DragonQuest

by Donita K. Paul

  Bardon felt it too. The strong link between them startled Kale out of her reverie. From her perch on the big rock, she looked at Bardon seated on the grass. She expected to see his back or shoulder touching her. But six inches separated him from her knee. Still, a steady vibration emanated from the lehman. The sensation felt like a cat’s purr, and she realized it matched, thrum for thrum, a similar tremor in her being.

  Harmonizing notes to Metta’s song recaptured her attention. Across the stubby field, Librettowit, Regidor, and Dar stood with musical instruments. The librarian played an oboe, the meech dragon played a flute, and the doneel drew a bow across the strings of a violin. Toopka skipped into the open area and joined the dancers.

  From the center of the field, among the kimen dancers, a radiance grew. Like the colors of a rainbow, a pool of light ebbed and flowed, pulsating with the chords of music. With each pulse, the borders extended out and returned, but the height of the image grew taller and continued to stretch upward. When the melody ended, a rainbow column soared far above their heads. For a moment the lights quivered, and then the image streaked upward, disappearing like a comet into the heavens.

  “What was that?” asked Bardon.

  “Worship,” Kale answered, her voice still hushed with awe.

  Bardon walked with her back to the tents. None of the questers spoke as they went to their beds. The serenity following the musical interlude hovered over them like a peaceful blanket.

  Toopka settled on her pallet. But as soon as Kale pulled up her own covers and nestled down to sleep, the little doneel popped out of bed, scooted across the space between them, and slipped under the blanket. Kale cuddled her little friend, and they slumbered peacefully through the night.

  The dawn exposed a glistening frost upon the ground once more. The sun’s rays infused thin banks of clouds with rich coral colors. The wood smoke from Dar’s cooking fire mixed with heavy spices he’d sprinkled in mugs of tea. Toopka hovered close, hoping to be the first to fill her plate with fried mullins.

  The dragons tolerated the cold but preferred warmer weather. They stroked the air with their leathery wings to stir their sluggish blood. Anyone who did not know this ritual prepared them for flight might have thought they were doing homage to the rising sun.

  After the companions ate breakfast and broke camp, Kale tucked Toopka inside her moonbeam cape for the journey. The other companions dressed warmly in clothing lined with thick, knitted wool. Once they were in flight, the warmth generated by the dragons’ labor seeped through the leather saddles and warmed the passengers.

  They soared above the countryside for only an hour before they spotted the Guerson River. The dragons descended, landing in a harvested field to the east of River Away. A farmer and his two sons came out to greet them.

  Dar led the others to address the marione men.

  “Good day to you,” he began. “We come in the name of Paladin. He has commissioned us to aid you in your difficulties with the dragons. My name is Sir Dar. My companions are a meech, two warriors, a historian, and a child. I would like to speak to your councilmen.”

  The farmer looked to his sons for a reaction to this speech. The young men nodded solemnly.

  “I’m Farmer Deel. These are my eldest sons, Mack and Weedom. We’ll take you to Master Meiger,” he said. Then he looked at the four dragons standing in his field. “Your dragons?”

  “Safe,” Dar assured him. “But if their presence troubles you, they are willing to wait for us elsewhere.”

  The farmer nodded. He shifted his feet and glanced again at his sons. “Aye, I have a family to protect. Times aren’t as they once were.”

  “This is no problem, Farmer Deel.”

  Dar returned to Merlander’s side and spoke to her. Soon the other dragons followed Merlander into the sky and off to the east.

  Kale watched them go, knowing they would come quickly if summoned. She approached the marione men. She had worked as a slave in their household many times.

  “Good morning, Farmer Deel.”

  He examined her face before a light of recognition changed his expression. “Kale?”

  She nodded and grinned. Mack stepped forward and pumped her hand in a hearty handshake. Weedom pushed his brother aside and did the same. Neither young man voiced pleasure at seeing her, but her hand felt as if all the bones had been crushed. She massaged her fingers and smiled.

  “Enough of this,” said Farmer Deel gruffly. “We’ve business to attend to.” Before he turned to lead the way to the village, he patted Kale’s shoulder. “You be sure to visit my goodwife. She was mighty fond of you, and it would do her heart good.”

