Dragon Clan #2: Raymer's Story

by LeRoy Clary

  “I’d like to know more about that, too. That is before we reveal all of our plans, and you tell all,” Quint said as if there were more plans between them.

  Ander said, “I was the fourth son in my family. My oldest brother inherits a title and lands. I get nothing but a royal appointment to a job nobody else wants.”

  Quint growled, “That’s more than most.”

  “It is, I agree. But my whole life I was raised a royal. The problem is that I never had an objective, yet any time I tried to do something on my own. My family laughed and told me to stop acting like a commoner. The truth is, I think in many ways I’m more a commoner than royal.”

  “And what’s so bad about that?” Quint continued.

  Ander sat and considered the question before answering. “I have never accomplished anything on my own. Nothing. I don’t live, I simply exist. When I wished something done, I order others to do it. Maybe you can’t understand.”

  Quint said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle and calm. “Actually, I do.”

  Raymer swished his feet in the water and pointed across the river to the other side of the canyon. “Is there another ledge for us to climb over there?”

  “No. Our feet are too torn up to endure a climb like that anyway. We’ll just take the easy way out.”

  “Which is?” Raymer demanded.

  “We swim.”

  Both Raymer and Ander turned to look down the river. It ran fast and deep, bursting over boulders with plumes of spray, and white water churned the river into a fearsome foe. Crossing it had been a concern, but Raymer couldn’t consider swimming a viable possibility. His swimming had never been very good. Even an expert would have problems. He turned to Quint, expecting to see amusement on his face.

  Ander watched the river too, slowly shaking his head in denial.

  “It’s been done before,” Quint said.

  “Why can’t we walk the shoreline?” Raymer asked.

  “Takes too long. Also, further down river the valley narrows and there are steep cliffs that come all the way down to the water.”

  Ander was still shaking his head. “Why too long?”

  Quint said, “Those other two groups of soldiers on top of the cliff are going to race us to reach the other side of the canyon. They know we’ll most likely emerge with the river so the largest group will be waiting there.”

  Ander faced him, a shrewd look in his eye. “There’s more that you’re not telling.”

  Quint never flinched. “There is no way up the other side of the canyon. At the top of the canyon, the water comes in over a waterfall, so we can’t go that way. We have only one way out, and that’s down the river. Besides, they’ll send men down the same ledge we took at daylight, and we had better be gone from here. If we have any chance of beating them out of this canyon, we will move fast because even when we get out, if we do, they’re still on our tail.”

  “And we don’t have horses,” Raymer amended. “So we run, but our feet are already sore, and they’ll get worse.”

  All eyes turned to the pair of fine, green leather boots Ander wore. He said, “Hey, don’t look at my boots. Besides, they won’t fit either of you because I’m normal sized.”

  Quint mock-glowered and snarled, “Raymer, did he insult us?”

  “It’s not an insult to tell the truth,” Ander said.

  Raymer said, “It’s also not an insult to either of us when you admit you’re small.”

  “I am not small.”

  They all laughed. Raymer said, “My feet feel better. Now for a fire and a good night’s sleep in the open air for the first time in a year.”

  “You have flint and steel?” Ander asked.

  “Toys for children,” Raymer said. “With all this dry wood washed up along the shore, anyone can start a fire.”

  Quint broke branches carried firewood to a growing pile near the edge of the trees while Ander sorted the shirts and blankets. Holding a shirt woven of homespun to his chest, Ander said, “I can fit into this and not stand out so much, but neither of you can wear it.”

  Raymer nodded, “Might as well select the one you like and toss the rest. How many blankets are there?”

  “Three,” Ander said. “And the two carrying the food.”

  Quint said, “Perfect for tonight, but they’re going to get wet.”

  Ander wrinkled his nose. “Getting wet is something both of you need to consider.”

  Quint tossed a load of firewood at Ander’s feet, almost landing on him. “We would have taken baths and worn clean clothing, but the damned Dungeon Master was too busy chasing the wenches at the castle inns to deliver them. We wore these for most of a year.”

