e anyone in mind, my dear?"
   "Few know Ansalon as I do," Kitiara replied."My travels
 have taken me far. Together we could tour the world and
 reap what benefits would  come to  us." She  looked the

 dragon in the eye. "As partners."
   Cupelix  wheezed  and  whistled  like  a boiling  teapot. He
 clapped his forearms against  his sides.  He really  was quite
 good at parodying human gestures.
   "Oh, my dear woman! You wound me with mirth! I am
 killed!" he exclaimed.
   Kitiara frowned. "Why do you laugh?"
   "You  speak  of  partnership with  a dragon  as casually  as I
 speak  of  my  servants,  the  Micones.  Do  you  imagine that
 you and I are  equals? That  is a  rich jest  indeed!" Cupelix
 rocked  so  hard  with  merriment  that  he  banged  his  head
 sharply on the  wall behind  him. That  calmed him,  but Kiti-
 ara was already offended. She sprang to her feet.
   "I wish to leave!" she exclaimed.  "I see  no reason  to sit
 here and be laughed at!"
   "Sit down," Cupelix said genially. When  she struck  a defi-
 ant pose, the dragon swept his  tail in  behind her,  and down
 she went to the marble floor.
   "Let  us  be clear  about one  thing, my  dear girl:  On the
 scale of life, I sit far higher than you. And I will have good
 manners  from  my  guests,  yes?"  Kitiara rubbed  her bruised
 posterior  and  said  nothing. "Face-to-face  with one  of the
 greatest creatures that ever existed,  you are  insolent. What
 makes you so proud?
   "I am what I have made myself," Kitiara said tersely.  "In a
 world  where  most  are  ignorant  peasants,  I made  myself a
 warrior. I take what I can and give when I like. I  don't need
 you, dragon. I don't need anyone!"
   "Not  even  Tanis?"  Kitiara's  face  darkened dramatically.
 "Be  at  ease.  Even  your  mortal  friend  Sturm  could  have
 heard  your  heart cry  out his  name just  then. Who  is this
 man, and why do you love him?"
   "He's  half-elf,  not  human, if  you must  know." Kitiara
 took a deep breath. "And I don't love him!"
   "Indeed?  Can my sense  for  such  things  be so  wrong? I
 would hear the tale of  Tanis," Cupelix  said. He  curled back
 his lips in a waggish imitation of a human smile. "Please?"
   "You only want to hear so you can mock me."
   "No,  no!  Human  relationships  fascinate  me. I  need to
 understand."

    Kitiara  slipped  back  onto  the  overturned   cauldron.  She
  gazed into space, marshaling images  of her  past. "I'd  like to
  understand  Tanis  myself,"  she  said.  "Being  a  woman  in  a
  man's  game  -  war  -  throws  you  in with  all sorts  of men.
  Most of  them are  a scurvy  lot of  bullies and  cutthroats. In
  my  younger  days,  I  must  have  fought  a hundred  duels with
  men  who  tried  to  push  me  around,  take  advantage  of  me,
  until I became as hard and cold as the  blade I  carried." Kiti-
  ara fingered the hilt of her sword. "Then came Tanis.
    "I  was  on  my  way  back to  Solace one  autumn a  few years
  back.  The  summer   campaigning  season   was  done,   and  I'd
  been  paid  off  by  my  most  recent  commander. With  a pocket
  full of silver, I rode south. In the forest, I was ambushed by a
  pack  of  goblins.  An  arrow  took  out  my  horse,  and  I was
  thrown  down.  The  goblins  came  out  of  the brush  with axes
  and clubs to finish me off,  but I  lay in  wait for  them. When
  they  got  close,  I  was  on  them before  they could  blink. I
  killed two  right away  and settled  down to  toy with  the last
  pair.  Goblins  are startlingly  bad thieves  and even  worse in
  stand-up   combat.   One   of  them   tripped  and   managed  to
  impale  itself  on  its  own  weapon.  I carved  my mark  on the
  last one, and it screamed its bloody  head off.  I was  ready to
  finish the pest,  when out  of the  bushes bounded  this beauti-
  ful fellow with  a bow.  He scared  me for  a second.  I thought
  he  was  with  the  goblins.  Before  I could  move, he'd  put a
  gray-goose shaft into the last  goblin. It  was then  I realized
  he thought he was rescuing me."
    She  paused,  and  the  ghost  of  a  smile  played  about her
  lips. "It's funny, but at the time  I was  mad. That  goblin was
  mine  to  kill,  you  see, and  Tanis had  taken that  away from
  me.  I  went  after him,  but he  stood me  off long  enough for
  the  blood-anger  to  leave me.  How we  laughed after  that! He
  made  me  feel  good,  Tanis  did. No  one had  done that  for a
  long,  long  time.  Sure,  we  were lovers  soon enough,  but we
  were   more   than  that.   We  rode   and  hunted   and  played
  pranks together. We lived, you understand? We lived."
    "Why  did  this  love  not  continue?"  asked  Cupelix quietly.
    "He wanted me to stay  in Solace.  I couldn't  do that.  I tried
  to get him to  go on  the road  with me,  but he  wouldn't fight
  for  pay.  He's  half-elf,  as  I  said;  some  rogue  mercenary

