Dragons of the Valley

by Donita K. Paul

Stubbornness crossed his father’s features, but he reluctantly admitted, “I do.”

  “Father, you must not deal with enemies of the crown. In the end, the whole family will suffer.”

  “I know that.”

  His tone remained gruff, but Bealomondore glimpsed something different in the old man’s expression. Fear, maybe? He remembered the paralyzing fear that had almost gotten him killed in his first sword fight. Someone else had come alongside him to help him not only endure the terror but also survive the experience. He deemed it too soon to introduce Wulder, but perhaps his father needed his wastrel son to bolster his courage.

  The thought made Bealomondore laugh scornfully at himself, but he managed to keep his ill-timed humor to himself.

  “What can I do to help, Father? What is at the heart of this dilemma?”

  Master Bealomondore sighed and sank deeper into the leather cushions of his chair. “Humiliation. Dishonor. Death.”

  47

  Encounter with Evil

  Bealomondore studied his father’s despondent expression. “I think if you just quit selling to the enemy, the king will not act against you. You can stop and avoid this humiliation.”

  Anger replaced his father’s dejection. “You don’t know anything!”

  “I’ve been on the battlegrounds. I’ve spoken to the king. I believe I know a little more than nothing.”

  “I’m dealing with tumanhofers loyal to King Odidoddex. Just like their king, they are willing to kill anyone who opposes them. I’m trapped.”

  “Tell them there’s no more ore for them.”

  “And have one of your sisters or your mother die in an ‘accident’?”

  A ball of ice filled Bealomondore’s stomach. His mind shouted that his family could not be in danger over this business, but the look on his father’s face said they were.

  Bealomondore withdrew to the other side of the desk. He sat in one of the large leather chairs where henchmen of the Baardack king had sat and threatened his family.

  “How many do you deal with?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “How many Baardackians have come to this office? How many do we have to convince that you will no longer do business with them?”

  “Aren’t you listening to me? I can’t say no to these people.”

  “We’ll figure this out, Father.”

  “You’re insane. What are we going to do? Bargain for who they’ll kill, one of your sisters or your mother?”

  “Of course not. How many?”

  The look from his father scorched Bealomondore’s heart, but the older man answered. “Four.”

  “One in charge? Three ruffians?”

  “Exactly. Mernantottencat is the leader, with another tumanhofer and two mariones to back him up.”

  “We can handle them.”

  “You are insane.”

  “I’ll stand beside you.”

  “And what? Fight them off with that piece of jewelry you call a sword?”

  Bealomondore frowned and looked down to his side. The Sword of Valor had sprouted gems, big gaudy jewels of red, green, yellow, and blue.

  He gasped and pulled the sword from its scabbard. The blade looked the same, but the inscription had changed. He tilted it to the light and read, “ ‘Look past the luster.’ ”

  Master Bealomondore scowled. “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t always know.”

  “And what does that mean?”

  “This is the Sword of Valor, given to me by the Wizard Fenworth. It increases my skill in battle, gives me messages I assume are from Wulder’s Tomes, although I haven’t had a chance to look them up, and apparently changes appearance. The jewels were not there before.”

  “Poppycock. All poppycock.”

  Years of experience with his parent gave Bealomondore no hope of winning a verbal contest. No sense in arguing. “Even so, I am prepared to stand beside you should you decide to cease dealing with the enemy.”

  Master Bealomondore sighed, closed his eyes, and leaned back in his chair. His son waited.

  “As I said, Graddapotmorphit, I am sick of myself. I feel that I should be humiliated. It’s what I deserve, but I fear the dishonor. The Bealomondore name has always stood with right and justice. I’ve let my family down. But I would rather die myself than have harm come to your sisters or mother.”

  “And where does my brother stand?”

  His father breathed deeply. No answer. He sat limply in the chair of authority, where he ruled the family business. Was he asleep? Had he had another spell that rendered him unconscious?

  “Father?”

