Dragon's Curse is coming! You can watch the book trailer
here. Or just scroll down to read the first chapter!
(Edit: I've done it again and seriously edited the first two chapters. Check out the new versions
here.)
The
Scholar and the Dragon
Shannon
held her breath against the acrid stench of the cavern, her back
scrunched flat against the rough, unnaturally warm stone.
Just press forward. She
desperately pushed back her fear.
One way or another this will all be
over. You just have to keep pressing forward.
But her feet wouldn't move. She forced her eyes open and could make
out the vague outline of the beast–like a great, leather cloak
draped over bumpy furniture only about a thousand times bigger. His
sides rose and fell gently but steadily as he slumbered. If she
turned back now perhaps she could survive but that meant going back
to everything that had driven her to this insanity in the first
place.
As she timidly moved one foot forward, she recited from the Wizards'
Practical Guide to Dragons under her
breath, “Dragons like puzzles. Dragons love gold. Dragons can be
swayed by flattery and bought with presents.”
She touched the strap of her knapsack and prayed her offering would
be enough. Another step, her stride stronger now, one way or the
other this was going to end.
The
dragon moved. She swallowed a scream as her legs gave out underneath
her.
Oh
why, oh why did I ever come to Regone? Why didn't I listen to Martin?
Three months before:
Shannon hurried down the corridor her skin crisscrossed by the
shadows the sun cast through the diamond panes of the clouded glass
windows. Her fine, dark blonde hair slipped out of the hastily
plaited braid and into her face. Frustrated, she pushed it back and
sniffed.
She
knew she looked like a child, especially when flustered. Her brown
eyes were too big for her round face, her hands too small for her
arms, and her hair and garments always disheveled. People
underestimated her, which often lead to be being passed over, but
this was Martin. If anyone should know better, Martin should. They
had worked together on numerous projects and though, as the older
more experienced scholar, he had always been her superior, she had
thought she had proven herself to him. Numerous times.
Now,
a few months into his promotion to Headmaster's Assistant, he had
apparently forgotten her. Worse than forgotten, ignored, for she had
written him two notes which he had either disregarded or flat out not
read. She had assumed he had been simply taking his time, but then a
chance encounter with a fellow junior scholar had revealed to her the
full extent of the betrayal and left her livid.
She
hated confrontation, but Martin needed to know he was making a
mistake. Shannon assured herself of this as she stormed through the
Academy's echoing halls. Her boots slapped out a rhythm of it's
unfair; he should've come to me first. It's unfair. He should've.
It's unfair.
She
wasn’t good at being angry; it simply didn’t come naturally to
her, and if she was going to assume an air of righteous indignation
she would need to work herself up and keep herself there. If she was
incensed enough he’d have to listen. He'd have to see how serious
she was.
She threw open the door to his study. Martin sat behind his heavy
wooden desk, hunched over some papers, quill in hand. He looked up,
eyebrows raised, when she barged in.
“Shannon? Is something wrong?” he asked, his clear blue eyes
widening.
“Yes, something is wrong!” she burst out. Her voice squeaked. She
swallowed and considered adjusting it. Even she couldn’t take that
voice seriously.
I
sound like a six-year-old.
She cleared her throat and began again. “I just talked to Henri in
the library. He told me you put him on the shortlist for the
assignment in Regone. I didn’t know you were even interviewing
candidates yet, and Henri has already had two interviews. I’m twice
as qualified as Henri, Martin! This is because I’m a woman, isn’t
it? I know the headmaster is old fashioned, but the choice is yours,
not his.”
“No, that’s not it. Dame Allison is on the short list too.” He
stuck the quill into the inkwell and leaned back in his seat.
She
couldn’t help it. She gaped. Allison knew her alchemy. The woman
was like a walking reference library, but she had no imagination, no
ambition. When it came to thinking out of the box, Shannon knew she
could run circles around her.
“That only makes it worse, Martin.” She managed to control the
pitch of her voice. “I’m a better alchemist than Allison and I
know more botany than Henri. Why are they both on the list when you
never even interviewed me?”
