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  As Elma returned to clear more off the table, a burst of gaiety punctuated by a loud cry of “Do it again!” met their ears.

  Garmey spoke coldly. “Elma, the boys.”

  Bardon watched the flicker of hurt in young Elma’s eyes, followed by cold anger. She left the disorder and marched out of the room. Kale cast Bardon a puzzled look and followed.

  Garmey took another swig of drink and belched loudly. Bardon wondered if he intended for the vulgar sound to follow his wife to the other room.

  The temperature in the room stifled Bardon’s ability to breathe. The air seemed heavy with the odors that an hour ago had been a pleasant meal.

  Bardon stood abruptly. “Come with me, Garmey.”

  He turned on his heel and left the welcoming home and strode out into the sultry air of a late summer night. Clouds covered the stars, but sheet lightning played high in the sky as if skipping from one matted covering to another.

  The knight put his arms behind him, folding them over one another at his waist. Wincing at the stiffness in his shoulders, Bardon relaxed the pull on his sore muscles and waited. He listened with keen ears as the young husband came out behind him.

  “You wanted me, sir?” Garmey closed the distance between them with quick steps. “Would you like a smoke? I’ve ’bacco and pipe.”

  “Thank you, but I don’t smoke.” Bardon’s quiet voice competed with a platoon of frogs in a nearby pond.

  “You’re displeased with me in some way.” Garmey swallowed and lowered his voice. “I’m a country man, sir. We’ve never had a knight and his lady in our home before. You won’t give a negative report to the Followers, will you?”

  “I have nothing to do with these Followers.”

  Garmey didn’t seem to hear him. “Perhaps my wife’s cooking wasn’t good enough.”

  “Your wife’s dinner was delicious and filling. I appreciate her efforts to make us feel welcome.”

  “Then?” At a loss for words, Garmey looked down at the ground.

  “It is the way you treat your wife that offends me.”

  Garmey’s head jerked up. “Elma? Treat Elma? She’s used to our ways. She gets treated right by me. She don’t expect nothing else.”

  Bardon remained silent.

  Garmey swallowed again, his Adam’s apple bobbing on his thick neck. “Whatcha mean? I didn’t hit her, didn’t make fun of her food, and I didn’t holler at her when the boys made a ruckus in the middle of our meal.”

  Bardon studied the shorter man. His earnest expression eased the condemnation out of Bardon’s heart. The marione truly wanted to better his lot in life. And the way to do that was to implement the principles into his daily life. “You told me you always wanted to be a knight.”

  He stood straighter. “Yes sir. I know I’d need a lot of training with the sword, and they’d probably want me to learn to read and write, but I could do that. I don’t want to, but I’d do it. I’m pretty smart in other ways, and it might just spill over into book-learning.”

  “The first thing you would have to do is learn to treat your wife like a lady.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?” Garmey snorted. “Besides, Elma ain’t no lady.”

  “She’s your wife?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Then she’s your lady. You can’t elevate yourself without first elevating her.”

  “She don’t expect no special treatment.”

  “That’s very sad, my friend.” Bardon walked away, headed for the companionship of Greer and Celisse in the faraway field.

  “Wait!” Garmey called after him and scurried to catch up. “I don’t get it. What did I do?”

  Bardon stopped to look at the man’s anxious face. “Many things, little things, but they add up. Let’s point to just one as an example.”

  Garmey nodded, waiting for Bardon’s next words with a pained expression on his face.

  “You belched.”

  Garmey blinked, and a slow grin slid across his face. He ducked his head. “Is that all?” He pushed dirt around with the scuffed toe of his boot. “Elma’s heard belching all her life.”

  “Men, when they are enjoying each other’s company without the ladies around, often use a cruder set of manners.”

  Garmey snorted. “I reckon I don’t got any manners of any kind. At least that’s what my ma always said.”

