Dragons of the Valley

by Donita K. Paul

  She screwed up her face and shook her head, then whispered to the tiny dragon cupped in her hand near her chin. “This is an unusual tale.”

  “We’re not done. The turtle goes about doing the things that occupy a turtle. But something inside doesn’t feel right. It is compelled to wrap itself in long vines and hibernate. When it emerges sometime later, it discovers its body has metamorphosed into a large, lumbering bird, one too heavy to fly and with wings too puny to be useful.”

  “He speaks of a most unusual animal,” Tipper said to Rayn.

  “But still,” Paladin said, “the flightless bird is dissatisfied, and one day, it hunkers down in a deep nest of long shafts of prairie grass and goes to sleep. The bird is ill at ease, not because being a flightless bird is a bad thing, but somehow it is not the right thing for a caterpillar.

  “It emerges again from the long sleep, and this time it is a bird, not too big, not too small, and a dull black.”

  “Can it fly?” Tipper asked.

  “Yes, it can fly.”

  “So now it is content?”

  Paladin shook his head sadly. He stopped walking and turned her to face him. “It will never be content until it finds the full glory of what Wulder created it to be.” He held up a finger. “Once more the bird sleeps deeply and awakes with colors as beautiful as Beccaroon’s plumage. The bird is light and can soar through the heavens. Its song is sweet, and it feels joy as it vocalizes.”

  “Now? Now is the bird happy?”

  “What do you think?”

  She took time to consider. “Caterpillars do not change into birds.”

  “That’s right.”

  “So?”

  “So the bird takes stock of its life and knows it should not be distressed. But still there is that something inside that dampens its pleasure. Something that says, ‘Not yet.’ ”

  “So it has to change again.”

  “One more time. And this time, at the end of its season of rest, it emerges as a butterfly.”

  “I think I know what you’re telling me.”

  He lifted an eyebrow and waited.

  “The caterpillar wanted to change. Something inside told it to seek something different.”

  Paladin nodded.

  “But it kept emerging as the wrong thing. Not necessarily a bad thing, but not the right thing.”

  He nodded again.

  “And until it became the form that Wulder intended, it didn’t feel … peace?”

  “That’s right. And even though it gave up its beautiful voice and flights high in the sky, it was content.” He gently hugged her. “When I became the paladin, I knew Wulder was pleased. I am content to be the one who shares His love with people.”

  Tipper smiled. “I know what you’ve told me and maybe a bit of what it means. But I think I shall have to do some thinking before I know why you told me of this misguided caterpillar.”

  “Don’t forget to bring Wulder into your musing. The life cycle of His caterpillar is only a symbol of what He wants for you.”

  He kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll see you and Rayn in the morning.”

  He released her and walked away. She stood for a moment, stroking the tiny dragon with a fingertip. When she looked down, her eyes widened with surprise. Rayn’s color had changed to gold, and he glowed with a soft radiance as he slept.

  13

  Tavern

  The slim possibility of walking into a tavern and not being noticed rankled him. Sir Beccaroon did not often wish to be of another species, but spying and his unmistakable identity did not go well together. He sat at a corner table and asked for a bowl of water and the specialty bread of the Round Baker Inn.

  “My pleasure,” said the serving girl, who could not keep the awe out of her voice or expressive face. Obviously grand parrots did not visit the small town of Selkskin.

  He nodded and cut off any further questions by turning his head to examine the other patrons of the inn. Most of the customers stared back with undisguised curiosity. Some ducked their heads when his gaze locked with theirs. Hopefully his appearance would cause such a distraction that no one would notice Verrin Schope and Lady Peg. Verrin Schope was intent on gathering information.

  The couple sat on the other side of the room, enjoying a plain meal of traveler stew and round bread. Verrin Schope had engaged one of the locals in a conversation. Sir Beccaroon nodded to the young lady who served him and sniffed the savory bread. The aroma stirred his appetite, and the first bite reassured him that the stop at the tavern had been an excellent idea.

