by Bryan Davis
Marcelle dropped to one knee and dabbed the cut with a shred of Adrian’s cloak. “You did this to yourself?”
“Officially … no. I slipped while pushing the cart. Unofficially …” He withdrew a sharp stone from his pocket. “This adventure is worth a lot of pain.”
“Then what do we do until evening?” Adrian asked.
Scott shrugged. “You’re the prophesied one. I thought you and the raven would tell me what to do.”
“The cattle camp,” Cassabrie said. “Ask him to take you there.”
Adrian touched Scott’s shoulder. “Can you take us to the cattle camp?”
Scott’s mouth lowered a notch. For a moment, he just stared, then swallowed. “I … I will do as you ask, of course, but …”
“What’s wrong?” Marcelle asked as she straightened. “Is it dangerous?”
“Very dangerous, especially for the little ones who live there.” He lowered his head. “If you can call that living.”
“You must go,” Cassabrie said. “When you do, you will understand why I sent you.”
Adrian set a hand on Scott’s sweaty back. “Take us as far as your courage lasts, and we will go the rest of the way.”
Scott looked up at him. His voice dropped to a whisper. “I will take you there.” Without another word, he tromped into the woods, choosing a narrow trail Adrian hadn’t noticed.
Marcelle tossed the remains of the cloak to Adrian and followed, her sword again in the back scabbard.
With the wadded remnants of the cloak in one hand and his tunic in the other, Adrian fell into line. Fronds and leaflets brushed against his bare torso, tickling his skin, already itching from the drying dye. He put his tunic back on, buttoned it as high as he could, and pushed through the brush. The shirt’s damp coolness felt good, a guilty pleasure, a soothing sensation that perhaps many of the slaves here rarely experienced. Yet, who could tell how much they suffered or how often they felt relief?
A cold dread washed over his body. Soon, it seemed, he would learn more than he wanted to know.
When they reached a denser portion of the forest, Scott slowed, finally halting in front of a vine-covered wall. He looked at Adrian and Marcelle, a pained expression on his face. “It’s on the other side.”
Adrian pushed a finger through a gap in the thorny vines and touched the stone wall. It rose to twice his height, and a tangled line of dry, twisted thorns sat on top.
Marcelle pinched one of the thorns and broke it off. “Poisoned?” she asked.
“No,” Scott said. “Sharp, though. They will rip your skin off.”
“Have you ever climbed to the top?”
“I used to climb every day and look into the camp, but after a while it wasn’t worth all the cuts, because I couldn’t see her anymore, so …” As his voice trailed off, new tears filled his eyes.
“Her?” Marcelle asked.
He let his head droop. “My younger sister, Tamara. She was a poor rock carrier, so the Separators sent her to the camp maybe forty days ago.”
“The camp is punishment?”
Scott shook his head, still hanging low. “I’d rather not talk about it anymore.”
Marcelle whipped out her sword and began sweeping it across the vines, chopping off the exposed thorns. Soon, the wall looked more like a twisted ladder than a prickly barrier. “Now we can climb it easily.”
Adrian looked up at the sky. The sun had long passed its zenith and seemed to be heading toward the western horizon. “What time of day is it? Mid to late afternoon?”
“We are in our cooler season,” Scott replied. “The days are getting shorter, so evening will be upon us in about two hours.”
“What’s the safest time to enter the cattle camp?”
Scott shrugged. “I can’t be sure, but if you wait till closer to the end of labors, the dragons will be less vigilant. They get bored and sleepy.”
“How many dragons are in there?” Marcelle asked.
“Usually two, one to guard the stream’s entrance, and one to guard its exit.” Scott pointed toward the river. “It’s a raft conveyor that flows into the river where I work.”
