The Last Dragon: Book Four

CHAPTER EIGHT

Late in the afternoon, we drank as much water as we could hold, refilled our water bottles, and left the riverbed where we’d slept away the heat of the afternoon. Each time I’d awoken to the afternoon desert heat, I simply drew more moisture and placed it into the air above us to form a cloud and a few drops of coolness.

The strangest thing was not that I did it, but that it came so naturally. I did it without fully waking. Before departing, we’d examined the dead Wyvern. The fire had almost consumed the flesh, leaving bones and teeth. A few insects gorged on the burned flesh. More would arrive during the night. By morning, a mountain of burned Wyvern would be under attack by thousands of tiny, hungry mouths.

We rode due east with our backs to the setting sun. The sea was somewhere ahead of us, and we dared not travel northward to Dagger where we could buy food and get directions. The Wyvern that had attacked hadn’t found us by accident. Someone had sent it.

Before sleeping, and after our fit of laughter, Kendra suggested she send her dragon to guard the others of our group at the lake. It didn’t take special instructions to warn the dragon of the Wyvern, even if she could. It knew and hated them. Any in the area would be attacked.

I reached out to Anna. She responded right away, *I’m here.*

*A Wyvern attacked us. Warn everyone.*

*Are you all right?*

*We’re fine. Kendra sent her dragon to guard over you.*

She didn’t respond right away. Then, she said, *I see it.*

I told her we were moving east, and she said the boat they were on was sailing in the same direction. They had seen two separate groups of soldiers marching to the west, to where they had last been seen. They planned to sail and row all night, through the narrow passage from one lake to another.

*Won’t that be dangerous?* I asked.

*The old fisherman says it had never been guarded before, besides, all the soldiers are heading upriver. If we see any sign of trouble, we’ll move away from the passage and try going around on land. There will be other boats we can steal if we do that, Coffin said.*

I flashed the image of a freed bird to her as a way of ending the conversation. As I started to call to Kendra and relay the information, the image of a fish swimming past a net filled my mind. I chuckled at Anna’s humorous imagery. I used the freed bird for her, she used a netted fish. We looked at the same things differently.

The late afternoon had heated the rocks and sand, but as the sun sank, the air cooled. We rode steadily, always looking around to see what might be attacking next. We saw nobody and not a sign that anyone had ever ventured into the desert we crossed. They may have, but we saw no discarded items, abandoned huts or houses, no rings of rocks that had been firepits, no roads, and only a few trails that animals had used.

To the world, we were alone.

The horses carried us into the night, never faltering, slowing, or complaining. We rode through a darkness so clear and crisp that each star was visible. Our blankets were around our shoulders, and near the middle of the night, I placed mine over my head to warm my ears. Kendra was in the lead, never halting and seldom slowing.

She moved as if possessed. Or scared. Stopping gave our enemies time to find us or catch up. She wouldn’t allow that. The moon gave more light to navigate the rocky ground when it rose.

I wanted to find trees to shade us, and near dawn we did. The ground dipped, and a dark line told us where a river had once flowed. When we reached it, we found a thin trickle of brown so narrow we could step over it. But alongside the banks grew trees, many of them dead.

However, a few survived, and we found a small grove where five or six grew near each other. We let the horses drink water at the river, then staked them in the grove near where we intended to sleep.

There was little for them there, but staking horses makes them easy targets for wolves or other predators unless kept close. Keeping them near us might keep them hungry until dawn but would also keep them alive.

Anna came into my mind. *Can’t talk now, but we’re safely through the narrows and rowing to deep water.*

*We are also doing well.*

Her presence winked from my mind leaving me to feel awkwardly alone. That explains how ingrained and ordinary feeling our method of communications had become, and I felt sorry for anyone who couldn’t duplicate it. I told Kendra what she had said, and when I looked at her a last time, a smile was on her lips. I went to sleep happy.

We slept through the morning coolness and the first harsh rays of the sun. Near midmorning, I awoke sweating and sore from the all-night ride. We’d chosen our place to make camp well, with one major exception. The sun struck with brilliant sunlight. A shadow behind us indicated that as the sun rose higher, we’d be in the shade again.

