Page 13 of The Dragon Warlord
“Whoa,” River says, clutching his chest. “What is that, Warlord? It’s dreadful.”
Tears prick his eyes. His tears are unacceptable. They pull a snarl out of me.
We’re seated on the veranda, still picking away at the generous spread Pewter put together for us. There was dragonmead stew and a lot of stuff with honey as the main ingredient—dragonfly honey cakes, honey ale, honey salad, honey biscuits, and fruit and honey. The veranda overlooks the edge of the world, which at this height is puffs upon puffs of clouds backlit by refracted pink and purple light.
There is a breeze up here, but our blood is running hot, something I’ve learned could change at any moment.
“I’m missing people that I care about.”
“Is that because you’re worried that you’ll never see them again?”
“Yes.”
“You will, Warlord. The dragon lord promised that you would.”
“Forgive me if I don’t trust him. Besides, even if I did believe him, it doesn’t change that I wish they were here to consult with me. This is a lot to digest, Riv. I didn’t know this place existed and now I’m its Warlord. My men are older like you and could offer a lot of insight. Alrik’s older than you if you can believe that.” I always thought of Corrik as old too, but he’s a spring chicken compared to River.
“Who is Alrik, Warlord?”
“My fiancé. We’re supposed to get married soon. Don’t think I’m going to make it.”
“I’m sorry about that, Warlord. You may miss your wedding, but I’m sure he won’t mind marrying you at a later date.”
Even the chances of Alrik finding another love after four thousand years of waiting for me are grim, but that’s not what I’m worried about.
“He would, but there might not be a later date, River.”
“The dragon lord mentioned you were on a mission. Is it confidential?”
I lean back and watch the way the clouds float. It’s an eerie pace, so slowly it tricks the eye into thinking they’re not moving at all. Perhaps the clouds are watching me. “Not from you. We had some trouble from the underworld. I was stabbed and poisoned by dark wyvern venom. Know anything about that?”
“Dark wyverns? There haven’t been dark wyverns in a few millennia, Warlord. Before I was born. According to our records, they’re extinct. You’re certain?”
“Certain enough, though I won’t claim to be an expert. I’ve still yet to see the dark wyvern belonging to the venom that poisoned me or any dark wyvern for that matter.”
“Forgive me, Warlord,” he says, having a hard time looking me in the eyes. “But you don’t seem like you’re poisoned anymore.”
“That’s because I’m not.” The first day I awoke into this nightmare, I could feel what I was soon to learn were the last remnants of the venom. This morning it was gone. It might not be a coincidence that this morning was the same day I began new River cravings.
“We can heal ourselves from dragon venom, Warlord. Maybe you healed yourself.”
I shake my head. “Afraid not. I tried that. Dark wyvern venom is different.” As the poison thickened in my blood, before I shifted into a dragon, my condition worsened. I was slowly dying. “My men were going to head into the Underworld to find a dark wyvern, excise its venom and make me an antivenom.”
His eyes narrow and he looks up. “Do you think there could be dark wyverns in the Underworld, Warlord?”
I shrug. “I had hoped so, otherwise I was done for.”
“But you’re not … Warlord, please say you’re not still dying.”
“No. At least I don’t think so.”
He bites his lip and worry waves across the deck from him to me.
“I’m okay, River. Either I did something in the time I don’t remember or as a dragon or … this tower is spelled, isn’t it?” Anyone with two bits of magic in them can feel that.
He relaxes. “It is. The Tower is alive in a way. It is conscious.”
“Could it have helped me?”