“Do you even know what this assignment involves?” Martin's wide
mouth scowled at her.
“I saw the letter they sent to the headmaster.” She nodded doing
her best to come across as firm rather than shrill. “The Regonian
steward wants a scholar versed in alchemy, botany, and apothecary
healing, and I was top of my class in all three. You know I want to
leave the Academy. I need
to leave. Why didn’t I make the list? I should’ve been
the list.”
“Because it’s Regone!” he said, sounding unaccountably
exasperated.
She
blinked at him.
He
drew a deep breath. “You don’t know what that means, do you?”
She
shook her head.
“Regone
is cursed, Shan.”
Shannon's brow crinkled. She could never tell when Martin was joking
but this had
to be a joke. She’d heard of cursed objects, cursed people, even an
occasional cursed castle, but an entire kingdom? The amount of magic
it would take to curse an entire kingdom was unfathomable. His eyes
were placid, though, no twinkle.
“How so?” she asked. He adjusted himself in his chair as if
preparing to sit for a good length of time.
“Edmond, the current king of Regone, is the second son of the
previous king, Ernest. The first son, the Crown Prince Ewan, was
killed about five years ago by a dragon,” he explained.
“Unfortunate, but hardly in the realm of the supernatural.”
Shannon shrugged. “Men are always trying to prove themselves
against dragons and it rarely ends well.”
“I’m not finished. Upon hearing of his brother’s fate, Edmond
swore vengeance upon the entire race of dragons and, along with the
majority of the knights from the Regonian court, began hunting them
down one by one from one end of the Continent to the other. Rumor is
he and his entourage killed at least half a dozen of the great wyrms
before they encountered an entire nest of them. Outnumbered by the
beasts, they were roasted and rent.”
“Again, sad but the inevitable consequence of tangling with
dragons.” she interrupted.
“Again, not finished.” Martin’s scowl returned, a little deeper
this time. “Miraculously a handful of the knights survived, Edmond
being one of them, though he didn’t escape unharmed. He was
grievously wounded. When Ernest saw them bring back his only
remaining son clinging to life by a thread, his heart gave out and he
died within the hour. Edmond, of course, did live, but he is severely
maimed and in constant pain from the dragon venom, which is why they
need a scholar, someone to help alleviate his symptoms.
“Nothing
has gone right for the royal family since Prince Ewan’s death. The
kingdom is nearly bankrupt. Many of the nobles have left or are
simply refusing to pay taxes because they know King Edmond does not
have the manpower to force them to do so. I grew up in Regone. When I
was a boy it was thriving. Ernest was a good king, and Ewan had
potential to be an even better one. He wasn’t an idiot. When I’d
heard a dragon had got the drop on him, I couldn’t believe it. You
don’t need to be entangled in that mess, not on your first trip out
of the Academy.” Martin stood and motioned towards the door. He was
not a particularly tall man and Shannon could gaze directly into his
eyes without effort. He reached up and rubbed his already unruly dust
brown hair.
“But I’d be perfect for the appointment,” she persisted. “I
know I’ll be fine, Martin. I can handle myself, and I promise I
won’t go anywhere near dragons. It won't be hard. They are scarcely
seen outside of the Wilderlands nowadays. The chances of being killed
in an unprovoked dragon attack must be comparable to the odds of
being struck by lightening, after all. The prince's fate is tragic
but statistically improbable.”
“Which
is exactly the sort of thing one shouldn't say in front of anyone who
has lost a loved one to a dragon–for instance the king you are so
set on healing.” Martin's eyes flashed and she drew a deep breath.
“Oh,
you aren't afraid for my safety. You are afraid I'm going to say
something stupid and embarrass you.”
“No,
of course not, I just, well, yes, honestly, a little bit. You tend to
speak your mind, Shan. It's endearing after one becomes accustomed to
it, but you will be dealing with a king, not a professor. An offended
professor will mark down your paper. Upset a king, and much worse
might befall you.”
She
frowned and narrowed her eyes at him. “But did King Edmond request
a politician or a healer?”
