Free From the Dragon Keepers' Vault by Kate Klimo Page B

of a gold-handled cane fashioned in the likeness of a dragon’s head. The man had hair the color of raw gold. Behind his wire-rimmed spectacles, his eyes shone as cold as polished onyx. She had no doubt who she was looking at, as all dragons know when faced with their mortal enemy: St. George the Dragon Slayer!
    Fear, so new to her, turned her legs to water and loosened her tongue. “Please spare me,” she said in a trembling voice, “for I am expecting.”
    The man’s eyes grew brighter than the torches’ flames. “You mean you are carrying dragon young?”
    “Three,” she admitted reluctantly.
    “Ah-ha! Then I have captured not just one dragon but four! The prospectors are right. These hills
are
alive with treasure! I have truly hit the
mother lode
!”
    Leandra winced, realizing that she had doomed not just herself, but the new lives insideof her as well. And Obsidian still slept in their den!
    “Lock up the dragon
now
!” St. George snarled. And from among the trees, men pushed out a large wheeled cage.
    Meanwhile, back in the den, Obsidian woke from his long sleep with an aching head and an uneasy feeling.
Where is Leandra?
When he went outside, he found the Douglas fir waiting.
    “The news is bad,” said the Douglas fir. “Down in the deep woods, St. George the Dragon Slayer holds Leandra trapped in a cage. He charmed the deer meat with a powerful sleeping potion. We tried to warn you, but the bonfire kept us from roaming. Hold this tightly in your talons just under your chin.” He offered Obsidian a long green fern. “It will grant you invisibility. Then you will at least be able to visit Leandra without being seen. But whatever you do, do not try to free her from the cage yourself. St. George has spelled the cage to capture you the instant you touch the clasp.”
    That night, the local people heard a loud, plaintive keening. It was the sound of Obsidian howling in grief over the capture of his mate. Leandra, in her cage in the deep woods, heard the cry too and wept with him.
    Obsidian fell asleep outside the den. He dreamed that the Old Mother herself stood before him. She gave him the recipe for a spell that might help him in his time of crisis. Before she vanished back into the mountain, the Old Mother said, “Once you have cast the spell, know that only a magic greater than either of you will be able to reverse it.”
    As soon as he woke up, Obsidian roamed the deep woods, gathering the ingredients for the spell the Old Mother had given him in his dream. In the mouth of the cave, Obsidian lit a fire with the flame of his own mouth. Then he tossed the ingredients into the fire. After a while, his eyes began to spin like two great sparkling wheels. An unseen force lifted him high into the air,then dashed his body against the side of the mountain. He blacked out.
    The next morning, Obsidian woke up with his throat parched and his head throbbing. He staggered over to the stream that ran down from the mountaintop. When he leaned over to dip his snout into the icy water, he got the shock of his life.
    Instead of his own reflection, he saw a young man with pink skin, dark silvery hair, and large, frightened black eyes. Obsidian held up his hands and stared at the long, tendril-like fingers where once there had been sharp talons. He reached up and felt his small-featured face without snout and fangs. He felt a vast emptiness where his salmon-pink wings and powerful tail once had been. Then he fell to his knees, buried his face in his hands, and sobbed for the loss of his splendid dragon self.
    “Obsidian!” a soft voice said.
    He uncovered his face and, once again, looked into the stream. This time, he saw the Old Mother staring back at him. “Do not despair,” she told him. “With your man shape, you stand a far better chance of being able to rescue your family.”
    My family?
Obsidian wondered. It was true that Leandra
was
his family, all the family he had ever known. And Leandra needed him to be