Dragon Clan #1: Camilla's Story

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The Slave Master slapped his knee in disgust as he pulled his horse to a stop on the heavily forested hillside. “We’ve been played for idiots.”

“Maybe we missed the cave.”

“That woman back there lied. I can feel it. She knows where the boy is, and she sent us on a wild chase to nowhere.”

The Weapons Master placed his hands one on top of the other on the pommel of his saddle and snorted. “Now why in the world would she do that? Do you think she’s the mother of the brat? Or does she take care of him? I don’t think so. Besides, the others backed her up.”

“Not really. I’ve been thinking about that, too. They didn’t contradict her, but they didn’t agree or add anything to her story, either. She lied. Let’s go back and beat the truth out of a few of them.”

They turned their horses and headed for Nettleton at a gallop.

Miss Ann spotted the King’s men at the same time as the innkeeper. They all knew the men would return—and they’d be angry. She locked the door to her store and hustled around the corner to the blacksmith, then to the stable. One by one, the people who had been present when the washerwoman provided the King’s men the wrong directions disappeared.

The Slave Master rode to the front of the Red Dog and shouted, “Where’s the washerwoman?”

An old man peered through a slit in the door before stepping into sight. “She lives in them trees over there past the foundry. Her place is right beside the little stream where she has good water.”

The Slave Master glanced around. “Seems like I’ve heard that before. A place on a little stream.”

The old man shrugged and reentered the inn as if he didn’t care to speak anymore.

The Weapons Master spurred his horse. They rode together, and upon entering the trees found a small cabin and several outbuildings. No smoke rose from the chimney. No fires under the tubs used for washing. The door to the shed stood open, and no clothing hung from the many lines.

“Gone?” The Weapons Master asked, more to himself than out loud.

“Someone will know where she went, as well as where to find the boy.” He spun his horse and headed for the inn, his temper barely in check. “We can offer a reward or beat it out of them.”

The Weapons Master nodded and said, “Today I prefer to keep my coins in my purse.”

They strode into the inn together and stood, barring the doorway. Five men were inside. Two at one table, two at another, and the innkeeper. The Slave Master ignored the men at the table and looked directly at the innkeeper. “Where’s the washerwoman?”

“We don’t know where but we think she is hiding from you.”

“From us because she lied about the boy?”

One of the old men playing a dice game said, “What do you want with him, anyway? He’s a good boy.”

“That’s our business. Where is he?”

When nobody answered, the Weapons Master advanced on the innkeeper and shouted, “How would you like to wake up in the morning and find this place burned to the ground?”

The innkeeper stood his ground, but said nothing. Facing irate customers, and those making unreasonable demands were part of the job.

The Slave Master glanced at the two old men and turned his attention to the other table. Two younger men sat there, farmers from the looks of them, and they already looked scared. In two steps he stood at their table. “Tell me where she is.”

They shook their heads at the same time, fear evident in their movements. “You’re telling me you won’t tell, or you don’t know?”

“Don’t know,” One managed to say.

“The orphan boy who’s been causing trouble. Where can I find him?”

The other farmer looked puzzled and asked, “Cam? They say he lives in a little cave on the backside of Copper Mountain, somewhere. I can’t tell you more than that.”

“When did you last see him?”

“A few ten-day periods ago. My farm is down near Hogan’s Flat, so I don’t get up here, much.”

The Slave Master turned his attention to the other. “You?”

“Three or four days ago. He doesn't cause us no trouble.”

“You live in town?”

“I work at the grain mill over yonder,” his arm wagged in the general direction.

The Weapons Master stomped to stand at the side of the Slave Master. He leaned forward and took the millworker by his shirt front and stood him up. “Outside. You’re going to take us there.”

“I don’t know where he lives, just what I’ve heard,” the man protested.

One of the old men who had been playing dice said, “Dance, remember where you and I tracked that buck with his leg broken up the mountain? Up beyond that green pond?”

The millworker nodded.

“That boy was hiding around there. It isn’t a cave. Just a rock shelf that sticks out enough to slip under.”

The Sword Master turned to the old man. “You’ve seen him there?”

“Once or twice. Sometimes I walk my dog up that way.”

The Weapons Master let go of the millworker’s shirt and pointed, “You’re going for a walk. We’ll pay.”

“Keep your money.” The old man looked between the two men and came to a decision. He drained his mug in one pull and stood, adjusting the crotch of his pants and then nodding he was ready. The three of them walked past the blacksmith’s shop and followed a well-used path into the trees.

The old man set the pace, and the two King’s men struggled to match it. The path split and became two smaller paths, and then again. It headed up the side of a hill and dipped into a small valley with a good-sized mountain beyond.

The old man pointed to a wooded area on the lower reaches of the mountain. “We ain’t going to climb to the top, so you can relax. We’re just going to right about there.”

The King’s men huffed and puffed behind the old man who hadn’t slowed a step. Once in the thick trees, he picked a route as if he had gone this way a hundred times. He slowed at a small clearing. “There it is.”

“Where? I don’t see a cave,” the Slave Master said.

“Those bushes weren’t there before. The boy probably moved them to hide the front.”

The three approached the area together, two of them in disbelief. However, as the old man predicted, behind the shrubs was an opening large enough to lie in. No footprints showed in the dirt, and nothing seemed man-made until the old man turned over a rock and exposed the campfire blackened underside. The place was deserted.

The Weapons Master knelt and examined the interior. His hand found a cavity packed with fresh dirt. Behind the dirt, he pulled a rolled piece of leather containing nuts. “Looks like he’s gone.”

The Slave Master turned to the man. His fist raised, but then he lowered it and said, “Maybe you’ve done us a favor. Our intention was to punish everyone in Nettleton, even if we had to bring in troops, to gather the information we need. You can prevent that. When did he leave and where is he going?”

The old man seemed to shrink. “I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t. But, I can guess. Look around you. The mountains on either side are almost impossible to cross. This is a narrow valley with the King’s Road passing through. I saw the boy three days ago, and the washerwoman when she talked to you. Both are gone, but you didn’t meet them on the road, did you?”

“Meaning what?” The Sword Master growled.

The old man shrugged. “They went the other way. Up the road away from you. Nowhere else to go when you think about it.”