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They followed Bativa through the streets of the fortress city for the next two days until they finally reached a strange-looking platform that was built into a tall shaft that disappeared into the upper levels of the fortress. Bativa gestured for everyone to step onto the platform, then calmly pulled a lever that had been built into the platform floor. With a groaning shudder, the platform slowly began to rise up the shaft, slowly gathering speed the higher they ascended.
“This platform will take us most of the way up to the council room.” The Deola chieftain explained as they continued to ascend higher into the fortress. “It was built years before the upper levels of the fortress. It has a series of weights and counterweights that allow it to rise and fall, depending on which way you throw the lever.”
As they made their way up, the tribesman explained the different functions of each level of the city. They learned that the first several levels above the main corridor and arena were devoted strictly to the families and workers that made their homes in the fortress year-round. The next several levels were for the craftsmen and blacksmiths that had set up shop inside of the Deolan city. The uppermost levels of the city were reserved for the council members and wealthy merchants, and were well guarded by heavily-armed Deolan warriors.
The platform finally shuddered to a stop, and they followed the clan-chief through the maze of streets that crisscrossed the massive fortress. After nearly an hour, they finally reached an enormous set of winding stairs that led to the highest levels of the immense fortress, and slowly began to make their way up. They were all winded when they finally reached the uppermost level of the stronghold.
When they finally reached the top of the staircase, they found themselves in a beautiful domed cathedral that had been sheathed from floor to ceiling in a glistening white marble that reflected the sunlight that streamed through a half dozen huge skylights that had been constructed in the domed ceiling. The entire cathedral was void of any decoration, save for twelve ornately carved chairs that sat in a half circle in the center of the room. All but two of the chairs held Deolan tribesmen, who watched their approach with curious gazes.
Bativa led them to a spot directly in front of the councilmen, then moved to one of the two empty chairs. “These are the people of which I spoke. They will answer any questions that you may have.” He turned to Damion and the others. “Allow me to present the Deolan Council. Thenke the clan-chief of the Unta clan,” He gestured to the overweight, heavily tattooed man on his left. “Gredee of the Galaspe clan,” He continued down the line. "Suscep of the Noste clan; Wathre of the Hasht clan; Tonke of the Worashe clan; Cinte of the Calite clan; Druta of the Supece clan; Menke of the Asnote clan; Krel of the Nacetre clan; and Fathre of the Decribe clan.”
Each tribesman nodded his head as their name was announced, their eyes carefully appraising the companions. Several of them wore disapproving looks, clearly unhappy with their presence.
“The missing councilman,” Bativa gestured to the empty chair, his voice suddenly sad. “belonged to Vaghn, clan-chief of the Alanoa clan. He was killed in an attack by the dragon.”
The companions all bowed respectfully the councilmen. Damion noticed that many of the councilmen watched him with wary, almost aggressive stares. He distinctly heard the word 'freak' muttered as the clan-chiefs conversed quietly amongst themselves. A sudden anger flared up inside of him as he stared back with an almost openly hostile look. He took an instant dislike to the sneering group.
Many of the councilmen stared angrily at Snowfeather, who perched calmly on Damion’s shoulder, and muttered to one another in harsh voices, though a few stared openly at the beautiful owl with something akin to wonder.
Krel, clan chief of the Nacetre tribe, sat forward, glaring at Damion with a suspicious expression. His face was covered in elaborate designs, which added to his savage look. “Bativa tells that you have information that concerns us all regarding the dragon. He says that you claim there is a man that controls the dragon that has been attacking our people. Surely that isn't true?” His tone clearly indicated his disbelief.
“It is true.” Damion stated firmly, his face grim. “A man by the name of Kaviel is controlling the dragon with a powerful enchanted stone called the Dragon Gem. The gem forces the great serpent to do whatever the man commands.”
“Why would any man wish to cause such destruction?” Tonke, clan-chief of the Worashe tribe, asked, his face skeptical. “Surely no man would cause such mayhem! He would gain nothing from the deaths of so many innocent people!” He gazed at Damion, obviously believing him to be lying.
