DragonQuest Page 18

  “Are the dragons always bad?” Dar asked.

  Dirt scrunched up his face, obviously thinking. After a moment, he struggled to put words to his thoughts. “Nice dragons bad. Not happy. Nice dragons not happy. Nice dragons bad.”

  Dar nodded as if he fully understood the garbled words. “The dragons who used to be nice were happy. Now those dragons are not happy so they are bad, not nice. Right?”

  Dirt’s eyes brightened, and he grinned. “Sir Dar nice man. Smart man.”

  Dar patted him on the arm again. “You are a good ropma, Dirt. A good man. Go back to Ma and Da. Tell them Sir Dar is happy.”

  Dirt made a noise in his throat that might have been a giggle and took off across the field.

  In amazement, Kale watched him run. He sped across the grassy pasture and leapt a fence with the ease of a gazelle.

  Bardon’s voice rumbled at her back. “Dar, you don’t look happy.”

  “I’m not. Dirt has brought us very bad news.”

  30

  MEECH DRAGONS

  Kale drew in a sharp breath. How could Dirt with his limited vocabulary convey anything but the most basic information? What could be the bad news? “Dar, are you talking about the dragons turning bad? We already knew that.”

  Dar shook his head. His ears laid back, a sure sign he was disturbed.

  “We expected the dragons to become uncooperative as they fell under Risto’s influence. The bad news is that early on a cold morning, the colony of meech dragons was attacked and driven into the Northern Reach.

  “There’s a colony of meech dragons?” Kale looked at Bardon to see her surprise mirrored on his face.

  “There was a colony of meech in Wittoom. They secluded themselves in the Kattaboom Mountains. Occasionally, a member of a warm-blooded race was allowed in to quicken an egg. I believe that is how Risto got wind of Regidor, or rather the egg that was Regidor.”

  “Explain,” said Bardon, his voice cool.

  “A meech dragon sent out a request for someone to come quicken an egg. This would have been a message to a specific person, not a general announcement. But Risto heard of it, followed, or had the person followed.

  “The doneel traveling to assist the meech died on his journey. Soon after, a battalion of bisonbecks descended on the colony. The fact that it was early in the morning aided the attackers. No dragon moves very quickly on a cold morning when woken from a deep sleep. During this raid, Risto acquired the meech egg. The entire cluster of dragons fled to the north.”

  “And at this time,” said Bardon, “the second egg was also stolen?”

  “Apparently. My people have not had contact with the meech dragons since they abandoned their homes and escaped. An envoy discovered the disaster on a routine diplomatic visit. Of course, he had no way of knowing two eggs were stolen.”

  “How did he know one was stolen and where the dragons had gone?” asked Kale.

  “There’s a tribe of mountain ropma in the same vicinity. He questioned them.”

  Bardon rubbed his fingers across his chin. “I take it meech dragons are not warriors.”

  Dar grimaced. “Totally useless in a fight.”

  Kale’s mind went to her meech dragon friend. Regidor slumbered. Kale touched his dream of a table laden with rich foods and dismissed it. She turned to Dar. “So Regidor has parents in exile in the Northern Reach?”

  “Yes,” Dar replied.

  “Will we rescue them?”

  “That’s a problem for another day.”

  Bardon put his hand on the hilt of his sword and looked to the manor. “What did Librettowit find out from the Gransfords?”

  “That many of the local farmers are having difficulties with their dragon comrades. That is, except the Honorable Mr. Gransford, who claims to have a superior ability to manipulate the dragons. That Mistress Gransford has an unpleasant desire to better herself at the expense of her neighbors. That the girls are empty-headed, vain creatures with no book learning whatsoever. That has disgusted our librarian more than the master-of-the-house’s pride and greed.”

  Dar paused. “I suspect we have uncovered a member of Risto’s network to debilitate Amara’s economic structure.”

  After a moment, he continued, “The dragons are an integral part of Amara’s commerce. Dragons carry messages and products. For centuries, dragons have worked willingly alongside the seven high races. A dragon’s nature requires it to develop a relationship with one person or one family. This bond nurtures their hearts. Without this connection to someone outside its species, a dragon will become depressed and waste away.”

