Dragon Clan #1: Camilla's Story

by LeRoy Clary

  “And to you, too.” The greeting was made without demand or expectation. Edward turned back to him, “I’m going up the valley and don’t know the way. Would you know of someone who could spare a few days to show me the way?”

  The unknown man shrugged, “You just follow the road, sir. Only one road going that way, but if you want, I can go see if Potter’s oldest boy can spare the time to show you the way.”

  Remembering how Tomas has charged and overcharged for every part of the trip, and not wanting to be taken advantage of again, he said, “Do you have any idea of the cost?”

  The man cast him an odd look before answering. He sounded just a little angry. “Sir, you asked for help. There’s no charge for helping a man who needs it.”

  “I see. Didn’t mean to offend.” Edward looked down at his plate of food. Last night one small silver coin had paid for food and drink for twenty, or more. Inside his purse was ten or fifteen more silver coins, half that many in gold, and only a few coppers. One gold exchanged for three hundred silver coins of the same size. He glanced around and made a quick calculation. One of his gold coins would probably buy the inn, the contents, and pay the wages for the staff for a hundred years. One coin. Yet, the good people of Nettleton asked for nothing to help him.

  The other man stood. “I’ll go ask Potter, now. If his boy goes with you, he’ll be here in a short while. If he cannot, I’ll ask around and get somebody else here quick as I can.”

  Edward’s fingers tingled with the urge to reach for a coin, but he resisted. The old man did the favor because he wanted to, not because he would get paid. He tore off more bread and made a promise to himself. When he became Earl, he would sneak back to Nettleton for a few days, now and then.

  A short while later the innkeeper returned. He carried a blanket and clothing under one arm and a cloth sack in the other hand. The door opened and a boy old enough to have a scruff beginning to grow on his cheeks entered. He walked to Edward and stuck his hand out. “Call me Tangos, sir. I’ll be glad to take you up the valley.”

  The innkeeper beamed at Tangos and said, “I’ll go pack more food for you. This one will eat enough for two.”

  “You have a horse?” Edward asked the boy who was so excited he danced from foot to foot.

  “No sir, but don’t you worry, I’ll keep up.”

  “Nonsense. Go tell the stableman to ready a mount for you. I’ll settle with him shortly.” Edward watched the innkeeper carry empty mugs to a tub where he washed them and lined the clean ones up neatly on a shelf. He had washed mugs the night before, too. It looked like a part of the job the innkeeper preferred to do himself. Customers want a clean mug. The way to ensure that happened was to take on the chore himself. Another lesson learned.

  Edward smiled as his fingers found two silver coins in his purse and placed them in the dregs of wine left in the bottom of his mug. Swill or not, he had enjoyed himself in a way that was both new and invigorating. He waved to the innkeeper, knowing that as soon as he left the innkeeper would grab his mug and wash it. Hopefully, Edward would already be down the road before he found the silver. “We’ll be off, soon.”

  “You’re always welcome here at the Red Dog, sir,” the innkeeper called over his shoulder.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The Slave Master slapped his knee in disgust as he pulled his horse to a stop on the heavily forested hillside. “We’ve been played for idiots.”

  “Maybe we missed the cave.”

  “That woman back there lied. I can feel it. She knows where the boy is, and she sent us on a wild chase to nowhere.”

  The Weapons Master placed his hands one on top of the other on the pommel of his saddle and snorted. “Now why in the world would she do that? Do you think she’s the mother of the brat? Or does she take care of him? I don’t think so. Besides, the others backed her up.”

  “Not really. I’ve been thinking about that, too. They didn’t contradict her, but they didn’t agree or add anything to her story, either. She lied. Let’s go back and beat the truth out of a few of them.”

  They turned their horses and headed for Nettleton at a gallop.

