Chapter Fifty-One
Druadaen resolved not to turn hastily. That could be mistaken for a prelude to attack or flight. Fortunately, the voice seemed unhurried. Probably because sarcasm is best when each of the barbs is delivered slowly, separately.
“You are all so predictable.” A dragon-snort ruffled Druadaen’s hair with the force of a sea breeze but an odor that recalled both iron filings and the air after a lightning strike. “For some reason, all your species invariably expect to find me lying on my ‘hoard,’ just waiting—or better yet, sleeping—as you creep in to slay me. All carried out with righteous words spewing from your lips and greedy hearts pounding in your chests.” It paused; Druadaen was grateful for the moments he’d had to think.
“Really, now,” the majestic voice continued, “could any creature be as irremediably stupid as that and survive for hundreds of years? I can’t see it, personally. But I want to see you, intruder…before I send you to whatever indifferent doom awaits your kind.”
Druadaen turned and beheld the dragon…and in that moment, his growing fear transformed into surprised curiosity.
The great wyrm was not as usually depicted. Instead of a long snout and equally long jaws reminiscent of a saltwater crocodile, its head was surprisingly compact and fixed on a thick, sturdy neck.
It leaned back, hornlike eyelids narrowing. The dark purple irises were fixed upon Druadaen, but more in surprise and curiosity than menace. “Are you well, staring at me thus?” The wide, flange-like spines of its crest unfolded, rising as the dragon glanced at the rest of the group and asked, “Is this one, eh, ‘simple’?”
Umkhira raised her chin in reply. “He is not. And he is the only one who refused to take any of your treasure.”
One of the dragon’s eyelids lifted, creaking like wet rigging. “Is that so? Well, he is either an utter dolt for risking his life without intending to gain from it, or he is among the cleverest two-legs I have ever met. And,” he growled, “as for my ‘treasure,’ that may be the most amusing misperception your breed has of mine.”
Ahearn cleared his throat carefully. “Then what is this I’m standing in? Rubbish?”
“Yes,” the dragon answered blithely, “that is exactly what it is.” When the three fortune-seekers goggled at the wyrm’s answer, it held up a single didactic claw. “Think on it: What use does a creature like me have for baubles such as gold and gems? They are all so tiny that my breed can’t even hold them. Assuming we had any reason to do so.”
“That doesn’t explain your impressive collection of fine armor and weapons,” S’ythreni rebutted cautiously. “I see several that are unique. Objects of legend.”
The dragon actually shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”
“You may trust her assessment,” Druadaen said. When the dragon turned toward him, he explained, “I am familiar with the markings on some of the shields, from depictions in books and scrolls.” Many bore impresas associated with revered heroes who had disappeared over the past two millennia; as such, they were a de facto collection of obituaries.
The dragon’s expression was one of bored indigestion. “What you call relics I call the useless spoor of those who came to kill me. And why? Because they all believed that as a dragon, I surely had a vast trove of wealth and artifacts.”
“But you do,” Elweyr said, staring at the evidence that was all around his feet.
“And where do you think all of it came from?” the dragon snapped impatiently, the crash of its vocal cords echoing off the walls like blades crossed in a swordfight. “From the ones who came before them. Who died and left behind the armor and wealth they—and their lackeys—were carrying at the time. And so on and so forth—ad nauseum, ad infinitum—until I’m wing-deep in their rubbish.” The dragon glowered at the accumulation, but then its irritation evolved into a sly, serrated smile. “The irony is delicious, don’t you think? That you are the ones fueling the myths and the greed that keep bringing you to your doom?”
Hearing an angry grumble rising from Ahearn, Druadaen asked loudly. “How frequently do such treasure-seekers disturb you?”
The dragon had to think a moment. “Not often, anymore. They used to be as thick as fleas on a dog’s back. Or so it seemed. But one is either vigilant or one is dead.” The great wyrm reflected. “Probably why so many of my kind are dead.”
“When did you become aware of us?”
“Early yesterday.” It smiled. “The plains are most convenient for seeing intruders at a distance.”
“I told you so,” Ahearn said to the others in a tone of rueful triumph.
Druadaen kept his focus on the dragon; as long as it was talking, they still had time to figure a way out of their predicament. “Why did you not attack us at that time?”
The dragon may have stifled a yawn. “Why should I? Either you were going someplace else, or you would ultimately deliver yourself here. All I had to do was leave before dawn, hide on another hill, watch you approach, and then glide to where I stand now, blocking the only exit.” This time it did yawn. “A model of convenience.”
“And most elegantly reasoned,” Elweyr muttered through softly chattering teeth.
“Well, it should be,” the dragon asserted, flipping a dismissive paw at the compliment. The scales on its forearm clattered softly, like an array of linen-wrapped castanets. “It’s how I’ve trapped all your predecessors. As you can see.” Its gaze traveled over the valuables in which they stood ankle-deep. “Which reminds me: it is time to resolve the matter of your trespass and attempted robbery. Which, of course, means that I must devour you. However, before doing so and adding your accoutrements to my collection of rubbish, I am willing to exchange a few more words with the doomed.”
