Had Hope done as he had instructed and returned to the others? Knowing her as he did he feared she had disobeyed and was outside trying to think of a way to lure the dragon away. He visualized her creamy white face with it's sea blue eyes and her fiery hair, as hot as her temper, and moaned outloud. He would rather die himself than see the girl taken by the dragon!

Several minutes passed without any sound from the dragon - though the lad had no way of knowing how long he had actually been trapped - it seemed ages to the frightened young man. Frightened not so much for himself, but for the fair young princess.

Whittle had just decided to draw his sword and chance confronting the dragon, or, if it had gone off, making sure that the princess was safe, when he heard a faint buzzing and Timon appeared.

"Nasty beast waiting outside to eat Whittle," the sprite announced as he lit on one of Whittle's drawn up knees. "Hope say play music to calm dragon!"

"I don't think my music will work against the dragon, Timon!" Whittle explained, relieved that the princess was safe and flattered that she thought his music could influence a beast as powerful as the dragon, but lacking confidence in himself. After all, if magic had no effect on the dragon, why should something as frivolous as playing a tune on a crude instrument that had been hand-carved in a not particularly beautiful design by a peasant lad from the obscure village of Randam?

"Must try!" Timon insisted, his royal heritage showing in his firm command.

What did he have to lose, Whittle asked himself and reaching down selected one of his flutes.

It wasn't a comfortable position to play in, with his back pushed hard against the rough stone and his legs pressed just as tightly against the opposite side to keep himself from falling. Whittle loosened his largest flute from his belt and began to play a tune that was both slow and melodious. Whittle's music often took on a life of its own, and so it was as he played the tune he had started out with became a new and strange mixture of untamed and yet soothing sounds, as though his lips instinctively formed notes that would calm the temper of a wild irate dragon.

Whittle was playing with his eyes closed, lost in his own music, when a small figure landed on his flute and tapped the young man between his eyes.

"Dragon asleep. Must be quiet and very careful as you leave," King Jakin announced in a hushed voice. Then, gathering his sleeping son up into his arms, the King of the Fairies dropped silently earthward and zipped out of the opening.

Wishing he could fly himself Whittle inched his way as quietly as he could down the sides of the wall until he was far enough to drop lightly onto the floor.

For a moment he paused with his head tilted to one side, listening for any sign that his clumsy decent had awakened the dragon. Hearing nothing Whittle strapped the flute he still clutched onto his belt and stepped out into the open.

As he stood letting his eyes adjust to the light he heard a familiar voice yell, "What are you waiting for! Slay the monster, Whittle!"

In response to his brother's frustrated command Whittle's hand dropped to the hilt of his sword, but before he could draw his blade the dragon opened its eyes.

Whittle stood staring into red eyes, rimmed with yellow as one turned into stone. Then a vision of his mother's trusting face as he had last seen it came to him and he began to pull out his blade. But it was too late. With an ear piercing screech the dragon reached out and grabbed the startled boy up in a vice like grip.

As the beast spread its huge wings and took to the air Whittle saw a small group standing near the edge of the woods. He noted in particular one whose fiery red hair shone with golden highlights in the afternoon sun and wished he might have been able to say one last farewell to the beautiful princess of Lark.

Whittle had no doubt but what he was going to his death. He had failed in his quest. Unless his brother could escape from the island and deliver the princess to King Ryan before the last leaf fell, his village and all in it, including his mother and father, would be destroyed.

The dragon flew straight toward the cave which Hope had pointed out to Whittle as being the place where it kept its horde of treasures. The young man expected it was also the place where the dragon meant to taste its first human flesh.

The dragon was heavy, but hadn't gotten its full height yet, so it passed easily through the wide opening. Landing on its heavy feet and holding Whittle tightly, it lumbered eagerly down the wide tunnel.

It was still light outside, but that light faded as the dragon made his way deeper into the cave.

The dragon went on until it came to a large mound which it, none too gently, dropped Whittle in front of. Then the beast sat down on its haunches and made a strange sound deep in its throat that rose the hair on the back of Whittle's neck. It was almost as if the dragon had spoken to him, though there had been no words in the sound. Whittle had detected a threat in the wordless voice, but also an appeal.

"Do you wish to hear more of my music?" Whittle asked, because he could think of no other reason the dragon would want something from him. With hands that trembled slightly, and who could blame the young man - with a savage, fire breathing dragon only a few feet away - Whittle loosened one of his flutes and lifted it to his lips.

The music was as sweet as the sound of a songbird greeting the rising sun, and as gentle as the voice of a mother rocking her babe in loving arms. The dragon had never heard such a sound, and it was clear he was puzzled, but also enthralled by it.

Perhaps if the dragon had known its own mother it would not have been so captivated by Whittle's music. But the beast had no memory of a mother's love, or any of the finer emotions that went with it. Garreth had seen that his son was feed, even going dangerously close to the kingdoms of men as his son's appetite grew. But, Garreth had done little more for his son, leaving the juvenile dragon to fend for himself while he searched the countryside for food, and also for his missing mate who had vanished without a trace, leaving behind her a young offspring, fresh out of its egg, and her longtime mate, much to Garreth's grief and, it must be admitted, annoyance. So it was that Whittle's music stirred a new emotion in the savage, unloved, and unloving heart.

Hoping to once again lull the beast to sleep, Whittle played on, but the dragon, it seemed, had learned from his earlier experience and his head never once bobbed, nor did his eyes close.

