“She has more confidence in me than I have. Besides, the colors of the threads are important, and I cannot see the colors in your sketch.”
“Put your arms around me so that your arms are draped over mine. Put your hands on the backs of my hands.”
Bardon reluctantly followed her instructions. He did not want her help to see the threads. If he saw them, he would be required to make an attempt at weaving, an attempt he was sure would fail.
“You can do this, Squire Bardon,” said Granny Kye. “Concentrate on the edges, relax, follow the pattern. I see what needs to be done, and although I have never tried, I am willing. Show me, and I’ll follow your lead.”
“This is pointless, Granny Kye. I merely did what the others did. I don’t remember.”
“Relax, son.”
More to appease the old woman than with a real conviction that something would happen, Bardon stared at the flowing threads of color. At first the frustration of being put in this position rumbled through his brain. Then Greer’s presence seemed so real that Bardon glanced away from the weakening gateway to see if the dragon were really in the glen. The feeling faded immediately, so he turned back to focus with Granny Kye on the threads binding the edge of the portal. Greer’s presence returned, and Bardon realized it was in his memory. The likeness and voice of Sir Dar also flitted through his mind.
The next image was of Kale, and the impression strengthened with every breath he took. He wanted to reach out and touch her. He heard her voice.
“It’s like the beat of a drum behind the music, Bardon. Just react to the rhythm.”
He knew she had said these exact words to him before.
The sensation of his friends being at hand intensified the comfortable state of mind that Greer had started. He saw a loose thread and where the end should pass between two others. The colored line moved of its own accord and slipped into place. He spotted the next errant strand and located its true position. The thread moved. When he aided in the building of a huge gateway in a swampland in Trese, he had acted in response to the arrangement established by someone else. He would never claim it was his own instinct. Now he realized he was the one creating the sequence and beat.
In addition to Kale, Bardon recognized the presence of Cam, Fen, Lyll, and Regidor. He knew these people did not physically stand beside him, yet their proximity seemed more real than that of Granny Kye, who stood within his arms with her back against his chest and her head tucked under his chin.
Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Bromptotterpindosset approaching the gateway. He wanted to call out, to say, “Not yet.” But the words would not form in his throat. The tumanhofer stood close to the brightening lights and seemed to examine them. Bardon chose to ignore him. His presence interfered with the rhythm. Bardon did notice when the tumanhofer moved away from the gateway. A sense of gratitude washed over him. He wanted to be left alone with his task. Granny Kye’s synchronized assistance made her feel like a part of him rather than an annoyance.
A blow to his back shattered his concentration. He loosed the granny and whirled around to see the mapmaker engaged in a fight with two soldiers. Bardon was surprised to note the coolness of the air, the dim light of dusk. Night hovered, about to take over.
The bisonbecks loomed over the battling tumanhofer. Bromptotterpindosset wielded a spiked club, obviously one he had picked up in the enemy’s camp as he escaped. Bardon drew his sword, and his movement caught the attention of one of the men.
This soldier growled and left his comrade to batter the short, old tumanhofer. Bromptotterpindosset had been holding his own against the two. Now he hurled his body sideways at the remaining soldier’s knees and knocked him to the ground. Bardon had no more time to observe the mapmaker’s next move.
Bardon’s attacker opened his wide mouth and roared as he charged. The beastly man clenched two knives above his head in powerful arms. He seemed determined to plunge his weapons into the squire. Bardon sidestepped and sliced the man’s torso as he passed. The bisonbeck bellowed. An answering roar sent shivers down Bardon’s spine. The hair on his arms stood.
Reinforcements echoed the bisonbecks’ war cries. Somewhere in the woods, other enemy warriors closed in on the dilapidated gateway. He and his friends would soon be trapped.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the tumanhofer had gained another weapon from his opponent. Bardon ducked a blow from the soldier he fought. He vaulted into the air and flipped to come down on the hulk’s other side. He kicked a stout arm out of his way, spun, and thrust his sword into the brute’s chest. If these warriors had been dressed in battle array, the fight would have lasted longer.