  He had lowered his beak to the water bowl when everyone in the room ceased talking. He straightened and saw the cause for alarm. Three bisonbecks and a seven-foot creature of unknown origin stood inside the front door. The burly men surveyed the room with a cocky arrogance that caused the grand parrot to snap his beak. The beast leaned against the doorjamb, looking bored.

  The marione owner of the establishment hurried to confront the new customers. Young and strong, he didn’t look like the round baker on the sign that hung outside. “I’ll serve you in the back. We’ve an open terrace there where you can enjoy the fine weather.”

  The leader of the men sneered at the innkeeper. “We’re not good enough for your main dining hall?”

  The owner stood taller and looked the bully in the eye, although he had to tilt his head back some to do so. “Our best customers favor the outdoor dining. But I do not serve those who have not had the opportunity to wash in here. Many travelers are in the same circumstance. If you prefer, there is a bathhouse at the end of the street. You are free to use their facilities first, then return for your meal.”

  The leader’s hand flashed forward and grabbed the innkeeper’s neck. He lifted the man off his feet. “We prefer to eat now.”

  He pulled the man closer so that they stared at each other nose to bulbous nose. The unfortunate marione’s face turned red, and choking noises could be heard over the stillness of the room.

  A chair scraped across the wooden floor, and Verrin Schope stood. He strolled over to join the dangerous scene. Standing with his arms folded in front of him and looking completely at ease, he said, “Put him down.”

  The bisonbeck’s intimidating glare fell on the dark emerlindian. “Why should I?”

  “So often what is inflicted on another comes back to torment the offender.” Verrin Schope smiled. “Don’t you find that to be true?”

  A puzzled look from the bisonbeck changed quickly to rage. He dropped the struggling marione and grabbed for his own neck as if to tear choking hands from his throat. The innkeeper scrabbled out of reach, then stood behind Verrin Schope.

  The two other bisonbecks sprang forward, weapons drawn. Verrin Schope merely raised a hand as if to signal for them to stop. The ruffians clattered against an unseen barrier and bounced back. The leader of the group fell. Once on the floor, he no longer struggled to breathe. Evidently the grasp on his throat had loosened. The other two helped him to his feet, speaking excitedly in a foreign tongue.

  The beast still leaned against the wall, but he no longer looked bored. His narrowed eyes surveyed all before him. When his eyes came across Beccaroon, the parrot saw a muscle twitch high on the creature’s cheek. What was he thinking? And what kind of man-beast was he?

  The strange creature turned and walked out of the inn. His comrades did not seem to notice his departure. They glared at Verrin Schope and the innkeeper, darting glances at the other patrons of the tavern. Clearly the situation didn’t reflect the way they usually encountered people. The leader pulled his shoulders back, stuck out his chest, and said something to his men. With faces still hardened with anger, they turned and left the building.

  The innkeeper bowed before Verrin Schope. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” He turned, and Beccaroon saw the serious expression on his face. “Those men are expecting to meet a man from their country. I would appreciate knowing when he arrives.”

  “Yes sir.” The
marione bowed again. “I’ll do my best to spot him and let you know. Will you be staying at our inn?”

  “Yes.” Verrin Schope patted the man’s shoulder. “I’m an artist, and I choose to paint the quaint apothecary shop across the square.”

  The man next to Beccaroon mumbled to his tablemates, “Artist? That man’s more than a picture painter.”

  Sir Beccaroon sighed. So much for Verrin Schope and Lady Peg being inconspicuous.

  The Grawl loped through the street to a stand of trees just outside the town. He crouched in the shade and took in his surroundings. He detected a few small animals and birds. Nothing to disturb him as he contemplated his next action. After knocking over several small toadstools, he picked at the bugs underneath. He liked the larger ones that crunched in his mouth.

  Chewing helped him think. Crisp snacks satisfied the need to hear the pop and grind between his teeth. He moved a mossy stone and found a delectable selection of very small snails. He grunted and turned his mind to the problem.

