Whoever it had been, Nyphron felt a kinship—the buried person’s plans hadn’t worked out, either.
Returning to his chariot, he leaned against the wheel, looking east at the forest. He had come out there to be alone, to think, not about dragons—not anymore. What had once been his possible salvation would now be his undoing. The fane would have dragons—of that, he had no doubt—but he didn’t have them yet. That was also a certainty. Lothian wouldn’t waste even a moment sending his new weapon across the river—and he would ask for as many as he wished and get them. As the sky was clear of everything except snow, Nyphron knew there was still time . . . but for what?
What should I do next?
The flurries lent a hazy gray to the world. Not a real snow yet, only a ghostly preview of the season to come. And while he could see the trees, he saw nothing else.
“I’ve had lousy luck of late,” he said. Then speaking to the white bony fingers, he added, “You can understand that, can’t you? For you, it was what? A sword? An arrow? For me, it’ll likely be the teeth of a dragon.”
Yes, he thought again, my symbol should have been a dragon.
He should have thought of it years ago. His emblem of leadership needed to proclaim strength and power. Lions and bears were typical, but he was supposed to be the ruler of kings and fanes. His symbol had to be greater, and what was more powerful than a dragon? And if the Rhunes chose to bestow the adoration he deserved on a conjured beast, that was fine. Just as he had acquired power over the Ten Clans by marrying Persephone, so, too, would he have gained the reverence he desired by linking himself to a dragon. In a few centuries, no one would have known the difference. Nyphron the Dragon, the defender of the people: The two titles would be the same. From what he knew of the Rhunes, it might only take a few decades. They were a forgetful lot.
Nyphron caught movement coming from the camp. A figure in a hooded cloak walked toward him. The person was alone—and it was a man. He could tell that much by the awkward gait.
“Sorry to intrude,” Malcolm called when closer. Then he paused, threw back his hood, and created a massive cloud of fog as he struggled to catch his breath.
No, not a man after all.
He honestly had no idea what Malcolm was. He looked like a Rhune, moved like one, but he wasn’t. What he actually was remained a mystery. The only reason Nyphron hadn’t banished the not-a-man was that he had disappeared on his own.
“I thought you’d left.”
“Came back for the funeral and . . . other things.”
Malcolm took notice of the skeletal hand. “Friend of yours?”
Nyphron wasn’t amused. “So, why aren’t you at the ceremony?”
“I was. It’s over.”
“Do you expect me to believe that you left for all those years, and it was the death of an old woman that brought you back?”
“Her name was Padera,” Malcolm reminded him. “But as I said, I’m here for other reasons as well.” He glanced down at the bony fingers. “You know, lend a hand where I can. Check on things, make any necessary adjustments.”
“You’re not going to ask me to make another vow, are you? Because I traded that for a promise that’s not looking like it’ll come to fruition.”
Malcolm shook his head and offered a sad smile. “No, it’s not that. Would you find it odd if I said I’m concerned about you?”
Despite his depression, that made Nyphron laugh.
“Think what you will,” Malcolm said. “But your welfare and success are very important to me.”
“Since when?”
“Since your father died.” Malcolm stared at the bony hand with an unsettled expression that puzzled Nyphron.
How can he appear so prissy? So human?
“Are you saying I risk suffering his same fate? Because that’s not exactly news to me. The war is going badly, and it’s only a matter of time before Lothian repeats the denigration of my father on me. Now if you don’t mind, I came up here to be away from people. And that includes you, whatever you are.”
Malcolm turned his attention to Nyphron. “You came up here to think. I came to help you do that.”
“I’m certain I am capable of doing that on my own.”
“You’re disillusioned, disappointed, and depressed because you suspect everything is lost. But worst of all, you’re losing faith in me.”
“I never had any faith in you.”
Malcolm raised his arms and then let them fall with a sigh. “See—this has always been my problem. Why can’t the world be filled with Tressas?”
“What?”
“Never mind. The point is, I promised that you would be ruler of Elan, and you will.”
“You’ve been gone, so you might not know this, but Suri is going to give Lothian dragons.”
“No, Suri’s capture is not news to me. I’ve known about it for a long time. Before it happened, in fact.”
Nyphron was sure Malcolm was just babbling nonsense now. But his implicit agreement about Lothian obtaining dragons was a surprise. He had expected an argument. The lack of debate left him confused, and he lost track of his thoughts for a moment.
He likes to keep me off-balance, but why?
Nyphron had learned from experience never to trust anyone, or more accurately, to trust them only as far as was safe. That distance could only be accomplished by knowing the person. While Malcolm had been around during Nyphron’s early years, he knew nothing of his father’s servant. He caught the thread of his thoughts again. “We have no defense against dragons, and without Suri, we can’t hope to survive.”
“Right again. You’re pretty good at this.”
Nyphron frowned. “Did you come up here to make me feel worse? To revel in my pain?”
Malcolm sighed. “I hate it when people don’t hear me. No, I suppose they hear, they just don’t listen. Look, I told you I came to help, but lying to you wouldn’t accomplish that.”
Malcolm looked around for a place to sit, but found nothing and frowned. “So yes, the outcome of this war is teetering, and as hard as it may be for you to do, I think you need to relax and let matters run their course. I don’t need any further meddling from you.”
“Meddling? What makes you think I’m planning on doing anything?”
“Because you’re Nyphron, not Petragar. And because I know that you sent Elysan north on a secret mission.”
“Not so secret if you know about it.”
Malcolm gave him that disturbing stare that wasn’t quite human—because humans wouldn’t dare look at him so boldly. Doing so required a lack of mortal fear that men didn’t possess.
“I tried to build a bridge,” Nyphron said. “That didn’t work. Persephone suggested a tunnel, but the Dherg nixed that idea. They said they’d prefer to be buried by their own people rather than the Miralyith. Can’t say I blame them.”
“Yes, and you also sent a contingent south toward the base of the falls, looking for a ford across the river. See? Meddling. As a result, there will be more unnecessary deaths as neither of the parties will survive.”
“You can’t know that.”
“Ghazel to the south and giants to the north. Both have a fondness for human meat, and they’ve been known to eat a Fhrey or two.”