The Dragon Caller

by Pauline M. Ross

“Look…” He paused, took another breath. This was so much harder than he’d expected. “There will be five men and you, and no concessions made. You’ll be eating with us, sleeping with us, shitting behind the same bushes. It’ll be tough, and we don’t know what we might meet. I’d be happier if you stayed with the ship.”

  “You don’t trust me, is that it? You think I’ll hold you up, be a burden or something. I’m the fragile female who needs looking after.” But her voice was sad, not angry.

  “Nothing like that. I wondered if you had a particular reason for leaving the ship. Because, if so, there might be other ways to deal with it that don’t expose you to so much danger. The ship is safer for you. Plenty of other women around.”

  Her brows drew together. “Oh, now I’m to be tucked away with the women, am I?”

  “No, no.” He rubbed a hand across his eyes. “I’m making a mess of this, aren’t I?”

  She laughed suddenly, and the switch of mood caught him unprepared. “I’ll be fine, so stop worrying,” she said teasingly. “I’m not some delicate flower to be protected from the slightest puff of wind. Icontrol the wind, Garrett.”

  She raised one hand, and a gale whisked around his head, tearing his hair this way and that, half-blinding him. As abruptly as it began, it ended, and there she was, head tipped to one side, smiling at him in that stomach-churning way of hers. Gods, but if only he weren’t soold.

  “See?” she said gleefully. “I can take care of myself. And, more to the point, my services are better employed with you and Ruell than here on the ship.”

  “And you’re not just… avoiding something? Or someone?”

  “Of course not! What a silly idea,” she said, but she had to force herself to look him in the eye as she spoke.

  “Fine. Six of us it is, then,” he said, jumping to his feet again and turning to the door.

  “Leaving already?” Was it his imagination or did he detect genuine disappointment in her tone? She scrambled off the bed and crossed the short distance to the door, laying one white hand on his gnarled one as he held the latch. “Stay a while. We have a couple of hours yet.”

  She looked up at him with pleading eyes, those big hazel eyes that so distracted him, framed in soft brown curls. He’d have said she wasn’t really his type, yet she drew him inexorably, mesmerising him with her mobile lips, talking, always talking, and her smooth, soft skin. So smooth and unblemished, unmarked by time. Soyoung. And the tiny part of his mind that was still rational whispered: why? Why would someone as young and lovely as Elestra be interested in him? It was impossible, and therefore she had some purpose in mind, some scheme to draw him in. He’d got himself into all sorts of trouble before because of scheming women. Tella, in particular, had led him a merry dance. But he was older and wiser now, surely? Certainly older, and too old to fall for the devices of a woman, no matter how beautiful.

  “Thank you, but it’s best if I don’t.”

  She looked at him, her mind clearly working, and again he was conscious that she was trying to draw him in. To seduce him, and only a few years ago he’d have fallen into her arms without a second thought. But with an awkward journey ahead of them, the last thing he needed was a romantic complication. Or so he told himself. Yes, he was just being practical.

  “Best for you? Or do you imagine it’s best for me?”

  “Best for all of us.” Gods, it was getting difficult to keep his voice from breaking. Such eyes she had, and that smooth skin… No, that line of thought would drive him mad.

  “Come on, Garrett, have some fun for once. You deserve it.”

  She was practically leaning against him, so close he could feel the sweet warmth of her breath, and the tang of her skin. Frustration caught him by the throat. “Gods, Elestra, I’m too old for this.”

  “That’s for me to decide, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t mean too old for you, though I am, it’s true. I mean too old to be playing this game of dancing round each other. Too old to wonder if it’s just fun you want, or fun and something more, or is thislove we’re talking about, somewhere in the future? And I’m way, way too old to give myself, body and heart and soul, to a woman who might one day cut the heart and soul out of me and disappear for ever, leaving behind a hollow shell of a man. I’ve done that once, and I won’t risk it again.”

  She looked at him solemnly, big eyes thoughtful, and he couldn’t tell what was in her mind. After a long silence, she said, “I thought you were a gambler, Garrett.”

  “I was once, when it was only me to consider. Now I’ve got a son to protect. It makes all the difference.”

