DragonKnight - Donita K. Paul [136]
“That’s because your circumstances are not mine. I think Wulder expects you to fight and me to comply.”
Gilda soon returned to her bottle. The length of time she could spend outside had dwindled significantly over the three years since Risto had imprisoned her. Kale recognized that each time Gilda appeared outside her bottle, her vapor was less dense, her image less sharp.
Regidor took the next watch. Bardon the last.
In the morning they ate a simple meal.
“Regidor,” Bardon said as he swallowed the last bite of mullin, “we should send another message to N’Rae that we’ll be delayed.”
“N’Rae?” Kale frowned at the squire. “Didn’t you say a Captain Anton led your party in your absence? Why are you sending a message to a girl?”
“Because,” answered Bardon with excruciating patience, “Regidor delivers the message through an animal. You do remember that I told you N’Rae’s particular talent is the ability to communicate with animals?”
Kale hated the tone of voice Bardon used. It reminded her of their early acquaintance, when he was a snooty lehman at The Hall. At that time, he treated everyone with cold disdain. Irritation seeped into her voice. “I do remember you saying something about a chicken.”
“Children, children,” scolded Regidor as he laughed and tried to keep his face solemn. “Let’s not squabble. I’ll send a message to Captain Anton via N’Rae. Kale, would you send out your dragons to see if they can pick up a trail for us to follow? Preferably one that leads to Bromptotterpindosset. And, Squire Bardon…”
“Yes?” Bardon growled.
“I think it would be profitable if you were to busy yourself by being in charge. You could plan our attack, or devise a scheme to find our way back to the castle, or you might want to—”
“Regidor.” Bardon’s voice held no humor.
“Yes, my good friend?”
“Go find a crow to carry your message.”
“Yes.” He turned on his heel and headed for the burrow’s outer opening. “I believe now would be a good time to do that.”
It took the dragons less than an hour to locate the grawlig camp. Pat and Gymn came back with news of snoring ogres and one old tumanhofer trussed up again and spitting mad.
Kale recounted what her green dragon, Gymn, had reported. “Bromptotterpindosset has escaped the ropes binding his hands, but a great brute is lying across his legs, and he can’t get out from under him.
“Gymn says once we’ve moved the beast, Gymn and I will have to heal the tumanhofer’s legs.”
“Have they gone to sleep?” asked Bardon with concern.
“No.” Kale sighed over the clumsy, irrational behavior of these beasts. “The grawligs repeatedly dropped the mapmaker while using him to toss in a game of catch last night. His legs are bruised, but not broken. Perhaps an ankle is sprained. Gymn had a hard time assessing his condition, because the grawlig sleeping on Bromptotterpindosset thrashed around a bit.”
“Did Gymn say how many there are, and if any are awake?”
“Pat said there are forty-seven, and none of them is conscious. They drank brillum last night.”
“Sounds like a good time to go rescue our mapmaker.”
Regidor grunted. “One more time.”
They followed Pat and Gymn through the burrows. In these passageways, lightrocks illuminated the way.
Kale stifled a giggle as they came up to the cavern where the grawligs sprawled in piles like puppies. These troublesome ogres had celebrated their coup too well. The cacophony from their snores reverberated off the stone walls. Instead of sneaking in on tiptoe, the rescuers walked among the beasts as if they were scattered boulders. Wrinkling her nose and trying not to breathe, Kale followed Regidor. The rancid smell from the grawligs’ unwashed bodies made her want to gag.
Bromptotterpindosset opened his eyes, raised his head, and gave a slight nod in recognition of their arrival. He then let his head droop.
“Gymn,” Kale called to the healing dragon, “let’s get to work while Bardon and Regidor remove