by LeRoy Clary
“What?”
“Listen, those boys chased me, caught up, and then almost killed me. Never again. I am going to learn how to outrun them.” She tried not to smile. “And you, too.”
She sprinted ahead, leaving him rocking on his heels, but with a whoop of joy he chased after, head down and arms pumping. Camilla maintained the lead for another hundred steps and stopped, hands on her knees, staff lying in the dirt, her breath ragged.
Brix pulled even with her, appearing less tired. Then, in an action, telling of his competitive nature, he took a single step past her on the road, one step further up the road and waited for her reaction.
“I beat you,” she panted.
“I ran further, Cam.”
They laughed together.
“You were hurt, so it wasn’t fair,” Brix amended.
“No, you went further, this time. I plan to beat you next time.”
Brix took another calculated step up the road, easing himself further ahead of her.
Noticing his action, she said, “Not now. Let’s walk for a while, but we should run like that several times every day. By the time we bring the sheep to town those boys will never catch us.”
“If you leave that pole behind you can run faster.”
“Not a pole. It’s a staff,” she replied, using the same prideful tone as the washerwoman when she corrected Camilla about the name.
Drawing back, he said, “I never saw you carry it with you, before.”
Camilla lifted it and dropped the butt end firmly in the dirt in front of her, feeling the power of the weight as it struck. A small tree grew two steps away. She gripped one hand above the other. “Pretend that tree is the leg of one of those boys in Nettleton.” She snapped her wrists and the butt end flew from the ground and struck the tree with a resounding thud.
“That would have hit his knee, and he wouldn’t be walking for a few days!” Brix snorted, surprised at the speed and violence of the action.
Camilla smiled. “I’m new at this. Imagine what I’ll do with this staff three or four ten-days from now.”
Brix glanced to the forest on his right.
“Something out there?” she asked, not trying to hide the concern.
“Just looking for a tree to cut me a staff. You aren’t the only one who needs to use a weapon.”
They continued walking on the road, talking little, both of them watching for the perfect staff for Brix. Each they saw was too large, bent, a soft wood, or rejected for another reason. They agreed they would find a perfect one, sooner or later. The travel became harder as the road climbed a long slope. They rested when winded, and never pushed themselves. They ran often. Their self-imposed training took on a sharp competitive edge, with neither a clear winner. Camilla sprinted faster, but quickly became winded. Brix ran slower, but didn’t tire as fast.
Slowly the familiar trees of the lower valley changed to more pine, and other types of evergreen, but still oak and maple grew in the valleys they trekked through. The hoof prints of the horses from the morning were distinct, but the only other tracks they saw were from deer and once a bear. While drinking from a stream that trickled across the road and pooled on one side into a small pond, Brix stood and pointed. A tree for a staff grew beside the water. “Perfect?” he asked.
“Perfect,” she agreed. “Besides, I’m tired, and my leg is getting sore. Why not cut down your tree, then follow the stream and find a place for us to sleep for the night?”
Brix pulled a stubby knife from his bedroll and eyed the tree. “You go on and find us a place to camp. This will take a while.”
Twice today Camilla had used the prayer excuse to pee, so she quickly agreed and used her staff to support her as she followed the stream. The goal was to get far enough away from the road to building a fire in safety. An animal path revealed itself a dozen steps into the pines. She heard Brix chopping the small tree and used the opportunity to relieve herself. The path wound back to the stream where she found an area clear of underbrush. On the ground was a layer of soft pine needles.
Her bedroll fell to the ground, and she gathered dry twigs and small branches into a pile. Then she began gathering larger pieces, breaking many over her knee before carrying them back to the campsite. Several were too large to break, so she pulled them behind. A few scrapes of her foot removed the layers of needles and revealed bare ground. The stick easily dug into the sandy soil until a bowl-shaped depression remained. The small pile of dry twigs went into it. She spread her bedroll and placed the staff beside her as she lay down and closed her eyes.
“Eat yet?” Brix asked as he entered the clearing, a small, straight tree in tow, including all the side branches and top.
“Waiting for you,” she muttered, wiping the sleep from her eyes.
He went to the other side of the fire pit and sat, legs crossed. “Shouldn’t take long to chop off the top and skin it.”
Camilla smiled at him. The staff he needed was barely taller than he stood, but the trunk and top branches were easily twice that. “Want to measure with mine?”
“Good idea,” he reached for her staff and placed it beside his. After marking the length, he pushed it back to her and started chopping the top off the tree.
After sitting up, Camilla ate a handful of the nuts and dried fruit Robin sent with her. She quenched her thirst in a stream, narrow enough to step across but flowing fast and clean. Of course, the rotting corpse of an animal may be upstream, but water is always suspect. Most people used a little wine to make the what taste better. She had no wine, so shrugged and hoped for the best.
A glance behind showed Brix had cut the top off the tree and was now skinning the branches and bark. A buttery-yellow wood revealed itself. Brix touched it with the tip of his finger. “Slippery.”
“Wash it in the water.”
