Роберт Асприн - Forever After

“Excellent,” Stiller said, rubbing his hands together.

“That is, of course, unless I find the mathematical probabilities you mentioned are being artificially tampered with. That would be tantamount to stealing from me, which is something I will not tolerate.”

“Oh.” The warrior became a bit more subdued.

“Actually, there is only one thing which troubles me in this potential arrangement,” the dragon said. “You mentioned that the game requires two or more players. While the game sounds fascinating, and the lessons enjoyable, what will I do with the knowledge once you depart?”

“I could make it part of the agreement that I would return occasionally… say two or three times a year… and we could continue the game.”

Stiller only let his eyes wander toward the back of the cavern once as he made this selfless offer.

“That would be splendid!” Schmimov exclaimed. “I believe we have a bargain. Go and fetch your little trinket.”

A nod from Stiller sent Ibble scrambling out of the cavern.

“I must say, Lord Dragon,” the warrior said as they waited, “this method of dealing with each other has much to recommend it over the way I used to approach your kind.”

“As a member of the species all but wiped out by previous encounters with your kind, I can only concur,” the dragon said. ‘There is a lot to be said for peaceful coexistence.“

“Along with the gratitude of Prince Rango, I would like to extend my personal thanks for this favor,” Stiller said. “I will rest much easier knowing the artifact is guarded by one who is not only fierce, but intelligent as well.”

“You’re too kind,” Schmirnov responded. “By the way, you never got around to saying which of the artifacts you were intrusting to my care. I hope it isn’t Sombrisio. That ring can be a real—”

He broke off suddenly as a glow lit up the cavern.

Ibble had reappeared, bearing with him a sword which radiated a soft but definite light.

“No need to worry about Sombrisio,” Stiller said. “Jancy has the problem of dealing with—”

“That’s Mothganger!!”

The dragon’s voice rang with horror and accusation.

“Well… yes,” the warrior said, taken a bit aback by his host’s reaction.

“You didn’t say anything about Mothganger,” Schmirnov hissed. “You spoke only of the scroll of Gwykander, the amulet Anachron, and the ring Sombrisio.”

“Didn’t I?” Stiller frowned. “I know I said that Kalaran was finally felled by a sword stroke. I may have neglected to mention that the sword was Mothganger. I assure you, no deception was intended on my part.”

“I’m sorry. The deal’s off,” the dragon said stiffly.

“Off?” the warrior cried. “But why? It was an innocent mistake on my part. I mean, an artifact is an artifact. Isn’t it?”

“Are you mad, Stiller Gulick” the reptile said, “or simply stupid? Under no conditions will I allow that sword anywhere near me.”

“But—”

“That weapon is one of the few items known to your kind that can actually do me great damage. Why, I could be killed by a single blow from that accursed sword. You can’t really expect me to keep the potential implement of my own doom in my cavern, can you? I thought we had agreed that we were both intelligent.”

“But that’s specifically why I thought of you for Mothganger’s guardian,” Stiller said, his voice edged with desperation. “If the sword were in your possession, then no one else could find it and bring it to use against you. Keeping Mothganger out of evil hands is a common goal between us.”

“Hmm. An interesting point,” Schmirnov said, mollified slightly. “Still, I couldn’t relax, much less rest, with such a deadly threat residing in my cavern. I’m sorry, but it will have to go.”

“Where would it be safer than right here?” the warrior argued. “If you won’t take it, where should I go with it?”

“I really don’t care,” the dragon said. “Why not take it back to wherever it was you found it in the first place?”

“We can’t. It’s not a safe hiding place anymore.”

“Why not? As I recall, Mothganger was supposed to be guarded by a rather ferocious ogre. What happened to him?”

“He… umm… we killed him,” Stiller admitted uncomfortably.

“Really?” Schmirnov said. “Pity. Still, no great loss there. From what I heard, he was truly uncivilized.”

“Do you have any suggestions at all as to where we could hide it?”

“Not a one,” the great reptile said, shaking his head. “It’s as I said earlier, you and your land have been extremely efficient at eliminating creatures you felt were dangerous or threatening. Ironic, isn’t it? After devoting so much time and energy killing off creatures, you’re now unable to find one when you really need one.”

“Yeah. Ironic.” Stiller growled. “Forgive me if my appreciation is less than enthusiastic, but I’m the one who’s stuck with the sword in the meantime.”

“Too bad you don’t have one of the other artifacts instead.” Schmirnov observed. “I wouldn’t mind watching over the scroll or the amulet. I don’t suppose there’s any chance you could trade missions with one of the other comrades you mentioned?”

“I doubt it,” the warrior said. “We were all riding in different directions… the idea was to separate the artifacts, you’ll recall. I fear by the time I caught up with one of the others, they’d have already disposed of theirs.”

“Well, sorry I can’t help you… and I mean that sincerely,” the dragon said. “I was really looking forward to learning about poker. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to teach me anyway?”

“We’ll have to see,” Stiller said, remembering briefly the dragon’s treasure trove. “Perhaps sometime in the future. At the moment, I have a mission to complete.”

“Good luck with that,” Schmirnov said. “If no solution presents itself, remember what I said before. If the others are successful, there should be no trouble keeping one of the artifacts at the capital.”

The two friends were silent as they trudged down the slope from the mouth of Schmirnov’s cavern.

“Well, that got us nowhere,” Stiller said at last, his voice heavy with weariness.

“I really thought we were going to pull it off that time.” Ibble sighed. “I mean, he had agreed and everything. Right up until he realized it was Mothganger we were asking him to guard.”

“It’s the end of the battle that counts,” the warrior reminded him. “However close it was during the skirmishes, the final outcome is that he said ‘no’. ”

“Let’s rest here a moment while we consider our next move,” the dwarf suggested, drawing to a halt.

“Tired?” Stiller said, squatting down on his heels as was his habit when resting. “You must be getting old, Ibble. I can recall when an easy climb like this was nothing to you.”

“It isn’t that,” Ibble said, waving off his friend’s attempt at humor. “I’m just in no hurry to report our latest failure to the Prince’s wizard. At die very least, it would be nice if we had our next destination in mind before passing the word to the Prince. It might sound a bit less hopeless and beaten if we had a positive plan to suggest at the same time as we admitted the negative results of our latest scheme.”

Stiller grimaced, his earlier tight smile replaced by wrinkles of concern.

“I only hope that wizard is adding his own version of disappointment and scorn when he tells us of the Prince’s reactions. I’d hate to think that Rango is really that upset with us, even allowing for our unbroken string of failures.”

“Remember, it’s Prince Rango now,” Ibble said pointedly. “It wouldn’t be the first time that a gold hat changed the personality of the one wearing it.”