Forever a Dragon
Book V of The Dragon Archives
Linda K. Hopkins
Published by Linda K. Hopkins
Kindle Edition
Copyright 2016 Linda K. Hopkins
Kindle Edition, License Notes
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Table of Contents
List of Main Characters
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Epilogue
Other Books by Linda K. Hopkins
Acknowledgements
About the Author
List of Main Characters
Lleland Seaton: Master of Philosophy; father was killed by a dragon when he was six
Anabel Seaton: Lleland’s mother
Edith: Lleland’s sister
Alan: Edith’s husband
Aaron Drake: Master of the dragons; powerful dragon whose father was killed by humans; married to Keira
Keira Drake: Aaron’s human wife
Zachary (Zach) Drake: Aaron and Keira’s son; Lydia’s twin brother and a student in Lleland’s philosophy class
Lydia Drake: Aaron and Keira’s daughter, and Zach’s twin sister
Anna Brant: Keira’s sister
Max Brant: A member of Aaron’s clan who helped Aaron defeat Jack; married to Anna
Jack: A black dragon that terrorized Civitas until being killed by Aaron
Zachary Drake: Aaron’s father. Not to be confused with Zach, Aaron’s son
Eleanor Drake: Aaron’s mother
Richard Carver: Keira and Anna’s father
Syngen Gail: King Terran’s ambassador to Civitas; kidnapped Keira during the war against Terran; was raised by a dragon father
Edmund Hobbes: A young man who expected to marry Keira; kidnapped Anna before she was rescued by Aaron; was killed by the dragon
Matthew Hobbes: Edmund’s younger brother
Thomas: Aaron’s steward
Favian Drake: Aaron’s cousin
Cathryn Drake: Favian’s wife
Will Drake: Cathryn and Favian’s son
Chapter 1
Lleland Seaton, Master of Philosophy, closed his book and placed it atop the pile of papers on his desk. Leaning back in his chair, he stared out through the window. The glass was uneven, distorting the view of the gardens beyond which were damp from the steady drizzle that had fallen all morning. The rain had finally stopped, and reaching over his desk, Lleland lifted the latch and pushed the window open, allowing the fresh, rain-clean air to flow in and drive away the stale mustiness of his chamber. A breeze stirred his papers, and a shaft of light, breaking through the clouds, shimmered on the gold lettering of the book on the desk: ARISTOTELIS DE CAELO: On the Heavens, by Aristotle. Lleland gathered his papers and rose to his feet. It was early afternoon, and the first class of the semester was about to begin. His students would already be gathered to hear Aristotle’s work read aloud and the lecture that would follow. Grabbing his cape and cap, Lleland headed out the door.
As he walked, Lleland glanced over his list of students. He already knew most of them: fine young men who had proven their commitment to the rigorous training offered at Kings College. It was a prestigious university, and many vied for one of the coveted spots, although only the most conscientious were awarded a place. The students in Lleland’s class had already received their Bachelor’s degree in Arts, and were about to embark on the next stage of training to earn their Master’s, as Lleland himself had done some years before. Out of the ten students, two were new: Thomas Bell and Zachary Drake. They must have already earned their Bachelors elsewhere: St Mary’s, perhaps, or Eastbridge. The name Drake seemed familiar, and Lleland turned it over in his mind as he walked down the stairs to the ground floor.
“Bonum mane, Magister.”
“Bonum mane,” Lleland muttered absent-mindedly to the student on the stairs. Latin was the only language allowed within the college precincts, whether it be in classrooms, the dining hall, or chambers, and an infraction could earn the guilty party a fine, or even an expulsion. He reached the bottom of the stairs, still searching his memory for the name Drake, and then put the matter out of his mind as he followed the passage towards the classroom.
No sound came from behind the door as Lleland approached, and he smiled to himself. Clearly, the students were heeding the Dean’s admonishment made that morning in the opening assembly to behave like “young ladies, with dignity and propriety, refraining from laughter, murmurs and hissing at their Masters.” Lleland stepped into the room and glanced around. Two rows of narrow wooden benches faced the small desk at the front of the room. The walls were bare, except for the window that overlooked the college gardens. It was closed, of course, since the sounds of the outside world might prove too distracting for serious scholarship.
The students, young men ranging in age from eighteen to twenty, turned their attention to Lleland as he surveyed them. His gaze slid over those he recognized, but stopped on the two newcomers for a moment to take their measure. The first man glanced up, his eyebrows lifting as he took in Lleland’s form. With his youthful appearance and large, muscular stature, Lleland did not fit the mould of a typical scholar, and he was used to the expressions of surprise. He turned to the second newcomer. Light-brown eyes, almost golden in color, met Lleland’s, and he stiffened as their gazes locked. There was something unsettling in this student’s gaze, and Lleland had the uncanny feeling that he was the one being measured. Turning away, he stalked to his desk. “State nomen tuum.”
