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Born of Dragons
Morgan Rice
Morgan Rice is the #1 bestselling and USA Today bestselling author of the epic fantasy series THE SORCERER’S RING, comprising seventeen books; of the #1 bestselling series THE VAMPIRE JOURNALS, comprising twelve books; of the #1 bestselling series THE SURVIVAL TRILOGY, a post-apocalyptic thriller comprising three books; of the epic fantasy series KINGS AND SORCERERS, comprising six books; of the epic fantasy series OF CROWNS AND GLORY, comprising eight books; of the epic fantasy series A THRONE FOR SISTERS, comprising eight books; of the new science fiction series THE INVASION CHRONICLES, comprising four books; of the fantasy series OLIVER BLUE AND THE SCHOOL FOR SEERS, comprising four books; of the fantasy series THE WAY OF STEEL, comprising four books; and of the new fantasy series AGE OF THE SORCERERS, comprising three books (and counting). Morgan’s books are available in audio and print editions, and translations are available in over 25 languages.
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“If you thought that there was no reason left for living after the end of THE SORCERER’S RING series, you were wrong. In RISE OF THE DRAGONS Morgan Rice has come up with what promises to be another brilliant series, immersing us in a fantasy of trolls and dragons, of valor, honor, courage, magic and faith in your destiny. Morgan has managed again to produce a strong set of characters that make us cheer for them on every page.…Recommended for the permanent library of all readers that love a well-written fantasy.”
--Books and Movie ReviewsRoberto Mattos
“An action packed fantasy sure to please fans of Morgan Rice’s previous novels, along with fans of works such as THE INHERITANCE CYCLE by Christopher Paolini…. Fans of Young Adult Fiction will devour this latest work by Rice and beg for more.”
--The Wanderer, A Literary Journal (regarding Rise of the Dragons)
“A spirited fantasy that weaves elements of mystery and intrigue into its story line. A Quest of Heroes is all about the making of courage and about realizing a life purpose that leads to growth, maturity, and excellence….For those seeking meaty fantasy adventures, the protagonists, devices, and action provide a vigorous set of encounters that focus well on Thor's evolution from a dreamy child to a young adult facing impossible odds for survival….Only the beginning of what promises to be an epic young adult series.”
--Midwest Book Review (D. Donovan, eBook Reviewer)
“THE SORCERER’S RING has all the ingredients for an instant success: plots, counterplots, mystery, valiant knights, and blossoming relationships replete with broken hearts, deception and betrayal. It will keep you entertained for hours, and will satisfy all ages. Recommended for the permanent library of all fantasy readers.”
--Books and Movie Reviews, Roberto Mattos
“In this action-packed first book in the epic fantasy Sorcerer's Ring series (which is currently 14 books strong), Rice introduces readers to 14-year-old Thorgrin "Thor" McLeod, whose dream is to join the Silver Legion, the elite knights who serve the king…. Rice's writing is solid and the premise intriguing.”
--Publishers Weekly
Books by Morgan Rice
AGE OF THE SORCERERS
REALM OF DRAGONS (Book #1)
THRONE OF DRAGONS (Book #2)
BORN OF DRAGONS (Book #3)
RING OF DRAGONS (Book #4)
OLIVER BLUE AND THE SCHOOL FOR SEERS
THE MAGIC FACTORY (Book #1)
THE ORB OF KANDRA (Book #2)
THE OBSIDIANS (Book #3)
THE SCEPTOR OF FIRE (Book #4)
THE INVASION CHRONICLES
TRANSMISSION (Book #1)
ARRIVAL (Book #2)
ASCENT (Book #3)
RETURN (Book #4)
THE WAY OF STEEL
ONLY THE WORTHY (Book #1)
ONLY THE VALIANT (Book #2)
ONLY THE DESTINED (Book #3)
ONLY THE BOLD (Book #4)
A THRONE FOR SISTERS
