dawn. Markum and Lazo exchanged troubled glances
Michel spun toward the door. “It’s happening,” he said. The advisors rose without a word. Markum remained in his seat, panic stricken.
They had talked all night about the prophecy and what to do when the time came, but they were far from analyzing every contingency. Quinton had been alerted, along with others loyal to Ren, but no one knew what their role would be, or how they should react. They hadn’t realized the dragon would be captured so soon.
The Chosen’s love will shatter, igniting an inner raging storm, when the dragon will rip open his mind and the power will be born .
Markum finally found his footing and followed the others. Michel darted down the stairs as the advisors hurried to the soldier’s quarters. Markum wanted to help his prince, but he didn’t know how to fight. His cowardice shamed him. Markum stopped in mid-stride, vision blurring. He was terrified, but he couldn’t run and hide. Ren needed to escape. With rising conviction, Markum turned and followed Michel down the stairs.
People streamed through the arched entranceway of Stardom, crying in terror. Someone knocked him back a step. Markum stumbled to the wall and hugged it for support. When he finally made it to the landing the crowd was too thick to pass. Markum scrambled over the railing and fell on a blacksmith’s bench, tipping it over and spilling the abandoned tools.
The silver dragon stood on a pulley, dragon hunters surrounding it. The dragon curved its neck to the sky and bellowed a gut-wrenching wail through its muzzle. Chains surrounded the creature but none were holding it in place. The dragon was free.
The dragon thrashed its tail, knocking wagons cubits into the air, as the dragon hunters threw down their gear in a desperate attempt to find more drug-laden arrows to shoot into the beast. The crowd that had gathered to see the creature now scurried in all directions, shouting fervent prayers to the Maker to save them.
Looking skyward, the dragon wailed another cry, breaking its muzzle with little effort. One of the hunters picked up a nearby lance and aimed it for the dragon’s chest. The dragon shrieked as it reared back to spew fire over the man, instinctively protecting its chest with its wing.
Ren stood between two shocked guards on the far side of the pulley, face twisting in worry. Markum followed Ren’s gaze to a few Crape soldiers standing near the edge of the melee, holding an auburn haired girl between them. Ren twisted, breaking from his captors’ hold, and broke into a run.
The dragon hunter released a cry as he brought the lance behind him. The dragon’s neck coiled like a cord, mouth opening. Hot fog drifted out, then a hint of fire. But before the lance could fly or the fire could begin, Ren toppled the hunter.
A Crape soldier darted in front of Markum and picked up a dragon hunter’s discarded bow. Bending to his knees, he nocked an arrow and aimed it at Ren. The tainted tip dripped with the sleeping potion. For a dragon the drug could bring sudden cataplexy, but for a man it could mean death.
Markum spun to the blacksmith’s bench and surveyed the scattered tools. A large iron ax lay propped against one leg. Markum quickly gripped the heavy tool and flung it at the soldier. The force of his throw knocked the soldier to the ground and caused Markum to stumble backwards. When Markum regained his footing, he gasped. The ax had impaled the man’s head, killing him instantly. The soldier’s eyes stared blankly ahead and his cracked skull sent tremors down Markum’s spine. Markum fell to his knees, begging the Maker for forgiveness. He hadn’t meant for it to be a fatal blow.
Something in the man’s cerebrum caught the light. Markum’s stomach twisted as he leaned closer. It was a needle, so thin it was barely visible. Markum slid it out only to find two more needles beside it.
For a thorn will go unnoticed by those who reap destruction on the
Michel spun toward the door. “It’s happening,” he said. The advisors rose without a word. Markum remained in his seat, panic stricken.
They had talked all night about the prophecy and what to do when the time came, but they were far from analyzing every contingency. Quinton had been alerted, along with others loyal to Ren, but no one knew what their role would be, or how they should react. They hadn’t realized the dragon would be captured so soon.
The Chosen’s love will shatter, igniting an inner raging storm, when the dragon will rip open his mind and the power will be born .
Markum finally found his footing and followed the others. Michel darted down the stairs as the advisors hurried to the soldier’s quarters. Markum wanted to help his prince, but he didn’t know how to fight. His cowardice shamed him. Markum stopped in mid-stride, vision blurring. He was terrified, but he couldn’t run and hide. Ren needed to escape. With rising conviction, Markum turned and followed Michel down the stairs.
People streamed through the arched entranceway of Stardom, crying in terror. Someone knocked him back a step. Markum stumbled to the wall and hugged it for support. When he finally made it to the landing the crowd was too thick to pass. Markum scrambled over the railing and fell on a blacksmith’s bench, tipping it over and spilling the abandoned tools.
The silver dragon stood on a pulley, dragon hunters surrounding it. The dragon curved its neck to the sky and bellowed a gut-wrenching wail through its muzzle. Chains surrounded the creature but none were holding it in place. The dragon was free.
The dragon thrashed its tail, knocking wagons cubits into the air, as the dragon hunters threw down their gear in a desperate attempt to find more drug-laden arrows to shoot into the beast. The crowd that had gathered to see the creature now scurried in all directions, shouting fervent prayers to the Maker to save them.
Looking skyward, the dragon wailed another cry, breaking its muzzle with little effort. One of the hunters picked up a nearby lance and aimed it for the dragon’s chest. The dragon shrieked as it reared back to spew fire over the man, instinctively protecting its chest with its wing.
Ren stood between two shocked guards on the far side of the pulley, face twisting in worry. Markum followed Ren’s gaze to a few Crape soldiers standing near the edge of the melee, holding an auburn haired girl between them. Ren twisted, breaking from his captors’ hold, and broke into a run.
The dragon hunter released a cry as he brought the lance behind him. The dragon’s neck coiled like a cord, mouth opening. Hot fog drifted out, then a hint of fire. But before the lance could fly or the fire could begin, Ren toppled the hunter.
A Crape soldier darted in front of Markum and picked up a dragon hunter’s discarded bow. Bending to his knees, he nocked an arrow and aimed it at Ren. The tainted tip dripped with the sleeping potion. For a dragon the drug could bring sudden cataplexy, but for a man it could mean death.
Markum spun to the blacksmith’s bench and surveyed the scattered tools. A large iron ax lay propped against one leg. Markum quickly gripped the heavy tool and flung it at the soldier. The force of his throw knocked the soldier to the ground and caused Markum to stumble backwards. When Markum regained his footing, he gasped. The ax had impaled the man’s head, killing him instantly. The soldier’s eyes stared blankly ahead and his cracked skull sent tremors down Markum’s spine. Markum fell to his knees, begging the Maker for forgiveness. He hadn’t meant for it to be a fatal blow.
Something in the man’s cerebrum caught the light. Markum’s stomach twisted as he leaned closer. It was a needle, so thin it was barely visible. Markum slid it out only to find two more needles beside it.
For a thorn will go unnoticed by those who reap destruction on the
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