How do I get into these messes? Olive sighed. She wracked her mind for some means of helping the lizard battle the dragon.
“We start at three,” the dragon explained. “One …”
Dragonbait went into a crouch. Olive wondered if she could loft the poison into the beast’s mouth.
“Two …” Mist said, unfurling her wings. In the sunrise they were the color of human—and halfling—blood. The dragon flexed her rear legs and leaped into the air, hovering with a massive beat of mighty wings.
“Three!” Mist roared, as Dragonbait dodged beneath her.
Mist breathed fire—a short, spitting flame that divoted the earth where Dragonbait had been standing. The lizard was beneath the dragon, but Mist lashed out with her tail, batting him forward, once again in her sight.
She’s playing with him, the halfling realized and began desperately searching through her pockets for something to help. The poison? No, she might need that for her own use later. Besides, she’d never get it up that high. The coins weren’t enough to bribe a dragon. Her halfling short sword and daggers would be useless against that great hulk.
The blow of the dragon’s whiplike tail separated Dragonbait from his weapon. He dodged another small spit of flame and leaped on the lost sword. As he did so, the hovering dragon swooped, snagging his shirt. The shirt ties were already torn off though, and the lizard managed to slip out of the garment. He fell to the ground with a thud, rolling back toward his weapon.
Mist landed with her paw on top of his leg before he could reach his blade. She moved her head very close to him and smiled broadly, gloating.
“What’s this, little dragon-warrior?” the dragon mocked her prey. “I think I’ve seen these markings before on your mistress. Are you a matched set? A pity to break you up.”
The bard gasped. Dragonbait was branded with the same blue sigils as Alias. Only his were set in a ring.
A ring! Olive thought excitedly. Brands just like Alias! Olive pulled the chain out from beneath her shirt and slipped on the magical detection ring. She ran toward the battle, twisting the ring and pointing her finger at Dragonbait.
The azure sigils that marked Dragonbait’s chest exploded with a satisfyingly brilliant light.
Mist pitched backward as the sapphire fireworks exploded in her face. Reflexively, the dragon raised her front paws to her eyes, tossing her prisoner through the air. Dragonbait spun about like a trained acrobat, landed on his feet, and ran toward the dragon’s rear haunches.
As Mist pawed at the motes of light dancing before her eyes, she flapped her wings desperately, churning up clouds of dust. The mighty breeze caused blankets and cloaks to flutter about like theater spirits and sent equipment packs rolling over, scattering their contents through the camp. Mist roared, and steam gushed from her mouth.
Dragonbait swung his sword two-handed, biting deep into the monster’s thigh. Mist gave a shout and pitched forward. Olive sidestepped just in time to avoid being struck by the dragon’s jaw as it hit the ground.
Raising her neck, the dragon fired blindly, torching the overturned wagon. Her neck snaked, spreading the flames in a wide swath. But Dragonbait had dodged beneath her head, preparing to attack her opposite flank.
The dragon began batting her wings again, trying to take off. Dragonbait jabbed his sword into her left wing. The backward curved teeth caught in the flesh and tore a huge, flapping gash in the membrane.
The red dragon crashed to the ground once again. Olive had been waiting for this chance, and she ran toward the huge head. Her sight now cleared, Mist opened her mouth, preparing to bite the brave but foolish halfling into two tidbits. The bard turned and dodged away from the beast’s maw, but not before she managed to toss in, at point-blank range, the opened bottle of peranox.
The bottle cracked beneath the snapping jaws, sending shards of poisoned crystal deep into the dragon’s mouth. Dragonbait struck Mist again, opening a third wound along her belly. The dragon spat and flamed, trying to drive the poison from her mouth.
Mist rolled over in the dust like a flea-bitten dog tormented by insignificant invaders. She flamed at the sky until nothing but heated air escaped her innards. Dragonbait made one last gash in her neck, then dashed away, scooping Olive up in his arm and running from the camp—ten, twenty, thirty yards before he stopped. Then he turned to watch the dragon as it tossed and twisted in agony.
After five minutes, the thrashing stopped and the huge, crimson monster lay still in the dirt. Dragonbait pushed Olive to the ground and pointed as though he were ordering her to stay. He crept warily back toward the dragon. Unwilling to miss this historic moment, Olive followed disobediently after him.
They halted a few feet from Mist’s head. She was still breathing. Drooling sweat ran from the corners of Dragonbait’s mouth, and Olive had a stitch in her side from her short attack-run. Still, there was no doubt they had won. She wondered if Mist would really obey Dragonbait now or try to deceive him the way she had Alias.
She turned to the lizard, touching his scaly arm shyly. “Thank you for saving me,” she said.
Dragonbait bowed his head politely.
“You can talk, can’t you?” Olive asked.
The lizard felt for his belt pockets, where he had put the talis deck Olive had given him. But the pouch he reached in was torn along the bottom seam and now completely empty. Dragonbait shrugged.
“Boogers,” Olive said. “You know what happened to Alias, but you can’t tell anyone.”
“Nonsense. He’s told me already,” Mist said, popping one eye open, but remaining otherwise immobile.
Dragonbait raised his sword, and Olive caught a strong whiff of tar. Mist’s eye closed and she whispered, “Yes, I surrender, dragonling. I apologize for judging you by your raiment. You win. I will honor our agreement.” The dragon sighed and opened her eyes. “Bard, you don’t have any more of that putrid-tasting potion, do you?”
“Oh,” the halfling lied, “about six or seven more jars. Large jars. Why?”
The dragon closed her eyes. Dragonbait snarled, and the eyes opened again. “I said I give up. You win. Just keep that peranox away from me. I think I’m going to be sick.”
Ruskettle suddenly realized she was shaking, though whether from aftershock of the battle or the thought of a violently ill dragon, she did not know.
Slowly, like a drunk recovering from her first hangover, Mist reared up her head, flexing the damaged leg and torn wing. “That tears it,” she said. “Literally. I won’t be able to fly for a year. Sorry, but I can’t very well help you if I’m damaged. What say I just let you go and I trek my way home?”
Dragonbait snarled again. “Only a suggestion,” Mist muttered, laying her head back down on the ground.
The lizard moved back toward the torn wing, grabbed a handful of it on both sides of the tear, and pulled it toward him like a seaman about to mend sailcloth. He ran his fingers along the tear, and the torn webbing began to mesh. A faint, yellow glow emanated from the wound as it healed. Olive caught the scent of woodsmoke. Dragonbait restored about half the damage along the trailing edge of the wing, leaving a few spotty holes.
“Thank you,” Mist sighed without lifting her head, obviously relieved of some pain.
Ruskettle looked at the lizard in confusion. “How did you do that?” she demanded. “Where is Alias? And who are you, anyway?”