by Paul Cude
‘Designed to intimidate,’ thought the blue shaded warrior, aware of nearly all the tricks of the trade, having used most over the last four decades whilst serving his friend the king in an effort to unite all of the world’s lands in an attempt to bring peace to everyone. With that in mind, deep inside his head he urged himself to calm down and not react with anything less than a kind and polite attitude.
Dwarfing every dragon there, a huge, dark brown monster of a beast stomped forwards across the pebbled beach, stone, sand and rubble kicking up from around his feet and talons as he moved, a collection of scars adorning his chest and chin, some of which were clearly fresh... no more than a few days old at best. That however, wasn’t the most fear inducing thing, and neither was the necklace of yellowy-white dragon’s teeth that circled his neck. No! That was reserved for his eyes... or more specifically his left eye, which, if they’d had to guess, was missing, because a huge, black, metallic plate hung over where it should have been, very much resembling a pirate’s eye patch, evidently fused to the scale and bone surrounding the socket. At the very sight of this, a touch of fear ran through all those dispatched by the king, including his best friend who, in all his travels, had never seen anything quite like it.
Towering over all of them, the monster approached, encroaching deeply into For’son’s personal space, glaring down at him as though he were something insignificant to be played with, or a trapped item of prey. Holding his ground, the diplomatic leader waited for the beast to speak, aware of the intricacies of diplomacy surrounding first contact, knowing that any kind of breach of protocol could end things faster than a rip-roaring fart on a first date. Taking them all in from his great height, the huge primeval fiend sniffed the air, seemingly offended by their scent. Still all of them held their ground, Fanti by now a quivering wreck inside, but intelligent and brave enough not to show it in her outward appearance.
Craning his neck down to look For’son directly in the face, their noses only a matter of inches apart, the disgusting smell of his maggot infested jaw assaulting the king’s friend’s olfactory senses to the point of wanting to retch. Only then did the fear inducing dark dragon speak.
“This is what they sent, a puny, pathetic group of dragons who look like they couldn’t catch their own lunch, let alone pose a threat to any of their own kind,” goaded the dragon.
What happened next was totally unexpected. The monster of a beast spat in disgust, straight onto the middle of For’son’s bright blue chest, the thick foamy bile sticking in a huge white blob.
Every single atom inside him raged, the bloodlust within practically burning, desperate to find a way out and exact revenge for the despicable and disrespectful deed. Despite the fury and anger deep down, he remained calm, at least outwardly, absolutely sure this was some kind of trial, one there was no way in hell he was going to react to. And so he did what he knew would annoy them most... he looked him straight in the eye and continued to smile.
As all of the other diplomats from the south looked on in a mixture of utter terror and deep fascination, it was almost possible to see the vehemence and fury roil off the one-eyed monster, his muscles tense, ready to fight, his teeth exposed, sure that he could take down the much smaller dragon he faced.
Full of his usual cunning and guile, worried only because there were other lives at stake rather than just his, the king’s friend and mighty warrior assessed the situation.
‘Clearly,’ he thought, ‘this one wants to fight, but is it part of the ritual, something to prove his worth, or is this all part of their leader’s plan, to keep us off guard and see what we’re made of?’
Pulling a deep breath in through his nostrils, not for one second taking his eyes off the mountainous, shadowy dragon before him, For’son found the cold, dark, selfish centre that was the warrior deep inside, and pushing any other thoughts aside, readied himself for what would come. He didn’t have to wait very long.
The capital’s library, a work in progress, had for the most part been converted into a makeshift workshop. Books, tomes and scrolls with tiny ribbons of all colours holding them together had been either piled up high, or scattered across the floor, mainly accumulating in the much colder, darker corners of the huge rooms, something that was unusual in itself, because the guardian of the repository, Orac, nearly always took good care of what he thought of as his charges, showing them more love than he ever did himself.
Across two colossal oak tables sat a vast array of crystals, grouped together by colour, and then sorted into length. There must have been two thousand in all, if you included some of those on the floor, still left to be sorted.
