DragonKnight (15 page)

“A cad?” For a moment, Holt seemed affronted, but he chortled and grinned. “All right. I’ll not turn the young innocent’s head. When do we leave?”

“I have to visit a friend in the country first. You can make the inquiries to find the fastest ship going north for our party of five tomorrow. I should be back by sundown.”

“Deal,” said the marione and stuck out his hand.

“I won’t shake with you, Holt. From what you’ve told me, it is not likely your honor backs your handshake. I wouldn’t want you to get the impression I trust you.”

The shorter man let his hand fall slowly to his side. The easy and charming smile faded from his handsome face.

“If I didn’t need a cover for leaving this region, I’d part ways with you now,” Holt said.

Bardon shrugged. “It would be inconvenient for me to put off visiting my friend to deal with the matter of arranging passage first. But you may leave our company now if you wish.”

“You’ll allow yourself to associate with the likes of me so that you can see him a day earlier? Your friend is that important to you?”

“He is, indeed.”

         
17
         

A F
RIEND

Rain drenched the city during the night. Bardon listened to the drum of heavy drops on the windowpane and wondered if he’d have to ride through the torrent to find Greer. He barely heard the town clock strike eleven through the splatter of rain and the claps of thunder. But he heard the midnight toll underscoring a gentle shower. Sleep muffled the lone peal of one o’clock.

He woke in the morning, sprang out of a lumpy bed, and opened the window. The sun rose in the eastern sky, casting an enchanting glow on wisps of clouds as they broke apart and trailed away in puffy filaments. Warm, playful breezes rustled the spring leaves in a tree at the side yard. Chickens scurried about, pecking and scratching in the dirt. Skittish brown thornsnippers twittered from the tree, and plump waistcoaters cooed from the eaves of the buildings. The earth smelled damp and rich and full of promise.

The squire dressed and ran down the back steps to the kitchen. He charmed a few biscuits stuffed with bacon and cheese from the busy cook and stood by the hearth as he ate. He also downed a mug of warm, fresh milk. As soon as he’d tipped the cheerful woman and audaciously planted a kiss on her ruddy cheek, he left the inn.

He’d arranged for the use of one of the inn’s horses the night before. Riding at a brisk clip, he made his way to a location directly east and three miles beyond the last cluster of houses that could have been called part of the city. He tied the horse securely to a woody bush, climbed a hill, and surveyed the surrounding pastures.

This turned out to be a good place to meet. A few farmers, a few stockmen. Not a crowd by any means. That will please Greer.

He sat on grass dried by wind and sun. The smell of the heated, rich green blades acted as a soporific. He yawned, stretched, and lay on his back. A stir of thought not his own passed through his consciousness.

“You haven’t got a chance,” he said out loud, knowing that the thought would go to Greer. “You haven’t been able to sneak up on me in the three years we’ve been together. Not even in the beginning when I wasn’t all that great at receiving your messages.”

Too lazy to get up, he turned on his side and shaded his eyes with a hand, looking to the south. A large black dot skimmed over the horizon. With each breath he took, he saw the shape grow larger and more defined. From experience, Bardon knew he breathed in time to the dragon’s wing beats. This unconscious physical synchronization came as part of the bonding between him and his mount.

When he could distinguish purple body and cobalt wings, he stood and waved an arm in greeting. As Greer landed, Bardon knelt and covered his head, shielding his face from the debris blown up in the air by the force of the major dragon’s wings.

As the dust settled, he rose, a grin stretching his mouth until his cheeks ached. “I am not groveling before you, you old, overgrown bat!”

He went forward and put his arms around the dragon’s neck, resting his forehead against the sleek scales. A warm thrum passed between the two, each relishing the friendship of the other. When Bardon had settled in to wait on the hill, he knew the bond between them would bring Greer as surely as a trained waistcoater would find its way home.