“We are grateful,” Druadaen replied, even as he heard the group starting to move carefully. The dragon’s eyes defocused, apparently tracking them all simultaneously. Adopting a thoughtful, heads-down posture, Druadaen folded his hands behind his back; a palms-down gesture brought their movement to an end. “And, we are flattered.”
“You shouldn’t be,” the dragon snapped. “I am merely bored. Although, if I find you sufficiently diverting, I may allow some of you to exist for a bit longer. And if any of your sovereigns or relatives show up looking for you, I suppose I might consider ransoming you. Which would be wonderfully amusing.”
“Why?”
“Well, since neither you nor treasure are valuable to me, exchanging you for gold would be like trading nothing for nothing. A deliciously pointless exercise, don’t you think?”
“So you would keep us as your hostages, then?”
“Hostages?” The immense, square-jawed head flinched back. “Such a thuggish term. Let us rather say it would be welcome if your rescuers were to conceive of themselves merely as your fidejussors.”
“As fee-day whats?” asked Umkhira, her confusion veering toward annoyance.
Druadaen and Elweyr had their mouths open to answer, but Ahearn beat them to it. “A fidejussor is one who stands in obligation to pay the debt of another.” The rest of the group stared at him. “Well,” he explained with a blush, “I do read, y’know!”
“Another impossibility become reality,” S’ythreni muttered.
The dragon watched the exchange with an expression that, had its face been human, might have been amusement. “Individually, I find your company rather unpromising. But collectively, you are somewhat diverting…albeit unintentionally so.” He stretched, reclined across the mouth of the cave. “Let’s play a game.”
“Does it involve getting eaten?” Ahearn asked quickly.
“Only if the player asks stupid questions,” the dragon shot back. “Come now. Here’s how we play: you explain why you came here and why you thought it was acceptable to kill me in my own home. Then I will laugh at, and merrily dissect, your pitiful attempts to justify your homicidal intents. Who wants to go first?”
Druadaen took a step closer to the dragon, who muttered, “Why am I not surprised?” In a normal tone: “Yes? Now don’t rush; make it a really good excuse!”
“I cannot play your game. But I do want to assert that in coming here, we did not want—nor mean—to kill your young.”
The dragon shook its head; its folded crest rattled like a dozen loose shields in a rolling barrel. “Kill my young?” The great wyrm looked sideways at the others. “So, he truly is simple?”
Druadaen pressed on. “On the plain, earlier today, we either slew your young or…or creatures that are in your service.”
Its midnight-purple irises widened. “Ah! They are neither my spawn nor bound to me in any way. They are…well, convenient scavengers. Nothing more.”
“Scavengers?” echoed Umkhira.
“Do I not speak clearly? Yes, they are sca-ven-gers, ur zhog. It is where I dispose of the carcasses after I have fed. Like me, the reptiles there sleep a great deal, but wake when they detect movement. Or a body dropping to the ground from a hundred feet. They are very thorough and strip everything to the bones. No waste, no charnel smell.” It breathed deeply from a gust blowing past the entrance to the cave. “I do love living in the mountains! The air is so fresh.”
“So…” Elweyr hazarded, “the plain is not your killing ground?”
“No, but I do like that term. ‘Killing ground’: it certainly sounds ominous—and off-putting—doesn’t it?”
Instead of smiling, Ahearn folded his arms. “It is also perfectly placed to give you an opportunity to observe the skills of your potential attackers, as well as any tricks they might have up their sleeves.”
One armored eyelid lifted slightly. “So, the well-equipped butcher’s assistant is not as slow as he looks. Refreshing. I can usually predict the mental acuity of swordsmen simply by looking at their favored weapon.”
“Oh?”
“Yes; their intelligence is inversely proportionate to the length of their preferred blade.”
S’ythreni smirked. “Really? Because that would make anyone with a shortsword a genius.” She looked at the weapon she was holding. “Which I assure you is not the case.”
The dragon glanced at the blade. “Yes, that would be a logical deduction. But you’ve a quick wit and a clever tongue. So how does that make you less than perspicacious, aeosti?”
She stared at the wyrm. “You might not have noticed, but I’ve entered a dragon’s lair armed with a pair of shortswords.”
The soft rumble in its throat might have been a chortle. “Well played. And intriguing. Tell me: Why march to suicide? You are Iavan. You could have slipped away at any time. And generally, your kind has almost as little use for wealth as my own breed.”
“I’m not here for treasure.”
“No? Hmmm…what of you, Lightstrider? You come from a covetous species.”
“No more covetous than others,” Umkhira shot back in annoyance. “And among my people, I am not one of those cursed with greed. I am here because honor demands no less.” She glanced at Druadaen. “I am his comrade and friend.”
The dragon’s eyes followed hers then shifted to look at Ahearn and Elweyr. “Certainly the two of you came along for as much coin as you could carry off?”
“At first,” Ahearn admitted with his chin up, “but as time wore on, I had…other interests.”
“Such as?”
Ahearn cut a quick glance at Druadaen, then shrugged. “Well, he’s my mate, isn’t he?”
The dragon settled into a more relaxed pose. “Fascinating. I do believe you are telling the truth. Or you are all profoundly self-deluded. Or both. Just how long have you been journeying here to encounter final oblivion?”
