DragonQuest

by Donita K. Paul

  Kale followed. Heirnot trees stood with their slender trunks spaced far enough apart that she had no problem catching up with the villain abducting the woman. She launched herself at the man’s knees and brought him down with a solid tackle. Then she rolled away and came up again with her small sword ready to swing. Neither the man nor the maiden stirred.

  She eyed the mass of disheveled clothing, waiting for some sign of life. She panted from the run, but nothing in the mound moved with any indication of breathing. As she watched, the garments shrunk as if they had lost their stuffing. The woman and her abductor were gone, leaving no more than a pile of ragged clothes.

  Kale straightened from her fight-ready stance and glowered. Reaching with her mind, she didn’t connect with anything. Taking a cautious step forward, she kept her sword pointed at the curious heap.

  A growl warned her an instant before a massive body slammed into her from the side, knocking her down. She managed to keep a grip on the sword as the attacker pinned her arm to the ground. Struggling under his weight, she felt herself pushed deeper into the old leaves. A huge hand pressed against her skull, and she thought she would suffocate in the damp mulch.

  She became aware of the distress of the minor dragons trapped in her cape. Metta sang an outraged battle song she had never heard before. Gymn sent wave after wave of strength to Kale, but it was not enough to topple the man off her back. Dibl giggled as images of squashed berries flitted through his mind and therefore hers.

  The bisonbeck grunted, jerked, grunted again, and rose off Kale. She forced her arms underneath her and pushed to pry her body out of the muck. She turned on her side to see Bardon deliver a fisted blow to the disarmed assailant. The man sank to his knees and fell over.

  Bardon stood with his sword ready, scanning the area around them for other attackers. “Are you all right, Kale?”

  She nodded, mumbling, “Yes.”

  The dwindling sounds of fighting told her the skirmish was almost over.

  Dibl flew from her cape and landed on their rescuer. Bardon stroked his orange belly. A twinkle lurked in the lehman’s blue eyes. He offered a hand to help Kale rise.

  “Next time,” he said with a grin, “try attacking your opponent from the top instead of the bottom. It gives you an advantage.”

  She jerked her hand out of his. “That wasn’t funny.” She brushed at the leaves and dirt covering her.

  “Dibl thought it was.”

  Her eyes came up to meet his. “You heard Dibl mindspeak?”

  Bardon’s brow furrowed more, and he shook his head. “No, it was only an impression.”

  “An impression is all you usually get from a minor dragon,” Kale explained. “Images. Thoughts that are almost words, but not quite.”

  “I don’t mindspeak.”

  She ignored his objection and continued to puzzle over how Bardon had “heard” Dibl.

  “Dibl is bonded to me. I can mindspeak with him. He would converse easily with someone else adept at mindspeaking. In a desperate situation, one of my minor dragons could probably get a message through to someone rather inept at the art.” Kale studied Bardon, someone she had always considered dense in the ways of wizardry. She shook her head. “But you heard Dibl.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Did you think of that quip about me fighting from on top instead of the bottom?”

  Bardon nodded with a smug smile tightening his lips.

  “What was Dibl’s reaction?”

  “He laughed.”

  Kale raised a finger and shook it at the staid lehman. “He didn’t laugh out loud.”

  Bardon’s scowl returned, but he didn’t speak.

  “How many of Paladin’s servants at The Hall mindspeak?”

  “Some instructors. Grand Ebeck. Maybe a half dozen in all.”

  “So maybe you never had a chance to develop the talent.”

  “Maybe you’re full of foolishness.”

  They glared at each other, each with their hands on their hips in a no-nonsense, straight-legged posture.

  Dibl flew to Kale’s shoulder.

  She blinked and relaxed. “Thank you.”

  “What for?”

  She leaned over to wipe her blade in the leaves, cleaning off the blood. “For saving my life.”

  “Oh, that.”

  She looked up and giggled. “Yes, that.”

  Bardon smiled.

  She ducked her head, concentrating on polishing her weapon.

  He smiled, and Dibl isn’t even sitting on his shoulder.

