Realms of the Dragons vol.1 a-9

by Коллектив Авторов

  "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

  Don Bassingthwaite

  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 tavern?"

  "Look after your horse," Li said, sliding out of the saddle, "then come with me. You'll see what's wrong."

  – QER-»

  Tycho stepped through the door flap of the pavilion and was immediately engulfed by fetid warmth. The main chamber of the makeshift tavern was already crowded with the guards and passengers of the caravan. Some sat at rough tables, others on rickety chairs, but most lounged against heaped cushions of indeterminate age and color. All of them held vessels-earthenware mugs, waxed leather drinking jacks-and drank and laughed with a vengeance. Many of the women of the oasis were there as well, a few serving the tavern's customers, but many customers themselves, gathered in clusters to talk or around tables to play some boisterous game involving rune-carved bone tiles and a number of knives.

  "Hoil" shouted the women around one table.

  They snatched up cups and drank. Their knives, striking the tabletop in an intricate rhythm, didn't miss a beat.

  Charcoal braziers added to the heat. Fat dripped, sizzling and popping, from long skewers of meat onto the hot coals, the heavy smell of it fighting a valiant battle with the odors of smoke and bodies. Soot and grease from the braziers left a shiny coating on the fabric of the pavilion's walls. High in the folds of the roof, long strands of black grease swayed like noxious icicles. Stained carpets covered the ground, though they might have supported a small garden on the dirt mashed into them. Tycho's foot came down in a wet spot where something had been spilled and simply left to soak in.

  Tycho turned and glared at Li as the Shou followed him in.

  "Sweet chum in a bucket, Li! Are you saying you don't like this place because it's dirty?"

  Li shifted, as if longing for the heavy dao saber he had left back at the caravan's campsite, and said, "I don't like it because it's the most foul drinking house I have ever seen."

  "Then I'll look forward to seeing the wine shops of Shou Lung. They must all be scrubbed out every night and painted fresh every morning."

  He took a deep breath, savoring the smell of grilling meat and-

  "Beer!" he gasped. "Blessed Lliira, a break from that foul horse milk drink the Tuigan make!" He captured two mugs from a passing serving woman and thrust one at Li. "Drink!" he ordered and drained his mug at a gulp.

  The beer within was thin, sour, and studded with tiny, soft chunks that lodged against Tycho's throat and threatened to make him gag. Li gave him a gloating smile.

  "Millet beer," the Shou said casually. "Brewed by the tavernkeeper in big goat skin bags."

  "Pagh." Tycho stared at the residue that clung to the bottom of his mug and said, "It tastes like the goats are still inside them!"

  "Here, here," boomed a loud, deep voice, "who's giving away my secrets?"

  A heavy hand fell on Tycho's shoulder and spun him around. Tycho stared up into the face of another Shou easily as tall as Li, but plump where Li was lean and smiling where Li was dour. It was the big man who had greeted the arriving caravan-and almost certainly the tavernkeeper. Tycho bent low.

  "Honored master Ong," he said in Shou, "my humblest apologies-"

  Ong waved him to silence.

  "My beer is terrible," he replied cheerfully. He held up a pitcher. "Would you like some more?"

  Tycho blinked, then laughed and held out his mug.

  "Bad beer gets better the more it's drunk!" he said and toasted Ong when his mug had been refilled.

  The tavernkeeper turned to Li.

  "Countryman?" he asked, lifting the pitcher.

  Li shook his head and replied, "I learned my lesson last time."

  Ong's smile, almost impossibly, grew even wider. "A return guest," he said. "I thought I recognized you. Let me see…" he closed his eyes in concentration. "A warrior and a servant of the imperial bureaucracy unless I misjudge your stance. Your voice has the sound of Keelung in Hai Yuan province-one of the silk families of Keelung, I think." Ong opened his eyes. "Kuang LiChien."

  Li's eyebrows rose.

  "Your memory is impressive."

  Ong shrugged.

  "A tavernkeeper's trick." Ong glanced back to Tycho and said, "Now you speak Shou with the accent of Ch'ing Tung province, hut if you come from Shou Lung, I'll drink my own beer. You have the look of someone from Faerun's near west, but your accent eludes me. Your voice is excellent, however, and I'd wager that you can sing more than a little."

  "Tycho Arisaenn of Spandeliyon in Altumbel," said Tycho with a grin. "If you'd like a song, I'd be happy to oblige." He slid the chunky wooden body of a strilling
around on the strap that held it slung across his back and plucked one of the instrument's strings with his thumb. "Though," he added casually, "it's the custom in Altumbel that a bard drinks for free as long as he plays."

