DragonLight

by Donita K. Paul

  They walked faster as they left Mot Angra behind than when they carried the beast’s meal to him.

  Bardon puzzled over what little they could see. The feeling of pent-up evil radiated from the beast, but his sluggish manner did not threaten them in the least. However, the meech said the dragon had been known to suddenly awake, grab one of the meech, and then go back to sleep. That prospect unnerved the men who took down Mot Angra’s food.

  Bardon took a deep breath of the fresh air as they reached the outer chamber. He stopped to survey the scene. The meech faces relaxed, losing their apprehensive expressions.

  Paladin strode to face the men. “Mot Angra has a weakness, and we shall find it.” He surveyed the solemn crowd. “I would like a few questions answered, please.”

  Seslie came forward. “Yes sir.”

  Paladin pointed to the wonderful eruption of color on one wall. The painting depicted a tableau of plants and animals, a blue sky and radiant sun. In one corner, a swirl of beautiful colors exploded from a dark background.

  “Who painted this mural here?” asked Paladin. “And what is its meaning?”

  “We don’t know,” said Seslie. “It has always been here.”

  Paladin pointed to the monstrous black dragon on the opposite wall. “And that?”

  Those in the room stirred, and Seslie eagerly answered. “We know of that artist. He lived ten generations ago. He drew Mot Angra so that we would remember why our vigil is important. So we would not forget our purpose.”

  Paladin nodded sadly. “A mistake has been made.” He pointed to the lovely drawing. “This painting was to keep you from forgetting your purpose. You were not to forget the Creator, the One whose glory is seen in living things. I don’t know if Wulder drew that for you Himself, or if He commissioned one of your ancestors right after your people came through to this new world.”

  With a scowl, he turned to examine the dragon’s likeness. “Scrub that from the stone. We do not concentrate on evil. When you chant, you focus on the entrance to the evil one’s lair. From now on, turn your eyes to the wonders of Wulder. No longer will the treacherous Mot Angra look down on you as you sing of Wulder’s greatness. His likeness is not to be allowed here. Even the appearance of evil is forbidden.”

  Paladin grandly gestured toward the first painting. “Come, men, we are not forsaken. Wulder, who is portrayed in that image, is your Guide and Protector.”

  The earth trembled, the rocks groaned, and Paladin glared at the hole leading to Mot Angra. “Your time is coming, evil one. Your days are numbered.”

  50

  A SURPRISE

  Kale had come to this room for two reasons—to greet her parents and to say goodbye to Gilda. On one side of the small chamber, a curtain separated Gilda’s deathbed from the flow of people coming to the expected battle with Mot Angra. The other wall shimmered where Regidor had built a gateway. Kale shifted baby Penn from one shoulder to the other. When she moved him, Fly raced across the back of her neck to sit beside his head.

  Holding the edge of Kale’s wizard robe, Toopka eyed the furnishings of the room. “Not much here,” she said. She tilted her head as she examined the gateway. “Kale, why did Regidor weave the word hope in there?”

  She pointed to the right side of the portal. Kale looked and squinted and tilted her head at the same angle as Toopka’s.

  “I don’t see a word.”

  Toopka blew out a puff of air that clearly said Kale was blind. Kale’s lips twitched at the girl’s impatience.

  The surface of the gateway rippled, riveting Kale’s attention to the portal. She hoped this time her mother and father would step through. She and Toopka had already greeted several wizards, a knight, and a swordsmith. These people reminded Kale of the grim confrontation approaching. She wanted to share the joy of Penn and forget, for the moment, the battle ahead.

  She glanced over her shoulder at the curtain. She’d peeked around the edge when she came in and spoken to Regidor. She’d spoken to Gilda as well but received no response.

  “Kale.” Her mother stepped through the gateway and embraced her daughter. “Oh, look, isn’t he perfect? Let me hold him. Ouch! What in all of Amara was that for?”

  Kale stifled a giggle. “Are you hurt?”

  Lyll glared at the blue dragon who puffed up her chest. She looked back at her finger. “Just a pinch.”

