DragonKnight

  “Yes, Master.”

  “And your quest?”

  “We continue tomorrow.”

  The tumanhofer scribe patted Bardon’s arm. “You say you haven’t started your sabbatical. I wouldn’t be so sure of that, my boy.”

  He chuckled, bent his head, and resumed his shuffle down the corridor.

  Now, what did that mean? A sabbatical is supposed to be a time of reflection. I certainly haven’t had time to think about what I’m going to do with my life. At least he didn’t ask me to run through today’s girder.

  Bardon went to his room in a foul mood, bathed, dressed, and groomed his hair. Before he ventured out again, he looked in the mirror and made sure his hair covered his ears.

  Imagine Librettowit getting married. His face relaxed. And Dar may be able to reach Regidor and send him to join us. He smiled. And Kale is beautiful and talented. I knew that. His lips parted, and his eyes turned into half moons with laugh wrinkles radiating out.

  He nodded to the image in the mirror and left his room. He quickened his step when he finally reached the dining suites. Turning a corner, he nearly ran into a woman being escorted by a courtier.

  “Excuse me.” He stepped to the side.

  “Bardon,” the lovely young emerlindian said, “you’re going the wrong way.”

  The squire looked sharply at the couple. The courtier he knew as Trum Aspect, an o’rant dignitary promoting trade with the southern continent. The young lady, he had never—

  “N’Rae?”

  She smiled, let go of her escort’s arm, and twirled. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”

  Her dress of light blue silk swirled around her and settled again in soft folds starting from a high waist and ending with the hem brushing the toes of satin slippers. The bodice glimmered with tiny blue gems. Her white-blond hair swept up under an elaborate headdress with two sheer scarves draped from the crown. She wore long, white gloves and carried a painted fan. A lace shawl, fringed and beaded, covered her bare shoulders.

  “The nicest lady came to my room and helped me dress,” she said. “Her name was Faye.”

  Bardon let his eyes drift over her attire and then gazed at her face. Her eyes sparkled, her smile invited him to join her enthusiasm, her entire being spoke of elegance and beauty. He shifted his gaze to the man beside her and then back to N’Rae.

  “You look extremely good tonight. But I’m not going the wrong way.”

  “Oh, but you are. Trum is taking me to the blue room. I’m to meet Grandmother there.”

  Squire Bardon looked back at the young o’rant. “He is?”

  N’Rae resettled the shawl on her shoulders, not looking at either young man. “Well, of course he is. Why are you being such a dolt?”

  Bardon grinned as he took her hand and placed it in the crook of his elbow. “Now, that sounds like the N’Rae I know, even though you look like a princess instead of my comrade.”

  N’Rae gasped. “Am I really your comrade, Bardon? Truly?”

  “Indeed. We take up our quest tomorrow.” He nodded at the courtier. “I’ll escort her the rest of the way, Master Aspect.”

  The young man nodded and stepped back. Bardon noted the overly correct stiffness that hid the young man’s anger. And that N’Rae was totally oblivious to having been in the company of a cad.

  “Thank you, Trum,” N’Rae called softly after the departing suitor. “I enjoyed our talk.”

  “As did I, fair lady.”

  Bardon tugged gently and started them down the hall.

  N’Rae shook her head. “But this is the wrong way, Bardon.”

  “I lived here for three years, N’Rae.” He winked at her. “This is a shortcut.”

  They passed two doors, turned down a hallway, and entered the first room on the right, stopping in the doorway to survey the scene. The other guests had already arrived. Dinnerware gleamed on the long table. Scrumptious smells of wonderful delicacies filled the air.

  “Where was he taking me?” asked N’Rae.

  “Probably just for a long, roundabout walk in order to spend time with the most beautiful woman at court this evening.”

  She squinted at him with a crease across her brow. “Does a pretty dress really make that much of a difference?”

  He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You are a charming young thing and shall have to guard against young men who would love to steal from that beauty.”

  “How could one steal from beauty?”

  “By taking what doesn’t belong to them. By encroaching on your youth.” He saw the bemusement on her face.