“A
healer, of course.”
“And
do you think that any of those other applicants would be a better
healer than me?”
“They
are all capable.”
“As
capable as me?”
She
could see him wavering. “Martin, when you received your last
promotion, you told me one of the benefits would be the ability to
aid those who had helped you in your climb. You also said I was the
best research assistant you had ever had. Did you really believe
that?”
“I
did then and do now. “ He lowered himself down and sighed loudly.
“Are you sure this is the assignment you want?”
“It
is a good fit.”
“All
right. I will write the king and tell him I've found his healer then.
If you change your mind, however, I was ready to send Henri and he
will be willing to go in your place.”
҉
It
didn't take Shannon long to prepare for her journey. The next day,
Martin came to help her carry her bags from her room.
“It isn’t too late for me to send Henri,
you know,” Martin said.
“You
do realize that the caravan to Regone is waiting for me as we speak,”
Shannon frowned at him, wrapping old rags around the glass bottles
that held her most prized essential oils and placing them gently in
her leather carrying case.
“Aye,
but there will be another going through Regone in a few days, and we
could send him along with that. It won’t kill King Edmond to wait
another day or two.”
She
knew this was true. While Regone was not currently prosperous, her
research into the country had shown that during Ernest’s reign they
had been one of the only sources in the western half of the Continent
for silver marble, a rare stone prized for its strength and beauty.
Though work in the quarries had come to a screeching halt after
Ernest’s death, trade caravans still kept to their traditional
route through Regone when going to more easterly kingdoms; places
Shannon had only seen on maps.
Of
course, Shannon had only seen most places on the map. She could point
to the farm she grew up on from the window of her Academy apartment.
When she was younger, just leaving the farm to study had seemed like
the biggest adventure she could imagine. Now she was ready for
something new and exciting.
She
carefully closed the case she was packing and buckled the leather
straps, binding it securely in place.
“You
know it will be almost impossible to extract you without causing an
international incident,” Martin continued to harp. “Its proximity
to the Academy has given Regone influence beyond what its size and
wealth would normally garner. At least three headmasters have come
from there.”
Shannon
paused. She was well versed in Academy history and that number was
off.
“Antonius,
Gregory, and who else?”
“Martin,”
he grinned mischievously. “In about ten years, of course.”
She
shook her head ruefully at him and shouldered her pack.
“That
is the last of it. Are you too peeved at me to see me off?”
“I’m
not peeved. I’m concerned.” He offered to take her baggage and
she accepted, keeping only the case with the delicate, glass vials so
that she could ensure its safety. They left her tiny apartment and
headed down the stairs towards the Merchant’s Courtyard where the
caravan awaited.
As
they passed the door to one of the classrooms a cluster of men in
dark robes, each with a golden crescent amulet upon his chest,
emerged. Martin tensed. The leader nodded with a pleasant smile to
the pair before guiding his flock back down the hall. Shannon laughed
quietly.
“With
all your experience, I can’t believe you still let Abel and his
band unnerve you like that,” she teased. “He is really a pleasant
fellow, when he isn’t in a trance.”
“Diviners,”
Martin scoffed. “They take science and turn it into a guessing
game.”
Shannon
didn't often admit it, but she envied Abel and his ilk. While it was
well accepted that a scholar could be successful without magical
abilities, she had always longed to possess even the slightest hint
of the natural ability needed to devote herself to the flashier
“Magic” side of the Academy. In her first several months as a
student she had undergone test after test, trying to light a candle
with her mind, levitate objects, or invoke visions of the future. All
had come to naught. Magic required a natural gifting, generally
hereditary, which both she and Martin lacked.
Martin
had always assured her that being a scholar, a true scholar, was more
about using one's brains than one's magical aptitude, and there were
certain aspects of magic–warding, spell protection, good luck
charms, spell reversals–that could be taught. Martin managed to be
successful through hard work and intelligence and often expressed an
opinion that those who relied on magic lacked both. However, this
contempt did not stop him from acting like a nervous cat whenever the
diviners were in a room.
