Dermanassian made no protest when Asbeth sent him to this land, for the god was not making a request. Thus, in a rush of wind, the last desert elf was whisked from his campsite on the east bank of the Blackstone River to the dense wood of unknown country outside a white dragon's lair.

At least the god had given him time to gather his few possessions, Dermanassian thought as he resigned himself to obtaining one of the dragon's scales. He hoped this latest imposition upon him would not end – as had so many others – with the shedding of his own blood. Surely there would be a way to get a scale without hazarding an encounter with the creature and, with planning and luck, he reasoned, he would be returned to his campsite in short order.

He knew nothing about dragons, as there were none of fact or legend in his land, and so he studied this one for some weeks from a perch he crafted in a tree overlooking its lair.

He did not know whether the dragon was intelligent, for no occasion presented itself whereby the dragon could exhibit either intelligence or its lack. Likewise, Dermanassian did not know whether the dragon was juvenile or mature, male or female. Instead, it simply was and Dermanassian withheld judgment.

If he known at that time of the dragon's temperament, he might have approached it differently. If he had known of his true purpose there, he might not have approached the dragon at all. He was ignorant of these things, however, and thus he watched the massive dragon return before dawn, sometimes gorged, sometimes dragging livestock squealing into the jagged mouth of its cave. Listened to it tear hide and crunch bone with its icicle shaped teeth. Heard its soft whuff-whuffing as it slept, its snorts when it woke. Smelled its rancid breath, the stench of a creature that would rather scavenge than hunt. Tracked it silently to the small stream where it lapped its fill. Spied upon it as it hunched deep in the wood to excrete fetid waste and scratch the soft ground afterward like a dog.

The dragon was most active after twilight. As the moon rose and the stars became visible, it roused. Preceded by a small colony of bats hardly larger than moths, the dragon came to the mouth of its lair and shook its polished hide, its fine overlapping scales twinkling and reminding him of chimes in an autumn wind. It methodically stretched its leathery wings before flapping them rapidly in mock flight. Once satisfied, the dragon launched into the night, wings rustling like dried leaves and tail lashing like a whip. Catching the moonlight, the white dragon glowed as brightly as a star.

Over the days, Dermanassian found that he enjoyed watching the dragon. Yet he knew eventually the god would call upon him to demand the scale and, though Asbeth was peaceable enough, Dermanassian did not want to be without it when that happened. He must get the scale.

As the next moon rose, Dermanassian heard the dragon snort and stretch away sleep before its armored head appeared in the entry of the cave. It yawned abruptly, before snapping its jaws shut and shaking its head. The dragon sniffed at the air, its nostrils flaring red. Finally, it ventured out.

By the time it completed its preparations, the sun had disappeared beyond the horizon, the last traces of pinks and purples following it into the far west, and the moon's reflected light filled the wood. The dragon left the ground with a series of powerful wing beats. High above, it circled once before turning south.

When the dragon was gone, he crept down from his perch with the smooth silence that had earned him the moniker the Gray Mist. Dermanassian crossed the span of wood to the lair and entered it.

He had taken precautions, of course. Earlier, he had removed his gray clothes and black boots and left them in his perch. His daggers and assorted pouches of herbs and trinkets lined the floor of his blind next to the blue lotus sword. He tied his long hair in a thick knot.

Naked, he had crept to the banks of the dragon's stream, where miniature alluvial fans curved in each bend. From these, Dermanassian gathered silky sediment and rubbed it between his fingers. It was thick and smooth, cool and sticky, and carried the smell of decay. He smeared a layer over his bronze skin and black hair.

His preparations completed, he walked to the rough mouth of the cave like a golem, carrying only a round crystal that he rolled pensively among his long fingers. For all his study of the dragon, he had few notions of what to expect inside its lair.

Moonlight illuminated only the few front lengths of the cave; after that, the tunnel made a gentle turn into darkness. From the depths emanated the peculiar, sharp mix of humidity and dust, reminding him of scrolls stored in dampness. Dermanassian tossed the round crystal into the air where it hovered and turned a brilliant gold. With a wave, he sent the crystal into the cave and followed slowly.

