MYTH-Interpretations: The Worlds of Robert Asprin

by Robert Asprin

  And Nikki Gregori, who had a houseful of such stares to face, instead went upstairs and methodically put away his paints, folded down his easel, and threw his latest work down from the topmost tier into the dark of the canals.

  He took his disused sword from the armoire then—his middle brother had given him the blade—and sat down on the bed, taking up a discarded canvas-knife to scratch a name patiently and deep in to the shining metal.

  Tellon Hannon, it said.

  Wanted: Guardian

  Robert Lynn Asprin

  "Baaaaa!"

  Even if dragons did not have exceptional hearing, the sound would have been sufficient to rouse Schmirnov from his slumber.

  Without opening his eyes or raising his head, the massive reptile reached out with his senses to confirm the noise.

  "Baaa-aaa."

  No. There could be no doubt about it. There was a sheep . . . no, several sheep in his cavern.

  Sheep!

  What in the blazes were those idiot villagers up to now?

  "Baaaa." Clink.

  The second noise, almost obliterated by the sheep's bleating, caught Schmirnov's total attention. His eyes opened and his head came up, searching for the source of the sound.

  Sheep don't wear armor. Whether four legs with fleece, or two-legged with huts, sheep don't wear armor.

  "Show yourself!" the dragon demanded.

  "Baaaa."

  He could now see the sheep, at least half a dozen of them, milling around the entrance to his cavern. As suspected, however, none of them were wearing armor.

  "Show yourself!" Schmirnov called again. "State your intent, or I shall assume the worst and act accordingly!"

  A short, chunky figure emerged from behind a boulder and stood silhouetted in the light from the entrance.

  A dwarf! First sheep, and now a dwarf! Well, now. And he had thought this was going to be just another boring day.

  "I am Ibble!" the figure said. "I come in peace!"

  "In peace?" the dragon growled. "That would be a pleasant change."

  Still, the dwarf had no visible weapons . . . unless he had some secreted behind his boulder. Then too . . .

  "And what about the others?" Schmirnov sneered.

  Ibble started visibly, and shot a glance back over his shoulder.

  "Others?" he said.

  "Don't play games with me, little man! There are at least a dozen more of you waiting outside. Warriors, from the sound of them."

  Now that he was more awake, Schmirnov could clearly hear the creak of leather scabbards and other small noises that bespoke a group of armed men. What's more, the very sparseness of the sounds indicated not only warriors, but seasoned veterans.

  This was a bit more like what the dragon had learned to expect from humans.

  The old sneak attack, eh? If he were a bit less sporting, he would pretend that he didn't know they were there and let them try it.

  "There are others, yes," the dwarf said hastily. "But we all mean you no harm. We seek only to talk to you. That and, perhaps, to request a favor."

  "A favor?"

  This was getting interesting indeed. Searching his memory, Schmirnov could not recall the last time, if ever, that a human had requested a favor of him. Whether he granted it or not, simply the asking could be amusing. Still, one could not be too careful. The treachery and deceit of humans was their trademark.

  "How do I know this isn't a trick?" he said, letting a suspicion creep into his tone.

  It had the desired effect, and the dwarf began to glance nervously at the cavern entrance. If Schmirnov became angry, there was no way Ibble could reach safety before suffering the consequences . . . and they both knew it.

  "I . . . we've brought you presents as a sign of our good intentions."

  "Presents?"

  Though much of what is said or known about dragons is exaggeration or flat-out falsehood, the reports of their avarice are accurate.

  Schmirnov raised his head to the greatest extent his neck and the cavern's ceiling would allow and peered about for his promised gifts like an eager child . . . a very large eager child.

  There was nothing readily apparent in sight.

  "Baaaa."

  The dragon stared at the sheep for a moment, then swiveled his head around to gaze down on the dwarf.

  "When you mention ‘presents,' you didn't, by any chance, mean these miserable creatures, did you?"

  "Well . . . yes, actually," Ibble said, edging a bit closer to his boulder. "I . . . we thought you might be hungry."