“Abel
is sweet,” she persisted. “You can tell he only practices the
good sorts of spells.”
Martin
snorted loudly.
“I
have already defeated you in this debate once,” he said. “There
aren’t good and bad sorts of magic. Magic, like science, is a
purely secular business.”
“You
didn't
defeat me. That debate was clearly a draw,” she protested. “And
if there aren’t good sorts and bad sorts, why are certain practices
allowed while things like Necromancy, Mesmerization, and Bee Charming
are forbidden?”
“Because
while no magic is evil, some sorts are definitely dangerous,” he
answered.
“Bee
Charming? Really?” she laughed.
“You
try waking up one morning with a swarm of angry bees buzzing around
your bedchamber,” he said sourly. Something in his voice suggested
experience, and she thought it wise to drop the matter.
They
entered the courtyard. Several vendors had set up new stands against
the wall. Any other day she would’ve been pouring through their
offerings looking for exotic herbs and oils, shiny objects, or just
news of the outside world, no matter how fantastic and fabricated it
might sound. Today, however, she had her own chance to see places
outside of the Academy and Freeman's Valley.
“Last
chance,” he said.
She
hugged him quickly.
“You
know I can handle this, Martin,” she soothed.
He
sighed but nodded.
“I
suppose you can,” he said. “But after the death of his brother
Edmond became moody: darker, angrier, difficult to be around. I can’t
imagine the death of his father did anything to lighten his burden,
and while you are bright, you have always had a strange way of
looking at the world. Please, be careful, Shannon. Kings aren’t
like scholars. A good scholar appreciates being questioned for it
allows him to test his preconceived notions and learn about the world
through another’s eyes. A king expects to be obeyed, no matter how
ridiculous his commands may be, and acquiescing to authority has
never been one of your strengths.”
She
nodded.
“I
will be careful. After all, I am only there to heal him. I won’t
have a reason to cross him.”
҉
The
journey between the Academy and the Regonian court only took two
days. She spent most of that time pouring over the caravan leader’s
maps as she sat beside him in the lead wagon and listened to his
stories of travels through wilder lands.
The
merchant, a middle-aged man had a massive, oily beard and a physique
that looked barrel chested when he stood but collapsed like a sack of
wheat when he was sitting.
“There isn’t much to Regone,” he said.
“The land there is fertile, but it takes less than a day to cross
the breadth of it, and that’s on foot. Most of the folk there are
farmers now that the quarries are closed and they can no longer trade
stone for wheat. Many used to work in the quarries and purchased all
their food stuffs from the farms in Freeman’s Valley.”
Freeman’s
Valley was the official name of the rich floodplain that surrounded
the Academy. No king held sway there, and with no noblemen taking
their cut, they always had extra grain to trade for other things they
needed. They were able to maintain this state of liberty due to the
protection of the Academy, which age old treaty equired to stay on
neutral ground so the healers and advisers it sent forth could be
trusted by all monarchs. This made the Academy a fecund melting pot
filled with scholars from all over the Continent and of all walks of
life, and led to the general prosperity of the Freeman’s Valley
farmers.
“It
seems to be surrounded by larger neighbors,” she said, indicating
the kingdoms of Grassel and Westshire which touched upon Regone’s
northeastern and southeastern borders.
“Aye,
but you see those wee green triangles?” He switched the reins into
his other hand and pointed to the borders she had been indicating.
“Those represent trees and those trees make up the thickest forest
on the Continent, called simply ‘The Wilderlands.’ Those trees
provide Regone some shelter from its more aggressive neighbors.”
“I
imagine the Middland Range also does its part,” she eyed the
sprawling mountain chain that branched into the foothills of Regone
and Westshire. “Aren’t they supposedly impassable?”
“Aye,
and filled with dangerous, wild beasts. In fact, that is one of the
few places on the Continent you can reliably locate dragons. It was
in the Range that King Edmond and his men searched out the great
wyrms for slaying and it was there that they were outnumbered
and bested by the scaly beasts.