I have had a most unsettling week, Greer.
Ideas and images poured out of his mind. He didn’t have to organize his thoughts to present them logically. The dragon took possession of the information with the same interpretations that Bardon had placed on each relevant fact.

While he communicated, Bardon removed a large pack strapped to Greer’s back. The leather bundle contained his riding saddle, empty panniers, and assorted cloths and brushes for grooming. Bardon removed the cloth and some balm. He proceeded to rub the salve into the place where the pack rasped the dragon’s skin. He then buffed Greer’s scales. While Bardon groomed him, Greer relaxed, hummed deep in his throat, and stretched out on the grass.

Occasionally, in response to a part of Bardon’s continuing narrative, the dragon made a sympathetic grunt in his throat. Once, during the recounting of the quiss tale, Greer gasped. That brought the smile back to Bardon’s face. He stroked the dragon’s neck, right behind the ear, glad he had someone to confide in.

“Yes, that was pretty gruesome, and the implications of what Stox and Cropper could be cooking up is horrific…Yes,
horrific
is a word.”

He went on to describe the reappearance of Holt Hoddack into their lives. Now the rumblings from Greer’s throat sounded suspiciously like laughter. Bardon left the subject of the aggravating marione and went on to the acquisition of a mapmaker as well as a map for their expedition. He glossed over the brouhaha in the tiny bedchamber and gave a full accounting of the addition of a debt-beleaguered marione farm boy to their ranks.

“Yes,
beleaguered
is a word…I do
not
use big words when I’m upset. And I’m not upset…I contend that it will be easier to keep an eye on that scalawag Holt if we know where he is.”

Greer had settled into a reclining position during this long explanation of what had passed during the days they had been separated. Bardon finished the grooming and repacked the bag. It lay on the ground by Greer’s tail.

Bardon leaned back between Greer’s forelegs against the dragon’s chest. To get his mind off the mess that awaited him back in Ianna, Bardon asked what his friend had been doing.

Greer told of flying over the countryside, basically taking in the sights. He’d hunted chigot deer in the forests. And during another flight, he’d caused quite a stir, flying over a field full of children playing astiket ball.

“I guess you’re right,” answered Bardon. “People in the southwest region aren’t as used to seeing dragons as those in Wittoom and Ordray.”

Greer lowered his chin to the top of Bardon’s head and gently rubbed it back and forth.

“You’re messing up my hair,” the squire objected halfheartedly. “People?” He stood and looked down the hill to a valley where cattle grazed. Several men dressed in country togs marched along the road. It looked as though they intended to see why a dragon had landed in their territory.

“Let’s fly, Greer.” Bardon sprang onto his back, settling into the dip where Greer’s neck joined his shoulders. The dragon stretched his wings and took to the air.

The wind rushed against Bardon’s face, lifting his hair back and exposing his ears. Usually, he wore a hat. Every day, he used a pomade to stiffen the hair and keep the sides in place. Of course, that wasn’t enough to keep his ears hidden in the wind.

Most people didn’t notice the slight point that topped each of his ears. One had to look closely to see the peak in their otherwise o’rant shape. Kale had noticed, and N’Rae. He’d caught Kale staring at his ears. She never said anything, but of course, he knew she knew, because they had a special, mystifying bond.

Not only could he mindspeak with Kale, but when he was near her, he could also communicate through his mind with others. Away from her he had no such talent.

He didn’t count communicating with Greer as mindspeaking. A subtle difference existed in communication between those of the high races and between rider and dragon.

To my way of thinking, Kale knows too much about me. I’m glad our studies prevented us from being in the same place.

He pictured her serious face as she tried to understand something new Fenworth explained. He saw her eyes twinkle at one of Dar’s jests. He heard her scolding one of her minor dragons. He saw the look of shock on her face when they both thought the same thing at the same time. And of course, they knew it had happened. They never figured out why.

He didn’t need Kale Allerion distracting him.

Kale had never quizzed him about his obvious halfling blood.

