by Nathan Roden
But there have been many days and nights that all I wanted
Was to die.
All this is behind me now.
I have become a man.
I want my birthright restored.
I want to be the King that the people deserve.
But these desires pale in the light of the want that has burned inside of me for five long years.
I want the friend I cannot have.
I want to look each day upon the face that I cannot touch.
I want the love that my heart has been denied.
I want you.
Your friend,
S
Jaclyn bit her lip. She read the note again, through her eyes that swam with tears. And then she read it again. She held the note in her lap and stared at the ceiling.
She looked at the flickering lamp beside her. She held the note in her right hand.
The note was the ultimate danger.
It was treason.
This single piece of parchment could tear apart the entire Kingdom.
It would not merely cost her the crown—
It could cost her life.
Her hand shook as she moved the parchment toward the flame.
She held it there.
One second.
Two.
And then she clutched it to her chest.
“NO!” she screamed into the darkness.
Fifty-Three
The dragon circled overhead as twilight fell upon the farm. The youngest girl gathered up her homemade dolls from the front porch. A long shadow passed over her shoulder. She looked up, screamed, and ran inside.
“Father! The dragon has returned!”
The older sister cowered. The two boys ran for their bows.
The farmer sat on a chair in the middle of the one-room house. His tattered boots lay beside him, the holes having grown large enough to make the soles nearly useless. His youngest son had just taken a pot of hot water from the fire to pour into the pan where the man soaked his feet.
“Put down your bows,” the man said to his sons.
“But, Father,” the oldest boy said. “The beast has taken you once—we may not be so fortunate the next time!”
“How many times have I told you, Luke,” the man said. “The tales you hear in the village are based on nothing. Nothing, but the frightened talk of women and cowardly men.”
“Father, I do not need the words of others to know the danger of great flying beasts with sharp teeth and breath made of fire!”
The man stood and limped to the door. His sons followed him, carrying their bows. The man placed his hand on the door handle.
“If either of you passes through this door with a bow, I will consider it disrespect.”
The boys dropped their bows and followed their father outside.
The dragon circled once more. He circled again.
Something fell from the dragon’s talons and plummeted down at them. The children screamed and ran for the door.
A bundle of burlap struck the ground at the man’s feet.
“What is it, Father?” the youngest girl asked.
“I’ll wager that it is a severed head!” cried the youngest boy.
“Be quiet!” the man said. They looked to the sky. The dragon was gone.
The man stood over the bundle. He untied the rope that bound it.
There were two more bundles inside of the burlap. The man unwrapped the first one. His jaw fell slack. He wrapped his hand around the jeweled hilt and held up the gleaming sword. Its blade reflected the sun in a dazzling display of color.
The man opened the second bundle.
Inside that package were two new shirts, two new pairs of trousers—
And a new pair of boots.
The man held the boots before his face. He breathed in the heavenly scent of newly tanned leather. A tear ran down his cheek.
He picked up the burlap bag and shook it. It was not empty. The man looked inside and found—
Five large pieces of hard-rock candy.
I hope you have enjoyed the first book in the I, Dragon series. If you did, then please consider leaving a review at Amazon. You know what they say—the way to a man’s heart is through an Amazon review. It is SO easy to leap-frog into the position of being one of my favorite people. The link for the book is here:
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Want to keep reading Simon’s story?
Here’s the link to Book 2
Rebellion
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And Book 3
Thrones Under Fire
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Also by Nathan Roden
The Wylie Westerhouse Paranormal Fantasy Series
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Book 2 The Dark Stage
http://amzn.to/1Y4NMCc
Book 3 The Lightning’s Kiss
http://amzn.to/29XO8xo
Nathan Roden lives in South Central Texas with his wife and two in-and-out sons, and more dogs and cats than is necessary.
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I,
Dragon
Rebellion
By
Nathan Roden
I, Dragon
Rebellion
Copyright © 2017 by Nathan Roden
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
www.nathanroden.com
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One
Simon’s first night back in the body of the dragon had been a long one.
It began the same way it always had—with flight. After the physical pleasure that accompanied his transformation from man to beast, Simon’s will was not truly his own until he sliced through the night sky on renewed wings.
When the euphoria wore off, Simon returned to the same canyon floor. He walked to the wall of stone, stopped, and inhaled. He roared as he swung his right foreleg against it.
