Dragons of the Valley Read Online Free Page A

slowed. The night noises of the forest had disappeared. She trudged toward the light. It grew dimmer.
    Taeda Bel, wait!
    Was that kimen deaf?
    “Taeda Bel!” Would her hoarse whisper be heard? Could she safely call louder?
    Something gripped her ankle. Had she stepped into a mess of vines? She needed light. She needed Taeda Bel. She stooped to untangle her foot, but as she leaned over, whatever held her captive jerked. She landed on her face and felt ropelike fingers knot around her other leg. She screamed, “Taeda Bel!”
    “Shh!” came a voice close to her face.
    Tipper peered into the dark but saw only intertwined vegetation.
    “Gotcha,” said another voice near her feet.
    Whatever it was began to drag her.
    “Taeda Bel!”
    Someone pinched her shoulder. She saw only a mass of leaves and vines leaning over her, but this plant reached forward and pushed against her shoulders, aiding the efforts of whatever held her feet.
    She took a deep breath to scream again, and a fistful of leaves pushed into her open mouth. Foul tasting. Choking. She bit down and heard only a wicked little giggle.
    “Shh!”
    “Gotcha.”
    They pushed and pulled her down an incline. She expected to come to a level place. No huge hills existed in any part of the woods scattered around the city.
    Loose dirt replaced the air and forest undergrowth. Soil covered her legs and hips. The angle of the tilt steepened. Her back and shoulders sank into the ground. She was not going down a hill but under the earth.
    “Please.” The mangled word sounded nothing like a plea for mercy.
    They kept at it, laughing a little with suppressed pleasure.
    “We got ‘er,” said the one pushing.
    “Gotcha,” came the muffled reply.
    The dirt surrounded Tipper’s neck and chin. She tried to pull in a deep breath before her head went under. She inhaled a leaf, choked, and only barely heard the next comment from her captors.
    “Knew we could.”
    “Gotcha, gotcha.”

3
Invasion
    Sir Beccaroon sensed the turmoil in the Amber Palace as soon as he landed on the roof. He shook his feathers, cocked his head, and tried to discern exactly where the commotion centered. Not the servants’ quarters. Not the armory or the bailiwicks. Ah! The main hall near the gallery.
    He strutted across the tiled roof to the circular stairs wrapping around the east tower. Perhaps the alarm had already been raised. That would be convenient. He really didn’t want to be the one who broke the news.
    Inside, he followed several servants scurrying toward the central part of the castle. On the walls and in alcoves, paintings and statues displayed timeless beauty and serenity. He recognized voices raised in discord as he rounded the corner. At the sunlit entrance to the gallery itself, the king, queen, Lady Peg, and Librettowit raged on about some difficulty.
    Beccaroon paused to listen. The object of their concern was not soldiers stealthily advancing toward the castle. They argued about missing statues.
    Not just any statues, but Verrin Schope’s
Trio of Elements
. The problem of an impending attack was weighty enough on its own. The missing artwork complicated matters tremendously. Had Tipper’s father shattered when the statues left their dais? Were cows and farmhouses falling into gaping crevices caused by the world’s surface stretching?
    The three statues had been carved from one stone. Verrin Schope had not known at the time that Wulder had used the marvelous piece of marble as a cornerstone for the world He created. As long as the statues were set up as originally designed, nothing went awry. But when separated, physical changes erupted in the countryside. And Verrin Schope also suffered. Heliterally came apart, his being dissipating and scattering, not horribly uncomfortable but very disorienting. And each fracturing and reassembly took its toll on the artist’s health. His parrot friend easily envisioned disaster if the enemy gained any of the powers associated with the