The Realms of the Dragons 2

Faerie Ire Or, How Zyx Thwarted a Human Invasion

The Year of the Turret (1360 DR)

Zyx was a nimble dragon. Being only four inches long, his body did not require a great deal of lift to achieve flight, which meant his delicate wings could devote most of their attention to maneuvering. This they did with tireless energy, thrumming at a pace that made them nearly invisible to the naked eye. His tail, meanwhile, was long in proportion to the rest of his body-almost ridiculously so. Acting as an efficient rudder against the air currents, it allowed Zyx to execute sharp changes in direction, darting this way and that with a precision that would make even the most agile hummingbird envious.

All of which was terribly fortunate, for otherwise the yuan-ti would have squashed him like a bug.

"Vermin!" the halfblood hissed, swatting at Zyx with the flat of her scimitar.

"Oops!" sang the faerie dragon merrily as he swept out of the way. "Too slow!"

To drive the insult home, he landed momentarily on the edge of the snakewoman's blade, a taunting smile curling the corners of his mouth.

But his triumph was short-lived. The yuan-ti took another wild swing, and her weapon bit deep into the trunk of a tree. Zyx nearly choked in dismay.

"Clumsy fool!" he cried. He nipped forward and poked the halfblood in the eye. An unimaginative means of attack, perhaps, but the injury to the tree demanded quick retribution. "That yellowwood is several centuries your senior!" he scolded. "Show some respect!"

"I'll show you your own insides, insect!"

She made a grab at the tiny nuisance, but Zyx evaded her with disdainful ease, leaving her clutching empty air.

"Show me, then!" the faerie dragon mocked.

The yuan-ti obligingly charged, and Zyx retreated-but only a short distance. He hovered just out of reach, grinning. And in a sudden flash of inspiration, he winked. It was a master stroke. Enraged beyond all reason, the yuan-ti made a final lunge at her tormentor, crashing through the underbrush with murderous intent.

She never made it. The trap gave way beneath the creature's weight, plunging her through the jungle floor and into the cunningly concealed pit below.

There was a solid thud. Branches and leaves tumbled in like an afterthought. Then, for long moments, all was silent. Zyx hovered over the trap, peering into the gloom to ascertain the fate of his victim.

"I hope she's not dead," he muttered. He could not bear the thought of even a single yuan-ti escaping future harassment.

Presently, however, there came a rustling from the pit, and Zyx breathed a relieved sigh. The snakewoman had righted herself, and resumed spitting and cursing as she tried in vain to claw her way out of the trap.

"Good luck!" Zyx called down to her. "I hope the ants aren't too much of a bother. It's that time of year, you know!"

His last barb safely lodged, Zyx left the yuan-ti to the mercy of the jungle and drifted up into the canopy in search of a quiet place to catch his breath. Pestering the evil snake-men was amusing, to be sure, but it was also thoroughly exhausting.

He alit on a large banana leaf, stretching out in the trough to allow the late afternoon sun to warm his scales. It was a luxury he indulged in when he could, for the rainforest surrendered few unbroken hours of sunlight. Soon his eyelids were drooping lazily, blurring his view over the rolling waves of green before him. Nearby, a hawk circled above the treetops, scanning for prey. Even to the bird's keen eyes, Zyx would appear as nothing more than a sunbathing lizard-an appetizing morsel indeed. But the faerie dragon had little to fear. His bliss-inducing breath weapon was enough to keep him safe from even the most ill-intentioned predators, and he had few qualms about using it. As far as Zyx was concerned, the world could use a little more joy.

Still, it was best to be vigilant. The little dragon blinked in an effort to stay awake, forcing himself to focus on the idle drifting of the hawk. His eyes followed the bird as it wheeled to the west, toward the gorge. There the glistening band of ocher that was the River Olung wound its way toward the distant coast of Chult. But something was amiss with the view. A dark tendril rose ominously against the horizon, weaving and swelling like an angry cobra. Frowning, Zyx twisted to his feet and peered into the distance.

"Smoke," he murmured.

It was an uncommon sight. Fires seldom occurred naturally in such a wet climate, and Zyx was not aware of any intelligent species inhabiting the area. He would treat with unalloyed scorn any suggestion that yuan-ti were "intelligent." Zyx was not the kind of dragon to allow something as crude as evidence to interfere with carefully cultivated prejudice.

