that they lacked the skill. Of course, there was also a steady discussion, and the usual dissent, over what should be done about the slow dissolution of Tasmarin. The latest break-up, it would appear, had caused the dragon Jakarin's lair to collapse into the sea . . . along with the better part of her hoard. Fionn found that almost as funny as if he'd done it himself.
He did laugh a little immoderately. Enough to pause the heated conversation taking place some yards away, and turn several arctic eyes onto him.
"And what, if I may ask, is so funny?" demanded a large vermilion dragon. Myrcupa, if he recalled the name correctly. One of the self-appointed guardians of the guardian towers. A self-important tailvent if there ever was one. Even in this select company of like-minded dragons he was exceptional. Called himself a High Lord!
"You are," said Fionn, cheerfully. "And she is." He pointed a wing at Jakarin.
The vermillion dragon was not amused. "Your manners are as offensive as your misshapen body, runt," snarled Myrcupa, pushing the incandescent Jakarin back, and pushing his extensive chest forward instead. "Jakarin has just suffered a terrible loss."
"Tch. That's too bad," said Fionn in mock sympathy, grinning.
"Bad? BAD! Is that all you can say, worm?" demanded Myrcupa, thrusting his flared nostrils into Fionn's face.
Fionn wrinkled his nose. "Bad seems a good description. Nearly as bad as your breath, in fact. Been eating carrion again?" asked Fionn, waving a languid wing-edge in front of his face, and winking at the shocked onlookers.
"Carrion!?" shrieked Myrcupa.
"Well, it's not surprising really. It's all you can catch with a body that's nearly as flabby as your wits," said Fionn loftily. "Now, I can recommend a course of swimming. It'll help you and that fathead to lose some lard. And maybe you can save some of her hoard in time for molt. I'd shift shape into something more suited for swimming, mind you. Maybe a well-larded whale. It could only improve you."
Jakarin and Myrcupa's tails twitched almost in unison. Odd. The thought had never struck Fionn before, but they looked remarkably like cats about to pounce. Direct insult and straight derision was something they'd probably not had to deal with for many years. They were both very large. And very stupid. As far as Fionn could see the two traits seemed to go together far too often. It was a natural progression, really. When you were that powerful, you didn't have to think. And to imply that they'd shift shape to something less lordly than their dragonish forms was the vilest insult to most of dragonkind. Dragon was, after all, the ultimate form! Heh. Any moment now these two idiots would start a fight right here. That would solve a few problems for everyone.
And then, just when it was all going splendidly . . .
"Jakarin. Myrcupa." The dragon Vorlian pushed forward. He was bigger than both of them. And there was no fat on him. "Cease. You know our law as well as anyone. He is baiting you to that end."
Briefly, Fionn allowed himself to scowl. What call had Vorlian to interfere? Without him, the problem of a dragon without a hoard could have been avoided. Vorlian was big enough to be safe from likes of these two, away from here. Looking at the idiot Jakarin, she was close to molt. She'd have to get enough gold before then, and that meant trouble for the smaller, younger dragons. Better if she'd been dealt with here and now. And it would have gotten Jakarin's charming friend away from the guardian-towers. Not that he'd be in any position to stop what Fionn had planned for them. Even dragons couldn't resist those forces.
Jakarin and Myrcupa, thus paused, realized just where they'd been heading.
The self-named High Lord narrowed his slit-eyes and peered angrily at Fionn. "I won't forget this. And you won't always be in the conclave, runt."
"Indeed," said Fionn. "And my hoard is out there,
He did laugh a little immoderately. Enough to pause the heated conversation taking place some yards away, and turn several arctic eyes onto him.
"And what, if I may ask, is so funny?" demanded a large vermilion dragon. Myrcupa, if he recalled the name correctly. One of the self-appointed guardians of the guardian towers. A self-important tailvent if there ever was one. Even in this select company of like-minded dragons he was exceptional. Called himself a High Lord!
"You are," said Fionn, cheerfully. "And she is." He pointed a wing at Jakarin.
The vermillion dragon was not amused. "Your manners are as offensive as your misshapen body, runt," snarled Myrcupa, pushing the incandescent Jakarin back, and pushing his extensive chest forward instead. "Jakarin has just suffered a terrible loss."
"Tch. That's too bad," said Fionn in mock sympathy, grinning.
"Bad? BAD! Is that all you can say, worm?" demanded Myrcupa, thrusting his flared nostrils into Fionn's face.
Fionn wrinkled his nose. "Bad seems a good description. Nearly as bad as your breath, in fact. Been eating carrion again?" asked Fionn, waving a languid wing-edge in front of his face, and winking at the shocked onlookers.
"Carrion!?" shrieked Myrcupa.
"Well, it's not surprising really. It's all you can catch with a body that's nearly as flabby as your wits," said Fionn loftily. "Now, I can recommend a course of swimming. It'll help you and that fathead to lose some lard. And maybe you can save some of her hoard in time for molt. I'd shift shape into something more suited for swimming, mind you. Maybe a well-larded whale. It could only improve you."
Jakarin and Myrcupa's tails twitched almost in unison. Odd. The thought had never struck Fionn before, but they looked remarkably like cats about to pounce. Direct insult and straight derision was something they'd probably not had to deal with for many years. They were both very large. And very stupid. As far as Fionn could see the two traits seemed to go together far too often. It was a natural progression, really. When you were that powerful, you didn't have to think. And to imply that they'd shift shape to something less lordly than their dragonish forms was the vilest insult to most of dragonkind. Dragon was, after all, the ultimate form! Heh. Any moment now these two idiots would start a fight right here. That would solve a few problems for everyone.
And then, just when it was all going splendidly . . .
"Jakarin. Myrcupa." The dragon Vorlian pushed forward. He was bigger than both of them. And there was no fat on him. "Cease. You know our law as well as anyone. He is baiting you to that end."
Briefly, Fionn allowed himself to scowl. What call had Vorlian to interfere? Without him, the problem of a dragon without a hoard could have been avoided. Vorlian was big enough to be safe from likes of these two, away from here. Looking at the idiot Jakarin, she was close to molt. She'd have to get enough gold before then, and that meant trouble for the smaller, younger dragons. Better if she'd been dealt with here and now. And it would have gotten Jakarin's charming friend away from the guardian-towers. Not that he'd be in any position to stop what Fionn had planned for them. Even dragons couldn't resist those forces.
Jakarin and Myrcupa, thus paused, realized just where they'd been heading.
The self-named High Lord narrowed his slit-eyes and peered angrily at Fionn. "I won't forget this. And you won't always be in the conclave, runt."
"Indeed," said Fionn. "And my hoard is out there,
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