“It
is rare for dragons to leave the shelter of the uninhabited lands
now,” he claimed. “The one who killed the king’s brother was a
fluke, and when on his mission of revenge, King Edmond had to travel
far into the uncharted areas in order to find his prey. It is
a miracle he made it out alive.”
And
foolish of him to attempt the hunt in the first place.
But
remembering Martin's advice, Shannon held her tongue.
“He
seems a fair king, however,” the man went on. “Since his wounds
have forced him to remain in Regone, he has been slowly picking up
the remnants of his father’s kingdom. Soon I hope to see him reopen
the quarries. I would love to get my foot in the door early for a
piece of that pie.”
Shannon
almost said something about the badly mixed metaphor but thought
better of it. Would working with royalty often mean not saying what
really ought to be said? Well, she could handle that. She wasn’t a
fool.
“I
see the peak of Mount Regone,” he pointed to a great cinder cone
that loomed on the horizon towering above the smaller hills around
it. “It’s old name was Dragon’s Roost, but no one calls it that
any more, out of respect for the royal family.”
“A
shame, Dragon’s Roost sounds more poetic than Mount Regone.”
“Aye,
well, dragons are out of fashion in Regone right now,” he sniffed.
“I
suppose that is good. I promised a friend that I would stay away from
dragons.”
҉
Her
first few weeks in Regone passed uneventfully, so much so that she
wrote a mocking letter to Martin informing him that his “cursed
kingdom” offered her no challenge whatsoever unless she feared
dying of boredom. Shannon spent some time pleasantly gathering local
herbs from the hillsides and forests, enjoying the balmy spring
weather.
Under
her watch, King Edmond began a regimen of sleeping potions and
extracts she knew promoted healing and blood flow. She kept to
herself for the majority of the time and enjoyed the freedom the laid
back assignment offered her.
Other
than a small staff of perhaps twenty servants, guards, and stable
hands, there weren't many people in the palace. Edmond did keep a
handful of knights fed and housed, presumably for palace defense,
though they did nothing but loiter about and train. The leader of
these, Sir Roderick, had been one of the few survivors of Edmond's
band of dragon hunters, making him the only experienced fighter in
the lot. Roderick was of average height and slightly more than
average build, a fact he liked to show off with tailored tunics and
by occasionally parading around the training ground shirtless. He had
well-coiffed, butter pale hair and gray eyes. There was also a cleft
in his chin and a constant look of self-satisfaction on his face that
always irked her.
Shannon
wasn't quite sure when she first noticed Roderick, but she was
certain when she noticed him noticing her. She had been in the
library that morning, a small collection of books compared to the
Academy's compilation, but impressive for a kingdom the size of
Regone.
She
was reading, perched in a high backed chair, for some time before she
felt his eyes on her. Looking up she swallowed uncomfortably for he
was leaning against the nearest bookshelf, his face weirdly contorted
into a half grin with his eyebrows raised. He gave the impression he
had been standing that way for quite some time waiting for her to
admire him.
“Hello,”
she said slowly. “Roderick, isn't it?”
She
almost said Richard, and in hindsight she wished she had allowed
herself to make that mistake. Perhaps that would've been
discouragement enough to for him to leave.
“Aye,
and you are Shannon. Strange name for a woman, almost masculine,”
he said, coming closer. He sat on the arm of her chair, on top of her
hand which had been resting there.
“It
can be a boys name as well.” Shannon quickly extricated her fingers
from under his thigh and stood. His weight almost tipped the chair
over, but he managed to hop up, steadying it and himself.
“I
would have named you Rose or Ruby, something beautiful and precious.”
Not
completely immune to compliments, she blushed. He smiled confidently.
“We
should go for a walk. This room smells funny.”
Shannon,
who had always dreamed of finding a perfume that smelled of old
books, frowned at this.
“I
like it here,” she said simply. She crossed over to a different
chair and sat down. He walked away and for a moment she thought she
was rid of him, but then his head popped up from over the back of her
chair. She shrank back into the upholstery and put her book over her
mouth barely in time to block an unwanted kiss.
