I am Dragon (Dragon Fires Rising Book 2) by Marc Secchia (famous ebook reader TXT) 📕

“Aye. They’re on the alert, as expected,” the Princess agreed. “Shall we do this?”

Yardi said, “If they get the drop on you, Dragon, don’t go bend that portcullis, alright? It’ll be easier for us to raise it again and then smash the mechanism. Otherwise, you’d have to dismantle that entire wall to get the King’s men through.”

“Understood.”

That would require more than a dint of muscular flexing.

Chalice said, “The mechanism is probably worked from that little room on this near side of the ravine – see the light? Flame that, and nobody should be dropping anything anywhere.”

“Good luck, Dragon,” Azania said as they clasped paws and hands.

“May you soar, Princess. Chalice. Yardi,” he growled. “Be safe, be strong and be smart.”

As they snuck away, he heard Yardi whisper, “Is he always that protective of you, Princess? I never imagined such sweetness from a Dragon.”

“Aye, he’s all the rage,” she joked back. “But never call a Dragon –”

Their voices faded.

Grrr! Just the commentary to warm up his fires.

A bright white fright sneaking through the night, he padded up and over a small ridge, angling for the outer gate. His senses reached out – oh! He noticed a guard station right up here. Cunning, now that he thought about it. He had approached within ten yards before he realised what he was seeing.

Taking glance back over his shoulder, he spied Chalice’s signal; a brief flare of orange jetted out between her fangs. He made a slow count of two hundred to allow the girls – har-har-haaarrgghhh, the Dragoness’ sour expression at being called ‘one of the girls’ – to get into position. No chance of seeing them from here. Was he truly protective? Overprotective? Maybe, but his theoretically captive Princess had been there for him when all he wanted to do with his life was to throw himself off a cliff and never open his wings. He owed her everything. She might say the same, considering the circumstances from which he had rescued her.

How could he ever give this girl to another?

That King Azerim had better be the best, noblest, brightest, worthiest, most honourable – he laughed at himself, and reeled off a list as long as his tail. He had better be all of those things, and stupidly handsome and completely besotted with his Azania besides, or he would gut him like a fish!

On the count of one hundred and sixty-three, a soldier emerged from the door, untying the laces of his trousers. “Nature calls,” he called back inside. “No looking at my cards.”

Dragon froze. Icicle. I am the night.

Singing an inane little ditty, the fellow proceeded to relieve himself at surprising length, making sounds of grotesque satisfaction all the while. Then he turned, and looked directly at the fifty-three-foot monstrosity lurking behind him.

He smiled courteously. “Greetings.”

Unfortunately, this man was a screamer rather than a fainter.

Clearly a detriment to his kingdom, Dragon decided, removing his talon from the man’s chest. Not screaming any longer, was he? Darting over to the guard post, he smashed down the door and scrabbled about inside, crunching several men up together with a table and a bed, perhaps. He flapped his paw back and forth until nothing moved or squawked in there anymore.

Time for this Dragon to shift his tail.

Over the edge he dived, angling for the glint of light Chalice had pointed out. His lips pursed. Despite the blurriness, he took aim and filled that spot with his fire. There. Nobody left to operate the portcullis. On to the outer entryway, which needed a gentle, loving sort of tap. As he landed, Dragon darted into the wide tunnel that led to the outer gate, a thick timber arrangement that lifted like a drawbridge from above a deep moat. He struck it with his shoulder, rattling the mechanisms so powerfully that he heard stone falling off the battlements. A little aged, perhaps? Kick! Kick! Nothing but a good rattle. Might have to burn through the chains and ratchet system, if he could.

Dragon backed up, preparing himself for another charge, when he heard a loud squeal right above his back. By his wings, the portcullis!

Must have flamed the wrong room.

Fright lent his paws wings. From a coiled position, he launched into an all-out charge. The metal tips of the portcullis smashed down upon his tail, but he wrenched through and hit the massive timbers of the outer door so hard, splinters exploded from the ratchets at its base and the chains at the top.

It fell outward slowly. Graboom!

Perfect path into the castle. If the defenders had not been awake before, they certainly were now.

Faint cries sounded from further away.

Swarming up to the top of the battlement, he punched, flamed and tail-slapped the gate guard out of his way, clearing the area. Where was the gatehouse that controlled the portcullis mechanism? There. Opposite side from what Chalice had – no, he had hit the wrong room, as suspected. Foolish mistake!

Gnashing his fangs, he did the necessary.

No reaching inside there. The window was too narrow and the stairway too long for his paw. He’d leave this job for Yardi. Whirling, Dragon raked the deep darkness at the bottom of the gulley with his gaze. Night sight was no problem for the Dragonkind, but his ability to focus was doing its absolute worst. He nearly missed a soldier almost beneath his paws. A sword pierced his gut.

GNARRR!!

Thump. Dragon dropped the body in the stream which ran alongside the paved road leading to the second gate. No more men here.

Beyond the second battlement, he heard Chalice’s roar and the clash of steel upon steel. Were the girls in trouble? One way to find out – charge!

Arrows and then javelins spat at him out of the darkness. Defenders up on the battlement. Gathering his