DragonFire (4 page)

Kale gasped as she watched Gilda raise a brown nordy roll and sink her teeth into it. Gilda paused and tilted her head, sending the Dragon Keeper a look of inquiry.

“I never thought,” said Kale. “I mean, it never occurred to me. How did you eat? What kept you alive? All those years in the bottle. You should have starved to death.”

Gilda smiled with the serenity that heightened her beauty. “Regidor kept me alive. His research was divided between seeking ways to sustain me and ways that might cure me.”

Regidor patted her hand and then, with obvious pleasure, intertwined her fingers with his.

After Kale cleared the table and Bardon helped her wash up, they moved into Granny Noon’s comfortable den area. Kale settled on the floor and rested against Bardon’s legs as he sat in an overstuffed chair. Gilda snuggled in Regidor’s embrace on a sofa.

The warm room exuded comfort and peace. Granny Noon, sitting in her favorite chair, took up her knitting, gave the rocker a little shove with her foot, and took a stitch. “My dears, you’ve been ensconced in your self-absorbed bubbles for too long. I’m afraid it’s time to come out and see where Paladin needs you. We all have work to do.”

         
5
         

N
IGHT
T
ALK

Bardon stooped to keep from hitting his head on the roots woven into the ceiling of the small bedchamber. On his shoulder, Dibl dug in his claws to keep from slipping and let out a chortle. Bardon ignored the minor pest and gazed at Kale, already sitting in the tiny bed under one of Granny Noon’s homespun blankets. She pulled her knees up to her chest and did little to hide the mischievous smirk on her face. With the good humor dragon influencing his mood, Bardon edged sideways around the wall without grumping.

He nudged the bright minor dragon from its perch and shrugged out of his shirt. “It’s a good thing we’re not urohms.”

Kale imagined a giant husband and wife bumbling about, trying to fit into the bed. The mental image invaded Bardon’s thoughts and caused the corners of his mouth to lift. Dibl did an aerial somersault but bumped into the wall. The six minor dragons chirred their amusement.

Contentment filled the room, and Bardon treasured the moment. He knew his loved ones would soon face war, and that made the peace surrounding him all the more worth cherishing.

The sleeping chamber dimmed as he covered a lightrock with a cloth left beside it. The minor dragons sat up at attention. Bardon grinned slightly, thinking it rather absurd to have obtained the submission of these marvelous, tiny creatures by way of a technicality. He was the master of their home. Although they owed first allegiance to Kale, they paid him the honor of dutiful respect. With a signal, he could banish them to the comfortable pocket-dens within Kale’s moonbeam cape, thus affording him and his wife some privacy. But some nights, he allowed them to lounge around the room, sleeping where they chose.

Three years ago, he hadn’t fully understood what an integral part these little creatures would play in his life. Now he did. He had married a Dragon Keeper. Dragons popped up at the most unexpected times, sometimes annoying him, but more often entertaining him and coaxing his better nature to the fore.

He ducked under a low-hanging root. “Do you think she put us in this room by mistake?” he asked Kale. “Surely, this is a room for kimens or doneels.”

“Granny Noon isn’t known for making mistakes. I think she has only one large room and one small besides her own. When I was here before, we slept in the front room on the floor. Since both Regidor and Gilda have tails and wings to deal with, Granny Noon probably thought the bigger room would be better for them.”

“I would suggest I sleep on the floor, but there isn’t more space between the bed and the wall than there is on the mattress beside you.”

“I could shrink you.”

Not sure if she was teasing, he cast her a speculative glance and saw her overly bland expression. She guarded her thoughts as she often did when wanting to rib him.

He covered two more lightrocks. “It would be more helpful to enlarge the bed.”

“I already did! I’ve used up most of the floor space.”

One small blue rock remained, illuminating the room with a soothing azure hue.

Kale scooted over and nestled into the soft bed. Bardon slipped in beside her. Gymn landed on Kale’s shoulder, and Bardon shooed him away. “Oh no, you don’t. There isn’t room for a bedbug tonight.”

Pat snored on a cushioned chair. Gymn and Dibl settled on the same chair, one on the arm, and one on the back. Metta, Ardeo, and Filia crawled into the cape, seeking the comfort of their pockets.

“What do you think of all this?” asked Kale.

He didn’t need to ask to what she referred. His thoughts churned over the events of the day and all they had seen since they emerged from The Bogs. He stretched out, and both feet pushed beyond the end of the bed to dangle over the floor. With a sigh, he put his arm around Kale as she snuggled against his side.

“‘Man chooses his path and finds Wulder has walked the way before him, laying the stones of each road.’”