Weary, still aching from the return journey, the dedicated librarian stopped what he was doing and momentarily wondered what both his new found friends were up to. Keesha he was sure would be knee deep in work, no doubt helping the villagers and her friends with the everyday chores of life. As if by magic, and that might well have had something to do with it, a perfect rendition of her smiling face appeared right at the front of his mind, sending a shiver up his squat little tail and goose bumps down both arms, whilst his stomach rolled and rallied. Briefly, but only that, his mind wondered what on earth all those bizarre feelings were. You and I would know, but for poor Orac it was different. He had absolutely no clue.
Pushing aside everything unusual happening to his intricately scaled form, his thoughts turned to his friend, wondering exactly what he was up to, hoping he was safe, eager for him to return so that they could spend some more time together, whether in the makeshift library that both of them had put so much effort into setting up, or out on another daring and dangerous mission.
Speaking of which...
Turning away, feigning disinterest, the monstrous dragon, as quick as a flash, pivoted on one foot, bringing his other leg around in a spinning blur of a roundhouse kick, exactly at For’son’s head height. Had it made contact, it probably would have been the end for the king’s friend. However, he was the royal protector for many reasons, one of them being his fighting prowess and lightning fast reactions. And so as the prehistoric dark foot sliced through the air, razor sharp, dirty yellow talons edging out as far as they’d go, meant to cleave his opponent’s head from his body, For’son rolled off to the right, coming up out of range of his attacker, watching every movement, waiting to see not only how his adversary would react next, but more importantly, whether or not the rest of his entourage would attempt to take on the diplomats that he was responsible for. Luckily, the answer to that was no, every other being there preferring to stand still and watch the outcome of the initiated personal battle.
More than a little peeved about the strange turn of events that had led to them both fighting, For’son had little time to dwell on that now, because with the roundhouse kick avoided, the dark beast stumbled back to his feet, enraged that the focus of his ire had escaped what he’d thought of as an exquisite attack, and with fury bubbling off him and murder in his eyes, he surged forward in one all out attack.
Milliseconds, that’s how long it took for the diplomatic leader to assess the situation he found himself in, and more importantly, the threat posed by his opponent.
Throwing the sheath containing his glistening silver scimitar to the ground along with the saddle bag containing the fleece, knowing that it would only restrict his movements and might actually get him killed, his ever agile mind pondered the situation.
‘Fast,’ he thought, ‘with good reactions, which of course doesn’t bode well, but he was quick to anger and with him being blinded on one side by the ridiculous metal plate over his left eye, that might prove to be his undoing. Of course magic hasn’t come into play yet... which seems odd. Perhaps that’s against the rules, if indeed there are such things.’ Wondering if that were the case, and knowing that to break such a thing would be an awful faux pas that might well end negotiations before they’d even started, the brilliantly blue shaded dragon decided to reserve his magic and wait to see if the brutal beast
rushing towards him would use it first. If this was going to be an all out physical fight he could cope with that, despite his attacker having a huge weight and height advantage.
Surging forward, wings outstretched, jaws wide open, needle sharp teeth bared, ready to bite down, the massive monster missed his target by only a few millimetres, that’s how close it had been. Diving off to one side, before rolling twice in quick succession to put a little bit of space between the two of them, For’son now struggled to contain the blistering rage that was building up inside him. Nobody had mentioned this would be a part of things... if they had, he might have reconsidered. Of course he wouldn’t have, willing to do anything for his pal the king, but it would have been nice to know exactly what he was getting himself into.
‘And who’s to say,’ he thought, ‘that the others won’t join in if I succeed in taking this one down? What to do, what to do?’
