Dragonblaster cogd-5

by Alastair J. Archibald

  "I will get to the bottom of this, human,” he growled, staring straight into the petrified youth's eyes. “Who is your section commander?"

  "S-sergeant Erik, Sir!” The boy's voice was little more than a whisper.

  Without a further word, Shakkar went in search of the Sergeant, vowing that he would have somebody's head for this.

  ****

  With sudden panic, Drexelica awoke to a blast of cold on her face. Opening bleary, gummed eyes, she dimly saw a black-clad figure standing over her with a dripping wooden bucket. It took her a few moments to orient herself, but her aching, burning limbs soon reminded her of where she was.

  She was in Rendale Priory, a prisoner of the Sisters of Divine Serenity.

  "I trust you slept well, bitch,” the Sister hissed. “I just want you to know that you've had it easy up to now. Today, it gets worse; much worse."

  Shivering, Drex pulled her now-ragged gown around her in an attempt to preserve her modesty. Her bones protested at the movement, screaming in outrage at the depredations that had been visited upon them.

  "Why are you doing this to me?” she croaked, her throat parched.

  A whistling sound was soon followed by a sharp, hot pain that bloomed in her shoulders and spread through her abused body. This was a pain she could resist; she was used to such beatings.

  "You call me ‘Sister Melana', slut,” her looming companion yelled. “Don't forget that again, or it will be the worse for you."

  "Why are you doing this to me, Sister Melana?” she replied, only to feel the unwelcome attentions of the lash again.

  "You forgot to say ‘Please', Supplicant; we of the Score expect politeness at all times. You were also impertinent. I won't tolerate that, ever."

  I'll kill her; I swear I will. Her bitch mistress, too.

  Despite her inner defiance, Drex knew she could not endure a full day of open resistance and punishment. It might be better to go along with these madwomen for the time being.

  Perhaps it's best to be a good little girl for a while. I'll play their twisted little game for a while until I learn the rules, and then they won't know what's bloody hit them.

  "I'm sorry, Sister,” she said, lowering her eyes. “Please tell me why you are doing this to me."

  "That's better, by-blow. You're here to learn discipline; real discipline. The Reverend Mother, beloved of our Order, wants to use you in some scheme or other, and I'm not about to try to stop or question her. She ordered me to ensure you're not permanently marked, but you'd be surprised how much pain I can inflict without marking you. Suffice it to say that I'm going to do all I can to make the lady happy; I'm not eager to make her angry, and neither should you be; and remember: I don't like you. That's all you need to know."

  The nun leaned close to Drex and leered. “By the way, don't even dream about trying to play me false, or I'll pluck those pretty blue eyes right out of your head with my own fingers, slut. Right now, you're mine, and don't forget it."

  "I wouldn't dream of it, Sister Melana!” Drex tried to act innocent, but the hateful whip descended again on her burning back.

  "Don't even try to be clever with me, whore!” Melana's words dripped with hatred. “I'm going to be handing you over to some eager, ambitious Acolytes later on, and you'll find that they're quite keen to show the Prioress just how inventive and imaginative they can be. Right now, we need to get you washed and properly clothed; you're due to see the grand dame Lizaveta in twenty minutes."

  Drex, despite her discomfort, suppressed a smile. Melana seemed dissatisfied with her assignment, and she appeared none too fond of Lizaveta, either. Perhaps this might be turned to advantage when the time was right.

  "Whatever you say, Sister Melana.” She lowered her head in supplication, her voice low and tremulous.

  Let them think I'm cowed and frightened; let's see the lie of the land first.

  ****

  Drexelica felt awkward and constrained in her new, starchy, white habit. The crisp wimple restricted her view to a small circle, and she began to tremble as she approached the Prioress's chamber.

  She's going to flay me alive! She's going to beat me until my bones show through my skin! I'm lost! she told herself over and over, working herself into an access of terror. Drex did not want Lizaveta to see her inner defiance, and she knew the best defence would be an aura of fear; even as a lapsed novice with no more than two years’ teaching in Geomancy, she knew well enough how to hide her true aura.

