Dragons of the Valley - Donita K. Paul [97]
Bealomondore sounded the retreat. His men had valiantly pushed back a surge of enemy soldiers, only to find fresh reinforcements beyond the last hill. He’d led his men into a trap, but fortunately Det had projected an aerial view into his thoughts before it was too late to withdraw. He and his men fell back in an orderly fashion, joining the main line of their forces.
He owed Laddin thanks for keeping his body able and his mind alert through hours of treacherous battle. The healing dragon rode inside his coat. He crawled out as they came closer to safety and wrapped his lithe green body around Bealomondore’s neck.
The commander ordered Bealomondore’s men to retire from the front and seek refuge in the camp. The tumanhofer helped one of his wounded soldiers navigate the uneven ground to the hospital tent.
Once he had the younger man on an empty cot, he sank to the floor and leaned against the canvas wall. He knew he should go to the kitchen tent and eat something, but exhaustion made the effort seem too arduous. Apparently Laddin’s physical support had met its match. His two minor dragons sat beside him, their chins resting on his legs.
Tipper appeared with a cup of water. “Are you all right?”
He nodded and took the offered drink. “Just tired and probably hungry, though I don’t feel hunger pangs sufficient to make me stand up again.”
“I’ll bring you something. Rest.”
He slumped in a stupor, unable to bring a clear thought to his brain. He noticed two women attending the man he had brought in but couldn’t recall the soldier’s name when they asked. Several minutes later, he remembered and blurted it out. One of the ladies looked at him strangely, but the other refilled the cup and had him drink more water.
Tipper returned with dry bread and meat for him and a bowl of porridge for the dragons.
“I’m sorry there is not more for you. We are sorely in need of supplies.”
“I thank you,” said Bealomondore. “And my dragons say they will eat enough to recover a bit, then see if they can rid your tent of some of the bugs that have gathered.”
“That would be wonderful. The healing dragons work until they can’t tend another soldier. They’re too tired to forage.”
Bealomondore forced down the dry bread and meat, rinsed his mouth by swishing the last of the water through his teeth, and leaned back against a stack of rolled blankets. The day was hot and the humidity high. He’d be more comfortable if he removed his jacket, but he closed his eyes instead.
Tipper shook him awake some time later. “Paladin has come with supplies. He’s in the strategy tent with King Yellat and the high command. My grandfather is muttering about your father and the family’s mine. I think you should go.”
She helped him to his feet, then handed him a drink. “Paladin brought water, food, and medical supplies. My grandfather chastised him for not bringing weapons.”
Bealomondore sighed and handed back the empty mug. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Tipper leaned down to kiss his cheek.
“Don’t,” Bealomondore protested. “I am covered with battle muck.” She straightened, and he regretted his harsh response. “I’ve been killing, Princess Tipper. I fear the stain on my soul is worse than the stain on my clothes.”
She looked around the huge tent at beds occupied by wounded men. “It’s hard, but King Odidoddex has proven he is a harsh ruler in his own land. To allow him to seize more power would not be right.”
Bealomondore put his hand on his sword hilt and knew he was only alive because of the wizard’s gift.
“I should clean up before I enter the strategy tent.”
“I think it is more important for you to go while they are still plotting the next move our army will make.”
Bealomondore left and crossed their encampment to the tent where the high command gathered around a table covered with maps. Two guards briefly stalled him at the door, but he was admitted at King Yellat’s approval.
He stood back against the wall with the other low-ranking officers who would be