DragonSpell

  The dragon inside crowded the open space between the walls lined with stalls. Her tremendous bulk blocked everything on the other side of the barn. As far as Kale could tell in the gloomy light, the dragon was black and gray with no glistening streaks of vibrant colors like Merlander.

  Celisse greeted Kale with a mellow call like a mourning dove’s coo. The dragon’s memories washed over Kale. She tried to comprehend the fast flow of information. Sorrow and rage pulsed in the dragon’s account of the tale.

  The people of the house were all dead. Celisse grieved the loss of her “family,” and Kale’s tender heart ached with the dragon’s.

  A detachment of soldiers had burned the house. Rough bisonbeck men carried off all the farmer’s crops. Ropmas, another of Pretender’s low races, had driven off the farmer’s livestock to feed Wizard Risto’s people.

  Celisse’s torment tangled the account of her defeat into a disordered mess. Now Kale saw images of a battle in the farmyard. Celisse had returned from a trip to town with the farmer and his oldest son on her back. They’d swept into the yard and fought the squad of soldiers left behind to complete the pillaging and torch the farmhouse. The farmer and his son were no match for the ruthless warriors. Soon only Celisse raged against them. She eventually sought refuge in the barn and struck out at those who tried to enter.

  Evidently, messages had been sent to the main body of the army. Risto’s men did nothing to keep their plans secret, and Celisse’s keen hearing picked up many conversations. A crossbow marksman had arrived with special arrows. The man had no trouble shooting the cornered dragon with a poison that kept her mind fogged, her body in agony, and her will to live sapped.

  Celisse knew Risto himself was coming to claim her for his own fleet of dragons. Her resistance dwindled with each poisoned arrow. Every time she felt her strength returning, the soldiers reopened the barn doors, and the marksman stepped into view, firing another arrow into her flesh.

  This had started several days before. Wounded and hungry, Celisse didn’t think she’d last much longer. But with the arrival of Kale, her will revived. If she lived, Celisse wanted to join allegiance with the mighty Dragon Keeper.

  Now the dragon’s hope soared and invaded Kale as the o’rant touched Celisse’s thoughts. Kale trembled as she tried to sort through the dragon’s turmoil.

  In addition to the emotions transferred from the dragon, Kale’s heart responded to the story of Risto’s callous destruction of the honest farmer and his family. She had to deal with her own feelings of disgust and anger. She understood Celisse’s desire to join forces with those who opposed Risto’s evil. She, too, felt an outrage against his crimes.

  However, one aspect of Celisse’s determination to seek revenge puzzled Kale. The o’rant girl had never heard of the “mighty Dragon Keeper” and could only guess his identity.

  Paladin? she quizzed the dragon.

  The dragon’s thought pattern rippled with laughter. “You are the mighty Dragon Keeper.”

  Kale’s mouth dropped open, and she closed it with a snap.

  “That’s ridiculous. I haven’t even been to The Hall yet.” She spoke sternly to Celisse and moved closer. In the murky gray light, she could see an odd spiny growth on Celisse’s back, over the left wing, and behind a shoulder blade. She studied it for a moment and then let out a horrified gasp.

  The poisoned arrows! Long barbs stuck out of swollen flesh like pins in a cushion. Kale’s stomach turned just the way it had when she had to pull a fishhook out of little Dubby Brummer’s thumb.

  This would be worse, much worse.

  19

  HEALING

  Kale’s memory latched on to one of Leetu’s instructions.

  The purple root cleans a wound and kills the pain.

  Kale tore the buttons of her cape out of the buttonholes and whipped the special garment off her shoulders. She turned the cape inside out and laid it on the barn floor. Kneeling, she began to empty the two side hollows. Gymn poked his head out of his pocket-den and watched intently as Kale sorted through the many different items.

  “Where is it? Where is it?”

  Finally, she pulled a purple tuberous root out of the pocket.

  “A knife. I need a knife.”

  Gymn darted out of his hole, dove into a hollow, and came out seconds later with a pocketknife in his mouth. He dropped it in front of Kale and lunged back into his own pocket.