One by one the students rose and gave their names as Lleland marked them against his list: Henry Baxter; Aubrey Ferrier; Simon Mortimer; Zachary Drake. Drake was the student with the golden eyes, and Lleland watched as he stood. He was tall, taller even than Lleland, who usually topped his students and colleagues by a few inches. Drake was also lean, but Lleland knew that only a fool would think that indicated a lack of strength. The man exuded power and confidence. Lleland frowned and returned his attention to his list as the students continued to state their names.
The class ended two hours later, and Lleland rushed from the room to a meeting in the Dean’s office, where he spent the rest of the afternoon. It was only after supper had been served to students and s
taff at six o’clock that Lleland finally had a moment to reflect on his class. He had sat next to Rutherford, Master of Divinity, during the meal, and asked Rutherford what he knew of the new students. Rutherford only knew them by name, but he had revealed one important piece of information. Drake’s father had contributed a large sum of money to the college to ensure that his son was given a private chamber. This was interesting news, since as a matter of policy all students were expected to share with at least one other student, so that “they did not become accustomed to private solitude and reflection, but rather had the opportunity at all times to share their insights and learnings.”
So the Drakes were a wealthy family but jealous of their privacy, Lleland mused as he sat in his chamber later that night, his daybook open on his desk. He turned the name over in his mind again. Drake. There was definitely something familiar about it – something that played around the edges of his memory, but what, he could not quite capture. Ah, well. It would come to him in due course. He turned his attention back to his diary and completed his notes for the day.
A few hours had passed by the time Lleland made his way to his bed, the light from the candle casting shifting shadows along the wall. His chambers consisted of two small rooms – the first with a desk and chair beneath the window, a small shelf stacked with books, and a bench in the corner; while the second had a narrow bed, a table with a ewer and basin, and a chest where his clothes were stored. A small three-legged stool completed the furnishings. He placed the candle on the floor, a few inches away from the wooden bed. The mattress was stuffed with straw, and a single spark would be enough to make it go up in flames. A thick fur covered the mattress, over which was spread a quilt, made for him by his mother, and as he lay down, he said a short prayer for her health and well-being, before snuffing out the light and closing his eyes.
Fires were not allowed in private chambers, and Lleland pulled the quilt closer as he slept. A monster was stalking the edge of his dreams – a creature of the night that had long been held at bay, but was now determined to haunt Lleland once more. Outside his window the long, solemn cry of an owl broke through the silence, and the beast drew a little closer. Danger tracked Lleland as he slept, and he tossed restlessly through his dreams.
It was warm in the early summer sunshine, and Lleland looked up at Father as they walked along the streets of the city. There was no-one as strong or brave as Father, and the boy was proud to be at his side. They were on a secret mission to find the tortoiseshell comb that Mother had seen the previous day in the market. It would be a gift for her birthday. Lleland was excited to be part of the secret. Only six years old, there were not many things he knew that his mother did not. Usually, his parents were trying to keep secrets hidden from him. Secrets like the dragon that had been terrorizing the city. But Mother and Father were unable to prevent the older neighborhood children from frightening the younger ones with stories of the monstrous beast that stalked the streets from above. Lleland glanced up as they walked, but saw no horrible creatures. He still drew closer to Father, and Father wrapped a calloused hand around the boy’s shoulder. As long as Father was with him, there was nothing to fear.
When the dragon plunged from the sky, there was no warning. One moment the sun had been shining kindly on them, and the next, huge wings, black and terrible, blocked the light, casting the street into shadow as the beast landed on the hard dirt road a few feet away. People screamed and ran in terror, but the dragon blocked all escape for father and son. As black as the darkest night, from the dangerous horns that rose from its skull to the long, spiky tail that swished across the ground, it was truly a terrible sight to behold. Orange flames spewed from its mouth and licked along the dry ground, burning leaves and refuse which smoldered into ashes.
Lleland stared in horror, unable to move, until rough hands grabbed him and sent him flying through the air. “Leave my son be,” Father shouted at the dragon. “Take me.” Lleland slammed into an abandoned cart, his shoulder catching the rim of the wheel, before he slipped between the spokes. A nail tore his skin and a searing pain shot through his arm, but he clamped his lips against the cry that threatened to spill out. He would not be a baby. Blood poured from the open wound, and tears sprang into his eyes. A sob broke free and he squeezed his eyes shut against the panic that was settling in. When he opened them again, the dragon was looking at him, an amused expression on its beastly countenance. “Please,” Father pleaded, “spare the boy.”
