Dragon Clan #4: Gray's Story

CHAPTER THREE

The soft sand of the drylands pulled at his feet with each step. Gray fought for each. He drained a full bottle of water well before reaching the area with the little cave and the water seep. If it was dry, he still had enough water to reach a stream on the other side of the flatlands, but it was a long, hard walk. Almost as hard as returning to his family without completing his objective.

Gray climbed a rise and spotted the cave located in a small, protected depression. As Tessa had told them, it was not really a cave, but a hollowed out portion of a waist-high ridge. Wind and water had left a shelter large enough to sleep inside, and water trickled from between two rocks and disappeared into the sand at the base.

He placed his empty water bottle under the drip. Each time it filled half way he turned it up to his lips and let the water refresh him. After four times he let it fill to the top. A small pile of firewood, mostly sticks smaller around than his thumb, lay sheltered at one end of the cave. Emergency supplies. A glance at the sun told him he had a while left before dark.

The handful of nuts, dried fruit, and slivers of dried meat that he allowed himself for dinner was almost gone when Stinson staggered into sight. He limped, held his left arm with his right hand, and his legs looked so loose he might fall with any step. The torn knee on his pant leg told the tale that he already had taken at least one fall.

When he slipped to the ground in front of the water as if another step was too much, Gray snapped, “Where’s your staff?”

“I couldn’t carry it. My arm hurts too much from where you hit me.”

With Stinson, it was always about what others did. It was never his fault. Gray sat looking at him in disgust, not offering help of any sort. I wish he had gone back to Oasis.

“I’d have my staff if you didn’t attack me for no reason.” He reached to fill his water jug from the flow.

Gray slapped it out of his hand, not caring if the clay jar broke. “Go home.”

Stinson broke down and cried. He lifted both hands to cover his eyes as he wailed and moaned, but Gray saw no pain or hesitation in the arm he’d struck with the staff. He had no doubt that it was painful, but Stinson was still playing him.

“I need water or I’ll die.”

Gray glanced at the other bottles Stinson carried and realized they were all empty. Stinson had drunk two full days’ worth of water in one afternoon. And still, he wanted more. “Listen to me. I’ll make my water last all day tomorrow and the day after. I will not share any of mine. Beginning tomorrow, you will need to survive on three jars for two full days. Today you finished off enough water to last two days.”

“I knew there was water here. Tessa said so.”

“If this seep was dry and I had already continued on?”

“It isn’t dry.”

The leering smile was back again. Gray decided to let the matter slide while knowing a similar lack of judgment on Stinson’s part could cost both of them their lives. However, getting into a debate over it would resolve nothing. Survival is often about what to do if the original plan does not work. Gray wrapped his blanket around his shoulders and slipped into the opening that was large enough for one.

“Hey, where am I going to sleep?”

Gray closed his eyes and ignored Stinson. The sun was just setting, but he was tired of walking in the sand and knew he’d sleep all night soundly while he recovered. His calves and thighs would be sore in the morning.

A hand shook him awake. Gray opened his eyes. He rolled from the shallow cave and came to his feet, knife in his hand. The stars were out. The night was cold and brittle, but no danger made itself obvious. Stinson stood to one side, scared or confused.

Gray hissed, ready to defend against whatever danger presented itself. “What is it?”

“I was wondering what we’re going to eat. It’s way past time for dinner, and you’re just sleeping.”

Two deep breaths partially calmed the excitement and fear as it turned to disgust. He said, “Did you bring any food?”

“You’re in charge. Remember?”

The attitude again. Despite the dim light, Gray could picture the sneer on Stinson’s face. A dozen angry retorts sprang to mind. But Stinson always had a quicker reply, so he said nothing as he reached for his blanket and crawled back into his shelter.

“I said I’m hungry!”

Without turning over to see the outline of Stinson, and without raising his voice, Gray said, “If you wake me again tonight you will be eating your front teeth for a meal. If you don’t believe me, say one more word.”

Fool! Gray had regretted the words almost before they escaped. Now he would have to try and back them up, but Stinson was half a head taller and weighed much more. He was a mean fighter. But instead of a challenge, he heard Stinson settle down and eventually go to sleep.

