DragonLight (21 page)

         
27
         

A T
RAVELER’S
W
ARNING

The questers marched toward the small trade route village from the southern road. The two children still perched on Brunstetter’s shoulders. Kale and Bardon walked on one side of the urohm, and Sir Dar hurried along on the other. The minor dragons had been tucked away in the moonbeam cape. Regidor and Gilda followed, disguised as a wealthy emerlindian couple.

Emerlindians in North Amara were tall. The shadows from Gilda’s veils and Regidor’s broad-brimmed hat created the dark countenance required. The meech dragons’ clothing hid their wings, and the style suggested the couple were city people rather than citizens who preferred the hills and forest. Regidor had devised an illusion to complete their disguise. The bulges that concealed their tails and wings looked more like fashion excesses. He minimized their height so that when a stranger spoke to them, he looked at their chests as if he looked them in the eye. This trick made Regidor chuckle and Gilda indignant. Only another wizard would be able to detect their true image.

Lee Ark brought up the rear. Kale and Gilda had found enough clothing in their hollows to make him look like a servant instead of a general in Paladin’s service. However, the soldier just could not remember to slump and shuffle. At the edge of town he picked up a walking stick and leaned on it. That obscured his military posture to some degree.

Bardon noticed the difference between the lane they had just traversed and the highway running east and west. The way they’d come had been little more than a rutted path. The wider crossroad showed signs of much travel, and more importantly, some upkeep. Traffic had ground the fine gravel covering the public road into hard-packed dirt. More tiny rough stones had been spread in the ruts.

Instead of a square, the town center of Arreach formed a circle. Four stone walkways criss-crossed lush green grass so that shoppers could walk the diagonal instead of the lengthy circumference of the lawn. Cobblestone or brick paved the main roads.

Thick clay plastered the wooden structures, and each storefront boasted a different bright hue. Fresh paint indicated that the village prospered. In spite of the harsh winters, this place would be cheerful. Music rang out from several different sources. Contrary to the friendly atmosphere, the villagers greeted them with wary glances.

“Why the suspicion?” asked Brunstetter.

“These people see the same travelers over and over again,” answered Sir Dar. “The east-west trade route is popular.”

Bardon grunted. “And we are carrying no goods to trade.”

“We shall have to win them over with charm,” said Toopka from Brunstetter’s shoulder.

Kale sent her a warning glance. “You let the official diplomat take care of charming the locals.”

Gilda nodded toward an establishment with a sign stating it was the Halfway Pint. “There’s the place we want.” She made a beeline for the tavern, passing the others in the party. “Sleeping without the cacophony of night insects. Eating bread made in an oven—surely this is the ultimate indicator of civilization.”

The rest of the questers followed her imperious figure like courtiers following the queen. She swept through the inn’s entryway and took a seat in the dim receiving area. Bardon and Regidor crossed the threshold a moment later. Bardon went to the desk where an o’rant gawked at the invasion of his establishment.

“We require four rooms.”

The innkeeper looked over the party, swallowed, and asked, “How long will ye be staying?”

“Just tonight.”

“You don’t have any baggage?”

“Not much.”

The man squinted as he examined the small crowd in his lounge. Toopka and Sittiponder climbed down off their mountain of a ride and stamped their feet as if urging the circulation to return. Quickly, their noise fell into a game with the doneel clomping a pattern and the tumanhofer repeating it.

The landlord’s face relaxed as he watched the children’s shenanigans.

“We don’t have anything fancy,” he said, “but our rooms are clean.”

“Fair enough.”

“If your journey takes you west, you ought to wait a day or two till another group comes through. Travelers been having a bit of trouble in the mountains with grawligs. Better to go in a large company.”

“Thanks for the advice.”

The man behind the counter pushed four keys toward Bardon. “You can eat with us at six, or go down the street to the Keg of Mallow. They serve all evening.”

“Thank you again.” Bardon picked up the keys. “Do you know anyone who is familiar with the Northern Reach?”

He shook his head. “No one goes there. Nothing to bring back to sell or trade.”

“Fine.” Bardon turned to the others and signaled for them to follow.

As they started up the stairs, the o’rant called to Bardon. “Come to think of it, there’s an old retired schoolteacher who used to say he’d gone north. I can direct you to his house.”

“We’ll take you up on that, Master…”

“Bandy.”

“Master Bandy.” Bardon nodded. “I’ll be back for the directions as soon as I get my people settled.”

At the top of the stairs, they sorted out the rooms. Only one would suit for the urohm, so he and the little ones took the room farthest down the hall. Sir Dar and Lee Ark had the room across from the biggest, and the married couples each had a chamber several doors away from the end. In order to have a meeting, they all crammed into Brunstetter’s room.

“I want to go see the schoolteacher,” demanded Toopka.

“No,” said Gilda. “You would interfere.”

The girl put her hands on her hips and glared at the meech lady. “Are you going?”

“No.” Gilda sat in a large chair. She removed her hat and veils. The additional disguise contrived by wizardry slipped. Her strong meech dragon features revealed fatigue. “I have no wish to visit the hovel of a retired tutor.”

