35
TEMPERAMENTS
“My, my,” said Mistress Seeno as she tilted her head back to get a better look at the dragon standing beside Squire Bardon. “You cut a dashing figure.”
Regidor swept off his hat, passing it over his leg as he made a deep bow. The gallant gesture would have impressed royalty.
Bardon raised his eyebrows.
The meech dragon, now standing straight and tall before the humble basket of the minneken, ignored him.
“I’m honored you think so, Mistress Seeno.” Regidor rested his hat against his chest as he spoke to the fur-covered person sitting in her chair on her basket. “It has actually taken quite a bit of effort to acquire a wardrobe that has style, yet minimizes my tail and wings.”
“And this was necessary because…?” prompted Jue Seeno.
“Because I wish to mingle unobtrusively with the citizenry of the high races.”
“Your height and coloring would still distinguish you.”
“Ah yes, but you’d be surprised how much a busy person hurrying down the street, absorbed in his own affairs, will overlook.”
“Height and an unusual complexion—”
Regidor nodded. “But not wings and a tail.”
Ahnek danced from one foot to the other.
Bardon put a hand on the boy’s shoulder to help him contain his excitement. “What is it?”
“We want to see his wings.”
Regidor grinned, stepped back a few feet into an open space, and tossed the sides of his cape back over his shoulders. In a great whoosh, large leathery wings expanded behind him, fanning the air and ruffling the hair of his audience.
Ahnek clapped his hands and stomped his feet, then grabbed Sittiponder. “They’re green and glistening like I told you his tail is. He’s got dark ridges running through them just like Frost, only a different color, of course. Sitti! They must be fifteen feet across and taller than he is at the highest point. They’s stupendous.”
Regidor brought the wings forward until they touched in front of him so that he stood within a circle of his own making. Then he flashed them back, and Ahnek plopped down with a thud, stunned.
For a moment, the lad just took in the wondrous sight. Then, he reached up and grabbed Sittiponder’s hand, jerking him down to sit.
“The underside of his wings is now like oil in a puddle, dark with swirly colors in it.”
The others in the camp came to watch as well. Regidor repeated the action. This time his wings gleamed red. Once more he encircled himself, and after a longer pause, he slowly unveiled not only himself but also a beautiful female meech dragon.
She stood in front of him and a little to the side, so they faced the small crowd as a pair. Their smiles reflected amusement at the astonishment they had created. Her blue gray dress contrasted with Regidor’s black garb and blended in with his now moonlight-gray wing.
“She’s not really there,” Ahnek whispered to Sittiponder before he even described the vision. “You can see through her like she was made up of smoke or something.”
“No,” corrected Bardon. “She is there.”
He bowed his head to the female meech. “Welcome, Gilda. I see you still travel with Regidor.”
She glanced over her shoulder toward her companion’s face, then back at the squire. “He kindly includes me in his daily life. It’s much more exciting than sitting on a shelf, I assure you.”
A breeze flitted between those watching and the two meech dragons. The zephyr swirled dust into the air and bent the grass. Gilda’s dress swayed as the air stirred. It looked for a moment as if the edges would blow away, like tendrils of smoke. But the scattering substance pulled back together.
Regidor moved his wings around them once more. When he snapped them open, Gilda was gone. He stretched the now-shimmering green appendages out to their complete wingspan, and then with a loud ruffle, they folded and disappeared behind him. He reached to his shoulders and adjusted his cape.
The riders reluctantly turned away. Holt went with them.
Bardon tried to interpret the young marione’s reaction. Of those assembled, only Holt seemed disgusted by what they had seen.
What was that? Jealousy? I better find out what is sticking in that young man’s craw.
Before he could make any more speculations, he saw N’Rae leave Granny Kye’s side and run to Regidor.
“Can I talk to Gilda? Will she come back? She’s lovely, isn’t she? Is she your wife?”
Regidor gazed down at the excited girl. “No, she is not my wife. Yes, she is lovely. Yes, she will come back. And yes, you may talk to her, but not now. Gilda does not feel comfortable when exposed to the elements.”