The incident kept Gray awake. He had stood up to Stinson in a way that was unexpected, and Stinson had backed down. That was reassuring. What was not, was that the idiot seemed to have come on a trip intending to last several days but had brought no food with him. The newest watchers of the family knew better than that. Also, he had emptied his water bottles, his life depending on a trickle of water flowing between two stones in the middle of the drylands.

One poor choice after another. Deadly choices. Gray could share his food with him, but he had anticipated the hard travel so packed light, including minimal food to save weight. Still, he could share, but the real problem that worried Gray was, what other stupid mistakes would Stinson make tomorrow? Or the day after.

The soft, regular sounds of Stinson’s breathing assured Gray he was asleep and would not wake him again. But now Gray was too awake and too angry to sleep. Carefully, he slipped from the cave and rolled his blanket. Making sure his water bottles were full, he filled himself by drinking directly from the seep until he could hold no more. He gathered his staff in one hand and walked slowly to the east, then veered a little south where the lay of the land presented the easier route.

When Stinson woke in the morning, he’d realize that he didn’t know where Gray had gone. He wouldn’t know the route to Fleming and he’d have no option but to return home. Problem solved.

Turning to more immediate problems, the triad was out there, ahead. He didn’t want to stumble upon them in the pre-dawn darkness, but he knew they should be almost a half day’s walk from him if they maintained the pace he’d seen from the watchtower. But you can never be sure, and the triad was probably tired and thirsty. He should find a sign of their passing in late morning, but it might come sooner.

The travel was slow. He didn’t need to twist an ankle or trip in the low light, and the moon was only a sliver that had set long ago. His eyes adjusted to the meager light provided by more stars than a hundred men could count, but he placed one foot in front of the other until he grew sleepy.

Men do not like sleeping in the open, he mused. Even a small tree or shrub makes them feel less exposed, although in truth any animal searching to make a meal of a man wouldn’t care. But a shrub appeared out of the darkness, and he spread his blanket under it and almost instantly fell into a deep, and restful sleep.

Scurrying sounds woke him, just after sunrise. A small desert mouse darted near him, unafraid and less than wary. The creature sat on two hind legs peering at his face an arm-length away, twitching its nose at him. Gray lay still and watched, amused. He carefully reached for his bag of food and pulled two nuts and a dried grape. He tossed them near the mouse.

The mouse shied away, but then relented and investigated. A nibble and they were best friends. The food was soon hauled away and hidden, and the mouse was back for more. He let a few more morsels fall from his fingertips, wondering how feeding a mouse felt so right when he refused to feed one of his own the night before.

Reluctantly, he left the mouse and started walking while the air was cool. The land became coarse; sharp volcanic rock covered it with a thin layer of sand. While the footing was easier, it was also more treacherous. Solid rock protruded from the depths of the sand, causing trips and near falls. His eyes were on where he placed his feet as much as on what lay ahead.

Depending on the speed of the triad, their direction, and when their water gave out, he might locate them at any time. His direction cut across the drylands at an angle, ensuring he would cross their path at some point. He found it sooner than expected.

Long furrows showed where feet had dragged instead of lifting. He soon found others. They were the tracks of men almost dead of thirst and weakness. Instead of walking behind the tracks and perhaps stumbling into them, where one of them might let loose an arrow, he ascertained their direction and moved off to one side.

Gray watched to his right, knowing that he’d discover them before long. It took longer than expected. Near mid-morning, he caught the glint of the sun on metal. He moved closer, using rocks, shrubs, and rises in the ground to hide behind as he moved closer. He slowly approached a wide pool of sand and found the three lying together in the direct sunlight, not even trying to shelter themselves under the meager shade available from nearby greasewood.

They were the king’s men wearing the king’s colors. A triad. All wore armbands proudly telling of their unit, and they carried the king’s short bows favored by archers for rapid shooting. Their dress was tan uniforms, sturdy enough to last for years of service.

