SILVERHORN.

CHAPTER FIVE.
FIRE,THE THIRD DREAM.

Click here for Chapters ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, SIX, SEVEN.

Knobby was once more standing in the cave,looking at the piled-up mass of coils, the slowly swaying head and the glowing, yellow eyes of the ancient serpent. He was feeling very confident. Not only was he filled with strength, a strength that surged in every part of him, but his thoughts seemed quicker and sharper, his understanding greater and deeper.

“I’m really ready now,” he said. “The first dream gave me strength, and with that strength I thought I could face the world. Now I realise it was not enough. It was useless without understanding. Now I have both. I feel strong in my body, as I did before, but now I also have strength in my mind. I can see things I couldn’t see before. I feel I could solve any problem. I feel I’m ready to leave the cave.”

“Unicorn,” said the serpent in his softly hissing voice that seemed very ancient and very wise, “you have now gained much that will be of value in your task, but your preparation is not complete. You have not yet entered the Dream of Fire.”

Once again the light in the enormous, yellow eyes began to fade, and the darkness became the start of another dream.”

At this point another poem appeared in the air.

The Fire of Truth is above all fire
That springs from the mountain or burns in the sky.
The Fire of Truth that is in us all
Is the one great fire that can never die.

“A picture, Dad,” said Judy, as the letters faded away.

Mr. Baxter smiled and spread his fingers in the usual way. What appeared in the air above his head was a very large dragon. He had a glistening, blue-green body, a heavy head, a long, spiky tail and broad, scaly wings. He was sitting in an upright position, with his front feet raised, one higher than the other, and he seemed to be looking straight up into the air. Then there was a change in the picture, or rather an extra detail was added to it. Suddenly a great burst of flame was coming from the dragon’s open mouth. It was not all one colour. There were three separate strands of red, yellow and green. As the picture began to fade Mr. Baxter said, “That was Tremander, the leader of the Banneree dragons.”

“What did he do?” asked Tom.

“You’ll have to find that out bit by bit.” Said his father, “as Knobby did in the dream.

He found himself flying high in the air, though not as high as the mountain that towered above him on one side. He saw that it was a volcano, rising up not to a peak but to an open crater. There was a curling wisp of smoke in the air above it. On the other side of him was the sea. Straight ahead, beyond a group of low hills, were the roofs of a little town, and behind him, as he realised when he circled round, was a dense pine forest that stretched as far as the eye could see.

Flying as a dragon, which he now was, felt rather heavy and ungainly, and the thought came into his mind, as he soared to and fro, that landing might be a problem. There were other dragons in the air around him. Groups of four or five were climbing up high, and then gliding down again in great sweeping circles.
Knobby could feel the glow of the sun on the backs of his wings, and its warmth and power penetrating his body.

Then, as if at a signal, though he did not see one, all the wheeling and circling came to an end. All the dragons came down on a wide, flat space about half way up the slope that led to the crater. Knobby came down with them, and managed to land without too much of a crash. The dragons on either side of him paid him no attention. They were looking towards a large platform on the side of the mountain, raised up a little higher than the ground they were on. It appeared to be part of the mountain, rather than something that had been built. Behind this platform the side of the mountain was very steep, almost like a wall. The whole area, in fact, seemed to have been carved out of, or cut away from, the side of the mountain. The floor was of smooth, level rock, though all round the edge it was marked by the claws of countless dragon feet. Behind the platform in the wall of rock he could see the openings of several caves.

Not quite all the dragons were on the ground. A few were still airborne, but circling, picking a place to land, which they did rather clumsily, thumping down with a final flourish of their gigantic wings. At length there was just one still in the air, an enormous shape against the sky, who made a slow, deliberate circuit, as if checking that all had taken their places, and everything was in order. When he too came down, he did it rather more neatly than the others on the raised platform of rock. He was an old and very large dragon who, apart from the natural dignity that went with his age and size, had a definite look of authority and importance about him.

There was total silence as he folded his wings and slowly turned towards the assembled circle in a thoughtful and rather formal way. For a time he waited, completely still. Then he looked up towards the sun, which was high in the sky, as if judging from its position whether the moment was right. Then, after another pause, he rose up to his full height, balanced on the base of his tail with his front feet raised, one higher than the other, in the position known as rampant, and broke the silence.

“We give thanks for the fire in the sky.”

The other dragons all replied together.

“We give thanks.”

“We give thanks for the fire in the Earth.”

“We give thanks.”

“We give thanks for fire, eternal fire, that burns through all the ways of the world.”

He paused, as if giving them time to think about the words, before continuing the ritual.

“The way of the mountains, the wind and the cold.”

Here he turned to face the wall of rock behind him, looking, so to speak, straight into the mountain, beyond which there were miles of forest and other mountains, giving way at last to an area of snow and ice and the frozen lands of the pole.

“The way of the ocean, the desert, the sand.”

Here the dragons all turned to face across the sea and the lands beyond, where the sun burned fierce and strong and high in the sky, where secret mysteries were hidden in the dry, open wastes and where, in a pair of huge volcanoes that few of them had ever seen, the Mallavant dragons had their home.

“The way of the new-born sun and the day.”

Here they all turned towards the low-lying hills and the gleaming roofs of the town, whose inhabitants had once been their prey – and their deadly enemies.

“The way of the dying sun and the night.”

They all turned right about to face the great pine forest, which stretched away unbroken for as far as any dragon had ever flown.

“The way of all fire.”

The dragons now faced the centre of the circle and, like their leader, rose to their full height, with their heads turned up to the sky. In this position they began to breathe

very deeply – and all together. In – and in – and in – Knobby felt inflated to an impossible size. The sensation was painful, but also triumphant. Then out – and out – and out – to a similar rhythm. This was repeated four or five times, and ended with a great intake of breath, which they held for a pause so long it seemed unending.

Then suddenly the leader brought both his front feet down by his sides, and every dragon present breathed out – not just a breath but a glorious burst of fire. Two hundred tongues of flame went roaring up to the sky. Some were larger than others. Knobby’s was fairly small, but he noticed the shape and colour of it. There was a hot, white centre surrounded by surface layers of red and yellow flame. It finished in a bright yellow tip which flickered about like a whiplash, surrounded by a cloud of sparks that were mainly yellow, green and blue. He felt a tremendous pride as he watched it, both in the sight and the feeling of it.

The other dragons’ flames were all different, some mainly blue, some green and some with many colours twisting and turning round the centre. The finest flame of all came from the leader. It was not only larger and more impressive than the others. It also had more variety. The hot centre was almost invisible, not so much a colour as a shimmering of the air. Then, at some distance from his open mouth, it could be seen as three separate, twisting tongues of fire. Each was a different colour, but the colours did not remain the same. At one moment they might be red, blue and yellow. Then the yellow would change to green, the blue to orange in an endlessly changing, never repeated pattern. From time to time they produced an exploding umbrella of sparks, which shot up and out before gently floating back to earth. The sparks in each explosion were all the same colour, but the colour was different on each occasion, so a shower of crimson sparks might be followed a little later by a shower of bright green ones, and the following display might be blue. Once again there was no repetition.

