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“That is our business,” the boy with red hair said, his voice as cold as a winter draft.

At the same time, the tall boy said, “We owe the wildling a beating.”

“Well, I don’t know him, and that’s the truth. I’ve never spoken to him.” On impulse, Brix pointed to the trees growing thick on the opposite side of the road, and shouted, “Hey! Is that the one you’re looking for?”

As the heads of all the military boys turned away to look where he pointed, Brix darted across the other side of the road, onto the Copper Mountain trail. Running, he felt the wind ruffle his hair and pull at his clothes. He had, at least, four or five steps on them. Lengthening his stride, he held his bedroll against his waist to keep it from flapping. His escape gave him an oddly free and excited feeling. Rounding a bend on the trail he allowed a glance over his shoulder and saw only three students had taken up the chase, and they looked winded already, as they fell back.

Brix lowered his head down and concentrated on running faster and longer if for no other reason than to let those boys know he was better at something than they were. Claiming ownership of the King’s Road. That was pure rubbish. Did they think he was a child?

Another glance over his shoulder told him they’d halted and now huddled. They were talking heatedly. One pointed at him with a menacing finger and called a taunt in his direction. Brix ignored it as he kept on running. The lower side of Copper Mountain held little in the way of cover. It was mostly barren rock and clumps of sage, but no trees or shrubs large enough to hide him. He stood out like a speckle on a clean sheet. The boys could watch him from below and move to meet him when he went back down unless he waited for dark. Even then, he feared facing again, these newly made enemies.

Brix continued up the side of the mountain for a better view of the slope and the road. Maybe he could manage to race ahead and get away. The act of running from them had been an impulse, but it put him forever at odds with the five students who studied at the military school. They’d leave Nettleton and join the regular army in a year or two, but while living in Nettleton, they would be enemies. Brix’s older brothers wrestled and boxed, two activities he didn’t enjoy. When he returned home, maybe he needed to beg a few lessons.

His thinking shifted to the wildling boy. Why did they want to know where he lived? They mentioned owing him a beating, but what could the boy have done to deserve that? He was most irritated with their attitude. Owning the King’s road! Charging tolls. Those boys were all the sons of nobles and wealthy merchants. Everyone else was supposed to do their bidding. Their teachers taught them, others fed them, and the washerwoman cleaned their uniforms. What do they do for themselves?

Bricks slowed, his legs burning. Like his older brothers, he had now managed to make enemies of the second sons at the school, and if their pattern held true, he was in for as much trouble as the wildling. Too late to take it back and tell them where he suspected the wildling boy lived, but he wouldn’t if he could. Many in the village believed the wildling boy was welcome because of his good deeds. They said he delivered firewood to the widow Natter's sisters on dark winter nights. He left them apples and berries in season. They were too old to cut it themselves, but the wood box on their back porch was never empty, and the kindling always split.

There were loaves of bread left in the wood box, too, placed there by Old Mrs. Natters, some say, in return for the wood. She also left bowls of stew or parts of a cooked chicken. There were other rumors of the boy helping the villagers, too, like a lost calf returned to its mother. The list went on and on.

If only half the rumors hold true, the wildling boy would be welcome in any town or village. No, Brix would not be the one to tell those military students where to find him. But he might warn him of their intentions if he saw him.

CHAPTER FIVE

Edward, the Earl’s eldest son and the newest member of the sheriff’s table, left the offices of the sheriff with a sigh of relief and went directly to see Tomas, as he’d been instructed. Tomas was second in command to the sheriff. A lofty position. In his brief year at the sheriff’s table, Edward had yet to speak directly to the man. Now, in a shed near the stables, Tomas sat behind a huge crude desk made of thick planks laid across beer kegs.

The rich smells of horse sweat, and nearby waist-high piles of manure permeated the air. Only one chair was present, and Tomas occupied it. Edward strode to the desk, chin up as he’d been taught, and announced, “The sheriff told me to personally investigate the rumor of the dragon boy. He instructed me to see you for travel funds and said you are to charge me your ‘best’ interest rate. I will also need swift horses for four messengers, as well as the equipment required for traveling to and from Nettleton.”

Tomas concealed a smirk with the back of his hand. “Of course, my Lord.”

“I am not your lord.”

“Ah, but your father is the Earl, so you will be one too, someday. It’s never too early to be humble to an important man such as yourself. How many gold coins will you require for your venture?”

“Not counting the cost of horses, I will need to pay wages to the four messengers, a guide, and a cook. And all will need enough food for the journey.”

Tomas jotted down the requirements as if he couldn’t remember all of them. Without looking up, he said, “Will you also require tack for the horses? Saddles and such? Tents? Wagons?”

“Uh, well, yes.”

“Good, good. Have you already secured the men you need?”

“Not yet. That will be my next order of business.”

“So you intend to depart for Nettleton in only three or four more days, perhaps a ten-day?” Tomas waited, knowing the impatience of the sheriff, and also knowing that if the sheriff was up to his usual schemes, he expected Edward was to depart immediately.

Remembering the sheriff’s instructions to leave this evening or early in the morning, Edward felt a twinge of fear. “Can you also help me hire messengers? Today? I wish to leave before dark.”

“Of course, my future lord. Money talks, does it not? Now, about the amount of gold again, do you know how to calculate simple, or compound interest?”

Understanding that it is usually better to admit ignorance on some subjects and leave them to be done by the lower classes of people, Edward stood taller, held his chin higher and said, “I do not.”

“No problem. I’ll handle the small details and explain it all to you before you sign the papers. I have experience in outfitting ventures of this sort. This is not the first time the sheriff has ordered someone on a venture. I’ll have everything here waiting for you shortly after you enjoy your midday meal. You can depart early and impress the sheriff and your father with your eagerness.”

“Right. I’ll go make my preparations and return after eating. Thank you so much, Tomas.”

“No, you don’t owe me any thanks,” Tomas said, a wide grin splitting his face. “None at all, I assure you.”

Tomas watched Edward retreat and allowed himself the first lingering smile of the day. He almost gloated openly as he called to his men. “Callen, William, Henry, get your lazy asses in here. We have work to do and money to earn.”

While waiting for his workers to gather near him, Tomas glanced again at the list and estimated preliminary numbers. The sheriff’s coded message to charge the ‘best’ rates on lending gold meant Edward had no idea of what he was doing. Tomas would charge the highest rate possible, and young Edward would believe he had a bargain, at least until the time came for his father to pay. The Earl would protest, naturally, and a new sum negotiated. By this, Edward would learn to respect the business prowess of Tomas, and know there was profit for him to be made when he became the Earl if he used the services of the sheriff and Tomas properly.