Dragonspell - Donita K. Paul [106]
The emerlindian paused and gazed with wonder at their surroundings. Then she turned her attention back to Kale.
“Immature. You’ve heard Dar say I am young. I am certainly no Granny Noon. But when you beat back that pride that wants to say, ‘I’m big,’ then you are in the position to learn.”
Kale had an image of a little marione, Dubby Brummer, with his dimpled fists planted on his broad hips, a pout on his face, and one foot about to stamp the ground. How often she had taken care of the troublesome toddler who always wanted to do what the big children did. The image of his grubby, stubborn face made Kale laugh. The path narrowed again.
“Put your hood up,” said Leetu as she fell behind, “and the veil over your face, o’rant girl.”
They crossed the small mountain meadow and started up another incline. The wind calmed, and a few flakes of snow drifted lazily around the travelers.
Kale looked ahead. Lee Ark led them. Shimeran and Dar followed. She held the fourth position. Behind her Leetu helped Librettowit climb over a fallen tree. Brunstetter and a clump of brushwood hid Wizard Fenworth and Seezle. Kale caught her breath and looked again to the front of the line and to the back. Her eyes swiveled to look at the mountain pass—boulders, trees, a cliff in the distance, gray light as the clouds holding snow obscured the sun.
The mural in the tavern! Even the details of clothing matched exactly the figures in the picture. This scene she walked in was the scene depicted of the members of the seven high races crossing a mountain passage. Kale had seen it every day of her life. She’d dusted it. She’d even wiped ale from the surface when a careless customer had swung his full mug too heartily.
Kale looked back just as the old wizard and the tiny kimen came around the bend. Now the picture differed from the painting on the wall. But even the brushwood that had hidden the last two members of their quest was in the picture in River Away. She’d always thought the brotherhood of travelers looked eager to face their adventure. She felt tired and weary, eager to find a warm bed.
Who had painted the picture? Master Meiger said it was a traveling man who paid for his meal and board by drawing the art upon the wall.
She scurried to catch up with Dar. Maybe he would have an idea. Around yet another twist in the trail, she found those ahead of her had stopped.
An old o’rant woman dressed in shabby attire stood bent and shivering before Lee Ark.
“I’ve waited so long.” Her scratchy voice carried a note of pleading.
Kale felt uncomfortable. Why did Lee Ark look so formidable? Did he have to look angry, as if he would, at any moment, raise his heavy hand and beat the poor ragged soul? One old woman could not endanger them. Surely their leader should be more hospitable. Kale clenched her fists under the moonbeam cape, fighting an odd tremor flowing through her body.
The old woman bobbed her head. “We knew you were coming—a wizard, Paladin’s choice warriors, and the o’rant girl known as the mighty Dragon Keeper.”
The old crone held out two mittened hands cradling a large egg. Her withered fingers poked through the holes in the knitted black yarn. The yellowed egg she held was larger than her head and perched precariously in her shivering hands.
Leetu, Librettowit, and Brunstetter came up behind Kale and then stopped.
“Who told you we were coming, old woman?” asked Lee Ark.
“A trader. He said it was important to get the egg to the o’rant girl.” Again the whine in her voice scraped over Kale’s brittle nerves.
“Then why didn’t he bring it?” Lee Ark snapped. “Why send an old woman?”
“He didn’t want to come on Mount Tourbanaut. He said the tumanhofers had no love for him. That Risto would know he had carried the egg and come after him.”
Kale eyed the egg. She didn’t feel the draw that she had felt before, the