Dragons and Destiny (22 page)

“I know about
the Express,” said Elliot “Do they know we’re coming?”

“We were
sighted long ago. Lind eyesight is very good.”

“The Vada
uniform is maroon isn’t it?” asked James kneeing his horse
closer.

“Yes and very
smart it is too,” said Robain, “and remember you two, the Lind are
intelligent, they talk and understand as much as us. Treat them as
you would another person and don’t forget your manners.”

As they
approached the station Robain stood in his stirrups and returned
the wave of the figure who was waving to them from the gate.

“Hi there,” he
shouted, “that you Duncin?”

“Aye it is. And
if it is not young Robain Hallam. “You on leave? Me and Stasya
weren’t expecting you until winter.”

“Unexpected
leave,” grinned Robain bending down in the saddle to clasp the old
man’s outstretched hand. “You’re looking well.”

“Can’t complain
and I must say that it is
good
to see you. How are Liam and
Ansell? Your friends? Please introduce, it’s been quiet around here
of late and I’m glad of a bit of company.”

He turned faded
blue eyes in the direction of the other three. He was as they
realised, assessing them. His bushy eyebrows rose up in his
forehead as he recognised their weapons.

“Friends of
Robain’s are friends of mine,” he said but Elliot got the distinct
impression that this elderly, innocent looking man knew more about
them and who they were than he cared to admit.

Robain hastened
with the introductions. “This is Baron Philip Ross of the Kingdom
of Murdoch and his charges Kellen James Cocteau and Kellen Walter
Merriman. They are on a tour of our country, as a finish to James
and Walter’s education and as we are going the same way we decided
to keep company.”

“From Murdoch
eh?” the old vadeln’s eyes gleamed.

“You old
rascal,” chaffed Robain, “you recognised them straight off.”

He turned to
Philip, Elliot and James, “this my friends is a very old friend of
mine, Duncin, vadeln-paired with Stasya. Where is she by the way?
She’s usually by your side.”

Duncin laughed.
“Please to meet you sirs and welcome. Stasya’s gone to one of the
nearby farms. They’re culling there today and you know how she
enjoys fresh meat.”

“I
remember.”

“There are no
free herds hereabouts,” he explained to the southerners, “and she’s
not as young or as fast as she once was. Hunting’s difficult for
her nowadays.”

“Is her leg no
better?” enquired Robain. “Stasya and Duncin were in a fight with a
wral some years ago, a big one and she came off the worse.”

“Couldn’t
continue with the Ryzck after that,” Duncin explained for the
benefit of Robain’s companions, “so we came here to run the
station.”

“Sorry to hear
that,” said Philip, dismounting and jerking his head at James and
Elliot. “Where should we put our mounts?” he asked.

“There’s a
paddock out back, come and I’ll show you.”

Elliot gazed
around the Supply Station with interest. It was surrounded by a
wooden palisade about man height and was oval in shape. The paddock
was at one end with shelters for use in inclement weather and a
large barnlike affair stood beside it. The door was open and as he
unsaddled his horse he saw that it was full of walda hay and
another type he didn’t recognise. To the right was a long low
building with small windows, glassed with small panes with a wide
swing-door at the end.

Another smaller
building came next and another after that. In front of that was a
well. All the buildings were made of wood, even the roofs which
were steep gabled like those in the more northerly duchies in
Murdoch where rain was more frequent.

“Guest rooms
are there,” said Duncin with an expansive wave of his arm. “Two to
a room and if you could take the ones at the far end I’d be
grateful. I’m expecting some vadeln in tonight and the nearer ones
are those with couches for the Lind, but you’ve been here before
Robain so you know what’s what. Tend your beasts and I’ll get the
kala on. I’m sure you could all do with a mug.”

“We’ll be two
claps of a bell,” promised Robain as he ushered the others towards
the paddock.

A quarter bell
later and several shades lighter (the trade route was dusty and
there were washing basins in the rooms) Robain led them into the
first of the smaller buildings.

“This is the
communal one,” he said, “kitchens in here and tables and chairs.
The very small building over there belongs to Duncin and Stasya. In
Lindish it’s called a daga, means home.”