In quite a short time the flames began to fade, both Knobby’s and those of the other dragons around him. Finally only the leader’s flame remained, until it too died away. The leader then came down to a normal sitting position, and the other dragons did the same. There was a general feeling of relaxation. Some of the dragons began to talk, but they were hushed by others.

“Quiet, quiet, Tremander is going to speak.”

Tremander – Knobby realised that this must be the leader’s name.”

“Yes,” said Judy, “we saw him in the picture.”

“Shut up,” said Tom.

“As I was saying,” said their father, “Tremander advanced to the edge of his platform, looked at the circle of dragons, and began a formal but friendly speech.

“Fellow Bannerees,” he said, “comrades and colleagues all, I have now completed my seventh year as Fire Leader, and to me at least, looking back, they are years that seem to have passed in a flash, or if not exactly in a flash, in very little more, perhaps a number of flashes and several showers of sparks.”

The dragons laughed at this. Tremander was known and admired not only for his tremendous fire, but also for his impressive showers of sparks, which could not be matched by any other dragon in the mountain.

“The number seven,” continued Tremander, “has always been thought of as a special number, so I have planned for this, my seventh year in office, to be a special year. I will return to that point later. First I would like to deal with a number of other matters. With the help of the fire in the sky, and always sustained by the fire in the Earth, the fire of our race is burning brightly. It has been a good year. Our numbers have steadily increased, Mount Banneree behind me now contains several new caves, and there is room for many more.

My friends, fire will never fail us. The fire in the sky is everlasting. Though each day ends in cold and darkness, it is always followed by a rebirth at the other side of the sky. Likewise the cold season is always followed by the heat of Summer. These are promises that have never been broken. They have never been broken, and they never will be broken. So we Bannerees, we dwellers in Mount Banneree, can look to the future with happiness and hope.”

Tremander paused and spent some moments looking round at the circle of dragons, who were hanging on his words. They were waiting for his important announcement.

“And now,” he said at last, “I come to the matter that I mentioned earlier. As I reminded you then, I have now completed seven years as Fire Leader. They have been seven very busy years, they have also been, in spite of some disappointments, happy years, and I think I can say that they have been successful years. And now I think it is time to bring them to a close. I have decided to step down from my position.”

There was a gasp from some of the dragons. The announcement had obviously come as a shock.

“Following the usual custom on these occasions,” went on Tremander, “I am going to name the dragon who will take my place. Hoping that you will agree with my choice, I would like to present to you now the new Fire Leader – my son , Revander.”

This caused a greater stir than his first announcement. There was quite a lot of talking, and the name Revander was repeated several times. Some of the dragons seemed pleased, others surprised, and a few even bewildered.

“Revander,” said Tremander again, “Revander, would you like to join me on the platform.”

There was a commotion among a group of young dragons at one side of the circle. Finally one of them moved into the centre and approached the platform. Then, with an agile leap and some help from half-spread wings, he was standing beside his father. Somewhat reluctantly it seemed, he turned to face the circle. He was very like Tremander in appearance, both in colour, the particular shade of bluey green, and in the shape of his head and the way he held it. However, he did not have Tremander’s confidence. It seemed that Revander had been taken completely by surprise, and had had no warning of the announcement. He looked bewildered and totally at a loss. His father paid no attention to this. “Revander,” he said, “would you like to say a few words.”

The young dragon came to the edge of the platform and stood there, looking at the waiting circle of Bannerees. They waited – and waited. It was clear that Revander had nothing to say. Then, as if any action were better than doing nothing at all, he rose up to his full height, which was not the normal position for speaking, and began to breathe. He breathed deeply, in – and in – and in, then a pause, and then out – and out – and out. He repeated this several times, as they had all done earlier, until he took one final, enormous breath and held it, and held it, for what seemed an impossible length of time. What happened next was truly amazing. They all knew that no dragon could give a full display of his fire, and then repeat it on the same day a short time later. But suddenly Revander’s breath exploded in a glorious spurt of flame. It flared, it twisted, it roared, it wreathed about in a flashing mixture of colours, it burst into brilliant showers of sparks, and it seemed to go on and on and on. Finally it died away. Revander slowly descended to his normal position, and now, at last, he spoke.

“My friends,” he said, “as long as there is fire in my body I will use it in the service of the Bannerees.”

There was total silence for a moment, and then a great burst of applause. It was a real gale of applause, made by the flapping of dragons’ wings against their bodies, which besides producing a deafening sound, also raised a wind. By the time the applause was over the air above the circle was filled with dust, and a number of dragons were coughing. However, there was a general feeling of contentment and things well done. Revander had been completely accepted. Tremander came forward again.

“Well,” he said, “I think that must be the shortest speech I’ve ever heard, and one of the best. After all, one flame is worth a thousand words.”

There was more applause at this, but Tremander continued speaking. “In order to escape from this dust,” he said, “I will waste no time in performing my last official act. I declare this meeting finished.”

It was indeed finished. Another Midsummer ritual was over, and the Banneree dragons had a new Fire Leader. However, they did not leave at once. They waited, as the custom was, for Tremander and Revander to take to the air. Tremander was spreading his wings to do this, when suddenly he stiffened, staring in the direction of the sea.

“Wait,” he called, “Wait. I think we have visitors – from Mallavant.”

All the dragons turned to look out over the sea, but without any great pleasure. They did not care for the Mallavants, and were not too happy to see them arriving now. However, they would not leave the circle while the Fire Leader was still among them, so they waited patiently.

The group of flying dragons approaching from the horizon was only visible at first as a distant blur, but as it came closer it separated into five distinct shapes, and before long they were circling overhead. Then they all came down rather heavily in the centre of the circle, sending up more clouds of dust. Tremander and Revander came down to join them, as there was not room for the entire group on the platform.

These dragons from the Mallavant mountains were a little larger than the Bannerees, and reddish in colour. The largest and most important looking of them came up to Tremander.

“Tremander,” he said, “my friend, please accept my apologies. We seem to have missed your Midsummer ritual. In our part of the world, as you know, the occasion is not very important, and we have no special ceremony, but if the wind had not been against us we would have arrived in time for yours.”

“Well,” replied Tremander politely, “although you have missed the ceremony, you are in time for something else. After seven years as Fire Leader I have just stepped down from my position. Allow me to present our new Fire Leader, my son Revander.”

