Dragonfire by Karleen Bradford Page A

Catryn asked. Her voice was gleeful.
    “This is not a game,” Dahl retorted. Then, in spite of himself, he broke into an answering smile. “Yes, that we did,” he answered. For the first time since the disappearance of the Protector, he felt a finger of confidence returning.
    “We will make a good pair, you and I,” Catryn went on. “I’m certain of it.”
    Dahl looked up at her. She had thrown back her hood and her hair seemed to revel in the freedom of the sunshine.
    “Put your hood back on,” he said quickly. “There are bound to be more people on the road.” He tried to sound stern, but the sight of her gladdened his heart.
    Perhaps we will make a good pair on this quest, he thought. He dared, hesitantly, to consider it. For a moment he let himself relax, remembering all the years of their life together. How many times had they consoled each other when things had gone badly for one of them? How many times had each connived to help the other avoid a punishment? They had worked well together there. Why, then, should they not work well together here?
    They met several other groups of people along the way. To each, Dahl gave the same story. None of the others were as talkative as the first, however, and all seemed more anxious even than Dahl to get on their way without attracting attention.
    When the sun was high in the heavens directly above them, they paused to eat by a fast-flowing stream. Catryn led the horse to drink before she would accept any food herself. For a moment Dahl was irritated at the care she lavished on the animal, then he forced the feeling away.
    The sun was warm, but Dahl did not dare remove his cloak lest anyone chance upon them unexpectedly. He made himself as comfortable as he could while they rested. The horse cropped noisily at its grain beside them. The stream plashed its way past. A sense of tranquility began to steal over him. Almost, he could believe he was lying in the fields behind the inn where he had spent his youth. He closed his eyes. His hand reached out unconsciouslyto grasp the warm fur of the dog that had never been far from his side.
    “Will we ever go back again?”
    Catryn’s voice jolted him into the reality of this world. It took an effort to bring his thoughts back as well.
    “I will not,” he said.
    She picked a leaf from a nearby bush and began to shred it with slender, nervous fingers.
    “And I?” she asked.
    “If what the Protector said is true, I suppose you will not.” Dahl opened his eyes to look at her. “What think you, Catryn, about that?” It was the first time he had considered the question.
    “There is nothing there that I miss,” she said. “No one who would miss me.” The words were thoughtful. Slow. As if she were speaking to herself. “If my mother were alive…But she is not.”
    She crushed the fragments of the leaf into a ball and cast them into the stream. They were caught and swept away.
    “I think I shall not return, either,” she said. “Even if it should become possible.” She leaped to her feet and brushed off the skirt of her shift. “Should we go on now?”
    Dahl looked up at her, a question on his lips, but now it was she who avoided queries.
    “Will you help me mount?”
    When the sun set, they made camp in the grove of pine trees. As they lit their fire, the hawk swooped down through the branches, and the Protector was once more with them.
    They boiled their evening soup made from vegetables given to them by the Elders—some almost like turnips, others strange, but good-tasting and nourishing—then sat close together around the blaze. The warmth was not really needed, but for Dahl, at least, the companionship was. There was a lengthy silence. Catryn finally broke it.
    “Can you now,” she asked, “tell me more? About what happened to rob you, Dahl, of your kingdom, and force you into such a long exile?”
    For a moment it seemed as if no one would answer her, then the Protector spoke.
    “Yes,” he said. “It