His eyes were glittering darkly. “The Dark wizard. The man in shadows. He will not eat your magic, Sam of Wilds. Not while I still draw breath.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that, so I said nothing at all. I nodded slowly at him, and he gave me a wicked smile that contained a great many teeth.
Randall had been talking. Though I supposed that made everything easier. At the very least, I wouldn’t have to recount everything all over again.
Randall stood before Pat and Leslie, who were lying in the snow, curled around each other. Their eyes flashed blue as I approached, and a surge of dragon magic rolled through me.
“Randall of Dragons,” I said, bowing low and slightly mocking.
“Little shit,” he said, sounding mildly amused. “You’re alive, which is good, I suppose. I thought I heard the faint sounds of destruction from inside the castle. I was truly worried about your safety.”
“But not enough to intervene?”
He shrugged. “I’m old. I move slow. By the time I got inside, it would have all been over.”
“You seemed to move just fine when we were running for our lives.”
He gave me a deeply wrinkled smile.
“Tiggy smashed my paintings in their room,” I admitted. “We worked it out. I just wish it hadn’t been at the expense of my art.”
“Yes,” Randall said. “Your art. The world is a much darker place now that it’s gone.”
“That’s what I was saying—”
“I lied. The art was offensive, and I’m glad it’s been destroyed.”
“Goodbye, any good feelings I might have had left,” I sighed.
“And the Knight Commander? How did he fare?”
I scrubbed a hand over my face. “He’s mad at me. He’s with the Prince right now.”
“Ah. I expect it was quite a shock to hear that a god has predicted his death.”
“No,” I said. “That was Vadoma.”
The smile widened. “Indeed. I’m glad you’ve seen the difference. No matter the strength of one, a human is not a god. You would do well to remember that.”
I sighed. “The Great White, Randall? Really?”
He shrugged. “He and I have… a history.”
“I would think it’s more than a history if you were named because of him.”
“I was not named because of him,” Randall said stiffly. “The title came from what was perceived as attributes associated with a dragon: cunning, ferocity, power. My relationship with the Great White was contentious, to say the least.”
“They said you served him,” I said, nodding toward Pat and Leslie, who remained silent but ever watchful.
“He was my mentor.”
I took a step back. “What?”
“My mentor,” Randall said slowly, as if I was stupid. Which, given the look on my face, probably wasn’t too far off. “Like Morgan is to you. Like I was to Morgan. The Great White was mine.”
I gaped at him.
“I do believe you’ve broken him,” Pat said scornfully. “So soft his mind is.”