Bardon handed them into the waiting vehicle as the horses stamped their eagerness to follow the winding road up to the castle. Torchlights flamed along the way, and whimsical orchestra music drifted through the air.
Through the window in the coach, Kale admired the lighting of the drive Namee had designed. A small river stairstepped down a cliff, making a broken waterfall. Each segment gleamed with a different colored light. The display piqued her curiosity as a light wizard. She sighed with satisfaction as she untangled the spell in her mind and identified how it worked.
She started to share the discovery with Bardon but stopped short when she saw that Toopka had captivated his attention. At this moment the doneel’s enthusiasm for her surroundings appeared to be genuine. Her large eyes sparkled, her ears perked forward, her whiskers twitched, and rather than the endless stream of nattering, Toopka let out soft gasps of astonishment. Kale’s heart softened. If only she could get past the inscrutable veil that disguised this enthralling child, Kale was sure she could love Toopka without reservation.
She doesn’t trust me with whatever she holds as her important, oh-so-carefully guarded secrets. I resent not being trusted. After all, haven’t I always offered good and not evil toward this ward of mine?
She almost laughed when she remembered a plaintive line quoting Wulder and reported in the Tomes. “Why should my creation accuse me of desiring their destruction? Why doubt the words I give them that would secure their happiness?”
Wulder sounded as confused and aggravated as she did, yet Kale knew the great Creator was never puzzled. Bardon had explained that these quotes were given so that the seven high races could relate to the position, rather than the attitude, Wulder stood in when observing their disobedience, arrogance, and distrust. With this revelation, his followers could identify their impertinent mind-set.
Yes, that was it. Kale felt that all her good intentions had been disregarded by Toopka when the little girl denied sharing her confidences with her guardian.
She studied Toopka and wondered again if this demeanor was real or just a well-performed sham.
When they arrived at a castle portcullis at a side entrance, a servant in livery opened the coach door and arranged a footstool for them to use. Bardon stepped down first, then turned to give a hand to Kale.
She glanced around the darkened meadow, saw kimens gliding down pathways meandering through the garden bushes and servants carrying lanterns as they raced about doing their duties. The air vibrated with activity. Then Kale’s gaze fell to her husband’s upturned face, and love swelled in her heart. He had taken all her grousing in good stead and persisted in bringing her to this. All his efforts were to provide for her a surprise he knew she would appreciate. She placed her hand in his.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve done nothing but whine at you and raise objections.”
He kissed the back of her hand. “You’re forgiven. Now, we’re going to have fun, and not think about duties and pressing needs, and whether or not there is enough fruit in the orchards to provide nourishment over the winter.”
Kale’s face fell into an expression of dismay. “Isn’t there enough fruit? Are the crops poor this year?”
Bardon shook his head. “Fun. We are going to have fun, pleasure, enjoyment. The crops are fine.”
He winked.
She grinned saucily and stepped lightly out of the coach. Not only did she look forward to the ball and the promise of more surprises, but she had noticed the long ride had not caused stakes’ stiffness to return to Bardon’s joints. With this good sign, Kale allowed herself to hope the kimens’ treatment would last weeks and maybe months. And she vowed to increase Bardon’s enjoyment of the evening in any way she could.
Toopka hopped to the ground, took hold of Kale’s skirt, and hovered behind her. The minor dragons scattered, perching on slanted flagpoles, onto the tops of other carriages, on the ornamentation of the portcullis, on piles of fancy luggage waiting to be taken in, and on the covered steps. A well-dressed doneel matron approached. The light wizard allowed her ward to hide, knowing Toopka’s fits of shyness often occurred in the presence of her own race.
As the matron drew closer, Kale realized she must be an important servant. The string of keys dangling from her waist, the stiffly starched apron over her gown, and the mobcap clearly indicated she was the castle’s housekeeper. In typical doneel fashion, her clothing was a bit showy for her position in the household.