  “What’s this?” asked Sir Kemry. “A protector dragon? How very convenient. How did you arrange that, my dear? You didn’t say you had kept an egg for such a purpose.”

  “I didn’t. I didn’t know you could designate a protector.”

  Kemry and Lyll exchanged a glance. Sir Kemry shook his head woefully. “Another instance where our choice of how our daughter would live has caused her education to be insufficient.”

  Lyll patted his arm. “We saved her life. She would have had no education at all if Risto had found her and killed her.”

  Sir Kemry brightened immediately. “That’s true.” He reached for the baby. “Fly, I’m the grandfather. Behave yourself.”

  The blue dragon sulked, head down and wings drooping, but she allowed Penn to be transferred to Kemry and then to Lyll. They cooed over the baby, and he obligingly woke up enough to give them an adorable smile with only a little spot of milky drool at one corner.

  A piercing scream shattered the calm. Regidor fell back through the curtain, ripping the material from the bar that held it aloft. Gilda stood on the bed, backed into the corner against the wall. With her hands covering her mouth, she continued the high-pitched screech.

  Toopka cowered at the foot of the bed, holding something behind her back.

  Sir Kemry’s eyebrows shot up. “I thought Lady Gilda was within a minute of passing on.”

  Lady Lyll put a hand over Penn’s ear and pressed his head against her shoulder to muffle the other ear.

  Regidor scrambled to his feet, Gilda’s shriek subsided to a loud moan, and she pointed one shaky finger at Toopka. Gilda’s husband lifted her down from the bed, and she cowered in his arms.

  “Hmm?” Kale scrutinized the doneel. “Toopka has not done anything particularly naughty in days.”

  “That’s unusual,” said Lady Lyll.

  “Very,” said Kale.

  Kemry chortled. “I believe she’s broken her good behavior streak.”

  Kale marched over and crouched beside the trembling child. She schooled her face to be nonthreatening and her voice to be gentle. “What did you do, Toopka?”

  Toopka brought her hands out from behind her back. In one rested her egg. “Regidor was asleep.”

  Now Regidor guided Gilda to sit on the bed. Her thin body trembled in his arms.

  “Regidor slept, and what did you do?” prompted Kale.

  “Lady Gilda was pretty. She looked sweet and comfortable, but she wasn’t breathing.”

  Kale glanced quickly at the meech lady sitting next to her husband on the side of the bed. Never in all the years she had known Gilda did she ever think the dragon looked “sweet.” “And?”

  “I touched her lips with my egg.”

  “Why?”

  Toopka’s head wobbled back and forth. Her eyes grew bigger. “I don’t know.”

  “The egg burned,” gasped Gilda. “My lips burned, and the heat swept through me. The inside of my head held a flame brighter than the sun. My heart contained fire, coals, red hot—” she stopped, closed her eyes, and breathed slowly, evenly, without shuddering. “Wulder spoke to me.”

  Her eyes popped open, and she searched the corners of the room. Then her eyes fell to her lap. “He told me I was the most foolish of women, and He would show me His Truth. For a moment I entered into a place of perfect peace and all knowledge. I knew the secrets of the universe. I knew the value of each particle created by Wulder. My own being held a darkness, and I was ashamed.” With tears running down her cheeks, she looked up at Regidor and placed a hand on his cheek. “Wulder gave me a choice. I could stay in that place, and He w
ould treat me with all the love and dignity that I had never earned, or I could come back and demonstrate to others the grace and mercy He’d revealed to me. I love you, Regidor. Will you take me back?”

  Kale guided Toopka away from the couple as they embraced. She and her parents left the room. In the plain common room of the meech household, they gathered around Toopka. She still held out her hand. Kale touched the small egg nestled there.

  “Cold,” she said.

  “Wulder touched Gilda,” said Lady Lyll.

  “Yes,” agreed Sir Kemry, “but it appears He used Toopka and this very small egg.”

  “Am I in trouble?” asked Toopka.

  Kale knelt beside the doneel and wrapped her arms around her. “No, little one. Not at all.”

  Kale looked up to see Bardon standing in the door.

