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“They’ve gone to bed?” asked Kale as she rubbed oil into Dibl’s back and wings.

  “It just wasn’t a good time.”

  Kale’s eyes flashed to his and immediately away. She would not pry into what he had seen or heard. He could tell her. She probably already knew. But what would be the good of discussing the strife Gilda poured into their lives? He didn’t need Tieto to know the meech lady’s aura must be jagged and discordant.

  The mist thickened, then turned to tiny droplets, soaking the ground with a quiet rain. Bardon helped massage oil into the nine dragons.

  “Celisse is calling to me,” said Kale, not stopping as she clipped Gymn’s tiny toenails.

  “Greer, too. They don’t quite understand why we would prefer to remain warm and dry.”

  “I’m willing to go play with them any afternoon when they dance in a warm summer rain. But I’m not joining their antics in the middle of the night.”

  “Greer says you’re chicken.”

  “Tell him I’m practical.” She reached into her medicinal bag and pulled out Elma’s ointment.

  Bardon laughed. “Are you going to oil me now?”

  “Only one tiny spot at the back of your head.”

  They fell asleep with their pallets pushed together and small dragons piled on top of them.

  The drizzle of the rain quieted in the early morning, and when they awoke it was to the unnerving silence of a forest filled with fog. Gray tendrils of mist curled through the slight opening Bardon had left to allow fresh air to circulate through the flaps of the tent.

  Bardon got up and pulled on riding pants and a thick shirt before sitting on a camp stool to shove his feet into scuffed black boots.

  From where he sat, he peeked out into the gloom. “A hot cup of tea will sure taste good this morning. Crispin, do you think you can start the fire?”

  The red dragon stretched and yawned. A burst of flame escaped as he exhaled.

  “Come on, then.” Bardon ducked through the door. Mikkai followed with Tieto and Crispin. They flew the perimeter of the camp as if checking to see if all was well.

  “Greer and the others kept watch, boys.” He crouched beside the fire. “Our wood is good and soaked. It’s a good thing we put a supply under a tarp.”

  He retrieved sticks and pieces of old log from the stash and built a campfire.

  “Crispin, will you do the honors?”

  The small dragon landed beside the ring of rocks. He eyed the organized tangle of tinder and the bigger branches laid across the top.

  “Give it a try, old man,” said Bardon. “We’ve got a tinderbox. You don’t need to feel as if the world will fall apart if you don’t set it ablaze on the first try.”

  On the third blow, Crispin sent a stream of fire right into the middle of the pile. The flame caught the smaller twigs. Soon the tinder snapped, popped, and shimmered as it turned from brown to orange. The small blaze ignited the logs and continued to lick the wood until the fire permeated Bardon’s carefully laid tower.

  “Does this mean we won’t fly today?”

  Bardon turned to see Gilda wrapped in some silken robe that belonged in a fancy castle, not a clearing in the wood.

  He gestured to the air around them. “The fog?”

  She shivered. “The gray, murky, thick, and silent fog.”

  “We’ll fly, Gilda. First, this vapor may burn off. Second, our dragons will carry us straight up and level off above this ground-hugging cloud. Mikkai can keep us on course even without looking at familiar landmarks. He has a special sense of direction that I’ve never known to fail.”

  Gilda sat abruptly on a log they had been using as a seat. “It can’t be soon enough for me. This egg is getting larger every day. I don’t want to be in the wilderness when it comes.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  “I don’t think you truly do understand. I’m a dragon. When I present an egg, I won’t stay to hatch it. I won’t even want to. Not then. But now, I care about where I leave it. I want it to be nurtured in a community of meech, not raised by some scurvy specimen from another race.” She laughed a mirthless titter, picked up a twig from the ground, and twisted it with her fingers. “Need I tell you that Risto was not a nurturer?”

  “No, I can guess as your guardian he was abominable. Cherishing was beyond the scope of his nature.”

  “I want better for my offspring. Regidor had Kale and Fenworth and Librettowit. You were better off in The Hall than I was.”

