Dragons of Krad

by Jackie French Koller

  “Time left?” Darek wrinkled his brow. “What do you mean?”

  “The Kradens will probably feed him and the other Blues to the Fangs early, before they grow too big and strong.”

  “Then we have to start soon,” Darek said. “Tonight, if possible.”

  Arnod sat back and chewed his lip thoughtfully. “We have passages all through the complex,” he said. “But Daxon posts a watch on the nursery and stables at night. It would be too dangerous to go there.”

  “There must be somewhere else,” Darek said.

  “There’s the granary, next to the nursery,” Arnod said. “We may be able to sneak the Blue in there. It’s dangerous, though. Very dangerous. If the creature makes a noise—if you are discovered—the passages, everything will be uncovered. We could all be fed to the Fangs.”

  Darek shivered, but then he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “You speak longingly of freedom,” he said, “but you will never taste it unless you make it happen. And you cannot make it happen without taking risks. I, for one, would rather die than spend the rest of my life a prisoner.” He looked around the circle of faces. “What about you?”

  Pola leaned forward quickly and clapped a hand on Darek’s knee. “I’m with you, my friend,” he said.

  Rowena nodded. “I, too.”

  Arnod and the others exchanged glances, then one by one they nodded as well. Arnod stretched his right arm out toward the center of the circle, and the others did the same. Darek placed his hand on top.

  “To freedom!” he said.

  9

  “THRUMMM, THRUMMM, THRUMMM,” THE DRAGONLING sang softly.

  Darek stroked its head and looked deep into its eyes. “Do you know me, young one?” he asked. “Have we been friends in another place?”

  Warm feelings flowed into Darek’s mind. Joy, love—emotions strangely out of place in this cold, dark granary. But that was all he seemed to get from the dragon—just feelings.

  Though he was disappointed, Darek murmured gently and stroked the little beast’s blue-scaled back. When his hand reached the wing bindings, he felt something sticky and wet. He pulled his hand away and looked at it.

  Blood.

  “Poor thing,” he said. “Why didn’t you let us know your bindings were cutting you? Here, let me help.”

  Carefully Darek unwound the bindings until the little creature fluttered its wings.

  “Thrummm, thrummm,” it cried again. In its joy, it fluttered right up off the floor.

  “Shush,” Darek said, laughing softly. Then, as he watched the beast flutter around the room, an idea slowly came to him. If he brought the dragonling here every night and let him exercise his wings, he might still be able to fly. And if he could fly, then somehow, someday, Darek might be able to ride him back to where he came from. Back to . . . “Home,” Darek whispered, looking deeply into the dragon’s eyes again. “Do you want to take me home?”

  Suddenly an image sprang into Darek’s mind, an image that the dragonling seemed to be sending. It was a lovely farmhouse with rolling green pastures around it. There was a barn, too, filled with bales of sweet-smelling zorgrass. Outside, in the paddock, a boy was playing with a little Blue dragon. When the boy called out the beast’s name, Darek’s breath caught in his throat.

  “Zantor,” he whispered, still gazing into the dragon’s eyes. “That’s your name! And that’s our home, yours and mine, isn’t it?”

  The little forked tongue flicked out and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Thrummm,” Zantor sang. “Thrummm, thrummm, thrummm.”

  Darek smiled and rubbed the dragon’s nubby head. “Pola,” he said. “Tell me about Pola.”

  Images filled Darek’s head again, pictures of Darek, Zantor, and Pola. First they were romping through fields, then splashing in a brook. Lastly he saw the three of them lazing in front of a crackling fire.

  “So, he’s my best friend,” Darek said. “No wonder I like him so well. And what of the girl Rowena?”

  Warm, loving feelings flooded through Darek. He felt the touch of gentle hands and saw beautiful eyes staring into his. For a moment, he could hardly breathe. Then he laughed softly.

  “She’s very special to you, isn’t she, Zantor?” he whispered.

  “Thrummm,” Zantor sang.

