Dragons of the Valley

  The Grawl smelled the men before he heard them. Their halfhearted effort to steal into the valley made him laugh. Finally, fewer than forty men came into sight, a ragtag group of sea dogs. Tattered uniforms proclaimed them sailors.

  Fighting men, they were not. Unused to walking great distances, they limped as they trudged through the gap. They looked malnourished, worn to the point of collapse, and unfocused. The Grawl’s nose twitched. They smelled unclean. Pitiful. An enemy force of four could have wiped them all out.

  The scene no longer interested him. He turned his back and renewed his quest—finding the wizard.

  51

  Trouble

  Hollee watched Wizard Fenworth carefully. He looked like he merely stood in the sunshine, soaking up the warm rays, but he’d been odd the last several days. After all the days underground, now he craved the open air. Well, she did too. And maybe his constant twitching and muttering would stop. She found it hard to live with a nervous wizard.

  Fenworth had spent his days supervising the building of tunnels, not that the tumanhofers appreciated his suggestions. He also trained medium-sized dragons to roam the underground halls and guard the entire network of meditation rooms and the main cathedral. Paladin hinted that the dragons did not want to be trained and would do a superior job if left to operate in their own way. Wizard Fenworth bullied the dragons, and much to Hollee’s surprise, the dragons took a liking to the old man and humored him. She learned from Librettowit that dragons have a lively sense of the absurd, a reverence for the elderly, and a strict code of courtesy.

  Hollee did a twirly dance through the late autumn mumfers, gathering blooms to make a chain. Wizard Fenworth tilted his face up to catch the brilliance of the day. The satisfied expression on his face shifted to horror, and the old man dragged the sleeves of his wizard’s garb up off his wrists to expose scrawny white arms.

  “Look at that, Hollee,” he cried. “The hairs are standing up. Trouble!”

  He let the sleeves fall before she got a good look. He scoured the immediate area with steely eyes. Then he lifted one hand to shield against the bright sun and surveyed the rising mountains all around.

  “Trouble!”

  “What kind of trouble?” she asked.

  He sniffed the air. “The Grawl, and something I daresay I’ve never smelled.” He stuck his tongue out and wiggled it in the open air. “Tastes like trouble too.”

  “Are we going to go look for it?”

  The twinkle left the old man’s eyes. “No, it’s coming to us.”

  Hollee swallowed to keep her voice from coming out in a squeak. “The Grawl?”

  The wizard stood for a moment with his head tilted and an expression of deep concentration on his face. “Yes, I’m afraid so, but do not worry. The Grawl is not the only one coming and might very well get lost in the crowd.”

  “Reinforcements?”

  “For us? No.” He untangled a grasshopper from his beard and let it go. “Odidoddex’s army is only about a half day’s march to the east.”

  Hollee quivered so violently that her dress made of light blinked on and off. “Why shouldn’t I worry?”

  “Oh dear, oh dear. I don’t like this business of war.” He pointed to a dragon cresting the northern ridge. “Here comes the first of our bad news.”

  “What? What? What’s happening?”

  “Patience,” said the wizard and placed a hand on her head, mashing down her unruly spikes of wispy hair.

  The dragon landed next to the castle. A marione slipped off its back and ran in. A second rider, a kimen, came to Fenworth and Hollee.

  “Tut, tut,” said the wizard. “I wish I could be with Lady Peg and Tipper.”

  “Why?” Hollee watched the approaching messenger. “What’s happened?”

  “The city of Ragar has fallen.”

  The kimen reached them as Fenworth dropped down on a log. His hat wiggled and fell off in his lap. A bird flew away from his head.

  “Oh dear, oh dear. I don’t like war.” Fenworth leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees and putting his face in his hands.

  Hollee spoke to the kimen. “There’s more bad news, isn’t there?”

  The messenger nodded, his long hair falling into his eyes and his face distraught. “The king fought with his soldiers to defend Amber Palace and was killed.”

  “Oh no!”

