Page 3 of Klauth
We land in the courtyard of my home. The stones still radiate the fading warmth of a sun sinking behind craggy mountains. Dust kicked up by our wings tastes like chalk on my tongue. I also detect a faint odor of scorched earth. A lady’s maid scurries out to collect Syrax from me. Her shoes click nervously against the flagstones. A tightness grips my chest as the pair disappear indoors. I shift back to my human form. The rough texture of skin replaces the cold armor of scales. I fight the urge to roar my frustration into the darkening evening sky.
Thauglor, my oldest friend, follows suit. His scales melt into skin with a sickening crackle of bone. The sound echoes in the silence. Once he is fully changed, he steps closer. The heavy thud of his boots on the stone reminds me of his presence. “What are you going to do with her?” he asks. His voice reverberates beneath the vaulted arch. His gaze lingers on the door where the female disappeared. I can almost taste his disapproval.
I drag my hand down my face. My fingers rasp against my stubble. I cast my eyes over the darkening water beyond the walls. The temple of Bahamut looms in silhouette like a brooding giant. The murky reflection ripples with the faint caress of the wind. It mirrors the turmoil in my mind. “What have I done in my life to deserve this?” I mutter. I hope Thauglor’s next words ease the twisted knot in my gut.
Thauglor gestures toward the shadowy land where the academy is taking shape. “We are ruthless and take territory on a whim,” he declares. “Look at what we accomplished this year.” He continues, “We seized more land from the firedrakes and ambush drakes for the war academy training grounds. We also claimed land for the garden in your mother’s honor.”
I follow his gaze. I smell the lingering scent of upturned earth drifting on the breeze, and I nod slowly. “We did offer them a place at the academy once it’s finished,” I say. “Lesser dragons and other species would have a chance to attend. I say we create a gauntlet to separate the weak from the strong and then send the strong to the war campus.” A cold thrill courses through me at the thought of testing them. I imagine their cries echoing off cold stone walls in the gauntlet’s corridors.
Thauglor rubs his jaw. The leather of his gauntlet creaks as he shifts. “We might as well have a second gauntlet to further separate the strongest and smartest from the strong-but-not-so-smart,” he says. He shrugs. His dark eyes flick between the two proposed locations. “The strong, smart ones can be your generals, officers, and tacticians. The rest will be your soldiers under their command.”
“That’s a sound idea,” I concede. I tap the hilt of my sword. Its weight is cold in my grasp and serves as a constant reminder of my authority. “I’ll implement it as soon as it’s up and running.” Alow growl resonates deep in my chest. “A crystal dragon … what was I thinking?” The words taste bitter, like iron lingering on my tongue.
I lead us inside my castle. The heavy wooden doors groan on ancient hinges as they swing open to reveal a dim, foreboding interior. Our footsteps echo along the stone corridor. The chill in the air is amplified by walls that have witnessed centuries. We climb the winding staircase to the third floor. Torchlight flickers against damp stone and casts dancing shadows. Midway down the hallway, on the right, lies my office—a cavernous room thick with the musty aroma of old parchment and the rich scent of leather-bound tomes.
Inside, two large hand-drawn maps dominate the far wall. One depicts the entire continent with its provinces and meticulously marked dragon dens. The other shows a grand layout of the academy in progress. The parchment crackles under my fingers as I jot down Thauglor’s ideas. I pin them beside the academy map. Candlelight illuminates the ink and lends the words a gravity that settles over me like fate.
Together, we will create something that stands the test of time. Something that will remain here, looming and powerful, long after we are gone.
Chapter Three
Nine months later.
I draw a long breath. The tang of sulfur and damp stone fills my lungs as I glare over the ramparts. The night air tastes bitter at the back of my throat. It reminds me of the acid I wield in battle. A chill breeze stings my scar. It runs across my brow and cheek, a constant ache that flares with every shifting gust. It is a small price to pay for surviving the hundred years war.
I flick my gaze and settle on the female Syrax pacing in the courtyard below. Four dud eggs. My jaw tightens at the memory of her cringing voice this morning: “Will you mark me?”Her pleading tone still echoes in my skull. I curl my lip in disgust. Her scent drifts upward—sweet yet sharp—and mingles with the damp aroma of stone and the bitter tang of torch smoke. She is too weak to be my mate. Even my drake recoils at the thought of my fangs sinking into her throat.
