Dragon Clan #2: Raymer's Story

CHAPTER FIVE

Raymer looked at the single apple and the two carrots remaining. They were a feast for a prisoner. He had them concealed with a light sprinkle of the least dirty and moldy straw. If the guards discovered the food they might change his cell to one without a window, and that would end any future food deliveries.

The conversation Quint had with the young guard tugged at his mind again. “How much of what you told the guard about your family’s wealth is true?”

“Now you want me to pay a bribe to the guards for your escape, too?”

“No, just wondering how much of the story is lies.”

“Well, wonder at this, my friend. If we manage to make good, our escape you and I will have few worries about the coin.” He paused and his voice dropped to a softer, more confidential tone, “Another item for discussion is that if you should escape and I remain here or die, I have a task to request of you.”

“We go together.”

“Sure, that’s your plan, but listen to me for a change. Things can go wrong, and you have outside help. I ask that you deliver a message to the Northwood Kingdom and the Province of Fairwinds. There you will find the castle of Warrington.”

“Never heard of it.”

“To the west, it is.”

“The Raging Mountains stand in the west. They’re my home.”

“Beyond those mountains lies Northwood, and to the north is Castle Warrington, on the shores of the Endless Sea. Anyone you encounter will direct you. Carry the tale of my death or incarceration to the castle. Promise me as a man of honor. My family will reward you.”

“I need no coin for doing that,” Raymer laughed. “I will do it for nothing except your friendship, a thing I value more than gold or silver.”

Quint didn’t reply until the sun passed midday. “You and I are not friends and have never been. We live in dungeon cells beside each other, and that is all. However, if you manage to pass a message to the deliverer of your apples and carrots, we might be free of this damned place sooner than your plan for escape will take. Have the message of my incarceration here carried to Castle Warrington and your friend, the messenger, will never go hungry.”

Raymer returned to the center of his cell and ran in place, raising his knees almost to his chest, but in slow, steady steps that took him nowhere. The pace increased and his breath came in pants, and gasps. He didn’t stop or even consider stopping. Instead, he forced himself to run faster and faster. When he couldn’t take another step, he paused with hands resting on his knees.

He remained that way until his breath returned to normal and then he stood tall. He bent his knees, squatted, and stood again. He kept his eyes on the dim window as much as possible. He squatted and then stood, over and over. When tired he grabbed the metal bars and tried to squeeze them hard enough to make them thinner. He did it again and again.

Resting, he heard Quint’s feet slapping the floor and his breathing harsh and loud. The man was a puzzle, but today’s unexpected revelations answered a portion of the questions.

Quint was from a wealthy family. That explained his vocabulary and manner of speaking. The far off location of his home explained his strange accent. The single unanswered question that bothered Raymer was why Quint had traveled to the Summer Palace of King Embers in the first place. He wanted the truth.

Maybe he had been arrested elsewhere in the kingdom, but the crimes of murder were committed far from his homeland. That raised more questions. Quint never denied killing three men. Raymer moved to the center of his cell again and began practicing with his imaginary staff. Today he faced a new foe, a soldier who wielded his broadsword as easily as if it was a rapier.

He used the activity to ease his mind while he contemplated the man in the cell he’d lived next to for a year but knew so little about. A twist of his hips let him swing the butt of the staff and strike the chin of another imaginary soldier who resembled a certain ruthless dungeon guard. With a snap of his wrist, the staff returned to the defensive position in time to counter a blade thrust at his waist. He easily deflected it and mounted an attack where he advanced by using both ends of the staff to strike.

“Impressive,” a voice said.

Raymer turned. The new Dungeon Master stood and watched. This morning he wore a loose fitting sky blue shirt and charcoal tights, as well as a wide smile. A torch was in his hand.

Raymer said, “I win almost all my fights in here.”

“It’s obvious why. You are very good with your moves.”

“You mock me.”

“No. I was made to practice with a blade when young and still use one to keep myself in shape. I would hesitate should we meet outside these walls.”

Quint asked, “Are you two going to hug and kiss?”

The Dungeon Master turned to face the other cell. “Is there a reason for your surly attitude?”

Quint burst out laughing. “None other than you will not release me. And it still stinks down here. Those guards did a poor job of cleaning.”

Raymer watched the Dungeon Master closely. The words they shared were more than the previous holder of the position had shared with them in a year. Why? The man stood a bit above average height, which still made him shorter than Raymer, and much shorter than Quint, who was nearly a giant. He appeared to be perhaps ten years older than them. His manners, speech and the fact he held an appointment by the King all indicated his wealthy background.

