by LeRoy Clary
Both the dragon and Stinson came closer. Stinson didn’t seem aware of the dragon until it was much nearer, and then he ducked and covered his head with his forearm as if that would help if the dragon attacked. His eyes were wild and fearful.
“Call it off, Gray. I’ll do what you say.”
Gray ignored Stinson as it swooped lower and lower, expecting it to pull in its wings and dive at Stinson, but it flew directly over them, still dropping lower. It was a smaller red. Most reds on the east side of the mountains roosted near Oasis, so it was familiar. It flew from that direction, so it had probably come from home. Gray turned and watched it until it disappeared behind a nearby hill. It didn’t reappear.
The event was so unusual Gray ran up the side of the hill, dodging cactus and sharp rocks. At the crest of the hill, he pulled to a stop. He instantly knew what he looked at. Tessa and Fleet had described it enough times.
It was the shallow valley with the split in the rocks forming a narrow crevasse. That was where the black dragon with Fleet had landed after the fight with the green. It had healed there, with Tessa and Fleet tending it. He approached as if entering a place of worship.
The blackened fire-ring they used was there. He looked at the sides of the crevasse and found dragon blood stains still on the rock. He imagined the dragons fighting in the air, the two beasts attacking and clawing, and the black dragon landing here and living for days at the spot where he looked. The green had tried to attack it here, but Tessa and Fleet’s arrows drove it off. Then, after eight days the black struggled out of the crevasse and extended its wings. Two days later it managed to fly off.
Today the red dragon had fallen from the sky like a rock was thrown high and returning to the ground. Its wings had been folded to its sides. But, dragons attack prey in that manner, just before reaching the ground extending their wings and beating the air until they pull to a near hover and land as soft as a leaf in the fall touching ground.
He moved closer. The red turned to face him from a dozen steps away. The tongue flicked out while the eyes locked on Gray. It sniffed, then snorted as if not liking what it smelled. But Gray stood still. The dragon instilled a little fear in him, but he respected it.
The dragon turned to look down into the crevasse where the black dragon had convalesced, and it sniffed more, smelling the scent of the black and the blood. It reared back and roared, but Gray couldn’t determine if it was in anger, fear, support, or a challenge.
He held out his hand like he would to greet a strange dog and slowly advanced. The dragon came alert, drew its head away, and emitted a low growl from deep inside. The effect chilled Gray, and he backed off a step. The dragon shifted, balancing itself as if ready to strike, like a snake. Gray backed away faster.
Turning Gray ran back up the slope where Stinson was standing and smirking. Gray never paused. He kept walking right passed Stinson and kept his tears and fears hidden. Later he heard the wings beating overhead as the red flew on ahead, but didn’t look up.
CHAPTER FOUR
Later, Stinson called and waved from the top of a hill well behind, then stumbled face first into the sand. Gray couldn’t leave him to die. He returned to find Stinson exhausted, pale, and his water bottles so empty they were dry inside when Gray ran a finger inside one. Despite what he’d threatened Stinson with the day before, he put one of his own water bottles to his lips and let him sip.
Stinson’s hands grabbed the bottle and tried to tip it higher, attempting to suck it dry, but Gray was ready for that and yanked it away, splashing some on the ground. He preferred to spill it rather than let Stinson have another drop.
“I need water,” Stinson croaked.
“So do I.” Gray backed off a few steps and squatted, just out of reach of Stinson. “What are you doing here?”
“Water.”
Seeing someone he’d known his entire life dying of thirst like those in the triad tore at him. “I have enough for us to reach a stream around mid-morning if we travel a good part of the night while it’s cool. We’ll have to share what I have.”
“I’m too tired for that. And I’m thirsty now.”
Gray drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, as he considered his options. Nobody on the council, or in the entire family at Oasis would blame him if he walked away. But he would have to face himself for the rest of his life. Stinson was disliked, but leaving him to die in the drylands was entirely different from leaving the triad. When he left Stinson before, he’d expected Stinson to return home. Here he would die without water.
“You drank all your water again. In one day you drank what was to last at least two days. Now you want mine. When will you learn your lesson?”
“I knew you would be stingy and save yours.”
There it was. Stinson felt entitled to drink Gray’s water because he couldn’t resist drinking all of his. Another thought came to mind. “What if you had not caught up with me?”
“Well, I did, didn’t I?”
The arrogance and contempt were still there, not even thinly veiled. Then Gray realized that of the two of them, Stinson had consumed the most water in the last two days, and, therefore, he was in better condition than Gray. While he complained about needing water, Stinson drank three bottles while Gray had only one. Gray firmly capped his bottle and stood.
“I’m traveling south and east tonight. I’ll drink no water until after daybreak, and neither will you. If you cannot keep up with me, I may not return to help.” With those words, he strode away. He kept his ears on the sounds of the shuffling feet. He would not be surprised if Stinson tried to attack him from behind and take his water.
Gray tightened his fingers on his staff, ready to fight for the remaining water. If Stinson made the move, Gray decided to kill him. One solid strike on the head and then leave him. He almost wished it would happen, when he considered the future if they made it to the stream and on to Fleming. Stinson would surely cause more problems, perhaps one of them fatal. It was not the first time he’d had that thought.
