“I don’t know.”
Golmarr throws off the covers and leaps for the wagon door, slamming it open. Reaching out, he rings the copper bell. “Dragon!” he yells. “The glass dragon is coming!” I sit up and hang my legs over the side of the bed. Golmarr grabs my staff and my knife and presses them into my hands. Sitting on the chair, he fumbles in the dark for his shirt and boots.
Outside, other bells start ringing, filling the dawn with clanging. Men are yelling, women are barking orders, and children start crying. Our wagon door opens, and a barefoot Edemond steps inside holding a smoking lantern. “You sounded the alarm?” he asks, his eyes bleary with sleep.
Golmarr nods. “The glass dragon is coming. How do we survive its breath?” he asks.
“Stay indoors. Shut all the wagon windows. Don’t let it breathe its icy breath on you. If you have shelter, the ice won’t suffocate you. But”—he looks out the door at the lightening forest and rubs his goatee—“there hasn’t been a sighting of the glass dragon in more than five years, since the last time it froze the forest.”
I shake my head. “No, that’s not true. I saw the glass dragon flying over the forest yesterday.”
Edemond scoffs. “The good thing about the forest is it is so dense, you can hide anywhere. The bad thing is you can’t see the glass dragon when it is flying because the trees are too thick. The forest keeps it hidden. So how, pray tell, did you see the glass dragon yesterday?” He is giving me a condescending look, as if I am a child caught in a lie.
“I was on the side of the mountain,” I snap.
“You were on the side of the mountain? But that is Gol Mountain—the fire dragon’s mountain. Anyone who sets foot on that mountain is killed by little black dragons and dragged belowground.” Edemond looks from me to Golmarr, and then his eyes rest on Golmarr’s sword hilt. His forehead creases, and he holds up his lamp and looks at Golmarr again, leaning toward him and scrutinizing his face. “How do you know the glass dragon is coming?”
“If Jayah and I run, there is a good chance the glass dragon will follow us and your camp will be safe,” Golmarr says, ignoring Edemond’s last question. “But how do we survive its breath if we have no shelter?” He stands, and his head almost brushes the wagon’s ceiling.
Edemond looks up at him and swallows. “You can’t survive,” he says. “But the dragon never touches down in the forest. You will be safe here.”
“No, we won’t,” I say, standing and putting the hunting knife securely in my waistband. “The glass dragon is going to touch down because it is coming for me.”
“Hurry, man!” Golmarr shouts. “We need to get out before the glass dragon kills your people! How can we survive out there?” He turns to me. “Do you know?”
“If we were dragons, we would just have to breathe fire,” I blurt.
“That won’t work for us.”
“It is said that a thick cloak will protect your skin and lungs if you have no other choice,” Edemond says. He pushes past me and pulls open a drawer beneath the bed and starts pulling out clothing. At the bottom are several cloaks. He fingers through them and hands me two deep green cloaks, the same color as the forest roof. “Those are the thickest.”
I put the smaller cloak on and hand the other to Golmarr, but before he can put it on, a splitting crack reverberates through the morning, like lightning striking so close that no thunder follows. Women start screaming and dogs start barking. Something thumps down on top of the wagon, and outside, leaves are floating through the air like green snow. Golmarr throws the cloak on and pulls the hood over his head, and runs out of the wagon. Holding my staff like a weapon, I follow.
Pale blue mist as smooth as water glides along the forest floor. Every time Golmarr takes a step, the mist twists and swirls around his knees and follows him. People are running through the clearing, some carrying babies, some holding bedding, some wielding weapons. “Get inside now,” Golmarr bellows in a voice stern with authority. It carries with it a twinge of familiarity, and I realize I am hearing the voice of a future king.
Something cracks again, and the top half of an enormous tree splits and plummets to the ground. Branches thicker than my waist snap from the trunk, and splinters of wood sail through the air. I throw my arm up and shield myself with the cloak. When I lower the cloak, a foot with moss-colored talons steps into the clearing, followed by another as a green dragon settles onto the misty ground.