Bentwhistle the Dragon Box

by Paul Cude

  Lost in time with just the faintest dribble of magic from the laminium dagger, sheathed at her back, enhancing her hearing, she was confident that when she was required she'd be refreshed, focused on what needed to be done, and aware of the entire situation. Having already compartmentalised her feelings, listening to Peter and Tim's voices had little or no effect on her, at least that's what she kept telling herself.

  Against the backdrop of the occasional beat of her very human heart, a familiar voice caught her attention from nearly two hundred metres away. It was the king, and in some respect his words cut right through her, attempting to crush the resolve she held so firmly on to. While devastated that he'd decided to surrender, the tiniest beacon of hope flared up inside her, because if nothing else, it had bought her best friend Peter just a little more time, something she would use to save not only him, but Tim and the king as well.

  All she needed now was for Tank's force to fight their way up through the council building and appear on the other side of that blasted magical bridge. After that, it would be no great shakes to dispatch a few dark dragons and nagas, especially given the contingent of King's Guard that were already present, something she hadn't counted on. As the tiniest smile fought its way onto her pale, freckled face, she couldn't help thinking that as much as could be the case in an ever changing situation just like this, things were very much going to plan. She knew wholeheartedly that Tank wouldn't let her down and was one hundred percent sure that right at this very moment, he and his team were heading directly for her.

  If only she knew.

  What had now become a silent standoff was abruptly broken by footsteps, the shuffling of feet and the slithering of nagas, from back at the start of the bridge.

  Manson turned to face the direction of the interlopers, incensed at the interruption.

  "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" he yelled, his voice magnified by the acoustics of the surroundings.

  "SIRE!" the naga leading a long pack of monsters, nervously fired back, as Peter struggled to get his head around the irony.

  "We thought you'd want to know about this immediately," stressed the naga in charge, the whole group drawing to a halt right in front of everybody.

  "WELL? WHAT IS IT?" raged Manson, about ready to tear someone in two. Almost without a sound, the two lines of age old serpents that had been following their leader slithered off to the side, revealing three badly beaten human shaped captives and three dragon forms, two of them quite elderly.

  Goosebumps raced up his arms, as a loud sigh forced its way through his parched lips. Gobsmacked beyond belief as almost every emotion possible gorged on his insides, Peter struggled to stay upright, unable to believe the sight before him.

  TANK... his best friend, bleeding from almost every part of his body, looking downtrodden and broken. HOOK... most certainly and inexplicably here deep within the dragon domain, despite him being... HUMAN! And then the last of the three, his love, his soul mate, the being he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Now he might just get that wish, but not at all in the way he'd hoped for. JANICE... here, now, battle scarred, damaged, bloodied, a right mess. Momentarily their eyes locked. In that instant, her love for him was revealed, despite the fact that he realised she must now know that he was a dragon. His heart leapt as the love he'd suppressed reignited inside him. But it was short lived as the sense of danger all around them closed in.

  As Peter's heart leapt, Richie's fell into the deepest, darkest cavern within her mind.

  'Tank, Hook and Janice... captured!' was all that she could think, from her vantage point high above the proceedings, as she slid down the wall beside the vent, her bottom slapping loudly on the floor. Momentarily unable to believe it, she wondered what on earth had gone on. Had they been lured into a trap? Overwhelmed? Made some sort of mistake? Knowing Tank inside and out, none of these seemed very likely. Smart and tactically aware, he would never have led the others into anything that even remotely looked like an ambush. Closing her eyes before running her fingers through her long, curly brown hair, she wondered how it had come to this, and just what they were supposed to do now. She'd counted on having the three of them fit... to fight, and armed, something they obviously weren't at the moment, as well as having the rest of their force with them. Given their absence, she had to assume they were dead, apart from the two elderly dragons and the healer from Salisbridge, who all looked like they were knocking on death's door. Alright, there were some King's Guards there, which might make up some of the difference, but could she just appear amongst them? Would it be enough? If she could free Peter and Tim, just maybe with the help of the king's force it might go their way. But uncertainty clouded her judgement. The opposing force looked to be mighty powerful in their own right and that was without taking the psychotic Manson and his deranged queen into account. Centring her balance, pulling in a deep breath, whilst still listening to everything going on down below her, she vowed to wait... at least a while, in the hope that one very obvious opportunity might present itself. If it did... she would be ready, of that there was no doubt.

