The Dragonling Read online

  To Devin, because dragons are his second-favorite animal, next to dogs

  1

  DAREK AWOKE AT THE FIRST light of dawn. He sat up quickly and pushed his bed curtains aside. Through his window he could see the soft violet rays of the morning sun just touching the tips of the yellow mountains of Orr. His brother, Clep, was up there somewhere, probably breaking camp, getting ready for the day’s hunt. It wasn’t fair, Darek thought. Why did he have to wait three more years before his first dragonquest? So what if Clep was twelve and he was only nine. He was nearly as tall and strong as Clep. Three more years! It seemed like forever.

  “Darek? Darek, are you up?” It was his mother’s voice from the kitchen below.

  “I’m coming,” Darek called back. He got dressed and clattered down the stairs.

  His mother was bent over the hearth, spooning porridge into his bowl. Darek slid into his place at the table.

  “Do you think maybe the men will be home today?” he asked.

  His mother’s brow wrinkled with worry as she served him his breakfast.

  “Who knows how long they will be gone?” she said. “Ten days? Twenty? A dragonquest ends when it ends.”

  “I can’t wait until it’s my turn,” Darek said eagerly. “I will be the one to make the kill. I will win the claws to wear around my neck. I will be the Marksman, like Father.”

  Darek’s mother shook her head and turned back to the fire.

  “Why are you silent, Mother?” Darek asked. “Why don’t you get excited about the dragonquest like everyone else?”

  “My brother was killed on his first dragon-quest,” said Darek’s mother quietly.

  “Many have been killed on the dragonquests,” said Darek, “but they are heroes. You should be proud.”

  Darek’s mother sighed. “In the old days,” she said, “when the dragons were plentiful, when they threatened the villages and raided the yukeI herds, that was the time for heroes. Now the dragons are few, and they keep to the mountains. Why should we send young boys into their midst?”

  “They are not boys,” said Darek. “They are men, and they must face a dragon to prove it.”

  “There are other ways to prove you are a man,” said Darek’s mother.

  “What are they, then?” asked Darek.

  “Doing your work with pride, caring for others, and thinking your own thoughts are good ways,” said Darek’s mother.

  “Bah,” said Darek. “Anyone can do those things, but only a man can slay a dragon.”

  There was a sudden, loud clanging, and Darek’s mother’s head jerked up.

  “The men return,” she said.

  Darek and his mother ran to the village square. The hunting party was threading its way down through the mountain pass, pulling a great wagon. Upon it lay a hulking mound.

  “A Blue!” shouted Darek. “It’s a Great Blue!” Great Blues were the largest and fiercest of all dragons. Darek could hardly contain his excitement as he raced to meet the party. But as he drew closer, his steps faltered. He could see that his father was leading a yuke, and slung over the yuke’s saddle was a small body, about the size of Clep’s. Darek heard his mother cry out behind him.

  Other children jostled Darek as they rushed by. “What’s the matter? Hurry up! Get out of the way!” Darek swallowed hard and tried to ignore the great weight that had settled in his chest. If it was Clep, he must be brave. He must not shed a tear. He must be honored to have a hero for a brother.

  Then a voice called out. “Darek! Mother! Over here!” A yuke broke out of the hunting party, and Darek saw that its rider was Clep. Relief rushed over him as he ran to meet his brother.

  Clep swung himself down out of the saddle. He held up a necklace. A necklace made of claws! “I made the kill!” he shouted. “I killed a Great Blue!”

  Darek fought back a pang of jealousy. “I can’t believe it!” he shouted, thumping Clep on the back. “You? The Marksman!”

  Darek’s mother came up beside them. There was joy and relief in her eyes as she hugged Clep tightly to her, but when he held up the bloodstained necklace, she looked away.

  “Who is the fallen one?” she asked quietly.

  Clep’s face grew grave. “It is Yoran,” he said.

  The weight came back to Darek’s chest. Yoran? Clep’s best friend? Yoran, who had been like a second brother in their house ever since Darek could remember? Yoran, who ran faster than the wind? How could it be he who lay so still now across the saddle?

