by Nathan Roden
Noah stared at Tanner.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Tanner smiled awkwardly.
“I…my sister and I have…certain abilities.”
Noah scowled at Magdalena.
“Yes. So I’ve heard.”
He looked back at Tanner.
“I suppose you make things go ‘boom’?”
“That sums it up rather nicely, My Lord.”
“I don’t guess you have an army with you?”
“Our friends are much better than an army, Master Noah,” Sara said.
“Oh, I believe that,” Noah said. “What would life be without friends?”
Noah hung his head.
“What I cannot believe is that I have been living across the sea in complete ignorance! I knew nothing of what goes on here—in my own homeland!. The tyranny, the turmoil within the kingdom. My sister’s misery. I feel like a fool.”
“The plans for a rebellion happened quickly, Lord Lamont,” Magdalena said. “Either there was no means for your father to alert you—or there was no time.”
Noah’s eyes narrowed.
“I will not rest as long while my sister suffers in a dungeon cell! And she is with child!”
“I understand your feelings,” Magdalena said. “But you can do nothing about the queen’s imprisonment. We can. And we will.”
“What are you doing here?”
“We are your newest friends,” Magdalena said. “And loyal to the one true king.”
Noah stepped toward Magdalena.
“What do you mean by that?”
“We are loyal to the rightful king of the realm. Simon Morgenwraithe. The drag—”
“The dragon. The dragon who becomes a man at the full moon.”
“So,” Magdalena said. “You are not completely in the dark in the matters of the kingdom.”
Noah stared into space.
“I…I know him. I met him in Islemar, years ago. He was just a boy. Well, he was a boy—until sundown.”
“Then you know—”
“I know that the truest hope for the people of this kingdom resides in the cursed body of a dragon. I also know that he holds my sister’s heart.”
A tear ran down Magdalena’s cheek.
“We will take her from that cell. You can count on that.”
“I can take you there,” Sara said.
“I’m sure you can, Sweetness,” Tanner said. “But it will not be necessary. Stay here with your brother. We will be back soon, and then we go to Islemar.”
Noah hid the coach in the woods. His eyes grew heavy. He lay down in the seat. Zeke snuggled up next to him. Oliver crawled into the floor and fell asleep. Sara sat on the other bench, staring out the window, until sleep overcame her.
Noah woke when Magdalena tapped him on the shoulder.
“The cells are empty.”
Noah sat up.
“Empty? How is that possible?”
“There was blood on the floor. Don’t be alarmed. The blood belongs to King Lucien.”
“What?”
“We cannot follow them,” Sara said.
“What do you mean?” Noah asked.
“The king and queen,” Sara said. “We cannot follow them. Not now.”
“They are together?” Tanner asked.
“Yes,” Sara said.
Magdalena and Noah blew out long breaths.
“Do you know where they are?” Magdalena asked.
Sara closed her eyes. She shook her head.
“No. But they have help. The king is…there is something wrong with him. He’s been hurt.”
“We cannot stay in Morgenwraithe,” Magdalena said. “Sterling and Raynard will look everywhere.”
“What do we do?” Oliver asked.
“Our allies will make their way to Islemar,” Magdalena said. “It will soon be the safest place for any of us.”
Noah nodded. He bit his lip.
“I am no warrior. Even if I was, I do not know this village.”
Noah smiled down at Sara and Zeke.
“We should get these little ones back to a safe place.”
“And back to their brother,” Magdalena said.
Forty-Two
Simon, Papa, Caleb, and Sir Edmund began the return trip to the border. Simon felt hunger pangs. He was not sure he could find the lake where Papa had hunted on their trip north. Simon heaved a sigh of relief when he saw Papa veering toward the mountainside.
There it was again—the clear, pristine lake, surrounded by wildlife and tall grasses. Papa and Simon landed. Edmund and Caleb climbed down. They sat in the grass and Edmund took food from the provisions Lady Lamont gave them.
Simon waited to follow Papa’s lead. He saw deer, pigs, and large groups of geese. Papa surprised Simon by flying over the lake and then diving. Papa came up and landed on the shore. He raised his head, devouring a mouthful of fish.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Simon said. He dove into the cold water, carrying his own mouthful of fish to the shore. Papa raised his head and made a noise Simon had not heard before—not from a dragon, anyway. It was like the bark of a dog. Papa vaulted into the air and dove into the lake again. He stayed in the water this time. Simon followed him. They stood on the bottom of the lake in chest-deep water. Papa opened his wings. Simon did the same.
Ah, it has been a long time since my last bath, Simon thought. The water was cold, but both relaxing and exhilarating. Simon looked down at his reflection. It had been a long time since he had seen it. He had avoided such reflections purposely. The face staring back at him now had changed. His color was darker. His eyes looked the same, but the rest of him looked far more sinister than he remembered. He looked a lot like Papa.
Suddenly, Simon was pushed backward in a deluge of water. Papa had pushed his wings across the surface, sending a huge wave into Simon’s face.
