by Nathan Roden
Ben stared. He took a step back when Simon lowered his head in front of him.
“I am alive because of your brother and his bow, Benjamin Blankenship,” Simon said. “And yes, it is true that I have never become an accomplished hunter. Perhaps that is because I was not born a dragon. One moment, I was an innocent little boy. The next moment I had to hunt and kill—just to stay alive. Let me offer you a different perspective.”
“You kill an animal from a certain distance. You remove its skin. You take a dagger and cut the meat from its carcass. You leave much of it for the crows and the jackals. And then you roast the meat over an open spit.”
“But just imagine—if you had to come eye-to-eye and nose-to-nose with every living creature that went into your mouth. If you had to see the fear—the pain—the hopelessness at the last moment of their life.”
“And in the next moment grind the bones of that soul between your teeth.”
There were several seconds of uncomfortable silence.
Ben looked into Simon’s eyes.
“You are no beast, Simon Morgenwraithe.”
A tear ran down Ben’s cheek. He wiped it away, embarrassed.
“A man should not be upset so easily. Yet, look at me. And by the wise words of a dragon.”
Boone grabbed his brother’s shoulder and squeezed.
“We should go.”
Forty-Four
The two boys ran through the woods and circled behind the stables. They pushed through a loose board and crawled inside. They climbed on the backs of horses and drove them toward the doors. One horse stopped, nearly throwing its rider off. The other horse reared and crashed through the double doors.
The sixteen-year-old friends passed through the doors and took one last look back toward the village of Vallen. The glow grew larger as flames overtook the village.
The boys turned away and took the road north of town. They rode by moonlight until they felt they had traveled far enough to stop for the night.
At dawn they continued to travel north. They reached the border late in the day. This was not their first such trip.
The two friends were fascinated with armies and battles. They dreamed of swordplay and riding formation on enormous black stallions. They dreamed of becoming expert archers and having people whisper about them in reverence. They dreamed of riding through the villages in their resplendent uniforms.
But they were only dreams—the product of listening to the tales that older boys told around the light of campfires.
The boys never knew if the stories were true. Some of the older boys said that in the past, brave souls had sneaked to the border and spied on the Border Guard.
There were also stories of boys who had gone there and never returned.
The friends never understood why there was no such army in the south. When they brought up their fascination with becoming soldiers, they were chastised. They had even been struck on the ear by one cantankerous old fellow.
“An army? Here?” the old man had said.
“Why not ride into Morgenwraithe and slap the king? Call his mother a whore while you’re at it!”
The boys rubbed their ears and turned away.
“Stay where you are!” the old man said.
“You’ll hear what I have to say before you run off and put your foolishness into the heads of others!”
“There ain’t but a couple of folks left that remember the old ways. Folks that remember when the South was strong! And it weren’t any fancy-pants army that made us so! Do you know why we were once a great people? Answer me!”
“No, my Lord,” the boys mumbled.
The old man walked with a limp. His hands were gnarled and they shook uncontrollably.
“It was magic.”
“Every village had its sorcerers—its wizards and its witches. And they was respected and revered! Magic was not a dirty word like it is now. Those who had magic were loyal to the Southlands—and they were looked up to and rewarded—they lived like kings and queens! Our people lived in peace and in prosperity. We had no trouble with the people in the north—because they feared us! They had no swords or bows or any army that could answer the magic!”
“And we had the dragons…”
“Hell-breathing demons that burned our crops—” one of the boys interrupted.
“It weren’t always like that!” the old man snapped.
“We lived in peace with the dragons for hundreds of years. The wizards and sorcerers could talk to them. The dragons lived in the southern most parts and in the mountains. We didn’t interfere with their hunting. And we gave them from our herds when the winter snows came. Nobody talks about those days anymore.”
The boys glanced at each other. They were not sure if the old man’s words were the truth or something he had dreamed up.
“I know what you’re thinking,” the old man said.
“What I’m telling you is the truth. Life was good in the South—”
“Until war came to the North.”
Anger overtook the man’s face.
“The Smyth family gathered enough strength to march into the capitol and take it over. Things were never the same after that. The Smyths became the Morgenwraithes, and that name has become a plague upon the entire world.”
“After the Morgenwraithes took over they marched on every village and clan that they saw as a threat. Most of those folks were innocent, was what I heard. Nothing would have changed here in the South if it had stopped there. But it didn’t, of course.“
“The mad king knew better than to bring his armies south of the border. So, he promised bounties on the heads of the sorcerers, and the wizards and witches. And do you know what happened? I’ll tell you what happened.”
“Magic folks were murdered. Their bodies were sold to the mad king like they were animal skins! Magicians, wizards, sorcerers, witches. They were bound and turned over to the army at the border—for a few coins!”
