The Last Dragon 4

by LeRoy Clary

  Elizabeth shot me a look that ordered me to shut up before I said anything.

  Trey, the quietest of the three sons, said, “Traveling with you five is fun. Always something new.”

  Nobody laughed. The rest of the day passed uneventfully. In midafternoon, we saw a wagon roll past in the distance, and later a man on a horse. Neither indicated they saw us. Will thought the road between Dagger and Ander must be there just over a rise, generally going in the same direction as us. A few bushes now dotted the landscape, which had become low-rolling hills with rounded tops.

  Before long, low junipers and cactus grew, and even a few stunted trees dotted the brown ground. We continued due east and because Dagger lay to the north of us, we would safely bypass it. When we reached the coast, we intended to turn south, but the presence of the road registered with me. We would reach it before we came to Ander.

  Traveling along a road would be easier walking but the fog surrounding us would have to go. The reaction of anyone on the road would be fun to watch, but we were not here to entertain locals or create new myths. I’d grown so accustomed to providing the fog shroud that I’d almost forgotten about it. That made me smile. And the word shroud gave me another idea. The fog could be around only me and I’d be almost invisible, especially at night.

  That idea deserved more thought, planning, and practice. If it worked, I’d be almost invisible and able to move past guards with ease. Again, the curse of not having formal training reared like a lion ready to take a bite of me.

  As those thoughts crossed my mind, three men walked abreast on the road, all dressed like peasants in thick gray clothing. We were dressed much the same. I slowly removed the veil of mist until by the time we reached the road well behind the men, it was gone.

  Walking on the road was not much different than on the hard-packed sand of the desert except there were fewer large stones to trip over. There were ruts left from wagon wheels and the last rainstorm. We split into two groups when suggested by Will. We’d continue as if we were not all walking together. Coffin and his sons went ahead. Large groups attract attention and curious people who noticed a group would talk.

  We smelled the sea before catching sight of it. The salt tang, the bite in the air, and the calls of seabirds all alerted us. We came over a slight rise and the sea was there—along with a cluster of small buildings and docks with boats bobbing beside them.

  “Ander,” Will said, speaking as if he’d been there before. He hadn’t but paid attention when others talked. He always knew more than he said.

  As we got closer, Coffin’s pace picked up. The village consisted of perhaps twenty homes, and twice that many outbuildings for tools, fishing equipment, boat repair, and drying racks for nets. It was a village centered on fishing and that required daily maintenance on the boats and nets. Those lacking the proper repairs were rotting on the shore. Fishing nets hung everywhere.

  We passed the first few houses, and one painted a faint green became our destination as we turned away from the road. A dog barked incessantly. A woman peeked from behind a curtain and a few moments later a man wielding a curved knife as long as my forearm emerged. He stood in a defensive pose as he looked us over.

  Coffin and his boys pulled to a polite stop. He spread his arms wide. The rest of us remained on the road. Coffin called, “Better get some food in the pot Captain, we haven’t eaten in two days and you need to show some love for your brother and nephews.”

  The man with the knife twirled it above his head allowing the sun to flash off the surface to display his skills, which were considerable. He called as he finished, “Then you better get your asses over here or go hungry. This ain’t no city eatery, Coffin. Not even for my brother.”

  For me, Coffin didn’t move nearly fast enough at the promise of food. We chased after them and found not all of us would fit in the small cabin. Wiley and Tang helped another boy place a few slabs of lumber turned gray by the sun across a pair of water kegs to the side of a stranded rowboat while trading friendly insults of the kind cousins do. Those boards became our table, one where we would all stand to eat because there were only a few chairs inside. It was located on the shady side of the house, so standing didn’t bother us as long as enough food was placed on it.

  The house and village smelled of fish. Reeked is probably the better word and it was not strong enough. Everything had the taint of rotten fish. Seagulls wheeled in the sky and called, certain they’d find another meal of discarded fish guts and heads if they remained long enough. They’d learned well.

