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  “Wulder,” he whispered against her skin. “Kale, you must latch on to Wulder, not Paladin. We must see past our dependence on Paladin for leadership to Wulder, who provides wisdom to us all.”

  Kale pushed him away. “You sound like you don’t care if Paladin dies.”

  “That’s not it at all, and you know it.” He walked over to the window and stood with his hands on his hips, looking out at the crimson sunset. “Your mother and father are here.”

  Kale’s countenance brightened. “Did you see them? Did you speak to them?”

  “Your father.” Bardon gave a perfunctory nod. “I spoke to your father. We will sit with them at dinner tonight.”

  “Oh good. I haven’t had a nice talk with Mother since they visited last spring. I wonder what they’ve been doing all summer.”

  Bardon shrugged and turned to face her. His eyelids drooped as if he were too weary to look wide-eyed upon the world around him. “My father is here as well.”

  “Oh, Bardon.” She wondered what she could say. What question was appropriate under the circumstances? But he answered one that hadn’t come to her mind.

  “No, I didn’t have a chance to talk with him. He was occupied, comparing notes with other knights. Amara is in a perilous state. The cry of the people has changed from ‘Don’t do anything to call attention to us’ to ‘Why haven’t you done something to prevent this calamity?’”

  “And your father?”

  “Is angry. What else? The conclave tomorrow night is to involve only the wizards, and you know how he feels about wizards.”

  Her shoulders drooped in spite of her determination to be encouraging to her husband. “Oh yes. I know how he feels about wizards and dragons and magic.”

  “I’m sorry, Kale.” He came back to embrace her.

  She leaned against him. “I’m sorry, too. I know you care whether Paladin recovers or not. I also know you always look at a bigger picture than I do.”

  She felt him nod as his chin touched the top of her head. His deep voice rumbled under her ear.

  “It would be hard without Paladin, but it would be impossible without Wulder. If we manage to remain true to Wulder, then He will raise up another Paladin to guide us.”

  He gave her a squeeze. “Now, change into something beautiful. We sup tonight in the dining hall of Paladin’s palace. A very grand place, indeed.” He tilted her chin up with one finger and winked at her. “And I’m sure your mother is most anxious to see you.”

  Sir Kemry and Lady Lyll Allerion met Kale and Bardon in the reception room before the doors swung open to the dining hall. As the young couple approached the older, Kale mindspoke to her husband. She’s so young-looking and striking. I wonder what I will look like at her age. So far, when I am idle, nothing much happens.

  “I find leaves on you all the time.”

  Only because you hide them on me to tease me. I know I don’t produce those flowers, and twigs, or even the ladybugs you pretend to find in my hair.

  “You are the bog wizard.”

  An inherited title from Fenworth. He was no blood relation. I could be anything.

  “My goodness,” said Lady Allerion with a small shake of her head. Several hairpins fell out, and her elegant coiffure began to droop. She snapped her fingers, the errant pins hopped back in her hand, and she deftly returned them to their places. “Such a scowl, Kale. What are you thinking about?”

  “What kind of wizard am I, Mother?”

  Her father kissed her on the cheek. “A bog wizard, my dear. Why the puzzlement?”

  “Oh, she doesn’t mean her title, Kem.” Lyll took her daughter’s hand and patted it. “She wants to know what her element is. As she ages, will she find herself waking from a nap with a stringy moss beard on her chin, or will she be dripping lake water from her elbows?”

  “Humph!” said her father. “A beard? Highly unlikely. As to your element, no one knows ahead of time. Your knowledge will evolve out of what you experience.”

  Kale cast a worried glance at Bardon and asked her father, “Then it doesn’t pass down according to your lineage?”

  “That belief is an old wives’ tale. Some people believe one’s element is determined by where you are raised. Your surroundings influence what you become. Some believe your destiny is in your heritage. I believe your element is what you choose more than anything. If you choose to appreciate lakes like Cam Ayronn, then naturally you are predisposed to drip.”