  As she entered the bare room, she saw Lizaveta perched on her polished throne, much as she had been on the previous night. It seemed to Drex more as if it had been a decade ago.

  "Greetings, Supplicant.” The Prioress’ unpleasant, abrasive voice almost made her want to scratch herself.

  "On your face, bitch,” Melana hissed, forcing the girl to the hard floor. “Lower your eyes before you respond to your superior."

  Drexelica obeyed the Sister, trying to portray the image of demureness.

  "Greetings, Reverend Mother,” she whispered to the floor, as if she had lost all defiance.

  "Have you had any problems with our new Supplicant, Sister Melana?"

  "She was an insubordinate little slut at first, Reverend Mother, but I think she is beginning to see the error of her ways. It will take much more training, but I do not believe she is as strong as she pretends."

  "That is excellent!” the Prioress crowed. “Now, Supplicant Drexelica, I do not want you to think that we are unnecessarily cruel here. We want only the best for you, and for us. Do you truly believe that?"

  "Y… yes, Reverend Mother.” Drex kept her head lowered.

  "However, my dear, we will tolerate no deviation from our plan. Do you now acknowledge your fealty to the Order?"

  Drex realised this was a trick question. If she answered too quickly in the affirmative, Lizaveta would suspect she was lying, and this would surely bring another round of Melana's unwelcome attentions. There seemed to be only one way out of this.

  "I don't know, Reverend Mother,” she wailed, allowing tears to run from her eyes as she dared to look up at the woman. “What do you want me to say? I hurt so much that I don't know what to think! Please help me, Reverend Mother!"

  From Lizaveta's expression, the girl knew she had responded correctly.

  "I want you to say what you feel, Supplicant, and you appear to have done so. This is good. The acknowledgement of uncertainty is the first step to enlightenment."

  Lizaveta turned to Sister Melana. “For the new Supplicant, I recommend a day of standard training in the lore and customs of the Order. No punishments beyond Level One, unless the Supplicant truly warrants it, in which case I shall demand proof of the transgression in the form of sworn testimonies. Let us show her that we are reasonable folk who wish only for her spiritual advancement."

  "As you command, Reverend Mother, it shall be."

  Drex noted the sour expression on Melana's face, even if the Prioress did not. The Sister would be a handful, suspicious as she was, but, as a former street vagabond in the almost feral town of Griven, the unwilling Supplicant felt more than able to allay the disaffected nun's vague suspicions. Drex had lived on her wits for most of her life.

  Should I thank the wizened old shrew for her bounteous mercy? No, the cow would never believe that-at least, not yet…

  Instead, Drex lowered her forehead to the floor, as if inviting a headsman's axe. The cool stone comforted her, easing the dull ache in her head.

  She would prevail; these people had no concept of the resilience of a Grivense street-child! They were blind, and she would have them fooled in no time.

  "Take Supplicant Drexelica to a training room,” Lizaveta intoned, “and train her in the First Principles of the Order. Remember: use no disfiguring or disabling punishments, or you will answer to me. Is that understood?"

  "Quite understood, Reverend Mother!” Drex saw Melana's head touch the floor.

  "You may go, dear Sister. Train this Supplicant we
ll but fairly, and you will have my gratitude."

  The harsh voice hardened to an almost metallic tone. “On the other hand, go against my wishes in act of spirit, and you will find retribution inevitable.

  "Don't dare to go against me, Melana."

  "Never, Reverend Mother, I swear! All will be as you desire."

  "You may go, then, dear Sister. Go in peace."

  "Thank you, Reverend Mother,

  "Come on, Supplicant."

  Drexelica climbed to her feet, taking care not to meet the Prioress’ gaze. “Thank you, Reverend Mother,” she muttered, remembering to tremble in a deferent manner.

  This is going to be easy, she thought. These people are idiots!

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 5: Demands

  Shakkar strode through the streets of Crar, his red eyes closed almost to slits, his mouth compressed into a tight, inverted U-shape. Several citizens greeted him as he passed, but he ignored them. General Quelgrum had set up his headquarters in a formerly deserted slaughterhouse, a large building with thick, grey stone walls.

