Dragons of the Valley Page 6

  “Cleaning, Hollee. The hat cleans as well as mends.” He replaced the hat on his head, then removed it again. He stuck his arm in the crown all the way up to his shoulder, then smiled.

  “You found something, sir?” asked Hollee, trying to be still and not wiggle with anticipation.

  “What? No. No, no. Just a touch of aches in the old bones. Elbow to be exact. The hat is certainly useful.” He pulled out his arm, flexed the joints, and then dove into his inner pockets once more. “Here, here,” he announced as he removed two limp pouches. He handed them to Bealomondore. “A bag of money. A bag of food.”

  The tumanhofer shifted the sword to lie across his other arm so he could take the pouches.

  Fenworth grinned. “I’ve found the lot.” He began loading Bealomondore’s arms with packages and various items. “A tent, a blanket for when it’s freezing, a cooling sheet for when it’s unbearably hot, cooking spices, cooking utensils, eating utensils, maps, traps, wraps, and this thingamajiggy, a perpetual lamp, an antidote for most poisons, a hunting knife, a soldier knife, and a butter knife. That should do it.” He patted his sides. “Oh, wait.” He reached in one more time and produced a small brown paper bag. “Tea.” He held up a finger again. “You’ll need a garment to carry your belongings in. I’ll mention it to Winkel.”

  The tumanhofer’s expression changed from suspicious to outraged. “Are you giving this to me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t need all this,” Bealomondore sputtered. “I’ve never owned a sword, and I don’t want to. And I don’t need money and food. I don’t need any of this. What are you up to?”

  Wizard Fenworth held up a finger while he delved into his robe pockets with the other hand. “Oh, but you might go on a quest, and then you’d need them.”

  “I’m staying here.” He looked around for a place to dump his armload of unwanted treasure.

  “Yes, yes, I think that’s it.” Fenworth stopped examining his pockets and gestured to Hollee to come. “We’re going to visit the enemy. Artist, are you sure you don’t want to join us? A gruesome beast might make a good subject for a drawing.”

  Bealomondore shook his head slowly from side to side. “I’m staying here.”

  Fenworth opened the door and looked back over his shoulder. “Last chance.”

  Bealomondore’s jaw tightened. He spoke through clenched teeth. “Have a good trip.”

  “Thank you. We will. Come, Hollee. I must say I like your name. I like the way it uses the tongue so aptly.” He pronounced her name again with great relish. “Hollee. Hollee, it will be a pleasure scouting with you.”

  Hollee jumped up and skipped out. She pulled the door closed behind her and zipped to catch up to the wizard’s long strides. He stopped short, and she just avoided running into the back of his legs.

  “The statue. I must take Evening Yearns with us. We wouldn’t want something to happen to it while we’re away.”

  “But I thought they needed to be together.”

  “Yes, yes, quite right. But I took on the duty of keeping that statue safe. How can I keep it safe if I leave it here?”

  “Will we be gone long?”

  The wizard shrugged. “A day, a week.”

  Hollee thought the statues looked fine in the kimens’ glen. A natural backdrop of trees, grass, and bushes with small animals and butterflies added to the scene. Fenworth yanked one statue out of the serene setting and maneuvered it into a hollow with Hollee’s help.

  “There now, ready to go.” He marched off again, only to come to another abrupt stop with Hollee running into the back of his legs.

  “I must have my walking staff.” He looked up at the trees for a moment, and just before Hollee asked if she could help find the staff, he took off his hat and retrieved it from within.

  “I put it in here to be fixed. Remember that, Hollee. Broken things should be put in the hat, left for mending, and pulled out when needed. Unbroken things should be stored in hollows. But you know all about hollows.”

  Yes, she did, and she had been in one of his. She remembered her night in his hollow while he slept instead of listening to her important message. She frowned for half a second, then brightened with the prospect of their journey. She wondered if her hollows were packed with the appropriate supplies for this adventure.

