the dragon's eyes narrowed into slits.
'You are fortunate, elfling, than I am in the mood for diversion,' he said in an ominous rumble. 'By all means, divert me. I rather hope your magical attack tickles-I have grown unaccustomed to the cool air of these northern lands, and a hearty laugh might be pleasantly warming.'
Durothil felt the dragon's hold on his mind slowly slip away. As soon as he could move of his own accord, he tore his gaze from those malice-filled eyes. Then he reached into a moss-lined bag and gently removed a small cube. He took a deep breath and began the chant he had been preparing for years.
The dragon listened, massive head swaying in derisive counterpoint to the rhythm of the elven chant. As the magical forces gathered, however, the dragon's horned brow beetled in puzzlement and consternation. The elf was focusing his efforts not upon the dragon, but upon some object-and on something else that Mahatnartorian could not quite identify.
As Durothil's chant quickened and rose to a swift climax, he hauled back one hand and hurled a small object at the dragon. A small, viscous green glob splatted on the creature's armored side.
Mahatnartorian regarded the mess, one horned brow lifted incredulously. 'That is the best you can do? You disappoint me, elfling. At the very least, you could-'
The dragon broke off abruptly as a sudden chill, sharp as a rival's teeth, stabbed through the protective armor of his scales. He glanced down, and noted that the spot of green was beginning to spread. The dragon reached out with the tip of his tail and tried to peel the strange substance off. His tail was caught fast in it-try as he might, he could not pull his tail free of the elastic substance.
Roaring with rage, Mahatnartorian rose onto his haunches and tore at the swiftly spreading goo with his front paws. Not even his massive talons could halt the flow. Frantic now, the dragon beat his wings in an instinctive attempt to fly, to seek the safety of his lair. The buffeting winds sent the elf hurtling back, rolling perilously close to the edge of the flat.
But the effort came too late. The dragon's hind quarters were already stuck firmly to the mountain. In moments Mahatnartorian was completely encased in an enormous cube that claimed nearly the entire plateau.
Durothil scrambled to his feet, his chest heaving and his breath coming in ragged gulps. He walked cautiously around the still-struggling dragon, taking care not to meet its stare. Finally the dragon settled down in apparent resignation, and its massive jaw moved slightly as if in speech. There was a moment's silence as a ripple passed through the cube to the outer edge.
'How did you do that? What magic do you command?'
The dragon's voice was oddly altered by its passage through the cube-muffled and mutated until the wobbly cadences sounded more like the mutter of a drunken dwarf than the great, thrumming bass instrument that was nearly as terrifying as dragonfright. But to Durothil, those words sounded sweeter than a siren's lullaby.
'I do not command such power-I merely entreat. Since elven magic would not serve against so mighty a foe, I sought the power of an ancient god to bring against the great Mahatnartorian.' The response was extravagant, but Durothil was in a mood to be generous-and he knew of the legendary vanity of red dragons.
'A god. Hiran.' The dragon seemed somewhat mollified by this information. 'Very well, then. Now that I'm subdued-although I'll have you know that this is hardly the traditional means of subdual-what service does your god require from me?'
'Information,' the elf began. 'I have heard rumors of silver dragons to the north.'
'Consider them confirmed.'
'Your part is not so easy as that. I need to know where the creatures lair. And I need an egg. When I have retrieved and hatched a viable egg, you will be free to go.' The dragon's shoulders abruptly lifted and fell, sending a shiver through the cube. A moment later, his derisive snort broke through the gelatinous barrier.
The next series of ripples came quickly, heralding the force of the words to come. 'In that case, elfling fool, I will sit in this ridiculous cube forever. You have no hope of success. Have you ever seen a brooding she-dragon protect her nursery? No, of course you have not, for you are still alive to stand before me with that annoying smirk on your face.'
There was more truth in the dragon's words than Durothil liked to admit. The retrieval of a living egg was the weakest part of his plan. 'You have another suggestion?'
