“Well, he is enthusiastic and wishes to follow his mentor wherever he goes.” Joseph raised a finger. “But he is also learning the same lesson you must learn.”
“What lesson is that?”
“One that I must drive into your brain so you will never forget it.” Joseph spread an arm out toward the sea. “Since we are sailing on a Greek vessel tomorrow, I want you to remember a Greek word. Autarkeia.”
“Autarkeia? What does that mean?”
“It means ‘contentment’.” Joseph stooped, reached into his saddlebag, and withdrew a small wooden goblet. He held it in his palms as if swirling liquid inside. “A vessel that seems destined for common use can transform into a great treasure when touched by the finger of God. Whether dragon or human, we must be content with who we are and be patient as we wait to see what God will make of us.” He laid a gentle hand on the dragon’s long, narrow jaw. “You are not human, Makaidos. Be content with the fact that God made you a dragon for a reason. Rest in God’s will for you, serve him with all your might, and he will transform you into what he wants you to be.”
Makaidos lowered his head and closed his eyes. The word did pierce his brain, painful and deep like one of the arrows, yet there were no scales to blunt its penetration. He sighed and nodded. “Autarkeia. . . . I will remember, Master Joseph.”
“Excellent.” Joseph patted Makaidos’s good leg. “It will be a pleasure having dragons in the northern islands.”
Circa AD 490
Morgan bent forward and stroked the man’s rugged chin, her eyes flaming red. “Are we agreed then?” she asked. “Your perfect allegiance to me in exchange for immortality?”
“Without question, my lady.” The man, sitting straight on a low footstool, picked up a black helmet from his lap and tucked it under his mail-clad arm. “Although the king has outlawed dragon hunting, I trust that you will prepare the way.”
Grasping the hilt of a beautiful sword, she leaned back in her throne-like chair. The dim chamber echoed every squeak of antique wood, the sounds bouncing off an open balcony encircling the airy lower floor. A dank odor of disuse hung in the air, as if neither door nor window had been opened in years.
As Morgan fingered the sword’s hilt, lantern light glimmered on the shiny, etched blade. “I will prepare the way. Makaidos and his followers have had over four hundred years to endear themselves to the people of the North, but the spirits of the Nephilim are guiding another brood of dragons to our shores. Goliath and his company will repulse human hearts with their, shall we say, onerous behavior. In any case, I will personally see to Arthur’s enchantment. The laws against dragon hunting will soon be only a memory.”
The man rose to his feet and set the helmet next to a chessboard at the end of a long table. “And what of Merlin? He is not so easily enchanted.”
“Leave Merlin to me.” She ran her thumb along the edge of the blade and smiled. “There are many ways to skin an old gray fox.”
The man reached for one of the chess pieces, but Morgan slammed the flat of the sword on the table. “Don’t touch that!”
The man jumped back and smoothed out the banner draped over his mail shirt. “Oh! Sorry . . . well . . .” He cleared his throat nervously. “My squire has been of great service to me. Shall I tell him of our plans?”
Morgan pulled the sword back and propped it against the chair’s headrest. “Only that you are ridding the world of the dragon menace. Tell him nothing of our plot to overthrow Arthur until the time comes. He will gladly fill his moneybags and enjoy unnaturally long life while keeping his questions to himself.”
The man bowed. “I am confident of that, my lady, and we both look forward to serving you.”
“Of course you do.” Morgan stood and angled the blade toward the chess pieces. “As long as you play this game well, your rewards will be great.”
The man swallowed hard and backed away. “I will play it well. I do not wish to consider the alternative.”
With a deft stroke, Morgan sliced the chessboard’s black knight vertically in half. “No,” she said, glaring at him. “The alternative is not pleasant . . . not pleasant at all.”
Circa AD 492
Edward shivered. Rarely had it been so cold this early in