  He shook his head and screwed up his mouth. “N’Rae, in plain words, unscrupulous men will want to filch a kiss and more from you. This would give them great physical pleasure and, for some of them, the satisfaction of a conquest as if you were no more than a hunting trophy. You would have lost something that could not be replaced. Your beauty would be less pure.”

  N’Rae cocked her head. “Does that mean that I can never kiss and cuddle?”

  “When you choose a man who will be your life partner, then each kiss accentuates your beauty instead of diminishing it.”

  A look of mischief came to her eye, and a smile quivered on her lips. “You give sage advice for a bachelor, Bardon.”

  Bardon felt heat creeping up his neck. He cleared his throat. “It is written in the Tomes of Wulder, N’Rae. I have studied the Tomes extensively.”

  “Have you ever stolen beauty?”

  “No, I have not.”

  Granny Kye approached them. The basket on her arm looked out of place with the brightly colored robes layered over a straight white tunic. The floating material of the outer garments billowed as she walked. Bardon suspected she couldn’t decide which color appealed to her most and so put them all on, one on top of the other.

  “We’re going to close the doors now that you’re here,” she said. “Jue Seeno is to eat with us, and the servants are not allowed in the room. She’s a bit nervous, as you can imagine.”

  She handed N’Rae the basket. “Bardon, Mistress Seeno wants you to sit next to ‘that tumanhofer’ and keep him distracted. Steer him out of any conversation dealing with the minnekens.”

  He leaned over the little creature’s traveling abode. “Yes, Mistress.”

  Her high-pitched answer could be heard clearly through the woven reeds. “Don’t you get smart with me, boy.”

  When they sat for the dinner, Sir Dar gave thanks to Wulder, ending with “By Your might and wisdom, may we live and breathe.”

  “Prejudice, that’s what it is,” said the tumanhofer after several helpings.

  “I beg your pardon, Bromptotterpindosset,” said Bardon. “I don’t know of what you speak.”

  The mapmaker tilted his head toward Jue Seeno’s small table and chair sitting among big tureens of soup, baskets of rolls, and platters of meat.

  “She’s prejudiced against tumanhofers. Thinks we have no discretion.”

  “I believe she is worried for the privacy of her people.”

  “Humph!”

  The tumanhofer’s grunt reminded Bardon of Wizard Fenworth.

  Bromptotterpindosset chewed and swallowed, his fork already stabbing into another chunk of meat. “Did you know there is no foundation for prejudice in the Tomes?” He waved the fork for emphasis.

  Bardon thought for a moment. “I haven’t pursued that concept in any study I’ve done.”

  “Well, there isn’t. I’ve studied Wulder’s Tomes as well as other religions of the world.”

  He nodded. I was supposed to steer Bromp away from talk of the minnekens. I think he has done it himself. But I’m not sure exactly what we are talking about now.

  The tumanhofer pointed to Bardon’s other side, where N’Rae sat. “Your little emerlindian is about to burst into tears.”

  The squire turned abruptly and caught N’Rae dabbing at her eyes with the napkin.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Everything,” she answered in a sma
ll, pitiful voice. “I shouldn’t be enjoying this fancy meal and fine clothes and even music coming from somewhere. Where is the music coming from?”

  Bardon waved a hand toward one of the walls where the ornate paneling hid a small chamber. “There are musicians behind that false wall.”

  N’Rae’s face took on the expression of a startled deer. She peered at the panel and then at Jue Seeno. “They can’t see her, can they? She would be so upset.”

  “No, there’s a black cloth backing the open work of the carving. The sound can penetrate, but the room here is still private.”

  The girl relaxed but still looked miserable. Another tear formed in the corner of her eye.

  Bardon patted her hand. “Tell me, what’s wrong?”

  “We’ll never get to the fortress where my father is prisoner. At this rate, the Wizards’ Plume will pass under the Eye of the North long before we even cross the border into the Northern Reach.”

  “We’ll make better time riding dragons, and we leave early tomorrow. Do not give up hope, N’Rae.”

