DragonSpell (35 page)

As the circle widened, Kale saw the furious fight for survival playing out at the cavern end of the tunnel. Flashes of light attested to the kimens’ activity. Or was the wizard using the fireball spell? Kale heard swords cutting through the air with a whoosh and then thudding against tough schoerg bodies.

“Leetu! Dar! The gate is open. Hurry!” Her scream barely rose above a second rumbling of the rocks surrounding her. The stone wall next to her shattered and came down in a thick mass of gravel, sand, and fist-sized rocks. The floor beneath her heaved upward. She slid back toward the outside of the mountain.

“Dar! Fenworth!”

A boulder crashed next to her and pinned her pant leg. Kale tugged frantically, tore the material, and clambered out of the tunnel. She tried to stand, but the rolling ground threw her back down on her hands and knees. With the dirt-encrusted sleeve of her blouse, she attempted to wipe dust from around her eyes. She turned and saw a fissure opening up behind her. The white snow tumbled into the expanding rocky breach.

The cape bundle slipped away from Kale and toward the crevice.

“No!” Kale dove for the moonbeam cape and missed.

Gymn! Metta! Fly to me! The eggs!

Kale struggled through the snow, trying to catch up to the cape as it skidded toward the black gap. The mountain continued to stretch and break its boundaries. The ground underneath Kale gave way. She fell downward with snow cascading on top of her, burying her. As soon as her feet touched something solid, she fought her way upward. When she surfaced, the cape and its contents had slid into a bush. The bare branches quivered with vibrations from the earth beneath it. Kale scrabbled toward it, determined to snatch the prize from its limbs.

The mountain quieted. The ground grew still. Kale hauled herself to her feet and plunged through the shifted snow. She stumbled but fell forward, and her hand caught the smooth moonbeam fabric. Crawling forward, she pulled with all the strength she had left. The tangle of winter branches held on like bony fingers.

A shriek reverberated through the rocks beneath her, like the death wail of some hideous monster. The earth surged beneath her one more time, a rift opening right at her feet. The momentum of the mountain pitched her backward, wresting the cape from her hands. Cape and bush flew through the air in the opposite direction.

Kale lay on her back, staring at the brilliant blue sky. A lone white cloud peacefully floated above the tortured mountain.

Turning away from the mockingly tranquil sky, the o’rant girl sat up and crawled to the edge of the newly formed chasm. She reached with her mind to Gymn and Metta.

Emptiness.

She tried to connect to the meech egg.

A void.

Tears streamed down her face. Voices brought her head around to stare at the misshapen entrance to the old tumanhofer mine. Dar and Leetu sat with a singed Fenworth propped between them. Librettowit lay stretched out with Brunstetter kneeling over him. Curls of smoke rose from his charred clothing. His fancy mustache and beard were stubble. The kimens examined the librarian with their usual speed and efficiency. Lee Ark, bloodied and weary, limped toward Kale.

“You saved our lives, o’rant girl.”

“I lost the cape.” She looked away from him and down the jagged sides of the gorge.

Lee Ark did not respond. She couldn’t say she had lost the minor dragons, the meech egg. The words stuck in her throat behind a lump that cut off her breathing as well as her voice.

A sob broke the stranglehold. She bent forward, weeping.

The marione’s calm voice washed over her. “We will build two litters for the wizard and the tumanhofer. Aid will come from the o’rant valley soon. They will have noted the disturbance and sent help.”

He left her and went back to take care of practical matters. Kale saw him leave through a blur of tears.

They should go on without me. I don’t want to go any farther. I don’t want anything. I failed. Oh, Gymn and Metta, I failed you. Paladin, I’m sorry.

         
49
         

H
OME

O’rant hands lifted Kale out of the snow. Someone wrapped an o’rant robe of fleecy wool around her bruised body. More o’rant hands passed her with tender care onto the back of a blue and gold dragon. O’rant arms carried her in the flight down the mountain into the valley.

A citrus smell clung to the clothing of her rescuers. The sharp, slightly sweet fragrance had always been a part of Kale’s bedding at home. Mariones had an earthy odor clinging to their bodies. Kale had noticed when she was quite young that her skin smelled different from the babies she rocked for the village mothers.

Kale nestled against the strong chest of the o’rant male who cradled her wrapped in soft, citrus-smelling blankets. The sorrow in her heart wanted to bury itself in this sensation of being surrounded by something curiously familiar. Kale didn’t want to figure it out. She didn’t want to think too much. She closed her eyes and shut out the world.

