DragonFire Page 17

  He put out his hand in invitation, and Pat flew to roost on his finger. Sir Kemry stroked the brown dragon’s stomach. “We must get into this valley of dragons. I regret that your little friends had such a harrowing experience. And I am glad they got back to us without being captured.”

  He paused, concern etching deep lines in his face. “Who would have believed that ropmas could be so devious? It would seem that they’re more resourceful than we’ve given them credit for.”

  Kale climbed down from her vantage point. “I suspect their traps and weapons are like Bug’s little box he gets into to disappear—devised by someone else and given to the ropma to use. Each of the devices Pat and Filia describe has an element of cruelty that just doesn’t line up with the ropmas’ nature.”

  “Correct, and a further indication that Burner Stox is behind this movement.”

  Kale moved closer to her father. “Bug and his friends have great motivation.”

  She frowned at the thought of the good-natured creatures being tortured or threatened by death. “This must stop, Father. It is right to turn away from our main quest to investigate the valley, isn’t it?”

  “Definitely, and I believe we will find many dragons to release. Our hope must be that they will join our side.”

  Kale could barely hear over the prattling of the dragons perched on her shoulders. She fluttered her hands at them, effectively shooing them. They chittered their disgruntlement as they fluttered to a bush.

  Kale turned her attention back to her father. “Why wouldn’t freed dragons be grateful and eager to serve Paladin?”

  “I’m not sure what the effects of having been subjugated to Burner Stox will be.”

  Kale shook her head until her hair slipped from the knot at the nape of her neck. She reached to redo the bun. “What do you mean?” With quick fingers, she secured the twisted hair with two long hairpins.

  “Any number of things. Their spirits could be broken. They could have bonded to their evil overseers. They may be loyal to Stox.”

  “No!”

  “Not all dragons are good like the ones among your acquaintance.”

  Kale bristled. “I’ve known bad dragons. Well, not actually known them. We were attacked once by fire dragons. And Celisse made a very bad choice when under emotional strain. I am not naive, Father.”

  He smiled and cupped the side of her face with his hand. “Of course not, but it’s hard for an old father to remember the baby he lost years ago has had time to grow up.”

  With his palm pressed to her cheek, she felt the great emptiness in his soul that told of the sorrow of not being her father for too many years. She gulped back sympathetic tears.

  The minor dragons raised an outcry. Kale and her father recognized the change in tone. Both pulled their swords from their scabbards and scrutinized the area around them.

  “Five bisonbecks coming up the path,” Sir Kemry exclaimed and turned to face the direction the warriors would come.

  Kale stood next to his shoulder, as ready as he was to face the enemy. “How did they know we’re here? They are looking specifically for us.”

  “It would seem one patron of the tavern last night was a spy.”

  She twirled, attiring herself in her best fighting outfit.

  Her father chuckled. “Your mother certainly has influenced you in your short acquaintance.”

  “Humph!” said Kale, placing her feet apart for balance and raising her invisible sword. “It just so happens that Bardon thinks I look good in a vibrant pink.”

  Sir Kemry cocked an eyebrow at her.

  A small grin lifted the corner of her mouth. “He also says it’s easier to keep track of me in a fight and not mistake me for one of the villains when I’m in this outlandish costume.”

  Sir Kemry tilted back his head and laughed. “That’s exactly what I told Lyll many years ago.” His expression sobered, and he looked around. A high rock cliff rose behind them. A drop off to one side would keep the enemy from surrounding them. “This is an easily defended spot.” He tipped his chin toward the aggressors. “They have no idea we’ve stopped and are waiting for them. When they come around the bend, we’ll be at a distinct advantage.” He lowered his sword and gestured for Kale to change places with him.

  “Why?” she asked while following his direction.

  He pointed at the drop-off with the tip of his blade. “Don’t want you falling off the mountain.”

  Kale rolled her eyes. “Father!”

  “No time to chat. They’re here.”

