by LeRoy Clary
How do you ever know the manner a stranger will greet you? Will he smile and shake her hand, or will he scowl and kick her rump? Camilla stayed hidden behind the sagebrush, and as always, thinking before acting. The boy on the path now breathed somewhat evenly and stood on shaky legs. He climbed to the top of a nearby boulder where he could better see down the mountainside where he came from. Camilla realized the boy could have just as easily climbed to the rocks above her perch, and then what would she have said? Sorry, my name’s Camilla. I was just watching you run from your enemies like a scared rabbit?
Camilla could have smiled at her thoughts, but the events she’d witnessed were still a puzzle she needed to resolve. For now, she knew of the presence of the other boy, but the reverse was not true. If looked at in one way, she held the upper hand, and that was always good. ‘Knowledge is worth more than gold,' her father had said.
My father said that? Where had that thought come from? She barely remembered the man, let alone what he used to say. But there was a remembered friendly timber in his voice, and an odd accent, words pronounced slightly different from those around Nettleton. Different, but understandable. And a smell of smoke and sweat lingered about him that was comforting to remember. Camilla tried again to form an image of her mother in her mind and couldn’t. Instead, there were other things. Softness. And warmth. And laughter. But no mental picture of what she looked like.
Did she share the same dark hair as Camilla? Was she pretty, or slim and tall? Nothing came to mind.
But other children were floating around in her dim memory, all unnamed and older than her, but sharing her almost black hair. They bickered and fought, always taking her food and sweets in their teasing, then returning them with laughter. Warmth and smiles. A good life. Then one day came screams cold enough to freeze winter hawks. Cold and fire, as their wagon burned amid the snow and shouts of unknown men. She had gone to the edge of the trees to pee. An arrow had landed at her feet, only the last of the fletching remaining above ground. Horses carried shouting men and whirling swords flashed. They raced rampant in their campsite. More screams sounded. Then none.
Camilla remembered glimpses from the underbrush near an oak tree where she ran and hid. The horses were fine animals, their saddles polished and the men riding them wore matching uniforms. Blue and red. One soldier used a sword to cut one of her older brothers nearly in half as he tried running away. Then Camilla turned and ran. She ran into the forest as far and as fast as she could.
Her attention returned to the craftsman boy standing on the path. He stood still and watched down the mountain as if undecided what to do. The path led down to the trees beside the road. The three who were chasing him had gone down there, probably to join the other two that completed their pack of angry students. They couldn’t be seen in the trees.
The craftsman’s eyes moved down the side of the mountain and paused. Even if he didn’t follow the path, and if the boys were watching him from concealment in the trees, they could see him. They could move to intercept him wherever he emerged on the road. Camilla decided the boy would probably wait until dark before going down. That was the smart way.
It was easy to see the young craftsman’s intentions and follow his train of thought. Camilla watched him come to the same conclusions as if she could read his mind. The boy looked a year or two older, and he was slightly larger than Camilla, but not as big as the trainees at the academy. The academy accepted boys around twelve or thirteen, and they departed for duty a few years later. Camilla knew the sizes when they arrived and when they left. She also knew to avoid them, no matter their size. This was not the first pack to give her problems. Two summers ago, there had been another. They beat her once, but she escaped and avoided their attention until one fine spring day they rode off on horses together, under the command of an adult dressed in a blue and red uniform. The color of uniforms that set her heart beating in fear as she remembered her family and the same uniforms.
As she watched, a sensation of tiny crawling things tickled her back. Before looking at the sky, she knew a red dragon would be up there. She spotted it immediately and allowed the tingles and tickles to flow over her back like butterflies touching their wings to her back from neck to bottom.
She watched and thought back to when she had painfully twisted her ankle a year ago. And last winter when she fell after tripping on loose rocks on the side of her mountain and struck her knee so hard she couldn’t stand for days.
Both times a red dragon had flown overhead and circled above her. Looking up had made her think it watched over her. When the pain went away so did the dragon. She knew it was just a silly daydream of a girl without much to dream about.
The red dragon flew high and fast as if it had a place to be in a hurry. Dragons were not exactly rare, but they were not seen every day. When one did fly over, people paused in their endeavors and watched the majestic and dangerous beasts in fascination. Most found it almost impossible not to look.
Camilla was even more impelled to watch, no matter the color. But red ones were the best. Always.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The sheriff sank to a knee and bowed with eyes lowered until King Ember ordered him to rise. It seemed the King kept him longer in the genuflected pose than normal, and the eyes of those at court this morning held a glint of amusement at his discomfort. Two female consorts of the King openly grinned. He smiled at them in return, as he memorized their faces for future retribution.
“Sire, I bring news of a boy of the Dragon Clan.”
The King had long ago outlived his usefulness in most opinions, as well as exceeding a normal lifespan. His major tasks now resolved around which of the court healers held the latest medical wonder cures to treat his illnesses and keep him alive another week or month. Yet, he held on. The King’s demeanor remained calm, but his voice trembled in the manner of old men, “Where?”
“A journey of five days, perhaps less on the King’s Road to the west.”
