DragonFire (31 page)

“You’re in no shape to travel, and the roads are clogged with people fleeing the fire, coming to help extinguish the fire, and going back to their homes now that the fire is under control.”

“It is? Under control? How?”

“Kale, there is an army of men here. An army belonging to Crim Cropper who were terrified when Pretender showed up. They have earned the wrath of Lord Ire by pledging their loyalty to Cropper. Face to face with Cropper’s superior, they realized the folly of their ways and jumped to do his bidding. He ordered them into the burning forest to extinguish the flames.”

Kale’s mind had wandered away halfway through his explanation. “Is Bardon here? Is he close? Is he coming?”

“No, he’s on another mission.”

“I need him, Regidor.”

“I know.”

“Where’s Gilda?”

“Safe. Where she belongs and safe.”

Kale gulped back a moan. The scorching heat of the wounds tormented her. “Regidor, I hurt. Can you fix it?”

Compassion softened the meech dragon’s mouth. “No, I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“But I can.”

Kale saw a hand rest on Regidor’s shoulder. The fingers squeezed, then gave a pat. Regidor stood, and another man took his place. Kale nearly breathed Paladin’s name before she realized her mistake. Pretender could look a lot like her beloved leader. But harshness around his mouth and coldness in his eyes made the resemblance incomplete.

“I can help you, Kale.”

The pain washed deeper into her soul at the same time she heard her own voice saying, “No, no, no!” She couldn’t make deals with Pretender. Wulder would take care of her needs. Wulder would send someone to ease the pain and the fear that welled in her heart.

“I can help now, Kale.”

Pretender put a hand on her shoulder and his touch felt warm and comforting. The throbbing eased as if he had drawn off some of the poison.

“Please.” Kale didn’t know what to ask. Right now she wanted reprieve. She sobbed. She would beg for some relief. But was that what Pretender offered?

He moved closer. Leaned over her so that his warm breath tickled her cheek. “The creature who attacked you carried a venom. Poison devised by Crim Cropper. But as always in Crim Cropper’s designs, there is a flaw. I have the antidote.”

“Please.”

He pulled an orb from a pocket in the lining of his jacket. It was no larger than the end of his thumb, yet Kale had the impression it loomed large in the tent, even invading the entire camp with some mystical power. She trembled, thinking she should avoid this orb at all costs. Something inside the glass ball swirled and glowed, spun and faded, then glowed again.

“I will give you the salve that will take away the pain, but I must ask you to carry this. The potion will not work unless you carry this to energize the ingredients.”

Suspicion rose in Kale’s mind, but a surge of agony blocked it out. She stared into the orb, saw brilliant colors whirling, and some of the tension eased from her shoulders. Some of the pain ebbed away as well. Pretender lowered the pretty bauble out of sight, and the throbbing swept over her open gashes.

She drew in a sharp breath. “Yes, please.”

Pretender unwrapped the gauze binding that held her right hand to the cot. He placed the cold orb in her palm and wrapped her fingers around it. Then he bent her elbow, lifted her side slightly from the bed, and guided Kale’s hand underneath her. The orb rested within her clutched fingers tight against her chest.

“Keep it close to your heart, Kale, and you will soon become strong.”

Long into the morning, Kale stirred again. She lay on her back in the raised cot. Her wounds felt cool and slightly itchy. She reached a hand up to touch her cheek, and someone caught it at the wrist.

“Ah, none of that. You’ll be undoing all the good we did.” The gruff bisonbeck woman of the day before stood beside her. This was the woman who ran the medic tents, not the one who looked like Leetu Bends.

A bisonbeck who looked like a small, pale emerlindian? I must have been in the throes of a powerful poison to imagine that. Poison? Pretender used that word. Said he’d help me.

“I’m better?”

“You’re not going to die.”

“Where did you get the salve to cure my wounds?”

“What salve? You just needed a tincture of time and the same old ointment I use on every hurt that comes in here.”

Perhaps I dreamed…
“The smell of smoke is gone.”

“Some. We had a rain during the night.”