  Miss Ann spotted the King’s men at the same time as the innkeeper. They all knew the men would return—and they’d be angry. She locked the door to her store and hustled around the corner to the blacksmith, then to the stable. One by one, the people who had been present when the washerwoman provided the King’s men the wrong directions disappeared.

  The Slave Master rode to the front of the Red Dog and shouted, “Where’s the washerwoman?”

  An old man peered through a slit in the door before stepping into sight. “She lives in them trees over there past the foundry. Her place is right beside the little stream where she has good water.”

  The Slave Master glanced around. “Seems like I’ve heard that before. A place on a little stream.”

  The old man shrugged and reentered the inn as if he didn’t care to speak anymore.

  The Weapons Master spurred his horse. They rode together, and upon entering the trees found a small cabin and several outbuildings. No smoke rose from the chimney. No fires under the tubs used for washing. The door to the shed stood open, and no clothing hung from the many lines.

  “Gone?” The Weapons Master asked, more to himself than out loud.

  “Someone will know where she went, as well as where to find the boy.” He spun his horse and headed for the inn, his temper barely in check. “We can offer a reward or beat it out of them.”

  The Weapons Master nodded and said, “Today I prefer to keep my coins in my purse.”

  They strode into the inn together and stood, barring the doorway. Five men were inside. Two at one table, two at another, and the innkeeper. The Slave Master ignored the men at the table and looked directly at the innkeeper. “Where’s the washerwoman?”

  “We don’t know where but we think she is hiding from you.”

  “From us because she lied about the boy?”

  One of the old men playing a dice game said, “What do you want with him, anyway? He’s a good boy.”

  “That’s our business. Where is he?”

  When nobody answered, the Weapons Master advanced on the innkeeper and shouted, “How would you like to wake up in the morning and find this place burned to the ground?”

  The innkeeper stood his ground, but said nothing. Facing irate customers, and those making unreasonable demands were part of the job.

  The Slave Master glanced at the two old men and turned his attention to the other table. Two younger men sat there, farmers from the looks of them, and they already looked scared. In two steps he stood at their table. “Tell me where she is.”

  They shook their heads at the same time, fear evident in their movements. “You’re telling me you won’t tell, or you don’t know?”

  “Don’t know,” One managed to say.

  “The orphan boy who’s been causing trouble. Where can I find him?”

  The other farmer looked puzzled and asked, “Cam? They say he lives in a little cave on the backside of Copper Mountain, somewhere. I can’t tell you more than that.”

  “When did you last see him?”

  “A few ten-day periods ago. My farm is down near Hogan’s Flat, so I don’t get up here, much.”

  The Slave Master turned his attention to the other. “You?”

  “Three or four days ago. He doesn't cause us no trouble.”

  “You live in town?”

  “I work at the grain mill over yonder,” his arm wagged in the general direction.

  The Weapons Master stomped to stand at the side of the Slave Master. He leaned forward and took the millworker by his shirt front and stood him up. “Outside. You’re going to take us there.”

  “I don’t know where he lives, just what I’ve heard,” the man protested.

  One of the old men who had been playing dice said, “Dance, remember where you and I tracked that buck with his leg broken up the mountain? Up beyond that
green pond?”

  The millworker nodded.

  “That boy was hiding around there. It isn’t a cave. Just a rock shelf that sticks out enough to slip under.”

  The Sword Master turned to the old man. “You’ve seen him there?”

  “Once or twice. Sometimes I walk my dog up that way.”

  The Weapons Master let go of the millworker’s shirt and pointed, “You’re going for a walk. We’ll pay.”

  “Keep your money.” The old man looked between the two men and came to a decision. He drained his mug in one pull and stood, adjusting the crotch of his pants and then nodding he was ready. The three of them walked past the blacksmith’s shop and followed a well-used path into the trees.

  The old man set the pace, and the two King’s men struggled to match it. The path split and became two smaller paths, and then again. It headed up the side of a hill and dipped into a small valley with a good-sized mountain beyond.