I went to the horses and watered them, feeling guilty at providing only sluggish brown river water when I could make better. Then, to wash the mud from their mouths, I led them to a patch of green, knee-high grass. The horses didn’t hesitate to eat. Mine seemed to look at me in appreciation a few times as if we were old friends—or it may have been scared I’d pull them away from their first good meal in days. It’s hard to tell with horses.

I didn’t believe they would leave the lush grass for anything, so I climbed the bank with the intent of doing a little exploring. Unlike before when I’d searched the four directions, then the up at the sky, I had learned. I looked up first. There were no Wyverns.

I stood on a small hill, just tall enough to allow an unrestricted view all around. After looking in three directions, I turned to face north, where the chain of lakes and our friends were located somewhere over the far horizon. It was as empty and barren as the other three, until a tiny flash, a glint of sunlight off glass or metal, caught my attention, not once, but twice. It was no mistake.

The location held my attention for a time, but the flash didn’t repeat. I’d never seen or heard of such a thing in the natural world, except for sun on water, which was not what I’d seen. Sunlight reflections of the type I’d observed came from things made my man. Glass and metal, perhaps other things.

What was important was that I believed the maximum distance I could see a reflection like that would be less than a half day's travel, probably closer. It didn’t mean there were soldiers a half day from us . . . but it might. No matter what the cause, we needed to know.

A mental map of what I remembered of the area formed in my head. I knew we were a day’s travel south of the lakes, on a line below Kaon, and a full day’s travel east. Two more days to the coast. A day and a half to be directly south of Dagger. There had been nothing on the map to indicate a town, or the presence of enough water to support life. The Brownlands were stark and devoid of life because of the lack of water.

We had hoped to pass by Dagger without incident or sighting enemies—and that they didn’t sight us. However, we were getting low on food. We’d eaten the last of our meager store yesterday.

I’d heard all my life that a person can go thirty days without eating, but only two or three without water, and in the Brownlands, that time was cut in half. I’d heard that, and believed it was probably true, but didn’t mean that the person going thirty days without eating would be happy about it. I was hungry.

Worse, Kendra was a bear when hungry. She was a bear when a meal was served late. She took it out on anybody around her—and right now that was me. If the flash of sunlight meant people were nearby, they might have food to spare. If it was our enemies . . . well, we needed to know that too. Maybe we could steal their food.

I went back to the horses and pulled and tugged until getting them to leave the grass for the dried leaf-coated ground where we slept. Their protection was more important than more grass, and they could eat again after we woke. I tied them securely to a low branch and moved my blanket to the edge of the shade, all done as quietly as possible. Waking a tired, hungry, sister to tell her to move her bed didn’t appeal.

I fell right to sleep.

When I woke, Kendra was up. She had the horses at the patch of grass near the riverside and saw me stand. She returned to camp, leaving them to graze in the only grass in sight. She said, “You know how you always complain about how a true mage makes storms and such, and you’re so proud of yourself for making that little raincloud that barely got us wet?”

I nodded my agreement. What she said was not totally true, but she was heading somewhere by opening the conversation that way. Before responding, I needed to find out where the conversation was going so I could defend myself.

She continued, “Well, I was thinking. How small can you do it?”

“Small?” The question was completely different from what I’d expected, and she hadn’t complained about being hungry once.

She held out her water jug and pointed at the top.

“You’ve got to be joking.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to get a rain-bath every time I want a drink. Instead of objecting so fast, just think about it. Like you did that time when you put the spot of water you placed on the crotch of a young royal, Lord Kent, who was being offensive to Princess Elizabeth at Crestfallen. Remember? Do the same, but with a little more water.”

I laughed . . . then quit. She was serious. Worse, she might be right as she held the open container nearer to me, her face serious, her eyes imploring. With trepidation, I concentrated on the moisture nearby, the morning dew that remained in shaded places, the dampness just under the surface of the glen, and then my mind found the obvious source, the river a few short steps away.

The river water was easy to gather and draw near me, sans the mud in it. Instead of directing how it should be done, I let my mind wander and explore. All the water concentrated in one tiny space above the jar. A trickle the size of a thread flowed and splashed into it with the watery sound of a small spring falling down a rocky hillside.

The water jug echoed the sound. The stream was tiny but would eventually fill the jar. Elated, I pushed harder, and the thread of water grew to the diameter of yarn, then larger. It flowed clean and clear, as large around as a small rope, and quickly overflowed the jar. Kendra grabbed another with a whoop of pure joy.

