by Mary Vee
Fire and Thorn
A Fantasy
Mary Vee
Endorsements
This book was creative and very exciting.
Baily Ninth Grade
I really enjoyed this book.
Emma Ninth Grade
I really liked this book.
Addison, Ninth Grade
Fire and Thorn is such a good book. I like the dragons. My favorite character is Gilbert.
--Olivia, Fourth Grade
This story about dragons is a mystery. It is an awesome story about the Kingdom of Aerlis. Are they going to find who is behind this?
--Raegan, Fourth Grade
I have really enjoyed this book, it is really exciting.
--Addyson, Fourth Grade
I love this book because there are so many page turners. My favorite part is when the dragons invade.
--Rylee, Fourth Grade
I think it is awesome because of the dragons.
--Canaan, Fourth Grade
I loved this book because it’s very interesting. I have never read a book like it.
Kyler, Fourth Grade
I love your book a whole bunch.
Bandi, Fourth Grade
I love the book. It is very good.
Benjamin, Fourth Grade
Also by Mary Vee
Suspense/Mystery
Anders’ Redemption
Daring to Live
Christmas with the Enemy
Travel
Andiamo, Let’s Go to Italy
Juvenile Fiction
William Worthington Watkins III
and the Cookie Snitchers
Fire and Thorn, A Christian Fantasy is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Mary Vee
Printed in the United States of America.
Published by Never Give Up Stories Publications, Fenwick, MI
First Printing, 2019
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means - for example, electronic, photocopy, recording, for personal or commercial purposes - without the written permission of the author. The only exception is for brief quotations in printed or electronic reviews.
ISBN-13: 978-1091176058
Cover design by Carly Vaitkevicius
Never Give Up Stories edition: 2019
DEDICATION
To: The Rose of Sharon
Map of Cede Deo
Emperor Stephanas was 542 when his son Ivan was born, fifty-three years later his queen gave birth to their second son Roland, and twenty-one years after, Cyrus, the youngest child came into their world. Stephanas led his people as the Sacred Book instructed, the book passed down to him from his father.
These are the chronicle recording events after the death of Stephanas, Emperor of Cede Deo and the subsequent split of the vast empire into three equal portions, one for each of his sons. Ivan, Roland, and Cyrus.
Chapter One
613 PE (Post Empire)
Gilbert Arthur Walter James stepped up to the line with six other squires. Today, he and the other remaining candidates practiced. On the morrow, they’d face the final tournament challenge with the winner receiving the title of knight. Even as the prince, he’d never wanted anything more in life.
“Archers, draw your bows,” the trainer called. Everyone knew the instructor had his favorites. On this last practice, Gilbert couldn’t afford to miss the target. His best friend, Ben, would have to earn the right some other way.
Gilbert raised his armed bow. Three friends stood on either side, ready to steal tomorrow’s prize from him. He wouldn’t let that happen. Next year he might be considered too old to enter the knight’s training.
An unusually high number of citizens had traveled great distances for this annual event ready to cheer or heckle competitors. Lord Chancellor Matthias once said, “If you truly want to be a knight, know this, you must always perform your duty. Every distraction must be wiped from the mind to protect and save the people of this kingdom.”
“Psst.” Ben didn’t turn his head when making that sound.
Curious, Gilbert glanced to his right.
“Eyes on the target.” The trainer glared at him.
A year’s worth of carrying buckets of seawater for every mistake hadn’t made him strong enough to handle the growing weight of the bow pushing down on his arms, not with the added pressure of winning one of those top knight positions. He dipped his forehead and swiped sweat onto his sleeve.
The trainer snapped a stick against his hand. “Stay in position until you hear my command.”
Each time the trainer spoke to a squire in line, he delayed the ultimate release of their arrows another sixty heartbeats.
A mosquito buzzed past Gilbert's ear. He held fast his position. To lose this contest would force him to apprentice and take over his father’s role in the country. He didn’t want that work. His father had the most boring job in the entire kingdom. Becoming a knight was the only career he ever wanted. A knight rode throughout the countryside meeting and protecting the people, fighting the enemy, and winning the favor of the citizens. He sighed. All his father did was sit in meetings.
“Stretch,” the trainer shouted.
His arms felt like the limp seaweed floating along the sandy shores on the other side of the castle wall. Gilbert stretched his arrow back as far as the bow allowed. He checked his aim, raised his right elbow slightly, drew in a deep breath of salty sea air, and waited for the command.
“Loose!” the trainer ordered.
Snap. Seven arrows soared, each a different color to declare their owner.
The trainer, who stood less than one hand taller than the contestants, examined the target. “Congratulations, Squire Ben. Your arrow hit center. Jonathon, second. Daniel, third. Prince Gilbert, yours was a close fourth.” In all the competitions held in this field, the trainer had never clapped after announcing the winner. But this time he did. Of course, it had to be when Ben won. “Retrieve your arrows then shoot three more for practice before returning to your chores. Prince Gilbert, your tutor wants to see you at the end of the lesson.”
