The Color of Magic (Discworld 1)

“It is forbidden to fight on the Killing Ground,” he said, and paused while he considered the sense of this. “You know what I mean, anyway,” he hazarded, giving up, and added “As the challenged parties my lords Lio!rt and Liartes have choice of weapons.”

“Dragons,” they said together. Liessa snorted.

“Dragons can be used offensively, therefore they are weapons,” said Lio!rt firmly. “if you disagree we can fight over it.”

“Yah,” said his brother, nodding at Hrun.

The Loremaster felt a ghostly finger prod him in the chest “Don’t stand there with your mouth open,” said Greicha’s graveyard voice.

“Just hurry up, will you?”

Hrun stepped back, shaking his head.

“Oh no,” he said. “Once was enough. I’d rather be dead than fight on one of those things.”

“Die, then,” said the Loremaster, as kindly as he could manage.

Lio!rt and Liartes were already striding back across the turf to where the servants stood waiting with their mounts. Hrun turned to Liessa. She shrugged.

“Don’t I even get a sword?” he pleaded. “A knife, even?”

“No,” she said. “I didn’t expect this.” She suddenly looked smaller, all defiance gone. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?”

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

“Yes, I thought you said you’re sorry.”

“Don’t glare at me like that! I can imagine you the finest dragon to ride”

“NO!”

The Loremaster wiped his nose on a handkerchief, held the little silken square aloft for a moment, then let it fall.

A boom of wings made Hrun spin around.

Lio!rt’s dragon was already airborne and circling around towards them. As it swooped low over the turf a billow of flame shot from its mouth, scoring a black streak across the grass that rushed towards Hrun.

o;It turned up?” said the voice. “You summoned it!”

“Yes, well, all I did-“

“You have the Power! “

“All I did was think of it.”

“That’s what the Power is. Have I already told you that I am Greicha the First? Or is that next? I’m sorry, but I haven’t had too much experience of transcendence. Anyway, yes -the Power. It summons dragons, you know.”

“I think you already told me that,” said Twoflower.

“Did I? I certainly intended to,” said the dead man.

“But how does it? I’ve been thinking about dragons all my life, but this is the first time one has turned up.”

“Oh well, you see, the truth of the matter is that dragons have never existed as you (and, until I was poisoned some three months ago,) I understand existence. I’m talking about the true dragon, draconis nobilis, you understand; the swamp dragon, draconis vulgaris, is a base creature and not worth our consideration. The true dragon, on the other hand, is a creature of such refinement of spirit that they can only take on form in this world if they are conceived by the most skilled imagination. And even then the said imagination must be in some place heavily impregnated with magic which helps to weaken the walls between the world of the seen and unseen. Then the dragons pop through, as it were, and impress their form on this world’s possibility matrix. I was very good at it when I was alive. I could imagine up to, oh, five hundred dragons at a time. Now Liessa, the most skilled of my children, can barely imagine fifty rather nondescript creatures. So much for a progressive education. She doesn’t really believe in them. That’s why her dragons are rather boring while yours,” said the voice of Greicha, “is almost as good as some of mine used to be. A sight for sore eyes, not that I have any to speak of now.”

Twoflower said hurriedly, “You keep saying you’re dead…”