  “Your brother has abandoned the problem. It was too big to tackle, so he has taken a trip. Ostensibly to secure land in Brodgenican or Shalmar, but really to be out of harm’s way.”

  “Now that is something I would never have expected.”

  “Nor I.” His father sat up. “I should send for the king’s men and have them here to arrest Mernantottencat and his men.”

  “That sounds like a good plan.”

  “It means that the whole city—the whole country—will know of my betrayal.”

  “You were doing business with Baardackians before the war. It took time to realize they were using our ore to make weapons.”

  He shook his head. “No, if I am to do the honorable thing, I shall not add dishonorable to the mix. I will not pretend that I did not know how low I had fallen.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Call my secretary. I will send for the king’s men.”

  “Yes sir. Are you expecting Mernantottencat?”

  “No, but we shall make arrangements.”

  With the decision made, the older man relaxed. His whole demeanor changed to one of patience.

  His son breathed a sigh of relief and went to have the king’s men summoned. Bealomondore also asked for the secretary to bring a restorative tea and a light repast.

  She objected. “Master Bealomondore never eats in his office and rarely takes tea during business hours.”

  “My father’s energy has been tasked by our discussion.”

  She looked into the office and spotted the dragons. “My word.” Her eyes popped. “Should I call for someone to catch and remove those beasts?”

  “The dragons are with me. They stay.”

  Giving him a disapproving glare, she nonetheless went off to do his bidding.

  Bealomondore sat with his father and tried to start a conversation, asking about news of his sisters and mother and aunt. Master Bealomondore did not respond with more than a word or two, and the tumanhofer artist soon gave up. He decided to go by the house after he’d finished with the business at hand.

  The tea, miniature cakes, and tiny sandwiches arrived. Master Bealomondore made disparaging remarks about the fancy display of delicacies but took a few bites. Evidently the food pleased him. He helped himself to more and ate heartily until only crumbs remained on the tray.

  The secretary removed the remnants, and before she finished, four men walked in. She scurried to leave the room and close the door.

  Bealomondore cringed. These men dressed well, but not in the uniforms of King Yellat’s men.

  Master Bealomondore came to his feet, and Bealomondore took his cue from his father. He stood off to one side as the men approached the desk.

  “Greetings, Master Bealomondore,” said the tumanhofer in a business suit. “We have good news. A ship has become available, and we will take possession of our purchase tomorrow.”

  His father assumed a familiar posture. He leaned over his desk with fists planted firmly on the wood. “I will return your money. I cannot sell to your ‘company’ any longer. I must give the ore into the hands of my king.”

  All pretense of congeniality dropped from Mernantottencat’s manner. “That is not a wise decision, sir. I believe we’ve discussed the repercussions of such a move before.”

  “Even so, I refuse your business.”

  Mernantottencat studied
Master Bealomondore and then turned his gaze upon the other gentleman in the room. “And who is this?”

  Bealomondore gave the slightest of nods, not anything like the respect that would be given an honored customer. “I am Graddapotmorphit Bealomondore, second son.”

  “Have you been advising your father to take this foolish course?”

  “I back his decision but did not make it for him.”

  “This is entirely unfortunate.” Mernantottencat gestured to his henchmen and then toward the tumanhofer son. “Seize him.”

  Bealomondore leaped backward and drew his sword. Instead of the whisper of metal against leather, the sword sang a clear note of challenge. Bealomondore’s eyebrows rose at the unexpected sound, but he didn’t have time to marvel.

  The shorter marione sprang at him. With one thrust, the tumanhofer stopped him on the point of the Sword of Valor. He pulled back, removing the blade and allowing the man to fall.

  The shock of his ready defense held the other two henchmen back.

  “Get him, you fools,” ordered Mernantottencat.

  The two men pulled knives with long, wicked blades. They brandished the intimidating weapons in front of them. Moving in sidesteps, they widened the distance between them, making Bealomondore’s chances of defending himself harder.

