Outside the cave, the moon was shining in a sharply-defined half-circle, midway through its monthly sequence. The stars were somewhat dim, as a thin layer of fog rose from the Denwold trees. An owl called out eerily off to the north; and the soft cheeping of the tiny tree frogs echoed over Thraluic’s clearing.

In the moonless dark of the cave, the large, solid shape of the dragon breathed softly, his eyes flickering behind scaly lids in the midst of draconic dreams.

No light shone from the cavern where Ander slept - the torches had all been extinguished, and the single candle he had lit before going to sleep had long since melted to a puddle of molten wax on the stone floor. By now it had cooled, creating a small round of hardened yellow wax beside a stack of unsorted crowns.

Ander lay nestled in his pile of velvet curtains, rubbing a thumb against them in his sleep. He shifted, rolling over without waking, and the soft rustling of the fabric was quickly swallowed by the dark.

“Mmmm…” Ander mumbled, a frown crossing his face. Behind his sleeping eyes, a face had drifted from the fog of random dreams. It was a man, who stood boldly, hands resting on his hips. His hair was thinning, but still dark, and a neatly-trimmed beard and mustache graced his long chin.

“Hey –“ Ander’s dream-self said aloud, bewildered. “Aren’t you Sir Ravin?”

“Yes…” Ravin looked slightly confused. “Who are you?”

“I’m Ander.”

Ravin started to fade away, like a cloud-shape shifted by the wind. Understanding dawned on his dissolving face. “Find me, Ander,” he commanded. “I will wait for you here.”

“Where?” Ander demanded, even as he dimly realized that he was dreaming.

“Find me, Ander…”

“Wait!” Ander sat up straight in his bed, his eyes straining for a last glimpse of the man. He blinked, but nothing changed in the thick blackness of the treasure cavern. “Just a dream…” he muttered, though more to make sure he was awake now than to reassure himself. He groaned and fell back against the curtains. Why did he have to wake up? Sleep was becoming something of a forgotten treasure these days, and he had no doubt that when Thraluic’s mysterious friend showed up to “train” him, rest would become even rarer. He closed his eyes and began to count his own heartbeats, a trick that never failed to put him to sleep.

Twenty minutes later, he was still awake, staring blindly at the unseen ceiling above his head. *One thousand six hundred and three, one thousand six hundred and four…* Ander sighed and gave up. He pushed himself to his feet, and began making his way to the door of the chamber, feeling with his toes for the mounds of treasure he had to avoid.

“Ow!” Ander stubbed his left big toe on something spiky and hard, and hopped on the other foot. He stepped on a layer of golden scree, which slipped out from under him; coins scattering with a muted tinkle. Ander flailed in the darkness, slapping his hand against something smooth, large, and hard. He fell on his backside, landing painfully on what felt like a bunch of loose gems.

Panting in the dark, he bit his lip to hold back a few choice words. “Ow.” He whispered instead.

The soft slurping noise of the magical door caught his ear. “Ander?” Thraluic’s voice breathed quietly – the voice of one who isn’t sure if the person he’s talking to is asleep or not.

“I’m up,” Ander said grouchily. “Actually, I’m down at the moment, but I’m not sleeping.”

A small flare of light appeared beside the door – behind Ander. He grunted in frustration and turned around. The dragon was grinning sleepily at him. “Were you trying to get out?” he asked. “If so, I believe you were going the wrong direction.”

Ander rubbed sleep-ick out of his eyes. “I wasn’t going anywhere, apparently,” he said. “Sorry I woke you.”

The dragon shrugged, his scale-lined wings rattling like dry wood. “It’s nearly dawn anyway. My friend should be here sometime today.”

Ander swept the loose gems to the side with his foot – square-cut emeralds, he noticed; no wonder they hurt when he fell on them. “I had a weird dream,” he told Thraluic. “It woke me up.”

Thraluic cocked his head. “What about?”

