Dragon! Book One: Stealing the egg

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Gareth jogged every few steps to keep up with Tom’s rapid pace as he trudged down a well-worn path winding through the thick underbrush beside the River John. Residents of a few cabins on the side of the hill probably used this path daily. As usual, Tom walked like a man half his age or a man possessed. Gareth mentally adjusted the age estimate of Tom to a third of his original. Tom never seemed to hurry, but he never seemed to slow down, either. Tom moved quickly and effortlessly, speaking little, arms swinging with each step. After the fog lifted they traveled beneath the wide limbs of a virgin forest filled with hardwoods of maple, ash, oak, and every other sort spreading above. The trees thinned long enough to catch glimpses of nearby rolling hillsides and the snow-capped peaks of unknown mountains in the far distance.

“Tom, a while ago you said we’re going to hide in plain sight. What does that mean?”

“It means you and me are going to change who others see when they look at us. They won’t think about questioning us or reporting our whereabouts. Those teachers of yours have undoubtedly spread our descriptions far and wide. A handsome, distinguished older gentleman and young scallywag of a pup traveling together will get noticed. Even our new haircuts and my shave will not slow them down for long. I have a few ideas, so just hang on while I scout around for what we need. I’ll know it when I see it.”

The cryptic answer didn’t provide much solid information, but the confidence his voice carried would do for now. Gareth felt the dragon stir in his bag, probably upset from being jostled and disturbing its sleep as they moved back under tall trees. The path followed along a slippery stream bank. He placed his left hand into the opening and felt the animal wrap itself around his wrist as if comforted by the touch. He kept his hand there. The awkward posture upset his balance, but he ignored the discomfort and tried to keep pace.

As they crested a small hill, the heavy foliage thinned along one side of the path. Gareth paused for a breath and found the clearing was a field of newly planted hay, maybe alfalfa. The rows were neat and straight, and he felt a pang of envy. It reminded him of Odd’s farm in Dun Mare. The neat rows of the field also meant a nearby farm. Farms usually had barking dogs and defensive farmers protecting their homes and crops from travelers.

Tom walked a dozen paces ahead. Now he slowed and moved carefully, probably watching for signs of farmers, too. A small cabin appeared in a small valley below them. They paused on the hillside behind a stand of willows, watching the windows of the cabin, and the empty fields. The sun was high, but farmers rose early and had probably been busy with chores for hours. A stout barn and several small outbuildings stood near the cabin, all looking old, neat and well kept. Crops grew in at least three nearby fields.

Beyond the cabin wound a strip of a two-rut dirt road.

Tom said, “Rest here. Stay still and watch for me. I’ll be back, one way or another. Whatever you do, don’t get excited and try to rescue me.”

“Not arguing, just trying to understand. Why do I stay?” Gareth asked, settling himself on a fallen log to watch.

“I don’t want the people down there remembering you being around here, in case anyone asks. I’m speaking about your teachers, of course. Many old men stop by local farms looking for temporary work so I won’t stand out if I’m alone, but those people following you are looking for an old man and a younger one, together.”

“I assume they’ll have dogs down there. Will they smell my dragon up here?”

“Your dragon, is it now?” He chuckled and gave Gareth a pat on the shoulder, “The dogs probably can’t smell it from here, but that thing is beginning to reek if you hadn’t noticed.”

Gareth had noticed.

In the distance, the door to the cabin slammed open. An old man with a long dark beard stepped outside and paused to oversee his farm. Stretching, he looked at the sky and the heavy clouds hanging above the northern horizon. He whistled and a pair of yellow dogs bounded from inside the house. The farmer limped his way to the barn, moving slow and looking pained with each careful step.

With a small salute, Tom headed down the hillside, skirting the edge of the fields so he couldn’t be seen by the farmer. Once down to the road that passed in front of the farm, he turned in the farm’s direction as if he had traveled a distance on the road.

