N’Rae sashayed by him once more, knocking him with an elbow. He leaned closer to the post.
Impractical bed to put in such a tiny room!
The younger emerlindian had placed Jue Seeno’s basket in the middle of the mattress as soon as they entered the room and the door to the hall was closed. She’d opened the top, helped her tiny protector out, and closed the lid. The outraged minneken stood on her traveling abode, waving her fist in the air.
Granny Kye, of course, sat in the chair.
The afternoon sun streamed through a window, and a chill breeze blew the white curtains about, but the heated oratory in the confined space made the room extremely unpleasant. Bardon sought a reason to escape, even as he appeared to listen attentively to all three women.
Mistress Seeno’s agitated voice rose to his ears.
“First, we have that marione farm boy snooping around—”
“Holt has been very useful,” Granny Kye cut in.
“But why? Why has he been useful?” shrieked the minneken.
“Because he’s been brought up well?” The old emerlindian looked to N’Rae, who nodded her head. The young woman went to the window and parted the curtain to stare out at the street.
Jue Seeno waved her arm in the air, and, for a moment, Bardon pictured her brandishing a shining sword. “We don’t need an adventure-seeking tumanhofer nor a ne’er-do-well marione muddling up our perfectly respectable quest. The boy is an inconvenience. The mapmaker is a disaster.”
“Jue…” Granny Kye’s low voice contrasted to the frantic squeak of the minneken. She spoke rapidly, and enthusiasm shone in her eyes. “The mapmaker is a necessity, and the farmer’s son turns out to be handy. He procured the cart for our transportation. And this inn is very reasonably priced. We shan’t waste our money here. Everything is falling nicely into place. How like Wulder to take care of every little detail. You know, I’ve never been on a quest. I think I am going to enjoy it.”
The minneken hunched her narrow shoulders, pulled a long shawl more tightly around her, and frowned fiercely at the granny emerlindian. “As for those two interlopers being Wulder’s doing, I’ll wait on pronouncing that to be fact. As for us not wasting money here, that might be true, unless the mistress gives you a sad tale about needing new linens.”
“I’m carrying our coins,” put in Bardon.
“Well, that at least is sensible.” Her whiskers quivered. “These two men are not a good idea. What should happen if I am discovered? What protection can I be to N’Rae if everyone and their nefarious uncles know about me?”
N’Rae turned away from the window. “Whose uncle is coming?”
“There, there,” said Granny Kye. “You can still scout. You can still gather information. You can still stand guard.”
The minneken did not look encouraged.
Granny Kye continued, “Master Bromptotterpindosset will be so busy translating the diary and drawing his maps, he won’t notice you.”
“Not notice a minneken!” Jue Seeno dropped to a sitting position, kicking her feet as they dangled off the side of the basket. She shook her head. A tiny felt hat between her ears slid back and forth. Bardon wondered what anchored it. And he noticed the pink and orange headgear matched the belt she wore. She looked forlorn in spite of her colorful attire.
“I can’t do much about the mapmaker,” said Bardon, “but I shall try to dissuade Holt from any further prying. Perhaps I can send him home to his loving family.”
“Prying?” N’Rae marched to his side and poked him on the arm with a sharp fingernail. “That’s unfair. He has been nothing but helpful.”
“I don’t trust him, either,” yelled Jue Seeno. “I’m your protector, and I say he’s a wild card. We don’t know what he’s up to.”
Bardon nodded his agreement. “I don’t trust his motives. His father may have sent him to discover what our quest is, just in case it should be a profitable endeavor. Or, Hoddack wants his son to bring back a bride who tames kindia.”
“That’s unfair as well!” N’Rae planted her fists on her hips. “Holt already told his father he didn’t want anything to do with such a plan.”
Jue Seeno and Granny Kye continued to argue over whether or not to trust the tumanhofer and the marione.
Bardon kept his attention on N’Rae and his voice calm, responding to Sir Dar’s training to be a diplomat as well as a knight. “Then why is he here?”