҉
Over
the next several weeks, every time she left her quarters or finished
her duties, he was waiting. He left presents on her doorstep, which
she redistributed among the castle staff, and as much as she disliked
confrontation she was finally forced to simply tell him she did not
appreciate his presence and wished to be left alone.
“Don't
be silly,” he said. “You must be at least twenty, so you have
less than a decade of eligibility left. If you think you are going
to find better than me in that time, you are simply delusional.”
She
almost slapped him, but having learned how twisted his thought
process was, she feared he might see that as encouragement and simply
ran away. She sent Martin another letter to ask whether he knew of
any anti-love potions.
҉
Shannon
went into a prolonged period of hiding – a period that might have
lasted indefinitely if not for the appearance of the hated dragon.
That
day she had finished early with the king's treatments. He had slept
through the night for the first time since her arrival, and this
small victory had left him uncharacteristically chipper.
Edmond
was handsome in his own way, tall and lean with brown hair and sad
gray eyes. The dragon mauling had left him with serious burns
primarily on the left side of his neck and chest. His shield arm had
been shattered in the fight and while the bones had long ago healed,
the limb still hung limp against his body.
The
loss of his arm and the scarring paled, however, in comparison to the
the dragon bite that had left venom coursing through his bloodstream,
scorching and sizzling. Poison like that would leave the system
slowly and some days Edmond could scarcely stand due to the pain. It
gave his face a weathered, old look and it was easy to forget his
youth. Like his palace and kingdom, he seemed cold, empty, and
lifeless.
Now,
however, feeling rested for the first time in over a year, he had
even smiled at her once and given her a backhanded compliment about
being more competent than her manner suggested. The session had
passed quickly, pleasantly, and productively. Even better he
mentioned that the knights had scheduled a sparring contest for that
morning which meant Roderick would not be pestering her for at least
a few hours.
Shannon decided to take some of her free time and explore the empty
halls that lay beyond the royal wing and servants’ quarters.
She
had been told that the Regonian royal residence was small as palaces
went, but considering how empty it was, it seemed cavernous. She
spent a good two hours wandering the silent, sepulchral halls, often
getting lost in areas that had not seen human habitation in many
years.
After several twists and turns, she found a
door leading to open air and emerged onto a parapet on the western
wall of the palace. A lone guard leaned pensively against the
door frame. He stood at attention when she approached.
“Milady,” he said tilting his head
respectfully.
She acknowledged him with a nod and a smile
then rested her arms atop the chest-high wall to gaze across the
Regonian countryside. There was Mount Regone, or Dragon’s Roost as
she preferred to think of it, a small peak but still dwarfing the
gentle green hills around it. About midway up she spied a dark
spot that might have been a large cavern. Perhaps she could hike
there some afternoon and explore. While botany interested her more
than mineralogy, she knew some minerals held potent healing powers
and caves were the perfect place to seek such things.
A dark silhouette rose from the mountain’s
shadow and whirled into the sky. She frowned in bewilderment.
“Is that an eagle? I’ve never seen one
quite that large before.”
The guard left his post and came over to stand
at her side. He squinted, then placed his hand above his eyes and
shook his head.
“That is far too big to be any sort of bird,”
he answered.
“Well, what is it, then? It is too dark to be
a cloud,” she shook her head in turn.
The form grew closer and for a moment turned so
that its full profile stood in stark contrast to the clear, blue sky:
swan’s neck; bat’s wings; serpent's tail.
“By
the king's line!” the guard breathed. “That is a dragon!”
By
now other folk had sighted the beast. She looked behind her into the
courtyard and saw the frantic bustle of guards and servants, some
running for cover, some coming out from under cover to stare at the
sky and the approaching monster. Uncertain if simply seeing a dragon
violated her promise to Martin, Shannon contemplated the size of the
creature as well as the speed and grace with which it cut through the
air. It seldom beat its wings but glided silently like a massive bird
of prey.
“It is coming right towards us,” the guard
hissed. “What I wouldn’t give for a long bow!” He pushed her
back towards the door, but too curious to be frightened, Shannon
chose not to flee.
