Dragons of the Valley

by Donita K. Paul

  “Very good.” Beccaroon hopped down. “I see no reason to wait. How soon can you have Lady Peg ready to embark?”

  “Left on her own, it would take a day or so, but I’ll help and have her down to the courtyard in an hour.”

  Beccaroon started toward the door. “I’ll order a carriage and obtain maps.” He paused as Verrin Schope came to turn the handle for him. “I’ll ride with you some. My tail is giving me trouble, and you will want to tell me about this Wulder.”

  Verrin Schope clapped him on the shoulder. “You want to hear?”

  “Not necessarily, but I know you won’t be able to curb your enthusiasm. I figure our relationship will be less strained if I just give in and invite you to expound upon the deity of your choice.”

  Verrin Schope tilted his head back and laughed. “You won’t regret it, my friend.”

  “We shall see.” He marched through the open door. “The courtyard, in one hour.”

  “Yes, indeed,” said Verrin Schope. “Yes, indeed.”

  11

  A Visit

  Tipper stretched and turned over in her soft hammock. It swayed dangerously, and she balanced to keep from flipping over. She’d ejected herself onto the hard floor the first morning she woke up in her fancy blue tent. The floor, like everything else in her quarters, was lovely. But it was still hard.

  The kimens were artisans of anything practical. They wove exquisite designs into their baskets. The scenes carved on the trunk for keeping her belongings looked fine enough to be in a museum. The tent material glistened as if coated with moon dust. The rug on the floor could have hung in a gallery.

  In the three weeks since she and Bealomondore had arrived in the kimen village, Tipper had been royally spoiled. The clothing she wore floated around her and sparkled with lights. She would have to watch her attitude when she returned to the city. Everything would be coarse and dull in comparison.

  The soft voices of very excited kimens stirred her from her lazy observations. She swung her legs over the edge of the lofty bed and eased her feet into slippers before going to the flap that covered the tent’s entry.

  She listened. Fits of giggles disrupted the chatter to the point that she could hardly make out individual words. She grabbed a robe to cover her nightgown, cinched the belt, and plunged through her doorway.

  “What’s happening?” she asked six tiny kimen children.

  They danced in a ring, holding hands, chanting, and circling closer to her. When they reached her skirts, they let go of each other and grabbed her hem. As they skipped around her legs, she had to keep up by turning in place or be hopelessly twisted in her clothing.

  Their infectious gaiety had her laughing with them, and in a manner of seconds, she joined in their simple song.

  A Don, ditty-don

  A Don, ditty-don

  Fumbee, fumbee, fumbee, fumbee,

  Ditty-don-don

  A donkey, a donkey,

  Fumbee, fumbee, fumbee, fumbee,

  Ditty-don-don

  Breathless from the quick beat of the song, Tipper called out, “Scoot, scoot, I’m going to collapse.”

  The children scattered, and she sat down in a heap. They ran back to climb into her lap.

  “Now tell me why we are so happy this morning.”

  Out of the chorus of excited voices, she caught one message. “Paladin is coming.”

  “Here?”

  They nodded, clapped their hands, and chanted, “Today! Today! Today!”

  “Oh my!” Tipper struggled to get up, moving the tiny sprites out of her way and shifting to a position so that she could stand. “I can’t be dressed like this with company coming.”

  “Why?” asked one little girl.

  Tipper stood, smoothed out her robe, and tried to push her long hair into some kind of order.

  “Why?” the girl asked again, this time tugging on Tipper’s hem.

  “Because a lady doesn’t receive visitors unless properly attired.” Tipper quoted her mother. “ ‘It’s odd, but we don’t admit to society that we become tired and sleep. We must give the impression that we are not tired, but attired.’ ” Tipper laughed as she headed toward her tent. “Never ask my mother about being retired. That one is beyond even me to decipher.”

  As she pushed aside the flap over her tent door, Paladin’s voice stopped her. “I understood it. If one tires of doing a task and therefore takes a break, then returns to the job at hand only to grow weary again, then you have definitely retired.”

