“I entered the game of cards, hoping to pick up some useful gossip. However, one of the players was the first mate from the frigate Breedoria.
“I knew that a messenger had intended to board the ship in Dascarnavon. So I asked the first mate if they had taken on a passenger from that port. He said they had, but the man was ill. I excused myself from the game and went to the Breedoria. I boarded and found our informer was not ill but wounded. He gave me the news I have shared with you.”
Dar’s cold delivery of the facts made Kale shiver. She did not like this stern, controlled man who had taken the place of her fun-loving friend.
Librettowit slammed his empty mug down on the table. “Good news and bad. Good that we finally have a clear direction for this quest. Bad that we must leave the relative comfort of this house to pursue the reprobates. I prefer my library to the wilds of Trese.” He rose from his chair. “I propose we pack in the morning and leave as soon as the dragons are summoned.”
He shuffled out of the room, shutting the hall door with a thud. Kale saw a quiver of a smile play on Dar’s lips. She relaxed a bit.
“The wilds of Trese?” she asked. “I was raised in River Away in Trese. The countryside consisted of farmland and forest, very tame forest with hardly any wildlife you would call wild. No grawligs, no blimmets, no mordakleeps. In fact, the seven low races are considered to be a fable by most of the citizens of Trese.”
Dar chuckled. “Anyplace that has no libraries, no bookstores, no institutions of higher learning is considered uncivilized and wild to our tumanhofer.”
“Summon the dragons?” Bardon’s eyes glinted with excitement.
“Yes, Celisse and Merlander will fly to meet us, then carry us to our destination.”
Kale’s heart skipped over the dread of their quest and landed with joy at the prospect of being reunited with the two dragons.
“To bed, then,” said Dar.
They stood and cleared the dishes from the table. Each one took a candle to light the way to their chambers.
“Kale,” said Dar as he pushed open the door, “there’s one thing that I should perhaps mention to you. The first stop on our journey is where the wagon of potion peddlers is expected to visit next. That would be River Away. You shall soon be seeing the masters of your youth.”
Kale blinked. Oh, that’ll be just great. The only thing to make this trip better would be if my mother showed up.
Dar winked at her. “And Fenworth will be there as well. He and his companions have rescued your mother.”
38
LEGEND OF THE PAST
In the morning, Dar went out to arrange transportation while the others gathered their belongings. Soon a freighter knocked on the door to speak with Librettowit. The tumanhofer hired the man to take boxes of books to a ship in the harbor. The ship would take the cargo south, around the coast, to be delivered to a friend who lived just outside The Bogs. Librettowit’s first thought had been to fly the parcels by greater dragon, but the freighter said the dragons had been unreliable of late.
Toopka skipped around trying to be helpful but actually getting in the way. She hadn’t liked being cooped up in the city, and she chattered incessantly about the quest, which would be exciting, and Prushing, which was not.
“It’s dreary!” she said.
“But Toopka.” Kale packed a chest with their clothing. “You were born in the city.”
“This city is different. Vendela’s pretty, and most of the people are nice. Here everything is gray and ugly, and most of the people are cranky. Do you suppose they’re cranky because they live in a gray world?” She climbed onto the bed and sat cross-legged with a pillow in her lap.
Kale thought it over. She certainly hadn’t been as happy here as she had been in Vendela. Could it be that the atmosphere of Prushing had affected her mood? Or was it because she felt they were not making progress in their quest? No matter how often Librettowit said their preparation was important, the delay felt like wasted time. Maybe the grayness enveloped more than just the city.
“Grayness could make people cranky,” she admitted.
Toopka sighed. “That seems wrong—to let a gray place make your insides gray too.” She rolled over on the bed, propping her chin on her fists. “And I think that the gray insides are too sad to try to make the gray outside any different. So the gray outside stays the same or gets grayer, and the gray insides get grayer too, and pretty soon there’s no hope for anything bright and pretty.”
“Yes, I guess that could be true.”
