Dragons of the Valley - Donita K. Paul [14]
“Well then, we have two options.” Maxon held up a finger. “We can carry her to the village, where I’m sure we can find some bogswart.” He lifted a second finger. “Or I can run ahead and get a piece and bring it back.”
“Will it take you long to fetch the bark?”
Maxon chortled. “A matter of minutes.”
“Then go.”
Maxon shook his head. “But it will be several hours after she whiffs the antidote before she can stand and walk.”
“Then we’ll carry her.”
“She’s rather long.” The kimen moved away from Tipper’s head and brushed forest debris from her feet.
Bealomondore contemplated her lengthy body. He could carry her weight, but her long limbs presented a problem. Her feet and hands would drag in any position he held her.
He frowned at his guide. “Do you have a suggestion that will work?”
“Of course.” Maxon grinned. “I’ll go get someone to help carry her.”
“Ropmas?”
He shook his head. “Kimens.” He turned and disappeared between the nearest bushes, then popped his head back through. “We ought to check if she still has the statue. It would be a shame if she lost it.”
Bealomondore looked down at the princess, who, covered with dirt, still looked beautiful. He was not about to search her for the statue. Since it was probably in a hollow bag, he wouldn’t be able to feel it. And it was just something a gentleman should not do.
“The statue will wait. Go get your helpers.”
While Maxon went for help, Bealomondore rid the sleeping beauty of her forest décor. He cleared off most of the larger decaying leaves with his hand, then used his handkerchief to swipe off the clinging dirt and damp mulch.
Maxon returned with nine kimens in tow. They lined up on Tipper’s sides and hoisted her onto their shoulders. Bealomondore followed, and very soon they stepped through a scanty hedge to find a narrow path.
The tumanhofer took his first unhindered step since waking in this dense forest. He looked down at his torn and dirtied apparel. “Too late for these clothes. I don’t suppose the kimen village has shops and booteries.”
“What was that?” asked Maxon from his position in the formation. He carried Tipper’s left foot.
“I’m merely lamenting the utter ruin of a splendid morning coat, a stylish made-to-order shirt, and a very decent pair of trousers, not to mention the most comfortable walking shoes I’ve ever owned.”
Without turning, Maxon waved his free hand in a dismissive manner. “My kin know you’re coming. They’ve done all to make you comfortable. Clothes, a spacious habitat, supplies for your art. You will live in luxury until we receive orders as to what we are to do with the statues.”
A warm glow settled in Bealomondore’s middle. Luxury, leisure, painting kimens, ropmas, and the beautiful emerlindian. This jaunt to an isolated village might be just what his weary self needed. He agreed with the rascally Wizard Fenworth that quests were uncomfortable ventures. He’d had enough of gallivanting around the country, looking for statues and finding villains instead. Bealomondore grinned. If he’d been given the duty of holing up in obscurity with a stolen statue in his possession, he’d make the best of it.
They stopped in a clearing.
“This will do,” said Maxon, and the ten kimens gently lowered the emerlindian to the ground.
“Where’s the village?” asked Bealomondore.
Maxon gestured to their surroundings. “This is it.”
With a hand in his trouser pocket, Bealomondore turned a full circle, inspecting every rock and tree. Nothing looked like a habitat. Then the side of a tree opened, and two kimens stepped out, obviously children by the size of them. Their fair hair stood even more wildly on their heads than the adult kimens’ topknots.
Several vines slipped into view from the trees. Gliding gracefully down these vines, a dozen kimens joined those who were appearing from bushes, trees, and burrows in the ground.
Bealomondore gazed with amazement. His artist eye picked out the slight variation of features that made each kimen individual. No artist had ever been presented with such a wonderful