Роберт Асприн - Forever After

“But Schmirnov, if someone tried to use that sword against you, they would be in for a very rude surprise. You see, that isn’t Mothganger.“

“Nonsense,” the dragon growled. “I’d know that accursed sword anywhere.”

‘That’s what any interloper would think,“ the warrior agreed. ”But they would be wrong.“

He nodded again at Ibble, who withdrew a second glowing sword from the gunnysack.

“ This is the real Mothganger,” Stiller announced triumphantly. “It would be hidden safely in this sack in the depths of your cavern. The one by the door is a forgery… powerless except for a harmless light spell. Anyone who attempted to use that weapon against you would be committing suicide.”

Schmirnov craned his neck forward, swaying his head first one way, then the other as he examined the two weapons.

“Very clever,” he said at last. “Of course, your kind always excelled at treachery. I’ll admit I can’t tell the two swords apart. Are you sure the one by the door is the forgery?”

The dragon was so busy with his inspection, he missed the startled glance the two comrades exchanged.

“Trust me,” Stiller said smoothly, signaling Ibble to return the second sword to the sack. “So, with this added refinement, do we have a deal?”

“Well,” the dragon said, “you are very persuasive and I would very much like to learn poker, but I don’t feel precisely safe about having the sword laying around in my hoard. Even stashed in a gunnysack, it is still Mothganger. I am not immune to the irony of being slain by a sword the wielder believes is second-rate.”

Stiller and Ibble exchanged despairing glances. Then the dwarf perked up.

“Our visited to Anken reminded me that the elves are not the only masters of magic.” He let his voice drop mysteriously. “Dwarves know how to make stone!”

“That’s really nice, Ibble,” Stiller said, “but what does that have to do with our finding a guardian for Mothganger?”

Ibble puffed up happily. “We imbed both swords in stone. Mothganger gets buried in a slab — I can wrap it beforehand so that it won’t get gritty — and the false Mothganger gets imbedded partway in a showy pedestal.”

Stiller picked up the thread of his comrade’s thought. “Then you set the false Mothganger up as sort of a decoration and lure. The real Mothganger gets stowed, one more block of stone in a stony cave! That’s beautiful, Ibble!”

‘Thank you,“ the dwarf said modestly.

The dragon’s voice rumbled with appreciation. “What do you need to make your magic rock?”

“Oh, just some sand, gravel, lime, and clay,” the dwarf said. “The ingredients are common. The real magic is in the combination. I’ll need some planks to make the form into which I’ll pour the stone.”

“Oh, can you make it in any form you choose?” Schmirnov asked.

“Pretty much,” Ibble said proudly, hastening to add, “but making an elaborate form takes longer.”

“I didn’t want anything elaborate. I was just thinking that a slab of stone about this high”—he gestured with a taloned foot—“would make a perfect card table.”

“I can do it,” Ibble promised.

“Now,” Stiller said, hiding his eagerness, “with this new added refinement, do we have a deal?”

“We do indeed,” Schmirnov said. “Now we can start our poker lessons.”

“Excellent!” the warrior said, rubbing his hands together. “I thought we’d start with five card draw.”

“Actually, I’d prefer it if you started with stud instead.”

“Excuse me?” Stiller blinked.

“I think stud would be easier for me to learn because the cards are quite small for me, and hole cards would be easier to manipulate than an entire handful of cards. Five or seven would be satisfactory.”

The warrior’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“I thought you said you didn’t know how to play poker.”

“Just because I don’t know how to play doesn’t mean I never heard of the game,” Schmirnov explained.

“Hmmm,” Stiller said thoughtfully.

“Trust me.” The dragon smiled.

“It was only by the strangest sequence of coincidence that it came into my possession,” Anken was saying. “But I won’t bore you with that. All that’s important is that it goes to a proper warrior who will put it to good use while keeping its location a secret.”

His customer continued to study the glowing blade with a mixture of awe and skepticism.

“So this is really the legendary Mothganger,” he said. “It’s actually very ordinary looking, isn’t it? You’re sure there’s no mistake?”

‘Trust me.“ Anken smiled.

The elf waited for the warrior’s first offer, trying to decide how hard he should haggle. He had three more copies he could sell to others, but that shouldn’t affect the price of this one.

“We can finish the fittings when the ladies in question return from…” The seamstress paused. “Where did you say they were?”

“Jancy has gone into the Desolation of Thaumidor and Domino is in the farther reaches of the Lake District,” Princess Rissa answered, twirling so she could see herself in her wedding gown.

Pearls glistened on the bodice, lace trimmed the plunging neckline and the floor-sweeping hem. The detachable train was trimmed with even more lace and embroidered with the crest of Regaudia, the Royal House of which she was the last survivor.

“How is work coming on the veil?” she asked anxiously.

“Well, Your Highness,” the seamstress replied with a soothing smile. “Once the Prince supplied the measure of the crown with which it will need to fit, work went along swimmingly.”

“Have you seen the crown?” Rissa asked curiously.

“No.” A blush actually lit the seamstress’s thin face. ‘The Prince explained that it was to be a surprise for you and that no one but the smiths and jewelers working on it were to see it before the wedding day. He said it is his gift to you.”

“Have you thought about what you will give him, ducky?” Daisy asked. “And about gifts for the members of the wedding party?”

Princess Rissa frowned. “I have, but I am rather stumped. They are all so different. Finding one gift that would suit each of them would be difficult — that is, if we omit weaponry, which doesn’t seem appropriate.”

“No, ducky, it doesn’t,” Daisy said severely.

“Something with the new royal emblem would be nice,” the seamstress suggested, “perhaps a crystal dish or a picture frame.”

Rissa shook her head. “The emblem is a good idea, but we haven’t finished designing it. In any case, I can’t see what Domino or Jancy or Stiller or Gar would do with a crystal dish.”

Fleetingly, she envisioned Domino watering her horse from the nypothetical piece of cut crystal or Gar using it to design some novel but poetic fashion of slaying an enemy.

“Clothing is certainly out,” the seamstress said hastily. “How about a rare wine?”

“Most of the royal cellar has been transformed into this brown fizzy goo that only Rango can stand,” Rissa said, sparing a wan smile at the memory of her fianc6. “We are importing wine by the barrel for the wedding feast, but I don’t count on it staying wine.”

“Do the members of your wedding party have any hobbies?” the seamstress asked.

“Domino used to raise horses, but I’m not certain if she still does. Spotty — I mean Stiller — gambles.” She frowned. “I never did learn if Jancy had any hobbies. She’s a warrior by training and most of what we did was fight.”

“And this Gar?” the seamstress said hesitantly. “Does he have any hobbies?”