Two Renegade Realms (Realm Walkers Book 2) Read online

  Bridger let out a big sigh of relief. “Good thing they aren’t going to crash into us.”

  Cantor put a finger on Richra and then tapped Derson. “Before they disappeared, Odem showed Ahma how these two planes were in danger of colliding. None of the orreries depict such a happening.”

  Bixby frowned and came to stand beside her friend. “I think it would take something out of the ordinary to make the planes wobble enough to lose their patterned orbits.”

  “Out of the ordinary? What constitutes out of the ordinary?”

  “We’ll have to ask Dukmee for precise answers, but I remember reading about unbalanced mining, like we’ve had in Richra. It unsettles the polar lines and gravitational pulls.”

  Bridger scratched his chin. “So how do these rogue planes interfere with our people? Why are they such a threat?”

  Bixby waved back at the library. “The tomes say they have vehicles that travel between planes.”

  “Impossible!” Bridger jerked around to consult his constant. “Right, Cantor? Nothing passes through the space between. Portals must be used. You must be a realm walker to use the portals. Do these people have portals to our planes? Are they all realm walkers?”

  Cantor shrugged. “I don’t know, Bridger, but we’re sure to find out when they get here.”

  Bixby strolled toward the arch. “The tomes say vehicles, not portals. And a scary thought is, the council seems to be interested in the coming of the renegade planes.”

  Cantor easily caught up with her. “Any theories on why?”

  She didn’t answer. One of the things she liked about Cantor was that he treated her like she had intelligence. When they’d worked against the council two years ago, he had included her in conversations, strategy meetings, and the final decisions. She treasured that respect, and didn’t want to mar his belief that she could think. She wouldn’t put forth an idea that had no substance to back it up.

  FOOD FOR THOUGHT

  As they moved through the archway into the library, Bixby felt the slight pressure of Cantor’s huge hand on her back, ushering her ahead of him. Glancing up at his face, she realized the gesture was unconscious — his brow was knit in a thoughtful scowl. She thought of him as a very special friend. She supposed he thought of her as a friend but with no spice of something special. At least he didn’t begrudge her room at his elbow like he did Bridger.

  He seemed about to speak when Bridger cut in.

  “Remind me, Cantor. Is Dukmee a good cook?”

  The mage, it seemed, had abandoned his book and prepared a meal. Bixby hid a smile behind her hand as Cantor’s stomach gave a loud growl.

  She liked that he was here, even if she did have to batten down the resentment of his leaving Richra abruptly with no goodbye and no explanation. She wondered what their friendship would be like on this new adventure. At one time, she’d thought she, Cantor, and Dukmee could be the three heroes prophesized to come this generation and lead the people to renewal. But it seemed Primen had other ideas. One thing seemed certain — his plans far exceeded anything she could dream up. Her plans fell by the wayside, while reality bubbled and churned with extraordinary possibilities.

  In a few minutes, they were gathered around a table, enjoying good food and drink.

  “How’s your sister, Bridger?” Dukmee asked.

  “I don’t know. Cantor and I have been busy, so I haven’t been home recently. Totobee-Rodolow is a letter writer, but we haven’t been in one place long enough for a letter to catch up to us.”

  “We write back and forth,” said Bixby. “We may not have been officially constants, but we have a great friendship. I can tell you a few things Totobee-Rodolow has had in her letters.”

  Bridger perked up. “Have there been any hatchlings?”

  Bixby twisted her lips in a grimace. “I’m sorry, Bridger. No little mor dragons.”

  He slumped. “What if we are the last of the real realm walkers?”

  Dukmee raised his glass. “A toast to the most courageous, valiant, and meager-by-number realm walkers. That’s us.”

  They all laughed.

  Soon the conversation turned to their respective travels and the people they had encountered.

  The small talk relaxed Bixby, but even under the easy flow of lighthearted banter, the problems of a corrupt government and an approaching enemy lingered.