Scott explained the system, repeating some of the details Cassabrie had provided earlier. The miners in the plateau area, usually in the heart of a mesa, drilled into the ground and cut out stones. The stronger children, also working at the mines, piled them on a raft and sent it floating on the stream. Then the raft entered the cattle camp through a gateway in the wall, opened by a dragon guard. The weaker children stopped the raft, collected the stones in pails, and, as the raft floated along, the children hauled the stones to the stream’s exit from the camp. There they dumped the stones back onto the raft. Then the raft would leave through another gateway.
Of course, it was useless labor, but the dragons wanted to strengthen those who could survive the rigors and cull out those who couldn’t. At the same time, they could sift through the rocks in search of crystals. Apparently Magnar craved a specific crystalline stone and promised a great reward to anyone who found it, complete freedom with safe passage to the Northlands.
After that step, the rafts floated to the main river where the older boys collected the stones to be delivered either to the wall or to the village for various building or decorating projects.
When Scott finished, Adrian looked at the sun again, considerably lower now. “I think it’s time. I’ll go first.” He ripped the remainder of the cloak into four pieces, gave two to Marcelle, and wrapped the other two around his hands. “Scott, can you whistle?”
He nodded and let out a shrill warble.
“Good. Stay here, and use that as a warning if there’s trouble. We’ll be back as soon as we can.” Adrian grabbed one of the wall’s thick vines and scrambled up. Once at the top, he drew his sword from his hip scabbard, cut the thorny branches lying along the crown, and dropped them between Scott and Marcelle. “Listen for my whistle. That will mean it’s safe to follow.”
SIXTEEN
ADRIAN looked into the cattle camp’s enclosed area, a flat expanse of pebbly terrain and dry grass. The wall extended to the left and right about a mile before curving to form an ellipse, with the wall on the opposite side sitting several thousand feet across the way.
A few trees dotted the area, especially near a stream that cut vertically through the right-hand third of the ellipse, flowing from the far wall to the near one and exiting well to Adrian’s right. A dragon stood near the stream’s exit, but his distance made his size and other details impossible to determine. Vines covered the wall’s interior side, similar to the exterior except thicker and thornier near the ground.
Holding his sword away from his body, Adrian leaped down. After looking both ways, he let out a short, shrill whistle. Seconds later, Marcelle appeared at the top, vaulted over, and landed with a graceful bend of her knees. When she straightened and gave him a nod, he pointed his sword at the dragon, whispering, “If we stay near the wall, maybe he won’t see us.”
“Something else is moving there,” Marcelle said. “Could it be the children?”
“Maybe.” He marched ahead, hugging the wall as closely as the thorns would allow and looking back every few seconds to see how Marcelle fared. Apparently the Bastra poisoning had been neutralized. Even after that leap, she displayed no noticeable limp. His own pain had also diminished, a fact he hadn’t noticed earlier.
“Cassabrie,” he murmured, “you’re the one who wanted us to see this place. What should we do now?”
“Get as close to the dragon as you dare. You heard about the children, but when you see them, you will understand.”
As he continued, the movements near the dragon grew clearer. Children walked back and forth along the stream, each one carrying a pail. When Adrian came within a stone’s throw, he stopped at a skinny tree and crouched behind it, signaling for Marcelle to crouch with him.
The children appeared to range from four to eight years old, marching from left to right toward the drag
on, separated by time intervals of about a minute. Others shuffled away from the dragon, their pails apparently empty as they swung freely at their sides.
The older children tromped with their heads dipped low, their skinny chests bare, and their bodies leaning to one side, each with a dirty arm weighed down by a rock-laden pail. They wore ragged short trousers and no shoes, exposing bruised and bloodied feet, and their sluggish gaits revealed a weariness of mind and body.
Some of the younger ones wore nothing but loin cloths, while a few shielded their bodies with only the bucket they carried. When they reached the dragon, the children dumped their pails of stones onto a raft near the wall, then trudged back upstream, their heads now higher, though their faces carried vacant expressions.
