Dragon's Boy by Jane Yolen Page B

outlines of the place, he heard the breathing. At first he thought it was his own. But when he took a deep gulp of air and held it, the sound still went on. It wasn’t very loud, except that the cave had a strange magnifying power, and so he was able to hear every rumbling bit of it. It was low and steady, almost like a cat’s purr, except there was an occasional pop! serving as punctuation. It was—he was quite sure—a snore. And he knew from that snore that whatever made it had to be very large. He also knew that the Master of Hounds had been quite right in warning him about his curiosity. Suddenly he had quite enough of exploring.
    He began to back out of the cave slowly, quietly, when he came bang up against something that smacked his head hard. And though he managed not to cry out, the stone rang in what seemed to be twenty different tones and, abruptly, the snore stopped.
    â€œBlast!” Artos swore under his breath. He put a hand to the back of his head, which hurt horribly, and one in front of him to ward off whatever it was that was attached to that loud, breathy snore; for whatever it was was surely awake now.
    â€œSTAAAAAAAAY!” came a low, rumbling command.
    He stopped at once and, for a stuttering moment, so did his heart.

2
The Master of Wisdoms
    B EFORE ARTOS COULD MOVE , that awful voice began again.
    â€œWhooooooooo are you?” It was less an echo this time and more an elongated sigh.
    Biting his lip, Artos answered in a voice that broke several times in odd places. “I am nobody, really, just Artos. A fosterling. From Sir Ector’s castle.” He turned slightly and gestured toward the cave entrance, outside, where presumably the castle still stood. He turned back and added, hastily, “Sir.”
    A low rumbling, more like another snore than a sentence, was all that answered him. It was such a surprisingly homey sound that it freed him of his terror long enough to ask, “And who are you?” He hesitated. “Sir?”
    Something creaked. There was an odd clanking. Then the voice, augmented almost tenfold, boomed at him: “I AM THE GREAT RIDDLER. I AM THE MASTER OF WISDOMS. I AM THE WORD AND I AM THE LIGHT. I WAS AND AM AND WILL BE.”
    Artos nearly fainted from the noise. He put his right hand before him as if to hold back the overpowering sound and bit his lip again. This time he drew blood. Wondering if blood would arouse the beast further, he sucked it away quickly. Then, when the echoes of that ghastly voice ended, Artos whispered, “Are you a hermit, sir? An anchorite? Are you a Druid priest? A penitent knight?” He knew such beings sometimes inhabited caves, but even he knew the guesses were stupid for that great noise was surely no mere man’s voice. However, he hoped that by asking he might encourage whatever it was to some kind of gentleness. Or pity.
    The great whisper that answered him came in a rush of wind: “I Am The Dragon!”
    â€œOh!” Artos said.
    â€œIs that all you can say?” the dragon asked peevishly. “I tell you I Am The Dragon and all you can answer is oh ?”
    Artos was silent.
    The great breathy voice sighed. “Sit down, boy. It’s been a long time since I’ve had company in my cave. A long time and a lonely time.”
    Artos was sure that the one thing he’d better not do was sit. Sitting would make him vulnerable, an easy prey. Sitting could be prelude to…to…but here his vaunted imagination failed him. All he could do was stutter. “But…but…but…” It was not a good beginning.
    â€œNo buts ,” said the dragon.
    â€œBut,” Artos began again, desperately needing to uphold his end of the conversation. A talking dragon, he told himself, is not an eating dragon. Perhaps if I explain that I am sure to be missed back at the castle, now, this very moment…
    â€œShush boy, and listen. I will pay for your visit.”
    Artos