“You’re messing up my hair,” the squire objected halfheartedly. “People?” He stood and looked down the hill to a valley where cattle grazed. Several men dressed in country togs marched along the road. It looked as though they intended to see why a dragon had landed in their territory.
“Let’s fly, Greer.” Bardon sprang onto his back, settling into the dip where Greer’s neck joined his shoulders. The dragon stretched his wings and took to the air.
The wind rushed against Bardon’s face, lifting his hair back and exposing his ears. Usually, he wore a hat. Every day, he used a pomade to stiffen the hair and keep the sides in place. Of course, that wasn’t enough to keep his ears hidden in the wind.
Most people didn’t notice the slight point that topped each of his ears. One had to look closely to see the peak in their otherwise o’rant shape. Kale had noticed, and N’Rae. He’d caught Kale staring at his ears. She never said anything, but of course, he knew she knew, because they had a special, mystifying bond.
Not only could he mindspeak with Kale, but when he was near her, he could also communicate through his mind with others. Away from her he had no such talent.
He didn’t count communicating with Greer as mindspeaking. A subtle difference existed in communication between those of the high races and between rider and dragon.
To my way of thinking, Kale knows too much about me. I’m glad our studies prevented us from being in the same place.
He pictured her serious face as she tried to understand something new Fenworth explained. He saw her eyes twinkle at one of Dar’s jests. He heard her scolding one of her minor dragons. He saw the look of shock on her face when they both thought the same thing at the same time. And of course, they knew it had happened. They never figured out why.
He didn’t need Kale Allerion distracting him.
Kale had never quizzed him about his obvious halfling blood.
N’Rae asked questions. And N’Rae discussed his ears with Granny Kye and Jue Seeno.
He looked down at the men trudging up the hill.
We left the saddlebag, Greer…No, I don’t think they will steal it. What would they do with dragon tackle?…Yes, we have to go back anyway. Where should we meet next? I wish we could fly north together and keep an eye on the ship from a distance. But I don’t trust Holt to keep away from N’Rae’s tender heart…Granny Kye? Oh no. Jue Seeno is a better guardian than our rather scatterbrained emerlindian…Getting back to the next leg of our trip, Greer, how would you like a seashore vacation?…The fishing would be good.
Greer banked, and Bardon gripped with his knees. He clutched two raised scales along the dragon’s powerful neck.
Take up a post north of Ianna on the coast. When you sense I’m on a passing ship, fly over, and I’ll give you the location of the first port we will visit.
They circled the fertile valley and returned to the hill.
I guess we better see what the good citizens of this rural community have on their minds. Bardon and Greer descended, landing with a flourish of wind that sent the half-dozen watchers to their knees.
The men turned out to be curious farmers wanting to talk about the unusual sight that had interrupted their routine day. Bardon introduced himself and his companion. The men were as impressed with a squire from Wittoom as they were with Greer.
Greer whispered in Bardon’s thoughts that he wasn’t very impressed with men who thought another two-legged beast with a minor title was as interesting as a dragon. Bardon hushed him, telling him to be civil. Greer responded with a laugh, and Bardon chastised him.
Yes, I expect you to be a great deal more civil than “not eating them.”
He cast the ornery dragon a look of disgust. When have you ever eaten one of the seven high races? I bet you haven’t eaten any of the seven low races either. Be quiet! I’m trying to follow the conversation here.
Several of the older men reminisced about dragons working together with men.
“I was a wobbly brat, just up on my pegs, when the last family with a dragon left the valley for the high country.” The farmer looked with admiration at Greer’s muscled shoulders. “I don’t remember it myself. Just remember my folks talking of it. They said, in years long ago, each farm had a dragon bonded to the family.”
“Where’ve the dragons all gone?” asked one of the oldest men. “Seems like there’re fewer dragons, fewer emerlindians, and I have never seen a kimen in all my days. Of course, you hear tales from those wandering fellows. There was a big to-do in Trese a few years back. That will be legend when my grandkids tell stories to their grandkids.”