  The old man pointed to a wooded area on the lower reaches of the mountain. “We ain’t going to climb to the top, so you can relax. We’re just going to right about there.”

  The King’s men huffed and puffed behind the old man who hadn’t slowed a step. Once in the thick trees, he picked a route as if he had gone this way a hundred times. He slowed at a small clearing. “There it is.”

  “Where? I don’t see a cave,” the Slave Master said.

  “Those bushes weren’t there before. The boy probably moved them to hide the front.”

  The three approached the area together, two of them in disbelief. However, as the old man predicted, behind the shrubs was an opening large enough to lie in. No footprints showed in the dirt, and nothing seemed man-made until the old man turned over a rock and exposed the campfire blackened underside. The place was deserted.

  The Weapons Master knelt and examined the interior. His hand found a cavity packed with fresh dirt. Behind the dirt, he pulled a rolled piece of leather containing nuts. “Looks like he’s gone.”

  The Slave Master turned to the man. His fist raised, but then he lowered it and said, “Maybe you’ve done us a favor. Our intention was to punish everyone in Nettleton, even if we had to bring in troops, to gather the information we need. You can prevent that. When did he leave and where is he going?”

  The old man seemed to shrink. “I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t. But, I can guess. Look around you. The mountains on either side are almost impossible to cross. This is a narrow valley with the King’s Road passing through. I saw the boy three days ago, and the washerwoman when she talked to you. Both are gone, but you didn’t meet them on the road, did you?”

  “Meaning what?” The Sword Master growled.

  The old man shrugged. “They went the other way. Up the road away from you. Nowhere else to go when you think about it.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Robin ran another hundred paces and then walked a hundred. She repeated the process so many times she lost count, but to catch Camilla she had to cover twice the distance. Late in the day, she found two dead horses on the road. The head had been ripped off one, and another had its stomach torn open. Dried blood had soaked into the dirt and showed where several men had been wounded or killed.

  She inspected the ground carefully and found no spent arrows or indication of men fighting. The hoof prints said that at least ten men were here, probably closer to twenty. She was no tracker, but anyone could read the signs. When men battle on horses, the horse’s heads do not get ripped off their bodies. Her eyes went to the sky and saw no dragons. Girl, what have you done, now?

  The survivors traveled in the same direction she was going.

  That presented two problems. One, she’d catch up with the army due to her faster pace and then try to explaining her presence. She didn’t know how they would react to her if they saw her first, which was likely because they would be on guard after the dragon attack. The second problem was the soldiers overtaking Camilla, who may be moving slower.

  A third problem bubbled to the surface of her thinking. There was the unknown owner of the footprints that continued to walk beside Camilla. She moved ahead of the area where the fighting occurred and examined the road carefully. Horse tracks and a few men walking, probably soldiers who lost their horses or were too injured to ride.

  She looked further along and saw the same. What she didn’t see were the tracks of Camilla and her escort. Robin ran up the road a hundred steps and knelt to see every impression on the road. She read more than ten horses traveling in the direction of Nettleton, and then most of them riding back again, after the attack. But, no sign of Camilla.

  Robin considered the possible alternatives and decided that if Camilla saw the soldiers approaching her on the road, she may have hidden. However, if she hid until they passed, she would have returned to the road, and there should be fresh prints, telling Robin she had almost caught up. Since there were no tracks, she decided to retrace her route until she found them.

  It didn’t take long. At the location where the dragon had attacked, she found where the pair of footprints ended. After noticing the stream, she went to it and found where a small tree had been freshly cut down with what looked like a small knife. Footprints led into the forest, and she followed them to an unused campsite. Firewood was piled, and disturbed pine needles showed where beds had been made, but not slept on. There didn’t seem to be enough disturbance for sleep.

  She found ants carrying off the remains of bread, shaved meat, cheese, and fruit. Somebody had spilled food and was in too much of a hurry to pick it up. Robin saw the route they took, right through briars and thorns. Scared. They watched the dragon attack and ran. Didn’t even stop to gather the food they spilled. Good girl.

