"Thou art not a dragon."
Cordelia started to say something, but she saw Puck glare at her, and closed her mouth.
"Mayhap a dragon cannot breathe outward
without
breathing flame," Gregory guessed.
"And mayhap he doth it for joy." Cordelia's broomstick seemed to dance in an upward current of air.
"For myself," Puck called up from ground level, "I wonder less wherefore this dragon doth breathe fire, than why thou four must needs hunt it. Dost thou feel not the slightest fear?"
"None," Geoffrey said, a little too quickly.
"Only enough to lend excitement," Cordelia called.
Magnus shook his head. "'Tis folly. Be mindful, this beast could roast us in an instant."
Gregory nodded. "I fear. Yet not greatly, Puck—for an the beast doth threaten, I can soar upwards. Or even disappear, back to the village."
"There's some truth in that," the elf admitted. "Yet mind thee not to come too close, or he will fry thee ere thou canst flit."
Scales rattled against rock.
" 'Ware!" Puck cried. "The beast doth come!"
The children shot upward as though they'd been thrown from a catapult
Around a wall of rock it came, its body as big as a cottage, its neck long and tapering, its head as high as a rooftop. A row of pointed plates came down the top of its neck and along its backbone to the tip of its tail, where it ended in a huge arrowhead. It was green with yellow streaks here and there, and had eyes the size of dinner plates. Its muzzle was long and wide, with flaring nostrils. A forked tongue flicked out of its mouth, tasting the air.
Fess began to tremble.
"Nay!" Geoffrey shouted. "Thou hast known of this, Fess!"
"You have told me," the robot agreed, "yet encountering the reality strains my conceptual framework…"
"It may have been made by magic like unto Father's," Gregory called.
Fess calmed. "It could be a robot, as I myself am. True."
A streak of silver flashed past Fess. The unicorn reared in front of him, dancing off toward the side of the path, drawing the dragon's attention away from the horse. She pawed the air, aiming her horn toward the monster.
The dragon roared. A tongue of flame blasted out ten feet in front of it. It waddled toward the unicorn with astonishing
"Nay!" Cordelia shrieked, and her broomstick shot downward in a power dive. "Get thee away from my darling, thou monster!"
"Cordelia, up!" Puck shouted in panic. "He will sear thee!" The dragon looked up, took a deep breath, and roared. Flame lashed out fifteen feet; but Cordelia pulled out of her dive and swooped upward, with a good twenty feet to spare. "Cordelia!" Gregory cried. "Thy broomstick!" Cordelia turned, startled. The straws behind her had burst
into flame. But even as she stared, a ball of water materialized around the fire with a whip-crack sound. It rained downward, leaving smoking straw.
It also splashed on the dragon's muzzle, hissing up into steam. The beast roared with pain and blasted flame at Corde-lia again.
"Why, thou horrid beast!" she cried in indignation, and a boulder shot up from the ground to crash into the dragon's jaw. It bellowed in anger, then suddenly clamped its jaws shut as its whole body rocked, as though from the blow of an invisible fist. The strangest look of puzzlement came over its face, just before its body rocked again. Then its cheeks swelled, its chin tucked in, and it let loose a huge belch of hissing steam. It swallowed, then tried a tentative roar. The sound came, but no flame. It frowned, and roared again—and again, and again. A little steam came out, but not so much as a spark.
Magnus scowled at it, thinking toward it as hard as he could.
Sleep
. His brothers and sister joined their thoughts to his.
So sleepy… Need shelter… Cave… Go back
…
The dragon blinked, staring about, stupefied. Slowly, it turned around and began to climb the hillside again. It disap-peared around the cliff-face.
The children drifted upward, following. Fess and the uni-corn climbed, too, but a bit more cautiously.
They found it again just as it dragged itself into a gaping hole near the top of the hill. They came lower warily to peer into the darkness, and could just barely make out the huge scaly form as it curved back on itself, coiling up to rest its chin on its tail. The huge eyelids blinked, then closed. It gave a sigh of contentment. The children watched, waiting, as its breathing deepened and steadied. Finally, it snored.
" 'Tis even as thou didst say," Geoffrey said to Gregory.
"Certes," Gregory said indignantly. "Vidor would not fib to us."
"Some unwary soul might wander in there," Magnus said thoughtfully.
