DragonFire (21 page)

Stox with her brutal warriors had bestowed upon the ropmas a heartrending situation. The becks allowed the youngest ropmas in the village to remain because they were too much bother to keep alive. The warriors left the adolescents to help with the capture of dragons and the gathering of eggs. The middle-aged youngsters were held hostage to keep the ropmas from fleeing or rebelling. Old enough to forage for themselves and not be an additional burden to Stox’s army, the children were kept in Greenbright Valley to tend the dragons.

When Kale tried to get an inkling of how long this servitude had been enforced, she could not interpret the images in the ropmas’ minds. She looked to her father for an answer.

He shrugged, answering her unspoken question in the same manner she had communicated it.
“In one form or another, I believe Stox has been accruing this dragon force since the days before Joffa and I were trapped in the sleeping chamber.”

That could be a very large number of dragons subjugated to a horribly evil woman.

“I think we have been handed quite an impossible task, my dear.”

What should we do?

“Go on, of course.”

Of course.

         
31
         

O
N THE
H
UNT

Bardon and Leetu Bends rode with the bisonbeck merchant through a pass between two high hills and into a valley. At the bottom of the incline, Latho stopped to hide his two passengers, not disguising them as barrels, but stuffing them into two barrels designed to carry dried longfish. The containers stank, and the rough insides scraped against them in spite of the thick blankets Latho had given them to wrap up in. But the staves had gaps between them, sufficient enough for them to breathe easily and to peer out. The wagon bumped over every hole and rock in the road.

When they got to the camp, Bardon heard harsh voices loudly inquiring about Latho’s business.

“We aren’t expecting supplies until next week,” hollered one.

“Have you got papers to verify this shipment?” asked another.

Latho was correct,
thought Bardon.
These men are bisonbecks, not grawligs.

“Can you see anything?”
asked Leetu Bends.

Not a thing.

“I have one tiny crack, but I’ve picked some slivers of wood out of it to make it bigger.”

The wagon jolted and moved.

I guess they accepted Latho’s papers.

“He’s also known among the soldiers. Some of them show a great amount of disrespect for ‘the bisonbeck coward.’ Others have just heard his name, because it’s so unusual for his kind not to be in some type of fighting force.”

The wagon lurched to a stop.

“Now we’ll see if this plan works.”

At Leetu Bends’s words Bardon’s mind leapt to the last time he’d seen Kale. Her mouth had puckered in a pout, her eyes welled with tears, and she’d looked altogether adorable in a spoiled-princess sort of way.
Wulder, give me the chance to make her smile again.

Several grawligs gathered around the wagon.

“You,” said Latho, “take these crates over to the captain’s quarters. You, unload these baskets and take them to the cook.”

Latho kept the workers scurrying. Bardon listened intently, trying to determine what was going on around him. The big bisonbeck merchant ordered the grawlig recruits to unwrap some of the bundles and carry off the goods. He unpacked some of the merchandise himself and handed it to one of the grawligs to carry off.

After a few minutes of observation, Leetu Bends said,
“Aha! Very clever.”

What?

“He’s directing them to different sides of the wagon. When a grawlig comes back, he doesn’t know what has been moved or which containers have already been emptied.”

Bardon remembered his puzzlement when he saw the dried fish wrapped in canvas. Now he understood.
So Latho can claim he already unpacked the longfish from our hiding place. I agree, very clever.

The problematic point in time passed with Latho distracting the workers and maneuvering the six-foot-long dried fish into position as if he had just taken them out of the barrels. He directed the rest of the unloading with no incident and haggled with a bisonbeck officer about the bill.

“Fine,” said Latho, when he finally got his money. “I’ll be leaving at sunup.”

“We don’t want you around here tonight,” said the officer.

“I’m not going into those hills after dark. I won’t be in your way.”

