Dragons of the Valley

  Bealomondore pulled the door all the way open. The oversize bulging mass on the floor could easily be the crumpled figure of a bisonbeck.

  He looked from the fallen guard to the tiny man. “You did that?”

  Maxon nodded. “It’s an old kimen trick. I’ll tell you about it later. Go get dressed and ready to move. Rayn, Taeda Bel, and I are going to free Tipper.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “No, you’re too big. Meet us at the raft.”

  Librettowit put his hand on Bealomondore’s arm and propelled him around the unconscious guard.

  Bealomondore wrinkled his nose at the odor that arose from the body. “Is he dead?”

  Librettowit spoke hurriedly. “No, knocked out. And he won’t see very well when he comes to.”

  “Why?”

  “The kimens have the ability to produce a flash of light. I presume they did this to the guard. He stumbled and probably hit his head. The light by itself wouldn’t render him unconscious.”

  Bealomondore didn’t think that was a good explanation. “They wouldn’t clobber him?”

  Librettowit let out an exasperated sigh. “Or they could have clobbered him.”

  “Librettowit, I don’t like bringing this up again, but the man who captured me said he was ordered to kill us. Ordered! I’m a bit nervous about wandering around this inn. At any turn we might run into one of them, and this time they might not imprison us.”

  The librarian sighed and turned to look directly in the artist’s eyes. “He said that with the purpose of intimidating you. He wants you to be afraid.”

  Bealomondore thought about this as they crept down the stairs. The bisonbeck’s threat had indeed intimidated him.

  “Come on,” said the older tumanhofer. They reached the second floor. Librettowit leaned closer. “We’re almost out.”

  Bealomondore took a deep, steadying breath. “I should go help rescue Tipper.”

  “Let Rayn and the kimens handle it. They won’t make any noise, and they can be practically invisible.”

  Bealomondore grumbled. “Tumanhofers are next to the smallest of the high races and yet we’re too big?”

  “Don’t be affronted. They know what they’re doing. Go get dressed, and this time remember to strap on that sword. Don’t talk yourself into doing something noble like rescuing Tipper. And don’t scare yourself silly by thinking there is an enemy hiding in every shadow.”

  The sound of footsteps below separated the two tumanhofers, each bolting for his own room.

  Once in his quarters, Bealomondore made sure his curtains were closed before he lit a candle. The soft light almost took away the dread that filled him. Unfortunately, it exposed the mess he’d made before turning in. He began to gather his things.

  He picked up a sketch of Tipper, framed by the window, rolled it, secured it with a ribbon tie, and thrust it into a hollow in his cape. He pulled out the sword and belt, threw them on the bed he’d been snatched from, and began searching for clothes suitable for a nighttime escape.

  Dressed in appropriate dark but stylish attire, Bealomondore finished off his ensemble by fastening the sword belt around his waist. He pulled the sword from its sheath and gave it a close inspection, squinting at the hilt. Along the silver cross guard, an etching looked like words. He moved closer to the candle and let the light shine on the delicate lines.

  He whispered the words, “The Sword of Valor slays only the wicked.”

  Standing erect, Bealomondore made several passes through the air. He liked the swishing sound. He sheathed the sword. “ ‘ … slays only the wicked.’ I hope that means I won’t accidentally slice myself into bits.”

  Maxon came to retrieve him just as he reached for the door. Startled, Bealomondore jerked his hand away, allowing the kimen to swing it wide. The kimen’s clothing barely showed. He’d darkened it for sneaking around the boat stop.

  “What is taking you so long?” the kimen fussed. “Everyone else is at the raft and ready to depart.”

  “Donkeys?”

  “No donkeys.”

  Bealomondore followed Maxon. They passed the stairway that led to the registration desk and the common room of the boat stop. The voices from below reminded the artist to be extra quiet. At the end of the hall, they came to a second stairwell, narrow and dark. The kimen brightened his clothing and went first, giving off enough light for Bealomondore to safely follow.

  When only three more steps remained before them, Maxon extinguished his light. Bealomondore froze. He listened and heard someone moving around in the room directly ahead.

