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  Her lungs strained, ready to burst. Her hand burned. The horror of battling Creemoor spiders still sent blood pounding through her veins. She was glad Bardon had been there. If not for him, she and Librettowit would have been torn apart.

  Halfway up, she heard breaking glass and Toopka’s scream.

  7

  POISON

  Around the next turn of the staircase, Toopka’s tiny body hung from the wall. Her open mouth no longer emitted a scream. Beads of sweat and tears rolled down her furry cheeks. Her eyes scrunched so tightly that Kale knew she was alive.

  Behind Toopka, a Creemoor spider hissed, only its four-part mouth visible in the narrow window. A snakelike tentacle held the little girl captive.

  Hanging on to the outside of the tower, the Creemoor had reached through and nabbed the small doneel. With its tentacle wrapped around her, it could not draw back through the tight opening.

  Bardon pushed past Kale and slipped the point of his sword between the window casing and the tentacle. When Kale realized what he was doing, she also jumped to help with her short sword. The Creemoor’s grip loosened. Toopka gasped for breath. Kale dropped her sword and caught the doneel just as Bardon severed the tentacle.

  Toopka threw her arms around Kale’s neck and squeezed, howling in her ear. “Run, Kale, run!”

  Kale patted Toopka’s back and crooned. “We’ll be all right. There’s no place to go right now, Toopka. And Bardon is here to take care of us.” Kale focused on the child rather than the appendage squirming among shattered bits of glass on the steps.

  The stench of Creemoor spider filled her nostrils. Something brushed against her shoulder. Her cape sizzled. With a start, she clambered up the staircase, away from more tentacles worming through the small window.

  Bardon hacked at the threatening spider with his blade, methodically lopping off one snaking tentacle after another. With the tip of his sword, he pushed the stinking spider arms over the edge of the staircase toward the center of the tower.

  Clawed legs critched against the outside of the tower as the spider shifted its body. A pincer thrust into the building and snapped viciously. With two hands on the hilt of his sword, Bardon raised his weapon and brought it down.

  With each slice of the blade, the stink from the beast grew in the close quarters. Kale ducked her nose down against Toopka’s furry head. The child now sobbed, her face hidden against Kale’s shoulder. She’d let go of Kale’s neck and covered her ears with her hands.

  The spider hissed. Its hard legs snapped with each movement. Against the outside of the tower, it critched against the stone. Bardon dispatched a second leg, and then the creature fell away. One moment the Creemoor menaced them through the window. The next it was gone.

  The stench hung in the air. Kale thought she would faint. Toopka had never felt heavy before. Now her weight made Kale’s arm and shoulder sore.

  “Go on to the top of the tower,” ordered Bardon. “I’ll go back down and help Librettowit climb these stairs.”

  “I’m coming. I’m coming.” The tumanhofer’s wheezing voice drifted up the metal staircase. His footsteps echoed in a slow cadence. He huffed between phrases as he trudged up the steps. “I’m not as young as I used to be. I never was suited to fights, adventures, quests. I’m a librarian, after all.”

  Bardon wiped his blade against the sole of his boot. He then pointed the tip toward Kale’s dropped weapon. “Pick up your sword, Leecent. Clean the blade. We must hurry.”

  Holding Toopka in one arm, she bent and stretched out her injured hand to follow his orders. She swallowed hard at the sight of her skin, red and blistered and already oozing pus.

  “You’ve been poisoned!” Bardon came to her side and took Toopka.

  “I don’t feel anything anymore,” she tried to reassure him. “It burned at first, but now it doesn’t hurt at all.”

  “That’s bad, not good. Get that green dragon to work quickly before the infection travels up your arm.”

  Librettowit appeared from around the corner and sat down a few steps below them. He pulled out a large handkerchief and wiped sweat from his reddened face. He frowned up at them. “A Creemoor got her?”

  “I’m fine,” Kale protested, but her head felt light, and her chest tightened. She tried to take a deep breath, but her lungs refused to expand. A searing pain greeted the effort. She concentrated on breathing in and out, short, quick puffs.

