Dragons of the Valley

  Maxon snatched a stick to represent a sword and proceeded to do a rather elaborate display of swashbuckling swipes at the empty air. “I can help. Taeda Bel too. We’ve seen the Miskeen Minstrels.”

  Librettowit harrumphed. “What do singers have to do with Bealomondore and his sword?”

  “Oh, they’re jugglers and acrobats and players of scenes of history.” He turned to call to Taeda Bel, who had already descended to the wide bank beside the River Hannit. “Taeda Bel, come show how the Miskeen Minstrels enacted the play Noble Nonsense.”

  “You come down,” she answered. “I don’t want another snake sneaking up on us. I don’t think there are any down here.”

  “That sounds like a sensible plan to me.” Tipper started down the cliff, using rock ledges and the astain bushes as handholds and footholds.

  Librettowit peered over the edge. “You should be wearing your boots.”

  “I’m all right.”

  She placed her foot at the base of one of the bush stubs and grabbed hold of another. Her hand closed on a broken branch that jabbed into her palm.

  “Ouch!”

  She let go. In the next moment, she slid down the last eight feet and landed hard on her right foot. She crumpled, and before she could cry out in pain, both kimens and Rayn clustered around her foot, examining the ankle.

  “Sprained,” said Maxon.

  “My foot’s on fire.” She rocked back and forth with her hands cradling her ankle.

  “Better take your shoe off,” said Taeda Bel.

  Rayn turned green and sat on her leg, very much in the way as Taeda Bel untied the laces and Maxon eased the soft leather from around her foot. Tipper cringed with every movement.

  “Broken,” said Maxon.

  Tipper heard the tumanhofers scrambling down the hill, but she’d shut her eyes against the pain. She willed herself not to whine and make a big to-do. Her jaw trembled, and she clenched her teeth.

  A hand rested on her shoulder. “We’ll take care of you.”

  At least Bealomondore was optimistic.

  Librettowit didn’t sound as cheerful. “Where’s a wizard when you need one?”

  At least he hadn’t reminded her she had changed out of her sturdy boots.

  Rayn slipped closer to the break. His cool body, draped over the bone pressing against her skin, felt wonderful.

  “Just take the pain away, Rayn,” said Maxon. “We’ll have to set the bone before you do your healing.”

  Tipper let the tears fall. She leaned back and found Bealomondore sitting behind to support her. His arms slipped around her, and he leaned his cheek against her hair.

  “There, there, Princess. It’s going to be all right.”

  A sobby giggle escaped her lips. “Don’t call me Princess.”

  “Whatever you say.” He paused. “Your Highness.”

  18

  A Song of Peace

  Tipper held Bealomondore’s hand as Librettowit and Maxon prepared to set the bone that arched across the top of her foot. Due to Rayn’s ministrations, her foot had lost the agonizing pulse of pain. The dragon, in his role of healer, had numbed the area. Still, the thought of Librettowit and Maxon pulling her foot like the rope in tug of war made Tipper want to escape into oblivion.

  Bealomondore didn’t complain even though she knew she squeezed hard enough to break his bones. She heard hers snap into place, and then Rayn sat on the swollen purple hump, pronouncing through mindspeaking that the two ends were where they should be. He cooed and hummed as he nestled down to provide his healing touch.

  “I suppose,” said Taeda Bel, “that we should set up camp. Surely our princess shouldn’t walk until tomorrow.”

  Tipper cast her a disparaging look. “Walk?” She deepened her scowl. “And you are not to call me princess either.”

  Taeda Bel’s face lit up with mischief.

  “Don’t,” ordered Tipper.

  “Your—,”

  “Don’t!”

  “You’re”—a big grin stretched across Taeda Bel’s delicate features—“no fun.”

  Tipper relaxed against the sturdy tumanhofer. He’d held her ever since she’d fallen, and she’d gotten quite used to his solid chest behind her back.

  He removed his hand from her grip and flexed his fingers. “I think I can still hold a paintbrush.”

  Librettowit ran his fingers over her arch, top and bottom. Satisfied with their work, he sat back on the ground and crossed his legs. He looked at Bealomondore massaging his hand. “I think at this point in our venture, holding that sword is more important.”

