Naming The Dragon
an excerpt

Gasping for breath, Amafelta skidded to a halt. Forcing each breath out through burning lungs, she knocked on the door harshly.

“Gliften, Gliften” the urgency in her voice was overwhelming. The desperation became more apparent when she got no response. Raising her voice to a shout, she rapped sharply on the wood once more.

“Gliften, Gliften.” Again no reply, she grabbed for the door handle greedily and sharply twisted the knob with both hands, but to no avail. Wrapping herself tightly in her cloak she curled up on the floor, leant against the door, and began to sob.

“Do you really think this has something to do with Treflen?” the words drifted round the corner. Amafelta paused mid sob and pricked up her ears.

“Not exactly,” Gliften scoffed in response, “I mean everyone knows that Treflen is long dead.”

“But,” there was uncertainty in Cibbet’s voice

“But, nothing,” Gliften snapped back before the Elder had a chance to finish his sentence. He may well be worried about Amafelta, but he wasn’t going to have the Lead Elders starting scurrilous rumours about evils of yore returning to haunt the Arual folk. “Cibbet,” he continued in a calmer voice, “there is no “buts” about this. Whatever is going on with Amafelta as about as unrelated to Treflen as you can imagine.”

Cibbet, however, remained unconvinced. The tales of Treflen had spread far and wide amongst the Arual folk. They were told as stories at bedtime to entertain children; they were told as cautionary tales to young Arual to prevent them from wandering to far from the Homeclan; they were told to the trainees as awe-inspiring reasons to strive their hardest in supervision sessions; they were whispered amongst the Elders, for they truly knew what had really happened.

By now Amafelta had untangled herself from her cloak somewhat and was wondering what would result when the two Elders happened upon her. Suddenly, she realised, that she had no idea what time of day it was; whether it was before or after moonset. She shifted slightly and the coldness of the stone floor penetrated her feet, looking down she noticed for the first time since leaving her room that she had forgotten her boots. The realisation was dawning that maybe she was right to be scared; the Elders were worried about her. Although try as she might, with her sleep befuddled and panic stricken brain she couldn’t see any link to her present situation and all the tales of Treflen that she had heard from her family over the years.

After a long pause Cibbet took up the conversation again,

“So,” there was still a hint of wariness in his voice, “what are we going to do about your trainee?”

The voices were a lot louder now. They must be about to round the corner. Amafelta debated momentarily; looking round her in a haphazard fashion she searched for an escape route, or better still a hiding place. Her eyes alighted on Yardow’s form walking down the corridor towards her, boots in hand and she resigned herself to having to brazen this out with either the Elders or her friend, and quite possibly with both. She heard Gliften chuckle,

“I think, Cibbet, the bigger issue is what are we going to do with your trainee?”

Cibbet’s laugh sounded false, even to his own ears; the other Elder didn’t understand Tastrad, to be fair Tastrad didn’t understand Tastrad.

“Ama” Yardow hollered down the corridor.

Amafelta smiled wanly and began to push herself off of the floor. The sound of footsteps from the other direction increased in pace and with in moments Amafelta found herself boxed in by a worried Yardow on one side waving her boots at her in a deranged fashion and by the two Leading Elders on the other side, both of whom were staring at her in a fixed fashion, their focus completely on her eyes.

She reached for her boots gratefully, the chill of the floor was beginning to seep up through her bones and she was feeling cold to the core. As she looked away from the Elders everyone began to talk at once.