Dragon Trouble

by Jackie French Koller

  Rowena’s mother, the Grand Dame, shrugged. “They are children,” she said.

  “Yes,” Pola’s mother chimed in. “You know how curious children are. I’ll wager you tried to sneak into Elder Hall yourself as a boy.”

  Zarnak did not look amused. He turned toward Darek and Pola.

  “What use have you for these masks?” he repeated.

  “We were going play dragonquest with them,” said Darek.

  “Yes,” agreed Pola. “It was just a game.”

  Zarnak’s eyes narrowed.

  “A game, eh?” he said. “A game like . . . trying to rescue your fathers?”

  Darek’s heart thumped. “N-no,” he stammered.

  “Would that they could rescue their fathers,” the Grand Dame interrupted angrily. “But look at them. They are but children. It is you, Zarnak, who should be about the business of rescuing their fathers.”

  Zarnak shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “You know the Council voted against a rescue,” he said. “We still don’t know what dangers lie beyond the Black Mountains. If these children had not disobeyed the law in the first place, their fathers would not be in trouble. Your husband, Grand Dame, would not wish me to place the whole village at risk for his sake.”

  The Grand Dame’s eyes flashed. “You may fool others with that lie, Zarnak,” she said. “But you don’t fool me. I know who swayed the Council against a rescue, and I can well see how fond you’ve grown of that throne.”

  Zarnak and the Grand Dame stared at each other in stony silence for a long moment, then he motioned to the guards. “Escort these women and children to the door!” he shouted.

  As Pola, Rowena, and Darek turned to go, Zarnak pointed a sharp finger at them. “Be warned,” he boomed. “Children or not, I will have you in the stocks the next time I catch you sneaking about!”

  5

  AFTER SUPPER, DAREK’S MOTHER went out on an errand. Darek, Pola, and Rowena sat beside the hearth. Zantor, who now filled half the room, sprawled behind them, with his neck over Darek’s shoulder and his head in Rowena’s lap.

  “We’ve got to find a way to go back,” said Rowena. She looked down into Zantor’s eyes. “Tell us more, Zantor,” she said. “We must know how we got out of Krad.”

  Darek reached up on the mantel and took down the arrow that he had pulled from Zantor’s neck. He placed the point over the wound in his leg and made a motion like he was pulling it out. “Who took the arrow out of my leg, Zantor?” he asked. “Do you remember anything?”

  The young dragon stared at the arrow. A misty image began to take shape in Darek’s mind. “I’m getting something!” said Rowena.

  “Shush!” said Darek. “Me too.” In his head he saw his own body lying crumpled on the rocky soil of the Black Mountains. Bent little creatures crowded around him. One of them grasped the arrow shaft and pulled it free. Then the image started to fade.

  “What else, Zantor?” asked Darek. “Who are those creatures? Where did they take me?”

  But Zantor’s great green eyes only stared at him blankly.

  “What did he show you?” asked Pola.

  “The creatures who rescued me,” said Darek. “But I have no idea who or what they are.”

  “If only we could find them,” said Rowena. “If they helped us, maybe they helped our fathers and Clep too.”

  “Not much chance of finding them without the masks,” said Darek quietly.

  Suddenly the door opened and Darek’s mother rushed in. With her was the Grand Dame herself.

  “Mother!” cried Rowena in surprise. She, Darek, and Pola jumped to their feet.

  “Hurry,” whispered the Grand Dame, motioning to someone still outside. A guard entered, bearing a chest.

  “What the . . . ?” said Darek.

  “Put them there,” the Grand Dame commanded, pointing to the kitchen table. “Then be gone. You have seen nothing and heard nothing. Do you understand?”

  The guard nodded. He lowered the chest to the table, and emptied its contents.

  “The masks!” cried Darek.

  The guard slipped silently back out into the night. The Grand Dame closed the door after him. Then she turned and smiled.

  “My husband has many friends,” she said. Then she looked at Rowena. “Why did you not seek my help at the outset?” she asked.

  “I . . . I did not think you would be willing,” said Rowena.

  The Grand Dame came forward and gently smoothed her daughter’s hair. She put a hand on Rowena’s shoulder and gazed proudly but sadly into her eyes. “Did you think,” she said gently, “that Alayah was the only mother capable of understanding the destiny of her child?”

