DragonKnight (21 page)

The second attack resembled the first. This time the blood of the creature mingled with the splash of seawater. Bardon and the others ran forward and hacked at the serpent’s flesh. The squire thrust his sword deep and hit bone, but whether he connected with a massive nerve running through the spinal column, he could not tell.

The beast swam on, and the heavy body scraped across the wooden deck and fell into the ocean.

“At least one of our blades struck true,” said the tumanhofer. “It’s lost movement below the part we attacked.”

“Will it give up now, Captain?” asked one of the younger crewmen.

Before the captain could answer, the beast struck the hull of the ship, causing the vessel to shudder and rock. The blow knocked the men off their feet. They scrambled to get ready for the next assault and waited. Only a sliver of the sun remained above the horizon. The scattered clouds glowed red in the distance. A deep purple canopy hung overhead. Stars serenely shone in their appointed spots in the dark eastern sky. A breeze whispered among the tall, bare masts.

Out of the darkness, a speeding hulk sailed over the ship, landed, and continued to slide. Its coarse hide rasped the wooden planks. The ship tilted. The movement of the beast stilled, but the muscles beneath the shining black skin rippled.

“It’ll be pulling us down,” screeched one of the men.

The cry broke their stunned inertia. All hands surged forward and began stabbing, hacking, and piercing the body of the serpent. None of the men stood taller than the width of the beast’s mammoth body.

“Go deep, boy,” ordered the mapmaker beside Bardon.

His own battle-ax repeatedly bit into the animal’s flesh. The sound of cascading water brought Bardon’s attention to the side of the ship. The serpent’s head hovered over them as if it were merely curious as to what these puny creatures tried to do to its body. A long, black, forked tongue flicked out of a lipless mouth. Gleaming yellow eyes caught and reflected the fire of the dying sun. The head bobbed as if it were pleased with what it saw.

Bardon sheathed his sword and pulled out a handful of darts from a pocket in his tunic. He ran toward the beast and leapt to stand on a pile of crates. Aiming at the bobbing head, he let fly the first dart. It landed in the serpent’s eye. The head jerked and turned to glare at the man on the cargo.

As it hissed, Bardon sent the second dart through the air and hit inside the beast’s nostril. It flicked its head and dislodged the tiny weapon. As the face came closer, the squire threw in rapid succession his last four darts. Two pierced an eye, one bounced off the hard hide of its cheek, and the last sank into the corner of its mouth.

Bardon jumped from his perch just as the serpent made an open-mouthed strike. He grabbed a running block and swung out and around the serpent’s head to land on its neck. He sank the sharp hook of the block into the beast’s flesh so he would have something to hang on to as the serpent tossed its head.

Holding the rough rope with one hand, he pulled out his sword with the other. The creature writhed and started to submerge. Bardon put the point of his blade against the base of its skull and fell forward, driving his weapon deep.

The serpent’s head dropped onto the deck on top of the mutilated section of its own body.

“Stand back,” yelled Bromptotterpindosset. He hoisted the battle-ax above his head and swung downward, smashing the blade between the eyes.

For a breathless moment, everyone waited. The beast did not move.

The captain came forward to stand by Bromptotterpindosset. Bardon pulled his sword from the animal and jumped to the deck. A breeze blew over the ship.

“What are you waiting for?” demanded the captain as he looked over his crew. “Get this stinking carcass off my ship. Hoist those sails. We’re a day late to Annonshan. I don’t intend to be another.”

The mapmaker worked his ax up and down until he could yank it from the skull. He, Holt, Bardon, and several seamen pushed the head off the side. It slipped beneath the water with only a slight splash.

“You know,” said Bromptotterpindosset, “serpent meat is considered a great delicacy in some cultures.”

Bardon cleaned his blade. “I’ve also heard there are great, thick, wet forests where people eat caterpillars as big as your thumb. I’m not going to introduce worms or snakes of any kind into my diet.”

“I don’t know,” said Holt, slapping the mapmaker on the back. “It depends on if you have a recipe. Did you bring a cookbook in all that luggage of yours, Bromp?”

“Nay, I didn’t.” The man shook his head with a look of intense sorrow on his face.

Bardon looked at the exposed flesh of the serpent. “Sir Dar is a famous chef. I suppose you could bring him a cut of the meat. But it’s three days over land to his castle.”

Holt crossed his arms over his chest. “We’d have to get ice to transport it.”

“Hard to come by, this time of year,” answered Bardon.

“Salt?” suggested Holt.

“I doubt the galley has an adequate supply. We could get some in Annonshan, but by then, the meat would be ripe.”

Holt nodded. “Salted meat never has the taste of fresh, anyway.”

The tumanhofer perked up and nodded at the squire. “We could get his dragon to carry it ahead.”

Bardon shook his head. “Greer is squeamish. He hates snakes of any kind.”

“Just a hunk of meat,” said the mapmaker.

“Wouldn’t do it,” insisted Bardon.

Holt shook his head as well. “And they would have to cook it right away. It would be gone by the time we got there, if it tasted good, that is.”

