DragonFire

by Donita K. Paul

  Fewer customers sat at the tables. One man snored while his wife continued an intense conversation with another woman. The well-dressed urohm gentleman carried on a quiet debate with the kimens. The atmosphere of the room had changed after the band shut down and the room began to clear. The people here in Black Jetty had a comfortable life and just wanted to live day to day without complications. A big complication existed in Amara when one considered the war being waged between evil forces. The citizens of Black Jetty were a part of the world whether they wanted to be or not.

  Kale and her father desired to do good. The wizards’ conclave ordered their quest, and Paladin backed them. But did she and her father have permission to gather information unscrupulously? What would Bardon do if he were here?

  Her father watched the other people in the room. After the dance, Kale felt more allied with him, but did she really know how closely he walked within the guidelines of Wulder’s principles?

  She ached to know exactly what he planned. You could get the information you want by invading his mind, she suggested.

  “And I will if he remains reluctant. But let’s give him the chance to aid the cause.”

  That statement didn’t wholly dispel her doubts. Perhaps she should be more direct.

  Father?

  “Yes?”

  Is it wrong to pry into the minds of these good folk, taking what we want without their by-your-leave?

  “Many times in life, the answer to hard questions is ‘That depends.’ Sometimes you have to test the waters, so to speak.”

  I don’t understand.

  “If you are ever mindful of what causes Wulder pleasure and what displeases Him, then you are better able to judge whether your motives line up with His desires.”

  Kale said nothing. Her father’s answer did not give her freedom to dive into other’s thoughts, nor did it give her permission to ignore the quest she and her father had undertaken. His words did nothing to help her make a choice.

  Her father sighed. “Kale, sometimes the answer is either yes or no. You will know without a doubt.” He spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “Even when we have clear direction, we do not always choose the correct path. It is the nature of us all.”

  He rubbed a hand across his head, smoothing his graying hair. “And then there are the times when the answer is not clear.” He held up his hand with his index finger extended. “In those cases, your first consideration is to not harm anyone. Not physically, not mentally, not in any way.”

  He put his hand back down in his lap and surveyed those around to see if any were watching. His serious voice continued to speak within Kale’s mind. “Your second consideration is to not harm yourself. You must not pollute your mind or body with even a taint of evil. Your third consideration is to achieve your goal. Achieving your goal must never be first.”

  He studied her for a moment, his eyes probing hers as if to uncover her soul. She hid her thoughts. He looked away, apparently not happy with what he’d determined.

  “My advice cannot be any more obvious. If you do not understand, then you shall have to gain understanding through experience.”

  Kale laughed.

  “You find that amusing?”

  Not your advice, Father, but that I have received the same admonition from another source at another time. I suppose I should heed the suggestion.

  Her father only harrumphed and glanced toward the returning doneel.

  “Our doneel cook is approaching, and he’s decided to trust us.”

  The cook placed his tankard on the table, then jumped into his seat. He took a swig of his ale.

  “It’s this way,” he said. “Many years ago I lived in Wittoom. I know what it is to have the authority of Wulder deeply ingrained in the culture. Here, we think of Wulder when it is convenient, if at all.”

  “It is this way in many parts of Amara,” said Sir Kemry. His tone did not condemn the people of Black Jetty. “And there are parts of Amara who have forgotten Wulder altogether. They choose to follow their own pleasures.”

  The doneel gazed at his drink, his face solemn. “I know of those depraved places. I used to be a traveling man like most of the folks in this room. But I came upon this small town and decided to stay.” He took a long draw from his cup. “We’re not a bad lot. But we are not as good as we could be either.”

  Kale’s father rested his hand on the doneel’s shoulder. “There are very few of us who are as good as we could be. I don’t claim that distinction.”

