Dragon Clan #7: Shell’s Story

CHAPTER SEVEN

The simple action of reaching behind to touch his back, as a dragon appeared, told Shell all he needed to know, and it answered a hundred questions. Quester was Dragon Clan. No doubt about it. He was trying to hide his secret from Shell, just as Shell hid his.

That’s why he kept moving this way for two years. That’s why he agreed with me to find the dragons. Now that he knew about Quester, how should he proceed? Shell and his entire family believed they lived the farthest away from other families. None of the Dragon Clan messengers ever mentioned traveling farther west to pass on information about Breslau. They had always indicated they would return to their homes after visiting the grasslands. That led Shell to believe they didn’t know about a family further away.

It also said Quester was family, somehow related, and with the same powers. That hinted that there were more Dragon Clan to the east and that direction might be a haven if the Breslau invasion was successful.

That idea brought up other questions, but before Shell could get his thoughts in order, Quester turned and motioned to a small clearing. Lush green grass covered the ground, sprinkled with white clover. A small stream flowed along the near side, and a doe and spike buck grazed on the far side. The view behind would take his breath away at another time.

The hills they’d climbed were spread below where they stood, and beyond a sea of brown as far as he could see. Closer, the colors were shades of green fading to green-brown, and finally to golden brown. His home was out there, somewhere, but he had no way to tell where. The rivers and streams down there were hidden by the rolling landscape.

Quester already knelt at the edge of the stream and scooped clear water into his hand to drink; then he washed his hands and face before turning to Shell. “Out there,” his thumb indicated the grasslands, “I didn’t get to wash often. Here the water is cold and clear, but down there it was warm and usually colored with mud. It tasted of mud and green things, too.”

When Shell didn’t immediately answer, Quester stood and said seriously, “We should talk.”

Shell realized he was about to hear the same speech about why they needed to split up that he had been prepared to give. No hard feelings, but . . . In other circumstances, it might have been funny, but he didn’t want to give Quester the impression that he was laughing at him, however, keeping a grin off his face was impossible.

Shell said, “Let me go, first.”

Quester shook his head and butted forward, “I’m sorry, but we are going to have to go on our separate ways. I can’t explain all the reasons, but I think you’re a good man, and you’ll do well.”

Shell’s small grin turned to a smile. The confused expression on Quester’s face provided a way to have fun and play a joke while revealing himself as Dragon Clan. “You say the water is cold and feels good?”

“Yes, but listen. We have to talk, I said.”

“Sure, but even though that stream is shallow, I think I’ll try to wash up a little.” He was facing Quester and let his staff fall from his fingers. The unused bow was next, followed by the quiver, backpack and finally his shirt.

Quester’s anger showed. Shell wouldn’t listen to him, talking without listening. Quester’s face had reddened as he tried to explain. As he appeared ready to shout, Shell turned his bare back to Quester.

“W-what?”

Shell turned his head, while keeping his back exposed, and gave his innocent expression, the same one he used when he’d used to filch cookies from his mother’s kitchen and pretend he hadn’t.

“You’re Dragon Clan?” Quester shouted.

“I think you’re supposed to show me your mark as a sign of respect after I show you mine,” Shell said, splashing cold water on his chest, and quickly deciding he wouldn’t be getting into the icy water after all. When he turned to see why Quester hadn’t replied, his friend had turned his back to him and held up his shirt to display a fierce dragon on his back.

Quester said in a hoarse voice, “How did you know?”

“When the dragon flew nearby. My back told me a dragon was near, you touched your back with your hand, just like I did. Oh, there were enough other clues, now that I think about it, but I missed them all.”

Sitting in the grass, Quester brought his knees up and placed his head in his hands. He was not crying, but clearly emotional. When he finally looked up, he said, “I was so scared.”

“About what?”

“I’ve been alone for so long, and I thought I was going to have to leave you, my first friend in so long. For over two years I’ve been trying to get to the Bear Mountain I’d heard about. Then I stumbled across you, and you were going there, too.”

Shell smiled, “Didn’t that alert you?”

“It should have, but you’re such a poor hunter and tracker that I assumed you were not Dragon Clan.”

“I use a staff. Didn’t that give you an indication?”

“I’ve never heard of a staff used as a weapon. In fact, I never even heard of one,” Quester said. “Is it significant?”

