by Nathan Roden
Liam shook his head.
“I…I do not think that I can. I would forever see my father’s face, and he would feel shame.”
“I will explain it to him—”
“He died,” Liam said, “seven months ago—of the same fever. If he knew that I failed to show respect to a man of authority, he would feel that I showed him disrespect, as well.”
“Very well,” Ben said. “I will not ask you to go against your father’s wishes.”
“Thank you, Lord Blankenship.”
Twenty-One
The Captain of the Border Guard ordered his officers to stay with him in the mouth of the canyon.
The air was thick with the smell of blood and vomit. The border guard was staffed by young men who had never seen conflict, let alone the kind of damage that their spear traps were capable of.
“Remove these men from the traps,” the Captain ordered.
“Men?” the first officer said. “These are boys!”
“I do not care if they were nursemaids!” the Captain roared. “We are charged with the defense of the border, and the border came under assault!”
“They carried no weapons,” another officer said.
The Captain stepped in front of that man and grabbed him by the collar.
“Is that what you wish to tell Raynard? Or Lord Sterling? That their Border Guard murdered an invading force of unarmed children?”
“No, Captain.”
“What do we tell them?” the first officer asked.
The Captain paced and stroked his chin.
“When is the celebration—for the King’s name day?” he asked.
“In two days, Captain,” the first officer answered.
“Ah!” the Captain winced. “Sterling will be in a particularly foul mood. This will not bode well for us.”
The Captain stepped next to a dead man with an arrow through his heart. He raised his boot and kicked the man in the side.
“They will not send us more men,” he said. “But they will demand even more of us. More patrols. More men on night watch. And more reports sent to the castle.”
The Captain stared each of his officers in the eye.
“Clear the bodies. We will reset the traps when the blood is dry, and the stench is gone.
“This day—did not happen. Make this clear to your men. If I learn that a single word of these events has passed beyond our ranks, I will find the loose tongue and cut it out. And then I will have that man’s head! Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Captain!” the officers said in unison.
“What do we do with them?” the first officer asked.
The Captain started toward the mouth of the canyon.
“Burn the bodies.”
Twenty-Two
Simon and Boone stood high on top of the hill. A broken-down stone wall was all that was left of an ancient outpost. The outpost had not been used for generations—since the reign of Simon’s great-grandfather. There had been no one foolish enough to challenge the might and power of the Morgenwraithe family since that time.
Simon looked down on the Royal tournament arena, which was decorated with brightly colored tents and banners. Boone held his new spyglass to his eye.
“This glass is amazing!” Boone said. “I have the vision of a dragon now!”
“How many stripes are there on the banner beneath the King’ seat?” Simon asked. “And what is their color?”
“That’s an easy one. Five red stripes.”
“Maybe the glass will prove useful, after all,” Simon said.
“Coming here is not the wisest thing you’ve ever done,” Boone said.
“I will not do anything foolish,” Simon said. “I’m not about to fly down there and present the King with a gift for his name day. This wall shields us. We’ll go no closer.”
“On a day when every soldier in the realm is in full armor and carrying swords, shields, and full quivers, even being this close is madness,” Boone said.
“Rest easy, Boone. Perhaps you might glimpse the queen’s handmaiden again.”
“Oh. Her,” Boone said. “The girl who you said was the second loveliest you had ever seen! Who could possibly be more lovely—the Queen herself?”
Boone lowered the glass and stared at Simon.
“Say. Have you seen the Queen?”
Simon snorted.
“And what…what if I have? Many people have seen the Queen.”
“Ho, ho, ho!” Boone laughed. “When did you see the Queen? And more importantly, has she seen you?”
“It was a very long time ago…”
Boone studied his friend’s expression.
“I do not believe it. You have seen her. And you have feelings for her! Your brother’s bride!”
Simon stared down. He worked his jaw, and a growl sounded in his throat.
“I am here to see the kind of celebration that should have been held in my name.”
“So, we are risking our lives so you may shed a tear for what might have been,” Boone said.
Simon snorted a blast of fire.
“We are here so that I do not forget what was stolen from me. This sight burns its place into my heart and my mind. I will regain my place at the head of this Kingdom—even if it comes down to my final breath.”
Boone nodded and patted the dragon’s side.
“Forget I said anything. I like the way your mind works, my king.”
The people filed into the arena. The sounds of trumpets filled the air, signaling the entrance of the King and his court.
“I can’t see them,” Boone said. “They’ve shaded the Royal seating area from the sun. How much longer must we stay? I’m getting a bad feeling about this.”
The trumpets sounded again.
“Let’s go,” Simon said. “It would be wise if we—”
“Wait,” Boone said. “There is another procession coming up the road. What is that?”
“Oh, no,” Simon said. He pulled Boone behind the wall.
“What is it?”
“No…it cannot be!”
