When Prydon awoke, Segrath was staring down at him, the red in her eyes now an emerald green.
“I’m…I’m not dead,” said Prydon.
“Obviously,” she said. “You care greatly for this boy, to come here and possibly meet your doom.”
Prydon touched his chest. There was a jagged wound where her claws had entered. “I thought I had.”
“It was the only way. I had to know your heart. But you must know…there is a great danger in what I’ve allowed. The boy might never find his way—be lost forever.”
“I know this young man. I knew his father. He will not fail, and his heart is true.”
“I know you believe that from reading your heart, but with the curse and his failure to journey here…if he faulters even the slightest, he will fail…or worse, join Klavon.”
“This boy is the only hope. If he does not succeed, not only will it be the end of Brandor, but Klavon will not stop until he has destroyed every realm in existence.”
Segrath tilted her head and touched the spot where she had pierced Prydon’s scales. “That is exactly why I have done this. Be gone, Prydon, and never come here again…until you are dead.”
Prydon woke, snow pouring down upon him, on the ledge he and Darius had first landed outside the training field. Beside him lay the wizard’s sword and staff.