When the dragon moved impatiently Whittle knew it was time for him to stop playing. Instead of blasting him with its fiery breath, or snatching him up and devouring him raw, as the young man had expected, the dragon picked him up and sat him on top of the heap of assorted 'treasures'. It leaned forward until its nose nearly touched Whittle's, and growled in its wordless language. Then it turned and with a few glances backward retraced its steps out of the cave.

After the dragon was gone Whittle laughed. Not because the dragon hadn't killed him, but because he found his new situation amusing. For the dragon had behaved for all the world like a master trying to teach its pet a new trick. He half expected the beast to return and make sure he wasn't disobeying its command to 'stay put'.

Then Whittle sobered and wondered if he dared to try climbing down the side of the cliff. It must be approaching evening, and once the sun set the climb down the steep wall of rock would be a tricky thing.

Whittle recalled that Hope had told him there was a hidden path, and thinking he might be able to find it before the dragon returned or night fell he climbed down off the pile of treasures, no easy task considering that it was rather large and full of sharp objects which he couldn't make out clearly in the dim light.

He was starting down the passage when a thought came to him that made him stop dead in his tracks. With sinking heart and drooping shoulders the young man turned about and walked slowly back to the dragon's hoard.

Hope and Julian with Timon leading the way, his small glow casting a dim light, found Whittle sitting on the side of the heap when they entered some few minutes later.

As soon as he caught sight of Whittle, Julian threw himself on his brother and burst into tears. He was, after all, still very much a child, and had been dreadfully afraid that Whittle had been slain by the dragon. While Whittle comforted his brother with rough words, because he was a man and didn't know how to do otherwise, Hope found the familiar flint and lit the torch that still hung on the wall.

"Why didn't you slay the dragon when you had the chance, Whittle?" Julian asked, pulling away from his brother and speaking angrily, perhaps embarrassed at being caught crying in the light.

Whittle hesitated. "It's hard to explain," he said at last. He looked toward Hope whose face seemed unnaturally white, and her eyes extra big in the flickering light. Would she think him a fool if he told the truth? It wasn't in his nature to lie, so he tried to explain. "It was something in his eyes," he said rather sheepishly. "I could no more have slain him than I could have driven a sword into an unarmed man, Julian."

"Unarmed!" the boy yelled, anger drying his tears. "What's wrong with you, Whittle? Have you forgotten we need its claw in order to save our village from that evil knight and his group of thugs? What of mother and father? Would you see them killed or carried off captive because some dragon looked at you with puppy-dog eyes?"

"You don't understand!" Whittle insisted. "There is intelligence in the dragon - I saw it reflected in his eyes - and he has a speech of his own, though I can not understand it."

Julian snorted, but Hope sat down next to Whittle and lay her cool hand over his. "I understand, Whittle," she said softly. "I have seen the same thing in Garreth's eyes. I have even heard him laugh!" she added solemnly.

"Well the red dragon will be laughing if he comes back and catches us!" Julian said, vexed that his brother and this young woman seemed to share some kind of secret enlightenment. "Come on Whittle. There's a hidden path down the hill. If we hurry we can get down while there is still some light!"

Hope rose to her feet and Julian was turning away to lead the way, but Whittle remained seated.

"I can't go," he said sadly.

His brother's explanation drown out the girl's faint cry of distress. "Great Hoppy Toads, Whittle!" the boy yelled. "Why not? Has the dragon hurt you so you can't walk? I can carry you."

Whittle looked at the slight frame of his brother and smiled. "No, Julian, the dragon hasn't hurt me. Not yet. But if I leave this cave without his permission he will not only hurt me, but I fear he will come after the rest of you as well, and he'll not be gentle in his chastisement."

"Just as Chester say!" Timon said with a sad shake of his small head. "Dragon be very angry if we take his treasure."

"Oh, for pity sake!" Julian exclaimed. "Whittle isn't a treasure!"

"To the dragon he is, Julian," Hope said, her eyes resting sadly on the tall young man who had risen to face his brother. "The dragon fancies his music, just as his father does my hair. And just as I belong to Garreth, your brother now belongs to the red dragon. Or so he believes," she added solemnly. Rising to her feet she added, "Garreth would do battle to keep me for himself, and I believe the red dragon would fight to keep Whittle.

"Only the red dragon is more of a savage than his father," she went on. "There's anger and coldness in him. I fear for your safety, Whittle!"

Her concern for him touched Whittle greatly, but it also deepened his resolve to see she was protected from the dragon.

"I will leave as soon as the balloon is mended," he promised.

"If the dragon doesn't kill you first!" Julian grumbled.

Dragon's Claw Book One
Price $12.95  
    by Charles M. Clark
(Browser Readable E-Book on CD-ROM contains Music & No Sound Options)

FROM THE BOOK STORE

Prince Adam returns home to find his father, the King, gravely ill, some say dying. Feeling unprepared for the duties of kingship, and unhappy about a proposed marriage between himself and a rather plain princess, Adam makes a plea to the Powers that be for guidance and help. Adam then falls into a deep sleep and awakes in an unfamiliar land full of sinister foes and wild men. Yet it is one of these wild men that takes Adam under his wing and teaches the young prince what it takes to be a real leader. Charles M. Clark has written this book for older children and teens, but older folks enjoy it as well. All Antelope Publishing's fantasy books are browser readable and come on CD-ROM. The CD-ROM contains TWO books. One book with music and special electronic enhancements, and one book without, for times when a quieter read is desired. For more information about browser readable e-books CLICK HERE

The Making of a King
Price $9.95  
    by Charles M. Clark
(Browser Readable E-Book on CD-ROM contains Music & No Sound Options)

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