  Goodwife Deel was fond of me? Kale pictured the farmer’s wife stopping during her chores to pick up a crying child. The brusque manner in which the mother administered a hug and a kiss and a word of consolation demonstrated the fashion of her relationships. Not much tenderness flavored her life.

  They strode the two miles into River Away at a quick pace. The first things Kale saw among the familiar cluster of humble buildings were the chickens and glommytucks pecking in the yards and roadways. The unpaved streets saw little more than foot traffic, a few goat-pulled carts and handcarts, and an occasional horse and rider.

  On market days, either dust or grumbles hung thick in the air. Traffic kicked up dust after a dry spell. Farmers bogged in a rain-soaked road spit out grumbles.

  They rounded a corner to the main street through town where the inn, tavern, and mercantile lined up close together. On the bench in front of the tavern sat an old man talking to a tree, which also sat on the bench.

  Toopka gave a whoop and ran ahead, throwing herself into Wizard Cam’s arms. She hugged him and smacked his cheek with a loud kiss, then turned to the tree.

  “Wake up, Wizard Fen. We’re here now! Wake up and say hello.”

  The tree shuddered. Leaves fell on the ground and covered its exposed roots. A bird peered out of the branches with a disapproving glare at Toopka and flew away.

  Toopka scrambled down from Cam’s lap and took hold of one of the branches. She gave it a little tug.

  “Come on, Wizard Fen. Don’t you want to see us? Don’t you want to hear about our ’ventures? Regidor can spit fire!”

  Cam placed a hand on the little doneel’s shoulder. “It’s getting harder for him, little one. Give him a minute.”

  The tree rumbled. “You’re implying I’m getting old. I’ll wrap you in bogweed, Cam, and throw you in a lake! Can’t a man rest after slaying 2,356 Creemoor spiders?”

  Fenworth stirred himself again. The woody look about him disappeared except for a few stray leaves in his hair and beard.

  Toopka clapped her hands and hopped.

  Fenworth glared at her, but she just laughed.

  “You, child, are impertinent.”

  “Does that mean hungry? Because I’m starved!”

  Fenworth ignored her and turned stiffly to see the others approaching. “Good!” he exclaimed. “There are my apprentices. Thought I’d misplaced you. And my librarian! What I wouldn’t give for a tankard of mallow and a good book, a cozy fire and Thorpendipity cawing on and on about Bog news.”

  He shook his head. “But you’ve brought that pesky doneel who’s always wanting us to do things.”

  He stood and pointed a finger at Dar. “You, stay here.” He pointed the same finger at Kale and crooked it. “You, come with me. Your mother’s been worrying me like a dog with an old bone. Let’s go meet her.”

  42

  MOTHER?

  As Kale followed Wizard Fenworth across the threshold of the tavern, the dimly lit room brought back memories. Fenworth stepped farther into the room, allowing her a view of the entire first floor. No boisterous farm lads sat at the tables now. No travelers stood at the bar. No solemn men sat with their tankards and discussed the business of market prices and fickle weather.

  Kale knew this tavern well. A door led to the kitchen, an addition built onto the back of the establishm
ent. Stairs climbed along one wall. On the second floor, three bedrooms quartered paying guests overnight. On the third floor, two bedrooms and a sitting room accommodated Master and Mistress Meiger. And at the very top, in the attic, a small room housed the village slave. Kale had climbed those stairs countless times.

  Noonmeal had not yet been served. Logs crackled and popped in the huge fireplace. In one corner, near the mural, two figures sat in the only upholstered chairs in the room. The lamp on the table between them had not been lit, so Kale’s eyes, accustomed to the outdoor brilliance, could not make out who they were.

  Two women’s voices seasoned the atmosphere with a dash of lighthearted conversation. One of them chortled, her humor evident in the robust music of her laughter. The other’s laugh came reluctantly and sounded rusty, as if not often used. Kale recognized the second as her former mistress. The first was unknown to her.

  Kale stepped forward to stand beside the wizard. He patted her on the shoulder and left his hand resting there in a comforting manner. She breathed deeply, smelling the old wood and the pine oil polish she remembered rubbing into the bar and banister. The pleasant scent of smoke from the fireplace mingled with a faint fragrance of stew from the kitchen.

