DragonKnight (33 page)

Regidor also opened the massive doors by some method Bardon did not quite perceive.

In this wing they found the personal quarters of whoever had owned the castle. Bedchambers, a study and library, a solarium, a hothouse, and smaller parlors occupied three floors.

“You will have to repair the sound barrier on this side of the castle, Regidor. I can barely hear myself.”

“Let’s open a window, then.”
Regidor’s voice came clearly into Bardon’s mind.

The view, when they got the window opened and cleared, was exactly like what they’d seen from the other side.

Bardon frowned and shouted. “This castle blends into the mountain so that you can’t tell it’s here.”

“Makes our mysterious castle all the more mysterious.”
Regidor looked outside.
“The barrier is torn between here and the falls. I’ll repair it in a moment.”
He turned to the back of the room.
“We have windows on two sides instead of just one. Let’s see what is out there.”

Now that they had experience opening the stubborn windows, it didn’t take long to throw open the sash. The first window they opened had let in the roar of the waterfall. This window let in the roar of grawligs at play.

         
42
         

V
IEW
F
ROM A
T
URRET

“So, we’ve found them after all,” said Regidor as he slapped Bardon on the back.

The squire squeezed to one side so his friend could lean out of the window and examine the courtyards.

Regidor scowled. “I haven’t spotted Bromptotterpindosset, have you?”

“Over there, by the fire pit,” Bardon said. “I hope that doesn’t indicate they’ve chosen him for their next meal.”

“You can never tell with grawligs.” The meech jumped down from the windowsill. “We better find a way out of this castle so we can rescue him.”

They dashed down the wide, curving staircase and tried the doors to the outside.

“Warded,” said Regidor, “just like the doors in the other wing.”

“Let’s try reaching the top of one of the turrets. You can fly out, and I can probably climb down those vines.”

They sprinted back up the staircase and then climbed the twisted steps inside a small, stuffy tower. When they reached the top, they spotted a trapdoor in the ceiling. Bardon climbed the remaining steps built into the stone wall and felt around the edges for a latch. When he found nothing securing the square door, he put his shoulder to it. Surprised when it did not move, he tried again, grunting. The trapdoor did not give way.

“Warded,” he said as he stepped off the ladder and onto the last platform at the top of the turret.

Regidor reached up and placed his forefoot on the wood. “Yes, it’s warded. But the ward was cast from the ground floor. This is probably the weakest point, being farthest away from the origin. Let me try to break through.”

Bardon waited. Twelve tiny windows spaced evenly around the circular wall gave him views in every direction. Out of one he saw the waterfall. Out of another he saw the opposite wing of the castle and had to look carefully to see that it was not just a sheer cliff face mostly covered with heavy vegetation. He saw the sun setting to the west. He saw the grawligs cavorting in the courtyard below, and he saw another stone mountainside behind their festivities.

“Regidor, I believe there is yet another wing to this castle.”

The meech dragon grunted. “Busy.”

Bardon stared at the wall he suspected to be manmade and not nature’s cliff until he could make out a few of the windows. He looked at the skyline, and after some study, he could distinguish the turrets, a battlement, and twin towers.

“That’s done,” said Regidor as he lifted the door.

The hinges creaked, and dirt, dried leaves, and dead bugs rained down on their heads.

“I’m glad I wasn’t looking up,” said Bardon.

Regidor sputtered. “I was.” He stepped down and slapped at his clothes, knocking the debris away. “It has not been a good day for my wardrobe. Blood and dirt. Unacceptable embellishments to sophisticated attire.”

Bardon blinked as Regidor’s apparel vibrated at enormous speed. When the activity ceased, the meech was clean.

Regidor swept an open forefoot toward the ladder. “You may go first, Squire.”

Bardon, in his grimy clothing, climbed out of the turret and peered over the chest-high wall. Regidor joined him. Below them the grawligs participated in a wild rumpus, beating drums, hooting in what might be considered a song, and dancing that consisted mostly of jumping up and down.

“They’re certainly happy about something,” Bardon observed.

“The simple pleasure of having stolen one of us away. After their humiliation in the ravine, they needed the exhilaration of pulling off some daring deed right beneath our noses.”

“You sound as if you have studied them.”

“Oh, we have. Wizard Cam Ayronn and I are writing a book on the mores and cultural structure of the lower races. Of course, so far our studies have only encompassed grawligs, ropma, and bisonbecks.”

“Of course.” Bardon couldn’t contain the smile that broke out on his face. He knew he’d missed any chance he had of appearing serious.

Regidor spotted his smirk and returned a haughty stare. The coldness of the meech dragon’s expression melted into a toothy grin. “Never mind, dear Bardon. You were not designed by Wulder to be an academician like Librettowit or Wizard Cam. You were not meant to be debonair like Sir Dar, or persistently friendly like N’Rae, or obnoxiously inquisitive like Ahnek.”

“What was I meant to be, Regidor?”

“You don’t know?”

“You know I don’t. I’ve always known you see right through me. I don’t particularly understand why you still choose to be my friend.”

Regidor now scanned the sky as if he expected to see something. “I suppose you’re talking about the facade you have created that gives the impression of being all-sufficient.”

The smile dropped from Bardon’s face. He now had the serious expression he had wanted a moment ago to tease his friend.

“I don’t know that Wulder made me with what it takes to be a knight, Regidor. My sabbatical was important. I needed to know if I had enough in me to fulfill the vow I would make to Paladin to follow Wulder.”

Regidor leaned against a parapet and crossed his forelegs over his chest. “You are saying that Wulder made a mistake when He designed you?”

“No, of course not.” Bardon looked away from his friend’s scrutiny and examined the western sky. The sun hovered over the horizon, displaying a red blaze of last-minute glory as it disappeared. “Of course it is I who am at fault. I have failed to recognize what Wulder wants me to do. I try to be something that is not in my nature to be.”