  "Well, well, well... just what do we have here?" scoffed Manson, ignoring the dragon king, limping over towards the new arrivals.

  "As you predicted, my lord," ventured the leader of the small group, "we were attacked in the square outside the building by a small but potent force. These six represent all that remains of that force... four dragons and two humans. I thought you would be interested to know that there are humans here fighting alongside the dragons."

  Eyeing the group with a dark, malevolent contempt, a bubbling sense of familiarity rose slowly to the surface of the dark dragon's consciousness. Recognising Tank as one of Peter's best friends, and the young woman from the bar of that blasted sports club that should have gone up in smoke from the laminium bomb that had somehow failed, a sickeningly evil smile snaked its way across his clean-shaven face. He was going to enjoy this. Make them pay. Observe his lucky and bumbling nemesis suffering as he watched them all die.

  For his part, he felt terrible. Not just physically, although if you'd taken all the injuries he'd ever suffered throughout his time playing rugby and put them all together, they still wouldn't have even come close to what had happened to him today. A wreck, even by dragon standards, and that was saying something, but it wasn't just his physical state. They were all dead, all because of him. It was his fault; he'd been in charge... their leader. And they were caught off guard. Clearly Manson's force had been lying in wait, specifically for them. How? He didn't know. But they had been. And now they were here, at what looked like the end of it all. Taking in everything around them, his brain told him there was nowhere to go, nothing he could do. And part of him believed it. But a much smaller part, deeper down, recognised that he just might be able to do something, however insignificant it might be, having heard a brief snippet of what was going on when they were brought in. What he needed was a little bit of luck. Pushing the pain to one side, and with his blood still dripping on the floor, Tank wondered just how he could give fate a subtle nudge in the right direction.

  Remaining stoic and completely motionless, surrounded by not only nagas, but dark dragons, their evil looking bastard swords only a hair's breadth away from being drawn, Amelia Battlehard slowed her breathing and reached out telepathically as far as she dared. It was a risk, she knew, especially given the way one of her dragons had been dispatched, but she felt there was no other alternative. Her life up until now had been all about duty, and even with the threat of death hanging over her, it still was. And so she was determined to go out on a high, fighting alongside those she was responsible for. If nothing else, they would do some damage to the enemy, and just maybe do some good for their monarch. As one, a tiny glowing triangle sprang to life in the minds of her fighting force. Outside this tight knit group, it would mean very little to anyone, only ever applicable to a young dragonling in his or her first year in the nursery ring, but to the well trained males and females
under her command it meant only one thing. GET READY!

  Despite feeling as broken as he could ever remember, that little spark of rebellion and defiance remained. And on seeing Peter's friend Tank and of all things... two humans dragged before him, it ignited something within him, causing him to throw caution to the winds, to once again stand up and be counted, all thoughts of the ring long since forgotten.

  "ENOUGH!" declared the king, much to the shock of pretty much everyone there. "I've surrendered myself to you. No one else here needs to die. Let the others go, or I promise you I'll make things difficult."

  Manson swivelled around on the spot, both his eyebrows wriggling to a different beat, unable to subdue an almost manic twitch that had developed just beneath his left eye.

  Thinking this was it for their king, Amelia Battlehard readied the signal to attack, almost glad the time had come. But it was never going to be quite that easy.

  "HAAAAHAAAAHAAAAAAAA," laughed Manson, doubling over in mirth, his change in attitude catching everyone off guard.

  George stood puzzled, unable to believe what he was seeing.

  For Peter, Tim, Tank, Janice and Hook, this only really confirmed what they'd all been suspecting, that Manson really was a deranged psychopath, probably with more than one personality fighting over the controls to his brain. It was a sight to behold, horrific beyond belief. What was more worrying though was the look of utter adoration sweeping across his queen's face. Madness like this could surely only exist in the depths of hell.

  Standing up straight, tears of laughter streaming down both cheeks, Manson shook his head, getting rid of the last few chuckles.

