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AMBUSH

Kale rode on top of a stack of trunks and luggage strapped to the carriage roof. Bardon sat beside the driver, a marione named Bruit, with Toopka tucked between them. Librettowit, Regidor, and Dar rode inside. With instructions to stay out of sight, the little dragons slept contentedly in their pocket-dens.

Granny Noon had given the adventurers bags of coins, letters of introduction, lists of contacts, and a key to an upper-class residence. The questing party would not be trooping through mountains, valleys, and hidden caves, but through the streets of a metropolis and the homes of the wealthy. Regidor would be disguised as a foreign abbot whose monastery indulged in trade for the benefit of their demesne. Librettowit, an art dealer. Dar, butler and valet. Bardon would play the part of household sheridan, a special servant armed to protect family and property. Kale and Toopka were ordinary servants.

Granny Noon had given Kale a piece of silver, a rather odd, flat disk with two irregular pie shapes cut out of the sides. Granny Noon said it would help her identify people. Kale turned the shiny silver piece over and over in her callused palm.

“How?” she had asked.

“I don’t actually know, dear. But Paladin said it would come in handy, so do your best not to lose it.”

Kale kept the disk in the pouch with the egg Paladin had picked. Now, as they bounced along in the warm afternoon sun, the small metal piece was all but forgotten.

A giant draft horse pulled the carriage. The urohm-bred animal had no difficulty hauling the load up and down the cultivated hills. On either side, crops looked ready for harvest in carefully tended fields. Farm carts, tinkers, and smaller carriages passed frequently on the wide, well-graded road.

As they approached a wooded area, Kale relaxed against a softer bundle with her hands behind her head. She gazed at white, puffy clouds drifting lazily in a blue sky.

This isn’t going to be so bad. No mordakleeps. No blimmets. No grawligs. No schoergs.

An arrow whizzed by Kale’s head and penetrated one of the trunks. The shaft vibrated with a hard hum, causing the hair on the back of her neck to stand up.

Shouts erupted from other travelers on the road. A horse neighed, followed by the sound of hoofbeats galloping away.

Kale heard Bardon yell, “Get down!” and saw him push Toopka off the seat onto the floor of the driver’s perch.

Bruit fought to control the frightened horse, pulling it to a stop. In the next moment, Bardon had a bow in his hands with an arrow nocked and ready to shoot. He aimed at a target ahead and released the arrow. With a fluid motion, he pulled another arrow out of his quiver.

Kale peered forward over a ridge of luggage. A band of tattered bisonbecks plowed into the walking travelers. They swung clubs, grabbed parcels, and threw their victims to the side of the road. Women screamed, children cried, and men tried desperately to protect their families and property from the large, brutal robbers.

Bruit still struggled to keep the horse from bolting. Beneath Kale, the doors to the carriage flew open. Librettowit and Dar rushed to lend aid.

Drawing a deep breath, Kale pulled her small sword from its scabbard. The carriage jerked as the horse reared and stomped angrily, protesting the chaos around them. She waited for a still moment between lurches and vaulted over the side of the carriage onto the back of a bisonbeck bandit.

Her blade plunged into the highwayman’s shoulder and struck bone. The bisonbeck howled and grabbed at Kale. She jerked her sword free and slid down his back to the ground.

As he whirled around, she braced herself as she had seen Dar do in his mock combats with Bardon. The beast’s momentum drove his leg past her blade, slicing his calf. She rolled away, taking her bloodstained weapon with her.

The man fell with a thud to the dirt road. Kale looked back to see him squirming away from the wildly rocking wheels of the carriage. Bardon landed on his feet beside the downed outlaw. Kale turned away.

Librettowit swung a hadwig. The spiked metal ball tore across the side of an attacker. The bisonbeck roared and faced the tumanhofer. With an adept change of the swing, Librettowit clipped the taller man in the face. The brigand leaned forward, grabbing at his wounded cheek. The next swing of the heavy weapon caught the back of his head and laid him out on the road.

Kale joined Dar, who stood between two ugly bisonbecks and a family of farmers. The marione farmer stood his ground with a strapping son beside him. But with no weapons except their walking staffs, they must have welcomed the sight of the feisty doneel. The two scruffy bisonbecks reevaluated the odds against four determined fighters and ran.

