It was midnight when Marshal Benjamin escorted Zebulun into the king’s hall. It was deserted save for the king, his guards, and his dragon Aurelius. It sat coiled behind the throne, its wings wrapped around its body, its serpent face staring intently. Its scales were the color of gold, but so dark they were almost black.
"Thank you, Marshal," said the king. "You may go."
The marshal turned and left. Zebulun stood still, his eyes on the king.
The king stood from his throne and walked the seven steps down to the floor. He walked towards Zebulun slowly, a slight smile on his face. The king placed a hand on Zebulun’s shoulder, leaned in, and whispered into his ear, "I’ll leave the two of you to speak alone."
The king signaled his guards. Zebulun watched as they followed the king out of the room, leaving him alone with the dragon. He raised his head and looked up into the serpent’s eyes.
It slithered around the throne to face him. He watched as it shifted its form into that of a man; a lean, bronze-skinned man taller even than Zebulun. He wore the robes of an ancient-world emperor.
Zebulun watched as the dragon-turned-man sat down on the throne. He remembered Mak’s words in the bar: it’s a trick. He focused his mind, as one does just before letting an arrow fly. He could see that the serpent hadn’t really moved — it sat coiled behind the throne as it had when he arrived. He could see through the man in front of him. It was an illusion.
Zebulun was careful to keep his eyes on the illusion.
"I am Aurelius Antipater," said the illusion. "I rule this kingdom. I intend to rule an empire. Does this surprise you?"
"No," said Zebulun.
"So you know a secret generally known only to our kind and the fair folk. How long have you known?"
"A few weeks."
The dragon and its avatar regarded him for a moment. "You haven’t quit your post, or tried to lead a coup against me. I’ve heard no tales of you preaching the truth out in the streets. You have no objection to draconic rule?"
"It doesn’t matter if I object," said Zebulun. "It’s the way of the world. The strong rule the weak."
"Well said," said the serpent. "If all men understood that, there would be no need for this subterfuge. Your kind’s odd feelings of empathy and solidarity make you difficult to manage, otherwise."
The dragon continued, "Your superiors say you’re a master of tactics. That you were the one who won the last battle against Kanaark."
"It was my men who won the battle," said Zebulun.
"Spoken like a true leader of men!" said the dragon. "I can see why you inspire loyalty. I want to use that. I need the timber from the eastern woods to build an imperial navy. I can’t invade other kingdoms with the paltry ships I have today."
The dragon paused. "I’ll elevate you to the rank of general. I’ll put five companies under your command. I’ll even send a dragon with you, and tell it to heed your tactical guidance. I want you to secure those woods for me."
Zebulun lowered his eyes. He took a deep breath, let it out, then raised his head to look past the serpent’s illusion and into its real eyes.
"No."