by LeRoy Clary
Easier for the bounty hunters, too.
Tom set a steady pace all night that Gareth fought to match. Suddenly they broke from the shelter of the heavy forest. Ahead, crossing at a right angle was the remains of a rutted road. Tom paused, then turned to his left, following the road with his eyes as it skirted the side of a hill, and said, “Look for a good place to grab a little sleep.”
Right here in the middle of the road’s good enough for me. “Tom, I can barely keep my eyes open. What about the men behind us?”
“Probably still at the river, sound asleep. Or back there at the river trying to find where we confused them.”
“Or right behind us,” Gareth said.
Tom chuckled and started down the road. Weeds and grass clogged the ruts, and in places, vines or brambles grew across it. “My guess is that if everything went right for them, the best they could manage in the dark is to be near the top of that hillside on the ridge where we waited and watched. We have half a night’s travel them, at least. This road is barely used. Let’s follow it a ways, and make it easy on ourselves.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, they’re professional bounty hunters, at least, a few of them. They know they’ll catch us faster if they rest well and keep up a steady chase instead of sprinting. No hurry for them because out here, with those dogs sniffing the way, they’re goin’ to catch up. It’s just a matter of how long.”
“Then why should we bother to even try?”
“Maybe I should have said they think they’ll catch up. We need to change the game in our favor, and that’s what we’re looking to do now.”
Gareth trotted ahead a few steps and walked in the other rut where he could talk while walking alongside Tom. “You think we can get away? Really?”
“I’ve been considering what’s best to do all day yesterday, and thinking all night, too. We did put some distance between us tonight, but they gave us chase all the way from Priest’s Point, and there’s something missing in our thinkin’, something we missed.”
“I’ve been thinking too. They wanted us, or me, so much they risked sinking their boat. That is a lot to risk.”
Tom nodded. “Let’s consider what we do know. We sailed into that port back there, and nobody cared. Then we left without concern from anyone. I rowed out of the bay and mended the sails before raising them. Nobody followed.”
Gareth said, “Later a pirate bounty hunter ship is right behind us.”
“Why? What changed? That’s what we have to figure out.” Tom pointed to a small pathway that led off at an angle. He knelt and examined the bare dirt, allowing his fingers to trace impressions. “Probably a small herd of deer made this. Take long steps and only walk in the leaves. No footprints for a few steps.”
Gareth did as ordered.
Once they were sheltered by tall brush and the canopy of branches, they followed the track a short way, and when it turned into a small clearing, Tom said, “This looks good. Get yourself some sleep.”
“The dogs will sniff us out, here.”
“Not leaving footprints is more for any locals who might use this road and catch us napping. You’re right, it won’t fool the dogs for two shakes.”
“I’m cold,” Gareth said as he sat and relaxed.
“Me too. And hungry. Maybe later we can try to rectify those things, but right now I need my sleep.”
Curled up with the egg cradled next to him, Gareth closed his eyes and almost fell asleep when the egg moved again. Within the bag, the soft shell slowly expanded at one end, while shrinking at the other. The movement was more pronounced than before. Thinking back, he felt certain it hadn’t moved before this night. Is it hatching?
The idea terrified him. A dragon? After being carried across mountains and dropped into an ocean by one, he shuddered at the thought of a dragon emerging from the bag during the night and attacking him. I should tell Tom. A glance revealed Tom already asleep.
At daybreak, Tom shook his shoulder to wake him. Still tired, stiff and shivering, Gareth stood on painful legs and then limped as he tried to stretch them. As expected, they felt numb and sore at the same time. Tom walked back to the road, maintaining a silence that told more than words of how tired the old man was. His gait had slowed, his shoulders slumped, and his chin hung to his chest.
Later, the ruts intersected with another road, one far more used. Clear impressions of wagon wheels showed in the mud near a puddle, as well as the shod hooves of the animal that pulled the cart or wagon. It passed no longer ago than last evening. Tom studied the area around the puddle and finally pointed to the direction he decided they should take.
