Dragons of the Valley

by Donita K. Paul

  Tipper’s injured foot and leg cramped, and she had to shift to allow the muscles to relax. Queasiness warned her that her body did not take well to the combination of a dizzying ride and the pain in her leg.

  Rayn called to her from upriver. She heard him in her mind first, but as he came closer she also heard his concerned chirps. He landed on her back.

  “I’m okay,” she told him. “Are the others all right?”

  His answer reassured her, and his healing touch calmed her stomach within minutes. The flow of the River Hannit slowed. She rolled over on her back and watched the stars for some time while her racing heart calmed down. The chill of the night seeped through her damp clothes. Shivering, she dug in the hollows of her cape and found several blankets. She made a nest and buried herself within the dry folds. Rayn turned from green to purple and cuddled under her chin.

  “The others should catch up soon,” she whispered to her crooning dragon. She wasn’t all that confident they’d find her, but she was too tired to fret. “Wake me when you see them. I don’t like being alone.” She closed her eyes. They popped open again when Rayn objected. “Of course I’m not really alone when I have you. I beg your pardon. Good night.”

  A niggling worry poked at her drowsy thoughts. She stroked Rayn. “I do hope there is no more rough water. We’d hear it, wouldn’t we? I can’t stay awake, but what if—”

  A sound rumbled in the wee dragon’s chest. She felt the vibration against her neck. “Oh, thank you, Rayn. I trust you to keep an eye on things. Good night.”

  23

  Tangonut Crème Pie

  Hollee skipped up the bank and slid down. Exposed roots sticking out of the steep slope showed how far the river could rise. She glanced at Wizard Fenworth. He still slept. She’d gotten very good at recognizing him, even when he was in his woodiest state. At the moment he looked like a log that had tumbled downriver and lodged against another spinet tree. A bossvetch vine grew over both the log and the real tree.

  She stopped midway up the incline as voices reached her ears. She jumped down, poked Fenworth, and said, “Someone’s coming.”

  The wizard snorted but did not wake up. Hollee zipped along the path beside the river and spotted two tumanhofers and two kimens. She raced back and bounced on the log that was Fenworth.

  “Tipper’s not with them. You said Tipper would need our help, but she’s not with them.”

  A bit of crackling and popping accompanied the emergence of the wizard from his arboreal state. He shook the vine loose from his arms and stretched.

  “Confound it, Hollee.” He frowned at the kimen and removed her from where she clung to his robes. “I was having a good dream.”

  “You told me to wake you when they came.”

  “So I did. Should have thought that one out more before issuing such a silly request.” He watched as the small party rounded the corner and came into view. “There you are, Librettowit. I’ve got something for you.”

  Fenworth stood, pulled out the brownish fabric of his wizard mantle, and plunged his arm into one of the hollows. He carefully removed an object.

  “Tangonut crème pie, my friend. I sensed you were in need of its supportive qualities.” He handed the dessert to Librettowit, whose face showed appreciation for the offering.

  “No need to share,” continued the wizard as he produced two more pies from his clothing. He handed one to Bealomondore and the other to the kimens. “For myself, I have grasshopper pie. Hollee and I have had our fill of tangonut crème pie for now.”

  “Where’ve you been?” asked Librettowit.

  “On a beach in the land of Baardack. We taught the natives to bake pies and learned a great deal about this King Odidoddex and The Grawl.”

  “That should be helpful.” Librettowit sat on a rock, licking his lips and barely acknowledging Fenworth’s presence.

  Bealomondore looked at his pie, then studied the terrain downstream. “We’ve misplaced Princess Tipper. Even the kimens could not find her last night. I think we should keep walking.”

  Maxon and Taeda Bel sat on the ground, cross-legged, with the pie between them. Taeda Bel glanced at Bealomondore. “We haven’t had breakfast.”

  “Bad idea,” said Fenworth. “Can’t go questing with no sleep and no food. Maybe no food, if you’ve had a full night’s rest. Maybe no sleep, if you’ve eaten your pie. But definitely not both. And besides, Tipper didn’t float down this branch of the River Hannit.”