Simon stared. Papa raised his head and made more barking sounds.
Is he…is he laughing?
Papa shot into the air, giving chase to the herd of swine.
Simon walked out onto the shore. He sat down on his haunches to watch Papa on the hunt. The great black dragon disappeared momentarily against the bright sun. When he appeared again, he was high in the sky. Simon blinked several times until he realized that something very large was hurtling down at him. He jumped out of the way just in time.
Landing next to him, was a very large, very fat, hog.
Already roasted.
Simon looked into the sky, at the great black dragon that was back to giving chase to the swine.
“Thanks,” Simon said into the vast blue sky.
“Papa.”
Soon, they were back in the air. Simon was well-fed and was getting sleepy. He came fully awake when he felt himself being pelted on the back. It was Caleb, pounding his fists against Simon’s scales.
Simon saw them from the south. The silhouettes of eight dragons. He flew next to Papa. Sir Edmund had seen them as well. Simon noticed Edmund’s hand hovering over the hilt of his sword.
No. Not now. We don’t need this.
One dragon now flew ahead of the others. Papa screeched and drove himself and Sir Edmund forward.
Simon blew out a long breath.
It’s Mother.
He did not understand the presence of the other seven dragons. Papa and Mother landed on the side of the mountain. Simon followed.
Simon and Sir Edmund watched Caleb’s expression as the dragon’s communicated. It did not look like good news.
“Well?”
“It’s not good, Simon,” Caleb said. “The red dragon has convinced most of the others that Papa deserted them. He has assumed the position as leader, despite the opposition of Mother and these seven. They were forced out of the valley.”
“Did she say anything about Lord Lamont and the others?”
“She said that if the red dragon knows about them, they are dead already.”
“Sir Edmund,” Simon said. “I�
�m going to alert Lord Lamont and lead them through the canyon.”
“Of course. I’ll be right beside you.”
“No,” Simon said. “Stealth is the only option here. We have ten dragons. The Red has fifty or more. We cannot afford to lose these allies—or confuse them by returning to the south. Besides—,”
Simon looked down toward the road below them.
“We will need protection for the march north. It would not do to escape dragons only to walk right into an army division.”
“Your logic is sound, young king,” Edmund said.
“We should hurry,” Caleb said.
“You’re staying here, Caleb,” Simon said. “There is no reason—”
“I’m going with you. You need me.”
“I don’t need you for this, Caleb.”
“They are my friends, too. Bend down. You’re making me mad.”
Sir Edmund shrugged. He helped Caleb onto Simon’s back.
Forty-Three
Nicholas Lamont stared ahead as he listened to Simon’s news.
“Mutiny among dragons,” he muttered in disgust. “I would never have thought it possible. We have how many?”
“Twenty,” Simon said. “If you count me.”
“Of course. And the young ones?”
“Ten of the twenty are the young ones.”
“But there were dozens of them—I thought we had them all.”
“I’m not sure of their whole social system,” Simon said. “Caleb hasn’t learned everything about them. The young ones may have loyalties to the clan, or be establishing a new one. They may even be preoccupied with mating.”
Lord Lamont walked to the edge of the cliff and lifted his spyglass.
“Sterling and Raynard most certainly left men down there—if to do nothing but slow us down. We’ve seen no one, of course. They could be hiding anywhere.”
“There’s no reason to take chances, My Lord,” Simon said. “They cannot hide from fire.”
“You would kill them all—just like that?” Lamont asked.
Simon exhaled heavily, roiling black smoke from his nostrils. He maintained his gaze out over the valley to the north.
“A wise man once told me that war is no time for hesitation. When we hesitate, our people die. And your forces are currently made up of people I am unwilling to lose.”
“I cannot argue with that,” Lamont said.
Simon walked to where Caleb waited, beside Mother.
“Caleb, there are troops hidden in the valley below, waiting for us to pass to the north. Mother and I must see that we lose no one.”
“You wish to kill without discretion,” Caleb said.
Simon was tormented by his feelings—feelings that he thought were gone forever. But feelings that had no place on this day.
“Without discretion.”
Caleb communicated to Mother. She spread her wings.
Simon launched himself into the air and dove over the valley floor, bathing it in fire. Mother flew at his side, doing the same.
Simon watched men run away, to no avail. He heard their screams, and he felt nothing. Nothing at all.
No, that was not true.
He felt…like a killer. A ruthless, cold-blooded killer.
Rage washed over him. Rage at his own mother, for her madness. Rage at his father, for his ignorant behavior and inability to stop the madness that was to come.
Rage—with the sorceress who had trapped him in this body and then somehow convinced him that it was all for the best.
But in the next instant—the truth became crystal clear. This was his fate. His destiny.
This was the only way. Had he never become the dragon, he would have fared no better than his baby brother. He would have been Sterling’s puppet in a different body. He was three years older than Lucien, but still only a child.