The dragon turned back to Father. “Why? You would both be a tasty treat, and young flesh is always more tender.”
“He’s just a child. My only son. You’ve feasted in the city for days, so you can easily spare this one.” Lleland stared at Father in confusion. What did he mean, asking the dragon to spare him? Spare him from what?
“Your only son, hmm? And how will he feel, watching his father die?”
“Father?” Lleland said.
“Lleland! Run! Get away from here!”
“Enough!” Flames lit the air as the dragon roared. “I’ll spare the boy,” it said, “but he’ll watch as I kill you.”
“No! Spare him that!”
“Spare his life! Spare him suffering! Enough of your whining, human. You make me reconsider.”
“Close your eyes, son,” Father shouted. “You’re the man of the house now.” Lleland wrenched himself free of the wheel, ignoring the searing pain, and stumbling to his feet, ran towards his father.
“Father!” he screamed.
“No!” Father cried out. A heavy claw caught Lleland across the chest, the thick talons ripping his flesh, and sent him sprawling against the cart once more as blood poured from the gash. The dragon swung back and crashed his claws into Father’s back. He staggered and fell to his knees, his eyes on Lleland, imploring him to look away. The beast’s tail whipped around, smashing into Father and flinging him to the ground. Father cried out, but the sound was quickly cut off as talons swiped over his neck, staining the street with a spray of blood.
The dragon sank its claws into Father’s belly and ripped as a sickening sound filled the air. Entrails spilled onto the street as Lleland finally dragged his terrified gaze away. A sob rose in his chest and caught in his throat as he pressed his face against the rough planks of the cart. He could hear the dragon growling as it ripped his father apart, and he tried to block his ears as his stomach heaved convulsively, but the sounds continued unabated as the tears drenched Lleland’s tunic.
Lleland woke with a start, his heart racing furiously as tears streamed down his cheeks. The quilt was wrapped around him like a rope, and he tugged at it with a shaking hand, loosening its hold. The damp bedclothes made him shiver. His throat was raw, and he knew he must have screamed in his sleep, but no footsteps could be heard running towards his chamber. He could feel the ache in his shoulder from the nail, and the pain in his chest where it had been ripped by a dragon’s claws, but it was just the remnants of the dream. These wounds had long since healed.
Nearly thirty years had passed since that terrible day when Father was killed, and as a child Lleland had suffered from nightmares, waking sobbing night after night. As he learned to channel his fear and anger, the dreams had slowly subsided, and it had been a long time since the monster had shown itself. Something had brought the creature to the fore, and Lleland knew what it was. Drake. The dragon-slayer. He was surprised he hadn’t immediately recognized the name, since it was a Drake that had killed the beast. Lleland had never met the dragon-slayer, but when he ran his sword through the heart of the creature, killing him and ridding the city of the monster, his name had been on everyone’s lips, passed along the streets and around the marketplace, until even the smallest child could name their savior. Aaron Drake.
Lleland lay back against the quilt, trying to recover his breath. The latch on his window rattled as the wind blew against the glass panes. The new moon cast little light, and outside the window the sky was a relentless sea of black. Lleland stared into the darkn
ess as his heart finally slowed its frantic beating, and the nausea in his belly began to subside.
Chapter 2
Lleland peered through the mist, narrowing his eyes as he focused on the painted post a hundred paces away. The sun had not yet risen, making it harder to see the four-inch-wide marker. He shifted his hand on the grip of his longbow and pulled the string back to his cheek, keeping the arrow loose between his fingers. The bow, made from the finest quality yew, resisted the draw, but Lleland had spent years training on this weapon, and his muscles easily overcame the bow’s resistance. He closed his eyes and shifted slightly to account for the faint stirring of a breeze, before opening his eyes again and letting his arrow fly. He reached for another and nocked it on the string, releasing it as the first found its mark. Six arrows sprang from the bow, and six soft thuds were heard as they hit the wooden stake. Lleland strode forward to examine his work, and grunted when he saw the six arrows in the post. Five were clustered around the thin red line that cut across the wood, but the sixth had hit near the base, away from the others. Lleland collected the arrows and measured out a hundred and fifty paces. On the horizon a faint smudge of light was growing, but cloud blotted out the sun, draining the color from the dawn landscape. The ground beneath Lleland’s boots was slick from the rain that had fallen overnight, and his breath hung in the cool damp air.
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