by Nathan Roden
Simon’s fire faded and then died altogether.
More men were coming. Their sound was distant. Simon backed onto the dungeon floor.
“Close your eyes!” he screamed at Helena.
Dozens of charred, dead bodies lied at Simon’s feet. Without fuel, his fire died. And the war was lost.
He picked up a soldier in his jaws. He bit down and severed the body in half. In two gulps, half of a man disappeared. Two more bites and he felt the familiar pressure building again within him as his belly swelled.
Another wave of men cleared the corridor—and went to a fiery grave.
The last young man in the wave threw down his sword. He turned to run. Simon chased him down and caught him within five paces. Simon knocked the young man into the wall.
“Please, no!” the man cried. “I am on your side, King Simon!”
Simon raised his talon high—and left it there.
He lowered it.
“Go. Get out.”
The man scrambled to his feet and ran.
Simon walked back into the dungeon. He walked up to a dead soldier and kicked the helmet from his head. He picked up a shield and the helmet and carried them to Helena.
“Put this helmet on,” Simon said. “And grab hold of this shield. If we are fortunate, they will have one more wave of foot soldiers to send before the King’s Guard comes. We do not want to face them. After the next wave, we make our move. We escape—or we die.”
Helena nodded. The helmet flopped loosely on her head.
The shouts of the next wave filled the corridor.
“I will clear the corridor,” Simon said. “When I return, climb onto my back. Cover yourself with the shield the best you can. Hold tightly onto my neck.”
The next wave was the last of the foot soldiers. It was a larger group, but they were paralyzed by fear. They turned and ran at the first sight of dragon fire.
Simon knelt down next to Helena. She climbed onto his back. Simon stepped into the corridor, lowered his head, and sprinted forward.
His memory of the area was distant. He was only allowed into the dungeon twice by the age of six—because in those days the dungeon was rarely empty.
Simon reached the end of the first leg of the corridor. He turned right and saw a light in the distance.
He heard shouting—the King’s Guard was behind them. Flaming arrows flew past Simon on both sides.
“Hold on tight!” Simon yelled.
He stopped and spun around and filled the passageway behind them with fire. Helena lost her grip and fell to the floor. Simon leaned close to the floor, and Helena climbed back onto his back.
“Please, hold on,” Simon said. “The archers will be waiting for us outside. When we clear that door, I will take off and immediately bank to the north—to your right. You must hold on tightly, Helena!”
“I will,” Helena said gruffly. She pulled the straps of the shield from her arm and let it fall to the floor.
“I cannot carry this…it is much too heavy.”
Simon crept closer to the exit. He opened his mouth and filled the doorway with a quick blast of fire. He closed his mouth, saving his flame for their greatest challenge yet—the archers on the wall and in the north corner tower.
And then he ran.
The dragon and his rider exploded into the sunlight of late afternoon. The air filled with flying arrows and the screams of burning men.
Helena lowered her head and thought of nothing but holding on.
I have not come this far to die from hitting the ground, she thought.
Simon took flight and banked hard toward the north wall. The top of the wall was lined with archers. Simon angled toward them to shield Helena. He opened his jaws and forty men died instantly.
The last six men might have lived had they known the dragon’s fire was almost spent. Instead, they threw themselves from the top of the wall.
Simon landed on top of the castle amid the litter of smoldering bodies.
He glared at the watchtowers. They were all filled with archers. He dared not risk flying between any of the towers to escape. He had no time to replenish his fire. Already, more soldiers and King’s Guard made their way to the top of the north wall.
“Helena,” Simon said. “I need you to stay here. I must take out the threat in the north tower. I will be back for you.”
Helena slid from Simon’s back. She stepped onto a dead man’s body. She screamed and jumped—and landed on the outstretched hand of another dead soldier.
Simon took to the air. He narrowed his eyes, staring at the largest window of the north tower. Archers crowded into that window and a flurry of arrows flew in Simon’s direction. Without flame to spend. Simon flapped his wings as hard as he could. He lowered his head and flew at the window with all the speed he could obtain.
He collided with the stones on all sides, but his speed and his weight carried him through the window and inside the tower in a cloud of stone dust. Eight archers were killed instantly—crushed against the tower wall. Simon immediately spun in an offensive circle. Soldiers screamed and died in a fury of wings, talons and teeth. When only a few men remained alive, they chose the same fate as the men on the wall and jumped from the windows.
Simon returned to the wall. Helena climbed on and they flew away, into the setting sun.
Thirty-Five
The First Knight charged into the dungeon with his sword held high. He scanned the room and turned to leave. He ran past the door to the guard station and stopped. He looked inside and swore under his breath. And then he ran back up the corridor.
“The dungeon is clear,” he said to those assembled there: Lucien, Sterling, Raynard, and several officers of the King’s Guard.
“The guard was murdered—stabbed in the head.”
Sterling screamed a string of obscenities and stormed toward the dungeon.
Raynard walked to the wall and stared at the empty shackles.