Twenty-Three
Queen Jaclyn walked two paces behind King Lucien. Lord Sterling walked at the King’s side. Sterling was suffering the effects of the previous night’s wine and he was in a particularly foul mood. The Captain of the King’s Guard, Raynard, walked next to Sterling. He joined Sterling in the earlier night of debauchery and also felt a degree of misery.
Raynard was Sterling’s man, his loyalty secured with lands and coin and a common lust for power and dominance.
Helena walked with Jaclyn. When they reached the platform where the King’s and Queen’s seats were, Helena turned away. Jaclyn grabbed her hand.
“Please, stay with me.”
Helena was afraid. Sterling turned and glared at them both.
“Begging your pardon, My Lord,” Jaclyn said. “I am not feeling well.”
Sterling grunted but turned his attention elsewhere. He snatched a mug of ale from a servant boy, turned it up, and drained it dry. He did the same to two more mugs.
The tournament announcer welcomed the people and introduced the Queen. Jaclyn stood and waved and smiled.
“We love you Queen Jaclyn!” a woman cried from the crowd. Jaclyn’s smile broadened. She was a popular Queen and a favorite of the people.
Sterling ignored the crowd’s display of affection.
The King was far less popular, suffering from what most knew or suspected—that the King was totally under Sterling’s control. The applause for Lucien was long and loud, but without passion. Many of those who cheered kept a wary eye on Sterling. No one dared to stand accused of failing to show proper respect.
For the next thirty minutes, a procession of dancers, jesters, and jugglers performed before the Royal platform. Sterling grew drunk and impatient. He stood and yelled for the performers to stop.
He cleared his throat and belched.
“I have searched, far and wide, to find the perfect gift for my
nephew’s fifteenth name day. And I believe I have succeeded!”
The crowd roared its approval.
Sterling held his hand out toward Lucien.
“King Lucien, son of King Bailin, my beloved brother, please rise.”
Lucien stood.
Sterling turned and stumbled, sloshing ale from his mug.
“Captain of the Guard!” Sterling said. “A blindfold, if you please!”
The crowd murmured in anticipation as the King was blindfolded. Sterling led Lucien by the arm to the front edge of the Royal platform.
Members of the King’s Guard stood before the arena gates. Sterling nodded, and the gates opened.
The crowd noise swelled. There were shrieks and screams. Sterling held fast to Lucien’s arms.
Lucien struggled.
“Uncle, please! I want to see!”
Queen Jaclyn stood. She was unsteady on her feet. Helena leaped to her side.
“No,” Jaclyn whispered.
Six strong men entered the arena, each holding the end of a heavy chain. At the end of the six chains—
Was a dragon.
Sterling let go of Lucien’s arms. Lucien tore away the blindfold.
He stared at the spectacle before him in disbelief. And anger. And fear.
Lucien knew instantly that the dragon was not his brother. This dragon was obviously very old. It was not large as dragons go. Many of its scales were broken or missing, as were some of its teeth. The dragon was a ruddy, dull brown—drab and mottled.
The dragon’s jaws were bound shut with a heavy leather muzzle. The muzzle was secured around the back of the dragon’s head with more chains. The dragon thrashed its head back and forth. Only pathetic and weak mewing sounds escaped its clenched jaws.
“Where did you find this ugly beast?” Raynard asked Sterling.
“I purchased it from a band of nomad hunters from deep in the Southlands,” Sterling said. “They sent a messenger, saying they had captured the cursed son of Bailin. I knew they were mistaken about that, but I was curious enough to go and look. They thought to ask a small fortune for this worn and weathered old beast, but common sense took hold. I let them know that favor in the Kingdom of Morgenwraithe is worth more than mere gold.”
Sterling faced the crowd and chanted.
“Lucien!
“Lucien!
“Lucien!”
The crowd picked up the chant, and the roar shook the arena. Soon, other cries were heard above the fray.
“Slay the filthy beast!”
“Cut off its head!”
“Long live King Lucien—the dragonslayer!”
“Kill it! Kill it!”
“Rid our lands of these foul creatures!”
Lucien did not know what to do. He turned to Lord Sterling.
“Uncle, what am I to—?”
Sterling held out his hand to Raynard.
“Your sword, please, Sire!”
Raynard handed over his sword. Sterling offered it to Lucien.
“Let your legend become known this day—throughout the land!” Sterling shouted. “Slay a dragon!”
Sterling pointed at Queen Jaclyn.
“Slay a dragon and put a baby boy inside of your Queen, and your legacy is complete!”
Lucien stared at the sword.
“But, I—”
Sterling pumped his fist and chanted again.
“Lucien!
“Lucien!
“All hail the King—slayer of dragons!”
Jaclyn grabbed Lucien’s arm.
“No, Lucien. You do not have to—”
Lucien jerked his arm away. His face was red and sweat appeared on his forehead. He trembled. The roar of the crowd swelled in waves. Lucien took the sword from Sterling’s hand.
He faced the crowd and lifted the sword over his head.
The noise was deafening. People threw flowers into the air. They floated down and landed in front of the Royal platform.
