DragonFire Page 15

  When asked why he had so many rooms, Granny Mel replied, “Nell liked company. So do I. Keeps one sharp. Keeps one from turning into an old curmudgeon. You won’t be staying long, will you? ‘Pot stew and company should be chucked out in seven days.’”

  “I don’t believe that’s one of Wulder’s principles,” said Sir Dar.

  “It isn’t,” agreed the old man with asperity. “It’s common sense. You can add to Wulder’s Tomes with words of common sense.”

  Bardon opened his mouth, but Sir Dar took hold of his sleeve to keep him from jumping in with a retort. With reluctance, Bardon swallowed the words of instruction he longed to bestow upon the old man.

  Of course, the diplomat was right. Correcting Granny Mel should be left to someone older and with more than a passing acquaintance with the gentleman. The emerlindian’s erroneous statement would not damage the man’s ultimate security in his position as Wulder’s servant. It would hinder his quality of service. But that was an obvious problem already, one that needed more work than the correction of one misconception.

  In the morning, Lady Lyll fixed breakfast with Dar’s help.

  Granny Mel expressed his pleasure at having food on the table when he got up. “The both of you together are almost as good a cook as my Nell.”

  Lady Lyll and Sir Dar exchanged a look of amusement.

  “Would you like more tea?” asked Lady Lyll.

  “No,” answered the old man with his head tilted to one side. “My companion is coming, and she’s a mite upset. She’s going to be surprised to see we’ve company.”

  He rose from his comfortable chair and shuffled up the corridor to his front door. He came back a few moments later with a blue minor dragon on his shoulder.

  “Becca-ree says,” he announced, “there are big ships, run by bisonbecks, with nets gathering up the quiss and hauling them off to the south.”

  Bardon, Sir Dar, and Yent jumped to their feet, ready to go see for themselves.

  “Sit down,” ordered Granny Mel. “I told you I’d help you, and I will. I’ve been listening to you stew and plot and speculate on what to do.” He shook his head at Lady Lyll and gave her a wink. “It’s amazing what these young folk don’t know, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t think I’m quite as old and learned as you are, kind host,” said Lyll.

  Her face reddened as she spoke, and Bardon tried to discern whether the color indicated anger, embarrassment, or suppressed laughter. Knowing his mother-in-law, he guessed she was choking down a giggle.

  “Sit down, I said,” repeated Granny Mel. “There’re some things you don’t know. This deplorable ignorance shocks the socks off my feet. You don’t know things everybody knows. Isn’t that right, Lady?”

  Lyll nodded her head but said nothing. Bardon suspected she had no idea what the man was getting at any more than he did. He cocked an eyebrow at her, and she nearly went off in a fit of laughter. She covered the snickering with a series of coughs that he didn’t think sounded realistic at all. Granny Mel squinted at her.

  “You drink a swallow of tea,” the old man advised. “See if you can’t get that tickle in your throat under control. I sure hope you folks didn’t bring me the plague to die of after you’re gone on your way. And you’d better be leaving today. I’d go with you, but I don’t like inflicting my presence on people who don’t want the company.”

  He looked each of the men in the eye but avoided looking at Lady Lyll, who obviously had not gotten her “tickle” under control.

  “Here’s what you do. You fly your big dragons down to the salt flats of Benbellugrand and scoop up as much salt as you can carry. Becca-ree says those bisonbeck sailors have the quiss trapped as if they were going to deliver them someplace. You dump the salt on them, and they’ll die. It’ll make a bubbly mess for a while, but there’s no helping that.”

  “We prefer not to poison the water,” said Sir Dar.

  The old man shook his head again, his short black locks swinging back and forth. He glanced at Lady Lyll, and when he saw she had recovered herself, he said, “See what I mean? These young people don’t know a thing. Tell them, Lady. Tell them what they don’t know that makes all the difference.”

  Lyll’s eyes widened. She searched Sir Dar’s face as if she hoped to find some enlightenment and instead saw his mischievous grin. Her lips pressed into a line, and she addressed Granny Mel.

  “You’re so much better at explaining things, sir. You tell them.”

