DragonLight (12 page)

         
15
         

A M
EETING IN THE
W
OODS

Bardon walked beside Kale, trying to evaluate the effects of Elma’s ointment. The minor dragons flew about, happy to be going someplace. They chittered incessantly. Bardon tuned out their chatter that he understood all too well with his wife there acting as a conduit.

The morning sun warmed his neck. Kale had rubbed a small circle of sticky substance from Elma’s pot into the base of his hairline. No, it couldn’t be the sun. The ointment itself must radiate the heat. His neck muscles on both sides felt looser. He rotated his shoulders, bent his elbows, and wiggled his fingers. Each movement cost him a modicum of pain. But the discomfort was nothing like the wretched misery when he moved yesterday, nor like the throbbing around his joints when he remained still.

Kale looked over her shoulder. Bardon did the same and almost cheered that he did so with only a twinge of soreness.

They could no longer see the home of Garmey and Elma. He would have liked to thank the marione housewife once again.

“I hate to leave them,” said Kale. “I think they both wanted to learn more about Wulder.”

“Since the evil forces withdrew and Paladin made his decree that the populace was to be given the opportunity to learn, many have felt the necessity to return to the beliefs of their ancestors.”

“In other words, given the chance, folks want to know.”

“Right.”

Kale laughed. “Sometimes you still sound like the lehman I met at the hall, using thirty words to say the same thing that could be said in ten.”

“And do you know, even then I recognized that my stiff wordiness was contrary to principles?”

“You did?”

“Yes, but I couldn’t help myself. I just had to sound important. Young Garmey reminds me of myself in those days.”

Kale chuffed, her suppressed snicker blowing softly out her nose. “I don’t see any resemblance.”

Bardon smiled and walked on.

“Fire.” Kale stopped. Her head swiveled as she searched the grass beside the road. “There.”

A tendril of smoke curled out of a tangle of weeds. She and Bardon raced to the small fire. Bardon stomped it out while Kale picked up Crispin.

“It’s all right. I know you didn’t mean to.” Her tone of voice changed. “Dibl, come here.”

The yellow and orange dragon peeked around the trunk of a tree and then flew to Kale and perched on her shoulder.

“You jumped out and scared him. And when Crispin is startled, he breathes in deep and breathes out fire. Had you, perchance, forgotten this trivial fact?”

A mournful whine emanated from Dibl’s throat as he looked down at the red dragon cradled in Kale’s arms.

“Saying you’re sorry does not help much. Look at the dry grass around here. There could have been a serious brush fire.”

“The fire’s out,” said Bardon. He took Kale’s arm and guided her back to the road. “We need to keep moving.”

Kale gasped. Bardon’s head swung around to see if the fire had somehow rekindled.

“You’re better. You’re not stiff.”

Bardon took a moment to feel his body, really feel it. The breeze pushed his hair away from his face, and that was the strongest sensation among several, the boots on his feet, the rough cloth of his pants, and the softer material of his shirt.

He grabbed Kale, and the two dragons fluttered into the air with a squeal as he scooped her up in a hug and whirled her around.

Laughing, she buried her face in his neck. When he allowed her feet to touch the ground again, she gasped. “Do you think it’s Elma’s ointment?”

“Maybe.” He kissed her soundly. “Race you to Greer and Celisse.”

He took off running with Kale hollering, “Wait. Give me a head start.”

“No, lady of mine,” he yelled back. “Catch me if you can.”

The blue water of a lazy river twisted like a ribbon toward the foothills of the northern Morchain Mountain range. Bardon searched the landscape for the point where two rivers came together to make the larger Hierson. Anticipation over this quest surged once more.

He swatted at a tiny feeling of foreboding, not letting it take hold. They’d been in the air for hours, and not a twinge of discomfort had returned. Even Greer felt the difference and kept commenting on how good it was to have a young rider on his back instead of the old man he’d been lugging around.

As they flew over a steeper and longer foothill, Bardon spied the Y made by the northern and southern Hiersons.

He waved to Kale and pointed.

“Finally!”
Her voice entered his thoughts.
“I’m sick and tired of this saddle.”

I’m not!

“I’m glad you’re feeling so well, but do you have to rub it in? I never could ride as long as you without feeling it in every bone of my body.”

At least dragons don’t bounce one around like those earth-bound horses. And dragons have better manners. And they know what you’re thinking without having to jerk on reins or dig in your heels.

“I know, I know, I know. Horses are not your favorite mode of transportation.”

They landed in a clearing between the two rivers and upstream from the crossing. A huge, old building stood on stilts driven into the dry land. In the spring and early summer, the snowmelt flooded the tributaries.

“Looks like we’re the first ones here.” Bardon walked over to Celisse and caught Kale as she slid down the dragon’s side.

“Someone lives here, right?” asked Kale.

“Yes, a family of urohms, the Danns. That’s why it’s called Danns Crossing.”

“Something doesn’t feel right, Bardon.”

“I feel it, too, or I feel you feeling it.”

