Page 164 of The Consumption of Magic (Tales From Verania 3)
His eyes were glittering darkly. “The Dark wizard. The man in shadows. He will not eat your magic, Sam of Wilds. Not while I still draw breath.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that, so I said nothing at all. I nodded slowly at him, and he gave me a wicked smile that contained a great many teeth.
Randall had been talking. Though I supposed that made everything easier. At the very least, I wouldn’t have to recount everything all over again.
Randall stood before Pat and Leslie, who were lying in the snow, curled around each other. Their eyes flashed blue as I approached, and a surge of dragon magic rolled through me.
“Randall of Dragons,” I said, bowing low and slightly mocking.
“Little shit,” he said, sounding mildly amused. “You’re alive, which is good, I suppose. I thought I heard the faint sounds of destruction from inside the castle. I was truly worried about your safety.”
“But not enough to intervene?”
He shrugged. “I’m old. I move slow. By the time I got inside, it would have all been over.”
“You seemed to move just fine when we were running for our lives.”
He gave me a deeply wrinkled smile.
“Tiggy smashed my paintings in their room,” I admitted. “We worked it out. I just wish it hadn’t been at the expense of my art.”
“Yes,” Randall said. “Your art. The world is a much darker place now that it’s gone.”
“That’s what I was saying—”
“I lied. The art was offensive, and I’m glad it’s been destroyed.”
“Goodbye, any good feelings I might have had left,” I sighed.
“And the Knight Commander? How did he fare?”
I scrubbed a hand over my face. “He’s mad at me. He’s with the Prince right now.”
“Ah. I expect it was quite a shock to hear that a god has predicted his death.”
“No,” I said. “That was Vadoma.”
The smile widened. “Indeed. I’m glad you’ve seen the difference. No matter the strength of one, a human is not a god. You would do well to remember that.”
I sighed. “The Great White, Randall? Really?”
He shrugged. “He and I have… a history.”
“I would think it’s more than a history if you were named because of him.”
“I was not named because of him,” Randall said stiffly. “The title came from what was perceived as attributes associated with a dragon: cunning, ferocity, power. My relationship with the Great White was contentious, to say the least.”
“They said you served him,” I said, nodding toward Pat and Leslie, who remained silent but ever watchful.
“He was my mentor.”
I took a step back. “What?”
“My mentor,” Randall said slowly, as if I was stupid. Which, given the look on my face, probably wasn’t too far off. “Like Morgan is to you. Like I was to Morgan. The Great White was mine.”
I gaped at him.
“I do believe you’ve broken him,” Pat said scornfully. “So soft his mind is.”
