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"A
lair."
"Oo,
but I hate that word!" Ardaz replied, shaking his hands and his
head vigorously. "A lair. A lair," he said repeatedly, rolling
the words off his tongue in a different manner each time, but shuttering
with each pronouncement. "Conjures images of dragons and the like.
Oo, a lair."
"So it
does," the ranger replied evenly.
Ardaz
stopped his babbling and stared long and hard at Belexus. "A
dragon?" he managed to ask after a long pause, holding his arms
outstretched, his hands waving under the edges of his great sleeves,
making them appear as ominous wings.
"So
says the witch," Belexus answered without hesitation.
"You
are going after a sword that rests in the dragon's lair?"
"I seek
the one weapon with which I might be paying back me enemy," Belexus
answered resolutely, his tone telling the wizard in no uncertain terms
that any obstacles standing between him and the sword were unimportant.
"Whip-dragon?"
Ardaz asked hopefully, for Belexus had defeated many of those.
"True
dragon," the ranger answered.
"Little
dragon?" the wizard asked, again with the hopeful grin and tone.
Belexus
crossed his arms over his muscled chest and shook his head slowly, side
to side.
"Sleeping
dragon?"
The ranger
shrugged, again as if that were not important.
"Oh,
well, let us hope," Ardaz said suddenly, excitedly.
"Us?"
"You
and me, of course," the wizard bellowed. "Us. Though you would
probably call us 'weselves' or some other such silly thing, what with
that silly accent me--my--sister gave to your father and he to
you."
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