DragonLight (14 page)

She awarded Kale a condescending smirk. “You’ll understand should you ever be given the opportunity to contribute to your race.”

Kale bit her tongue. A new set of uncharitable thoughts refused to be banished.

“You must understand,” Gilda purred. “I can’t present my egg just anywhere. From what Regidor and I have been able to determine, the meech population has dwindled deplorably. Once we find our colony, we’ll have more details, but the refinement of my race and intellectual influence of the meech must not be lost.”

“Who are they influencing, Gilda?” Kale interrupted. “They haven’t mingled freely with the high races for centuries.”

“High races?” Scorn punctuated the two words. She pulled in a deep breath and tilted her chin up. “Regidor and I are accustomed to rubbing shoulders with your high races. We are well equipped to be ambassadors. Our goal is to reintroduce the meech to Amara and guide them into places of influence where their ideas can elevate the general populace.”

Elevate? Why did she use the same word that infatuated Garmey?

Kale looked Regidor’s wife in the eye. “Gilda, do you know anything about a group of people who call themselves the Followers?”

“Of course not,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “The meech dragons are not followers, but leaders.” She placed a hand on her abdomen, where Kale could just barely see the bulge that indicated a developing egg.

Gilda’s eyes closed, and that satisfied smile crept out to transform her face.

Kale shook her head.
Normally, Gilda can be a bit overbearing. A pregnant Gilda is even more puffed up, and I am not referring to her midriff. If something occurs to deflate her ego, I hope Regidor isn’t caught in the blast of hot air.

         
17
         

F
ACT OR
F
ABLE?

Kale sank into the soft couch and put her feet up on a stool. She rubbed her stomach and sighed deeply.

“Ate too much?” asked Bardon as he handed her a cup and saucer, then sat beside her.

The cushions shifted with his weight.

Kale groaned. “Don’t rock the boat.”

“Sick?”

“No, you were right the first time. I ate too much. Sir Dar’s food is irresistible.”

He patted her leg. “That’s fine. I worried about you at the ball when you didn’t eat.”

Sir Dar settled cross-legged on a patterned rug beside an empty hearth. He put his flute to his lips and blew the first tremulous notes of a merry tune. Sittiponder, Toopka, and the minor dragons joined him. Lee Ark and Brunstetter sat in wooden chairs by the table.

“I can’t move,” said Lee Ark. “Even my grandmother doesn’t feed me as well.”

Brunstetter laughed. “In my home, this would be the appetizer.”

Sir Dar interrupted his song. “Are you still hungry, my friend? I’ll fix you something else.”

“No, no,” Brunstetter wagged his head. “I’m fine. I want to hear your after-dinner music. That is the best part of your cooking.”

Regidor and Gilda strolled over to the most elegant piece of furniture in the room, a love seat upholstered in brocade with a green leaf design. Gilda muted the color before sitting down. Now the sofa lent a perfect backdrop to her blue and peach gown.

Kale closed her eyes and let the music lift her spirits and ease the discomfort she felt from a too-delicious dinner eaten too enthusiastically.

“Don’t get
too
comfortable,” warned Bardon. “Regidor has gotten up and is headed this way.”

Kale opened one eye and hoped a one-eyed glare would deter her former mentee. It didn’t. He grinned impudently and pulled a chair closer. He sat down, and Kale faced the inevitable. With an effort, she straightened herself against the soft cushions.

Taking a sip of the tea Bardon had given her, she nodded to Regidor. “You have your talking gateway in your hand. Is there a message we should know about?”

“There is a message from your father. His message to me says to tell you that he left a message for you, and I guess I should also pass on the fuss he was making over your not responding.”

“I forget to look. Regidor, you’ll have to figure out a way for me to know when there’s a message waiting.” She scooted to the edge of the seat. “I’ll have to get the talking gateway out of my cape.”

Toopka jumped up from the musical gathering. “I’ll get it.”

She ran to the moonbeam cape hanging from a hook on the wall but stopped before grabbing it. “What does the talking gateway look like?”

