Two Renegade Realms (Realm Walkers Book 2) (32 page)

He stood. “I want this hole big enough for Makki and me to follow you if there’s a need. Then, I agree, you are the most logical one to go rouse Totobee-Rodolow.”

They worked as quietly as they could. Cantor hacked at the top of the opening where the roots were thickest. Makki sawed pieces from the sides. Bixby sliced away the bits and pieces at the bottom. She grumbled when the others dropped stringy roots and chunky stubs on her head and back.

“I wonder if we’re killing a tree aboveground.” She wove her fingers through her hair, knocking loose some of the debris.

“A tree with roots this big and this deep must be a very large one.” Cantor looked down and grinned at the top of
her head. She really was a good companion, not squeamish. Despite her lace and frills, Bixby had a warrior’s heart. With a polished overlay of feminine charm. “I don’t believe cutting out a small portion of its root system will even be noticed.”

Bixby laughed. “None of the trees I know notice anything at all. They respond to climate changes, the length of the day, how much rain they get. But they do not chat about the weather or recommend a lotion to keep their bark smooth and young-looking.”

Cantor stepped back and examined their work. “I think that does it.”

Bixby stood immediately and jiggled her skirts, scattering specks of tree root on the floor. Holding her crown in her hand, she bent over and wildly shook her hair. Then she picked up the hamper she’d retrieved from her skirts earlier, put one crown away, and pulled out another.

“What’s that one for?” asked Cantor.

“Seeing in dim light.”

He nodded. “Good choice. Makki and I will take turns with the barrels. As soon as the dragons start drinking, Bixby, you can come back to this side and help with the relay for getting them filled a second time.”

He put his hand on her shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. “Off you go.”

As soon as she’d slipped through, Cantor positioned himself so he could watch her.

Makki peered through the roots next to him. “Gotta keep an eye on her, eh? Same with my Crista and the tots.”

Cantor blustered, but Makki had already turned away. And all Cantor could see of him was his outline made by the light orb he carried in front of him.

Cantor wanted to explain, but that would have made matters worse. He and Bixby were realm walkers. They were comrades in the service of Primen. Part of their duty was to watch out for one another, and this need to protect her arose from their partnership, not a romantic complication. Romance, flirting, affection would be counterproductive to their mission.

Maybe after.

THE BEAST

W
eaving around the sleeping dragons, Bixby skimmed across the cavern floor. Of course, Totobee-Rodolow slept against the opposite wall. She wanted to talk to her friend before waking the other dragons. As with all mor dragons, these had increased in size during their slumber. The cavern was small and overly full. But none of the sleeping dragons stirred as she glided by.

When she reached Totobee-Rodolow, she stopped and stared. The previously stunning dragon looked worn and frayed. Bridger’s sister had always set the standard for fashion and grooming. Now her scales were dingy, her claws ragged, and her tail unadorned with gemstones. The dragon Bixby loved wouldn’t be caught dead in the shape she was in.

Bixby put a hand on her hip. She needed to get the dragons awake and watered and out of this prison.

She started to touch Totobee-Rodolow but pulled back, noticing just in time that the dragon’s scales had taken on the sharp edge that protected her while asleep.

Bixby leaned toward her ear. “Totobee-Rodolow, wake up.”

The dragon lifted her head at once. “Who? Bixby! Darling, it is so good to see you.”

“We’ve come to get you out.”

“Out, my dear?”

“Yes — you’ve been captured.”

Totobee-Rodolow sat and scooted to lean her back against the cavern wall. “I think you must be mistaken.” She looked around the dim room. “Although I must say, I’m not sure where I am. Now, that’s rather unusual, isn’t it?”

“You were captured and brought here. The King's Guard are stationed outside to keep you from leaving.”

“I do remember a walk, an unpleasant trek across some rocky terrain. We couldn’t fly, but I don’t remember why.”

“Starnaut juice.”

“Now, don’t be absurd. We dragons know better than to . . .” She broke off to yawn, a most inelegant gape not even hidden behind her massive hand. “I’m tired, Bixby. Come back tomorrow at a decent time, and we’ll have tea.”

The dragon slipped down the wall to stretch out once again.

Bixby had to stop her. “Totobee-Rodolow, look at your hands. Your claws are a disgrace. When did you last have a manicure?”

Totobee-Rodolow glanced at her hand, looked again more closely, and sat upright. The look of horror on her face would have made Bixby giggle if their circumstances were less dire.

“Well . . . well.” Totobee-Rodolow examined herself and obviously did not like what she saw. “There might be something to what you say.” She looked around the room. “There’s that nice young man who brings us fresh water every day. I thought I saw Cantor a moment ago.”

“That’s Makki, and Cantor is here too. We’ve got water for you and your friends. You must drink it and pull yourselves together so we can escape.”

Totobee-Rodolow stood and shook. Her scales rattled loudly. Bixby cringed, hoping the guard would not come to investigate.

As they crossed the room, the dragon nudged her sleeping friends and explained each time she got one on its feet. Bixby said, “Quiet, please,” and, “Do be quiet,” and, “Hush,” to no avail. The dragons muttered and rattled their scales and trudged the short distance to the hole in the wall. They sounded like a herd of dragons.

Although a group of dragons is a watch, not a herd.
Bixby glanced toward the front of the cavern. No movement.
The
guards have surely heard all this commotion.

