The Green Dragon: A Claire-Agon Dragon Book (Dragon Series 3) (6 page)

“Why do we tolerate them?” Solvang said, half whispering as he leaned over his chair toward the general.

Gores motioned for him to be quiet as they watched the Kesh wagon being unloaded, and four large tents were being erected for their use. “We don’t know how well they can hear, and I don’t want any trouble with them, especially while the prince is still scouting ahead.”

“I don’t want them to hear our speech either, but they are getting worse. Command this and order that. You’d think the king would have put them in their places by now, much like the duke of Ulatha did last season.”

“Speak not on that,” Gores said, bringing his hand up to his mouth and hiding his lips while nodding at one of the wizards who had stopped to look at them. Gores waved and smiled, and the Kesh resumed his preparations, ordering his porters and workers to set up his tent and belongings.

“Why are there four of them?” Solvang asked, continuing to whisper, mimicking the general’s mannerism by concealing his lips from the Kesh. Whether it was magic or simple lip reading, one did not speak lightly around a wizard from Kesh. All precautions were to be taken, if any were to be done at all.

“Who knows, though that is most unusual. Even the king thought it was overkill for a simple barony like Vulcrest,” Gores said.

The sound of hooves galloping in the distance grew louder, and the pair of men paused their conversation to see who was arriving. Within a few moments, a small band of riders galloped into the center of the camp, and a young man attired in elaborate riding leathers and clothes pulled one foot out of his stirrup, landing on the ground near the leaders of the group before his horse had come to a complete halt. A stable hand reached up and caught the reins as they were tossed to him.

“Rather dramatic, do you not think so, my lord?” Solvang said, standing and giving the younger man a bow of his head.

General Gores stood as well and gave a curt nod at the prince. “What news, Your Highness?”

The younger man pulled his riding gloves off and tossed them to another servant, who scurried to retrieve them. “The road is clear from here all the way to Vulcrest itself. The filthy bastards have no idea we are coming.”

The general and the advisor exchanged looks before Gores spoke again. “So word has not reached them of our sacking of their border keep?”

The younger man shook his head and dipped his hands into a wooden basin full of water that another servant had brought and held awkwardly in front of him. He splashed the water across his face and neck. His blond hair was cut short, stubble all around its base and a short crew cut atop, giving the prince an appearance of one of the military. “They have made no preparations, no force has been raised, and they appear to be unaware.”

“That is good news, then. Our attack shall succeed and be swift. Perhaps our makeshift alliance with the easterners will bear fruit for us.” Solvang nodded his head at both his prince and the general, seeking agreement.

“Perhaps,” Gores said, eying the Kesh warily.

“So they are still with us, I see,” the young man said, also turning his head to look at the Kesh wizards and soldiers.

“Where else would they be?” Gores asked.

“They could have ridden before us, or lagged a day behind,” the young man said wistfully, “though I should have known that they intend to use our forces for their own ends.”

“That is rather harsh, is it not?” Solvang asked, concern crossing his face, and the advisor wringed his hands, a habit he always did when worrying about things needlessly.

The prince finished cleaning his hands and face and stood with arms outstretched as servants scurried to him and started to pull off his leather riding gear, replacing it with silk and cotton garments brought from the royal wagon. “Harsh or not, this is my father’s idea, not mine. I’d just as soon take on the Vulcrestians by ourselves.”

“Sire,” the general began, lowering his voice and giving the wizards a wary look, “we can’t defeat them without the help of the Kesh. They are too strong, and your family has been engaged with them for centuries to no avail. We must ally in order to succeed.”

The younger man finished changing and nodded at the other riders, who had not moved since their arrival. The scout leader returned the nod and barked orders to dismount and stand down. Walking over to the general and royal advisor, the prince motioned for the men to sit, and waited momentarily as a chair was brought for him and placed between the other two. Despite the permission to sit early, both men waited for the prince, and the three men sat in unison, all facing the main camp where the Kesh were closest, almost done with setting up their massive white tents.

“So have our guests demanded anything else from my father’s troops?”

“No, my lord. They simply ordered our camp here and said it would take one more day to reach Vulcrest,” General Gores said.

