The Realms of the Dragons 2 a-10 Read online

  Cirro narrowed his eyes and took a credible snap at the faerie dragon, perhaps to prove that he was indeed capable of being scary.

  "I know," Zyx tittered nervously, dancing out of the way. "It was my idea. But don't worry. I've got another one. A better one."

  "Not interested," grumbled Cirro. "I will handle this my way, faerie dragon. Enough of your ridiculous schemes."

  He opened bis great wings and gazed up into the canopy, searching for a gap through which to negotiate his bulk.

  Zyx had a sudden vision of appalling carnage, and he landed bravely on the mist dragon's nose.

  "Wait a moment. Hear me out," said Zyx. Cirro's eyes crossed as he attempted to focus on the tip of his snout, and Zyx used the distraction to forge ahead. "We've been going about this the wrong way. We've been letting reality get in the way of our planning."

  So perplexed was Cirrothamalan by that statement that his eyes crossed even farther.

  "I should know better," Zyx continued with a sigh. "I was being far too realistic."

  "What are you talking about, faerie dragon?"

  Zyx smiled patiently and explained, "Let me put it this way. What's the scariest thing in the jungle?"

  The mist dragon considered that a moment, then offered, "Woodpeckers?"

  Though not the only birds to attempt nesting in the various crooks of Cirro's oft-inert form, woodpeckers were certainly the most painful.

  "You're not trying," Zyx frowned. "Think about it from a human's point of view."

  With those revised instructions, it didn't take Cirro long to come up with the answer, and his eyes widened with dread.

  "The Uluu Thalongh?" he whispered. Even a creature so great as a mist dragon dared not speak the name too loudly.

  "The Uluu Thalongh!" Zyx exclaimed with triumph, fear being the exclusive province of the rational.

  Cirro succumbed to an involuntary shiver. Of all jungle predators, the Uluu Thalongh inspired the most terror. Though no one-not even the learned Cirrothamalan-could say what the creature truly was, one thing was certain: it was undisputed lord of flesh-eaters, and the very rumor of its proximity was enough to evacuate many miles of rainforest.

  "Zyx," Cirro rumbled uncomfortably, "we cannot-"

  "Relax. We don't need the real Uluu Thalongh. Reality only gets in the way, remember? All we need is for the humans to believe the Uluu Thalongh is nearby. That camp will be emptier than a sloth's head in no time!"

  Cirro smiled despite himself. It was, he had to admit, a good plan.

  "But how do we accomplish it?" asked the mist dragon. "Surely you do not expect the humans to be taken in by one of your ridiculous illusions. The Uluu Thalongh is not known for its rosy complexion."

  Zyx ignored the barb. "We don't need illusions," he insisted.

  "Oh really? And how do you suggest we evoke the great monster?"

  "Impersonation," Zyx replied, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. Cirro's expression darkened. "My hearing must be failing me, faerie dragon. I thought you said 'impersonation.'"

  "I did. We'll pretend to be the Uluu Thalongh. Simple."

  A little known fact: the axiom about steam coming out of the ears originated with an annoyed mist dragon. A wisp was even then working its way up the side of Cirro's head.

  "Simple indeed!" the mist dragon snarled. "As simple as you are! You propose to impersonate a creature that slips inside trees and turns branches into jaws? You must have been dropped on your head as a hatchling!"

  "You have no imagination," Zyx sniffed, wounded. "It will work."

  "How?"

  The little dragon brightened and said, "I thought you'd never ask. Tell me, Cirro, how do you feel about mud?"

  A strange keening sound pierced the air. It was at once hollow and sharp, as though someone played upon a cracked wooden pipe. The men winced and covered their ears against the shrill noise, gazing accusingly up at the canopy to identify the offending bird.

  But the sound did not emanate from the treetops. Instead it came from deep within the bush, somewhere to the north of the camp. The men peered into the dark recesses of the jungle, but the thick foliage was impenetrable. The piping continued eerily, weaving among the branches like a sinuous tree snake.

  "What is it?" Maddock whispered. Something about the sound compelled him to lower his voice.

  "It's no bird, that's for sure," said Ivor. He bent to retrieve his axe, and the more experienced of the men followed suit. The jungle was no place to take chances. "And it's getting closer."