Revander, who looked exhausted, now came forward, faced the Mallavant dragon, and said in a dignified tone, though rather awkwardly, “Revander, Fire Leader of the Bannerees.”

The other dragon replied gravely, “Mallabictus, Fire Leader of the Farradanes.”

This process was repeated as the other four Mallavants introduced themselves. They were in two groups, the Farradanes, who came from Mount Farradane, and the Dermils, who came from Mount Dermil. As well as Mallabictus, the Farradanes were Fallamaze, Memory to Mallabictus, and Broobeen, who was Mallabictus’ son, while the Dermils consisted of the Fire Leader, Dissimitter, and his memory, Tellamine.”

“What does that mean?” asked Tom. “Memory to Mallabictus and so on.”

“Well, among the Mallavant dragons,” said Mr. Baxter, “the head dragon, who was called the Fire Leader, usually had an assistant, who was called a Memory Dragon, because he helped the leader remember things, and reminded him if he forgot. You know, a bit like an efficient secretary, except that he didn’t do any writing

Well, when all the introductions were finished there was an uncertain pause, as Tremander looked at Revander, who then said with some hesitation, speaking mainly to Mallabictus, but including all the others, “I – er – you – that is – you must all be very tired after such a long flight. I’m sure you would all like to rest and relax. We have a newly completed hall in the mountain.”

“I thank you for that,” replied Mallabictus, “but in fact we have no need of rest,”

“No need of rest? I thought you’d just flown here from the Mallavant mountains.”

“We have indeed, but to tell the truth we did not really come here as visitors. We came here as messengers.”

“Yes, we have good news for you and for all the Bannerees, in fact for dragons everywhere.”

There was a short pause after this until Revander, as was obviously expected, said, “What is your news, Mallabictus? We would all be glad to hear it.”
“I will not answer you in words,” replied Mallabictus. “I will give you a demonstration.”

He turned to face the sea and rose up to his full height, in the position used by the Bannerees in their rituals. Then, after taking only one or perhaps two breaths, he suddenly produced a stupendous burst of fire. It was a strong, steady column of roaring, orange flame, without sparks and without variation in colour, but just as large and powerful as Tremander’s flame. After a time it stopped. It did not die away. It simply stopped as if cut off, and Mallabictus returned to a normal standing position. As he did so, Dissimitter, Fire Leader of the Dermils, rose to an upright position, and he too produced a column of orange flame only slightly less impressive than the one Mallabictus had given. After that the other three Mallavant dragons gave similar displays. When they had finished there was total silence. The Bannerees were impressed, but not enormously so. The fires they had seen were splendid certainly, but not really so very much better than their own, and these five dragons were no doubt the Mallavant champions. What would happen next?

What happened next was that Mallabictus rose up to his full height once again and produced a second burst of fire exactly like his first. Then Dissimitter rose and did the same. Mallabictus’ Memory, Fallamaze, was about to follow, but Mallabictus stopped him.

“Enough,” he said. He looked about him at the circle of Bannerees.
“My friends, without using words we have given you the news. You have already seen two displays of fire from Dissimitter and myself. If you like I will give you a third.”

Without rising he opened his mouth and with no apparent effort produced a short burst of orange flame exactly like the ones that had gone before.
“Any one of the Mallavants here could do the same. My friends, the news we have come to give you is simply this. We have solved the problem of fire. We no longer need to gather our strength and concentrate our thoughts to produce a flame, and when we have done it we need no time for rest or recovery. We Mallavants now have the power to make fire whenever we please.” He paused before adding slowly and deliberately, “We have come to make you an offer. We are offering to share with you the secret of instant fire. The Mallavants and the Bannerees together could do great things. What do you say?”

There was another short silence, and then Tremander said slowly, “Your fire is truly amazing. Tell us how you achieve it.”

Revander, feeling that as the new Fire Leader he should have asked the question, added, “Yes, tell us how.”

“Before I give you the details,” replied Mallabictus, “you will have to agree to certain conditions, but I can tell you here and now that we can produce as much fire as we like whenever we need it because we have a method of obtaining liquid fire from our mountains.”

“What’s liquid fire?” asked Judy.

“I thought you might ask that,” said her father. “It was the dragons’ name for the lava that comes out of volcanoes. It’s liquid, though it hardens later into rock, and when it comes out it’s usually glowing red-hot, so the dragons called it liquid fire.

When the Bannerees heard this there were a number of comments and questions.

“Liquid fire from the mountain, that’s once in a lifetime.”

“How often can you get it?”

“Does it give you strength as well as instant fire?”

“What are your conditions?”

“What do we have to do?”

“What’s the price of this fire?”

“So many questions,” said Mallabictus, “but I think I can answer them all in two replies, or at least in two stages. First I will talk in more detail about our discovery, the benefits it has brought us, and could also bring to you. Then I will tell you the price. We Mallavants – Farradanes and Dermils – have learnt to control our two mountains. By adding certain substances, in the right place, at the right time and in the right way, we can obtain a flow of liquid fire. At first the results were somewhat uneven, but we now have the situation under control. Both mountains produce an eruption, a flow of liquid fire, every ten days. This rate could be increased, but at present it is more than enough for our needs.

As dragons you know the benefits of liquid fire. In the past, when your mountain, Mount Banneree, provided it, it gave you strength, it gave you endurance, it allowed you to make fire at any time and it made you independent. While its benefits lasted you had no need to gather food from the forest or the sea or anywhere else. That was an advantage indeed, my friends, but for us Mallavants it is not just something we get about once every hundred years. We have it all the time. We no longer have to range far and wide in search of food. We can work or fly long distances without getting tired. In short, we are now the masters of our lives because we have mastered our mountains.”

“You mean the dragons ate the lava, the liquid fire, and that was all the food they needed?” asked Tom.

“That’s right,” said Mr. Baxter. “They ate, or perhaps I should say they drank, the liquid fire, and it gave them a kind of fiery strength and energy.

Well, the Banerees showed some interest in what Mallabictus had said, but there was no immediate response. Mallabictus continued, “So once again I come to our offer. We are offering you, the Bannerees, a chance to share in our good fortune. There will be a price to pay of course. There is nothing of any value that does not have a price, but considering the benefits you will receive, it is not so very great.”

“What is the price you are asking?” The question came from Revander.

“The price is simply this. You, Revander, will give up your position as Fire Leader, which as you only began today should not be too difficult, either for you or for the Bannerees as a whole. The running of Mount Banneree will be in the hands of the Farradanes, some of whom will come to live among you, and your new Fire Leader will be my son, Broobeen.”

Here Mallabictus paused. Then in the silence which followed he added, “Think about it carefully. I’m sure you will come to the right decision.”

There was a very long silence after this, which lasted until Tremander said slowly, “Some Farradanes will come to live among us, you say. I think you mean that they will come to rule us.”

