Free Dragon Rescue by Don Callander Page A

whose name they were never told. “Anyone travels this way, we puts ‘em up and thank
    ‘em for the company!”
    “I appreciate your hospitality so very greatly,” sighed the Queen.
    “May we help you with supper? We’ve brought some foodstuffs that we would share with you.”
    “Now here’s a real lady!” cried Master Frost with a pleased cackle.
    He had seven sons, an unspecified number of daughters and daughters-in-law, and several other dependants whose relationship to them was obscure. Plus what seemed to be two dozen or so children of all ages running about, shouting excitedly.
    Manda and her stepmother speculated between themselves but decided not to ask more deeply as to who, exactly, was who in this boisterous crowd. It didn’t seem to matter to the Frost clansmen. A few awkward minutes after their arrival at Pinkleterry, as Frost called his old keep, daily life resumed its even if rather noisy way.
    Several of the young menfolk quickly rounded up a half-grown beef and led it off outside the crumbling curtain walls. When the King’s party next saw it, the beef had been skinned and was basting, turning slowly on a spit over a bed of glowing oak coals that lit up the outer bailey of the ruined old castle.
    “Do you rest easy,” Frost advised jovially. “Be a while yet afore the bobby-cue is burnt enough to chaw. Take yer ease away from the smoke, Majesties. Me ‘n’ the boys have herds to bed down and hogs to feed and the ladies, bless ‘em, have cows to milk and baking to attend to, and such.”
    He showed them to an open-air pavilion of beautifully cured and tanned leather hides stitched neatly together and supported by slender poles, not far upwind from the open fire pit. There were surprisingly comfortable old chairs and divans to sit upon, brought from the castle, Manda assumed.
    One of the women brought the Queen a horn cup of fresh milk, still warm from the udder, for Princess Amelia. Beatrix had doubts about its cleanliness and contents, but the King nodded for her to give it to the tired child.
    Amelia had no such qualms, and within ten minutes the little Princess was sound asleep on a soft, clean lambskin on the dirt floor beside her mother’s chair.
    “A King ought to travel thus to get to know his people,” observed Eduard to Manda. “These are rough, bluff folk but honest and good-hearted and hospitable to strangers.”
    “I recommend you don’t lay your wallet aside when you sleep, and keep your knife handy, too,” advised his oldest child in a low whisper. “You must beware of surface appearances, Lord King.”
    “Princess Alix Amanda Trusslo!” cried the King, shocked.
    “Well, that’s my advice, free for the taking,” retorted Manda with a fond chuckle. “Take it or leave it, Papa dear! Personally, I plan to keep my blade near to hand and sleep with an eye and both ears open.”
    As it happened, they were fed huge quantities of deliriously roasted beef, entertained with fireside tales of birthings and deaths in the back country, of ancient doings and yesterday’s musings.
    They all slept—with both eyes closed tight—in complete safety on the second level of the ancient keep, and woke at first light to a hot breakfast of coarse yet very tasty porridge with fresh cream and wild honey, and wild raspberries and cranberries with the dew still upon them.
    They said many grateful thank-yous—it was all that Frost and his wife would accept no payment—and after cordial good-byes, they rode on, waving back at the sturdy herdsmen and their waving women and prancing progeny.

Chapter Six
    The Grand Blizzardmaker
    The bone-weary Historian shifted his aching bottom on the too-small saddle, borrowed along with the tough, lanky gelding from Lord Granger Gantrell’s Morning-side stable.
    He wished he’d waited while young Granger had mustered his pikemen and archers. The road was cold, empty, and lonely.
    He’d crossed the broad Samber by the ferry and ridden through the quiet,