  She skipped beside the man she was charged to guide, inform, and protect. A wizard would know what to pack. She wouldn’t waste time worrying. Her duty would be easy and great fun. Winkel had said they deserved each other when she handed out the assignments. Hollee laughed and did cartwheels. Facing The Grawl would be nothing with a wizard by her side.

  8

  Misdirection

  Hollee had lost Wizard Fenworth, but it didn’t worry her much.

  He’d been sitting very still while vines sprouted from his beard. His skin and robes took on the appearance of bark. After a long while, he looked just like the other trees. How could he spy when he’d turned himself into a tree?

  She admitted the tree thing was a very good disguise, so much so that she tripped off to get a closer look at the bisonbecks. But then she’d seen The Grawl, and that sent her scurrying back to her wizard. To her momentary dismay, she couldn’t find the Fenworth tree when she returned. The alarm lasted only until the marvel of being the assistant to a wizard popped back in her mind.

  As soon as Fenworth moved, she’d find him. Was he asleep? Was he still spying? Probably asleep. Most old people took naps.

  She climbed a tree and sat on a branch, comfortable in the knowledge that the beast wouldn’t be able to see her if he came looking. From her perch on a limb, she could see everything that went on in the enemy camp, and she could see the part of the woods where she thought Wizard Fenworth hid.

  The Grawl sat still, in control of every muscle in his body. He trained all his senses on the erratic movement of a kimen in the forest around the camp. The kimen presented no problems, but what had happened to the creature who had come with the kimen?

  Around him, bisonbeck soldiers joked with one another as they prepared a deer carcass to butcher. Their chatter annoyed him. The smell of blood as they sliced the meat from the bone covered the other scents of the forest and made it harder to keep track of the kimen. She flitted about the forest in an irregular manner, and that brought a snarl to his lips. He didn’t like unpredictable creatures.

  He rose to his seven-foot height and glared at the three soldiers. Without a word, he stalked out of the camp. He would be able to hear their conversation long after he was out of their sight.

  Brox growled, “What’s the matter with him?”

  The one named Gorse answered. “I don’t know, and I don’t much care. He makes me think of swamps, snakes, and those drooling quiss suckers.”

  “I’ve never seen a quiss. Have you?” asked Brox.

  Gorse muttered, “No, but I thought about them a lot when we came in on the boat.”

  Kulson turned the conversation back to The Grawl. “He probably doesn’t like the fact that we’ll cook some of the meat and dry the rest. He prefers his dinner to be warm because he just killed it, not because it was spitted and roasted over a fire.”

  “Yeah,” said Gorse. “I’ve never seen him do anything other than snatch up his prey and devour it.”

  A small smile tilted the corner of The Grawl’s mouth. Perhaps these bisonbecks did understand how inferior they were to him. But he wasn’t interested in the soldiers. He already knew too much about them from their travels together. Their odor almost choked him when in closed quarters. Wet goats smelled better.

  He stopped and allowed his senses to center on the kimen. He didn’t understand her movements. If she’d come to spy on them, why hadn’t she hunkered down to do some observing? He focused on the other entity, the one he’d lost. The nerve endings in his skin quivered. With heightened awareness, he shivered as he sought but could not find the powerful o’rant who had walked like an old man toward the camp.

  Th
e Grawl’s nostrils flared as he detected the kimen. She’d returned to the same spot where he had lost the scent of the man.

  The o’rant posed a problem. The female kimen would die with one well-placed smack, much like the swatting of a gnat. But the o’rant … All circumstances would have to be on The Grawl’s side in order for him to win a fight with this o’rant. He wanted all the odds in his favor. The man had too many unknown qualities about him. It bothered The Grawl that he could not pinpoint the o’rant’s position.

  He circled the area where the kimen now lingered. She might provide a clue. But he moved warily. He did not want to come across the old man unexpectedly.

  A whiff of the o’rant stopped him. With great caution, The Grawl turned his head, allowing his eyes to explore the terrain. The kimen sat on the limb of a tree, much like a bird, constantly twitching. Little birdies annoyed The Grawl. So did the kimen. But the o’rant … Where was the o’rant?

