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  Darek received a terrible mind message. Kill, it said clearly. Kill! Darek closed his eyes and sent a message back.

  No, Zantor, he said. Don’t kill. You have won. He is beaten. There is no need to kill.

  Slowly Zantor released his death grip. The Red struggled to its feet and dragged itself away. The other dragons closed in around Zantor and began licking his wounds. Clearly they had accepted him as their new leader.

  Darek limped out and threw his arms around Zantor’s bowed neck. “You are King of the Dragons, Zantor,” he whispered. “But to me you’re even more. You’re the best friend anyone could ever have.

  “Thrummm,” sang Zantor wearily. “Thrummm, thrummm, thrummm.”

  10

  THE RED FANGS HAD FOLLOWED Zantor willingly into the mountains, and Zarnak was well pleased. So pleased that Darek dared to approach him the next morning as he stood watching the training exercises.

  “Sire?” said Darek.

  Zarnak looked down.

  “Ah, young Darek,” he said with surprising warmth. “How are your bruises this morning?”

  “Better, Sire, thank you.”

  “And the dragon? How is he?”

  “Well, Sire. Those Reds must have powerful medicine in their tongues. His wounds are nearly healed.”

  “Good. Good. He’s quite a beast.”

  “Yes, Sire.” Darek smiled, then he shook his head in wonderment. “I still can’t believe the Reds accepted him that way.”

  “Oh, that’s not so strange,” said Zarnak. “The two breeds are very close. They’ve even been known to interbreed. Haven’t you ever heard of Purple Spiked dragons?”

  “Yes,” said Darek. “Grandfather used to speak of them. But I never knew they were of mixed blood.”

  “They are. Part Red, part Blue.”

  Darek pondered this a moment. “It makes sense,” he said at last. “My grandfather said they were very rare and very fierce.”

  “Yes.” Zarnak sighed heavily. “Very fierce. My father and grandfather were killed by one, just days before I was born. I never knew either of them.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Darek.

  Zarnak nodded. “So am I. My grandfather was Chief Elder at the time. That’s when the throne passed out of our family.”

  “Is that why you’re so bent on getting it back?” asked Darek.

  Zarnak stared straight ahead. “Yes,” he said. “It belongs to me.”

  “But,” Darek began, “you weren’t born—”

  “Enough!” snapped Zarnak. “You’re spoiling my good humor. The past is past. I like the present better.” He rubbed his hands together. “I gather from the noise and activity down in Krad that Zahr has discovered his empty dragon cage.”

  “Yes, Sire,” said Darek. “That’s what I came to talk about.”

  “Oh?” Zarnak looked down at him again.

  “Yes, Sire. I was thinking that, without dragons, Zahr is in a very bad position.”

  “Yes.” Zarnak chuckled. “Very bad indeed.”

  “So bad,” Darek went on, “that he might be willing to talk.”

  “Talk?” said Zarnak. “Why would we want to talk? We’ve got the upper hand.”

  “But there will be bloodshed,” said Darek. “Zahr is weakened without his dragons, but he won’t go down without a fight. And he’ll take all the Zorians he can with him.”

  Zarnak did not seem concerned. “War is war,” he said with a flick of his hand. “Men die.”

  Darek felt anger stir within him. But not you, Zarnak, he thought bitterly. You will sit safe on your mountaintop and send others to their deaths. He bit his tongue and turned to watch the training exercises. He knew many of these men. They were good men. Some of them were little more than boys. Back home their wives and mothers waited, praying prayers and shedding tears. How could Zarnak not care? Had his own loss hardened his heart? Did he think it only fair for others to suffer as he and his mother had? There must be some way to get to him. If not through his heart… then perhaps through his greed.

  “You’re right, Zarnak,” said Darek. “Men do die in wars. But think what a hero you would be if all of these men came home safely. Imagine if you, Zarnak, could rescue the prisoners without spilling a drop of Zorian blood. They would restore you to the throne for certain. They’d build monuments to you. Balladeers would sing your name. Why, Zoriak might even be renamed Zarnak.”

  Zarnak was listening now. He cocked his head and gave Darek a searching look.

  “What do you have in mind?” he asked.