  “Verrin Schope rescued the queen and is taking her to Byrdschopen.”

  “That means Princess Tipper will be queen.”

  Wizard Fenworth lifted his head. “Why?”

  “In Chiril,” explained the messenger, “the crown goes to the second generation, second child.”

  “Lady Peg and her sister are the first generation,” said Hollee, “and Princess Tipper is the second child.”

  Fenworth shook his head. “She has no older sibling.”

  Hollee hopped from one foot to the other. “No, but she has one older cousin.” She stood on tiptoe. “I’m sorry the king is dead, but this is so exciting. Princess Tipper will be a great queen.”

  “Interesting.” Fenworth nodded. “Unusual.” He stood. “Odd.” He sat again. “Is there a reason for this second generation, second child tradition?”

  “Oh yes.” Hollee used her hands to gesture, emphasizing the importance of the custom with wide, sweeping motions. “Royalty stopped killing each other to get the throne. The spouse cannot inherit the crown, and the royal children can’t either. It makes plotting to overthrow the king useless. You see, the oldest child is supposed to guard the second child from harm. And if anything happens to the successor, the oldest child loses his citizenship and must go abroad. Banished, in other words.”

  “So where is this cousin?”

  “Banished. He was never good at his job. Actually he never even tried to watch over Tipper. He doesn’t believe in tradition. He mostly likes to have grand parties. So now he goes to grand parties somewhere else. Maybe even in Baardack. That’s why Verrin Schope left Sir Beccaroon in charge of Tipper.”

  Wizard Fenworth nodded to the visitor. “Suppose you tell us the rest of your bad news.”

  “Odidoddex’s army has secured Ragar, and their general has dispatched a battalion to conquer this valley.”

  “I suppose,” said Wizard Fenworth as he stood, “there are thousands of them to our mere two hundred or so.”

  The messenger looked very gloomy. “Yes sir.”

  “And I have ascertained that they are quite near.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “I seem to remember something about a part of the army that was not trapped inside Ragar. They were cut off from the main forces and were headed this way.”

  “Were,” said the kimen without looking up.

  “Oh no!” Hollee froze. “They were all killed? Ambushed?”

  “No.” The kimen sighed. “They went home.”

  “Understandable,” said Fenworth. “They probably considered the war lost. Only the official surrender needed to make it final. Oh dear.” He turned back to the cave opening. “Hollee, you can stay aboveground if you wish to help. I shall tell Librettowit and make a last-minute check on our statues. I am so glad we had time to make all the preparations so that they will not fall into Odidoddex’s hands.”

  The wizard came out of the same opening the tumanhofers used for their mining operation. After some time, he went back in.

  The Grawl grinned and noticed the schoergat he called Torn Shirt shiver. He made the schoergats nervous. Even his satisfied smile caused alarm among these fierce allies. The time had come to reward their patience and set them free.

  He raked his eyes over his three companions and watched them squirm. The Grawl appreciated beauty. The schoergats reeked of sweat and rancid food. They looked like stone ogres, smaller than grawligs and smarter. His association with them grew out of necessity, and soon they would not be needed.

  The Grawl would go into the mine, come out the victor, and go home. He placed a hand on the pocket th
at held his silver box. His fingers outlined the square. Soon this tedious journey would be done.

  “Tonight,” he said to the three he’d brought with him, “we will invade their valley. I’ll show you exactly where the dragons are most likely to be. You take care of them, and I will take care of the wizard.”

  52

  Battle Cry

  The people of the valley skipped the songfest after their evening meal. They also omitted turning in for the night. Instead of posting guards, Paladin dispersed all the men to cover entry points in the mountain walls. Dragons perched at intervals where they could observe the enemy and communicate their movement.

  Hollee had chosen to stay with the commander of this small Chirilian force and run messages to the wizard in his cave. When Wizard Fenworth walked up behind Paladin, he startled both the young man and the kimen.

  “I’ve been out and about, doing a few things,” he said. “I thought I might help a bit before I return to sentry duty over the statues.”