The dragon held a long whip in his clawed hand and swung it from side to side, as if matching the rhythm of the slavish march. With his back turned toward Adrian and Marcelle, they couldn’t gauge his attentiveness. If he was bored, as Scott suggested, he showed no sign of it. He appeared to be considerably smaller than the dragons at the river wall, but still formidable.
Marcelle showed Adrian her sword. “It’s just one dragon,” she whispered. “If we surprise him, the two of us can slay him easily and get these children out of here.”
“Maybe.” Adrian scanned the river upstream, far to the left. It seemed that the children with empty pails stopped near the opposite wall, probably the station where they collected stones. Something large loomed over them, a dark shadow that swayed with the breeze. Was that the other dragon, or just one of the nearby trees?
“Adrian?” Marcelle set the dark blade near his eyes. “His back might not be turned this way for long.”
“I think I see another dragon. If we kill this one, the other might be on us in a flash. Who knows how many children will get hurt if we can’t get them out?”
“We’ll get them out,” Marcelle said. “The stream has to exit this place somehow. If they use the same kind of wooden gate as they did at the river, we can chop it open, get the children out, and hide in the forest.”
“And then what? Do you know where to go or how to keep them away from the dragons? They’ll eventually be recaptured and punished. We won’t do them any favors by acting rashly.”
“Rashly?” Although Marcelle kept her reply at a whisper, it sounded like an angry shout. “Isn’t slaying dragons what we came here for? Are we going to miss this opportunity because there might be another dragon watching?”
“We should talk to the patriarch first and make a plan. If we can set them all free without hurting—”
“Oh!” A girl stumbled, spilling her pail. She fell into her stones and rolled to the side, her forehead bleeding as she lay with her face toward the sky.
The dragon flew at her. The whip snapped across her bare chest, leaving a red welt. She grimaced but didn’t cry out. With her eyes clenched shut, she just lay there while the dragon lashed her again and again. While the other children marched upstream, one girl stood nearby, watching with her pail hanging at her side. “Only five more, Shellinda,” she called. “Be brave.”
Marcelle’s arms shook with fury. “How can you stand to watch this?”
Before Adrian could say a word, she leaped up and dashed toward the dragon, her sword extended. Adrian jumped up and sprinted behind her. It was too late for planning now.
With the dragon still facing away, Marcelle ran straight up its back, hopping over the short spines that lined its backbone. By the time Adrian arrived, she had straddled the dragon high on its neck. She hacked savagely at its eyes, blow after blow raising a spray of fluid.
The dragon roared and tried to sling her off, but she locked her legs in place and hung on. When it reared up, exposing its underbelly, Adrian charged and thrust his sword into its vulnerable spot, a larger target than on the previous dragon. After driving the blade in up to the hilt, he twisted it and jerked it back out. Dark green liquid gushed forth, spilling over his boots and raising a horrible stench.
Adrian backpedaled. The dragon lurched from side to side, then toppled forward. Still riding on its neck, Marcelle waited through the fall. Just before its chin slapped the ground, she released her leg lock and let the momentum push her into a run that sent her stumbling into Adrian.
He caught her with one arm, while pointing the sword at the dragon with the other. It didn’t budge. After a few seconds of silence, he whispered, “I don’t think we have to worry about this dragon anymore.”
Marcelle’s eyes darted from side to side. “Any sign of another guard?”
“Not yet.” Adrian looked upstream. The dark form he had seen earlier hadn’t moved, and the children continued their march, the tail end of the line still in view. “I wonder where the children are going.”
“To feeding time,” Cassabrie said. “No one wants to be late for that. You should let them go. They won’t be easily persuaded to do anything else right now.”
After Adrian relayed Cassabrie’s explanation, Marcelle hurried to Shellinda. The other girl had already helped Shellinda sit up and now knelt beside her.
Marcelle pulled both girls to their feet. With several welts painting red stripes across her chest, Shellinda wobbled, nodding as Marcelle spoke softly and gently brushed grit from her back.
