Crimson Shadow, The - R. A. Salvatore Page 0,49

did not think you worthy of such a treasure. Now I see my error, of course.” The halfling stuck his hand deep into a pocket and produced a large gem, as if to accentuate his point, and calmly tossed it onto the nearest pile of treasure.

Balthazar’s head swayed back and forth slowly, as if the beast was unsure of how to react. It stopped the motion briefly and sniffed the air, apparently catching a different scent.

“I do not wish to disturb your treasure and did not wish to disturb your sleep,” Oliver said quickly, his facade of calm somewhat stripped away. “I only came to look upon you, that I might view the magnificence of a true dragon once in my—”

“LIAR!” Balthazar boomed, and Luthien’s ears hurt from the volume. “LIAR AND THIEF!”

“If you breathe at me, you will surely ruin so very much of your gold!” Oliver cried back, skittering to the coin pile. “Am I worth such a price?”

But Balthazar didn’t seem too worried about his treasure. It looked to Luthien as if the reptilian beast was actually smiling. It turned its head to put its huge maw directly in line with the halfling and hunched its armored shoulders so that its neck was partially coiled.

Then the beast straightened suddenly and sniffed again, and its great head snapped about—so quickly that the movement stole the strength from Luthien’s knees—and dropped its lamplight vision over the young man.

Luthien stood perfectly still, frozen with the most profound terror he had ever known. This was the fabled dragon-gaze, a spellbinding fear that often fell over those who looked into the eyes of such a beast, but like the tales of a dragon’s ability to speak, the young Bedwyr hadn’t fully appreciated the notion.

He appreciated it now, though. His mind screamed at him to throw aside his weapons and run away, and truly he wanted to, but his body would not move, could not move.

The dragon looked away, back to Oliver, who was staring in Luthien’s direction curiously.

“WHO IS WITH YOU?” the beast demanded.

“Not a one,” Oliver answered firmly.

Luthien did not understand what they were talking about—they had both just looked right at him!

“LIAR!” Balthazar growled.

“You have already said that,” Oliver replied. “Now, what are we to do? I have given back your treasure and I have gazed upon your magnificence. Are you to eat me, or am I to leave and tell all the world what a most magnificent dragon you truly are?”

The dragon backed off a bit, seeming perplexed.

“They have not seen you in four hundred years,” Oliver explained. “The tales of Balthazar grow less, do not doubt. Of course, if I were to be gone from here, I could renew the legends.”

Crafty Oliver! Luthien thought, and his admiration for the halfling increased a hundredfold in that moment. The mere fact that Oliver could speak under that terrible gaze impressed Luthien, whose own mouth was still cotton dry from fear.

The dragon issued a long and low growl. It sucked in its breath forcefully, straightening Oliver’s hat on his head.

“Ah, ah,” the halfling teased, wagging a finger in the air before him. “Do not breathe or you will ruin so very much of your gold and silver co-ins.”

Luthien could hardly believe it, but the halfling seemed to have this situation in hand. The young man drew strength from that fact and found that he could move his limbs once more.

But appearances could be deceiving when dealing with dragons. Balthazar was weighing the situation carefully, even considering the halfling’s offer to go out and spread anew the legend. Such tales would no doubt inspire others to come to the lair, would-be heroes and treasure seekers. The dragon wondered if that might be the way in which it would at last end its imprisonment and be free to fly about the land once more, feasting on whole villages of men.

In the end, though, lazy Balthazar decided that it really didn’t want to have to continually wake up and deal with upstart heroes. And Balthazar had already determined that this foppish halfling was a liar and a thief.

The wyrm’s head snapped forward, so quickly and terribly that Luthien cried out, thinking Oliver surely eaten. Up came the bow, Luthien nocking the strange arrow as he raised it.

Worldly Oliver, who had studied fighting tactics in the finest schools of Gascony, including tactics used against legendary beasts, was not caught unawares. He dove forward as the dragon’s head came down, drawing his rapier as he rolled.