Dracon and the edge of the world
By
Michael T. Payne
Chapter One
A cold wind blew the curtains open, chilling the bedchamber and waking Lord Advin from a deep sleep. Like icy fingers grabbing his spine, he was jarred awake. He sat up, gathering the blankets tightly around him.
“Girl!” he called when he realized he was alone in his bed, “Girl!” he called again, “Damn, girl,” he grumbled to himself, then yelled out, “They’ll be a beating if you’re not back here quick!” He waited, listening, his teeth chattered in the dark. He rubbed his shoulders, trying to warm himself up.
“She’s not coming.” a giggling girls voice came from somewhere in the darkness.
“Who’s there? Is that you, Matilda?” He asked, straining to see in the dark, “Where’s the other one gone off to? Close the window and come warm me up. Be quick about it! I’m so cold, I can feel my cock shriveling. I told you she was too young! Running off, the first chance she got, I blame you! You picked her; said she’d be good for my sleep-”
A flame flickered to life, floating in the palm of a young, dark-haired woman’s hand. It lit up both she, and another… more sinister being. A man in black armor, with a black helmet, baring golden horns of a ram. He stood at the foot of Lord Advin’s bed, making him recoil at the sight of the man, suddenly visible in the light and so close to him. His armor was glowing from the soft orange flame that danced in the young dark-haired woman’s palm.
“You want me to warm you?” she asked in a playful voice, the flame in her palm flared.
“Guards!” Lord Advin cried out, answered only by screams and the sudden sounds of a battle erupting on the grounds of his manor.
The dark-haired woman giggled again. Lord Advin scooted back against his headboard with nowhere to escape. He glanced between the sorceress and her armor-clad demon.
“Fíeda!” she hissed and every brazier in the room sprung to life, lighting the entire bedchamber.
The young sorceress in red was dressed as a lady. A noble lady, one who had no business in Lord Advin’s bedchamber, so late in the night. She wore a red dress with a prominent ruby necklace at her throat, so lavishly dressed, she looked like she was attending a ball. Not the usual garb, one would wear to sneak into a manor in the middle of the night. The warrior at the foot of Lord Advin’s bed, however, was terrifying. His metal covered hands rested on the hilt of his sword, the blades tip down at his feet. Lord Advin pulled the blankets up closer to his chin, as if it would protect him.
“What do you want?” he stammered, “I have silver, I have some gold, take it-” another scream from somewhere outside his door, much closer, stifled his plea.
He peered over at the door and there, just to its side, lay his young maid, Matilda, dead.
“Coin brings us here, but not yours, you lecherous pig!” The woman hissed.
She walked to the side of the bed, between it and the open window. The curtains rustled in the wind.
“Are you assassins?” Lord Advin asked, his eyes reflected his fear of what her answer might be.
“You’re a bad man.” She wagged her finger at him, like she was scolding a child, “Your people are tired of you taking their little daughters for your pleasure,” she said, giggling all the while. She knelt on the bed next to him, “Your own people saved and scrimped enough money, to pay my lord, to kill you.” She explained slowly like she was teaching a child to spell. She glanced at the armor-clad demon at the foot of the bed, “You see him there? So big! With that big sword! How do you imagine your death will come? Stabbed through the heart? Maybe… a beheading?” Lord Advin turned his attention from her, to the warrior at the foot of his bed, then swallowed hard.
“A lord, you say?” Lord Advin dared to ask, “Lord of what lands? Where are you from? I’ve never seen you in the emperor’s court. From whose house do you hail, girl? The nearest lord to me has no daughter, no son?” He narrowed his eyes at the young woman, trying to recognize her.
“It’s a far away land, where he rules as king!” She spoke like she was reading a fairy tale.
Lord Advin looked back at the man in armor, his heart dropped, realizing they must surely be toying with him.
“Why would a king, from a faraway land, sneak into my bedchamber in the middle of the night, at the behest of mere peasants? And if it is so, then I ask, why did you kill her?” he motioned with a nod toward the girl by the door, “You are mercenaries, he’s no more a lord, than you are a lady! Witch!”