Ander sat back down on his nest. “I’m not really sure…” he admitted. “A man, I think.”

“Might you explain it to me? Dragons are talented at understanding dreams, if the dream has a meaning. In any event, we have some time to kill.” Thraluic sat back into his customary cat-position.

Ander closed one eye and squinted at the ceiling. “Well, first there was something about Cook wanting me to wash a cart-load of potatoes, but I don’t think that’s anything important.”

“Astute observation,” Thraluic said dryly. “Though I’d say that it means you are home-sick.”

“Then there was a man,” Ander continued, ignoring the dragon. He already knew he was homesick. Didn’t need a dream to tell him that. “I don’t remember how he got there, but we were talking, and he asked me who I was. He said he was Ravin – and he looked just like that portrait too, only older.”

Thraluic’s gold eyes blinked slowly. “Go on,” he said.

“That’s pretty much it. He said something about finding him. That he was waiting. Then I woke up.” Ander shook his head. “Saying it now, I don’t know why it bothered me. I was probably just thinking about Sir Ravin before I went to sleep, and that’s why I dreamed about him.”

The dragon said nothing for a moment, his head nodding slightly. “Yes, that’s probably all it was,” he said at last. “Still, I’m glad you told me.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, until Ander began to feel sleepy again.

“Well,” Thraluic said finally, breaking the quiet. “Much as I’d love to go back to sleep right about now, we have a guest coming today.”

He cast a critical eye over the treasure cavern. “She’ll probably want to bed down back here, and I’m sure you’ll need a larger area than the clearing out front to train in. So something tells me that we have some work to do.”

Ander looked over the huge room in comic despair. “You want me to clean up all of this?” he waved at the hundreds of piles of myriad treasures.

“Not alone, of course, lad.” Thraluic pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll help with the larger things. And we don’t have to clean it all up – just enough space for Shyllen’s bed and your training area. I think the north corner will work well.”

“Wait – Shyllen?” Ander asked, latching onto the name.

“You’ll find out soon enough, lad.” He strode off across the cavern, threading his great scaly bulk through the maze of wealth with a surprising delicacy. Ander followed, trying not to notice just how much there was. He hoped that dragons never had spring cleaning like Cook did, back in Kelner; or else he’d be in trouble.

“Here we go…” Thraluic paused, and Ander examined the area carefully. To his relief, there wasn’t nearly as much treasure back here as in some places in the cavern, maybe only twenty stacks or so. The floor was sandy here, instead of bare stone, and the walls were covered in a shining layer of mica flakes, which shone brighter when Thraluic lit another torch.

The dragon puffed out flames for six new lights, and sighed. “There has got to be a better way to do this,” he muttered. “Can you imagine; if there was only some sort of pull-string or lever that I could pull, and immediately light this entire place? Save on the price of torches too.”

Ander wasn’t sure how to respond to this, so he said nothing, and stepped a little further into the room. Then, with his foot midway through the step, he froze. “There’s nothing deadly or harmful to my health or otherwise unsavory in here, right?”

Thraluic thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. But if you see a vase etched with golden tree branches, don’t touch it.”

“Why?” Ander glanced warily about.

“Because you might break it, that’s why!”

Ander looked up sharply at the dragon, who winked at him. “Just kidding, lad.”

Ander growled at the dragon, who only laughed. “Get to work, servant. That’s what I hired you for, isn’t it? I think I have some sacks around here somewhere we can fill with the coins – separate sacks for the gold, silver and copper, of course.”

Picking up a large, round ruby, Ander asked “And the gems?”

“Pile them in that corner, against the wall. I’ll see if I can’t dig up a few chests we can pack them in.” The dragon lumbered off, and

Ander set to work sorting out the hoard: gems against the wall; gold here, silver here, and copper here; crowns on his right, and goblets on the left. Books were stacked neatly beside a pile of folded silks, and the bits and pieces of armor and weaponry got piled behind him in a large brass basin.

