Brandon gathered the men before dawn.
Twelve men crowded into the rope workshop, their figures casting swaying shadows in the fading light of the dying embers.
They were the toughest of ‘Grey Eyes’s men—not the most loyal, but certainly the ones who needed money most and feared trouble least.
Following Aeron’s instructions, Brandon distributed a deposit of five silver stags to each.
“Once it’s done, there will be three times that.”
Brandon’s voice echoed in the empty workshop.
“But until then, stay here.
No fires, no loud noises, take turns keeping watch.
Anyone who can’t bear it and wants to leave—”
He grabbed an arm-thick wooden post from by his feet and twisted it with both hands.
With a crisp “crack,” the post snapped.
“That will be the price.”
No one spoke.
The heavy coin purses weighed down their chests, and the broken post lay at their feet.
Greed and fear reached a delicate balance in that moment.
It was then that Aeron pushed the door open.
Morning light leaked through the gap in the door, casting a long shadow behind him.
He didn’t look at the men, walking straight up to Brandon and taking out the significantly lighter coin purse from his bosom.
“Take the rest of the money,” Aeron said, his voice calm.
“Buy food where needed, buy medicine where needed.
Tell them—working for me means no hunger and no blood spilled in vain.”
Brandon took the purse and nodded heavily.
“Where are you going?”
“To see a ‘friend’ who can help us win.” Aeron said.
“Keep this place secure until I return.
If I haven’t returned by daybreak…”
He paused, leaving the sentence unfinished.
But Brandon understood.
“You will return.” The giant man’s voice was exceptionally firm.
“True dragons do not die in rat holes.”
Aeron glanced at him, then turned and walked to the corner of the workshop—where two black-faced sheep, bought from the market before dawn, were tethered.
The sheep seemed to sense something, stamping the ground uneasily and letting out faint bleats.
He took the sheep ropes, pushed open the back door, and disappeared into the brightening morning light.
White Harbor slept in the darkest hour before dawn.
Aeron led the sheep, walking east along the shadows at the base of the city wall.
The sound of hooves striking the flagstones was exceptionally clear in the silence; he had to stop several times to wait for patrol footsteps to fade.
There was a gap in the eastern section of the city wall that had been hastily patched after a collapse.
The wooden fence was loose; Aeron pulled out two stakes with effort, the gap just wide enough for him and the sheep to squeeze through.
Over the wall lay desolate salt flats, dead shrubs shivering in the morning breeze.
He walked east along the coastline for nearly an hour.
The sky shifted from deep black to deep blue, then revealed a fish-belly white.
A faint orange hue appeared on the horizon, but the sun had not yet risen. New chapters come out on g.com first.
The wind grew colder, carrying a salty, damp chill that could almost freeze one to the bone.
After rounding a protruding black headland, Nameless Bay appeared before his eyes.
Surrounded by towering reefs, the bay presented an eerie stillness before dawn.
The water inside was as smooth as a mirror, reflecting the grey, not-yet-brightening sky.
The black slate on the shore was wet, gleaming with a dark luster.
No dragon.
Aeron tied the sheep to the rocks and untied the ropes.
As soon as the sheep were free, they tried to run, but stumbled on the smooth slate and huddled together, bleating.
He looked around.
The reefs were silent, the sea was silent, even the wind became cautious here.
“Salt Wind?” Aeron called softly.
No response.
Only the rustling of waves washing against the rocks.
His heart sank.
But he did not hesitate, pulling the grey-white conch shell from his bosom.
He walked to the water’s edge, took a deep breath, and brought the conch to his lips.
He blew.
He lowered the conch and waited.
Seconds ticked by.
The sheep huddled together, shivering.
The waves remained, the wind remained.
Just as that touch of orange on the horizon began to spread—
The sea moved.
Not waves, not tides.
In the deep water a hundred yards from shore, the ink-black sea swelled silently, and a shadow broke the surface—stretching out against the water, like the final stretch of the night itself before dawn.
The moonlight had faded, and the morning light had not yet arrived.
