Two Renegade Realms

by Donita K. Paul

  On purpose. So they wouldn’t be more than friends. Wary friends.

  Cantor was smart. She did another about face. He must not see her expression. He’d know she’d figured out what was behind that silly stunt. He wanted to protect her.

  But now she knew. He’d overreact if he knew her priority mission. If she needed to tell someone about the little job her father had given her, it would be Chomountain she would tell. Not Cantor.

  Cantor watched Bixby enter the animal shed. A proper barn, really — long and low and filled with stalls and feed rooms, an animal infirmary, a tack room with more fishing tackle than tack, and a tannery. He’d discovered it was buildings that had been connected on to one another. So a string of sheds took up half the building with a door in the front and one in the back of each unit. Another part held a string of rooms connected to each other.

  He dropped the woolly brown mitten back in the hamper of coldwear. He twitched for something to do. His emotions had set him on edge. A realm walker never lost compassion, but never succumbed to passion either. Emotional fervor inhibited thinking. Lack of control could get a realm walker killed . . . and the people he’d vowed to safeguard.

  The best thing he could do for Bixby was treat her like a little sister. And that’s what he’d done. The prank sprang into play at the sight of her suspicious face. No premeditation, just an opportune answer to an awkward situation.

  He knew he hadn’t frightened her. He’d seen her fight and knew within that frail body, hidden under yards of feminine frippery, a valiant heart drove Bixby to do courageous things. But he’d startled her. She hadn’t really expected him to be such a teaser.

  Teasing was better than flirting. Flirting could get them killed.

  He wouldn’t lie to himself. In the past few weeks, he’d found himself thinking about her in too many unguarded moments, fighting the urge to protect her — even from Chomountain’s gentle chastisement, watching her for the sheer pleasure of her dance-like moves.

  But they would never dance together. He was more than three feet taller than she was, and his thigh was probably bigger around than her waist. And more than that, her parents were king and queen of Richra. He didn’t know his parents, but the two elderly people who had raised him were peasants. There had been legendary realm walker couples, but very few, and none from such divergent backgrounds.

  He stood and went into the dimly lit cabin to fetch another hamper.

  He’d forgotten Dukmee and his mysterious sphere. When Dukmee leaned back in the only chair, Cantor jumped enough to bash his head on one of the low beams supporting the roof.

  The mage came to his feet to offer Cantor his sympathy. “Here, sit on the bed. Let me look at that. It’s bleeding a little. You’ll have a goose egg in a bit.”

  Cantor sat with his teeth clenched. He’d let the mage coddle him until the stars left his vision. Then he’d tell Dukmee to quit acting like an old woman.

  “Old woman?” Dukmee laughed. “Your thought shield slipped there, my friend, and that came through loud and clear. You won’t consider me an old woman if you need a healer after battle.”

  Cantor watched him pour a solution on a cloth and then felt him slap it on his small wound. He expected it to sting, but instead the cool, wet potion eased the pain.

  He sucked in a breath and shot Dukmee a rueful smile. “Thank you.”

  “So, sounds like you’re in a bit of trouble with our friend the princess. Don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll forgive you soon enough.” Dukmee sat in the chair, picked up the globe, and tossed it from hand to hand.

  “Should you be doing that?”

  Dukmee grinned. “It’s unbreakable. I’ve already dropped it. Well, it rolled off the table while I was getting a drink. Since it didn’t shatter when it hit the floor, I hammered it with the fire poker.”

  “Naturally.” He didn’t think he would have beat something that valuable. “At least it’s one less worry. When the guild soldiers swoop down to capture you, we only need keep your skin intact and not protect a fragile orb.” Cantor shifted the pad on his head, off center a bit, to where the flesh still tingled. “Have you discovered something to help us?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have.”

  “Well?”

  “The founders of the society that populated the ruins liked to make things complicated. Rather, they believed that obscuring information and making it hard to find protected it from their enemies. Therefore, they didn’t just write the book. They wrote the book, hid the book, and then hid two stones that tell where the book is.”

