One Realm Beyond (9 page)
Ruese cast a wary eye on Cantor and Bixby. “Where did you come from?”
Bixby started to reply, but Cantor straightened his shoulders and said, “We’re travelers. But we heard your plight and know that the King’s Guard is acting in defiance of Primen’s precepts. We offer our assistance.”
Ruese gestured toward Cantor. “I can see how you’d be helpful in a brawl.” He jabbed his chin forward, toward Bixby. “But what’s that wee little girl going to do?”
Bixby passed Cantor so quickly his hair fanned in the breeze. With two cartwheels she closed in on the unsuspecting farmer. A flip at his side gave her the opportunity to grab his knife from its sheath and plant a heel against his chin, knocking him over. She landed and took several steps back so Ruese couldn’t grab her ankles and upset her.
“I’m quick,” she said. “And I make up for my lack of size with tricks that surprise and confuse my opponents.”
She glanced at Cantor. His eyes crinkled at the corners even as he held his lips in a straight line. Another point in his favor. He had a sense of humor.
She couldn’t help but grant him her most impish smile. She’d have to ask forgiveness of Primen for her unsuitable pride.
Cantor offered the downed man his hand. Ruese took it and stood.
Brushing the dust and forest debris from his britches, he grinned. “I guess I underestimated your talent, miss.”
He made a slight bow as suited a farmer expressing courtesy to a refined lady. “I’m Ruese, miss.” He gestured. “My brother Lem. It’s Lem who’s had a son kidnapped. The boy is Arend.”
Bixby curtsied, probably a trifle more formally than was needed to greet a laborer. The fact that she had just battered him to the ground made her feel like being a bit generous with her respect. He displayed good humor after being bested, and that showed character.
She reversed the knife she held, offering the handle as she returned it. “I’m Bixby D’Mazeline. And this is Cantor D’Ahma.”
“You aren’t natives of Effram.”
“No. As Cantor said, we’re travelers.”
Lem shuffled over to join in the conversation. “Are you realm walkers?”
“Yes,” said Cantor.
Bixby nodded and cast an approving glance at Cantor. Of course realm walkers tended to pass through a country as
quietly as possible. They didn’t call attention to themselves or allow citizens to treat them as special guests. But when they stepped into a fray to protect or guide the people, the realm walkers made sure that the glory went to the established order of realm walkers, to the wizard rulers, and ultimately to Primen. The goal was to serve without taking the credit. Her mentor had said that the more a realm walker avoided the limelight, the more the realm walkers accrued powers and abilities. Humility amplified the gifts given by Primen.
Cantor’s affirmation that they were realm walkers had aroused interest in the two farmers.
Ruese slowly shook his head. “We haven’t seen many tyros of late.”
Lem’s chin bobbed up and down, making his speech choppy. “Where’s your dragon? Have you selected a constant from Effram? Do you not have one? That’s why you came, right? You must be new to it. Real tyros. You look to be as young as my Arend.”
Bixby pushed aside disappointment. She’d hoped she’d be mistaken for something higher up in the realm walker ranks. But these two farmers had recognized them for what they were: beginners, tyros. She accepted the label since it was accurate.
“Exactly. We’re two tyros,” said Bixby. “I haven’t met many dragons yet.”
“I arrived this morning,” said Cantor.
“And he was fortunate,” said a voice from the woods, “to find his dragon, Bridger, within feet of the portal. Yes, sir. A good day for a realm walker when his dragon is there at the ready.”
Cantor groaned, “Bridger.” He closed his eyes, and allowed his head to fall back as if he implored the heavens to intervene.
He looked so put out that Bixby laughed. Cantor wore his attitude on his face and in the postures he adopted. She would have to school him on the unreadable expression necessary in their line of work.
While Cantor suffered the anguish of this dragon showing up again, she and the brothers studied the surrounding trees.
“Where are you?” Bixby asked.
A bush squeezed through the narrow space between two trees. As it progressed into the clearing, leaves fell off the changing form. By the time Bridger stood before them, he was thoroughly dragon.