“And,” said Toopka with eyes growing big, “that’s why Vendela was different. If I had a fight with someone like Master Tellowmatterden, by the time I’d walked two blocks, I would see flowers and pretty painted carts and people smiling. Then Master Tellowmatterden would have been kind of covered over with better things.”
“Does all this have a point, Toopka?”
“Yes.” Toopka sprang up on her knees and bounced on the bed. “I’m glad we’re going to the country.”
Kale chuckled, but her own thoughts were not as cheerful.
I’m glad to leave Prushing, but I don’t know if I want to go to River Away. I guess it won’t be so bad. After all, I’m not a slave anymore. I have an important job. I’ve even met Paladin, and no one in River Away has.
Kale stopped folding Toopka’s small tunic and stared at her hands. She no longer did daily chores at different houses in a small village. At that time, her palms had been callused and her skin dry and rough. A new callus showed how diligently she had been practicing with her small sword.
As a slave, she had nails that were always cracked, chipped, and stained. Now smooth white ends peeked out over her pink skin.
Granny Noon told me to remember I’m not a slave anymore. Won’t Mistress Meiger be surprised? I’m not shabby anymore, either. I’m taller and stronger and smarter, too. And not only that, I’m coming to save River Away from the destructive influence of Risto. I’m not a slave. I am the Dragon Keeper. Between Regidor and me, the wayward dragons will be rescued.
She lifted a shirt from a peg on the wall.
Mother told me I had a destiny. I’m an Allerion. Mother’s brave and does wonderful, courageous things right in one of Risto’s castles. And she’s beautiful. I’m going to be like her. Someday I’ll wear beautiful dresses and smell like a garden full of flowers. Mistress Meiger and all the others will be in awe of my grandeur. Right now they don’t know how important I’ll be, but I do. I won’t act like a slave. I’ll act like I’m one of Paladin’s most trusted warriors.
Her smile widened as she tucked the last of their meager clothing into her cape. Toopka still prattled on, but Kale’s imagination conjured up the gratitude that would be expressed by her former masters.
A carriage pulled up in front of the house just before noon. Bruit grinned at them from his perch. He clambered down and readily helped Bardon, Kale, and Toopka load the luggage and tie it down. Dar then strode out of the mansion and opened the carriage door. Regidor, in his monk’s disguise, and Librettowit walked out into the sunshine and climbed into the vehicle. Even at this point the six companions took care to preserve their masquerade.
The ride out of the city put all her comrades in a good mood. Once they had passed through the city gate and begun the slow descent along a broad highway to the valley, Bruit sang at the top of his lungs. They swung west at a fork in the road and angled away from the Port of Prushing. Thick traffic made the going slow, but Kale and Toopka chattered on about the different people they passed, the varied styles of clothes, and the different types of wares piled into wagons and carts. Bardon listened to the old driver’s songs and the girls’ pointless chatter without participating in either.
The minor dragons came out of Kale’s cape and stayed on the bundles above the coach. From below, they could not be seen. Dibl instigated a game of hide and seek with Toopka always “it” and the dragons always hiding. Kale felt sorry for her three comrades who had to ride i
nside the bouncing, rocking carriage.
In the late afternoon, they stopped at a friendly, clean inn to spend the night. As they traveled north and west the next day, they noticed a subtle depression in the countryside. The crops looked underdeveloped. Fewer carts heavily laden with goods passed them on the way to market. The people did not call out greetings. Riders slouched in their seats. Walkers shuffled along with shoulders stooped.
That night the inn did not seem so friendly. The comrades dropped their pretense of masters and servants. However, Regidor still wore his disguise. They sat in a corner of the public room, having a dinner of good roast beef and farm vegetables.
Almost the entire clientele consisted of mariones, hardworking farmers, and merchants. Bitterness and despair rankled among those dining and drinking and throwing darts at the four-colored corkboard on the wall. The talk in the room disturbed Kale and her companions.
