He placed a heavy hand on her shoulder and gave her a little shake. His face looked tight in the glow of a lamp mounted beside a merchant’s door. He pulled her to his chest and embraced her. The hug nearly squeezed all the air out of her lungs.
Releasing her, he turned toward the tavern. “Let’s find out if this innkeeper has a fire that is warm and a bowl of stew that is tasty.”
He strode with confidence through the massive door. Kale followed with her heart filled with joy. A woman bustled forward.
“You’ve arrived late and been soaked for your trouble.” She raised her voice to be heard over the small band playing. “Hang your wet things on that wall where there’s pegs aplenty. You can put your boots by the fire to dry as long as you take away what you leave there and no one else’s. I’ll bring you hot cider and a bowl of Botzy’s Best Beef Stew and bread hot from the oven. I be Botzy.”
Kale’s father bowed. “Thank you, Botzy. We would like a room for the night.”
The old marione scowled and squinted at Kale. “She looks young to be your wife. I have two rooms I’ll be giving ye.”
“She’s my daughter. And I’d prefer one room so I know she is safe.”
“This is a respectable establishment, and the locks are strong. You’ll have two rooms or none at all.”
“Very well, and what is the price of these rooms?”
“Twelve ordends for each room.”
“That’s highway robbery.”
The marione matron’s brown eyes twinkled. “There isn’t a highway anywhere near the town of Black Jetty.”
“This is Black Jetty?”
She nodded.
“Jetty is a peculiar name for a town not anywhere near water.”
“They say that an eon ago there was a lake in this valley, but one of the volcanoes erupted, the ground shifted, and the lake disappeared.”
Sir Kemry merely pursed his lips and looked at the woman.
She laughed. “You’ll be taking the rooms, then. The meal and fine music go along with the lodging.”
“A bargain, indeed,” said Sir Kemry and peeled off his wet cloak to hang on a peg.
Kale did the same and then followed him to the fire, where they lined their boots up with a dozen other pairs. In thick socks, they wove their way between many filled tables to an empty one across the room from the door, too far away from the fire, but not far enough away from the loud music. If constant mindspeaking didn’t zap her energy, she would have foregone using her vocal cords.
“Brrr!” Kale shivered. “I may go back and get my cape. It’ll be dry in a trice and keep me warm.” She started to get up, but a splash of color on one of the walls caught her attention. “Look!”
Sir Kemry glanced at the mural. “As art, it doesn’t seem to be well executed.”
“I’ve seen murals like this in taverns twice before.”
He shrugged.
“I’ve been sent on two quests. This will be the third. Before the first two really got started, I saw paintings on the wall that looked like the same artist did them.” She pointed again to the other side of the room. “During the quest, something would happen that mirrored the artist’s image.”
Kale got out of her seat and went to examine the picture. Too much of it was in shadows, so she took a lantern down from where it hung on a post and moved closer.
The musicians played an old ballad of tragedy and lost love. The baritone had a good voice, and shivers ran up Kale’s back as he sang of the wind carrying away the dreams of two lovers. The haunting melody made her think of Bardon, and she purposely turned her attention to the wall and the mural.
Come see, she called to her father and summoned him with a gesture.
When he was beside her, she pointed to two figures sitting on a log. “That’s you and me.”
“What do you mean? That’s a male and female o’rant, but why do you say it’s us?”
“It is. I’m sure. The other murals I saw reflected an exact scene in a quest that came to pass. There’s a gentleman, maybe Paladin. Over here, next to the fire, are two meech dragons and a doneel.”
“Why Paladin?”
“He’s well dressed and has that air about him.”
“Even in this crude drawing?”
“Yes!”
Sir Kemry leaned forward and peered at the figure in question, then straightened. “Paladin is too sick to be traipsing about the countryside.”
Kale put her hand on her father’s sleeve. “He is now, but he could get better.”
Sir Kemry frowned down at her and then looked back at the picture. “Why meech dragons?”
