Dragons of Krad Read online

  To my brother Jim, with love

  Prologue

  WHEN DAREK RESCUED A BABY dragon and brought it home to his village, he dreamed of a bright new tomorrow where dragons and Zorians could live together as friends. And indeed, after a difficult beginning, Darek and his dragon friend, Zantor, did win the hearts of the villagers.

  But Darek didn’t count on the jealousy of the other Zorian children. Rowena, daughter of the Chief Elder, grew to love Zantor deeply. When Darek refused to allow her to play with Zantor, Rowena begged her father for a dragonling of her own. This wish sparked a dragonquest that ended in tragedy. Darek’s best friend, Pola, along with Zantor and three other Great Blue dragonlings were lost when a runaway wagon carried them into the dreaded Black Mountains of Krad.

  Filled with grief and rage, Darek confronted Rowena and blamed her for the tragedy. Determined to right the wrongs she had done, Rowena slipped away in the night on a quest to find Pola and the dragons. When Darek discovered that she was headed for the Black Mountains, he followed, bent on stopping her. But Rowena would not be stopped. Instead she helped Darek see that they shared the blame for the tragedy.

  Now the two have discovered that they share something else—the ability to communicate with Zantor. While they are arguing, a mind message comes from the dragonling—a cry for help. Putting aside past differences, Darek and Rowena set off on a new quest. Together they venture into the Black Mountains, risking everything to find their friends.

  1

  DARK MISTS SWIRLED AROUND DAREK as he made his way up a narrow pass into the Black Mountains of Krad. Rowena, daughter of the Zorian Chief Elder, followed a few steps behind. The mist felt damp against Darek’s skin, and the stench of it made him gag. It smelled like rotted burning flesh, and that worried him.

  Darek heard a cough and looked back over his shoulder.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Rowena nodded. “I’m getting tired, though. My eyes sting, and it’s hard to breathe.”

  “Shall we rest awhile?” Darek asked.

  “No. Pola and Zantor may be in danger. We’ve got to keep going.”

  Darek nodded. He could hear the mind cries too. His dragon friend, Zantor, was sending messages of distress. Zantor and Darek’s best friend, Pola, had disappeared into the Black Mountains more than a week ago. They and three other Great Blue dragonlings had been carried off by a runaway wagon. Darek and Rowena felt responsible. They had been jealous of each other and had quarreled over Zantor. As a result, the Chief Elder had ordered his men to capture another dragonling for Rowena. While on the dragonquest, Pola, Zantor, and the others had been lost.

  Rowena coughed again and gasped for air.

  “Pull your collar up over your mouth and nose,” Darek said. “The cloth will filter some of the smoke.”

  Strange shapes loomed out of the mist. Black rocks, like cinders, dotted their path. All Darek’s senses were alert, keen to the dangers that might assail them at any moment.

  “I wonder what our families will think when they wake this morning and find us gone,” he said quietly.

  Rowena didn’t answer right away.

  “We must not think of that,” she said at last. “We must dream of the day when we return with Pola and the dragons.”

  Darek wished he could be sure that day would come, but he could not. No one had ever returned from the Black Mountains of Krad. For centuries now, it had been forbidden even to venture into them. What would his parents and his older brother, Clep, think when they realized where he had gone? He could see his mother’s tearstained face now.

  We will find a way back, Mother, he promised silently.

  “Did you hear that?” Rowena suddenly cried out.

  Darek stopped and listened. He thought he heard a soft scuffling sound, but when he peered into the mist, all he could make out were strange, twisted rock forms and the stumps of long-dead trees. “I don’t see anything,” he whispered.

  “No,” Rowena said. “I guess not.” She put her hand to her forehead and moaned softly. “Ooohh,” she said. “My head and stomach ache.”

  Darek’s head hurt too. Could the very mists be poisonous? he wondered.

  “We’re almost to the peak,” he told Rowena. “It will be easier going down the other side. We won’t have to breathe as hard.”