  He frowned at her. “Are you feeling all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Don’t have any spots coming out or anything? Are you having trouble with your eyes? Blurring or double vision? Have you kissed a rodent lately?”

  “No, no, and definitely not.”

  “Good! Maybe you’ve escaped the plague.”

  “Please, sir,” said Yent. “Please tell us what we don’t know that makes all the difference.”

  He scowled at his small guest. “You’re that pesky kimen who keeps visiting me, right?”

  “Yes, I am. And if you tell us your secret, I promise not to return for a century.”

  “It’s the salt.”

  Yent sighed. “We know about the salt.”

  Granny Mel chuckled. “You don’t know everything about the salt.”

  The kimen squinted at the emerlindian and answered with a measured tone. “I suppose we don’t. Are you going to tell us?”

  “The salt in the water is what keeps the quiss alive. That’s why they don’t just stay on land. After their march—happens every three years, you know, or maybe you don’t, ’cause I’ve been surprised time and again about what you don’t know—they return to the sea. The ocean water neutralizes their poison. Those beasts are so full of venom, they’d poison themselves if it weren’t for the salt. So when you pour salt on them, and they absorb it too quickly, they die and…” He held a finger up to emphasize his point. “And their poison is done away with at the same time.”

  Bardon, Sir Dar, and Yent exchanged glances.

  “Well,” said Granny Mel, “what are you waiting for? Go exterminate those vermin before those wicked bisonbecks deliver them to someplace where they mean to do evil. Because I’ll tell you one thing about bisonbecks I know you know, even being as young as you are. Bisonbecks never, never do anything without a wicked purpose behind it.”

  “Yes sir,” said Bardon as he stood. “We’re on our way.”

  Granny Mel’s visitors rushed to the bedchambers and collected their belongings.

  “I’ll not go with you,” called the emerlindian. “But I will send Becca-ree along.”

  Bardon and Yent appeared with a bag each. Granny Mel nodded at them and pointed to the blue dragon sitting on the back of his chair. “She likes adventure. And she knows where everything is—the villains, the salt, and the shortest route between the two.”

  “We appreciate that,” said Sir Dar as he came out, a cape swirling around his shoulders and a hat with a feather perched upon his head.

  Granny Mel grimaced when he looked at Dar’s finery.

  Then Lyll dashed into the room wearing a form-fitting outfit of leggings and underblouse plus tunic. Granny Mel’s face expressed outrage at the sight of Lyll without her elegant lady’s wear.

  Bardon examined the shades of blue she wore and grinned. “She usually wears pink,” he told the emerlindian.

  “That’s only for hand-to-hand combat, Bardon, my dear.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t know.”

  She smiled and tugged on sky blue gloves.

  Granny Mel slapped his hands against his sides and scowled. “I hope one of you can communicate with Becca-ree.”

  “I can,” said Yent and Lady Lyll together.

  “Good, then take care of her. She’s my connection to the outside world.”

  A three-hour flight to the south brought the party to the salt flats. The flying dragons rested and hunted for food while Sir Dar, Sir Bardon, Lady Lyll, and Yen
t coped with the logistics of collecting the salt, packaging it, and figuring out how to transport it.

  Lady Lyll had sacks in her hollow, but no shovel. Yent knew of workers who could be paid to dig salt and load the sacks. He ran the short distance and brought back three strong-backed mariones.

  “They’ll work for free,” said Yent as he introduced the men. “They have no liking for quiss, although strangely, the invasion rarely reaches this far before the horde turns back to the sea.”

  “And now we know why,” said one of the burly men. “But I have family up north who take a hit from those sea beasts every three years.”

  The second marione pushed a wheelbarrow filled with sacks and shovels. “Yent tells us the sacks you brought are not sturdy enough to hold the salt.”

  “We thank you, friends,” said Dar, making a court bow. “You have lightened our burden and saved countless of your countrymen.”

  The men went to work, Bardon and Dar taking turns, as well, with the shovels. Night fell, and still they worked, while Yent and Lady Lyll prepared a meal.