  Again he purposefully ignored the small creature and tried to find the other. His nose picked up the faint citrus smell of an o’rant. A woody scent almost obliterated the telltale odor of the high race.

  Patience while hunting was a necessity. His capacity to outwait prey made him a particularly successful hunter. The Grawl waited, alert and ready to act. He didn’t want to engage this foe, but he wanted to know as much about him as possible. He didn’t plan to hunt the man—unless he was offered a bounty, of course. But one as powerful as this o’rant might choose to hunt him.

  The Grawl had not often been the subject of the hunt. Too many feared him. His lips pulled back in a soundless sneer.

  A breeze stirred the long hair draping over his shoulders. It also carried a stronger fragrance of wood and citrus. The Grawl turned his head toward the scent. A tree caught his attention. The bark and leaves of the plant contrasted with the other trees, just enough for The Grawl to become wary.

  Inch by inch, he examined the trunk. When he reached a height equal to his chest, he paused. Two holes where branches had broken off looked like eyes. He scoffed at himself. “Looked like eyes” did not make them eyes. Still he studied them, and as he stared, the holes looked more like eyes, eyes that stared back. And then one wooden eyelid dropped and rose again. The Grawl held his breath.

  A wizard. He’d heard of wizards but never encountered one. Slowly he backed up. Now he could feel the power emanating from the tree. He could see that one part of the bark and leaves resembled a beard. His muscles tensed. This tree wizard could defeat him. The Grawl would be sure he never engaged this creature in a fair fight. No profit came from a fight. He was a hunter, and his skill brought him much reward. He left the slaughter of army against army to those who had no skill.

  He clenched his claws into the palms of his hands and backed into a tangle of bushes that would hide his departure.

  “There you are, Wizard Fenworth,” the kimen spoke as she dropped to the ground. “I thought this was you.” She giggled.

  One more step back and The Grawl was out of the wizard’s line of vision. He’d been careful. The kimen had never detected his presence. But not careful enough. The wizard knew. The Grawl turned and sprinted through the woods.

  He wasn’t running away. No panic surged through him. He was smart, prudent, and alive. The Grawl. The Hunter. Not the warrior. Not the hunted. The Grawl’s pride in who he was vanquished the momentary feeling of inadequacy that fell upon him under the gaze of the wizard.

  Hunger hurried his pace. He sensed a herd of deer in the valley.

  Hollee watched as Fenworth stood, stretched, and shook the last vestige of treeness from his form. Foliage fell around him, leaving him in his somber robes of brown and gray, the apparel he chose for traveling. She liked his fancier colorful robes better.

  “We’ve been visited, Hollee,” he said.

  “Sir?” Hollee glanced around.

  Fenworth pointed to a spot near a bentleaf tree. “That creature called The Grawl stood just over there, watching us.”

  Hollee shivered. “He was that close? I never saw him.”

  “He’s a hunter.” The wizard chuckled. “Luckily, he wasn’t hunting kimen.”

  “Oh, he doesn’t see me.”

  “I beg to differ, Hollee. He doesn’t want you to know that he sees you so you won’t be prepared for him to attack.”

  She moved closer to stand where her side rubbed against his long robes. “Who was he hunting?”

  “Me.”

  A gasp exploded from her mouth. “You?”

  Fenworth chuckled again. Hollee didn’t think the situation was funny.

  “Don’t worry,” said Fenworth. “He was curious. He hunts for two reasons—to fill his stomach or his purse.”

  “Oh.” Hollee peered past the bentleaf tree.

  “We’ll go watch him.”

  “Why?”

  “For the same reason he watched us. To learn his ways. To gauge him as an adversary.”

  As he started forward, Hollee grabbed a fistful of Fenworth’s robe. “I’m really not all that interested.”

  “I shall hide us. He won’t see, hear, or smell us.”

  She screwed up her face. “I’m more worried about him touching and tasting us.”

  “He won’t.” Fenworth patted her on the head.

  Normally being patted on the head irritated Hollee, but his touch made her feel warm and safe.

  “You’re covered now,” he said and started to walk away.