  "Ancestors bless Altumbel!" roared Ong. "I've often said it's the most civilized nation of Faerun! Come in, come in!" Wrapping thick arms around both men, he drew them farther into the crowd. "My usual singer is away at present-gone raiding with the other men of the oasis, the ungrateful dog!"

  "We'd noticed the scarcity of men around the oasis," Li said. "Aren't they afraid to leave their wives and children unprotected?"

  "The men of this oasis have a fierce reputation," Ong explained as they squeezed past a lounging cluster of merchants from the caravan. Ong freed Tycho from his embrace long enough to slosh beer into their mugs. The merchants cheered. Ong raised his pitcher in acknowledgment, then swept Li and Tycho along. "No other ordu or bandit gang would dare raid this oasis for fear of reprisals-though if you were to suggest that to one of them they'd run you through."

  "They don't like to admit they're afraid?" asked Tycho.

  "They don't like to admit they're afraid of men of flesh and blood," Ong replied, nodding back toward the door flap. "Local tales say that a powerful spirit dwells in the water here and the Tuigan will do almost anything to avoid offending it. It means they have some strange taboos but it also means-" He spread his arms wide and proclaimed loudly-"that there isn't a safer oasis in all the Endless Wastes!"

  A mixture of travelers and local women shouted their agreement. Tycho looked toward the door flap.

  "Is there really a spirit in the water?" he asked.

  Li groaned and said, "No."

  "But what if-?"

  "No. No investigating, no exploring," Li said, shaking his head as Ong raised one eyebrow in an unspoken question. "Tycho has an unerring ability to find trouble."

  Tycho glared at his friend.

  "And Li," he said to Ong, "has an uncanny ability to ignore anything at all interesting!"

  Ong slapped his arms around both of them once more, drawing them close.

  "Curious or dull," he murmured, "don't question the Tuigans' beliefs. They take them very seriously."

  Tycho gave him a disappointed look and asked, "Have you ever seen this spirit?"

  "So long as I am among the Tuigan," said Ong, "I have no doubt that it exists. And if you have any sense beneath your curly hair, neither will you." He clapped them on the shoulders and stood back. "Now I believe there was talk of a song?" He reached to refill Tycho's mug again, but his pitcher was finally empty. "No matter," he said and called out, "Ibakha!"

  A young Tuigan woman with a full pitcher of beer in her hand-the flirtatious young woman Tycho had seen as the caravan rode into the oasis-came pushing through the crowd. His disappointment vanished as she stopped at the sight of him. Maybe things wouldn't be so dull after all. He gave Ibakha a wink and another smile.

  An older woman caught the gesture. In an instant, she was at Ibakha's side, snatching away the pitcher and delivering a few sharp words that made Ibakha flush as red as a bad sunburn. The young woman vanished into the crowd, while the older stalked up to Tycho, Li, and Ong. The pitcher she shoved at Ong, but her anger she unleashed at Tycho in a rush of Tuigan-accented Shou.

  "You stay away from Ibakha, Faroon. She is betrothed." She slapped Tycho in the center of his chest and repeated, "Stay away from her!"

  She stomped away. Tycho stared after her. After a moment of stunned silence, Ong cleared his throat.

  "I apologize for Chotan. Did I mention that the most significant reason no one would raid this oasis is that everyone is afraid of the women?"

  "Really?" Tycho rubbed his chest and winced. "Have you wondered if maybe the men go out raiding to get away from them?"

  Ong howled with laughter and poured him fresh beer from the pitcher.

  "Play, master bard, and if there's anything you need, just ask any of my women." He grinned and added, "Except perhaps Chotan."

  He rolled away into the crowd, greeting each of his customers in turn. Li stared after him.

  "There's something I don't like about our host," he said.

  "He's friendly, Li," said Tycho with a grin. "You should try it sometime."

  He set his mug on a nearby table and settled the butt of his strilling against his shoulder, then undipped the bow from the strap and drew it across the instrument's strings.

  "Olare!" he called as faces turned at the sound. "Who wants a song?"

  "— but hearts or gold," sang Tycho, "my swag must be sold, because I am-

  He lifted his bow and swept it through the air.

  "— the king of piiiirrates!" roared the crowd. Tycho ended the song with a flourish and leaped down from the tabletop to applause and ringing cheers. He grinned at Li as he wiped sweat from his face.

  "You know," he said, "I think even the Tuigan women enjoyed that."

  "And they probably don't have any idea what a pirate is," commented Li. "The pond outside is likely the largest body of water most of them have ever seen."

  He sipped cautiously at his millet beer. Tycho laughed, then clipped his bow to the strap of his strilling and slid the instrument around against his back. He reached for his mug. It was empty.

  "When did I finish this?"