  “I just happened to be passing and decided to stop by to see my son.” Grinning, he walked to the cradle, stood gazing at the slumbering cherub, then bent to kiss Penn’s fuzzy head. The blond curls looked nothing like Kale’s or his hair.

  Kale continued sorting small shirts and britches. “Look at all the clothing the meech ladies brought. They love contributing to Penn’s wardrobe.” Kale stuck her fingers through the seat of one of the garments and laughed. “Of course, I have to stitch the seam where a meech baby’s tail would stick out.”

  Bardon glanced up, smiled, and returned to studying the sleeping child. He spoke softly. “We’re making great progress in training the men. Most are seasoned warriors and fall into their roles quite naturally. The younger men are eager and attentive.

  “I passed Gilda twice in the streets. Since she insisted on moving out of the gateway chamber, she has mingled on a grand scale.” Bardon stroked Penn’s cheek with a fingertip.

  “Are you trying to wake him?” asked Kale.

  “Of course not.” Bardon pulled up a chair and sat where he could peer over the edge of the cradle at his son. “Gilda rarely stays in her room, or even in the house. She seems to have decided she is going to meet every meech in the village.”

  “She came by here this morning.”

  Bardon looked at her expectantly.

  “She was nice.” Kale shrugged. “The whole visit was strange. She cooed over Penn. She said her egg was in a building especially designed for keeping the village eggs until the designated years for hatching. She and Regidor are going to choose the first of the three years to have their egg quickened, and she asked me if I would do the honor. Bardon, they’re planning to live here.”

  A tap on the door interrupted Bardon’s response.

  Sir Dar answered the summons to enter. “Holt is here. He just came through the portal with a surprise.”

  “What?” asked Kale and Bardon together.

  “He’s brought us the Followers’ Voice.”

  As they passed through the common room, Kale noticed Tulanny had dropped the knitting she was working on and bolted for the door.

  “Am I right in thinking that Tulanny’s son is the Voice?” she asked.

  “Yes,” answered Sir Dar. “He didn’t return to his hometown willingly. Holt has gathered quite a group of men who will have to answer to Paladin for their actions.”

  The ground rumbled beneath their feet.

  “That’s the first time that has happened in several days.” Bardon grabbed Kale’s moonbeam cape and covered his wife and son. They waited for a minute, expecting a barrage of the small black dragons.

  “Perhaps they went south,” suggested Kale after a time.

  “Perhaps,” said Sir Dar. “Come to the gateway chamber and meet this crowd Holt has brought us.”

  As they walked through the streets, a lehman caught up with them to report to Bardon.

  “Sir!” The young marione saluted. “A horde of black dragons attacked the camp outside the mouth of the cave. The assault was unanticipated, and we have a number of casualties.” He stood a little taller, and Kale detected a gleam in his eye. “The entire force against us was slain.”

  Bardon saluted. “Thank you, Lehman. Continue with your reports.”

  The marione sped off to find the next officer to whom he should relay his news.

  “I don’t like this,” said Sir Dar.

  “I don’t either,” said Kale. “I don’t like them attacking me, but at least the pattern was predictable.” She paused. “I was going to send Gymn to help, but he is already on his way. Let’s see about Holt, then I’ll go to the camp.”

  A tremor vibrated their feet.

  “Small,” said Bardon, “but too close to the first one.”

  They hurried to the house where Regidor had constructed a gateway. With the owners’ consent, Paladin now used the building as headquarters.

  When they came close to the building, they found Lee Ark dividing the prisoners into manageable groups and assigning different squadrons to be in charge of their confinement. An unusual number of kimens also occupied the grounds, and Kale assumed the small people had aided Holt in his capture of the ringleaders.

  Kale leaned close to Bardon and whispered, “I wonder where Holt is.”

  “I wonder where Tulanny and her son are.”

  Sir Dar led the way through the crowd and, with a cursory knock, opened a door to a side room. Paladin bade them to enter.

  Paladin sat behind his desk. Tulanny sat weeping beside a stoic meech who seemed not to focus on anything in the room. Several men in echo garb stood away from the others.

  Holt leaned against the far wall, a sling on one arm and a bandage around his brow. Kale marveled that he cut a dashing, romantic figure, even with the haggard look of a man straight from battle. Regidor’s presence surprised her.

