DragonFire

by Donita K. Paul

  “To our shame,” said Lyll.

  The marione’s face reflected the hopelessness of the situation. “Will we be able to win the support of the dragons who remain? Will they join with us against Pretender, Stox, and Cropper?”

  Lyll squeezed Bardon’s hand. “There are dragons who have bonded with members of the high races. These dragons would do anything for their comrades. Whether they can be persuaded to fight for Amara, for the whole of civilization, rather than just the individuals they care for, I don’t know.”

  “I think they will,” said Dar. “But not for the high races. For Paladin. For Wulder.”

  Bardon nodded. The kimen stood straighter in his chair, and the marione lifted his chin, a new look of hope in his expression.

  Dar shook his head. “The point is they don’t have to. Legend says the gateway that brought them from their world to ours still exists, and they know where it is. They could leave us in our own muddle, rightly declaring that the tight spot we are in is of our own making.”

  The marione’s brightened countenance faded.

  Bardon folded his hands together as they rested on the table. “We shall have to hope their devotion to Wulder is stronger than ours has been.”

  “Now tell us,” said Sir Dar to Armin. “What is your bad news?”

  “The fishermen north of Prushing report a swarming of quiss in the sea.”

  “Is it time for their overland migration?” asked Bardon.

  “Narg,” snorted Armin. “More like their overland feed. Eden Bay is stuffed full of the monsters. When those two appendages stiffen and they crawl up on shore, there will be thousands more than we’ve ever faced before.”

  Lyll sighed. “Crim Cropper’s work, I’m sure.”

  Sir Dar poured himself another mug of tea. “It’s amazing how that evil wizard makes us all suffer, when he rarely comes out of his experimenting chambers. I don’t know anyone who has ever seen him.”

  “He has Burner Stox to represent him,” said Lyll.

  Armin groaned. “And spread his abominable filth among decent folks.” He bit into a bread and jam sandwich and spoke as he chewed. “What’s this about him and his wife fighting each other?”

  “It’s true,” said Bardon.

  Sir Dar laughed ruefully. “Their domestic quarrels have not made life easier for the people of Amara. They throw pots and pans at each other, and dishes on the shelves break, pictures fall from the walls, and furniture is smashed into pieces. Only their pots and pans are armies, and the house being destroyed is our country.”

  “What are we going to do about the quiss?” asked Armin.

  “Destroy them,” said Yent. “We know something we did not know before when they last attacked three years ago.”

  Armin cocked an eyebrow at his tiny friend. “That is?”

  “Salt.”

  “Salt?” questioned several voices around the table.

  “Quite by accident we discovered when sprinkled with salt, the body of a quiss reacts in the same way as a slug when doused.”

  Lady Lyll wrinkled her nose. “I hope we don’t have to be too close when this happens.”

  “I don’t understand.” Sir Dar scratched the hair along his chin. “Quiss live in saltwater. Why would salt kill them?”

  “Because their bodies try to absorb the salt all at once,” answered the kimen. “Remember when they come on land, they are in some kind of starvation status. They tear through fences, crawl over walls, swarm and crush buildings. The only homes that remain somewhat unscathed are those we’ve built into the ground. All because they seek to devour everything edible, both animal and vegetation.”

  “How are we going to get close enough to shower them with salt?” asked Lyll.

  Yent grinned. “The salt can be dispersed from dragons flying overhead.”

  “Wait.” Bardon pushed his chair away from the table and put his hands on his knees. “What type of creatures are these?”

  “They’re quiss, man!” The marione jammed his hat onto his head, glanced at Lady Lyll, and pulled it off again. He waved it over the table as he spoke in a controlled whisper to the young knight. “They pour out of the ocean as a mass of ravenous flesh, eating everything in sight. The beasts overpower any resistance by sheer number. They look like a walking octopus, but not as pretty. They smell like a sewer, but not as sweet. And they eat like pigs, but not nearly as persnickety as the plump porcine on my farm.”

  Bardon held up both hands and shook his head. “My cousin N’Rae and I came across a quiss in Southern Wynd on the Gilpen River—”

  “Are you completely daft?” interrupted the marione. “Quiss live off the northeast coast, and they abhor fresh water except during their rampage.”

