The Last Dragon: Book One

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

We hardly breathed until the tiny figures disappeared from sight into the shallow valley. My impulse was to leap to my feet and race to where we would set the ambush, draw an arrow and string my bow. Breath came short, my heart pounded, and instead of all that, I slowly stood and stretched. I wanted to give Elizabeth a sense of how experienced and confident I’d become.

She gave me the same disapproving eye-roll.

Before taking up our places, we walked the horses behind the hillside and staked them in the deep green grass. Back at the ambush location, I used a dull knife to whack at small branches and carefully placed them against a larger bush to help hide me. I stood up and then squatted, then again, making sure my bow cleared any brush. Elizabeth did the same.

Then we waited. And waited.

The time passed so slowly, and the approach of the horses was so slow, I considered leaving my cover and going down to the road and taking another look. Three arrows were placed point-first into the dirt, each a little apart from the others, so my hand could grab them quickly, should I need more than one. I was thinking of the second and third shot when my ears detected a faint sound of hooves.

They were coming. What had we forgotten? What else should we have done to prepare? What if I got killed? Or Elizabeth? My hands shook. I thought about allowing them to pass without seeing us. And then I caught sight of the horses. The king’s horses. The ones the girls had ridden. I knew them well.

My hands no longer shook. My breaths slowed, and heart calmed. I peered through the tangle of branches that hid me and waited. The corner of my vision watched Elizabeth. When she moved, so would I.

They rode closer.

The arrow was nocked, and I held a slight tension on the string. My mind rehearsed the coming moments. Three simple steps. Watch Elizabeth make her move. Stand. Loose an arrow. There were possible fourth and fifth moves, which might change as the circumstances altered. They involved grabbing more arrows and what I’d do with them. Hopefully, none would be required.

The two men rode beside each other, as expected. The one on my side rode the horse Kendra had been on, which was fitting because the other was the horse Elizabeth rode. A miss with my arrow might injure the horse, but our positions were so close, I didn’t intend to miss, and Elizabeth was a better archer than me. They rode with their heads hanging low, a sure sign they were tired and sleepy from the long journey—making them even easier targets.

The one thing that was awkward for me was their appearance. Both were thin, too much so for it to be caused by anything but hunger. Still, as the nearer one slightly lifted his chin to peek at the trail ahead, I was struck by the similarities again. Before I could dwell on that, Elizabeth stood.

I did, too. The shrubs came to my lower chest, and my arrow was aimed as I pulled the bowstring—and released. All one motion, as the Weapons-Master had taught me. It flew the short ten-paces and struck high on the leg, near the hip, exactly where I’d intended. The second arrow was in my hand without conscious thought, ready to fly. I didn’t look to the other man because my duty concerned the one nearest me, and I had full confidence that Elizabeth would do her part.

She shouted, “On the ground! Now!”

“Down!” My voice added, more to convince them there were more of us, and they needed to obey. I showed myself while taking three steps closer, my arrow aimed at a chest. It would not miss. The rider knew it. His face had reddened with the arrow hitting his leg, and he had screamed, but now sat quietly. His face paled as his eyes saw the tip of my arrow pointed at his left eye.

He released the reins and slid off Kendra’s horse. When his feet reached the ground, the pain in his leg must have intensified. He groaned and collapsed. His arms encircled his knee, and his left hand went to the shaft of my arrow.

“If you pull that out, you’ll bleed to death,” I said quickly, in a friendlier voice than intended. My advice might have been true if the arrow had cut any large veins. My idea in mentioning it was that I didn’t believe he would be running away with that thing sticking out.

His hand halted and withdrew. That told me he spoke our language. There was no doubt.

I spared a look to Elizabeth. She stood beside her man, her bow, and a knife hidden behind her leg. An arrow was also stuck in his thigh, lower than mine, but no less painful. She said, “He doesn’t understand me.”

“This one does.”

She went to the nearest horse and started searching the bulging saddle bags. She mumbled to me, “Smoked meat, pig, I think. Hard rolls. Carrots. More food.” She moved to the other side and discovered much the same. A sack tied to the saddle held blankets. The other horse carried more blankets, two hatchets, and oiled skins suitable for shedding rain. She also found two purses heavy with silver.

I was concerned with what she didn’t find. My sword, the crossbows, my knife, the money I’d carried in my purse, and the money that I knew had been packed in several places because only fools carry it all in one.

I reached for the leather thongs I’d grabbed when we moved our horses and started tying their wrists, then held off. “They can’t walk and can’t mount if tied.”