The dragon swept lower and circled the palace.
A few archers spent their quivers but all shots fell short. The sun
glistened on slate gray scales as the winged beast turned and made
one more low pass over the palace. Shannon ducked instinctively as it
whooshed less than ten feet over her head, the speed of its flight
stirring her hair and her heart.
The dragon rose into the sky once more and she
watched as it slowly glided back into the shadow of Mount Regone and
disappeared.
“I wouldn’t want to be in the room when
King Edmond hears about this,” the guard whistled.
Remembering how King Ernest had died due to a
great shock and knowing that a weak heart could be hereditary,
Shannon blanched and hurried back into the palace.
Though Edmond preferred to conduct most of his
business within the peace of his private quarters, there was an
official throne room for holding court and addressing large groups.
From what she could see, every palace inhabitant–counselors,
knights, and even the staff–had rushed there, craning necks towards
the throne where Edmond sat, his face reddened and his mouth pinched
sourly. Roderick was there, near the front, so she took advantage of
the crowd and hid in the back behind the wall of onlookers.
“Did anyone see where it roosted?” the king
barked.
A knight stood forth, not one whose name she
knew but one of Roderick’s lazy companions whom she had seen
loitering about the kitchens and training grounds. “I believe it
landed on Mount Regone, your highness. Some of my friends have
started out to see if they can get a better look. They should be
back shortly with more news.”
“I hope they are cautious. The kingdom cannot
afford to lose any more men,” Edmond said, his eyes clouding
slightly.
“We need a champion! One who can best the
beast one on one!” the knight shouted eagerly.
“Unless you are referring to yourself, that
does me no good,” Edmond said.
The fellow fell silent and hung his head.
“I thought not,” Edmond continued.
“Fighting a dragon takes skill, cunning, and strength and even then
anything can go wrong. They have fire and venom and sinews of steel.
Knights with the credentials needed for such a task do not work for a
mere pittance and I cannot afford to offer any great bounty at this
time. That wyrm may as well be unreachable.”
This was the most she had heard the normally
sullen Edmond speak in one sitting. Intrigued, she stepped forward a
few steps. Roderick looked up at that very moment and their eyes met.
He grinned and revulsion rippled through her.
Now he strode boldly onto the dais. Edmond
stared at him questioningly. Roderick’s face seemed to ooze, so
unctuous was his simper.
“I, your highness, will slay the beast!” he
said, sticking out his chest. “I will bring you back its head and I
desire no financial recompense. All I ask is that the Lady Shannon
grant me her fair, frail hand in wedded bliss.”
Shannon’s jaw dropped. He was pointing at
her, a leer on his smug, stupid face. Everyone else was grinning at
her. She could guess what they were thinking: she was the damsel in
distress and he the hero in this romantic tale. He would slay the
dragon, win her hand, and there would be peace and happiness in the
kingdom of Regone. She squirmed under their scrutiny.
“Lady Shannon, I was not aware you and Sir
Roderick had an understanding,” Edmond’s level voice broke the
spell.
“We do not!” Shannon shrieked. She flushed.
Her heart pounded. She wanted to melt into the floor.
Edmond smiled slightly, then cleared his throat
and frowned at Roderick.
“Unfortunately, Sir Roderick, Lady Shannon is
a native of Freeman's Valley. Therefore not my subject, and I cannot
command her to wed you.”
Roderick stiffened. Shannon exhaled.
“However, if she does choose to accept your
offer and you do choose to act upon your promise, I will be
exceedingly grateful to the both of you and willing to oversee any
ceremony,” Edmond said.
Her heart faltered again and before anyone else
could address her she fled from the room and hid in her quarters for
the rest of the day.
It took all her strength to face the king over
the next few days. While he had not broached the subject again, she
could feel the weight of it sitting on her head like an unfortunate
bonnet. After a bit, she decided she would either have to leave,
admitting to Martin her failure in her first assignment, or accept
Roderick and pray that the dragon ate him, or do something even more
drastic and unexpected, something that might very well cause her to
be the one devoured.
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