Lucien waded through the flower petals. Raynard and his second fell in beside the King. Sterling followed behind, scanning the crowd with his stare between gulps of ale. The foursome marched to the middle of the area—and in front of the dragon.
“Are you ready, your Grace?” Raynard asked.
Lucien gripped the sword with white-knuckled hands. He nodded.
Raynard nodded to two of the strong men. The men released their chains.
The dragon jerked his wings side-to-side. The four remaining men held on tightly. One of them lost his footing, and the dragon threw him into the air. The other two strong men chased down the loose chains. Some of the closest members of the arena audience deserted their seats.
The dragon had exhausted itself in its desperate move. Its body heaved as it struggled to breathe with its jaws clamped shut. The men regained their grips on the chains.
“The beast has a little fight left in him, after all!” Sterling laughed.
The crowd picked up the chant again.
“Lucien!
“Lucien!
“Lucien!”
“Loose the beast!” Lucien cried.
“What?” Raynard said. He stepped closer to Lucien’s side.
“Please, your Grace. Let the beast spend more of its strength. It remains a danger—”
Sterling said nothing. He stared at Lucien with an amused smirk.
“What do you mean to do, Captain of the Guard?” Lucien growled. “Leave me nothing to do but climb on top of it while it is dying? Why not just have the queen kill it?”
“Please, Lord Sterling,” Raynard pleaded. “Reason with—”
“Must I remind you, Captain,” Sterling said. “Lucien is your King! And I believe he has given you an order.”
Raynard turned slowly toward the dragon. The men holding the chains looked to Raynard for direction.
Lucien watched, and in that moment, the noise ceased to exist.
He turned and looked at his Uncle.
This is what he planned all along, Lucien thought.
And I have taken his bait, like a proud and ignorant animal. I will die, now—and my uncle may as well have driven his own blade into my heart.
Lucien looked toward the Royal platform. Jaclyn stood between her parents, crying. She clutched her father’s arm and had her head buried in his side. And the thought occurred to Lucien—
If I am killed, the throne will go to Viceroy Lamont, by Royal decree.
Sterling will murder them all…
The strong men attached two of the chains to heavy iron rings set into the walls of the arena. The men backed away slowly and left the arena floor. If the dragon’s strength was spent, those men did not believe it.
Raynard, his second-in-command, and Lord Sterling back away as well. The people who remained cheered for Lucien. Most of the seats, especially those nearest the dragon, were empty.
Lucien took a deep breath and gripped the sword with both hands. He reconciled himself to his impending death and stepped forward. The dragon looked down at his single attacker. It strained again at the chains and whipped its head about. Two heavy rivets that held the muzzle over its jaws shot into the air. And then, a third. And a fourth. The dragon wrenched his head back and forth at a dizzying speed.
The heavy leather muzzle ripped apart and fell to the arena floor. The dragon raised its head to the sky and opened its jaws wide.
One tiny blast of flame, and the dragon’s fire was no more.
It tried to roar but produced only pitiful sounds of defeat.
Some members of the crowd laughed out loud. Some even made sounds of pity.
This made Lucien furious. He cursed at the dragon until the dragon looked down at him. The dragon opened its jaws again and made no sound at all. Lucien lunged with his sword. The dragon moved. Lucien fell forward and the blade sliced into the dragon’s leg. The dragon screamed and fell forward. Lucien rolled away just in time. The dragon’s head slammed into the ground as it gave its final cry. Lucien ran the sword thro
ugh the dragon’s neck.
There was no roar left in the crowd—only a smattering of applause. Raynard ran to Lucien and pulled him to his feet. Lucien looked up at the Royal platform. He saw Jaclyn, being comforted by her parents. She held her hands to her face as she cried. Lucien pushed away from his uncle and ran to her. Sterling swore and walked after Lucien. Before Lucien reached Jaclyn, she turned away and ran.
“I will come with you, my queen,” Helena said.
“No! Stay here, I command you!” Jaclyn said.
Jaclyn ran behind the platform and grabbed the reins of the first horse she came to. She tried to mount it but her ceremonial gown was too heavy and cumbersome. She screamed and ripped the gown away. Clad only in her undergarments, Jaclyn threw herself onto the back of the horse and dug in her heels. She yanked on the horse’s mane, sending them along the King’s Road at full speed.
Lucien ran to Lord and Lady Lamont.
“Where is she?” he asked, breathlessly.
“We do not know—”
Sterling caught up with Lucien and grabbed his arm from behind. Lucien wrestled his arm away.
“Where is Jaclyn?” Lucien demanded.
Sterling glared at Lucien, and then he glared at the Lamonts.
Sterling reached and grabbed Helena by her arm.
“Perhaps your queen has never learned of the pain and suffering that dragons brought to these lands!” Sterling sneered. “Look around you! It seems that many in this village have forgotten the days of death and fire! Perhaps, the queen believes they should be allowed to breed, and begin their reign of terror all over again!”
