Dragon Quest

by Jackie French Koller

  To my brother, Richard, with love

  Prologue

  WHEN DAREK’S FATHER AND BROTHER went off with the other hunters on a dragonquest, Darek wished with all his heart that he could have gone too. Like all the other boys his age, Darek dreamed of being a hero and fighting a dragon. When the hunters returned with a slain Great Blue, the largest and fiercest of all dragons, the villagers gave them all a hero’s welcome. Darek thought the hunters were heroes too, until he found a baby dragon hiding in the dead Great Blue’s pouch. The dragonling was so small and frightened that Darek felt sorry for it and decided to take it back to the Valley of the Dragons. There, Darek made a startling discovery. Dragons were peace-loving creatures and killed only in self-defense.

  Darek gave the baby dragon a powerful name, Zantor, and brought it back to his village. But the other Zorians did not welcome the dragonling. They nearly put Zantor to death, and Darek’s father, too! With the help of his best friend, Pola, Darek finally managed to convince the villagers of the truth about dragons, but it was almost too late. The executions had begun! At the last moment, young Zantor proved that he was worthy of his name, saving himself and Darek’s father.

  Now Darek, Pola, and Zantor are the heroes, and all seems peaceful at last, but Darek’s father is still worried. “Such things are not always as simple as they seem,” he warns.

  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 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. “Thrrummm,” 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 someone rapped 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 with 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. “Bu-urp!”

  “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.”

  Darek swallowed hard and stared at his father.

  “Go on with you,” Clep said, grinning broadly and giving Darek a little push toward the parlor. Darek stumbled a few steps, then recovered and followed his father in silence. The Chief Elder stood waiting, tall and stern.

  “I’ve a question to put to you, boy,” he said as Darek approached.

  Darek’s heart sank. He lowered his eyes and nodded. “I . . . I would be honored, Sire,” he mumbled.

  “Honored?” the Elder repeated. “Honored to do what?”

  Darek glanced up at his father and then back at the Elder.

  “Why . . . to escort Rowena to the ball, Sire,” he said. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

  The Elder’s lips twitched. A glint of humor sparkled in his eyes. “You flatter yourself, son,” he said. “My daughter sent me on no such mission.”

  Darek wanted to faint with relief. The Chief Elder’s mission had nothing to do with the Decanum Ball! He wouldn’t have to dance with Rowena after all. But then a warm flush of embarrassment crept up his neck. What a fool he had made of himself!

  “I’m sorry, Sire,” he mumbled. “What is it that you wished to discuss with me?”

  The Elder folded his arms across his chest, and his long robes gathered around him. “I want your dragon,” he said. “I came to buy Zantor.”

  3

  DAREK’S EYES OPENED WIDE. COULD he have heard right?

  “Y-you want to buy Zantor?” he stammered.

  “Yes.” The Chief Elder began to pace. His mood seemed suddenly to turn sour. “I never dreamed I’d allow one of the nasty creatures into my household,” he said. “But Rowena has taken a fancy to the beast and will have nothing else. I wouldn’t give the matter a second thought if it weren’t her Decanum. One must . . . make allowances at such a time.” He rolled his eyes at Darek’s father. “You are a father too, Yanek,” he said. “I’m sure you can understand.”

  “Well I do, Sire,” Yanek said, nodding.

  The Elder stopped pacing and turned to Darek. “Name your price, boy,” he said. “And mind you, be fair about it.”

  Darek’s mouth dropped open. “But I can’t sell Zantor,” he said. “I mean, he’s not for sale.”

  The Elder’s brows crashed together. “Not for sale?” he boomed. “What do you mean, not for sale? Everything is for sale. Don’t be trying to cheat me, boy—driving the price up. I’ll have you in the stocks!”

  “No, Sire,” Darek blurted. “I’m not. It’s just that . . . Zantor isn’t a thing ; he’s my friend. I can’t sell him. I . . . I don’t own him. Dragons can’t be owned.”

  “Barli rot!” the Elder bellowed. “Your father said I must speak to you. Now, name your price and be quick about it!”

  Darek glanced at his father and swallowed hard. Then he took a deep breath and bravely returned the Elder’s stare. “I . . . I don’t own him,” he repeated. “He followed me home from the Valley of the Dragons of his own free will. He stays with me because he wants to. He’s my friend. That’s all.”

  The Chief Elder’s eyes blazed. “Yanek,” he said, turning to Darek’s father, “I grow weary of your son’s impertinence. Name me a price for the beast, and let me be on my way. I’ve more important matters to attend to.”

  Yanek glanced at Darek. Darek pleaded with his eyes, begging his father to understand. Inside, he could feel himself trembling. He remembered all too well what had happened the last time his father had defied the Chief Elder.

  At last, Yanek drew in a deep breath and bowed to the Elder. “My apologies, Sire,” he said. “But if my son says the beast is not for sale, I fear it is not for sale.”

  The Chief Elder’s eyes widened, then narrowed down to angr
y slits. His nostrils flared. “Fine, then,” he spat. “In that case, Yanek, you will ready your men for a dragonquest on the morrow. Be prepared to leave at dawn for the Valley of the Dragons. There you will stay until you have captured a dragonling for my daughter’s Decanum.” He leaned forward and pressed a finger hard into Yanek’s chest. “And it had better be a Great Blue!”

  With that, the Elder turned and strode from the room, his royal robes billowing out behind him.

  4

  DAREK RAN ACROSS THE PADDOCK after his father, tugging at the sleeve of his jerkin. “Please, Father,” he begged. “You can’t do this. It isn’t right.”

  “Darek,” his father said, “I am weary of discussing this with you. The Council of Elders decides what is right and wrong. I am Captain of the Guard. I must follow the orders of the Council.”

  “But you’re an elder yourself,” Darek argued.

  “With one vote,” his father reminded him.

  “But you can convince the others. . . .”

  Darek’s father stopped and stared down at Darek. “Convince them of what? That my son should have a dragon and the Chief Elder’s daughter should not?”

  “But Zantor chose to be with me. No one captured him. It isn’t the same,” Darek argued.

  Yanek shook his head. “I’ll do my best to try and prevent bloodshed,” he said quietly. “That’s all I can promise.”

  Darek saw the expression in his father’s eyes and realized that it was senseless to argue further. Yanek did not approve of this mission either. But nothing would keep him from doing his duty. Darek sighed and nodded. “Can I go along, at least?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry,” Yanek said. “You’re to stay here, with your mother.” Then he strode over to where Clep and the others stood waiting in the early morning light.

  Yanek gave the order to mount, and the dragonquest party rode out. Throngs of villagers followed them to the edge of town, cheering and wishing them well. Just like the old days, Darek thought, when the men used to hunt dragons. Darek had hoped those days were gone forever. Zantor shuffled over to him.