Toopka tapped her foot, her hands still planted as balled fists on her waist. Kale caught the girl’s eye. She shook her head slightly at the ornery doneel.

Bardon grinned at the expression on the face of his wife’s ward. Kale must have delivered quite a lecture mindspoken with that minuscule shake. His wife’s curls had hardly bounced, but the doneel looked chagrined.

Toopka curtsied. “Excuse me for my impertinence, Lady Gilda.”

Gilda gave an imperial nod. Irritation boiled in Bardon’s veins. He gladly turned his attention to her husband as he took control of the conversation.

Regidor patted his wife on the shoulder. “I shall go visit the schoolteacher, and perhaps Bardon and Lee Ark will join me.” He transferred his gaze. “Sir Dar and Brunstetter, if you would visit the places where people congregate in this town? You might glean information from the citizens.”

Both men nodded, accepting their assignment.

Regidor smiled at Kale. “And if you, my dear Dragon Keeper, would mingle with the ladies shopping in the various establishments catering to women?”

Kale agreed.

“We can help,” exclaimed Toopka, grabbing Sittiponder by the arm. “Don’t make us sit in the tavern. Pleeeeease!”

Regidor grimaced at the high-pitched plea. He shook his head as if to get rid of an echo. “I wouldn’t think of it, dear one. You shall roam the streets and find out so much information, we shall be astonished.”

Only Gilda remained at the inn. In front of the tavern, Bardon kissed his wife good-bye and told Toopka to mind Sittiponder. Toopka stuck her tongue out at her blind tumanhofer friend. Bardon hooted as he watched the surprise on her face. She always forgot that her rude gestures would not cause the expected reaction from him. She fixed a fierce glare upon Bardon for laughing at her and aimed her tongue at him instead. He thwarted any satisfaction she might get by merely turning away.

As they went their separate ways, Bardon matched his pace to the steady stride of Lee Ark and Regidor. He contained his eagerness to hear what this schoolteacher had to say. His companions marched toward their goal without revealing what they might expect from this person.

Each side street left the center of town like a spoke in a wheel. In the dusky light of early evening, the red and white signs naming the lanes stood out under globes of golden radiance. Regidor, Lee Ark, and Bardon turned down the street marked Oben Way, strolled a couple of blocks, and stopped at a house that had a blue door and mumfers, with their crimson blossoms bobbing on tall stalks, lining the walk.

Regidor stepped back, leaving Lee Ark to knock. Footsteps sounded within, and the door creaked open at the hand of a young tumanhofer.

“Come in,” he said, standing back. “We’ve been expecting you. Master Bandy sent word you wanted to talk to Grandda. It’s a good thing you’ve come early. Grandda goes to bed right soon after the sun does.”

The tumanhofer gestured toward the sitting area of the small cottage. An elderly man sat by the fire with a shawl over his shoulders and a blanket over his legs. He had a pipe between his teeth, but no smoke curled from the bowl. An old woman sat in a rocker, knitting. A younger woman nodded from the kitchen as she tidied after the evening meal. A man sat in a chair with his suit jacket draped over the back. He rose and extended his hand.

“Welcome. It’s a rare treat for Da to have someone come to visit. Most of the villagers are tired of his tales. It’ll please him to tell you of his adventures. But you’ll have to speak up for him to hear, and he can’t see more than shapes now.”

He crossed to the elder gentleman and rested his hand on a shoulder covered with wool cloth. “Da, these people have come to ask about your travels in the Northern Reach. Will you give them the time of day, or no?”

The multitude of wrinkles on the man’s face shifted into a smile. His wide grin flashed surprisingly good teeth for such an old fellow. He raised his hand, and Lee Ark stepped forward to shake it. He introduced himself. Bardon followed, but Regidor took up a stance in the shadows. The old man tilted his head as if he expected a third handshake but quickly shrugged and motioned for the two to sit.

“My name’s Woodkimkalajoss. Do you need a drink, or pie, perhaps? My daughter-in-law makes the best razterberry pie. We had some tonight, and she usually makes two and hides one.” He chuckled and winked in the general direction of the younger woman. “We’ll persuade her to bring out the one she’s got hidden.”

Bardon looked at the red-cheeked matron in the kitchen area. She nodded.

Bardon spoke loud enough for the elderly man to hear. “We would much appreciate the pie, Master Woodkimkalajoss. We haven’t had our dinner yet, and a delicious bite of pastry will tide us over nicely.”

The tumanhofer raised his hand and let it fall on his knee. Bardon took the gesture to be a feeble attempt at enthusiasm. “Got that, sweet girl? Your delicious pastry will be appreciated. Bring out the razterberry and serve it up. I’ll have another piece, too, sweet girl. And I bet that growing boy wants another.”

The young man who answered the door laughed as he got up. “I’ll help you, Ma.”

With big mugs of strong, hot tea, and plates full of pie, the guests were too busy to ask questions. But Woodkimkalajoss didn’t need any prompting. As he ate, he told his tale of breaking tradition and wandering the lands above the border for years before he settled down and took the position of schoolteacher from his own father.