The woman’s black taffeta gown rustled as she walked. Shiny white silk peeked from beneath a cut-lace overlay on what should have been a simple apron. The floppy white hat sported more lace with a rainbow of ribbons woven through it. Kale grinned, thinking of the first doneel she had ever met. Much like Sir Dar, this doneel matron followed the prescribed standard of elegance common to their race.
The appearance of the housekeeper made Kale pause. Oh dear, I wish I’d taken closer notice at what Toopka chose to wear.
The doneel child had a flair for bright colors, but little regard for coordinating her choices. Without looking back and drawing attention to the half-hidden girl, Kale brought to mind an image of her often-scruffy ward. Orange pantaloons sticking out from under a green and purple striped skirt, an under blouse that almost matched the leggings in hue, a tunic of a clashing shade of purple, a dotted scarf wrapped around her neck, and a gray bonnet that had once been white hanging down her back with the strings hidden under the scarf. And wrinkled, of course. Toopka’s clothes pleated around her in uneven creases. The child had been sleeping in a bag.
With only a bit of time to work and hindered by not being able to study the clothing as she changed it, Kale removed all the color from Toopka’s outfit to leave a sparkling white. She eliminated the wrinkles, took away the extra material of the bulky pantaloons, and lengthened the skirt. And then in a nod to Toopka’s desire for fancy, Kale wove golden threads through the fabric, producing a design of shimmering leaves.
The housekeeper curtsied. “Lady Kale, Sir Bardon, I am Mistress Orcutt. Wizard Namee sends his welcome and will dine with you this evening. I have a bedroom ready. If you’ll come this way…” She explained the particulars of the evening as she led them through the hallways lit with yellow, pink, and gold lightrocks. “Dinner is at eight, the ball begins at nine, a light repast will be served at midnight, and an early breakfast at three.”
Kale took the moment to squeeze Bardon’s hand and send him a message, promising to be exceptionally grateful for such a rare treat.
The housekeeper continued, “There will be a buffet in the main dining hall all morning so that you may partake whenever you arise. The noonmeal will be served at midday, of course.”
“Mistress Orcutt,” Kale spoke as they paused beside the open door to their chambers, “we have a doneel child with us, my ward. Is there someone to look after her while we are occupied?”
Kale reached behind her and took Toopka’s hand to gently pull her into the housekeeper’s view.
The woman’s stern expression relaxed, and a sincere smile lifted her lips. “Oh yes, I have six little ones of my own. The oldest will be in charge, and your girl will be welcome to spend the night. They eat in a nook in the kitchen, then sneak into a hidden balcony to watch the dancing for a while. Eventually, my Gia will take them to our quarters to play games, hear stories, and sleep.
“My husband will retire early. He’s head stableman, and his duties will be done long before mine. So he will be there if Gia needs him.”
“That sounds like fun, doesn’t it, Toopka?” Kale hoped the child would respond appropriately.
Toopka gave a cautious nod, keeping her eyes downcast.
“Fine, then.” The housekeeper stretched out a hand. “Come with me now, and I’ll introduce you to my young ones.”
Reluctantly, Toopka released Kale’s hand and took Mistress Orcutt’s. She marched beside the matronly woman as though she were being led to an execution.
“Have a good time, Toopka,”
Kale called after her, then spoke quietly to Bardon, “Why do I feel like I’ve tossed her into a bubbling stew?”
“Because she usually plays with minor dragons.” He put a hand on her elbow and steered her through the open door. “Relax, Kale. Remember, Toopka was once a street urchin. She’ll have the time of her life.”
“She’s changed, Bardon. An odd sort of changed. She came to us as a scrappy alley cat, and she’s become more timid, still curious, but somehow less sure of herself.”
“She’s Toopka.” Bardon put his arm around his wife’s shoulders and guided her toward their chamber. “Toopka is a mystery only Wulder could explain.”
Kale nodded but kept her eyes on the little doneel until she rounded the corner with the housekeeper. “I believe we are going to be astonished when Wulder reveals Toopka’s mystery.”