  * * *

  The long days of toil passed quickly for Darek. He worked harder than any of the other prisoners, and muscles began to bulge on his back and arms. Whenever Daxon sent for him or assigned him a new task, he went out of his way to please. He wanted Daxon to be happy, to enjoy every drop of his evening slog, and to stay far away from the granary at night.

  Darek and his friends had begun training Zantor and some of the other dragons to fly with riders on their backs. Little by little, Zantor was giving Darek and Rowena and Pola their memories back. They, in turn, shared what they learned with the others. There were still many gaps, but this much they knew: Zoriak was real, a beautiful green place, with sparkling clear air. Freedom waited there, and their families, too, if only they could figure out how to return. Exactly where Zoriak was, they still didn’t know. But Darek was confident that Zantor would be able to remember and lead them there.

  Darek, Pola, Rowena, Arnod, and the others had fashioned saddles and bridles out of bits of cloth and leather. Working together each night, they soon became friends. The dragons were growing bigger every day. Before long, they would all make their escape.

  There was still the dragonsbreath to contend with, of course. But Darek, Pola, and Rowena knew they had come through it once without losing their wits, so there had to be a chance of doing it again. It was only a chance, of course, but it was a chance they were willing to take.

  10

  DAREK HAD BEEN ASSIGNED TO the stalls instead of the nursery all morning. At lunchtime, he looked up to see Pola running toward him. He was pale and out of breath.

  “What is it?” Darek asked. “What’s wrong?”

  Pola looked around nervously. “The Blues!” he whispered. “They took one of them early this morning!”

  “What?” Darek felt the blood draining from his face. “Which one?”

  “Leezin, the one Arnod was training. She’s . . . she’s dead by now, fed to the Red Fangs.”

  Tears sprang to Darek’s eyes. Gentle Leezin—dead?

  “They could take the others as soon as tomorrow!” Pola warned.

  Darek stared down at the floor, and his feet blurred through his tears. Zantor—fed to the Red Fangs tomorrow! He could not bear to think of it. Then he realized something else. Everything they had worked for, everything they had planned, would all be gone without the dragons. He sucked in a deep breath and looked up again.

  “We must leave tonight,” he said.

  Pola’s eyes widened. “Tonight! But the dragons aren’t strong enough,” he said. “We’ll never make it.”

  “Then we’ll die trying,” Darek said.

  * * *

  It was decided that only Darek, Pola, and Rowena would go. Their Blues were bigger and stronger than the other dragons and stood a chance of success. Trying to fly the smaller dragons while they were still so young would have been much too dangerous for riders and dragons alike.

  Well after dark, Darek, Pola, and Rowena stood in a circle in the granary with the others. They reached their hands into the center.

  “We will be back, my friends,” Darek said.

  “We will be waiting,” Arnod replied.

  “Train as many dragons as you can,” Darek said. “They will be useful when the time comes.”

  Arnod and the others nodded.

  Darek felt tears start behind his eyes. He and his friends were being brave, but in their hearts they knew they might never see one another again. It would be a miracle if the escape succeeded, and whatever the result, it would surely bring the wrath of Zahr down on those who remained behind. But it did no good to dwell on such things. They had no choice.

  “The alarms will sound as soon as the door
s open,” Arnod warned. “Your only hope will be to get a strong head start before they get the Fangs into the air.”

  “We will,” Darek assured him. He mounted Zantor, and Pola and Rowena mounted the two remaining Blues.

  “Now!” he commanded Arnod.

  Arnod and the others pulled back the granary doors. Immediately the piercing shriek of a siren split the air. Darek shouted the flight command, and the three dragons pushed off with their powerful legs, pumping their small wings mightily. The ground began to fall away beneath them.

  “We’re going to make it!” Pola shouted.

  “Yes!” Rowena cried out. “We’re going home!”

  Darek wasn’t quite as certain. He could feel Zantor’s heart pounding against his knees. He and the others were heavy burdens for dragons so young. Below them, Krad was springing to life. Men scurried everywhere. Arrows were shot into the air but fell far short of their marks. Before long, though, Darek heard the horrible screams of Red Fangs. He looked back and saw several beasts and riders in pursuit.

  “Home, Zantor, home!” he cried. “Faster!”