However, as the sun peeked over the rim of the desert, flooding it in reds and oranges, Gray turned and found Stinson still back there, shuffling along as if he was asleep on his feet. He wore a determined expression. He also wore a sly smile that belonged on the face of a highwayman, and he seemed to be walking better than Gray.
He’s stronger than me. Gray turned his face to the sun and kept listening for the footsteps to draw closer. When they didn’t, he slowed at the top of a ridge and looked ahead. The lay of the land was rougher, with more small hills.
He knew this place, too. Long before mid-morning they would reach the stream Tessa described. Beyond that was the road that would carry them into Fleming. When Stinson arrived at his side, he wordlessly handed him a full bottle of water, leaving the remaining one to himself. Gray drank deep, too, almost half the bottle. He kept his eyes on Stinson, who said nothing.
“You don’t have to thank me,” Gray snarled, angry at himself for speaking first.
“Thank you for what? For giving me the water you promised?” Stinson tipped his bottle again and drained it.
Gray turned and continued his trek. The stream came upon him suddenly. It cut through the volcanic rock in a twisting, winding manner, deep enough to soak his sore and tired feet. First, he filled the two remaining water bottles. He laid down and allowed his face to fall into the water as he scooped one handful after another into his mouth.
Sated, he moved to the shade of a stand of short willows and sat. A handful of nuts and dried berries kept him from thinking about food as he waited. Eventually, Stinson stumbled over the bank and headed for the water.
Gray intercepted him first. His staff was held ready to fight. “No, we talk first.”
Stinson had taken one more step before the staff struck the side of his knee. Wailing in pain, Stinson was on the ground.
This time, Gray sat on a boulder near the water and waited. Stinson continued to howl, but when he saw it was not doing any
good, he began to crawl to the water. Gray stood and slammed the staff down on the ground a finger’s length from the end of Stinson’s hand. “The next time it will be your hand.”
“What’re you doing?”
“I said we talk.”
“Okay, what do you want to talk about? You’ve already refused to help me. Then you hit me with your staff when I wasn’t looking, and if you think the whole family isn’t going to hear about it, you’re crazy.”
“We’re about to come to an agreement before you reach that water.” Gray didn’t raise his voice, and as he talked he moved closer, the staff held ready to strike.
Stinson held an arm up in self-defense. “What do you want me to do?”
The question came as a surprise, not because he asked it, but because Gray didn’t have an answer. He wanted cooperation. He wanted Stinson to stop thinking only of himself. But there was more. He wanted Stinson to help complete the mission. Most of all he wanted to trust him. “Help me. Stop fighting everything I do and don’t give me a reason to kill you.”
“You’re going to kill me?”
Gray’s temper flashed again, but he fought to remain calm, at least on the outside. “I’m giving you a choice.”
“Water. I need it.”
When Stinson didn’t promise to cooperate, Gray spun and walked in the direction of the road without looking back. The restful interlude beside the stream, and the water he’d filled up on provided him with a burst of energy. He increased his pace.
He felt the familiar touch of the red dragon on his back again. It was neither friendly nor angry. It was the same touch as he’d felt for most of his life in Oasis. It said that a dragon was nearby. The roost for the reds was always in range of his perception, as well as that of most of his family. All assumed that if they could sense the dragons—the dragons could sense them. But that didn’t make them friends, or candidates for bonding.
Why the red followed him on, his mission was unknown. Yet there were stories that went back generations. Dragons seemed to sense when Dragon Clan members needed help or faced danger. But when he’d tried to approach the dragon when it was on the ground earlier, it obviously didn’t want him to come closer.
While deep in thought, he managed to put more distance behind himself. The road to Fleming curved in his direction, and he turned slightly to meet it. There was a single wagon pulled by a mule that looked old enough to have retired to pasture years ago. The driver looked even older. The wagon passed slowly in the wrong direction without either the man or mule glancing at him.
Gray turned and looked behind once. He didn’t see Stinson and felt both relief and regret. He’d have to explain when he returned, and there were those who would blame him, especially Stinson’s parents and older sister. He doubted many others would care. Some would be glad to be rid of Stenson. It was a task Gray had begun to suspect was a secondary objective of sending the two together.
Dust filled the dry air. A new scent hinted of salt. He walked down the road and started humming an old song, intent on his thoughts, and the problems created by Stinson. Leaving him again created a sense of freedom he’d never experienced. The feelings softened the harsh conditions of the landscape. His eyes barely saw the scrubby plants, the brush, cactus, and other desert plants on the sides of the road.
He concentrated so much on his task that his ears heard little until footsteps crunched the gravel of the road. Gray spun to confront Stinson again.
It was not Stinson. It was a tall, thin, young man dressed in colorful green from head to foot. A stranger with a quick smile and scraggly beard. “Hey, I know the words to that song.”
“Who are you?”
“Don’t stop humming, I said I know the words and believe I have a fair voice to join with yours.”
The man moved up to his side, a smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eye. He was unknown to Gray. He must have come up the road from behind and walked faster, and without noise. But the road had been empty of travelers a short while ago. Where had he come from if not the road? Gray continued walking, but without resuming his humming.