  Bardon put his hand on the farmer’s shoulder and waited until he looked up. The sober expression in the knight’s face must have made the young man realize Bardon’s serious attitude. Garmey wiped the grin off his face.

  “Garmey, you listened and learned from your father as he talked about farming. I can tell you were a good student by the condition of your fields.”

  The farmer’s gaze swept the surrounding land, and he nodded with pride.

  “Listen to what I say about this manners issue. When you use coarse manners in front of your wife, you are saying she is just one of the field hands, one of your buddies down at the tavern, not someone to whom you’ve pledged your life and love. You treat her with disrespect. Because you esteem her so lightly, why should anyone else honor her or offer her common courtesy?”

  Garmey’s mouth dropped open, and he stared at Bardon.

  Bardon clapped the young man on the shoulder. “Always remember you set the tone in your house. The way you treat those around you will be observed by others, especially your sons. They will know that this is your standard. You set it. You must insist that, in your household, respect is shown to your family members.”

  Bardon knew he had a bigger stone in this man’s field to cast aside than bad manners. “You are in charge of your home, not the Followers.”

  “You want me to quit the Followers, just when I got to the first level? I’m a seeker, and they say I’m quick. I’ll be worthy of the journey before long.”

  “I’ve been to their city of Paladise.”

  Garmey gasped. “That’s the name? No one knows the name unless they’re several levels up.”

  “I’ve been there, Garmey, and it isn’t a place you want to go. What you have in these fields, in your home, in your village, are gifts from Wulder. The Followers offer a sham of the real thing. They desire to have power over you.

  “That’s what these Followers want. They want power. They aren’t here to reveal Wulder’s power, but to assert their own. Remember this, if someone says they are teaching you to follow Wulder, but also teaching that your worth is only measurable by what you give to them, they are not from Wulder. They only serve themselves.”

  Garmey put his hands on his head. “I gotta think.”

  “That’s a good idea. While you are thinking, can you stay away from the Followers?”

  Garmey frowned.

  “Will you stay away from the Followers? Just while you’re sorting this out.”

  “Sure.” Garmey dropped his hands to his sides. “Sure, I can do that.”

  14

  MESSAGES

  Early the next morning, Kale sat on the floor in the corner of the bedroom. She pulled the talking gateway out of its container and worked with nimble fingers to configure the weave.

  The minor dragons chittered quietly as they went about their morning business. Gymn, half-awake, didn’t leave his position on Bardon’s back as the knight still slept. Several dragons flew in and out of the open window, looking for breakfast or just enjoying being out and about. Pat had risen early. With his stomach full, he stretched out on the windowsill, soaking up the sun.

  Kale placed the last thread of the gateway in its proper place and leaned back. Her first message was from her father. He reported all was well in the Midway Castle. Dibl and Metta flew to perch on Kale’s shoulders and chirred amazement at the small picture in the portal. Kale’s father looked robust, and in the background, her mother strolled back and forth, doing something. Distracted by her mother’s activity, Kale almost lost the thread of her father’s message.

  “What’s Mother doing?” she said
aloud as if the image in the gateway would hear and respond.

  “Oh!” She looked up quickly, hoping Bardon was still sleeping.

  He grinned at her from the bed. “I knew you’d like that gateway.”

  She got up, leaving her father’s communication. The picture continued to move, and the uninterrupted words poured into the bed-chamber. Gymn left his post and flew through the window, undoubtedly hungry.

  Grimacing, Bardon rolled to his side and scooted over to allow her to sit on the edge of the bed.

  She sat down gently. “How are you feeling?”

  “It’s not as bad as it could be.” He rearranged the pillow for better support of his neck. “We should ask your father if he knows anything about the black dragons. I’m wondering if they came from the north.”

  “You said the legend of the monster dragon comes from the Northern Reach.”

  “Legend, fable, myth. Those weren’t fairy tales that attacked my wife.”

  Kale picked up his hand and began the slow, methodical massage that sometimes eased his pain.