The dragon might reasonably have regretted the response the question elicited: a four-voiced, tumbling account of the travels and tribulations they’d faced over the course of their thirteen moonphases together. But instead the wyrm listened and studied them as they spoke, and also, more slyly, how they reacted to each other. “Singular,” the dragon breathed at last. Then its eyes shifted back to Druadaen with an almost metallic click. “And you have nothing to add?”
Druadaen shrugged. “They have told our story admirably.”
“Perhaps they have. And perhaps your revoltingly earnest demeanor is not feigned but genuine. But it is your strange quest—which your companions have only alluded to in general—that seems to have bound them to you. That holds you all together. So, tell me: Exactly what is it that you are seeking?”
Druadaen considered. “My friends have conveyed the basics quite well. I could expand upon the details, but that, well, that would take a good deal longer.”
The dragon adopted a posture of sybaritic repose. “We have nothing but time. Well, maybe not you, but a few days or years more or less mean nothing to me.”
So Druadaen explained, including the other anomalies that he had encountered during his years in the Archive Recondite but would have no foreseeable opportunity to investigate. As he spoke, he became aware that the other four had not only come alongside but were staring at him.
When he finished, Elweyr said, “You know, when you present it all at once…”
“You think disturbing thoughts, Druadaen,” Umkhira murmured. “But necessary, I think.”
Ahearn smiled proudly, nodding, and looked at the dragon. “So, what do you say to that?”
“I say,” it said calmly to Druadaen, “that I cannot decide which is more intriguing: the contradictions you have unearthed, or the nature of a mind that would dedicate itself to such a project. Or, the possibility that you are the most gifted liar I have ever met.”
“You think all that could simply be the foundation for a lie?” S’ythreni asked, incredulous.
The dragon glanced at her. “I said it would make him the most gifted liar I have met…and I have met more liars than you could possibly imagine. But if I have learned anything, it is that all natural laws exist to be defied and all limits exist to be exceeded.” It rose up on its forelegs. “I allow that it is very likely that you are telling me the truth. But I require proof.”
“I would provide it, if I had any with me.”
“As it so happens, you do. Now,” said the dragon, lowering its head so its eyes bored directly into Druadaen’s, “tell me again, this time just in general terms, what you hoped to accomplish by coming here.”
Druadaen began…but hadn’t uttered three words when the dragon’s head popped up again. “This is very odd.”
“What?”
“With rare exception, I can read thoughts with greater ease than you—yes, even you—can read a book. But…” The dragon drew up to its full height. The others shied back, but Druadaen was strangely certain that this was not a posture of threat. It was a formal stance.
The dragon’s voice was studied and serious. “Human, if you are willing, I would touch your mind.”
“I’m not stopping you.”
“No, not exactly, but”—for a second, the great wyrm looked as though it was about to make a confession—“but you must…must permit me.”
Druadaen stared. “How?”
“As if this is a thing one being can teach another? It is a simple act of will, but I suspect you are more stubborn than you know. Now, relax and relent. And swiftly: my patience is wearing thin.”
“Don’t rile him, Druadaen,” muttered Ahearn. “He might start by roasting you, but odds are good he’d fricassee the rest of us for good measure.”
“Indeed I might,” the dragon boomed, “but I will not be the one to start that process. Not with your unusual friend, at any rate.”
Druadaen stared again. “Why?”
“‘Why’ yet again?” The dragon shook its head. “You really must expand your repertoire of questions. ‘How’ or ‘what’ are perfectly serviceable. ‘Where’ and ‘when’ are a bit pedestrian: information that could be gleaned easily enough through observation. But as for why I will not incinerate you? Do not get any lofty ideas about yourself or my opinion of you. The reason is so much more basic than that.”
“And it is?”
“That with every passing minute, you are proving to be the most peculiar visito…er, victim I have had in a very, very long time. Now, try again: allow your mind to be open to me.” The dragon peered at him. “I’m waiting.”
“I’m trying! But it is not something I know how to do.”
“Do you not feel a pressure against your thoughts, your consciousness?”
“No.”
The dragon frowned. “This is most troubling.”
“Hah!” laughed Ahearn in vicarious triumph. “The Dunarran’s so stubborn that he can even mangle the mancery of dragons! Hey-ah, mate; that’s a tale to tell!”
“Be still, you steel-waving fool! What I am attempting is not mancery.” The dragon’s eyes, still fixed upon Druadaen, narrowed. “This impediment, whatever it is, leaves you unknown to me. And what is unknown I may not safely trust.”
Elweyr’s voice had a tremolo of fear in it. “As old as you are, is it not also appealing—intriguing!—when you encounter something new? Something different and interesting? Like my friend?”
The dragon’s frown was mighty. “Do not try to manipulate me, human. I am all too aware that curiosity is my species’ weak spot. That is exactly why I may not indulge it. And you may rest assured that if there was some other way to determine your friend’s true intents, I would already know everything—”
In a quicksilver flash, the velene was sitting alongside Druadaen.
“—or maybe I wouldn’t,” the dragon finished, leaning away.