The Beasts of Upton Puddle (40 page)

Joe looked and nodded at Kiyoshi, Danariel, and Cornelius, his eyes widening to encourage them to say something.

Cornelius whumped his tail into the ground.

“Oh . . . oh, yes, very good-looking,” said Danariel.

“Aesthetically, I appreciate that anthropomorphism of liquid-based—”

Joe kicked Kiyoshi's shell to shut him up.

The squonk gurgled again.

“Ugly me . . . Kind you.”

Slowly, like chocolate porridge poured from a bowl, it dissolved into the rock and joined its brothers in the chamber below.

“Wait!” said Joe.

“Nice try,” said Danariel. “I think we should go now.”

“But why can't we get everyone back inside? We've made contact now, and we know they won't hurt us.”

“Somehow I doubt the others will be—”

“What?”

“Something's not right outside.”

“The Conclave! Have they come for us?”

“Flarp was going insane outside earlier, as though he'd seen lots of different things at once and didn't know which one to look at. At first we thought he was
upset when the other globble went back to the tree, but I think it's more likely that he's seen the Conclave. It was only a matter of time, after all.”

Another day on Pyronesia approached its end. The dazzling sun baked the mountains on the far side of the island as Tabariel's dragon flew Joe out of the gorge. He shielded his eyes from the fiery glare, then marveled at the spectacle above. A kaleidoscope turned in the sky, bat-like silhouettes wheeling against the deepening blue. With his usual talent, Joe counted them quickly and saw one hundred fifty-five giant lizards circling overhead. He took courage in the fact that more of the Pyronesian dragons had decided to defect, but were there enough to take on the Conclave's forces? Joe doubted it. Danariel had told him the Conclave had thousands of dragons under their command.

Tabariel landed them on the side of the gorge closest to the beach, at the edge of a dense woody area a mere mile from the cliff edge. In the hope that the gorge would provide some protection, not only by its reputation but by
the enormous chasm, the other dragons had already begun transporting Mrs. Merrynether's creatures there. With very little time to prepare for the inevitable attack, Danariel did her best to herd them behind trees and inside burrows. It would make little difference against dragons attacking from the air, but Tabariel said it would at least protect them from a ground attack, as they would not easily be able to cross the gorge.

All the while, Flarp zigzagged between the trees in a panic-stricken state, seeing death approaching from the horizon. Soon Joe saw it too: an army of dragons visible only as an amorphous black swarm streaming from the mountains.

“They are coming,” said Danariel. “Flarp is confused, seeing many things at once. He wants to tell us so much, but his thoughts are too muddled even for me to decipher. I'm sure of one thing, though. There are many more this time—enough to make sure we have no chance of survival or escape.”

“What will we do?” Joe asked as he jumped from Tabariel's dragon onto the grass.

“
You
will stay here with the others,” Tabariel said firmly. “The rest of us will try to reason with the Conclave's army. We have no hope of victory against such a force, so reason is our only ally now.”

“But what if they won't listen?”

Tabariel rounded on Joe, frustration boiling into anger. “Then we will all . . .”

Joe stared, wide-eyed.

Tabariel faltered, mellowing as he continued. “Then we will all have to accept our fate. None of this should ever have happened. You should not be here, the dragons should not be at war with each other, and the fate of the world's future should not hang on such a fragile thread.

“More than anything, I wanted a peaceful solution. I believed that by this time Merrynether would have amassed an army with which we had the power to negotiate, but that was not to be. Now those of us on Pyronesia who cast our responsibility onto her shoulders must pay the price for our cowardice.”

Joe hardly knew what to say.

The seraph hovered closer, placing his miniscule hands against Joe's chest. “Others may have deceived you for what they believe to be a noble cause, and perhaps it is, but I will not lie to you now, Joseph Copper. Make peace with whatever deity you believe in, because today Gnauserous will not rest until she has her way. I have known her for centuries, and I have never seen her as determined as she is now.”

Deep primordial fear squeezed Joe's throat. Though the seraph continued to talk, Joe could no longer hear his words. A frost had coated his thoughts, a numbing realization that he was going to die—and soon. He would never see his mother again. Never see Aunt Rose again. Never sit in Ringwood Forest, listening to the
birds. There would be no more visiting Merrynether Mansion. No growing up . . .

