Dragon's Boy by Jane Yolen Page B

you bold enough to do it?”
    Artos looked not at the door but at the carved signs of power on it. In the flickering light, the runes seemed to move and change even as he watched.
    Suddenly he didn’t feel very bold. He didn’t have the wisdom to even read any of the warnings set out in the wood. All he had were a few stories, a great longing, some riddles and songs, and a game of cups and peas. How could those be enough?
    He turned and looked at Old Linn. The old man’s eyes caught the light of the brazier and they burned like the eyes of a dragon.
    Artos squared his shoulders and whispered, “I cannot go alone, sir.” He bent down, put his hands under Old Linn’s arms, and pulled him gently to his feet. Then with his hand firm under the old man’s elbow, he guided them both through the door.
    As they passed beneath the lintel, Artos looked up. He could just make out a few of the words carved there. Something to do with kings, once and in the future. He shook his head and smiled a small smile.
    Past the door was a warren of hallways and rooms. From somewhere ahead, Artos heard the chanting of many men. Celebrating with Mithras , he thought, just as Lady Marion said . He wrinkled his nose briefly at the thought of drinking bull’s blood and wondered if Sir Ector was among the men, his bandaged foot upon a chair. Mithras, the Druids, Christianity, the fenfolk—wisdom, it seemed, came in many forms and from the mouths of many gods. It was seen placed under many different cups. How one used the wisdom was what really counted. He smiled.
    â€œI think I am beginning to understand, sir,” Artos said.
    â€œUnderstand?”
    â€œAbout wisdom.”
    â€œAre you now?”
    â€œYes. You may not look like a dragon, all teeth and nails. But you are a dragon indeed.”
    â€œA very old dragon,” the apothecary warned.
    â€œHow…”Artos’ voice was suddenly troubled. “Just how old, sir?”
    â€œFive of your lifetimes, my boy. But then, my own father reached one hundred.”
    â€œOne hundred lifetimes?”
    Old Linn smiled. “One hundred years.”
    â€œGood.” Artos breathed deeply, then added quickly in his head. “That means you have at least two of my lifetimes to go. I would not have you die just yet. I have not finished getting my wisdom.”
    He thought the old man chuckled, but perhaps it was a simple clearing of the throat.
    â€œCan I have that piece of cake now?” Old Linn asked.
    â€œIt’s two pieces, really. And quite mashed.”
    â€œTwo pieces then, one for each lifetime to come.”
    â€œThey really should be shared,” Artos said.
    Old Linn looked directly at him and drew himself up to his full height. “But I…” he said, his voice suddenly hard, “ I am the Dragon.”
    â€œAnd I…” Artos replied, reaching into his shirt and scraping together one piece of the cake, which he pushed toward Old Linn’s mouth before taking the second piece for himself, “ I am the Dragon’s Boy.”

A Note from the Author
    T HE DRAGON’S BOY BEGAN as the result of an obsession I had with King Arthur and Merlin—an obsession that dates back to my childhood. One of the first important tales I ever read was in the World Book Encyclopedia , and it was about Camelot and all who dwelt there.
    Years later, I wrote a series of Merlin stories and poems, and one of them was called “The Dragon’s Boy.” The story was published first in the Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction in 1985, and eventually in my collection Merlin’s Booke . Only much later did I enlarge the tale and turn it into the novel that you have here.
    A lot of the physical details in this book came from a trip my husband and I took to England in the 1990s, when we walked around the actual High Tor and the countryside that spreads out beneath it.
    All part of my obsession. As I like to