to Auland and hadn’t been coerced into anything. It made him despise the man even more.
S o far there had been nothing to give him any clues on how to get the dragon out. He didn’t want to ask too many pointed questions in case Gerard started getting suspicious, so he was just as stuck as he had been when he had first joined the group. The only improvement was that the hangover was gone, although he was at the point of wishing he had some ale anyway.
He saw the others turn into the trees ahead and heaved a sigh of relief. The exertion of walking all day wasn’t a problem for him, but it was monotonous. Henry, at least, was good company. They talked horses, and when that faded he would start whistling a tune that prevented any awkward silence. Corran just had to ignore it when Henry got excited at the prospect of dragons. Hitting his new friend over the head in irritation might not go down well.
As he, Henry and the horse and cart trundled to a halt in the forest, the others were setting up camp in a semi–organised fashion. He lingered to one side as Henry unpacked supplies from the cart, running a hand through the horse’s mane. She was ageing; grey hairs dotted her muzzle, her mane was thinning and she moved stiffly. Corran felt sorry for her, pulling a cart around all day every day with this company.
The smell of food pulled him away from the horse and he patted her nose one last time before moving to sit with the others. As watery mushroom soup was passed around he wondered why no one was even attempting to hunt. He’d seen rabbits about that would at least add some substance to this. If he had his sword he could do something, but the dragon bone hilt might be a bit of a giveaway. Garth wouldn’t last on this kind of food for long though; he already looked weathered and he kept coughing. The nights sleeping on the ground couldn’t help either. It poked with sticks and rocks and was always too cold.
Corran dipped the stale bread into his soup to soften it, watching as Gerard built up the fire. It seemed to burn brighter than usual and he shuffled back.
“Where’d you learn to look after horses, Corden?” Henry asked, sprawled across the floor.
Corran shrugged. “My father had a pony for carrying the cloth reams.” His life as Corden had expanded greatly in the past few days as he’d come up with stories to answer people’s questions. The y were all far too nosy for their own good and bugged him for every detail of his fake life. How long until he gave himself away?
“Don’t keep us waiting Gerard!” Henry called across the fire, apparently content with Corran’s short answer. He lapped up the soup like it was filled with exotic spices and the tenderest meat. His bread was long gone. He hadn’t seemed to notice any of the hardships of this journey so far and Corran wished he could work out how.
Gerard settled down and took several sips from his soup before speaking. Yesterday he’d told lots of happy stories about how humans and dragons used to get on so well, fighting off invaders and working together. Corran found the whole concept laughable. He made it sound as though there’d never been any conflict. Even the best of allies disagreed sometimes, and the idea that dragons and humans had even managed that was ridiculous.
“The dragons assisted in building the Wall, not realising it would be their downfall.” Gerard didn’t have the finesse of storytelling that the minstrels at Dunslade Town did, but he made up for it with passion. Stupid, misplaced passion. “Acting as transport was a step down from battling off invaders, but they saw the value of it – they wanted to make the most of living in peace as well.”
Even though dragons were the bloodthirstiest creatures you’d ever meet. Sure, they wanted peace, Corran thought to himself, resuming his sarcastic inner monologue that was his way of coping with Gerard’s stories.
“The Wall was completed and the invaders stopped, but
S o far there had been nothing to give him any clues on how to get the dragon out. He didn’t want to ask too many pointed questions in case Gerard started getting suspicious, so he was just as stuck as he had been when he had first joined the group. The only improvement was that the hangover was gone, although he was at the point of wishing he had some ale anyway.
He saw the others turn into the trees ahead and heaved a sigh of relief. The exertion of walking all day wasn’t a problem for him, but it was monotonous. Henry, at least, was good company. They talked horses, and when that faded he would start whistling a tune that prevented any awkward silence. Corran just had to ignore it when Henry got excited at the prospect of dragons. Hitting his new friend over the head in irritation might not go down well.
As he, Henry and the horse and cart trundled to a halt in the forest, the others were setting up camp in a semi–organised fashion. He lingered to one side as Henry unpacked supplies from the cart, running a hand through the horse’s mane. She was ageing; grey hairs dotted her muzzle, her mane was thinning and she moved stiffly. Corran felt sorry for her, pulling a cart around all day every day with this company.
The smell of food pulled him away from the horse and he patted her nose one last time before moving to sit with the others. As watery mushroom soup was passed around he wondered why no one was even attempting to hunt. He’d seen rabbits about that would at least add some substance to this. If he had his sword he could do something, but the dragon bone hilt might be a bit of a giveaway. Garth wouldn’t last on this kind of food for long though; he already looked weathered and he kept coughing. The nights sleeping on the ground couldn’t help either. It poked with sticks and rocks and was always too cold.
Corran dipped the stale bread into his soup to soften it, watching as Gerard built up the fire. It seemed to burn brighter than usual and he shuffled back.
“Where’d you learn to look after horses, Corden?” Henry asked, sprawled across the floor.
Corran shrugged. “My father had a pony for carrying the cloth reams.” His life as Corden had expanded greatly in the past few days as he’d come up with stories to answer people’s questions. The y were all far too nosy for their own good and bugged him for every detail of his fake life. How long until he gave himself away?
“Don’t keep us waiting Gerard!” Henry called across the fire, apparently content with Corran’s short answer. He lapped up the soup like it was filled with exotic spices and the tenderest meat. His bread was long gone. He hadn’t seemed to notice any of the hardships of this journey so far and Corran wished he could work out how.
Gerard settled down and took several sips from his soup before speaking. Yesterday he’d told lots of happy stories about how humans and dragons used to get on so well, fighting off invaders and working together. Corran found the whole concept laughable. He made it sound as though there’d never been any conflict. Even the best of allies disagreed sometimes, and the idea that dragons and humans had even managed that was ridiculous.
“The dragons assisted in building the Wall, not realising it would be their downfall.” Gerard didn’t have the finesse of storytelling that the minstrels at Dunslade Town did, but he made up for it with passion. Stupid, misplaced passion. “Acting as transport was a step down from battling off invaders, but they saw the value of it – they wanted to make the most of living in peace as well.”
Even though dragons were the bloodthirstiest creatures you’d ever meet. Sure, they wanted peace, Corran thought to himself, resuming his sarcastic inner monologue that was his way of coping with Gerard’s stories.
“The Wall was completed and the invaders stopped, but
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