The watch of dragons took flight again, zooming into lightrock-illuminated passages leading off from this central room. Kale waited until a small group raised an alarm. Four minor dragons had found the nest.
She plunged down a dim passage, sending a plume of light ahead and calling for the dispersed dragons to join her. Eleven came from the other corridors, and nine flew in a V formation in front of her. Gally and Mince landed on her shoulders.
“You’re all right. I’m so glad.”
They scooted next to her neck, shivering. From their minds she deciphered the details of their ordeal. A game of hide-and-seek had led them into the depths of the castle. When the snake surprised them, they’d flown under the off-center lid of the barrel. As Mince dove into the narrow opening, he knocked the top just enough for it to rattle down into place. This successfully kept the serpent out, but also trapped them within.
Kale offered sympathy, and they cuddled against her, rubbing their heads on her chin as she whisked through the underground tunnel in pursuit of the other dragons.
Numerous rooms jutted off the main hallway, each stacked with boxes, crates, barrels, and huge burlap bags. Kale had no idea this vast amount of storage lay beneath the castle. Taylaminkadot, their efficient housekeeper and wife to Librettowit, probably had a tally sheet listing each item. Kale and the dragons passed rooms that contained fewer and fewer supplies until the stores dwindled to nothing.
How long does this hallway continue on? She slowed to creep along and tiptoed over the stone floor, noticing the rougher texture under her feet. Approaching a corner, she detected the four minor dragons destroying the snake’s nest in the next room. Her escort of flying dragons veered off into the room, and she followed. The small dragons swooped over the nest, grabbed an egg, then flew to the beamed roof of the storage room. They hurled the eggs to the floor, and most broke open on contact. Some had more rubbery shells, a sign that they would soon hatch. The minor dragons attacked these eggs with tooth and claw. Once each shell gave way, the content was pulled out and examined. No hatchling snake survived.
The smell alone halted Kale in her tracks and sent her back a pace. She screwed up her face, but no amount of pinching her nose muscles cut off the odor of raw eggs and the bodies of unborn snakes. She produced a square of moonbeam material from her pocket and covered the lower half of her face. The properties of the handkerchief filtered the unpleasant aroma.
Her gaze fell on the scene of annihilation. Usually, Kale found infant animals to be endearing, attractive in a gangly way. But the small snake bodies looked more like huge blackened worms than babies.
Toopka raced up behind her and came to a skidding stop when she reached the doorway. “Ew!” She buried her face in the hem of Kale’s tunic, then peeked out with her nose still covered.
The minor dragons continued to destroy the huge nest. Kale estimated over a hundred snake eggs must have been deposited in the old shallow basket. The woven edges sagged where the weight of the female snake had broken the reeds. Kale shuddered at the thought of all those snakes hatching and occupying the lowest level of the castle, her home. The urge to be above ground, in the light, and with her loved ones compelled her out of the room.
Good work, she commended the dragons as she backed into the passage. Artross, be sure that no egg is left unshattered.
She received his assurance, thanked him, then turned about and ran. She must find Bardon.
“Wait for me!” Toopka called. Her tiny, booted feet pounded the stone floor in a frantic effort to catch up.
2
A FRIENDLY VISIT
“I think it’s worth a short side trip, Greer.” Bardon sat between the cobalt wings of his dragon, looking past the purple neck stretched before him. “It will only take a few minutes.”
He scanned the countryside, looking for the village the kimens told him sprang up almost overnight, populated by strangers. “No, Greer. Kale doesn’t know about the surprise, so she won’t be agitated that we’re late. Mikkai, quit fuming.”
Mikkai sat on Bardon’s shoulder, his small claws sunk into the material of the knight’s jacket. His chirring reflected his indignation. The blue and green minor dragon’s talent was geography. He’d stored in his mind each and every map he’d ever seen. Kale had inherited Wizard Fenworth’s extensive library, and there the young dragon had soaked up a large amount of information. Bardon had encouraged Mikkai to travel with Regidor, who was in the habit of perusing cartographers’ shops. According to Mikkai’s memory, no village existed in this stretch of the Fairren Forest.
