DragonKnight - Donita K. Paul [114]
Bardon fended off the next blow. The dragon drew back and hissed. “While you’re mindspeaking with…this obstacle, you might mention that you, too, are…a dragon.”
“I’m as much related to that creature as you are to a goat in a barnyard.”
“Then why not just blow your fire breath on it, and let’s get on with this rescue.”
“It seems to me a shame to slay it for being in its own home.”
“Any suggestions?” Bardon jumped to avoid a hit.
“I’ve given it lots of suggestions. It really just wants to eat us.”
The squire looked the snake dragon in the eye. “Sorry. We really don’t have time to stay for dinner.”
Bardon held off striking the beast in a way that would do permanent damage. He believed Regidor should give the signal. I hope we don’t dally with this creature long enough for it to strike a lucky blow. Better to kill it and get on with our search for the tumanhofer.
“What makes you think Kale would have been useful in this situation?” Bardon asked.
“She is the Dragon Keeper. You would be amazed at what influence she has over animals, especially, of course, over dragons.”
The creature slammed the side of the tunnel with its tail, causing a shower of dirt to fall on their heads.
“That does it.” Regidor sputtered dirt from his mouth. “Kale might be able to turn you from your wicked ways, but I sure can’t.” He sprang forward with his arm up, ready for a downward slash. Before the air cleared of dust, the dragon’s body lay on the tunnel floor, minus its head.
Bardon sheathed his sword. While Regidor cleaned his before putting it away, the squire unfastened his light and thrust it into each branch of the tunnel. In each opening, the light illuminated several yards.
Bardon peered beyond to darkness. “Any idea which way we should go?”
Regidor pointed at the first tunnel. “From the smell, I’d say that leads to the dragon’s lair.”
Bardon sniffed. “And it wasn’t a very good housekeeper.”
The meech pointed to the opposite tunnel. “That one has the freshest air, so I would assume it leads back to the outside after a very short distance.”
“So,” said Bardon, “the middle one probably stretches deep into the ground, into the enemy’s territory, and is, therefore, our logical choice.”
Regidor picked up his light orb. “That was my assumption.”
Bardon shrugged, heaved a sigh of resignation, and headed into the middle burrow.
Dug out of the earth to accommodate grawligs, the burrows were plenty big, even for Regidor’s seven-foot height. Regidor and Bardon, ignoring many narrower passageways that branched off from the central core, kept marching forward.
“Regidor, have you noticed the change in the walls for the past mile or so?”
“I have. We’re moving through rock—mountain instead of hills.”
Regidor meandered through the large corridors, examining the stone.
When Bardon studied the walls, he saw only long grooves spiraling down one wall, traversing the floor, returning up the opposite, and crossing the ceiling. To him, these markings looked like the impressions left in wood when a screw was inserted, then removed.
What is Regidor up to? Does he see something in this odd pattern etched in the limestone? Are we lost? Would he admit it if we were?
The squire cleared his throat. “Somehow, I don’t think we are headed to where the grawligs have our tumanhofer.”
“And I don’t think these tunnels were crafted by grawligs.”
Does that matter? Bardon studied his friend for a moment.
Regidor’s mind is engaged on the uniqueness of these burrows and not on our mission. The question is, How do I bring him back to our original purpose without ruffling his intellectual feathers? I’m not sure there is a way.
“Aren’t we supposed to be rescuing Bromptotterpindosset?” Bardon asked.
“Hmm? What did you say?” Regidor stopped and raised his orb to scrutinize the wall. “Look at this, Bardon. This is writing.”
Bardon came closer, held up his light, and peered at the marks in the stone. “What language is it?”
“Ancient Kere.”
“Can you read it?”
“Hmm?” Regidor squinted as his eyes moved back and forth over the lines