  Someone else walked in, and his voice gave him away. “Edrina, Bosk and Drowder want more food.”

  Bealomondore muffled his sigh of disappointment. He’d liked the young man on the dock, but Danto’s friendly tone had changed as he addressed the other person in the back room. And what civilized son called his mother by her first name?

  “Tell them they can wait until morning,” said Edrina. “I’m not their servant.”

  The tone of Danto’s voice changed again. He sounded fearful. “Do you think …”

  Bealomondore cocked his head, trying to determine what could cripple this healthy young man’s confidence.

  “Do you think The Grawl will be with the others when they get here tomorrow?”

  “Groddenmitersay didn’t indicate he would be bringing Kulson’s unit to this location. And even if he did, it is said The Grawl can’t abide being in a building for more than a few minutes. He won’t bother us. That is, unless someone has put your name on his list to exterminate.”

  “I would have preferred to kill these travelers rather than keep them for Groddenmitersay to interrogate.”

  “Bosk said wait, so we wait. Help me move this crate to the kitchen.”

  Bealomondore listened. Edrina and the young man grunted as they shoved a heavy object across the floor. The noises moved away from the stairwell, probably toward the door leading to the common room.

  Danto groaned, and the scraping of wood against the stone floor ceased. “One of the bisonbecks could pick this up and haul it with no trouble. Let me go get one.”

  “They’re busy,” Edrina snapped. “And I don’t like them anywhere near me.”

  “Why do you think Bosk wants to give these travelers over to Groddenmitersay? I didn’t think there was anything special about them.”

  “Ha! And you think you’re so smart. You need to learn to have sharp eyes.”

  Bealomondore fought down the urge to move closer and perhaps peek out of the stairwell. He wanted to see these two as they talked so calmly about turning them over. He wished he could mindspeak. He could hear what they said well enough, but what were they thinking?

  Danto snorted. “What have you seen that I haven’t?”

  “I’ve seen them guard that emerlindian girl. And all of them wear clothes finer than any ordinary traveler. The librarian speaks with an accent. He’s not from Chiril. And when I reached my hand into a pocket of one of their cloaks, my hand burned. Burned! I jerked it out fast enough, but I had to coat it with butter to ease the pain.”

  “But—”

  “Enough of your stalling. Put your shoulder to this crate.”

  In a few moments, the sounds indicated they’d reached the other room. Maxon signaled, and Bealomondore followed him out the back door into an inky night.

  22

  Difficulties

  Librettowit and Tipper had already boarded the raft. The princess sat on a box. Librettowit held his pole, ready to push away from the dock. Taeda Bel gripped her rope, holding it taut where she stood on the opposite bank. Maxon ran across this rope bridge from the raft to the shore in order to help her pull the bargelike craft.

  Bealomondore snapped his mouth shut after witnessing this acrobatic feat and answered Librettowit’s urging to grab the line he would use.

  To get the flatboat around the end of the dock, Bealomondore would have to walk to the end and reach out over the river. The
dark water did not look inviting to the land-loving tumanhofer. The thought of falling in and drowning quickened his movements. The sooner this task was done, the better.

  He and the librarian did their best to minimize the thuds. Each tap against a piling sounded like a loud knock on a nearby door. Bealomondore dropped the rope and picked up an oar. He used that to keep the raft away from the dock as they maneuvered it to the end and around to open water.

  He quietly put the oar back where he’d found it, then picked up his end of the rope. He had to scurry to get to the bank and the trodden path. The smooth surface of the bank testified that many shippers used barges to transport their goods. This further compounded the mystery as to why there had been no traffic other than their small party.

  An owl hooted. Bealomondore jumped and glanced back toward the boat stop, thinking it a miracle that no one inside heard their departure. Without speaking, the men and Taeda Bel guided the raft down the gently flowing river. The sliver of moon gave just enough light to keep him from stumbling.

  The rough rope scratched his palms. He paused to dig out the gloves from his hollow and put them on. They came to a bend in the river, and both water and land sloped downward. Now rather than coaxing the raft along with tugs, he had to hold it back. He needed the gloves more than ever.

