Two Renegade Realms (Realm Walkers Book 2) (28 page)
C
antor sighed his relief when he saw Bridger sleeping under his favorite tree. The dragon had stretched forward with his chin resting on his crossed arms. Shaped as his dragon self, Bridger was the size of a bull. His ears twitched as Cantor neared.
One eye opened, exposing an intelligent gaze. Bridger opened the other eye, lifted his chin, and shook his head, making his scales from the top of his head down his neck and shoulders rattle. A stiff spurt of wind clattered through the leaves in the tree above. The dragon sniffed the air and cast an eye toward the darkening clouds. He appeared to be ignoring Cantor’s approach.
Cantor stopped just a few feet in front of the dragon, who slowly turned his head and looked at his visitor. Cantor shifted from one foot to the other. He needed to get this done so they could get on to more important things.
He looked straight into Bridger’s eyes. “I overreacted.”
Bridger nodded.
Cantor smiled and sat down cross-legged in front of him, glad Bridger was not going to be awkward about his outburst. Sometimes the dragon got huffy and made Cantor’s life miserable for days. But often Bridger just brushed off Cantor’s ill temper.
Stretching out his legs, Cantor leaned back on his arms and looked up at the rolling clouds. The air smelled fresh, with the scent of rain carried on a sporadic breeze. The day promised change. No more static waiting around.
Cantor reflected that not having to deal with a disgruntled dragon was one more point toward a positive shift. He glanced at his companion and noticed Bridger’s glittering eyes positioned to peer down his nose. A haughty dragon.
Oh, so he wasn’t going to get off without a reprimand, after all. A chilly breeze ruffled Cantor’s hair and sent a shiver down his back.
Bridger’s tone matched the temperature of the air. “Dukmee might decide to put his other skills to the side for a while and concentrate on being a realm walker.”
Cantor understood the meaning behind this comment. “And if he does, he’ll need a constant. And you just might be available.”
“There aren’t that many mor dragons willing to leave the comforts of home.”
“And that’s why I’m here to talk to you.”
Bridger tilted his head at the unexpected comment. His words tumbled out as he backpedaled his hint to switch allegiance. “I’m not eager to change constants at this late date. We’ve been together for three years. Official or not, we’re bonded.”
Cantor
sat up. “And Dukmee has no desire to put aside everything to be exclusively a realm walker.”
“Well, you’re right in that he hasn’t mentioned it lately, but he has suggested such a thing from time to time.”
“For now, Bridge, we have to work together.” Cantor pulled his jacket tighter and buttoned the few buttons he had left. He’d scraped off quite a few when sliding through uncomfortable tunnels, looking for the Library of Lyme.
He rubbed his hands together and wished the dragon was in the mood to blow a little warm air on him. Since Bridger wasn’t taking the hint, Cantor returned to laying out his plan. “We need to enlist at least two more dragons. Dukmee says we must go on a quest before we have enough information to thwart the Lymens.”
Bridger scratched behind his ear. “It won’t do much good if we get the information the week after the onslaught.”
“My thinking exactly. I’m going to suggest we split up. You and I can go to Effram and find some of your kin to help.”
“That’s going to be a tall order.” Bridger frowned. “Being taken on as a constant used to be every little mor dragolet’s dream of glory. But corruption in high places sullies the water downstream. Few eligible dragons in these times think the job worthy of our righteous race.”
At Cantor’s grunt, Bridger continued. “Think of it. We know the guild is corrupt. Although the councilmen are not realm walkers, they influence those under them. No noble dragon wants to be associated with a morally weak realm walker. The number of hatchlings is down because the guild no longer nurtures young prospects into fulfilling their destinies.”
Cantor picked a blade of grass and wrapped it around his finger. He must choose his words carefully. He unwrapped
the blade and tossed it to the ground. “I see all the problems, Bridge. However, I don’t think our mission can be successful without the mor dragons, bonded or not.”