  molested his elf mother to conceive  him, and  he's ever  had a
  cold place in his heart for soldiers." Kitiara made a fist. "If
  Tanis had fought by my side, I would never  have left  him till
  the last drop of blood spilled from my body."
     She slapped her knee. "Tanis was great fun,  and in  that he
  was  far  better  as  a  companion  than  Sturm,  who's  always
  serious, but the time  came when  I had  to choose  between his
  way of living and mine. I chose, and here I am."
     "I'm glad," said Cupelix. "Will you help liberate me?"
     "Back to that, are we? What is it worth to you?"
    Cupelix raised his ears, making the  veined webbing
  behind them stand up. "Don't you worry about your own
  safety?" he asked in a rumbling voice.
    "Don't bluff me, dragon. If  you were  going to  use threats,
  you'd  have threatened  Stutts, Birdcall,  and Flash  before we
  got here. You can't force us to  help. You're  not the  sort of
  dragon to do it."
    The  dragon's  threatening  posture  collapsed, and  the the-
  atrical menace left his voice. "True,  true," Cupelix  said. "You
  are a razor, Kit. You cut deep with little effort."

    Kitiara flipped a hand in salute, mockingly. "I'm not new
  to the game of threat and bluff," she said, standing. A slim
  band of new light fell across her shoulder  from a  slit window
  in the obelisk wall. "Consider what  I said  about partnership,
  dragon. It needn't be for life, just a year or two. Do that for
  me, and I'll speak for you."
    Sunlight  brightened  the  room.  The  magic  globe   at  the
  ceiling's  apex  dimmed  and  went out.  By the  natural light,
  Kitiara  could  see that  the dragon's  books and  scrolls were
  more  decayed  than  she thought.  The tapestries  were rotten,
  too. In the midst of this decay,  the dragon's  predicament was
  more   obvious.   Someday,  Cupelix   would  have   nothing  to
  read or study but a heap of mildewed pulp.
    "How  many  more  centuries  will  you live?"  Kitiara asked.
    The dragon's eyes narrowed. "A great many."
    "Well, maybe someone else will show up and help you
  escape.  But  think  how  lonely  it  will  be.  Soon  no  more
  books, no tapestries, no company."
    "Partnership... one year?" said Cupelix.
    "Two years," Kitiara said firmly. "A very  short span  in the

 life of a dragon."
   "True,  true."  Cupelix  gave  his word  that he  would travel
 with Kitiara for two years upon their return to Krynn.
   She  stretched,  smiling expansively.  Kitiara felt  good. She
 would  come  out  of  this  crazy  voyage to  the red  moon with
 more   than  increased   muscle  power.   A  dragon,   a  living
 dragon, as her companion for two whole years!
   "It'll be a great adventure," she said to him.
   Cupelix snapped his jaws. "Indubitably."
   Kitiara went to the window to  take in  the fresh  air. Light-
 ning crackled from the obelisk  peak as  the magic  essence dis-
 charged  into  the  red  moon's  sky.  When  the  flashes ended,
 Kitiara looked down at the valley below.
   "The Lunitarians are moving!" she exclaimed.
   "Of course; it's day, their time to move," said Cupelix.
   "But they're forming ranks! I think they're going to
 attack!"