  “Who told you about me and my lovely wenches?” Ander shot back with a smile.

  Sitting near the firewood and watching Raymer select dry sticks to make the fire, Quint said, “I was speaking of the late Dungeon Master, not you. Okay, I accept that you’re with us. But why? You had a good life, and so far, your reasoning lacks depth.”

  “I think my life will get better hanging around with the two of you if we all live. At least, it will have some excitement.”

  “How so?” Quint asked.

  “Because you, my new friendly giant, are far more than you seem. I believe you are a prince or close relative of the Earl. And Raymer is of the Dragon Clan.”

  “Those are not answers.”

  Raymer pulled a stout, dry stick from the firewood and a small, log with a split down the center. He peeled a section of the bark and scooped a few dry leaves and small twigs into a pile. He butted the end of the log against a rock and began slowly scraping the stick up and down the crack until the two pieces fitted together.

  Quint reached out and sprinkled a few dry leaves and twigs where Raymer worked the wood against the crack. Raymer went to his knees and pushed faster and harder, each stroke in the same groove he was working. A wisp of smoke curled and Quint added more twigs and leaves. He bent closer and blew softly.

  A small flame grew. Fuel was added, and a fire sprang to life before the sunset. Quint looked at Ander, “You were saying?”

  Ander settled in the sand with his back against a willow tree. “You were an emissary, sent with a peace treaty King Ember had no intention of signing or honoring. To delay negotiations with your people, he pretends he has not seen you while he keeps you imprisoned in his secret dungeon.”

  “I heard he sent word to my King asking when I was due to arrive,” Quint said.

  “Yes, it was a joke with the King. Since there was no treaty, and he claimed your people never sent one. He plans on attacking your northern province.” Ander turned to Raymer, “And you are even a stranger puzzle. You are a member of a family who, rumor says talks to dragons and does other magical stuff. The Dragon Clan. I’d laugh, but after witnessing your escape, there’s no denying it.”

  Raymer squatted and settled back on his heels. “I see where you may benefit from Quint and his wealthy family, but what do you want from me? I have nothing.”

  “You have a way with dragons! How can you say that is nothing?”

  Raymer shook his head. “You are sadly mistaken, my friend. There are many rumors of men and dragons. I have rarely seen one and suspect that most stories are just stories. I assure you that I had never been closer to a dragon than when the creature attacked the palace today, and I was as scared as anyone else.”

  Ander shrugged and cast a half smile in Raymer’s direction. “Forgive me if I believe you’re obviously well-educated and there’s far more to you than we understand.”

  Raymer warmed his hands near the fire while deciding what to say, before telling the simple truth. “My mother educated my two brothers and me, as well as half a dozen others. She taught us manners, grace, reading and numbers. She drove us to learn and punished us when we did not. My Father protected us. We lived in tents, huts, and lean-tos while we fled the king’s men.”

  “So your claim is that you have no connection to the dragon
that freed you?” Ander asked, the faint smile still in place.

  Raymer noticed both of them were looking at him with expectant expressions. “I had an escape plan. I hoped to use a dragon, but it had nothing to do with what happened today. The dragon attack was as big a surprise to me as it was to you.”

  Quint said, “Someone else directed the dragon?”

  “It was not me, but I believe it was directed by a person of my clan. I have never seen that dragon before today.”

  As if to make him a liar, his back tingled and as he looked past the other two, he saw a dragon flying low along the ridge where the army that chased him was camped for the night. If he listened closely in the dark, he might hear the screams of some of the men up there if the dragon attacked their campsite.

  This night he certainly would hear echoes of those screams from the men they pushed off the ledge on the cliff. Four of them. Each scream distinct and different. Some longer. Some louder. All terrifying.