  Filar grunted and spat on the ground. "Reckon we'd better go check it out."

  He pulled his sword from its sheath, turning it over to inspect the edges. The loss of his axe had forced him to use the sword as a tool, and hours of chopping vegetation had left the blade in dismal condition. Still, it would do the job if necessary.

  "You men stay here," Ivor instructed the others. "Shout if you see anything."

  He gestured at Filar and Maddock, and the three of them left the relative safety of the clearing for the unknown dangers of the brush.

  "They're coming!" whispered Zyx with glee.

  He was rather proud of his shrill, piping cry, fancying that it sounded a great deal like the bone-chilling call of the Uluu Thalongh. Since neither he nor Cirro had ever heard the bone-chilling call of the Uluu Thalongh, there was no one to disagree with him.

  "How close are they?" Cirro wanted to know.

  The mist dragon was covered from horn to claw in a thick layer of mud, and was therefore quite unable to see. He had been forced to rely on Zyx's convoluted directions to find the clearing, and considered it nothing shy of a miracle that he had arrived unscathed. Even more impressive, most of the stray branches Zyx had affixed to his body had survived the journey. So far, things were going smoothly.

  "They're about a furlong away," Zyx estimated. "That gives you just enough time to get ready. Now remember: think tree."

  "Tree," repeated Cirro without much enthusiasm. He drew himself up on his hind legs, propping himself with his tail for additional balance. He felt utterly ridiculous.

  Zyx did not help matters, clucking his tongue disapprovingly. "No, no! Your forelegs need to come up. Up! Like branches. There you are."

  Cirro had a sudden, pained vision of how he must appear. "If you breathe a word of this to anyone, faerie dragon, I'll swallow you whole."

  "Dear Cirro, you're such a joker. Now be quiet. They're almost here. You remember what to do?"

  Ivor expected their mysterious quarry to be camouflaged, but he couldn't have guessed how well. If Filar hadn't shouted, he would have walked right past it: an enormous tree, oddly misshapen by strange, grotesque bulges. The tree's appearance was alarming enough, but what caused Filar to cry out-and Ivor to leap back with a curse-was the sudden movement of a branch.

  For a brief moment Ivor thought himself imagining things, but no-the branch was definitely reaching for him. Worse, the limb ended in what appeared to be a set of long, sharp teeth. Ivor staggered back in shock, his mind reeling.

  All of that was strange enough, but what followed was stranger still. The tree shifted its immense bulk, and there came a crashing sound. Everyone-including the monstrous tree-looked around in confusion. Another crash, and the source of the sound became clear: the smaller branches of the tree were falling off. One by one they tore away from the trunk, plummeting to the ground far below. Filar had to leap back to avoid the leafy bombardment.

  Faced with the sudden defection of its appendages, the monster seemed unsure of what to do. It withdrew a few paces, then hovered uncertainly, allowing the men to get a better look at it. Bereft of its treelike appearance, it was little more than an enormous column of mud. But it was a column of mud with eyes, teeth, and claws.

  Ivor felt the blood drain from his face as he realized what he was looking at.

  "It's…"he faltered.

  "What?" Maddock prompted, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's a mudman!"


  The pronouncement was met with general consternation. "But there's no such thing as a mudman!" Filar whimpered. "No?" Ivor gestured wildly with his axe. "What do you call that, then?"

  Faced with an incontrovertible argument, Filar conceded the point. As for the mudman, it appeared to be reconsidering its options, for it had drawn back even farther and was engaged in a heated argument with a nearby branch. The creature was obviously quite mad.

  "We'll have to kill it," Ivor said in a low voice. "We'll be sending for our families soon, and I'll not have a mudman around my boys."

  "Too right," growled Maddock.

  Their resolve hardened, the men advanced toward the inattentive creature. They would catch it unawares, and it would all be over before the mudman even knew what hit it.

  By the time Zyx saw the weapon, it was already too late. The blade caught Cirro in the left haunch, biting easily through the dried mud. The mist dragon howled and wheeled around, his tail very nearly decapitating a large man with an axe. A third man, also with an axe, took a swing at Cirro's foreleg.

  "No!" Zyx shrieked, "Stop!"