  Zantor, Drizba, and Typra were saddled and ready to go. The young dragons were in high spirits. They seemed eager for the adventure, but Darek, Pola, and Rowena were solemn. Their mothers stood beside them in the early morning chill.

  “Is it cold in Krad?” Darek’s mother asked. “Perhaps you should bring cloaks.”

  “Yes, and rain hoods,” said the Grand Dame. “Wait a bit. I’ll run back and get them.” She turned and took a step, but Rowena called her back. Rowena, Pola, and Darek exchanged glances. They knew their mothers were raising these small worries to keep from voicing the larger ones. And to forestall the leave-taking.

  “We have to go,” Darek told the women quietly. “The longer we wait, the greater the chance the elders will discover us.”

  The three mothers nodded bravely, but all of them blinked back tears.

  “Take care,” Alayah whispered. She stepped forward and kissed Darek good-bye. Then she patted Zantor’s neck. “Watch over him, my friend,” she pleaded softly. Zantor tossed his head regally as if to say, “Fear not.”

  Darek climbed into the saddle and fitted his mask over his face. “Ready?” he called to Pola and Rowena. His voice, through the mask, had a muffled, metallic sound.

  Pola and Rowena kissed their mothers goodbye, then mounted their dragons and put on their masks. In their saddlebags were the remaining masks. There were just enough for the fathers and Clep, and one spare. The others had been too old and rotted to be of use.

  “Ready,” Pola and Rowena cried.

  “Push off!” Darek commanded.

  Zantor crouched down, unfurled his wings, and then sprang upward! With a mighty downward sweep of wings, they were airborne. Darek felt a rush of exhilaration.

  “We’ll be back!” he cried over his shoulder. Their mothers, waving below, grew smaller as the ground fell away. “And Clep and our fathers will be with us!” Darek promised.

  6

  THICK, DAMP SMOKE SWIRLED around them. But thanks to the masks, Darek, Pola, and Rowena could not smell the foul breath of the Black Mountains. Below them the landscape was barren and forbidding. There were rocks and stumps and scrubby bushes. Everything was black and charred, as if it had been swept by a forest fire.

  Zantor seemed to know where he was going. He and the other dragons were flying strongly. They seemed to have no problem carrying riders anymore.

  “Stay close,” Darek called to Pola and Rowena as the smog thickened. They were in the heart of the mountains now. They were looking for the creatures that Darek had seen in Zantor’s last mind message. Darek was keeping a sharp eye out for movement below.

  “There!” cried Rowena. She pointed to a clearing. Out of the corner of his eye, Darek saw a number of small shapes scurry into the scrub.

  “Down!” he commanded.

  The three dragons tipped their wings and circled down. Darek, Pola, and Rowena dismounted. The clearing was empty, but there were little sharp-toed footprints everywhere.

  “Hello!” Darek cried. “Don’t be afraid. We come in peace.”

  Pola gave a hollow-sounding laugh. “If they’re watching,” he said, “they’re bound to be frightened. These masks would scare anyone.”

  “You’re right,” said Darek. “I’ll take mine off, just for a minute.” He pulled his mask off and pushed back his hair.
To his amazement, he heard murmurs of surprise and delight all around him.

  “It be him!” the creatures were calling to one another. “Dragon Boy be back!” A number of small gray-scaled creatures emerged from the underbrush. One of them came forward. “Welcome, me friend!” he said with a wide, yellow-toothed grin.

  “Who are you?” asked Darek. Then he looked around at the other creatures and added, “What are you?”

  “Me, Zooba,” said the one who had stepped forward. “Me be Dragon Boy’s friend. Ye fix me leg. Me fix ye leg.” Zooba pointed to a dark scar on his thigh. Then he swept his hand toward his friends. “We be Zynots. Remember ye now?”

  “My name is not Dragon Boy. It’s Darek,” Darek told the little creature. “And these are my friends Pola and Rowena. I’m afraid we don’t remember much about our last visit.”

  “Ahhh.” Zooba made a high twittering sound that Darek guessed was laughter. “That be because of potion. Azzon took memories.”

  “Azzon?” said Darek. “Who’s Azzon?”