Gareth hung his head and tried to snatch a little sleep as he walked, opening his eyes after a few steps, and then closing them again for a few steps. It didn’t work. He gave up and stumbled ahead, eyes forced to stay open. I really should tell him about the egg.
Tom had moved further ahead, but he looked as weary as Gareth felt. Tom had been kind enough to offer his help with selling the egg, and while Gareth hadn’t intended to sink his fishing boat, the fact remained that it had sunk. Tom’s generosity cost him his livelihood. Gareth promised himself to repay Tom for every board in the hull and every patch on the sails. But if the egg was about to hatch—what was it worth? Did anybody purchase baby dragons? Were they as valuable as eggs?
Tom might know some of the answers. He might have suggestions, and if nothing else he needed to know as a matter of trust. Gareth looked at Tom again and saw the weariness of a man about played out. When we stop to eat.
They walked until the morning sun warmed them. The warmth loosened soreness and Gareth felt much better. Not great, but better. The road left the trees of the forest and skirted along fields of recently harvested corn. Their pace increased, but neither spoke.
Tom finally pulled to a quick stop. His bony fingers quickly reached out, covering Gareth’s mouth, fingers threatening to choke him if he made any noise. The old man silently pulled Gareth a few steps into the thick underbrush at the side of the road and knelt, forcing the boy to do the same. He relaxed his grip and held a finger to his lips.
Gareth held still and waited.
A teacher strode into view, green hood pulled low in front, concealing his shaved head down to his missing eyebrows, but he walked with the same sliding, gliding motion all of them used. His eyes were glazed, fixed on nothing as he moved quietly. Each hand was in the sleeve of the other arm, and the heavy material of the heavy, green robe looked warm and practical to Gareth. For the first time, he wished he owned one.
After the teacher had passed, Tom shook his head at Gareth. They remained immobile for so long Gareth became impatient. He was about to speak when a second teacher came into view, traveling the same road, but several hundred steps behind the first. His gaze was as fixed as the first.
After he had disappeared, Tom stood and whispered, “They’re always in twos. At least, all the Brotherhood I’ve seen.”
“I know. They’re paired.”
When the sun reached mid-morning, Tom halted them again. He sniffed. “Smoke.”
Gareth caught the scent, too. Smoke meant a fire and maybe people cooking. His stomach growled in anticipation.
They moved cautiously down the road until a log farmhouse came into view, smoke curling into the sky from a stone chimney made of river rock. The farm was small, a single outbuilding for animals, and the garden looked as if it might feed two, but no more. Tom veered for the house.
“How do we know they‘re friendly?” Gareth asked, excited, but speaking softly.
“There’s times when you just take your chances. We’re about wore out and it they refuse us help we’re no worse off than if we keep on, but if they feed us, we are ahead.”
Two massive dogs caught their scent and tried to out-bark each other as they raced in their direction. Both were mixed breeds, possibly part border collies. Tom stooped and greeted them by petting and talking to them as if they were old friends. When they
continued to walk again, the dogs accompanied them, running and playing. The door to the house swung open, and a man shuffled out, an ax resting over his shoulder, clearly a weapon if need be. He watched their approach without words.
“We’re friends in need of a little help,” Tom paused and called from a hundred paces away.
The man lowered the ax and nodded. “Everybody needs help now and then. What can I do for you, stranger?”
Tom flashed a warning look to Gareth, then turned back to the farmer. “We’re hungry, and I can pay a fair price for a meal.”
“Nobody pays to eat in my home. You’re either welcome, or I send you on your way.” He waved an arm, “You dogs, get back to the house and shut up.”
“Just doin’ their job. We like dogs,” Tom said.
The farmer held out his hand to Tom when they were close enough. “Name’s Seth. Wife’s inside. Call her Irene.”
“I’m Tom. This is Gareth, but we’d appreciate it if you don’t remember our names.”