He put a hand on N’Rae’s elbow and steered her back toward the minneken’s basket. “I believe my conversation with Mistress Seeno was interrupted.”
He glanced over at the two boys. Their heads nearly touched, and Ahnek talked in rushed undertones, his hands waving in small, jerky movements.
Jue Seeno waited for them, standing and tapping her foot, fists on her hips. Bardon had not moved, and so he heard her sputtering even before Regidor and N’Rae arrived.
“Quite a display,” she said. “So much for mingling unobtrusively with the higher races.”
“This is hardly a town square.” Regidor seated N’Rae on a pile of parcels unloaded from the dragons. “Now, why have you turned all prickly on me, Mistress Seeno?”
“Don’t worry,” said N’Rae. “It’s her natural reaction to life. She bristles whenever you don’t do something exactly as she thought you would.” N’Rae shrugged. “She’ll be over it in a trice, and quite often it will be ten or fifteen minutes before she gets all riled up about something again.”
The minneken’s body stiffened. Her whiskers quivered above a pinched mouth. “You, young lady, are taking on airs, talking like you know more than you do. Kindly remember your place.”
N’Rae raised her fingertips to her lips, and her face went from its natural alabaster tone to ruby in a matter of seconds. “I’m sorry, Mistress Seeno. I didn’t think.”
“Nonsense,” fumed the little woman. “Of course you were thinking. No one ceases thinking. The problem is you thought only in one narrow line. Your focus was on this Regidor person with his charming smile and dashing ways. You spoke in a context of two, you and him. But you don’t live in a context of two. Your life is intertwined with many more than just two.”
Jue Seeno stood even straighter and glared with piercing black eyes. “And I, young lady, am your protector. It is my duty to bristle.”
“Here, now.” Granny Kye’s deep, gentle voice intervened. “Are we having a fuss? Let’s have tea instead. It’s still some time until our evening meal, and everyone is a bit excited.”
She shooed the boys off to help with chores. “I’ll call you as soon as the tea is ready and there is a daggart to be eaten,” she promised, then turned to the handsome new addition to their party. “Bromptotterpindosset wishes to speak to you when you have a moment.”
“You might as well go with him, Squire Bardon,” Mistress Seeno piped up. “The three of us can make the tea without your assistance.”
Bardon and Regidor inclined their heads and moved off to join the tumanhofer.
When they were a few steps away, Regidor commented quietly, “The question is, Can the three of them make peace without your assistance?”
Bardon chortled. “I believe they can. Granny Kye has a calming influence on Jue Seeno.” He paused. “You may think that the little minneken is harsh, but she has a huge responsibility. Granny Kye does little to stem her granddaughter’s impulsiveness, so the role of protector falls squarely on the minneken’s shoulders.”
“So this marione Holt is one of N’Rae’s admirers?”
“I’m not sure, Regidor. Would you mind looking at him and seeing what measure he exhibits?”
Regidor searched for Holt and caught sight of the marione bending over the fire with one of th
e female riders at his side. He studied the young man. “The colors flowing around his person are mostly in harmony. That would verify he is comfortable with his present circumstances. Underneath, he has rifts of displeasure, contrasting tones in one color indicating tension. A lack of uniformity would indicate he is unsettled in his desire and motivation. The serenity of Wulder’s influence is definitely missing. His measure is variable, at best.”
“So is he a good addition to the questing party or not?”
Regidor shrugged. “I would say that is as undecided as the young man’s aspirations.”
“I have a coin given to me by Paladin. It is supposed to help me discern whether a person is in direct conflict with the purpose of our quest.”
“Interesting.” Regidor returned his attention to Bardon. “Somewhat like the metal disk that has already confirmed Kale has found her lost mother and will tell her if she has found her lost father?”
“Yes.”
“Useful.”
“Not in Holt’s case. I’ve tried it several times and gotten different degrees of heat each time.”
“Then I say we keep an eye on him.”
