Free The Feline Wizard by Christopher Stasheff

green dragon stared, catching his breath—bracing for attack.
    “If I fear not an overweening lizard such as yourself,” the reddragon demanded, “why should I fear mere soft and feeble folk?”
    “Then why should you care if they hunt you?” Stegoman asked reasonably.
    “Because there are so many of them,” the stranger answered, “and in their cowardice, they may set ambushes or even stake out poisoned steers.”
    “Hey, now!” Matt called in protest.
    The red dragon swung about and stared at Matt, eye gleaming, then said to Stegoman, “I had wondered why you settled, then flew again! How now, serpent—would you pollute my mountains with weak grubs who could never aspire so high by themselves?” Then the dragon dove at Matt.
    “Let my friend be!” Stegoman bellowed in real anger, and shot after.

Delighted, the red dragon sheered off at the last second, forcing Stegoman to cup his wings and stall for fear of hitting Matt. However, that also brought him low enough to perch on a tooth of rock again, and the red dragon circled, then stooped on him, claws hooked to catch and tear.
    Stegoman stared up, fascinated.
    “Go!” Matt couldn't believe his friend was so careless in a fight.
    “Not yet… not yet… now!” Stegoman dove off the peak, and the red dragon had to cup wings and stall for fear of hitting the pointed rocks. A roar of frustration torched them, and Matt dove for cover. He realized Stegoman's tactic now— stalling Red so that he had time to soar high again, without fear of Red pouncing on him before he was in full flight.
    Red circled just below him, rising as Stegoman rose, opposite him as they circled higher and higher, each watching for an opening.
    A dragon fight was a rare sight, and one Matt didn't particularly care for; his friend might be hurt, and so might Red, who, aside from being touchy and overly territorial, could very well be as good a dragon as Stegoman. Matt dredged up an almost forgotten verse and started adapting.
    Red, with folded wings, plummeted twenty feet, then popped them open right under Stegoman. Flame roared up in a fountain. Stegoman hooted with pain as he sideslipped out of the path. Red panned fire-jet, but Stegoman shot upward and wheeled, and Red couldn't keep the fire focused on him. Then Stegoman dove head first, blasting a thirty-foot tongue of flame before him.
    Red howled as fire washed burnt umber scales, then darted aside and hovered nose-to-nose with the great green dragon, crying, “You would, would you? Have at thee, worm!” Fire blasted.
    So did Stegoman's, and fire fountained high where the two flames met, then winked out as the dragons realized they were wasting their breath. They circled one another, glaring into each other's eyes, fifty feet apart, slipping and sliding on currents of air.
    Matt noticed that it had been exclusively a firefight, no claws tearing skin or teeth rending hide. There were those pounces, but even he had seen them coming a mile away. He wondered if this was more a ritual than a fight.
    Either way, he didn't like it. Time for a breathing spell.
    “Through the sky he glided in.
Red-scale said to armor-skin
(Hear what slender Red-scale saith!)
'Stranger, pause and take a breath'”
    Then Matt remembered that taking a breath wasn't necessarily a sign of peace between dragons and hurried on to the next verse.
    “Eye-to-eye and flame-to-flame,
(Keep the measure, drake!)
This shall end with none to blame.
(At thy pleasure, snake!)
    Drop to perch and fold your wings.
(Never chide thee, drake!)
Accommodation both shall sing.
(Peace betide thee, snake!)”
    Red frowned. “What is that prattling your grub makes?” “He is no grub, but a mortal man,” Stegoman retorted, “and if I know him, he speaks of truce.”
    “Perhaps he has some reason.” Red eyed Stegoman warily.
    “Shall we perch and talk?”
    “There is more profit in that than in wasting flame on hides that will not burn,” Stegoman allowed. He half folded his