Duncin had both
a steaming jug of kala and some chunky biscuits waiting for
them.

“Seat
yourselves,” he invited, “and wire in. I made them myself. I’ve
become a bit of a cook since Stasya and I came here. Even she has
complimented me … on occasion.”

Elliot sat
down, James beside him and Duncin pushed over the jug. “Careful,
it’s heavy,” he warned.

“Smells good,”
said an appreciative Elliot.

“What? The kala
or the jumbles?”

“Both,”
answered a hungry Elliot, reaching out and taking the top jumble
from the pile. He bit into it.

“This is
delicious,” he beamed. “May we eat them all?”

He was eating
the last crumbs of his third when the swing doors opened and Stasya
limped in.

Elliot was
facing the door. He sat there, mug of kala half way to his mouth as
she sauntered towards them, her blue eyes alive with interest.

“Good day,” she
uttered, “pleased I am to be greeting you,” and she lapsed into a
string of Lindish which left Philip, James and Elliot open mouthed
although Robain understood some words here and there.

He grinned and
winked at Duncin.

“Good to see
you again Stasya.”

“And I you,”
she crinkled her mouth in the manner denoting pleasure.

Elliot noted
that she had very large and very white shiny teeth as he struggled
to his feet conscious of James and Philip copying him although he
had eyes only for Stasya. One of his dreams had come true. Here
right in front of him was one of the fabulous Lind and she was
close enough to touch. He cast an admiring glance at her as he
bowed.

Gods, she was a
wonderful creature. Her coat was long, greyish white with faint
streaks of tan and orange. The hairs on her face were white.

She is nothing
like the Larg. My tutors were wrong.

Stasya was
preening herself.

“My appearance
surprises you?” she asked Elliot who came to himself with a start
with the shock of being addressed.

“Yes, no,” he
said in confusion. “My Lady, it is my honour and privilege to meet
you.”

She sat on the
floor beside him and a blissful Elliot sank back into his
chair.

“You have not
met any of my sisters or brothers before?” she enquired, holding
his gaze with her compelling blue eyes. They were large and full of
intelligence.

“No My lady,”
he replied, “I come from the south.”

“Ah, that
explains it,” she turned her gaze to Duncin. “We have other guests
tonight with these four. Have you this told them?”

How does
know we were staying the night?
Then Elliot remembered. She and
Duncin were mind-linked. Even though she had not been in the room
she would know everything that had passed between them. That
unsettled him and he wished he’d paid more attention to what Robain
had been trying to explain about the Lind. He began to panic.
Can she hear what I am thinking?
He turned and looked at
her.

Stasya was
listening to Philip and Duncin. The Baron was confirming that they
would be delighted to stay the night if the offer still stood.

“Of course,”
Duncin said, “We are always glad to have old friends staying and
making new ones.” He looked at Elliot.

“Stasya says
that you are agitated. Is there anything wrong?”

“Wrong? No. I’m
pleased we can stay.” He was rushing his words.
Can she hear my
thoughts?

Duncin divined
what he was trying to ask. “You are wondering if she can hear what
you are thinking?”

“Well, yes,”
answered Elliot, embarrassed.

“No she cannot
but she can sense emotions from people, and like horses, cats, even
kura she feels unease from those she is physically close to.”

“I did not mean
to scare you,” interrupted Stasya. “I can sense unease, no more.
The Larg, they can force the minds of some humans to listen and to
be heard. I would not.”

“Could
you?”

“Why would I
want to? Be still and at ease. You are our guests. Robain is our
friend. His friends are our friends. I should like to talk to you
all about the south. I have never been there and would be
interested to hear what it is like.”

Elliot relaxed.
Neither Stasya’s nor Duncin’s face held any guile he could detect.
He trusted her for no other reason that he believed it to be
so.

This was a
strange feeling, a new feeling. Elliot’s seventeen years had been
spent at court where people a prince could trust were rare. Elliot
had only trusted Philip Ross because his father had told him that
he must.

Now he was
meeting others who his instincts were telling him to trust.

“What do you
want to know?” he asked her.

