Several times, Cantor crouched beside a sleeping figure on the thin pallets laid out on the floor. Each time, he stood again and kept searching. Finally, in the middle of the room, he found her.
Holding out his light, he gazed at her. Her face was thinner, her wrinkles deeper, her gray hair hung loose instead of bound in the careful bun he was used to seeing. He wondered if her eyes would snap with life and some hidden amusement when she opened them. He loved her eyes.
Gently, he touched her shoulder. “Ahma. Ahma, wake up.”
She smiled before waking. Her eyelids twitched before she opened them fully.
“Cantor, you’ve been gone a long time.” She started to sit up, and he helped her. “Now don’t go thinking you need to coddle me. I’m not that much older than when you left.”
She put one cool, thin hand to his face and cupped his chin. “No doubt you’ve been having those adventures you were always so keen on.”
He couldn’t help but grin. Any minute, she might begin scolding him and telling him he needed to do this or that, and he yearned for that first tongue-lashing. It would mean she loved him, just as her harsh words had always carried the undertone of affection. He scooped her into his arms.
“Put me down. Put me down, you ruffian. When will you ever learn to curb your enthusiasm? Now run along and bring in the firewood. The box was empty last night. And no one’s here to do your work for you.”
He almost dropped her in his shock. He eased back and carefully studied her face. “Ahma, there is no firewood box. And there are people all around us. A lot of people. And Odem is here as well.”
“Where?”
Cantor hadn’t seen the old man since coming in the room, but he’d seen him from the Observatory of the Universe. “Here. Somewhere.” He placed her on her feet, careful to be sure she could stand before he let go. “We’ll look for him together.”
She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Such foolishness. It’s too early in the morning for nonsense.”
“Ahma, look. Look around us.”
The old woman peered into the darkness. “The floor needs sweeping. Wherever did all those bundles come from? Too big for the broom. Get the shovel, Cantor. You’ve tracked in enough mud to build a dam.”
She leaned against him. “My bones are old.” She moaned. “I think perhaps a few bits and pieces of me besides my bones are aging as well. No problem. Cantor will return from his adventuring and help me set things to right.”
“I’m here, Ahma.”
He put an arm around her shoulder, and she had to crane her neck to look up to his face.
She patted his arm. “Not my Cantor. You’re too big. I understand why you’d want to be Cantor. My pride and joy. Primen blessed me the day he had that babe delivered to my door.”
Tegan stood behind him. “We need to wake them and get them out of here. Their minds will clear once out of this dungeon.”
“Yours didn’t.” Cantor remembered Rollygon’s account of Tegan’s internment in this very same prison.
Tegan looked around and shuddered. “I was a special case. I was subjected to more of their foul devices because I’m stubborn.” He nodded toward the door. “Rollygon and Bridger have gone to wake the mor dragons.” He paused, looking first at Ahma and then at Cantor. “She’ll be all right.”
Tegan turned and reached for the closest sleeper. “Wake up, dear fellow. We’re going for a walk.”
OH MY, OH MY, OH MY!
A beautiful day for flying. The cool air against Bixby’s cheeks refreshed like a dash through a woodland waterfall. And the early morning sun bounced off Totobee-Rodolow’s scales, picking out the gems and making them sparkle.
Bixby gasped as she looked over Totobee-Rodolow’s shoulder and spotted the camps below. “And this is only half of our forces?”
“No, darling, this is all. They gathered them all here to train them and give them their orders.”
In the two days since they’d begun this epic venture, the camps had been set up. The different warriors were separated into groups. Bixby easily identified the gorus area. The uncouth dragons needed no tents, but their grounds had been torn up by their activities.
“What did the gorus do to ravage the land so quickly?”
Totobee-Rodolow shuddered at the sight of the dragons below. “What they are doing this very minute, being rough and rowdy. They constantly compete in races and wrestling and anything else to work off energy. It is said that each day a gorus awakens with enough energy for three days. They either have to expend that energy or stay awake for three days. If they stay awake, at the end of the three days they go berserk from lack of sleep.”