“Their height.”
“Could be urohms.”
“Too short compared to the gentleman.”
“Short urohms or a tall gentleman.”
“No, Father.” She pointed to a patch of colors she had first thought was a blooming bush. “Look. Minor dragons. Lots of colorful dragons.”
He squinted at the wall. “Those flowers?”
“No, I think they’re dragons. The murals before have been indistinct too.”
“Humph! Sounds like coincidence to me.”
“You’ll see.”
“Well, just what is in this drawing that might ‘come to pass’?”
“Let’s see. A camp in a forest. You, me, Paladin, probably Gilda and Regidor, the little dragons and…”
“And?”
“Does that look like a grave to you?” She pointed to a shadowy spot beneath a bentleaf tree.
“Yes, it does.”
Kale swallowed the lump in her throat. Who was not in the mural? Bardon, her mother, Leetu Bends, so many others. It could be any one of them, or the grave might hold a stranger. She glanced over at the figures she thought she could identify. The forms were indistinct, ambiguous, hazy. “Well, Father, it’s probably a coincidence like you said.”
Sir Kemry nodded. “Most probably a coincidence.”
22
JUST ONE DANCE
Kale retrieved her moonbeam cape and returned to sit with her father. Botzy brought two tall tankards of hot, spiced apple cider.
“Do you have any poor man’s pudding?” asked Kale.
“I could find some, I suppose.” The matron cocked her head. “Do you want it before your stew?”
“With, please.” Kale smiled and hoped her next revelation would not get them booted from the cheery, crowded room. “I’ve minor dragons with me, and there’s nothing they like better than poor man’s pudding.”
Both eyebrows on the woman’s square face rose an inch.
“Dragons, you say?”
“Minor dragons.” Kale opened the front of her cape. Ardeo, Dibl, Metta, and Gymn crawled out, stretched, and moved to their favorite perches on their Dragon Keeper.
Botzy gasped with her eyes wide and her lips in a perfect O. She closed her mouth with a snap. “I’ll be getting your dinner—stew and puddin’.”
Her skirt twirled in the speed of her turn. She darted away. Even over the lively tune played by the band, Kale heard a strident, “Doxden!” as Botzy stepped through the open kitchen door.
“Perhaps Doxden is the innkeeper and the owner of the establishment,” said Sir Kemry.
“Are we in trouble?”
“I think not. I detected no ill intent from our hostess.”
“I’m blocking so much of the chatter from the minds of all these people, I missed her reaction. Other than what I could see, of course.”
“This is a varied populace, is it not?” Sir Kemry studied the crowd. “I see at least two of each of the high races. I wonder what’s the attraction of this out-of-the-way town.” He paused for a minute or two and looked as if he was listening.
Kale kept quiet, content to rub the scales of the little dragons and exchange pleasantries with her friends.
“Trade routes,” her father said. “This is the crossroads of three main trade routes. Three-quarters of these people are travelers, and the remainder are townsfol
k who love to hear of their journeys. This place is a gold mine of information.”
Her father’s face took on a pleasant expression, and she knew he was unabashedly eavesdropping on one conversation after another. Kale had been taught that listening in on others’ thoughts was rude. She still found deciding when it was acceptable and when it was offensive to be ambiguous territory. Her father didn’t seem to have any such problem. He bent his ear and stretched his mindspeaking ability to satisfy his curiosity.
Their food arrived, and Sir Kemry ate without a word to his daughter. Kale’s scruples strangled her pleasure. She wouldn’t probe her father’s mind nor listen to the most easily heard conversations around her. She concentrated on the music, the delicious, steaming stew, and the artless interchanges with her dragons. She noticed the look other patrons of the tavern cast her way. Obviously, minor dragons were not common hereabouts.
Dibl finished off his portion and flew to perch in Kale’s hair. Metta came to sit on her shoulder and sing. The purple dragon enjoyed the entertainment of the evening.