The orb made a circuit, shining into every crevice. The ceiling and sides were wide enough for the dragon to spread its wings comfortably, though not fully, and to curl up or lay out as the mood took it. The cave was for the most part a natural hollow, but claw marks showed where it had been reshaped, perhaps by generations of dragons. The dragon's cast-offs consisted of cowbells, several knives, a hatchet, and even a poorly made sword.

Dermanassian motioned the orb low. With it floating at knee height, he paced the cave, scanning the floor for the white glint of a shed scale. He frowned, suddenly realizing a scale could be more difficult to find than he anticipated. He had not been able to get close to the dragon and so, for all he knew, the dragon's scales might be colorless like a fish's, detectable only by a faint reflection of the orb's golden light.

For hours, Dermanassian searched the dragon's lair, stopping at times to prod hopefully at some flake of rock or to more closely examine some bit of debris. He found three coins of indeterminate value and a belt buckle, as well as the bats' roost. Their guano supported a cluster of beetles and worms that disappeared into the muck as the hovering sphere cast its light upon them. His search did not, however, reveal a single scale. Dermanassian judged the dragon's return to be imminent when the moon began its descent. He called the orb back and, as he touched it, its light winked out. With a sigh, Dermanassian returned to the river to wash the caked mud from his itching skin. Back in his hide, he shrugged into his clothes and wrapped his gray cloak about his shoulders.

Just before light, the dragon's gleaming body appeared in the distant north, winging lazily toward him. Its leathery wings beat slowly and intermittently as it used the currents' lift and motion to forward its own. As it approached, it braced against the breeze. Its long tail pulled up, its hindquarters dropped, and it landed with a grunt, its stomach distended from feasting. It shook itself out twice, scales faintly musical, and retreated into its lair to wait out the day.

By the end of the fourth night Dermanassian had twice more searched the cave, yet the greatest thing of interest he discovered was a large, irregular chunk of quartz the size of his fist. He had walked by several times before finally picking it up, tossing it from hand to hand in frustration.

Over the next days he contemplated a new strategy while shaping and polishing the mineral into a crude representation of the dragon. Continued searches of the lair were not likely to be any more fruitful and he was growing concerned at the inevitable return of Asbeth to collect the scale. Frowning, he turned over ideas in his mind.

By the eighth night, Dermanassian could imagine only one way to gain the scale without testing the dragon's speed and prowess against his own. Lacking options, he did not dwell on the plan's improbability.

He waited until just before the dragon would return before again covering himself in silky mud and crossing the wood to the cavern. This time he carried the blue lotus sword. He crouched in darkness in a nook at the far side of the cave, the sword strapped to his back, the blade's faint color hidden in its tough sheath.

The bats returned first, in a frenzied, chittering cloud that broke apart and reformed as it circled the cavern to the little roost. After minor squabbling, they settled into a tightly packed mound of fur and oddly angled limbs.

Suddenly, there was a maelstrom outside the cavern. Then the dragon's long snout and black eyes peered into the threshold. It paused only an instant before entering. The dragon lowered its bulk to the stone with a breezy sigh and curled its tail across its eyes. Within moments, it slept.

Dermanassian studied its hide. The thin, hard scales overlapped tightly, each of the purest white, nearly blending into the next in a continuous, flexible layer. Those on the head were large and flat, with sharp, pointed edges, giving the greatest protection. Those at its joints were tiny, allowing the greatest flexibility.

None of the scales, however, looked likely to fall off on its own accord. Dermanassian grimaced; he would have to slide his blade between the scales and try to flick one loose from its base in the dragon's skin. He told himself that if he were careful, then the dragon should feel no more than a pinprick – hopefully, not enough to wake a dragon in deep sleep.

He crept silently forward, reaching back to pull his sword free.

"You did not seem like a dragonslayer."

The voice rumbled through the cavern, vibrating through the stone and Dermanassian's bare feet. He froze momentarily. Realizing the dragon's eyes were open, he turned to face it. He left the blade hanging against his back, reasoning that if the dragon intended to attack him, it would have done so.

