They were dirty and rank from sleeping wherever they could find a log or cave to give them shelter. They used a lantern only when necessary and tonight found they had enough light from the moon to guide their feet along the road. The moon was setting, though, and a pale greyness had entered the bowl of the sky. Gleve paused and looked around. “Time to find a hiding place for the day,” he said.
Keiran nodded, a gesture lost in the darkness, and scanned the roadsides. “Oh dear,” he said. On either side of them were steep, rocky walls.
“I think the land opens up again a bit further on. I see sky,” said Gleve.
“A long way ahead,” Keiran said.
The two young men picked up their pace, heading for the open area while still scanning the verges, one on each side, as had become their routine, looking for a side path or some other spot where they could safely leave the road.
Before they had gone far, however, they heard the distinct sound of marching feet coming along behind them. They glanced at one another, and now there was enough light to see expressions. They picked up their speed, but the troop behind them must have been quick-marching to reach wherever they were going to spend the day. They were gaining ground.
The rock walls on either side of the road were closer, higher, steeper, and the two travelers gave up looking for an escape off the road. They fixed their sights on the ever-brightening open sky in front of them and broke into a jog.
The open area turned out to be a broad river, moving swiftly under a long bridge. The sky was beginning to turn blue; the sun must be up. It was no time to be out in the open on a bridge. They looked at each other. The footsteps were coming up on them from behind. No choice. They ran.
As they reached the middle of the span, Gleve glanced over his shoulder. The soldiers had arrived at the end of the bridge and were halted. They were not looking at the fleeing travelers, however, but had fixed their eyes on something upstream, with unmistakable horror. Gleve followed their eyes and stumbled to a stop. A green Dragon was bearing down on them, jaws open, claws spread.
A blast of sulfurous breath, a deafening flap of gigantic wings, a blinding flash of brilliant green belly scales, and the creature had plucked Keiran from the road in front of him. He shouted, but later could not remember what words came out of him. All he could remember was Keiran’s wildly kicking legs as the Dragon lifted him over the bridge railing, momentum carrying both captor and captive a few hundred meters downstream.
The Dragon curved its tail under its belly, beat the air a few times, turning to go back over the bridge and away, upstream. It didn’t go, however, but hovered, its attention caught by something at the spot where the road disappeared into the woods at the far side of the bridge.
Gleve heard a roaring voice and a very large man appeared, running on to the bridge. He was clumsy, stumbling over his own oversized feet as he came, but not caring as he shouted at the Dragon.
Then there was a sharp chittering sound and all of them, Dragon, soldiers, the big man and Gleve, looked up with mouths hanging open. Descending upon the Dragon was a miniature of himself. A small, lithe creature, covered in blue scales. A miniature Dragon. And then comprehension—a Little Dragon. It could be nothing else.
It descended on the Great Dragon and circled around its head, apparently scolding. The Great Dragon, obviously cowed, lifted itself to the bridge again with one mighty flap of its wings. Then with a series of small hovering motions, it deposited Keiran in a heap directly at the big man’s feet. The big man was grinning and shouting. “Kee! Kee! Kee!”
The Dragon lifted away and Gleve began to run toward Keiran’s motionless form, but a moment later the Dragon turned toward him and breathed out a curl of fire. The heat and whoosh of it drove Gleve back a few steps. The Dragon came toward him again. There was no choice but retreat. He ran back, straight into the midst of the soldiers, who were also retreating, all order lost.
The Dragon caught up to them and snatched the last of the running men into his claws, then flew up and away. The soldiers stopped, watching their comrade disappear in a glitter of green light. Gleve looked back across the bridge. It was empty.
Chapter 95: Maida
Maida heard Rafe before she saw him. Besides the irregular thump, thump, thump of his feet on the path, even more clumsy than usual, he was shouting, “Kee, Kee, Kee!” It sounded like an imitation of a bird for a moment until she remembered. This was one of his words, repeated often in his first months with them, always with “Ma” and “Ric.” She and Mother Peg had concluded these were names, probably his family.
