Dragon Rescue (23 page)

Manda stepped cautiously out onto the frozen surface, resigning the little boat to Furbetrance’s care. The surface was smooth as glass and very slippery, but she managed quickly to get the hang of moving forward without slipping or falling sideways.

She fervently wished for ice skates, remembering skating with her foster brothers on the lakes and ponds near Morningside in the winters when she was growing up.

As she moved closer to the wallowing Ice Dragon the ice became colder and even firmer underfoot. It cracked and snapped like fire-works as the warm water rapidly cooled and congealed at the touch of the Dragon’s breath.

She prayed that the sounds wouldn’t attract the attention of the rogue Dragon.

Poor Arbitrance!

A white heron skimmed in low, trying very hard to look noncha-lant, keeping the mangroves and the more distant columns of young cypress between her and the still-reclining Dragon across the low hummock.

“You’re more than halfway to firm shore,” she whistled encouragingly. “The boy is playing again under the lemon tree, Princess.”

Manda nodded, not trusting herself to speak softly enough to reply.

“The beast seems to be asleep now,” added the heron. “His head’s down, his eyes are closed, and he hasn’t moved in ten minutes or more!”

“Thank goodness! Good for Murdan! He can talk anyone to sleep when he wants to,” Manda whispered to herself.

The stray thought almost made her giggle dangerously aloud.

Several species of water birds were attracted by the sight of the ice bridge surging forward across the quicksand shallows. A brace of mallards tried to land in the surface, only to shoot ahead without stopping, narrowly missing the cypress boles.

The white heron rushed about, squawking and shooing them off and away.

“These rocks are the edge of the hummock,” puffed Hoarling, rolling aside so she could see her way straight ahead. “I’ll await you here and keep the way back to the boat open. You’re on your own, Lady Princess!”

“It’s a mile and then some,” squeaked Manda nervously. “It shouldn’t take more than half an hour, at most.”

She took her first step onto solid ground. The Dragon had frozen, and she had safely crossed nearly two miles of the deadly quicksand!

“Head for the lemon trees!” the heron called, swooping by and away again. “Follow my lead!”

Manda’s feet were like frozen stumps, so cold were they from walking on the ice. Once on the hot gravel strand beyond the retaining boulders, they began to tingle and then to burn painfully, indicating that she’d come close to frostbite.

Have to protect the baby from that on the way back,
she thought to herself. She began to run as quietly as she could, despite the sharp pains in her arches and ankles, dodging trees and rocks in her path.

She slowed for a breath, perspiring again in her Overhall clothing. She stripped off her sweaters and the two outer skirts of wool, and felt better at once. She folded the clothes neatly and hid them under a heavily fruited currant bush, to be picked up on the way back.

If there was time!

The heron had flown ahead, so she had to believe she was on the right path. She saw no sign yet of the lemon trees.

“They’re just small trees, after all,” she said half-aloud. “Fortunately, Arbitrance’s hummock is fairly flat.”

There were few large trees in the center of the hummock, unlike the center of Findles’s natural island, in which the trees grew quite tall and tangled and very close together.

She scrambled to the top of an angled block of reddish granite in her path and peered forward, looking for trees with green and yellow fruit.

There they were!

Did she spy the tiny figure of her half brother playing alone under it? Impossible to know for sure at this distance.

She began to run as fast—yet as quietly—as she could, now that her feet had stopped aching, leaping clinging briars and skirting tall clumps of bulrushes that marked low spots filled with stagnant water the color of strong tea.

She paused for a breath behind a plant climbing a rough trellis of deadfall. It had large, bronzish green leaves and bore plump purplish fruit—ripe wild grapes—which stained her hands when she plucked a bunch and ate them for their tart juice. Her throat was raw and her mouth felt like a desert.

Ednoll, Prince Royal of Carolna, was sitting under a lemon tree, rubbing his eyes and looking about for his huge playmate. At that moment he saw Manda and waved joyously.

“Ednoll, little brother!” she cried softly. “It’s Manda! You remember sister Manda, don’t you?”

The Princeling smiled brilliantly and trotted toward her, holding out his arms to be picked up. She scooped him up and spun about to plunge back behind the grapevine.

“Come on!” she whispered to the child. “I’ve got a true marvel to show you!”

“I have a
Dragon,”
cried Ednoll. “His name is Arbitrance.”

