Dragon Clan #3: Fleet's Story

CHAPTER TWELVE

The campfire failed to warm Fleet. He chewed on a stick of dried meat and washed it down with cold stream water, all the while avoiding eye contact with Camilla. The day had not yet ended, and he sat in the grass while she sat on a large rock and sewed coins into the hem of his shirt.

She had been humming a song as she sewed, but paused to bite the string to break it. Examining her work, she raised her eyes to him and said, “Out with it.”

“Huh?”

“You’ve been more quiet than usual, if that’s possible. I’m guessing you have something to say to me that I’m not going to like.”

How does she do that? “Yes, I do. That poster of the face like mine changes everything.”

“Nobody recognized you.”

“That’s not true. At least, two did, or at least, they were suspicious. But that isn’t what worries me right now.”

“Tell me.”

“There is obviously one of the Dragon Clan, who was in the Summer Palace who looks like me. They know what he looks like. Any of us who resemble him could be questioned. Our family, and the family in the Raging Mountains must be made aware there’s a drawing of one of us. I have no idea of how they know what the person looks like, and we need to find out.”

“You’d think there would be posters of Raymer since he was a prisoner there.”

“I’m sure there were. Last summer. Now there are posters of another. Soldiers are searching for this unknown man, and that brings danger to all of us. Maybe someone in our clan knows this person, or will meet him. The flyer you stole will show them what he looks like.”

“I’ll keep it safe. Now, what’s the problem?”

Fleet drew a deep breath before speaking. “You should take it to the family in the morning.”

“What?”

“Family comes first. That’s the first law, and you know it as well and me.”

Camilla’s face reddened and hardened. Fleet prepared for battle, but she relaxed and finally smiled.

She held out his shirt. “Here put your shirt back on. In the morning, we’ll split the supplies so you can have all you need. I just need enough food to make it home. There’s plenty of water along the route, and I know the way.”

Fleet adjusted his shirt, feeling the slightly odd tug of the coins when he moved. He said, “I thought you’d fight my decision.”

She pursed her lips and waited for a few breaths before answering. “If the council had put me in charge I’d make the same choice. Would you do what I ordered?”

He sat again and considered her question. Finally, he said, “Yes. But I wouldn’t like it.”

She twirled her blanket around herself and settled down, her head resting on her pack. Fleet watched her, as he watched the night took over the day. The insects of the night made different sounds, as did the animals. Things at night seemed somehow softer, more subdued. Animals moved slower as they stalked their prey. The calls were softer and more varied. A frog croaked nearby. One more distant answered and soon a chorus of frogs croaking split the silence.

Camilla slept, barely moving. He watched her for a long time. Without her, his mission would have already failed several times, yet he was sending her away. Was it the right thing to do? Fleet reviewed everything that had happened since leaving home and tried to think of an excuse to keep her with him.

No matter how he dissected the information, the right thing to do was to send her home with the poster and information. Family first. Even if he failed his mission, the next person they sent would have the advantage of the information she would share with the family. It was best for the family, and that resolved the issue, except for his feelings.

Even so, he didn’t like it. The council had made a good choice in sending her with him. Her strengths were his weaknesses. He would have to complete the job on his own, and that would certainly be harder without her.

He woke with the sound of Camilla rising. He’d fallen asleep where he sat, and sometime during the night, he’d pulled his blanket over himself. The small fire had burned itself out long ago, and he wanted an early start. There would be no fire this morning. He reached for his backpack and pulled a small loaf of white bread, hard on the outside and still soft inside. He tore off a chunk and chewed slowly.

Camilla went to the stream and returned with two containers of water. She chose to tear off a piece of heavy bread that was almost black instead of the loaf he offered. They watched the sky lighten before she said, “Let’s split up our supplies. I’ll need to circle way around the Summer Palace, and stay away from Nettleton, but that should be no problem.”

“I’ve never seen anything like that bazaar. I can’t get it out of my head.”

She flashed an appraising glance his way. “The square in the palace? Yes, we should go to another bazaar in the future and watch all there is. I’m sure we only saw a small portion of what there was to see, hear, and taste.”

Fleet wanted to say more, but decided both of them had said enough. Suddenly he was not hungry and began sorting what he would take and what she would. He was heading into the drylands, so he decided to carry all six water jugs, each large enough to carry at least three mugs of water. They would be heavy, but if it was as dry as he’d heard, they were worth it. But there was plenty of water, for now, so he only filled four.