He turned to assist Bromptotterpindosset and found the tumanhofer standing over a downed soldier. Blood flowed from the man’s forehead where the mapmaker had planted the club.
A howl arose from the woods.
“Time to leave,” said Bromptotterpindosset. He rushed to Granny Kye’s side and took hold of her arm. She hadn’t moved from the spot where Bardon had left her.
“Oh, I agree,” said the small emerlindian. “I’ve never seen a bisonbeck up close before. They are extremely tall, aren’t they?”
“Extremely,” answered the tumanhofer and guided her toward the gateway.
“It isn’t completely repaired,” objected Bardon.
“Neither was it when we came through before. We shall have to chance it.” With a firm grip on the old emerlindian, he plunged into the clinging light and disappeared.
Bardon followed. This time he noticed the lack of pressure on his chest, but the lack of resistance made the atmosphere slick. He pushed and felt he made no headway. He thrust a leg forward and it returned to his side. Leaning his body forward, he hoped he could just fall into the meadow where he had left the driver of Wittoom Coastal Transport. A twinge of nausea gripped his stomach, as if a part of him would be left behind when he took the final step. He bent one knee and shoved with all his might against the slippery surface beneath his foot.
A crowd cheered when he emerged into the late afternoon light, a golden hue with a tinge of rose. The children swarmed around him, all talking at once. In N’Rae’s arms, the baby pulled at a bottle with vigor. Behind them stood the driver from the transport company. The look of befuddlement on his face hit a chord of understanding in Bardon. He had felt that way many a time in the past few weeks. The young squire laughed.
“No time for jolliment,” said Bromptotterpindosset. “I suggest you and the granny unravel this gateway before the remaining eight bisonbecks follow us through.”
28
CASTLE PELACCE
Squire Bardon watched Sir Dar’s expression carefully as he related the events of his “sabbatical.” The doneel’s face twitched with suppressed humor.
Annoyed, Bardon shifted his gaze to his surroundings. The receiving chamber stretched away in endless opulence.
Surely purple is a bit gaudy. His eyes went back to his host. The dignitary wore satin and brocade, silk and lace. No, nothing Sir Dar designs is anything less than elegant. If I had put purple on a couch, it would have looked tawdry. He chooses the right amount, the right shade, and the right combination. He does this in all areas of his life…and it is disconcerting. He does it with such ease. He thinks life is fun.
Dar’s furry face still sported a crooked smirk.
“I don’t find these misadventures funny, Sir Dar.”
His knight laughed out loud. “No, I suspect you don’t. But it’s so typical of the way Wulder arranges things to challenge our worst weaknesses.”
Bardon stiffened. “Wulder has assessed me as being so weak that I cannot handle women and children and self-centered adventurers?”
Dar shook his head slowly. “Bardon, it takes more strength of character to handle the crew you’ve got with you than it does to face a horde of attacking blimmets.”
The doneel waved his hand as if brushing away a fly. “But we must look at the more serious side of your adventures.
I’ll send a messenger to Paladin about the quiss. And I’ll set up a guard beside this end of that derelict gateway.”
“I’m sorry we could do no more to block it, Sir Dar. Granny Kye and I aren’t proficient in such things.”
“No matter. If Crim Cropper and Burner Stox decide to use that portal, they’ll repair it despite its condition. You have at least slowed them down.” He shook his head, the expression on his face serious. “I can tell you I don’t like the idea of these landlubber quiss invading Wittoom.”
A memory of fighting quiss on the dock sent a shiver down Bardon’s back. Quiss attacking at random threatened more than just Wittoom. “Greer’s message from the sea serpent is unsettling, as well.”
“To say the least,” the doneel agreed emphatically. “A hundred quiss in areas that used to have five and small colonies where there were once no quiss!” He tapped his hand on his knee. “And the news about them climbing in and out of the sea at any time…Yes, Paladin must be alerted, and we must recruit men from the East Coast to train our men how best to fight these creatures.”
