I expect them to draw steel, proclaiming that their human king is the rightful king, and attack me, but their faces are blank.
“What’s a dragonmaster?” one of the men finally asks.
I don’t think I’ve ever had to explain my role in my life, even to a human. Everyone knows what a dragonmaster is. “I am caretaker of the king’s flare.”
“What’s a flare?”
“Is he mad?”
“The king’s flare ofdragons,” I grind out, rapidly losing my patience.
They burst out laughing. “Don’t be stupid. Dragons aren’t real.”
“He is mad. He’s totally lost it in the mountains.”
By all the stars in the heavens, what the hell is going on?
While they’re still laughing, I silently summon Nilak. A low, growling rumble fills the air, and their laughter dies away as they turn on the spot.
“Is that an avalanche?”
Nilak stalks out from among the trees, a purer white than snow, her blue eyes burning with antipathy. Slowly, she parts her jaws, and flames lick around her teeth.
All the soldiers turn pale, and their mouths drop open. Then they turn and run down the valley, shouting about monsters and demons.
Nilak’s mouth closes in confusion, and her head tilts to one side. I agree with her. I would be disgusted at their cowardice if I wasn’t so confused.
To the south, I can see smoke rising through the trees, though I don’t recall any hamlets in that direction. Nilak and I proceed that way, me walking beside my dragon.
We enter a clearing and see a man in robes, not unlike those theHratha’lenwear, but in a drab brown color. He’s collecting firewood, and through the trees I glimpse a large structure that’s bigger than a barn, but it does not look like any barn I’ve seen before. It has a tower that’s flying a black and white flag, and a strange symbol hangs over the entrance.
The man sees us, drops all his firewood, and starts to run. He doesn’t get far as he trips over the snow and goes flying.
I stride forward and stand over him with my hands on my hips. “Calm yourself. I don’t kill unarmed men. What are you?”
“A m-monk, sir,” the man says, cowering away from us.
Never heard of them, but I presume he’s part of a human religious sect. “What is this place?”
“A monastery.”
The building I can see looks old, but that’s impossible. There are no monasteries in Maledin. “What order are you? When was this place built?”
“I am of the Brethren order, and this monastery was built nearly ninety years ago.”
My veins flood with ice. He’s lying to me. There was no building of this size here for ninety years. Keeping my voice steady, I ask, “How many months has the king sat upon the throne?”
“King Alastor has reigned for twenty-three years.”
I feel as though I’ve been punched in the guts. Has the world gone mad? Have I gone mad?
“What is that creature yonder, sir?”
My attention snaps back to the monk. He’s staring in fear at Nilak. “You have all forgotten the dragons in twenty-three years? I expected a religious man to be more learned.”
“A d-dragon? There are no dragons, sir.” He looks around and then says in a lowered voice as though imparting forbidden knowledge, “There have been no dragons in Maledin for five hundred years.”
I want to draw my sword and ram it through this man’s lying throat. “Before King Alastor, King Aylard ruled this land. A Maledinni king.”
