DragonKnight (20 page)

Bardon sang several easy melodies. With the last one he sang, he was certain that everyone except N’Rae napped, worn out from the business of being children. He studied the peaceful scene, knowing that it could be destroyed in an instant by the entrance of one of the rough rapscallions who also counted themselves among Granny Kye’s orphans. Luckily, the five older boys remained above, helping at jobs they found thrilling.

The baby nestled in N’Rae’s arms as she sank to the blanket-padded crate and leaned against another. Ten children sprawled on their pallets, scattered in an uncertain order around the unlikely nursery.

Bardon tiptoed to her side and whispered, “I think I shall have a talk with Granny Kye.”

N’Rae stifled a yawn. “What about?”

“It isn’t right that you should have the responsibility for all these children.”

“I don’t mind.”

“You’re worn out.”

“I’ll nap now if you go away and quit pestering me.”

“Pestering?”

She grinned. “It is so easy to ruffle your feathers.”

He glowered at her. “It was my impression that I was offering to assist you in making the workload equitable. I wasn’t aware I was pestering you.”

“See?” She slipped down onto the floor and lay down, careful not to wake the baby. “Now go away and don’t pester Grandmother, either.”

“She’s left you to tend fifteen children and a baby by yourself.”

“Nonsense! Mistress Seeno helps. You help. And five of the fifteen I never see, they’re so taken with being sailors.”

“Granny Kye could help.”

N’Rae relaxed, her head resting on her arm. “Yes, she could, but what she’s doing is important.”

Bardon scoffed. “Painting a picture?”

N’Rae’s sleepy voice drawled over her words. “Her pictures are wonderful.”

“Have you seen it?”

She smiled with her eyes closed as if she viewed a dream. “Just wait and see, Bardon. You’ll be surprised.”

She snored, a petite and ladylike whuffling as she breathed out.

I see that further protestations will be useless. The one I wish to persuade has found a way to unequivocally ignore me.

He stood and froze, tilting his head to concentrate on a slight nudging in his mind, the indication that his own thoughts were not the only thoughts dwelling there. He grinned and rushed from the room, heading for the upper deck.

The sun flashed within the foam, marking the water in long lines where the gentle waves crested and melded back into the sea. The smell of salt and seaweed and the fish caught for their evening meal filled his nostrils. The breeze tangled in his hair and whipped it away from his face. He no longer used the pomade, and it would have been a useless attempt under the circumstances. The wind across the seawaters constantly freshened the sails of the ship, billowed the men’s shirts, and fluttered the clothing of the people on deck.

Bardon had given up trying to keep his ears out of sight after Holt had made his comments. He wanted to prove the marione farm boy wrong. As he worked among the crew and openly practiced his forms each morning, the sailors showed no interest in the slight point atop each of his ears. Their lack of interest at first surprised him. Then he felt chagrin for having thought that his ears would cause a downpour of condemnation. He’d been wrong.

After Bardon had gotten over berating himself for being a fool all these years, he remembered Dibl. The minor dragon roused an awareness of the absurd in those around him. While Bardon traveled with Kale on their last quest, the little orange and yellow dragon had delighted in making Bardon laugh at his own foibles. Just the memory of Dibl landing in his hair and scratching his scalp with tiny claws made the squire smile.

And then he sobered as he analyzed the great difference between his life now and his previous life within the confines of The Hall. Grand Ebeck had been right to throw him out of those hallowed walls. In the outside world, the petty digs of immature boys meant little. As a youth in The Hall, they had devastated his morale.

Eying the busy workers around him, he allowed that feeling of separation to settle in his chest for a moment. He sighed heavily, remembering the anguish of being a lonely child, too different to fit in and too shy to use his difference to his advantage.

I wonder what Holt Hoddack would have done under the same circumstances.

The presence in his mind laughed, jarring him out of this melancholy. Greer laughed with the joy of connection. Bardon strode to the forecastle and mounted to the highest point. In the distance he saw the black silhouette against the sky.

“Ahoy!” The call came from the crow’s nest. “Dragon, due east.”

“No cause for alarm.” Bardon raised his voice for all to hear. “He is Greer, a friend.”