Kale caught Pat’s eye and nodded. He flew to Toopka’s shoulder.

“Let Pat help,” she said. “Then you can carry it over here.”

Pat hopped over to the cape and disappeared into the folds.

“Hurry up,” said Toopka. She bounced on her toes and fingered the smooth moonbeam material. “Can’t you find it? Hurry up.”

Pat emerged with the cylinder, carrying it with his front feet. Toopka snatched it and started toward Kale. She stopped, retraced her steps, and said thank you to Pat, before skipping across the room. Pat followed and took up a position on the arm of the couch.

Toopka turned the object around and around in her hands. She studied the flat surface. “Is this where I see the picture? Where do the words come out? Can I leave a message for Taracinabloo?”

Kale extended her hand. “Give the cylinder to me, and I’ll show you.”

Toopka plopped it in Kale’s palm. She clambered into Bardon’s lap.

Kale opened the gateway’s traveling case.

“You opened it,” exclaimed Toopka. “How?”

Bardon settled her more comfortably on his lap. “It doesn’t matter, Toopka. You couldn’t use the talking device even if you opened it. Only wizards can manipulate the weave of a gateway.”

Toopka’s face fell into a pitiful mask of disappointment. Kale patted her arm. “It’s all right, Toopka. Watch. And I’ll let you leave a message for Taracinabloo.”

Kale pinched the top of the gateway and pulled the loose loop out of the shell. She placed a thread in the air and shaped the portal into a circle on top of it.

“It’s floating,” said Toopka. “How did you do that?”

“The same way I float a light orb. Shh! I’m concentrating.”

Kale rearranged the threads with greater agility than before. Her fingers learned the patterns more efficiently each time she set the talking gateway into operation.

Toopka edged forward on Bardon’s lap. “I see the lights.”

Kale twitched a stray strand, and a picture of her father snapped into the center.

Toopka made a satisfied coo.

The image activated. “Hello, Kale. I have a lot to tell you. Did Regidor ever say how long a message we can leave? I don’t recall.”

Kale glanced up at the meech, and he shook his head.

Her father continued. “Wasting time thinking about it.” He rubbed his hand over the top of his head, smoothing down his salt-and-pepper hair. “I have heard of these black dragons you asked about. The first time we heard the legend we were told it was an obscure fable, and most people didn’t even know of its existence. But as the years went on, the telling of the tale became more frequent. And now, it seems to be on everyone’s lips in our part of the Northern Reach.

“There were also rumors of actual sightings of black dragons swarming across the countryside. But they did no damage. Left no evidence. And disappeared.”

He paced away from the portal and jerked around as if he remembered he had to talk to the gateway in order to leave the message.

“Wizard Namee has relayed a message to me for you. You must have Regidor figure out a way one can tell that there is a message inside the gateway when it is closed.”

Kale flashed a grin at the meech dragon. “See? I’m not the only one who thinks it’s a good idea.”

The image of her father pacing caught her attention once more. “Namee’s message said the bodies of the slain black dragons turned to dust within twenty-four hours, and the slightest breath of air scattered the remains.”

Kale’s father raked his fingers through his hair and strode away, messing up the hair he’d recently smoothed, then he returned to the portal.

“I know only rumors and folktales about the black dragons. And I know less than that about these Followers you mentioned. I’ve discussed this with Librettowit, of course, and he tells the same story of the sleeping beast that I have heard. I believe he sent a copy of the fable to Sir Dar. He’ll tell it to you.

“And that brings me to the last point in my message. Librettowit plans to join you in Vendela. He’ll take gateways to get there. He says he will be delivering something of importance to you. So, meet him at The Goose and The Gander on the first day of next week.”

He stared into the gateway, so that he appeared to be pinning Kale with his eyes. “Be careful. All of you. I fear the enemy is afoot again, and he won’t use armies this time in his attempt to destroy Paladin and Amara. ‘Do not gather a sheep that howls into the fold of your flock.’”

The gateway’s center went blank.

Toopka squirmed in Bardon’s lap. “Why would a sheep howl? Sheep go baa. Wolves howl.” Her eyes widened. “I get it. The sheep that howls isn’t really a sheep at all, is it?”

