Azure Bonds

20 Dragonbait’s Feint of Honor

The smell of blood caught Dragonbait’s attention a hundred yards before he entered camp. He dropped to all fours and crawled forward cautiously. By the campsite was a huge dark mound. The massive shape was easily ten times greater than the upended wagon that had shielded the whole party. As the lizard drew closer, he heard singing.

The voice was Ruskettle’s, but it was unusually uneven. It rang out strong and sweet for a few lines, then wavered helplessly for a half dozen notes before regaining its tone. Olive sang the tune Alias had taught her way back in Cormyr, the song about the fall of Myth Drannor. Here on the battle-strewn plain, in the dark, with fear so obviously in her heart, the song took on a poignancy Olive might never have been able to give it before a human audience.

The lizard crept closer still, using the wagon as cover. Once he was crouched behind the wagonbed, he looked back toward Yulash. The eastern sky was developing the sickly glow of sunrise through fog, but Dragonbait didn’t need the light to pick out the great hulk of Moander. To the lizard’s sight, the Abomination stood out against the mist-chilled fields, warmed as it was with the fresh blood of its victims. It was heading south toward the Elven Wood.

Dragonbait turned his attention once more to the matter close at hand. He peeked around the edge of the wagonbed and instantly recognized the monster that crouched like a great cat at the bard’s feet.

A lair-beast, a very big lair-beast, Dragonbait concluded, ducking back behind the wagon.

He sniffed at the air and recognized the monster’s scent. Alias had gone into this creature’s den and brought out the halfling. Even from the back tunnel, his sensitive nose had been able to pick out the dragon’s scent, and he had rankled at the swordswoman’s order to stay outside while she went in to do battle.

Mist’s great tail wrapped around the camp, trapping the halfling in a ring of crimson.

Dragonbait sighed inwardly. This was a very inconvenient time to have to fight a lair-beast, he thought. If he died, there would be no one left to help Alias, but he needed Olive’s help. There simply wasn’t time to find new allies.

He climbed to the top of the wagonbed so the halfling would be able to see him without alerting the dragon.

Olive’s voice quivered with exhaustion. It wasn’t easy being so frightened. When she spotted Dragonbait, she almost shouted out the next lyric, but years of training stepped in and she was able to repress her excitement before she gave away the lizard’s presence.

Her voice grew in strength as she sang the final verse. A plan was beginning to form in the back of her head. She had seen the lizard in combat, and he wasn’t bad. With her brains and his brawn, she might just have a chance. She finished the song with a flourish.

The dragon let out a great contented sigh, steam pouring from her nostrils. “That is a new one. You must have learned it since we last parted, or were you keeping this little gem hidden from me when you stayed as my guest?”

“A good bard is always picking up new pieces for her repertoire,” the halfling replied evenly. She stretched and asked, “So, have you decided to eat me now or wait until you find Alias of Westgate?”

“I am of two minds,” Mist answered, standing up to stretch herself. She turned around like a cat trying to decide the most comfortable position. Dragonbait dropped behind the wagon not a moment too soon. When the great wyrm had settled herself back down, in nearly the exact same spot as before, Dragonbait climbed back up the wagon to watch the proceedings.

“Two minds,” Mist repeated. “On one hand, your talent would be a great loss to the world. On the other hand, artists don’t usually become really famous until after their deaths. I would be doing you a favor by allowing you to satisfy this peckish feeling in my belly.”

“But then I couldn’t help you find Alias,” the halfling pointed out calmly.

“No,” the dragon admitted, “but then, neither could you escape to warn the foul-tongued wench. You see my problem.” A long, lolling tongue slid out from between Mist’s jaws and licked at her two protruding upper fangs.

“Yes,” Olive admitted, her eyes riveted to the great, forked organ until it withdrew back into the dragon’s mouth. “It sounds as if you’ve already made your decision.”

