DragonFire (18 page)

         
25
         

U
NPLEASANT
S
URPRISES

“I’m surprised it took you so long to get here,” Bardon told Regidor.

Gilda placed a hand on her hip and protested, “We haven’t been wasting our time.”

Regidor drew her close with an arm snuggled around her waist. “That isn’t what he meant, sweet woman. And if you take note, he looks as harried as a rabbit with no hole to hide in.”

Bardon’s head jerked, and he grimaced at his old friend. “I do not.”

“You do,” said Regidor.

Gilda smiled and dipped her elegant hat with a nod of her head. “I agree. He does.” She wrinkled her long nose. “And I’m afraid the news we bring you will not brighten your day.”

“Great!” Bardon motioned them toward one of the tents set up on the hillside. “Come with me, and I’ll see if I can commandeer some refreshments. We’ve been organizing a network of supplies to get salt to strategic places along the coast.”

They passed a marione youth wearing huge boots and a too-tight jacket.

“Lad,” said Bardon, “see if you can hijack the cook and bring him to my tent with food and tea for our friends.”

“Yes sir.” The boy saluted with more precision than the soldiers who had arrived from Paladin’s forces.

Bardon led Regidor and Gilda into the headquarters he shared with Sir Dar.

“How long have you been here?” asked Regidor.

“A week.”

“You’ve established quite an outpost in such a short time.”

“As everyone keeps reminding me, we have no time to spare. Stox and Cropper are up to something we haven’t been able to discover. And who knows when Pretender will pop up to add confusion and chaos.”

“Are our countrymen finally seeing the malevolence that surrounds them?”

“To some extent. Dar’s away being a diplomat, trying to make people realize that all this hardship is the result of the devious plans of Burner Stox and Crim Cropper.” He motioned for his company to sit. “Lady Lyll is off saving children.”

“Saving children?” asked Gilda as she arranged her beautiful gown around her and sat on a camp stool.

“In one of the seaside towns, she found a workhouse where children labored from dawn to dusk and dined on weak soup.”

“Again,” said Regidor, “a sign of our society’s degenerate state.”

Gilda patted his arm. “Not our society, Regidor. Their society.”

Bardon raised an eyebrow at her, and she fluttered a fan in front of her face.

“I’m sure,” she said, “when we find the hidden meech colony, we will find a much more civilized social order.”

In response to Bardon’s inquiring look, Regidor shrugged his shoulders. The meech dragon’s voice entered his head.
“Gilda’s philosophy of life is sometimes tainted by her early association with Risto. We’re working on these lapses. But prejudice instilled at an early age is hard to extract.”

Regidor smiled his toothy grin at his bride and winked. “Yes, my wife longs for more of a higher culture. Since Gilda has been released from her bottle, she no longer allows me to go to rowdy dens of iniquity.”

“You never!” exclaimed his wife.

Regidor grinned with the sardonic twist that always made Kale double over in laughter. Bardon wished Kale were here now. She could help him sort out this mix of signals he got from Regidor and Gilda. His wife assured him that Regidor only enjoyed looking worldly-wise, but in actuality, the meech preferred a tamer lifestyle than he pretended.

Bardon shook his head as he thought. Kale knew Regidor better than anyone, and with the bond that had formed even before the dragon hatched, she certainly should be able to discern his core code of ethics. Gilda, on the other hand, could be either as shallow as she seemed or a river running deep. Only time would tell.

“Tell him what we saw,” demanded Gilda. “Explain why we took longer to get here than he expected.”

Regidor leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his interlocked fingers. “We saw a migration of sorts.”

Gilda rolled her eyes. “We saw bands of grawligs all headed toward a central spot. Of course, we investigated.”

Regidor steepled his forefingers and tapped them against his lips. “They looked very much like herds of wild deer gathering at a winter pasture.”

“But, of course,” interrupted Gilda, “grawligs are not herding animals.”

Bardon shifted uncomfortably on his stool. “They aren’t animals at all.”

“Technically,” said Gilda. “But I see little reason to belabor the point.”

Regidor cleared his throat and sent Bardon a warning glance. “Gilda, customarily the people of Amara give the low races the benefit of the doubt until facts prove otherwise. With quiss, blimmets, and schoergs, the evidence indicates they are nonrational beings with no sense of right and wrong. Bisonbecks, grawligs, and mordakleeps have shown themselves to have intelligence and the ability to choose to obey orders.”

“They also,” said Gilda, “show a propensity to choose to do evil.”

Regidor sat up straight and stretched. “That’s true.”

“And ropmas?” Bardon asked, knowing that studying the different races fascinated his meech friend.

