“You know the Realm Walkers Guild is supposed to take care of such injustice. Have you ever sent a message to them, pleading your case?”
Tifra laughed. “The Realm Walkers Guild? You certainly are out of touch with Effram. The king pays tribute to the council, incentive for them to ignore our plight. My relatives and their older friends all say they can remember when realm walkers came to Effram to acquire their constants. Dragons were seen almost every day. I saw a dragon two years ago.”
Cantor did not tell her a dragon sat as a horse in the family’s appleton grove. He tried to understand what Tifra told him. A plane estranged from the guild was entirely different from what he had expected. On the other hand, it reflected Ahma and Odem’s suspicion of the authorities.
Tifra lifted her arms and let them slap against her sides. “See?”
Cantor surveyed the barn for something out of the ordinary. “See what?”
“Few realm walkers come to Effram to find a mor dragon. No young men and women are answering the noble call to serve Primen. At least, that’s what my father says. My uncles say when they were lads, they used to see a dozen young men and women come through during each summer. The travelers dressed in the garb of the council when they were looking for a dragon. Made them easy to spot.”
She glanced at Cantor, obviously studying his clothing. With a shake of her head, she leaned against the rails of the pen holding the colt.
The tip of Cantor’s tongue danced against his clenched teeth. He very much wanted to announce he was a realm walker, but he knew that would be breaking one of the fundamental instructions he’d received from Ahma and Odem. Apparently in the past, realm walkers did not avoid drawing attention to themselves when they entered a community.
Tifra bid the colt good-bye and led Cantor between two stalls. They exited the barn through a side door. She pointed to a fenced pasture. “That’s where we keep a couple of cows for milking. There’s a pond with ducks and geese, and my brothers fish there. Closer to the house is a chicken coop. We have the best laying hens in the county.”
“Your family has worked hard, and your farm is very impressive.”
Tifra screwed up her face, and her words took on a bitter tone. “For all the work we do, this farm should be grander. But a lot of our goods are taken before we go to market. Sometimes, the guard visits the market and takes things from there. It’s more convenient to have the choice of the best all at one location.”
She took his arm and pulled him toward a well. He turned the handle to bring up the bucket. She gave him the first drink from a cup tied by its handle to a post.
“Thank you,” he said after downing the whole cup. “That’s sweet and cool.”
She laughed and sat on the stone rim with her cup. “It isn’t really sweet unless you’re comparing it to wells that have that musty taste, or worse, sulfur!” Her merry eyes gleamed. “And it’s the one thing the guard has not barreled up and taken away. Although my father predicts that someday that will be part of their collection for the king.”
They walked to the porch. Cantor noticed Bridger no longer sat in the appleton orchard. He hoped the dragon had gotten bored and gone off to find some other person to pester.
Tifra touched his arm. He moved away, trying not to be rude, but avoiding personal contact. On different planes, the habit of touching varied tremendously. On Dairine, only family members and close friends hugged or communicated through a hand on the other person’s arm.
Cantor breathed a sigh of relief when the farm girl did not take offense. “I best be off. I want to reach a settlement tonight. Can you tell me how far it is to the next village?”
She gave him a sweet smile. “You know they want you to stay.”
“Who?”
“My family.”
“Why?”
“The work is hard, and another set of hands and a strong back are always welcome.” Her cheeks colored faintly. “And they are looking for a husband for me.”
She laughed as Cantor gulped, stepped back, and tried to keep his face from twisting into a revelation of his feelings.
“Don’t worry. They won’t capture you to keep you. They left it to me to send you on or entice you to stay. They figure that a maiden has more chance offering romance than a bunch of burly men offering hard work.” Her smile faded. “But you had best be careful as you travel. The King’s Guard has no scruples.”
She nodded the direction he should go. “Tinamiin is a few houses and three stores. You should be able to walk the distance by nightfall. Ask for the Tinamiin Overseer to put you in a home for the night. Your stay should be pleasant.”
“Thank you, Tifra. I feel more confident with the knowledge you’ve shared. I won’t be such a mountain bumpkus as I deal with you flatlanders.”
She returned his grin. “You’re welcome, Cantor D’Ahma. Be safe in your journey.”
He bowed to her with as much formality he would have used in the Realm Walker Council meetings, and then picked up his pack from the steps. Children poured out of the door and stood waving and hollering farewells. The goodwife came out, with a frown on her friendly face. Tifra climbed the wooden steps and stood by her mother. She said something, the mother shrugged, and the two joined the smaller ones in friendly waves.
He walked away from the gracious home, occasionally turning to wave again. Until he was beyond the trees and almost to the road, the children stayed to jump in place while they flapped and fluttered their arms and shouted good-byes.
An afternoon stroll in a pleasant countryside and new discoveries just around the corner would occupy the rest of his day. The negative things Tifra had related were probably exaggerations. Odem would have told him if the situation in the Realms were so dire.
Yet her words nagged at him. Though Odem and Ahma may not have expressed so plainly the dissatisfaction of the people and the villainy of the leaders, they certainly had been cautious for years. Cantor knew the root of their caution lay in a distrust of the council. He’d long had the impression of something being wrong, even if Odem hadn’t spelled it out.