A THRONE FOR SISTERS (Book #1)
A COURT FOR THIEVES (Book #2)
A SONG FOR ORPHANS (Book #3)
A DIRGE FOR PRINCES (Book #4)
A JEWEL FOR ROYALS (BOOK #5)
A KISS FOR QUEENS (BOOK #6)
A CROWN FOR ASSASSINS (Book #7)
A CLASP FOR HEIRS (Book #8)
OF CROWNS AND GLORY
SLAVE, WARRIOR, QUEEN (Book #1)
ROGUE, PRISONER, PRINCESS (Book #2)
KNIGHT, HEIR, PRINCE (Book #3)
REBEL, PAWN, KING (Book #4)
SOLDIER, BROTHER, SORCERER (Book #5)
HERO, TRAITOR, DAUGHTER (Book #6)
RULER, RIVAL, EXILE (Book #7)
VICTOR, VANQUISHED, SON (Book #8)
KINGS AND SORCERERS
RISE OF THE DRAGONS (Book #1)
RISE OF THE VALIANT (Book #2)
THE WEIGHT OF HONOR (Book #3)
A FORGE OF VALOR (Book #4)
A REALM OF SHADOWS (Book #5)
NIGHT OF THE BOLD (Book #6)
THE SORCERER’S RING
A QUEST OF HEROES (Book #1)
A MARCH OF KINGS (Book #2)
A FATE OF DRAGONS (Book #3)
A CRY OF HONOR (Book #4)
A VOW OF GLORY (Book #5)
A CHARGE OF VALOR (Book #6)
A RITE OF SWORDS (Book #7)
A GRANT OF ARMS (Book #8)
A SKY OF SPELLS (Book #9)
A SEA OF SHIELDS (Book #10)
A REIGN OF STEEL (Book #11)
A LAND OF FIRE (Book #12)
A RULE OF QUEENS (Book #13)
AN OATH OF BROTHERS (Book #14)
A DREAM OF MORTALS (Book #15)
A JOUST OF KNIGHTS (Book #16)
THE GIFT OF BATTLE (Book #17)
THE SURVIVAL TRILOGY
ARENA ONE: SLAVERSUNNERS (Book #1)
ARENA TWO (Book #2)
ARENA THREE (Book #3)
VAMPIRE, FALLEN
BEFORE DAWN (Book #1)
THE VAMPIRE JOURNALS
TURNED (Book #1)
LOVED (Book #2)
BETRAYED (Book #3)
DESTINED (Book #4)
DESIRED (Book #5)
BETROTHED (Book #6)
VOWED (Book #7)
FOUND (Book #8)
RESURRECTED (Book #9)
CRAVED (Book #10)
FATED (Book #11)
OBSESSED (Book #12)
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Copyright © 2020 by Morgan Rice. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Jacket image Copyright Aphelleon used under license from istockphoto.com.
CHAPTER ONE
Queen Aethe knelt beside her husband’s bed as the world collapsed in on her, watching his all too still form through her tears. She had lost track of the time she had spent there, her grief making day and night blur into one another, food coming only when servants begged her to eat, tasting like ashes even then.
The room was rich in its opulence, with tapestries set around the walls and furniture constructed using the rich woods from every corner of the Northern Kingdom. None of that made any difference, not the gilded cups, not the silks, none of it. It all seemed gray and dead when Godwin lay unmoving upon the bed.
“When will he wake?” she demanded of Physicker Jarran, who did no more than shake his head and spread pudgy fingers.
“I have treated his wounds as best I can,” the man said. “Beyond that, I am sorry, I have no answers.”
“Then what use are you?” Queen Aethe demanded, the anger flashing up inside the grief feeling like the only thing that would help now. “You couldn’t help my daughter. You can’t help my husband. What use are you? Get out! Get back to lancing boils and stitching cuts!”
It was harsh, but everything felt harsh right then. The world had become a thing of sharp edges and shadows that leached the strength from her, making it hard for her to even stand. There was no one who could comfort Aethe right then. Even with her husband surrounded by servants and guards, Aethe felt as lonely as if she had been stranded in the middle of an open plain.
“Why can’t anyone help him?” she demanded, kneeling by the bed again, but no one answered. No one dared to. A desperate thought came to her. “Where is Master Grey?”
That was possibly a question that none of them could answer. Who knew where the magus was, or what he would do? Aethe went to one of the room’s windows, even that taking an effort, staring out at the tower attached to the castle, trying to catch any glimpse of the man. Of course, there was nothing, no one was sitting there, waiting to save Godwin.
