“As long as the clans do not lose interest, Bromptotterpindosset is fairly safe from becoming a meal. These grawligs like to play with their food and don’t actually cook them until the novelty has worn off and they have become bored.”
Kale had buttered thick slabs of bread and placed them on each plate. Now she poured a cool, clear, red juice into tall goblets and passed them to her companions.
“Thank you,” said Regidor.
“Thank you,” echoed Bardon and tried not to choke on the bite halfway down his throat.
What is this? Some kind of contest? My manners are just as polished as the manners of a meech dragon from a swamp!
He bit into the fish and found it salty, crunchy, and delicious. A savory sauce covered the pnard potatoes. A light dressing glistened on the salad greens and tasted of delectable herbs with a hint of garlic. The fragrance alone soothed Bardon’s frazzled nerves. He soon forgot his irritation over Regidor’s odd behavior toward Kale, and he ate heartily.
When they each leaned back in their chairs, totally satisfied, Regidor clapped his forefeet, and the whole dinner, dirty dishes, table, and all disappeared. Only the chairs remained.
Bardon looked askance at his friend. “I only had rudimentary wizardry lessons under old Fen, but it seems to me that all things must be created from existing things. That a wizard cannot pull objects out of thin air.”
Kale’s expression took on the look of a mentor displeased with her pupil. “Now that your stomach is full you think to question where the food came from?” She giggled. “Regidor doesn’t pull them out of thin air, but out of well-stocked hollows. Regidor is more a master of dramatic display than most of us. Librettowit says he has a ‘flair’ for the art of wizardry that hasn’t been seen in any wizard for eons.”
Bardon smiled. “And Fenworth says?”
“Harrumph!” imitated the two ex-apprentices at the same time.
They laughed.
We have so much in common, the three of us. Not only the crazy old wizard, but also the lack of parents and the desire to follow Wulder. He caught himself before he let his thoughts stray further down such a philosophical path. They had work to do.
“We need to rest,” said Bardon, “then find Bromptotterpindosset, send him on his way, and tackle the problem of how to wake up the knights.”
“You left out an important step,” Kale said as they all stood. She paused and raised her eyebrows. “Removing your tumanhofer from the midst of his captors.”
“Ah yes, that should be entertaining,” said Regidor. He snapped his fingers, and the chairs they had been sitting on folded in on themselves and disappeared.
They strolled through the moonlight among the jagged rocks toward a part of the warren Regidor thought might be unoccupied. Ardeo flew in front of them, close to the ground, illuminating the shadows in their path. The other minor dragons sometimes flew and sometimes perched on the three travelers.
“We’ll look this dirt shelter over carefully,” explained Bardon to Kale. “The last supposedly unpopulated burrow we explored housed two cave dragons. One was a small snake dragon, and the other, a massive two-headed snake dragon.”
The minor dragons set up a hullabaloo, chittering, scolding, and chirping interspersed with shrill whistles.
“What’s that all about?” asked Bardon.
“They’re expressing their opinions of what they call degenerate dragons. They consider snake dragons to be very low creatures, indeed.”
“Which,” said Regidor, “raises the question of why some dragons behave more like animals and some like upstanding citizens of the high races.”
“Which,” said Bardon, “raises the question of why some citizens of the high races behave more like animals, never fulfilling their potential for nobility.”
Kale clamped her hands over her ears. “Stop! I get my fill of philosophical debates when Wizard Cam comes to visit. He and Librettowit can discuss the vagaries of civilization until they are both hoarse from talking.”
Bardon laughed. “They had those kinds of deliberations at The Hall, but Sir Dar discouraged them at Castle Pelacce.”
“Why?” asked Kale.
“He said there came a time when words lost their ability to accomplish change and just became noises in the air.”
“So he didn’t believe people should indulge in discussions?”
