DragonKnight (25 page)

“I wouldn’t like to ride like that,” said Ahnek. “All closed-up like. I couldn’t see.”

“I wouldn’t like it, either,” said Sittiponder. “I couldn’t feel or hear or smell.”

Bardon laughed. “You shall soon feel and hear and smell a great deal, young Sittiponder. Get yourself settled. We shall depart very soon.”

“What’s that smaller basket, Squire?” asked Ahnek.

“Homing waistcoaters. Sir Dar wants us to keep him informed of our progress.”

He left them to make his way around the field, checking on each rider and dragon. Satisfied that all was well, he bade farewell to Sir Dar.

“Wulder be with you, young Squire.”

“And with you, my knight.”

He vaulted into Greer’s saddle and gave the signal to rise. With huge colorful wings sweeping through the air, the entourage of six dragons ascended into a clear blue sky and headed north.

Nothing untoward occurred during the morning flight. They landed, ate, and rested at midday. During the afternoon, clouds began to accumulate.

What was that, Greer? My mind was wandering…Frost says that Sittiponder says that the voices say there is bad weather ahead? Relay a question to Bromptotterpindosset. Is there shelter nearby?

Bardon waited for a few minutes.

Seagram says his rider, Pont, says that the tumanhofer mapmaker says The Caves of Endor are the closest?…I, too, find our passing of messages amusing, Greer, but I think not as much as you do. Your chortling is jiggling my saddle…

I
am
learning a sense of humor, but just now I am leading a questing party into foul weather. I think it imperative to see to their safety…I never claimed to be a people person if that means, as I think it does, that I relate well to people…I’ve never claimed to be a dragon person, either
…

Oh, enough Greer! Just tell the other dragons to inform their riders that we are changing our course to reach The Caves of Endor. Pont’s dragon shall take the lead. Tell Seagram to have Pont secure directions from Bromptotterpindosset.

Greer, my saddle is jiggling again.

         
31
         

T
HE
C
AVES OF
E
NDOR

Lightning forced them from the sky, but not before they reached the Plain of Gette, where they could go on foot, following the Bissean River. An hour’s trek in sheeting rain got them to the Ledges. The Caves of Endor honeycombed the oversized, natural, sandstone steps. Unusual geological formations covered one hundred square miles of the upper Wittoom Valley. Between the river and the beginning of the Ledges, numerous mud holes bubbled with smelly gases. Steam mixed with cold rain around each one. Occasionally, they heard sizzles and pops as cold water hit hot rocks.

The caves provided crude shelter for travelers. None of the high races lived close by because of the smell rising from the mud holes and because geysers occasionally popped through the crust of the earth without warning. No one wanted to build a house, then wake up in the middle of the night to find the floor swamped with steaming water.

The riders and passengers did not complain as the dragons marched through the unusual terrain.

“We should be close now,” called out Bromptotterpindosset.

Bardon called a halt to their caravan. “Holt, Ahnek, men, we shall get down and gather fuel for a fire.”

“Won’t it smoke something awful?” asked Ahnek.

“It’ll cover the smell of the mud holes.”

The men descended from the backs of the dragons. “Gather the thick limbs of the portamanca bushes,” instructed the mapmaker from his doohan. “They are surprisingly light, and you can peel the outer bark to find a wood core that burns very efficiently.”

“What’s this portamanca bush look like, Master?” called Ahnek.

“Have one of the riders point it out, boy,” barked the tumanhofer. “It’s past time you got out of the city. You need a different education than what you got on the streets.”

“That’s why I’m here,” muttered Ahnek.

Bardon stood nearby and heard him continue grousing as he shuffled through the puddles.

“I mean to make the most of my life, and here I am doing it, in muddy water up to my ankles with smelly gases nearly choking me ’spite this blasted cold rain.”

Two riders put out a tarp on which to throw the branches of the portamanca bushes. Then they dragged the waterproof canvas as they walked to the caves. The others continued to gather wood.

“How do we know we’re going in the right direction?” Ahnek asked Bardon as they met beside the tarp, each carrying an armload of fuel.

“As long as we don’t cross the Bissean River, we’re going the right direction. The cliffs and ledges angle out from the riverbed. We’d have to turn completely around to miss them.”

In just a few more minutes they came to the first ledge. The dragons stepped up easily. They all turned on the wide shelf, lowered their heads, and allowed the walking members of the party to ride up, clinging to their necks. With the four corners of the large canvas tied together, Greer took the bundle in his teeth and carried it up several more layers of rock before they reached a ledge that had huge, gaping, black entries to the caves beyond.

