Free The Dragon of Despair by Jane Lindskold Page B

they no more offered friendly gossip than did a chattering brook.
    For the first time she wondered why some member of her and Blind Seer’s pack—for they had howled their coming—had not come to meet them and bring them this news.
    “We go back to Fox Hair, then,” she said with more confidence than she felt. “I will go with him to this denning of humans, see that they treat him well, and then go find our mother and father. They will know what is being done about this—if the Royal Beasts see it as invasion or as something to be tolerated as one tolerates fleas in the summer.”
    Blind Seer shook.
    “Even with fleas,” he reminded her, “one scratches.”

    DERIAN LISTENED TO FIREKEEPER’S report with mingled dismay and resignation.
    Fleetingly, he wondered if King Tedric had known—if his request to Derian had been less a means of gathering information than a subtle warning that Derian and Firekeeper might not find the lands over the mountains as they had left them.
    Then why didn’t the king just tell me? Derian mused to himself. Immediately he answered his own question. Because if he did so, he would have taken official notice of these adventurers and for some reason he doesn’t wish to do so.
    Derian sighed. Not for the first time, he was very glad not to be the king. Sometimes it was hard enough being the king’s most junior counselor.
    He knew Firekeeper well enough to know that, although she was trying to keep her reaction to herself, she was very upset. He didn’t need to ask why. This was the land in which she had grown up, the place where her parents had died, where her own ancestors were buried. To find that place defiled must be more upsetting that he could imagine.
    However, since the wolf-woman was trying to hide her feelings, Derian decided not to comment. Instead he asked:
    “Think we can get there today?”
    “By twilight, yes,” Firekeeper replied. “Maybe sooner, though parts of the trail are muddy and a creek so swollen we will need to take the pack animals around to a shallow place.”
    “The mules,” Derian hinted, “will move faster if you and Blind Seer are with me.”
    Firekeeper nodded a touch grimly and fell into line next to the lead animal.
    They arrived at the settlement shortly before dusk. The long rays of the setting sun filtering through the trees were more than enough for Derian to make his own assessment of the place. Firekeeper might have grown sophisticated enough to tell tents from cabins, but her counting still tended toward the “one, two, many” variety unless she felt numbers were important. Even then, she didn’t bother much with numbers over ten. Privately, Derian suspected she continued to count on her fingers.
    So I guess we’ll need to get her using her toes. After all, she won’t wear shoes.
    He was still smiling slightly at his own joke when a man emerged from the settlement, walking through what would someday be a gate, though now it was only gateposts set in the framework of a partially built log palisade.
    “Welcome to Bardenville,” the man said, smiling widely. “I’m Ewen Brooks.”
    Ewen was shorter than Derian, but then most people were. By any other reckoning he would have been considered tall. There was no doubt he was strong. Even with the evening chill gathering, he wore nothing over his short-sleeved smock, exposing forearms rippling with muscle. His brown hair and beard were neatly trimmed, though the beard was worn somewhat longer than was typical in the city.
    Fleetingly, Derian wondered if “Brooks” might be a newly chosen surname. It certainly didn’t reflect a profession, as most did, and location names were more common in crowded areas where there might be more than one baker or carpenter. He filed that information away for future reference.
    “I’m Derian Carter,” he replied. Then, deciding that honesty was best, he continued, “I was out here a year or so ago with Earl Kestrel. I’ve come back with grave markers