Greer relayed the information to Bardon that he had spotted a man-made clearing in the distance. The little dragon pitched a fit.
“Enough,” said Bardon. “Instead of going off like a fizzle-pop, think how greatly appreciated it will be when you make note of the village and have it recorded. This is an opportunity, Mikkai, not an insult to your pride.”
The little beast settled down, but his coloring darkened, as it did when he deliberately controlled his emotions. Bardon thanked Wulder that at least his little friend was trying to be calm.
Greer landed at the outer rim of the clearing. The houses sat closely in rows, so Bardon and Mikkai entered the village alone, leaving the large riding dragon behind. No children ran in the paths between the pale green buildings. Each structure looked much like the next, with doors centered in one wall, two windows on either side, then two windows on each of the three other walls. A carved stone provided a step into the house. In each flat doorway, an etching of a large bird was embedded in the slab of cold, gray granite.
“There are a few signs of life here,” Bardon observed. “A bucket of clear water by one door, a broom leaning against the side of a house, an odor of porridge, and spotless curtains fluttering in an open window.”
Mikkai chittered.
“Exactly,” responded Bardon. “Not a person in sight.”
They came to the center of the village and found the people they looked for. Bardon glanced around the semicircle of citizens waiting patiently and in silence. Their eyes focused on the front of a round building. The white stone structure had horizontal slits like vents near the roof and one doorway covered by a dark green curtain.
In the gathering, oddly dressed mariones and o’rants stood without touching. At least six inches separated them from one another. The gaps were too uniform to be a coincidence.
Men and women wore loose trousers that hung to their ankles. Sandals covered the soles of their feet but left the tops exposed under thin straps. A straight piece of cloth with a hole in the center draped over their shoulders and hung to their knees. Underneath, all wore a tight-fitting, long-sleeved shirt. These garments were in a variety of colors, but each person wore a single color and stood with those who wore the same shade.
Bardon kept to the rear of the small crowd, waiting and observing. No young children. No babies. Where are they? Why are these people divided into their color groups? And how is the division made? It doesn’t seem to be by age or race.
A hand opened the curtain from inside, and five people, dressed in the same fashion as the other villagers but in a light purple, stepped out. Two mariones and three o’rants lined up in front of the villagers. Those who had been waiting outside stood taller.
Bardon didn’t like the anticipation that rolled through the crowd. Unnatural. Are they actually holding their breath?
From the platform raised six inches off the ground, one of the o’rants in purple stepped out from the others. He scanned the crowd, then raised a hand. “I cannot speak. There is a stranger among us.”
The whoosh of expelled air confirmed Bardon’s belief that the villagers had been holding their breath. Their heads twisted as they searched for the intruder.
Bardon braced himself. What would their reaction be to his interrupting their meeting? But once the people located him, they merely turned their eyes to the ground and shuffled away, dispersing quickly into the village. He recognized a few ungua
rded reactions. Some gave Mikkai a speculative glance before lowering their gaze. Some frowned before covering their displeasure with a neutral expression. No one spoke.
The five came directly to him. They did not shuffle nor watch the ground.
“Greetings,” said the one in the lead. He sounded friendly and undisturbed by the presence of a stranger.
“Hello,” Bardon answered.
“I am Echo Marson. These are my brothers, Echo Hames, Echo Trox, Echo Feallat, and Echo Lowatter.”
Bardon nodded but did not extend his hand. “You don’t look much like brothers.”
“Oh, not literally of course, but in our allegiance to Wulder and commitment to one another. In our society we have only brothers and sisters.”
“I am Sir Bardon. I am magistrate over this district. If I can help you in any way…”
The men chortled among themselves, but the sound did not ease Bardon’s apprehension. His shoulders tensed, warrior alertness rising. He scanned the area, taking note of who stood where and the options open to him if a fight broke out. Not a comforting sign that most of the men of the village had returned and stood idly just outside of the circle. He wouldn’t let his guard down any time soon.