  The ground beneath them leveled off at long last, and they started to descend. Darek began to move with greater caution. If something or someone was waiting below, he wanted to see it before it saw him. His headache was worse, making it harder and harder to think. Behind him, he heard Rowena moan once more.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked again.

  “Yes,” she said, but her voice trembled.

  Darek’s worry deepened. He had to get her out of the mountains quickly. “Can you walk any faster?” he asked.

  “I—I don’t know. I can’t even think straight.”

  Darek turned. Rowena’s skin was very pale, and her lips looked blue.

  “Lean on me,” he said.

  Rowena gladly took his arm, and they struggled on together. Darek shook his head. It felt as if the mist were seeping into his mind. Minutes seemed to drag by. Rowena was leaning on him more and more heavily.

  “Is it much farther?” she asked weakly.

  “No, not much. See, the mist is thinning.”

  “Good, because I don’t feel . . . ooohh.” Rowena suddenly pushed Darek aside, clapped a hand over her mouth, and started to run.

  Darek stumbled on a cinder and fell. “Rowena, wait!” he cried. He scrambled to his feet again, but before he could catch her, Rowena disappeared into the mist.

  “Rowena!” he called, but there was no reply, only a distant retching sound.

  Then, suddenly, there was a scream.

  2

  DAREK FOUGHT THE URGE TO run in the direction of the scream. Instead he moved cautiously, stealing from rock to rock. If someone, or something, had caught Rowena, he had to be careful. It would do neither of them any good if he got captured too. The mist had cleared a little, and he could begin to see something of Krad. It was a bleak, colorless place, with runty, withered trees and stubby brown grasses.

  A movement below caught his eye, and he strained to see.

  Rowena!

  His friend had reached the plateau at the foot of the mountains. There she was surrounded by a number of bent little creatures that hopped about her excitedly. They were chanting over and over in high, flutelike voices.

  “A pretty!” they cried. “A pretty! A pretty!”

  Rowena hugged her arms around her like a frightened child. “Go away! Go away!” she cried. “Leave me alone!”

  Before long, there was another sound—hooves pounding in the distance. Darek looked toward the horizon and saw a group of riders thunder up over the lip of the plateau. The riders were broad and tall, with dark hooded capes. They were mounted on long-haired white yukes, much like the ones back in Zoriak, only larger. As the riders bore down on Rowena, the little bent creatures around her shrieked and scurried away.

  One of the smaller ones was too slow. A whip lashed out from the hand of one of the riders and stung it with a fierce blow on the leg. The creature yelped and scrabbled into the brush. The rider threw his head back and laughed. His hood fell away, and Darek saw a face that was humanlike but covered in fur.

  A Kraden!

  A chill crept up Darek’s back. Back in Zoriak, he had heard stories of Kradens—big, hairy men who had supposedly driven the Zorians out of Krad long ago. Darek had always thought they were just old tales. But these Kradens were real—living and breathing! Poor Rowena looked terrified.

  “Who are you?” one of the Kradens demanded.


  “Rowena,” she answered in a trembling voice.

  “Why have you come here?” the man asked.

  Rowena seemed at a loss to answer.

  Darek felt confused too. Why had they come there? Had the mist addled his mind? Why couldn’t he remember?

  Then he heard a sound deep inside his head. Rrronk! Yes! Zantor. Zantor and Pola. That was why they had come. He must keep focused on that.

  Rowena must have heard the mind cry too. “My friends!” she said suddenly. “They’re in trouble. I’ve come to help them.”

  “Have you, now?” The men looked at one another and chuckled. “And how is a slip of a girl like you going to help anyone?”

  Rowena drew herself up and tossed her head. “I’m stronger than I look,” she announced.

  At this, all the men burst out laughing.

  “That’s good news,” one of them said, “because we’ve plenty of work for you to do.”

  Rowena crossed her arms. “Work?” she said. “I’ll not work for you. I’m the daughter of the Chief Elder.”

  “Are you, now?” another Kraden asked. “Well, then, we’ll have to find you a jewel-handled broom, won’t we?”

  With another loud laugh, the Kradens swooped forward, and one of them scooped Rowena up, pulling her into his saddle.