“Oh no,” Bardon shook his head. “He encouraged discussions until they became futile. He used the example of describing an egg. There are only so many words you can use to describe an egg, and after those have been used in every possible combination, the smarter activity is to eat the egg rather than describe it.”
When they reached the burrow Regidor had spotted, they found vegetation grown up around its entrance and no sign of anyone having gone in or out for several seasons at least. Both Regidor and Kale used their minds to see if they could detect life within the enclosure. They found nothing larger than a druddum, and those cave dwellers never posed problems other than occasionally startling an explorer by appearing suddenly.
The troop settled in, using blankets Regidor and Kale had in their hollows. Kale volunteered to take the first watch.
Regidor uncorked his elaborate bottle. “Gilda will keep you company. She’s safe here and will enjoy the visit.”
Kale brightened at the prospect. She smiled at Bardon and explained. “Gilda and I often visit when Regidor stays at Fenworth’s castle.”
Their voices—Kale’s sweet and musical, Gilda’s low and breathy—lulled Bardon into a restful slumber.
47
ONE MORE TIME
“How are you feeling, Gilda?” asked Kale.
“Just tired.”
“You’re not bored anymore?”
She shook her head wistfully. “I’m too tired to be bored these days, Kale.”
“Are you frightened?”
“I’d say I was too tired to be frightened, but that isn’t true. I’m not frightened anymore, but it isn’t because of the nagging fatigue. It is because Paladin has taught me about Wulder. Because I understand.”
Kale nodded.
“And,” Gilda smiled the slow, lazy smile that relaxed her face and cast an aura of tranquility over her features, “I am very glad I met Regidor. We’ve traveled so many places. Do you know why he travels?”
Kale shook her head. “I’ve often resented his freedom to go places Cam and Fen would not let me go. And although Mother visits often, she never takes me with her to the places she goes.”
“Your mother still does very dangerous work for Paladin. She goes places where it is not safe for a young, inexperienced girl.”
“You’re younger than I am, Gilda, and so is Regidor. Everyone seems to forget that.”
“We are meech, dear Kale, and you know that makes a difference whether you want to acknowledge the fact or not.”
She’s right. Just look at her. She’s poised and unruffled and everything I am not. And actually, I would rather not be exactly like Gilda for all her sophistication. Being stuck in The Bogs is infinitely more entertaining than being stuck in a bottle. I’m happy with my lot.
Kale smiled and stretched and leaned back against the earthen wall of the burrow. “I know I’m not a meech. Fenworth often bemoans the fact that I don’t learn as quickly as Regidor.” She yawned. “Tell me about your travels and make it very interesting so I’ll stay awake.”
Gilda chortled, the laugh rattling deep in her throat. “I won’t need to work at that.” She reclined across a broad rock shelf where Regidor had set her bottle. “Where shall I begin? You know Regidor spent a great deal of time visiting weavers and tailors.”
“I used to think he was vain.”
“He enjoyed teasing you. When you scolded him for wasting his time, he secretly took pleasure in being able to mislead you. He searched for fabric suitable for his adventures and for clothes designed to help him blend into the general populace. It is difficult to be hairless, green, and scaly. It i
s also difficult to hide a tail and wings.”
Kale looked at her elegant friend who also disguised a tail and wings. Gilda used draped veils. Her dresses and swirling capes added to her exotic glamour.
“But Regidor travels for two other reasons,” continued Gilda. “He searches with a passion for information about the meech race. The question of where they came from troubles his peace of mind. Equally, he wants to know where the remnants of our race have gone.”
Kale nodded in understanding. “And the last reason he travels is you, isn’t it?”
“For me. He hopes to find a way to save me.” She shrugged as if the solution to her predicament was not all that important to her.
“Don’t you want to live, Gilda?” Kale asked.
“I suppose I do, but not with the zeal one might expect. I think it’s good that I’ve spent time with Wizard Fenworth.” Her face lit up with a much warmer expression than her usual serene smile. “Besides amusing me, he has instructed me in the gentle art of dying. Without anger or defiance. No desperate clinging to this realm with a fear of the next.”
