King's Exile: Chronicles of the Dragon-Bound: Book 1

by William Culbertson

  He remembered something else. If none of Mathilde’s people knew about the secret passages, she lacked not only the crowns, but also the part of the royal wealth kept in the treasure room. The castle had a guarded safe room with a heavy oak door secured by many locks, but it held only a part of the kingdom’s wealth. Evnissyen called what was in the safe room “working capital,” money the government took in and spent on a day-to-day basis. The wealth hidden in the treasure room seldom saw the light of day. It was held as a reserve to back the honor and credit of the kingdom.

  Dax was certain Mathilde had promised her plotters money along with power, but she would face a challenge paying them without access to all of the kingdom’s riches. He was tempted to hide the treasure as well, but there was no hiding place large enough, nor did he have the time. He would have to trust the secret of the passages to keep it safe.

  Back inside the treasure chamber, Dax ignored the wealth of West Landly. He had come for something else—the dragon’s egg. His father had shown him that bit of treasure as well. He went to the fifth chest along the left-hand wall and removed the leathery oval from its padded, satin-covered case. Dax held it in his palm. He could not explain why he needed it, but he knew he did. Just holding it in his hands made him feel better. It made him feel . . . complete.

  His father had showed it to him as a joke. One of the merchant houses had offered it to the king, hoping for a beneficence. The man had proclaimed it a “devil’s egg,” but Dax’s father had heard about dragon’s eggs and had known what it was immediately.

  The day he had shown it to Dax, he had explained, “Dragon mamas don’t lay many eggs, and the eggs go for a long time before they hatch. The dragon-bound bring some from the Dragon Lands, and they use the eggs to find new dragon-bound. A wild egg like this is rare.” He had shrugged and handed it carelessly to Dax without comment. Dax’s eyes grew round with astonishment when gripped the egg. His father had chuckled. “Surprise, huh? There is something magic about the eggs, because they always feel as cold as the white peaks in the Faymarsh Crags when the dragon-bound hand them around at a sifting. The cold means the baby dragon inside doesn’t want you. That’s how you tell it’s a real dragon’s egg.”

  Dax’s mouth opened in unexpected confusion. The egg he held in his hand was not cold as ice but warm as a sun-bathed pebble on the beach. The leathery orb felt naturally comfortable nestled in the palm of his hand. Strangest of all, Dax sensed a feeling of welcoming friendship and acceptance. He almost said something, but holding the egg made him feel so good, he just stood there staring at it in surprise.

  His father chuckled. “Legend has it that a dragon’s egg will warm up to welcome one of the dragon-bound, but it gives everyone else a cold hand.” His father paused a moment watching. “Now, put it back before you freeze a finger.”

  Reluctantly Dax put the egg back in the chest. Dragon-bound? He had met one of the dragon-bound once. Maybe it was warm because it was her egg? She had been presented at court a year ago, but he had never seen the woman’s dragon. He would have remembered that!

  That day in the treasure room with his father, he had known he had a connection to the egg. He had not wanted to let it go . . . but he had. Dax had never understood why he had not told his father the dragon’s egg felt warm in his hands. He should have asked his father right then to explain more, but he had thought only of the egg. His shoulders slumped. He had not asked, and now it was too late. Since that day, Dax had visited the egg on occasion, and, even though his father was no longer with him, each time he touched the tough, warm object, it made him smile.

  Even though he was fleeing the castle for his life, Dax could not bear to leave the dragon’s egg behind. He picked it up, reveling in its welcome before he slipped it into his pack. He tied the strap down firmly. Now he felt better. The egg was in the right place . . . with him. Before he left, he had a second thought about money. He picked up a small purse of gold pieces and stuck a few silvers in his pocket just in case.

  The passages became cooler and moister as he descended to the lowest level. The secret ways had several exits, but Dax chose the one on the west side, the ocean side and farthest from the city. It was the one least likely to be observed by prying eyes. All the exits were well hidden, but during the day, anyone could be nearby. This particular door opened onto a pebble beach. The beach was narrow and spray-wracked when the wind and tide were up, but it would be passable to a boy on foot. It was a long hike around the south shoreline of Adok, but eventually he would come round to the broader, sheltered beaches leading to the harbor docks.