  A trumpeter announced the opening of the dining hall. Servants pushed seven carved panel doors into the walls. Across the huge room seven heavy wooden doors led to the area devoted to preparation of meals. These highly polished doors swung in and out as busy people brought in large trays and tureens. The closed doors blocked any clatter of pans from the kitchen.

  The crowd drifted toward the evening repast.

  Lady Allerion put her arm through her husband’s and started to stroll off. “I think it’s an interplay of all three aspects, Kem.”

  Bardon offered his wife his arm and winked. “You’re gorgeous when you’re flustered. I do plant the leaves and things to watch you react.”

  “I know. It’s hard with our bond to fool each other.” She grinned up at him. “But sometimes you nearly have me convinced.” She took in a deep breath, loving the smell of her husband and the very essence of his strength as he stood beside her. “You’ve gotten very good at tricking me.”

  He reached behind her ear and pulled out a small ivy leaf, one just like the plant that decorated the hallway. With a flourish, he presented it to her. “You put up with my pointed ears. I guess I can endure your elemental state, whether it be bog or mountain or sky or fire.”

  He jerked his chin toward an old female wizard who had nodded off. A page stood next to her, puzzling how to wake up the woman who had taken on the shape of a blue flame, although she did not burn the chair she sat in.

  “Thanks,” said Kale. “I hope in one way or another you always see me as the flame of your life.”

  Bardon chortled. “Bad pun, Kale.” He took her elbow and guided her toward their dinner.

  Elegant dishes covered massive banqueting tables. Rare golden lightrocks shone about the room, casting everything in a soft glow. Delicate chandeliers adorned the ceiling with tiny lightrocks reflecting off the shimmering surfaces of cut glass.

  Kale learned from her mother that every inhabitant of the castle ate in the same room and from the same fare. Everyone chose their own seating, so it was not uncommon to find a magistrate sitting with a stable boy, or a lady beside a scullery maid. Everyone, however, was required to bathe before entering the dining hall. Quite unobtrusively, The Sniffer escorted offensively odiferous persons to the public bath. Only the staff involved in meal preparation and serving did not sit at the tables. And this entourage of people rotated with others so that all had the opportunity to be served as well as to serve.

  The delicious food and her mother’s commentary about the people around them kept Kale captivated. Servants whisked away empty dishes, refilled their goblets with nectar, and replenished serving trays with assorted delicacies. Kale followed her mother’s example of taking small servings of almost everything.

  One dish held a brown-looking sludge with a bright orange swirl through it. Although the man across the table from her smacked his lips as he devoured a hearty portion, Kale decided to skip the thick porridge.

  She reached for her engraved goblet and realized the servant had not been out from the kitchen for some time. Her empty glass should have been full. Glancing around, she noticed many of the knights had concerned expressions, and some had even risen from their seats to consult with others. Her father spoke to a wizard near the wall of doors that led to a balcony. He hurried back to the table, touched Bardon on the shoulder, and signaled him to follow.

  With her mind, Kale explored the hall and the kitchen. At first she detected nothing but an unusual quiet. The hush in itself convinced her something was wrong. The likelihood of
an artificial covering to hide the usual backdrop of noise from people’s minds occurred to her. And why would that be necessary?

  Reciting the words to petition Wulder to help her see more than her normal senses would reveal, she glimpsed a flash of evil that vanished in a fog.

  “Mother?”

  “Yes. I can’t put my finger on it either.”

  Kale called with her mind to her minor dragons. Find the source of this evil.

  “The kitchens,” she said to her mother as soon as she had an impression from Pat and Filia.

  “Take my hand,” instructed Lyll. “It will increase our effectiveness.”

  As soon as Kale’s fingertips rested in her mother’s palm, she felt the presence of warriors.

  Kale and her mother stood as one, crying out with their minds to all those present in the hall. Bisonbecks! Grawligs! Attack!

  The kitchen doors burst open, and bisonbeck soldiers along with slovenly grawligs poured into the room.

  Steel whispered against leather sheaths. Shouts rose in warning. Outrage answered with bellowing challenges. Boots clattered on the stone floor. Those peace-loving souls who never fought more than persistent weeds in their gardens scrambled for safety.