  The tactic didn’t overly alarm Bealomondore. He’d been in battle, surrounded by dozens of the enemy. He jumped to the back of a stuffed chair, and as the chair fell, he used it to launch a somersault over the other marione. As Bealomondore came down behind him, he sliced the man’s jacket from collar to hem. The tip of his sword penetrated the cloth and left a deep, red line on his skin.

  The man yelled and put his hands behind him as if to examine his wound. Bealomondore deftly carved two small circles on each hand.

  He whirled just in time to see the other tumanhofer thug throw his knife. He deflected it with his sword and pointed his weapon at the now unarmed man. The wounded man dropped to his knees, but Bealomondore didn’t trust him. He still held a knife.

  Bealomondore stepped sideways, taking the attention of the three men away from where his father stood, dumbstruck, behind his desk.

  The downed man shouted, “Here!” and threw his knife to the one who stood between Mernantottencat and Bealomondore.

  Deftly snatching the knife by its handle, the thug feinted a charge from the left, shifted, and dived from the right. Bealomondore jumped to the side and kicked the man in the stomach as he roared past. The enemy fell on his knife but only wounded his leg. He hobbled up, ready to charge again. If Bealomondore turned, he would face this charging bull but have his back to the treacherous Mernantottencat. Instead, he whirled back a few steps to end up behind the leader of this unsavory pack.

  Grinning, Bealomondore grabbed Mernantottencat. With one arm bent to the breaking point behind his back and a stinging blade pressed against his throat, Mernantottencat didn’t move.

  Bealomondore smiled at the brutish tumanhofer. “Stay where you are, and drop your knife.”

  The knife thudded on the carpet.

  “Move over to the wall, next to the dead man.”

  He complied.

  “You!” Bealomondore indicated the other man with a chin thrust. “Crawl over to the other side of your fallen mate.”

  He went on his knees, cradling his injured hands.

  “Not too close. You aren’t going to need his knife, so just forget about it.” Bealomondore spoke without taking his eyes off the villains. “Father?”

  “Yes, son.”

  “Open the door, and let King Yellat’s men in. They’re coming into the outer office now.”

  “You heard them?”

  “No, Det heard them and told me.” He smiled a more cheerful grin than the one he’d used on the rogues. “His hearing is better than mine.”

  Mernantottencat growled, “No one told me you have a warrior son, Master Bealomondore.”

  “I don’t,” said the father. “This is my son, the artist. You should see his paintings.” The old man chuckled. “His art is better than his fighting, which is better than his hearing.” He laughed out loud as he went to the door. “And his hearing is better than your scheming. You’ve lost this battle, Mernantottencat. And I think I’ve won more than this skirmish.”

  48

  Hollee

  Meeting people topped Hollee’s Happy Things to Do list. Being down in the cavern with her wizard and his librarian had made her right palm itch. In Prince Jayrus’s valley, she could shake hands all day long and still have more people to meet the next day. Coming up out of the hole and talking to Sage had changed life for the better.

  And now company abounded in the cavern, and the new tunnels were being built. Dragons roamed beneath the ground, guarding the statues and watching for intruders. Tumanhofers had been recruited from outside the valley to construct the Halls of Sanctuary, a new project of Wizard Fenworth’s. The suggestion had come from Sage. He thought the statue chapel and the related halls would be a good retreat for those seeking more information about Wulder. The big surprise had been that Sage remembered Wulder from his youth.

  Singing and dancing came right below meeting people on the Happy Things to Do list. The kimens in the valley liked singing and dancing just as much as the ones in the Starling Forest. Every night they taught Hollee new songs and new steps, and she shared those she knew from home. And, oh my, they all laughed when they came across songs and hops they all knew because the music came from so very long ago in kimen tradition.

  Today had been just as fun as yesterday. Tonight, the weight of good food aplenty would make the tables groan at the one-towered castle. Ah, food belonged on the list as well.