  Cantor stared at Dukmee. How can he be pleased with this information? Lymens are due to invade, and we have no defense. Now we have to go chasing around after two stones? And the two stones aren’t even the goal but tell us another place to chase down?

  So far, being a realm walker reminded him of a dog chasing his tail. The dog seemed to enjoy the activity, but nothing was ever gained.

  Light flashing off the shiny bits of Chomountain’s magnificent robe announced his arrival through the back door, with Neekoh close behind. He stopped to survey the room. Holding the lapels of his robe at his chest, he looked to be a man sure of himself and the authority he could wield, yet enough of Old Trout’s demeanor remained to keep him from appearing pompous.

  “Ah, a quest! Nothing more invigorating than having a quest as the first step in a venture to save the world. A quest should be the beginning of every endeavor.”

  The right hand of Primen looked intently at the three men with him. “Don’t you agree, Neekoh?”

  “Yes, sir.” The former guardian of Chomountain bobbed his head to emphasize his agreement.

  “But, gentlemen, I must inform you,” said Cho in his most authoritative tone, “Neekoh will not be going with us.”

  Cantor stifled a groan. Now what?

  “Neekoh has been promoted to guardian of Bright Valley. Next time I come for a small vacation, my caretaker will have everything in order, just as it is on the day we leave.”

  Cantor couldn’t escape his negative reaction to this statement. Providing the world is still traveling through space, not occupied by Lymens, and not blown up by councilmen. And when is Cho due a vacation? Hasn’t he been off fishing for a thousand years or more?

  Cantor stood. “I need to talk to Bridger. Excuse me.”

  CHO’S SURPRISES

  Cantor sighed his relief when he saw Bridger sleeping under his favorite tree. The dragon had stretched forward with his chin resting on his crossed arms. Shaped as his dragon self, Bridger was the size of a bull. His ears twitched as Cantor neared.

  One eye opened, exposing an intelligent gaze. Bridger opened the other eye, lifted his chin, and shook his head, making his scales from the top of his head down his neck and shoulders rattle. A stiff spurt of wind clattered through the leaves in the tree above. The dragon sniffed the air and cast an eye toward the darkening clouds. He appeared to be ignoring Cantor’s approach.

  Cantor stopped just a few feet in front of the dragon, who slowly turned his head and looked at his visitor. Cantor shifted from one foot to the other. He needed to get this done so they could get on to more important things.

  He looked straight into Bridger’s eyes. “I overreacted.”

  Bridger nodded.

  Cantor smiled and sat down cross-legged in front of him, glad Bridger was not going to be awkward about his outburst. Sometimes the dragon got huffy and made Cantor’s life miserable for days. But often Bridger just brushed off Cantor’s ill temper.

  Stretching out his legs, Cantor leaned back on his arms and looked up at the rolling clouds. The air smelled fresh, with the scent of rain carried on a sporadic breeze. The day promised change. No more static waiting around.

  Cantor reflected that not having to deal with a disgruntled dragon was one more point toward a positive shift. He glanced at his companion and noticed Bridger’s glittering eyes positioned to peer down his nose. A haughty dragon.

  Oh, so he wasn�
��t going to get off without a reprimand, after all. A chilly breeze ruffled Cantor’s hair and sent a shiver down his back.

  Bridger’s tone matched the temperature of the air. “Dukmee might decide to put his other skills to the side for a while and concentrate on being a realm walker.”

  Cantor understood the meaning behind this comment. “And if he does, he’ll need a constant. And you just might be available.”

  “There aren’t that many mor dragons willing to leave the comforts of home.”

  “And that’s why I’m here to talk to you.”

  Bridger tilted his head at the unexpected comment. His words tumbled out as he backpedaled his hint to switch allegiance. “I’m not eager to change constants at this late date. We’ve been together for three years. Official or not, we’re bonded.”

  Cantor sat up. “And Dukmee has no desire to put aside everything to be exclusively a realm walker.”

  “Well, you’re right in that he hasn’t mentioned it lately, but he has suggested such a thing from time to time.”

