The Chief Elder gave a signal, and the guards touched flaming torches to the piles of brush that circled Yanek and Bodak.
“NO!” Darek cried. “These men are innocent!”
“It’s true,” Pola shouted. “I was among the boys.” He turned so people could see his singed hair, then turned back and hung his head in shame. “We attacked Darek and Clep,” he went on. “We provoked the beast!”
Mouths dropped open and a hush fell over the crowd. Then, “He’s lying!” someone shouted.
“Aye! Aye!”
“No!” Pola cried. “It’s the truth.” He scanned the crowd before him. “Malek!” he said suddenly. “Dorwin!” He pointed to the two boys who had brought the charges. “Tell them! This has gone too far.”
All eyes turned toward the two boys. They stared at each other uncomfortably for a moment, then slowly nodded and hung their heads. The crowd gasped.
“Don’t you see?” shouted Darek. “The only lie is that the dragons are our enemies! Do they attack our villages? Do they raid our herds? No! They fight only when we attack them, only when they are provoked!”
Darek could see that he had the attention of the crowd now. He pointed to where his mother and Zilah stood. “Zilah’s son is dead,” he said, “and so is my mother’s brother. How many others of you have lost sons, brothers, husbands, or fathers?”
People murmured together, then a hand went up, followed by another, and another. Darek watched until almost everyone had a hand in the air. “Look!” he shouted. “Turn your heads and look, and then decide . . . . How many more must die for the sake of a lie?”
Heads swiveled, then hands were slowly lowered and shoulders sagged in sorrow. The silence was heavy, broken only by Zantor’s shrill screams. Then came another tortured cry.
“Aa-a-gh!”
“Yanek! Bodak!” someone yelled. “Water! Hurry!”
The crowd came to life, and people flew in all directions, but time was running out. Bodak and Yanek writhed in agony as flames licked at their legs.
“Eeeiiieee!” shrieked Zantor. “Eeeiiieee!”
The pitch of Zantor’s shrieks became so high that people in the crowd began to clasp their ears and cry out in pain. Then, as Darek watched in astonishment, Zantor’s cage shattered like a crystal shell, and the little dragon rose up into the air. He fluttered over and dropped down into the ring of flame that surrounded Darek’s father. A moment later the dragonling rose up again, tiny wings pumping furiously. Darek’s father’s great limp body was clutched tightly in his claws.
• • •
Darek’s father and Bodak sat sipping hot glub from steaming mugs, their bandaged feet propped up on chairs. Zantor was curled up in exhausted sleep between them, and Yanek reached down and stroked his small head affectionately.
The little dragon stirred. “Thrrummm,” he mumbled tiredly.
Bodak smiled. “You know, Yanek,” he said, “I still can’t quite believe I’m sitting here.”
Yanek nodded and looked over at Darek. Love and pride glowed in his eyes. “Aye,” he said, shaking his head in wonder, “neither can I, but I guess when you have a son who has the makings of a great leader, anything is possible.”
Darek smiled back, warmed by his father’s words, but a little bit frightened, too. Leadership, he had discovered, could be a pretty scary business. Maybe he would be a leader someday, but for now he just wanted to be a boy again, a boy with a dragon in the family.
Turn the page for a peek at the next book in the series:
Dragon Quest
1
DAREK POINTED A STICK TOWARD the sky. He swung it in two wide circles, then slowly lowered it until its point touched the ground. Above his head, Zantor soared, following the pattern Darek had traced in the air. The dragonling circled once, then twice over the paddock. Then he swooped down for a landing.
“Hooray!” Darek shouted. He and his best friend, Pola, clapped excitedly. “That was perfect!”
The little dragon barreled across the field in his funny, lopsided gait. Joyfully, he hurled himself at Darek, knocking him backward into the dirt. Darek squirmed with laughter as Zantor covered his face with kisses, Thwip! Thwip! The forked tongue tickled! Darek pulled a sugar cube from his pocket and tossed it a few feet away. The dragon scuffled after it, and Darek got to his feet and dusted himself off. Pola was still laughing, but he wasn’t the only one, Darek realized. He turned and saw that he, Pola, and Zantor had an audience. A group of village children were hanging over the paddock fence.
“Zantor! Zantor, come here!” they cried, reaching out eager hands. When Zantor waddled over to play, the children shrieked with delight. “Let me pet him first!” one cried out. “No, me! No, me!” the others shouted.
Darek frowned. He was pleased, of course, that the villagers had finally accepted Zantor. For a time, it had seemed that they wouldn’t even let him live. But Zantor had proven to all that he was both peaceful and courageous, and now they were willing to let him live among them. In fact, Zantor had become so popular lately that Darek seemed to be forever fighting for the dragonling’s attention. Darek was the one who had found Zantor, after all, and brought him to the village. Why should he have to share him now with people who hadn’t even wanted him at first? It didn’t seem fair.
