Dragons of the Valley - Donita K. Paul [45]
17
Swordplay
Tipper welcomed the gentle breeze as they walked through the tall grass. She couldn’t see the river, but Maxon said it was there just beyond the horizon. He also said that a boat stop supplied those using the River Hannit for transport with a myriad of services—showers, meals, supplies, and a few hours of rest from the rigors of moving their cargo vessels up or down the river. Once Tipper’s comrades were on the banks, the small establishment would be only a mile or so downstream.
The group walked side by side. The two tumanhofers flanked Tipper, and the kimens took the outside positions, Maxon next to the artist and Taeda Bel next to the librarian. Rayn sat on Tipper’s head. She tried to persuade him to sit on her shoulder, but he preferred the higher perch.
“Stop!” The word came out of Tipper’s mouth before she heard it in her mind.
Everyone froze.
“What?” asked Bealomondore.
“Snake,” said Taeda Bel.
Librettowit’s head whipped back and forth. “Where?”
Maxon pointed, but Tipper didn’t see anything. Rayn hissed from his post, and she realized he had been the one to put the warning on her lips.
“Bealomondore,” said Maxon in a hushed and urgent voice, “where is the sword Wizard Fenworth gave you?”
“In a hollow.”
“I think it would serve us well in your hand.”
“I’m not a swordsman. I’ve no skill.”
Librettowit gave a choked chortle. “Get it out, son. Move with care. Don’t attract the snake’s attention.”
Tipper held her breath as Bealomondore carefully moved the cloak aside and reached into one of the inside hollows. He seemed to put his hand on the right object immediately. She heard him sigh and watched out of the corner of her eye.
As he pulled out the sword, a large snake raised its head above the two-foot-high grass. Black with a pattern of red and blue stripes, the reptile swayed as its eyes appeared to measure their group. With a hiss, the snake sunk to the ground.
Tipper stepped back at Rayn’s urging. Again she realized it was he who pointed out the slight disturbance across the top of the grass that displayed the snake’s movement.
“H-how long do you think that snake is?” she asked.
Librettowit pursed his mouth. “Nine feet? Ten?”
Rayn dashed down from his lookout point and dived inside her cape.
Tipper would have liked to have wings to fly or be small enough to fit in her own pockets.
Bealomondore stepped forward, but it looked like the sword pulled him. The snake’s head bolted into the air right in front of the tumanhofer. With one swing of the blade, the artist decapitated the snake.
Maxon jumped up and down. “Well done! Well done!”
Bealomondore gasped, and the hand holding the sword dropped to his side. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow.
Tipper couldn’t help beaming at him. “I didn’t know you could wield a sword like that.”
“I can’t.” Bealomondore pointed at his shaking hand holding the weapon. “I can’t even hold it still. The sword killed the snake. I didn’t.”
Librettowit nodded sagely. “A weapon bestowed upon you by Wizard Fenworth is likely to have unusual properties.”
The younger tumanhofer thrust the sword hilt toward the librarian. “You take it.”
Librettowit raised his hands in front of him, palms forward. “No, the sword will work for you, not me. Do you have a sword belt in that cape?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Put it on.”
Rayn came out of hiding. He, Maxon, and Taeda Bel expressed enthusiasm by jigging around. Rayn danced on one of Tipper’s shoulders, prancing over her head to bounce on the other.
“He’s going to be a warrior,” said Maxon.
“No,” said Taeda Bel, “one of those fancy fencers.”
“No, no, no.” Bealomondore held the belt in a fist and shook it in the air above his head. “I am a painter, an artist. I have no intention of becoming a swordsman.”
Interrupting his wild shindig, Tipper caught Rayn and restrained him against her chest. “Are there more snakes?”
Taeda Bel and Maxon stood still, paying attention to their surroundings. Taeda Bel’s face took on an expression of wariness, and she scooted closer