  Tipper whirled around to look at him. He grinned and winked. Her heart did the double-timed beat that only he could summon. She charged across the space between them and threw her arms around his neck. With a strong embrace, he lifted her off the ground and spun in a circle.

  Her joy in their spontaneous greeting broke with the awful realization that she had literally flung herself at Prince Jayrus, Paladin, spiritual leader of Chiril. She knew he was something special even if most of the citizens did not yet understand his position.

  She started to protest against being slung around like a child but realized both she and the great Paladin were spotted with bits of light. She giggled instead. The kimen children had flung themselves at Paladin as well and clung to her clothing as he spun them all around. The children squealed in delight, she and Paladin laughed, and their antics brought adults, who gathered in the commons of the kimen village.

  Paladin gave Tipper one last squeeze and set her on her feet. Mothers and fathers called their children to their sides but did not chastise them for swarming all over their visitor.

  Tipper watched the ease with which he accepted their homage. He looked even more confident than when she first met him. She noticed his skin had darkened. His hair too. She looked down at her own. She had matured, grown in wisdom and experience, but the change to her skin tone and blond hair was slight. She hoped that she would, with time, darken to the rich ebony that indicated her father had reached an older age in good favor. Her mother had not, but Lady Peg did not seem to mind.

  Winkel came forward and bowed to Paladin. “We are honored to greet you in our village. Our kin in the Mercigon Mountains have kept us informed of your status. In fact, we have closely watched the unfolding history of the chosen princes throughout the ages. We are at your service.” She bowed again, and all the other villagers and even some of the younger children bowed as well.

  Paladin beamed at them, the warmth of his smile melting away Tipper’s embarrassment. But at the same time, she remembered how important he was and how he treated everyone he met as if that person was important as well. So did he accept her very forward embrace because he treated all people equally? Or did he greet her in that manner because he felt drawn to her as she felt drawn to him?

  She stood back, watching the villagers as each one came up individually or as a family to swear their allegiance to this prince and paladin. Tipper wondered if she should be affronted. Technically the villagers were subjects to her grandfather, King Yellat.

  Eventually she ducked into her tent and got properly dressed. Taeda Bel came in later to announce a feast to celebrate the coming of Paladin. “And he’s going to tell us more about Wulder.”

  Tipper dropped the braid she’d been winding around the top of her head. “More about Wulder? What do you know about Wulder to begin with? How could you know anything about Wulder?”

  The dainty kimen plopped into Tipper’s hammock and set it gently swaying back and forth. “We know the promise. The promise has been handed down for generations. And the promise is Wulder.”

  “I’ve never heard of a promise.”

  “It’s for kimens.” She tilted backward, then forward, to speed up the hammock’s motion. Her voice took on the tone of someone reciting. “ ‘The One who creates, the One who assigns our task, the One who nurtures, the One who designs our path will send a man to speak words of understanding so that the hand of He Who Is will be close enough to hold.’ ”

  Tipper picked up the br
aid and tightened the weave. She pinned it as a circlet around the crown of her head before she spoke again.

  “Taeda Bel, what makes you think that this Wulder of Amara is the one you call He Who Is?”

  Taeda Bel jumped from the hammock and glided across the floor to stand beside the tall emerlindian princess. “My heart, not my head, tells me it’s true. Then my brain compares the points of prophecy to the actuality of recent events. There are too many coincidences to be … coincidental.”

  “So you feel that what Paladin says is true.”

  Taeda Bel’s face glowed with assurance. “No, I trust that it is so because the messenger is trustworthy.”

  Tipper walked to her doorway and peeked around the cloth closure. Prince Jayrus, Paladin, sat with children on his knees, and others pushed against him. He spoke quietly, too quietly for her to hear his words. But the rapt expressions of the little ones told her what she wanted to know. This young man with no guile was trustworthy. She knew it in her heart, and she witnessed it in his manner. She would listen carefully to his accounting of the god known as Wulder. She rushed to finish her morning routine.

