Dragons of the Valley

by Donita K. Paul

  Demdar snorted. “Then calculate us staying alive.”

  “We can duck into that cave we saw and be out of sight. When the fighting is over, we’ll come out and pretend we were in the battle but away from everyone else. You lie for me. I lie for you.”

  “What if someone sees us?” The marione gestured to his face and clothing. “We stand out, you know.”

  “Then we’ll say that someone told us those statues were in the cave. You know how much Groddenmitersay wants those statues.”

  “If they’re real. Even the mighty Groddenmitersay isn’t sure. He has that ‘if they’re real’ in the promise to reward the finder.” Demdar thought for a minute. “Who told us the statues might be in the cave?”

  “Some Chirilian we were about to kill.”

  “Where is he?”

  “We killed him.”

  “Where’s the body?”

  “We killed so many Chirilians that we don’t know where that one is.”

  “All right. Let’s go.”

  The two Baardackians stole away. Bealomondore and Maxon followed.

  As they passed his second in command, Bealomondore told him to let the men rest thirty minutes, then start chasing the Baardackians out of the valley again.

  “Maxon and I are going to follow these two. But we’ll be back before you reengage. If we’re not, just go on without us.”

  “Why are you following them?”

  “Dragons are supposed to be guarding the statues.” Bealomondore pointed up. “I’m afraid most of the dragons are fighting schoergats. I’m just going to make sure the cavern chapel is secure.”

  “And if it’s not?”

  “I’ve got Maxon with me, and he’ll come back for reinforcements.”

  They left the others behind and stalked the two Baardackians. Cahn and Demdar had moved ahead of them, but Maxon easily followed their trail. Bealomondore and Maxon caught up and watched them enter the cave.

  The roar of a schoergat pivoted their attention to the sky. A large spear clattered on the rocks near them. Bealomondore traced the movement of a dragon with some difficulty. This rider had been able to cover his steed with the non-sheen cream. The schoergat flew away from the fray, doubled back, and came toward Bealomondore and Maxon.

  “I bet he’s coming back for his weapon,” said Maxon.

  “Then we’ll move it.” Bealomondore dashed forward, grabbed the pole with its deadly point, and raced back. He heard the flap of the schoergat’s wings, heard the low-throated growl, and smelled its horrid, hot breath.

  He dove between the rocks. “I’m glad those creatures don’t breathe fire.” He panted. “I’d have singed clothing.”

  “He probably didn’t even see you.” Maxon took the spear and poked it far into the bushes between two rocks. “I could barely follow your movements, and I knew what you were doing.”

  A dragon trumpeted a challenge above. The tumanhofer and kimen looked up in time to see the schoergat batted from the sky with the blow from a powerful tail.

  “Come on,” said Bealomondore. “We need to catch up to those two Baardackians.”

  They scrambled down a rocky incline, covered the open area quickly, and stopped just outside the entrance. “Hear anything?” whispered Maxon.

  Bealomondore shook his head. He used all his senses. Nothing smelled, tasted, or looked out of place. He didn’t want the men they were following to have a chance to set a trap. He especially didn’t want to fall into any trap. He signaled to Maxon, and they crept into the darkness.

  54

  Confrontation

  About thirty feet into the passageway, Bealomondore spotted a blue light up ahead. He and Maxon picked up the pace, knowing lightrocks waited for them at the first junction of two tunnels. Each armed with a glowing stone, they walked even faster, the kimen leading the way.

  Maxon stopped and whispered. “I smell blood.”

  Bealomondore sniffed the air. “Yes. We’d better proceed with a bit more caution.”

  The scent grew stronger as they made their way to the underground chapel. Maxon slowed to a stop again.

  “Up ahead,” he said. “Do you see that?”

  A mound of some kind glowed.

  Bealomondore stooped so that he was closer to Maxon’s ear. “It’s the same color as Odidoddex’s soldiers.”

  He pulled his sword, and they crept forward. Cahn and Demdar lay in a heap, in a pool of blood. Maxon turned away.

