DragonFire

by Donita K. Paul

  He sat up so suddenly, Kale started. Alarm rushed through her. “What is it?”

  Sir Kemry stood. “Alton and Benrey.” He pointed to the west end of the valley. Under the low-lying cloud cover, two dragons flew toward them.

  Her father’s joy swept away the anxiety of only a moment before. Kale rose to her feet and cheered as the dragons landed. The two great beasts lumbered over to where the o’rants stood and took turns stroking Sir Kemry’s head with their chins.

  Benrey’s red wings extended behind him as he arched his back, head pointed at the sky. The riding dragon let out a musical warble that sent shivers of delight down Kale’s spine. At the end of Benrey’s exclamation of praise, a column of fire shot from his mouth into the air.

  Kale laughed and clapped her hands. Benrey bent his head to look her in the eye and then touched her lightly on the top of her head with his chin.

  Sir Kemry stroked the side of Alton’s neck. “I see you’ve been keeping fit.”

  The purple and black dragon hummed his pleasure.

  “Let’s get down to business, Alton, Benrey.” He nodded at each. “How many of these valley dragons are enslaved to Burner Stox, and how many will follow Paladin?”

  He listened for a while to his favorite dragons’ mindspeaking, then turned to his daughter. “How much of that did you get?”

  “Your two dragons have headed a movement to keep Wulder apparent in the lives of those in the valley. They’ve introduced those born here to His principles, reminded those who became despondent of His care, and tried to keep rabble-rousers in line.” She frowned at her father. She didn’t like admitting that a gaping hole in her education had just revealed itself. But pretending just wouldn’t work. “I don’t know the story of Wulder saving the dragons from a grave by opening a river of time and letting them go through. So, I didn’t get the references to that.”

  Sir Kemry rested a hand on her shoulder. The yellow dragon on his arm leapt over to the back of her. “The important thing is that about three-fourths of the dragons in the valley are predisposed to follow us. They didn’t bond to Burner Stox. Some bonded to their ropma caretakers, but none to the bisonbeck guards.”

  “That’s good news!”

  “Benrey thinks that the fire dragons, who are the most reluctant to join with any other group, can be persuaded to fight with us as long as one of their kind is their leader.”

  “That’s good news.”

  “Alton doubts the ropmas will go into battle with us, but he thinks they can be trained to provide off-field assistance.”

  “More good news.”

  Sir Kemry rubbed the back of his neck with a hand callused by weapons of war. “Burner Stox’s spell, which prohibits flight out of the valley or leaving through the mountain passes, still stands even after her death. Alton and Benrey have searched for over thirty years and never found a way out.”

  “Hmm?” Kale looked at the hills rising to mountains around them. “Not such good news.”

  42

  STIFF AS STAKES

  Bardon knew the stages of stakes, but since he had skipped the disease as a child, he hadn’t expected to be walking along peglegged as an adult. All of his joints were stiff, but his fingers and toes ached the worst. Flexible toes had not been toward the top of his to-be-thankful-for list. Now, if he got past this uncomfortable and inconvenient stage of the disease, he would express his gratitude for flexibility daily.

  Five minutes with his dear wife and Gymn would undo all the swelling and also unbend his joints. But he didn’t know where she was. She and her father’s mission wouldn’t lead them to a specific place where he could send a message. He had no specific destination that he could use a gateway to reach. So frustrating when a brief visit would certainly be welcome.

  He hobbled through the nearly deserted camp. Troops had been assigned to help with the eradication of quiss as they came ashore. Others had been sent with volunteer kimens to build and secure grawlig traps. Sir Dar and Lady Allerion had gone off to investigate a report of Burner Stox’s army of grawligs deserting her forces and joining Crim Cropper. Leetu Bends and Latho took on the same mission, only working from within the enemy camps.

  Bardon’s load had lightened briefly when he saw Leetu disguised as Latho’s wife. The embellishments to the emerlindian’s trim figure were arranged by courtesy of Lady Allerion’s wizardry. But even laughter at his friend’s expense cost him the pain of jarring muscles.

