The Caged Dragon (Cycle of Dragons Book 1)

by Dan Michaelson

  I needed to find another place to shelter.

  Joran’s home wasn’t that far from here. It was close enough that I wouldn’t have to try to cross the increasingly wide river in order to reach it.

  I kept my eyes peeled, looking for any sign of Joran’s home. It was difficult to see clearly. The rain was coming down with such force and the wind gusting so wildly that I couldn’t see anything other than the occasional burst of lightning that blinded me.

  I began to worry that I was going to end up stranded out here.

  With the rain like this, it was going to take a while for the roads to solidify again. I thought of my sister and the caravan that had come past, and would have smiled to myself were the situation not quite as dire as it was. She would have to wait a bit longer to head into Berestal.

  In the distance, I could see the outline of a building. I veered toward it.

  I slipped, stumbling into a puddle.

  My face went completely underwater. I sucked in water without meaning to.

  I jerked my head back, coughing, gasping for air.

  I got to my feet. Water pooling around my ankles.

  I stumbled forward, being careful with how I stepped. Another burst of lightning came. With this one, I was certain I saw it. Joran’s home. It was a nice house, all one level, and built sturdy enough to withstand the storms that came through. He didn’t have a barn like we did, but he did have a cave dug out from a small hillside. That was where his family kept their livestock. As I staggered forward, it didn’t seem as if there were any lights glowing in the windows. Could they have gone somewhere?

  The wind sent me tumbling forward again, stumbling into another puddle. It was deeper than the last. As I got to my feet, I felt water creeping up to my shin.

  The rain didn’t abate. It was coming down faster than before. I staggered through the water trying to ignore it w hen, finally, the house loomed into view.

  It wasn’t that far from me now.

  Lightning exploded, blinding my vision. It took a moment for that to clear, and when it did, I hurried. The wind pushed against me, almost as if it was trying to keep me away from Joran’s house. The rain soaked me, drenching me in a way that felt incredibly uncomfortable, almost miserable.

  I staggered. With each step, it felt as if my foot sunk deeper into the ground.

  I finally reached the house. I banged on the door. Thunder and lightning rumbled around me. The door opened, and Joran stood there with a long knife in hand, frowning at me.

  “Ashan? What are you doing out here?”

  I staggered forward, unmindful of how I drenched the floor and waited until Joran closed the door behind me. “I thought I would visit.”

  As I sunk to the ground, exhaustion overtook me.

  5

  The fire crackled with heat. I shivered despite it. I’d been sitting in front of the fire for the better part of the last hour, and was only now beginning to warm up. I couldn’t believe how quickly I had gotten cold. Joran sat near the window on a small bench, staring at it. Heavy shutters kept the worst of the storm from shattering the glass, but a small crack still allowed me to see outside. Every so often, when the lightning flashed, I could make out the depths of the storm and the darkness of the clouds. It didn’t seem as if the storm had eased yet.

  Tara, Joran’s younger sister, brought in a basket of bread, and handed it over to me.

  I looked up at her, smiling. “Thank you.”

  She had a round face, full lips, and shared Joran’s lanky hair. She just chuckled. “What were you doing out in the storm?”

  “Tara!” Joran said.

  She shot him a look. “I figure he’s been here long enough, it’s about time that somebody asked him.”

  Sophie, Joran’s youngest sister, poked her head out from the doorway leading back to the kitchen. “It’s my fault, Joran. I told her to ask.”

  “You don’t think I came out just because I wanted to see you?” I said, glancing over to Sophie.

  She stuck her tongue out at me, and I shook my head, chuckling.

  Sophie was eight, an age I scarcely remembered. It was difficult for me to remember when Alison had been that age, as well. I missed those days. Out here on the plains, most of us needed to grow up quickly, especially after my father and brother got sick. “I was hunting a wolf that slaughtered one of our pigs,” I said.

  Joran looked over, his gaze lingering on my bow for a moment before nodding. “It had to be something stupid like that,” he said. “Why so far?”