 * * * * *

   The   Micones   showed   no   signs   of   moving,   so  Sturm
 announced  that  they'd  best  proceed   on  foot.   The  gnomes
 were  already  untied  and  sliding  off  the  backs   of  their
 mounts.  Sturm   got  down   and  patted   the  Micone   on  the
 head,  a habit  he'd always  had since  owning his  first horse.
 The  giant  ant  cocked  its wedge-shaped  head and  clacked its
 mandibles  together.  A  response  of  pleasure?  Sturm  wonder-
 ed. It was hard to tell.
   The   rubbish  around   them  was   knee-deep  to   Sturm  and
 chest-deep  to  the  gnomes.  Sturm  found  Sighter  examining a
 piece of the red leather with his magnifying glass.
   "Hm,  doesn't  look  like  vegetable material,"  said Sighter.
 Cutwood  tried  writing  on  the  soft   brown  parchment-stuff,
 but it wouldn't take a pencil mark; it was too soft  and supple.
 Sturm tried to tear a sheet of it in two, but couldn't do it.
        "This would make admirable boot tops," he said. "I won-
 der what it is?"
   "I would say  it's some  form of  animal hide,"  said Sighter,
 snapping his glass back into its case.
   "We  haven't  found  any  animals  on  Lunitari,   except  the

 dragon,"  Stutts  objected.  "Even the  Micones are  more min-
 eral than animal."
   "Maybe,"  Wingover said  slowly, "there  are other  kinds of
 animals in these caves. Animals we haven't seen before."
      ъainspot swallowed audibly. "Gnome-eating animals?"
   " "Bosh," said Sighter. "The Micones wouldn't allow any-
 thing dangerous  to live  near the  dragon eggs.  Stop scaring
 yourselves."
   Flash was off a little ways, touching the white crust on the
 walls.  He  plucked  a  tack hammer  from his  tool-laden belt
 and butted a cold steel  chisel against  the wall.  Back swung
 the hammer.
   Bong!  The  little  hammer  hit  the  chisel, and  the whole
 cavern  reverberated  with  the  sound.  So powerful  were the
 vibrations, that the gnomes lost their footing and fell in the
 thick rubbish. Sturm  braced himself  against a  squat stalag-
 mite until the ringing ceased.
   "Don't  do that!"  Cutwood said  plaintively. With  his aug-
 mented hearing, the  tone had  been enough  to start  his nose
 bleeding. All the  Micones were  clicking their  mandibles and
 shaking their heads.
   "Fascinating,"  said  Stutts.  "A perfect  resonant chamber!
 Ah! It makes sense!"
   "What does?" asked ъoperig.
   "This  extraneous jetsam.  It's padding,  to deaden  the ants'
 footsteps on the floor."
   They waded though the rubbish toward the end of the
 oblong chamber. The ceiling level fell and  the floor  rose to
 form  a tight  circular opening.  The rim  of the  opening had
 been notched  with jagged  spikes of  quartz, probably  by the
 Micones.  Anything softer  than a  giant ant  would be  cut to
 pieces  if  it tried  to walk  or crawl  over the  spikes. The
 gnomes  held  back   and  proposed   many  solutions   to  the
 problem of the entrance. Sturm planted his  fists on  his hips
 and  sighed.  He  turned  back  and gathered  up an  armful of
 the  tough  parchmentlike shreds, then  laid them  across the
 spikes.  He put  his hands  on the  parchment and  pushed. The
 spikes poked through three or four layers, but the  top layers
 remained unpierced.
     "Allow me," said Sturm. He lifted Stutts and sat him on