She giggled then gave the tip of his nose the slightest tap with her finger. Lord Advin’s face crinkled, confused by the young woman, who acted so childlike and talked to him as though he too was a child. She stood up from the bed then scanned the room a moment before returning her attention to Lord Advin.
“Fíeda!” she hissed, making the braziers in the room flare brightly.
“Whatever they are paying you, I can pay more! At least let me speak?” he rushed to say, sitting up in his bed, his fear renewed. His hand was out, to stop the demon-lord before him from raising his sword, though he hadn’t even moved at all, “An Alliance! An alliance could be beneficial, to the both of us? Perhaps we could discuss it? Consider instead, a counter-offer?”
“You wish to bargain with my lord?” The woman asked, walking to the foot of the bed next to the still quiet man in armor, who had yet to make a move, or utter a single sound.
She looked up at her warrior with a surprised smile, then back at Lord Advin. The warriors black metal helmet’s face plate reflected the twisted face of some sort of demon or creature, Lord Advin could not entirely make out. It was grotesque in nature, whatever it was, meant to strike fear… effectively.
“We will hear your offer.” she said, still looking surprised, then walked around to the other side of the motionless, silent, warrior.
Lord Advin was curious, she acted as though her cohort answered her, or signaled her in some manner, but he did not see him move, and he certainly heard no words come from behind his terrifying helmet.
“Well…” He started, “I am the lord of these lands, should you reconsider your-”
Another scream from somewhere out in the courtyard silenced him. Lord Advin looked at the window, then slowly back to the foot of his bed, where only the warrior stood.
“Yes?” asked the young woman, suddenly sitting down on the other side of the bed, next to him.
He jumped when she spoke. She had a curious look on her face, waiting to hear his offer. She giggled at his startled response to her proximity. He did not notice her move, and sitting so close to him, as she was, made him reluctant to speak. Fear held his tongue for a long moment, glancing between the two intruders in his bedchamber. He could smell her flowery scent, and even in the midst of his terror, he found it a delightful sensation.
“Well,” he started, then glanced to the foot of his bed again, making sure the menacing man had not moved, “I, I rule these lands and have a vast army, we could…”
The woman interrupted him with a giggle, covering her mouth with her hand. She stood up from the bed and walked away, laughing all the while.
“A vast army?” her giggle turned to a cackle, as she rounded the foot of the bed, “Twenty men? Hardly a vast army, lord of these lands!” She said mocking him, “How many do you think have ties to your peasants? How many do you think,” she pointed to the window, as she approached it, “were willing to stand and fight for you? And how many do you think, fled at the very sight of my lord?”
She took a sharp turn, facing Lord Advin, her dress flowed out with her half twirl in his direction. She walked over, slowly, to the cowering Lord Advin, with a look of dis
gust in her eyes, and a snarl on her lips. She appeared ready to attack him making him recoil even deeper into his bed.
“I, I, I oversee these lands! In the name of Emperor Alden Marwood! His army comes to my call! I warn you, think long on your intentions here, girl!” Lord Advin threatened, his eyes darted between the two intruders.
“We have a bargain.” The menacing man at the foot of the bed spoke, his hollow voice startled Lord Advin.
The young woman stopped walking toward Lord Advin and instead, took her place at the warrior’s side. He stared at them a long while, watching in silence, not sure what to say next. The Demonic figure removed his helmet, revealing a scarred face that made Lord Advin wince at the very thought of how an injury of such magnitude could have possibly occurred. The man slowly lifted his hand and removed his gauntlet.
“You are… Lord…?”
“Dracon.” he said, “This, is my mistress, the lady, Talila.” He nodded his head in her direction.