  Another wizard. He’d never heard of wizards in Chiril. Yet he hadn’t been here a month and had run into two. If he’d been hired to find wizards and kill them, he’d do it. But to have to deal with their interference while he located strongholds in enemy territory was not in the verbal contract he’d made with King Odidoddex. One purse of gold before the journey and one when they returned, having sabotaged Chiril’s defense, presented a reasonable business deal. He should have asked for more money just for the annoyance of putting up with three bisonbeck warriors.

  A wizard. Two wizards. Time to renegotiate with Odidoddex.

  He and the bisonbecks had come to town to meet the man who delivered pay and took back reports. The Grawl gritted his teeth. He’d challenge the messenger to guarantee a more lucrative deal. If the king had sent Groddenmitersay, the problem would be easily solved. The tumanhofer sat as the head of the war council and could authorize anything that struck his fancy.

  The Grawl stood when he saw the bisonbecks emerge from the inn and come his way. They marched down the street, not in formation, but anyone watching would recognize the military bearing. The fools couldn’t avoid trouble even when they were under orders.

  Gorse bristled as he came near. “You deserted us.”

  The Grawl only gave him a cursory glance. His eyes went to the commander of their mission. The soldier quivered with resentment. He’d been beaten by what he saw as a scrawny foe. And there had been witnesses. The Grawl knew he’d be attacked, a substitute for the one who had really raised First Speatus Kulson’s ire.

  “You’re under my command, Grawl. You don’t leave unless I dismiss you.”

  The Grawl kept his gaze steady. He could stare down this petty tyrant, but it didn’t serve his purpose to further humiliate the bisonbeck. “I was not hired to brawl in taverns.”

  Kulson took the easy way out. He swung around to attack his two underlings. “We’re going to the bathhouse.”

  “What?”

  Brox’s expression of disbelief caused a snort of laughter to escape from The Grawl. Kulson didn’t even acknowledge he heard.

  “We are going back to the tavern. I want to keep an eye on that man.”

  That piqued The Grawl’s interest. “The wizard?”

  Kulson still didn’t look at him. “Wizard? Trickster maybe. Wizards wear robes and have pointed hats. They don’t come to the aid of insolent innkeepers.”

  The Grawl didn’t answer.

  Gorse wasn’t that smart. “You know a lot about wizards, huh?”

  Kulson backhanded the soldier. Gorse lay on the ground, nursing a sore jaw.

  “We’re going to get cleaned up. By the time Groddenmitersay gets here, we’ll have a lot to tell him about a certain emerlindian.” He strode away, not looking to see if his men followed.

  Brox extended a hand. Gorse grabbed it, and after hoisting him to his feet, Brox followed their leader. Gorse marched along behind.

  The Grawl grinned. He wouldn’t be staying in any tavern, but he’d be close by. The right man was coming to gather information and dispense money. And The Grawl knew he could negotiate a better deal for himself.

  14

  Must Go

  Bealomondore stepped back and studied his latest sketch. Done. And done well. On his canvas, three kimen children hung upside down from a tree, their legs hooked over a limb. The artist smiled.

  “Come see.” He gestured to his models.

  They tumbled off their perch, landed lightly, and ran to see their picture. With exclamations of delight, they danced around the artist, then ran off to tell their friends.

  Maxon strolled into the clearing. “You’ve caused a great deal of excitement. The village has never had a portrait artist before.”

  “You once told me that you rarely had guests. Now you’ve had Librettowit, Tipper, and me for almost two months. Paladin has come and gone, causing quite a stir while he was here. Have we irrevocably disrupted your daily living?”

  Maxon sat on a stump. “No, no. We were made to glorify Wulder and enjoy Him. One of the ways we do this is to serve. We’ve come through a long, bleak period where our race did not have a focus. Now we do. Paladin has explained things that were lost in our history. Our customs and traditions make much more sense now that he has renewed our knowledge of the Creator, Wulder.”

  Bealomondore’s response was a noncommittal, “Hmm.” He didn’t want to discuss Wulder.

