Dragon's Debt, book trailer

Dragon's Debt: Chapter One

Chapter One

A Monster in the Sky

From a distance the dugout cottage looked like a pile of stones leaning against the embankment. Prince Ryan of Westshire regarded it as they came up the road from Crossings, the nearest village. An overgrown garden cluttered the yard, and in a corner lay a stack of bones topped by a rack of antlers, probably poached. Still, the local tavern keeper had sworn this was the place. Ryan started up the faintly marked path, stepping around a scraggly pair of chickens.

Ryan glanced down at his gray, hunting tunic. He had dressed to avoid calling attention to himself, and while most folk could recognize the prince, he hoped here, away from the castle, he might pass as a commoner. He'd even ordered his escort, Captain Brandon, the chief of his father's guard, to forgo his uniform.

Brandon coughed loudly. The older man reached out and put his hand on the prince’s shoulder. “Let me go first, sire.”

Ryan chuckled. “Not everything is a trap, Brandon.” He then grew grave. “These people have lost their daughter. The least we can do is show them some faith.”

“Still, nothing good ever came out of these back country hovels. Perhaps King Riley is right. If the beast is targeting folk in such blighted regions, it probably isn’t worth pursuing.”

Ryan’s frown deepened. “They’re my subjects. I’m not going to let them be hunted down like rabbits. Besides, they won't know who I am.”

“Little chance of that. You look too much like your father, and his face is stamped on every coin in the realm.”

Ryan grimaced. He did have the same high cheek bones and gray eyes as his father, though his brown curls were thankfully free of the white that had overtaken his father's head. He glanced about at the rundown yard and the ramshackle home. “Do you really think these folk see many coins?”

Brandon shook his head but followed as Ryan knocked on the crooked door. It creaked open, and an unkempt woman peeked out.

“My husband is gone,” she snapped. “Whoever you are, you have no business here.”

“I just want to ask about your daughter and the creature that took her.”

She drew back with a hissing breath. “Don’t speak of it. You’ll draw it to us again!” She moved to close the door, but Ryan put his foot out and stopped her.

“I am trying to help. Your daughter is not the only victim. The monster has taken almost a dozen girls over these last several months, from all over my father’s kingdom.”

The woman’s eyes widened, and she fell to her knees. “My prince, forgive me, I did not know you. Please, please, forgive me.”

Ryan winced, cursing himself for letting his tongue slip. “No, there is no need. Please, I only want to find out what you know of the beast. When did it steal her? Was it daylight? Dusk?”

“Broad daylight, even as now, right there.” She extended a shaking finger towards the yard. “It came from the sky, swooping down like a hawk stealing a chicken. She screamed . . . I saw a flash of gray, such terrible wings, then gone, just gone.” A scuffling noise sounded from the house, and she ducked her head. “I have no more to say. Please, leave us.”

Ryan rubbed the back of his neck. The reports from all over the kingdom were similarly vague. He had one small comfort to offer.

“Several girls have been returned,” he said.  

The woman stiffened. She drew the door back against her chest and peered around the edge.

He cleared his throat. “They appear as suddenly as they are taken, alive, unharmed, but . . . the beast does something to their minds.”

A whimpering came from behind the woman. She thrust the door shut. Brandon reached out and pulled it back ajar. The woman cowered.

Ryan bit his bottom lip. “She has been returned, hasn't she? Your daughter?”

She covered her eyes. “Leave, please leave. If the village found out they . . . she is so strange now. Who knows what they will do?”

“I will tell no one,” Ryan said. “Please, let me speak with her. Maybe she will remember something of where she was held.”

The woman eyed both men then gazed at the sword sheathed at Brandon's side. Her shoulder shook.

“I will not force my way into your home,” Ryan continued. “All I ask is a moment of her time. Please, this creature is still out there.”

The woman nodded and opened the door.

Ryan had to stoop to avoid the low dirt ceiling. A small, rough skylight, little more than a hole in the roof, allowed a beam of light to cut through the gloom. Curled in the small patch of sun, lay a girl, thin and dirty.

“When did she reappear?”

“This morning,” said the mother. “I heard her crying and found her cowering in the yard. It took me hours just to coax her indoors. She hasn't moved since.”

Ryan knelt at the child's side. He touched her bony shoulder. A wave of numbing cold washed up his arm. It slapped into his neck like an icy hand. He recoiled. The girl flinched and cried out. Her fingers raked across his throat, leaving stinging, red welts. She stared, wide eyed, trembling, her ribcage rising and falling like a smith's bellows.

