the beast had landed the day Bastian left. “Dragons. There are more.”
Bastian knew there were. At least one. He hoped that was all.
“The history books tell of dragonlords. Men who ruled the dragons and therefore ruled the kingdom.” He sat down in the nearest chair.
“Tell me more,” Bastian said.
“Before the fog fell upon us, there were five dragonlords. One hailed from the north, two from the west, one to the south, and our own dragonlord on the Blue Throne. The peace was maintained until the Black Dragon in the south attacked his own people.” The old man scratched his beard, picked out a nit, and flicked it to the floor. “The other dragonlords debated attacking. They met at the town nearest to all of their borders – Hutton’s Bridge.”
Bastian’s eyebrows rose. He thought he’d heard all of the stories. Not this one. Not even a whisper.
“At the meeting, they decided to attack the Black. Show him that he couldn’t hurt his own people without facing retribution. Hutton’s Bridge was to be their main outpost for the war.”
The old man pushed the book in front of Bastian. He didn’t know how to read, but the pictures made it all obvious to him. “Why hasn’t anyone ever talked about this?”
“Sophia was the only one who knew. We found this book hidden in her cottage after the three of you left.”
“You went through Tressa’s things?”
Udor sighed. “Bastian. No one ever comes back. The resources must be divided up amongst the rest of the villagers. It’s never been any different. Why should we have suspected you’d show up half-dead last night?”
He wanted to insist that he, Tressa, and Connor were different. That everyone should have known they’d return. He knew the truth as well as anyone else. They weren’t special. They were dead the moment they disappeared into the fog.
“If we leave and find a way to destroy the fog, it’ll re-ignite a war, placing us right at the center. Is that what you want, Bastian?”
He didn’t respond. He was too distracted by the image in the upper right corner.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Bastian puzzled over how to respond to the picture. He knew exactly what the drawing represented. The woman in the tree. What he didn’t know until that moment was that she wasn’t alone. If the drawing could be believed, there were three of them placed at the edge of the fog. Their protectors or their captors? Bastian wasn’t sure.
Even more disturbing was Sophia’s involvement. How much did she know? What hadn’t she told them?
“What else do you know?”
Udor shook his head. “The story ends there.”
Bastian ran a finger along the inner spine of the book. “It doesn’t end there. The pages are missing. Someone tore them out.”
Udor grunted. “I’m sure it was Sophia. She was one of the few who could read. Carrac, myself, and only a couple of others. She was hiding something from us.”
The door opened. Both Bastian and Udor tensed until they saw it was Carrac. The oldest person in the village since Sophia’s death, he was also on the council of elders.
“He knows,” Udor said with a wave of his hand. He filled Carrac in on what they’d been discussing.
“Sending people into the fog was her idea,” Carrac reminded Udor. “She was trying to get people out.”
Udor’s fist slammed into the table. “Then why didn’t she prepare anyone properly?”
“Excuse me,” Bastian said, his eyes locked on Udor, “weren’t you just trying to send people out there yourself?”
“As if I could stop them.” Udor snorted and wiped his arm under his wet nostrils. “You think people here do as I say? Rubbish. They do as they please. They’ve lived in fear their whole lives, prisoners to this village. Guess what? None of them wanted to leave because it was idyllic. That damn Sophia used the fog to scare people into staying.”
“It was rare someone volunteered,” Carrac agreed. “They knew it was a death sentence.”
Bastian had difficulty believing Sophia could have been so vindictive. She’d never seemed anything but adoring and honest. She loved the village and her people.
“I’ve seen one of them.” Bastian rested his finger on the woman to the southeast. In the picture she had flowing, long blond hair. Big blue eyes. Full lips. She looked nothing like the woman he’d seen. Yet he knew it was her. Who else could it be? Age and time and some form of magic had ravaged her body. Wrinkles as deep as an endless chasm. Her ample breasts wasted away until they