The man left, and Latho busied himself around the wagon but never came near the barrels containing Bardon and Leetu Bends. They had food and water in their hiding places, so he didn’t have to provide anything for them. Latho had done everything possible to keep from drawing attention to the supposedly empty cargo crates left on his wagon.

An hour after dark, two soldiers came to the wagon.

“You’re to come with us,” one said.

“Why?”

Bardon heard one of the men growl. “Come and don’t give us any trouble.”

Bardon and Leetu remained silent.

“Bardon?”

Yes?

“Don’t worry. I’m keeping track of them. I’m mindspeaking with Latho. He’ll let me know if he needs us.”

Well, let’s hope he doesn’t. This place is getting crowded with grawligs. I can smell them over the stench of the longfish.

“You’re right.” She paused. “Oh my!”

“What?”

“They’re expecting Pretender himself to be here. He’s going to talk to them.”
She paused again.
“I don’t like this.”

I’m hoping we get to stay in our little cocoons and aren’t asked to join the party.

“I won’t be able to mindspeak with you. I don’t want Pretender to pick up on our being here.”

Can’t you cover your mind the way Kale does? She asks Wulder to protect her thoughts and keep them guarded.

“I can, and I will. You better do the same. And keep repeating it. There’s going to be a lot of evil going on here tonight. I don’t want us vulnerable for even a moment.”

A chant rose from the gathering. A drum beat a steady rhythm, and Bardon surmised a wild dance had begun. He squirmed around until he could get out his small dagger. With the point, he broke open a niche between two staves, so he, too, could have a peephole.

He placed his eye against the crack and sighed with frustration. A row of mountain ogres stood in a line, obstructing his view of the main participants. He could see the taller grawligs within the circle and those who leapt high enough during their chaotic celebration.

A clap of thunder stilled the grawligs. The loud crack indicated a nearby lightning strike and should have been preceded by a flash of lightning.

As if they understood this as a signal, the grawligs sat on the ground in a large circle. Bardon could see more but had no way of estimating the number.
I hope Latho has an idea when we climb out of these stinking barrels. No reason to think we won’t get out of here. Hopefully in one piece. Wulder, order our way.

The hush that fell over the throng seemed unnatural. Bardon found he was holding his breath and deliberately let it out. The sound of his heart beating echoed in his ears. A murmur ran through the gathering, and then that unnatural silence again. Bardon recited the words that would keep him connected to Wulder and protected from evil.

A cloud formed in the center of the grawlig circle. Lights sparked within, sending off refracted flashes of different colors. The flickers ceased. The cloud pooled on the ground. In the center stood a man, twice as tall as any bisonbeck, covered with a shimmering black material, and producing a constant outpouring of vapor that sunk to swirl around his feet. Coarse dark hair covered his bulky head, including the face. A hefty nose like a bull’s; a mouth, giant but looking like an o’rant’s; and enormous eyes with undersized, black pupils combined to make a hideous visage.

Quite a show. I’m sure the grawligs are impressed.
Bardon swallowed.
I think I’m impressed. Wulder, guard me as I seek Truth.

The figure raised his arms and lightning streamed from his fingertips, spreading out into the night sky.

Now, that was spectacular. I wonder if he’ll rain brimstone for an encore.

The performer turned and looked Bardon’s way. Bardon caught his breath. The man’s prominent eyes sparkled for a moment and seemed to focus on the wagon, then on the barrel where a shiver spread through Bardon’s chest.

Wulder, protect me, for I am a dolt. Keep me ever mindful of Your strength, Your honor, Your presence.

The man looked away and lowered his arms to his sides.

“I am Lord Ire.” His announcement boomed over his listeners. The grawligs cowered. “I have chosen you for my subjects. It is your honor to serve me. Together we shall dominate the world. You will be revered, not spurned. You will be great, and those who pass before you will cower and cry with fear.”

Bardon expected a mighty cheer. But the awed grawligs only mumbled in their throats and nodded their massive heads.

