“No,” the man said. “The Lady Weaver said we could—”

“Your Lady Weaver,” the dragon said, “is but a morsel to season my feast.” Its snout lowered almost to the ground. “Did not the rockfolk forbid your going beyond the great falls?”

“Yes, but what of it? They little folk weren’t using that land.”

“And did they not specifically forbid you to touch any hill with black stone, with a spine in the shape of mine?”

The man laughed. “The shape of yours? Do you think I don’t know you’re a bunch of men in a dragon puppet, like those at winter fairs that come to scare the children? There are no dragons, not in these days. They died out ages ago, before the magelords came north.” He turned to his men. “Come, now: this is no true dragon. Once we stick those pikes in it, you’ll see it’s naught but painted wood and canvas, lit from within by lamps—it will burn like their towns and trees—” He drew his sword and marched forward, followed by his troop.

The dragon did not move; the great eyes closed, its light flickered.

“And don’t think you can escape by running out the tail,” the officer yelled. The men moved more quickly, encouraged … ran up and rammed their pikes into its snout. And clanged on the scales without effect.

“You made a mistake,” the dragon said, opening its eyes again. “Not for the first time.” Tilting back its head, lower jaw still on the ground, the dragon let out a single spurt of flame, white as that burning in the forest, and the men—all of them—were gone in an instant. It tilted its head toward Arian. “I do not like cruelty,” it said, “but I will not tolerate discourtesy, and I am not fond of stupidity.”

Arian did not move.

“And are you truly frightened now, Half-Song? Or have you will to move and wit to speak?”

“Do you blame all for one’s error?” she asked.

The dragon turned its head completely toward her, and both eyes blinked. “I perceive you are not frightened, for that question is indeed one of wit, from a creature of mixed blood. It would indeed be unjust to blame all for one’s error, but these men came from a city burnt to ash by fire they raised—all its life turned to naught. So would you defend them?”

“For their invasion of this land, no. For their destruction of Riverwash and its people, no. For their intent to burn and destroy, no. But only one was discourteous.”

“Ah. And you thought it was that alone to which I responded?” Without waiting for an answer, the dragon went on. “I admit the possibility of confusion, but discourtesy was not all for which they were judged. Would you, then, save your land of forests? And that king I perceive you love?”

“I would,” Arian said.

“At what cost?”

“At any cost,” Arian said. “Life for life, if need be, though—as you dislike stupidity—I would prefer to spend it only to advantage.”