  “Come, lads,” he said. “Let’s take Her Highness to visit old Jazee.” Then he and the others turned their yukes around and thundered away.

  Darek stared after them. Who was old Jazee? he wondered. And what did the man mean when he said there was plenty of work to do? It did not bode well.

  Darek decided to try to keep his own presence a secret until he could learn more. Slowly he crept down the mountainside until he reached the place where Rowena had been captured. He noticed a trail of dark droplets among the footprints and remembered the small creatures and the lash of the whip. Suddenly he heard a high, thin cry.

  Gleeep. Gleeep.

  Darek’s head jerked around. The wounded creature was lying beside a nearby rock, nursing its leg. It caught sight of him and scrambled to get away, but it was only able to move a few steps before collapsing again.

  “Gellp!” it cried.

  Darek frowned. He had no time to help a wounded . . . whatever. He started to walk away, but his conscience would not let him. Quickly he pulled his shirt out of his britches and tore a strip from the hem. Then he unfastened the waterskin from his belt and squirted a little into the dirt at his feet, mixing a muddy paste. Taking a handful of the paste, he approached the creature. It shrank back, staring at him with huge yellow-green eyes.

  “I won’t hurt you,” Darek soothed. “I just want to help.” He knelt beside the creature and gently straightened its leg.

  “Gellp!” it cried again.

  “Sorry,” Darek said. “This should make you feel better.” The creature was the size of a young child, with scaly gray skin. It looked almost like a cross between a dragon and a human. Darek couldn’t help feeling kindly toward it. He packed the healing mud over the wound, then gently bandaged the leg.

  “There,” Darek said, getting to his feet again. “If you stay off it for a day or two, you should be fine.”

  The creature turned and pointed a knobby finger toward the road. “Your pretty?” it asked.

  Darek looked down the road too. There was no sign of Rowena or the men now. “No,” he answered. “She’s not my pretty. But she’s my friend. Do you know where they’ve taken her?”

  “Zahr take pretty,” the creature said.

  “Zahr?” Darek said. “Who’s Zahr?”

  The creature gave a little cough. “Zahr, king,” it said hoarsely.

  Darek stared again at the empty road. “Where did Zahr take pretty?” he asked.

  “Prison,” the creature said.

  Darek whirled around. “Prison! What do you mean, prison?”

  The creature cringed. “Go now,” it said, scrambling away.

  “No, wait.” Darek took a breath to calm himself. “Please tell me more about the prison,” he pleaded.

  The creature coughed again. “Go now,” it repeated. And then, almost magically, it disappeared.

  “Hey, wait!” Darek called after it. “One more question, please! Have you seen another Zorian, like me, or a small blue dragon?”

  “Zahhhr,” came the faint, choked reply.

  3

  DARTING FROM TREE TO SCRUBBY tree, Darek slowly made his way across the plateau. The mist was thinner now, and his head seemed to be clearing. In the distance, he heard fearful roaring sounds. Cautiously he approached the lip where he had first seen the Kradens. He got down on his belly, inched forward, and peered out across the valley. A large rambling village stretched in front of him. It had a grim look to it. A gray, smoke-stained castle stood at its center. This was surrounded by smaller houses and hundreds of squat stone hovels. The mist, though thin, hung over everything. Suddenly Darek heard a roar just below him. He looked down, and his breath caught in his throat.

  “Zatz!” he swore softly.

  There at the base of the plateau was a huge cage, nearly half the size of the town. Great creatures milled about in it, roaring and belching flame at one another.

  Red Fanged dragons!

  Darek had never seen a Red Fanged dragon before. The last one in Zoriak had been killed long before he was born. He knew all about them from legends, though. They were not red, as their name might suggest, but pearly white. Quite beautiful, actually, were it not for the vicious red fangs that gave their mouths the look of dripping blood. It was not just their looks that made them fearsome, though. They were also huge, second only in size to the Great Blues. And they were flesh lovers. Reds dined mostly on other dragons, but in Zoriak they had been known to raid the village from time to time.

