They shared one last embrace, and then they turned their horses and went their separate ways. Zollin led Lilly, laden with their supplies. Eustace the eunuch and Mansel followed him. Quinn followed the Weaver’s Road east, toward Felson.
* * *
Far to the south, Offendorl was being rowed out to a ship. Bartoom the dragon had carried him to the coast and then stayed with him through the night. Offendorl had sent the beast away to wait for him in the Walheta mountains while Offendorl booked passage south on a trade ship. He had been forced to pawn part of his golden crown in order to pay for his passage and buy supplies.
The old wizard was physically spent. His abdomen was swollen from the internal bleeding, which the wizard had healed, but he had not had time to clear all the old blood and bile from his body. He needed time to rest and mend, which Offendorl planned to get during his journey on the ship.
He also needed time to think. Offendorl was angry at himself. Nothing about the invasion had gone the way he expected, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he had somehow lost touch with reality. The power Zollin possessed was not as great as his own, but perhaps he had come to rely too much on knowledge. His vast intellect had not helped him in his battle with a younger, faster opponent. Offendorl knew he needed to hone his skills and build his strength if he was to face Zollin again. And that prospect was all he could think of. He was not giving up, now that time and distance had eased the fear that had driven him away from Orrock. He was the Master of the Torr, he thought reassuringly, and he wouldn’t stop until all the magical power in the Five Kingdoms was his, including Zollin’s. He would bring the boy under his control, or see him dead.
Epilogue
Brianna had been working for days, perhaps weeks; she wasn’t sure. She was neither hungry nor tired. She was focused on one thing only, the task at hand. Her fire had burned through the mountain, straight down into the deliciously warm bowels of the earth. And there she had begun to create life. It was not a child, not a human or even a Fire Spirit baby. She was giving life to her own kind, to dragonkind.
She heated the stone until it was more fire than rock. She formed the dragon’s shape, from its horned crown to the tip of its tail. She labored over every detail, lovingly working and shaping the molten ore until it glowed with heat, which was life to her kind.
Finally, she had to give the dragon the spark of life. It was not an easy task, and she could not explain how she knew what to do. She breathed fire onto and into her offspring. Over and over again she breathed life into the beast. She felt it coming to life, felt its awareness growing. The beast was almost alive. All that it needed now was gold and a name: then the dragon would live, and they could leave the mountains together. She knew that the time for her kind to rise was coming, the time when dragons would sway the balance of power in the world. She had to be ready. Zollin would be waiting for her, and she refused to let him down.