Dance of The Dragonwolf

The Young Dragon

Hello Drinor Here, If you like to become a patron and get access to these chapters earlier, head on over to Patreon and search 'Drinor.'

Write 'www.Patreon.com/Drinor' in the Websearch.

The Following 15 Chapters are available for Patrons.

Chapter 31 (A Song for A Lady), Chapter 32 (The Calm Before), Chapter 33 (Lady Hightower), Chapter 34 (The Storm), Chapter 35 (A Dance Under The Full Moon), Chapter 36 (Magic is Dark and Full of Lies), Chapter 37 (A Prince and A Princess), Chapter 38 (A Tourney of Sacrifice), Chapter 39 (Words are like an Arrow), Chapter 40 (Viserys's Decision), Chapter 41 (Aenar's Answer), Chapter 42 (You Will Doom Us All), Chapter 43 (The First Cry of War), Chapter 44 (Revenge is a dish best served Cold), and Chapter 45 (Dragons and Snakes) are already available for Patrons.

The Link is in my Profile

Daemon

As the weight of the sword burdened his hands, Daemon shifted his gaze towards the man, peering through the narrow opening of his helmet. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead, creating an uncomfortable sensation as they clung to his skin. Taking a determined step forward, Daemon unleashed a swing with his sword, aiming to strike his opponent. To his surprise, the man skillfully parried the attack using his own weapon, adding force against Daemon. He pushed back, exerting every ounce of strength he possessed. The man swiftly stepped away, intended to unbalance Daemon and make him stumble. Reacting swiftly, Daemon sideswinged, his blade sliced through nothing but empty air, the man successfully evading his strike. The man swiftly retaliated by slashing at his wrist, attempting to force him to drop the sword. A surge of agony coursed through Daemon's hand, and he felt his hand getting wet under the armor.

His face was sweating. Daemon gritted his teeth and slammed his mailed hand against his helm. The man staggered, taking steps back, but Daemon allowed him no time to rest; as quick as a cat, Daemon swung his sword, but the man crouched, the blade slashing the empty air one feather above his helm. They had been training for hours now, and Daemon was breathing heavily.

Daemon didn't see it coming, but he felt the blade hit his mailed chest hard, the breath escaping him from the impact. He let out a breath, quickly trying to fill his lungs with air, but the man allowed him no such luxury; ruthlessly, the man hit him quickly with his sword at the back of his knee; Daemon staggered, falling on his knees. He tried to sideswing, but the man grasped his wrist with his mailed hand, stopping his hand and forcing it upwards; Daemon's face was forced forward, and the man hit him again on the helm, dropping him on the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Daemon felt the blood and the dirt in his mouth, his face sweating. He felt like his face was melting off; he turned his head, and in front of him was the sword's tip right at his face, his helm separating him from the pointy end, as sharp as Valyrian Steel, one small thrust, and it would enter his head through his eye socket. Not the worst way to die, Daemon thought. But Daemon preferred to die with his dragon. If the gods asked him, he would say he wishes to die with his dragon, either that or in his son's arms.

"Yield?"

"I yield." Daemon surrendered, raising up his arm. His muscles felt soar and were shaking and burning, and they felt hot to the touch; Daemon knew he needed a bath after this.

They had started their little swordfight before even the rats of the Seven that called themselves Priests of the Seven had woken up; the bells of the new day would ring every day just as the sun peeked on the horizon. A new day, new problems. The bells always woke up the city, but today, Daemon had woken up before the bells, as did his fighter.

Daemon had woken up feeling heavy and with a bad headache; he could still taste the beer on his lips. before, it tasted sweet, but now he felt like he would vomit everything; his stomach growled, and Daemon imagined a roasted chicken would be good now.