  Bardon put Toopka down. The child huddled against the stone wall of the tower. Kale wanted to speak, but her tongue had grown dry and too big for her mouth.

  Maybe I don’t feel so well after all.

  Librettowit, there’s something wrong.

  The tumanhofer rose quickly and clambered up the last few steps.

  “The poison is already past the arm. She’s mute.” He glared at them all. “Bardon, pick her up before she falls over. Gymn, ride on her chest and see what you can do to help. We must get her through the gateway and to Fenworth.”

  Bardon sheathed his sword. He scooped Kale into his arms as if she weighed nothing and charged up the metal steps. The clatter of his boots hurt her ears.

  Gymn landed on her. His feet bore down as if he were digging his claws into her skin. Kale knew he weighed less than Toopka. The minor dragon wasn’t causing the pain. It was the poison.

  She felt Gymn’s sympathy and concern coming through to her mind, but she couldn’t feel the soothing effect he usually had on her nerves. He lay down and stretched out, covering as much of her as he could with his tiny body.

  I can’t feel it! The panicked thought circled in her brain. I should be able to feel his healing. He’s trying to heal me, and I feel nothing! I can’t feel it! I should be able to feel the healing.

  She looked up at Bardon’s chin. The muscle in his jaw worked.

  She closed her eyes. Paladin, you said you would be watching out for me. Do you know what’s going on?

  Bardon stopped. Kale forced her eyes open and looked around. Without moving her neck, she could see little. Her muscles ached, all except her arm. Her arm felt nothing. Her vision blurred. No, she could see well enough, but the space between her and the walls shimmered in places.

  The lehman had carried Kale into the center of a round room. The walls slanted inward to a point above their heads. On the outside, each of The Hall’s turrets looked as though it were crowned with an onion, a golden bulb tapering up to a spire pointed heavenward.

  The air quivered. Ripples of iridescent colors radiated from the wooden floor to the curving ceiling. Gateways! Side by side, in a ring around the room, there were gateways. How would Librettowit know which one to go through?

  Bardon’s arms tightened around her.

  He’s nervous. Why is he nervous? She knew the answer. He’s never been through a gateway. Toopka hasn’t either. Is she scared? I’ve got to tell them it’s all right.

  Her lips would not open. Her tongue took up her whole mouth. It was harder to breathe.

  Hurry, Librettowit. Hurry!

  Kale heard the near hysteria in her plea to the tumanhofer. The top of his cloth hood appeared above the hole in the floor, and he climbed the last few steps with Toopka in his arms. He glanced at Kale with a worried eye but quickly looked away.

  I know I’m dying, she told him.

  “Not yet, you aren’t! Fenworth will have my hide if I don’t bring you to him.”

  Toopka whimpered. Metta landed beside her on Librettowit’s shoulder and sang gentle, melodious notes designed to pacify her fears.

  It’s all right, Toopka. We’re almost there.

  The little doneel’s frightened eyes turned to Kale, and a small smile quivered at the corner of her thin black lips.

  Bardon shifted from one foot to the other. His eyes darted around the room, flicking from one gateway to the next, never resting on any of the shimmering spots for more than a second.

  It’s all right, Bardon. The light clings to you when you walk through, and the air squeezes, but it onl
y takes a second. Take a deep breath first and blow out as soon as you’re through.

  “You mindspeak!”

  He said it out loud. His chin whipped down. His widened eyes met hers.

  She tried to smile, but her face would not move. She no longer felt the pain in her shoulders and neck. She could no longer feel Gymn pressing against her heart. Bardon had said no pain was bad, not good.

  It’s all right, she told him. Let’s go.

  “This way,” said Librettowit. He pointed to the floor in front of one of the gateways.

  Bardon’s mind registered the letter s for south, and Kale read his momentary relief that the tumanhofer was not choosing a gateway at random. Then she felt his renewed fear of the unknown as if it were her own. She’d learned much about controlling the influence of others’ thoughts and emotions. She’d learned to keep herself protected from an overload of sensations emanating from those around her. The poison sabotaged her efforts to put up the guards.

  I don’t think I’ll make it, Bardon. I’m too weak.

