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He had known what he was now feeling only once so keenly before. On the day when he had challenged Nettlebrand: a lust for battle so old and powerful that it seemed to be stealing out of a dark past and into his heart. Even the hatred that stirred in him at the sight of Kraa’s cruel beak seemed older than himself. Dragon against griffin. Griffin against dragon. No, that enmity was nothing to do with him. But Firedrake saw, in Kraa’s eyes, that he would kill Barnabas and Twigleg as casually as he snapped up flying squirrels and young monkeys.
‘Sorrel, get on Tattoo’s back!’ Firedrake told her as he let the darkness in – into his sinews and muscles, into his mind, but not, he hoped, into his heart. ‘You too, Ben,’ he added.
Ben and Sorrel exchanged a glance. It wasn’t often that they were in total agreement, but this time Ben knew he could count on the brownie girl.
‘You’re talking nonsense!’ said Sorrel. ‘We’re exactly where we belong. And Tattoo has a rider of his own.’
Firedrake was about to answer. But now it was Shrii who turned to Kraa.
‘What’s the idea?’ he called up to the old griffin as he spread his wings threateningly. ‘I challenged you first. I, not the dragon, Kraa! This island is my home, and you will have to fight me for it!’
The other griffins ducked down on the branch where they were crouching, ready to pounce.
‘Stay where you are!’ Kraa called to them, holding the glass-eyed man in his claw like a captured mouse. ‘No one here is fighting except me and the dragon! It will be like the old days. Single combat will decide it.’
‘Decide what?’ Tattoo came to Firedrake’s side.
Kraa didn’t trouble to answer him.
What a night! The arrival of the lindworms was the best thing ever to happen on this eternally damp island. A challenge worthy of him at last. It made up for all the uneventful years when the only diversion had been trading with a few ragged poachers. Although these dragons were probably young idiots like Shrii. The silver one was clearly the older of the two, but even he couldn’t be more than two or three hundred years old. All the same, he was an impressive opponent. Kraa scrutinised the dragon’s long, jagged tail with satisfaction, Firedrake’s powerful flanks and curving horns… how often had he used them in battle? Most lindworms were very proud of their peaceful natures. But the one with the patterned scales was as excited as if he couldn’t wait to attack. A beginner. He, Kraa, had fought a thousand duels in his life, and he had won all of them. All of them.
Kraa ran his beak over his tawny wings – so much more distinguished than Shrii’s parrot plumage – and looked up at his opponent.
‘Announce the conditions, Nakal!’
‘Conditions?’ The proboscis monkey looked at his master in surprise.
‘Promise them anything you like!’ Kraa whispered to him. ‘Promise them the blue out of the sky. It makes no difference, because I shall win. As for my price – demand the usual. You know what I like.’
‘Oh yes. May I express a wish?’ Nakal tapped Twigleg’s pointed nose with one finger. ‘I’d like to keep the jenglot?’
‘Why not?’ growled Kraa. ‘Maybe he really is poisonous.’
Twigleg wasn’t sure whether this was good news or bad news. He was clutched so tightly in Nakal’s fist that he could hardly feel his arms, but Barnabas was in a considerably worse situation. Kraa had lowered his claw and was bracing it, together with his captive, on the flight ramp where he was standing. It was a wonder that Barnabas was still breathing.
‘These are the conditions of Kraa the Terrible!’ cried Nakal to the challengers. ‘The two prisoners will get their freedom should the dragon be victorious, and the young parrot –’ he made Shrii a mocking bow – ‘will be lord of this island.’
The other griffins ruffled up their feathers disapprovingly, but Nakal gave Kraa a conspiratorial wink.
‘Excellent,’ he growled. ‘And now tell them my price!’
Nakal cleared his throat.
‘If the mighty Kraa wins the duel,’ he announced in such a loud voice that Twigleg wished he could put his hands over his ears, ‘he will eat the glass-eyed man alive, as well as all who have supported the traitor Shrii. Then Kraa the mighty, Kraa the feathered storm, Kraa the bringer of a thousand deaths, will drink the blood of the dragon, rip out Shrii’s beating heart and eat it, so that everyone on the island will know who is their king.’
It really isn’t easy to breathe when a griffin’s claw is squeezing your ribs. But Barnabas was choking even more with anger at himself. It seemed to him as if he had betrayed all that he had fought for and believed in during his life. Peace instead of hatred and war, protection instead of destruction, working with others rather than against them… all of that was lying in the dirt with him, and soon two fabulous beings would be killing each other on his account. It was no consolation that the griffin might, after all, be the loser. Even Kraa’s death would be a loss to the world and the variety of creatures in it. Just as the death of every tiger was.
‘Listen to me, Kraa!’ gasped Barnabas, trying again to struggle out from under the claw that was pinning him down. ‘Please!’
The griffin took no notice. Only his snake-tail wound its way towards Barnabas and hissed in his face.
‘Good!’ cried Firedrake. ‘Here are my conditions.’
The green of the jungle was reflected in his silver scales. It was almost as if the dragon had become part of the island.
‘I will fight you only if you agree to free the prisoners, even if I lose. Swear it! Swear by your treasure or whatever is sacred to you. After
this battle, whatever its outcome, the prisoners and all who have rebelled against you may leave this island uninjured.’
