“These are uncharted lands,” the Captain replied, “and we are not equipped for higher altitudes. It is my guess the Dragon Riders aren’t either. They are a people on the run, and would perish on those heights.”
“So they cannot be far from us,” yelled the Queen. “Tuh-Ma followed the trail with ease yesterday, why is it you can’t, Captain?”
He blanched, trying to choose his words carefully. “With respect, my Queen, your troll … I mean … loyal consort possesses particular skills. But since he came down with the wyrmbite, he has been next to useless. His senses are dulled and — ”
“Quiet, dolt. Do not give me your ‘with respect’ mord. You show me no respect whatsoever. You do not need to remind me of Tuh-Ma’s predicament. What I need is competence and decisiveness — and you provide me with neither. Dismissed.”
The man saluted, grimaced and guided his mount away from the Queen, thankful she hadn’t chosen to vent her rage on him in a more fatal manner. Two commanders had already had their employment terminated during a luckless foray into northern Dragonia already, and he clearly didn’t want to join them.
It was the second piece of bad news Etezora had received that day. Why were circumstances conspiring against her and the pursuit of the dragon schjek?
Since the Cuscosian battalion had left Wyverneth, Tuh-Ma had led the scouting party, his well-honed tracking skills soon identifying the route of the fleeing Dragonians. The remaining bulk of the Cuscosian force had made good progress through the open woodland of the Dragonian Vale. Yet once they had reached the sub-tropical deciduous forests of the lower Imperious Crescent, progress slowed to the pace of a gar-slug. This came to the fore when they encountered the marshes and lagoons marking the transition from Vale flatlands to denser upland forests. They had subsequently spent days hacking through undergrowth that seemed to conspire against them, wandering in circles despite Tuh-Ma’s tracking abilities.
“Tuh-Ma sees many trails leading off from each other,” he had said. “But when Tuh-Ma follows one for a few hours, it circles back to where they all began.” The blue-skin had been forced to follow each individual trail in turn until he happened on one that led away in a consistent direction. This success lifted them, and they believed they were closing in on the escaping Donnephon. That was until they had made camp the previous night. While the troops had rested, small blood-sucking insects living in the marsh grasses surrounding what they hoped was the last lagoon, feasted on their exposed skin. The insects’ saliva transmitted virulence to their victims causing severe itching and a rash. It was only a matter of hours before the soldiers were writhing in the throes of wyrmbite. The infection affected the lungs, causing fits of wheezing and intense congestion of the nasal passages. Much of the Cuscosian battalion were reduced to a sneezing, spluttering mass of misery.
Tuh-Ma had been bitten repeatedly. Whether it was his exposed leathery skin, or something in his blood that attracted the insects, he had suffered more bites than the pale skinned Cuscosians. He had come down with a fever and rendered immobile as his limbs refused to support him.
Etezora understood these facts, but the Hallows madness was upon her, and it was difficult for any to turn aside her fury. Her second in command, a man called Heliot tried, nonetheless.
“Your Majesty,” he ventured, pulling his steed closer to Etezora’s. “We are unable to proceed in these circumstances. We have significant casualties as a result of the wyrmbite. Your men need treatment and it would behove us to fall back to the Vale and consider another strategy. I’m sure your exceptional mind will think more lucidly away from this miserable environment.”
Heliot was better at choosing his words than the Captain, and Etezora deigned to listen. “Captain Nestra chose this campsite,” she said, glaring at the retreating officer.
“In his defence, Your Majesty, the terrain is foreign to us, and we left Wyverneth without adequate preparation and limited supplies. We are not equipped to deal with this illness.”
The man’s assessment was reasonable, but the Hallows wasn’t. Etezora felt it rise like bile within, consuming her rational mind and oozing out like a vile, irrational ichor. A tendril of energy snaked out towards Heliot’s throat and he flinched from its approach, beads of sweat forming on his pallid face. Yet just before it wrapped itself around his neck, a vestige of restraint stayed Etezora’s hand.
“I suspect a note of insubordination in your words, Heliot, but I will show mercy on this occasion. What do you recommend?” She said.
After a moment’s pause the colonel sat up straight in his saddle and adjusted his tunic.