“And then they came for the dragons.”
“The army came into the south?” one boy asked with his eyes wide.
“No!” the man said. “Morgenwraithe’s army has never come here. They didn’t have to. They’ve sent only a handful of mercenaries and a few of their cannons.”
“The dragon-hunters have cannons,” a boy said. “I didn’t know they came from the king’s army.”
“They recruited more of our own citizens to go after the dragons. They weren’t getting many to volunteer until the cannons showed up. The king offered a high bounty for dead dragons. He tried to tell our people it was for our own good, and many people were blinded by greed. But they didn’t realize what was going to happen next.”
“What was that?” a boy asked.
“Dragons are not as stupid as they look,” the old man said. “After they saw a few of their kind killed, they changed. Just like that.”
The old man snapped his fingers.
“The dragons turned on us—after years and years of peace. Can you blame them? They knew that the hunters would not stop. Not until every last dragon was dead and gone. So, they rained down fire on our villages and our crops.”
The old man stared into the distance. His eyes were sad.
“I don’t blame them. Not one bit.”
“We have to go,” one of the boys said.
“We had our chance,” the old man said. “With the magic and the dragons—we could have gone on living like we always had. Like the kingdom of the North never existed. But we were weak. And full of lust and greed. Our time is gone and will likely never be again.”
He spat on the ground.
“We were once a proud people. But, no more! Now, the people quake in fear that the north will invade and take the little that we have left.”
“Boys, you’d best never mention the possibility of a southern army again. Unless you care to have your head mounted on the wall of Morgenwraithe castle!”
The boys believed the old man’s tale. But in the end they were still de
termined to live their own adventure. And later, they took beatings from their worried and angry parents for it.
The boys stole away that night intent on seeing the Border Guard for themselves. It took most of two days of travel on one sickly horse. They stopped when they spotted the first guard tower. They tied up the horse and sneaked through the brush, getting as close as they dared to the camp. They looked up at the tower and the banner of Morgenwraithe that snapped in the stiff breeze.
One of the boys pointed to a rocky hill nearby. They walked there and beheld a sight they had only dreamed about. Soldiers performed drills. Some practiced sword-play. Others shot arrows at targets. Two men worked on one of the four cannons that stood near each corner of the camp. It was the most incredible thing the boys had ever seen.
The boys were so fascinated that they did not realize that five soldiers held swords at their backs.
They were marched into the camp with their hands on top of their heads.
“I’ll wager that these spies have never done this before,” one of the soldiers said.
“I would wager the same thing!” another one laughed.
The soldiers made light of the fact that both boys lost control of their bladders.
“The Captain will be amused, if nothing else.”
“Yeah. Unless he’s in one of his moods.”
“Yeah. Let’s hope he’s not for the sake of these boys.”
The soldiers were still laughing when they delivered the boys to the Captain’s tent.
“Get out,” the Captain snapped at them.
“So,” he said. “You have come to see the Border Guard for yourselves,”
“Y-yes, My Lord.”
“Then, you see that we are quite capable of doing our duties. The security of our borders is not to be taken lightly.”
The boys shifted on their feet. They stared in awe at the gleaming sword that lay on the Captain’s table. The Captain picked it up.
“I see that my men caught you….unware.”
The Captain glanced down at their trousers without a smile.
“We meant no harm, My Lord,” one of the boys said.
“We only wanted to see your Guard for ourselves. We have no such army of our own.”
“Yes,” the Captain mused. “Well, now that you have seen us what do you think?”
They boys relaxed a little. Their terror turned to excitement.
“It is just as I always dreamed it would be, My Lord!”
“The precision training. The splendid horses. The uniforms of…of…”
“Champions!” the other boy cried out, making the Captain laugh.
The Captain reached inside his coat. The boys flinched and the Captain laughed even more.
He handed each of them a coin.
“Run along. Back to your homes.”
His face lost all humor as he stared into their eyes.
“Tell no one that you have come here. And should you learn of anything that would be of interest to me you come back and tell me. And soon you will need purses to carry your coins.”
“Yes! Yes, My Lord!”
“Do not ever approach our camp from any other direction.”
“Unless you wish to die. Violently.”
The boys had returned to the camp only once before. That trip came about after Vincent assumed the rule in Vallen. The Captain was only minimally concerned with that news but he rewarded the boys anyway. Two coins apiece.
They were excited indeed with news of Northmen coming to Vallen. They knew that their village was under siege and may have since burned to the ground. They knew that Vincent was dead.
But most of all they had news that the Northmen were accompanied by a mysterious man who was thought to be nothing more than legend.
The cursed heir of Morgenwraithe.
The man who had become a dragon.
Forty-Five
Timothy looked out over the horizon. His guard duty was only halfway over.
