Gaius knew from experience that dragons had very long memories.
Chapter Seventeen
It took two days to make it to a forest outside a medium-sized city.
“There is so much unused space in the Southlands,” Elina noted. “Why do these people insist on living in these stone cities and towns . . . unable to move anywhere?”
“Southlanders like permanence. We like to know that when we come home from work, we go to the same place every night. It’s comforting.”
“Comforting?” Elina shook her head. “Such a strange people.”
“You don’t like comfort?”
“It leads to weakness and soft hearts.”
Celyn reached over and patted her head with his big hand. “You make me sad, little human.”
Elina was thinking about stabbing the dragon in his hand so that he’d learn never to do that to her again, but she saw a group of men walking down the road toward them. One of the men led a horse that had a large cart behind it. Elina had no idea what was in that cart because it was covered in cloth. But she did notice the way the men stared at her and the dragon. As if they were waiting for them to do something. Whatever was in that cart was important to them.
As they passed the men, Celyn suddenly slowed his horse to a stop. Elina also stopped and glanced back, watching as the dragon lifted his head and sniffed the air, his entire body growing tense.
Elina rode back to him, circling around his giant travel-cow. “What is it?” she asked softly.
He shook his head and moved on, and Elina fell into place beside him.
Together they passed the city gates and made it down the road another two leagues. That’s when Celyn stopped again and looked around. When he saw nothing, he nodded at Elina and turned his horse toward the woods, urging the oversized beast into a gallop. Elina clicked her tongue against her teeth and her horse followed after Celyn’s.
They headed back toward the city but stayed in the woods, climbing up and up until they reached the opening of a cave buried deep in the forest.
Celyn quickly dismounted and prepared to call out, but Elina leaned over and slapped her hand over his mouth. When he looked at her, she shook her head and sniffed the air.
Since she’d been a young girl, she’d been taught to track two things: animals, because they were food; and men who were not part of their tribes . . . because, as a whole, men could not be trusted.
And Elina smelled men.
Celyn’s heart had raced as they’d made their way up to Costentyn’s cave. He’d scented dragon’s blood on those men. And their clothes had been singed at the edges as if they’d been touched by a dragon’s flame. Since Celyn knew of no other dragons in this region, he feared the worst for his old friend.
And clearly he wasn’t alone in that sinking feeling. With her free hand, Elina pointed at her own nose. She scented something, too.
When she seemed confident that Celyn wouldn’t call out, she pulled her hand away from his mouth and dismounted from her horse. She took the reins of both horses and led them to nearby trees.
With her curved bow and a quiver full of arrows secured to her back, Elina came to his side and nodded. Once. She was ready.
Celyn removed his fur cloak so that nothing would encumber him should he need to fight as human, and together they entered Costentyn’s cave.
As soon as Celyn entered, he became even more worried about his old friend. It didn’t smell right. Nothing smelled right.
Celyn moved deeper into the cave and, as he did, he saw books tossed around, some burned. He remembered, quite clearly, Costentyn and Celyn’s father arguing about how Bram treated his books. Celyn’s father piled those books into the corners of his home. Haphazard with an organizational logic that only Bram and his assistants seemed to understand. Celyn remembered how offended Old Costentyn had been. Books, to him, were to be treated with reverence and placed on shelves in a logical order so that anyone at any time could come in and pick up a book for their reading pleasure. Bram, however, saw books as a means to an end. That end being knowledge.
So finding Costentyn’s books lying around . . .
Celyn rushed forward, determined to find his friend. He used his logic to guide him more than his senses. And logic suggested that Costentyn would try to get to an exit. Any exit that would allow him to fly away.
After several long minutes Celyn stopped running. He bowed his head and curled his hands into fists. After a breath, he took a step forward just as Elina ran up behind him. He walked into the alcove, dropped to his human knees, and carefully placed his hand on the head of his murdered friend.
Elina watched the dragon mourn his friend.
It was obvious this was an old dragon. So old, even his brown scales were mostly grey. She could see bits of brown underneath but it was hard to tell. And, of course, the blood didn’t help.
It hadn’t been a fair fight. Instead, the old dragon had been pinned down by nets that were then tacked to the ground and, while he probably fought his bindings, he was repeatedly stabbed with long spears and hacked at with axes. It must have taken hours for the dragon to die. Hours while the weak men hacked at his hard scales and stabbed at any weak spots he had.
Finally, Elina turned her head in disgust.
This was why men could not rule. What was the point of killing this dragon? He was old. Probably didn’t leave his home much. And based on all the books she saw throughout the cave, she would guess that all he did was read. This was not some great warrior one could defeat with any pride. But Elina knew Southlander men well enough to know they would be crowing about this victory until the end of their time. They would never see the shame in what they’d done.