One man waved his tankard as he spoke. “They say there’s more of those unnatural beasts north of the border. They stand upright like a man, talk like a man, think they’re like one of the high races, but of course they can’t be.”
“Yet they aren’t one of the low races either.” A farmer stood to make his point. “So what are these talking dragons?”
“Something made up by one of those evil wizards, no doubt,” grumbled a man by the bar. “But it makes no difference, don’t you know? I still lost my Clem—a dragon I’ve known all my life to be cheerful, helpful, and full of goodwill turned sullen. Then he knocked down the barn and trampled my field of winter wheat. Don’t have a thing to take to market. And he’s gone. Family’s heartbroken. And they’ll be more than heartbroken in the coming year. They’ll be hungry when we don’t get another crop in and don’t take nothing to market.”
“How can you blame that on the meech dragons from the north?” asked the innkeeper.
“Ain’t never anything good come from the north,” muttered one of the men.
“They’s communicating with their minds. That’s what it is,” said the farmer who’d lost Clem.
“Mindspeaking between dragons?”
The farmer spoke again, “Well, sure, they’ve always done it.”
“But it wasn’t a bad thing, Spronder. You know the dragons have never been bad. Just talking more among themselves shouldn’t turn the lot of them bad.”
“All I’m saying is the more Clem brooded about, the less I could communicate with him. It was like he went away in his mind long before he went on his rampage, knocking things down, and then flying off like he did.”
“Maybe it’s a sickness,” suggested the innkeeper. “Maybe you should take the matter to the wizard of the lake. What’s his name?”
One of the patrons rattled off, “Ham? Cram? Cam? Sam?”
“Whatever his name is, no one’s dealt with him in hundreds of years. He could have gone over to Risto like Crim Cropper and Burner Stox.”
“They didn’t ‘go over,’ man. They’ve always been evil,” said an older, well-dressed man sitting by himself in the corner. “None of you know your history. You must not despair. Wulder will send a champion. Paladin will surface and strengthen our defenses.”
“Empty promises, parson,” said the innkeeper. “What you speak of is not history but fable.”
Librettowit stood up. “I agree with the parson.” He turned to the innkeeper. “Identify for me, man, the duties of a parson.”
The man blustered, his eyes shifting around the room as if to find someone to help him answer. He snorted and put his hands on his hips. “He talks a lot and does little of anything.”
Librettowit stood straighter. “He thinks a lot and says little of anything until he knows what he is talking about.”
Several people laughed at the quick response. The innkeeper glared around the room, and the snickering ceased.
Librettowit took advantage of the silence. “A parson examines the books of Wulder. He breaks the passages down into components and analyzes the form, function, and ecclesiastic relationship of each part. He does not do this on his own, but with the guidance of Wulder Himself and under the tutelage of Paladin. And I will tell you, a community prospers in direct relationship to the number of parsons who adequately instruct the populace.”
“Bah,” said one of the men, a wealthy landowner by the look of him. “There you have it wrong, tumanhofer. Until recently Trese has led the country in economic prosperity. And we have few parsons. This parson here used to be a merchant, but when he handed his business over to his sons, he had too much time on his hands.”
A smile curved Librettowit’s lips. “He slowed down enough to assess what really is important. Wulder does not count a society wealthy by how many coins change hands. He measures by hearts filled with peace, satisfaction, and joy.”
“Oh, I see,” said the innkeeper. “You are a parson too.” He looked over the party at Librettowit’s table. “I should have known. It looks like you travel with some foreign monk and two noble squires, male and female, like the legend of Torse.”
“So you know the legend of Torse?” Librettowit’s smile grew even wider. “And why did Torse leave his castle and roam the countryside?”
Several in the room sniggered again.
“Got you there, Bickket,” said Farmer Spronder. “Torse found a great truth. He wanted to give it away, so he could go back to his castle and live the way he was accustomed. He took the monk with him, for it was he who first revealed the truth. Torse wanted to foist the monk off on some other household. And much to Torse’s dismay, the monk kept attracting worthy young people. But even when they took the truth out of Torse’s hands, the truth remained in Torse’s possession. It multiplied instead of diminishing.”
