DragonFire (2 page)

“I’ll be careful. You’re not helping, you know. I can’t see where to put my feet.”

Pat settled on her shoulder.

The pillars creaked. The walls bulged. The heavy rain of the days before pressed against the swollen seams of the building. She feared the whole structure would collapse before she reached the inn’s yard.

She came back into the front room. The clouds above had thinned, and a ray of sunshine broke through. One of the horses outside nickered. Kale smiled and stepped cautiously through the debris.

“I found them,” she called to Bardon. “And I didn’t get into trouble.”

He didn’t answer.

“Bardon, I found them.”

Still no answer.

“Bardon?”

         
2
         

B
ATTING
F
LIES

As soon as Kale reached the yard, Dibl, the most lighthearted of her minor dragons, swooped down from a perch in the tree and bombarded her with his thoughts. Ardeo and Pat, in a frenzy of excitement, joined him as he circled her head. She closed her eyes against the dizzying sight of their chaotic flight and concentrated on deciphering Dibl’s chatter.

A small military unit of bisonbeck had marched into the inn yard.

Kale screwed her face in distaste. She didn’t like bisonbecks—burly, bad-tempered bullies. She’d never seen a bisonbeck who didn’t swagger his huge frame nor one who had an ounce of courtesy.

Dibl informed her that Bardon had taunted the five warriors and led them into the woods. The other minor dragons flew off to help in the skirmish.

She shook her head.
Didn’t want me to enter a fight as soon as I came out, right, Sir Knight?

Shifting her attention to her spouse, she located him, feeling the energy that emanated as he battled the muscle-bound henchmen of the evil wizards. She also realized the ease with which he engaged the soldiers. He didn’t need her to vanquish the foe, but she had no intention of becoming a widow due to some bisonbeck’s lucky strike.

Twirling in place, she changed her outfit from a comfortable riding habit to a close-fitting ensemble she’d copied from her mother. “Wear pink!” her mother had said. “It confuses the enemy.” Kale tended to think that their invisible swords did more to bewilder their opponents.

She took a moment to glance at the horses’ reins and mentally unwound them from the fence rail. She wanted the horses to be free to come to her if she called.

“Now, try to be sensible and stay here,” she addressed them both.
Horses certainly don’t have the intelligence of an average dragon.
Kale preferred traveling on the back of her ebony and silver dragon, Celisse. For the hundredth time since she and Bardon started this search, she missed the riding dragons.

She sprinted through the woods, zigzagging around bushes and leaping over old fallen timber that rotted beneath the canopy of sturdy armagot trees. Slowing, she surveyed with her mind the site before her. Bardon battled two bisonbecks in a clearing. Two had already fallen to his sword. One knelt at the side of the open space, rubbing his stinging eyes. The minor dragons spit caustic saliva into the faces of their opponents. A well-directed shot of spit incapacitated even the mightiest warrior.

Dibl flew into the battle, but Kale waited until a soldier’s broad back presented itself for her assault. She picked up a rodlike branch, ran a few steps, dug the pole into the ground, and vaulted into the air. She hit the bisonbeck with both feet, right between the shoulder blades. He toppled forward.

The action distracted the other man facing Bardon, and her husband used the advantage to deliver a knockout blow to the man’s temple. The soldier Kale had downed grunted and pushed up with his arms. Kale frowned at him, and he flattened out.

Quick and efficient always, Bardon wiped his blade clean on one of the downed men and sheathed it. “Came to help me bat at these bothersome flies?”

“They’re rather big flies.” Kale strolled to his side. “Thanks for drawing them off. I suppose you did it to keep them from distracting me.”

He put an arm across her shoulders. “Something like that.” He nodded at the immobile but conscious soldier.
“What did you put on him?”
asked Bardon without speaking aloud.

He thinks a pair of grawligs is sitting on his back.

Bardon laughed softly and hugged her.
“So, you found the eggs.”

Yes, no problems.
She examined the soldiers scattered over the clearing floor.
I don’t recognize their uniforms. Who do these men fight for?

“I don’t recognize them either. Perhaps we can ask one of the two still conscious. I don’t want to waste the time. We need to get on with finding our two meech friends.”

I keep getting this niggling feeling that we have ignored the world outside The Bogs for too long.

“I have a dread building the more I see of the devastation the fire dragons have created. I’d rather leave these men in the dirt and go about our business, but I can’t deny it’s important to uncover some particulars as to this different army.”

Kale tilted her head toward the man rubbing his eyes, and Bardon nodded. She reached into her moonbeam cape and brought out a small pouch. With care, she selected a seed and threw it down at the man’s knees. It instantly took root and shot up a green tendril that stretched, thickened, and put on a leaf. It grew at an astonishing pace, and Kale directed it to wrap around the injured warrior. When the vine secured the man from any attempt of escape, the phenomenal growth stopped. Kale gestured to the green minor dragon.

“Heal his eyes, would you, Gymn?”

The dragon landed on the bisonbeck’s head, and after a moment, the man quit clawing at his face. The vine kept him from lowering his hands. Kale waited another moment. She felt the healing energy flow through her to the dragon. It passed from the small creature through the man and back to her. With each cycle the flow felt cleaner. When satisfied that the man’s discomfort was bearable, Kale nodded to Bardon.

He stepped forward. “Sir,” he said in an even tone. “You must forgive us, for we have been residing in the middle of The Bogs these last three years and have somewhat lost touch with the outside world. We do not recognize your uniform as representing any of the provinces of Amara. Kindly tell us to whom you have pledged your allegiance.”