He stood and walked to the stream. In a short time, he finished and said, “Better. Want to show me how you made your staff hit a knee?”
She laughed out loud. “It’s hard to show you when that was the first time I’ve ever done it. Seriously, we need to learn to carry it before we get fancy.”
“Stand up. I want to try something.” He motioned to her staff.
Once on her feet with her staff in hands, he flashed a smile. Then he raised his new staff over his head and took a very slow step in her direction. He let the weight of the end of his staff slowly fall like chopping wood. She raised her staff above her head, parallel to the ground to block his slow motion blow. He tapped her staff near the middle with his downward swing and grinned like an evil roadman stealing coins from clergy. Camilla half turned and bent, allowing the end of her staff to swing around until it was positioned right in front of his stomach. His staff was still raised high. She jabbed the end forward, stopping just short of his belt buckle.
“Ouch!” he cried. “That would have hurt. Where’d you learn that?”
“Just made it up.”
“Well, I had both hands over my head, and if you ran that end into my stomach, I’d be on the ground in pain. Here, let me attack you again.”
“I really don’t know what I’m doing,” she said.
He came at her again, his staff held lower this time, with both hands extended in front of him. One end of her staff rested on the ground. Without looking down, she lifted her staff a few inches and moved it forward as if she was going to grasp it as he did, and block his move. Instead, she speared it down on top of his right instep, again preventing it from striking too hard, but she felt the jar as it hit.
Brix howled in pain, dropped his staff, and fell to the ground grabbing his foot.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said, dropping to one knee and trying to tell if his foot was broken. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
Brix rolled over to a sitting position, still cradling his foot. “That was a nice move. I didn’t even see it coming.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know, but just think. You were trying not to hurt me. I
magine what this would do to one of those boys who attacked you if you did that for real.”
Camilla glanced at her staff again. Brix was right. He had mock-attacked her twice and each time she easily defeated him. It was not because of any sense of learned skill, yet, but hinted of things to come. “Brix, think of how well we will fight in two ten-days if we practice. We’ll be stronger and know how to defend ourselves.”
“If my foot heals,” he snorted.
“This is a good thing.”
His eyes met hers. “Yes, it is. I’m not mad at you. Just the opposite.”
A sound drew her attention, and she held her finger to her lips. “Listen.”
Horses were drawing near. They were on the road, many of them.
“They’re riding back from Nettleton,” Brix said.
“Those same soldiers again, I’ll bet.”
“They’re patrolling the road.”
“Looking for someone. Or something. Searching” Camilla swallowed hard. They might be searching for her. Fear passed over her like a draft on a cold night. “Protecting the highway from thieves?”
“I haven’t heard of any around here.”
“Maybe they’re just making sure the road is clear.” Camilla felt a slight twinge on her back. A dragon was drawing near. Coincidence? First, the soldiers and now a dragon approaching?
Brix shook his head as the horses passed by the creek and continued on. “You don’t need twenty of them for that. Instead, you’d dispatch maybe four at a time. Spread them out to cover more road. No, this is something else. Something far more important.”
Camilla’s back flared in sharp pain, like never before. The pain turned to heat and anger. She tensed and gripped her staff with both hands.
A wild shout came from the road, “Look out!”
Other shouts followed. Men screamed orders. One terrified scream turned her cold.
Camilla heard the beat of huge leathery wings flying low overhead. Spiders danced painfully on her lower back, no longer a gentle tickle, while rage filled her mind. The horses on the road whinnied in fear, and she heard the beat of hooves running in different directions. A man cried out as if slain.
She glanced at Brix. He was also on his feet, his face white, eyes wide.
“A dragon,” she whispered. “It’s attacking them.”
“We have to go help, right?”
To Camilla, it sounded as if he wanted her to disagree with him. “Bring your staff. We’ll go look.”
They silently followed the path back to the road, running through the heavy brush, Camilla in the lead, neither trying to remain unseen or quiet. Near the intersection of the road and the stream she stopped. Chaos had erupted in the clearing. Men lay on the road, a few in awkward positions bodies were never intended to be in. They were dead. Wild-eyed horses reared and tried to break free of riders still clutching reins. A few soldiers remained in their saddles trying to calm the bucking, terrified animals, but another wild screech sounded from above the treetops. As Camilla looked up, a red dragon flew into sight and attacked them again.
It flew low to the road, talons at about the height of a man’s head, wings slashing the air and wingtips almost touching the ground with each flap. The dragon mouth of teeth swept back and forth, the eyes locating horses and men. Men leaped from the backs of horses or fell. The horses screamed in fear or pain, matching the screams of the wounded soldiers.
Camilla knelt behind the underbrush and watched. Brix settled in behind her.
The dragon passed over again and screeched a terrifying call one more time, then flew higher until it disappeared over the ridge of the mountains.
Soldiers slowly climbed to their feet. Two remained on the road, and it was obvious they were never going to stand again. A horse’s corpse lay ten paces from its head. Another had its stomach ripped open, and it screamed until a merciful soldier slit its throat. The horse’s stomach oozed out in bloody coils of entrails. Most of the soldiers still able to defend themselves held swords ready, for whatever good that would do against a dragon.