“I would not have put it like that,” replied Mallabictus. “They will come to bring you a benefit. You would be most unwise to refuse it.”

“I have a question,” said Revander. “You say you have a technique for obtaining liquid fire from mountains. Could it be used on Mount Banneree here as easily as it has been used on your two mountains?”

“There is no doubt whatever that it could be used. In a short time I hope we shall be giving a demonstration.”

“What exactly is the technique. What substance or substances will you need, and how will you go about doing it?”

“Among the Mallavants,” replied Mallabictus, “the precise details of the technique are known only to the two Fire Leaders and a small group of experts. The situation here will of course be the same.”

“You mean that you propose to extract liquid fire from our mountain, but the technique for doing this will remain your secret?”

“I solemnly guarantee,” said Mallabictus, not really answering the question, “that we will produce a flow of liquid fire from Mount Banneree. There will be an eruption every ten days without fail, more frequently if need be. I also guarantee that all dragons, Mallavants and Bannerees alike, will share in the benefits.”

“I also have a question,” said Tremander, who for some time had taken no part in the discussion. “About the liquid fire. There will be a plentiful supply of it, you say.”

“As I said, a guaranteed eruption every ten days, more than enough for your needs.”

“And what is not needed will flow down the side of the mountain?”

“Yes, of course.”

Tremander looked over the group of low hills towards the streets and roofs of the little town beyond. “So all the surrounding countryside will be covered by liquid fire.”

Mallabictus followed his gaze, but without much interest.

“Yes,” he said calmly, “that will all be covered in due course, quite soon I should think, but that’s no matter. Once you have the liquid fire you will no longer need to gather food from the surrounding country. So it will make no difference to you where the liquid fire goes. You can forget about it.”

“Mallabictus!” It was Revander this time. “Mallabictus, this is out of the question. We cannot possibly accept your offer.”

“I realise of course,” said Mallabictus, “that you do not want to lose your position as Fire Leader, but there will be many compensations. You will have ---.”

“My position is nothing to do with it,” shouted Revander, so angry that he lost his dignity. “My position is ---.”

He paused, collecting his thoughts.

“A long time ago,” he said in a more normal voice, his anger more or less under control. “A long time ago we used to prey on the people of the settlement. We robbed them and killed them and burnt their houses. But for many years now they have been our friends. They have helped us in many ways, and we have helped them in return.

The last time Mount Banneree erupted we realised that the liquid fire, such a blessing to us, would be death to the settlement, and with our assistance they built a barrier to hold it back. They were very grateful to us, and more than once they have given us food when it was badly needed. We cannot possibly accept an offer, or any state of affairs, that leads to their destruction.”

Mallabictus said nothing. He was staring at Revander in scornful disbelief.

“I am not completely stupid,” he said finally. “The reason for your objection is obvious. You do not wish to lose your position. That I can understand. But sentimental nonsense about settlements or sediments or whatever you call them ---.”

“We call them friends,” said Revander. He was angry but not shouting, more in control of himself than before. “We call them friends, and whatever the Mallavant custom may be, we Bannerees do not repay friendship with death and destruction.”

Exasperated and baffled, Mallabictus appealed to the watching circle of dragons.

“You have heard the discussion,” he said. “Do you want to have a share in our good fortune? Do you want to receive the gift of instant fire?

The reply was immediate, a chorus of roaring dragon voices united in a single response.

“No-o-o-o! No-o-o-o! No-o-o-o!”

There were some variations.

“Get back where you came from.”

“Go back to Mallavant.”

“Keep away from our mountain.”

Looking astonished and taken aback, he had apparently expected support, Mallabictus was motionless and speechless. Then he rose up to his full height and produced a great long burst of orange flame. It came to an end. Then he produced another flame of equal power and following that a third great burst. His voice, when it came, seemed one with the sound of the fire.

“DRAGONS!” he roared. “DRAGONS! We are DRAGONS! Mallavants and Bannerees alike, we are all DRAGONS, creatures of fire and flame! The burning volcano! The towering mountain peaks! We are not miserable humans, crawling over the face of the Earth. We are creatures of pride and glory, creatures of fire. Our natural element is fire.”

At this point he looked around him. He had descended to all four feet in the course of this outburst. “I offer you all,” he continued, “I offer you all the gift of instant fire, of permanent fire. I offer you a gift which is your natural right as dragons. I offer you this gift, and because of some stupid objection over an infestation of creeping surface life, you reject it. My friends,” he said, looking round at the circle of Bannerees, “I cannot really believe that this is true. I ask you once again. Do you wish to receive the gift of instant fire?”

The response this time was louder than before, and also more varied.

“Get out of our mountain.”

“Take your dirty tricks back to Mallavant.”

“We don’t want your gifts.”

“You’re the one that’s going to get fire, good Banneree fire, and you won’t like it.”

“Clear out!”

“Get out!

“Get out of our mountain.”

Whether the reason was concern for the people of the settlement or just plain dislike of the Mallavants, there was no denying the strength of the Bannerees’ feelings.

When the noise had died away, Mallabictus spoke again. His voice was neither sad nor angry. It was stiffly formal.

“We came in friendship,” he said. “We came to bring you benefits, and to offer you a share in our good fortune. You have rejected us. We have tried the way of peace. We have tried the way of reason. If we now have to turn to another method, a much less pleasant method, I ask you to remember that you have forced it on us. You have brought it on yourselves”

With these words he turned towards the sea, and his companions did the same, looking back the way they had come to the faint line that marked the horizon, where the water met the sky. Then all five Mallavants took wing in a choking cloud of dust, and were soon no more than a cluster of dwindling shapes above the ocean.

It was later, a few days later. The Mallavant invasion was coming. They saw it first as a long, dark line that covered a large part of the horizon. It could almost have been a dense, black bank of unusually long, low cloud.

It soon became clear that this consisted of several sections, five or six troops of flying dragons. By the time the alarm had been given, and the Bannerees had retreated into their mountain, closing all entrances apart from narrow slits, they could see the movement of wings, and in no time the Mallavants were circling overhead.

There were six groups in all, three of Farradanes and three of Dermils, who could be recognised, in flight at least, by their slighter bodies and longer, narrower wings. Keeping their formations, about 40 dragons to each group, they all flew slowly round
above Mount Banneree. From time to time one or other of the groups would let out a burst of orange flame, which they did all together, with perfect timing. Then, still circling, they rose to a greater height until they were scarcely visible as dots in the upper sky, partly hidden by cloud. Only Mallabictus remained below. In a series of sweeping passes he flew to and fro in front of Mount Banneree, and as he flew he called.

“Bannerees. Bannerees. Surrender now and you may yet be spared,”

In a few seconds he was out of earshot, but on the return sweep he continued the message.