Yes, I know where we shall go ashore. Annonshan…You aren’t surprised? Why would I think you would be? You are always two steps ahead of me…And just how did you know about Granny Kye’s acquisition of all these children?

Bardon gasped and scanned the waters.
A sea serpent? Since when are you friendly with sea serpents?…No! I’m not implying that your distant relatives are an inferior breed…Could you, for once, answer a question without all this falderal?…Of course, there was a question!…
Bardon chuckled.
No, I guess I don’t remember it either. But yes, we are going to Annonshan, and from there we go to Dormenae. Sir Dar will have a solution to our sudden overpopulation in the questing party…Yes, I also wish to acquire dragons for the rest of our journey. I am tired of the clumsy conveyances on the ground.

He grinned.
I concede, you bothersome beast. I am all kinds of a fool for leaving you behind. You are a far superior mode of transportation.

You have a message for Sir Dar and Paladin as well?…From the sea serpent?…What were you doing talking to this overgrown snake? I thought you couldn’t abide snakes of any kind…Sea serpents are one of the reasons you find snakes disgusting? How is that?…Unsavory relatives are a part of life, Greer. Most people do have branches of their family who are less palatable than others…Hmm? I’ve never thought of it that way, but I suppose being abandoned at The Hall does have the advantage of having no distasteful relatives.

Getting back to the subject, Greer, I also suppose this message from the exceptionally well-mannered sea serpent is about the quiss…Yes, Greer, I figured that out all by myself. I
do
have a head on my shoulders and occasionally use it…
My
head had nothing to do with acquiring a herd of children! Granny Kye collected the children…I am in charge of the expedition, Greer. I have a perfectly good plan for getting rid of the children…No! Your eating them would not solve the problem, and you don’t eat children. Although I might tell them you do, if they get out of hand…Ha! You haven’t got a reputation to spoil.

         
24
         

D
ANGER FROM THE
D
EEP

Clouds rolled in from the open sea, the wind picked up, and the
Tobit Grander
rocked between billowing waves. The inclement weather added a day to their journey, having pushed them away from the coast. Bardon had experienced rough seas before when sailing with Sir Dar, and the rolling deck beneath his feet did absolutely nothing to his stomach. Granny Kye, N’Rae, and Holt hung over the rail, though, losing their dinners overboard, and then took to their beds.

Bromptotterpindosset stepped in to help. The practical tumanhofer brewed tea and served it to those who lay groaning on their pallets or, in Holt’s case, a bunk. Most of the children hopped, skipped, and jumped around the hold. The swaying of the ship provided more fun. Bromptotterpindosset ordered them to sit, and they acknowledged the man’s sharp tone by scrambling to their own spots to wait for his next command.

Pulling a deck of cards from a huge pocket in his cowled, knee-length jacket, he sat down in the nook that also housed the nanny goat. He pointed to one child and then another until he had a group of youngsters gathered around him. Shuffling the cards with a flourish, he instructed them on the rules of a lively game.

When this group became engrossed in the card playing, he stood and called the others to follow him to the more open area. He charged the older ones to keep the youngest ones out of trouble, and then he produced a dozen balls out of his voluminous coat.

Bardon tilted his head at the tumanhofer. “A mapmaker keeps balls in his pockets?”

“Orbs,” he answered gruffly. “Technically, they’re orbs.”

A green orb sailed past Bardon’s ear and ricocheted off a crate, hitting the ceiling and rebounding toward a group of children.

“Bouncing orbs?”

“I juggle,” announced Bromptotterpindosset without a trace of embarrassment. “I learned while visiting Himber.” He cocked an eyebrow at the young squire. “You’ve heard of Himber?”

“On the Herebic continent? I have. We study geography at The Hall.” He pushed aside his annoyance that the mapmaker thought he knew nothing of the world beyond Amara. His education had been more than adequate, but he admitted he had a lot to learn. The tumanhofer would be a good source of information if he could be persuaded to open up. Bardon determined to use Sir Dar’s diplomacy and ask intelligent questions about the man’s expertise. “I thought the Himbernese were not a friendly nation.”

The mapmaker shifted his glasses up on his nose. “A little standoffish, but most people warm up to you if you express an interest in their customs.” His eyes brightened as if he shared an unspoken joke with the young squire. “They juggle to relieve stress and as a means to focus their attention during meditation. I got quite good at it, actually.”

