DragonFire (6 page)

         
9
         

P
ALADIN

Granny Noon still led the way through the tunnels. Bardon and Kale marched behind her while the minor dragons napped in their pocket-dens inside Kale’s moonbeam cape. Except Ardeo. He supplied the light needed where the scarce lightrocks shone dimly.

Next in line, the bisonbeck soldier trudged sullenly. Gilda marched behind her new subject. His forced loyalty would most likely slip. Regidor brought up the rear.

When Bardon glanced over his shoulder, he noted that the newlyweds had lost their affectionate demeanor. In fact, from his three years’ experience as a husband, he’d say a difference of opinion had surfaced between the silent couple.

Cross passageways riddled this section of the tunnel. Bardon wondered how Granny Noon kept from losing her direction. She turned right or left without seeming to examine her surroundings. He saw no markings on the walls to indicate their location. They followed the granny straight through the next intersection. Behind him, he heard a trample of footsteps and an exclamation from Gilda. He turned just in time to see the female meech facing the cross tunnel with her arm extended. Her fingers formed a fist with her wrist toward the ceiling. As her fingers uncurled, a bright ball of light formed against her palm.

Regidor shouted. “Gilda!”

The blaze rolled out of her hand, across the fingertips, and soared into the side tunnel. A flash of intense light and a popping noise from within the shaft followed.

At Bardon’s elbow, Kale gasped. “The bisonbeck.”

Gilda lowered her arm and turned as if to continue her trek to the gateway.

Bardon and Kale passed her to peer into the lightrock-illuminated passageway. Ten yards into the tunnel, a lazy haze of smoke drifted above a pile of black ash.

“Gilda!” Bardon barked.

With deliberate nonchalance, she turned and gazed back at him.

“Yes?”

“Why did you kill him?”

“He deserted.”

“Could you not have commanded him to return?”

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “Without eye contact, it was uncertain.”

“He accepted allegiance to you.”

She shrugged again and reached up to smooth one of her many veils. “I demanded he follow me. The darkness still held his heart. It was only a matter of time before he turned against us.”

Granny Noon came to stand before the meech wizard. “Wulder values life.”

Gilda snickered. “Even a life created by Pretender?”

The emerlindian’s expression saddened. “Pretender cannot initiate life. That is a misconception. He can, however, twist life.”

Gilda looked incredulous. “Pretender did not create the seven low races?”

“Pretender distorted the seven high races.” Granny Noon turned abruptly and strode away. “We must see Paladin.”

A few more steps took them to the shimmering gateway. Granny Noon passed through without comment, and the others followed. They entered a magnificent palace courtyard, where a sentry greeted them and inquired after the nature of their business. A nod from Granny Noon informed Bardon he was their spokesman.

“We’ve come to see Paladin. I am Sir Bardon. This is my wife, Lady Kale Allerion. Granny Noon is our advisor. Sir Regidor and Lady Gilda accompany us.”

“Three wizards?” The man bowed as he spoke. “Then news of the wizards’ conclave has reached you. We weren’t sure our messengers would pass through the enemy lines.”

Kale glanced at Regidor, who shook his head.

“We’ve had no news of a meeting,” she said.

“Tomorrow night.” The sentry pointed to one large tower of Paladin’s castle. “At eight. Since you did not receive the summons, it must be Wulder’s providence that brought you. Eleven have already arrived.”

“Will we be able to speak to Paladin?” asked Kale.

The man’s expression turned solemn. “A physician will greet you at his bedchamber. He will decide if you can enter. Do you know the way?”

“Yes.” Kale felt a warm, soothing glow spread through her body as she thought of Paladin. “I’ve known where he is since I walked through the gateway.”

The sentry smiled wryly. “I’ve given up offering escorts to wizards. They always seem to know where they’re going.”

Gilda stepped forward. “I would like an escort to our chambers. I am tired and would also like some nourishment.”

“Yes, Lady Gilda.” The sentry raised a hand. A young boy dressed in livery came to his side. “Summon Mistress Nidell.” The boy scooted off. “The housekeeper will be here shortly. Please be seated.”

Around the courtyard, spots of greenery shaded comfortable benches. Flowers in pots and arranged in colorful beds decorated the open space. A minstrel strummed his instrument while sitting in a stone and wrought-iron gazebo.

Kale tugged at Bardon’s sleeve. He looked down at her upturned face.

“Maybe my parents are here.”

He took hold of her hand. “Maybe.”

Kale called the minor dragons out of their dens to enjoy the splendor. Briefly she thought about the unquickened eggs. Would Paladin want her to hatch them now?

The travelers spent several minutes benefiting from the sunshine and the beautiful surroundings, and enjoying the songs of the small birds that inhabited the trees. After traveling in underground tunnels, the elegant gardens relieved some of the tension that had built up between them.

She and the others hadn’t yet seated themselves before a bustling marione matron came to greet them. She had two maids in tow and sorted out the guests so that Granny Noon received an escort, Regidor and Gilda were led off by the other maid, and Mistress Nidell took responsibility of Bardon and Kale.

