sp; “The Great White.” I turned slowly. Randall was looking back at the fire. “It said I wasn’t ready.”
“Yes. That. I commend you for keeping it a secret for this long. However, if you do something like that again, you won’t like the consequences. Do we understand each other?”
Yikes. “Uh. Completely. Yes, sir.”
“Good.” He smoothed out his beard, which had gotten ruffled during our one and only hug (or so he thought). “As for the Great White, either it was speaking the truth or it wasn’t. Either the path has been set or it hasn’t. Stone crumbles, Sam. You need to prove to the Great White that you are ready. So when you stand before it, you are able to look it in the eye and be judged worthy. Having collected the other four dragons will go a long way toward convincing it. I believe in you. Above all things, I believe that if anyone can do it, it will be you.”
“Why?” I asked, swallowing past the strange lump in my throat. “Why do you believe in me? Because you have no other choice?”
For the second time, he smiled at me. “No, Sam. Because I know who you are and what you’re capable of. And I’m going to make sure that you’re ready.”
That wasn’t comforting in the slightest. “That sounded almost like a threat.”
The smile widened. I no longer liked the look of it. “Oh. It was.”
“Eep,” I said.
Chapter 11: Throwing Knight Delicious Face Off a Cliff
AND IT was a threat. In the days that followed, Randall came at me with everything he had. He’d been holding back on me before and, for someone who was over six centuries old and admittedly alive by sheer force of will, could move quicker than one would have expected. Almost quicker than I did.
Which, you know.
Was a huge fucking blow to the ol’ ego.
“Ow,” I said as I smashed into the wall. “Like, seriously. Ow.”
He was hopping from one foot to the other, light and quick. “That all you got? I know dead chickens who’ve got better moves than you.”
“What? How does that even make sense? Dead chickens don’t have moves. You really need to work on your insults.”
“Your nose is bleeding,” he pointed out. “I think that’s insulting enough. Why’d the chicken cross the road?”
I gaped at him.
“Because it got scared after it saw me kicking your ass!”
“What the fuck?” I asked, voice high-pitched. “What is with you?”
He cracked his knuckles and then his neck. “I feel alive. Ready to teach a young whippersnapper such as yourself to respect your elders.”
Whippersnapper, I mouthed to no one in particular. Then, “If I tell you I respect you, will you stop? God, even your skin tags are moist with sweat. That’s just terrible. At least put your robes back on so I don’t have to see sagging flesh anymore.”
“This is your future,” he said, motioning down at himself. He wore a pair of extremely tight shorts and a tank top, neither of which left anything to the imagination. “You won’t stay young forever. One day, you’ll look exactly like this.”
“Gross,” I muttered. “If that happened, I’ll at least have the common sense not to share it with the rest of the world. You look like a pile of old blankets left in a corner of a crumbling monastery for sixty years.”
“Fight me,” he demanded.
“Bro, you don’t even want to go there with me right now, I shit you not.”
“Oh, I am going there. In fact, I’ve already been there and back.”
It felt like my eyes were bulging. “Are you shit-talking me?”
He looked pleased with himself. “Is it working?”
“I’m gonna kick your ass, old man.” I wiped the blood from my nose and attacked.