“Bannerees, we come in friendship. Come out now and share in our good fortune.”

He made several more passes in front of the mountain, calling each time. There was no response. He made one final fly-past, and this time he called out a different message.

“Bannerees,” he called, “Bannerees, you have brought it on yourselves.”

Then he let out a jet of flame, which must have been a signal, for it was followed by a rushing sound high up in the air, as three hundred Mallavant dragons came hurtling down with half-closed wings to launch an attack on Mount Banneree.

It was a fierce battle, a turmoil of smoke and flame. There was crash after shuddering crash as heavy bodies collided with the barriers. Powerful claws ripped away half-burnt wood and scattered debris and stones.

They broke through in several places – the barriers were nothing. In a desperate counter-attack the Bannerees came out of the mountain, diving, slashing, striking, descending in roaring fury on Mallavants as they approached the entrances. Others inside were defending the passages, retreating and counter-attacking, leading the Mallavants into blind alleys, surprising them from side-turnings, helped by their knowledge of the place. It was their mountain.

The Mallavants retreated, and the Bannerees collected in the enormous, newly made assembly hall. Then, as they had expected, the Mallavants attacked again. As they came bursting into the hall they were met by a deluge of freezing water, released from tanks at the side and in the ceiling. Then, in a hall now filled with choking clouds of smoke and hissing steam, the Bannerees launched their first attack with fire. They had held it in reserve. In the days before the attack, while working hard on the defensive barriers, they had also done everything they could, by focusing their energies and by avoiding any wasteful displays, to build up their fire to the highest possible level. Now they released it. Their flames were far more effective than the standard orange flares of the Mallavants. They were adaptable. They could be spread out wide to form a defensive shield or condensed into a searing lance of fire that could pierce the skin of a dragon. The Mallavants could not do much against the attack, and many of them died.

But although the Banneree fire was a powerful weapon, it did not last very long. It began to die away. More and more Mallavants poured into the hall, a solid mass of orange flames. The Bannerees began to retreat into the honeycomb of passages, back and back through countless twists and turns, and finally out into the open. Followed by Mallavants all the way, they made for the shelter of the forest. Weary and outnumbered, with their reserves of fire exhausted, they had lost the mountain.

Knobby was in the forest with a small group of Bannerees, Revander and a number of others, about nine dragons in all. They had been in hiding for three days, or was it four? He was losing track of time. They were wretched and defeated. All of them had wounds from the battle, and where their scaly protection had broken many had burns. They had to lie low, under cover of the trees. They could look for food at night, but even that was dangerous. There were Mallavants flying overhead. They could hear the swishing of their wings as they passed, and they saw the orange flares as they searched the forest.

On the second day they had seen a commotion on a distant slope. A group of Mallavants was clustered over the trees, and some appeared to be landing. Then there were flames licking up and a plume of smoke. The searchers must have found some Bannerees. Their group was not the only one in hiding.

Revander was sunk in despair. His father, Tremander, had died in the battle. “It was in the main hall,” he said. My father was killing Mallavants. I’ve never seen such a flame, like a spear of fire.” Revander’s own flame had been hardly less impressive. “Then he saw Mallabictus and went straight for him. But Mallabictus was surrounded by his dragons, and my father’s flame was starting to fail. He killed a few, but he couldn’t fight them all. He was overwhelmed.”

They could do nothing to cheer Revander. In fact there was nothing of any kind they could do. They could only wait.

The Mallavant activity was growing less. They heard far fewer flights, and they never saw flares at night. They began to get bolder, venturing out in the day, and altogether feeling more hopeful. In particular there was a sudden change in Revander’s attitude. He went from deep depression to a burning thirst for action.

“They’re working on the mountain,” he said, “Mount Banneree, our mountain. That’s why they’ve stopped their flights. They need every dragon for the work. If they want to keep their fire, their power to make instant fire, they need a constant supply of liquid fire from the mountain. We have to stop them. We have to save the mountain, Mount Banneree, our mountain. And it’s not just the mountain, it’s the people of the settlement too. We don’t want the settlement destroyed. They’re our friends.”

They all caught the mood. There was no discussion of the matter, no weighing of pros. and cons., but there was a strong sense of agreement.

They spent the night awake, all of them filled with a feeling of power and hope. Only Revander spoke from time to time, and always in the same words.

“Banneree,” he said. “Mount Banneree, our mountain.”

They took flight early in the morning, and flew like arrows to the upper air. From a great height they looked down on the mountain, with Mallavants swarming round it like Summer midges. They seemed to be taking things into the crater, stones or lumps of earth or other material, and what might have been bundles of plants or piles of branches. Others were working inside the crater, where they seemed to be scraping or digging or making excavations. They had already changed the mountain. The usual wisp of smoke that hung over it was now thicker, and becoming a steady flow.

Then they dived down on the Mallavants. The air streamed past them as, far below, the mountain grew steadily larger. Nine Bannerees against the whole assembled force of the Mallavants, they were diving down like avenging furies, dragon falcons, stooping to the attack.

They were banking, looping, twisting and striking with a fierceness and agility that seemed to be inspired. Their fire was like no fire that had ever been seen. It shot out with the force and speed of lightning, in terrible, searing shafts of flame. It split and divided into deadly forks and tridents. It burst and spread into shimmering, dancing shields of light. It flashed and roared in a fury of blinding power. Its colours were amazing, like no colours ever seen, and it seemed to go on and on.

Pierced and scattered by the Banneree fire, the Mallavants were falling like flies. The orange flares they had brought from their mountains, even those that had not yet started to die away, were not much help. Their attempts to overwhelm the attackers by sheer weight of numbers were equally hopeless. The nine Bannerees were everywhere, climbing and diving, twisting and weaving, dividing and recombining, always with their deadly swords of flame

It was over. Incredibly, impossibly, the Mallavants began to break. They were streaming out over the ocean in a ragged, defeated, straggling line. Others, not airborne, were crawling down to the shore.

The Bannerees were arriving. From far and near, from damp sea-caverns, from the shelter of distant peaks, from caves and cover of every kind, and from every part of the forest, they were coming out of hiding. Singly at first, or in small groups, but in constantly increasing numbers, they came to reclaim their mountain. Mount Banneree, scarred but not destroyed, was once again the home and base and support of the Bannerees.

Knobby was in the main hall where the battle had been, or in a small room near it. There were several dragons there, including Revander and Broobeen, the son of Mallabictus. He was a very young dragon, quite a lot younger than Revander. He was speaking now.

“As the new Fire Leader of the Farradanes, I would like to present my Memory, Arramandel.”

Revander made some polite, formal reply.