  The women stopped speaking.

  Kale’s eyes had adjusted to the dim light. She could now see the squarish form of her marione owner, Mistress Meiger. The other woman stood, and Kale sighed her relief. This was not her mother. This woman was taller by several inches than Mistress Meiger, but just as round. Her brown and gray hair hung over one shoulder in a thick braid. Simple homespun material made up her neat but plain blue dress. A white bib apron covered the front. The woman moved closer with hesitant steps.

  In every way that her mother was elegant, this woman was not. Her double chin did not rise haughtily. Her mother’s back held her exquisite figure erect. This woman stooped. Her mother’s finely chiseled face reflected her moods in beauty. This woman’s tears ran down wrinkled cheeks.

  She held out a hand. “First, I want to tell you I love you. Second, I must explain why it was necessary to hide you in a safe place.”

  Kale’s eyes shifted to Mistress Meiger and then to Wizard Fenworth. Both wore expressions of concern.

  The woman took Kale’s hand and pulled gently, guiding her to the seat she had just left. Mistress Meiger vacated her comfortable chair and bustled out of the room through the door to the kitchen. Wizard Fenworth took a seat on a wooden chair by one of the few windows. The woman, still holding Kale’s hand, sat in Mistress Meiger’s chair.

  “You’re my mother?” Kale’s voice came out in a whisper.

  “I’m Lyll Allerion.”

  “My mother?” Her voice rose in volume by just a little bit, but the squeak made it seem louder in her own ears.

  Lyll’s face wrinkled in puzzlement. “Yes, Kale, I’m your mother. I had to leave you here when your father was taken captive by Risto. I knew Risto would try to find you, and use you, to coerce your father into following his evil ways.”

  Kale nodded slowly. “And where did you go?”

  “To find Kemry, of course.”

  “Kemry?”

  “Your father.”

  “Oh.”

  Kale sat still, absorbing this information. She studied the hand holding hers, then the face of this woman who said she was Lyll Allerion. Laugh lines radiated from the corners of her gentle hazel eyes, but her lips were pursed in a worried moue. Yet even with a frown, this mother looked loving, approachable.

  “Did you find him?” Kale asked.

  Tears welled in Lyll’s eyes. “Yes, but I could not save him.”

  “He’s dead?”

  Lyll shook her head. “Asleep—in a trance.”

  “Risto?”

  Lyll nodded.

  “Then there’s still hope.”

  The older woman sighed, her shoulders slumping.

  Mistress Meiger returned, carrying a stack of linens. She placed these on a table and hurried to the o’rant woman’s side. “Lyll, you’re exhausted. To bed with you. We’ll bring you a tray at noonmeal.”

  Lyll caught a sob in her throat. She nodded mutely, fighting for a moment with her emotions. She inhaled deeply and squared her shoulders. “Yes, you’re right, Mern.”

  Kale helped Lyll stand. The older woman gave her a hug. “We will talk later, dear child.” She sniffed and wiped a tear from her eye with a plain handkerchief. “I know you don’t know me, and I can’t ask you to love me. But I hope we can bridge the gap of too many years apart.”

  “Of course you will,” said Mistress Meiger as she took Lyll’s arm and led her away. “Kale’s always been the best of children. Her heart’s full of grace. I never understood her. But I always admired her warm and generous ways, ways that reminded me of you, Lyll.”

  Kale watched her former owner walk her “maybe” mother up the stairs, then sank into the cushioned chair. She glanced over at Fenworth. He’d dozed off. Only a stubby tree sat in the chair. The minor dragons slipped out of their dens. Metta climbed to her shoulder. Dibl sat on her knee. Gymn went to the old wizard and took up a post, peering out from Fenworth’s branches. Ardeo flew to the table to stand beside the unlighted lamp.

  Kale’s eyes rested on Dibl, and a smile grew on her lips.

  “Yes, it is rather odd. Now I have two mothers when before I had none.”

  Metta trilled on her shoulder.

  She answered. “I like this one better too.”