“Yes, that’s right.” Kale put her talking gateway back in the case and snapped it shut.

“I didn’t get to talk to Taracinabloo.”

Kale sighed. “You didn’t, did you? And I promised.”

“That’s all right, Kale. We can do it later. I want Sir Dar to tell the story.”

“He and the others are enjoying the music.”

Toopka wiggled to the edge of Bardon’s lap. “Hey! Everybody likes stories. Sir Dar just needs to know we want to listen to a story now. Just watch.”

The doneel child jumped to her feet and ran across the wooden floor. The music stopped.

Sir Dar looked at Toopka from under eyebrows made of long, stiff hairs, one a bit shorter than the other. “If you are going to clomp, you should do so in the rhythm of the song being played.”

“Sir Kemry says you have a story to tell us.”

Sir Dar tilted his head, then his face brightened, and he picked up a fabric sleeve to put away his instrument. “Yes, I do. One I hadn’t heard until I received a scroll from Librettowit. His messenger came just before we left Namee’s.” He glanced at each occupant of the room. “Do you wish to hear it?”

“Yes.” Approval echoed around the room.

Sir Dar stood and waited for his audience to relax in their chosen seats. Regidor returned to Gilda’s side. Lee Ark and Brunstetter moved to softer chairs closer to the hearth.

Sir Dar raised a finger in the air to signal he was ready to begin. “It seems a dragon, fierce and dangerous, lived eons ago, but not on our world. He roamed the land of a country not only far across oceans, but far above where birds and dragons fly. What looks like stars to us are sometimes not flaming gases. Light from faraway suns reflects off of worlds made of rock and dirt and water like we see around us here.”

He paused and looked solemn. “This dragon’s size was that of a mountain. His scales black like coal. His breath reeked of death, and not even the fire that shot through his mouth could disguise the stench of rotten meat between his teeth. The golden color of his eyes held no warmth, but anyone who looked into those oblong orbs saw the beast’s intelligence and the shivering coldness of a corrupted soul.

“His name is Mot Angra. Although it is rumored he has had other names in other places. The common belief is that Mot Angra cast his fortune with Pretender and left Wulder at the same time. The tale we know is of a time when he ravaged an entire civilization, burning cities, destroying crops, mutilating animals, and eating people. Naturally, the people of that world under this relentless attack sought an escape.

“They made a gateway and came to us, or so the legend says. The last man came through, bringing an old, sick woman in his arms. The elders moved to close the gateway, but too late. Mot Angra leapt through.”

“Here?” demanded Toopka. “Mot Angra came here?”

Sir Dar nodded and looked at her with compassion. “So the story goes, but do not fear. The sick old woman held the answer to controlling the beast. The first thing the woman did was to instruct these people how to put the beast to sleep.”

“Why didn’t she do this before?” asked Regidor. “While they were still on their world?”

“Because the man who carried her through the gateway had been to several worlds through portals, searching for her. He had only just returned to his world and found it in desolation.”

“Is she going to die?” asked Toopka. “I don’t like it when people die in stories.”

“Yes, she died, but not before she gave the people the knowledge they needed to control the beast, and not before she pleaded with Wulder to one day give someone the instrument to kill the beast.”

The girl doneel sighed. “So the bad dragon, Mot Angra, is asleep?”

“Yes, Toopka, asleep with a guard around him made up of the people from the other planet. They feel responsible for bringing him here.”

Regidor cleared his throat. “You didn’t mention the part about the small black dragons.”

Sir Dar looked at the floor. When he raised his eyes, worry darkened his pupils. “Mot Angra sheds his scales. Each scale becomes a dragon.”

Bardon leaned forward. “So what is the explanation of these swarms of black dragons being seen now?”

“This phenomenon occurs only when the dragon stirs in his sleep.”

Toopka gasped. “Mot Angra is waking up?”

Kale placed a hand on the little girl’s back and rubbed. “It’s a fable, Toopka.”
I hope it’s a fable.