Dracon stuck his hand out to Lord Advin, who looked at it hesitantly, his eyes darted from Talila to Dracon, then back at Dracon’s hand. He slowly moved forward on the bed and took his hand. Dracon gripped it tightly, so tight, in fact, he almost made Lord Advin cry out. His eyes widened, looking up at Dracon’s face, again drawn to the scar that started on his forehead and spread out, covering much of his face. Lord Advin was curious to the nature of such a large scar, all he could think of, was that his face was ripped off, then sewn back on. He let go of Dracon’s hand and returned to his bed, his face was twisted, still reflecting his gruesome thoughts.
“I want names for my gold, of course.” he said, finally relaxing back in his bed, “I want to know who hired you, then I want his…” he put a hand to his head, his vision blurred, “his…” he threw up on himself, then choked and clawed at his own neck, as if unseen hands constricted around it.
Blood flowed from his nose and ears. Talila cackled, looking at Dracon, then back at Lord Advin, finding the whole exchange extremely humorous. Dracon was again motionless, quiet, watching Lord Advin struggle to breathe, gasping until he could breathe no more. Talila laughed all the way to the bedroom door.
“Since when have you been able to do that?” She giggled, waiting for Dracon to join her. He watched Lord Advin a few moments longer, still silent.
“I don’t know,” Dracon finally turned away from the bed, “It just came about.”
Talila opened the door to the hall, where a man fell dead to the floor, behind him, Satana stood, her bloody sword in hand. Satana’s fiery red hair was a mess, partially covering her flushed face. She was panting, with a snarl on her lips. Her eyes darted about; her mind frenzied from the heat of battle. Dracon joined Satana in the hall, stepping over the dead guard at his feet.
“Is everyone dead?”
“Yeah, everyone we could find. A little over the top, don’t you think?” Satana asked, after catching her breath.
“I want to be thorough.”
“But I thought it was just him?” Satana asked pointing her sword at Lord Advin’s bedchamber.
“Tonight, is a cleansing.” Dracon started down the hall.
“A cleansing? What’s that supposed to mean?” Satana asked, the two women followed him.
“Where’s Um’Vec?” he asked.
“In the kitchen. Probably eating everything in it, people included.” Satana said, her comment soured Talila’s face.
“You leave him alone!” she hissed.
“You do not tell me what to do.” Satana replied, turning to Talila and pointing her finger at her, “You can whisper in his ear later, when he’s bedding you, and maybe he can tell me what to do. But you-”
Dracon stopped walking, making Satana stop talking. He considered chastising Satana but opted not to just then, he would address it with her later, in private. He turned his attention back to her.
“Grik knows to get horses?”
“Of course.” Satana answered, waiting for him to say more, at the very least she expected him to tell her to shut up, or not to talk to his precious Talila that way.
Dracon started walking again. The women glared at one another.
“You’re lucky we let it live at all!” Satana whispered to Talila, then continued down the hall.
They regrouped in the courtyard. Grik, the dwarf, was packing horses, surrounded by dead soldiers. Dracon looked at the horses a moment. His magical armor disappeared, leaving him dressed in his soft, black, Drow clothes, awarded to him by Shynda the Drow. He walked among the horses, inspecting them.
“Very nice. Well cared for.” Dracon admired the quality of the horses.
“Aye, my lord,” Grik agreed, “I’ve got one here, ya might find especially to yer liking.” Grik walked to the stables then returned, leading a black warhorse.
It made Dracon smile and take a slow, deep, inhale.
“Something a little more… familiar, sire?” Grik offered.
Dracon walked over, putting his hand on the horse, then circled it, rubbing it all the while.
“What’s a simple lord of farmers, doing with such a majestic animal as this?” Dracon asked admiring the beautiful horse.
“No matter,” Grik replied, “He’s yours now.”
“Don’t get attached, something is coming for you, a more powerful, and permanent companion.” Talila announced.
Satana glanced over at her with a smirk on her face hardly able to contain a laugh.
“To ride?” She asked with a chuckle, “I thought that was you?”
Talila snarled, her eyes flashed with a flame that made Satana put a hand to the hilt of her sword. Dracon mounted the horse, then pat its neck.
“Let’s go!”