Uncertain how to respond, for he had not known the beast was capable of thought much less speech, Dermanassian opted for simple truth: "Nor am I."

"I thought not," the dragon said wearily. "They rush in with firebrands and bravado. They are unskilled and rash, fueled by promises of immense treasures, or righteousness against the great wyrms, or need to prove their worth. They do not construct blinds to spy upon on dragons for endless weeks. They do not search our homes and, finding nothing of value greater than a rock, return night after night. It is good you are not a dragonslayer for I have eaten too much to be in the mood for fighting."

The dragon lifted its heavy head as it watched Dermanassian as if puzzling through a riddle. "You are no sorcerer either, stiff-backed with hubris and fear, making demands and bearing gifts. They challenge, flatter, and insult us. Waste pathetic spells on us." The dragon grunted and smoke curled from its red nostrils. "They are a little bony sometimes, but more tasty than dragonslayers, covered in their armor like turtles with stringy over-used muscles."

"I am not a sorcerer." Dermanassian said. As curious as its behavior seemed to him, he did not know if it was typical of dragons. Still, he suspected saying the wrong thing, whatever that may be, would set the dragon upon him in a rush of fire and teeth. And, as it evidently enjoyed a riddle, Dermanassian guessed letting the dragon talk to be the better gamble.

"Although you have some talent with the art."

"Yes."

"And some artifacts of power."

"Yes."

"I further doubt you are a sacrifice. Sacrifices do not stand before a dragon and speak with a civilized tongue. They come trembling and jabbering with terror. Some faint. Those capable of doing so cry out for parents, gods, mercy, freedom, a quick death. Their flesh is soft and untested, their meat sweet. But no one has brought me a sacrifice for many years and, in truth, I moved here to get away from such things, for those who send sacrifices one day send dragonslayers the next." The dragon, amused, considered him further. "You are not human or even of this place."

"No."

"You are, like a dragon, of passive magic."

"Yes."

"So tell me, what comes from another land, conceals itself in trees, darkness, and mud, makes a study of a lone white dragon, collects bits of quartz, walks unafraid into the dragon's lair night after night, and silently awaits it in its home?"

"Dermanassian, a desert elf."

"And do desert elves oft survive such adventures?" The dragon asked, its voice rumbling with what Dermanassian took as laughter.

"I do."

"Then tell me, Dermanassian, why you are here."

"For a dragon's scale."

"Why?"

"I was sent to retrieve it by the god Asbeth."

"This god would not retrieve my scale himself?"

"So it would seem."

"And so Dermanassian is sent to do the work that a god would not do." Again the dragon rumbled with laughter.

Dermanassian frowned. "So it would seem."

"Why did this god send you on this errand?"

"It is not my habit to question gods."

The dragon snorted. "Humanity in all its forms is too easily over-awed by gods. We dragons have never placed much trust in them. And, I should think, anything this god wants from me but is too timid to claim himself – well, such a thing I am not inclined to give." The dragon scrutinized the blue lotus sword strapped to Dermanassian's lithe back. "But, you did not think I would give you the scale."

"No."

"Nor did you think you must fight for it," the dragon deduced.

"No. I hoped to pry one loose while you slept," Dermanassian thumbed over his shoulder at the sword, "and be on my way."

"I do not think there is any hope of doing that now."

"Agreed."

"Is there any reason I should give it to you?"

"Yes. If you do not, then I would have to fight you for it."

The dragon shook its head in a gesture Dermanassian found difficult to interpret. "Have you ever fought a dragon?"

"No."

"Do you think you would prevail in such a contest?"

"I should not like to find out," Dermanassian shrugged. "But if the only way to gain the scale is by killing you, then I shall do my best; although I prefer not to kill anyone."

The dragon chuckled. "Tell me, do you think your sword could pierce my scales?"

"No. But it would pierce between them. And it would slide easily into your scaleless eyes, nose, mouth, and wings."

The dragon's black eyes glinted, whether with amusement or offense, Dermanassian could not tell. "Are you certain that you are not overconfident?"

