The Dragon' Son (24 page)

Keegan woke with a start to find that several hours had passed, and it was nearly dark outside. His heart raced, and he was sweating, though he did not understand why.

Walneff, stooping over a cooking fire, looked at Keegan. “Feeling better?” he asked.

Keegan blinked his eyes, trying to piece together the fragments of the dream that he was already beginning to forget. “All in due time…” he whispered, the haunting words echoing in his mind. But the rest of the dream was fading. “All in due time.”

Chapter 13: A Runaway

A crackle of thunder in the distance broke the steady, rhythmic sound of the falling rain surrounding Keegan. He glanced at the road from the depths of his cloak’s hood. Then he shook the water droplets from his cloak and shifted his position on Ardor’s back.

Ardor sighed but continued to plod down the muddy road. Keegan had draped a blanket over his neck to keep his mane dry, but the blanket was becoming soaked with water, and the road was becoming increasingly more difficult to travel, tiring the golden steed. A stiff, wheezing cough made Keegan cringe and look back at the two other horses that followed in Ardor’s steps. Walneff, wrapped snuggly in his own cloak, rode on his sturdy dapple-gray gelding while leading Saul’s exhausted mare.

Saul slumped over his mare, his head resting on a blanket that was draped over the mare’s brown neck. His arms were tucked up under two blankets and a cloak protected him from the moisture. Still, it hardly seemed enough. The wet conditions were causing his health to deteriorate, and it was slowing their progress to Elinralis. They were headed there to find a dry place to sleep and, hopefully, would also find a fully equipped healer.

Keegan grimaced and turned back to face the road. He wished they could travel faster and harder, but they were pushing the horses as hard as they dared. Three days of traveling in the constant rain was telling on the poor creatures and damaging Saul. Keegan shifted and stretched his throbbing leg, which was doing better and healing quickly--so quickly, in fact, that Walneff was impressed by its progress.

Walneff urged his horse forward and pulled it up next to Ardor, leading the mare along with him. “Elinralis is not far off. Perhaps a half day away,” he said from deep inside his hood.

Keegan nodded in agreement and looked at Saul’s slumped form. “Can we make it in a half day?” he asked.

Walneff seemed to think for a moment before replying, “It depends.”

“Depends on what?” Keegan asked.

Walneff sighed. “What do you think it depends on, Keegan?” he asked.

Keegan grimaced as Walneff’s question reminded him that he should have thought before he spoke. “It depends on the rain,” he answered.

“Yes. And why?” Walneff asked.

Keegan sighed, “If it continues to rain, we will be forced to slow our pace even more.”

“Our pace may even be halted all together,” Walneff added.

They both rode in silence for some time until Walneff stretched and groaned. “Oh, what I would give right now for a nice hot cup of tea to sooth my aching bones,” he mumbled.

Keegan raised his head and peered through the rain at the surrounding landscape. “Should we stop and rest under one of the nearby trees?” he asked.

Although the trees had become fewer in number, the average size of the individual tree had increased. This ensured that if there was one around, then you could not possibly miss it.

“No, we must not stop,” Walneff replied. “Stopping for rest will not help Saul. We must push on.”

Saul coughed again weakly, drawing Keegan’s attention back to his slumped form. “Keegan,” Saul called quietly in a hoarse voice, raising his head slightly from its resting place on the mare’s neck.

Keegan pulled up on Ardor and moved next to Saul’s mare. He leaned down, positioning himself as close to Saul as possible. “I’m here. Do you need something?” Keegan asked in a soft tone.

Saul’s face was white, and his eyes were gray, but he gave a weak smile. “No. I just want to let you know that I’m okay.” Then his smile waned, and his head drooped back down onto the mare’s neck. “I’ll be all right. Don’t worry,” he finished, his voice fading away into another weak cough.