As far away as possible from the gorus, someone had set up a camp of elegant tents in neat rows.
“The Realm Walkers Guild councilmen,” said Totobee-Rodolow before Bixby could ask.
“What are they doing here?”
“Looking for an excuse to do evil, I imagine, darling. Why else would they bother themselves to leave the comfort of their mansions?”
“They don’t look like they’ve left much comfort behind.”
Other groups of less lavish tents scattered over the vast tundra at the western edge of Derson. People milled around. Some pointed up at the swarm of mor dragons and their riders. The sight had caused a stir. People jumped and waved, shouting greetings.
Makeshift corrals penned riding animals. Dogs, cats, and chickens ran free. Although there were few permanent buildings, the area looked as congested as a fair-sized town.
Bixby screwed up her face and, at the same time, tried to keep the whine out of her voice. “Where are we going to land?”
It was a legitimate question. She looked over her shoulder at those behind her. Sixty-two rescued realm walkers on sixty-two mor dragons flew behind her. To either side, Cantor, Tegan, and their two constants added to the number.
They’d gotten the prisoners above ground, fed them a banquet from the hampers they’d brought with them, given them strong-brewed coffee with plenty of sugar and cream, then set up showers for their use and provided fresh clothing. By then, the dawn brightened the air.
All those associated with the prison guard still slept soundly, each of them trussed and gagged. Just before Cantor signaled for everyone to mount up and follow him through a huge portal provided by Chomountain, Bixby and Tegan had gone around leaving knives within sight but difficult to reach. When they awoke, the wardens and jailors would have to tackle the uncomfortable business of getting free.
“There’s a meadow beyond that river.” Totobee-Rodolow shifted and flew toward the area she spotted.
Bixby slipped off Totobee-Rodolow’s back. Activity bustled in the field that had been empty moments before. The realm walkers, after the ride on their constants, shook off the last of their captivity.
Bixby started toward the camps, eager to find her friends. The evidence of their success in their separate missions flourished among the scattered tents.
After entering the confusion, the first person she saw was Dukmee. He took her hand. “We have work to do.”
He pulled her toward a tent that she hadn’t seen as they came over the swaying grasses. “What kind of work?”
“Healing.”
Inside, the tent reminded Bixby of her first look at Dukmee’s Three Herb Healing Shop in Gristermeyer. Jars, wooden boxes, and bags sat on every shelf space available. Bunches of herbs in various stages of dryness hung from ropes crisscrossing the ceiling. A work bench held a magnifying glass, an eyedropper, tweezers, mortar and pestle, plus numerous beakers, flasks, and funnels.
Dukmee began loading a hamper with potions he’d already mixed. “The lot you brought in will need strengthening for their bodies and clarity for their minds.”
A loud eruption silenced him for a moment. He listened, and when no further commotion ensued, he continued the packing. He loaded a second hamper as well as the first. “The gorus dragons are continually getting into malicious mischief. I’ve got a c
ompound here that will tame them. But I’m debating whether we want them slightly subdued and cooperative or unstoppable and uncontrollable.”
“I vote for slightly subdued up until the Lymen come, then unstoppable.”
“Timing. That means precise timing, and I have no experience with their breed or the potion.”
“Ask Chomountain.”
“I did.” He stopped what he was doing and gazed into her eyes. “He said we’d been given what we needed.”
“So that means we have the means —”
“And somehow we have the know-how.”
Bixby scowled, trying to puzzle it out. “I don’t feel like I do. He probably meant just you. I’ve got you to help me.”
Dukmee handed her one of the hampers. “We’ll be going to the lot you brought in first. They’ll get warm, nourishing food and comfortable beds to get some rest. We’ll souse them with herbs to clear their blood and some roots that will restore nutrients to their bodies. They spent too long without sunlight, and we’ll counteract the effects of that as well.”