Regidor smiled and stood up. His head almost brushed the tent’s roof. “Ropmas are like big speaking dogs. They can be intensely loyal, but they can’t reason out whether their actions will hinder or help in the long run. They are guided easily and have an unpredictable stubborn streak.”

He crossed to the tent flap and held it open as the cook and two boys came in with trays of delicacies.

Regidor sniffed, smiled, and turned a knowing eye on Bardon. “Oh my, you are roughing it, aren’t you? Is that
pâté sot grunmere
I smell?”

“If you mean that ground-up meat that Leemiz spreads on bits of bread, yes.”

“I’m starved,” said Gilda. She pulled off her gloves and motioned for the servants to place the teapot near her. “I’ll pour.”

“Thank you, Leemiz,” said Bardon. “Thank you, boys.”

Gilda did not acknowledge their departure, but Regidor tapped each lad on top of his head and gave them the coins he “found” there.

“Wheezers! Thank you, sir,” said the older boy.

Regidor reached in his pocket and tipped the cook with a larger coin. He smiled, bowed, and followed his young workers through the tent flap.

Gilda offered a cup of tea to Bardon. “This is refreshing. We’ve eaten in poor country inns since we started our journey to join you.” She took a bite of a daggart. “Mmm. Delicious!”

“I agree,” said Lady Lyll from the entrance to the tent, “but I, for one, want to sit in a real chair, at a real table.” She advanced into the small headquarters and gave Gilda a peck on the cheek and Regidor a warm hug.

Lady Lyll leaned back from the tall meech dragon and patted his leathery cheek. “In celebration of your arrival, I suggest we go into town and eat a real meal, complete with napkins and a tablecloth.” She smiled at Gilda. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, dear?”

“Yes, and if there is a decent inn, I prefer to sleep in town as well.” Regidor bowed to the women. “Consider it done, sweet ladies.”

Late that afternoon, Dar returned from his most recent sojourn among the people of Trese and agreed to a trip to the nearest settlement. The seaport of Grail had three taverns and four inns to choose from. Dar knew which one had the most elegant dining hall and delectable cuisine.

Bardon had to admit that even sitting in the crowded room didn’t dampen his enjoyment of the dinner. He leaned back, sipped his drink of mulled cider, and listened to the others talk of fashion, modish places to visit, bazaars, and excursion trips. He longed for Kale to be with him and could imagine her animated face as she asked questions and laughed at their sillier tales.

Always, though, their stories had a tinge of regret. The places that used to give so much enjoyment now seemed to have fallen under the tawdry influence of an immoral world. They could think of no place in Amara that had remained untouched.

Gilda discreetly pointed to a table in a dark corner across the room. “That’s typical of the degeneration we see everywhere. There’s an emerlindian girl keeping company with a bisonbeck. I admit he dresses better than most, and his table manners are more refined, but still…”

The others followed her gaze and watched as the lithe young woman leaned toward the bulky man and whispered something in his ear. Bardon sat up and exchanged an incredulous look with Dar.

Lady Lyll spoke up. “Don’t judge by appearances, Gilda. There may be more to that story than we can see on the surface.”

Bardon worked to bring his expression under control.
I certainly hope Lady Lyll is right. I can’t imagine a legitimate reason for Leetu Bends to be flirting with a bisonbeck.

         
26
         

M
OUNTAIN
E
NCOUNTER

Kale and Sir Kemry set out on foot early the next morning. They had a generous packet of food from Doxden and a map sketched on a brown piece of wrapping paper. Several miles out of town, they spotted Pat and Filia flying fast in a direct line toward them.

Sir Kemry shaded his eyes. “I may be out of practice with my dragonkeeping skills, but aren’t your dragon friends rather high?”

“Yes.” Kale scurried toward a rock outcropping and climbed up to see better. “Something must be wrong.”

The two dragons circled, one a splotchy brown and the other a multitude of pink hues. They spiraled down to land on Kale. All the minor dragons had come to welcome the two travelers back and to exclaim over their adventures. Kale winced at the ruckus their excitement inspired. While they chattered rapidly, she stroked first Filia’s side and then Pat’s tummy.

“Oh, I’m so glad you made it back. I never would have sent you had I known what danger you’d be in.” She turned to her father to relay what the dragons had said. “They had to dodge rocks from slingshots and—”

He held up his hand. “I am a Dragon Keeper, Kale. I understood.”

“I forget. Bardon has trouble understanding when they’re excited.”