His mind wandered to a conversation he once had with Danariel. He was worried about Cornelius, worried about death, and she taught him to see things differently. Perhaps she was preparing him for this very day. Oddly, it was a fond memory, and the warm reminiscence of happier days melted the frosty fear that threatened to paralyze him.

“You're smiling,” said Tabariel, bemused.

“Yes,” said Joe absently.

“Anyone who can face death with a smile will always be a friend of mine. Farewell, Joseph Copper. May we meet in another life. And farewell, Danariel. I wish you luck.”

Danariel nodded solemnly and touched Tabariel's cheek.

The warrior seraph turned away, gripped the scales on his dragon's head, and raced into the sky. Joe watched them until they disappeared into the cloud of rebel dragons circling above. A few seconds later, they dispersed and formed a huge phalanx hovering like a massive umbrella. Pride rushed through Joe, but then he saw the swarm that approached. Even Joe could not count them.

“Do you think we have any chance at all?” Joe asked Danariel.

She stared at the two armies for a long time before
answering, “No.”

Joe took a long breath. It was the answer he expected. What he didn't expect was a sudden thump on his back.

Cornelius had butted his great head against Joe, then stood at his left, looking up at him with those strange cat eyes. The manticore shook his scarlet mane, ruffled his wings, struck the grass with his tail, and bellowed a loud roar. It was not said in words, but Joe knew Cornelius had given his own resounding reply to the question: a wholehearted yes. Joe clenched his teeth, feeling yet another rush of pride.

“You're the bravest friend I've ever known,” Joe said. “If you think we can win, then so do I.”

“If I may be so bold as to make an observation?” said a squeaky voice to Joe's right. Kiyoshi had waddled over, his shell gleaming in the waning light.

“As long as we can all understand it.” Joe grinned.

“You spoke of chance and probability, did you not? The odds of a victory with a ratio of one hundred fifty dragons against five thousand are approximately thirty-three to one. The odds of your being the one human child chosen to be on this island out of two billion others is two billion to one, yet here you stand. By my calculations, surviving this battle will be mere probabilistic trivia compared to the gargantuan leap you have already made. Victory is confidently at hand.”

Joe eyed Kiyoshi, widening his grin. “I'll take your
word for it.”

Together they watched the ominous cloud of dragons fly toward them, and Joe wondered how long it would take for the two armies to clash. Five minutes? Fifteen? An hour? How long before the claws of some dark lizard snatched him from the ground to squeeze the life from him? Again Joe tried to distance himself from grim thoughts of death and oblivion—not only his own but all his friends' as well. It would surely do no good to think about such things.

A white light flashed somewhere near the beach where the
Copper Celt
had crashed, shocking Joe from his thoughts. A shuddering boom followed a few seconds later, and he took a step back as the distant concussion thudded against his chest. “What was that?” he asked.

Danariel shook her head as another white flash lit up close to the first.

Again, the shock wave came.

“Look,” said Danariel. She was pointing at the dragon cloud. A sizable portion of it had veered toward the explosions. Streaks of grey curved across the darkening sky, impacting Gnauserous's army, and a mass of dragons dropped like black rain.

“That must be Redwar's army,” said Joe. “He didn't waste any time picking a fight, did he?”

“He's an idiot,” said Danariel as more dragons fell from the sky, lit by another white blast. “He doesn't stand a chance against so many. All he'll succeed in
doing is enraging Gnauserous. It's just what we wanted to avoid.”

“I don't suppose Redwar knows how big the dragon army is,” Joe said. “On the bright side, it's keeping them occupied. Gives us a chance to—”

“To what? We have no way to resist them.”

Joe shrugged, unsure of an answer.

Danariel sounded uncharacteristically low, as if her last remnant of hope had been smashed, ground into dust, and blown into the sea. And Joe saw why. Even though much of the dragons' attention had been diverted to deal with Redwar, the remaining numbers still outmatched their own by at least five to one, and the battle on the beach was sure to fuel Gnauserous's campaign to go to war against the rest of the world. All was lost, and Joe watched the distant skirmish in despair.

