DragonFire (9 page)

Bardon felt a tug on his sleeve. His wife’s familiar touch anchored him, making him feel normalcy had suddenly returned.

Her wide eyes made his heart thrum. Once, with his hands cupped around hers while she held a quickened dragon egg, he’d been able to feel the rhythmic drone from the creature within. The ticklish, vibrant hum of that new life was much like what he experienced when those special moments came upon him. Out of an ordinary situation, he would step into the realization that Kale Allerion was his wife, his partner, and he thrummed. This was one of those unexpected special moments. His very being responded.

He turned his attention to Kale, studying her enchanting, upturned face. Her curls had lost the shape she’d given them this morning, a dignified hairstyle, befitting a wizard in Paladin’s service. Bardon smiled to himself. The wizards never achieved a sophisticated image, and most gave up trying.

Concern shaded the vivid color of Kale’s eyes. The brown, green, and gold flecks pooled together in a worried hazel. She clutched his sleeve. “Dar wants you to come with them. He says to hurry.”

He didn’t question his wife’s reception of a message from Sir Dar any more than he questioned his need to respond. Dar had trained him from a rather inflexible squire to a successful knight. If Dar called, he’d go. Even if it meant the uncomfortable presence of his father.

Bardon left the women in the courtyard and followed his mentor. Dibl went along, riding on his shoulder. Even with his mind on serious matters, Bardon felt the influence of the little dragon enjoying the view and the hurried pace of his knight. Therefore the knight stepped more lightly upon the path leading to his parent and his mentor.

When Bardon caught up with them, Dar had his father laughing.

Laughing! How does Dar do it?

“Joff,” said Sir Dar. “You are an intelligent, passionate man. Which adjective do you think best describes your effectiveness as a knight?”

Joffa rubbed his hand over his beardless chin. “An offhanded lecture, Dar?”

“Yes, but my desire is to see you achieve the purpose in your heart. Please, answer my question.”

Bardon walked behind the two men and in front of the two guards, who seemed nervous about allowing their prisoner to stroll through the gardens. Bardon chuckled at the image of his father hightailing it for the castle wall. His father tended to be loud, but he was a staunch knight, dedicated to the code of chivalry.

Sir Joffa turned and acknowledged the presence of his son with a scowl. Bardon wiped the grin from his face, and Sir Joffa returned his attention to the diminutive knight by his side.

The emerlindian gestured as he spoke. “Intelligence is required to recognize and analyze the situation.”

“So intelligence is the most important.” Dar nodded.

Joffa barked, “Let me finish.” He cleared his throat and continued. “Passion is required to invigorate the soul. One must care enough to risk all to achieve an end.”

“So passion—”

“Enough, Dar. If you want me to answer, then let me!”

Dar nodded again, and Bardon saw his mentor’s ear tilt forward. He imagined the pleasant expression on the diplomatic knight’s face. Dar could soothe the most irate opponent in a debate, and Bardon felt sure this ability sprang from the doneel’s amiable countenance.

His father harrumphed several times, and Dar waited. The doneel’s face showed no impatience.

“It’s balance that gets the job done.” Sir Joffa halted abruptly and turned to his friend.

Bardon stopped in time, but one of the guards did not. The urohm jostled Bardon from behind as the inexperienced oaf ran up on the young knight’s heels.

Ignoring the commotion behind him, Joffa shook a finger at Dar. “That’s what you want me to say, isn’t it? You want me to acknowledge that my blundering passion makes my intelligence diminish in the eyes of my comrades.” They resumed walking. “You’ve made your point, Dar.”

“No,” Dar chuckled. “You made my point.”

Joffa harrumphed again. “True. But it’ll take Wulder’s hand, hard and heavy, to keep me from destroying any fine intentions I develop to control my temper.”

“He’s capable,” said Dar.

“I’m willing,” returned Joffa with blustery enthusiasm.

Smiling, Dar turned to wink over his shoulder.

