Free Dragons of the Valley by Donita K. Paul Page A

twice, stomping his feet, then brought his kill down to his face. He drew in a long breath through his nose.
    “What’s he doing?” asked Hollee with her hands covering her face.
    “He’s relishing his reward for patience and skill.”
    Hollee spread her fingers apart for a better look.
    The Grawl opened his mouth and sank his teeth into the flank of the dead animal.
    She squeezed her eyes shut. “Can we go now?”
    “Most certainly.” Fenworth scooped her up and put her under the flap of his robe. “Prepare to whirl.”
    “Where are we going?”
    “To eat our noonmeal, of course.”
    “Where?”
    “With that king fellow and Paladin.”
    “We’re going to the castle?”
    She didn’t hear the answer. The wind whistled and mixed with disconnected sounds as the wizard transported them from the forest to Ragar.
    The whooshing and whirling stopped just before Hollee gave up her breakfast. Her first experience of traveling with the wizard had made her a bit queasy, but this passage had been extra rough.
    “Oh dear, tut, tut.”
    Hollee tensed for a moment, then scrambled to get out. She needed to see what had alarmed her wizard. As she moved, she felt Fenworth sit.
    “Oh dear, oh dear.”
    She popped out of the folds of his robe and gasped. They weren’t in Ragar. Hollee doubted they were even in Chiril. From their perch on a high cliff, an ocean stretched clear to the horizon. Gray waves tossed murky froth on a sandy shore to their left. And on the right, a small village of huts clustered among towering trees, the like of which Hollee had never seen.
    “Tut, tut. That’s what I get for thinking of tangonut crème pie while whirling.”

9
Council Meeting
    Beccaroon strutted through the elegant hallway, keeping to the side of the rug running down the center. His claws tripped him up when they caught in the pile of the beautiful carpet. Falling on his face didn’t appeal to him at any time. Doing so now would damage his ability to present a convincing argument to King Yellat.
    The time had come to act, but his past experience with Yellat prepared him to expect opposition. All the appeals he had made for Lady Peg during her husband’s long absence had fallen on deaf ears. The king’s stubborn refusal to reinstate his daughter in his court had lasted for more than twenty years. Only the scheming of two madmen had forced the estranged members of the royal family to work together and ultimately achieve reconciliation.
    Beccaroon stopped to gaze out the window, but the beautiful view did not have the usual soothing effect. His scowl deepened. Verrin Schope had come back with a wizard and a librarian in tow. The wizard claimed that their success in defeating the masterminds of corruption had been through the influence of the god of his country. The tales of their Wulder intrigued Beccaroon, but he wasn’t ready to dig deeper into this foreign concept.
    He left the window and its beautiful view. Under the circumstances, having a powerful and omniscient god would be handy. He didn’t care to call upon Boscamon to stick his finger in this pie. A capricious god was worse than no god at all.
    Sir Beccaroon turned the corner and saw that the king waited for him at the end of the corridor. The grand parrot recognized the obstinate set of the man’s jaw. As he approached the ruler of Chiril, he made his courtly bow.
    The king nodded. “I just arrived myself. The others should be waiting for us in the council room. I trust your news is worthy of gathering them in such a hasty manner?”
    “It is.” Beccaroon flicked away the doubt that fluttered through his mind. He had no reason to suspect his information was false. His sources were reliable. But he did question whether or not this council, under the influence of a “wait and see” ruler, would agree with him.
    A footman opened a carved wooden door, and the king and the great parrot entered a richly appointed chamber. Verrin Schope, Paladin, and three court