  Doxden leaned forward. “Maybe it’s because I was raised in Wittoom.” He glanced around the room. When his eyes came back to Sir Kemry, he paused a moment, then nodded as if he’d made a final decision. “I seem to notice things the others don’t. Things that speak of evil encroaching upon the region. You know, situated as we are, we have great good to the north of us, the urohm and kimen lands. And we have great evil south of us where Crim Cropper and Burner Stox have dominated those lands for years.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  Kale twisted her hands in her lap. Would this cook ever get to the point?

  “Patience, my daughter. This is not only hard for him, it is dangerous as well.”

  He’s stalling.

  “We have time. Let him tell his story in his own way.”

  Kale stifled a sigh of exasperation. She didn’t want to distract the man and give him an excuse to further delay the telling of his tale.

  Doxden leaned back in his chair. “Dragons have always been scarce in this part of Amara. But there were rumors of egg clutches hidden away. Men went into the mountains, searching like they would search for rich ore—gold or silver or the like. But there were no stories of anyone finding the dragon eggs.”

  He took a drink, looked around the room once more, then leaned forward. “About two years ago, the men who went looking for the clutches no longer came back. They vanished.”

  Kale’s hand went to the row of six small bulges at her waist. She could find eggs hidden in those mountains. Would she vanish as well? She looked at her father, and he winked at her. His head moved slightly, indicating he understood her fear, and no, she would not disappear.

  Again, Doxden glanced around. This time he smiled his pleasure at those who conversed in the tavern’s common room. “As you see by the company tonight, we are rarely troubled with the lower races.” He frowned. “About the same time the seekers of dragon eggs started disappearing, bisonbecks and grawligs were spotted in Greenbright Valley. Then it became impossible to penetrate the passes into the valley from any direction. A haze fell over that area, so you could not view the land between the ridges.”

  “And the people believe…?” asked Sir Kemry.

  “That a great and powerful wizard has taken over the valley, and it is not any of our business what goes on there. No one here would appreciate my giving you information. We keep away from those in the valley and pretend they don’t exist. The traders found alternate routes and do not even mention Greenbright Valley, as if to do so would bring bad fortune down upon them.”

  “And the rumors of the dragons? There were sightings?”

  “Not that I know of. Nothing substantial behind the rumors. But the whispers were persistent a year ago, and then they ceased. I don’t think these tales would have stopped abruptly for a natural reason. I believe there is something behind the gossip. And I believe that something is evil.”

  “We wish to investigate, perhaps turn the tide of this invasion. Will you tell us where the valley is?

  The doneel sighed. “Yes.”

  25

  UNPLEASANT SURPRISES

  “I’m surprised it took you so long to get here,” Bardon told Regidor.

  Gilda placed a hand on her hip and protested, “We haven’t been wasting our time.”

  Regidor drew her close with an arm snuggled around her waist. “That isn’t what he meant, sweet woman. And if you take note, he looks as harried as a rabbit with no hole to hide in.”

  Bardon’
s head jerked, and he grimaced at his old friend. “I do not.”

  “You do,” said Regidor.

  Gilda smiled and dipped her elegant hat with a nod of her head. “I agree. He does.” She wrinkled her long nose. “And I’m afraid the news we bring you will not brighten your day.”

  “Great!” Bardon motioned them toward one of the tents set up on the hillside. “Come with me, and I’ll see if I can commandeer some refreshments. We’ve been organizing a network of supplies to get salt to strategic places along the coast.”

  They passed a marione youth wearing huge boots and a too-tight jacket.

  “Lad,” said Bardon, “see if you can hijack the cook and bring him to my tent with food and tea for our friends.”

  “Yes sir.” The boy saluted with more precision than the soldiers who had arrived from Paladin’s forces.

  Bardon led Regidor and Gilda into the headquarters he shared with Sir Dar.

  “How long have you been here?” asked Regidor.

  “A week.”

  “You’ve established quite an outpost in such a short time.”

  “As everyone keeps reminding me, we have no time to spare. Stox and Cropper are up to something we haven’t been able to discover. And who knows when Pretender will pop up to add confusion and chaos.”

  “Are our countrymen finally seeing the malevolence that surrounds them?”

