Dragons of the Valley - Donita K. Paul [119]
“Good afternoon, Father.”
The elder man replied, “Doubtful.”
“King Yellat has asked me to relay a message.”
His father threw down his pen and leaned back in his chair, glaring at his son. “So my dandy son has wormed his way into the castle.”
“Actually, the king made his request in the strategy tent a few miles from the front line. We are at war, Father.”
“I’m aware of that. Business is good.”
“And that is why the king has asked me to deliver this message. You must refrain from selling ore from Bealomondore Mine to anyone other than our country’s industry. The metal must go to making weapons for our forces.”
“I’ve had this message before.”
“Perhaps King Yellat believes you will respond more positively to an edict delivered by a person rather than on paper.”
His father pushed back his chair and jumped to his feet. His red face and clenched fists signaled the need for a hasty retreat on his son’s part, but the younger Bealomondore stood his ground.
The older man clasped his hands behind his back and paced. “The king can’t interfere in a man’s private business.”
“He could charge you with treason, Father.”
Master Bealomondore stopped, eyes popping and face even redder than before. “I’m a businessman seeing to his business. I sell to whoever offers the highest bid. The king would have me turn over the ore on the promise of payment?”
“Yes, that was his offer.”
Master Bealomondore strode to the window and peered out. His next comment came in a lower volume. “A man must take into account many factors when determining a course of action.”
“Exactly. The money you acquire will be worth nothing if you are hauled off to prison.”
“We are fighting a superior force, Graddapotmorphit. There is no guarantee that Chiril will repulse the invasion. When the dust settles, a wise man will have forged an allegiance with the victor.”
A principle Bealomondore had read in Wulder’s Tomes came to mind, but he couldn’t think how to phrase it so that his father wouldn’t explode upon hearing it. Silence invaded the room except for the ticking of the clock on the desk.
Bealomondore quit trying to rephrase the words to a more palatable form. “ ‘An allegiance to evil is an alliance with despair.’ ”
His father whipped around. The glower on his face would have melted candle wax.
“Don’t you think I know that?” He crossed to his desk and stood with clenched fists pressing down on the wood. “How dare you come in here and tell me what is right and wrong. I know.” The bluster went out of him, and he crumpled, falling into his chair. His ashen face startled his son.
“Father!” Bealomondore came around to stand beside him. He felt the cold, clammy skin of his father’s face, then pressed his fingers to the pulse at his neck. “You’re ill.”
“I’m sick of myself.”
Bealomondore unbuttoned his coat. Laddin scrambled out, already aware of the emergency. He leaped to the elder man’s chest.
“What!” Master Bealomondore tried to sit up. “Get this beast off me!”
Bealomondore pushed his father’s shoulders back against the chair. “Calm yourself. This is a healing dragon. Let him work.”
“Healing dragon? That’s absurd.”
“Let’s see if you think so after he’s done his job. Sit back and relax.”
Bealomondore suspected that weakness supplied the cooperation from his father in the next few minutes. A natural color returned to his cheeks, and his breathing steadied.
“Laddin says you’ll be fine.”
“Laddin?”
“The dragon.”
“He didn’t say anything.”
“He spoke directly from his mind to mine.”
“Preposterous. You’re an even bigger fool than when you left home years ago.”
Bealomondore pressed his lips against the words in his throat. He hadn’t left. He’d been thrown out. His father didn’t appreciate his artistic abilities. Adding a column of figures and charming a customer brought praise for his older brother.