  This high up, the valley was narrower. The road was their logical destination, but they were trying to avoid the soldiers. Should she follow or use the road? Their footprints would be clear when they came back on the road, and the travel through the forest much harder.

  She chose to follow them.

  While the road was faster, the chances of running into the soldiers were greater. They might believe someone had called down the dragon on them, which may be true. They might even believe it was her. Tempers were short after a dragon attack. Strangers are worth killing, just to make sure. Her fingers found the dragon tooth on the thong around her neck. Just having the tooth could be enough to end her life.

  She jumped over the small stream and pushed her way past the vines, thorns, and brambles.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Camilla said, “Move very slowly to the edge of the trees, Brix. Eyes see movement even before color. That’s why I saw them, first.”

  Together they slow-stepped into the dark shade of the forest. Brix asked, “Circle around or follow?”

  “Food, first.” Camilla quickly led the way to the pear tree and selected one that looked ripe. “They can’t see us in here because they’re on the road ahead. Let’s grab some more food while we can.” A bite confirmed the pear was ripe. After wiping juice from her chin, she picked several more and stuffed them into the end of her bedroll. Brix did the same, trying to eat one while he picked others. He needed one more hand. Finally, he tossed the one he was eating on the ground and picked more from the branches before moving on to the apple tree. The fruit was small and tart, exactly the way Camilla liked them. Hard as rocks, but they’d stay fresh for days and days.

  The bedroll had gained weight with the addition of the fruit and pounded her side with each step. She bit into an apple and asked, “Which way do you think?”

  “They have wounded men so they’re moving slow, would be my guess. We can head faster up the valley, and once we’ve passed them, we take to the road again.”

  Camilla nodded and turned to examine possible routes. “On the road, we’ll have to be careful of others, too. Still, we can travel a lot faster there.”

  Brix pointed into the shadows under a thick stand of pines further from the road as he moved to examine the grou
nd. “There. Looks like deer move through here.”

  Shifting her bedroll to the other shoulder, Camilla took the lead. They slipped through the forest quickly but quietly, barely speaking, and when they did the words were exchanged in whispers. She watched her footing, stepping over branches so they would not snap, and her ears told her Brix was doing the same.

  Twice they heard voices from the road, which helped them locate their position in relation to the soldiers. The first time, the voices were too close, and without speaking, Camilla led them further away from the road before continuing along the banks of a small stream. Both scooped palms full of water but didn’t pause long enough for a long full drink.

  Brix touched her shoulder.

  She slowed and turned.

  He moved his lips closer to her ear. “We need to find the road, then work our way back to them to see what they’re doing and how fast they’re moving.”

  “You have more than that in mind.”

  He shrugged. “Okay, you’re right. How many horses do they have? And who, if anyone, is watching them?”

  “You’re thinking of stealing horses?”

  “Probably not, but if the opportunity is there, I might.”

  Camilla shook her head. “Stealing the King's horses will cost you your life if they catch you.”

  “I wasn’t going to keep them. Just ride for part of a day and turn them loose.”

  “Your idea of spying on the men is good. But we don’t take a horse. Not even spares. You’ve heard too many adventure stories at your evening fire on winter’s nights.”

  Brix smiled and motioned for her to continue leading them. As she shoved some brush aside with her staff, he hissed, “Think of it as an adventure. Like in the old stories.”

  His statement rang true. To him, this was probably a break in his boring existence of spinning threads long enough to weave a dozen blankets or twist into a rope long enough to reach from one end of Nettleton to the other. When Brix grew old, he’d still tell the tale of the trip to Arum the herder’s flock. He’d speak of how he watched the dragon swoop down from the sky and carry off men and rip the head off the body of a horse. The story would probably have people in the Red Dog Inn buying him ale again and again.