The bread would go stale in another day, or two at most. The crust was already hard. The fish, smoked meat, and dried jerky would last for months. He took the majority of those.

Soon he realized he was stalling, and so was Camilla. He mumbled, “I wish it could be different.”

Her lower lip trembled, and her eyes threatened to flood her face, but she managed to hold her emotions in check. “I have a long day of walking in front of me. I should be leaving.”

Fleet felt his emotions rise to the surface, but he turned and started walking away as he called softly, “Stay clear of gypsies and I’ll see you at home. Thanks for helping.”

As he went around a bend in the stream, he glanced back long enough to find she still stood and watched. He kept going and avoided wiping a tear until he was sure she was out of sight.

The sky filled with high clouds that prevented the warmth of the sun from reaching him. He needed to travel south and east, but the path he followed took him west, back in the general direction of the Summer Palace. Camilla would go north before turning west so she could skirt the palace.

At the first animal track that turned South, Fleet turned. It was small, twisting, and overgrown. The travel was slow as he went up one small hill and down another. At mid-morning he found a narrow footpath leading south. It was almost wide enough for two abreast, and in the soft mud at a seep, there were dozens of prints from people of every size.

If he turned and followed it the other way, he had no doubt he’d find himself at the castle. And ahead, he expected to find farms. The people on those farms traveled to the market at the castle to sell their crops and buy what they needed. More than a little bartering was done. He was not surprised when he spotted a woman and girl about ten walking in his direction. They might be a good source of local information.

They had been ahead of him on the path, beyond where the trail made a wide turn. The woman and girl were out of his sight until the next turn, but as he rounded it, the path ahead was empty. Fleet calculated the time each should have traveled, and his eyes lowered to the study the footprints on the road. A scuff indicated where they had slipped off the path to avoid him.

He refused to look to the side of the road for fear of scaring them. However, their actions were normal. Strangers are avoided whenever possible, especially men.

Fleet paused later, and enjoyed sipping the water from the single jug he carried that he’d filled. As the water became scarce, he intended to fill all six, but saw no reason to carry them all filled until needed. The pines, cedar, and spruce gave way to more trees with leaves. The path didn’t rise and fall over small hillocks anymore, but a larger hill rose ahead, almost a small mountain.

The path didn’t climb to the top as in other hills he’d crossed. It climbed for a while then skirted along the side, rising with each step, but the hill itself was too steep to climb without effort. Near halfway up someone had sawed a section of a tree and split it lengthwise. Both halves were sitting on stumps, providing two benches facing each other.

He fell onto the nearest to catch his breath. Fleet, he muttered again. Then, rested somewhat, he stood and tiredly walked some more. At the crest, he found another bench, this one with a view of a wide, sloping valley on the other side of the hill. He sat again, this time, to study what lay ahead as much as to rest.

At least twenty farms were in view, and more might lay off to his right where he couldn’t see well because of trees. Most were a farmhouse and barn, surrounded by pastures and planted fields. A small river flowed down the center, but, at least, three streams fed it, and there were farms situated along them, too.

Smoke drifted from a few chimneys, cows grazed, and crops grew under the watchful eyes of farmers whose tasks never ended. Children’s laughter and squeals of delight drifted to him. In many ways, it reminded him of his home.

He picked out a road that was probably at the end of the path he followed and let his eyes travel to the far side of the valley where the rise of the hills looked far shorter than where he sat. He estimated that it would be near dark before he reached there.

“If you’re going to cross the whole valley today don’t waste any time sitting around and enjoying the view, son.”

Fleet whirled around, his staff coming into the first defense position without thinking. “Who’re you?”

A thin man with wide shoulders stepped into full view. He carried a bow over his shoulder, and his arrows were in the Quiver hanging at his side. He was old enough to have sons Fleet’s age, but moved with the grace of a man much younger.

The man smiled. “Seen any sign of deer?”

Fleet allowed his staff to lower, and he slowed his breathing. “A few, not many.”

“Name’s Orin. Haven’t seen a traveler come this way for probably two years.”

There was a question buried in the statement that would be rude to ignore. “My uncle needs help. Broke a leg. I’m called Fleet, but from the slow walk up that hill, I don’t know why they call me that.”

“Not many farmers over that way,” he indicated the far side of the valley with his chin. “Gets dry pretty fast so crops can’t mature.”

