by LeRoy Clary
“I’m putting my foot down,” He said. “He’ll do as I say.”
Both young women burst into laughter. Their father stood and watched them helplessly for a moment, ignoring the smile Rake wore. He strode toward the curtain that closed off his sleeping pad and shut it with a jerk. He probably sat on the pad trying to figure out why his daughters thought him so funny.
CHAPTER TWO
Rake left the cabin at first light, a small day-bag tossed over his shoulder, a spring in his walk and a song on his lips. Despite the possible dangers of a foreign Green flying so near, there were other things to occupy his mind. One was a slip of a girl that worked at the post, a combination store and trading station located at the head of the valley. He had exchanged his hides and skins for goods or credit for years and barely noticed her—until the last two trips.
She’d changed. Not that she had grown so much taller, but her new smile and smoky eyes drew him. And the way she walked away, sometimes checking over her shoulder to make sure he was watching. He liked that.
She wasn’t the only woman near the post he liked, not by a long shot. There was the tall, pretty daughter of a woodsman with long dark hair and green eyes that followed him wherever he went. Her family cut and split firewood and traded it for their needs and she cared for them. And, of course, there were the three sisters who lived on the goat farm, all about his age, all with hair the color of late summer straw, and all unmarried and rumor said they were looking for a tall husband. Rake was tall. They seemed to compete for his attention, and he willingly gave it.
But the woman he kept thinking about as he walked down the path to the trading post was one he’d only seen once. She had worn leathers, kept her hair short, and never once smiled or looked his way—at least, he’d never caught her. When he’d asked Beth, the pretty girl who worked at the trading post about the other girl’s name, she had tossed her head in dismissal. Then she had ordered him to find it out for himself in an angry tone that precluded any further conversation. He’d only wanted a name, not a fight. He still hadn’t learned it, where she lived, or anything else, but if he’d seen her at the post one time, he would again.
Rake followed the narrow path that eventually took him to a wider trail, always looking down at the packed dirt to see who or what had gone before him, like any good woodsman. A footprint, hoofprint, tuft of freshly bent grass, scat, or a few bits of fur caught on a thorn told him all he needed as a hunter. His skills of moving and tracking in the high mountains were the core of his pride.
From what he could tell, no men had traveled the trail in the last two days after the rain had stopped. The puddles were drying or already dried, leaving fresh canvases of bare dirt to tell their stories. The trees were mostly evergreens of one kind or another, with a few hardwoods thrown in. The valley bottoms where the good topsoil collected, held lush growths of oak, elm, walnut, and impenetrable underbrush.
The trail he followed crossed several streams and one small river, all of which supplied water to drink from along the way, so he didn’t carry a canteen. His arms swung to the beat of a silent tune and his strides were long and confident. He wore his good shirt, as he always did when visiting the trading post. No telling which young woman might be attracted to it.
However, his pleasant thoughts soured as they returned to his home, the small ramshackle cabin surrounded by pines, fir, and cedar. Near the aging cabin was a small bench of flatland pasture, more than large enough for the few animals they raised. The one side of their tiny valley backed up to a sheer rock wall of the mountain, and the other was bounded by what they termed “the river.”
No fences were required. About every other year they felled a tree that served as a footbridge across the river until it rotted enough to become dangerous to cross. The old one needed to be replaced soon, and he had a plan. Another nearby tree could be felled, and all the branches trimmed away. He could cut it to length and this time roll it into place next to the old one, giving them an easier way to walk across by stepping on both instead of balancing on one grown slippery with age. Only last year, Emma had fallen into the stream and nearly drowned. A second log would prevent another such accident. They were also running low on game to eat and smoke. His last few hunting forays hadn’t been successful.
His mind was on those things as he moved quietly and watched ahead, always searching for movement as his father had taught him. A startled deer, a flock of birds taking flight, or a sound out of place would draw his instant attention. In the meantime, he wondered if there were other pretty women living nearby that he hadn’t met.
The roofs of the small village trading post were almost in sight when he spotted a scuff of a footprint made by a human. There were few things that set off warnings as quickly, and he went to one knee as he pulled his bow over his head and fit an arrow to the string. Fingers above and below held it in place, freeing his other hand to loosen his knife. The mark was fresh, perhaps minutes old, and a friend would have exposed himself.
The knife in his hand was sharp. The pull of the bow was weak, and the arrows crooked. They flew through the air in a wobbly manner but were tipped with sharp stone heads. As always, he would need to be close to his target to use them effectively.
The footprint was so fresh, he should have seen the maker. That was evident before his knee met the ground. It was also evident the maker hadn’t wanted to be seen. The footprint was sideways across the trail, not moving up or down it, but across. The scuff indicated the maker of the footprint must have seen or heard him approaching as he came around the bend—and had fled.
That meant danger. Rake glanced ahead and saw no other prints coming or going on the trail. In itself, the action was odd enough to be another warning and require careful investigation.
