Raymer said, “Their horses can move faster.”
Without another word, Ander spun and set a pace that may have been even faster than the one he’d set earlier. He swung his arms high to help lengthen his stride, and his breathing sounded deeper.
Something’s eating him. Raymer kept up and listened for Quint’s crashing through the underbrush behind. He and Raymer had reason to be here. Ander had been an accident. I didn’t even know Quint carried him until we were near that farmhouse.
Raymer didn’t like not knowing something that might dictate his future. Quint’s actions were predictable. He wanted to escape, although there was also more to his story than Raymer knew. But as a prisoner under a lifetime sentence, Quint wanted to get away. His first and primary objective. As simple as that.
Ander, on the other hand, grew up privileged and of the royal class. His appointed position as the Dungeon Master might not have been the work he’d dreamed of. However, it was still a position higher than peasants could ever aspire to hold. Yet, Raymer didn’t believe Ander was being deceptive.
“Hey, Ander. Tell me again why you’re going with us.”
The path they followed was wide enough for two side by side, and Ander slowed a few steps until they walked together. The morning had warmed and promised to be hot by the afternoon.
“I can’t tell you because it’s too hard to express. I’ve been thinking of running off and making my own way for a couple of years. Perhaps exploring unknown lands.”
“There must be more I can’t understand. Being Dungeon Master seems like a pretty good life. No hard labor. You’re the boss. The guards do what you want, or you dismiss them. I don’t even see where you would have to enter the dungeons more than a few times a ten-day at most.”
“I would also order men to die at the direction of the king, some innocent of crimes other than upsetting our paranoid ruler. I’d watch others rot in their cells like you were doing. If the King required information, I would supervise the torture and report the findings to him.”
They walked without words for a short time, each lost in deep thought. Raymer said, “There’s more.”
“Boredom is maybe the word I’d choose. Growing up, I pictured myself a great warrior, or a leader of strong men, and the center of beautiful women. I’d sail ships to far off lands and return a hero.”
“Instead, you got appointed to supervise prisoners, executions, and torture.”
“Yes. In a stinking hole under the palace where no royal wants to enter, let alone admit that such things go on. As for the pretty women, you can imagine that none would wish to live a life with such as me, a man with the stink of the dungeons about him.”
Ander shrugged. “I think I see. It made you about the bottom of the barrel as far as life in the royal palace went.”
“Treated like a fool, or worse. Most royals saw little difference in me and the prisoners. Even my best friends avoided me after the appointment. One held his nose and told me I needed to bathe after I entered the dungeons. I hadn’t been down there, yet.”
“It’s all about what people believe.” The path narrowed again, and Raymer quickened his step until he pulled ahead. Now and then he used his staff to clear the way. He glanced behind to find Quint motionless on top of the last hill they’d climbed. Looking ahead, he noticed they had strayed to the left of Bear Mountain. The underbrush thinned and they crossed a clearing of tall grass, brown in the late summer heat.
Their present course would take them in the direction where he hoped to find more of the Dragon Clan, so he turned enough to head for the north slopes of the mountain, the direction of Quint’s home. Later, he noticed Quint had caught up with them from the corner of his eye.
Being in the sunshine felt unnatural after a year in a cell so he was careful to walk in the shade to prevent more sunburn. The dirt between his toes was dry and somehow pleasant to walk upon. The ground had more give than the stone floors of his cell, almost a bounce. Of course, it may have been in his mind.
But he couldn’t deny the air smelled better, his body seemed to want more of a challenge, and his mind grew sharper. For a year, his mind and body had barely existed. Now he wanted to shout, dance and sing.
A curious feeling overcame him. He felt wary. Tense. Then his back began to tingle, a barely perceived feeling, just enough to draw his attention. The tingle turned to a tickle, but there was no humor or joy.
Eyes to the sky, he found the approaching black dot against the blue directly behind them. It flew with powerful strokes of its wings. It let out a screech so loud and long Ander covered his ears with his hands, for all the good it would do. The dragon cry went deeper than just offending his ears. It penetrated to his soul.
What’s it doing?
It descended low as it flew nearer. Raymer felt no fear. The closer it drew, the faster it flew, and the lower as if attacking. Raymer’s back felt like his mouth had when he’d foolishly eaten a red pepper. He drew up on his toes and held his breath as it passed directly over them, so low he might have thrown a stone high enough to strike it.
It screamed again after it passed them, a wild and angry sound nothing could ignore. Then it made another sound. It sounded like an old man with a cold trying to draw enough phlegm into his mouth to spit. The sound was followed by a quick series of odd sounds. Pock. Pock. Pock.
The pain on Raymer’s back decreased, as the monster flew further away, but he knew what the sounds had been. The dragon had attacked something, or someone, on the ground. Whatever, or whoever the dragon attacked was directly ahead of them.
“Down,” he said softly.
Quint dropped. “What is it?”
Despite his order to get down, Ander still stood, as if confused. Quint reached out and grabbed him by an ankle and pulled him down. The three of them were exposed in the tall grass, but on the ground, they’d be hard to locate if anyone looked for them. But if anyone did look, especially from the top of the rise ahead, they would be spotted right away.
Raymer pointed to the edge of the meadow where the forest grew thick enough to conceal them. “There. We run.”
This time, there was no hesitation or argument. The dragon returned from the other direction. All three sprinted for the tree line, mostly smaller maple and oak. They arrived almost together. As soon as they were under cover, they paused and took a knee.
Quint said, “I thought that the dragon was coming after us.”
“It attacked something up there,” Ander panted. “What?”
“Did you have anything to do with this?” Quint asked Raymer.
“I have no more idea of what’s happening than you.”
“Did you know about it?” Quint snarled.
“No.”
“Good, because I like it when you’re as ignorant as I feel,” Quint said, his eyes still searching the empty sky.
They remained still because motion is the first thing an eye detects, and they all knew that moving would attract the attention of anyone watching from the top of the hilltop. In return, all three watched the hill, but saw nothing.
The increasing itch on Raymer’s back drew his attention. “The dragon is returning.”
This time, it flew crossways, ahead of them, following the top of the next hill they were going to climb. The head on the serpentine neck twisted and turned as the dragon watched the ground. Then it veered and dived in an instant, spitting several times with the pock noise a stuttering echo.
A man on the hilltop screamed in either pain or terror. It was impossible to tell which. Another joined him. The dragon flew on until it passed out of sight.