The tumanhofer’s shoulders drooped once more. “Aye, doesn’t look like we’ll feast on serpent.”

“Don’t take it hard, old man,” said Holt. “Probably tastes like chicken.”

         
25
         

W
ITTOOM

It had been such a simple plan. How could anything have gone wrong? When Bromptotterpindosset mentioned sending the serpent meat ahead with Greer, Bardon seized on the idea of going ahead himself to prepare the way for the questing party plus fifteen children and a baby.

Wittoom was the safest province in the country. The road between Annonshan and Dormenae bustled with benign travelers. Not one lonely stretch, where one might be waylaid by bandits, existed on the entire route. He arranged for a reputable company, Wittoom Coastal Transport, to oversee the trip, providing wagon, driver, and assigned inns for overnight rests. Mapmaker Bromptotterpindosset would see that they wouldn’t get lost. Holt decided he would like to visit Sir Dar’s court, so that made an extra male escorting the entourage. N’Rae was too tired from chasing children to flirt with Holt. How could anything have gone wrong?

Bardon paced the dragon field on a hill above Castle Pelacce. Greer reclined on the grass with his chin resting between his forefeet. His eyes followed his rider’s movement back and forth. The squire stopped to search the road winding off toward the western hills. He heard Greer sigh behind him but did not turn.

Sir Dar sent out riders with homing waistcoaters. The birds will bring us a message if Dar’s men locate our party. Blast it, Greer! I don’t see anything but dorkers, finches, and mountain sky birds.

He resumed his pointless walk to the end of the field and back. He made three passes, then stopped in front of Greer.

What good would it do to fly the route once more? We saw nothing last night. And nothing again this morning. They’ve disappeared off the face of the earth…
He slapped his hand against his thigh.
I know they were a bothersome lot—

He shook his head as if to rid himself of a nasty idea.
Are, Greer, not were!—but they
are
my responsibility.
He looked down at his feet.
I have not worn a path along the top of the hill…All right, you win. It does make more sense to be traveling over the countryside searching for them, than traveling the same patch of ground where I can only see to the next ridge.

With long strides he crossed the knoll to a well-built shed. He had no problem locating Greer’s saddle in the dim light. Greer had followed him to the tack house, and in a matter of minutes, they were airborne.

This time let’s travel one mile north of the Annonshan road instead of directly over,
Bardon suggested.

Less than halfway to the coast, Bardon spotted something unusual in a small village.

Greer, look at the side yard of that tavern. Isn’t that horse wearing a caparison in Pelacce’s colors?…A roan horse in green and yellow? It must be one of Sir Dar’s riders. Let’s go down and find out if he knows anything.

They landed in an open field, the crop of corn already harvested. Bardon covered the distance to the tavern quickly on foot. A young boy walked the horse.

“Is the rider inside, lad?”

“Yes sir. He’s from Dormenae. One of Sir Dar’s men. He let loose a waistcoater ’fore he went inside, and it took off to the east. Man said it would go right to Sir Dar and give him a message tied to its leg.”

Bardon said nothing in response. He wanted to know what was written on the small scrap of paper. He rushed into the inn and located the rider sitting at a table and having a meal. The man stood when he recognized one of his master’s squires.

“What news have you, man?” asked Bardon.

“They were seen here by a couple of children at a farmhouse several miles east. And that’s where the trail ends.”

Bardon nodded and left. As he hurried out the back door, he started to call for Greer, but the dragon’s huge form already cast a moving shadow over the yard. The squire sprinted to the road. While the boy walking the horse watched in awe, the man and dragon synchronized the pickup with the precision of much practice. Greer circled and landed in front of Bardon. He ran up the tail and leapt into the seat before Greer took off again.

They flew back along the Annonshan road on the south side. Thick forest covered much of the terrain. Greer spotted smoke and circled low. In a clearing backed against a sheer cliff, a large passenger wagon sat unhitched. The horses grazed nearby. As they dropped down, Bardon saw a man in the livery of the transport company get up from the fire. He slipped on his hat and coat before Greer landed, then came walking toward them.

“I figured someone would come looking for us,” he said as Bardon dismounted.

“What happened?”

“First, that tumanhofer mapmaker had to go down this road because it wasn’t on his map. Well, it’s hardly a road, is it?” He gestured toward a break in the trees. “But he’s going on about signs of it being an ancient road that’s been forgotten. Says it’s on older charts of the countryside.”

He shook his head, removed his cap to run a hand over his gray hair, then resettled the hat on his head. “Then the granny decides it’s a good place for the children to run for a while. She has me build the fire, the younger one starts fixing food and hot drink, and the children scatter. The tumanhofer and that Holt fellow are walking around looking at the ground, uncovering the rock, pulling the grass away so they can see the dirt better.” He shook his head again and did the same little maneuver involving his hat and rubbing his hair. “Then the younger emerlindian calls the children to eat. They come running, only when a count is made, three are missing. There’s a bunch of calling. I forget the names of the ones they were calling. Bep was one. And those young ones just don’t show up.”