  Bardon opened his mouth to protest, but Gilda plunged on. “At least you were surrounded by your own kind. Whereas I…” She dropped the mangled twig and stepped on it, grinding it into the thin layer of mud. “There was no one I could say was of my kind, no meech. And those enslaved by Risto? Every single soul I came in contact with was either filled with hatred or fear. And I hated and feared them as well.”

  She thrust her chin forward and glared at Bardon. “I not only want this meech child to know his own kind, I want him to absorb the atmosphere of a meech colony. This child will exude intellect, culture, and refinement. No one will look askance at my offspring.”

  Her gaze shifted to the fire. Her expression became pensive. Bardon wondered what future she tried to envision in the dancing yellows and reds of the blaze. Apparently, Gilda forgot that Bardon and several dragons listened.

  “No one will shun my child,” she whispered. “No one.”

  24

  CAMPFIRE TALES

  Bardon watched Sir Dar’s dragon Merlander as the brilliantly colored beast approached. He raised a hand in greeting. The doneel would surely raise the spirits of all those on the quest. Bardon sighed. The group had fallen into a glum state.

  He and the others had only been journeying for four days, but something heavy oppressed the country. As they traveled northward, the melancholy became palpable. Bardon tramped through the thigh-high grass to greet Sir Dar. He expected to see the wide smile that typified doneels. Instead, Sir Dar’s solemn expression deflated Bardon’s hopes for good news.

  They sat around in a circle after savoring a meal the doneel diplomat brought with him. He demonstrated a happy demeanor as he heated and served dinner by the campfire. But Bardon detected an underlying distress that his diplomatic mentor fought hard to hide. Finally, after they were settled, Kale demanded a full account.

  “It’s obvious, Sir Dar, and you’re driving me crazy. You are trying not to tell us something, or waiting for the right moment.” She brushed her curly locks away from her face and looked him in the eye. “My courage is shriveling as I imagine all sorts of bad news. Please, tell us.”

  Sir Dar sat for a moment, staring at the fire. When he began to speak, he outlined his news in a direct manner, never attempting to gloss over the implications of the events. The most alarming element of his report came last. He revealed the amazing speed with which the Follower faction was expanding throughout the country.

  Bardon broke the silence that followed Sir Dar’s speech. “It’s amazing how quickly evil spreads and how long it takes to gain back the ground with good.”

  “I don’t believe these people just popped up out of nowhere.” Sir Dar scratched his chin. “One day the Followers were a rumor. Two weeks later they possess meeting houses in every big city, communes in every province, and even schools for older children. Officials in government are declaring their allegiance to the New Understanding. Businesses and properties have recently changed hands and now belong to the Collective.”

  He looked around the group and sniffed. “The Collective! Even the name smells of heresy. Wulder has always emphasized the importance of individuals. He’s never lumped people together. There’s a reason he made seven high races.”

  “Why?” asked Toopka. Her voice at full volume demanded attention. “Why did Wulder make seven high races?”

  Sir Dar frowned at her. “I don’t know the reason He did, child. I just know if Wulder chose to make seven high races, He had a good reason for doing so.”

&nbs
p; Toopka scrunched up her face, then turned to her blind tumanhofer friend next to her.

  Sittiponder rocked slightly as he sat cross-legged on the ground. His hand rested on Toopka’s arm. “It’s called trust, my furry friend. Wulder puts a lot of stock in trust.”

  The little doneel’s shoulders hunched up far enough to touch her cheeks. She let them fall and sighed loudly. “What’s that mean?”

  “Do you always have to talk so loudly? You rattle the leaves on the trees around us.” Sittiponder sighed. “It means He appreciates it when we believe Him.”

  Toopka clicked her tongue and shook her head. “I believe He made seven high races. I can see them.”

  “He appreciates it when we believe He has a reason for making seven and not five or six races.”

  Toopka remained silent.

  “Ha! You don’t have a question?’

  “No.” She played with the fringe on the end of her sash.

  Sittiponder nodded sagely. “Wulder also appreciates it when you’re not constantly questioning whether He’s doing things the right way or not.”

