The Last Dragon: Book Three

by LeRoy Clary

  I’d demonstrated my skill with the knots last night to Flier during a rare break in our forced march. When the guards were not looking, I’d loosened the ropes and scratched my head with my free hand, an act of telling my friend not to worry, and also one of extreme stupidity. The guard might have turned at the sound of an insect or reacted at a bat flying too close and seen me. To satisfy both of us that I could communicate with Anna at any time, I’d mentally asked her to have my sister fly the dragon in a few circles above our camp. It had.

  I could have *spoken* to her, but seeing the dragon raised my spirits. Kendra controlled her dragon, and I had my small-magic. Life was good. All but the part about being a slave in a foreign land.

  We were ordered to sit in the dirt and when I didn’t move fast enough, the Keon warrior elbowed me in the stomach. I sat with a thud and determined to move faster next time. The metalsmith returned with the unique clanking of prisoner chains tossed over his shoulder. He knelt in front of me, chose a set of leg-cuffs the approximate right size and snapped them in place. A few strikes of his hammer set the brass or copper pins. A short length of chain between them prevented me from running. He then placed smaller cuffs on my wrists, all without saying a single word or so much as grunting in my direction.

  A single chain dangled from my left arm, and the metalsmith used a soft-link to attach me to the last slave in line. It was my friend, Flier. I couldn’t have asked for a better outcome. We were the last two in line, and when we departed, perhaps the man in front of me would be sleeping so soundly he wouldn’t notice our departure.

  I gave Flier a confident nod of my head. Two guards were watching us closely, the one that normally guarded those prisoners last in line, and the one recently assigned to keep me from having ‘accidents.’ There were ten emaciated and filthy slaves in the line in front of me, and through the underbrush, I’d caught sight of another ‘chain’ of slaves. There might be more chains and more slaves.

  While escaping was foremost on my mind, there was a reason that it was not of the highest importance at the moment. The slavers were Kaon, a race that lived deeper in the deserts of the Brownlands to the west and north of Kondor, and they were raiding Dagger and Vin for slaves. Kondor was rumored to be ruled by mages and sorceresses instead of a proper king. It was a powerful kingdom, far larger and more prosperous than Dire despite much of it being Brownlands. That made me wonder why the Kaons were ‘allowed’ to take slaves there. It seemed in direct opposition to the rule where those in charge dealt in magic. A few lightning bolts appropriately directed by any mage would end the slave caravan and leave behind steaming, burned bodies to rot in the desert sun.

  As for our situation, the brass pins holding together the iron cuffs were the weak link, in both fact and literary pun. They were not hardened, as were the iron of the chains. The metal worker’s hammer flared the ends of the brass pins, holding them securely in place. A smaller rod of iron was used to drive them out when required, usually either at the sale of the slaves or with their demise.

  However, in my case, with a little help from magic, and knowing that metals contract when cooled, freedom was only a magical spell or two away. I just needed something to push the copper pins free once they were cold and smaller in diameter, perhaps a piece of a stick would do. The same problem arose as before. I could get us free. Getting us away and staying that way, was the real problem. Besides, I wanted to learn from the Slave-Master about Kaon, the desert, and most of all, about Kondor.

  The fed us a pitiful handful of grain, less than I’d feed a small donkey, and then we were allowed to lie down on the bare ground to sleep. However, as I made myself comfortable, the metal worker arrived at my side again and drove out the pin that attached me to an unknown slave in front and to Flier in the rear. He motioned for me to stand. Then he drove home another pin, replacing Flier where I’d been.

  I was alone. The Kaon warrior, the one appointed to guard and care for me, strode in our direction, caught my eye, and jutted his chin at the tent where the Slave-Master had entered. I still wore leg irons with a short chain between my feet, and his shove from behind as I passed by him, which forced me to fall forward awkwardly. My chin struck the ground as he chuckled.

