Dragons of the Valley - Donita K. Paul [37]
14
Must Go
Bealomondore stepped back and studied his latest sketch. Done. And done well. On his canvas, three kimen children hung upside down from a tree, their legs hooked over a limb. The artist smiled.
“Come see.” He gestured to his models.
They tumbled off their perch, landed lightly, and ran to see their picture. With exclamations of delight, they danced around the artist, then ran off to tell their friends.
Maxon strolled into the clearing. “You’ve caused a great deal of excitement. The village has never had a portrait artist before.”
“You once told me that you rarely had guests. Now you’ve had Librettowit, Tipper, and me for almost two months. Paladin has come and gone, causing quite a stir while he was here. Have we irrevocably disrupted your daily living?”
Maxon sat on a stump. “No, no. We were made to glorify Wulder and enjoy Him. One of the ways we do this is to serve. We’ve come through a long, bleak period where our race did not have a focus. Now we do. Paladin has explained things that were lost in our history. Our customs and traditions make much more sense now that he has renewed our knowledge of the Creator, Wulder.”
Bealomondore’s response was a noncommittal, “Hmm.” He didn’t want to discuss Wulder.
He hunched a shoulder and turned to his art, adding a few more strokes to his sketch. He stood back, examined the effect, then added two more.
“I’m waiting for the ropmas to come,” he said. “I had a promise from a young man named Handle. Of course, I realize that time is a nebulous thing for them.”
“That’s actually why I’ve come.”
Bealomondore turned to study his kimen friend. The frown on his little face did not bode well.
“What’s happened?”
Maxon’s shoulders bunched up and fell as he gave a huge sigh. “The ropmas have seen The Grawl. They’ve gone so far underground that we haven’t seen them at all today.”
Bealomondore sat on one of the stools he’d brought out from his abode. “Well, this Grawl beast isn’t after them, is he? Surely they’re safe.”
“Near here is a marione village where craftsmen fashion all sorts of knives, swords, spears, and arrows. The ropmas provide raw ore for the metals. They think it is a good deal, trading mud for fancy food like bacon. Ropmas are particularly fond of bacon. And ham. But it would be unthinkable for a ropma to slaughter an animal for its meat.”
“Vegetarians?”
“Not really. Just squeamish.” Maxon stood looking at the portrait of the carefree kimen children. “You have a great gift, Bealomondore.”
“Yes, but I have no subjects for my next sitting.” He rolled his piece of charcoal between two fingers. “Tell me the rest of the tale.”
“The night before last, The Grawl led bisonbeck men into the village. The marauders destroyed each building in which weapons had been made and all the storage sheds. They torched some of the buildings, and fire spread to homes. Ropmas, especially burrowing ropmas, are terrified of fire.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“The raiding party didn’t seem interested in hurting the mariones, but they thrashed anyone who came out to stop them, and several villagers were hurt as they put out the blazes.”
Bealomondore put down his charcoal and picked up a rag to wipe his hands. “This is why we brought the statues out of the city. These men must not get hold of a powerful gateway.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, the two statues are safe in your settlement.”
A cool breeze ruffled a stack of paper the artist had left on a stump. Bealomondore moved to put away his tools.
Maxon rested a hand on the pages to keep them in place. “Yes, but we have had a message from the palace, regarding Verrin Schope.”
He stopped and focused on Maxon. “Surely it can’t be too urgent.”
“Only if you value the artist’s life.”
“What? Tell me this instant.”
“He has returned to the unstable state that was cured when the three statues were reunited. And now Lady Peg, Beccaroon, and Verrin Schope have disappeared in the countryside. No one knows exactly where