“Tess, calm down. He won't hurt you. He's here to help.” Her mother hurried to her side. The girl shrieked and struck out, slapping the woman. She scrambled on her hands and knees into a darkened corner and huddled there, sobbing. Her mother sank to the floor. “She doesn't know me. She doesn't even know her name! What did they do to her? Sire, what has happened to my child?”

“I don't know,” Ryan whispered. “I am so sorry.” The cold imprint faded from his skin, and his heart returned to its normal pace.

He offered the woman a coin, which she took, and said a quick farewell.

“Well, this has been a waste of an afternoon,” Brandon muttered as the door to the cottage shut behind them.  

Ryan glanced up at the sky. “I’d like to stay a bit longer. If the creature is returning the girls near to where they are taken there is a chance . . .”

“I promised the king I would have you back at the palace by nightfall. There’s a feast tonight, remember?”

“I'm trying to forget.” Ryan rolled his eyes.

“If we are late, I will be the one the king blames for it, sire. Besides, if your father gets some drink into him, the fact that those around him are his guests won’t stop him from starting a row.”

“So I should be there as his preferential target, to take the blows?” Ryan grimaced, but Brandon was right. “I just want to talk to the tavern keeper one more time. He seemed to have an ear to local gossip.”

“You mean he has an ear to drunken slurring and the occasional brawl.”

Ryan scoffed. Usually he was the skeptical one, but his desperation had reached the point where he’d listen to any prattle. He had to stop this monster.

I can't let it hurt another girl.

The men mounted the horses they’d left tethered at the edge of the road.

Crossings lay just over the border between Westshire and the smaller, neighboring kingdom of Regone. The main road between the two kingdoms ran nearby, and the journey to the capital, Kell, would only take Ryan a few hours. He could afford to linger.

A small crowd streamed out of their homes and shops to watch the prince pass.

So much for traveling incognito.

“Have you seen the beast?” a man called from the throng.

“Will it return? I have children! Will it take my children?” a woman wailed. Ryan's heart ached. This should not be happening in his kingdom.

An elderly man with a shock of white beard, bent wire rim spectacles, and a sage green scholar’s tunic stepped in front of the horses. “Your highness!”

Ryan pulled rein. Brandon slipped from his horse and stepped between the scholar and the prince.

Ryan snorted. “I’m not helpless, Brandon. Let the man speak.”

The man cleared his throat, wrung his hands, and looked first up then down. He bowed. “May I ask, your highness, what has brought you to this humble town?”

“I am tracking the monster who has been terrorizing the people of Westshire. I would speak to anyone who has spied it or heard rumor of where it might nest.”

“I have seen the monster, sire.” The old man lowered his head. “I would not speak of it among so many ears.”

Ryan nodded to Brandon, dismounted, and led the stranger to a side street. Brandon waved the remaining villagers away and took up his post at the entry to the alley. His bulky frame blocked them from prying eyes.

“My name is Isaiah. I am from Mattinghill, where the beast first struck.”

“You are a scholar?”

“Retired, sire. When the beast struck a second and third time, I began researching, even as you are. I was in Mattinghill the day it returned the first girl it stole. The creature appeared to be a gremlin or gargoyle, large and gray, a fearsome creature of a forgotten time. It is far too fast for man to track. Far too strong for man to hunt. I fear it's a supernatural omen. A sign from the heavens. For your own safety and the safety of those you love, please, do not seek it.”

“And let it continue to prey upon young girls? The oldest was 15. They are children, Sir Isaiah.”

“They are peasants, sire, inconsequential.”

Heat flooded Ryan’s chest. He forced himself to exhale slowly. “I am afraid I do not agree. Thank you for your concern, but I will handle this in my own way.”

Isaiah’s face darkened. He narrowed his eyes. “Well, I wish you well, then. I hope you do not come to regret this.”

“I’m sure I won’t. Good day, Isaiah.”

Ryan strode past Brandon, glad to be out of the scholar’s presence. Scholar? How could a man with such benighted views be a scholar?

The remainder of the allowed hour proved fruitless, and Ryan had to admit he was relieved to take to the road.

The two men rounded a bend, and found themselves a few wagons lengths behind a slightly larger group of riders. Three of the men carried forest green standards and wore similarly colored tunics. Realizing from the standard that this was the Regonian king and his retinue, Ryan spurred his horse to catch up with them, out pacing Brandon. Perhaps the beast had been sighted in Regone as well.

