Dragon Clan #3: Fleet's Story

by LeRoy Clary

  At the first animal track that turned South, Fleet turned. It was small, twisting, and overgrown. The travel was slow as he went up one small hill and down another. At mid-morning he found a narrow footpath leading south. It was almost wide enough for two abreast, and in the soft mud at a seep, there were dozens of prints from people of every size.

  If he turned and followed it the other way, he had no doubt he’d find himself at the castle. And ahead, he expected to find farms. The people on those farms traveled to the market at the castle to sell their crops and buy what they needed. More than a little bartering was done. He was not surprised when he spotted a woman and girl about ten walking in his direction. They might be a good source of local information.

  They had been ahead of him on the path, beyond where the trail made a wide turn. The woman and girl were out of his sight until the next turn, but as he rounded it, the path ahead was empty. Fleet calculated the time each should have traveled, and his eyes lowered to the study the footprints on the road. A scuff indicated where they had slipped off the path to avoid him.

  He refused to look to the side of the road for fear of scaring them. However, their actions were normal. Strangers are avoided whenever possible, especially men.

  Fleet paused later, and enjoyed sipping the water from the single jug he carried that he’d filled. As the water became scarce, he intended to fill all six, but saw no reason to carry them all filled until needed. The pines, cedar, and spruce gave way to more trees with leaves. The path didn’t rise and fall over small hillocks anymore, but a larger hill rose ahead, almost a small mountain.

  The path didn’t climb to the top as in other hills he’d crossed. It climbed for a while then skirted along the side, rising with each step, but the hill itself was too steep to climb without effort. Near halfway up someone had sawed a section of a tree and split it lengthwise. Both halves were sitting on stumps, providing two benches facing each other.

  He fell onto the nearest to catch his breath. Fleet, he muttered again. Then, rested somewhat, he stood and tiredly walked some more. At the crest, he found another bench, this one with a view of a wide, sloping valley on the other side of the hill. He sat again, this time, to study what lay ahead as much as to rest.

  At least twenty farms were in view, and more might lay off to his right where he couldn’t see well because of trees. Most were a farmhouse and barn, surrounded by pastures and planted fields. A small river flowed down the center, but, at least, three streams fed it, and there were farms situated along them, too.

  Smoke drifted from a few chimneys, cows grazed, and crops grew under the watchful eyes of farmers whose tasks never ended. Children’s laughter and squeals of delight drifted to him. In many ways, it reminded him of his home.

  He picked out a road that was probably at the end of the path he followed and let his eyes travel to the far side of the valley where the rise of the hills looked far shorter than where he sat. He estimated that it would be near dark before he reached there.

  “If you’re going to cross the whole valley today don’t waste any time sitting around and enjoying the view, son.”

  Fleet whirled around, his staff coming into the first defense position without thinking. “Who’re you?”

  A thin man with wide shoulders stepped into full view. He carried a bow over his shoulder, and his arrows were in the Quiver hanging at his side. He was old enough to have sons Fleet’s age, but moved with the grace of a man much younger.

  The man smiled. “Seen any sign of deer?”

  Fleet allowed his staff to lower, and he slowed his breathing. “A few, not many.”

  “Name’s Orin. Haven’t seen a traveler come this way for probably two years.”

  There was a question buried in the statement that would be rude to ignore. “My uncle needs help. Broke a leg. I’m called Fleet, but from the slow walk up that hill, I don’t know why they call me that.”

  “Not many farmers over that way,” he indicated the far side of the valley with his chin. “Gets dry pretty fast so crops can’t mature.”

  “I know the way. I was there a few years ago.”

  “Well, okay then. I have a deer to find. Good day to you, son.”

  “And to you,” Fleet replied, knowing that the meeting had not been entirely accidental. The man, Orin, had been deer hunting, but when he saw Fleet, he came to investigate. He may have been following him for some time. Deer seldom live on the tops of mountains.

  Still, Orin had supplied useful information. Before leaving the valley, Fleet would fill all his water jugs. For now, he would also take the man’s advice and increase his pace to the far side. He didn’t need to sleep in a farmer’s field and be woken by a pitchfork or angry dog in the middle of the night.

  Three times he paused long enough to speak briefly to farmers who were near the road. It was being neighborly, and would have appeared odd if he had passed by without a word. At one farm a woman was picking early apples from trees in the front of her house.

  She waved and held up an apple. “Want some?”

  He climbed the fence and met her half way. She had an apron filled with eight large apples. She wouldn’t accept payment, other than his thanks. Soon he was walking down the road, singing a lewd song he’d heard late one night, and anticipating where he’d plant the seeds.

  Eat one plant two, said the old saying in the Dragon Clan. His thinking turned to family, and the first time his father had taken him into the forest where they hunted and planted, at least, ten apple trees in various locations. His father explained that apple trees do not like to get their feet wet, meaning they do not grow well in mud. They do like water, though.

