"How do they come to be here l The eggs, I mean," he said.
"I do not know for certain. I was born here, you see, and grew from dragonlet to maturity within these walls. Out of eggs, mine was chosen to hatch and live as guardian, as the
Keeper of the New Lives."
Sturm's mind boggled. He lowered himself to the floor.
"Who deposited the eggs and built the tower?" he asked.
"I have a theory," said Cupelix, consciously mimicking the gnomes. "Three thousand years ago, when dragons were banished from Krynn, the evil ones were driven by Paladine to the Great Nullity, the negative plane, where they were to remain until doomsday. The dragons aligned with the forces of good left the lands of man as well. Paladine made a pact with Gilean, a neutral god who was sympathetic to our plight, and arranged for a number of good dragon eggs to be collected and deposited here, to serve as sentinels for when the evil ones returned. He caused the tower to be raised and hatched me."
"How many types of dragon eggs lie below?"
"Some of the brass, bronze, and copper clans, in the num ber of 496. It is the collected spirit of these unborn dragons that provides the magic that saturates Lunitari."
"Four -" Sturm shifted on his haunches, as if he could feel the movement of so many creatures below the thick marble slab. So many!
"When will they hatch?" asked Sturm.
"Tomorrow or never." Sturm pressed for a better answer, and Cupelix said, "A veil of dormancy laid down by Gilean lies over the entire cache. It will take a god, or a mighty spell, to lift the veil and cause the eggs to hatch. Now you know all about me," added Cupelix. "Do you trust me?"
"Almost. Could I see the eggs?"
Cupelix scratched his shiny chest with one of his fore claws and Sturm winced at the screeching sound. "I don't know about that -"
"Don't you trust me?" asked Sturm.
" true touch, mortal! You shall see them then, a sight no mortal eye has ever beheld. Hmm." The dragon lifted one tree-sized leg and flexed his birdlike toes. "I'll have to warn the Micones. They live in the caverns and keep the eggs clean, turning them every day so the yolks don't settle.
They would certainly slay you if you ventured down there without my permission." Cupelix settled again and fluffed out his wings. "I will inform the Micones, but you must be sure not to touch the eggs. The protective instinct runs so deeply in them that not even my intervention would pre vent the Micones from ripping you limb from limb if you touched an egg."
"I'll keep that in mind," said Sturm. He stood to go. "May
I invite the others?"
"Why not? I'm sure the little men will be fascinated."
"Thank you, dragon."
Sturm nodded and made for the quiet ship. Once the human was inside, Cupelix spread his wings and telepathi cally ordered the illuminating ants to cease their glow. The light went out of their bodies, and one by one the Micones ..' dropped off and scuttled back into their holes in the floor.
Kitiara re-entered the darkened obelisk. "Where is every body?" she called out.
"In the flying machine," said Cupelix, unseen above her in the shadows. She flinched at the sound of his voice.
"You should give a person warning that you're there," she chided. "Is there anything left to eat?"
A table, set with candles, appeared before her. Delicate cutlets of veal, bread, and melted sweet butter awaited her.
A tall, clear glass goblet brimmed with rich red wine. Kiti ara pulled out the velvet-cushioned, high-backed chair and sat down.
"What's the occasion?' she asked.
"No occasion," replied the dragon from on high. "A ges ture of friendship."
"Are we friends?" said Kitiara, forking up a slice of veal.
"Oh, yes, and I hope we shall be better friends still."
"A woman could do worse," she said, sipping the wine. It wasn't grape wine at all, but some sort of berry, tart and cleansing on the tongue. "Good," she said, not quite sure how else to characterize the wine.
"I'm glad you like it. It's pleasing to me to do things for you, Kitiara. May I call you Kitiara? You appreciate my lit tle gifts. Unlike that Brightblade fellow. He's so stiff and proper, it's a wonder he doesn't chip himself when he shaves." Kitiara laughed at the dragon's very apt image.
