“Cyric’s tongue!” Vangerdahast cursed. “You are a phantasm! I suppose that’s my reward for letting Alaphondar and Owden prattle on about symbols and meaning.”
“Meaning has power,” answered the dragon, “but I am nothing of yours, I promise. I am a true dragon.”
“Dragons are hatched, not…” Vangerdahast paused and glanced derisively at its emerging figure. “… not formed.”
“And hatched I was, in the days when rothe ran free and elves ruled the woods.” The dragon’s eye shifted from Vangerdahast and stared at a magic sphere of light fading above it. “But now I am a prisoner, and more than you.”
“A prisoner, you say?” As Vangerdahast spoke, he was doing a quick set of mental calculations. The dragon’s accent and its reference to rothe-the extinct buffalo that once roamed the forests of Cormyr-placed its age at well over fourteen hundred years. Even for such an ancient wyrm, however, it was too large by far. The distance from its eye to the last white fang had to be sixty feet, which would make the length from snout to tail somewhere in excess of six hundred feet. “I doubt that. The wizard has not been born who could cage such an ancient wyrm.”
“Nor the warrior who could imprison a mage so great as yourself,” replied the dragon. “Yet I have seen you casting your spells-teleporting here, plane-walking there, dimension-dooring all places between, sending thoughtpleas to anyone who might hear-and yet you remain here with me. It was no wizard who caught me, or you. We were trapped here by our own folly and pride, and prisoners we will stay.”
Vangerdahast rolled his eyes and stood. “If you’re going to talk like that-“
“Oh, yes, go and starve to death!”
A tremendous boom resounded from the dragon’s one visible nostril, and a fireball the size of an elephant went sizzling into the darkness. It crashed into a distant goblin manor, spraying blobs of melted stone in every direction.
Vangerdahast cocked a brow. “I won’t be stepping in front of you, I think.”
A scaly red lip drew away from the dragon’s teeth, creating a snarl as long as some streams Vangerdahast had seen. “Die if you like, but leave your wishes for me.”
Vangerdahast folded his hands behind his back, concealing the ring he had been contemplating earlier. “Wishes?”
“In the ring.”A wisp of yellow fume streamed out of the dragon’s distant nostrils. “Everything else you have tried, but the wishes are too dangerous. You don’t understand this place, and if you wish wrong… puff, no more wizard!”
Vangerdahast frowned. “Have you been reading my mind?”
The dragon broke into a raucous chuckle, and clouds of boiling sulfur hissed into the plaza.
Vangerdahast waited until its mirth died away, then said, “Your point, I suppose, is that you do know the nature of this place?”
The yellow membranes closed over the basin in a sort of reptilian wink. “A long time I have been here,” it said, “but you-even if there was food, humans do not live so long. If you are to leave, I think it must be with me.”
Vangerdahast studied the beast for a moment, considering the kind of havoc he would unleash by helping such a creature escape. If the thing truly was as old as it appeared, its magical abilities would rival his own-and he had already seen what its fire breath could do. On the other hand, Cormyr was doomed without him, especially with the ghazneths loose and Princess Tanalasta still infatuated with that lowly ranger she had met-kin to the traitorous Cormaerils, he was, and a ground-splitting Chauntea worshiper as well.
Vangerdahast unclasped his hands and started down the stairs. “I suppose you have a name?”
“I do,” replied the dragon, “but no human could understand it. You may call me Nalavara.”
It was all Vangerdahast could do to avoid falling again. The name came almost directly from a chapter of Cormyr’s earliest history-and not a very proud chapter at that.
“Something is wrong, wizard?” rumbled Nalavara.
Vangerdahast looked up and saw he had stopped moving. “Not at all-just weak with hunger.” Hoping that Nalavara had not been reading his mind, he started down the stairs again. “But I would like to hear your full name, if I might.”
The dragon’s huge eye membranes drew closer together. “Why?”
“Human translations are so graceless.” Vangerdahast reached into the component pockets inside his weathereloak and withdrew a pinch of salt and another of soot, then rubbed them between his fingers and uttered a quick little spell. “My understanding of Auld Wyrmish might surprise you. I have a special fondness for the beauty of the language.”
“Do you?” Nalavara’s eye remained narrow, but her long lips twisted into a crocodile’s smile. “Very well.”
She rattled off a long series of rumbling growls and fire-like crackles that Vangerdahast understood perfectly as Nalavarauthatoryl the Red.
“So, human, do you like my name?” asked Nalavarauthatoryl the Red.
“Sorry, didn’t understand a word.” Actually, Vangerdahast understood better than he would have liked. The name wasn’t Auld Wyrmish at all but ancient Elvish. The phrase meant something like “the maiden Alavara, betrothed of Thatoryl, painted in blood.” He forced a stupid smile and added, “The human ear can be a bit flat.”
“One fault among many,” Nalavara agreed. “And you are called…?”
“Elminster,” Vangerdahast replied, lying through his teeth. “Elminster of Shadowdale. Now, how do we get out of here?”
Nalavara’s eye widened to its normal proportions, which was to say about as broad and long as a spacious work table. “First, Elminster, you must wish for something to eat. You will need a clear head for the work to come.”
“Work? You must be jesting,” Vangerdahast scoffed. “That’s why I have a ring of wishes-and I’m not about to waste the last one on a pot of porridge.”
An angry shudder shook the stairs, then Nalavara rumbled, “One wish only?”
“Only one, so be certain of yourself.”
Vangerdahast was not exactly lying. The truth was he had no idea how many wishes remained to the ring. It had been handed down to him through a long line of royal magicians, and if any of them had ever known the number it contained, the secret had died long before it reached Vangerdahast.
“Tell me what to wish,” the royal magician said, “and I’ll have us out of here.”
A long ribbon of flame snorted from Nalavara’s distant nostril. “A fool I am not,” she rumbled. “Come and bind yourself to my horn, and I will tell.”
Vangerdahast did as he was asked, but the horn was as large as a tree trunk, and even his over-large belt was not long enough to reach. He explained this to Nalavara, then wrapped his arms around the horn and said, “I give you my word I won’t let go.”
Nalavara snorted angrily, then said, “Be warned-if you try to leave me behind, the wish will not work.”
“Leave you behind?” Vangerdahast echoed. “Never. My word is as good as my name.”
“That is less of a comfort than you think, Elminster,” the dragon rumbled. “Know that if you try to cheat me-“
“Yes, yes, I can imagine,” Vangerdahast said. “You will look me up in Shadowdale, and I shall forever after have reason to regret my perfidy. Now, are we going to cast our wish or not?”
“Very well,” grumbled Nalavara. “The secret is not to wish us out of the city, but to wish the city back in time. You must call upon the ring to fill it again with goblins.”
“Goblins?”
“The Grodd Goblins,” Nalavara said. “That returns the city to the time when goblins ruled the land. From there, we must use our own spells to travel to our own times-have you a time-walking spell?”
“No,” Vangerdahast grumbled. “Though it hardly matters.”
He released the dragon’s horn and jumped off her head, then started down the plaza filled with disappointment and despair. Had there been any real chance of the spell working, Nalavara would certainly have insisted on holding him in her mouth-then she’d bite him in two once the wish was made.
“Wait!” Nalavara boomed. “Without me, the spell will work not!”