Another orb flew between the squire and the tumanhofer. A child chased after it, bumping into the sturdy mapmaker and careening away much like one of the orbs glanced off the crates.

“Not all the orbs bounce,” said Bromptotterpindosset. “And the different patterns of the juggle, the order and color of the orbs, have significance. A fascinating study.”

“The orbs, then, are valuable?”

“Quite.”

“And you allow the children to play with them?”

The tumanhofer squared his shoulders. “In all the cultures I have studied, I have noted that children are less troublesome if they are occupied. Contented children are valuable, as is the peace that surrounds them.”

“Energy directed is energy of use.” Principle seventy. “A child on his own has only one chance in four of heading the right way.” Principle fifty-six.
Bardon nodded but had little to say about peace where children were concerned.

A burst of laughter filled the cramped space.

Bardon smiled sardonically. “Peace?”

“Laughter is but one tone of peace.” Bromptotterpindosset moved to the pallet of one of the few children stricken with seasickness and offered a crust of bread. The little girl took the bread to nibble on, and the tumanhofer sat on the floor beside her, holding a small bucket and speaking quietly.

“Would you like to hear what children living in Tastendore do when the rains come?” he asked.

The child’s eyes grew big, and she nodded.

Bardon moved on to urge N’Rae to sit and sip cooled tea.

Once the clouds and wind moved on and the ship ceased rocking violently, the patients recovered. First the few stricken children found the strength to get up. Then N’Rae forced herself off her pallet. Bardon said she rose from the brink of death just because she had realized he and the tumanhofer were in charge of the children.

“We did very well without you, N’Rae,” he teased her. “None of them fell overboard, and all of them are still well fed and clean.”

She snorted. “Well fed on what? Hardtack and candy? Clean by whose standards? A grawlig’s?”

Granny Kye climbed out of the hold soon after. Holt was the last to appear, and he still looked pale. The passengers on the
Tobit Grander
gathered on deck to bask in the warm sun.

“Squire Bardon,” said Ahnek, “Granny Kye’s painting is finished. Come see.”

A small crowd stood behind the emerlindian sitting on her wooden stool. Bromptotterpindosset, Holt, N’Rae, and several children looked over her shoulder at the canvas on the easel, admiring her work and making enthusiastic comments.

At first, Bardon saw nothing remarkable about the seascape. But the others pointed out images blended into the more obvious forms. When looked at carefully, a cloud became a hand releasing a flock of birds. A wave curled over a finger. The ship rested in a giant palm. Light seemed to radiate from a fingertip touching the sun. Bardon blinked, and the hidden images disappeared. He concentrated, and they came back into focus.

“I don’t like the eyes,” said Ahnek, his voice breaking with a squeak.

“Neither do I,” said N’Rae. “They look evil.”

“What eyes?” asked Bardon and Holt in unison.

“There,” said Bromptotterpindosset pointing to a crest of a wave. “It’s a sea serpent. The tail is over here.”

“It’s huge,” exclaimed N’Rae.

Holt rubbed his chin. “Perhaps there are two. The head of one here, and the tail of another over there.”

Ahnek put his hand on the older emerlindian’s shoulder. “Granny Kye, what do you think?”

“I think it is stalking us.” She reached for N’Rae’s hand. “Is it there now, dear?”

The younger emerlindian looked out across the gently swelling waves. After only a moment, she gasped.

“Yes!” She looked around her at the children. “You must go below. All of you! Now!” She pushed the little girls at her skirts toward the hatch. “Hurry now. Get below!”

Bardon ran to gather the youngsters playing on the forecastle. Holt whistled to the boys following after the sailors. Bromptotterpindosset and Granny Kye quickly collected her paints and tossed them in the canvas carrier. She held the wet painting away from her as she hastened after N’Rae. The tumanhofer carried her stool and easel as he hurried her toward safety. He stood at the top of the ladder while Holt and Bardon ushered the last of the children into the hold.

“What is this all about?” asked Holt.

Bromptotterpindosset shook his head and gazed out at the sea. “Legend says that sea serpents prefer tender flesh. In other words, children.”

