Dragons of the Valley - Donita K. Paul [127]
Chilly breezes whispered among huddled bushes. A shiver of pleasure reawakened Bealomondore’s senses. His turn at night watch felt more like moments of meditation rather than an arduous chore.
He pulled his moonbeam cloak closer. Sealed in against the cold, he also blended into his surroundings. He watched small creatures of the night forage for food. A mouse skittered to a halt under a bush as an owl swooped close to the ground and veered up into the sky again.
His artist fingers itched to pick up a pencil and sketch. That surprised Bealomondore. He clenched his fists under the cloak. A lot of time had passed since his last drawing.
When he’d come to the valley, he’d been bone weary and content to teach the recruits how to use a sword, how to stay alive in battle.
Perhaps he should say he was soul weary. As he taught, he accepted that rather than teaching these men to kill, he taught them to live. And beyond keeping themselves alive, they were standing against evil with the hope of keeping their friends, family, and fellow countrymen alive.
A small, choked laugh escaped his lips. Just when he felt he could face the front line again, just when he felt ready to lead these men into bedlam, the urge to create blazed in his soul. To record beauty. To prove order by detailing the feathers of a wing on paper. To verify the Creator in simple art.
Why the sudden urge to create? Because he had reestablished why he fought. His art now had a purpose, and he was too busy to paint.
The rustle of wings and a slight nudge of a thought not his own brought him to his feet. Det flew in from surveying the valley. He reported men marching through the gap, the easiest entry to Prince Jayrus’s isolated domain.
“Go tell Paladin,” said Bealomondore. “I’ll rouse our troops and get them ready to set up defense.”
But before the small dragon took flight for the castle, Paladin ran out of the gate leading to his garden and charged up the hill. The ruler’s dragon, Caesannede, swooped in to land a few feet from Bealomondore.
“Never mind, Det. Paladin is aware that company is arriving.”
The young ruler barely panted as he reached the top of the hill. He gestured to Bealomondore and then to the waiting dragon. “Do you want to come with me?”
The tumanhofer looked at the huge beast quivering with excitement and the vacant place on his back between the outstretched wings. No saddle. His stomach clenched.
“No, thank you. I’ll make ready here.”
“Good.” Paladin ran up the eager dragon’s tail and dropped into the place where a sensible man would have a saddle secured. “I’ll scout … find out who they are and how many of them are coming.”
The dragon stamped his feet, impatient to take off.
Bealomondore held up a hand to keep them from flying away before he voiced his thought. “This could be our army or even the sailors I told you about when I first came.”
“It won’t hurt us to respond as if we anticipate an attack. A good drill for if the enemy does find us. I’ll send word of what I discover.”
Paladin’s mount trotted a few yards, then lifted into the air.
Bealomondore turned to Det. “Wake the dragons and send them to the camp. I’ll wake the men.”
Det took off, and Bealomondore headed toward the flatland, where rows of tents housed their small force. Maxon sped out to meet him.
“We’re awake,” he called. “The men are gearing up now.”
Bealomondore continued to stomp across the meadow. “It would seem I’m not much needed.”
“What?” Maxon reached his side and spun to head back with him. “Who will lead the men if you aren’t in charge?”
“Never mind me, Max. I’m out of sorts, wondering if I’m an artist, a warrior, or a failure.”
“I wouldn’t call you a warrior, sir.” A ripple of colors passed through the light clothing Maxon wore. When the hues blended together to make a vibrant yellow, he continued. “You’re an artist who’s been trapped in a war. And because you’re in the habit of mastering what is before you, you’ve become a good swordsman. But your heart will always wish to create and not destroy.”
Bealomondore mulled the kimen’s words.