One Realm Beyond

by Donita K. Paul

  “So how’d you know it was a drugged dragon? How’d you know it was a she?”

  “Because I went with them. I helped carry her. We came to the door, and we put her down. The tarp slipped and I saw her tail, but I just pretended I didn’t see anything. They told me to go back. I started to walk away, and I heard one of them say she’d never get out of the dungeon.”

  Kreeg didn’t speak.

  “I know a dragon tail when I see one, Kreeg. And the guard said it was a she.”

  “You better forget you saw or heard anything.”

  “I forgot it already.”

  Silence filled the night air. Kreeg stirred. “Where was that door?”

  “Under the bridge, through a tunnel, and into a cellar where they keep stuff for the kitchen. Behind the sacks of flour.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t remember.”

  “I don’t.”

  “I think you do.”

  Kreeg made a swift movement. Bolar grunted. Kreeg stood. Bolar fell over. Kreeg wiped his knife in the grass and sheathed it. He picked up the bowls and walked back to the carriages closer to the house.

  Cantor’s leg had gone to sleep. He moved out anyway.

  TROUBLE, DEEP

  Cantor inched up the hill, keeping to the bushes and tall grass. His leg tingled as he approached the top, and he felt he could stand now if he had to. Two small furry creatures sped past him. The second one spoke in a high, raspy voice, but still managed to sound like Bridger. Ahma’s Tom would have barked, but Cantor did not expect Bridger to meow. His dragon seemed to have better control while shifted into another shape.

  “Hurry!” said Bridger-cat. “Bixby’s in trouble.”

  Cantor stood and hobbled as quickly as he could over the remaining few yards. He flattened himself just before the crest, then rolled to the other side. He studied the decline and spotted movement. Cautiously approaching the nearest bush, he waited to see if these were his friends or an enemy. One form in the shadows looked like a pile of clothing. When he saw two smaller shadows circling and sniffing, he decided the cats had found Bixby. A plaintive moan prodded him to his feet.

  As Cantor rushed to Bixby’s side, Bridger transformed into his dragon shape. “It’ll take me a few minutes to get myself big enough to fly with all of you on my back.”

  Cantor nodded and knelt beside Bixby. She’d curved herself into a ball and held her head with both hands. Jesha rubbed against her.

  He turned Bixby into his arms and cradled her head against his chest. “What happened?” His breath stirred the wild curls on the top of her head. He couldn’t see her face.

  “My head. That man! He tried to get into my brain.”

  Cantor held her with one arm and struggled to retrieve his water bottle with the other hand. “Here. Drink this.”

  Tipping her face up, she took a few sips, but the grimace twisting her face didn’t lessen. “Pour it on my head.”

  He dribbled some over her hair and on her neck. She sighed with relief. He gave her another sip.

  “Keep pouring,” she begged.

  Bridger hovered close by, gradually increasing. “I’m trying to hurry. It takes a while to go from cat to flying dragon size.”

  Cantor was about to snap at him for chattering at his back when he realized something. He glanced up at the dragon. “I’m rushing you, aren’t I?”

  “You’re radiating urgency like the sun puts out light. A constant, even if a temporary constant, can’t help but feel these things.”

  Cantor closed his eyes and took a precious moment to order his thoughts. He needed to work with Bridger. Bixby’s life might depend upon it. “Dukmee will have something to heal her.”

  Bridger leaned closer. “Do you have a spare cloth?”

  Shifting Bixby again, Cantor handed the dragon a washcloth out of the hamper that had held the water bottle.

  Bridger took it and trotted down the hill and across a field. When he returned, the rag was soaking wet.

  “There’s a stream down in the glade.”

  Cantor took the cloth, folded it, and draped it over Bixby’s forehead.

  Jesha jumped onto Bridger’s shoulder. The dragon stroked her. “She’s nervous.”

  Cantor poured more water into Bixby’s hair, ignoring the cold trickles that ran down his arm where he held her. “Why?”

  “Those men are evil. That house has a malevolent air.”

  “Did you learn a lot?” Cantor looked up at his friend.