  Bealomondore made sure no one was hiding in the shadow, then examined the bodies. “Their throats were ripped out.”

  “That’s not the way dragons kill,” said Maxon, keeping his back to the victims.

  “And we haven’t seen any dragons guarding the passageways.”

  “The Grawl?”

  “Yes, I think The Grawl is here.” Bealomondore stood. “Go back and get ten to fifteen men. I’ll go on. Fenworth and Librettowit may need some help.”

  “I think the wizard can take care of The Grawl.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “But you’re going anyway?”

  “Yes.”

  Maxon took off. Bealomondore straightened his shoulders, gripped the Sword of Valor, and stepped around the dark red puddle on the floor. As he followed the tunnels down to the cavern, he inspected each meditation room.

  He stopped just inside the opening to the chapel. Wizard Fenworth and his librarian were nowhere in sight, but The Grawl stood next to the display of the three statues. Bealomondore recognized the rapt expression on the big man’s face. Verrin Schope’s art often profoundly moved him. He’d spent time just gazing at a painting, marveling at all an artist’s brush could reveal.

  He took a few steps into the large cavern. The wizard had provided lighting that enhanced the natural beauty of salt and crystals. During the day, special lights accented the carvings formed by the wizard’s hands. In the night, only the three statues were illuminated.

  “I have a collection.” The Grawl’s comment startled Bealomondore. He hadn’t realized the creature had noticed him.

  “Of art?”

  “Yes, but more than just art. Things of beauty. Anything that strikes me as exquisite. Anything exceptional.”

  “Verrin Schope’s work always astounds people.”

  The Grawl looked over his shoulder, pinning the tumanhofer with a glare. “I will take these.”

  Bealomondore blinked. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “The Trio of Elements is necessary for the health of my friend and my country. I cannot allow you to take them.”

  “Then I shall kill you.” The Grawl pulled a sword from its scabbard.

  Bealomondore raised the Sword of Valor. It seemed suddenly heavier. He glanced down and saw that the hilt had enlarged and covered his hand, and the blade itself looked longer and thicker. He swished it in front of him. The balance seemed the same. The comfort of his grip felt the same. The sword had changed, but not the way he would use it. With just an ounce more confidence, Bealomondore came down the ramp that led to the expanse of stone floor.

  The Grawl approached from the other direction.

  The tumanhofer didn’t like the patronizing grin on the creature. He didn’t like that his head probably came no higher than the taller man’s thigh. He didn’t like fighting a superior force when he was tired from a night of skirmishes. His previous experience with The Grawl had ended in the river. He’d nearly died from a crushed skull and drowning. He steered his thoughts from that memory. He didn’t need to undermine his own confidence.

  He stopped at the proper distance for two swordsmen to face off for a fight.

  Nerves sent a tremor through his body. I will need more than my own power to defeat this foe. The sword will help. I will need more than that to even stay alive. Wulder. What does Wulder give in circumstances such as this? Enough bravery so that I won’t turn and run? Enough skill to match my opponent? Enough strength to deflect his blows? Enough stamina to finish the fight? I ask for enough, Wuld
er, and just a little bit more.

  They crossed swords, and the battle began.

  To Bealomondore’s surprise, his size actually gave him an advantage in this battle. The Grawl miscalculated the distance between them. Bealomondore ducked under many swipes. He moved with the agility learned from his kimen instructors. He used the moves the sturdier librarian had taught him. The Grawl fought in a straightforward manner, but Bealomondore twirled, somersaulted, flipped, and leaped into the air.

  They both attacked with determination. Bealomondore realized The Grawl had not expected his expertise to be tested. Instead of dispatching Bealomondore after a moment’s match, the combat lasted. The Grawl’s anger increased. His moves sharpened. His eyes flamed. His jaw clenched.

  Bealomondore prayed he would live. Maxon should return with soldiers, and then the tumanhofer artist would make no valiant effort to finish this battle alone. Let all those men run in and tackle The Grawl. His pride would stand up under such blatant effrontery to his fighting abilities.