“Is this sighting verified?” The voice of the King was sharper and the eyes steady.
The sheriff had anticipated no less a grilling. “I have already dispatched a trusted member of my staff to verify the sighting and send word to me by messenger on a fast horse. I am reporting to you in person because of your great interest in these matters.”
“You said that you can trust this fellow you sent?”
A glance to his left found the Earl of Witten whispering into the ear of a pretty maiden, not his wife. He said, “He is one of my best, most trusted men, appointed to serve me only last year by yourself, your highness. Edward, the son of the Earl of Witten.”
The noise in the room fled as if all the people had somehow been sucked out. The sheriff carefully avoided looking anywhere near the Earl. The King pounded a palm on the arm of his throne. “Excellent! I’ve known him since he was a babe in this very chamber.”
The sheriff smiled while thinking that if the mission failed for any reason, the blame would certainly fall elsewhere. If successful, the would be grateful to the sheriff for giving the boy a chance to prove himself. No less grateful than the Earl. In short, the sheriff would gain any glory and others would receive blame for any failure. He allowed his gaze to find the Earl.
The Earl of Witten met his eyes and nodded his appreciation. Giving his son an opportunity to excel on a mission for the King was a favor he should gladly owe. Yet, there was also cunning in the eye of the Earl. His reputation in court was second to none. He had to be aware that his son was a childlike buffoon, so why did he appear pleased? His left hand, concealed to all but the sheriff and a few others, slid down the lower back of the maiden at his side and rested on her generous bottom. He leaned closer and whispered in her ear again, his eyes never leaving those of the sheriff. She giggled.
The sheriff felt his smile slip and fought to regain it. The damn Earl was up to something.
He leaned forward and asked, “When might you have confirmation?”
“Fifteen da
ys, more or less, your highness.”
“Does this boy wear the dragon mark on his back?”
“We do not know. It is only a rumor until verified by Edward, but it seems a reliable source and I have paid a handsome reward for the information.” The sheriff moved his toe back a half step in preparation of backing from the throne when dismissed.
The King continued in a questioning tone, “With all of the rewards posted for Dragon Clan members, how has a boy remained at large close to my palace? Are there people who are hiding him, or is he clever enough to hide without help?”
“It is said he is a wildling. An orphan, even.”
“He lives on his own? I see. What is his age?”
“Again, all is rumor and may not be true. However, my sources tell me he is about twelve. Perhaps a year older, but that is only a guess.”
The King frowned, and settled back in his throne, his brow furrowed, his eyes unfocused. His attention seemed to shift to the throne-room itself, his eyes shifting to observe the high ceilings and beams, and the golden threaded tapestries on the walls. His gaze finally fell to the carpet in front of the dais that held the throne, the same carpet the sheriff stood upon. Then he looked again at the sheriff. The king’s voice chilled. “Where exactly is this wildling?”
“It is only a rumor, sire.”
The King stood. His voice sounded colder and harder. “To what part of my kingdom are you dispatching Edward, son of the Earl of Witten?”
The silence in the great hall intensified. The sheriff drew back and tried to remain outwardly calm. He had expected the King to be grateful, not angry. “The small village of Nettleton. Near Copper Mountain.”
“I know where the hell that is, you don’t have to tell me it’s near that damned ugly mountain, a scar upon the land.” He spun to the palace guard on his left. “Go immediately and find my Weapons Master and drag him from whatever barrel of whiskey or ale he is drowning himself in. Bring him to me. I also need the Slave Master. I want them in my chambers. Now.”
The older guard turned and gave a warning look to the remaining guard who would stay with the king, as if telling him to double his efforts while protecting the king. He then trotted off, holding his sword at his side to keep it from slapping.
The sheriff composed himself. “Sire, you know of Nettleton?”
The King glanced at the sheriff as if seeing him for the first time this day. The King still stood, his posture no longer slumped and haggard. His expression was intense, and he looked years younger, almost revitalized. “Yes, of course, I know too well, of Nettleton. Now shut up and get out of here.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Edward, the eldest son of the Earl of Witten, finished his midday meal alone and climbed the stairs of the palace wing where his personal chambers lay, near the end of amber tinted stone walls of the royal hallway. The fifth-floor carpets matched the shade of amber stone lay on the tiled floor. However, he saw little because of his intense concentration on the upcoming trip.
Climbing the five flights of stairs every day came easier with daily practice, and the view of the courtyard and gardens was worth living on the top floor of the palace. During his meal, three manservants packed for his trip after listening to detailed directions. Five large trunks and several bags occupied the center of the room, with more to come. The servants were rushing about the various rooms, grabbing anything else he might require.
He said to them, “Well done, but there is still much to do. Deliver this to Tomas at the stables as quickly as you can. If I’m needed, I’ll be in a meeting with the sheriff.” He stepped around the pile of possessions sitting in the center of his reception room. Turning, he tried to stride away in the same confident, aloof manner the sheriff had used earlier when exiting the first-day meeting. A small stumble at the threshold ruined the effect, but he quickly recovered, and was off. Edward missed the haggard expressions his servants passed between them as he stalked out the door.
