"Of course they do. That's all they do. You really don't know a thing about dragons, do you?"
"So you admit you destroyed my lair!" Khisanth accused.
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm far too old for that sort of young-bull-marking-his-territory foolishness-haven't done any shy;thing but hunt small mammals and find new lairs in years."
The old dragon's confusion seemed too real to be dis shy;missed. Besides, now that she could study him more closely, this old wyrm didn't look like the dragon she'd seen silhou shy;etted against the sky above her lair. "Who are you, then?"
"The light, please."
"Oh, yes." Khisanth touched the maynus and silently bade it to go dark. The area sank abruptly into soothing dusk, and Khisanth landed before the cave.
"Much better," said the dragon. He blinked hard several times, opened his eyes and sighed. "Are you still there? It'll take some time for the spots to go away." He squinted into the darkness at Khisanth. "Ah, there you are. A young one- that explains a lot. Among humans I was known as Pitch, but dragons call me Pteros." He drew back suddenly. "You haven't come to slay me and take my treasure, have you?"
"No. I came to learn why you attacked my lair. But if it wasn't you, who was it-another dragon that lives nearby?"
Pteros looked thoughtful. "This dragon … was its belly covered with scars? Did it leave its mark on a tree-two straight talon tracks, with squiggles for tails?
"Yes and yes! How did you know?"
"That's Talon. I know because I've seen his marks outside lairs for nearly a decade, which is how long he's chased me around the moor."
"What does he want?"
"Treasure."
"Why hasn't he just slain you and been done with it? And why did he flee before fighting me?"
"You give me little credit," Pteros grumbled, then shrugged. "Talon hasn't managed it because I keep one step ahead of him, moving before he can corner me." His wrinkled lids squinted. "Frankly, I'm none too happy that you were able to find me."
"It wasn't too difficult," snorted Khisanth. "You left tell shy;tale claw marks on the boulders. "Why don't you go kill this Talon instead of running?"
"I told you, I'm too old for that fighting-over-territory sort of thing."
"Sounds like you're doing just that, whether you mean to or not," observed Khisanth. "If you don't wish to fight, why don't you just move from the moors?"
"Where would I move to? There isn't another swamp as lush and wide as this in all of Ansalon. Besides," Pteros con shy;tinued without guile, "now that he's got you to focus on, he'll forget all about me. Nice knowing you." With that, the bejeweled old wyrm stretched his arthritic wings and swung his heavy tail around to reenter his lair.
"Wait a minute!" cried Khisanth, annoyed that he had so blithely dismissed her. "Why shouldn't I kill you and take your treasure?"
Pteros stopped, turned his orange eye on Khisanth, and tapped a sagging jowl, his expression thoughtful. "The last time a dragon asked me that was at a battle with Huma dur shy;ing the Third Dragon War." The dragon chuckled in fond memory. "Now there was a battle. Not this petty squabbling over swampland."
Khisanth's eyes grew wide. "You fought against Huma? The Huma? Huma Dragonbane?"
"Was there more than one?"
"Just how old are you?" she asked, studying his toothless jaw and wrinkled skin with new appreciation.
"What season is it? Summer?"
Khisanth nodded.
"Then that would make me one thousand three hundred seventy-eight human years, near as I can reckon." At Khi shy;santh's gasp of awe, Pteros shrugged again, looking unim shy;pressed. "I got a bit of extra time from the Sleep." He rolled his eyes. "Don't get me started on that subject."
Khisanth wanted to get him talking about everything that had to do with the dragons of old. Her mind reeled from the possibilities. She could learn from such a venerable dragon. A wyrm from the old days, when their kind had ruled by fear. One who had fought for their queen, Takhisis.
"I won't kill you if you agree to an arrangement."
Pteros used a sharp claw to scratch at a long, white scar on his belly. "And what arrangement would that be?"
"Take me on as an apprentice. Teach me everything you know. Tell me about the old days, when dragons were the rulers of all they saw."
"You've got that a little-"
"You look as if you've seen your share of battles," Khi shy;santh cut in. With an admiring look she surveyed the other dragon's scars, though the flabby muscles beneath them gave her pause. "In exchange, I'll get you back in shape so that you
can fight back against Talon."
"But I don't want to fight. I just want to be left alone in my old age to enjoy my hoard."
"Your old age will end prematurely if your luck runs out. You can't duck and run forever. Why should a dragon who fought Huma run at all?"
Pteros was strangely silent. "You're awfully sure of your shy;self for one so young. What help could you give me against Talon? You know nothing of dragon ways."
"I think you've seen an adequate display of my abilities. I managed to hold you at bay with a beam of light. Besides," she shot back with a smirk, "if you're any sort of teacher, I'll learn the ways of dragons so quickly I'll be the one concerned about your deficiencies when the time comes to face Talon."
Pteros answered her jibe with a toothless smirk. "There's one thing you must first do to persuade me you aren't simply after my treasure." The old dragon extended a talon and scratched his other, withered claw arm. Drawing blood, Pteros held the limb toward Khisanth. "We must blood-min shy;gle in the tradition of those who came before."
Khisanth did not hesitate, thrilled to be participating in a ritual of her race. She tore open a scale viciously in her eager shy;ness. Blood welled up; Khisanth's bright red droplets ran with Pteros's and mingled between their pressed arms. For long seconds, both creatures could see into the other's heart and mind. Recognizing purity of purpose in each other, they drew back from the ritual almost reluctantly.
"The arrangement is sealed," Pteros said with sudden sternness. "Never trust a dragon with whom you have not blood-mingled."
As steam rose from their blood on the chill night, the ancient dragon's words sounded almost prophetic.
Chapter 11
Pteros hauled his bulk from the pond and slithered onto the bank, the ground made warm and marshy by an unusually muggy late-autumn day. "Have you been practicing your spells, Khi shy;santh?" Tiny green circles of algae clung to his scaly black body from snout to tail. "How about the fireball you begged me to show you?"
A smile of joy pulled up the corners of Khisanth's leathery mouth. "Of course. I have a few bugs to work out, but I can conjure a flame and toss it, though not very far. How about you? Have you been flying to strengthen your wings?"
"Of course. Don't I look trimmer?" Pteros stood on the bank and preened, admiring his newly tightened muscles.
The black dragons were cooling their scales in the tepid pond outside Khisanth's lair. It had taken all of her skill in per shy;suasion to get the taciturn Pteros to partake of the pond's soothing waters. She had to talk him into doing anything more strenuous than sitting in his lair and counting his treasure. Pteros was proving to be fainthearted and rather joyless, as if he had already given up on his life.
Strangely, the old wyrm had opened up a whole new world for Khisanth. He knew, though seldom used, a wide range of difficult spells. The dragon shared his secrets willingly enough, but it was clear he could see little point in it. Khisanth was determined to learn everything he knew, and she hoped to renew the great old wyrm's zeal for life at the same time.
Pteros was reclining now in the webby shadows cast by the bare branches of a neighboring willow. The leaves of the tama shy;racks had turned color and tumbled from the trees since the dragons had blood-mingled. The landscape was the color of rust and mud. Brown cattails drifted apart in fuzzy white tufts. Plaintive, rhythmic honking above signaled the departure of the last of the gray-and-white geese that inhabited the summer moors.