Bardon shifted in his seat. He had other matters to discuss with his knight.
Sir Dar continued. “I was raised believing they were cold-water animals and that they lived exclusively off the northern coast of Trese. Now they’ve migrated south and across to the western coast and even up rivers. These are dangerous times. We shall need those knights you go to rescue.”
Bardon leaned forward, and Sir Dar cast him a suspicious look. “You wanted to ask me something?”
“Quite a few things, actually,” admitted Bardon. “I thought you might like to come along.”
“Ah yes, I would. But with the threat of quiss and the need for preparation, I don’t feel that it is a good time.”
The squire had suspected that this would be the case and went on to his next request. “Would you equip us with dragons for transportation?”
“Lost your trust in Wittoom Coastal Transport, have you?”
“I hardly think WCT would send a party into the Northern Reach.”
Dar chuckled. “Yes, dragons and provisions can be donated to your cause. How large is your party going to be?”
“I was hoping to leave Granny Kye, N’Rae, and the orphans under your care. A couple of the older boys would love to be put to work on your ships. They were disappointed when the Tobit Grander ended up in dry dock for repairs.”
Dar nodded his head. “The boys will be placed to their advantage.”
“I don’t know if Holt will stick with us. So it may only be Bromptotterpindosset and myself.”
“I’ll assume responsibility for the orphans, but the emerlindian women must go with you. This quest is at their instigation. Paladin has approved of their participation. And the marione Holt Hoddack”—Sir Dar’s eyes twinkled with amusement—“will most likely go anywhere the lovely N’Rae goes.”
“Not if he doesn’t have a dragon or supplies.”
“Bardon, another young male might come in handy on this venture. He may not be trained, but I bet he does better in a fight than either of the women. N’Rae’s assistance in killing the writher snake nearly cost you your leg. And I haven’t heard you say one word of Granny Kye so much as tripping anyone on purpose. If you take them, you’ll also have the assistance of Jue Seeno.”
Bardon smiled. “She did turn out to be a worthy ally, didn’t she?”
Dar grinned as he stood and stretched to his full height, just under four feet. “I have never underestimated the fighting power contained in smaller packages.”
The comrades in arms exchanged appreciative grins. But Bardon soon sobered.
“I’m disappointed that you will not go with us, sir.”
“No more so than I.” Dar shrugged his shoulders. “You will have much more excitement than I have organizing the defense of my holdings and urging the Wittoom parliament to take similar precautions.” He smoothed the hair on his cheek with a finger, then pointed it in the air.
“Aha!” said Dar. “I’ve had an excellent idea. I will contact Regidor. He would be someone interested in exploring the Northern Reach. The vanished meech colony is supposed to be there, and he’s been looking for someone to help him learn more about his meech ancestry. Your Bromptotterpindosset might be just the man.”
Bardon brightened at the prospect. “Regidor would be a welcome addition to our quest. Does he still carry Gilda around in a bottle?”
Dar chuckled. “Yes, in his pocket. She has mellowed in the last three years but is still a very melancholy, moody, distrustful dragon.”
“And Kale. Have you seen Kale since I’ve been away?”
Dar nodded his head, his furry ears twitched forward. “Yes, I visited Bedderman’s Bog. Kale’s a beautiful young lady now, not the gangly youth we knew. And Fen and Cam argue over who’s responsible for her remarkable abilities as a wizard. Fenworth is supposedly retired and spends much of his time as a tree. Still he claims it’s his instruction that shines through Kale’s more daring achievements.”
Bardon pictured the old man and knew exactly how he would twist his face into a scowl as he made his outrageous claims. “And Librettowit is well?”
Sir Dar laughed out loud. “Librettowit married that helpful little tumanhofer they rescued from Crim Cropper.”
“Taylaminkadot! If I remember correctly, it was Taylaminkadot who rescued Kale and Toopka from the enemy camp.”
“A very resourceful woman, a stellar cook, and an enthusiastic housekeeper. She is the bane of Wizard Fenworth’s existence and the joy of his librarian’s.”