  When their bellies were full and Bixby had cleared away the dirty dishes, she brought a pot of hot tea to the table with sugar and cream. The men sat in silence, the lighthearted mood broken. The importance of what lay before them rose to the surface. Now they would talk of treachery and danger. And how to fight it.

  Cantor sipped at his tea, grimacing as it scalded his tongue. “Who has accurate information on the doings of our illustrious council?” He looked at Dukmee. “What do you know, Mage?”

  “The new council building will be finished by the end of the year. The districts whose representatives died in the rebels’ blast have been discouraged from seeking replacements.”

  Bixby passed a plate of sliced cake to Bridger. “Even if they were seeking, finding qualified councilmen would be difficult.”

  “More than difficult, impossible.” Dukmee held his breath for a moment, let it out slowly, then continued. “Totally impossible. Our formidable foe Errd Tos remains in highest esteem among the scoundrels and rogues, crooks and thugs, but has not made a grab for a position of ultimate power. It makes one wonder what he is waiting for.”

  “It’s clear we must speak of the council again even before we ponder the Lymes,” said Cantor. “It would be best to know exactly what these evil men are up to. We can’t thwart their efforts if we don’t recognize one of their strategies when it pops up in our path.”

  Dukmee wiped his fingers on a napkin. “Bixby’s parents get regular missives from the capitol. However, the official notices are worded to obscure the truth rather than to inform the populace.”

  Cantor rested his elbows on the table and clasped his hands. “Nothing sanctioned by the council is what it would seem to be.”

  Dukmee nodded. “I do have a bit of verified news. The attempt to murder many of the councilmen was only partially successful. Thirty-three were killed. Out of the sixty-six members still living, there are those loyal to the people.”

  “There were three before the bombing,” said Bridger. “Do three remain?”

  “At least one.” Dukmee swirled the tea in his cup. “And we can hope all three. Those uncorrupted by the evil leaders are still unknown to us.”

  Bixby, who had heard all this before, grew excited. “There’s to be a closed vote. Then we’ll know for sure how many true councilmen remain. Just like before, our men will vote without fear of reprisal. We’ll know by how many vote against the majority.”

  Bridger shifted in his seat. His voice hummed his distrust when he spoke. “And what is the vote on?”

  Dukmee lowered his voice. “The last two years have been spent re-establishing the Realm Walker’s Guild in a suitable building since the explosions leveled the old hall. Very little overt governing of the realm walkers has been done. But the diminishing number of realm walkers is a worry in all the realms.”

  Bixby bounced once in her chair before she spoke. “In the days before this council, a dozen or so Realm Walker initiates showed up every year. In the last two years, no one has stepped forward to accept the challenge. We were the last.”

  Dukmee’s hand squeezed gently, and Bixby subsided again. His leadership was unquestioned, but sometimes it was hard to keep quiet and let him guide the conversation. “The council proposes elevating soldiers to the positions that need to be filled.”

  Cantor, who had tipped back in his seat, jerked forward, and the front legs of the chair hit the stone floor with a thud. “Wait a minute! Soldiers not born to the realm walking service will be plucked out of the armies? They’ll be given authority as if they had the stamp of Primen’s approval?”

  Dukmee nodded. “Exact
ly. You, your constant, and Bixby never received the approval of the council, yet you function as realm walkers with full authority. Your activities are sanctioned by Primen, but not by men. These soldiers will be endorsed by the council, but not by Primen.”

  Bridger growled deep in his throat. “How can these phoney realm walkers walk from one realm to another? Seems that would bugger up the council’s plans.”

  “They’ve got a machine.” Bixby refilled Bridger’s teacup, which allowed her to move out from under Dukmee’s hand.

  The dragon’s face scrunched up in distaste. “A machine?”

  Bixby nodded with her lips pressed in a tight line and her eyes wide. “A machine that creates and sustains portals.”

  “Impossible.” Bridger jerked and spilt his tea. Jesha complained as the hot liquid splattered her coat. She jumped to a cleared part of the table, threw her dragon a scowl, and commenced a clean-up job.