  Bridger nodded yes and then wagged his head no. Then shrugged. “Bits and pieces.”

  “Me too.” He took off the cloth, turned it over and replaced it with the cooler side down. “Maybe when we get back to the vilta, we can put all the pieces together.”

  “I’m almost ready. Can she fly?”

  “If I hold on to her. Dukmee will know what to do.”

  Bixby moaned. “No, no, no Dukmee.”

  Cantor propped her up a bit more. “What’s the matter, Bix? You like Dukmee.”

  Her head flopped to one side, then back. “No.”

  Bridger frowned. “Has she ever had to drink a healer’s potions?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, that would explain her not wanting to go see Dukmee. His potions are sometimes abominable.” Bridger flapped his wings. “I’m going to make a seat and straps. Then I’ll be ready.”

  Cantor realized the dragon had been stretching diligently. He was now the size of an elephant. Jesha sat on his head.

  He had to depend on Bridger to get Bixby to safety. “Are you all right? You didn’t do that too fast, did you?”

  “I’m fine, but I couldn’t do this over and over without making myself sick. The shifting isn’t hard, but changing sizes is tricky.”

  Cantor gently laid Bixby down, stood, and then scooped her up.

  “I don’t know how I’m going to climb up there and carry her.”

  “That’s no problem. Or I guess it could have been a problem, but I thought of it and so it’s not now. Put her down on my wing, climb up, and I’ll lift her to you.”

  Bridger stretched out a wing so the tip rested in front of Cantor.

  Cantor followed the instructions. When he was settled, Bridger rolled the tip of his wing over Bixby. As he raised his wing, Bixby slid toward Cantor.

  “Be careful!” Cantor unhooked one leg and reached toward the slipping girl. “She’s going catawampus.”

  Bridger deftly tilted the wing and corrected her wobbly descent. “Got her?”

  “Yes. Wait until I get us situated again.” He pulled his cloak from a hamper and draped it over Bixby’s still form. He put a jacket on, and invited Jesha to come ride in Bixby’s lap. Her furry warmth would help.

  When Cantor gave the signal, Bridger jumped into the air and circled higher and higher above the hill.

  Cantor watched the scene below grow smaller. He wrapped his cloak tighter around Bixby and Jesha in response to the chill in the higher air. Now that they flew just below the clouds, he expected Bridger to take off in the direction of the vilta. Instead, he continued to circle.

  “Bridger, do you know which way to go to the vilta?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Then why are we going in circles?”

  “I put a powerful amount of muscle in that wing to lift Bixby. Now I have to balance the pull so we can go straight.”

  “Oh, like rowing with only one oar.” Cantor accepted that as a logical outcome. Earlier in their acquaintance, he would have chalked the mishap up to Bridger’s ineptitude. “Did you know that was going to happen?”

  “Well, no.” Bridger’s loop became wider. “But I’ll know next time.”

  The dragon managed to straighten his path after several more orbits.

  Bixby moaned.

  Cantor held her closer. “It won’t be long now.”

  All the lights were out at the vilta. Cantor used the electricity generated from his hands to jolt the lock of one of the side door
s. Bridger carried Bixby into Dukmee’s library and laid her on the couch. Jesha leapt onto the sofa and found a place next to Bixby’s shoulder to curl up and keep watch.

  Cantor went to wake the healer.

  He knocked softly on the door to the man’s bedroom.

  “Coming,” Dukmee called from inside. The door opened, and the healer appeared, looking disheveled. He pulled on his robe and tied the sash. “You’re distressed. Tell me what’s happened.”

  “It’s Bixby. She’s ill.”

  “Where’ve you been?”

  Cantor explained as they walked through the corridors. “We discovered Totobee-Rodolow was missing, and after dinner, we went to find her. We thought first she would be at a market, but at the first one we checked the merchants behaved strangely whenever we mentioned her. We decided the situation was worse than we first thought, so we headed for the vilta to consult you.”

  “You might have consulted me before you left.”

  Cantor didn’t answer. They both knew the three had made a poor choice.