  She sniffed and smiled wanly. “It’s just that suddenly I felt so guilty, Bardon. I was so happy with the dress and this beautiful place. The pleasure of it all seemed wrong somehow.”

  “In the first Tome, Wulder says, ‘Taste now and imagine. For this pleasure is as a grain of salt to what I have prepared for you who follow Me.’”

  “So it’s not wrong to enjoy this.”

  “Not in the least.”

  After dinner, the guests mingled for a while. Bardon spotted Mistress Seeno cornered on the ledge over the hearth by the inquisitive mapmaker. Jue Seeno sent him a beseeching look that begged for rescue. Bardon approached them.

  “Bromptotterpindosset,” he said as he raised the water goblet to his lips and sipped. “I know Sir Dar’s interested in the maps you acquired on the Herebic continent.”

  “He is?” He turned to find his host in the room, locating him conversing with Granny Kye. “I’ll just visit with him now, since our time tomorrow will be short.” He bustled off.

  “Thank you,” said Jue Seeno.

  “It was my pleasure.”

  “The man loves to hear himself talk. He lectured me on prejudice, and in truth, I agree with the man. But I felt like he wanted me to realize how much knowledge he had of all the persuasions of the many cultures he has visited. I didn’t really appreciate his topic when it was merely a showcase for his theories.” The minneken sighed and sat in her chair, making herself comfortable and picking up her needlework. “My opinion on the subject is based on Wulder’s teaching.”

  “The subject was prejudice? He mentioned that at the table. It must be on his mind.”

  “He’d taken a more narrow subject, actually.”

  “He had?”

  “Yes, and I couldn’t get a word in edgewise to set the man straight.”

  “And the narrowed subject was…?”

  “Your ears.”

  Bardon felt his eyebrows shoot up.

  “Your ears reveal your mixed heritage.” Mistress Seeno wove several strands of bright thread together. “Some people scoff at halflings, but why?”

  Good question. Why? Bardon reached for a candy mint in a bowl beside the minneken’s chair and placed it in his mouth instead of answering.

  “Because misinformed people equate the creation of a mixed race with Pretender’s creation of the seven low races.”

  Bardon nearly choked. He sipped from his water glass as Jue Seeno went on without even a glance at her uncomfortable audience of one.

  “Wulder does not forbid intermarrying among the seven high races. Of course, some mixes would not work for obvious reasons. Urohms and kimens, for instance.”

  With difficulty, Bardon swallowed and carefully placed the glass on the hearth ledge.

  “The point is that men, in their infinite wisdom, have decided to make a law that Wulder did not deem worthy of putting in the Tomes. So you have prejudice, founded on misconception and pride.”

  Mistress Seeno carefully tied off her thread at the end of the row. When she had examined the work and turned it over to bind the edge, she said, “I don’t believe Wulder looks down on the seven low races.”

  “You don’t?”

  “I don’t see it written in the Tomes.”

  “But the Tomes were written before the emergence of the seven low races. How could there be revelation of how they would stand in Wulder’s eyes?”

  “Wulder is Creator of all.”

  “Not the seven low races!”

  The minneken lifted an eyebrow but said nothing.

  Bardon lowered his voice. “Pretender created the seven low races. They are a travesty of natural beings.”

  “I believe that Wulder allowed the creation of these unnatural beings.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged. “Either He is Wulder and in control, or He is not. I believe He is. Since He is Wulder, and the low races were created with His knowledge, then they will ultimately serve His purpose. Nothing Pretender does is done without the overseeing of the Creator. In the end, Wulder will use what Pretender has created for evil to do something good for all.”

  Bardon paused. He searched for something to say. “I think you have a greater faith than I do.”

  Jue Seeno stifled a sudden laugh in her throat. “I am just older, my boy, just older. Give your faith time to grow, be strengthened by adversity, refined by trial and error.”