“Yes. It’s a weapon the king cannot ban because it is a stick. But it’s traditionally Dragon Clan. And I have never heard of Dragon Clan living in the east. All the Families are to the west of us, the Raging Mountain Clan, the Drylands Clan, and the others. I thought I knew about all our Families. I never considered you might be one of us since you came from the east.”

An odd expression had grown on Quester’s face as Shell spoke. He summed his confusion up in two words. “Other families?”

Stunned, Shell tried to organize his thoughts. He burst forth by asking, “The other Families of the Dragon Clan. You’ve never heard of them?”

“No.”

“Breslau?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Shell sat beside Quester and said, “Let’s turn this around. Tell me about your family and all you know about dragons.”

“Everything? Okay, we lived peacefully at the edge of the grasslands that we call the Green Hills. Beyond those are the Blue Mountains, but I’ve never been there. There were about a hundred of us I think when the King’s men attacked and killed nearly everyone.”

“King Ember?”

“No, King Reynard the Younger. I’ve never heard of King Ember.”

“What about other Families to the east? Are there more Dragon Clan?”

“Yes, but I don’t know where. We have to hide and pretend to be regular people.”

Shell began to realize the magnitude of what Quester was telling him. But Shell was only a shepherd. He was not qualified to make decisions or dictate policy to others. Hell, he was barely qualified to select which goat to slaughter and cook. Should Dragon Clan families send people east to live and find others? That might ensure survival if Breslau continued their invasion. Or, should they send messengers and ask for help from the other Dragon Clan families in defeating Breslau?

Dozens of other questions flooded his mind, all questions far beyond what a simple shepherd could answer. But what he did understand was that the young man sitting beside him held important information for his family, and possibly for the survival of them all.

Shell’s first question he needed answered, was also a problem. Should he immediately take Quester to his mother, the council leader of the Grasslands Family? Let her decide what to do? No, he was a small branch of the larger Family, and they lived at the edge of known civilization. Taking Quester to a larger branch that had more communication with the other Families of the Clan made more sense.

Besides, that suited his plan better. And probably those of Quester, too.

Shell said, “I think we’re safe here. Before we go any further, I have to explain some things.”

“You can talk as we walk. You’ve done that for two days, already.”

The laughter came easily. But Shell remained seated as he said, “No, this is too important, and I think you’re going to want to hear it face to face.”

The look Quester wore indicated he didn’t like the answer and intended to argue. Shell didn’t know all he intended to tell, but as his mind churned through the mass of information he decided Quester didn’t know, the mental touch of the wolf a few hundred steps away warned him that he wouldn’t share all. But he needed Quester’s full attention, and Quester needed to know how important it was that they talk.

Shell drew in a breath and just before Quester spoke, he said, “We’re all in danger. An enemy is invading our lands.”

“Your King’s lands,” Quester said. “Do you really care?”

“They have their dragons that kill ours.”

Quester sat erect and clamped his mouth closed. He nodded for Shell to continue.

The words tumbled from him. He told of the messenger network, the interrupted invasion, King Ember’s failed attack on Castle Warrington, and all he remembered of the Dragon Clan. He told Quester of the journeys of Camilla, Dancer, and the others. He repeated all he could of Raymer’s bonding with a dragon, and Anna’s venture to gather Dragon Clan to travel to Breslau.

He talked until almost dark when they paused long enough to gather firewood. They sat and chewed on cold venison strips as Quester asked questions and Shell did his best to answer. Eventually, the questions came slower, and Shell tired of talking and needed rest, Quester, sat watching the small fire and thinking.

Quester said, “In my family, there is a saying about the soldiers in the King’s Army building large bonfires and how they sit well away from them at night. The Dragon Clan builds small fires and sits close.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m not sure, but I remember that story from before they killed my people. I think it means you can be just as warm with a small fire if you sit closer. It’s unnecessary to build a large fire some of the time. My family did not desire to rule the world or build great structures. I think it is about a way of life.”

Shell waited, then when nothing further came, he asked, “You have a point?”

“Well, yes. A few days ago, I didn’t have a family. Today you revealed, we are related, and that I have hundreds or even thousands of family members. People who believe like me. People who build small fires. Then, you tell me they are attacked by a king and invaders from across the sea.”

“I understand you, so far.”

“I want to help with the fight. I want to travel with you to Breslau.”

Shell’s eyes closed as if shutting Quester out. He said, “I can’t let you do that.”

Quester stood. “You can’t stop me from doing what I want.”