He paused and allowed himself to reach out to Bridger with the essence of his spirit, a type of communication practiced between constants. Loathe as Cantor usually was to admit it, Bridger was right. The length of their association had created a bond Cantor most often chose to ignore.
The rhythm of the dragon’s body revealed to Cantor how receptive he was to the idea. He felt Bridger’s pleasure at realizing how vital his kinsmen were to the defense of their world. Bridger’s embarrassment that the other dragons might not respond to the call to arms rippled through both the dragon and Cantor. Bridger’s desire to make the request was hampered by his fear that his kin would let him down.
A rumble in the distance reminded Cantor of the storm coming. “It would be good to have a mor dragon paired to each member of our party. But even one additional mor dragon would substantiate our forces. Three would be a boon for our side in any fray we entered.”
He stood. “Let Dukmee and Cho and Bixby seek some vague bit of knowledge that may not be of any use. You and I will seek warriors who will make a difference.”
Bridger stood as well, and the hamper Cho had given him fell to the ground.
Reluctant to press the dragon any further, Cantor swooped up the dropped container. “What was in your bag, Bridge?”
The dragon smacked his lips. “Snacks.”
“What kind of snacks?”
Bridger shrugged and ambled toward the cabin. “Tasty snacks.”
Cantor followed. “A goodly supply?”
“At the time I opened the hamper, it overflowed.”
Cantor pulled the drawstring loose and reached inside.
“Ahem.” A twinkle brightened Bridger’s eye. “Quite possibly enough fare for five grown men on a three-day expedition. Or seven lonely women having tea each afternoon for a month. Or one hungry dragon who, for a long time, had been without delights such as cinnamon fudge, lemon-frosted tangerine cookies, buttered popcorn, candied peanuts, or long strips of bacon-flavored dried banana.”
“And how long did it last the hungry dragon?”
“An hour, perhaps. And perhaps fifteen minutes more. I became too drowsy to keep an accurate accounting of the time.”
Cantor laughed at Bridger’s haughty tone. The dragon mimicked people as well as objects.
Lightning flashed. Thunder boomed. Bridger stretched a wing over Cantor just as huge pellets of rain smashed into the ground.
“We’re going to get soaked,” yelled Cantor. “Run.”
They charged across the lawn to the bare ground in front of the cabin. Clattering up the wooden steps on the porch, Cantor laughed at all the noise they made. He stopped and looked down at the plank floor beneath them, the railing, and the steps.
“Don’t look, Bridger, but tell me how many steps lead up to the porch.”
“Three.”
“Look.”
Bridger obliged. “Five?”
“You’re not crazy, my friend. When I left less than an hour ago, there were three.”
“Wizardry,” Bridger said. “Dukmee or Cho?”
A gust of wind brought a sheet of rain across the porch.
Cantor sidled up to the wall. “Why bother?”
“Practice,” Chomountain said from the doorway. “I need to polish my skills of space and matter management. Come in.”
He held the door wide. Bridger entered first and paused.
“Move.” Cantor poked him. “I’m getting wet.”
Usually when Bridger entered the cabin, he deflated himself. Cantor noticed as he squeezed through that the dragon had done nothing to shrink.
When he looked around, he understood. “Oh.”
Chomountain had done some remodeling. The swinging bed, scarred table, corner kitchen, and storage shelves no longer crowded the little room. And the little room was no longer little. A table large enough to accommodate all of them sat to one side under a real hanging lamp. Large comfortable chairs circled a rug close to a stone fireplace. Stairs led to another level. Doors on each side of the main room hinted at yet more space.
“Come in, come in.” Chomountain ushered them forward with an odd combination of Old Trout’s quirky friendliness and the great Chomountain’s dignity. “I’ve prepared a meal from recipes I’ve half forgotten, but I believe I’ve done well enough. This might be our last meal together for a while.”
Cantor frowned. “Why do you say so?”
“You and Bridger are going to Effram. An excellent idea. Bixby will go with you, of course. She and Totobee-Rodolow can aid in persuading the mors that this is a worthy cause with no nefarious characters attached to it.”