“This will be my challenge to you.” Lord Ire drew from his pocket a red cloth that dripped scarlet drops onto the ground. He held it above his head. “Do you smell it?”

His audience grunted and growled and stirred in their seats.

“It excites you, doesn’t it? The smell demands that you run. The smell insists that you hunt. You are urged to your feet.”

The mass of grawligs rose as one. They fidgeted as if they could not keep still, nor could they move from the spot until released by the speaker. Their feet shifted in the dirt.

“You
need
to hunt. You
need
to track. You
need
to ferret out all those who carry this smell. You
need
to kill.”

Bardon felt the swelling desire churning among the grawligs. They craved to be set free, to break loose from this confining circle.

Lord Ire waited just one moment longer, restraining them, making them all the more eager to be off. He allowed the cloth to drop. When it hit the ground he said, “Go.”

The wagon shook as the multitude stampeded away from the camp. Dust rose in the air. Bardon peered through his small crack and watched. The air became still. The cloud of grime settled. Lord Ire stood for a moment and then vanished.

The bisonbeck soldiers started as if awakening from a trance. They moved around, straightening overturned barrels, putting out the fires, and collecting cooking utensils and abandoned food supplies. Soon even that activity stilled.

Bardon waited.

He listened.

He heard a whimper and then a sob.

“Leetu?”

A mangled word came back to him through the staves of the barrels.

“What is it?” he asked.

She choked and moaned and managed to speak. “Kimens. He has sent them to hunt kimens, as hounds would track down a fox. They will tear apart each kimen they find with their teeth and their claws.” Another sob escaped her. “He has commanded it so.”

         
32
         

T
ODAY OR
T
OMORROW?

Practicality stalled the choice to go on. Kale and her father couldn’t proceed without the cooperation of the ropmas. Without being deliberately obstinate, the ropmas threw up one obstacle after another. To them, the threat of Burner Stox and her army had already been removed, so there was plenty of time to do enjoyable things like eating and sleeping. Nothing Kale or her father said could change what the band of ropmas decided to do.

The villagers expected music and stories from the visiting o’rants. They provided dinner, a place to sleep, and breakfast in return.

“When will you take us to the valley of dragons?” Sir Kemry asked.

“Tomorrow,” each would answer when quizzed.

After inquiring of all the ropmas who seemed to share a loose leadership role, Sir Kemry shrugged and wandered over to sit on one of the crude benches clustered under a shade tree. He pulled out his flute, cocked an eyebrow at Kale, and whispered, “I hope they have a clear concept of tomorrow becoming today. Otherwise, we will have to go on without their guidance.”

“We could do that, couldn’t we? If we scanned their thoughts, we would get a picture of the path to the valley.”

“That’s doubtful. Their thought patterns are not orderly. Jumbled in with the course we should take would be memories of fishing spots and berry patches. It would be like trying to follow a map that had inserts of foreign countries with no explanation.”

“Oh.”

“We need Bug to guide us.”

Kale grinned. “Pretty humbling, isn’t it?”

Sir Kemry’s eyes twinkled. “Being dependent on these simple creatures? Yes, it is.”

He raised the flute to his lips and blew a brisk, cheerful melody. Metta flew to the bingham tree and sat in its branches while she sang her accompanying chirps. She looked like a giant purple flower set among a backdrop of dainty pink blossoms. Kale picked up the lyrics of the winsome ballad from her dragon and sang the words. The villagers ceased their activities and gathered around. The entertainment would have gone on indefinitely had it not been for growling stomachs.

Kale learned ropmas’ bellies produce a very loud complaint when empty too long. She also discovered their evening meal of stew was very tasty, although it could have benefited by a pinch of salt.

As the day ended, the village turned in for the night. Kale watched one ropma duck into the small door of his home. He came out with a sturdy stick, waved it in the air as if he were warning an invisible foe, then disappeared into his hut. Each ropma performed the same routine. Even the small children came out and repeated the little ritual with smaller sticks.