“Wait, that came out all wrong. I didn’t make myself clear,” Shell said, “We’ll go together, that is part of why I’m here. But first, I must take you to the Bear Mountain Family. You’ll share what you know. That will help all of us much more than having one more fighter for a few days. After you tell your story, we can continue to Breslau.”

“Why is it so important? What can the people of Bear Mountain do that’s so important?”

“Messengers. The council will listen, and then they send out two or three messengers to other Families, and those Families will send out their messengers to repeat the information until all know the story about more of our people living in the east. I expect messengers will also be dispatched to locate the Dragon Clan to the east to tell them about us. We have to pull together before the Dragon Masters of Breslau invade our land, kill us and our dragons because they will then move on to your lands.”

“You can’t know they will do that.”

“And you can’t know they won’t.”

Quester’s shoulders slumped. “Alright. We’ll do what you say, but after Bear Mountain, I will go to Breslau even if I do it alone.”

“Agreed.” Shell thought about putting his hand out to shake but was too tired. He closed his eyes for the final time until morning.

Before the sun tinged the grasslands pink again, he woke with a start. Danger. The single word filled his mind. He sat up, throwing the covers back violently.

Quester lay beside him, still asleep. Shell’s mind was still foggy from sleep, but deep in his mind the word resonated and repeated, like a long continuous growl. Ddaannggeerrrr. It was the voice of the wolf.

He shook Quester’s shoulder. “Wake up.”

Quester sat up, his hand reaching for his knife. What is it?”

“Danger,” Shell said no more, but he gathered his belongings and soon stood with his pack on his back, his bow over his shoulder. Then he kicked the coals aside and used his foot to cover the ashes with dirt.

Quester had his things ready, too. He hissed, “What is it?”

The wolf was slowly coming closer, from the direction they intended to travel as if following or stalking something. Shell pointed to the trees downhill. “That way.”

Without another word, Quester took the lead.

Shell said, “No, you follow. You’re better at this than me. Make sure we leave no trace to follow.”

A wary expression and slight hesitation told of Quester’s confusion, but he obeyed. Shell moved quickly down the hillside and up another, using a game trail most of the way. He kept the location of the wolf foremost in his mind, and as they reached the top of that hill, he pulled to a stop where they could see their old campsite.

The wolf was now in an almost direct line past the campsite, although he couldn’t see it in the growing light of dawn. However, Quester’s hand reached out and gripped his wrist, his eyes locked on a dark shadow moving along their intended path. It was a man. No, there were two. Three.

Three people spread out and moved quietly in the early dawn. They crept from shadow to shadow, as if knowing exactly where the camp was located and what they would find there. About a hundred steps from the camp, all three paused at a signal from the one in the center.

Quester’s grip tightened. Shell had forgotten he still held him. But he didn’t object. He watched them creep closer, and as the first light appeared, he saw their hands held in the positions they would if they held weapons, probably spears. If the sun rose higher, he had no doubt he’d see the sparkle of sunlight on iron.

They moved in unison, side by side, closer and closer to the campsite. Then, as one, they rushed ahead. All three reached the dead fire and stood in confusion, obviously talking. They spread out again in the increasing light, searching for tracks. It didn’t take long to find them.

One looked to where the trucks traveled, and his gaze searched the hillside where Shell and Quester stood. Shell felt naked and exposed, but Quester hissed, “Stay still. He can’t see us unless we move.”

“I think those are the highwaymen from the river.”

“They should have let you pass when they had the chance. Look what they brought on themselves,” Quester said. He slipped his bow from his shoulder and strung it.

Shell glanced around and found there were several places to hide in ambush. When the three reached them, and he had no doubt they would, he and Quester could each fire an arrow from so close they wouldn’t miss, then take on the third man. Quester would probably take down two of them with his archery skills.

As he was planning, a flurry of motion at the campsite caught his attention. A brown blur appeared from the brush, raced at the three men, and disappeared into the forest as quickly as it appeared. As fast as that, two of the men were on the ground screaming in pain while the only one standing held a knife and spear in front of himself to defend from another attack.

“What happened?” Shell asked softly, his voice emerging as a croak.

“You tell me,” Quester said.

“Something attacked them. Lucky for us, we left.”

Quester still watched the campsite, but when he turned to look at Shell, he said, “Yes, we were lucky to wake up from a sound sleep and know silent enemies were getting near. Very lucky, if you ask me.”

Shell said, “I think I must have heard them out there and it woke me.”

Quester turned and started walking again. “Yes, I’m sure that’s what happened.”