The Dragons' Chosen (11 page)

Remembering the book, my blood ran cold. One more piece of legend correctly stated. But legend or not, I did not like the man. “I don’t trust him,” I said flatly.

The captain cocked his head, evaluating my words. I wasn’t pleased.

“Begging your pardon, Your Highness, but we need him. His people have first-hand knowledge of the Fandrite Mountains. I have it on good counsel that he’s traveled these lands both on foot and by horse.”

“That may be, but I don’t like the way he looks at me.”

Captain Markus nodded, all understanding. “He means no harm to you. He’s just weighing your strength for this trek. He must get us all safely through the fens and into the mountains. He’s concerned for you, is all.”

In the distance I could see Tom Mastin, could feel myself recoil as he turned toward me. He raised his hand to me in a too familiar salute.

“Captain, I don’t want him with us.”

He glanced away, clearly annoyed. “I can see why you might be hesitant.”

I opened my mouth to inform him that hesitant didn’t begin to convey how I felt, but he spoke over me.

“No, hear me out. You’re very young and have just had a bad experience. It has made you wary. I apologize for telling you this, but it must be said. The decision is not in your control.”

I felt a slow flush of anger rising in my cheeks.

“Still, I wish to reassure you. Tom doesn’t have a noble’s manner and he is roughly made, but you need to look about you. We’re no longer in your father’s castle. Courtly manners won’t get us to the mountains. This is a hard journey, a rough trip. While I respect your opinion, Your Highness, your father placed this task in my hands. By our good priestess’s word, Tom is the only person who knows how to get to the dragons’ Crystal Cave.”

And so Tom Mastin came with us. I refused to speak with the good captain for two days after that. Tom kept his distance from me, but I could feel his eyes on me, watching.

I did not grow to like Tom, but I couldn’t deny that he was competent. We ate better once he was with us. We had boar and grouse, and once he pointed us to a thicket of early berries. He knew where to ford rivers, where to find fresh water and how to locate the safest passes into the mountains. He didn’t press me to befriend him, which was just as well. I couldn’t get beyond my initial repulsion, not even to question him about his family’s part in all this. He would smile at me with a knowing grin, showing his reddened gums and missing teeth, and I would retreat into the image of an unapproachable princess. One whom I hadn’t been in weeks.

For all his dirty clothes, his boots and saddle were of well-tooled leather hidden beneath a thick layer of grunge. I could almost feel, not to mention smell, when he was near—and my skin would crawl.

Lucinda watched everyone with equal suspicion, as if I were a perfect blossoming rose that someone might snip before her eyes.

It only added to my feeling of isolation. There was no one to comfort me by placing a hand on mine, no one to distract me from my own plight. I missed my family. My mother and father, my sister Danielle, and my little brothers, Harold and Bartholomew. I would never see them again.

Chris’s image came to mind then. She was the only one I could confide in who was willing to speak of what came next. A woman with whom I had nothing in common, a woman from another world.

I sorely felt her absence.

As each day rose with no sign, I feared the worst. Chris was gone, perhaps never to return. I must face the dragons alone.

Chapter 15

Three evenings later we camped at a small copse of larch edging a pond of indigo and turquoise water. A waterfall tumbled down the hillside to spill gloriously into the pond with enough noise to drown out my worry. Lucinda and I left the men to set up camp and walked along the wooded path to the water’s edge. The sun was low in the sky and the heat of the day passing, but I was weary of the feel of dirt every time I touched my skin. I removed my gown, shoes and stockings and, clad in my shift, waded waist-deep in the chilly water for a quick wash. I had just turned to come out when the water erupted five yards from me. Amidst splashes and sputtering, Chris’s outraged “damn” was unmistakable. Lucinda leapt up, her eyes narrowed suspiciously at the person who floundered near me, until I pantomimed that all was well. She didn’t look convinced. Friend or not, Lucinda trusted nothing that even hinted of magic.

Chris barely spared me a glance as she sloshed to dry land, grabbing the eyepieces that threatened to fall from her nose. I was so grateful to see her that I couldn’t even muster shock about her clothes. This chemise was a heady mix of bright colors radiating in a spiral with the phrase “Question authority” written across the front. I waded out and dried off as much as I could before pulling my riding dress back over my head.

Chris still didn’t acknowledge me, but, muttering invectives, she whipped off her chemise and wrung it out. She was clearly not modest, standing out in the open with only a narrow band of black lace covering her breasts. My eyes lit upon a small blemish on her shoulder marring the white of her skin, a birthmark or the scar of a long-healed wound.

Chris’s eyes flashed with alarm and she dropped the chemise, searching her trousers for something. Finally, she held up the gold embossed card. I saw her breathe a sigh of relief.

I could almost dance, I was so happy to see her.

Lucinda walked over and handed her a drying cloth, eyes still wary.

“Lucinda, if you would, go back to camp and get her some warm clothing. She’ll catch her death in this chill.”

Lucinda was gone but a minute when Tom sauntered out of the wood.

I stopped buttoning my dress. I knew without thinking that he had been watching, waiting for an opportunity, and now Lucinda was gone. Would my men hear me if I screamed?

“Leave now. We’re bathing.”

He preened at Chris. “Where did you come from? Can’t resist a pretty girl needing some attention.” He shot me a glance. “Why don’t you introduce me to your friend here?” He stood in front of Chris and grinned, displaying his lack of teeth.

Chris continued to adjust her clothing. “Look, I’m not in the mood for fun and games. Okay?”