But in that light between brightness and darkness, Aeron still saw clearly:
Grey-brown scales, with light blue patterns winding among them, like congealed veins of seawater.
When the wing membranes unfurled, they kicked up a salty mist, shimmering like crushed diamonds in the hazy morning light.
Salt Wind.
It seemed a size larger than when he last saw it; the old wound on its right wing had healed, the newly grown scales slightly lighter in color.
The dragon flew low over the sea, almost soundlessly, with only tiny ripples trailing where its wingtips brushed the water.
It circled half a turn, its pale yellow vertical pupils locking onto Aeron on the shore, and then—landed in front of the two sheep.
The dragon lowered its head, sniffed the shivering sheep, and exhaled a puff of hot, salty sea air.
The sheep were so terrified they collapsed, unable to even bleat.
But Salt Wind did not feed immediately.
It raised its head and looked at Aeron.
Those pale yellow vertical pupils contracted and expanded in the morning light, as if confirming something.
Then, it took a step forward, two steps—the heavy footsteps making the rocks tremble slightly.
When it was only three steps from Aeron, Salt Wind lowered its head and gently pressed its massive skull against his chest.
Rough scales scraped against his clothes, ice-cold.
But the skin beneath the scales was warm; Aeron could feel the slight tremor of the muscles in the dragon’s jaw, could hear the low, deep purring sound coming from deep in its throat. You are reading on novelping.com, the official source.
Like a cat acting spoiled.
If a cat were as big as a horse, had scales, and could breathe fire.
Aeron raised his hand and stroked the dragon’s neck.
The edges of the newly grown scales were still tenderly soft, the muscles beneath firm and powerful.
He stroked along the pattern of the scales, from the side of the neck to the shoulder blades, and then to the healed old wound.
Salt Wind purred again, rubbing its entire head against him.
This action nearly knocked Aeron over; he stumbled a step, steadying himself by bracing his hands against the dragon’s neck.
“You missed me too, didn’t you?” Aeron said softly, his voice carrying a gentleness he hadn’t realized.
As if responding, the dragon rubbed against him again.
This time it was lighter.
Then it backed away half a step and turned to look at the two sheep.
This time, without hesitation, it opened its jaws—
No fire.
Salt Wind used its teeth to precisely snap the sheep’s necks, making almost no sound.
Fresh blood sprayed out, staining the rocks black.
The dragon began to feed, biting and swallowing, its movements efficient and quiet.
Aeron watched from the side.
The morning light finally broke the horizon, golden rays spilling into the bay, shining on the dragon’s grey-brown scales, the light blue patterns flowing with light as if alive.
When Salt Wind finished the first sheep and licked the blood from the corner of its mouth, Aeron spoke again:
“I need your help,” he said.
A low growl came from Salt Wind’s throat, the scales on its throat flaring slightly.
“I know there are risks,” Aeron said, “but I also know that you are faster than any ship, flying higher than any crossbow bolt can reach.
You only need to appear once, to make them understand—”
He paused, his voice turning cold:
“—what price must be paid to hunt the master of a dragon.”
The dragon quieted down.
It stared at Aeron for a long time, then lowered its head and rubbed the side of its skull against his shoulder.
The movement was very light, carrying the scent of blood and seawater.
Like a promise.
Aeron stroked the dragon’s neck: “Stay here and wait for my signal.
I will call you with the conch shell.”
Salt Wind growled, a response, then turned and began to tear into the second sheep.
Aeron took one last look at the dragon in the morning light.
Grey-brown scales, light blue patterns, pale yellow eyes, like a living statue in the golden morning sun.
Then he turned and left the bay along the path he had come.
His footsteps were soon swallowed by the sound of the waves.
Salt Wind remained in place, focused on eating.
The morning light shone on it, casting a huge, slowly moving shadow on the black rocks.
And back in distant White Harbor, the twelve men in the old warehouse were waiting.
Brandon leaned against the doorframe, eyes closed to rest, but his ears were pricked, listening to every little sound outside.
The day had broken.