Leave a trail of sheep parts from here to Muncifer!” He snorted
again, threw back his head, and guffawed.
That was exactly the kind of
attention Pancras wanted to avoid. “Maybe Delilah can conjure enough boggins
for them to eat.”
Kali cocked her head. “Those
glowy, blue things? I don’t think they can live on stuff that isn’t real.”
Delilah waved her fork at Kali.
“Oh, they’re real. Not the glowy, blue ones. Those are just messengers. We got
real ones aplenty down under the mountains. Nasty, furry, bitey things.” She
shrugged and turned her head toward Pancras. “It’s worth a try, I guess. Even
the golguthrons won’t eat them, though. Didn’t Gluggon eat a couple of boggins,
and they ate their way out of his stomach?”
Kale smacked the table with his
palm. “That’s right! They chewed their way right out. He died moaning and
groaning about how we should always chew our food thoroughly.” He shook his
head and poked at the meat on his plate. “Poor Gluggon. He was funny.”
As he dined, Pancras thought back
to the old days in Drak-Anor. He hadn’t heard about the particular incident to
which Kale and Delilah referred, but he had heard even stranger tales than that
one. “We’ll give it a try, but it if doesn’t work out, I can buy sheep or cows
for them. Does anyone need to do anything while we’re here in town?”
Only Kali had anything of import.
“I wouldn’t mind taking an hour or so in the morning to see if there’s anyone I
know to say farewell to. Do you mind?”
Pancras shook his head. He didn’t
object to that. “Just be careful, and don’t dawdle. I want to arrive in
Muncifer as far ahead of Spring’s Dawning as we can.”
Chapter 4
The next morning, Kale
accompanied Kali as she made her way around town. He couldn’t help but marvel
at the buildings built by drak hands for draks. In Drak-Anor, drak homes were
glorified caves, all tunneled out of the lava tubes running underneath
Bloodplume. Doors were scavenged wood if the drak was affluent enough, though a
curtain of cloth or strips of leather sufficed for most draks.
In Honeywater, however, the buildings
were made of stone and wood, like small versions of the buildings he’d seen in
Almeria, but with drak touches like the arched doorways and round windows.
Humans seemed to like angles, and draks curves. Kale wondered why that was, and
Kali had no answers.
“I’ve never built a house”—she
laughed as she took his hand—“or anything, for that matter.” They walked along
a worn trail on the outskirts of the village, encircling Honeywater Lake. She
pointed toward an overgrown island in the center of the lake. “The biggest
apiary was over there. Run by a funny old man called Matvei. He was long dead
by the time I was hatched, of course. My grandsires told me stories about him.
I wonder if someone will clear all that brush away and start raising bees
again, now that our draks are free.”
Kale’s eyes followed her hand. A
fringe of frost surrounded the island like a crown of ice. The cold grip of
winter seemed reluctant to loose its grasp on the world, and again, he was glad
the transformation he underwent kept him warm. Kali seemed to appreciate his
warmth, too, wrapping her arms around him as they gazed across the lake.
“Come on. We should get going.
There are people I want to see before we leave.” Kali freed herself from Kale’s
embrace and led him toward the village. Some of the draks to whom she
introduced him were familiar faces from the salt mine. Others were strangers,
yet they all fawned over him as if he were a hero.
Kale tried to deflect the
compliments. “Delilah did most of the work. She’s the one with all the magic. I
just tried to keep the bad guys from squishing her long enough for her to blast
them.”
A hunched drak, his orange scales
dull and thickened with age, shook a crooked, clawed finger in Kale’s face.
“Your stripes burden you with glorious purpose. Your
again, threw back his head, and guffawed.
That was exactly the kind of
attention Pancras wanted to avoid. “Maybe Delilah can conjure enough boggins
for them to eat.”
Kali cocked her head. “Those
glowy, blue things? I don’t think they can live on stuff that isn’t real.”
Delilah waved her fork at Kali.
“Oh, they’re real. Not the glowy, blue ones. Those are just messengers. We got
real ones aplenty down under the mountains. Nasty, furry, bitey things.” She
shrugged and turned her head toward Pancras. “It’s worth a try, I guess. Even
the golguthrons won’t eat them, though. Didn’t Gluggon eat a couple of boggins,
and they ate their way out of his stomach?”
Kale smacked the table with his
palm. “That’s right! They chewed their way right out. He died moaning and
groaning about how we should always chew our food thoroughly.” He shook his
head and poked at the meat on his plate. “Poor Gluggon. He was funny.”
As he dined, Pancras thought back
to the old days in Drak-Anor. He hadn’t heard about the particular incident to
which Kale and Delilah referred, but he had heard even stranger tales than that
one. “We’ll give it a try, but it if doesn’t work out, I can buy sheep or cows
for them. Does anyone need to do anything while we’re here in town?”
Only Kali had anything of import.
“I wouldn’t mind taking an hour or so in the morning to see if there’s anyone I
know to say farewell to. Do you mind?”
Pancras shook his head. He didn’t
object to that. “Just be careful, and don’t dawdle. I want to arrive in
Muncifer as far ahead of Spring’s Dawning as we can.”
Chapter 4
The next morning, Kale
accompanied Kali as she made her way around town. He couldn’t help but marvel
at the buildings built by drak hands for draks. In Drak-Anor, drak homes were
glorified caves, all tunneled out of the lava tubes running underneath
Bloodplume. Doors were scavenged wood if the drak was affluent enough, though a
curtain of cloth or strips of leather sufficed for most draks.
In Honeywater, however, the buildings
were made of stone and wood, like small versions of the buildings he’d seen in
Almeria, but with drak touches like the arched doorways and round windows.
Humans seemed to like angles, and draks curves. Kale wondered why that was, and
Kali had no answers.
“I’ve never built a house”—she
laughed as she took his hand—“or anything, for that matter.” They walked along
a worn trail on the outskirts of the village, encircling Honeywater Lake. She
pointed toward an overgrown island in the center of the lake. “The biggest
apiary was over there. Run by a funny old man called Matvei. He was long dead
by the time I was hatched, of course. My grandsires told me stories about him.
I wonder if someone will clear all that brush away and start raising bees
again, now that our draks are free.”
Kale’s eyes followed her hand. A
fringe of frost surrounded the island like a crown of ice. The cold grip of
winter seemed reluctant to loose its grasp on the world, and again, he was glad
the transformation he underwent kept him warm. Kali seemed to appreciate his
warmth, too, wrapping her arms around him as they gazed across the lake.
“Come on. We should get going.
There are people I want to see before we leave.” Kali freed herself from Kale’s
embrace and led him toward the village. Some of the draks to whom she
introduced him were familiar faces from the salt mine. Others were strangers,
yet they all fawned over him as if he were a hero.
Kale tried to deflect the
compliments. “Delilah did most of the work. She’s the one with all the magic. I
just tried to keep the bad guys from squishing her long enough for her to blast
them.”
A hunched drak, his orange scales
dull and thickened with age, shook a crooked, clawed finger in Kale’s face.
“Your stripes burden you with glorious purpose. Your
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