The Last Dragon 2

by LeRoy Clary

  I said, “As a guide possibly, and a source of ready information about Kondor, and advice. He is from Vin, lived in Trager, and while he has not mentioned it yet, I believe from a wealthy, influential family.”

  “If he has not mentioned it, how would you derive such a conclusion?”

  I finally turned to face Will. “Several reasons. One is that he uses phrases like ‘derive such a conclusion’, which is hardly street talk, wouldn’t you say?” In the dimness of the shadows where Will sat, I couldn’t see his complexion redden, but his posture stiffened. My barb hadn’t missed its mark. I continued, “He is intelligent and educated. While the first has nothing to do with social position, the second does. Only those with money, and a lot of it, formally educate their children. He claims he was a simple messenger in the Vin King’s Army, but I suspect he was an officer carrying important papers. That is why he was thrown into the dungeon by the King of Trager.”

  “I agree. A simple messenger would have been killed or released. A son of a wealthy family might bring gold for his release. I have to approve of your evaluations on all counts. Interesting points you make. While all you say is probably true, what is more interesting to me is that you figured it out so quickly. Now, I must go report to the princess.”

  He stood and vanished in the shadows. The lure of the sea kept me standing at the same place. The shoreline was a ragged line of darkness, but a single spot of yellow-orange brightness drew my attention. A campfire? A lantern in a house by the sea? Whatever, it was out of place.

  Kendra emerged from the door with the girls at her heels. She walked directly to me as if she knew where I’d be. After glancing around to be sure we were alone, she told the girls to sit near us and said, “Flier is in the salon, almost unrecognizable, but for his limp.”

  “A change for the better?”

  “I’m glad you brought him. Remember the man at the inn who mentioned mages teaching language with magic?”

  “I do. But, mine is too small and localized for that.”

  She smiled and bobbed her head to indicate the shore. “My dragon is right over there eating a sheep.”

  “Your dragon, now?”

  “Of course, she is mine. I am hers. However, not my point. She is close to us. Your magic should be at its maximum levels. Tonight, after Flier is sleeping, can you use your magic to touch his leg? The bones of his knee? He said he took an arrow and it didn’t heal properly. Maybe you can help him.”

  Her request was odd. She knew the limits of my meager magical abilities, and she knew things of that nature were handled by sorceresses. Mages used thunder, lightning, flames, and rain. Elementals, some called them. Sorceresses’ magic worked on flesh and individuals, usually without their knowledge. While mages impressed kings and crowds with their skills, many believed it was the sorceresses who controlled the real power, and they changed thoughts and ideas. And more. They were said to control feelings.

  The powers of the sorceresses lay behind the scenes—it delved into human relationships instead of the flamboyant displays. Two kingdoms might go to war over minute observations mentioned at a party, or over the choice of dance partners. Handled properly, mortal enemies were made with the help of sorcery. On the other hand, a sorceress might encourage a prince to fall madly in love with a princess from another kingdom, thus joining the two in marriage, as well as the future of two kingdoms.

  Most people were unaware of the extent of the power they held. For some, the mages in their fancy, floor-length robes, and imperial attitudes were all they saw. The women tended to hold back, to live in the shadows of their male counterparts, but to those who paid attention, the women were far more dangerous.

  However, I’d always considered myself more of a mage than sorceress, of course. Yet, Kendra was hinting that I might have powers unknown. Her powers were also unknown only days ago, so her suggestion was completely reasonable. The truth was that we really didn’t know much about magic, and there was nobody to ask. Mages taught their own. We needed to learn about our abilities and limitations ourselves, through trial and error.

  “I’ll think about it,” was my answer.

  She gave me a nod of approval instead of the expected argument. I left her to spend time in the salon again. And to find a bite to eat. Flier was there, sitting at the table, a bowl of weak soup cradled in front of him like the bowl contained gold coins. His hair was wet and slicked back. It had also been trimmed as had his shaggy beard. His clothing was clean. In short, he looked better than me.

