“You said that.”
“I’ll repeat it. It was guided to the location of the old King. He was made an example, and the Dragon Clan lived, although they were camped less than a half day’s march from where the old King died. A hundred of them and two-thousands of us and they won. I will tell you with my last sober word that it was no accident the dragon went for the old King.”
If the Slave Master had not been at the side of the Weapons Master the last two days, he would swear the man was drunk or mad. But even with all the flaws, he saw in the Weapons Master, he also knew the man to be a fearless fighter and loyal to the crown like no other. The Slave Master had heard exaggerations of his battles, his glorious escapades with wenches, and his bragging of his skill in games of chance. He had never heard him lie or exaggerate about war or protecting his king.
“So you believe someone of the Dragon Clan can speak to a dragon in some fashion and tell it which person to grab out of thousands? You really believe that?”
Weapons Master Paul allowed the slightest smile to cross his lips, but it held little humor. “I’ll ask you one in return, my friend. You saw the men, women, and children we slew at Nettleton seven years ago. You saw with your own eyes the marks of dragons on their backs, so you know that much is true. Every one of them had a picture on their backs from the day they were born. Different colors. But born with those marks. How do you explain them?”
“I don’t know.” The Slave Master spoke slowly, “It has bothered me ever since.”
“Did you know that after all of you left that awful campsite near Nettleton, a few of us stayed and inventoried all we could find? Of course, you did, you saw the inventory in King Ember’s chambers. But did you know that we didn’t set the fire to the wagons and camp? No, it was set by the dragons. Not one, but three. Two reds and a black.”
“Dragons?”
“We hid and watched when they attacked. They arrived together and flew low over the wagons and camp until finally the black swooped low and hissed a mass of black slime as it flew past. Then the red dragons. They dove and coated everything in that clearing over and over. And then a lone man carried a torch to the edge of the dragon slime and threw it. The black slime erupted in orange flames and burned until only cinders were left. Wagons, bodies, tents, everything.”
“I’ve heard they spit that black slime where there’s flame, and it burns everything, even stone.”
“I don’t know about stone, but there was no fire to set the dragon slime ablaze. We think that man was one of the Dragon Clan, who torched the camp.”
“Why would he do that? And how did he know?”
“That’s the questions I keep asking. Why? And to add to the mystery, everyone was dead, so what did it matter? And if the dragons were directed by another person, why burn all the bodies? It haunts me.”
“You said directed, again. As if you really do believe there are people who can tell a dragon what to do.”
The Weapons Master pointed as they rode over the crest of the hill. “Lights. The inn better have vacant rooms for us.”
“Yes, sir. It would be a shame to throw some minstrel or vendor out of his bed on a terrible, wet night like this.”
“And there had better be hot food,” the Slave Master added.
“And strong ale,” Paul added with a smile and a nudge to the tired horse to pick up the pace.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Camilla walked on the road beside Brix, wondering how he had managed to follow her and warn her of the approaching soldiers. She had been sleeping. He was supposed to be asleep in the first clearing where they paused beside the stream—and she left him there. Had he followed and watched her at the stream or had he followed her tracks? Where did he sleep? She thought as she walked, her attention was split between the boy and what to do about him.
For her entire life, or as much as she remembered, she had been in charge of everything in her existence. She decided when to eat, what to eat, where and when to sleep, or steal. Her life belonged to her. She sensed and understood that even walking down a dirt road through a forest with another person required that she give and take, as he also must do. If she wanted a drink, he would wait for her, even if he did not wish one for himself. His normal pace was undoubtedly faster than hers as she limped with the help of her stick. Staff, she corrected herself. Pleasing the washerwoman might prevent a few lumps caused by her staff.
The road climbed slowly, and the vegetation thinned. The underbrush was not as thick, and more trees were evergreen, pine, cedar, and fir. Ahead, the mountains looked taller, many with snow topping them. They were the same mountains seen from the slopes of Copper Mountain, but already they looked taller and more rugged.
“Where did you sleep last night?”
Brix sniggered, “Thought you’d never ask.”
“Where?”
“In that little clearing, I showed you. I caught enough fish to feed both of us, but you didn’t come back.”
“What happened this morning? You went looking for me?”
“Yes, from before the sun came up. I got nervous about those boys chasing us and decided to get an early start to make sure they didn’t find me. Or you.”
She walked on and waited for more explanation, but when he didn’t tell her what she wanted, she said, “How did you find me?”
“That flat rock beside the stream is where I always stop and get a drink. Your footprints were in the mud, and you left a clear trail of muddy prints as you went down that little path. I was about to head up the road without you when the army horses came into sight. I thought they might let their horses get a drink at that place, and I didn’t want them seeing your tracks and finding you.”
The story sounded reasonable but didn’t ring completely true. Maybe she simply didn’t trust people, or hadn’t been around them enough, but she sensed deception. A sly glance in his direction revealed Brix strolling along, arms swinging, a smile on his lips as if he didn’t have a worry to ponder. Camilla mentally shrugged. Other than being less than a journeyman spinner of quality threads and cords, a fact everyone in the village knew, he probably didn’t have a worry. Parents and family fed and supported him. He had a future and family. What more could he wish for?
His life and security both created envy and a pleasant jealousy. Brix probably had no idea of how privileged his life was when compared to hers. She quickly squashed any trace of anger, but still retained the wariness of someone too close. Having him to talk with might be a new experience.
Today she walked far better with the help of the heavy staff held in her right hand. She barely supported any weight as she walked. Without it, she would walk better. The idea of tossing it aside entered her thoughts for a brief instant. The impression of the reaction Robin would have if she returned without it chilled her.
“Do you mind walking ahead of me a few steps?”
Brix shrugged and stepped faster. Her soreness had fled with the walking; even the slight limp was gone. Resigned to keep her part of the bargain with Robin, she swung the staff over her head and let the end strike the ground with her next step, but it almost made her stumble. No pain gave her hope. She swung it up again, this time in stride and let it fall, striking the ground again with a solid thump. Better. She did it again, trying to balance the staff with her shift in weight as she walked.
Brix glanced back, gave a questioning look at the sound of the staff thumping the ground, and then turned away again.