"Indeed," Puck said, from among the rocks. "And evil souls might seek it out, to light its fire once again."
"Not truly!" Cordelia cried in dismay. "Surely people are not so horrid!"
"I doubt me not an Puck doth know whereof he doth speak," Magnus said grimly.
Geoffrey grinned. "We would not wish our poor, weary dragon to be rudely wakened, would we?"
"Indeed we would not," Magnus said, with decision. "Up, my hearties! Get thee clear!"
Geoffrey scowled, but he bobbed upward, rising as fast as a March kite, and Gregory followed.
Magnus and Cordelia drifted upward, too, and away from the cliff. Together, they concentrated on a huge boulder high above the cave. It stirred, then moved a little bit forward, then a little bit backward, then a little bit forward again, then backward, beginning to rock like a cradle. It rocked harder, and harder and harder—until, all at once, it rocked just a little too far, seeming to balance on the edge of the cliff for a moment, then slowly, majestically, bowed forward and fell, crashing and booming down the hillside, knocking loose a horde of smaller boulders behind it. Down and down they stormed, more and more, until a full avalanche crashed into the ledge, to bury the entrance to the dragon's cave under a fifty-foot pile of rock.
"He will sleep now," Gregory said softly, "forever, I think."
"Or unless someone is foolish enough to seek to wake him," Puck said, frowning. "For mind you, news of this will pass from village to village right quickly, and the tale will grow greater with each telling. Within a fortnight, I doubt not, folk will speak of a tall and noble knight who did this deed, not four children; and by year's end, 'twill be a legend full-blown. Mothers will tell it to their babes at nightfall to lull them to sleep—and when those babes grow up, like as not one of them will find a way to burrow into this cave, to discover whether or not there's truth to the tale."
The children stared, eyes huge. "Such an one would not be so foolish as to seek to light the dragon's fire again, would he?" Magnus asked.
But Geoffrey nodded with certainty. "Oh, aye. For naught but to be able to say he had done it—aye. I can credit it."
"That
thou
canst, I am sure," Cordelia snorted. "Yet could any
but
Geoffrey be so foolish, Puck?"
The elf only shook his head and sighed, "Lord, what fools these mortals be," and led the children away.
Cordelia was riding the unicorn again as they came down to the burned-out village. Puck stopped and called out in a cur-
ious, warbling tone. The hillside lay quiet a moment; then a little man dressed all in brown, with a face tanned dark by sun and wind, popped up from between two small boulders. "What dost thou wish, Merry Wanderer?"
"Bear the word," Puck commanded. "The dragon sleeps behind a wall of stone."
"We have seen," the brownie chortled. "We rejoice. A thousand thanks rain down on thee, Robin Goodfellow! And these children, whom thou hast brought to our aid!"
Cordelia blushed, and bowed her head graciously. Magnus and Geoffrey bowed; but Gregory only stared.
The little man frowned at him. "Why, how is this? Hast thou never seen a brownie ere now?"
Slowly, Gregory shook his head, eyes round as shillings.
The brownie lifted his head, and smiled gently. "Well, small wonder. Few are the mortals who ever do see any of the Wee Folk—and they're never heeded. Their mothers and fathers laugh at them, or think them crazed—as do their play-mates. And never doth one see us, once he's grown."
"Save these," Puck qualified, "and their parents."
"Aye," the brownie admitted, "yet they're not so mortal as most There's something of the elf about them."
Puck glanced nervously up at the children, then back at the brownie. "Aye, they're magic folk, indeed, as thou hast seen." The brownie started to say something, but Puck overrode him. "Now do thou bear the word! And let thy villagers begin to think 'tis safe to come back and rebuild their homes —so long as they do keep fools from that hillside."
The brownie nodded. "A good thought. They'll have their homes again, and we'll have guards."
"Even as thou sayest," Puck agreed. "Now go!"
The brownie grinned, and disappeared.
Gregory still stared at the place where he'd been.
"Aye—enjoy the sight of them, whilst thou may," Puck advised him, "for they be shy folk, these brownies, and will most assuredly not show themselves to thee when thou art grown." He turned to Cordelia. "Where doth thy mount wish to take thee now?"
Cordelia shook her head. "Nowhere, Robin. She doth attend us in docility."
Puck frowned. "'Tis not the way of unicorns, for all I've heard of them."