“You’re right,” Mist said as rivers of drool began to slide down her chin hairs. “I think a light meal is definitely in order before I resume the hunt.”

“Sounds appropriate to me,” the halfling agreed, reaching into her shirt as if to scratch an indelicate itch. “I guess I have no choice, then.”

“Not really.”

From his perch atop the wagon, Dragonbait crouched forward, ready to leap on the dragon and save the strangely acquiescent bard.

Olive withdrew her hand from her shirt and presented a small, stoppered bottle. “Have you ever heard of peranox?” she asked.

“It’s some human poison, isn’t it? It’s supposed to smell like cinnamon, I believe.”

The halfling nodded and unstoppered the bottle. The scent of cinnamon immediately drifted to her nostrils. Mist sniffed and no doubt caught a whiff of it, too.

“Yes, a human poison.” Olive nodded as beads of perspiration began rising on her forehead and cheeks. “And a halfling poison as well. Fast acting. Deadly. What I have here will kill me. It may kill you, too. Though of course I don’t know the correct dosage for a beast your size.”

“Such a desperate action.”

“These are desperate times.” Olive rose to her feet, using the tiny vial as a shield. Now, work up to this slowly, Olive-girl—you can’t afford to miss any steps, she warned herself as she prepared to use the same legal arguments she’d learned from the swordswoman. “You don’t think much of me, do you?” she asked the dragon.

“Beg pardon?” Mist replied in confusion, her eyes never leaving the bottle in the halfling’s hands.

Dragonbait unsheathed his sword, but remained perched on top of the wagon. The poison stand-off could not last long. Eventually, the dragon would just decide she wasn’t hungry enough to ingest a poison-laden bard and simply incinerate the halfling. Yet, Dragonbait could sense Olive was preparing some other cunning plan. It might be worth the risk to let the halfling play her hand before trying to battle this lair-beast myself, he decided.

“Were it Alias the human you found here with me, what would you have done? Sat down and demanded four or five songs as you tore apart her favorite horse?”

“I’m sorry,” Mist said. She nodded toward the remains of Lady Killer. “Was this a friend of yours?”

“It was Alias’s horse,” Olive snapped. “But that’s not my point, is it? You wouldn’t have made her grovel before you.”

“No,” Mist admitted. She thought carefully for a moment. “I would have killed her directly, using flame and fangs and claws and every other weapon at my disposal.”

“Ex-actly!” the halfling said. “You wouldn’t waste your time while …” Olive caught herself. She’d been about to say, “while she waited frantically for reinforcements to arrive and rescue her,” but that was too close to her own situation. Mist might sit up and look around, ruining the lizard’s surprise. She gulped and then continued, “while the night passed, demanding more songs like a drunkard at an inn calling for more mead.”

“Well, if you’re offended by my sparing your life, I can correct that.” The dragon’s smile revealed nothing but sharp teeth, all the way back down her mouth.

“Offended,” Olive mused. “Yes, that’s the word. Offended. My honor, small though it be, has been besmirched. I see no remedy but a Feint of Honor.”

“Feint of—” The dragon reared up, accidentally knocking the wagon with her shoulder. The upended wagon overturned, sending Dragonbait sprawling backward. The lizard landed on all fours and pressed himself tightly against the ground.

Meanwhile, Mist rocked back and forth, issuing a loud braying that Olive could only assume was laughter. The halfling shifted to the left somewhat to keep the dragon’s attention away from Dragonbait’s position.

How did he ever get a stupid name like Dragonbait? the bard wondered as she caught a glimpse of the lizard stalking forward. I just hope its not prophetic. When Mist had quieted some and fixed her gaze back on the halfling, Olive asked testily, “Are you quite through?”

“Dear child,” the dragon chuckled, “do you take me for a fool? Being foiled once this year by a warrior schooled in the old ways is enough. To be taken in yet again, by a halfling, would be unforgivable.”