“My Queen, the Donnephon can wait. They — ”
“Do not use that word in my presence,” Etezora rasped, “It gives them too much respect.”
“As you wish, Your Majesty,” the man continued. “The Dragonians are hemmed in by the mountains too, and they are many in number, carrying sick and wounded. We have caught sight of their dragons occasionally in the distance, but always this side of the mountain range. It is my belief they have nowhere to run and no one to help them. I therefore beseech you to let us regroup and tend to our sick — your troops.” He concluded his entreaty, closing his eyes and expecting no mercy.
Etezora bit her lower lip trying to dissipate the anger within. Perhaps Heliot was right, she thought. She did need Tuh-Ma, and there would be medicines at Wyverneth. Perhaps Zodarin’s wizardry could help. In addition, his sorcery might be used to seek out the Dragonians’ whereabouts. Hopefully he had already disposed of the bulk of Tayem’s wyrms, although the presence of some above the mountains was still a concern.
“Very well,” she said, slapping her skin to crush another offending insect, “prepare the men for departure. Carry the sick on biers, the able-bodied can take the burden.”
“As you command, Your Majesty,” Heliot said and left her with barely concealed relief.
~ ~ ~
Tratis was in conference with Disconsolin when he learned of Etezora’s imminent return. The ‘runner’ had entered his offices advising of the Queen’s aborted mission. He smiled to himself, secretly enjoying the misfortune that had befallen his manic sister.
Etezora strode briskly into the throne room five minutes later, her troll and a small entourage following close behind.
Tratis smirked at her and was about to pass a snide comment when he noticed the thundercloud of her visage and thought better of it.
“Not a word from you, brother. I know what you think, but you do not rule Cuscosia yet; and it would be unfortunate if you were to fall foul of some misfortune before your accession to the throne,” Etezora said with menace.
Tratis endeavoured to drop his smile, but only half succeeded. “What — you don’t even veil your threats now, Sister? You speak of misfortune, but it appears you have enough of your own to contend with.”
“That dragon schjek!” Etezora said, dropping herself onto Tayem’s throne. “I swear to you I will slay the Dragon Queen before the month is out.” She kneaded the arms of the throne as if trying to draw authority from it. “Now where is Zodarin? I need his council.”
It was Tratis’s turn to look uncomfortable. “I understand he has returned home.”
“You … understand? Either he has, or he hasn’t. Which is it?”
Tratis took a seat in the horseshoe and clasped his hands together. “He left without notice. I do not know when. I suspect deception.”
“You are a fool Tratis. That wizard follows his own agenda. I thought he was too unwell to travel.”
“So did I. But the facts speak for themselves. I sent out a small search party, but they returned without finding any trace of him.”
“I will send Tuh-Ma to summon Eétor — when he is well enough. Once he arrives back, we will discuss family matters, and how to deal with the wizard.” She paused. “How are the repairs to the city walls progressing? Do we need to prepare for a counter attack?”
Relieved that the subject had changed, Tratis outlined
the ongoing program of works and the growing inventory of supplies. “Our patrols report no sign of an incursion. It would appear the rout of the Dragonians is complete. They have only found isolated peasants and woods-people in the surrounding forest. Nothing to raise concern.”
“Nothing indeed, other than a lack of a workforce to see to the rebuild program.”
“Give it time, Sister. Already, an influx of three hundred builders and carpenters from Cuscosa has bolstered our workforce. There are more on their way. Our consolidation of power here is assured.”
Etezora breathed in deeply. “Very well. I see there is much you have accomplished. Maybe you are ruler material after all. Now, what of the Kaldorans? Have they been kept at bay?”
Tratis gave his sister a calculated look. How will she receive what I am about to tell her? He cleared his throat. “There is good news and bad. A messenger from Cuscosa arrived just this morning. He reported that the stronghold of Regev is no more.”
“Really?” Etezora exclaimed, sitting up straight. “What happened?”
Tratis conveyed the truncated report passed on from Eétor. It had taken over a week to discover what had befallen at Regev as Urrel the ambassador had not returned, nor had any of the battalion. What they knew had to be pieced together from the remains they found — and the bodies.