  Schmirnov lowered his head until it was nearly resting on the ground, confronting his visitor nearly face to face.

  "And in return for this, you expect me to grant you a favor?" he said. "You. Personally?"

  "We're emissaries from Prince Rango," the dwarf explained hastily. "The favor we seek is in his name . . . for the good of the kingdom."

  "A Prince, is it?" the dragon said. "But, of course, he isn't with your party himself. Right?"

  "Well . . . no."

  "In fact," Schmirnov continued, "I'd be willing to wager that you aren't even the leader of the group. Is that correct?"

  Ibble drew himself up to his full, diminutive height and puffed out his chest proudly.

  "I am the closest friend and confidant of the leader," he declared. "What's more, I've been his right-hand man and companion at arms for many harrowing campaigns and quests, and . . ."

  The dragon cut him short by throwing back his head and giving off a short bark, which was the closest Schmirnov had come to laughing in decades.

  "Let me see if I have this straight," the reptile said. "Your leader wasn't sure of the reception I'd give him if he just walked into my home . . . if I'd listen or simply fry him where he stood on general principles . . . so he sent you in ahead to test the water. You, in turn, decided to try to maximize your chances of survival by herding a bunch of sheep in to see if I was hungry before trying to approach me yourself. Am I right so far?"

  "Well . . . in a manner of speaking," Ibble admitted.

  "Just for the record, where did you get those sheep?"

  "The sheep? Umm . . ."

  "From that meadow in the valley below. Right?" Schmirnov supplied.

  "As a matter of fact . . ."

  "Quite a lot of them, aren't there?"

  "Well . . ."

  "Ever stop to wonder where they came from, or why they were there untended?"

  "That did puzzle me a bit," the dwarf said. "Still, there were so may we didn't think the ones we took would be missed."

  "Really?" The dragon smiled. "Well, try this one on for size. What would you say if I told you that the villagers maintain that flock specifically to keep me fed . . . at least, fed well enough that I leave their village alone."

  "That . . . would make sense."

  "More sense than trying to curry my favor with sheep from what could be called my own flock. Wouldn't you say?"

  "I see your point." Ibble flushed. "Still, our intent was good."

  "Ah, yes. Your intent." Schmirnov was genuinely enjoying himself now. "As I recall, we've established that your intent was to test my appetite . . . and possibly glut it if I were hungry . . . before venturing forth yourself. Tell me, do you have any idea how tired I can get of eating nothing but sheep?"

  "I . . . can see where that could be a problem."

  The dwarf was looking uncomfortable again.

  "What I'm saying is that I have to be really hungry before I can bear to even think of indulging in another of those bleating creatures. On the other hand, I'm always up for something new to nibble on . . . especially a small something. Am I making myself clear?"

  Ibble wavered for a moment, then squared his shoulders bravely.

  "If we have offended you with our ignorance, Lord Dragon, you have our deepest regrets. If more than an apology is necessary . . . well, as you have noted, I am expendable."

  Now, dragons in general, and Schmirnov specifically, have little rega
rd for humans . . . which, in their minds, includes dwarves and elves. Still, being intelligent creatures, they respect and admire courage . . . if for no other reason than the fact that particular trait might well become extinct unless actively encouraged and protected.

  "Well said, Ibble." Schmirnov smiled. "You do your master proud. What's more, you can ease your mind. I have no intention of eating or otherwise harming you or any of your party."

  "Thank you, Lord Dragon," the dwarf said with a bow. "I could ask no greater guarantee than your word."

  "Well, don't count too heavily upon it," the dragon cautioned. "I reserve the right to reverse my position if anyone tries to abuse my hospitality by using it as an opportunity for an attack. Is that understood?"

  "Of course," Ibble said. "I assure you, however, that my lord is an honorable warrior who would not stoop to such a low trick."

  "Really?" Schmirnov's voice took on a tone of sarcasm. "You'd be surprised how many so-called ‘honorable warriors' feel that their normal rules of conduct and combat do not apply when facing dragons."