  “How is it going?” I asked as I sat across from him.

  “Food. More than I can eat. I’m dry and warm. How can it be bad?”

  I took a handful of hard crackers to munch on and poured a little wine. He was right. When you get down to basics, those are the things that count. I ate crackers as I listened to the various conversations around me, and marveled that not once had I seen Princess Elizabeth in the salon or dining room. “More food below in the dining room. We can go there, later.”

  Flier said, “A lot of eyes follow you wherever you’re at. Does it bother you?”

  A quick glance around confirmed that several people were covertly looking at me. Probably not for the right reasons. My hair was tangled, my clothing torn and stained with blood, and I could smell the sour scent that came with fear and fighting for my life. “Tonight, it bothers me. I need to go clean up.”

  “Should I escort you?” Flier asked seriously.

  My reaction was to ask myself, why would he offer to accompany me? The answer came quickly as I looked around. Not all the stares were friendly. Some were outright angry, hateful, or accusatory. “Perhaps. Well, better change that to a yes. Thank you.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  F lier walked with me to the cabin we were going to share, his crutch regularly thumping with every other step. He didn’t speak or mention my poor reception in the salon. His eyes looked to where attackers might hide and spring from. He took the lead, and as I followed, I remembered the words of my sister about using magic to heal him. I sent a puff of air to put out a candle, so knew my magic was working. Having never done anything like it before, I let my mind reach out and move to his bad leg.

  It was only a mental touch, but he reacted as if poked with the ember at the end of a burning stick. He skipped a step, then caught himself on his crutch before falling.

  “Sorry,” he muttered. “Every now and then there’s a sharp pain.”

  “When your leg gets turned a certain way?”

  He limped down the passageway as he said, “It just happens once in a while.”

  We went into the cabin, and I cleaned up, which I should have done before going outside after returning to the ship. In my defense, there were so many things happening that the battle in Trager was almost forgotten. I found two more clean shirts stuffed into my bag and selected a brown one. My pants had blood splatters and one larger unknown spot. A pair of pants worn a few days earlier was my only option.

  Before donning them, I washed head to foot, turning the freshly replaced water a charcoal color instead of the expected red. That simply indicated how dirty my body was. My hair was as bad. A small bottle of scent from my bag helped disguise my smell.

  “Hungry?” I asked Flier.

  “Always,” he grinned.

  In the dining room, we drew few less stares, but as usual, people looked. Flier was a new passenger, and he limped with a crutch, so people casually glanced his way to see him. Their gazes held none of the hostility had been shown that had been present in the salon before cleaning himself. Funny how a little water and a change of clothing changes perception.

  The sideboard had several varieties of cheese, small loaves of bread, and a pot of thick soup that must have been heated on the pier before sailing. It was still warm. Vegetables swam in a thick, brown broth. Stringy meat floated too, not much, but enough to draw my interest and hope the meat had come from the ship’s stores. Small pitchers contained red wine.

  We ser
ved ourselves and sat at a tiny table barely large enough to hold our two bowls and mugs. Flier didn’t stuff his face as expected, but spooned soup into his mouth and closed his eyes as if he’d entered the third tier of heaven. After a small bite of cheese, he touched the mug to his lips and sipped.

  He said, “First good wine I’ve had in years. Have I thanked you so much you’re tired of hearing it?”

  “Not at all,” I said with a laugh. “Your manners tell me you were raised well.”

  What I meant by that opening was that I wanted to hear his story. There was far more than merely a crippled beggar sitting across from me. My instincts wanted answers.

  “My family had influence. I was the fourth son, but still, my father managed to purchase a commission in the King’s Army for me.” His head lowered as he concentrated on eating, and his actions seemed to tell me to mind my own business.

