DragonFire (8 page)

The maid shook her head as if to rid her ears of a ringing and crawled to safety.

Kale’s six dragons, tiny and swift, nipped in and out of the battle, spitting in the eyes of the enemy. Dibl preferred landing on the head of a soldier, briefly digging in his claws, and then flying upward, pulling what hair he could snare as he took off.

Dibl landed on the small of a grawlig’s back and with one bite severed the belt holding up the enemy’s pants. Pat and Ardeo then jerked on the loosened garment, causing it to fall to the floor. After stumbling, the grawlig shook his pants from his ankles, roared, and swung his club at anything in his way.

They tried the same tactic on a bisonbeck. The soldier pulled his pants up and fought one-handed while grasping the waistband. The three dragons met in the air above his head and chastised him with sharp chirps. With determination of purpose, they all spit their colorful and bitter saliva on his head.

An older bisonbeck with tattered war ribbons across his chest claimed Kale’s attention. He jumped back when her sword tore open his jacket sleeve and roared when he realized she was armed. A blow to the back of his head crumpled him to the floor.

Kale looked to see who had come to her aid. A mountain wizard nodded to her from across the room. Kale looked down at her would-be opponent and saw a jagged rock protruding from his skull. She waved a hand of acknowledgment to the wizard and turned quickly to help a stable boy in his fight against a young grawlig. If she looked too closely at the blood around her, she knew she would be sick.

Regidor danced from one opponent to the next, wielding his sword with grace. While the elegantly attired meech managed to kick soldiers into oblivion as if it were part of a choreographed performance, Gilda picked up her cup and sipped tea. She had not bothered to get up from her seat. She sat, watching the fracas around her and only lifted a finger when someone threatened to disturb her peace. She then picked up an item of food before her and threw it with uncanny accuracy at whoever approached. A bowl of soup left her hand and landed on a grawlig. Only the contents of her missive had altered. The liquid became a green cloud that choked the mountain ogre. He collapsed in an unmoving heap on the floor.

In a matter of minutes, the fighters in Paladin’s dining hall subdued the more than a hundred-strong band of marauders. Grim news came from the kitchen that all the servants there were dead. More investigation found a trail of bodies all the way to a breached entryway where goods were delivered from nearby towns.

“This is outrageous!” exclaimed the lady fire wizard. “Crim Cropper and Burner Stox dare an attack inside Paladin’s palace?”

Bardon’s father spoke up. “It comes from trusting wizards and magic words to protect us. The ordinary man has hidden behind false walls instead of every man drawing strength from Wulder.”

“I hardly think this is the time for one of your rants, Sir Joffa,” said a meadow wizard as she bent to offer comfort to a young marione woman.

“It’s past time you listened to me,” he bellowed.

Granny Noon walked through the shambles to place a hand on his arm. “Put away your sword and your anger. Neither one is appropriate in a discussion between allies.” She patted his hand, the one still clenched around the hilt of his bloodstained weapon. “I believe what you have to say is valid. Let’s do what is needed this moment.” Her gaze swept over the devastation left by the attack. “And then, Sir Joffa, we will hear your opinions.”

         
11
         

D
ISTINGUISHED
V
ISITORS

The next day Kale, her mother, and Bardon walked among the nervous visitors. More wizards and dignitaries arrived through the gateway. Some bubbled with excitement at being summoned to the palace. They seemed unaware of the gravity of the reason they were called until they heard of the slaughter of servants that had taken place the night before. Others predicted doom for the country and blamed anyone who came to mind for the state of emergency. These responded to the invasion of Paladin’s palace with a grim attitude. “Inevitable,” said a prickly desert wizard. “Proves my point,” said a cold wizard from the North.

The formal gardens, with groomed paths and ornamental flowerbeds, buzzed with disgruntled Amarans. They congregated in small knots and hissed their displeasure. Some had strong opinions of what should be done to rescue the failing country. Others only nodded their heads to support those who pontificated their analyses and predictions.

One marione voiced his opinion loudly as Kale, her mother, and Bardon passed his small audience. “Paladin has no right to claim a sickbed at this point in our history. It’s a ploy to avoid his obligations. Why fall ill just when we need him most? It’s irresponsible.”

“That’s unfair!” Kale’s voice shook as did her hands as she raised them to call attention to her outrage.

Bardon took her arm and guided her away from the group. “Not all tongues that wag cohabit with a brain.”

“Did you make that one up?” Kale demanded, not at all pleased that Bardon could be jesting at such a time.

“No, I didn’t.” He linked his forearm around hers, laced his fingers between hers, and raised her hand to his lips, kissing it with affection. “I did paraphrase.”

