Dor gulped. "I have to wake him." Then he put his hands to his mouth and called. "Dragon! I must parlay. I have news of interest to you."
There was a snort from deep within the cave. Then a plume of smoke wafted out, white in the blackness, followed by a rolling growl. The scent of scorch suffused the air.
"What does he say?" Dor asked the cave. "He says that if you have news of interest, come into his parlor. Your life depends on the accuracy of your advance promotion."
"His parlor?" Jumper chittered. "That is an ominous phrasing. When a spider invites-"
Dor had not bargained on this. "In there? In the dragon's cave?"
"See any other caves, man-roast?" the cave demanded.
Jumper made another soft chitter. "Huge mouth!"
"I guess I'd better go down," Dor said. "I have better night vision; let me go," Jumper chittered.
"No. You can't use objects to translate the dragon's speech, and I can't jump into trees and string a line to the castle wall. I must talk with the dragon. You must be ready to bear the news." He swallowed again. "In case my mission fails. You can communicate with Millie, now, by signals."
Jumper touched him with a foreleg, the pressure expressive. "Your logic prevails, friend Dor-man. I shall listen by this entrance, and return alone if necessary. I will draw you up by the dragline if you call, rapidly. Have courage, friend."
"I'm scared as hell." But Dor remembered what the gorgon had said about courage: that it was a matter of doing what needed to be done despite fear. He was bleakly reassured. Maybe technically he would be a dead hero, instead of a dead coward. "If-if something happens, try to salvage some piece of me, and keep it with you. I think the return spell will orient on it, and carry you home when the time is up. I wouldn't want you to be trapped in this world."
"It would not be doom," Jumper replied. "This world is a novel experience."
More of an experience than Dor had bargained for! He took a breath, then slid into the cave's big mouth. The interior was not large enough to permit him to stand, as the throat constricted, but that did not mean the dragon was small. Dragons tended to be long and sinuous.
The passage curved down and around, so black it was impossible to see. "Warn me of any drops, spikes, or other geographic hazards," Dor said.
"There are none, other than the dragon," the wall replied. "That's more than enough."
"I wish there were a little light," Dor muttered. "Too bad I gave away my wishing ring."
The dragon growled from below. "You want light?" the wall translated. "I'll give you light!" And tongues of bright flame snaked up the passage.
"Not that much!" Dor cried, cringing from the heat.
The flames subsided. It was evident that the dragon understood human speech, and was not blasting him indiscriminately. That was both reassuring and alarming. If there was anything more dangerous than a dragon, it was an intelligent dragon. Yet of course the smartest dragon would be most likely to rise to leadership in the complex hierarchy of the wilderness. Provided it also possessed sufficient ferocity.
Dor emerged at last in the stomach of the cave. This was the dragon's lair. The light waxed and waned, here, as the monster breathed and the flames washed out of his mouth. In the waxing the whole cave glittered, for of course the nest was made of diamonds. Not paltry ones like those of the small flying dragon Crunch the ogre had cowed; huge ones, befitting the status of the lord of the jungle. They refracted the light, reflected it, focused it, and broke it up into rainbow splays. Colors cascaded across the walls and ceiling, and bathed the dragon itself in re-reflected hues. Crunch the ogre would never beard this monster in his den!
And the dragon himself: his scales were mirror-polished, iridescent, and as supple and overlapping as the best warrior's mail. The great front jaws were burnished brass tapering to needlepoints, and its snout was gold-plated. The eyes were like fall moons, their veins reminiscent of the contours of the green cheese there, and as the light changed the cheese changed flavor.
"You're beautiful!" Dor exclaimed. "I've never seen such splendor!"
"You damn me with faint praise," the dragon grumped.
"Uh, yes, sir, I come to-"
"What?" the dragon demanded through a blaze of fire.
"Sir?"
"That was the word."
Dor had suspected it was. "Uh, sir, I-"
"All right already. Now what does a Man-Magician want with the likes of me, a mere monster monarch?"
"I come to, uh, make a deal. You know how it is not safe, uh, I mean expedient, for you to, uh, eat men, and-"
The dragon snorted a snort of flame uncomfortably close to Dor's boots. "I eat what I eat! I am lord of the jungle."
"Yes, sir, of course. But men are not of the jungle. When you eat too many of them, they start making, er, difficulties. They use special magic to-"
"I don't care to talk about it!" This time the snort was pungent smoke.
"Uh, yes. Sir. What I'm trying to say is that there are some men who need, er, eating. Mundane men from outside Xanth, who don't have magic. If you and your cohorts cared to, uh-"
"I begin to absorb your drift," the dragon said. "If we were to indulge in some, shall we say, sport, your Magicians would not object? Your King Whats-his-name-?"
"King Roogna. No, I don't believe he would object. This time. Provided you ate only Mundanes."
"It is not always easy to tell at a glance whether a given man is native or Mundane. You all taste alike to us."
Good point. "Well-we'll wear green sashes," Dor said, thinking of some bedspreads he had seen in the Zombie Master's castle. They could be torn into sashes. "It would be only in this region; don't go near Castle Roogna."
"Castle Roogna is in the territory of my cousin, who can be touchy about infringements," the dragon said. "There is plenty to eat in this area. Those Mundanes are especially big and juicy. I understand. Is there a time limit?"
"Uh, would two days be enough?"
"More than enough. Shall we say it commences at dawn tomorrow?"
"That's fine."
"How can I be sure you speak for your King?"
"Well, I-" Dor paused, uncertain. "I suppose it would be best to verify it. Do you have a swift messenger?"
The dragon snapped his tail. It was out of sight, far down the bowels of the cave, but the report was authoritative. It was answered by a squawk, and in a moment a chickenlike bird fluttered into the main chamber. It was a woolly hen, with curly fleece instead of feathers. Dor knew little about this breed, except that it was shy, and could move quite rapidly.
"Uh, yes," he said. "Uh, have you anything to write with?" He had certainly come unprepared.
The dragon jetted smoke toward a wall. Dor looked. There was a niche. In the niche were several paper-shell pecans and an inkwood branch. "I have a secretary-bird," the dragon growled in explanation. "She likes to write to her cousin across the Gap. Then she carries the letter herself, because she trusts no one else to do it. Why she doesn't simply chatter out her gossip directly I don't know. But she's good at keeping track of things around here such as which monster needs a chomping and which a scorching, and when the next rainstorm is due, so I keep her on. She's across the Gap now; she'll set up an unholy squawk when she finds her stuff's been used, but go ahead and use it."