Grald turned to face Marcus. The dragon opened the locket he held in his claw.

“Here’s a dream for you, little prince.”

An army of humans wearing armor that sparkled in the sun like the glittering scales of the dragon marched triumphantly through the gates of his father’s castle.

Leading the army was Ven.

Slit eyes glared at Marcus. Jaws opened wide. Slashing fangs dripped saliva. Claws, stained in blood, curled over him. The massive tail lashed and twitched.

Marcus grabbed for his sword, but ... he had no sword. He was naked and soft and fragile, and he couldn’t escape . . .

A hand—his brother’s hand—thrust through the darkness. The hand was that of the little child who had reached out to Marcus so many years ago. The hand was the hand that had shown him the way through the walls of Dragonkeep. His heart aching, his thoughts floundering in confusion, Marcus grasped at the hand.

Ven clasped him firmly, and the bars of Grald’s mind vanished.

Marcus stood in a vast dark hall, standing beside an empty tomb. Ven lay on the floor. Grald loomed over him. The dragon was a grotesque monstrosity—half-in and half-out of the human body. He clutched Ven’s ankle with a single claw, keeping fast hold of him, preventing him from escaping while the dragon continued to shift form.

The dragon head was emerging from the human’s stooped and fleshy shoulders, the human neck elongating into that of the dragon. The human legs shifted, stretched, bent into the powerful hind legs of the dragon. Dragon wings sprouted from human shoulders.

“Help me, Marcus,” Ven cried, his voice grating across Marcus’s mind. “I can’t fight him alone.”

“You’re dead,” said Marcus. “I saw him kill you.”

Even as he spoke, he understood. You wanted to see our dreams . . .

Marcus looked from his brother to Grald, and Marcus realized suddenly that he had seen what the dragon dreamed, not what he had done. The battle was not over. It was just beginning.

“Use the magic!” Marcus told his brother. “He’s weak now!”

“I can’t use the magic,” Ven cried, struggling to free himself from the dragon’s grip. “It isn’t in me!”

“It is,” said Marcus. “It is a part of you. Admit it.”

Ven continued to fight, twisting. Trying to break the dragon’s grip on his ankle, he kicked at Grald’s scale-covered arm with his own clawed foot. Ven was strong and powerful, but the dragon was stronger, and every second that passed, Grald was growing stronger still. Already, there was very little left of him that was human.

Grald dragged Ven closer and stretched out the other clawed hand.

“The magic beats in your heart, Ven,” Marcus told him. “It pulses through your veins. It mixes with the air in your lungs and throbs in your fingertips. It sparkles in the sunlight like the scales on your legs.”