The Wyverns' Treasure

  "Won't the adults honor the Covenant and protect us?" Nate asked.

  "The adults don't live in the caverns with their young. Most are too big to fit comfortably. I'm afraid we'll be on our own."

  Nate spent the rest of the evening sketching and trying hard not to think of wyverns or bats or his parents.

  Chapter Nine

  WHEN THEY SET OUT EARLY the next morning, Dewey led them around to the back side of Dinas Emrys. At the base of the mountain, a thick iron gate blocked the opening to the cave. Dewey removed a large key and opened the lock. The gate screeched as he opened it.

  "Do the wyverns try to get out often?" Nate asked.

  "It's not to keep the beasties in, me boy." Dewey winked. "But to keep others out."

  "Such as our intruder," Aunt Phil said, studying the ground near her feet.

  Puzzled, Nate tried to see what she was doing. "What are you looking at?"

  "This." Aunt Phil pointed to a footprint in the dirt. "Dewey, let me see the bottom of your boot."

  The old gamekeeper scratched his head, then lifted his boot. Aunt Phil inspected the tread on the sole, then looked back at the footprint on the ground. "This is not yours. Take a look."

  Dewey squinted down at it. "You're right about that. Plus them feet are quite a bit wider than mine."

  "Perhaps just the right size for a round, barrel-shaped man," Aunt Phil muttered. "I have my key, Dewey, so you don't need to wait around for us. If we're not back three hours before the deadline, put out the warning and clear the hills. Be sure people know this is not a drill. They're to leave their herds and possessions and get out before the wyverns cut loose."

  "I got the impression the beasts were quite looking forward to it," Dewey said.

  "I did, too. All the more reason to get the villagers to safety without delay."

  Dewey doffed his cap. "Aye, aye, doctor. And I'll be back in a wink to feed the young'uns. Just to keep 'em busy while you search the caves."

  "That won't be necessary," Aunt Phil said.

  "It won't hurt, neither," Dewey replied.

  The gate clanged shut behind them and Nate heard the loud click as Dewey locked it. There was nowhere to go now but into the wyverns' cave.

  Nate's breath began to come in fast, sharp gasps as he looked up toward the cavern ceiling, ready to duck.

  "Don't worry, there aren't any bats here. There's too much light," Aunt Phil told him.

  Nate stood up a little straighter. He knew it was silly to be afraid of bats when there were wyverns around, but he didn't seem to have any control over it.

  The cavern itself wasn't very big. It went for a little ways, then dropped off to a large, shadowed pit below. A feeding pit. Nate swallowed.

  Aunt Phil unrolled a large wood and rope ladder that reached all the way down into the pit. "After you," she said.

  Nate peered down. There were a number of gaping tunnels that opened onto the pit. Those would be really good places for a wyvern to hide, he thought. "Maybe you should go first so I can see how you climb down the ladder," he suggested.

  Aunt Phil raised an eyebrow but went on ahead of him. Even though the ladder looked rickety, it seemed to hold her just fine. When it was Nate's turn, he sat on the edge of the cliff and scooted forward until his feet found the first rung.

  "Be sure your helmet's secure," Aunt Phil called up to him. "It will protect your head if you fall."

  Nate froze at the thought of tumbling all the way down. He looked longingly back over his shoulder. Why couldn't his last remaining relative have been a milkman or own a sweet shop? That would have been—

  "Nate? Are you coming?"

  "Yeah, I'm coming." He sighed, then gripped the sides of the ladder firmly. He turned around carefully so that he was now facing the cliff. Reaching down with his foot, he groped for the next rung.

  The rope wobbled. A lot. Nate almost lost his grip more than once until Aunt Phil grabbed the bottom of the ladder and held it steady.

  When he finally reached the ground, he blinked as his eyes got used to the gloom. The air was dry and smelled musty. Bones and carcasses littered the floor of the cave, and he moved a little closer to Aunt Phil.

  "Even wyverns can't eat bones," she explained. "Although they do make wonderful teething toys for them," she added thoughtfully.

  When Aunt Phil stepped forward to inspect the four tunnels leading out of the pit, Greasle crawled out of the pack. "I wonder if there's any meat left on them bones?" the gremlin asked hopefully.