  “Exactly,” agreed Bardon. “Most quiss. But this one had been altered by Cropper. If these quiss are like the odd one we encountered, then we can’t slaughter them. He had a mind. He thought. He felt great sorrow. He regretted his life.”

  “Regretted his life? Then I see no hindrance to our wiping the whole lot out. Do them a favor and exterminate the monsters.”

  “I see your point,” said Dar, facing Bardon. “We fight face-to-face with a creature who reasons. We obliterate a plague if we can. The question is”—he paused and looked each one around the table in the eye—“are we up against intelligence or pestilence?”

  “How do we find out?” asked Yent.

  “We get close and examine one,” said Lyll.

  “You’re all mad,” said Armin.

  19

  BUG’S BOX

  Sir Kemry deftly inserted the image of a dozen young knights into the minds of the two bisonbeck warriors confronting him. Kale followed the imaginary combatants’ movements by invading her father’s thoughts. She chafed at having to make an effort to interpret Sir Kemry’s intentions but also admitted the task was easier than it had been even twenty-four hours before.

  “It’s an illusion,” grumbled the larger soldier. He stepped forward, threatening one of the visions.

  Kale realized her father wanted her in that position. The bisonbeck’s sword would pass right through the image and ruin the illusion. Kale whipped behind the bushes and stepped into the figure just before the bisonbeck swung his weapon. She bent over and pivoted on one foot, swinging the other leg into the bisonbeck’s midriff. The soldier staggered back, regained his balance, raised his sword, and bellowed.

  Kale knew exactly what the bisonbeck was thinking and almost felt sorry for him. From his point of view, the knight stood upright and grinned, apparently at ease with the situation. The soldier preferred to have his opponents shivering in outright terror before him. He clenched his teeth and advanced once more.

  Kale, in the guise of the knight, pulled out her sword. The image of a gleaming broadsword sheathed her smaller, real, but invisible, blade. She made a figure eight with the point, listening to the whisk of air caused by the thin edge. The sound did not match the look of her weapon, and the experienced soldier hesitated. Kale felt his confusion and the surge of caution.

  “Fight me, you coward,” cried Kale, her voice rough and deep. She hoped that did the trick. Don’t stand there thinking, soldier-man. I need you to move.

  The bisonbeck lunged, his sword pointed at Kale’s heart. She sidestepped and slapped him on the back with the broadside of her blade as he lurched to catch his footing. The impact of blade across the soldier’s leather armor resounded as if she’d struck a gong. Her sword triggered a transformation designed to end the evil intentions of the one she struck. The bisonbeck fell on his face, unable to move. As a ripple flows outward from the spot where a pebble hits the water, waves of change passed through the warrior’s uniform and protective gear. With each successive undulation the material stiffened until it became a peculiar metal. The soldier lost consciousness, encased in his attire.

  Kale blessed Librettowit and Wizard Cam for the work they had done in devising an automatic process for just such an occasion. This being the first t
ime Kale had used the procedure in a fight, she watched with fascination as the transformation took place. An unexpected phenomenon puzzled her. Little sparks of light snapped into being and faded on the man’s body until the last moment of alteration. Kale wrinkled her brow in thought but did not waste time. She would report the anomaly to Cam and Librettowit.

  “It’s a good thing I had your back covered.” Her father spoke from a few feet away.

  Kale’s eyes swept the area. Bug crouched with his arms wrapped around his legs, looking much like a huge, hairy ball. The visions of knights faded as she watched. The other soldier was gone.

  “He escaped?”

  “No.” Her father pointed to a boulder. “That’s him. He is a rock from now until Wulder deems him something else.”

  Sir Kemry moved to put an arm around his daughter’s shoulders and nodded at the fallen bisonbeck. “You’re handy with your weapon, Kale. But what have you done here? I’ve never seen the like.”

  “It’s a new process similar to the calcification spell of old. Librettowit and Wizard Cam perfected it and imbued my sword with the catalyst. He’s encased in his own clothing. After a few days of imprisonment, the metal will rust away to nothing, leaving the victim unclothed.”