  “So,” said Toopka in a quieter tone than she usually used, “if Wulder wanted someone to do something, the someone shouldn’t worry about knowing when to do it and how to do it and where to do it and who to do it to and why it has to be done?”

  No one answered.

  “Well?” Toopka’s volume had risen again.

  “I’m thinking,” said Sittiponder. “You asked a lot of questions in that question.”

  “As we have seen in our history,” said Sir Dar, “Wulder does equip His warriors specifically for the challenges they face.”

  Brunstetter reached over and put his huge hand on the doneel girl’s back. “He provides help in every time of trouble. Sometimes the help comes from a surprising source.”

  “And that…” Sir Dar clapped his hands together. “That makes our adventures a good deal more entertaining. We cannot predict whom He will use to further His plans.”

  “You need not worry, Sir Dar,” said Gilda. “In the old records Regidor and I have discovered, there are references to the meech holding a vital secret. This mysterious power controls evil. Once we find the meech colony, the destiny of Amara will once more be in safe hands.”

  Bardon glanced at Regidor, hoping for further details. But his friend wore his most bland expression, and Bardon knew the closed-off attitude well. There would be no explanations from that quarter.

  “Would you share with us the extent of your discoveries?” asked Sir Dar. His bright eyes showed interest. His ears perked forward, and his furry hands rested on the elegant cloth covering his knees. He leaned forward, giving Gilda all his attention. “I’m sure all of us are anxious to know more of your ancestry.”

  The campfire flames caught the resin of a log. Snaps and crackles punctuated the sudden whoosh of sparks shooting into the air. The flare cast a glow on Gilda’s exotic features. Bardon caught a glimpse of eagerness in her eyes. The excitement accentuated her fascinating appeal. A moment later, shadows again obscured her beauty. At times, Bardon thought of Regidor’s wife as a rare piece of art, lovely to look at and admire, but too peculiar to step out of the frame and be a part of the ordinary world.

  Gilda stood and paced, animated by her knowledge. She clasped her hands and addressed the others as if they were an audience in a lecture hall. “The meech probably came from another planet through something similar to a gateway. The only explanation is that Wulder Himself made the portal, and for His reasons, brought what is termed ‘the great and the small’ by ancient scribes to your land.

  “By comparing the three accounts we found, we’ve concluded that the ‘small’ are the minneken, who also wisely withdrew from mingling with your seven high races. The legend is that the meech brought knowledge of good and evil, that they controlled evil on their world, and were charged with controlling evil on this world.”

  Regidor threw a small branch onto the campfire. The disturbance caused another flare up. Red and gold sparks floated up into the dark sky and disappeared.

  “The key word in this is ‘legend,’” said Regidor. “In all of our searching, we found only three documents. Each was written in the style of folklore.”

  Gilda started to say something, but Kale jumped in. “Many of the ballads I heard while growing up were history in poetic form. Mistress Meiger always said there is some truth behind the tales woven into the music.”

  “That’s so.” Gilda gave Kale a rare look of approval. “Many questions will be answered when we locate the colony.”

  Sittiponder shivered.

  “Are you cold?” asked Toopka. She picked up her gaily striped shawl and put it around his shoulders.

  Bardon rose to his feet. The boy’s pale face alarmed him. Sittiponder stared with unseeing eyes at the fire, looking distressed. The muscle in his jaw twitched. His lips quivered as if he worked to keep from crying. Kale rose and started forward.

  Bardon stepped closer and crouched before Sittiponder. “What is it, lad?”

  “The voices have told me to beware.”

  “I’d forgotten the boy hears voices,” said Brunstetter. “We decided they come from kimens, didn’t we? Guardians appointed by Wulder?”

  “We decided,” said Sir Dar, “with no real evidence. We never came up with an alternate, logical explanation.”

  Gilda sat beside her husband. “It’s obvious that someone protects him.”

  “I’m not the one who needs protecting,” objected Sittiponder. “I’m supposed to watch after Toopka. She’s the one who will face danger.”

