Dragons of the Valley - Donita K. Paul [137]
The Grawl reluctantly opened the silver box. Threads of light streamed out and formed a gateway. The noises made by many of the men indicated they’d never seen such a thing. Momentarily distracted, Bealomondore glanced at them, observing their wide-eyed wonder.
“Keep alert, men.” The tumanhofer’s commanding voice pulled his soldiers back to the danger still in the room.
“Go on, Grawl,” urged Fenworth.
The creature threw the silver box through the opening. Fenworth smiled. “We won’t keep you from your destiny.”
The Grawl stepped into the gateway, promptly immersed in the varying colors of the passage, just as Bealomondore had expected, given his limited knowledge of this wizardry means of travel.
However, the creature’s shape did not disappear. Instead, his shoulder reappeared as if he’d turned to come back. Bealomondore saw his face. The snarl left, and a look of astonishment took its place.
A sudden pop startled the observers. The gateway, with its muddled colors and strands of light, rose into the air with a swoosh. It seemed to be pulled together into one shining spot. When completely concentrated, it gleamed with a silver light. Then a snap cut off the glow, and the silver box fell from the air to hit the stone floor with a clatter.
Fenworth strolled forward and picked up the box. He held it in his hand, turned it over several times, then smiled at the men watching him. “A suitable prison for an incorrigible villain.”
He held it out to examine it again. “I really should label it ‘Do Not Open.’ Yes.” He patted his pockets. “Bealomondore, do you have some paints? We could paint a warning on the outside.”
“Not on me, sir.”
“Oh, never mind.” Fenworth tucked the slim silver box into a pocket. “I’ll do it later.” He gestured to the soldiers. “Come closer. I’m sure you would like to admire the amazing art of Verrin Schope. Come and I’ll tell you a tale of adventure and glory. Actually, Librettowit will because he is so much better at not forgetting things and not adding things. I’ll fix refreshments. Pleased to do it. Always willing to serve. Come, sit down, relax. You’ve had a hard night.”
56
Past, Present, Future
Tipper stood in the driveway and waved to the last three wounded soldiers as they left Byrdschopen. For nine months the mansion had been a hospital. Slowly, as the men got well, fewer rooms were used for wards. They hadn’t had a new patient in seven weeks, a sign that the war was truly over. The resistance had smashed the occupation forces and sent them home.
With a last wave, she turned toward the house. Her parents stood on the bottom step, her father’s arm wrapped around her mother’s shoulders. Lady Peg beamed, her happiness glowing through her gentle and confused soul. Verrin Schope kissed the top of her head, squeezed her closer, then whirled her to face the other direction. They mounted the three steps and entered by the massive front door. Several of the servants who’d come out to bid farewell followed them in.
For a moment, Tipper stood with her arms wrapped around her middle, feeling alone. A flutter of bright colors caught her eye, and she bolted toward the side of the mansion, following Sir Beccaroon.
“Wait,” she called as she rounded the corner. “Wait for me.”
The big parrot stopped and turned, waiting for her to catch up. “What is it, Tipper?”
“Can’t you stay for a bit?”
“Not this afternoon. I still haven’t found someone to help the Marrost family bring their harvest in.” He glanced up at the gray sky. “I hope the rain holds off a few more days.”
She nodded. The shortage of men made all aspects of life difficult. Too many husbands, fathers, sons, and brothers had been lost in the war.
Beccaroon spread his wings, and she quickly said, “Well, good luck then.”
From the veranda across the back of the mansion, she surveyed her home. Her father had been fixing it up. He came back to find Byrdschopen in a sorry state, thanks to his daughter’s ineptitude at running a household and farm. Now they wanted her to run a country. She was the next queen.
Tipper picked