The Last Dragon [Book One] Read online

  The Last Dragon: Book One

  LeRoy Clary

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  The Last Dragon: Book One

  1st Edition

  Copyright © February 2018 LeRoy Clary

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Cover Design Contributors: Bigstock

  Editor: Karen Clary

  Books by LeRoy Clary

  The 6th Ransom

  Blade of Lies: The Mica Silverthorne Story

  Cold Knights

  The Mage’s Daughter Series

  The Mage’s Daughter: Discovery

  The Mage’s Daughter: Enlightenment

  The Mage’s Daughter: Retribution

  Dragon! Series

  Dragon! Book One: Stealing the Egg

  Dragon! Book Two: Gareth’s Revenge

  Dragon Clan Series

  Dragon Clan: In the Beginning

  Dragon Clan #1: Camilla’s Story

  Dragon Clan #2: Raymer’s Story

  Dragon Clan #3: Fleet’s Story

  Dragon Clan #4: Gray’s Story

  Dragon Clan #5: Tanner’s Story

  Dragon Clan #6: Anna’s Story

  Dragon Clan #7: Shill’s Story

  Dragon Clan #8: Creed’s Story

  Contact LeRoy Clary at [email protected] or message him on Facebook at: LeRoy Clary's Facebook Page if you have questions and/or suggestions

  You can “follow” LeRoy Clary on Amazon by going to: LeRoy Clary's Author Page. Amazon will then notify you of new releases.

  If you’d like to receive earlier notification of LeRoy Clary’s latest novel releases, books in progress, or other cool stuff, please sign-up for his mailing list by going to: leroyclary.com. Your e-mail address will never be shared, and you may unsubscribe at any time.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Good books are written by several exceptional people, all of whom have my thanks. My unnamed writer's group consists of Donelle Knudsen, Diana Langner, Paul Eslinger, and Michael Castillo. Because of the number of corrections and the red ink we all use, I propose we name ourselves “The River of Red Ink.” This group sets my limits and helps establish the foundations of my books, keeping me on track as they progress.

  My beta readers, Lucy Jones, Laurie Barcome, Paul Eslinger, Sherri Oliver, Ruthann Jones, and Gale Smith, all found lots of things for me to correct, and to improve. Thank you all. I want to publish the best books I can, and they are certainly better with your help.

  My wife puts up with me and deserves extra credit for her help with the covers and her ideas—and she gives me the time to write.

  And my dog, Molly. She sits at my feet and watches me write every day.

  TABLE OF CONTENT

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  T he sharp nudge of my sister’s elbow to my ribs drew my attention. She was standing alert at my side, while Princess Elizabeth lay on a sofa in the shade of the camellia garden. The princess had raised an index finger slightly without turning to look my way. I’d missed her signal. Quickly and smoothly, I approached from behind and held my tray of sweets near her impatiently outstretched hand. She selected a tiny cake coated with powdered sugar without looking. I stepped back, ready to move closer again if she indicated she wanted another.

  “Daydreaming, Damon?” My sister Kendra mouthed silently, scolding me.

  I nodded, just the barest of moves with my chin. My full attention was again focused on Princess Elizabeth and her needs, as it should be.

  Kendra clutched the carafe of wine tightly to her chest, ready to pour again at a moment’s notice, a combination of water, and red and white wine that Lady Elizabeth was partial to. The red wine gave it a pleasing body and color, the white sweetness, and the ample amount of pure water prevented the alcohol from speaking for her. However, I silently worried about the Lady Elizabeth’s penchant for sweets, although they had not yet swelled her hips. She lay on the sofa, slim, white skin and dress, and seductive in her pretended innocence.

  Across from her, sunning himself in the royal garden, sat Lord Kent, a simpering boy of middle teens already intending to conquer the green world, the only civilized portion. The brown and tan worlds to the south needed no conquering, because who would want to live in them? The white world to the north was too cold to care about. They were all empty wastelands, endless expanses of nothingness with only a few pathetic hermits, so they say. Personally, I find it hard to believe anyone, even a hermit, would voluntarily exist in any of them.

  Lord Kent squinted from the bright sunlight in the garden while speaking in his pompous, yet squeaky voice that continued to drone on and on. I resumed listening to the braggart’s ramblings as he said, “Of course to accomplish all that, there will be the need for me to command the best generals in the whole kingdom, those with the sharpest military minds. That will be my first task. Identify, train, and test them until I’m certain only the best surround me. Then my generals, with my direct supervision, of course, will train their armies to my satisfaction.”

  “Interesting,” Elizabeth responded, sounding to me as if she was anything but interested.

  “That’s not all,” Lord Kent continued eagerly as he leaned forward in his quest to impress her.

