by Nathan Roden
“Mister Jasper!” Vincent called into the shadows.
An evil grin spread across his face.
“Bring it here!”
Every head turned as two men walked into the light. A large boy trailed behind them. He struggled with his heavy load—a huge, two-sided ax.
Two men led the way. One man was very large and bare-chested.
A black hood covered his head.
Between the two men, half walking and half being dragged, there was a dragon.
A baby dragon—barely four-feet tall.
The dragon’s scales sparkled in the lights—giving off a dazzling, oily display in every color of the rainbow.
The men held chains that bound the dragon’s wings to its sides. A muzzle of rope bound its jaws closed.
Simon struggled against Vincent’s grip. Three of Vincent’s men closed in and held their spears at Simon’s throat. Vincent raised his dagger in front of Simon’s face.
“Would you care to watch the rest of the proceedings with only one eye, Your Majesty?”
Simon fell still.
“Back to your stations!” Vincent growled at his men.
Simon froze. The dragon locked eyes with him.
It knows, Simon thought.
Simon stared into the dragon’s eyes.
He saw fear.
And hopelessness.
The dragon swung his head back and forth, making pitiful sounds.
“It cannot breathe!” Helena cried.
“That will not matter for long,” Vincent said.
“Lord Lamont!” Vincent called out.
“You come to us, asking that we risk our lives—to fight for the right for a dragon to sit upon your throne!”
“We have but two uses for the filthy beasts, Lamont!”
“For profit—or for our pleasure! Mister Jasper! If you will!”
The two men tried to wrestle the dragon to the ground. It put up a tremendous fight before the hooded man kicked its legs out from under it. The other man held the dragon to the ground with his foot. The hooded man took the ax from the boy. He raised it high above his head
And the dragon lived no more.
“NO!!!” Helena screamed. She fell against Magdalena’s side and wept bitterly.
Simon shook with rage and grief.
Vincent glared at Lamont.
“Your people could live in peace and comfort from the spoils of your ports. But that is not the way of the privileged, is it, My Lord?”
“I can provide well for this village—with the bounty that Sterling will pay for the dragon-king’s head!”
“No!” Helena wailed. The man behind her raised his hand again
Thirty-Nine
Bang!
An explosion sounded beyond the trees to the south.
“What in the…?” the man behind Helena said.
“That was the cannon!” another man said.
“At night? Surely not!”
Vincent turned at the sound.
When he turned back, he was aware of a presence to his left. He turned his head slowly. There, with a crossbow leveled at his head, stood a young man who he did not know.
To that young man’s right, stood another young man. That young man held a longbow, with an arrow also aimed at his head.
Boone Blankenship stepped slowly to his right, his bow hand steady.
He stopped when Vincent’s head was almost directly between him and the crossbow held by his brother, Ben.
“If you draw one more drop of the king’s blood, it will be the last thing you ever do,” Boone said.
“Tell your people to drop their weapons,” Ben said. “Now.”
Vincent did not move. Sweat formed on his brow, but his dagger remained at Simon’s neck.
“You are heavily outnumbered,” Vincent said. “You will never leave this village alive!”
Ben took a step forward.
“Probably not. But have you heard the old saying, cut off a serpent’s head, and the body will crawl away and die? I believe that’s what we’re looking at here.”
“You wish to give up your lives—for a cursed dragon?” Vincent asked.
He looked to his men.
“Hold your weapons steady!”
Boone took a step forward. Ben did the same.
“Do you honestly believe that these people honor you?” Boone asked. “Do you honestly believe that they care if you live or die?”
“If you harm one hair on my head, you will die!” Vincent snapped. “Throw down your weapons, and we will negotiate. You do not have to die this day!”
Boone took another step.
“I am only going to say this one more time. Tell your people to drop their weapons.”
Sweat ran into Vincent’s eyes. He shook his head and looked at Boone. He lost sight of where Ben was.
And then he felt the tip of the arrow at his temple.
“You are out of time,” Ben hissed.
“No…” Vincent said.
Boone looked unsure of what to do next.
“I said, tell your people—”
“He has had all the chances he gets, Boone,” Ben said.
Boone stared into his brother’s eyes. He had never seen that look there before—even throughout their troubled childhoods.
Ben looked as if he was ready to empty every ounce of pain he had ever experienced—by escorting Vincent to Valhalla.
“You can’t do it, Ben,” Boone whispered. “We can’t help Simon that way.”
“Let these people go,” Simon said. “Take my head if you wish.”
Vincent shook the hand holding the dagger.
“Shut your mouth, Boy!”
Vincent grimaced. Ben pressed the arrow against Vincent’s head, drawing blood.
“I told you we would find no allies in the south,” Ben said, as if in a daze.
“Only the weak, and the frightened—who are only too willing to grovel at the feet of rubbish like this!”
