Just then six Rhaetians, clad for mountaineering in jackets of festive reds and greens and poling themselves along with hooked staves, hove in sight around one of the larger boulders at the bottom of the scree. They spied the dragon just as the dragon sighted them. With yells of terror, they ran back down the slope, casting away their staves.
At the sight of fresh meat fleeing, the dragon seemed to forget about the snare and the trolls. With a mighty roar, it started down the scree, jerking the trolls off their feet and weakening their grip on the rope. The dragon plunged after the fleeing mountaineers, dragging behind it the ropes and the few trolls who had retained their grip. These came down the slope in great leaps to keep up with their quarry. After them ran Thorolf and the remaining trolls. Thorolf shouted: "Catch rope! Catch rope!"
This proved difficult, since on the slope the dragon moved as fast as man or troll. At length the whole procession was brought to a halt by a crag protruding from the lower slope. Thorolf shouted in Rhaetian and then in Tyrrhenian:
"Not that way! You'll be cornered!"
The climbers continued on until they fetched up at the bottom of a concave angle in the crag. Here they huddled helplessly as the dragon lumbered toward them.
Under Thorolf's shouted directions, the trolls whom the dragon had shaken off secured their grip on the rope once more and braced themselves to restrain the monster. He had, Thorolf realized, underestimated the dragon's strength; he should have employed at least twice as many trolls.
Closer came the dragon to the huddled Rhaetians, who screamed in terror. Thorolf thought, while he did not crave a hero's death, since he had started the episode he bore a responsibility.
He sprang in front of the dragon with drawn sword. "Get back!" he shouted and whacked the dragon's muzzle with the flat of his blade.
The dragon blinked, jerked back, and gave another roar. As again it extended its fangsome head, Thorolf struck it again. When it tried to turn away to one side, he hit it on the side of its muzzle; when it turned the other way, he hit it on the other side.
It seemed to Thorolf that he had been whacking the scaly muzzle for hours, although the time was less than a quarter-hour. Then the dragon, evidently suffering a sore nose, tried to back away. Dragging screeching trolls after it, it laboriously turned, tangling the ropes, and began to plod back up the slope.
As it forged on toward the mouth of its cave, it slowed like an unwound Rhaetian clock. Halfway to its goal it collapsed on the stones, breathing in gasps. The chase, thought Thorolf, must have winded it, and to drag a score of trolls back up the hill with its windpipe half strangled by the two nooses was too much for its reptilian constitution.
"Tie mouth!" cried Thorolf. Soon the dragon's jaws were bound together by several turns of spare rope around its muzzle.
"Now legs!"
In another half-hour the dragon had been rolled over on its back and its limbs bound to its body. It protested by feeble writhings. The troll whom Thorolf had appointed foreman of his crew said:
"Now kill?"
"No kill. Take Zurshnitt, sell."
The troll snorted. "Lowlanders crazy!" A gabble broke out among the trolls as they digested Thorolf's intentions.
Thorolf said: "More rope, more poles. Make sled."
As the trolls scattered to obey, the Rhaetians approached Thorolf. Their leader, in an orange jerkin, said: "A troll doth tell me ye roused this beast from its lair and sent it charging after us! This is an outrage!"
"I was merely capturing the dragon," said Thorolf, "when you came along. If you had watched where you were going ..."
His words were drowned out by a chorus of protest: "Endangering peaceful citizens!" "Reckless folly!" "Gross negligence!" "Ye shall hear from mine attorney!"
When, shouting, they pressed close to Thorolf, he roared back: "I faced the creature at my own risk to protect you lubbers! Now get you hence, or ..."
He drew his sword. At the sight of the blade, the unarmed Rhaetians straggled off, muttering threats of litigation.
The setting sun was painting the western slopes of the peaks with streaks of crimson when the trolls conveyed the trammeled, silver-gray dragon to their campsite. Beginning to recover from its earlier exertions, the beast protested by writhing and grunting through its nostrils. Chief Wok appeared, saying:
"By my grandsire's ghost, what is this? I thought ye might come back with the hide and flesh, but not a live, wriggling monster! Think ye to make a pet of it? I warn you, 'twill never become a safe housemate!"
"That's your ten thousand marks," said Thorolf. "Know you Doctor Berthar, who directs the Zoological Parkin Zurshnitt?"
"Aye, he was here some years agone, seeking a rare butterfly, which meseems a strange thing for a grown man, even a crazy lowlander, to do. I mislike dealing with those gentry, because they once shut some of us in cages with their beasts. That was an insult!"
"Like it or not," said Thorolf, "he has the money wherewith to buy one healthy female dragon, hoping to mate her with their male. All you need do is to send a brace of trusty trolls to Zurshnitt with a message. Let Berthar send out a gang of workmen with a wagon, to meet your trolls with the dragon halfway and hand over the money."
"I like this not," growled Wok. "If I know you lowlanders, the instant my people cross into the lands the Zurshnitters stole from us, they are liable to a bolt in the brisket. I alone speak enough Rhaetian to deal with these folk, but I must needs remain here. Ye could accompany the dragon—but nay, nought would hinder you from escaping our grasp, taking the money with you."
"I'll write to Berthar," said Thorolf, digging into his scrip. He brought out a pad of paper, a battered quill, and a stoppered ink bottle.
"I still like it not, but money is money." Wok gave Thorolf a sinister smile. "Our agreement was that ye should slay the beast, not take it alive. The dragon's flesh would have fed the tribe for many days. Since that be not now in prospect, why should we not eat you?"
"Your pardon, O Chief," said Thorolf, "but if you recall the exact terms, I promised to 'get rid of the dragon. Nought was said of how, whether by slaying or capture or merely driving it away from your lands. Besides, I could scarcely write to Doctor Berthar if I were dismembered and cooking, now could I?"
Wok grumbled: "Slippery, scheming lowlander! Very well, write your letter. But ye shall remain with us until the money be delivered."
Thorolf, pen in hand, paused. "Since, O Chief, you have cast doubt upon mine own prospects, in return for the letter I ask that we enter into another pair of oaths, that I shall not be slain whatever betide. As for remaining here, I hope to do so for some little time. I will do my share of tribal labors."
"Eh?" said Wok. "What lets you from returning to Zurshnitt?"
"Certain enemies have made that city unhealthy for me.
"Ah!" said Wok. "Ye are a wanted man, then! Had I known sooner, I might have sold you back to those foes whereof ye speak."
"You would not have obtained any ten thousand marks for my carcass. And now for the oaths ..."
VII – Nugacious Nuptials
For the next fortnight, Thorolf Zigramson dwelt in the village of the Sharmatt trolls and took part in their simple toils and pleasures. Since he proved handy with tools, they set him the task of whittling arrow shafts and attaching feathers and iron heads. In his spare time he whetted his weapons, practiced shooting his crossbow and throwing his dagger, and washed his dirty linens and hose in the creek that served the settlement.