  He was seized with terror. Not for Cirro-the mist dragon was quite capable of scalding the humans to the bone. But that was precisely the problem.

  "Cirro, please!" begged the tender-hearted faerie dragon. "Don't hurt them! Oh, this won't do at all!" He flitted to and fro aike a confused bumblebee, wringing his forefeet in distress. "Think, Zyx, think!"

  Below, Cirro unfurled a wing, knocking all three humans to the ground.

  "Get them away from me, Zyx!" he snarled. "I'll do what I must!"

  To demonstrate the point, the mist dragon slammed his tail into the ground, leaving a deep trough.

  This display of strength should have sent any creature into headlong retreat-any sensible creature, that is. But the humans remained stubbornly in place, trading near-misses with the mud-caked dragon. One man hacked continually at Cirro's legs, his pitiful blade finding the occasional tender spot. Another took opportunistic swings witb his axe, catching the dragon on the move and thus adding force to his blows.

  Cirro kept them at bay as best he could, blowing harmless clouds of steam to obscure their view. But eventually he would lose patience, and when that happened, the steam would become deadly.

  There was only one thing to do. Zyx threw himself heroically into the path of the nearest human, preparing to blast the man's face with his bliss-inducing breath. But the faerie dragon's inexperience with humans proved costly, for the graceless creatures were quicker than they appeared. There was a blur of motion, and everything went dark. Zyx was caught.

  "Unhand me, you filthy beast!" The tiny creature scowled defiantly at the three faces looming above, its lower jaw jutting forth in an almost comical gesture of bravado.

  "What's this now?" Maddock muttered.

  Even as he asked the question, he cast another wary glance at the mudman. The monster had withdrawn the moment its ally was captured, but it remained only a few paces away, watchful.

  "It's a flying lizard," Ivor declared.

  His pronouncement provoked an indignant squeak from the captive.

  "Lizard indeed!" said the creature. "I happen to be a faerie dragon, and I'll have you know that it's very bad luck to catch one!"

  "Eh?" Ivor blinked. "Faerie dragon?"

  At that, Filar let out a loud, expressive groan.

  When his companions regarded him with bemused expressions, he explained, "I've heard of them, right enough. My brother up on the coast had a run-in with one last spring. Caused him no end of headache. They spend all day playing practical jokes on whatever poor souls live nearby. Plague a man till he's mad, they will." He shook his head ruefully. "If we live here, we'll never be rid of the little vermin!"

  "I say!" objected the diminutive dragon. "Is that kind of language really necessary?"

  Ivor ignored it. He hoisted his hand in Filar's direction and asked, "You really think this thing is a faerie dragon?"

  Filar shrugged. "It's a talking lizard with wings. What else would it be?"

  "Think it'll bother us?"

  "Reckon so. It's in its nature."

  Ivor cursed violently. "Just our luck, isn't it? Bet there isn't another one of these things for a thousand leagues!" He looked over the little pest in disgust, then opened his hand and shook it free. "Be gone with ye, then," he growled.

  The dragon lingered a moment as though it would speak, but wisely thought better of it. Its tiny form darted through the trees and disappeared.

  "You're just letting it go? " Maddock cried. He had obviously envisioned a more permanent solution.

  With a gesture, Ivor reminded him of the presence of the mudman. "It's a big forest," he said, "and this place don't have much to recommend it."

  "Bad company," agreed Filar, "and bad weather besides. If we're gonna rebuild the camp anyway, we might as well find someplace a little more hospitable."

  Their perfectly rational concerns had nothing whatever to do with abject fear of the mudman, whose exact nature had been called into question by its unexpected conversion to a quadruped. (Subsequent fireside accounts would identify the monster as the lesser-known but equally fearsome mudbear.)

  "Move on, then?" suggested Maddock.

  "Reckon that's the most reasonable course," said Ivor, with a very reasonable expression.

  Thus agreed, the men withdrew from close proximity to the mudman, taking reasonably quick strides back to camp.

  "Cirro, I've come to tell you that I'm leaving the forest."

  The mist dragon did not so much as open his eyes. "Go away, Zyx," he growled.

