food warily. The lumpy, colorless liquid in one of them began to stir. A
big black beetle crawled out of the gray ooze and over the rim of the
bowl. Jastom let out a strangled yelp. The insect scuttled away through
the straw.
“Paugh!” Grimm spat, tossing down the rancid-smelling wineskin.
“What do these beasts brew their wine out of? Stale onions?”
Jastom felt his gorge rising in his throat and barely managed to
choke it back down. “If this is the finest fare the camp has to offer, I
really don’t want to think about what the common soldiers are eating.” He
began to push the clay bowls carefully away with the toe of his boot, but
then he paused. A thought had suddenly struck him.
Quickly he rummaged about his cape until he found the secret
pocket where he had slipped the empty potion bottle after pouring its
contents down Skaahzak’s gullet. He pulled out the cork and then knelt
beside the bowl. Carefully, so as not to spill any of the putrid substance
on himself, he tipped the bowl and filled the bottle partway with the slop.
Then he took the wineskin and added a good measure of the acrid-
smelling wine to the bottle. On an afterthought he scraped up a handful
of dirt from the tent’s floor and added that as well. He stoppered the
bottle tightly and then shook it vigorously to mix the strange concoction
within.
“What in the name of Reorx do you think you’re doing, Jastom?”
Grimm demanded, his gray eyes flashing. “Have you gone utterly mad? I
suppose I should have known the strain of all this would be too much for
you.”
“No, Grimm, I haven’t gone mad,” Jastom said annoyediy, and then
he grinned despite himself, tossing the bottle and deftly snatching it again
from the air. “Get ’em drunk, you said.”
“But you never listen to me,” Grimm protested. “And I don’t think
now is a good time to start!”
“Just go along,” said Jastom.
*****
It was sunset when the two draconians threw back the tent’s flap
again and stepped inside to retrieve the dishes.
“Thank you, friends,” Jastom said cheerily as the
draconians picked up the empty bowls and wineskin. “It
was truly a remarkable repast.” In truth, he and Grimm
had buried the revolting food in a shallow hole in the
comer of the tent, but the draconians need not know that.
The two creatures glared at Jastom, the envy glowing
wickedly in their reptilian eyes.
“You’re right, Jastom,” the dwarf said thoughtfully,
gazing at the two draconians. “They DO look a little
gray.”
The first draconian’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“What does the nasty little dwarf mean?”
Jastom nodded, a serious look crossing his honest
face. “I see it, too, Grimm,” he said gravely. “There’s only
one thing it can be. Scale rot.”
” ‘Scale rot?'” The second draconian spat. “What is
this foolishness you babble about?”
Jastom sighed, as if he were reluctant to speak. “I’ve
seen it before,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “It’s a
scourge that’s wiped out whole legions of draconians to
the far south, in Abanasinia. I didn’t think it had traveled
across the Newsea, but it seems I was wrong.”
“Aye, I saw a draconian who had the scale rot once,”
Grimm said gloomily. “All we buried was a pile of black,
spongy mold. He didn’t die until the very end. I didn’t
think a creature could scream as loud as that.”
“I’ve never heard of this!” the first draconian hissed.
Jastom donned his most utterly believable face. The
gods themselves wouldn’t know he was lying. “You don’t
have to believe me,” he said with a shrug. “Judge for
yourself. The first symptoms are so small you’d hardly
notice them if you didn’t know what to look for: a pouchy
grayness around the eyes, a faint ache in the teeth and
claws, and then . . ” Jastom let his last words fade into an
unintelligible mumble.
“What did you say?” the second draconian barked.
“I said, ‘and then the hearing begins to fade in and
out,'” Jastom said blithely. The draconians’ eyes widened.
They exchanged fearful glances.