N’Rae asked questions. And N’Rae discussed his ears with Granny Kye and Jue Seeno.

He looked down at the men trudging up the hill.

We left the saddlebag, Greer…No, I don’t think they will steal it. What would they do with dragon tackle?…Yes, we have to go back anyway. Where should we meet next? I wish we could fly north together and keep an eye on the ship from a distance. But I don’t trust Holt to keep away from N’Rae’s tender heart…Granny Kye? Oh no. Jue Seeno is a better guardian than our rather scatterbrained emerlindian…Getting back to the next leg of our trip, Greer, how would you like a seashore vacation?…The fishing would be good.

Greer banked, and Bardon gripped with his knees. He clutched two raised scales along the dragon’s powerful neck.

Take up a post north of Ianna on the coast. When you sense I’m on a passing ship, fly over, and I’ll give you the location of the first port we will visit.

They circled the fertile valley and returned to the hill.

I guess we better see what the good citizens of this rural community have on their minds.
Bardon and Greer descended, landing with a flourish of wind that sent the half-dozen watchers to their knees.

The men turned out to be curious farmers wanting to talk about the unusual sight that had interrupted their routine day. Bardon introduced himself and his companion. The men were as impressed with a squire from Wittoom as they were with Greer.

Greer whispered in Bardon’s thoughts that he wasn’t very impressed with men who thought another two-legged beast with a minor title was as interesting as a dragon. Bardon hushed him, telling him to be civil. Greer responded with a laugh, and Bardon chastised him.

Yes, I expect you to be a great deal more civil than “not eating them.”

He cast the ornery dragon a look of disgust.
When have you ever eaten one of the seven high races? I bet you haven’t eaten any of the seven low races either. Be quiet! I’m trying to follow the conversation here.

Several of the older men reminisced about dragons working together with men.

“I was a wobbly brat, just up on my pegs, when the last family with a dragon left the valley for the high country.” The farmer looked with admiration at Greer’s muscled shoulders. “I don’t remember it myself. Just remember my folks talking of it. They said, in years long ago, each farm had a dragon bonded to the family.”

“Where’ve the dragons all gone?” asked one of the oldest men. “Seems like there’re fewer dragons, fewer emerlindians, and I have never seen a kimen in all my days. Of course, you hear tales from those wandering fellows. There was a big to-do in Trese a few years back. That will be legend when my grandkids tell stories to their grandkids.”

“I think,” said Bardon, “that there used to be a lot more commerce between the different provinces of Amara.”

One of the men shook his head. “Don’t pay to send your products anywhere but close.” He gestured toward the Morchain Range, rising to the east. “You go over the mountains, you have to deal with large, uncouth, smelly grawligs. The rivers, lakes, and wetlands reek with hideous mordakleeps who will take away all your senses. They say in some foreign places, the remnants of Risto’s military bisonbecks walk the streets with the high races. I know we don’t venture out as much as we used to, but it’s safer.”

“We do some trading by sea.” A farmer broke off a tall blade of grass and stuck it in his mouth.

“That we do, but it’s not the bulk of our income.” That man shrugged as if it were no matter.

“We produce what we need,” said the oldest. “It’s not so bad being off to yourselves.” He nodded to Greer but spoke to Bardon. “When you leave, would you circle the valley again so the youngsters can get another gander at the dragon?”

Bardon smiled. “I’m going back to Ianna on horseback. I’ll ask Greer to put on a little flying show for the children, though. To tell you the truth, he’s a bit of a ham and won’t be put out at all.”

For that flagrant impertinence, Greer butted the center of Bardon’s back with more than an easygoing bump. The farmers laughed and kept up a steady stream of talk as Bardon secured the saddlebag onto Greer’s back and sent him off with a brief farewell.

The boring ride back exasperated Bardon. The horse stopped to graze anytime he wasn’t prodded along. The road became crowded with people and carts either going to market or returning home. Bardon chafed at the slowness of his progress.