  “Watch out!” Tipper exclaimed.

  Bealomondore looked at the path in front of him. Nothing obstructed his way.

  “Behind you,” she shouted.

  He wheeled around and saw a bisonbeck bearing down on him. He dropped the rope, threw back his cape, and pulled out his sword.

  Having practiced with the kimens and Librettowit, Bealomondore knew a little more about how to stand and position the weapon. He braced himself to counter the assault, but the Sword of Valor still did most of the work. For the moment, the exertion to keep alive drove away any marvel he felt over how the sword slashed and parried.

  Rayn flew from Tipper to give him aid. He appeared as a black shadow and spit caustic saliva into the bisonbeck’s face. Bealomondore managed to make a few scores with his sword. His opponent folded over a wounded arm with a gasp.

  “More coming,” screeched Tipper.

  Bealomondore knocked the wounded man into the river and backed away. The raft bumped over the choppy water, taking Librettowit and the princess farther downstream. Bealomondore ran to close the distance, then turned to confront those barreling toward him.

  A bisonbeck reached him first, and by sheer luck, he managed to trip the brute into the river. The three mariones coming were shoulder to shoulder. How could he deal with three at once? He raised his sword and hoped his face looked resolute instead of petrified. He sliced his weapon sideways but only ripped one man’s sleeve. Bealomondore danced backward and swung again. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a globe of light skimming across the water.

  In another second, Maxon, quick and definitely wet, buzzed around the attackers’ feet. It took Bealomondore a moment to realize the kimen had a ball of twine. Maxon tangled the mariones’ legs together, severely restricting their footwork. They fell to the ground in a heap. One marione pulled out a knife and sliced through his bonds.

  A squeal from Tipper caused Bealomondore to run down the bank to where the raft dipped and swayed in the water. The flow of the River Hannit ran faster as the land slanted more steeply. Librettowit desperately tried to use the pole to steady them, but the rushing water defied him. Taeda Bel held on to her rope. As Bealomondore watched, she fell on her face. The raft dragged her along the path.

  “Let go,” Bealomondore yelled as he searched for the rope he’d dropped. He spotted it thrashing in the water, out of his reach.

  Taeda Bel now lay in the dirt. Her rope trailed in the water as well. Librettowit shoved his pole against a rock and kept them from crashing. Tipper clung to the raft. The box she had used as a seat was nowhere in sight. Bealomondore ran to catch up.

  A great weight hit his back, and he fell forward. His sword flew from his grasp. Bealomondore rolled, pushing the marione off. He scrambled on all fours toward his weapon, but the man tackled him again. This time the tumanhofer used his feet and fists, kicking and hitting at the bigger marione. His assailant easily held him down.

  Realizing he’d never defeat this stronger opponent in hand-to-hand combat, he grasped for memories of boys he’d seen scrapping in the streets. Think, he demanded of himself.

  He grabbed one of the marione’s ears, twisting and pulling. The marione yelled with pain. The tumanhofer got his other arm free and poked his finger in the howling man’s eye. Bealomondore squirmed loose and dove for the sword.

  He grabbed the hilt, rolled on to his back, and sliced at the marione as the creature leaned over to grab Bealomondore. He gained his feet before the surprised marione came at him again, this time with a long, curved knife. Rayn swooped in and spit on the man’s face. The marione growled and wiped at his forehead with his empty hand.

  Bealomondore hopped backward. The curved blade bothered him.

  That looks wicked. It looks sturdier than my blade. It looks like I’d better run.

  But running was not an option at the moment. The marione would just as soon stab him in the back as in the front.

  Rayn bombarded the stout enemy once more. The saliva landed on his jacket. For a moment the man’s attention wavered. Bealomondore managed a thrust that pierced his clothing but apparently did not hit flesh.

  The marione swung his arm at a height that would decapitate his adversary, but Bealomondore tucked himself into a somersault position and bowled into the man’s legs. He sprang to his feet and saw his foe rising. While the marione was off balance, Bealomondore kicked him in the face, sending him careening into the river.