  No laughter lit his eyes now. He’d been left behind and “in charge” of the base.

  Most of his work consisted of shuffling paperwork. As far as commanding the troops, this morning he had ordered his unfortunate batman to tie his shoes. Bardon couldn’t even tie his own laces in the aftermath of stakes. And no one knew if this condition would be permanent or not. “It depends upon the individual,” Lady Allerion had said, with a voice too full of sympathy.

  To get away from the depressing reports coming in to headquarters, Bardon decided to take a walk. Perhaps the exercise would be good for his stiff joints. Leecent Voet trailed behind him.

  “Do you think I don’t know you’re back there?” Bardon asked. He couldn’t turn his head enough to toss the question over his shoulder.

  “Of course not, sir.”

  “What are you going to do? Pick me up if I fall over?”

  “Something like that, sir.”

  “Well, come up here and walk beside me. I’d rather see you than hear your footsteps behind me.”

  “Yes sir.”

  They passed the domestic tents and wives of the men out on patrol. Most of the women stopped their chores to give the passing knight a curtsy. Children halted in their running and jumping to give stiff bows and wobbly curtsies. Voet waved and grinned at the tykes, even reaching out to tousle the hair of boys who ran up for a closer look. Bardon tried not to grimace as he bowed slightly to acknowledge their greetings.

  He sighed with relief when they passed the last tent.

  “My knees and elbows are better, Leecent.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, sir.”

  “Perhaps you won’t have to mollycoddle me forever.”

  “I never thought that would be the case, sir.”

  “Do you have to call me ‘sir’ in every sentence?”

  “Yes sir.”

  Bardon glanced over to see a big grin on his batman’s face. “You enjoy giving me a hard time, don’t you?”

  “Well, sir, it’s just that I have brothers, sir. And giving you a bit of a tease comforts my soul, sir.”

  “I see.” Bardon turned down a path that would lead them to the river. “I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of your soul’s comfort.”

  “Exactly, sir.”

  They walked toward the water’s edge. At this point of the river, the water flowed slowly between wide, grassy banks. Large bentleaf trees created cool, shady groves. Bardon shivered as they entered one stand that stood back from the water.

  “The most disturbing news I hear,” he said, “is the reports of mordakleeps. We have plans in motion to handle the quiss and grawligs, but the mordakleeps are attacking at random, and there’s no way to predict where they’ll strike next.”

  “Yes sir. And therefore, no way to put up a defense.”

  “And our men are stretched and scattered as it is. If we could have more men enlist from other parts of Amara…”

  “Paladin has sent out recruiters, sir.”

  “I know.”

  “That’s how me and my brothers heard. That’s why we signed up.”

  Bardon wanted to clap the boy on the shoulder but could not make his arm obey his desire. “Not all men see the need as you and your brothers do. Many think the danger will pass. Or that someone else will take care of it.”

  The batman shook his head. “We had a battle between Pretender and Burner Stox in our own fields and pastures, sir. The armies killed each other and our animals as well. What they didn’t destroy during the battle, they carried off as
plunder. It broke my da’s heart. He would have gone off to fight, but he’s too old and crippled, sir.” The boy’s voice faltered on the word “crippled.”

  “Just as I am, Leecent?”

  “No sir. Yours is temporary because of an illness. His is permanent due to old age. You’ll get better, sir.”

  “I certainly hope so.” They took a few more steps along the path. “And I’m sorry for your loss, Voet.”

  “It’s all right, sir. We couldn’t go back to farming right away, seen as how the damage of the battle worried the soil some. But Da says to give the land a rest of a season or two, and the ground will be better than ever for planting.”

  “Your da sounds like a wise man.”

  “Yes sir. He also said he’d be raising no livestock for those monsters to come by and steal.”

  “Another wise move.”

  “Yes sir. So my ma’s flock of chickens and poultry-birds are living out in the woods, going wild, but still producing eggs and meat for the family that’s still at home.”

