DragonKnight (37 page)

Regidor chortled. “I would be very worried if Wulder said that about you.” He spoke in an authoritative voice. “‘I don’t believe in Bromptotterpindosset. He does not exist.’” The meech dragon clapped the tumanhofer on the back. “If He said that, my dear friend, then you would not exist. However, your saying such a thing about Him does nothing but make noise in the air. And that noise is soon gone.”

“So, is your Wulder going to break this illusion and show us the way out?” The mapmaker rubbed both hands over his face, ending with his palms covering his eyes. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “If we must depend upon a myth, then we shall truly perish.”

“This ‘myth’ can turn a stream or a river from one path to another. And He also turns the minds of men to one destiny or another. I would not be surprised if the way of our salvation has not already been established.”

Bromptotterpindosset groaned. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” said Kale, “that someone is already on the way to rescue us. Or, the collapse of this fancy illusion has already been devised.”

“You really believe that?

“Yes.”

“If we get out of here in the next hour, or even today, I’ll think about your Wulder being more than a figure in a fable.”

Regidor stood. “You would still hesitate, even if He clears a way out of this illusion in less than an hour?”

The tumanhofer stood, puffed out his chest, and glared at the meech dragon. “No! By the word of Bromptotterpindosset. If we escape this madness, I’ll believe in your Wulder. Or at least, try.”

“Even to the point of reading the Tomes and learning more about Him?”

“I’ll spend the rest of my days chasing down every fact I can discover about this marvelous myth.”

Regidor shook his head, but a big grin broke the solemn expression he’d worn just previously.

“No myth. He’s Wulder. And you are going to find out the risk involved in challenging the all-powerful Creator.”

A rough shout resounded across the forested region. “There. There they are. Onward, we shall capture them.”

Bromptotterpindosset jumped and grabbed Regidor’s arm. “Grawligs.”

The wizard meech laughed. “Yes, it would be just like Him to use the lowly mountain ogres to do His will, but have you ever known a grawlig to speak in a complete sentence?”

“Here now,” the voice from the woods spoke again, “who’s put all this muck in my way? Be gone, you falsified flowers. Off with you, you bloodless creatures. Of what use is a sun with no warmth and no place in the galaxy? Good work, though. Must admire the good workmanship of this fantasy. But enough. Be gone.”

The colors of the trees dripped into the dissolving bushes. The birds, insects, and creatures faded into nothing. Kale, Bardon, Regidor, and a stunned tumanhofer stood at one end of a large cavern aglow with lightrocks. At the other end stood two old wizards, one leafy and one wet. Beside them, two women, a child, and a librarian waited.

Kale let out a shriek and ran to greet them.

         
49
         

M
ORE
J
OINING OF
F
ORCES

“Mother.” Kale threw her arms around a tall, elegant o’rant woman.

Lyll Allerion returned the hug, then shook a finger at her daughter. “Young lady, you scared me. I went to Fenworth’s castle for a visit and found you were gone. Fenworth had no idea where you were.”

“I sent a bird to tell him.”

“Yes, but Fen was meditating.”

“Harrumph!” The old man interrupted, putting an arm around his apprentice’s shoulders. A lizard darted out his sleeve, scampered down Kale’s tunic, and sprang to the floor of the cave. Kale didn’t even jump. Three years in constant company with the bog wizard and his creatures had inured her to their sudden appearances.

Fenworth squeezed her shoulders. “I was resting, and the bird, very politely, waited in my branches until I awoke. Of course, when your mother started tugging on my beard, I roused from a very pleasant slumber.” He cast Lyll a disapproving look.

She smiled in return.

Toopka jerked her hand out of Taylaminkadot’s and ran to leap into Bardon’s arms. The tiny doneel child, dressed in bright and mismatched colors, squealed. She hugged the squire fiercely around the neck.

“Are you a knight yet? Can I call you Sir Bardon? Did you miss me? Where’s Greer? Why did you take Kale away?”

Bardon laughed. “No. No. Yes. I don’t know, and she wanted to come.”

