DragonFire (5 page)

         
7
         

A
NOTHER
D
ANGER

Kale and Regidor released the shield. Although Regidor moved slowly, examining minute details of the walls, ceiling, and floor of the tunnel, Kale felt the growing panic in her friend.

She turned to the wise emerlindian. “What do you think has happened, Granny Noon?”

“Gilda was startled. There’s no telling what a meech dragon of a skittish nature will do.”

“I’ve always thought of Gilda as languid, not skittish.”

“Under the draining influence of that horrible spell, of course she lacked vigor.” Granny Noon gestured toward the tall dragon as he ran long fingers over a fissure in the limestone wall. Ardeo hovered close by, providing as much light as possible.

“Try to imagine Regidor without his enthusiasm for life. Most meech are insatiable in their exploration of nature. They abound with vitality. In Gilda’s case, since her release from the spell, I’ve discerned an unsettled inclination. She’s as edgy as she is eager.”

Kale’s eyes widened as she realized Granny Noon spoke as one who possessed knowledge of the mysterious dragons. “You know about the meech? I thought little but legend was known about their race.”

Granny Noon’s expression wrinkled in wry amusement. “My curiosity was aroused when I met Regidor.”

“And where did you pick up the knowledge? Librettowit and I scoured Fenworth’s library.”

Granny Noon smiled. “From emerlindians older than I am. They remember the sudden influx of meech. Long ago meech dragons freely interchanged ideas with the elite.”

“What happened?” asked Kale.

“They became wary of our races and segregated themselves.”

Kale studied the cool façade Regidor maintained.
He’s going to explode if we don’t find Gilda soon.

From the same direction the druddums had disappeared, they heard Gilda’s tremulous call. “Regidor!”

The meech rushed to his disheveled bride’s side. Her peach-colored, wide-brimmed hat sat at a precarious angle on one side of her head. Numerous veils twisted around her neck and hung in a tangled mess under her chin. Her wings peeked out of the voluminous cape, the delicate cream material shimmering as if it were as indignant as its wearer. Gilda’s long green tail swished back and forth.

Regidor put a comforting arm around her shoulders. “What happened?”

“I went poof!” She gestured with fluttering hands and then went back to pulling the veils out of their snarl. She straightened the folds of her skirt, twisted the waistband, and then pulled at the short, matching bollo jacket.

Gilda looked as though Regidor had rescued her from a dustbin.

She’s not hurt. That’s the main thing.
Kale turned her attention to her husband.
But what happened to her? Poof? She went poof?

Bardon shrugged.

Regidor guided Gilda to a seat. “Start at the beginning,” he urged. “When did you feel yourself losing substance?”

Gilda sent an accusatory glare at Bardon. “Our young knight called for a shield.” The glare transferred to Regidor. “You hauled me into the circle with considerable, and I think unnecessary, force.” She shuddered. “I felt myself stretching then.”

Her eyes moved to the old emerlindian. “Granny Noon looked away from the group toward the oncoming stampede. She reached behind her and right through me to grab Kale’s hand.”

Kale remembered Granny Noon’s clammy grasp. She’d thought it unusual for the wise woman to have such a physical reaction to the threat of druddums. The moisture had not been nervous perspiration but droplets from Gilda’s essence.

Gilda straightened as if making a monumental effort to control her emotions. “I felt myself scatter, and certainly not in the way I’m accustomed to. I’ve always drifted toward my destination, which was most often the exquisite bottle Regidor acquired for me. This time there was no destination. And I did not dissipate in an orderly manner, but I poofed!” Again, her hands fluttered. “One second I hung on to my physical form, the next I was completely disassembled and being carried along with the flow of those dreadful little beasts.”

Regidor cleared his throat. “I would have thought you’d be above them.”

“I sank.” The tremble of her lower lip belied her indignant tone. “I had to force myself to rise and reconnect.” She looked around at her audience. “It was quite an unpleasant experience.”