She awoke in a soft, warm bed in a room with painted walls and a rug that covered the floor. Warmth radiated from a crackling fire in a brick fireplace. A landscape painting in a gilt frame hung above an oak mantle. Curtains draped the windows. Sunbeams danced through multiple beveled panes of glass set in a finely carved sash.

The room smelled of citrus.

Kale sat up and looked out the window. Thick snow blanketed the countryside. Two stone walls topped with frothy caps marched down a straight country road. Bare-limbed trees in an orchard held aloft puffs of frosty snow. The sun sparked reflections on a myriad of tiny ice crystals covering every field, tree, bush, and building.

Kale closed her eyes against the brilliant beauty.

There should not be any beauty left in the world.

Merry whistling and light footsteps announced the approach of someone beyond the polished wood door. A slight tap and then the sound of the door shushing across the plush carpet preceded a cheerful “hello.”

An o’rant woman entered with a tray. The tray had legs to fit over Kale’s lap. The woman wore a rich blue skirt with a matching short jacket, an ivory blouse underneath, and a lace cap on her head. She smiled with straight, white teeth looking pretty and natural in her pleasant face. A few wrinkles sprang out from her eyes and lips as if they had been etched by years of friendly good cheer.

“Tea and toast.” The woman walked briskly across the room. “Then more sleep for you. You needn’t get up today or tomorrow if you don’t wish it.”

She set the tray down on the bedside table.

“Here, let me help you pile those pillows so you can sit up proper and eat a bite.”

She grabbed three pillows and stacked them against the headboard. “Try that.” She reached for the tray. “My name is Mistress Sanci Moorp. I’m the head housekeeper here at Ornopy Halls.”

Kale sat back against the pillows, pulling the covers up around her waist. She stared at her hands.

“I’m clean.” She held out her arm and inspected the delicate linen nightshirt sleeve. “How—?”

“Oh, you were exhausted all right when you came in late yesterday afternoon.” Sanci Moorp fit the tray over her guest’s legs and poured a cup of tea. She dipped two spoonfuls of fine white sugar into the brew and stirred vigorously. The silver spoon chimed against the porcelain. “You don’t remember soaking in the warm tub?”

Kale shook her head.

“Drink that now. It has herbs to help you sleep and heal.”

Mistress Moorp sat on the chair and watched as Kale picked up the cup and took a sip. The lace cap bobbed on the housekeeper’s head as she nodded her approval.

“You were chilled clear through. All of you were. Your wizard has caught cold. The tumanhofer has broken legs. Cuts and bruises the like I’ve never seen, on all your friends. But they’re on the mend. We have good doctors here in the valley. Librettowit will have to curtail any adventuring for some time. But he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s been mumbling about books and was right pleased when I had a footman carry books up from Master Ornopy’s library. The tumanhofer gentleman cannot sit up yet, but he seemed comforted to have a stack of thick tomes on his bedside table.”

“He’s a librarian.” Kale spoke around a mouthful of toast.

“So I have been informed. Also that he does not go questing. Your wizard is a very old man. I don’t think it was the wisest thing for him to have gone questing, either. But wizards have remarkable stamina. Let’s hope rest and good food will be enough to cure him.”

“Dar?”

“The doneel?” At Kale’s nod, she smiled. “Oh, I love a nice doneel. They are such pleasant houseguests. He’s busy replenishing his wardrobe. Called for material and thread. His feet were injured, and he had a gaping wound in his back.”

Kale gasped.

“Not too bad,” Mistress Moorp assured her. “More than a scratch, less than it could have been. He’s content to putter around his room until he has time to put together some suitable clothing.”

She hopped up to replenish Kale’s empty teacup.

“Your other friends are sleeping. Even the kimens. At least, I assume they’re sleeping. They take care of themselves, you know. I did get to serve them some of my sweet cakes and a berry juice I put up last summer. Such dear little creatures.”

“Leetu Bends is all right?”

“The emerlindian?”

“Yes.”

“She’s sleeping, which is what you should be doing. You are getting drowsy, aren’t you?”

Kale nodded and raised a hand to cover a tremendous yawn.

Mistress Moorp smiled with satisfaction and took the tray. “You cuddle back down, and when you awake, I’ll have a nice bowl of chukkajoop for you.”

Kale slid under the covers, knocking two of the pillows aside in the big bed. “Dar once told me chukkajoop is the o’rant national dish. I’ve never had any.”

Mistress Moorp chuckled. “Well, if we had a national dish, I guess chukkajoop would be it.” She pursed her lips in a comical moue. “Doneels love to tease. And they make good friends. You are fortunate to have him among your companions. He’s been worried about you.”