  He sighed and relaxed into the mattress. With his eyes closed, he thought out loud about the troubling circumstances they’d uncovered. “Ask him about the Followers, too. From what Sir Dar and the others said, the strongest concentration of these people is in central Amara, and their influence is spreading outward toward the coasts. Your father will know if there are any Followers in his region of the Northern Reach.”

  “Mmm.” Kale worked her fingers over and around his wrist joint. The message from her father ended, and after a few seconds’ delay, it began again.

  Bardon spoke slowly. “Regidor should have left us a message by now, as well. We should meet up with him and all the others this afternoon. He was to designate a location.” He opened his eyes. “This feels good but is wasting time.”

  “Let me hear what father said at the end of his message, and then I’ll change the weave to tell us if Regidor has used the device.”

  Her father rambled on about various aspects of the dragons she had entrusted to him. None of the news troubled her. In fact, she felt great relief and reassurance as he related each detail of normal daily routine.

  By the time she’d reached Bardon’s shoulder, the message ran out.

  He opened his eyes again and winked at her. “Can I persuade you to get Regidor’s message? Please?”

  She moved to gather up the talking gateway, and as she suspected, Bardon sat up on the side of the bed.

  Kale tsked at him. “You should let me do the other side.”

  “I’m better. I want to see Regidor.”

  She set the gateway on the bedside table. “I can’t get over the fact that I can move this thing from place to place and it doesn’t unravel.” She adjusted a strand. “I’m going to leave a message for Father first, since that gateway is already open.” She fine-tuned the threads and left a message asking if he knew anything about the Followers and the black dragons. She described both in detail, and when she finished, she couldn’t help but compare them as equal threats to the peace of Amara.

  Bardon didn’t comment on her intuitive leap of understanding. Instead, he urged her again to pick up Regidor’s message. She glanced his way and saw lines of fatigue around his mouth. Perhaps on this journey they would find something to keep the stakes at bay.

  Her husband dressed as she worked on the weave.

  “Hello,” Regidor’s voice boomed into the room, startling Kale. “I’m leaving the same message to everyone.”

  His unusual green eyes with long narrow pupils looked steadily out of the portal.

  “He looks like he can see us.” Kale touched the woven frame. “This is the oddest contraption.”

  “Today, Gilda and I will be at Danns Crossing at the fork of the North and South Hierson. If you don’t join us there, I will leave another message as to where we propose to stop tomorrow evening. Danns Crossing is the only place we will linger, though. Gilda is anxious to reach the north country.”

  Bardon kissed the top of Kale’s head. “I’m going out to talk to Garmey.”

  “I heard him leave the house earlier.”

  “He’ll be in the barn or in the fields. He’s a good farmer.”

  As Bardon left the room, the dragons slipped out in search of the children. They were greeted with squeals of delight. Bardon reached back to close the door. “I don’t think the boys are that happy to see me.”

  “At their age, would you have wanted to play with a stuffy old knight or playful dragons of almost every color?”

  Bardon tilted his head. “Probably I would have wanted to follow the knight, not expecting him to play with me. In fact, I think I did follow the knights around The Hall, but I was a tad older than these sprites.” He smiled at her. “Can you be ready to go by the time I get back?”

  “After I see you eat breakfast, yes.”

  “Bossy woman.” He closed the door.

  Kale lost no time changing into the riding habit she most often wore while traveling. She straightened the covers on the bed, suspecting Elma would wash the linens before someone else rented the room. She picked up the things she had used the night before and tucked them into the hollows of her cape before joining her hostess in the common room.

  Dibl had instigated a game of hide-and-seek with the boys. The dragons hid, and just as the boys were about to discover a dragon, the little trickster would jump out and scare the seeker. Tallidah rolled on the floor, laughing and declaring at the same time that the dragons didn’t play fair.

