"A god. Hiran." The dragon seemed somewhat mollified by this information. "Very well, then. Now that I'm subdued-although I'll have you know that this is hardly the traditional means of subdual-what service does your god require from me?"

"Information," the elf began. "I have heard rumors of silver dragons to the north."

"Consider them confirmed."

"Your part is not so easy as that. I need to know where the creatures lair. And I need an egg. When I have retrieved and hatched a viable egg, you will be free to go." The dragon's shoulders abruptly lifted and fell, sending a shiver through the cube. A moment later, his derisive snort broke through the gelatinous barrier.

The next series of ripples came quickly, heralding the force of the words to come. "In that case, elfling fool, I will sit in this ridiculous cube forever. You have no hope of success. Have you ever seen a brooding she-dragon protect her nursery? No, of course you have not, for you are still alive to stand before me with that annoying smirk on your face."

There was more truth in the dragon's words than Durothil liked to admit. The retrieval of a living egg was the weakest part of his plan. "You have another suggestion?"

"I will retrieve this egg for you," the dragon offered. "Loose me now, and I will hunt down and slay the silver she-dragon. That I would do, regardless, for I wish to add the silvers' hunting lands to my own territory. You may consider the egg the fulfillment of the terms of subdual. It is unorthodox, but what about this encounter is not?"

Durothil considered this. "What assurances do I have that you will deliver a viable egg? Or even a dragon's egg-for all I know of such matters, I might find myself saddled with a manticore kitten. And what is to keep you from turning upon me and my people, once the egg is delivered?"

The laughter that emerged from the cube was tinged with genuine respect. "You are learning, elfling. Let us make a bargain then, leaving your part undone until you have bonded with your silver hatchling. Then you will find some ruse to bring Sharlario Moonflower to this mountaintop. Do that, and I will consider this a bargain well made. The rest of the forest elves can live in peace."

"I cannot betray one of my own People to you!" the elf protested.

"Can you not? Yet you demand that I deliver one of mine into your hands. For all I know-or care-you could want the little silver brat to cut up for use in your spells, or to sacrifice to this god of yours. Ghaunadar, isn't it?" the dragon said shrewdly. "Now that I consider the matter, you are precisely the sort of being who would draw the Elder God's attention-ambitious, smarter than most of your kind, perhaps a bit of a rogue. Willing to try new things, to stretch the limits. Strong with the life-force that Ghaunadar reveres-and craves.

"You do know about that particular little requirement, don't you?" the dragon continued. From the corner of one trapped eye, he caught a glimpse of Durothil's puzzled face. A chuckle rumbled through the viscous slime that was a gift of the ancient, evil god.

"You don't! By Tiamat's Talons, you are more a fool than you appear! Did you think that one such as Ghaunadar would grant you such gifts, yet demand nothing in return? Oh, he will demand, upon that you may stake anything you like. He will demand the sacrifice of a life-force-yours or another's. So why not persuade Ghaunadar to consider this Sharlario Moonflower the required sacrifice? Thus can you pay two debts with a single coin. Are we agreed?"

Durothil stood silent, stunned and shamed beyond speech. He had known only that Ghaunadar was an ancient power, one who had sought him out and offered assistance in his quest to aid and rule his People. He should have seen Ghaunadar's evil nature; he should have known what sort of service the god would require of him. He should have, but he did not, so blinded was he by his desire for power. But that desire, in and of itself, was not evil. Surely not.

"I will free you now," Durothil heard himself say, "and all will be as you said, except for one additional condition. I will bring Sharlario Moonflower to you when I have trained the dragon to carry me on its back. Or, if I fail in this endeavor, I will return twenty years from the day of the hatching. And on that day, Ghaunadar will have his elven sacrifice."

"Done." The dragon's voice rumbled with satisfaction.

With a heavy heart, the elf chanted the prayer that would reverse the godly spell and free the dragon from Ghaunadar's grip. At once the dragon leaped into the sky, his wings thundering as they carried him toward the lair of the doomed silver dragon.

Durothil's eyes were dull as he gazed into the sky, for they regarded not the triumphant and fleeing Mahatnartorian, but his own lost honor.

When Sharlario and his son returned to their forest home, they found a settlement ringing with praise for the hero Durothil. The elven mage, it seemed, had entrapped the red dragon in a mighty spell and had once again banished it. Many of the elves had been alerted by the trapped dragon's roars. Some had witnessed the scene, for the morning was clear and the plateau was clearly visible from the forest.

Sharlario was relieved to hear of his people's reprieve, but puzzled. Had not Ka'Narlist, the archmage of mighty Atorrnash, said that this dragon could not be overcome through elven magic? The Moon elf respected Durothil's ability, but he would not have thought the Gold elf's magic greater than that wielded in the southern lands.

Perhaps, Sharlario concluded, Durothil simply used his power with greater restraint and responsibility. After all, the mark of the truly great was not merely having power, but knowing how and when to use it.

The Moon elf was not particularly surprised when Durothil shunned his people's accolades to spend more and more of his time alone. Sharlario knew all about that. He himself had never been the same after his encounter with Mahatnartorian. For every night of the three hundred years that had passed since that day, the dragon had followed him into his dreams. Not a night passed that Sharlario was not visited by visions in which he saw again the beautiful avariel maid who had captured his heart, caught in the dragonfire meant for him, plummeting to the ground in a tangle of ruined wings. Swept up in a fighting rage that went beyond anything he had ever known or witnessed, Sharlario had forced two of the avariel to carry him above the dragon, to drop him onto the creature's back. While the monster flew-leagues above the mountains below-Sharlario had climbed to the dragon's head and lashed himself to one horn. Suspended from the horn, he'd swung down into the dragon's face and pressed his sword-and his own face-against the glossy surface of the dragon's eye. So great had been his rage that not even the dragonfright could pierce it.

The memory of that malevolent eye terrified Sharlario now. So did the dragon's promise of vengeance when the term of his banishment ended. All of this haunted his revery, and tainted what happiness he had found since that day. He had married a woman of Faerie and he loved her well. Their life together had been filled with small quiet joys and shared laughter. Even so, not a night passed, but that in revery Sharlario did not wander again among the bodies of the lost avariel, mourning the loss of so many of these wondrous folk. Even so, not a night passed when he did not see the faces of his own beloved wife and children superimposed upon those charred and broken bodies. Yes, Sharlario understood Durothil's need for solitude and healing.

So he gave the mage a respectful distance for several moons. After a time, however, he thought he might better serve by offering the Gold elf the opportunity to speak to someone who could understand.

He took himself to the mage's tower, and was a little surprised to find Durothil both friendly and welcoming. The Gold elf served him feywine with his own hands and asked many questions about Sharlario's recent travels. He was particularly interested in hearing of the dragon wars, and how such things impacted the elven People.