Wide awake, Zyx abandoned his leaf. Part of his duty as self-appointed guardian of the forest was to investigate unusual occurrences such as these. Thus far, he had acquitted himself admirably in that regard. Why, only last winter he had thwarted an invasion of wayward butterflies who had become disoriented in their annual migration. If Zyx did not look after these things, no one would.

When he came nearer the smoke, there was no mistaking the smell of fresh wood. The dragon curled his nose in disgust. What kind of savage would fell a living tree when there was plenty of deadwood about? A stray yuan-ti, no doubt, for no other creature capable of building a fire lived within a hundred leagues.

Or so Zyx had believed. But as the leaves gave way before him, he was confronted with a sight that drew him up short-a truly horrific sight, one that every forest creature dreads beyond all others. A tremor of shock ran through the faerie dragon, and he landed clumsily on a branch. It could not be. Not here.

No, Zyx thought desperately, this is quite wrong. It was a human.

He had never seen one before, but he knew it the moment he saw it. The way it stalked about the clearing as though it owned the place, trampling rare grasses and delicate fungus. The way it attacked a rotting log that was home to millions of tiny creatures, picking it aside like a scab to reveal a great wound in the moss beneath. Zyx averted his gaze in sorrow. How many deaths just then? How many generations of work wasted?

The man paused in his destruction to survey the area with narrowed eyes, the kind of eyes that take brutal stock of their surroundings, slotting everything-animal, vegetable, or mineral-into categories: "useful" or "nuisance." Zyx knew that look. It was not the look of a passing traveler.

His darkest suspicions were confirmed a moment later when the man called out and two more of his pernicious kind appeared, axes slung over their shoulders.

"How's it coming?" the first man called.

"Slowly," replied one of his companions. "Reckon it'll take at least a tenday to widen the path enough to let the wagons through."

"Naw," snorted the third man. "Four days, maybe. Once Ivor and the rest get here, it'll go faster."

The first man grunted, casting a squinted look into the sky, and said, "Better get on with it. Be dark soon."

Taking up a hammer and stake, he scanned the ground with an appraising eye. Zyx realized with horror that the man was erecting a tent.

The little dragon tasted blood. It was only then that he realized he had been biting his tongue. The tip of his tail twitched anxiously, causing the branch beneath him to shudder in sympathy.

This would not do. It would not do at all.

Something had to be done.

Fortunately, it did not take long for a plan to blossom, for Zyx's brain was a uniquely fertile place for plots and schemes.

"Don't get comfortable," he growled under his breath, his gaze burning into the interlopers. "You won't be here for long."

"Cirro."

There was no response. "Cirro!"

As anyone who has ever tried to wake a mist dragon will tell you, it is not an easy task. For such creatures sleep is a sacred rite, an inviolable space, taking its place alongside meditation, rumination, and other places of deep thought. He who wakes a mist dragon does so at his own risk, for who knows what wondrous subconscious revelations he might be interrupting?

Fortunately, Zyx was not troubled with such worries. As far as he was concerned, Cirrothamalan had already experienced rather more epiphanies than was generally advisable for a non-deity.

"Cirro," he said, "I've come to tell you that I'm leaving the forest."

A luminous slit of yellow appeared, and a vertical pupil dilated eagerly. Zyx checked a sigh. He had feared his ploy would work. Though it pained him to admit it, he had the inescapable impression that Cirrothamalan was not always grateful for his company.

"Leaving?" rumbled the mist dragon. He raised his ponderous head. "How tragic. I am sorry to see you go."

"That's very kind of you," Zyx replied, immune to sarcasm. "But perhaps I've exaggerated a little. What I meant to say is that I'm leaving this part of the forest-temporarily-because I have urgent business elsewhere."

Cirro's eyelids dropped to half mast. "That's fascinating," he said, his tone suggesting something less than complete fascination. "I am truly grateful you disturbed my sleep to advise me."

"Think nothing of it-we're friends, after all. But actually, I need your help." The little dragon adopted a very serious expression and added, "That is to say, the forest needs your help."