  “We can fill more bags,” said one of the men when Sir Dar called a halt for the night.

  “Yes,” said Bardon, motioning toward the pile of cloth sacks, “but our dragons can’t fly with any more weight than this.”

  Merlander and Greer came back sometime during the night. They had had to go far to find a wild flock of turrich, a huge bird that cannot fly. Greer liked the taste of them well enough, but Merlander insisted they fish in the lake nearby to satisfy her appetite.

  Dar and Bardon welcomed them back. Riders and dragons slept better once the pairs were reunited. Distance from their riders always made the dragons edgy.

  They ate breakfast at first light.

  Sir Dar divided the tasks. “Lady Allerion, you will ride Merlander with Becca-ree guiding you. I’ll be the one to clamber over the tied-on sacks and slash them to release the salt.”

  She nodded.

  “Sir Bardon,” Dar continued, “you and Yent will follow us on Greer. Yent will slash the cargo sacks.”

  Both men assented with a nod.

  “Becca-ree has told Lady Lyll that there are six ships in two lines, three abreast. Since we don’t have enough salt in this load to annihilate all six nets full of quiss, we’ll have to make more than one trip.

  “On this first attack, I want Greer to fly over the middle ship of the back line, and Yent will dump the salt on the quiss. Lady Lyll, Merlander, and I will see to the middle ship in the front row. Needless to say, we shall have to fly low. Bardon, do you have enough arrows and lances to cause sufficient diversion?”

  “Yes. Greer’s packs were loaded for battle when we left the others behind.” He raised his eyebrows. “Regidor is going to be displeased that he was left out of this scuffle. Our reconnaissance mission was not supposed to involve fighting.”

  Sir Dar chortled. “We will have to listen to him bellyache when we get back.”

  Yent lifted his head from his work of tying sacks to Merlander’s cargo apparatus. “Who is this Regidor?”

  Lady Lyll laughed. “A swashbuckling meech dragon who likes to be in the thick of things. I agree he will be quite put out that he wasn’t included in our raid.”

  In addition to the riding saddles and the cargo contraption, the dragons carried a lightweight netting that Dar and Yent would be able to crawl over. The net provided something for them to grip with their hands and wiggle their feet into for secure footholds. Bardon knew Regidor wouldn’t mind clinging upside down to a dragon’s belly while in flight, but he’d rather ride on top. He was glad the nimble kimen and doneel were on hand to do that tricky maneuver.

  “Are we ready?” asked Sir Dar.

  Yent said, “Aye.”

  Sir Bardon gave him a salute. Lady Lyll smiled as she climbed onto Merlander and hooked her knees into saddle guards.

  The marione who seemed to be in charge of the others said, “We’ll bag up more salt for your second run. It’ll be ready when you get back.”

  “Thank you,” said Sir Dar. “It is imperative that we strike fast. After the first hit, the sailors will be expecting us and may have a defense arranged to complicate our delivery.”

  Becca-ree sat on Lady Lyll’s shoulder and directed them to a stretch of water just south of Eden Bay. Six large barges plowed through the water at a slow speed. The two dragons circled at a high altitude.

  “At least these heavy boats won’t outrun us,” said Yent.

  Bardon agreed and looked to Dar for a signal. The doneel crawled out of his safe seat and, with a knife between his teeth, crept to a place where he could open the bottom of the sacks. Yent followed his example. When the two small men were in position, Greer and Merlander swooped toward their perspective targets.

  Bardon held on with his knees. The wet, cold sea air rushed around him as they descended. He had a dozen thin-shafted lances in a scabbard at one knee and his bow and arrows at the other.

  He heard a bisonbeck shout as he raised the warning of attack. The sailors took up arms, crossbows.

  That’s interesting, he thought. Sailors equipped for battle like a land militia.

  Greer’s take on the situation was more pragmatic.

  You can fly as fast as you want, dragon friend, Bardon answered. I have no wish to see you poked full of holes, either. Fortunately, the nets are dragging a good distance behind the barges. These sailors will have to be very good marksmen to hit you.

  “I’m ready,” Yent hollered from behind Greer’s wings.

