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idea that there were so many colours in the world, let alone that glass could be made in such hues. The cave was filled with stained-glass windows of every size, and depicting every beast and god and legendary hero imaginable. They hung from the ceiling on fine silver chains, and somehow, despite the fact that we were deep in a hill in the middle of Rath Forest, light shone through them.
    “How did you do this?” I asked the question reverently, humbly. My fingers itched to find silk and floss and embroider the colours and patterns I was seeing, but I knew that I would never be able to capture the light that gleamed through them. Squares of sapphire blue, emerald green, and ruby red made a patchwork quilt on Shardas’s folded wings and gleaming scales.
    “There is a small opening at the top of the cave,” he said in a pleased voice. “And I use mirrors to reflect the light through the windows.”
    “Beautiful,” I said, but the word felt inadequate.
    “Jerontin, my alchemist friend, helped me position the mirrors,” Shardas told me. “Would you like to see his laboratory?”
    I sensed that I was being offered a rare opportunity and nodded my head in a respectful manner. It occurred to me, as Shardas led the way to the curtained doorway into another cavern, that I had never seen an alchemist’s laboratory. I found myself very curious.
    It did not disappoint. There were clear glass jars of strange liquids and wooden utensils whose usage I could only guess at. There was a set of brass scales ranging in size from small enough to measure a pinch of salt to large enough to weigh a horse. Heavy pottery crocks stoppered with cork lined a wall, each one labelled with a piece of yellowed vellum that had been glued to the side.
    “Yarrow, tansy, juniper, powdered dragon scale, dog hair, tiger teeth, monkey bile,” I read in fascination. “Everything in here is so clean,” I said, after looking around some more.
    “I have tried to keep it as he left it,” Shardas said in a sad voice. “Jerontin was very particular about keeping things clean.”
    “It’s very –” But then I couldn’t think of anything to say. How could I tell a dragon that I thought it sweet hewas keeping up his friend’s laboratory centuries after his death?
    “Shardas? Are you there?” A rumbling dragon voice came from the main cavern, saving me from having to think of what else to say. “Shardas?”
    “I am here, Feniul,” Shardas called over his shoulder. He turned and walked through the opening at the far end of the cave.
    Once again I followed his long tail through the curtained doorway and back into the glory of his glass collection.
    “By the First Fires, what is that?” The voice that had summoned us came from a still pool on the floor only a pace away, and I jumped.
    “It’s a human,” Shardas said in his dry way. “You’ve seen a human before, haven’t you, Feniul?”
    “Of course I know it’s a human, but what are you
doing
with it?” The other dragon, which I could now see was a bright green, made a disgusted face as best it could. “You’re not going to eat it, are you?”
    I started again, and looked anxiously at Shardas.
    “No,” Shardas said, rolling his eyes. “I’m not going to eat it. And it’s a she, actually.”
    “You haven’t taken to collecting them, too, have you?” The green dragon sounded as if there were nothing more appalling than collecting humans.
    “I still prefer glass,” came Shardas’s mild reply. “I was just about to bespeak you, Feniul. But what was it you wanted?”
    “Er. Well. The sight of that human female has quite driven it out of my head,” Feniul said prissily. “It was something about this summer’s migration of … Stop that, Azarte!” The dragon’s head bobbed out of view.
    Shardas looked at me and said in a low voice, “He collects dogs.”
    “I beg your pardon?” I stared down into the pool, but all I could make out was a massive green shoulder and part of a