  “Let me take Zantor and fly to Zahr’s castle. Let me bargain with him. If he releases the prisoners, we leave in peace.”

  “And what if Zahr decides to pursue us?”

  “He can’t. He can’t get through the mist.”

  “He can if he figures out how to make battle masks.”

  “That could take years,” said Darek.

  “Or months. Or weeks.” Zarnak shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. “It’s too risky. If we don’t finish him now, we’ll be forever looking over our shoulders.”

  11

  DAREK SAT ON A LOG between Pola and Rowena. The campfire flickered on their faces. Mizzle sat in the dirt by their feet, playing with a small, round stone. Zarnak came back from meeting with some of his men. He was in a jovial mood.

  “Break out a barrel of slog,” he called to one of the guards. “We shall celebrate tonight, for tomorrow Krad will be ours.”

  Tomorrow. Darek sighed heavily. He had hoped for more time to work on Zarnak, to get him to reconsider.

  Azzon sat nearby, chained to a large rock. At Zarnak’s words he had looked up briefly, then returned to staring sadly into the fire. Poor Azzon, thought Darek. Up here away from his cave and his potions

  Suddenly Darek’s heart beat faster. Azzon’s potions! Why hadn’t he thought of them?

  “Mizzle,” he whispered under his breath.

  Mizzle looked up at him.

  “Don’t look at me,” said Darek. “Just listen.”

  Mizzle went back to playing with his stone, but he cocked an ear in Darek’s direction.

  “Go to Azzon’s cave,” said Darek. “Get the memory potion. Bring it back here. When no one is looking, dump it in the barrel of slog.”

  Mizzle sat quietly rolling his rock back and forth for another moment. Then he gave it an extra push and it started to roll down the mountainside. He scampered after it. Darek glanced at Pola and Rowena and smiled.

  “What are you up to?” whispered Rowena.

  “You’ll see,” said Darek.

  Before long Mizzle was back with the vial hidden under his arm. Dear Mizzle. He must have run like the wind. The barrel of slog had just been roiled up. Mizzle hopped around it curiously. As soon as the lid was pried off, he jumped to the rim.

  “Me try,” he said, leaning over the foaming brew and pretending to drink.

  “Zatz!” shouted Zarnak. “Get out of there!” Mizzle jumped down and scampered away, twittering merrily. “Glog good!” he cried. “Glog good.” As he scampered past Darek, he winked one of his great yellow-green eyes.

  Zarnak called the guards up to dip their mugs. Then Zarnak dipped a mug for himself and sat down. Horek did the same. Zarnak lifted his mug to Horek’s.

  “To victory!” he said.

  “To victory!” Horek returned. They clinked mugs and downed the slog.

  “Ah,” said Zarnak, wiping the foam from his mouth. “An excellent batch.”

  “Mmmm,” Horek agreed, smacking his lips.

  Darek watched closely. Before long Zarnak and Horek began to shrink! Their faces were growing younger and younger. The next moment, Horek grabbed the crown off Zarnak’s head.

  “You always get to be Chief Elder,” he cried in a whiny voice. “It’s my turn now!”

  “No!” Zarnak grabbed the crown back, and they both started tugging.

  Horek kicked dirt at Zarnak.

  “Quit it, you meanie!” cried Zarnak
. He pulled the crown free and whacked Horek over the head with it. All the while they were continuing to shrink. Soon two wailing toddlers sat tugging at their battle masks and struggling under a pile of oversized clothes.

  Darek stared openmouthed. Azzon threw his head back and laughed.

  “What the…?” said Pola.

  “How did you do that?” Rowena asked Darek.

  Darek looked around at the guards, who had turned into toddlers too. Then he started to laugh.

  “I sent Mizzle for Azzon’s memory potion,” he said. “I told him to dump it in the slog. Looks like he brought the youth potion instead.”

  “Oop!” said Mizzle.

  “No matter,” said Darek. “This’ll do the job. They won’t be back to their normal selves for a couple of days.”

  “Probably even longer,” said Azzon. “The alcohol in the slog will strengthen the potion.”

  “All the better,” said Darek. “That’ll give me plenty of time.”

  “To do what?” asked Rowena.