  Darek shuddered at the thought. He stared down at the cage again. How much meat must it take to satisfy the appetites of so many Red Fanged dragons? he wondered. Portions of charred dragon skeletons lay strewn about the pen, and a steady stream of smoke rose up from it. Red Fanged dragons always flamed their prey alive before eating it. So this was the source of the mist, Darek suddenly realized. Dragonsbreath!

  Why would the Kradens keep these beasts? he wondered.

  “Well, well!” A loud voice startled Darek. “What have we here?”

  Darek looked up and saw a dark hooded figure towering over him. He started to scramble to his knees, but something hard and sharp dug into his back and pressed him to the dirt.

  “Not so fast, Zorian!” the voice commanded.

  Darek slowly twisted to get a better look at the figure. A thick metal-encrusted boot was planted near his shoulder. Darek’s gaze followed it up. A large furry-faced man stared down at him.

  “State your name and mission,” the man snarled.

  Darek tried to keep his voice from trembling. “Darek,” he said. “Darek of Zoriak. Some . . . some of my friends fled into these mountains a few days back. I . . . I’m only trying to find them.”

  The Kraden laughed. “Another one?” he asked. “What sorts of fools are the Zorians raising these days?”

  Darek did not answer.

  “Well,” the Kraden said, “no matter. Fresh blood is always welcome here.”

  The Kraden lifted the lance from between Darek’s shoulders and plunged it into the dust not a finger’s breadth from his nose.

  “On your feet!” he bellowed.

  Darek scrambled to do as he was told. He stood straight and tall. Still, he only came up to the man’s middle.

  The Kraden glared down at him, pulling on his hairy chin. “How old are you?” he asked.

  “A Decanum,” Darek said.

  The Kraden shook his head and swore. “Too young for the mines,” he grumbled. “You any good with dragons?”

  “Yes, sir,” Darek said, swallowing hard again. “But . . . I don’t plan to stay.”

  At this, the Kraden threw his head back and roared. He laughed until tears rolled down his furry cheek
s. Then he slapped his leg and laughed some more.

  “Don’t plan to stay . . . ,” he repeated breathlessly when at last he could speak again. “That’s a good one, lad. A good one indeed.”

  Then his eyes narrowed, and his lips twisted into a sneer. “No one ever leaves Krad,” he growled.

  4

  CASTLE KRAD WAS AS DARK and forbidding up close as it had looked from afar. Darek stared at its twisted, smoke-stained battlements.

  “Is that where Zahr lives?” he asked.

  The Kraden’s eyes narrowed.

  “Where did you hear the name of Zahr?” he asked.

  “A little creature told me,” Darek said, “back on the mountain. He said Zahr had taken my friends.”

  The Kraden’s brows crashed together. “Blasted Zynots,” he swore. “What else did they tell you?”

  Darek shook his head. “Nothing,” he said.

  The Kraden eyed him suspiciously. “Well, no matter,” he said. “That’s all you’ll remember soon enough—nothing.” He pushed open the heavy door of a low stone house and motioned Darek inside.

  It was steamy and dark inside and smelled of medicines and herbs. It took a few moments for Darek’s eyes to adjust to the dimness. Then he was able to make out an old cronelike woman bent over the hearth.

  “Another customer for you, Jazee,” the man said.

  The woman looked up in surprise. “Another?” she said. “That’s three in a fortnight!”

  Darek’s ears perked up. Three! He and Rowena were two. The third must have been Pola!

  “Aye.” The man nodded. “This one thinks he’s here on holiday. Told me he’s not staying.”

  The crone cackled. “Jazee will cure him of that,” she said. She picked up one of her vials and poured a few drops of green liquid into a carved stone cup. “Drink up, boy,” she said.

  Darek pressed his lips tight and turned away.

  “Do as Jazee says,” the man growled. He grabbed Darek and pulled his mouth open. The crone poured the liquid down Darek’s throat. It burned and made him gag. When he looked at the woman again, he felt light-headed and dizzy. He tried to look away, but her eyes held his fast.