Immediately, her face and skin felt seared, hot and dry all over. The sweat that prickled her flesh evaporated into a crust of salt as soon as it touched the air. Caewen wondered if it was possible to blister and burn just from the radiant heat coming off the creature that had landed not more than a stone’s throw away.
Its huge amber-gold and glowing eyes seemed to be looking over the landscape, and she wasn’t sure if it had noticed her. She felt utterly small. But. Despite this. She had to get its attention. She had to talk to it. Or try to. Wetting her lips, and clearing her voice, she called out. “Aslaug! Aslaug, dragon who is most marvellous and has been wronged. I have seized your stolen treasure from the thief. Here, I return it to you. Freely, and without obligation, no favour asked or owed. This treasure is yours, and it is for you to take.” Caewen had heard enough stories about dragons to know that the only way to speak with such creatures is with complete, humourless politeness. After all, it was widely held to be true–at least among storytellers–that dragons do not much like rudeness or joking.
The thing before her rose up, and drew its neck upwards and upwards. The sharp-beaked head with horns like a crown of gold turned to her. Eyes that were pieces of burning jasper fixed on her. It opened its mouth to speak, and the inside of its mouth rippled with heat, just like the village furnace in the blacksmith’s place at home.
“Little heartbeat,” said Aslaug, and his voice was honey and treacle and distant storms. “How am I to know that you are not the thief who snuck into my home–sneaking, snivelling, sneaking–and then snuck away again, taking a piece of my pride and joy? How am I to know you are not the thief, attempting to save yourself with more sneaking tricks?”
“You are great and insightful, Aslaug, who they call the Glorious. Set your mind upon my words. Hear in my voice the truth. I am no thief and never have been.” She could hear the shaking in her voice. The softly growing desperation. “I only return to you that which was taken.”
Laughter like mountains laughing, like lightning tumbling in the storm, like fire exploding on faraway peaks. “They call me Vainglorious, little heartbeat. Do not fib to me by omission.” His neck snaked down and his bone-white teeth turned into shining black swords by the light flickering behind them. “Do I care? I am vain. I am glorious. I am all of what I am, no more, and no less. And yet, a price must be paid by someone for the nasty, sneaking thievery. How can I let it be whispered that I, Aslaug, master of wind and fire and all I survey… that I allowed a theft to go unpunished. Someone must be punished. Do you present yourself to me for punishment too?”
“Would you punish the person who returned your stolen goods? That is not right and good.”
A smile crept over his maw. “Whoever told you I was right or good?” His voice grew honeyed. “They have lied to you, little heartbeat. I have flown a long and great distance. Come forward a few steps, so that I may snack and replenish my strength a modicum.” He snorted. “Though you are small and scrawny and hardly worth the effort of swallowing.”
“If you are so desperate to have me for a meal, then step forward yourself. You’ve flown a hundred leagues. What is another step?” Caewen was now powerfully aware that Aslaug had landed outside the ring of stones and was not moving forward to cross it.
He fixed her with his eyes full of ochre light and pupils as black as marl. “You dare toy with me, little heartbeat? You dare such an insult? What are you, to make you so bold? A great arch-wizardess? A witching-queen of ancient power?” He narrowed his eyes. “A goddess?”
She shook her head. “I am none of those things. I’m not sure I’m even worth calling a witch. I am she who is returning your stolen treasure. That is all.”
He sniffed then. “So you claim. So you claim. But I smell goddess-magic in you. I smell faer-magic in you.” A deep and profound rumble. “You have killed using the fey-stroke. That is no petty charm or art. I wonder then… little heartbeat, magician who claims to be no magician… what are you then?” He then answered himself. “A liar, is what you are. I am weary of this. Bring me the stolen portion of my pride and joy, this moment!” He turned his head and then breathed flame at a nearby stand of trees that were growing out of a rocky patch of boulders. In the jet of white hot flame the trees evaporated. One moment they were there, the next there was just a cloud of harsh ash blowing in Caewen’s direction. The rocks that were left behind stood aglow and cherry red after the fire dwindled.
As Aslaug spoke, his spittle spattered with fire, like droplets of molten iron from the forge. “Do you think me a mortal magician, bound by your silly rules?”
In that instant Caewen understood that Fafmuir’s madness wasn’t madness at all. This creature really could kill a god, or demon-lord or whatever the Winter King was. Caewen wasn’t even certain that the Goddess of the Tor could stand against Aslaug, in her physical form anyway. He wasn’t just some beast with human wits and claws like scimitars. He was made of the magic of fire.
He was made of magic.
Caewen looked at the ring of stones again. With a rather flat cadence, she said, almost to herself, “Dapplegrim has been saying that too.”
This seemed to take Aslaugh by surprise. His eyes grew implacable and still, like a mass of autumn leaves on a black pond.
“Dapplegrim has been saying that. He keeps claiming he’s not a wizard, so he isn’t bound by the moot. But Dapple has never much respected property, especially when it comes to filling his belly. He hasn’t been stealing food off tables, or out of tents. He hasn’t been sneaking off at night to slaughter and eat a sheep, or goat or whatever takes his taste.”
“And who is this Dapplegrim?” rumbled the dragon.
“My horse.”
“Your horse sneaks off at night and eats sheep?”
“Yes.” Caewen was distracted by her thoughts now.
“And tells you he isn’t a wizard?”
“Quite a lot. Hush, will you. I’m thinking this though.”
“Little heartbeat, you are most certainly confused about the nature of horses. That is not a horse.”
“No. He’s not. But he is full of magic. Like you. Dapple’s been lying. He is bound by the moot. He hasn’t been pilfering food because he can’t.” She fixed Aslaug with her own hard stare then. “You can’t wrong me,” she said, flatly.
“Nonsense. The little heartbeat prattles and thinks herself above a most terrible death.”
“No, that’s not true. It’s not just mortal magicians bound by the moot, is it? It is all magical beings. If you had come upon the moot with the piece of treasure still stolen, then you would be within your right to exact revenge. But, I’ve already sought justice on your behalf. You are too magical a beast to escape the will of the goddess. If you step within the stones, you must obey the peace.” She looked at the clump of smoke and softly glowing rock that had been the copse of trees. It was on the other side of the line of black and white stones. “You can’t even breath your flames across the line can you? You could have, if revenge was warranted. But not now. Not now…”
An awful silence followed from Aslaug. The only sound was his intake and guttering out-breath of rancid hot air, as he locked his eyes upon her. She felt that gaze, and felt it drill into her mind and throughts. She was sure that if there had been no peace upon them both, Aslaugh would simply have made her walk into his open mouth. He had a power of fascination in his eyes, just as some snakes are supposed to. She wondered if that was true of all dragons, or just this one.
His eyes were so very beautiful, though.
She wanted to see the colours of them closer.
She took one small, wavering half-step forward.
With a strange, twisted and sickening realisation, she tore her own eyes away and looked at the ground. Peace of the moot, or, no, he had been worming around inside her head just now. She could still feel the reptilian coldness of his prodding, grasping thoughts. His fire was just one aspect of his power, and maybe not the most dangerous thing he possessed, all told.
She took care, when she looked up again, not to lock gazes with him. “Well?”