  Bardon and Sir Kemry fought together. With their backs to each other, they confronted the first onslaught of invaders as they surged into the hall. Kale sent up a quick petition to Wulder, asking for their protection.

  Her mother squeezed her hand. “Focus, Kale. We aren’t spectators in this fray.”

  She and her mother twirled, changing their attire to more suitable costumes for fighting. The outrageously pink matching outfits startled the three bisonbecks close by. They soon recovered their belligerent demeanor and charged the two women. The mother-daughter team stood ready. Each held one hand out in front of them, holding invisible swords. Entering the melee, Kale and Lyll confronted the enemy with as much expertise as their husbands.

  To her right, Kale saw a pulse of orange light. She had only a moment to observe the old woman wizard, who earlier had sat as a flame, throw a fireball at the enemy. Unfortunately, a plowman moved between her and her target. But the ball of flame hit the man square in the back, rolled around his body, and continued on its course to splat against a raging grawlig. An explosion left the mountain ogre a pile of cinders on the floor. The maid he had been strangling fell to the floor, landing on her rump. She gasped for air and then began to cry.

  Get under the table, Kale ordered the girl. Kale only took a second to register the young woman’s confusion as she unexpectedly heard a command not spoken. Move. Now!

  The maid shook her head as if to rid her ears of a ringing and crawled to safety.

  Kale’s six dragons, tiny and swift, nipped in and out of the battle, spitting in the eyes of the enemy. Dibl preferred landing on the head of a soldier, briefly digging in his claws, and then flying upward, pulling what hair he could snare as he took off.

  Dibl landed on the small of a grawlig’s back and with one bite severed the belt holding up the enemy’s pants. Pat and Ardeo then jerked on the loosened garment, causing it to fall to the floor. After stumbling, the grawlig shook his pants from his ankles, roared, and swung his club at anything in his way.

  They tried the same tactic on a bisonbeck. The soldier pulled his pants up and fought one-handed while grasping the waistband. The three dragons met in the air above his head and chastised him with sharp chirps. With determination of purpose, they all spit their colorful and bitter saliva on his head.

  An older bisonbeck with tattered war ribbons across his chest claimed Kale’s attention. He jumped back when her sword tore open his jacket sleeve and roared when he realized she was armed. A blow to the back of his head crumpled him to the floor.

  Kale looked to see who had come to her aid. A mountain wizard nodded to her from across the room. Kale looked down at her would-be opponent and saw a jagged rock protruding from his skull. She waved a hand of acknowledgment to the wizard and turned quickly to help a stable boy in his fight against a young grawlig. If she looked too closely at the blood around her, she knew she would be sick.

  Regidor danced from one opponent to the next, wielding his sword with grace. While the elegantly attired meech managed to kick soldiers into oblivion as if it were part of a choreographed performance, Gilda picked up her cup and sipped tea. She had not bothered to get up from her seat. She sat, watching the fracas around her and only lifted a finger when someone threatened to disturb her peace. She then picked up an item of food before her and threw it with uncanny accuracy at whoever approached. A bowl of soup left her hand and landed on a grawlig. Only the contents of her missive had altered. The liquid became a green cloud that choked the mountain ogre. He collapsed in an unmoving heap on the floor.

  In a matter of minutes, the fighters in Paladin’s dining hall subdued the more than a hundred-strong band of marauders. Grim news came from the kitchen that all the servants there were dead. More investigation found a trail of bodies all the way to a breached entryway where goods were delivered from nearby towns.

  “This is outrageous!” exclaimed the lady fire wizard. “Crim Cropper and Burner Stox dare an attack inside Paladin’s palace?”

  Bardon’s father spoke up. “It comes from trusting wizards and magic words to protect us. The ordinary man has hidden behind false walls instead of every man drawing strength from Wulder.”

  “I hardly think this is the time for one of your rants, Sir Joffa,” said a meadow wizard as she bent to offer comfort to a young marione woman.

  “It’s past time you listened to me,” he bellowed.