“No need to trouble yourself,” said Echo Marson. He put a gentle hand on Bardon’s shoulder and turned him toward one of the paths through the village. “Let me show you around.”
Bardon missed the signal that dismissed the male villagers who lingered nearby, but they dispersed as quietly as they had assembled. Echo Marson dropped his hand from Bardon’s shoulder and walked beside him. The four other echoes followed silently.
“We are a new order that has come out of Paladin’s decree that the people of Amara be re-educated in the ways of Wulder. You realize that he sent teachers out from his palace and from The Hall to go from town to town and speak of Wulder’s Tomes. Thousands of new copies of the Tomes have been published and distributed. Our village is made up of those who desire to be closer to Wulder. We seek to listen more carefully than most of those who are educated by Wulder to lead.”
“Paladin knows of your dedication?” Bardon tried to keep the skepticism from his voice.
“Paladin initiated our group.”
“I hadn’t heard of it. Do you have a name?”
“Only the Followers. We don’t wish to be glorified ourselves, but to point out that the way to happiness is to follow.”
“I sit on Paladin’s council and—”
“Prudently, it has been decided that this movement be separate from the ordinary governing forces of Amara.”
“Are you not accountable to Paladin?”
“Of course, of course. And Wulder is our supreme judge, director, and guide.”
Echo Marson’s tone was meant to be placating, but Bardon found his hackles rising even as the man offered assurances. “Why is it I know nothing of the Followers?”
“Do not be chagrined. Only those most apt to succeed are given more knowledge.”
Bardon bristled, meaning to interrupt. Surely this pompous leader didn’t think Bardon felt offended by being overlooked by their group? But Echo Marson continued, exposing another odd idea.
“It would be unkind,” he said, “to frustrate those who would never achieve the higher calling. So, we move slowly. We give our message, we watch the reactions of those who listen, and we approach the most likely candidates.”
Bardon hesitated. His instinct was to take a stand, literally stop and challenge this absurd design. Wulder certainly never handed over the right to decide who should be His followers to a handful of representatives of the high races. And Wulder never refused anyone the chance to learn more about Him. Leetu Bends’s friend Latho proved that concept. The bisonbeck tradesman had chosen to follow Wulder. But Echo Marson kept walking, and Bardon kept his peace. Gathering information was more important than entering a debate with this o’rant.
“Notice the clean lines of our architecture. This reflects the clean, direct purpose of our village. We seek to know Him better and serve.”
“What is the name of your village?”
“Paladise. But each village is also named this.”
“There are more than one?”
“Certainly. The movement will grow. It is Wulder’s will. After rescuing us from the clutches of true evil, and annihilating the source of wickedness, He has commanded a new beginning.”
Mikkai blurted a short sequence of angry chitters. Bardon mentally forbade him to continue. Hush! I want to know more about these people. Where did they come from? Why does everyone shuffle except these five who are escorting us to the edge of the village? And since they are showing us the door, we don’t have much time to learn more.
“Do you teach that Wulder has extinguished evil?” asked Bardon.
“Yes.”
“According to the Tomes, Wulder will not do that until some time in the future. Burner Stox and Crim Cropper have died—”
Echo Marson interrupted. “And Risto, don’t forget Risto.”
“Yes, but Pretender is still able to make trouble.”
“Really? Has anyone seen him? Has he provoked a new war? Unleashed more mutant beings that are capable only of destruction?”
Before Bardon could answer, the man went on. “No, no, no. Wulder has thrown Pretender in the dark place and destroyed him. Of course, no one from the high races could have achieved this end, but Wulder has protected us through His own power. And that is right and as it should be.”
They approached the last houses at the edge of the village. Greer snuffled a greeting. He stomped a front leg and shook his head. Rarely did anything ruffle the riding dragon, but Bardon felt Greer’s agitation and his desire to be away from the obscure village. The stream of thoughts coming from his dragon made it almost impossible to listen to the leader of the group.