Broobeen continued. “As you see, the Farradanes have not only a new Fire Leader, but a new Memory as well. My father was killed in the battle, and so was his Memory, Fallamaze. So now,” he added to Revander, “we have both lost fathers. Dissimitter, the Dermils’ Fire Leader, and his Memory, Tellamine, also died, and so did all the others who knew The Technique.”

He looked around at the listening group.

“That is what I have come to tell you,” he said. “It was not only dragons who died in the battle. It was also knowledge. We no longer have The Technique, the secret of producing liquid fire. All the dragons who knew it have been killed.”

“But you are not dead,” said Revander. “Are you telling us that you never learned The Technique?”

“No,” said Broobeen, “I never learned it. I was considered too young. I was going to be taught it when I became Fire Leader of Mount Banneree, but that event, as you know, did not take place.”

“I see,” said Revander thoughtfully. “So what you have come to tell us is that now The Technique has been lost, we Bannerees are no longer in danger from the Mallavants.There will be no more attempts to use The Technique on our mountain.”

“Yes,” said Broobeen, “that is precisely the point I want to make.”

“I hope we can be sure of that,” said Revander. “A technique discovered once could be discovered again. After all, you must have a general idea of how it works, and if it were ever re-discovered, there could be another Mallavant invasion.”

“As long as I am Fire Leader,” replied Broobeen, “that will certainly never happen. I always felt uneasy about The Technique, depending entirely on liquid fire. It was making us fat and bloated. Apart from that, I agree with you Bannerees that we have no right to destroy other forms of life, wiping them out as if they were not important. All life is important. So have no fears on that account. During my lifetime at least, The Technique will never be re-discovered. I shall strictly forbid all efforts in that direction.”

“I hope,” said Revander slowly, “for the sake of the Mallavants as well as the Bannerees, that your life will be long and prosperous.”

“A hope that I share,” replied Broobeen, “for your life as for mine, and I repeat that the Bannerees have nothing to fear from the Mallavants. If there is any fear between us, it should surely be on our side. The Banneree fire in that final battle was stupendous, amazing, unbelievable. It was like no other fire that was ever seen. None of the Mallavant dragons could even approach it, with or without The Technique.”

Revander’s reply was slow and thoughtful. “I do not think,” he said, “that the Mallavants have any cause for fear. The Banneree fire on that day was not the normal Banneree fire. It was, as you say, astounding, amazing, like no other fire ever seen. No Banneree had ever produced such fire before. We have not produced it since. I have thought about it many times. We have all thought about it, but for us, as for you, it remains a mystery. I cannot explain it.”

“I can explain it.”

They all looked at the speaker. He was a very old dragon who had been listening in silence, but carefully following what was said. Revander knew him as Valladeemer, who had once been a counselor to his father, though he had long since given up that position.

Broobeen was the first to speak. “Are you Revander’s Memory?” he asked.

“If I held a position of that kind,” replied the old counselor, “I would already have introduced myself – my name is Valladeemer – but the custom of having a Memory dragon is purely a Mallavant one.”
There was a pause, during which they waited in silence.“In the past,” continued Valladeemer, “there were times when I was able to help Tremander, sometimes with advice and sometimes with information. Perhaps I could do the same for his son.”

“Yes, go on,” said Revander and Broobeen together.

“Dragons,” said Valladeemer, “are creatures of fire, and as every dragon knows, there are several kinds of fire. There is the fire in the sky. There is the liquid fire of the Earth. There is dragon fire, produced by will-power and concentration of the mind. All these we know. However, there is another kind of fire. It is also dragon fire, yet many dragons do not know it. It is the Fire of Truth.”

“The Fire of Truth,” repeated Revander.

“The Fire of Truth. It is the rarest of fires and the highest, and – it is in all dragons. It can be beautiful. It can be terrible. It can be many things. It is in us all, but we cannot summon it at will, we cannot control it, we can never really know it.”

Valladeemer paused.

“Perhaps I cannot explain it after all,” he said. “It is the Fire of Truth. It is a mystery. It will always be a mystery. Yet I can say this. It is the Fire of Truth, and it will burn for those of us who are on the path of truth. If we dragons are on that path, if we can faithfully follow that path, then we know that in the times of our greatest need, in times of defeat or utter disaster, this fire that is in us all will never fail.”

The rocky walls of the cave began to grow dim, and so did the circle of dragons and everything in their world. Knobby found himself back in the serpent’s cave at the end of another dream.

“Well,” said Mr. Baxter, “that’s it for tonight, but I’ll carry on tomorrow.”

As good as his word, he continued the story the following evening.

“Billichip,” he said, “was a very young parakeet, who was starting his first spell of duty in the palace. Now, after just a few days, he had been told to report to a certain room above Meeting. He had no idea of the reason, and he did not know if he was going to be praised or find himself in trouble.”

Judy was making complaining noises.

“What’s the matter?” asked her father.

“This isn’t the same story,” she said. “The story’s supposed to be about Gracinda and
Knobby and all the unicorns. And the dreams of course,” she added.

“Well, if you have a tiny bit of patience, and wait for about one minute, you’ll see that the story is about Gracinda. Why not try just listening?”

Judy said nothing, and her father continued.

“The room was empty when Billichip arrived, so he waited, wishing very much that he was somewhere else. This feeling increased when a bird came in, and he recognised Ballabeck, the macaw with the twisted beak. Billichip was so nervous that he nearly fell off his perch. Ballabeck did nothing to reassure him. He looked at him coldly, first with one eye and then with the other.

“You are Billichip,” he said.

“Y’yes sir,” stammered Billichip.

“Your flight leader, Rinnagale, tells me that you failed to recognise the filly Gracinda.”

“Er, yes sir – I mean - er – no sir.”

“You did not recognise her?”

“No sir, I didn’t.”

“I understand that when Rinnagale told you to go and watch Gracinda, you returned and told him that Gracinda was not in the punishment block.”

“Er, yes sir. That’s right.”

“But Gracinda was in the punishment block. Can you explain to me why you failed to recognise her?”

“Sir, I thought that Gracinda was the filly I saw in Speaking.”

“You saw a filly in Speaking?”

“Yes sir.”

“When did you see this filly?”

“Sir, it was a short time after the practice preparation for the feast.”

“Were there any other fillies in Speaking at the time?”

“No sir, just this one.”

“And what was she doing?”

“Sir, she was moving things about. When I saw her she was putting a box of punishment fruit into an alcove in the wall.”

“I see,” said Ballabeck. “And you say that this filly you saw in Speaking, whom you thought was Gracinda, was not in the punishment block when Rinnagale sent you there.”

“No sir, she was not.”

“How can you be so sure of that?”

“Sir, the filly I saw in Speaking was black and brown, and none of the ones in the punishment block was that colour. Besides, she had a flag on her horn.”

“What colour was this flag?”

“Sir, it was red."