  “Then give me a goodnight kiss and you can go.”

  There was just enough imperiousness in her voice to get his back up. He’d not thought much about it before, since she was there to do a specific job and her background wasn’t important, but now he recalled the many elaborate boxes of possessions and the expensive clothes she wore. Her step-mother held an important position, too. A spoilt little rich girl, too used to having her own way, that was all Elestra was. But he was aware of a thread of disappointment, too. He hadn’t realised until that moment just how much he’d wanted her to be different, to rise above her wealthy background and see him as her equal, in spirit if not in wealth.

  “No,” he said quietly, willing her to accept it.

  But she was not prepared to be refused, lunging forward to press her lips to his.

  He was ready for her, turning his head away so that she caught only his rough cheek. Before she could correct her mistake, he caught hold of her wrists and pushed her firmly away from him, so that she sat abruptly on the edge of the bed.

  “I said no, Elestra. Don’t try this again.”

  Moving quickly before she had time to recover her wits, he was out of the door and in the corridor, striding back to the bunk room, no longer bothering to be quiet. And then he lay curled up in the dark, trying unsuccessfully to steer his mind away from a pair of entrancing hazel eyes, until it was time to leave.

  23: The Golden Coast (Garrett)

  The Golden Coast was no more than a narrow strip of fertile land, with dense forest behind it, and beyond that the secret hills of Thar-briana. The main road ran along the sea’s edge, dipping into coves and over headlands, skirting wide, sandy bays and passing through tiny fishing villages and sprawling ports with watchful towers. The secondary road led through the quiet forest, much used by wagons avoiding the higher taxes of the coast and perfect for a group wanting to keep out of sight of the Tre’annatha authorities.

  Progress was painfully slow, however. The boat had dropped them safely at a small cove with only a few small cottages to notice their arrival, but they’d then had to walk twenty marks to reach an inn of any sort, and that had only one horse available to buy. Gryke, one of Mikah’s henchmen, had been sent off to the nearest town to buy more.

  Mikah had argued about it, of course. “That’sreally keeping our heads down, isn’t it, marching into a Tre’annatha-held town and buying five horses. We might as well shout it from the skies – here we are! Come and find us!”

  “What would you suggest?” Garrett said, trying to control his temper and not entirely succeeding. “Walking from inn to inn, buying one horse here and one there? It could take us a quarter moon or more. People buy and sell horses all the time at these ports. No one’s going to think twice about it.”

  And then it had rained, and not a sudden downpour followed by warming sunshine, but a steady, energy-sapping drizzle that went on for hour after hour, and drove Garrett half mad. He was sodden from the skin outwards, and there was no possibility of a fire to dry out. The first night they’d camped under trees which had dripped on them incessantly, and apart from Gryke, who’d snored imperviously for hours, none of them got any sleep.

  “We’ll stay at an inn tonight,” Mikah said, blowing on his hands the next morning. “Gods, but if this is the sort of summer they have here, they can keep it.”

  “We can’t stay at an
inn,” Garrett said, stamping his feet, his breath steaming. “We’re trying to keep out of sight, if you haven’t forgotten.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt us to have a hot meal and a dry bed,” Mikah said. “A quiet roadside inn – where’s the harm in that?”

  “The harm is in the tap room, and the eyes that might recall our number and accents when they get to the next town. Or maybe the girl who brings your ale is a spy. Safer in the trees, with only the owls to see us.”

  “Well, I’m in charge of this journey and—”

  “No, you’renot,” Garrett said, exasperated. “You’re the hired muscle, and don’t you forget it. If we make reasonable progress, we should be in Drakk’alona in two or three days. It’s not much of a trial to be wet for such a short time, is it?”

  Mikah’s mouth settled in a thin line of disapproval, but he said no more, contenting himself with glaring at Garrett and sulking for the rest of the day, reserving his charm for Elestra. Garrett hadn’t missed the way Mikah manoeuvred to ride alongside her, regaling her with tales of his exploits as guard captain so as to display his manly prowess to best advantage. She never seemed to say much in reply, though, all her lively chatter washed away in the rain. She didn’t complain, and Garrett was deeply grateful for that, but her lack of spirit was heart-rending. Ruell, too, was silent, bundled up in his wet cloak, head lowered.

