I was going to be sore in the morning.
“Have fun,” Shamino said. He moved as if to pat my shoulder, then jerked his hand to his side. “I’ll be dredging. Shake the Summoning Globe if you need me.”
I suspected that if I needed him, he’d write to Merram within five minutes.
Shamino left me with the crabby dragon. Maolmuire blinked. I blinked back.
If I survive today, I can survive everything. I’m sure Shamino has given me the worst task.
I hefted the stick.
Maolmuire spun faster than anything his size should have allowed. His tail crashed upon the floor inches from me. I yelped. My magic boiled up—I doused it with the image of the lake.
“Fine,” I said, still shaking. “Tail first. Thanks for asking.”
Maolmuire let out a low rumble. A chuckle? Then, to my surprise, he closed his eyes and settled into a light snooze that didn’t let up even as I resumed cleaning.
This isn’t so bad, I thought as I finished his tail. Pigshit. That took longer than a Sphere. I’ll never finish.
Maolmuire raised a hand and began to grate two claws together. A sound like rasping boards echoed in the bare cave.
I ignored him.
He began to grate them at irregular intervals.
I am calm. I am at the lake. The sun shines, and Shamino… Why is Shamino here? I tried to work faster, but my shoulders ached too much. I moved to a hind leg and still Maolmuire didn’t stop, so I began to hum. Poorly. Maolmuire grated louder. I hummed louder.
Maolmuire twisted with a menacing growl and two nostrils blew hot dragon breath in my face. The vision began to form.
The red dragon roars a battle cry as he flies to his target...
I locked my knees so I wouldn’t fall over. Maolmuire—just Maolmuire—stood in front of me again.
“Listen. Dragon.” My voice almost broke with terrified anger. “You don’t like this? I’m not having fun, either. So maybe we can make each other crazy, and this will take all night, or you can be nice and I’ll go as fast as I can.”
And I’m never going to forgive Shamino for starting me with you.
The nostrils lowered. Maolmuire looked… amused? There was a definite crinkle near the eye.
“Deal?” If he didn’t agree, what then? I didn’t see how anyone could make a dragon do anything.
Maolmuire hissed. Once more, hot breath scented with charred meat washed over me; this time, no vision. He thrust the rear leg at me, splayed his claws, and grumbled to himself.
Thank you, First One. I needed to find an altar. Today. And bathe it with my tears of gratitude.
The next few hours… passed. Not quickly. Maolmuire did absolutely nothing to help. I ripped my breeches in two places and collected hundreds of tiny cuts as I climbed all over him.
As Shamino had promised, I ran out of oil; it took two trips to get the drums. Wrestling them wore me out even more. My arms shook, my back hurt, I had half a dragon to go… I gritted my teeth and pried off the lids.
Maolmuire let out a snore. Lazy, mule-assed dung heap. I resisted the urge to kick him and climbed onto his back.
After I’d used up half a bucket of oil, Maolmuire yawned and stretched.
“Pigshit!” I flailed, barely grabbing the spine on his back before I tumbled off. Pain flared up my arm as the spine sliced into my palm. He continued to stretch, his tail arced—
It swept through both open drums.
Oil flooded the floor like liquid gold.
Maolmuire shuddered and I fell. Mostly I fell on my ass, but it hurt, almost as much as my palm. Maolmuire cocked his head and blinked as if to say, Why Adara, whatever happened?
I shoved myself to my feet. “You—you—mule-loving, inbred, pigshitting, weasel-snout!”
Maolmuire chuckled and tiptoed to the non-oily side of his home.
I tried to storm out of the cave. Instead, I slipped in oil, bruising my ass again and soaking my clothes. Maolmuire’s chuckle changed to a boulder-clattering laugh. I took my time to the door and slammed it. Of course, I slammed it with my cut hand. I cursed again, tears stinging my eyes from the pain, and I went to the supply room to bandage the wound as best I could. Then, as I stepped into the hallway, I realized something.
I didn’t know the rain-forsaken waypoints.
It took me over half a Sphere to reach Shamino’s study. My anger grew with every sore, squelching step. I grabbed the sparkly green ball with my good hand and shook it like a crazed dog.
The study door opened.
“You’re still here,” Shamino said, surprised. He noticed my oil-soaked clothing. “What happened?”
He himself was mud streaked and reeking of sulfur, but he had chosen to be filthy. Stupid, pigshitting dragon. Calm. Lake. Through clenched teeth, I asked, “How do I clean oil off the floor?”
“How much?” he asked as he stared at my plastered breeches and shirt. I told him, and he burst, “Two entire… Do you have any idea how much those cost? What were you doing? Juggling them with Telekinesis?”
“I didn’t spill it! Your stupid dragon knocked them over.”
“Maolmuire knocked... Did you put them beside him? Never mind. I should have told you to…” For a moment, I thought he honestly felt bad. Then he began to close the door. “We can’t save it, so just burn it with your Gift.”
My anger deflated. “I can’t.”
The door paused. “You set Raul’s cushion on fire. Surely it’s not a difficult spell for you?”
Zoland had told me that not all mages could cast all spells. I could answer that, when not freaked out of my mind, Fire was one of those difficult spells for me. But hiding the truth was like lying, and Shamino had been serious when he mentioned that he hated lies. Not that my entire life isn’t a lie.
