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HONOR AND COURAGE GO together. In most cases, one requires the other.
—Prendor, teacher at Scaleback Academy
* * *
“DOES HE BITE?” ASKED the king. Despite the previous day's enthusiasm, the actual presence of a dragon unnerved the monarch. He gripped the arms of the chair tightly but leaned forward to look closer.
“No, Your Majesty,” said Onin. He paused and cast Jehregard a sidelong glance. “Well, it actually depends on his mood. He's been very well behaved this morning, though. So far.”
Jehregard sat next to Onin, preening his wings. The trip to the palace had been surprisingly uneventful, which had given him plenty of time to think about how terribly things could go wrong. All he had was a piece of thick rope tied about the dragon's neck in case he became rambunctious. Jehregard, however, seemed unperturbed by the situation and napped peacefully in the carriage. Onin knew his dragon to be wily, so he kept a tight grip on the other end of the rope.
“He's bigger than I expected,” said the king. “I was told he was a runt.”
“Yes, sire,” said Onin. “He weighs about as much as me already. But I'm told he's about half the size of other verdants his age.” Jehregard raised his head, nuzzling against Onin's hip. The big man absently reached down and gave him an affectionate pat.
“It's true, sire,” said Torreg. The commander stood nearby, seemingly ready to leap upon Jehregard at the slightest hint of trouble. “I've seen enough hatchlings in my day. His growth is stunted.”
In response to the statement, Jehregard turned a cool gaze on Torreg. The young dragon gave a derisive snort and returned to his preening.
“The eyes are breathtaking,” exclaimed the king. “Do other dragons have such jewel-like eyes? I've never seen it before.”
“I've not seen or heard of it myself, sire,” said Torreg. “It seems to be unique to this dragon.”
“Amazing,” murmured the king. He leaned forward in his cushioned chair, peering closer at Jehregard. “What causes such a thing?”
“A birth defect, sire,” said Torreg. “Like the bent back. He's likely going to develop vision problems with that eye, if he hasn't already.”
“You have a bleak outlook, commander,” said the king with a frown. “Despite his imperfections, the creature seems healthy.”
“That he is, Your Majesty,” Onin chimed in. The dragon in question seemed to have concluded his preening and now looked about the palace gardens in curiosity. Birds tweeted from the trees, and Jehregard emitted a honking cry. He loped toward the nearest tree, pulling at the rope in Onin's hand.
“Take the restraint from his neck,” said the king. “Give the little fellow some freedom.”
The lord chancellor, who had remained silent so far, chose that moment to speak. “I’m not certain that’s altogether wise, Your Majesty.”
“Nonsense,” rebuffed the king. “You can see for yourself he's quite sedate. What's the worst that could happen? It's not as if he’s going to fly away.”
“True, sire,” said Torreg. “He's never going to fly with that hump.”
“As I thought,” said the king. “Untie the rope.”
Onin hesitated for a moment. He leaned down and took the scaly head in his hands. Jehregard met his gaze with mismatched eyes. “You behave yourself,” he said. He then loosened the knot in the rope and removed it from the dragon's head.
Suddenly gifted with freedom, Jehregard shot a sidelong glance at Onin, uncertain what to do. The dragon then turned and casually plodded to the king's seat. Torreg bounced tensely on the balls of his feet, ready to leap into action.
Jehregard showed no signs of excitement, however. The tiny dragon stopped before the king, locking his mismatched eyes on the crowned man's. After a long moment, Jehregard took another step forward and gently laid his head in the king's lap. The monarch, grinning from ear to ear, stroked his manicured hands over the scaly snout and head. The dragon closed his eyes in pleasure and nuzzled further into the man's embrace.
“What a delightful creature,” pronounced the king. His voice conveyed giddiness.
Jehregard lifted his head to look once again at the king's smiling face. The dragon then casually sank his claws into the robes gathered about the man's legs, shredding delicate fabric with a single rake. The gathered crowd of Guardsmen and officials recoiled, and the magistrate, Onin's old classmate, gasped.
The king, however, laughed uproariously.