  Hollee skipped and jumped, turned flips and cartwheels. She sang and stopped to giggle when she came to the strange words the kimens of the valley sang. The proper words of this song were:

  I’ve plenty of tin to make my ship

  Plenty of rootygin to take many a sip.

  And my friends all hold hands as we dance a bit

  In the night, by the stars, and for the fun of it.

  The kimens here had forgotten the words and sang:

  I’ve plenty of magpie trumpet hats

  Plenty of room-a-ring to do acrobats,

  And my kin sing loud like all your kin

  In the night, by the stars, and let’s start again.

  If the tune hadn’t been so similar, and if the singing dragons hadn’t said it was so, they might never have believed it was the same song. Hollee couldn’t wait to go home and sing the funny words to her friends in the Starling Forest.

  Playing with dragons held a slot near the top of her Happy Things to Do list. Playing with dragons hadn’t even been on the list until she and Wizard Fenworth came to the valley.

  Paladin showed up with two dozen emerlindian and marione volunteers. He set about training both the men and the dragons to survive in battle. Most of it looked like fun to Hollee, and she got to help. The men sometimes needed kimen assistance in communicating through mindspeak to the dragons they rode. Most of the warriors quickly developed a bond with their mounts and could now mindspeak on their own.

  Hollee took pride in the emerlindian and dragon she had played with, even though the librarian said she tutored them. All the time, Librettowit insisted they worked with dragons. They did not play.

  Hollee said, “If it’s fun, why do we have to call it work?”

  He said, “If it’s work, why are you having fun?”

  Hollee knew there had to be a retort to that cynical question, but she hadn’t thought of one yet. Probably because she hadn’t thought much about Librettowit’s question, his philosophy, or the definition of work. Having fun doing the things on her Happy Things to Do list had kept her too busy to fret.

  She stopped at the end of a complicated skip-jump-twirl pattern she often used for forward movement and stood stock-still. Closing her eyes, she took care to identify every sensation and thoroughly appreciate
it. She tasted the breeze, as well as luxuriated in the brush of its warm breathlike wisps on her skin. She smelled flowers, wood smoke, and the rich loam of the earth at her feet. She heard the soft swish of the giant anamar butterfly and opened her eyes to watch the brilliant orange, red, and black wings fold and unfold in a slow, graceful homage to a wonderful day.

  Movement above the distant mountains caught her attention. She scrambled up an incline of broken rocks, wondering how the huge boulders had managed to accumulate in the middle of a grassy field, how long it was until dinner, how many kimens lived in the valley if you counted the ones she hadn’t met yet, and what was flying into the valley over the northern ridge. With patience, she figured she would find out about dinner and the flying thing. She could ask Librettowit about the hill of rocks and probably get a good story out of him. And she didn’t really care how many kimens there were as long as some of them showed up for food, song, and dance.

  She sat to watch the approach of the flier and soon decided it was a dragon. Occasionally she spotted large birds soaring over the valley. But the wings on birds of prey extended more from the sides of the body, and dragons’ wings sprouted higher on the torso and closer to the head. She also could tell from the stroke of the wings whether this was a feathered flier or one with scales.

  She sprang to her feet. “Maxon!”

  The dragon carried Bealomondore, Maxon, and two minor dragons. Maxon’s voice sent a greeting to her mind. She jumped up and down. It would be good to see her friends and meet the new dragons, but visitors also meant news. She longed to hear someone say that Chiril had finally gotten the upper hand and was beating the enemy back to where they belonged.

  Racing to the meadow near the castle where they were surely to land, Hollee called out the tidings to all she passed.

  “Bealomondore and Maxon are here!”

  The rolling hill and grassy field outside Prince Jayrus’s garden swarmed with onlookers as Bealomondore’s dragon set down. Maxon hopped off and ran to give Hollee a hug. The tumanhofer artist looked around as if trying to decide who was being welcomed in such a grand manner.