The nurse moved away from Kale’s cot. Kale followed her eyes, moving her head with very little pain. The woman bent over another patient on a raised cot.

It was a dream. Why would Regidor be here? I thought a bisonbeck woman was Leetu Bends. Then I dreamed Regidor was here. And Pretender in Cropper’s camp when they’re at war? I dreamed it.

She shifted to her side and became aware of an object in her hand. She drew her hand out from under the covers and slowly uncurled her fingers. In her hand was the orb.

         
47
         

D
ISCOVERY

“Ouch!” Bardon jerked away from the sharp pain on his chin. He opened his eyes to see a small rodent, sitting on its haunches and watching him.

Where am I? Stone floor. Dungeon. Cropper’s lower levels. Not a dungeon. But not a good place, either.

He looked around, surprised that his neck had some mobility.

They’ve left me alone.

His eyes went back to the beady-eyed rodent.

Not completely alone.

“Shoo!”

The little animal didn’t move.

I suppose this is one of Cropper’s mutants. Unafraid of people and designed to inflict pain.

The beastie put his front paws down and took a tentative step forward.

Oh, no you don’t.

Bardon forced his muscles to move. He rolled.

Ah, not quite as incapacitated as Cropper thought.

He tested his arms and legs. Some movement. Not much, but some.

I’ve got to stand.

He surveyed the room and decided the stairs going down presented his best option. He managed to get his arms in front of him and then raised up on his forearms to pull himself across the floor. He reached the doorway to the stairs and took a great deal of time to shift his body so his legs would go down first. With his concentration on reaching the steps, he hadn’t paid attention to the rodent. He glanced its way and moaned.

So you have friends, do you? Lots of friends.

One rodent had become at least a hundred. They mingled in their pack, not seeming to be interested in him. He scootched back until his whole body lay on the hard stone stairs. He bent his knees so that he knelt. Then he placed his hands on the step beneath his shoulders and pushed. After a tremendous struggle, he stood, sweat dripping off his brow and breathing as if he’d run a race. He leaned against the stairwell wall to recover.

When he opened his eyes, the horde of rodents had moved to the top of the stairs.

Why are you so interested in me?

The rodents stared. The fact that they all stared, all sat on their haunches, and all had ceased any squeaking made Bardon nervous.

It would be most convenient if you rodents turned out to be minnekens sent to rescue me. But, pardon me for thinking this, none of you look intelligent.

Bardon eased down to the step behind him. Without hesitation, the rodents poured over the edge until the next step held no more room.

I don’t like this.

He took another step down. The rodents advanced one more step. Bardon sucked in a breath. The number of rodents seemed to be increasing. The micelike creatures still filled the doorway to the stairs, yet at least a hundred had moved down.

I don’t think I could outrun these creepy little monsters, but I’m sure going to try to get away.

As if they understood Bardon’s decision, the rodents surged down the stairs and surrounded him. They clawed and chewed his pant legs. He felt them gnawing on his boots.

Bardon tried to go up and discovered his knee would not bend enough to manage the step. He moved down, knocking rodents away and stepping on a few. Bardon shivered. The image of the beasties crawling up his legs sent a tremor of panic through his body.

Steady, Sir Bardon. This is no time to lose your discipline.
“Think clearly. Act rationally. Wulder has given you a choice as to how you behave. Choose well and you will prosper.”

He continued down the stairs. He reached a landing and made the turn. At the bottom of this flight, he saw that a heavy wooden door blocked whatever level he approached.

Wulder, I need that door to be unlocked.

He continued down, one painstaking step at a time, trying not to let the rodents trip him, not caring how many he injured in his clumsy descent.

When he reached the door, he lifted the latch and pulled it open. With speed generated by fear, he jerked his body around the door’s edge and slammed it shut. At his feet were a fraction of the rodents that had come down the stairs with him. The hem of his pant legs hung in tatters. Sharp, tiny teeth had scarred the leather of his boots. The rodents still plagued his feet, and he didn’t have enough suppleness in his legs to shake them off.