At one end of the large room, several people played instruments and sang lively songs. Sometimes, the tunes escalated into noise rather than music, depending upon how many of the customers joined in the singing. Metta, of course, knew all the words. She sang in trills, but Kale heard the lyrics Metta sang in her head.
When the current song came to a rousing end, Botzy yelled to the leader of the small band, a man playing a stringed instrument that lay in his lap.
“Colly, there’s a singing dragon here tonight. I’ve heard more about dragons than seen ’em. Ask the young woman to let her friend entertain us.”
“A singing dragon, you say?” The burly marione hollered back. “Have ye been drinking something stronger than your cider, Botzy?”
“Nay, look beyond your own nose and see what’s before ye.”
Botzy bustled over to the table with a lantern and plopped it in the middle of the empty dishes. “Here they be. Four dragons with a father and daughter traveling through Black Jetty.”
The minor dragons fluttered their wings, pleased with the attention.
“Singers?” asked Colly.
“Showing what you don’t know,” said Botzy. “The purple one’s the singer. The others do…” Botzy stalled over a lack of information. “Well, they do other things, of course.”
Laughter rippled through the room. A woman shouted, “Maybe one of ’em is a dancer.”
Sir Kemry stood. “We have derived much pleasure from the jolly company we’ve shared tonight, and we’d be glad to entertain you.”
He extended a hand to Kale. Equal measures of fear and anger flowed through her veins, with a dash of embarrassment spicing the mix.
What are you doing? she demanded.
“We’re going to dance.”
Dance? Kale looked around the room to see if anyone had heard the thought she had shouted at her father.
“Of course no one heard.” Sir Kemry’s pleasant, calm voice in her mind did nothing to slow the rapid beat of her heart. “Come on, Kale.” He held his hand out to her. “And try to make your face look like this is a delightful experience.”
Kale stood and plastered a smile on her face she was sure wouldn’t fool a drunken porcupine.
Her father led her across the room to where the band waited for them. Metta flew to perch on his shoulder.
You can’t be in favor of this scheme. Kale fussed at the dragon while trying to keep her eyes from straying to the door. Her heart wanted her feet to bolt. However, escape into the storm didn’t seem to be a good plan.
Sir Kemry addressed the gathering. “If you would enlarge this dance floor. Double it if you can.” Men dragged chairs and tables away from the open area. “Yes, that’s good. Now, Metta, let’s introduce these good players to a rollicking Meerzanian folk tune.” He eyed the fiddler. “May I borrow your instrument for a minute?”
Father, I don’t know how to do any but the most simple folk dances.
“You can do this, dear. Be confident.”
I can’t do this, Father. Be reasonable.
Sir Kemry addressed the musicians. “Have you worked with a singing dragon before? No?” He responded to the negative shakes of their heads. “You’re in for a treat. I’ll play the tune for you once, but by the aid of this marvelous little beast, you will never forget this song as long as you live.”
Kale watched her father tuck the fiddle under his chin and pull the bow across the strings. A burst of energetic music filled the room. She knew enough about melodic form to know the tune had a one-two-three rhythm and that the refrain had an emphatic beat. Her old friend Fenworth would have called the song a toe-tapper.
In her mind, she saw two dancers stamping, twirling, and kicking their heels in fancy, complicated steps.
That’s you and Mother.
“Right.”
I can’t do that.
“Watch closely, Kale. You do these movements when you go through your fighting forms.”
Kale concentrated on the vision she caught from her father as he played the music. Yes, I can see the similarities, but forms are certainly not that fast.
At the sound of her father’s laughter, she fought the urge to march out of the room and leave him to his folly. The sprightly music drove her irritation to the back of her mind. The wild and wonderful dance her parents performed in her father’s memory fascinated her.
The music rose to a resounding conclusion, and Kale found her breath coming in short gasps as if she had been doing the steps with her father instead of watching a mental image.
