Drakon halted his horse at the end of the pass and stared at the collection of houses and the fields beyond. Last night he and his companion had ridded well past moonrise so they could reach the village this morning. Fall had arrived. Reds, yellows and oranges blazed across the hills.
Why had this village remained untouched? Ten years ago, the lord of Sea
Cliff had attacked
*You will not,* the Old One said. *They are dead.*
Drakon tightened his hold on the reins. Every time the ancient yellow dragon spoke to him, he felt warmth and delight. Years ago, his inability to speak to the dragons had doomed him to ten years as a slave.* I wish they were alive so I could see to their punishment. Their treason made me Lagon’s prisoner and a thing to be sold to the priestesses.*
*Better a slave than living under the evil one’s control the way the heirs of the other towers do.*
A year had passed since Drakon’s escape from the
*Patience,* the Old One said.
“Behold the lush growth of the fields.” His companion drew his steed to Drakon’s side. “Look at the height and fullness of the fyrethorns. The harvest will be abundant.” He raked his fingers through his gray-tinged brown hair.
Drakon shook his head. “I see but do we need all this for one dragon?”
Radlan shrugged. “Who are we to cry about good fortune? There are few dragons in the land. From what I have heard there are five pair at Sea Cliff and none at the other three towers.”
Drakon’s jaw clenched. His desire for revenge flared anew. If only there
was a way to defeat Lagon and free the
*Have faith. There will be more dragons at our tower.*
Some of Drakon’s tension ebbed. *First patience and now faith. I’ll try. Before I gain those virtues, there’s a harvest to be completed.* He prodded the steed with his heels and the horse trotted down the trail into the village.
As Drakon dismounted the headman bustled across the commons with a hand extended in welcome. “My lord.”
Drakon straightened. Would he ever become used to being named as the lord
of
The gray-haired man nodded. “The men have started in the fields and the crew for the fyrethorns has just assembled.”
Drakon pulled on a pair of heavy leather gloves, grabbed a sack and strode to the row of fyrethorn bushes. Radlan had been right about the size of the harvest. A wry smile crossed Drakon’s face. The increased yield was due to the seeds he’d brought from the temple, the only good thing to come from his stay to come from his stay as a stud in the harras.
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