  Elizabeth stepped out from the rest of us and scanned the fishing village suspiciously, finding nobody in sight. The docks were empty, the houses may have been deserted because there was no smoke from the chimneys. No children played. She said, “Where is everybody?”

  Tang said easily, “Sleeping. Too hot to work in the afternoons and the best fishing is just after sunup.”

  He’d obviously been to the village before. She scowled at him, confused at his explanation. “And?”

  He continued as if enjoying telling her something instead of the other way around, “The best schools of fish are way out in deep water. You have to sail your boat there in the morning darkness and be ready with your nets before sunup. That means you sleep in the afternoon when it’s the hottest. You get up around midnight and sail to the fishing grounds, fish all morning, then return and unload and process your catch until the heat of the day drives you inside. They’re sleeping. This is the normal routine.”

  Her expression was chagrined as she glanced around the village again. Kendra and I tried to act like we already knew all that. She gave me a wink and said to Elizabeth, “Fishing is hard work and you have to do it on the fish’s schedule.”

  That sounded so silly I almost laughed.

  “I had no idea it was that difficult,” Elizabeth said in a wondering tone.

  Tang nodded, accepting her apology, and added, “It’s even worse when the fish don’t bite.”

  Tang didn’t explain how it was worse but didn’t have to. I wanted to chime in and smooth things over but a stern look from Kendra told me to remain quiet and perhaps we’d get away with our pretend-knowledge. Jess and a girl of about his age arrived carrying a large black pot between them and Wiley carried a plate piled high with cooked fish.

  Coffin, Will, and the fisherman who had greeted us were inside, heads huddled together. I imagined them all talking at once, trying to both ask questions and explain what was happening. It must have been quite a conversation. Will seemed to be holding his own. Coffin was angry, his arms waving and his voice rising. The fisherman was confused and scared—but still talking to them. He hadn’t thrown us out yet. That seemed hopeful to me.

  I wanted to leap into the conversation and convince the man Coffin called “Captain” to allow us on his boat—and at the same time, knew that would be the wrong thing to do. Instead, I watched the others use a wooden ladle to scoop the contents of the black pot into an assortment of bowls, different colors, sizes, and conditions. I eyed one of the larger bowls but by the time it was my turn, I settled for one of the smaller ones, the only ones left.

  The fish had been fried. It was crispy on the outside and the soft meat inside was pinkish. Each person before me had taken a fish and used their fingers to break it down the center so the bones were exposed. The bones were went into a waste pot that would probably go into a compost pile, while the tender pieces of fish were added to the watery stew.

  The original pot of stew had been supper for Captain’s family, but when we showed up, his wife started cooking what they had plenty of, which was fish. She also had added water to make it stretch, and the addition of fish made the carrots, onions, and turnips it contained a meal fit for a princess.

  Most people, both country and city residents, had a community pot. It generally simmered on a swing-arm over the side of a fire. Whatever food the day brought their way went into the pot. Some had cooked without interruption for days and days. Rum
or said a few lasted months. As long as what went in equaled what came out and it simmered over a fire, a stew was endless in variation, taste, and always ready.

  I thought about all that as I glanced at Elizabeth wolfing down her meal after a couple of days of not eating. At home in Crestfallen, I’d seen her turn her nose up at a biscuit whose edge was dark brown—not burned, just darker than others. The crust was always removed from her bread, the fat trimmed from her meat, and she always used dainty silver utensils.

  Now, she held a hand-carved wooden spoon in one hand, a hunk of bread torn off a loaf in the other, and stuffed food into her mouth without bothering to wipe the crumbs away. I found myself smiling. Elizabeth glanced up and equaled my smile before turning her attention back to her meal.

  I was too intelligent to say anything. Not now. But there would come a time, in private, when her eating today would be remembered—and recalled in detail. All to my benefit.

