Dragon and Herdsman

Jack stopped, his eyes unexpectedly filling with tears. "There were a lot of other songs," he said. "That's the only one I really remember."

"It's beautiful," Draycos said quietly. "Tell me, what is drue?"

"I asked Uncle Virgil once, and he said it was a valuable mineral," Jack said. "I've never been able to find it in any dictionary, though. It must have been the local slang name for something."

"Yes, I remember you telling me your parents had been miners," Draycos said. "Odd, though. The tone of that song seemed more noble and dignified than I would expect from miners. It is certainly unlike anything I have heard from K'da and Shontine miners."

"Maybe it's from one of the nonhuman races," Jack said. "There are a couple out there who get lofty and dignified about pretty much everything. No sense of humor at all."

"Perhaps," Draycos said. "At any rate, thank you for sharing it with me. I will ponder its meaning. Perhaps I will even try to translate it into my language."

"Whatever you want," Jack said. "Me, I think I'll just have a ration bar and get some sleep."

"Of course," Draycos said. His head rose briefly from Jack's shoulder, and then with a surge of weight he leaped out of the boy's shirt. "While you do, I will make a perimeter check."

"Okay," Jack said, fastening his shirt all the way up. It wouldn't do for Alison to notice that his full-body dragon tattoo had suddenly disappeared. "Watch yourself."

"I will." Silently, Draycos moved off into the growing gloom.

With a sigh, Jack headed back to where Alison had settled the Erassvas and Phookas. Bringing up that old poem had stirred up feelings of pain and loss and loneliness that he'd thought he'd buried long ago.

But at least he'd accomplished the goal he'd set for himself tonight. He'd given Draycos something to think about besides whether or not he was doing an adequate job of protecting his host. There was enough danger and trouble out here without the dragon having to deal with those kinds of doubts.

It had been easy. But then, distracting people with words or thoughts or ideas was what Jack had always been best at.

It was, after all, what being a con man was all about.

Frost's men again made no trouble during the night, and after the usual morning ritual they were off.

Once again Jack found himself settling easily into his role as herdsman. By now he could almost anticipate how each of the various Phookas would behave, and several times that morning was able to head off one of the strays almost before he got going.

It was working in the other direction, too. Not only were the Phookas becoming accustomed to his presence, but they also seemed to be learning to recognize his voice. He found himself talking to them as the troop traveled, and not just to give them orders or warnings. While it was clear they didn't really understand his words, they did seem to pick up on his tone of voice and respond accordingly.

It brought to mind one of the sayings Uncle Virgil had often quoted to him: My sheep hear my voice, and they follow me.

What the saying actually meant Jack didn't really know. Uncle Virgil had used it to illustrate that if he and Jack could con the leader of some group, the rest of his people would usually follow blindly along with him.

Still, somehow it seemed to apply here as well. Perhaps even more accurately.

They continued on, making their way steadily toward the distant river. If Alison was right, they would be at or even past the halfway point by nightfall. If the Essenay had survived, they might pull this off yet.

It was just after noon when the whole thing suddenly fell apart.

"There," Alison said, pointing down a low ridge toward a wide patch of yellow-orange plants. "See all that orange stuff?"

"I see it," Jack said. "And?"

"And I think we'd better give it a wide berth," Alison said. "The last time we passed plants that color they were surrounded by some very large and very nasty-looking insects."

Jack pursed his lips. He couldn't remember even seeing any such plants before, let alone any insects around them. But then, he'd probably been chasing down a Phooka at the time. "Did you ask Hren about them?"

"He thinks they're pretty," she said. "About the insects, he has no clue. I get the feeling his expertise ends about a quarter mile in from the edge of the forest. But I sure didn't like the look of the bugs."

"Then let's go with that," Jack agreed, casually opening the front of his shirt a little. Beneath his clothing, he felt Draycos shift around to get a better look. "You want to veer east, or west?"

"East, I think," she said. "The terrain looks a little easier that direction."

"Fine by me," Jack said. Up to now Alison had proved herself a competent leader, and he saw no reason to start questioning her instincts. "We'll get Greenie—"

And then, from behind them came a terrified scream.

"Hren!" Jack shouted, spinning around and fumbling for his rangier.