The three guards spun their horses around and lowered their spears at Ryan’s approach.

The prince held up a hand and stopped a few paces away.

A young, brown haired man with a red rippling scar across the left side of his face and neck called to the soldiers, “Hold on. I know him. Let him by.”

Ryan carefully walked his horse forward, followed by Brandon.

“Prince Ryan, I can’t say I was expecting an escort.” King Edmond smiled.

Ryan forced a chuckle. “Nay, I’m afraid this is mere coincidence. I was . . . hunting, in the area.”

He noted a young man with slightly ruffled, dusty brown hair and a familiar style of green tunic. “Who is your companion?”

“This is Sir Martin Mathewson, a long time friend and well respected scholar from the Academy of Magic and Sciences. He agreed to accompany me to the tournament.”

Sir Martin rolled his eyes. “Only because you begged like a toddler wanting a new toy.”

Ryan started. Scholars were, he admitted, normally pampered members of a court, used to being listened to and respected. Still, if anyone addressed Ryan’s father like that, King Riley would have him flogged. Edmond certainly ruled his court with a lighter touch.

“A scholar? I recently had an encounter with one of your order. Do you know a Sir Isaiah?”

“Isaiah?” Martin raised his eyebrows. “I met him once. He retired after a personal tragedy.”

“Was he held in high regard at the time?”

Martin smiled wryly. “You might say that. He held the Headmaster’s chair for nearly a decade. You can’t achieve much higher standing. I am surprised to hear he settled in Westshire. I believe he was originally from Grassel.”

“We should go, your highness,” Brandon said. “It is getting late.”

“If you would like to ride with us, I would be happy for the company,” Edmond said.

“No. Thank you, but I intend to take a slight detour, to check on some things,” Ryan replied, knowing the excuse sounded as phony as it was. “I shall see you at dinner tonight.”

Ryan snapped his reins and rode past the Regonian procession.  

҉

Martin slid off his horse and handed the reins to one of King Edmond's bodyguards. He gazed up at the grand castle, easily triple the size of the royal residence in Regone. From the amount of bustle in the courtyard alone, Martin imagined the servants on staff might equal the entire population of his homeland. Though Edmond of Regone was supposedly an important ally of Riley of Westshire, the king had not bothered to greet the young monarch and his escort. Edmond's face remained stoic, however.

He motioned towards the gate. “We can see ourselves in. I know the way.” He rubbed his left arm. Several years ago, Edmond had been on the losing side of a battle with a dragon. The beast's venom left him with permanent damage to his arm and shoulder and scarring on his face and neck. Sometimes his injuries made him appear older than his twenty-four years, especially after he exerted himself.

Watching his friend and king suffer through a long trip, only to be ignored at an ally's door, irked Martin. He assumed their trip had a political motive, but Riley snubbed them, and Edmond did not react. Something else must have brought them here.

Martin frowned at his king. “Why are we here?”

“I told you,” Edmond said. “For the tournament.”

Martin shook his head. “May I be frank?”

“Since when do you ask my permission before blurting out your opinion?”

Martin ignored the barb. “I like a good tournament as much as the next man, but you don’t.”

“What do you mean? I have always enjoyed tournaments.”

“No, you enjoyed competing. You are in no shape to joust or spar now. You have always been a participant, not a spectator, Edmond. Sitting on the benches with old men and ladies will drive you insane. Why are we really here?”

“The treaty with Westshire is important to Regone’s future.” Edmond glanced away from his friend. “Now come. My guards will see that our horses are looked after.”

Martin shrugged and followed Edmond through the jumble of servants hurrying back and forth. They entered the palace through a side door and into a dimly lit hallway.

The passageway opened into a great foyer with sweeping staircases on either side. A round stained glass window in the ceiling flooded the area with purple light.

“Impressive,” Martin said.

“Edmond!” a feminine voice with a lilting accent called out.

A regal maiden of perhaps sixteen years flew down the left stairs, her auburn curls bouncing behind her. She had pale skin, a delicious figure, and wore a scarlet silk gown that suggested a status too high to flirt with a scholar. Martin still pasted on his best smile.

She glided past him, took Edmond’s hand, and pressed it against her cheek. Green eyes gazed up at the young king, and suddenly the reason for their visit became perfectly clear to Martin. He swallowed a grin as Edmond mooned down at the young woman.