“I remember Arbitrance. We’ll see him shortly, I’m sure. He’s napping on the shore. But what I have to show you must be seen quickly, before it melts!”

“Oooooh!” sighed the boy, and he clung to her neck as she jogged back down the path along which she had just come.

“I can walk,” he said after a bit of jostling and a lot of jiggling.

“Of course you can,” puffed his half sister.

He was quite solidly heavy at four years.
Almost
four, Manda remembered. She set him on his feet, took his right hand firmly, and walked more sedately toward the south shore of the Dragon’s hummock.

“She’s got him!” exclaimed Retruance. “Furbetrance caught a glimpse of them coming back across the redoubt!”

“Woosh!”
said Tom, gasping in pure relief,
“Woosh,
again! Keep your eyes open now, Retruance. Better move closer in, just in case! Fly low and slow!”

“Murdan’s still speaking,” Retruance agreed. “That means he still has Papa’s full attention and Papa doesn’t know what’s going on behind him...yet.”

“Closer,” urged his Companion. “There! I see Arbitrance asleep on the beach! I see Manda and the boy trotting! Oh, no! Arbitrance is on his feet!”

“The Prince!” Arbitrance cried out, breaking off in midsentence his detailed description of the deep-rooting shrubs, trees, and grasses he had brought to anchor his island’s sandy soil.

“No, no, no problem!” soothed the Historian, a trifle too quickly.

“But go on. Rhododendron, you say? But they are mountain shrubs!”

“No!
No!
Someone’s stealing the little boy!” roared Arbitrance, emitting a vast cloud of black smoke.

Murdan heard and saw him even across the still, evening water.

“They’re stealing him away! I must go to him at once!”

He lumbered to his feet, stumbled, and fell on his side.

“Damn! My left hind-foot! It’s asleep!” he cried in agony.

He heaved himself painfully to his other three wickedly clawed feet and snapped up his wings.

“I’ll fly after them!” he said. “Now!”

Chapter Fourteen

A Princeling Saved!

“Dive! Dive!” Tom screamed into both pairs of Retruance’s ears.

The green-and-gold Dragon collapsed his long wings flat against his body and dropped like a stone toward the artificial hummock.

Hot wind shrieked about the Librarian’s ears. He wrapped both arms about the Dragon’s left, aftermost ear with all his strength and gritted his teeth.

Before him he saw the golden shape of the older Dragon hurtling at right angles to Retruance’s collision course.

From the right Tom saw an explosion of water as a second green-and-gold form shot out of the lake, aiming for a point just ahead of the frantic rogue’s snout.

Furbetrance!

At the very last split second Retruance boomed out his wings and twisted ahead of his father, flashing directly before him, terrifyingly close. Arbitrance shied away automatically, but loosed a white-hot stream of fire. Only a quick flick of Retruance’s port wing saved his Companion from a serious scorching.

Before Arbitrance could draw a breath to shoot fire again, Furbetrance, screaming like a whole flight of eagles, struck his father’s left shoulder just in front of the powerful wing, sending them both spinning out of control across the uneven ground, crashing through a ticket of brambles, tossing rocks and pieces of plant high in the air.

Tom held his breath, waiting for both Dragons to crash into the water at the edge of the hummock and sink in the quicksand.

With bare inches to spare, the wily old flier somersaulted over and up, coming parallel to the ground and turning again to intercept Manda and Ednoll, now nearing the end of the ice bridge and the waiting boat...and Hoarling.

Hoarling reared up on his hind legs and shot a blast of sub-zero cold at the attacking Dragon. Arbitrance’s wings froze at full extension. Unable to finish his down-stroke, he streaked past the runners at less than ten feet, crashing through a dense hedge of tangled, tough vines.

He hit the sandy level beyond with a pained squeal, slid on his back across a clearing, just missed a thicket of green-and-yellow bamboos, and slammed headfirst into a clump of the young mangroves at the edge of the water.

There was a terrible crash, a scream, and a fearful
snap...
then silence, except for the excited screaming of the flock of watching herons and other water birds, which quickly died away into stunned silence.

“Pick up Manda and the Prince,” ordered Tom, struggling to regain his seat.

“I’m on my way...but...” said Retruance.

“I’ll see to poor Papa,” screamed Furbetrance, flashing overhead.

His voice was filled with worry and strain. “He’s hurt!”