They were as wild-eyed and as scared as the horses. Camilla backed a step and bumped into Brix, then he also backed up. They continued until they were far enough into the underbrush to run. Without words, they ran. Neither wanted to face the army in the mood they were in.
Brix whispered, “We could have helped the wounded.”
“Do you know how to heal?”
“No, but we could have tried.”
Camilla slowed and shook her head. “I think if we went out there they would have killed us. You’re free to go back and find out. Not me.”
They reached their campsite and without discussion scooped up their belongings and rolled their blankets. Brix pointed, “Let’s cross the stream and go that way. I think it crosses the road again, further up the valley.”
Camilla followed as Brix broke a new path for them, but she noticed he carried his new staff. When darkness fell it caught them by surprise and instead of trying to make a camp they simply spread their blankets under the low hanging branches of a cedar tree. Neither talked. Camilla pretended to sleep until she heard his regular breathing.
Her mind would not slow. Had she somehow caused the dragon attack? Her emotions were raging the last couple of days. The beating had hurt her, and she was not thinking straight. Walking all day tired her more than she realized. Robin mentioned her calling down dragons, which Camilla interpreted to mean calling on them to help in battle. Her mark on her back was red. The dragon was red.
Had she called the dragon down to attack the men?
Tears seeped from her eyes. No, it was impossible. People can’t talk to dragons, let alone ask them to help fight their enemies. Besides, those men had not been attacking her. She felt uneasy that they appeared on the road and seemed to be searching for someone, but that would also be true if there had been any robberies or a hundred other reasons. The soldiers all looked young. They may have been training to be soldiers on this lonely stretch of road. Anything was possible.
She felt compassion. They hadn’t stood a chance against the dragon. Instead of being upset at that idea, she found it oddly comforting that a dragon could fight twenty men and win.
Brix woke twice during the night. Once sobbing and another time he screamed in terror, and she moved to his side where she could sooth him. A few soft words and he slept again.
Camilla fell into a fitful sleep knowing her former life had ended.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Robin paused in her escape long enough to gather only a few things from her cabin. From under the roots of an apple tree, her fingers located a small leather pouch that had a solid jingle as she raised it to tie on her belt. She now wore heavy pants instead of her usual ankle-long dress, and a faded blue shirt of a common worker. The wide belt also held a short knife scabbard, and over her shoulder hung a rope tied to a blanket roll similar to the one Camilla wore.
The Sword Master and the Weapons Master would want to speak with her, if not take her head for lying to them, as soon as they returned from the wild goose chase she had sent them on. She carried enough coin to buy a fast horse, but animals restricted movements when fleeing, and they left tracks for others to follow.
Nettleton had been a good fifteen years of her life. The people were not too inquisitive about her past, and most had welcomed her to the village and the drudgery of washing their clothing. In time, she made a few friends and earned the respect of others.
Damn dragon girl could have gone to anyone else for help and left me alone.
The washer woman had perhaps one day of travel head start before the two men searching for Camilla would come back galloping up the Kings Road looking for her. Robin would chase Camilla and try to catch her before they did. Robin would have to travel twice as far as them in the same time because if those two men got to her, the only chance had been that they were still looking for a boy instead of a girl. But if Camilla continued to act and dress like a boy they would ferr
et her out in no time. If she wore a dress, she might escape their notice.
Robin reached for her staff leaning against the wall of her cabin. It was old, now. The color had turned to light gray over the years, and it was darker where her hands gripped. When she used to travel with it, she carved the entire length while sitting around many different campfires over the years. Deer antlers decorated one section after she killed an animal to feed her family. The head of an ugly dog that attached himself to her for three years looked back at her from one end. It died protecting her from a wolf. The area her fingers gripped when walking or fighting was an intricate pattern of woven vines. It was decoration, but when the staff got wet from water or blood, she still had a firm grip.
From a small hole drilled in a tree trunk at the edge of her clearing with her knife, she withdrew another leather thong and three small gold coins, each stamped with the head of a dragon. She unwound the strip of leather and revealed a necklace made from a single dragon tooth. She looked at it for a long time, her face expressionless.
She smiled as she slipped it over her head and gave the thong a tug to make sure the leather still held. Looking down at it, she said, “We travel together, again.”
The three coins didn’t go into the purse at her waist with her others. Instead, she inserted them into the small compartment sewn into the waistband of her pants. She’d known this day would come. Her advanced preparations made for a quick transition from washerwoman to traveler.
A last glance at her cabin and the home she had made years ago left her cold, but determined. She slipped the dragon tooth inside her shirt and hefted her familiar staff. She turned her back to her past life and began walking, slowly at first and later faster. When she reached the King’s Road, she ran while counting one hundred steps. Not fast. Not yet. She was still getting used to fast travel again.
The staff was slightly awkward but with use, it would soon again feel part of her. A hundred paces walking and then she ran again. Then walked.