  “I tracked it all the way to the edge of the forest,” I admitted. “I’d seen another one—much larger—the day before, and didn’t want a pack to think they could feast on our livestock.”

  At least, I’d thought it was a wolf, but there had been that strange growl in the forest.

  Dad claimed there were monsters in the forest.

  I pushed that thought away. Those were his delusions.

  “If the wolf went into the forest, then you didn’t need to keep hunting it,” Sophie said, stepping into the room. She had her arms crossed over her chest, and she looked at me with an expression that seemed older than it should. “That wolf wasn’t going to hurt you.”

  “Maybe not,” I said. “But if the wolf got a taste for an easy kill, then we would have to deal with it eventually.” My family had gone through that enough times that we had learned our lesson. If a wolf, or even a camin, though that was rare, decided they were going to hunt around the farm, they would be too dangerous to leave alone. “You know that, Sophie,” Joran said, smiling at her.

  “I know no such thing, Joran.”

  “What do you think we had to do when your favorite chicken was killed?”

  “I thought you called that lunch,” I said, smirking.

  Joran shot me a look. “We had a wolf that came through here about six months ago. Pops and I hunted that bastard until we brought him down. We had to get three of them before we got the right one.”

  “How do you know you got the right one?” she asked.

  “I guess I don’t. I’m hopeful that killing a few off would make them think twice about eating our chickens. Which means it’s time to keep hunting,” Joran said.

  She glared at him before turning her attention to me. “Don’t you know that when a storm comes you need to get to shelter?”

  “He knows,” Tara said, trying to take Sophie by the shoulders to guide her away. She would have none of it, though. She shot her sister a look and twisted away to loosen her sister’s grip. “Even Joran isn’t stupid enough to get caught out in a storm like this.”

  “I probably shouldn’t have,” I said. “But when I got to the forest, I could’ve sworn I saw something.”

  “The same thing you saw the other day?” Joran asked.

  I didn’t want to go over that again with him. I had seen something, even if I didn’t know what it was. “What did you find this time, then?”

  “A trail,” I said.

  Joran frowned at me for a long moment before understanding dawned on his face. “You found a Djarn trail?”

  Sophie sucked in a sharp breath, looking from Joran to me. “They don’t have a trail. Do they?”

  Tara shook her head. “Don’t go putting ideas in her head,” she said to me. “She’s likely to go running off into the rain, thinking that she can find the Djarn.”

  “With a rain like this, it probably got washed away,” Joran said. “Too bad, really.” He looked over to me, putting his back to the window. Still, he stiffened every time thunder rumbled, which wasn’t nearly as often as it had been. It seemed as if the storm was finally starting to pass.

  As soon as it did I would have to get back. I could only imagine what my sister and mother were thinking right now.

  “Are you sure that it was a Djarn trail?”

  “I don’t know what it was,” I said. “There were footprints leading into the forest, and when I got far enough in, I saw what looked to be a trail.”

&nb
sp; Joran whistled softly. “We’ve always believed they had a trail system throughout the forest.”

  “We have?” Tara asked. “We don’t know much about the Djarn. Even Dad doesn’t, and he’s the one who can claim to know them the best.”

  Joran shrugged. “Pops and I figured they had a trail system. We never found any evidence of it. No one has, as far as I know. No one has even seen footprints.”

  “Which is why it’s probably not one of the Djarn,” Joran’s father, Bernt, said as he stepped out of the kitchen. He was a burly man with a thick, reddish-brown beard. He had pale blue eyes that practically sparkled, almost as if he was constantly amused. His shaggy, brown hair stretched to his shoulders. He was every bit the wild plainsman.

  “You know it’s not one of the Djarn, Papa?” Sophie asked.

