“I’ve heard Bardon quote that principle.”
“A child learns not to touch a hot rock beside the fire, not because he heard his parent say, ‘Don’t touch,’ but because there are tears in his eyes and a blister on his finger. Hopefully, he also learns to listen to his parents’ admonitions.”
“Why do I so quickly grow tired of talk like this?”
Sir Kemry threw back his head and laughed. “Because you are one of the high races. You wish to be in charge, and the principles point out that you are not. You chafe against hearing proof of your own weakness, and therefore avoid it, much like Bug avoided beginning this trip. Self-preservation. In his case, he hoped to preserve his life. In your case, you hope to preserve your self, your autonomy.”
Kale hunched her shoulders and relaxed them, sighing.
“The odd thing, my dear,” said her father, “is that once one has ceased trying to protect self, one finds one’s self in a very comfortable position.”
“Where?” asked Kale.
“In Wulder’s care.”
They walked for hours, following a trail Kale could barely make out. At the top of a ridge, Bug stopped and pointed.
“There.”
Across a small, dismal valley, an encampment stood at the opening of a canyon. Bisonbeck tents lined up in rows. Perhaps two dozen warriors dwelled in the outpost.
“You go there. Bug go home.” He turned to leave.
“But you said you would take us to the valley.”
Bug nodded in his usual, jerky style. “Becks, gorge, valley.” He waved his hand in the direction of the camp. “Bug no go.”
He marched off, and neither Kale nor her father tried to stop him.
Sir Kemry sat on the ground and leaned against a large boulder under a shade tree. “Time for a respite.”
“Are we going to go on?” Kale knew the answer. They would make sure they were connected to Wulder by the simple task of resting and refreshing.
“Yes, but not now.” He shielded his eyes against the setting sun and studied the small stronghold that blocked their way. He lowered his hand, placing it in his lap. “Yes, later. Impossible tasks always look easier after a nap and some tea.”
33
THE FRENZY BEGINS
Bardon’s hand tightened on his dagger even as his eyes opened, and he became aware of his tight position inside the longfish barrel. One of the staves pulled back with a screech and revealed the morning sun.
“It’s me,” said Latho. “The camp is deserted.”
“Deserted?”
The round top of the barrel popped off. Latho’s big, hairy face blocked the opening. “They left about an hour ago. Kept me down the road apiece all night long. Didn’t get much spying done. Two guards eyed me and grunted at every twitch I made.”
He moved away, and Bardon heard him talking to Leetu Bends. With considerable wriggling, Bardon managed to extract himself from his confined hideout.
He walked around the camp. In the sunshine, the setting didn’t seem fraught with malice, but still, as he remembered the scene from the previous night, the hair on the back of his neck stood up.
Leetu Bends came to stand beside him as he stared down into a small black pit that had been a cooking fire.
“What are your plans?” she asked.
“Get out of here as fast as possible and send warnings to the kimens plus a report to Paladin.”
“Nothing will be fast enough.”
“I know.”
The trip down from the grawligs’ meeting place bumped and swayed over the same road, but Bardon and Leetu sat on the empty crates instead of being scrunched in longfish barrels. At the bottom of the pass, they came to a small house nestled among a scattering of armagot trees. A marione mother held her two children tightly in her lap as they wailed.
Bardon and Leetu Bends jumped down from the wagon and ran to her side.
She couldn’t speak but pointed to her open doorway.
With weapons drawn the two warriors went into the humble home.
The ransacked room stank of grawligs. Their odor lingered over the havoc they had created. On the floor in the center of the room, an elderly man sprawled with a club in his fist. A pool of blood circled his head.
“He’s still alive,” Leetu Bends whispered to Bardon.
She tilted her head in the same manner Kale did when she surveyed an area with her talent instead of her eyes and ears.
“The grawligs are gone.” Leetu Bends returned to the door and called to the marione mother. “He’s not dead. Come and help me.”
