Free Dragonkeeper 2: Garden of the Purple Dragon by Carole Wilkinson

along in the wagon was tell him stories. She always spoke to him with her mind not her mouth, but his vocabulary still hadn’t increased. The only word he said was “Ping”.
    The little dragon whimpered.
    “At least they haven’t found you,” she said.
    It wasn’t much consolation.
    Ping didn’t have to tell Kai to shape-change whenever the guards threw back the leather cover. It was his natural instinct when he was in danger. She’d been able to carry the ladle-shaped Kai with her whenever she wasallowed out of the wagon. These times were few and far between. The guards had kept her shut inside the covered wagon day and night, allowing her only a few minutes each day to get out and stretch her legs.
    They fed her reasonably well, but stood with spears digging into her as she ate. She heard them grumbling about their ration of gruel. Ping’s meals on Tai Shan had been small and simple, and the goat-meat gruel was a welcome change from fish, but Kai couldn’t eat it. She’d hoped that Hua would be able to help her, but he was trussed up like a chicken ready for roasting and couldn’t escape.
    Ping knew Liu Che would be furious. He had given her the position of Imperial Dragonkeeper. It was a great honour—and she had rejected it. He had treated her as a friend, confided in her. He had allowed her to call him by his personal name. No one else had that privilege but his closest family members. In return she had helped the last imperial dragon to escape. That was a crime punishable by death.
    She had managed to collect a few worms and a snail or two in the brief times that she was allowed out. Kai had found some grubs in the rotten vegetables still in the bottom of the wagon. Ping had fished weevils out of her gruel for him, but he was still very hungry. And every time the guards came near, their iron blades made him weak and sick.
    Ping tried to think, though her mind was as weary asher body. The Emperor would be in Chang’an at this time of year. It would take the ox weeks to plod all the way to the capital city. Even if they travelled by river, it would be a slow journey as oarsmen would have to row against the strong current. She had to come up with a plan of escape quickly or Kai would starve to death.
    When the wagon came to a halt, Ping heard footsteps approach.
    “Kai,” she said. “It’s time to shape-change.”
    The little dragon wrapped his tail around her arm and changed into a soup ladle. The leather flap was thrown back. Ping blinked and shaded her eyes. Her eyes grew accustomed to the light and she saw that they were not in a village, but in a courtyard with high walls on all sides. Large wooden gates were closing behind them. The gate was decorated with paintings of red bats and blue cranes—the symbols of good luck and long life. Her captors were talking to the guards at the gate, pointing at her.
    “We caught the dragon sorceress,” one of them boasted. “She tried to cast spells on us. Did you hear what happened to our captain?”
    The wagon started to move again. This time the guards didn’t retie the leather flap. They passed under another gateway. This one had three large characters painted on it in gold.
    The wagon made its way across a many-arched,curved bridge, which crossed a wide lake. A steep rocky island rose up out of the water. On top of the island was a pavilion. On the opposite shore of the lake, willow trees bent sadly, their boughs dipping into the water, falling leaves drifting down like tears.
    This wasn’t the wild beauty of nature like on Tai Shan; every tree, flower and rock had been carefully placed. It was a huge garden. On the other side of the lake, the narrow road started to rise. The garden spread up the slopes of a small hill. The wagon passed a cluster of maple trees, their leaves just starting to turn red. Ping had seen these trees before. The road meandered between flower beds to a beautiful building halfway up the hill. Ping knew where she was. It was Ming