Gareth watched Tom closely. He noticed Tom start to limp and walk much slower, moving like the farmer had, as he headed for his barn. Tom neared the cabin, and one of the dogs spotted him. A torrent of barks followed. Both dogs rushed in Tom’s direction, leaping and sprinting, each trying to arrive first and bark loudest. They were both yellow, and they looked so alike they may have come from the same litter a year or two ago.

Tom knelt and held out his arms to greet them, laughing and calling to the dogs as if they were old friends. They pulled to a cautious stop in front of him and sniffed while the farmer limped out of the barn and in their direction. Tom petted them and shook hands with the farmer when he arrived. Tom had not moved closer to the farm. He waited, as was custom and good manners. They spoke for a short time on the road, and Gareth saw them both chuckling at something. Then they walked back to the barn and disappeared inside as if they were the best of friends, the dogs chasing a stick Tom tossed again and again.

The sun shifted far higher in the sky before a mule pulling an old wagon creaked into view from the double doors of the barn. A newer wagon sat outside under what looked like a red apple tree. Behind the wagon trotted a brown and white goat tied to the rear corner by a rope, not seeming to appreciate the tugging rope at all. Tom sat in the wagon seat waving goodbye to the farmer as he slapped the reins to get the attention of the mule. It looked tired even though the day had barely begun. The dogs barked and ran beside the wagon until the farmer called them back several times.

Ears of corn filled the bed of the wagon almost to the top of the sideboards. The wagon didn’t look like it could manage a heavier load without breaking down. The mule looked old, stubborn, and traveled at half the pace a young man walks. Together, Tom, wagon, and mule looked to be a sorry team. Only the goat balking at being pulled along had any vitality.

Tom now wore a different shirt. Pale green and loose fitting with long sleeves, it was much like most farmers chose. A darker green patch on one shoulder stood out displaying a crude repair, even at in the distance. At the road, the wagon turned away from the cabin and in the direction where Gareth and the dragon waited on the hillside. As it moved nearer he saw the small motion Tom made with his hand, and he slipped through the trees to the edge of the road, taking care to keep underbrush between himself and the cabin, carrying the dragon in his arms.

Tom shook his head when Gareth started to climb onto the seat of the wagon. He handed Gareth a straw farmer’s hat, old and worn, and he said, “I’ve been thinking, some. Putting together, a few ideas of things past. It had to be that damned woman at Priest’s Point who made your clothes who talked too much. Word reached the Brotherhood. That’s what sent that white boat chasing after us. That’s one puzzle solved.”

“I had the same thought.”

“Should have shared it with me,” Tom barked.

“But it does not say why the white ship chased us.”

“Damn. You’re right. I thought I’d figured it all out, and now I have to do more thinking.”

“Sorry. How’d you get the wagon?”

“A few silver coins changed hands. He gave me a fair deal.”

Gareth snorted as he examined the sorry state of the wagon and mule. “A few silver coins for this?”

“He threw in the load of corn for almost nothing. I paid extra for the goat. Now, you untie that goat and walk on the road ahead with her, like we’re not together and don’t know each other. Get a good lead on me. You should be able to hear the wagon behind, so don’t get too far ahead.”

Gareth said, “I see. We’re splitting up because they’re looking for a bearded old man and larger young one, both with long hair, traveling together. Not farmers.”

“So we cut our hair and travel apart and act like locals. If asked, you’re taking that goat to an uncle’s farm near a village called Prosper. Make up a name for yourself and a story to go along with it. Throw a couple of ears of corn in your bag with the ends sticking out like they’re your lunch. Maybe nobody will look in there and find your new pet if they see corn ears sticking out.”

“What about your name and history?” Gareth asked.

“My name’s not your concern because you don’t know me, remember? I’m just a hired hand driving this old wagon load of corn down to Drakesport town to sell at the farmers’ market. I do this with all our extra crops at my brother’s farm where I live. I’m a little slow when I talk. . .” He took a deep breath and let it escape between pursed lips. “And slower to answer.” Another breath. “Even the Brotherhood won’t want to talk to a dullard like me for long.”

