Dragons of the Watch - Donita K. Paul [130]
“I—” Bealomondore stopped. He’d been in Rumbard City, trapped in a bottle. How was he to tell these men he’d met several years ago about his latest adventure?
He searched the horizon, the edge of a small wood, and the distant meadow.
“What are you looking for?” asked Rowser.
“Tell me”—Bealomondore would wait for an appropriate time to go into his lengthy tale—“have Paladin and Queen Tipper married yet?”
“She’s still Princess Tipper until the coronation, and that’s still months away.”
Rowser tapped his finger on the open book. “Just barely seven weeks.”
Piefer took exception to the correction. “Seven weeks is almost two months. Thus the plural is necessary. Singular would mislead Bealomondore. They will not be married in a month. She will be crowned, and they will be married in almost two months. Plural.”
Bealomondore scratched his head as he once again scanned the fields. “I came out on the same day I left. She either did the same, or she wasn’t able to get through.”
“What’s that, Bealomondore?”
“I’ve lost a friend, and I’m not sure if she has vanished to a different time or a different place or didn’t make the journey at all.”
“Ah, I see,” said Rowser.
Piefer nodded his head in agreement. “He’s been gadding about with wizards again.”
Rowser’s eyebrows arched. “Only explanation. Did you want tea or something stronger?”
“I’ll stick with tea. Your something stronger might still have bits of legs and antennas in it.”
Ellie stumbled over a runt bush and landed hard on the palms of her hands. They stung. She quickly turned over and sat up. The rock ridge she’d thought looked like a stone dragon rose out of the ground right in front of her. Her feet touched the part that looked like the tip of the tail.
She recognized this spot.
She could see quite well across the valley. No misty cloud hung over the land now. But water soaked the ground, and she stood up to avoid getting any wetter.
No sign of Bealomondore. No sign of the bottle. Over to the south she could see smoke curling out of the Hopperbattyholds’ cabin. To the west, she caught a glimpse of the road to Pence. Her aunt and uncle would have long ago passed that crossroads village.
She searched the terrain once more, looking for Bealomondore. Should she turn back to walk home or go on to the road? Stopping in the village seemed the best thing to do. She could ask what day it was, if the royal wedding had been magnificent, and if anyone had been looking for her.
As she trudged over the rough moor, she wondered if she should go looking for Bealomondore or go home to see if he came looking for her.
“He will,” she said aloud, then felt foolish. Tak wasn’t with her, so she couldn’t pretend she was talking to him and he understood. “What are people going to say?” She raised her arms a bit and let them fall back to her sides. “What am I going to say?”
She thought perhaps she should go to Ragar and find Wizard Fenworth. She had a message to deliver from Wizard Pater. But so did Bealomondore. A clump of coarse wire grass slashed her ankle as she walked by. Tiny cuts above her sock bled a little, not enough even to wipe away. She returned to mulling over her immediate future and stumbled over a tangle of bracken.
With her eyes on the ground, paying better attention to where she put her feet, Ellie reached the road and turned toward Pence. Perhaps she could get a ride back to Glenbrooken Village and walk home from there.
She moved to the side of the road when she heard a carriage approaching from behind. She didn’t bother to look as the coach rumbled past. It splashed mud on her clothing, and she jumped farther out onto the sloped grass beside the road. With her head down, examining the new stains on her tattered skirt, she heard the order to stop.
A screeching rendition of her name caught her attention. “Ellicinderpart!”
Aunt Tiffenbeth?
The carriage looked very familiar. She trotted over to stand next to the coach and look up at the people inside. Her aunt and