The woman stood, and the children slipped to the grass. She ran inside and knelt with Leetu Bends. The two small girls hovered near the door. The emerlindian examined the injured man. “Bardon, help me get him to his bed.”
“Da,” the woman said under her breath. “Oh, Wulder, preserve life.”
Bardon left his task of restoring order to the room and lifted the father in his arms. “Tell me what happened.”
The woman answered in a rush of words. “They broke down the door and came into the house without warning. There were three. Grawligs. I’ve never even seen a grawlig before. Da grabbed his club and swung at one. The monster hit him across the chest, and Da fell against the table. He hit his head. I thought he was dead.”
She reached out to touch her father’s hand. Reassured, she hurried around Bardon.
Bardon followed the woman into the next room, where a rumpled bed lay on its side. The children scuttled into the house and trailed behind their mother. She and Leetu Bends set the bed on its feet, and Bardon placed the fragile old marione on the mattress. Leetu Bends held a cloth against the bleeding head wound.
Bardon straightened and put a comforting arm around the woman’s shoulders. “Did they say anything?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. Not a word. They snorted and sniffed and growled like animals. They pawed through every nook and cranny in the house. Then one gave a shout, and they all ran out the back door, running as if they had a curry-wolf chasing them.”
“They weren’t running from something. They’d caught the scent of a kimens.”
Leetu looked up from her patient. “He’s going to be all right. The blood flow is slowing.”
“You’re an emerlindian.” The woman twisted her fingers together. “Can you heal him?”
“I don’t have that talent, but I can leave you herbs to help him.”
Bardon looked around the cottage and saw a man’s jacket, a pair of trousers, and a pair of boots, all too big for the father of this woman. “Where’s your husband?”
“He’s out in the fields, working.” She gestured toward the south. “His name is Bocker. Mine is Eraline.”
“I’ll go fetch him while you get your da comfortable.”
“Take Latho with you,” suggested Leetu Bends.
“Yes.” Bardon left by the front door. He approached Latho, who stood leaning against his wagon.
The bisonbeck straightened. “The grawligs were searching for a kimen?”
Bardon nodded.
“Why in a marione home?”
Bardon swiped his hand across his chin, feeling the stubble that the lack of a morning shave had left. “Many people do not realize that sometimes kimens coexist with the other races. I’m not sure I understand, but they dwell in homes like that one.” He gestured with a thumb over his shoulder. “Kale, my wife, always thought we might have a couple at our home in The Bogs.”
“They can make themselves invisible?”
“There are two things I don’t think anyone has ever figured out about kimens. One is, do they run incredibly fast, or do they fly? And the other is, do they become invisible and mingle among the other high races as sort of guardians?”
Latho jerked his head toward the house. “So those people never saw a kimen?”
Bardon shook his head. “But even if the grawligs couldn’t see one—”
“They could smell it.”
Bardon look
ed over the field in the direction he thought it had gone.
“Shall we go after it?” asked Latho. “Maybe help the little fellow?”
“We wouldn’t catch up, and…” He heaved a sigh. “I’m hoping the kimen can take care of himself. They truly are fast.”
Latho and Bardon walked to the acreage where the marione farmer tilled his soil. From a distance they saw the husband Bocker talking to another man. As they drew nearer both marione farmers took a wary stance. Bardon assumed the man closest to the horse-drawn plow was Bocker. He pulled a shovel off his rig. The other man held a pitchfork ready.
Bardon put his hands up in front of him, palms out. “We’re friends. We came to fetch the man whose house is just over that knoll.”
“Why?” asked Bocker.
“Your house was attacked by grawligs.”
The second man shot a look at the first. “See?”
“My family?” The husband lost some of his guardedness and anxiety flooded his face.
“Your wife and the girls are all right. Your father-in-law took a blow to the head.”
He ran past them, shovel in hand, with the obvious intent of reaching his home as fast as he could.