  “Not a very pleasant experience for him.”

  “When he awakes, he’ll only have the vaguest of memories. He won’t return to his duties.”

  “Perhaps with no ties to his old way of life, he may turn away from evil.”

  “That’s my hope. I much prefer knocking the wind out of his sails to sinking his ship.”

  “What?”

  “I prefer not to kill every enemy I meet.”

  “Well, that’s good to hear. You seem to have developed some noble instincts.”

  Kale ignored the opportunity to say she’d pretty much been left to raise herself and focused on the downed soldier. “Circumstances might guide him to a more peaceful life. But to be realistic, I know he’s likely to tread a path similar to the old one.”

  “Well, that’s up to the man’s reaction to Wulder’s influence. At least this soldier has a more immediate chance of change than the bisonbeck I turned to stone.”

  Sir Kemry walked around the prone figure, considering him from different angles. He looked up at his daughter. “You didn’t use this trick when the enemy invaded the banquet room at the palace.”

  She shook her head. “It’s too slow. I cannot use my sword again for several minutes, so the procedure is not good in the midst of a melee of any size.”

  “You have much to teach me, daughter.” He sheathed his weapon. “I hope I have a few old tricks that will help you as well.”

  Kale smiled. For the first time, she felt a longing to spend time with her father. She examined his features—strong chin, prominent nose, gentle eyes. His gray-streaked brown hair was gathered in a warrior’s braid that fell between powerful shoulders, halfway down his back. Even at his age, his lean body and long, muscular legs spoke of formidable vigor. It would not be so bad to partner with this man after all. She looked again at his nose and smiled. Her own nose looked just like her mother’s.

  Merriment sparkled in her father’s light brown eyes. He laughed. “And it’s a good thing. You’re a pretty widget, and with my beak, you’d have been a crone.”

  He strode over to Bug and clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, friend. The becks are dispensed with, and we want to see this valley of dragons.”

  The ropma slowly uncurled his stocky frame and looked with wary eyes around the area.

  “Bug go home,” he said and made two long strides toward the gateway.

  “Wait,” ordered Sir Kemry. “I’ll go first, just to make sure there’s no danger on the other side.” He pointed to Bug. “You follow me, and my daughter will bring up the rear. That way, we know you will be safe.”

  Kale let her mental laughter project to her father. And we will know he won’t escape before showing us the way to this “valley of dragons.”

  “That, too.”

  They passed through the gateway with no incident. Chilled, thin air greeted them along with the visage of barren black mountains that looked as though they had been sliced from onyx. Green splashes brightened the landscape where vegetation had managed to take hold. Only the Dormanscz Range looked so stark, ominous, and yet beautiful.

  Sir Kemry nodded at Bug. “You lead, friend.”

  The ropma stood with his feet planted on the hard black rock of a mountain in the Dormanscz Range. “You no friend. Bug go home. Bug go home alone.”

  Sir Kemry used a low, calm voice, hoping to persuade the reluctant ropma. “Just take us close to where the becks are keeping the dragons.”

  Kale appreciated her father’s tactics. It would do no good to bully the creature. She could imagine Bardon’s father blustering and scaring poor Bug. “You point the way, and we will go into the valley without you. You can go home alone.”

  With great sadness, the ropma shook his head.

  Kale placed a hand on his shoulder. “You are very brave, Bug. You want to protect your family.”

  He nodded.

  Kale continued. “You go through gateways. I don’t know of any other ropma who would be so brave.”

  Bug’s chin came up a bit, and he puffed out his chest. “Bug and Rock and Bee and Frog all go through gateways. Many ropmas can’t. Bug and Rock and Bee and Frog are brave.”

  Sir Kemry stepped closer. “Bug, you are special. When Wulder gives anyone something special, like being brave, Wulder wants them to do special things.”

  Kale gasped at the sudden change in Bug’s expression. Great sorrow pinched his features and tears ran down his cheeks.

  “Wulder no like ropmas. He hate ropmas.”

  “That isn’t true,” Kale protested. “Who told you that?”

  “No-good woman. She say Wulder make seven high races. Wulder no make ropmas. Ropmas bad. Wulder hate bad.”