  Kale kicked the first bisonbeck in the chest. He fell backward, flailing his arms. He landed against the bisonbeck behind him and socked the soldier next to him in the face as he went down. The soldier he punched stumbled toward the edge of the chasm, colliding with his comrade who had just pulled his battle-ax from its leather strap. The battle-ax arched around the front of his body to a strike position slightly over the warrior’s shoulder. Ordinarily, the centrifugal force of his action would not have unbalanced him. But when his fellow soldier slammed into his side, he toppled over the edge.

  “Two down!” exclaimed Sir Kemry. “See here, girl, let me at least look like I’m fighting.”

  Kale aimed her next blow at the warrior whose arms still held the first man she had knocked over. She planted her heel in the middle of his face. Blood spurted from his nose as he collapsed.

  The fifth man rushed around the corner and fell over the two men on the ground. The first injured man roared, tossed the sizable bisonbeck off his lap, and scrambled to his feet. Growling with his teeth gritted, he swung a fist at Sir Kemry. The knight stepped back against the stone wall. The bisonbeck swung again, and Sir Kemry ducked.

  “Are you not at the top of your form?” asked Kale’s father as he easily dodged another blow. “Perhaps it is because my daughter hit you.” He kept up the chatter as the man continued to swing and miss. “She’s not all that strong, being a small female, you know. But every once in a while, she gets in a smashing good kick. I wouldn’t be embarrassed if you’re feeling woozy.”

  The warrior said a few unsavory words under his breath and pulled a knife from inside his waistcoat. He waved it in front of Sir Kemry’s face.

  The knight smiled. “That’s an eating utensil, isn’t it?” He peeked around his adversary and dodged the blade at the same time. “Now where is your weapon? You had a battle-ax, didn’t you? No, that was your friend. The one that went into the chasm. You had a sword, didn’t you? Must have dropped it in the confusion when three of you were piled up on the ground.”

  Sir Kemry focused again on his opponent, although he had avoided being struck even when he wasn’t looking. “It’s all right,” he said. “I’ve spotted it. Your comrade is using it against my daughter. Nasty blade, curved like that.”

  The bisonbeck’s eyes widened, he licked his lips, and a wicked grin stretched his mouth wide. He swung about to observe the fight between Kale and the only other soldier still on his feet. The minor dragons belabored Kale’s opponent. With swift thrusts and lethal swings, he clearly indicated he meant to make mincemeat out of the young woman in pink. His energetic defense against Kale and six spitting dragons gave no indication he might sometime soon grow tired of the fight. Covered with colored dragon saliva, he held one hand to an eye that stung from one of the dragon’s direct hits and fought on.

  Sir Kemry grinned at the back of his own opponent. He’d won the battle except for the final blow. The fighting prowess of a bisonbeck was hard to beat, but they had weaknesses that could be easily used against them. Sir Kemry raised the hilt of his sword and brought it down on the unprotected head of the man he had taunted.

  “I don’t like being bullied,” the knight said as the man fell. “And for some odd reason, I’m just not in the mood for a fight right now.”

  He sat down on the nearest boulder and propped one polished boot on the back of the downed soldier. “Do hurry, Kale. We have a valley to visit.”

  Kale’s opponen
t glanced toward the voice. His next look was up, but his eyes were not focused. He fell with a thud.

  “Good blow, Kale. You excel in the fighting craft, my dear.”

  She bowed in acknowledgment of his praise, and then surveyed the mountain pass. Her father came to stand beside her, his arm draped casually over her shoulders. She panted, smiled weakly at him, but didn’t speak.

  “Three dead.” Her father gestured to the chasm and to the man on the ground. “I believe you kicked his nose into his brain. He didn’t suffer.” Sir Kemry looked at the other two bisonbecks. “Two wounded.” He shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. “All of them a problem.”

  “Why?” asked Kale. She still sounded a bit winded.

  “We don’t really want them found.”

  Kale nodded. “We don’t want the enemy alerted to our presence on their doorstep.”

  “Precisely. Can you do that temporary trapped-in-metal-clothing trick?”

  “I suppose I could. But they might be found before the metal disintegrates and the victim awakes.”

  “True, and that doesn’t solve the problem of the two at the bottom of the cliff.” He shook his head. “We’ll have to travel down to recover the bodies and hide them. That will take up far too much time.”