Quicker than a snake, he reached out and put his arm around her bare waist. “Just my type, naked and sassy.”

Chris shoved him away, flinging off his arm. “Listen, asshole, don’t touch me again.”

Abruptly, he slapped her across the mouth. Chris gasped and recoiled, but Tom held her wrist tightly in his other hand. There was a slight tussle as Chris tried breaking away, but she stayed fixed in place. I reached down and tugged my knife from my leather belt lying tangled on the ground.

Chris gathered herself as I rose and then, amazingly, smiled up at him and giggled. “Oh sir, please ignore my girlish manners. I’m just overwhelmed with your hirsute manliness, your Neanderthal presence, that…” She batted her eyes at him. “How can I say it, that cretin look in your eyes.” She trailed a finger down his open shirt. His eyes widened and I could see the delight on his face right before she stepped in close to him and delivered a knee to his privates. He doubled over, grunting in shock as she entwined her hands and slammed them into his nose.

She grabbed the back of his shirt but he recovered, reached up and encircled her throat with one ham-fisted hand. “Think you’re clever, do you?” He smiled unpleasantly, blood dripping from both nostrils.

Chris struggled, trying to breathe. One of her hands clawed at his while her other hand pulled something from her trousers. I screamed in fury and distress as I raced toward them. She pointed the object at him, and I heard a hissing noise. He grunted and roared, both hands covering his eyes as he staggered back across the clearing. Gasping obscenities, he pulled a dagger from his waist. Then with a single step, he dropped face forward like a fallen oak. Lucinda stood behind him, holding a small log in both hands.

She wiped the sweat from her face before saying, “Nasty man. No manners.”

I ran forward, kicked his dagger away and knelt on the ground beside him, my knife at the nape of his neck. He growled and cursed at me.

“Please, make any move. I would be happy to administer the King’s Justice to you for threatening me and my ladies.”

Lucinda stood over him holding the log, ready to swing at him again. Captain Markus appeared with five of his men at the edge of the woods. He must have been startled at the scene that spilled out by the water—Chris near naked, me, blood-fury in my face, wet hair streaming across my shoulders and Tom, lying chest down, blood and mucus coursing from his nose, eyes tearing, still gasping for breath. My knife at his throat.

All my attention remained on the man before me, he who had threatened Chris.

“Move, threaten us again. Anything. I beg you, sirrah.”

That night was a wonder of deceit and lying. Our stories were trotted out and evaluated, mine, Chris’s and Tom’s. Captain Markus listened to my tale of attack by Tom, to Chris’s sharp, but incomprehensible words about Tom’s testosterone problems, whatever those might be, and then to Tom’s tale of a man-hungry witch and he, a guileless innocent unable to resist her lure. Tom pointed out that this creature had attacked him by magic, and he was justly afraid for me, the dragons’ prize.

I protested, both his version of what happened and his crude attribution of me. Lucinda had come upon the situation late and only seen Tom cursing and holding a knife. She told the captain that she had never trusted him. Markus listened to all. Tom wasn’t looking much like a successful assailant. Markus watched while Tom heaved his stomach from the vile power of Chris’s magic mist. His nose was broken; there was a huge lump on the back of his head; his eyes were red, swollen and streaming tears. He was a sorry sight. But for the fact that I knew what had happened I might not have believed us either. The fine captain could not accept as true that Chris, unmarked but for a small bruise on her neck, could have unmanned Tom without sorcerous means. She handed the magic bottle to the captain, but it was now drained of power. He looked dubious as Chris explained that the ‘mace’ was used up.

Once Tom recovered sufficiently, he repeated his story of a woman who had enticed him with her scanty clothes and soft words of encouragement. He was like clay in her hands and he was ashamed of his weakness.

The other men were unsure. I knew they were fond of Chris, of her loyalty and candor, but her manner was too forward, too bold. Undeniably, she was
other
—not of us—something unknown. Her habit of appearing and disappearing unnerved even the most open-minded of them. George and Samuel started to speak up but the captain quelled them with a sharp look.

During all this Captain Markus’s face was tight and angry, as I knew mine was. “Whatever happened, it is now over. Tom, you are under orders to stay clear of the women. No matter what the provocation. Your Highness, you are to keep your ladies’ conduct,” he nodded toward Chris and Lucinda, “above reproach.” I opened my mouth to reply and thought better of it as he continued.

“I’ll have no other incident like this. This is a difficult, unpleasant job, but I will see it done. There is but one week remaining until we reach the mountain.” He stared at each of us. “My watch won’t fail because of someone’s yearning for a woman. Let there be no misunderstandings about this.”

He turned and looked deliberately at Tom, “If I find you within five feet of these women, I’ll have you whipped. If you touch one, you’ll finish this journey tied and bound.” His look pierced each of his men. “As for the rest of you, I expect you to treat these women—all of them—as you would your sister or mother or daughter.”

He turned to Lucinda and pointed to Chris, now back in her cheerily colored chemise. “Get her into appropriate clothing, and this time make sure she keeps it on!” He looked around at his men. “Do all of you have nothing to do? If so, I can offer many suggestions. Digging latrines with your fingernails comes to mind.” The men scurried away. Captain Markus stared at me for some time and I glared back. Finally, he spun on his heel. He walked to the fire where he sat for most of the evening, cleaning his sword and mending the stitching on his bridle.

I held my ground until he was gone before turning my back. I wished no further exchanges with these two men: Tom because he was a vile, evil man, and the esteemed captain because he refused to damn Tom as the villain he was.