  Elizabeth’s thumb, which was hidden from Lord Kent’s sight behind her hip, turned slightly downward. It indicated she was finished listening to the whimpers, baseless brags, and endless talk of the young fool. The downturned thumb was another signal. It was now my task to make the lord wish to leave the garden.

  Young Lord Kent’s incessant boasts and youthful pride were the keys to his defeat and therefore what I’d use to tame him. Using my small magic powers, I mentally drew a tiny amount of moisture from nearby, mostly from the beads of sweat on the outside of the carafe of wine in Kendra’s hands. My magic then vaporized it. I reformed the water on the material at Lord Kent’s groin, in a circle no larger than a Corinthian Penny. As it appeared and spread, the pale blue material turned shades darker. A twinge of my mental energy informed him
of the spreading wetness.

  His eyes flashed from Elizabeth to the darkening circle on the rich material in near panic. He instantly leaped to his feet and turned a hip away before the princess could notice his disgrace. “I have to take my leave, Princess. I’ve forgotten an important task I must attend to right away.”

  “So soon?” Elizabeth asked in a most disappointed-sounding voice. “Perhaps we can do this again.”

  “Yes, I’ll have my manservant contact your handmaiden and make an appointment.”

  “Yes, please do that.” Her tone indicated eagerness, but her eyes rolled as she relaxed after he hastily departed the garden.

  When the young Lord Kent was out of sight and earshot, and only Kendra and I remained with her, Elizabeth said gently to me, “Really? You could have just made him itch or do something else that wouldn’t make me laugh out loud and embarrass the poor boy. He will someday grow up to be an important man, and we wouldn’t wish to make an enemy of him.”

  “You noticed the wet spot?” My voice came out steady and recalcitrant, as intended. “I am sorry and will refrain from such poor attempts at humor in the future.”

  She cast me a glare that faded into a sly grin. Her eyes moved to Kendra, “Control your brother. Please.”

  Kendra shot me a look.

  I grinned back. It’s the trivial things in life that really count, and Elizabeth always reminded us of that. The petty things that can change or sway a conversation or negotiation often determine the outcome. They say the king’s own mage can change the world with a single wave of his powerful hand and a few muttered words. That’s a feat hard to believe, but what do I know?

  No, on second thought, there is something I know that few others are aware of. I know how to perform magic, too, in my own small manner. It’s not the intense, flashy sort of magic that mages or sorceresses perform in front of enormous crowds at coronations or royal celebrations. For me, there are no fierce sparkles, blinding flashes of blue-white light, or roars of thunder. Mine is soft, subtle and unnoticed, even to others present who possess the powers to detect magic.

  At times, I perform my simple tricks in the very presence of powerful mages. None have ever been aware of them or caught me. Those actions, flood me with the secret power of a kind no others suspect, which makes my magic more potent in some ways than theirs. For instance, a few drops of ordinary water placed in the right location can make a young man flee from a beautiful young woman.

  Besides, who would ever think to look to a lowly servant as an operative or a cause for magic? The very idea makes me grin.

  Elizabeth, who is my owner and master, is the third daughter of a second son. What that means in practical terms, is that while unlikely, her father may one day rule our land, but she will never do so. Above her in the line of succession are two brothers and a pair of older sisters. The future sons of her siblings will push her position lower and lower as they assume rank above her, by virtue of their birth.

  The Lady Elizabeth stood and swept invisible crumbs from her crisp white linen skirt. She turned back to me with her smile intact. “Follow him. See what he’s up to.”

  Lord Kent had entered the main wing of the palace by the garden doorway, and I quickly moved after him. His apartment was on the second floor of the south-wing, near the old kitchen. It was an excellent location for an apartment and only a few steps from a kitchen that others in the palace envy. Many of us remember the kindly elderly royal couple that had lived in that same apartment until Lord Kent ordered them relocated so the apartment could become his, after a proper remodel of the interior, of course. The remodel had taken months and months, although I’d never seen it for myself, rumor said it was as opulent as any in Crestfallen.

  A young boy like Lord Kent needs to eat at least six full meals a day, and there is a kitchen nearby. Some said that was an excuse for him seizing the apartment. Others say an independent royal son needed distance from his immediate family now that he caught the eyes of certain young women. However, most saw it as abuse by a selfish boy with too much power and idle time on his hands.

  I rapidly caught up with him and discovered young Lord Kent, blocking the narrow passage, speaking confidentially to another young royal boy. His left hand held carelessly in front of his crotch as if placed there by accident. My initial reaction was to increase the size of the wet spot, but Princess Elizabeth had ordered me not to embarrass him.