Toopka stuck out her lower lip, and her whiskers quivered. “I wanted to come, too, and they almost left me until they figured out everyone was coming but me, and they couldn’t leave me home by myself. Only they really could have because I can take care of myself.” She took a big breath. “But I wanted to come. Wizard Fenworth swirled us to the courtyard of a funny castle that looks like a mountain. Wizard Cam scolded a bunch of grawligs. He shook his finger at them, and lake water sprayed out of his sleeve.” Toopka stopped to giggle. “Grawligs do
not
like to be wet. And Wiz Cam told them to clean up
everything.
They’d made a horrible mess. And he dried up a circle of quicksand and let the stuck ones get out, but they had to agree to help clean. And Wizard Lyll fixed their hurts. Isn’t she pretty? She is
so
pretty, except when she’s tired and then she looks like a very comfy grandma. Then Librettowit said we had to quit fooling around with the dirty grawligs and find Kale.” Again she took a deep breath. “I said Kale would be all right, because she was with you.” She looked over Bardon’s shoulder and waved at Regidor, who waved back. “And if Regidor is with you, almost nothing bad can happen that he can’t fix, because he’s probably the greatest wizard and the greatest warrior that ever lived.”

Librettowit walked over to Bromptotterpindosset and stuck out his hand. The disgruntled mapmaker took it reluctantly, shook briefly, and dropped the friendly gesture as quickly as possible.

The newly arrived tumanhofer seemed not to take offense. Kale knew the librarian Librettowit could be hot-tempered, and she watched with interest. She squeezed her mother’s hand, drawing attention to the little drama taking place. But Librettowit’s face remained neutral, expressing neither irritation at Bromptotterpindosset’s rudeness nor projecting false cheer.

“I’m Trevithick Librettowit.”

“Gordonnatropp Bromptotterpindosset. Pleased to meet you.”

“I’ve heard of you,” said Fenworth’s librarian. “I have some of your maps in our library.”

The mapmaker’s expression brightened. “This was supposed to be a fact-collecting expedition. I hoped to make new maps and improve some of the old. At least on my part, it was that and nothing more. These others are on a quest to save sleeping knights.”

“So I heard.”

“And we were trapped in this cavern.” Bromptotterpindosset slowly shook his head. “So many things I don’t understand. For instance, we walked some distance.” He glanced from one end of the cave to the other. “We should have covered miles, and yet, we are still in this one space.”

“When trapped in an illusion,” Librettowit explained, “you think you are traveling in a straight line, but you are actually going in circles.”

The mapmaker nodded toward the two old wizards. “Can they get us out of this mountain? Can they return us to civilization?”

“Oh yes. But first I think their plans include rescuing the knights. They were quite put out when Risto commandeered Strot’s castle for his own evil purposes. We all were under the impression the castle-fortress had been destroyed eons ago.”

Librettowit scratched his nose before continuing. “I suspect a blinding spell was cast over many written records of the castle and its history. I’ll be doing some research when I return.” Librettowit’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. “And there will be the library in Strot’s castle to examine.”

The mapmaker’s shoulders slumped once again. “I have done a foolish thing.”

“What is that?”

“I vowed to accept Wulder’s existence and seek a knowledge of His ways if we were rescued.”

“Foolish?” Librettowit clapped the man’s shoulder. “Probably the most intelligent thing you have yet to do in your life.”

“Ha!” The word came from the mapmaker’s lips without his typical bluster. “A coincidence has put me in this position. A coincidence and fear and my own stupid words.”

The librarian shook his head. “Nay. Do you not realize that Wulder Himself was in pursuit of you?”

The guttural grunt in reply only made Librettowit smile more broadly. “You’re still under the influence of years of disbelief. You’ll soon see that what you call coincidence was a carefully laid plan devised by Wulder to bring you to a place where you had to accept Him for who He is.”

The same grunt rumbled in the mapmaker’s throat. “What makes you think so? Why should I change?”

“Initially, because your pride will force you to honor your vow. But more importantly, Wulder has begun a work in you, and He will not abandon you.”

“The meech said something similar. He said Wulder had not abandoned us in the illusion.”

Librettowit nodded. “Smart fellow, our meech wizard.”

Movement inside her cape drew Kale’s attention away from the two tumanhofers. The minor dragons crawled out of their dens and flew from one member of the rescue party to the next, chirruping greetings.

Pat dove into Fenworth’s beard, searching for a snack of insects. Kale started to call him out, but the old wizard held up his hand. “He’s a growing dragon.”

“He’s growing round,” said Kale with a smile.

Fen’s eyes wandered around the gathering. Kale felt compelled to follow his gaze and knew her mentor was impressing her with his thoughts.

Regidor stood tall with his tail swishing across the ground. Three of their group were squat. The tumanhofers seldom topped five feet, and their bodies often resembled the shape of boulders. Furry Toopka barely covered Bardon’s arm with her small frame. Two male wizards had aged, and the two female wizards had not. The squire looked healthy, strong, and ready. Kale’s eyes lingered on how mature and reliable her friend looked. The various minor dragons flashed a variety of colors as they flitted about.