  The muscles in his arms tensed. He barked an order. “You will make it, Leecent Kale.” Renewed resolve coursed through his body and transferred to Kale.

  A sigh of relief caught in her throat. The small choking noise captured Librettowit’s attention. He turned back and scowled at them. Without a word, he hastened his departure.

  The light in the gateway sparkled as Librettowit stepped into it with Toopka. The shimmering glow clung to them both for a moment, and then he passed through, out of Kale’s sight. Metta flew into the portal and disappeared too, in the slow, distorted way Librettowit had.

  Bardon took a deep breath, tightened his grip on his burden, and plunged ahead.

  Kale saw the explosion of tiny lights around her. The air pressed in all around. She could not breathe.

  Only a second. She repeated the words several times. But only a second was a second too long.

  8

  REGIDOR

  Wailing. Long, loud moans. Sobs.

  A hiss vibrated in the air. “Sh! Sh! Sh!”

  Kale tried to open her eyes. She wanted to protest. It’s not me. I’m not crying. Don’t shush. I want to sleep.

  Crying. Soft, muffled whines. Sobs.

  “Blasted, caterwauling beast! Go for a walk.”

  Metta sang sweet songs. The melodies soothed Kale’s raw nerves.

  The bawling subsided to gentle weeping.

  Shivers racked Kale’s body.

  “Ah! That’s the end of it now. She’ll live.” Wizard Fenworth’s voice crackled next to her ear.

  Another blanket covered her shaking body. Kind hands wiped perspiration from her brow.

  “Get that sniffling, whining creature out of here!”

  She smiled. Fenworth was crotchety indeed.

  Kale did not want to open her eyes. She knew she could, but it felt wonderful to just lie on the soft cushions.

  I’m in Fenworth’s castle, and I’m safe.

  She could smell the woody fragrance of the walls and floor and ceiling. She’d been in this castle before. A tangle of massive, hollow trees composed the wizard’s castle. Large limbs encompassed hallways leading from tree to tree. In each towering tree, rooms stacked one on top of another, each slightly smaller than the one below. Circular stairs carved out of wood spiraled up through each room.

  Fenworth owned a world-famous library. More rooms held books than beds. Pillows stuffed in niches and comfortable chairs scattered throughout each room offered abundant places to curl up and read. The beds were either hammocks hanging from the walls or rowboatlike frames made of what looked like gnarled roots. Colorful cushions filled these knobby platforms to the brim.

  Kale breathed deeply, relishing the earthy odor and knowing that when she did open her eyes, she was as likely to see a fox or an owl as a person in the room.

  Gymn snuggled on the pillow with his chin resting on her shoulder. His healing powers flowed through her. Only a comfortable feeling of laziness kept her in bed. Vaguely wondering how long she’d been ill, she stretched her legs out straight and then rolled onto her side. Gymn shifted with her.

  Metta sang. Her voice energized the air in the room. As always, the dragon sang in syllables with no recognizable words. A ripple of music touched Kale as gently as a mother’s loving hand. She could imagine the mother she’d never known stroking her cheek, teasing her to awaken.

  Even without lyrics, the cheery melodies echoed through her thoughts, taking away some of her lethargy. She pulled her mind out of a pleasant drifting and puzzled over Metta’s song.

  What is that tune?

  She remembered one phrase: monkey tree.

  And then a few lines:

  climbing and jumping and scrambling around.

  They flip and flop

  and skip and stop,

  but ne-ver touch the ground.

  Da-dee-da-da

  dee-da-dee-da-dee,

  orange and purple monkeys in the monkey tree.

  What are the words for the da-dee-da-da part?

  Kale furrowed her brow and concentrated on her surroundings. Something was not exactly as she expected it to be in Fenworth’s domicile. She shifted slightly on the bedding and sighed.

  Someone held her hand. Small fingers lightly clasped her palm. Toopka? No, the hand was too big for the tiny doneel and too small to be Librettowit’s or Wizard Fenworth’s. Too rough to be her friend Leetu Bends’s hand. Too scaly to be Bardon. Scaly?

  Kale’s eyes flew open.