“I think,” said Bardon, “that there used to be a lot more commerce between the different provinces of Amara.”
One of the men shook his head. “Don’t pay to send your products anywhere but close.” He gestured toward the Morchain Range, rising to the east. “You go over the mountains, you have to deal with large, uncouth, smelly grawligs. The rivers, lakes, and wetlands reek with hideous mordakleeps who will take away all your senses. They say in some foreign places, the remnants of Risto’s military bisonbecks walk the streets with the high races. I know we don’t venture out as much as we used to, but it’s safer.”
“We do some trading by sea.” A farmer broke off a tall blade of grass and stuck it in his mouth.
“That we do, but it’s not the bulk of our income.” That man shrugged as if it were no matter.
“We produce what we need,” said the oldest. “It’s not so bad being off to yourselves.” He nodded to Greer but spoke to Bardon. “When you leave, would you circle the valley again so the youngsters can get another gander at the dragon?”
Bardon smiled. “I’m going back to Ianna on horseback. I’ll ask Greer to put on a little flying show for the children, though. To tell you the truth, he’s a bit of a ham and won’t be put out at all.”
For that flagrant impertinence, Greer butted the center of Bardon’s back with more than an easygoing bump. The farmers laughed and kept up a steady stream of talk as Bardon secured the saddlebag onto Greer’s back and sent him off with a brief farewell.
The boring ride back exasperated Bardon. The horse stopped to graze anytime he wasn’t prodded along. The road became crowded with people and carts either going to market or returning home. Bardon chafed at the slowness of his progress.
Did Holt find a ship? Did Granny Kye give away our belongings to some worthy cause? Was the minneken discovered? Is N’Rae admiring Holt’s handsome face and ignoring his smudged character? Has the old tumanhofer finished his preparations for the journey? How did I ever get caught up for a quest with this unlikely crew?
He pulled the horse up short and took a minute to watch the people around him. O’rants, tumanhofers, and mariones. Men, women, and children. Mostly common folk with just enough coins to live on. At this time of day, after the duties and strains of their work, they plodded along to their destinies without much apparent pleasure in their journeys.
I haven’t thought of a principle all day. He saw a young child asleep on his father’s shoulder, being carried home. “The body grows weary, the mind will tire, but the soul dances before Wulder in the evening of life.”
He tapped his heels against the horse’s sides. Even as the sun lowered to the horizon, signaling the end of a day, he hummed the tune to a sunrise chant. The music sparked the joy he felt in knowing Wulder cared for him and the quest he was on. He began to sing,
“The hour’s a gift. The road’s a grant.
Enjoy the journey as you see His hand
cover your errors,
wipe your tears,
straighten the way,
straighten the way.”
Scribe Moran would say the first “straighten the way” is an observation, and the second is a request.
Wulder, I petition You to straighten the way.
The sight of the quaint inn reminded him of the quest he had become embroiled in with two naive emerlindian women. His sabbatical had been shelv
ed for the time being while he performed his duty.
He stabled the horse and gave the boy working there a coin to groom the animal. He entered the inn through the kitchen with a much heavier step than when he had left in the morning.
“Oh,” said the cook when she saw him, “then you’ve already heard the bad news.”
Bardon frowned. “What bad news?”
“You haven’t heard, then?”
“No.”
She wrung her hands in the apron hanging from her waist. “Best you hear from your own people. Last I heard, they were in their room. Well, the girl and the gent.”
N’Rae and Holt!
Bardon bolted up the stairs and slowed halfway up for a moment as he remembered that Jue Seeno would act as chaperone. He hit the next step at full speed, thinking what good could a three-inch-high chaperone be.
He burst into the room to find N’Rae sitting in the chair, her eyes rimmed in red. Holt stretched across the bed on his back, snoring.
N’Rae jumped to her feet when she saw Bardon and ran to grab his arms. Her sharp fingernails dug into his flesh.
“I think Holt drinks,” she exclaimed. “He’s been useless. He came back after he had been here, and all he did was say we should wait for you. Then he fell on the bed and went to sleep.”
