Chapter 229: Terms (2)

Encrid did not know how to respond to the dragon, especially when he could not even see it. In the end, he settled for the two safest words he could think of.

"Thank you."

{ I did not do it for you. }

The reply came so quickly that Encrid almost smiled.

{ If you tear open your wounds, the old man will spend another week treating you. That would delay everything. }

"Delay what?"

The dragon did not answer immediately.

When it finally spoke, the familiar contempt had returned, but there was something more deliberate beneath it.

{ You can stand now. Poorly, but you can stand. We will speak of terms. }

Encrid straightened as much as his injuries allowed.

He had been waiting for this conversation since the day he first heard the dragon’s voice. The creature had followed him here, hidden itself from everyone in the estate, and even used its power to protect him. None of that meant it considered itself his subordinate. If anything, its behavior suggested the opposite.

"All right," he said. "What do you want?"

{ A man. }

The answer was immediate.

{ He has no hair. There are scars on his head, old ones that circle around his scalp like water draining into a hole. He carries a staff with rings at the top. When he strikes it against the ground, the rings sing. }

Encrid’s hands slowly tightened around the edge of the bench.

He knew that description.

The hidden quest had mentioned a vessel taken from the hands that prepared it. He had wondered what those words meant, but he had not possessed enough information to draw a conclusion.

Now he had a name to connect to them.

"The High Seer," he said quietly.

{ Perhaps that is what his followers call him. I do not know. }

The dragon’s voice remained flat and controlled, as though it were describing an ordinary event rather than something that had happened to it. ℯ

{ I know his smell. I know the sound of his rings. I know what he did to me. }

Encrid waited.

{ He put his fingers in my mouth while I slept and poured silver down my throat. He did it three times. }

The silence that followed was long enough for Encrid to hear the leaves moving above him.

{ The third time, I did not wake as myself - something was controlling my mind. }

There was no anger in the dragon’s voice. No trembling, no raised tone, not even the slightest break in its cold delivery.

Somehow, that made the words worse.

Encrid remembered the horde bowing after the Slumbering Elder’s death. He remembered the white dragon walking through thousands of Roamers as though none of them dared obstruct its path. He remembered the power it had displayed and the effortless way it had hidden itself from the Reaper.

Something capable of doing all that had been captured, restrained, and changed against its will.

And the person responsible was still alive.

"You want me to help you find him," Encrid said.

{ Yes. }

It was not a request. The dragon had already decided what Encrid would do, and it was simply informing him of the decision.

"And after we find him?"

{ Afterward, we will discuss what you are to me. }

Encrid looked across the garden.

Sera had settled on the grass with Pudding in her lap. She was still trying to teach the creature to fetch, although Pudding seemed more interested in climbing onto her shoulder than retrieving the ball. Beyond them stood the plum tree, its branches shifting gently in the morning breeze. The grey garden wall enclosed the estate, hiding the outside world from view.

For a moment, the scene seemed almost peaceful.

Encrid knew better.

He had seen what the cult was capable of doing. Eleven thousand people had been turned into an altar for a purpose he still did not fully understand. Whatever they had planned for the dragon, they had gone to extraordinary lengths to carry it out.

He had taken the vessel away from them, and that alone was enough to make him their enemy. Even if he refused to help the dragon, there was no reason to believe the cult would leave him alone.

Waiting for them to make the next move would be foolish.

It was better to find them first, learn what they wanted, and discover how much danger he was actually facing.

"All right," Encrid said. "I’ll help you find him."

For a while, the dragon said nothing.

The silence did not feel hostile this time. If Encrid had to describe it, he would have called it satisfaction, though he doubted the dragon would appreciate the suggestion.

He rested his hands on his knees and considered his next question.

"Can I ask your name?"

{ No. }

Encrid had expected that answer.

"Then what should I call you?"

{ You have not earned a name. Call me nothing. }

He nodded.

"Fine. I’ll call you nothing, then."

The dragon did not respond, and Encrid decided the conversation had probably reached its end.

Then he felt its attention shift.

It was a subtle sensation, but he had grown familiar with the dragon’s presence over the past few days. Its awareness had been focused on him, even when it was hidden beyond his sight. Now that attention moved away, passing through the garden and toward the house.

Encrid followed the direction of its interest as best he could.

The dragon’s attention had settled on his bedroom.

More precisely, it was fixed on the corner where his coat had been folded and left after he was brought to the estate.

Something lay on top of it.

A small grey cushion.

It was slightly swollen, its surface drawn tight over whatever rested inside. Even from the bench, Encrid could remember the faint warmth it gave off whenever he held it. He had not thought much about it since waking, but the dragon’s sudden silence told him that the object was far more important than he had realized.

For a long time, the dragon said nothing.

Then its voice returned, quieter than he had ever heard it.

{ That thing smells good. }

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