“Here,” Thraluic dropped a load of thick burlap sacks beside him. “I couldn’t find any chests or boxes that weren’t already full, but there were more sacks than I thought, so the gems can go in here to. I keep meaning to get a display case for all of them…” he looked wistfully at the jumbled contents of the cave. “Just never got around to it. Maybe this summer…”

Ander snorted. “Yeah, if we survive Celzara that long.”

”As a dragon’s servant, you have little to fear, lad. Even if she attacked, I could hold her at bay; and she couldn’t bring her minions against me without inciting a war with the dragonkin. No one wants that.”

Cocking his eyebrows curiously at his master, Ander began filling the first sack with gold coins. “So, how many dragons are there? Stories back home would have it that there are only a few left in the whole world, but if you say that there could be a war, does that mean that there are a bunch?”

Thraluic held open a sack with his claws and began shoveling gemstones in with an agile wing. “Well, yes and no,” he explained. “There are probably only a few hundred dragons currently living – we are solitary creatures for the most part, and so there are never very many of us at any given time. But even one dragon could hold off a few dozen men, and a wingtroop of twenty could devastate a decently sized army. Celzara has no desire for her people to be wiped out in a war with the dragons – she may not care for them personally, but if they all died, she’d have no one to rule over.”

The sack of gold was half full, and so heavy that Ander could hardly move it. “This friend of yours doesn’t happen to be a dragon, does she?” he panted.

“As a matter of fact, she is.” Thraluic grinned toothily. Ander opened his mouth to press him for more information, but the dragon forestalled any more questions. “Now could you come tie this sack up? My claws can’t seem to handle it.”

Ander quickly drew the rope around the neck of the bag and tied it with a solid knot. “I’ll do this, if you can finish that sack of coins. I can’t budge the thing.”

Together, they made quick work of the cavern’s north corner; loading up about forty sacks and clearing them out to another part of the cave.

When they had carried away the last sack, and the last of the books had been returned to their rightful place on Thraluic’s shelves –

Ander had been surprised to find that the dragon kept an extensive library – they swept the sand smooth and retreated to the cave mouth, where a cool breeze blew in from the Denwold.

Ander lifted his sweaty face into it and breathed deeply. It was only early afternoon, and the woods were quiet save for the buzzing of cicadas and the constant sound of birdsong. And his stomach rumbling.

Thraluic started. “Oh, I’m sorry Ander. You haven’t eaten at all today, have you.”

“No.” Ander shook his head, his sweat-dampened hair swinging across his eyes. “But to be honest, I hadn’t really noticed until now.”

The dragon rose from where he had been lying, curled up like a cat, and stood. “Run back down to the cavern and grab a few coppers,” he ordered Ander. “I’ll take you over to Mor and you can do some shopping.”

Ander hoisted himself to his tired feet and jogged down the hall. Digging through the pile nearest the door, he quickly found seven coppers, slipped them into his pocket, and returned to the dragon. “Are we going to fly again?” he asked as he stepped into the afternoon sun. He blinked, unaccustomed to the light after the dimness of Thraluic’s cave.

“Indeed. Up you go, lad.” Thraluic leaned over slightly to make Ander’s climb easier, and when the boy was settled comfortably, he straightened. “Hang on, now.”

Ander closed his eyes against the sudden burst of wind as the dragon’s massive wings beat the air, lifting them above the trees after only a few strokes. The sun was hotter up here, beating on Ander’s face like the heat of a winter’s fire. He grinned up at the unseeing sun and caught a glimpse of a bird flying even higher than they – nearly to the sky’s smooth zenith, it seemed. Ander laughed aloud with the freedom of it.

All too soon, the thatched roofs of Mor came into view. Before any of the villagers could spot him, Thraluic landed, just under the shelter of Denwold’s shadowed edge. “Go on, and I’ll wait for you here,” he said as Ander slid down. “I think today is market day, but if I’m wrong, there’s a bakery and a butcher’s shop anyway.”