“I see,” said Ballabeck. “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful. Of course you realise you were not supposed to be in Speaking at that time.”

“Yes sir. I’m sorry sir. I went to the wrong room by mistake.”

“We’ll say no more about it this time. But learn your rooms. You may go now.”

“Thank you sir.”

It was over. Billichip was almost light-headed with relief, as he flew back to his duties.

So, thanks to Billichip’s information, Gracinda and Belzeena changed places. Gracinda was brought out of the punishment block, and Belzeena was sent into it. At first Belzeena said that she had never moved any boxes or interfered with anything. However, it was most unlikely that Billichip had made up his story. It was only by chance that he had told it at all, and Belzeena could not explain a small tear in her flag, nor the fact that there was a slight smear of fruit on it – rotten fruit. In the end, after a few days in the punishment block, she admitted what she had done.

Gracinda was brought back into the group, whose leader was now Zannerette. Subdued and scared by what had happened, they worked hard at preparing for the feast. Large quantities of food were brought in, boxes of jellied frogs’ spawn, lizards’ tongues and other Warlock favourites.

“Yuk,” said Judy

There were also barrels of various types of strong wine. The Head Filly was very busy arranging storage and keeping things organised, so that everything was available and could be provided at a moment’s notice.

Then an advance party of Warlocks arrived. They inspected everything, the palace, the gardens, the food, the furniture, the kitchen utensils, the efficiency of the various services, and the accommodation, especially the rooms being prepared for the Grand Warlock. They were not always pleased by what they found, and made suggestions. Their suggestions were really the same as orders, and that made more work.

Headed by Zannerette, the group of Reds, now only five unicorns, worked very hard, helping in various ways. Finally they prepared the table for the last time. The trays in the alcoves held real drinks and real food, the boxes by the chairs contained real rotten fruit, and everything was real, including the nervousness they felt as they waited for the feast to begin.

Not just the table, but the whole of the room had been carefully prepared for the event. A thousand candles had been lit in holders all round the walls, and four magnificent chandeliers flashed and sparkled in the glow of their flames. As well as the serving fillies there were others standing around, some in the corners of the room, some on the sweeping staircase, and a few looking down from the balcony above, to provide a sort of living decoration. The Head Filly hovered importantly in the background, surrounded by guardians, whom she sometimes sent out to give instructions to this or that group leader. Banseth came and went, giving orders from time to time.

Brilliant birds, macaws, parrots and parakeets, were perched in all sorts of places, no longer acting as spies, but adding even more colour, and several groups of junior Warlocks were standing around, ready to provide whatever services might be needed.”

“I wondered about that,” said Tom. “If the trays and boxes had the right kind of curving handles over the top, the unicorns could lift them on their horns, but some things have to be done by hand.”

“That’s right,” said Mr. Baxter. “Some of the work was done by junior Warlocks.”

He continued after a pause. “The table was long. There were ten places along each side, and each place had a plate in front of it, but nothing more. At one end of the table, the end furthest from the door by which the guests would enter, there was a very large chair with a high back, where the Grand Warlock would sit and preside. The other end of the table was for servers, and had no seat. In the centre of the table and running the full length of it was a shallow trough, like the trough in a carpenter’s bench, though not as wide.

The feast began quietly enough. Two important-looking Warlocks came in. One had a green face, while the other was greenish brown, and both were wearing expensive chains round their necks. They walked the length of the table, one on each side, and took the two places next to the Grand Warlock’s chair, where they sat and waited. Then another pair of Warlocks, slightly less important-looking, appeared and sat down in the places next to the first pair. Then a third pair came in and took the next two seats, and this continued until all the seats were taken. The twenty Warlocks sat and waited in total silence until the Grand Warlock made his entry.

The Grand Warlock was over a head taller than the other Warlocks. Gracinda was not able to look at him in detail, but she noticed the dark-green face, the untidy, black hair and the slightly pointed ears. She also saw that he was wearing a red and white tunic and had a gold chain round his neck. Sitting on his right shoulder was Skorfane, the huge, bald-headed vulture, whose name and nasty nature were as widely known as those of his master.

The other Warlocks rose and stood rigidly to attention, as the Grand Warlock strode down the hall to take his place in the enormous chair. As he did so, Skorfane half spread his wings and jumped from his master’s shoulder to the back of the chair. The Grand Warlock settled himself, looked down the table and nodded sternly. This was a signal for all twenty Warlocks to sit down. He then spoke a single word to the server at the end of the table.

“Begin,” he said.

The server passed on this instruction to other Warlocks behind him, and a large metal pot was brought on and put in front of the Grand Warlock. It was a starter, to whet the appetite, a mixture of frogs’ spawn and lizards’ tongues. The Grand Warlock took a large helping, heaping up his plate. Then he nodded to the server, and the pot began to move along the table

Gracinda, who was standing four or five places down from the head of the table, her back to the disgusting fountain with the three-headed dog, which she tried not to think about, wondered at first what was making the pot move, until she realised that it was resting on a flat wooden tray, and the server was pulling a string attached to this. The string ran along the central trough, and on the underside of the tray was a wooden bar which also fitted into the trough, so keeping the tray in the centre of the table.

As the pot passed them the Warlocks helped themselves, dipping their hands in as quickly as possible, as the pot was moving quite fast, and once it had passed them they did not get a second chance. When the pot reached the end of the table it was removed. Then, at a signal from the Grand Warlock, the eating began.

They ate rapidly, shoveling the food in with their hands. There was no conversation and no show of good manners, just a continuous munching sound. From time to time the Grand Warlock fed small scraps to Skorfane, perched on the back of the chair behind him.

Several courses were served in this way. The starter was followed by a fish stew, which was mostly sea-slugs. As a meat dish they puff-adder pie, and then a nettle and thistle salad, and to top it all off there were slices of nightshade tart. These were all favourite Warlock dishes, but they had to take care to finish them at the same time as the Grand Warlock. If they finished too soon he might accuse them of greed, and if too late he might accuse them of not appreciating the food he had provided. Either of these could bring an unpleasant punishment. It all depended on his mood.

At any time during the meal the Warlocks could help themselves to the foaming drinks from the fillies’ trays, and Gracinda was kept very busy, taking back empty trays and picking up full ones.

Finally, when the meal was over, the table was cleared, and with a contented belch the Grand Warlock rose to his feet.

“My friends,” he said, “as I am kind and generous by nature, I have invited you all here tonight to share this meal with me, and I can see from your faces how happy you are to be in my company. I have had a good year, and I hope that next year will be even better. Because I am brilliantly clever in every way, none of my enemies has the slightest chance of succeeding against me, and of course I shall have even more triumphs in the future. I am pleased with the progress that has been made in this camp. Tomorrow I intend to inspect all the unicorns in it. Right now, it is time to pass from the pleasures of eating to the pleasures of punishment.”