Simon screamed in pain and looked down at his talon. The nail was split and bleeding. He continued to stare at it.
The bleeding slowed, but it did not stop. And the split nail did not heal.
When the moon breached the horizon on the previous night, Simon was filled with rage. He cursed the dragon wings when they erupted from his shoulders. He determined to keep his hands from becoming talons, even if it meant crippling himself. Last night, he bashed this same talon against the canyon wall, but it had healed—instantly.
“So,” Simon said aloud to no one.
“This body. This wretched body—will not be denied. Not until it has consumed me.”
Simon the dragon returned to his huma
n body for only one day each month—from the full moon until the rise of the next moon.
And now, another month would pass—trapped inside the beast. His one opportunity to meet the girl he loved while he was in his human form—had died.
Died, in the depths of Morgenwraithe Castle.
Simon sat down hard. He stared at his broken and bleeding talon—where his human hand had been just two nights ago.
The hand that had touched Queen Jaclyn’s arm—in the middle of that cold, dark dungeon.
Simon roared again and filled the air with fire and smoke.
He had risked much to obtain that one tender touch—and where had it led?
Death.
Two soldiers of the King’s Guard almost caught him and Jaclyn. They could have caught Jaclyn’s father committing an act of treason as well.
The soldiers were doing what they had sworn to do; protect the kingdom and its king and queen.
But those soldiers would have delivered the queen and her father to the vicious Lord Sterling. Jaclyn and Lord Nicolas Lamont would have been convicted of treason and executed.
All because he wanted to meet Jaclyn Lamont Morgenwraithe face-to-face.
She was the queen. And his brother’s wife. And Simon had loved her since the first time he saw her.
And so, the night that might have been magical ended in disaster.
The bodies of two soldiers would rot in the bottomless pit beneath the castle, and no one else would ever know.
Simon could not bear to leave Jaclyn to dwell on those horrific memories. He could not bear to think that when she remembered him, she would remember…death.
Simon told Jaclyn that he would leave something for her. He would leave it in the tower of Islemar, the place where they first met.
In his final hours as a man, he had written a note. It contained his deepest thoughts and feelings. His feelings…for her.
She screamed the first time she saw him, of course. Five years ago, she leaned out of a tower window and looked into the dragon’s eyes.
But their hearts had connected that night. And after five long years, Simon sought to meet her during his one night as an eighteen-year-old man.
But fate would not have it. The castle guards intervened, and the dungeon beneath Castle Morgenwraithe was plunged into darkness.
Simon looked at his talon again.
Against his tortured memories from that night, Simon had only the distant memory of touching Jaclyn’s arm.
The moment should have been tender.
But instead, it was a moment bathed in violence.
Later, at the home of the sorceress, Magdalena, the death toll continued to rise.
Two more soldiers of the King’s Guard were dispatched to check on Magdalena. They found her at home, wounded by an arrow. They would have reported this information to Lord Sterling, but Simon could not allow that to happen.
One guard was dead by Simon’s hand. The other, by the Lady Magdalena’s fangs, after she changed into the body of a wolf.
Something tickled Simon’s leg. He looked down and smiled.
A chameleon climbed up his leg. Simon watched it take on the ruddy brown color of his scales.
Simon was forced to entertain himself for most of his life. He learned to find amusement in the most unlikely places. It was a part of him that had never grown up, and likely never would.
Simon willed his scales to turn to a crimson red. The chameleon followed suit. Simon turned his scales to green. Again, the chameleon followed. Simon continued through all the colors of the rainbow. And then, he brushed the chameleon to the ground.
“Maybe we will play again, one day, little fellow. But I have miles left to travel.”
From Islemar, Simon flew to the farmlands outside of Morgenwraithe village. He intended to repay a debt to a farmer who had once been kind enough to loan Simon his clothes.
It was not the farmer’s idea, but he had seen the wisdom in complying. Simon was desperate at the time, and he felt bad about intimidating the man.
Simon stood and stretched his wings. He took a deep breath and shrugged off his feelings of self-pity.
I hope the farmer thinks well of me. Every time he pulls on those new boots.
