Chapter 23: Four Clans

The dragon circled the academy for an hour, and nobody died, because the Dean had cleared the cliff.

She had emptied every dormitory, every lecture hall and the kitchens.

Two thousand students stood in the fields behind the cliff with their trunks at their feet.

The clock spire lay in pieces across the lower courtyard.

A scorched kite, folded from four share transfers, lay on top of the rubble.

James picked it up, looked at it, and put it in his pocket.

"The dragon," said the Dean, "burns whatever it touches and does not seem to want anything. It circles. Then it dives. Then it circles again."

"It wants to be let out," James said.

"It is out."

"It wants to be let all the way out. It's been behind a stone for hundreds of years."

"How do you know?"

"I'd want the same."

The Dean said nothing.

A horn sounded from the road.

Three columns of riders crested the hill at a canter, banners streaming.

Silver for Skyreach.

Green for Thornwood.

Blue for Saltmere.

The three elders from the hearing rode at the front, white-haired and grim.

The old woman with the braids pulled up her horse in front of James.

"We heard that the seal broke," she said. "We have brought three thousand."

"Three thousand?"

"Griffin riders. Serpent growers. Mermaid tide-singers. We owe your house a winter."

James looked at the field of banners.

Then he looked at the dragon, a distant red speck dropping toward the northern cliff.

"Okay," he said, and climbed onto an overturned cart.

Grant, Harry and Felix stood at the foot of it.

The whole academy turned to look.

James had never made a speech in his life.

He had once asked for a raise in an elevator and been told no.

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