"Don't you trust me?" asked Sturm.

" true touch, mortal! You shall see them then, a sight no mortal eye has ever beheld. Hmm." The dragon lifted one tree-sized leg and flexed his birdlike toes. "I'll have to warn the Micones. They live in the caverns and keep the eggs clean, turning them every day so the yolks don't settle.

They would certainly slay you if you ventured down there without my permission." Cupelix settled again and fluffed out his wings. "I will inform the Micones, but you must be sure not to touch the eggs. The protective instinct runs so deeply in them that not even my intervention would pre vent the Micones from ripping you limb from limb if you touched an egg."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Sturm. He stood to go. "May

I invite the others?"

"Why not? I'm sure the little men will be fascinated."

"Thank you, dragon."

Sturm nodded and made for the quiet ship. Once the human was inside, Cupelix spread his wings and telepathi cally ordered the illuminating ants to cease their glow. The light went out of their bodies, and one by one the Micones ..' dropped off and scuttled back into their holes in the floor.

Kitiara re-entered the darkened obelisk. "Where is every body?" she called out.

"In the flying machine," said Cupelix, unseen above her in the shadows. She flinched at the sound of his voice.

"You should give a person warning that you're there," she chided. "Is there anything left to eat?"

A table, set with candles, appeared before her. Delicate cutlets of veal, bread, and melted sweet butter awaited her.

A tall, clear glass goblet brimmed with rich red wine. Kiti ara pulled out the velvet-cushioned, high-backed chair and sat down.

"What's the occasion?' she asked.

"No occasion," replied the dragon from on high. "A ges ture of friendship."

"Are we friends?" said Kitiara, forking up a slice of veal.

"Oh, yes, and I hope we shall be better friends still."

"A woman could do worse," she said, sipping the wine. It wasn't grape wine at all, but some sort of berry, tart and cleansing on the tongue. "Good," she said, not quite sure how else to characterize the wine.

"I'm glad you like it. It's pleasing to me to do things for you, Kitiara. May I call you Kitiara? You appreciate my lit tle gifts. Unlike that Brightblade fellow. He's so stiff and proper, it's a wonder he doesn't chip himself when he shaves." Kitiara laughed at the dragon's very apt image.

"You have a very charming laugh," said Cupelix.

"Careful," she said. "If I were less mindful, I'd think you were trying to cozen me."

"I merely delight in your company." There was a heavy rustle as the dragon flew from one side of the obelisk to the other. The candle flames on Kitiara's table wavered in the disturbed air.

"Soon Master Brightblade and his gnomish companions will make a descent into the caverns below the tower,"

Cupelix said, and further explained about the cache of dragon eggs. 'While they are down there, I should like you to visit me in my private sanctum." The bulk of the brass dragon dropped from the darkness, landing with infinite grace and lightness in front of Kitiara's table.

"What for?" she said, not quite suppressing the catch in her throat.

Up close – at a range of no more than six feet – Cupelix's eyes were green orbs three hands wide. The vertical black pupils were cracks into the deepest abyss. His eyes nar rowed as the dragon scrutinized the woman.

"I would hear of your life and philosophy, and you may pry into my secrets as well," he said. "Only don't tell the oth ers. It would make them jealous."

"Not a word," Kitiara said. She winked at the dragon, and

Cupelix flicked his tongue out. It touched her hand and a warm tingle spread up her arm.

"Until then." Cupelix spread his wings until they whisked the far walls. He sprang off the floor with one thrust of his powerful hind legs and vanished into the darkness above.

Kitiara's heartbeat slowly resumed its normal rhythm.

The tingle in her arm slowly faded. Kitiara reached for her wine glass. To her surprise, her hand was shaking so much that she knocked the goblet off the table, and it shattered on the red marble floor.

"Damn!" she said, clenching her fist.

Chapter 23

Caverns Deep

The gnomes responded to Cupelix's invitation with characteristic enthusiasm. The new metal parts for the

Cloudmaster had to cool a while longer before they could be fitted into place, and the proposed descent into the caverns suited them very well. They turned the ship upside down hunting for proper equipment: pens and paper, of course; rope and tape measures; and transits for surveying the lay out of the caverns. Cutwood brought out a large balance scale to weigh representative specimens of dragon eggs.

"Oh, no," Sturm warned. "No one is to touch the eggs, not the least little bit."

"But why?" asked Rainspot, who was wearing his oilcloth slicker full-time now.

"The Micones are under orders to kill anyone who touch es them," Sturm said. "Not even Cupelix can countermand that order." Cutwood reluctantly abandoned his scale.

Two hours before dawn, Sturm and the gnomes presented themselves before one of the large, round holes in the obe lisk floor. Cupelix was poised on his ledge above them, and

Kitiara lingered in the doorway, watching the comic mar shaling of the gnome explorers. Some of them, particularly

Fitter, were so laden with gear that they could scarcely stand. Sturm's only special item was a long hank of rope, secured at one shoulder and draped across his chest.

"I hope you don't intend to climb down," said the dragon mildly. "The way presents many difficulties."

"How else shall we get down there?" asked Stutts.

"By allowing the Micones to take you."

Sturm's eyes narrowed. "How will they do that?"

"It's very simple," said Cupelix. He shut his mouth and lowered his head, as he usually did when communicating telepathically with the ants. Hard, armored heads appeared in all the holes, and before Sturm could protest six Micones presented themselves to the exploration party. "The ants are quite capable of carrying two gnomes apiece, and the sixth will be Master Brightblade's mount."

Sturm turned to Kitiara. "Are you certain you won't change your mind and go with us?"

She shook her head. "I've explored enough of this moon, thank you."

The gnomes were already scrambling over their mounts, measuring, touching, and tapping the crystalline creatures from mandible to stinger. The glass-smooth ants presented no footholds or handholds for mounting and riding. After some discussion (cut short by Sturm's impatient sigh), the gnomes tied lengths of rope together into reasonable halters and bridles. The Micones stood stock-still through all this indignity. Even their restless antennae were motionless.

Flash bent down on his hands and knees and Stutts stepped on his back to reach his seat on the Micone. He was still too short to reach the ant's arched thorax. Sighter tried to boost Stutts up. He planted both hands and one shoulder in the seat of Stutts's pants and shoved with all his might.

Stutts rose up the curving carapace of crystal, up and up – and over. He slid headfirst over the ant's body and thumped down on the other side. Fortunately, something soft broke his fall. It was Birdcall.

Sturm made a stirrup loop in his rope and levered himself onto the creature's back. "It's like sitting on a statue," he said, wiggling to situate himself. "Cold and hard."

The gnomes emulated Sturm's rope stirrup, and with only a few minor bruises, managed to mount their ants. The pairs were Stutts and Flash, Birdcall and Sighter, Cutwood and

Rainspot, Roperig and Fitter (naturally), with Wingover by himself. g "How do we steer these things?" Cutwood muttered. The makeshift halter ran around the giant ant's neck, but there was no way to control an animal that didn't breathe.