Free Silver Dragon Codex by R.D. Henham

the shuddering, huddled forest hag that had defied and threatened her.
    Summoning her courage close like the rags she pulled tight around her shoulders, the hag faced the dragon despite her quavering knees. “Return the stone, dragon,” she spat. “Only then can you repair what you have wrought.”
    The dragon shook her head gracefully. “I do not have your stone. Whoever has done this has wronged us both. In either case, I will return it to you if it can be returned. You have my word on that.”
    “Your word is worth nothing to me or to this village. Your death would mean more,” the old hag spat.
    The dragon settled her shoulders lower, her neck bowed. The she uncurled her claws and set the woman free. “Go.” The silver dragon raised her shining head, folding her wings back against the sinuous length of her body. “Care for the people who have been cursed by this misfortune.We will speak again.” The dragon drew in a deep breath, lifting her head to release a gust of snow and cold wind that soared above the village. Snow fell all around them from the blast, icing over the last of the fire and driving the monsters farther into the forest.
    The old woman staggered out of the dragon’s grasp. Two faithful wolves slipped out of the shadows of ruined buildings, crawling close enough to tug worriedly at the hem of her ragged robe. At another roaring cry from the silver dragon, the old woman turned and stormed away, one hand on her withered staff, the other twined into the fur of one of the werewolves.
    The dragon’s snow fell, cold and white, throughout the village. It hung in the air, shadowed the ruined walls, and turned the storm into a hazy drift of cotton. Belen stared up at it, watching it fall. She was frozen like a statue amid the drifting stars of ice. As the wolves slid into the shadows, baring their teeth but afraid to risk the dragon’s wrath, the village fell into silence. Even the voice of the storm slowed and quieted, the thunder muffling its voice into a hesitant peace. The school’s fire turned to smoke and ash, and a few crumbling boards fell from the wrecked ceiling. Jace stepped onto the plaza, the stone beneath his feet wet and slick, and stared up at her. The dragon was magnificent, glowing with strength, power, and grace,her gray eyes bright and cold. Cerisse and Ebano came up behind him, gazing at her with awe and wonder.
    Belen lowered her head, closed her eyes, and lifted her wings above her shoulders. She gave a little shake as if she were casting away the faint fluff of snow that had landed on her broad shoulders, and her form dissolved in a shimmering wash of magic. Her scales shone briefly as they turned to soft skin and silver hair. Her size was simply no longer epic, drifting like melted ice into a woman’s slight form. Only a soft breath later, Belen stood before them as calm and recognizable as if she’d just stepped off the third ring of the circus into the shelter of the velvet curtains backstage.
    “Belen,” Jace said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “Are you all right?”
    She nodded. Cerisse reached out and took her hand as the light glittered on tears frozen to the dancer’s cheeks. Belen squeezed her fingers gently. “I’m fine. I didn’t think it would be”—she paused and cleared her throat—“easy.”
    “Turning into a dragon?” Cerisse looked back at the ruined schoolhouse.
    “You were in trouble. The building was burning. I knew I had to do something, and then I just … did.”
    “Large problems require large solutions.” Despite the tired cliché he quoted, Ebano’s voice was soothing in the darkness.
    The storm was passing, the clouds gently opening here and there to allow moonlight to reach through the forest leaves. Snow from the cold dragon’s breath still trickled down, slinking through the shadows of the ruins in pale memory of the wolves that had fled the dragon’s wrath.
    Belen tried to smile. “For a moment—when I changed