Ned didn't stop at the campsite, but kept going down the road toward the crag. Fred followed a few paces behind, fearful of angering the old castor. Ned mumbled to himself, but the boy couldn't make out any of the words. Pat and Ruth caught up to Fred, and heard the mumblings. "What's he saying?" Pat whispered to him.
Fred shrugged. "No idea, but I'm not going to ask him."
They jumped when Ned glanced over his shoulder and spoke to them. "I was saying words too dark and horrible for young people to read nor hear," he told them.
"More horrible than the dragon we just encountered? It did try to eat Fred," Pat reminded him. Fred cringed at the remembrances of those sharp fangs barreling down on him.
Ned stopped and turned to them. "The dragon had no such intention. They generally roast their meat before eating to avoid their food kicking down their throats. No, this dragon, if we must call it that, intended to snatch him up."
"And carry him off to eat him," Pat stubbornly added.
Ned calmly walked up and rapped her head with his staff. "That was no dragon, and it meant to carry him off."
Pat rubbed her head and scowled at him. "If it flies like a dragon, breathes fire like a dragon, and has awful breath like a dragon, what other thing can it be?"
"A castor very gifted in transformations," Ned replied. The youngsters' eyes widened, but the old castor plopped himself down on the nearest boulder. "Someone wished to stop Fred from coming with us, and showed no qualms about roasting anyone who stopped their intentions."
"But who cares that much about Fred?" Pat wondered. Fred scowled and Ruth patted him on the back, but Pat ignored him.
Ned pulled at his beard and his dark eyes settled on Fred. "Who indeed," he mused.
Fred furrowed his brow when he recalled Martley's wishes for him not to come on their expedition. "I might have an idea," Fred squeaked out.
The girls turned to him, and Ned leaned forward on his staff. "We're listening," Ned replied.
"Um, it might be Martley. She came to our room last night and-"
"She did what?" Pat exclaimed in a decibel high enough to shatter glass.
"She came to our room and wanted me to not come with you guys," Fred finished. "I told her I was going to go, and she didn't seem too happy about that."
Ned furrowed his brow. "Most interesting. Did she give you her reasons?"
Fred shook his head. "No, only that she was bound by a promise not to tell them."
"I knew that woman was a sneak! And I let her touch my hands!" Pat shrieked.
Ruth put her hands on Pat's shoulders. "But we're not sure it was her. Lady Martley may have just been worried about Fred," Ruth pointed out.
"Worried my foot! She wanted him to stay with her!" Pat countered. Ned held up his hand, but Pat didn't even notice. She shook off Ruth's hands, and stomped back and forth. "That woman is not a lady! She would do better as a madam in a brothel than at the side-"
"Pat?" Ned spoke up.
Pat swirled around and glared at him. "What?" she growled.
"Your jealousy is showing," he gently informed her.
Pat blushed and her fists trembled at her sides. "I-I am not!" she stuttered out.
Ned's teasing quieted Pat, and he looked to Fred. "You were telling us about the dragon's face."
Fred blinked and tapped the top of his head. "I was? Oh yeah, it didn't look right. It was stretched, like it was wearing a mask. I saw something like that before on the chambermaid, and I don't think she was a chambermaid."
Pat frowned and narrowed her eyes. "You mean that chambermaid who told us about the tunnel beneath the kitchen?" she asked him.
Fred nodded. "Yeah, that's the one. I asked her who she was and she wouldn't tell me. Just cackled and left."
Ned pulled at his beard. "Very interesting."
"What's interesting? It's obvious she's using magic to hide her appearance," Pat spoke up. "Those breasts probably aren't even real."
Ned shook his head, and gave a nod toward Fred. "What is interesting is Fred can see through the magic while even I cannot. The pay-dirt wasn't the limitations of his ability to dispel magic."
"The pay-dirt? He couldn't use it," Pat countered.
"Exactly. He couldn't believe it was real because he innately knew it wasn't real, and that was why the pay-dirt wouldn't change to gold." Ned stood and patted Fred on the shoulder; he had a wide, proud smile on his face. "You're certainly useful. I'm glad I haven't sold you for that two hundred gold pieces. At least not yet."
Fred's shoulders slumped over and his jaw jutted out. "Thanks," he replied.
Ned smiled and nodded. "Anytime."