  At the door itself, he hesitated. The exits were one-way only. His father had shown him that. The rock gateway was balanced so you could pull it up and back with hand grips from the inside, but outside, in a narrow cleft in the mighty wall of rock, the doorway was not only invisible, but also immovable. Dax had tried to open the doorway from the outside while his father waited within. If there was some secret latch on the outside, his father did not know it. His father had said it was more likely that the builders intentionally made the exit one-way. Any hidden entrance would become a threat if the secret was breached.

  Now it was time. Was he brave enough to go through the door, into the unknown? Dax thought of his father. What would he have done? His father had not had a chance to escape from treachery. Treachery had found him and killed him slowly in his bed. Dax looked back up the dark passageway. A bubble of wrath threatened to drain the color from his thoughts, but he fought it down. This was not the time. He stared at the stone door, his thoughts grim. “Mathilde.” He said her name out loud, and the sound echoed slightly in the dark. “Mathilde, I swear by the memory of my father and the rest of the Ambergriff line, I will be back, and you and those who helped you will pay for your crimes.”

  Nothing changed. The ground did not tremble from his mighty oath. His words died away, and only the faint drip of falling water remained. He had to leave the castle and the life he had known as a child and heir to the throne. He took hold of the handles and pulled. There was little resistance and only a soft grating of stone as the doorway swung up and back. Daylight streamed in with the cool sea air. He looked out at the water for a time before he shouldered his pack. Outside, he let the door close behind him. He heard the solid sound of stone on stone as it shut, but he did not look back.

  Chapter 2

  The midday sun warmed the mudflats skirting the rocky slopes of Adok along the western shore of Stone Harbor. Tal Menwenn took off his wide-brimmed hat and wiped sweat from his head again. Although the morning had been cool, now the sun made the mudflats steam. The humidity was cloying. Not only had the sun gotten warmer, but the bright reflection from Adok filled in the shadows. He had shed his heavy coat some time ago. To keep it out of the mud, he had tied the heavy canvas arms around his waist. He fanned himself with his hat, put it back on his head, and flapped the tail of his coat to give his hips some air.

  The clams he had dug filled most of the bag that hung from his belt, but he needed a few more. His ma would make a pot of chowder from them, and it would last his family three days. Tal scanned the slick surface of the mud for telltale pockmarks that might betray a clam’s underground hiding place. He saw one several feet to the left and stomped his foot near the spot. When a spurt of water answered, he plunged his digging fork into the mud. With a quick twist, he pried up another hammer clam. They were good eating, but unlike most clams, you could not just steam them to get at their meat. As the name hammer clam implied, getting inside the shell was a challenge.

  Tal wiped as much of the mud off the shell as he could before he thrust it into the bag. He would give them a final wash on the way home. He smiled as he thought of his younger brother, who had to get the meat out. Budge always complained that Tal brought home too many hammer clams and not enough of the bland but easier-to-open banded clams.

  After he had closed the bag, Tal looked up and noticed a figure off to the west. The person wore a large, floppy hat
and was walking along the shore toward him. Tal counted that as a good enough excuse for a break. With a chunk, he stuck his digger into the soft mud and leaned his arm on it. The stranger came closer, and Tal saw a slightly built youth a few years younger than himself. Tal waved a casual greeting, and the youth waved back. The boy’s dark eyes startled him. Tal spoke first. “Out for a hike?”

  The stranger slipped his pack off his back, put it on his foot, and leaned it against his leg to keep it out of the mud. “It’s a little farther than I thought.” He took off his hat and wiped his hand through his dark hair.

  Tal smiled. “All the way around?”

  The boy winced. “Not yet.” He looked back at the mass of Adok behind him. “Actually, I’m headed toward the harbor.” He looked down and pointed at Tal’s sack. “What do you have there?”