  Bixby refilled Bridger’s cup. “Impossible as it sounds, they have it. The leaders of the guild are moving to a position of exclusive power. One day, they shall rule all parts of the government, not just deal with realm walker business.”

  “Until then,” said Dukmee, “we have hope. As long as our unknown spies are close to the core of corruption. Although they daily face possible exposure, their presence in the heart of the council allows us to keep informed.”

  Dukmee finished his drink and allowed Bixby to pour more tea for him. “They risked sending a message out.” Dukmee stirred his brew. “Through these councilmen, we have learned of the guild’s interest in the rogue planes.”

  Cantor leaned forward. “Then they’re planning a defense of our realms?”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes. Their real goal is to get a hold of these vehicles that travel through a short distance of space. To hop from one plane to another without the use of realm walkers and portals would mean they could invade and conquer the very people they are pledged to protect.”

  AWAKENING

  After more than an hour of puzzling over the council’s means and motives, Cantor could no longer control his yawning. Bixby, still a fount of energy, laughingly offered to show him a place to sleep. He followed her down a stone corridor as she chattered, watching her graceful bounce. He tightened his cheek muscles, sternly keeping a smile from his face. He didn’t want her to think he was laughing at her when the truth was her merry spirit brightened his whole being.

  While he and Bridger had been searching the nine planes, he hadn’t thought much about her. His determination to find Ahma and Odem had dominated his thinking, followed closely by the pressing need to avoid the notice of any guild representative who may have been lurking about.

  Now, though, watching Bixby, he realized he’d missed her. The past two years had brought little time for slowing down, and the near future promised to be no different. Yet Bixby remained as she had always been, bubbling with joy and wonder at life. In her presence, he felt some of his tension fade away. Dukmee and Bixby could be trusted. Perhaps after dealing with the Lyme problem, they would join him in his search.

  At one time, he’d hoped to locate and rescue his mentor and her friend on his own, but that didn’t happen, and he had come to see that drive for what it was: pride. Finding them would have verified the trust they had placed in him, so each failure had wound him tighter until he thought he would splinter into tiny shards.

  Now he was not above asking for help. Using the wisdom Ahma had instilled in him, he was able to see the emotion that had driven his quest — pride — had also blocked its effectiveness. The recent counseling by Queen Mazeline had forced his recognition to the surface. He felt more comfortable with himself than he had since he had walked through the first portal on his search for a dragon constant.

  Bixby whirled to face him and glided backward. “The lights in the library are way too bright for us to sleep under. We tried the first night we were here. The next day, I got tired of looking at book after book and scroll after scroll. So I did some exploring.”

  She twirled with her arms outstretched, indicating the surrounding area. Her light layers of clothing swirled out like many textured fans unfolding. “I found these little alcoves in the tunnels close to the library. I think the original keepers of the Lyme legacy slept in them. They remind me of what I’ve read about the sanctuary wardens’ sparse living quarters.”

  She pirouetted a few times as they walked, making the little dance-like movements with such ease that it didn’t interfere with the process of walking. Any other woman would look odd gliding and skipping while she strolled along. Cantor didn’t call Bixby odd. She was light, dainty, full of life, and delightfully unique.

  Cantor smiled in spite of himself.

  She paused and gestured to the alcove beside them. “How about this one?”

  Dim lights along the ceiling of the tunnel illuminated the corridor, but the niche was pitch black. He put the globe-light hat on his head and stepped in.

  The room looked to be manmade. Scars from metal tools lined the walls in neat rows. On one wall at knee height, the original rock had been left to jut out in a solid bench. The space could be used as a convenient place to sit or as a bed for someone smaller than Cantor. Protrusions scattered across two walls at random intervals.

  “I have a number of theories about those,” said Bixby when Cantor reached out and touched one. “They could be hooks for hanging clothes. Some of them might have held a slab of wood for books or various knick-knacks.”