He shook as if getting rid of a bad cloak. Politics did not concern Cantor at the moment. The best approach to the problem was to ready himself. He’d find the right dragon soon enough. He’d follow that path set before him and allow life to be simple for a little longer. Enjoying his freedom sounded more enticing than investigating the King’s Guard. Diligently searching for a constant should provide enough excitement for now.
SURPRISE GREETING
The scattered clouds offered welcome relief from Effram’s sun. He’d been walking for several hours with only a stop for a drink from his canteen and another stop to strip off his coat and hook it through the straps of his knapsack. For a time he enjoyed the scenery, congratulating himself as he identified different plants and birds and even some insects as he trudged along the wide dirt path. But as the sun began its descent in earnest and no one had passed him going either way, the hot, dusty road gradually lost much of its charm of being in a foreign land.
Wiping the sweat from his brow with his sleeve, Cantor reviewed the solar systems in his mind. Dairine and Effram shared the same sun, but his home plane was a great deal farther away than the one he walked on now. That accounted for the extra heat.
The sight of a massive forest up ahead encouraged him. Soon he’d be in the shade. He quickened his step for ten or fifteen minutes and then slowed, as he didn’t seem to be getting much closer. To the side of the road, a farmer’s peach orchard bloomed. The scent from the small stand of trees wafted on the slight spring breeze.
In a couple of months, juicy peaches would hang from the branches. Cantor stopped, placed his hands on his hips, and acknowledged the turmoil that had swept over him. He’d just had a wonderful meal in a pleasant home, but the thought of gathering greens for Ahma and doing ordinary chores sucked that enthusiasm from his heart. He admitted a little melancholy over leaving the first part of his life behind with only memories to war
m his heart.
Looking ahead, Cantor judged the distance again and acknowledged to himself that the woods had turned out to be farther away than he’d thought. He realized the trees were also taller than he expected. Plodding past the flowered orchard, he spotted a huge rock nestled in the grass. His boot had rubbed a blister on his heel, and he sat on the boulder to ease the pain.
At that moment, he would have welcomed Bridger back. Riding a horse or a dragon would have saved his foot and quickened the journey. But he hadn’t seen dragon, haystack, or horse since he left the Means’ farm. Encouraging the dragon to follow him hadn’t been an option. Bridger didn’t have the qualifications to be his constant. His usefulness would be hampered by his limited ability.
Shape-shifting dragons typically had three or four shapes they could easily form. Ahma’s Tom had lost some of his agility in his old age. He basically held the form of a dog, switched to dragon when the need arose, and rarely became the huge fish that graced some of Ahma’s tales of youthful adventure. Odem’s Nahzy shifted into a dragon or a large owl. The owl, fish, and dog shapes lent themselves to accomplishing missions. What could Bridger do as a haystack? Granted, the horse would come in handy, but in Cantor’s opinion, Bridger’s personality would not help in any situation.
The dragon had not shown himself all afternoon, and Cantor figured he’d taken the hint and gone looking for another partner. Being lonely on his first quest had never crossed Cantor’s mind. Ahma said he was cocky and didn’t know how much he didn’t know. She was right. As usual.
He took a large swallow from his canteen, then dug in his knapsack to find the box containing ointment and a small roll of linen strip for his sore foot. Odem had impressed him with the need to keep his feet in good shape. The blister had burst, so Cantor applied the ointment and secured the wad of linen to protect the sore. Within a few minutes, he shouldered the bag and resumed his trek across Effram.
The road took on a bit of an incline, making his hike a trifle more arduous. But this was nothing compared to the climb from the village to Ahma’s cabin. He puzzled over the type of tree that made up the bulk of the forest ahead. As he came closer he recognized the ladder elm, a tree he had seen only in books Odem had brought for his education. Cantor laughed out loud. He excelled in tree-climbing, and that ladder elms would be no challenge didn’t negate the fact that he had wanted to climb one from the very first time he’d seen a picture.
Cantor forgot his sore heel, the heat, and the late afternoon dragging on his energy. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth as he trotted the last hundred yards. He dropped his knapsack on the ground and scaled the side of the tree.
The ladder elm’s roots growing closest to the surface turned upward and wrapped around the trunk of the tree. These roots looked more like vines. They crisscrossed each other, interweaving to make a latticework design of a thick leafless covering. Over the years, the vines melded with the bark of the tree, and the trunk appeared to have a zigzagging ladder network.
Cantor climbed the root-vines to the lowest branches, which grew a full twenty feet above the ground. He settled himself on the first bough and scrutinized the horizon.
Peering down the dirt road, he spotted the many crops, pastures, and untended fields that he had passed. He squinted to bring into focus the convenient boulder where he’d stopped. It should have been just after the small peach orchard. He could see the stand of twenty or so peach trees, but the rock next to the road had vanished.
Either the rounded boulder had become invisible or it had walked off. Of course, the rock must have been a shape-shifting dragon. Cantor laughed at himself for missing the opportunity to become acquainted with another dragon. But if the beast had shunned him, it wouldn’t have made a good constant.
