The Caged Dragon (Cycle of Dragons Book 1) by Dan Michaelson (miss read books .txt) 📗

order to gain access to the Wilds and the trade route beyond. There were rumors that the Vard had made it look like dragons had attacked to gain sympathizers. Especially in places like Berestal that were already on the edge of the kingdom.

An object in the forest caught my eye, and I turned away from the road, heading toward it. It was just off the road, near the tree line. The trees were narrow here, and always seemed slick with moisture, somehow damp despite there not having been rain in the last two days. As I approached, I frowned.

“What do you see?” Joran called.

It was something metallic. I was unsure if it was still burning so I kicked it, but it didn’t smoke or steam or give off anything that would make me think that it was still hot. I held my hand above it for a moment before picking it up.

I turned back to Joran. “What do you think this is?”

It was a hunk of silver metal, a little larger than my hand, though it had been blackened by whatever had burned it.

Joran took it from me, shaking it. “It’s pretty heavy,” he said. “And strangely shaped. Maybe a metalsmith got caught up with the dragons, and they decided to attack him.”

I arched a brow at him, shaking my head. “I think that’s reaching a little bit.”

“Maybe the king wanted a prize and—”

I headed back toward Adela, ignoring him.

It was just like Joran to come up with some fanciful explanation.

Joran grunted. “Can I hang on to this?”

“Be my guest.”

Thunder rumbled loudly again. I glanced up to the sky, looking at the storm clouds. They were close. We weren’t going to be able to make it back to the farm site before the storm hit. Which meant that we were probably going to get soaked.

I had a sense that Joran didn’t really care. He turned the metallic object in his hand, tapping on it, scraping it with his thumb before pulling a short belt knife out and stabbing it.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I asked.

“I’m trying to figure out what we have here,” he said.

“By carving through it?”

He looked over, shrugging. “Do you have any better ideas?”

I just shook my head, laughing at him. “Come on.”

“You don’t want to look at this any more closely?”

“Whatever was here is gone. There’s no evidence of anything—”

“Other than this,” he said, holding out the object. “What if there are other things here?”

“Did you see anything else?” I asked.

“No, but we haven’t looked closely enough to know.”

“I’ve looked close enough,” I said. “And I think it’s time for us to…”

A flash of movement raced through my periphery. I paused, slowly looking in the direction it came from so as not to alert whatever it was that I was aware of its presence.

“You’re probably right that we should get back.”

I raised my hand, silencing Joran.

As I turned back to the forest, I tried to peer through the darkness, but couldn’t make out anything. I was sure that I had seen something move.

“Ashan?” Joran called after me as I walked toward the forest.

I raised my hand again, trying to silence him.

“Did you see something else?”

I nodded my head slightly.

The shadowy figure had shifted. As I got closer, I was certain that there was something within the trees, though I still couldn’t make out what it was.

I doubted that it was a wolf or camin, a fierce black cat that prowled through the forest, though it was possible. Every so often they would be sighted at the edge of the woods. But, usually, having two men nearby would scare them away. It would be unlikely for them to linger so close to the forest with us here.

What was it, then?

Joran joined me, he stood alongside my shoulder, peering into the forest. “What did you see?” he whispered.

“Probably nothing,” I said.

“You’re looking into the forest. You think it’s one of the Djarn?”

I shook my head slowly. “The Djarn don’t show themselves to us.”

They were the people indigenous to the forest, and rarely seen. In all the years that I’d lived on the farm , I had never seen one of the Djarn. My father claimed that he had, but he claimed many things that few people believed. The only one who reliably claimed to have seen them was Joran’s father, and that was infrequent.

“Then what is it? If it’s a camin, I don’t want to get close.”

I started laughing. “You don’t want to get close if it’s a camin, but you had no difficulty walking over here when you were thought it might be a dragon?”

“The ashes of a dragon. It’s different. I wouldn’t want to get too close to a dragon either.” Joran shrugged. “Well, maybe that’s not true. If I were given the opportunity, I might want to get close just so I could see if the stories about them are true. You know that some people say that if you touch a dragon’s side, you’ll be blessed with his strength?”

I glanced over to him, keeping one eye on the forest. “Who says that?”

“People. You don’t listen to the stories anymore, so you don’t know.”

“I know enough to know that touching a dragon isn’t going to make you stronger. Just like it’s not going to give you magic, or allow you to breathe fire, or develop impenetrable skin, or…” I shook my head. “All of those things are just stories.”

“Stories have to come from somewhere,” Joran said.

“They’re for children.”

“I seem to remember you once believed some of those stories. Now you’re just a boring adult.”

I glanced over to him, frowning. “I have my family to look after, Joran. I don’t really have time for chasing after childhood stories.”

Joran looked away, guilt written on his face. “I’m sorry.”

It caught me off guard, so I turned my attention back to the forest. There had been something there, even though I no longer saw what it might’ve been. Maybe it was just my imagination. Either way, whatever I