  Maxon and Taeda Bel both grabbed semistraight sticks and began a fencing match of sorts. Tipper and the two tumanhofers enjoyed the showy antics of the kimens. Their performance combined elements of dance and acrobatics.

  They all laughed, but Tipper noticed that Bealomondore gradually grew quiet. She peeked over her shoulder to find his face serious and his eyes glued to the swordplay.

  He became aware of her scrutiny and gave her a nod. “I think I can do that, Tipper.”

  Librettowit turned toward them. “I know a little about keeping myself alive in the middle of a fray. I’ll help.”

  He focused more sharply on Tipper and Bealomondore. His eyes settled on the younger tumanhofer’s arms wrapped around her waist. Bealomondore loosened his hold. Then the stalwart friend of Tipper’s father glared at the spot where her head rested against Bealomondore’s chin. She sat up a bit straighter.

  Librettowit cleared his throat. “In my role of chaperone, I think it’s time Bealomondore and I make camp.”

  Taeda Bel and Maxon burst into laughter, dropped their stick weapons, and did somersaults until they landed in front of their audience.

  “Yes, let’s,” said Maxon. “Then we’ll have food, song, dance, and lessons in swordsmanship and tomfoolery.”

  “Tomfoolery?” Bealomondore said as he struggled to rise without disturbing Tipper.

  Taeda Bel rubbed her hands together in glee. “Right! That’s when you dazzle and befuddle your opponent to his confusion and your advantage.”

  First on Tipper’s comrades’ agenda was to make their injured princess as comfortable as possible. They succeeded to the point that she curled up against the cushions and blankets and fell asleep.

  The smell of frying fish woke her. She sat up and surveyed the neatly erected campsite. Both tumanhofers worked over the dinner. The kimens were nowhere to be seen. Rayn raced from his perch on her leg to sit on her shoulder, snuggling against her neck.

  She giggled and petted his smooth scales. “You’re the most affectionate minor dragon I’ve ever met. And the most interesting.”

  She felt his pleasure wash through her own body. She breathed deeply, enjoying peace and contentment. Paladin had given her the chance to really bond with someone. The someone was a dragon. Was she not ready to bond with a person?

  Where did that thought come from?

  She picked Rayn up and held him in front of her so they stared eye to eye. His intelligent expression filled with humor. His skin had mottled with blue and green splotches.

  “What talent does a dragon of this color have?”

  He chirruped as he did when he found something funny.

  “How’s your foot?” asked Taeda Bel at her elbow.

  Rayn dove below her covers and disappeared.

  Tipper jumped. “My foot?”

  Taeda Bel’s natural surprised look doubled in intensity. “You broke your foot. You forgot?”

  Tipper’s eyes shifted to the blanket lying over her. One bulge at the bottom of the pallet was twice as big as the other. “It doesn’t hurt at all. Rayn’s work. But look at it. It must be swollen to the size of a melon. Oh my!”

  Taeda Bel snatched the blanket away, revealing a grinning Rayn. The green dragon partially hid a slightly swollen, slightly green and yellow appendage. Rayn stood and stretched, circled the foot as if doing an inspection, then raced up to cuddle under Tipper’s chin.

/>   Tipper flexed her ankle and cringed. “Ow! It’s not good as new, but it sure looks like an old injury. Was I asleep for a couple of weeks?”

  Taeda Bel shook her head. “Two hours.”

  Tipper stroked her dragon friend. “Thank you, Rayn.” She breathed deeply. “He says that he’s done all he can do for now. I’m not to walk on it.”

  Bealomondore brought over a bowl of soup. Tipper took it and closed her eyes as she smelled the appetizing spicy fragrance.

  Grinning as she looked up at her tumanhofer friend, Tipper gave him an exaggerated wink. “If you ever decide to leave your paints and brushes for the culinary arts, you’re going to be rich.”

  “Tonight I will be exploring the art of the swordsman. Enjoy your meal. There will be an after-dinner show. I’ll get your second course ready—fried fish and creamed greens.”

