Dragons of the Valley - Donita K. Paul [46]
“Dozens,” said Maxon. “Seems they’re having a get-together.”
Tipper frowned. “Snakes have get-togethers?”
“Mating season.”
“Really?” Tipper doubted him, wondering if he was taking advantage of her ignorance.
He tossed her a cheeky grin. “Let’s get moving.”
“You’re going to watch for snakes, aren’t you?” Tipper cringed. “I don’t want to step on one.”
“We won’t let you,” said Taeda Bel, “and Bealomondore can practice by dispatching the ones that are aggressive.”
Bealomondore deliberately sheathed the sword, then put the belt around his waist. Squaring his shoulders, he scowled and marched forward. Tipper placed Rayn on her shoulder and followed.
They hadn’t taken ten steps before another snake raised its head and threatened the tumanhofer in front. Bealomondore jerked on the sword hilt and brought his weapon out. Again the blade directed his arm. Tipper gasped as the snake lunged, but Bealomondore managed to lop off its head.
Librettowit came up beside him. “You might as well keep your weapon drawn. These snakes are mongers. At least they look and act like the snakes back home that populate our southern regions. Mongers will challenge any man or beast that crosses their territory.”
Tipper joined the two tumanhofers. “Are they poisonous?”
“Slightly venomous most of the year, but deadly during mating season.” Librettowit sighed. “I don’t suppose there is a way to go around this little patch of land they seem to claim as their own.”
Maxon and Taeda Bel looked behind them, paused for a moment, then shook their heads.
The male kimen indicated the land they had just crossed with a sweep of his hand. “They’ve closed in. We’re surrounded.”
Tipper glared his way. “Who was it who said that this would be easy? That once we got to the top of that horrible hill, the next part would be easy? I think the word you used was ‘easy,’ wasn’t it?”
Taeda Bel shook her head. “No, he said, ‘We’ll be able to get a boat and travel with ease.’ I don’t think he said crossing the meadow would be easy.”
“Keep together,” said Maxon. “I think the snakes are tightening their circle around us. Let’s move.”
Tipper gave Bealomondore credit. He went ahead of the others, ready to protect them. The next snake gave him less than a second to react, yet the tumanhofer managed to behead it. She thought he handled the sword with a little more finesse.
By the time they finally reached the far edge of the field, where the land dropped to the riverbed, he looked much more comfortable in the role of champion. She’d lost count of how many mongers had challenged him and lost their lives.
The steep cliff would be difficult to descend, but enough rocks jutted from the face to provide steps, and astain bushes dotted the surface. These stubby plants thrust deep roots into the ground, and scrappy branches grew from a short, thick trunk. Tipper worried more about the snakes in the field than the climb they would have to make.
She couldn’t help hoping that the snakes had been dispatched before they’d had a chance to make babies. As far as she was concerned, the world didn’t need more poisonous, feisty snakes. Her mother used to fuss about the snakes Tipper might run into in the jungle next to their estate. Counting all she had seen throughout her life, the number was just a small fraction of the populace of this one field.
Librettowit clapped Bealomondore on the shoulder. “Good work. You’ll be able to face down any foe by the time the sword is finished training you.”
The artist’s shoulders drooped. “I have no desire to be a warrior.”
“A swordsman is quite a different prospect from your run-of-the-mill soldier fighting on a battlefield.”
Bealomondore grunted.
“Fencing is an art form akin to the dance. The intricacies of a sword fight display grace and fluidity of motion like a ballet.”
The tumanhofer artist cast the older man a look of interest. “Really? I’m a pretty accomplished dancer, quite in demand when hostesses need males to round out the numbers for a successful soiree.”
Maxon snatched a stick to represent a sword and proceeded