  The morning dragged on in the same mud-bespattered way as the day before, and after it the long, tedious afternoon, walking the horses because two of them had lost shoes. “Well, what did you expect?” Gryke had said cheerfully. “I know less than nothing about horses. Should have gone yourself.” Mikah’s continuous rumble of complaint was almost worse than the ever-present rain.

  So when, as dusk wrapped itself around them, lights appeared further down the road, accompanied by smoking chimneys and the enticing smell of roasted meat, and Mikah said in determined tones, “Right, I’m for the inn. Anyone else?”, Garrett made no protest.

  “Ruell and I will camp here,” he said, “but the rest of you go, if you want. Get these horses properly shod, if there’s a smith in the neighbourhood. We’ll leave again at first light.”

  “We should all go,” Mikah said.

  “And if they’re already looking for five men and one woman, there we’ll be,” Garrett said tiredly.

  “But—”

  “Stop arguing! By the Nine, Mikah, I never knew such a contrary man. Do what you want, and I’ll do what I want, and at least I’ll have a night of peace for a change. Just go!”

  “Ruell?” Mikah said.

  Garrett held his breath. If Ruell chose to make an issue of it and decided he wanted a comfortable night, he’d have no choice but to go to the inn too, and that was just the sort of public appearance he was trying to avoid. Not for the first time, he wished they’d stayed on the ship, where Ruell could at least keep out of sight below deck. Here, he was visible to every passing wagoner or farmer, and an inn was full of eyes, as he knew only too well, having spent a good part of his life being just such eyes.

  Ruell shrugged. “I’ll stay with Garrett. But bring some fresh bread for us tomorrow.”

  “Elestra?” Mikah said.

  “I’ll come with you to the inn. A hot bath would be wonderful.”

  Mikah smirked and shot a look of triumph at Garrett, and then the four of them moved off down the road with more spirit than they’d shown all day. He didn’t mind, glad to be free of them for a while.

  Garrett turned off the road, following a deer trail beside a small stream until he came to a clearing. “This tree here looks like it will keep us the driest. And that one over there will do for the horses.”

  Ruell nodded, wordlessly dismounted and began settling the horses, while Garrett wrestled with the waxed sheeting they were using in place of tents and tried to find food dry enough and palatable enough to eat. The image of bowls of steaming hot stew arose unbidden in his mind, alongside tankards of ale and aromatic fresh bread, soft because it was newly baked, and not just because the rain had got into it. And a tub of hot water to soak in – sensible Elestra, making the most of the chance to get out of those wet clothes and soak away her exhaustion. And that gave him a different, more pleasant, image to savour. Except that he wasn’t with her, and Mikah was. At least she would be safe, he told himself, and then wondered why he was so protective of her. She’d chosen to come with them, and she could protect herself well enough if she needed to.

  Annoyed, he threw down the bag of dried meat he’d been rummaging in. “There’s nothing decent to eat, nothing dry enough to wrap up in tonight, and no fire to warm us,” he said in disgust. “Do you want to admit defeat and go to the inn after all? I might even be able to take Mikah’s smugness if it gets me a hot meal.”

  Ruell smiled and shook his head. “You must have had a good reason for keeping clear of the inns, and that’s enough for me. Look, we’ve got spark stones and tinder. Let’s collect some wood and see if we can’t get a fire going, at least. There’s drier stuff under the trees that might burn well enough, and we’re far enough off the road that it won’t be noticed.”

  “You’re an optimist, and no mistake,” Garrett muttered, but he went willingly to gather fallen wood, using his axe to chop it into smaller chunks.

  “That should be enough,” he said, when they’d gathered a sizable pile.

  “One more armful should do it,” Ruell said. “I’ll see if I can get a flame going.”

  “It’s almost too dark for collecting, now.”

  “Just one more load.” Ruell grinned at him, and began to arrange the tinder ready for lighting.

