“They claim that.” Holt looked Bardon in the eye. “No one who has once made the commitment ever returns to a normal life. Their proof is in the fact that no one has ever returned from Paladise.”
22
LESSONS FOR SURVIVAL
Kale lay on her stomach with her hands folded on the blanket, and her chin resting on her knuckles. “Try again.”
Crispin spread his front legs apart and lowered his body until the grass tickled his chin. He set his eyes on the pile of twigs in front of him.
“Make a circle with your mouth,” coached Kale.
The red dragon pursed his lips.
“No, like this.” Kale puckered as if to whistle. “There has to be a hole for the air to go through.” She tooted a shrill note.
Crispin blew, but instead of the stream of fire they hoped for, a thin, reedy whistle issued from his mouth.
“Don’t be distressed. We can work through this problem. It’s merely frustrating, not the end of the world.” She massaged his side with a tiny circular pressure. “You’re going to have to analyze where the fire comes from when you flame by accident. That will increase your chances of being able to generate a blaze when you want to. Do you think you can remember to be more aware of what goes on when you hiccup?”
She waited for him to think it over and decide that he could try to be attentive to what was going on in his body. His hesitant tone didn’t inspire confidence in his Dragon Keeper.
“Fine.” She moved her fingertip from his side to the sensitive area under his front leg, and instead of stroking, she wiggled her nail against his skin.
Crispin collapsed in a fit of giggles. After a minute of writhing under her merciless tickling, he began to gasp. Tiny spurts of fire burst from his mouth. Kale carefully kept her hair, clothes, the blanket, and anything else that would easily scorch out of his range.
“Think, Crispin, where is it coming from?”
The dragon squirmed out of her reach and flopped over on his side, panting. Tiny bursts of flame accompanied each heave. As he rested, they diminished in size.
“Now, Crispin, now!” Kale urged. “Grab that teeny stream of fire. You can do it! Make it big. As big as you can!”
The red dragon hoisted himself to his feet, pulled in a huge lungful of air and blew. The blaze sputtered and went out.
“Wrong advice.” Regidor’s voice startled Kale.
She rolled over on her back and looked up, shielding her eyes from the morning sun. The meech dragon towered over her.
“I’ve never breathed fire, Reg. I can only guess how it’s done.”
“What? Librettowit has no books on the subject?” He offered Kale a hand, and she took it.
“I never thought to ask him.” Kale got to her feet and brushed her skirt. “Come, Crispin.” The dragon flew to perch on her shoulder. “Could you tell him how it’s done, Reg?”
“Certainly.”
Kale turned as the heavy fabric of Gilda’s dress announced her arrival.
She strode quickly to her husband’s side and took his arm. “I thought we’d be ready to go by now.”
“Now, my dear, how could we be ready, when you were not here to direct us?” Regidor patted her hand. “Did you enjoy your morning constitutional?”
Gilda scowled at the pile of sticks on the ground beside Kale’s blanket. “The fire’s not even started for morning tea?” She pointed a long finger. “Is this supposed to be a campfire? Even I can see it’s not constructed properly.”
“Crispin and I were just about to prepare the fire.” Regidor signaled to the minor dragon, and he flew to the meech’s head. Gilda stepped away.
Regidor did not comment on her sudden desertion but smiled pleasantly. “Gilda, my love, why don’t you make those mouthwatering biscuits that are such a marvel?”
“You know I don’t like to cook, especially with no stove. Why couldn’t Sir Dar come along? He positively hums with delight over a pot of stew.”
“He chose to escort Librettowit to his destination.”
“He can’t rejoin us soon enough for me. This entire expedition has started out badly. We’ve had unnecessary delays. We’ve had children added to our number. I detest these vermin that pass themselves off as minor dragons. How ridiculous! They’re nothing but pets. And that brute Brunstetter has come along.”
Kale had been briefly offended at the slur against her dragons, but the absurd charge against the noble urohm touched her funny bone. She choked on laughter at the picture of handsome and gallant Brunstetter somehow being touted as a grawlig. Gilda glared at her.