Sir Kemry handed the fiddle back to its owner and turned to his daughter. With a genial smile on his face, he bowed before her with all the courtly elegance of a knight.
He is a knight. What am I thinking? Of course, he looks dashing, even in travel clothes. She had kept her thoughts to herself, but she had an inspiration and consulted her father.
Should I change? Shall I twirl myself into a fancy dress?
“I think the locals might be overwhelmed. They don’t know you’re a wizard, and wizards are as uncommon in this part of the world as our minor dragon friends.”
Disappointment dampened the urge to try this dance with Sir Kemry.
“Be a good sport, Kale. Dance with your father.”
She looked into his eyes and saw a sparkle of fun she could not resist. She placed her hand in his. They both turned to the musicians and nodded their heads. The fiddler put the bow to his instrument. The first note exploded into the room, and Sir Kemry swept his girl into a whirlwind series of twists and turns. Kale felt as though her feet barely touched the floor. She realized her father had subtly changed the heavy socks each had been wearing for dancing slippers of a dark fabric with slick soles. He hadn’t let her dazzle the crowd, but he had provided for her comfort and given her an advantage she needed to perform well. She threw back her head and laughed. Even distracted by the comfortable feel of a perfect shoe, she didn’t miss a step.
She danced with her father and matched his movement as he spun her away, then pulled her back to his side. The ease with which she kept pace reminded her of the way she could fight beside Bardon, knowing before he moved where he wanted her to be and what would be expected of her next.
The fights could be exhilarating, and this dance with her father certainly had her blood pumping. But in this three-beat, energetic romp, she felt joy as well as the spine-tingling thrill of staying alive and unhurt. They came to a place in the dance where her father lifted her into the air and spun her in a circle before touching her feet back to the floor. At that moment, she felt as though she had come out of his heart, was a part of the strength in his arms, and would be safe as long as she could see his rugged face.
The spectators stamped their feet and clapped the rhythm. Three of the minor dragons circled and swooped in the air around them. Metta sang in her peculiar vocalization that sounded almost like another wind instrument.
The m
usic stopped. Kale and her father landed on the last note, facing each other at arm’s-length with their hands entwined. The room erupted in clapping and stamping as the crowd hooted and whistled their praise.
Kale stared into her father’s eyes. They both panted from the exertion. They both grinned with undiluted delight.
Sir Kemry let go of one of her hands and spun them to face their audience. He bowed, and she curtsied. The minor dragons came to roost on their shoulders. Kale and her father dipped once more to acknowledge the applause. The dragons fluttered above them, coming to rest on their shoulders when they again stood upright.
Sir Kemry pulled his daughter closer and tucked her arm through his. He nodded to the crowd as he escorted her to their table.
Botzy brought them two tall glasses of fruity punch, cold and tasty. Kale sipped and then beamed at their hostess.
“What are ye?” the matron asked. “Some kind of minstrels? Stage performers? Do you do an act at one of those fancy places in the big cities? What do they call them? Auditoriums?”
“No, no,” said Sir Kemry with a chuckle. “We’re emissaries for Paladin, and we seek information. We represent good, and we wish to vanquish evil. Right now we are following the trail of a ropma, hoping to find someone who has been using the gentle beasts as slaves and imprisoning what few dragons remain in Amara.”
A dark cloud descended upon Botzy’s friendly face. She leaned forward and whispered just loud enough for them to hear above the noise of the room. “Then you’re in the wrong valley.”
“Do you know which valley we should travel to?”
Botzy shook her head and leaned closer. “But I’ll send you someone who does.” She gathered up the dirty dishes and hurried out of the room. “Doxden!”
23
THE QUISS ENCOUNTER
Bardon spent a more comfortable night in Granny Mel’s underground dwelling than he expected. One passageway led to a dozen rooms, so everyone had their own accommodations. Thanks to Lyll’s wizardry, the bedding smelled clean, not stuffy from disuse.