  “To some extent. Dar’s away being a diplomat, trying to make people realize that all this hardship is the result of the devious plans of Burner Stox and Crim Cropper.” He motioned for his company to sit. “Lady Lyll is off saving children.”

  “Saving children?” asked Gilda as she arranged her beautiful gown around her and sat on a camp stool.

  “In one of the seaside towns, she found a workhouse where children labored from dawn to dusk and dined on weak soup.”

  “Again,” said Regidor, “a sign of our society’s degenerate state.”

  Gilda patted his arm. “Not our society, Regidor. Their society.”

  Bardon raised an eyebrow at her, and she fluttered a fan in front of her face.

  “I’m sure,” she said, “when we find the hidden meech colony, we will find a much more civilized social order.”

  In response to Bardon’s inquiring look, Regidor shrugged his shoulders. The meech dragon’s voice entered his head. “Gilda’s philosophy of life is sometimes tainted by her early association with Risto. We’re working on these lapses. But prejudice instilled at an early age is hard to extract.”

  Regidor smiled his toothy grin at his bride and winked. “Yes, my wife longs for more of a higher culture. Since Gilda has been released from her bottle, she no longer allows me to go to rowdy dens of iniquity.”

  “You never!” exclaimed his wife.

  Regidor grinned with the sardonic twist that always made Kale double over in laughter. Bardon wished Kale were here now. She could help him sort out this mix of signals he got from Regidor and Gilda. His wife assured him that Regidor only enjoyed looking worldly-wise, but in actuality, the meech preferred a tamer lifestyle than he pretended.

  Bardon shook his head as he thought. Kale knew Regidor better than anyone, and with the bond that had formed even before the dragon hatched, she certainly should be able to discern his core code of ethics. Gilda, on the other hand, could be either as shallow as she seemed or a river running deep. Only time would tell.

  “Tell him what we saw,” demanded Gilda. “Explain why we took longer to get here than he expected.”

  Regidor leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his interlocked fingers. “We saw a migration of sorts.”

  Gilda rolled her eyes. “We saw bands of grawligs all headed toward a central spot. Of course, we investigated.”

  Regidor steepled his forefingers and tapped them against his lips. “They looked very much like herds of wild deer gathering at a winter pasture.”

  “But, of course,” interrupted Gilda, “grawligs are not herding animals.”

  Bardon shifted uncomfortably on his stool. “They aren’t animals at all.”

  “Technically,” said Gilda. “But I see little reason to belabor the point.”

  Regidor cleared his throat and sent Bardon a warning glance. “Gilda, customarily the people of Amara give the low races the benefit of the doubt until facts prove otherwise. With quiss, blimmets, and schoergs, the evidence indicates they are nonrational beings with no sense of right and wrong. Bisonbecks, grawligs, and mordakleeps have shown themselves to have intelligence and the ability to choose to obey orders.”

  “They also,” said Gilda, “show a propensity to choose to do evil.”

  Regidor sat up straight and stretched. “That’s true.”

  “And ropmas?” Bardon asked, knowing that studying the different races fascinated his meech friend.

  Regidor smiled and stood up. His head almost brushed the tent’s roof. “Ropmas are like big speaking dogs. They can be intensely loyal, but they can’t reason out whether their actions will hinder or help in the long run. They are guided easily and have an unpredictable stubborn streak.”

  He crossed to the tent flap and held it open as the cook and two boys came in with trays of delicacies.

  Regidor sniffed, smiled, and turned a knowing eye on Bardon. “Oh my, you are roughing it, aren’t you? Is that pâté sot grunmere I smell?”

  “If you mean that ground-up meat that Leemiz spreads on bits of bread, yes.”

  “I’m starved,” said Gilda. She pulled off her gloves and motioned for the servants to place the teapot near her. “I’ll pour.”

  “Thank you, Leemiz,” said Bardon. “Thank you, boys.”

  Gilda did not acknowledge their departure, but Regidor tapped each lad on top of his head and gave them the coins he “found” there.