  "Shh!" Nate warned her. "I'd be careful if I were you. She's still pretty peeved about the carrier pigeon."

  "That wasn't my fault," Greasle muttered.

  "Aha!" Aunt Phil said just then, surprising Nate. "The intruder took this path, which means he could wander for days before finding anything important. Excellent. If we hurry, we'll get to the wyverns before he does."

  "What will we do with him once we find him?" Nate asked.

  "That, dear boy, is a most excellent question. Here. This is the tunnel that leads to their main cavern," she said. And with no more warning than that, she stepped inside.

  Nate took a deep breath, followed her into the tunnel, and stopped.

  It was as if he had run into a wall of absolute blackness. He blinked and held his hand up to his face. Even though he knew it was there, he couldn't see a thing. The air was thick and warm and pressed down on him. Fear tried to claw its way up his throat. It felt as if the walls of the tunnel were moving closer, threatening to crush him.

  "Lights on," Aunt Phil said cheerfully. There was a tiny snick of sound, and then a wide, bright beam of light penetrated the thick dark.

  Nate heaved a sigh of relief and fumbled with his own helmet until his fingers found the switch. He flipped it on and a second beam of light flooded the tunnel. There still wasn't much to see except rock and—"What are you eating?" he asked Greasle.

  She froze with a piece of shiny black rock halfway to her mouth. "Nothing," she said, whipping it behind her back.

  Aunt Phil peered at her quizzically. "I believe she's found one of the many veins of coal that run through these mountains. Wales is rich with it. But I didn't realize gremlins could eat it. Do you like it?" she asked Greasle.

  The gremlin took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. "I do. It's crunchy but tastes a bit like engines."

  "Fascinating," Aunt Phil murmured. "Well, eat all you like. You can't hurt anything down here."

  Greasle's ears perked up and she broke off another piece of coal from the wall, munching as they continued on their way.

  "Will we be able to sneak up on the wyverns with these lights?" Nate asked.

  "Oh, there was never any chance of our sneaking up on them. They'll smell us long before we see them. Chances are, they'll sneak up on us. It'll be a good opportunity for them to practice their hunting skills, no doubt."

  Nate stopped walking. "They're going to practice on us? I thought you said we were protected by the Covenant?"

  "They're too young to understand about the Covenant. And even if they did, young wyverns have very poor impulse control. They probably wouldn't remember the agreement until after they'd attacked us and gotten in trouble for it."

  Wonderful, Nate thought.

  In spite of the lanterns, it was slow going. The light exposed only bits and pieces of the path ahead, which twisted

  and turned and seemed to loop back on itself. Every so often, they would pass a gaping hole in the wall that led to yet another tunnel.

  The ground was rough and Nate stumbled over rocks and debris half a dozen times. Once, he tripped over a bone of some kind and nearly landed on his face.

  At the next bend in the tunnel, Nate's light fell on something long and fluttering. A ghost? He jumped back. "What's that?" he asked.

  "It's only dragon skin. As they grow, they shed their skins. Here, come have a closer look."

  Nate followed her over to the dragon skin. Up close, it shimmered faintly in the beams of light.
There was a rainbow sheen to it.

  "Touch it, Nate," Aunt Phil said.

  He did. It was soft and feathery against his fingers.

  "You can take a bit for your collection if you'd like."

  Nate looked at her in surprise. He didn't realize she'd noticed the few specimens he'd collected. "Thanks," he said.

  The skin was surprisingly tough. He couldn't tear it with his hands, so Aunt Phil handed him a small pocketknife. "Try this."

  The small sharp blade sliced cleanly through the dragon skin. When he went to hand it back to her, she shook her head. "No, you keep it. I have others and you might need one down here."

  "Really? I'm allowed to have my own knife?" he asked, not quite believing her.

  "You're a beastologist-in-training now. Of course you need the proper tools."

  Nate started to smile, then stopped. "But will a pocketknife be of any use against wyverns?" he asked.

  "Goodness, no!" Aunt Phil said. "It's not to use on them. It's in case you get stuck or have to cut something loose. You're never to use it on a wyvern."