         
12
         

T
ALK

Kale watched as her husband, her father-in-law, and Sir Dar ate with enthusiasm. The food smelled delicious. But the memories of the recent battle in this very room upset Kale’s stomach. She excused herself and went searching for Granny Noon. She hadn’t seen much of the emerlindian since their arrival. After several inquiries, she found the granny in a nursery where a dozen small children of various high races were playing. Among the attendants to the occupants of the room, a ropma sat on the floor with two crawling babies. The infants patted the creature’s tangled fur and scrambled over her as if she were a soft climbing toy. If ropmas didn’t look so much like shaggy dogs, their near-nakedness would be embarrassing. This ropma wore the traditional cloth tied around her waist, hanging down to her knees. In the next room voices raised in excitement as some older children played a game.

Granny Noon sat in a rocker by a window and held a sleeping babe. She smiled when she saw Kale enter the room and weave her way through the little people playing on the floor.

Kale leaned over to kiss the granny on the cheek and then peck the dozing infant on the top of his bald head. In response, the child made nursing motions with his lips, then sighed with contentment. Kale settled on a hassock beside Granny Noon’s chair.

“You are distressed.”
The emerlindian’s warm voice soothed Kale’s agitation.

Yes.

“Rock a sleeping baby, build a tower of blocks with a toddler, sing with the older children in the next room.”

Why?

“To rediscover what life is supposed to be.”

Granny Noon, these children may be enslaved by the evil of Pretender.

“And that is why we will fight.”

Kale blinked back tears and picked up an infant who was using her as his handhold as he struggled to stand. “You want to walk, big fella?”

The little tyke grinned with only four teeth in his gummy smile.

“I’ll help.” Kale placed him on his chubby, bare feet and put her forefingers in his tiny grasp.

Walking behind him, she kept him upright as he took tentative steps. He laughed, and so did she. Kale stayed in the nursery, playing with and nurturing the young of all seven high races, until duty called.

A trumpet sounded, and the doors opened on two levels. On the first floor of the castle, servants ushered dignitaries into the vast throne room. On the second, wizards seated themselves in a balcony that ran around three sides of the solemn chamber. Paladin already sat on his throne in the vast hall. Gymn, green and gleaming in the light, lay draped over his shoulder as if painted on the plain, but elegant, court cutaway. The jacket looked too large for the one it adorned. Kale wondered if Paladin had walked on his own or if he had arrived in an invalid chair, one with two large wheels and a handlebar across the back.

Gymn answered. Paladin had been transported in the special chair that sat just out of view behind the dais curtains.

The large throne, carved with twisting vines and large, open blossoms, swallowed Paladin’s gaunt frame. He sat with one elbow on the armrest and his hand cupped over his jaw as if that were the only way he could keep his head propped up. Solemn blue eyes peered out from under black eyebrows as he regarded his people.

They came in with a staid and sober tread. All the fuming, festering acrimony that had characterized interchanges in the garden and the halls dropped away under the importance of the hour. Each person carried a wooden baton. During the meeting, if they wished an opportunity to speak, they would raise the rod and wait to be recognized.

Representatives sat in straight-backed chairs grouped according to regions. Sir Dar sat with delegates from Northern Wittoom. Lady Allerion and Sir Kemry did not sit with Outer Amara, which was a name given to those who resided outside the country but were citizens pledged to Paladin. The wizard couple’s home in the Northern Reach qualified them for seats in this segment, but their status as wizards removed them from the floor. Kale sat in the gallery with her parents, while Bardon, who represented The Bogs in Southern Wynd, sat among the high races from that area. Sir Joffa stood behind those in the Inner Amara group. These people claimed no specific homeland but served Amara in general.

In the gallery above, the wizards sat listening carefully but not participating in the meeting below. Paladin had instructed them to attend, in order to take note of the input of the populace, and then take into consideration the temperament of the people when they held their own meeting that night.

When all seats were filled and the rustle of moving bodies ceased, Paladin sat back in his throne and placed his hands together, steepling his long fingers.