  The minor dragons, who were foraging, stopped their pursuit of treats and trilled their displeasure. Pat stamped his feet and didn’t even pounce upon the grasshopper he stirred up. Metta and Dibl flew to perch on Bug’s shoulders.

  “Humph,” said Kale’s father. “This no-good woman’s information is distorted. Pretender did not make ropmas from nothing. He cruelly altered an existing race. So you are kin to a high race. All things come from Wulder’s hand, and all things are under His authority.”

  Bug turned a dazed look at Kale. She tried to think what would be the best thing to say to reassure the beast.

  She whispered the words close to his ear. “Wulder does not hate you.”

  Kale watched the confused emotions on the ropma’s face and listened in on his jumbled thinking. A point came at which this simple mind could no longer dwell on his twisted thoughts. He gave up, relaxed, and smiled at his two o’rant companions.

  “Fine. I go home now.”

  “Wait.” Kemry kept a hand around Bug’s arm. “I have one more question.”

  The ropma sighed heavily and looked down at his toes.

  “It’s just this, Bug. I’m curious as to how you pulled off that clever trick of disappearing.”

  Again the beast’s face relaxed into a smile, and his chest expanded. “A box. A little box.” He stuck his pawlike hand into one of his carters and pulled out a hinged, wooden box carved with intricate symbols. He held up the prize for them to inspect, but when Sir Kemry reached for it, Bug snatched it back.

  “I’m sorry, Bug,” he said. “I only want to see it better. I won’t touch this time.”

  Bug held out his hand and uncurled his fingers so the honey-colored wood gleamed in the sunlight that hit his palm.

  “Pretty,” said Bug.

  “Very,” agreed Kale. “Where did you get it?”

  “Stox give it to becks. Beck give one to Bug, Rock, Bee, Frog. Go through sticky gateway. Get box.”

  “I understand,” said Kale with a smile of approval. “If a ropma is brave enough to go thro
ugh the gateway, he gets a box as a reward.”

  “Bee is she.”

  Kale nodded. “If a ropma is brave enough to go through the gateway, he or she gets a box.”

  Bug’s head bobbled in enthusiastic agreement.

  Sir Kemry cleared his throat. “I’ve never seen such a fine box, Bug. What does it do?”

  “Bug hide in box.”

  Both Kale and her father gazed at the box in Bug’s dirty palm, then looked at each other.

  I don’t know, admitted Kale. Do you?

  “I wasn’t lying. I have never seen such a device. I do know what I detected when I first found our new friend, but I do not understand how it works.”

  We can’t take it from him.

  “No, that wouldn’t be right. Not even to have Cam and Librettowit examine the mechanism.”

  Isn’t it just like Crim Cropper and Burner Stox to overdecorate the exterior with meaningless runes? Kale tilted her head to one side. Still, I’d like to see it work.

  “Me, too.” Her father smiled at the ropma.

  Now, don’t take advantage of him, Father.

  “Me?” He arched an eyebrow in her direction then turned his attention solely on the beast.

  “Bug,” said Sir Kemry, “will you show us how you get in the box?”

  His head dipped. “I open box.”

  With one bulky, hairy finger, the ropma undid the latch and separated the top from the bottom. When the box lay open in one hand, he placed his smallest finger from his other hand inside. One moment, the ropma stood beside Kale and her father. The next, only his rather earthy smell remained.

  “Amazing,” said Kale. “What natural law do you suppose it works upon?”

  “Zoic displacement?”

  “Very likely, or light refraction?”

  “Another possibility.” Sir Kemry put his hands on his hips, stretched his neck first one way and then the other. “I’m tired of this inactivity. Ever since that stint as a statue, I stiffen far too easily. We’ll turn the problem of Bug’s box over to the thinkers. For now, let’s set our minds on finding this valley of dragons.”

  “Right.” Kale surveyed the area. “Bug?” She used her talent as well as her eyes to examine the area a second time. The minor dragons chittered in the trees. Dibl rolled across a broad branch, giggling. “Father, if I’m not mistaken, our ropma guide has skipped out on us.”