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“The creature before you is a titled Hypatian,” Wistala said.
“It speaks,” one of the men with the bows said.
“She’s an Agent of the Librarians at Thellasa,” Rainfall said. “And my legal adopted daughter. Daughter, mind you, which takes precedence over granddaughter, should I meet with some unfortunate accident on this highway. The bill of sale is recorded.”
“Ho! You are undone!” Hammar said. “This creature attacked Galahall not three months ago, intent on arson and assassination. I’ll have you hanged for treason next to her hide!”
“Please! Pay no attention to rumor,” Rainfall said in a rather squeaky tone that mimicked Hammar’s. “I heard a two-headed, feathered lizard attacked Galahall. She has but one, and as for feathers, it’s plain to see she bears none.”
“Kill that creature!” Hammar shrieked.
“Pull and loose!” the tall man ordered.
Wistala hugged the road as the archers fired. The sharp strikes hurt, but the arrows bounded off down the road. The men couldn’t have chosen a worse angle to fire upon dragonscale.
Stog screamed piteously, as though mortally wounded, though no arrows came anywhere near him.
She loosed her bladder, and the horses, already unnerved by Stog’s bellows, began to dance at the smell. She shot forward, still piddling, a road-hugging green javelin moving straight for the thane. The thane’s big red horse reared, its front hooves awhirl, and Hammar, perhaps overbalanced by the enormous helm on too slight a body, went backwards out of his seat.
Wistala pounced upon him, pinned his arms with her sii and left one saa pressed against his belly, ready to pierce and gut.
Hammar screamed, almost as loudly as Stog.
“Anyone draws a blade, and I open him,” Wistala said to the men, who were fighting to control their horses.
“Hold, hold everyone!” Rainfall shouted in his deep and commanding tone. Then in beast-tongue: “Quiet, Stog.”
Stog left off his bellows.
“Murder will only make things worse,” Rainfall said. “Hammar, you would spill blood on a road like some common brigand? You bring shame on your title. Let him up, Wistala.”
Wistala, hot anger still in her veins, replied: “Let me at least bite off a finger or two as a reminder not to—”
Hammar squeaked like a rabbit.
“Oh, very well,” she said, releasing him. Rainfall knew the best course of action in this odd little world the hominids called civilization.
Hammar wiped his nose as he rose. “Mark! You think you’re so clever, elf. There are those who know how to deal with dragons. I’ve an acquaintance—”
“Killing a Hypatian Citizen of any line is murder, good thane. Come, let us forget this ever happened. I won’t have Lada’s child growing up fatherless. I will write to you.”
“You are a famous correspondent,” Hammar said, resettling the helm on his head. The tall man retrieved the thane’s horse. “Some might use the word informer. Know! I will write you, and if you do not agree to my terms, you’ll find yourself in court again and again until you turn to wood like your forefathers. Then I’ll have you made into chamberpot-coals.”
His men chuckled. Rainfall came forward with Stog, and they parted. One put hand to hilt, but the thane barked at him and Rainfall passed through.
Wistala watched them until they were out of bowshot, then hurried to catch up with the mule.
Chapter 18
They returned to Mossbell to find the household under frosted
enchantment. The house looked beautiful beyond words to Wistala, with the greenery silvered. From the ferns clinging to the wide chimney to the grass from the fountain to the wall along the road—a little despoiled by goat tracks—the house looked fairy-dusted in the early dawn light.
The new owner of Mossbell and her steward left Stog to wander on the lawn.
But the enchantment ended as soon as Wistala carried Rainfall into the house.
“Sir, you’ve returned,” Widow Lessup said. “We’re agog here. The thane! His Honor came looking for you in the night.”