“There you go insulting me again.” Olive thrust out her chest and brought the bottle close to her, determined to spill it on herself. “I challenge you, O Mistinarperadnacles, to a Feint of Honor!”

Again the dragon brayed. “You have missed your calling, small one. Comedy, not music, is your vocation.”

“We settle terms next,” Olive persevered despite Mist’s attitude. “I suggest three hits, no flames, no claws, little bitesies. Any friends that happen along are welcome to join in the fray.”

Mist rose up on her hind haunches. Steam began to curl out from between her great fangs. “Little fool. There is one small portion of the Feint of Honor of which you are no doubt ignorant. It must be issued by a good fighter and true. You are no fighter, you are not good, and I doubt, little bard, that you are true. You are beginning to bore me, and so you must die.”

Just then, the sun broke through the mists and the dragon became a great, dark shadow outlined with an aura of light. Olive was certain she had met her doom. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes tightly. She wondered if her end would be the agony of fire or, should Mist be willing to risk the effects of peranox, the pain of razor-sharp teeth.

When several heartbeats had passed without a violent attack on her person, the halfling, still holding her breath, popped open one eye. She was ready to close it at a moment’s notice should the dragon attack.

But her view of the dragon was blocked by the body of Dragonbait. The lizard stood before Mist, brandishing his toothed, diamond-headed sword.

Olive could not believe her eyes. He’s going to defend me. But Dragonbait remained motionless before the dragon. What’s he doing? Praying? It’s too late for that, she decided, crouching down and edging away from the lizard. Mist ignored her. The dragon’s amber eyes were locked with the lizard’s.

Why aren’t they attacking? Olive wondered. Neither creature moved. Her curiosity overwhelmed her good sense, and Olive stood watching the two combatants.

Banks of steam evaporated off Dragonbait’s neck and chest. Olive found herself suddenly thinking of baking bread. Then she realized it wasn’t a stray thought; she smelled hot rolls, fresh from the oven, begging to be smeared with butter and jam. The halfling’s mouth watered. It was, after all, time for breakfast.

As the dragon and lizard engaged in their battle of wills and the daylight grew brighter, Olive became aware of the additional damage Mist had wrought while the halfling slept. The ground about the campsite and where the horses had been staked was all torn up, plowed by the dragon’s claws. “And I slept through it all,” Olive muttered in a daze.

Then Mist rumbled, “Well challenged, noble warrior. What are your terms?”

Olive stared flabbergasted at Dragonbait. Mist understands him? After all the foolishness I went through to try to communicate with him, he talks to a dragon first. That figures. They’re both lizards.

But even more astonishing to Olive was the polite manner in which Mist accepted the lizard’s challenge. She treated him with a courtesy she hadn’t bothered to use even when Alias fought her.

Mist continued to watch the lizard, nodding occasionally as though taking in some point or other, though the halfling could not hear a sound from Dragonbait. Is he some sort of telepath? she wondered. No. Then he would have talked to us in our minds.

Finally, Mist said, “An interesting tale. Yes, agreed. Maximum damage. If you win, I’ll help you take on this abomination you describe. But after the beast is killed, our deal is ended. If I win, you shall tell me where to find Alias before I slay you and your ally.”

“Brandobis!” cursed the halfling. His ally—that’s me. Where does he get off forfeiting my life? She did not take into consideration that there was little else Dragonbait could do if he lost the battle.

Her first instinct was to flee. She reached down for her pack, but as she picked it up, that idea curdled like blood in her mind. The thin platinum coins in her pack clinked together, reminding Olive of her deal with Phalse. She wore the tracking ring on a chain around her neck, near the ring that detected magic. If she abandoned the lizard now, she might not be able to find the warrior woman, and Phalse’s friends would believe she had reneged on her agreement and deal with her accordingly. But if Dragonbait won, he would take her right to Alias.

How do I get into these messes? Olive sighed. She wracked her mind for some means of helping the lizard battle the dragon.