“After who had been here?”
“The constable.”
Holt snorted and twitched.
Bardon ignored him and frowned at N’Rae. “Why?”
“To arrest Granny Kye.”
“What?”
N’Rae nodded, tossing her blond locks. “For thievery.”
18
THE JAILHOUSE
“Can’t let her out without the magistrate’s order. Can’t see the magistrate without a registry permit. Can’t register to see the magistrate until nine o’clock tomorrow. Office is closed. Been closed for hours.”
Bardon turned away from the dirty little man in his squalid little office and bumped into N’Rae.
“What are we going to do?” she asked.
Bardon turned back to the jailer. He glanced at the nameplate on the table. Greasy chicken bones on a folded newspaper testified that the man had already eaten his dinner. The squire’s nose wrinkled at the mixture of unpleasant odors in the room. He identified one smell as the rank clothing on the jailer’s back.
This is beyond ridiculous! According to N’Rae, they arrested Granny Kye this morning. She’s been here for hours. What do the prisoners eat? Have they even fed her? He clamped down on his anger. He wanted cooperation from this ill-bred tumanhofer.
“Look, Bortenmiffgaten, we would like to see Granny Kye. She’s old and probably scared.”
The man leaned back in his chair and studied the ceiling. “I can let you see her if’n I have some guarantee you won’t be blabbing to all that I was derelict in my duty.”
“And what would the guarantee be?” asked Bardon.
“Half an ordend.” He spit the answer out under his breath. His eyes still scanned the cracked plaster above him.
Bardon shook his head. “I’ll not participate in the giving or taking of bribes, Master Bortenmiffgaten.”
The front legs of the jailer’s chair hit the floor with a whack, then screeched as the small man pushed back. He stood. His chin came to the edge of the table.
This office must have been furnished by his predecessor, Bardon observed as the jailer raised a fist to shake at him. N’Rae scooted behind Bardon as if the diminutive bundle of outrage intimidated her.
“Just who do you think you are?” ranted the tumanhofer. “Ain’t nothing wrong with those who have the ready giving a coin to those who do not.”
Bardon nodded. “I am Squire Bardon, in service to Sir Dar of Castle Pelacce, Dormenae, Wittoom. And I agree with you that giving you a coin is not a bad thing, but purchasing illegal entry into the jail is.”
The little man’s fist had come down, and the glower on his face changed to a look of puzzlement. “Sir Dar?” he whispered. “A fancy-dressed doneel? That’s your Sir Dar?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll let you in.”
N’Rae gasped and peeked around Bardon’s arm. “Why?”
The jailer frowned and mumbled, “Sir Dar did a kindness to our family. Not to me, mind you. But to my sister’s children. I’ve got no use for do-gooders and don’t believe in those high teachings some people prattle about. But I’ll let you in.”
He patted several pockets and came up with a key. That key unlocked a door in a cabinet behind him. Keys inside dangled from a row of hooks. The jailer selected one and carefully put the padlock back in place. He crossed the room and unlocked a door. Bardon and N’Rae started to follow him. Bortenmiffgaten held up a grubby hand stained with tobacco juice.
“Not yet,” he said. “I’m just getting another key.”
He disappeared behind the door. They listened as several things opened and shut.
Drawers? Cabinets? More doors? Bardon wished he could see.
After more rattling around in the room behind the partially closed door, Bortenmiffgaten returned, jingling a key ring the size of a dinner plate. Two keys swung from the rusty metal hoop.
“This way.” He gestured for them to follow him down a flight of stairs. At the bottom he turned right. He jumped to snatch a torch from the wall. As he passed unlit torches, he gave a little leap and swiped his burning one across the next dark stick. Instantly, a flame burst forth.
This underground hallway was cleaner and smelled better than the jailer’s office.
Bardon sniffed the damp but pleasant air. Someone else must be in charge of this area.