  Bernt took a seat on the bench on the far side of the room. Sophie ran over to him, jumping and landing in his lap, looking up at him with adoring eyes. “I’ve lived out here on the plains for nearly forty years. In all that time, I’ve seen the Djarn a few times, more than most, and that was when they wanted to come out and trade. Never seen their footsteps.”

  “They like to leave a token at the edge of our lands when they want to trade,” Sophie said, turning to me. She clasped her hands in front of her, rocking in place as she sat on her father’s lap. “Carvings, usually. Papa has a few of them.”

  Bernt nodded slowly, picking up a book resting on the ground next to him and thumbing through it. “That I do. I probably have more Djarn carvings than anyone out here. Mostly because we live so close to the forest, but also because I’m willing to trade items from Berestal with them. Not all are, you know.”

  “Because they think the Djarn might take their children,” Sophie said, giggling. “Like that would happen.”

  “It’s more likely to be the Vard who kidnap you,” Joran said. “They like younger girls.”

  “Joran!” his father said, his voice sharp. “You need to be careful with the kind of things you say.”

  “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Would the Vard really do that?” Sophie asked, resting her head back on her father’s shoulder. “Would they take girls like me?”

  “It’s possible,” Bernt said carefully. “These days, maybe. Not in the old days.” He shook his head. “These days, the Vard have been known to kidnap those from the kingdom.”

  “They wouldn’t do that,” Tara said. She took a seat not far from her father, as she looked over to me, smiling slightly.

  “The Vard have been at war with the kingdom for the better part of twenty years, at least according to them. They believe all of this land should be theirs.”

  “The king claimed it,” Sophie said.

  “Aye, the king claimed it. And most think we’re better off for it. We have the protection of the dragons, which helps keep us safe.”

  “The Vard haven’t attacked in years.” Tara shook her head, turning to look at the fire. “They aren’t going to attack.”

  “You don’t know that,” Sophie said. “Think of how many sympathizers there are in Berestal,” she added.

  “Where did you learn that word?” Bernt asked, shaking his head.

  “Momma said it. I heard her talking the other day. She was saying how because there are so many Vard sympathizers in Berestal, we’re going to have an uprising.” She looked over to Joran, glaring at him before turning her attention to me, her expression softening only a little.

  I laughed to myself seeing that bit of rebellion in Sophie.

  Finally, she looked back at her father. “You think we’re going to have an uprising?”

  Bernt shook his head. “I doubt it. The people in Berestal know there is no point in doing so. Not that we would have much of a chance if they did.”

  “The dragons haven’t been sent to this part of the kingdom in a long time,” Tara said. “Might be better to have the Vard than the dragons.” When her father looked at her, she held his gaze for a moment before looking away.

  Silence fell , leaving me strangely uncomfortable. “I saw a dragon.”

  Joran looked over to me. “You what?”

  “When I was leaving the forest. I saw a dragon. Thought I saw one the other day, but didn’t know for sure. This time…”

  “How certain are you?” he asked.

  “A dragon is pretty easy to spot,” I said. “Especially when it’s breathing fire and swooping in circles over the forest.”

  Sophie’s eyes grew wide. “I always love seeing the dragons, but they’re usually too far from us for me to see. Do you think it was hunting?”

  “The only thing he could hunt from above would be trees,” Joran said.

  Sophie glared at him. “Papa tells me not to go into the forest. He says it’s too dangerous.”

  Bernt patted her on the shoulder. “That’s because it is. It’s all too easy to get lost in there. I don’t want you ever heading into the trees, thinking that you might be able to find your way back out..”

  “See?” she said, looking over to him and sticking her tongue out again. “It’s a wonder you even listen to him,” Joran said.

  “I’ve always listened to Papa.”

  Bernt beamed. “That you do,” he said.

  “What do you think the dragon was doing?” Joran asked.

  I shook my head, shrugging. “I have no idea . It was strange to see it flying so low. When I’ve seen a dragon before, it’s been from a distance.”

  “What’s the closest you’ve been to a dragon, Papa?” Sophie asked.

