by Nathan Roden
“Get your things and move them into the squire’s quarters. My former squire has been reassigned.”
Lucien noted the look of concern on Oliver’s face.
“Don’t worry. He was promoted to a position of higher authority in the King’s Guard. He’s not going to be looking to cut your throat in your sleep.”
Oliver found it difficult to look Lucien in the eye.
“I…I just want to make sure that you are not mistaking me for someone else, your Grace. I am not a skilled warrior.”
“Look at me, Oliver.”
Oliver looked up. He had never seen anything but a cold detachment in the King’s eyes before that day. But now, he thought he saw something else. Weariness.
And fear.
“Skills can be learned. Luck…cannot. And that is what I need the most, just now.”
Lucien narrowed his eyes.
“Along with loyalty. And a quiet tongue.”
“Yes, your Grace.”
“Will you need assistance—?”
A soldier burst into the corridor, rounding a corner at full speed and crashing into Oliver. Oliver kept them both from falling.
“What is the meaning of this?” Lucien asked.
“There has been a…a murder, in the village!” the man said breathlessly.
“A murder? Who?” Lucien asked.
“The healer! He was shot with his own crossbow!”
Sterling and Raynard stomped into the corridor. Raynard grabbed the man by the neck and slammed him into the wall.
“You do not storm into this castle shouting your imbecilic interpretation of events!” Sterling yelled in the man’s face.
“Do you have any idea how quickly panic can spread? No! Of course, you do not. Idiot!”
Sterling looked at Raynard.
“I want this man locked up. And if he cannot be silent—”
Sterling glared at the man.
“Cut out his tongue.”
Raynard delegated the task to his subordinate. He followed Sterling into the courtyard.
“Where is Dathien?” Sterling asked.
“I have not seen him yet today.”
“Two mysterious deaths in the village—within two days.”
“Do you think the wizard is responsible?”
“Of course, he is responsible! He wants the dragon dead more than I do! And he doesn’t care how many bodies he leaves to rot!”
“Maybe you should call the monster off, Sterling. Pay him half—send him back to where he came from!”
“He would not consent to that,” Sterling said. “You saw him on that mountain—he is like a mad dog that has lost its bone. He will not rest until the dragon is dead.”
“I am beginning to believe that the hunter is more of a threat than the hunted.”
Sterling scowled.
“If you have such thoughts, you should keep them inside of your head. Come with me.”
“Where are we going?” Raynard asked.
“To talk to the widow.”
Raynard engaged four more soldiers to go with them into the village. A crowd of people, mostly women, gathered outside of the healer’s home and apothecary. They wept behind their black veils.
Raynard ushered them away from the door to the home. Sterling knocked on the door.
“This is Lord Sterling, My Lady. Please open the door.”
There was no response.
Sterling knocked louder.
“The poor woman is in no condition for visitors, My Lord.”
Sterling turned around. A woman of at least ninety years had spoken.
“We are here on the King’s business,” Sterling replied. “An unexplained death is of importance to us all.”
Sterling looked at Raynard and nodded. Raynard lowered his shoulder and broke the door open.
They found the healer’s wife sprawled on her bed, still in her night clothes. Her eyes were red and swollen. She squinted in the light.
“Who’s there? Have you come for my life as well? Take it! I beg you!”
“It is Lord Sterling, My Lady,” Raynard said. “On the King’s business.”
“King’s business!” the woman spat. “The King could not protect my husband! My husband has treated half the people of this village! He has treated the sick and wounded of the King’s Guard and his Army! But no more!”
“Who committed this deed?” Sterling asked.
The woman was visibly disturbed by the question.
“It was dark—so very dark! I don’t know who it was!”
“You saw nothing at all?“ Sterling asked. “Nothing that will help us learn this man’s identity? Please, try to remember.”
The woman buried her head in her pillow and sobbed.
“Dark,” she repeated in misery. “It was so dark…”
Sterling and Raynard left the building and walked toward their horses. When they had mounted, Sterling looked at Raynard.
“It was him.”
Thirty-Five
Nicolas Lamont led Vincent and his men to the clearing outside of the village of Vallen.
Vincent looked around.
“Where is he?”
Simon stepped from among the trees. His scales changed from the mottled color of tree bark into a cast of fluorescent colors.
“Magnificent!” Vincent whispered. It was clearly his favorite word.
Vincent’s men were more reserved in their reactions. They kept their hands close to their weapons.
Lamont’s men kept a close eye on them.
“Vincent of the Village of Vallen,” Lamont said. “May I present Simon of Morgenwraithe. The son of King Bailin and rightful heir to the Morgenwraithe throne.”
Vincent nodded deeply, but he wore a smirk.
“It remains to be seen, whether this stately creature could actually be of Royal descent.”
Simon breathed out slowly. His eyes narrowed as black smoke rose from his mouth and nostrils.