  Kale leaned against the rickety wooden shed, crossed her arms, and stared at the shining white globe in the almost black sky. “I wonder why Wulder did that? Wulder created the dragons, and He created a deep need in them to connect with the high races. He must have a purpose behind His design.”

  Dar winked at her. “Wulder always has a purpose. But sometimes His way of doing things is so far beyond anything we can comprehend, we praise Him without complete knowledge. Then there are those things that seem harmful. For those, we must wait for an explanation. And until that day, we trust in His wisdom and goodness.”

  Bardon spoke with a flat voice. “Wulder is always wise, always good.”

  Dar looked at the young lehman with a furrowed forehead above his shaggy eyebrows. “Very few people are privileged to learn that in their hearts. We almost always learn it in our heads first, and then Wulder reveals it to our hearts.”

  Kale turned on Dar. “There! You did it again. Only this time it was Bardon. You heard what he was thinking.”

  Dar chortled. “No, Kale. I do not have the talent of mindspeaking.”

  “But you knew Bardon was concerned, because he can say the principles of Wulder but doesn’t feel them.”

  Dar shook his head slowly. “Kale, some thoughts are common to those who seek to follow Paladin. Each individual tends to think that his problems in understanding his role in life are unique. But no. Wulder has made us similar even in the places that cause us to stumble. For that reason, we are better equipped to help one another.”

  Bardon picked up a stick and examined it. Kale watched him, flooded with the feelings that coursed through the proud young man’s heart. The onslaught came too quickly and with too much intensity for her to decipher.

  Odd. He looks so detached. So cold. Yet these feelings are fierce. If they were my own, I’d be wailing.

  At that moment, Bardon looked over at her. Their eyes met, and she read disapproval. Hadn’t she told him earlier that delving into another’s thoughts was rude? She turned away, unsure if the reprimand had come from Bardon or her own conscience.

  She quoted Granny Noon, My thoughts belong to me and Wulder. She shook her head to disperse the confusion of Bardon’s feelings jumbling her mind and tried again. My thoughts belong to me and Wulder.

  Paladin had told her she could always talk to Wulder. Wulder? Shouldn’t Bardon’s thoughts belong only to him and You? I don’t really want to be this closely entangled with his mind. What’s going on here?

  “Discipline.” Dar’s voice broke through her musing.

  Both Kale and Bardon studied the little doneel. Their eyes roamed over the shorter man’s earnest face and the way he had his fists shoved up against his waist above the hips.

  “I see now why Paladin put you two together. You’re going to have to help each other.”

  Kale saw Bardon’s jaw clench at the suggestion and almost laughed. However, the prospect of being called upon to help the lehman set her teeth on edge as well.

  “Bardon, have you been reporting back to The Hall on Kale’s progress?”

  “Yes, up until when we parted from Wizard Fenworth. I no longer have a means to communicate with Grand Ebeck.”

  Kale bristled. She’d forgotten that Bardon was to keep an eye on her and tell of her development.

  Dar continued. “And what was the prevalent theme of your reports?”

&nbs
p; Bardon lifted his chin and looked straight at the doneel. “That she lacked…” He hesitated.

  “Discipline,” Kale finished the sentence for him. “You told them I lacked discipline.”

  She stomped her foot on the sparse grass and growled. “I have discipline. You can’t be a slave for years and not have discipline.”

  “I agree,” said Dar. “However, that discipline was enforced by those in authority over you. Bardon is referring to discipline that comes from within. That you still need to develop. And there is none better to help you than Bardon.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and glared, first at the doneel and then at the lehman.

  Dar grinned. “But to ease your displeasure at such an onerous endeavor, Kale, don’t you have something you feel you must bring to Lehman Bardon’s attention? An area where he needs instruction?”

  She felt her mood lighten. She couldn’t help the smug smile that settled on her face. “Yes! Bardon has the gift of mindspeaking and doesn’t know how to use it or contain it.”

