by Simon Haynes
* * *
The dragon landed on the side of a craggy mountain, and Runt unhooked his aching fingers from the collar and stood up on shaky legs. He shivered - the air was cold, and the hillside was strewn with the bleached bones of many unfortunate meals.
“Follow me,” said the Desolator, leading the way between two large rocks. The dragon breathed twin flames through its nostrils, lighting the dark passageway admirably. Runt staggered after it, his heart thumping.
As they turned the corner, Runt stopped. Laid out before him was a gleaming lake of treasure - drifts of gold coins, sprinkled with gems the size of his fist. Wooden chests overflowing with pearls, necklaces, diamonds. There were magic weapons, fine armour, musical instruments and some really nifty antique clocks.
“Mine,” yelled Runt. He ran forward and dived into the treasure, surfaced and began throwing handfuls of coins into the air. “All mine!” He grabbed gems and kissed them, picked up weapons and sighted along their gleaming blades, dropped jewelled crowns over his head until he could barely peep over the top of them.
He turned to gloat at the Desolator, then felt his blood turn to ice. Alongside the scarred dragon was another, her scales sleek, polished green and her wide eyes a deep, dark jade.
“Runt, meet my daughter,” said the Desolator calmly. “Daughter, meet lunch.”
“Holy cow,” breathed Runt, as priceless treasures slipped from his incontinent fingers. “I-if I take the collar off, will you let me go?”
“No,” said the dragon. She glanced at her father. “You look like you need to lie down.”
“You’re right. I’ve got a ssplitting headache.” The Desolator ambled into the piles of treasure, curled up and immediately began to snore.
The green dragon gazed at the Desolator fondly, then turned her attention back to Runt. After regarding him for a moment or two, she began moving towards him purposefully. Slowly.
Runt closed his eyes, bracing himself for either a fiery breath or a quick snap of the teeth. Instead, he felt himself embraced warmly, and when his eyes blinked open he found himself staring into the beautiful face of a female halfling. “I can’t thank you enough,” she said. “He won’t take his pills, gets himself all worked up then charges up and down attacking things. That collar is perfect.”
“Huh?” said Runt, lost in the halfling’s jade, green eyes. “Hey, you’re the dragon!”
She smiled. “I thought you’d die of fright if I hugged you in my natural form.”
“But…”
The halfling put her head on his shoulder. “You saved my father’s life,” she said. “It was only a matter of time before some two-bit wannabe hero-“ she stopped, pulled away. “Someone’s coming.”
Runt heard the clink of steel on rock, followed by a muttered curse. “Hurm!” he cried.
There was a hissing sound. “I am Hurm!” boomed a voice, echoing around the cave like a fairground caller’s cry.
“Shut up, you moron,” hissed a second voice. “The little twit might not have fixed the collar properly.”
“Friends of yours?” asked the dragon.
Runt shrugged.
“Would you look away while I change?”
Runt did so, although he sneaked a peek and saw the curvaceous halfling morphing into the dragon - strong, green and very large. “Hurm’s got a sword,” whispered Runt. “He’s the big one. The other one’s fast with the spell book. Don’t hurt them too much.”
The dragon regarded him for a moment before nodding. Then she backed past the tunnel entrance and waited.
Father M’s voice range out suddenly, close by. “Runt, trusted companion, how fares it with you?”
“I put the collar on the dragon,” said Runt.
“Firmly, I trust?”
“Oh, yes. He’s quite docile, no trouble from that angle.”
“Splendid,” said Father M., stepping out of the tunnel. His eyes widened at the sight of the treasure. “Skewkeep’s foreskin, that’s a goodly haul.”
Hurm emerged behind him, clutching his trusty sword. His mouth dropped as he saw the sleeping dragon curled up on the piles of gold. Then, before anyone could stop him he charged forward towards the slumbering beast. “Long will be the tales of my valour,” he said, skidding to a halt in the coins and raising his sword.
“That’s not a good idea,” said Runt.
“None shall stay my hand,” declared Hurm, raising the sword higher and getting a good grip.
“Hurm, put the sword down. Slowly.”
“I am HURM!” yelled the fighter, driving the point of the sword towards the Desolator’s head. Suddenly there was a hissing roar and a jet of flame boiled across the cave from the hidden, crouching dragon, blasting the blade into molten droplets. Hurm stared at the hilt, his face white.
“Now you’re for it,” said Runt. “And there’s not an elf in sight.”
The green dragon came forward, squashing gold coins under her feet. Her eyes were sharp, her ears flat against her skull.
Hurm fell to his knees. “Oh great one, spare me. I beg of you.”
“It’s ok, she’s on my side. Hop up before you get gold rash.”
Hurm struggled to his feet, brushing away Father M’s hand. “From this day, I shall fight no more.”
“More?” snorted Runt.
“Gentlemen,” said the dragon suddenly, making the three companions jump. “My father will no longer trouble the town of Yendour, and the three of you will therefore return as heroes.”
Hurm’s downcast expression changed to one of hope.
“However, I will not have foolhardy idiots making their way here, tempted by treasure and rumours of a slumbering, docile dragon.”
Runt gulped.
“So I will give each of you a gift and a warning. The gift is as much treasure as you can carry.” The companions looked at each other in astonishment and glee.
“Wh-what about the warning?” asked Runt.
“Come here,” said the dragon.
The companions stepped forwards, against their will. When they were lined up in a row, the dragon breathed soft, lilac flames into their faces.
“Ow,” said Runt, rubbing his forehead.
“You will never return to this cave, nor reveal its location to others.”
“Never,” said the three companions as one.
“Now take your treasure and go.”
Father M and Hurm dived for the hoard and began stuffing gems and coins into pouches and pockets. For several minutes the cave echoed to hoarse breathing, clinking metal and the sound of pouring gems.
“And you, Runt?” asked the dragon. “Do you not share their lust for riches?”
“It’s just treasure,” said Runt, with a sidelong glance at the dragon. “You make a great halfling, you know.”
The dragon’s eyes twinkled. “But I cast a spell on you, forbidding you from returning to this cave.”
“I haven’t left yet.”
They were interrupted by Father M and Hurm, who staggered up draped with necklaces and bulging with coin. “We’ll be off then, ma’am,” said Father M. He tried to raise his hand to his forehead, but the weight of a chainmail vest slung over his arm prevented all but the tiniest of movements. “Coming, Runt?”
Runt crossed his arms. “I can’t say that I am.”
“Ok, see you around,” said the cleric. He turned and staggered up the passage with Hurm close on his heels. Runt watched them go, wondering whether they’d get as far as the village of Yendour before they were beaten and robbed.
He turned at a rustling sound, and saw the dragon changing back into halfling form. “Do you think we’re compatible?” he asked, eyeing her curves with rising interest.
“I don’t know,” said the dragon, with a smile that lit up her deep, jade eyes. “But we can have some fun finding out.”
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