The Color of Magic (Discworld 1)

“What?”

“Just kill them,” she said sharply

“Good fighters, are they?”

“Renowned.”

“So in return for all this…?”

“You will wed me and become Lord of the Wyrmberg.”

There was a long pause. Hrun’s eyebrows twisted themselves in unaccustomed calculation.

“I get you and this mountain?” he said at last.

“Yes.” She looked him squarely in the eye, and her lips twitched. “The fee is worthwhile, I assure you.”

Hrun dropped his gaze to the rings on her hand The stones were large, being the incredibly rare blue milk diamonds from the clay basins of Mithos. When he managed to turn his eyes from them he saw Liessa glaring down at him in fury.

“So calculating?” she rasped. “Hrun the Barbarian who would boldly walk into the jaws of Death Himself?”

Hrun shrugged. “Sure,” he said, “the only reason for walking into the jaws of Death is so’s you can steal His gold teeth.” He brought one arm around expansively, and the wooden bunk was at the end of it. It cannoned into the bowmen and Hrun followed it joyously, felling one man with a blow and snatching the weapon from another. A moment later it was all over.

Liessa had not moved.

“Well?” she said.

“Well what?” said Hrun, from the carnage

“Do you intend to kill me?”

“What? Oh no. No, this is just, you know, kind of a habit. Just keeping in practice. So where are these brothers?” He grinned.

Twoflower sat on his straw and stared into the darkness. He wondered how long he had been there. Hours, at least. Days, probably. He speculated that perhaps it had been years, and he had simply forgotten.

No, that sort of thinking wouldn’t do. He tried to think of something else - grass, trees, fresh air, dragons. Dragons…

There was the faintest of scrabblings in the darkness. Twoflower felt the sweat prickle on his forehead.

Something was in the cell with him. Something that made small noises, but even in the pitch blackness gave the impression of hugeness. He felt the air move.

When he lifted his arm there was the greasy feel and faint shower of sparks that betokened a localised magical field. Twoflower found himself fervently wishing for light.

A gout of flame rolled past his head and struck the far wall. As the rocks flashed into furnace heat he looked up at the dragon that now occupied more than half the cell.

I obey, lord said a voice in his head.

By the glow of the crackling, spitting stone Twoflower looked into his own reflection in two enormous green eyes. Beyond them the dragon was as multi-hued, horned, spiked and lithe as the one in his memory - a real dragon. Its folded wings were nevertheless still wide enough to scrape the wall on both sides of the room. It lay with him between its talons.

“Obey?” he said, his voice vibrating with terror and delight.

Of course, lord.

The glow faded away. Twoflower pointed a trembling finger at where he remembered the door to be and said, “Open it!”

The dragon raised its huge head. Again the ball of flame rolled out but this time, as the dragon’s neck muscles contracted, its colour faded from orange to yellow, from yellow to white, and finally to the faintest of blues. By that time the flame was also very thin, and where it touched the wall the molten rock spat and ran. When it reached the door the metal exploded into a shower of hot droplets.

Black shadows arced and jiggered over the walls. The metal bubbled for an eye-aching moment, and then the door fell in two pieces in the passage beyond. The flame winked out with a suddenness that was almost as startling as its arrival.