Dragons of the Valley - Donita K. Paul [135]
The struggle dragged on, and The Grawl abandoned the finesse of sword fighting and threw his weight into sly moves. He moved behind a five-foot-tall column and shoved it down. Bealomondore jumped to keep his legs out of danger. The monster picked up a lantern and threw it at his opponent. The glass shattered and flaming oil splashed across the floor, but again, the tumanhofer avoided serious injury. They fought until both men dripped with sweat and panted for breath.
Finally, Bealomondore knocked The Grawl’s sword from his hand, tripped him with a move Taeda Bel had shown him, and ended up standing on The Grawl’s chest, heel pressed against his throat and blade pointed at his eye.
“No, no, no,” Fenworth’s voice echoed a bit in the chamber.
Some force lifted Bealomondore off his adversary and set him down a few feet away. He saw that The Grawl had been covered with a coarse net. The creature thrashed about, trying to extricate himself.
“You can’t kill someone in the chapel, Bealomondore. It just isn’t the thing to do.”
A wave of relief flowed through Bealomondore, followed by a crash of anger. “Where have you been?”
“Here and there,” said the wizard, “watching how our battle for the valley was ending. Dragons took the schoergats. Paladin and crew captured the rooks, knights, and all fighting on the ground. And you’ve cornered The Grawl. I’d say these hostilities only need an emissary to that odious King Odidoddex to inform him he’s lost. You know, the kind of protocol carried on as peace is established.”
Librettowit walked out of the shadows from a passageway that led to the library. He held an open book. “What are you saying, Fen?”
“They’ve done it, Wit. We’ve defended our sanctuary. Now this tiny force can go out and take back the rest of Chiril.”
“Just like that? No problems with the greater force of Odidoddex’s army?”
“Not much. After all, it’s the determination of the people that matters, and now they know that defeating the invaders is possible.”
“Now that’s good news.” Librettowit shrugged and turned his attention to the netted beast on the floor. “Why do we have The Grawl trussed up in the chapel?”
“Bealomondore defeated him with that sword.”
Librettowit beamed at the other tumanhofer. “Good work, young man.”
Bealomondore could only nod. He collapsed on a stone bench, suddenly feeling that all of his bones were made of sculpting clay.
Fenworth circled The Grawl as he spoke. “There will be some cleaning up to do. Shame this continent doesn’t boast a urohm population. They’re mighty handy at putting things straight.”
Maxon charged into the chapel with soldiers at his back.
“Too late,” said Fenworth. “Except for the tidying.”
55
Tidying Up
The Grawl squatted in the corner of his cell. If he showed any interest in what the wizard said, the old man would talk forever. By not responding, The Grawl felt he had some control. And his taciturn refusal to engage in conversation meant the o’rant would give up and go away.
Fenworth had insisted on keeping The Grawl in the sanctuary. He gave him a room, provided some minimal comforts, and visited him daily. He shared with the captured beast each bit of news that came in from the resistance fighters beyond the rim of their valley.
“Ah.” The old wizard would sigh in satisfaction. “We should have known the people of Chiril would do much better as a defiant underground alliance than an organized army.”
The Grawl fumed.
“Now look at this.” The wizard, another time, waved a map at his prisoner. “Three more towns liberated from the occupation.”
The Grawl turned his back on the cheerful wizard.
A few days later, the wizard came to The Grawl’s cell with more information. “You never liked that Groddenmitersay, did you? Good news for you then. He’s been captured and will be tried for war crimes.”
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