“Once he understood that there were questions, he was compelled to seek out answers. He flew long and wide, visiting places where no dragon had ever been. The world was young then, but the lands were filled with beasts, and the seas with fish. Araxion was the first to give voice to the question, and he realised there was no one but himself to answer it. Araxion had grown old by the time he understood.
“The answers were to be found in only one place. The place where it had all started, where the question had fought its way from the darkness to be expressed. His mind.
“He looked within himself once more, struggling to find that answer in much the same way he struggled to find the question. He could tell it was there, somewhere, like a scent on a summer breeze, but he could not grasp it. He raged within himself, and at moments was tempted to abandon his quest. His lifespan might be great, but he had sacrificed much of it to the question, while his kin revelled in simplicity. They fed, they flew, they fought, they revelled, they mated … but Araxion could not allow himself to let go of the glimmer of light that led him along this seemingly endless path.
“Then he did something that no dragon before him had done. He opened his eyes and he saw, truly saw. The world was bathed in a dancing blue light, coruscating across every surface, making it look like a great sapphire that had caught a flame. He saw the Fount, the energy of life, of the world, and of all things in it. He saw the sun rise above the horizon, and he understood. He saw the rain fall from the clouds, and he understood. He saw himself reflected on the surface of a still lake, and he understood. He asked himself who he was, what he would be, why he was, and he understood. And he rejoiced.”
The goldscale’s eyes narrowed again. The glimmer of awareness was still there, and Pharadon had hope.
“I ask you the questions he asked of himself, that were asked of me and of all the others of our kind who know the joy of enlightenment.” He raised his voice to a crescendo until it boomed like thunder. “Who are you?”
The goldscale stared at him blankly, but Pharadon could see the light within her burning steadily. No dragon ever responded to the first demand.
“What will you be?” he continued.
The goldscale’s eyes narrowed again. Its brow furrowed.
“Why are you?”
The goldscale’s eyes flashed bright and then settled to a faint blue glow. Pharadon felt a shiver of relief and joy run through him as he realised that he was not to be alone, that he was not to be the last of his kind. The young dragon’s mind had opened itself to enlightenment. In that moment, to Pharadon’s eyes, the world was bathed in the glory of the Fount, that beautiful blue light, and he knew the joy of wonderment as freshly as he had first experienced it during his own ascent to enlightenment.
Pharadon could tell that the goldscale had seen the Fount too from the way she looked about herself. The hard part had been successfully completed. The parts of the goldscale’s mind that had lain dormant up to that moment were now filled with energy, creating the impossible from nothing more than thought. But unless the goldscale drank from a vessel of enlightenment, that energy would ebb away like a dying light, leaving only darkness in its wake. Pharadon had won more time for his task, but it was not limitless.
“Come with me, if you desire it,” Pharadon said, “and I will show you where the answers lie.”
It was not unknown for a dragon to refuse such an invitation. Pharadon could remember how terrifying that was—to be on the verge of understanding something so enormous that it threatened to cleave your mind in two. Some dragons were too afraid. Some were too close to their descent and could not be pulled from the precipice. Some were too haughty to think they could be any better than they already were. Such refusals were sad for all involved—any dragon that would not accept enlightenment would be put to death.
The goldscale nodded her head; she was uncertain at first, but as she looked about herself, realising the great power that made the world work, the nodding became ever more vigorous.
CHAPTER 38
Since Gill’s encounter with the dragons had ended in the mid-afternoon, he knew it would be after dark by the time he got back to Venne. That in itself was no great problem, but he couldn’t face going back there, so took the excuse to camp out for the night and give himself some time to think. He hadn’t come up with any answers to his worries by morning, however, and was still confused when he rode back to Venne. It seemed he had laid the threat of dragons to rest, but he hadn’t slain them. How did he explain that to the villagers? He doubted very much if any of them would believe the conversation he had had with Pharadon. He doubted any of them would believe that dragons could talk, much less take on human form. He wasn’t sure he believed it himself, though he had seen and heard it.
Could he trust Pharadon? Although the dragon’s behaviour suggested he was being earnest, it was unsettling to know the two dragons were still out there. They could have killed Gill easily if they had chosen, yet they had not. Having witnessed the beasts cause so much death and destruction, Guillot found it difficult to think of them as intelligent and reasoning. Yet he recalled the expressive face of the first dragon he had killed, remembered wondering what it was thinking.
There was no way he could tell the villagers what had actually happened, which meant he needed to come up with something else, and come up with it quickly. The previous day, everyone had known that he was riding out to go after the last of the dragons, and when he returned, they would want to know what had happened. He believed he had two options. Either he said he couldn’t find it, that it seemed to have moved on, or he said he had killed it.
If he told them he had killed the gold one, and someone then saw it in flight, would the whole cycle of panic and terror begin again? That wasn’t the answer. Perhaps a truth that omitted some of the facts, allowing the villagers to come to their own conclusion? It felt a little devious, but it seemed like the best solution that was available to him.
What to say? That the dragon was gone? That was too nebulous, and invited further questioning. He needed something better. Only when he was within sight of the village did something better occur to him—and just in time. As soon as he was spotted, a small crowd gathered near the remains of the tent village that had been set up by the adventurers.
“Did you kill it?” someone shouted, once Gill was within earshot.
He did his best to give them a broad smile. “It won’t be bothering you again.”
There was a cheer, and he felt like a fraud, but only for a moment. After all, he had killed the other two, not to mention the big one that started it all. So long as Pharadon kept to his word and stayed out of sight while he took the gold one deep into the mountains, no one ever needed to know the truth. Gill did his best to wave and respond to the adulation, as uncomfortable as it made him. He couldn’t get back to the tavern quickly enough, though even there, there were eager villagers to help him down and take his horse away for grooming and feeding. Celebrity did have its perks.
Inside the inn, at the sight of Gill, Gaufre reached for a bottle of the wine he kept on his top shelf. Gill’s stomach turned at the thought and he shook his head.
“Just some water.” He sat near the bar, knowing he wasn’t going to get any peace for a few hours yet, until the news that the danger was ended had reached everyone, and they had all come to see their conquering hero. The dread he felt at this thought was something of a comfort to him—he would have been far less impressed with himself had he been looking forward to the adulation, as would once have been the case.