Cirro yawned in a manner not entirely befitting one who has received a call to service, and said, "Go away, Zyx."

"You haven't even heard what I'm going to say," the faerie dragon noted. "Aren't you curious?"

"Have I ever been curious, Zyx? Was I curious when you came to me complaining of rogue butterflies? Was I enthralled by your description of political infighting among the howler monkeys? I have more important things to think about. There are great puzzles in this world that need solving, one of which is why faerie dragons cannot leave anyone in peace."

That said, Cirro lowered his head and curled around himself, signaling the conversation was over.

But Zyx was not one to pick up on subtle cues.

"You'll be interested this time, Cirro," he said. "Humans have moved into the forest."

He should have liked this pronouncement to be followed by a clap of thunder from the heavens.

Had it been, perhaps Cirro would have taken it more seriously. As it was, the mist dragon merely stretched languidly and mumbled, "It was only a matter of time."

"Nonsense!" snapped Zyx. He began to pace nervously on his branch. "They've already made camp, and I heard them talking about bringing wagons in! I'll bet they're here for the trees. I know all about the kinds of things they make out of hardwood. Ghastly," be added with a shudder.

"Mmm," said Cirro. His voice had taken on the thickness of near-sleep.

"And," continued Zyx, pronouncing his next words deliberately, "they're barely a league from your grotto."

Cirro was on his feet so quickly that the breeze knocked Zyx from his perch. The little dragon had to flutter furiously to avoid falling into the river below.

"My grotto?" Cirro roared.

Like most of his kind, Cirrothamalan had a favorite spot for contemplation, a secluded retreat from which he could reflect on the wonderful mysteries of life. The turbid pool itself held little interest for the mist dragon, but the caves beyond were sacred to him. Veiled as they were by a thundering waterfall, the caverns were largely inaccessible to smaller beasts-such as faerie dragons, for example. The grotto was Cirro's sanctuary, jealously guarded. Few forest creatures dared venture near its hallowed banks.

"When the humans find it," Zyx intoned, "they'll claim it for their own. They'll draw water from it. They'll wash their clothes in it. They'll bathe in it."

That last image produced equal shivers of disgust from both dragons. Cirro commenced to pace. His great claws sank deep into the clay of the riverbank, sending frogs and dragonflies scattering for their lives.

"All right, faerie dragon," he boomed. "What do you propose?"

"We've got to get rid of them," Zyx said. "Right away."

"Agreed. I'll attack tonight, under cover of darkness. When the rest of them arrive, all they'll find is little pieces of-"

"Er… ugh… Cirro," Zyx interrupted, grimacing. "That's not quite what I had in mind."

The mist dragon frowned. "What's this?"

"There mustn't be any killing. It's out of the question."

Cirro's scowl deepened. He muttered something unflattering about faerie dragons, but Zyx was unperturbed.

"We only need to scare them," he insisted. The tip of his serpentine tail began to twitch with excitement. "You know, make them think the rainforest is unsafe."

"The rainforest is unsafe," Cirro returned. "Have you actually got a plan, faerie dragon, or are you simply talking to hear yourself speak?"

Zyx regarded him with an air of infringed dignity. "Of course I have a plan," he sniffed. "And a good one, too. Watch this."

An army of yuan-ti burst through the trees, scimitars raised and jaws slavering. There were hundreds of them, each one more fearsome-looking than the last. Their fiendish cackles reverberated through the gorge, causing the surrounding trees to erupt with terrified birds. Grinning eagerly, the snakemen advanced toward the dragons. Their leader's eyes fixed hungrily on Cirrothamalan, and it drew a claw across its throat in cruel mockery.

The mist dragon sighed and looked away from his impending doom.

"Yuan-ti don't cackle," he pointed out.

Zyx tilted his head, considering the snakemen with a critical eye before he conceded, "Hmm. Maybe not,"

"And unless I'm much mistaken, they're not usually pink."

"They are not pink!" Zyx retorted, scandalized. Then he peered more closely. "A bit rosy, perhaps, but certainly not pink."

"Face it, faerie dragon," Cirro chuckled as the yuan-ti faded from view, "you're terrible at illusions. You won't fool anyone with that nonsense, not even humans."