She went to meet him, lantern held high. When he burst from the path into the clearing she saw the reason for the stumbling gait. He was not only trying to run, but also carrying someone in his arms. His face was not alarmed, though, but delighted. “Kee, Kee!” he said to her, presenting the limp body of a young man like a prized trophy.
Inside the cabin she pulled the pallet from its storage place and dropped it on the floor in front of the fire, then lit an extra lantern while Rafe gently placed “Kee” on the pallet. He was alive, she saw, but very pale, breathing shallowly. His back was bleeding, and when she turned him on his side, she saw a criss-cross of Dragon claw marks. He had been attacked. How on earth had Rafe found him?
There was a pot of warm water already on the hearth. She sent Rafe for clean rags and bandages, fetched Liandra’s salve for Dragon wounds. The cottage was quiet as she washed the wounds, applied the salve and bandaged them. The danger in Dragon wounds was always infection. At least these were still fresh. She carefully removed what was left of the young man’s traveling clothes. Here was another puzzle: he was blond and fair skinned, but his clothes were those of the Earth People. She checked for broken bones and found none. He did not seem to have hit his head. He had probably fainted from shock and blood loss. Judging by the stirring and slight groans while she worked on him, he was not far from consciousness.
“We’ll have to keep him warm,” she told Rafe. “Fetch the blankets from Mother Peg’s bed.” He leaped to obey her and went on to tuck the blankets over the injured young man with exaggerated care. “He’ll need liquids,” she said, more to herself than to Rafe, but instantly he went to fetch a cup. She bent over the patient. “Hello,” she said, patting his cheek, “Can you hear me? I need you to wake up.” He took a breath, moved slightly away from her hand. She patted harder. “Kee?” she said. This brought Rafe back to her side, cup in hand, staring earnestly down at the young man on the pallet.
“Kee!” Rafe said, and the young man’s eyes opened, already searching. “Kee!” Rafe repeated, and lunged as if to gather the patient up in his arms.
“No Rafe!” Maida put a hand out to stop him. “He’s hurt. Leave him be.”
Now the young man on the pallet spoke, wonder in his voice. “Aymeric?” and Rafe, although obeying Maida enough not to pick him up, threw himself upon the young travelers chest. “Aymeric! Aymeric!” the voice was muffled in Rafe’s bulk on top of him.
“Rafe, sit up. You’ll suffocate him,” Maida barked, as sharply as Mother Peg would have in the circumstances. Rafe obeyed and sat back on his heels, but his eyes remained fixed on the slight figure in the bed, his face bursting with delight.
His pleasure was matched by that on the patient’s face, shining through the tears trickling down it. “Aymeric, I thought I would never see you again.”
“Ric,” said Rafe, looking at Maida. This drew the patient’s attention to Maida as well.
“Oh, you are a Healer. You’re caring for me.”
“My name is Maida, but I am not a Healer.”
“Oh,” he said. “Maida. You are a friend of my friend … oh.” His face transformed into an expression of alarm. “Gleve. Where is Gleve? There were soldiers, and a Dragon …”
“Were you traveling with Gleve?”
“Yes, we were coming here, to see Mother Peg. Where is Gleve?”
“I don’t know,” Maida said. “Rafe, was th
ere another man with … is your name Kee?”
“Keiran. That is Aymeric’s way of saying it. Did you call him Rafe?”
“We didn’t know his name so we gave him one. Is he …?”
“He’s,” the young man paused, probably, Maida thought, from long habit of secrecy about Rafe. “He’s my brother.”
“And ‘Ma’?”
“Our mother. She’s dead now. But how did Aymeric get here?”
“Some drovers found him … it’s a long story, one of many, obviously, and you are weak. You need rest.”
“But Gleve, I must find Gleve.” Keiran tried to rise, but instantly fell back, the bit of colour that had returned to his face during his reunion with his brother fleeing once more. “Yes, clearly I must rest, but someone must search for Gleve.”
“Rafe, I mean, Aymeric …
“Ric!” said Rafe/Aymeric, obviously pleased that Maida now knew his name.
“…was there another young man with Keiran?”