  Bealomondore stared at the wizard. “She had to. We tossed a stick in the river where it split in two. In fact, we tried three times. All the sticks followed the current of this branch. This one is the stronger, wider, most logical choice.”

  Even though Bealomondore had not seen the wizard cut the pie he held, Fenworth lifted a piece and handed it to Hollee, shaking his head. “Logic. Logic is a funny thing. Works when things are progressing logically and is totally undependable when variances poke their long noses into the regular way of things.”

  Librettowit spoke around a mouthful of gooey pie. “Don’t think you can say that variances possess noses with which they poke.”

  “Ah!” Fenworth looked fondly at his librarian, then winked at Bealomondore. “I’ve missed him, you know. Did you note how he did not end the sentence with a preposition? It’s a good trait in a learned man, the ability to speak a sentence properly arranged. But the variance with a nose is a figure of speech, not meant to be taken literally.”

  Bealomondore tensed, trying to control his frustration. “How do you know she’s gone down that other branch?”

  “I wouldn’t be a very good wizard if I couldn’t pinpoint the location of a damsel in distress.”

  The younger tumanhofer nearly dropped his pie. “Distress? Tipper’s in distress?”

  Fenworth shook his head again and settled himself on a thick root extending from the spinet tree. “Figure of speech. Damsel? Yes. Distress? Only moderately so. We’ll have plenty of time to backtrack and take the correct path.” He raised a big slice of pie to his mouth, but before he bit into it, he gave Bealomondore a scowl. “Eat your breakfast.”

  Tipper shifted in her nest of blankets, trying to find a more comfortable position. She breathed in deeply, enjoying the serenity of her surroundings, before opening her eyes. Water sloshed against the sides of the raft, and the air smelled of wet riverbank, the dirt sodden and somehow fresh. Birds and insects overindulged in chattering their early morning messages. The warmth of the sun bathed her face, and her dark blankets had absorbed the first rays. The chill of the night vanished, her covers felt toasty and comforting, and the idea of being lazy enticed her to stay cocooned and not bother with questing today. The only sensation that disturbed her was pressed against her elbow. The raft was not a downy mattress.

  Rayn! Her eyes flew open, and she sat up. She searched the blankets and then the shore. Where was the little dragon?

  Roots from a tree entangled the front of her flatboat. One corner wedged into a thick mud bank. She stood. Since Paladin had first given the sad and puny dragon into her care, Rayn had always been on her or beside her when she first woke.

  “Rayn! Rayn!”

  “Is this what you are looking for?”

  She whipped her head toward the sound, trying to find the person who spoke. If he hadn’t moved, she doubted she would have seen him. Just six feet away, half hidden in a bush, a creature rested. His size and ugly features alarmed her. But more frightening than his wild animal appearance, he held Rayn. The unknown man-animal pinched the dragon’s tail between his thumb and forefinger. Rayn’s drooping gray body hung from his meaty hand.

  Tipper gasped. She looked from the tiny dragon to the beast. His large face had some of the characteristics of a grawlig. He was bigger and dressed better, and his eyes, though cold, glimmered with intelligence. His speech sounded much more like one of the high races.

  “I decided not to eat him.”

  Tipper stuck out her chin. “Give him to me.”


  Promptly, the beast flipped the little dragon toward her. Tipper snatched Rayn from the air. She held him close under her chin, then lowered her hands to study his limp form.

  As she stroked his belly with her finger, Rayn twitched. “He’s alive.”

  “Of course,” said the creature. “I didn’t mean to kill him. If I had, he would be dead.”

  “What did you do to him?”

  “Nothing but catch him as he flew by.”

  “He’s hurt.”

  “Perhaps I squeezed too hard.”

  The beast’s steady breathing and his unwavering gaze teased the fine hair on her neck. She turned away from his staring eyes, then whisked back. Better to face the abomination.

  Tipper almost asked what he was but caught herself in time to say, “Who are you?”