“You wouldn’t fight to live?”
“Under certain circumstances. But those circumstances are not mine. I would only cause myself unhappiness to chafe under my situation. I would cause Regidor’s anguish to intensify. No, my desire is to enjoy each moment. And should I be granted an unexpected reprieve, I shall rejoice.”
Kale shook her head, her brown curls bouncing against her face as they swung back and forth. “I don’t think I could be so calm, Gilda. I just couldn’t resign myself to die without a fight.”
“That’s because your circumstances are not mine. I think Wulder expects you to fight and me to comply.”
Gilda soon returned to her bottle. The length of time she could spend outside had dwindled significantly over the three years since Risto had imprisoned her. Kale recognized that each time Gilda appeared outside her bottle, her vapor was less dense, her image less sharp.
Regidor took the next watch. Bardon the last.
In the morning they ate a simple meal.
“Regidor,” Bardon said as he swallowed the last bite of mullin, “we should send another message to N’Rae that we’ll be delayed.”
“N’Rae?” Kale frowned at the squire. “Didn’t you say a Captain Anton led your party in your absence? Why are you sending a message to a girl?”
“Because,” answered Bardon with excruciating patience, “Regidor delivers the message through an animal. You do remember that I told you N’Rae’s particular talent is the ability to communicate with animals?”
Kale hated the tone of voice Bardon used. It reminded her of their early acquaintance, when he was a snooty lehman at The Hall. At that time, he treated everyone with cold disdain. Irritation seeped into her voice. “I do remember you saying something about a chicken.”
“Children, children,” scolded Regidor as he laughed and tried to keep his face solemn. “Let’s not squabble. I’ll send a message to Captain Anton via N’Rae. Kale, would you send out your dragons to see if they can pick up a trail for us to follow? Preferably one that leads to Bromptotterpindosset. And, Squire Bardon…”
“Yes?” Bardon growled.
“I think it would be profitable if you were to busy yourself by being in charge. You could plan our attack, or devise a scheme to find our way back to the castle, or you might want to—”
“Regidor.” Bardon’s voice held no humor.
“Yes, my good friend?”
“Go find a crow to carry your message.”
“Yes.” He turned on his heel and headed for the burrow’s outer opening. “I believe now would be a good time to do that.”
It took the dragons less than an hour to locate the grawlig camp. Pat and Gymn came back with news of snoring ogres and one old tumanhofer trussed up again and spitting mad.
Kale recounted what her green dragon, Gymn, had reported. “Bromptotterpindosset has escaped the ropes binding his hands, but a great brute is lying across his legs, and he can’t get out from under him.
“Gymn says once we’ve moved the beast, Gymn and I will have to heal the tumanhofer’s legs.”
“Have they gone to sleep?” asked Bardon with concern.
“No.” Kale sighed over the clumsy, irrational behavior of these beasts. “The grawligs repeatedly dropped the mapmaker while using him to toss in a game of catch last night. His legs are bruised, but not broken. Perhaps an ankle is sprained. Gymn had a hard time assessing his condition, because the grawlig sleeping on Bromptotterpindosset thrashed around a bit.”
“Did Gymn say how many there are, and if any are awake?”
“Pat said there are forty-seven, and none of them is conscious. They drank brillum last night.”
“Sounds like a good time to go rescue our mapmaker.”
Regidor grunted. “One more time.”
They followed Pat and Gymn through the burrows. In these passageways, lightrocks illuminated the way.
Kale stifled a giggle as they came up to the cavern where the grawligs sprawled in piles like puppies. These troublesome ogres had celebrated their coup too well. The cacophony from their snores reverberated off the stone walls. Instead of sneaking in on tiptoe, the rescuers walked among the beasts as if they were scattered boulders. Wrinkling her nose and trying not to breathe, Kale followed Regidor. The rancid smell from the grawligs’ unwashed bodies made her want to gag.