Kale held her breath. First he would pray to Wulder.

But he did not.

He pointed to a counselor from Trese. The man stood and lifted his voice in praise of the Creator and petitioned for wisdom and harmony.

Next Paladin signaled Magistrate Moht to come to the front of the hall. He stood beside Paladin and conducted the meeting, calling on individuals to report and analyze and make suggestions. From time to time, he stooped to consult with Paladin, but the leader never spoke so that anyone other than the magistrate could hear.

Kale’s concern for Paladin took precedence over the arguments presented by the citizens of Amara. She watched her beloved leader. Her heart ached as she realized how very little he moved. She used her talent to increase her ability to observe him. At certain interludes, she thought he had ceased to even breathe. As the time and the endless talk went on and on, Paladin closed his eyes more often. Just when she thought he slept, he’d open them again and raise a finger. Magistrate Moht bent over, and Paladin conveyed something to his deputy in quiet tones.

Her beautiful healing dragon moved from one position to another as if he could not find a place to settle. Gymn gave lethargic answers to her questions. She sensed weariness from her healing dragon and knew he expended all his energy to do what little he could to sustain the sick man’s health. Her attention remained riveted on Paladin.

Kale did note, in the back of her mind, that none of the representatives raised a voice. Even Bardon’s father spoke calmly, without belligerence. She gathered from the little she heard that the leaders had repented of their former attitude.

For three years, since the first signs of animosity between Pretender and his underlings had surfaced, the people of Amara had chosen to remain as uninvolved as possible. Now the situation made it clear. They must participate in securing the safety of the land. This would require fighting not one, not two, but three evil forces.

A voice Kale recognized penetrated her concentration. Farmer Brigg stood among citizens from the foothills of the Morchain Mountain Range.

“Aye, some of us ’ave caught on to what’s gonna ’appen if we don’t pull our ’eads out of our own feedbags. But a lot of folks just don’t want to see the danger. They aren’t going to be wanting to send their good workers off to war and leave the weaker ones to tend the fires at ’ome.”

Farmer Brigg sat down to a murmur of assent on his observation. Kale smiled from her place in the gallery with the other wizards. But her old friend did not look up. The talk went on, this time centered on what response the populace would have to the call to arms.

After hours of debate, Paladin held up his hand. Those who had a wooden baton raised lowered the rod.

A mountain wizard and a sky wizard both rose from their seats and exited the balcony. They soon appeared in the hall below and went to stand on either side of the throne. Unaided, Paladin rose to his feet.

“I…,” said Paladin, his voice wispy but audible and distinct through some machination of the wise men beside him. “I do not know if I will remain with you until the final days of this conflict. I do not know the outcome of our struggle.”

He swayed. The two wizards at his side took hold of his arms. Gymn wrapped his long green body around Paladin’s neck. The leader inhaled and exhaled, slowly and with great labor. With a softly spoken word, he instructed the wizards to allow him to stand on his own.

“I do know”—his voice echoed in the still room—“that it is not my time to lead. To observe and perhaps consult, but not participate. I am content with Wulder’s directive for my life. I will return to my more strenuous duties if He ordains.”

He struggled for his next breath, and the wizards took him by the arms. He did not reject their aid.

His head drooped, but his voice came strikingly clear to all who listened. “Let this be known. This is a time for each Amaran to seek Wulder. Go directly to His ear with your petitions. Listen only to His voice for guidance. This is not…tragedy, but…opportunity.” Paladin slumped, and the wizards lowered him onto the throne.

As a servant wheeled the invalid chair across the dais to Paladin’s side, Magistrate Moht stepped forward. “We will suspend our talks until after our evening meal. At the sound of the tower eventide chimes, we will gather with our own to further discuss our situation. In the morning we will again meet in the throne room to put forth plans.”

The two wizards supported Paladin as he moved from the throne to the wheeled chair. Kale turned to look her mother in the eye.

“Can we avoid war?”

“No, I think not.”