  “I’m called The Grawl.”

  “Where do you come from?”

  “North.” An unpleasant smile twisted his lips. His eyes remained distant. “And who are you?”

  “My name is Tipper Schope.”

  “And where do you come from?”

  “Upriver.”

  He laughed at that. The hard, loud noise did nothing to calm Tipper’s trepidation.

  He stood, and Tipper realized he must be over seven feet tall. He didn’t have the bulk of a bisonbeck. He wasn’t flabby, as grawligs tended to be.

  “Trying to figure out my heritage, aren’t you?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be impolite.”

  He laughed again, rattling her this time as much as he had the first. How could a sound produced by humor be so unsettling?

  The Grawl narrowed his eyes. “Few people bother to concern themselves with manners around The Grawl.”

  “That isn’t as it should be.”

  “But it is so, and I find no reason to dwell on it.”

  He reached his hand toward her. “May I steady you as you come ashore?”

  “No, I was told to stay on the raft. Someone is coming for me.”

  He withdrew his hand. “Then I shall keep you company. I am curious to meet your companions.”

  Tipper sat down on the pile of blankets, cradling the unconscious Rayn. She preferred to not have company but didn’t think it safe to say so.

  24

  Bridge

  With her stomach full of grasshopper pie, Hollee skimmed over the ground at the speed she loved. Taeda Bel and Maxon easily kept up with her. Some people believed that kimens actually flew. The kimens, by agreement, neither confirmed nor denied the assumption. Hollee delighted in withholding the secret from the other races. While zipping ahead, the kimens visited, catching up on all that had happened during the time they’d been apart.

  The tumanhofers and the wizard trudged up the trail at a sedate pace. With the others far behind, the kimens talked with expressive and rapid gestures. After covering the less heady subjects of conversation, they slowed their speech if not their gait. A more serious topic deserved attention.

  “What did you learn about Odidoddex?” asked Taeda Bel.

  Reluctant to delve into the problem, Hollee sighed. “Not many countryfolk like him. He has a larger following among city dwellers.”

  “Why?”

  “He deliberately curried the favor of the city population to strengthen his power.”

  “How?”

  “He forced the farmers to overproduce and drained the land of what is needed to keep the soil rich. Now their farms grow lots of weeds, and they only get a puny harvest.”

  Maxon shook his head. “Now that would make wise farmers mad. Very mad indeed.”

  “It makes all the farmers angry. And Odidoddex sent his army to confiscate all the best animals. That left the people with no breeding stock. Now the cities are demanding he keep up the largesse, and he has decided to plunder Chiril. It is uncertain whether he plans to overthrow our king or take the goods and run.”

  Taeda Bel tugged on Hollee’s arm. “What about The Grawl?”

  She shuddered. “I’ve seen him up close. He’s horrible.”

  “But what is he?”

  Hollee hesitated. She’d heard rumors, but she didn’t like to repeat things she didn’t know for sure. “I don’t think anyone really knows. Some say he was birthed by a woman of the urohm race, but the father was a grawlig from a marauding band. The woman was captured and ill-used. She died giving birth, and the raiders abandoned him in a village in Baardack.”

  “They raised him?” asked Taeda Bel.

  “Not exactly.” Sadness for a small, ugly child filled Hollee’s heart. “The legend says that the men of the village used him like a hunting dog. It was there that he became known as The Grawl.

  “He was slow to talk, and they thought he was little more than an animal. When he grew older, his intellect blossomed, and he outshone them all. They turned on The Grawl and threw him out.”

  “That’s distressing.” Maxon slowed their pace. “I wonder if they would have treated a hunting dog as badly. Fear often overwhelms compassion.”

  Taeda Bel brushed a tear from her cheek. “Where did he go from there?”

  “That’s the point where folktales take over.” Hollee spread her hands out in front of her in a questioning gesture. “There’s no telling which ones are true and which aren’t. The common theme is that he hunts people down for money. That if one could find his hoard, one would behold a fortune greater than any other.”

