‘You called me a what?’ said Alfric.
‘A werewolf.’
‘A werewolf!’
‘Yes,’ said Qa. ‘Because that’s what you are. Aren’t you?’
‘No!’ said Alfric, hotly. ‘I am not a werewolf. That’s a base slander. A vile and gratuitous untruth. A rumour utterly without foundation. My father was smeared, that’s what it was. I-’
‘All right, all right,’ said Qa. ‘Sorry I spoke. Well, must be off now. Much swimming to do. Doctor’s orders, you know.’
‘Doctor’s orders? You have a doctor as well as a solicitor?’
‘Oh yes. Olaf Offorum. The Wormlord’s personal physician. He sees to me as well. Comes here twice a year to check me out. Told me to do more swimming. Oh, and to eat more horsemeat as well. Where is your horse?’
‘I haven’t got one,’ said Alfric.
‘You mean you marched here all that way with that great big pack? I don’t believe it. Not to worry, though. Mostly they bring their horses here, but when they don’t I usually look in the forest.’
‘The forest?’
‘That’s what I call it, but it’s only a few trees really.
You know. Down the shore. About a league away. Anyway, that’s all for now. See you later!’
With that, the dragon began to backtrack in earnest. A wave caught it, knocked it off balance and tumbled it up the beach. But on the second attempt the creature made it out into the surf. Alfric walked up the beach and sat down on his pack. His feet were cold and sodden, but he gave them little thought, for the sea dragon Qa had given him much else to think about.
The dragon’s story rang true.
It was undeniable, for instance, that ambassadors from Ang were always enormously impressed by tales of the dragon’s ferocity; and, come to think of it, by accounts of other dangers which existed in Wen Endex. It was something of a local tradition to brag of such hazards when speaking with an ambassador; and, for the first time, Alfric wondered whether that tradition was of spontaneous genesis, or whether the kings of Galsh Ebrek had carefully nurtured the custom.
Alfric Danbrog was starting to realize that there was much more to this business of kingship than met the eye. He had always thought the Wormlord did very little but sit on the throne: but obviously there was much more to learn.
Learn he would.
If he got to sit on that throne.
If he won all three saga swords.
If he secured Edda.
If he lived to see the morrow.
Alfric started to shiver, and not just because of the cold. He was starting to get nervous. He didn’t like the sound of this dragon-king arrangement one little bit. It all sounded far too organized: very much like organized murder, in fact. So did the Wormlord really mean him to live? Or to die? Whatever the truth of the Wormlord’s intentions, Alfric wished he could rush across the waters to Thodrun, forge his way into the cave and get it over with. Now.
But the tide was up.
So he would just have to wait.
Wait he did, until at last the skimmering skime of seawet sands stretched between Thodrun and the shore. Occasional waves still flirted across this sandstrand, but Alfric was not disposed to wait any longer. So he shouldered his pack and marched toward the island.
Up close to the rocks of Thodrun, the light from the island’s beacon was so bright that colours could be seen in the rocks, which were wet with water and riven with streaks of quartz, splashed with the glitterdust of iron pyrites and stubbled with weird and inexplicable crystals of coppery hue.
Alfric did not pause to admire these colours.
First, because he was not in the mood.
Second, because he was knocked over by a wave.
Up from the depths of the sea it came, and swirled its way around the flanks of the island, stirring the seaweeds of the shore. Kelp and blubber weed gave themselves to its dance; mermaids’ delight and seacow’s greed joined the rhythms of its delight; and at last that energy-surge wrapped itself around Alfric Danbrog and swamped him entirely.
He was lucky to escape with his life.
However, he showed no gratitude for such luck; instead, he cursed most obscenely as he struggled up the island’s rocks, still burdened with his pack, and dared himself into the dragon’s lair.
‘Who is it?’ said Qa, as Alfric entered the cave.
‘Myself,’ said Alfric.
‘Advance, myself, and be recognized.’
Alfric advanced, and stepped into a puddle, which proved to be waist-deep and exceedingly wet.
‘Aha!’ said Qa. ‘The puddle-trap! You fell for it!’
‘I have to admit I did,’ said Alfric, struggling out of his pack.
‘They usually do,’ said the dragon complacently. ‘If they’ve been particularly rude to me, I kill them then and there.’
‘And if not?’ said Alfric, throwing his pack well clear of the puddle.
‘Then I give them a second chance,’ said Qa.
‘That’s very sporting of you,’ said Alfric, hauling himself out of the puddle.
‘Oh yes,’ said Qa. ‘But it’s in keeping with my status. I’m an honorary Yudonic Knight, you know.’
‘That’s nice,’ said Alfric.
He was trying hard to remain polite, but this was a struggle; for, being exceedingly wet and very cold, Alfric had little time for dragonprattle. He looked around.
The cave was capacious, but not enormous. It was, in fact, not much bigger than the average haybam. There was a solemn drip-drop of water, some of it falling from the roof, but rather more descending from Alfric himself. These drips splashed into puddles and stirred faint echoes from the living rock of the cave. There was not much sign of treasure. A few oddments here and there, yes, but no sign of the unlimited wealth of which legend had so generously rumoured.
Here and there were piles of skulls carefully assembled into pyramids. Skulls? Alfric looked more closely. They were skull-sized rocks. Strange.
‘That’s strange,’ said Qa.
‘You read minds?’ said Alfric, startled.
‘No,’ said Qa. ‘I use my eyes. That’s how I saw.’
‘Saw? Saw what?’
‘The red light from yours. Your eyes, I mean.’
‘You must be imagining things,’ said Alfric; then slapped his arms vigorously against his chest, trying simultaneously to warm himself and get rid of some of the surplus water.
‘Oh, I don’t imagine things,’ said Qa. ‘I’m a trained observer, don’t you know.’
‘If you say so,’ said Alfric, squatting down on his hams.
‘I do say so,’ said Qa. ‘I saw you looking at one of my piles of rocks. You wouldn’t be able to do that if you were an ordinary human.’
‘And why not?’ said Alfric.
‘Because it’s pitch dark in here, that’s why,’ said Qa. ‘Then how can you see me seeing things?’ said Alfric. ‘Because I’m a sea dragon,’ said Qa. ‘Sea dragons can see in the dark. Not light, but heat. That’s what they see, I mean. Heat. But I didn’t see heat when I saw your eyes. No. I saw light. Red light. I can see it now. Anyway, enough of that. This debate isn’t getting us very far. Let’s get down to business. You’ve come to kill me.’
‘In theory, yes.’
‘In theory?’ said Qa. ‘What do you mean? You’re going to run away? It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?’
‘Well, yes and no,’ said Alfric. ‘As I said before, I have a proposition.’
‘Then what say you fetch your horse?’ said Qa. ‘We could eat it here. Share it between us. Have a barbecue. Awfully jolly, what?’
‘As I told you before,’ said Alfric, ‘I don’t have a horse.’
‘Really?’
‘I give you my word of honour as a Yudonic Knight.’ ‘You’re a liar,’ said Qa. ‘After I left you on the beach, I swam along the shore to look for your horse. I found it in the trees. That’s where they always leave the horse.’ ‘You did no such thing,’ said Alfric. ‘You’re just testing me. Consider me tested. I had no horse, and that’s the truth. I walked here with my pack.’
‘If you say so,’ said Qa, mimicking Alfric’s accents.
‘I do say so,’ said Alfric staunchly. ‘And now let me say, with the greatest of sincerity, that I am familiar with your poetry, and admire it greatly.’