Dragonspell - Donita K. Paul [8]
Kale watched the other dragon’s aerobatics, stunned by her beauty. The red wings glistened as if covered with tiny rubies. Her chest and stomach pulsated in blue and purple shimmers. Sunlight reflected off blue-green scales on her head, tail, and hind feet.
A small furry rider wore bright colors, almost as flamboyant as his mount. Shouting terse words Kale could not understand, the man cast yard-long lances among the grawligs.
“I am Leetu Bends. We came to rescue you.”
A female voice uttered the words directly into Kale’s thoughts. The o’rant girl jerked in surprise.
A mindspeaker! She looked around trying to decide who had spoken.
“Go now, while we have the grawligs’ attention. Go west, over the ridge. Follow the stream down the mountainside. We’ll catch up with you.”
Kale still held the glittering rock she’d picked up in the cavern. She opened the neck of her shirt and dropped the stone under the frayed material. It settled against the bulge of dragon eggs tied to her waist.
She pressed her palms into the rim of the hole and hoisted herself over the edge. Without stopping to watch the combat, she scrambled over the rocky terrain away from the fighting.
A battle cry rent the air. Kale turned to see the rider of the smaller dragon slide off his saddle into a knot of grawligs.
He fell!
The miniature warrior, dressed in vibrant shades of green and gold, disappeared into the snarling melee of brown and black beasts.
Kale imagined the little man ripped in pieces as the ogres tore at his arms and legs. She ran toward the clutch of tangled fighters until she stood on an outcropping just above. The grawligs made hideous noises. Dust rose, obscuring her view of the valiant little warrior. She saw flashes of color from his clothing, but not the man, nor how he defended himself.
They’re killing him. I’ve got to do something!
Kale picked up a rock and hurled it. It bounced off a grawlig head. He grunted and swayed, but returned to his efforts to pummel the enemy in their midst without even looking up to see what had hit him.
Kale threw one rock after another as fast as she could pick them up and as hard as her muscles would allow.
“What are you doing? Get out of there. Dar knows how to fight. He doesn’t need you. Go! Quickly! Before they turn on you.”
Kale hesitated.
“GO!”
She heaved the rock in her hand and took off toward the crest of the ridge.
I don’t like this. Not one bit. In River Away everyone always yelled at me, “Go! Come! Do this! Do that!” But at least I knew who was ordering me about.
At the top of her climb she paused to look over her shoulder. Fierce fighting still raged in the gully below. She didn’t want to be chastised again, so she turned away from the battle and stomped over the ridge.
A stream sprang out of the rocks in the midst of a copse of evergreen shrubs. Kale followed it easily. The noise of enraged grawligs battling her rescuers soon faded. The breeze whispered through the trees, cooling her as she trudged along. The sun sparkled off the brook as it foamed over its rounded-rock bed. Birds sang in the forest as if nothing so ugly as raiding grawligs existed in the whole of Amara.
She marched along, muttering about grawligs and voiceless orders and not knowing where she was going. As she tramped beside the stream, her anger faded. A yawn stretched her mouth. Her eyes drooped. Then her legs grew rubbery, making it hard to stay upright. She stumbled more than once over terrain that should have been easy for her to cover. Jumbled thoughts broke her concentration, and she kept losing her balance.
She said they came to rescue me. Who are they? How did they know I was in trouble? How did they know where I was? Could Farmer Brigg somehow