The Dungeon Master said, “I, too, am disappointed with the smell. And, I am use to people obeying me; not defying me or laziness. You may soon have a few guards in cells to keep you company.”

So now there are two of them. Raymer listened and learned. Quint and the Dungeon Master were both the sons of royalty. How odd to find the two of them in King Ember’s summer dungeon, but Raymer still watched the Dungeon Master for any weakness he might exploit.

The first terrified screams from outside drew Raymer’s attention to the small window just as he felt the tingle of a nearby dragon. In two steps he crossed his cell and leaped to grasp the bars. He pulled himself high enough to see outside.

Chaos had erupted. Vendors, entertainers, and shoppers alike ran for cover. People shouted and pointed at the sky. Soldiers drew their blades and held them high, but some dropped their swords to the ground and ran. Fires leaped from tents as an oil lamp was kicked over by someone. The spreading oil fed the flames.

A dragon had flown past, low and catching all in the square by surprise with its screams. It screeched again and spat lumps of black that struck and spread in sprays of thick liquid. It spat twice while Raymer watched, spreading the caustic substance to many of the tents and stalls. A ball of orange fire bloomed where a flame touched the dragon spit.

“What’s happening?” the Dungeon Master demanded.

The dragon flew over the far castle wall and rose higher. It was not the dragon he’d communicated with a few days earlier. This one had a red tint to the skin, and it appeared larger than the black of a few days ago.

Quint said, “Dragon attack.”

Raymer imagined Quint positioned much as he was, watching outside. There were no other windows except those high up in cells. Raymer saw the shift in the dragon’s position as it started a turn, but instead of the usual wide swoop a dragon takes while flying, this one fairly spun end for end, flapping its wings with powerful strokes until it faced the market again.

It not only faced the market, but it also faced the window Raymer watched from, and he readied himself to let go of the bars and leap to one side if the dragon spit in his direction. Knowing it was stupid remain and watch, he stayed at the window.

The tingles along Raymer’s back no longer tingled. Now they flared into sharp lines of intense pain, but he refused to release the bars.

The dragon flew directly at him. Before it reached the palace walls where Raymer watched from, it spat several times to one side and then the other. The substance struck in a dozen places, the liquid spraying out into a mist. A candle, torch, or some other flame touched it. More fires erupted, spreading not only to other black spots, but to anything that would burn, tents, blankets, or goods. In the time it took to draw a deep breath the entire courtyard was in flames, the vendors and patrons fleeing for their lives.

The dragon didn’t continue flying on for another pass. Instead, it drew its wings to its sides and dropped from the sky directly at Raymer.

Raymer winced in pain from the increasing sensations on his back and glanced over his shoulder to assure himself the dragon had not spat on him as the pain flared to test his tolerance. His attention shifted again to the window and the fires, the running people, and dragon falling from the sky.

The dragon was as large as a small house and weighed more. It struck the stone walls of the dungeon with its chest just as it touched the ground if touching would be the term for a collision with an animal flying into a four-hundred-year-old stone wall.

The bars on the window that Raymer clung to relayed the impact. The jolt made the wall of his cell bulge inward. He felt the beginnings of the collapse through his hands holding onto the bars. Stones fell from above. The dragon roared and shoved the wall again with its chest. More stones clattered to the floor of the cell. Raymer lost his grip and joined them.

As he fell he caught sight of the Dungeon Master standing frozen and watching as if he watched a puppet show instead of the massive destruction taking place. The top of the wall between the two cells collapsed into a pile of rubble. Raymer scooted to the far side of the cell to avoid falling rocks.

Quint turned to face Raymer, looking every bit as scared as Raymer felt. The wall between their cells was now a pile of rubble and rising dust.

The dragon shoved again, and the outside wall of the dungeon fell. It created a hole large enough for the dragon to enter. In doing so, it also pushed back the iron bars of the two cells. The front of Quint’s cell broke free and fell onto the Dungeon Master before he could move.

The Dungeon Master lay on his side, pinned down by the weight of the iron cell bars. The dragon’s head appeared inside, and it spat in the direction of several guards racing down the stairs. They quickly retreated.

The stairs and floor of the dungeon were soon covered in the dragon spit. The torch that had been in the Dragon Masters hand lay close to the oozing black mass. It ignited.

Raymer leaped across the rubble and to the side of the Dungeon Master who lay under the cell bars, unconscious.

“What’re you doing?” Quint called one leg already out of the broken wall and ready to run into the market.

Where the dragon had spat more fires flared. The timbers were wood, dry as tinder by hundreds of years of respite from the weather. Soon they’d carry the flames to the unmoving Dungeon Master.

“Quint, I need help.”

