He dreamed about the battle with his father in all its bloody glory, but that was all it was—a dream. In reality, the only blood likely to be spilled was Ven’s. He could wield a sword—Bellona had seen to that. But he did not possess a sword, and with the blasted monks dogging his footsteps, there seemed no way to acquire one.

Add to that the fact that he’d have to kill Grald twice. First he’d have to slay the huge and hulking human body—a task that might daunt even the most skilled human warrior, something Ven was not. Then, he’d have to kill the dragon.

Growing increasingly frustrated, Ven paced and kept on pacing. His route took him near the small hole that passed for a window in the crudely constructed building. He looked out this window every time he passed, longing for the freedom of the grassy sward that lay beyond it, and he vowed that tomorrow he was getting out of this room, even if he had to tear down the walls to do it.

On his hundred and umpteenth time past the window, Ven looked outside and caught sight of movement. Even a deer bounding across the hillside would be a welcome distraction to his own dismal ponderings, and he halted his pacing to stare out into the field, his dragon eyesight easily penetrating the rain-drenched darkness.

He saw a man standing on the hillside lift up his arms, and the arms became enormous wings. A huge reptilian head gazed up into the night. Powerful hind legs and a massive tail drove into the ground, propelling the body upward. The dragon’s claws grabbed at the clouds and caught them, seeming to drag them down to earth, as the wings carried the massive body into heaven.

Ven was a child again, watching with vivid clarity a man take wing, take flight, soar into the sky, leaving behind a grief-stricken half-human, half-dragon, who wanted to be all human, no dragon.

Ven sprang at the window with a bound, sprang at it as though he might spring out of it. Gripping the ledge with his hands, he stared into the night and sucked in a breath and let it out in a hiss that was also a name.

“Draconas!”

He watched the dragon wheel in the sky. Draconas was fleeing Dragonkeep, escaping. Leaving Ven behind.

Ven was tempted to call out to Draconas, to splatter the white emptiness of his cave with the red-gold stain of Draconas’s name. Ven stopped himself, however. He had only once in his life cried out for help, a cry that had been answered by Grald. He would not beg for help ever again.

The dragon flew into a cloud bank and Ven lost sight of him.