“What proof do you seek?” Simon asked. “I do have a speech prepared, if you wish to hear me wax eloquent.”
Vincent clapped his hands in delight.
“You are magnificent!” he exclaimed. “Such a grand character!”
“My function is not to entertain, Lord Vincent,” Simon said. “As Lord Lamont has explained to you, we come to propose an alliance. An alliance of mutual benefit.”
“The needs of our people are simple,” Vincent said. “We want for very little. And we need not fear our neighbors as those of your kingdom do.”
“Those who wield power in our kingdom are not fulfilling their treaty with your people. A fever runs unchecked in the south—”
Vincent waved his hand.
“We have heard these tales from other villages. We have lost only a few citizens—and most of them were old.”
“Then you are fortunate, indeed,” Lamont said. “Are you willing to forsake your rightful share of the bounties of our ports? You should have stores of medicines to draw from. Or you could provide for other villages. You are being cheated. And lied to.”
“You wish us to risk our lives—to put a dragon on your throne?” Vincent was no longer humored. “We reap no benefits from your king—and it has been this way for generations! Your kings keep an armed regiment on our border—telling us that it is for our protection! Lies! They fear us. And they will kill every man in the south to keep us out!”
“Stand with us—and help us to overthrow this evil,” Simon said. “And your treaties will be honored—with reparations for what you are due. The border will become a thing of the past. The people of the south will be free to come and go wherever they wish.”
Vincent lowered his chin to his chest. He shook his head.
“I want to believe you. But I cannot ignore the fact that I am listening to the promises of a dragon! Few of your species remain in our land—only because we seek them out every day. Some of us remember the days of fear and terror when the reign of fire was a constant in our lives—”
“Then stand with us,” Simon said. “I will use my strength and my fire to take back what has been lost!”
“Tonight is the full moon,” Vincent said. “And you will take the form of a man.”
“Yes,” Simon said. “For one full day—from the full moon until the moon of the next night. If you wish to hear the same words from the mouth of a man, then you shall do so.”
“Very well,” Vincent said. “I look forward to witnessing this transformation.”
“I’m sorry, My Lord,” Simon said. “The transformation itself is…it is a very personal experience. It is also quite disturbing.”
“No, a talking dragon is disturbing!” Vincent said.
“I will witness this transformation—or there will be no deal!”
“Lord Vincent,” Lamont said. “It is not necessary that you—”
“Do not tell me what is necessary!” Vincent spat. He motioned toward Lamont and his men.
“I do not know you! I have no reason to trust any of you—especially the words of a flowery-tongued beast! How do we know that this is not a carefully constructed bit of trickery?”
“I will witness this event—or you can all leave this place and go to hell!”
Lamont was angry.
“You are being un—”
“You may watch the transformation, Lord Vincent,” Simon said. “But only you.”
Vincent smiled.
“Excellent. That is all I ask.”
Vincent walked toward his men. He whispered briefly to one of them, and then he addressed them all.
“Wait for us in the square. Prepare a clean and dry space for our guests in my barn—and have the women prepare food for our new friends.”
Thirty-Six
Jaclyn entered the throne room. Lucien was there, accompanied by two of his friends. Jaclyn almost stumbled when she saw the boy at Lucien’s side.
Oliver.
In the uniform of…the King’s squire? How could this be?
Thoughts raced through Jaclyn’s mind.
Was it possible? Had Lucien selected the boy who had sworn his loyalty to her—or was this a trick?
“Your Grace,” Jaclyn said.
Lucien waved his friends away.
“Yes, My Queen.”
“I wish to accompany my mother home—for only a day or two. It will be my last opportunity to visit before the baby comes.”
Lucien looked down at Jaclyn’s swollen belly. He seemed unable to process the fact that his child was in there.
“Yes,” he said. “Of course. I will assign members of the Guard to go with you.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
Jaclyn bowed and left the room.
The trip to Islemar was pleasant and uneventful. Jaclyn and Lady Lamont laughed and took turns patting the Queen’s belly. They talked to the baby as if he had already been born.
“I want to call him ‘Nicolas’,” Jaclyn said.
She had never told her mother what Magdalena had said about her baby. She did not want him to be tied to magic in any way.
“Or, should it be a girl—Nicolette is a lovely name.”
“Nicolette,” Lady Lamont pondered. “That is lovely. So lovely, that I almost wish it was a girl.”
Robinette Lamont sighed.
“But the child is a boy.”
“How can you be so certain?” Jaclyn asked.
“Your tummy is…how should I say…oh, you’re getting quite large, Jaclyn! And the child is low in your belly. This is also the reason we have to stop every half hour.”
“Very funny, Mother!”
Robinette laughed. She leaned forward and kissed her daughter on the forehead.
“I have longed for the day when I could make fun of my daughter when she was with child!”
“Are you absolutely certain that you don’t have magical powers?” Jaclyn asked. “You would make such a magnificent witch!”