  Had I thought more quickly, I might have used my fingernail to draw a line of my blood to see if the Slave-Master was good to his word about the guard sharing equal injuries. He pulled my arm to stand me up again and pushed a second time. I rolled with the shove and walked through the thick brush. A blackberry briar trailed across the path, and I stepped over it, but in doing so, I used small-magic to lift it higher as the guard stepped behind me. He tripped and stumbled forward, taking three or four long steps before falling. I dodged, and he missed striking me. As he sprawled face-first in the vegetation, I paused a step away from another guard, one laughing, but not at me. I didn’t dare laugh—or even smirk.

  The laughing guard motioned with his hand that I should enter the tent. I pushed aside the curtain before the first guard could catch up with me again. The late afternoon desert light that reflected off the sand was blocked by the loose weave of the tent material the tent it was made of. Any movement of air flowed through the tent. Four tall poles the diameter of my wrist held up portions of the roof in peaks.

  Layers of carpets, some large, others small, different weaves and colors, and all expensive covered the sand floor. I know about rugs. Some are for walking upon in dirty boots when returning from the stables; others are for feet in the finest slippers in the best houses in the kingdom. In front of me was the latter. No, more than that. They were among the finest I’d ever seen.

  I pulled to a stop. My feet were filthy.

  The Slave-Master sat on a stack of pillows as large as his biggest guard. He roared, “I sent for you. Why are you not approaching and kneeling before me? Have you no manners?”

  “These carpets deserve respect. My dirty feet shouldn’t touch them.”

  “I suspected you were telling me the truth earlier, but this was a small test. You have indeed served the wealthy. Others would have traipsed across the carpets without knowing the sin of doing so.” He pointed to one side, where a rack stood behind a small curtain. The dirty boots and shoes of others were there, and on another shelf, several pairs of soft slippers were waiting.

  Since I wore no shoes, I found a pair of oversized slippers and put them on. From the corner of my eye, I noticed him impatiently waiting for me, so moved slower. Not to piss him off but because another trap was brewing, I suspected. I approached, but not too close, and bowed formally and deeply as if he was a royal member of the wealthiest kingdom. I didn’t rise until he cleared his throat to give me tacit permission. My rusty chains were dragging on the carpets as I moved, but that didn’t matter. I’d passed at least two more of his crude tests.

  “How may I serve you?” I asked.

  He had an arm around a plump woman with hair as white as any I’d ever seen. It might be real, but her eyes were dark, as were her eyebrows. My guess was she dipped it in something to make her appear exotic. For me, the effect was unsettling and not at all attractive. It was the opposite for the Slave-Master.

  He said, “Did you learn to play blocks in Dire?”

  “When I had the coins in my purse to lose.”

  “Meaning you usually lose?” He snorted, a guffaw of sound without humor.

  “No. Meaning, I only play when I can afford to lose what I have. Only fools believe they always win.”

  “I always win.” He sat upright, all humor drained from his face. The single guard in the room tensed, awaiting orders to slay me.

  But the Slave-Master had a ‘tell’ that I’d already spotted. A slight twitch high on his cheek. He was testing or prodding me again, however as his slave. I saw no profit in the continued action. Still, he wanted my reaction, so I told him the truth, “Then you either cheat, or your opponents allow you to win. Not much sport if you know the outcome before the first tiles are passed around.”

 
“Ha, you believe you can defeat me? I am known far and wide for my game.”

  “Oh, I can defeat you. If not tonight, then another, if you do not cheat. But I’m the better player.” I lifted my chin at the offer of that challenge, one I hoped he couldn’t pass up.

  He raised a hand, and a small gaming table was rushed to be placed directly in front of him, too far away for me to reach, but he wouldn’t have to move from his soft perch at all. I remained at my distance as the tiles were displayed in the pre-game ritual, then his hand spread them to mix their locations. I was still two steps away. I didn’t move. He hadn’t invited me.

  “Select your tiles,” he commanded.

  “First, the rules.”

  “The rules are always the same,” he roared.

  “Not the game’s rules. Yours. Mine. If I am to allow you to win, like so many others, by how large a measure should it be?”