Because Bixby was gifted, over the years she’d been sent to numerous mentors. She never stayed with one for more than a couple of months. She learned rapidly and began to ask questions that the scholars found impossible to answer. She exhausted their store of knowledge, and then she exhausted them. But Bixby had been with Dukmee for more than two years.
Now, with a startling realization, she knew why. Dukmee had as many interests as she did. He bounced between different areas of expertise like a handful of beans dropped on wooden steps.
Why did she not get bored? Why didn’t he send her away? Because they both did a fast-track cycle in a myriad of disciplines. She broke into a smile.
“What are you grinning about?”
“I’m not bored.”
He grimaced, shook his head at her, and headed for the door. “Come on, then. We should be able to stay two steps ahead of your boredom.”
They toured through the camp of rescued realm walkers and mor dragons. The ride on their dragons had cleared the cobwebs from the realm walkers’ minds. Soon after they landed, they’d begun taking care of each other, which meant the visits from Bixby and Dukmee didn’t take long.
Bixby scurried forward when she finally spotted Cantor’s Ahma. “Hello.” She made a slight curtsey. “We met earlier.”
Ahma looked at her without recognition.
“I’m a friend of Cantor’s.”
That brightened the old woman’s face. She reached out to take Bixby’s hand and held it securely in her own two. Bixby would’ve had to tug to get it loose. Her lips twitched into a nervous smile. Perhaps greeting Ahma without Cantor by her side had been a bad idea.
Ahma chirped an inquiry. “Cantor’s friend?”
Bixby nodded yes, pasted on a bright smile, and gave her hand a tug. Ahma held tight. Bixby didn’t like the gleam in her eye. Hadn’t Cantor said something about his Ahma being a bit confused? But the freed realm walkers had all been like that, and they were all better. She hoped Ahma was better too.
The old lady cocked one eyebrow. “Cantor is a dear boy.”
“Yes, I know that.”
Tug. Tightened grip.
“Are you that kind of friend?” Ahma tilted her head, a gesture Bixby had seen Cantor do a hundred times.
Bixby shifted on her feet. She didn’t like having her hand in a vise, a gnarly, bony vise. “What is a that kind of friend?”
“You know, my dear. He’s handsome and kind and would take care of his family.”
The light dawned. “Oh, that kind of friend. No, we aren’t that. We’re friends, just friends. There’s none of that.”
Ahma dropped Bixby’s hand. “That’s too bad. Do you have any cranetame in that hamper of yours?”
“Yes, ma’am.” She put the hamper on the table to look for the herb. Her wild hair hung down as she leaned forward, covering her face as she pawed through the black opening. She reached in and pulled out a delicate shawl. “Cantor sort of picked this out for you when we were at the market in Gilead.”
“What do you mean sort of?”
“He saw it and liked it and said you would like it and put it back.”
“So you bought it.”
Bixby nodded. “So I bought it.”
“For me?”
She almost stated “for you” and stopped herself. A nod would do.
“You’re a dear child. But too young and frail for a realm walker’s wife.”
Bixby’s calm smashed against the old lady’s condescending tone. “I don’t want to be a realm walker’s wife. I’m a realm walker in my own right. No one has asked me to be a wife.” She nudged aside the memory of Tegan’s many proposals. “And it’s not a job I’ll be applying for any time soon.”
“Wife?” Ahma looked truly startled with her eyebrows arched way up on her forehead. “I said life, dear. Life. Not wife.”
“Oh. I guess I didn’t hear correctly.”
Bixby knew she had heard Ahma correctly. What game was Cantor’s old mentor playing? She pulled out a packet of cranetame herb and handed it to Ahma with what she hoped was an unagitated smile. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“No, dear. Run along.”
Bixby strode away, completely unsatisfied with their visit. She didn’t know what she had expected, but this wasn’t it. Cantor should have provided a common ground between them, a starting point for friendship. One thing Bixby knew for sure—Ahma had no desire to be a friend.
