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The stakes?
Not a twinge.
Good.
I ll be right back. He pushed the canvas flap aside. Dark and misting. Artross, will you come with
me?
The gray dragon flew to his shoulder. As soon as they stepped out into the night, Artross began to glow.
Mikkai barreled out of the tent and sat on Bardon s other shoulder.
So you think I need an interpreter, Mikkai? He listened to his dragon chitter. Yes, I suppose I do.
Bardon saw Regidor had not yet doused whatever light form he used in the tent. From the position and
color, Bardon guessed the meech dragon used floating globes as his light source. Glad that his friend had
not retired, Bardon tramped to the other side of the fire. As he and the dragons passed Brunstetter s
dark quarters, they heard the urohm snoring and the two youngsters giggling.
Bardon crept over to their side of the tent and said, Shh! just as loud as his lungs would let him.
Toopka and Sittiponder gasped and let out a peal of laughter. The snickering they made trying to stifle
their noise woke Brunstetter. He grumbled something, but the big urohm had a large family and the happy
racket of children didn t really disturb him. Bardon heard him snoring again before he went on.
On the other side of the fire, Bardon stopped short. He could call out to Regidor, but instead he
eavesdropped a moment. Gilda s strident tone penetrated the cloth walls. Her husband answered each
complaint in a stern voice. Without hearing the particulars of the argument, Bardon went back to the
blessed peace of his own tent.
They ve gone to bed? asked Kale as she rubbed oil into Dibl s back and wings.
It just wasn t a good time.
Kale s eyes flashed to his and immediately away. She would not pry into what he had seen or heard. He
could tell her. She probably already knew. But what would be the good of discussing the strife Gilda
poured into their lives? He didn t need Tieto to know the meech lady s aura must be jagged and
discordant.
The mist thickened, then turned to tiny droplets, soaking the ground with a quiet rain. Bardon helped
massage oil into the nine dragons.
Celisse is calling to me, said Kale, not stopping as she clipped Gymn s tiny toenails.
Greer, too. They don t quite understand why we would prefer to remain warm and dry.
I m willing to go play with them any afternoon when they dance in a warm summer rain. But I m not
joining their antics in the middle of the night.
Greer says you re chicken.
Tell him I m practical. She reached into her medicinal bag and pulled out Elma s ointment.
Bardon laughed. Are you going to oil me now?
Only one tiny spot at the back of your head.
They fell asleep with their pallets pushed together and small dragons piled on top of them.
The drizzle of the rain quieted in the early morning, and when they awoke it was to the unnerving silence
of a forest filled with fog. Gray tendrils of mist curled through the slight opening Bardon had left to allow
fresh air to circulate through the flaps of the tent.
Bardon got up and pulled on riding pants and a thick shirt before sitting on a camp stool to shove his feet
into scuffed black boots.
From where he sat, he peeked out into the gloom. A hot cup of tea will sure taste good this morning.
Crispin, do you think you can start the fire?
The red dragon stretched and yawned. A burst of flame escaped as he exhaled.
Come on, then. Bardon ducked through the door. Mikkai followed with Tieto and Crispin. They flew
the perimeter of the camp as if checking to see if all was well.
Greer and the others kept watch, boys. He crouched beside the fire. Our wood is good and soaked.
It s a good thing we put a supply under a tarp.
He retrieved sticks and pieces of old log from the stash and built a campfire.
Crispin, will you do the honors?
The small dragon landed beside the ring of rocks. He eyed the organized tangle of tinder and the bigger
branches laid across the top.
Give it a try, old man, said Bardon. We ve got a tinderbox. You don t need to feel as if the world will
fall apart if you don t set it ablaze on the first try.
On the third blow, Crispin sent a stream of fire right into the middle of the pile. The flame caught the
smaller twigs. Soon the tinder snapped, popped, and shimmered as it turned from brown to orange. The
small blaze ignited the logs and continued to lick the wood until the fire permeated Bardon s carefully laid
tower.
Does this mean we won t fly today?
Bardon turned to see Gilda wrapped in some silken robe that belonged in a fancy castle, not a clearing in
the wood.
He gestured to the air around them. The fog?
She shivered. The gray, murky, thick, and silent fog.
We ll fly, Gilda. First, this vapor may burn off. Second, our dragons will carry us straight up and level
off above this ground-hugging cloud. Mikkai can keep us on course even without looking at familiar
landmarks. He has a special sense of direction that I ve never known to fail.
Gilda sat abruptly on a log they had been using as a seat. It can t be soon enough for me. This egg is
getting larger every day. I don t want to be in the wilderness when it comes.
That s understandable.
I don t think you truly do understand. I m a dragon. When I present an egg, I won t stay to hatch it. I
won t even want to. Not then. But now, I care about where I leave it. I want it to be nurtured in a
community of meech, not raised by some scurvy specimen from another race. She laughed a mirthless
titter, picked up a twig from the ground, and twisted it with her fingers. Need I tell you that Risto was
not a nurturer?
No, I can guess as your guardian he was abominable. Cherishing was beyond the scope of his nature.
I want better for my offspring. Regidor had Kale and Fenworth and Librettowit. You were better off in
The Hall than I was.
Bardon opened his mouth to protest, but Gilda plunged on. At least you were surrounded by your own
kind. Whereas I& She dropped the mangled twig and stepped on it, grinding it into the thin layer of
mud. There was no one I could say was of my kind, no meech. And those enslaved by Risto? Every
single soul I came in contact with was either filled with hatred or fear. And I hated and feared them as
well.
She thrust her chin forward and glared at Bardon. I not only want this meech child to know his own
kind, I want him to absorb the atmosphere of a meech colony. This child will exude intellect, culture, and
refinement. No one will look askance at my offspring.
Her gaze shifted to the fire. Her expression became pensive. Bardon wondered what future she tried to
envision in the dancing yellows and reds of the blaze. Apparently, Gilda forgot that Bardon and several
dragons listened.
No one will shun my child, she whispered. No one.
24
CAMPFIRE TALES
Bardon watched Sir Dar s dragon Merlander as the brilliantly colored beast approached. He raised a
hand in greeting. The doneel would surely raise the spirits of all those on the quest. Bardon sighed. The
group had fallen into a glum state.
He and the others had only been journeying for four days, but something heavy oppressed the country.
As they traveled northward, the melancholy became palpable. Bardon tramped through the thigh-high
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