Lady Lyll giggled but did not offer a comment.

Bardon led them to a decorative waterfall. “There is another principle that is not being heeded during these rambling and unproductive talks.”

Lyll glanced her daughter’s way and frowned.
“Kale, you look like you have a teller-twig clamped between your teeth.”

I do. I am trying very hard not to speak my mind.

“Keeping your tongue still is to very little effect when your face is shouting your disapproval.”

Kale’s features relaxed. Her mother nodded her approval and turned her attention to Bardon. “And the other principle being ignored is?” she asked her son-in-law.

“‘A wise man’s words travel from heart to mind, or mind to heart, before leaving his mouth.’”

“It seems to me,” said Kale, carefully wording her statement, “that these people are expressing thoughts, not from intelligence or compassion, but from their fear.”

An unexpected trill of joy rippled through her negative thoughts, causing them to disperse on tiny waves. She sought to capture the feeling as if it were a butterfly fluttering past. The next time it swept through, she focused on its pattern and flight.

“Dar!” she exclaimed. “Dar has just come through the gateway. He’s here!” She dropped Bardon’s arm to leave.

“I like that,” he complained. “She’s rushing off to meet another man.”

“The man who released your sense of humor,” Kale called over her shoulder. “I owe him a lot.”

Kale scurried through the walkways, dodging around the groups of people who had so annoyed her a moment before. She rounded the curve that led to the gateway courtyard and squealed.

Dar faced her with his usual aplomb, then his face broke into the wide grin that characterized doneels. She ran to greet him, but as she came into the quadrangle, she glanced around and located a bench. She veered off from a direct path to her good friend and sat, spreading her skirts around her and folding her hands in her lap.

Seated as a proper young matron should be, she awaited Sir Dar’s dignified approach. She was glad she’d chosen to wear yellow today. Dar particularly liked yellow. And she was pleased with herself for choosing feminine frills. Dar liked her to look ladylike. Bouncing on her perch spoiled her picture of gentility, but she didn’t much care. It was only a little bounce, and she subdued her outward show of exuberance quickly.

Dar drew near and presented her with an elegant court bow.

“It’s been such a very long time!” His whiskers quivered while his eyes twinkled, and only Kale’s eyes beheld the kiss he blew from pursed lips.

She held out her hand, and he kissed it. Not at all like Bardon, but a peck that missed her skin and truly reflected an aristocratic manner.

Kale burst out laughing, clapped her hands, and grabbed Dar by the tufts on his cheeks. She pulled his head forward and landed a smacking kiss right between his furry button ears. “I have missed you tremendously.”

Unruffled by her forward behavior, Dar hopped up on the bench beside her. “And I, you!”

His gaze took in the few people lingering in the gateway courtyard. All seemed too busy to be bothered with a young wizard and a doneel dignitary. “It’s a good thing our people have finally come together.” Dar sighed. “I trust that it’s not too late to recognize the threat. This evil has been with us for years, subtly undermining the foundation of our country. It’s high time Amarans arose to deal with Pretender and his enemies.”

“There are many who feel that way,” Lyll Allerion said as she came near. She walked beside Bardon to the bench adjacent to Dar and Kale. After seating herself, she patted the space next to her, inviting Bardon to sit.

“It’s ghastly.” Kale faced her furry friend. “I almost think it’s too late to save Amara. We had heard rumors even in the depths of The Bogs. But what Bardon and I saw when we went seeking Regidor and Gilda was shocking.” She shook her head, with tears in her eyes, and mumbled, “Shocking.”

A raised voice penetrated the serenity of the sculptured garden behind them. Kale tilted an ear toward the source of the disturbance. A mixture of dismay and outrage flitted through her emotions. In spite of her mother’s admonition earlier to guard her tongue, she spoke of what most disgusted her.

“And the people!” she exclaimed. “How can these people make rational decisions? They act like rabble-rousing ruffians. They’re disrespectful and disregard Paladin as if he were no longer with us.” Her eyes went involuntarily to the stone walls where their leader slept.

“Don’t panic, Kale,” said her mother. “There will be formal meetings starting this afternoon and going long into the night. Paladin is not so far out of touch as we might think.”

Bardon nodded. “His decree, delivered at breakfast, has eased much tension.”

“What has been decided?” asked Dar.

“An uproar arose over the wizards’ conclave.” Bardon gestured toward the sound of more angry voices. “Much objection was made over a perceived imbalance of power. Paladin has called a meeting in the throne room prior to the conclave this evening. Representatives of the high races will give reports as to the state of their homelands. Dignitaries will propose strategy to combat the opposing armies that play their battles out upon our land.”

