Margaret Weis - Elven Star

Aleatha began to laugh. Lord Durndrun patted her shoulder anxiously, for there was an hysterical edge to her laughter, but she only threw back her head and laughed louder.

The dragon decided apparently that the laughter pertained to him. The red eyes narrowed alarmingly.

“Thea! Stop it!” ordered Paithan. “Pull yourself together! We’re not out of danger! I don’t trust either of ’em. And I’m not sure who’s crazier—the old man or his dragon!”

Aleatha wiped her streaming eyes. “Poor Gallic!” She giggled. “Poor Gallic!”

“I beg to remind you, gentlemen, that my wizard is standing around in wet clothing!” thundered the dragon. “He will likely take a chill and he is subject to a weakness in the lungs.”

“There’s not a thing wrong with my lungs—”

“If you’ll provide me with directions,” continued the dragon, looking martyred, “I will go on ahead and draw a hot bath.”

“No!” Paithan shouted. “That is—” He tried to think, but his brain was having a difficult time adjusting to the situation. Desperately, he turned to the old man. “We live on a hill overlooking the city. The sight of a dragon, coming on our people suddenly like this! … I don’t mean to be rude, but couldn’t you tell him to … well …”

“Go stick his head in the pantry?” The old man sighed. “It’s worth a try. Here, you! Dragon.”

“Sir.”

“I can draw my own bath. And I never catch cold! Besides, you can’t go galumping around the elves’ city in that seal carcass of yours. Scare the bejeebers outta them.”

“Bejeebers, sir?” The dragon glared, tilted his head slightly.

“Never mind! Just”—the old man waved a gnarled hand—“take yourself off somewhere until I call for you.”

“Very good, sir,” the dragon answered in hurt tones. “If that is what you truly want.”

“I do. I do. Now, go along.”

“I have only your best interests at heart, sir.”

“Yes, yes. I know.”

“You mean a great deal to me, sir.” The dragon began to move ponderously off into the jungle. Pausing, he swung his gigantic head around to face Paithan.

“You will see to it, sir, that my wizard puts on his overshoes before going out in the damp?”

Paithan nodded, tongue-tied.

“And that he bundles up well and winds his scarf around his neck and keeps his hat pulled low over his ears? And that he has “his warming drink first thing on awakening? My wizard, you see, suffers from irregularity—” Paithan stiff-armed the old man, who was howling imprecations and making a run for the dragon. “My family and I will take good care of him. He is, after all, our honored guest.”

Aleatha had buried her face in a handkerchief. It was difficult to tell if she was laughing or sobbing.

“Thank you, sir,” said the dragon gravely. “I leave my wizard in your hands. Mind you take good care of him, or you won’t enjoy the consequences.” The dragon’s great forefeet dug downward into the moss, sending it rolling, and slowly slithered into the hole it had created. They could hear, from far below, the rending and snapping of huge tree limbs and, finally, a thud. The rumbling continued for several more moments, then all was still and silent. Hesitantly, tentatively, the birds began to chirp.

“Are we safe from him if he’s down there?” Paithan asked the old man anxiously. “He isn’t likely to break loose from the spell and come looking for trouble, is he?”

“No, no. No need to worry, Sonny. I’m a powerful wizard. Powerful! Why I had a spell once that—”

“Did you? How interesting. If you’ll just come along with me, now, sir.” Paithan steered the old man to the carriage house. The elf thought it best to leave this place as soon as possible. Besides, it seemed likely that the party was over. But, he had to admit, it’d been one of Durndrun’s best. Sure to be talked about the rest of the social season.

The lord himself moved over to Aleatha, who was dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief. He extended his arm.

“May I escort you to the carriage?”

“If you like. My Lord,” answered Aleatha, a pretty flush mantling her cheeks, sliding her fingers through the crook of his elbow.

“What would be a convenient time for me to call?” asked Durndrun in an undertone.

“Call, My Lord?”

“On your father,” said the lord gravely. “I have something to ask him.” He laid his hand over hers, pulled her close. “Something that concerns his daughter.”

Aleatha glanced out of the comer of her eye back at the house. The dowager was standing in the window, watching them. The old lady had looked more pleased to see the dragon. Aleatha lowered her eyes, smiled coyly.

“Any time, My Lord. My father is always home and would be very honored to see you.”

Paithan was assisting the old man into the carriage.

“I’m afraid I still don’t know your name, sir,” said the elf, taking a seat next to the wizard.

“You don’t?” the old man asked, looking alarmed.

“No, sir. You haven’t told me.”

“Drat.” The wizard stroked his beard. “I was rather hoping you would. You’re sure you don’t?”

“Yes, sir.” Paithan glanced back uneasily, wishing his sister would hurry up. She and Lord Durndrun were, however, taking their time.

“Ah, well. Let’s see.” The old man muttered to himself. “Fiz—No, I can’t use that. Furball. Doesn’t seem quite dignified enough. I have it!” he shouted, smiting Paithan on the arm. “Zifnab!”

“Bless you!”

“No, no! My name! Zifnab! What’s the matter, Sonny?” The old man glared, eyebrows bristling. “Something wrong with it?”

“Why, er, certainly not! It’s … uh … a nice name. Really … nice. Oh, here you are, Thea!”

“Thank you, My Lord,” she said, allowing Durndrun to hand her into the carriage. Taking her seat behind Paithan and the old man, she favored the knight with a smile.

“I would escort you to your home, my friends, but I fear I must go and look for the slaves. It seems that the cowardly wretches took off at the sight of the dragon. May dreams light your darktime. My respects to your father and your sister.”

Lord Durndrun woke the drivehands, prodding them himself, and—with his own hands—gave the carriage a shove that started it on its way. Aleatha, glancing back, saw him standing, staring after her with a goggle-eyed gaze. She settled herself more comfortably in the carriage, smoothed out the folds of her dress.

“It looks as if you’ve done well for yourself, Thea,” said Paithan, grinning, leaning over the seat to give his sister an affectionate jab in the ribs. Aleatha reached up to arrange her disheveled hair. “Drat, I’ve left my hat behind. Ah, well. He can buy me a new one.”

“When’s the wedding?”

“As soon as possib—”

A snore interrupted her. Pursing her lips, she glanced in some disgust at the old man, who had fallen fast asleep, his head lolling against Paithan’s shoulder.

“Before the dowager has time to change her son’s mind, eh?” The elf winked. Aleatha arched her eyebrows. “She’ll try, no doubt, but she won’t succeed. My wedding will be—”

“Wedding?” Zifnab woke up with a violent start. “Wedding, did you say? Oh, no, my dear. I’m afraid that won’t be possible. No time, you see.”

“And why not, old one?” Aleatha asked, teasing, amusing herself. “Why won’t there be time for a wedding?”

“Because, children,” said the wizard and his tone suddenly changed, darkened, became sadly gentle, “I’ve come to announce the end of the world.”

“Death!” said the old man, shaking his head. “Doom and—er—whatever comes after. Can’t quite think …”