From the side of the courtyard, a guard came running at the group, his sword high overhead, a battle cry on his lips. Before he could reach Dracon, atop his new horse, Um’Vec appeared from the darkness. The seven-foot bugbear struck a single blow, like a hammer to a nail, dropping the guard instantly with a very violent thud. Um’Vec looked at Talila with what could almost be described as pride, then he turned his ill-tempered attention to the guard at his feet. He raised both fists over his head, then pummeled the man to death, grunting and growling with each blow from his massive fists. He reared back and roared to the night sky with his toothy maw, blood dripping from his hands. Um’Vec looked at Dracon when he was done celebrating his kill and gave him a snarling nod. Talila smiled in approval of her pet, and constant companion. Um’Vec wore spiked metal bracers, carrying no weapon, preferring to use his fists and forearms against his enemies, with which he was efficient. His ears were long and doglike. Brown fur covered his large muscular frame and his eyes were a constant blood shot red, that shined in the night. As was with his kind, he could see clearly in the dark, his night vision was sharp. He was larger than most Bugbears, even the dwarf, Grik, who had fought many a battle with bugbears, respected the size and power of the beast, he had never seen it’s equal.
Um’Vec went to the manor gates and threw them open, then stepped aside as the group rode out, extra horses in tow. He followed on foot, jogging along, easily keeping pace. The five companions followed the road down from the manor, through the dark, desolate town. It was devoid of life, even the tavern was closed. Though every night since their arrival it had been opened until dawn. The townspeople, their employers, hid from them, shuttering every window, closing every business. Dracon inspected the homes and buildings as he passed by on the solitary road through the town. He imagined scared men and women, huddled under the ledges of their windows, praying for their success in killing their tyrant lord, and then their quick departure.
“Cowards.” Dracon muttered under his breath.
When they reached the edge of town, Dracon turned his horse back, letting the others continue a few yards ahead of him. He pulled his Unholy Reaver from its sheath as he dismounted his new steed, then plunged it deep into the earth, falling to his knees with the sword’s depth, unleashing a disease upon th
e land, back toward the town, a disease that would kill everything, and salt the earth. Nothing would grow there for years to come. It would be slow, and It would most certainly be painful. Dracon stood up, letting go of the Unholy Reaver, leaving it in the ground as he walked away. The sword slowly disappeared after unleashing its poison.
An hour later they were back at their camp. Dracon dismounted his horse and let it walk off, to graze or to be tethered by someone else. It was Um’Vec who gathered his horse and led it to a tree, tethering it there. He sniffed the horse, grunting at how delicious it was, then looked at the others, who paid him no mind. Each was performing some task of their own around camp. He took a deeper sniff, coming close enough to lick the horse and give it a taste. Dracon disappeared into his tent, Satana started to reignite the dead fire, and Grik, wasted no time and pulled two small chests from the pack horses, then took them over to the firepit that Satana was working to start.
“You can’t wait to count it, can you?” She asked.
“We need to know what we’re working with; we don’t know what’s out there.” Grik said, “It’s a new world we’re in, girl.” Calling her girl made Satana roll her eyes, she hated when he called her girl and he knew it.
“Your common tongue is getting better; I don’t think I have anything to make fun of you for? Except your accent.” She said trying to annoy him, “If I didn’t speak dwarven, I wouldn’t be able to understand you.” He chuckled dismissively.
“I’m only as good as my teacher,” Grik said, cracking open the chests one at a time, not waiting for the fires light.
Talila stood a few yards away, watching everyone in camp. She made eye contact with Um’Vec then nodded to him, he returned her stare for a moment, then went to a pack horse and started unpacking it. Talila went into Dracon’s tent. He sat on his bedding, lost in thought. He didn’t acknowledge her when she came in. Talila stood a moment, in silence, staring down at him, then joined him, sitting by his side.
“Satana will have a fire shortly, then we can eat, let me see your face.” She rose to her knees, then moved his long black hair from his face, examining the scar across his forehead and down the left side of his cheek, still bold and purple.
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