“Drakesport. I’ve been wondering about that. I mentioned this once, but does the Army buy baby dragons?”

Tom avoided his eyes. After a hesitation longer than Gareth anticipated, he answered, “Son, to tell you the honest truth, I don’t know. About all I do know for sure is those damn teachers, or Brotherhood, or whatever they are, want us really bad. When I say ‘us’ I mean you more’n me. And I don’t think they’re your friends. I know they’re not mine. If you disagree, then you should meet up with the first pair of them you see and surrender.”

Tom gave the mule a slap on the rump, and it trudged ahead.

Gareth slapped the wide-brimmed hat on his head, untied the goat and quick-walked ahead of the wagon, tugging and urging the goat to walk faster. As he passed the wagon, he said in a conspiratorial voice, “My name’s Tim, son of Faring. We live on a goat farm half a day behind us. This is the third goat I’m delivering to my uncle in Prosper this year because we’re having a good year.”

“Talk educated like that and they’ll nab you right off. Drop yer eyes and talk through your nose, like this” Tom pinched his nose. “Better yet, only talk when you have to. Farmer boys your size haven’t had time for school so it’s expected. Just do a lot of nodding and smile at anything they say. Add some shrugs, too, like you have no idea of what they are saying but you’re agreeable. And look away when they talk, like you’re thinking about something far away.”

Gareth nodded, disappointed at Tom’s corrections, and he yanked the goat by the halter to walk faster, instantly feeling sorry for the action when the goat bawled in protest. He realized he didn’t know the way to Drakesport, but he kept walking. Tom seemed to know everything and would correct him if he turned the wrong way. The comforting sounds of a squeaky wheel and the soft rumble of the loaded wagon followed him.

Before mid-morning two teachers appeared on the road and walked in his direction. They moved in their usual stiff manner without swaying from side to side. They wore their hoods pulled low over their shaved head to protect their eyes and pale skin from the sun. Their hands were concealed in their sleeves. Always before Gareth had admired their mechanical method of walking. Now he found himself thinking of it as ‘slinking’ and somehow evil. Their quiet ways had somehow transformed into spying.

Gareth realized he didn’t know how other people greeted teachers when meeting them on the road. He’d always been their student, with them coming to him, but acting different from others on the dirt road would draw attention. He considered mumbling hello but didn’t trust his new persona or accent. One mistake and they would spot it.

The distance between them closed fast. Gareth gradually moved to the side of the road and held his goat on a short leash, watching the two men closely from under the brim of the straw hat. He kept his face impassive. Their eyes seemed to drift past him, and both looked directly ahead as if seeing little in front of them. Neither nodded or said anything. Indeed, they acted as if he was merely the shadow of a bush growing at the edge of the road.

Well, now I know what to do when I see them. Just stare and move on.

The goat lowered its head and reached for a tuft of grass. Gareth pulled a handful of grass and used it to keep the goat following eagerly at his heels, feeding it from his hand now and then. They paused at the first stream for a drink and made sure the wagon still rumbled behind. When he heard it getting near, they continued.

Tom must have told the farmer a tall tale to get a full load of corn, as well as the mule, goat, wagon and the old clothes. Some tale it must have been, and more than a few coins had probably changed hands. He felt certain Tom had done the deal in such a way that the farmer didn’t have much information to share with the Brotherhood if he chose to tell. Gareth would bet that Tom had convinced him to hold his tongue, anyhow.

Gareth wondered how he could underestimate Tom so many times in only a few days. Perhaps that was Tom’s strength. Others also saw him as a poor farmer or fisherman with little education. Nothing threatening about him. Gareth was beginning to see the cunning, intelligent man under the disguise. Tim. I’ll have to remember my new name. While walking slowly along the road, he fleshed out his story, in case anyone should ask. Tim would be easy to remember. Tim. Tom. Nothing is worse than forgetting your name.