“Hey.” Pola nudged Darek in the ribs. “Look who’s here.”
Darek looked where Pola had nodded. A taller girl had joined the other children. Her long, dark hair fell over her shoulders as she reached out and scratched the horn nubs on Zantor’s head.
Zantor buried his face in the girl’s shining hair and thrummed happily. Darek’s frown deepened. “Rowena,” he said with a groan.
Pola grinned. “I think she likes you,” he said. “She’s always hanging around lately.”
“It’s not me she likes, it’s him,” Darek said. “Besides, who cares?”
“She’s awful pretty,” Pola teased.
“Yeah,” Darek agreed, “and she’s awful headstrong, stuck-up, and spoiled.”
Pola laughed. “Maybe you’d be headstrong, stuck-up, and spoiled, too, if your father was Chief Elder.”
Darek snorted. Then, as he watched Zantor playing with Rowena, a strange thing began to happen. Happy little thoughts started pushing into Darek’s head. They seemed to swell and pop, one after another, like bubbles. For a moment, Darek swore he could smell the perfume of Rowena’s hair. He could almost feel the touch of her hands. Then, just as quickly as the funny feelings had come, they were gone. Confused, Darek shook his head.
“What’s wrong?” Pola asked.
“I . . . it’s weird,” Darek said. “I felt like I was inside Zantor’s head for a minute.”
Pola looked over at Zantor and Rowena and laughed out loud. “Sounds like wishful thinking to me,” he said. Then he gave Darek another poke.
Darek’s frown returned. If he had been inside Zantor’s head, he didn’t like what he had felt there. Zantor was growing way too fond of Rowena. “Zantor!” he shouted. “Get back over here.”
Rowena wound her arms tightly around the dragon. Zantor glanced over at Darek but didn’t try to break free.
“Now!” Darek boomed.
With a sudden jerk, Zantor broke away from Rowena. He scuffled over to Darek as fast as his little legs would carry him. Darek looked at Rowena and grinned, as if to say, “See, he’s all mine.” Rowena glared back, tossing her head.
“I was just petting him,” she called. “You don’t have to be so mean about it.”
“Zantor’s not a pet,” Darek snapped. “He and I have work to do. If you want to pet something, go pet a yuke.”
Rowena glared a moment longer, then turned and stormed away.
Pola looked at Darek and shook his head.
“What’s wrong with you?” Darek asked.
“You have a funny way of showing a girl that you like her,” Pola said.
“I don’t like her,” Darek insisted. “She’s nothing but a pest.”
> “Oh, yeah?” Pola said. He laughed and pointed to Zantor. The dragonling was still gazing, dreamy-eyed, after Rowena. “Doesn’t look like Zantor agrees with you.”
2
“YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN ZANTOR today,” Darek said to his mother and father and his brother, Clep, over dinner. “He’s learning so fast! He takes off and lands on command. He can fly a circle and a figure eight . . .”
Hearing his name, Zantor uncurled himself from the hearth. He shuffled over and nuzzled Darek’s arm. “Thrumm,” he sang happily at Darek’s elbow. Darek smiled and slipped him a spoonful of barliberry pudding.
Darek’s mother, Alayah, attempted to frown.
“No feeding the dragon at the table,” she reminded her son.
Darek’s father ate quietly. He listened but did not respond to Darek’s chatter. Yanek had come to accept Zantor. He even loved the little dragon, but at the same time he had doubts about Darek’s dream. A future where people and dragons lived peacefully, side by side, helping each other?
“It’s a nice idea,” Yanek would say when Darek pressed him about it. “But such things are not always as simple as they seem.”
It was true that such things weren’t simple. Darek had learned that the hard way. When his father had allowed Darek to bring Zantor back to Zoriak, the villagers had been very angry. They had almost burned Yanek at the stake! But Darek and Zantor had proved to the villagers that they were wrong about dragons. One day, Darek was sure, he and Zantor would prove his father wrong about the future, too.
Darek turned toward his big brother. “Hurry and finish eating, Clep,” he said. “I want to show you everything Zantor learned today.”
Clep was just swallowing his last spoonful of pudding when a sharp rap came on the door.
“I’ll get it,” Darek said, jumping up.
He pulled the door open, then stepped back in surprise. “Excellency,” he said, bowing low. The Chief Elder himself stood on their doorstep.
Darek’s parents and Clep quickly rose to their feet.
His mother rushed forward. “Enter, Sire,” she said. “Please take some supper with us.”