  "Oh." Nate stuffed the piece of dragon skin into one of the outside pockets of his rucksack. He held on to the knife as they continued on their way. He liked the solid feel of it in his hand.

  Two twists and turns later, Nate's light fell on a dozen small, slithering shapes. He leaped back against the cavern wall. "Are those the babies?"

  "They're much too small, Nate. They're salamanders."

  "Salamanders?" he repeated.

  "Yes, elemental creatures of fire. They're attracted to the wyverns' flames. If you see them, you know the wyverns are very near."

  Nate gulped and knelt down so he could see them better. "They're kind of cute."

  Sensing his body's warmth, they clustered around his hand. Their tiny feet tickled. One brave salamander had just crawled all the way onto the back of Nate's wrist when a deep roar boomed through the tunnel. The salamanders scattered.

  "I believe we've found the wyverns," Aunt Phil announced.

  Chapter Ten

  NATE'S FIRST GLIMPSE of a young wyvern turned out to be a long, twitching tail. He nearly stepped on it as he crept around the next bend.

  His first thought was They didn't smell us after all. However, that was chased from his mind as the wyvern in front of him roared and launched forward. There was a deep squeak as the beast landed on another wyvern, the one he'd been sneaking up on. They growled and rolled on the floor, emitting loud grumbles and spitting fire. Nate leaped back out of the way of the flames and flailing tails. Greasle squealed, scampered up his leg, then dove into the safety of the pack.

  "These are two-year-olds. Juvies, we call them," Aunt Phil whispered. "Aren't they cute, practicing their hunting skills like that?"

  Nate turned to stare at her. She was smiling at them as if they were nothing but a litter of kittens playing with a ball of yarn. Had she lost her mind?

  There were five of them, and they were about the same size as a giraffe Nate had seen at a zoo once. Their eyes were yellow, with red slits in the middle that flickered like flames. Their teeth were much smaller than the adults', but still very sharp looking. Their wings were nothing but useless little stubs on their back.

  As they broke apart, the largest one stuck his snout in the air and sniffed.

  "Best get your ear trumpet in place," Aunt Phil told Nate.

  What he really wanted was to grab his pick and hold it out in front of him, but he didn't think Aunt Phil would approve. Instead, he quickly unhooked his ear trumpet from his belt. He stuck it in his ear just in time to hear the young wyvern's words. "I sssmell something."

  The other wyverns stopped their roughhousing and lifted their snouts into the air as well. Then they all turned toward Aunt Phil and Nate.

  As loud as they had been before, they were now eerily quiet, creeping closer. Their long pink tongues flicked out, testing the air.

  "Not too close, now," Aunt Phil warned. "We come in peace. Your parents have agreed to parley with us, so we are granted free passage."

  "Parsssley?" the closest wyvern repeated. "Isn't that the tasty green stuff Mum puts on sheep?"

  "No, parley," Aunt Phil repeated, saying the word very slowly. "It is an agreement between your parents and us to try to solve problems before taking action."

  "Who are you?"

  "I'm a beastologist."

  The smallest one perked up. "Beasts? We eat beasts."

  "Not beastologists, you don't," Aunt Phil said firmly.

  The smallest was very close to Nate now. His long tongue flicked out and touched Nate's face. Nate jerked back.

  "Isss salty," the young wyvern announced to the others. "Not as fuzzy as sheep."

  "Stop that, now," Aunt Phil scolded. "We've important work to do here. Have you seen any other humans? Creatures who look like us?"

  "No," the largest wyvern said as he moved closer. "Only you."

  "Shoo," Aunt Phil said, flapping her hands at them. "Shoo."

  But unlike the crocodiles of the Niger River, shoo didn't seem to work on the wyverns. In fact, if anything, they drew closer.

  "Why aren't they listening?" Nate asked, backing away. "They have ears, don't they?"

  The nearest juvie moved even closer and cocked his head to the side. "Wasss that a riddle?" he asked, twirling his tail.

  "Brilliant idea, Nate, appealing to their higher nature like that," Aunt Phil told him. "Riddles stimulate their intellect."

  Nate swallowed. "Um, that wasn't a riddle. That was a question."

