The dragon pulled at its captured foot, but the thick crossbars pinned it to the floor. Talbot leaped up and climbed the dragon's thigh, raking his way up the golden body like a bear sharpening its claws on a tree.
'You listen to me, beast!'
The dragon snatched him up like a man might grab a mouse upon his tunic. Talbot pushed and strained against the gigantic grip, but the dragon held him fast and moved him close to his jaws, still smoldering from the heat of his flame.
'By what right in these wide realms do you command me, little wolf?'
Talbot felt his own rage rising like fire within his breast. He could surrender to it, let the fury consume his mind until he burrowed like a badger through the dragon's hand then toward the furnace of his heart to seek vengeance, or die trying. Instead, just as his humanity teetered on the brink of savagery, he remembered Mnomene's last words to him, and he chose one last gambit as a man.
'I am your damned host,' he shouted. 'You have endangered my fellows, terrorized my patrons, and ruined my house. You, sir, have abused my hospitality!'
The dragon gnashed his jaws and snapped his snout closed. He snarled, hissed flame through his teeth, and squeezed Talbot so hard he felt his ribs grind together.
The dragon stared so hard at the little mammal in his hand that Talbot thought he might burst into flames under that gaze. At last, the dragon thrust Talbot down upon the stage and released him. As embers from the burning roof drifted down, the great dragon bowed his head.
'Perhaps…' said the dragon. 'Perhaps I have been a bit rude.'
Act V
Krion-as Talbot had come to think of the dragon-muttered a few grudging excuses and flew away the moment Talbot removed the sword from his foot. Talbot imagined the dragon was chasing after Mnomene once more, and he hoped he would catch up to his daughter in another city-any where but Selgaunt.
He stood alone in the smoldering remains of the Wide Realms, long after the fire brigade had left. He counted his blessings as he accounted the losses. The calculation was simple: Of the playhouse, total ruin. The foundations that survived the fire were not worth saving. Any rebuilding would have to begin from the ground up, and even the coin from King Krion was insufficient to begin such a grand project.
On the positive side of the tally, and more than a little miraculously, no one had died in the conflagration. Lommy and family had fled the moment they smelled Krion arrive, but they were homeless, as was the troupe. Even mounting a new production of the popular play would be only a tiny first step toward rebuilding the Wide Realms. Innkeepers always kept fifty percent of the receipts, and they could accommodate only much smaller audiences.
If nothing else, Talbot thought, he learned that he, with a little help from his fellow players, could write a play that would 'break a miser's heart'… or at least really, really irritate him. More than that, though, Talbot had written a play that spoke to all sorts of people, from the groundlings to the snootiest members of the Old Chauncel, all while finally coming to grips with his own feelings about a father to whom he had said far too little in the time they had left.
'I suppose I should apologize,' said Krion.
His nostrils full of smoke, Talbot couldn't smell the dragon approach. Krion was once more in human form, but he had given himself far more modest garb.
'Nothing says 'I apologize' like fifty thousand five-stars,' said Talbot, estimating the amount he would need to begin rebuilding.
'That is a handsome sum,' said Krion. 'No doubt, were I to subject myself to your human laws, you might extract it from me through your courts. I have never understood how you mammals equate treasure with civility. As I said, I apologize '
Talbot did not correct him, and he tried not to entertain any notions about other ways in which he might extract the coin from the dragon. Even at his most furious, he was not insane enough to think that even the Black Wolf was a match for a gold dragon.
'I have had a notion,' said Krion. 'One that might serve us both in the long term. While the content was of dubious value, this notion of a play intrigues me.'
'No,' said Talbot.
'Now that you have had some experience with the collaborative process, and with a more mature patron guiding the story….'
'Oh, no,' said Talbot. 'If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times.'
'I am certain that your audience will appreciate my story of a monarch much abused by his ungrateful children.'
'We…don't… do…'
'With that great big sword of yours,' said Krion, 'you did cut a rather kingly figure.'
'Did you really think so?'
'Let's talk terms.'
'Fifty thousand fivestars.'
'Bah! Twenty.'
'Plus another twenty for my assurance not to revive King Krion.'
'What? That's extortion!'
'No, that's an annual, renewable stipend.'
'You drive a mean bargain, wolf,' said the dragon.
'Thank you,' said Talbot. 'I learned it from my father.'
BEER WITH A FAT DRAGON
Late Tarsakh, the Year of Rogue Dragons
The caravan moved slowly down the dusty slope and into the oasis, the sinking sun at the riders' backs throwing long shadows across scrub trees and coarse grass. Tuigan women watched the riders from benches outside round, felt-covered yurts while children raced about in the fading heat of the day, running alongside the caravan's horses, pack mules, and ox carts. A few of the caravan travelers laughed and threw trinkets to the boldest children, but Tycho Arisaenn threw smiles toward the watching women. Especially the pretty ones.
A young woman with a delicately squared face and the rich bronze complexion of the steppe tribes gave him a smile and lingering glance in return. As the caravan coiled to a stop beside one of the stones that marked the long route of the Golden Way east across the Endless Wastes, Tycho grinned at his companion.
'Only the women at home, Li!' he crowed. 'The men must be out raiding!'
'It's strange they wouldn't leave some men behind to guard the oasis.' Kuang Li Chien tilted back the broad straw hat that had shaded him from the searing sun and scanned the oasis. His face darkened. 'Mother of dogs,' he muttered. 'I know where we are. I remember this place from my journey west.'
Tycho followed his gaze. Beyond the yurts of the Tuigan, an enormous pavilion sprawled on the edge of the muddy pond that was the oasis's heart. A large figure-a man as fat as any Tycho had ever seen-was just emerging from the door flap, one thick arm raised in greeting.
'Well met, thirsty travelers,' he bellowed in a voice that carried across the entire oasis. 'Come! Come and drink at Ong's tavern!'
'Tavern?' As the rest of the caravan let out a cheer, Tycho looked to Li. The Shou's expression was glum. 'Li, we haven't seen anyplace that called itself a tavern since we left Almorel on the Lake of Mists. What's wrong with a
