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“Five loaves a day, of this quality,” the scarecrow said to the white-aproned dwarf.
“One loaf feeds a dwarf for a day, and you want meat, nuts, and fruit besides?” the commissary said.
“No need for that now, no need,” Djer said in Parl, interrupting. “I beg your pardon, but are you Hross?” he asked the scarecrow.
“That I am, my young . . . Partner, is it?”
“Djer. I’ve only just joined the Caravan. We’ve hired another to guard the expense wagon, and since your contract doesn’t begin until we set out, we’ll no longer need your services. Thank you just the same. You’ll be paid at the bargained rate for your time so far and given—”
“What’s this?” the scarecrow said, wispy eyebrows crashing together. “Who’ve you hired? There’s none east of the mountains as traveled and trustworthy as the men of House Hross.”
“House Hross, from what I know, has the best of reputations. But you are expensive, and this dragon will do as good a job, for much less.”
The scarecrow stared at Auron, pupils shrunk to pinheads. “I see no dragon. I see a scaleless lizard.”
“Nevertheless, he owes us a favor, and he’s only one mouth to feed, whereas—”
The men protested in their own guttural tongue. They elbowed each other and pointed at Auron, laughing. After further words, the men grew agitated. One, a gap-toothed fellow with furry knuckles, spat on Auron. The man took a step forward, shifting weight to one leg so he might kick, but another long-haired man held him back in a brief struggle. The one with the long hair said something as he reseated a silver circlet about his head, pulling the hair from his eyes.
“You’d trust that thing over men of skill and honor?” the scarecrow said.
“That I do, Hross. I’m sure you’ll be able renew your contract next year,” Djer said. “The Company will pay for you to get back down the falls, of course.”
“But that’s two hundred—over two hundred—days without pay. My men and I won’t stand for it.”
“I don’t see that you have a choice.”
The men said something to Hross, and Auron caught the word dragon and fire but little else.
“A dragon that age breathes little fire,” Hross said. “It’s not anything like full grown. Suppose it gets sick.”
“I’m healthy,” Auron said.
“So you speak,” the scarecrow said. “But do you fight with anything besides your bragging tongue?”
“What bragging have I done?” Auron asked.
“This dwarf maintains that you can do as good a job as my men. You’ve oversold your abilities, lizard. Get yourself some scales, and try again.”
Auron ignored the insult as he would a buzzing fly.
“Our belief in the dragon isn’t changing,” Djer said. “You and your men will have to leave.”
“Just one of my men could take that thing apart in a fair fight,” Hross said.
“Ask him what a fair fight would be,” Auron whispered to Sekyw in Dwarvish.
“What do you mean by a fair fight?” Sekyw asked.
“No fire breathing. My men each choose their weapon.”
“Give me my choice of weapon, and I’ll fight all four. Without fire,” Auron said.
The scarecrow translated for his men, and they talked among themselves. “Young Partner, we’ll happily take the test. My four against your dragon, hand to hand. My men get one weapon each, and as long as we approve of the weapon your dragon has, we’ll fight to see who is the strongest.”
Djer looked at Auron, and Auron nodded.
“It’s a match. But we see the weapons your men choose, or there’s no fight,” Djer said.