Chapter Seventeen
It took two days to make it to a forest outside a medium-sized city.
“There is so much unused space in the Southlands,” Elina noted. “Why do these people insist on living in these stone cities and towns . . . unable to move anywhere?”
“Southlanders like permanence. We like to know that when we come home from work, we go to the same place every night. It’s comforting.”
“Comforting?” Elina shook her head. “Such a strange people.”
“You don’t like comfort?”
“It leads to weakness and soft hearts.”
Celyn reached over and patted her head with his big hand. “You make me sad, little human.”
Elina was thinking about stabbing the dragon in his hand so that he’d learn never to do that to her again, but she saw a group of men walking down the road toward them. One of the men led a horse that had a large cart behind it. Elina had no idea what was in that cart because it was covered in cloth. But she did notice the way the men stared at her and the dragon. As if they were waiting for them to do something. Whatever was in that cart was important to them.
As they passed the men, Celyn suddenly slowed his horse to a stop. Elina also stopped and glanced back, watching as the dragon lifted his head and sniffed the air, his entire body growing tense.
Elina rode back to him, circling around his giant travel-cow. “What is it?” she asked softly.
He shook his head and moved on, and Elina fell into place beside him.
Together they passed the city gates and made it down the road another two leagues. That’s when Celyn stopped again and looked around. When he saw nothing, he nodded at Elina and turned his horse toward the woods, urging the oversized beast into a gallop. Elina clicked her tongue against her teeth and her horse followed after Celyn’s.
They headed back toward the city but stayed in the woods, climbing up and up until they reached the opening of a cave buried deep in the forest.
Celyn quickly dismounted and prepared to call out, but Elina leaned over and slapped her hand over his mouth. When he looked at her, she shook her head and sniffed the air.
Since she’d been a young girl, she’d been taught to track two things: animals, because they were food; and men who were not part of their tribes . . . because, as a whole, men could not be trusted.
And Elina smelled men.
Celyn’s heart had raced as they’d made their way up to Costentyn’s cave. He’d scented dragon’s blood on those men. And their clothes had been singed at the edges as if they’d been touched by a dragon’s flame. Since Celyn knew of no other dragons in this region, he feared the worst for his old friend.
And clearly he wasn’t alone in that sinking feeling. With her free hand, Elina pointed at her own nose. She scented something, too.
When she seemed confident that Celyn wouldn’t call out, she pulled her hand away from his mouth and dismounted from her horse. She took the reins of both horses and led them to nearby trees.
With her curved bow and a quiver full of arrows secured to her back, Elina came to his side and nodded. Once. She was ready.
Celyn removed his fur cloak so that nothing would encumber him should he need to fight as human, and together they entered Costentyn’s cave.
As soon as Celyn entered, he became even more worried about his old friend. It didn’t smell right. Nothing smelled right.
Celyn moved deeper into the cave and, as he did, he saw books tossed around, some burned. He remembered, quite clearly, Costentyn and Celyn’s father arguing about how Bram treated his books. Celyn’s father piled those books into the corners of his home. Haphazard with an organizational logic that only Bram and his assistants seemed to understand. Celyn remembered how offended Old Costentyn had been. Books, to him, were to be treated with reverence and placed on shelves in a logical order so that anyone at any time could come in and pick up a book for their reading pleasure. Bram, however, saw books as a means to an end. That end being knowledge.
So finding Costentyn’s books lying around . . .
Celyn rushed forward, determined to find his friend. He used his logic to guide him more than his senses. And logic suggested that Costentyn would try to get to an exit. Any exit that would allow him to fly away.
After several long minutes Celyn stopped running. He bowed his head and curled his hands into fists. After a breath, he took a step forward just as Elina ran up behind him. He walked into the alcove, dropped to his human knees, and carefully placed his hand on the head of his murdered friend.
Elina watched the dragon mourn his friend.
It was obvious this was an old dragon. So old, even his brown scales were mostly grey. She could see bits of brown underneath but it was hard to tell. And, of course, the blood didn’t help.
It hadn’t been a fair fight. Instead, the old dragon had been pinned down by nets that were then tacked to the ground and, while he probably fought his bindings, he was repeatedly stabbed with long spears and hacked at with axes. It must have taken hours for the dragon to die. Hours while the weak men hacked at his hard scales and stabbed at any weak spots he had.
Finally, Elina turned her head in disgust.
This was why men could not rule. What was the point of killing this dragon? He was old. Probably didn’t leave his home much. And based on all the books she saw throughout the cave, she would guess that all he did was read. This was not some great warrior one could defeat with any pride. But Elina knew Southlander men well enough to know they would be crowing about this victory until the end of their time. They would never see the shame in what they’d done.
