DragonFire (14 page)

“Very likely, or light refraction?”

“Another possibility.” Sir Kemry put his hands on his hips, stretched his neck first one way and then the other. “I’m tired of this inactivity. Ever since that stint as a statue, I stiffen far too easily. We’ll turn the problem of Bug’s box over to the thinkers. For now, let’s set our minds on finding this valley of dragons.”

“Right.” Kale surveyed the area. “Bug?” She used her talent as well as her eyes to examine the area a second time. The minor dragons chittered in the trees. Dibl rolled across a broad branch, giggling. “Father, if I’m not mistaken, our ropma guide has skipped out on us.”

“I was just coming to that same conclusion.” Sir Kemry reached toward the sky and extended one arm and then another in a generous stretch. “Daughter, it is time we enter into an agreement for the benefit of both of us.” He bent in half and bounced with his fingertips brushing the tips of his boots.

Kale threw her father a skeptical glance. Was this sudden activity to distract her? She didn’t know. His thoughts were shielded. “What is this agreement?”

“I shall not tell your husband, and you shall not tell my wife.”

She wrinkled her brow. “Tell them what?”

“That you and I were outwitted by a ropma.”

Kale grinned. “That would be shameful.”

“Girl, we would never live it down.”

         
20
         

B
OTHERATION!

A wisp of cloud obstructed Bardon’s view of the ground for a moment. Squares of fertile land exhibited the colors of various crops. Farmhouses sat at uneven intervals. Bardon knew he and his comrades had flown many miles, and Yent, who rode behind him, said that he planned for them to land at a place not much farther.

Bardon glanced over at the riders on Merlander’s back. Lyll Allerion leaned toward Dar and talked. Bardon couldn’t hear the conversation, but he surmised the communication was chatter. He did not do well with social banter. Dar, however, would enjoy the interchange. The kimen never said a word.

We’re better off, just the two of us,
Bardon told Greer, his riding dragon and comrade for a half-dozen years.

Bardon listened to his companion grumble. The vibration of the dragon’s displeasure jostled the rider’s legs where they rested against the purple scales on his sides.
What’s that? You’d rather have Dar and Lady Lyll in your saddle? I shouldn’t ask, but why?

Bardon squeezed his knees tighter in the hooks of the saddle.
I do know amusing stories. I just don’t think that this is the time to be prattling on about the peculiarities of life. We are on a mission.

He absorbed Greer’s retort, feeling the chagrin of the dragon as well as hearing dragon thoughts in his mind.

Yes, I wish Kale were along too, and I know she is a better conversationalist than I am. On the other hand, I am relieved she’s gathering eggs rather than fighting quiss.

“Heads up!” he shouted and pointed east, attracting the attention of Merlander’s riders. “I see a blue line at the horizon. It must be the waters of Eden Bay.”

In twenty minutes they landed on a promontory over the water. They dismounted and walked to the edge. Below, the surf pounded against the cliff and scattered fallen rocks into the inlet. Beyond the breakers, where the sea should have swelled in gentle waves, the water teemed with ugly, pinkish, fleshy bulbs.

The men stood with their fists planted against their hips. Lady Allerion folded her hands tightly in front of her.

“It’s an impressive sight,” said Sir Dar, raising his voice to be heard.

“Terrifying,” shouted Lyll.

Bardon folded his arms across his chest. “I’ve been thinking.”

The others gave him their attention, gathering nearer in order to hear over the ocean’s roar.

“When a quiss dies, his body deteriorates rapidly, giving off a toxin. If we pour salt on them in the ocean, the water will be polluted. In past invasions, countrymen piled mounds of dirt on the quiss carcasses wherever they died.”

“I see what you’re getting at,” said the kimen. His voice carried without his straining to be heard. “Even if we slay every last one of these invaders, their bodies will contaminate our land.”

Bardon nodded. “You say this horde outnumbers the past figures by ten to one. The poison will be too much for the dirt to absorb and neutralize.”

A sea bird flew over them, gray and white against the blue sky. His stark cry sounded lonely as it faded in the wind. He circled once, then winged along the cliff toward scrubby bushes clinging to the rocky soil.

Sir Dar turned to Lady Allerion. “Are these animals intelligent?”

She shook her head. “I have not detected a reasoning thought among them.”

“A trap, then, for the quiss,” said Sir Dar. “Suppose we dug a ditch along the shoreline, lined it with salt, and as they cross the trench, we shower them with more salt. They die before they realize their invasion. We cover them with dirt as has been done in the past. And…”

“And?” asked the kimen.

“And we hope that the one strip of barren land is all that we have to remember them by.”

Lyll twisted her face in a distasteful grimace. “I should like to consult other wizards first.”

Yent hopped and waved a hand over the sea. The light of his clothing flickered. “We’ve very little time.”

“Are there gateways nearby?” asked Bardon.

“Not many were built in Trese,” answered Yent.

Lady Allerion put her hands over her ears and turned her back on the ocean. “Let’s get away from this roar. I can’t think.”

Sir Dar looked to Yent for a suggestion.

“There’s a granny emerlindian living a mile or two inland,” he said. “I think I can find his front door.”

They walked the distance. Yent wasn’t sure he could spot the granny’s home from the air. When they passed a copse that smelled of cinnamon and cloves, he gave a whoop. Before Yent raised his fist to knock on the camouflaged wooden door, they heard a yelp from within.

“Go away,” a masculine voice pleaded. “I tell you, leave me alone. Go! Go!” A scream followed.

Bardon drew his sword and yanked the door open. He plunged inside. Sir Dar rushed in behind him, wielding a knife in each hand.