  “Any help is appreciated,” said Paladin. “We’re vastly outnumbered.”

  Hollee gritted her teeth and scrunched her eyes. From experience, she knew that, at times, some help from the wizard was not worthy of appreciation. Things generally worked out in the end, but his contributions to a cause could be disconcerting. She opened her eyes to peek at the men.

  Fenworth winked at her. “I am providing a disguise for your people and dragons, a masking non-sheen.”

  Paladin focused on the older man. “Non-sheen?”

  “Yes.” He began pulling jar after jar out of his hollows. “While the tumanhofers were busy, and on occasions when they didn’t need my direct supervision, Librettowit and I brewed up this substance. You can have your kimen friends deliver it. Have them instruct the men and the dragons to rub it all over, including hair, clothes, and boots as well as skin. The more they buff the cream, the more unseeable they will become. That is why it is a non-sheen. Instead of becoming shinier, they will become less seeable.”

  “Invisible?” asked Paladin. He opened a jar and sniffed the contents. “No smell.”

  “Well,” said Fenworth, “that would defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it? If it smelled like something, your men and dragons would be unseeable but smellable. Not a very good plan to hide reeking soldiers all around.”

  “I agree,” said Paladin. He motioned several dozen kimens to come closer and directed them to deliver the jars and instructions to the men. “You will have to help spread the non-sheen substance on the dragons.”

  They grabbed jars and raced off to do his bidding.

  Paladin dipped into the cream and spread it on his face and through his hair. “It might have been better to give this to the men while they were still here in camp.”

  Fenworth frowned at him. “Right. Might have.” He clapped his hands together. “But now the soldiers have something to do other than sit and worry about the coming engagement.” He turned away, then back. “Oh, I forgot. I’ve put up sheening devices at intervals along the edge of the valley rim.”

  “And a sheening device.” Paladin stopped to give Fenworth an opportunity to explain.

  “A sheening device, of course, does the opposite of a non-sheen cream.”

  “I see.”

  “Oh yes, you’ll be able to see them. Folly to attack at night when the valley is equipped with sheening devices. But then, how would they know a wizard backs all your endeavors?”

  The old man marched off, waving nonchalantly over his shoulder and humming a cheerful tune.

  Paladin caught Hollee’s eye and held it. “I suppose the enemy will shine.”

  “Glow,” said Hollee and giggled.

  A dragon screech scraped through the quiet night. Paladin’s head jerked around as the noise continued to declare a dragon in trouble.

  Hollee spotted the wounded dragon first and pointed to the sky over the lake. “A dragon and something else. They’re fighting.”

  The two combatants charged each other.

  “I’m going up there,” said Paladin as Caesannede flew in. “I can’t tell what that creature is.”

  “Can I go with you?”

  “Of course.” Paladin shook his head. “That thing must not have walked through Wizard Fenworth’s sheening device.”

  “I was thinking the same thing. Doesn’t glow. Flew over, most likely.”

  Caesannede landed. Paladin and Hollee scrambled aboard.

  “All right,” said Paladin. “Go to the weapons first.”

  Hollee assumed the dragon fussed at his rider. “He has a point. That thing looks fierce.”

  “Schoergats! He says they’re schoergats.”

  The dragon fighting the creature shrieked again. Pain emanated through the harsh cry. Hollee whipped her head around to see the dragon fall from the air. “Oh no! Paladin, I think the dragon is dead.”

  “We must mobilize before too many dragons are in the air.”

  Caesannede landed nearer the castle, in the field where weapons were kept.

  “A saddle!” Paladin shouted, and two marione soldiers appeared from a shed, lugging the many-strapped leather contraption between them. Hollee almost asked why he called for a saddle but realized he needed the many sheaths that held weapons. She and Paladin jumped off and gathered spears, a bow and arrow, and a slingshot.

  Dragon battle cries announced the response to one of their own being killed. The sky filled with beasts of all sizes. Many of the dragons had launched the counterattack without waiting for the men who’d been trained to ride them.

