DragonFire

by Donita K. Paul

  Dar drew near and presented her with an elegant court bow.

  “It’s been such a very long time!” His whiskers quivered while his eyes twinkled, and only Kale’s eyes beheld the kiss he blew from pursed lips.

  She held out her hand, and he kissed it. Not at all like Bardon, but a peck that missed her skin and truly reflected an aristocratic manner.

  Kale burst out laughing, clapped her hands, and grabbed Dar by the tufts on his cheeks. She pulled his head forward and landed a smacking kiss right between his furry button ears. “I have missed you tremendously.”

  Unruffled by her forward behavior, Dar hopped up on the bench beside her. “And I, you!”

  His gaze took in the few people lingering in the gateway courtyard. All seemed too busy to be bothered with a young wizard and a doneel dignitary. “It’s a good thing our people have finally come together.” Dar sighed. “I trust that it’s not too late to recognize the threat. This evil has been with us for years, subtly undermining the foundation of our country. It’s high time Amarans arose to deal with Pretender and his enemies.”

  “There are many who feel that way,” Lyll Allerion said as she came near. She walked beside Bardon to the bench adjacent to Dar and Kale. After seating herself, she patted the space next to her, inviting Bardon to sit.

  “It’s ghastly.” Kale faced her furry friend. “I almost think it’s too late to save Amara. We had heard rumors even in the depths of The Bogs. But what Bardon and I saw when we went seeking Regidor and Gilda was shocking.” She shook her head, with tears in her eyes, and mumbled, “Shocking.”

  A raised voice penetrated the serenity of the sculptured garden behind them. Kale tilted an ear toward the source of the disturbance. A mixture of dismay and outrage flitted through her emotions. In spite of her mother’s admonition earlier to guard her tongue, she spoke of what most disgusted her.

  “And the people!” she exclaimed. “How can these people make rational decisions? They act like rabble-rousing ruffians. They’re disrespectful and disregard Paladin as if he were no longer with us.” Her eyes went involuntarily to the stone walls where their leader slept.

  “Don’t panic, Kale,” said her mother. “There will be formal meetings starting this afternoon and going long into the night. Paladin is not so far out of touch as we might think.”

  Bardon nodded. “His decree, delivered at breakfast, has eased much tension.”

  “What has been decided?” asked Dar.

  “An uproar arose over the wizards’ conclave.” Bardon gestured toward the sound of more angry voices. “Much objection was made over a perceived imbalance of power. Paladin has called a meeting in the throne room prior to the conclave this evening. Representatives of the high races will give reports as to the state of their homelands. Dignitaries will propose strategy to combat the opposing armies that play their battles out upon our land.”

  Lyll waved her fan to indicate those around them. “They will be allowed to voice their opinions before the wizards meet tonight. Paladin has seen a way to smooth most of the ruffled feathers.”

  A ruckus drew their attention. Two palace guards came down the path from the castle keep with a loud, angry emerlindian held captive between them. Kale took in a sharp breath and looked at her husband. Bardon’s mouth took on a grim line, and a muscle twitched in his jaw just below his ear.

  Sir Dar’s ears perked up, and he jumped from his seat. Taking a few steps, he positioned himself to block the men’s progress. One guard bore the square, solid build of a marione. The other was a young urohm, bigger by half than both men he accompanied but undoubtedly a callow youth.

  “Excuse me, guards.” Dar held up a hand. “What has Sir Joffa done to deserve this treatment?”

  “Magistrate Moht has asked for his removal from the grounds,” said the spokesman, the marione guard with a lo insignia on his lapel.

  “Your name?” Dar inquired.

  “Lo Mak, Sir.”

  “I am Sir Dar of Wittoom.”

  The man nodded, without a doubt aware of the importance of the doneel who waylaid him. Performing his duty would be difficult with his interference.

  Dar arched an eyebrow at the struggling emerlindian. “Joffa?”

  Bardon’s father ceased his resistance against the men who held his arms and glared down at the doneel. “They don’t want to hear what I have to say.”

  “It is more likely they don’t want to hear the way you are saying what you have to say.”

  The emerlindian squinted his eyes and blew air out of his cheeks before he bristled, puffing up his chest and speaking loudly. “It is past time for dainty words and delicate tones.”

  “On the contrary, now is more the time for diplomacy than ever before.”

  “Bah!” Sir Joffa threw his chin out as if pointing to some figure they could not see. “No diplomacy will alter the minds of Cropper and Stox. And diplomacy can never achieve anything with the likes of Pretender.”

  “I’m not speaking of diplomacy aimed at our enemies, but diplomacy employed in negotiating with our allies.”

  Dar turned to the higher-ranking guard. “Lo Mak, I’ll take this man into my custody.”

  The marione hesitated.

  Dar spoke calmly. “I intend to return to Magistrate Moht’s court with him. You may accompany us.”

  The lo considered the personage before him for a moment, then nodded to his subordinate. They released their hold on the prisoner.

  Bardon’s father tugged on his cuffs, straightening his sleeves. He bowed to the doneel. “Sir Dar.”

  Dar bowed in return. “Sir Joffa.”

  The two knights turned and walked side by side back toward the castle.

  Lyll Allerion put her hand on Bardon’s stiff arm. “Your father has always been passionate about his causes. He’s frustrated by those who don’t jump to do what needs to be done.”

  “I have very few memories of my early childhood.”

  Bardon stared at the four men departing. Kale reached into his mind.

  Bardon?

  “Two knights and two guards. Four different races. People as different as my father and Sir Dar? How can this work?”

  Lady Allerion spoke softly, bringing Bardon back to their conversation.

  “Your memories before coming to The Hall are foggy?”

  “Less than foggy. In fact, for many years, I had none. Vague recollections have come back to me since the sleeping knights awakened. The most distinct memory I have is of my father uttering ‘Fools!’ under his breath, over and over again, as I sat before him on a dragon flying over miles and miles of grassland.”

  “Have you asked him to tell you of that day?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “He cannot recall one particular day out of so many where he found those around him to lack common sense.”

  Lady Allerion smiled at Bardon. “And let us be frank, Sir Bardon. You have often thought the same. You have little patience with people and their selfish demands.”

  Bardon looked startled and started to protest. But the words caught in his throat. “I hope you don’t think your son-in-law to be a self-righteous boor.”

  Kale mentally called to one of her minor dragons. All of them were cavorting in the gardens and eating their fill of insects. But her husband needed a dragon’s help right now.

  “Only in your core, dear boy. Sir Dar, my daughter, and Paladin have managed to help you minimize that horrid flaw.”

  Dibl swooped in, a yellow and orange streak, and landed on the knight’s shoulder.

  Bardon’s face showed a struggle, but when he looked down into the loving eyes of Lady Lyll, he gave up.

  A bark of a laugh preceded his remark. “You are exasperatingly correct, Lady Lyll.”

  Kale relaxed, but only a little. Underneath Bardon’s calm exterior, his feelings still clashed. She felt the turmoil set off by his father’s bristling attitude. Bardon’s ideal knight conducted himself with dignity at all ti
mes. In a debate, he reasoned and did not rant. Bardon wanted to love and respect his father after years of separation. But in his heart, he found it hard to accept his parent’s thundering personality.

  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

  TALK

  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 th
e 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.