Her father smiled, and she felt his irritation dissipate. “At least with this bit of news, another piece of the puzzle has fallen into place. Confirmation of our suspicions. The ropmas are anxious to capture dragons to keep Burner Stox from raining her devastation upon their community. Their instinct for self-preservation has made them slaves. Rather than die, they serve Stox.”

He put out his hand in invitation, and Pat flew to roost on his finger. Sir Kemry stroked the brown dragon’s stomach. “We must get into this valley of dragons. I regret that your little friends had such a harrowing experience. And I am glad they got back to us without being captured.”

He paused, concern etching deep lines in his face. “Who would have believed that ropmas could be so devious? It would seem that they’re more resourceful than we’ve given them credit for.”

Kale climbed down from her vantage point. “I suspect their traps and weapons are like Bug’s little box he gets into to disappear—devised by someone else and given to the ropma to use. Each of the devices Pat and Filia describe has an element of cruelty that just doesn’t line up with the ropmas’ nature.”

“Correct, and a further indication that Burner Stox is behind this movement.”

Kale moved closer to her father. “Bug and his friends have great motivation.”

She frowned at the thought of the good-natured creatures being tortured or threatened by death. “This must stop, Father. It is right to turn away from our main quest to investigate the valley, isn’t it?”

“Definitely, and I believe we will find many dragons to release. Our hope must be that they will join our side.”

Kale could barely hear over the prattling of the dragons perched on her shoulders. She fluttered her hands at them, effectively shooing them. They chittered their disgruntlement as they fluttered to a bush.

Kale turned her attention back to her father. “Why wouldn’t freed dragons be grateful and eager to serve Paladin?”

“I’m not sure what the effects of having been subjugated to Burner Stox will be.”

Kale shook her head until her hair slipped from the knot at the nape of her neck. She reached to redo the bun. “What do you mean?” With quick fingers, she secured the twisted hair with two long hairpins.

“Any number of things. Their spirits could be broken. They could have bonded to their evil overseers. They may be loyal to Stox.”

“No!”

“Not all dragons are good like the ones among your acquaintance.”

Kale bristled. “I’ve known bad dragons. Well, not actually known them. We were attacked once by fire dragons. And Celisse made a very bad choice when under emotional strain. I am not naive, Father.”

He smiled and cupped the side of her face with his hand. “Of course not, but it’s hard for an old father to remember the baby he lost years ago has had time to grow up.”

With his palm pressed to her cheek, she felt the great emptiness in his soul that told of the sorrow of not being her father for too many years. She gulped back sympathetic tears.

The minor dragons raised an outcry. Kale and her father recognized the change in tone. Both pulled their swords from their scabbards and scrutinized the area around them.

“Five bisonbecks coming up the path,” Sir Kemry exclaimed and turned to face the direction the warriors would come.

Kale stood next to his shoulder, as ready as he was to face the enemy. “How did they know we’re here? They are looking specifically for us.”

“It would seem one patron of the tavern last night was a spy.”

She twirled, attiring herself in her best fighting outfit.

Her father chuckled. “Your mother certainly has influenced you in your short acquaintance.”

“Humph!” said Kale, placing her feet apart for balance and raising her invisible sword. “It just so happens that Bardon thinks I look good in a vibrant pink.”

Sir Kemry cocked an eyebrow at her.

A small grin lifted the corner of her mouth. “He also says it’s easier to keep track of me in a fight and not mistake me for one of the villains when I’m in this outlandish costume.”

Sir Kemry tilted back his head and laughed. “That’s exactly what I told Lyll many years ago.” His expression sobered, and he looked around. A high rock cliff rose behind them. A drop off to one side would keep the enemy from surrounding them. “This is an easily defended spot.” He tipped his chin toward the aggressors. “They have no idea we’ve stopped and are waiting for them. When they come around the bend, we’ll be at a distinct advantage.” He lowered his sword and gestured for Kale to change places with him.

“Why?” she asked while following his direction.

He pointed at the drop-off with the tip of his blade. “Don’t want you falling off the mountain.”

Kale rolled her eyes. “Father!”

“No time to chat. They’re here.”

Kale kicked the first bisonbeck in the chest. He fell backward, flailing his arms. He landed against the bisonbeck behind him and socked the soldier next to him in the face as he went down. The soldier he punched stumbled toward the edge of the chasm, colliding with his comrade who had just pulled his battle-ax from its leather strap. The battle-ax arched around the front of his body to a strike position slightly over the warrior’s shoulder. Ordinarily, the centrifugal force of his action would not have unbalanced him. But when his fellow soldier slammed into his side, he toppled over the edge.

“Two down!” exclaimed Sir Kemry. “See here, girl, let me at least look like I’m fighting.”

