“I see.” Ander returned to the table, sat down, and stared a long time into the crackling fire. “Well, Blot, where does this leave us? You know that Falon will not let this pass. If we go back together, he’ll have to find a way to kill you, too.”
“I know. I didn’t figure to go back at all. I’m tired of doing Falon’s dirty work.”
Ander shook his head. “That won’t work. He’ll only come after you. You know that. And if I go back alone, he’ll still have to try to kill me to get his promotion. What are we going to do?” Ander drummed his fingers lightly on the oaken tabletop, his sketches and notes spread before him.
They sat looking at one another for a few bleak moments. Finally Ander spread his hands wide across his fine work and took a deep breath. “Blot, there’s nothing for it. You’ll have to go back alone, and give this entry for the Bestiary to Falon, and let him do with it as he will. It’s the only way everyone stays alive.”
“But you’ll never be a full-fledged scribe then!” Blot countered.
“No. But I’ll be alive, and so will you. And that’s better, given the choices,” Ander replied, almost laughing.
“Well…” Clearly, Blot had no better idea.
Ander gathered the papers and handed them to his erstwhile assassin. “It’s all right, Blot. I hope to see you again someday. Watch your back.”
*****
” ‘… and in summary, with the aforementioned measurements and illustrations, the mysterious beast can be irrefutably identified as the rare white dragon, as is evidenced by the collected specimen of one scale. By its size and shape, the scale is presumably from the anterior thorax of a female dragon. Accurate composite drawings can now be made.’ Nicely done, Blot. This is just what I needed!”
Falon read Ander’s words and held up the filmy white scale Ander had retrieved. Through its hazy translucence, the dingy little outpost copy room almost looked like the grand library at Palanthas. Falon could almost see himself standing in the warm, brightly lit southern wing, lecturing to aspiring apprentices while his assistants sharpened his quills and tidied his desk. Only one question remained.
“Blot?”
“Yes, sir?” said Blot, sullenly.
“You took care of Ander, did you? As per my instructions?”
“He’ll not trouble you again, sir,” Blot replied tersely. “I’ll be going now, sir, to take back the horse.”
“Yes, of course. You can pack my bags when you return. And then, Blot, I have a special task for you. As a reward for your faithful service.” Falon smiled, his beady eyes following Blot to the doorway.
Blot could almost feel the knife enter his back as he limped away. The dwarf quietly shut the sturdy oaken door behind him, pulled himself onto the innkeeper’s pony and headed down the road, a different road than he usually took.
Falon shuffled the papers together neatly, sat back in his rickety chair. He held up the dragon’s scale again before the sharp ray of sunlight pouring through the outpost’s one window and began to laugh heartily as the scale shimmered and sparkled in the bright ray. The thing seemed to have a life of its own.
Far away, a deep rumbling shook Mount Valcarsha, and a dark shadow passed overhead as Kale and Edrin walked their traplines in the valley.
*****
Ander turned from the window and signaled to the tavernkeeper that he was ready to move on. He had been on the road a week, and this was his fifth inn. He took a long pull on his last tankard and stared out into the night. Time to travel under the cover of darkness.
“That’ll be one steel, sir,” said the tavernkeeper, handing Ander his bill.
“Going out this time of night, sir?” asked a voice behind him.
Ander’s weary face broke into a grin. “Blot? What are you doing here? How did you find me? And you’ve . . . changed.” Ander blinked, amazed at how clean the dwarf looked.
“I’m a fair tracker, remember? I’ve been on your trail for days. There is strange news.”
“What are you talking about, Blot?” said Ander incredulously. “What about Falon?” His face grew dark with suspicion. “Did he send you after me?”