Dragons of the Valley - Donita K. Paul [51]
Bealomondore examined his hands.
“What’s wrong?” asked Tipper.
“My hands are tender. I’ve a couple of splinters, and I’m wondering how I will hold a sword if the rope brings up blisters.”
“Gloves,” said Tipper. “There were gloves in that pile of gear Fenworth gave you. And Rayn can take care of the roughed-up places before you put them on.”
The eager dragon changed from brown to green as he raced to help.
A few minutes later, Tipper lounged on a cushioned pallet, with Librettowit pushing his pole against the riverbed. She remembered the quest to find her father’s statues. She’d enjoyed their trek through the mountains.
The present trip held similar attractions. At this moment, questing included a fair breeze, the scent of fresh water, the sound of birds in bentleaf trees, the feel of a warm sun, and the pleasant companionship of good friends.
Librettowit and Wizard Fenworth often bemoaned the rigors of questing, but the journey was not all bad. Tipper told herself that floating down the river with nothing to do but relax and recover was acceptable, not lazy. Rayn roamed up and down her injured leg, and the aching muscles loosened and the sharp pains faded away to nothing.
She smiled at Bealomondore, and he winked back. “I’m going to paint a picture of you, Tipper. I shall title it Princess on Her Royal Barge.”
She gave him a scornful look but refused to reprimand him for referring to her royal heritage.
The current helped pull them along, and a little bit later, Tipper saw the dock of the boat stop jutting out on the south side of the river. They floated toward it too quickly and bumped into the wood pilings with a loud whack. The impact jarred Tipper’s injuries. She gritted her teeth against a protest that sprang to her lips.
“We’ll have to practice landing,” said Librettowit.
He poled to help maneuver the raft closer to the shore as Bealomondore pulled on the ropes. They managed to come alongside the steps leading up to the dock.
Two mariones from the boat stop rushed to aid them. The younger of the two assisted Bealomondore in tying his rope to a horizontal beam under the wooden walkway. When he finished he tipped his hat to the passengers.
“Good afternoon.” His smile reinforced his cheerful greeting. “Business has been rather slim these past few weeks. We’re mighty glad you stopped. Come ashore and rest a bit. My mom makes the best travelers’ stew on the river. We’ve clean, soft beds, bathtubs on every floor, and even a shower on the second. My mother owns the boat stop, and she knows her business.”
Tipper couldn’t get up immediately. Her stiff muscles complained as she followed Rayn’s directions. Arms extended above her head didn’t hurt, but rotating her feet without waiting for Rayn’s signal to begin caused tears to roll down her face. With the green dragon’s soothing touch, and by pushing only to the beginning of pain, she managed to reach a state where Bealomondore and Librettowit could help her stand. They made a seat with their hands between them and carried her up the steps to the wooden porch of the boat stop.
Four weathered doors stood across the front. Labels on faded signs read Store, Wash, Sleep, Eat.
A woman stood at the door marked Sleep. Her long hair fell from a plethora of combs stuck around her crown. Once upon a time, her dress might have been a party gown.
“She can’t walk?” The woman didn’t wait for an answer but grimly motioned them to come in the door she held. “Bring her in here.” She ignored Tipper but examined the two men carrying her with great interest.
Tipper looked over the dim interior of the front room. Disordered furniture appeared to be the leftovers of a parlor. A table with an open book served as the registration desk, and the stairs behind it probably led to beds. Four shabby chairs lined a low bar on the other side of the room. No wall hid the kitchen from view.
The most noticeable feature of the room sent a shiver skittering up Tipper’s spine. Five mariones and three bisonbecks lounged