  Bernt shook his head. “It’s been a while, but I was there when Berestal was claimed. The dragons gathered outside the walls. They made a point of showing us just how deadly they could be.”

  “How did they do that?” Tara looked up. Something in her expression had changed. I wasn’t sure what it was, but it seemed as if she didn’t like hearing stories about the dragons. Most people within Berestal found the dragons appealing, but it didn’t seem that she was one of them.

  “They showed how quickly even rock could burn.”

  “Rock can burn?” Sophie asked in a whisper.

  “With dragon’s fire, anything can burn. There’s nothing quite like it,” Bernt said, his voice going soft. “I remember quite well what it looked like, and how it felt. The power coming from that dragon was enormous. And to think there were a dozen of them. That was why Berestal was claimed as quickly it was.”

  “What did they want Berestal for, anyway?” Sophie asked.

  “To keep it from the Vard,” Tara said.

  Bernt shrugged. “Maybe,” he started, “but we don’t really know. All we know is that it’s become an outpost for the king. That’s valuable to him. Berestal gives him access to the Wilds, and a means for him to navigate the trade routes beyond..”

  “He’s probably going to try to claim the Wilds as well,” Tara said, turning away and looking toward the fire.

  “Tara,” Bernt chided.

  “He will,” she said.

  “We don’t know that. We don’t know what the king intends. No one but the king knows.”

  “His wife might know,” Sophie said. “I imagine the queen sitting in her palace, helping the king decide who he will go after next. Can you imagine what that must be like?”

  There was something about the way that she said it that reminded me of how Alison had wanted to see the king’s caravan, the same awed tone and look of determination, if only so that she could feel a little bit closer to royalty.

  “I doubt he lets the queen in on anything,” Tara said. “He probably keeps the queen locked up in a room and only marches her out when he’s—”

  “Tara!” Bernt said. He shot her a look, turning briefly to me and shaking his head. “She gets strange ideas in her head.”

  “That’s okay, Mr. Stone,” I told him. “My sister does the same thing.”

  “Maybe it’s just girls her age.”

  “My age?” Tara asked, looking over
to him. “Girls my age often end up getting married. Having babies. Starting a family.”

  “Not quite your age,” Bernt told her, his tone softening.

  “I want to get married and have children,” Sophie said.

  Bernt just shook his head, smiling. “Someday you will.”

  “Unless she’s kidnapped by the Vard,” Joran said. “Of course, the Vard probably don’t want somebody like her. She would be more trouble than she’s worth.”

  “How do you know?” Sophie asked, sticking her tongue out at him. “They might like me. And while I’m with them, I could convince them to stop attacking. See? I could do good for the kingdom.”

  Bernt patted her on the head. “I’m sure you could,” he said. He lifted her and looked over to Ashan. “I see Tara has brought you some bread. Are you still hungry? Need anything else?”

  “Not right now, but thank you, Mr. Stone.”

  “Hopefully this storm will pass, and we’ll be able to get on with things,” he said. “It’s been looking like we were going to have a nice stretch of weather, but…”

  Joran opened the window and looked out, the sound of the storm whipping around. Thunder rumbled, and every so often, lightning flashed, letting us know that the storm still wasn’t quite gone. It was as if it wanted to remind us just how powerful it was.

  I got to my feet, pulling my jacket around me. I was mostly dry, and as I headed over to the window, the wind rushed in. It wasn’t quite as cold as it had been before. But that was probably because I was no longer drenched, so not suffering quite as much.

  “Did you really see a dragon?” Joran whispered.

  I nodded. “Yeah. It was a blue one.”

  “I don’t know if the colors matter,” Joran said.

  I chuckled. “I don’t either. I remember thinking when I was younger when I saw the dragon atop Marshal’s Tower that the color had to matter. That it meant the dragon’s magic was different, but I think they’re all the same.”

  Another peal of thunder rumbled distantly.

  “It’s too bad we won’t be able to find that Djarn path,” he said.