N’Rae’s pale complexion colored a bright red. Her lips thinned as she pressed them together. She frowned and looked down at Bardon’s chest. “He said he came to see me.”
“And you don’t quite believe him,” Bardon said softly.
She shook her head. “Not quite.”
“I’ll go ask him. Then we will both know.”
“He’s out in front of the inn, talking to a man. I saw him out the window.”
Bardon left the room, determined to get some answers from Holt. He took in a deep breath first thing after the door closed behind him. Even the stuffy air in the hallway felt refreshing after the heated atmosphere of the tiny bedchamber. He breathed in again, feeling the tension ease from his shoulders. He’d much rather talk to a man.
Women are a tangle of emotions. Pull the wrong string and look out!
A threadbare rug muffled his footsteps in the hall, but as he went down the wooden steps, his boots hammered a swift cadence. He crossed the empty entry hall and stepped out into the sunshine. He stood for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the bright light.
None of the neighboring businesses looked any more prosperous than the hostelry. Only a few people walked the narrow sidewalk on either side of a rutted street.
Where’s Holt?
Bardon stood on the stoop of the inn and searched both directions. The farmer’s son was nowhere in sight. Bardon spotted a tavern and headed in that direction. Even if the marione hadn’t stepped in for a cooling drink, the squire thought a tall, bracing glass of Korskan tea would be welcome.
As he passed an alley, he heard a grunt. Stopping, he heard heavy breathing, and the thud of fist against flesh.
Another grunt. “I told you I don’t have it.” Holt’s voice.
Bardon stepped into the alley. In the shadows, he saw a tall o’rant holding a shorter, broader man against the wall.
The squire used the same calm voice he’d used with N’Rae. “Let him go.”
Three thugs emerged from the shadows and fell upon him. Bardon sidestepped one assailant lunging from the right and grabbed the man by a shoulder and wrist. Twisting the attacker’s hand behind his back, Bardon then used the man as a weapon, ramming his body into the brute charging from the left. The third man jumped on Bardon’s back. The squire tucked his head and rolled forward over the man he held, slamming the one on his back against the ground. He let go of the first man, continued his somersault over the body of the other, and sprang to his feet.
One of the men charged him again, but Bardon pivoted, swung a booted foot up, and side-kicked him in the stomach. The second man had regained his feet and came at Bardon, only to be kicked twice, once in the kneecap and once in the face. The squire used an elbow to break one man’s nose and a backward kick to disable another as the ruffian hurled himself at Bardon’s back. The assailants took off, one man helping a badly limping comrade. The o’rant clutching Holt didn’t enter the fray. He dropped the marione and ran.
Bardon watched them go, breathing deeply, but without a mark on him from the fight. He went over and helped Holt to his feet.
“Thanks.” Holt groaned. He held his arms around his middle. Sweat poured down his face even in the chill shade of the alley.
“What did they want?” asked Bardon.
“What do ruffians usually want? Money, I guess.”
“I heard you tell him you didn’t have it. That sounds like an answer to a specific question. I don’t think it’s a good idea to lie to me, Holt.”
“I didn’t lie. I asked a question and then answered it.??
?
“Prevaricating. That’s lying with finesse. Tell me the truth.”
“The truth is they wanted money.” His face twisted as he swayed and leaned against the building.
“There is still the ‘it,’ implying something specific. You didn’t say, ‘I don’t have any.’ You said, “I don’t have it.’ I’ll ask you one more time to tell me the truth, and if you don’t”—Bardon maintained the cool tone of casual conversation—“I may lose my temper. You hurt now, don’t you, Holt? You’ll hurt more when I’m finished.” He paused and looked over the pale, gasping marione. “Do you feel like hitting the dirt with considerable force again? It might jar those aches you already have.” Bardon shook his head as if he were weighing the possibilities. “I don’t think a shove or two would normally bother you, but I’m not in the mood for a genteel wrestling match. I’m in the mood to hear the truth…Well, it’s your decision.”
