DragonKnight (4 page)

“Why not give the information to Paladin?” he asked. “Paladin would take interest in your plight and provide a party to carry out the rescue.”

The old emerlindian nodded her head. “We have petitioned him, and he gave us permission to rescue my son.”

“Gave his permission? He won’t send a questing party?”

“The questing party is now being organized.”

Bardon sighed his relief and sat back. His curiosity toyed with some of the other aspects of his tablemates’ backgrounds.

“N’Rae and her mother were hiding while they lived with the ropma?” he asked.

“Yes,” answered Granny Kye.

“I’ve only met one ropma. His name was Dirt.”

N’Rae smiled. “That is a very common name among them. So are Bug, Stick, Rock, and Leaf.”

“Um…Dirt possessed a very simple mind.”

“They all do,” N’Rae agreed. “And they are easily frightened. But they are generally kind and shared everything they had with us.”

“They lived in houses?”

“More like huts.”

“And clothing?”

“Simple weaving.”

“Food?”

“Vegetarian.”

“And Lady Jilles protected the band as long as she was alive?”

“Yes.”

N’Rae glanced away. “She cloaked our presence so no one could see us except the ropma.”

“And you couldn’t continue after her death?” Bardon asked. “She didn’t teach you how?”

The minneken spoke up in her high-pitched voice. “Singularly untalented, essentially inept, remarkably…clumsy. But we’re working on these shortcomings. N’Rae has made admirable progress.”

Bardon looked with compassion on the young woman. Being raised among the ropma must have been trying. “How did your mother die, N’Rae?”

Her expression saddened. “She coughed all winter and then into the spring. One morning, she didn’t wake up.”

That’s too much for a young girl alone. N’Rae certainly needs to be reunited with her father. Granny Kye should have her son back.
Bardon stifled a sigh of resignation.

“All right,” said Bardon. “I’ll join you. Who is in charge of your quest?”

Granny Kye patted his hand. “I believe you are, dear.”

         
5
         

Q
UESTIONS

Wulder, is this a test?

Bardon paced along the shore. Moonlight danced on a path across the lake. Breezes carried the perfume of pines and the sweet mountain flower azrodhan. The vine cascaded over a rocky hillock near the shoreline. Greer dozed, curled up on the grassy bank. And sitting to the left of one of the peaks in the southwestern range, the Wizards’ Plume hung as if immobile for the moment in its climb through the night sky.

He could not sleep, although those in the cabin had gone to bed hours before.

Turning away from the taunting Wizards’ Plume, Bardon focused on his thoughts. He had too many questions about the design behind this latest turn of events.

If this is a test, what is being tested? Can I exhibit noble instincts when my teachers are not around? Or perhaps this is a test of discernment. Should I recognize this to be an irrational endeavor and avoid it?

Pardon me, Wulder, I mean no disrespect. I’m just frustrated. I’m willing to do whatever You demand of me, but I’m not certain escorting these women to some unknown destination in the Northern Reach is really Your plan.

You know what I’m thinking and even what I am trying not to think.
He sighed and thrust his fists deep into his pockets. Looking up, he admired the beautiful starlit sky but avoided looking at the southwestern firmament. Wulder deserved a servant who knew what he was doing.

I want this to be from Your hand. The truth is I’m excited to go on an adventure rather than spend hours upon hours pondering life’s choices. In spite of all the noise I’ve made about this time alone…

He strolled over to the sleeping dragon. Greer snored, ruffling the blades of grass in front of his chin. His breath smelled distinctly of fish. Bardon wrinkled his nose, moved to the back of the dragon’s neck, and folded his body to sit on the lawn. He rested against Greer’s shoulder. The animal didn’t even flinch. Bardon crossed his arms over his chest, noticing that the wrestling match with the writher snake had left him sore.

Tonight he wrestled with a weightier problem.