  Dar cocked an eyebrow at the strong young man standing so straight in the moonlight. Bardon jerked a nod at the doneel.

  Dar turned to Kale. “You remember Leetu Bends’s instructions?”

  She nodded. “And Granny Noon’s.”

  “Well, then,” said Dar. “I think this will be a fair exchange of ability.” He clapped his hands together in a gesture of satisfaction.

  The diplomat turned to the lehman. “Bardon, you will be surprised at how much self-discipline Kale has developed in managing her talent for mindspeaking.” He smiled at Kale. “Kale, you will benefit from applying that discipline to other areas as Bardon reveals to you how that can be accomplished.”

  He took a deep breath of the cool night air. “Now, let us return to our beds. Tomorrow, we have a long journey to Prushing. And then our adventure really begins.”

  31

  PRUSHING

  Kale entered the gates of Prushing on the roof of their carriage. Sitting on top of the luggage gave her an exceptional view. She could see all around the coach, over the head of the horse Romer, and even into some of the second-story windows. She compared the seaside city with the three cities she had seen before, and Prushing lost in the comparison.

  Vendela shone like a jewel on the landscape. With gleaming white walls, azure blue roofs, and colorful spheres, globes, spires, and turrets, Vendela looked like a painting of a resplendent royal metropolis.

  The stately urohm city of Blisk rose out of the plain with walls of yellow. The shades blended together in perfect harmony—saffron, tawny cream, sunshine, and a deeper color that hinted of sunset. People of all the high races roamed the wide, cobblestone streets. They dressed in neat, clean, colorful attire and greeted each other with good cheer.

  In the tumanhofer city of Dael, where Kale had ventured with her friends the winter before, underground lighting made the smooth streets gleam with a charming warmth.

  She shook her head when she saw a man shove a pile of debris on the sidewalk out of his way. Her lip curled in distaste. Librettowit had said, “Prushing is one of the oldest cities in Amara.” And it looked it.

  Dreary gray walls surrounded the fortress city perched high on a rock cliff above the northern end of the Odamee Channel. Darkened beams patched the wooden gate like battle scars. Inside, wagon wheels clattered over the rough streets. Bricks fallen from the ancient walls lay in disheveled heaps in dank alleyways.

  Donkeys brayed, street hawkers shouted the merits of their wares, harnesses jangled as people hurried to their destinations without a kind word or greeting to anyone they passed. Mostly mariones and a surprising number of bisonbecks walked the streets. Kale saw only a few tumanhofers and o’rants and not one urohm or kimen.

  With every breath, she reminded herself that the sea breeze blew over the city. But in the canyons of gloomy streets, the putrid air almost choked her.

  Bruit drove them straight to the house they were to occupy. He unloaded them quickly and bade them good fortune.

  “What’s your hurry, Bruit?” asked Toopka.

  “City life don’t suit me,” he explained. “I’d as soon be out the gate and down the hill to a little tavern I know outside the Port of Prushing.”

  “I’ve never been to a port,” said Toopka. She cast a hopeful look at Kale.

  “Boats come into the docks on the Pomandando River,” Kale pointed out.

  “But that was river traffic,” Dar responded with a wink to Toopka. “The boats in the Port of Prushing come from all over the world.”

  Kale tried to imagine the deep harbor with ships from different nations, flying flags she’d never seen before. No clear picture came to her mind. She smiled at Toopka. “We’ll go soon. But I don’t think it will be today. Let’s explore the house.”

  The square mansion was built around a grassy courtyard with vine-like flowers climbing the walls. On the first floor facing the street, four rooms and an entryway served to welcome guests. In the back, along the alley, the kitchen and three servants’ rooms offered sturdy, comfortable furnishings. Upstairs, more bedrooms and a study made up the square. Dar, Regidor, and Librettowit would sleep there, while Kale, Toopka, the minor dragons, and Bardon would sleep on the ground floor.

  The comrades congregated in the spacious kitchen.

  “There isn’t a stable,” observed Bardon looking out a back window.

  “There isn’t a cook,” objected Toopka with her arms crossed over her chest.

  Dar examined the pantry. “Worse than that, my dear Toopka, there is no food.”