The prince frowned, shaking his head. “They should not be ordering anything, especially this far from their own realm. We are the rightful heirs to the Savage Lands, and they should acknowledge that.”

“I think they did when their small armada arrived,” Solvang said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

The men sat in silence, remembering that day three months ago when a flotilla of ships, half Kesh and half Balarian, arrived under full sail in Ekos, their capital. It had caused quite a stir, and the troops that the easterners brought were half as many as the Ekins could muster, but they were well-trained and equipped much better. While the Kesh made a formal request for a parlay, the circumstances of their request came almost literally at the appearance of extortion, if not outright coercion.

“Yes, my father had little choice in the matter . . .” the prince said, allowing his words to die on his lips as he stared at the Kesh, anger rising within him.

One of the wizards seemed to notice and spoke to the others. The Kesh huddled together, speaking quietly, and then their leader walked over to the three Ekin leaders.

“Mind your tongue, my lord,” Solvang counseled, and Gores nodded in agreement. Despite their agitation at the Kesh, they weren’t suicidal. Angering a Kesh wizard was exactly that, suicide in action.

“Prince Egden.” Amsor nodded as he approached, using his metallic staff to assist him in walking.

“Master Amsor,” the prince said, returning the nod but making no effort to find a chair for the elderly mage. The mage seemed not to notice, not to mind, or not to reveal any feelings on the slight.

“You have scouted the road ahead and found nothing.” Amsor nodded, approving of his matter-of-fact statement.

“Quite right, wizard,” Egden said, noticing that Solvang’s eyes were darting back and forth, appealing to his prince for calm and reason. Egden winked at his advisor before continuing, ignoring the astonished look on Solvang’s face. “We have nothing to fear from the Vulcrestians. They will break to our blades and bow to our will. Tomorrow, we will begin the assault and finally take back what those vermin took from our ancestors long ago.”

“The day after tomorrow, Prince.” Amsor lifted his staff and readjusted it into the ground to give him a better anchor point, allowing him to lean on it. It appeared that the mage was ready to stand there for quite some time, if the need arose.

Another look from Solvang urged caution, and Egden took a moment to assess what his father’s general was thinking. The look on Gores’ face also urged prudence. Clearing his throat, the prince asked a question instead. “Why wait another day?”

Amsor answered immediately. “Baron Vulgrin will be prepared, though the road will be clear. We need time to prepare our siege equipment.”

“Yes,” Egden said, “your war engines are slower than our fattest oxen. I can see why you require the extra time. Perhaps next time bring more horses?”

“Not practical for such a long journey. We were under the impression that your father’s kingdom had, shall we say, better resources for pulling our equipment.” Amsor shifted his weight and gave all three Ekins a challenging look. Seeing no protest forthcoming, the mage continued. “So we will do the best with what your father has given us.”

Egden did get angry at that point, and stood abruptly, bringing both his royal advisor and his general to their feet as well. Edgen took three steps to stand directly in front of the Kesh mage, who appeared to be amused, if anything at all. Bracing himself for any rebuke, the prince lashed out at the Kesh mage verbally. “We lack resources because the filth of Vulcrest took them from us years ago. We shall make right what was wrong.”

Several soldiers from both parties nearby stood nervously, watching the interaction between the young prince and the elderly Kesh mage. Unphased, Amsor replied, “You hate Baron Vulgrin, do you not?”

“I do, though that should be obvious, even to a Kesh.” Egden placed his hands on his hips. He had no sword, as it was taken and placed at the side of his chair, so the sight of the unarmed prince standing defiantly before the Kesh mage was both brave and reckless, depending on one’s point of view.

“Yes,” Amsor said, a smile now spreading across his face. “The baron should never have refused to allow his daughter to marry you.”

“Do we have to stay?” Lucina asked, her eyes trying to pierce the intent of her young ward.

“You can’t suggest that we leave, especially not after what we discovered this very day,” Helvie said.

Lucina shook her head. “I guess not, though I’d prefer you let the locals handle it, or even allow for one of your father’s officials to take over.”