“Don’t be fooled!” croaked his brother, harshly. “I’ve seen Papa pull the ‘dead Dragon’ trick before.”

He landed with a jerky hop and a skip beside Manda, who threw the child and then herself into Tom’s outstretched arms the moment they were within reach.

The little Prince, lifted to a seat, bravely clung to Tom’s waist.

Retruance launched himself again immediately.

“Is Arbitrance hurt?” the child asked, his voice muffled by Tom’s cloak.

“I don’t know, Ednoll,” Tom said, smothering the worry from his voice for the child’s sake. “We’ll know in a moment. First we have to get you and Princess Manda to a safe place.”

“Which is where?” asked Retruance, circling down to where Hoarling awaited, maintaining the ice bridge to the end.

“Back to Findles’s hummock,” decided Tom.

He shouted to the Ice Dragon as they swooped over his head,

“Head back for the other island, Hoarling! Leave the skiff. We’re taking the Prince over there.”

“If you don’t need me,” called the Dragon, “I’ll stay and try to help Furbetrance and the old Dragon.

“I should go to Arbitrance,” Manda said to her husband. “Maybe I can help if he’s hurt.”

“No,” said Tom. “Retruance thinks his papa may be playing ‘pos-sum,’ and if he is, his vicinity is going to be dangerous until we can get Murdan closer to him. Your job’s to take care of the laddy.”

“You’re right!” agreed the Princess, hugging the little boy. “Come on, Ednoll, my heart. You’ll like the beautiful little hunter’s hut of grass and leaves we’ve built for you over on the other island.”

“But what about my
friend?”
the Prince insisted, looking about to cry—or become royally angry.

“Come with us, then,” conceded Retruance. “Plenty of room for all, and you can see how my papa fared from his unfortunate crash landing.”

“Your
papa?”
asked the little Princeling, forgetting his anger.

“Arbitrance never told me he was your papa!”

“Well, he probably just forgot to tell you, Ednoll,” observed Manda.

“Here’s Uncle Murdan!”

The Historian greeted them anxiously as Retruance plopped down beside him on the beach.

“What happened? I couldn’t stop him. I’m sorry! Is he all right?”

“Hop up! We’ll take you across,” said Tom. “Now is the time to break his spell, I think. He must’ve been knocked out by the crash.”

Furbetrance nodded as they landed beside the mangrove trees, among flung boulders and torn vines, shattered palmetto fronds, and coarse grass. There was neither movement nor sound from the Dragon.

Said Tom, peering into the dark shadows under the trees, “We’ll have to go in and see. He may be playing with us...”

“...or he may be badly hurt,” Retruance finished for him. “No, I’ll go in and find him. Come with me, Lord Murdan? As his Companion...”

“Yes, of course,” replied Murdan.

“I’ll guard from above,” decided Furbetrance. “Hoarling, you watch from the lake side of the grove, please. He may try to burst out or up, you know. Call if you need us, Murdan!”

The Historian and the older Dragon son walked side by side into the deepening shade beneath the mangroves. Retruance flared his nostrils, to light their way.

“Arbitrance, old fellow!” Murdan called out. “It’s Murdan of Overhall. Are you hurt?”

There was a movement in the deepest blackness, and a low groan.

“Who calls?” came a weak voice. “What’s your name again? I remember...remember...who is it? Who calls Arbitrance Constable?”

Retruance started forward but Murdan put out his left arm to stay him.

“Let me talk to him awhile. I don’t think he’s hurt badly, just shaken.”

“Shaken? Yes, shaken—that I certainly am,” rumbled Arbitrance.

“Must save the little Princeling! Carry him off. But I don’t want to hurt him, oh no!”

“Listen to me, Arbitrance Constable,” barked Murdan sternly. “I am your Companion, and you cannot forsake or deny me, now or ever! I am Murdan the Historian, Lord of Overhall, and your Companion, bound to you for life. No spell can stand against our long, tough bonding! Listen to your heart, Arbitrance Constable! Hear it tell you who I am and what is right!”

“Oh, oh, oh, oh...” moaned the elder Constable.

He loosed a feeble, yellowish green jet of fire by which Murdan saw the great golden beast crumbled in a scaly ball against the bole of the largest mangrove. His splendid fifty-foot-long left wing was bent at an awkward angle. His eyes were glazed with pain and confusion.