DragonSpell (3 page)

         
4
         

F
RIEND OR
F
OE?

This time Kale raised her head out of the hole even more cautiously. Judging from the tumult, she had expected an army to be facing the grawligs. Kale spotted only three attackers—two mounted on dragons. Most of the noise came from the mountain ogres.

The third attacker stood within a circle of the grawligs and felled them right and left, wielding a sling-type weapon with a spiked ball at the end. She recognized him as a fighting marione like the race of people populating River Away. His muscled frame, short and blocklike, stood solid against the onslaught. Known as farmers and fighters, the mariones could make any ground productive and defend any ground against invaders.

The dragons in the air were not as big as the Greater Dragons Kale had seen fly into the city. One large milky-white beast carried a giant warrior in armor and chain mail. As the dragon swooped and soared over the battling grawligs, the rider hurled lances with deadly aim. The insignia of a royal house emblazoned his helmet and riding gear. Two large quivers hung over the dragon’s shoulders just in front of the knight’s knees.

Kale watched the other dragon’s aerobatics, stunned by her beauty. The red wings glistened as if covered with tiny rubies. Her chest and stomach pulsated in blue and purple shimmers. Sunlight reflected off blue-green scales on her head, tail, and hind feet.

A small furry rider wore bright colors, almost as flamboyant as his mount. Shouting terse words Kale could not understand, the man cast yard-long lances among the grawligs.

“I am Leetu Bends. We came to rescue you.”

A female voice uttered the words directly into Kale’s thoughts. The o’rant girl jerked in surprise.

A mindspeaker!
She looked around trying to decide who had spoken.

“Go now, while we have the grawligs’ attention. Go west, over the ridge. Follow the stream down the mountainside. We’ll catch up with you.”

Kale still held the glittering rock she’d picked up in the cavern. She opened the neck of her shirt and dropped the stone under the frayed material. It settled against the bulge of dragon eggs tied to her waist.

She pressed her palms into the rim of the hole and hoisted herself over the edge. Without stopping to watch the combat, she scrambled over the rocky terrain away from the fighting.

A battle cry rent the air. Kale turned to see the rider of the smaller dragon slide off his saddle into a knot of grawligs.

He fell!

The miniature warrior, dressed in vibrant shades of green and gold, disappeared into the snarling melee of brown and black beasts.

Kale imagined the little man ripped in pieces as the ogres tore at his arms and legs. She ran toward the clutch of tangled fighters until she stood on an outcropping just above. The grawligs made hideous noises. Dust rose, obscuring her view of the valiant little warrior. She saw flashes of color from his clothing, but not the man, nor how he defended himself.

They’re killing him. I’ve got to do something!

Kale picked up a rock and hurled it. It bounced off a grawlig head. He grunted and swayed, but returned to his efforts to pummel the enemy in their midst without even looking up to see what had hit him.

Kale threw one rock after another as fast as she could pick them up and as hard as her muscles would allow.

“What are you doing? Get out of there. Dar knows how to fight. He doesn’t need you. Go! Quickly! Before they turn on you.”

Kale hesitated.

“GO!”

She heaved the rock in her hand and took off toward the crest of the ridge.

I don’t like this. Not one bit. In River Away everyone always yelled at me, “Go! Come! Do this! Do that!” But at least I knew who was ordering me about.

At the top of her climb she paused to look over her shoulder. Fierce fighting still raged in the gully below. She didn’t want to be chastised again, so she turned away from the battle and stomped over the ridge.

A stream sprang out of the rocks in the midst of a copse of evergreen shrubs. Kale followed it easily. The noise of enraged grawligs battling her rescuers soon faded. The breeze whispered through the trees, cooling her as she trudged along. The sun sparkled off the brook as it foamed over its rounded-rock bed. Birds sang in the forest as if nothing so ugly as raiding grawligs existed in the whole of Amara.

She marched along, muttering about grawligs and voiceless orders and not knowing where she was going. As she tramped beside the stream, her anger faded. A yawn stretched her mouth. Her eyes drooped. Then her legs grew rubbery, making it hard to stay upright. She stumbled more than once over terrain that should have been easy for her to cover. Jumbled thoughts broke her concentration, and she kept losing her balance.

She said they came to rescue me. Who are they? How did they know I was in trouble? How did they know where I was? Could Farmer Brigg somehow have known? No. How could he?

I’m so tired. And I’m getting hungry. How long before they catch up to me? What if they lost that fight with the grawligs, and the grawligs catch up with me instead? What if…I’m so tired. My whole body hurts.

Kale sank down on the mossy bank.
I’ll just rest a minute.
She pulled the pouch from beneath her shirt and soon fell fast asleep with it tucked under her cheek.

The whistling first sounded like a double-crested mountain finch, but then a few too many high notes warbled at the end of the call. Kale’s eyes sprang open, and she sat up. A doneel sat on a log by the stream. From his finger, a string dangled over the edge of a rock into the water. His clothes were tattered but bright in hue between the smudges of dirt and blood. His whistle changed to the song of a speckled thrush.

