The Lost Dragon (Cycle of Dragons Book 3) by Dan Michaelson (top 10 best books of all time .TXT) 📕

Vard. I kept telling myself that. I trusted Manuel. He knew of my concern and had brought it to the king.

“Do you think they do?”

He shrugged slightly, turning his head slowly and sniffing at the air. “Had you asked me even a year ago, I would’ve said no, but what I’ve seen over the last few months suggest to me they have some way of countering us that we haven’t seen before. If this were the Vard,” he raised a hand, keeping me from interfering, “they infiltrated the Academy. And then they infiltrated the city.”

“I . . .” I nearly said what was on my mind, but when Manuel cocked his head to look at me with his dark intensity, I didn’t. “They failed both times.”

He nodded. “They failed, but they very nearly succeeded.”

He was right, and that bothered me, as well. Had the attack succeeded the first time, not only would my sister have been lost, but they would’ve taken a dragon. Given that I now understood the way the dragons connected, I feared that having access to even a single dragon would permit them to connect to other dragons, at least with the right person. Not all dragon mages had the ability to connect to the dragons in the same way. That was a unique ability—one I had, but one that others at the Academy had not demonstrated. It gave me an advantage when working with the dragons, but it also left me with questions.

I needed to try a different tactic.

“How often do the Vard try that kind of attack?”

This time, Manuel frowned, a deep expression that made his entire face look as if he were angry. “Not often, which is why this frequency is troubling. Every few years we get word of attempts, but rarely are they anything of significance. Never have they been anything quite like the most recent time.”

“When was that?”

“About a decade ago,” he said. “They hit the eastern border. It’s calm and quiet over there, so the king hadn’t expected anything to happen. When the Vard attacked, the people weren’t ready.”

“What happened?”

“Many died,” he said. “We did what we could, helped as much as we could, but unfortunately . . .”

“What?”

“Several cities were lost.”

I frowned at him. “Why haven’t I heard of that before?”

“The king doesn’t like that to get out. It’s not the kind of message he wants his people to hear. I mean, can you imagine if he were to acknowledge that the Vard were powerful enough to overthrow several of his eastern cities?”

“Did he reclaim them?” Manuel didn’t answer, instead moving off to another tree, crouching down in front of it. “Did he reclaim them?” I asked again.

“No,” he said.

That was more than I’d heard about the Vard before. “He just left them to the Vard?”

“No,” he said again.

I frowned, but my realization from what he suggested struck me. “He destroyed the cities with the dragons.”

Manuel traced his finger through the dirt, bringing it to his nose and sniffing before standing and wiping his hands on his pants again. “He couldn’t leave the cities to the Vard, Ashan. You have to know that.”

“What about the people there?”

“The people? After the Vard came through, there weren’t many left. They’re horrible. When you become a full dragon mage, you’ll see.”

This time, I couldn’t bite my tongue. I thought of Joran’s sister, Tara, and his mother, both Vard sympathizers. That wasn’t the kind of thing they’d do. They wouldn’t instigate an attack on the kingdom. Not one where the people were brutalized.

“We haven’t seen that in Berestal.”

“Because you’ve been lucky,” he said.

“No . . .”

I tried thinking about my experience with the Vard. They had a presence in Berestal, but none of them had attempted to attack, and they certainly hadn’t done anything to kill others. They wanted to gain influence with other citizens within Berestal.

What would Vard be like as conquerors?

My experience with the attack on the caravan that had captured my sister had certainly intended to suggest they were heartless, willing to take and harm others, and willing to kill in order for them to steal from the king.

But they weren’t Vard.

“Did he rebuild?”

“The cities have been rebuilt, or at least have started to rebuild, and they are much more heavily fortified than they were before. They will not fall again.”

“Which means the Vard won’t attack those cities again,” I said.

“Probably not,” Manuel said.

“Where do you think they will attack?”

Manuel headed to another tree, leaning toward it. “Do you know there’s much that you can learn from the scent of the forest? I’ve often found the texture of trees intriguing. There’s something about it that gives off a distinct feeling. The trees here are different than they are near Berestal, and much different than those in the Wilds.”

The change of topic jarred me. “Manuel?”

“I’ve often wondered why,” he said.

I frowned, shaking my head, not sure where Manuel was going, or why he was going on like that, but perhaps he’d been away too long. He traveled away from the city for long stretches at a time, often by himself, with only the mesahn for company. Maybe that had turned him into something different, a bit more crazed than most.

“The only reason I can come up with that accounts for the difference between the trees is the difference in the geography of the place they grow, but even within a similar place, there are distinct differences between the trees themselves.” Manuel stopped in front of one, running his hands along its smooth bark. “Even within this forest, so close to the capital, you can feel the energy of this tree, the way its bark feels different and distinct from trees in other places. You can feel its distinctness if you take the time to trace your hand along its bark.”

He stepped up to the side, waiting, and I realized he wanted me to do the same thing.

I joined him at the tree, touching the bark, tracing a hand along it. It was