Edmond cleared his throat. “Martin, this is Princess Brighid, King Riley’s daughter. Brighid, this is Martin. He is a scholar and a boyhood friend of mine. I brought him along for moral support.”

“Unfortunately, you will likely need it.” Brighid wrinkled her nose. “Father has been absolutely wretched since last time you were here, Edmond. I want to tell him about you, about us.” She blushed and dropped her gaze. “However, every time I approach him, he is cranky about something. He needs to be in the right mood for such news.”

“It is my responsibility to talk to him, not yours.” Edmond kissed her fingers. “What about your brother? Does he suspect anything?”

She shook her head. “Ryan? No, he’s been away a good deal. There is some rumor of a monster attacking peasants in the far reaches of the kingdom. Father thinks it isn’t worth our worry, but Ryan is concerned about it and has been trying to discern what exactly the creature is.”

“A monster?” Martin’s ears perked up. Now this was interesting. “What sort? A dragon?” Martin had an affinity for dragons.

She shrugged. “We aren’t sure. Father thinks it is just panicky peasants seeing large buzzards, but Ryan says that isn’t likely. They have been arguing about whether or not such things are appropriate matters for a prince to meddle in.” She drew closer to Edmond. “I have missed you greatly.”

Martin cleared his throat. “Well, I suppose I can find my own way to our quarters.”

Brighid glanced at him then around the foyer. “Father shouldn't catch us together, so I can’t show you the rooms.”

Edmond nodded. “I will see you at dinner.”

“We should be able to slip away afterward. Father locks himself in with awful old men and argues politics with Ryan after dinner, and he never cares what I’m up to.” She squeezed the king’s arm then hurried back up the stairs. Edmond watched her leave, a slight smile on his face.

Martin snickered. “Oh yes, we are definitely here for the tournament, no other reason.” He took a step towards the staircase.

“Martin,” Edmond said earnestly.

Something in his voice made Martin’s smile fade, and he shut his mouth.

“I need you to promise not to speak of this. I haven’t had a chance to ingratiate myself with Riley, and he rules his family with an iron fist. Without his approval, I will never be able to wed Brighid.”

“Of course, Edmond, you can trust me,” Martin said. “You really are in love with her, then?”

“It isn’t that I don’t trust you, but you have a habit of meddling,” Edmond said. “I need to deal with this on my own if I am to gain her father’s respect.”

“You will have to say something soon. Secrets like this have a way of getting out.”

“I know. My stomach is eating away at itself about it.” Edmond grimaced. “I’m going to try and get him alone after dinner tonight, see if I can frame our union as politically advantageous.”

“Good luck. She is beautiful.”

Edmond smiled. “Yes, she is.” He cleared his throat. “Come on, let’s get settled.”

Reviews and Praise for Dragon's Curse

H.L. Burke packs action, romance and just enough detail into her book without making it feel rushed. Dragon's Curse is a light read while also being incredibly difficult to put down.-Serena at the Poetree Blog (full review here)

A great tale of honor and adventure with rich, colorful characterization.
-Angela Castillo, Author of The Amazing Adventures of Toby the Trilby


I can always tell when I am captivated by a book by the speed at which I finish it and I kept wanting to pick it back up every time I put it down.
-Elizabeth Davies at Elizabeth Davies Books (full review here)

I enjoyed this book so much I sat down and read it in one night!  You should check it out!

Clarice @ Clarice's Book Nook (full review here)

I have to say that I love books about dragons that bring something new to the table. This isn’t your typical “go kill the dragon and win the girl’s heart” kind of book. This dragon is not your ordinary dragon.
-Erica @ Fantasy Book Lane (full review here)

This is such a fun book to read. It involves fantasy, intrigue, loyalty, friendship, and love. Shannon is an interesting character, who is intelligent and full of life.
-Heidi @ Heidi's Wanderings (full review here)

H.L. Burke is one of those authors that can pack both romance and action into a perfectly wrapped package that will have you ready for more before you've even finished the last page.
-Paige @ Electively Page (full review here)

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Chapter One

The Scholar and the Dragon

The slate gray dragon crouched at the edge of the cliff, his wings flattened against his sleek torso and his long slender neck pressed to the ground. Shadows darkened the narrow ravine below his perch. He could smell the appetizing aroma of fat, sleepy sheep and hear their gentle bleating. The shepherd approached.