“Adrian,” Cassabrie said, “your danger has not passed. I suspect that the other dragon has not already attacked because the workday is over. Yet, another dragon will arrive soon for feeding time. Either climb back over the wall, or ask the two girls to take you to their hole. You will be safe there for the time being.”
“Safe?” Adrian looked at the dead dragon. “But this was an easy kill. He never even used fire. If the other one attacks, we shouldn’t have any trouble.”
“This one was a drone, a castrated male, much weaker than all other types. It is doubtful that they would allow two drones to work together. The cattle feeder will likely be a guardian who will check the perimeter before nightfall. When he finds the slain dragon, he will kill at least five children.”
“Five? How can you know that?”
“It is the dragons’ way, but I will speak no more about that now. The girls will want to go to the feeding, so attend to them as quickly as possible.”
Adrian joined Marcelle. When Shellinda noticed him, she crossed and uncrossed her arms, apparently hoping to hide her wounds but not wanting to touch them. Finally, she just looked at the ground, trembling. With brown, matted hair tied into a rope that fell halfway down her back, and ribs clearly outlined in her emaciated, prepubescent torso, she appeared to be about seven years old.
“What’s wrong?” Adrian asked.
The other girl, a waif a little smaller than Shellinda, spoke up. “Shellinda thinks you will steal all the food when it comes. You’re so big, no one can stop you.”
“Steal all the food?” He bent over and set a finger under Shellinda’s chin, lifting it so he could look into her eyes. They were brown and bloodshot, dry and vacant. “I would never deprive you of the smallest crumb.”
Marcelle touched the other girl’s shoulder. “What’s your name?”
“Erin.”
“How old are you?”
“Six years. Shellinda is eight. She is the oldest girl. If no one buys her on the next trading day, she will go to the breeders.”
Shellinda scowled at Erin. “Someone will buy me. I will kill myself before I go to the breeders.”
“The breeders?” Adrian asked.
“Of course.” Shellinda squinted at him. “Who are you, and why are you here?”
“My name is Adrian, and …” He nodded toward Marcelle. “And this is Marcelle. We’re from a faraway land, and we were told we should see this place before speaking to a patriarch.”
Shellinda grasped her hair rope and twirled it in her fingers. “What dragon would allow you to travel on your own?”
Adrian glanced at Marcelle before answering. “The King of the Northlands.”
Shellinda spat on t
he ground. “If there is such a beast, then curse his name. If he lets us suffer like this, then he must be a monster.” She turned and strode along the stream’s bank. “Come on, Erin. Nancor will be here soon, and you didn’t get any bread yesterday.”
Adrian hurried after her, Marcelle close behind. They caught up with Shellinda and Erin and walked with them. “Is there a place for us to hide while you’re eating?” Adrian asked.
Shellinda kept her focus straight ahead. “You can go to our hole.”
“Where is that?”
“I will show you.”
As they walked four abreast, Adrian glanced at the sky every few seconds, always wary of any changes—birds flitting by, a tree’s undulating shadow, or a cloud briefly hiding the setting sun. Soon, they came upon the other children. They had gathered in a cluster between the stream and a dirt mound that rose ten feet from the ground and spanned a circle about a hundred feet in diameter. With several holes punched into its walls, big enough for the children to crawl into, it appeared to be an enormous anthill.
The children, perhaps forty in number, milled about, almost shoulder to shoulder, sometimes nudging one another to gain a little space, sometimes shoving deliberately, especially the older boys trying to gain an advantage over the younger. They all focused on the sky most of the time, looking at each other only to scowl, their faces becoming increasingly menacing with every glance. Apparently Nancor would be there soon.
Shellinda stopped and pointed at the mound. “Go through any hole you want, but mine and Erin’s is the one with the red rocks.”
Adrian led Marcelle to the mound. Four reddish stones protruded from the hard clay around one of the holes, as if marking up, down, left, and right.
Adrian peered inside, but it was too dark to see anything. “Any fear of tight passages?” he asked.