“You,” said Cantor between clenched teeth, “are not my dragon.”
A cat wound its way around Bridger’s feet, then wandered over to Cantor to rub its sides against his black trousers.
Bixby raised her eyebrows and looked pointedly at the feline beastie. “Your cat?”
“No! Jesha is Bridger’s cat.”
Her head bobbed up and down. “Good. I’ve never heard of a realm walker who brought his pet along on his journeys.”
“Oh?” Cantor’s gaze passed from the cat to the dragon and back to Bixby. “Bermagot had an owl.” Before Bridger could jump on that comment, he asked, “Have you ever heard of a dragon that had a pet cat?”
Jesha had gone back to Bridger and sat directly in front of his scaly stomach. The cat groomed her mottled fur, concentrating for the moment on her front paws and pointed ears.
Bixby watched. A realm walker who traveled with a dragon who traveled with a cat. She giggled. A moan from Lem cut her off.
She patted the worrying father’s arm. Solid muscle bulged
beneath the cloth of his sleeve. This man worked harder than his soft appearance suggested. If he could control his emotions, he’d be an asset in their raid on the barracks. In his present condition, he wasn’t much use. “I’m sorry, Lem. We’ll make a plan and get your Arend and the others out tonight.”
Cantor moved to Bixby’s side. “We should scout the town.”
Running his fingers over his hair again, Ruese sighed. His untidy topknot looked worse with every swipe. “With four of us, we’ll definitely have to look like we’re on some legitimate business.”
Bixby ran over the last month in her parents’ home. A list of all the reasons someone had been sent to town formed in her mind. She considered each as a possible ruse until one popped out as the most suitable.
“Healer!” She gauged the reaction on the three men’s faces. “We can take one of you, or me even, in on a litter. If we say it’s an infectious disease, they won’t inspect us too closely for fear of catching whatever ails the patient.”
“Might not let us in,” Ruese said. “The gate sentinels aren’t likely to invite a plague into the city.”
Bixby remained undaunted. “Injured, then,” she said after a moment’s contemplation. “We need to fake a wound that would need a healer’s care.”
Cantor nodded. “That might work.”
Ruese shook his head. “We’d need a litter. We’d have to go back to the farm and rig something up. That’ll take too much time. The gates would be closed before we got there.”
Bridger did a little shuffle in place, clearly excited. “I can be the litter. Just tell me what kind you want, and I’ll shape-shift into a litter. I figure it’s long, isn’t it? Because it’s also called a streeeettccchhher.”
Cantor’s face contorted with annoyance. His words were sharply spoken. “You’ve shape-shifted into a bush, a horse, a tree, and a haystack.”
The dragon held up one pointed claw. “And a boulder.”
“So that was you. Six things. That’s probably your limit. Very few dragons can shape-shift into more than two things.”
“I told you I’m useful. I haven’t found any form yet that I can’t shape. I admit the ball of yarn was difficult, but only because of the size. I got the color right. And it was fun curling around and around to make the ball.”
Bixby clapped her hands. “Oh, good. Primen provides even before we know what we need.” She turned to Cantor. “Your dragon will be most useful.”
“He’s not my dragon. He’s a nuisance. He latched onto me and is following me without an invitation. Without permission. Without considering for even one minute that I’ve told him to go away a half dozen times.”
Bixby flapped her hands in a dismissive motion. “Never mind. We’ll sort all that out after we rescue the young men.”
“I need to warn you, Bridger is a bungler.”
“Hey!” Bridger objected. “What bungling have I done? We met this morning. Surely I haven’t had time to bungle too much.”
Cantor pointed a finger at him. “As a haystack, you caught yourself on fire.”
“But by quick thinking, I kept it away from my face and barely got a scorch mark.”
“You shape-shifted a beard and nearly lost your entire face in a raging blaze.”
“No, I doused it in the creek.”
“You fell into the creek.”
Bixby decided she’d had enough of the bickering. “A litter is not likely to catch on fire.”
