The Dragon's Lair (29 page)

Ven stepped over the threshold and into the cave.

Beyond the serpent's mouth was a tunnel that glowed with red light, twisting in a spiral down to the ground below the hillside. Ven followed the tunnel, turning round and round in ever-smaller spirals, going deeper and deeper below the surface. His Nain eyes adjusted quickly, and he stared, fascinated, at the beautiful drawings and maps of the world that had been painted long ago on those walls.

"I hear that Nain are rather tasty roasted and dipped in chocolate," came the rumbling voice as he traveled deeper into the cave. "Do you have any objection to being devoured that way, if it satisfies my curiosity?"

Ven shrugged. "If you're going to devour me, chocolate seems fitting, as it's one of my favorite dipping sauces," he said as he walked. "But, being Nain, you should probably roll me in nuts as well before you eat me—Nain are very fond of nuts. Of course, you could also soak me in rum before you roast me—Nain are also very fond of rum."

"Oh, you are going to be delicious, I can just tell," said the dragon's voice.

"Good," said Ven. "I would hate to leave a bad taste in anyone's mouth, even a dragon's."

All along the way, the dragon taunted him. Sometimes the voice threatened, sometimes it hissed, but every word it uttered was a threat of ugliness that grew the closer he got to the bottom.

As he descended, the light from the lair at the bottom of the tunnel grew almost dazzlingly bright. Ven had to shield his eyes to be able to even see where the tunnel walls were.

Finally, just as he was about to turn the corner, the voice spoke more loudly than it had up until that point.

"Wait!" it said sternly. "This is your last chance to leave, boy. I've toyed with you long enough. If you round that corner, there will be no turning back."

Ven paused, still calm.

"I know," he said.

He came around the corner.

At first his eyes were almost blinded by the radiance of the inside of the dragon's lair. It was filled from the floor to the top of the ceiling with treasure that sparkled as if all the stars in the sky had been swept up and left in there.

But what was most amazing was the kind of treasure it was.

The center of the cave was an enormous vault of books of every sort. Maps and globes and scrolls hung on the walls, were piled on tables or even in stacks on the carpeted floor, rising all the way to the ceiling.

In the center of the room sat the dragon, the beast known as Scarnag. At first the sight of him took Ven's breath away. He was so big that his body almost filled the enormous chamber. He seemed to be formed from living earth itself, his brown, clay-like hide striped in colors of purple and vermillion, red and green and aquamarine. His head was roughly shaped, with cruel spines descending all the way down his back to a tail that had softly rounded spikes on it. In the stone-like claws of one hand he was playing idly with some ruby-red gems. Puffs of acid smoke emerged like clouds from his nostrils.

On his broad, blunt nose rested a pair of eyeglasses.

Ven blinked in surprise.

"Do I have the pleasure of addressing, er, Scarnag?" he asked politely.

The dragon let loose a growl that rocked the walls like thunder.

"Yessss, you do," he hissed. "And do not let my appearance fool you. Just because you caught me reading doesn't mean I'm unwilling to spill your blood. I'm just unwilling to spill it on my books. Where's this gift you mentioned?"

Ven pulled the Black Ivory sleeve from his pocket.

"Here," he said.

The dragon snorted, unimpressed.

"I have plenty of Black Ivory. This whole cave is made of Black Ivory. How do you think I spare myself from stupid knights and Nain dragon hunters seeking revenge?"

"The sleeve is not the gift," Ven said. "It's what's inside."

"I see," said the dragon. "Well, what would that be?"

Carefully Ven pulled the scale from the sleeve and held it out to the dragon.

"This," he said simply.

The dragon reared back in surprise. His eyes glinted angrily, and acid smoke poured from his nostrils. For a long moment, he was speechless. When he could finally form words, they came out in an angry hiss.

"You have brought this to me, to ransom it—for what price?"

"Not at all," said Ven. "As I told you, it's a gift."

"NO!" the dragon screamed. "I will not have that! If it is a gift, then part of it still belongs to
you
, Nain. It must be free and clear—I will buy it from you. Name your price."

"There is nothing that I want," Ven said.

Slowly the dragon crept closer until its giant nostrils were pressed up against Ven's face.

"Name—your—price," he repeated.

Ven struggled to breathe amid the acid smoke and his fear.

"All right, then," he said. "I want the story of what happened to Ganrax."

The dragon stared at him.

"It is simple," he said finally. "He is dead. Give me the scale."

"A poor excuse for a story," Ven said. The words came out of his mouth, unbidden, as if disconnected from his brain. "Tell me what happened."

"I told you," said the dragon. "He is dead."

"All right, then," Ven said. "If you don't want to tell me what happened to him, then tell me what happened to
you
—Ganrax."

23
The Librarian

T
HE DRAGON
'
S MASSIVE JAW DROPPED SO SUDDENLY THAT HIS
eyeglasses fell from his nose and shattered on the stone floor.

"How—how did you know my name?" he stammered.

Ven shrugged. "You wrote it out for me," he said. "In very tall letters—
SCARNAG
, burned into a hillside."

"I do like to sign my work whenever possible," the dragon admitted.

"Me too."

The great earthen beast shook its head. "For centuries, no one has made the connection between Ganrax and Scarnag," the beast said, wiping his brow with his strange, nubby tail. "How did you figure it out?"

"First, tell me your story," Ven said. "After all, I still haven't been paid for the scale." His stomach did a sudden flip as he realized how easily his life could end if he offended the dragon.

Scarnag stared at him, then looked at his shattered glasses on the floor and sighed. A blast of steam rolled out of his nostrils, making him look like he was rising out of a cloud. He rose from the floor at the center of the room and went over to a cabinet, where he rooted around in one of the drawers. His claw emerged with another pair of spectacles, which he promptly set on his nose again.

