Two Renegade Realms

by Donita K. Paul

  “Monstrosity? It doesn’t look that bad. In fact, that’s a rather pleasing combination.”

  “Pleasing?” Bridger shrieked, then clamped a clawed hand over his mouth. He continued in a fierce whisper. “I’m not talking about the way it looks. I’m talking about its heart.”

  Cantor could not think of one thing to say.

  “Mor dragons stand for something good. Our teachings center around virtues approved by Primen. Nobility, self-sacrifice, generosity, patience, forgiveness, tolerance of those weaker, desire to help the unfortunate. How will people know what mor dragons are unless they see them acting like mor dragons?”

  He looked over his shoulder toward the beast. “If it was a mor dragon, and I find that hard to believe, then it has been corrupted past all recognition. However, the ignorant will look at it and think it is the norm for mor dragons.”

  Cantor gave his friend a long look, his heart constricting as Bridger’s sorrow flowed over into it. For a moment he glimpsed his friend’s mourning for his dwindling kind and under it his fear that mor dragons were headed for extinction. Cantor still didn’t know what to say.

  “I’m sorry, Bridge.” He put a hand on Bridger’s shoulder. “But there are still those who know the difference between the pretender and the true mor dragon.”

  The dragon let out a great sigh, then he nodded his great head.

  Cantor had never seen his lighthearted friend so solemn. “What do you want to do?”

  Bridger wrinkled his brow and looked at him. “Save my sister, of course. Let’s get on with it.”

  DRAGON FIGHT

  Cantor eased up to peer over the shortest rock. The beast stood and stretched its wings.

  “What’s the plan?” Bridger nudged his back. “Should we lure him down here so we can fight on the ground?”

  Cantor dropped back down to sit on his haunches. “I was hoping to go straight to the rescuing part and skip the fighting. Much less chance of mishap.”

  Bridger settled beside Cantor. “You know the guard isn’t going to let my sister and friends just walk out.”

  Cantor nodded but continued following his own line of thought.

  Bridger stretched his neck so he could peek over the rock, then telescoped it back down.

  A plan had come to Cantor’s mind, and he pondered the details.

  Again Bridger rose up, looked over the rim, and slumped down.

  “Quit being a jack-in-the-box.” Cantor scowled. “You distract me.”

  Bridger managed to sit still for two minutes, and then he popped up and down again. “He’s still there.” The dragon matched Cantor’s glare. “I’m supposed to keep an eye on him. I’ve got to move to keep an eye on him.”

  Cantor said nothing. Bridger hunkered down and waited. It wasn’t a full minute before he spoke. “I’m thinking about using their starnaut juice against them. Bixby can put that crown on that makes her unnoticeable and sneak into their camp. Now, the smell of starnaut juice alone puts humans to sleep. She finds the bottle, tips it over, and they topple, snoring without interruption.”

  “Including Bixby.” Cantor wiped one hand down his face.

  “Oh . . . well . . . that wouldn’t be so bad. Because then my sister and friends can run out, snatch her up, and fly away.”

  “We’ve discovered that starnaut juice inhibits a dragon’s ability to fly.”

  “Then, they can run away.”

  The flap of wings, a strident cry, and a thud against their protective rock jolted the two out of their conversation.

  “I told you.” Bridger straightened as the sound of flight moved away. “I should’ve been watching that beast.”

  “Why did he attack?” Cantor looked from the empty cave on the cliff to the cavern entrance. Two of the King’s Guard stood outside, watching the beast in flight. “Did those two order the strike? Or did they just come out to investigate the disturbance?”

  The beast circled the sky, passing in front of the full moon. Its stark silhouette reminded Cantor that they were handicapped by having no knowledge of how this creature fought. It wasn’t one of the enemies they studied in training. Ordinarily, he would know the attacker’s strengths and weaknesses, its preferences in battle, and its measure of cunning.

  Cantor touched Bridger’s mind and found his friend puzzling over the same things. He chose to speak aloud. Speaking silently from mind to mind required concentration, and he wanted both of them focused on the enemy.

