DragonLight (13 page)

Bardon rolled over on his back, sat up, and sprang to his feet in a move Regidor had taught him. He embraced his wife and kissed her forehead. “Good work. Now, let’s get them all in one spot so it’s easier to guard them.”

“I’m glad we have them all captured. I was running out of material for the webs.”

“Now, isn’t that good to hear?” The leaves around them rustled. Six burly bisonbecks stepped through the underbrush. Weapons drawn, faces hardened into lines of cold malice, eyes glaring, they didn’t look pleased with what they had found.

“You won’t be needing a guard for our comrades,” said the tallest. “Indeed, we will provide a guard for you.”

“Nah,” said a bisonbeck wearing a large chain around his neck. A bulky medal hung against his chest. “Just kill ’em. I don’t want to be bothered with watching ’em.”

“Yeah,” muttered another, and the remainder grunted their agreement, their heads nodding with zeal for the task before them.

“Oh, for the discipline we had in the army,” the tallest lamented. He lifted a hand and let it fall as he turned. “Do what you want. I’m hungry.”

         
16
         

R
EUNION

“You might want to delay killing us,” suggested Bardon.

“Why?” asked the one who had first objected to guarding them.

Another marauder took a threatening step toward Bardon. He held his weapon as if he would enjoy the swing that would cost the knight his life. He sneered. “Don’t listen to him, Reddig.”

“Because,” Bardon explained, “unless my wife releases your friends from their bindings, they will die a slow death.”

Reddig grunted and walked over to one of the bound men. He slashed his short sword across the weave of the web. The strands did not give. No mark showed at all. He hacked in a frenzy, then backed away to see that his efforts had been to no avail.

He glared at Bardon.

Bardon shrugged. “She’s a wizard.”

Reddig turned and rushed toward Kale. She took one step back, and where she had been standing, a broad column shimmered. But the bisonbeck did not have time to stop. He ran into the barrier and stuck as if he had been a fly swatted onto a windowpane. His face pressed against the invisible surface, distorting his features. He struggled to get free but could not back up.

The two remaining bisonbecks growled low in their throats, and they circled Kale. Bardon leaned against a tree and crossed his arms.

“Bad idea, fellas,” he said as he examined his fingernails.

Kale stood with one hand on her hip and the other resting on the hilt of her invisible sword. From the trees, a raucous call proclaimed the minor dragons had finished their little rest and were tired of sitting around. The nine dragons bombarded the last marauders.

Bardon watched with interest to see if Crispin would be able to actually produce his flame when he wanted to. No, he spit out a stream of scarlet saliva. It burned, of course, but no more than the spit of the other dragons. Each time one of the bisonbecks tried to escape and run into the woods, the flying attackers cut him off and drove him back.

After a few minutes, Bardon and Kale rescued the beleaguered men and tied them up. Kale checked the knots for tightness while Bardon searched for any hidden weapons. He collected a pile.

“I see I’m too late for the entertainment,” said a deep voice.

Kale whirled away from her chore and ran into Regidor’s arms. “You’re here. You sneaked up on me. You’re the only one who could.”

The green meech dragon squeezed her against his black jacket of superfine cloth. “Gilda, Sir Dar, Sittiponder, Toopka, Lee Ark, Brunstetter, and I seem to have succeeded.”

“I was preoccupied.”

“Didn’t these fellows get the drop on you?”

“Well…”

“You’ve been too long away from the world. This quest will do you good. Your skills are rusty.” He pushed her away. “You aren’t covered with blood, are you? This is a new coat.”

She laughed, and her uneven curls bounced as she shook her head.

Regidor frowned at the captives. “We found a most unpleasant fellow at Danns Crossing. I assume he belongs with these unsavory characters.”

“Indeed,” said Bardon. “Do you have a hollow, Regidor, in which to store this bounty of weaponry?”

“I should think the river would be a good cache for this lot.” He stepped up beside Bardon and sneered down at the odd assortment of weaponry. “Well, if this junk must be transported to the river, I shall assume the task. It might have been prudent to gather up some of those useful boys you had with you when you quested with Granny Kye.”

“The street orphans?”

He nodded with a pained look on his face.

A warmth of affection entered Bardon’s heart. No one felt more like a brother than Regidor. “I thought they were beneath your notice?”

“One does notice gnats.”

Bardon cocked an eyebrow. “And they did fetch and carry well.”

“Yes, there was that.”

Kale sat on a log, laughing and holding her sides. “Oh, stop. Please, stop. Both of you.”

The men exchanged a glance and shrugged. They strode over and each took one of Kale’s arms, lifting her to her feet.

“Sir Dar,” announced Regidor, “is fixing a scrumptious meal with the help of Sittiponder and Toopka.”

Bardon turned toward the crossing. “I certainly hope Toopka is in charge of buttering the bread and nothing more.”

Kale giggled. “She’s not very good at that. She bears down with the knife too hard and breaks the bread.” A solemn thought transferred from Kale’s mind to Bardon’s. She turned a worried face to Regidor. “The Dann family. Is there any sign of them?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Regidor, matching her somber tone.

Through the trees ahead, they saw a short, square marione marching a hefty bisonbeck in front of him.

“Lee Ark,” Kale called a greeting.

The major waved one hand briefly. “The stench from this reprobate disturbed your wife’s stomach, Regidor. I propose we tie him to a tree.”

“We have just the place,” answered the meech. “Not crowded at all.”

Bardon squeezed Kale’s hand.
You go on and see Gilda. I’ll go back with the men.

“All right, but if there is any talk about the black dragons and the Followers, you are to remember to tell me every word exchanged.”

He chortled.
You don’t mind if I go with them?