  But apples can be a lifesaver when you’re hungry, and the Dragon Clan had planted the trees for generations. Some apples ripen in early summer. Others later. And some in the fall. A few varieties store all winter, and all can be dried. For most of the year, there is free food hanging from trees when you find one. Since that first trip with his father, he had planted hundreds, if not thousands of apple seeds. Not all grow into trees, but he knew of at least three that he planted and years later went back and ate from those trees. There were others, he was sure.

  His inward thinking continued. There were those trees planted by every other member of the Dragon Clan over the generations. Forests were filled with apple trees if you looked for them. With each thought, his feet gained more ground, and when he finished musing on the past, the road crossed the river with a crude bridge.

  He went down the bank and filled all the jugs, and then filled himself. Crossing the bridge, he decided, was like a dividing line. The ground began to rise, grow rockier, and the farms were fewer, and the sun felt hotter, which was probably his imagination.

  The road on the other side of the bridge was much narrower and less. Besides climbing a long hill, there were holes in the road, as well as numerous washouts. Ahead stood one decrepit farmhouse and an old barn. He had to look twice to determine that it was still occupied.

  The few trees grew smaller and sturdier. The dirt felt harder. He saw no more running water. The jugs didn’t feel so heavy when he considered that less weight meant less water. The other side of the hill fell away down a long slope, and beyond was flat. And dry. The drylands.

  He paused and took in the lay of the land again. Off to his right looked more rugged, and a small rutted valley separated the land, a touch of green down the center. At the bottom of the valley might be water. He could conserve the jugs he carried, if it was true. The sides of the valley would hide a fire.

  While the land appeared empty, he knew that it was often not. Besides, the usual game was often men hiding from others. Good men normally didn’t have to hide. He’d heard tales of them his whole life and ahead was perfect for them. They could hide, but remain close enough to trade for food with the local farmers.

  Fleet jockeyed all he carried so his staff was at the ready. As soon as practical he left the diminishing path and headed out on his own, one eye on t
he distance ahead, the other on the ground in front of him, but remembering the incident with Dakar near Bear Mountain, he also kept an eye watching behind.

  It was perfect country for snakes. He let his staff swing to and fro in front of him as he walked, hoping to draw any attract at the staff, or scare them off.

  The touch of the dragon while traveling with Camilla had confirmed his belief that he could feel them at a greater distance. In the barren land ahead of him was a family of the Dragon Clan that was little more than a rumor. They hid from normals as all clans did. If he could locate them easily, the king’s men could too.

  However, if he could entice a dragon to fly over, they would know he belonged. If, that was a lot of words. While not relaxing his attention at all, he reached out with his mind, seeking the mental touch.

  It was not there.

  His second plan was to boldly walk in plain sight and hope they have watchers, as all families he’d heard of doing. They may try to scare him away, as his family often did to innocent people who wandered too close to their village. If they made any contact at all, he would display his birthmark, and he would be received as a prince. But first, he had to find them.

  Or allow them to find him. But the best way seemed to be the dragon that answered his calls. If he could go into the desert and call the dragon, they might see it. He walked and watched and waited for the touch that didn’t come.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  As hoped, Fleet found a small stream flowing at the bottom of the canyon. Less than a canyon, it was a split in the flat ground that he managed to climb to the bottom in a short time. The sun hadn’t set, and he gathered a large pile of dry wood, most of it less than the diameter of his thumb and it would burn quickly. The entire pile came to his waist, but he doubted it would last the night.

  It would get cold. He kept gathering sticks and whatever else he found, lost in his solitude and loneliness. If nothing else, Camilla could have offered suggestions on how to contact the family and he should have asked her.

  Bending to gather a handful of sticks, a shadow moved. He jerked his head up and found three men standing where his pile of branches, backpack, and staff lay. In an instant, he realized they were trouble.

  One stood slightly apart, cleaning his fingernails with a rust-free knife that was all too impressive in contrast to the filthy rags he wore. The other two were dressed no better. All wore smiles, but the smiles didn’t reach their eyes.

  Fleet felt his heart beating faster. He drew a deep breath and forced a false smile of his own. “Good evening. I’m called Fleet.”

  The one cleaning his nails said, “I suppose that means you’re going to be ‘fleet’ and run away leaving us with all your belongings.”

  The other two laughed like idiots.

  Fleet glanced at his pack containing his food, and his water jugs beside. His blanket was rolled, and the idea flashed through his mind that he didn’t have time for worthless dregs like those facing him. He was on an important mission. His anger began to grow, but he held it in check.

  “I’m not going anywhere without my belongings.” His voice had not cracked, and to Fleet’s ears, he sounded calm and not afraid. Afraid. No, he was not afraid, he found. He was angry. Angry at allowing himself to be cornered by the likes of the three in front of him. He needed to prevent them from stealing his things to accomplish his mission.

  Other than the single knife, he saw no weapons. Without looking down, the bed of the stream held round rocks as large as his fist. They were weapons if used right. The item that kept his attention was that if he could reach his staff, he would defeat the three men easily.

  “I wouldn’t try it,” one warned, a second knife that had been held behind his leg appeared as he watched Fleet’s eyes.

  The third held up a larger, but rusty knife. His smile was almost sad. “We’ve been watching you all day.”