“Oh, for the saint’s forgiveness,” He swore, as he changed directions and came to Raymer’s side. Quint grabbed the massive wall of iron bars in his hands and lifted, saying, “Pull him out. Fast.”

“Okay, okay. We can’t leave him here to burn.” Raymer’s probing fingers found and locked on foot, and he tugged. “Lift higher, Quint.”

The Dungeon Master slid free. Raymer pulled him as if he was a sack of oats in a feed locker. When he had the Dungeon Master safely from under the bars, he turned to run for the opening in the wall, noting the chaos continued outside. The dragon had turned away from them and now faced the courtyard, and it had started spitting into the distance. Where the black balls landed screams, and new fires erupted.

“Come on, Quint!” Raymer hit the opening in the wall and leaped, his foot landing one full step into freedom. He heard Quint panting behind, but spared him no glance. Quint would either keep up or not. The gate lay ahead, a hundred steps from his cell, just as he remembered. He had already taken three or four steps. Ninety-six more to the gate and twelve more into the dense brush at the edge of the forest. Barely a hundred steps to freedom.

Quint’s footsteps and heavy breathing were right behind. Raymer instinctively wanted to dodge arrows or guards, but none appeared, and he decided to sprint until the first came in his direction. Fire lay ahead, no larger than a campfire, and instead of avoiding it, he leaped and felt a wave of growing pleasure and confidence as he flew over it.

If his life ended in this escape attempt, he would die contented. Two guards appeared from an alley and sprinted in his direction. Neither held a bow. One held a spear. A glance at the gate ahead and he knew they’d never stop him in time. The angle of their attack was too narrow. He was too fast.

It didn’t matter. He heard the dragon scream again and the hollow sound of it spitting. From the corner of his eye, he saw the two guards twisting and turning to avoid the mass of black acid that splashed on the ground right in front of them. The gate lay only ten steps ahead.

The sound of flapping wings drew his attention, but Raymer didn’t slow or turn his head. One chance.

The wings beat faster. Raymer burst through the open gate and took the twelve steps down the road in ten. As he veered off into the forest, the dragon flew above him so low he felt the pulsating wind from the beating wings. He spared one thankful upwards glance before lowering his head and driving on. One chance. Do not slow until you are truly free.

A larger path crossed in front of him. For the sake of speed, he leaped onto it. The footing was better, and he didn’t have to fight the clinging branches or dodge around more trees. Quint managed to stay on his heels, but his breath came in ragged gasps, and Raymer heard him stumble a few times. He should have worked harder at running in his cell.

At a stream, a larger path crossed and led away from the castle. He took it, hoping Quint could keep up, but deciding he was not going to slow or stop for providing aid or help. The path followed the winding stream and Raymer desperately wanted a drink, but continued on.

In a wide bend in the stream, the path turned off and went up the side of a small hill. At the top, it continued along a ridge and ahead stood a cottage on the edge of a small valley. On the side of the cottage, a corral held six horses grazing beside a ramshackle barn.

“Horses!” Raymer gasped, never slowing.

“Yes,” Quint answered after a few more steps, but he lagged further behind.

Turning, Raymer pulled to a full stop. Quint stumbled, perhaps twenty steps behind, the limp body of the Dungeon Master slung over his shoulders.

“What?”

“You didn’t want me to bring him? Fine time to tell me.”

Raymer said, “I didn’t know you were carrying him. Why?”

“If you didn’t want him, why bother to pull him from the wreckage?”

“I didn’t want him to burn.”

“Oh, I thought you wanted to use him as a hostage.”

Hostage. “Bring him. We take the horses.”

Raymer knew the palace guards and the king’s army would soon be after them if they were not already. But with the palace fires burning, walls falling down, and general confusion, the pursuit might be delayed. Raymer made a promise to himself. For any followed, there had better be a lot of them who were willing to fight for their lives, or he and Quint would remain free because he was willing to fight to the death.

He ran for the front of the cottage, a small building of no more than two rooms. A trickle of smoke from the chimney indicated someone was inside, or at least nearby. He ran faster, outdistancing Quint.

Nobody spotted them. He arrived at the door and threw it open. Inside stood a shocked woman at the stove. A pot simmered in front of her. She looked older than his mother, but not old by any means. “Anyone else here?” he managed to ask between gasps for breath.

She shook her head, shifting her eyes as if searching for a weapon.

“We need three horses.”

She shook her head again.

He shut the door on her, after telling her to stay inside, and turned to run to the corral where Quint had spread the body of the Dungeon Master on the ground. Quint entered the barn door.