Jehregard scampered to the nearest tree, the interaction completely forgotten. Onin followed closely, still nervous about giving his charge free rein. Jehregard spent a few moments sniffing about the base of the tree then sank his claws into the trunk and scaled into the branches overhead. Onin reached out to stop him but ended up with his hands on the dragon's tail. As much as he heaved and pulled, however, Jehregard would not come down from the branches and only squawked his displeasure at all the tugging. The king laughed harder at the display. Torreg and the other Guards snickered, despite their attempts at restraint.
Onin's position provided a splendid view of the garden's western wall. Given his preoccupation with the dragon's tail, he almost didn't notice several black shapes slip over the top of the wall. Onin did a double-take, but his eyes verified the first impression. A stream of black-clad intruders clambered over the wall into the king's garden. Onin absently let go of Jehregard, stunned into disbelief. The intruders covered themselves with black furs and white masks. They appeared just like Onin and Bolg when the two staged an attack on the palace. Onin turned to Torreg for confirmation. The commander, however, displayed nothing but alarm.
“To arms!” Torreg cried. “This is not a drill!”
True to training, the assembled Guardsmen put weapons in hand with due haste. The warriors formed a protective ring about the king as well as the lord chancellor and magistrate. Onin took a place next to Torreg. Still unaware of the intruders, the king fussed. “What is this? How am I supposed to enjoy my garden with you lot blocking the view?”
“We're under attack, Your Majesty,” said the lord chancellor. The pasty-looking man seemed calm despite the circumstances. The chubby magistrate beside him shivered uncontrollably, however.
“Nonsense!” decried the king. He rose to his feet, pushing up on his toes to see over the Guards. Very close now, the attackers screamed as they charged. “This must be one of Torreg's exercises. Torreg, is this your fault?”
“I'm about to be very busy, sire!” cried Torreg even as he crossed swords with the first wave of attackers.
Onin met the first of the charging invaders with brute force. He parried the incoming weapon and slammed his shoulder into the man's chest, sending him reeling back into his allies. Several of them tumbled to the ground, but others filled the gap, pressing Onin's defenses with a flurry of blows. He received a stinging wound to his sword arm but delivered a disabling blow in return.
The battle became a chaotic swirl of clashing steel, cycling around the ring of defenders. The Guards, numbering a mere eight, fought hard against the superior numbers. While the attackers lacked skill and training, the few defenders would not hold out for long. Even as the thought crossed Onin’s mind, the first Guard fell, mortally wounded. The fur-clad attacker who struck the blow let out a whoop and moved directly for the king, sword aloft.
Not yet finished, the fallen Guard tenaciously wrapped his arms around the attacker's legs, holding him in place. The attacker kicked the dying Guard away, but the delay gave Onin the chance to strike the invader down. He looked toward the king, anxious for the man's safety. Torreg hovered protectively over the king, hauling the monarch about by the arm.
“To the palace!” cried the commander. “Clear a path to the palace!'
Onin and the Guards charged forward with a collective roar. Not focused on inflicting harm but instead on driving opponents aside, they lashed about with fervor. The disorganized rabble melted away before them but filled in the gap left in the wake of the assault.
Another Guard went down, struggling under a pile of black-clad attackers. Onin wanted to help but found himself too hard pressed to cover the distance in time. He fought on, hacking mightily to either side.
Torreg rushed forward, hauling the king beside him. The commander parried a downward slash, felling his opponent with a quick backhand swing. He immediately spun to his right, stabbing another. The entry to the palace drew closer. The enemy pressed into the space between, halting their advance. Another Guardsman fell in the charge, leaving five to protect the king and the lord chancellor. The magistrate had already been lost in the chaos.
Onin thrust his tired arm upward to parry another blow, but his palace-issued blade snapped beneath a superior weapon. Suddenly weaponless, Onin lunged directly at the nearest attacker, wrapping his thick hands around the invader's sword arm. With a wrench of his powerful arms, Onin snapped the man's elbow. Screaming, the man released his blade, which Onin scooped up and used to dispatch him.