Petite Granny Noon stepped forward and embraced the broad shoulders of the shaken meech female. Even standing, Granny Noon barely came up to Gilda’s chin as she sat on the rock. The emerlindian cooed, “I’m sure it was, dear.”

Gilda leaned her face onto the emerlindian’s shoulder and sobbed. “Are there more of them? Do we have to stay in this awful tunnel much longer?”

“Well, yes, there would be more druddums,” answered the granny truthfully, “though it is very unusual for them to run in such a large mass. But it is only a short distance to the gateway we need.” She made a clucking noise with her tongue. “I shouldn’t think we will encounter another flood of druddums.”

Bardon’s hand rested on the hilt of his sword. “I’m thinking there’s more to this than just a random collection of misguided rodents rampaging through the tunnels.”

Kale peered into the dark recesses of the stone corridor before them. “They were running from something?”

“That would be my assumption.”

Granny nodded to the path. “What do you sense, Kale?”

She closed her eyes and opened her mind to what might lurk beyond in the darkness. She detected something. Nothing solid, but something more like the scent of an animal that had recently roamed the tunnels.

“I can’t say what was there, Granny. Only that it is gone now.”

The emerlindian stood quietly for a moment with an air of concentration about her. She shook her head slightly.

“Try again. This time, examine the physical makeup of the tunnels. Search for something that seems out of place.”

Puzzled, Kale again explored the area beyond their sight. Many hardworking hands of the high races had formed these passageways. Sharp tools had chipped away the porous rock, exposing clumps of the luminescent crystals. In some places the glowing lightrocks were tiny but scattered in a swathlike vein running through the less dense composition of the walls.

Her perception coursed along the tunnels, distinguishing bumps and cracks and a sparse scattering of debris along the walkway until she came to a rock of a startling different composition. Heavy, dense, and recently formed.

She clenched her teeth for a moment before uttering the phrase she knew would help her uncover the mystery of this oddity. “I search for truth under Wulder’s authority.”

Her mind explored the polished surface and discovered a large box without seams.

“What have you found?” asked Bardon.

“I suspect a hiding place for something nasty.” She turned to Regidor. “What do you think?”

The meech nodded. “Shall we break it open and face whatever is within? Or shall we creep past and hope it doesn’t want to come out and play?”

“Oh,” said Bardon, drawing his sword. “I’d rather make its acquaintance formally than have it pouncing on us later.”

Regidor lifted one eyebrow. “An informal meeting?”

Bardon nodded. “Informal, and at our enemy’s discretion.”

Regidor smiled at Kale. “Shall we go knock?”

“Yes, let’s.”

Kale held one hand in the air, and her minor dragons flew to circle her head.

“Gymn, you and Metta stay with Granny Noon and Gilda. Pat, go ahead and analyze that stone structure. See if you can find a point of entry. Filia, go help Pat.”

“Why send Filia?” asked Gilda.

“She has a wealth of knowledge stored in that thimble-sized brain of hers. Between Pat and Filia, they will come up with an answer.”

Dibl and Ardeo landed on her shoulders.

“Dibl, you accompany Gilda. Ardeo, light our way. I’d rather not depend on the uneven glow of lightrocks on this visit with our peculiar host.”

She opened her moonbeam cape and reached into a hollow to secure a weapon. She held the invisible sword in front of her and nodded to the others. “Ready?”

Bardon and Regidor both winked at her. She grinned at their eagerness and wished her bravado was more than show. No amount of training would ever ease her anxiety when it came to a fight. She depended greatly on the skill and calm that transferred from Bardon to her through their unusual bond.

Regidor led the procession down the cool stone corridor. Bardon followed with Kale beside him. Granny Noon and Gilda walked two dozen paces behind.

Kale’s curiosity welled as they approached the stone box. Her first sight of it confirmed what her mind had perceived. The structure stood on end like a coffin. A big coffin. What was inside?