A disturbance off to the east caught his eye. He watched for a moment before deciding the dark mass was a group of horses with riders, traveling without regard to the fields they trampled. Hooves pounded crops into the ground. Fences went down ahead of them as foreriders swung battering rails against the wood, smashing the supports. Cattle scattered.
Cantor scowled. If the men rode single file, their passing would leave less damage. If Tifra’s stories were any indication, these must be the King’s Guard. Soon they would reach the road. Would they turn in Cantor’s direction or continue across country, ignoring the wide dirt path? Cantor decided he did not want to waste time conversing with the captain of these men. An explanation of his journey might not sit well with these arrogant ruffians.
Glancing down, he saw his knapsack in plain sight. That would never do. He scrambled down the tree, grabbed his belongings, and ran farther into the forest. Hopefully, he hadn’t been seen. Where the trees grew thicker, he once again scaled a ladder elm. In his new perch, he had to lean away from the trunk to have a better view of the road. The unpleasant men threatening his peaceful walk through Effram still rode across some poor farmer’s newly sprouted field of grain.
Settling back for a long stay if needed, he strapped his knapsack to another limb. The squadron of men continued until they came to the road. One man got down and examined the dirt. He pointed toward the ladder elm forest, then remounted, and the men turned to follow the road.
Cantor groaned softly and whispered, “Now why would they be interested in following my tracks?”
He unhitched his belongings from the limb and climbed another fifteen feet into the higher branches of the tree. He resettled himself. Anyone passing beneath would not spot him through the foliage. The problem was he couldn’t see without twisting and leaning away from his comfy spot.
The bough he perched on was narrower than those below and not as comfortable to sit upon. He shifted to ease the pain in his backside and dangled his feet. From his pack, he pulled out a packet of dried fruit and sucked on a thin wedge of apple as he waited. Hopefully, the men would ride past him and keep going.
“That smells good. Do you have another?”
Who’d said that? His first thought was Bridger, but the soft voice sounded like a female. Cantor whipped his head around.
In a neighboring tree, just six feet from where he sat, a young woman waved her fingers at him. He had completely missed her. Her skin was paper white. Her wildly frizzled hair hung over her shoulders, the color so fair it held only a gleam of gold. He thought of the rich cream from Ahma’s cow. The girl’s blue eyes twinkled with mischief as if she barely held back laughter. She’d enjoyed watching him settle without a clue she was there.
But it was no wonder he hadn’t seen her. On her head, she wore a green hat that molded to her madcap hair. Cloth tendrils of brown, rust, and shades of green hung down her back and around her face. Her clothing was multi-layered thin materials of the same woodland colors. She blended into her surroundings.
“I really am hungry.” She smiled. “Do you have anything to share?”
He reached in the sack and brought out one of Ahma’s food packets. “Can you catch?”
“With the best of them.”
He tossed the small package, and she caught it handily.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Cantor watched her for a moment. She wasn’t shy about being hungry. Her eyes grew round as she opened the pouch.
She held up a roll and a strip of dried meat. “Oh, yum!” With the bread stuffed in her mouth, she poked around in the packet and brought out sliced cheese and an apple. “Oh, Primen loves me!”
She dropped the bread in her lap and bit into the apple.
Cantor’s amazement at the woman’s odd attire and stranger behavior flustered him for only a moment. If he was to be a realm walker, he’d have to confront oddities in a straightforward manner. “What are you doing up a tree?”
She spoke around the food she hadn’t swallowed yet. “Hiding.”
He asked even though he suspected he already knew the answer. “From?”
She waved the cheese toward the road. “Them.”
NICE TO MEET
YOU
Cantor stared at the oddly clothed young woman. “What did you do?”
Her mouth settled in a grim, straight line. A glare beamed at him from squinted eyes. Her brows lowered, and Cantor thanked Primen that she was in another tree and couldn’t reach him.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Then why are you being hunted by the King’s Guard?”
“Because I exist.”
“That doesn’t seem much of an offense.”
“You haven’t known me long.”
She opened her own canteen, practical gear for a journey but covered with soft and shiny material, lace, and small flat ornaments. She lifted it to her mouth and drank whatever it contained. When she again looked at him, her lips curved in a delicate smile, and her eyes sparkled.
Cantor decided she hadn’t given him a good enough answer. “Why don’t you tell me the real reason you’re up a tree?”
“Oh, I told you the truth. I’m not from this plane, and the King’s Guard does not take kindly to visitors.”
“Where are you from?”
“Richra.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “You?”
“Dairine.” His curiosity spurred him on. “Are you traveling alone?”
“Yes.” She wrinkled her brow. “It’s quite all right. I can take care of myself.”
“I’m traveling alone as well.”
“My name is Bixby D’Mazeline. I’d shake hands” — she nodded at the space between the trees — “but the distance is just a bit beyond my reach.”
“Cantor D’Ahma.” He bowed as well as he could from his perch.
She tilted her head to the side. Curly blonde locks and cloth tendrils from her cap shifted, framing her face. Dappled sunlight spotted her cheeks and forehead. She looked as close to a woodland sprite as he had ever imagined. Everything about her was dainty, and he had the odd impression that she was not anchored to the physical world. A fanciful thought, indeed.