SORROW CREPT THROUGH THE CORRIDOR ON THE BALLS OF HER feet, moving as silently as possible. She had not yet made up her mind whether to confront the dragon, Maristara, or not. She wanted to see and hear before she was heard and seen. She planned to verify Ven’s story, find out if he was telling the truth. If that involved speaking with the dragon, Sorrow would do so. She wanted this to be her decision, however. Not the dragon’s.

As is customary with dragon lairs, Grald had constructed several different corridors that led into and out of the main hall. Some, such as the one Sorrow walked, led to the hall from the mountain “palace.” Others led to the hall from outside the mountain, with no need to pass through the part of the lair where the soldiers of the dragon army lived and worked. Some of the corridors were small, made for the dragon in his human form; others enormous, meant for the dragon in his true form. Maristara entered through one of the large corridors. Sorrow came in by one of the small ones.

She stood in the doorway, in the shadows. No illusion spell could hide her from the dragon’s eyes, so she didn’t bother. She kept still, kept the colors of her mind subdued. Not that it was likely the dragon would seek her out. She was just one of Grald’s children. The dragon had other, far more important matters to consider.

Maristara was old, far older than Grald. The dragon’s scales were so dark that they were almost black. Her head was slightly stooped, her shoulders hunched, with her wings folded at her side.

Tendons creaked and bones cracked as she moved. For all her great age, Maristara was not feeble. The huge body advanced ponderously into the hall and stalked over to Grald. Maristara sniffed at the charred, maimed carcass, and her head jerked involuntarily at the stench of death.

A low growl of ire rumbled in the dragon’s chest. Maristara searched around, seeking the perpetrator. Her piercing gaze roved the hall methodically and sifted through the shadows. Sorrow glided behind a pillar. The dragon’s glint-eyes raked the alcove and passed over her, then their gaze shifted, along with the massive head, to the door—the human entrance to the hall. Sorrow could hear the approaching footfalls as well as the dragon—a single person, running swiftly.

The dragon lifted a claw, and there was a glint of gold. Maristara held a locket such as Grald had worn; a locket containing a human heart. The dragon’s magic took shape and form in her mind, and such was the power of the magic that Sorrow, standing close to it, could see the blending, merging, dazzling colors flicker on the horizon of her own mind.