  "Believe me, my lord is not one such as they. I have been at his side when he has faced numerous foes, many of them nonhuman and some not living, and never have I seen him sway from his code."

  "That's good enough to get him an interview," the dragon said. "But you'll forgive me if I retain my caution nonetheless. The reason there are so few of us left is that far too many trusted the words and promises of humans. Now, who is this lord of yours?"

  "He is Stiller Gulick, personal friend and comrade of Prince Rango."

  "Gulick?" Schmirnov frowned. "You mean Spotty Gulick? The one with the complexion problem?"

  "You know him?"

  "I know of him," the dragon. "I didn't reach my current ripe old age by ignoring who or what might be coming up the hill at me. It pays to keep track of the current crop of heroes and bravos who are building their reputations."

  "I see."

  "What's he doing chumming around with a Prince? Last thing I heard he was a mercenary."

  "That was before the war," Ibble exclaimed. "We aligned ourselves with the Prince to help throw down Kalaran."

  "War? Kalaran?" Schmirnov shook his head. "It never ends, does it? I swear sometimes I think you humans have as much trouble living in peace with each other as you do living with my kind."

  "If you'd like me to explain," the dwarf said, "I'm sure you'll agree our cause was just. Kalaran truly was a figure of evil."

  "Of course." The reptile smiled. "He lost, didn't he?"

  "I don't understand."

  "The losing side is always wrong," Schmirnov said. "Especially since it's the winners who have the privilege of defining good and evil."

  "But Kalaran . . ."

  "Spare me." The dragon sighed. "Just go and fetch Spotty and we'll see what he has to say."

  "At once, Lord Dragon."

  The dwarf turned to go, then hesitated.

  "Um . . . Lord Dragon?"

  "Now what is it?"

  "If I might suggest . . . in the interest of keeping this a peaceful meeting . . . it might be best if you refrained from calling him ‘Spotty.' The nickname is due to the fact that he breaks out in pale blotches whenever danger threatens. It's a trait that has saved us on numerous occasions, but he's more than a little self-conscious about it."

  "A sensitive human," the dragon muttered. "What will they think of next?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "Never mind. Just fetch him . . . and I'll try to remember your suggestion."

  Despite his suspicions, Schmirnov studied the figure the dwarf led back into his cavern with genuine curiosity. It was rare that he had an opportunity to study a human, particularly a warrior, at leisure. Traditionally, his encounters with them were brief, and what was left could not be examined without extensive reassembling.

  Stiller was an impressive specimen . . . medium height, stocky build with massive arms and legs, all topped by a shaggy head of bronze-red hair. Fierce blue eyes met the dragon's levelly and without fear, though, like his companion, the man's belt and harness were notably lacking in weapons.

  Schmirnov observed that, despite reassurances given, Stiller's skin was, indeed, covered with the pale blotches of danger warning that gave the man his nickname.

  Good. Maybe it would encourage Stiller to mind his manners during the interview.

  Then, too, it raised an interesting point. Did the blotches forewarn actual danger, or only danger the man perceived? If the latter were the case, it didn't seem the trait would be particularly helpful. If the former, then there was something about this meeting which could prove dangerous to the man despite the guarantees of safety. The dragon resolved anew to be on his guard.

  "Are you Schmirnov?" the man demanded.

  The reptile regarded him for a long moment, then slowly craned his neck around to sweep the cavern with his gaze.

  "Do you see any other dragons around?" he said at last.

  "Well . . . no."

  "Then it would be safe to assume that I am, indeed, Schmirnov, wouldn't you say? Really, Stiller, if you're going to indulge in redundant questions, this meeting could last through a change of seasons."

  The man started visibly at the mention of his name.

  "I told you so," Ibble murmured to him as an aside, which earned him a sharp elbow in the ribs.

  "You know me?"

  "Another redundant question." The dragon sighed. "As I told your little friend there, I know of you. You have a fairly sizable reputation . . . mostly from your habit of reducing the population, both human and non. You're supposed to be quite good at it . . . if you take pride in that sort of thing."

  Stiller's blotches paled as the skin beneath them flushed.