  “Maxon!” he called.

  “Here.” The kimen approached, allowing his clothes to resume a soft glow.

  “Weren’t there two more?”

  “I secured the twine that holds them.”

  Bealomondore bent at the waist, his hands on his knees, and panted. At the moment he didn’t have the strength or the breath to tackle another foe.

  The light from Maxon shone on the hilt of his sword, which he still held in his right hand.

  The kimen squinted and peered at the cross guard. “You’ve scratched your fine sword.”

  “No, it’s words.” Bealomondore bent over to point out the inscription but paused. “That’s odd.”

  “What?” Maxon leaned closer, and his light flickered over the shiny silver.

  “It changed. It says, ‘Grip the Sword of Valor to protect the innocent.’ Before it said, ‘The Sword of Valor slays only the wicked.’ ”

  Maxon leaned back to tilt his head up and look into Bealomondore’s eyes. “That wizard gave you the sword?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, it’s teaching you how to fight, and I suppose it’s teaching you words about being a knight.”

  “Knight?” Bealomondore’s voice cracked. He stared at the kimen. What kind of craziness was this? “I don’t want to be a knight. I’ve already got a perfectly satisfactory occupation.”

  Maxon said nothing.

  Bealomondore managed to stand erect, but he still hauled air in and out of his starving lungs. It was hard to talk, but his anger pushed the words out. “I dropped the sword when that marione plowed into me. The inscription must mean hold on to the sword.”

  “And if you were training to be a knight, you would be admonished to hold tight to valor.”

  “I dropped the sword. That’s all.”

  Maxon smiled, looking wise and self-assured.

  Annoyed by the patience also exhibited on Maxon’s face, the artist averted his gaze and peered into the gloomy night. “We must catch up to Librettowit and Tipper. Will you go check on Taeda Bel? The last time I saw her, she’d fallen.”

  “I’m coming.” She approached them from downstream, a sodden librarian at her side.

  “What happened? Where’s Tipper?”

&nbs
p; Librettowit shook his arms, and water showered from his coat sleeves. “My pole broke. I fell in the river. Rayn returned to Tipper. We best send Taeda Bel and Maxon ahead to keep an eye on her.”

  The two kimens raced off.

  Bealomondore took a minute to look at his tumanhofer friend. He couldn’t see much more than his outline. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” Librettowit turned downstream. “We better get going. Hurry, please. I’m nervous about the girl.”

  Tipper watched the attack from her perch on the box. She could only yell a warning to Bealomondore. A dip of the raft threw Tipper down on her knees. Then she couldn’t see Bealomondore anymore. The water carried them too quickly away from the fight.

  “Rayn, go find out what’s happening.”

  The minor dragon objected.

  “Go!” Tipper peeled him off her shoulder. “He needs help. I’m safe for now.”

  The dragon flew off, and Tipper flattened herself against the rough boards. Water splashed in her face.

  The tumanhofer librarian stumbled and climbed back to his feet. He poled against a rock.

  “Librettowit, can I help?”

  “You can stay out of my way.”

  Tipper scanned the opposite bank and finally caught sight of Taeda Bel. “Taeda Bel’s going to be hurt.”

  “Not much I can do about that right now.”

  “Here comes Rayn and Bealomondore.”

  “Good.” Librettowit puffed between each word. “I can use some help.”

  “Taeda Bel’s fallen.”

  “For the love of tangonut crème pie, I don’t need an update on everyone’s doings.”

  “Bealomondore’s been attacked again.”

  She heard a snap and a splash. The raft twirled, and she saw Librettowit’s head bob to the surface in the water. Scrambling to the side, she tried to reach him. The current carried her away.

  “Stay with the raft, Princess,” the tumanhofer called. “We’ll join you downstream.” He swam toward the bank but turned to yell at her once more. “And stay out of trouble.”

  Tipper clung to the boards with her hands clamped to the edge. Her long legs allowed her to tuck her toes over the opposite side, and she curled her feet under as best she could. Without Librettowit and his pole, the raft spun slowly around and around, dipping with the rapid water and bumping into rocks along the banks.