  "What on earth makes you think you're in any position to dictate anything?" he chided the king. "Do you really think your pitiful force could put up any sort of resistance against us? Or perhaps you're under the illusion that someone somewhere is coming to rescue you. I assure you they're not. The dragon realm is mine, alright maybe not quite all of it, but it won't be long before those small pockets of resistance are wiped off the face of the planet. In another twenty-four hours it will all be done. And then, we can do as we please. And let me assure you... WE WILL!"

  Standing there in two minds, the king pondered which course of action he should take. One screamed to FIGHT! Use the magic of the ring if that were still at all possible, and go absolutely berserk, no matter what the consequences. The other cautioned reason, to wait and see what would happen, to try and negotiate. Both choices seemed downright catastrophic, with the king finding it impossible to choose between them.

  As Manson turned away from the monarch, back towards Tank, Janice and Hook, one of the nagas behind them slithered forward, brandishing Fu-ts'ang, a cold blue mist lighting up the air around it.

  "The girl... she was using this in the attack."

  "Interesting," sneered Manson, limping closer to the increasingly afraid Janice, who was, by now, shivering in terror.

  "Where did you get this, GIRL?" he fumed, his mood once again having turned itself on its head.

  Janice said nothing, her eyes remaining focused firmly on the floor.

  Mere metres away, Peter rallied against the chains containing his magic, binding him in place, much to Earth's amusement.

  Manson stepped in close, grabbed Janice by the hair, forcing her to cry out in pain, and pulled her head up to his.

  Peter gave everything he had. EVERYTHING! Still it wasn't enough.

  "WHERE DID YOU GET IT?!" he bellowed right into her face.

  Much as he hated to see Janice suffering like this, Tank recognised this as his one opportunity, and with unflinching resolve, he took it. Abruptly he shook off the two nagas holding him by the shoulders and, almost faster than the eye could see, grasped Manson's arm, squeezing his biceps with all his might, forcing the dark monster to relinquish his grip on Janice's hair, whilst at the same time screaming,

  "Leave her alone!"

  As Janice dropped to the floor, there was only ever going to be one outcome. Manson whirled furiously, catching Tank full on in the chest with a punch imbued with almost as much magical power as he had. A sickening 'CRUNCH' saw the young rugby playing dragon scythe back through the air in the direction of the watching king. Mid-flight, two things happened, both using magic, but not the dragon kind.

  When the three friends had first taken their places above ground in Salisbridge, having mastered maintaining their human forms, Tank, like the other two, had fully immersed himself in as much topside culture as he could. Briefly, the best description of him would have been 'nerd'. Quite by chance he'd stumbled into a tiny little comic book store called the 'Floppy Tongue' on one of the main routes out of the city, and had fallen completely in love with tales of superheroes and their arch enemies. Comics and books were purchased, alongside action figures and other trinkets, all over a few weeks. Before he knew it, he was attending much bigger events, much further away. At one such event about thirty miles away in Bournemouth, his fascination for the human way of life took an about turn. Whilst in the foyer of the building, queuing to get in, he was approached by a well dressed man in a top hat, brandishing a deck of cards. Asked to pick one from the fan-like assortment in front of him, he did just that, watched eagerly by everyone in front and behind in the snaking line. To his utter astonishment, moments later, the magician, for that's what he was, revealed to him exactly what card he held, even though Tank was sure he hadn't seen it. Gasps of amazement and sharp intakes of breath, before a loud round of applause, were the order of the day. In that exact instant, all thoughts of comics, novels and action figures were forgotten for the youngster Even with his dragon powers, Tank still couldn't figure out how the trick had been done. And that sent his mind racing, well... that and the applause and recognition the artist had received from those around him.

  Many books and YouTube videos later, Tank found himself performing in front of Peter and Richie at almost every opportunity, much to the friends' amusement. Whilst he had eventually grown out of card tricks and sleight of hand, the skills that he'd gained remained with him at the back of his mind at all times. What, you're probably thinking, does this have to do with his current dilemma? Everything!

