Free The Green Dragon: A Claire-Agon Dragon Book (Dragon Series 3) by Salvador Mercer Page A

large pack to the ground, looking behind them for any sign of pursuit.
    “I still don’t understand why you didn’t leave that heavy pack of yours behind. Better to have taken food, if anything,” the female warrior said to the old man.
    The contrast between the two was interesting. The woman wore a light chainmail that covered her from neck to knee, cinched with a belt across a wide blue tunic with the yellow emblem of a large eagle. Her sword was sheathed in her belt, and her boots were made of a plush but sturdy black leather, practical for walking or combat. A dagger and a water flask stuck out from her belt, and her brown hair was balled into a knot at the back of her head, hidden beneath a light metal helmet that had no visor, just a bridge plate to protect her nose during combat and to help keep the helmet securely on her head.
    The older man wore a plain brown robe, cinched at his waist with a tattered brown belt braided to look like a small length of rope. Simple leather shoes covered his feet, the tips sticking out from the hem of his robe that covered him completely. He had a large leather brown backpack that was filled to bursting, testing the strength of its miniature leather buckles and straps. The man had nothing on his head and no weapon visible. His grey beard was closely cropped to his skin, leaving only stubble, and his grey hair was sparse and short.
    “The pack isn’t important; it’s what’s in the pack that I must preserve.” The old man bent at the waist for a moment to catch his breath, and then stood, looking northward again.
    “I can’t believe we were taken like that,” the female said, resting a hand on her hip and the other on her sword. She breathed heavily too. “You ran faster than I would have expected, despite your heavy pack.”
    The old man nodded. “Life is a powerful motivator. It helps the body to do things it didn’t know it could do, especially when facing the option of death.”
    “Death came for many this day,” the woman said, taking a moment to kneel and rest, also looking to the north. “I think we lost them back at the small creek, though I doubt it will take them long to find our trail again.”
    “You think they have trackers with them, then?”
    “I’m not sure. They may simply be satisfied with your caravan.”
    “That was the king’s caravan and the king’s goods. He’ll be upset once he learns of this,” the elderly man said.
    “I would think he would be more upset at the loss of his personal historian. That is what you do, isn’t it?” the female warrior asked.
    “It is, though he cares about all of his subjects. I am but one of many.”
    “Well, he’s about to have one less subject soon. There they are. We have little time left to us.” The female warrior pointed to the bottom of the draw where at least a half dozen of the wild barbarians were running at a quick pace up the gulley, soon to be parallel with them on the ridgeline. “How do you want to die?”
    “Preferably in my bed, after I’ve finished writing my chronicles and enjoyed a good supper, but this isn’t looking good.”
    “I can take out two of them, maybe a third if I am lucky. You will die right after I do. Do you want my dagger?” The female warrior pulled her knife from her belt and offered it to the elderly man.
    “I have one of my own, thank you. Do you think we can reach those boulders up there before they do?” The old man pointed up the ridgeline toward a pair of large boulders sitting no more than a few feet apart. Each was the size of a small house and would be impossible to climb.
    “I think so, but whatever for? They will simply flank us and attack from either end.”
    The old man picked up his pack and shouldered it again, running past the female warrior, not looking back to see if she followed or not, but he did answer. “I’ve come face to face with a dragon and survived. For some reason, time is everything. We can buy ourselves more time if we hold