  Zantor pumped his wings harder, but arrows whizzed around them now. The Red Fangs were fast approaching. Soon they would be within flaming distance. Darek glanced from left to right. Pola and Rowena were still with him, and the mountains were drawing closer. If they could just make it into the thick of the mist, they would be safe. The Kradens could not pursue them there. But Zantor’s heart was thumping rapidly now. How much longer could he endure?

  Suddenly there was a burst of flame off to Darek’s right. A Red Fang was gaining on him. The flame came again, closer. Darek cried out and dropped the reins as his sleeve caught fire.

  “You okay?” Pola called.

  “Yes!” Darek lurched wildly, trying to beat out the flames. He gripped Zantor’s back with just his knees. Rowena flew in close and desperately tried to help him. The mist was thickening. Safety was so close!

  “Go on!” Darek called to Rowena as he tried to shrug out of his burning shirt. “Whatever happens, just keep going!”

  Then there was a searing pain in his leg. Darek stared mutely at the arrow shaft and the widening circle of red. Another arrow whizzed by, plunging into Zantor’s neck. “Eeeiiieee!” Zantor screamed. And then they were falling. . . .

  11

  “WELL, WELL. GOOD MORNING.”

  Darek blinked to clear the haze from his eyes. A great fur-covered face stared down at him—a Kraden. He swallowed hard as the truth sank in. He had been captured again. He tried to move but winced in pain. Where was he? he wondered. He blinked again and looked around. He appeared to be in a cave of some sort, lit by torches on the walls.

  “Who are you?” he asked the Kraden. “Where am I?”

  “I am Azzon,” the man said, “the rightful King of Krad. You are in my chambers. The Zynots brought you here.”

  “Zynots?” Darek mumbled.

  “The little creatures who inhabit these mountains,” the man explained. “They tell me you did them a kindness in the past. They wished to repay it.”

  Azzon nodded at Darek’s leg. Darek looked down and saw that it had been wrapped in a plaster and bandaged.

  “I have no memory of Zynots,” he said. “Nor do I think it a kindness to deliver me back into Kraden hands.”

  “We are not in Kraden hands,” a voice said. “Azzon is a friend.”

  Darek turned to see Rowena ducking through a low door. Pola followed her into the room.

  “What are you two doing here?” Darek cried.

  “We came back when you fell,” Pola said.

  “You fools!” Darek shook his head. “I told you to keep going!”

  “It is well that they did not,” Azzon said, “or they would be witless by now.”

  “We’ve already been through the mountains once,” Darek argued. “The dragonsbreath did not harm us.”

  “Your lungs were clean and strong then,” Azzon said. “You have lived too long in Krad now. You would not have made it this time.”

  Darek turned back to Pola and Rowena. “Zantor?” he asked. “What of Zantor?”

  Pola and Rowena exchanged troubled glances. “We don’t know,” Pola said quietly. “He disappeared after you fell.”

  Darek was silent, remembering the arrow.

  “We freed our dragons,” Rowena said, “and sent them after him. They’ll find him.”

  Darek bit his lip, close to tears. Poor Zantor. Even if the other dragons did find him, how could they help if he was hurt or dying?

  12

  AZZON SAT BACK IN HIS chair and puffed slowly on a long clay pipe.

  “There is not much more to tell,” he said. “Kradens have always known of the existence of Zoriak, but it never troubled us. The few Zorians who came over the mountains were easily dealt with. The dragonsbreath potion quickly robbed them of their memories. In time, our Zorian prisoners began to wonder if the old legends of Zoriak were even true.”

  “What about the Zynots?” Darek asked. “Who are they?”

  Azzon laughed. “Your ancient kin,” he said. “They are Zorians who lost their wits and their way in the Long Ago. In time, their bodies changed. Now they are prisoners of the mountain, able to breathe only dragonsbreath.” Azzon pulled thoughtfully at the graying fur on his chin. “They are timid and foolish,” he said, “but kind and good, too. I owe my life to them.”

  “Your life?” Rowena’s brow wrinkled in disbelief. “How came the King of Krad to owe his life to Zynots?”

