"Where from the rock?" the wizard shouted as he strode toward the creature.
"I left it near there long ago. I don't know exactly where," the dragon replied, recoiling from the man.
"If I find you have deceived me, wyrm…" the wizard trailed off as he turned to leave.
"You will find your end lies within its magic, Gruanthe," Gerinvioch said, relishing that his genuine warning would only spur the idiotic human on further.
"Is that a derogatory term for humans in your language, wyrm?"
"My apologies. It is a name," Gerinvioch replied, hiding a smile. "You simply remind me of someone."
The wizard threw one last scowl over his shoulder as he departed.
After the man left, the great dragon lay back down on his bed of treasure, luxuriating in its cold embrace, and began to chuckle. Gruanthe would have liked this Bronihim, Gerinvioch thought. Then again, perhaps not. Shared goals often seemed desirable among humans, though the wyrm guessed that lust for power would be a rather divisive one to have in common. No matter, he thought. It always ended the same for those with the foolish desire to wield that kind of power and the single-mindedness not to recognize their folly. Gerinvioch had ensured that of two such fools now.
Kinase Bronihim floated several inches over the searing desert sands as he crested yet another dune. Finally, he spotted the stone he had been seeking. Standing three times taller than Bronihim, its ruddy form erupted out of the sand. After a quick inspection of the area, Bronihim continued east from the rock, figuring it as good a direction as any to begin his search. He cast a minor detection spell but could find no magic in the vicinity at all.
Bronihim looked up to the blazing sun and muttered curses at the blue wyrm under his breath. It had been many hours since he had left the dragon's lair, and he was beginning to think he had been deceived. He continued on, averting his eyes from the sun and blinking the spots from them. Suddenly he shifted his weight to the left and stumbled to the ground to avoid walking directly into the wall of a small hut. He stood, brushing himself off, and blinked in disbelief as he saw brightly colored thatched-roofed huts all around. Where there had been only the open desert a moment before stood a small town.
He turned to see a woman on the street run away, screaming as she went. Doors to many of the homes creaked open slightly as their wary inhabitants peered out. Emerging from a side street, a dark-skinned, muscular young man approached him and offered a smile.
"What is this place? " Bronihim asked, still craning his head around to take in the sight.
"Please come with me and I will take you to someone who can answer your questions," the man answered.
Bronihim followed the man to one of the huts closer to the center of town and entered to find a dim room. The air was full of incense and a plethora of furniture sat strewn about. A woman sat wide-eyed on a couch near the center of the room. She nodded to the young man who had escorted the wizard, and he took his leave. Her sharp, angular face held pleasant warmth but seemed almost harsh when viewed in context with her exceedingly lithe frame.
"I am Moriandro of Lliiress," she said.
"Kinase Bronihim of Chavyondat. What is this place? I know of no towns in Raurin."
"That you do not know it exists is not surprising," the woman said.
Bronihim considered her for a moment. Her eyes seemed to hold kindness and what he thought might be pity. Why this woman would pity him he could not imagine.
He said, "I came seeking-"
"The Evise Jhontil," Moriandro put in.
The wizard's face almost swallowed itself with an enormous grin. "You know where it is, then?"
"It is here, in the center of our town," she said, her shoulders slumping.
"Have you the authority to bargain for it?" Bronihim said.
The tall woman laughed, shaking her head. She motioned for him to have a seat.
Bronihim enjoyed bargaining, as did all his people. He doubted that the woman would be a challenge, but as he sat, he subtly began the gestures to a spell that would allow him to discern her honesty all the same.
"No! You must stop!" the woman shouted, lunging forward and grabbing his moving fingers with startling speed and force.
Bronihim sat in stunned silence for several moments as he watched Moriandro calm herself. He could not bring himself to mention what should have felt like an affront to him. Her touch was genuine and warm. She stopped him for reasons other than wanting to prevent him from gaining the upper hand in their dealings. Of that he felt certain.
"You are from Chavyondat, in Estagund," she said after several moments. "Do you know the name Aniolon Gruanthe?" she asked.
Bronihim's eyes widened at the mention of the same name the dragon had used. "You do, don't you?"
Bronihim's brow furrowed and he found himself slowly sinking further into the chair opposite the lovely woman. "The wyrm used-" he began. "Gerinvioch," Moriandro said, interrupting Bronihim.
"You know…" Bronihim began but found that his throat was tightening.
"Yes, we know the name Gerinvioch here. We know it well. It does not surprise me that he taunted you with the name of Aniolon Gruanthe," Moriandro said, gritting her teeth.
"Who is this Gruanthe?" the wizard asked, his original goal unexpectedly seeming very far away.
"Let me tell you of him and those of our ancestors who followed him here to their end in the Year of Slaying Spells," she said.
"This town has been here for three-hundred and ninety-six years?" Bronihim said, the doubt clear in his voice.
"It has been that long, then?" the woman asked, her shoulders slumping. "A few generations ago people tired of keeping time, and without the records of those years we have found it fruitless to begin again."
"How could you not…?"
"I promise, I will explain, but you must let me do so in my own way," she said.
Kinase Bronihim nodded, not knowing what he would say even if he were so inclined.
Moriandro paused, drew a long breath, and began her tale.
Aniolon Gruanthe walked through the fledgling town he had so recently founded. He took in the sights of his people forging their new life in the wasteland. Workers dug foundations for homes, while mud for their walls was mixed with pigments of various sorts to make the new homes vibrantly colored. The short man ran his stubby fingers through his thinning black hair and smiled.
"Aniolon, are you sure this is the only way?" asked the redheaded woman behind him.
He turned to regard her, his eyes following the soft lines of her voluptuous curves hidden only by a few scraps of bright red silk that barely served to provide even minimal modesty.
Aniolon ran his fingers over her bared hip as he leaned into her and replied, "Lliira and Sharess have blessed our journey and our town. How can we be wrong?"
A tall, old man in robes similar to Aniolon's moved to stand next to the pair. "Aniolon, you do not devote yourself to either of those goddesses, so please spare me the divinely inspired oratory," he said, then sighed. "We are fools to do this. The rajah's cursed mercenaries are bound to find us, and the powers know it could be soon. We should face them."
"We must preserve our dream, my friend," Aniolon replied, acknowledging the old man's words though still staring into the eyes of the lovely young priestess of Sharess before him. "We cannot defeat the rajah's wizard mercenaries, the poor deluded souls that they are. They are interested only in what their cursed master tells them they are interested in and of course, in the coin he pays them. It is that persecution of a life of duty and obeisance to nobility that we have fled. You should know as well as I that they will never cease their hunt."
"The truth is that you have no idea what you're doing. You simply want to lead… to feel important," the old man countered. "Asking a wyrm for help? This is madness, Aniolon."