“Uh, thanks, but I think I'll pass on that,” Matt said quickly. “Somehow I suspect those people are a little taller than one inch.”
“No sense of adventure,” Dimetrolas scoffed. “Well, if you are so sure of the people, perhaps you will take pity on them and find ways for them to sally forth.” She turned to Stegoman. “What say you, snake? Would it not be tempting to dive and torch a few of those anthills so that the people could go free during the daytime for once?”
“I had considered it.” Stegoman sounded surprised.
So was Matt. Dimetrolas was being a lot nicer than she had been—nicer, but still tart enough for the transformation to not be suspicious; which meant Matt automatically was.
“Then let us go!” Dimetrolas cried.
“Be not so hasty, slender beauty.”
Dimetrolas stared in surprise at the compliment.
Stegoman, however, ignored it completely, plowing ahead. “I have, as I said, considered the proposition, and bethought me that if the people have not fled this valley, they must have need of these ants in some way—or at least benefit from their deeds.”
It was an interesting idea, Matt thought. He wondered if his friend were quick on the uptake, or quicker at improvising to keep the pretty one—at least in dragon terms—talking.
“A point worth considering.” Dimetrolas sounded surprised at finding a brain inside that hunk of a dragon. “I have flown over this valley before in my wanderings and have seen that when the ants go back into their hills at sunset, the people come out to harvest some sort of crop from the sands of those very hills. They load it on elephants and camels to haul it away.”
That also explained when they did their farming, Matt thought, and wondered what kind of crop the ants provided that was worth hauling away by the elephant-load. “The ants come out again at sunrise?” he asked.
“No—mid-morning,” Dimetrolas replied.
Stegoman turned his head to fix Matt with a glance. “That explains why the traveler who told us of this valley bade us come at noon.”
“At noon!” Dimetrolas cried. “Those ants would have minced you in minutes!”
“I believe that is what the stranger intended,” Stegoman agreed.
“Strange indeed! Show me him, and I will torch him for you!”
“I thank you for the thought, lass.” Stegoman sounded surprised, but he inclined his head gravely. “However, his employer already did that.”
“Employer?” Dimetrolas stared.
“How I know not, but he burst into flame before our eyes. It would seem that, when Matthew cast a spell that made him tell what he knew, his employer had to silence him before he told all.”
Dimetrolas shuddered. “How could such a one command any loyalty?”
“Surely not mine,” Stegoman said.
“Nor that of these people below us.” Dimetrolas looked down. “They are well-guarded, after all, for no invader could besiege their castles for long.”
“True,” Stegoman said agreeably. “It seems the ants may be the jailers, but they are also protectors.”
“Still, there is no one seeking to invade at the moment.” Dimetrolas' mouth spread wide in a dragon's grin; she lashed her tail. “Let us torch just the one anthill nearest that castle below, so that its people may be free for one single afternoon.”
“A charitable thought,” Stegoman said, “but I fear I must not join you. I do not know enough of the way of life here. By doing what I think is a kindness, I might truly upset some sort of delicate balance, inviting disaster.”
“Disaster!” Dimetrolas scoffed. “What disaster could you bring by fusing the sands of this one hill to glass? You would not even kill many of its ants, for they are doubtless deep underground.”
“But other ants might come to defend them,” Stegoman pointed out, “besieging the castle by thousands instead of hundreds, and keeping its inhabitants closed in even by night. I must not act where I do not know.”
“Stodgy old prig!” Dimetrolas' lip curled in disdain. “Must you withdraw from any act that might prove frolicsome?”
“I am indeed boring,” Stegoman acknowledged. “I see little to amuse me in this life. Far better for you to seek the company of someone more gamesome.”
“Oh, you are impossible!” Dimetrolas snapped and peeled off to dive-bomb an anthill, her fire roaring out fifteen feet ahead of her.
Stegoman looked down with regret.
CHAPTER 22
“She expects you to go down there and try to stop her, you know,” Matt told him.
“We do not always do as one expects,” Stegoman returned, unruffled. “Who knows? Perhaps she is right, perhaps she will do those people a favor. Certainly there are enough ants to repopulate that hill quickly enough.”
“I don't think ant welfare is the issue she's really concerned with,” Matt demurred.
“And I am? Well, we must not let her know how foolish she is, then,” Stegoman answered.
Below, Dimetrolas leveled off, blasting the top of the hill into glass, then veered upward, rising away.
“It does kind of look like fun,” Matt said, “especially since she's probably right about the ants being far enough underground to be safe.”
“They will have a longer way to dig in the morning,” Stegoman acknowledged, “but I am sure that they will. In the meantime, they will have difficulty disappearing back into their tunnels.”
A wail of distress rose, clear even so far above the castle. Looking down, Matt saw Dimetrolas making a second torching run on the anthill. The castle's people gathered on the battlements, and it sounded as if they were lamenting.
“It would seem that burning the anthill has upset the people in some way,” Stegoman noted.
“Yes, it surely does,” Matt said. “You're really in for it now, old saur—you were right.”
Sure enough, Dimetrolas came rocketing back, eyes ablaze with anger. “Did you not see? Or can you not even deign to watch others have fun?”
“It did seem enjoyable,” Stegoman allowed, “the feel of the wind screaming past, the satisfaction of seeing your fire strike the target squarely, the air bearing you up again—all a warrior's delights.”
“Oh, how surely you must mean what you say,” Dimetrolas sneered, “for you are so quick to join in the game!”
“I can at least delight in watching those who can enjoy such frolics,” Stegoman replied with benevolent calm.
It was just the thing to send Dimetrolas into the stratosphere, of course. “Watch? Am I your clown, then, your mummer's play, to sport and juggle for your amusement? Am I nothing more?”
“Am I anything less?” Stegoman countered.
“Less? Aye! You are a wooden sobersides who has absolutely no sense of fun!”
“That is quite true,” Stegoman agreed gravely, “and I would be a fool to deny it. I have attempted such antics in the past but have never understood why it gives others such pleasure. Nonetheless, I wish them joy of it.”
“Joy? What of the joy of battle, of the thrill of conquest? Are you a sobersides or a coward? Surely you seem to lack even the courage to engage in a duel of wits! Nay, surely you would turn tail and run from a real battle!”
“I do not see much to fear in an ant,” Stegoman replied, “but I do fear to upset a balance between Nature and humanity, for Nature has its ways of revenging itself upon those who injure it. In that, yes, I must be a coward.”
“Then you shall live and die a lonely old bore,” Dimetrolas spat, “for cowards deserve nothing more, and those who will not play must live without playmates!” She banked and shot away, arrowing toward the sun.
“Am I supposed to chase after her again?” Stegoman asked wearily.
“Well, now that you mention it,” Matt said, “yes. You're also supposed to explode in wrath at being called a coward.”