“I am going to keep you alive…for a long time,” Vincent growled. “You—will die slowly!”
Ben spat in Vincent’s face. He pressed the arrow tighter and leaned in until he could feel Vincent’s breath on his cheek.
“I—have lost everything! I—am going to send you to hell!”
Ben moved his head away. Boone was shocked at the manic expression in his brother’s eyes.
“Ben…please…”
Magdalena jumped. She felt pressure against the back of her right shoulder and hot breath on her neck.
“Get ready,” a man’s voice whispered. “Grab the girl and run to the south.”
Magdalena craned her neck to look over her shoulder. There was only a stick—with no point at the end of the spear.
“Let’s do this the honorable way,” Ben said. “On the count of five!”
One!
Two!
Three!
Four!
The hooded man behind Magdalena stepped back. He pointed his stick into the air and an explosion rocked the ground. He held the stick aloft and more fiery explosions shot into the night sky.
And then fire rained down on the village. Huts and their contents went up in flames. Two men caught fire and ran screaming through the crowd.
Ben dropped his crossbow as Vincent roared.
Boone loosed his arrow. It flew past Vincent’s right ear.
Simon stomped down on Vincent’s foot. Vincent scrambled to keep his grip. Simon grabbed onto his arm and spun them both around.
Someone threw a dagger. It buried itself in the back of Vincent’s left arm. He screamed and pulled the dagger out.
Magdalena did as the man said. She held Helena by the arm.
“Into the woods! To the south! Run! Go! Go!”
Most of the villagers were too shocked or frightened to care about their captives. Almost half of the buildings in the village were on fire.
Lamont and his men were well on their way to overpowering those that remained.
&nb
sp; Lamont saw one of his men lying on the ground—an arrow in his chest.
“Oh, no…”
“Get to the woods! To the south, men! Go!”
Ben scrambled to his feet and was halfway to the tree-line. Simon grabbed Boone by the arm and pulled him up. They turned to run, but their feet got tangled together. Boone fell hard to the ground, and on his shoulder. He cried out in pain. Ben turned and head back toward his brother.
Vincent was coming after them.
Boone had not moved.
Simon saw the crossbow, lying not far away. Vincent saw it at the same time. He ran for it.
Simon ran and dove. He grabbed up the crossbow and rolled over on his back, just as the wild-eyed man grabbed his leg.
Thoom!
Vincent’s knees buckled. He wobbled on his feet. His eyes crossed. The arrow buried between them was the last thing he ever saw.
Simon rolled out of the way as the big man fell to the ground.
Simon and Benjamin each grabbed one of Boone’s arms, lifted him up, and helped him into the safety of the woods.
Forty
Lamont and his men crashed into the woods, their way lit by only a few torches.
Helena let go of Magdalena’s hand.
Magdalena stopped. She saw the man who had been responsible for their escape. He stood at the edge of the wood, with his staff at his side. He glared into the darkness to the north.
Magdalena felt a warmth and a sense of…a sense of home.
“You saved our lives with your magic. Who are you?”
The man glanced at Magdalena and smiled.
Something about him felt so familiar.
“A friend,” he said.
There was another flash of light, and the man was gone.
Simon, Lamont, and the others ran for another mile. And then, they fell to the forest floor and gasped for air. They rested in the woods.
“I don’t believe that the people of Vallen desire any more of our company,” Lamont said. “Not before sunrise, at least. Two hour watches, men. You know your assignments.”
“Where is Helena?” Simon asked.
Magdalena had been lying against a log. She sat up quickly.
“She pulled away from me inside the forest. Helena! Where are you?”
“I’m coming!”
Helena appeared from the north. She carried a bundle.
Boone sat up and rubbed his sore shoulder.
“What do you have there? Spoils of war?”
“You might say that.”
She shook out the bundle.
It was Vincent’s coat.
“It belonged to my father,” Helena said. “I was not about to allow that piece of rubbish to take it to his grave.”
Boone looked at Simon. He pointed toward Helena with his thumb.
“I just love her.”
Simon smiled.
He stared into the night sky and hoped that his friends could not sense the thoughts that tortured him.
Lamont rustled the group just before dawn. They had a quiet breakfast and formed up at Lamont’s instructions. The marched to the south, with little enthusiasm, and little banter.
With the sun sinking in the west, Simon stepped alongside Nicolas Lamont.
“I have about two hours left in this body. The people of Drakal will only see me as the dragon. I’m sorry that things went so badly in Vallen.”
“Don’t lose hope, Simon,” Lamont said. “Vincent was not that much different from Sterling. We had no way of knowing that.”
Lamont continued his pace at the front of his company.
He sighed heavily and stopped.
“We will rest here—and resume out journey to Drakal in the morning.”
