Dragon Clan #1: Camilla's Story

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The Weapons Master took the lead. The Slave Master followed. The darkness was falling, but they used the moonlight to illuminate the way. Footprints in soft areas showed at four people ahead. Watching the footprints revealed a lot. One never stepped on sticks or slippery rocks. Every foot was placed where it would find the best footing, a skill learned over time.

The two other sets were slightly smaller and less cautious, like older children or young adults might make. The last set was made by expensive boots that stepped on slippery rocks when dry footing was there at the cost of a longer stride. Twice they saw where he’d stumbled while stepping on, rather than over, a fallen log. Once they saw where his knee had left an impression, telling of a near fall—and also of an inexperienced man traveling fast.

“We’re gaining,” the Weapons Master commented.

“I hope we overtake the idiot-child Edward before he catches up with them.”

“Scared he’s going to spook them?”

They continued on the path in silence until the Sword Master finally answered, “No, I just don’t want to face the Earl if we let a dragon slay his son.”

“That is a possibility. If that’s a true member of the Dragon Clan and he calls down a dragon the Earl’s boy won’t stand a chance.”

“Neither will we if it spots us.” The Slave Master couldn’t help glancing up at the empty sky. The snow-capped mountain directly ahead drew his attention, again. “I wonder if that mountain is a rookery for dragons.”

The Weapons Master shook his head. “Too cold. Dragons like warmer climates.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

Instead of answering, the Weapons Master picked up the pace. He also glanced at the sky more than once and kept Bear Mountain directly ahead. Why are they heading for the mountain?

After crossing a small stream, they paused to look at the tracks on the mud bank. Four sets, for sure. Edward’s trampled the others, telling us that he followed. The tracks told he’d passed the stream earlier, but he was still much further ahead.

“I think we should rest until dawn. We can’t go on without sleep,” the Slave Master said. “Besides, the moon is setting.”

“We push on.”

The night became darker. The moon provided enough light to follow the path the others had traveled, but just barely. When they came to the base of the mountain with the jumble of rocks and boulders to cross, they slowed. There seemed no way around. The Weapons Master took the lead, again. He had traveled almost half-way across the talus field when a boulder shifted under his foot.

The Weapons Master felt the boulder move slightly as he placed his full weight on it, and then it rolled. His foot went with the boulder. In an instant, he was doing a fair imitation of his niece doing the splits—but his leg continued stretching out, the foot trying to find something solid. The rubble shifted with the boulder, and even his other foot began to slide.

The Slave Master attempted to grab his arm and missed.

The Weapons Master lost all sense of balance and rolled until coming to an abrupt stop against another huge boulder.

“Are you alright?”

Holding his bloody forehead in his hands, the Weapons Master tried to stand. Pain shot through his ankle. He fell on the rocks, again, moaning.

The Slave Master made his way down the slippery and shifting rocks to his side. “Hurt?”

“Ankle. Twisted, not broken. I think.”

In the moonlight, the Slave Master saw the glint of tears. “I’ll get you back down in the morning. But we can’t afford two turned ankles, so we stay here until dawn. Make yourself comfortable.”

Without words, they braced themselves against boulders, some as large as small rooms and wriggled their bodies in the loose rocks until they were semi-comfortable. The Weapons Master muttered, “I should have listened to you.”

“Get some sleep. We’ll figure out what to do when it’s light.”

They closed their eyes and were near sleep when the sound of tumbling rocks alerted them to an intruder approaching. A short while later more rocks shifted, closer. A quick glance between them served instead of words. Both drew knives and waited.

The sounds of rocks shifting and tumbling told them where the person was. He was returning on the trail they followed, so it was probably one of the four. Which one came their way didn’t matter. At the hands of experts in making people talk, they would tell all. Both the Weapons Master and the Slave Master considered themselves experts.

The approaching figure appeared from the dark dimness of the background of rock and forest. He moved almost on fours, like an animal, but when he moved closer, the form took the appearance of Edward, who was doubled over, hands helping him move, almost like a toddler moving across an unfamiliar floor.

Barely ten steps away, he seemed to sense others. Perhaps he heard a small sound, or maybe smelled them. He paused, stood and looked around. “Who’s there?”

The Slave Master snarled, “Hello, Edward.”

He turned to face the voice, standing taller and finding he no longer feared these men. “I am here at the orders of the sheriff.”

“And we are at the service of the King.”

“I suspected. We’ve been sent on the same mission. I regret to inform you that none of the three ahead is who we seek.” He took a few tentative steps closer.

“You know that, how?” the Weapons Master asked, his voice smooth as butter.

“I saw the back of the boy. There is no mark on him.”

“There are three of them,” the Slave Master said, making no attempt to hide his impatience with Edward.

Edward ignored the tone. People would get used to his new attitudes. He sat before the other two. “There is an old woman. I think she is the washerwoman from Nettleton. Far too old. And there’s a girl, her daughter.”

“You saw the bare back of the boy. What about the girl?” The Slave Master asked.

Edward looked confused.

“Did you see the bare back of the girl? She’s about the same age as the boy, right?”

Edward stammered, “I-I was sent to find a dragon-boy.”

The Weapons Master snorted. He did not sound happy.

The Slave Master leaned closer to Edward. “Biology. At least half of the Dragon Clan are women. Did you see anything that would exclude the girl from being one of the clan?”

Edward shook his head, remembering the girl had struck him with the staff. She had been the one to wake and drop him, as well and hit his knee with her staff. The boy had said almost nothing until he displayed his back. In retrospect, the boy had almost been acting like a peacock, drawing attention away from the girl. I don’t think I’ll tell them she was the one that defeated me.

“Well? Did you see any reason the girl can’t be the one we’re after?” the Weapons Master echoed the other’s question.

Edward had the sinking feeling that he had made a mistake with the three ahead, or they had made a fool of him or some of both. “They set a trap at the edge of the forest up there and beat me with their staff. I barely managed to escape with my life. I’ll be limping for days. I was only with them until they told me to return to Nettleton and seek medical help.”

“You didn’t seem to be limping when you crossed that scree on the slope.” The Slave Master said.

Edward pulled up his pant leg. “Look here. No, you can’t see it in the dark. Feel my knee and ankle.”

The Slave Master reached out.

Edward yelped in pain, just a little louder than intended.

“That’s quite a lump. They beat you with a staff?” The Weapons Master asked, his voice smooth and silky, again.

“Yes. They sprang at me, all three carrying staffs. I couldn’t protect myself.”

In the same easy manner, the Weapons Master continued, “That must have been something. They take you by surprise and beat you, and then for no reason the boy shows you his bare back, and they release you?”

“Well, when you put it that way, it sounds unlikely.”

“Edward,” the Weapons Master said in the same tone, “Did you know that staffs are the favorite weapons of the Dragon Clan? They practice attacking with them endlessly until they can defeat even the finest swordsman.”

The Slave Master duplicated the tone of the other master. “You might also want to know and understand that the position of Slave Master requires one to discern lies in an instant, even half-truths and evasions. It’s simply part of my job. I am very good at it. That is why the King appointed me so many years ago, and why I am still the Slave Master.”

Edward swallowed, hard.

“Would you like to begin our conversation again? From the beginning?” the Slave Master asked as he drew his knife from his waist and began cleaning his fingernails.