The other farmer stepped forward. “My name’s Graick. I live back of those trees.” He pointed.
“I’m Sir Bardon, and this is my friend, Latho.”
Graick shook hands with Bardon but looked askance at Latho. “You travel with a bisonbeck?”
Bardon chuckled. “He comes in handy in a fight.”
The farmer frowned.
“He’s a merchant, not a warrior. But his size is enough to scare many opponents off.” Bardon gave up trying to explain the unexplainable. “You seemed to know the grawligs are rampaging.”
“They came by my place. I don’t think it was the same bunch as did this.” He waved toward the farmhouse Bardon and Latho had visited. “They tore up my barn and went on. I heard of them stealing livestock from time to time. Never happened to me, but I heard others say it.” He shook his head, bewildered, and pushed his hat back on his head. “They didn’t take any kind of food. They wrecked the place like they were looking for something. Then left. They were frothing at the mouth for whatever it was they wanted. I just kept my family hid. They’re still hiding.” Again he pointed over the knoll. “I came to see if Bocker knew anything.”
Bardon and Latho said nothing.
“You’re a knight?”
“Yes.”
“You’re gonna fix this? I mean, you’re here to right a wrong or something?”
“I vowed to protect. The grawligs aren’t after mariones. They’re after kimens. Pretender sent them on a hunt for our little friends.”
“Oh well, then. Those grawligs will be long gone. There’re no kimens around these parts.”
“I think you’re mistaken.”
“Oh?”
“I think one or more dwelt in your barn, or at least, visited it frequently.”
The farmer puffed up his cheeks and blew the air out his lips. “I don’t know how I feel about that. You think kimens have been trespassing on my property? Maybe even living in my barn?” He scratched his arm and then his head. “Well, I guess it don’t hurt. Some people even say a kimen around is lucky.”
He thought for a minute. “But it ain’t good luck if it brings grawligs.”
Bardon fought the urge to give this man a lecture. Wulder’s Tomes were laced with principles that said to take care of others. One’s own personal safety came second when danger threatened. He sighed instead. “Just remember, the grawlig threat is even worse luck for the kimens.”
34
THE NEXT MOVE
Sir Kemry made himself comfortable and closed his eyes. Pat found a bush harboring ring beetles and called to the other dragons to join his feast.
Kale gathered wood and built a small fire. She put a kettle on and assembled a light tea, pulling everything she needed from her cape hollow. After having a cup of tea, she put together dough for fried mullins but didn’t cook them. She’d wait until her father awoke.
She knew the knights took great care in giving importance to sleep and sustenance. Sleep represented resting in Wulder’s care. Slumber served as a tribute to Him who cared for them. And sustenance signified the nourishment received not only in the food and drink, but in the study of the Tomes. In days of old, many households read a principle from the pages of one of the volumes. The little ones were led in a discussion of the meaning and application of the truth they had just heard. Kale had missed that in her upbringing, but she’d learned a lot since she’d come into Paladin’s service.
Sipping another cup of sweetened tea, she watched the minor dragons’ antics. Once his tummy was full, Pat curled up next to Sir Kemry, looking like a very round, bumpy stone next to the knight’s elbow. Filia and Gymn soon joined him. Kale knew by the way the green healing dragon draped himself across her father’s shoulder that Sir Kemry would awaken from his nap with more energy and fewer aches.
Kale’s feet hurt, so she took out her medicine bag and mixed up an ointment. She put it next to the fire to warm while she pulled off her boots and socks. When the balm felt warm to her fingertip, she scooped up a dab and rubbed the arches of her feet and then her ankles and heels. The medicine tingled as it soothed.
Dibl landed in front of her and flipped onto his back. He wiggled his feet and slapped her leg with his tail.
“You want your muscles soothed as well?”
The minor dragon blushed with anticipation, changing his yellow skin to orange and his orange skin to red.