Here he looked at one of the attendant Warlocks, who approached him with some hesitation. “Oh Eminent One,” he said, “there are no punishment victims tod“No punishment Victims!” The Grand Warlock was obviously disappointed. This was bad news. He thought for a moment.

“In that case,” he said, “as we Warlocks are a musical race, I will entertain you with some musical shouts.”

He took a deep breath, and then in a loud, harsh voice he sang, or rather shouted,

I am an eagle,
Glorious and regal.
I am an eagle.
Yaaahh!

The entire company joined him in the final word, yelling it out enthusiastically and raising their hands as they did so. This was a boast. He followed it with another.

I am amazing,
Like a comet blazing.
I am amazing.
Yaaahh!

Once again the Warlocks joined him in the ‘Yaaahh!’. Then he sang a challenging song, a taunt.

Foes, I despise you.
I’m going to pulverise you.
Foes, I despise you.
Yaaahh!

This time the ‘Yaaahh!’ was shouted in a nasty way, with a fierce expression, sometimes with the tongue stuck out. It was dangerous with the Grand Warlock to shout the wrong kind of ‘Yaaahh!’ The next song showed this.

I am a wonder.
Never make a blunder.
I am a wonder.
Yaaahh!

This, of course, was a boast, and most of the Warlocks responded with enthusiastic shouts. But one of them, who was sitting in front of Gracinda, and who had had at least 8 glasses of drink during the meal, did not. His jeering ‘Yaaah!’ might have gone unnoticed in the general noise, but the nasty expression and the stuck-out tongue were impossible to miss.

“GEVALDRICK!’

There was instant silence.

“Gevaldrick,” said the Grand Warlock very gently, “I may perhaps be mistaken, but I think you put your tongue out at me.”

Gevaldrick said nothing .

“ANSWER!” This time he shouted the word.

“N’not at you, Eminent One,” stammered Gevaldrick. “I thought - .”

The Grand Warlock turned to a group of attendants.

“String him up,” he said.

The other Warlocks grinned. They knew what was coming. Gevaldrick’s wrists were tied to the opposite ends of a bar, quite wide apart. Then he was hoisted up and over the table, and lowered till his toes just touched the top of it.

“Ten verses,” said the Grand Warlock.

If it had been some unimportant Warlock hanging there, the song would have been vicious and unfriendly.

Dregs of creation.
Doesn’t know his station.
Dregs of creation.
Yaaahh!

But Gevaldrick was a very important Warlock, so the song was gentle and sympathetic.

Poor old Warlock
Didn’t tug his forelock.
Poor old Warlock.
Aaahh.

Before you ask the question,” said Mr. Baxter to Tom, “the forelock is the hair at the front of the head, the bit that hangs down if you don’t brush it properly.”

“This bit,” said Tom, tugging it.

“That’s right,” said his father, “and in the old days tugging the forelock was a sign of respect, something men did when talking to an important person, who had to be treated with great politeness.”

Tom let go of his hair.

Mr. Baxter continued the story. “ The final drawn-out ‘Aaahh’ was sung in a tone of mock sympathy, but what followed was not at all sympathetic. At the end of the word they took rotten fruit from the boxes by their chairs and hurled it at Gevaldrick. They did this ten times, roaring with laughter and shouting out comments.

“Mould is good for the skin, Gevaldrick.”

“Beautiful. Yellow’s your colour, Gevaldrick.”

“You look nice, Gevaldrick. We must do this more often.”

The Grand Warlock played no part in this, but when the song and the fruit throwing were over, he turned to the vulture behind him.

“Tweak him, Skorfane,” he said.

The enormous vulture took to the air, and with slow, heavy wing-beats that blew the hair and faces of the Warlocks below, he circled round to approach Gevaldrick from behind. Perching on the wooden bar, he bent down and forward and gave a sharp bite. Then he flew back to his perch, leaving Gevaldrick with a bleeding nose.

The Grand Warlock had not finished yet. He looked at Gevaldrick, hanging over the table, dripping with fruit juice.

“Gevaldrick,” he said, “perhaps I misjudged you. You didn’t mean to be insulting. You simply made a mistake because you’d drunk too much and perhaps not eaten enough. If you’re going to drink you really ought to eat as well. Let me see. There should be a box of fruit beside your chair.”

Obviously looking forward to making Gevaldrick eat some rotten fruit, he bent forward to look, but the box was empty. The fruit, like that in all the boxes, had been used as ammunition.

“Oh well,” he said regretfully, “let him down.”

In spite of some disappointments, it had been a successful evening. The fillies helped to clear up before retiring, and the Grand Warlock went to bed in high good humour.

Well,” said Mr. Baxter, “it’s not too late. I think there’s time to go on a little longer.”

“Time for Knobby to have another dream, I expect,” said Tom. “What’s he going to learn this time?”

“Well, if you listen,” said his father, “you’ll find out what happened in the same way as Knobby did.

Knobby realised that once again he was standing in the cave, but this time there was no yellow light from the serpent’s eyes. It was total darkness. He began to move forward, cautiously feeling his way. He stopped when he saw a faint but steadily increasing glow of light. There was a rasping, slithering sound, and he was once more

facing the serpent, the huge head with its enormous eyes swaying slowly from side to side.

Knobby spoke first.

“I would like to return now,” he said. “I feel there is urgent need, and I am ready to face any dangers.”

The reply was a long time coming.

“You have entered the cave three times,” said the serpent very gently and quietly. “You have had the experience of three dreams. What do you think you have gained?”

“I have gained many things,” said Knobby. “I have grown in strength, endurance and determination. I have learnt the value of careful thinking and the part it can play in life, and finally, I have felt the Fire of Truth. I have felt its splendour and its power.”

“And you think that will be enough – enough for what you have to do?”

Knobby had started to walk along the tunnel, going back along the route he had taken when he first arrived.

“Whatever I have to do,” he said, “it will be enough. It must be enough. I cannot stay here for ever, having dreams and going through endless preparations. I must go back to the camp. I feel there is need for action, and – I feel I am ready for it.”

He continued moving forward, away from the light and the cave

“If you wish to leave,” said the serpent, “then the choice is yours. It is not in my power to prevent you. But there are four dreams prepared for your particular need.”

Knobby hesitated.

The serpent said again, “The choice is yours.”

For a long time Knobby neither spoke nor moved. Then suddenly he turned and walked back the way he had come, past the serpent, then into the darkness and into his final dream.

Have we got time for the dream this evening?” said Mr. Baxter. “Yes, I think we have. The other dreams were the Dream of Earth, the Dream of Air and the Dream of Fire, and this dream is - .”

"The dream of water," said Tom.

"That's right," said his father. "What else could it be?"

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