Bixby slipped through the hole and ran down the tunnel to the waterfall, where she resumed her job of recapping each cask as it was filled. Makki and Cantor rolled the barrels down the passageway.

“Last barrel.” Cantor pushed it under the waterfall. “They are definitely awake now and very indignant.”

“Do they remember? Can they shape-shift?”

“Oh, yes, they remember, all right. Lots of throaty threats and growly intentions being expressed. As to shape-shifting, I don’t know the length of time it takes for a mor dragon to recover from starnaut poisoning.”

“Mad mor dragons.” Bixby thought for a moment. “There’s a nursery rhyme about mad mor dragons eating porridge with a knife.”

The water flowed into the cask at Cantor’s elbow. He
checked the level and spoke over his shoulder. “I vaguely remember it, but only a couple of phrases come to mind.”

He shoved and scooted the barrel over to Bixby.

She maneuvered the round lid into the ridge that held it and tightened the bands to keep it in place. “It’s going to bother me until I remember.”

“I think we’re going to be so busy, you won’t have time to fret about an old poem.”

While Makki helped Bixby dispense herbs to lessen the drug-induced headache that bothered some of the dragons, Cantor scouted the area right outside the tunnel’s entrance. The moon had shifted, but it still shone brightly. Cantor spotted tracks in a dirt trail. He followed and came within yards of the main entrance to the cavern.

Ducking behind a pile of boulders, Cantor stilled and stretched his senses to gather information from his surroundings. The dry air smelled of the nearby bushes. With a bit of concentration, Cantor picked up the smell of mineral water from the Family Springs.

From the entrance of the cavern, he heard snores and heavy breathing and footsteps. One guard must be the night sentry. The man paced, either trying to stay awake or worried about something. Cantor hoped he wasn’t worried about all the noise the dragons made as they recovered from the effects of starnaut juice.

He covered his ears at the sound of the eerie screech he had heard earlier. The noise ripped through him and effectively
shut down his ability to hear small sounds. A nudge from behind startled him. He spun around, sword in hand.

“Bridger! I could have killed you.”

The goat sidestepped, whirled, and darted off. Cantor sheathed his sword and followed. “Slow down, Bridge. I’m not as nimble on my feet as you are.”

The goat headed across a steep slope.

“Not only can I not cross here, if I did, I’d be in plain sight.”

Cantor looked for an alternate route and saw one lower and among bushes. He started to climb down, lost his footing, and slid. At the bottom, he froze and listened. He heard the goat complain in a very goaty bleat. Puzzled, he reached for Bridger with his mind.

“What are you doing?”

“Watching the beast’s lair.”

“Where are you?”

“Not far. Keep coming along the trail you’ll find a few yards
to the north of you.”

Cantor stood carefully, brushing off the dust and checking to see if he’d lost anything on the way down. He had his sword, a knapsack, various hampers, and his skin. Good inventory.

He moved with stealth. Although after all the commotion he’d made, he thought the guards must be deaf or drunk.

But the beast was awake. It growled in a sustained rattle, sounding somewhat like a cat’s purr. Cantor tried to catch the beast’s thoughts. If this was a mor dragon, then the task should be simple. He gathered a sense of malice and anticipation.

The hair on the back of Cantor’s neck stood up. The beast knew they were there. It was simply waiting for them to make a mistake.

Coming to the edge of a scruffy stand of trees, he found goat Bridger waiting for him in a small open space beyond.

Keeping to the shelter of the wood, Cantor kept his voice low. “You’re in plain sight, you know. Suppose this beast gets hungry and wants to have goat for an early morning snack?”

The goat yawned.

“Why are you talking to a goat?”

Cantor jerked his head to see his dragon friend standing against a huge boulder. He’d changed his scales’ color to match his background. Cantor glanced at the goat and back to Bridger with narrowed eyes.

“Last time I saw you, you were a goat.”

“When I was a goat, I could see only as well as a goat.” He signaled Cantor to follow. “Have you got my sister out yet?”

“No, but the dragons are awake. We gave them water and Bixby’s treating them to counteract the drug. Your sister is unharmed but disheveled.”

Over his shoulder, Bridger tossed him a look of disbelief. Cantor grinned. The beast let out another of the high-pitched screams.

“Have you seen it?”

Bridger nodded. “It paces to the front of its den and sits on the stone shelf. I don’t know why it doesn’t just fly off.”

“Did you try to communicate?”

“No. If that thing was once a mor dragon, there is nothing left of its beginning.”

“I brushed its mind and came up with feelings and attitudes. Anger, hatred, the desire to destroy. Nothing about why it stays.”

“I suppose this is its home.” Bridger crept behind some rocks.

Cantor bent down as well and inched into the narrow space.

Bridger pointed. From their vantage point, they could see the beast. It reclined on the ledge Bridger had mentioned. Its ropelike fur tail hung off one end, and its chin rested at the very edge of the other side.

The moon muted its colors. Dark and darker scales with no shine to reflect the soft glow covered its body from the neck down. Where the scales left off, dark fur covered its head. Feathered wings batted the air sporadically as if chasing off bothersome insects.

It moved its head slightly, and Cantor shivered. The cold yellow eyes could have been staring right at them. Bridger and Cantor both withdrew from the lookout point of their hiding place.

Bridger whispered, his voice trembling. “It saw us.”

“It already knew we were here.”

“What is it?”

“Lion, eagle, and dragon?” Cantor guessed.

“Lion, eagle, and horse?”