38
GILDA
“Carry this.” Regidor handed Bardon a blue glowing globe and pulled another out of an inside pocket of his cape.
“You’ve got hollows,” Bardon said as he balanced the palm-sized light in his hand. He tossed it to the other hand and back. “Are you sure of your translation of Glas’s diary?”
Regidor nodded. “This warren has burrows crisscrossing under the land for miles in any direction.”
“I’ve always thought of burrows as small, housing rabbits and badgers and the like. These are huge.”
“Yes, but what else would you call them? They are tunnels with small chambers dug out for sleeping.”
Bardon nodded in agreement but still marveled at the size.
Regidor continued. “This particular tunnel leads to a central meeting place of the local grawligs, a watering hole inside the first range of mountains. It seems reasonable to assume Bromptotterpindosset’s captors would take him to this location to show off their prize. The diary describes just such activities when Glas explored the territory.”
Bardon nodded. This does seem to be the most logical place to start our search. However, there is something inherently wrong with using logic to predict the actions of grawligs.
They sat in the entrance to one of the many burrows that riddled the hills. Out of the wind, Regidor had opened the top of a shapely bottle made from thick glass.
“Do you like it?” he asked. “I think it suits Gilda much better than that clay jar she used to inhabit. I got it at an open-air market in Vendela.” He held the blue vessel in front of him. “Blue is her favorite color. And the silver…well, the silver is because she is precious to me.”
A wisp of smoke floated out of the opened top. It formed into Gilda, and the female meech dragon sashayed over to sit on one of the boulders lining the side of the tunnel as if placed there for a purpose. Neither Regidor nor Bardon had figured out the purpose.
This entrance to the warren showed little sign of use, which seemed odd. The map showed this large tunnel to be the most direct route to the grawligs’ celebration site.
Bardon had firmly refused Ahnek’s plea to come along. And he’d left instructions with Captain Anton to return the questing party to Dormenae if he and Regidor did not return in a day’s time.
“You know, there should be some advantage to having a wizard as a friend,” Bardon said, still tossing the light back and forth between his hands. “How about giving me a hollow as a gesture of our deep and abiding brotherly affection?”
Gilda laughed softly, and Regidor scratched the ridge above his left eye. “Hadn’t thought of the depth of our mutual esteem before. I guess I could make you a hollow to commemorate our bond…Do you want a small hollow or a large?”
“I thought a hollow could hold as much as you put in it. I didn’t know they came in sizes.”
Regidor pulled out two metal contraptions and handed one to Bardon. Demonstrating its use, the meech fitted the pointed, clawlike clamp over the light. With the sphere held in the device, he could grasp it by a handle or clamp it to some object.
As the squire followed his example in mounting the light into its holder, Regidor reached again into the hollow. “Once the object you wish to store is inside the hollow, it takes up no discernable space. At least, not in this dimension.”
Bardon held up a hand. “Stop. Don’t explain dimensions to me. Just get to the point.”
“I agree with him, Reg.” Gilda crossed her legs, shifting to a more comfortable position. “Too often you launch into explanations that are truly beside the point.”
“And nobody wants to hear,” muttered Bardon.
“More reason to find my clan,” said Regidor. “The hope of finding intelligent conversation.”
The meech dragon twisted his face into a mask of extreme tolerance, eyebrows raised, lips pursed, and eyes cutting Bardon a look of disdain. “However,” he continued as if not interrupted, “the size of the opening to the hollow can severely limit what you collect. If you can’t pass the object through the opening to the other plane, you cannot store it.”
Bardon nodded. “Like a dragon cannot go through a gateway unless the gateway is sufficiently proportioned.”
The meech wrinkled his brow. “Not quite an exact parallel, but close enough.”
“At this point,” said Gilda, “it would be worth our while to have the little Dragon Keeper with us.”
Both men looked at the beautiful, exotic female sitting coolly on her rock.
“Don’t look so astonished,” she said. “I’m surprised you haven’t thought of it before. Those minor dragons are excellent as scouts. She herself is an admirable warrior. And although she has not nearly the expertise of dear Reg, she is a formidable wizard.”
“Be that as it may, Kale is thousands of miles away,” responded Regidor as he checked his weapons—a sword, two knives, and a pouch of small projectiles.
Gilda’s eyes glittered in the blue light of the globes. “These tunnels twist and turn like a maze. You’ll be sorry you haven’t got Kale and her little dragons beside you.”
Regidor did not answer.
Gilda smiled in what Bardon thought was a catlike manner, with her head tilted and a look of superiority on her lovely features. She hunched a shoulder and spoke to Regidor. “Now you’re grumpy because you should have thought of her joining you earlier, and didn’t.”
He faced her and spoke softly, no anger or impatience marring his tone. “Do you want to ride in your bottle or walk with us?”
Her eyes widened, and her lips parted as she took in a quick, small breath. She glanced down the dark tunnel and shivered. Her chin tilted up, and she slid off the boulder. As always, her movements were smooth and fluid. “I prefer to ride in comfort, thank you.”
He unstopped the container. She transfigured into her vapor form and flowed into the bottle. Regidor replaced the stopper and put the container in his pocket.
“Can she hear us while she’s in there?” asked Bardon.
“She used to be able to, but her powers have diminished over the years.” Regidor led the way down the tunnel, holding the light in front of him. “She used to be able to stay out of the bottle for longer periods of time without beginning to dissipate. She used to be able to perform minor acts of wizardry. She used to enjoy a good debate, especially when she thought she’d bested me.”
“You’re worried about her.”
“I think she is dying.”
They walked along in silence for a while, skulking through the earthen corridors, listening intently for anyone else who might be in the large burrows.
“Regidor,” Bardon said after a long stretch. “Has Librettowit or Fen or Cam been able to uncover any solution? a spell? a recording of a similar circumstance such as Gilda’s?”
The meech dragon did not turn but shook his head. “Like the plight of the sleeping knights, Gilda’s end hinged on knowledge that apparently passed away with Wizard Risto. He cast the spell that placed her essence in a bottle. Presumably, he knew how to undo his enchantment.”
“You’re hoping to find something to help her, aren’t you?”
“I hope for so much, Bardon, my friend. To free Gilda from her prison. To find other meech dragons who can tell me more of my heritage. To break the spell that put good men to sleep to keep them from fighting for justice and against oppression. And even to serve Paladin in some outrageously heroic deed.” He turned slightly and flashed his toothy grin over his shoulder. “Perhaps we are destined to do all these things together.”
Bardon smiled back. Odd as Regidor was, he always managed to lift Bardon’s spirits.
Regidor turned a corner and disappeared from view.
“Oh, bother.” His deep voice rolled back to Bardon. “Gilda was right. We should have fetched Kale to help us.”