  Kale muttered, “Thanks,” and picked up the knife. By scraping the root with the edge of the blade, Kale made a pile of creamy violet powder. When she had a handful of the precious medicine, she took it over to Celisse.

  “I think you’ll have to lay on your side in order for me to reach the wound,” she told the huge beast.

  The dragon, already in a prone position, shifted, and her bulky torso rolled over. Exhausted, she stretched out her neck and closed her eyes. Her shallow breathing barely stirred the bits of hay on the dirt floor. Occasionally, a moan escaped her throat.

  Kale went right to work. She spread the powder over the swollen flesh, around the protruding arrow shafts, and put an extra amount where heat radiated from pus-filled sores.

  “I suppose it would have been better to make a poultice, but we don’t have what we need.” She spoke aloud, but when she looked at the dragon’s face, the huge beast seemed to be unconscious.

  “I’m doing the best I can, Celisse.”

  I really hope it’s enough. Granny Noon, you should be here.

  Kale remembered something the old emerlindian had said as they parted at the gateway. “My hope goes with you.”

  Kale leaned against the ailing dragon’s side.

  “Will that help? Will Granny Noon’s hope help?” she asked in the cool, dark barn.

  Kale waited. The medicine needed some time to work, but not much. Leetu had said powder from the purple root worked quickly. While the minutes ticked by, Kale went over some of the other medicinal objects Granny Noon had put in her hollow pockets. She remembered a brown vial with a cork stopper. She returned to the cape to rummage through the collection.

  “Here it is.”

  She walked back to the dragon, pulling the plug out of the neck of the bottle as she went. She held it under her nose and sniffed. Her head jerked back, and her nose wrinkled at the strong odor of scarphlit.

  Kale inspected the open wound where she’d applied the purple root powder. It already looked better.

  She started to pour on the oil and then paused to speak to the dragon, “This won’t hurt.”

  Celisse didn’t seem to hear.

  Kale dripped the oil from the small brown bottle on the wooden shafts of the arrows where they entered the dragon’s body. Then she sang ten verses of “The Beggarman’s Wife” in her head, using the tune to measure off the twenty minutes needed.

  The wounded flesh felt cooler under Kale’s fingertips. She carefully pulled on the first arrow and mentally thanked Granny Noon for the oil when the rod slipped out with no problems. In a few minutes she had extracted all of the huge poison darts.

  “Now for the healing.” Kale went back to her cape and tenderly took Gymn from his pocket-den. “I don’t really know what I’m doing. I don’t suppose you do either. We’ll both touch her and touch each other because Dar said something about a circle. Then all we can do is leave the rest to Wulder.”

  Kale leaned against Celisse’s side near the wound. She placed Gymn on the beast’s dark, scaly skin but kept her hands cupped around the tiny dragon. Then Kale relaxed. Her body molded against the hard-muscled Celisse, and her mind wandered much as it did when she was tucked in bed and ready to sleep.

  In this half-awake state, she began to feel the same surge of energy she had felt when Dar played praises on his flute and the kimens appeared to dance in the cygnot bower. The feeling rose and fell, swelled up and drew back, much like Dar’s music. Kale liked both the calm parts and the wild, energetic surges. With joy, Kale realized Wulder was part of the healing circle. Celisse
, Gymn, Kale, and Wulder. The truth nearly took her breath away; it was so wonderful.

  Then the feelings left, drained away, leaving only a hum of gladness in her soul.

  Celisse stirred, raised her head, and yawned. Kale saw new skin where the horrible infected wound had been. The healing had worked.

  Kale moved back to her cape and sorted through the various objects she’d left in a heap. Gymn zipped back into his pocket while she tucked items into the cape hollows.

  She heaved a big sigh. She had accomplished one part of her mission. Time to let her doneel friend know what was happening.

  She’s healed, Dar.

  “Good. But I think more time has passed than you’re aware of. It’s afternoon. The fog is holding. It’s a very sticky cloud we’ve been blessed with this day. But still we must get away.”

  I understand.

  “See if Celisse can fly.”

  Before she could even ask the question, the riding dragon conveyed her enthusiastic answer into Kale’s mind.