Zyx pouted. Yet he was forced to admit that the mist dragon was right-he had never been much good at conjuring.

"Still," Zyx said, "it doesn't matter. That wasn't my idea anyway."

Cirro gave him a wry look. "Really."

"No, no, of course not. I was just playing around. My real idea has to do with you."

At this, the mist dragon turned his head away slightly, one eye narrowed. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Zyx ignored the skepticism in his friend's voice and said, "You can scare the humans away yourself, Cirro, without hurting them at all. Trust me, I know just the thing…"

The mist crept into the camp like an assassin. It moved slowly at first, coiling leisurely around the abandoned tools and soaking the canvas of the tents. It clung to the waning campfire until nothing remained but defeated wisps of smoke that curled weakly from the damp ashes. At length it stole through the open flaps of the tents where it lingered like a bad dream, enveloping the sleeping forms until the chill became too much to bear and one by one the men opened their eyes.

They awoke to a world of gray. So thick was the fog that they could not see their own hands in front of their faces. They staggered out of the tents, confused, groping in an obscurity no lantern could banish. But the mist did more than tumble benignly through the clearing.

It began at an idle pace, seemingly unthreatening. The fog stirred as though touched by a light breeze, tentacles of mist gently probing the campsite. Though the men could feel no wind on their faces, it was obviously there-for what else could account for the strange motion of the fog? And soon the phantom breeze began to gain in strength, building until it was a veritable gale. Tent flaps fluttered and snapped; the horses screamed and strained against their leads. The fog seemed to take on corporeal form, picking up bits of debris and tossing them recklessly about. The men bent their backs and shielded their eyes as dust and leaves whipped around the camp in a vicious cyclone.

They shouted to each other, but their voices were lost, smothered by the clotted mist. Those sounds that reached their ears told of destruction: the snapping of rope, the rending of fabric. Though they could not see for the impenetrable cloud, the men knew their camp was being devoured.

Then suddenly, inexplicably, it was over. The phantom wind ceased its torment. The fog vanished like steam. Dazed, the men glanced around in utter bewilderment, patting themselves numbly as though expecting to find themselves injured.

Of the camp, little remained but the clearing itself. The tents, the tools-even the horses were gone. Not a trace of debris remained. Were it not for the impressions in the grass, there would be no evidence that the place had been inhabited at all.

"A storm?" spluttered Cirro, outraged. "They called it a storm?" Unable to properly express his disgust, he expelled a large puff of vapor.

"I know," Zyx said with real sympathy. "I was disappointed too. If it's any consolation, it was great fun to watch."

Cirro's two-word reply suggested it was of little consolation.

Zyx regarded his friend in the pitying manner of a parent imparting a painful lesson and said, "I'm afraid fog just isn't very scary."

Cirro narrowed his eyes and took a credible snap at the faerie dragon, perhaps to prove that he was indeed capable of being scary.

"I know," Zyx tittered nervously, dancing out of the way. "It was my idea. But don't worry. I've got another one. A better one."

"Not interested," grumbled Cirro. "I will handle this my way, faerie dragon. Enough of your ridiculous schemes."

He opened bis great wings and gazed up into the canopy, searching for a gap through which to negotiate his bulk.

Zyx had a sudden vision of appalling carnage, and he landed bravely on the mist dragon's nose.

"Wait a moment. Hear me out," said Zyx. Cirro's eyes crossed as he attempted to focus on the tip of his snout, and Zyx used the distraction to forge ahead. "We've been going about this the wrong way. We've been letting reality get in the way of our planning."

So perplexed was Cirrothamalan by that statement that his eyes crossed even farther.

"I should know better," Zyx continued with a sigh. "I was being far too realistic."

"What are you talking about, faerie dragon?"

Zyx smiled patiently and explained, "Let me put it this way. What's the scariest thing in the jungle?"

The mist dragon considered that a moment, then offered, "Woodpeckers?"

Though not the only birds to attempt nesting in the various crooks of Cirro's oft-inert form, woodpeckers were certainly the most painful.

"You're not trying," Zyx frowned. "Think about it from a human's point of view."

With those revised instructions, it didn't take Cirro long to come up with the answer, and his eyes widened with dread.