  He hunched a shoulder and turned to his art, adding a few more strokes to his sketch. He stood back, examined the effect, then added two more.

  “I’m waiting for the ropmas to come,” he said. “I had a promise from a young man named Handle. Of course, I realize that time is a nebulous thing for them.”

  “That’s actually why I’ve come.”

  Bealomondore turned to study his kimen friend. The frown on his little face did not bode well.

  “What’s happened?”

  Maxon’s shoulders bunched up and fell as he gave a huge sigh. “The ropmas have seen The Grawl. They’ve gone so far underground that we haven’t seen them at all today.”

  Bealomondore sat on one of the stools he’d brought out from his abode. “Well, this Grawl beast isn’t after them, is he? Surely they’re safe.”

  “Near here is a marione village where craftsmen fashion all sorts of knives, swords, spears, and arrows. The ropmas provide raw ore for the metals. They think it is a good deal, trading mud for fancy food like bacon. Ropmas are particularly fond of bacon. And ham. But it would be unthinkable for a ropma to slaughter an animal for its meat.”

  “Vegetarians?”

  “Not really. Just squeamish.” Maxon stood looking at the portrait of the carefree kimen children. “You have a great gift, Bealomondore.”

  “Yes, but I have no subjects for my next sitting.” He rolled his piece of charcoal between two fingers. “Tell me the rest of the tale.”

  “The night before last, The Grawl led bisonbeck men into the village. The marauders destroyed each building in which weapons had been made and all the storage sheds. They torched some of the buildings, and fire spread to homes. Ropmas, especially burrowing ropmas, are terrified of fire.”

  “Was anyone hurt?”

  “The raiding party didn’t seem interested in hurting the mariones, but they thrashed anyone who came out to stop them, and several villagers were hurt as they put out the blazes.”

  Bealomondore put down his charcoal and picked up a rag to wipe his hands. “This is why we brought the statues out of the city. These men must not get hold of a powerful gateway.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, the two statues are safe in your settlement.”

  A cool breeze ruffled a stack of paper the artist had left on a stump. Bealomondore moved to put away his tools.

  Maxon rested a hand on the pages to keep them in place. “Yes, but we have had a message from the palace, regarding Verrin Schope.”

  He stopped and focused on Maxon. “Surely it
can’t be too urgent.”

  “Only if you value the artist’s life.”

  “What? Tell me this instant.”

  “He has returned to the unstable state that was cured when the three statues were reunited. And now Lady Peg, Beccaroon, and Verrin Schope have disappeared in the countryside. No one knows exactly where they are.”

  Bealomondore pondered this news. He looked up at the darkening sky and noted the threat of rain. Even in this forest he’d jokingly referred to as enchanted, the possibility of storms loomed. He turned back to his task of cleaning up. “We must come to his aid. But how?”

  “You and Princess Tipper only have two of the statues. We need the third.”

  “But Fenworth left here to go to Ragar. We’ll just send for him. That’s no problem.”

  “If he had arrived, it would be no problem. But Wizard Fenworth and Hollee have not been seen or heard from since the day they left the Starling Forest.”

  “Fenworth isn’t in Ragar?”

  “No.”

  “Then he and Hollee have been missing for almost all of the two months we’ve been here? Why didn’t the people in Ragar tell us?”

  “Probably because they weren’t expecting him to come and so didn’t realize he was missing.”

  “Do you suppose this Grawl …”

  Maxon shook his head. “We’ve been watching him. It seems his main function is to locate places that are key to the defense of our nation. He has also been hunting down persons of consequence.”

  “Persons of consequence?”

  “Leaders in the military and local authorities.”

  “And what happens when he finds these people?”

  “They disappear.” Maxon fidgeted with his hair. “While you’ve been sequestered here in the Starling Forest, more than thirty individuals have gone missing.”

  “Could be the slave trade.”

  Maxon shook his head again. “Slavers want young people who have the capacity to work hard. And most often, the captives are taken closer to the shore. The missing persons are older and from towns and cities scattered across our eastern territories.”