  Three guards patrolled the entrance courtyard, carrying ancient Technological weapons that gleamed as new, but such toys did not impress the thick-skinned demon in the least. Of even less import was the wooden pole that barred entry to the courtyard.

  "You, there!” Shakkar boomed to one of the watchmen, who wore corporals’ stripes on his uniform. “Is Sergeant Erik here?"

  The corporal, in contrast to his youthful companions, was a grizzled veteran of maybe forty years, and he strode up to the barrier with a confident air, looking the demon straight in the eye.

  "He is, Lord Seneschal,” the corporal said, “but we have orders that he is not to be disturbed. If you'd like to come back-"

  "Your orders are cancelled.” Shakkar hissed, looming over the man. “I will see Erik right now. Is that quite clear?” He punctuated his demands with a threatening growl, just in case the slow-witted mortal had misunderstood his purpose.

  The two younger guards, their faces pale, moved to the large double doors at the entrance to the building, presenting their puny weapons in a half-hearted manner.

  "Lord Seneschal, you don't have the right to cancel the order,” the older soldier said in a calm, deliberate voice, as if addressing a naughty child. “I take my orders from-"

  "Damn your orders!” the infuriated demon yelled, splintering the barrier to fragments with a single blow of his scaly, taloned hand. “That for your orders! Fetch Sergeant Erik, or I will pound this building into dust!"

  The younger guards pulled their weapons into their shoulders, pointing them straight at the demon.

  "Hold your fire!” the corporal snapped, before turning back to Shakkar.

  "I advise you not to threaten us, Lord Seneschal,” he said in a low voice. “We've got far more powerful weapons than this; powerful enough even for you, I think. Sure, you can kill me with one hand tied behind your back, but there are many of us; can you kill us all? If you want a war, we'll give you one. Do you want to start it right here? I won't try to stop you if you do-I can't stop you. Go ahead."

  The infuriating human laid his weapon on the ground and bowed his head before Shakkar!

  How dare you, you impudent sack of skin! I could…

  Despite the anger that had compressed the demon's mind to a dense, burning ball of resolve, the Seneschal found himself beginning to admire this weak, pathetic parcel of mortal flesh.

  He had killed many men in his long life, and he had even eaten a few during his long incarceration on Starmor's dismal punishment pillar. He had never enjoyed the act, but he had regarded the miserable mortals that Starmor had seen fit to send him as little more than unfortunate animals; pathetic livestock to be consumed as required.

  The stripling mage, Grimm Afelnor, had shown him the nobility that resided within certain men. Since then, he had met many other humans who bore the same stamp of courage against considerable odds. This was one such man, and Shakkar felt a stab of compassion. His argument was not with this corporal, who was just fulfilling his duties as best he could, but with the lax guards at the Tower. He could not, in conscience, kill this man.

  As if he had read the Seneschal's mind, the soldier raised his head. “Now, Lord Seneschal: would you like me to ask Sergeant Erik if he'll see you on urgent business?"

  "Yes,” the demon mumbled. “Please.” He added the last word almost as an afterthought; nonetheless, he felt that the courageous soldier deserved his full respect.

  "If you wouldn't mind waiting here, I won't be a moment, Sir,” the corporal said, turning his back on Shakkar and striding towards the doors, with a measured gait.

  Shakkar could not be sure, but he thought he heard the man exhale forcefully. The act meant nothing to him, but he guessed it was a human indication of relief.

  Feeling foolish, the demon stood behind the smashed remains of the barrier, while the two remaining guards held their weapons in trembling hands. He knew these two young fools posed no threat to him, but he waited nonetheless.

  At last, Sergeant Erik emerged, in the company of a man Shakkar recognised: Lieutenant-Colonel Shandimar, Quelgrum's second-in-command. Neither man appeared to be armed.

  "Now, what's all this, Lord Seneschal?” Shandimar demanded, a tall man with silver hair. “We're having an important security conference, and we-"

  "My issue concerns security, Colonel,” Shakkar growled, remembering his purpose. “Lady Drexelica has been abducted, from right under the noses of his so-called ‘guards'!” The demon indicated Erik with a single, clawed digit.

