Dragons of the Valley (6 page)

“It’s magnificent.” He ran his hand down the wall, marveling at the polished, cool, glowing substance. “What is this made of?”

“Oh, just a little something we whip up for guests. We, the family and friends and all, don’t need all the trimmings. But we know those from beyond require a little pampering.”

“I’m much obliged.” Bealomondore picked up a jacket of material so smooth that he could not make out the weave. “I shall be spoiled and not want to go back to ordinary clothes.”

Maxon chortled. “That is if you remember what you’ve seen when you return to your own towns and cities.”

Bealomondore frowned and examined the little man’s face. “Is there a likelihood that I won’t remember?”

The kimen shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been an outsider who’s visited and then left.”

“You’re saying that your people will take away my memories somehow when it is time for me to go?”

“Only if they don’t trust you. And I think they will find you trustworthy.” He cocked his head. “What’s that noise?”

Bealomondore opened his mouth to say he didn’t hear anything unusual when the sound of a low whistle caught his attention.

A voice rumbled under a sustained whoosh. “To the left, I say.”

Another voice sounded louder. “Land, for all the blinking stars in the heavens. Just land!”

“You’d have us in a pigsty.”

“We aren’t going to a farm.”

“Well then, a prickly bush. You want me to just plop down in thorns, with maybe a smelly bristle bomber in residence, a hive full of buzzerbees, and perhaps a growly ginger bear?”

“My beard’s all twisted inside out. Land!”

Maxon and Bealomondore started to the outer door to see what the commotion might be. As they crossed the first room, a whirlwind formed, knocking them back against the walls.

Wizard Fenworth, Librettowit, and a bedraggled kimen appeared out of the cyclonic wind. The swirl of air dissipated, leaving Fenworth and his tumanhofer companion on the floor, glaring at each other.

The tumanhofer librarian stood, straightened his clothing, and worried his fingers through his bushy beard, trying to tame its awful tangles. “That was a poor transportation, a poor landing, and a poor example of misused wizardry. I should pin you in a chair with
Margoteum’s Book of Level One Mastery.
”

The wizard rose and gently placed the small creature he had been holding on the floor. The kimen crumpled into a heap and covered her eyes with her hands.

“Oh, bother!” said Fenworth. “Don’t cry. I really get muddled when people cry. It mixes my thoughts up like a bowl of noodles.”

“We don’t want that!” Librettowit took off his hat and threw it on a table. “May Wulder protect us from such a dire circumstance. Imagine a wizard who operates in a state of confusion. The results might very well be disastrous.”

The wizard produced a clean handkerchief and offered it to the distraught kimen. He pulled it back just before her hand closed on it and plucked a very small lizard from its folds. “I don’t believe this fine young reptile would help you recover your equilibrium, my dear.” He shook the handkerchief, then returned the uninhabited cloth to the kimen.

“You know,” he said as she dabbed her eyes, “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m Fenworth, bog wizard of Amara. This is my esteemed librarian, Trevithick Librettowit. He’s been known to be in a better mood from time to time, but we must make allowances. He
prefers a good book, a comfy chair, a plate of daggarts, tea, and a fire in the fireplace. Unfortunately, we are often called to adventure. Slaying damsels, rescuing dragons in distress, collapsing kingdoms, thwarting evil, purging plagues, that sort of thing.”

He bowed with an elaborate sweep of his arm before him.

“A servant of Wulder, dear girl, at your service.”

He straightened and looked around the room.

“Oh, see here, Librettowit. Not a growly ginger bear at all, but Bealomondore and a friend. See, you needn’t have worried. We’ve landed precisely where I intended.” His eyes inspected the walls and furnishings. “Bealomondore, good friend, exactly where are we?”

Vaguely aware of the fuss being made over her, Tipper tried to muster enough energy to protest. Her tongue didn’t cooperate any more than her arms and legs. She managed to open her eyelids to a slit, but they closed before she could focus on the little beings that surrounded her.

Their touch soothed her. She wasn’t afraid but definitely confused. Why would someone else be braiding her hair?

And they were singing. Tipper wanted to sing with them. She didn’t know the words or the tune, but the music reached into her heart and made her want to sing, dance, do something to join in. Song had rescued her many times from despair and loneliness. She sang for herself, but she knew her talent lightened others’ burdens as well.

The memory of hands grasping her ankles, harsh voices, and smothering dirt threatened her peace. The song grew louder, and unease melted into safe sleep.

“I’m staying here.” Bealomondore’s voice pierced the fabric of a pleasant dream.

A meadow full of colorful minor dragons slipped from Tipper’s mind. An invasive question screamed, “Where am I?”

She opened her eyes and swiveled her head, taking in her surroundings. Kimens, two tumanhofers, and the o’rant wizard crowded the tent.
Sunlight diffused through the fine blue material. The walls and ceiling of this abode tinged everything in sight with a glowing azure light.

The one tall figure paced beside her couch. He hadn’t noticed her, which was typical. She wanted some answers. “Wizard Fenworth!”

He turned toward her, his eyes sparkling. “So you’re awake. Good, good. Need you to talk some sense into this stubborn tumanhofer. I mean to tell you, girl, tumanhofers have more than their share of contrariness. And he’s an artist. You know what that means.”

Tipper didn’t know what being an artist had to do with anything. Her expression must have said as much to the wizard.

“Unpredictable!” He shifted his glare to focus on Bealomondore. “You would think a man who’s undertaken the removal of a valued item from harm’s way would be willing—no, not willing,
anxious
—to transport that valuable item to a place where it can do some good.” He lifted one eyebrow and scrutinized Tipper. “Wouldn’t you?”

Memories swelled like a riptide over her peace. She sat up. “The statues.” She swung her legs off the couch.

“Exactly, my dear.” Librettowit came to sit next to her.