  “You will not allow me to win. My skill at the game will be all I require.”

  “How can I play if I have nothing of value to wager? No matter how good my hand, you can raise or call and eventually you will win a game as thin as air. Is that how you wish to play? Is that how you earned your reputation?”

  He slowly shook his head in disbelief at my audacity. Slaves didn’t speak to their masters that way, and never to someone as important as a Slave-Master.

  “I value my freedom,” I added. “You value me for what you can sell me for. Suppose we determine a fair price at auction and you ‘loan’ me that value for the sake of the game?”

  He hesitated. “That would be a poor bargain on my end, I’m afraid. If you have a couple of good hands before I win any, you could buy your freedom with my money. If I win, it is my own money I win. That is not much of a wager.”

  “Not so,” I argued. “I cannot buy my freedom with your money. First, I must win enough to pay you back all that you loan me, then win that much again to buy my freedom. In other words, I must be twice as good a player as you for that to happen. Are you scared that I may be twice as good as you?”

  “But it is all my money we are playing with,” he argued.

  “No, it is not. You loaned me money, and if I lose, I still owe it to you—or my future master does. That way, you can be paid twice for selling me. If you play well enough.” I still hadn’t moved closer to the game table but suspected the last taunt would earn me either a whipping or a seat at the game.

  He relented. “You might be right. If you can defeat me, you are worth far more than all of those others huddling in the cold outside. The way you’ve put this is a challenge and a way for me to earn a gold coin or two instead of some small silver. Don’t think I don’t see your other game.”

  “Yes, sir.” I hung my head respectfully. Inside, my feelings were the opposite. The gross man deserved no such treatment but it seemed the best way to manipulate him.

  However, the Slave-Master was also conniving and scheming now, perhaps even more than me. He glanced up and snarled at his guard, “Get this man pillows and something to drink. Red wine, I think.”

  I preferred white, but this was not the time to quibble. I wasn’t going to drink it either way. Wine and gambling are poor companions. While the dragon was close enough right now to share her Essence and give me my small powers, it might not remain so close, and I’d lose my magic when it went hunting in some distant place. Dragons eat a couple of large deer, elk, cows, sheep, or other animals every day. It might have to do a little hunting to earn a meal, or since the day was ending, sleeping. I didn’t know what happened to my powers when it slept, but I intended to play fair.

  I said, before moving to sit, “There is one more thing we need to clarify. You said that if I defeat you, I’m worth more than all the others outside.”

  “I did say that.”

  “If I win, I’ll pay you twice the original loan, and I’m a free man. Is that what you said?”

  “That’s not . . .” He paused and smiled evilly. “No, that is what we agreed to, I guess. You left the ending open if you win, and you twisted the wager to your favor. It’s my fault because I didn’t think you were so devious. I heard your words but didn’t look beyond them to your ultimate intent. No matter, I’ll agree with your silliness. Too bad none of my guards can provide competition for me, or you’d go back to the chains.”

  I started to sit and pick up my tiles but paused and remained standing instead as a last thought came to me. “To know who is truly the best, we will pay a dead-man game, right? We will play until one of us is dead or out of money, as they say. Not who is ahead when you choose to sleep or end the game, but who is out of money. No matter how long it takes. That way, winning a part of the money on the table does neither of us any good, and we know for sure who is the better player.”

  He laughed. “Sure, why not? It seems I have less to lose and more to gain. Besides, if one of us leaves the game because of death, it will be you.”

  “As long as you win, that’s true.” I ended the conversation with a low, gracious bow sure to impress him, then moved to the table. When I glanced his way again, there was almost, but not fully a smile on his lips. Yes, he was a fool and believed he would win. I fought to control my grin. This would be fun.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Princess Elizabeth

  “Please excuse the interruption, Princess Elizabeth,” the ship’s purser said in a mannerly way. “The captain sends his regards and asks if you have any requests of him or the ship?” I’d been musing over our situation and sorely missing the company of Damon and Kendra who had departed to take the overland route to Dagger.

