Dragon Clan #1: Camilla's Story

by LeRoy Clary

  The craftsman ventured further down the path, nearing the edge of the trees where the path intersected with the road. Suddenly he spun to his right and darted along a small path parallel to the road. He lengthened his stride. Any boys waiting in ambush would have to run on the road to stay up with him, or lose him. Camilla stood for a better view and saw no movement, other than the single runner.

  True, they may have taken up positions further up the road, but were they smart enough to anticipate the unexpected action of the craftsman? She didn’t think so and grinned as she stood. She hobbled down the path. The staff helped her limp. She leaned on it to rest her leg, but her arm and hand grew tired from the unaccustomed weight. She continued, the rolled blanket swinging by the rope and slapping against her hip.

  As usual, she was hungry. A glance at the sun told her if she didn’t hurry she may as well have stayed in her cave for the night. She tried switching hands with the staff but couldn’t get the right rhythm to help her walk. Finally, she tried using both hands to hold the heavy staff and limp ahead faster. It worked well, especially going downhill and taking a long step with her right foot supported by the pole, followed by a shorter one for her left.

  Her goal became reaching the King’s Road. Not where it joined the path, but further along where the craftsman went. She wanted to take no chances of meeting up with the others. After leaving the main path, she followed the footsteps of the other boy, clearly visible in the dry dust coating the surface of the hard packed ground. Trees and dense underbrush grew a dozen steps to her left, where the road followed the path of the river and the plants drew moisture from the damp ground. To her right stood the barren slopes of Copper Mountain, dry, brown, and desolate.

  The leg that darted out from behind a green stand of brambles was unseen until it tripped her. Camilla fell forward, managing to reach out with her hands in time to keep her face from plowing into the hard ground. Immediately her head was yanked back by a hand tangled in her hair while a knee dropped in the middle of her back. She reached for the little knife at her hip, determined to drive it into one of the military boys at the first opportunity.

  An angry voice in her ear snarled, “Why are you following me?”

  Camilla couldn’t see her attacker, but if it was one of other boys they would have already kicked or hit her, not asked a question. It was the craftsman boy. She slipped the knife back into the scabbard while berating herself. She should have understood that both of them were watching out for surprise attacks. One glance behind probably told the craftsman he was followed, and he set his trap.

  Camilla cleared her throat and said, “I saw the boys in brown uniforms chasing after you.”

  “So?”

  “Yesterday the same ones beat me.”

  “They asked me about you. They wanted to know where you hide or live.”

  Camilla simply grunted at the information, as if considering the implications.

  “What’s that mean?” the boy asked, still kneeling on her back and holding a fistful of Camilla’s hair.

  Mean? It means I should have chopped my hair shorter so you can’t hold it. “Just that I’ll have to find another place to sleep when I get back. Another home.”

  He relaxed his grip and paused, “I didn’t tell them anything. I don’t even know where you live. You said you’re going to get back? From where?”

  It seemed easier, to tell the truth. Camilla didn’t hesitate or consider a lie. “There’s a herdsman up the valley named Arum. He might need me to help him move his goats.”

  Brix released the hair and stood. “What about the sheep?”

  “Sheep, too.”

  “Can you stand?”

  Camilla rolled over and examined the face of her attacker, as well as his dress. The yellow shirt had a small spinning wheel sewn into the front, and a tear on the other shoulder that she felt sure had not been there earlier. Camilla had seen this boy at the spinners often, and more than a few times in the village. He looked well fed, and the clothing he wore was better quality than any Camilla owned except for her new green shirt. His had been clean but now showed a thick coating of dry dust. It might have been washed by the washerwoman, but then Camilla remembered this boy lived with a mother and older sister who probably did the family laundry.

  Camilla knew from afar everyone in the village. She knew them by their work and who they associated with. When they woke and when they bedded. She knew when the students at the academy arrived and departed, and that the villagers remained the same year after year. Even the peddlers and knife sharpener passing though, were always the same. She considered the villagers almost as a family because they were permanence in her life, although so seldom spoke to any.

  The students at the military academy came and went, and they kept to themselves, most of the time. They rarely spoke to villagers either. In many ways, they were like her. Living in Nettleton, but passing through.

  “I asked if you can stand.”

  The leg hurt, but she managed to walk with the aid of her staff. The boy did nothing to help. She said nothing. When he didn’t respond either, she found herself wiping and patting the dust from her clothing, checking to make sure he hadn’t torn her new green shirt.

  “You did not work for Arum the herdsman last year.”

  It was a statement. Camilla turned her attention back to him, eyes falling to the rolled up bedroll carried over his shoulder with a rope, almost the same as her own. “You’re also going to see Arum?”

  “This will be my third time.”

  Camilla caught the pride in the answer and a trace of a smile. “Then you know more about what I’m doing than me. The washerwoman told me to go help him so I’d be away and those boys won’t beat me again.”

  “The washerwoman tells you what to do?”

  Camilla drew back, ready to flee or fight, then she stiffened. She couldn’t tell if he was insulting her or not. “She told me Arum might need someone to help.”

  “The washerwoman.”