  Later, in his chamber, he had trouble sleeping. N’Rae’s ability to attract males, without a proper education as to what to do with them once she had them hovering around her, bothered him a great deal. Jue Seeno’s theories about Wulder’s involvement with the future of the low races puzzled him. When he finally did doze off, he slept fitfully.

  The corner of his bed sank under a weight. Immediately awake, he lay still.

  “It is I, Paladin. You need not fear. Sit up, Bardon. We must talk.”

  His candle sizzled, and a flame sprang from the darkened wick.

  Bardon pushed back the covers and sat up. Paladin sat on his bed, leaning against the tall footboard. In the flickering light, he looked weary.

  “You have traveled far, my lord.”

  “Yes, these are disturbing times.”

  “You know about the quiss?”

  “Yes.” He waved his hand through the air in a dismissive gesture. “It is monsters harder to fight than the quiss that trouble me.”

  “May I be of service, my lord?”

  A sad smile crossed the noble features of the leader of Amara. “Yes, you may be successful on this quest of yours. That would be a great service. I could use a dozen or so more knights who understand the code of valor.”

  “Do you not have an army of warriors who understand?”

  “They have been taught ineffectively—a convoluted version of the code. Among them, there are a few who have grasped the truth. But our forces are weakening. ‘Variance from the code’ is the monster that worries me most.”

  “I shall do my best to bring the knights back, my lord.”

  “I know you will, Bardon.” He reached into a pocket and pulled out a coin. He handed it to the squire. “I brought you something to help.”

  Bardon examined the small, round disk. “Kale has one similar to this.”

  “Yes. Yours will help you to discern the hearts of those you encounter. If it is warm against your palm, you can trust the person. Even if their best is not good enough, their hearts are true to your cause. If the coin is cold, shun the person. His way is not your way.”

  He rose to leave.

  “Paladin?”

  “Yes?”

  “Is that all? Are there no other instructions? If this quest is so important, could you not come with us?”

  “You have all that you need to be successful if you use your knowledge and resources wisely. The quest is important, but Wulder has put me on a different path.” He shrugged, and his lips lifted in a genuine smile. “I don’t cho
ose my tasks any more than you do, Squire Bardon. But I am content to follow whatever road He lays before me. After all these years, I cannot but trust Him. Even when I misinterpret His meaning, He saves me.”

  As Paladin walked out of the room, the flame guttered and went out.

  He looked so tired. How could one empowered by Wulder look so weary?

  30

  ADDITIONS

  Those planning to depart on the quest gathered at the dragon field as the sun peeked over the horizon.

  “Oh look, how beautiful,” said N’Rae as she and Bardon crested the hill. “Why are the dragons dancing?”

  Soft, pink rays of the new morning glistened on jewel-like dragon scales and the dew clinging to the grass carpet beneath their feet.

  “They’re stretching, getting their blood moving.”

  “You mean like a lizard or a snake warms itself on a sun-baked rock?”

  “Don’t say anything like that around Greer. Dragons are not reptiles.”

  N’Rae giggled. She pointed to Jue Seeno’s basket, which she carried on her arm, and whispered, “Just like minnekens are not mice.”

  “Exactly.” Bardon steered N’Rae to the side of the field, where they had a better view.

  Six dragons moved with surprising grace in a slow-motion ballet. Their different colors added to the dramatic effect. Two, besides Greer, were purple and blue hued. Yellow and copper scales covered one. The last two belonged to the green cast of dragons, but one had yellow accenting his wings, and the other’s underscore color was a shimmering blue.

  Bardon enjoyed watching the dragons stir their blood.

  “Like many older people,” he said, “when dragons first come out of a slumber, they are stiff. Of course, Greer has another theory. He says his body is so huge, he has to do these exercises to remember where the different parts are. He is reminding his brain where his tail is and what he can do by swishing it around. Same with his legs and wings. He says his brain never loses track of his neck or his stomach.”

  N’Rae laughed, then pointed across the field. “Look. There’s Sir Dar.”

  Sir Dar stood talking to three men and two women. By their uniforms, Bardon identified them as dragon riders. The doneel shook hands with each one and then came to join N’Rae and his squire.