  The normally arrogant purser on the Gallant had quietly approached as I stood at the rail overlooking the still burning city of Trager in the distance across the wide bay. His manner was respectful, as always, his eyes tired from remaining awake and on guard against citizens of Trager hoping to flee by boarding our ship during the fiery night. Panic had erupted as the city burned, with residents fleeing in all directions.

  The captain sending the purser to ask me the question was not as outrageous as it might at first appear. The ship ran a regular route from Trager to Vin, to Dagger which was the capital of the Kondor Kingdom, and then returned to the Port of Mercia located in the kingdom my father ruled. If the captain intended to continue the lucrative circular trade route, he would please me—and thus my father.

  “I wish to continue sailing to Vin if we can sail past that damned unmoving storm that has prevented us from going there.” I didn’t mention that Kendra had determined it was a mage-storm, created by mages located on ships located at sea behind the storm, to prevent me from reaching Dagger.

  He nodded curtly. “I’ll tell him.”

  That was unfair. I was also tired from staying up all night, as had the entire crew and all the passengers on the ship. We were out in the bay, where the ship sat lightly anchored so that it could be quickly pulled, and the ship could take to sail to safety if needed. In the distance lay the smoking ruins of what had been the port of Trager, only yesterday. Much of the city had burned this time, those portions not already blackened, and from the safety of the ship in deeper water, we’d all watched a city die. For our safety, the captain had moved the ship out into the bay during the night when the fires had first erupted—a wise and prudent move.

  There were three things to be scared of during those dark hours. Foremost, were the approaching flames that could have burned and sunk the ship, followed closely by the rampaging dragon that knocked over buildings and could have just as easily stepped on, and broken our ship. Candles and lanterns had ignited the dry wooden buildings as the enraged beast trampled its way through the city. The last item was the most dangerous of all. It was escaping from the panicked residents of a city on fire, people who were looking to survive the night in any manner. While most had fled to the safety of upper Trager through the closed city gates intended to keep them down in their squalid lower part of the city. Many had appeared as frightened mobs at the harbor pier
s, and the hoped-for safety near the water, and possibly boarding a ship that could move to deeper water. The Gallant was the only one in port.

  “Sir,” I called to his retreating back. The purser spun and hurried to my side again. I gave him no time to speak. “I apologize. I too have been up all night, and my temper is short. Tell our good captain that my wish is to sail out of the bay and into the open sea, again sailing south to Vin. If that endless storm is still there, we’ll decide what is best to do at that time.”

  He bowed slightly and turned on a heel, as only well-trained people did when they faced my father at court. Two items stood out about the purser. First, he was always polite and exceedingly good at his job. Second, he was well-trained in courtly manners, unusual for a sailor. His history would make an interesting story.

  The wind shifted, and the air that had smelled faintly of smoke changed to a choking mass of gray that burned my eyes and throat equally. I held my scarf to my nose and mouth, to filter the acrid smoke, for what little good it did.

  Shouts from the old Bos’n drew my attention as he ordered men aloft as if the smoke never entered his lungs. Other sailors manned their stations near the rigging, as four mounted their spokes at the anchor windlass. A young crewman who regularly dealt with the passengers held his arms wide as he moved us to the stern like herding polite sheep, where he roped off the deck for the working crew.

  The clatter of the anchor chain sounded as the topmast sail dropped into position. The Gallant had been unleashed, and the motion of the deck changed. Nearby, I heard a muffled cough. The personal guard that my father had assigned to protect me tried to conceal himself and his tasks at every opportunity. Now he wanted my attention.

  Will, was his name. Short for William, or Captain Pershing, late of my father’s Royal Army. I did not personally know him but knew of him. He’d served my father well, earning a lifetime title that would only expire with his passing, however, while Will was alive he was treated as if royalty, given lands to farm, and servants to help. Sometimes appointments like his are bestowed to commoners for extraordinary service. None dared question his service to my father, the king. The wrath of my father would descend as quickly as the blade of an executioner.