  Flying backwards through the air, having taken the fiercest of punches before leaving the ground, Tank had altered his body shape to change his trajectory to get him to where he needed to be. Halfway to his intended destination, he twisted one hundred and eighty degrees, making the movement look natural in an effort to conceal what he was really up to. With the king looming large, and the young rugby playing dragon all but a blur, in one swift move, using all the sleight of hand he'd gained during his time impressing his friends, he reached down and grabbed the forgery of the king's ring that Gee Tee had given him, from the tiny little pocket on the side of one of his walking boots. Bracing himself for impact, he hoped the king would forgive him for what he was about to do.

  'BOOM!' Tank hit the king full on in the chest, knocking the monarch to the hard stone floor, taking the wind right out of him, much to the amusement of Manson's hangers on. Having landed fully on top of George, Tank slowly untangled himself and rose gingerly to his feet, having already exchanged the fake ring for the real one on the king's finger, in the melee, hoping desperately that the monarch wouldn't give the game away. Deliberately losing his balance and falling painfully back to the floor on his arse, Tank secreted the real ring back in the small pocket of his shoe, in a sleight of hand even the best magicians in the world would be proud of, before being dragged upright by the two nagas that had previously been restraining him, who'd slithered over to his position next to the king.

  With a grunt and a groan, George crawled back to his feet, eyes locked on Peter's friend, the master mantra maker's partner. Despite the unbelievable speed and precision with which it had been done, he knew what had happened and, in his mind, commended the young dragon for his bravery and cunning.

  Still some way away from the action, even using her dragon abilities she couldn't see quit
e what had happened. But something had... something important if she was any judge. It was almost as if her friend had deliberately got himself thrown into the king. That just sounded stupid, she was sure. But that's what it had looked like. Why? That's what she asked herself, but no obvious reason presented itself. Logic would dictate it was to pass on some information, but she was certain nothing had been said. Perhaps they'd communicated telepathically, but she was sure their captors would have been on the lookout for that. It was odd, of that she was sure. Going back to flexing her muscles, and keeping alert, Richie felt sure that the moment of truth was fast approaching.

  Giving the naga clutching Fu-ts'ang a nod, Manson ordered him to keep hold of it, knowing that now was not the time for a detailed inspection of the outlandish blade. Slipping back behind some of his colleagues, said naga marvelled at the sheer power contained within the weapon he was holding. Bathing in the cold radiance that it gave off, deep within his mind he coveted the awesome beast slayer for his own personal use.

  Earth's surface. New Delhi, India.

  It was virtually the same for nearly all twenty or so hospitals situated in and around New Delhi. A steady trickle of patients over the previous eleven days had stretched the infrastructure almost to breaking point. Cases of eye irritation, inflammation of the lungs, chest pains, breathing difficulties and asthma attacks had risen to an all time high, with patients lying two to a bed and, in some cases, stretched out on the floor in the corridors. It was bedlam on an unprecedented scale. Accident and emergency departments were working twenty four hours a day, with extra doctors and nurses utterly exhausted, though committed to doing their very best for their patients, but still they couldn't get to grips with all the symptoms caused by the noxious smog cloud that hovered over the city, simply refusing to go away.

  Today, however, things had ramped up to a totally different level. People from across the region had been presenting themselves all morning, coughing, wheezing, rubbing their bloodshot eyes, clutching at their chests, all deeply distressed. About mid-morning, individuals started showing up with extra indications of illness, as well as those already mentioned. On top of the familiar smog symptoms, people now complained of nausea, vomiting, diarrhoea, a high fever, dehydration and a couple of cases were actually foaming at the mouth. As you can imagine, this changed things a great deal. Government emergency contingencies were rushed into place as parts of the different hospitals were quarantined off, with infectious disease specialists attending as many sites as their limited manpower allowed them to in such a short space of time. As if all of this wasn't bad enough, anonymous leaks to national newspapers spread panic like wildfire, with families and individuals alike running for the hills, or in most cases driving. Every single road leading out of the city was at a standstill, as cars full of people rushed to get out into the countryside. In some cases whole families made up of several generations walked in the pitch black, alongside the mile after mile of congestion, sucking in the poisonous petrol and diesel fumes, which understandably put them at more risk of becoming ill and spreading the airborne toxin to the outlying areas, something that supplemented the diabolical plan even more.