Olive withdrew her hand from her shirt and presented a small, stoppered bottle. “Have you ever heard of peranox?” she asked.
“It’s some human poison, isn’t it? It’s supposed to smell like cinnamon, I believe.”
The halfling nodded and unstoppered the bottle. The scent of cinnamon immediately drifted to her nostrils. Mist sniffed and no doubt caught a whiff of it, too.
“Yes, a human poison.” Olive nodded as beads of perspiration began rising on her forehead and cheeks. “And a halfling poison as well. Fast acting. Deadly. What I have here will kill me. It may kill you, too. Though of course I don’t know the correct dosage for a beast your size.”
“Such a desperate action.”
“These are desperate times.” Olive rose to her feet, using the tiny vial as a shield. Now, work up to this slowly, Olive-girl—you can’t afford to miss any steps, she warned herself as she prepared to use the same legal arguments she’d learned from the swordswoman. “You don’t think much of me, do you?” she asked the dragon.
“Beg pardon?” Mist replied in confusion, her eyes never leaving the bottle in the halfling’s hands.
Dragonbait unsheathed his sword, but remained perched on top of the wagon. The poison stand-off could not last long. Eventually, the dragon would just decide she wasn’t hungry enough to ingest a poison-laden bard and simply incinerate the halfling. Yet, Dragonbait could sense Olive was preparing some other cunning plan. It might be worth the risk to let the halfling play her hand before trying to battle this lair-beast myself, he decided.
“Were it Alias the human you found here with me, what would you have done? Sat down and demanded four or five songs as you tore apart her favorite horse?”
“I’m sorry,” Mist said. She nodded toward the remains of Lady Killer. “Was this a friend of yours?”
“It was Alias’s horse,” Olive snapped. “But that’s not my point, is it? You wouldn’t have made her grovel before you.”
“No,” Mist admitted. She thought carefully for a moment. “I would have killed her directly, using flame and fangs and claws and every other weapon at my disposal.”
“Ex-actly!” the halfling said. “You wouldn’t waste your time while …” Olive caught herself. She’d been about to say, “while she waited frantically for reinforcements to arrive and rescue her,” but that was too close to her own situation. Mist might sit up and look around, ruining the lizard’s surprise. She gulped and then continued, “while the night passed, demanding more songs like a drunkard at an inn calling for more mead.”
“Well, if you’re offended by my sparing your life, I can correct that.” The dragon’s smile revealed nothing but sharp teeth, all the way back down her mouth.
“Offended,” Olive mused. “Yes, that’s the word. Offended. My honor, small though it be, has been besmirched. I see no remedy but a Feint of Honor.”
“Feint of—” The dragon reared up, accidentally knocking the wagon with her shoulder. The upended wagon overturned, sending Dragonbait sprawling backward. The lizard landed on all fours and pressed himself tightly against the ground.
Meanwhile, Mist rocked back and forth, issuing a loud braying that Olive could only assume was laughter. The halfling shifted to the left somewhat to keep the dragon’s attention away from Dragonbait’s position.
How did he ever get a stupid name like Dragonbait? the bard wondered as she caught a glimpse of the lizard stalking forward. I just hope its not prophetic. When Mist had quieted some and fixed her gaze back on the halfling, Olive asked testily, “Are you quite through?”
“Dear child,” the dragon chuckled, “do you take me for a fool? Being foiled once this year by a warrior schooled in the old ways is enough. To be taken in yet again, by a halfling, would be unforgivable.”
“There you go insulting me again.” Olive thrust out her chest and brought the bottle close to her, determined to spill it on herself. “I challenge you, O Mistinarperadnacles, to a Feint of Honor!”
Again the dragon brayed. “You have missed your calling, small one. Comedy, not music, is your vocation.”
“We settle terms next,” Olive persevered despite Mist’s attitude. “I suggest three hits, no flames, no claws, little bitesies. Any friends that happen along are welcome to join in the fray.”
Mist rose up on her hind haunches. Steam began to curl out from between her great fangs. “Little fool. There is one small portion of the Feint of Honor of which you are no doubt ignorant. It must be issued by a good fighter and true. You are no fighter, you are not good, and I doubt, little bard, that you are true. You are beginning to bore me, and so you must die.”
Just then, the sun broke through the mists and the dragon became a great, dark shadow outlined with an aura of light. Olive was certain she had met her doom. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes tightly. She wondered if her end would be the agony of fire or, should Mist be willing to risk the effects of peranox, the pain of razor-sharp teeth.
When several heartbeats had passed without a violent attack on her person, the halfling, still holding her breath, popped open one eye. She was ready to close it at a moment’s notice should the dragon attack.
But her view of the dragon was blocked by the body of Dragonbait. The lizard stood before Mist, brandishing his toothed, diamond-headed sword.
Olive could not believe her eyes. He’s going to defend me. But Dragonbait remained motionless before the dragon. What’s he doing? Praying? It’s too late for that, she decided, crouching down and edging away from the lizard. Mist ignored her. The dragon’s amber eyes were locked with the lizard’s.
Why aren’t they attacking? Olive wondered. Neither creature moved. Her curiosity overwhelmed her good sense, and Olive stood watching the two combatants.
Banks of steam evaporated off Dragonbait’s neck and chest. Olive found herself suddenly thinking of baking bread. Then she realized it wasn’t a stray thought; she smelled hot rolls, fresh from the oven, begging to be smeared with butter and jam. The halfling’s mouth watered. It was, after all, time for breakfast.
As the dragon and lizard engaged in their battle of wills and the daylight grew brighter, Olive became aware of the additional damage Mist had wrought while the halfling slept. The ground about the campsite and where the horses had been staked was all torn up, plowed by the dragon’s claws. “And I slept through it all,” Olive muttered in a daze.
Then Mist rumbled, “Well challenged, noble warrior. What are your terms?”
Olive stared flabbergasted at Dragonbait. Mist understands him? After all the foolishness I went through to try to communicate with him, he talks to a dragon first. That figures. They’re both lizards.
But even more astonishing to Olive was the polite manner in which Mist accepted the lizard’s challenge. She treated him with a courtesy she hadn’t bothered to use even when Alias fought her.
Mist continued to watch the lizard, nodding occasionally as though taking in some point or other, though the halfling could not hear a sound from Dragonbait. Is he some sort of telepath? she wondered. No. Then he would have talked to us in our minds.
Finally, Mist said, “An interesting tale. Yes, agreed. Maximum damage. If you win, I’ll help you take on this abomination you describe. But after the beast is killed, our deal is ended. If I win, you shall tell me where to find Alias before I slay you and your ally.”
“Brandobis!” cursed the halfling. His ally—that’s me. Where does he get off forfeiting my life? She did not take into consideration that there was little else Dragonbait could do if he lost the battle.
Her first instinct was to flee. She reached down for her pack, but as she picked it up, that idea curdled like blood in her mind. The thin platinum coins in her pack clinked together, reminding Olive of her deal with Phalse. She wore the tracking ring on a chain around her neck, near the ring that detected magic. If she abandoned the lizard now, she might not be able to find the warrior woman, and Phalse’s friends would believe she had reneged on her agreement and deal with her accordingly. But if Dragonbait won, he would take her right to Alias.