  So, he had been an officer, as suspected, and he had been educated. He wanted me to stop asking questions. That was something I couldn’t do. As I ate, I reached out mentally again, very slightly, and probed his leg as he sat with no weight on it. An area of his knee drew attention as it flared red in my mind. He winced once but otherwise was not aware of my intrusion. Since I’d never done anything like it before, my progress was not only careful but slow. I turned my head to the window at my side and pretended to look outside as my small-magic flicked near his knee as gently as a feather falling from a bird flying past.

  My ignorance told me things I didn’t understand. The outside of his bad knee was warmer than the rest of his leg. My energy touched skin first, then penetrated soft flesh, and later rigid hardness—not bone. His bones were further inside the leg. Retreating somewhat, the hardness was encountered again. I mentally moved above it, then below.

  “How did you injure your knee again?” I asked so abruptly he was startled.

  He rolled his eyes. “Early in my capture, I tried to escape.”

  That didn’t provide the answer. “Did you fall?”

  A wry grin appeared on his face. “Yes. I fell right after the arrow hit me.”

  “In the knee,” I said, already knowing the answer. “The outside of your knee.”

  His humor changed to an expression of wariness, and I knew I’d said too much. His left hand went protectively to his left knee. He placed his spoon on the table and waited.

  A lie seemed appropriate. “There was an ex-soldier who had a limp like yours in Dire.”

  He seemed relieved and interested.

  My tale continued, “A battle wound from the frontier, they said. A member of his unit had pulled the arrow free, but the iron arrowhead remained inside and festered. It didn’t heal until they cut it out.”

  “And then?” Flier asked.

  “He healed.” I shrugged casually. “Still limped a little but he used no cane or crutch.”

  Flier began eating again, slowly and obviously thinking. I ate too, without talking to disrupt his thoughts. He needed time. My mug needed a refill, and without thinking, I took Flier’s mug too. When I returned, he was looking at me strangely, as if the common courtesy of the act impressed him.

  He said, “I was unconscious from a beating when they carried me back to the dungeon. Now, the wound seeps pus and never heals. I can feel something hard in there with my fingers, but never knew what it is. I thought it bone so left it alone.”

  “My sister has some skill in nursing.” The words escaped my mouth before thinking. Kendra did have some skills in healing but was no physician. I’d volunteered her services when I had no right. Trying to cover for my misstep, I said, “We could always ask her opinion.”

  I’d expected reluctance on his part. He showed none. His eyes lighted up, and he sat up straighter. Our conversation stalled until we finished eating.

  He asked in a hopeful tone, “Do you know where your sister might be?”

  “We can check the cabin.”

  His expression was hopeful, and the girls were in their cabin when we knocked. Kendra had no problem sitting him on the bed and rolling his pantleg high enough to examine him. He winced at her touch but waited for more. She felt all around the area and finally said, “I think Damon is right. It is an iron arrowhead. Part of it is just below the surface and will probably get worse over time. I’m surprised it hasn’t gotten infected and killed you. It should come out, no matter if it improves your walk or not.”

  “Don’t look at me, I’m not a doctor,” I said.

  She scowled at me. “This is a passenger ship. Passengers have health problems and accidents. There must be one of the crew who is trained.”

  “I’ll go see,” I said and slipped out the door before drawing more of her ire.

  A sailor splicing a rope told me they had a man with medical training and where to find him. Within a short time, he knelt on the floor of our cabin examining Flier’s knee. The man was short, pudgy, and in need of a haircut because it fell well below his shoulders. He continually had to brush it aside with his hand, and he looked at Flier’s knee, his fingers probing. Still, he had a competent bedside manner and pleasing attitude. He offered a name of Spike, which didn’t sound encouraging.

  He said, “Yup, I can feel it right here. It moves around, too, so I think it’s worked its way loose, but causing the puss and pain. Probably kill him sooner or later. Once there was this . . .”

  “Can you remove it?” Kendra interrupted.