  Azzon smiled sadly. “As you have seen,” he said, “Kradens love blood sport, and I, their king, loved it better than any other. There was never a dragon fight bloody enough for me, a battle fierce enough, until the day my sons, Zahr and Rebbe, turned on each other. It was then, and only then, that I saw what I had done to them. I had raised them like Red Fangs, living to kill. When I tried to stop them from killing each other, they turned their fury on me.”

  Azzon took a long puff on his pipe and stared blankly at the walls. Darek swallowed hard and glanced at Pola and Rowena.

  “I fled into these mountains, expecting to die,” Azzon went on softly. “The Zynots found me and brought me here, to this cave beneath the mountains. The dragonsbreath cannot penetrate here. The Zynots have seen to my needs ever since, but it is a lonely life. They cannot tarry long in my world, nor I in theirs.”

  “Is there no way out?” Darek asked.

  “Not for me,” Azzon said. Then he leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees. “But perhaps for you. Before we speak of it, though, you must explain something to me.”

  “What is that?” Darek asked.

  Azzon narrowed his eyes. “How did you get your memories back?”

  Darek straightened in his seat. He dared not tell Azzon the truth. Who knew if Azzon could be trusted? He scrambled to come up with an answer that would satisfy Azzon without giving away the secret of Zantor’s mind messages. What was it Azzon had said earlier? Something about a dragonsbreath potion?

  “We didn’t get our memories back,” Darek said quickly. “I . . . never really lost mine. I never drank the potion.”

  Azzon regarded him intently. “How can that be?”

  Darek scrambled to think. His first memories of Krad were of a dark house, an old crone, and a guard. “The old woman gave me the potion,” he explained, “but her house was dark and steamy. I tilted my head back and let it run out of the side of my mouth and down my neck. Then I pretended my memory was gone.”

  Azzon continued to stare hard at Darek. “How did you know the potion was meant to rob your memory?” he asked.

  “The guard, Org, spoke of it.”

  After a time, Azzon nodded slowly. Then he rose and reached for a shelf on the wall. He took down a vial of green liquid and three small cups. Then he turned to face Darek and the others again.

  “Be assured,” he said. “I will not be as careless as Jazee.”

  13

  “BUT WAIT!” DAREK JUM
PED UP. “You said you were a friend! Why are you sending us back?”

  “I’m not sending you back,” Azzon said. “I’m sending you home.”

  “Home?” Darek sat down again with a thump.

  “Home?” Pola and Rowena echoed.

  “Yes.” Azzon nodded. “There is a tunnel. An underground passage to Zoriak. I will take you there tonight. But you must go without your memories.”

  “But our friends . . . ,” Pola started to protest.

  “I cannot allow you to remember your friends,” Azzon said. “You might try to help them.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” Rowena asked. “Maybe we could help you, too.”

  Azzon shook his head. “If I wanted to help myself, I could go with you tonight,” he said. “But I am old and wise. I know that things are not always as simple as they seem. Your world and mine are not ready to come together.”

  “Why not?” Darek asked. “Maybe we could make your world better.”

  “Better how?” Azzon asked. “By trying to destroy my sons? They may be cruel and evil, but they are still my sons. And what of the dragons of Krad, the mighty Red Fangs? Would you kill them? Then you might as well kill the Zynots, for they will die anyway without the dragonsbreath. Have you the stomach for so much killing?”

  Darek swallowed. He had no stomach for killing at all.

  “Azzon is right,” Rowena said sadly.

  Pola nodded.

  “But what of our friends?” Darek asked.

  “If freedom means as much to your friends as it does to you,” Azzon said, “they will find their own way.”

  14

  DAREK, ROWENA, AND POLA STOOD facing Azzon. The night air was soft and fragrant. Zoriak’s twin moons smiled down on them, welcoming them home. Azzon took out his vial.

  “Drink,” he commanded, pouring them each a portion of the green liquid. “I have added something to make you sleep. When you wake in the morning, you will know your names, and you will remember one another. But you will recall nothing that has happened for at least two or three anums. . . .”