wolf a few hundred steps away warned him that he wouldn’t share all. But he needed Quester’s full attention, and Quester needed to know how important it was that they talk.
Shell drew in a breath and just before Quester spoke, he said, “We’re all in danger. An enemy is invading our lands.”
“Your King’s lands,” Quester said. “Do you really care?”
“They have their dragons that kill ours.”
Quester sat erect and clamped his mouth closed. He nodded for Shell to continue.
The words tumbled from him. He told of the messenger network, the interrupted invasion, King Ember’s failed attack on Castle Warrington, and all he remembered of the Dragon Clan. He told Quester of the journeys of Camilla, Dancer, and the others. He repeated all he could of Raymer’s bonding with a dragon, and Anna’s venture to gather Dragon Clan to travel to Breslau.