  They kneeled side by side, considering the beast as it strutted back and forth on the thick trunk of a downed tree. The beast, in turn, seemed to be watching for them to make a move.

  Bridger sighed. “I suppose it wants to draw us out.”

  “We need to find out how things are going with Bixby and the other dragons. Could you shift into something small and fast? Something that wouldn’t look out of place in this area at night?”

  “A weasel? I haven’t been a weasel in a long time.”

  “I guess that would do. Tell Bixby and Totobee-Rodolow what’s going on out here. Bring back a report of how ready they are to move.” Cantor clapped Bridger on the shoulder. “You do come in handy from time to time.”

  Bridger’s grin was as wide as Cantor’s. Cantor pulled his hand back as he felt the scales under his hand move.

  Bridger’s weasel was a tad big for the ordinary critter, but with luck no one would observe him as he made his dash. Cantor prayed for his safety as he darted out. At least the moon had moved far enough toward the horizon to provide long, deep shadows. Bridger kept to the murkiness that clung to the rocks and bushes between them and the tunnel entrance.

  Cantor held his breath and kept up his silent prayer until Bridger disappeared into the safety of the cliff’s secret door.

  Bixby sucked in a startled breath when a furry creature tumbled into the cavern from the tunnel. The animal expanded and shifted to become a recognizable visitor.

  “Bridger-Bigelow!” Totobee-Rodolow exclaimed. “How good to see you, brother.”

  “Hello, Tote. Do you know what kind of beast that is out there? It’s complicating the rescue.”

  “Do you remember Great-Uncle Pootanner?”

  Bridger nodded, then his eyes widened as her words penetrated his thinking. He looked aghast at his sister. “No. You don’t mean it.”

  “I’m afraid it’s so.” Totobee-Rodolow’s voice held shame as well as sadness.

  “Did he recognize you?”

  “I haven’t seen him.”

  “Then how do you know?”

  “Rumors. And if you listen closely to that horrible screech, you can hear him giving orders to his division of soldiering dragons.”

  Bridger cocked his head as he thought. “Now that you mention it . . . What made him turn feral?”

  “They say it was when his third wife left him, and the army retired him for overzealous discipline.”

  Another dragon broke into their conversation. “Mor dragons are meant to go with realm walkers. When young Pootanner chose to align himself with the roc dragon army, he set his foot on the wrong path.”

  The dragon Bixby knew as Lupatzey wiggled closer. “That’s right, Ethelmin. It was only a matter of time.”

  A male dragon approached. “You women quit the gossiping and get to work making yourselves dainty again. We need to be small enough to fit through whichever exit is chosen.”

  He turned to Bridger. “Sorry about that, son. You have a report?”

  Bridger’s chest enlarged as he faced the head male of his clan. Bixby listened carefully to Bridger’s well-worded account of the happenings outside.

  She called out to Cantor. “You should hear Bridger. He’s doing such a good job of detailing the circumstances. You’d be proud of him.”

  She didn’t receive a response. No wonder he’d sent Bridger instead of just communicating through their minds. Was it distance, rocks, interference from the rogue dragon? Something was not right.

  Tamping down her worry, she
focused back on Bridger, and caught the end of his report. Bridger turned to her. “Do you have a message to send to Cantor? I’m supposed to tell him when you think you’ll be ready to travel. Vankorge says half an hour. Do you concur?”

  “Yes, half an hour should be plenty of time. I haven’t told them a thing about Chomountain or the Lymen invasion. I thought it best to wait until they are quite themselves again and feeling self-confident.”

  “No problem for Totobee-Rodolow or Vankorge, but the three others are timid.”

  “It will all work out. Take care on your journey back.”

  He saluted her, did a fancy back flip, and departed through the root-lined hole in the wall.

  The beast had swooped over Cantor’s hiding place several times. Undoubtedly an attempt to rattle his calm. His calm was already rattled, but Cantor would not allow that to interfere with his determination to free the prisoners.

  He’d come up with several plans while waiting for Bridger’s return. The best would be to distract the flying menace far from the cavern, then have the dragons battle their way out in its absence. Makki would lead them off to a protected area. He and Bridger would join them when they’d ditched the beast.