  “Necessary, though, if we are to keep our whereabouts unknown.”

  “I wonder who else this spy told about us. If it were only one of these men, then our troubles in that regard are over. But if he is blabbing to every one of our enemies he meets, then we can expect a great deal of interference.”

  “I suppose we won’t know until later.” Kale sighed.

  Sir Kemry shrugged again and patted her on the shoulder. “I suppose not. Well, let’s get busy. You go over the edge and climb down to the chasm floor.”

  “What?”

  “I said—”

  “I know what you said, Father. I’m wondering what I am supposed to do, how I am supposed to do it, and why it is me that will be doing…” She flapped one hand around. “Doing…whatever?”

  Sir Kemry looked exasperated. “I haven’t got it all planned out yet, Kale. I just know the plan I come up with will require one of us to be on the chasm floor.”

  “I’m the one descending a steep, almost vertical mountain wall.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes? That’s it? Just yes?”

  Sir Kemry furrowed his brow. “Yes, I believe that’s it.”

  27

  ANOTHER SURPRISE

  Bardon studied his mother-in-law. She knew Leetu Bends, had trained her to take her place in Creemoor, and trusted the young emerlindian to continue her work. The work had been her way of dealing with the loss of husband and daughter. Now she had her family back, but had Leetu Bends destroyed her labor of all those years?

  Lady Lyll looked down at her plate. Using her fork, she pushed one large tubular pasta through the creamy sauce. She twirled it to and fro but did not pick it up.

  Bardon’s mother-in-law mindspoke to him. “Keep Gilda busy while I communicate with Leetu Bends.”

  Bardon cleared his throat and drew the attention of the others. “What are the chances of finding the meech colony if they don’t want to be found?”

  Gilda took the bait. “Once they know that two meech dragons are looking for their own, I imagine they will send out an emissary to lead us home.”

  “Why do you call this nameless, hidden location your home?”

  Gilda shook her shoulders and lifted her chin as she sat up straighter. “I find most society a little crude. Even my dear Regidor mingles too much with the mundane.”

  Bardon chanced a peek at Lady Lyll. She did not look happy. Was she listening to Gilda or Leetu Bends?

  Regidor gave Gilda a half smile but looked Bardon in the eye. Bardon watched his expression for a moment and determined the meech dragon had picked up on the tension between Dar, Lady Lyll, and himself.

  Bardon tried focusing a thought to Regidor’s mind. It would be pointless unless the meech were already eavesdropping. Are you listening to me, my friend?

  “I am, indeed.”

  One of our allies, Leetu Bends, is the emerlindian girl Gilda pointed out.

  “I had surmised that much.”

  Either she’s in trouble, and we should help, or she is doing her job and would not appreciate our interference.

  “I’d say neither.”

  Why?

  “Do you forget that I see auras around people and can discern their general standing, whether good-hearted or a black villain?”

  Bardon’s eyes widened. It had been a long time since he had seen his friend use that particular talent.

  “And?” Bardon forgot and spoke aloud.

  “And what?” asked Gilda.

  “And,” said her husband, “Leetu Bends and her friend, Latho, are companions. Friends. Nothing more sinister and nothing immoral.”

  Sir Dar cocked his head, his ears perked forward. “The bisonbeck isn’t under Pretender or the evil wizards?”

  “No.” Regidor shook his head and turned to study the couple. “The lights dancing around him tell of peace, generosity, and a deep sadness.”

  Lady Lyll leaned forward so she could see around Gilda. “Have you ever seen the like of it before, Regidor?”

  “No, never.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?” Gilda arched a shoulder and smoothed her sleeve. “He’s still a bisonbeck and not to be trusted.”

  “I’ve had enough of speculation.” Sir Dar stood. “Excuse me.”

  The doneel’s eyes were locked on Leetu Bends.

  Bardon decided he’d better go along. “Excuse me.” He followed his friend as the doneel zigzagged between the tables.

  Sir Dar approached the table where Leetu and her friend sat. He swept his arm in front of him and gave a court bow. When he straightened, a pleasant smile brightened his eyes and turned his thin black lips upward in a smile that almost stretched from ear to ear across his furry face.