  “For now, Bridge, we have to work together.” Cantor pulled his jacket tighter and buttoned the few buttons he had left. He’d scraped off quite a few when sliding through uncomfortable tunnels, looking for the Library of Lyme.

  He rubbed his hands together and wished the dragon was in the mood to blow a little warm air on him. Since Bridger wasn’t taking the hint, Cantor returned to laying out his plan. “We need to enlist at least two more dragons. Dukmee says we must go on a quest before we have enough information to thwart the Lymens.”

  Bridger scratched behind his ear. “It won’t do much good if we get the information the week after the onslaught.”

  “My thinking exactly. I’m going to suggest we split up. You and I can go to Effram and find some of your kin to help.”

  “That’s going to be a tall order.” Bridger frowned. “Being taken on as a constant used to be every little mor dragolet’s dream of glory. But corruption in high places sullies the water downstream. Few eligible dragons in these times think the job worthy of our righteous race.”

  At Cantor’s grunt, Bridger continued. “Think of it. We know the guild is corrupt. Although the councilmen are not realm walkers, they influence those under them. No noble dragon wants to be associated with a morally weak realm walker. The number of hatchlings is down because the guild no longer nurtures young prospects into fulfilling their destinies.”

  Cantor picked a blade of grass and wrapped it around his finger. He must choose his words carefully. He unwrapped the blade and tossed it to the ground. “I see all the problems, Bridge. However, I don’t think our mission can be successful without the mor dragons, bonded or not.”

  He paused and allowed himself to reach out to Bridger with the essence of his spirit, a type of communication practiced between constants. Loathe as Cantor usually was to admit it, Bridger was right. The length of their association had created a bond Cantor most often chose to ignore.

  The rhythm of the dragon’s body revealed to Cantor how receptive he was to the idea. He felt Bridger’s pleasure at realizing how vital his kinsmen were to the defense of their world. Bridger’s embarrassment that the other dragons might not respond to the call to arms rippled through both the dragon and Cantor. Bridger’s desire to make the request was hampered by his fear that his kin would let him down.

  A rumble in the distance reminded Cantor of the storm coming. “It would be good to have a mor dragon paired to each member of our party. But even one additional mor dragon would substantiate our forces. Three would be a boon for our side in any fray we entered.”

  He stood. “Let Dukmee and Cho and Bixby seek some vague bit of knowledge that may not be of any use. You and I will seek warriors who will make a difference.”

  Bridger stood as well, and the hamper Cho had given him fell to the ground.

  Reluctant to press the dragon any further, Cantor swooped up the dropped container. “What was in your bag, Bridge?”

  The dragon smacked his lips. “Snacks.”

  “What kind of snacks?”

  Bridger shrugged and ambled toward the cabin. “Tasty snacks.”

  Cantor followed. “A goodly supply?”

  “At the time I opened the hamper, it overflowed.”

  Cantor pulled the drawstring loose and reached inside.

  “Ahem.” A twinkle brightened Bridger’s eye. “Quite possibly enough fare for five grown men on a three-day expedition. Or seven lonely women having tea each afternoon for a month. Or one hungry dragon who, for a long time, had been without delights such as cinnamon fudge, lemon-frosted tangerine cookies, buttered popcorn, candied peanuts, or long strips of bacon-flavored dried banana.”

  “And how long did it last the hungry dragon?”

  “An hour, perhaps. And perhaps fifteen minutes more. I became too drowsy to keep an accurate accounting of the time.”

  Cantor laughed at Bridger’s haughty tone. The dragon mimicked people as well as objects.

  Lightning flashed. Thunder boomed. Bridger stretched a wing over Cantor just as huge pellets of rain smashed into the ground.

  “We’re going to get soaked,” yelled Cantor. “Run.”

  They charged across the lawn to the bare ground in front of the cabin. Clattering up the wooden steps on the porch, Cantor laughed at all the noise they made. He stopped and looked down at the plank floor beneath them, the railing, and the steps.

  “Don’t look, Bridger, but tell me how many steps lead up to the porch.”

  “Three.”

  “Look.”

  Bridger obliged. “Five?”