Dermanassian did not hesitate. "Reasonably."

The dragon yawned deeply. "Come back tonight, desert elf, and we shall discuss the matter further." It lowered its head and closed its eyes, dismissing him.

After washing in the stream, Dermanassian considered his appointment with the dragon, but came to few conclusions. He returned as instructed that night, well after sunset, and waited to be invited inside. The dragon, whom he could hear breathing in its musty depths, said nothing. When the moon was at its zenith, it called to him.

"Well," the dragon commented, "you did not try to kill me while I slept."

Dermanassian inclined his head. "You did me the same courtesy."

"That makes us both honest creatures, I suppose. Well," the dragon asked, "what is to be done now?"

"I shall leave here with the scale, or not at all."

The dragon mused, ambiguity in its black eyes. Finally, it said, "Some dragons would kill you where you stand. They would consume you in their fiery breath, crush you beneath their taloned feet, and snap you in half with their massive jaws."

Dermanassian shrugged, impatient with the dragon's threats and riddling, but still hopeful of avoiding a battle for the scale. "Perhaps some would try. I defer to your judgment."

"Some dragons would bargain with you."

"Perhaps."

"What do you have to offer?"

He had not thought to bargain with the dragon for the scale, but Dermanassian thought for several quiet moments. "Nothing," he finally concluded.

"Come back tomorrow night," the dragon said, shuffling its bulk past him to begin its hunt, and leaving the confused desert elf in a whirlwind of leathery wings.

The following evening, the dragon again asked him, "What do you have to offer?"

This time, Dermanassian responded with a question of his own. "What needs," he asked, "does a dragon have?"

"A dragon lacks nothing. A dragon takes what is needed or desired. A dragon has shelter, food and drink, and companionship when wanted. A dragon travels the skies without fear, crosses land and ocean with ease. A dragon has the world."

Dermanassian, however, silently disagreed. This dragon's stale life was punctuated only by the occasional interloper. Even those few were no more, it seemed, since the dragon had moved to a more remote lair. And despite its boasts, the truth appeared to be that it ate mostly from the over-ripe kills of lesser beasts or by stealing defenseless hoofstock from their pastures. As for sojourns over the sea, Dermanassian had not tasted salt in the air once in this land or seen a trace of its crust in the dragon's lair. If there was an ocean, then it was very far away and evidently the dragon rarely saw it. As for lack of fear, the dragon had not walked away from sweet sacrifices because it found them a nuisance. No, it was from dragonslayers and sorcerers that the dragon fled. Surely too it suffered loneliness, he thought, for what creature converses with an armed trespasser of unknown intent, then invites him back time and again to continue the talk?

"I will return in seven days," Dermanassian said and bowed in farewell.

In his treehouse, Dermanassian examined the quartz he had been carving and polishing, passing it back and forth between his long-fingered hands beneath the hovering golden sphere. Before, the work had been slow, for Dermanassian's hands were not skilled at such labors. Now, he sprinkled dried kachur in a circle around him, lit a stub of slow-burning ormat upon a flat stone, and chewed wads of jajab while he softly chanted words of power. His hands began to move with speed and assurance.

When he stopped, the sun had passed overhead three times and was rising again. In his bronze palm was an exquisite miniature of the dragon. It stood on all fours, its tail curved tightly against it body, and its wings folded delicately at its sides. Each digit and curved talon was individually carved. The head was dignified, with a serene expression and the suggestion of plated scales. He put away the pick, pulled out a rough cloth for polishing, and filled his mouth anew with bitter jajab. Chanting, he rubbed cloth against stone until the next moon rose and the quartz glittered like fine-blown glass. The sculpture looked as much of ice as stone, translucent in some places with a fog of white in others.

Dermanassian removed a whittled bowl from a ledge in his perch. He placed it onto the floor, close to the slat wall. In it, he placed another sprinkle of kachur and the tip of the blue lotus sword, balancing its hilt against the wall. Then he put the crystal statuette in the bowl's center.