The pain in Saul’s face took Keegan’s mind away to a gruesome memory of his father holding the broken body of a friend in a field. The man was covered in blood, and his face was white as snow. Fear and pain showed in the man’s eyes--in Jarden’s eyes, Saul’s father. The screams of pain and terror rang loudly in Keegan’s ears as the horrible memory turned to the flames of the burning village that he had once called home. A roar preceded the massive wolf-beast as it sailed through the air and knocked Keegan’s father off his steed, leaving the strong man dazed and vulnerable.

Keegan felt a twinge of pain run up and down his spine as the flashback of his father’s death played all over again: the man with the scar across his face plunged his blade forward into the abdomen of Keegan’s father, staining Barden’s shirt in crimson. Keegan moaned and slumped over on Ardor as his eyes were covered in darkness and pain and guilt tore at his heart. He heard Ardor whinny in concern, but it sounded so far away.

“Keegan! Keegan!” Walneff called, but his voice also sounded distant.

Ardor shrieked and began to lope, kicking up his back feet as he did so. Keegan’s flashback changed to the moment when he charged an enemy horse so his brother, Braidden, could escape.

“Flee, Braidden!” Keegan yelled. He once again felt the pain in his arm and back where the horse’s hooves had left their mark so long ago. Ardor screamed and tossed his head from side to side as he began to buck, throwing his back feet into the air and pounding the ground with his hooves. Keegan slipped sideways on Ardor then hit the ground in a roll, halting in a mud puddle face up, staring up at the gray, weeping sky and letting the cool rain sprinkle his face. “It was my fault,” he shuddered, “all my fault.”

Ardor stepped up next to Keegan and nudged him with his soft golden nose in a concerned way as the other two horses came to a halt nearby.

Walneff dismounted, his boots landing in the mud with a
splat.
He hobbled over and knelt down beside Keegan. “Are you alive or dead?” he asked in a quiet voice.

Keegan slowly turned his head and looked at Walneff, not knowing how to react or what to say, still trying to perceive what was real and what was memory.

“Ah. Still alive I see,” Walneff huffed. “Well, now, you can’t have the luxury of lying in a mud puddle all day. Up you go,” he said, placing a supporting hand on Keegan’s arm.

Keegan slowly sat up, his muscles aching as a result of his fall. He grabbed at the phantom pain in his arm, caused so long ago by the enemy’s horse.

Walneff snorted, “Could your horse not find a more preferable place to deposit you? You are filthy.” He wiped some mud from Keegan’s cloak and showed him. “You are soaked through. No doubt you’ll get as ill as Saul now.” He pushed himself to a standing position and offered his hand to Keegan. “Come on now. Get your bum out of the mud.”

Keegan stared at Walneff for a moment then clasped the old man’s firm hand and stood to his feet. “You’re in good spirits,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Not so! I am the same as I always was. However, your miserable state has provided me the opportunity to be less miserable,” Walneff looked Keegan up and down, hardly appearing amused.

Keegan stared at Walneff for a moment then unclasped his cloak and pulled it off his shoulders and said, “Well, the rain is letting up and I have a dry shirt in my bag, so I won’t be miserable for long.”

“Your sore muscles will disagree, no doubt, and if the rain continues to fall, you will be more miserable later than you are now,” Walneff shook his head with a sigh. “Fetch your dry shirt but give me your filthy cloak,” he commanded as he held out his hand.

Keegan reluctantly gave Walneff his cloak then turned to Ardor. He stroked Ardor’s face, readjusted the blanket on his mane, then stiffly moved to the saddlebags where he located and pulled out a fresh shirt. He stripped off his vest and his wet shirt then slipped on the dry shirt, glad for the warmth it provided.

Walneff draped Keegan’s cloak over the saddle of his gelding and, muttering under his breath, he began to dig into one of his saddle bags until he finally pulled out a folded wad of green cloth. He shuffled over to Keegan and held out his arms. “You may wear this until your cloak is clean and dry,” he said, gently unfolding the cloth, revealing it to be a very fine cloak.

Keegan paused and stared at the cloak for a moment. It was a rich forest green and of a very fine weave with braided gold trim along the edges and a golden star clasp at the throat. It was a cloak fit for royalty. “This is too fine Walneff; I can’t wear it,” Keegan said as he shook his head.