  Granny Noon walked through the shambles to place a hand on his arm. “Put away your sword and your anger. Neither one is appropriate in a discussion between allies.” She patted his hand, the one still clenched around the hilt of his bloodstained weapon. “I believe what you have to say is valid. Let’s do what is needed this moment.” Her gaze swept over the devastation left by the attack. “And then, Sir Joffa, we will hear your opinions.”

  11

  DISTINGUISHED VISITORS

  The next day Kale, her mother, and Bardon walked among the nervous visitors. More wizards and dignitaries arrived through the gateway. Some bubbled with excitement at being summoned to the palace. They seemed unaware of the gravity of the reason they were called until they heard of the slaughter of servants that had taken place the night before. Others predicted doom for the country and blamed anyone who came to mind for the state of emergency. These responded to the invasion of Paladin’s palace with a grim attitude. “Inevitable,” said a prickly desert wizard. “Proves my point,” said a cold wizard from the North.

  The formal gardens, with groomed paths and ornamental flowerbeds, buzzed with disgruntled Amarans. They congregated in small knots and hissed their displeasure. Some had strong opinions of what should be done to rescue the failing country. Others only nodded their heads to support those who pontificated their analyses and predictions.

  One marione voiced his opinion loudly as Kale, her mother, and Bardon passed his small audience. “Paladin has no right to claim a sickbed at this point in our history. It’s a ploy to avoid his obligations. Why fall ill just when we need him most? It’s irresponsible.”

  “That’s unfair!” Kale’s voice shook as did her hands as she raised them to call attention to her outrage.

  Bardon took her arm and guided her away from the group. “Not all tongues that wag cohabit with a brain.”

  “Did you make that one up?” Kale demanded, not at all pleased that Bardon could be jesting at such a time.

  “No, I didn’t.” He linked his forearm around hers, laced his fingers between hers, and raised her hand to his lips, kissing it with affection. “I did paraphrase.”

  Lady Lyll giggled but did not offer a comment.

  Bardon led them to a decorative waterfall. “There is another principle that is not being heeded during these rambling and unproductive talks.”

  Lyll glanced
her daughter’s way and frowned. “Kale, you look like you have a teller-twig clamped between your teeth.”

  I do. I am trying very hard not to speak my mind.

  “Keeping your tongue still is to very little effect when your face is shouting your disapproval.”

  Kale’s features relaxed. Her mother nodded her approval and turned her attention to Bardon. “And the other principle being ignored is?” she asked her son-in-law.

  “‘A wise man’s words travel from heart to mind, or mind to heart, before leaving his mouth.’”

  “It seems to me,” said Kale, carefully wording her statement, “that these people are expressing thoughts, not from intelligence or compassion, but from their fear.”

  An unexpected trill of joy rippled through her negative thoughts, causing them to disperse on tiny waves. She sought to capture the feeling as if it were a butterfly fluttering past. The next time it swept through, she focused on its pattern and flight.

  “Dar!” she exclaimed. “Dar has just come through the gateway. He’s here!” She dropped Bardon’s arm to leave.

  “I like that,” he complained. “She’s rushing off to meet another man.”

  “The man who released your sense of humor,” Kale called over her shoulder. “I owe him a lot.”

  Kale scurried through the walkways, dodging around the groups of people who had so annoyed her a moment before. She rounded the curve that led to the gateway courtyard and squealed.

  Dar faced her with his usual aplomb, then his face broke into the wide grin that characterized doneels. She ran to greet him, but as she came into the quadrangle, she glanced around and located a bench. She veered off from a direct path to her good friend and sat, spreading her skirts around her and folding her hands in her lap.

  Seated as a proper young matron should be, she awaited Sir Dar’s dignified approach. She was glad she’d chosen to wear yellow today. Dar particularly liked yellow. And she was pleased with herself for choosing feminine frills. Dar liked her to look ladylike. Bouncing on her perch spoiled her picture of gentility, but she didn’t much care. It was only a little bounce, and she subdued her outward show of exuberance quickly.