Regret intruded on Kale’s comfort. She hadn’t been a very good friend to any of her companions. This room, the food, the good housekeeper’s kind attention, none of it should be wasted on her. “I don’t deserve to be treated so well.”

Mistress Moorp frowned fiercely at her young charge. “In this house we don’t wait for someone to deserve to be treated decently, my dear.” Her voice had a hard edge, and Kale realized she had in some way offended the woman.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

Mistress Moorp’s expression softened. “No dear, I’m the one to apologize. I forgot you haven’t been taught the ways of the o’rants. But that will change now. You can stay with us as long as you like. Master Ornopy has already said he’d take you in as one of his daughters. He’s a generous man, and your story touched his heart.”

“My story?” Kale struggled against the sleep that pulled her away from Mistress Moorp’s words. “Who told him my story?”

“Why, Paladin, dear. He was among those who went out to rescue you.”

“Paladin?” Kale tried to sit up again, but she could not even keep her eyes open. Tears slipped down her cheeks. She didn’t want to face Paladin. He would be so disappointed in her.

“Rest, dear, and heal.” The shush of the door opening and closing over the carpet followed Mistress Moorp’s soft words.

A tangy smell of something delectable pulled Kale out of a deep sleep. The fire crackled and sparked, warming the room with its golden glow as well as a pleasant heat. In the chair where Mistress Moorp had sat earlier, a man rested, his head against the high, cushioned back. His long legs extended straight out with polished black boots crossed at the ankle. Kale blinked and looked closely as the fire played a flickering light over his features.

“Paladin!” She sat up abruptly.

His eyes opened slowly, and a gentle smile spread across his lips.

“Little Kale, it’s good to hear your voice.” He reached for a bowl on the table at his elbow. “Mistress Moorp sent up chukkajoop. I’m partial to this stew myself, and Mistress Moorp makes some of the best I’ve ever tasted.”

Kale crossed her legs under the blanket as she took the thick ceramic bowl into her hands. It fit in one, and warmth spread through those fingers as she picked up the spoon with the other hand. Hunger rose up at the smell of the rich dark stew. She took a mouthful and savored the flavor.

“I
do
like it.”

“You sound surprised.”

“Dar said it was made of things from underground. Only roots and things.”

“Doneels.” Paladin shook his head gently. The grin on his face widened.

Kale took another bite and peered into the bowl. There was not enough light for her to see it very well. “He also said it was blood red.”

A dark candle on the table sizzled. The unlit wick suddenly burst into flame. Paladin picked it up and held it over Kale’s bowl.

“It is!” Kale grinned up at Paladin. “The broth is red.”

“Eat it, Kale. It’s good for you.”

Paladin sat comfortably stretched out in his chair while she ate the entire bowlful and scraped the last drops out of the bottom with her spoon. She handed the empty bowl to him, and he put it down on the table. Only then did it strike her as appalling that Paladin himself had served her and sat quietly beside her while she ate. She hadn’t even offered him polite conversation as the mariones did around their fancy tables with important guests.

“Now, Kale.” His voice held a note of reprimand. “We’ve been very comfortable together. Why have you gone tense, and why do you look ill? Did the chukkajoop not sit well in your stomach?”

She knew the last question was a jest. It sounded very much like something Dar would say. Of course the delicious stew had not made her sick. Kale looked down at her hands folded in her lap.
What does he want me to say? What should I say?

Only two words came to mind. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” He quirked an eyebrow at her.

“Gymn and Metta are dead.”

“I know what happened to Gymn and Metta.”

“I lost the meech egg.”

“I know what you did.”

“I hit the lever and made the gate close. When I opened it again, it fell apart. Everything fell apart.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t do one thing right. And Gymn and Metta are dead.”

“Wulder is in charge of life in our world, Kale. He gives it, and He takes it away. And when He takes life from one of His creatures here where we stand, He moves it with His infinite care to another place we know very little about. You are not mighty enough to be in charge of the giving and taking of life. Not your life. Not Gymn’s life. Not Metta’s life.”

Kale scrubbed the tears off her cheeks with the back of her hand. Paladin offered her a handkerchief.

“Blow your nose,” he ordered kindly.

The noise embarrassed Kale, but everything about being with Paladin now embarrassed her. He should be visiting with Wizard Fenworth or Leetu or Dar. Not her.

Paladin reached out and took her hands in his. He leaned forward and smiled a small, tender smile that somehow warmed her with love and peace. “I want to visit with you, Kale. You are more than my servant. You are my friend, my child, my vision of the future.”