  Sighing, Garrett stomped off in a different direction, not happy to be blundering about in the dark, but pleased by the shift in Ruell’s mood. He’d been so down since he’d last sent his dragons away that it was a relief to see him enthusiastic again, even if it was about something as trivial as fire-lighting.

  Garrett didn’t linger too long. His wilderness skills were considerable, but they hadn’t been tested in recent years. The prospect of wandering away and not being able to find his way back to Ruell was very real in his mind, and not one he liked to risk. As soon as he’d collected a few substantial pieces, he turned and headed back.

  He stopped in astonishment. There in the distance, but clearly visible through the trees, was a bonfire burning merrily.

  When he got back to the clearing, Ruell grinned in triumph. “See?”

  “That was quick,” Garrett said. “The tinder must have stayed dry, by some miracle.”

  Ruell just grinned again, carefully adding pieces of wood to the fire one by one.

  There was nothing like the dancing flames of a fire for improving the mood. Garrett had never minded living rough, and with enough time to catch rodents and find herbs and vegetables, and the equipment to cook them properly, it could be a very pleasant way to travel. He still regretted the inn’s fresh bread and ale, but being warm went a long way to raising his spirits.

  Ruell ate, and then sprawled out near the fire, fast asleep in moments. Garrett picked at the unappetising food, and settled down with his sword to hand to keep watch. His eyelids drooped, and he took to walking about to keep himself awake. Sit for a few minutes, then walk three times round the campfire, then sit again.

  He was sitting when he heard the crack of a twig breaking, somewhere near the road. He was on his feet instantly, sword drawn, ready. But the moon was well up by then and no one could approach unseen. He saw the figure moving from far away, glimpses through the bushes at first, and then the whole of her, wrapped in her familiar brown wrap. So nondescript from a distance, but he knew the quality of the fabric and the delicate stitchery that trimmed it, knew the face that would emerge from the concealing hood. His heart jumped like a frog.

  He sheathed his sword and waited for her.

  “You got a fire going, then,” she said, slipping the hood back and smiling at him, her face softened by loose tendrils of hair.

  H
e pointed to the sleeping Ruell, and drew her across the clearing and behind an ancient pillar tree with a massive trunk. It felt private there, although he wasn’t sure he trusted himself to be alone with her. What if she made a move on him again? Would he have the strength to resist her a second time? But he didn’t want to wake Ruell, and he was intensely curious to know what had brought her out here from the inn.

  “It’s very late to be out. Does Mikah know you’re here?” he said.

  Her eyebrows snapped together in annoyance. “He doesn’town me! I can come and go as I please.”

  “Of course you can, but if he finds you gone, he’ll raise an uproar trying to find you, which is exactly what wedon’t want.”

  “I thought you’d be pleased to see me,” she said petulantly.

  “I’m always pleased to see you, Elestra, but this isn’t an afternoon stroll in your father’s garden, you know. It’s not a game we’re playing here – there are lives at stake, we’re being harassed by the Tre’annatha to make Ruell a slave, and let’s not forget the dragons. Let’s never forget the dragons. We have to be very, very careful.”

  To his surprise, her face crumpled and she hung her head. “You know nothing of my father, or me, for that matter. You think I’m some aristocratic fool, just amusing myself while I look about me for suitable husband, but you know nothing! No one would marry me, not anyone with any position in society. I’m an outcast, Garrett. No one wants me.”

  He was taken aback. She was usually so light-hearted and robust in her views, the last thing he’d expected was an emotional outburst. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because it’s the truth! Haven’t you realised what I am?”

  Now he was definitely floundering. “What you are?”

  “I’m an abomination, an obscenity, a mutant. I’m a half-breed, Garrett, neither one thing nor the other. I should be dead, by rights, because both sides find me disgusting. It’s only respect for my father that keeps me alive.”

  He stared at her, not understanding, struggling to work it out. But when he looked into those hazel eyes, the face surrounded by softly curling hair, he saw it. “The eyes are the wrong shape,” he said softly, reaching one hand to trace the outline of them. “And your skin isn’t quite the same shade, but the hair and the colour of your eyes are all Tre’annatha.”