“I’m sorry, Gilda, but you just can’t call Lord Brunstetter a brute. Honestly, you can’t. He lives in a castle much finer than ours. He rules over a territory in Ordray. His family has been aristocracy for generations. He even dresses far more elegantly than most of Sir Dar’s court.”
Kale’s laughter had bubbled out as she eyed the only other adult female on their quest. Life was going to be very hard if Gilda didn’t face some facts. In spite of the danger of ruffling Regidor’s pride, Kale decided to continue. “And, Gilda, he is much more genteel in his behavior than you are.”
Gilda’s mouth dropped open, then snapped shut. She turned her angry eyes from Kale to her husband.
Regidor lifted Crispin from his perch on his bald head. “We fire dragons are going to start the campfire.”
He scooped up the small array of sticks with one hand and moved over to the site where a cook fire had been laid the night before.
Gilda tromped over to stand nose to nose with Kale. “You can’t have him.”
“What?”
“He’s mine, and you can’t have him.”
“What are you talking about?”
Kale’s eyes widened as she heard Gilda’s teeth grind.
Gilda spoke in a growl. “Don’t pretend. I’ve seen the way you look at him.”
“Gilda, I knew him before he hatched. I’m like his mother.”
For one second, Kale thought Regidor’s wife would spit on her. But Gilda spun away in a flurry of skirts.
Kale turned to Regidor to see if he had taken note of what had just passed between his wife and herself. He seemed oblivious, busy with the fire and coaxing Crispin to set a stick aflame.
Bardon and Brunstetter came trudging through the young woods with fishing poles and two strings of large lake giddinfish.
Their laughter ceased when Bardon looked into Kale’s eyes. In a moment, she poured out her confusion without saying a word. Brunstetter remained quiet, obviously aware that something was amiss.
Before Bardon could respond, the minor dragons came from every direction, screeching, squawking, and raising a ruckus.
Kale hissed. “Black dragons coming.”
Bardon dropped his pole and fish and ran the distance between him and Kale. “Into shelter for you.” He grabbed the blanket from the ground and hustled her toward the closest tent. He lifted the flap and thrust the blanket into her hands. “Wrap up in this for extra protection.”
Remembering the stings from before, Kale thought hiding was a good idea. She swathed herself in the heavy material and stretched out on the pallet she’d slept in. With frantic fingers, she made sure every part of her was covered, tucking in the edges of the blanket. A minute passed. She took shallow breaths and tried to ignore the sweat gathering on her back. She wished she were out in the open and seeing what was happening.
Oh, Bardon. This bond between us is so convenient. I’m watching through your eyes.
She heard him chortle. “Now that you’re safe, your little friends have quit raising the alarm. Look, they’ve taken posts in the trees and are standing guard.”
As Bardon located each of the nine minor dragons, Kale saw them. This region had been burnt by fire dragons back in the war between Stox and Cropper. None of the trees were over five years old. The dragons looked like big, beautiful blossoms in the young branches.
Where’s Gilda?
Bardon’s g
aze swept the campground. Regidor stood ready with Crispin on his shoulder. Brunstetter had abandoned his morning catch and drawn his sword. Toopka and Sittiponder hung back, remaining near the doorway to the huge tent they shared with the urohm.
“Sittiponder,” yelled Bardon, “take Toopka inside and make her stay there.”
The blind tumanhofer grabbed the doneel girl’s arm before she could slip away and tugged her into the tent.
“Gilda must be in her tent.” Bardon paused. “Do you hear them?”
A drone reached the camp from beyond the crest of the hill.
I don’t think I hear them directly, but I hear you hearing them.
The volume of the buzz increased. The sound produced a quiver along Bardon’s skin. Kale reacted with goose bumps.
Bardon, be careful. Remember their stings caused you to have a stakes relapse.
“They only stung me because I was defending you. Hopefully, they’ll pass over without even realizing you’re here.”