  A diminutive creature, a little bigger than Toopka, sat beside her on the bed, peering at her with impatience. His trousered legs were crossed, and his pointy toes wiggled restlessly on his bare feet.

  He wore a tan linen shirt, open at the neck and showing a pale blue, scaly chest. His chin jutted out a bit more than an o’rant’s, and his wide mouth definitely sported thin reptile lips. His nostrils were slits instead of round holes, and his squarish nose dominated his face. Black oblong pupils slanted across his green eyes, and instead of hairy eyebrows, his face folded in a lizardlike brow. His hairless head and neck were shaped like an o’rant’s but were covered with lustrous blue scales without visible ears. He leaned forward at the waist, staring at her.

  Out of his toothy mouth, a bass voice rattled from deep within his chest. “She’s awake.” The creature’s delighted cry sounded like it belonged to a blacksmith.

  “Regidor?” Kale asked.

  “That’s me. You’ve been asleep forever.” The childlike words in the voice of a grown man made her laugh.

  Gymn and Metta spread their wings and took to the air. They flew into the space above her head and did an acrobatic dance. She listened in on the jumble of excitement in their minds. To her, it was as if they were both speaking at once. Their thoughts bubbled with anticipation. The two tiny dragons zoomed out the open window, intent on telling the others that she was awake.

  “Fenworth’s mad,” said Regidor. “But that’s all right. He’s always grouchy. Librettowit brought you through the gateway, and Fenworth fixed you. I’ve been playing with Gymn and Metta. Toopka taught me to play marbles. I taught her the letters I know. I know all of them. She doesn’t know how to read yet, and she’s old. We’re friends now.”

  “How long have I been asleep?”

  “Forever.”

  “Oh yes, you said that before.”

  “But now you’re awake, and we can be friends. We’re going to learn to be wizards together, if Fenworth doesn’t throw me to the mordakleeps first.”

  Kale sat up and looked at Regidor’s hand still resting lightly in her own. Four fingers and a thumb. Narrow nails that just missed being claws.

  So this is a meech dragon.

  She looked into his friendly, eager face. “Wizard Fenworth won’t throw you to the mordakleeps,” she assured the young creature. “He doesn’t like mordakleeps.”

  “I know.” Regidor shrugged narrow shoulders. “When he says that, I go climb in the branc
hes. Later he makes tea and daggarts. He makes good daggarts. And nordy rolls. I like nordy rolls.”

  “I don’t remember Wizard Fenworth cooking much.”

  “I know.” The dragon shrugged again. “That’s because Dar was here. I know all about Dar and the quest for the meech egg. The meech egg was me. And Wizard Risto. Risto is bad. And Librettowit burns things, because he reads instead of stirring. I’m going to learn to cook. I can already make tea. If you bring Fenworth a cup of tea when he’s cranky, he says, ‘Thank you.’ He does it to model good behavior. Librettowit says they have to model good behavior. I have to do good behavior but not model it, because there is no one to watch me modeling. Except now maybe I will model good behavior for Toopka.”

  “You don’t have to model good behavior for me.” Toopka entered the room and bounced onto the bed, scooting up close to Kale’s other side and glaring at the meech dragon. “I have excellent manners for a street urchin. Bardon said so.”

  Regidor shook his head. “He was just being nice.”

  “Was not!”

  “Was so!

  Kale sat up. “Enough foolish arguing.”

  The two stopped glaring at each other and turned frowning faces to her. For a moment she frowned back at them, not because of their quarreling, but because she had just heard herself sounding exactly like Mistress Meiger, the woman who had overseen her life as a slave.

  A light tap on the door drew their attention. Bardon stuck his head around the wooden frame, and when he saw her sitting up, he came in.

  “You’re looking better.” He stopped at the foot of the bed, towering over them. “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes!” said Toopka, springing to her feet and dancing among the cushions that made Kale’s bed.

  Kale and Regidor laughed, but Bardon scowled at the little doneel. “I was speaking to Kale.”

  Toopka turned her expressive face to Kale. Her ears twitched. “You’re hungry too, aren’t you? I can go to the kitchen and bring you a tray. There’s all sorts of wonderful food in the pantry.”