“I know the way. I was there a few years ago.”

“Well, okay then. I have a deer to find. Good day to you, son.”

“And to you,” Fleet replied, knowing that the meeting had not been entirely accidental. The man, Orin, had been deer hunting, but when he saw Fleet, he came to investigate. He may have been following him for some time. Deer seldom live on the tops of mountains.

Still, Orin had supplied useful information. Before leaving the valley, Fleet would fill all his water jugs. For now, he would also take the man’s advice and increase his pace to the far side. He didn’t need to sleep in a farmer’s field and be woken by a pitchfork or angry dog in the middle of the night.

Three times he paused long enough to speak briefly to farmers who were near the road. It was being neighborly, and would have appeared odd if he had passed by without a word. At one farm a woman was picking early apples from trees in the front of her house.

She waved and held up an apple. “Want some?”

He climbed the fence and met her half way. She had an apron filled with eight large apples. She wouldn’t accept payment, other than his thanks. Soon he was walking down the road, singing a lewd song he’d heard late one night, and anticipating where he’d plant the seeds.

Eat one plant two, said the old saying in the Dragon Clan. His thinking turned to family, and the first time his father had taken him into the forest where they hunted and planted, at least, ten apple trees in various locations. His father explained that apple trees do not like to get their feet wet, meaning they do not grow well in mud. They do like water, though.

But apples can be a lifesaver when you’re hungry, and the Dragon Clan had planted the trees for generations. Some apples ripen in early summer. Others later. And some in the fall. A few varieties store all winter, and all can be dried. For most of the year, there is free food hanging from trees when you find one. Since that first trip with his father, he had planted hundreds, if not thousands of apple seeds. Not all grow into trees, but he knew of at least three that he planted and years later went back and ate from those trees. There were others, he was sure.

His inward thinking continued. There were those trees planted by every other member of the Dragon Clan over the generations. Forests were filled with apple trees if you looked for them. With each thought, his feet gained more ground, and when he finished musing on the past, the road crossed the river with a crude bridge.

He went down the bank and filled all the jugs, and then filled himself. Crossing the bridge, he decided, was like a dividing line. The ground began to rise, grow rockier, and the farms were fewer, and the sun felt hotter, which was probably his imagination.

The road on the other side of the bridge was much narrower and less. Besides climbing a long hill, there were holes in the road, as well as numerous washouts. Ahead stood one decrepit farmhouse and an old barn. He had to look twice to determine that it was still occupied.

The few trees grew smaller and sturdier. The dirt felt harder. He saw no more running water. The jugs didn’t feel so heavy when he considered that less weight meant less water. The other side of the hill fell away down a long slope, and beyond was flat. And dry. The drylands.

He paused and took in the lay of the land again. Off to his right looked more rugged, and a small rutted valley separated the land, a touch of green down the center. At the bottom of the valley might be water. He could conserve the jugs he carried, if it was true. The sides of the valley would hide a fire.

While the land appeared empty, he knew that it was often not. Besides, the usual game was often men hiding from others. Good men normally didn’t have to hide. He’d heard tales of them his whole life and ahead was perfect for them. They could hide, but remain close enough to trade for food with the local farmers.

Fleet jockeyed all he carried so his staff was at the ready. As soon as practical he left the diminishing path and headed out on his own, one eye on the distance ahead, the other on the ground in front of him, but remembering the incident with Dakar near Bear Mountain, he also kept an eye watching behind.

It was perfect country for snakes. He let his staff swing to and fro in front of him as he walked, hoping to draw any attract at the staff, or scare them off.

The touch of the dragon while traveling with Camilla had confirmed his belief that he could feel them at a greater distance. In the barren land ahead of him was a family of the Dragon Clan that was little more than a rumor. They hid from normals as all clans did. If he could locate them easily, the king’s men could too.

However, if he could entice a dragon to fly over, they would know he belonged. If, that was a lot of words. While not relaxing his attention at all, he reached out with his mind, seeking the mental touch.

It was not there.

His second plan was to boldly walk in plain sight and hope they have watchers, as all families he’d heard of doing. They may try to scare him away, as his family often did to innocent people who wandered too close to their village. If they made any contact at all, he would display his birthmark, and he would be received as a prince. But first, he had to find them.

Or allow them to find him. But the best way seemed to be the dragon that answered his calls. If he could go into the desert and call the dragon, they might see it. He walked and watched and waited for the touch that didn’t come.