Ander ran a hand through his hair, which was now nearly to his shoulders. “Maybe I’ll get a haircut while I’m there. It hasn’t been touched in weeks.”

Thraluic squinted with one eye at him. “I like it, to be honest,” he said. “Your uncle used to wear his hair about that length.”

Ander shrugged. “It’s hot,” he said. “But we’ll see.”

The dragon curled up around a thick tree, his head resting in a small pool of sunlight. “I’ll just catch up on the sleep you woke me from this morning,” he said drowsily.

Smiling, Ander took a few steps back. “See you in a few hours.” The dragon nodded absently, already nearly asleep.

Ander turned and began walking toward the village, the coins in his pocket jingling cheerfully.

It was only a few minutes before the first small cottage came into sight, peeking out between the gaps in the trees like a friendly haystack; complete with eyes. A thin ribbon of smoke drifted up from the stone chimney, and there was a trio of contented goats picketed near a small shack. After the first house, five more sat clustered together just on the outskirts of Mor, and then Ander came to the village proper; a decently sized collection of small houses and businesses, with more than one real street and an actual town square. He shivered a bit at the sight of the village gallows, but the structure looked so dilapidated that he doubted it had been used in a good long time. The square was bustling with people, and the boisterous sounds of haggling, laughing and shouting filled the air. Ander breathed deeply and caught the faint whiff of baking drifting over the other host of smells – some not nearly as appealing.

He glanced around and spotted the baker’s stall, displaying an array of yeasty delights - scones studded with juicy blackberries; rolls shiny with a coat of melted butter; potpies leaking savory meat-juices…Ander felt his mouth water in anticipation.

“Pardon me…excuse me…oops, sorry miss…” Ander apologized to the young woman whose foot he had trod on.

“No harm done,” she said with a friendly smile. “These shoes have stood up to my horse stepping on them: if Bess can’t hurt me, I don’t think you have much to worry about.”

Ander gave a slight bow, and the woman curtsied back, glancing back at the baker’s stall. “Though perhaps it is I who should apologize; it looks like those scones are about gone.”

Ander straightened in a rush. “I am sorry about your foot miss,” he said quickly. “If you will excuse me?”

She laughed; “Of course.”

Ander stepped around her and hurried to the stall, just in time to see the last steaming scone bought by a grizzled farmer. He sadly watched the man walk away.

“You wanted one of my scones, then, did you lad?” The robust voice of the baker drew

Ander’s attention back to the stall. He looked at the large, flour-covered man and nodded. “Yes sir. But I need to buy some other things too.”

The baker winked at him, and Ander noticed flour dusting even the man’s eyelashes. “Well, my boy, you’re in luck. I happen to have a fresh batch of scones just about to come out of the oven. Piping hot, they are.”

Ander perked up. “Blueberry?” he asked.

“The very fruit! Picked just yesterday by my own daughter.” The baker slapped his hands on the apron that covered his rotund belly. “Now, my boy, if you’ll just wait right there, I’ll bring them out.”

Ander waited eagerly as the man disappeared into the shadowy recesses of his shop. While he stood there, he mentally calculated how much bread he should buy, and still have some money left for some meat and fruit. Admittedly, he probably didn’t need to buy meat, as Thraluic was perfectly capable of bringing in as many deer and wild pigs as they could use. But Ander was in the mood for a couple of good sausages, and a few cuts that were more the correct size for human hands wouldn’t go amiss either.

“There we go now,” the baker said, emerging with a tray of steaming scones. “Fresh from the oven and hotter than a dragon’s belly.”

Ander blinked, startled. “Dragon?” he asked.

The baker shrugged. “Aye, lad. We have our share of dragons in these parts. Not a bad thing to have, if you think about it. We don’t go after them with pitchforks and hoes, and they keep the Tricksies away.”

