The Dragon of Despair by Jane Lindskold Page A

expected before summer was fully under way.
    “We decided,” Ewen said when Derian commented, “that we would take our lead from the late prince—that’s why we kept his name for the settlement. Prince Barden didn’t come out here with just a couple of families. He came with those who could build, work wood, farm, handle animals, not just a few hunters and the like.”
    “You sound like you know a lot about his expedition,” Derian said.
    “I do after a fashion,” Ewen replied. “Come this way. There’s an old corral we’ve stopped using since we’ve built stronger. It’ll do for your beasts for tonight at least.”
    Derian recognized the pole and lashing structure he’d built the spring before. It had been mended, but would serve at least as well now as it had then.
    “My elder brother was one of Barden’s followers,” Ewen continued, helping Derian unload the mules. “He told me stories as I was begging to be taken along with him. I was sixteen, shy of my majority, but my parents were willing to let me go. I think Wythe would have taken me, too, but lung fever swept through our community that winter and I was too weak when early spring came. I meant to follow him out, but then King Tedric…”
    Ewen looked as if he were about to spit at the mention of the king’s name, but remembered himself in time.
    “King Tedric made his proclamation disowning his own son and by association those who followed him. My parents would have nothing of my going then, and though I still thought of going, the same lung fever that had laid me low weakened my father. I didn’t have the heart to leave my sisters alone to run the mill.”
    Miller, Derian thought. I remember a Miller or so among the list that Lord Aksel made up for me. That must be Ewen’s brother and maybe his family. I wonder why Ewen isn’t using that name? He’s clearly had the training. I wonder if his family wanted nothing to do with this expedition either?
    He put the thought aside for now. As if Ewen’s leading Derian into the settlement proper had been a signal, people—mostly adults, though there were a few half-grown children among them—were filtering out of the houses and tents that clustered around the central square. Most watched silently, and Ewen didn’t make introductions.
    For the first time, Derian noticed that one edge of that square was a log-walled longhouse, sturdy and solid. It was large enough to serve as a stable at night, if the settlers didn’t own too much livestock.
    Sounds of babies wailing and small children fussing came from inside the longhouse.
    That must be their fortress as well as stable, Derian thought. Defensible in a pinch, especially against wild animals. They must not have thought me much of a threat, but figured to tuck the littler children away, just in case.
    By the time Derian’s pack train was unloaded and he’d shown Ewen enough to reassure the man that he’d told the truth about the reason for his coming to Bardenville, Derian and Firekeeper were escorted to Ewen’s own house.
    They carried with them Derian’s personal kit, his bedding, and, wrapped inside this, the small offerings with which Derian had been entrusted by the Kestrels, Holly Gardener, and the royal family. None of these were large and, as was the custom, sentiment was valued over costly materials, but still Derian thought it best to be careful.
    Ewen Brooks’s house was a log cabin like all the other buildings in the settlement, though larger than most. The one large central room and a sleeping loft above could have held a fair number of people in a pinch. Looking about, Derian guessed that Ewen’s house must have been the first built and that it still sheltered more than his immediate family.
    The floor was only packed dirt and the windows lacked even oiled cloth to cover them, just horizonal shutters made from boards and hinged with leather. These shutters, however, were sturdily functional and would, even when open, prevent all