Holt’s eyes sizzled with hatred. “All right. I owe a man money. These men work for him.”
“Gambling?”
“Some. But the worst of it was I offered to trade five kindias for what I owed him plus six hundred grood. Then Father decided the kindia were not mine after all. They were to be my payment for traveling to Bintuppi and handling a business transaction. The deal went sour. I had no kindia to deliver, so I left town.”
“You didn’t happen to already have the man’s six hundred grood, did you?”
“Yes. I said I needed the money up front to handle the transportation of the beasts from upriver—the men, the special crates, the boat.”
“And your father wouldn’t help you out with the debt?”
Holt laughed and groaned. “Not again.”
“So you decided to follow N’Rae?”
“It was convenient.”
“And you think it would be convenient to go on a long quest.”
Holt breathed easier now. He stood a little straighter, moving away from the wall that had been supporting him.
“Actually, no. I’m not interested in getting into any dangerous situations, but I wouldn’t mind sailing north. Perhaps I can find a way to make some money, and when I have enough to pay my debts—”
“Debts? As in more than one?”
A half grin twisted the marione’s mouth. “Yes, quite a bit more than one.”
“What makes you think we will sail north?”
“You’re going to have to teach N’Rae discretion.” Holt snickered. “She chatters like a dorker, but she’s quite a bit prettier than those noisy birds.”
“So your plan is to sail north with us. Why not just sail north on your own?”
“They will be inquiring after a lone male passenger, not one of a party of five.”
“And you plan to separate from us once we reach a port at some distance from here.”
“Correct.” He paused. “You can’t keep me from boarding the same ship, you know.”
“Oh, I probably could. But N’Rae would be displeased with my methods.” He rubbed his hand over his chin. “If you happen to board the same vessel that takes us north, I would appreciate your leaving N’Rae alone. She’s too naive to recognize a cad when she sees one.”
“A cad?” For a moment, Holt seemed affronted, but he chortled and grinned. “All right. I’ll not turn the young innocent’s head. When do we leave?”
“I have to visit a friend in the country first. You can make the inquiries to find the fastest ship going north for our party of five tomorrow. I should be back by sundown.”
“Deal,” said the marione and stuck out his hand.
“I won’t shake with you, Holt. From what you’ve told me, it is not likely your honor backs your handshake. I wouldn’t want you to get the impression I trust you.”
The shorter man let his hand fall slowly to his side. The easy and charming smile faded from his handsome face.
“If I didn’t need a cover for leaving this region, I’d part ways with you now,” Holt said.
Bardon shrugged. “It would be inconvenient for me to put off visiting my friend to deal with the matter of arranging passage first. But you may leave our company now if you wish.”
“You’ll allow yourself to associate with the likes of me so that you can see him a day earlier? Your friend is that important to you?”
“He is, indeed.”
17
A FRIEND
Rain drenched the city during the night. Bardon listened to the drum of heavy drops on the windowpane and wondered if he’d have to ride through the torrent to find Greer. He barely heard the town clock strike eleven through the splatter of rain and the claps of thunder. But he heard the midnight toll underscoring a gentle shower. Sleep muffled the lone peal of one o’clock.
He woke in the morning, sprang out of a lumpy bed, and opened the window. The sun rose in the eastern sky, casting an enchanting glow on wisps of clouds as they broke apart and trailed away in puffy filaments. Warm, playful breezes rustled the spring leaves in a tree at the side yard. Chickens scurried about, pecking and scratching in the dirt. Skittish brown thornsnippers twittered from the tree, and plump waistcoaters cooed from the eaves of the buildings. The earth smelled damp and rich and full of promise.
The squire dressed and ran down the back steps to the kitchen. He charmed a few biscuits stuffed with bacon and cheese from the busy cook and stood by the hearth as he ate. He also downed a mug of warm, fresh milk. As soon as he’d tipped the cheerful woman and audaciously planted a kiss on her ruddy cheek, he left the inn.