Kale raised a hand as if to touch the box but kept her palm an inch clear of the surface.

“A lot of heat,” she observed. “This coffin materialized recently and is unstable.”

“Coffins usually contain dead bodies,” said Regidor, raising his sword to a ready position. “This box contains one very agitated bisonbeck, who is wondering why his great deception is not working. What are Pat and Filia telling you?”

Kale tilted her head as she listened to the mindspeak of the minor dragons. Their communication consisted of phrases and images.

“They say that it is a wizard’s ruse, a mere illusion to provide concealment. One that we can easily shatter.”

Paladin’s three warriors positioned themselves at a prudent distance around the stone structure. With a glance to either side, Bardon noted his wizard companions’ readiness and nodded.

“Kale, Regidor, kindly divest this enemy of his shield.”

The two wizards focused on the stone. In only a moment, the appearance of a solid mass faded into a transparent form that exposed the bisonbeck warrior inside. He raised his weapon, a two-edged battle-ax, and roared. The last vestige of the shield disintegrated, and the beast within charged.

“Capture,” Bardon ordered.

Regidor passed him a disgusted grimace.

Kale laughed. She agreed with her husband and preferred avoiding bloodshed. Regidor favored an all-out fight.

From one hand she poured a slick substance on the floor at the warrior’s feet, and she thrust out the other arm aimed at his shoulder. An invisible force left her palm and set the bisonbeck to spinning.

Regidor dropped his sword, whirled in place, and stopped with his arms extended toward the bisonbeck. From the meech wizard’s fingertips, sticky cords blasted to entrap the burly soldier. The wizard wrapped him from chin to toe like a spider would wrap a bug.

The trapped warrior continued to roar. The bellow expressed his rage and frustration as the rate of his spin decreased and he began to tumble.

Kale, Regidor, and Bardon stood back. The web-encrusted, spinning-top soldier gyrated off the slick surface provided by Kale and promptly fell to the ground. There he grunted and struggled against his binding.

Bardon sheathed his sword. Regidor picked his weapon up from the floor and brandished it as if confronting an unseen enemy. He sighed and placed the shining blade in its scabbard.

“So, Paladin’s chosen leader,” he addressed Bardon. “What do you desire us to do with this captive?”

The struggling man stilled, his expression wary.

“I want information,” said Bardon.

Regidor wiggled his fingers in the air. A small flame appeared at each fingertip. “Anything in particular, or just general torture-induced babble?”

“I’d like to know where he acquired a wizard’s trick.”

Bardon turned to look at Granny Noon. “Have you known a bisonbeck to master the complicated procedure of substance manipulation?”

“Never.”

“Regidor?”

“Never.”

“Kale, does Filia know of any instance?”

She listened and replied, “Never.”

Bardon looked the bisonbeck in the eye. “Explain.”

         
8
         

I
NFORMATION

The bisonbeck rolled toward Kale, and she thrust her hand in front of her. Now the outside of his wrappings stuck to the floor. He narrowed his eyes at her and growled.

“Tsk, tsk.” Regidor waggled a claw-tipped finger at the soldier. “Not smart. Not smart at all.”

Bardon cocked his head to one side and pointed at the angry prisoner. “You don’t seem to understand. Lady Kale and Sir Regidor are two of the most powerful wizards in the land.”

The bisonbeck’s eyes widened a bit at this news, but still, he kept his teeth clenched.

Bardon motioned toward Regidor. “We don’t need to ask you politely to tell us what you know. We don’t have to wait until you make up your mind to cooperate. Sir Regidor can enter your mind quite easily.”

The meech dragon grinned, and the sight of his gleaming white teeth inspired a slight shudder from the soldier.

“Unfair!” Regidor presented the knight with a fierce scowl and stepped closer to the imprisoned bisonbeck. “You mislead the man, Bardon.”

“How is that?”