Bardon laughed out loud. As Fenworth’s notable librarian, Librettowit had always complained. The tumanhofer did not believe his duties included cooking and dusting. Fenworth assumed they did. He also assumed Librettowit would wholeheartedly join any adventure, which the librarian resisted like a mule being taught to fly.
A hundred more questions tumbled into Squire Bardon’s thoughts. How’s Toopka? Dibl? All the minor dragons? Have any more been hatched? It had been four months since his last letter from Kale. She’d hinted that Taylaminkadot flirted with Librettowit, but he had dismissed that revelation as a young girl’s invention of romance in her rather isolated society. The urge to see and talk to Kale and the others surged strongly in the young squire’s heart. Dar’s voice interrupted him.
“This is a nasty business,” the doneel said as he stood. “I’m glad you’re to lead this expedition. If Paladin hadn’t chosen you first, I would have. You’ve grown into one of my most reliable men.”
Bardon thrust aside his personal inquiries and followed his mentor.
Sir Dar ushered him to the tall double doors of the chamber. Bardon gave a gentle push to one of the ornate panels, and it swung open.
“We’ll dine in my blue room tonight,” said Dar. “Privately, with only the adult members of your questing party. You’ll find your room just as you left it. If you need anything, just ring.”
Bardon nodded and walked out into the massive hall. Clumps of people stood in the hall. Always the hangers-on seemed to know exactly which room Dar occupied. If the doors were closed, implying he did not wish to be disturbed, they waited in the immediate vicinity. Bardon had little patience with these people. But Dar treated them well, with the same genteel courtesy and respect he extended to everyone.
Even me. I’m one of the ones Sir Dar treats with respect, though I don’t deserve it. Why do I begrudge the grace that falls on these cadgers when I deserve no better and receive so much more?
Bardon nodded to people as he passed them. He saw the spark of curiosity in their eyes. They’re wondering why I have returned so quickly.
Then he saw it, a quick glance directly at his ears, accompanied by a start. The woman unfurled her fan, and from behind this small screen, whispered to another in her group. Bardon fought to keep his hand from smoothing the hair into place, hiding his points. I haven’t used the pomade for a long time. In just a few weeks I forgot the necessi
ty. I came immediately to find Sir Dar before washing away my travel dirt and making myself presentable. But their stares are not for my disheveled appearance. It’s my ears that draw their snickers.
A buzz followed him, and he deliberately kept his pace even and unhurried. Hot anger roiled in his chest. So I was not wrong after all. It is not only petty rich boys in a secluded private school who torment those who are different.
Sir Dar manages to treat them with civility. I shall do as well as Greer does under similar circumstances and promise not to eat them.
29
THE LOVELY N’RAE
Squire Bardon traversed the length of the castle, using corridors he had roamed for much of the three years he spent under Sir Dar’s tutelage. During the long walk, he found an empty room and ducked inside. In the privacy of this unused classroom, he ran his fingers through his hair, covering his ears. He wet his fingers from a pitcher of water on the master’s desk, then patted the hair down in the style he had abandoned since leaving for his sabbatical.
With a chary look both ways, he reentered the corridor. Deserted halls attested that classes had ended for the day. As he hurried through the wing that housed a small college, Scribe Moran appeared out of a classroom and headed his way.
Great! I haven’t thought of a principle all day. I couldn’t run through a girder exercise right now if I tried. I haven’t bothered to support each action with a principle for weeks.
“Bardon!” said Scribe Moran with surprise. “I didn’t know you had returned. You’ve made your decision so soon? Odd, I would have thought you were one to take the entire year.”
“I have not started my sabbatical, Master.” Bardon stopped beside the tumanhofer scholar. “I ran across two women who needed assistance. We are on a quest.”
“Ah,” said the short, round man as he stroked his gray beard. “And you have come to enlist Sir Dar?”
“That would have been convenient, but no, I somehow ended up with a ragtag bunch of orphans and needed a place of sanctuary for them.”
“You’ve found that sanctuary with Sir Dar?”