Dragonspell - Donita K. Paul [46]
Surprised that she’d made it this far, Kale wasn’t about to let herself get caught now. She knew the barn was close, because from where she stood, she knew exactly where the riding dragon was. She hesitated at the edge of the barnyard, close to the dragon, but also just as close to the four guards.
Kale cocked her head and listened, holding her breath. Her ears strained to pick out a sound, hopefully a normal sound. Did she just hear a whisper in the field? She waited. Nothing. Pent-up breath eased out between her teeth.
Inside his pocket-den, Gymn wiggled.
You just be patient. I’m not ready to step into the open.
The moonbeam cape covered her from neck to toes. She pulled the hood up and let the filmy material drop in front of her face. Blinking, she discovered she could see more clearly through the light fabric.
I should have worn the hood all along. Why didn’t someone tell me the moonbeam cloth would make me see better? Dar or Leetu? Or Granny Noon? They probably forgot how little I know.
She moved her head slowly, looking at every feature of the open space. Cornstalks stood as if looking over her shoulder. A rutted road ran past her into the shrouded horizon.
With trembling fingers, she fastened all the buttons on her moonbeam cape.
I hope I really am invisible.
Two long slits enabled her to reach through the sides of the cape, but she didn’t want her arms exposed. She pulled them inside and wrapped them around her middle, trying to hold the butterflies in her stomach still.
Gymn wiggled again.
I’m not asking your opinion, Gymn. Your job is to be quiet and stay out of the way until it is time to heal Celisse. My job is to help Celisse escape.
Kale rubbed her hands together. The cold came from her fear within, not the damp air without. She would have to be brave.
Her foot responded sluggishly as she tried to take a step. She was so close. The barn, hidden under a blanket of moist air, housed Celisse. Kale felt the dragon waiting for her. Two bisonbeck men dozed by a smoldering fire. She smelled fresh smoke as well as an acrid odor rising from the burnt timbers of the house and charred furniture.
One man paced behind the barn, pivoting with military precision as he reached the vacant pigsty and striding back to the empty corncrib where he turned again. Kale knew his thoughts were on battle. He resented guarding a barn. The other guard stood stock-still and thought of food—lots of food…and rich wine and sweet mead…and a certain barmaid.
Kale hoped he concentrated on that maid’s green eyes and smiling lips and didn’t notice one o’rant girl creeping up to the barn.
As she tiptoed into the farmyard, Kale peered into the grounded cloud and finally saw a dark building loom in the mist. She moved silently, following a railed fence. The barn stood gray and battered, its huge front doors closed. Two openings into the hayloft gaped as square black holes. To Kale, they looked like sinister eyes watching her movements.
The front peak of the roof displayed a weather vane tilted at an awkward angle as if it had received a blow. The roof curved down on both sides to about six feet from the dirt, then went off in straight lines to stop abruptly over ramshackle side walls. Here, a normal-sized door offered Kale an entry into the dragon’s prison.
Gratefully, she saw that the heavy wooden doors that allowed wagons and animals entrance to the barn swung outward. The metal brackets that would have held the bar to bolt the door were empty.
These bisonbecks must be pretty confident their prisoner is too sick to break out.
Kale could see the man guarding the front. His massive dark shape leaned against a wagon some distance across the barnyard. He shifted. She heard armor grate, hard leather creak, and boots shuffle in the dirt. His head remained still, his eyes facing front. Kale inched to the edge of the barn. Only three more feet and she would be at the smaller door.
I hope it isn’t locked.
I hope