by Nathan Roden
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Freebies
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Forty-Two
Forty-Three
Forty-Four
Forty-Five
Forty-Six
Forty-Seven
Forty-Eight
Forty-Nine
Fifty
Fifty-One
Fifty Two
Fifty-Three
More from Nathan
About the Author
Sneak Peek of Rebellion
I,
Dragon
My Name is Simon
By
Nathan Roden
I, Dragon
My Name is Simon
Copyright © 2016 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.
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One
Simon’s sixth name day was the greatest day of his life.
Prince Simon Morgenwraithe fidgeted as he waited in the hall outside of the throne room. The new robe that had been made for the day’s ceremony made his skin itch.
It was customary in the Kingdom of Morgenwraithe that the heir to the throne was announced before the people on his seventh name day. But King Bailin took particular joy in creating his own traditions. And in his mind, his son was so gifted beyond his years that there was no need to wait.
“Be still, young prince!” his mother’s handmaid whispered into Simon’s ear. ”You will soon wave from the balcony to the people who will bend their knees before you. If you spend the entire time scratching, that is all they will remember.”
“If I had known the robe was going to itch so badly, I would have washed it myself,” Simon said.
“There was no time,” the handmaid said. “The King gave us little warning that he planned to make your announcement today. It is so exciting!”
The handmaid squeezed Simon’s shoulders.
“We are so proud of you!”
Simon smiled, but his happiness was incomplete. He wished that these words came from his mother. But it had been so long since his mother had shown him any affection that he could hardly remember it.
Simon looked around the room.
“Where is Lucien? Will he not be coming to watch?”
Three-year-old Lucien was Simon’s only sibling. Yet, Simon hardly saw Lucien at all.
Lucien cried almost constantly, and spent most of his days attended by nursemaids. Simon had never seen the King hold the baby. The King and Queen spent virtually no time with their youngest son.
Simon had heard the stories, whispered among the castle servants.
The Queen was feeding the infant Lucien one day, when the King’s beautiful young seer walked past. The girl smiled shyly at the Queen. The Queen flew into a rage.
The story whispered among the nursemaids was that the Queen had thrown baby Lucien across the floor. She never nursed the baby again.
Simon watched his mother as she crossed the room. He studied her eyes, as he always did, hoping to see something other than madness and hate. But that was all that he saw.
He watched her slip away from the frantic servants. She walked to a far wall and stood next to a dark and mysterious lady. They exchanged whispers and the Queen walked into the throne room.
Simon stared at the dark lady. She did not look at him. The woman was tall and thin. Her shiny black hair flowed into a lacy black dress that trailed the floor. Simon had never seen her dressed any other way. She had very long fingers, with long nails. And there was something about the woman that Simon did not like. She had never spoken directly to him. She smiled at him in passing, which always made his skin crawl.
Simon had seen his mother with the dark lady several times of late. This disturbed him greatly.
The dark lady’s name was Magdalena. Simon did not believe that she deserved such a beautiful name. He thought it more fitting that she be called “spider” or “witch”.
Simon heard his father before he saw him. King Bailin had the perfect voice for a King. From his balcony, he could speak to thousands without even shouting.
Simon’s heart leaped when he saw his father.
When he saw his father’s brother, his heart sank.
Simon had been determined to gain his father’s love and affection for as long as he could remember. It fueled his every desire: his desire to walk, to talk, to master language, to master reading and writing, and to learn the history of the Kingdom. His earliest memories were of his desperate desire to gain his father’s attention.
And his efforts had worked.
But the King’s brother, Lord Sterling, also coveted the King’s attention. Sterling always had a cup of wine or ale in his hand, and he was forever putting a cup into the hand of his brother.
And so, on Simon’s sixth name day, Bailin and Sterling were reeling from the last night’s drink.
Simon rubbed his sleeves briskly one more time. He stood straight and tall.
King Bailin walked toward the balcony. He waved and addressed the people. He turned and held out his hand for the Queen to join him—
And then hell itself descended upon Morgenwraithe Castle.
