“Well, creature, what is this? Robbery? I carry trade goods, not gold.”
Auron extracted a tick from his earhole.
The dwarf rose in his seat. “Murder? You’ll find me a poor meal, and I have many kinsmen to avenge me. I’m a journeyman of the great Chartered Company of the Diadem.” The dwarf pulled a chain from his shirt—a diamond-shaped pendant in silver hung from it. “If your sire and dam taught you any wisdom, I’m sure they told you not to cross us.”
“Neither,” Auron said. “I came to beg a favor.”
The dwarf made a noncommittal noise, then settled for pushing the cap back on his head. “A favor? A favor? What favor can I grant a young dragon? I, a poor dwarf in my company’s service.”
Auron hooked the collar in the ear-exploring claw. “This souvenir. I wish to be rid of it. Before I get any bigger and . . . air-starve—and choke.” Auron hoped his slow, awkwardly phrased Parl got the point across.
“Hmmmpfh,” the dwarf said. He hopped down from the driver’s seat and clumped over to Auron. “Now you’ve got me curious. A collared dragon. But then I’m young, and haven’t seen much of the world. I was apprenticed to a miner, you see. It wasn’t a life of new experiences.”
Auron lifted his head, watching the dwarf’s hands.
The dwarf took up the collar. “Man-work. Shows all the craftsmanship of a warm pile of horsechunt. Follow me. There’s an old bridge ahead—I was going to camp beneath it for a dry fire.”
“I can offer you little in return, save a hunt or two. What forest meats have you a taste for?”
“This will be our bargain. Gather all the coins I threw, don’t eat any of them, and follow behind and return them to me. I’ll take care of your ‘souvenir.’ ”
Auron rooted for the coins—he smelled precious metals easily enough, though he had no appetitie for them—and carried them in his mouth well behind the dwarf and his animals.
The road sloped down and turned, coming to the broken bridge spanning a river-carved gully. Once the bridge had stretched above the riverside willows; now only broken columns remained past the first arch. The dwarf pulled his cart under it and unburdened his animals.
When Auron joined him, the tradesdwarf touched his nervous horses and muttered soothing words to them. He blocked the wheels with stones, put down an extra set of legs for the cart, and unharnessed the draft animals. The dwarf took the string of ponies from the back of his cart and tied them beside the newer road at the drift that had replaced the bridge, using the stone pillar to shield them from wind and weather. When the animals were munching in their nose bags, he returned to Auron, wringing water from his cap. Auron saw straps holding the face-shield in place, fixed across thick, woolly hair.
His companion resettled his cap. “What a land. When it’s not raining, it’s snowing,” the dwarf said, opening the back of his cart. Chests with rows of tiny drawers, glass jars with crystal stoppers, and tools hung inside with cooking and camping equipment.
Auron spat out the coins. “I’m a stranger to this land, until a moon or two ago, that is,” Auron said.
“That so? I’m not surprised; dragons don’t stay long hereabouts. The men got them all, or so I’m told.”
“I’ve met the hunters,” Auron said.
“Then you’re doubly lucky. Wise to go south.” The dwarf found a hammer and a flat piece of metal.
“I’m trying to get over the mountains. I wish to go far east and find others of my kind.”
The dwarf raised the face-mask to him, paused, and then set his tool against Auron’s collar. “That so,” the dwarf said.
Auron watched him adjust the collar out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t like the feel of a hominid at his neck. Auron both felt and heard a sharp tap, and the collar dropped to the ground, opened wide.
“Your favor has been granted, young dragon, by Djer of the Diadem. Do you like sausages better than silver?” the dwarf asked.
“My name is Auron, son of AuRel. I’ve never had sausages, but I’ve no appetite for coin.”
“My store of dragon lore isn’t great,” the tradesdwarf Djer said, building a tent of kindling on the ground. “You’re only the second I’ve seen in my travels, and the other was high up and far off. But I’d heard if you’re cornered by a dragon, offering them coin to eat will save your skin. Is that just a tale?”
“No, it’s the truth. I’m scaleless. Scaled dragons eat the metal. It gets turned into armor. Since they shed them sometimes, a dragon will hoard money so his coat stays healthy.”
“Ahhh. So the legend I’ve been told has some truth to it for a change. A dragon with no appetite for gold, eh? Wait a moment, Auron, and have a meal with me before you move on. I’ve never talked to a dragon before.”
Auron found he liked being called a dragon, though any fool chickadee could see he had no wings. “I’ve never talked to a dwarf although I’ve seen them before. They were geared for battle, the Wheel of Fire dwarves.”
Djer rubbed his hands clean on a soft piece of leather hanging from his belt. “We of the Chartered Company don’t think much of them. We’d rather earn our riches than kill for them. We have little to do with the Wheel of Fire and their ilk, or their wars. Silly and dangerous way to accomplish a simple task. We’re not far from their lands now, in the by.”
Auron gulped down his excitement, picked his words carefully. “Are there any dragons in the area? Perhaps a bronze who fought with the Wheel of Fire?”