She looked out over Royalsport, spread out below her. The streams of the city were at full tide now, dividing it up into its constituent islands, each holding a district of the city’s homes. Walls enclosed most of the city, but some of it spilled beyond them, like a fat man’s stomach spreading beyond his belt. The slums stood up against the walls and spread out into the countryside beyond. The great Houses stood above the rest: the blocky form of the House of Merchants standing above the market, the bright colors of the House of Sighs above the entertainment district, the House of Scholars rising in twisting spires, and the House of Weapons belching smoke as its furnaces prepared more weapons for the violence.
From where she stood, Aethe could see the signs of that violence already, the knights and the soldiers making their camps outside the city, the crowds in the streets holding even more men of violence than usual. There were noble forces as well as those of the king, because of course each duke or earl had his dozens with him, ready to do his will.
Aethe turned her back on it; she couldn’t bear to look on it any longer. She couldn’t bear any of it any longer.
“Wake up, husband,” she said softly, returning to the bed and perching on it. “Your kingdom needs you.” She leaned down and let her lips brush his forehead. “I need you.”
Her husband was not the man he had once been, and not just in the usual senses that age had made his hair gray, run some of his muscles to fat. Aethe was well used to that, knew those changes in him as well as she knew every line and gray hair that had crept into her own body. No, this was about how pale he was, his skin almost as gray as his beard, his breathing so shallow it was barely there. It hurt just to see him like that.
So much hurt, right then. She couldn’t take more of it.
“We can’t lose you,” Aethe said. “Rodry… your son is dead, Godwin.” Aethe had never cared much for Godwin’s sons, because they were a reminder of his first marriage, and of how much more he had loved his first wife. But of them, Rodry had been the best. Greave was strange and obsessed with his books, while Vars was… Aethe shuddered. “And of my daughters, Nerra is gone, and Erin throws herself into battle like a boy.”
At least they’d gotten Lenore back. She was back, and safe, and married, although she should never have been in danger, never have been captured, in the first place. Aethe just had to hope that her marriage to Finnal would be a happy one; she trusted that it would be, in spite of her daughter’s nerves before her wedding.
For that, though, they would have to face up to the threat from the Southern Kingdom. Aethe had always thought that no army could cross the rushing waters of the Slate River, but now they were saying that a force was coming in from the east, via the Isle of Leveros.
“Please wake up,” she said, holding Godwin’s hand. “I fear for what will happen if you don’t.”
“There is nothing to fear,” a voice said from the doorway. “I have everything in hand as regent.”
Queen Aethe turned as Vars stepped into the room.
It was hard to express how little like a king her husband’s son looked. He wore a circlet of gold, but he was smaller than her husband, weaker looking, his hair a dull, muddy brown and his features undistinguished. His clothes were fine, but Aethe could see the wine stains there. More than that, there was something about Vars that she had simply never liked. Godwin would surely never have wanted him to rule in his stead.
“How did we come to this?” Aethe asked, knowing that Vars must share her grief even if they shared so little else. “How was my daughter taken by the south, your brother killed? How is your father fallen just at the moment when the Southern Kingdom is attacking us?”
That was the part that made Aethe’s grief all the worse. It would have been bad enough if her husband had fallen in combat, but for all of it to happen together was just too much. It felt as though it had destroyed her, leaving nothing behind. The mention of it all seemed to hit Vars too, almost like a blow.
“It is impossible to judge these things,” Vars said. To Aethe’s surprise, he came to stand beside her, resting a hand on her shoulder. “I suspect it was all plotted by the Southern Kingdom. Yes, if there is anyone to blame, it must be them.”
“I do blame them,” Aethe said, feeling the anger burning brightly inside her, a flame that felt as if it would consume her utterly if she let it. “After all they’ve done, I’d see all of them wiped from the world if I could!”
“There is much to hate them for,” Vars said.
“Killing your brother, kidnapping your sister…”
“Yes,” Vars said. “At least she’s married to Finnal now.”
“She is,” Aethe said, and there was some relief in that. She knew Lenore had had her nerves before the wedding, but she was sure her daughter was going to be happy soon. “And Godwin…”
“We’ll do everything we can to help,” Vars said. “Everything that’s needed.”
“Can you… can you find Master Grey?” she asked. “The physicker isn’t doing anything, so maybe he…”
“I will see that he is sent for,” Vars said. “And in the meantime, I will keep everything running smoothly here.”
“I’ll help,” Aethe said. “Whatever you need. We’ll keep the kingdom safe together. For Godwin.”