  "Sometime between The Thayan Pox and A Dwarf Went Delving" said Li.

  Tycho looked around. With the music finished, many of the caravan travelers were leaving to stagger back to their bedrolls, though the fearsome women of the oasis were still drinking and playing their game of knives. Pretty young Ibakha was nowhere to be seen, probably sent home for her own protection. There were other serving women almost as pretty, though. Tycho caught the eye of one and gestured with his mug. She boldly sauntered over.

  "More beer, FaroonV She didn't wait for a reply before filling his mug. "I am Chaka."

  "I'm Tycho," he said. "Faroon-what does that mean, Chaka?"

  She grinned and replied, "It's the land where you come from, isn't it?"

  "Faroon… Faerun." Behind him, Tycho could hear Li snorting derisively at his flirtations. He ignored Li and said, "Your Shou is very good. Do you all speak it?"

  "Ong insists on it. He teaches us. He thinks it's a more proper language than Tuigan." Chaka bent close. "You sing very well, Tycho. Maybe tonight I could teach you to sing a Tuigan song."

  Her breath smelled of sweet spices. Tycho smiled

  "Maybe I could sing a little song just for you, Chaka"

  He cupped his hands over hers and sang a ripple of music. As he sang, he reached into himself, focusing his will through the music. Between his fingers and Chaka's, a fragile form took shape. He lifted his hands away to reveal a pale, delicate flower. Chaka stared at it.

  "Magic," she breathed.

  "A little," Tycho said modestly. "A beautiful flower for a beau-"

  "Magic!" squeaked Chaka. She dropped the flower as if it was spider and jumped away from him. "There is no magic in the oasis! You'll offend-"

  She clamped her mouth shut, but her eyes darted toward the tavern's door flap and the water beyond.

  "The spirit?" Tycho asked in disbelief. "Magic offends the water spirit?"

  Chaka gave a little nod. Tycho cursed the Tuigans' taboos silently and stood up, reaching for her.

  "Chaka, I didn't know! It was nothing, just a little trick."

  "No!" she yelped and started backing away.

  Other people-other Tuigan women-were starting to look toward them. Surly Chotan was already heading in their direction, a storm of a scowl brewing on her face. Tycho took another step toward Chaka.

  She turned around and darted through the crowd, vanishing through another flap in the fabric walls and deeper into the pavilion.

  "Faroonl" yelled Chotan. "What did you do to her?"

  Tycho cursed out loud. Li sighed and stood up.

  "How do you manage this, Tycho?" he asked.

  "I don't know," he said as he
patted Li's chest. "You hold off Chotan. I'll go find Chaka before she gets everyone upset."

  He dashed after the frightened woman before Li could do more than sputter and Chotan squawk in outrage.

  Beyond the flap, the back rooms of Ong's pavilion were much like the back rooms of any tavern Tycho had ever crept through: small, jammed with stored goods, and dark. Very dark. Tycho cracked his shin against something low and hard, and swallowed an exclamation of pain. Unlike other back rooms, the walls that separated him from the rest of the tavern were literally no thicker than a good carpet. He could hear Chotan berating Li, and closer to hand the suddenly ominous rhythm of falling knives in the women's game.

  "Hoi!" shouted the women.

  Their cry covered a muffled yelp as Tycho tripped again. Should he risk more magic and Chaka's fear or maim himself in the darkness?

  "Damn water spirit," he muttered, and fished in a belt pouch for a coin.

  Clenching it in his fist, he sang a spell. Light leaked out between his fingers-not much, but enough to keep him from stumbling. Playing the faint illumination across the floor, he edged forward.

  "Chaka?" he called softly. "Chaka, come out. It's all right."

  There was no movement. He crept on. The back room was larger than he expected, and divided up by thin hangings. Chaka could have ducked through or under any of them. Tycho stuck to what seemed to be the largest of the back chambers, stepping quietly around an assortment of boxes, barrels, and sacks. The sounds of the tavern, muffled by the fabric walls, faded to a background murmur. Tycho cursed silently. There was no sign of Chaka. Maybe she had slipped into one of the side chambers after all. Maybe she knew of another door flap he had missed and was no longer even in the pavilion. He clenched his jaw.

  Don't worry about it, he told himself, you've talked yourself out of much tighter situations than this!

  He started to turn back to the main chamber of the tavern.

  "Ah, my beauty! You grow more lovely with each passing day."

  Ong's voice. Tycho froze, wrapping his fist tight around the glowing coin and choking off its faint light entirely. In the darkness, he could see an even fainter glow that leaked from a side chamber where the fabric of the hanging wall was rumpled by a box pushed against it. There was no passage to the chamber here-the entrance must have been from one of the other side chambers.