If he just lay there and pretended to sleep, maybe the women would go away. His draconic scales dulled his tactile awareness enough that he didn’t realize he was lying on their tent, and before he listened to enough of their conversation, he became aware of something else.
The ground was shivering. Then shuddering. Cavernous opened one eye just in time to see a dark hairy shape hurtling toward him, and snapped his eye shut. Sharp hard things hit the same tender parts of his snout which the horse had kicked in the dark, and then dented his scales on their way up his head, his shoulder, and along his ribs, where they tickled. And he could sense, with that infallible sense given to man-drakes, that somewhere in the sky the large dragon who had hurt him so badly was lurking, waiting for him to show life so he could be tormented again.
Better the tickle of murk ox hooves than the talons of a dragon. Cavernous hunkered down, feigning unconsciousness as best he could, as the kapootle squeaked and thundered past, though the moment when he sensed the great dragon close above him was almost impossible to bear. Then it was gone, and he dared open his outer eyelids again, just a tiny bit, to see what was going on.
“—And I say we butcher it now!” That was his diminutive blonde, she of the perky nose and accouterments.
“You were the one who said it’d bleed on our gear,” the tallest one said. “Besides, Krystal, you really should be grateful to it. It saved our lives.”
“And if you say ‘What’s life without my embroidered nightshirt with the suede fringe?’ I will personally roll you through that squashed murk ox,” said the one with the crooked nose.
“I am grateful,” Krystal said, sounding very cross. “What do you want me to do, Mirabel, kiss it and make it well?”
“Don’t be silly,” said the one petting the very dirty pony, whose harness was adorned with gleaming gold shapes. For a moment all Cavernous could think of was the treasure wasted on that stupid pony. “We all know you wouldn’t kiss anything that ugly, no matter what it did for you.”
“You—you—”
“Like when Rusty the Armorer fixed that helm for you, and all you did was wave at him—”
“Well… he’s old. And he has only three teeth.”
The one named Mirabel grinned suddenly. “Come on, Krystal—I dare you. Kiss a dragon. Maybe it will cure it.”
“Eeeeuw!”
“Scaredy-cat.”
“Am not!”
“Just think, Krystal, how your… mmm… special friends will be impressed… if you do dare the dragon’s breath, that is. If you don’t—are they going to respect you, even if you do have that fancy mask?”
Krystal glared at them, shrugged, and twitched the twitchable parts of her anatomy. Then, with a pout the dragon was finding increasingly adorable, she shrugged. “All right. But only because I know you’ll make up some horrid story about me if I don’t. And not—not on the lips.”
She sauntered toward the dragon’s mouth. Cavernous had to roll his big man-drake eye down to watch her. She leaned over his snout, lips pursed.
From the man-drake’s point of view, the kiss was an explosion of sensation unlike anything he’d ever felt, and the strange feelings went on and on. No one had told him he could turn back into a man, so he hadn’t bothered trying to imagine what it would feel like. His eyes opened very wide, but all he could see were whirling colors.
From Mirabel’s point of view, Krystal put her lips to the dragon’s snout, and the dragon collapsed like a bagpipe’s bag, with a sort of warm whooshing noise, and almost simultaneously, the moor burst into spring flower. Where the dragon had been, a scruffy-looking naked man hunched against the cool air. Although Mirabel knew nothing about physics, she had just observed that the energy released when a large form condensed to a small one could generate enough heat to activate seeds and accelerate their growth.
Krystal, who had had her eyes shut, stepped back and opened them. When she saw that the tent was no longer covered by a dragon, and that lumps within the wrinkled canvas suggested the remains of their gear, she made straight for the collapsed entrance. A dirty old man didn’t interest her at all.
Mirabel had gone on guard instinctively, as had Sophora, and the appearance of Cavernous Dire did not reassure them. Decades of life as a man-drake had left him no handsomer than when he had chosen misering over marriage. Now his greasy hair was stringy gray instead of black, and his lanky form even more stooped. A dirty-looking gray beard straggled past his chest no farther than necessary… in fact, not quite far enough. He looked like the sort of man who would lurk in dark alleys to accost the sick or feeble.
“Who are you?” Sophora asked, in her Chancellor voice.
“Cavernous Dire,” the man said. His voice squeaked, like an unoiled hinge.
“You’re Cavernous Dire?” Mirabel asked. Her mind boggled, then recalled the shape and expression of Bilious Dire, made a quick comparison, and knew it must be true.
“You were a dragon…” Sophora said.
“They tricked me,” the man said. “Just because I was getting rich and they wanted my money…” He sounded peevish, like someone whose neighbors would trick him every chance they got.
At that moment the big dragon returned. They had not heard it gliding nearer, but they heard the long hiss as its shadow passed over them.
“Noooo!” wailed Cavernous. “Don’t let it get me!”
“He’s Cavernous Dire?” Krystal said, crawling out from under the tent. “He’s the one we were supposed to rescue? Eeeeuw!” Nonetheless, she struck an attitude, peering up at the big dragon with conscious grace.
Mirabel and Sophora both had swords in hand, but Mirabel knew that they hadn’t anywhere near the force necessary to tangle with a dragon this size. But they also had nowhere safe to run. The dragon smiled, and let its long, thin, red tongue hang out a little, steaming in the morning air.
What might have happened next, she never knew, but Cavernous Dire suddenly snatched her belt knife, and lunged toward Siobhan and the pony Dumpling.
“Here’s treasure!” he screamed, hacking at the horse brasses on Dumpling’s harness.
“Hey—stop that!” Siobhan tried to grab his arm, but Dumpling interfered. The pony backed and spun, fighting Siobhan’s hold and cow-kicking at Cavernous. The dragon seemed to be amused, and let another yard or so of tongue slide out. Cavernous quit hacking at the brasses individually, and slid Mirabel’s knife up under the harness, which parted like butter. Two more slices, and he’d cut it free, all the while dodging Siobhan’s angry swats and Dumpling’s kicks. He snatched it from the ground, dropping Mirabel’s knife, and turned back to the dragon, holding the harness at arm’s length.
Treasure! Gold! Take it! Go away!”
“Yesss….” The long tongue lapped out, and gathered it in—but Cavernous did not let go, and the tongue wrapped round him too, snatching him back into the dragon’s toothy maw as a lizard might snatch a fly.
A gulp, and the bulge that had been Cavernous Dire disappeared into the dragon’s innards. A flick of the wings, and another, and the dragon was gone, sailing low over the heather, back toward the distant kapootle of murk ox.
Dumpling squealed and bucked, landing on Mirabel’s knife, which shattered.
“My best knife—!” Mirabel said.