“A principle! Now, that’s the knight I know and love.” She sighed. “So what does that mean for us?”

“We determined to locate Regidor and deliver the information we found about Gilda’s condition. Wulder brought us out of The Bogs to accomplish that mission and join another.”

“It wasn’t wrong for us to be secluded for three years? To ignore the state of Amara as we dealt with our little piece of the world?”

Bardon shifted, and his leg shot out from under the too-small covers. A draft of cold air hit his thigh where it lay half off the mattress. He twitched the blanket back over his leg.

“Paladin could have sent for us, Kale. We would have answered the call. Don’t wallow in guilt that is not valid.”

“Surely there’s a principle that states that more eloquently.”

“When given a bridge to cross the marsh, don’t bemoan the lack of mud on your shoes when you get to firm ground.”

He felt her tense against his side, and he held his breath, willing her not to delve into his thoughts.

She traced a circle with her fingertip over his ribs. “I don’t believe I’ve ever read that one in the Tomes of Wulder.”

Bardon fought the bubble of mirth that would give him away. “Obscure reference,” he managed to say in a reasonable tone.

Silence. He waited.

“You made that up!”

He couldn’t dodge the finger poked in his side, but he could retaliate. He tickled, and Kale writhed beneath his fingers. Her squirming nudged him off his precarious perch, and he fell the few inches to the floor. That did not deter him from torturing his ticklish wife.

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” she gasped, trying not to screech and wake Granny Noon and her other guests. “Be serious, Bardon.”

He stopped, and she regained her breath. A torrent of mixed emotions flowed from his charming wife. Bardon climbed back between the bedding, wriggled into an almost comfortable position, and cuddled Kale. He lay still for two reasons, to keep from landing on the floor again, and to try to sort out Kale’s emotions.

“All right, lady of mine, why am I getting this mishmash of feelings from you?”

“I’m excited to see Paladin again and worried by Granny Noon’s report of his illness.”

“It does sound serious.” He thought about shifting more to his side, but that would also shift the blanket and result in one of them being exposed to the night air.

Kale appeared to be more comfortable. At least she was following one line of thought. “That he’s sick at all is serious. He’s two thousand years old! I assumed he would live forever. Can he die?”

“Yes. He’s not Wulder, but Wulder’s representative. But I’ve seen him bone weary before, and he revived.” Bardon carefully rolled toward Kale and put an arm over her stomach.

“Granny Noon said his health reflected the attitude of his people. What did she mean?”

His face nestled into her curly hair. He slid back a bit on the pillow to prevent the locks from teasing his nose. “The indifference of the Amarans to the threat of evil has weakened him.”

“Ah!”

Tangled thoughts still emanated from Kale’s mind, roiling in a senseless rumble of emotions. Bardon waited until her inner turmoil subsided, and he could again understand her mindspeaking.

Unable to move, he squeezed her hand. “We’ll do what is before us, Kale.”

“I don’t understand the politics of all this. This war isn’t about Amara! Why did Pretender and Cropper and Stox decide to fight? So many innocent people are getting hurt!”

“I doubt they take into consideration the lives of those who get killed along the way. They don’t respect life.”

Kale’s head turned swiftly on the pillow. Her large eyes stared at him. “Why don’t the Amarans fight back?”

“Fight back? They don’t feel like the attack is aimed at them, and it isn’t, really. The battle is for power. Who’s in charge. Who rules. Pretender wants to beat Cropper and Stox into submission. Cropper and Stox want Pretender’s position of authority.”

“And they certainly don’t care that a lot of Amarans are hurt in their grandiose schemes.” She jerked her head, facing upward, to glower at the ceiling once more. “Authority? Wulder is the supreme authority. They’re fighting for a figurative throne that possesses no glory.”

“Yes, but the evil ones refuse to believe that the right to rule can’t be snatched into their grubby hands.”

“They can kill Paladin?” Her voice sounded small, more like a child than his wizard wife.

He tightened the arm that lay over her and pulled her closer. “Yes, but Paladin is more likely to die from a weak heart.”

“And he is in danger of that because his people don’t cherish the privilege of his rulership under Wulder.”

“Exactly.” Bardon distinctly felt the edge of the soft bed sagging. He tried to wiggle more onto the mattress.

“But the people…?”

“The people of Amara are only concerned when the battle between the two evils touches their community.” He moved his leg and lost the blanket. He growled. “And then, they hope it will pass over in a short time.”

“Three evils, it would seem, if Cropper and Stox have truly fallen out.”

“Yes, three.”