Elizabeth still held an arrow to her bowstring, the tip of the arrow equally distant between the two, and both men were watching her, not me. Her eyes flicked to the saddle of the nearest horse as if telling me to put them there and then tie them—but I couldn’t tell if she was amused or irritated. Sometimes, it is hard to distinguish between them until I’m deep in trouble.

My solution was to avoid looking at her as I helped one into his saddle. His left leg bore the arrow, so kept it straight as he mounted. The other became a problem. His arrow was in his right leg, and he couldn’t move it enough to swing the leg over the horse. I finally moved him to the far side of the horse and managed to get him up. However, in the process, his leg started bleeding freely, and I ended up slicing the sleeve off my shirt and using that to wrap around the wound and tie it tightly to stem the blood.

Elizabeth lowered her bow and took the reins of both horses and tied them together so neither horse could run off without the other. That seemed a strange thing to do, but the determined expression warned me to be quiet and let her continue. She led them to where we’d staked out the other horses and motioned for me to mount. I expected her to want to ride one of the royal horses and I was already deciding how to best make the exchange of riders with their wounds.

Instead, she climbed on the horse she had been riding, and the four of us were finally sitting on horses. She spoke for the first time, her attention on the one who spoke our language.

She said, “Understand me?”

He nodded slowly, more than a little belligerence evident.

“Know who I am?”

He shook his head as if he didn’t care.

She sat taller. “Princess Elizabeth, daughter of the Rightful King of Dire.”

That brought a reaction of surprise to the one, nothing from the other, confirming the man she watched was the only one who understood.

She didn’t allow her advantage to dissipate. Instead, she leaned forward and said, “As an heir to the throne, it is often my duty to settle disputes and administer punishment. Also, as a direct heir, I decide the innocence or guilt, and the punishment, from ordering a simple apology to death by a variety of means.”

The color drained from his face. The other saw his expression and became scared.

Elizabeth nudged her horse closer. “Your name?”

“Stata.” His voice was soft, respectful, and even in the single word, an accent made itself known.

“That is not a name heard in Dire. Is it Kondor?”

He nodded.

She moved her horse another step closer, so their knees nearly touched. Her voice dropped in volume, almost to a whisper, “That is the third time you have not answered me out loud. I consider that evasive and rude. It is cause for me to kill you here and now.”

“I-I’ll talk.”

She indicated the two purses. “Is that all you have left of my money?”

He nodded—then quickly corrected himself and said, “Yes.”

“Then you are fools. Most of that was stolen from us. You sold our valuables for nothing and paid for this food with the proceeds?”

“Yes.”

It was her turn to shake her head. She waved a hand at me, “Damon’s sword was worth these two bags of money, and more. You sold our valuable belongings for pennies.” She poured silver coins from a purse to her other hand in disgust. She then repeated it with the other purse, estimating what was there with a sad shake of her head.

“We also purchased blankets and food,” he added as if that explained the small purses.

She held up a single small coin. “All you have is worth less than this. Where is our gold?”

“Gold?” he seemed completely surprised.

I reminded her, “If we hurry we will reach the campsite before dark.”

She hesitated her eyes cold pits of anger that had both prisoners reeling. “We will discuss this later. For now, understand me. You tell your friend that if either of you attempts to escape, I will put another arrow in both of you, probably in the center of your back. Tell him.”

The man who called himself Stata spoke to the other in a guttural language and received a quick nod in response. It didn’t appear either of them would try anything because they were too scared. I said, “You two take the lead. If one of you rides off, I’ll kill the other before I come after you.”

“We,” Elizabeth corrected me. “We will come after you together, but it is me who will kill them.”

Just so they understood, I turned to Elizabeth. “You are a princess, so it must be me who will do the killing.”

“As a princess, so I demand the right. End of subject.”

After hearing and translating that, I believed that if either of their horses bolted, they would throw themselves off to the hard ground rather than have us chase after them. My hand motioned for them again to lead, and they turned their horses up the path. Of course, the horses were not theirs, they belonged to our king, and therefore to Elizabeth, but I let it go. Her choice to continue on the other horse did surprise me, but she was in a hurry to get back and check on Tater.

Riding up the trail was harder, but the distance not great. We arrived with daylight to spare. I helped each of them dismount and supported them as they limped to the edge of the fire. Kendra had a pile of firewood as tall as herself and the night chill was settling upon the mountains.

Tater sat with his back to a small tree, awake and alert. Across the fire sat one wounded man where there should be two. Tater saw my surprise and said, “He’s the only one left, and he’s not doing so well.”

Of the original three, one had a chest wound, and we had expected him to die. Of the remaining pair, one had an arrow in his leg, the other in his arm near his shoulder. I suspected treachery. “What happened?”