'I will retrieve this egg for you,' the dragon offered. 'Loose me now, and I will hunt down and slay the silver she-dragon. That I would do, regardless, for I wish to add the silvers' hunting lands to my own territory. You may consider the egg the fulfillment of the terms of subdual. It is unorthodox, but what about this encounter is not?'
Durothil considered this. 'What assurances do I have that you will deliver a viable egg? Or even a dragon's egg-for all I know of such matters, I might find myself saddled with a manticore kitten. And what is to keep you from turning upon me and my people, once the egg is delivered?'
The laughter that emerged from the cube was tinged with genuine respect. 'You are learning, elfling. Let us make a bargain then, leaving your part undone until you have bonded with your silver hatchling. Then you will find some ruse to bring Sharlario Moonflower to this mountaintop. Do that, and I will consider this a bargain well made. The rest of the forest elves can live in peace.'
'I cannot betray one of my own People to you!' the elf protested.
'Can you not? Yet you demand that I deliver one of mine into your hands. For all I know-or care-you could want the little silver brat to cut up for use in your spells, or to sacrifice to this god of yours. Ghaunadar, isn't it?' the dragon said shrewdly. 'Now that I consider the matter, you are precisely the sort of being who would draw the Elder God's attention-ambitious, smarter than most of your kind, perhaps a bit of a rogue. Willing to try new things, to stretch the limits. Strong with the life-force that Ghaunadar reveres-and craves.
'You do know about that particular little requirement, don't you?' the dragon continued. From the corner of one trapped eye, he caught a glimpse of Durothil's puzzled face. A chuckle rumbled through the viscous slime that was a gift of the ancient, evil god.
'You don't! By Tiamat's Talons, you are more a fool than you appear! Did you think that one such as Ghaunadar would grant you such gifts, yet demand nothing in return? Oh, he will demand, upon that you may stake anything you like. He will demand the sacrifice of a life-force-yours or another's. So why not persuade Ghaunadar to consider this Sharlario Moonflower the required sacrifice? Thus can you pay two debts with a single coin. Are we agreed?'
Durothil stood silent, stunned and shamed beyond speech. He had known only that Ghaunadar was an ancient power, one who had sought him out and offered assistance in his quest to aid and rule his People. He should have seen Ghaunadar's evil nature; he should have known what sort of service the god would require of him. He should have, but he did not, so blinded was he by his desire for power. But that desire, in and of itself, was not evil. Surely not.
'I will free you now,' Durothil heard himself say, 'and all will be as you said, except for one additional condition. I will bring Sharlario Moonflower to you when I have trained the dragon to carry me on its back. Or, if I fail in this endeavor, I will return twenty years from the day of the hatching. And on that day, Ghaunadar will have his elven sacrifice.'
'Done.' The dragon's voice rumbled with satisfaction.
With a heavy heart, the elf chanted the prayer that would reverse the godly spell and free the dragon from Ghaunadar's grip. At once the dragon leaped into the sky, his wings thundering as they carried him toward the lair of the doomed silver dragon.
Durothil's eyes were dull as he gazed into the sky, for they regarded not the triumphant and fleeing Mahatnartorian, but his own lost honor.
When Sharlario and his son returned to their forest home, they found a settlement ringing with praise for the hero Durothil. The elven mage, it seemed, had entrapped the red dragon in a mighty spell and had once again banished it. Many of the elves had been alerted by the trapped dragon's roars. Some had witnessed the scene, for the morning was clear and the plateau was clearly visible from the forest.
Sharlario was relieved to hear of his people's reprieve, but puzzled. Had not Ka'Narlist, the archmage of mighty Atorrnash, said that this dragon could not be overcome through elven magic? The Moon elf respected Durothil's ability, but he would not have thought the Gold elf's magic greater than that wielded in the southern lands.
Perhaps, Sharlario concluded, Durothil simply used his power with greater restraint and responsibility. After