The drake had not eaten in several days, and while nothing would suit him more than a meal of fresh mutton, he had other concerns today. He had watched dozens of travelers take the pass between Grassel and Regone over the last month, but most came in large groups or were well armed. This shepherd was alone.


The narrow roadway flooded with sheep. Their wooly backs stretched from wall to wall.


The shepherd and his dog urged the livestock along the path. The dragon drew a deep breath, arched his neck, flapped his wings, and dove.


The shaggy black sheepdog barked sharply at the dragon's descent but too late to warn his master. The dragon grasped the man in his bird like talons and swept him into the sky. Lambs scattered every which way and the dog’s yapping grew frantic.

The great winged beast dropped the man on a rocky ledge far above the canyon floor where he rolled about, gasping and shivering. He tried to scramble away, lost his footing, and fell from the cliff. The dragon swiftly struck out. He bit into the man’s shirt, arresting his fall, and pulled him back to safety. The fellow jerked about like a fly in a spider’s web for several minutes before going limp.

The dragon lowered him back to the earth.

“Now that you have realized you cannot fly, perhaps we can talk,” he said.

The man stared up at him, wide-eyed. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

“You aren’t going to eat me?”

“If you answer my questions honestly, no. There shouldn’t be any need for that, though I wouldn’t mind one of your herd for a quick snack.” The dragon’s long tongue darted out and in. “You come from Regone?”

“Aye.”

“The king, Ernest, is he well?”

“Ernest is no longer king of Regone.”

The monster drew his head back and up like a snake posed to strike and the man crumpled to his knees.

“What became of Ernest?” the dragon hissed.

The shepherd’s body shuddered. “He died, natural causes, almost a year ago.”

“Then the dragon-hunter now rules?”

“Dragon-hunter? Oh, you mean Prince Edmond. Yes, he has ascended to the throne.”

The creature stretched out his wings. “All right, I have heard enough. I shall return you to your flock, but you must speak of this to no one.”

The man nodded and did not cry out when the dragon snatched him up and plummeted into the ravine. The gray  drake deposited his prisoner on the ground, dodged an attack from the panicked sheep dog, and nabbed a fat ewe before streaking into the sky.

He came to rest on a plateau and tore into the animal's carcass, swallowing great chunks of savory meat.

It is time to decide: settle the score or forget and move on.

He turned his eyes back to the horizon. To the west low, green foothills stretched out for miles, to the south lay 
near impassable mountains filled with freedom and peace.

“Not yet, but soon,” the dragon whispered. Leaving his meal unfinished he launched himself towards the craggy blue peaks of the Middland range, his path ripping apart the clouds like paper.

҉

Shannon hurried down the corridor, her skin crisscrossed by the shadows the sun cast through the diamond panes of the glass windows. Her fine, dark blonde hair slipped out of its braid and into her face. Frustrated, she pushed it back and sniffed.

She knew she looked like a child, especially when flustered. Shannon's 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, but this was Martin. Martin should know better. 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 was simply taking his time, but then a chance encounter with a fellow junior scholar had revealed 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 were going to assume an air of righteous indignation she would need to work herself up and keep herself there. If she were 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 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 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 king 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 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 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 included, though 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 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. When I was a boy growing up in Regone 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.” 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. “You don’t need to be entangled in that mess, not on your first trip out of the Academy.”

“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 lightning. The prince's fate was 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 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 aiding 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. You are on the list then, but no promises. Brush up on antidotes for dragon's venom and write out a what your treatment regimen would be. I'll look it over, and if it is satisfactory, then maybe you can have the assignment.”

Shannon smiled. She knew she had won.

҉

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 been the biggest adventure she could imagine. Now she was ready for something new and exciting.

It didn't take her long to prepare for her journey. On the day of her departure, 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 the caravan to Regone is waiting for me.” Shannon frowned at him. She wrapped old rags around the glass bottles holding her most prized essential oils and placed 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 carefully closed the case and buckled the leather straps, binding it securely.

“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 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 accepted that a scholar could be successful without magical abilities, she had always longed to possess even the slightest hint of the natural talent 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 said. “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.

She laughed. “Bee Charming? Really?”

“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.”

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 passing 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 questions for they allow 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. He told her 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 sat.

“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. That is the one foolish thing King Edmond has done during his short reign, ordering the quarries to be shut down. Many used to work there and purchase all their food stuffs from the farms in Freeman’s Valley.”