This crew needed to be organized. She cast her eye around those gathered in the clearing. No one stepped forward to be boss, which was fine as she liked being in charge. “I’ll be the injured one. We’ll need blood and something that’s been dead for a couple of days, and cloth for bandaging.”
Lem swallowed hard. His complexion looked a bit pasty. “Something that’s been dead?”
“For the smell,” said Bixby. “We’ll say I have gangrene and that the healer will probably cut my hand off. And the horrid odor will keep the sentinels at a distance.”
Bridger scooped up his cat. “Jesha and I will find something dead.”
“Good.” Bixby turned to the men. “Find something to make a quick dinner, rabbit or quail or something. We’ll use the animal’s blood to make a realistic show. I’ll tear up one of my petticoats for the bandage.”
No one moved.
“Go on. Go!” Bixby motioned for them to get going. “I figure we have three hours until the sun sets and the gate closes. Thank goodness Gristermeyer is not too far.”
The others scattered into the woods to fulfill their assignments. The realm walker stood his ground and scrutinized Bixby.
Bixby did not like being examined like a bug held down by a grubby, curious boy. She lifted her skirts, one by one, looking for a slip she wouldn’t cry over as she tore it into strips.
Each layer was different. Thin, gauzy material made up most of the skirts and dresses. One skirt was finely crocheted. A silverfish silk showed through a cream dress of fine tatted
thread. She wore a ruffled gown with an irregular hemline, three skirts out from the bottom layer. It gave shape to the clothes above. She saved it to wear on the outside when she expected to be entertained in the house of a noble.
Here. A light green slip would do for bandages.
Cantor still hadn’t gone off to do something worthwhile. He remained still, watching her, and probably thinking of her as a silly chit. She grinned at that. She was not a silly chit.
“You know where this city is?” Cantor asked. Scowl lines ran across his brow. “How?”
“Maps.”
“You’ve been here long enough to find and study maps?”
Bixby rolled her eyes. “No, I looked at them in the library at home.”
“It’s illegal to take maps from one plane to another.”
“That’s one of the council’s arbitrary laws to make the common realm walkers’ missions harder.”
“Why would they do that?”
She shrugged. His ignorance chafed. He really needed an education, and she wanted a comrade who was already savvy. “Why do monkeys eat fleas?”
“Monkeys eat fleas?”
She rolled her eyes again. Reaching under her skirt to her waist, she untied the chosen slip. “Go find something dead. Or catch a rabbit. Or follow Lem and Ruese just to be following Lem and Ruese. I’ll start a fire to cook the meat.”
“Do you need a flint?”
“You’re going to dry out my eyes in their sockets, making me roll ’em all the time.” She pulled a tinder box from a flat satchel. “Go!”
“What else is in that flat bag?”
“A thousand necessities and a glass of water. Go!”
Bixby shook her head as she watched Cantor’s back disappear into the woods. Aside from the fact that she really liked this new realm walker, she doubted he’d be much help.
On the other hand, fascinating eyes, a charming smile, and a trim physique would be useful in distracting some fair damsel while Bixby engaged in more serious business. She grinned. Cantor would not be cast away before she gave him a chance to show what he could do under treacherous circumstances.
C
antor held the handles Bridger provided at the back of the litter. Ruese led the way, walking between the two poles at Bixby’s head. Somehow Bridger had shape-shifted his cat, Jesha, into a shabby pillow beneath the girl’s head, a feat that had impressed Cantor in spite of himself. Lem clasped Bixby’s right hand as he kept close to her side. She appeared to be unconscious. Rabbit blood soaked her linen-wrapped left hand. Occasionally, she moaned.
As for playing their parts, Cantor and Ruese only needed to look solemn. Lem’s role as worried father came naturally enough. Bixby had been so excited about their endeavor, Cantor hadn’t thought she’d be able to lie still and fake being injured. But she obviously enjoyed her role, to the point she acted as if she was actually about to perish.
A crowd jammed the gateway as the sentinels asked questions of the visitors and inspected carts and larger wagons.
Several people in the queue allowed Bixby and her attendants to advance in the line.