Dragonspell - Donita K. Paul [92]
Later the wizard sat on a large rock and didn’t move for an hour. He began to look like a bush entangling the boulder. Kale repeatedly blinked her eyes to keep the man in focus, or else he blurred into part of the landscape. Several birds swooped out of the sky and perched in his branches…on his arms. They flitted away after moments of intense chattering.
The rest of the afternoon, Fenworth went about visiting just as if he were a host making sure his guests were acknowledged and made to feel welcome. At some time during this aimless chitchat, he asked the members of their group to tell him their ages. With each revelation, he would exclaim. “Ha! See? I am older than you.”
Seezle tilted up her chin, and with mischief in her eye, said, “Now how am I to know that for sure? You haven’t told us how old you are.”
The old man fumed. He harrumphed, blew in his beard, clapped his hands against his robes, and glowered at the tiny creature before him.
Seezle’s smile only grew broader. “You don’t remember, do you?”
“Sixty,” Fenworth barked. “Seventy. Maybe eighty-something.” He stood straighter, and his expression brightened. “Seventy-two. Something very close to seventy-two, I believe.” He turned and walked away, humming the little ditty every child sang at birthday celebrations.
Seezle giggled and plopped down next to Kale and Leetu.
“Seventy-two years old?” Kale’s face pulled into a puzzled frown. “He looks a lot older than that.”
“He’s talking about centuries, not years,” explained Seezle.
Kale gasped and watched the sprightly old fellow with new admiration.
At dusk a black bird flew into their camp and landed on Fenworth’s shoulder.
“Oh, yes,” said the old man, “I remember now. The sun falling over the side of the world, that was the signal for Thorpendipity to bring me my castle. Makes sense, you see. Nighttime. Suppertime. Bedtime. Want to be at home. My own table. My own bed. Comforts. Don’t you see? Questing can be such an uncomfortable business.”
For one second Kale observed the befuddled expressions of her comrades. A burst of light filled the meadow, making it impossible to see anything. She squinted, put her arm across her eyes, and felt as if her body were being sucked through a hole.
She heard horses neighing, a duck quacking, and bacon sizzling. She smelled the bacon, but also flowers, and then strong lye soap.
“Now where’s the key to the front door?” She heard the wizard mutter practically in her ear. She turned toward the sound and reached out, but felt nothing but moving air. The swirling wind astonished her as it made almost no noise. Odd sounds, a drum beating, a door opening and shutting, a cat’s meow, could be heard distinctly.
Fenworth’s voice floated on the air. “Yes, you see, I am the leader, because I am the oldest. I asked, and I am definitely the oldest. The senior wizard on the expedition. Well, actually the only wizard on the expedition. That is, the only one on the good side of things. There are other wizards involved who are not. But of course, these wizards are not in our party of questers but are, more specifically, the reason for the questing.”
Odors rode on the currents as if picked up from faraway places and passed under her nose. She smelled leather, baking bread, apples, and she wrinkled her nose against dirty barn fumes.
Kale smiled as she heard Dar declare he didn’t want to lose his pack with his flute in it. She heard kimens’ laughter, and Fenworth said, “Here’s the key. Now where’s that door?”
Kale placed her hand on the pouch holding the egg to be hatched. No problem there. She moved her hand to the bulge made by Gymn in the moonbeam cape.
Fainted.
Kale patted the little dragon absent-mindedly.
Oh, Gymn, this is exciting, not scary.
She first realized she no longer sat on the grassy ground when the wooden floor beneath her shuddered and thumped as if dropped. She put her hand down and felt the