He’d arranged for the use of one of the inn’s horses the night before. Riding at a brisk clip, he made his way to a location directly east and three miles beyond the last cluster of houses that could have been called part of the city. He tied the horse securely to a woody bush, climbed a hill, and surveyed the surrounding pastures.
This turned out to be a good place to meet. A few farmers, a few stockmen. Not a crowd by any means. That will please Greer.
He sat on grass dried by wind and sun. The smell of the heated, rich green blades acted as a soporific. He yawned, stretched, and lay on his back. A stir of thought not his own passed through his consciousness.
“You haven’t got a chance,” he said out loud, knowing that the thought would go to Greer. “You haven’t been able to sneak up on me in the three years we’ve been together. Not even in the beginning when I wasn’t all that great at receiving your messages.”
Too lazy to get up, he turned on his side and shaded his eyes with a hand, looking to the south. A large black dot skimmed over the horizon. With each breath he took, he saw the shape grow larger and more defined. From experience, Bardon knew he breathed in time to the dragon’s wing beats. This unconscious physical synchronization came as part of the bonding between him and his mount.
When he could distinguish purple body and cobalt wings, he stood and waved an arm in greeting. As Greer landed, Bardon knelt and covered his head, shielding his face from the debris blown up in the air by the force of the major dragon’s wings.
As the dust settled, he rose, a grin stretching his mouth until his cheeks ached. “I am not groveling before you, you old, overgrown bat!”
He went forward and put his arms around the dragon’s neck, resting his forehead against the sleek scales. A warm thrum passed between the two, each relishing the friendship of the other. When Bardon had settled in to wait on the hill, he knew the bond between them would bring Greer as surely as a trained waistcoater would find its way home.
I have had a most unsettling week, Greer. Ideas and images poured out of his mind. He didn’t have to organize his thoughts to present them logically. The dragon took possession of the information with the same interpretations that Bardon had placed on each relevant fact.
While he communicated, Bardon removed a large pack strapped to Greer’s back. The leather bundle contained his riding saddle, empty panniers, and assorted cloths and brushes for grooming. Bardon removed the cloth and some balm. He proceeded to rub the salve in
to the place where the pack rasped the dragon’s skin. He then buffed Greer’s scales. While Bardon groomed him, Greer relaxed, hummed deep in his throat, and stretched out on the grass.
Occasionally, in response to a part of Bardon’s continuing narrative, the dragon made a sympathetic grunt in his throat. Once, during the recounting of the quiss tale, Greer gasped. That brought the smile back to Bardon’s face. He stroked the dragon’s neck, right behind the ear, glad he had someone to confide in.
“Yes, that was pretty gruesome, and the implications of what Stox and Cropper could be cooking up is horrific…Yes, horrific is a word.”
He went on to describe the reappearance of Holt Hoddack into their lives. Now the rumblings from Greer’s throat sounded suspiciously like laughter. Bardon left the subject of the aggravating marione and went on to the acquisition of a mapmaker as well as a map for their expedition. He glossed over the brouhaha in the tiny bedchamber and gave a full accounting of the addition of a debt-beleaguered marione farm boy to their ranks.
“Yes, beleaguered is a word…I do not use big words when I’m upset. And I’m not upset…I contend that it will be easier to keep an eye on that scalawag Holt if we know where he is.”
Greer had settled into a reclining position during this long explanation of what had passed during the days they had been separated. Bardon finished the grooming and repacked the bag. It lay on the ground by Greer’s tail.
Bardon leaned back between Greer’s forelegs against the dragon’s chest. To get his mind off the mess that awaited him back in Ianna, Bardon asked what his friend had been doing.
Greer told of flying over the countryside, basically taking in the sights. He’d hunted chigot deer in the forests. And during another flight, he’d caused quite a stir, flying over a field full of children playing astiket ball.
“I guess you’re right,” answered Bardon. “People in the southwest region aren’t as used to seeing dragons as those in Wittoom and Ordray.”
Greer lowered his chin to the top of Bardon’s head and gently rubbed it back and forth.