“I’m t-takin’ this baby goat to m-my uncle.” Gareth talked to the goat, practicing his new stuttering dialect, perfecting the mannerisms of a slow-witted farmer who had never attended school. “Takin’ dis billy to m-my uncle.”

The goat glanced at him and looked away as if it didn’t approve.

He felt the dragon stir and pulled the flap of the bag aside. The animal paused and looked up at him with a mouthful of yellow corn and green shuck. It snorted once and lunged back at the ear of corn as if afraid Gareth was going to take it. He let the dragon have that ear while pulling another from the bag and gnawing on the sweet, raw kernels as he walked. When he looked inside the bag again, only bare cobs remained of the other three ears.

Another pair of teachers waited in a small glen beside a bend in the road where they were concealed until a passerby was only steps away. They stood together, saying nothing, and watching everything. Their eyes barely touched on the farmer-boy and goat.

Ignoring them, Gareth continued to the next field of lush wheat standing nearly waist high and allowed the goat to eat lush mouthfuls until the wagon came in sight around a bend. Tom’s eyes flicked to Gareth, and then back to the mule and the road ahead, almost as if the boy and goat were invisible. The mule never broke stride.

Tom’s telling me something.

Gareth reached for the halter and pulled the goat closer, ready to flee, if needed, or hide if possible. A flash of movement behind the wagon drew his attention. Dull green. He recognized them, despite their overall similarities. Years of interaction with teachers as he sat at their knees listening to them gave him the ability to discriminate between similar appearing teachers, a skill that others might not have. Those are the same teachers I saw a while ago. They’re following Tom. Should I stay here or start walking, again?

Gareth sat and waited as if resting, feeding his goat a handful of green wheat stalks, and keeping the leather bag containing the dragon hidden by his body. A boy from a farm would allow his goat to feed, even if it was eating another farmer’s wheat. It was normal to pause to feed farm animals when traveling, and a convenient way to avoid contact with the teachers. He half-turned his back to them.

Sitting on a stump munching on his raw ear of corn, he watched the wagon pass from the corner of his eye as if he belonged to this place, maybe even to this farm. He pulled the straw hat lower over his eyes, but not so much that the teachers might notice he was avoiding them. Tom never looked his way again.

The teachers in their slinking manner managed to move faster than the wagon and Tom pulled to one side and slowed to allow them by. He tipped his hat and smiled, but got no response. Hiding in plain sight.

Gareth waited until the wagon moved well ahead. Then he led the goat back out onto the road and started walking, faster than before. Later, when he passed the wagon, there were no teachers in sight on the road. They either had turned off or were far ahead.

Tom whispered without turning his head, “Good lad. Fast thinking back there. Act like any farmer boy. Those won’t be the only teachers on this road, I’m thinking.”

Gareth didn’t answer. He tugged the rope and pulled the reluctant goat faster.

Late in the afternoon, the remains of an old shack stood at the edge of a clearing. Gareth tied the goat to the branch of a small oak and approached the shack carefully. No path led to the door. The grass had not been trampled or flattened. The stone fireplace had fallen into a pile of rubble. Someone long ago had made a fire pit with of some of the stones. While fire-blackened, it obviously hadn’t been used in a long time. The fallen-down walls of the cabin were firewood he wouldn’t have to search for. A perfect place to spend the night.

Tom would appreciate a warm fire. Tom made a fire back at the beach near where the boats sank, so he had iron and flint on him, although Gareth had not seen it. He went back to the goat and moved it closer to the cabin, where it could rest and graze while he gathered wood and stacked it beside the pit. Using part of a still-standing wall, he leaned other boards against it and formed a small lean-to for sleeping.

As the rumble and squeak of the wagon approached, he paused and waited for Tom to pull over and compliment him. Tom ignored him, his eyes on the road ahead.