  “Azzon, King of Krad,” said Zooba. He put out a small lizardlike hand. “Take you there.”

  “No, no!” said Darek quickly. “We don’t want to go to Krad. Not yet anyway.”

  “Azzon not in Krad,” said Zooba. “Azzon here.”

  “Here?” repeated Darek. This concerned him. He had thought they would be safe from the Kradens as long as they stayed in the mountains.

  “Yes,” said Zooba. “Come.”

  The clearing was full of Zynots now, all murmuring together and staring at the newcomers. Smaller ones, children probably, climbed all over Zantor and the other two dragons, petting them and chattering excitedly.

  Darek looked up into Zantor’s eyes. “You all right?” he asked as a little Zynot crawled out on the dragon’s nose.

  “Thrummm,” sang Zantor. Apparently he was fond of these creatures.

  “Come,” Zooba insisted, grabbing Darek’s hand and tugging.

  Darek gave a cough and replaced his mask. “No,” he said again. “You don’t understand. Kradens are our enemies. They’ll hurt us.”

  “Azzon no hurt,” said Zooba. “Azzon help.”

  7

  ZOOBA LED THEM DEEP UNDER the mountains, through a steep, winding tunnel. Zantor, Drizba, Typra, and a gaggle of giggling Zynots followed.

  At last Zooba stopped. “Don’t need masks now,” he said. “Safe for ye here.”

  It was true. The dragonsbreath didn’t seem to reach this far underground. Darek, Pola, and Rowena removed their masks and put them in their saddlebags. Zooba gave a small cough. “Go ye alone, now,” he said. “Follow tunnel.”

  Darek stroked Zantor’s neck. “The tunnel is getting narrow,” he said. “You dragons stay here and play with your new little friends. We won’t be long.”

  “Rrronk,” cried Zantor softly.

  Darek smiled. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll be okay.”

  Darek, Pola, and Rowena went on alone. At last the tunnel widened into a cavern, and they came to a great door.

  “Guess this is it,” whispered Darek.

  “Guess so,” said Pola.

  Rowena nodded.

  “Guess we should knock,” said Darek.

  “Guess so,” said Pola.

  Rowena nodded.

  Darek stood staring at the great knocker.

  “Well?” said Pola.

  “Well what?” whispered Darek.

  “Well, are you going to knock?”

  Darek frowned. “Why do I have to do everything? Why don’t you knock?”

  “Me?” Pola protested. “What are you talking about? I do as much as you . . .”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake,” snapped Rowena. Before either boy could say another word, she grabbed the great knocker and slammed it down.

  “KABOOM . . . BOOM . . . BOOM . . . BOOM!” The sound bounced around the cavern and echoed far back into the tunnel.

  Instantly the door flew open, and a fierce, hairy face stared down at them. For a moment, the tall, graying man seemed taken aback. Then his brows crashed into a deep V.

  “You!” he bellowed. “I thought I had seen the last of you!”

  Darek, Pola, and Rowena huddled together.

  “You . . . you know us?” Darek stammered.

  “Know you? Who do you think nursed you back to health and took you home?”

  “You?” Darek’s eyes widened in surprise. “But . . . the Zynots said you were the King of Krad.”

  “The exiled King of Krad,” Azzon boomed. “Remember?”

  Darek swallowed hard. “We remember very little,” he said.

  This seemed to calm Azzon. He stared at them, pulling thoughtfully at his beard. “So, the potion did work,” he said after a time. “But, then, how came you back again?”

  Darek swallowed hard. He didn’t know if he should trust this man. But the Zynots said he would help, and it seemed he had helped before. . . .

  “How?” Azzon bellowed. “Tell me before I feed you to the Red Fangs!”

  Darek jumped. “The dragon showed us,” he said.

  “Dragon?” Azzon’s eyes narrowed. “What dragon?”

  Suddenly there was a heavy rumble of footsteps. Then a commotion of huffing and puffing, scratching and scraping, shrieking and giggling. And then into the cavern thundered Zantor, a dozen little Zynots still clinging to his back.

  A smile tugged at Darek’s lips. Zantor must have heard the boom of the knocker and gotten worried. “That dragon,” he said.