“True, it is easy for me to gain access. But for the poor person whose mind I explore, it’s not comfortable.” He arranged his features in a look of mock sympathy and bestowed it on his intended victim. Then his expression cleared and he spoke to Bardon. “Perhaps you should let Kale do the honors. She is less experienced than I am, but she might proceed in a gentler manner. I would find ‘gentle’ exasperating. I imagine Kale does exceptionally well with ‘gentle.’”

“Sorry to disillusion you,” Kale piped up. “I never got that explore thing down. I seem to bump into bits and pieces and dislodge them. Nightmares, childhood traumas, scenes of mass destruction.

“My last attempt at extracting information left the man incapacitated. Of course, it was mostly his fault. He struggled so violently that he broke the chain securing him to the wall. He then rushed off madly, found a window, and jumped. He survived the two-story fall but never gave us any information.”

She looked at Bardon as if he had accused her of negligence. “I maintain that the gibberish he spoke afterward was due to the blow to his head, not any terrors that I jogged loose in his memory.”

Gilda stepped around Kale, looking almost immaculate after the repairs she had managed during their walk. Dibl left her shoulder and flew to Granny Noon. He chirred, and the old emerlindian held her hand out for him to land.

“I know,” said the granny. “It’s an unpleasant business, and I, too, would rather have nothing to do with it. But evil men do not understand daggarts and polite conversation.”

“Lady Kale’s lying, you know.” Gilda sashayed to the wrapped man and gazed down at him. An enigmatic smile touched her exotic features. “She’s a good wizard.” The smile broadened. “And compared to me, Regidor is a good wizard. But I was trained by Risto himself.”

The man renewed his struggles. Gilda gestured to Bardon and her husband. “Lift him to his feet. I find it disconcerting to converse with a prone cocoon.”

The men placed the bisonbeck on his feet. With a gesture from Regidor, the wrappings fell away. The warrior tried to bolt but fell again to the ground.

Bardon sighed as he and Regidor lifted him once more to a standing position. “Just because the visible instrument of your entrapment is gone doesn’t mean you are free. I do wish you would remember you are dealing with first-class wizards. Our interrogation would be so much easier for you to endure.”

Regidor and Bardon stood back. Gilda’s husband made a sweeping court bow, indicating she was at liberty to examine the prisoner. Sir Bardon crossed his arms over his chest, leaned against the stone wall, and relaxed with an amused grin upon his face.

The female meech slowly circled the bisonbeck, appraising him from all sides before coming to stand directly before him. Her confident attitude shone in her countenance, inches from his.

“My talent is persuasion,” Gilda cooed.

The soldier made a disparaging remark, cut off by a glance at her face.

Her odd eyes held the imprisoned bisonbeck’s. His expression grew wilder as some force from Gilda penetrated his mind.

In a soft, purring voice, she gave a one-word command. “Speak.”

The soldier’s tongue thrust forward and seemed to stick to the roof of his mouth. He made a few unintelligible noises until Gilda’s lip curled in a sneer, and she repeated her command.

“Speak.”

He opened his mouth, and his tongue twisted to and fro, but still no one could comprehend his utterances. Filia trilled. Then Metta and Gymn flew to sit on his head. Gymn wrinkled his nose but stretched out on the unkempt warrior’s hair. Metta began to sing.

“Ah,” said Kale just as Regidor said, “I see.”

“What?” demanded Gilda.

Kale answered. “Gymn and Metta have initiated a healing. The poor soldier has been given a ‘suggestion’ by his commander. His commander is Burner Stox.”

At the mention of the wizard’s name, the bisonbeck fell forward and writhed on the ground. Gymn and Metta fluttered in the air for a moment and then came to roost on Kale. The minor dragons huddled close to her cheeks, and Gymn rubbed his chin against her face.

“A very ugly sickness, indeed.” She stroked Gymn’s wing. “Implanted by evil, the malady will be hard to dislodge.”