  They passed out of the trees in silence and ambled along the path on the broad bank of the river. Fatigue began to nibble at Bardon’s strength. He needed to return to camp and rest. Perhaps he would take a nap.

  What an excellent warrior I am! What a marvelous leader of men! He realized his self-mockery. “Do not favor Pretender with the honor of quoting his lies.” The principle calmed his exasperation.

  The batman’s sword rasped lightly as it came out of the sheath. Bardon jerked at the sound, sending a wave of pain through his neck. The sight of three mordakleeps standing in the shallow water gave his heart a twist. He and Voet stood feet away from the river’s edge and imminent danger.

  The middle mordakleep raised the lower part of his body and put what almost looked like a foot on dry land. Voet slashed downward and pierced the appendage. The dark flesh sizzled and drew away from the cut. The monster lifted his body out of the river.

  The leecent waved his sword in front of him. “To arms, men. Attack!”

  Bardon gave him a sharp look that went unseen. He marveled at the batman’s naiveté but didn’t want to distract his only protector. Instead, he groused to himself over their predicament.

  Our men won’t hear you, boy. Or, was that for the benefit of our visitors? Do you think they would assume that more soldiers will arrive any minute? Do you think the prospect would scare them? You are so young. Too young to die.

  Bardon looked again at Voet’s earnest expression. He would be a leader for this raw recruit. “You know to slice off their tails?”

  “Yes sir. Of course, sir.” He paused. “Their tails are on the wrong side, sir.”

  “I’ll bait one and draw it past you. You make your move right after it passes.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “And watch your back while you’re doing it.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Wulder, protect us.”

  “Yes sir. I mean…well, I do mean, ‘Yes sir.’”

  “Step back three paces.”

  The leecent followed the command, and before the mordakleep could advance, Bardon hobbled in front of his batman. The dark beast turned to follow the crippled prey. Voet sliced downward and severed the tail. Its body dissolved, leaving a splotch of goo on the grassy bank.

  Leecent Voet stood staring at the spot as it quickly soaked into the ground. “I’m going to be sick.”

  Bardon panted as he shambled back. “Nonsense. It’s no worse than wringing a chicken’s neck. You’ve done that before, haven’t you?”

  “Yes sir, I have. But I’m wondering if you have. The two don’t compare at all.” He paused. “Sir.”

  “Get ready. Here comes the next.”

  Bardon made his tottering run in front of the water monster. Voet took in a deep breath, held on to the air in his lungs with a grimace on his face, and released the breath in a great rush when he made the deathblow to the second mordakleep.

  Wheezing with one arm pressed against his side, Bardon returned. “One more.” He gasped.

  “I don’t think so,” a gruff voice interrupted.

  Bardon and Voet turned. Five bisonbeck soldiers in a semicircle cut off their escape. Bardon checked the water’s edge to be sure the mordakleep was not taking advantage of the distraction to sneak up on them. The water rippled where the monster had submerged.

  “Drop your sword, boy.”

  Voet looked at Bardon. Bardon nodded. The weapon thudded on the grass.

  “Your weapon, too, Sir Bardon.”

  “I can’t reach it,” he said.

  The bisonbeck motioned Voet to remove the sword from Bardon’s belt sheath. The batman complied.

  “Now, you’re coming with us.”

  “Where?” He chafed at the situation. I don’t suppose I could talk you pretty-faced messengers out of this little trip, since I surely can’t fight my way out of this mess.

  “Master Crim Cropper wishes to speak to you.”

  Ah no, there will be no talking you out of disobeying Master Cropper. There’s no escape, and I don’t want Voet playing the hero. He’d just get killed.

  He stepped forward, indicating he would come peacefully.

  Voet came too, staying at his side.

  A soldier raised the blunt end of his weapon. “Not you.” He brought it down, whacking Voet’s head. The boy sank to the ground.

  Bardon objected, “That’s—”

  Pain exploded at his temple, and he fell. He knew he hit the ground. He knew Voet’s body lay beside him. He knew he was losing consciousness and fought to keep his senses. But in another moment, he knew he couldn’t keep the darkness at bay.