“We start at three,” the dragon explained. “One …”

Dragonbait went into a crouch. Olive wondered if she could loft the poison into the beast’s mouth.

“Two …” Mist said, unfurling her wings. In the sunrise they were the color of human—and halfling—blood. The dragon flexed her rear legs and leaped into the air, hovering with a massive beat of mighty wings.

“Three!” Mist roared, as Dragonbait dodged beneath her.

Mist breathed fire—a short, spitting flame that divoted the earth where Dragonbait had been standing. The lizard was beneath the dragon, but Mist lashed out with her tail, batting him forward, once again in her sight.

She’s playing with him, the halfling realized and began desperately searching through her pockets for something to help. The poison? No, she might need that for her own use later. Besides, she’d never get it up that high. The coins weren’t enough to bribe a dragon. Her halfling short sword and daggers would be useless against that great hulk.

The blow of the dragon’s whiplike tail separated Dragonbait from his weapon. He dodged another small spit of flame and leaped on the lost sword. As he did so, the hovering dragon swooped, snagging his shirt. The shirt ties were already torn off though, and the lizard managed to slip out of the garment. He fell to the ground with a thud, rolling back toward his weapon.

Mist landed with her paw on top of his leg before he could reach his blade. She moved her head very close to him and smiled broadly, gloating.

“What’s this, little dragon-warrior?” the dragon mocked her prey. “I think I’ve seen these markings before on your mistress. Are you a matched set? A pity to break you up.”

The bard gasped. Dragonbait was branded with the same blue sigils as Alias. Only his were set in a ring.

A ring! Olive thought excitedly. Brands just like Alias! Olive pulled the chain out from beneath her shirt and slipped on the magical detection ring. She ran toward the battle, twisting the ring and pointing her finger at Dragonbait.

The azure sigils that marked Dragonbait’s chest exploded with a satisfyingly brilliant light.

Mist pitched backward as the sapphire fireworks exploded in her face. Reflexively, the dragon raised her front paws to her eyes, tossing her prisoner through the air. Dragonbait spun about like a trained acrobat, landed on his feet, and ran toward the dragon’s rear haunches.

As Mist pawed at the motes of light dancing before her eyes, she flapped her wings desperately, churning up clouds of dust. The mighty breeze caused blankets and cloaks to flutter about like theater spirits and sent equipment packs rolling over, scattering their contents through the camp. Mist roared, and steam gushed from her mouth.

Dragonbait swung his sword two-handed, biting deep into the monster’s thigh. Mist gave a shout and pitched forward. Olive sidestepped just in time to avoid being struck by the dragon’s jaw as it hit the ground.

Raising her neck, the dragon fired blindly, torching the overturned wagon. Her neck snaked, spreading the flames in a wide swath. But Dragonbait had dodged beneath her head, preparing to attack her opposite flank.

The dragon began batting her wings again, trying to take off. Dragonbait jabbed his sword into her left wing. The backward curved teeth caught in the flesh and tore a huge, flapping gash in the membrane.

The red dragon crashed to the ground once again. Olive had been waiting for this chance, and she ran toward the huge head. Her sight now cleared, Mist opened her mouth, preparing to bite the brave but foolish halfling into two tidbits. The bard turned and dodged away from the beast’s maw, but not before she managed to toss in, at point-blank range, the opened bottle of peranox.

The bottle cracked beneath the snapping jaws, sending shards of poisoned crystal deep into the dragon’s mouth. Dragonbait struck Mist again, opening a third wound along her belly. The dragon spat and flamed, trying to drive the poison from her mouth.

Mist rolled over in the dust like a flea-bitten dog tormented by insignificant invaders. She flamed at the sky until nothing but heated air escaped her innards. Dragonbait made one last gash in her neck, then dashed away, scooping Olive up in his arm and running from the camp—ten, twenty, thirty yards before he stopped. Then he turned to watch the dragon as it tossed and twisted in agony.