Bromptotterpindosset opened his eyes, raised his head, and gave a slight nod in recognition of their arrival. He then let his head droop.
“Gymn,” Kale called to the healing dragon, “let’s get to work while Bardon and Regidor remove that beast.” She pointed to the grawlig sprawled over the mapmaker’s lower half, pinning him to the ground.
Trying to keep her breathing shallow so as not to inhale the putrid smells from around her, she knelt beside the tumanhofer’s head, placing her hands on his neck and shoulder. Gymn came to rest on his chest. The hum of healing energy flowed in a circle from the small dragon, through the injured man and Kale, and back to Gymn. Bromptotterpindosset began to breathe easier, his color improved, and his expression lost the pinched look of one in pain.
Bardon and Regidor lifted the weighty grawlig and carried him a few feet to set him down among other unconscious grawligs. Kale and Gymn moved to the bruised legs and completed the healing. Bardon helped Bromptotterpindosset to his feet, and the four walked without incident out of the hotbed of trouble.
“That was too easy,” said Bardon as they followed the minor dragons flying toward fresh air. They soon stepped out of the cave and into sunshine.
“I’m not sure,” said Regidor, “that it is written as law that every endeavor must be fraught with danger.”
The tumanhofer remained silent. He had not spoken at all since they freed him and restored his health.
Kale watched him out of the corner of her eye. “Are you all right, Bromptotterpindosset?”
“I am,” he said and kept marching, his head down and his eyes on the path.
She turned to Bardon. “Where are we going?”
“Back to our camp to get the others. We’ve found the knights, but we must awaken them.”
Kale surveyed the area. “These are odd mountains.”
Bardon glanced around. “Why do you say that?”
She shrugged and grimaced. “I don’t really know, they just…I know.” She pointed to a mountain peak ahead. “That mountain”—she turned and pointed behind—“looks like that one.” She pointed in yet another direction. “And that one.”
The mapmaker stopped. His head came up with a jerk. He looked around, placed his hands on his hips, and looked around again. “We’re lost,” he muttered, his usually brusque manner subdued by despair.
“We follow the sun,” said Regidor. “The sun does not lie.”
48
LOST IN ONE PLACE
The minor dragons grew sleepy almost as soon as they started the morning trek. One by
one the little dragons crawled into their own pocket-dens in Kale’s cape.
“That’s unusual,” she told Bardon when even Filia, who loved to see new things, tucked herself up in her pocket to sleep.
He held a branch back so she could pass. “They’re used to rather a dull life in The Bogs. They’ll come out when they’ve rested.”
But the little dragons did not reappear.
Plenty of game, birds, and insects inhabited the area. But the creatures acted in a perplexing manner, seemingly unaware of the strangers. The meech dragon tried to summon birds so he could learn from them something about the land. They refused to come. Kale called to different animals, but none responded. After walking west for several hours, the four travelers came to an impenetrable forest.
Regidor started a fire to warm them as they tried to figure out where they were and how to get to where they wanted to be. The meech conjured up the ingredients, and in a short time, Kale sat stirring a pot of soup.
“Why don’t you just fix the meal?” Bromptotterpindosset asked Regidor. “I know wizards can produce banquets out of nothing.”
Regidor patted the tumanhofer on his broad shoulder. “That’s a misconception, Bromp. And besides, sometimes the preparation of a meal, with its smells and procedures, is comforting. Are you terribly hungry, sir?”
“No, I’m not. Not at all. I don’t know why we stopped. We should be covering more ground before the day slips away from us.”
“That’s just why we stopped. Our desire is to cover the right ground, and we seem to be getting nowhere.” Regidor pointed to the satchel that had been returned to the mapmaker. “Shall we look at your maps?”
The men settled down. Bromptotterpindosset sat on a long log, Regidor sat on a rock, and next to the tumanhofer sat Bardon with his back against the rough bark of the log.