“We’re going in there?” asked Ahnek.

Bardon slapped him on the shoulder. “It’ll be warm and cozy.”

“Right. Just like a warehouse.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever slept in a warehouse, Ahnek. But I have slept in The Caves of Endor. Aside from the smell, they’re a very comfortable accommodation. If you wish privacy, you can choose your own little cave jutting off from one of the main caverns. I’ve met other travelers here and shared a community campfire. Music, good stories, and dance. It can be quite a treat.”

“Right.”

The boy didn’t sound convinced but followed Bardon as he led the party into the largest cavern. The riders brought out lanterns from their packs of supplies and soon had a golden glow emanating from the center of the cavity in the limestone ledge. The other passengers dismounted, and Bromptotterpindosset took over the job of building a fire. Holt and N’Rae built seats out of the larger parcels and bundles as they unloaded the dragons. The dragons, one by one, slipped off to nearby caves to curl up and sleep.

“Why did they leave us?” asked N’Rae.

Bardon hooked together a metal apparatus that would hang over the edge of the fire and hold a kettle. “They don’t like the smoke and don’t mind the smell of the mud holes as much as we do. And, they really only enjoy the company of people in small numbers. In other words, they like their riders, they tolerate passengers, but people in a crowd are bothersome.”

The riders prepared food, a potato flat and creamed greens, which all the questing party enjoyed. The smoke from the fire did minimize the stench from outside. After they ate, Bromptotterpindosset told stories of his many travels. Granny Kye got out her sketchbook and drew. Sittiponder and Ahnek sat together with their backs against a soft roll of blankets. In the cave, the warmth of the fire kept the chill at bay.

Eventually, the mapmaker grew tired. “My voice will give out,” he said. “Let’s have some music.”

Three of Sir Dar’s riders played musical instruments. That didn’t surprise Bardon, who had also been trained to play the flute while in the doneel’s service. They chose songs of adventure, ballads of charming maidens and daring rescues, chants of epic quests, and melodies of haunting beauty, which filled the cavern with a mysterious ambiance.

First Granny Kye took herself to a corner of the room, and N’Rae followed to help her lay out a pallet. Holt and Bromptotterpindosset took the boys with them to share a sleeping nook. Bardon went with the riders to check on the dragons and make their campsite secure for the night. The squire assigned shifts for night watch and took the first one himself.

During the first hour, the storm whipped itself into a crashing uproar with flashes of lightning and claps of thunder. Bardon doubted anyone huddled in their blankets had fallen asleep. The worst of the tempest moved south, and only the sounds of rain and distant rumbles disturbed the silence. On the third hour of his watch, the rain subsided to a drizzle. Bardon woke Pont to take the next shift. Before turning in, he circled the room one more time. Everyone slept.

At the back of the cavern, a tunnel reached into the depths of the mountain. He chose the wall next to this opening to roll out his blankets. Stretched out on his back with his hands clasped behind his head, he reviewed their progress.

The first day hasn’t been so bad. The riders are helpful and work well with the original party. Holt has pulled his weight and shown no signs of bothering N’Rae. I do wonder why he is with us. To court the kindia-gentler? To escape his debtors? Just to try something new?

Bromptotterpindosset is an asset. Mistress Seeno has made herself scarce. Granny Kye already seems tired. This is too much of an undertaking for one so old. But she wants to find her son. I believe this desire will carry her through. Sittiponder and Ahnek have both contributed in their own ways.

All in all, it has not been a bad first day.

After three hours of deliberate alertness, he found his body unwilling to relax. The light from the flickering flames cast dancing shadows on the walls but scarcely reached the ceiling. To compose himself for sleep, he quoted principles in his mind.

“Beyond what we see, our fire enlightens or destroys.” Wulder, make Your passion to be my passion so that when my actions affect those beyond my vision, the influence will be good and not bad.

“A ripple or ring. The rock or the shore. It is no more glorious to be the start or the end.” Wherever You place me, Wulder, allow me to be effective.

“A man of integrity—”

A sound from the depths of the mountain echoed through the tunnel by his head. Bardon sat up and put his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Critch. Critch.

He stood, concentrating on the slight scratch of a hard substance against stone.

Pont saw him and drew his own sword. He tiptoed across the cave and stood beside the squire. Bardon held up a finger to indicate he didn’t want the rider to speak.