He shrugged, “One died right away. The arrow in the leg sprang a leak in the night. We didn’t notice. Both were dead at first light.”

I looked at Kendra. “Tater?”

“His biggest problem according to him is that they took his chew.”

“What?”

“That bark he chews, his chew. One of them took it. Between that and Springer being missing, it’s all I can do to keep him from going on a rampage, broken arm or no.”

I’d settled both of those we’d returned with back on a log, then pointed to arrows still in their legs. “We need to help them.”

Tater scooted closer to them. “Where’s my chew?”

To my surprise and relief, Stata spoke right up, as he pointed, “Hanging on the tree. We opened it, and it smelled so bad we put it there to keep bears away.”

Kendra flinched. “There have been bears down the hillside where we put the others. Lots of growling and wolves are there too. I won’t go see what they’ve done.”

Tater was still fixated on Stata. “My dog?”

“We sold the dog,” Stata said without hesitation, but only after a slight pause as if trying to find the right words, as those speaking a second language often do. “We’re hungry and have no food. None wanted to eat the ugly dog for fear of catching an illness.”

“Sold it to who?” Tater said, sounding out each syllable as if they were individual threats while he ignored the mention of eating Springer.

“The man at the store. He said he’d give it a good home because nobody would ever buy such an ugly dog from him.”

Kendra had sat beside Stata and was carefully examining the arrow shaft in his leg. At his remarks about Springer, she grasped the shaft with both hands and yanked it out, tearing flesh in the process, and blood filled the wound and flowed. She ignored the wail of pain and tossed him a rag as she said, “Hold that over it until it stops. If it does.”

If anyone has ever had any doubt about the difference in men and women, they should have watched her. A man will fight another, usually on reasonably equal terms. A woman is a savage. She moved to the other, who scooted away from her as fast as she moved forward. “If I have to come get you, I promise you some real pain. Hold still.”

He may not have understood our language, but he also understood Kendra’s body language and tone. She walked to him and grasped the arrow in one hand and tugged gently. It moved. She turned it slightly to better line the shaft with the hole and eased it out, to the accompaniment of his reluctant screaming, but in the end, he smiled his thanks. He’d known she had removed it as painlessly as possible, but without anything to deaden the pain or mind. No blood flowed from the wound.

Tater said, “They better hope Springer is still there or they’ll learn what real pain is from me.”

I went to the tree and handed Tater his bag of shredded bark and stood back. Kendra told me he shouldn’t have it because of his injuries, but I was not going to fight Tater, even in his condition, and the look he flashed my way warned me that was what would be required to take it away.

Elizabeth had been scurrying around the campsite gathering our things together. They were spread all over. It seemed many of the attackers divided our belongings by some unknown manner. She had our five horses staked in the grass near the stream, the saddles and packs near the firepit, and the contents of all spread on blankets.

She came to stand beside Kendra and peered at the one we could speak with. “Ask your friends where my gold is.”

He called out in their language. The shoulder-wounded man responded, and the first turned to Elizabeth. “He thinks one of them buried it.”

“Where?”

“He does not know. But he says he saw it. I didn’t.”

She allowed her eyes to scan the ground, and how us and them, had trampled everything. I suspected the one who hid it had smoothed the ground to keep it hidden from the others, so unless we decided to dig up the whole camp where a dozen men had lived, the gold was gone. Besides, it was now full dark and even searching would be difficult.

Kendra was applying a salve to the legs of the two men she had treated, and when I turned her way, she held her fingers in the signal we needed to speak. I gave her a small nod of assent. She said, “The one that talks didn’t bleed.”

Elizabeth lifted her head as if giving up on recovering her gold. She looked at Kendra. “The store where these men sold our belongings cheated them. We will go there and recover as much as we can, so we need to travel before they sell it. Tell me about the condition of our prisoners.”

“If we leave them here, they will die. Two of them can’t walk and probably won’t for weeks.”

“Tater?”

“He can sit a horse by morning. At least for a short trip.”

Elizabeth drew a breath and allowed it to escape between pursed lips, almost making a whistling sound. Her jaw was set, her eyes far-off.

Neither of us spoke. She was thinking. It was her position in life to make choices for people. We’d seen her in this mood often. It was as if she removed herself from her body and surroundings, then sorted through details until making her choices.

As a girl, she had sat with her father as he presided over disputes. If a cow broke through a fence and destroyed the garden of a neighbor while mating with a bull, who did the calf belong to? She’d told us many times that both sides of many disputes might be seen as correct. Either farmer could make his case for the calf. Her point was that ruling is often more difficult than farming.

She said, “Make our preparations. We leave in the morning.”