And what had he become instead? He was an instrument of terror. Of power. Of vengeance. He had allies he could never have gained as a pawn under the thumb of Lord Sterling Morgenwraithe. And his newest allies had strength even greater than his. They were twenty strong—able to split the skies and destroy everything in their paths for miles around.
No, it was not the day for conscience. It was not the day to question his destiny. He had enemies within the kingdom, and now he had enemies in the dragon clan of the Southlands.
It was the day to take the battle to his homeland. Such a victory would provide a better world for those who deserved it—whether those people knew it now, or not.
That victory would take everything he had to give. There was no other way.
Forty-Four
Sterling woke with a start. He threw his legs over the side of the bed and lunged for his sword belt until he realized he was not under threat. He was alone.
His hangover had not hit full-force yet. He was still somewhat drunk. Sterling was well acquainted with hangovers and headaches. He was not used to waking after receiving a punch to the jaw.
Sterling worked his jaw open and closed. He pushed against his bruised flesh with his fingers. His right hand was also sore and swollen.
The little bastard hit me, Sterling thought. He actually hit me.
Sterling flexed his hand. He had struck Lucien in the face only once. He shook the hand. He had definitely struck bone. Wherever he had hit the boy, there would be no hiding the damage for quite some time.
After that initial blow, Sterling had the presence of mind to punish the boy with blows to the body—first with his fists, and then with his feet.
It may not matter if I destroyed his pretty little face. He may be dead.
Sterling had begun drinking again after the incident. He drank until he remembered nothing.
He opened his mouth to call for a servant to order Captain Raynard to his quarters. Then he remembered that Raynard was on his way to Islemar. Sterling massaged his temples, willing his thoughts to order themselves.
It is time to assess and control the situation.
There had been two witnesses—Lucien’s friends from the King’s Guard. A sinister grin spread across Sterling’s face. These same boys had seen Sterling kill another of their friends with a single blow to the head. Sterling remembered the looks on those boys’ faces. They had stared at Sterling like he was the most powerful man this side of heaven or hell.
“And that is precisely what I am,” Sterling said aloud.
Sterling got dressed. He strapped on his sword belt.
Too bulky. Too slow, he thought.
He removed the belt, switching it for a belt that concealed two daggers.
Two servants outside his door dutifully bowed and bade Sterling good day. Sterling mumbled incoherently. He walked to the king’s chambers.
“The king is not here,” a servant informed him. “It does not appear he has slept here at all.”
“What’s a king to do with his queen locked away, eh?”
The servant avoided Sterling’s eyes.
“Yes, My Lord.”
Sterling stepped past the servant and into the king’s quarters. The servant said nothing, even when Sterling closed the door behind him. Sterling looked around and saw no evidence that the king had been in the room recently.
Sterling walked to the training grounds. He was not surprised that there was no one there. He looked down at the spot he had left the wounded king. There was nothing special about the ground there. No signs of blood.
Sterling took a deep breath and set his jaw. He clenched his fists and then relaxed his hands.
He would go to the barracks of the King’s Guard. He assumed those men would know what happened the night before. But Sterling would not go alone.
He carried with him the weight of fear. The weight of intimidation. The power of a ruthless reputation allowed Sterling Morgenwraithe to walk the streets of the kingdom like a god.
Sterling reached for the barracks door. Two guards were talking and laughing as they pushed the door open from the inside. Sterling caught the door just
before it struck his face. The guards’ eyes went wide when they saw Sterling. When they saw the marks on his jaw, the men nearly soiled themselves.
“Begging your pardon, My Lord!”
“Get out of my way!” Sterling growled.
Inside, servants cleared away the remains of the morning meal. Guards around the room finished putting on their uniforms.
“I’m looking for King Lucien,” Sterling announced.
The men snapped to attention.
“He has not been here this morning, My Lord,” a guard said.
Sterling saw no alarm on the faces of the men.
Curious.
“His friends,” Sterling said. A wave of pain shot through his head. He pressed his fingers to his forehead. “I don’t know their damned names!”
“Brendan. And Reese,” a guard said. The others looked around the room.
“I haven’t seen them, either, My Lord.”
The others shook their heads.
“They may have gone early to the training fields.”
Sterling did not reply. He had already turned to leave.
Sterling returned to Dathien’s quarters. There was still no sign of the giant. Sterling’s first inclination was to tear the place apart in a fit of anger, but then the unthinkable occurred to him.
Could the giant have taken the queen?
Sterling knew where he had to go. And he was almost sure of what he would find. The rage began to boil inside him.
Sterling knew the truth before he reached the dungeon. He saw it in the eyes of the guards who were hurrying toward him. Two guards sat against the corridor wall. One of them had streaks of drying blood on his face. Four others stopped in front of Sterling.
“It’s impossible, My Lord!”
Sterling did not stop or slow down. He raised his hand to silence them.
“Shut your mouths.”
Sterling pushed the guards out of his way. Horror filled their faces.
The cells were empty.
“In here! Now!” Sterling growled.