Bending low, he ran his hand across the tapered edge of the sword. The sword easily opened a straight slit through the center of his palm. Blood immediately welled, then trickled down his dark skin and the length of the blade before dribbling into the bowl beneath. The little white dragon dripped with red as the blood fell upon it, curved down its flanks, and pooled at the bottom of the shallow bowl.

Dermanassian rubbed his hands together and the wound healed, leaving only smears of thickening blood. He stretched and went down to the stream for fresh water and a bath, nipping berries and roots as he walked. Finally, he slept on the soft ground beside his campfire.

When he woke, he returned to check the stone dragon. The blood was gone. He laid the blue lotus sword carefully down and lifted the little dragon from the bowl. Seated in his perch, Dermanassian examined the statuette. The tiny claws had turned to jet black. The crystal's translucency was gone; the statuette was now a solid white. The little dragon looked precisely like its model. Gliding his fingers across it, Dermanassian could feel the barely perceptible scales.

That night, he took his creation to the white dragon.

"You have something to offer me?" The dragon asked.

"This." Dermanassian opened his palm to reveal the dragonet, curled in sleep.

"A very fine work," the dragon said appreciatively, "but not so rare a thing as a white dragon's scale."

"More rare," Dermanassian said as the stone dragon looked up and purred. It gamely shuffled its wings. He gave the dragonet an encouraging toss. It caught the air with rasping wings and fluttered about him, humming contentedly. "A companion until the end of your days."

The dragon reared in surprise and a puff of smoke escaped its wide nostrils. Curious, the little stone dragon flew up to the dragon's face, hovering first at one gigantic black eye, then the other. It circled the dragon, peering at this feature or that before, satisfied, it returned to the dragon's head and landed daintily upon its nose. Then it sneezed its own tiny puff of smoke. The dragon laughed, sending its likeness fleeing to Dermanassian's shoulder where it peered at the giant dragon from around his thick braid of hair. A moment later, curiosity overcame its hesitation and it flew back to float before the massive armored head.

"Do we have a bargain?" Dermanassian asked.

"Leave your creation here and I will think on it." The dragon blew tiny gusts of heated air at its miniature, which darted among the drafts playfully. "Come back tomorrow."

Dermanassian returned the next night, intent on ending the dragon's philosophizing and bartering. He had no intention of being trapped in this unknown land or facing Asbeth in failure or being swindled by the pompous dragon. Thus, when the dragon did not invite him inside, he entered anyway. In the threshold behind him, he set wards in five disciplines of sorcery sealing himself inside with the dragon. He then followed the curving tunnel into the dragon's lair.

The dragon did not look up from where it gently swatted at the miniature. The little dragon squeaked as it feigned attack on the offending foot. "I did not tell you to enter."

Dermanassian did not respond to the taunt. Instead, he asked again, "Do we have a bargain?"

The dragon laughed. "What prevents me from keeping your creation and refusing you the scale?"

"Your honor."

"You do not know a great deal about dragons."

"If honor is not sufficient, then there is this as well: the dragonet is bound to me." Dermanassian reached out his hand and, instantly, the miniature flew to him, nuzzling his neck as it landed. It took a playful nip at his ear.

"One cannot give a gift to a dragon, then take it away," the dragon said sharply, standing.

"I did not give a gift. I bargained."

"Anything brought to a dragon is a gift. Keep your place, elfling, and you will walk from here."

"As I told you, I shall leave here with the scale or not at all. If you want the dragonet, then you will give me the scale for it."

"As I told you, a dragon takes what is desired." The dragon blew a slow, warning column of smoke toward Dermanassian.

"I do not want to kill you for it."

"You mean that you do not want to die."

"I have visited death before. I will visit it again, whether this day or some other." He drew the blue lotus sword from its sheath.

The dragon reared as much as the cavern would allow. "You challenge me?" it smoked.

"I do not," Dermanassian shook his head. "I seek only to enforce this bargain or, if possible, to strike another. But I will not leave here again without the scale."

"So be it. You will not leave here at all, and I shall add your flesh to mine."