He sighed and reached for his cap, but stopped as if he was aware of what he was about to do and rubbed his hands together instead. “Then the most peculiar thing of all…the young one looks like she’s talking and listening to the horses. Then she speaks to the older woman and points to the rock face over yonder.” He pointed vaguely toward the cliff. “Then she, the older one, sits down and draws a picture. Everyone gets excited. The tumanhofer tells me to stay put, that they’ll be back. The granny tells me not to leave until they get back. The younger one tries to leave the baby with me, and I say not today or tomorrow will I be watching an infant. They have this big discussion about who is staying and who is going. They all decide to leave, and the marione Holt tells me not to move the wagon no matter how long it takes for them to return.”

The driver let out a long, hard breath. “So here I am. And here they are not. That was yesterday about noon. And I knew someone would come looking for me and my passengers because Wittoom Coastal Transport is a reputable company, and we don’t lose our freight or our passengers.”

“But you’ve lost yours?”

The man shook his head. “They went that way, toward the cliff. Went around those overgrown bushes and never came back. I’ve been over there, and I can see where they trampled down the grass, but once they got to the rock wall, they didn’t turn right nor left. But they aren’t there.”

He shook his head again, took off his cap, rubbed the top of his head hard, and put the cap back on.

Bardon stood with his hands on his hips, staring in the direction his questing party had last been seen. He looked over his shoulder at Greer and nodded, then back at the hapless driver.

“Did Granny Kye leave the picture?”

The old man chewed his cheek a moment, then walked to the wagon. The wooden vehicle had a deep box with doors on both sides and a tailgate. Inside, padded seats with backs lined up in rows. Stacked against the back panel that unlatched and swung down, the questers’ personal belongings still took up every inch of space allotted for baggage.

The driver opened a side door and stepped up on the riser and into the wagon. He looked around, moved a jacket and a pair of boots, then snatched a paper from under a seat. After a brief glance, he handed it down to Bardon.

“I think that’s it.”

Oh, Wulder, help me see what they saw.

Granny Kye had sketched the cliff with a bit of charcoal. Around the edges, fingers had smudged the lines. Bardon concentrated on the bushes where the driver said the children and adults had disappeared.

There! I see it. A gateway.

He looked up at the bushes and saw nothing in the rock wall. But on the paper in his hand, the quivering lines arched in a way he recognized.

“I’m going after them,” he told the driver. “Would you unsaddle my dragon and give him a rubdown? He’ll find his own food.” Bardon folded the sketch and put it into his pocket. “I’ll be back with them. Don’t—”

“I know,” said the driver. “Don’t leave.”

Bardon nodded. “I’ll be back.”

He started for the cliff. Greer’s comment entered his thoughts but did not stop him. He scoffed at the dragon’s concern.

I know they said they’d come back and didn’t. That doesn’t mean I can’t handle whatever it is that has delayed them. Don’t be such a worry worm. I’ll find them, and I will be back.

He waded through the high grass and, like the driver, could see where the blades had been beaten down by many feet all headed in the same direction. He rounded the bushes and stopped in front of the rock surface. The gateway’s frame shimmered within the stone.

It’s not that hard to see. Why didn’t the driver notice?

“It’s about time you got here.” A high-pitched voice reprimanded him.

He spotted Jue Seeno sitting on a small ledge. She must have just moved because he could see her even with the moonbeam cape wrapped around her. Her furry feet dangled off the side, and she held a parasol over her head. As she glared at him without moving, all but her face and feet began to blend into the rock wall.

The parasol must be made out of the moonbeam fabric as well.

She stood, threw her moonbeam cape back over her shoulders, and dusted off the shiny fur above and below the intricate belt she wore. “They’re in trouble, but between the two of us, we’ll be able to extricate them.”

“What kind of trouble?” asked Bardon.

“Bisonbecks. Landed right in the middle of a bisonbeck military encampment. Well, not actually in the middle, but to the side. Then they were captured and taken to what the beasts are using for a bailiwick.”

“Perhaps we should get reinforcements.”

“No time.” The minneken pulled her sword from her garish orange and purple belt and brandished it. The thin blade of the rapier glinted in the sun as she swished it back and forth. “They’re talking of taking them to Crim Cropper.”

“How many bisonbecks are we up against?”

“Only ten.”

Bardon had fought bisonbecks on several occasions. The brutes stood more than six feet tall, muscled like the giant cats of the forest and thick-skinned like the vicious, toothy reptiles in the rivers of the southern continent. With massive heads, bulky necks, and meaty fists, they were made for fighting. Smarter than grawligs, they formed the evil wizards’ army.

“We’ll go scout out the situation,” said Bardon, “and then decide how to proceed.”

“Precisely.” With amazing agility, the little minneken scampered down the wall and stood before the gateway. “There’s a guard on the other side. I’ll go first and prepare the way. Count to ten and follow. I’ll have him distracted, doubled over, and wondering what hit him.”

Before Bardon could protest, Jue Seeno stepped into the gateway.