“What are they doing?” Kale asked Bug.

“Who?”

She pointed to two adolescents standing in front of their tent and threatening the sky with their sticks. “Them.”

“Say to night, ‘I have weapon.’”

“So your enemies see you are ready to defend your homes?”

Bug surveyed the mountains surrounding the valley. “Bad no come. Bug sleep.” His chin dropped to his chest. In the moonlight, tears glistened on his cheeks.

“What’s wrong, Bug?” As always, Kale surveyed the ropma’s mind as he spoke, to aid in interpreting what he meant. Frightened by the images she picked up, she turned to her father, wondering if he, too, saw the raid upon the settlement: fire, clubs battering terrorized ropmas, women and children fleeing, men slashed with long swords.

Bug sobbed, and Sir Kemry placed his hand on the ropma’s hairy shoulder. Kale saw his fingers tighten and relax, tighten and relax.

“We will face your enemy, Bug. Wulder willing, we will destroy them.”

Bug nodded and shuffled to a nearby hut. He motioned for Kale and Sir Kemry to follow.

Bug pointed at Kale’s father. “You sleep.” He pointed to the door.

With his back to the round opening, Sir Kemry raised his staff and shook it at the sky. His fierce expression must have impressed Bug. The ropma’s face lightened with hope. Kale’s father kissed her on the forehead, went down on his knees, and crawled into the hut.

Bug motioned Kale on. The next hut was to be hers. He offered her the stick he carried.

“No thank you, Bug. I have a weapon.” She drew her sword.

Bug looked at her empty hand.

“It’s invisible,” she explained.

Bug tilted his head, squinted his eyes, and obviously saw nothing.

“Watch.” Kale drew a circle in the dirt with the tip of her blade. She added two eyes, a nose, and a smile.

Bug reached for the space between her hand and the ground. Kale pulled the sword back just in time.

“No, Bug. It’s sharp. It would cut you.”

“Sleep!” commanded another voice. Rain stepped out of the shadows.

She brought Kale a big stick and pushed it into her free hand. The female ropma took the o’rant wizard by the shoulders, forced her to turn, bend, and enter the round opening.

“Lie down! Sleep!” she ordered.

From the dark confines of the hut, Kale answered, “Yes ma’am.”

In the morning, Kale tasted the breakfast gruel, expecting it to be as savory as the evening meal. She fought to keep from spitting out the lumpy, sticky mass of flavorless goo. She chewed with her eyes scrunched shut. The blob clung to her teeth, the roof of her mouth, and the insides of her cheeks. As she chewed, the gob developed a sour taste.

Her eyes watered. She felt a hand on her shoulder and heard her father say, “Drink this.”

She reached blindly for the offered cup and washed the gruel down. As the liquid mixed with the porridge, a sweet, nutty flavor covered the horrid aftertaste until her mouth felt fresh and her stomach full.

She opened her eyes and gazed into her father’s sympathetic face. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He winked.

“Think nothing of it.” He gestured to the communal table. “Try the bread. It’s safe. Don’t touch the green stuff in the wooden bowl.”

Kale nodded and went to pick up a small round loaf of bread, no bigger than her palm and as hard as a rock. Two small ropmas sat on a boulder under a tree, sucking on the end of their bread. Kale scraped her front teeth over the smaller end of her roll and tasted a honey-sweet surprise.

Her father smiled and leaned close to her ear. “I thought you would like it. The bread lasts for hours, and if you tire of the delicacy, you can always use it to render someone unconscious by knocking him on the head with it.”

Bug and his family ate under a tree close by.

Sir Kemry tilted his head in their direction. “I think I’ll go ask when we’re leaving. I may find out that today is the tomorrow from yesterday, or tomorrow is still a day away.”

Kale could easily hear her father’s exchange with Bug.