His breathing slowed, his eyes moved constantly, he listened, sniffed the air, and waited. He remained unmoving on his knee. Nothing. His body shifted in the direction of the print and moved as only a hunter who had been raised in a forest can. He stood to a stooped position. Each step was made painfully slow. Careful not to make a sound, he avoided brushing low branches that might scape his clothing and alert his prey. His advance was as cautious as if a wary deer waited ahead. Rake was proud of his hunting skills and this was no different than tracking a flighty deer.
A second footprint appeared in the soft mud at the side of a pool of rainwater. That was either a warning or a stupid mistake.
The person he followed had made no prints and left no sign of moving through the forest for twenty or more steps, yet a single clear print only a fool could miss beamed up at him from only a few steps away as if a lantern on a dark night revealed it. He pulled to a stop and suspiciously reexamined the narrow path he followed. It wound around the base of a large fir tree and petered out in front of a stand of twisted briars almost as tall as himself, which was taller than most men.
Nobody could enter the briars and emerge without cuts and scrapes—and few would attempt it. Rake glanced left and right. There was no place to go in either direction. An acorn falling to the ground a few steps away startled him for a moment, and he instinctively reached for the bowstring to pull and release the arrow if a target presented itself. In front of him, a squirrel leaped from one branch to another and he relaxed somewhat.
Another acorn fell in front at his feet and bounced across the soft ground. He ignored it in favor of scanning the area for the intruder. A third acorn struck his head.
Rake looked up in time to hear the giggle emerge from the girl in leathers he’d seen only once. It was her! The beautiful young woman who had been at the trading post that day when he had made Beth angry by asking her name. She blended in with the tree and was almost invisible. She perched on a branch above him, hidden by the thick leaves of the oak branches. She pulled a few more acorns from her pocket and trickled them down, teasing him.
Anger swelled as he realized what she had done, then turned to chagrin almost as fast as it arose. She’d bested him at his own tracking
game, he realized. The first footprint had been placed on the path where he couldn’t help but see it and follow. The second was an invitation to stop right underneath her where she could drop acorns on his bare head.
If she was his enemy—he would be dead.
She gave a delighted giggle, “I just love it that your face is so red! If I come down from this tree, you aren’t going to punch me or something, are you? I’m just a little girl.”
“From the looks of it, you’d probably win that fight, too.” His voice emerged in more of a growl than intended. The heat he felt on his face didn’t wane.
The unknown girl started down, almost leaping from branch to branch like the squirrel that had been there moments earlier. She climbed effortlessly, with little noise. She leaped the last bit, landing directly in front of him, no more than a short step away.
With a wide smile, she stuck out her hand to shake his. “Nice to meet you, Rake.”
She even knew his name. She said it in a way that suggested another giggle was about to emerge. He didn’t know her name, and she seemed to know that too. His sluggish mind tore itself from the anticipation of meeting and talking with the young girls in the village as it tried to catch up with what had just happened. What was happening?
He shook her hand, holding on an instant too long, not because of how nice it felt, but because it gave him additional time to gather his muddled thoughts. He said with a reluctant sigh, “Your trick fooled me.”
“Don’t feel bad. I had plenty of time to prepare. I thought you’d be here sooner.”
She’d done it again. He had no idea of what she was talking about. How had she known he would come this way? However, he clamped his teeth together and waited. There are times when you can learn more by remaining silent instead of talking.
She shrugged and her face turned serious. “All Right, I’ve had enough fun with you today.”
“Meaning?”
She looked him in the eyes for a moment, then spun and faced away. In a single motion, she bent at the waist and pulled up her leather shirt almost to her shoulders.
An image of a bi-colored dragon revealed itself. The head of the beast was on her right shoulder, the tail curled down to her right hip. It pictured the dragon reared up on hind legs with its toothy mouth wide open and the eyes looking right at Rake. It was so real, so finely detailed, it could have been a painting done by an accomplished artist. Rake caught his breath in surprise. Again, she had him speechless.
She said, “Well? Were you raised without any Dragon Clan manners or are you just going to stand there and admire my body instead of displaying your back?”
Rake’s anger returned in a hotter flash than earlier. She was toying with him. He was half a head taller than most men, stronger, and few could stay even with him in physical contests. He also prided himself on his quick mind. Reading from their two books at the cabin had become a daily pleasure. He’d even written a few poems and considered them the equal of many in the books he borrowed at the trading post. Yet this morning, he felt like an ignorant child while near the beautiful young woman who was again smirking at him.
He turned around with a flourish, bent low, and pulled his shirt up in the traditional greeting between strangers of the Dragon Clan. The image on his back was different than hers, of course, but every bit as detailed. His dragon was a three-quarters view of a blue dragon with red eyes—attacking anyone looking at it. The fierceness of the birthmark was unusual. All birthmarks were different. But there could be no mistaking the image for a mere tattoo.
He turned back, faced her, and allowed his shirt to fall back into place. He said in the formal manner of greeting, “I am Rake, son of Halford and Irene.”
She waited.
Finally, he realized she was going to make him ask for her name—and probably giggle at him again for doing it. It was time to turn the tables on her. He said, “You are Belle, of course. Daughter of Sue and Red. I should have recognized you right off.”
