Dragons of the Valley - Donita K. Paul [96]
Hollee asked, “Are you going to do one about the invasion of Chiril by Baardack?”
“Tut, tut. Oh dear, oh dear. Perhaps when we can depict a victorious conclusion.”
Hollee scrunched up her face. “Should we go back and help our side win?”
“Do you find it rather boring here, my little friend?”
She hung her head, not wanting to look into his kind eyes. “Sometimes.”
“Then the next part of our venture will be more to your liking.”
She raised her chin to see his face and widened her eyes in a question.
He grinned. “We are going to the Valley of Dragons above us. There we shall recruit fierce dragons to guard this memorial.”
“It’s a memorial?”
Librettowit joined them and put two fingers of his large hand on Hollee’s shoulder. “Wulder has often told His followers to erect monuments to remind generations to come of His Providence. Just because our parents understand His Glory does not mean our children will see the same Truth. And it is not an arduous task. Keeping the Truth alive in the next generation is as simple as showing a child that a fire burns and a cloud holds rain. We demonstrate that some actions lead to destruction, some to further development.”
Hollee tipped her chin back so she could look at the tumanhofer standing behind her. “Development?”
“New beginnings, like a dried seed is watered by the rain and becomes a stalk of wheat.”
Fenworth grabbed his hat off his head and drew out an egg. “Or an egg is kept warm and out pops a dragon.”
Within seconds, the shell cracked and a minor dragon baby rubbed his chin on the wizard’s palm.
“Advancement,” said Librettowit, “like building a staircase instead of climbing a rope.”
“Improvement,” said Fenworth, “like an oven instead of an open campfire.”
“Progress,” said the librarian, “like a flute instead of a reed pipe.”
“Hollee,” Fenworth said in his very serious and important voice.
Hollee leaned forward in anticipation. Sometimes the things Fenworth declared sent shivers of comprehension along her limbs. He opened doors of understanding with a few words.
“Hollee.”
She leaned forward even more.
“Always test your intentions by this measure. Will your actions bring destruction or mark another step toward a positive end?”
She nodded, hoping he would continue and not veer off into some obscure thought.
He held up a finger.
She waited.
“For instance, feeding an old wizard should result in a positive outcome.”
Librettowit laughed. “And starving your comrades might destroy the fellowship we are enjoying. I agree, Fen. Let’s eat the jimmin chicken Hollee has prepared.”
“I have another something to do first,” she said.
The old men looked at her but did not speak.
“May I have the dragon you just hatched?”
“Ooh, I’m sorry, my dear,” said Wizard Fenworth. “That was but an illusion.”
Hollee sighed. “All right. We can eat.”
Fenworth laid a finger on her slumped shoulder. “I shall ask the next real dragon I meet if he would like to be your companion.”
38
Battleground
When Bealomondore returned to Ragar with the others, he was thrust into the organization of the army. He wasn’t doing the organizing but fell into the hands of those who were. These men seemed to believe that because he was well-born, he must have been educated on military history and was therefore eligible to command. Bealomondore took this to mean that finding suitable officers for their fighting force had proven almost impossible. Why else would they choose him to lead? Perhaps the sword impressed them.
Before the men were trained or even fully equipped, the enemy army marched south, destroying farms and villages. The war had begun in earnest whether Chiril was ready or not. Bealomondore had been given a platoon to command. All he knew to do was to get between the enemy and unconquered