Blinded by rage, gripped by his unforgiving temper, deep within he fumed as the blue dragon that was supposedly their leader once again escaped his clutches, running away just before he could get his hands, or more likely his teeth on him. Deciding that the pathetic excuse for a dragon must be some kind of cowardly, career diplomat, not trained in the art of battle, this one thought spurred him on even more, should such a thing be possible, determined as he was to obey his leader’s commands and make them suffer a despicable blow before negotiations had even begun. It was a shame he didn’t recognise a worthy opponent when he saw one, because if he had, it might just have saved him a world of pain and misery.
‘It’s time,’ thought the king’s friend, knowing that the seriousness of the situation and its lethality had increased tenfold over the last few seconds. With only one real choice, if he wanted to keep the others that he was responsible for out of it, he bent his knees, the brilliant bright bulging blue muscles in his legs straining, the sinew almost visible through his scales, and with one almighty bound, he leapt straight into the air, flapping his wings furiously looking to gain as much height as he could in an effort to put some distance between him and the rest of his group.
Sure that he now had the puny little weakling on the run and scared for his life, Chillblade, as that was his name, quickly followed suit, shooting straight up from the rock strewn beach they found themselves on, his humungous wings powering him through the air, adeptly defying gravity, all the time closing in on the object of his ire that had escaped him twice already. Clouded by dark thoughts, of one thing he was sure... it wouldn’t happen a third time.
Easing up a little so as to make it look as though he were tiring, For’son took a long, deep breath, soaked in the feeling of the cold, crisp, pure air, and recognising that he had absolutely no choice in the matter, slipped seamlessly into battle mode, knowing now that it was do or die. And this was when he came into his own.
Beating his wings hard and fast, sweat soaking his face and dripping down past the dark metal eye patch that was fused to the scales and bone of his skull, before he’d even got within range, the wicked dark monstrosity already knew what he was going to do: bite through one of the petrified little dragon’s wings, stopping it from fleeing, before chomping down on one of its tasty looking legs. That’s right, in the land of Ahrensburg, it wasn’t uncommon for those that had the leader’s ear and trust to be cannibals, often consuming their enemies and those that were deemed to have lost faith in their ruler. Twisted, uncompromising, dark, devious, demonic, outrageous and desperately undemocratic were all words that could very accurately describe just some of the things that those in charge of this land were capable of.
Almost ground to a halt now, hovering high up in the cloud speckled sky, For’son knew that he made a tempting target, especially for this half witted loon that had absolutely no idea what he was facing. Pretty soon he’d find out.
Wings pumping furiously, the whole of his body one speeding blur, Chillblade rocketed up from underneath, knowing that the frightened little dragon had no idea he was approaching in his blind spot. In a moment or two, he’d have him.
Fully aware of the situation, his magical senses stretched out as far as they could go, For’son waited until the very last quarter of a second to make his move. Flipping himself backwards with everything he had, he rolled, tucked in, extended his talons as far as possible, and as the monstrous black blur streaked past him, missing his intended target by less than half a metre, the brave and courageous royal protector raked him down his thick muscled tail, brilliant tears of thick green blood splashing out into the sky, dropping precariously towards the ground.
Astounded that anything could move that fast, before he knew it an excruciating pain blossomed out of his tail, causing him to shriek in absolute agony and spiral off to one side. For most, what had happened would signal the need for caution, but the dark dragon envoy was too far gone to care about any of that, the basest bloodlust built into his DNA gripping him for all he was worth.
Clinging on to the hope that one strike might just do it and that they could return to the ground and resume their diplomatic personas, it was evident straight away, at least to For’son, in no small part from the loud snarl and the body language of his adversary, that this was far from over.
‘DAMN!’ thought the king’s friend, wanting to do anything but fight. It appeared though that the choice had been well and truly taken out of his hands.
Pissed at missing his prey, his confidence not so much shattered as hanging by a thread, Chillblade slammed his tail upwards, which given the damage done caused a ripple of mind numbing agony to roll up his entire body, extended both shadowy wings out as far as they’d go and momentarily glided to a halt, his mind and body filled with more hatred and anger than it had ever known, and given just who he was, how he’d reached the position he had, and the land that he lived in, was saying quite something. Being bested by a dragon half his size was one thing, but in front of the others that had accompanied him here was something else all together. Determined to right a vicious wrong he arched his neck, darted down and closing fast, prepared himself for one all out head-on-attack.