He examined his surroundings. On either side of the small platform where he stood, two doors stretched from the floor to low ceiling. He tried each one, but the locks held fast. If an escape route existed behind one of the doors, he wasn’t going to be able to use it. He hobbled across the square of stone floor and started down another flight of stairs.

With each step down he injured several of the rodents, but the tenacious beasts still harried his feet and lower legs. The boots kept him safe from their gnawing teeth. At the bottom of this set of stairs, he found an unlocked door that provided a way to diminish the number of beasties plaguing him. He stepped through and faced two frustrating doors, locked and unyielding. And another stretch of steps led downward.

Bardon sighed and started down again. He looked at the two dozen or so mice still trying desperately to demolish his boots. They’d chewed his pant legs until the fabric was higher than the distance they could leap. He chortled and caught the anxious edge in the tone of his own laughter.

Oh, Wulder, this would be funny if I were not so exhausted, hungry, and full of aches. I have been chased by a horde of ineffectual monster mice. Did Crim Cropper ever develop a truly functional beast? Yet, I’m glad these creatures are horrendous at their appointed task.

He came to another door and slipped through. He’d become more adept at getting on the other side and leaving behind the rodents. Now he could count the rodents that remained after he slammed the door. With his eyes downward as he looked to see how many had been eliminated, Bardon sensed the space around him was different.

He stood at the edge of a great hall. Scattered around the room, large globes rested on pedestals. The ivory columns were uniform in width but of different heights. The orbs atop each one varied from the size of a head to the very large spheres that could not possibly roll through the door. Bardon wondered briefly how Crim Cropper had managed to get these inside the room. Within each translucent glass sphere, small shards of lightning crackled. An uneven rhythm of pops, sputters, and hisses emanated from each large ball. He ambled around the room with his awkward gait, examining the different sizes of the globes and colors of the encapsulated energy.

I know these instruments. I’ve seen them in Kale’s rooms in our own home. I’ve seen them when we visited other wizards and in the books Kale reads. I wonder what Cropper does with all of these. If Kale were here, she could discern their uses and fill me in. As it is, I can only make guesses.

Bardon yelped as a sharp tooth met his toe. One of the rodents had finally pierced the leather of his boot. Bardon stumbled and knocked against a pedestal. The sphere toppled and hit the floor with a crash. Holding on to the rocking pillar, Bardon regained his balance. He looked down at the shattered glass and then at the pesky rodents. They had lost interest in him. They scuttled around the floor, whiskers twitching and tails dragging like ordinary mice.

A door on one of the side walls crashed open.

The stubby servant Prattack rushed in. “What are you doing here? You can’t be in here! What have you done? Master Cropper will be furious.” He shuffled to a closet and grabbed a broom and dustpan.

“What do these globes do, Prattack?”

The servant bustled over to the broken glass and began cleaning up. “Nothing important. Nothing you’d be interested in. It’s the master’s business, not yours. These are important to him, not you.”

Bardon deliberately knocked another globe to the floor.

It shattered, and Prattack came scurrying over with his broom. “Look what you’ve done. The master will be so annoyed when he sees his creatures aren’t obeying him. I’m telling him you did it. He’s going to be angry, and I won’t take the blame.”

Bardon pushed two more to the ground. Prattack turned to him with tears in his eyes. “You might as well do them all, and then shatter me as well.”

“I have a better idea. Why don’t we both knock them over, and we’ll escape together?”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that.” Prattack fixed his eyes on a globe that sparkled with green and blue lightning. “I can’t defy the master.”

Bardon hobbled across the room and picked up the sphere that held Prattack’s attention. The little man gasped. Bardon threw it to the stone floor. Prattack’s eyes grew big, and his face turned purple.

“Breathe, Prattack,” Bardon commanded and shambled over to thump the man’s back with his hand.

The servant took a deep breath and charged forward. He hit one pedestal after another, smashing all the remaining globes.

He turned to Bardon with a gleam in his eye. “Where do you want to go, sir? There’s gateways to anyplace in the world!”