Lightrocks illuminated the down-sloping corridor dug out of the earth. Bardon and Dar charged through the tunnel toward the sounds of distress. They entered a chamber well heated by a roaring fire, dim in comparison to the entryway, with walls draped in live roots, and occupied by one dark emerlindian.

He wore yellow robes with blue trim. He’d chopped his dark brown hair off in short and uneven yanks. He was one of the tall emerlindians, standing almost six feet. But he stooped, either from an ailment of old age or from living underground where the ceilings hung too low.

The granny twisted his hands together and complained, “Didn’t you hear me? I said go away. I don’t like company. Company brings bother. I hate bother. Would you like a cup of tea?”

Sir Dar slipped his knives back in their hiding places and bowed to the old man. “I beg your forgiveness for me and my friend. We thought someone was in here threatening you.”

The emerlindian sat down in a tattered but comfortable-looking chair upholstered in a red and blue flowered cloth. “There is now,” he said. “Before, there was someone at my door, threatening to come in. Now they’re in. I don’t suppose you’re alone. You probably have a half-dozen others with you. Worse! You probably have a half-dozen children with you.”

“No,” said Bardon, his sword safely back in its sheath. “No children. But we are accompanied by Lady Lyll Allerion and Yent, the kimen.”

“Yent! I know Yent. He came to visit me once before. I thought he understood I don’t like company. Where is that scalawag?”

“Here, sir.” He stepped into the room, removed his hat, and made a deep bow. “May I present Lady Lyll Allerion?”

“What’s the use of asking me? You’ve done it already. What are you doing here? I told you not to darken my door for at least half a century.”

“It’s been that and more,” said the kimen. “There’s a quiss invasion imminent, and we needed a place to plan.”

“Plan?” barked the old man. “What is there to plan? You hide in your hole and wait until they are gone. I’ve done it for years, centuries, maybe longer.” He bestowed a rather frightening grin on Lady Lyll. “Please, m’lady, have a seat. It isn’t often I have such a gracious personage as yourself visiting.” He gestured to the only other chair in the room, a wooden straight-back that wobbled when Lady Lyll sat down.

“Why are you traveling with this collection of vagabonds?” continued the granny. “They say there is an invasion of quiss. I’d never have noticed, because the quiss are polite enough to stay above ground. Unlike some people who don’t knock and come in, and I have to give them tea because it’s polite. Would you like some tea, Lady?”

“Yes, that would be nice.”

The old man harrumphed and stared at his fire.

“But let me make it,” said Lyll, getting to her feet. “We don’t want to be any bother.”

“Bother! I told you,” he said to Sir Dar, “company is always a bother.” He pointed to the kitchen area. “There’s what you need, and if you’d mix up something sweet like cake or daggarts or pudding or something, that would be nice as well. I do like to put tasties before my visitors when they come.”

“I’ll help,” said Sir Dar. “I enjoy cooking. But first, would you honor us with your name?”

The old emerlindian screwed up his face as he thought.

“No,” he finally spat out the word. “No, I won’t, and here’s why. I don’t remember it.” He glared at Yent. “Do you remember? You were here just the other day. What’s my name?”

“At the time you said your name was Granny Toe. You explained that you had ‘the aches’ in your big toe, and it helped you to remember your name.”

“Granny Toe?” He scratched his head. “That doesn’t sound right. My toes have been fine, without pains of any kind, for decades.” He jerked and lifted one foot off the floor. “Ouch! A bother! That’s what you are. Botheration to bothers who bother me. You reminded me, and now my toe hurts. Ow! Ow! Ow!”

Lady Lyll came to pat Granny Toe on the shoulder. “There, there. It’s a good thing we’re here. I’ll brew up a tea that will relieve the pain.”

He looked at her askance. “Do I stick my foot in it or drink it?”

“Drink it,” she assured him.

“That’s good, ’cause I don’t hold with doing strange things with my food. Mashed fruit stuffed in your ear does not cure an earache. I can tell you that one from experience.”

“Oh my! I shouldn’t think it would,” agreed Lady Lyll.

“Smashed and squashed and mangled fruit in your ear is what comes of having visitors.” He drummed his fingers on his knees. “Are you going to fix that tea? I offer you a treat, as well, and dinner to boot, and a place to stay out of the cold and wind. Also, sanctuary should the quiss arise. I’m a generous host from all the practice I’ve had over the years.”

Sir Dar called from the kitchen. “Would you have any salt?”

“No, I put that in front of the door. Do you say you cook with it? What a novel idea! I use it to discourage visitors. You stepped right over it coming in.”

Yent looked Granny Toe in the eye. “You use the salt to kill the quiss?”

“Of course! Everyone knows they bubble up and crawl away to die when they come across salt.”

Yent took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “How long have you been doing this?”

“It was one of my chores as a lad.”

“You never thought to mention it.”

“Why would I? Common knowledge. Same as you put only one sock on each foot. Why would I be telling people that? Everyone knows.”

Dar interrupted. “Where do you keep your sugar, Granny Toe?”

“What? You didn’t bring some with you? See? Botheration.”

He steepled his fingers and frowned so that every wrinkle on his face deepened. He squinted as if reading something on the opposite wall. Bardon followed his gaze and saw a picture of two young emerlindians in wedding attire. He picked the picture off its hook and brought it to the old man.

The granny’s hand shook as he held it. “My bride,” he said. “She was Nell and I was Mel. Granny Toe, indeed. Why would a lovely young thing like her marry someone named Toe? She wouldn’t, of course. Had good taste, she did. She picked me. And she would have wanted me to help you, so I will.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Bardon, though he couldn’t remember asking for more than a place to rest and plan.

“It’ll be a bother, though,” said Granny Mel. “Mark my words, a bother.”