 the padding.  Stutts slid  through the  opening to  the chamber
 beyond.  One  by   one,  the   other  gnomes   followed.  Sturm
 went  last.  The  gnomes  plunged  ahead  in   their  bumbling,
 fearless way, and he had to catch up with them.
   Sturm  hurried  down  the narrow  slit in  the rock  and into
 another large  chamber. Here  veins of  wine red  crystal oozed
 out of fissures in the rock. When the soft crystal  touched the
 warmer, moister air of the cavern, it lightened to  clear crim-
 son  and  began  to  take  more  exact  form. Around  them were
 dozens   of   half-formed  Micones;   some  only   heads,  some
 whole  bodies  but  without  legs,  and  some so  complete that
 their antennae wiggled.
   "So this is the ant hatchery," said Wingover.
   "'Hatchery' isn't the right word for it," said ъoperig.
   "Living rock  crystal," said  Stutts breathlessly.  "I wonder
 what influences it to take on an ant shape?"
   "The dragon,  I would  think," said  Sighter, turning  a com-
 plete  circle  to see  all the  budding Micones.  "ъemember, he
 said he tried to make the tree-folk  into servants  but failed.
 He  must  have  uncovered  this living  crystal and  decided to
 use it to make perfectly obedient and hard-working slaves."
   They  walked  in  single file  down the  center of  the high,
 narrow  cavern. As  before, bluish  stalactites on  the ceiling
 shed a weak light  on the  scene. Flash  approached one  of the
 nearly finished Micones and tried to measure  the width  of its
 head.  The  ant  moved  like lightning  and clamped  its power-
 ful jaws on the gnome's arm. Flash let out a yell.
   "Get back!" Sturm cried, drawing his sword. He tried to
 lever the jaws open, but the creature's grip was too strong.
 The  cruel  saw-toothed  jaws  could  easily cut  through flesh
 and bone -
           Sturm noticed that Flash's arm wasn't bleeding. The
 gnome  struggled,  beating  the  stone-hard  ant  on  the  head
 with his flimsy folding rule.
   "Has he got you by the arm?" Sturm asked.
   "Uh! Agh! Yes! What do you think this is, my foot?"
   Sturm  eased  his  hand  forward  and  felt Flash's  arm. The
 Micone's  jaws had  missed the  gnome's flesh.  All it  had was
 his jacket sleeve.
   "Take your jacket off," Sturm said calmly.

 "Uh! Argh! Eeel I can't!"
 "I'll  help you."  Sturm reached  in front  of the  gnome and
 undid the complex series of buttons and lacings on  his jack-
 et. He pulled Flash's left arm out, then his right. The empty
 jacket  dangled  in  the   Micone's  jaws.   The  half-formed
 Micone did not move.
 "My jacket!" Flash howled.
 "Never  mind!  Just  thank  your  gods  that your  arm didn't
 get caught in that thing's pincers," Sturm said.
 "Thank  you,  ъeorx,"  said  the  gnome.  He  looked longing-
 ly at the lost jacket. A big tear rolled  down his  cheek. "I
 designed  that  jacket myself.  The One  Size Fits  All Wind-
 proof Jacket Mark III."
 "You  can  make  another,"  Wingover  said  consolingly.  "An
 even better one. With  detachable sleeves,  in case  you ever
 get in such a predicament again."
 'Yes,  yes!  What  a  splendid  notion,  detachable sleeves!"
 Flash made a hasty sketch on his white shirt cuff.
 Beyond  the  ant  hatchery the  cavern wound  off in  several
 directions, and  there was  no clear  indication which  way the
 explorers  should  go.  Cutwood  suggested  that they  split up
 and  try all  the tunnels,  but Stutts  vetoed that,  and Sturm
 agreed.
   "We've no idea how large this caverns is, and if you go off on your own, you stand a good chance of getting lost forever.
 We also don't know how the Micrones will react to us if we split up," Sturm said.
 "They do seem very literal-minded," Sighter said. "Sepa-
 rate pairs may not mean the  same thing  to them  as a  band of
 ten." The  sight of  Flash's jacket  locked in  the unbreakable
 grip of the  Micone's jaws  was a  powerful inducement  to stay
 together. Nothing more was said about splitting up.
 They   chose   the   widest,   straightest  path   onward.  The
 floor  sloped  down  from  the Micones'  birth chamber  at such
 a  steep  angle that  the gnomes  gave up  trying to  walk down
 and  instead  sat  down  to slide.  Sturm would  have preferred
 to walk down, but the floor was  slick with  dew, so  it didn't
 take him long to decide to do as the gnomes did.
 Sturm  slid  gently  into  another, lower  cavern. It  was very
 much  warmer  and  wetter  here;  the  air  was  steamy.  Water

