I, Dragon Series Bundle. Books 1-3: The Epic Journeys of Simon Morgenwraithe

by Nathan Roden

“What are you doing, Vincent?” Lamont asked. “We came here in sincerity. We pose no threat to you whether you join us or not!”

  Vincent turned and spat on the ground.

  “That is what I think of your offer—and your sincerity!”

  “Then we will leave your village. We are no threat to you. Tell your people to lower their weapons.”

  “I’m afraid that would be a lost opportunity!” Vincent cackled.

  “The rightful king of Morgenwraithe! In the flesh!”

  “And the point of my blade at his neck.”

  “Let him go you wicked bastard!” Helena screamed.

  A filthy hand grabbed her by the hair and snatched her head back. A man threw her to the ground and held his spear to her throat.

  “Get up, wench! And hold your foul tongue!”

  Helena tried to push herself to her feet, but not quickly enough for the man. He dragged her to her feet by her hair.

  “Ha, ha, ha, ha!” Vincent laughed.

  “Let him go!” he said in a mocking voice.

  “Is this your man, little girl? Does he give you what you need—on his one day a month?”

  Vincent dragged his dagger slowly down the side of Simon’s neck. A line of blood appeared glistening in the torch light.

  Helena covered her eyes and wept.

  Thirty-Eight

  Vincent pulled his finger along the cut on Simon’s neck. He licked his finger.

  “Would you look at this?” he said. “I have Royal blood inside of me now! I should be your king!”

  Vincent pretended to be shocked.

  “Or…am I now going to become a fearsome dragon? Am I to become the dragon-king of Vallen? That would be magnificent!”

  Nicolas Lamont cleared his throat.

  “Lord Vincent, you must—”

  “Be silent!” Vincent snapped. “You dare to tell me what I must do? I realize that you have known only obedience and privilege for the entirety of your existence—but can you not see that your reign is over?”

  Vincent focused on the dagger in his hand.

  “I have met your dear King’s Regent. We have done business together!”

  Vincent looked at Lamont and pretended confusion.

  “Did I fail to tell you that before? I am getting so forgetful!”

  “I sold Lord Sterling a dragon. I knew that it was too old and decrepit to be this dear boy. But, the possibility was intriguing enough to lead Sterling right here to our humble village. And do you know what Sterling told me that day, Lamont?”

  Lamont scowled and said nothing.

  “I asked you a question!” Vincent screamed, with spit flying from his lips.

  “I have no idea what Sterling said,” Lamont said.

  “He told me that the man who handed him the head of the Simon Morgenwraithe would never want for anything—for the rest of his life!”

  “Sterling is a liar,” Lamont said. “You should have figured that out by now.”

  “One man’s lies are another man’s good business!” Vincent laughed. “Let me ask you this, Lamont. Are there poor people in your kingdom?”

  “Of course, there are,” Lamont said. “There will always be poor among us. Some are poor by their own choice.”

  “Yet you profit from your merchant ships! Tell me, do you live in a great castle?”

  “I live in Islemar castle, which has been the home of the village’s steward for generations—”

  “Do you have servants? Do others cook for you—clean for you?”

  “Of course—”

  Vincent spit on the ground again.

  “Then your stewardship does little or nothing for your people!”

  Vincent calmed himself.

  “Mister Jasper!” Vincent called into the shadows.

  An evil grin spread across his face.

  “Bring it here!”

  Every head turned as two men walked into the light. A large boy trailed behind them. He struggled with his heavy load—a huge, two-sided ax.

  Two men led the way. One man was very large and bare-chested.

  A black hood covered his head.

  Between the two men, half walking and half being dragged, there was a dragon.

  A baby dragon—barely four-feet tall.

  The dragon’s scales sparkled in the lights—giving off a dazzling, oily display in every color of the rainbow.

  The men held chains that bound the dragon’s wings to its sides. A muzzle of rope bound its jaws closed.

  Simon struggled against Vincent’s grip. Three of Vincent’s men closed in and held their spears at Simon’s throat. Vincent raised his dagger in front of Simon’s face.

  “Would you care to watch the rest of the proceedings with only one eye, Your Majesty?”

  Simon fell still.

  “Back to your stations!” Vincent growled at his men.

  Simon froze. The dragon locked eyes with him.

  It knows, Simon thought.

  Simon stared into the dragon’s eyes.

  He saw fear.

  And hopelessness.

  The dragon swung his head back and forth, making pitiful sounds.

  “It cannot breathe!” Helena cried.

  “That will not matter for long,” Vincent said.

  “Lord Lamont!” Vincent called out.

  “You come to us asking that we risk our lives—to fight for the right for a dragon to sit upon your throne!”

  “We have but two uses for the filthy beasts, Lamont!”

  “For profit—or for our pleasure! Mister Jasper! If you will!”

  The two men tried to wrestle the dragon to the ground. It put up a tremendous fight before the hooded man kicked its legs out from under it. The other man held the dragon to the ground with his foot. The hooded man took the ax from the boy. He raised it high above his head

  And the dragon lived no more.