Kale aimed her next blow at the warrior whose arms still held the first man she had knocked over. She planted her heel in the middle of his face. Blood spurted from his nose as he collapsed.

The fifth man rushed around the corner and fell over the two men on the ground. The first injured man roared, tossed the sizable bisonbeck off his lap, and scrambled to his feet. Growling with his teeth gritted, he swung a fist at Sir Kemry. The knight stepped back against the stone wall. The bisonbeck swung again, and Sir Kemry ducked.

“Are you not at the top of your form?” asked Kale’s father as he easily dodged another blow. “Perhaps it is because my daughter hit you.” He kept up the chatter as the man continued to swing and miss. “She’s not all that strong, being a small female, you know. But every once in a while, she gets in a smashing good kick. I wouldn’t be embarrassed if you’re feeling woozy.”

The warrior said a few unsavory words under his breath and pulled a knife from inside his waistcoat. He waved it in front of Sir Kemry’s face.

The knight smiled. “That’s an eating utensil, isn’t it?” He peeked around his adversary and dodged the blade at the same time. “Now where
is
your weapon? You had a battle-ax, didn’t you? No, that was your friend. The one that went into the chasm. You had a sword, didn’t you? Must have dropped it in the confusion when three of you were piled up on the ground.”

Sir Kemry focused again on his opponent, although he had avoided being struck even when he wasn’t looking. “It’s all right,” he said. “I’ve spotted it. Your comrade is using it against my daughter. Nasty blade, curved like that.”

The bisonbeck’s eyes widened, he licked his lips, and a wicked grin stretched his mouth wide. He swung about to observe the fight between Kale and the only other soldier still on his feet. The minor dragons belabored Kale’s opponent. With swift thrusts and lethal swings, he clearly indicated he meant to make mincemeat out of the young woman in pink. His energetic defense against Kale and six spitting dragons gave no indication he might sometime soon grow tired of the fight. Covered with colored dragon saliva, he held one hand to an eye that stung from one of the dragon’s direct hits and fought on.

Sir Kemry grinned at the back of his own opponent. He’d won the battle except for the final blow. The fighting prowess of a bisonbeck was hard to beat, but they had weaknesses that could be easily used against them. Sir Kemry raised the hilt of his sword and brought it down on the unprotected head of the man he had taunted.

“I don’t like being bullied,” the knight said as the man fell. “And for some odd reason, I’m just not in the mood for a fight right now.”

He sat down on the nearest boulder and propped one polished boot on the back of the downed soldier. “Do hurry, Kale. We have a valley to visit.”

Kale’s opponent glanced toward the voice. His next look was up, but his eyes were not focused. He fell with a thud.

“Good blow, Kale. You excel in the fighting craft, my dear.”

She bowed in acknowledgment of his praise, and then surveyed the mountain pass. Her father came to stand beside her, his arm draped casually over her shoulders. She panted, smiled weakly at him, but didn’t speak.

“Three dead.” Her father gestured to the chasm and to the man on the ground. “I believe you kicked his nose into his brain. He didn’t suffer.” Sir Kemry looked at the other two bisonbecks. “Two wounded.” He shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. “All of them a problem.”

“Why?” asked Kale. She still sounded a bit winded.

“We don’t really want them found.”

Kale nodded. “We don’t want the enemy alerted to our presence on their doorstep.”

“Precisely. Can you do that temporary trapped-in-metal-clothing trick?”

“I suppose I could. But they might be found before the metal disintegrates and the victim awakes.”

“True, and that doesn’t solve the problem of the two at the bottom of the cliff.” He shook his head. “We’ll have to travel down to recover the bodies and hide them. That will take up far too much time.”

“Necessary, though, if we are to keep our whereabouts unknown.”

“I wonder who else this spy told about us. If it were only one of these men, then our troubles in that regard are over. But if he is blabbing to every one of our enemies he meets, then we can expect a great deal of interference.”

“I suppose we won’t know until later.” Kale sighed.

Sir Kemry shrugged again and patted her on the shoulder. “I suppose not. Well, let’s get busy. You go over the edge and climb down to the chasm floor.”

“What?”

“I said—”

“I know what you said, Father. I’m wondering what I am supposed to do, how I am supposed to do it, and why it is me that will be doing…” She flapped one hand around. “Doing…whatever?”

Sir Kemry looked exasperated. “I haven’t got it all planned out yet, Kale. I just know the plan I come up with will require one of us to be on the chasm floor.”

“I’m the one descending a steep, almost vertical mountain wall.”

“Yes.”

“Yes? That’s it? Just yes?”

Sir Kemry furrowed his brow. “Yes, I believe that’s it.”