"You have a very charming laugh," said Cupelix.
"Careful," she said. "If I were less mindful, I'd think you were trying to cozen me."
"I merely delight in your company." There was a heavy rustle as the dragon flew from one side of the obelisk to the other. The candle flames on Kitiara's table wavered in the disturbed air.
"Soon Master Brightblade and his gnomish companions will make a descent into the caverns below the tower,"
Cupelix said, and further explained about the cache of dragon eggs. 'While they are down there, I should like you to visit me in my private sanctum." The bulk of the brass dragon dropped from the darkness, landing with infinite grace and lightness in front of Kitiara's table.
"What for?" she said, not quite suppressing the catch in her throat.
Up close – at a range of no more than six feet – Cupelix's eyes were green orbs three hands wide. The vertical black pupils were cracks into the deepest abyss. His eyes nar rowed as the dragon scrutinized the woman.
"I would hear of your life and philosophy, and you may pry into my secrets as well," he said. "Only don't tell the oth ers. It would make them jealous."
"Not a word," Kitiara said. She winked at the dragon, and
Cupelix flicked his tongue out. It touched her hand and a warm tingle spread up her arm.
"Until then." Cupelix spread his wings until they whisked the far walls. He sprang off the floor with one thrust of his powerful hind legs and vanished into the darkness above.
Kitiara's heartbeat slowly resumed its normal rhythm.
The tingle in her arm slowly faded. Kitiara reached for her wine glass. To her surprise, her hand was shaking so much that she knocked the goblet off the table, and it shattered on the red marble floor.
"Damn!" she said, clenching her fist.
Chapter 23
Caverns Deep
The gnomes responded to Cupelix's invitation with characteristic enthusiasm. The new metal parts for the
Cloudmaster had to cool a while longer before they could be fitted into place, and the proposed descent into the caverns suited them very well. They turned the ship upside down hunting for proper equipment: pens and paper, of course; rope and tape measures; and transits for surveying the lay out of the caverns. Cutwood brought out a large balance scale to weigh representative specimens of dragon eggs.
"Oh, no," Sturm warned. "No one is to touch the eggs, not the least little bit."
"But why?" asked Rainspot, who was wearing his oilcloth slicker full-time now.
"The Micones are under orders to kill anyone who touch es them," Sturm said. "Not even Cupelix can countermand that order." Cutwood reluctantly abandoned his scale.
Two hours before dawn, Sturm and the gnomes presented themselves before one of the large, round holes in the obe lisk floor. Cupelix was poised on his ledge above them, and
Kitiara lingered in the doorway, watching the comic mar shaling of the gnome explorers. Some of them, particularly
Fitter, were so laden with gear that they could scarcely stand. Sturm's only special item was a long hank of rope, secured at one shoulder and draped across his chest.
"I hope you don't intend to climb down," said the dragon mildly. "The way presents many difficulties."
"How else shall we get down there?" asked Stutts.
"By allowing the Micones to take you."
Sturm's eyes narrowed. "How will they do that?"
"It's very simple," said Cupelix. He shut his mouth and lowered his head, as he usually did when communicating telepathically with the ants. Hard, armored heads appeared in all the holes, and before Sturm could protest six Micones presented themselves to the exploration party. "The ants are quite capable of carrying two gnomes apiece, and the sixth will be Master Brightblade's mount."
Sturm turned to Kitiara. "Are you certain you won't change your mind and go with us?"
She shook her head. "I've explored enough of this moon, thank you."
The gnomes were already scrambling over their mounts, measuring, touching, and tapping the crystalline creatures from mandible to stinger. The glass-smooth ants presented no footholds or handholds for mounting and riding. After some discussion (cut short by Sturm's impatient sigh), the gnomes tied lengths of rope together into reasonable halters and bridles. The Micones stood stock-still through all this indignity. Even their restless antennae were motionless.