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(Page 2 of 8) The Mark of the Dragon (Ch1) by Craig Daniels It was a dragon with spread wings and had tiny ruby's for eyes. It wasn't decorational though; the wings were made from heavy steel and could hold together any weight cloak.
The gypsy saw the mark and lowered the crossbow but did not put it away. His original challenging stare had been replaced with one of guarded thoughtfulness. The gypsy seemed to carefully choose his words, "There was a time when the sign of the Dragon meant honor in these lands. I haven't seen such a mark in some time." It had been a long time indeed since he had last seen a member of the Dragonati. The King did not honor many with the mark, even less so in recent years.
"I have ridden up plainly and shown no aggression. You have 2 other men guarding each side of the caravan, and an additional man roving beyond the perimeter of the camp, all with drawn crossbows. Knowing that, had I meant harm, would I have approached as I did?" Dhaen said the last with hands open and palms up. The gypsy's eyes narrowed at the listing of his caravans defensive measures laid bare, but Dhaen's words rang true. Those that meant harm rarely approached from the front. "You may sup with us, but you will be watched." As an afterthought, "I am called Burak." The crossbow finally lowered and Burak made two discreet signals to each side of the encampment.
"I am called Dhaen, and the Dragon can only be given, not taken." Dhaen held Burak's gaze fora moment before dismounting and followed Burak past the wagons deeper into the camp. The clamor that he had heard from the ridge was amplified tenfold but it was comforting. It had been at least 4 days since the last town he was in, and the everyday sounds of humanity was a welcome change. He hid a smile when he noticed a tumultuous band of children starting to follow him and his horse. As a young boy he had done much the same thing whenever a noble rode through his village. Burak showed Dhaen where to tether his horse and led him to the campfire. He left his unstrug bow laid across the saddle of his horse but kept his sword, transferring it to his hip as he moved to sit by the fire. A log had been moved parallel to the fire close enough to eliminate the chill night air. A warm bowl of stew and a heel of bread was put in his hands as he sat down.
He began to eat but turned his senses outward, somethign he had honed during his long hours on the road alone. Burak had gone over to another member of the camp, an elder by the look of his white hair and ceremonial necklaces adorning his neck. They spoke in low tones while Burak subtly motioned in Dhaen's direction and described with his fingers what could only have been th dragon clasp that he wore. After a minute the conversation ended and Burak left, presumably to go back to guard duty, but the elder continued to silently observe him from his perch a few wagons away. Bythis time, the children had given up watching and were back to playing their games on the other side of camp. Two young girls spoke in hushed tones near the edge of another wagon, their focus also seemed to be on Dhaen even though they didn't do anything as obvious as motioning towards him.
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(6 ratings)