Two
Simon sighed and pushed himself to his feet. He was tired after crossing half the kingdom. It was time to go back to Islemar and meet Boone and Helena. He breathed in deeply and launched himself into the air.
Moments later, his stomach growled.
Simon swore to himself. In so many ways, his life as a human boy had been simpler. Sometimes he would forget to eat, or leave the table after only a few bites of food; because to the inquisitive young heir to the throne,
Eating was boring.
What fun was it to sit and chew when there was an entire world to explore? When there was so much to learn?
When the hours could be better spent filling his mind with facts and figures and history
Hoping that his father, King Bailin, would be proud of him.
But the body that Simon inhabited since his sixth name day would not allow him to go hungry for long.
No, this body did not merely require nourishment to keep blood coursing through his veins. It demanded fuel to stoke the furnace in his belly.
Simon Smyth Morgenwraithe, the dragon, had the strength of twenty men. His jaws could cut a full-grown man in two.
And they had done so.
His talons were powerful and razor-sharp. A layer of nearly impenetrable scales covered most of his eighteen hundred and fifty pounds. He was a living, breathing, flying, almost perfect
Killing machine.
Simon soared effortlessly. He closed his eyes and dozed. The day grew warm after an early morning rain, and the air was fresh and clean. Every one of his senses brought him closer and closer to a deep inner peace.
He breathed easily. He was less than two hours away from his adopted cave high over the coast of Islemar. The cove beneath it was home to endless schools of fish.
Simon saw movement at the corner of his vision. A herd of bison quickened their pace as they crossed the field of tall grass.
Simon’s mouth watered automatically at the sight of the herd. Bison had been his favorite food once upon a time—but that was in the days that someone else had hunted them. Someone else butchered and prepared them and put the cooked meat in front of him.
That was a long, long time ago.
Simon did not slow down or alter his course. His dragon eyes told his dragon stomach that there was a feast beneath him, but Simon was no ordinary dragon.
Simon was still in control of his mind.
And his mind saw a family—a family on its way home.
Besides, Simon thought, I love my fish dinners, especially after they are roasted to a crispy
The peaceful, silent afternoon was broken by the screams of a hurt and frightened calf.
A pack of ten jackals cut the calf off from its herd.
Something is not right, Simon thought. Jackals do not hunt in packs that large. What unholy force is at work here?
Simon was exhausted, and he had no patience. He was hungry. And the scene of impending death below him threatened to drive him over the edge.
Simon beat his wings and flew to the north. He narrowed his eyes and focused his attention on the mountain range ahead. His gaze wandered to his side. He looked out at his powerful wings; a vital part of his existence for the last twelve years. These wings had kept him alive.
These wings had kept his friends alive.
His wings could propel his huge frame at the speed of an arrow. He raised his muscled foreleg in front of his eyes. One blow from his talon could fell a small tree—or separate a man or beast from its head.
And if that was not enough,
There was the fire.
Simon roared into the empty sky.
He exhaled angrily—a blast of fire and oily smoke. He tilted his wings and made a wide, sweeping arc. The dragon glared dow
n at the blood-thirsty predators.
“Everyone and everything has to eat,” Simon said aloud. “I do not hold that against you.”
“But you have chosen the wrong day to force me to watch the innocent suffer!”
Simon dove.
He roared and flew low over the pack, giving them one chance to abandon the calf and seek their next meal elsewhere. Four of the jackals retreated, but only for a moment. All ten closed in again. They circled the crying calf—biting and clawing at its legs and hindquarters to bring it to the ground.
Simon turned again and snorted fire from his nostrils. He sized up the largest of the jackals, beat his wings, and drove himself forward. Simon lowered his head and hit the jackal broadside. He caromed into two of the others and the four of them rolled across the field. The mad beasts barked and snapped their teeth. One of them sank its fangs deep into his leg.
Simon screamed in rage. He kicked his powerful foreleg and knocked the jackal away.
The calf saw an opening and did not hesitate to take it.
The three upended jackals got to their feet. They shook themselves and joined the rest of the pack that chased after the calf.
But the hunters
Were now the hunted.
Simon circled quickly. His eyes glowed red. He zeroed in on the pack leader and sent a blast of flame that engulfed the jackal. After one scream of pain, the jackal fell dead. Simon circled once to see if the fiery death of one jackal gave the pack second thoughts.