  “Can’t tell until cutting. But, I have to clear it with the purser, first. Extra services have to be paid for before, and all that.”

  I said, “We’ll pay whatever.”

  “Not to me to decide or not to take your coin. Haggling for the price of services is done before the service is provided. I mean, I can’t put the arrowhead back in if you think it’s too much cost, can I? Sort of a law on a ship to pay first.” He stood upright as if that ended the conversation.

  “How certain are you?” I asked Spike.

  “That I can get it out? Without looking, I’d say pretty damn good. But you can never tell for sure, and that’s the other reason why you pay first.”

  That sounded good enough to me. “You go get whatever tools you need and come back here. I’ll go find the purser and get it approved and pay him.”

  Kendra winked at me. Flier sat quietly and grinned. I left and went in search of the purser and found him in the salon meeting with another passenger. He took a few coins from me, fewer than expected, and I headed back to Kendra’s cabin wearing a smile of my own.

  The chubby man called Spike was already there, a tool bag on the floor, of the sort a carpenter uses. He accepted my word about already paying. Spike looked at Flier, “You’re sure you want to do this? It’s going to hurt. You could wait until we make port and get a real doctor to do it.”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Just don’t do anything that can’t be undone.”

  “It’s going to hurt, I say again.”

  “Do it.” Flier gritted his teeth in anticipation. When the tools were removed from the bag, he paled at their sight but didn’t change his mind.

  Kendra said to me, “The girls would enjoy a walk.”

  “I may be able to help Flier. I’ll stay,” I said.

  She looked at me and understood the underlying message. My small-magic might be of help, and for that, I needed to remain. She said as if it was true and for their benefit, “Blood makes me faint. Would you mind staying?”

  When they were gone, Spike pulled a cork cap from a small bottle. “This is from a tree bark near Dire. It kills the sense of touch on skin.” He spread a few drops around the knee, careful not to get any on himself. “Takes just a few minutes to work. Now, you lay back and look anywhere but down here. I don’t need you jerking and pulling away.”

  Flier settled himself on his back and waited. Spike pulled a handful of dirty, bloodstained rags and handed them to me. I watched him use a small item that looked like a nail to stab the flesh around the knee gently. Flier didn’t react. Spike pulled a sma
ll knife with a thin blade, a larger one, and pliers. He spread them neatly on the edge of the bed and placed rags under the knee to catch the dripping blood.

  Glancing at me, he said, “Might get messy.”

  My thought was that Flier should have had another mug or two of wine before this. But when looking at his face, his jaw was set, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

  Spike spread more of the substance from the tree bark, this time over a larger area, and waited. Then, after feeling the knee with probing fingers, and without warning, he used the smaller knife to cut a slit. Yellow puss mixed with blood oozed out. Then more.

  “Keep it cleared away so I can see,” he ordered, which made me turn to the two candles providing a dim, yellow light.

  I wiped and cleaned, he made the incision longer, and used the tip of the knife to probe gently, not cutting, but feeling in the puss and blood welling up. He grinned at me and nodded. “Metal touching metal.”

  He reached for a few rags and inserted them into the cut to gather the blood and puss, then pulled them back quickly and looked before the area filled with more blood. My small magic could keep the blood away, but Spike would sense something wrong. He might stop the operation if he suspected I’d done it. Sailors are superstitious, and they don’t like mages in any form.

  He inserted his finger into the slit and nudged the arrowhead with a dirty fingernail. It didn’t seem to move, so he adjusted his finger and tried moving it the other way. “Stuck,” he muttered. “Bone probably grew around it.”

  He reached for the pliers.

  “Try again,” I said, fearing he’d need a much larger cut to get the pliers inside. Besides, I had other plans. I closed my eyes and reached my mind to the metal arrowhead. As Spike’s finger pushed, I exerted more and more pressure, first in one direction, then another. My breath quit. I ignored the sweat running down my forehead into my eyes. My magic pulled, pushed, twisted, and turned.