Seth fixed them with a stern look, then nodded and led the way to the door, ignoring any sense of danger as if he appreciated the honesty. He called from the doorway, “Irene, can we feed these two? Seems they’re in a mite of trouble, and maybe they have a story to tell while you heat something up.”
Seth led the way into the house. Irene stood as short as any adult woman Gareth had ever seen. A well-used stool was in front of the wood stove, and she stood on it, already cracking eggs into a hot pan. “Heard you talking. How ‘bout some thick slices of pork to go with your eggs? Tom and Gareth, is it?”
The farmhouse, like most, was small, a kitchen, sitting room, and an open door that revealed a bed. A glance revealed it to be as clean as any he’d ever seen. It appeared old, but of sturdy construction. The smoke-blackened interior smelled of winter fires in the stone chimney and well-cooked meals. A low ceiling gave the feeling of intimacy while the log construction for the outer walls gave the impression of permanence. Most furniture had been hand-crafted with obvious pride, telling the tale of the two people who lived there.
Tom and Gareth sat in the proffered chairs, the only two at the small table, and the only two in the cabin. Seth sat on an upturned stump beside the stone fireplace and cradled a mug of steaming mead. Irene placed two mugs on the table, a jug of mead and a pot of hot water. She pointed to a covered bowl on the table. “Help yourselves.”
“You’re too kind.” Tom pour a small amount of the mead into the two mugs and then added hot water. Mead was a luxury to farmers and good manners dictated he uses it sparingly.
Seth looked on with obvious approval. “We’d like to hear your story. Is your trouble coming this way?”
Tom sipped and nodded. “Maybe.” Then after a short pause, “Probably. There are men chasing after us. Bounty hunters. They’re after the boy, here.”
“Bounty hunters!” Irene exclaimed, and then turned quickly back to her stove so the men could talk as was custom.
Gareth said, “I didn’t do anything, but those teachers are after me. We don’t know why.”
“Teachers?” Seth asked in a soft voice that carried more than the question.
Tom said, “I call ‘em men of the Brotherhood. Dressed in green robes and sneakin’ around the countryside looking at everything. We saw two of them out on your road this morning, not far from here. They might come here and ask questions about us, later. You don’t have to lie, just delay telling the truth, if you don’t mind, but don’t get yourself involved or caught trying to cover for us.”
Gareth noticed the pained look Irene passed to Seth. He nodded to her in return and she went back to her cooking as if giving permission for him to talk.
Seth said, “Those greenies, that’s what we call them around here, came for our boy, Paul. About a dozen years ago, now. He was only five. Two of them came here one day and left with him. They tried to leave money, and we refused. They brought two other men with them, fighters. Knocked me around and finally tied both of us up for a couple of days. They left us a handful of silver and broken hearts. Haven’t seen or heard from Paul since.”
One of the dogs settled near Gareth’s feet, and he scratched its ears. “The men chasing us have two dogs with them. Hounds, I think. Trained to track men, is my guess. Following our scent, so you don’t want to get caught in any lies because they’ll know we were here.”
Seth sipped his mead and said, “No love lost over them greenies, and us. As I said, they took our only son, and we don’t forgive. So if they’re after you, what can we do to help?”
Tom pulled a large silver coin and placed in on the table. “Two blankets, some food to take with us, and directions.”
“Keep your silver. I guess that if they’re looking for you, they have descriptions. You need to change your appearance and look like someone else. Irene, I’ll dig into that chest in the closet and pull out some clothes that’ll fit them. I have plenty of old things they can wear.” He looked at them, his mind obviously racing. “You both have long hair. Irene can cut it and shave Tom. Scrape that beard off and he’ll look a new man, ten years younger. Wish we could add the beard to the youngster and change him as much.”
Irene said, “When I’m done with you two, those bounty hunters will walk right up to you and pass the time of day and not know who you are.” She stepped down from the stool and placed two plates heaped with scrambled eggs and several thick slices of smoked pork before them. She said, “If those damn greenies are chasing after you, then we’re bound to help you just to spite them. Seth, when we’re done here, you take them down to the river and give them our old boat.”