Bardon spotted the cloud as it came over the horizon. The swarm approached but looked like it would bypass the camp on the northern side by at least a hundred yards. The hum in the air continued to swell.
“I believe this swarm is bigger than the last one we saw.”
I think so too.
“They’ve changed directions, Kale. They’re coming this way.”
I see. She squeezed her eyes closed, but the image in her mind reflected what Bardon saw. He watched the ominous cloud come nearer. She shivered.
“They may still go right over us.”
The drone increased in pitch to a whine. Bardon winced and covered his ears. They closed in on the camp, circled, and then attacked the tent where Kale hid.
From inside the tent, Kale heard the rapid thuds of the small bodies hitting the canvas. From Bardon’s perspective, she saw the beasts regroup to attack again. This time, fiery explosions shot from their tiny mouths. She smelled scorched cloth but knew the tent had not caught on fire. With determined concentration, she added a shield to the weave of the canvas, one she had first seen used by Sir Dar when attacked by grawligs many years before.
Brunstetter and Bardon swung their swords like boys playing stick-ball. They connected with the tiny targets, and oddly, the black dragons did not turn on their assailants. The beasts continued to focus on Kale. So far they had not penetrated her wizard’s armor.
Ha! I’m better prepared, you nasty little beasties. Last time I didn’t have time to think. This time I did my thinking beforehand.
Regidor threw fireballs, hitting the creatures above the tent as they recovered from their latest barrage against Kale’s frail canvas fortress. The minor dragons flew above and spat into the swarm. Crispin joined his comrades in the air. Kale cheered when she saw a stream of flame burst from the little red dragon’s mouth.
The incinerated black dragons fell to the ground. On impact, they burst like delicate china teacups, leaving small piles of ashes instead of evidence of bone and body.
As quickly as it had begun, the attack was over. The straggling remains of the swarm flew off together. Bardon gave the all clear, and Kale climbed out of her cocoon.
Gilda joined them outside the seared tent. “They only attacked Kale?”
Regidor put his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Yes.”
“Then perhaps we should send her home.”
“What?”
“She attracts trouble. We don’t need trouble to hinder our search for the meech colony.”
A low growl emanated from Regidor’s throat. “She stays.”
Gilda tossed her head and strolled back to her tent.
“It’s only the future of an entire race you are toying with, my dear husband.”
Regidor closed his eyes, sighed deeply, then turned to follow his wife.
23
INTO EVERY LIFE A LITTLE RAIN MUST FALL
“Catching up on the news?” Bardon asked Kale as he ducked through the flap of their tent. She sat cross-legged on her pallet with the talking gateway floating in front of her.
“I’ve heard from Wizard Namee, Librettowit, and Father.” She looked up from her work. “I thought I smelled rain when you came in.”
“It’s breezy, and the clouds have covered the night sky. I’d say the likelihood of showers before morning is strong.”
“If we’d brought one of the blue dragons, we’d know for sure.”
“When we hear the rain against the canvas, we’ll know for sure.”
Kale grinned and went back to fiddling with the talking gateway.
Bardon stretched out on a pile of blankets and reveled in the lack of discomfort from stakes. Kale rubbed the ointment Elma had given them into his neck every night. It helped tremendously. As they traveled north, he and Regidor had been doing forms every morning. The exercises had been beyond Bardon’s capabilities for many months. Kale joined them most mornings, which left Gilda to cook.
“What are you grinning about?” asked his wife. “You look like a bobbin bird with a stash of worms in his nest.”
“I was thinking about food, Gilda’s food. For someone who dislikes cooking, she sure fixes delectable meals.”
“Librettowit says Sir Dar will join us soon.”
“More good food. We’re going to come back from this quest fatter than when we left.”
“Namee says he’s coordinating all the information on the Followers for Paladin.”
“That’s logical. He has the talking gateways, and his castle is centrally located. The Followers’ activities have originated in central Amara.”
