Dragonback 05 Dragon and Judge (17 page)

The room itself might be insultingly simple, but at least Neverlin
wasn't going to make her eat slaves' food, too.

She looked up, to find the Wistawk still standing there. "Was
there something else?" she asked.

He hesitated. "My name is Shoofteelee," he said. "May I ask a
question?"

"I suppose," Alison said cautiously.

Shoofteelee seemed to brace himself. "Are you a friend of Jack
Morgan, who came to us as Jack McCoy?"

Alison stared at him. Was this some kind of trap? "What makes you
think that?" she countered.

"Because they dislike and distrust you, as they did him,''
Shoofteelee said, the words coming out in a rush now that he'd
committed himself to this line of conversation. "Yet they treat you
specially, as they did him. You have the same air of nobility about you
as he had." He looked furtively around the room and lowered his voice
to a whisper. "As also did the dragon."

Out of the corner of her eye, Alison saw something gray twitch
under the bed. "I'd be careful about trying to see nobility in people's
faces," she warned. "It usually doesn't work."

"Then—?" He broke off, frowning. "What then are you saying?"

Alison hesitated. Still, if it was a trap, she was already in it.
"I'm saying don't assume I'm a noble person," she said. "But as it
happens, I
do
know Jack Morgan.
And
the dragon."

Shoofteelee's mouth curled open in a relieved smile. "I knew it,"
he breathed.

"The question is, what do
you
know about them?" Alison
asked.

"I was here when—"

"And you might as well sit down," Alison said, waving him toward
the bed.

"Thank you," Shoofteelee said, a little uncertainly. Stepping to
the bed, he folded his lanky body onto it. "Thank you."

"You were telling me how you know Jack," Alison prompted.

"I was here when Jack Morgan came and offered us freedom,"
Shoofteelee said. "He and the black dragon defeated many of the
Brummgas and led nearly thirty slaves to freedom, including six from
the household itself."

"The bla—?" Alison caught herself just in time. Of course the
story would be about a black dragon. K'da in combat mode turned black,
no matter what their usual color. "But you weren't invited?"

Shoofteelee's eyes closed, waves of subtle color rippling across
his skin reflecting his deep emotional pain. "I was afraid," he said
softly. "And I did not believe."

"Not really your fault," Alison said, feeling an obscure desire to
soothe the other's ache. "If I hadn't seen some of the things the
dragon can do, I wouldn't have believed him either."

"You seek to quiet my shame," Shoofteelee said. "But the shame is
far distant to the agony of having been left behind."

"I understand," Alison said gently. "I'm sorry."

"Do not be sorry," the Wistawk said, the emotion clearing abruptly
from his face. "For with you I have now a second chance. And this time
I will
not
let it pass by."

"Whoa," Alison said, holding out her hands palm outward toward
him. "Slow down a minute. I'm sorry, but that's not why I'm here."

Shoofteelee's face fell. "But we have waited for this chance. For
Jack and the dragon." He lowered his eyes. "And we have hoped. We have
hoped so much."

"I'm sorry," Alison said again. Under the edge of the bed she
could see Taneem shifting restlessly, and it didn't take a genius to
tell she was starting to feel all noble and guilty.

Shoofteelee took a deep breath and stood up. "But I keep you from
your meal," he said, heading for the door. "My apologies."

"That's all right," Alison assured him, standing up as well. "Did
the humans say anything else of interest?"

Shoofteelee eyed her a moment, perhaps wondering if she was even
worth talking to anymore. "The older one—Mr. Arthur—told the other that
he had heard that a Judge-Paladin had arrived at a place called
Semaline. He seemed concerned about it."

"What did the other one say?" Alison asked.

Shoofteelee shrugged. "He seemed unconcerned," he said. "Perhaps
even amused."

Alison nodded. Which implied whatever was going on with Semaline
wasn't connected to their plot against the K'da and Shontine. Something
from Neverlin's personal past, then?

She hoped so. At this stage, anything that distracted Neverlin
worked to her advantage.

