Seven days after he had fled the castle, Dax leaned on his walking sticks atop a wooded bluff overlooking the Merrywell, and looked down at his aunt and uncle's farm beyond. A grey heron fished in the shallows at a bend in the stream below. A hawk turned lazy circles above the horse pastures. It was mid afternoon, and his stomach rumbled at the thought of sitting down at his aunt and uncle's table this evening with his cousins beside him to have a real meal. His first impulse was to dash down the hill to the bridge on the road below, but he hesitated. After traveling for days, caution had become a habit. Something did not feel right, so he found a sheltered spot to set, and he watched.

The house, large and sturdy, had been constructed of rough hewn timbers, darkened with pitch, and carefully laid river rock. The wood and stone kept the house snug in all weather. He remembered the exact layout inside which triggered memories of playing with his cousins around the great room's warm hearth the winter before last. Trainers, grooms, and other help lived in a large wing on the rear of the main house. Farther back from the road stood three large horse barns. They were the largest of the out-buildings, and their heavy log walls, like the house, were chinked against the weather. The large privy had been protected from the weather too, but other buildings including a large hay drying barn offered protection from the wind and rain, but little else.

As he studied the scene, he remembered more about the farm, and he noticed other details. Finally he realized what had bothered him from the first. No horses. The farm had many fenced pastures around the three horse barns. Every time Dax had visited in the past there had been any number of horses grazing, colts frolicking, and trainers working. Now there was nothing. All was still.

Suddenly, realization slammed into him, and he could scarcely breath. The guardsmen on the road had been taking horses back to Tazzelton. He had been monumentally stupid—again! With Dax gone, his Aunt Lorina Tremayne, his father's sister, was in line for the throne, and his cousins next. How could he have over looked the idea that Mathilde's plot to seize the throne would include eliminating other direct lines to the Ambegriff throne? After a pulse of recrimination, he forced himself to stop thinking about his mistakes and to start thinking about his own situation.

The farm appeared deserted, but was it?  Suspicious, he tried imagine what the plotters had done. Mathilde wanted to eliminate immediate claims to the throne, but could she also have thought Dax would head for the farm after he disappeared from the castle? If so, that meant the Guard detachment would have left a few Guardsmen behind at the farm in case he showed up.

Dax found a more comfortable hidden spot where he could watch the farm while he thought. Where could he go now? From his days on the road so far, he knew food and shelter were his biggest immediate concerns. He was a boy who had been raised in a castle. While he had enjoyed hunting trips with his father and Herne, they had not prepared him to survive on his own. It would not be easy. Maybe it would be impossible since he had not yet any success catching or killing any wild game with his crude bow. Besides, in the wilderness survival would be a full time job. He recognized the now familiar swell of fiery, angry determination. He had to fight back. He had to do something besides just survive. Could he do anything to make things difficult for the plotters?

He shifted position so he could look past the opposite side of the tree he had hidden behind to look at the north pastures. The only thing he could think of was to head back to Tazzelton. The Castle was the heart of the plot and the center of danger. But perhaps, surrounded by people in the city, he might find it easier to escape notice than if he stayed in the sparsely populated countryside. Could he become just another of the young toughs common on the streets? How tough would he have to be? The answer was easy. He would be as tough has he needed to be. He would think about a plan on his way back.

As he thought, he realized if he planned to return to the city, he needed to get down to his aunt and uncle's farm. First he wanted to know if the Guard held his aunt and uncle and their family prisoner at the farm, or if they had been taken back to the castle with the horses. But then another thought chilled his heart. Could Mathilde have ordered the whole family killed on the spot? Suddenly he had a horrible idea what the Guardsmen might have been talking about when the mentioned "nasty work." Dax did not want to think about that possibility, so he focused intently on a plan to get to the house. He would know more if he could look at house.

While he hoped to find a clue about his aunt and uncle, he also had to get to the house because he needed supplies. His walk to the farm had taken longer than he had allowed for, and he had eaten most of his food. If the farm was deserted, he should be able to find food enough for some time. Unfortunately if there were guardsmen staying in the house, he would not have any hope of getting into the pantry, but at least he would know more about the plot.

While he watched and thought, his question about Guardsmen was answered when one of the Guard left the house to visit the privy. This one also had the yellow sunburst on his uniform. Although the guard was a threat, Dax felt a modicum of relief. Now he knew something about what he faced.

Dax waited until near sundown. Earlier in the day he had scouted to the north and found a place to cross the Merrywell upstream. He had made his way closer to the house, and he now lay in a patch of brush north of the horse barns. He could see the house, and he had kept careful watch on the men's comings and goings. He had seen at least three Guardsmen who were staying inside the house itself. He had not noticed any other activity in the other outbuildings except for the smallest horse barn closest to the house. One of the men went out there two different times, and both times Dax heard horses nickering and muttering to themselves as the man took care of them.