  Tipper surprised herself by speaking to Wulder before she dipped her spoon in the aromatic dish. As Bealomondore walked away, she thanked her father’s God for the tumanhofer’s friendship. The simple thought brought up a slew of questions. Did she believe what her father had said about Wulder? Was she following in Bealomondore’s footsteps? He believed in Wulder now. Did she believe in Wulder? If she spoke to Wulder but didn’t really believe, did He hear her? She laughed to herself. If He heard her, then He existed, so she should believe. Since she talked to Him, she must already believe in Him. Had this acceptance sneaked up on her?

  “So He exists,” she muttered, “but what is He like?”

  Rayn burst into a wild chittering that flooded her mind with one-word descriptions.

  Creator. Wise. Mighty. Strong. Preserver. Perfect. Sufficient. Holy.

  The words kept bombarding her, and with each word came an advance of surety.

  Healer. Provider. Just. Redeemer. Shield. Judge. Father. Everlasting. Righteous. Deliverer. Patient. All-seeing, all-knowing, ever-present. Counselor. Prince. King.

  One word rushed out of Tipper’s mouth in an awed whisper. “Wonderful.”

  Rayn landed on her knee, and she noted the rich purple of his skin. He sang. All the beauty of the kimens’ voices poured out. And again his vocalization contained no words, but lyrics formed in Tipper’s thoughts. She pulled in a deep breath, opened her mouth, and sang with him. A song of praise, then a song of adoration. Her voice blended with his. Soon Librettowit’s baritone joined in with the higher ranges of Bealomondore’s tenor and Taeda Bel’s soprano. Tears tracked down Tipper’s cheeks as she sang a song of her own, a song of devotion, promising her own dedication, allegiance, and faithfulness.

  Sometime later, she heard Bealomondore speak. She looked up from where her hands still cradled the bowl he’d given her.

  “Princess, your soup is cold. Let me replace it.”

  Coming out of a daze, she handed him the bowl. “Did we just sing?”

  He smiled. “That was an hour ago.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “I know. You’re full. But you need physical sustenance as well as spiritual. I’ll bring you hot soup.”

  He left and Librettowit came to sit across from her on a boulder half-exposed in the bank of the river.

  She studied his face for a moment. She used to think he was ugly and a bit scary. Now she thought he was a kind but gruff friend.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  He grinned, showing his two rows of huge teeth. “You met Wulder.”

  19

  Boat Stop

  Tipper gasped as pain shot from her foot up her shin and beyond her knee. She braced herself on Bealomondore’s shoulder on her first attempt to stand. Rayn sat on his favorite perch, her head. He ranted in a series of harsh chirps, the words of the diatribe delivered straight to her mind. He’d been protesting her need to rest since early morning, when the questers decided to break camp and head for the boat stop downstream.

  Tipper eased herself down to sit once more on the rock that had been her throne all morning. “Rayn says it’s too soon to attempt to walk. Not only was the bone broken, but I also strained numerous muscles in my leg all the way up to my hip.”

  The tirade from the little dragon continued as she spoke. His scaly skin turned various colors as he vented.

  “He’s saying a lot of other things,” Tipper explained to those around her. “Mostly that we will undo the good he has done as a healer if we don’t listen to his advice.”

  Bealomondore’s face wore a mask of doubt. “He’s only a few weeks old. Where does he get all this knowledge and the audacity to boss us around?”

  Librettowit removed Rayn from Tipper’s hair and held him close to his chest. He stroked the dragon and uttered a few soothing words. “Calm yourself. We’ll listen.” He glanced up at the other tumanhofer. “Minor dragons are extremely adept at mining the minds of those around them.”

  Taeda Bel and Maxon chortled over his pronouncement, but Librettowit ignored them.

  “During the first few weeks of their lives, they harvest a library’s worth of information from anyone within reach. Of course, most minor dragons have specialized talents. As a chameleon dragon, Rayn has a wider variety of expertise. The things he pulls from our minds are sometimes things we have forgotten on the conscious level but nonetheless remain stored in the recesses of our brains.”

  Tipper squirmed on the rock, trying to find a smoother spot. Adding to her discomfort, her backside objected to the ridges of hard stone. The River Hannit flowed peacefully close by, with hardly a ripple marring its pale green surface. An occasional fish flipped out of the water, causing the only disturbance in the wide river. No boats had passed. For this reason, she doubted they could catch a ride on some sort of transport going downstream.