Freeman’s Valley was the official name of the rich floodplain surrounding 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 required 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 said. “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 I would stay away from dragons.”

Chapter Two

Regone

The caravan passed through a great side gate into an open, cobblestone courtyard before the Regonian palace. A group of men milled in a corner by the stables watching a wrestling match between two of their fellows. A few of them wore forest green, uniform tunics, possibly guards. No one seemed to take note of the line of wagons entering their castle.

Shannon eased herself from her seat and turned to thank the merchant for his company. He came to stand at her side and motioned towards the men.

“We’ll wait until they are done with their fight and then I will introduce you. There aren’t many folk on staff here, so you’ll be able to recognize anyone of importance soon enough. I believe Sir Roderick is more or less the leader of Edmond’s knights.”

He pointed to a man of average height and somewhat more than average build who watched the bout. His butter pale hair was well-coiffed and he had sloughed off his shirt and carried it in the crook of his arm, even though the day was not particularly warm.

“He used to hunt with Edmond, before the king’s injuries ended his quest for vengeance,” the merchant continued.

The fight concluded and Roderick looked up. His eyes met Shannon’s, and he straightened his posture and started forward.

“Ah, he’s seen us. He’ll be able to get you settled in.”  

Shannon studied the knight’s face as he drew closer. He had a cleft in his chin and gray eyes that gave her an impression of self-satisfaction. She wished he would put his shirt back on.

“Hello there,” he said.

“Sir Roderick, I was just telling young Shannon here how you survived the great battle with the fiery wyrms,” the merchant said. “Perhaps you would care to relate the tale in full.”

Roderick smiled broadly. “Why of course.”

“Not now, though. I would like to get right to work.” She retrieved her medicine kit from the under the wagon seat and faced the knight. “Can you take me to the king now?”

He furrowed his brows at her.

She cleared her throat. “I’m a scholar. The king sent to the Academy for a healer.”

He didn’t move.

“I am that healer.” She held up her kit. “I would like to examine the king and determine the extent of his injuries.”

“Oh,” he said. “You are the healer? You are pretty for a scholar. I thought only pimply, dowdy girls were 
allowed into the Academy.”

She balked but remembered Martin’s advice and swallowed her retort. “On second thought, I am certain I can find my own way.”

He put his hand on her shoulder and prevented her departure. “I would be happy to show you to the king. I believe he has a workshop and quarters set aside for you. The servants will take your belongings there. Come, let’s get started.”

“All right,” she agreed.

He led her through an arched entryway into a long hallway lined with closed wooden doors. The scent of rising bread surrounded them and she surmised they were somewhere near the kitchens.

“I saw you watching the fight. Do you enjoy tournaments?” Roderick asked.

“I have never been to one,” she replied.

“Ah, well, I don’t compete anymore. None of the other knights have my combat experience. It simply wouldn’t be sporting.”

“That is honorable of you, I suppose.”

They ascended a spiral stairway at the end of the hall. Roderick kept offering her his hand as if they were climbing a mountain rather than three flights of steps with a handrail, but she politely declined. A guard stood on the landing at the top of the stairs. She pushed forward and managed to reach the entrance to the royal wing several steps ahead of Roderick.

“I am Shannon Macaulay, and I’m here to act as the king’s healer,” she said breathlessly. “Thank you for the escort, Sir Roderick. Where can I find the king?”

“I am sure he is in his study,” Roderick said. “Follow me.”

She groaned quietly. He knocked on a door about halfway down the hall. A tall, stately woman with gleaming green eyes and dark hair swept up into a tight bun answered the door. She eyed Roderick.

“Sir Roderick, you seem to have forgotten to dress yourself,” she said coldly.

Roderick turned red and hurriedly donned his shirt. Shannon laughed, but when the woman gazed at her the  merriment died in her throat.

“I am Shannon, the healer the king sent for.” She opened her kit and searched out Martin's letter of introduction. The woman read it.

“Oh, I see. Come in.” She stepped aside, allowed Shannon to enter, then shut it again before Roderick could follow. The muscles between Shannon’s shoulder blades relaxed.

She found herself in an impressive room, perhaps four times the size of the headmaster’s office at the Academy. Light filtered in through a tall, leaded glass window overlooking the green country side with Mt. Regone on the horizon. A large wooden desk sat against one wall and on the other was a great brick fireplace with a crackling fire and two wingback chairs with forest green upholstery. In one of these sat Edmond.

