Free Dragon Skin by G. L. Snodgrass Page A

he had gone through to get it. What he’d faced. How had he done it?
    “Is it real?” Sir Roland, my betrothed, asked. “It can’t be.” He added staring at Stephan as if he wanted to gut him like a fish. Obviously Roland remembered the boy now turned man. It’d been Roland that drove him away when we were found kissing behind in the smithy.  My first and only kiss.
    Roland had screamed at me for throwing myself at a blacksmith’s son then beat him with mailed fist and sword hilt. Stephan has fought like a caged gryphon but the boy had been no match for the bigger, older, armored knight. Three times Stephan had risen from the bloody ground and each time he’d been knocked back down into the mud.
    My heart squeezed as I remembered the hurt and humiliation in his eyes. How he’d looked when he couldn’t rise again.  I’d flown to him, pushing the hair from his eyes. My tears falling onto his battered face. This kind sweet boy who’d made me feel special and so grown up had been smashed into a pulp of gore and shame.
    Shooting a glare at Roland I’d sworn that I’d never forgive him, never forget what he’d done.
    Roland had laughed in my face then pulled me from Stephan. Smirking as I fought and clawed at him. My heart broke with every tug of my arm.
      As he pulled me away I glanced back to see Stephan still lying in the muck, not moving, barely breathing. It was the last time I saw him. The last time until tonight.
    Here today, with him walking back into my life I could not react as I wished. My smile trapped by the knowledge of what would happen if I showed my true feelings. My voice a prisoner to Roland’s rage. If he knew how I felt. How I longed to hold this man in my arms. If Roland knew he would kill him. Kill him and steal his prize. My insides turned over as I refused to look upon Stephan. Using every bit of will, every sense of control to maintain my apparent disregard.
    Roland watched me. His eyes like daggers, waiting for me to react. Stoic, I was frozen. I would not give him the ammunition, the motivation to act. Never again would Stephan be hurt because of me.
    .o0o.
    Stephan
    The Green scales of the Dragon’s skin danced in the lamp light, shimmering like oil on still waters. The glorious hide laid there on the castle’s stone floor. An un-obtainable fortune. - That which could not be had. - Shown before them all. A testament to what I had done.
    “Is it real,” Brianna’s uncle the King asked his Wizard Morrell
    The old gray bearded one looked as if someone had thrown up in his porridge. His needle like eyes darted from side to side. It was obvious that he didn’t know what to say. How best to answer. If he said “No,” he would destroy his master’s dream. If he said “Yes” he would contradict half a century of telling his master, “It couldn’t be done.”
    My heart soared watching the old prick squirm like this.
    Each of the men up there held a special place in my ‘Despise’ compartment. Each had earned a life of suffering amidst pain and pestilence as far as I was concerned.
    Roland for the shame he had brought me in front of Brianna. Morrell for the lies and implied innuendo he’d spread about me. King Ferraught for his blind avarice that viewed his only niece as nothing more than a token to be traded like a golden goblet.
    Each of them had viewed me as nothing more than a tool to be used. No different than my father’s hammer or the swords on their hips. Utilized then cast away only to be replaced by another.
    King Ferraught licked his lips, unable to look away from the skin as his burning thoughts danced across his face.  Could he buy it and if so how much. Surely this Smithy boy couldn’t demand much. What would he need in life, Maybe a job? Yes a job in the Smith like his father.  Could he steal it? What would people say about him as the King if he stole this man’s dragon skin?
    I could read him like a well-marked trail. Every tick and tremor told a story. The