36
TRADITION
Under a tarp set up to provide shade, the mapmaker had erected chairs and a collapsible table to display his treasures. Books, charts, and maps covered the sturdy table. Bardon sat on a trunk cushioned by a pillow. He could not work up an eagerness to view this hoard of knowledge one more time.
Bromptotterpindosset and Regidor pored over the diary of Cadden Glas and the mapmaker’s charts. The meech dragon pointed out mountain ranges he had already explored and made minor corrections to the scale and scope of the sketches before him. The tumanhofer interpreted both Glas’s notations on the diary maps and the daily entries.
After an hour, the meech dragon began translating the pages with much less difficulty than his instructor. Bardon laughed at his friend’s ability to grasp the nuances of a language so quickly, but the mapmaker stared open-mouthed. He slammed his mouth shut, furrowed his brow in a fierce frown, and shook his finger at the meech.
“What’s this? Were you lying to me?” demanded the enraged tumanhofer.
“No.” Bardon leaned forward from where he sat watching the two. “He has always learned at a phenomenal rate. Didn’t the meech you encountered in Punipmats exhibit incredible mental abilities?”
“They were intelligent, it’s true,” Bromptotterpindosset admitted. “But I didn’t actually observe them learning what they knew.” He glared at Regidor, then shook his head and looked back at the map.
“So how is it, Wizard Regidor,” asked Bardon, “that you have spent so much time in this region?”
“I’m searching for the lost meech colony.”
N’Rae approached, holding hands with Sittiponder and Ahnek. Holt followed, carrying a tea tray. Granny Kye came with Jue Seeno’s basket over her arm.
A warrior’s battle shield served as the tray, and the cups and plates rattled slightly with a metallic clanking. The teapot was the camp’s tall coffeepot. The tea and daggarts, however, smelled like a real treat that might be served in Dar’s castle.
“So, Regidor, you are searching for your parents,” said Holt as he stood by the table, waiting for Bromptotterpindosset to clear away the scattering of charts. “I’m beginning to feel out of place. I seem to be one of the few on this quest who knows exactly who and where my parents are.”
Regidor stood so that Granny Kye and N’Rae could take the bench he had been sitting on.
“There are fourteen in our party, and only…” The meech dragon paused and leaned over the minneken’s basket. “Mistress Seeno, are you without knowledge of your parents?”
Regidor nodded at whatever the minneken had answered.
He turned back to Holt. “Only five of our members have little or no information about their parents. It would seem you erroneously claim a position of minority.”
“What’d he say?” asked Ahnek, shaking Sittiponder’s arm, but his friend ignored him.
“I have a father,” said the young tumanhofer.
“You do?” exclaimed Ahnek. “Where is he?”
“Everywhere. My Father is Wulder.”
The mapmaker nodded. “A quaint term used in many traditional circles. You are from Vendela, am I not mistaken?”
“I am,” answered Sittiponder.
Granny Kye poured a cup of tea and handed it to Bromptotterpindosset. He accepted with an inclination of his head. “I have always considered it odd that the ‘City of Enlightenment’ clings to the older traditions of the Tomes.”
Bardon frowned and reached into his pocket. His fingers found the coin Paladin had given him, and he pressed it against his palm. The cold metal chilled his skin as he watched the mapmaker pass a plate of daggarts to N’Rae.
Bardon exchanged glances with Regidor as the well-traveled tumanhofer talked of various cultures and their similarities.
“Don’t be so alarmed, Bardon. He can still be of use to us even if his beliefs are tarnished.”
The coin is cold in my hand. Paladin said to shun those people who did not have a heart for our quest.
Regidor’s eyes returned to the pleasant tableau of an afternoon tea. “What are you going to do? Put him on a dragon and send him back to Wittoom?”
Perhaps. We needed Bromptotterpindosset to translate the diary. Now you can do that.
“Yes, but the diary belongs to the mapmaker. If he goes back, the diary and his maps go with him.”
I believe Wulder would take us to the resting place of the lost knights without Bromptotterpindosset.
“In theory, so do I, Squire.”
