The Caged Dragon (Cycle of Dragons Book 1) Dan Michaelson (online e reader .TXT) 📖

“Come on,” I urged. “We should get back before the rain comes.”

Joran backed up, going toward the center of the King’s Road. He still gripped the metallic object that we foundas he stuffed it into one of the saddlebags strapped to Wind. “I’m ready when you are.”

I started to turn, but as I did, I could have sworn that I saw a face. I jerked my head back around, staring through the trees. There was nothing there. No sign of anyone.

The Djarn didn’t come to the edge of the forest. There would be no reason. Unless they had come for the same reason that we had…

Thunder rumbled again, and I looked up at the sky.

Lightning crackled, illuminating the dark clouds. For a brief moment, I could have sworn that I saw a shape swirling within , but then the lightning faded, and it was gone.

Just my imagination.

I pushed the thought away, knowing better than to allow myself to get caught up in thoughts like that. As we headed back to the farm, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had seen a dragon flying in the clouds. If it had been a dragon, and if it had been responsible for burning whatever was on the road, then what had it attacked?

2

A fire crackled in the hearth. I stood in front of it, warming my back while looking out the window. Two chairs angled near the hearth, and other than a small table in the sitting room, there was no other decoration. The inside of the home was simple, little having changed over the last decade, and certainly not in the last few years since the accident. My father and brother had ventured into the forest while tracking a wolf or camin that had attacked the livestock. They were found just inside the edge of the forest by Joran’s father.

We never learned what really happened. I had my suspicions. They’d been different since the accident. Changed. Not just physically, but mentally. Neither Thenis—during his good days, at least—or my father had ever been able to share what had happened.

It probably had something to do with the magic of the forest. Maybe even the Djarn, though for them to have survived whatever accident they’d suffered, the Djarn must have helped. But as far as we knew, the Djarn never helped.

Several chairs were angled toward the fire, and a blanket was rolled out on the floor. I wondered if my sister or my brother had slept there. Maybe even my father.

The rain hammered down, thunder and lightning pounding outside. We had beaten the storm back, and Joran had raced home, wanting to get back before the worst of the storm hit. Given how long the rains had lasted lately, that was probably for the best. Otherwise, he might have been trapped here for the better part of a day or more.

The smell of baking bread and roasting meat filled the inside of the home, mixing with the smoke drifting from the hearth. I rested my hand on the stone mantel, taking a deep breath before turning and heading to the back of the house.

I paused at the second bedroom, looking at my brother. He sat on a wooden chair next to the narrow bed, looking out the window. His thin face looked even more gaunt than it had before. His shaggy black hair— once so vibrant and thick— seemed even thinner and wispier than it had before. There had been a time when people said that we looked alike. We had the same dark hair, but his hair had always been fuller and wavier than mine. We both had the same jawline, too. Now I was the one who looked hearty and well, and Thenis was the one who appeared thinning and gaunt, the life fading from him with each day.

I cleared my throat, and Thenis glanced over to me. “Do you want me to help you get to the table?” I asked.

Thenis turned back to the window. “The storms have been coming more frequently,” he said. Rain danced along the glass of the window. He kept his face pressed up against it, almost as if he wanted to feel the rain. Perhaps he did. It had been a while since Thenis had been out in a storm. It had been a while since Thenis had done much of anything. Or said much of anything, for that matter. Like our father, his mind came and went. Some days were better than others, but occasionally there were glimpses of the person he’d been. Like today.

“They haven’t been coming any more frequently,” I said.

“I’ve been counting,” Thenis said. “I don’t have much else to do, so I count the storms. I tried to count the raindrops, but there are too many.”

I shook my head, moving around the bed to take a seat next to him. His room was small. A table rested next to the bed, and a washbasin sat upon it. He had a chamber pot alongside the bed, though our mom usually took care of that.

“Why would you count the raindrops?” I asked.

“I have the time,” he said.

“There are other things you could do,” I said softly.

He turned away from the window, locking eyes with me. For a moment, there was a hint of the person he’d once had, a reminder of the burgeoning man he was becoming before the accident, like when he’d lifted a hog that had pinned our father’s leg before it could crush it. “What else can I do?” He glanced down. “My legs don’t work. The rest of me doesn’t seem to work much better. So I sit here, watching the storm. I count the raindrops. Or, I try.”

He turned his attention back to the window. I sat with him, the silence almost overwhelming. The steady hammering of the raindrops on the window was overwhelming. I could practically feel the thunder , the burst of lightning, the overwhelming nature of the