The company set up camp, arranging themselves in a protective circle. Men set themselves at the perimeter in the watch schedule that they had memorized.
Simon helped Boone, Helena and Magdalena build a fire in the middle of the camp.
The four of them sat and stared into the fire, without words. The sun sank behind the trees.
Simon stood and smiled at his friends.
And then, he walked away.
The moon rose as it had for the past twelve years. That night’s moon declared an end to the twenty-four hours that the rightful king of Morgenwraithe walked the world as a man.
Simon stood alone on the edge of a cliff.
He inhaled and closed his eyes.
The transformation came
As it always had.
The pleasure. The power. The freedom.
Simon did not resist.
He did not have the strength. Or the ability to care.
The change happened. He became who he was.
The beast. The animal.
The dragon.
Simon threw back his head. He roared with an intensity that knew no limits.
He was not the King of Morgenwraithe on this night.
He was the King…of the Night Itself.
Simon took to the sky with a rage—a rage that he did not try to understand.
A rage that he did not question.
The dragon roared across the night sky. He whipped his head around and blew flames directed at nothing.
His expression of frustration and anger met with an answer.
Thooom!!!
An explosion split the twilight sky.
Simon banked to the east. He watched the shadow of a dark sphere rocket past his head.
He looked down and saw a circle of men whose silhouettes were lit by torches. They gathered around a dark shape. Simon flew closer for a look until he heard the men scream—and the black shape moved.
It was a cannon.
The men stood flanked in military-type formation. They faced the wall of a canyon. They wore helmets and heavy armor. As Simon flew closer, he saw that the armor resembled his own.
The men were clad in scales. Dragon scales. They carried full-body shields that were also covered in scales.
Simon turned again. He heard a sound that he could not believe.
The screams of another.
Another dragon.
The dragon stood in front of a cave door. It was larger Simon, with a fuller body, and a thinner and longer nose. It thrashed about in a fierce display of muscle, teeth, talons, and fire.
There is no doubt about it, Simon thought. This dragon does not suffer the problems of conscience that have plagued me for the last twelve years. This…this is an angry beast.
The men seemed temporarily confused about where to aim their cannon next.
Three archers lined up their arrows to track Simon. The others moved the cannon toward the dragon on the ground.
Move, Simon willed the dragon. Take to the sky!
The dragon stood its ground. It thrashed its head left and then right in a constant barrage of angry fire. The dragon seemed willing to do anything to protect its home.
It is little wonder that they die. Is it stubbornness? Are they so occupied by fury that they do not recognize danger?
This dragon was going to die. And soon.
Simon circled again. His eyes focused on the cannon.
Dragon. Or men. I have never been forced to choose between them. What I am I doing?
Simon did not have the time to contemplate his actions. Or their repercussions.
He lowered his head and beat his wings three times. And then he tucked them in.
He struck the side of the cannon with his head and shoulder as men scattered and cursed. Some reloaded their bows quickly as Simon tried to get away. Arrows bounced off his back, but three of them pierced his wings. One of those hit near his chest, sending a sharp blast of pain through him that temporarily blinded him.
Simon winced. He made another turn and looked down. The other dragon had not moved away from the door of the cave.
“What is wrong with you?”
The night sky swallowed Simon’s bewildered scream.
The men had already righted the cannon. One of th
e wheels had broken in half.
“Ha!” Simon screamed down at them. “You are not so fearsome without your toys, are you?”
But the men had not given up on their weapon.
Simon watched the barrel of the cannon rise. It was quickly pointed right at him. He raised his wing to turn
Thooom!!!
Another cannonball flew past Simon. He was about to breathe a sigh of relief when he discovered that the ball was not his only problem.
The cannonball had heavy chains and heavy ropes attached to it. The ends were heavily weighted, forming a powerful snare that spun so fast that it was nearly impossible to see.
The snare hit Simon’s right wing and pinned it against his body. It also bound both of his rear legs.
He was in the sky, and completely helpless.
Simon looked below him. He was over the edge of the forest.
Maybe the fall won’t kill me.
But the men will.
Forty-One
Simon quit struggling. There was nothing he could do now. In the last seconds, he thought of the friends he would leave behind.
Boone. Helena. Lord and Lady Lamont.
And Queen Jaclyn Lamont Morgenwraithe; the girl he loved. The girl who had never seen his real face.
And never would.
Simon closed his eyes. He hit the tops of the trees. He bounced from side to side, from small branch to larger branch. He felt only the first few before the pains converged and he had no idea where they came from.
And then he stopped.
But he was still breathing. The snare caught on some of the lower limbs. This left him hanging upside down. He could hear the men yelling at each other as they drew closer.
With some of the last of his strength, Simon used a foreleg to free himself from the tree. He toppled to the ground and rolled out into the clearing. He lay on his side and watched the torches bounce along the horizon toward him.