The soldier growled.

“Oh, beg pardon.” Bardon used the tip of his sword to slice through a bit of vine covering the man’s lower face.

A word came out of the man’s mouth that fouled the air. The purple dragon, Metta, trilled indignation and fluttered her wings as if clearing a rancid odor.

Bardon tilted his sword upward and brought the hilt down with a resounding thud on the coarse warrior’s head.

“Just a reminder that there are ladies present.”

The soldier grumbled in an undertone, and Bardon sighed. He pushed the point of his blade between the broad leaves of the vine and touched the man’s jugular vein.

“We have already been delayed. I would appreciate quick answers. Your master?”

“Crim Cropper.”

“And Burner Stox?”

“Nay. They no longer fight side by side.”

“Excellent news. A falling-out among villains.” Bardon stepped back and looked the man over. “Tell us where Crim Cropper has his headquarters.”

“I can’t. I don’t know.”

Bardon looked to Kale. She nodded. The soldier told the truth.

“Where are your forces located?”

“At the bottom of the Dormanscz Mountain Range near Geest.”

“How many?”

“Eight hundred troops.”

“What is your directive?”

“Spoil the land so that it is not valuable to Stox or Pretender or anyone else.”

Bardon ground his teeth and walked away from the soldier. “I want nothing further from you. The vine should release you sometime later today.”

Kale smiled. “And your eyesight should return tomorrow at the latest. If you have any trouble, call on us. Our residence is in the center of Bedderman’s Bog. Anyone in the neighborhood can direct you to Fen’s castle.”

She hooked her arm through Bardon’s as he passed. The yellow and orange Dibl set down on Bardon’s head, his favorite place to perch. Metta and Gymn landed on Kale’s shoulders. Ardeo settled on her hair, a curly mop, disheveled as always. Filia flew ahead, and Pat rummaged through the undergrowth for food.

Bardon patted his wife’s hand as it rested at his elbow. “It might have been fair to warn him that none of our immediate neighbors speak the high tongue since they’re all animals.”

He pushed aside a branch so they could pass. “And you might have mentioned that we won’t be home anytime in the near future.”

She nodded.

“And there are mordakleeps in the swamp.”

“Oh, but we’ve almost eradicated them all. Surely there are less than a dozen now.” Kale shrugged. “Besides, he will be quite well and won’t need us.” Worry wriggled its way into her thoughts.

“This dodging of soldiers and stopping to aid villagers is taking up a lot of time. Not that I begrudge the people our aid.” She frowned at the clouds. Couldn’t they just blow away and let the sun dry this soggy land? “No one gives us any pertinent news when we question them, Bardon. Do you think we’ll find Regidor before it’s too late?”

“We’re close to Granny Noon’s. Let’s stop in and ask her if she has any suggestions.”

Using her talent, Kale summoned the horses, and they came trotting through the trees. By the time the horses reached the riders, she had whirled once more, changing her clothes to the brown riding habit.

“You’re going to wear the cape?” asked Bardon.

“Yes, Granny Noon made it.” She ran her hand down the luxurious fine cloth of her habit trousers. “But it’s the wrong color for this rich brown.”

“Change the color of the cape.”

Kale rolled her eyes. “Even I can’t do that. Moonbeam cloth has a very uncooperative base.” She snapped her fingers as an idea occurred to her. The color of her clothing faded and darkened and faded again until she wore lavender and amethyst attire. The grayish moonbeam cape looked much more appropriate.

“Mother would have thought of that much sooner,” Kale complained.

Bardon laughed. “So would have Sir Dar. I like the way you dress. Isn’t that enough?”

She made a face at him. “It would be if you didn’t wear mismatched socks from time to time.”

“No one notices but you.”

Bardon hoisted her into the saddle. She didn’t need the help, but it made her feel good to have her husband act the gentleman.

Riding west, husband and wife followed a long mountain ridge and then turned north. A stiff breeze greeted them. The clouds broke up and sailed away, revealing a startling blue sky. The sun sent waves of comfortable warmth through her body. Her spirit rose, and Metta, picking up Kale’s mood of eagerness, sang a tune filled with hope. Few people lived on this part of the mountain range, and the animals scampered through the woods with a joyful freedom.

The track led them around a bend to the first view of the mountainside where Granny Noon resided. Across the valley, a blackened forest covered what was once a verdant ridge. Kale gasped. Metta ceased her song. Fire had scourged the beauty of the forest. Somberly they rode on, coming to a river and following it downstream to a bridge.

“New,” said Bardon, looking at the fresh wood. He pointed to the charred beams at the waterline. “And there’s the old.”

The planks echoed under the horses’ hooves as they crossed. On the far bank, each strike of a horse hoof against the scorched ground sent up an acrid smell of burned vegetation. Bardon pulled his mount up, and Kale stopped beside him.

He reached across and put a hand over hers. “Can you find the entrance without familiar landmarks?”

Kale shook away a fear that threatened to overcome her. “Do you think Granny Noon’s still there? Do you think she survived?”

“Yes,” he answered with a decisive nod.

Kale battled tears, then squeezed her lids tight. She wasn’t so sure. As soon as she opened her eyes, she saw a yellow flower.

“Look.” She pointed. Nestled in the charred debris, a few green, spindly leaves pushed toward the sun. In the center, a delicate, feather-petaled bonnie nodded its head. Farther on, an owlwing fern had broken through the desolation. “It must have been a while since the burn.”

“Yes,” agreed Bardon. “We’ll find Granny Noon, Kale. And she’ll help us find Regidor.”