  “I have something for you,” said Elma, wiping her hands on her apron and going to a cabinet. She pulled out a short, squat pot made of fired clay. “It’s ointment for your husband’s stakes. He has ’em, don’t he?”

  Kale nodded and took the medicine.

  “I thought so. My grandda had ’em. This is the only thing that helped.” She reached in her pocket and drew out a worn piece of paper. “Here’s the recipe written in my own grandma’s hand.”

  “I have paper.” Kale took the brown-edged sheet and sat at the table. “I’ll copy it.”

  “I’ve got it learned by heart. I don’t use the words anymore.”

  “But you treasure it because of your grandma. I’ll write it down, and that way I can ask you questions if I don’t understand something.”

  “You and your husband are so nice. Why is that?”

  Kale looked up from her attempt to decipher the faded handwriting. She smiled. “I was just thinking how nice you are to give me this. I think it feels good to offer kindness and have it accepted. We get in the habit of feeling good like that and don’t want to stop.”

  A shadow crossed Elma’s face, and she glanced out the window. “Some people don’t accept a word of blessing or an act of charity.”

  “No.” Kale wrinkled her brow. “But that’s when persistence pays off. All those times when whoever didn’t count your offerings as worthy”—she tapped the tabletop with a finger for emphasis—“I think Wulder counted it three times. Once for doing it, once for not reacting with bitterness, and once for determining to repeat the kindness. You shouldn’t be forced by someone else to give up what gives your heart pleasure and Wulder’s heart pleasure too.”

  Elma grinned at her. “Phew! That was quite a mouthful. Is it in those principles from the Tomes that Garmey has been talking about?”

  “Yes. Do you read the Tomes?” Kale pulled paper and pen from her cape and began to write out the instructions for the ointment.

  “No, no. Garmey don’t much like it that I can read, and he can’t. He says the Followers are going to teach him to read. For the time being, they tell him a principle and he learns it. And they tell him what it means and he learns that, too.”

  “And then he teaches it to you and the boys?”

  “Oh no. We aren’t to learn ’em until he gets up to a higher level. Then we can join him on the path to righteousness.”

  Kale’s hand stilled over the page. “Elma, that isn�
��t right.”

  “Garmey says it is, and he’s the one’s been going to the meetings.” She put her hands on her hips and looked askance at Kale.

  “Elma, Bardon doesn’t believe these Followers are following Paladin’s instructions.”

  The marione snorted. “They wouldn’t be called Followers if they weren’t following.”

  “That’s true, but who are they following?”

  “Paladin, of course.”

  “Not if Paladin doesn’t recognize them.”

  Elma pulled out a chair and sat across the table from Kale. “What do you mean?”

  “Suppose many years from now, you wake up in the morning and your husband is away on a trip, but your two sons and a stranger are sitting at the table waiting for the morning meal.”

  Elma leaned her arms on the table and watched Kale as if she expected a trick from her guest. “So?”

  “So the three younger men all call you ‘Ma’ and all say they’re your sons.”

  “That don’t make it so. Only Tallidah and Zepzep are my sons.”

  “You can tell by looking at them that the third one is not your son?”

  “Of course I can. I’m not dimwitted.”

  “Now a visitor comes by.” Kale nodded to the door as if someone had knocked. “He comes in, and the three young men all say they’re your sons. And he believes them. He says the stranger looks like one of the family. He’s in your house, sitting at your table, and eating your food.”

  “I’d tell him it ain’t so. Only Tallidah and Zepzep are mine.”

  “Paladin has looked at this group of Followers and has said they are not his. They look like the teachers he sent out, and most of the time, they sound like his teachers. But they are not.”

  Elma gasped. Again she looked out the window, and her focus seemed to be on someone other than those in the house.

  “What’s Paladin going to do? Is he going to arrest them? Will they be killed?”

  “I don’t think those who have been misled will have vengeance rained down upon them. But those who mislead them will suffer as they should.”