The Last Moon Dragon

PSA to idiots on the internet who think it's ok to plagiarise, this story has already been reposted once by a user on wattpad and I (OP / author) reported them immediately. Don't copy and paste other people's stuff. It's against the law. Think of your own idea before stealing an 11 year old's.

CAUTION: TWO YEAR OLD DRAFT VERSION. FULL OF SPELLING MISTAKES AND OTHER GRAMMATICAL ERRORS. "The kingdom of Heriven isn't exactly the best place to live. Ruled by a twisted King and a power-hungry Baron, the poor exist to serve the rich. Attacks from other kingdoms have finally ceased over hundreds of years, but only because of a bigger problem. Other places have infestations of lice and vermin, Heriven has dragons. Although there has not been a dragon sighted in the kingdom for over a decade, and the people are at ease, it won't be long before it all changes, and a legendary dragon shall make its reappearance...This was voted best Fantasy Movella 2012

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2. The Blacksmith's Son

It was the cold that woke him.

Pike jumped awake and started to shiver immediately.  It was the coldest summer that the kingdom of Heriven had ever had, and it certainly wasn't getting any warmer. He sat up in bed - which was nothing more than a pile of ragged cloth blankets - and yawned. Somewhere in the village, a cockerel crowed. The working day had officially begun.

Pike dressed quickly in an old tunic and a pair of frayed trousers, and climbed the rickety ladder to the floor below. Although his family was quite well off, they still lived in questionable quarters. His house had exactly three rooms: two small bedrooms, a main room which was a workspace and a living space, plus a tiny outhouse which served as a toilet.

His father was already stoking the fire for the day's orders. As a blacksmith, Harold Leeson didn't get much work nowadays. Mainly the odd horseshoe for a traveller, or a new poker for a housewife. Harold remembered when he and his father had almost been rich, many years ago, when there was endless demand for swords and weaponry. That was when there had been attacks from other kingdoms, but Heriven's army always won. Maybe that was because most of the attackers died in the dark forests that surrounded Heriven.

As Pike pulled on his pair of leather boots, his father looked up from the mound of coal.

"Off to market already, Pike? It is rather early."

"I am getting the BEST apples and bread this time." Pike replied determinedly. "Not the ones that everyone has stepped on and the burned loaf." he paused. "Where is mother?"

"I have yet to wake her," his father said, sighing. "Goodness knows, she needs bedrest. That washing is almost killing her - she might as well do the whole kingdom's."

Pike looked at the floor. He knew his parents had to work hard, and that it wasn't fair.

"Here," said his father, chucking a small drawstring pouch towards him. Pike caught it in both hands, and shook it gently. The clink of coins was louder than usual.

"Buy yourself something. A treat. Do you hear me?"

"...Why?"

"You deserve it. Rushing to market every morning and helping out. You're a good lad, Pike, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Pike smiled wanly, and slipped the long strap of the pouch around his neck. Then he opened the door, and stepped outside.

Thankfully, the wind, though still sharp like a blade on Pike's face, wasn't cold. He made his way through the village streets with ease, as there was hardly anyone there. As he approached the wide cobbled road in which  the market took place, he noticed that it was there again.

That tent.

It was made out of embroidered purple velvet, a material so lush and expensive that it certainly could not be the property of a peasant. Pike had heard stories that mothers would take their sick children into the tent, and then, some time later, they would come out, fully cured. Some of the villagers said that a witch must live in the tent, for who else could cure children so close to death, who else could make their home dissapear when the Baron's armed guards went around the village, and who else's material tent would not get wet when it rained or snowed?

Pike shook his head to clear these incredible thoughts. It was silly, to think that magic could be involved with this tent. It was probably just some clever traveller, making a bit of gold with medicines.

But as Pike walked past the tent, the gap which served as a door flapped open in the wind, and something was lifted out on the air. It was a trail of sparks, bright red, and they danced and twirled around Pike's head. He reached up to touch one, astounded, but at that moment, they shimmered away into nothingness.

He had no idea what was going on.

Just as he was getting over the strangeness of it, Fletch appeared at his side.

"Pike! Good to see you."

"It is good to see you too, my friend." Pike replied with a smile. Fletch was his best friend, the son of the famous John, who looked after the knight's horses up in the castle. "What are you doing down here in the village at this time?"

"Nothing much," said Fletch. "I snuck out with a pack of guards this morning. It is Collection Day, if you remember."

"Oh, yes." said Pike. "I wonder who will be locked up this time." he started to walk swiftly into the depths of the street.

"Pike!" Fletch hissed, following him on light feet. "You cannot go around saying things like that. What if - what if he hears you?" Fletch gestured to a guard, dressed in the scarlet and gold uniform, weilding a spear in one hand and a large leather pouch in the other.

Pike closed his mouth quickly. Out of earshot, he could say what he liked about the nobility, but not when he was a few meters away from one of them.

"Quickly, now. Through here." Pike darted down into a small alleyway. Fletch hurried after him, nervously looking back at the guard.

"As I was saying," Pike continued, "At least one man will be locked up today. The taxes are getting far too high."

"I know." said Fletch. "It is becoming rather ridiculous, to say the least."

"That Baron," Pike growled. "I would very much like to put a noose around his neck. He works the poor to death and then expects them to pay high taxes, just so he can hold parties and banquets."

Fletch hesitated, and then nodded vigorously. "The King's no better. He never even visits the village anymore." Fletch's dark eyes grew suddenly bright. "Except for today."

"What do you mean?" asked Pike, interestedly.

"What I mean," said Fletch, "Is that today, the Baron will be holding a banquet to celebrate his birthday, and the King and his children shall be riding by carriage through these very streets!"

Pike raised his pale eyebrows. "From whom did you hear this?"

"One of the guards, in the castle, yesterday evening. They were complaining that they would have to clear a huge space for the carriage to come through."

"Ah," said Pike. "If only they had our problems. What time is the King due to arrive?"

"Sundown," replied Fletch. "That is when the banquet starts, anyway."

Pike looked up. Over the roofs of the houses, he could see the towering stone castle. Then, suddenly, he remembered why he had come to the market in the first place. He said goodbye to Fletch, and continued on his way, wondering why the King was suddenly making an appearance, after all these years.

 

 

 

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