“All that?” said Twoflower.
“Usually.”
Twoflower sat down on his bunk and tried to think. This proved difficult, because his mind was awash with dragons.
Dragons!
Ever since he was two years old he had been captivated by the pictures of the fiery beasts in The Octarine Fairy Book. His sister had told him they didn’t really exist, and he recalled the bitter disappointment. If the world didn’t contain those beautiful creatures, he’d decided, it wasn’t half the world it ought to be. And then later he had been bound apprentice to Ninereeds the Masteraccount, who in his grey-mindedness was everything that dragons were not, and there was no time for dreaming.
But there was something wrong with these dragons. They were too small and sleek, compared to the ones in his mind’s eye. Dragons ought to be big and green and clawed and exotic and firebreathing big and green with long sharp… Something moved at the edge of his vision, in the furthest, darkest corner of the dungeon. When he turned his head it vanished, although he thought he heard the faintest of noises that might have been made by claws scrabbling on stone.
“Hrun?” he said.
There was a snore from the other bunk.
Twoflower padded over to the corner, peering gingerly at the stones in case there was a secret panel. At that moment the door was flung back thumping against the wall. Half a dozen guards hurtled through it, spread out and flung them selves down on one knee. Their weapons were aimed exclusively at Hrun. When he thought about this later, Twoflower felt quite offended.
Hrun snored.
A woman strode into the room. Not many women can stride convincingly, but she managed it. She glanced briefly at Twoflower, as one might look at a piece of furniture, then glared down at the man on the bed.
She was wearing the same sort of leather harness that the dragonriders had been wearing but in her case it was much briefer. That, and the magnificent mane of chestnut-red hair that fell to her waist, was her only concession to what even on the Discworld passed for decency. She was also wearing a thoughtful expression.
Hrun made a glubbing noise, turned over, and slept on.
With a careful movement, as though handling some instrument of rare delicacy, the woman drew a slim black dagger from her belt and stabbed downward.
Before it was halfway through its arc Hrun’s right hand moved so fast that it appeared to travel between two points in space without at any time occupying the intervening air. It closed around the woman’s wrist with a dull smack. His other hand groped feverishly for a sword that wasn’t there… Hrun awoke.
“Gngh?” he said, looking up at the woman with a puzzled frown. Then he caught sight of the bowmen.
“Let go,” said the woman, in a voice that was calm and quiet and edged with diamonds. Hrun released his grip slowly.
She stepped back, massaging her wrist and looking at Hrun in much the same way that a cat watches a mousehole.
“So,” she said at last. “You pass the first test. What is your name, barbarian?”
“Who are you calling a barbarian?” snarled Hrun.
“That is what I want to know.”
Hrun counted the bowmen slowly and made a brief calculation. His shoulders relaxed.
“I am Hrun of Chimeria. And you?”
“Liessa Dragonlady.”
“You are the lord of this place?”
“That remains to be seen. You have the look about you of a hired sword, Hrun of Chimeria. I could use you -if you pass the tests, of course. There are three of them. You have passed the first.”
“What are the other-” Hrun paused, his lips moved soundlessly and then he hazarded, “two?”
“Perilous.”
“And the fee?”
“Valuable.”