"You are a very young wizard," the dragon said, "I did not know men came so young into their power." He spoke, as did Ged, in the Old Speech, for that is the tongue of dragons still. Although the use of the Old Speech binds a man to truth, this is not so with dragons. It is their own language, and they can lie in it, twisting the true words to false ends. . . "Is it to ask my help that you have come here, little wizard?"
"Yet I could help you. You will need help soon, against that which hunts you in the dark . . . What is it that hunts you? Name it to me."
"If I could name it -- " Ged stopped himself. . . .
"If you could name it you could master it, maybe, little wizard . . . Would you like to know its name?". . . .
"But I did not come here to play, or to be played with. I came to strike a bargain with you."
Like a sword in sharpness but five times the length, of any sword, the point of the dragon's tail arched up scorpion-wise over his mailed back, above the tower. Dryly, he spoke: "I strike no bargains. I take. What have you to offer that I cannot take from you when I like?"
"Safety. Your safety. Swear that you will never fly eastward of Pendor, and I will swear to leave you unharmed. . .
A grating sound came from the dragon's throat . . . "You offer me safety! You threaten me! With what?"
"With your name, Yevaud."
Ged's voice shook as he spoke the name, yet he spoke it clear and loud. At the sound of it, the old dragon held still, utterly still.