  Kale grinned. Dar, she can!

  “Well, get busy!”

  “We can’t waste time,” Kale spoke to the dragon. “Where’s your saddle?”

  The dragon thought of her saddle, and Kale sensed the location. She moved into a stall, dragged out the heavy leather contraption, and pulled it toward Celisse.

  Gymn came out of his pocket-den and climbed to perch on Kale’s shoulder. His eyes grew big as he saw Celisse wide awake and moving.

  Celisse stretched her neck out until her huge head hovered directly over the minor dragon. She sniffed the little creature. With a whoosh, the air at Kale’s shoulder drew into the large dragon’s nostrils. Gymn gave a short, shrill cry and collapsed in a heap. Kale caught him as his little body slid down her chest. Startled, Celisse backed up.

  In the dim light, Kale examined the baby dragon.

  “Fainted again.” She went to her cape and carefully placed Gymn in the inside pocket he had claimed as his den. Then she returned to her most pressing problem.

  “This is where Dar’s fine plan begins to fall apart,” she grumbled as she examined the odd contraption on the ground. The saddle had a place for two people to sit, one behind the other. Lengthy straps ran out of every large flap of leather. “I told him I’ve never been near a riding dragon, let alone put a saddle on and climbed aboard. I’ve never even saddled a horse.” She turned the saddle over and investigated the underside.

  “‘You can do it. You can do it,’ he says. And I say, ‘What if we get into the air and this thing comes loose? Then what will happen, Master Dar?’”

  Kale turned the saddle over once more. “I think this is the top and this is the front.” She looked at the large dragon. “How am I supposed to get this on you? You’re as big as a barn.” She looked around at the empty stalls and the bare hayloft. “Well, almost as big as a barn.”

  Dar?

  “What?”

  Tell me how to put this saddle on Celisse.

  The dragon lay down on the dirt floor. Following Dar’s instructions, Kale stood on Celisse’s leg. The small o’rant girl heaved the cumbersome double-seater over the dragon’s back, between her wings. The riding dragon stood to allow the buckles underneath to be secured. After several tries, Kale finally had all the straps going the right direction and fastened to the correct places on patient Celisse’s body.

  I’m ready, Kale announced to Dar.

  “Have you unlatched the barn doors and climbed into the saddle?”

  No, just a minute.

  Kale ran across the dirt floor. She put her eye to the crack, trying to remember if she had seen anything propped against the outside of the doors to keep them from opening. No, I remember the door was clear, and the bar brackets were empty.

  One glance told her that no one had since barred the door. The afternoon haze swirled between her and the charred ruins of the farmhouse.

  A breeze!

  A patch of sun broke through the thinning fog. She could clearly see the bisonbeck on guard.

  They were running out of time.

  20

  FIRST FLIGHT

  Dar?

  “I’m here.”

  We’re ready.

  “Good. This fog is going to blow away in the next few minutes. I’m moving into the farmyard. Don’t come out of the barn until you hear a long blast from my trumpet. When you come out, fly high and don’t look back. Got it?”

  Got it.

  Kale put on her cape and approached Celisse.

  “Now, I’ve never done any riding of any kind unless you count riding in a wagon, and I wouldn’t count that if I were you. So I’m not going to be good at this. I guess I’m saying I’m a bit nervous.”

  Celisse sent Kale an image. The huge, matronly dragon relaxed in the sun with numerous small children clambering over her. Then Kale saw the dragon in flight with a small boy clinging to Celisse’s saddle. The o’rant girl breathed a sigh of relief and climbed onto the dragon’s back.

  She hooked her knees over hard leather braces on each side of the saddle horn. These braces made a three-quarter loop, providing a sturdy anchor for her legs to squeeze during flight. Kale assumed that she would clutch this safety device and any other within reach as soon as they were airborne. The saddle horn had two padded handles. A second seat, attached to the first, extended out behind her. The farmer’s saddle had no fancy scrolling in the leather—no ornamentation at all—but it was strong, well put together, and in good repair. Kale thought it was a splendid saddle.