  Bardon couldn’t see the kimen, but he took him at his word.

  Now, Greer. Dive as low as you can to give this brave little warrior a good chance at hitting his target.

  He grinned at his dragon’s response. Aye, aye, Captain? Since when have you acknowledged any authority I might have over you? And where did you pick up the “aye, aye” bit?

  Greer didn’t snap back a reply. He banked over the swarming mass of quiss trapped in the net. Yent sliced through the cloth, and the sacks emptied into the target. Only a small amount of white grains fell beyond the rim of the net as Greer soared upward.

  “Good work!” Bardon exclaimed and glanced over to see how Merlander and her crew had fared. “Our comrades have made a direct hit as well.”

  Yent climbed to the top of the saddle and sat behind Bardon.

  “Greer tells me,” said Bardon over his shoulder, “that Merlander is relaying a message from Dar.” He paused. “Dar wants us to observe the effect of our drop. We won’t fly back immediately.”

  The quiss in the targeted traps ceased movement at once, but their bodies bubbled as the carcasses disintegrated.

  “Look at that,” yelled Yent. He pointed to the nets being pulled by the four other barges.

  The quiss in the hammocklike trawl nets pulled by the outside boats panicked. Squeals and screeches filled the air. The frantic quiss threw their many arms over the edges of their confinement. The ropes from the nets to the barge became a bridge, and the sea beasts piled one on top of the other as they fled the water. Their appendages had not stiffened, allowing them to walk, but they dragged themselves across the ropes, over the rails of the ships, and onto the decks. The quiss slithered across the vessels with great speed and captured many of the men.

  The military discipline of the sailors on the barges collapsed. Each man tried to save his own skin. Many climbed into the rigging.

  Bardon turned to the kimen. “Dar is wondering if the panicked quiss will go ashore. He wants me to set you down so you can warn the people and tell them about using salt to deflect any attack. We’ll go back and get the prepared bags of salt to deliver to the coastal people.”

  “I agree,” said Yent. “The normal rhythm of the quiss invasion has been disrupted. But we’re better prepared than we’ve ever been in the past. What will be the outcome of today’s events?”

  24

  THE DONEEL’S STORY

  Kale leaned forward to touch her father’s
arm, nodding toward the back of the tavern. “Not the innkeeper or the owner. Doxden appears to be the cook.”

  Her father twisted in his seat to watch the man approach. Doxden couldn’t be missed. The quick-stepping doneel fairly hopped across the room, his bright clothing dusted with flour and a baker’s cap sitting jauntily on his head, covering one ear. Waving a hand to the men who pulled tables and chairs back into place, he climbed into an empty chair. His shoulders only reached the edge of the table, so he tucked his feet under himself to give some additional height.

  He squinted one eye at Sir Kemry. “You’re going to Greenbright Valley?”

  “We might be,” answered the knight. “Is that where the dragons are?”

  “That’s where the dragons are rumored to be.”

  “What can you tell me?”

  Doxden looked around the room. “Botzy,” he called, “bring me a drink.”

  The woman waved a hand at him and yelled, “In a minute.” She went back to her conversation with a well-dressed urohm and two kimens aglow in shades of pink roses.

  A few of the customers had left the room, seeking their warm and cozy beds. Others were quietly talking. The musicians stood around talking, having packed up their instruments for the night. The lateness of the hour called the villagers to leave the pleasant tavern, brave the storm, and return to the comfort of their own hearths.

  Doxden jumped down from the chair. “I’ll be right back. Do you want your drinks refilled?”

  “No, thank you,” said Sir Kemry.

  “My glass is still half full,” said Kale.

  The doneel cook dipped his head in acknowledgment and trotted off.

  What do you think? Can he help us?

  “He hasn’t decided yet if he wants to. But I think if he is willing, he can tell us precisely where this valley is located.”

  Gathering information with disregard for a person’s privacy troubled Kale’s sense of ethics. Life had been simpler when Bardon directed their paths. She’d chafed against his strict adherence to principles from time to time, but she never fretted over their direction. Her husband certainly had a clear picture of right and wrong.