She jumped over the small stream and pushed her way past the vines, thorns, and brambles.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Camilla said, “Move very slowly to the edge of the trees, Brix. Eyes see movement even before color. That’s why I saw them, first.”
Together they slow-stepped into the dark shade of the forest. Brix asked, “Circle around or follow?”
“Food, first.” Camilla quickly led the way to the pear tree and selected one that looked ripe. “They can’t see us in here because they’re on the road ahead. Let’s grab some more food while we can.” A bite confirmed the pear was ripe. After wiping juice from her chin, she picked several more and stuffed them into the end of her bedroll. Brix did the same, trying to eat one while he picked others. He needed one more hand. Finally, he tossed the one he was eating on the ground and picked more from the branches before moving on to the apple tree. The fruit was small and tart, exactly the way Camilla liked them. Hard as rocks, but they’d stay fresh for days and days.
The bedroll had gained weight with the addition of the fruit and pounded her side with each step. She bit into an apple and asked, “Which way do you think?”
“They have wounded men so they’re moving slow, would be my guess. We can head faster up the valley, and once we’ve passed them, we take to the road again.”
Camilla nodded and turned to examine possible routes. “On the road, we’ll have to be careful of others, too. Still, we can travel a lot faster there.”
Brix pointed into the shadows under a thick stand of pines further from the road as he moved to examine the ground. “There. Looks like deer move through here.”
Shifting her bedroll to the other shoulder, Camilla took the lead. They slipped through the forest quickly but quietly, barely speaking, and when they did the words were exchanged in whispers. She watched her footing, stepping over branches so they would not snap, and her ears told her Brix was doing the same.
Twice they heard voices from the road, which helped them locate their position in relation to the soldiers. The first time, the voices were too close, and without speaking, Camilla led them further away from the road before continuing along the banks of a small stream. Both scooped palms full of water but didn’t pause long enough for a long full drink.
Brix touched her shoulder.
She slowed and turned.
He moved his lips closer to her ear. “We need to find the road, then work our way back to them to see what they’re doing and how fast they’re moving.”
“You have more than that in mind.”
He shrugged. “Okay, you’re right. How many horses do they have? And who, if anyone, is watching them?”
“You’re thinking of stealing horses?”
“Probably not, but if the opportunity is there, I might.”
Camilla shook her head. “Stealing the King's horses will cost you your life if they catch you.”
“I wasn’t going to keep them. Just ride for part of a day and turn them loose.”
“Your idea of spying on the men is good. But we don’t take a horse. Not even spares. You’ve heard too many adventure stories at your evening fire on winter’s nights.”
Brix smiled and motioned for her to continue leading them. As she shoved some brush aside with her staff, he hissed, “Think of it as an adventure. Like in the old stories.”
His statement rang true. To him, this was probably a break in his boring existence of spinning threads long enough to weave a dozen blankets or twist into a rope long enough to reach from one end of Nettleton to the other. When Brix grew old, he’d still tell the tale of the trip to Arum the herder’s flock. He’d speak of how he watched the dragon swoop down from the sky and carry off men and rip the head off the body of a horse. The story would probably have people in the Red Dog Inn buying him ale again and again.
The realization made Camilla reevaluate their relationship. This was simply an adventure for Brix. For her, it was life and death. Sure, the boys at the academy might decide to take out their frustrations on Brix, but he could work at his spinning with the protection of four older brothers and his father until the boys were old enough to leave the school and enter the army. As a respected member of the community, he could take the problem to the Goodman, or an officer at the school. Either might tell the boys to leave him alone. For Camilla, a wildling without connections, they wouldn’t spare an ear to listen.
The dragon attack also needed consideration. What had happened back there? If that dragon had ever attacked anyone since she had been old enough to care for herself, she’d have heard of it. It would have been the talk of the village for years. The people in Nettleton would hide in their homes when someone spotted it flying above. But they didn’t. They watched and pointed while speculating. The people were wary, of course, but not afraid. If they witnessed what happened to the men on the road, they would be scared and run for cover with the women and children.
The bigger problem that clouded her thinking was deciding if she had anything to do with the attack. Anything at all. The washerwoman said Camilla would one day call down dragons. If men died because of her calling the red down, she didn’t know what to do, or how she did it. Should she surrender? To whom and for what? For accepting a job herding sheep? Her fingers of her left hand scratched the shoulder where the muzzle of the dragon was underneath the shirt.
“Over there,” Brix pointed with his staff.
A wider path intersected the one they followed. Turning to the left would take them to the King’s Road, probably ahead of the soldiers. If not, perhaps they could observe them and decide what the best course of action was. She turned and found the wider path easy to walk upon, and her speed increased until she heard low voices speaking barely a dozen steps ahead.
She stopped and raised her finger to her lips. She motioned for Brix to stand still while slipping the rope off her shoulder and lowering the rolled blanket to the ground. She placed her staff beside it and crouched before moving into deeper shadow. Moving a slow step at a time, and checking on Brix twice, she continued. Brix remained motionless, his eyes locked on her.
Two men sat on a log beside the road, their slumped backs to her. Both looked exhausted.
One had a bloody bandage wrapped around his head and another on his arm. He spoke softly, “I heard they killed the whole Dragon Clan around here ten years ago.”
“Then why did the sheriff send the messenger to order us to look for any boys around here with the mark?”
“Have you ever heard of the Dragon Clan around here? I haven’t.”
The second man had his left arm in a sling. He shook his head. “I’ve been patrolling the same road for five years. Never even heard of any Dragon Clan, and you know if they were here we’d have heard about it.”
“Course you haven’t heard it,” the other barked. “If you did, we’d have been here searching for any sign of them, with another hundred men to back us up. They say there’s more Dragon Clan living in the Raging Mountains.”
“Even a hundred more soldiers wouldn’t have helped when that thing attacked us.”
The one with the bandaged head stood. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Or been so scared,” the man with the arm sling said. “Just keep a good watch so we can warn the men behind if it comes at us again. Maybe they can get under cover.”
“What do you think got into that dragon? Why’d it swoops down on us?”
Camilla brushed against a dried branch that snapped as she tried to ease closer.