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Blindly he tore at the twine around the arrow head and freed the note. As he smoothed the paper out, Barda gave a snort of disgust.

‘Why does the old fool write in code?’ Barda exploded. ‘We are supposed to be living in a time of peace!’

‘The Dread Gnomes have always been suspicious folk,’ Lief said. ‘Perhaps the young ones will change in time, but old ones like Fa-Glin never will.’

He shrugged. ‘And in any case, this code is as simple as can be—only intended to baffle the quick glances of strangers. See? Fa-Glin has just written out his message putting all the letters into groups of four, with no full stops.’

Barda snatched the note, cursed under his breath because he had not seen the trick at once, then haltingly began to read the message aloud.

‘“I grieve to tell you that the new crop on which we pinned our hopes has been disappointing. The vines were sickly from the first, and only six baskets of small, sour fruit resulted from all our care. The yam harvest was also very bad, many of the yams having rotted in the ground. Hunting is poor. There are few fish in the stream.”’

He broke off, shook his head, then read on:

‘“If only we could eat the fruit of the boolong trees like our neighbours the Kin! The boolong trees thrive like the weeds they are, but all parts of them disagree with us. It will be another hard winter on Dread Mountain, I fear.”’

He handed the note back to Lief, his face very grave.

‘So,’ he said. ‘More bad tidings. North, south, east and west, it is the same story. But Fa-Glin did not ask for food to be sent, as the other tribes did.’

‘He is too proud for that,’ said Lief. ‘He would rather starve than ask for help. And perhaps he guesses that we have little to send, in any case.’

Suddenly he crumpled the note into a ball and threw it across the room.

‘Oh, what are we to do?’ he groaned. ‘The people have worked so hard, and we have given them every help we can. But it seems that nothing thrives in Deltora except weeds and thorns. It is as if the land is poisoned!’

‘Or cursed,’ said a quavering voice behind him.

2 - Tales of Dragons

Lief and Barda spun around. Josef the librarian was standing there, leaning heavily on his stick. He had crept into the room so silently that they had not heard him.

‘What foolishness are you talking, Josef?’ snapped Barda, glancing at Lief’s strained face in concern. ‘Crop failures are nothing new in Deltora. We were half-starved all through the years of the Shadow Lord’s terror, but we hardly noticed it then. It is only after a battle, when you are safe, that you have time to fret about the sting of a small wound or the tightness of your boots.’

Josef followed the big man’s eyes to Lief’s fixed, dread-filled expression. His face fell.

‘Forgive me,’ he said, hobbling forward. ‘I am tired, and spoke hastily. Barda is quite right. The threat of famine has plagued Deltora for centuries.’

‘Yes,’ said Lief in a low voice. ‘But it was not always so, Josef. You and I both know it.’

He pointed at the one tidy shelf in the great room—a shelf holding a row of tall, pale blue books.

‘The early volumes of the Deltora Annals are full of tales of giant harvests, prize-winning melons, hauls of fish so heavy that the nets of the fishermen tore,’ he said. ‘When did things change? And why?’

Josef looked anxiously from his king’s drawn face to Barda’s, and back again.

‘I … I do not know,’ he stammered. ‘It—just happened. Little by little. But I have sometimes thought …’

‘Yes?’ Lief leaned forward. ‘What, Josef?’

Josef wet his lips. ‘Only …’ he quavered, ‘only that the land’s decline seems to—to have followed the decline of Deltora’s dragons.’

Lief and Barda glanced at one another. In both their minds was a vision of the golden dragon they had seen in the Os-Mine Hills.

The dragon had been deep in an enchanted sleep, and they had not breathed a word of it to anyone, for its cavern guarded a secret underground world they had sworn never to reveal.

Barda cleared his throat. ‘I do not see how the land could have suffered from the dragons’ extinction,’ he said roughly. ‘The beasts were a menace, by all reports.’

Josef drew himself up. ‘I beg to disagree,’ he said. ‘Look! I will show you!’

He tottered to the shelf where the many volumes of the Deltora Annals were stored.

Barda clicked his tongue impatiently. ‘Oh, why did I give him an excuse to start messing around with those cursed books?’ he said to Lief under his breath. ‘Now there will be no stopping the old bore.’

‘Josef,’ said Lief, ‘the meeting is about to begin. We really do not have time for—’

But the old man had already thrown aside his stick and seized a pale blue book from the shelf.

‘I have always believed that the dragons of Deltora were linked to the land more closely than most people understood,’ he said, flipping eagerly through the book’s yellowed pages. ‘Do you know, for example, that the dragons were divided into seven tribes, just as the original peoples of Deltora were?’

‘No! Nor do I care,’ said Barda rudely.

‘If you would prefer ignorance to knowledge, that is your affair,’ said Josef, turning from his book with a frown. ‘But the king, who has read my small work, The Deltora Book of Monsters, knows exactly what I am talking about. Is that not so, your majesty?’

‘Oh—yes!’ stammered Lief.

In fact, though he had glanced at the remarkable pictures in Josef’s book, he had not yet found time to read the closely-written words.

Fortunately, Josef did not notice his confusion. He had found the page he was looking for. On it was a map of Deltora—one Lief only vaguely remembered.

Curious despite himself Lief moved to the old man’s side and looked.

‘This map was made by the explorer Doran the Dragonlover, long ago,’ said Josef, tapping the page with a bony finger. ‘Doran’s maps were never elegant, but they were always accurate. This one shows the borders of the seven dragon territories. Doran drew it often, but sadly only one of the loose copies he made for travellers still survives. I keep it safely locked away.’

‘The borders look the same as the old borders of the seven tribes,’ said Barda, looking over his shoulder.

‘They are the same!’ exclaimed Josef excitedly. ‘That is just the point! The territories of the people, the dragons and the gems of Deltora correspond exactly.’

‘And so?’ Barda enquired in a bored voice.

‘Do you not see how important this is?’ exclaimed Josef. ‘You are not thinking, captain of the guards! Why, you of all people should understand!’

Barda remained silent. Josef looked at him severely.

‘The magic Belt of Deltora, created by our first king, the blacksmith Adin, and worn by his heirs, protects the land from the Shadow Lord,’ he said, in the patient tone of one speaking to a very small child. ‘Each of its great gems—the topaz, the ruby, the opal, the lapis-lazuli, the emerald, the amethyst and the diamond—came from deep within our earth, and each was the talisman of one Deltoran tribe.’

‘Barda knows this very well, Josef,’ said Lief gently. ‘Now, we really must—’

‘Wait!’ Josef commanded, stabbing at the writing beside the map. ‘Read what Doran says here. Read it!’

Lief frowned. ‘Josef, Doran was a great explorer. But he was not called “Dragonlover” for nothing. He was fascinated by dragons. He would have said anything to rally support to save them.’

Josef sighed, and much of his excitement fell away, leaving him a frail old man again. ‘No doubt you are right,’ he said. He rubbed his chin with a hand that trembled slightly. Then he looked up.