Rise of the Dragons by Morgan Rice Read Free Book Online Page A

well-worn silver dagger, his favorite
weapon, and still Merk, as painful as it was, did not react.
    Let it go , he told
himself.
    “What’s this?” one asked. “A dagger?”
    He glared at Merk.
    “What’s a fancy monk like you carrying a
dagger?” one asked.
    “What are you doing, boy, carving
trees?” another asked.
    They all laughed, and Merk gritted his
teeth, wondering how much more he could take.
    The man who took the dagger stopped,
looked down at Merk’s wrist, and yanked back his sleeve. Merk braced himself,
realizing they’d found it.
    “What’s this?” the thief asked, grabbing
his wrist and holding it up, examining it.
    “It looks like a fox,” one said.
    “What’s a monk doing with a tattoo of a
fox?” another asked.
    Another stepped forward, a tall, thin
man with red hair, and grabbed his wrist and examined it closely. He let it go
and looked up at Merk with cautious eyes.
    “That’s no fox, you idiot,” he said to
his men. “It’s a wolf. It’s the mark of a King’s man—a mercenary.”
    Merk felt his face flush as he realized
they were staring at his tattoo. He did not want to be discovered.
    The thieves all remained silent, staring
at it, and for the first time, Merk sensed hesitation in their faces.
    “That’s the order of the killers,” one
said, then looked at him. “How did you get that mark, boy?”
    “Probably gave it to himself,” one
answered. “Makes the road safer.”
    The leader nodded to his man, who
released his grip on Merk’s throat, and Merk breathed deep, relieved. But the
leader then reached up and held a knife to Merk’s throat and Merk wondered if
he would die here, today, in this place. He wondered if it would be punishment
for all the killing he had done. He wondered if he was ready to die.
    “Answer him,” their leader growled. “You
give that to yourself, boy? They say you need to kill a hundred men to get that
mark.”
    Merk breathed, and in the long silence
that followed, debated what to say. Finally, he sighed.
    “A thousand ,” he said.
    The leader blinked back, confused.
    “What?” he asked.
    “A thousand men,” Merk explained.
“That’s what gets you that tattoo. And it was given to me by King Tarnis
himself.”
    They all stared back, shocked, and a
long silence fell over the wood, so quiet that Merk could hear the insects
chirping. He wondered what would happen next.
    One of them broke into hysterical
laughter—and all the others followed. They laughed and guffawed as Merk stood
there, clearly thinking it was the funniest thing they’d ever heard.
    “That’s a good one, boy,” one said.
“You’re as good a liar as you are a monk.”
    The leader pushed the dagger against his
throat, hard enough to begin to draw blood.
    “I said, answer me,” the leader
repeated. “A real answer. You want to die right now, boy?”
    Merk stood there, feeling the pain, and
he thought about the question—he truly thought about it. Did he want to die? It
was a good question, and an even deeper question than the thief supposed. As he
thought about it, really thought about, he realized that a part of him did want
to die. He was tired of life, bone tired.
    But as he dwelled on it, Merk ultimately
realized he was not ready to die. Not now. Not today. Not when he was ready to
start anew. Not when he was just beginning to enjoy life. He wanted a chance to
change. He wanted a chance to serve in the Tower. To become a Watcher.
    “No, actually I don’t,” Merk replied.
    He finally looked his captor right in
the eye, a resolve growing within him.
    “And because of that,” he continued,
“I’m going to give you one chance to release me, before I kill you all.”
    They all looked at him in silent shock,
before the leader scowled and began to break into action.
    Merk felt the blade begin to slice his
throat, and something within him took over. It was the professional part of
him, the one he had trained his entire life, the part of him that could take