“This is no time to be funny.” Her clothes changed into a costume that would not hinder her movements in a fight. She tinted the form-fitting fabric green and brown.

“Not pink?” Bardon drew his weapon. The blade whispered against the leather of the sheath.

“Not the occasion for pink. Forest colors seem appropriate.”

The way she held her hand told him her sword was drawn. “Tell me what you sense.”

“There are no urohms in that building. The occupants are bisonbecks. Marauders. Five of them. There are more, six more, but they are out scavenging the countryside.

“Bisonbecks without an army. Since the disbandment of Cropper’s and Stox’s military forces, these men have been at loose ends.”

“I thought they sailed overseas looking for mercenary work.”

“Many did. And grawligs took themselves into the upper elevations of the mountains rather than mingle with the high races. But some of the bisonbecks who remained weren’t really suited to any kind of work, so they became outlaws.”

“You’re right, Bardon. I have had my head in dragon nurseries for too long.”

Bardon felt her presence. The sense of her physical being beside him shifted into the odd bond they had. Part of her had melded with him, and the awareness of her thoughts, emotions, and even her intentions permeated his being. She started to ask him what the plan was and then smiled. She knew.

She sent the minor dragons ahead to cause a distraction. Bardon led Kale to a clump of bushes only a few yards from the steps that rose to the front door of the Danns’ house. Loud voices boomed through opened windows. Bardon removed a pouch from his belt and shook the small weapons into his hand, then nodded to Kale. She sent the dragons to do their job.

Nine minor dragons converged upon the house from four directions. They flew into the building through the windows and out the other side. Inside they pelted the marauders with their caustic spit. The bisonbecks exploded in curses. The dragons repeated the maneuver twice, then perched safely in nearby trees.

A loud whack propelled the door open. It swung full force to strike the wall. With shouts of outrage, the five ex-warriors, splattered with splotches of colorful saliva, charged out. Their boots thundered on the old wooden steps.

“Where are they?” roared one, wiping his eyes and swearing with each swipe.

“In the trees,” said a second, whose face had not been hit.

“Get them,” ordered the first.

The dragons took flight and led the bisonbecks into the woods. Kale and Bardon followed. As soon as the marauders separated, following different dragons, Kale and Bardon chose one to stalk and capture.

Without words, they knew where to position themselves in relation to the bisonbeck’s movements. When the circumstances presented a good target, Bardon jumped into plain sight and threw three darts. As the marauder reacted to the attack, Kale came in from behind, threw a net over him, and tightened the binding so he could not escape. Bardon rushed forward and helped her secure her catch to a nearby tree.

Bardon cinched the last knot. “He looks like he’s putting up quite a fuss.”

The captured bisonbeck fought against his bindings, but even the noisy growls and threats he made did not escape Kale’s web.

Kale began forming another net, pulling materials from the hollow in her cape.

The bisonbeck’s eyes grew wide as he watched her, and his lips quit moving.

“Can he hear me?” asked Bardon.

“Oh yes.”

Bardon bowed to the prisoner. “May I introduce Lady Kale Allerion? I am Sir Bardon.”

The captive renewed his squirming. His eyes bulged, and his mouth opened and closed rapidly.

Bardon shook his head. “There’s no use in screaming. No one could hear you unless they were inside the web with you.”

The man glowered and bared yellowed teeth. He made an unheard remark and then spat. The wet missile hit the mesh and bounced back on him.

“You know, I’m quite sure your comments are not polite at all.” He turned to Kale. “He seems to be working himself into quite a state.”

“He’s probably doubly irritated that his associates aren’t coming to the rescue.”

“Yes, I’d say he is having a bad day.” He winked at Kale. “Ready, lady of mine?”

Kale held up her net and nodded.

“We’ll be back,” he said to the captive. “And we’ll bring your friends to keep you company.”

Kale and Bardon set off to capture another bisonbeck. Two fell for the same tactic, but the next one caught sight of them fastening his comrade to a tree. Bardon fought him, keeping him busy while Kale quickly fashioned another web. The dragons swooped in and out of the melee, harassing the ex-warrior. By superior swordsmanship, Bardon avoided killing the marauder. He worked harder as the bisonbeck grew angrier and demonstrated lethal determination to slice Bardon in half with his hefty sword. The opponent’s skill grew sloppier, but his blows increased in strength.

The fight moved closer to Kale than Bardon liked. She concentrated on her work and failed to notice. The enemy’s weapon swung in a direction that would strike Kale. Bardon stepped forward, blocked the blow, pushing the larger man with his shoulder and his sword. Bardon’s blade slipped between the plates of battered armor on the man’s chest and straight into his heart.

Kale’s hands stopped, and she watched the bisonbeck take his last breath. “I’m done, Bardon.”

“A bit late.”

Her eyes widened, and she pulled back her arm, positioning the net for a throw. Bardon dropped to his stomach. The web sailed over him and netted the last bisonbeck. She pulled the rope that cinched the trap, and the mesh tightened around the prisoner.