On the other hand, Semaline was where Jack and Draycos had
disappeared. Having Neverlin's attention dragged that direction might
not be such a good thing after all. "Thank you," she said. "I'd
appreciate it if you'd let me know anything else you hear from them."

An ember of hope seemed to touch Shoofteelee's eyes. "I will do
so, Alison Kayna, friend of Jack Morgan and the dragon," he said.
"Farewell."

"Go in peace and merriment," Alison said.

The other frowned. "What?"

"I said go in peace and merriment," Alison said, suddenly feeling
foolish. "It's a traditional Wistawk farewell."

There was another flicker of emotional coloring, a softer one this
time. "I would not know of such things," he said. Turning again, he
left the room.

With a sigh, Alison sat down again. "You hungry?" she asked Taneem.

One eye emerged from beneath the bed. "Not right now," she said,
and then disappeared again.

Gone off for a private sulk, apparently. Shaking her head in mild
disgust, Alison sliced off a corner of the meat with the edge of her
fork. Sulking, because Alison wasn't ready to jump on a white horse and
charge through an army of Brummgas she couldn't stop, toward a gate she
couldn't open, for a bunch of slaves who probably wouldn't follow her
anyway.

Fine. Let her sulk. Sooner or later, like it or not, she'd have no
choice but admit there wasn't a thing the two of them could do for
these people.

Until then, Alison would just enjoy the silence.

Carefully dividing the food in each of the tray's sections in half
for when the K'da
did
decide she was hungry, Alison settled
down to her meal.

Draycos had hoped to be recovered from his injuries a day or two
after falling down the shaft. But the damage was worse than he'd
realized. It wasn't until the evening of the third day that he finally
felt ready for a proper night's work.

"Remember, you're just supposed to find him," Jack warned as the
K'da ran carefully through a final set of stretching exercises. "No
questions, no comments, no interrogation."

"I understand," Draycos said.

Jack raised his eyebrows. "And no
singing
," he added.

Draycos tilted his head questioningly to the side. "Are you still
annoyed that I sang to Noy when he was ill?"

"No, not since it all worked out okay," Jack said. "I just don't
want you making a habit of it."

"Not a single stanza or chorus," Draycos promised. "I'll be back
as soon as I can."

Jack stepped to the door and eased the fringe aside a little.
"Looks clear," he murmured. "Be careful."

A moment later Draycos was on the bridge, lying flat against the
cold stone as he looked around. The Golvin community had indeed settled
down for the night. Slipping down the side of the bridge, wedging the
tips of his claws into the cracks, he made it to the ground.

At first glance, the task ahead of him seemed immense. There were
thirty-eight stone pillars in the canyon, the tallest of them three
hundred feet tall. With the apartment doors indicating approximately
eight feet per level, and most levels with two separate apartments,
there were nearly three thousand homes here. Theoretically, the
prisoner could be in any one of them.

But Draycos was betting he wasn't. After all, they'd tried putting
him in one of the apartments, halfway from ground to sky, with no way
out. He'd responded by digging a hole into a ready-made tunnel. Draycos
didn't know if all the pillars were built with light shafts to the
lower apartments, but it didn't seem likely that the Golvins would risk
being tricked the same way twice.

He also doubted they would have taken him outside the canyon. The
westward distance across the desert, seventy miles, was daunting, but
it might be possible for a determined man to cross, especially if there
were oases along the way.

Which left exactly one other option.

The last time he'd scouted the eastern part of the canyon, three
nights ago, the area had been deserted. Now, in contrast, there were
two pairs of Golvins standing guard beneath the line of cliffside
caves. Each of the guards carried a quiver of arrows and one of the
compact bows Jack had told him about.

Draycos spent a few minutes studying the situation from behind a
stand of tall plants. The two pairs of guards were about fifty feet
apart, their positions bracketing one particular cave. They were
standing amid the crumbled rock in a fifty-foot-wide corridor running
between the line of fruit trees and the cliff face itself, with no
cover anywhere for a stealthy approach from any direction.

Mentally, Draycos gave a warrior's nod to their setup. Even if the
prisoner managed to get out of his cave, he wasn't going to get any
farther than the canyon floor.