  27

  STRANDED TRAVELERS

  “An illusion?” Librettowit considered the matter of the disappearing bisonbeck and maiden. Bardon, Toopka, and Kale had joined Librettowit, Dar, and Regidor inside the carriage as soon as the skirmish with the bandits ended. Dar had ordered Bruit to turn off the main road to take a shortcut avoiding the small city of Tourk. The coach rocked and bounced over rough roads, making slower time than they had earlier.

  With each sway of the carriage, the crowded passengers leaned into each other. In his nervous state, Regidor’s tail took up more room than usual. The meech dragon had to keep a firm hold on the tail to keep it from twitching in his comrades’ faces.

  Librettowit interlaced his fingers and rested his hands on his stomach. “The trick was designed to lure someone away from the crowd. Was the trick aimed at just anyone, or at Kale, in particular?”

  Bardon nodded. “Was this a random group of footpads, or were they paid to waylay our party?”

  Regidor’s tail flicked out of his hands and slapped Librettowit alongside the head. The librarian scowled. The meech dragon grabbed his tail and pulled it back into his lap.

  Regidor voiced his opinion. “I would have said random had they not lured our Dragon Keeper into the woods.”

  Dar studied Kale with a thoughtful eye and his arms crossed over his chest. “I agree with Librettowit. I think it was an illusion.”

  Kale frowned at her friend. “But when I hit the man’s legs, they were solid and folded just like you’d expect.”

  Bardon joined the discussion. “The people disappeared from the pile of clothes, then the clothes disappeared during the fight. Illusion!”

  “Yes,” agreed Dar. “Kale, did you use the words Granny Noon gave you to protect yourself before you entered the fray?”

  Her eyes opened wide. I stand under the authority of Wulder. In Wulder’s service, I search for truth. My thoughts belong to me and Wulder. I haven’t repeated those things since before the last encounter with my mother.

  Dar nodded, knowingly. “So you haven’t been protecting your mind.”

  Kale glared at him. Do you read my mind?

  “No!”

  Dar sighed. Since she was already connected to Dar by the brief interchange of mindspeaking, Kale felt his frustration ease out of him. It flowed out of her as well. This was her good friend. She trusted him.

  An emotion transferred from Dar, and Kale almost gasped when she realized it was love. The warm feeling embraced her. It resembled the peace she experienced when she was with Granny Noon.

  A new realization struck her. This is how I feel when I’m aware of Wulder’s presence. Only this isn’t as grand. When I felt Wulder near me, I didn’t see His love. It was too big. This small feeling is more comfortable than Wulder’s majestic, commanding love. A shiver of contentment raised goose bumps on Kale’s arms. Wulder loves me.

  She could not recall ever being aware of another’s love for her. Lyll Allerion’s professions didn’t count. Something about that relationship continued to rattle her peace of mind.

  “Kale,” said Dar, pointing a finger at her, “you’re subject to evil influences because you’re a spiritual being. You must always be on your guard.”

  “On guard?”

  “The enemy targets one he feels is furthering Paladin’s agenda.”

  Toopka bounced on Bardon’s knee. “Maybe Kale should let herself get caught. Then she can mindspeak
to us and tell us what’s going on from inside.”

  “Inside where?” Kale asked.

  Toopka shrugged. “I don’t know. Inside Risto’s castle, or inside the prison where they’re keeping the other meech, or inside the army headquarters.”

  “I’ve been inside Risto’s castle.” Kale shook her head. “And I don’t care to go back. I don’t think they’re keeping the dragon in a prison, because he’s supposed to be out influencing other dragons.”

  “And,” interrupted Librettowit, “the bisonbeck army’s headquarters is in Risto’s castle.”

  Bardon cleared his throat. “Where Kale does not care to go.”

  The lehman sat scrunched between her and the carriage wall with Dibl on his shoulder. Kale twisted in her seat to look at Bardon’s face. She didn’t see any amusement in his expression, but a shimmer like an unvoiced chortle passed through her mind. She narrowed her eyes at him, convinced that the ripple of suppressed laughter had come from him.