The king was tall and lean with brown hair and sad gray eyes, handsome in spite of the reddened, wrinkled skin along the left side of his neck and across his left cheek from his chin to his ear. His left arm rested in his lap with his fingers turned unnaturally inward. His weathered expression belied his otherwise youthful face. She hesitated.

“Am I really that grisly?” he laughed bitterly.

She blinked away her stare and stepped forward. “No, not at all. I just thought you would be older.”

“I’m twenty-three, if you must know. Not all kings are old men with floor-length beards. So you are the 
Academy’s best?”

“I don’t wish to brag, but I believe I can help you. Your arm, do you have any movement or feeling?”

He shook his head. “Nay, but I have learned to accept that. What I want is for the pain to stop. I thought it would heal with time, but while my bones have reformed, my muscles ache. Some days it feels as if fire is coursing through my veins.”

She nodded. “Can you show me where it bit you?”

He unlaced his collar and pulled it down revealing two round scars beneath his left clavicle.

She put out her hand. “May I?”

He nodded. She knelt beside his chair and gently probed the area. He winced and the woman with the dark hair rushed to his side.

“Steady, Adonna!” he soothed. “Let her do her examination.”

“Are you his wife?” Shannon asked, gazing up at the woman.

Adonna shook her head. “We share great-great-great-grandfather’s. He is my king, and I would not see him hurt without need.”

“Well, I assure you there is need. Dragon venom is the most insidious of poisons. It gathers in the bones and leaches out slowly over time. You should’ve called someone months ago.”

Edmond raised his eyebrows. “Well, next time I will know better.”

Shannon blushed and lowered her eyes. She stood and placed her kit on the desk. “I have some tonics already prepared. They just need to be mixed. Do you have a kettle and water?”

He motioned towards the fireplace with his good hand. A kettle sat on the mantel. She fetched it and took out two vials of powder and a wooden cup.

“Are you sure we can trust her, your highness?” Adonna whispered, loudly enough that Shannon suspected she didn’t care if she was overheard.

“Sir Martin had his pick of scholars, and he chose her,” Edmond answered.

“Aye, but she is so strange and spinster-like. She reminds me of a hermit or a feral child. Has she even brushed her hair?”

Shannon avoided looking at the pair and finished mixing the powders with the lukewarm water from the kettle. 
She approached the king. “Here, try this.”

He drank deeply and handed the empty cup back to her. After a moment he blinked and his facial muscles eased. He raised his eyebrows.

“This mixture is merely a palliative measure. It is mildly narcotic so you may wish to nap soon. I need to unpack my supplies and see what resources are available locally. Fresh herbs have more potency than dried and while I brought a good supply of dried, I would prefer to supplement with fresh whenever . . .”

“Do what you need to do,” he interrupted, raising his hand. “You are right. Whatever you gave me does make me wish to sleep. The guards will show you to your chambers. You can start my treatments in the morning.”

Uncertain whether he was displeased with her or simply gruff by nature, she nodded and bowed out of the room.

҉

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.

During one such free period she found the royal library, a small collection of books compared to the Academy's compilation, but impressive for a kingdom the size of Regone.

She perched in a chair with a book of poetry. She had read half the volume before she became aware she was being watched. Looking up she swallowed uncomfortably for Roderick leaned against the nearest bookshelf, his face weirdly contorted into a half grin and 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 the 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 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 left of eligibility. 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–one 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.

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 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 beyond the royal wing and servants’ quarters.

Martin had told her 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.”

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 sentries had sighted the beast and shouted out a warning. 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.

The guard whistled. “I wouldn’t want to be in the room when King Edmond hears about this.”

Remembering how King Ernest had died due to a great shock and knowing 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 stood 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 stepped forth, not one whose name she knew but one of Roderick’s lazy companions who 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.

“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 man 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 moved forward a few steps. Roderick looked up at that very moment and their eyes met. He grinned and revulsion rippled through her.

He strode boldly onto the dais. Edmond stared at him. 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 the Lady Shannon to grant me her fair, frail hand in wedded bliss.”

Shannon’s jaw dropped. He pointed at her, a leer on his smug, stupid face. Everyone else grinned 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 then cleared his throat and frowned at Roderick.

“Unfortunately, Sir Roderick, Lady Shannon is a native of Freeman's Valley, and therefore not my subject. 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 the dragon ate him–or do something even more drastic and unexpected, something that might well cause her to be the one devoured.