She could feel the tears falling, feel herself almost falling with the weakness of her grief.
“That will not be necessary,” Vars said.
“But Vars—” Aethe began. She needed something to do that would make her feel useful, make her feel a part of things again.
“My father’s wife is clearly distraught,” Vars said, turning to a pair of the guards there. He didn’t call her the queen, Aethe noted. “She needs to go and rest. Take her to her rooms and see that she is not disturbed.”
“What?” Aethe said. “I don’t need to go anywhere.”
“You do,” Vars insisted. “You’re tired, you’re distraught. Go get some sleep. It’s for your own good.”
The problem was that the more she protested, the more she looked like nothing but the grief-stricken wife. The guards came to her, taking her by the arms. She fought clear of them, determined to walk on her own, but she couldn’t stop the tears that started to run down her face. She stared back at Vars, standing over her husband. How could this be happening?
More importantly, what disaster did it mean for the kingdom?
CHAPTER TWO
Almost since her arrival when he was a boy, Vars had longed to be able to send Aethe away. His father’s wife, his replacement for Vars’s mother, had long been a focus for so many of his disappointments in life. She had been whispering in his father’s ear for as long as he could remember, telling him that Vars was weak or cowardly or unworthy; that her daughters should rule.
She’d even insinuated as much in their conversation before. She’d asked questions about how Lenore came to be alone that obviously suggested she suspected Vars of some failing in his duties as her guard. She’d suggested that her brood could help to share the load of government, and Vars knew as well as anyone that was just a veiled way of saying that they might be able to take power from him. Now, as guards took Aethe away to her rooms, Vars risked a smile of satisfaction.
“What are all of you doing here?” he asked, as he looked around the room at the servants and the guards. As far as he could see, they were just standing there. “Do you think my father is going to sit up and demand a glass of wine, or lead you all off into the fray?”
Most of them looked away at his words, as if they didn’t want to listen to them. Well, Vars was the regent now, and they had to listen.
“We stay by the king out of loyalty, your highness,” one of the servants said. “And in case he requires our aid.”
“What aid?” Vars demanded. “I saw Physicker Jarran leaving on my way up. Was his aid enough? No. Even my father’s vaunted sorcerer has done nothing but mutter to himself in his tower. Yet all of you will offer him your aid? Get out.”
“But your highness—”
Vars rounded on the servant. “You spoke of loyalty before. I am the king regent. I speak with the king’s voice. If you have any loyalty, you will obey. My father does not need to be surrounded by guards, or by servants. You will leave, or I will have you removed from this room by force.”
Vars could tell that none of them liked the idea of leaving, but the truth was that he didn’t care. He’d long found that people only did what they were made to do. The ones who talked about honor, or loyalty, or patriotism were simply liars, pretending to be so much better than Vars was.
As they started to file out, one of the guards paused. “What if the king does wake, your highness? Shouldn’t one of us stay to tend to him, and to inform you if it happens?”
Vars didn’t shout at the man, but only because he had no wish to be seen as a son who hated his father, or as a fool who could not control his kingdom. What people saw was far more important than the truth, after all.
“That is not a job for any of you,” he said. “It is a task a child could do.” An idea came to him. “Who is the youngest of the pages here?”
“That would be Merin, your highness,” one of the servants said. “He’s eleven.”
“Eleven is old enough to watch and see if my father wakes up, and young enough that he’s no use for anything else,” Vars said. “Fetch him here, and then get off about your real duties. We’re in the middle of a war, after all!”
Those words were enough to get them all moving, forcing them into motion when Vars’s own aura of command could not. He hated them for that. He hated more than them, of course. He went over to his father’s sickbed, staring down at the comatose form of King Godwin.
He looked so frail and gray, the muscles of his body less slab-like now that he was on his back. He looked older than he had before to Vars, and less frightening.
“It’s about the only time I can’t remember you towering over me, telling me how useless you think I am,” Vars said. Even though his father couldn’t hear the words, it was good to say them. He would never have had the courage to say it were his father awake, would never have been able to get the words out.
Vars paced the room, thinking of all the things that he’d always wanted to say to his father, all the things that were there in his head, trapped behind the fear that had always kept them there. Even now, it was hard to say them, but knowing that his father couldn’t really hear them, couldn’t do anything about it, helped.