  At that moment, the door to the driver’s seat above their heads opened. Kale looked up and saw the back of the driver’s boots and trouser legs.

  “Begging your pardon,” Bruit said with a country drawl, his voice raised over the noise of harness and horse, “but there’s a disabled landau in the road some distance ahead. Do you want me to stop?”

  Bardon tossed Toopka into Kale’s lap, grabbed the top edge of the open window at his side, and slithered out of the crowded coach, climbing to the roof.

  His voice came down to them, loud and clear.

  “Three o’rant females and a male marione driver. The women are dressed like landed gentry.”

  “We must stop,” announced Dar. “Kale and Toopka, up on the roof with you. Can’t have the lower servants riding in the coach. Young Dibl, remember you are to stay out of sight.”

  Kale pushed Toopka through the window and up to Bardon’s waiting hands, then crawled out, clambering to lie on the luggage.

  Bruit pulled back on the reins, saying, “Steady, Romer. We’re gonna stop for a minute or two and see what these folks need.” The horse leaned back against the breeches. The harness jangled.

  Kale stared at the fancy carriage, shiny black with yellow wheels. The roof had been lowered to allow the passengers to enjoy the pleasant autumn afternoon. Two young women perched in the seat facing forward. An older lady roosted in the matching seat that faced the rear of the vehicle. The driver sat in the dirt beside a wheel, mending a strip of leather.

  The youngest of the ladies lifted a hand in greeting. Kale almost responded before she remembered her place as a servant. Although she couldn’t hear the words spoken, Kale recognized when the oldest woman voiced a strong reprimand. The younger girl bit her lip and lowered her head.

  Kale explored their thoughts to determine whether this was another ambush.

  The mother’s mind listed household details that were being ignored because of their delay in returning from afternoon social calls.

  The oldest girl bubbled with delight that the exceedingly boring day had ended with an encounter with a splendid man, obviously the household sheridan. This sheridan’s amazingly handsome face made her heart flutter.

  Kale blinked twice when she realized the young lady was batting her eyelashes at Bardon.

  The younger sister, too, found Bardon attractive, so attractive that she could only peek up at him. With each glance, she blushed and demurely looked down to her gloved hands folded in her lap. She hoped their mother would invite the party to their manor so she could watch him all evening long.

  Kale studied her companion. Bardon’s frame was long and lean, a little taller than the average o’rant. His muscles bulged under the simple garment of a servant. His face held his usual reserved expression. His clear blue eyes under dark eyebrows were startling, but Kale thought they too often looked aloof, not friendly at all. But to be fair, she admitted Bardon had warmed up lately.

  Romer slowed and stopped beside the landau. Dar jumped down from the carriage and held the door for Librettowit to descend.

  “Good afternoon, ladies,” Librettowit bowed. “Trevithick Librettowit at your service. May we be of assistance?”

  The oldest woman spoke. “The breeching came loose in the harness. Our driver will have it right in short order.”

  The driver had risen to his feet as Dar and Librettowit approached. He tipped his hat to the men.

  Kale transferred her attention to the thoughts of the driver. His mind was on the impossibility of reconnecting the rotted leather in his hands. Kale conveyed that information to Librettowit.

  “Ahem!” said the tumanhofer, looking over to the frustrated driver. “May I have our driver assist? Perhaps we have a piece of leather to graft into the harness.”

  The older o’rant woman looked to her driver. He nodded, and she looked back at Librettowit.

  “Very well.”

  Bruit handed the reins to Bardon and climbed down from his perch. Kale felt the coach rock as the man shifted from one position to another, but she also felt Regidor move within the carriage after their driver’s feet were on the ground. She suspected he sat by the partially opened small door that allowed the driver to speak to those inside the carriage.

  It took some time for the two drivers to improvise the connection between the crupper and breeching. Dar remained silent. As a butler, he could not enter into the social exchange of his betters. Librettowit maintained the conversation, though somewhat stiff in his manner.