  Funny what a couple of days without eating will do to a person’s attitudes.

  Captain made his way in my direction without making a scene. He paused as he passed by me and whispered for my ears only, “Follow me.”

  I casually set my bowl aside and without making eye-contact with anyone, eased around the corner of his house, and followed him down the slope to the dock where two boats were tied up. Another lay upside down on the shore. New tar had been applied to the cracks between the boards of the hull on the shore. It was bright and shiny black with long drips where it ran. A cauldron hung from a tripod at a firepit. The tar had been heated there.

  I’m the first to admit I know little about boats in general and less about those that sail. The two boats in the water had tall masts, and I assumed the one upside down on the shore was the same. I also assumed they had not dug a hole deep enough to hold a mast while the boat was upside down, so masts must be detachable. If so, how did they manage to stand the strain of a stiff wind when upright?

  Captain said, “A few words in private if you please?”

  “Certainly,” I responded, having no idea of what the subject would be. He was shorter than me, but many are. Middle-aged with a few streaks of gray appearing in his brown hair and beard. His shoulders were wide, his bare arms rippled with muscles, and his eyes were blue and clear. A few wrinkles lined his eyes.

  He said bluntly, “Is my family in danger because of you?”

  It would be easy to lie. Harder to tell the truth. “Perhaps. I don’t know.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Helping us shouldn’t make you or your family targets of the Council of Nine. We simply wish to hire you, not convert you to our political beliefs. You are just earning a few extra coins, something rare for a fisherman. But I wouldn’t go around bragging about us, either. And, to be fully honest, if I were you, I’d either refuse to help us or have my family be ready to flee in another boat.”

  He spat over the side of the dock. It struck the water. A seagull swooped down to investigate. “Quite a speech. I made up my mind that if you lied to me, I’d turn you away. You just made it harder for me to do that.”

  There were times when I knew to shut up.

  He drew in a huge breath while making up his mind. “Coffin is kin. My brother. There were times when he helped me and my family when fishing was poor. Without that help, who knows what we’d have done.”

  “You’ll help us?”

  “Unless you talk me out of it. Coffin says you want to start a war and that isn’t something that’s appealing. Convince me to help.”

  For the first time, the hint of a smile flickered on his lips. I tried to decide what would convince him. He just wanted to fish and provide for his family. I could tell him of the Young Mage and all the terrible things he’d done to others, or that the Council of Nine would one day change his life by coming to his village. Neither was compelling. The deaths of kings he’d never heard of, who ruled lands he’d never visit, was the same futile information.

  It was my turn to draw in a breath and speak with emotion instead of conviction. “The time has come in my life to do something great, to fight against evil, to keep others from suffering. The truth is, the five of us could all go to our homes and probably live prosperous and happy lives for years to come. At home, three of us live in a grand palace, have only the best food, clothing, and we live with royalty. Most treat us as such.”

  “Coffin said you are a mage.”

  The statement took me by surprise again. Each of us sees ourselves in certain ways. The idea of me admitting to being a mage was only days old. I thought of myself as more of a trickster. “An untrained mage. Not even a novice, if you want the truth. There are a few talents, but believe me, the lack of training puts me in a different category from others who are mages.”

  “Your sister is neither mage or sorceress, but she controls a dragon?”

  “She does. For the purpose of our mission for the king, she has called herself a dragon queen, a dragon tamer, and a few other names. We don’t know what to call her.”

  “You did not flinch when I mentioned a dragon. You actually believe in dragons—and that when your sister beckons, one magically appears in the sky spitting fire and killing people at her command?”

  That statement was harder to face than admitting I might be a mage.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Captain waited for me to confirm or deny that Kendra controlled a dragon, a beast that like me not long ago, he considered a myth. Only a month ago I’d have sided with him and laughed at the absurd idea. Instead, I said, “She can do all that and more.”