  In private and in thought, Kendra and I called her Elizabeth, more friends than servant-master. We’d been assigned to her, at her request, when we were all perhaps about ten years old. That had been years earlier, probably a dozen or more because we were all over twenty, the natural age of consent. Elizabeth now approached the age where she was considered an old maid for an influential and wealthy princess, but she certainly didn’t lack suitors.

  Her intelligence, beauty, and rank had young men lined up to attempt to win her hand. Princes from other lands flocked to our kingdom to meet her. Her marriage would seal power and prosperity to another princedom for generations to come if they could convince her to wed. However, she deflected all of them, searching for something in a man unknown to me, and most likely to her as well.

  Lord Kent continued speaking to the young royal who had his back turned to me. After retracing a few steps and rounding a corner, with my back pressed against the wall, I waited patiently and listened with my large ears. From there I could hear everything, and my presence would go unobserved. The conversation was about nothing but choosing which girls would receive personal invitations to an upcoming party—and which girls would be slighted.

  “Spying again?” A friendly whisper asked in my other ear.

  One of the older third-floor maids stood at my side, a gnarled old woman who had done me more than a few favors, and I’d returned them as often. Cooks and maids know all the best dirt. One of my rules is to treat them better than my master, and always arrange things, so they are indebted to me. Favors owed can be more valuable than gold. “Yes. Be quiet.”

  “Anything good?” She leaned closer, trying to hear the conversation for herself.

  “If you’re interested, Mary, the Earl of Brighton’s youngest, is going to be invited to the Spring Ball, but nobody is supposed to know. And her cousin, Susan will not.”

  The maid’s eyes came alive. “Do you mind me passing that along to a few select friends?”

  “Why would I prevent you? But thank you for asking.” My response was given with a conspiratorial grin. She would take it and trade that rumor for others, and hopefully, an interesting one would find its way back to me. She owed me for the information, and one day it would be there for me to collect.

  She hurried off. The boys talked about more silly dance plans until they went their separate ways. After waiting a short time, I casually followed Lord Kent down the narrow passage, thinking the wet spot must be nearly dry by now. It really shouldn’t become wet again despite my dislike of the boy. I tried to talk myself out of it. He went directly to his apartment. A few steps past his door, down the hallway, stood the kitchen. Another doorway beckoned, and I settled myself to stand under an archway where people often stood and leaned on the wall. From there, anyone could keep an eye on his door.

  “Damon, don’t even look like you’re going to try and snatch something.” The speaker was a grumpy fat woman who must have done a lot of snatching of food to put on all that weight. Another good rule in life is to never piss off a cook. I shrugged as if not caring as my eyes went to the nearby tray of small baked loaves. They were so fine they must have been baked with the king in mind, a little sprinkle of sugar coated the tops. “Those look good.”

  “No, you don’t.” She placed the bulk of her rotund body in front of the tray to protect it from me. Not to be dissuaded, my mental powers nudged a pear resting on another table just enough, it rolled off the edge and hit the stone floor with a dull thud. Her eyes went to the pear as if the fall had hurt her instead of bruising the pear.

&n
bsp; I waited. No magic powers were needed to prompt her.

  She sighed heavily. “Want a pear?”

  I leaped forward and grabbed it. She turned her back to me and snarled at a younger cook who had failed to meet her extraordinary culinary expectations in some trivial manner. I leaned a shoulder against the cold granite wall and ate my ill-gotten pear.

  Elizabeth hadn’t assigned me to follow Lord Kent for nothing. The twerp of a lord was up to something, and he must have given her a hint, perhaps even by accident. Nobody is better at palace intrigue than her.

  Heavy footsteps approaching behind warned me of another intrusion. An educated and pretentious voice snarled, “What are you doing here, Damon?”

  I turned. As expected from the tone of the voice, it was a snotty, thin, well-dressed man of thirty named Avery. He was the personal servant of Timor, the firstborn son of the king, and therefore Heir Apparent. While we were technically equal in our positions of personal servants for high-ranking royals, his royal outranked mine—therefore he believed he did, too. His master would rule the kingdom one day, and probably sooner than later if other rumors were true.

  He exuded both power and scorn—all aimed in my direction. And rightfully so. I’d embarrassed him in public more than once when younger and less savvy. He’d figured out my responsibility for a few of his ills, a stupid series of acts on my part. I could effortlessly forget those times and let bygones be bygones. He couldn’t.

  “I’m just taking time to eat a pear that fell to the floor, Avery. Princess Elizabeth is keeping my sister and me so busy running her errands we don’t have time for proper meals.”

  “Odd place for you to stand while eating. There are tables free to sit at for one who has been running so much and must have tired feet. They are right around this very corner—out of sight to those doors lining the hallway.”