"The Uluu Thalongh?" he whispered. Even a creature so great as a mist dragon dared not speak the name too loudly.

"The Uluu Thalongh!" Zyx exclaimed with triumph, fear being the exclusive province of the rational.

Cirro succumbed to an involuntary shiver. Of all jungle predators, the Uluu Thalongh inspired the most terror. Though no one-not even the learned Cirrothamalan-could say what the creature truly was, one thing was certain: it was undisputed lord of flesh-eaters, and the very rumor of its proximity was enough to evacuate many miles of rainforest.

"Zyx," Cirro rumbled uncomfortably, "we cannot-"

"Relax. We don't need the real Uluu Thalongh. Reality only gets in the way, remember? All we need is for the humans to believe the Uluu Thalongh is nearby. That camp will be emptier than a sloth's head in no time!"

Cirro smiled despite himself. It was, he had to admit, a good plan.

"But how do we accomplish it?" asked the mist dragon. "Surely you do not expect the humans to be taken in by one of your ridiculous illusions. The Uluu Thalongh is not known for its rosy complexion."

Zyx ignored the barb. "We don't need illusions," he insisted.

"Oh really? And how do you suggest we evoke the great monster?"

"Impersonation," Zyx replied, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. Cirro's expression darkened. "My hearing must be failing me, faerie dragon. I thought you said 'impersonation.'"

"I did. We'll pretend to be the Uluu Thalongh. Simple."

A little known fact: the axiom about steam coming out of the ears originated with an annoyed mist dragon. A wisp was even then working its way up the side of Cirro's head.

"Simple indeed!" the mist dragon snarled. "As simple as you are! You propose to impersonate a creature that slips inside trees and turns branches into jaws? You must have been dropped on your head as a hatchling!"

"You have no imagination," Zyx sniffed, wounded. "It will work."

"How?"

The little dragon brightened and said, "I thought you'd never ask. Tell me, Cirro, how do you feel about mud?"

A strange keening sound pierced the air. It was at once hollow and sharp, as though someone played upon a cracked wooden pipe. The men winced and covered their ears against the shrill noise, gazing accusingly up at the canopy to identify the offending bird.

But the sound did not emanate from the treetops. Instead it came from deep within the bush, somewhere to the north of the camp. The men peered into the dark recesses of the jungle, but the thick foliage was impenetrable. The piping continued eerily, weaving among the branches like a sinuous tree snake.

"What is it?" Maddock whispered. Something about the sound compelled him to lower his voice.

"It's no bird, that's for sure," said Ivor. He bent to retrieve his axe, and the more experienced of the men followed suit. The jungle was no place to take chances. "And it's getting closer."

Filar grunted and spat on the ground. "Reckon we'd better go check it out."

He pulled his sword from its sheath, turning it over to inspect the edges. The loss of his axe had forced him to use the sword as a tool, and hours of chopping vegetation had left the blade in dismal condition. Still, it would do the job if necessary.

"You men stay here," Ivor instructed the others. "Shout if you see anything."

He gestured at Filar and Maddock, and the three of them left the relative safety of the clearing for the unknown dangers of the brush.

"They're coming!" whispered Zyx with glee.

He was rather proud of his shrill, piping cry, fancying that it sounded a great deal like the bone-chilling call of the Uluu Thalongh. Since neither he nor Cirro had ever heard the bone-chilling call of the Uluu Thalongh, there was no one to disagree with him.

"How close are they?" Cirro wanted to know.

The mist dragon was covered from horn to claw in a thick layer of mud, and was therefore quite unable to see. He had been forced to rely on Zyx's convoluted directions to find the clearing, and considered it nothing shy of a miracle that he had arrived unscathed. Even more impressive, most of the stray branches Zyx had affixed to his body had survived the journey. So far, things were going smoothly.

"They're about a furlong away," Zyx estimated. "That gives you just enough time to get ready. Now remember: think tree."

"Tree," repeated Cirro without much enthusiasm. He drew himself up on his hind legs, propping himself with his tail for additional balance. He felt utterly ridiculous.

Zyx did not help matters, clucking his tongue disapprovingly. "No, no! Your forelegs need to come up. Up! Like branches. There you are."