  “I haven’t been here all day,” Fleet said, just for the sake of correcting him while he decided what to do. He could run as one suggested. Then he could follow them and try to get his belongings back. But that would take days, perhaps before he recovered what would be left of his supplies. He could run and let them have it all. Sewn into his shirt was more than enough coins to purchase it all again.

  He decided to fight. None of the three displayed weapons that would reach any distance. A rock thrown in the face of one would put him down. Pulling the knife at his side and charging would probably make the other two flee. If not, he’d fight.

  But as he tensed and his anger grew, a faint tickle touched his back. Instead of reaching for the rock at his feet, he stood still.

  The one that had been cleaning his nails said, “I want your knife, too. And we’ll take what else you have. If you drop the knife and run off, we won’t chase you.”

  The tingle on his back was growing stronger. “I’ll die out here without fire or blanket.”

  “Not our problem dumb-ass. But, it’s the only way you leave here alive.” He spat at his feet and took a tentative step in Fleet’s direction while motioning with his hand for the others to join him.

  Fleet stood his ground, twenty steps away. He said, “You don’t know it, but the three of you may not leave here alive. I suggest you run, instead of me.”

  The leader gave a puzzled look at the others, then back at him again. “What’re you going to do to us?”

  “Me? Nothing. But you fools have chosen to attack the Dragon Clan. Do you know what that means?” Fleet felt the touch of the dragon increasing. “It means I have a dragon at my command, and I’ve called it to fly down into this canyon, and I may tell it to kill the three of you.”

  The feeling on his back had turned to stinging pain with the approach of the dragon, but he welcomed it. In his mind, he pictured the dragon flying low and screeching as it passed over them.

  He noticed a flick of movement from the sky behind the men. He relaxed and smiled, but said nothing else. The leader started walking in Fleet’s direction, the other two on his heels, but after four or five steps, a sound of soft leather beating against the air made itself known. Rhythmic. Steady.

  Three heads turned as one. Despite knowing what was to come, the screech sounded and echoed off the walls of the canyon, making it seem even louder. Fleet covered his ears and waited. Three more flaps of giant wings and the dragon flew directly over them, so low the force of the wind from the wings stirred dust.

  The men scattered. Fleet flashed a mental image of the dragon grabbing them in its claws and flying off, then did his best to put the image out of his head. He ran to his staff and turned a full spin, searching for an enemy.

  Fleet gathered his belongings with the last of the light and traveled along the side of the stream until finding a place to climb the steep wall. Before leaving the stream, he knelt and drank as much of the tepid water as possible, and topped off his four jugs. Then he climbed to the flat of the desert floor and walked by starlight until he found a shelf of protruding rock as high as his knee. It was a ridge that continued into the darkness to either side.

  He wrapped the blanket around himself and cursed the three men again. He’d have a cold camp on hard rock. Just before falling asleep, he realized he had never once thanked the dragon that usually stayed out of sight, but seemingly remained close enough to fly to his rescue. They were not bonded, yet the dragon seemed to have an attachment to him. Fleet decided to ask the elders at the drylands branch of the family if they could explain the relationship. There may be more than one kind of bonding.

  All he had to do was locate the family that successfully had hidden in the desert for generations, and survive the heat and thirst of the desert, plus highwaymen, criminals, and the king’s army, long enough to ask them. He fell asleep with a smile on his face.

  He woke cold and scared, time after time. Dreams of three men sneaking up on him kept him alert. A mouse scurrying across the sand caused his staff to find its way into his hand. When the sun finally rose, he didn’t stand. Ins
tead, he sat and let the warmth sweep over him until it penetrated his blanket and clothing. When he warmed his eyes closed, and he fell into a fitful sleep.

  After a sip of water and a handful of salted fish he walked. He’d heard salted fish helps in the desert. Looking to the south terrified him. Fleet had lived in the mountains on the slopes of Bear Mountain his whole life. Ahead lay brown sand and rock, broken here and there by small bushes or cactus, and even those plants were more brown than green. The little green in sight was subdued, faded, or growing in hues of brown that blended with the sand.

  There were no hills to stand upon look ahead. The sun reflected off the sand with so much intensity that he considered wearing his shirt on his head. The heat of the sand started seeping up through his feet.

  He kept walking, forcing himself to wait before drinking any water. If it took three jugs of water to walk into the desert, it would take at least the same to walk out. He would only go into the desert the same as it took to leave. Late in the day, he found the terrain changing. The ground grew rougher, there were hills and to his right, the land rose. Where it was higher, were the effects of water gouging out the landscape.

  At one place he found where several small canyons on the hillsides emptied near the same place, and there was green. He shifted directions slightly and headed for it. Arriving, he found a shallow swampy area.

  Water oozed from where he stepped, but what little was standing was used by animals. Hoof prints and footprints were everywhere. The shallow water was brownish-yellow from the animals relieving themselves. The stench was overpowering.

  But there were reeds growing at the edge. Fleet went into the reeds and after cutting an armload, carried it away from the water to the shade of a boulder that was taller than he stood. If there were hoofed animals, there were predators. He didn’t want to become a meal for a pack of wolves or dogs.