  “That sounds like the typical exaggeration of a legend.” Maxon pointed ahead. “We’ve come to the fork in the river.”

  Hollee looked over her shoulder. “Wizard Fenworth does not like to get his feet wet.”

  “But he’s a bog wizard, isn’t he?” Maxon asked. “He should be accustomed to damp.”

  “He says that’s exactly why he doesn’t like to be soaking wet.”

  A wide grin spread across Maxon’s face. “His librarian is rather fond of the water. But Bealomondore can’t swim.”

  Taeda Bel frowned. “I hope they don’t take forever getting across. I’m worried about Tipper.”

  “Why don’t you go ahead?” Hollee gave her friend’s arm a pat. “We’ll catch up to you.”

  Taeda Bel jumped and did a somersault. “Come as quick as you can.” She charged into the water and was on the other bank, waving good-bye, before the wind could catch up. With a hop and a twirl, she darted off.

  Soon the wizard and the tumanhofers approached the spot where the two kimens waited to make the crossing. Wizard Fenworth leaned on his walking staff as he tramped up the hill and sat down as soon as he got to a sizable boulder. He took off his wizard’s hat and fanned himself.

  After a moment, he jammed the hat back on his head and frowned at the water. The flow here was more sedate than upstream. “How do you think we should ford the river, Wit?”

  “Swim,” said the librarian as he took a seat next to Fenworth.

  “You can, but I don’t care to get my feet wet. Swimming would definitely get my feet wet and other parts of my anatomy as well.”

  Librettowit shrugged and pulled a flagon of water from one of his hollows. He took a deep draw from the flask.

  “A bridge?” Fenworth pulled on his beard. A caterpillar crawled out and away from his fingers.

  Librettowit shook his head. “It would take too long. We really ought to see what that princess is up to.”

  “A simple gateway then?”

  Hollee clapped her hands and nodded. “I like that idea. I like the sticky feel of going through a gateway. And I like the lights.”

  Again Librettowit shook his head. “Are you just going to leave gateways dotting the land? You’d have to dismantle it. Doesn’t take long to make one, especially if you have helpers, but you must admit that taking one apart can be tricky.”

  Fenworth laid his staff across his knees and glared at the River Hannit. “I could whirl us across. Do it all the time. Hollee used to get motion sickness, but now she likes whirling almost as much as gateways.”

 
; The little kimen nodded so hard she bounced on the spot where she stood.

  “And how much whirling have you been doing?” Librettowit examined his wizard. “You look a little worse for wear. Whirling requires a great deal of kinesthetic energy and more brainpower. You’ll wear yourself out, and then where would we be?”

  Fenworth looked away. Hollee had been with the wizard long enough to recognize the look on his face. Something astonishing was about to happen. She followed the line of his gaze and promptly saw something that only the wizard could do.

  The roots of a nearby tree stretched toward the water. New growth pushed out of the old, and pale green tendrils snaked across the bank. Soon a mass of tangled roots stretched halfway over the river.

  Maxon ran to the edge of the bank and placed a foot on the half-assembled bridge.

  Hollee shrieked. “Don’t!”

  Maxon jerked back as Fenworth’s head whipped around to see why Hollee had interrupted him.

  “Silly kimen,” said the wizard. “Wait until it has finished growing. Your feet might be caught in the twisting new roots, and we’d have to cut you out. We are trying to make time, not waste it.” He turned back to his project. “Now where was I?”

  It took a minute or two for the growth to pick up speed. Hollee waited as patiently as she could. She twitched a bit and explained to the others that Wizard Fenworth worked better without interruptions.

  “I know that, child,” said the librarian with an even tone. “Best to play a game of solitaire or read a book while you wait.”

  Maxon and Bealomondore dealt out cards for a game of Rat Tail while Hollee flitted from bush to bush looking for a butterfly she’d seen earlier. She found it and danced with the green, orange, and blue insect until it flew away. Disgusted at her pretty playmate’s departure, she stretched out on the ground and caught minnows in her quick hands. She released them and caught them again.