Gray approached them slowly, seeing that one watched him from limpid eyes, but didn’t reach for a weapon. A second man, half-raised an arm before it fell back to the sand. The third was dead.

Quickly the weapons were removed by Gray and tossed aside. Then he took one man by the neck of his shirt and dragged him to the only shade nearby. He returned and pulled the second to share the same shade. He pulled the stopper from his water bottle and drank half the contents in full view of four begging eyes.

“Either of you want the rest of this?” he shook the jar to let them know what it contained.

The first man mouthed, “Yes.” But no sound came forth.

The second held out a shaking hand.

Gray paused, then knelt beside them and asked, “Which of you wants this water jar? I’ll give it to the one who is willing to talk to me.”

“Ah,” the first grunted, his eyes saying he’d tell all.

The second let his arm fall to the ground as a brief expression of hate crossed his face. His head fell limply to one side and his eyes closed. Gray held the water closer to the first man and then pulled it away. “You’ll talk to me if I give you this? Answer all my questions?”

An eager nod. Gray still had two full bottles for himself and knew that a stream flowed a day and a half ahead. The long drink that morning, plus the half bottle he’d drank in front of the men had quenched his thirst. Giving the half bottle away was a small price to pay for the information he hoped to gain.

“If you do not talk I’ll be angry. You don’t want that.” He supported the man with an arm behind his shoulders and poured a trickle into the open mouth. The man sputtered, most of the water flying out of his mouth, but enough moisture was left to allow minimal speech.

The man muttered, “More.”

Gray sat him more upright. “Take it slow. Don’t waste your water.”

Pouring the water into his mouth slowly, he paused to allow the man to swallow several times. The water revived the man remarkably fast. He was not ready to stand or fight, but his eyes became brighter, and as he licked his lips to find the last of the moisture, he asked, “Who are you?”

Ignoring him, Gray said, “The king sent you?”

“Captain Jenson. Yes.”

“Your orders?”

A hesitation and a shift of the eyes to the bottle Gray held with the remaining water. Then a decision was made. “We’re searching for green dragons to the south of here.”

“Only green?”

“Yes. Greens have attacked us.” The words were harsh and stilted.

“Why search the desert?”

“They fly into the drylands to hide.”

The news was not good. Gray’s first impression was that the greens were drawing the king’s men into the drylands where they would locate Oasis and his family sooner or later. Gray poured more water into him. “Are there other triads coming?”

“Later. We’re the only one for now. Are you Dragon Clan?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Dragon Clans sends the dragons to kill us.” The words were spat out with anger and a hatred Gray had never encountered.

While it would make no difference to the man in his arms, Gray felt the desire to correct him. “I am Dragon Clan, but I tell you as one honorable man to another that we know nothing of green dragons attacking the army. We do know of a green killing one of our reds and fighting with a black.”

The eyes of the man were confused. “What does that mean?”

“The Dragon Clan are not your enemies. There are others who control the greens, and they are the enemies of both of our people. Here, drink the last of your water.”

When the bottle was empty, Gray went to the side of the other man in the shade and verified he was dead. He searched and found three coins, two copper, and one small silver. He also carried a map. It was a sketch of the drylands. It was accurate and detailed. Gray slipped it into his purse along with the coins.

Next, he went to the dead man still in the sun. He found two more coppers and nothing else of value. Then he went to the man cradling the water bottle. “I have to search you.”

The captain didn’t resist. More coins went into Gray’s purse and several sheets of thin paper, all with tiny writing, and the broken wax seal of King Ember. He would read them later. His eyes met those of the man as he removed the empty bottle from his limp fingers.

“I’m going to die here?”

“Yes. I cannot help you. There’s simply not enough water for both of us. I was foolish to give you what I did.”

“Generous is a better word. I thank you.”

“For leaving you here to die?”

“For caring. And for the water. I suspect I’ll go to sleep and never wake, a far better way to go than lying in the sun in pain and panting in thirst.”