  “Is there anything stored in our brains that will suggest a way to get me to the boat stop?” she asked.

  Librettowit held up a finger. “Not in my mind but in one of my hollows.” He began rummaging through the many hollow pockets inside his long jacket. “I believe I have a boat. More like a raft actually.”

  After reaching as far as he could into one hollow, the librarian brought out a small pamphlet. He looked at it and grinned. “The instructions. The rest should be here.”

  He handed the booklet to Bealomondore, who opened it and started to scan the contents. The artist shook his head. “I don’t know if I’m handy with a saw and nails.”

  Maxon looked up at him. “I believe that should be hammer and nails.”

  Bealomondore’s only response was a quick nod. He continued to peruse the pages in his hands.

  Librettowit exclaimed, “Aha!” and pulled out a board. Tipper and Taeda Bel both giggled as he pulled more and more planks from the depths of the hollow. He found other things as well.

  “Clamping rods. There should be sixteen. Tipper, keep count.” He handed her a metal contraption that had a hinge and two bolts. “Rudder. I’m not sure we’ll need that. Let’s put it to the side. The sail might be unnecessary as well. I’m thinking we’ll handle the craft as a barge. I do believe we can do both poling and the ropes.”

  Taeda Bel looked into Tipper’s eyes. “Do you know what he’s talking about?”

  “No, but I bet if we’re patient, we’ll find out.”

  Bealomondore and Librettowit helped Tipper get comfortable on the ground again before they put all the boards together to make a flat platform. Tipper and Taeda Bel watched with amazement as the two tumanhofers and Maxon accomplished their task so easily.

  Rayn first sat on her foot in all his green glory. Slowly he took on a brownish hue, then hopped off Tipper to join in the efforts to assemble the raft. He deftly wove a cord through the maze of planks.

  Bealomondore studied his movements and compared them to the illustration in the manual. “He’s following the instructions precisely.”

  “I’ve done this a time or two with Fenworth,” the librarian explained.

  “Not you, the dragon.”

  Librettowit squinted at the brown minor dragon. “So he is. Handy
to have a chameleon dragon. I’ll have to talk to Fenworth about befriending one once we get back to Amara.”

  They worked quickly and finished before noonmeal. Boards crisscrossed into a large square, big enough for one person to stand and pole and Tipper to recline. Two ropes attached to opposite sides would aid the progress of the raft.

  “Aren’t we supposed to have kindia or mules or horses or goats or some kind of animal to pull the ropes?” asked Maxon.

  Librettowit pinched his upper lip. “That would make our journey more pleasant. But I understand from you that the boat stop is only a mile or so.”

  “Yes, but who is going to pole, and who will pull?” Maxon winked at Taeda Bel. “We can handle one rope, but someone will have to take the rope on the opposite riverbank.”

  “And I have experience with the pole,” said Librettowit.

  “That leaves me on the other rope.” Bealomondore looked at the river. “I’m not the best swimmer in the world. Someone else will have to swim across to the other side.”

  Taeda Bel jumped up from her place beside Tipper. She bounced toward Maxon. “We can. We can.”

  Bealomondore examined his hands.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Tipper.

  “My hands are tender. I’ve a couple of splinters, and I’m wondering how I will hold a sword if the rope brings up blisters.”

  “Gloves,” said Tipper. “There were gloves in that pile of gear Fenworth gave you. And Rayn can take care of the roughed-up places before you put them on.”

  The eager dragon changed from brown to green as he raced to help.

  A few minutes later, Tipper lounged on a cushioned pallet, with Librettowit pushing his pole against the riverbed. She remembered the quest to find her father’s statues. She’d enjoyed their trek through the mountains.

  The present trip held similar attractions. At this moment, questing included a fair breeze, the scent of fresh water, the sound of birds in bentleaf trees, the feel of a warm sun, and the pleasant companionship of good friends.

  Librettowit and Wizard Fenworth often bemoaned the rigors of questing, but the journey was not all bad. Tipper told herself that floating down the river with nothing to do but relax and recover was acceptable, not lazy. Rayn roamed up and down her injured leg, and the aching muscles loosened and the sharp pains faded away to nothing.