DragonKnight

  As the squire followed his example in mounting the light into its holder, Regidor reached again into the hollow. “Once the object you wish to store is inside the hollow, it takes up no discernable space. At least, not in this dimension.”

  Bardon held up a hand. “Stop. Don’t explain dimensions to me. Just get to the point.”

  “I agree with him, Reg.” Gilda crossed her legs, shifting to a more comfortable position. “Too often you launch into explanations that are truly beside the point.”

  “And nobody wants to hear,” muttered Bardon.

  “More reason to find my clan,” said Regidor. “The hope of finding intelligent conversation.”

  The meech dragon twisted his face into a mask of extreme tolerance, eyebrows raised, lips pursed, and eyes cutting Bardon a look of disdain. “However,” he continued as if not interrupted, “the size of the opening to the hollow can severely limit what you collect. If you can’t pass the object through the opening to the other plane, you cannot store it.”

  Bardon nodded. “Like a dragon cannot go through a gateway unless the gateway is sufficiently proportioned.”

  The meech wrinkled his brow. “Not quite an exact parallel, but close enough.”

  “At this point,” said Gilda, “it would be worth our while to have the little Dragon Keeper with us.”

  Both men looked at the beautiful, exotic female sitting coolly on her rock.

  “Don’t look so astonished,” she said. “I’m surprised you haven’t thought of it before. Those minor dragons are excellent as scouts. She herself is an admirable warrior. And although she has not nearly the expertise of dear Reg, she is a formidable wizard.”

  “Be that as it may, Kale is thousands of miles away,” responded Regidor as he checked his weapons—a sword, two knives, and a pouch of small projectiles.

  Gilda’s eyes glittered in the blue light of the globes. “These tunnels twist and turn like a maze. You’ll be sorry you haven’t got Kale and her little dragons beside you.”

  Regidor did not answer.

  Gilda smiled in what Bardon thought was a catlike manner, with her head tilted and a look of superiority on her lovely features. She hunched a shoulder and spoke to Regidor. “Now you’re grumpy because you should have thought of her joining you earlier, and didn’t.”

  He faced her and spoke softly, no anger or impatience marring his tone. “Do you want to ride in your bottle or walk with us?”

  Her eyes widened, and her lips parted as she took in a quick, small breath. She glanced down the dark tunnel and shivered. Her chin tilted up, and she slid off the boulder. As always, her movements were smooth and fluid. “I prefer to ride in comfort, thank you.”

  He unstopped the container. She transfigured into her vapor form and flowed into the bottle. Regidor replaced the stopper and put the container in his pocket.

  “Can she hear us while she’s in there?” asked Bardon.

  “She used to be able to, but her powers have diminished over the years.” Regidor led the way down the tunnel, holding the light in front of him. “She used to be able to stay out of the bottle for longer periods of time without beginning to dissipate. She used to be able to perform minor acts of wizardry. She used to enjoy a good debate, especially when she thought she’d bested me.”

  “You’re worried about her.”

  “I think she is dying.”

  They walked along in silence for a while, skulking through the earthen corridors, listening intently for anyone else who might be in the large burrows.

  “Regidor,” Bardon said after a long stretch. “Has Librettowit or Fen or Cam been able to uncover any solution? a spell? a recording of a similar circumstance such as Gilda’s?”

  The meech dragon did not turn but shook his head. “Like the plight of the sleeping knights, Gilda’s end hinged on knowledge that apparently passed away with Wizard Risto. He cast the spell that placed her essence in a bottle. Presumably, he knew how to undo his enchantment.”

  “You’re hoping to find something to help her, aren’t you?”

  “I hope for so much, Bardon, my friend. To free Gilda from her prison. To find other meech dragons who can tell me more of my heritage. To break the spell that put good men to sleep to keep them from fighting for justice and against oppression. And even to serve Paladin in some outrageously heroic deed.” He turned slightly and flashed his toothy grin over his shoulder. “Perhaps we are destined to do all these things together.”