Raymer was at his heels, searching for a rope. When he found a horse in a stall, he grabbed a bridle instead. He slipped it onto the horse. He removed a coiled rope from a peg and tossed it to Quint as he reached for a first saddle. Quint stepped outside, the rope ready to throw.

The old woman had emerged from her home and stood at the gate, a stern expression on her face. She held a butcher knife at her side and looked ready to use it. Raymer understood her reaction. His mother would do the same.

“Not like you to steal horses from an old lady,” Quint said as he pulled the horse closer with the rope.

“We need them more than she does,” Raymer snapped, not liking their actions, but trying to keep his mind centered on escaping.

“She might disagree.”

Raymer said, “I have an idea. Get the saddles and bridles on all three of them.” He darted to the prone figure of the Dungeon Master and patted his waist. Finding nothing, he turned him over to pat the other side. He had found a bulge before he heard the jingle of coins. The purse came free, and Raymer tore it open, spilling coins into his hand.

Of the nine coins, two were copper, two small silver, a large silver, and four small gold. The three horses were worth at most two small silvers, or one large if they were for sale. Since she didn’t want to sell them, the price should be more. He ran to where she stood, not backing off a single step at his advance. He handed her two gold pieces, with a shrug of an apology.

“Too much!” she snapped.

She had probably never seen a gold coin in her life. Raymer hadn’t. He opened his hand and showed her the coins remaining in his hand. “We escaped the King’s dungeons, and these belonged to that man lying over there. He’s the new Dungeon Master.”

“Is he dead?”

“No.”

“Are you going to kill him?”

“Of course not. But we did relieve him of his purse, and we’re in a hurry. We are good men.”

She turned, the gold coins clutched in her hand, coins worth enough to purchase several farms like hers. “Don’t leave, yet. Wait by the front door.”

She quickly disappeared inside as Quint tossed the unconscious body of the Dungeon Master over a saddle and tied his hands and feet so he wouldn’t slide off. The other two horses were saddled and ready to ride. Quint threw a leg over his horse, making the largest of the three look small. He took the reins of the horse with the Dungeon Master in hand.

Once in the saddle, Quint started to ride off, away from the cottage, leaving Raymer to the old woman.

Raymer said, “Hold on. She said to wait for her.”

“Need I remind you that we’re in something of a hurry? You can wait,” but he held his horse at the edge of the corral and watched their back trail.

After taking a quick glance at their back trail and finding it empty of pursuers, Raymer darted for the cabin door. He peeked inside. The old woman hurriedly scooped food into a blanket and folded the four corners together. She wrapped a piece of small rope around them and hefted it. She opened a trunk and pulled blankets out, along with a pile of clothing that appeared to be mostly shirts.

She looked up at him and scooped the bundle into her arms. “Help me with this. The shirts will be small for men as large as you, but better than you have, and you’re going to need food.”

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do all this.”

“You could have given me two silvers, and I’d be ahead on the deal. Instead, you gave me enough for my husband to replace the horses with a hundred.”

Raymer carried it all outside and tied the bundle with the food on the saddle of his horse while handing the blankets and shirts to Quint, “Here, carry this stuff until we rest.”

“We won’t rest. At least, I won’t.” He turned to the old woman standing on her porch and watching. “We appreciate your help, woman. I also want to say that you have helped two good men who were going to die in that damned dungeon. Not because of what we did, but because others believe differently than us.”

She nodded and started to turn away, but hesitated and said, “My older brother died in that dungeon years ago. He was also guilty of little or nothing but his beliefs.”

Raymer mounted. Turning his horse to face away from the palace, he looked into her strained face and said, “Don’t let them see your gold coins and do not lie about us. They can easily track us, and you don’t need them punishing you for helping.”

“I know how it’s done. Somebody stole three horses while I slept the afternoon away. Ride fast and far.”

Quint took the lead, with the reins of the horse carrying the Dungeon Master behind. Raymer followed, but when he reached the edge of the forest, he waited in the shadows and watched the farm and the far ridge where they came from. He couldn’t see the palace because of the forest, and there was no sign, and or pain on his back from a nearby dragon. Satisfied, he turned the horse and trotted to catch up.

“Raging Mountains are over that way,” Raymer waved an arm indicating a direction off to their right.

Quint shook his head and nodded in the direction they traveled. “You’re not familiar with this area. Ahead is a canyon, too wide and deep to cross.”

“Then why go there?”

“Because they’ll think we’re trying to trick them. They’ll probably split their troops and send half to the crossing above the canyon and half to the one below.”

“Where will we go?”

“I know a secret way. They’ll protect the two crossings, and then close in from both sides to trap us, but we won’t be there, and they’ll waste a day or two if we’re lucky.”

“If we’re not?”

“We die.”