Some measure of relief came with the wizard’s librarian she had learned to trust. Often he was sensible when the others were merely loud.

“I thought we were safe here,” she said.

He nodded. “Somewhat. We must sort out the myths and the truth before we decide what is to be done with the statues.”

Librettowit pinched at his mustache with thumb and forefinger. “In Amara, tradition has it that kimens cannot be tracked.” He looked around the room at the kimens assembled. “Is that true?”

The kimens nodded.

Maxon stepped forward. “Yes, it is, but we’ve had disturbing reports of an unusual warrior in an enemy camp.”

A chair appeared next to the wizard, and he sat, taking off his hat and rubbing his hair. His hand dislodged several small creatures that ran down his robes and out the tent flap.

“We’ve met our fair share of unusual warriors,” said the wizard and clapped his pointed hat back on his head.

Librettowit ignored him. “The description of this man is more like a beast than one of the seven low races, but he speaks and wears clothes.”

Maxon cleared his throat. “He also growls and eats his food like a lion devours its prey, tearing the raw meat from the bone. He wears pants and a shirt, all right, but he also wears battle gear and carries a spear that he throws far distances with great accuracy.”

Librettowit nodded. “These are facts, not myth.”

Taeda Bel came close to Tipper and put her hands on the emerlindian’s leg. The kimen’s eyes rounded with fear. “He looked straight at me. He shouldn’t have known we were there. Maxon, Hollee, and I scouted the camp. I think he saw us all.” She shuddered. “They call him The Grawl. He’s not like other creatures, high race or low. He doesn’t belong in the animal kingdom either. He should not exist.”

Tipper placed her hand on her small friend’s back. She could think of nothing to calm Taeda Bel’s dread. Instead, she swallowed and looked at the serious faces surrounding her. At times she had seen a group of kimens together on market day, but in this small tent, around thirty of the dainty people watched her.

“So who do you report to about the things you find out? My grandfather? His commander of arms?” The kimens looked at each other, and when no one spoke, Tipper asked again. “Who?”

“It is our nature to keep an eye on things, especially in the Starling Forest. If we are to tell someone, we find out later.”

Tipper turned to Librettowit for an explanation.

The old tumanhofer shrugged. “In Amara, the kimens are very conscientious in their regard of Wulder. Here, they seem to take on the
same duties without the close bond with their creator.” He shook his head in puzzlement. “I must study them and probe their history to find out what their function is in His design for Chiril.”

Taeda Bel’s happy smile returned to her face. “Hollee knows a lot. Her family is the keeper of tales for the village.”

“Who is Hollee?” Tipper asked.

The female kimen standing closest to the wizard stepped forward. “I am. I’ve been assigned to Wizard Fenworth.”

Even in the solemnity of the meeting, a few snickers escaped. Tipper caught two kimens exchanging a look that included rolling eyes. She bit her lip to keep from smiling. Being assigned to the rascally wizard would be an arduous task for any of the fun-loving kimens.

Bealomondore shifted in his chair. Tipper’s eyes widened as she took in the splendor of his garments. The cut of the clothing duplicated what he normally wore, but the clarity of color and the quality of material outshone anything bought in a shop. The kimens had apparently dressed him.

She looked down at her own gown. She could not stop her fingers from stroking the shining peach folds flowing over her knees. She’d never been particular about her attire, but she longed for a full-length mirror to see if she looked as beautiful as she felt. If the kimens had mirrors that were full length for them, she’d only be able to see the bottom of her skirt.

“We have business to do,” said Fenworth. He began rummaging through his hollows. He pulled out a statue,
Evening Yearns
. A female figure danced over grass.

Hollee clapped her hands. “That’s a kimen.”

Maxon, Taeda Bel, and Hollee made a circle around the statue and trilled their excitement as they examined the craftsmanship.

“It’s marvelous!” Hollee said as she grabbed the other two kimens in a hug.

“Oh dear, oh dear. I do hope you young people have not mislaid your statues. We must put them together so that Verrin Schope will not get discombobulated. And there is the added problem of how the lack of approximatation and balance of line causes disruption to nature in general.”

“What’s approximatation?” asked Hollee.

Librettowit scowled. “Something he made up, most likely. But he means they need to be close together and properly arranged or trees fall over and the ground sinks into deep holes and other disastrous anomalies occur.”

Tipper and Bealomondore produced
Day’s Deed
and
Morning Glory
.

“No room in here,” said Fenworth. “We shall place them in the kimens’ glen.”

“Outside?” asked Bealomondore.

Tipper smiled. “My father’s statues were hidden in Beccaroon’s forest for years. They don’t fall apart under the stress of a little weather.”

The tumanhofer did not look pleased but followed the others out of his dwelling.

The activity of setting up the statues in their precise formation attracted the attention of many villagers. Songs and dance and storytelling invested the impromptu celebration with a merry, festive tone.

Fenworth found a place to sit and cheered the kimens on in their revelry. He even joined in a dance but soon had to rest. He pulled a container of daggarts out of a hollow and shared them. Tipper wondered how long they had been in storage.

With all the commotion, she had almost forgotten the importance of the
Trio of Elements
. Without her father’s art positioned as a unit, the world and her father crumbled. Her father dissipated and reformed. But the ground, cracked and altered, never came back to its original state. Living things like trees lost their form, and the restructuring contained gross abnormalities.

Bealomondore interrupted her wandering thoughts. “If we are safe here, why move? The company is pleasant, and they seem at ease with our visit.”

Wizard Fenworth cast the young artist a speculative glance. “You are pleased with the paints and brushes our hosts have provided.”

“Of course I am, and they are agreeable to letting me do portraits. It’s the opportunity an artist lives for.” He gestured to the dancing villagers. “This scene needs to be captured on canvas.”