DragonKnight by Donita K. Paul Page B

the old farm worker greeted those eager to heap praises on the winner.
    Bardon eased between mingling farmers and townspeople, edging his way to the porch. Hoddack pointed his finger at one of the revelers, a neatly dressed young marione with a thick thatch of slicked-down, golden hair. Hoddack hooked his finger in a “Come” gesture and pointed to the front door. Then the kindia breeder turned abruptly, signaling with a wave of his hand for Bardon to follow. He marched into his house without looking back to see if his silent commands were obeyed.
    Now what?
    Bardon’s boots thumped the wooden steps as he climbed to the porch. He met the summoned young man at the top of the steps. The marione’s jaw angled just like Master Hoddack’s, and he had the same deep-set eyes and large, straight nose.
    Bardon slowed, allowing the young man to go first.
Hoddack’s son? First Hoddack looks as though he has swallowed a drummerbug, then he calls for his son to join us. I hope this isn’t going to be unpleasant.
He shook his head as he tried to determine the type of person the son could be.
He doesn’t look as contrary as the father. In fact, he looks rather soft, as though he isn’t used to laboring beside the farm workers.
    The son held his shoulders straight, but they weren’t as broad as his father’s. He wore tailored clothing without one grubby mark on him. Instead of commonplace boots, he wore shiny brown shoes of tooled leather.
    He looks as though he enjoys his father’s success but doesn’t help with the business of running this kindia farm. But then, all this is supposition. “Judgment passed before facts are known judges the judger.” Principle sixty-eight.
    Inside, the refined décor of the home surprised Bardon. Hoddack had disappeared, but the young man led the squire into a side room. An older woman sat in the dim light on a brocade-covered settee.
    “Mother, may we disturb you for a moment?”
    She lifted her chin and smiled toward the voice. “Of course, Holt.”
    He took her extended hand and raised it to bestow a kiss.
    Her other hand came up to briefly caress his cheek. “I suspect you’ve brought one of the riders to meet me. Perhaps, the winner?”
    Bardon stepped forward with the assurance of years in Sir Dar’s court. He bent over her hand and brushed it with his lips.
    “I beg your pardon, Dame Hoddack, for coming into your presence in such a state. I must smell like the kindia I rode. A fine animal, but not one that should be brought into a lady’s parlor.”
    The genteel woman wrinkled her nose delicately and chortled. “And with my sight gone, my sense of smell is most keen. But I am glad Holt brought you to meet me. Are you the same young man who tamed the kindia in such an unusual manner?”
    “Not exactly.” Bardon looked over to Holt, who nodded his approval of telling the story to his mother. “I spent the first day convincing Mig to accept a working relationship, using the common procedure. My friend, N’Rae, has a gift for dealing with animals. She tamed five in less time than I took with one.”
    “The lovely emerlindian girl?”
    “Yes.” He hesitated. “Excuse me, Dame Hoddack, but how do you know of her?”
    She straightened the lace shawl draped over her shoulders.
    “I have many visitors, and most of the servants are aware that I enjoy knowing what goes on beyond the walls of this house.” She’d answered almost immediately, but Bardon detected a slight shuttering of her open friendliness. “I’m glad Holt brought you in. I am very interested in this N’Rae.”
    “It is my turn to beg your pardon, Mother. Father will be waiting for us in his study.”
    She reached for him, and he gave her his arm, which she patted. The pleased smile on her face transformed a weary expression to one of loveliness. “Yes, go, dear. See what he wants.” She turned slightly toward Bardon, and the mask of the grand lady slipped back in place. “Good luck to you, young