The dragon struck, its open snout rushing toward Dermanassian without warning. The dragonet squealed and streaked into the darkness of the cavern ceiling. Dermanassian jumped aside, striking the dragon with the blue lotus sword as its mouth snapped shut. The blade slid from the dragon's muzzle, slipping harmlessly off its hard scales.

The dragon quickly recovered and reared, its massive clawed feet poised to crush Dermanassian with its full weight. Its wings partially opened to prevent him from dashing behind it. He sped from side to side, the dragon's feet just missing him as they pounded into the cavern's floor again and again.

"If you kill me," Dermanassian gasped, "then you will not leave here either."

The dragon hesitated. "What trickery is this?"

"I have warded the entrance. We are sealed inside."

The dragon laughed from its belly, billowing smoke in wild curls from its wide nostrils. "You match your sorcery with mine? I will snap your wards like the bones of a mouse."

"That is possible," Dermanassian admitted. "But I am not from here, nor is my sorcery. It is also possible that my sorcery is foreign to you and that if I die here, then your death will soon follow."

"Small boasts from a small creature." The dragon spat a short plume of orange fire. "I will take my chances."

The dragon took a deep breath, its chest expanding and wings flexing. Dermanassian darted away just as the dragon opened its mouth. Multicolored fire shot in a long column, suddenly filling the cavern with searing heat and choking smoke. Dermanassian used his only defense against the dragon's flame – he ran.

His lungs hot, he stayed only steps ahead of the fire. Yet that was sufficient. The dragon's mass, a formidable weapon in the open, was a hindrance in the confines of its lair and Dermanassian could move far faster than the dragon could adjust. When the dragon's fire petered out and it paused to draw another breath, Dermanassian reached for one of his daggers. In a flash, he pulled it from his belt and threw. The dragon roared as the knife sank into its black eye up to the leather-wrapped hilt. In blindness and pain, the dragon's armored head twisted.

Dermanassian did not press his advantage; he would not kill this creature unless he had no choice, for, despite its rationalized amorality and other faults, it had long ago ceased its atrocities. "You are sure that you will not proceed with the bargain?"

In answer, the dragon screamed a battle-cry that nearly shook Dermanassian from his feet. Wincing, he dodged the dragon's snapping jaws and rushed toward its side. Ignoring the scaled body, he slashed the blue lotus sword across the outstretched wing, slicing through it as if it were a tapestry to be cut down from a great window.

The dragon closed its tattered wing as though to crush him within its torn folds. Again, Dermanassian was too quick. He rolled beneath the rushing wing, coming to his feet with his sword drawn behind the dragon. As it turned, Dermanassian turned as well, using the dragon's bulk as a shield. Unable to see his target and unable to maneuver quickly, the dragon's attempts to swipe him with its tail were clumsy and ineffectual.

Again, Dermanassian refused to press his advantage, refraining from irreparably shredding the dragon's vulnerable wings into ribbons.

"Will you hold to the bargain or must I impose it upon you?" he called through the haze of smoke.

"I do not bargain with such as you. I destroy," the dragon bellowed, trying to force Dermanassianin front of it with its tail where it could trample him.

As the dragon twisted in the lair, its concentration bent upon obliterating him, Dermanassian edged closer and closer to the tunnel entrance. There, he signaled to the tiny dragonet dancing about in the air above them, distressed.

Clamping onto the dragon's hide with its jaws like pincers, the dragonet yanked with all its might, its wings struggling to pull it backward. With a jolt, the dragonet flew back, a thin scale locked in its teeth. The white dragon roared, thrashing at the retreating crystalline dragon. Yelping, the dragonet streaked away, darting back to Dermanassian for protection. Behind him, it chittered angrily at the dragon, its voice muffled by the scale wedged in its tiny teeth.

"So. You have it," the dragon gasped with pain and defeat.

"Yes." Dermanassian opened his hand and the dragonet dropped the scale in his palm. Pocketing the scale, Dermanassian tickled the miniature fondly on the underside of its chin before waving it back to the ailing dragon. Confused, the dragonet cautiously flew back to the dragon's mountainous side, keeping a sharp eye on the whip-like tail.

"Why?" the dragon asked, in obvious surprise.