  “As we flew back, Bridger noticed a farmhouse with carriages gathered around it. Some sort of meeting was going on, and we decided to investigate. Bridger and Jesha went inside as cats. I hung around the grooms and drivers. Bixby used her crowns to find out who was in the building.”

  Dukmee quickened his step. “She strained her mind by using her skill at too great an intensity and for too long.”

  “She mumbled about a man attacking her, trying to get into her mind, find her identity. At least, that’s what we think. She hasn’t been very coherent, but it’s obvious her head hurts.”

  Moments later, Dukmee walked into the library with Cantor directly behind him. “Help me find the hamper that holds her crowns.”

  Cantor knew where it would be. He remembered from the many times he’d seen her pull it from between folds of her skirts. Gently shifting her position on the couch, he drew out the hamper. Dukmee took it from him, sat on a chair, and rummaged through the bag. “Two are missing.”

  “She didn’t have them on when we found her.”

  Dukmee chose a thin circlet with a few diamonds attached at even intervals around the rim. He placed it on her head.

  “That will help, but we need to retrieve the other crowns.”

  Bridger had put himself out of the way. At the edge of the room, next to a wall filled with portraits, he came to attention. “We’ll go.”

  Cantor started for the double glass doors that led to the veranda.

  “Wait. First tell me what you learned at this meeting.”

  Cantor sighed. He wanted to go do something, not stand around and talk. “I learned there’s an entrance to the dungeons near the kitchen storage room.” He looked at Bridger. “Totobee-Rodolow’s been taken there.”

  Bridger caught his breath. He sagged against the wall, knocking two portraits of distinguished realm walkers askew. Jesha leapt from her position on Bixby and darted to sit on the dragon’s shoulder. She leaned against his neck.

  Dukmee sighed and turned to Bridger. “The best way to help your sister is by . . .” He paused. “Bridger, tell me what you learned. When we have facts, we can act.”

  Bridger shuddered, then took a deep breath and drew himself erect. Stroking Jesha, he carried the cat over and replaced her next to Bixby.

  “A group of councilmen plot to kill the others. They can gain more control when they divide the power among thirty-six instead of ninety-nine.”

  Dukmee nodded and turned to scrutinize Bixby. “And do you know what Bixby learned?”

  “No.” Cantor looked at his dragon friend. “Didn’t she have a notebook?”

  “Yes. But I didn’t see it anywhere around her.”

  “She’d rolled down the hill.”

  Dukmee went to a cabinet and opened the doors. “I’m going to give her an elixir. Hopefully, she’ll be able to answer questions by the time you get back. Find those crowns and her notes. We don’t want those men to know we were the ones spying.”

  He glanced toward the glass doors. “It’s almost dawn. I suggest you hurry.”

  GATHERING FORCES

  Bixby sat up. Jesha stretched beside her. The room was cool and dark with the drapes pulled over the many long windows and glass doors — Dukmee’s library. Where were Cantor and Bridger?

  She tried to stand, lost her balance, and sat down hard on the couch. The jolt rattled her brain, and she remembered how very sick she’d been. She lifted her hand to her head and found a healing circle tangled into her hair. She must have tossed a lot while she was unconscious.

  She remembered Errd Tos. Her arms folded across her midriff. It was her mind, not her stomach, she should be protecting. Strings of pain and terror still threaded through her thoughts. She collapsed back onto pillows and blankets.

  Jesha leapt aside as Bixby thumped down almost on top of her. The cat stared at the girl reproachfully. With a haughty turn of her head, she licked a front paw and began her morning ritual of putting herself in order.

  Bixby stroked the cat’s head between her ears. “I need to do some grooming as well.”

  A glass and pitcher sat on an end table. She scooted along the cushions until she could reach them, drank the full glass of clear liquid, then refilled it from the pitcher. An elixir. She remembered Dukmee holding her in a sitting position so she could sip the tart fluid.

  Where was he now? Something niggled at her brain. Something about Dukmee and those horrid men.

  The doorknob rattled, then the door opened. Dukmee entered, followed by a servant with a tray.