  "I take pride in the fact that I have never drawn blood from anyone or anything that did not first mean harm to others," he said angrily. "Unlike some here I could name."

  "Stiller!" the dwarf hissed in warning, but the damage was already done.

  "And what's that supposed to mean?"

  "Warrior I may be," Gulick announced, shaking off Ibble's hand on his arm, "but I earned my reputation fighting against other arms bearers . . . aye, and a few creatures as well. It is not my way, however, to lay waste to entire villages or settlements, slaying fighter and noncombatant indiscriminately as is the habit of you and your kin. If it were, then I would not have the nerve to level accusations at those who set aside their normal prejudice to visit me in peace."

  The dragon regarded him levelly for a moment.

  "I can see," he said at last, "that if we are to have a civilized conversation, there will first have to be some air clearing between us. Consider this, warrior."

  Schmirnov paused slightly to organize his thoughts.

  "If you had a home, one with good hunting and clean water, where you had dwelt contentedly most of your life, and that home was invaded by a new species which completely disrupted the lifestyle to which you had become accustomed, how would you react?"

  "It would depend on the nature of the invader," Stiller said stiffly.

  "Fair enough." The dragon nodded. "For the moment, envision them as a colony of wasps. Few at first, and easily ignored. They nest, however, and begin to multiply at an alarming rate. What's worse, in their new numbers, they begin to drive out the game which is your normal livelihood. In fact, you often find yourself in direct competition with them for the same food sources. What would be your course of action?"

  "I'd try to drive them out or eliminate them," the man said, averting his eyes with the admission.

  "Kill as many as you can, and burn their colonies." Schmirnov smiled. "Probably killing both fighter wasps and noncombatant workers indiscriminately in the process. Right?"

  Neither of his visitors replied.

  "Now then, to continue our scenario," the dragon said, "let us assume that, in your own mistaken feeling of superiority, you have waited too long. There are too many of the invaders to deal with effectively. Not only
that, you find that, once aroused, they are capable of harming you . . . even killing you if skillful enough or in great enough numbers. With that knowledge comes the realization that you have lost. You and all your kind will be replaced by this new species . . . one you might have squashed if you had taken it seriously enough when it first appeared."

  Schmirnov's voice changed, becoming tinged in bitterness as memories played their scenes once more on the stage of his mind.

  "All you can do then is retreat. Find some out-of-the-way place so desolate that no one will contest you for it and wait for the end as gracefully as you can. The trouble is these ‘wasps' have memories. Memories and emotions. They recall the damage you have wreaked in the past, and begin to hunt you and the scattered remains of your kind . . . whether for vengeance or to eliminate a threat which no longer truly exists."

  He shoot his great head briefly.

  "Some of my kind went mad from the pressure, launching fierce but hopeless attacks until they met the legend-inspiring deaths they sought. Others remain in hiding, and some, such as myself, have even reached a tenuous truce with small groups of humans. While I am genuinely grateful for the mutual tolerance, you'll forgive me if my view of you humans remains less than admiring."

  The dragon lapsed into silence, which his visitors emulated, unable to think of anything to say.

  Finally, Schmirnov heaved a great sigh and lowered his head in a slow bow.

  "I fear, upon reflection, I owe you an apology. Both of you. You have come to me openly requesting a peaceful meeting and, after granting you safe passage, I have received you with thinly-veiled insults and threats. If nothing else, this violates the very spirit of hospitality, and I must beg your forgiveness. My only excuse is ill temper caused by prolonged isolation. If anything, I should welcome company, not drive it away."

  Gulick returned the bow.

  "Your apology is accepted, but unnecessary, Lord Dragon," he said. "Having now heard your side of the human-dragon conflict, I'll confess that I am shamed by some of the things I have done or said in the past. However our meeting goes, you have given me much food for thought in the future. What's more, you have my promise that I will pass it along to others that they might also reflect on this long-standing injustice. As to our reception, I am only grateful that it was as nonviolent as you promised. I fear you would not have been received half as graciously had you chosen to visit us at our own homes."