Cirro had a sudden, pained vision of how he must appear. "If you breathe a word of this to anyone, faerie dragon, I'll swallow you whole."

"Dear Cirro, you're such a joker. Now be quiet. They're almost here. You remember what to do?"

Ivor expected their mysterious quarry to be camouflaged, but he couldn't have guessed how well. If Filar hadn't shouted, he would have walked right past it: an enormous tree, oddly misshapen by strange, grotesque bulges. The tree's appearance was alarming enough, but what caused Filar to cry out-and Ivor to leap back with a curse-was the sudden movement of a branch.

For a brief moment Ivor thought himself imagining things, but no-the branch was definitely reaching for him. Worse, the limb ended in what appeared to be a set of long, sharp teeth. Ivor staggered back in shock, his mind reeling.

All of that was strange enough, but what followed was stranger still. The tree shifted its immense bulk, and there came a crashing sound. Everyone-including the monstrous tree-looked around in confusion. Another crash, and the source of the sound became clear: the smaller branches of the tree were falling off. One by one they tore away from the trunk, plummeting to the ground far below. Filar had to leap back to avoid the leafy bombardment.

Faced with the sudden defection of its appendages, the monster seemed unsure of what to do. It withdrew a few paces, then hovered uncertainly, allowing the men to get a better look at it. Bereft of its treelike appearance, it was little more than an enormous column of mud. But it was a column of mud with eyes, teeth, and claws.

Ivor felt the blood drain from his face as he realized what he was looking at.

"It's…"he faltered.

"What?" Maddock prompted, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's a mudman!"

The pronouncement was met with general consternation. "But there's no such thing as a mudman!" Filar whimpered. "No?" Ivor gestured wildly with his axe. "What do you call that, then?"

Faced with an incontrovertible argument, Filar conceded the point. As for the mudman, it appeared to be reconsidering its options, for it had drawn back even farther and was engaged in a heated argument with a nearby branch. The creature was obviously quite mad.

"We'll have to kill it," Ivor said in a low voice. "We'll be sending for our families soon, and I'll not have a mudman around my boys."

"Too right," growled Maddock.

Their resolve hardened, the men advanced toward the inattentive creature. They would catch it unawares, and it would all be over before the mudman even knew what hit it.

By the time Zyx saw the weapon, it was already too late. The blade caught Cirro in the left haunch, biting easily through the dried mud. The mist dragon howled and wheeled around, his tail very nearly decapitating a large man with an axe. A third man, also with an axe, took a swing at Cirro's foreleg.

"No!" Zyx shrieked, "Stop!"

He was seized with terror. Not for Cirro-the mist dragon was quite capable of scalding the humans to the bone. But that was precisely the problem.

"Cirro, please!" begged the tender-hearted faerie dragon. "Don't hurt them! Oh, this won't do at all!" He flitted to and fro aike a confused bumblebee, wringing his forefeet in distress. "Think, Zyx, think!"

Below, Cirro unfurled a wing, knocking all three humans to the ground.

"Get them away from me, Zyx!" he snarled. "I'll do what I must!"

To demonstrate the point, the mist dragon slammed his tail into the ground, leaving a deep trough.

This display of strength should have sent any creature into headlong retreat-any sensible creature, that is. But the humans remained stubbornly in place, trading near-misses with the mud-caked dragon. One man hacked continually at Cirro's legs, his pitiful blade finding the occasional tender spot. Another took opportunistic swings witb his axe, catching the dragon on the move and thus adding force to his blows.

Cirro kept them at bay as best he could, blowing harmless clouds of steam to obscure their view. But eventually he would lose patience, and when that happened, the steam would become deadly.

There was only one thing to do. Zyx threw himself heroically into the path of the nearest human, preparing to blast the man's face with his bliss-inducing breath. But the faerie dragon's inexperience with humans proved costly, for the graceless creatures were quicker than they appeared. There was a blur of motion, and everything went dark. Zyx was caught.

"Unhand me, you filthy beast!" The tiny creature scowled defiantly at the three faces looming above, its lower jaw jutting forth in an almost comical gesture of bravado.

"What's this now?" Maddock muttered.