  It had been nearly a month since the incident with the humans, and Cirro had not heard a peep from the faerie dragon. Only then did he realize how much he'd enjoyed the reprieve.

  "I mean it this time," Zyx sighed. "And I just wanted to say that I'm really going to miss you."

  Cirro raised his head. He had never heard Zyx sound so earnest. "Is this the truth?" he asked. "Where are you going?"

  "The other side of the gorge."

  The mist dragon narrowed his eyes and asked, "Is that not where the humans were going?"

  Zyx's expression was all innocence. "Someone's got to keep an eye on them," he pointed out.

  But Cirrothamalan was no fool. "You can't resist, can you? They are simply too tempting a target!"

  A coy smile worked its way across Zyx's snout. "But it was such fun" he murmured. His eyes grew unfocused, as though he was reliving a sweet memory.

  "I doubt the humans thought it was much fun," Cirro noted.

  The faerie dragon overlooked that observation with his usual blitheness. "It will be a grand adventure," he said. "But I shall miss you, my friend."

  It seemed Zyx was in earnest after all. Cirro rose to his feet, and with due ceremony offered the traditional farewell of his kind.

  "Good-bye, Zyx. May the mysteries of life unfold themselves to you."

  As the tiny dragon flitted away, Cirro felt a peculiar weight in his stomach, as though he had swallowed a large stone. Was it possible? Might he actually miss the little pest?

  "I'll come back to visit someday!" Zyx piped as he disappeared from view.

  The stone in Cirro's stomach vanished, replaced by an ill-tempered growl. He might have guessed. One was never truly rid of a faerie dragon. They were as clinging as a burr, as nagging as a conscience. He could name several diseases that were easier to be rid of. Still, some part of him welcomed such constants in life. And when Zyx returned, as he no doubt would, some part of Cirro would welcome the faerie dragon too.

  THE WOMAN WHO DREW DRAGONS

  Rosemary Jones

  The Year of the Helm (1362 DR)

  Of course, if that female painter hadn't shown up about the same time that Guerner called for more drinks, the tavernkeeper Varney might not have pursued his great idea about dragons. At least, that was what Varney said later. Mrs. Varney just said, "Well, isn't that like Varney, trying to blame somebody
else for his troubles."

  It all started with Varney's customers, as Varney pointed out to Mrs. Varney. Those customers, a group of regulars, were having one of their endless nightly debates about the habits of dragons and their own fortitude during encounters with the scaly beasts.

  "So I just twitched the string like this, and up leaps that black dragon. Thought his whole cave was infested by snakes, and he lets out this roar and races away. Leaving me in possession of all his treasure," said the gnome Silvenestri Silver, wriggling a piece of twine across the table.

  In the middle of winter, in the dark days that marked the end of one year and the beginning of the next, Silver spent most of his time in his favorite tavern, the Dragon Defeated, telling tales of his past exploits as a treasure-stealer. When the roads dried out and warmer weather came, he'd be away to a bigger city to look for work. Sembian cities held certain perils for a professional treasure-hunter (like rival claimants to his prizes and unkind people who whined that he'd cheated them of their share), so Silver preferred to wait out winter in Halfknot, the small town with a mixed population of humans, dwarves, and gnomes where nothing much ever happened.

  Varney and his wife scrubbed the tables, moving around the group of listeners gathered around the gnome and his string. Mrs. Varney wished that they'd all go home and whispered to Varney that it was time to shoo everyone out the door. But Varney disagreed. Winter was too slow a time for the Dragon Defeated and its owner to lose any chance of an extra purchase.

  Looking over the group arguing about dragons, Varney knew the order wouldn't come from the dwarf, Badger Bates. The dwarf would nurse his one drink all night unless someone else paid. If the human, Wyrmbait Nix, hadn't lost all his coin to Silver in one of their numerous bets, he might buy something to eat. The big man was always hungry and not too fussy about Mrs. Varney's cooking. Of course, His Honor, Grangy Guerner, part-time magistrate and full-time ratcatcher, always had plenty of jingle in his pocket, but he rarely lingered in the tavern for any length of time.

  "Dragons aren't afraid of snakes," said the dwarf Badger Bates, taking up the thread of his never-ending dispute with Silver about which of them knew the most about the dragons.