Kale rolled her eyes.
“Of course not.”

Kale heard the lilting strains of a shepherd’s pipe as she approached the old building. Sir Dar sat at one end of the porch with Sittiponder on one side and Toopka on the other. His black lips moved back and forth over the reeds. Metta provided the harmony. Sittiponder’s clear tenor joined the melody. Kale slowed her pace to amble her way to a bench by the stairs. There she sat until the song finished.

She jumped up, clapped, and climbed the steps. Toopka ran to throw her arms around Kale. “I’ve missed you. Sir Dar has fixed delicious food. It’s in the oven. Look, Sittiponder came with us.”

The young blind tumanhofer stood beside Sir Dar. Kale disengaged Toopka’s arms and crossed the wooden porch to embrace Sittiponder. A grin brightened his face as he heard the steps. She kissed the top of his head.

“Ah,” said the awkward youngster, “don’t get all mushy.”

“You’ve grown,” said Kale, trying not to laugh. “And you’ve gotten persnickety. You didn’t used to mind my hugging you.”

His cheeks colored, and he ducked his head.

She let him go, unwilling to embarrass him further. “Where’s Brunstetter?”

“Off looking for a trace of the urohms who should be living here.”

Kale had already searched the area with her talent and knew no living urohm was in the immediate area. Perhaps they had escaped and hidden in the hills or gone to the nearest town. She didn’t want to think of what had happened to them if they hadn’t fled. “And Gilda?”

“Inside,” answered Sittiponder.

“Cleaning,” said Toopka in an awed whisper.

“Cleaning? Gilda cleaning?” Kale edged around the others on the steps. She had to see for herself if Gilda was truly cleaning.

Sir Dar nodded. “That’s why we’re out here. Gilda has her own style of cleaning, and we didn’t want to be injured.”

“Be careful,” Toopka whispered.

A haze of smoke and the acrid odor of something burning hit Kale as she went through the door. She turned back. “Sir Dar, your dinner!”

“My meal is fine. That’s Gilda’s work you smell.”

Kale continued into the room. “Gilda?”

“I’m here.” Gilda’s throaty voice sounded as if she’d covered her mouth and nose with a handkerchief. “Whatever have you done to your hair, Kale?”

She raised a hand to her unevenly cut hair. “How can you see me? I can’t see you through all this smoke.”

“Perhaps I have better eyes. Your hair, Kale?”

“Black dragons attacked and scorched my curls. Bardon trimmed it up for me.”

“I’ll fix it for you once I’m done with this chore.”

Kale coughed and waved a hand, initiating a stiff breeze that sent much of the murky air out the open windows. Gilda sat in a bubble with narrowed eyes peering around the room. The protective enclosure surrounding Gilda muffled her words.

“Thank you,” Gilda said and gave Kale a halfhearted smile. “I couldn’t do that myself from in here, and I certainly wasn’t going to sit out there.”

She stared at a bench next to the wall, and the whole seat burst into flame.

“Oh!” exclaimed Kale. Then she realized the fire surrounded the wood but did not consume the bench. “Oh,” she repeated in a calmer voice. “You’re burning off the contamination.”

“Bisonbecks!” The fire fizzled and went out. Gilda turned her eyes on a rack of clothing. “Such a stink.”

With a whoosh, the hats, coats, and long pants caught fire. In a moment, the room filled with smoke. Kale waved her hand, and the blaze swayed toward the curtains.

“Be careful,” demanded Gilda. “I don’t want the house to go up in flames.”

Kale raised her eyebrows. “Sorry.”

The fire went out.

“Now,” said Gilda, “you may disperse the smoke.”

Kale motioned toward the windows, and the gray tendrils drifted away.

Gilda glared as she surveyed the room. “There! I’ve purified the entire room. Kale, cover the remnants of that awful odor with something. Choose a spicy fragrance rather than a cloyingly sweet aroma.”

“Of course,” said Kale but turned to face the other direction so she could first grimace her displeasure at being ordered around. Her expression changed to mischief when she pulled a vial from her hollow pocket and released the bouquet of talcum powder.

“Whatever is that?” Gilda objected in a voice loud and clear.

Kale turned to find the bubble gone, and Gilda standing with her nose scrunched up.

Kale smiled. “It’s called baby powder.”

“Your idea of a jest?” Gilda waved an arm, and the scent dissipated. She circled her arm above her head, and the room smelled of cloves, ginger, and bridesbark.

“Bardon tells me congratulations are in order.”

A smug smile bloomed on Gilda’s long exotic face. She strolled to a chair next to the window and sat. “I am, indeed, fortunate.” She smoothed the silky material of her long skirt. “What can be a more noteworthy accomplishment than to contribute to the long line of meech dragons?” She shrugged and looked away from Kale. “Of course, all mothers feel that pride of producing one of the next generation and thereby assuring the race will continue. But to be able to increase the meech population. To contribute another to our noble race.” Gilda sighed.

Kale stewed over the meech dragon’s inordinate pride in her heritage. She narrowed her eyes and almost succumbed to the temptation to use her talent to eavesdrop on the meech’s thoughts. As Gilda gazed out the window, did she imagine a long line of prodigy, her prodigy, ready to rule the world, enlighten those less fortunate, and improve society through their noble example? Kale’s stomach turned.

Bleh! She needs to memorize a dozen pride-versus-humility principles. I wonder if I could get Bardon to give her a list. No, he wouldn’t do it. He’d say I was being prideful, which is true, but I’d never catch up to Gilda.

Gilda turned back with a smile, and Kale banished the uncharitable thoughts lest the astute wizard tune in on her attitude. Evidently, Gilda was too caught up in her own musings.