Walneff huffed, “Nonsense! Of course you can wear it. It is not fine enough to help prevent you from catching a cold,” and with that, he wadded up the cloak and threw it in Keegan’s face.

Keegan caught the cloak in his hands and caressed the soft, fine cloth. “Where did you come by such a rich thing?” he asked, noting how Walneff’s current clothes and cloak were on the verge of appearing to be peasant rags.

Walneff waggled a finger and turned away, hobbling back to his horse. “It was a gift. But why do you ask?” he said then paused next to his horse and looked back at Keegan. “Afraid I stole it?”

Keegan shook his head as he slipped the cloak over his shoulders and latched the clasp at his throat. “No. It just seems out of place with you. I would have expected it to be as worn as your other garments,” he explained, nodding his head at the old cloak draped over Walneff’s shoulders. “You seem to be the sort of person who uses what he has until he can use it no more, and if it is useless, he does not use it at all.”

“An excellent observation! Well done,” Walneff chuckled. He quickly mounted his horse and looked at Keegan with a glimmer in his eye. “However, a good cloak is never useless, and a fine gift is greatly prized.”

Keegan nodded in agreement, “Of course.”

Walneff chuckled again, “You have a good head on your shoulders Keegan, if you would just use it.”

Keegan tied his wet shirt and vest onto his saddlebags, and then he carefully mounted Ardor, cringing as his leg throbbed and the rest of his muscles protested the movement. Walneff moved his gelding up next to Ardor, and the three of them began to move, once again, down the muddy road.

“How often do you have these flashbacks, Keegan?” Walneff suddenly asked in a very solemn tone of voice.

Keegan looked at Walneff and stared at the hooded, old man for a moment. “I don’t know. Occasionally,” he said as he turned his face away and pulled the green hood over his head.

“Occasionally? I see,” Walneff replied. “And are they always this…difficult?” the old man’s words were slow and deliberate.

Keegan shrugged and rolled his shoulders. “I…I don’t know. Why does it matter? It happens when it happens, and that is just the way it is,” he replied defensively.

“Ah. I see,” Walneff said again. “And have you always believed that what happened was your fault?”

Keegan paused slightly, trying to withhold a shiver at the memories, and the horrid feelings associated with them. “Yes…and no,” he replied quietly. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Walneff grunted but remained silent. Keegan could feel the old man studying him intently, making the silence almost unbearable. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable, and with a strange feeling that Walneff could see into his mind and soul.

Keegan turned his mind from his discomfort and began to brood on his hate. He recalled the face of the scarred man, and he began to memorize every feature of it as he had done for the past thirteen years. He carefully thought through a painful and slow death for the scarred man, imagining how he would enjoy the screams and pleas of mercy from the coward.

The wolf-beast that had knocked Barden from his horse was not forgotten either. Keegan also wanted it to die slowly, and he planned to garb himself in its hide when he had killed it. Every dark thought of abuse and torture for the scarred man and the wolf-beast passed through Keegan’s mind, and he mulled over each thought carefully, caressing it and entertaining it for as long as he could.

When Keegan finally emerged from his dark brooding, the rain had stopped, and the clouds overhead were beginning to break up, revealing tiny bits of blue sky and allowing small streams of sunshine to streak across the rolling green land. A group of small, arguing birds zipped over Keegan and Walneff’s heads and landed in a large tree nearby where they flitted and jumped on the branches, causing glittering rain droplets to cascade from the leaves to the ground. Walneff let out a long sigh, gripping Keegan’s attention and bringing him back to reality.

“How far do you think we are from Elinralis?” Keegan asked, glancing back at Saul’s slumbering form.

“Not far. The day is beginning to come to a close, but we have traveled far,” Walneff replied. “I think we will make it tonight.”

Keegan pulled the hood from his head, letting the cool air brush through his hair. “Good,” he said, straightening his shoulders and stretching his legs, glad to know that they would soon be able to rest.

“Keegan, ride on ahead and prepare a place for us to stay,” Walneff said.