‘Oh crap,’ was all For’son had time to think, caught by surprise by the blunt, reckless and frankly outdated tactics the beast he’d already beaten once had decided to employ. Pinwheeling off to one side, For’son lurched off to the left and then pitched down, hoping to avoid the violent and forthright confrontation, knowing that because they were so outmatched he’d be the one to take the brunt of it. Unfortunately, despite his cat-like reflexes, he was just a fraction of a second too late, the dark fiery fiend slamming into his right shoulder, sending him into the mother of all flat spins, momentarily disorientating him, his wings and tail of little use, the clouds and the horizon zipping past at an unerring rate, the pain from his aching shoulder pounding his mind into submission. Wildly out of control, lost and lonely, it really did look as though, for once, he might have bitten off more than he could chew.
On the ground, through their shared telepathic link, the diplomatic contingent expressed their concern at what was happening.
“We have to do something,” urged Fanti, her enthusiasm and worry shining through.
“I really don’t think that’s an option,” said Musim, a tall, thin, graceful dragon, dotted with dappled yellow and red blotches, and behind Thomas, the most experienced of the group. “We have to let it play out and hope that he can turn the tables. Whether he does or not, none of this bodes well for what lies ahead.”
“Give him a chance,” Ecoack went on, a middle sized, perfectly formed plum coloured dragon with just a hint of white outlining the outer edges of her sumptuous scaled face.
“Agreed,” added Francis, another of their group. “He’ll come through, I just know it.”
“Enough chatter,” announced Thomas, all business-like, wanting no distractions, aware that it might not only be For’son’s fate that depended on the outcome of the aerial duel.
Antediluvian faces all glued to the sky, as one they wished their
leader well, sending their encouragement through the link, hoping that he’d not only be aware of it, but that he could use it to his advantage.
Unfortunately he couldn’t feel a thing, at least not mentally, because his concentration was elsewhere right now, trying not to throw up. Now you might think that dragons were immune to high G forces, wild spins and precarious drops, and to some extent you’d be right, but what was happening now was unlike anything the king’s friend had ever experienced. He was spinning so fast it was impossible for those watching below, even with their enhanced supernatural senses, to distinguish his tail from his head, and For’son was one almighty blue blur, that had now started to drop like a stone. That was the only thing keeping him out of the mouth of the cruel and vicious Chillblade.
Doubling back on himself after clattering into the very naive and stupid diplomat of those coveting their land, the one eyed brute of a dragon considered his options. Sure that his opponent was going to crash heavily into the thick sea of ice below, death seemed inevitable because of the height he’d come down from and the speed he was travelling , a realisation that had Chillblade smiling inside. Instantly that was curtailed because it then dawned on him what those looking on would think, and more importantly, report back to their leader. So harnessing all the rage and injustice that he felt at the blue dragon lasting so long and avoiding one of his signature attacks, he harnessed gravity and plunged towards the floor, desperate to get in a killing blow before the icy ground, and for Fate to add the finishing touches to what he’d started, all in an effort to show his cohorts exactly who was the boss.
Belching unceremoniously whilst spinning at a dizzying rate did little to regain For’son’s composure. It did however relieve the need to throw up, for now at least... A small win, but one he’d take at the moment. Using all his mental will to ignore the G forces pummelling his reinforced primeval skull, his skilful intellect could only come up with one solution to his current predicament... MAGIC! But by now, the ground was swimming into view rather quickly, with little time to select any mantra, let alone the right one. And so in the gamble of his life, he used the most recent and familiar one, hoping against hope that it would be enough. Adding all his considerable willpower, and aiming towards the ice covered fjord that he was closing in on fast, he said the words, applied his ethereal energy and let the supernatural run riot.