Bardon stood with his hands on his hips. The fingers of one hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword. “Greer said a sea serpent gave him information about the migration of quiss. He didn’t indicate that the serpent had evil intentions toward our ship’s passengers.”

The tumanhofer shifted his load and put a foot on the top rung of the ladder. “There is more than one serpent in the sea, Squire Bardon.”

Holt looked down to where the top of the mapmaker’s head was disappearing. “In your travels, have you ever encountered a sea serpent?”

“Yes!” declared Bromptotterpindosset. “And I don’t wish to do so again.”

“What’s this commotion?” barked the captain as he strode across the deck. “My crew is whispering about a serpent. Is it true? Did the emerlindians spot the head and tail of a giant?”

“Not exactly,” said Bardon. “Both ladies have unusual talents. You can be assured the threat of attack is real.”

The seasoned captain nodded his head. “The important thing is to keep it from wrapping around the ship and pulling us down. The last third of its tail has no spine. You can slice through the muscle with your sword.” He nodded at Bardon’s weapon. “As the body comes over the deck, you need to sever the spinal cord. No need to hack all the way through. A point thrust into the vertebrae is your best defense.”

Heavy steps and grunts heralded the return of the tumanhofer. He hoisted himself out of the hold with a double-bladed battle-ax on his shoulder. He addressed Holt. “Do you have a weapon, boy?”

“No,” said Holt. “Not one that would count. I have a small knife. That’s all.”

“Come with me,” said the captain. “I’m breaking out arms for my men, and I can provide you with something more dangerous than a stickpin.”

With a nervous glance at Bardon and then at the water, Holt went after the captain.

“He’ll do all right,” proclaimed the tumanhofer. “The instinct to survive is strong in that one.”

The hours that passed during the long afternoon reminded Bardon of the time spent on the
Morning Lady
as they cruised down the Gilpen River. The seamen went about their business, but with many anxious looks to the water around them. Tension mounted. Every stir in the water caused the people on board the
Tobit Grander
to grab their weapons.

The wind stilled, and the sails hung limply from the yards. The captain ordered the men to strike and furl the sheets. The sun sank toward the western horizon, turning orange, then red, casting an eerie hue across the glassy surface.

“Blood sea,” muttered a sailor as he passed Holt and Bardon.

A dark wave rose out of the crimson water.

Several calls raised the alarm. The mound sank beneath the surface, only to rise again twenty yards farther to the east.

“It’s coming at us now,” said Bromptotterpindosset as he came to stand beside the two younger men. “It’ll circle first. Then the tail will rise up beside the ship and slap down hard across midship.”

“Fore and aft,” yelled the captain. “Arms at the ready. Steady, men, we only have to worry about the part that’s on board. Likely we’ll never even see the head.”

“If you look into its face,” said Bromptotterpindosset, “you are looking at your own death. Sea serpents don’t show their heads up close until they know they’ve got the ship in a death grip.”

Bardon, Holt, and the tumanhofer moved to the stern of the ship, as did half the crew. The other half stood ready across the bow.

The beast showed sections of its long body as it undulated through the briny waters in a circle that grew smaller with every turn. It changed course and went under the hull, passing without making a strike.

“It’s toying with us,” said Holt.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” answered Bromptotterpindosset. “They are more clever than one would think.”

The serpent made another pass under the ship. In the distance they saw the head rise from the sea, a black silhouette against a blazing sky. The creature disappeared, and Bardon watched for that sinuous, dark form to surge upward and fall down into the water. Nothing showed.

Either it is swimming deep, or it has gone away. I bet it hasn’t gone away.

Water showered down on them from one side as the beast’s great tail thrust into the air. It poised there for a second before slamming down on the vessel, splintering the wooden rail and cracking the deck. The captain and his first mate ran forward and sliced through the serpent as it lay over the crushed railing. The others surged to grab the severed tail and slide it off the deck into the churning water.

The serpent sped away from the ship, leaving a red foaming trail.

“Will it die?” asked Holt.

“Nay,” said the captain. “It’ll grow another tail unless it’s killed by us or some other creature of the deep. I doubt it even feels the wound.” He turned to his men. “Step lively. Back to your posts. We haven’t seen the end of this sea devil.”