Part 11 (1/2)

That glittering head full of glittering teeth was now only a few feet from Saaras. She refused to be intimidated by it, and felt some display on her part was called for. ”Get back,” she snapped, raising a very small hand beneath the dragon's nose. ”Get back, animal, or I'll freeze you, crop and craw, into black ice.” The sunlight which poured through the cleft rocks trembled and s.h.i.+vered, as hot air met the magic of the north.

The amber eyes grew impossibly wide, protruding like those of a lapdog. ”Ugh! Magic,” he snorted, turning his head away as though he smelled something foul. The dragon retreated five steps, and then the sight of Saara's set face set him into peals of echoing laughter. Rocks tumbled in the distance.

”Is it my breath, little lady? Or is it the length of my eyeteeth that has swept your manners away like this? I a.s.sure you that had I any intention of doing you harm, I would not have waited to address you first.”

As the creature backed, so did Saara, from sunlight into obscurity, until she stood at the turn in the pa.s.sage wall. Suddenly she was around it and running in the darkness.”Wait,” came a bellow behind her. The walls vibrated. Then there was a sharper cras.h.i.+ng, as forty feet of ice smashed like gla.s.s, followed by the sound of heavy chain being flung about.

”Wait, madam,” the dragon called from behind her in the tunnel. ”You take my witticism too much to heart!” Then the air rang and crashed as though an iron tower had fallen at Saaras feet. The dragon had reached the end of his chain.

But his voice rose once more. ”I really WOULD like to speak with someone, I am a long way from home, and it has been years...”he said, before the echoes died away.

Ahead was a speck of light. Gaspare was waiting there for her with Festilligambe, if the racket hadn't spooked the horse. Or Gaspare.

But Saara's bare feet slowed, and then stopped. She was half-embarra.s.sed to have run from a creature that had offered no direct threat.

And then the way the beast had spoken. ”... it has been years...”

Saara was not without sensibilities.

But dragons were sly, and talking dragons slyest of all. And THIS beast was in the service of the Liar himself, wasn't it? It was chained there, at least.

Chained. The Lapps chained neither their deer nor their dogs. Saara thought all chains despicable.

She turned her face around. ”Dragon,” she called.

The reply was immediate. ”Yes! I'm here.” Then he added, ”Of course I'm here; what a silly thing for me to say.”

Was there a touch of bitterness in his words, of self-pity perhaps? But the Liar dealt in bitterness and self-pity quite frequently.

”Who chained you, dragon?” Saara shouted down the pa.s.sage.

She heard a gusty, whistling sigh. ”It was a nasty fellow with the very inappropriate name of Morning Star.” Once again the creature seemed to have regained his composure, as well as his natural loquacity, for he added, ”You see, madam, I was seeking after a book: a book which received high praise in certain circles. It is called La Commedia Di-vina, and it was written by an Italian. Perhaps you...”

”Never heard of it,” replied Saara. ”But then, I can't read.”

”Ah. Well. I heard rumor of it as far away as Hunan Province, where news of events outside of Cathay hardly ever reaches. By report it contained great wisdom and excellent poetry, and...Well, I collect wisdom, you see...”

”You collect wisdom?” Saara murmured, but decided not to interrupt. The dragon continued.

”The book was divided into three sections, I believe. The first being II Inferno; the second, Il Purgatorio; and the third, II Paradisic.” Another sigh-gale wrung through the darkness.

”I think I would have done better to seek after the third section first.”

”No doubt.” Saara had no idea what the creature was talking about. She wondered if dragons, too, grew senile.

”Why don't you break the chain?” she asked shortly.

There was a rustle. ”My dear lady! I have been stuck in this inelegant place for a good number of years now. Don't you think I would have, if I could? It has some sort of disgusting...” the voice faded with embarra.s.sment ”... spell on it.”

Saara lowered herself onto the smooth floor of the tunnel, facing toward the great voice and the smell of sandalwood. She sat, thought some, and picked her toenails. ”It's not so big a chain,” she ventured.

”And I have some ability with spells. I think I could break it, if I spent a little time at it.”

The rustling stopped. ”Well, madam.” She heard a self-conscious rustling.

”I swear to you it will not damage my pride at all to have you succeed where I have failed. Please try.”

”What will you do if I let you go free?”

This time the silence was longer. ”What will I do? Almost anything you should ask. Anything that doesnot conflict with any previous oath or commitment, of course.”

The witch's feet were sore from too much stumbling against rock. She squeezed them as she considered.

Time had taught Saara to have little trust in elementals, let alone monsters. But she had to get by the creature.

And she was definitely not without sensibilities.

”How many years have you been here, again?”

He groaned. ”Twenty-two.”

”And what have you been eating or drinking in that time?”

”There is a small stream in the pa.s.sage beyond. As for food-the last thing that pa.s.sed my lips was a pig, roasted Hunan-style.”

”Twenty years without eating?” There was incredulity in her voice. ”How is it you are still alive?”

The beast gave a huge metallic shrug. ”I am not a frantic mammal, you must understand. And I sleep a lot.

”But I tell you, madam, that twenty years without conversation has been a harder trial.”

Saara rocked back and forth thoughtfully. ”Well, I'm not one for long conversations at the best of times, dragon, and I don't know whether I believe a word you're saying.”

A hollow thump through the darkness indicated it had dropped its long chin on the ground. ”Why should you? The world is full of illusion,” it agreed somberly.

Saara approached the creature, stepping from darkness into half-light. It lay extended on its side and held one paw-hand, really, with four spidery fingers and a thumb- in the other, flexing it gingerly. From a dull iron manacle on its wrist stretched the heavy chain.

”One would think,” it said to Saara waspishly, ”that twenty years would teach me the limits of this thing.”

”One would think,” she agreed. The dragon ma.s.saged its wrist.

Saara, standing beside a circlet of iron as large as a hip bath, cleared her throat. ”How do I know, dragon, that you won't turn around and eat me as soon as I release you?”

The gold eyes shone with more light than the reflected sun on the stone of the pa.s.sage seemed to allow. They regarded her with a shade of amus.e.m.e.nt. ”You don't, of course. Just as I have no security that you won't get it into your head to freeze me into a lump of ice. But if words carry any weight with your people (and I seem to remember they do), then it is enough that I say I will not. What is more, I tell you I have not eaten a human creature for approximately five hundred years.”

Saara found this statement very interesting, as possibly the dragon intended that she would. It implied that the beast was more than five hundred, of course. (Unless it was a way of saying it had never eaten a human, but then why not just say so?) It also implied some sort of monumental change in the dragon's habit. It positively invited questions.