  Two young marione girls entered the tavern common room from the kitchen. They looked to be about five and seven. Kale knew immediately that they had come to prepare the room for the dozen or so customers who would soon show up to eat noonmeal. But the girls stopped just inside the door and nudged each other, pointing toward the tree in the chair by the window.

  Dibl hopped in delight, and Kale had to stifle a giggle as the two serving maids cautiously crept up to Fenworth. They circled the oddity from a safe distance.

  “It’s a tree, Cakkue,” said the smaller.

  “What’s that in the branches?”

  Both girls stared at Gymn, who stared back, not blinking.

  “Is it real?” asked the littler girl.

  “I don’t think any of it’s real, Yonny.”

  “I think it’s a lizard.”

  Dibl rolled off Kale’s knee, down her leg, and continued to somersault once he hit the floor.

  Gymn spread his wings and flew to Kale. The two girls squealed. Cakkue yelped, “It’s a bat,” and both dove for cover under one of the larger square, plank tables.

  Between giggles, Kale tried to reassure them. “No, no. Gymn is a minor dragon.”

  Yonny screeched and wrapped her arms around Cakkue’s neck in a death grip. “There’s three more over by that girl. They’re all over the place!”

  Dibl stopped rolling and remained perfectly still. Kale felt his distress as his call for help came into her mind.

  “Oh please.” She stood and hurried to the table where she crouched and pleaded with the girls. “You’re upsetting Dibl. He loves fun, but he thinks he scared you, and that disturbs him very much. Please, come out.”

  “No, don’t,” cried Yonny as the older girl started to move.

  Cakkue cowered and shook her head.

  Kale smiled at them. “The dragons are friendly. Come out, and I’ll introduce you.”

  Both girls shook their heads. With their faces so close together, she could see they were sisters.

  Very silly sisters!

  She tried to hide her exasperation. “You know you must come out. If you don’t get your work done, Mistress Meiger will be most displeased.”

  Metta began to sing. Yonny and Cakkue exchanged a glance. Kale knew she had made progress with her warning about their mistress, and Metta’s song soothed their fears.

  The two emerged slowly, still clinging to each other.

  “You’ll keep them from biting?” asked the older.

  “They don’t bite!�
� Kale exclaimed. “Not even in a fight.”

  “They fight?” squeaked Yonny.

  “Only if I’m in danger.”

  Yonny leaned forward to peer around her big sister. “And the tree?”

  “He’s a friend of mine, a wizard. He’s napping.”

  The two young slaves continued to eye Fenworth with skeptical frowns.

  “Come,” said Kale, “I’ll help you with your chores. You’re behind now.”

  Cakkue scowled at her. “How do you know what we have to get done?”

  She laughed. “I’m Kale. I used to be the village slave here.”

  With that announcement, both girls relaxed.

  “Then I’d like the help,” said the elder. She moved to pull silverware from a drawer. “It’s because you left that we got to be village slaves. At first, they almost didn’t take us, because there are two of us, and they said the village was only pros-per-ous”—she took care to pronounce each syllable correctly—“enough to support one.”

  Yonny nodded. “Everyone knows about you. You found a dragon egg. You’re famous. I’d rather be here than be famous.”

  “You wanted to be the slaves here?” Kale asked.

  Yonny nodded again. “We have a home. You don’t have a home, do you?”

  Before Kale could answer, the older sister explained.

  “Yes, we want to live here,” said Cakkue. “This is much better than starving out on the farm. Our ma and da died, and we only had one big brother to look after us. As soon as he saw us settled here, he went to work on another place. He knows a lot, but not enough to run an entire farm on his own. We couldn’t keep up the rent.”

  Cakkue gave the silverware and cloth napkins to her little sister. Yonny expertly wrapped a fork and a spoon in each square.

  Cakkue went behind the bar to the crockery cabinet and set plates and bowls on the counter. Kale brought out mugs and tankards.

  “So you like it here?” asked Kale.

  “Sure,” said Yonny. “We get to eat.”

  “And,” said Cakkue, “we’re learning how to do things for ourselves. Ma died before she could teach me how to do things around the house. When I get married, I won’t shame my family.”