“Tell me something,” he said to his partner, the other young man with him in the south tower.
“Guard tower duty. Is this a good job, or not? It’s boring, I grant you that much.”
“You haven’t been here long enough to complain,” the other guard laughed. “And it’s actually a compliment. You’ve impressed the officers enough with your bow skills that they feel comfortable having you up here. Now, if you couldn’t hit the broad side of a stable door with an arrow, like some of those poor sots over there—”
The guard pointed toward a training area for archery practice.
“—then they wouldn’t have you up here with me. Which is an honor in itself.”
Timothy laughed.
A reflection caught his eye. He looked around and the reflection happened again.
“What in the…?”
Timothy pointed to the south.
“It could be our lucky day, mate,” the guard said.
“That’s the Captain’s little birds—from the village of Vallen.”
“What is that all about?” Timothy asked.
“Those two boys—they want to join up and be proper soldiers, is what the Captain says. They only show up when they have news that makes the Captain happy. And when the Captain’s happy—”
“Then all the little soldiers are happy,” Timothy finished.
“Exactly,” the guard said. “Let’s go and fetch them before someone else gets the credit.”
“But the tower—”
“It won’t take ten minutes. Come on!”
“You have something for the Captain?” the guard asked.
“Yes. News. Very big news.”
“What’s so important?” Timothy asked.
“Our village…it may be gone by now.”
“Gone? Gone where?”
“Vincent is dead. The village is on fire. Balls of flame fell from the sky—!”
“Calm down, boys,” Timothy said. “You don’t want to come here telling the Captain this kind of story—”
“But it’s true, My Lord!” the other boy said. “There are soldiers there—men from the north. And that’s not all.”
“The cursed prince—the one who was turned into a dragon—he is with them!”
Timothy’s mouth was dry. He looked at the other guard.
“We can’t bring them to the Captain with this nonsense! He’ll take our heads!” Timothy said.
“No,” the guard said. Timothy relaxed a little.
The guard pulled him aside and whispered.
“You don’t understand, Tim. Their story is most likely true! We can’t ignore them. The Captain would have our heads for sure!”
“I don’t know…” Timothy said. His thoughts were racing.
“Listen,” the guard said. “I’m going to make sure the Captain is in his tent. I’ll be right back.”
Timothy wanted to say something but he couldn’t keep his thoughts straight. He nodded.
When the other guard had made some distance, Timothy turned to the boys.
“I think I saw one of your horses limping,” he lied.
“We didn’t notice anything,” one boy said.
“I used to work the King’s stables,” Timothy said. “You have to catch their limps early, before they get too bad. I’ll have a look.”
One of the boys turned around to relieve himself. The other walked with Timothy to where their horses were tied up.
“So which leg was—”
Timothy buried his dagger in the boy’s middle up to the hilt. The boy fell against him.
The other boy showed up as his friend fell to the ground. His eyes grew wide. He turned and ran.
Timothy notched an arrow and buried it in the second boy’s back. The boy fell.
Timothy put his bow and dagger away and walked toward the camp. He met his partner on the way.
“He’s in his tent.”
“Did you talk to him?” Timothy asked.
“No. Let’s go get—”
“
I’m sorry,” Timothy said as his dagger took its second victim.
“Why?” was the last thing the guard said as Timothy lowered him to the ground.
Timothy returned to the camp and climbed the tower. He waited there nervously until the next two-man crew came to start their watch.
Timothy climbed down.
“Another exciting day watching the birds fly, eh Tim?”
“Yeah,” Timothy said.
“So, where’s Smitty?”
“He must have eaten some bad sausage,” Timothy said, forcing himself to smile. “He’s been running off to the woods all day. Don’t say anything to the Captain, all right? Smitty’s been afraid of that all day.”
“Not a word, mate,” both soldiers said.
“That’s what the Guard’s all about,” one said.
“Taking care of each other.”
“Right,” Timothy said. He left for his tent.
Night came quickly. Timothy walked beneath the torches to the privy. When he came out he sneaked into the woods and circled around to the boys’ horses. He untied one of them and smacked it on the rump. It ran away to the south. He led the other horse outside of the camp’s perimeter until the torchlight faded from view. He faced the horse and prepared to mount.
He looked at his shaking hands and knew that this was either the first day of his new life
Or one of the last days of his old one.
Forty-Six
Simon flew easily for an hour before he met with an increasing headwind. It took more and more effort to keep his speed. He felt something wet and sticky beneath his wing. He was bleeding again.
There was nothing he could do about it but lower his head and press on.
The sky grew dark. Simon was confused. It was too early in the day to lose the sun.
Swirling sand pelted his eyes. He tried to blink it away but there was too much of it. He dipped his wings to dive to a lower altitude.