After he had finished, Etezora’s face was unreadable. She said nothing to him, but called for Cuticous and a plate of dragon meat. Tratis knew better than to interrupt his sister’s deliberations, especially when a purple glaze periodically passed over her eyes, accompanied by a barely susceptible electrification in the air. After a time she declared, “The sooner Eétor appears here in person, the better. The Kaldorans defeat looks auspicious on the surface, but where are the survivors? And what befell Captain Torell and our soldiers?”
“We don’t know. But I agree with you,” Tratis replied. “Understand that I have directed patrols and spies along all our borders, but we have yet to hear further news from Kaldora.”
Etezora tore into a large piece of cured dragon meat, chewing on it like a raptor as she thought. Tratis’s stomach turned at the sight, and he wondered how he could in all truth be related to this unstable monster. Bide your time, he told himself.
“I would talk of other matters,” Etezora said after swallowing her meat. “The Dragonian traitor, Disconsolin. Where is he? I have a score to settle with him.”
Tratis looked around. “He was here a minute ago. I suspect he may have retreated to the dragon pens, he spends time there when not caring for his pitiful wife.”
“Then we will accost him there,” Etezora replied, the purple aurora extending like a haze from her eyes. “Once I have washed away the stains of that accursed forest, that is. Tuh-Ma, pour my bath.”
“Yes Mistress,” the blue-skin replied, limping away, a continued weakness resulting from the wyrmbite.
“Meet me at the dragon pens in an hour,” Etezora commanded Tratis, who bowed then returned to his quarters, glad to have escaped relatively unscathed from his audience.
~ ~ ~
Disconsolin stood at the edge of the ancient shale pit, watching over the Agnarim dragon. He had been present at the initial interchange between Etezora and Tratis and was relieved she hadn’t questioned him about Zodarin’s disappearance. Nonetheless, he had slipped away as soon as he could. Though he had proved his usefulness to Tratis, he couldn’t be sure the Cuscosian Queen would hold him in such high esteem. He remembered the torture his wife had endured, her screams at the pain inflicted upon her by the sadistic monarch. He shuddered at the memory then fixed his eyes again on the sleeping beast.
Oga had escaped the attention of the Cuscosians thus far. A minor miracle considering his size, but perhaps the almost instinctive enmity the humans harboured for these magnificent creatures dissuaded them from investigating the dark recesses of the draconest.
The massive clay-coloured dragon had spent more than a decade in the bosom of Sunnuth, and although Disconsolin was no rider, he knew enough from the lore that he was undergoing the great metamorphosis.
The sound of approaching footsteps startled him from his musings, setting his heart racing. At the sight of Etezora and her courtiers striding towards him, the elderly statesman tensed, dreading what mischief she had in store.
The Queen stood before him, imperious and haughty, her head inclined as if weighing him up afresh. “Tratis informs me I was right to spare you, Councillor, yet I am shall we say … perturbed at recent turns of event.”
Disconsolin remained silent, unsure if explanations or questions would serve his cause or not.
“What is in this pit, Dragonian?” asked Etezora looking down into the darkness. “Wait, don’t tell me. That pathetic wyrm still sleeps after all these sols?” she laughed, the sound of it very much like that of a hyena to Disconsolin’s ears. “Typical male, dozing while his mate takes to the battlefield and dies.”
Tratis, who had arrived with his sister, peered into the gloom then stepped back from the edge as if sensing danger. “I think it best we leave well alone, Sister — ”
Etezora raised her hand to silence him, then stepped closer to Disconsolin. “What would he say if that wyrm knew his mate featured as main course on my dining table every night?” She accentuated the statement by licking her lips.
Disconsolin knew she was toying with him, yet he could not stop the rising tide of panic in his breast.
“What do you think Dragonian?” The Queen continued, “Should I slay this monster as he sleeps, just like we did his brethren on the battlefield?”
Shame and fear warred within Disconsolin, but in that watershed moment he decided that he would offer unquestioning subservience no more. He stepped between Etezora and the dragon. “Your Majesty, I have betrayed my people once, but there are limits to how far I will stoop. If you intend to put an end to this noble line, then you will have to do it over my dead body.”