Pulling three coppers from his pocket, Ander placed them on the counter. “I’ll take two of those scones and one potpie. And as many of your sweet-loaves as the change will buy.” He watched as the baker wrapped the scones and pie in paper, and added six loaves of bread. That should get him by for at least a few days. “What’s a Tricksie?” he asked, keeping his voice casual.

As he placed Ander’s purchases into a cheap basket, the baker shrugged. “Not sure I believe the old tales myself, understand. But my grandmam always told me stories about the Tricksies; folk what lives in the wood and bothers travelers, leading them astray and some such.”

Ander took the basket and nodded. “I know what you’re talking about,” he said, more than you’d believe, he added silently. “Back where I come from, we call them feielves.”

“And where do you come from, boy?” the baker asked in a friendly voice. “By your voice, you’re not a local.”

Ander suddenly remembered Princess Reina and the hunt that might still be after him. During the last three days – had it only been that long? – he had forgotten all about the scandal he had helped to create. It was probably best that no one knew he had come from Kelner. “Oh, east of here,” he said, waving vaguely.

The baker squinted one eye at him. “Oh?”

Ander simply nodded. When the baker saw that he wasn’t going to get any more information, he shrugged. “Well, that’s your business, I suppose. But you’d better not be bringing any trouble her to Mor. We’re good folk here, and that gallows is still in working order, despite its looks.”

Swallowing, Ander forced a smile at the man. “I can assure you, sir; I have done nothing dishonest.”

The baker nodded. “I don’t think you did, boy. You don’t look the type. But you can’t be too careful, now can you?”

Ander nodded and thanked the man. He walked away from the baker’s stall a bit less cheerfully than he had approached it, though now the coveted scones were in his possession.

Ander found himself a seat beside a parked farm-cart and retrieved the scone from his basket.
He bit into it slowly, savoring the hot, sweet bread and the juicy burst of flavor from the blueberries. “Ummm…” he muttered in delight. Even back home in the kitchens, he had never tasted anything so delicious. Quickly, he finished the scone and dug out the other one, which speedily went the way of the first.

The sun was beginning to sink by the time Ander had finished purchasing his sausages, a few ripe apples and a half-pound of fresh butter.

He walked casually out of the village, leaving in the same direction he had come. He passed the outlying houses – from which now issued the rich smells of dinner being prepared – and returned to the small clearing where Thraluic lay, catnapping in the late afternoon light. Ander stood for a moment, studying the dragon.

Thraluic opened one gold eye. “Back so soon?” he asked.

“It’s nearly twilight,” Ander pointed out. “I’m sorry I took so long – your friend is probably waiting for us.

Thraluic grunted and pushed himself to his feet, stretching like a scaly cat. “I hadn’t realized it was so late,” he said as Ander climbed onto his back. “Trees give me such pleasant dreams.”

Ander was already half-seated when he said this. “Trees give you dreams?” he said asked curiously.

The dragon curled his tail and tensed his muscles to jump. “Yes,” he grunted, leaping into the air with an ear-numbing thump of his wings. “Has that bit of lore not survived among you humans? Dragons’ dreams are influenced by whatever they sleep near. That’s why we collect treasure – gold and gems give the best dreams. Many dragons actually sleep for years on their hoards, unwilling to wake from the adventures in their minds.” He flew silently for a moment, and Ander looked up to see the first rosy tints of sunset tainting the western sky.

“I’ve been having very interesting dreams since you came,” Thraluic admitted between wingbeats. “But I don’t remember any of them when I wake. It’s rather strange.”

They flew in silence the rest of the way back to the cave, Ander puzzling over the dragon’s words.

As they landed in the clearing, Thraluic sniffed the air. Ander slipped from his back and landed lightly beside the dragon’s front left leg, clutching his basket of groceries. “Is something wrong?” he asked Thraluic softly, his mouth going dry at the thought of another run-in with Celzara.

The black dragon sniffed again, and smiled toothily. “Ah, not at all, lad,” he said cheerfully. “But you were right. Shyllen has arrived.”