Klavon’s anger roared like a violent ocean. “Why did you not stop him?” he yelled.
Sira stood motionless, almost passive in her response. “I tried. The thieves interfered—easy enough to deal with—and although my influence was sound, Prydon—”
“Prydon be cursed to the depths of the underworld! I care not of Prydon!”
Klavon seethed. His plans had been thwarted by a band of common thieves? Had it not been for them, the dragon would not have come…and his prize would be close upon his doorstep, awaiting his final breath!
“Bring them to me! Now!” he screamed, and Sira vanished.
He stood atop his courtyard next to the pile of bones, fresh still from his last victim. In anger, he flung his staff, and the pile turned to ash. No more would he clutter his surroundings with trivial casualties. His sight was now set firmly on only one—and now he was long gone to train. That changed everything.
A while later, the thieves stood before him, Sira standing behind. The time had only served to heighten his anger, and he turned, a red light glowing from the end of his staff.
“Please, sir,” one thief said. “We knew not what he meant to you.”
The others nodded, stepping back from their leader.
Klavon laughed cynically, and then his face turned to stone. “Sira, go and prepare my lab. It will take strong magic to break into the training grounds.”
Sira nodded and headed into the castle, her cat-creature following.
“Sir, we didn’t…”
“We were going to bring you the spoils!”
The thieves begged for mercy and pleaded their ignorance, but with a wave of Klavon’s staff, their bodies shook.
There was no need for Fraenir. Clutching frantically to each other, the band of men was lifted off the ground. As their cries rang through the air, the thieves were no more, joining the others as ash in the wind—meddlesome fools!