After five minutes, the thrashing stopped and the huge, crimson monster lay still in the dirt. Dragonbait pushed Olive to the ground and pointed as though he were ordering her to stay. He crept warily back toward the dragon. Unwilling to miss this historic moment, Olive followed disobediently after him.

They halted a few feet from Mist’s head. She was still breathing. Drooling sweat ran from the corners of Dragonbait’s mouth, and Olive had a stitch in her side from her short attack-run. Still, there was no doubt they had won. She wondered if Mist would really obey Dragonbait now or try to deceive him the way she had Alias.

She turned to the lizard, touching his scaly arm shyly. “Thank you for saving me,” she said.

Dragonbait bowed his head politely.

“You can talk, can’t you?” Olive asked.

The lizard felt for his belt pockets, where he had put the talis deck Olive had given him. But the pouch he reached in was torn along the bottom seam and now completely empty. Dragonbait shrugged.

“Boogers,” Olive said. “You know what happened to Alias, but you can’t tell anyone.”

“Nonsense. He’s told me already,” Mist said, popping one eye open, but remaining otherwise immobile.

Dragonbait raised his sword, and Olive caught a strong whiff of tar. Mist’s eye closed and she whispered, “Yes, I surrender, dragonling. I apologize for judging you by your raiment. You win. I will honor our agreement.” The dragon sighed and opened her eyes. “Bard, you don’t have any more of that putrid-tasting potion, do you?”

“Oh,” the halfling lied, “about six or seven more jars. Large jars. Why?”

The dragon closed her eyes. Dragonbait snarled, and the eyes opened again. “I said I give up. You win. Just keep that peranox away from me. I think I’m going to be sick.”

Ruskettle suddenly realized she was shaking, though whether from aftershock of the battle or the thought of a violently ill dragon, she did not know.

Slowly, like a drunk recovering from her first hangover, Mist reared up her head, flexing the damaged leg and torn wing. “That tears it,” she said. “Literally. I won’t be able to fly for a year. Sorry, but I can’t very well help you if I’m damaged. What say I just let you go and I trek my way home?”

Dragonbait snarled again. “Only a suggestion,” Mist muttered, laying her head back down on the ground.

The lizard moved back toward the torn wing, grabbed a handful of it on both sides of the tear, and pulled it toward him like a seaman about to mend sailcloth. He ran his fingers along the tear, and the torn webbing began to mesh. A faint, yellow glow emanated from the wound as it healed. Olive caught the scent of woodsmoke. Dragonbait restored about half the damage along the trailing edge of the wing, leaving a few spotty holes.

“Thank you,” Mist sighed without lifting her head, obviously relieved of some pain.

Ruskettle looked at the lizard in confusion. “How did you do that?” she demanded. “Where is Alias? And who are you, anyway?”

Dragonbait jerked his head from Mist to Olive. Mist appeared to concentrate on the small lizard for a few moments and then began to “translate” his silence. As the dragon spoke for the opponent who had defeated her in combat, Olive’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped.

“I don’t believe you,” she told Mist. “You’re making this all up. It’s impossible!”

“No one could make up so improbable a tale,” Mist sniffed. “Not even you, bard.”

Olive fixed her attention on Dragonbait. The lizard was already gathering the party’s belongings that were still salvageable from the destruction Mist had wreaked on them.

Olive planted herself firmly before him and demanded to know. “It’s not true what she said, is it? You can’t be what she said. You’re a lizard!”

Dragonbait looked down at the halfling without expression, holding her eyes with his own unblinking ones. Olive grew nervous beneath his gaze because she realized Mist had told her the truth. He really was one of them. Though he hadn’t seemed like one of them before, there was no other explanation for all his actions.

“It’s true.” she squeaked.

Dragonbait nodded.

Boogers! Olive swore silently. How do I get into these messes? More importantly, how do I get out of this one?