  Darek’s mother nodded, her face like stone. “I must go to his mother,” she said.

  * * *

  I. yuke: a white, long-haired animal, much like a goat, only larger

  2

  DAREK COULDN’T SLEEP. HE WAS too excited about the festival tomorrow. His brother, Clep, and all their family would be the guests of honor. There would be dancing and feasting, and then at night a great bonfire in which the body of the dragon would be burned. Now it lay on the wagon, just outside the paddock fence. Tomorrow night its ashes would be placed in a carved urn and given to Clep. Clep would place the urn on the mantel, next to his father’s. One day Darek vowed to place an urn there too.

  Outside, in the paddock, Darek could hear the nervous rustling of the yukes. It made them uneasy to have the body of the dragon so near. Darek listened. The house was still. No one would know if he went down to comfort Nonni, his favorite, and gave her a bit of sugar. He crept out in his nightshirt.

  “Here, Nonni, little pet,” he whispered. The small yuke ran to his side and nuzzled him gently. Darek took the sugar from his pocket and fed it to her. Her rough, wet tongue tickled his hand as she licked every crumb from between his fingers.

  Darek stared at the great dragon. He could see it clearly in the light of Zoriak’s twin moons. It lay on its side, its wings twisted and crumpled, its once-fearsome claws stubby and blunt. Darek got goose bumps thinking about how it must have looked in life. He walked around it, imagining it standing on its powerful legs, flames shooting from its mouth. He could see it charge. He could hear it roar. He could hear it . . . whimper?

  Darek jumped back. He was sure he had heard something. Could the creature still be alive? Darek wasn’t taking any chances. He dived for cover behind a barliberry bush and lay still, waiting. The sound came again, huf-uh huf-uh, a soft hiccuping kind of sob. Darek peeked out. The great head lay just in front of him, still as death. He crept out of hiding and circled the creature once again. Then he saw it—a tiny head peeking out of the pouch on the giant dragon’s belly. A dragonling!

  Darek stared in amazement. He knew dragons carried their young in pouches until they were old enough to fend for themselves, but he had never seen a live dragonling before. The small creature came out of the pouch and climbed unsteadily up its mother’s chest. It was about half as big as Darek, and he guessed it to be very young, maybe even newborn.

  The dragonling licked its mother’s still face with its forked tongue, whimpering all the while. Darek stepped back and slipped on a pebble, falling to the ground. The dragonling twisted its neck and looked at him, its eyes shining pale green in the night.

  “Rrronk,” it said, and began to climb down in his direction.

  Darek scrambled to his feet. Small as the creature was, it was still a dragon, and Darek had no wish to face it unarmed. He picked up a big stick. The dragonling fluttered down off the wagon and approached on wobbly legs.

  “Rrronk,” it said again.

  Darek held the stick out like a sword. The drag-onling stopped and sniffed it. It gave it a lick, then whimpered again. Darek had been taught all his life to hate and fear dragons, but it was hard to hate such a small one, and an orphan at that. He lowered his club, and the dragonling came up and nuzzled him.

>   Darek felt in his pocket. There was a small lump of sugar left. He held it out cautiously. The little dragon sniffed it, then the forked tongue flicked out, and it was gone.

  “Thrrrummmm,” said the dragon. It was a happy sound. The dragon nuzzled him again.

  “I don’t have any more,” said Darek, holding both hands up. “See?”

  The dragon butted him playfully.

  “All right, all right,” said Darek. “I’ll get more. Wait here.” He turned and started toward the house. The dragon wobbled after him.

  “No,” said Darek, quickening his steps. “You stay.”

  “Rrronk,” said the dragon. It flapped its small wings and flew a few feet to catch up.

  Darek stopped and stared at it, suddenly realizing what he’d done. He’d made friends with a dragon, an enemy of his people. Now what was he supposed to do?

  3

  DAREK STRUGGLED TO CLOSE THE barn door, pushing the dragonling back in.

  “You’ve got to wait here,” he said. “And don’t make a sound.”