“That will be most likely, if my father sends someone,” Helvie said, looking across the room of the large tavern that they were using temporarily as a meeting hall. “I don’t see why we can’t do some investigating in the meantime while we are here. It seems like an awful waste of time to sit and do nothing.”

Lucina didn’t really have an answer for that. While she would agree with everything the young noblewoman said, she simply didn’t like it being Helvie who was doing the investigating. “Well, at least you sound like you have some sense in you. I guess we can ride a patrol in the morning, though you really should take Godfrey’s advice and allow him and his men to run it.”

“That would look like the nobles are afraid of their own lands,” Helvie countered, looking around at the many townsfolk of Blackwell who had gathered for the meeting.

“I don’t care what it looks like to the locals. I do care what you would look like if whatever got to the Hamills managed to get to you.”

“Perhaps I can ride along the edge of the Greenfeld early in the morning, and then we let Godfrey send his men into the forest for a more detailed patrol. Would that alleviate your concerns?” Helvie tried to sound hopeful.

Lucina leaned back in her chair, allowing her fingers to tap against the massive hilt of her sword. “I guess that would be a fair compromise.”

Godfrey approached and gave a customary nod of this head. “Everything has been taken care of.”

“You sent the riders, then?” Lucina asked.

“Yes,” Godfrey replied. “I sent two, and they will ride long and hard till they arrive in Vulkor. They will inform Baron Vulgrin of what has transpired and seek his counsel in the matter.”

Helvie sighed audibly and rolled her eyes. “May have very well ordered us home this very evening, then.”

“That sounds like good counsel to me,” Godfrey said, nodding at Lucina.

“That is most assuredly what my father will say if you present it to him that way. What happened to our plan to simply inform the garrison commander first, and then my father?” Helvie asked.

“We will do that, but my first responsibility is your safety, and your father was very strict in his orders to us,” Godfrey said.

“Us?” Helvie asked, looking between the two.

“Don’t get yourself upset again,” Lucina said. “Your father simply had standing orders that your safety was paramount to all other official business. Nothing new here to discover.”

Helvie sighed. “This is different, though, and I’m also in my time of adulting. I don’t think those orders are relevant after all this time.”

“They come from his love and intent to protect you, my lady,” Godfrey explained.

“He also saved you from marrying that brute’s son from Ekos, least you forget that one,” Lucina reminded her ward.

“Don’t remind me,” Helvie said. “I almost retched the entire time I had to spend in their foul city.”

“It would have brought peace,” Godfrey said, reminiscing about the offer a couple of years earlier.

“Her father did consider it seriously, at one point,” Lucina said, turning to Godfrey, “but the Ekos prince’s actions during our court visit were atrocious, and sealed the baron’s mind on that decision.”

“Thank the Mother for that,” Helvie said, shuddering at the thought of living with the Ekos prince for anytime at all. “The fact that they call themselves a monarchy of king and queen, not to mention prince, is also conceited.”

“Small realms often do those things, my lady,” Godfrey explained. “Still, it would have ensured peace, especially in troubled times like these.”

“Yes, they answer to no one but themselves, and use grand titles to make themselves feel important. They are smaller in size than your father’s realm, and that isn’t saying much when compared to the central realms of Agon,” Lucina said.

“Well, at any rate, I am glad that my father didn’t force me upon the prince of Ekos, even if it would have brought peace for a time. I am thankful for that,” Helvie said, smiling at her companions.

“Until war breaks out again,” Godfrey said.

Lucina frowned at the man.

“Why does our master care what the barbarians are doing?” Elister asked Edric, who walked quickly in front of him along the mountain trail.

“The different clans serve different purposes at different times. The Arnen can glean what factions move, as well as who they move against, and when, by observing the actions of the northern clans,” Edric answered without looking back.

Elister puffed but was doing well in the rarefied air. Living in the mountain abbey had prepared him for the long walks and marches that would await them. He also had his staff and, while it helped him to walk, he didn’t need it for that purpose. It was something that simply came with his position, and he accepted it. “I guess it could be worse.”

“You refer to your task, Elly?”

“Yes, I do.”

“You have been spared the most dangerous one. Tristan and Dunric will see that through,” Edric said, coming to a stop at the top of the high mountain pass.