Which didn't mean, however, that someone else couldn't get in.

He had to travel about a quarter mile upstream before he found a
good spot to climb the cliff. Keeping a wary eye on the guards below,
he made his way up and then crossed over to the line of caves.

He was still a hundred feet short of his target cave when he
picked up the prisoner's scent. Directly over the opening he paused for
a moment, tasting the air and listening. He could hear no movement or
other signs of wakefulness from inside. With one final look at the
guards below, he slipped inside.

The cave was dark except for the moonlight slicing across the
entrance. But there was enough light for Draycos to see the signs of
the Golvins' hasty conversion of a storage cave into a prison. Several
large bags were still stacked against the back wall, and there were a
few scatterings of loose grain here and there against the side walls.
In the center of the cave were a cot, a single chair, and a compact
toilet/sink setup similar to the one in Jack's apartment. There was no
galley, no shower, no battery-powered lights.

Lying on his side on the cot, the blankets wrapped tightly around
him and pulled up to his ear against the night chill, was the prisoner.

Silently, Draycos padded across the cave for a closer look. The
man, as near as he could tell from half a face and an angled lump
beneath the blankets, was around thirty years old, though not much
taller or heavier than Jack. He had long, tangled dark hair and a beard
to match. Draycos leaned over him for a closer look.

And abruptly the man's breathing changed and his eyes snapped open.

Instantly Draycos dropped out of sight to the side of the bed. "Be
quiet and don't move," he ordered in a low voice.

"Who is it?" the man asked tentatively, the cot shaking as he
rolled over onto his back.

Draycos crouched lower. "I said don't move," he said again. "I
merely wish to talk to you."

The movement stopped. "Who are you?" the man asked, a new wariness
in his voice. "Is this some kind of stupid trick?"

"It's no trick," Draycos said. "I'm with the Judge-Paladin who
arrived in the canyon nine days ago."

"Yeah, I saw him," the prisoner said. "What do you mean, you're
with him?"

"I'm his associate," Draycos said. "He wishes some information
about you."

"Then let's do it right," the other said. "I hereby formally
request a hearing before Judge-Paladin—what's his name, anyway?"

"Jack McCoy," Draycos said, giving a name Jack had used before.

"I formally request a hearing before Judge-Paladin McCoy," the man
said.

"I accept your request," Draycos said. "Unfortunately, it may not
do any good. Judge-Paladin McCoy has already asked to see you and been
refused."

The other grunted. "Not surprised," he said. "So what, he sent you
instead to take my statement?"

"That's essentially correct," Draycos said. "Let's begin with your
name."

"And the guards down there just decided to let you in?" the
prisoner growled. "Come on—what kind of a fool do you think I am?"

"This is not an attempt to trick you," Draycos said, annoyance
starting to stir within him. He'd come all this way and risked his life
for
this
? "The Judge-Paladin was intrigued by the One's refusal
and wished to investigate." His lashing tail slapped softly against one
leg of the cot. "But if you don't wish to cooperate, I can leave."

"No—wait," the prisoner said. His own frustration had disappeared,
replaced by puzzlement. "You're
not
Golvin, are you?"

"No, I'm not," Draycos confirmed.

"Because their voices go all funny when they get mad," the other
continued, as if talking to himself. "But you're not human, either. Are
you a Brummga?"

"I came here to ask questions, not answer them," Draycos said.
"What's your name?"

"Well, the Golvins call me Naught-Naught-Naught Among Many," the
prisoner said, a little bitterly. "But hey, you sound like you want to
be my friend. Tell you what—you can call me Naught. Are you the one who
made all that noise in the air shaft a couple of days ago, right before
they stormed in and hauled me out of my nice high-rise?"

"Did you kill four Golvins?" Draycos asked.

Naught sighed. "Yes, I killed them. No, it wasn't on purpose."

"Self-defense?"

"Accident," Naught said. "The vehicle I was flying had a problem,
and I crash-landed. Unfortunately, they were standing where I came
down. Well, more crouching, actually. But you get the picture."

"When did this happen?" Draycos asked.

"About five years ago," Naught said.