  The Colonel raised an eyebrow, which, Shakkar had learned, indicated surprise in mortals. “Is this true, Sergeant?” he demanded.

  "I don't know, Sir,” the hapless Erik confessed. “It's the first I've heard of it-"

  "It is true,” Shakkar shouted. “She is not in the Tower, and the watchmen claim that nobody has been in or out since midnight: since your watch, Sergeant Erik!"

  Shandimar turned to Shakkar, his eyes gleaming like blue diamonds. “We'll get to the bottom of this straight away, Lord Seneschal."

  Turning back to Erik, the Colonel said, “I want all the Tower guards brought here at once, Sergeant. If you've got to wake them up, do so! I want to know if our sentries have been slack in their duties, and I'll have the balls of any man who has shirked his responsibilities! Is that clear, Sergeant?"

  "Yes, Sir!"

  The Sergeant accompanied this bark with a salute so crisp that it threatened to remove the top of his head.

  As far as Shakkar knew, the Sergeant's response was the only one a soldier could make to a senior officer's direct order, but Erik appeared sincere in his fervour.

  "Bring the Gate guards as well, Sergeant!” the officer yelled, as Erik strode away. “Whatever happened, Lady Drexelica's abductors must have gone through the Gate!"

  "Yes, Sir!” came the swift response. Shakkar had often heard sullen overtones in these two words, spoken by other men, but there were none on this occasion.

  "I want somebody's head for this, Colonel,” Shakkar growled.

  "If negligence, or any lapse in discipline, is at the root of this issue, you can rest assured that the guilty man, or men, will be punished, Lord Seneschal,” Shandimar said. “We'll get to the bottom of this."

  ****

  The monotonous words of Melana's-Sister Melana's-litany dropped into Drexelica's mind like pennies thrown into a deep well. She had been determined to resist at first, earning many blows from the whips of the two ever-present Novices. She recognised the tell-tale signs of fatigue, and she had begun to respond to Sister Melana's prompts with greater alacrity, just to avoid further chastisement and blurring of her mind.

  At first, her inner mantra had been ‘I'm just pretending to go along with them', but she had long since forgotten this prideful mantra.

  Drexelica had lost count of the number of times she had been forced to shout, “Blessed be the Order", and her
voice was scratchy and hoarse. She felt her head beginning to swim, and she tried to focus on the altar in front of her. She had not eaten for well over a day, and she had slept no more than two hours in that time. Hunger and exhaustion were now her constant companions, and her vision was becoming blurry and grey.

  At least she no longer noticed the aches and pains in her body, brought on by many hours of kneeling on a hard stone floor in a rigid attitude of prayer. Her watchful Novice attendants seemed to lash her less frequently now, but Drexelica scarcely noticed. She no longer understood the words she chanted, yet she lived only for her cue to speak.

  "So let it be.” Sister Melana's voice seemed to come from the far end of a long tunnel.

  "Blessed be the Order!” Drexelica croaked, swaying from side to side. Only the dogged desire not to betray weakness sustained her, but even that was now fading.

  "That's all for today, slut."

  "Blessed be the Order,” Drex whispered.

  As if in a dream, she felt herself lifted up. Her legs seemed unable to obey her commands; she vaguely registered the fact that they trailed behind her like useless, wasted appendages as the acolytes dragged her from the small temple.

  Then she lost consciousness.

  ****

  A cold shock of water hit Drex's face, and she jerked open her sore eyes.

  "Well, Supplicant; how do you feel?” Sister Melana stood over her, wearing her customary sneer. “Not so cocky now, eh, slut?"

  "Blessed be the Order."

  Drex's head rocked as the nun slapped her, hard. She found the sharp sound more shocking than the distant, dulled pain, and it brought her to her senses.

  "Oh, shut up, Supplicant! We've finished with Responses for today."

  "I'm so sorry, Sister Melana. I… I need to sleep."

  "Sleep? You've already been lounging there for three hours. What more do you want? You have work to do; after that, you may eat."