“Thank you for dropping by.” Echo Marson’s head bobbed, and he smiled. “We will be sure to call on you if we need anything. But we are a self-contained group, and I really don’t foresee an occasion arising—” He broke off and cleared his throat. “You are welcome at any time, and if you wish to learn more about what Wulder is revealing to our people, please ask. We are more than willing to carry out Paladin’s decree to educate the populace.”
At the condescending tone, shivers traipsed down Bardon’s spine.
He faced the five echoes, bowed in farewell. “I look forward to that, Echo Marson. Good day.”
He didn’t tell them he would be out of the region for some time. He didn’t tell them he suspected they had gone outside the bounds of Paladin’s intention. And he didn’t tell them he planned to send someone to infiltrate their little group to learn more about their ways.
3
A VACATION?
With Toopka on her heels, Kale rushed through the lower rooms of the castle, following the irregular path created by her parents. Up three stairs, forward a half-dozen steps, turn right, dash across a storage room, through a door, turn left, up one step, enter the creamery, weave through the vats, duck to exit through a short door, cross the platform, up six steps, turn right into the herb cellar, and out the door on the opposite wall. After two more twists in the long corridor, Kale and Toopka finally emerged in the kitchen.
A tumanhofer child squealed, lifted her arms, and wobbled on chubby legs toward Kale. She scooped the toddler into her arms and nuzzled the baby’s neck. “Taracinabloo, you’re a precious gal.”
The child’s mother looked up from stirring a pot on the stove. “Don’t let her pester you, Lady Kale. She’s bored and wanting someone to play with her.”
“Don’t worry, Taylaminkadot.” She kissed the little girl on each cheek and then deposited her on the floor. “I’m on my way through to find Bardon. I’ll leave Toopka here to tell you what we found in the cellars and to keep Taracinabloo out of your hair.”
Toopka stuck out her lower lip and aimed a frown at her guardian. Kale strode to the door, ignoring the doneel’s pout and the todd
ler’s whine.
“Lunch smells delicious,” she called to Taylaminkadot and passed through the doorway before Taracinabloo’s protest could escalate to a full wail. Kale glanced back to see a smiling Toopka pull the small girl toward a pile of toys.
“Sing with me,” Toopka said. “I’ll be the farmer, and you be the animals.” She picked up a wooden cow and placed it in Taracinabloo’s hands.
Kale grinned and scurried down the hall. Her stomach had roiled at the smell of evil in her cellars, but fresh air and the scent of vegetable soup had blocked the nausea. I wasn’t cut out to be a warrior. Dragon Keeper is good enough for me.
Her special bond with Bardon told her exactly when her husband approached, returning from a morning visit. She headed to one of the doors at the back of the castle. As she hurried through the maze of halls, she transformed her clothing into something more feminine than her fighting garb. Her sword bumped against her thigh. Without slowing her pace, she shortened it and its sheath to the length of a short dagger.
The large wooden door silently swung back as she pushed it open to reveal the equestrian stables. Bright sunshine flooded the cool, dark passageway around her. She stepped out and breathed in the aroma of the flowered meadow, sun-warmed stacks of hay, and fastidiously groomed horses. Kale paused, closed her eyes, turned her face upward, and soaked in the beauty of her surroundings.
“I love this life,” she whispered. “Thank you, Wulder.” Her eyes popped open. She blinked, rubbed her nose against a tickle, then briskly sprinted past the stable yard, the barns, and training ring to the sloping grassland beyond. Flowers dotted the hill, and bushes resplendent with colorful blooms marched up the knoll in uneven patches. She slowed her pace, a little winded but still anxious to get to the dragon landing. Above her, minor dragons swarmed in the air, circling their Dragon Keeper’s head in a noisy greeting.
Kale returned their welcome with a laugh and a few friendly words, then told them to go about their business, which at this moment was to enjoy themselves.