The hall branched off several times, but the tumanhofer kept walking. The underground path ended in a room with one door in front of them. A heavy padlock hung from a metal latch.
Bortenmiffgaten stopped and looked up at them, a smile on his face. In the flickering flame, Bardon thought the flash of yellowed teeth looked evil.
“I’ll let you in,” said the jailer, “but you have to leave your boots, coats, and that basket out here. Can’t have you carrying in weapons.”
N’Rae twisted her face as she slipped out of her shoes and placed her folded shawl atop them. Her toes wriggled against the cold flooring. Bardon left his sword, boots, tunic, and knife. He plucked his bag of coins out of the tunic to carry with him. Although the jailer had shown goodwill in admitting them, Bardon doubted the tumanhofer would be able to resist the temptation of an unguarded purse.
“You got food in that basket?” Bortenmiffgaten asked, licking his lips.
“No,” whispered N’Rae.
The jailer frowned. “What then?”
“A doll.”
“A doll?” He stomped over. “Let me see.”
N’Rae slowly undid the little cord that held the lid shut and opened the basket.
Bortenmiffgaten looked inside and snarled. “A lot of fancy stuff for a rag doll.” He headed for the door with his key in his hand. “Leave it here.”
N’Rae sighed and carefully put the basket next to her shoes and shawl. She smiled tentatively at Bardon.
He glanced at the jailer, relieved that the man had his back to them.
This is absurd. N’Rae practically shouts she is lying about the doll with her sigh of relief. The jailer is dishonest. Despite his sudden change of heart, I don’t trust him. He has a hundred keys, and I could have bashed him on the head at anytime. I still could and instigate a jailbreak. I must get Granny Kye out of this place. I’m tempted to tie up Bortenmiffgaten in his own cell and leave him there. But have I ever seen Sir Dar circumvent the law? No. How frustrating!
The door creaked open. Inside, not one but three cells banked the walls. Women occupied them all, Granny Kye in the middle one.
N’Rae rushed in and flung herself against the bars making up the wall between her and her grandmother. “Oh, it’s like being in a cage!” she cried.
Bardon stopped at the door and bent to whisper to the
jailer. He allowed a growl to underscore his words, a trick he had learned from the meech dragon Regidor. “If any of our things are missing when we come out, I will have to retrieve them from your pockets, since there are no other pockets to search.”
“Shh! Shh!” Granny Kye hushed a wailing N’Rae. “You’ll wake the children.” She sat on the floor with several urchins around her. One slept in her lap. Another rested his head on her knee.
“Are you all right?” whispered N’Rae.
“Oh yes. Dinner was a bit sparse and underseasoned but adequate.”
“What did you steal, Grandmother?” N’Rae sounded curious and not in the least bit condemning.
“The children were afraid to take the food from the forager bin. Not a very tidy forager bin at all, but holding plenty of good vegetables and fruits. A few bits of bread and pastries, too.”
“So you took them and passed them out?”
“Yes, and the owner of the produce stall came yelling and fussing. Said it wasn’t a forage bin at all but his garbage, and he sold it each day to a pig farmer…and I was stealing.” Granny Kye patted a child who stirred. “Imagine that, N’Rae. Apparently, they don’t follow Paladin’s edict to feed the poor in this district. The constable told me no one sets out food for the orphans.”
Bardon shifted in the doorway. He’d been listening but also keeping an eye on the jailer. He glanced at the ragged group of children and counted. Six. He’d have to get them out of jail, as well. “Will you be all right for the night, Granny Kye? Do you need more food? Fresh water? Blankets?”
“Blankets would be nice. The floor is clean, but hard. Quite a nice jail, in fact. The women workers who were here earlier in the day were a nice lot, proud of their work and cheerful.”
Bardon shook his head. “How many jails have you been in besides this one?”
“None,” she replied. “But I have imagined a prison on several occasions, and I didn’t imagine that they would be as nice as this.”
“I’ll take N’Rae back to the inn and bring blankets. Anything else?”
“Bardon, dear, will you be able to get the children out of here when you free me?”