Even as he asked the question, he cast another wary glance at the mudman. The monster had withdrawn the moment its ally was captured, but it remained only a few paces away, watchful.

"It's a flying lizard," Ivor declared.

His pronouncement provoked an indignant squeak from the captive.

"Lizard indeed!" said the creature. "I happen to be a faerie dragon, and I'll have you know that it's very bad luck to catch one!"

"Eh?" Ivor blinked. "Faerie dragon?"

At that, Filar let out a loud, expressive groan.

When his companions regarded him with bemused expressions, he explained, "I've heard of them, right enough. My brother up on the coast had a run-in with one last spring. Caused him no end of headache. They spend all day playing practical jokes on whatever poor souls live nearby. Plague a man till he's mad, they will." He shook his head ruefully. "If we live here, we'll never be rid of the little vermin!"

"I say!" objected the diminutive dragon. "Is that kind of language really necessary?"

Ivor ignored it. He hoisted his hand in Filar's direction and asked, "You really think this thing is a faerie dragon?"

Filar shrugged. "It's a talking lizard with wings. What else would it be?"

"Think it'll bother us?"

"Reckon so. It's in its nature."

Ivor cursed violently. "Just our luck, isn't it? Bet there isn't another one of these things for a thousand leagues!" He looked over the little pest in disgust, then opened his hand and shook it free. "Be gone with ye, then," he growled.

The dragon lingered a moment as though it would speak, but wisely thought better of it. Its tiny form darted through the trees and disappeared.

"You're just letting it go? " Maddock cried. He had obviously envisioned a more permanent solution.

With a gesture, Ivor reminded him of the presence of the mudman. "It's a big forest," he said, "and this place don't have much to recommend it."

"Bad company," agreed Filar, "and bad weather besides. If we're gonna rebuild the camp anyway, we might as well find someplace a little more hospitable."

Their perfectly rational concerns had nothing whatever to do with abject fear of the mudman, whose exact nature had been called into question by its unexpected conversion to a quadruped. (Subsequent fireside accounts would identify the monster as the lesser-known but equally fearsome mudbear.)

"Move on, then?" suggested Maddock.

"Reckon that's the most reasonable course," said Ivor, with a very reasonable expression.

Thus agreed, the men withdrew from close proximity to the mudman, taking reasonably quick strides back to camp.

"Cirro, I've come to tell you that I'm leaving the forest."

The mist dragon did not so much as open his eyes. "Go away, Zyx," he growled.

It had been nearly a month since the incident with the humans, and Cirro had not heard a peep from the faerie dragon. Only then did he realize how much he'd enjoyed the reprieve.

"I mean it this time," Zyx sighed. "And I just wanted to say that I'm really going to miss you."

Cirro raised his head. He had never heard Zyx sound so earnest. "Is this the truth?" he asked. "Where are you going?"

"The other side of the gorge."

The mist dragon narrowed his eyes and asked, "Is that not where the humans were going?"

Zyx's expression was all innocence. "Someone's got to keep an eye on them," he pointed out.

But Cirrothamalan was no fool. "You can't resist, can you? They are simply too tempting a target!"

A coy smile worked its way across Zyx's snout. "But it was such fun" he murmured. His eyes grew unfocused, as though he was reliving a sweet memory.

"I doubt the humans thought it was much fun," Cirro noted.

The faerie dragon overlooked that observation with his usual blitheness. "It will be a grand adventure," he said. "But I shall miss you, my friend."

It seemed Zyx was in earnest after all. Cirro rose to his feet, and with due ceremony offered the traditional farewell of his kind.

"Good-bye, Zyx. May the mysteries of life unfold themselves to you."

As the tiny dragon flitted away, Cirro felt a peculiar weight in his stomach, as though he had swallowed a large stone. Was it possible? Might he actually miss the little pest?

"I'll come back to visit someday!" Zyx piped as he disappeared from view.

The stone in Cirro's stomach vanished, replaced by an ill-tempered growl. He might have guessed. One was never truly rid of a faerie dragon. They were as clinging as a burr, as nagging as a conscience. He could name several diseases that were easier to be rid of. Still, some part of him welcomed such constants in life. And when Zyx returned, as he no doubt would, some part of Cirro would welcome the faerie dragon too.