  No reins extended from Celisse’s head to Kale’s hands. The thought of using reins to direct a dragon was ridiculous. A dragon rider communicated to a dragon through mindspeaking. The dragon followed suggestions, if it desired. Dar had given Kale rudimentary instructions on flying with a dragon. No one thought of the dragon rider as master and the dragon as beast of burden. The two formed a team, and that was only if the dragon so chose.

  Kale heard the rapid blasts of a trumpet. She recognized the melody within the first distinctive notes. “March of the King of Lightyme” was a popular tavern tune.

  “What’s that?” a soldier’s rough voice bellowed.

  “Music,” another bisonbeck answered with a sluggish voice as if he’d just awoken.

  “I know that, you clout. Where’s it coming from?”

  “Well, would you look at that?” exclaimed a third voice.

  Kale very much wanted to see what was going on. To do so, she pictured the soldier who stood guard by the wagon. She repeated the words Granny had given her for protection in an evil mind and entered the man’s thoughts just as the soldier announced Dar’s arrival.

  “It’s a fancy-dressed doneel!”

  Through the soldier’s eyes, Kale saw Dar in brilliant yellow and blue court dress with a horn pressed to his lips. The little doneel came high-stepping out of the fog, playing the small silver trumpet as if he were leading a marching band. He strutted right into the open area in front of the barn.

  Kale held her breath, wondering what her little friend would do next. He had never divulged the details of the distraction he would create.

  “Oh, be careful,” she whispered. She watched through the mind’s eye of the soldier as two bisonbecks circled and flanked Dar. She squealed when they charged. Celisse shifted nervously beneath her. Gymn curled into a tight ball in his pocket-den. She felt him tremble. But Dar leapt into the air as Kale had seen him do before, and the two soldiers collided with each other instead of trapping the doneel.

  Dar lost not one note in his tune as he landed and continued his cocky march around the farmyard.

  “Why, you little—” The soldier on guard by the wagon suddenly charged Dar. Kale threw the enemy bisonbeck an image of blinding light just before he would have tackled the doneel. Unfortunately, she also blinded her vision of the action being played out in front of the barn door.

  A long blast interrupted the pleasant tune from Dar’s trumpet.

  “Oh,” said Kale,
startled. “Let’s go!”

  Celisse needed no more prompting than that. She ran full tilt ahead, smashing the wooden barn doors into pieces. Two steps out in the open, her mighty wings extended. With a lurch, she rose into the air. Kale held on tightly to the horn handles in front of her. She tried to open her eyes, but they remained scrunched tightly shut. Wet, cool air rushed into her face, preventing her from forcing her eyes open. She ducked, cowering over the front of the saddle, pressing her forehead against the hard scales of Celisse’s neck.

  She stayed that way as long as the position of the dragon’s body beneath her indicated they were climbing into the sky at a sharp angle. Finally, they leveled off. Kale forced her eyes open. Below them the fog swirled, thinning, breaking up. Trails of misty white hung over pastureland, wooded areas, and furrowed ground. She saw patches of green, a river, a road, and a few buildings.

  Celisse banked, her body tilting to one side as she glided in a circle and headed back the way they had come.

  “No, Celisse,” cried Kale. “Dar said to fly to safety and come back to pick him up later.”

  Through the dragon’s mind she saw little children, a plump woman with a kind face, an old lady in a rocker on a farmhouse porch, and two men, one old and one young, but so alike in looks they had to be father and son. These people were Celisse’s family, and Kale felt her own heart clench with grief as she responded to the creature’s sorrow. But another emotion was mounting within the dragon’s breast. Anger. Wild, intense anger.

  The anger became so hot it burned Kale’s mind. It grew and lost control and surged out of the dragon’s heart as rage. Celisse meant to return to the farm and avenge the deaths of her people.

  No, no, Kale begged as the dragon’s speed increased.

  They flew over the farm now, and Kale saw the tiny figures below. Dar in his bright clothes, a tiny smudge that jumped out of the way of the larger, darker bisonbecks as they tried to capture him. It looked like a game from so high in the sky.

  Celisse folded her wings and started a plummeting descent.