The Gossamer Plain by Thomas M. Reid

you’ve come to bring me more trinkets?” the man said, striding forward. “Whatever other unworthy qualities you may have, fiend, you at least know the way to a wyrm’s heart. What have you to show me?”
    Vhok had to smother a chuckle. Nahaunglaroth was, like all of his draconic kin, too greedy for his own good. Even with all of his finery on display, the creature wanted more, always more. For that, the cambion was thankful.
    “Lysalis—if you please?” Vhok said, and the sorceress obliged him by beginning an incantation. Nahaunglaroth tensed for a moment, but when the fey’ri produced a tiny chest in the palm of her hand, set it down, and stepped back, the dragon could not resist the urge to peer down at it eagerly.
    The chest expanded in size until it was as large as an overstuffed chair. It was a remarkable piece of furniture on its own, crafted of hand-rubbed duskwood with platinum fittings. Knowing that the dragon would be suspicious, Vhok opened the latch, then slowly lifted the lid.
    The three of them gazed upon a trove of ancient elven and dwarven items. Vhok had brought his host numerous weapons, tomes, fabrics, and gem-encrusted valuables, all scoured from the lost places in and beneath the High Forest.
    The contents of the chest represented years of the cambion’s life, both before and after the fall of Hellgate Keep.
    It was no pittance he was parting with.
    Nahaunglaroth knelt before the chest, his eyes gleaming in excitement. He almost cooed as he lifted first one item, then another from the container. Vhok knew he didn’t need to explain the value—financial or historical—to the dragon.
    If anyone understands the true value of a priceless artifact, it’s a dragon, the cambion thought.
    “Quite impressive,” Nahaunglaroth said, standing again. Vhok could see him working to hide his eagerness. “And appreciated as much for your generosity as for its value. It must have taken you a while to gather such trinkets.”
    Trinkets? Vhok thought. A bit more dismissive than is warranted. Aloud, he replied, “Worth only a pittance compared to what I may gain should we be able, at last, to reach some sort of arrangement.”
    “Ah, yes,” Nahaunglaroth said, strolling about his museum and casually examining the many items on display. “The alliance you have spoken of. Remind me again what it is you seek?” he asked, his back to the pair of half-fiends.
    Vhok let one corner of his mouth turn up in a smirk, but he didn’t let the disdain creep into his voice as he said, “Of course. It seems to me that neither of us is going to succeed nearly as well in our relative pursuits so long as we remain at odds with one another. The simplicity of establishing a peaceable coexistence seems so natural. This would be especially true should I ascend to the master’s seat in Sundabar, as you already know I desire.”
    “The problem with that,” the dragon said, still not turning around, “is that you fiends rut like there’s no tomorrow, and before we know it, you’re spread all over the place. My
    mountain would be overrun with your brutish Scourged Legion in no time.”
    Lysalis let out a low growl, but Vhok cut her off with a sharp gesture.
    Nahaunglaroth turned around then, looking at both of his visitors with a knowing smile. “Touched a nerve, did I?” he asked.
    “As long as we’re all being civil,” Vhok said, “my problem with the bargain is that you greedy dragons can never get enough of what glitters. I don’t mind so much, giving some of mine to you—after all, I have much greater political ambitions—but your demand for more would never stop. I’d bring you a bar of gold, you’d ask me why it wasn’t two.”
    Nahaunglaroth glared at Vhok for a moment, and the cambion was almost certain that he had crossed the line, that whatever tenuous foothold he held on establishing a neutrality pact had just crumbled beneath him. He silently cursed himself for being so forward.
    But then the dragon