She left the realm walker camp. Some of the constants had remained with their partners, and some had congregated by the river. Finding Totobee-Rodolow and Bridger shouldn’t be difficult. They hoped to find old friends and gather news as they mingled with the other mor dragons. They were also imparting information about the threat of the Lymen, the plan for defense, and the status of the Realm Walkers Guild.
She found them easily enough. They were in a deep conversation with Odem and two other mor dragons. She laughed when she saw Jesha on her favorite place between Bridger’s ears.
“Hello.” She held out her hand to the old man. “I’m Bixby D’Mazeline.”
He warmly shook her hand. “Princess Bixby. Cantor told me about you. He was concerned for Ahma at the time. He reassured me that you and Dukmee could cure any side effects we might suffer from our imprisonment.”
“Dukmee is a healer. I’m his apprentice.”
“Modest as well as beautiful. Now that is a good combination.”
He let go of her hand but put his arm across her shoulders and turned her toward the four dragons. “This is Tom, Ahma’s constant. And Nahzy is mine.”
Bixby did her bobbing curtsey. “I’m pleased to meet you.”
They acknowledged the greeting as two who were familiar with the ways of court. Bixby preferred to keep her royalty concealed for just this very reason. It would take days for them to start treating her as just another comrade.
Days.
That would be after the Lymen attack.
She hoped they all lived to become well-known friends.
LINE OF DEFENSE
They’d used the V of force before. Cantor told himself it would work here in this larger, more sophisticated version. It had to.
The defenders formed two lines, one along the edge of Derson, and the other on Zonvaner. Chomountain centered the one and Dukmee stood at the point of the other. From each leader, a line composed to maximize the strength of their force spread out in both directions along the edges of the two planes. The warriors were arranged in repeated threesomes: realm walker, realm walker’s constant, gorus dragon.
Behind this line of defense, a second row offered backup. More gorus populated this line, and there were seasoned soldiers from all three endangered planes. The gorus could be counted on to dispatch any enemy that broke through the frontline. Also, they would jump into any gap should a member of the first string fall. Keeping them back would be more of a problem. The gorus dragons were
enthusiastic fighters.
A half mile behind the second line, the councilmen stood with their personal bodyguards, or as Bridger remarked, their personal thugs.
Tension zinged along Cantor’s skin. He breathed deeply and whispered a prayer for their success. The words of appeal to Primen veered off to concentrate on the protection of his most cherished. Ahma and Odem must withstand the onslaught. He’d just found them. Bridger must be kept from some foolhardy move. Bixby . . . Bixby was actually the first one to come to mind, and he’d shoved her down on his prayer list. Behind every petition for grace and mercy, her name floated as a distraction. She impaired his communion with Primen, his effort to center himself and prepare for battle. He would prefer to be by her side in this fight. Clearly her effect on him was a good reason to not be too close.
Bixby was on one side of Dukmee and Cantor on the other. Cantor felt Bixby knocking up against his thoughts.
“You’re supposed to be concentrating. What do you want?”
“Don’t be a grouch. I want you to tell me this is going to work.”
“It worked yesterday when we did the first experiment.”
“Actually, it worked the third time we tried.”
“It worked the first two times, but had glitches. That’s why we practiced — to get the snags out. The third time was perfect.”
“But we didn’t sustain it for long.”
“Bixby, take deep breaths.”
“I wore heavier clothing so I’m less likely to catch fire.”
“You soaked your clothes in that liquid Dukmee gave us, right?”
“Yes. It smells.”
“Then don’t take deep breaths.” He looked at Bridger and the gorus dragon just beyond him. Bridger had taken an instant dislike to the brute that had been assigned to them. All the gorus dragons were on the rough side — no manners, loud, boasting, and taken to raucous revelry. Chomountain had gone into the gorus camp and calmed them down. Dukmee had threatened to drug them, but Cho didn’t like the idea.
Cantor spoke to Bixby, hoping to soothe her pre-fight jitters. “Is your gorus behaving?”
“Yes. I think he’s in awe of Totobee-Rodolow.”