  “NO!!!” Helena screamed. She fell against Magdalena’s side and wept bitterly.

  Simon shook with rage and grief.

  Vincent glared at Lamont.

  “Your people could live in peace and comfort from the spoils of your ports. But that is not the way of the privileged, is it, My Lord?”

  “I can provide well for this village—with the bounty that Sterling will pay for the dragon-king’s head!”

  “No!” Helena wailed. The man behind her raised his hand again.

  Thirty-Nine

  Bang!

  An explosion sounded beyond the trees to the south.

  “What in the…?” the man behind Helena said.

  “That was the cannon!” another man said.

  “At night? Surely not!”

  Vincent turned at the sound.

  When he turned back, he was aware of a presence to his left. He turned his head slowly. There, with a crossbow leveled at his head, stood a young man he did not know.

  To that young man’s right stood another young man. That young man held a longbow that was also aimed at his head.

  Boone Blankenship stepped slowly to his right, his bow hand steady.

  He stopped when Vincent’s head was almost directly between him and the crossbow held by his brother.

  “If you draw one more drop of the king’s blood, it will be the last thing you ever do,” Boone said.

  “Tell your people to drop their weapons,” Ben said. “Now.”

  Vincent did not move. Sweat formed on his brow but his dagger remained at Simon’s neck.

  “You are heavily outnumbered,” Vincent said. “You will never leave this village alive!”

  Ben took a step forward.

  “Probably not. But have you heard the old saying, cut off a serpent’s head and the body will crawl away and die? I believe that’s our current scenario.”

  “You wish to give up your lives—for a cursed dragon?” Vincent asked.

  He looked to his men.

  “Hold your weapons steady!”

  Boone took a step forward. Ben did the same.

>   “Do you honestly believe that these people honor you?” Boone asked. “Do you honestly believe that they care if you live or die?”

  “If you harm one hair on my head, you are dead!” Vincent snapped. “Throw down your weapons and we will negotiate. You do not have to die this day!”

  Boone took another step.

  “I am only going to say this one more time. Tell your people to drop their weapons.”

  Sweat ran into Vincent’s eyes. He shook his head and looked at Boone. He lost sight of Ben.

  And then he felt the tip of the arrow at his temple.

  “You are out of time,” Ben hissed.

  “No…” Vincent said.

  Boone looked unsure of what to do next.

  “I said, tell your people—”

  “He has had all the chances he gets, Boone,” Ben said.

  Boone stared into his brother’s eyes. He had never seen that look there before—even throughout their troubled childhoods.

  Ben looked as if he was ready to empty every ounce of pain he had ever experienced—by escorting Vincent to Valhalla.

  “You can’t do it, Ben,” Boone whispered. “We can’t help Simon that way.”

  “Let these people go,” Simon said. “Take my head if you wish.”

  Vincent shook the hand holding the dagger.

  “Shut your mouth, Boy!”

  Vincent grimaced. Ben pressed the arrow against Vincent’s head, drawing blood.

  “I told you we would find no allies in the south,” Ben said as if in a daze.

  “Only the weak and the frightened—who are only too willing to grovel at the feet of rubbish like this!”

  “I am going to keep you alive…for a long time,” Vincent growled. “You—will die slowly!”

  Ben spat in Vincent’s face. He pressed the arrow tighter and leaned in until he could feel Vincent’s breath on his cheek.

  “I—have lost everything! I—am going to send you to hell!”

  Ben moved his head away. Boone was shocked at the manic expression in his brother’s eyes.

  “Ben…please…”

  Magdalena jumped. She felt pressure against the back of her right shoulder and hot breath on her neck.

  “Get ready,” a man’s voice whispered. “Grab the girl and run to the south.”

  Magdalena craned her neck to look over her shoulder. There was only a stick—with no point at the end of the spear.

  “Let’s do this the honorable way,” Ben said. “On the count of five!”

  One!

  Two!

  Three!

  Four!

  The hooded man behind Magdalena stepped back. He pointed his stick into the air and an explosion rocked the ground. He held the stick aloft and more fiery explosions shot into the night sky.

  And then fire rained down on the village. Huts and their contents went up in flames. Two men caught fire and ran screaming through the crowd.

  Ben dropped his crossbow as Vincent roared.

  Boone loosed his arrow. It flew past Vincent’s right ear.

  Simon stomped down on Vincent’s foot. Vincent scrambled to keep his grip. Simon grabbed onto his arm and spun them both around.

  Someone threw a dagger. It buried itself in the back of Vincent’s left arm. He screamed and pulled the dagger out.

  Magdalena did as the man said. She held Helena by the arm.

  “Into the woods! To the south! Run! Go! Go!”

  Most of the villagers were too shocked or frightened to care about their captives. Half of the buildings in the village were on fire.

  Lamont and his men were well on their way to overpowering those that remained.

  Lamont saw one of his men lying on the ground—an arrow in his chest.