Kale’s fingers nimbly worked the threads of the gateway. Bardon’s ability to see the contraption was limited. He didn’t have a wizard’s eye, but as with many things, when he was with his wife, her talent enhanced his abilities.
He concentrated, trying to see more than just vague strands of light. “I know I’d never see that thing if you didn’t have your fingers on it.”
“You see the pictures, don’t you, and hear the words?”
“Oh yes.”
“Good, because this one from my father, I particularly want you to hear.”
He moved to sit beside her as she finished. The gateway popped once before the image of Sir Kemry appeared.
Bardon scooted closer to Kale so he could see over her shoulder. “Why did it make that noise?”
“I don’t know. I must have something out of alignment. I’ll ask Regidor later.”
Sir Kemry spoke from the portal. “Hello, my lovely.”
Bardon chuckled and kissed her cheek. “Obviously, your father is not speaking to me.”
“Shh!”
The message continued. “I’ve had some disturbing news from my friends in the North. The pesky swarms of those dark dragons are spotted almost every day now. They still mind their own business, barreling along until they drop out of sight.
“A farmer witnessed the demise of one of the hordes. He said a thick, black cloud started across his field of corn. The pack skimmed the tops of his plants and seemed to become less dense as it flew. By the time the swarm reached the other side, it had disappeared. He rushed out to examine his crops to see if they’d caused any damage. They hadn’t, but he found a trail of their bodies between the rows. The bodies had disintegrated.
“And of more interest to Regidor and Gilda, a meech dragon’s body was found on the edge of the Brosnatt Desert where the Callum River goes underground. Apparently died of old age. There’s a lot of uncharted territory in that region. They’ll want to check into the area.”
“They will, indeed,” said Bardon.
“Your mother sends her love. Taylaminkadot thinks she’s going to have twins. Your dragon Iffit is stealing grain from that farmer—what’s his-name?—down past Orcan’s Hollow. I’ve paid twice for huge dragon-sized suppers. But Iffit promises to behave. He says he misses you, and that makes him hungry.”
“Ha!” said Kale. “He’s just as hungry when I’m there.”
/> “Take care, my lovely. But enjoy the adventure.”
The center popped again, and the image disappeared.
Bardon moved to get up. “Shall we take the message to Regidor?”
Kale flattened the portal and put it in the cylinder. She handed it to Bardon. “I need to groom the little dragons. Would you take Father’s message to their tent? He may want to see the others, as well, if he hasn’t been contacted. When Regidor opens the talking gateway, ask him if he’ll fix that noise.”
Bardon leaned over and kissed her forehead. “You’re tired, aren’t you? We both need this quest to get back in shape.”
“The stakes?”
“Not a twinge.”
“Good.”
“I’ll be right back.” He pushed the canvas flap aside. “Dark and misting. Artross, will you come with me?”
The gray dragon flew to his shoulder. As soon as they stepped out into the night, Artross began to glow. Mikkai barreled out of the tent and sat on Bardon’s other shoulder.
“So you think I need an interpreter, Mikkai?” He listened to his dragon chitter. “Yes, I suppose I do.”
Bardon saw Regidor had not yet doused whatever light form he used in the tent. From the position and color, Bardon guessed the meech dragon used floating globes as his light source. Glad that his friend had not retired, Bardon tramped to the other side of the fire. As he and the dragons passed Brunstetter’s dark quarters, they heard the urohm snoring and the two youngsters giggling.
Bardon crept over to their side of the tent and said, “Shh!” just as loud as his lungs would let him. Toopka and Sittiponder gasped and let out a peal of laughter. The snickering they made trying to stifle their noise woke Brunstetter. He grumbled something, but the big urohm had a large family and the happy racket of children didn’t really disturb him. Bardon heard him snoring again before he went on.
On the other side of the fire, Bardon stopped short. He could call out to Regidor, but instead he eavesdropped a moment. Gilda’s strident tone penetrated the cloth walls. Her husband answered each complaint in a stern voice. Without hearing the particulars of the argument, Bardon went back to the blessed peace of his own tent.
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