The man began singing anyhow. His voice was semi-pleasant and loud. Gray eventually found himself humming along and then joining in when the chorus came around. Their voices didn’t blend. In fact, they struck an odd, disjointed cord that was almost painful to Gray’s ear, but both sang on anyway, laughing together.
At the end of the song, the stranger stuck out his hand. “Hi, I’m Prater, the oldest son of a cabbage farmer extraordinaire.”
“Does that mean you also grow cabbages?” Gray asked.
“Would you believe I sing for my livelihood?”
When Gray laughed aloud, so did the other. If he sang for a living, he was poor. Then Gray realized he didn’t know how to introduce himself. He hadn’t discussed it. The trip was planned only two days earlier. He had not yet made up a story.
“Gray,” he managed to introduce himself, still puzzled as to what he should say about his background and decided, to say little.
“And why might you be traveling to Fleming, my new friend?”
“I have family business there. Nothing really just messages for a few relatives.”
“I also travel on family business. I think at least five of the true gods are determined we travel together, and we wouldn’t want to offend them, right?”
Gray found the answer funny, and the pleasant attitude refreshing after Stinson. “To Fleming.”
“Together. Tell me, will you remain in Fleming for long?”
Gray shrugged, keeping his answer intentionally vague without appearing to hide anything. “A few days. Perhaps longer.”
Prater said, “I will remain only two days, but perhaps we can share a meal or two.”
The invitation couldn’t be resisted, and neither could the infectious, good-natured kidding that followed. Gray remembered Stinson’s mean humor and pulled himself back to reality. The feelings depressed him in a flood of sadness.
The revelation of inner feelings scared him. Had he become so callous and cold that he lost all feeling of losing a member of his extended family? Quickly he searched inside of himself and found that if others in his family died, he would feel more than sad. His new sense of detachment extended only to Stinson.
When he returned to the road, feeling much better, Prater was sitting, chewing on a strand of grass, a smile still on his face. Prater asked, “People new to this land often have problems with their stomachs. If that’s the case, I may know a cure. Wine and ale. Do not drink water in new places where you travel.”
“No, not that at all. To be honest, I just needed a few minutes to think about one of my family and what to do about him.”
Prater stood and shrugged, then added a warm, welcoming smile instead of one containing humor. “We all have a few of those in our families. I notice you carry a staff.”
“And you a sword.”
“Only to protect me. And of course, to warn away any who might wish to harm me. Does your stick do the same?”
“My staff is respected by those who fight. Making light of it shows ignorance.” Gray lifted his chin a little at the statement, feeling proud he’d spoken up.
Prater laughed as he whipped his sword from the scabbard and spun to face Gray, the sword intended to be lifted high above his head. However, as his sword was raised, it flew from his hand at the slap of the staff, as Gray swung a short, reflexive, defensive parry. The sword spun in the air, sunlight flashing off the blade before it struck the ground.
Gray’s move had been a reaction to the attack; a maneuver practiced a thousand times as a child. When Prater started to dart after the sword, he found his shins tangled at the end of the staff as he fell. Again, a reflexive move Tessa had admonished him about not practicing, but his body remembered. He knelt and helped Prater to his feet while apologizing over and over.
Instead of being upset, Prater said, “I didn’t see that first move coming. Nor the second.”
; “That’s what makes a staff so dangerous. The attacks come from either end or the center, instead of just the point of a sword. As one end of the staff that you watch raises to strike you from above, the other is at your knee—and you seldom see it coming. If you do, the upper end strikes your head.”
Prater picked up his sword and examined it for damage. Wiping off the sword before returning it to the scabbard, Prater said, “But mine has a sharp blade.”
“Perhaps two ends to strike you with are worth more than one sharp blade.”
“Maybe I should invent a short staff with a blade at each end.”
Gray nodded as if he agreed. “Then all you would need is twenty years to learn how to properly use it.”
“Which you have?”
“More, although I admit that I’ve been lax about training for quite some time.” Gray realized he’d said too much with his teasing and bragging. Without meaning to, he’d told Prater he came from a warrior family, if not from the Dragon Clan. He said quickly, “My father insisted I learn. There are highwaymen and worse near my home.”
“And of course, the king only allows certain people of birth to use swords.”
“Which makes me ask, how is it you wear one? I do not see a lot of cabbage farmers wearing swords.”
“Ah, you misunderstand me. My father raises them by the thousands. I am not the eldest son so had to find other employment. I served the king in his army for a time, and then joined a guild that offers protection to the wealthy.”
“So you guard people?”
“I used to. Now I work for myself.”
Gray walked on without speaking until he managed another careful glance at Prater’s face. He was, at least, ten years older than he’d first thought. Prater also admitted to being a trained fighter with the king’s army, and he had worked as a personal guard, yet Gray, who had not practiced with his staff diligently for years, had easily defeated him. Or had he only demonstrated his abilities to a stranger looking for Dragon Clan?
Prater had asked several direct questions about the staff, but in his profession, he should have already known the answers. Gray realized his new friend was milking him for information while providing little of his own. Prater may not know a cabbage from a staff.