A dagger flashed—a young girl’s throat exploded in an eruption of blood. People ran in every direction, screaming. The servants that had surrounded Simon were gone. He tried to see what was happening. He heard his father bellow in agony. His father came toward him—
But then the King’s eyes grew wide and blood gushed from his chest.
Simon looked into the far corner where the dark lady had stood. She was still there.
And staring directly at him.
The dark lady held her fingers in the air and pointed at him. Her hair swirled around her head, crackling with light, without the aid of any wind. Her eyes flashed with the same madness as the Queen’s. Her lips moved, but Simon could not make out any words.
The itching became intolerable. Simon tore off his robe. He opened his mouth to scream, but the sound that escaped was like nothing he had ever heard before.
; The rush of screaming people halted and the screams died down. The crowd of people in front of Simon backed toward the walls, leaving Simon the view of a lone woman on her knees in the middle of the room.
His mother.
She was covered in blood from her hair to her feet. She clenched a dagger in her right hand. Her eyes were filled with ultimate madness. She pointed at him.
“Behold! Your new King!” she screamed—
Before she plunged the dagger into her heart.
Simon had no time to react. The screaming began again, and men ran at him. The King’s Guards charged him with hate-filled eyes and raised swords. Others reached to pull arrows from their quivers.
Simon turned to the side to seek his escape. He lifted his arm—
Only, it was not an arm.
It was a…a…
Simon saw the glint of steel as a sword swung down at his side.
He almost collapsed. His right side exploded in pain.
Simon turned and ran toward the balcony. He looked down.
His feet, were no longer his feet. He hovered above the floor.
This is not possible, he thought. This is all a dream. A nightmare!
Arrows flew past him.
Simon reached the balcony and threw himself off of it. The death from a fall had no face—and no name. The same brave men who had sworn on their lives to protect him were now chasing him with hatred in their eyes, and foul words on their lips.
Simon squeezed his eyes shut as he fell. His instinct to survive overtook him and his arms beat against the air.
He slowed. And then, he began to rise.
Simon opened his eyes.
He had no arms.
He had wings.
A flurry of arrows bounced off of his scaly body. The wing cut by the sword had grown numb and stopped bleeding. Members of the King’s Guard mounted horses and screamed with hate-filled voices as they chased after him.
Simon turned toward the west, and the setting sun.
He flew, and he cried.
Two
Twelve Years Later
The dragon woke to the sound of barking hounds. He had flown many miles from the cave that was his current home. He dared not do what he was about to do anywhere near his secret lair.
He hid behind trees at the forest’s edge. His scales faded to match the mottled gray of the tree bark.
He watched silently as the hunting party passed by and then continued to the north. The dragon moved carefully, keeping the dogs in sight. They sniffed at the ground and the air as they ran ahead of the men.
The dragon spotted the prey before the dogs did. When the hunters caught sight of the solitary bull elk, they quickened their pace. The dragon stepped out of the trees behind them, and quietly took flight in the opposite direction. He flew low over the trees and circled back in the direction of the elk. He heard the thrum of arrows, followed by the baying of the hounds and yells of men.
“I got him! The kill is mine!”
“You’re off your head, Crager! You’ll find my quill in the neck of that bull!”
The dragon tucked his wings and dove.
“Look there! The dragon!”
“Now there’s the kill I’ve been waiting for! Out of my way!”
“There is one single hide that will feed me for the rest of my days!”
Arrows flew past the dragon. A dozen of them bounced off of his scales. He swooped low and latched onto the massive bull elk, whose life was already gone.
“Ooof!” the dragon strained at the elk’s weight.
“I’m sorry,” Simon whispered to the dead animal.
He flapped his wings with all his might, until the curses and screams of men and dogs faded into the silence of empty sky.
Three
The dragon soared along the treetops with the setting sun at its back. The man was ignorant of the dragon’s presence. His attention was focused on unhitching his horse from his plow. In the blink of an eye, the dragon swooped and wrapped his talons beneath the man’s arms.
Four children screamed and ran to their father. Two young girls in long dresses huddled together as two older boys screamed curses and threw stones at the great flying beast. The dragon and its catch were out of sight within seconds.
“No!” the man screamed. “My children! Let me go, foul creature! My children—they are all I have!”