  The struggle dragged on, and The Grawl abandoned the finesse of sword fighting and threw his weight into sly moves. He moved behind a five-foot-tall column and shoved it down. Bealomondore jumped to keep his legs out of danger. The monster picked up a lantern and threw it at his opponent. The glass shattered and flaming oil splashed across the floor, but again, the tumanhofer avoided serious injury. They fought until both men dripped with sweat and panted for breath.

  Finally, Bealomondore knocked The Grawl’s sword from his hand, tripped him with a move Taeda Bel had shown him, and ended up standing on The Grawl’s chest, heel pressed against his throat and blade pointed at his eye.

  “No, no, no,” Fenworth’s voice echoed a bit in the chamber.

  Some force lifted Bealomondore off his adversary and set him down a few feet away. He saw that The Grawl had been covered with a coarse net. The creature thrashed about, trying to extricate himself.

  “You can’t kill someone in the chapel, Bealomondore. It just isn’t the thing to do.”

  A wave of relief flowed through Bealomondore, followed by a crash of anger. “Where have you been?”

  “Here and there,” said the wizard, “watching how our battle for the valley was ending. Dragons took the schoergats. Paladin and crew captured the rooks, knights, and all fighting on the ground. And you’ve cornered The Grawl. I’d say these hostilities only need an emissary to that odious King Odidoddex to inform him he’s lost. You know, the kind of protocol carried on as peace is established.”

  Librettowit walked out of the shadows from a passageway that led to the library. He held an open book. “What are you saying, Fen?”

  “They’ve done it, Wit. We’ve defended our sanctuary. Now this tiny force can go out and take back the rest of Chiril.”

  “Just like that? No problems with the greater force of Odidoddex’s army?”

  “Not much. After all, it’s the determination of the people that matters, and now they know that defeating the invaders is possible.”

  “Now that’s good news.” Librettowit shrugged and turned his attention to the netted beast on the floor. “Why do we have The Grawl trussed up in the chapel?”

  “Bealomondore defeated him with that sword.”

  Librettowit beamed at the other tumanhofer. “Good work, young man.”

  Bealomondore could only nod. He collapsed on a stone bench, suddenly feeling that all of his bones were made of sculpting clay.

  Fenworth circled The Grawl as he spoke. “There will be some cleaning up to do. Shame this continent doesn’t boast a urohm population. They’re mighty handy at putting things straight.”

  Maxon charged into the chapel with soldiers at his back.

  “Too late,” said Fenworth. “Except for the tidying.”

  55

  Tidying Up

  The Grawl squatted in the corner of his cell. If he showed any interest in what the wizard said, the old man would talk forever. By not responding, The Grawl felt he had some control. And his taciturn refusal to engage in conversation meant the o’rant would give up and go away.

  Fenworth had insisted on keeping The Grawl in the sanctuary. He gave him a room, provided some minimal comforts, and visited him daily. He shared with the captured beast each bit of news that came in from the resistance fighters beyond the rim of their valley.

  “Ah.” The old wizard would sigh in satisfaction. “We should have known the people of Chiril would do much better as a defiant underground alliance than an organized army.”

  The Grawl fumed.

  “Now look at this.” The wizard, another time, waved a map at his prisoner. “Three more towns liberated from the occupation.”

  The Grawl turned his back on the cheerful wizard.

  A few days later, the wizard came to The Grawl’s cell with more information. “You never liked that Groddenmitersay, did you? Good news for you then. He’s been captured and will be tried for war crimes.”

  The Grawl flinched. He thought about the man who had respectfully requested him to perform deeds of war. Groddenmitersay understood that he was superior to the rest of the soldiers. Still, he deserved to be punished. He had surrounded himself with inferior warriors. The Grawl let his eyes roam around his small quarters. His imprisonment was an insult.

  Bealomondore returned to the valley with good news. In just three months, the Chiril Alliance had taken back all the lost territory and had the enemy forces scrambling for the hills that led to Baardack. The people of Chiril rejoiced and celebrated Wizard Verrin Schope, Warrior Prince Jayrus, also known as Paladin, and the brave swordsman, Graddapotmorphit Bealomondore. The three men had rallied the underground troops and strategized a successful campaign. Chiril had beaten Baardack.