“Well,” said Gilda, kneeling beside the man, “I’m rather good at suggestions myself.”

She clasped the soldier’s head between her two strong, slender hands and forced him to gaze into her eyes. His struggling ceased.

“You are no longer under Stox’s authority. You are mine. I command you. The thought of answering to Stox sickens you. I free you from her and offer you a place of honor among my followers. You accept with pride.”

The soldier’s expression relaxed, and he nodded. “As you say, Mistress.”

“How were you able to use the shield?”

“Burner Stox, that foul and evil wizard, has selected a few of her best warriors and endowed them with special abilities. Crim Cropper—”

His speech broke off, and he resumed the fierce shaking and moaning.

Gilda grabbed the hair on his chin and brought his head around. “You are no longer under the authority of Crim Cropper. You are mine!”

Again, the soldier calmed.

“Now tell me Crim Cropper’s part in this.”

The bisonbeck gulped, his eyes bulged, and his body trembled, betraying the depth of his subordination to the husband of Burner Stox.

Gilda snarled. “Mine! You no longer fear Stox or Cropper. Your allegiance is to me.”

He nodded.

“I’m waiting,” Gilda reminded him.

“Crim Cropper.” He licked his lips. “Cropper, that foul and evil wizard, used potions to enhance our memories. Stox recited the words that would conjure the images she implanted in our thoughts. The shields hide us from the enemy.” He stopped, and a confused expression crumpled his features.

“Cropper and Stox are your enemies.” Gilda sighed her exasperation. “I am your commander.”

His brow smoothed. “The enemy cannot detect the shields with mind, eye, or touch.”

Gilda glanced at Regidor, who winked at her. “In theory, but not in fact. I could even smell the bisonbeck supposedly hidden in the box.”

Kale nodded. “Using Granny Noon’s advice, I easily found the shield.”

Granny Noon shifted so she could get a better look at the prisoner. “Is he saying that Stox and Cropper have been able to give their warriors a shield, much like Fenworth once gave Dar the shell he uses in battle?”

“Yes,” said Bardon, “only it doesn’t seem to be very effective.”

“That will make Burner Stox unpleasantly irritable.” Kale summoned the rest of her minor dragons. They settled on her, decorating the moonbeam cape like large, colorful jewels.

Granny Noon crooked her arm through Kale’s. “I have something to say to you, my dear.”

“Uh-oh.” Regidor snickered.

The emerlindian raised her eyebrows at him. “Don’t pretend you haven’t had your share of lectures, young man.”

The chagrined look on Regidor’s face surprised Kale and almost made her giggle.

“Yes ma’am,” he said. “We’ll just ask this prisoner a few more questions while we wait for you to have your little talk with Kale.”

His eyes shifted to Kale’s.
“You’re going to wish you were being interrogated by us rather than being exhorted by our Granny Noon.”

Don’t be ridiculous. I haven’t done anything, have I?

Granny Noon patted Kale’s arm and tugged her away from the others.

“I’m in trouble?” asked the o’rant wizard.

“I want to caution you against using falsehoods. First, you are not very believable. Second, your talents are eroded by deception.”

“You didn’t like the story about my causing a man pain by messing up his mind.”

“No, I did not.” Granny sat on a boulder. “But let me ask you something more important.”

Kale waited.

“Do you like that image of yourself? Does using your power in that manner appeal to you?”

Kale held her breath as she contemplated the question. The feeling of power did hold some allure.

Granny clucked her tongue. “Don’t you find that odd, Kale? You have been given more talent and power than most of Amara’s citizens, yet you would use this talent to feed a hunger for controlling others. In Wulder’s Tomes, there is a principle about the inward enemy defeating the soul with a surprise attack. Don’t let your own desires cause your fall into disgrace.”

“Yes, Granny Noon. I understand, and I will keep a vigilance against this enemy.”

“You understand this enemy is yourself?”

“I do.”

“Good.”