He glanced back at his friend. The meech rolled his eyes and pushed away from the wall. “You have failed to recognize that Wulder wants you to be the knight that is Sir Bardon, not Sir Dar. You are not like any of the heroes of our last quest. You are you.”

Bardon looked away again.

Regidor came and put his hand on Bardon’s shoulder. “You have also failed to recognize that Wulder fills you with what you need when you need it. What is within you at this moment is not sufficient to meet a need that will not arise until forty years hence.”

The squire did not answer. Regidor’s words sounded as if they might apply to someone else but not to Bardon.

Regidor clapped him on the shoulder. “Here comes my messenger.”

Startled, Bardon looked to where Regidor pointed. A moonbird winged toward them and landed on the same parapet the meech had been leaning against. Bardon had seen kimens smaller than this large bird, whose feathers glowed white with an under-color of gray. Its head swiveled as it looked with piercing golden eyes, first at Regidor, then at Bardon, and back to the dragon. Its yellowish orange talons spread across the rock of the castle. It snapped its large beak together as if asking Regidor a question.

Regidor gazed into the beautiful creature’s eyes for a long moment.

I don’t suppose I should interrupt his commune with his bird friend,
Bardon thought,
but speaking of messages, it would be convenient to send a message to our party. “Good news—we’ve found the knights and our mapmaker.”

I should tell Captain Anton to hold on for one more day. Technically, he should head back with our party in the morning. But we may be back with Bromptotterpindosset by midday.

Regidor touched the moonbird lightly on the chest, and then the creature flew away.

“Who was the message to?” asked Bardon.

“Captain Anton. Actually, it will go to N’Rae, who will relay it to Captain Anton.”

“And the message said we have found the knights and should return tomorrow sometime with our missing tumanhofer.” Bardon’s anger hummed beneath the words.

Regidor’s head shot around so that the two stared at each other.

“I see,” said Regidor. “Yes, you’re in charge of this expedition. I apologize. Kale’s always onto me for being too independent. She says she will someday have me write the definition of
team
in a notebook a hundred times.”

The tension drained out of Bardon’s neck and shoulders. He wasn’t sure if it was Regidor’s ready apology that caused him to relax or the fact that Kale also became frustrated with the meech dragon’s occasional high-handed manner.

“Um.” Regidor uncharacteristically hesitated. “Would you like to outline our course of action?”

Bardon laughed. “Now you’re deferring to my leadership?”

Regidor nodded. “Belatedly.”

“Oh, Reg, Kale has taught you to do contrite very well.”

The meech dragon chortled and managed to look even more sheepish.

Bardon studied the activity below and then crossed to the back of the corner turret. “We’ll go down this side and meet by the garden wall. We can follow that with reasonable cover until we are within striking distance of the guards around Bromptotterpindosset. He doesn’t look injured and should be able to travel. When we get closer and see what the setup looks like from the ground, mindspeak to him and tell him what is about to happen.

“Hopefully, your sudden appearance will give us enough time to free him and escape through the front gate. You can hold them within the enclosure easily enough to give me time to get him some distance away. Then fly to join us, and we’ll determine if any further diversionary tactic is needed. Any questions or suggestions?”

Regidor’s pointed teeth gleamed in the moonlight. “You did that quite well, Squire. Are you sure you don’t have what is needed to become a knight?”

Bardon sighed and ran the fingers of one hand through his hair. “This is merely delineating a course of action.”

“This,” said Regidor, “is exactly what a knight does.”

Bardon hopped up to sit on the turret wall and threw a leg over. “I’m climbing down these vines. Good-bye.”

Regidor released his wings from the tight folds he kept them in as they lay against his back. The air blew Bardon’s hair away from his face.

“And I will fly. A lot less work.”

Bardon nodded and lowered himself over the edge. Regidor took to the air and glided noiselessly into the back courtyard.

The squire put his foot on a branch, testing it. Finding it strong enough to support his weight, he began a cautious, step-by-step climb down the side of the castle. Halfway down he placed his foot on a branch that seemed to melt under his weight. He moved over to assess another branch. This vine would not bear his weight either.

Bother. I’ll have to inch back again. If I move more in this direction, I’ll be in sight of the grawligs’ little party.

He went up a ways and then scooted over the weak spot.

“Having a problem?”

Yes, Reg. Can you see the vines from where you are?

“Of course,”
he answered. “
I’m wondering why you are dancing around in that one spot. The vines are thick and sturdy there.”

They give under my weight.

“Odd. They shouldn’t. Put your foot on one and push it down. I’ll watch.”

Bardon reached with his foot, found a branch, and shifted his weight. This vine felt thick beneath the sole of his boot. It had given a little, but Bardon decided to trust it. Still clinging to the vines next to his chest with both hands, he moved the other foot to follow the first.

“Careful, Squire. There’s something underneath.”

That something wrapped around both ankles and jerked. The vines dissolved in his hands, and Bardon slid into a hole in the wall. An explosion of lights told him he’d entered a gateway. Pressure built up in his lungs too fast to grab a last breath to hold on to. Usually, the sensation of going through a gateway was horizontal, a matter of a few steps, and the traveler determined when those steps were taken. This gateway opened up like the top of a well. Bardon did not walk, he fell. He did not travel a few steps, but down a long tunnel of variegated lights. The atmosphere stuck to him and slowed his descent. The lights dimmed, and he hit the side of the passageway. He realized the shaft had changed direction and now descended as a slope. He began to roll. The flashing lights returned right before Bardon tumbled out onto a planking of a cygnot tree.

Spread out, facedown on the firm weave of branches, he closed his eyes and enjoyed breathing.