  “Oh, no…”

  “Get to the woods! To the south, men! Go!”

  Ben scrambled to his feet and was halfway to the tree-line. Simon grabbed Boone by the arm and pulled him up. They turned to run but their feet got tangled together. Boone fell hard to the ground and on his shoulder. He cried out. Ben turned and ran back for his brother.

  Vincent was coming for them.

  Boone had not moved.

  Simon saw the crossbow lying not far away. Vincent saw it at the same time. He ran for it.

  Simon ran and dove. He grabbed up the crossbow and rolled over on his back just as the crazed man grabbed his leg.

  Thoom!

  Vincent’s knees buckled. He wobbled on his feet. His eyes crossed. The arrow buried between them was the last thing he ever saw.

  Simon rolled out of the way as the big man fell to the ground.

  Simon and Benjamin each grabbed one of Boone’s arms, lifted him up, and helped him into the safety of the woods.

  Forty

  Lamont and his men crashed into the woods by torchlight.

  Helena let go of Magdalena’s hand.

  Magdalena stopped. She saw the man who had been responsible for their escape. He stood at the edge of the wood with his staff at his side. He glared into the darkness to the north.

  Magdalena felt a warmth and a sense of…a sense of home.

  “You saved our lives with your magic. Who are you?”

  The man glanced at Magdalena and smiled.

  Something about him felt so familiar.

  “A friend,” he said.

  There was another flash of light and the man was gone.

  Simon, Lamont, and the others ran for another mile. They fell to the forest floor and gasped for air.

  “I don’t believe the people of Vallen want any more of our company,” Lamont said. “Not before sunrise, at least. Two hour watches, men. You know your assignments.”

  “Where is Helena?” Simon asked.

  Magdalena rested against a log. She sat up quickly.

  “She pulled away from me inside the forest. Helena! Where are you?”

  “I’m coming!”

  Helena walked out of the trees carrying a bundle.

  Boone sat up and rubbed his sore shoulder.

  “What do you have there? Spoils of war?”

  “You might say that.”

  She shook out the bundle.

  It was Vincent’s coat.

  “It belonged to my father. I was not about to allow that piece of rubbish to take it to his grave.”

  Boone looked at Simon. He pointed toward Helena with his thumb.

  “I just love her.”

  Simon smiled.

  He stared into the sky and hoped that his friends could not sense the thoughts that tortured him.

  Lamont rustled them awake just before dawn. They had a quiet breakfast and formed up at Lamont’s instructions. The marched to the south with little enthusiasm and few words.

  With the sun sinking in the west, Simon stepped next to Nicolas Lamont.

  “I have about two hours left in this body. The people of Drakal will only see me as the dragon. I’m sorry that things went so badly in Vallen.”

  “Don’t lose hope, Simon,” Lamont said. “Vincent was not that much different from Sterling. We had no way of knowing that.”

  Lamont continued his pace at the front of his company.

  He sighed heavily and stopped.

  “We will rest here—and resume out journey to Drakal in the morning.”

  The company set up camp, arranging tents in a protective circle. Others staked out the perimeter.

  Simon helped Boone, Helena and Magdalena build a fire in the middle of the camp.

  The four of them stared into the fire without words. The sun sank behind the trees.

  Simon stood and smiled at his friends.

  And then, he walked away.

  The moon rose the same as it had for twelve years.

  Simon stood alone on the edge of a cliff.

  He inhaled and closed his eyes.

  The transformation came just like the moon.

  The pleasure. The power. The freedom.

  Simon did not resist.

  He did not have the s
trength. Or the ability to care.

  The change happened. He became who he was.

  The beast. The animal.

  The dragon.

  Simon threw back his head. He roared with an intensity that knew no limits.

  He was not the King of Morgenwraithe on that night.

  He was the King…of the Night Itself.

  Simon took to the sky with a rage—a rage that he did not try to understand.

  A rage that he did not question.

  He roared across the night sky. He whipped his head around and blew flames directed at nothing.

  His expression of frustration and anger met with an answer.

  Thooom!!!

  An explosion split the twilight sky.

  Simon banked to the east. He watched the shadow of a dark sphere rocket past his head.

  He looked down and saw a circle of men. Their silhouettes were lit by torches. They gathered around a dark shape. Simon flew closer for a look until he heard the men scream—and the black shape moved.

  It was a cannon.

  The men stood flanked in military-type formation. They faced the wall of a canyon. They wore helmets and heavy armor. As Simon flew closer he saw that the armor resembled his own.

  The men were clad in scales. Dragon scales. They carried full-body shields that were also covered in scales.

  Simon turned again. He heard a sound that he could not believe.

  The screams of another.

  Another dragon.

  The dragon stood in front of a cave door. It was larger than Simon, with a fuller body and a thinner and longer nose. It thrashed about in a fierce display of muscle, teeth, talons, and fire.

  There is no doubt about it, Simon thought. This dragon does not suffer the problems of conscience that have plagued me for the last twelve years. This…this is an angry beast.