The Forging of the Dragon (Wizard and Dragon Book 1) Read Online Free Page B

“I really think I’ve answered that already,” the lad groused. “I can’t help it if you don’t believe me.”
    “I’ve heard of Dark the prophet all my life,” Seagryn muttered scornfully.
    “Are you sure?” asked the boy. “Or does it just seem that you have? You’d be surprised how quickly people come to believe they’ve been doing something forever —”
    “Does your mother know where you are?” Seagryn asked. When the reply didn’t come immediately he enjoyed the silence, feeling smug.
    “Yes, she did. Does,” the boy said after a moment.
    “What?”
    “She told me — tells me — well, I guess I’d better say she will tell me that she did. Not that she has the gift; it’s just that she has a sense about these things.”
    Seagryn frowned into the darkness. “I don’t understand what you’re —”
    “Gets confusing, doesn’t it? To me, too. I get ahead of myself, and it’s hard sometimes to stay in the present.”
    “What are you talking about!” Seagryn barked.
    “Oh.” The boy sighed. “The future. What will be. That sort of thing.”
    Seagryn snorted. “No one can tell the future.”
    “Wrong!” the lad corrected. “There are plenty who tell the future. There are very few of us who actually know it.” Seagryn groaned, and rubbed the knotted muscles in the back of his neck. “And those who actually do, if they have any sense, don’t tell what they know. Otherwise, they might get themselves beaten!” Seagryn groaned again, but the lad seemed to be talking to himself now and took no notice. “Unfortunately, I tend to tell too much. A character flaw, I realize. My s’mother says I’ll grow out of it, but who can believe her? She doesn’t know the future.” The boy sighed heavily, as if he bore the weight of fifty years upon his shoulders instead of a mere fifteen. “Why do I have to?”
    Seagryn waited a moment. “Are you finished?”
    “Am I boring you?”
    “If you’re finished, then please leave me in peace. You apparently know a great deal about me. Perhaps you know also that this has been the worst day of my life.”
    “Not quite,” the boy muttered.
    “What!” snarled Seagryn.
    “Oh nothing ... just that there might be worse still in store —”
    “Leave me be!”
    “I will,” the lad mumbled, and Seagryn heard footsteps crunching away. Then they stopped. “One more thing before I go ...”
    “Yes,” Seagryn sighed.
    “When you hear somebody yelling tomorrow, would you mind responding quickly? It’ll be me, and I’d appreciate suffering as little as possible.”
    Despite its dependence upon a foundation of faith, Seagryn’s education had been hedged about by a rigid system of logic. He’d never heard such nonsense in all his life, and the boy’s words made him wince up at the dark sky in protest. He said nothing, however, fearing that might encourage the lad to stay, dooming him to listen to this adolescent drivel all night. He waited in silence as the youth departed, reassured by the sound of receding footsteps. Then he got down on his knees to search with his hands for the grassy spot he’d originally occupied. When he found it, he lay down, rolled onto his back, and gazed upward. The sky had grown no brighter. “With my luck, it’ll rain tonight,” he grumbled. Then he slept.
    It did not rain; but with the high humidity and the late summer heat, Seagryn might have been more comfortable if it had rained. He was no outdoorsman. Dreams of flies and snakes and unnamed crawling things plagued his sleep. But throughout the night’s fitful naps he was at least oblivious to his tragic personal loss.
    Not so in the morning. He awoke sitting straight up and shouting, “Elaryl!” He was at once fully conscious, feeling the burden of his grief settling down around his shoulders to be borne through yet another day. He had lost his love. He had lost his life.
    He wasn’t at all hungry, and he attributed that at first to his grief. Then he