Courtiers leaned over the balcony. They cheered for the contestants sprinting to the other end of the field. Gilbert had grown up with these men and women who smothered him with praise, especially when his father and mother stood nearby. Today, though, his parents left for a day trip to celebrate the coming baby. He couldn’t figure out whom the courtiers wanted to impress with their applause until they chanted, “Ben, future knight to save our realm. Ben, future knight to save our realm.”
The chant went on and on like an annoying drumbeat. Ben yanked his arrow from the draw-packed target and held it high. The courtiers clapped. The villagers cheered. The other contestants slapped him on the back and congratulated him. Of course, Ben responded with a bow low enough to touch his nose to the ground.
That was all right. He could have this day. Let him gloat this one time because nothing would prevent Gilbert from winning tomorrow’s match. He had to win. He simply had to.
Through their years of training, these finalists had become his closest friends. Each had developed his and her own skills in order to help each other. Father once said, “Lifelong friends will remain true to your court.” Gilbert didn’t know what that really meant, but he knew the importance of knights who worked together and watched out for each other.
Ben used to be the shortest and Sybil the weakest. Daniel couldn’t understand the simplest schooling and Charles was shy. Justin and Jonatho
n, the twins, fought about everything. Since the seven met, Gilbert had bested them in everything.
Until today.
He raced the others back to the line, arriving first. Gilbert and Ben clapped elbows then they raised their forearms to bump the back of their fists. The seven had invented this homage to friendship in their first year of training. Over time, they formed an unbreakable bond as the honored and trusted and loyal friends of the prince.
Gilbert set his arrow in the notch and eyed the target. Knights didn’t sit around a table entertaining dignitaries. How boring. He raised his bow into position. Knights rode the countryside protecting the people from robbers and dragons. He stretched the bowstring and tugged tighter on the bow with his other hand, aimed for the center and released. The arrow flew solo then sank just left of the black circle.
“Better practice more.” Ben’s comment flew as fast as his arrow, and like his aim, landed dead center. He strutted to the target like a peacock and showed off his arrow to courtiers who then shouted the same annoying chant as before.
Only two opportunities remained to outshoot Ben today. The squires ran back to the line. With one hand holding his longbow and an elbow resting on Gilbert’s shoulder, Ben faked a sigh. “Your turn, prince. Try aiming to the right. You might hit the black circle. That’s the one in the middle.”
The trainer stepped forward. “All clear.”
Gilbert shoved strands of hair from his eyes. “We’ll see who’s better.” He placed his arrow on the notch, squared his shoulders while lifting the bow, and eyed the target.
A gentle breeze blew through the court. It swirled around his head. On a wisp of air, it seemed as if a man had whispered, “Your father’s throne is not for you. Join me and become a great knight.”
Gilbert glanced to the left then right. “Who said that?” A drop of sweat crept down his neck in the silence. The other squires had released their arrows. Ben missed the center. They stood watching. Waiting for him to shoot. In fact, every eye in the field seemed focused on him. Sweat made his hand slippery. All he needed was one arrow to pierce the center. He steadied his grip, checked his aim then released the weapon.
The arrow soared directly toward the center of the target.
He held his breath.
Beyond the courtyard, a horse’s thundering hooves stole the crowd’s attention. Only a horse as large as a destrier racing could shake the ground like that.
Gilbert’s arrow pierced the target. Dead center.
He waited for the cheers.
Not one word.
His muscles tightened as he turned and glared at the intruder who dared disturb this moment.
The courtiers flocked to the far end of the balcony pointing at the pathetic soul covered in dirt, dressed in rags, and shouting muffled words. The rider dismounted then tugged at the helmet, which seemed glued to his head.
Gilbert pushed to the front of the crowd. A ragged vagabond staggered to the left then to the right. If he was a knight, he’d have on armor. The thief had stolen the horse. “Who are you? Identify yourself.”
The squires burst into laughter mocking the man. Ben imitated the thief’s staggered steps. “He must be lost from a traveling theatrical group.”
Jonathon tapped the prince's shoulder. “I think he’s calling for you.”
The muffled words did sound a bit like his name. Gilbert edged closer. “You there, identify yourself.”
The man whipped his head toward Gilbert, pointed to his helmet then raised his arms, motioning for help.
The trainer grabbed two squires by their shirts. “Daniel, go to the blacksmith and get a chisel and hammer. Sybil, escort that poor man to the stocks. We’ll use the beam to help him out of that thing.”
“Yes, sir,” they said.
The crowd cheered at the spectacle and followed the stranger. The trainer leaned the masked man against one plank. He took the tools from Daniel then said to the vagabond, “Brace your head against this beam. Hold still.” He raised his arm high then thrust it hard, perfectly aimed at the pin on the helmet. The forceful blow popped the pin.
With a sudden jerk, the knight threw off the helmet. He loosened his matted hair, wiped his sweaty face with a sleeve then bowed to the prince. He attempted to speak through panting breaths. “My name is Sir Robert.”
