Soar

Chapter 8

As much as I had enjoyed my time there, I was glad to leave Lord Arnon's city behind. We traveled for a day along the Royal Highway – a pretentious name for the old paved road favored by merchants and soldiers alike. Then we turned onto a smaller track which would take us to Bennu's winter lodgings in the forests north of Hasarmon.

Cultivated farmland and scattered towns gave way to sparse woodland and empty fields. More snow fell on the third day, slowing our progress.

"This weather may be our ally, if only in the beginning," the dragon remarked.

The caravan had stopped to make camp several hours before sunset. Nearly everyone was in a poor mood because of the delay, resulting in poor tempers which suggested I make myself scarce. I had gone without supper and sought out the dragon. Now I leaned against his shoulder and hugged myself as together we watched the snow thicken. It would be worse before it cleared.

"Yes," I replied. "And then it might kill us."

The dragon grunted, sending a cloud of steam billowing out of his nose. "I thought dying did not concern you."

"All the same, I would rather enjoy my freedom." Needing something with which to occupy my hands while I dreamed of escape, I got some mending from the wagon and rejoined the dragon to work.

"It will soon be too dark to see that," he observed as I bent over a shirt.

"I don't need to see it. I know how to mend clothes."

"In the dark?"

I lifted one shoulder. "Well enough. Besides, it is only that self-obsessed juggler's. It might do him good to suffer with a poorly-mended shirt."

Voices form the meal tent carried to us, oddly altered by the snowfall. The dragon lowered his head. "You ought to join them."

"I am not hungry." Instead of looking at him, I focused on my work. Truly it was too dark to see. I could not be certain where the hole was or if my needle was doing any good closing it.

"Do you have supplies ready?" the dragon asked.

Slowly lowering my mending, I glanced at him. "Some. Why?"

He shrugged, pushing me forward. "In case. Opportunities rarely shout a warning before they spring upon you."

"My supplies are in the wagon," I said carefully. "Do you suppose our opportunity will allow me a moment to collect them?"

"Perhaps it could be persuaded."

"When?"

He did not answer, and slowly my heart stopped pounding. I began to wonder if perhaps the dragon was still too afraid to take whatever slight chance we encountered. But then was I any better? We could have left at that moment, regardless of snow and dark, if we truly wanted to be free. No one watched us and the snow would quickly hide us from pursuers.

The weak part of me cowered from the little voice in my head which sang, Free, free, free! You are a free bird. You are not bound here.

That reminded me of the minstrel from the city.

"I almost forgot," I said as calmly as I could, pretending to work on the shirt in my hands. "I thought of a name for you."

Behind me the dragon stiffened. I saw him watching me out of the corner of his eye. "Did you?" he replied with equally practiced indifference.

I nodded and licked my lips. "I thought...Runedan."

A long silence followed my offering. The snow fell more thickly, swirling around us. The camp fires were no more than ghosts dancing in the darkness. Finally, the dragon whispered, "I have heard that name before."