  "Oh. Well, best get the pennies out, then."

  The juvies took another step forward. Nate gulped and reached for his pocket. Just then, a bell sounded, a clean, clanging series of notes in the distance.

  Every single wyvern froze, then trundled off toward the sound. Nate, Aunt Phil, and Greasle were suddenly alone in the corridor. "Dewey and his dinner bell," Aunt Phil explained.

  Nate remembered the large bell that hung on the wall back in the first cavern and Dewey's insistence that he would feed the wyverns later. Nate was heartily grateful. "But why would they leave us for a stupid old bell?" he asked, falling into step behind Aunt Phil.

  "Ah, we learned that trick from the experiments of a Russian named Pavlov. He did a fascinating experiment with dogs. Every time he fed these dogs, he'd ring a bell. After a while, the dogs always reacted to the sound of a bell as if it were feeding time. Shortly after that, Dewey and I spent a few months training the juvies to the sound of a bell. We placed one in the main cavern and one in the feeding pit. We figured it would be a handy way to be able to call them all at once when we wished to take a head count. It's turned out to be more useful than I ever could have imagined. Now whenever they hear that bell they come running, knowing they will be fed. Ah, here we are. The main cavern."

  Nate stepped out of the tunnel and into the main cavern,

  his jaw dropping open in surprise. It was no gloomy, dark hidey-hole. It was ... beautiful.

  The stone was smooth and polished, not all crumbly and bumpy like the tunnel had been. Long, delicate spires of crystallized minerals hung down from the rocks, like decorations on a fancy chandelier.

  The ceiling went up for miles, it seemed, until it disappeared into the top of the mountain. Halfway up, there was a large opening and a shelf. As Nate, Aunt Phil, and Greasle gazed upward, a large adult wyvern swooped in through the opening and dived toward the floor of the cave.

  Chapter Eleven

  "COME WATCH THIS." Aunt Phil grabbed Nate's arm and pulled him back toward the wall. Not out of sight, exactly, but out of the way.

  As the wyvern landed on the cavern floor, half a dozen babies swarmed toward it. When they reached the adult, the bigger beast began to cough. Or choke. Or—"Why is he trying to throw up on them?" Nate asked.

  Aunt Phil glanced at him. "She's not throwing up, Nate. She's regurgitating food for them. All wyverns are fiercely devoted parents. They don't nurse their young like mammals do. I
nstead, they chew and partially digest food for the hatchlings, then regurgitate it so their young mouths can manage it. At least until their teeth come in."

  Ew, was all Nate could think. Even Greasle said, "That's disgusting, that is!"

  But the baby wyverns seemed very pleased with their meal. And Nate was surprised at how gentle and loving the adult wyvern was toward them. He'd never thought of a dragon in quite that way.

  When the wyvern had finished feeding the babies, she turned her giant head toward Nate and Aunt Phil. Nate jumped back and plastered himself against the cave wall. "Don't worry," Aunt Phil said. "She knows about the parley. Trumpets in place," she reminded him. Nate fumbled at his belt and got his ear trumpet unhooked.

  "Greetingsss, doctor."

  "Greetings, Nerys. Have you seen any sign of an intruder during your feeding duties?"

  The wyvern lifted her snout and sniffed the air. "No, but I can ssstill smell him."

  "Onward, then," Aunt Phil said.

  "Before you leave," Nerys said. "Would you take a look in the hatchery? There is one lone egg that will not hatch. We would like you to look at it, if you don't mind."

  "I'd be glad to. Come on, Nate." She led him to a small cave off the main cavern.

  The minute Nate stepped inside, he began to sweat. "Why is it so hot in here?"

  Aunt Phil pointed to a small, bubbling pool. "It's an underground hot springs. Wyverns are much too heavy to sit on their eggs. They would break immediately. And if the shell were thick enough to withstand their weight, a baby wyvern would never be able to break through. The warm air helps keep the eggs warm until they hatch. The moisture keeps them from hardening too soon."

  Nate saw one lone egg propped up on a sad little pile of hay. It stood nearly two feet tall, and Greasle licked her lips. "Just think of the heaping plate of strangled eggs that would make!" she said.