  The servants were spies. She remembered a statement made by Errd Tos that confirmed their suspicions. He had said something else, but the memory shivered and hid from being ferreted out.

  “You’re awake. Good. Head any better?” Dukmee gave her a searching look, and she was sure he’d analyzed her state of health.

  He gestured for the man to place the tray on a small round table near the windows. Then he came to her side and took her wrist, resting his fingers on her pulse. After a moment, he gave a nod of approval. “Good, good. Can you sit at the table?”

  He helped her stand and supported her to where the servant held out a chair. “Thank you, Seymour. That will be all.”

  Before he left, the servant put a dish of milk on the floor. Jesha sauntered over and sniffed his offering. She waited until the door closed behind him to lap the milk.

  Bixby sat and placed her hands in her lap.

  Dukmee folded his long frame into the other chair. “You haven’t said a word.”

  The memory twitched. Bixby snatched it then tossed it away. Too late. She knew what she had learned at the farmhouse. A storm brewed in her chest as Bixby focused on the one horrid bit of knowledge. “You work for them.”

  “Them?”

  “Those wicked councilmen.”

  He frowned, picked up her toast, and spread bright red jam across the golden top. “Bixby, you’ve always known I was in the employ of the guild.”

  “The servants spy on us, and you make sure we aren’t equipped properly for the job.”

  He put the toast back on her plate, but continued to hold the knife as he gazed at the door to the hall. “Of course the servants spy on us.” He paused, then set the knife on the tray. He scooped sugar into her tea. “Do you want cream as well?”

  “Yes.”

  He poured the cream from a small china jug, then stirred the brew. “Ah, that smells like a flower garden.”

  She picked up the delicate cup and sipped the warm tea. The flavorful taste pleased her, and the warmth soothed her raw throat. She realized the outside muscles of her neck were tight and sore. But her head hurt only if she moved quickly, and the nausea had disappeared. She was better, and her regained health was probably due to Dukmee’s healing gifts.

  She dipped her spoon in the bowl of porridge. Dried fruit and crumbled nuts floated on the top of the thick, creamy crushed grain and oatmeal mixture.

  Du
kmee watched her. “You don’t think I’m doing an adequate job as your mentor?”

  “They are counting on you to not do your job.”

  “I see.” He tapped a finger on the table, then abruptly stopped. “The servants spy. The spies report to the councilmen that I am not preparing you properly. The corrupt Guildsmen are pleased, and you are not.”

  She nodded and ate more of the porridge.

  “Number one. You are wondering if I am fulfilling my obligation to get you ready for the arduous tasks of being a realm walker.

  “Number two. You’ve heard I’m doing a poor job. If so, you’re wondering if it’s deliberate negligence on my part, because I desire to please the corrupt guild. Or, if I am doing a poor job without malice, is it because I am inadequate to train you and your cohorts?”

  Bixby fixed her eyes on her teacup, and she swallowed a large amount. She put the cup down but avoided Dukmee’s eyes. Picking up the jam-covered toast, she nibbled with deliberate concentration.

  Dukmee poured himself tea and spent some time preparing it to his liking.

  He stirred well past the time the tea was blended with the sugar and cream. “We can’t answer number one until we’ve answered number two. I have three statements that can put your mind at ease, if you believe them to be true.”

  She looked up, wanting to read honesty in his eyes.

  He smiled. “I’m not interested in pleasing the guild members. To my own pleasure, I’ve enjoyed feeding them false information through their spies. I’m perfectly capable of training you and the others in the ways of a realm walker. I’m convinced that your training will equip you to either handle a situation with expediency, or to evaluate a problem and determine an adequate response.”

  Bixby tried to keep her expression neutral, but it was no use. She frowned as she contemplated their time at the vilta. She’d witnessed Dukmee allowing the servants to overhear half-truths, not lies, but misleading statements. That much would be true. And as for his allowing them to be slack in their training, weariness, sore muscles, and hours of study proved that accusation wrong.

  Unprepared? She knew cocky Cantor thought he was more than able to level forests and build cities. Any more certain of his ability to do the things he’d trained for would cause problems. They’d have to widen doors to get his head through.