  “To go see Zahr,” said Darek. “To see if I can get him to surrender the prisoners without bloodshed.”

  Azzon shook his head. “You’re wasting your time,” he said. “My son would rather die than surrender.”

  “Well, I’ve got to try,” said Darek. “What is there to lose?”

  “Your life,” said Azzon. “Don’t be a fool.”

  “A lot more lives will be lost if I don’t try,” said Darek. “Now, I’ve got to go. With the racket these babies are making, the other men will soon be up to investigate.” He took a key from Zarnak’s ring and unlocked Azzon’s chains. Azzon pulled a ring from his finger and held it out to Darek. “Take this,” he said. “Give it to Zahr. Tell him… tell him that I love him, and Rebbe, too. Tell him I’d like another chance to be their father.”

  “Why don’t you come along and tell him yourself?” asked Darek.

  Azzon shook his head. “Zahr would likely kill me before I got the words out. But if he will listen to you… if he will give me a chance… then I will come. Tell him to hoist a red flag from the main turret of the castle and I will come, alone and unarmed.”

  “What if he tricks you?” asked Darek. “What if he flies the flag and then kills you?”

  Azzon looked down. “If he wants me dead,” he said, “even knowing how I love him, then so be it.”

  Darek nodded slowly. “I will deliver your message,” he said. He slipped the ring onto his thumb, then turned to Pola and Rowena.

  “Give me two days,” he said, “no matter what happens, unless you know with certainty that I am dead. Do not come for me until then.”

  Pola and Rowena nodded. “What of the other men?” asked Pola.

  “Stall them,” said Darek. “Tell them I’m talking with Zahr, trying to free the prisoners peacefully. Without Zarnak to egg them on, I think they’ll wait.”

  Pola and Rowena each reached out an arm. Darek clasped them both in a Brotherhood shake.

  “Lord Eternal go with you,” said Pola and Rowena.

  “And with you,” Darek returned.

  “Boo-boo,” wailed Zarnak. He held up a bloodied little finger.

  Darek winked at Pola and Rowena. “Keep an eye on the kids,” he said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  12

  ZANTOR WAS FLYING STRONGLY. The night air was warm and damp. They were out of the mists now, and the lights of Krad flickered ahead. Darek had left his battle mask behind. He wouldn’t need it in Krad. Besides, if things went badly, he didn’t want it to fall into the wrong hands. Now that he was on his way, he was scared. Really scared. It was one thing to talk of bravery, another actually to be brave. More than anything he wanted to turn back the clock, just to be a child again, at home with his mother, father, and Clep. But the clock didn’t go backward. And even if it did, how could he go back and turn a blind eye to truth, let the dragonquests go on, let men and dragons die for nothing? An adventure’s an adventure, all the way to the end. Yes. This adventure had a life of its own now. Wherever it led, he must follow.

  As the city loomed closer, Darek’s heart beat faster. There was unusual activity in the streets. People milled about and torches blazed. The turrets of Castle Krad were torchlit too. Before long an alarm sounded. Darek and Zantor had been spotted.

  The streets quickly emptied, and warriors poured onto the battlements of Castle Krad. The moonlight glinted off their armor as they hastened to fit arrows to their bows. But before the first arrow could loft into the air, Darek gave the command.

  “Down, Zantor.”

  Zantor tilted his wings and circled down into the center of the castle courtyard. Warriors poured into the courtyard from all sides. A forest of arrows pointed at Zantor. Darek looked up and saw a second tier of arrows aiming down from the battlements.

  “Easy, Zantor,” Darek murmured. “Stay calm. Stay still.”

  Darek stared around him at the sea of hostile faces.

  “I come in peace,” he shouted. “I come to bargain with Zahr.”

  Straight ahead, a great flight of steps went up to a set of huge double doors. These swung slowly open now, and a tall Kraden appeared. He wore a crown and a long red robe that billowed out behind him. He walked to the edge of the steps, then stopped and stared at Darek. Darek shivered. So this was the mighty Zahr. The resemblance to Azzon was striking, except that this man’s features were hardened by hate. Suddenly Zahr threw his head back and laughed.

  “A boy!” he shouted. “The Zorians send a boy to bargain with the mighty Zahr?”