  Hollee skipped and caught up with no trouble. “Covered?” She examined her arms and torso, and then with a puzzled frown she stuck out a leg to see if anything clung to it. “With what?”

  Fenworth waved his hand in the air. “With … whatever. I can’t remember what it’s called. It should be called the-cover-that-keeps-your-smell-noise-and-looks-to-yourself. That would be very accurate. But of course, it doesn’t work on me, so it would have to be the-cover-that-keeps-your-smell-noise-and-looks-to-yourself-and-to-your-wizard. That’s a lot to say when you can call it by what it is called if you can remember what that is.”

  “It’s like a shield, huh?” Hollee reached out all around her to see if she could feel it.

  Wizard Fenworth paused for a moment, cast her an appreciative look, and went on. “You’re a clever kimen, as well as cheerful. It is a shield. That’s the name I could not remember. It has another name in front of it. We’ll have to ask Librettowit when we get back to the camp. It is the so-and-so shield, named after the wizard who invented it.”

  They moved through the woods rapidly, not bothering to be sneaky at all. Hollee would have liked to practice being sneaky, but Fenworth said it was unnecessary and a waste of time.

  “Here we are,” Fenworth announced and sat on a boulder that gave them a good view of the valley. “And there he is.”

  Hollee settled on the rock beside the wizard. “I don’t see him.”

  Fenworth pointed. “There. It will be difficult because part of his craft is to blend into the scenery. He’s very still, and it looks to me like he expects to have venison for dinner.”

  Hollee spotted the herd of deer immediately. “Oh, they’re beautiful.”

  “They look good in a different way to the hunter.”

  “Oh, yuck. I don’t think I want to watch.”

  “Do you see him now?” Fenworth pointed again. “Between the stand of rock pines and the stream, near that drab outcropping of flint?”

  “Yes, I see him. He’s intent on those deer. His leg muscles are rippling. Will he pounce like a cat?”

  “You do have very good eyesight.”

  Hollee smiled. “We all do.”

  At that moment, The Grawl sprang forward. He covered half the distance between himself and his prey before the herd even knew of the threat. They scattered, but one half-grown fawn didn’t move quickly enough. Its neck was broken before it toppled at the feet of The Grawl. The hunter hoisted the body in the air, turned around twice, stomping his feet, then brought his kill down to his face. He d
rew in a long breath through his nose.

  “What’s he doing?” asked Hollee with her hands covering her face.

  “He’s relishing his reward for patience and skill.”

  Hollee spread her fingers apart for a better look.

  The Grawl opened his mouth and sank his teeth into the flank of the dead animal.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “Can we go now?”

  “Most certainly.” Fenworth scooped her up and put her under the flap of his robe. “Prepare to whirl.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To eat our noonmeal, of course.”

  “Where?”

  “With that king fellow and Paladin.”

  “We’re going to the castle?”

  She didn’t hear the answer. The wind whistled and mixed with disconnected sounds as the wizard transported them from the forest to Ragar.

  The whooshing and whirling stopped just before Hollee gave up her breakfast. Her first experience of traveling with the wizard had made her a bit queasy, but this passage had been extra rough.

  “Oh dear, tut, tut.”

  Hollee tensed for a moment, then scrambled to get out. She needed to see what had alarmed her wizard. As she moved, she felt Fenworth sit.

  “Oh dear, oh dear.”

  She popped out of the folds of his robe and gasped. They weren’t in Ragar. Hollee doubted they were even in Chiril. From their perch on a high cliff, an ocean stretched clear to the horizon. Gray waves tossed murky froth on a sandy shore to their left. And on the right, a small village of huts clustered among towering trees, the like of which Hollee had never seen.

  “Tut, tut. That’s what I get for thinking of tangonut crème pie while whirling.”

  9

  Council Meeting

  Beccaroon strutted through the elegant hallway, keeping to the side of the rug running down the center. His claws tripped him up when they caught in the pile of the beautiful carpet. Falling on his face didn’t appeal to him at any time. Doing so now would damage his ability to present a convincing argument to King Yellat.