Dragons of the Valley - Donita K. Paul [94]
The wizard put his arm around his wife and gave her a hug. “My dear, you astound me. You have deduced his role in protecting you. Bar Besta’s talent is, indeed, the art of guessing the right thing.”
She reached out and touched the small dragon’s shoulder with one lightly placed fingertip. “Oh, I see how that would be handy. Thank you, Bar Besta, for deciding to come with me. I didn’t really want to go to war. But I suppose you already guessed that.”
The dragon performed a slight bow.
“And he has manners,” said Lady Peg. “I thoroughly approve of manners.”
37
Research
The Grawl sat at the large table in his study with books open and spread out within easy reach. A stack of plain paper sat on one side, and papers filled with notes cluttered the other side. He’d shed his fine brocade longcoat and unbuttoned his vest. The lamp reflected off the white of his silk shirt.
A servant in livery entered with a tray. “Your dinner, sir?”
“Bring up the side table. There’s no room where I’m working.”
The man placed the tray on an ornate end table, went to a huge upholstered chair, and emptied the small table beside it. With effort, he lifted the sturdy piece of furniture and placed it at his master’s elbow. He then retrieved the tray. He poured a drink from a carafe and removed a cover from a bowl of soup and a larger silver cover from a rack of lamb elegantly arranged as a crown with fresh fruit surrounding the base and paper tassels capping each bone.
“Do you require anything else, sir?”
The Grawl grunted.
The servant nodded and left.
With a big sigh, The Grawl leaned back in his chair, stretched his arms above his head, then lowered them slowly. He made a face as he picked up the food offered to him. The hot bowl warmed his hands, but the soup inside left him cold. He’d eat it, relishing the heat of temperature and spice, but he preferred the meals he foraged when out in the wild.
He tipped the bowl to his mouth rather than use the spoon. His eyes continued to scan the page before him. The word schoergat caught his attention. The name of the flying hunter had come up several times in his search for strategies in defeating wizards. His pursuit of information he could use against the wizard had led to an interesting find. The myth of schoergats might actually be more than stories told to frighten children into obeying.
The creatures resembled schoergs, one of the low races. Instead of being rail thin and covered with black fur, schoergats had thick bodies and calloused skin from head to foot. They also had wings.
The books said they blended into the rocky terrain they inhabited in high mountain ranges. Their skin felt like rough granite and provided a shell of protection from knives and arrows. Wings like those of an insect protruded from their shoulder blades. They flew in a darting fashion like certain swamp bugs or tiny, colorful fibbirds.
The Grawl drank from the tankard as he flipped through more pages. North of Baardack and miles to the west, a bridge of land connected two continents. High mountains rose out of the sea and stretched toward the sky. A few spots of population dotted the coasts, but the peaks were too steep to support normal life. The fables said that the schoergats congregated there. And they flew north to hunt dragons, having driven all the dragons in the southern continent into hiding. The Grawl continued to read, searching for what made the schoergats effective dragon hunters and if that skill would be helpful in defeating a wizard.
The Grawl’s empty tankard clattered on the metal tray when he cast it aside. Since dragons no longer hid in the valley previously occupied by the man called Paladin, Chiril might have enough dragons to lure these schoergats south. If they engaged the animals favored by the old man, The Grawl might have the opportunity to slay a distracted wizard. He was no fool. The wizard would have to be distracted if he were to