“I believe,” said wise old Fenworth, “that Wulder appreciates diverse sizes, shapes, and colors in His creation. And if He does, then who are we to pass judgment based on such criteria?” He turned to look Kale in the eye. “Let Pat be round.”

Fenworth strode over to Bardon, using his walking stick, but by no means depending upon it. “Young Squire,” he boomed, “I am the oldest, and by rights, should be the leader of this quest. But, as you may have heard, I am retired. So, I defer to you. I have been informed that Paladin chose you to head this party.”

Bardon studied the old man’s face for a moment, seeing the fatigue around his eyes and the blue tinge of his lips. He wanted to put his hand on the old man’s thin arm but knew Fenworth would not appreciate that type of sympathy.

Fenworth’s eyes narrowed as if he read the squire’s thoughts. “Well, boy, where do you wish to go? What do you wish to do? And when do you suggest we get started?”

Bardon spoke with authority, “We shall return to the castle and endeavor to free the knights, Wizard Fenworth. And now seems to be an appropriate time to get started.”

“That way, then.” Fen pointed his staff in the direction they had come from and marched off, leaving the rest to follow.

Cam doused the fire Regidor had provided.

“Wait!” Fen came tramping back. “I smell soup. Delicious Regidor soup. Let’s eat before we go.”

Bowls came tumbling out of nowhere, aimed at each member of the party. If they failed to catch the dishes coming their way, they circled around and returned to be caught on the second try. Kale ladled up the brew. The pot emptied only when the last person’s appetite had been satisfied.

Fenworth again set out abruptly, commanding the others to “step lively.” Toopka scampered through the burrows, content to play chase with the minor dragons and to pick up smaller lightrocks of different colors. When they reached the trek through the forest, she slowed some. As they trudged up a mountain path, she began to complain.

Regidor picked her up, swung her around to land on his back, and spread his wings. Toopka giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck. The meech dragon took to the air and soared high, soon disappearing ahead of them.

Fenworth hollered back to Bardon. “Squire, did you say he could do that?”

“No,” he answered.

“Didn’t think so. Cheeky rascal. He’s been a hard one to raise. Too sure of himself. Cocky. Usually right. A horrible trait in an apprentice.”

They reached the courtyard of Strot’s castle an hour later.

Fenworth stretched his arms over his head, and several birds flew out of his sleeves. “Exercise!” He lowered his arms, and a rabbit, a mouse, and a squirrel popped out from under the robe’s hem. “Exercise is good for mind, body, and spirit.” He sat on one of the stone benches and promptly went to sleep, turning into a stunted tree after the second snore. Pat scrambled out of the tangled branches and perched on top.

Toopka barreled around a corner of the building. “You’re here!” she shouted. “Regidor found a door. He says it’s the main entrance to the castle. But he needs the other wizards to help him get it open. Follow me.” She dashed back the way she had come.

Librettowit and Bardon gently lifted the tree off the bench and carried it. Kale followed with the others close behind. A muted snore reverberated within the trunk.

Toopka skipped back to hold Kale’s hand. “Do you know what?”

“No. What?”

“You can’t tell this is a castle from the air. We only knew it was the right place because Regidor saw the waterfall. You can’t see the statues or the benches or the walkways. Nothing! And then Regidor couldn’t find the door. He had to use his forefoot instead of his eyes. He closed his eyes and walked around the mountain with his forefoot on the rock. I followed. Then he found it. I couldn’t see it. He said he didn’t see it, but he felt the gap in the stone. I didn’t see the gap in the stone, but he showed me and showed me and finally I saw it. Hurry up.”

She ran ahead.

Bardon looked over his shoulder at Kale. “You know, she doesn’t seem one bit older than she did three years ago.”

“She
has
learned to read a little,” Kale said.

“She can be quite helpful in the kitchen,” added Taylaminkadot.

Librettowit shifted his burden and said, “Emerlindians and doneels have a longer maturing period. They’re considered youngsters for almost a hundred years. Tumanhofers and o’rants mature in eighteen to twenty years. Mariones’ and urohms’ maturation period is about the same, but their life span is considerably shorter than the other high races. Kimens mature rapidly, in three or four years. No one outside of the kimen race is sure about their longevity.”

“Still,” said Taylaminkadot, “there has always been something secretive in Toopka’s manner. She refused to choose a day to celebrate her birth every year. And when I urged her to pick a number to say it was how old she was and start counting from that, she didn’t want to. In fact, she became quite stubborn.”