"That was my bargain. I am neither a murderer nor a thief."

Dermanassian bowed, harnessed the blue lotus sword, broke his wards blocking the dragon's lair, and left the dragon to nurse its wounds and pride. At his perch, he gathered his few belongings into his travel pack and left the covered blind for good. Near the bank of the dragon's creek, he built a fire and waited for Asbeth.

During the wait, Dermanassian stirred the fire with a long, twisted branch. He had wandered for centuries performing the bidding of his conscience and of greater beings, fighting revulsion when necessary. This task, which had once seemed simple, had turned distasteful. Further, the dragon's words about gods troubled him, although he was unsure why. Dermanassian was unsettled as questions bubbled from the depths of his mind --questions whose answers he had long ago long told himself that he, a small mortal, was not entitled.

Then the air beside him shimmered slightly and Asbeth stood within it.

"You have the scale," the god said. "I feel it."

Dermanassian offered it in his outstretch palm, frowning. For a moment, he saw greed flicker in the god's vivid face.

"Good." Asbeth held out his hand and, suddenly, the scale winked from Dermanassian's hand to Asbeth's. The god smiled and popped the tiny white scale into his mouth. He swallowed hard and licked his lips. A tremor passed through his shining body. He sighed and smiled again. Hearing a frantic squealing, the god and Dermanassian turned as the dragonet raced to Dermanassian in alarm, its wings beating frantically.

Dermanassian's black eyes narrowed suspiciously. If the dragonet had returned to him unbidden, then the white dragon was dead. He spun back to the god, his bronze face filling with anger and growing realization. "Why?" he demanded, for it was incomprehensible to him that the god would do such a thing a murder the white dragon – and that the god used him to achieve it.

"Why what?" Asbeth snapped, his eyes hardening from the gentle blue they had been when he first came to Dermanassian. He licked his long fingertips slowly, as if relishing not only the scale, but Dermanassian's rage as well.

"Why did you ask for the dragon's scale?" Dermanassian persisted, his hand instinctively reaching for the black hilt of the blue lotus sword. The dragonet trembled upon his shoulder.

"In the scheme of the universe, I am but a young god, creature," Asbeth said laughing at his anger, and reminding Dermanassian of a demon enemy defeated long ago. "I must eat to grow! And now the race of white dragons adds its power to my own."

"The race?" Sudden horror twisted in his gut. Bile rose to the back of his throat and his heart clenched in his chest.

Asbeth shrugged. "Well, what remained of it. A score, scratching out feeble existences far beneath their due! Their ancestors would thank me for ending their indignity and letting them become part of a god!" Asbeth shook his head with laughter, finding more appreciation in his joke than did Dermanassian.

"And I?" Dermanassian whispered. "Why did you draw me into this-?" He did not have the words to describe the crime.

"My dear, Dermanassian! Another might have questioned my motivations. Worse yet, another might have killed the dragon for the scale. And little good the snack would have done me then!" The god's eyes glinted cruelly enjoying Dermanassian's stunned fury. "But not you."

"Go now," he continued. "I have no further use for you at the moment. In the meantime, traverse the world, conquer your foes, grow in your prowess! Fatten up for me, dear creature," Asbeth smiled again. "When you are ripe, I will come for you. Remember to keep yourself safe, for they say that the last of anything is also the most tasty."

Dermanassian's bronze fist clamped tighter about the black hilt. His was more than the hand of murder; it was the hand of genocide. Horror and fury twisted inside him and, with a yell, he tore the sword from its sheath and lunged at the god. But the god's malicious laughter merely deepened. Asbeth disappeared and Dermanassian's ineffectual strike passed through the air where the god had gloated. Dermanassian stumbled into the vacated space.

Asbeth's laughter churned in the air and became a howling tempest. Wisps of the desert elf's black hair whipped free from his braid. He shielded his eyes against the ringing, rushing storm. In a moment, it died away and he lowered his arms. He was back at his campsite on the Blackstone River, the white dragonet clinging with desperate talons to his shoulder.

He clutched his stomach as he fell to his knees and retched.

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