  “I’m on my way.”

  Bridger’s thought broke through his concentration, and he turned a searching gaze on the underbrush beneath the cave entrance.

  Just as Cantor spotted the weasel, a scream rent the air, sending a shiver down his spine. He stood and surveyed the area for the beast.

  There, just lifting off from the downed tree. It gave another raucous cry as it thrust its mighty wings down and soared into the sky. Circling, it came lower and lower.

  Cantor cupped his hands on either side of his mouth. “Bridger, it sees you. It’s going to attack. Hide!”

  He’d hoped the beast would dither between its first target and him, a fool shouting out and standing in plain sight, but the beast folded its wings and plunged toward the weasel. Cantor ran. He had to intercept Bridger before the creature caught him.

  “Bridger, hide!”

  Why didn’t the dragon slip into a narrow gap between rocks? Why didn’t he duck under a bush?

  Cantor scrambled over a small ridge of tumbled rocks and pulled his sword. He had a straight path to Bridger. No obstacles would slow him down.

  The weasel stopped and stood on its hind legs, looking at Cantor. “Move, Bridge. It’s coming.”

  He heard the swoosh of air and a wicked chortle. Cantor jumped down to the path and ran. The hind claws of the beast encircled the weasel’s head, and both predator and prey bolted upward. Cantor swung his sword at the empty space above where his friend had just stood.

  He yelled his frustration and looked up. The weasel transformed into Bridger. The larger head forced the beast’s claws to widen, but it managed to hang on. Bridger grabbed its legs above the claws. He swung his tail up and delivered a hefty blow to the beast’s hindquarters, then dug his hind claws into both legs above his handhold. The creature screamed and opened its claws.

  But Bridger didn’t fall. He held on and allowed his body to swing under the beast’s belly. Switching hands, he turned neatly in the air so that they both faced the same direction. The creature shook its feet in an effort to dislodge its cargo.

  Bridger lost his grip on one leg, and the beast used that leg to slash downward, striking the dragon’s face. Bridger cried out.

  Cantor hopped in helpless rage.

  He heard a rumble from the cavern. Half a dozen guards ran helter-skelter for cover as five irate dragons charged out of the entrance. Bixby followed with her knife drawn but no one to attack. Makki followed her, fairly bursting with fervor for the fight. He jumped around and yelled encouragement to the watch of dragons.

  Cantor looked to the sky again and saw the dragons hurtling upward toward the beast. Circling, they shot in one by one, landing stunning blow after stunning blow. At times, two would attack, one from above and one from the side. Bridger had a grip with both clawed hands on one of the beast’s legs. The other leg had been struck in the melee and now hung as if broken.

  Bridger swung forward, lifting his hind legs and slicing at the beast’s chest. As he watched, Cantor saw the next swing would have a longer arch than the previous ones. Bridger kicked up and drove a claw into the creature’s neck. A squirt of blood shot out, and the beast faltered and went limp.

  Cantor’s heart caught in his throat as beast and dragon fell toward the rocky terrain. Two of the dragons swooped in and grabbed the falling corpse. A third flew beneath. At just the right time, Bridger let go and landed on his sister’s back.

  For a moment, Cantor wondered why his dragon friend had not let go and flown on his own.

  Bridger’s sagging body told the tale. Cantor stretched his thoughts to his constant and learned the rest. Bridger was unconscious.

  THE FIRST STONE

  The dusty road wound down the hill and approached a large wall around Higtrap, the capital city of Derson. Standing at the crest, Dukmee examined his gray mage robes.

  He looked over at his traveling companion, Chomountain, who had donned his most magnificent robes, with brilliant colors and flashy metallic embroidered designs on a dark green background. He used an elaborately carved staff so artistically contrived that the play of light and shadow on the animal figures and thick vegetation gave the appearance of movement.

  Sweat trickled down Dukmee’s back, between his shoulder blades. His shirt clung to him. Dampness spread at the waistband of his trousers.