 trickled  down  the  walls  and dripped  from overhead.  As he
 stood up,  he saw  the gnomes'  dark shapes  strolling through
 the wispy white clouds of steam.
   "Stutts! Sighter! Where are all of you?" he called.
   "ъight  here!"  Sturm  walked  uncertainly  into  the  mist.
 The cavern was well  lit from  above (from  a large  number of
 the  glowing  stalactites),  and  considerable  heat  radiated
 from the floor.
   "Mind the magma," said Cutwood, appearing  in the  steam in
 front of him. The gnome pointed to a  raised funnel  of glazed
 rock in their path.  A fiery  halo hung  over the  wide mouth.
 Sturm bent over it and saw that the natural bowl was full of a
 bright orange liquid. A bubble burst wetly in its center.
   "Molten  rock,"  Cutwood  explained.  "That's  why  the cave
 is so warm."
   Sturm  had  an almost  irresistible urge  to touch  the bub-
 bling stuff, but the glare of heat on his face told  him quite
 plainly   how    hot   the    magma   was.    Another   gnome,
 Wingover, appeared in the swirling steam.
   "This way!" he cried.
   They wended their way through a garden of seething
 cauldrons,  each  one  emitting  gurgles  as  the  molten rock
 boiled.  The  air  around  them became  sulfurous and  hard to
 take in. Sturm coughed and held a kerchief to his face.
         The vapors abated somewhat near the cavern wall. The
 remaining  gnomes  were  clustered  by  a  small  hole  in the
 wall. Sturm raised his head and saw that the hole was dark.
   "Is that it?" Sturm wondered aloud.
   "Must  be,"  said  Sighter. "Seems  to be  no other  way out."
   "Perhaps  one  of  the  other  tunnels  we   missed,"  ъoperig
 suggested. The black circle was not very inviting.
   "The established path clearly leads here," said  Stutts. "As
 senior colleague, it is up to me to go first -"
   "No, you don't,"  Sturm said.  "I'm armed.  111 go  first to
 make sure it's safe."
   "Oh, excellent idea!" said ъainspot.
   "Well, if you insist -" said Stutts.
   "You will need a light," said Flash. He unbuttoned one of
 the capacious pockets on the front of his trouser  legs. "Give
 me  a  moment and  I'll lend  you my  Collapsing Self-Igniting

 Pocket Lamp Mark XVI." Flash  unfolded a  flattish box  of tin
 and  set  it  on  the floor.  From a  separate wooden  case he
 extracted a bit of gooey stuff that resembled axle  grease. He
 put a dollop of  this in  the lamp.  From a  different pocket,
 Flash  produced a  slender glass  vial, tightly  stoppered. He
 broke  the wax  seal and  popped the  cork. A  sharp, volatile
 aroma  filled  the  cavern. Flash  crouched down  and extended
 his arm cautiously to  the lamp.  One eye  clenched shut  as a
 single drop of the fluid fell from the vial.
   The  droplet  hit  the  plug  of  grease  and  went poof! The
 flash lit up the whole  area, and  the grease  burned merrily.
 Sturm  reached  for  it,  and the  lamp popped  and sputtered,
 sending bits of flaming grease in all directions.
   "Are you sure this is safe?" he asked.
   "Well, after a few minutes, the tin  will melt,"  Flash said.
 "But it should be all right until then."
   "Wonderful." He  picked up  the violent  little lamp  by its
 slim  metal  ring  and  started through  the hole.  The gnomes
 clustered  around  the  opening, their  pink faces  and white
 beards facing upward like so many daisies seeking the sun.
   Sturm  walked  up  a  curving  ramp   and  soon   entered  a
 chamber  of  profound  silence.  Even  the  lamp's  sputtering
 declined to a fitful