“I have already supped, Alayah,” the Elder said. He nodded stiffly to them all. “I have come to have a word with Yanek.”
“Of course.” Darek’s father bowed and led the way to the front parlor.
Darek and Clep glanced uneasily at each other.
Alayah twisted her apron in her hands. “I hope this visit does not bode ill,” she whispered to her sons.
“As you know,” they overheard the Chief Elder say, “my daughter’s Decanum approaches.”
Darek sighed a sigh of relief. So that was all. The Chief Elder had come to talk over the arrangements for Rowena’s Decanum. The whole village was soon to celebrate her tenth birthday. There would be a full parade, a banquet, and a formal ball. Darek’s father, as Chief Marksman and Captain of the Guard, would have much to do to prepare.
Darek’s mother seemed relieved, too. She went back to the table to finish her pudding.
“You know, Darek,” she said with a teasing smile, “there has been much talk in the village. Everyone is wondering who Rowena will choose to be her escort for the Decanum Ball.”
Darek’s face reddened. Rowena’s escort? What was his mother getting at?
“Have you any idea who her escort will be?” she asked.
“Not at all,” Darek answered shortly.
Clep grinned. “I’ve heard some names mentioned, Mother,” he said. “One very familiar name, in fact.” He shot a teasing glance at Darek. “Perhaps that explains the Chief Elder’s visit, eh?”
Darek gave Clep such a look of dismay that Clep had to laugh out loud. “It’s not the end of the world, little brother,” he said. “I can think of fates worse than having to dance with the lovely Rowena.”
“Why don’t you escort her if you think she’s so lovely?” Darek snapped. “I think she’s a spoiled brat.”
“Hush, you two!” Alayah whispered. “Have you forgotten who speaks with your father in the next room?”
Zantor bounced over and butted Darek in the arm. Glad of the interruption, Darek went to the cupboard. He took out the dragonling’s bowl and began to prepare his supper.
“It makes no difference what you think, Darek,” Clep said in a more serious voice. “You will, of course, accept if you are asked.”
Darek didn’t answer. He filled Zantor’s bowl with fallow meal and barliberries. Then he ladled warm water over all and stirred it into a mash. The smell of it suddenly made his stomach growl hungrily. He raised the bowl to his lips and took a big gulp.
“Blaah!” It tasted awful. Darek spit the mash back into the bowl and stared at it. What on Zoriak had possessed him to eat Zantor’s food? He’d just finished eating his own dinner! And even if he was hungry, he would never eat fallow meal mash! He looked up and saw Clep and his mother staring at him strangely.
“What are you doing?” his mother asked.
Zantor butted Darek’s arm again, nearly upsetting the bowl. Darek lowered it slowly to the floor. The dragonling dived eagerly for the food, gulping and gulping. Slowly, the hunger pangs in Darek’s stomach began to subside.
“I know what he’s doing, Mother,” Clep said. “He’s trying to change the subject.”
“What subject?” Darek mumbled, still staring at Zantor. The dish was nearly empty now, and Darek was feeling quite full. A bubble swelled and swelled in his stomach. It wiggled its way up through his chest and burst from his mouth. “Buurp!”
“Darek!” his mother exclaimed.
Darek clapped a hand over his mouth. “Sorry,” he muttered. What was happening to him?
Clep frowned and shook his head. “Why would anyone want to go to the ball with a dragon-wit like you, anyway?” he asked.
“I’m sure Rowena doesn’t want to go with me,” Darek retorted. “Why do you even listen to those stupid rumors?”
“Ahem.”
Darek looked up at the sound of the deep voice. His father’s broad frame filled the doorway. He was staring at Darek with a serious look on his face.
“You had better come in here, son,” he said. “The Chief Elder’s mission today concerns you.”
About the Author
Jackie French Koller has been a storyteller since the sixth grade, when she amused her friends by spinning tales on the playground. She has also edited a children’s newspaper, taught writing in public schools, and studied art. Ms. Koller lives in Groton, Massachusetts, with her husband and children.
VISIT US AT SIMONANDSCHUSTER.COM/KIDS
Authors.SimonandSchuster.com/Jackie-French-Koller
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ALADDIN
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Don’t miss the other adventures of Darek and Zantor:
The Dragonling
Coming soon:
Dragon Quest
Dragons of Krad
Dragon Trouble
Dragons and Kings
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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This Aladdin hardcover edition July 2018
Text copyright © 1993 by Jackie French Koller
Jacket illustration copyright © 2018 by Tom Knight
Interior illustrations copyright © 1993 by Judith Mitchell
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Library of Congress Control Number 2017949640
ISBN 978-1-5344-0065-8 (hc)
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A Dragon in the Family Page 3