  12

  A New Friend

  Tipper hurried out of the tent to find that the crowd had shifted to the commons. Her lodging sat on the edge of the small clearing, and all gatherings of the kimen village took place within yards of her front door. Unless the weather turned nasty, the kimens ate every meal together. The women now served breakfast.

  Paladin sat among the people, eating and listening as the conversation centered on the history of their settlement. Tipper managed to get close enough to hear but not as close as she would have liked. After they’d eaten, the kimens abandoned their usual routines to listen to their honored guest talk.

  Paladin told stories that showed how simple choices made the relationships between people good or bad. And when he described the connection all people could have under the guidance of Wulder, a chill ran over Tipper’s skin. She clasped her arms around her middle and felt like her embrace was but a symbol of more powerful arms securing her in a place of safety.

  After a time of storytelling, they ate, drank, danced, and sang. Nothing could be more spectacular than watching the fluid movements of the kimens as they expressed joy that stirred even Bealomondore and Librettowit.

  The librarian could also sing. When he added his baritone to the sweet voices of the villagers, Tipper expected some visual display to spring out of the air in response to their harmony. She leaned back and closed her eyes, letting her imagination paint beautiful pictures that floated among the notes of music.

  In the afternoon, Paladin again sat among the band of small villagers. He never seemed to make a point without using a story, and the stories never disappointed his listeners.

  After a short rest in the afternoon, when both children and adults took a little nap, the citizens of the village came again to the commons and asked for more teaching about Wulder and His principles. Paladin obliged while the cooks prepared the evening meal. Librettowit invited Tipper to sing, and she did.

  She sang with the chorus of kimens and with Librettowit. But she didn’t feel that her voice melded with their pure tones. The experience left her dissatisfied when, usually, singing gave her a feeling of completion. That troubled her, but she lost the discontent as she enjoyed the music that followed. And then Paladin spoke, and his stories pulled her in. The more she listened to Jayrus today, the more she wanted to listen. Not just because he was attractive, but the words he used attracted her as well.

  The long day ended with another wonderful supper. Kimens cleared away the last of the food, and mothers ushered their children to warm beds. Tipper strolled down one of the forest paths, too filled with bliss to enter her tent and calmly go to sleep.

  Tipper sat on the edge of a tiny brook, breathing in the cool night air and the fragrance of moonflowers. The spicy-sweet scent burst into the air as the blossoms unfolded in response to the light of a full moon. Tiny sparkle bugs floated on the breeze, giving the air an astonishing shimmer. Drummerbugs supplied the percussion for an eerie insect symphony of trills and hums. As she sat, enjoying the sights, sounds, and scents of the night, the quiver of excitement mellowed into a warm contentment.

  She heard footsteps and knew it had to be Paladin. The kimens rarely made noise as they moved. The tumanhofers clumped around. And Wizard Fenworth had gone off somewhere. She looked over her shoulder and smiled at his approach. He cradled something small in his hand against his chest.

  “I brought someone to meet you.” He sat down beside her.

  She leaned forward to peer into his hand. She could only make out a glowing blob. “Someone?” she asked. The blob stretched, and Tipper made out a tail and head. “A dragon! He’s so small!”

  “There are several unusual things about him. He changes color, he’s undersized, as you noted, and he has a remarkable range of abilities.” Paladin ran a fingertip down the tiny dragon’s back. “And he is weak.”

  Tipper almost asked if he would die but remembered that the small dragon could probably understand every word she said. “How did he come to be in your care?”

  “He bonded with one of the Amber Palace servants. She found the egg in an old shed and kept it. Her name was Bretta.”

  “Was?”

  “She died of old age.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Twelve days.”

  “Oh, then he didn’t live with her for long.”

  “I don’t know for sure, but I think his frailty can be linked to bonding with Bretta when she was so near the end of her life and the sorrow of losing his person.”