Librettowit nodded, the twinkle in his eye softening his ancient features. “This is true. And when did Torse find peace?”
A young man stood up from the table where he sat with much older men. “When he took the truth home with him and put it in a place of honor.”
The eager young man took a few steps forward. “May I go with your band of comrades?”
Librettowit strode forward, put his hand on the young man’s arm, and turned him toward the parson.
“Go to this man and learn. In the near future, there will be a great conflict between good and evil. At that time, Paladin will call for ones such as yourself to join the fight. You are of strong body. Prepare your heart to be strong as well.”
“A battle?” The question flew around the room on nervous lips.
Librettowit nodded solemnly.
“A war that has been secretly waged will erupt for all to see. You must make your choice. Stand and fight, or do nothing. Choose the higher plane, or dwell on the lower forever.”
39
ARDEO
Kale awoke in the middle of the night. She’d curled herself around a lumpy pillow. One hip hurt where it had settled into a crevice in the poorly stuffed mattress. For a moment she didn’t recognize the room made of rough-hewn beams and plastered walls. Toopka slept in another narrow bed. Moonlight cast a pale glow through the small chamber. Only the corners hid in shadows.
The inn.
Groggy with sleep, she looked at one window. Curtains hung over a single glass pane.
Dibl’s giggle shifted her attention. The three minor dragons perched on the back of a wooden chair, staring at her with joyful expressions. She blinked. What? She started to sit up, but a slight weight on her hip stopped her. She craned her neck to see what it was.
A small glowing mass balanced on the curve between her waist and her thigh. It moved. Kale squinted. The ball of white light stretched, elongating into a neck topped with an angular head. Curious dark eyes blinked at her. The small dragon continued to stretch, showing her his small pointed tail.
Kale’s hand flew to the pouch that always hung around her neck. No longer round with the egg, the flattened sides and muffled crunch revealed the broken eggshell within.
A rush of joy caught her off guar
d. She laughed out loud. Scooping the shining baby into her hand, she sat up. Her fingers glowed as if she were holding a white lightrock. Gymn, Metta, and Dibl soared into the air, expressing their delight with a chorus of trilling noises and fancy aerobatics.
Kale watched as the baby performed an instinctive bonding behavior. Gymn, Metta, and Dibl had done this same thing. The young creature rubbed his entire body leisurely over Kale’s palm, thrumming contentedly.
“What is your name, little one?” whispered Kale.
The dragon lifted his chin from her thumb and peered at her with eyes that looked too large for his tiny head.
“Ardeo! Your name is Ardeo.”
The flying dragons swooped around Kale’s head and shoulders. Their excitement transferred to Kale and the newborn. Ardeo rolled in her hand. The dragon’s luminescence blurred his features. She couldn’t actually see his face other than the dark eyes. A gleaming haze surrounded his entire form.
“Wow!” Toopka whispered her excitement.
Kale looked up to see the little girl standing at the end of the bed. Toopka crawled onto the hard mattress and eased closer to the baby dragon.
“Can I hold it?”
“Him,” said Kale. “And you can hold him tomorrow.”
“He shines.”
The radiance from the newborn reflected off the little doneel’s pale fur. The baby settled down on his back.
“Can I touch him?”
“Yes.”
Toopka stretched out her hand and stroked the dragon’s belly with one finger.
“What do you think his talent is?” she asked.
Kale furrowed her brow. “I don’t remember a description in the books of a white dragon who glows. I still have them, though. They’re in the hollows of my cape. Tomorrow we’ll look him up.”
“Maybe his talent is glowing.”
Kale held the creature up to her chin and rubbed him softly with her cheek. “That would be enough.”
“Oh yes,” said Toopka. “But I didn’t get to see him born.”