DragonKnight - Donita K. Paul [77]
“I figured someone would come looking for us,” he said as Bardon dismounted.
“What happened?”
“First, that tumanhofer mapmaker had to go down this road because it wasn’t on his map. Well, it’s hardly a road, is it?” He gestured toward a break in the trees. “But he’s going on about signs of it being an ancient road that’s been forgotten. Says it’s on older charts of the countryside.”
He shook his head, removed his cap to run a hand over his gray hair, then resettled the hat on his head. “Then the granny decides it’s a good place for the children to run for a while. She has me build the fire, the younger one starts fixing food and hot drink, and the children scatter. The tumanhofer and that Holt fellow are walking around looking at the ground, uncovering the rock, pulling the grass away so they can see the dirt better.” He shook his head again and did the same little maneuver involving his hat and rubbing his hair. “Then the younger emerlindian calls the children to eat. They come running, only when a count is made, three are missing. There’s a bunch of calling. I forget the names of the ones they were calling. Bep was one. And those young ones just don’t show up.”
He sighed and reached for his cap, but stopped as if he was aware of what he was about to do and rubbed his hands together instead. “Then the most peculiar thing of all…the young one looks like she’s talking and listening to the horses. Then she speaks to the older woman and points to the rock face over yonder.” He pointed vaguely toward the cliff. “Then she, the older one, sits down and draws a picture. Everyone gets excited. The tumanhofer tells me to stay put, that they’ll be back. The granny tells me not to leave until they get back. The younger one tries to leave the baby with me, and I say not today or tomorrow will I be watching an infant. They have this big discussion about who is staying and who is going. They all decide to leave, and the marione Holt tells me not to move the wagon no matter how long it takes for them to return.”
The driver let out a long, hard breath. “So here I am. And here they are not. That was yesterday about noon. And I knew someone would come looking for me and my passengers because Wittoom Coastal Transport is a reputable company, and we don’t lose our freight or our passengers.”
“But you’ve lost yours?”
The man shook his head. “They went that way, toward the cliff. Went around those overgrown bushes and never came back. I’ve been over there, and I can see where they trampled down the grass, but once they got to the rock wall, they didn’t turn right nor left. But they aren’t there.”
He shook his head again, took off his cap, rubbed the top of his head hard, and put the cap back on.
Bardon stood with his hands on his hips, staring in the direction his questing party had last been seen. He looked over his shoulder at Greer and nodded, then back at the hapless driver.
“Did Granny Kye leave the picture?”
The old man chewed his cheek a moment, then walked to the wagon. The wooden vehicle had a deep box with doors on both sides and a tailgate. Inside, padded seats with backs lined up in rows. Stacked against the back panel that unlatched and swung down, the questers’ personal belongings still took up every inch of space allotted for baggage.
The driver opened a side door and stepped up on the riser and into the wagon. He looked around, moved a jacket and a pair of boots, then snatched a paper from under a seat. After a brief glance, he handed it down to Bardon.
“I think that’s it.”
Oh, Wulder, help me see what they saw.
Granny Kye had sketched the cliff with a bit of charcoal. Around the edges, fingers had smudged the lines. Bardon concentrated on the bushes where the driver said the children and adults had disappeared.
There! I see it. A gateway.
He looked up at the bushes and saw nothing in the rock wall. But on the paper