"Have
you
never seen one before?" Fess asked quickly.
"Once," Puck admitted, "but 'twas two hundred years agone. As I've said, they do be shy."
"Then perhaps he wishes to repay your kindness, by serving Cordelia awhile longer," Fess suggested.
Puck nodded. "That hath the ring of lightness to it—and her aid will be welcomed, I assure thee." Aid in what, Puck didn't say. He only sighed, and turned away. "Come, children. Thou hast had thine adventure for the day. 'Tis time to turn thy steps homeward."
"But, Puck," Geoffrey protested, "'tis noon—and I am hungered."
Puck stopped. For the count of ten, he stood very still.
Then he turned back with a sigh. "Well, 'twill occupy some time. But I warn thee, if thou dost wish to eat, thou must needs catch thy dinner."
Chapter 3
What with gathering, preparing, cooking, and eating, lunch took two hours. For some reason, Puck didn't object. He didn't even try to hurry them.
Finally, he ordered them to put out the fire and start for home. When the ashes were a sodden mass, he pronounced them safe, and started back into the forest. The unicorn followed, with Cordelia singing and Fess bringing up the rear. The boys darted ahead, playing tree-tag.
Gregory ducked behind an oak with a giggle of delight— that turned into a cry of dismay as a crackly voice howled, "Owwww! Me head! Me shoulder! Ye vasty clumsy oaf, can ye not see where one hangs in distress?"
Magnus and Geoffrey popped out of hiding and exchanged startled glances—but Cordelia glowered and shot off toward her little brother's voice on her broomstick. The boys leaped after her.
"I—I am sorry," Gregory stammered. "I had not meant to injure thee."
The voice softened amazingly. "Why, 'tis naught but a bairn! There now, laddie, be of good cheer. 'Tis the way of lads to be careless and blundering, surely. Eh, but ye must not let the nasty old elf afright ye!"
Puck popped up out of the underbrush right in front of Cordelia and the boys, scowling up at the oak tree, arms akimbo. "Why, thou knob, thou burl! How hast
thou
grown out of that limb?"
The elf whirled to glare at him—and went on whirling, with a yelp of dismay. He dangled from the lowest branch of the oak by a silver chain. One end was wrapped around his middle; the other was tied to the tree.
"Must thou forever be asking, sprite?" he squalled. "Is't not enough for ye, to see that one of yer kind stands in need of yer aid? Nay, be done with yer askin', and pry me loose from this devil's contrivance!"
A slow grin spread over Puck's face. "Nay, I think not. Thou dost well adorn this old tree."
The elf sputtered and fumed at him. He was shorter than Puck, only a foot high—or long, in his present position—and was clutching a green top hat, to keep it on his head. His coat was green, too—a swallow-tailed cutaway—and so were his knee breeches. But his weskit was saffron, and his stockings were white. His shoes were black, with gleaming buckles. He wore a brown forked beard and a scowl. "I might ha' known," he grated. "What else ought I expect from the Puck?"
"Ah," Puck cried in mock surprise, "dost thou know me, then?"
"What one of the Wee Folk would not know ye, ye addle-pated, idling jester? Surely none who labor could help but know of him who only passes time in mischief!"
Gregory frowned. "But the Wee Folk do not labor—save the gnomes, who mine, and the dwarves, who craft—yet thou art neither."
"See ye not his clothes?" the top-hatted elf pointed at Puck. "See ye not his shoes? Dost'a think Robin Goodfellow would craft his own?"
Cordelia caught her breath and clapped her hands. "I know thee now! Thou art a fairies' shoemaker!"
The elf swept off his hat, clapping it to his stomach, and bowed his head. "The same, sweet lass!"
"Why dost thou wear green and saffron?" Geoffrey asked.
"Why, for that he's Irish," Puck said, with a lopsided grin. "Yet Erin's Wee Folk ever wore their whiskers in fringes round their chins, and ne'er did wear moustaches. Wherefore is thy beard so long?"
"And forked?" Magnus added.
"Why, 'tis because my forebears came from the Holy Land in bygone ages."
"From Judea?" Gregory asked, wide-eyed.
The elf nodded.
"Then," cried Cordelia, "thou art…"
"A leprecohen." The elf inclined his head again. "Kelly McGoldbagel stands ready't' serve ye."