She was no happier than me. My magic was doing something purposeful and helpful. More than parlor tricks. To anyone looking on, they would believe they were watching a mage. I shut the water off but had accumulated into a bubble of it in front of me the size of a melon. It had nowhere to go but fall to the ground, and if it did, both of us were going to get wet.

I concentrated harder and no longer drew water to me, but kept it hovering near our faces, then with a power drawn from deep inside, I pushed. Pushing water is not easy. No easier for a mage than a normal person. Imagine pushing water in a lake with your hands. As you push, more fills in behind. It was an example I’d use a hundred times.

So, instead of pushing in the normal sense, I engulfed the entire sphere of water at once, grasping each molecule of water individually, and pushed all at once. The water shot away from us, spreading out and turning into a brief fog as if some giant had spat a mouthful of water.

We sat and looked at each other, neither of us knew the words to say. We were astounded, impressed, amazed, and fairly speechless.

Kendra recovered first, which was no surprise. She had the quicker mind. “That was fun.”

Her choice of words was not those I’d choose. I said, “I saw a flash of light this morning. Two, actually. Like a glint of the sun off metal or glass.”

“Where?”

“North, nearer the lake. We should go there and investigate.”

She nodded, without the mention of food or a complaint about a slight detour. “If there are soldiers close by, we need to know. Also, glass or metal has to be clean to reflect sunlight and things get covered with sand quickly in the desert. To me, it says there must be at least one person out there, the flash was not made by something left behind years ago.”

Her method of analyzing things fascinated me. She stripped down a problem, determined the probable outcomes of each option, and arrived at the correct solution. Me, I just plunged ahead and hoped for the best.

Anna’s thoughts came to me. *We are nearing the channel to the next lake. No soldiers in sight and no boats are chasing us. The wind has picked up, and we’re using the sail and resting those rowing. I’m going to take a nap.*

I answered, *We are just waking up after a long night. We saw a flash of light in the distance and are going to check it out.*

*Be safe.* The link to her mind blanked, and I told Kendra the little she’d shared, although I shouldn’t sound like it was not good news. Often when nothing happens, that is the good news.

We rode out, side by side for a change. I pointed the way where the two flashes of light came from, then said, “Ever since we were near that last Waystone my powers have been stronger. I don’t understand it.”

“There must be a link,” she agreed. “Maybe it opened your mind up to accept what you’re capable of doing.”

We rode on. After a while, I said, “I’d like to find another Waystone.”

“You want more power?” she asked. “Be wary of too much.”

That was a direct question my mind dodged answering. Did I want more? “A little time alone with a Waystone might provide answers for what happened to me. Why we’re here.”

“Or give you more power and you’ll be more arrogant and dangerous.”

“I didn’t say that.”

She turned to me. “Power is a funny thing. It can help with a specific situation, but when things return to normal—then what? Are you sure you want to mess with something that might turn you into the next Young Mage?”

“I’m not like him.”

She didn’t accept that. With a shrug, she said, “Not yet. Keep messing with things you don’t understand and who knows?” She touched her heels to the flanks of the horse and spurred it to move ahead of me.

I wanted to fight back. I had nothing.

I also knew she was right. We rode on, keeping a careful watch ahead. Our route changed slightly when we neared a small hill off to our right. We rode most of the way up the backside, then walked our horses until we could see over the top to the flatland beyond.

The lake was still out of sight, too far away to see. However, there was a patch of green in a small valley. Trees and tilled fields were evident. A single large structure stood in the shade, a long, low building constructed of wood and mud plaster. Others smaller buildings surrounded it. Nobody was in sight, but animals grazed in the pasture, a few sheep, goats, and two horses.

I said, “We should spend time watching and learning before revealing ourselves.”

“I’m hungry.”

Her tone was not pleasant and stealing a goat might be the easiest solution. However, as I thought about that, a pair of dogs barked crazily. Not at us, but perhaps they’d caught our scent. The door opened, and a large man strode out, followed by another, slightly smaller.

They paused, looked around, and appeared to be brothers. Their hair was black and wild, the kind that sticks out at all angles and refuses to be tamed. Their shoulders were wide. They moved with power.

Kendra said softly, “One end of the largest building is a house. The other end a barn. An interesting concept.”