  Bardon smiled back. Odd as Regidor was, he always managed to lift Bardon’s spirits.

  Regidor turned a corner and disappeared from view.

  “Oh, bother.” His deep voice rolled back to Bardon. “Gilda was right. We should have fetched Kale to help us.”

  39

  DRAGONS

  Bardon heard Regidor’s sword glide out of its sheath just as a sinister hiss reached his ears. He clipped the globe light to the edge of his tunic at the shoulder, drew his own weapon, and leapt around the corner. He landed, ready to fight, side by side with the meech dragon. Regidor’s glowing orb floated next to his shoulder.

  Of course he doesn’t have to carry it. The holding device was for my benefit.

  Bardon followed Regidor’s gaze to a few feet beyond where he stood. Their globe lights cast a blue radiance on the pale skin of a cave dragon.

  What type of cave dweller is this?

  The animal guarded a three-way branch in the tunnel. The bulk of its body filled the lower half of all three openings. Both head and tail curled away from the men.

  Bardon scowled and tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword.

  Is it sleeping soundly enough for us to crawl over without waking it?

  Bardon looked to Regidor. The meech appeared to examine the beast blocking their way. He picked up a fist-sized rock, held it shoulder high, and dropped it. The clatter as it hit echoed in the chamber.

  The creature stirred.

  Glad we didn’t try climbing over. Now, we’ll see just what type of cave dragon we are up against.

  Muscles rippled under the unnaturally pale skin. It rolled to get its feet underneath and push to a stand. As it gained its feet, the neck slithered out from the tunnel where it had been resting. As long as the body, the thin shank supported a small head.

  Snake dragon! What do I know about snake dragons? Not enough.

  The dragon rocked back and forth on two short front legs as if preparing to pounce. Its serpentine neck swayed to and fro like the head of a hooded cobra. Large eyes, stunted wings, and a powerful long tail added to its monstrous appearance.

  The creature hissed and struck at Regidor, mouth open and ready for a chunk of meech flesh. Regidor blocked the strike with his sword but did not injure the beast.

  Bardon kept his eyes on the ugly dragon.

  You’re going to test me next, aren’t you? You want to see if I’m as quick as Regidor here. Well, you ugly brute, I’m close to matching his skill, and I’m ready for you.

  The creature continued to sway on its front legs and bob its head. Bardon became impatient. “Regidor, couldn’t you tell this monster that we’re friendly?”

  “Already did,” answered Regidor. “It’s not buying it.”

  The beast made a double strike, first a thrust aimed at Bardon’s leg, then another at Regidor’s arm.

  Both men protected themselves with precise parries.

  Regidor chuckled. “I guess we now know why…umph…there was no sign of activity…in this part of the warren.”

  Each sentence had to be timed so as not to interfere with their efforts to remain unscathed by the increasingly hostile lunges of the dragon.

  Bardon fended off the next blow. The dragon drew back and hissed. “While you’re mindspeaking with…this obstacle, you might mention that you, too, are…a dragon.”

  “I’m as much related to that creature as you are to a goat in a barnyard.”

  “Then why not just blow your fire breath on it, and let’s get on with this resc
ue.”

  “It seems to me a shame to slay it for being in its own home.”

  “Any suggestions?” Bardon jumped to avoid a hit.

  “I’ve given it lots of suggestions. It really just wants to eat us.”

  The squire looked the snake dragon in the eye. “Sorry. We really don’t have time to stay for dinner.”

  Bardon held off striking the beast in a way that would do permanent damage. He believed Regidor should give the signal. I hope we don’t dally with this creature long enough for it to strike a lucky blow. Better to kill it and get on with our search for the tumanhofer.

  “What makes you think Kale would have been useful in this situation?” Bardon asked.

  “She is the Dragon Keeper. You would be amazed at what influence she has over animals, especially, of course, over dragons.”

  The creature slammed the side of the tunnel with its tail, causing a shower of dirt to fall on their heads.