Rafe/Aymeric’s brow crumpled in exaggerated concentration. “Drag’n,” he said.
“Yes, there was a Dragon.”
Rafe/Aymeric brightened. “Ro’tric!” he said.
“Roxtrianatrix?” Maida said. Rafe/Aymeric nodded vigorously. Maida turned to Keiran. “Do you remember what happened?”
“No, I was snatched by a Dragon. All I saw was green fingers, with claws. I think I fainted immediately.”
“Did you see Roxtrianatrix?” Maida asked Rafe/Aymeric. He nodded again.
“Who is Roxtrianatrix?” Keiran asked.
“Another long story. First you must rest. Rafe, help lift him up.”
Rafe moved behind Keiran and lifted his shoulders, as tenderly as possible propping his brother against his chest. Maida helped him take as many sips as he could manage of a tea made from pain-easing, sleep-inducing and infection-fighting herbs. His eyes drooped, then opened again. “My jacket,” he said. “Where is it?” Maida handed it to him. He felt for the square package Maida had already noticed deep in one of the pockets. “All right,” he said, and tucked it close beside the pallet. His eyes began to close again.
“Let him rest now,” she said, and Rafe lowered him to the pallet to sleep and pulled up his stool. He was not going to move any farther from his rescued brother than he had to.
Chapter 96: Gleve
“And who are you?” asked the King. After days of being marched westward, Gleve stood, filthy and sore, at the foot of the throne in the King’s reception room, his head bowed even before the officer guiding him pushed it roughly downward. For days he had been looking at the ground because they had his hands tied so tightly behind his back it forced him into the bent posture of an old man.
“Speak up,” the officer prodded him. His name was Pitley. He had been in charge of the band of soldiers on the bridge. Just before coming into the room, he had instructed Gleve to address the King as “your Highness” every time he spoke, if he was required to speak.
“My name is Gleve, your Highness. I am a Healer.” Hopefully the provisions of the treaty protecting the Healers would save him from torture, or at least make it a bit lighter.
“Look at me,” said the King. Gleve tried, but his bent back would not allow it. “Untie him,” said the King.
Pitley made a point of cutting Gleve’s wrist lightly as he slashed away the ropes binding him, not deeply though. Probably blood on the expensive carpets would get him in trouble, Gleve thought. His spine and neck objected sharply, but Gleve forced himself to straighten, his shoulders also complaining as his hands dropped to his sides for the first time in many days. He looked at the King, saw a careworn and aging face, still handsome and imperious, framed with neatly trimmed grey hair and beard. “So what to you know about this incident on the Deep River bridge?”
“Very little, your Highness. I was traveling with a companion, hurrying to make it over the bridge before daylight, when he was snatched by a Dragon.” Gleve’s throat tightened. He fought to speak as if nothing important had happened. “The events that followed were as surprising to me as they were to your soldiers.”
“And what were those events, as you saw them.”
“A large man came onto the bridge from the far side, waving his arms and shouting, and then a… miniature Dragon appeared and flew in circles around the Great Dragon’s head. It dropped my friend and came after us—me and your soldiers--and I saw no more, your Highness.”
“Was it a Little Dragon you saw?”
“I don’t know, your Highness. I have never seen one. Nor my parents or grandparents.”
The King leaned sideways on his elbow, stroked his beard and studied Gleve. “Why did my soldiers arrest you?”
“It seems they think I have something to do with the amazing events on the bridge, your Highness.”
“They also report that the reason you were on the bridge in daylight was because you were running from them.”
“We were running to reach cover beyond the bridge, your Highness, as I assume your soldiers were as well.”
The King nodded. He turned to the shifty-eyed official who stood beside him. “Put him in a cell,” he said, then more quietly, so only the people immediately around him could hear, “With good care.” The official scowled, but his face was turned away from the King.
Gleve felt tentative relief. Did that mean no torture? “I will want to talk with you again,” the King said. Oh, so maybe the torture would come later, after the King found out all he could by kinder methods.
“Bow,” said Pitley, poking him roughly from behind. Gleve bowed, then the officer turned him around and marched him out of the hall.
