“You…want them dead?”
“As do you, if my sources are to be trusted.” The dragon’s mouth grew wide, some sinister draconic simile of a smile.
Sir Ingram’s hand dropped from his greatsword. “What doth thou wish from me?”
Morganth straightened her neck, stretching from atop the Calbourne battlements. “I wish information. Where are they? Where are they going?”
The knight shrugged. “If I knew that, I wouldn’t be here. But I can find out.” He exhaled. “For a price.”
The dragon narrowed its eyes, staring the small man down. “And what price is that?” He was bold, it must be said.
“If I aid you, I want thine word that you shall not trouble Rell. And I want the dragonborn. Alive.”
Morganth the Green let out a long breath, a puff of noxious gas drifting from her nostrils. “My quarry are my own.”
“There are seven. I only want two. You can have the knight once I’m done. The sailor,” Ingram said, “stays with me.”
Morganth snaked her head down, coming inches from the knight. “A large request, from such a small man.”
Ingram stood his ground. “And what say thee?”
“Rell shall suffer no harm from me.”
“And what of the Scalars?”
Morganth beat her great green wings and took to the skies.
“That depends upon the quality of your information, Sir Knight!”