  “That does it.” Regidor sputtered dirt from his mouth. “Kale might be able to turn you from your wicked ways, but I sure can’t.” He sprang forward with his arm up, ready for a downward slash. Before the air cleared of dust, the dragon’s body lay on the tunnel floor, minus its head.

  Bardon sheathed his sword. While Regidor cleaned his before putting it away, the squire unfastened his light and thrust it into each branch of the tunnel. In each opening, the light illuminated several yards.

  Bardon peered beyond to darkness. “Any idea which way we should go?”

  Regidor pointed at the first tunnel. “From the smell, I’d say that leads to the dragon’s lair.”

  Bardon sniffed. “And it wasn’t a very good housekeeper.”

  The meech pointed to the opposite tunnel. “That one has the freshest air, so I would assume it leads back to the outside after a very short distance.”

  “So,” said Bardon, “the middle one probably stretches deep into the ground, into the enemy’s territory, and is, therefore, our logical choice.”

  Regidor picked up his light orb. “That was my assumption.”

  Bardon shrugged, heaved a sigh of resignation, and headed into the middle burrow.

  Dug out of the earth to accommodate grawligs, the burrows were plenty big, even for Regidor’s seven-foot height. Regidor and Bardon, ignoring many narrower passageways that branched off from the central core, kept marching forward.

  “Regidor, have you noticed the change in the walls for the past mile or so?”

  “I have. We’re moving through rock—mountain instead of hills.”

  Regidor meandered through the large corridors, examining the stone.

  When Bardon studied the walls, he saw only long grooves spiraling down one wall, traversing the floor, returning up the opposite, and crossing the ceiling. To him, these markings looked like the impressions left in wood when a screw was inserted, then removed.

  What is Regidor up to? Does he see something in this odd pattern etched in the limestone? Are we lost? Would he admit it if we were?

  The squire cleared his throat. “Somehow, I don’t think we are headed to where the grawligs have our tumanhofer.”

  “And I don’t think these tunnels were crafted by grawligs.”

  Does that matter? Bardon studied his friend for a moment.

  Regidor’s mind is engaged on the uniqueness of these burrows and not on our mission. The question is, How do I bring him back to our original purpose without ruffling his intellectual feathers? I’m not sure there is a way.

  “Aren’t we supposed to be rescuing Bromptotterpindosset?” Bardon asked.

  “Hmm? What did you say?” Regidor stopped and raised his orb to scrutinize the wall. “Look at this, Bardon. This is writing.”

  Bardon came closer, held up his light, and peered at the marks in the stone. “What language is it?”

  “Ancient Kere.”

  “Can you read it?”

  “Hmm?” Regidor squinted as his eyes moved back and forth over the lines of writing.

  “I said, ‘Can you read it?’ But it looks like you are doing just that. So you need not answer. That is, if you’re too busy.”

  “What?” Regidor shook his head and turned away from the wall. “Are you being sarcastic? No, I can’t read it. I was scanning the text to see if I recognized a word or even a syllable.”

  “How do you know it’s Kere?”

  “Saw some in one of Librettowit’s old books.”

  “You don’t have a clue as to what it means?”

  “Oh yes. I believe it’s a warning about a two-headed dragon.”

  “You said you couldn’t read the script.”

  “I can’t.” Regidor moved over a few feet and shone his light on another section of the wall. “They drew pictures.”

  Scratched into the soft rock, elaborate line drawings depicted a party of men fighting a two-headed dragon, losing most of their fighting party, and the few survivors hobbling away. By the size and shape of the men, Bardon guessed they were all tumanhofers.

  “This is very interesting, Regidor, but we still have a tumanhofer of our own to track.” The squire waved his hand back the way they had come. “We haven’t seen a sign of a grawlig. We haven’t even seen a druddum. I think we should retrace our steps and try another direction to find Bromptotterpindosset.”

  “I would agree, except we now feel a fresh air draft coming from ahead of us.”