  His body was worn out; sleep would be difficult. And yet it was only the first day of freedom. The King would be furious when he learned of the escapes, as would his cabinet. The goal of killing every member of the Dragon Clan didn’t allow for escapes. Not to mention the political damage Quint might do if he managed to get home to tell his tale to the Earl, Quint’s father.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Ander examined the ripped and torn clothing he wore with obvious disgust. The gold threads sparkled while the thin threads holding the shoulder of his shirt had parted. Dust caked it all. Raymer thought he appeared as bad as the tattered and filthy rags he and Quint wore.

  Raymer had the bottom of his foot twisted up where he could see the cuts, scrapes, and injuries on the sole. Prisoners didn’t wear footwear.

  “I can make sandals for the two of you,” Ander said.

  “No leather,” Raymer answered, removing a tiny thorn from his heel.

  “Reeds,” Ander nodded to the edge of the river.

  “You know how?”

  “Art was part of my education. Art, as in weaving and for other projects. Once we made sandals, and I’m sure I remember how to do it.”

  Quint tended the fire and looked up with interest. “My feet won’t hold up for long with the ground we’re walking on. Show us.”

  Ander stood. He went to the shoreline and selected a handful of long reeds, tugging each to ensure they were strong. He carried them to the fire and settled himself. After braiding three, he rolled them into a flat surface, using thin strips of reeds like thread to secure them together.

  Quint and Raymer copied his movements. The basic pattern was deceptively simple. Before dark they had six flat, woven oblongs. Ander wove thinner strips and with the help of a pointed stick worked holes large enough to feed the strips through for the toe grips. Smaller holes near the rear allowed two more straps.

  Raymer placed one on his foot and tried walking. It was loose, would wear out quickly, but would save his feet for a while.

  Quint said, “You have boots, why so many sandals?”

  “The extras are for you. I don’t think these will last a day, but even if they help for part of the day, your feet will be better off.”

  Raymer said, “Have either of you looked up at the ridge, yet?”

  All eyes went to the top of the canyon wall. A strip of light brightened the night sky. Ander said, “Must be a dozen campfires up there.”

  Quint nodded. “Got to give it to the King for mounting such a large force to chase us down.”

  Should I seek out that dragon and have it attack them? Raymer decided against the impulse. The men up there were doing their part for their king. They were not exactly innocent, but they were not deserving of dying in so horrible a manner. However, if the dragon did reappear, he might encourage it to fly low enough to coat the upper part of the path with slime, making it impossible for them to descend.

  As he considered the options, he decided that it wouldn’t be necessary to do anything. If they floated down the river in the morning. Only fools would dare follow. The implication that only a fool would attempt to ride the river was not lost on him.

  Ander removed his fashionable jacket and shirt. He tried on a heavy, homespun shirt made of soft wool the old woman had provided. The color was bland in contrast to his satin pants, but he was no longer the person of a royal on an overnight excursion. He adjusted the shirt and looked up.

  Quint said, “You’re not nearly as pretty as I remember.”

  “It’s warmer. Too bad you two are so big that none of this will fit you.”

  Raymer understood. His large size got in the way of normal clothing for several years, but Quint was a full head taller and must have endured far more. Raymer held up another completed sandal. Quint almost finished another, too. They appeared to be functional, if not pretty.

  Quint said, “We need to try and get some sleep. About sunup, we’ll go into the water. It’ll be cold, but I think we’ll move with the current and travel two or three times faster than a man can walk on the rough ground. When the army gets here, we’ll be long gone.”

  “It concerns me. I’m not a good swimmer,” Raymer said.

  “Neither am I,” Ander added, looking at Raymer in a relieved fashion.

  “Don’t worry, we won’t do a lot of swimming. We’re going to tie nests of sticks together for individual rafts and hold on to them for support,” Quint said.

  Raymer said, “Why not just a log?”

  “A mat of sticks will float better and won’t be so long it gets caught on everything we float past. Think of a log and how hard it’ll be to point down the river and what happens if it turns sideways.”