Gilbert had seen Sir Robert, mostly from a distance. He was one of the best knights in the kingdom. This ragged man, with a disfigured face, couldn’t be him. “I don’t recognize you.”
Sir Robert bowed his head. “I—I beg your forgiveness, my lord, for I should not have addressed you so ill-manneredly.” He lowered himself to his knees. “I am Robert, appointed by your father as knight for the kingdom. I’ve been in a battle and have news regarding King Cyrus and Queen Letha.” He wiped dirt from his face into his tunic and kept his eyes toward the ground.
Gilbert looked at the man again. With some of the dirt removed, he appeared a little more like Sir Robert. He wore a knight’s helmet and rode one of the king’s destriers. “Very well, what news could you possibly have? My parents are at the East Valley.” Gilbert shifted his weight to his left leg. “This morning they said they planned a picnic lunch at the Banyan Tree Forest. I saw them leave. Father said they’d only be two hours ride, and he took his best knights for protection because Mother begged him to.” Gilbert rubbed his temple to soothe a growing headache. “Why aren’t you with them?”
Sir Robert kept his eyes low and his head bowed. “All you have said is true. Unfortunately, I alone escaped to bring back this urgent message about the king and queen. Perhaps we should go into the keep and discuss the matter privately.”
Chapter Two
Aerlis citizens crowded closer to the knight. They pressed in on Gilbert too. Whatever this messenger had to report, it shouldn’t be a matter for him to handle. Where was his father? There should be officials anxious to interfere. Where were they? Up in the balcony, courtiers leaned over the rail. Usually, Father had to order the herald to call so many people when he wanted to speak. Not today. Word had spread faster than a plague, and they all looked to him. He wondered what Father would say to this man.
Desperate to finish the archery training, he said, “My father always spoke freely among the citizens. I’m confident he’d want you to share your news right away. Right here.” He looked to the courtiers for a sign of approval. Their nods encouraged him.
Sir Robert bowed. His helmet tumbled out of his hand to the ground. He heaved a breath before speaking. “Yes, Prince Gilbert.
“During your parents’ picnic, King Cyrus asked us to eat a short distance away to give him privacy with the queen. When they finished their meal, Queen Letha plucked one of the few wild rose blooms from a nearby bush and placed it in her hair. She brushed dirt from her hands then reached for a sweetmeat. As she did, the rose tumbled to the ground. Even from a distance, I watched her tremble, whether from the rose falling or something else I couldn’t be sure. She suddenly turned, fixated on the woods to the north.
“The other knights and I followed her gaze but saw nothing. I took a bite of venison and nearly choked when she let out a piercing scream. The king jumped to his feet and drew his sword. We rushed in to protect them, but before we gained any distance, an enormous dragon soared over the banyan tree directly at the queen.”
This story was unbelievable. Gilbert stepped forward. What kind of a joke was this? “There are no dragons in Aerlis.”
The men and women standing closest to the knight whispered to those behind them. Soon everyone repeated the word dragon. An all-out panic kindled. The people raised their fists high in the air.
Gilbert shouted over the din, “There is no reason for concern. We know knights patrolling the north have reported some dragons flying near the Malum border. Rest assured none have crossed into Aerlis. We have asked every family living in that area to evacuate. Alternate housing has been arranged. Trust me, our kingdom is safe.”
He faced the knight. “Sir Rober
t, you must be mistaken. My father would have informed me if those monsters had crossed deeper into our kingdom.” He dropped his bow and paced in the few inches left open for him. Courtiers and those dedicated to the king’s counsel stood with their mouths gaping.
The masses huddled. Anger tainted their complaints and worry lowered their eyebrows. He didn’t know what to say. If only Matthias, his father’s chancellor, would arrive and offer advice. Where was he? “Go on with your report, Sir Robert.”
“Yes, Prince Gilbert. Your valiant father engaged his own defense, thrusting his blade at the dragon with the swiftest moves I’ve ever seen, but the beast was powerful. Sharp claws struck King Cyrus, leaving gaping wounds.”
The image alarmed Gilbert. “What happened?”
The knight opened his mouth, closed it then opened it again. “The king would not yield. He jabbed at the beast again and again. We lighted beside him, pushing him out of the battle zone toward safety. Drawing our swords, we waged blows with every ounce of our strength. The dragon drew in one foul breath and released a flame so intense it melted armor into our flesh.
“We clawed handfuls of burning metal from our bodies to ease the pain, littering the ground with steaming embers and burnt flesh.” Sir Robert lowered his head farther. He wobbled side to side as if he’d collapse.
“Hold on. Hold on.” This couldn’t be happening. Where was his father? “Your armor is back at the picnic area? And those burn marks on your face and arms are from today?”
Sir Robert grabbed the hem of his knightly tunic, gaping at the holes. “Begging your pardon, but I felt my message weighed with the utmost urgency. I apologize for not cleaning before I arrived. Shall I continue with my report?”