“Good morning, Bug, Rain.” He smiled and patted the head of a small child sitting in her mother’s lap. “When do we leave to go to the valley of dragons?”

“Now,” said Bug and continued to chew.

Sir Kemry beamed. “Fine, Kale and I will get ready to go.”

Bug nodded, tipped his bowl, slurped up the contents, then smacked his lips.

An hour later, Kale and her father sat in the commons and watched Bug unhurriedly do his chores.

“‘Now’ doesn’t mean now,” said Sir Kemry.

“I hope it means today,” said Kale.

Kale and her dragons entertained the youngest ropmas. Each new activity distracted the older ropmas. They stopped working and came to observe the antics of the visitor. Sir Kemry sidled up to her after she finished acting out a children’s story with puppets stored in a hollow of her cape.

“You’d best find something to do that doesn’t draw attention to yourself.”

“Why?”

“Because Bug and the others will never finish their work, and we will be stuck here another day.”

Kale and her father then attempted to blend in with the community. They spent time mingling with the ropmas and making friends, gleaning tidbits of information, and helping with the simple chores.

Two hours later, Bug had finished his chores, played with his children, and started more chores.

“Do you think Bug is procrastinating?” asked Kale when she passed her father.

“I doubt he would know the word or understand the concept, but he might be doing it out of some innate instinct of self-preservation.”

“What can we do?”

“Let’s go talk to him.”

They approached Bug as he wove together sturdy weed stems. Kale puzzled over what he was making and came up with no answer.

“Bug,” Sir Kemry spoke firmly. “We must go now.”

Bug nodded. “We go now.” He continued working.

Sir Kemry pondered the busy ropma. “Ah!” he said. He patted Kale on the back. “Not to worry, dear. “Now” means today. We shouldn’t have to wait much longer.”

After the noon meal, which was more like breakfast than the wonderful stew they had had the night before, Bug kissed his wife and children, and said, “We go.”

For a moment it appeared that one of his older bas would come along. The young man pleaded, but Bug would not allow it.

“So they do argue,” said Kale as she observed the interchange.

“The Tomes say, ‘Water moves the rock until the rock stops the dam.’”

“I never understood that one and never remembered to ask when I was with someone who might tell me.”

“You can figure it out for yourself if you understand that
plug
is another word for ‘stop.’”

“I had figured that out. I still don’t get it.”

“A force in nature affects what surrounds it. Since another force is also affecting its surroundings, there will, at times, be conflict.” He looked at her face. “Here’s another one. ‘The weed and the oat want the same ground.’ Neither the weed nor the oat is evil, but they need the same thing. Thus, conflict.”

Bug walked past them, and they fell into step behind him.

“Why,” asked Kale, “can’t Wulder just say in plain language some of the things that are ‘hidden’ in the Tomes?”

“Because the high races learn better when they struggle to wrap their minds around a concept. ‘Hard lessons are best learned.’”

“I’ve heard Bardon quote that principle.”

“A child learns not to touch a hot rock beside the fire, not because he heard his parent say, ‘Don’t touch,’ but because there are tears in his eyes and a blister on his finger. Hopefully, he also learns to listen to his parents’ admonitions.”

“Why do I so quickly grow tired of talk like this?”

Sir Kemry threw back his head and laughed. “Because you are one of the high races. You wish to be in charge, and the principles point out that you are not. You chafe against hearing proof of your own weakness, and therefore avoid it, much like Bug avoided beginning this trip. Self-preservation. In his case, he hoped to preserve his life. In your case, you hope to preserve your self, your autonomy.”

Kale hunched her shoulders and relaxed them, sighing.

“The odd thing, my dear,” said her father, “is that once one has ceased trying to protect self, one finds one’s self in a very comfortable position.”

“Where?” asked Kale.

“In Wulder’s care.”

They walked for hours, following a trail Kale could barely make out. At the top of a ridge, Bug stopped and pointed.