Cantor and Bridger exchanged a look and a feeling. The
right hand of Primen knew a bit too much of their business. By what means did he acquire it? Eavesdropping? Mind mining? Messages from Primen?
Chomountain crossed the room to a door that had not been there before. “The kitchen’s in here. Come help load the table.”
“Where’s Dukmee?” asked Bridger.
“In his bedroom, reading the orb.”
Cantor turned toward the door. “Bixby and Neekoh are in the shed. I’ll go get them.”
“No, no. Too much rain.” Cho stopped for a minute, his eyes cast to the ceiling. “There. I’ve moved them.”
Tramping of feet on the ceiling drew Cantor’s attention to the stairs. Bixby and Neekoh banged down the newly added steps.
“We were in the barn,” Neekoh began, his breath coming in gasps.
“He moved us.” Bixby snapped her fingers. She peered around the room, then at Chomountain. “Cho?”
He nodded.
Her delicate features glowed with excitement. “No warning. Just blink your eyes and you’re someplace else. I’d like to be able to do that.”
A door opened, and Dukmee entered the room. “I was concentrating, and when I put down the globe, I was in another room.” He gazed around the altered space. “Have I been asleep?”
They all turned to stare at Cho.
“No, Dukmee, not asleep.” His hands gestured his desire for them to calm down. “Now, don’t be upset. It’s rather fun to do these things after such a long time of fishing every day.”
“Can
you move people over great distances?” asked Cantor.
“Can you build prisons around select groups of invaders?” asked Dukmee.
“Can we have dinner?” asked Bridger.
W
hen they walked through the portal and into Effram, Bridger cheered. Bixby covered her ears to save her hearing from the thunderous roar. With a yeowl of protest, Jesha jumped away and ran to hide behind some rocks.
Bridger widened his grin until even his fist-sized, multi-pointed molars gleamed in the sunlight. A dragon’s smile always touched Bixby’s heart — with fear. With Bridger, though, familiarity with his comical nature prevailed. She grimaced at her friend and pulled her hands away from her ears.
“Sorry, Bix!” Bridger beamed as he looked around his home plane. “I got excited. We haven’t been here in a long time.”
Cantor stretched, did a few forms to limber his muscles, and then stood looking off to the west. “I wonder if the dragons still keep to themselves.”
When he had been to Effram before, all the dragons
congregated in Tinendoor by the poisonous Sea of Joden. The mor dragon population had shrunk in recent decades. They now numbered fewer than any of the other breeds.
“My sister has communicated that our kin are even more reclusive than they were two years ago. Most of the other dragons mix freely with your kind, but our race has always been a bit standoffish.”
Cantor tipped his head to the side, looking at Bridger with a quizzical expression.
“Do you mean self-righteous?”
“That’s exactly what I mean,” said Bridger. “Shall we be on our way?”
Bixby sat in front of Cantor on Bridger’s back. Even without access to Cantor’s thoughts, she’d sensed his reluctance to let her join him and Bridger in Effram. After what had passed between them, she shared his hesitancy. But Chomountain had quietly repeated that she would go find Totobee-Rodolow. Something about his understated authority was hard to defy.
Bridger accepted the “suggestion” and adopted his casual, friendly demeanor. Cantor, sitting directly behind her, acted like a wood carving, stiff and unresponsive. She tried to pry into his thinking and again met a barrier. Jesha, sitting between Bridger’s ears, gave her a look that Bixby labeled sympathetic. After all, Jesha was a lady cat and perhaps male cats were as unfathomable as male humans. When she developed the skills her mother had, Cantor would not stand a chance.
Once in the air, Bixby had time to ponder Cantor’s strange behavior. He often treated Bridger in a cold manner, but since yesterday he had extended that attitude toward her as well. She missed the warmhearted fun of their past adventures. She understood that Cantor wanted to make sure they didn’t get
any closer. They would be better warriors without emotional ties. But she wanted emotional ties — warm, cozy, loving ties.