Now that the sun was below the trees and dark shadows offered concealment, Dax moved closer. He stayed low and under cover as he moved towards the barn where the men's horses were stabled. Once he had the weathered wooden walls between him and the main house, he crouched under a hay rake and listened for any sounds. Satisfied nothing was stirring, he slipped inside through a back doorway. The darkness inside brought him to a halt. For several heartbeats he thought he had waited until it was too dark, but then he began to make out shapes around him as his eyes adjusted to the gloomy light inside. He smelled the usual odors of hay and horses, but he didn't relax. Standing stock still, he focused on absorbing everything around him before he moved. Herne called it listening with your ears and your skin.

Finally satisfied he was alone with the horses, Dax began to pick his way towards the front of the barn. The horses heard him and shuffled in their stall. He moved slowly and stayed as far from them as he could. They had been fed not long ago, but they were nervous at the intrusion. "Calm," he thought for his own sake and for the horses. "Slow and calm." 

Where were the men's travel packs? The Guard usually kept them near their horses, but Dax worried they might have taken them inside. He hoped the men had found his aunt's kitchen with a full pantry of food and had left their packs with their travel rations behind. He had another thought and smiled to himself. His uncle also had a large wine cellar. If the guardsmen discovered that room under the stairs down to the root cellar, Dax might be able to get into the house itself. Best not to count on that, though.

He saw the travel packs in the shadowy gray light. The men had left them on the bench where the farrier kept his tools just inside the main door. There were four packs, not three. Four? Had they left a guard in the barn? Dax stayed silent and listened carefully. He heard the horses shift in their stalls from time to time. From the direction of the house he heard voices. As he listened, they got louder and more raucous. When he heard a few bars of a tavern song, badly sung, he smiled to himself. The wine cellar, indeed. Unless the Guard had left a high ranking officer at the farm, no Guardsman would spend the night in a barn while his comrades carried on in the house.

Light was fading fast in the barn, and Dax decided to move. He approached the packs and started going through them. In amongst a variety of gear, he found three ration sacks with enough biscuit left to make a full sack. He collected the food from the packs and scattered the rest of the contents across the floor of the barn. He left one pack spilled out on the bench, but the others he dumped out and left on the packed dirt. He wanted to make it look like night scavengers had gotten into the men's things. They could blame a ground squirrel, and that would keep them from thinking any thoughts about a night raid by their rightful sovereign lord.

The sun was gone when he emerged from the barn, but the deep blue sky was gaudy with a grand array of orange clouds. He heard singing from the house, and he decided to chance a look. He left his pack behind and crept closer. A fire burned in the hearth in the great room, and he could see three guardsmen cavorting in the firelight. Where was the fourth? Then he saw a shape turn over on a divan across the room. No family members were in the great room. He tried the other windows, but there were no lights in any other rooms. Even though the guardsmen were well into the wine, Dax could not find the courage to enter the house to check to see if anyone was held captive in one of the other rooms.

Back at the barn where the horses were stabled, Dax picked up his pack and stumbled over some loose dirt. He froze as he looked at the patch of raw earth behind the barn. On his way in, he'd glanced at it and thought it was a garden. In the dim light he studied the dirt. It was freshly turned, raw, and unworked with nothing planted. No crops, anyway. Could his aunt, uncle, and cousins be buried in this rude plot? Maybe the guardsmen had injured a horse and put it down because they couldn't take it with them? He tried to hold on to that last thought, but visions of the first haunted him.

The little light that remained allowed Dax to return to the hidden campsite he had prepared. It wasn't far enough from the house to suit him, but with what he had seen of the guardsmen in the house, any early search of the area was unlikely. He planned to be up and on his way at first light. Hungry, he tried one of the biscuits he'd taken from the barn. It was hard and tasted old. He ignored the harder bits that crunched as he chewed. Guard rations couldn't compare to the provisions he had taken from Ma Cookie's kitchen.

He pulled up the collar of his coat and tried to relax leaning back against the stump of a tree. The emptiness of the night stretched before him, and he felt more emptiness deep inside. His plan had dissolved in shambles. With the last of his family gone, he had no one to turn to. He was the only one left. The world was big and dangerous, and he felt small and powerless. He tried to summon the grim determination he had felt before, but only managed a faint echo. The feeling was there, but not nearly as strong as when he had been in such danger before. He tried to remember what it felt like to be brave. He pulled the dragon's egg out of his pack and put it under his coat. It's reassuring warmth helped him relax.

He must have slept because he could see an image of his father lying wasted on his bed and Dax's aunt standing at his father's side. He blinked, and the image faded. Wide awake in the dark, he thought back over events of the last week, and he felt despair. Any grand plan he had of avenging his father and taking his rightful place on the throne seemed to fade just like the dream. What could he hope to accomplish? How could he even survive? What had happened to his aunt and uncle and their family? Dax knew he had to put these thoughts away for now if he was ever to get to sleep.

A flash of light startled him, but he lay still waiting. In a moment he heard a low rumble of thunder. Lonely and afraid, he lay curled around the egg clasped to his chest. He heard the first pats of water on his coat as raindrops started to fall. He wished he was somewhere warm...and safe. The egg was warm, and...comforting. Slowly he started to relax. He was tired.