7
MAKING CONNECTIONS
Bardon kissed Kale’s cheek. “Rest up a bit, consider your gown, and I’ll be back before you know it. I’ve something to see to before the festivities begin.”
He made a hasty escape down the corridor before his very astute wife could pin him to the wall with questions. His brain felt fuzzy from guarding secrets. He didn’t want her to discover the pleasant surprises of the coming evening. And he certainly didn’t want to spoil the surprises with worry over the Followers in the mysterious village of Paladise. Paladise! What a name.
Mikkai guided him through the castle without a problem. Apparently, the map dragon had seen somewhere the blueprints for many of the greater homes in Amara. The difficulty was finding Namee. They visited all the likely places for the host to be and found plenty of guests but not the wizard. Finally, a servant suggested they look in the kitchens.
Bardon’s boots clattered on the stone steps as he followed Mikkai. As they got closer, he didn’t need his guide. His nose could have led him to the cavernous rooms where chefs congregated with their minions around floured tables, bubbling pots, and red-hot ovens. Happy chatter flowed among the staff. Wizard Namee sat at a pastry table, eating bits and pieces of stolen dough in between slurps of hearty chukkajoop broth from a bowl.
The wizard raised his chalice to Bardon. “Come join me. Are you hungry? Better grab a bite now. Ten o’clock is an absurd hour to begin dinner, but it’s tradition, you know. Tradition. How can we dance the whole night through if we start at a more seemly hour? It’s tradition to dance till dawn. If we start at six, no one can last until the morning star appears. So we have to start at ten.
“My wife says it is because in the old days, before wizards cooled the air in the castle, dancers dropped dead from the heat. Now that would ruin the festivities, wouldn’t it? But I say times have changed. I can cool the air. And she says it’s romantic to start at ten and cool the air anyway. So I come to the kitchen to do a taste test. Wouldn’t want to serve my guests something foul.”
He raised a braised leg of a large heatherhen, laughed, then sank his teeth into the meat. “Besides, I get too busy mixing with the guests to sit down and have a proper meal. And it would seem that my stomach does not like a ten o’clock supper. I’m usually not hungry that time of night.” He took a bite of a roll that the baker had just placed on his plate. “Hot! Ouch! Hot!” He drank and gestured for Bardon to sit with him.
Bardon chose a chair next to his host but waved away a servant’s offer of a plate and bowl. He took the tankard.
Namee arched an eyebrow. “I deduce that you are not hungry.”
“No sir, I’m not.”
“Then it is me you seek out. The culinary arts of my fine staff did not lure you away from our fascinating guests above.”
“Yes, that’s right, sir.”
He sighed, put down his chalice, and pushed his plate aside. “What is it?”
Bardon leaned closer. “Have you heard of a group of people calling themselves Followers?”
Wizard Namee pursed his lips, swirled the liquid in his chalice, then took a drink. “I have.”
The simple answer perplexed Bardon. Wizard Namee sounded cautious, and caution was not one of the wizard’s hallmarks. “What do you think of them?”
“I find them curious.”
“I came across a group of Followers in a village in my district. What can you tell me about those you’ve encountered?”
“They seem harmless. A bit more intense than most folks, but I surmise that it is a pendulum swing. The citizens of Amara acknowledge their mistake in being too apathetic during our former troubles. Now this group has shifted to the other extreme. Time will balance it out.”
“Nonetheless, I feel the need to report my finding to Paladin.”
“He won’t be here tonight.”
“May I use your gateway?”
“Indeed.” He signaled for a servant to come to his side. “Don’t worry overmuch on this, Sir Bardon. This won’t be a popular movement. Their ranks will be slim.”
“Why do you say that, sir? Is there something you know that I can add to my report?”
“Only that these Followers aren’t inclined to enjoy themselves. Odd clothing, dull food, and no entertainment. I also understand that one has to be enlightened in order to be given the privilege of producing offspring. Sounds anomalous to me.”
