Page 67 of The Orc Warrioress and the Elf Lord

“No,” said Gathren.

At the same time, Iahir said, “An excellent idea.”

Gathren gaped at him.

Iahir hurried over to her. “I do not think your mother is exactly unwilling,” he whispered.

“Well, that’s because she’s lost her damned mind,” said Gathren, clearly angry.

“Oh, talk cannot hurt anything, can it?” said Kadrai.

Gathren looked at her mother. She looked at the dragon. She looked at Iahir, who nodded.

“Oh, fine,” said Gathren, and sheathed her sword.

18

GATHREN WAS SURPRISED at the inside of the dragon lair, which was actually very nice, outfitted with rugs and large pieces of art—landscapes and still lifes and the occasional bust and sculpture—and also with a great deal of furniture, although none of it seemed to be dragon-sized, so Gathren began to feel as if everything in the dragon lair had been scavenged from somewhere or other.

Perhaps that was what dragons were, just scavengers, like a cross between magpies and vultures or something. They did resemble birds, she supposed, even though they also resembled reptiles. Of course, they must not be either, because of the fire-breathing aspect. She knew there were dragons in the east, but they were quite different than these dragons. She wondered if they really had anything in common other than a passing resemblance.

This was neither here nor there, she supposed.

She was out of sorts.

How was she to rescue her mother when it did not seem that her mother entirely wished to be rescued? And why did her mother not wish to be rescued when she was obviously just like all of the other things in this lair—something scavenged and stolen—something taken possession of—a collected thing?

They all sat together in a makeshift sitting room. There was a fireplace here, and it had wood in it, and the dragon breathed fire into it as her mother talked about how clever it was that Tafnir had made things like this.

“It has a chimney and everything,” her mother said. “There are others like it in other parts of the lair. He carved through the rock himself using a technique like sculptors use to chip away at rock. He taught himself, also, simply by watching. He’s very, very old, you know.”

Gathren settled on a couch, glared at the dragon, and spoke to her mother. “Mamrak,” she said, calling her the full orcish word for mother, “you may think that this creature has rescued you or something of that nature, but you must see that he is simply using you for his own amusement.”

Tafnir settled down on a long chaise lounge, his tail falling off the end and his wings folded up. He tossed Iahir’s belt full of weapons on the rug on the floor. “Thou art correct, Kadrai’s daughter. It is the way of things amongst beings. Thy mother was plagued because her brother did not find her useful to him anymore. But instead of being straightforward with her about it, he kept her there, resentful, abusing her instead of simply washing his hands of her. It is a most wretched behavior. I had better use of thy mother than thy uncle did. It only made sense for me to come and claim her.”

“You didn’t have to kill everyone!” cried Gathren. “And burn the crops! And burn the houses! And lay waste to everything.”

“Really,” said Iahir. “There are treaties.”

“With elves, there are treaties,” said Tafnir.

Iahir pointed at him. “I thought it might be that. Did I not say that, Gathren?”

“You are having far too much fun congratulating yourself about your dragon expertise,” said Gathren, and she was seething. She hated them all at this moment. Iahir, the dragon, and her mother, too, for being so desperately obtuse.

“All right,” said Iahir, who was seated on another couch. He addressed the dragon, “Here it is, you must unchain her. There’s some saying about all of this, you know, ‘If you love something, let it go. If it comes back, it is yours. If it doesn’t, it never was.’” Iahir nodded encouragingly.

Gathren felt rage rising up in every part of her body. “That is about a pet or something, Iahir, not a person.”

Iahir furrowed his brow.

The dragon spoke. “Amongst thy kind, there is a great of deal of associating amongst yourselves, in large groups, many of you under one roof, in fact.”

“You just started saying ‘you,’ instead of ‘thy,’” muttered Gathren.

“Oh, that’s how it works,” said Iahir. “You is plural, thee is singular.”

“Plural?” said Gathren.