  Toopka jumped onto a three-legged stool beside a table. “Kale and Regidor can make us cake. They’ve had that wizardry lesson.”

  Kale looked to the meech dragon, who had pushed his cowl back from his face. He shook his head. She nodded agreement, and then looked with sympathy at the little doneel.

  “Regidor and I can’t do that without the ingredients, Toopka. We’re apprentice wizards, after all.”

  Toopka hopped down and smoothed her blue apron over her black servant’s dress. “Then let’s go to the market. We’ll need food. And I think we should get more servants. This is a big house. I don’t want to do all the dusting and washing and scullery things by myself.”

  “More servants is an excellent idea,” said Dar.

  “I want to go to the market,” said Regidor, putting his cowl back over his head. “I’ve never been to one.”

  “It’s not going to be as nice as the ones in Vendela, I can tell you that.” Toopka grabbed her short woolen jacket from where she’d thrown it earlier and shoved her arms into the sleeves. She headed for the back door and stopped before she turned the handle. “Who’s coming?”

  Regidor, Kale, and Bardon followed the little doneel into the alley. Toopka skipped down the dingy passage to the front of the house, taking no notice of the debris and clutter. At the main street, she stopped and looked both ways. Without hesitation, she approached the nearest person strolling down the broken pavement.

  “Excuse me, Mistress,” the little doneel addressed the marione matron. “Could you tell me where the nearest market is?”

  “That’d be High Hill, but you’ll be cheated there, that’s for sure.” The old woman stopped and pulled her thick, knitted shawl closer around her bulky figure. With a mittened hand she gestured down the road. “Best to go down a ways to Higgert Street’s End. The prices are better, and the produce fresh from the countryside. But don’t buy your fish or poultry there. Go to Bless Me Court for your meats and such.”

  “Yes, Mistress. And the direction?”

  “Go to the next corner where the clock tower be sitting in the middle of the road. Turn south four blocks. Turn east two more. That would be Higgert Street’s End. I’m glad it’s your young feet going the distance this late in the day. I ache from my big toe to my elbow.” She sighed and flexed her arm as if working out a kink. “Come back by Dolly Road, and you’ll pass Bless Me Court. It’s all uphil
l and down. There isn’t a way to get anywhere in this city without stretching your legs.”

  “Thank you, Mistress.” Toopka bobbed a curtsy. “I hope you have a peaceful evening by the fire.”

  “You’re a dear child. Don’t be wandering the streets by yourself come dark.”

  Toopka grinned. “I won’t, Mistress. I have friends.” The little doneel gestured to Kale, Bardon, and Regidor standing in the alley entry.

  “Oh my,” the old woman whispered. “That one looks peculiar.”

  “He’s a monk, sort of. But he’s no bother. He’s always medicating. Even when he’s walking around, he’s medicating. He just thinks high thoughts and never asks for things the way the others do. And he doesn’t get fidgety when it takes you a while when he finally does ask for something.”

  “I see,” said the old woman, keeping her eye on the strange figure. “You staying in number 469?”

  “Yes, Mistress. We just arrived today.”

  The marione straightened and hefted her bag back on her shoulder. “I best be getting on.”

  “Thank you for the information.”

  “You’re welcome, I’m sure. You have good manners for a serving girl. You’ll do well.”

  Toopka bobbed another curtsy as the woman continued her trudge up the road.

  “That was well done, Toopka,” said Bardon as he stepped out from the alley. “The information you gave her will be common knowledge by tomorrow noon.”

  Toopka’s head nodded rapidly. “I know.”

  Kale tweaked her furry ear. “And since you’ve never once waited on Regidor, it is amazing how much you know about his habits.”

  Toopka shrugged. “I have great mag-nation.”

  “That’s imagination. And monks meditate. They don’t medicate.”

  Toopka hopped up and down in the cold and tucked her hands under her arms for warmth. “I bet some medicate.”

  Kale shook her head. “You don’t even know what that means.”

  Toopka tossed her a sassy grin, shrugged again, and skipped off in the direction of the market.