"Fine, we know somebody, probably that woman Martley, wants Fred. We won't discuss why," Pat told them as she eyed the boys. "So what do we do about it? Do we go back and warn the king about his protege?"
Ned shook his head. "No, we ride forward with Cousin Michael and the others."
"We're to be the first line of defense should something go horribly wrong?" she guessed.
"Precisely."
The companions returned to the campsite and spoke not a word of their conversation to the others. Percy was pleased to see them, and greeted them. "I was worried about you all, but I see Father's advice not to worry was prudent."
"You must learn more patience, Percy. These fine people are able to care for themselves," Sturgeon scolded.
Percy bowed to his stoic father who sat on one of the logs around the fire. "My apologies, Father." Fred rolled his eyes. Pat's prince-charming was a daddy's-boy.
"All is well now," Ned spoke up as he seated himself on one of the logs. "And I'm curious to know how you two came to be out here. You mentioned permission from King Stephen."
Percy smiled and took a seat beside Pat around the fire. Fred grudgingly took one beside Ned. "Oh yes, that. We heard about your leaving for the grave this morning, and Father was worried you wouldn't be safe without a large escort. King Stephen wouldn't grant us any more guards, so we came alone as fast as we could. Rough terrain, isn't it?"
Pat smiled. "Yes, very rough. I wonder no one has tamed the area."
Sturgeon chuckled. "No one will come this far into the valley, not since the battle forty-five years ago. The locals believe it's haunted by the souls of the dead soldiers. Foolishness, of course, but superstitions are hard to disprove," he replied.
Fred cringed and glanced nervously around them. He wasn't generally superstitious, but he was on edge after the fright with the dragon and with a black magic castor in the group. Speaking of which, the priest was missing. Ned noticed, too, and commented on the disappearance. "Where is Cousin Michael?" he asked the lords.
Percy nodded off toward the woods. "He said he required sleep, and took his bed in that direction."
"Then the better for us," Ned piped up. He groaned and arose. "Perhaps for the only time, I will say he has the right idea and will join him. Goodnight."
Sturgeon stood up. "A good idea, we had better all turn in for the night. Tomorrow is another long journey, and the performance of the priest will no doubt be interesting."
The youngsters obeyed, and everyone slept until shortly before sunrise. Their rude awakening came from Cousin Michael and his screeching voice. "Hurry, or we will miss the sunset!" he bellowed.
The youngsters sloughed out of their beds, and even Ned glared at the priest out of one tired eye. They hurried along on their horses, fortunate they could give two to the lords after theirs had run off during the dragon fiasco, and clopped along the narrow, winding trail. Their only stop was for a quick lunch, and at mid-afternoon they made an unplanned stop when the brush and trees tapered and the ground opened up to reveal the remains of the old battlefield.
The devastation stretched from one valley wall to the other, and from where they stood to the crag fifteen miles away. Not even a weed grew among the long-undisturbed barren earth, but rocks jutted out and countless mounds rose up in uneven rows. The shimmering light Fred had seen from the mountains were the swords of the fallen soldiers. The weapons had been driven into the ground as markers for the graves, and the number of buried swords was immense. The group beheld that the far-off crag was scarred with scorch marks and blackened tree stumps.
"My god," he heard Pat whisper. Ruth clung to Pat's back, and her wide eyes showed her horror. Even the horses whinnied and pawed the ground. The guards' eyes flitted around and the banner men neglected their duty of holding the banners high and proud.
"Steady there," Ned murmured to them all. Fred tilted his head back and saw that Ned's face was tense.
"What are we dawdling for?" Cousin Michael barked out. His face was ashen and his hands tightly gripped his reins. He spurred his horse forward and the rest of the company followed.
They made straight for the crag, or as straight as the battlefield would allow them. The trail thinned and broke apart according to the whims of the graves, and the companions spread out and marched forward in an uneven line. They reached the base of the crag with thirty minutes left of daylight, and found a rough walking trail that led up to the flat platform some seventy feet above them. Atop the scrag they could see a large, worn banner with the Galaron emblem woven on its cloth.
Cousin Michael slipped off his horse and handed the reins to a guard. "The king is buried in a cave at the rear of the crag. I must perform the ceremony in view of it," he explained to them.
"Then we will accompany you to view this ceremony," Ned offered. At his direction the four companions dismounted, along with the lords and a few guards, and tramped up the trail.