The Guards had been scattered in the fighting. Only Torreg remained near the king. Onin fought hard, trying to cut a path to the commander. Torreg fought off three attackers at once, lunging, blocking, and slashing wildly. The poor craftsmanship of their equipment betrayed Torreg in that moment, however. The fancy armor gave under a powerful blow to Torreg’s side. Grimacing in pain, Torreg kicked the attacker away. The black-clad invader reeled backward, colliding with the surprised king. The two collapsed in a heap.
With a wrench, Torreg pulled the blade from his side through the rent in his merely decorative armor and launched his own attack. The two attackers fell back before his savagery, blocking clumsily with each stumbling step. Torreg fought with great courage but moved away from the king, leaving him undefended.
Clearing a path before him, Onin feared he was too late. The king was on his back, a fur-clad attacker on top, throttling him. The monarch's face was turning blue while he feebly struggled to remove the hands from his throat.
Jehregard struck.
The young dragon swooped out of the sky, wings unfurled majestically. The scaly form flew low to the ground, colliding with the king's assailant and knocking him away. The dragon clung to his target, landing atop the fur-clad figure. The invader screamed as Jehregard exacted revenge.
Onin covered the remaining distance in a few quick steps. Rather than pull the king to his feet, Onin readied his weapon while standing over the recovering man. A pair of invaders engaged him, and Onin knocked their clumsy strikes aside, searching for an opening. Torreg attacked them from the rear, still clutching his wounded side. He felled one of the attackers and provided Onin the opening he sought. The second invader fell a moment later.
A dozen Guards streamed into the garden from the palace, with Hangric in the lead. Their additional numbers turned the fight in the Guards' favor. The invaders fought tenaciously, however. Onin's lungs heaved for breath as he watched the remaining attackers dispatched one by one.
Reinforcements secured the garden quickly. Jehregard loped to Onin's side, stopping momentarily to nuzzle the stunned king. Suddenly remembering where he stood, Onin stepped aside and helped the king to his feet.
“Are you injured, sire?” asked Onin.
The king dusted himself off. Between the dirt of the skirmish and the shredded robes, thanks to Jehregard, he looked a sight. “I don't think so,” said the man. His hand absently went to his head to adjust his crown but it had fallen away in the scuffle. He was regarding Jehregard seriously. “This beast saved my life. He has the soul of a Guard. Smaller dragons, indeed.”
Jehregard lifted his snout and released a squawk. The king laughed then looked about at the aftermath. The garden lay in ruins, shrubs had been destroyed, grassy patches churned into mud by tromping boots. Broken weapons, broken masks, and broken men filled the landscape.
Torreg issued orders, already taking charge of the situation. Guards began tending the wounded, Torreg included, and looking for surviving attackers for later interrogation. Several climbed the garden wall to ascertain how the invaders went over the wall. They reported the discovery of crude ladders propped against the garden wall from the adjoining estate.
“Get some men down there,” barked Torreg. He held one of the white masks in his hand while a Guard assisted him out of his armor. The objects lay scattered about, many still attached to their wearers. “I want answers. Any prisoners?”
“A few, Commander,” said Hangric from nearby. “Not sure how many will survive much longer, though.”
“Send for physicians,” said Torreg. “We need all the information we can get, so we keep them all alive. For now.”
“Why would anyone want to kill me?” asked the king. “Is not the kingdom prosperous?”
“We'll find out,” said the commander quickly. “More importantly, you are safe and apparently unharmed. We should have the physicians look you over just in case.”
The king waved away his concern. “I'm fine, thanks to this valiant little dragon.” The king knelt to stroke Jehregard's head. Almost as an afterthought, he added, “And all of you, of course.”
The king suddenly jerked his head about. “Lord Chancellor?”
“Here, Your Majesty,” came a call from a nearby hedge. The pale man clambered from the thick branches, his fine robes tattered and ruined. “I took advantage of the confusion to hide. I am unharmed. I have not seen the magistrate, Sensi, however.”
