The road was wide enough for one wagon or four men to march abreast, but the center showed far more use than the edges. Walking down the center, whether on foot or horseback was natural. She glanced behind several times, but Brix was nowhere in sight. She didn’t know if she should feel relieved or sorry.
A glance at the shadows told her she had a lot of daylight left. Her foot now pained her more with each step. Walking fast, and the road now climbing had her short of breath, and as she drew in a lungful, the sharp pain doubled her over. Slow down. She straightened and continued.
The cheerful chuckling of a stream told her it was there long before she spotted it. It was half the size of the one where she left Brix, but plenty deep enough for a drink. Stepping off the road, she found a small path leading down to a flat rock conveniently placed by nature where a person could lie down and scoop water directly into their mouth. She tossed the staff to one side and knelt before laying on her stomach and allowing her tips to touch the cold water.
Satisfied, she sat up but didn’t stand. Her mind was sorting information. Brix had told her things she needed to dwell upon. People knew of her. They knew she stole from them, and if his words were true, they even provided for her. She was like a stray cat that was unwanted, but fed and watched.
She talked to herself for pleasant company. Since others didn’t speak to her, she carried on conversations with herself, and not only in her head. Often she spoke out loud, changing her voice to match the one she imagined speaking. If a villager saw and heard her doing that they might think she was bewitched or eccentric. Neither would be good.
Brix looked down on Robin, from what she could tell from their brief interaction. That didn’t sit well with Camilla. He had a large, prosperous family. That made him different. They lived in the same village but led lives apart. What might happen when they brought the goats and sheep back? Would they be friends?
That line of thinking returned her to traveling with him. One rip on the back of her shirt would expose the birthmark. One time relieving herself in his sight would reveal another secret. She smiled at the small joke buried in her choice of words, but soon went back to worrying.
The difficulties of traveling with him to Arum’s flocks were little different than returning with them. Once they joined Arum, they would herd the animals down the narrow valley. They would probably herd them all day, pushing them to move, yet keeping them together and safe from wolves, bears, or other predators. Then at night, they would sleep around the same fire. Eat the same food. And pee in the same places. Any bathing would be in sight of others.
The job started to look impossible.
She stood and noticed the path that had led her to the stream continued on into the undergrowth under a stand of oak. On impulse, she followed it. Looking over her shoulder, she could no longer see the road. A dozen steps further and she found herself on a small hillside, the path leading down to a dip in the ground beside the river, covered with lush grass.
She used the staff for balance and to brace herself as she moved carefully down the hill. Standing at the base, she realized three things. First, the clearing was perfect. The slope protected a fire from being spotted from the road. The grass was a place to spread her waterproof bedding. Second, a ring of rocks told her she was not the first to discover this place. And third, she had used her staff to help her walk almost without thinking. Already it had become part of her.
She struck upon a possible solution for traveling with others. Villagers worshiped many gods in many ways. She could pretend to be of people who were from far away. Their prayers were said in private. Several times a day. She could excuse herself and go to pray, and while there relieve herself. The material of her green shirt was thick, and when wet, wouldn’t show her mark, but she could easily check on that.
The bedroll unrolled. Inside was a sack of dried meat shavings, raisins, dried apples, pears, and seeds of grain. Rice, oats and barley for sure, and maybe another. A feast. Well, maybe not a feast, but enough to supplement what she could scrounge for a few days. She would keep a sharp watch for food, but that was her normal routine, anyway. She stuffed a handful into her mouth and chewed as she adjusted the waterproof groundsheet and blanket.
She palmed the copper and iron coins, slipping them into her purse and carefully placing the purse inside her waistband. They would again be wrapped in her blanket tomorrow, so that all the coin was not kept together. If she had a needle and thread, she would sew a pocket into her shirt. Robin had been more than generous. Then she spread the blanket and laid down for a short rest before gathering firewood for the night. Her eyes slowly closed. She slept.
Brix shook her awake, finger held to his lips, warning her to be quiet.
Her back started tingling. Then it itched. Then it turned painful.
A dragon was approaching.
CHAPTER TEN
The King paused only long enough to peek out of a small window on the third floor from the edge of the drapes. Seeing nothing dangerous down in the courtyard, he continued jogging down the hallway to his chambers, as feelings of impending doom filled him. Once he’d dismissed the servants and barred the door behind them, he went to a certain stone behind the edge of an old tapestry depicting three hunters with bows, and three leaping stags about to die. Pushing the stone inward released a lock on a hidden compartment. A drawer smoothly emerged from the wall, several fake stones attached to the front. Until the release was made, they had looked like any others on the wall.
The drawer was wider than his outstretched arms and deep enough to hide a man, as family rumors said had happened a few times in the past. Rumors also said more than one woman had escaped the attention of angry queens by hiding in the drawer. Inside were several objects. The largest was a red stone carved into the writhing image of a red dragon as big as his forearm. The wings were folded against the body, but the head was twisted back on the long neck, as the ugly face and black eyes met his. The statue was the creation of a master carver. And one insane.
Pounding sounded from the only door to the chambers.
Lifting the statue carefully, the King carried it to the center of a table where he often did royal paperwork in private. He set it down in the center and hurried to the door. Using the peephole first, he threw the lock and cracked the door open only enough to ensure that the Weapons Master and Slave Master were alone. “Come inside and be quick about it.”
They slipped into the room, their full attention on their King. He motioned to the statue with a wave of his hand. Both halted in mid-step. The King allowed them to stare at it before barking, “Paul, are you sober?”
The Weapons Master glanced at the dragon statue sitting on the table and whispered, “Sire, if I were not, I would be now.”
Angora, the Slave Master remained silent, his eyes locked on the statue as if he feared it would attack him.
The King nearly stuttered in his frustration. He kept his voice soft because inside the palace too many things were overheard, even from his private chambers. He’d learned the hard way when younger that few things are secret in a palace. “There is a rumor of a dragon boy.”