will come here, returning the necklace. And then we can see if the tribe agrees with you.”
Benen’ax puts the necklace in a leather pouch, rolls it up, and hands it over. “Be careful with this. I will inform the shaman that I have lent it to you. Oh, the tribe will agree. You are the best man this tribe has produced.”
The pouch is heavy in my hand, much heavier than the yellow metal in my old treasure.
“Thank you,” I reply, moved by his words. “I will make sure it comes to good use.”
“I’m sure you will. Now stay seated. I will get some food for us, and you can explain this to the shaman as well.”
A good while later I’m on the way back to the Factory, the pack in my hand. The snow grows deeper as I get closer, but I can use my old tracks to go faster.
I walk the rest of the day and arrive a little after midnight. The moon Yrf is up and casts its pale, blue light on the strange, white half-mountain ahead of me that Dolly called Old Bune.
I walk up the hill, tiring myself out in the deep snow. The door is unlocked, but nobody has been inside.
As I turn to close it behind me, I sense movement.
“Did she reject you?” Isualic asks, his voice slick and mock-sympathetic. “She saw you’re a fake slayer? It’s better like this.”
“I have to ask you,” I say, discreetly hiding the necklace pouch behind my back, making it look like I’m massaging some soreness, “why do you keep pestering me? Dolly isn’t here anymore.”
The dragon shrugs. “Indeed, she has protection now. Real protection from real slayers. No fake slayer around. Why? Nobody likes being chased away like a common beggar, nobody likes having a sword thrown at them. You did both things to me.”
I manage to laugh, not because I’m amused, but because I sense that will annoy him the most. “You are not even a beggar, old dragon. You are just vermin. But that wasn’t the only reason, I think. You suspect there’s something more going on.”
“More?” he says innocently. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“All dragons are very interested in my tribe. You all sense that it’s special. The other tribes are passive, dull. Mine is active. It has women. It has slayers. So when a woman and a slayer leave and stay away from it for a long time, you must wonder why.”
“Perhaps.”
“Maybe just idle curiosity, maybe because you might get an opening to do some mischief. And maybe you hope I can lead you to a hoard.”
His red eyes glow. “Certainly, I know there’s no hoard in that sickening structure, built by the pitiful Inferiors. It radiates wrongness and smells of tainted trash. It pains me to even be this close to it.”
I close the door halfway. “Perhaps. But you’ve never asked what Dolly and I were doing in here.”
The old dragon frowns. “Doing? You were mating, that much is obvious.”
“Yes,” I agree and smile. “We came here only to mate.”
The dragon takes a step closer as he starts to realize that he’s missing something. “What were you doing in there?”
I gently pull the door closed and lock it with steel.
Walking over to the primitive roof on this level, I unwrap the necklace. It shines warmly in the moonlight, its weight demanding attention and making it seem precious. It’s a fine thing, carefully made. The difference between this material and the pyrite I carefully collected over many months is so stark it boggles the mind. I will never make that same mistake again.
I may be a fake slayer. But finally I have a real treasure.
I painstakingly make my way through the snow, down to the hut where Dolly and I slept occasionally. I’m so tired I can barely stand up straight.
Tomorrow I have a lot of work to do.
I lie down on the furs, and immediately I know it will take me a long time to fall asleep, after all. Her scent is everywhere here.
She’s better off without me. And this thing I will do, is for her.
Not for her tribe. Just for her.
I hug a piece of fur, holding it close to my nose and breathing in the final traces of her.
I thought the Ancestors were being merciful when they allowed me to spend so much time with her. Now I’m not so sure. Because being without her is sheer torture.