“We’ll go straight to Paladin’s room and ask if you can be admitted.”

“How is he?” asked Kale.

“Not well, but he’s perked up a bit with all this company. He does love people, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” Kale murmured as she followed.

Sensing her distress, Bardon put his arm around her waist and sought to distract her. He pointed out a plain vase stuffed with common bonnies.

I’m surprised by the humble décor of Paladin’s palace.
Simple rugs carpeted the corridor, landscapes hung on the walls in unadorned frames, and the basic architecture of the building emphasized an unpretentious style.
Have you ever been here before?

“No. It is different from the other castles we’ve been in…Certainly different from our castle made of hollowed-out trees.”

Kale giggled.

The housekeeper cast a puzzled look over her shoulder at the sound of Kale’s amusement. To her, the small laugh had come out of nowhere. Kale merely smiled and, when the servant turned away, made a face at Bardon.

They traveled to a wing of the castle far from the bustle of activity. A tall, dark emerlindian responded to Mistress Nidell’s knock at a heavy wooden door.

“Grand Sorn.” She curtsied. “We have visitors to see Paladin. Sir Bardon and Lady Kale.”

The grand stroked his chin. “Our leader is weak. But I think seeing his Dragon Keeper would raise his spirits.” He addressed Sir Bardon. “Would you mind if I admit only your fair lady and her minor dragons? We must maintain a careful balance, encouraging Paladin, but not tiring him.”

“Of course.” Bardon kissed Kale’s cheek. “Tell him that we petition Wulder for the return of his health.”

Kale watched Paladin from the chair by the window. Late afternoon light filtered in through gossamer curtains. As the breeze stirred the soft material, a shadow danced over Paladin’s pale features. The trick of the light turned his complexion gray, then green, and last, a mottled ash.

She pulled Gymn out of her moonbeam cape, but when she placed him on her friend, the healing dragon slinked over the sleeping form, emitting low moans and distressed whimpers.

“Can you do nothing, Gymn?”

The small green dragon settled, curled up on Paladin’s chest, directly over his heart.

Kale spent the time reliving every moment she had spent in Paladin’s company, every tale she had ever heard of his exploits, and each time she had seen him in action. The stories brought images of vitality to her mind, a direct contrast to the scene before her.

Wake up! Wake up!

She leaned forward. “Please, Paladin, wake up. We need you. I need you.”

Gymn lifted his head and blinked at her, then chirruped. Paladin’s chest rose as he took a deep breath. His eyes opened, he sought her face, and he smiled when his gaze caught hers.

“Kale, my Dragon Keeper.”

He reached out a hand. Kale took it and moved to sit on the side of the bed.

“You look so frail,” she said. “I’m afraid for you.”

“Afraid for me? Surely not. If I die, I go to be with Wulder. I will dance and sing with those who have gone before me. I think you fear for yourself.”

Kale nodded reluctantly. “Yes, and for Amara. What will the country do without you, Paladin?”

“The people of Amara can do very well without me, but not without Wulder. I am just a conduit, a link to Wulder. But the high races, for the most part, have abandoned looking up to Wulder, and therefore I am not needed.”

The room darkened. Kale looked to the window to see if a cloud had come between them and the sun. A mist hung over the countryside where a moment before the hills had sparkled with sunshine. She looked back to Paladin and saw him fingering a string. He handed the end to her. As soon as her fingers wrapped around the thin cord, Kale felt herself caught up in an illusion. She stood on a knoll surrounded by grassy plains. A kite sailed above her, tugging at the string.

She heard Paladin’s voice, strong and vibrant, unlike the wheezy tones of his sickbed.

“What do you see, Kale?”

“A colorful kite dancing in the sky, reaching higher and higher.”

“What do you hear?”

She listened. “The sound of a breeze rustling in the tall grass, crickets, birds. I hear life all around me.”

“What do you smell?”

She took a moment to sort out the fragrances. “Flowers, moist earth, the sun-heated, green plants.”

“What is the kite telling you?”

This was harder. She pondered what he could mean, but as she watched the bright bit of paper and slender sticks bob and sway against the backdrop of blue, she understood.

“It tells me which way the wind blows and how strong the wind is.”

“And if a storm should approach, what would you do with your kite?”

“I’d wind up the string. I’d bring it down. I’d hold it close and run for shelter.”

Black clouds gathered over her head, and Kale fought to pull the fragile kite from the sky. When she had it in her hand, she pressed it against her chest and raced to a gully. Her feet tangled in the cloth strip that served as the kite’s tail. Stumbling forward, she managed to twist and land on her back in a depression in the hillside. Large, icy raindrops pelted her face.

The kite sprang from her arms, expanded, and changed from sodden paper to a tough, slick material that repelled water. It snapped and crackled above her, then stretched taut over sturdy poles that must have been the cross-supports of the kite moments before. The colorful cloth, now a tent, sheltered her from the storm.