  The three honored men came themselves to tell Fenworth and Librettowit. A band of the alliance came with them to meet the Amarans and see the now famous cathedral cavern.

  The old wizard from Amara willingly undertook giving advice as to how they should proceed.

  Bealomondore sat back and watched with amusement as the visitors from Amara concocted a scheme for Chiril’s handling of the evil neighbor to the north.

  “I believe Paladin should go to Baardack and deliver the bad news to King Odidoddex,” Fenworth said. “As the official emissary for Chiril, he can list the things we won’t do and King Odidoddex won’t do.”

  Librettowit sat down and pulled out a pen and paper. “I’m ready.”

  Fenworth began his list. “Baardack will not attack Chiril again.

  “Chiril will not return Odidoddex’s army.

  “Baardack will not withhold payment for damages to Chirilian crops and sundry property.

  “Chiril will not plunder Baardack for compensation.

  “Baardack will not abuse any Chirilian citizen doing business within Baardack borders.”

  Librettowit looked up. “That’s three ‘Baardack won’ts’ to two ‘Chiril won’ts.’ ”

  “Well, we won after all. We shouldn’t have to even up.”

  Librettowit agreed, wrote something more at the top of the page, and put it away. “I think the first order of business should be to send The Grawl home.”

  “Good idea.”

  The wizard scurried down one of the corridors and soon came back with The Grawl, walking sedately in front of him.

  “Don’t worry,” he told the men in the room who had reached for their weapons as soon as they spotted the huge man. “He’s confined, but you can’t see the restraints.”

  The Grawl’s deeds were well known. Most of the soldiers in the room knew someone who had disappeared, never to be found. As many as his crimes were, any malicious act that went unexplained was also blamed on the man-beast.

  One of the men stepped forward. “He killed two in my family. Five altogether in my village. Is there a punishment vile enough to match his crimes?”

  Another man’s cold voice asked the question on all their minds. “What shall we do with him? How do we get rid of something
that depraved?”

  The wizard pulled a silver box from his robe and handed it to The Grawl.

  “This is yours.” He addressed the soldiers. “He has his silver box. Let him use it.” Fenworth gestured toward the men standing around the wall of the chapel. “We’ll send him on his way.”

  “What is it?” asked one of the men.

  “It is a transport device. It will take him away.”

  Bealomondore thought of all the people this prisoner had murdered and started to object. Fenworth sent him a stern glare, and then his face altered to mischief that included a wink and immediately transformed back to the stone-faced wizard of judgment.

  Every man in the room, including Bealomondore, stood ready lest The Grawl make a wrong move.

  The creature stared at the wizard.

  “You have the means to leave us. Do it,” said Fenworth.

  The Grawl turned the box over and over again in one huge hand. He looked around the room.

  Bealomondore shivered when The Grawl’s gaze passed over him. This “man” should not be given his freedom. Many would suffer from his hands if he was allowed to use the box. He started to object again and heard Fenworth’s voice in his mind. “Steady. Silence.”

  The Grawl reluctantly opened the silver box. Threads of light streamed out and formed a gateway. The noises made by many of the men indicated they’d never seen such a thing. Momentarily distracted, Bealomondore glanced at them, observing their wide-eyed wonder.

  “Keep alert, men.” The tumanhofer’s commanding voice pulled his soldiers back to the danger still in the room.

  “Go on, Grawl,” urged Fenworth.

  The creature threw the silver box through the opening. Fenworth smiled. “We won’t keep you from your destiny.”

  The Grawl stepped into the gateway, promptly immersed in the varying colors of the passage, just as Bealomondore had expected, given his limited knowledge of this wizardry means of travel.

  However, the creature’s shape did not disappear. Instead, his shoulder reappeared as if he’d turned to come back. Bealomondore saw his face. The snarl left, and a look of astonishment took its place.