Wulder, I’m trying to be honest with myself here. You know I was much better practicing weaponry than sitting in chapel. I sat there looking attentive, but I longed for sword practice and archery. I enjoyed digging through the library and putting together a paper much more than listening to a lecture by one of the scribes. I’m more comfortable doing. Physical doing. Intellectual doing. Grand Dost said it was because when I was idle, I delved into my deeper consciousness and that was abhorrent to me. He said that was just why I needed the sabbatical more than the others.

Yes! I would rather go on this quest than stay here and face my own ponderings about my future.

He closed his eyes but still did not relax.

And I shall not discount a definite feeling of pride in thinking You have chosen me to do this impossible task. But have You chosen me? Am I willing to do this because I want to be a hero, or because I want to be a servant?

Bardon chuckled. He leaned his head back against Greer’s leathery hide and grinned. He remembered how shocked he had been when Dar announced over a campfire that doing a righteous deed for a wrong reason was not such a bad thing. The two of them had gone to great lengths to track down a widow’s foolish son and deliver him home. They didn’t do it for a noble reason. They’d done it because his mother was such a pest, constantly accosting them as they rode past her cottage. Eventually, they took a different route to avoid her. Then she had shown up at court to petition aid.

“You see, young Squire,” Sir Dar had said as he stirred a pot of magrattin soup, “when we came across the boy, he was tired of his reckless living and really wanted an excuse to go home. We obliged. Now he’s accepted his role in life. His mother is happy, no longer lonely. I foresee this young man becoming a good farmer and contributing to the community. And it is all because we went out to do the right thing for the wrong reason.”

That had been two summers before, and the young squire had seen on numerous occasions his mentor do the right thing with no proper motivation.

“Wulder is pleased,” Sir Dar had said, “when you do the right thing even without the inspiration of a noble purpose. Intellectually, you recognize the righteous rationale. You have the good sense to do the good deed, even if your heart, full of folly, has claimed a less noble basis for action. I doubt that you get the abundant reward that Wulder would have bestowed on you for the same action done with a pure heart. Nonetheless, I’m sure He is pleased at the end results.”

Three years of intense training to always choose the more honorable course, and still I have to consciously make the decision to help where help is needed.

He eased his leg into a more comfortable position and rubbed the calf muscle where the snake had grabbed him. He looked up at the multitude of stars and wished the doneel statesman were with him now. The Wizards’ Plume now graced a spot a tiny bit closer to the top of that southwestern mountain peak.

“Sir Dar, I would like to hear you say again, ‘There can be as many wrong reasons to do the right thing as there are stars in the sky. There might even be more than one legitimate right reason. But there is never a right reason to do the wrong thing. Not ever.’”

He watched the sky for some time, even saw a shooting star. When the mountain air became too chilly for comfort, he rose to his feet and strode to his bed. The secluded house sheltered three women, when it was supposed to be his sanctuary for several months.

Bardon sat on the only chair in his small sleeping chamber and pulled off his boots. He lay down on top of the covers, his hands behind his neck. What would be a proper principle for the happenings of this day? One readily surfaced in his mind.
“Wulder gives His servants their needs according to His wisdom, not by the reasoning of man.” Principle thirty-nine.

The next morning, a cloud cloaked the lake and valley. Tiny whiffs of air swirled the white vapor as Bardon made a tour of the clearing’s circumference. He found no unusual animal signs, and Greer reported nothing had interrupted his sleep. Of course, that didn’t signify much. Bardon had known his dragon to sleep through thunderclaps that woke wine-sodden ne’er-do-wells.

The young man climbed over the rocky projection toward the water. The dragon skimmed the surface of the lake and landed next to him.

“Let’s go for a swim, Greer.”

Bardon tossed a bundle to the ground. He pulled off his tunic and shirt and sat down to work on his boots.

“No, I’m not changing into court dress to impress the ladies. I’m cleaning up to be more comfortable. I feel like I was dragged through a lake backward.”

Greer bobbed his head, and a rumble emanated from his throat.

“Thank you, Greer. I appreciate your evaluation of my comedic attempt. I, too, think my sense of humor is developing nicely.”