Could he really be watching the beginning of the end? The end of everything? Surely not.

“We're not giving up,” said Joe with a slight lift of his chin. “And you're not either. Got that? We've still got our own dragons and . . . and who knows? Tabariel might still be able to bring the rest of the Conclave round. And we've still got a little bit of time to sort out some defenses, haven't we? Surely we can think of
something
.”

Danariel stared at him with a look of such love drowned by defeat.

“Your optimism may be of little service,” said Kiyoshi. “Observe the trees on the opposite side of the gorge.”

Joe peered across the chasm, squinting as the light continued to dwindle. Through the dark gaps between the trees, things shuffled. Tall blue-grey things with no necks, flat heads, and broad snotty noses. One by one, they lumbered into sight, lining up at the edge of the rift, gormless grins spread wide over their ugly faces as they hollered abuse at Joe and his companions. “Bluh! Bluh! Bluh!” they chanted.

Cornelius roared back, pacing the edge of the cliff.

“Trolls,” said Danariel as if she'd been expecting them from the moment they arrived on the island. “Gnauserous must have sent them hours ago.”

“Didn't Mrs. Merrynether go to see the trolls? I thought they'd be on our side.”

“She went to see the trolls at Hallowbear Tor. These trolls are servants of . . . They are enslaved by the Conclave. Gnauserous only ever brings them together as an army on rare occasions, and they are considered expendable.”

“Well, at least they can't get to us from over there.”

“Don't underestimate them. They aren't as stupid as they look.”

And as if to confirm Danariel's warning, two of the largest trolls faced each other. One pointed at the trees closest to the edge of the gorge.

“Bluh?”

“Bluh, bluh . . . bluh.”

“Bluh.”

The first troll loped to one of the tallest trees, the knuckles of one hand dragging along the grass, the other reaching inside the back of his loincloth to scratch his rear end. “Bluh!” it shouted to the other one and started headbutting the tree trunk repeatedly.

Other trolls, apparently excited by the idea of bashing something, shuffled over and joined in, occasionally headbutting a comrade by accident.

“Are they doing what I think they're doing?” Joe asked.

“We'd better think of something fast,” said Danariel.

“Bluuuuuuh! Bluuuuuuuuuuuuuh!” shouted one of the trolls.

Creaking and snapping, the brutalized base of the tree yielded to the pull of gravity. A torrent of melonlike fruit rained from the branches into the gorge as the tree swooned with a deafening crash. The trolls had made their bridge across the gorge.

Cornelius launched onto the trunk, roaring.

“Cornelius, no!” called Danariel. “There are too many!”

But the scarlet beast didn't listen. A spray of poisonous darts sent many of the trolls running for cover into the woods before the manticore had even reached the other side. With claws raking through the grass as he landed, Cornelius broke into a gallop, chasing the panicked trolls like a sheepdog rounding up sheep. But not all of them ran. Some made for the makeshift bridge.

“Belliferous obsequious buffoons,” cried Kiyoshi, scuttling toward the tree. By the time he'd disappeared
under the branches, four trolls had already stomped onto the trunk, crossing the gorge. Leaves rustled as the kappa pushed the tree away from the edge and it plummeted into the abyss.

Four cries of “Bluuuuuuuuuuh” echoed from the depths. Across the gorge, the remaining trolls flew into a rage, some thumping and stamping on the grass, some tossing the tree's fallen fruit across at Kiyoshi.

“Two can play at that game,” said Joe. “Quickly, Kiyoshi, your kappa juice.”

Kiyoshi bowed his head and opened the folds on top to reveal the mustard-colored liquid. Flinching as one of the melons exploded near his feet, Joe dipped his fingers into the gloop, stuck them into his mouth, and allowed the burning fluid to do its work.

“Joe, they're trying again,” said Danariel, who fluttered around his head.

Joe stopped only to glance at the trolls as he ran to the tree nearest him, ramming his shoulder into the trunk with a fresh burst of kappa strength. It shuddered, dropping a few of its fruit, and Joe hugged it and began shaking it ferociously. The rewarding sound of many more ripe fruit pounding the grass followed, and Joe hurried to collect as many as he could fit into his arms before running to the edge of the gorge to drop them in a pile.