neetha Napew - Spellsinger

toothy jaws curved lower on the muscular neck-crane, "to join great Falameezar

for lunch?"

Mudge had scuttled backward and was nearing the edge of the forest. The dragon

tilted its head, sighted, and closed one eye. His mouth tightened and he spat. A

tiny fireball landed several feet ahead of Mudge, incinerating some bushes and a

medium-sized birch. Mudge halted instantly.

"You have summoned me... but I have not dismissed you." The head was now almost

drooping directly over Jon-Tom, who was developing a crick in his neck from

looking up at it.

"Know that I am Falameezar-aziz-Sulmonmee, Three Hundred and Forty-Sixth of the

line of Sulmonmeecar, Dragons of all the River, who guard the fast depths of all

the rivers of all the worlds! Who, practitioner of rashness, might you be?"

Jon-Tom tried to smile. "Just a stranger here, just passing through, just

minding my own business. Look now, uh, Falameezar, I'm sorry I disturbed you.

Sometimes I'm not too prudent in certain things. Like, my elocution never seems

able to keep up with my enthusiasm. I was really trying to summon some

salamanders and--"

"There are no salamanders here," thundered the voice from behind the teeth. The

dragon made a reptilian smile. A black gullet showed beyond the teeth. "I have

already eaten all who swam hereabouts. The others have fled to safer waters,

where I must soon follow." The smile did not fade. "You see, I am often hungry,

and must take sustenance where I can find it. To each according to his needs,

isn't that right?"

Clothahump raised his hands.

"Ancestor of the lizard neat,

Troubler of our tired feet,

On your way I bid you go,

Lest we your internal temp'rature low."

The dragon glanced sharply at the turtle. "Cease your mumblings, old fool, or

I'll boil you in your shell. I can do that before you finish that incantation."

Clothahump hesitated, then fell silent. But Jon-Tom could see his mind working

furiously. If someone could give him a little more time...

Without thinking, he took several steps forward until the water was lapping at

the tops of his boots. "We mean you no harm," there was a faint dragon-chuckle

and puffs of smoke drifted from scaly nostrils, "and I'm sorry if we disturbed

you. We're on a mission of great importance to--"

"The missions and goings and comings of the warmlanders are of no interest to

me." The dragon sounded disgusted. "You are all economically and socially

repressive." His head dipped again and he moved closer, a black mountain

emerging from the river. Now Falameezar was close enough to smash the duar

player with one foot.

Somewhere behind him he could hear Flor whispering loudly, "A real dragon! How

wonderful!" Next to her, Talea was muttering sentiments of a different kind.

"You live or become food," said the dragon, "at my whim. That is the way of

dragons who chance upon travelers. As is our way, I will offer you the chance to

win your freedom. You must answer a riddle."

Jon-Tom sloshed water with one foot. "I'm not much at riddles."

"You have no choice. In any case, you need not worry yourself much." Saliva was

trickling from his lower jaw. "Know that not one who has come my way has been

able to answer my riddle."

" 'Ere now, mate," Mudge called to him encouragingly, "don't let 'im intimidate

you. 'E's just tryin' t' frighten you out o' careful consideration o' your

reply."

"He's succeeding," Jon-Tom snapped back at the foolhardy otter. He looked back

up at the mouth waiting to take him in one bite. "Isn't there some other way we

can settle this? It's not polite to eat visitors."

"I did not invite you," growled the dragon. "Do you prefer to end it now by

passing over your right to try and answer?"

"No, no!" He glanced sideways at Clothahump. The wizard was clearly mumbling

some sort of spell soft enough so the dragon could not overhear, but either the

spell was ineffective or else the wizard's capricious memory had chosen this

inopportune moment to turn to mush.

"Go ahead and ask," he said, still stalling. Sweat was making his indigo shirt

stick to his back.

The dragon smelled of mud and water and pungent aquatic things. The thick smell

gave Jon-Tom something to concentrate on besides his fear.

"Then riddle me this," rumbled the dragon. He lolled in the shallow water,

keeping a sharp, fiery eye on the rest of the frightened group.

"What is the fundamental attribute of human nature... and of all similar

natures?" He puffed smoke, hugely enjoying Jon-Tom's obvious confusion.

"Love!" shouted Talea. Jon-Tom was shocked at the redhead's uncharacteristic

response to the question.

"Ambition," suggested Flor.

"Greed." No need to see who'd said that. It could only have come from Mudge.

"A desire to better one's self without harming one's fellows." That was Caz's

graceful offering. At least, it was graceful until he added, "Any more than

necessary."

"Fear," said the stuttering Pog, trying to find a tree to hide behind without

drawing the dragon's attention.

"The wish to gain knowledge and become wise," said Clothahump, momentarily

distracted from his spell weaving.

"No, no, no, no, and no!" snorted the dragon contemptuously, searing the air

with a gout of flame. "You are ignorant as all. All that fools have to recommend

themselves is their taste."

Jon-Tom was thinking heetically about something the dragon had said before.

Yes... his comment about the warmlanders being "economically and socially

repressive." Now the riddle sounded almost familiar. He was sure he recognized

it, but where, and was there more to it that might be the answer? His brain

rumbled and hunted desperately for the distant memory.

Falameezar hissed, and water boiled around Jon-Tom's boots. He could feel the

heat even through the thick leather. He wondered if he would turn red, like a

lobster... or black, like burnt toast.

Perhaps the dragon could read minds as well as he could pose riddles. "I will

now give you another choice. I can have you steamed or broiled. Those who would

prefer to be steamed may step into the river. Those who prefer broiling remain

where you are. It is of no matter to me. Or I can eat you raw. Most meals find

precooking preferable, however."

Come on, meal, he chided himself. This is just another test, but it may be the

last one if you don't...

"Wait. Wait a minute! I know the answer!"

The dragon cocked a bored eye at him. "Hurry up. I'm hungry."

Jon-Tom took a deep breath. "The fundamental attribute of human nature is...

productive labor." For good measure he added casually, "Any fool knows that."

The dragon's head reared back, dominating the sky. Batwing ears fluttered in

confusion, and for a moment he was so startled he choked on his own smoke.

Still menacingly, but uncertain now, he brought his massive jaws so near that

Jon-Tom could have reached out and caressed the shiny black scales. The air was

full of dampness and brimstone.

"And what," he rumbled, "determines the structure of any society?"

Jon-Tom was beginning to relax a little. Unbelievable as it seemed, he felt safe

now. "Its economic means of production."

"And societies evolve... ?"

"Through a series of crises caused by internal contradictions," Jon-Tom finished

for him.

The dragon's eyes flashed and his jaws gaped. Though confident he'd found the

answer, Jon-Tom couldn't help but back away from those gnashing teeth. A pair of