  He sounded as if he didn’t believe her. Or like her. Camilla fought to keep her face passive and not give away true feelings. “Robin. Her name is Robin. She helped me after those boys beat me.”

  “My name is Brix. How bad was the beating?”

  Camilla hesitated. Brix thought of her as a boy, as did everyone else. She remembered Robin’s warning about passing as a boy, and as always she altered her name to sound more masculine. “Call me Cam. Each time they beat me, it’s worse.”

  Brix nodded as if deciding something. He took a small step in her direction and held out his hand to shake. “We have the same enemy, and we’re going to work for the same man. We should travel together, Cam.”

  “Arum has not offered me a job. I only have the word of Robin and a possible offer of the work.”

  “Still, we can, at least, travel together for protection, if nothing else. If we meet those boys on the King’s Road will you join me in fighting them?”

  “Will I have a choice?”

  Brix took her response as a joke and laughed.

  Camilla nodded to her foot. “One of them stomped on my foot. It’s much better today, but I have a rib that hurts when I take a deep breath. I think it’s healing, too. But in a fight, I’m worth little.”

  “Then pretend, Cam. Puff yourself up and act like you can fight. Like you want to. With two of us standing together, who knows? They might back off,” Brix pointed to the road. “Up there beside the road is a place I know. Just off the side, in the trees, near a stream that feeds the river. A clearing you can’t see from the road. A safe place to spend the night.”

  Warnings rang in her mind. She had, at least, two secrets to withhold from him. Traveling near the boy meant he might stumble on either. An accidental sighting of her back or seeing her pee would have him ask too many questions and know too much. When he returned to the village she called home, a careless word might have consequences. “I haven’t agreed to travel with you.”

  “I’m sorr
y about tripping you and pulling your hair if that’s a problem.”

  “It’s more than that,” Camilla said, limping ahead with her staff supporting the weight.

  “I said I’m sorry.”

  Over her shoulder she called, “You had no idea it was me following you. And no idea of why. You’re so stupid about survival you scare me. Have a safe journey.”

  He followed, moving slower as if to maintain their distance. “I knew it was you all the time. I’ve seen you wearing your blue shirt too many times, but never bright green. Once I watched you steal three potatoes from a wagonload. I wondered why you didn’t take twenty. Then I realized that if you only take a little at a time, nobody misses it so you can continue stealing.”

  “You watch me?”

  “Stealing? At least four times. Once you snuck into our mill and escaped with an apple and bread that we didn’t eat at our noon meal. I watched from a window on the upstairs floor.”

  “You didn’t tell?”

  “Everyone knows of you. They also know you only take what you need. It’s a small village. You even have admirers who talk about you making your own way and never asking for aid or help. I suspect some intentionally leave food where you’ll find it. Especially when there’s snow on the ground.”

  Camilla continued limping ahead, watching the edge of the road when she could see it, and the underbrush the rest of the time. There had been more food for her to steal at times, especially in winter. If they left it out for her, was it stealing? Camilla’s emotions were high as she realized they might compete for the same job. Brix had experience. He would win it. Her emotions sank, and she used the time to think.

  Assuming they survived the night without being attacked by the boys, did she need Brix? Their enemies were probably far behind. They didn’t get very far from the academy. Did she need to share the food in her bedroll with Brix? What else didn’t she know? Mistrust is a lesson learned many times when living alone.

  “Over there,” Brix pointed.

  Camilla’s eyes followed a small path that wound down through a stand of willows and cottonwood. She walked a few steps down the path and saw that it opened into a sparkling stream and a clearing large enough for eight or ten to make camp for a night. A ring of fire-blackened rocks stood near one end. Beside the fire pit was a stack of firewood under a small lean-to built by a traveler sometime in the past. A perfect place to spend the night, but not for her.

  Brix went directly to the fire pit and tossed in some wood from the lean-to. “Set yourself down and rest. I’ll take care of things tonight, and we’ll see how things go tomorrow.”

  Camilla shook her head and turned away. She wanted nothing more than to lower herself to the soft ground and rest her sore leg. “I’m going on ahead.”

  “I have extra food.” He pulled a coil of thin line and a hook from inside a purse fastened to his belt. “Besides, that little stream is full of trout. Small ones, but before dark, I’ll have enough to feed us.”

  At the mention of the stream, Camilla realized how thirsty she’d become. Any hesitation might be thought of as her weakening, so she kept walking and ignored her thirst. Perhaps another stream would cross the road ahead. She kept her ears open to hear if he followed. If he did, she would get angry and shout him back.

  He didn’t call out, or race after her. She almost felt cheated. If he had, she might have stayed, but knew it was better to travel alone, as she lived her life. Still, he had been friendly enough. As she reviewed the conversation in her head, she realized the conversations with him were the longest in memory. If she didn’t have her secrets he might have been her second real friend. The first tears were wiped away, but those later flowed freely and trickled down her cheeks unheeded.

  The road was wide enough for one wagon or four men to march abreast, but the center showed far more use than the edges. Walking down the center, whether on foot or horseback was natural. She glanced behind several times, but Brix was nowhere in sight. She didn’t know if she should feel relieved or sorry.