“It wasn’t really the dragon itself I was thinking about,” Elister said, reaching the summit next to the Ranger, leaning on his staff and looking north at a breathtaking view of the wild lands. A look back south showed a virtual green carpet of the Greenfeld, and far in the distance, a small mountain chain where at the base he knew Vulkor to lie, the capital of Vulcrest. Beth and Wulfric would be heading there.

Edric laughed out loud, rearing his head back and coughing as he gained control of himself. “Oh, Elly. I should have known that you are still like a child. It takes centuries for the Arnen to mature.”

“What?” Elister asked. “I only speak the truth.”

“Yes, you do,” Edric conceded. “You speak the truth as a child would. You do not fear the dragon, as you should, and you don’t know enough about the filth and foulness of a city. That would bring tears to your eyes, let me tell you, and not tears of joy or sorrow either. You know not how fortunate you are to be in the crisp, clean air of Agon, and to walk upon her body with nothing more than a leather sole between her and your tender foot. Instead you worry about your companion.”

“Yes, well, the man is rather strict with me for some reason, and he never seems to approve of anything I do.”

“You hardly know Wulfric,” Edric explained. “You met him only decades ago as a child, until Agon called us to sleep in her bosom until we were needed again. Still, I understand your concern. Wulfric is pure of heart, and not one for overly kind gestures, but I assure you, he would give his life to protect yours.”

Elister nodded. “I don’t doubt his soul or its goodness. He is just rather hard to be around. That is all I was thinking.”

“Understood. Now come, let us not tarry further. We have a long way to go, much further than your companions,” Edric said.

The pair began their descent into the wild northern lands along the barely noticeable path that was little more than a game trail used by small animals to traverse the land. “You’re wrong, though, about one thing.”

“What’s that, Elly?” Edric asked, looking at his companion from over his shoulder.

Elister returned the look, keeping pace with the long strides of his Ranger companion and protector. “I do fear the dragon. Don’t mistake my desire to forget for any lack of said fear.”

Edric resumed looking at the trail in front of him. “Understood, Master Elister.”

“I think we are going to die out here,” the woman said to the elderly man as they ran along the ridgeline, trying to put as much distance between themselves and their pursuers.

“We may very well,” the elderly man said, finally stopping to catch his breath and taking a moment to drop his large pack to the ground, looking behind them for any sign of pursuit.

“I still don’t understand why you didn’t leave that heavy pack of yours behind. Better to have taken food, if anything,” the female warrior said to the old man.

The contrast between the two was interesting. The woman wore a light chainmail that covered her from neck to knee, cinched with a belt across a wide blue tunic with the yellow emblem of a large eagle. Her sword was sheathed in her belt, and her boots were made of a plush but sturdy black leather, practical for walking or combat. A dagger and a water flask stuck out from her belt, and her brown hair was balled into a knot at the back of her head, hidden beneath a light metal helmet that had no visor, just a bridge plate to protect her nose during combat and to help keep the helmet securely on her head.

The older man wore a plain brown robe, cinched at his waist with a tattered brown belt braided to look like a small length of rope. Simple leather shoes covered his feet, the tips sticking out from the hem of his robe that covered him completely. He had a large leather brown backpack that was filled to bursting, testing the strength of its miniature leather buckles and straps. The man had nothing on his head and no weapon visible. His grey beard was closely cropped to his skin, leaving only stubble, and his grey hair was sparse and short.

“The pack isn’t important; it’s what’s in the pack that I must preserve.” The old man bent at the waist for a moment to catch his breath, and then stood, looking northward again.

“I can’t believe we were taken like that,” the female said, resting a hand on her hip and the other on her sword. She breathed heavily too. “You ran faster than I would have expected, despite your heavy pack.”

The old man nodded. “Life is a powerful motivator. It helps the body to do things it didn’t know it could do, especially when facing the option of death.”

“Death came for many this day,” the woman said, taking a moment to kneel and rest, also looking to the north. “I think we lost them back at the small creek, though I doubt it will take them long to find our trail again.”

“You think they have trackers with them, then?”