5
NIGHT TALK
Bardon stooped to keep from hitting his head on the roots woven into the ceiling of the small bedchamber. On his shoulder, Dibl dug in his claws to keep from slipping and let out a chortle. Bardon ignored the minor pest and gazed at Kale, already sitting in the tiny bed under one of Granny Noon’s homespun blankets. She pulled her knees up to her chest and did little to hide the mischievous smirk on her face. With the good humor dragon influencing his mood, Bardon edged sideways around the wall without grumping.
He nudged the bright minor dragon from its perch and shrugged out of his shirt. “It’s a good thing we’re not urohms.”
Kale imagined a giant husband and wife bumbling about, trying to fit into the bed. The mental image invaded Bardon’s thoughts and caused the corners of his mouth to lift. Dibl did an aerial somersault but bumped into the wall. The six minor dragons chirred their amusement.
Contentment filled the room, and Bardon treasured the moment. He knew his loved ones would soon face war, and that made the peace surrounding him all the more worth cherishing.
The sleeping chamber dimmed as he covered a lightrock with a cloth left beside it. The minor dragons sat up at attention. Bardon grinned slightly, thinking it rather absurd to have obtained the submission of these marvelous, tiny creatures by way of a technicality. He was the master of their home. Although they owed first allegiance to Kale, they paid him the honor of dutiful respect. With a signal, he could banish them to the comfortable pocket-dens within Kale’s moonbeam cape, thus affording him and his wife some privacy. But some nights, he allowed them to lounge around the room, sleeping where they chose.
Three years ago, he hadn’t fully understood what an integral part these little creatures would play in his life. Now he did. He had married a Dragon Keeper. Dragons popped up at the most unexpected times, sometimes annoying him, but more often entertaining him and coaxing his better nature to the fore.
He ducked under a low-hanging root. “Do you think she put us in this room by mistake?” he asked Kale. “Surely, this is a room for kimens or doneels.”
“Granny Noon isn’t known for making mistakes. I think she has only one large room and one small besides her own. When I was here before, we slept in the front room on the floor. Since both Regidor and Gilda have tails and wings to deal with, Granny Noon probably thought the bigger room would be better for them.”
“I would suggest I sleep on the floor, but there isn’t more space between the bed and the wall than there is on the mattress beside you.”
“I could shrink you.”
Not sure if she was teasing, he cast her a speculative glance and saw her overly bland expression. She guarded her thoughts as she often did when wanting to rib him.
He covered two more lightrocks. “It would be more helpful to enlarge the bed.”
“I already did! I’ve used up most of the floor space.”
One small blue rock remained, illuminating the room with a soothing azure hue.
Kale scooted over and nestled into the soft bed. Bardon slipped in beside her. Gymn landed on Kale’s shoulder, and Bardon shooed him away. “Oh no, you don’t. There isn’t room for a bedbug tonight.”
Pat snored on a cushioned chair. Gymn and Dibl settled on the same chair, one on the arm, and one on the back. Metta, Ardeo, and Filia crawled into the cape, seeking the comfort of their pockets.
“What do you think of all this?” asked Kale.
He didn’t need to ask to what she referred. His thoughts churned over the events of the day and all they had seen since they emerged from The Bogs. He stretched out, and both feet pushed beyond the end of the bed to dangle over the floor. With a sigh, he put his arm around Kale as she snuggled against his side.
“‘Man chooses his path and finds Wulder has walked the way before him, laying the stones of each road.’”
“A principle! Now, that’s the knight I know and love.” She sighed. “So what does that mean for us?”
“We determined to locate Regidor and deliver the information we found about Gilda’s condition. Wulder brought us out of The Bogs to accomplish that mission and join another.”
“It wasn’t wrong for us to be secluded for three years? To ignore the state of Amara as we dealt with our little piece of the world?”
Bardon shifted, and his leg shot out from under the too-small covers. A draft of cold air hit his thigh where it lay half off the mattress. He twitched the blanket back over his leg.
“Paladin could have sent for us, Kale. We would have answered the call. Don’t wallow in guilt that is not valid.”
“Surely there’s a principle that states that more eloquently.”
“When given a bridge to cross the marsh, don’t bemoan the lack of mud on your shoes when you get to firm ground.”
He felt her tense against his side, and he held his breath, willing her not to delve into his thoughts.
She traced a circle with her fingertip over his ribs. “I don’t believe I’ve ever read that one in the Tomes of Wulder.”
Bardon fought the bubble of mirth that would give him away. “Obscure reference,” he managed to say in a reasonable tone.