Kale compared the look of this real-life doneel to the painted figure in the mural at the River Away Tavern. This whistling doneel sat, but she was sure if he stood, his little frame would not reach four feet. His tan and white furry head sat on a well-proportioned body. His large eyes hid under shaggy eyebrows that drooped down his temples and mingled with a long mustache. His broad nose stuck out like the muzzle of a dog, and his black lips met with hardly a chin at all underneath. Dressed in rich fabric of glorious colors, he was far more interesting than the blurry image on the dark tavern wall.

“Hungry?” he asked. Smiling, his face became round, half of it the huge mouth. Two ears covered with soft fur perched on the top of his head near the front. They twitched and turned as he listened.

“Only a little.” She had never talked to a doneel. Only mariones and a few kimens came to River Away. Kimens were smaller than doneels, but their bodies were much more delicate, almost wispy looking. They wore forest colors in loose, draping material. And a kimen’s face had what Kale thought was a more normal set of eyes, ears, nose, and mouth—although she had to admit she thought their raggedy haircuts and lack of eyebrows made them look perpetually surprised.

“You are very hungry,” said the doneel. His voice rumbled a bit over the words.

“I am?”

“Yes.” He nodded decisively. “When was the last time you ate?”

Kale remembered the bread and cheese Farmer Brigg had shared. “Yesterday noon.”

He jerked on his line and pulled out a brook dabbler, its scales silver on the belly, its back coal black, its fins the colors of a sunset.

“You’ve been battered by grawligs,” continued the fisherman as soon as he had his catch off the hook. “You fell down in a cave and healed yourself using magic.”

“I did?”

The doneel cast her a skeptical glance. “You did.”

“Magic?”

“The egg.”

“Oh.” Kale put her hand on the pouch. How much did this odd little man know about the dragon egg? All the questions that had disconcerted her as she followed the stream came back. What if this doneel meant to steal the egg? Did he also know about her new find? Surely, eight dragon eggs would be very valuable. How did he even know about the first? She hadn’t told a soul since leaving River Away.

The doneel stood and brushed off his torn and dirty pants. “My name is Dar.”

Kale stood as she had been taught. “I’m Kale.”

Again the doneel’s smile almost overcame his entire face. “Pleased to meet you.”

He crossed to a pack left on the ground and pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle. Untying it, he revealed some flattened rolls. He handed them to Kale.

“Eat. The magic makes you think you aren’t hungry, but your body needs nourishment, especially when it has been busy repairing bruises and scrapes.”

Kale took the offering and sat again, this time beneath a borling tree. Dar gathered sticks and laid a fire while she ate. Kale watched him with suspicion. He whistled and hummed and didn’t seem to mind her silence. Kale had never been much of a talker. Slaves weren’t encouraged to enter into conversations. But the questions boiled inside her, and she thought she’d scream if she didn’t get at least some of the answers.

“Where did you come from?”

Dar crouched beside a pile of sticks he arranged with great precision.

“The Hall.”

“Why did you come to help me? How did you know I was in trouble?”

“Actually, I didn’t know, but Merlander did.”

“Who’s Merlander?” The words came out louder than she expected, and she cringed. None of the villagers would have forgiven such an outburst.

Dar seemed unconcerned. “My dragon.”

“The beautiful one?”

Dar grinned again. “She is something to look at, isn’t she? But vain. Don’t say too much about her being pretty when she’s around.”

Kale nodded, agreeing to his request as if she understood all the intricacies of owning a dragon.

“You said ‘my dragon.’ I was told that no one could own a dragon.”

“Oh, I don’t own Merlander. I say ‘my dragon’ in the same way I would say ‘my friend’ or ‘my sister.’ She would say ‘my doneel.’ We’ve been together five years.”

Kale gulped and almost choked on the bread. Dar came over and slapped her on the back. When she was breathing easily again, he got a heavy ceramic mug out of his pack and brought her cool water from the stream.

“She talks? Your dragon talks?”

“No, not like you and I. She knows my thoughts and I know hers. She told me a new dragon was coming from the east, over the Morchain Mountains. As you carried the egg closer, Merlander knew when you were tired or excited or frightened. The dragon embryo in your egg already reflects your disposition. My dragon knew what your dragon felt. When you were terrorized by the grawligs, we knew. But we couldn’t come to you when you were unconscious. We had no beacon. Then you were awake and hurting. We knew. But after a short while, you went to sleep.”

“You knew all that?”

“Merlander knew.”

Dar lit the fire and cleaned the fish. He hung the brook dabbler on a metal brace he plucked out of his pack and placed over the fire.

Kale puzzled over all the information Dar had given her. Councilman Meiger was right. She didn’t know anything.

“So,” she asked the doneel as he slowly turned the cooking fish, “will you take me to The Hall now?”