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BUG

“I’m going to let you go.” Sir Kemry waved a hand at the ropma. “But stay here. I want you to answer some questions.”

The vine loosened around the ropma’s legs. As soon as the binding fell away, the beast darted toward the deeper woods. Kale and her father grabbed its arms. It gave up without more ado and whimpered.

“Go home,” it pleaded. “No take little dragons.”

Sir Kemry stroked the agitated beast’s back and guided it out into the clearing. Kale followed with several of the dragons perched on her as the others flew ahead.

“Here, sit,” said Sir Kemry and pressed the ropma kindheartedly onto a large boulder. “I have something to eat I think you will like.”

“Eat?”

“Yes, a treat.”

The ropma watched intently as Kale’s father brought out a small package and unwrapped a dark brown hunk of bread.

The creature took it and turned the morsel over in his hands, smelled it, and then stuffed the whole thing in his mouth. It chewed with a smile on its face.

“Good. Sweet. More?”

It ate the second piece of molasses-laced soft bread offered without even a brief examination.

“Good. More?”

“No, that’s all I have for now.”

The ropma frowned and started to rise. Sir Kemry put a hand on its shoulder and kept it on the rock.

“What is your name?”

“Bug.”

“Bug, are you a male or female?”

“I Bug.”

Kale smiled at the ropma. “Will you be a da or ma when you have little ropmas?”

“I be da. I be da now. We have many bas.” He shook his hairy head. “There is woman. Woman no ropma. Woman no good. Mean to bas.”

Kale looked suitably shocked. “That’s horrible. Very bad. I don’t like no-good woman.”

Sir Kemry patted the ropma’s knee to regain his attention. “What is the name of the no-good woman?”

A puzzled look came over Bug’s face, and he didn’t move for almost a full minute. He smiled when he remembered. “Stox. She leave becks to watch dragons. Becks say, ‘Stox is gonna getcha. You obey.’”

Kale wondered what a beck could be, but then saw a huge, militant warrior in the ropma’s thoughts. She shivered at the exaggerated image of a bisonbeck.

Sir Kemry nodded. “Stox is no good.”

Solemnly, Bug nodded in agreement. “Becks no good.”

Kale pointed to herself and her father and to the ropma. “We are friends. We want to help the dragons.”

Bug frowned. The more he thought, the more sour his expression became. “No help dragons. Make becks mad. Becks tell woman. Woman be bad. Hurt ropmas. Hurt bas.”

Kale shook her head. “No, we won’t let them.”

Bug eyed Kale and her father, then stood. “No. Bug go home. No friends you.”

“Wait,” said Sir Kemry. “I understand your fear. We won’t make you help us. Just answer some questions.”

The ropma looked longingly toward the woods and the gateway.

Metta sat up straight on Kale’s shoulder and sang. The tune caught the beast’s attention. Dibl flew over and sat on the creature’s shaggy shoulder. Bug cringed, but when the yellow dragon did not bite or spit, the gentle beast relaxed. He turned back to watch Metta as she swayed and occasionally spread her colorful wings.

Kale spoke softly. “When we go through the gateway, are the bisonbecks and dragons there, right next to the gateway?”

“No,” answered Bug, his attention on Metta.

“Where are they?” asked Sir Kemry.

Kale focused on Bug’s thoughts, knowing his words would not be able to express clear directions. She saw a range of mountains, stark and unfriendly, a river lined with grassy banks, a narrow pass, and a wide meadow in a high country valley. In the meadow, dozens of dragons of all sizes wandered about aimlessly. Among these captured creatures, many ropmas worked. Some carried feed. Others groomed the bigger animals. Among the rocks surrounding the area, bisonbecks stood on guard. Tremors of fear shivered through Bug each time his memory touched on one of the armed soldiers.

“Do you see what I see?” asked Kale’s father.

The valley?

“Yes.”

She could feel her father’s interest in the different views presented in Bug’s mind. She could almost understand Sir Kemry’s analysis. But not quite. She studied the many dragons and wondered at their docility. Why don’t they just fly away?

“There has to be some sort of deterrent, but since our friend, Bug, does not understand it, we most likely won’t find the answer until we are there.”

There seems to be more than an adequate guard on the area. Can we accomplish a rescue on our own?

“A decision we must make after we have seen for ourselves what the situation involves.”

Kale watched the ropma’s memory of a dozen bas clambering over a full-grown major dragon. The dragon did not even look annoyed. Are the dragons bonded to their captors?