  “Rrronk,” said the dragon.

  “You don’t understand,” said Darek. “They’ll kill you if they find you.” He gave a final push, then pulled the door tight and lowered the latch. He could hear the orphan’s muffled whimpers on the other side. He had to hurry or someone else might wake and hear.

  Darek crept up to his room, dressed quickly, then tiptoed down to the back room where the weapons were kept. He slung his bow over his shoulder and strapped his quiver of arrows in place. On his way through the kitchen he filled a sack with supplies. It would be a journey of many days.

  Suddenly he stopped and wondered, What do dragonlings eat? Perhaps such a young one would still need milk. He would have to bring along a female yuke. Dorlass, whose calf had been born dead, had milk to spare, but she would not nurse a dragonling. Darek packed a waterskin so he could feed the creature by hand.

  Darek paused in the kitchen doorway and looked back. His stomach twisted into a knot. What was he doing, anyway? What would his father say? Risking his life to save a dragon? An enemy of his people? A dragon that he might even have to face one day on his own dragonquest? He could still turn back. It was not too late. Perhaps he should just let the creature be found and killed. After all, what more did a dragon deserve?

  Darek walked slowly out to the barn. The soft hiccuping sound still came from inside. He opened the door, and the dragonling rushed out and rubbed happily against him.

  “Thrrummm, thrrummmm, thrrummmm,” it said.

  Darek stroked its scaly head. “Why did you have to come here?” he whispered. Then he looked over at the lifeless body of the Great Blue. “I guess it wasn’t your idea either, was it? Come then. I’ll take you home, but after that I never want to see you again, understand?”

  The dragonling thrummed happily. Darek took out another lump of sugar and let the orphan lick it from his hand. The sky was slowly growing lighter.

  “Come on,” said Darek, “we’ve got to go.”

  He led Dorlass out of the paddock. She was skittish around the dragonling. It kept running in and out between her legs, making her buck and jump while Darek was trying to get her saddle pack strapped on.

  “Cut that out,” said Darek, giving the dragon-ling a gentle kick.

  “Rrronk, rrronk, rrronk,” it screeched, then it half ran, half flew back up to its mother’s body and dove into her pouch.

  Darek finished securing the saddle, then he led Dorlass over to the Great Blue. “Hey,” he whispered, “come on out of there.”

  He saw a lump wiggle around in the pouch, but the dragonling did not appear.

  “Come on, don’t be such a baby,” Darek coaxed. “I hardly even touched you.”

  The dragonling poked its head out. “Rrronk,” it said.

  “I’m sorry,” said Darek. “I thought dragons were tough.”

  He held out another piece of sugar, and the dragon crept slowly down again. Darek fed it and scratched its head until it was thrumming happily. “Some fighter you’re going to make,” he whispered.

  Darek led Dorlass out to the road. The dragon-ling followed.

  “You’re going to have to move faster than that,” said Darek, “if we’re going to get to the pass before sunrise.” He ran forward a few steps and then called to the dragonling. It flapped its wings and flew to catch up. Running and calling, running and calling, Darek managed to get to the foothills just as the first rays of the sun peeked over the mountaintops. Suddenly the little dragon turned back.

  “Where are you going?” yelled Darek. He ran after the dragonling and grabbed it gently by the wings. It struggled to get away.

  “Rrronk,” it squawked, “rrronk!”

  It was staring back down the hill at the body of its mother.

  Darek stroked its head.

  “I know,” he said. “It is rrronk.”

  4

  “I GUESS IF WE’RE GOING to be together awhile, I ought to give you a name,” said Darek. “Are you a boy or a girl?”

  The little creature didn’t answer. It had spied an insect of some kind on the path, and it was all bent over, nose to the ground. Suddenly the insect bit it.

  “Rrronk, rrronk,” it screeched, running over and shoving its head up under Darek’s shirt.

  “Will you get out of here?!” yelled Darek, giving the creature a push and pulling his shirt back down. “I’m not your mother, and I don’t have a pouch.”

  The dragonling lay down and curled itself around his legs.

