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a hill that provided a good view in all directions of the sur-rounding countryside. They ate dinner cold.
Bunion of-fered to stand watch for the entire night, but Ben would not hear of it. The kobold needed his
rest as well, par-ticularly if he was to be of any use when the next attack came--and there was no longer
any pretense that it wouldn't. Since they were all dependent on one another, they would share the
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responsibility, he insisted.
There were no monsters this night, and Ben slept un-disturbed. By morning he was feeling revitalized.
Wil-low seemed rested, too. All three were anticipating what lay ahead. Even Bunion had figured it out.
He went onahead to scout while Ben and Willow followed at a more leisurely pace. They left the
Greensward behind and entered the Wastelands. The day was cloudy and gray once again, but there did
not appear to be any im-mediate threat of rain. Even without sunshine the air was hot and dry, the ground
parched and cracked, and the country about them empty of life and as still as death.
By midday they were deep into the Wastelands, and Bunion came back to report that the Fire Springs
were directly ahead and that Strabo the dragon was at home.
"If anyone knows of Rydall, it will be Strabo," Ben said to Willow as they rode into the craggy hills
sur-rounding the Springs. "Strabo can go anywhere he wishes, and he may have flown through the fairy
mists into Marnhull at some point. It's worth asking, in any case. As long as you're the one who does the
asking."
Strabo did not much care for Holiday, although they were somewhat closer now after their shared
experience in the Tangle Box. But the dragon genuinely liked Wil-low. He was fond of declaring that
dragons had always had a soft spot for beautiful maidens, even though from time to time he thought that
he was mistaken in this and that it was eating them that dragons really enjoyed. Too vain to admit his
confusion, he had allowed himself to be charmed by the sylph on several occasions. Still, each visit to the
Fire Springs was a new and uncertain experience, and Strabo the dragon was nothing if not
temperamental.
When they were close enough to feel the heat of the pits, long after they had spied the smoke and
inhaled the smell, they dismounted, tethered the horses, and proceeded on foot. It was a difficult walk
over rugged, barren hills and across rock-strewn gullies. Bunion led the way as always, but he stayed
close to them now. They had gone on for some minutes when they heardthe crunching of bones. Bunion
glanced over his shoul-der and showed all his teeth in a humorless smile.
The dragon was feeding.
Then they crested a ridge, and there it was.
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 Strabo lay coiled about the mouth of one of the Springs, his forty-foot bulk as black as ink, all studded
with spines and spikes, his sinewy body gnarled and sleek by turns. He was lunching on the remains of
what appeared to have been a cow, although it was hard to tell since the dragon had reduced the carcass
to legs and part of one haunch. Wicked blackened teeth glimmered as it gnawed on a large bone,
stripping it of a few last shreds of flesh. Yellow eyes hooded by strange reddish lids focused on the bone,
but as the newcomers topped the rise and came into view, its massive horned head lifted and swung
about.
"Company?" it hissed none too pleasantly. The yel-low eyes widened and blinked. "Oh, Holiday, it's
only you. How boring. What do you want?" The voice was low and guttural, marked by a sibilant hiss.
"Wait, don't tell me, let me guess. You want to know about this cow. You've come all the way from the
comforts of your shiny little castle to reprimand me about this cow. Well, save your breath. The cow was
a stray. It wandered into the Wastelands, and that made it mine. So no lectures, please."
It always surprised Ben that the dragon could talk. It went counter to everything life experience had
taught him in his old world. But then, there were no dragons in his old world, either.
"I don't care about the cow," Ben advised. He had made Strabo promise once upon a time that he
would give up stealing livestock.
The dragon's maw split wide, and it laughed after a fashion. "No? Well, in that case I'll confess that
per-haps it wasn't quite inside the boundaries of the Wasteland when I took it. There, I feel much better.
The truth shall set you free." The eyes narrowed again. "Well, well. Is that the pretty sylph with you,
Holiday?" He never called Ben "High Lord." "Have you brought her to me for a visit? No, you would
never be that consid-erate. You must be here for some other reason. What is it?"
Ben sighed. "We've come to ask--"
"Wait, you're interrupting my dinner." The dragon's nostrils steamed, and it gave a rough cough.
"Politeness in all things. Please take a seat until I've finished. Then I'll hear what you have to say. If you
keep it brief."
Ben looked at Willow, and reluctantly they sat down on the knoll with Bunion and waited for Strabo to
com-plete his dinner. The dragon took his time, crunching up every single bone and devouring every last
shred of flesh until nothing remained but hooves and horns. He made a deliberate production out of it,
smacking his lips and grunting his approval with every bite. It was an endless performance, and it
produced the intended ef-fect. Ben was so impatient by the time the dragon had finished that he could
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barely contain his temper.
Strabo tossed away a stray hoof and looked up at them expectantly. "Now, then, let's hear what you
have to say."
Ben tried to refrain from gritting his teeth. "We have come to ask your help with something," he began,
and got no further.
"Save your breath, Holiday," the dragon interrupted with a curt wave of one foreleg. "I've already given
you all the help you're getting in this lifetime--more help, in point of fact, then you ever deserved."
"Hear me out at least," Ben urged irritably.
"Must I?" The dragon shifted as if trying to get com-fortable. "Well, for the sake of the lovely young
lady, I will."
Ben decided to cut to the chase. "Mistaya is missing. We think she has been taken prisoner by King
Rydall of Marnhull. At least he claims to have her. We are trying to get her back."
Strabo stared at him without speaking for a moment. "Am I supposed to know what you're talking
about? Mistaya? Rydall of Marnhull? Who are these people?"
"Mistaya is our daughter," Willow said quickly, inter-ceding before Ben lost his temper completely. "You
helped Ben find us when I was carrying her out of the Deep Fell."
"Ah, yes, I remember." The dragon beamed. "Good of me, wasn't it? And you've named her Mistaya?
Very pretty. I like the name. It sings with the promise of your own beauty."
Gag me with a spoon, Ben thought blackly, but kept his mouth shut.
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 "She is a beautiful child," Willow agreed, keeping the dragon's attention focused on her. "I love her very
much, and I am determined to see her safely home again."
"Of course you are," Strabo affirmed indignantly. "Who is this King Rydall who's taken her?"
"We don't know. We were hoping you could help." Willow waited. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]