  Paladin stood when he saw Kale enter with her baby. Regidor scooted a chair from the row against the wall and placed it next to Tulanny. Kale took the seat and reached over to hold Tulanny’s hand.

  “We have come to a decision,” Paladin said as he again sat behind his desk. “The Voice, whose real name is Dander, will be escorted to my palace and kept in the dungeon. Tulanny will accompany him and live in the palace so that she can be near Dander and be assured of his well-being. Holt has brought us a group of echoes. These men will be incarcerated as well. Holt has also managed to detain a group of men not in the inner circle.”

  He glanced at Holt, and a small smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “I appreciate that you did not bring them along. After we’ve settled our business with Mot Angra, we’ll send council members to interview these Followers individually, and the state of their hearts and minds will be determined. Those whose characters are not hardened in the heretical doctrine will be given a chance to put aside their allegiance to the Voice. With counseling, I’m sure many will see how they were led astray by fancy rhetoric.”

  Paladin studied Dander’s impassive expression. He glanced at Tulanny’s miserable countenance, then turned to Regidor and nodded for him to come forward. “Regidor, I put Dander and his mother in your care. Please, escort them through the portal at once. Establish them at my palace and return as soon as possible.”

  Regidor first opened the door and commandeered several officers. He explained they would be escorting the prisoners to the dungeon. With only the soft sobs of a despairing mother, the room cleared. Paladin’s soldiers took the prisoners back through the portal to the palace. Paladin excused himself and left to look over the prisoners being held outside his headquarters. Only Kale, Penn, Fly, Bardon, and Holt remained. Holt came to sit next to Kale.

  “May I see him?” he asked. He reached for the blanket and drew back quickly at Fly’s hiss.

  Kale giggled. “Don’t take offense, Holt. We haven’t labeled you as a ne’er-do-well who must not associate with our son. Fly treats everyone as if they are too lowly to look at her boy.” Kale addressed the guardian. “Holt may hold the baby.”

  “Wait! I didn’t say I wanted to hold him. One peek will be sufficient.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Your arm.” Kale looked sympat
hetic. “Does it hurt much?”

  “It’s not the arm. I could manage holding a sword if I needed to, but not a baby.”

  Penn yawned and smacked his lips.

  Holt tilted his head and bent a wee bit closer. “He is cute.”

  The room shuddered.

  “That’s the third quake since I’ve been here.” Holt stood. “Is there a place to clean up? Are there clothes other than these dratted Follower robes?”

  “Let’s wait just a minute to see if the black dragons come this way.” Kale wrapped the blanket closer around Penn and got up. “I’m proud of you, Holt. You’ve done a good thing.”

  Holt rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “I suppose you’ll find this hard to believe, and, Bardon, you can laugh at me if you choose, but I enjoyed doing it. Every time I disengaged someone from the Follower’s hold, I felt lighter somehow. Strange for me to be operating under no ulterior motive.”

  Bardon slapped him on the back. “You did have an ulterior motive, my friend.”

  “No, really,” Holt protested. “I wasn’t doing it for show. The good Mardell already approved of me.”

  “I disagree,” said Bardon, ignoring Kale’s disapproving glare. “The ulterior motive was to clean yourself of guilt for what you finally realized were your nefarious ways. And you were showing yourself that you could do honorable deeds.”

  Holt frowned. “Well, is that bad?”

  “Not in the least. But understand this, Holt. If you died today, you would be accepted into Wulder’s other home for us. You don’t have to present a list of good deeds. There is no magic number of how many times you have to do the right thing before you are granted admission.”

  Holt released an exaggerated sigh. “So I can go back to being a lazy bum?”

  Bardon laughed. “You don’t want to. You enjoy being Wulder’s man.”

  They left the sanctuary of Paladin’s office and edged through the crowd. A soldier asked Bardon to come settle a dispute. Kale told him she was going to the camp to see to the injured. Once at the outside door, she and Holt surveyed the skies. No horde appeared over the southern houses. In the street, Holt produced his most charming smile and offered Kale his arm.