Lyll waved her fan to indicate those around them. “They will be allowed to voice their opinions before the wizards meet tonight. Paladin has seen a way to smooth most of the ruffled feathers.”

A ruckus drew their attention. Two palace guards came down the path from the castle keep with a loud, angry emerlindian held captive between them. Kale took in a sharp breath and looked at her husband. Bardon’s mouth took on a grim line, and a muscle twitched in his jaw just below his ear.

Sir Dar’s ears perked up, and he jumped from his seat. Taking a few steps, he positioned himself to block the men’s progress. One guard bore the square, solid build of a marione. The other was a young urohm, bigger by half than both men he accompanied but undoubtedly a callow youth.

“Excuse me, guards.” Dar held up a hand. “What has Sir Joffa done to deserve this treatment?”

“Magistrate Moht has asked for his removal from the grounds,” said the spokesman, the marione guard with a lo insignia on his lapel.

“Your name?” Dar inquired.

“Lo Mak, Sir.”

“I am Sir Dar of Wittoom.”

The man nodded, without a doubt aware of the importance of the doneel who waylaid him. Performing his duty would be difficult with his interference.

Dar arched an eyebrow at the struggling emerlindian. “Joffa?”

Bardon’s father ceased his resistance against the men who held his arms and glared down at the doneel. “They don’t want to hear what I have to say.”

“It is more likely they don’t want to hear the way you are saying what you have to say.”

The emerlindian squinted his eyes and blew air out of his cheeks before he bristled, puffing up his chest and speaking loudly. “It is past time for dainty words and delicate tones.”

“On the contrary, now is more the time for diplomacy than ever before.”

“Bah!” Sir Joffa threw his chin out as if pointing to some figure they could not see. “No diplomacy will alter the minds of Cropper and Stox. And diplomacy can never achieve anything with the likes of Pretender.”

“I’m not speaking of diplomacy aimed at our enemies, but diplomacy employed in negotiating with our allies.”

Dar turned to the higher-ranking guard. “Lo Mak, I’ll take this man into my custody.”

The marione hesitated.

Dar spoke calmly. “I intend to return to Magistrate Moht’s court with him. You may accompany us.”

The lo considered the personage before him for a moment, then nodded to his subordinate. They released their hold on the prisoner.

Bardon’s father tugged on his cuffs, straightening his sleeves. He bowed to the doneel. “Sir Dar.”

Dar bowed in return. “Sir Joffa.”

The two knights turned and walked side by side back toward the castle.

Lyll Allerion put her hand on Bardon’s stiff arm. “Your father has always been passionate about his causes. He’s frustrated by those who don’t jump to do what needs to be done.”

“I have very few memories of my early childhood.”

Bardon stared at the four men departing. Kale reached into his mind.

Bardon?

“Two knights and two guards. Four different races. People as different as my father and Sir Dar? How can this work?”

Lady Allerion spoke softly, bringing Bardon back to their conversation.

“Your memories before coming to The Hall are foggy?”

“Less than foggy. In fact, for many years, I had none. Vague recollections have come back to me since the sleeping knights awakened. The most distinct memory I have is of my father uttering ‘Fools!’ under his breath, over and over again, as I sat before him on a dragon flying over miles and miles of grassland.”

“Have you asked him to tell you of that day?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“He cannot recall one particular day out of so many where he found those around him to lack common sense.”

Lady Allerion smiled at Bardon. “And let us be frank, Sir Bardon. You have often thought the same. You have little patience with people and their selfish demands.”

Bardon looked startled and started to protest. But the words caught in his throat. “I hope you don’t think your son-in-law to be a self-righteous boor.”

Kale mentally called to one of her minor dragons. All of them were cavorting in the gardens and eating their fill of insects. But her husband needed a dragon’s help right now.

“Only in your core, dear boy. Sir Dar, my daughter, and Paladin have managed to help you minimize that horrid flaw.”

Dibl swooped in, a yellow and orange streak, and landed on the knight’s shoulder.

Bardon’s face showed a struggle, but when he looked down into the loving eyes of Lady Lyll, he gave up.

A bark of a laugh preceded his remark. “You are exasperatingly correct, Lady Lyll.”

Kale relaxed, but only a little. Underneath Bardon’s calm exterior, his feelings still clashed. She felt the turmoil set off by his father’s bristling attitude. Bardon’s ideal knight conducted himself with dignity at all times. In a debate, he reasoned and did not rant. Bardon wanted to love and respect his father after years of separation. But in his heart, he found it hard to accept his parent’s thundering personality.