“He is searching for a sword that is rumored to be the key to unlocking the Dragon Gem's full power.” Damion’s temper was beginning to rise. Who were they to question his word? His dislike was growing with every second.
“You speak of the Dragon Sword.” Krel sneered condescendingly. “Everyone knows that the Dragon Sword and the Dragon Gem are only legends. Do you believe us fools? Do you really expect us to believe that the legends are real?”
Damion growled a deep rumbling growl of annoyance. “I really don't care what you choose to believe. I never wished to come here to discuss our quest with you. We were asked. So, believe me or not, we are wasting valuable time, and I'm beginning to grow short on patience.”
There was a loud grumbling among the tribesmen, and many of them looked as though they had been mortally insulted. Bativa, on the other hand, had an openly amused look as he watched his brethren react to these harsh words. He tossed Damion a glance, then winked, obviously enjoying every second.
Sly placed a hand on Damion’s shoulder. “Careful! Remember, we are still in their city. We must show them some respect.”
Damion nodded, then drew a deep breath to help repress his frustration. “The fact is, the Dragon Gem is real. I have seen it with my own eyes. Kaviel has it in his possession, and he is using it to control the dragon.” He gave the men a hard look. “And if the gem is real, then the sword must also be real, and Kaviel will continue to tear this continent apart until he finds it. And if he does manage to find it, and is able to join the gem and the sword, there is nothing that will be able to stop him from taking over this world.”
The councilmen began to talk excitedly amongst themselves. Menke of the Asnote tribe suddenly sat forward. “So, you plan to try find this Dragon Sword, and stop this madman?” He clearly thought such an undertaking was impossible.
“If we’re able to find the sword, it should help even the odds.”
“Attacking the dragon will only anger it even further!” Krel declared in a shrill voice. “If you were to fail, it would take its fury out on our people! We cannot allow you to endanger the Deolan people any further! Too many of our people have perished already! We will not permit you to continue on this mad quest!”
“Will not permit?” Damion growled in a deadly voice.
“Here we go!” Sly sighed in a resigned voice.
Bativa, who had continued to watch in silence, nonchalantly slipped away from the other councilmen, obviously believing Damion to be on the verge of turning them all into radishes.
Damion stared at the sneering councilman with anger coursing through his veins. “You think you have the power to stop me?” He asked, his eyes flashing. He drew himself up to his full height, towering at least a foot taller than even the tallest of Deolan warriors. “Apparently, you seem to think that what you have to say should hold some meaning to me.” He glared at them with a hard expression. “It doesn’t.”
Most of the councilmen had sat back in their chairs fearfully, cowed into submission by the look in Damion’s eyes, but Councilman Krel seemed livid. “You dare to ignore the order of this Council?” His tattooed face had turned a violent shade of purple, and he leapt to his feet, appearing to be on the verge of attacking Damion himself.
Damion snarled, then drew in his magic and pointed at the raging tribesman. The invisible force that struck Councilman Krel sent him
hurling backwards where he crashed into his heavy chair. He groaned weakly, then slid limply to the floor.
“Damion!” Sly barked in a firm voice. “That’s enough!” He looked at Councilman Krel who was slowly struggling to a sitting position, a dazed look in his eyes, then at the other cringing councilmen. “I believe the Council now understands the situation. I’m sure that there will be no further disagreements.”
“Perhaps it would be wise to adjourn for the evening?” Bativa suggested, his eyes dancing with amusement. “I’m sure that my brothers would like the chance to take in everything that they have learned here, and to regain their composure.”
“I think that would be best.” Sly agreed, placing a firm hand on Damion’s shoulder.
“Very well. As long as there isn’t any objection from my brothers,” Bativa gestured to his fellow councilmen, who still stared at Damion with terrified eyes. “No? Then let us adjourn until tomorrow.”
Omensent: Birth of a Dragon Lord Page 24