It was quite a brave speech and mostly untrue. Both knew it. Gray had expected him to ask for an arrow, but a true warrior waited to the last breath before giving up. Besides, a body found with an arrow would tell others that someone had been there. Leaving the weapons and bodies in plain sight would tell others they died of thirst. The coins were lost in the sand and the papers blown away by the wind if the subject arose.

Gray took his staff in hand and turned his back on the captain and walked away. It was not easy. He wanted to rush back and help the lone survivor, but to what end? If together they managed to reach the water ahead, which was barely possible, what then? Would he ask for the triad member’s silence? Would he get it?

That captain living on and serving his king again might cost Gray his whole family’s death. Better to turn his back than risk what might otherwise happen. It was the answer to the question the council had of him. Was he strong enough to do what was needed? Head down, he trudged ahead. He kept his pace slow, knowing that moving fast in the sun would make him sweat and use more water.

Much later, as the sun sank directly behind him, he heard his name called from a raspy throat. One glance behind found Stinson shuffling after him, arms hanging loosely at his sides and mouth hanging open. Anger swelled, and Gray refused to waste more time on Stinson. He would not allow the self-serving bully to endanger the mission further, forcing aside the idea that he already had placed both of them in danger several times. The anger grew into a slow boil until Gray clenched his teeth so hard they might shatter.

Then, out of nowhere, a tingling on his back alerted him that a dragon was approaching. Turning, he found a tiny dot in the distance, a small, dark spot in the clear blue sky that increased in size as he watched. Is it coming in response to Stinson or me?

Both the dragon and Stinson came closer. Stinson didn’t seem aware of the dragon until it was much nearer, and then he ducked and covered his head with his forearm as if that would help if the dragon attacked. His eyes were wild and fearful.

“Call it off, Gray. I’ll do what you say.”

Gray ignored Stinson as it swooped lower and lower, expecting it to pull in its wings and dive at Stinson, but it flew directly over them, still dropping lower. It was a smaller red. Most reds on the east side of the mountains roosted near Oasis, so it was familiar. It flew from that direction, so it had probably come from home. Gray turned and watched it until it disappeared behind a nearby hill. It didn’t reappear.

The event was so unusual Gray ran up the side of the hill, dodging cactus and sharp rocks. At the crest of the hill, he pulled to a stop. He instantly knew what he looked at. Tessa and Fleet had described it enough times.

It was the shallow valley with the split in the rocks forming a narrow crevasse. That was where the black dragon with Fleet had landed after the fight with the green. It had healed there, with Tessa and Fleet tending it. He approached as if entering a place of worship.

The blackened fire-ring they used was there. He looked at the sides of the crevasse and found dragon blood stains still on the rock. He imagined the dragons fighting in the air, the two beasts attacking and clawing, and the black dragon landing here and living for days at the spot where he looked. The green had tried to attack it here, but Tessa and Fleet’s arrows drove it off. Then, after eight days the black struggled out of the crevasse and extended its wings. Two days later it managed to fly off.

Today the red dragon had fallen from the sky like a rock was thrown high and returning to the ground. Its wings had been folded to its sides. But, dragons attack prey in that manner, just before reaching the ground extending their wings and beating the air until they pull to a near hover and land as soft as a leaf in the fall touching ground.

He moved closer. The red turned to face him from a dozen steps away. The tongue flicked out while the eyes locked on Gray. It sniffed, then snorted as if not liking what it smelled. But Gray stood still. The dragon instilled a little fear in him, but he respected it.

The dragon turned to look down into the crevasse where the black dragon had convalesced, and it sniffed more, smelling the scent of the black and the blood. It reared back and roared, but Gray couldn’t determine if it was in anger, fear, support, or a challenge.

He held out his hand like he would to greet a strange dog and slowly advanced. The dragon came alert, drew its head away, and emitted a low growl from deep inside. The effect chilled Gray, and he backed off a step. The dragon shifted, balancing itself as if ready to strike, like a snake. Gray backed away faster.

Turning Gray ran back up the slope where Stinson was standing and smirking. Gray never paused. He kept walking right passed Stinson and kept his tears and fears hidden. Later he heard the wings beating overhead as the red flew on ahead, but didn’t look up.