Bardon waited for Kale to speak. His own apprehension of the future wound around the cord of anxiety emanating from his wife. He didn’t feel any more secure in the ultimate defeat of such powerful enemies than she did. His knight’s training told him to choose good over evil and fight with all that was within him, to thank Wulder for his strength, and to trust Him for the outcome. In his heart, he wanted to take his wife, her dragons, and their friends deep into the safety of The Bogs. He let out a heavy sigh and almost slipped over the edge.

“Kale.”

“What?”

“Fix this bed, please, lady of mine. Make it larger. Let it fill the whole room.”

He felt the mattress extend under his feet until the cold air no longer breezed against his toes. The sides of the bed moved outward until they bumped into the wall.

“The covers?” he asked.

The blankets also stretched out. Bardon relaxed, allowing his limbs to savor the new comfort of enough space. Being married to a wizard definitely had a few advantages.

He kissed her forehead. “Thank you.”

“How is this all going to end, Bardon?”

“Only Wulder knows, lady of mine.”

         
6
         

D
RUDDUMS

Granny Noon led the procession through tunnels lit by blue lightrocks. Bardon followed, third in line, behind Kale, with Regidor and Gilda straggling along at the rear. Sir Bardon didn’t like the feel of this trip.

A frown had deepened the old emerlindian’s face all morning. Grannies did not frown, nor scowl. Serenity was their hallmark, yet Granny Noon’s expression bespoke apprehension. Where was the peace that normally cloaked the old lady like a garment?

With cheerful calls to his siblings, Dibl dived, combed his talons through Bardon’s hair as he passed over, and darted on ahead to circle the newlyweds.

At least the minor dragons liked caves and underground tunnels. Ardeo’s glow dimmed and brightened as he flew. When he went by a cluster of lightrocks, his luminescence faded, but his pale skin reflected blue. The other minor dragons flitted around like disoriented bats.

Kale wouldn’t appreciate Bardon’s likening her little friends to unintelligent flying pests. They landed on her shoulders or in her hair, carrying on conversations that she understood readily. In her presence, he could usually interpret all the chatter through the mindspeaking link with his wife. But for the most part, he didn’t bother to keep up with their nattering.

Bardon glanced over his shoulder. The meech dragons strolled together, Gilda’s arm tucked in the crook of Regidor’s.

“It’s a wonder they don’t fall on their faces,” he muttered.

Kale sneaked a peek at the couple. She snickered and shook her head at him. “They’re newlyweds. You can’t expect them to watch the path in front of them when they can gaze into each other’s eyes instead.”

Bardon looked back again, this time studying the two dragons. He couldn’t decide who wore the sappier expression. Regidor looked positively besotted.

“We never carried on like that.”

Kale said nothing.

“Well, we didn’t.” Bardon took Kale’s arm and guided her past a pile of rubble. Several pieces of shiny metal stuck out of the debris.

Kale nodded ahead toward Granny Noon. “She isn’t particularly friendly this morning. And last night, she actually scolded us. The ‘self-absorbed bubble’ hurt. Of course, she meant all of us. Regidor obsessed over finding a cure for Gilda. We honeymooned in The Bogs. Still, I’ve never heard her speak in anything but a calm and kind tone.”

“She had a statement to make. One we weren’t hearing on our own. ‘A pointed word spoken by a friend can open the eyes of an endangered sleeper.’”

“She aimed to burst our bubble with her point?”

Bardon’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Right. She knew we’d respond as she expected. ‘A few heavy words will not crush the hearer. The fool won’t listen, and the wise man will place the words on the scale of righteousness.’ She trusted us to hear the words and act as Paladin’s servants.” Bardon’s eyes narrowed as he watched Regidor and Gilda. “On the whole, our meech friends don’t look especially crushed by Granny Noon’s reproach.”

“Not listening or using the scale of righteousness?”

“I’m not sure they’ve decided whether to heed the instruction or shelve it for a more convenient time.”

Kale spared them a fond glance. “Considering the miracle of Gilda’s recovery, who could blame them for not wanting to face a harsh reality?”

“‘Consider the circumstances in which a man reacts before you think you can predict his action.’”

“That’s enough principles for one morning, Bardon.”

He chortled and bit down on the next maxim that had sprung to his lips, but Wulder’s principles still streamed through his consciousness. He had no doubt that one would answer the unease he felt.

A druddum barreled through the tunnel. The small furry creature ricocheted off the walls and around their legs in a frantic effort to avoid crashing into them.

Gilda squealed, causing the creature to jump in the air before it careened around the next corner.

“They’re harmless,” said Regidor. “Their only vices are an obsession with speed and the collection of shiny objects.”

Gilda’s voice returned to a deep, lazy drawl. “They look a bit too much like rats.”