  43

  FROM THE WIZARD’S LAIR

  Bardon became aware of the stench first, the scuttling of animals next, then the haze in the room that diminished the lights, and the muttering man last. Bardon’s head hurt, and he couldn’t move. He slid his eyes to one side, and even that caused pain.

  The muttering man stood by a wooden worktable cluttered with papers, books, jars, boxes, and a vase full of feathers. He wore a shabby wizard’s robe and a pointed hat that drooped around the brim. As Bardon watched, the tip of the point fell over and hung down in front. The wizard brushed his hand upward through the air, and the point stood up again. Although he’d never seen him before, Bardon guessed this was Crim Cropper.

  A short servant shuffled toward the wizard on overlarge feet. The man could have been a tumanhofer, but something odd about him made Bardon believe he was not. He wore a good suit of clothing, befitting his station, but of finer cloth and better condition than the wizard’s.

  He stopped a few feet away from Crim Cropper and clasped his hands behind his back. He laced one hand’s fingers with the other hand’s. His knuckles turned white. “Master Cropper, I’ve sent the messages you requested.”

  The man didn’t look up from where he wrote in a book. “You’ve had answers already, Prattack?”

  “No, Master.”

  “Then go away until you have.”

  The servant didn’t speak, and his face didn’t show that he had any reaction, ill or fair, to this rude response. He turned and started away. His eye fell on Bardon. “He’s awake, Master.”

  “I know.”

  Prattack shuffled out of the room. Bardon heard his dragging gait, then the creak of a door opening, then closing, and the bolt click as it was set.

  He waited. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. He ached, but not as much as when he first woke. He forced his eyes to move in a full circle, trying to determine the various factors of his situation.

  No bars surrounded him. No guards stood over him. No windows offered a clue as to the time of day. And he suspected the deplorable smell came from a series of three vats along one wall. Each one bubbled, and the two outside vats gave off a colored steam, one green and the other a purple brown. Bardon figured this accounted for the haze in the room.

  The man at the bench underlined something, closed the
book, and put his pen in a holder with assorted other writing instruments. “You won’t be much use to me.”

  He picked a box out of the disarray before him and walked to a row of cages. He didn’t bother to look Bardon’s way. Bardon, however, was pleased that he could shift his eyes more comfortably and follow the wizard’s movements. As the man turned, Bardon viewed his profile. Crim Cropper’s full beard reached almost to the floor. He’d braided his mustache from the corners of his mouth down to where the tips brushed the hem of his robe.

  Crim Cropper opened a small feeding door in the side of the cage and poked something from the box into the opening. He hastily withdrew his fingers and shut the wire-woven flap, then moved on to the next enclosure. “But it feels good to have you helpless and in my power. Revenge.”

  Bardon tried to process this information. Why would having him imprisoned give Cropper the pleasure of revenge? He wanted to ask the question out loud, but his mouth still refused to open. He realized he was thirsty.

  “I shall make sure that your wife knows I have you and that you are dying slowly and in a most humiliating manner.”

  Oh, Kale isn’t going to like this. I don’t think I shall like it either.

  Having fed whatever animal dwelt in the next cage, the wizard moved to the third in the row. “I’ve thought of rodents nibbling away at you while you can’t move. But you would die too quickly.”

  Wulder, protect me from death at all, quickly, slowly, whatever. But if it is my time, I prefer quickly.

  Crim Cropper finished feeding the animal in the last cage, the thirteenth by Bardon’s count. “Then I realized I didn’t have to put all of my mutant rats in with you. Just three or four.”

  Not comforting information at all.

  A second and third row of cages were stacked on top of the first. The wizard walked slowly back, feeding the creature in each enclosure, sometimes speaking to them, saying, “Soon, soon. Be patient.”

  He continued to talk to Bardon as he strolled through the feeding routine. “You’re wondering why I would seek revenge? Why I would target your wife? Because your wife took my wife, and it is only fitting that I should take her husband.”