“Never!” The dwarf stamped an iron-shod foot. His beard held only the dimmest kind of red vestigial glow—either he was a very poor dwarf or he’d washed away much of the glowing moss that most dwarves cultivated in their beards.
“Fyerbin seven-toes, thanks to that blighter at the Ghioz border-post. Fyerbin, bones forgotten in this cold hole. What goes on up there?” The voice echoed up from the hole.
The men looked as though they were nerving themselves for a charge, and the dwarf sidestepped down the side of the dining hall, keeping stone to back and pointed shield to dragon.
“Perhaps if you told me what you seek?” AuRon asked.
AuRon dashed across the back of the dining hall, spreading a curtain of fire. It pooled and burned, even on the floor slippery with muck.
“The wyrm’s emptied his fire,” the dwarf called. “We’ve got it!”
“Now we’ve the advantage,” the man with the black teeth said, leaping between two puddles of flame with silvered sword whirling elegantly.
“Would somebody restrain him before he hurts himself?” AuRon said, backing toward the entrance arch.
“Ghastmath!” the elf called. “Let’s hear the dragon out.”
Ghastmath, the black-toothed man, ignored her, but the dwarf had more to say: “Tell that to my dead uncles, after our good king Fangbreaker listened to Wistala the Oracle—”
AuRon froze in shock.
“She mazed him into folly,” the dwarf continued. “Don’t listen!”
“Repeat what you said, dwarf,” AuRon said, rounding on the little carbuncle of shield and helm.
The warrior Ghastmath, fire reflecting on his blade and cutting red shadows into his face, lunged forward with a cry. The point of his blade pierced AuRon’s breast—
AuRon whipped his head down in riposte, hooking the human under his shoulder plate with the tiny spur on his nose—an egg-breaker that most dragons lose within a week of hatching—and hurling him across the room. The blade clattered to the floor, smelling of dragonblood.
Kung!
A projectile like a small boat-anchor shot out of the dwarf’s shield, trailing a line. AuRon hugged the floor.
“Beast moves like old Gan himself.” The dwarf added a few curses that AuRon remembered from the push-pull dwarves in the traveling towers.
The line fell across his back. He reached up with a saa and grabbed it. The dwarf fumbled with gear behind his shield.
AuRon yanked the line hard and the dwarf flew across the dining hall and landed at his feet. AuRon had not yet grown to a size where he could easily carry a metal-clad dwarf in a single sii, especially if the dwarf decided to struggle, so he settled for perching both sii on his back.
AuRon heard joints popping.
The dwarf grunted and almost succeeded in rising. Dwarves were counted the strongest of the hominids, but this one must have the thews of an ox.
“Can we stop this nonsense?” AuRon asked, ducking under another arrow coming for his eye.
“Ssssst!” the elf-archer cursed.
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.”