  He peered at me as if waiting for me to admit it was a joke. When that didn’t happen, he said in the same disbelieving tone, “And you can make water appear in the desert. It flows from your finger like a small spring?”

  His attitude had turned sour, perhaps at hearing the preposterous words emerge from his mouth and that he’d actually asked about such impossible things. He suspected he was being made a fool. As I raised my forefinger, I said, “We’re sorry to bring all this down on you. I know what you’ve heard is hard to believe.”

  His eyes fell to my pointing finger. I started with a tiny trickle, then increased the flow. With the sea nearly touching my feet below the dock we stood on, and the recent practice with making water to fill canteens, it came ease, almost without effort. I watched him watch my finger. I increased the flow until it became a stream squirting from the end.

  He looked up and said in a soft, wondering voice, “It is all true?”

  “Every word.”

  He shook his head. Instead of arguing, which I expected, he abruptly changed the subject, “Our way of life here is already in danger. The Council of Nine in Dagger has raised taxes on goods delivered to the city . . . three times in the last year, alone. It’s as if they do not want our fish, or the vegetables the farmers grow. With no market to buy our fish, we will have all the catch to eat, but cannot afford to buy anything such as hooks, line for making nets, and even clothing. There is also talk of taxes for our houses and boats, which is money we do not have.”

  My thoughts went back to the blackened husks and standing chimneys alongside the lake that had been productive farms a year or two ago. “I believe Will can explain all of the information better than me, but you’re right. In another year, unless something happens, this village will be deserted, the boats all sunk or on the shore rotting.”

  He jutted his chin at me in a confrontational manner and snarled, “And you can change all that?”

  “I don’t know. We’re at least trying.”

  “So, you’re telling the truth? As wild and crazy as your story is, you expect me to believe it?” His voice rose near the end until it was almost a shout.

  I increased the flow of water from my finger in response. It became a small fountain squirting straight up into the air. “No, honestly. I don’t know we can do any of what we set out to, but I do know we are going to try, with or without your help. There are other boats I see fr
om here. One of them will take us or sell us a boat. If we have to walk, we can do that, too.”

  He snorted. “Can you walk across the sea?”

  I’d had enough questions. I stopped the water emerging from my fingertip and used the same tone as him, “If I understood you earlier, nobody can walk across the Brownlands either, but we did it. Remember? Do not think us fools or inept. That is a princess inside your home, and my sister and I are her servants. Will works directly for the King of Dire, and the girl, Anna, may be the most powerful sorceress in the world when she is grown.”

  That didn’t faze him. He said, “And you believe all our troubles come from one mage up north? A boy?”

  “In Kaon. Yes, we do. Now that I’ve taken time to explain things to you, and demonstrate at least part of them are true, you can either accept our offer or we will find another way.” I turned my back before he could answer and walked along the shore to the next house. Banging on the door brought no response, so I moved on to the next.

  An old woman answered. As I introduced myself, Captain touched my shoulder. He said, “I was wrong to treat you that way and to doubt you.” He turned to the woman. “Mazie, I apologize, we’ve had a few angry words and I’ve accepted his offer to carry him and his friends south. We’d like to keep it private.”

  “Quite alright,” she snapped before closing the door firmly in our faces.

  Captain escorted me back to his house as if nothing had happened. However, I was fed up, frustrated, tired, and angry. We’d been fighting for our lives and those around us, ever since leaving Crestfallen. It seemed like every other person we met wanted to kill us. Yes, it was all at the direction of the Young Mage, but that made little difference. My patience and temper were on edge, and if Captain slowed us in any way, I’d find another boat to carry us.

  I’d also do it without begging or explaining. As we reached his home, there were small clusters of people talking. Captain’s two sons were getting the boats ready to sail to go fishing, one tied to either side of the dock. Captain went back to the dock to talk to them. Within the space of a few words, his arms were flung wide and his voice grew sharper. While the words were hard to make out, he clearly was arguing. Demanding them to do as he directed.