  Tal shook his sack so the clam shells rattled together. “Supper tonight, tomorrow, and the day after.”

  “Can I see?”

  “Sure. They’re just clams.” He pulled out two and showed the boy the clams’ ridged, brown shells.

  “You got all these this morning? That’s pretty good work.”

  Tal shrugged and asked, “Where you headed?”

  The boy held up a bundle of bright-red cloth. “I need to find someplace I can sell this coat.” He shook it out and showed Tal the most gorgeous-looking coat Tal had ever seen. The color was bright and even. Fancy stitching in the same color added a subtle but intricate pattern on the left chest and over the shoulder to the back.

  “Wow. Where did you get that?” Tal asked, and then he smiled. “Did you steal it?”

  The stranger shrugged noncommittally. “It’s mine.”

  “Sure,” Tal snorted. “I’ll bet you could get as much as five silvers for something like that at Peddler’s Square. They have lots of places there that sell clothes and stuff. Some even have things that fancy.”

  “How do I get to Peddler’s Square?”

  Tal raised his eyebrows in surprise that the youth did not know Peddler’s Square. Tal could have walked there in his sleep, but he screwed up his face as he thought how to tell the boy how to find it. “Well, it’s around the north side of Old Town just outside the wall. You could follow the shore on around to the fishing docks. From there it’s kind of in and out unless you stick to the main streets . . . but that would take you quite a bit out of your way.”

  “It would probably take me the rest of the day to find the place,” the boy sighed. “You seem to know quite a bit about it.”

  “Been there with my ma to get this and that,” Tal replied. “That’s where I got this coat in fact.” He jerked a thumb at his canvas overcoat.

  The boy looked at him speculatively. “I really want to get rid of this coat and be on my way. Would you trade me your coat for this one? You could sell it and buy yourself a new one.”

  The offer was tempting, but Tal was suspicious. He knew Poshy Flossy at Peddler’s Square would probably buy the fancy coat for a fair price. He had been to her stall with his ma just last month when Ma had sold Flossy her old chapel coat to buy a new one that fit. But what was this boy doing with a fancy coat? “Nah,” he finally answered. “That wouldn’t be fair. You could get a lot of money for that.”

  The boy sighed again and looked away. “I really don’t have time to sell it myself, and I need a coat like yours. You would be doing me a big favor if you’d just trade me. Sell it and keep the extra money.”

  Tal stared while he thought. Now he was sure the boy was up to no good, but what was his scheme? Tal’s friend Jackum had told him about criminals who tried to trade stolen goods for coin, but for an old coat? On the other hand, Tal had almost enough clams in his bag. He would have plenty of time to drop the clams off to his mother, sell the coat, and still be home for supper.

  “Well, that’s too good a deal to pass up,” Tal finally said. “So, how soon will they come looking for this coat?” He gave the boy a wink.

  The boy smiled. “They won’t be looking for the coat. I told you, it’s mine.” The boy paused. “But you know . . . it might be best if you keep it out of sight when you go through town.”

  “So I just found the coat?” This was a shady deal for sure, but Tal knew enough to keep the coat hidden until he sold it. He would not even let his mother know. Untying his coat from his waist, he handed it to the boy and took the red one in exchange.

  “That would be the best thing for you to say.”

  Tal smiled. “Sure, but probably better to say nothing at all.” He took the clean cloth he carried to wipe the mud from his shoes when he had finished and wrapped it around the gaudy coat instead. The weedy grass at the edge of the flats would work well enough for his shoes today.

  The boy smiled. “Thanks, friend. You’ve helped me a lot. Tell me your name so I’ll know whom to thank.” After Tal told him, the youth clapped him on his shoulder just like a man would. “Luck to you, Tal Menwenn. May the Goddess smile on you.” The boy hitched his pack back up on his narrow shoulders and headed off down the flats toward the harbor.

