DragonKnight - Donita K. Paul [51]
Too lazy to get up, he turned on his side and shaded his eyes with a hand, looking to the south. A large black dot skimmed over the horizon. With each breath he took, he saw the shape grow larger and more defined. From experience, Bardon knew he breathed in time to the dragon’s wing beats. This unconscious physical synchronization came as part of the bonding between him and his mount.
When he could distinguish purple body and cobalt wings, he stood and waved an arm in greeting. As Greer landed, Bardon knelt and covered his head, shielding his face from the debris blown up in the air by the force of the major dragon’s wings.
As the dust settled, he rose, a grin stretching his mouth until his cheeks ached. “I am not groveling before you, you old, overgrown bat!”
He went forward and put his arms around the dragon’s neck, resting his forehead against the sleek scales. A warm thrum passed between the two, each relishing the friendship of the other. When Bardon had settled in to wait on the hill, he knew the bond between them would bring Greer as surely as a trained waistcoater would find its way home.
I have had a most unsettling week, Greer. Ideas and images poured out of his mind. He didn’t have to organize his thoughts to present them logically. The dragon took possession of the information with the same interpretations that Bardon had placed on each relevant fact.
While he communicated, Bardon removed a large pack strapped to Greer’s back. The leather bundle contained his riding saddle, empty panniers, and assorted cloths and brushes for grooming. Bardon removed the cloth and some balm. He proceeded to rub the salve into the place where the pack rasped the dragon’s skin. He then buffed Greer’s scales. While Bardon groomed him, Greer relaxed, hummed deep in his throat, and stretched out on the grass.
Occasionally, in response to a part of Bardon’s continuing narrative, the dragon made a sympathetic grunt in his throat. Once, during the recounting of the quiss tale, Greer gasped. That brought the smile back to Bardon’s face. He stroked the dragon’s neck, right behind the ear, glad he had someone to confide in.
“Yes, that was pretty gruesome, and the implications of what Stox and Cropper could be cooking up is horrific…Yes, horrific is a word.”
He went on to describe the reappearance of Holt Hoddack into their lives. Now the rumblings from Greer’s throat sounded suspiciously like laughter. Bardon left the subject of the aggravating marione and went on to the acquisition of a mapmaker as well as a map for their expedition. He glossed over the brouhaha in the tiny bedchamber and gave a full accounting of the addition of a debt-beleaguered marione farm boy to their ranks.
“Yes, beleaguered is a word…I do not use big words when I’m upset. And I’m not upset…I contend that it will be easier to keep an eye on that scalawag Holt if we know where he is.”
Greer had settled into a reclining position during this long explanation of what had passed during the days they had been separated. Bardon finished the grooming and repacked the bag. It lay on the ground by Greer’s tail.
Bardon leaned back between Greer’s forelegs against the dragon’s chest. To get his mind off the mess that awaited him back in Ianna, Bardon asked what his friend had been doing.
Greer told of flying over the countryside, basically taking in the sights. He’d hunted chigot deer in the forests. And during another flight, he’d caused quite a stir, flying over a field full of children playing astiket ball.
“I guess you’re right,” answered Bardon. “People in the southwest region aren’t as used to seeing dragons as those in Wittoom and Ordray.”
Greer lowered his chin to the top of Bardon’s head and gently rubbed it back and forth.
“You’re messing up my hair,” the squire objected halfheartedly. “People?” He stood and looked down the hill to a valley where cattle grazed. Several men dressed in country togs marched along the road. It looked