  “We do?”

  “I do.” Regidor moved on down the burrow.

  Bardon made a face but followed him. “How long ago do you think that picture was made?”

  “Hard to say,” Regidor answered over his shoulder. “I would guess before tumanhofers began recording their adventures on paper.”

  “Is it unusual for tumanhofers to write in Kere?”

  “We don’t know that the message was written at the same time as the picture. The words may have been there before the picture was drawn. In that case, the picture explains the text. Or the picture could have been scratched onto the walls first. Then someone came along to explain the picture with words.”

  Bardon pondered the possible order of events. He didn’t see how the timing made much difference, but it was the kind of thing Regidor liked to dwell on. “Well, it all seems to be done for naught.”

  Regidor laughed. “Because all that explaining, in one way or another, has left us without any understanding?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You are agreeing to keep me from further expounding on the subject.”

  This time Bardon responded with more enthusiasm. “Uh-huh.”

  Regidor lifted his hands and let them drop. “What am I to do with you?”

  Bardon laughed. “Leave me as I am. Not everyone has a compulsion to understand everything.”

  “You misunderstand, Squire. It is not the compulsion to find answers that drives me, but rather the contentedness after I fully comprehend that satisfies me.”

  “Nevertheless, my meech friend, I am content to allow you to know it all while I know enough to answer my immediate questions.”

  Regidor shook his head. “Someday I will find my meech relatives and have a discussion that lasts for days.”

  Bardon groaned at the prospect, and Regidor grinned.

  They walked on, and Bardon finally felt the slight, fresh breeze that Regidor had detected earlier. The passageways leading off to one side or the other became more numerous. Regidor checked Glas’s diary once again and insisted the largest tunnel was the most likely to lead them to the grawligs’ meeting ground.

  Bardon spotted the next etching in the wall. Upon examination, the picture was remarkably like the first.

  “Another two-headed dragon,” said Bardon.

  “Or the same two-headed dragon.”

  Bardon shook his head and twisted his mouth. “I’m getting an uncomfortable feeling, Reg. You know, there is the possibility that this two-headed dragon is still roaming around these tunnels.”

  “The thought had occurred to me as
well.”

  Bardon pointed to the picture. “It looks a bit like the snake dragon you killed at the entrance to this part of the mountain. Except for the two heads, of course.”

  “Of course. And that thought had occurred to me as well.”

  “Has it occurred to you that we have not rescued our tumanhofer? We are probably lost in this mountain full of tunnels. There may be a two-headed dragon waiting for us. And our time is running out for finding and rescuing the knights.”

  “I have thought of all those things.”

  Bardon quite easily identified the stony mask on his friend’s face. He was sure his own face held a similar expression. A person of his rank in society did not allow frustration to contort his features. Nor did he let words explode from his mouth in unrefined anger. The two stared at each other, their breathing audible in the silence.

  Regidor scratched the ridge above his eyes. “Do you want to go back?

  Bardon pressed his lips in a firm line as he considered their options.

  “No,” he said at last. “Let’s follow this to the end.”

  The main tunnel curved to the right, no longer carved in a straight line, to some unknown destination.

  “I’ve decided,” said Regidor, “that this is an abandoned tumanhofer settlement.”

  Bardon compared what he had seen here with a visit he had made to the tumanhofer city of Dael. “I think you’re right. It must be very old and must not have been occupied for centuries.”

  “Longer than that. I don’t recall seeing any mention of this in Librettowit’s history books.”

  A heavy object—a blur of white—a tail!—slammed down between them as they passed a wide tunnel. The animal sped away, the tail disappearing into darkness.

  They had their swords drawn. They listened to the heavy tread of the attacker as it moved farther and farther away.

  “What was that?” asked Bardon.

  “I think we may have found the snake dragon’s big brother.”

  “Did you get a look at it?”

  “Only the pasty white dragon tail.” Regidor replaced his sword in its sheath. “I wonder if it has two heads.”