clattering to the floor to mark where men had once stood.
Just before Excalibur’s beam flashed into his corner, Jared slammed the door shut. He could almost feel the rush of light crash against his escape hatch. He hoped its probing fingers would find no cracks, nowhere to seep through to grab another victim.
Jared pressed his hands against his body—his solid, intact body. Irene sat against the opposite wall, holding her arms around her knees. A single, wall-mounted lantern reflected in her wide eyes. Jared pressed his ear against the thick door but could hear nothing.
He waited, nervous and uncertain. The light had flashed around the room as if driven by wrath—possessing an intellect, a mind of fury. Never before had he felt such terror. As a dragon he had feared nothing, but now, without scales or lethal breath, he was helpless, trained only in the rudiments of combat.
Still carrying the book, he slowly pushed the door open, mentally shushing its barely audible squeaks. With one eye he peeked into the courtroom, trying to adjust to its candlelight. Gradually, the shadows dispelled. The room was barren; only dark lumps of armor lay scattered over the white stone floor, like black toadstools polluting a pristine field.
Jared gestured toward the wall lantern and whispered to Irene. “You had better put out that light so you will stay hidden.”
Irene nodded and stood to blow out the flame.
“Will you be frightened?”
“I was a dragon,” she replied, a sad smile gracing her lips. “I am accustomed to dark places.”
Jared stepped out into the metallic debris. He walked to the throne’s platform and placed the diary on Merlin’s chair. Littered beside the throne lay the remains of the first traitor, a swirl of sparks rising like glittering smoke. Jared picked up a shield and an empty mail shirt. The undergarments are gone but the armor remains! What does it all mean?
Jared stiffened. Rapid footsteps carried from the hall into the room, growing louder by the second. He looked back to see Irene peeking out of their hiding place, and he signaled wildly for her to get back and close the door. She ducked back inside, leaving the door partially open.
Jared rushed to a curtain behind the throne and twisted the silky fabric around his body. Through the veil he could see Devin march into the room. His shoes clacked and echoed in the strangely quiet chamber and then stopped dead still.
The armored knight stalked from the doorway to the center of the chamber, picking up mail shirts and letting them clatter back to the floor. He pivoted toward the throne, staring as if he could see Jared wrapped in the purple fabric. With a lunge, he leaped onto the platform and then stood still with his hands on his hips. Jared’s heart thumped so hard he could feel it pulsing in his throat. Should he fight? Should he run?
Devin suddenly leaned over. When he stood again, he held a sword in his hand—Excalibur. Its residual glow shone brightly, piercing through the veil. Devin, the lone remaining traitor, the self-styled knight, tightened his grip around the hilt, and the sword’s light vanished.
I’m such a coward! Jared steamed. If I were still a dragon, I’d—
Devin sheathed the sword and turned away. Jared heard the evil knight’s steps and the cackling of his maniacal laugh as he left the room. “Palin! Bring the stone!” he yelled, his voice fading in the distance.
Chills covered Jared’s skin, goose bumps that chided him, each one calling him a milksop for hiding like a thumb-sucking toddler behind his mother’s skirt. A boiling factory of rage and embarrassment sent pulses of blood toward his eyes, turning his face hot. When he was a dragon he would have sent a tsunami of white-hot fire roaring out of his mouth and nostrils to personally escort “Sir” Devin into a dragon’s version of hell. Welcome to my inferno you sniveling caitiff! Yet, Jared had become the sniveler, and cold sweat replaced the fiery
Just before Excalibur’s beam flashed into his corner, Jared slammed the door shut. He could almost feel the rush of light crash against his escape hatch. He hoped its probing fingers would find no cracks, nowhere to seep through to grab another victim.
Jared pressed his hands against his body—his solid, intact body. Irene sat against the opposite wall, holding her arms around her knees. A single, wall-mounted lantern reflected in her wide eyes. Jared pressed his ear against the thick door but could hear nothing.
He waited, nervous and uncertain. The light had flashed around the room as if driven by wrath—possessing an intellect, a mind of fury. Never before had he felt such terror. As a dragon he had feared nothing, but now, without scales or lethal breath, he was helpless, trained only in the rudiments of combat.
Still carrying the book, he slowly pushed the door open, mentally shushing its barely audible squeaks. With one eye he peeked into the courtroom, trying to adjust to its candlelight. Gradually, the shadows dispelled. The room was barren; only dark lumps of armor lay scattered over the white stone floor, like black toadstools polluting a pristine field.
Jared gestured toward the wall lantern and whispered to Irene. “You had better put out that light so you will stay hidden.”
Irene nodded and stood to blow out the flame.
“Will you be frightened?”
“I was a dragon,” she replied, a sad smile gracing her lips. “I am accustomed to dark places.”
Jared stepped out into the metallic debris. He walked to the throne’s platform and placed the diary on Merlin’s chair. Littered beside the throne lay the remains of the first traitor, a swirl of sparks rising like glittering smoke. Jared picked up a shield and an empty mail shirt. The undergarments are gone but the armor remains! What does it all mean?
Jared stiffened. Rapid footsteps carried from the hall into the room, growing louder by the second. He looked back to see Irene peeking out of their hiding place, and he signaled wildly for her to get back and close the door. She ducked back inside, leaving the door partially open.
Jared rushed to a curtain behind the throne and twisted the silky fabric around his body. Through the veil he could see Devin march into the room. His shoes clacked and echoed in the strangely quiet chamber and then stopped dead still.
The armored knight stalked from the doorway to the center of the chamber, picking up mail shirts and letting them clatter back to the floor. He pivoted toward the throne, staring as if he could see Jared wrapped in the purple fabric. With a lunge, he leaped onto the platform and then stood still with his hands on his hips. Jared’s heart thumped so hard he could feel it pulsing in his throat. Should he fight? Should he run?
Devin suddenly leaned over. When he stood again, he held a sword in his hand—Excalibur. Its residual glow shone brightly, piercing through the veil. Devin, the lone remaining traitor, the self-styled knight, tightened his grip around the hilt, and the sword’s light vanished.
I’m such a coward! Jared steamed. If I were still a dragon, I’d—
Devin sheathed the sword and turned away. Jared heard the evil knight’s steps and the cackling of his maniacal laugh as he left the room. “Palin! Bring the stone!” he yelled, his voice fading in the distance.
Chills covered Jared’s skin, goose bumps that chided him, each one calling him a milksop for hiding like a thumb-sucking toddler behind his mother’s skirt. A boiling factory of rage and embarrassment sent pulses of blood toward his eyes, turning his face hot. When he was a dragon he would have sent a tsunami of white-hot fire roaring out of his mouth and nostrils to personally escort “Sir” Devin into a dragon’s version of hell. Welcome to my inferno you sniveling caitiff! Yet, Jared had become the sniveler, and cold sweat replaced the fiery
Similar Books