Critch. Critch. The sound moved closer.

Pont tilted his head. His eyes locked with Bardon’s. A question clearly lit the rider’s expression.

Critch critch. Critch critch.

Bardon pulled his sword.

Pont mouthed a word, his voice not sounding the question. “Druddum?”

Bardon shook his head. The cave-dwelling mammals skittered at high speeds through caves and tunnels. This creature sounded large and slow. Druddums would be no problem. He suspected this beast to be deadly.

Critch critch. Critch critch.

Whatever made the light sound could not be more than a few feet deep into the tunnel. Bardon waved Pont to the other side. They stood waiting with their weapons ready.

Critch.

Bardon took in a breath and held it.

Critch.

He concentrated only on the dark mouth of the underground passage.

Critch critch.

Black, snakelike tentacles waved out of the opening.

Critch.

The body of a huge spiderlike creature stepped into the light.

One more step, you beast.

Critch.

Bardon plunged his sword into a soft spot directly behind the creature’s bulging, compound eye. A second later, Pont’s knife speared one of the other eyes. The creature thrashed once and collapsed.

Bardon let out the breath he’d been holding and heard Pont do the same. He looked up at the rider-warrior.

“Now, what do you suppose a Creemoor spider is doing in Wittoom?”

         
32
         

A L
EGEND

Bardon sent a message by waistcoater at first light:
Killed Creemoor spider in Caves of Endor. B.

Three of the riders hauled the carcass of the spider onto the flats amid the mud holes and set fire to it. It took most of the morning to burn the body to ashes so that none of the creature’s poisonous fluids remained to kill some unsuspecting animal.

Even with the late start, the flight north that day covered more ground than the previous day. Bromptotterpindosset estimated two more days before they would reach the northern foothills of the Kattabooms. The mountain range petered out one hundred miles south of the Finnicum Gulf. From there, they would veer to the east and follow the coast to the northern border. Unless they dallied along the way, they should reach their destination before a week was out.

The mapmaker and Granny Kye sat together in the evenings. She poured out all the bits and pieces of information she had gleaned over the years. He made notes and examined his maps and charts and the diary of Cadden Glas. The doneel’s crude maps compared favorably with the more-expertly drawn cartographer renditions of the Northern Reach. However, the adventuring doneel had explored areas that were blank on Bromptotterpindosset’s scrolls.

“I’m trusting Glas’s recordings to be accurate,” he told Bardon as he pointed with a stubby finger to a high mountain valley. “This is recorded in the diary but not on the official charts. Cadden Glas proves close to the mark on the places we can compare. Why should he be imprecise on the areas only he has drawn?”

Bardon examined the map in the diary. “And Granny Kye thinks that this high valley is the location of the fortress where the knights are under a spell?”

The mapmaker nodded with conviction. “It matches the snips of information—a tiny, round lake at the southern end. Two towering peaks to the west. A break in the eastern wall of mountains, as if some giant had pulled out one of the mountains in the chain like a sore tooth.”

“Is there a name for this valley?” asked Bardon.

“Cadden Glas called it Broken Cup Valley.”

The squire contemplated the peculiar markings on the small page of the diary. “Why do you suppose he chose to write his diary in an obscure language? No one that I know of converses in meech. Except perhaps those dragons of the missing sect.”

“Why are they missing?” asked Ahnek as he walked up with Sittiponder.

Bardon and Bromptotterpindosset jumped.

The tumanhofer scowled at the boys and fussed. “I thought little boys were loud, noisy, rambunctious. How is it you two are always lurking about without a squeak between you?”

Both o’rant and tumanhofer child grinned. Ahnek answered, “We’re practicing for when we’re in enemy territory.”

“I know,” said Sittiponder.

“Know what?” asked Ahnek, his forehead wrinkled.

“About the meech colony. A small group had lived in seclusion in the Kattaboom Mountains. They kept a distant friendship with the doneels, but only because the doneels were useful to them. Risto sent a force to ravage the little community and steal their eggs. The survivors fled to the north.”

“Why didn’t they fight?” asked Ahnek.

“Because they believe in a better way.”

“What better way?”

Sittiponder shrugged and then grinned. “I don’t know. It’s just called the better way.”

“Who tells you these things, son?” asked Bromptotterpindosset.

“The voices.”

The older tumanhofer adjusted his glasses higher on his round nose. “Do you hear the voices all the time?”

“Not so much since we’ve been traveling. I think I am too tired at night to listen properly. And we are too busy during the day for me to sit and listen.” He sniffed the air. “Supper is almost ready. Fried fish. Holt caught them.”