“Belle? No, who is Belle?”
“She was our ugly milk-cow when we were small. She was stubborn and lacked social manners. Hard-headed and always refused to enter her stall at night until one of us slapped her on the rump. As you know, you should have identified yourself, and your parents during the introduction, yet you lectured me on my poor manners.”
She drew herself up stiffly and said, “I wouldn’t call that a lecture. You want to hear a lecture?”
He halved the distance between them. “And you still have not yet properly identified yourself as custom requires.”
“I should have let you stumble on past me on the path so you could go stare at that girl in the trading post all day while waiting for me to appear.”
“And I should put you over my knee and teach you those manners you’re so high on avoiding.” Rake didn’t see where the knife in her hand came from. What he did know was that attempting to carry out his threat might cost him more than trading insults. However, backing down from a fight was not his way. He ignored the knife. “Your name and family history or you will have to use that knife.”
“Cinder, daughter of Emile and Karen.”
Rake backed off and tried to calm down. He’d heard both names before. They were as close to official leaders as the Dragon Clan had in the area. “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you, as I said.”
Rake didn’t remember her saying that. . . but waited for her to continue. Most people will talk if you wait long enough.
She finally snorted and said, “We always knew you and your family are Dragon Clan. I once watched your cabin for a full day and without seeing your dragons on any of your backs, but we heard you were refugees too. I saw more evidence to convince me. There are common things we all do, like conceal the paths to our cabins so casual travelers don’t stumble across our homes. When that Green flew over yesterday, my family decided we needed more information to determine if there is a danger. They sent me to wait for you on this trail. Since you are Dragon Clan, your family would send someone to the village to find out if anyone else saw it.”
“We might have missed it.”
“And you might not have been Dragon Clan. Never gamble with me, Rake. I understand numerical odds and that is why I arrived first and set my little trap for you. Knowing your family would dispatch someone, and you are the obvious choice, I wanted to talk before you stumble into the village and started asking questions about Green dragons and hinting at who and what you are and get us all into trouble.”
He wanted to object to anything she said in her self-satisfied tone with the small smirk she wore still in place. It reminded him of his sister Grace’s smirk when she bested him at a game or contest. Cinder was semi-related to him as a Dragon Clan member and due respect. To shift the subject to firmer ground, he said, “Are there more of us living nearby?”
“There must be if you take the time to think about it. There are several families I know of. All up and down this side of the mountains, and probably more on the other side. My father thinks there might be a gathering called because of the dragon sighting.”
Rake nodded. “If not for this sighting, certainly for the next.”
Cinder said, “Imagine how that will affect all the naturals, those who are not Dragon Clan. Imagine a gathering of people who live among them unseen and unknown suddenly getting together. Think about the problems that will create.”
He sat on the bare ground and crossed his legs. “What do you propose?”
She sat and faced him. “My father believes that waiting for a second sighting without doing anything is too risky. Breslau may have an army on the way here, looking to defeat more kingdoms and take them over, so it may already be too late. If they have discovered where we are, it could mean the end of the Dragon Clan, especially if they attack in force. We have nowhere to go. They have had fifty years to prepare. In that same time, we have done nothing.”
At first thought, the response was too severe for a single sighti
ng Rake decided. As his father had mentioned, there were other explanations, some of them completely innocent. Yet, being too slow to act could cost lives. “The problem is that we have too little information. If they are coming and we stay, that is the wrong choice. If they are not coming and we flee, that is also a wrong choice.”
“You sound exactly like my father.”
“I hope that’s good,” Rake grinned for the first time since meeting Cinder.
She smiled back at him without agreeing or disagreeing. Her eyes twinkled.
Rake felt his smile fade. “You know something else, don’t you? Something I don’t?”
“Our families need information. What you do not know is that you and I are going to seek it, as will others from other families, I’m sure. But we can’t depend on learning in time to prevent danger to our families unless we go find out what is happening and report back to them. We will go seek the truth and send word back that will be then spread to all.”
Rake found himself standing, pointing a lone finger at her. “What are you saying? And why are you including me?”
She smiled demurely and placed her index finger on her lower lip as she batted her eyes. “It’s just not safe for a little girl like me to travel alone, you should know that. Besides, it is against common rules and would be suspicious to those living in villages down the valley. I need a big strong man to go with me.”
He ignored the giggle. “My father will not allow it. There is too much work to do on our farm for me to leave, especially without telling him.”
“My father is a Dragon Clan chieftain. His grandfather was at Bear Mountain and he requires you to accompany me so that one of us will return with the information we all need. You have no choice. And our time is short. Get used to it.”
The reference to Bear Mountain brought the tales of Camilla, Raymer, Fleet, and many others to mind. The tales were repeated at small gatherings and on important days. They told of how those brave people discovered the threat of Breslau, fought against them in the great sea battles, and how they had believed they won a victory, only to arrive home to find King Emory had betrayed them and all of his subjects. When they arrived, Breslau troops were already in Princeton, and the king was busy sending his army to far-off Breslau by ships where they had no army to fight BACK.