“They say that you might live or die,” Vars said. “I’m hoping you die. It’s what you deserve after the kind of father you’ve been.” He stared down at his father with hatred. If he’d had the courage to do it, he might have lifted a pillow and held it down over his father’s face.
“Do you know what it was like, growing up with you as a father?” he asked. “Nothing I did was good enough for you. Rodry was always the golden one. Oh, you liked him, when he wasn’t attacking ambassadors. I’m glad you heard he was dead before they stabbed you. And Nerra… what must it have felt like when she had to leave?”
There was no answer, of course, no flicker of a response from his father’s slack features. In a way, that was even more aggravating.
“When my mother died, you were so quick to find yourself a new wife,” Vars said. “Your sons needed you, I needed you, but you just married Aethe and had your precious daughters.”
He found himself thinking of all the times his father had chided him while lavishing attention on Nerra, Lenore, and even Erin.
“You gave Lenore and her stupid wedding so much attention, didn’t you? You pinned so many hopes on her. Do you know why you’re lying here? Do you know why she was taken in the first place?” Vars paused, leaning in toward his father, close enough that he could whisper. “They took her because I took my men the wrong way. I didn’t want to waste my time guarding her, when I was the one closer to the throne. I didn’t want to sit there while the perfect princess wandered around the kingdom, receiving adulation. I left her, and Ravin’s men took her, and Rodry died saving her.”
Vars straightened up, feeling the deep satisfaction of finally getting to tell his father all the things he’d had to hold back.
“You’ve always put me down,” Vars said. “But look at me now. I’m the one who just did what I wanted, who spent my time in the House of Sighs and the inns rather than your precious House of Weapons. Yet I’m the one in command now, and I’m going to make the most of it.”
A knock came on the door of the chamber. A servant came in leading a young boy, sandy-haired and chubby-faced, dressed in shirt, tunic, and hose of royal blue and gold. He looked nervous to be in Vars’s presence, sweeping a halting bow. As he did so, Vars saw that one of his hands was small and twisted, perhaps in some long ago accident. Vars didn’t care.
“You’re Merin?” Vars demanded.
“Yes, your highness,” the boy said in a small, frightened voice.
“Do you know what you’re here to do?” Vars asked.
The boy shook his head, clearly too frightened now to talk.
“You’re to watch over my father. You’re to bring him his meals, wash him, and wait to see if he wakes.” He didn’t ask if the boy could do it all or not; he didn’t care. “Do you understand?”
“Y-yes, your—”
“Good,” Vars said, cutting him off. He had no interest in what a boy like that had to say, only in making sure that his father’s humiliation was complete. Live or die, it didn’t matter. Either his father would live, and Vars would have the small revenge of having done this to him, or he would die, and Vars would know that he’d made the old fool’s last days just that little bit worse.
He turned his attention to the other servant there, a man who shifted nervously in place. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “I thought I told all of you to be off about your normal duties.”
“Yes, your highness,” the man said. “I’ve come because… because your presence is required.”
“Required?” Vars said. He reached out, grabbing the man by the shirt. It was easy enough to do when he knew the servant would not dare to strike him back. That would be treason, after all. “I am the king’s regent. People do not require things of me.”
“Forgive me, your highness,” the man said. “That… that was the word that they used when they sent me to fetch you.”
Fetch was almost as bad as required. Vars contemplated striking the man, holding back only because that might make him forget his place, and Vars had no wish to be struck in return, whatever his revenge might be.
“Who sent you, and why?” Vars said. “Who thinks that they can give commands in my castle?”
“The nobles, your highness,” the servant said. “They have called…” He looked as though he was remembering words he had been told to pass on. “…called a conference to discuss the invasion by the Southern Kingdom, and to decide on a response to it collectively. The nobles are there, and the knights. It is beginning in the great hall as we speak.”
Vars shoved the man away from him, sudden anger burning through him. How dare they? How dare they take this moment when he had all the power in the kingdom and try to make him feel small?
He could see what they were doing, even without being told all of it. His nobles were testing him, treating him as if he were not a true king, not a powerful ruler like his father. They were trying to make him into something they could command and control, a servant as much as a ruler. They thought they could tell him where to be and when, decide things among themselves, with Vars little more than a shape in a crown, sitting on a throne.
Well, they would see about that. Vars would show them exactly how wrong they all were.