  Ander said, “I was thinking of a short log about as tall as me. Just lay on it.”

  “There are rapids downriver,” Quint added. “Not too many, but we need to be careful and have a plan. We need to stick together. If any of us fall off our raft, we need to meet at the next calm water. But, we have to do this fast. The army probably sent men on horses to ride all night, and we have to get out of this canyon before they get down there to stop us.”

  “Why not leave now?” Ander asked.

  “We’re all worn out. Some sleep will let us all move faster tomorrow,” Quint said. “We’ll have a long day.”

  “Or maybe not,” Raymer said, his voice a whisper, his eyes looking up at the top of the canyon wall again. A series of smaller pinpoints of light had appeared, lined up in a row and moving down the ledge.

  “Torches,” Quint hissed. “I didn’t think they had the balls. I wouldn’t travel that at night, I didn’t like it during the day.”

  “The King must have threatened the officers,” Ander said.

  Quint said, “Those officers must have used some great threats on their men. I wonder what the reactions will be with the first trip on those stones we left on the ledge. And of course, the leather thongs we strung will cause more to fall.”

  Raymer glanced at the warm fire, the dry blankets, and thought about the anticipated rest. He caught Quint’s eye and shrugged. “The river?”

  “I see no choice.”

  Ander said, “No time to make the rafts that we need for our blankets and food. I suggest we use the blankets to make small packs for our backs, and we find suitable logs. Not saying your raft idea wasn’t any good, Quint. But, we have to get going.”

  Quint was already moving. He knelt at the edge the blankets and started sorting food into four piles. Apples could withstand the water. So could nuts. Sandals went into each pile. He stuffed grain and dried meats into his mouth while making three packs and ripping another blanket into strips.

  The grain and meat would never last in the water. He made three bags by tying the ends of the blankets together, then tied the bags to the back of the others with strips torn from another. Ander tied the third blanket/pack to Quint’s back.

  A glance at the side of the canyon wall showed the thin line of torches weaving slowly downward, but still a good distance away. They ha
dn’t yet reached the sharp turn and loose rocks. Raymer touched toes to cool, but not cold water. Still, it would soon strip them of energy, but it could be worse.

  Ander selected a short log no longer than his leg but as large around. “Lay down in the water and hold onto the log with your hands in front of you. Just use it to keep your mouth above water. Float. Don’t kick, it uses too much energy.”

  “Who put you in charge?” Quint demanded, locating a similar log.

  “He makes sense to me,” Raymer said, as he used a strip of the blanket to bind around his log and staff. He watched the others secure their staffs to their logs, the only weapons they had.

  “Not complaining,” Quint smirked at Ander. “I just wanted to tell whoever it was they made a good choice.”

  “It’s going to be dark. Stay together. Talk. Let the next in line know when you hit something or pass by danger,” Ander said, his voice almost cheerful. “I’ll go first.”

  “Hang on,” Quint said. He darted back to the fire and put it out. He rushed back to the edge of the river with all they were leaving and threw it far out into the river. “No sense in letting them find we’re gone until morning. I doubt they’ll move too fast in the dark for fear we’re waiting for them in ambush so maybe they’ll stumble around searching for us.”

  “I like the way you think,” Ander said, as he eased into the water to his knees. Quint and Raymer followed without comment.

  When they reached water waist-deep, they shoved their logs ahead and followed, hands resting on the logs to keep their chins above the surface as the deeper, faster-flowing water took hold and carried them. They allowed the river to set the pace, and their eyes adjusted to the moonless starlight until they could make out the darker shapes of boulders ahead, as well as hearing the changes in the flow of the water.

  They drifted in near silence, single file, and talked softly when they saw something to pass on to the others. This would be the easy part of the trip. A quarter moon rose and as Raymer glanced at the canyon wall behind he was surprised to find he couldn’t see the campfires above. He looked for the torches the men navigating the ledge carried and couldn’t find them, either. We’ve already come a long way.