nickelpedes?”
Crombie’s wing pointed straight up.
“Sure,” Chester said, disgusted. “The sun. But it’s going behind a cloud.”
“At least it proves his talent is working.”
They came to another fork. “Crombie, which fork will bring us fastest to something that will help us?” Bink asked.
The wing pointed firmly to the right. “Hey, it actually worked!” Chester exclaimed mockingly. “Unless he’s faking it.”
Crombie let out another vile-sounding squawk, almost enough in itself to scorch a few nickelpedes.
But now the cloud covered the sun, sinking the entire cleft in awful shadow. The nickelpedes moved in with a multiple clicking of satisfaction and anticipation and garden-variety greed. “Dragon, take the right fork!” Bink cried. “Blast it out ahead of you, and
run
. Use up your last reserves of fire if you have to. We’re on to something good.” He hoped.
The dragon responded by shooting out a searing bolt of flame that illuminated the passage far ahead. Again the nickelpedes squeeked as they died. The dragon galloped over their smoking corpses, carrying Bink and Chester and Crombie along. But it was tiring.
Something sparkled in the dim passage ahead. Bink inhaled hope—but quickly realized it was only a will-o’-the-wisp. No help there!
No help? Suddenly Bink remembered something. “That’s it!” he cried. “Dragon, follow that wisp!”
The dragon obeyed, despite Chester’s incredulous neigh. It snorted no more flame, for its furnace was almost exhausted, but it could still run at a respectable pace. The wisp dodged about, as wisps had always done, always just at the verge of perception. Wisps were born teases. The dragon lumbered through fork after fork, quite lost—and suddenly emerged into a dry riverbed.
“We’re out!” Bink cried, hardly believing it himself. But not yet safe; the nickelpedes were boiling out of the chasm.
Bink and Chester scrambled away from the dragon and up and out of the gully, and found themselves in the ashes of an old burn. Crombie spread his wings and launched into the sky with a squawk of pure relief. The nickelpedes did not follow even the dragon; they could not scuttle well through ashes, and might get caught by returning sunlight. The party was safe.
The dragon collapsed, panting, in a cloud of ashes. Bink walked around to its snout. “Dragon, we had a good fight, and you were winning. We fled, and you pursued, and we all got caught in the cleft. We made a truce to escape, and you honored it well and so did we. By working together we saved all our lives. Now I would rather have you as a friend than an enemy. Will you accept friendship with the three of us before we part?”
The dragon looked at him. Finally, slowly, it inclined its nose slightly forward in an affirmative nod.
“Until we meet again—good hunting,” Bink said. “Here, we can help you a little. Crombie, where is the nearest good dragon-prey—something even a tired dragon can nab?”
Crombie spun in the air and flung out a wing as he fell. It pointed north—and now they heard the thrashing of something large, probably caught in a noose-loop bush. Something fat and foolish, who would die a slow death in the loops if not dispatched more mercifully by the scorch of a dragon.
“Good hunting,” Bink repeated, patting the dragon on its lukewarm copper nose and turning away. The dragon started north.
“What was the point in that?” Chester asked in a low tone. “We have no need of a dragon’s friendship.”
“I wanted it amicable, here,” Bink said. “This is a very special place, where peace should exist among all creatures of Xanth.”
“Are you crazy? This is a burnout!”
“I’ll show you,” Bink said. “We’ll follow that wisp.”
The will-o’-the-wisp was still present, hovering not quite close enough to overtake. “Look, Bink,” Chester protested. “We lucked out on that wisp—but we dare not follow it any farther. It’ll lead us into
Crombie’s wing pointed straight up.
“Sure,” Chester said, disgusted. “The sun. But it’s going behind a cloud.”
“At least it proves his talent is working.”
They came to another fork. “Crombie, which fork will bring us fastest to something that will help us?” Bink asked.
The wing pointed firmly to the right. “Hey, it actually worked!” Chester exclaimed mockingly. “Unless he’s faking it.”
Crombie let out another vile-sounding squawk, almost enough in itself to scorch a few nickelpedes.
But now the cloud covered the sun, sinking the entire cleft in awful shadow. The nickelpedes moved in with a multiple clicking of satisfaction and anticipation and garden-variety greed. “Dragon, take the right fork!” Bink cried. “Blast it out ahead of you, and
run
. Use up your last reserves of fire if you have to. We’re on to something good.” He hoped.
The dragon responded by shooting out a searing bolt of flame that illuminated the passage far ahead. Again the nickelpedes squeeked as they died. The dragon galloped over their smoking corpses, carrying Bink and Chester and Crombie along. But it was tiring.
Something sparkled in the dim passage ahead. Bink inhaled hope—but quickly realized it was only a will-o’-the-wisp. No help there!
No help? Suddenly Bink remembered something. “That’s it!” he cried. “Dragon, follow that wisp!”
The dragon obeyed, despite Chester’s incredulous neigh. It snorted no more flame, for its furnace was almost exhausted, but it could still run at a respectable pace. The wisp dodged about, as wisps had always done, always just at the verge of perception. Wisps were born teases. The dragon lumbered through fork after fork, quite lost—and suddenly emerged into a dry riverbed.
“We’re out!” Bink cried, hardly believing it himself. But not yet safe; the nickelpedes were boiling out of the chasm.
Bink and Chester scrambled away from the dragon and up and out of the gully, and found themselves in the ashes of an old burn. Crombie spread his wings and launched into the sky with a squawk of pure relief. The nickelpedes did not follow even the dragon; they could not scuttle well through ashes, and might get caught by returning sunlight. The party was safe.
The dragon collapsed, panting, in a cloud of ashes. Bink walked around to its snout. “Dragon, we had a good fight, and you were winning. We fled, and you pursued, and we all got caught in the cleft. We made a truce to escape, and you honored it well and so did we. By working together we saved all our lives. Now I would rather have you as a friend than an enemy. Will you accept friendship with the three of us before we part?”
The dragon looked at him. Finally, slowly, it inclined its nose slightly forward in an affirmative nod.
“Until we meet again—good hunting,” Bink said. “Here, we can help you a little. Crombie, where is the nearest good dragon-prey—something even a tired dragon can nab?”
Crombie spun in the air and flung out a wing as he fell. It pointed north—and now they heard the thrashing of something large, probably caught in a noose-loop bush. Something fat and foolish, who would die a slow death in the loops if not dispatched more mercifully by the scorch of a dragon.
“Good hunting,” Bink repeated, patting the dragon on its lukewarm copper nose and turning away. The dragon started north.
“What was the point in that?” Chester asked in a low tone. “We have no need of a dragon’s friendship.”
“I wanted it amicable, here,” Bink said. “This is a very special place, where peace should exist among all creatures of Xanth.”
“Are you crazy? This is a burnout!”
“I’ll show you,” Bink said. “We’ll follow that wisp.”
The will-o’-the-wisp was still present, hovering not quite close enough to overtake. “Look, Bink,” Chester protested. “We lucked out on that wisp—but we dare not follow it any farther. It’ll lead us into
Similar Books