“These were unlocked with the key—save for one.”
The men halted. Shouts came from the top of the corridor.
“Let go of me! I am your Queen! I will have your heads!”
Sterling looked at Lucien.
“Get her out of here!”
Lucien scowled and his hands became fists. He stomped up the corridor. Jaclyn had torn free from a member of the King’s Guard, who was left holding the sleeve of her dress. Lucien stopped in front of her and held up his hands.
“You must remain here. There is nothing for a queen to see down—”
Jaclyn feinted to one side of the corridor and then ducked beneath Lucien’s hands. She ran to the doorway of the dungeon with Lucien on her heels.
Jaclyn reached the doorway just as the First Knight bent over and lifted the locket off of the incinerated body.
“What have we here?” the Knight said to Sterling.
“No!” Jaclyn screamed.
Lucien grabbed her shoulder from behind.
“I told you to stay away—!”
“NO!” Jaclyn screamed again in anguish.
She jerked away from Lucien with all of her might. She freed one of her arms and threw her elbow backward. The blow struck Lucien’s nose, breaking it, and sending blood into the air. Lucien fell to his knees.
Jaclyn ran to the body where the Knight found the locket. She fell to her knees in front of it.
“NO! Helena! NO!”
Raynard grabbed Jaclyn by the arm and jerked her to her feet.
Sterling stormed in front of her. It took every bit of his restraint not to strike her.
“Get her out of my sight!” He growled.
Raynard and another guard dragged Jaclyn from the dungeon, dragging her feet and screaming and sobbing.
“Wait!” Sterling said. “Keep her there!”
Sterling grabbed the locket from the First Knight’s hand.
“Lucien!” Sterling yelled. He looked at the other soldiers.
“Where is he?”
A guard
ran inside the dungeon.
“The king is in the corridor, my Lord. He is injured.”
“Get him in here! Now!”
Two guards held Lucien at the elbows and helped him through the dungeon doorway. They walked past the guards and Jaclyn, who continued to sob.
Sterling held the locket in front of Lucien.
“Do you know this locket?” he asked.
Blood flowed from Lucien’s nose. The skin around his eyes was turning black and swollen. He squinted and stared at the locket.
“I am not…I believe so…”
Jaclyn threw back her head and cried another anguished scream.
The guards looked at Sterling in fear.
“Lord Sterling, shall we take her—?”
“NO!” Sterling screamed. He spun around and scanned the men standing next to him. He pointed at a young member of the King’s Guard. The guard swallowed hard.
“You! Boy!”
“Yes, Lord Sterling!”
“Give me your sword,” Sterling snarled.
The guard nodded. He unsheathed his sword with trembling hands. Sterling snatched it away from him.
Sterling turned to the body.
He roared. He raised the sword above his head and screamed horrible words as he brought the sword down at the neck of the charred corpse.
One more strike of the blade, and the corpse’s head was severed. Sterling continued to scream curses as he hacked at the body, again and again.
Lucien turned away and vomited. Many of the others did as well.
Jaclyn screamed until she lost consciousness. She hung limply against the arms of the guards. They froze in place, not knowing what to do.
Sterling stopped, at last. His heavy breathing and the continued retching of some of the guards were the only sounds to be heard.
Sterling handed the sword back to its owner.
“This will need repair.”
Sterling stormed from the dungeon without another word. Raynard and the other members of the King’s Guard followed.
The guard whose sword Sterling had borrowed lingered behind until he was the last one remaining in the dungeon. He looked among the charred bodies of his fallen comrades until he found a sword in good condition. He pulled the sword free from the dead soldier’s hands.
The guard took the sword that had been defiled by Lord Sterling in both of his hands.
He ground his teeth together and then cried out as he threw the sword as far into the shadows of the dungeon as he could. He sheathed the sword he had taken from the dead soldier and ran out of the dungeon.
The dungeon was silent except for the echoing of dripping water.
A sleek, jet-black wolf stepped from the shadows.
The wolf rose on its hind legs and stretched. The wolf transformed into a woman, draped in a flowing black dress.
Lady Magdalena looked around the room. She sighed.
“Will it never end?” she whispered to no one.
The woman became a wolf once again. She ran along the corridor wall and out into the night.
Thirty-Six
The sun was no more.
Only a few miles farther… Simon thought.
And then the first cramp hit him—at the base of his wings
Where it always began…
Simon cried out. His wings spasmed, and he fell from the sky.
Helena screamed. Simon flapped twice more before the next wave of excruciating pain washed over him.
“Hold on, Helena!” Simon cried through clenched teeth. “I have to land!”
There was no clearing in sight. Simon crashed through treetops. Helena fell for the last several feet, landing in a pile of soft, dead leaves. Simon rolled to a stop. He got to his feet, breathing hard. He arched his neck, raised his head to the sky and loosed a horrible, gut-wrenching roar. Helena tried to get to her feet. She pushed herself back against a tree trunk. Her eyes were wide.