  Gilda rolled her eyes.

  Regidor took her hand but addressed the children. “We will all do our best to protect you.”

  Kale put her arms around the boy. “You’re still shivering.” She turned to Brunstetter. “It’s late. I think they should go to bed.”

  “Right.” Rising with more agility than one would expect from such a large man, the urohm swooped down on both the boy and girl. He tucked each child under one of his huge arms and lugged them off to his tent. Toopka squirmed and giggled, but Sittiponder hung limply without the mock protesting that usually accompanied this bedtime ritual.

  Kale bit her lower lip. “I hope nothing’s wrong with him.”

  Gilda took a large breath and let it out slowly. “Nothing is wrong with the child,” she said patiently, “that a good night’s sleep won’t cure.”

  Kale turned sharply to cast an irritated glare at the meech lady.

  Gilda hiked a shoulder and looked down her nose. Before Kale could speak, she snapped, “I am more aware of children now that I carry my own. Those two have vivid imaginations and take an element of truth and stretch it into something that suits their fancy. It’s mostly done to gain attention, I presume.”

  Bardon felt annoyance bubbling in Kale. The rejoinder she formed in her mind had something to do with Gilda taking scraps of legends and stretching her conclusions until the meech colony was the seat of all knowledge and culture. He quickly moved to Kale’s side and put an arm around her waist. “I’m tired too. Good night, Sir Dar, Regidor. Pleasant dreams, Gilda.”

  He turned toward the tent and relaxed when he felt Kale give way to his guidance. A principle came to his mind.

  A shield of kind words deflects arrows thrown by the wounded.

  “I don’t want to pity her.”

  You don’t want to add to Regidor’s burdens, either.

  Inside the tent, Kale sat down on her pallet and gathered the minor dragons into her lap.

  “You know what I think, Bardon?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Right now I’m thinking I resent the fact that Gilda is going to have a baby. And being a meech dragon, she’ll feel a thrill of accomplishment and then no further need to nurture the child.”

  “It is odd that they deal with offspring in such an inattentive manner. But from what I understand, the child is the concern of each person in the community.”


  “I don’t think I could share my baby with everyone.”

  “Considering how you felt about letting your father take over your duties with the dragons at home, no, I don’t think you would.”

  Kale sighed heavily. “I don’t suppose my ability to share the responsibility of raising a child will be a problem anytime soon.”

  Bardon sat beside her. Immediately, the dragons spilled over into his lap and began a game of chase, using the two of them as a playing field. “Someday we’ll be parents.” Bardon dodged Filia as she dashed across Kale’s shoulder. He managed to plant a kiss on his wife’s cheek before Dibl crash-landed on Bardon’s head, digging his claws into his scalp. He winced and shoved the yellowish dragon back into the air. “You, Kale, will be an overprotective mother. I will be an obnoxiously proud father. And all these critters will be guardians and playmates.”

  Artross jumped onto Bardon’s head. Metta challenged him for possession of the prized perch and knocked the glowing white dragon into Bardon’s lap.

  “Enough!” said the Dragon Keeper’s husband. “Settle down and go to bed.”

  Kale giggled, but Bardon thought her eyes still held a wistful look.

  They made plans to visit a town just before they crossed into the Northern Reach. With Mikkai’s help, they located a small village on a trade route that would be an adequate resting spot. They also desired to gather more information about the heart condition of the people in the area.

  “This has been a rather tame quest, has it not?” said Sir Dar as he dished out stew that evening.

  “Be careful what you say,” warned Regidor.

  “We’ve had a little rain, but other than that, more than a week of easy travel.” Sir Dar sat back on his haunches and dipped his spoon into the savory broth. “But I’ll be glad for a meal at a table and a real bed tomorrow night.”

  Kale put her hand on her heart. “Then why do I feel so tired here? Why am I sad?”

  Brunstetter grunted his agreement. “At night my dreams are filled with gloom. And even the children are clearly downhearted. When was the last time we heard Sittiponder sing? Toopka does not chatter from sunrise to sunset.”