Having shed the rest of his clothing, Bardon snatched up his bar of soap and dove into the chilly water. Greer followed, wading into the lake. The mist hovered over the water, thinning and eddying and lifting as the sun grew stronger. By the time blue sky canopied the lake from one rim of mountain peaks to the other, Bardon was walking up the grassy slope to the cabin. He presented himself, freshly groomed and dressed in the best he’d brought with him, at the breakfast table. In the back of his mind, he heard Greer chiding him about his gussied-up appearance.

Mistress Seeno twitched her nose at him, her whiskers bouncing. “You don’t smell quite so fishy this morning,” she squeaked.

Bardon smiled from his place beside her. He felt more confident in clean clothes, when freshly shaven, and with his hair in place. N’Rae brought dishes to the table. He caught her eye and winked.

“None of that,” said Jue Seeno. “The girl’s too young and senseless to be attaching herself to the likes of you.”

Bardon ignored her, and as soon as Granny Kye took her seat, he addressed Wulder.

“We thank You for this food and for the hands that prepared it. We ask for guidance in every step of this day. By Your might and wisdom, may we live and breathe.”

They ate turtle-egg brouna and a pastry filled with razterberry jam. The brouna had herbs, cheese, and wild onions folded within it.

“This is delicious, Granny Kye. Thank you,” said Bardon after swallowing the first bite.

“I only cooked it,” she answered. “Mistress Seeno put it together.”

Bardon nodded at the minneken. “Thank you, Mistress.”

“You’re welcome, I’m sure.” She spoke the words formally, preening again, touching her collar in a manner that indicated she was pleased. The minneken nodded at N’Rae. “The girl helped, of course.”

N’Rae looked down at her plate, a pale rosy glow rising to her cheeks.

After eating the last pastry and draining his mug, Bardon shoved his chair back from the table and rested his hands on its edge. “We must make plans.”

The three women looked to him attentively.

“We need a map and transportation. Greer cannot carry us all. And unless we have an idea of where we are going, there is no sense in departing. We shall acquire the map, then decide the best means of getting there.”

The women nodded their heads in agreement.

“Fine.” Bardon clasped his hands on his knees. “How soon can you ladies be ready to go?”

“An hour,” answered Granny Kye.

“What place does this gateway take us to?”

“The city of Norst, a small tavern.”

“I’ve never visited Norst. Would there be a mapmaker there?”

“No,” said Granny Kye. “But I know of a mapmaker in the coastal town of Ianna.”

N’Rae shook her head. “What about Greer? He won’t fit through the gateway. We can’t just leave him behind.”

“He’ll fly. I’ll tell him to meet us near Ianna.”

N’Rae followed Bardon out of the cabin. Her head came up to his shoulder. The sun touched her hair, igniting the fair locks so they shone like a candle flame. The hair framed a typical emerlindian face. He thought her large eyes, tilted eyebrows, pointed nose, and small mouth appealing. She had none of the coquettish airs of the women at Castle Pelacce. After all his years of guarding his feelings, Bardon felt strangely comfortable in her presence, even more comfortable than when he was with Kale.

“You can mindspeak?” she asked.

“Only to Greer,” he answered as he strode down the slope. “Well, that’s not strictly true. I can mindspeak with Kale Allerion.” He stopped speaking before telling her that when Kale was around, his abilities multiplied.

“I can’t mindspeak at all. Grandmother thinks it is peculiar. Mistress Seeno thinks it is disgraceful.” N’Rae trotted a few steps to catch up. “You know the Dragon Keeper?”

“Yes.” Bardon shortened his stride so his companion could keep pace.

“Do you think she could come with us on our quest?”

“No,” said Bardon with a sigh. Having Kale along would be good, but the thought of perhaps rescuing her father on his own, as a sort of tribute to their friendship, had an appeal. “She’s studying under the Wizards Cam Ayronn and Fenworth. I doubt she has time to go on a quest.”