  The mother introduced her girls, Miss Adel Gransford, Peony, and herself, Mistress Gransford. Kale watched as the young ladies tossed flirtatious glances at Bardon.

  Librettowit explained their journey to Prushing.

  “I’m in search of a rare book I heard has been seen in Dottergobeathan’s Antique Emporium. My traveling companion Abbot Gidor remains in the carriage. I beg you to forgive this apparent discourtesy, but he is a religious man from the Northern Reach. He goes about with his head covered and barely speaks.”

  Mistress Gransford cast a disapproving look to the closed carriage. “What possible business could the man have in Trese?”

  “His monastery produces fine glass dishes and articles of art. The trade of these items supplements the income of their modest community.”

  The woman’s eyes lit up, and Kale received an impression of greed. Librettowit had unknowingly touched on a source of Mistress Gransford’s pride. She collected fine dishes.

  She twirled her parasol and looked at her older daughter before speaking. “Prushing is another day’s travel. You will be too late coming into Broadfiord to find an inn. Since aiding us has caused your delay, may I offer you the hospitality of my husband’s manor? It is but two miles away, once we turn at the next crossing.”

  Kale stared at the back of the doneel’s head, seeing his ears tilt forward at the woman’s suggestion. Dar, is this good?

  “Yes. We might as well start gathering information from the people about any unusual activity among the dragons. Tell Librettowit I’m in favor of accepting her hospitality.”

  Kale conveyed Dar’s message to Librettowit, and the librarian graciously accepted the invitation.

  “I don’t like this,” said Regidor, mindspeaking to Kale alone. “The glow that surrounds the girls and the driver seems to indicate nothing unusual, but the mother’s luminescence is tinged with a dark undertone.”

  Tell Dar.

  “I did.”

  And what did he say?

  “Be wary.”

  28

  QUARTERED WITH THE ENEMY

  “Bring me some food!”

  Kale jumped when Regidor’s voice bellowed in her mind. She glanced around the spacious kitchen to see if any of the manor servants had noticed. The mixture of mariones, o’rants, and tumanhofers worked side by side in a friendly atmosphere. They had made Kale, Bardon, and Toopka welcome around their plain wood table.

  Kale addressed her meech friend. You don’t have any food?

  “A cr
ust of bread, a hard hunk of yellow cheese, and a tankard of watered-down cider.”

  She felt the meech dragon’s disgust as if it were her own. She knew immediately to whom Regidor attributed his meager meal, therefore, his rant didn’t surprise her.

  “Dar told them my order of monks rarely eats meat or vegetables or such luxuries as salt and sugar. Only the plainest of food would meet my stringent dietary restrictions.”

  Kale grinned, imagining the pleasure Dar got from his orneriness. She saw Bardon lift an eyebrow in her direction.

  “What are you scheming?”

  The question came into her mind along with the realization that she had not initiated the conversation.

  You’re a mindspeaker, Bardon!

  “I am not. I merely respond to what you say.”

  But I didn’t say anything. You asked a question.

  “You were looking at me and that opened the communication.”

  You’re stubborn.

  “You’re wrong and don’t want to admit it. That’s stubborn.”

  Regidor’s voice bellowed into her thoughts. “And while you argue pointlessly, I’m starving!”

  From within her moonbeam cape, three more voices radiated to her mind. The minor dragons wanted food too.

  All right, all right!

  She stood and marched out of the kitchen, not bothering to explain her sudden departure. Quick steps through the cool night air brought her to the stable. She entered the barn and nodded to Bruit sitting with the manor’s stablemen around a table lit by a lantern.

  Climbing the wooden ladder to the loft, she mentally told Bardon to be quiet as he chastised her for rude behavior. She also told Regidor to be patient. He expounded upon the lack of consideration the others showed him by leaving him alone and hungry in a dreary room in the massive, drafty stone house. At the top of the ladder and out of sight of the men below, she pulled the minor dragons from her cape.

  “Stay out of sight,” she whispered. “You can forage all you want up here. I’ll be back to sleep in the loft. If anyone comes up, remember—stay out of sight!”