“Where does the water to grow the trees and crops come from? A spring?”

“Maybe one of them is a nasty-tempered mage who refuses to feed his sister when she’s hungry.”

I barked a laugh, then stifled it, so they didn’t hear me. There seemed two ways to proceed. Try and sneak down to the cabin and steal what we could, or ride in the open and hope for the best reception. We chose the latter.

That does not mean we went without a caution. Kendra loosened her throwing knives, and I slipped my sword, but more importantly, I began using my mind to search. And my eyes.

My enhanced senses reached out. I readied myself to draw power from the ground and sky, and turn it into a bolt of lightning, thinking the flash and noise would scare an opponent. All that happened was the dogs spotted us and charged to greet us.

They were the noisy sort of watchdogs, not guard dogs that were trained to attack but to bark and warn the owners when strangers arrive. They did their job well.

The two men reappeared from inside the barn, both holding farm implements as if by accident. A shovel in the hands on the larger, and a pitchfork in the hands of the other. Weapons, if required, a silent threat in any case. They quietly waited for us to approach. Instead of brothers, it was a father and son.

I saw movement inside the cabin and knew at least one more person watched us. We slowed a fair distance from them, and the dogs barked until called off by the larger of the pair.

I said, “We’re travelers that have managed to run out of food.”

After a disbelieving glance at the larger man, the younger one said, “Nobody arrives from the Brownlands to the south.”

“We did,” I said simply. “Is it possible to buy a little food from you? We have coin.” The offer was quick to be accepted by most farmers, especially those in remote areas. Hard money is hard for them to come by. They normally bartered for the crops or services of others. Excess food was traded for necessities. Coins were seldom involved.

The older man said harshly, “Keep your money. We will turn away no hungry travelers. Please, dismount and introduce yourselves.”

We did. A woman stood in the doorway, expectantly. Her age matched that of the older man, and I assumed the other was their son, but they hadn’t introduced themselves yet, although they’d asked us to.

After I introduced us briefly there was a long silence as if he was considering what to say, and he told us his name was Big Salim. The other was Little Salim, his only son, so I’d gotten that right. The wife was not named after any variation of Salim, for which I was grateful. Her name was Elinore, a snappy little woman who seemed to run the farm, house, and men with a smile always on her face.

The dogs were both called “dog.” I knelt to give them a good sniff of me and rub their ears.

Our hosts were obviously not inventive in the naming aspects. However, after Big Salim suggested eating at a table outside in the shade where it was cooler than inside. Elinore rushed to her pantry for bowls. The table was made of slabs of wood thicker than the width of my hand and had existed as a table for a century or more if the condition of the surface was any measure. It was more than a table for eating off.

There were gouges, stains, cuts, and more. If I needed to guess, I’d say scythes had been sharpened on it, things had been hammered, repaired, crushed, and cleaned. It told a tale of its own of hard-working farmers.

Around it sat three chairs, plus a bench beside the house, two three-legged stools, and a wood stump. Kendra rushed to help Elinore, and they carried a black cauldron of stew between them. After placing it on the end of the table, they returned inside and returned with bowls, scoops, and two loaves of fresh bread. A meal fit for a king.

Both of the Salims stood aside and kept out of the way. I suspected it had been a lesson hard learned for them but learned well. Elinore acted as if the table were her kingdom to rule and spread a thin sheet of linen over the table as Kendra sat mugs beside each bowl.

Their appearance differed from the norm of Kondor. While their skin was dark like mine, their hair was curled tightly and stiff. Their noses were wider. I suspected they’d come from elsewhere, and there was a story to them living in the middle of the Brownlands. As we’d watched from the nob of the hill, I’d noticed there was not any road leading in or out of the valley. That bothered me for a number of reasons, however, food was my immediate priority.

Hardly a word was said while we ate. No questions were asked of us. When we’d finished eating a thick stew and bread, we settled back relaxed. Kendra’s mood had shifted back to that of a companionable human again. For that reason, I determined that we would leave with enough food to last a few days, no matter the cost.

Big Salim finished cleaning the last of the gravy from his bowl with a piece of bread, cleared his throat for attention, his eyes now focused on me. When all were turned his way, his voice was deep and resonant as he said, “When were you going to tell us you are a mage?”