“Oh, you always look so pretty when you do that.” Kale reached for another dab of ointment and picked him up. He purred with contentment, not as a kitten purrs, but as a dragon does. The vibration trembled even the tips of his wings.
She massaged the balm into his arms, legs, and body. When she finished, Ardeo and Metta had lined up for a turn. She rubbed Metta first, and then while she smoothed the ointment over Ardeo’s mottled gray skin, Metta sang. Dibl bopped about in a comical, clumsy dance. Kale had to be careful not to laugh too loud and wake her father.
“You know, Ardeo,” she said as she finished his tail and put him down, “this reminds me very much of traveling with Wizard Fenworth. I hope my father wakes up with a brilliant plan. Fen would sleep and dream and sometimes concoct the most outrageous scheme. I miss him.”
She poured hot water into her cup to warm up her tea and finished it while the three dragons stretched out on a log to soak up what was left of the afternoon sun.
Paladin had charged her with six minor dragons, and soon there would be more. Kale lifted her tunic and unwound from her waist the bulging blue scarf. She had tied six dragon eggs into the long length of material. Of course, not enough time had passed for the eggs to hatch, but they might have quickened. Kale wanted to feel that thrum emanating from each one of them. She’d been too tired last night and the night before to check.
At this stage of hatching the dragon eggs, she didn’t have to be careful. The stonelike shells would not break even if she threw them against a boulder. Later, the developing babies would be secure in a leathery shell. On the last day, the shell became brittle, and the newborn would kick and peck its way out.
Kale had never quickened more than one egg at a time. How would she ever handle so many? Good thing they didn’t require as much care as infants did. They walked at once, flew soon after, and slept a lot. The second day they searched for their first meals. Keeping the chickens happy in River Away had required more work and was much less fun.
The small creatures even came with a name. As soon as she held the hatchling, she knew its name. Kale thought that was one of the most amazing parts of being a Dragon Keeper. She also thought that it must have something to do with Wulder. She would have to remember to ask her father. After all, he had been a Dragon Keeper for decades.
With care reflecting her awe of dragonkeeping, Kale untied the thin ribbons that secured the egg
s, unwrapped the six orbs, and laid them in a row on the soft blue material. The old cloth still held its bright azure color, and the eggs looked deceptively fragile on their long bed. Kale picked up one after another and smiled at the slight pulse she felt from each one.
How am I going to give each of these dragons the attention it needs?
“You aren’t their sole caretaker.” Kale’s father stretched. “I’ll be there to help you. The older dragons will mentor the younger ones.” He rubbed his hands together. “This is going to be one grand adventure.”
He sat beside her and helped rewrap the eggs, securing them with bows that would untie easily. “You know, Kale, I had an interesting thought when I left off sleeping and reentered the wakened state. An image rose out of a fog. The picture may have been left over from a dream, but it sharpened to the point that when I opened my eyes, I thought I might see in reality what I knew was just my wishful thinking.”
Kale nodded, watching her father’s face, enjoying the sound of his voice. This was something she knew about. Dreams that almost seemed real came to her as well. “I’ve done that. What did you see, Father?”
“Before I got myself entangled by that sleeping spell, I had a fair amount of dragons in my keep. Two riding dragons, Benrey and Alton. Six major dragons, Poe, Dobkin, Streen, Clive, Wardeg, and Veryan. I wonder if any of my old friends are in this valley of dragons we seek. That is what I saw. My dragons, hale and hearty and waiting for me to come rescue them.”
“That would be wonderful.” She put her hand on his arm and leaned against his shoulder.
Kale had rarely considered how her father must feel. He woke up from the long sleep induced by Wizard Risto to find his daughter grown, his wife changed by the hardships she had endured, and his dragon friends dispersed, their whereabouts unknown. Her heart contracted at the thought of Celisse, Greer, and all her minor dragons she knew disappearing. Their lives were interwoven with her own. How she would miss them. It pained her just to think about what a loss their absence would create.