  “Wheezers! Thank you, sir,” said the older boy.

  Regidor reached in his pocket and tipped the cook with a larger coin. He smiled, bowed, and followed his young workers through the tent flap.

  Gilda offered a cup of tea to Bardon. “This is refreshing. We’ve eaten in poor country inns since we started our journey to join you.” She took a bite of a daggart. “Mmm. Delicious!”

  “I agree,” said Lady Lyll from the entrance to the tent, “but I, for one, want to sit in a real chair, at a real table.” She advanced into the small headquarters and gave Gilda a peck on the cheek and Regidor a warm hug.

  Lady Lyll leaned back from the tall meech dragon and patted his leathery cheek. “In celebration of your arrival, I suggest we go into town and eat a real meal, complete with napkins and a tablecloth.” She smiled at Gilda. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, dear?”

  “Yes, and if there is a decent inn, I prefer to sleep in town as well.” Regidor bowed to the women. “Consider it done, sweet ladies.”

  Late that afternoon, Dar returned from his most recent sojourn among the people of Trese and agreed to a trip to the nearest settlement. The seaport of Grail had three taverns and four inns to choose from. Dar knew which one had the most elegant dining hall and delectable cuisine.

  Bardon had to admit that even sitting in the crowded room didn’t dampen his enjoyment of the dinner. He leaned back, sipped his drink of mulled cider, and listened to the others talk of fashion, modish places to visit, bazaars, and excursion trips. He longed for Kale to be with him and could imagine her animated face as she asked questions and laughed at their sillier tales.

  Always, though, their stories had a tinge of regret. The places that used to give so much enjoyment now seemed to have fallen under the tawdry influence of an immoral world. They could think of no place in Amara that had remained untouched.

  Gilda discreetly pointed to a table in a dark corner across the room. “That’s typical of the degeneration we see everywhere. There’s an emerlindian girl keeping company with a bisonbeck. I admit he dresses better than most, and his table manners are more refined, but still…”

  The others followed her gaze and w
atched as the lithe young woman leaned toward the bulky man and whispered something in his ear. Bardon sat up and exchanged an incredulous look with Dar.

  Lady Lyll spoke up. “Don’t judge by appearances, Gilda. There may be more to that story than we can see on the surface.”

  Bardon worked to bring his expression under control. I certainly hope Lady Lyll is right. I can’t imagine a legitimate reason for Leetu Bends to be flirting with a bisonbeck.

  26

  MOUNTAIN ENCOUNTER

  Kale and Sir Kemry set out on foot early the next morning. They had a generous packet of food from Doxden and a map sketched on a brown piece of wrapping paper. Several miles out of town, they spotted Pat and Filia flying fast in a direct line toward them.

  Sir Kemry shaded his eyes. “I may be out of practice with my dragonkeeping skills, but aren’t your dragon friends rather high?”

  “Yes.” Kale scurried toward a rock outcropping and climbed up to see better. “Something must be wrong.”

  The two dragons circled, one a splotchy brown and the other a multitude of pink hues. They spiraled down to land on Kale. All the minor dragons had come to welcome the two travelers back and to exclaim over their adventures. Kale winced at the ruckus their excitement inspired. While they chattered rapidly, she stroked first Filia’s side and then Pat’s tummy.

  “Oh, I’m so glad you made it back. I never would have sent you had I known what danger you’d be in.” She turned to her father to relay what the dragons had said. “They had to dodge rocks from slingshots and—”

  He held up his hand. “I am a Dragon Keeper, Kale. I understood.”

  “I forget. Bardon has trouble understanding when they’re excited.”

  Her father smiled, and she felt his irritation dissipate. “At least with this bit of news, another piece of the puzzle has fallen into place. Confirmation of our suspicions. The ropmas are anxious to capture dragons to keep Burner Stox from raining her devastation upon their community. Their instinct for self-preservation has made them slaves. Rather than die, they serve Stox.”