The wagon continued as if they had never met. Tom must have his reasons, and Gareth didn’t need to know what they were, but it troubled him to be ignored. A simple nod of greeting would not have hurt. So would a smile of encouragement. Gareth reluctantly admitted that he needed to act his part and allow Tom to manage the situation.

However, Gareth felt lost.

The little dragon stirred in the bag and poked his head out for the first time in a day. Looking around, it sniffed the air with eagerness. Gareth sat alone in grass as tall as his waist and waited, watching the dragon with a combination of interest and disdain. The dragon wriggled free of the bag and stretched, expanding wings beginning to look much like those of a bat, but far too small for flying, yet. It shivered, folded the wings and turned to Gareth.

“Hungry?” He unrolled the blanket and picked up a small strip of dried meat from their supplies. Gareth let the animal catch scent of it. The nose twitched.

The dragon raced up his leg, climbed his chest, and snatched the meat from his fingers.

The tiny claws scratched and dug into his clothing and skin, drawing a wince of pain. Two small tears in the shirt told of where the sharp claws penetrated. The animal needed to learn self-control. When it grew twice as big, which might be very soon the way it ate everything in sight, it would leave a track of bleeding holes in Gareth’s skin. He placed the dragon back on the ground and reached for another tidbit. The dragon stood on two hind feet and spread palm-sized wings, and shook them in either anticipation or irritation. It darted forward, mouth extended to grab the food. Gareth held up his other hand, fingers splayed wide, preventing the dragon from advancing. The tiny creature hissed, eyed the hand preventing it from eating, and waited. Gareth gently moved the strip of meat closer.

The dragon darted around his hand and grabbed it.

Better, but room for improvement.

“Okay, boy. Time you learned to be gentle.”

He held up an index finger in front of the toothy mouth and made the dragon wait. Each time the dragon tried to advance a step, he restrained it with the finger moved in its path, and Gareth tapped it on the nose soundly. He tapped it more than once to ensure it understood it couldn’t pass. The hiss changed to angry snarls and snorts. However, the lesson seemed to be working well, until the dragon tired of the process. It settled back and hissed at Gareth, shaking its wings in anger and snapping tiny teeth on empty air. The head slowly moved to and fro, searching for a way around the offending finger. The eyes peered at the campsite, examining everything. It remained still, only the red eyes shifting.

It emitted several savage snarls, and leaped into the air, wings flapping but far too immature to suspend it for even a short time. It snorted in frustration and dug claws into the soft dirt, and it made a full turn, looking at everything, again.

The head and eyes stopped moving.

In a flash of movement as fast as Gareth could follow, the dragon spun to one side and darted past Gareth. It sprinted to the goat tied to the tree. Leaping high, it managed to cling onto the rear leg of the goat. It gripped the skin of the hip with tiny talons. Sharp teeth sank into the warm flesh, tearing a chunk of meat free.

In response, the goat leaped and flailed, kicking all four feet. It bawled, eyes open wide in terror. It pulled at the halter as it danced in fear of the dragon riding its leg, trying to break free. Then the goat leaped high into the air and spun in wild circles trying to throw off the beast that was eating it alive. The dragon held on. The dragon tore another mouthful from the same hip and swallowed. The goat ran in more circles, bleating as loud as any full-grown buck.

Gareth dived into the fray as fast as he could. He missed the dragon with his first grab and managed to get his hands on it and pull it free with the next. The dragon fought and twisted, then leaped from his hands. Once on the ground, it eyed the goat again, ready for another attack.

Gareth leaped between them, arms spread wide, preventing the dragon from reaching the goat, again. When the dragon moved left Gareth was already there, like a game. It moved right. Gareth got there first. Barely. “No!” Gareth shouted. “You don’t eat my goat!”

The dragon’s tongue flicked out and licked the last of the fresh goat blood from black lips. The red eyes remained on Gareth . . . and the goat bawling behind him.

“No!”

The dragon edged closer.