I lean forward and press my forearms against the coarse, pitted wall. Small chips of stone dig into my skin, and I welcome the sharp pinch. Distant academy lights reflect off the water like ghostly fireflies. They gradually reveal the silhouette of my latestproject: Malivore. I can almost taste the brine of the sea as I inhale. I remember how Thauglor and I vowed to transform this place into a fortress for our strongest. The memory of our combined breaths—my toxic acid and his ferocious flames—clings to me like the burn of fresh blood on my tongue. That “happy little accident” of scorching drow nests still makes my heart pound with vicious pride.
My scars tingle beneath my clothes. They remind me of the life I have led—the wing talon that nearly took my eye, the ambushes we narrowly escaped. I recall the screech of wyverns overhead and the deafening clash of battle. I remember snapping bones, the metallic tang of spilled blood, and the roar of fire consuming all in its path. I huff a breath. The flood of memories recedes as I focus on the future.
She is merely a means to an end.Once Malivore stands complete, I will fill it with my finest soldiers. Drakes who bear their scars with pride. I picture the clang of steel echoing in cold corridors. I hear the hissing breath of warriors sparring in the courtyard. I see the low, smoky glow of torches on polished weapons. The nesting rooms will shelter the dragons who fought at my side and their true mates. And when I findmymate—the one worthy of my bite—these walls will testify to our true power.
“What are we going to do about her?” Thauglor asks. He gestures toward Syrax pacing in the courtyard. Torchlight outlines her frail silhouette. I catch the faint odor of burning pitch mingling with the crisp night air.
“No clue. She chose a mountain range halfway between here and her parents.” I gesture toward the craggy peaks in the distance—my territory. My jaw tightens at their sight, though the tang of sea salt eases my tension. “Apparently, mine aren’t good enough for her.” A deep, dissatisfied rumble shakes my chest.
“Either that or she’s afraid to be in your territory with her eggs,” Thauglor muses. He points down. My gaze shifts to the courtyard where Syrax stands with a page. I hear the scrape of metal on stone as she struggles with a dirk. “It’s a start,” he adds.
“She may be plotting to kill me in my sleep,” I mutter. I arch a brow at Thauglor and refocus on the halfhearted lesson below. The clang of the blade against worn flagstones grates on my ears.
“That I would pay to see,” Thauglor replies, his laugh slicing through the darkness.
“That makes two of us.” I shake my head and watch as Syrax is disarmed repeatedly. Finally, she tosses the dirk aside with a frustrated hiss. She disappears into the castle, her steps echoing along the stone walls.
“What happens if you find your mate?” Thauglor asks in a low tone. His question cuts deeper than the sea breeze stinging my nostrils.
I let the chilly air fill my lungs. I detect the faint smell of smoldering wood from nearby forges. “If she hasn’t produced any viable offspring, I will free her from the contract and let her choose among the males in my army.” I lift my right hand. I extend and retract my talons, savoring the subtle scrape of keratin against my skin—a reminder of my strength.
“What if she does?” Thauglor asks. He leans against the cold stone wall, arms folded. I feel the rough surface press against my back, grounding me.
“She’ll remain sheltered in my castle,” I reply. “If my mate doesn’t kill her, that is.” I flick my gaze toward the distant fires dancing at the temple of Bahamut. Their glow carves flickering shadows in the dark. “I won’t breed with her again once I find mymate. She adds nothing to my bloodline. Perhaps I’ll offer her to the priestesses. Let her find purpose in their order.”
Thauglor tilts his head and follows my line of sight. “A fitting place for her if she’s of no use,” he says coolly. He watches the bobbing torches as workers finish their tasks. Their low chatter rides the wind, punctuated by the rhythmic sound of distant waves.
I turn toward the ocean, taking in the silvery ripples under the moonlight. The dull roar of the surf resonates like a drumbeat in my chest. In my mind’s eye, I envision flying alongside a mate worthy of my bloodline—fierce, intelligent, and unafraid to challenge me. The thought sends a tightness through my chest, as though even Bahamut might be listening to my silent appeal. Sighing, I watch the water churn below, wishing for the day he grants me that boon.
Six months later.