A pallet and two buckets seemed to be the extent of the furnishings in Gleve’s cell, one of them, fortunately, reasonably clean and half-filled with fairly clear water, the other empty and coated with dried filth. Presumably this was his toilet. The smell of it joined with the dampness and mould to make the air in the tiny room sickening. But at least, Gleve reminded himself, he had not been tortured—yet.
He could see little through the barred door, just a narrow stone hallway, as dark as his cell, but there was obviously a lot of life in the place. It reached him in the form of racket, hard boots on the stone floor, clanging and jingling of metal objects, large and small, and a great deal of shouting.
“Hey, you,” a voice bellowed from nearby, echoing along the corridor. “What are we doing in here? We’re faithful soldiers of the King. What have we ever done but serve him?” Gleve recognized the voice. It was Pitley.
“I’m just your guard,” came the response. “Don’t know nothing. King wants you here; you’re here.” The voice faded during this speech, accompanied by the thump of heavy boots as the guard walked away.
“What the hell?” Pitley said, more quietly.
Chapter 97: Anglewart
“He knows more than he’s saying,” Ermin said.
“Exactly. And this time we are going to try a different approach. Since when did torture ever get us good information?” Anglewart glared at Ermin from his full, impressive height. The Spymaster looked angry, but knew enough to keep his mouth shut when the King was in this mood. “Better to let him worry awhile, then approach him with kindness. He’ll spill everything he knows. Make sure the scribe made note of his name. Gleve, was it?”
“Yes, your Highness. And what about the soldiers?”
“Do you think they know any more than what they’re told us?”
“No,” Ermin said.
“Me neither. So let’s just keep them away from the whisper network. I’m sure they’ve blabbed their story in every inn’s common room along their way, but without them to provide eye witness accounts, hopefully it will blend in with the hundreds of other rumours of Little Dragon sightings that seem to be circulating.”
“Yes, your Highness,” Ermin dropped his eyes, his face returning slowly to its normal colour.
“Meanwhile, I think we finally have a legitimate sighting of a Little Dragon
.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
The King thought about this for a minute, then took on a more cheerful tone as he changed the subject. “So, wedding plans. Now that we have a date for Liandra and Locheil’s wedding, I trust the preparations are on track?”
“Yes, your Highness.”
“And my own blessed day? Are we close to having a date settled?”
“Well,” Ermin hesitated. “There is a problem.”
The King’s eyebrows lowered over his sharp hawk’s eyes. “What problem?” he asked.
“The meat sellers, your Highness. They say that they cannot provide that much good roasting meat so soon after supplying the first grand feast.”
“What? I’ve never heard of such a thing before.”
“There is a shortage, Sire. They say there was disease among the cattle this spring and …”
The King cut him off. “So how long before they have enough for a second feast?”
“Three months, your Highness.”
“Three months? That’s …” Anglewart suddenly heard himself, how loudly he was roaring the words. Whatever the problem, shouting would not help. He took control of himself. “All right then. I guess they must do the best they can. See if you can speed them up. Lord Rodolph is waiting to negotiate a date.”
As Ermin bowed himself out the door, Anglewart watched him leave with narrowed eyes.
Chapter 98: Maida
Keiran healed quickly, with no infection in his wounds. Rafe, whom Maida was trying to remember to call Aymeric, did most of the care. The love between the brothers was moving to see.
Despite being from different peoples, trust between Keiran and Maida grew quickly because of their mutual caring for Aymeric and worry over Gleve. Keiran shared his errand with Maida, although he did not show her the sketchbook. If he had, Maida might have shared the story of what had come to pass in this very cottage so recently, but she did not. Despite Aymeric’s insistence on trying to tell her something about the Dragon attack that included “Ro’tric,” she had resisted telling Keiran what “Ro’tric” was, letting him think it was a person with an unusual name.
Keiran wanted to return to the bridge and search for Gleve. “But would he still be there?” Maida asked. “Between the Dragon, or Dragons—there might have been more than one--and the soldiers, what do you think might have happened to him?
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