  Tal watched him go. “Well,” he muttered to himself, “that was strange.” A larcenous thought intruded. Strange—but profitable. He pulled his digging fork up out of the mud. Maybe another three clams, if they were good-sized, and he could go make some money.

  Chapter 3

  Fortunately for Dax, the river road was not busy this day. It was dusty and rutted in the low places where water stood after a rain, but Dax had only seen two wagons headed toward Tazzelton and one other solitary rider headed away from the city. Both teamsters had given him a casual wave as they passed, but the well-dressed rider had trotted past him with fine indifference.

  The walk from the castle’s hidden exit around the shoreline of Adok into Tazzelton had been a challenge. The long stretches of sandy or stony beach were easy enough, but in two places rock outcrops extended into the water. One had been low enough to climb over, but the other had forced him out into the water. Thankfully, he had not had to swim, and he had managed to keep his pack out of the water. However, he had been forced to take time to dry his clothes.

  Dax was pleased with his new stained but sturdy oiled-canvas coat. Although it smelled of fish and the mud flats, it was bulky and heavy enough to keep him warm and dry. Most importantly, it was inconspicuous. He knew the boy Tal thought he had stolen the fancy red coat, and that satisfied Dax. Trading stolen merchandise would not have raised as much suspicion as if Dax had offered to buy the old coat outright. Plus, thinking it stolen, Tal would keep the fancy coat out of sight until he sold it. It might surface in a day or so in the market, but its connection to Dax would be uncertain. The longer Mathilde thought he was still inside the castle, the longer it would be before they searched the city. The longer it took for them to realize he had escaped the city, the longer it would be before they began to search the surrounding roads. The back of Dax’s neck prickled with the thought, and he turned to glance at the empty road leading back to Tazzelton.

  That day the old fishing docks had been a crowded warren of people, fish traps, drying nets, and other equipment. Dax had never walked through the busy jumble of the docks and its associated businesses before. It was a whole world of work he knew nothing about, and it was fascinating. But he did not linger. By nightfall he wanted to be as far outside the city as possible. To get around Little Adok, a large rock at the east end of the fishing docks, he had been forced to enter Old Town itself. Since he had come up from the fishing docks and looked (as well as smelled) like he belonged, the bored guards at the gate never questioned him. At the eastern gate on his way out of the city, no one had noticed him either.

  Getting out of the city had not been difficult. Tazzelton’s outer wall, really just a steep earthen berm, was not meant to be a serious barrier. Its low gates, closed at night, served mainly to keep out wild animals. He remembered his father joking with Herne, saying the wall was there to keep the merchants at home. West Landly had been at peace for a l
ong time, and walls were hardly needed, but kings had to think about such things. If Tazzelton was ever attacked, the outer wall would be defended long enough for people who lived or worked in the outer sections to flee behind the mighty walls of the old city. Once those stout oak gates were closed, any attacking army would face a daunting obstacle.

  Once he was finally outside the outer wall, the open road beckoned. He felt safer, and his spirits lifted. He had gotten away. His aunt and uncle would help him. They would protect him from Mathilde.

  #

  By late afternoon, Dax devoutly wished he had thought harder about finding a horse to ride. The hot sun beat down, the pack weighed on his back, and his feet hurt. He removed his floppy hat and wiped his brow one more time. Thank goodness Ma Cookie had reminded him to bring water. He trudged along the river road, trying to maintain a purposeful stride. His stomach muscles still ached, but he had suffered no more bowel cramps. However, Mathilde’s potion and his late-night preparations had sapped his energy. His feet dragged.

  He had planned to stay off the river road and walk through the forest, out of sight. Unfortunately, the borders of the forest along the route were infested with tarry-berry bushes. Their long stems, just coming into leaf, were covered with small, scratchy thorns that interlocked very determinedly. It was almost impossible to push through them. He had tried walking farther back under the shade of the forest canopy where there was less underbrush. Walking was easier, but the road was no longer visible. Finally Dax pulled his hat low and opted for the side of the road. He wanted to get as far from the city as possible this first day. They would not be looking for him on the road yet—he hoped.