  Cantor humphed a gentle laugh. “Sanctuary wardens enjoyed sitting on the cold, hard benches while admiring their collection of knick-knacks?”

  Bixby laughed. “Maybe not knick-knacks.”

  “Decidedly not knick-knacks.”

  “I concede.” Bixby held up one elegant finger. “But they could have been hooks for clothes. Or hammocks.”

  Cantor studied the protrusions for a moment. “So I won’t have to scrunch my huge self to sleep on that bench thing? Bixby, you are a wonderful girl.”

  He took pleasure in the way her face lit up at the compliment.

  Ducking his head, he concentrated on his pockets. He found his camping hamper, and out of that removed a hammock. While he attached the hanging bed to two outcroppings of rock, he asked what would be the routine for the morrow and how could he help.

  Bixby wrinkled her nose. “Read books. Read scrolls. Look at maps. Read more books. Read more scrolls. Look at more maps. Until we find the exact date, or rather the way to calculate the exact date of the rogue planes’ arrival, we are stuck in the mountain.”

  “Sounds boring.”

  “It is.”

  “But necessary.”

  With a great sigh, Bixby agreed. “It is.”

  “Are you going to show Bridger to a sleeping room?”

  “Yes. In one of the other tunnels, there are larger niches. I remember how he grows when he sleeps.”

  Cantor laughed. They’d had trouble moving Bridger when he was drugged and growing with every minute that passed.

  “That was a special case. No doubt the narcotic acted as a stimulant to his growth. In two years, he’s never topped that night.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  She stood in the doorway, watching him. He fidgeted with the hammock, wondering why she hadn’t hurried off to do her next assignment. She remained still, and her eyes did not waver from his face. His nerves twitched under the steady gaze.

  “What?”

  “Do you really dislike him so much? Are you still looking for another mor dragon to be your constant?”

  Closing his eyes, he blocked out her pathetic, sad puppy look. Bixby didn’t fake emotion or hide her thoughts. She really was concerned about his chafing at having a constant thrust upon him instead of being able to choose. Granted, she was probably also concerned about Bridger’s having to endure his disdain.

  “He’s been with me two years, Bixby. I can’t count the times his lack of self-discipline has taken me to the
brink of disaster.” He wiped his hand over his face. “Though, to be honest, he’s never left me in the lurch he’s created. He can be adept at rescue, but not necessarily in a quiet, discreet manner.” He made a face, just to show how much he didn’t want to say the next words. “I like him.”

  He turned around, looking at her sympathetic face and wishing her away. “Why don’t you go usher him to bed?” He smiled, trying to soften his words. “If he manages to drop you in a crevice or pile rocks on your head, give me a call, and I’ll come help restore order. I’ve gotten pretty good at restoring order.”

  Cantor flipped out of the hammock at the first shriek. At the second, he relaxed. Bridger. Something had excited the dragon. The cry was not of imminent danger but of discovery.

  The light globe brightened the room as soon as he removed the covering cloth. He reached for his jerkin as the pattering sound of delicate footsteps came down the corridor. He had it over his head and began to thrust his arms into the sleeves. The person stopped at the entry and gasped.

  Annoyed, he hurried. As the neck of his stretchy jerkin popped down around his throat, he studied Bixby. Her white skin flushed scarlet. She blinked rapidly, then whirled to face the other direction.

  “Bixby!” He almost laughed. “You’ve seen me without a shirt before.”

  Her hair flew as she shook her head. “You looked like a boy then.”

  “You’re making me feel uncomfortable. Turn around. I’m decent.”

  She obeyed, but her eyes flicked from one object in the room to the next, never settling on her friend. “You were decent be-before. I mean, well, I mean you-you aren’t the type to be indecent. In-in words, you know. And, of course, you’re decent now, but before, I was in a hurry, and-and you startled me.”

  Cantor had buckled his belt around his waist, put on his tunic, and now sat pulling on his boots. “What was the hurry all about?”

  She clapped her hands and gave a little hop. “He did it. He figured it out.”