Bardon paused, mulling over the scene his announcement to ban the mapmaker would cause. His nose wrinkled in distaste. I should challenge Bromptotterpindosset now and make arrangements for his return tomorrow.
Bardon started forward, but Regidor put a forefoot on his arm.
“Don’t act rashly, my friend. Give yourself time to consider what Wulder would have you do.”
It seems pretty clear cut to me. Paladin gave me a coin to help me discern the hearts of men. He said to shun those who cause the metal to cool. He paused, rubbing the late-afternoon stubble on his chin. Regidor, what do you see in this man’s colors?
The meech turned his gaze on the tumanhofer. The mapmaker sat at ease, clearly a man accustomed to sitting at the tables of refined citizens. He held the others’ attention with a story of a deity popular among the Ataradari, a tribe on one of the smaller southern continents. This Ataradarian character of folklore rewarded cleverness and beauty from his powerful seat of authority on a mountaintop.
Bardon twisted his lips. Even a child learning the rudiments of the Tomes knows cleverness and beauty are temporal achievements and have nothing to do with lasting contentment.
“His colors.” Regidor’s voice interrupted Bardon’s thoughts.
What?
“You asked about his colors.”
Yes?
“He carries no dark hues indicative of transactions with Pretender. But none of his colors have clarity, either. All but a very few of these strands of muddy-colored light turn back, inward. They should encompass him in a circular pattern. The lack of symmetry is significant. He is a very self-centered man.”
Bardon’s throat tightened. We should be rid of him.
“Yes, now I see why you are eager to be rid of him,” remarked Regidor in a steady voice that did much to soothe Bardon’s distress. “He worked beside you to kill the sea serpent, and again, to escape the bisonbecks through the disintegrating gateway. But it was vital to his own personal safety that he do so. I think his decisions would be different should he need to choose between his own life and anyone else’s.”
Regidor placed a hand on Bardon’s shoulder but still did not speak aloud. “I am now convinced that this mapmaker would not choose his path based on the principles of Wulder or the commands of Paladin. Nevertheless, you cannot load him on
to a dragon at this late hour. And you would have everyone upset if you announced your intentions. So…”
So?
“So, consult with Captain Anton tonight and arrange for Bromptotterpindosset’s transportation in the morning.”
I worry about his influence on our party. The way he spouts off his philosophy is very entertaining.
“You do your people a disservice. Look at their faces.”
Of those seated around the mapmaker’s table, all but Holt and Ahnek had lost interest. Sittiponder had a distant expression, as if he were listening to an entirely different conversation. N’Rae’s brow furrowed as if she could not quite understand what was being said. Granny Kye yawned, covering her gaping mouth with a scrap of linen she used as her handkerchief. Jue Seeno, with her tiny hands and an odd metal instrument in her lap, worked on weaving yet another fancy sash.
Quietly, Bardon and Regidor left the gathering around the teapot and went in search of Captain Anton. The young squire had to double-time to keep up with the meech dragon’s long stride.
“Tomorrow,” said Bardon as they passed by the cooking fire and the lo who was in charge of the evening’s meal, “we shall address the false philosophy that riddles the tumanhofer’s tales. Paladin said he was more concerned about the monsters of variance than the quiss.”
“Rightly so.” With his long legs, Regidor stepped over an outcropping of rock that Bardon had to hop onto before he could jump down to the other side. They were headed for the temporary dragon field where riders and dragons relaxed.
“I’ve pondered what Paladin said, and I think I understand,” said Bardon, breathing heavily. “Slow down, would you, Reg? I can’t talk and run to keep up with you.”
Regidor complied. Bardon took a couple of deep breaths and went on. “When people are confronted with an outside enemy, they band together for mutual protection. A physical threat unifies.”
“Correct,” said Regidor.
“But ideas, contrary concepts, shades of differing opinions, theories, these things shatter commonality.”
“I agree,” said Regidor. “A quiss rises up out of the mist, and one knows one must kill or be killed. A man says over a pint of ale at the tavern that he believes Wulder is one form of universal fable, and who contradicts him? No one. Yet his words are belittling the truth, wounding the strength of our convictions.”