  Why wasn’t Cho hot? Why wasn’t he, too, covered with the fine grit of the road? And why did all those they passed on this trade route ignore them?

  Not that he minded. Being mistaken for a mundane mage never disturbed Dukmee. Nor did he mind the label of humdrum healer or stuffy scholar or routine realm walker. The fact that he was all of these and a bit more did make him extraordinary. Chomountain had called him a savant. He would admit to that. But being extraordinary got in the way of doing all the things he liked to do. People tended to want to talk about what he could do instead of letting him go off and do it.

  Chomountain stepped off the road and sat on a large flat boulder, conveniently just the right height for a bench and located under a fragrant shade tree. The sweet smell came from large white blossoms, flowers as big as dinner plates. And the oversized, waxy dark green leaves rattled in the breeze with a very rhythmic clatter.

  Dukmee blinked. A moment ago, there had been no tree and no bench, but he was growing used to such occurrences. Chomountain definitely possessed more skills, more highly developed skills, than he.

  The two men sat on the rock and watched the people pass by.

  “They don’t look at us.” Dukmee waved to a child, but the child did not respond.

  “Two men taking their ease,” said Chomountain. “What’s to see?”

  “I’d expect the children to come look at the pictures on your robes. They’re attractive.”

  “Are you suggesting that I would lure them to my side?”

  “No! But you must be doing something to make them ignore you.”

  “I’m not doing anything. Surprisingly, people can be surrounded by the glorious creation of Primen and not see it. Just as they don’t see the colors of my robe.”

  A toddler, riding in a pouch on his mother’s back, cooed and waved tiny fists in the air. His merry eyes were locked on Dukmee’s companion.

  Chomountain laughed, blew a kiss, and waved good-bye.

  Puzzled, Dukmee could not let that pass. “He sees you.”

  “The very young often do. But as they grow older . . .” Chomountain shook his head, looking sad. “Sometimes they don’t hear. I can introduce myself as Chomountain, and even though they know the significance of the suffix mountain, they don’t realize they are talking to the right hand of Primen.”

  “Doesn’t that anger you?”

  “It’s not my place to be angry. My work is to bless people, not curse them.” He stood a
nd stretched. “The curator should be back from his midday meal now. We can gain entrance to the museum.”

  “That’s what we were waiting for?”

  Chomountain grabbed his staff from its resting place against the tree and tapped the end twice on the ground. “You had better stand.”

  Dukmee stood. Chomountain tapped twice again. The tree and rock bench disappeared. Dukmee watched the people on the road. No one seemed to have noticed.

  “How do you do that? How is it possible?”

  “The principle is the same as your hampers. You put something inside the hamper, and it’s stored somewhere else in the universe. It’s not gone, just relocated temporarily. I merely do this with larger objects and without a physical hamper. The hamper is simply a prop, you see.”

  Dukmee didn’t see, but he knew Cho well enough by now to sense further probes would get him no better answers.

  They walked into town with no interference from the guards at the gate. No matter which way they turned, the crowds in the market town parted for them to pass. The people in front of them stepped aside without any apparent recognition of the two walking toward them. As Dukmee looked over his shoulder, he saw the people merge. He had the uncanny feeling that these people did not even know they had stepped aside to allow him and his traveling partner to pass.

  Dukmee had never been to Higtrap before. The city had once been the agricultural center of this vast plain of rich soil. The Port of Ponduc had taken over that claim as more and more produce was shipped across the ocean to foreign countries. The Higtrap markets were said to have been reduced by half. If that were so, the crush of people, carts, and animals must have made life in the city miserable.

  As they walked freely through the crowded marketplace, Dukmee eyed the wares for sale in the booths. He chuckled to himself as he thought of what Bixby’s reaction would be if she were with them. He hoped they would find Totobee-Rodolow and persuade the luxurious dragon to join their group once again.

  Bridger’s sister delighted in shopping as much as Bixby did, though the mor dragon bought less frequently. She stored away design and color combinations and textures, which she later copied as she shape-shifted her body into various styles. She did enjoy acquiring necklaces and rings.