Bardon rose. “Yes, strange and inconsistent with previous teachings from our scholars.”
A tumanhofer bowed to Wizard Namee.
“This is Namutdonlowmack. He’ll escort you to the gateway chamber. Be back in time for dinner, young man. It will be a feast worth tasting.”
Once in the hallway, Bardon spoke to the servant. “It isn’t necessary to escort me. Mikkai can direct me.”
“Certainly, Sir Bardon, but I wish to speak with you.” The tumanhofer glanced around at the many people wandering and socializing in the halls. “This way, sir.”
Namutdonlowmack darted down a corridor and scuttled up a winding set of stairs leading to the top of one of Namee’s towers.
“Would you mind sending your dragon to make sure no one lurks in the shadows? I do not want what I have to say to be heard.”
Curious, Bardon nodded to the dragon who had perched in a window. With the signal, Mikkai winged off on his mission. As soon as he left, Bardon sized up the tumanhofer and determined from his frown that Namutdonlowmack was not going to spend the time in idle conversation. Bardon sighed, leaned against the window frame, and watched the skies. While they waited, two more large dragons landed in the field.
Mikkai returned. Bardon nodded in response to the minor dragon’s chitter. “He says there is no one in the tower other than ourselves.”
The tumanhofer hesitated.
“I have an urgent message to deliver, and I have little time.”
“I’m aware of the nature of your message, Sir Bardon.”
“You are?”
“Of course.” Namutdonlowmack shuffled his feet. “I wasn’t near enough to listen to your conversation with Wizard Namee until I moved a bit closer. It is important to know what is going on in the castle. I am one of his most trusted servants. If he had not wanted me to hear, he would have said so.”
Bardon nodded. “The kitchen is not the best place for private conversation. But please, I must go.”
“And Wizard Namee’s control of sound included his knowing where sound is traveling, when it bounces off barriers, and in the case of conversation, who can hear.”
“Yes, a very useful talent. The point, Namutdonlowmack.”
“Wizard Namee wishes me to relay information that he did not feel he could speak of in the kitchen. About the people who interest you. Two things. First, there are representatives of the Followers here for the ball.”
“I thought they spurned such activities.”
“These men do not profess outwardly to be of this society. They are here seeking information and to look for potential converts.”
“Converts? What a strange choice of words. How does one convert a person from one doctrine to the same doctrine?”
“You have already begun to suspect that their doctrine is not the same. That is why I chose to speak with you.”
“Go on.”
“So they look for recruits, if the term ‘converts’ does not please you.”
“None of this pleases me. But I feel you have a personal quarrel with the Followers.”
Bardon caught the slight jerk of Namutdonlowmack’s head, and the fierce gleam in the tumanhofer’s eye backed up the intensity of that affirmation.
“My brother’s son, my nephew, thought the words these men spoke appealing. He followed. And got lost. We did not hear from him for six months.”
Bardon waited. The tumanhofer cleared his throat and looked out the window. “He’s dead. We know he’s dead.”
Bardon leaned forward. “But how do you connect his death with the Followers?”
“It’s what we don’t connect. He went with them to one of their villages. Only their villages have no citizens other than o’rants and mariones. He owned a shop in Baranst. Now the shop is owned by another man who bought it from a marione.”
“And his death?”
“We don’t know, but when the family started making inquiries, we met with stony faces and false leads. Then one of them—pretending he wasn’t one of them, but we knew he was—showed up and sadly presented us with young Forretpuranson’s copy of the family principle, written on leather, wrapped ’round his music stick, and tied with the ribbon his mother had used when his father first made the keepsake. Told us a tale, which didn’t ring true, and went off, expecting we believed the pack of lies.”
“What do you want me to do, Namutdonlowmack?”
“Tell Paladin,” he said between gritted teeth, “that it isn’t just principles they’re twisting. It isn’t just controlling people’s ways of doing things. They’re lying, thieving murderers.” The tumanhofer bowed his head after his outburst.