  “You’re not crazy, my friend. When I left less than an hour ago, there were three.”

  “Wizardry,” Bridger said. “Dukmee or Cho?”

  A gust of wind brought a sheet of rain across the porch.

  Cantor sidled up to the wall. “Why bother?”

  “Practice,” Chomountain said from the doorway. “I need to polish my skills of space and matter management. Come in.”

  He held the door wide. Bridger entered first and paused.

  “Move.” Cantor poked him. “I’m getting wet.”

  Usually when Bridger entered the cabin, he deflated himself. Cantor noticed as he squeezed through that the dragon had done nothing to shrink.

  When he looked around, he understood. “Oh.”

  Chomountain had done some remodeling. The swinging bed, scarred table, corner kitchen, and storage shelves no longer crowded the little room. And the little room was no longer little. A table large enough to accommodate all of them sat to one side under a real hanging lamp. Large comfortable chairs circled a rug close to a stone fireplace. Stairs led to another level. Doors on each side of the main room hinted at yet more space.

  “Come in, come in.” Chomountain ushered them forward with an odd combination of Old Trout’s quirky friendliness and the great Chomountain’s dignity. “I’ve prepared a meal from recipes I’ve half forgotten, but I believe I’ve done well enough. This might be our last meal together for a while.”

  Cantor frowned. “Why do you say so?”

  “You and Bridger are going to Effram. An excellent idea. Bixby will go with you, of course. She and Totobee-Rodolow can aid in persuading the mors that this is a worthy cause with no nefarious characters attached to it.”

  Cantor and Bridger exchanged a look and a feeling. The right hand of Primen knew a bit too much of their business. By what means did he acquire it? Eavesdropping? Mind mining? Messages from Primen?

  Chomountain crossed the room to a door that had not been there before. “The kitchen’s in here. Come help load the table.”

  “Where’s Dukmee?” asked Bridger.

  “In his bedroom, reading the orb.”

  Cantor turned toward the door. “Bixby and Neekoh are in the shed. I’ll go get them.”

  “No, no. Too much rain.” Cho stopped for a minute, his eyes cast to the ceiling. “There. I’ve moved them.”

  Tramping
of feet on the ceiling drew Cantor’s attention to the stairs. Bixby and Neekoh banged down the newly added steps.

  “We were in the barn,” Neekoh began, his breath coming in gasps.

  “He moved us.” Bixby snapped her fingers. She peered around the room, then at Chomountain. “Cho?”

  He nodded.

  Her delicate features glowed with excitement. “No warning. Just blink your eyes and you’re someplace else. I’d like to be able to do that.”

  A door opened, and Dukmee entered the room. “I was concentrating, and when I put down the globe, I was in another room.” He gazed around the altered space. “Have I been asleep?”

  They all turned to stare at Cho.

  “No, Dukmee, not asleep.” His hands gestured his desire for them to calm down. “Now, don’t be upset. It’s rather fun to do these things after such a long time of fishing every day.”

  “Can you move people over great distances?” asked Cantor.

  “Can you build prisons around select groups of invaders?” asked Dukmee.

  “Can we have dinner?” asked Bridger.

  A TRIP TO EFFRAM

  When they walked through the portal and into Effram, Bridger cheered. Bixby covered her ears to save her hearing from the thunderous roar. With a yeowl of protest, Jesha jumped away and ran to hide behind some rocks.

  Bridger widened his grin until even his fist-sized, multi-pointed molars gleamed in the sunlight. A dragon’s smile always touched Bixby’s heart — with fear. With Bridger, though, familiarity with his comical nature prevailed. She grimaced at her friend and pulled her hands away from her ears.

  “Sorry, Bix!” Bridger beamed as he looked around his home plane. “I got excited. We haven’t been here in a long time.”

  Cantor stretched, did a few forms to limber his muscles, and then stood looking off to the west. “I wonder if the dragons still keep to themselves.”

  When he had been to Effram before, all the dragons congregated in Tinendoor by the poisonous Sea of Joden. The mor dragon population had shrunk in recent decades. They now numbered fewer than any of the other breeds.