The man Ghastmath rolled over, cradling his side. “What’s holding you back?” Whether he spoke to AuRon or to his wary men, sheltering behind pillars, AuRon couldn’t decide.
The dwarf produced a short blade. AuRon bore down until he dropped it with a gasp.
“ ’Tis AuRon the Gray at that, he that killed the Wyrmmaster, the Wizard of the Isle of Ice,” the raven chattered in the elf’s ear. “He’ll keep a bargain. The Iwensi Gap dwarves once trusted him to guard their caravan-coin.”
“Yes, dragon, let’s talk,” the elf with the raven said. “Sheathe weapons! Put down that bow, Cattail.”
“And get Fyerbin out of this reeking hole!” called the voice from the shaft.
The elf stepped forward, and her raven fluttered warily to the ceiling. “My name is Halfmoon. I’ve no tokens of parley, but I’m willing to share anything we find with you.”
“Uninvited guests to our island could set things right with an apology.”
The elf went down on one knee and spread her arms, bowing. “The birds told us no dragons inhabited these caves,” she said, as the others helped Ghastmath to his feet. “We hoped our presence on the island would pass unnoticed.”
“What are you after?” AuRon asked, letting the dwarf rise. “Gold? The produce of the old Thortian mines? The jewels of Krakenoor, taken in the great sack?”
The men stirred and glanced at the elf. The dwarf, whose left arm hung funny, struck it hard against a pillar and sent it home with an audible click.
“Pogt,” the dwarf grunted. “The creature’s fouling the very air. I want out of this dragon-reek.”
“Little of the gold came here,” AuRon continued, licking the wound in his breast clean. “The old Wizard Wyrmmaster wasn’t after fortune or glory. He spent much of what he stole buying allies or building those dragontowers. Dragons have nosed all through these caves, despite the evil memories of our bondage. Nothing like a mouthful of gold to keep the scale healthy, you know.”
“I told you it went to Juutfod and Gettel in her damn tower. She’s as rich as the ten kings, I’ll swear,” Ghastmath said, picking up his sword with a wary glance at AuRon.
“The sooner we’re back there safe, the better,” the dwarf grumbled. “This is a run-out mine.”
“Ghastmath, make yourself useful and put some of your wound-salve in the dragon’s injury.”
“Waste it on a dragon?” Ghastmath said, drawing himself up with a hint of a wince.
“Thank you, I’ll attend to my own,” AuRon said.
“If it’s poisoning you fear, Ghastmath will pour some on his tongue.”
Bother the wound.
“Now, if you want my permission to explore these caves and discover lost toilet sinks and old rag-weaving rooms and sidemeat closets and then leave the island in an unburned boat, you’ll have to pay a . . .” What would the Chartered Company dwarves call it again? “. . . A usage fee.”
“May we hear the fee before we accept?”
“Only a piece of information. I would hear a story from the dwarf, regarding a name he used.”
“Done,” Halfmoon said.
The dwarf crossed his arms and broke wind; the echo of it startled the raven off its perch. “That’s the only story a dragon will get from me. Short and nasty.”
AuRon yawned. “Which might describe the rest of your scrounging little lives, should some of the dragonelles learn of your presence. They still bear a grudge for scores of stolen eggs. And they like to hunt in packs. What sort of sport would you make, I wonder?”
Ghastmath shifted as though nerving himself for another strike.
“Raise that sword and I’ll take the arm that wields it,” AuRon warned.
The elf spun, seeming to work her body in two directions at once. Her leg moved up behind Ghastmath’s ankles as a stiff arm flashing the other way caught him across the chest.
Ghastmath struck the dirty floor with a sound like a dropped platter.
“This is a parley, fool,” she said.