Dragon Clan #1: Camilla's Story

CHAPTER SEVEN

The sheriff sank to a knee and bowed with eyes lowered until King Ember ordered him to rise. It seemed the King kept him longer in the genuflected pose than normal, and the eyes of those at court this morning held a glint of amusement at his discomfort. Two female consorts of the King openly grinned. He smiled at them in return, as he memorized their faces for future retribution.

“Sire, I bring news of a boy of the Dragon Clan.”

The King had long ago outlived his usefulness in most opinions, as well as exceeding a normal lifespan. His major tasks now resolved around which of the court healers held the latest medical wonder cures to treat his illnesses and keep him alive another week or month. Yet, he held on. The King’s demeanor remained calm, but his voice trembled in the manner of old men, “Where?”

“A journey of five days, perhaps less on the King’s Road to the west.”

“Is this sighting verified?” The voice of the King was sharper and the eyes steady.

The sheriff had anticipated no less a grilling. “I have already dispatched a trusted member of my staff to verify the sighting and send word to me by messenger on a fast horse. I am reporting to you in person because of your great interest in these matters.”

“You said that you can trust this fellow you sent?”

A glance to his left found the Earl of Witten whispering into the ear of a pretty maiden, not his wife. He said, “He is one of my best, most trusted men, appointed to serve me only last year by yourself, your highness. Edward, the son of the Earl of Witten.”

The noise in the room fled as if all the people had somehow been sucked out. The sheriff carefully avoided looking anywhere near the Earl. The King pounded a palm on the arm of his throne. “Excellent! I’ve known him since he was a babe in this very chamber.”

The sheriff smiled while thinking that if the mission failed for any reason, the blame would certainly fall elsewhere. If successful, the would be grateful to the sheriff for giving the boy a chance to prove himself. No less grateful than the Earl. In short, the sheriff would gain any glory and others would receive blame for any failure. He allowed his gaze to find the Earl.

The Earl of Witten met his eyes and nodded his appreciation. Giving his son an opportunity to excel on a mission for the King was a favor he should gladly owe. Yet, there was also cunning in the eye of the Earl. His reputation in court was second to none. He had to be aware that his son was a childlike buffoon, so why did he appear pleased? His left hand, concealed to all but the sheriff and a few others, slid down the lower back of the maiden at his side and rested on her generous bottom. He leaned closer and whispered in her ear again, his eyes never leaving those of the sheriff. She giggled.

The sheriff felt his smile slip and fought to regain it. The damn Earl was up to something.

He leaned forward and asked, “When might you have confirmation?”

“Fifteen days, more or less, your highness.”

“Does this boy wear the dragon mark on his back?”

“We do not know. It is only a rumor until verified by Edward, but it seems a reliable source and I have paid a handsome reward for the information.” The sheriff moved his toe back a half step in preparation of backing from the throne when dismissed.

The King continued in a questioning tone, “With all of the rewards posted for Dragon Clan members, how has a boy remained at large close to my palace? Are there people who are hiding him, or is he clever enough to hide without help?”

“It is said he is a wildling. An orphan, even.”

“He lives on his own? I see. What is his age?”

“Again, all is rumor and may not be true. However, my sources tell me he is about twelve. Perhaps a year older, but that is only a guess.”

The King frowned, and settled back in his throne, his brow furrowed, his eyes unfocused. His attention seemed to shift to the throne-room itself, his eyes shifting to observe the high ceilings and beams, and the golden threaded tapestries on the walls. His gaze finally fell to the carpet in front of the dais that held the throne, the same carpet the sheriff stood upon. Then he looked again at the sheriff. The king’s voice chilled. “Where exactly is this wildling?”

“It is only a rumor, sire.”

The King stood. His voice sounded colder and harder. “To what part of my kingdom are you dispatching Edward, son of the Earl of Witten?”

The silence in the great hall intensified. The sheriff drew back and tried to remain outwardly calm. He had expected the King to be grateful, not angry. “The small village of Nettleton. Near Copper Mountain.”

“I know where the hell that is, you don’t have to tell me it’s near that damned ugly mountain, a scar upon the land.” He spun to the palace guard on his left. “Go immediately and find my Weapons Master and drag him from whatever barrel of whiskey or ale he is drowning himself in. Bring him to me. I also need the Slave Master. I want them in my chambers. Now.”

The older guard turned and gave a warning look to the remaining guard who would stay with the king, as if telling him to double his efforts while protecting the king. He then trotted off, holding his sword at his side to keep it from slapping.

The sheriff composed himself. “Sire, you know of Nettleton?”

The King glanced at the sheriff as if seeing him for the first time this day. The King still stood, his posture no longer slumped and haggard. His expression was intense, and he looked years younger, almost revitalized. “Yes, of course, I know too well, of Nettleton. Now shut up and get out of here.”