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

He shook the handkerchief, then returned the uninhabited cloth to the kimen.
    “You know,” he said as she dabbed her eyes, “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m Fenworth, bog wizard of Amara. This is my esteemed librarian, Trevithick Librettowit. He’s been known to be in a better mood from time to time, but we must make allowances. Heprefers a good book, a comfy chair, a plate of daggarts, tea, and a fire in the fireplace. Unfortunately, we are often called to adventure. Slaying damsels, rescuing dragons in distress, collapsing kingdoms, thwarting evil, purging plagues, that sort of thing.”
    He bowed with an elaborate sweep of his arm before him.
    “A servant of Wulder, dear girl, at your service.”
    He straightened and looked around the room.
    “Oh, see here, Librettowit. Not a growly ginger bear at all, but Bealomondore and a friend. See, you needn’t have worried. We’ve landed precisely where I intended.” His eyes inspected the walls and furnishings. “Bealomondore, good friend, exactly where are we?”

6
The Grawl
    Vaguely aware of the fuss being made over her, Tipper tried to muster enough energy to protest. Her tongue didn’t cooperate any more than her arms and legs. She managed to open her eyelids to a slit, but they closed before she could focus on the little beings that surrounded her.
    Their touch soothed her. She wasn’t afraid but definitely confused. Why would someone else be braiding her hair?
    And they were singing. Tipper wanted to sing with them. She didn’t know the words or the tune, but the music reached into her heart and made her want to sing, dance, do something to join in. Song had rescued her many times from despair and loneliness. She sang for herself, but she knew her talent lightened others’ burdens as well.
    The memory of hands grasping her ankles, harsh voices, and smothering dirt threatened her peace. The song grew louder, and unease melted into safe sleep.

    “I’m staying here.” Bealomondore’s voice pierced the fabric of a pleasant dream.
    A meadow full of colorful minor dragons slipped from Tipper’s mind. An invasive question screamed, “Where am I?”
    She opened her eyes and swiveled her head, taking in her surroundings. Kimens, two tumanhofers, and the o’rant wizard crowded the tent.Sunlight diffused through the fine blue material. The walls and ceiling of this abode tinged everything in sight with a glowing azure light.
    The one tall figure paced beside her couch. He hadn’t noticed her, which was typical. She wanted some answers. “Wizard Fenworth!”
    He turned toward her, his eyes sparkling. “So you’re awake. Good, good. Need you to talk some sense into this stubborn tumanhofer. I mean to tell you, girl, tumanhofers have more than their share of contrariness. And he’s an artist. You know what that means.”
    Tipper didn’t know what being an artist had to do with anything. Her expression must have said as much to the wizard.
    “Unpredictable!” He shifted his glare to focus on Bealomondore. “You would think a man who’s undertaken the removal of a valued item from harm’s way would be willing—no, not willing,
anxious
—to transport that valuable item to a place where it can do some good.” He lifted one eyebrow and scrutinized Tipper. “Wouldn’t you?”
    Memories swelled like a riptide over her peace. She sat up. “The statues.” She swung her legs off the couch.
    “Exactly, my dear.” Librettowit came to sit next to her.
    Some measure of relief came with the wizard’s librarian she had learned to trust. Often he was sensible when the others were merely loud.
    “I thought we were safe here,” she said.
    He nodded. “Somewhat. We must sort out the myths and the truth before we decide what is to be done with the statues.”
    Librettowit pinched at his mustache with thumb and forefinger. “In Amara, tradition has it that kimens cannot be tracked.” He looked around the room at the kimens assembled. “Is that