“I'm here,” came a reply. Sensi limped in their direction, leaning on the arm of a Guardsman.
Torreg looked him up and down. Other than the limp, Sensi appeared intact.
“How did you survive?” asked the commander.
Sensi shrugged. “I played dead,” said the magistrate. “I was thankfully overlooked, though stepped on a few times.”
“The Guard performed admirably today,” said the king solemnly. “But security must be dramatically increased.”
“Yes,” said Torreg. He scooped a broken Guardsman's swords from the ground. He displayed it to the king and the officials. “The blade, though pretty, snapped during battle, like many others. This is what I feared would happen. I beseech you all, equip the palace detail with quality arms.”
“You shall have what you require,” said the lord chancellor. He bowed to Torreg. “The danger is now clear to me. I was wrong to question you before, Commander.”
Sensi swooned, leaning on a guard for support. Torreg looked equally stunned, like a man who had gone looking for a fight but found no enemy.
“Well, Onin Manespike,” exclaimed the king. He gently scratched the ridges along Jehregard's snout, much to the dragon's delight. “We've settled another thing today.”
“What's that, sire?” asked Onin.
“Jehregard has proven he can fly!” said the king. “Moreover, he came to the defense of his king in my moment of truest need. His place in the Heights is assured.”
The king whirled on the commander. “Torreg Manespike!”
“Sire!” Torreg snapped to attention.
“I wish to purchase this fine dragon.”
“Purchase, sire?”
“Not you too,” said the king. “Your family sells dragons, correct?”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” said Torreg.
“Then I shall purchase Jehregard,” said the king. He looked proud of his solution. “Onin shall be his keeper, of course. But he shall be my personal dragon.”
Jehregard looked like the cat that caught the bird.
Onin felt all his problems might have just been solved, but a whole new set had just sprung into existence.
* * *
ONIN RETURNED HOME that evening, exhausted physically and emotionally. Torreg had remained at the palace in light of the recent attack but had released Onin on the excuse Jehregard needed to be returned to his enclosure. After getting the young dragon settled in for the night, Onin craved only two things: a hot meal and a warm bed.
To his surprise, Yolan awaited him in the dining hall. She sat demurely at the table, beaming a great smile at Onin. He hesitated and might have turned to leave, but she beckoned him forward.
“Come, sit, my husband. You must be starved after such a day. Howle will have your dinner any moment.”
Onin took his seat in resignation. It was rare for Yolan to demand his company, but when she did, there was no suggesting otherwise. Might as well go along with it.
“Tell me all about your meeting with the king.” Her eyes flashed at him like gems. One delicate finger traced the outside edge of the goblet in front of her.
“Oh, the meeting? It was all right until . . .”
Horror filled her face. “What happened? Did you embarrass yourself in front of the king?”
“What? No!” he stammered. “Everything was fine until someone tried to kill the king.”
“Someone tried to kill the king? What kind of man would do that?”
“It was lots of men, actually. They almost succeeded. Luckily we held them long enough for reinforcements—”
Yolan was suddenly next to him. She gripped his shirt in both hands, pulling her face close to his. “Tell me you saved the king. Tell me you had a hand in that.”
“Well, yes, I did. And so did your father.”
Her face lit up with glee. She was like the sun rising. “You and father saved the king!” she squealed.
“And so did Jehregard.”
She stopped, shocked anew. “The dragon did what?”
“Jehregard saved the king. He flew right into the fighting without hesitation to protect the king.”
“The deformed runt flew?”
Onin ignored the insult. “Yes, swooped in at the last moment. Now the king wants to buy him.”
“Buy him?” Her eyes sparkled again. “You mean to tell me we sold a dragon? To the king?”
Onin gave a nervous laugh. She leaned forward and kissed him deeply.
“The gods surely smile upon us. So many happy things in one day . . . and now another.”
“I don’t think an attack on the king constitutes a good day, but what do you mean by another?”
She wrapped her slender arms around his neck. Her face nuzzled cheek to cheek so she could whisper in his ear. “I am with child, my husband. You’re going to be a father.”