Etezora stared at him, the very air crackling with Hallows fire, and Disconsolin reckoned that his lifespan measured in seconds. Then, the Queen tilted her head back and expelled another hyena laugh to the cavern roof. “Hah! The courtier has some spine after all. I may spare you yet — just for amusement. It all depends how you respond to my questions.”
Faster than Disconsolin’s eyes could follow, a tendril of Hallows energy whipped out from Etezora, forming a lasso around the councillor’s throat and constricting viciously.
Etezora stooped over Disconsolin as he fell to his knees. “How is it that the Dragon Riders manage to elude me Councillor? Did you tell the truth about the route to their sanctuary?”
Nothing but a gargling sound escaped from Disconsolin’s throat.
“Ahem, Etezora,” Tratis said. “The man cannot speak if he has no air supply.”
The Queen sighed, as if denied a treat, and then relaxed her hold on the man a little. “Speak,” she hissed.
Disconsolin cleared his throat with some effort then said, “I told you what I know, Your Majesty, but I cannot be accountable for our fleeing people’s ability to hide their trail.”
“Then perhaps you are no use to me after all.”
“Wait Sister,” interrupted Tratis. “I need this man alive. He has proved invaluable in the running of the city, not to mention his expertise in the rebuilding program.”
“You weak fool Tratis. If you had more ambition, you would see through this man’s deception,” Etezora replied.
Tratis stared at his sister, as if appalled. Even her brother fears her, Disconsolin thought.
But Tratis was an expert diplomat and seemingly arrived at a method to circumvent Etezora’s rage. “Sister,” he said, “I feel your anger at the Dragon Riders, and I sense that the power you hold needs its release, but do not vent it on this man. You are wiser than that.” He nodded at the pit below in an unspoken suggestion.
Whether Etezora recognised Tratis’s distraction for what it was became immaterial as the Queen could contain the H
allows no longer. She looked down at the slumbering dragon, leering in ecstasy as dark malignancy overcame her. She pointed at the defenceless beast, screaming as she discharged the full force of Hallows energy at it.
Disconsolin rose to his feet to witness the appalling spectacle of Etezora’s bolt striking the dragon’s back. There was a sound like that of a great ignition as a chunk of dragon scales and flesh erupted from the site of impact. As smoke from the charred flesh cleared, it was uncertain if the beast had reacted to the assault at all. Then a deep rumbling passed from the side of Oga’s mouth. He rolled over and moaned in pain. First one rhomboid eye, then another opened, fixing their focus on the source of his torment.
Etezora screeched her annoyance at having achieved so little from her opening salvo and sent out another bolt of purple energy. The ethereal missile struck the dragon on its exposed belly, and this time the damage was much greater. Oga roared in agony, the wind of its breath reaching the figures above and blasting them with its odour. Etezora’s courtiers screamed and fled from the cavern while Tratis took hold of his sister’s arm. “You have barely scratched its hide!” he said. “The beast is too formidable. We must retreat from this place.”
“Never,” Etezora replied, and Disconsolin saw in her eyes the absence of sanity as the Hallows fire rose again. A bolt, twice as intense as the previous two, erupted from her fingertips and struck Oga’s wing, raised protectively as the beast threw off the last vestiges of its long slumber. It rose on its back legs, the two rhomboid eyes set in its elongated head staring at the Cuscosian Queen. Measuring over one hundred spans from snout to tail, the gargantuan stretched its wings wide. The backdraft from its exertion caught them by surprise, knocking Tratis and Disconsolin to the floor.
By virtue of the Hallows’ extraordinary invigoration, Etezora remained standing and let out a manic laugh, raising both hands to target two bolts of Hallows energy at the gargantuan beast. Her power was on the wane, however, and the dragon’s more resilient frontal scales deflected them. This time, Etezora’s shriek was that of frustration as she realised events were spinning out of her control. Oga bore down its wings, raising a wind that even Etezora could not stand against. It swept her back, her foot tripping over Tratis’s prostrate form. The dragon rose to full height, climbing the rough-hewn walls of the pit and casting its huge shadow over the three bodies lying in the dust. It examined them through baleful orange eyes as if deciding how they should die, and for the second time that day Disconsolin showed his latent valour.
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