  Leetu jumped up from the table and hugged the doneel.

  “I want you to meet my friend.” She turned to the bisonbeck who had awkwardly risen and stood behind her. “This is Latho.”

  He stretched out his hand and shook with Sir Dar. Dar’s hand closed around two of the bigger man’s fingers.

  Latho grunted. It might have been a word, but Bardon didn’t catch it. Leetu Bends looked at him and back to Dar.

  Dar stepped to the side, and with an open hand, gestured to Bardon. “This is Kale Allerion’s husband, Sir Bardon.”

  “We’ve met.” Leetu Bends saluted Bardon with a fist tapped over her heart. “The introduction was meant for you, Latho.”

  Bardon returned the salute, then put his hand out to shake with the bisonbeck. For the first time, except in a fight of some kind, Bardon touched one of Pretender’s chosen race of warriors. Bardon’s hand almost covered the big man’s palm, but his fingers didn’t extend far enough to wrap around the hand.

  “What brings you to Grail?” he asked Leetu Bends.

  “Latho. His family lives here.” She gave a quick glance around the room. “Look, let’s sit down. We’re attracting attention, and Latho hates it.”

  “Hates what?” asked Bardon.

  “Don’t be thick,” she said, pushing Dar and Bardon toward the alcove table. “He doesn’t like people staring at him. It happens all the time because he doesn’t wear the uniform.”

  They crowded in around the little square table, Latho in the back next to the wall, Leetu Bends next to him, and Dar on the outside. Bardon sat opposite the knight and the emerlindian. The last side had no bench, and servants passed by with their trays and pitchers.

  The emerlindian’s hair had darkened since Bardon had seen her last. Instead of the soft honey color, her straight locks held a red undertone that caught the light of the lanterns. A light tan had tinted her skin. He couldn’t see the color of her eyes in the gleam of the scattered lamps. However, Bardon suspected her sky blu
e eyes were darker now.

  Leetu Bends fingered her spoon, turning it over and over where it lay next to her plate. “We heard about the quiss attacking some sea vessels last week and came up because one of Latho’s brothers is a sailor. We couldn’t get any reliable information down south. Some people even said that the boats were transporting the quiss.”

  “Ridiculous rumors,” said Latho and shuddered.

  Bardon thought it a very believable shudder. He looked across the room at his mother-in-law, and she dipped her head, just enough to relay she perceived the bisonbeck’s reaction to be true and not a sham.

  “Why,” asked Bardon, “does Latho not follow the usual path of bisonbecks? He obviously isn’t a warrior.”

  “He’s a merchant,” explained Leetu Bends. “He trades goods.” She ducked her head and lowered her voice. “He provides the market commodities for Burner Stox’s army.”

  “It’s not as if I have a choice,” Latho said. He shrugged his massive shoulders. “It was either develop a career that aided her cause or mysteriously disappear. And I don’t mean that I would arrange this inexplicable vanishing act.”

  Sir Dar patted Leetu Bends’s hand and gently removed the spoon. He laid it on the table out of her reach. “And tell us about your friendship. You know that it is odd, to say the least.”

  Latho studied his dirty plate. All the food had been eaten, but the remnants seemed remarkable enough to capture his full attention.

  Leetu Bends chose to answer the inquiry. She lowered her voice to such a whisper that Bardon had to strain to hear her. “Latho has abandoned his oath to follow Pretender. He has vowed allegiance to Wulder.”

  Bardon opened his mouth to say that the emerlindian’s revelation was impossible. He stopped, sealed his lips together, and looked to Sir Dar to make some remark.

  “And you believe him?” asked the doneel.

  Bends nodded.

  “Why?” asked Bardon. He couldn’t help the frown on his face or giving the quiet bisonbeck another look of examination.

  “Because he transported me when I was wounded to a safe house. He paid for my keep while I got well, and…” She lowered her voice even more. Bardon leaned across the table, then realized she mindspoke the final words. “He gives me information about the enemy troops that I pass on to Paladin’s generals. He’s a spy.”