The groundlings' laughter turned to screams, and the galleries rumbled with the sound of running feet.
The gold dragon continued growing. As he grew too tall to remain under the stage roof, he stepped out into the yard, scattering more groundlings as his wings twitched and snapped. He reached toward the gallery where Mnomene's voice had come, grabbed a support beam, and tore it away.
"Face me, child! Or I will tear apart this shack stick by stick."
"Face him, Mnomene! Face him!" yelled Mallion.
He drew his prop sword, looked at it, and threw the useless thing away before retreating from the dragon.
Talbot began his own transformation, feeling his robes tear down the back as his shoulders grew great and wide.
"Ennis, make sure Sivana's all right," he yelled while his throat was still human enough to articulate words.
"The rest of you, help everyone get out of here."
The dragon tore away the gallery railing and groped for his invisible prey. His scaly claw came away with a mass of splintered benches reduced to so much firewood. He trumpeted his anger and blasted a cone of fire into the seemingly deserted area.
"Show yourself, girl! Face me!"
"No, you great fool," roared Talbot from the stage. His voice had become a howl. "You face meV
Only the barest scraps of his costume clung to his black furred body as he stood brandishing Perivel's sword in his clawed hand. Half-wolf, half-man, he stood as tall as an ogre, his body surging with the hot power of fury. Still, even on the stage, he stood barely as high as the dragon's gleaming thigh.
The dragon hesitated when he saw the Black Wolf at his knee.
"What a curious mammal," he said. "Do not stand between a dragon and his wrath."
"Stop wrecking my playhouse," roared Talbot, leaping. "And stop stepping on my lines!"
He swung the massive sword hard across the dragon's knee, striking with the blunt of the blade. The blow sounded like the fall of a pillar in a marble hall, the report deafening the panicked few who still had not escaped the playhouse.
A huge stretch of wall ripped away in the upper gallery, and a smaller gold dragon appeared as her invisibility spell fell away. She looked fearfully at the big dragon and leaped away to fly over the houses of Selgaunt.
"You cannot escape me, rebellious child!"
For an instant, Talbot hoped the dragon would fly off after Mnomene, but the great drake hesitated, looking around at the playhouse.
"But first," he rumbled, reaching up to tear at the roof, "let us put a sure end to this despicable place."
"No!" Talbot howled.
The dragon raised a leg to kick Talbot, who rolled to the side, sprang up, and drove his sword through the dragon's foot and deep into the hard-packed earth of the playhouse floor. The dragon's bugling scream drowned out the human shrieks before it turned into fire that washed over the playhouse roof and spread over the thatching. Despite the wards against mortal fire, the thatched roof exploded into flame under the extraordinary heat.
The dragon pulled at its captured foot, but the thick crossbars pinned it to the floor. Talbot leaped up and climbed the dragon's thigh, raking his way up the golden body like a bear sharpening its claws on a tree.
"You listen to me, beast!"
The dragon snatched him up like a man might grab a mouse upon his tunic. Talbot pushed and strained against the gigantic grip, but the dragon held him fast and moved him close to his jaws, still smoldering from the heat of his flame.
"By what right in these wide realms do you command me, little wolf?"
Talbot felt his own rage rising like fire within his breast. He could surrender to it, let the fury consume his mind until he burrowed like a badger through the dragon's hand then toward the furnace of his heart to seek vengeance, or die trying. Instead, just as his humanity teetered on the brink of savagery, he remembered Mnomene's last words to him, and he chose one last gambit as a man.
"I am your damned host," he shouted. "You have endangered my fellows, terrorized my patrons, and ruined my house. You, sir, have abused my hospitality!"
The dragon gnashed his jaws and snapped his snout closed. He snarled, hissed flame through his teeth, and squeezed Talbot so hard he felt his ribs grind together.
The dragon stared so hard at the little mammal in his hand that Talbot thought he might burst into flames under that gaze. At last, the dragon thrust Talbot down upon the stage and released him. As embers from the burning roof drifted down, the great dragon bowed his head.
"Perhaps…" said the dragon. "Perhaps I have been a bit rude."
Act V
Krion-as Talbot had come to think of the dragon-muttered a few grudging excuses and flew away the moment Talbot removed the sword from his foot. Talbot imagined the dragon was chasing after Mnomene once more, and he hoped he would catch up to his daughter in another city-any where but Selgaunt.
He stood alone in the smoldering remains of the Wide Realms, long after the fire brigade had left. He counted his blessings as he accounted the losses. The calculation was simple: Of the playhouse, total ruin. The foundations that survived the fire were not worth saving. Any rebuilding would have to begin from the ground up, and even the coin from King Krion was insufficient to begin such a grand project.
On the positive side of the tally, and more than a little miraculously, no one had died in the conflagration. Lommy and family had fled the moment they smelled Krion arrive, but they were homeless, as was the troupe. Even mounting a new production of the popular play would be only a tiny first step toward rebuilding the Wide Realms. Innkeepers always kept fifty percent of the receipts, and they could accommodate only much smaller audiences.
If nothing else, Talbot thought, he learned that he, with a little help from his fellow players, could write a play that would "break a miser's heart"… or at least really, really irritate him. More than that, though, Talbot had written a play that spoke to all sorts of people, from the groundlings to the snootiest members of the Old Chauncel, all while finally coming to grips with his own feelings about a father to whom he had said far too little in the time they had left.
"I suppose I should apologize," said Krion.
His nostrils full of smoke, Talbot couldn't smell the dragon approach. Krion was once more in human form, but he had given himself far more modest garb.
"Nothing says 'I apologize' like fifty thousand five-stars," said Talbot, estimating the amount he would need to begin rebuilding.
"That is a handsome sum," said Krion. "No doubt, were I to subject myself to your human laws, you might extract it from me through your courts. I have never understood how you mammals equate treasure with civility. As I said, I apologize "
Talbot did not correct him, and he tried not to entertain any notions about other ways in which he might extract the coin from the dragon. Even at his most furious, he was not insane enough to think that even the Black Wolf was a match for a gold dragon.
"I have had a notion," said Krion. "One that might serve us both in the long term. While the content was of dubious value, this notion of a play intrigues me."
"No," said Talbot.
"Now that you have had some experience with the collaborative process, and with a more mature patron guiding the story…."
"Oh, no," said Talbot. "If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times."
"I am certain that your audience will appreciate my story of a monarch much abused by his ungrateful children."
"We…don't… do…"
"With that great big sword of yours," said Krion, "you did cut a rather kingly figure."