  A glance at the shadows told her she had a lot of daylight left. Her foot now pained her more with each step. Walking fast, and the road now climbing had her short of breath, and as she drew in a lungful, the sharp pain doubled her over. Slow down. She straightened and continued.

  The cheerful chuckling of a stream told her it was there long before she spotted it. It was half the size of the one where she left Brix, but plenty deep enough for a drink. Stepping off the road, she found a small path leading down to a flat rock conveniently placed by nature where a person could lie down and scoop water directly into their mouth. She tossed the staff to one side and knelt before laying on her stomach and allowing her tips to touch the cold water.

  Satisfied, she sat up but didn’t stand. Her mind was sorting information. Brix had told her things she needed to dwell upon. People knew of her. They knew she stole from them, and if his words were true, they even provided for her. She was like a stray cat that was unwanted, but fed and watched.

  She talked to herself for pleasant company. Since others didn’t speak to her, she carried on conversations with herself, and not only in her head. Often she spoke out loud, changing her voice to match the one she imagined speaking. If a villager saw and heard her doing that they might think she was bewitched or eccentric. Neither would be good.

  Brix looked down on Robin, from what she could tell from their brief interaction. That didn’t sit well with Camilla. He had a large, prosperous family. That made him different. They lived in the same village but led lives apart. What might happen when they brought the goats and sheep back? Would they be friends?

  That line of thinking returned her to traveling with him. One rip on the back of her shirt would expose the birthmark. One time relieving herself in his sight would reveal another secret. She smiled at the small joke buried in her choice of words, but soon went back to worrying.

  The difficulties of traveling with him to Arum’s flocks were little different than returning with them. Once they joined Arum, they would herd the animals down the narrow valley. They would probably herd them all day, pushing them to move, yet keeping them together and safe from wolves, bears, or other predators. Then at night, they would sleep around the same fire. Eat the same food. And pee in the same places. Any bathing would be in sight of others.

  The job started to look impossible.

  She stood and noticed the path that had led her to the stream continued on into the undergrowth under a stand of oak. On impulse, she followed it. Looking over her shoulder, she could no longer see the road. A dozen steps further and she found herself on a small hillside, the path leading down to a dip in the ground beside the river, covered with lush grass.

  She used the staff for balance and to brace herself as she moved carefully down the hill. Standing at the base, she realized three things. First, the clearing was perfect. The slope protected a fire from being spotted from the road. The grass was a place to spread her waterproof bedding. Second, a ring of rocks told her she was not the first to discover this place. And third, she had used her staff to help her walk almost without thinking. Already it had become part of her.

  She struck upon a possible solution for traveling with others. Villagers worshiped many gods in many ways. She could pretend to be of people who were from far away. Their prayers were said in private. Several times a day. She could excuse herself and go to pray, and while there relieve herself. The material of her green shirt was thick, and when wet, wouldn’t show her mark, but she could easily check on that.

  The bedroll unrolled. Inside was a sack of dried meat shavings, raisins, dried apples, pears, and seeds of grain. Rice, oats and barley for sure, and maybe another. A feast. Well, maybe not a feast, but enough to supplement what she could scrounge for a few days. She would keep a sharp watch for food, but that was her normal routine, anyway. She stuffed a handful into her mouth and chewed as she adjusted the waterproof groundsheet and blanket.

  She palmed the copper and
iron coins, slipping them into her purse and carefully placing the purse inside her waistband. They would again be wrapped in her blanket tomorrow, so that all the coin was not kept together. If she had a needle and thread, she would sew a pocket into her shirt. Robin had been more than generous. Then she spread the blanket and laid down for a short rest before gathering firewood for the night. Her eyes slowly closed. She slept.

  Brix shook her awake, finger held to his lips, warning her to be quiet.

  Her back started tingling. Then it itched. Then it turned painful.

  A dragon was approaching.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The King paused only long enough to peek out of a small window on the third floor from the edge of the drapes. Seeing nothing dangerous down in the courtyard, he continued jogging down the hallway to his chambers, as feelings of impending doom filled him. Once he’d dismissed the servants and barred the door behind them, he went to a certain stone behind the edge of an old tapestry depicting three hunters with bows, and three leaping stags about to die. Pushing the stone inward released a lock on a hidden compartment. A drawer smoothly emerged from the wall, several fake stones attached to the front. Until the release was made, they had looked like any others on the wall.

  The drawer was wider than his outstretched arms and deep enough to hide a man, as family rumors said had happened a few times in the past. Rumors also said more than one woman had escaped the attention of angry queens by hiding in the drawer. Inside were several objects. The largest was a red stone carved into the writhing image of a red dragon as big as his forearm. The wings were folded against the body, but the head was twisted back on the long neck, as the ugly face and black eyes met his. The statue was the creation of a master carver. And one insane.

  Pounding sounded from the only door to the chambers.

  Lifting the statue carefully, the King carried it to the center of a table where he often did royal paperwork in private. He set it down in the center and hurried to the door. Using the peephole first, he threw the lock and cracked the door open only enough to ensure that the Weapons Master and Slave Master were alone. “Come inside and be quick about it.”