  “We have to hurry.” Paladin dropped his armload of weapons and aided the two men fastening leather straps around Caesannede. “Dragons lose all sense when battling schoergats, and they usually lose the fight.”

  Hollee ran from the pile of weapons to the back of the dragon, loading the saddle with their supplies. “What are schoergats?”

  “A low race, dragonkillers. Their greatest pleasure is to kill and then eat dragons. They were driven out of this valley by my predecessor but only after they had slain enough of the population that some claimed the dragons were extinct.”

  Several men barreled into the field in front of the armory.

  “Sir,” called one of the soldiers. “Our dragons took flight without us.”

  “I know,” said Paladin. “Gather ’round.”

  More soldiers arrived. They formed a tight knot in front of their commander. Hollee smelled fear as they waited for orders.

  “You must intercept your dragons. They will die if you’re not on their backs, helping to strategize. Schoergats affect their minds with frenzy. Find someone with a mount that has not been crazed. Probably one of the older, steadier dragons. Use that dragon to take you up and transfer to your own steed. You must reach them and temper their mania. This will be a wild ride, but once you are on their backs, you’ll calm them.”

  The men shifted, eager to be away, but Paladin had not dismissed them. None of their training had taken in the possibility of fighting these schoergats.

  Paladin paused, inspecting his men and choosing his words. “The only way to kill this enemy is to fly over them and instruct your dragon to use its tail to smack the schoergat to the ground. They carry a pultah, a spear. Sometimes the head is painted with poison. Make passes to the side first. Try to knock the pultah out of the schoergats’ hands. Then go in for the kill from above. Any questions?”

  A negative murmur rose from the soldiers.

  Paladin studied them for a moment, then gave the order. “Go!”

  53

  Two Baardackians

  Bealomondore stopped to catch his breath. His men were outnumbered by five to one, but Fenworth had done them a favor. The enemy shone like polished silver as they walked through the gap. He and his men could barely be seen, even by each other. The kimens toned down their light clothing, and all the others were smeared from head to toe with Fenworth’s non-sheen cream.

  Maxon stood at the tumanhofer’s side on the
rocky hillside. They’d taken refuge in a copse of bramblewood trees. Even with the advantage of being almost unseen, fighting as many as four enemy soldiers at once was tiring.

  Two of Odidoddex’s men, a marione and an emerlindian, approached. They crept through the bushes, crouching low and jerking at every little noise.

  The marione stopped and whispered. “I’m for getting out of here, Cahn. We’re fighting ghosts.”

  “Desert? You’re crazy.”

  “What punishment could they deal out that would be worse than fighting phantoms?”

  “Giving us over to The Grawl.”

  The enemy warriors stopped moving. Bealomondore imagined they were contemplating their fate in the hands of The Grawl. He shivered in sympathy.

  At last the marione sighed. “We can see The Grawl. Whatever we’re fighting in this valley cannot be seen.”

  “That’s not strictly true. You gotta admit, you can see something move. It’s just hard to see what it is that moved.”

  “And how do we fight something we can almost see?”

  “Calculate.”

  The marione lowered himself to sit on the ground, his back to a boulder. “You’re crazy.”

  “No, smarter than you.”

  The marione grunted.

  “Listen to me, Demdar.” Cahn’s voice rose.

  Demdar gestured wildly. “Shh!”

  Cahn heeded and whispered so quietly that Bealomondore had to move closer to hear. A twig snapped under his foot.

  “What was that?” asked the marione.

  The men remained silent and still for a minute. Bealomondore held his breath.

  “Nothing,” said the emerlindian. “Listen. When the something moves, you get a general impression of its size. Then you calculate. You can calculate where the heart and head are.”

  “Yeah, but you can’t figure where the weapon is. The weapon is what I want to calculate. Let’s just go back through the gap a ways.”

  “That’s likely to get us caught. I don’t want to desert. I just want to stay alive. Deserting will lead to death, Demdar. Remember, I’m the smart one.”