“That would make our job more difficult, but again, we won’t know until we are there.”

Kale marveled at how many dragons there seemed to be, and at the great variety. Was Bug’s mental accounting to be trusted? Did he unwittingly show them the same dragons repeatedly but in different settings? From the details of the images, Kale would guess the ropma was, indeed, familiar with a great variety of dragons.

How long has Stox been gathering the dragons? she mused.

“I’ve no idea. Perhaps—”

We’ll find out once we are there.

“Exactly.”

Then I guess we’d best get going. “Bug.” She smiled and extended a gentle hand to smooth the hair on the creature’s forearm. “We want to go back with you through the gateway.”

The ropma shook his head in dread. “No, no. Bug bring dragons. Bug bring food. No people. Becks no say bring people.”

“Oh, we don’t like becks, either. We won’t let the becks see us with you.” She turned to Sir Kemry. “Will we, Father?”

The older man pursed his lips and made a show of thinking. “No, I don’t think we will, daughter. But I would like to see all the pretty dragons.”

“And,” said Kale, “maybe if one of our dragons would go with you, you would have something to give the becks to make them happy.”

“Becks never happy.” But Bug eyed the singing dragon and reached up to pet Dibl, who still sat on his shoulder. “Good to bring dragons to becks. Becks no yell, no hit.”

Kale furrowed her brow. “Do the becks yell at the dragons? Do they hit the dragons?”

“No. No hurt dragons. No-good woman scream, yell, kill. No-good woman want all dragons. No hurt dragons.”

Sir Kemry took Bug’s arm and eased him toward the woods. “We best be going now. Don’t want to be late for supper.”

“Supper?” Bug resisted the knight’s efforts to move him.

“Night food,” said Kale. “We don’t want to be late for night food.”

“Rain make good food,” said Bug with a grunt and shuffled into the trees.

“Rain is the ma to your bas?” asked Sir Kemry.

“Yes. Good ma. Good cook.” He pushed ahead, plowing through the underbrush.

Kale and her father hurried to catch up but froze when they heard a loud voice in front of Bug.

“Well!”

Kale easily identified the growling tone as a bisonbeck. She and her father silently lowered themselves behind the thick foliage. Using her talent, she looked through Bug’s eyes to see two soldiers standing beside a gateway almost obscured by vines.

The taller bisonbeck grimaced. “I don’t like having to come look for the scavengers.” He frowned. “What have you got on your shoulder? Where did you get that little beauty?”

He reached forward to grab Dibl, but the small dragon hopped into the air and flew to a tree branch. Five angry minor dragons swooped at the soldier as he leapt up in a vain attempt to catch Dibl.

“Look at this,” said the second man. “This ropma must be a Dragon Keeper or something.”

The bigger bisonbeck stood with his fists planted on his hips, staring up at the tree, now serving as a perch for the colorful dragons. The little beasts chattered angrily from their safe roost.

“Nah, I know this ropma. He’s Bug, and there isn’t anything special about him.”

Bug wagged his head back and forth, a sorrowful expression pulling down the corners of his mouth. “Bug no Dragon Keeper. Dragon Keeper in woods.”

Kale saw both soldiers jerk around to stare at the ropma. She glanced over at her father, and he shrugged.

“Under the circumstances, my dear, he couldn’t have kept it a secret.”

The bigger bisonbeck pulled his sword and stared into the trees. “Where?”

Bug turned and pointed right at the clump of bushes where Kale crouched. “She’s there…” He searched the forest, his head swiveling. “Man no.”

The large soldier started toward Kale’s hiding place. “There’s two? Or are there more? How many, Bug?”

“A dozen. A hundred. Maybe seven.”

“Argh!” complained the second man with his battle-ax held ready. “Fool question. Ropma can’t count.”

“To be on the safe side,” said the first, coming to a stop, “let’s drag Bug back through the gateway and get reinforcements. Stox will give a reward for catching Dragon Keepers as well as dragons.”

Sir Kemry straightened and strode into the small space in front of the two soldiers, coming to a halt beside Bug.

“Just a moment. Bug does not want to be dragged off. I have no wish to meet Stox at this time. And my friends in the forest have decided you two are a nuisance.”

The large bisonbeck raised his chin and pointed his sword at the old knight. “I’m not so sure you have friends. I’m willing to bet you are all alone.”

Sir Kemry laughed. “A bet you are about to lose.” Without taking his eyes off the warrior, he spoke over his shoulder. “Gentlemen, show yourselves.”