  “What are you going to do with him?”

  “Try to find him a new home.” Paladin looked up from the small creature and caught Tipper’s eye.

  She recognized the sparkle for what it was. “Me?”

  “You miss Junkit and Zabeth, don’t you?”

  “And Hue and Grandur.” She touched the small body resting in Paladin’s large palm. “My mother needs Junkit and Zabeth.”

  Paladin nodded but didn’t interrupt.

  “And now that my father is … back—I guess that’s the best way to say it—and whole again, I can’t get over worrying that everything will come undone. So I want Grandur there to help with his health. And Hue cheers Papa up.”

  “But you need someone too.”

  Her eyes darted to his face. How did he know? She had lost her place as the stoic daughter who kept things in order under trying circumstances. Her relationship with Beccaroon had shifted into something she couldn’t identify anymore. She couldn’t say he was her guardian, and he wasn’t exactly a friend.

  She shrugged. “I’m all right.”

  Paladin grinned. “You’re more than all right. But that doesn’t make your situation any less lonely. Would you hold my young friend for a minute?”

  At her nod, he gently transferred the glowing dragon into her cupped hands.

  The dragon stretched and rubbed his sides on her skin. He put his chin against her pulse and settled down. The glow of his scales dimmed until he looked a pale blue in the moonlight.

  Tipper whispered. “He’s so tiny.”

  “How does he feel in your hand?”

  “Warm. Soft.”

  “And how do you feel?”

  She held her breath for a moment and concentrated. Then she looked at Paladin. “It’s going to work, isn’t it? He’s going to bond with me.”

  “I thought so, but one can’t be presumptuous with a dragon.” Paladin put his arm around her back, and she leaned against him. He rested his chin against her head.

  “What’s his name?” She gave a hiccup of surprise. “Oh! His name is Rayn.”

  Paladin leaned back and laughed. “Now we know for sure that this is going to work.”

  Tipper cuddled Rayn under her chin. When she lowered him to kiss the top of his head, she saw that he had again changed colors. Now he was green.

  “Gre
en?” She looked at Paladin. “Is he offering to heal me? I’m not hurt.”

  Paladin shrugged. “I think you’ve got the cause and effect switched. He turned green because he was healing you, not because he recognized you needed healing.”

  “But I don’t. I’m perfectly fit.”

  He squeezed her shoulders, pulling her closer and laying his forehead against hers. “Sometimes healing doesn’t involve the physical. Your heart is bruised.”

  Tipper pulled away. “It’s not. I’m fine.”

  Paladin stood. “I’ll walk you to your tent.”

  She stared up at him for a moment, then rose to her feet. She chortled. “I was about to protest that I’m not tired. But I really am. And now I’m relaxed enough to sleep.” She gazed down the path to the village. “Jayrus?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you like being the paladin?”

  He nodded and took her free hand to nestle between his larger, stronger hands. A thrill skipped down her spine. Her toes curled inside her slippers. She forced herself to breathe evenly, hoping to calm her erratic heartbeat. With trepidation, she allowed herself to gaze into his eyes. Would he see how much she cared for him? Would he mistake it for the same type of adoration the young kimens showered on him?

  “Yes, I like it very much.” Jayrus wore a smile of satisfaction on his lips.

  Her mind had wandered, and confusion covered her reasoning. Like it? Like her? Her throat closed around the question, causing a squeak. “It?”

  He grinned. “Being the paladin. Yes, I like being the paladin very much.”

  “Why?”

  He slid his fingers between hers and kept her close to his side as they walked toward the village.

  “Suppose a caterpillar spins its cocoon, then bursts out to find itself in a turtle shell, moving slowly across the forest floor.”

  She giggled. “What a disappointment.”

  “Not really.” He grinned at her. “It had always been a caterpillar, and it was used to moving slowly. It didn’t know it was supposed to be a beautiful butterfly. It was used to the forest floor.”