Dragonspell - Donita K. Paul [114]
“I’ll take the cart and burro back with me,” said Rapjackaport. “If you get through the barrier, you’ll find miles of natural tunnels. Some of these passages are not big enough for a wagon of any sort.”
Brunstetter looked uncomfortable at this. He eyed the small wagon and his own bulk as if comparing sizes.
Leetu and Librettowit helped Fenworth climb out of the cart. He sat down on a boulder that glowed a soft pink. Having just awakened from another nap, the old wizard gazed at the vast underground cavern with sleepy eyes, yawned, and stroked his beard.
“Thank you, dear Rapjackaport, for guiding us.” Fenworth’s quiet voice echoed faintly around them. “We understand your eagerness to return. We won’t detain you.”
The tumanhofer bowed with more precision than elegance and turned to his cousin. “Take care, Librettowit. This is an odd job for a librarian.”
“I’m aware of that, Port. But we do what we must do.”
They embraced. Lee Ark and Dar unloaded a few supplies from the cart and helped turn the burro. Kale remembered to say her thanks as the tumanhofer left them, but her eyes were on the magnificent cave. The glitter and vivid colors had almost blinded her to a mar of ugliness seeping out of a crevice on the opposite side. In contrast to the beauty of the great stone hall, a mound of black coarse sand, rocks, and boulders spilled out of this one wide crack.
Fenworth, leaning heavily on his walking stick, crossed the uneven floor with his eyes trained on the deplorable deformity. A few yards from its base he sat down again, this time on a lavender boulder. The others started setting up camp, but Kale went to stand by the old man.
After a moment he sighed. He propped his walking stick against his shoulder and placed both hands upon his knees. He leaned forward and squinted at the black, ragged pebbles as if reading written lines amid the pile. Eventually he reached to take Kale’s hand in his without looking away from the crumbly-looking mass in front of them.
“Crim Copper. That’s who made this atrocity, Kale. Crim Copper.” He patted her hand. A mouse fell out of his sleeve and scampered away, ignored by both of them. “Risto, Burner Stox, and Crim Copper working together. Can’t be good. Oh dear, oh dear. Can’t be good.”
Dar fixed an especially good supper and played soothing “digestion music” afterward. Metta sat on his shoulder and sang her syllable-song. Kale listened patiently as Librettowit explained again that the little purple dragon’s snout wasn’t formed for making words like the seven high races used, but the minor dragons had a language of their own. Therefore the gifted creatures could communicate mentally in the common language, but voiced their thoughts with what sounded to us like a string of nonsense syllables. Kale thought the music Metta made without words was lovelier than any ballads she had heard sung by minstrels at the tavern.
The kimens joined the singing and danced. Their beautiful clothing changed with each movement. With the pastel lava rock beneath their feet and the vibrant jewel tones dripping as crystals from the ceiling, the spectacular performance kept Kale’s attention—except for the few times her eyes wandered over to the old wizard.
Fenworth had scarcely touched his meal, and anything Dar cooked usually had his admiration, or at least his attention. The wizard often complained about Librettowit’s lack of culinary skill, to which the tumanhofer replied, “I’m a librarian.” Fenworth also enjoyed music. It was peculiar for him to ignore Metta, Dar, and the kimens.
This night Fenworth ate a few spoonfuls and put the bowl of green stew aside. He sat contemplating the barrier.
Kale worried every time she noticed how totally occupied the wizard was with Crim Copper’s black blight on the beautiful cavern. Fenworth grew leaves and didn’t bother to shake them off. He drifted into the appearance of a massive trunk that dissipated any time he moved. Occasionally he stood and paced. Kale tried once to reach into his mind, but as she’d found from