Seconds later, the dragon descended to the mouth of a cave. He released the man gently to the ground.
“Are you hurt?” the dragon asked.
“Y-you…you speak?” the man shuddered.
“Ha, ha, ha!” the dragon chuckled. “I am a gifted foul creature!”
The man spat on the ground and lifted his chin.
“What else but a foul creature would take a man from his family just to fill his belly? Well, get on with it! Roast me with your demon breath!”
He threw his arms out to his sides.
The dragon shook its head.
“Where is the children’s mother?”
The man dropped his arms.
“What? You have no right to—do you mean to fill even my last moments with torment?”
“Where is their mother?” the dragon asked softly.
“She…died,” the man said. “She took the fever—three winters past.”
“I counted four children.”
The man balled his fists.
“If you touch a hair on their heads, I will haunt you from the grave! I swear it!”
The dragon raised a leg and pointed a talon at the man. The man flinched and turned his head aside.
“I need your clothes,” the dragon said.
The man blinked hard several times.
“What?”
“I said I need your clothes. Quickly, please.”
“I do not underst—”
The dragon drew himself to his full height and spread his wings. His eyes changed from dull amber to a blaze of orange fire.
“I do not HAVE ALL DAY!” the dragon’s voice shook the earth.
The man sat on the ground. He took off his boots and his socks. He stood and shucked his trousers and shirt.
The dragon raised his talon again. The man closed his eyes.
“Please…”
The man waited for death. When it did not come, he opened one eye.
A filthy old blanket hung from the tip of the dragon’s talon.
“Take it,” the dragon said. “You will suffer many thorns on your journey home.”
The man took the blanket and put it around his shoulders. He looked around.
“Where are we?”
The dragon pointed.
“Walk due west. You will find an old path that will take you downhill to the river. Follow the river upstream. Your farm is not far.”
The man stared at the dragon for a few seconds. He nodded and took a few steps west. He turned around.
“I don’t suppose I could keep the boots? Or my short sword?”
The dragon shook his head.
“No. Sorry.”
The man nodded. He took a few more steps and turned again.
“Any chance I could get my clothes back—when you’re done with them? I don’t have many.”
The dragon raised his head into the air and breathed deeply. Four feet of flames shot from his nostrils.
“Never mind! Never mind! I’m going!”
“Stop!” the dragon said. “I did not mean to threaten you. The fire—it happens at times without my intent.”
He hung his head.
“When I am done with the clothes, they won’t be worth having.”
The man started to walk.
“Could I ask a favor?” the dragon asked.
“You ask a favor?” the man said. “From me? Are you serious?”
“Please, speak of this to no one,” the dragon said.
The man shook his head and turned to leave for the final time.
“Who would believe me?”
The dragon watch
ed the man disappear into the trees.
He spoke to himself.
“When I take my rightful place on the throne, then all people will believe you.
“And King Simon will never forget you.”
Four
Simon stepped outside of his cave just before sunset. He watched the last of the day’s sun disappear. He focused on his breathing and tried to remain calm.
And he waited.
The intense pain was something that he never grew accustomed to. As the full moon breached the horizon, his transformation began.
His wings drew inward. They shrank in from the tips with an awful cracking sound. The wings receded into his back and shoulder blades in a process that consumed two full minutes.
Simon tried to contain his cries, but he failed—as he always did. His anguish grew from a whimper to a scream and finally erupted into a blast of fire that reached forty feet into the night sky. With the full moon in place, Simon completed the transition from a two thousand pound dragon—
Into a one hundred and ninety pound man.
“There it is! There’s the fire! Sound the horns!” the shouting came from the river, on the downstream side. Simon heard the voices and the blare of the horns in the darkness.
He trembled on the floor of the cave. His skin burned hot. His back and shoulders screamed out in pain as he pulled himself to his feet.
He would not have much time.
Simon hurried to pull on the clothes. The socks were threadbare and both of the boots had holes on the bottom. The boots fit loosely. He tied pieces of rope around their tops. He grabbed his only worldly possessions—his sack of borrowed books. The owners of the books would likely refer to them as “stolen”, but Simon had every intention of returning them one day. He fled the cave.