“We shall talk
later,” she promised, “after our night-meal.”

Making the meal
was a revelation and a delight to Elliot.

“We all muck in
here,” declared their cheerful host.

“What are we
making and for how many?” Elliot asked, “when I was a little boy I
used to love it when Nanny took me to the kitchens.”

“We all know
how much you love your food,” laughed James.

“Cat calling
the kettle black,” joked Philip.

“I’m a growing
boy,” James affected mock injury.

“A meal for
ten,” said Duncin, answering the initial question.

“Ten?” queried
Elliot.

“We six and the
two vadeln who will arrive before we are ready unless we get a move
on. You two boys bring their big pot over and the ladles. Not these
ones. The ones hanging on the wall then take these three bowls, go
into the larder and bring back a selection of roots and other
vegetables.”

“Fill all
three?” asked a doubtful Elliot, “that’ll be too much.”

“They’ll need
skinned and pared,” Duncin informed them, reaching a long arm and
pulling three sharp paring knives out of the rack. “You two and
Robain will do the vegetables, Robain knows what to do. Use the big
table. Me and Philip here will deal with the meat.”

“Use the paring
knife thus,” explained Robain when James and Elliot had brought in
three heaped bowls as requested. He placed a whiteroot in front of
him. “Root skins are tough, although they can be used for soup.
Once you’ve peeled the skins gather them up and throw them into
that bucket. Then chop up the insides into cubes.”

Both boys
picked up their knives and began. They found the task much harder
than they had expected.

“Keep the
parings as thin as possible,” warned Robain as with expert fingers
he stripped his green celeroot of its stringy outer skin and laid
it down ready for chopping.

“I’m trying,”
complained Elliot, “but the knife doesn’t seem to want to do what
it’s told.” He held up his pared whiteroot for Robain’s inspection.
What Robain saw was barely half the size of the original. Robain
had also thought three bowls too many. He revised his opinion.

The three
continued in silence with the occasional mild swear word as a
particularly recalcitrant root refused either to sit still or to
allow inexpert hands to divest it of its covering.

“Roots ready
yet?” called Duncin who was chopping up spices at the work-surface
next to the stove.

“Almost,” James
answered, concentrating hard.

Philip stood at
the stove, stirring the contents of the largest pot with a large
ladle.

Already,
enticing smells were wafting over and both James and Elliot felt
their stomachs rumble.

“How long
before it is ready?” asked James.

“About a bell
and a half,” Duncin answered. “It’s zarova stew, the slower the
cooking the more tender it will be. We’ll put those roots in and
the seasoning then we’ll start on the pudding. Redfruit Surprise
with cream I think.”

“Redfruit
Surprise?” queried Robain, “don’t think I’ve ever heard of it.”

“The surprise
is that its never the same each time I make it,” Duncin answered in
a solemn voice though his eyes were laughing, “and I’m rather
partial to redfruit. Stasya likes it too.”

“Where is she?”
asked Elliot looking around.

“Gone to meet
our next guests. Vadeln of the Thirteenth Ryzck returning to Vada
after some leave, they’ll be thirsty and hungry.”

“What’s a Ryzck
exactly?” asked James.

“A Ryzck!”
exclaimed Duncin, “I suppose you don’t know coming from the south
and all. Now, where to start?”

“The
beginning?” suggested Elliot in a boldly - he had lost most of his
diffidence with the elderly head of the Supply Station by now.

“Cheeky brat,”
chortled Duncin, “you two come over here and help with the fruit
and I’ll tell you.”

“Best start on
the premise that we know nothing,” said Elliot, unconsciously
copying one of his tutors. Iit had been one of the old man’s most
favourite expressions.

“Right,” agreed
Duncin, “tip the fruit in here. Now, you know what the Vada
is?”

The boys
nodded.

“The active
Vada, those who patrol the designated areas of the continent are
split into Ryzcks, you might call them small companies or large
platoons.”

“In the
regiments back home a company is about a hundred strong and a
platoon eighteen,” mentioned Elliot.

“There are
thirty-five in a Ryzck, thirty five vadelns; a vadeln is a man or a
woman and a Lind.