The boys hurried off to the cooking fire. The mapmaker put away his precious book and scrolls. He and Bardon joined the others around the campfire. The squire frowned as he saw that N’Rae sat on the same log with Holt. On the ground at their feet, Jue Seeno sat at her table, which was set up on the flat lid of her basket.

Bardon got his plate, filled with fish and cooked wild ostal greens, and perched on a square parcel on the other side of the young emerlindian girl. He didn’t speak but silently said a word of thanks to Wulder.

He looked down at N’Rae’s most diligent chaperone. Mistress Seeno sipped tea from a tiny cup. His eyes roamed over the rest of their questing party. Not far away, Granny Kye sat with the boys and did not once look to see if her charge was up to mischief. Bardon cast a sideways glare at Holt and began to eat.

The marione acknowledged the squire’s presence with a brief nod. His handsome face held a look of congeniality, his eyes a sparkle of merriment. He chewed and swallowed.

“N’Rae, do the fish speak to you?”

“No.”

“But I thought you could talk with any animal, even a chicken.”

“You don’t understand. None of the animals talk. They use images to relay their thoughts, not words.”

“None of the animals use words?”

“Dogs and cats use a mixture of pictures and a limited vocabulary. Ropma do the same but possess quite a few more words to express themselves.” N’Rae stirred the grain porridge with her fork. “A lot of emotion comes through as a dog communicates. Cats are different. I think that cats actually have a much wider command of words than they let on.”

“Humph,” said Jue Seeno.

“What was that, little mistress?” asked Holt.

“Oh, don’t tease her, Holt,” scolded N’Rae. “You know she doesn’t like to be called ‘little mistress.’ And she said she doesn’t care for cats. They think too highly of themselves.”

“So dogs, cats, and ropma use words?” Holt focused his attention back on N’Rae.

Bardon watched her blush, the color clear even in the flickering light of campfire.

She nodded. A few yards from where they sat, Sittiponder leaned forward, his attention on the conversation.

“How about birds?” asked Holt.

“Pictures.”

“And other animals? Pigs?”

“Surprisingly clear images. Quite a few words.”

“Horses and kindias?”

“About the same, except horses think deliberately, and kindias’ thoughts move in rapid changes of pictures.”

“Dragons?”

“Dragons are not animals, Holt.”

“They aren’t?” He grinned. “Then what are they, fair lady?”

“They are a race from somewhere else,” Sittiponder answered abruptly. “They came through a dark hole. Many creatures swarmed at their feet, fleeing whatever was beyond that hole. But not all the smaller creatures adapted to our climate and our food.”

Holt looked up, clearly annoyed at the interruption. “I suppose the voices told you this.”

Sittiponder shrank back a little at his tone. “Yes,” he said meekly.

Jue Seeno abandoned her table and scooted up N’Rae’s leg to sit on her knee. She spoke to the girl, and Bardon almost caught the gist of what she said but was too far away to hear properly.

“Oh!” said N’Rae. “Mistress Seeno wishes me to tell you that there is a legend on the Isle of Kye that would correspond to what Sittiponder just said. She says that the minnekens came with the dragons. The meech led the way. It was the exodus.”

“Exodus from where?” asked Holt.

Jue Seeno spoke.

N’Rae repeated. “She doesn’t know.”

The tiny minneken turned and faced the blind seer. Bardon knew from the inflection of her words that she asked a question.

From across the fire, Sittiponder responded. “No, Mistress Seeno, I do not know either. The voices have not told me.”

Holt muttered, “He could not have heard from way over there. I can barely hear anything sitting right beside her.”

The minneken turned and shook her fist as she spoke to the upstart marione. Her raised voice carried distinctly to Bardon.

“Not all creatures have their own egos stuck in their ears, keeping them from hearing.”

Bardon laughed out loud. Jue Seeno had quoted a principle with her own twist to the words.

Holt looked puzzled. Ahnek smiled but did not seem to understand what was going on. The others smiled or laughed.

When Bardon could still his laughter enough to speak, he quoted the principle properly. “‘A man’s ego may interfere with his hearing the truth.’”

“Very funny,” growled Holt. “I suppose that is written in one of those Tomes of Wulder you drag around.”

Bardon nodded. “Right smack dab in the center of the second book. And since there are three Tomes, it is in the middle of Wulder’s written word. Some say it is the crux of the whole revelation.”