Kale, Dar, and the two farmers waded into the battle alongside a tinker fighting to keep his wagon. When those ruffians dispersed, Kale looked back to see Bardon fighting with a sword. She only had a moment to appreciate his grace next to the awkward attacker before a shout called her attention to a bisonbeck man carrying off a tumanhofer woman toward a stand of trees.

Kale followed. Heirnot trees stood with their slender trunks spaced far enough apart that she had no problem catching up with the villain abducting the woman. She launched herself at the man’s knees and brought him down with a solid tackle. Then she rolled away and came up again with her small sword ready to swing. Neither the man nor the maiden stirred.

She eyed the mass of disheveled clothing, waiting for some sign of life. She panted from the run, but nothing in the mound moved with any indication of breathing. As she watched, the garments shrunk as if they had lost their stuffing. The woman and her abductor were gone, leaving no more than a pile of ragged clothes.

Kale straightened from her fight-ready stance and glowered. Reaching with her mind, she didn’t connect with anything. Taking a cautious step forward, she kept her sword pointed at the curious heap.

A growl warned her an instant before a massive body slammed into her from the side, knocking her down. She managed to keep a grip on the sword as the attacker pinned her arm to the ground. Struggling under his weight, she felt herself pushed deeper into the old leaves. A huge hand pressed against her skull, and she thought she would suffocate in the damp mulch.

She became aware of the distress of the minor dragons trapped in her cape. Metta sang an outraged battle song she had never heard before. Gymn sent wave after wave of strength to Kale, but it was not enough to topple the man off her back. Dibl giggled as images of squashed berries flitted through his mind and therefore hers.

The bisonbeck grunted, jerked, grunted again, and rose off Kale. She forced her arms underneath her and pushed to pry her body out of the muck. She turned on her side to see Bardon deliver a fisted blow to the disarmed assailant. The man sank to his knees and fell over.

Bardon stood with his sword ready, scanning the area around them for other attackers. “Are you all right, Kale?”

She nodded, mumbling, “Yes.”

The dwindling sounds of fighting told her the skirmish was almost over.

Dibl flew from her cape and landed on their rescuer. Bardon stroked his orange belly. A twinkle lurked in the lehman’s blue eyes. He offered a hand to help Kale rise.

“Next time,” he said with a grin, “try attacking your opponent from the top instead of the bottom. It gives you an advantage.”

She jerked her hand out of his. “That wasn’t funny.” She brushed at the leaves and dirt covering her.

“Dibl thought it was.”

Her eyes came up to meet his. “You heard Dibl mindspeak?”

Bardon’s brow furrowed more, and he shook his head. “No, it was only an impression.”

“An impression is all you usually get from a minor dragon,” Kale explained. “Images. Thoughts that are almost words, but not quite.”

“I don’t mindspeak.”

She ignored his objection and continued to puzzle over how Bardon had “heard” Dibl.

“Dibl is bonded to me. I can mindspeak with him. He would converse easily with someone else adept at mindspeaking. In a desperate situation, one of my minor dragons could probably get a message through to someone rather inept at the art.” Kale studied Bardon, someone she had always considered dense in the ways of wizardry. She shook her head. “But you heard Dibl.”

“I didn’t.”

“Did you think of that quip about me fighting from on top instead of the bottom?”

Bardon nodded with a smug smile tightening his lips.

“What was Dibl’s reaction?”

“He laughed.”

Kale raised a finger and shook it at the staid lehman. “He didn’t laugh out loud.”

Bardon’s scowl returned, but he didn’t speak.

“How many of Paladin’s servants at The Hall mindspeak?”

“Some instructors. Grand Ebeck. Maybe a half dozen in all.”

“So maybe you never had a chance to develop the talent.”

“Maybe you’re full of foolishness.”

They glared at each other, each with their hands on their hips in a no-nonsense, straight-legged posture.

Dibl flew to Kale’s shoulder.

She blinked and relaxed. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

She leaned over to wipe her blade in the leaves, cleaning off the blood. “For saving my life.”

“Oh, that.”

She looked up and giggled. “Yes, that.”

Bardon smiled.

She ducked her head, concentrating on polishing her weapon.

He smiled, and Dibl isn’t even sitting on his shoulder.