Kale chuckled, but Bardon sensed she, too, suffered from a strange mood.

He came up beside her as they passed into a wide stone corridor, placing his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him for just a moment before they continued on through the tunnels, still following Granny Noon. Kale’s sense of security grew from the interchange, and because of their connection, Bardon experienced the same surge of well-being. Of all the gifts Wulder had bestowed upon him, Kale was the best.

He sought to lift her spirits further. “Neither Paladin nor Wulder is angry with us. We were establishing a new order in The Bogs, Kale. We were doing just what Wulder had assigned as our responsibility.”

“And now we have a new direction?”

“Yes.”

Although the sob did not come through her body, Bardon, nonetheless, felt her shudder of despair. Her soul whispered to him.
“I want to go back to my safe home.”

I think the point of what Granny Noon was trying to tell us is that soon there will be no safe homes in Amara.

Kale didn’t answer but kept her eyes on the smooth black hair of the emerlindian she followed. The path narrowed, and Bardon let Kale go before him.

A second and third druddum scurried through the tunnel, making Gilda squeak and causing Kale to let out a shaky laugh.

He admired his wife. Her purposeful stride and straight posture revealed her determination. At fourteen, she had answered a call to serve Paladin. On that first quest, she discerned her own strengths and weaknesses.

The next quest brought her, now a beautiful young woman, together with him, a rather solemn lehman. At the time he’d thought her undisciplined, clumsy, and inept.

Her next thought interrupted the pleasant memories he had of the adventure that taught him what a treasure Kale was.

“We’re always learning our strengths and weaknesses, aren’t we?”

He grinned. Whether she had done so consciously or not, she had picked up a phrase from his musing.

He answered her question.
Every day.

She giggled.
“Don’t you have a principle to quote on that?”

A dozen.
But he didn’t quote them to her. He glanced over his shoulder at Regidor and Gilda. The husband seemed overprotective of his clinging wife. The two whispered with each other. “What’s going on with them, Kale?”

“Gilda is tired. That’s all. Remember, for many years she escaped that bottle for only short lengths of time. And conversely, she feels claustrophobic in this tunnel. She longs to be out in the open.”

Bardon didn’t respond. But he didn’t dampen soon enough the frisson of apprehension that shivered through his soul.

“Why are you worried?” Kale asked.

“Gilda may not be an asset on this quest. Whatever it is that Paladin wants us to do, I’m sure it will be arduous. Gilda has always been pampered.”

Kale turned to study Regidor. Bardon felt her emotions well up, but not a muscle in his wife’s face betrayed her turmoil.

Bardon whispered. “Regidor appears strong, sophisticated, intelligent, and unflappable.”

“Yes,” Kale agreed, “but his vulnerable spot walks beside him.”

Gilda fussed over a smudge on her dress. Bardon and his lady exchanged a look.

Bardon sighed.
I’m not sure Gilda’s loyalty to Wulder is stronger than her love of self.

Pat flew from some distance ahead of them and circled Kale’s head, chirring a distress signal.

“What is it?” asked Bardon.

“Druddums.”

“Druddums?”

“A lot of druddums.”

Granny Noon stopped and turned to face them. “I hear them,” she said and came back to clutch Bardon’s arm. “We need to get out of their way.”

“Get as close to each other as possible,” Bardon ordered. “Kale, a shield!”

Regidor hurried to join them, pulling Gilda with him.

She joined hands with her meech wizard colleague, and within a second, they had thrown up a barrier as clear and hard as glass but unbreakable. The six minor dragons flew in circles around the top of the protected questers.

The noise increased. A stampede of small, dark creatures hurtled through the tunnel. Some slammed into the protective sphere, but most of the steady stream of animals separated, ran around the obstruction, then merged again as a treacherous torrent. The glistening shell vibrated against the disturbance but did not shatter.

Kale and Regidor maintained the shield after the inundation of druddums subsided.

“My,” said Granny Noon. “I’ve never seen the likes of that before. Whatever do you suppose got into them?” She patted first Kale’s arm and then Regidor’s. “Thank you for your quick action. That could have been quite unpleasant. But we’re all safe.”

Regidor started, and the protective bubble expanded and contracted as if with a hiccup. “Where’s Gilda?”

Bardon looked around in amazement. The female meech was gone. “Where is she?” he repeated.

“She was inside the shell.” Kale, too, peered from side to side as if hunting for a lost child. “She was here. I saw her!”

Regidor dropped Kale’s hand and touched the inside of their haven. “She couldn’t get out any more than those druddums could get in.”

“Then,” asked Kale, “where is she?”