"I go through
so
many of these," he said. "Stone cave floors and eyeglasses don't like each other very much. Sit. It's a long tale—you may as well be comfortable. Especially if you are going to back out of the transaction, since it's nicer to die sitting than standing."

"I would
never
renege on a deal," said Ven, horrified. "To the Nain, a man's word sealed with a firm handshake is the most important thing he has." He sat down on the carpet in front of the dragon.

The dragon chuckled. "Well, you're hardly a
man
," he said. "You only have two whiskers to your name—that's not even a Bramble, is it?"

"No, it isn't," Ven said. He pulled out the journal the king had given him. "Whenever you're ready, I'm ready. I hope you don't mind me taking notes?"

"And if I do?"

"Well, I suppose you could always eat me, but I don't see any chocolate around here."

The dragon's craggy teeth formed a terrifying smile.

"This cave has quite a few rooms," he said. "One never keeps chocolate near important papers—didn't
anyone
ever teach you
anything
?"

"Nothing as important as the tale I'm about to hear," Ven said. He dipped the albatross feather he used as a quill into his small inkpot and waited patiently, the tip of the pen above a new page.

Then he told me his story, a tale of terrible betrayal, of trust broken. It took a long time. But when he was finished, the vibration of it rang in the cave like a bell that cannot be unrung. Before I left, he told me that it would be there forever, if anyone wanted badly enough to hear it
.

When the dragon finished his tale, he settled into a pile of gold pieces and gemstones on the carpet that covered the floor of his enormous library, his scales damp, his muscles strained, and began running his claws through the jewels he was sitting on.

"Thank you," Ven said. "That must have been a difficult story to tell."

"It was," the beast said, wiping his brow with his strange, nubby tail. "So the least you could do is tell me how you figured out that I was born Ganrax."

"In the course of my last journey, I've seen—and made—some rather embarrassing mistakes with language," Ven admitted. "I told the Nain that we were playmates, not warts, and to hang on to their burning butts when I was trying to sound strong and impressive. They laughed at me, of course. A mysterious message that a king had been trying to decode for years turned out to be nothing more than a request to keep mule dung out of the river. A friend of mine from a very different place than I live is always misunderstanding the meaning of common phrases. So lately I'm more aware of words, I think.

"When the Nain were speaking sadly about Ganrax, I was trying to imagine how that word was spelled in their language—and then I realized with the X sound it was the backwards form of the word 'scarnag.' Of course, seeing it written in letters across a hill didn't hurt, especially after the Nain told me the story of your—er, death."

"And did you tell them of the connection?" the dragon asked, idly running the red jewels between the talons of his claws again.

Ven thought about whether it was wise to admit the truth about something that the dragon probably didn't want known. "No," he said finally. "I wasn't certain until you told me the story."

"Good," said the dragon. "I don't really want them to know. If you can keep the secret, I won't have to eat you."

Ven sighed. "You know, much as I would like not to be eaten, keeping other people's secrets has cost me a great deal lately. I suppose there are times when it is necessary, but most of the time it just puts a strain on trust. I was hoping you might tell me why you are attacking the Nain settlements—assuming that's you—"

"Yes. I do nice work, don't you think?"

"Well, as destruction goes, you
are
very talented," Ven said. "But considering that you are more librarian than monster, I can't believe that's really what you want to be doing. Isn't there something the Nain can do to make amends for the wrongs that have been committed against you?"

A puff of angry smoke issued forth from Scarnag's nostrils. "Are you joking?"

"Not at all. The Nain who betrayed you are long dead. The people you are attacking had nothing to do with Ganrax. They don't know the story of what happened—and they never will, because
you
have all the history books. The knowledge of why you are angry with them died with those who betrayed you. They don't regret the actions of their ancestors—they only blame
you
for
your
actions. If they could apologize—"

"Which would mean
nothing
," said the dragon. "How can they be sorry for something they had no hand in?"

"Exactly. So that gets back to what I just asked you—isn't there something they can do begin to make amends? To bring them understanding of what you suffered? To perhaps forge a friendship again between the Nain and the dragon who holds all of their history?" He pointed to the massive trove of books and maps. "It's very sad to me to see people who don't know their own story and a dragon who clearly still has a lot of 'ganrax' in him acting like a scourge."

The dragon idly ran the red stones under his massive jaw.

"I suppose there is something they could do," he said finally.

Ven leaned closer to hear.

"The egg that the Nain have secreted away within their mountains—I want it returned to the Lirin of the Enchanted Forest," the dragon said.

Ven was thunderstruck. "All right," he said when he recovered his voice. "I can tell them that—but can you tell me, just out of curiosity, why you are taking the side of the Lirin over that of the Nain? Are you so angry with the Nain that you just want to humiliate them with their enemies?"

Scarnag chuckled. It was a low sound like the rumble of thunder in his massive earthen throat.

"Not at all. The Lirin do not want the egg for themselves—they want to return it to its mother."

Curiosity shot through Ven so strongly that the hair on his head almost stood straight up.

"Its mother? Who is its mother?"

The dragon rose and went over to a massive pile of old encyclopedias. He grabbed one with his tail and placed it nimbly on the floor before Ven. With the nubby end of his tail he easily opened the book and flipped the corners of the pages until he found the one he wanted. Then he tapped the page.

Ven peered into the ancient tome. On the page the dragon had pointed to with his tail was a color engraving of a beautiful dragon, very different from any picture he had seen before, with wings that seemed to be made of starlight and a body that was green as forest leaves. It was twined around the base of an immense oak tree that towered over all the other trees in the picture.