  Darek bristled. “I’m not just a boy,” he said loudly. “I’m the boy who escaped from your dragon nurseries. I’m the boy who rescued the Zorian prisoners from your mines. I’m the boy who stole your dragons. I am Darek of Zoriak.”

  Zahr’s smile faded. “Come forward,” he said.

  Darek stroked Zantor’s neck. “Stay,” he said.

  Grrawwwk, came a sharp mind cry.

  “I’ll be okay,” said Darek. “Just wait here.” Then he slid down Zantor’s back to the ground. The warriors parted, and Darek walked between them and mounted the steps. As soon as he reached the top, Zahr nodded to his guards.

  “Seize him,” he said. Two men lunged and grabbed Darek. Instantly Zantor reared, but just as instantly Zahr responded.

  “KILL THE DRAGON!” he bellowed.

  “NO!” Darek screamed. He turned to Zantor and shouted, “FLY, ZANTOR! Fly back to the mountains!”

  Zantor sprang into the air, but a volley of arrows followed him. Darek winced as he saw several hit their mark. Images of terror and pain flooded Darek’s head. Zantor’s wings missed a beat, and for a moment it looked like he would fall. But then he rose again and cleared the castle walls.

  “After him!” boomed Zahr.

  Hordes of soldiers streamed out of the courtyard in pursuit of the dragon. Darek closed his eyes and sent the strongest mind message he could. Fly! Fly! Fly for all you’re worth!

  Messages of fear and pain still crowded into Darek’s head long after Zantor disappeared. But that was all right. As long as the messages kept coming, Zantor was alive.

  And then, suddenly, they stopped.

  13

  DAREK STOOD CHAINED AGAINST A cold cell wall. His arms were drawn up over his head so tightly that his toes barely touched the floor. He’d been dangling like that for hours. Maybe days. He didn’t know. He didn’t care. He only cared about one thing. Zantor. Why wasn’t he sending messages? Why wasn’t he answering Darek’s silent pleas?

  The cell door banged open, and someone strode in. Darek looked up. It was Zahr, and he had a whip in his hand.

  “Well, well,” he said. “Ready to talk?”

  “What happened to my dragon?” asked Darek.

  “I had him made into a wall hanging,” said Zahr. His cold eyes glittered like ice.

  “You’re lying!” Darek spat. “He’s still alive. I know he is!”

  “Do you now?” Zahr pulled at his c
hin. “And just how do you know it?”

  Darek swallowed hard. Zantor, he cried inside his head. Zantor, answer me. But no answer came.

  Zahr threw his head back and laughed. “I’ll tell you what happened to your dragon,” he said. “But first you tell me why your friends stole mine.”

  Darek bit his lip.

  “Tell me what they want!” Zahr bellowed.

  “They want the prisoners,” Darek said. “All of them. And they don’t care who they have to kill to get them.”

  Zahr chuckled. “I thought as much,” he said. “Well, let them come.”

  Darek stared at him. “They’ve got the dragons,” he said. “You don’t stand a chance.”

  Zahr chuckled again. “You underestimate me,” he said. “A rider has been sent to my brother. He will arrive with his armies and dragons at any moment.”

  “I thought your brother was your enemy,” said Darek.

  Zahr laughed. “Maybe so,” he said, “but he knows if I fall, he’ll be next.” Then Zahr’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know about my brother?” he asked.

  “Your father told me,” said Darek.

  The color drained from Zahr’s face.

  “My father… is dead,” he said.

  “No,” said Darek. “Your father lives—in a cave under the Black Mountains.”

  Zahr took a step back.

  “That’s a lie,” he said. “He can’t be alive.”

  “He can be, and he is,” said Darek. “He asked me to give you his ring.” Darek pulled the great ring from his thumb and held it out to Zahr.

  Zahr gasped, then clutched the ring and turned away. But not before Darek saw the wetness in his eyes.

  “How do I know you’re telling the truth?” Zahr cried. “How do I know the Zynots didn’t find this ring on my father’s body and give it to you?”

  “Your father told me many things,” said Darek, “about you and Rebbe. How he used to pit you against each other when you were boys and make you fight. How he used to beat the loser and send him to bed without supper.”