Silence. He waited.
“You made that up!”
He couldn’t dodge the finger poked in his side, but he could retaliate. He tickled, and Kale writhed beneath his fingers. Her squirming nudged him off his precarious perch, and he fell the few inches to the floor. That did not deter him from torturing his ticklish wife.
“Stop! Stop! Stop!” she gasped, trying not to screech and wake Granny Noon and her other guests. “Be serious, Bardon.”
He stopped, and she regained her breath. A torrent of mixed emotions flowed from his charming wife. Bardon climbed back between the bedding, wriggled into an almost comfortable position, and cuddled Kale. He lay still for two reasons, to keep from landing on the floor again, and to try to sort out Kale’s emotions.
“All right, lady of mine, why am I getting this mishmash of feelings from you?”
“I’m excited to see Paladin again and worried by Granny Noon’s report of his illness.”
“It does sound serious.” He thought about shifting more to his side, but that would also shift the blanket and result in one of them being exposed to the night air.
Kale appeared to be more comfortable. At least she was following one line of thought. “That he’s sick at all is serious. He’s two thousand years old! I assumed he would live forever. Can he die?”
“Yes. He’s not Wulder, but Wulder’s representative. But I’ve seen him bone weary before, and he revived.” Bardon carefully rolled toward Kale and put an arm over her stomach.
“Granny Noon said his health reflected the attitude of his people. What did she mean?”
His face nestled into her curly hair. He slid back a bit on the pillow to prevent the locks from teasing his nose. “The indifference of the Amarans to the threat of evil has weakened him.”
“Ah!”
Tangled thoughts still emanated from Kale’s mind, roiling in a senseless rumble of emotions. Bardon waited until her inner turmoil subsided, and he could again understand her mindspeaking.
Unable to move, he squeezed her hand. “We’ll do what is before us, Kale.”
“I don’t understand the politics of all this. This war isn’t about Amara! Why did Pretender and Cropper and Stox decide to fight? So many innocent people are getting hurt!”
“I doubt they take into consideration the lives of those who get killed along the way. They don’t respect life.”
Kale’s head turned swiftly on the pillow. Her large eyes stared at him. “Why don’t the Amarans fight back?”
“Fight back? They don’t feel like the attack is aimed at them, and it isn’t, really. The battle is for power. Who’s in charge. Who rules. Pretender wants to beat Cropper and Stox into submission. Cropper and Stox want Pretender’s position of authority.”
“And they certainly don’t care that a lot of Amarans are hurt in their grandiose schemes.” She jerked her head, facing upward, to glower at the ceiling once more. “Authority? Wulder is the supreme authority. They’re fighting for a figurative throne that possesses no glory.”
“Yes, but the evil ones refuse to believe that the right to rule can’t be snatched into their grubby hands.”
“They can kill Paladin?” Her voice sounded small, more like a child than his wizard wife.
He tightened the arm that lay over her and pulled her closer. “Yes, but Paladin is more likely to die from a weak heart.”
“And he is in danger of that because his people don’t cherish the privilege of his rulership under Wulder.”
“Exactly.” Bardon distinctly felt the edge of the soft bed sagging. He tried to wiggle more onto the mattress.
“But the people…?”
“The people of Amara are only concerned when the battle between the two evils touches their community.” He moved his leg and lost the blanket. He growled. “And then, they hope it will pass over in a short time.”
“Three evils, it would seem, if Cropper and Stox have truly fallen out.”
“Yes, three.”
Bardon waited for Kale to speak. His own apprehension of the future wound around the cord of anxiety emanating from his wife. He didn’t feel any more secure in the ultimate defeat of such powerful enemies than she did. His knight’s training told him to choose good over evil and fight with all that was within him, to thank Wulder for his strength, and to trust Him for the outcome. In his heart, he wanted to take his wife, her dragons, and their friends deep into the safety of The Bogs. He let out a heavy sigh and almost slipped over the edge.
“Kale.”
“What?”
“Fix this bed, please, lady of mine. Make it larger. Let it fill the whole room.”
He felt the mattress extend under his feet until the cold air no longer breezed against his toes. The sides of the bed moved outward until they bumped into the wall.
“The covers?” he asked.
The blankets also stretched out. Bardon relaxed, allowing his limbs to savor the new comfort of enough space. Being married to a wizard definitely had a few advantages.
He kissed her forehead. “Thank you.”
“How is this all going to end, Bardon?”
“Only Wulder knows, lady of mine.”