Dragonquest - Donita K. Paul [91]
Her smile widened as she tucked the last of their meager clothing into her cape. Toopka still prattled on, but Kale’s imagination conjured up the gratitude that would be expressed by her former masters.
A carriage pulled up in front of the house just before noon. Bruit grinned at them from his perch. He clambered down and readily helped Bardon, Kale, and Toopka load the luggage and tie it down. Dar then strode out of the mansion and opened the carriage door. Regidor, in his monk’s disguise, and Librettowit walked out into the sunshine and climbed into the vehicle. Even at this point the six companions took care to preserve their masquerade.
The ride out of the city put all her comrades in a good mood. Once they had passed through the city gate and begun the slow descent along a broad highway to the valley, Bruit sang at the top of his lungs. They swung west at a fork in the road and angled away from the Port of Prushing. Thick traffic made the going slow, but Kale and Toopka chattered on about the different people they passed, the varied styles of clothes, and the different types of wares piled into wagons and carts. Bardon listened to the old driver’s songs and the girls’ pointless chatter without participating in either.
The minor dragons came out of Kale’s cape and stayed on the bundles above the coach. From below, they could not be seen. Dibl instigated a game of hide and seek with Toopka always “it” and the dragons always hiding. Kale felt sorry for her three comrades who had to ride inside the bouncing, rocking carriage.
In the late afternoon, they stopped at a friendly, clean inn to spend the night. As they traveled north and west the next day, they noticed a subtle depression in the countryside. The crops looked underdeveloped. Fewer carts heavily laden with goods passed them on the way to market. The people did not call out greetings. Riders slouched in their seats. Walkers shuffled along with shoulders stooped.
That night the inn did not seem so friendly. The comrades dropped their pretense of masters and servants. However, Regidor still wore his disguise. They sat in a corner of the public room, having a dinner of good roast beef and farm vegetables.
Almost the entire clientele consisted of mariones, hardworking farmers, and merchants. Bitterness and despair rankled among those dining and drinking and throwing darts at the four-colored corkboard on the wall. The talk in the room disturbed Kale and her companions.
One man waved his tankard as he spoke. “They say there’s more of those unnatural beasts north of the border. They stand upright like a man, talk like a man, think they’re like one of the high races, but of course they can’t be.”
“Yet they aren’t one of the low races either.” A farmer stood to make his point. “So what are these talking dragons?”
“Something made up by one of those evil wizards, no doubt,” grumbled a man by the bar. “But it makes no difference, don’t you know? I still lost my Clem—a dragon I’ve known all my life to be cheerful, helpful, and full of goodwill turned sullen. Then he knocked down the barn and trampled my field of winter wheat. Don’t have a thing to take to market. And he’s gone. Family’s heartbroken. And they’ll be more than heartbroken in the coming year. They’ll be hungry when we don’t get another crop in and don’t take nothing to market.”
“How can you blame that on the meech dragons from the north?” asked the innkeeper.
“Ain’t never anything good come from the north,” muttered one of the men.
“They’s communicating with their minds. That’s what it is,” said the farmer who’d lost Clem.
“Mindspeaking between dragons?”
The farmer spoke again, “Well, sure, they’ve always done it.”
“But it wasn’t a bad thing, Spronder. You know the dragons have never been