  Zantor had a wild look in his eyes, but when he saw Darek, he grew calm. He loped over, then thwippp! Out flicked his tongue, planting a kiss on Darek’s cheek.

  Azzon stared openmouthed at the gentle blue giant. Then he shook his head, and his anger seemed to melt away. “Now I’ve seen everything,” he said.

  The Zynot children twittered merrily.

  “All right,” said Azzon in a kindly voice. “Home with you now before you take ill.” He plucked the Zynots off Zantor one by one. Giggling and tumbling over one another, they scurried back up the tunnel.

  Now it was Darek, Pola, and Rowena who stared in wonder. Could this kindly old man truly be the King of Krad? Kradens were supposed to be fierce and cruel.

  Azzon looked after the Zynots wistfully. “Would that they could stay and play,” he said softly, almost to himself.

  “Why can’t they?” asked Darek.

  “Their bodies have adapted to the dragonsbreath,” said Azzon. “It’s all they can breathe now.”

  “What did they breathe before?” Pola asked. “The same thing you breathe,” said Azzon. “In the Long Ago, they were Zorians, like you.”

  Darek, Pola, and Rowena gaped at Azzon.

  “We’re related to them?” asked Rowena.

  “Yes,” said Azzon, “but enough about Zynots. Why are you here?”

  “Our fathers are somewhere in Krad,” said Darek. “And my brother, too. We’ve come to rescue them.”

  “Ahhh.” Humor glittered in Azzon’s eyes. “And how do you propose to do that?”

  “We’re not sure,” said Darek. “We thought you might help us.”

  “I?” Azzon chuckled. “Why would I turn against my own sons and help you?”

  “Your sons?” Rowena repeated.

  “Yes.” Azzon sighed. “My sons rule Krad now, Zahr here in the north, and Rebbe in the south. But I’ve told you all this before. Come. For all the good the memory potion has done, I might as well give you the antidote. But first you must give me your word that you will never do anything to bring harm to my sons.”

  Darek, Pola, and Rowena glanced at one another in surprise. How could they possibly harm Azzon’s sons?

  “Agreed?” Azzon asked.

  Darek shrugged. “Of course. You have my word.”

  “Mine too. And mine,” added Pola and Rowena. Then the three followed Azzon into a large torchlit cave. Zantor squeezed through the door right behind them.

  “Aack, aack,” came
a small cough.

  Darek looked up to see a small Zynot still perched, like a crown, on the top of Zantor’s head.

  “Mizzle!” cried Azzon. “Down from there this minute!”

  Mizzle slid down Zantor’s back and off his tail, twittering wildly.

  “Out of here. Now!” shouted Azzon. He swatted playfully at the child’s rear as he scurried out the door.

  8

  AZZON’S ANTIDOTE WORKED LIKE magic. For the first time in months, Darek felt himself again. There were no empty gaps anymore. No more questions unanswered. He remembered all about Azzon now. How his two sons had turned against each other, and then against him. How Azzon had nearly died, fleeing into the Black Mountains. How the Zynots had rescued him and brought him to this cave, deep underground.

  “This is wonderful!” cried Rowena. “I remember everything!”

  “I too,” Pola agreed.

  “Thank you, Azzon,” said Darek. “We are grateful.”

  Azzon nodded solemnly. “Just remember your promise,” he said. Then he filled his pipe and sank into a chair. He motioned to Darek, Pola, and Rowena to be seated as well. Then he lit his pipe and puffed quietly.

  Zantor was snuffling around the room, exploring. Darek looked around too. It was a great dark cave, lit by torches. But it was quite richly furnished. How did Azzon come by such things here, underground? he wondered. Azzon caught his eye and seemed to read his mind.

  “You like my decor?” he asked with a smile.

  “Yes,” said Darek, “it’s . . .”

  “Surprising,” Rowena put in.

  Azzon chuckled. “The Zynots are not so dull-witted as one might think,” he said. “Every year, about this time, when the days grow warm and the ground is still cold, the dragonsbreath settles low into the valley at night, like fog. The Kradens and their Zorian prisoners must stay inside with doors and shutters sealed tight. But the Zynots are free, as long as there is no wind or rain, to come down from their mountains. They scamper about, shrieking and moaning. They pummel the doors and rattle the shutters. It’s really quite convincing.”