Tomas said he would ensure they departed this day, so Edward hurried to him with his preparations. He hadn’t even taken the time to change from his dinner attire, let alone bathe. There remained a lot to do, and he wanted to be there, making certain all went as hoped. He would take charge with a firm hand if needed. After all, this was the official business of none other than the sheriff, which is also the word of the king.
Arriving at the stable, he might have believed he encountered a traveling carnival. People and animals milled and bustled. Dogs barked. Men shouted. Women laughed. Animals whinnied, snorted, or bawled. At the center of the activity stood Tomas, pointing and shouting. Edward decided he may need to back off his determination to use a firm hand. He had no idea of why so many were at Tomas’ beck and call unless he worked at planning more than a single trip this day.
Tomas spotted him and called, “The man of the hour.” He leaped off the table he’d been standing on while shouting directions and walked briskly to Edward, waving people and animals aside. He pumped Edward’s hand with enthusiasm and pulled him to his office while rattling off a list of all he had accomplished, and what he intended to do. It seemed endless.
A second chair now sat at the desk across from Tomas, and a small stack of papers sat beside a pen and inkwell. Edward ignored the chair. “Why are all those people out there?”
“We are preparing for your journey, of course.”
“But, there are so many!”
Tomas sat in his chair and smiled the same smile he used when selling old horses, with little life remaining in them, to gullible buyers. He passed them off as well-trained and child-friendly. The fact the horse was too old to bite or buck made little difference to the truth. “Not all are going to travel with you, of course. That would be over-doing it, don’t you think?”
Edward, feeling relieved, fell into the other chair.
Tomas continued, “For instance, your servants, delivered your things, but they are not traveling with you, are they? If so, we can always add a few more horses and carriages to your budget.”
“I’m paying for all this?”
“No, no of course not. You’ll pay only for what you requested, and not a copper snit more. In fact, I have the numbers right here so we can go over them before you sign, as I promised. For instance, you said you need tents. They are expensive to purchase, so I’ve informed most of the laborers to provide their own tents or do without. I assumed you would not want to purchase one for yourself either, so I have made arrangement for a tent at a price of less than half you’d expect to purchase one for.” His finger darted to an entry in a column of numbers. “See right here? However, if you wish to buy it, I can add that amount to the bottom line.”
The column of numbers went to the very last line on the sheet of paper. Edward slid it aside with his index finger and saw more numbers continued to the next and next. “What is all this?”
Tomas tried to look embarrassed. “Men, horses, tents, wagons, food, and supplies as you instructed. You also asked me to determine what else you might need and have it ready for travel today. I did not have time to dicker the prices but did the best I could with such short notice. You did tell me to do what was needed for an extended trip, did you not?”
“I-I guess I did.”
“Edward, if there has been a misunderstanding, I apologize. I was doing my best to please you.” He shuffled the papers to the one on the bottom and examined the figure totaled as if seeing it for the first time. He looked up into the eyes of Edward, “This is indeed a lot of money, but your father can afford it. Still, you should present him with a number that is a bargain, don’t you agree?”
“Yes, that is more gold than I have ever signed for.”
Tomas dipped the pen in ink and drew a single line through the number at the bottom of the page. It was five digits long, 17,387. Tomas winked at Edward and wrote 16,999. “There, that should look much better to your father, and I will still have enough coin to pay the expenses. It means that I will forfeit part of my salary, but I’m
sure you will remember what a good businessman I am when you are Earl.”
Edward breathed a sigh of relief and reached his hand to take Tomas’. “When will we be ready to depart?”
“Well, you should have already left by now, but those four trunks you sent to us a short while ago set us back a little. I had to procure another two-wheel wagon and driver, but I assure you there will be no extra charge. I should have anticipated that in the beginning, and therefore, I will bear the brunt of the additional cost.”
“What would I do without you, Tomas?”
“I’m sure you would have gotten along fine,” Tomas smiled.
CHAPTER NINE
Camilla knew that if the boys from the academy watched the Craftsman from the cover of the trees beside the King’s Road, and saw her emerge from behind the bushes, she was in trouble. That meant she waited, too. Until dark, at least. Her bright green shirt would stand out against the browns and tans of the mountain, even the yellow shirt of the boy could be seen from a distance.
A loose stone or sniffle would give her away because the boy had paused to rest so near to her hiding place. Camilla sat still and waited. As the sun sank lower, the boy stood and walked nervously down the path, then quickly retreated. When he moved down the path again, Camilla watched in fascination and used the time to pee, a need she’d denied for some time. Squatting, she realized the boy was trying to draw them out. Show where they hid. He advanced and retreated again. He’d already proven he could outrun them. Now he went directly to where they had last been, probably assured that he could outrun them again.
The closer to the road the boy went, the more attention Camilla paid. If she saw a flash of tan uniform would she shout a warning and also place herself in danger? Normally, she would. Today her leg hurt and she couldn’t draw a deep breath, so running wasn’t the option she would use. Her best course would be to stay quiet and out of sight. But I can’t do that.