  “You’re the sorriest excuse for a dragon I’ve ever seen,” Darek said, peeling the orphan off his legs. Then he noticed its belly.

  “You don’t have a pouch either,” he said. “That means you must be a boy.”

  “Huf-uh, huf-uh,” the dragonling sobbed, rubbing his nose with his forefoot.

  “It’s only a bug bite, for pity’s sake,” said Darek. “You have to toughen up. I’ll give you a strong name, a powerful name. Then maybe you’ll try a little harder to live up to it. I will call you Zantor, King of the Dragons.”

  Zantor whimpered and pushed his head under Darek’s arm. “Well,” Darek said, “maybe you’ll grow into it.”

  By evening Zantor was moving very slowly and stumbling often.

  “It’s been a long day for you, hasn’t it?” said Darek. “We’ll stop now and camp for the night.”

  Zantor moaned softly and nuzzled Darek’s pocket.

  “The sugar is all gone,” said Darek. “But I’ll get you some milk.”

  He set to work milking Dorlass, and when he had filled the waterskin, he held it up over the dragonling’s head. “Drink,” Darek said, letting loose a stream.

  The milk squirted in Zantor’s eyes and dripped off his nose, but he made no attempt to drink it.

  “Didn’t your mother teach you anything?” said Darek. He opened the dragon’s mouth with one hand and squirted the milk in with the other. Zantor started to sputter and choke. Darek stopped squirting, and the little dragon shook his head and spit all the milk back out.

  “Look,” said Darek, “it may not be your mother’s, but it’s all we have.”

  Zantor clamped his mouth shut and refused to drink.

  Darek shrugged. Maybe dragons didn’t nurse their babies. Maybe baby dragons ate regular food right away. It was worth a try. “I’ll be right back,” he said, shouldering his bow. “You wait here.”

  Darek didn’t know whether Zantor understood or whether he was just too tired to move, but whatever the reason, he obeyed.

  There were plenty of animals in the mountain forest, and Darek was a good shot. He quickly brought down a small glibbet* and carried it back to Zantor.

  “There,” he said, laying the animal at the dragon’s feet. “Now eat.” Darek sat down and laid out his own supper, some bread and cheese and a big cluster of barliberries.

  Zantor sniffed at the glibbet, then he whimpered and began digging a hole. The next thing Darek knew, the dragonling had buried
it.

  “Hey,” said Darek, “what are you doing? You can’t save that. You have to eat it now. We’re moving on in the morning.”

  Darek dug the glibbet up again, but when he turned around, he found Zantor happily munching on his barliberries.

  “Well I’ll be,” said Darek. “You eat barliberries? What else do you eat?” He went into the woods and gathered all the herbs and nuts and berries he could find. Zantor gulped them greedily and followed him back to find more. At last they were both full, and Darek set about building a campfire. He gathered sticks and dry leaves, then he took out his flint and struck it against a rock. A spark flew out and landed on the leaves. Darek blew on it. It flared a moment, then died. Darek tried again. This time Zantor bent down, right next to him, staring intently. Darek blew on the spark. It sputtered and went out.

  “Drat,” said Darek. Then suddenly, Whoosh! A stream of flame shot by his nose. Darek jumped back. It was Zantor! Zantor was breathing fire!

  In no time at all the campfire was burning merrily. Zantor sat back on his hind legs, looking quite proud.

  “Wow,” said Darek. “That was pretty good. I didn’t know you could do that yet.”

  Zantor thrummed happily, then curled up next to the campfire and went to sleep.

  Darek stared at him. “You really are the strangest dragon I’ve ever heard of,” he whispered, then he rolled his blanket out on the other side of the campfire and lay down.

  The night was dark and damp, and the woods were full of strange calls and rustlings. Darek began to wish he were home in his own warm bed. He missed his family. Perhaps the little dragon felt lonely too, because before long Darek heard a soft scuffling, and then a small body nestled up against his own.

  * * *

  I. glibbet: a small weasel-like animal

  5

  DAREK AWOKE TO FIND ZANTOR still snuggled up beside him.