“Oh, no, oh, no!” she whimpered. “What is happening? Simon—?”
Simon dropped his head and struggled to breathe.
“Your dress—,” he panted. “Tear a piece from your dress—a piece large enough…large enough for a loincloth.”
“I do not understand—”
Simon jerked his head up again and screamed. He blew a towering blast of fire that burned above the tops of the trees.
He whipped his head down and glared at Helena. His eyes filled with a desperate madness.
“DO IT!”
Helena tore at her dress with trembling fingers. She took the piece of cloth and crept toward Simon. She laid it at his feet and then hid behind a tree. When Simon screamed again, she peered out at him. She could not turn her eyes away again.
To the symphony of Simon’s screams, the dragon’s wings drew inward.
How can he live through such torment? Helena thought.
The dragon’s scales faded away into smooth skin. The massive and terrible head shrank, smaller and smaller, until it became…
The most handsome face she had ever seen in her life.
The man sat on the ground, his shoulders heaving. As his breathing slowed, his arms stretched out. He picked up the piece of cloth and wrapped it around his waist.
He slowly climbed to his feet, and as he turned he said,
“I’m sorry that I spoke so roughly, but—”
Helena stared at Simon. She covered her mouth with both of her hands. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
She fell to her knees. Simon ran to her side.
“What is wrong Helena? Are you—?”
Helena shook her head.
“It is true! It is all true! My queen is married to the wrong man! You are the rightful King! And you are so…so…
“Oh, it is no wonder she loves—!”
“Did she say that?” Simon asked. “Did the Queen say that?”
“I have spoken out of turn,” Helena whispered. “It is not my place to speak the Queen’s heart.”
“Our cave is perhaps two miles away. We must hurry. If I was overheard, there is no time to waste.”
Simon took Helena’s hand and turned to run. Helena’s hand slipped from his. She stumbled and fell and cried out.
“You must keep up—”
Helena’s torn dress rode up on her leg and Simon saw what was wrong.
“By the gods,” Simon whispered.
Helena’s leg was burned. And quite badly.
“You cannot walk?” Simon asked.
Helena pushed to her feet.
“I will try.”
Helena refused to let a cry escape her lips, but she could only limp.
“I will have to carry you,” Simon said. “It will not be quick, with bare feet.”
Simon carried Helena at a brisk walking pace. They stopped to rest briefly. Soon after they started again, they heard rustling in the trees ahead. Simon eased Helena to the ground. He held a finger to his lips.
Helena reached inside of her dress and brought out the one thing she had carried away from the dungeon—the Queen’s dagger. She handed it to Simon.
They hid behind a tree as the rustling came nearer. Simon jumped out with the dagger held high over his head.
“No, no, no, no! Simon! It’s me!”
“Ah, you scared the blood out of us, Boone!” Simon exclaimed. “Gods, but I’m happy to see you!”
Boone and Simon laughed as they embraced. Boone pushed Simon away.
“Wait a minute—what do you mean, ‘us’—?”
Helena had pushed herself to her feet. She leaned against the tree.
“Noooo,” Boone whispered. His jaw hung slack.
Boone looked left and right. He shook his head.
“Don’t tell me….do you have the queen?”
“The queen is not here,” Helena said. “Only her handmaid. My name is—”
“Helena,” Boone said.
“How do you know my name?” Helena leaned toward Boone. ”Who are you—?”
Helena’s mouth c
ontinued to work, but no words came. She looked from Boone to Simon and back again.
“It is you!” she said. “I saw you—I spoke to you—in front of the castle! I remember! You were trying to hide your faces—both of you! Pretending to be traveling merchants from across the sea!”
“You see?” Boone said to Simon. “I told you it was foolish to walk into the village. How many others know our faces now?”
“Don’t turn into a nervous old woman, Boone,” Simon said with a wave of his hand.
“Only two people in the world have ever seen me as dragon and man—and I’m looking at them both.”
“What about the queen?” Helena asked. “She has never—?”
“No,” Simon and Boone said at the same time.
“I don’t suppose you brought along another pair of boots,” Simon said.
“If you remember, your Grace, I haven’t seen you for three nights,” Boone said. “The last thing I knew, you were going out in the morning to steal from a hunt.”
“He was stealing from a hunt led by the king!” Helena said. “And that is how—”
Simon blushed.
“We need to travel now, and tell tales later,” he said.
“Helena cannot walk, Boone,” Simon said. “One of us will have to carry her.”
“What happened to you?” Boone asked.
Helena pulled up her dress to uncover her leg.
“Great Vehallion’s ghost!” Boone cried. He looked at Simon.
“Did you—?”
“Do not dare say a bad thing about him!” Helena scolded. “Because of him, I am alive. The queen is alive, and the chance that this wretched curse might yet be broken is still alive, as well!”
“I was not about to—” Boone said.
“I will tell you who is not alive!” Helena continued. “Many members of the King’s army—and the King’s Guard! They could not stop the True King! The Dragon King!”
