Dragonspell - Donita K. Paul [47]
I hope the guard doesn’t see me.
She sighed.
I hope I don’t die of fright.
She put a foot forward. The guard suddenly stood at attention. Kale lost her nerve. She froze. She felt Gymn stiffen in her pocket.
The warrior flexed his shoulder muscles, bent his head to one side until his ear almost touched his metal armor. He straightened his neck and tipped his head the other direction. Then he marched in place for a minute, lifting his knees high. At no time did his attention leave the barn.
This isn’t going to work. He doesn’t see me now, but when I move to the door, he will. I need Dar to create a distraction. But if he raises a ruckus now, then he’ll have to do it again later. And it might not work a second time, and that’s when Celisse and I will be ready to come out of the barn.
Kale watched the guard as he returned to his casual stance, still conscientiously observing the old wooden structure.
Suppose I mindspeak to that guard and tell him to go somewhere. No. Why would he follow my orders? Maybe I could make him think it’s his idea. Oh, I don’t know what to do.
She went over the mind exercises Leetu had drilled into her head.
A picture! I’ll create a picture of something crawling on the other side of the wagon. And a sound! He’ll go look.
Kale imagined a man, a young, strong marione man. As she filled in the details, she realized she was picturing Bolley, one of the best fighters in River Away. When satisfied with the vividness of her image, she projected it to the guard’s mind and, at the same time, imagined the sound of a rock scraping against metal. Only the soldier would hear the created sound.
Kale nearly bounced with delight when the guard crouched. He lifted his battle-ax to a ready position and stealthily crept to the end of the wagon, looked, and then moved around the corner beyond Kale’s vision. She scooted to the door and pushed with her shoulder. The door opened with only a slight protest of rusty hinges. She bolted into the barn and eased the door shut.
The dragon inside crowded the open space between the walls lined with stalls. Her tremendous bulk blocked everything on the other side of the barn. As far as Kale could tell in the gloomy light, the dragon was black and gray with no glistening streaks of vibrant colors like Merlander.
Celisse greeted Kale with a mellow call like a mourning dove’s coo. The dragon’s memories washed over Kale. She tried to comprehend the fast flow of information. Sorrow and rage pulsed in the dragon’s account of the tale.
The people of the house were all dead. Celisse grieved the loss of her “family,” and Kale’s tender heart ached with the dragon’s.
A detachment of soldiers had burned the house. Rough bisonbeck men carried off all the farmer’s crops. Ropmas, another of Pretender’s low races, had driven off the farmer’s livestock to feed Wizard Risto’s people.
Celisse’s torment tangled the account of her defeat into a disordered mess. Now Kale saw images of a battle in the farmyard. Celisse had returned from a trip to town with the farmer and his oldest son on her back. They’d swept into the yard and fought the squad of soldiers left behind to complete the pillaging and torch the farmhouse. The farmer and his son were no match for the ruthless warriors. Soon only Celisse raged against them. She eventually sought refuge in the barn and struck out at those who tried to enter.
Evidently, messages had been sent to the main body of the army. Risto’s men did nothing to keep their plans secret, and Celisse’s keen hearing picked up many conversations. A crossbow marksman had arrived with special arrows. The man had no trouble shooting the cornered dragon with a poison that kept her mind fogged, her body in agony, and her will to live sapped.
Celisse knew Risto himself was coming to claim her for his own fleet of dragons. Her resistance dwindled with each poisoned arrow. Every time she felt her strength returning, the soldiers reopened the barn doors, and the marksman stepped into view, firing another arrow into her flesh.
This had started several