Dragon's Fury: Chronicles of the Fifth Kingdom by Brian D. Meeks

Author:Brian D. Meeks
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Brian D. Meeks
Published: 2019-07-09T00:00:00+00:00

***

Rhysdan blinked as he stood, trying not to move. Behind him was a raw recruit tent. Empty except for a single person. A woman, barely older than a girl.

It was his assignment to keep an eye on her until morning. Just like everyone who emerged from The Lady’s tent, she had come out with her eyes glazed over, silent and malleable. They’d encouraged her to bed and would wait to see if she turned out like the majority, eager to serve Andrei, or if she would reject whatever fancy trick was meant to have happened.

Unlike most of the camp, Rhysdan had never been inside The Lady’s tent. And he had no desire to. So far, no one seemed to have noticed that he’d been missed out.

When he’d arrived in camp, he’d been alone, found after a fishing trip on the nearby lake. They’d added him to a large group of people, and he’d paid attention.

Every afternoon and evening the people were taken off to see Her. They were gone for an hour, and they came back like walking ghosts.

There was no set pattern to how many were dealt with like this each day.

One day he noted she had stopped earlier than usual, so he had snuck out the tent and hid. An hour later he’d adopted the trance-like state and wandered aimlessly.

It hadn’t taken long for Rhysdan to be spotted. The washerwoman who’d found him had escorted him to the nearby tent and told him to rest.

Every day since he’d pretended to think Aldrei was the greatest being in existence.

Rhysdan yawned. It was tiring spending every moment faking enthusiasm. He just wanted to go home.

As he thought of his small cottage nestled at the foot of a hill, he noticed a movement in the shadows. Moving the torch he carried, he tried to shed more light in that direction.

A frown fixed itself on his face when the dancing flames showed him little more than the loose canvas of the tent, flapping in the breeze. The stake had come out of the ground on that section, letting the wind play with the edges like a cat with ribbon.

Not wanting the young woman inside to get too cold, he fixed it back in place.

There, he thought. I’ve done a good deed.

Back in position, Rhysdan tried to put the incident from his mind, but something wasn’t right.

For several seconds he stared into space, his gut telling him he had best not relax, but his brain unable to explain why.

I’ll check on the girl. Might help.

Stepping into the tent gave him his answer.

Leaned over the bed was a cloaked figure.

“Matilda,” the sneak whispered, reaching to shake the girl’s shoulder and wake her up.

A friend, then. Someone was trying to rescue her. And not a stake pulled out by the wind after all.

“Don’t wake her,” he said, keeping his voice as quiet as he could while still making sure she heard.

The figure whirled around to face him, shock registering on her face. Her hood fell as she moved, showing her glossy brown hair.

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