Mother and daughter laughed until they had tears in their eyes. The servants who accompanied them looked on uncomfortably.
When the caravan arrived at the gates of Islemar, they were greeted by a small contingent of Lord Lamont’s army.
Nicolas Lamont’s first lieutenant, Finn, took Lady Lamont aside. He whispered in her ear.
Jaclyn was concerned with the look on her mother’s face.
Lady Lamont whispered in Jaclyn’s ear.
“Stay at my side. Let your face reveal nothing.”
Jaclyn had grown accustomed to such instructions.
Lady Lamont and Jaclyn greeted the castle’s servants.
They followed Lieutenant Finn and descended the steps into the castle’s dungeon.
“Who is there?” Jaclyn asked the darkness.
Jaclyn jumped when a hand touched her shoulder.
“W-who are you?” she whispered.
“A friend,” Caleb whispered back. “And you…you are a friend of the dragon-king.”
Pause.
“No…I was mistaken. Far more than a friend.”
“Mother,” Jaclyn said. She pulled at her mother’s arm.
“W-who are these children?”
“They were recently orphaned…” Finn said.
Jaclyn jumped. The boy took her by the hand. A rush of warmth and peace ran through her.
“You have nothing to fear from us, my Queen.”
“We have more in common than you might imagine.”
Tiny Sara Brewer curtsied before the Queen in the dim torchlight.
“Caleb cannot see, my Queen. But he knows your heart—as he knows the heart of the dragon.”
Jaclyn breathed in—a ratcheting, fearful breath.
“You…you know him? You know Simon?”
Jaclyn jumped and squealed. The little boy who had been clutching Sara’s dress and sucking his thumb suddenly let go and ran in tight circles.
“Zeke fly!” he cried.
Jaclyn and Robinette Lamont covered their mouths with their hands. They laughed and cried at the same time.
Thirty-Seven
Vincent looked up at the sun, which would soon disappear behind the trees.
Simon turned and walked away from the village.
“Where are you going?’ Vincent asked.
“Farther away from your village,” Simon said.
“But why?”
“The transformation is…unpleasant,” Simon said. “Do not worry, My Lord. You will be in no danger. But it will seem as though I am experiencing the pain of a thousand deaths.”
Vincent gave Magdalena a sideways glance.
“You stand with this woman—whose punishment you experience at every full moon?”
“I did not know that the transformation happened this way,” Magdalena said. “The old sorcerer who taught me did not mention it.”
Vincent shook his head.
“This is by far the most unusual alliance I have ever heard of. You cannot blame us for having a difficult time believing you.”
“We do not blame you at all,” Simon said. “I only hope that within the hour you will realize that our motives are true.”
“Let’s make our distance then,” Vincent said. “It will not do for us to return to a village full of crying women and children.”
They walked for over a mile into the walls of a canyon.
“Lord Vincent and I continue from here,” Simon said to Lamont.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Lamont asked.
“No,” Simon said. “I have never wanted…I have never wanted any of those I care about to see this. I don’t want this part of me to be remembered by anyone.”
Lamont nodded.
The day’s light faded fast. Lamont handed Vincent a torch. He also handed him a roped bundle.
“What is this?” Vincent asked.
“My clothes,” Simon said.
“Oh. Yes.”
“We will wait here,” Lamont said.
Lamont and his men heard the anguished screams echoing from the
canyon walls. They avoided each other’s eyes and said nothing. Eventually the cries echoed into silence.
The light of a distant torch came closer. It lit the faces of two men.
Vincent’s eyes were wide and his jaw slack.
“Magnificent!” he uttered. “The most amazing thing I have ever seen!”
Helena wept and threw her arms around Simon, the man.
When she stepped away, Simon stepped forward. The members of Lamont’s Guard looked on in amazement.
Simon held out his hand to Nicolas Lamont.
In the light of the torches Lamont blinked rapidly. A tear ran down his cheek.
He ignored Simon’s hand and threw his arms around him.
They marched back toward the village. The village glowed brightly even from a distance.
“Your village is lit by many torches, Lord Vincent,” Lamont said. “Is this normal?”
“No. Only at times of celebration, Lord Lamont! Tonight we welcome a host of new friends!”
They stepped into the center of the village surrounded by flaming torches. But there were no people to be seen.
Lamont scowled.
“Something seems amiss—”
“Make one wrong move and you’re a dead man.”
Lamont felt the sharp point of a weapon at his back. A sword or a spear, he did not know. It did not matter.
Lamont looked to his left and his right. Each of his men had a spear at their back. So did Helena and Magdalena. Lamont scanned the area. Dozens of the village’s people surrounded them from the rear. Some of them were women.
Vincent threw his left arm around Simon’s neck. His right hand held a dagger against Simon’s throat.
“Well, this must come as quite a surprise, Lord Lamont!” Vincent sneered.