The dragon egg chose that time to move again against Gareth’s stomach. It slowly swelled at one end and then he felt a quick jerk. Gareth had been smiling but felt it fade. Another movement shifted the weight of the egg slightly the other way, and Gareth tried to rearrange the bag to his side as if it was a natural thing to do before eating. He didn’t want others seeing the movement from the bag and asking about it.
He noticed Tom’s eyes locked on him, but Gareth avoided eye contact.
Tom said as if intentionally drawing attention away from Gareth, “I didn’t even know there was a river near here.”
Seth pulled a pair of scissors from a sewing box and placed them on the table. “Out behind the barn and behind that stand of trees. Our fork of the river joins the John about a day’s travel south. The John River flows on down to Drakesport, about two days from here. You should be able to lose yourselves in a city that big.”
Irene reached out and ran her fingers through Gareth’s hair and picked up the scissors as he finished eating. “In the city, men often have shorter hair.” She snipped a handful, and then another. In minutes, she had a pile on the floor and moved to Tom’s side.
Seth stood, walked to another room and returned with an armload of clothing. He motioned for Gareth choose some and change. Irene looked away as if by accident, and Gareth hustled out of the fine new pants and shirt from Priest’s Point and into farmer’s homespun that had seen better days and fit slightly tight.
As he adjusted the new pants and shirt, Seth spread a blanket on the floor and placed cheese, hardtack, and dried meat in the center, then rolled it tight and tied a short piece of rope around each end, leaving a loop to go over Tom’s shoulder. The contents were safe from spilling and the blanket ready for travel.
Irene trimmed Tom’s hair and cut his beard shorter at the same time. Then she pulled a straight razor from a shelf and smeared soap on his face, all without speaking. Standing, she only matched the height of Tom while sitting. But her actions were fast and sure, working her way quickly and efficiently around his face, cheek to cheek.
In a short time, both were dressed in different clothing and looked like strangers to each other. The fire in the hearth burned their hair trimmings and old clothes, although it pained Gareth to watch the only new shirt he’d ever owned in flames.
Gareth imagined he looked somewhat differen
t, but Tom had been transformed. The short hair did change him somewhat, but the removal of the beard made him look far younger than Gareth had come to think of him. He didn’t look much older than Faring’s da. The lines remained in his face, but the overall change was striking.
Irene said to Tom, “Those pink cheeks of yours will tan quickly, but if you don’t shave for a couple of days the new growth will cover the fresh look, and nobody will notice anything. Sorry about the nicks, but I was in a hurry.” She wetted her finger with her tongue then dabbed at one cut that continued to bleed.
“If the greenies are after you, you better get a move on,” Seth said, examining their new appearance and nodding in approval. “I see them now and then on the road out front, but they won’t speak to me. They know they took my only son, and I won’t forgive them. When we get to the river, I’ll hide my other skiff so nobody will use it to chase after you. The next closest boat is a half day’s walk up river.”
“Might be better for you to take a pole and do some fishing in your other boat. Row a ways upstream. That keeps it away from them and makes it so they don’t find out you hid it. That’d be hard to explain. Irene will verify your fishing story. It makes both of you look innocent,” Tom said. “Or better yet, take her fishing with you.”
Irene handed Tom a bar of soap. “I don’t fish, and you stink. Any dog will follow your scent as easy as you and me can see a red flag waving in the breeze, but if you get out on the river and scrub yourself, and your new clothes a time or two, maybe the lye in the soap will take off the smell. Maybe make you smell like soap and the dogs might lose the trail.”
Tom slipped it into his pocket with a nod of thanks.
Irene returned to her stove and started cleaning the surface. Gareth caught the reflection of a tear in her eye. Wanting, to say something, his mind refused to cooperate and in the end, he remained quiet. She was remembering her son.
Seth pulled his pole and tackle box off a shelf beside the door.
Irene told them to hurry and be safe, but she was not going anywhere. She had a house to clean.