by Paul Cude
Abruptly all of them sensed movement for the very first time, off to their left from amongst a series of gigantic, matt white buildings, surrounded by huge pillars of the same colour, intricate curving paths tailing off in every direction, cutting across the perfect green lawns like a series of winding city roads. Turning their heads simultaneously, the diplomatic contingent all stood that little bit taller, ready to meet their hosts and exchange pleasantries, even after all this time kept waiting. But it was never going to be quite that easy.
From out of the dark strode two humungous, battle worn dragons, chunks missing out of their thighs, massive rips visible across their wings, some of which had clearly been sewn up, but by who or what, who knew, just that it must have been a being without any skill, maybe even blind given how bad a job had been done. The dragon in the lead by a few paces had only one arm, the stump at the shoulder worn like a medal of courage, a warning to all and sundry.
Brilliant bright blue of every denomination shining bright, chest puffed out, For’son moved to stand in front of the rest of his delegation, determined to show off just how diplomatic and formal they could be, hopefully giving them a glimpse into the world that would soon become theirs.
Imagine his shock then, when the one in charge approached, all sweetness and light, and then without warning slapped him hard around the face with his remaining arm, causing his teeth to quiver and his head to buzz like a storm of bees.
‘What in the...?’ was all he could think, that’s how much his head hurt. But there wasn’t time for all that.
“Why haven’t you come to find us? Are you stupid or something? I thought at the very least they would send us diplomats with at least an ounce of sense. We’ve been awaiting your arrival for quite some time. Our leader is not renowned for his patience. You’d better come with us now. For all your sakes, I hope he’s not too pissed off.”
And with that the two of them turned on their heels and stomped off into the darkness in the direction of the matt white buildings. Head pounding, cheeks flushed, full of anger and embarrassment, For’son ordered the others to follow on behind him, making it clear they were to keep their eyes peeled for even the slightest hint of treachery, no matter how unlikely or small.
Passing between two of the soft white coloured buildings, the diplomatic contingent, lead by their enigmatic blue shaded leader entered a huge, bright white hall, the insides of which were so shiny that their reflections could be seen in nearly every surface, from the walls and ceiling, to the mirror-like floor that they strode across. Some way off in the distance, laughter and merriment could be heard, countermanding the strange, eerie silence they’d found themselves in for so long.
Following those in front, each of the dragons from the south tried their best not to look at the deathly thin dragons off to one side at different intervals, clearly there to perform menial tasks such as cleaning or waiting on those revellers up ahead. It was an all but impossible task though, their inquisitiveness winning out, forcing them to imbibe everything about the enslaved beings that were covered in bruises, and so underfed that their rib cages were visible beneath their flaking scales, something that should have been all but impossible.
For Fanti it was heartbreaking, almost to the point that she couldn’t carry on, the pace of her steps slowing, out of time with the rest of them. Unnoticed by For’son because he was in front following the two dragons, one of whom had slapped him down, it was Thomas who came to her aid, telepathically anyhow, urging her to forget what she’d seen and concentrate on what was ahead, the important mission that she was a significant part of. To some degree it worked, with the young dragon falling back in time with the others, but there and then she vowed not to forget what had been done to the ordinary beings of this land and to do everything in her power to put it right, should such an opportunity arise.
As they continued to stroll purposefully along, the walls of the corridors began to become decorated with monstrous metal blades of varying sorts, from oversized scythes to swords, falcons and gigantic hammers that were still covered in sickly dried on dragon blood, as well as an assortment of differing shields in various states of decay. Evidently this show of power was meant to intimidate them, so on the outside they all to a being showed no signs that it had succeeded. On the inside though, that was another matter entirely, with their heartbeats going ten to the dozen, goose bumps racing up and down their spindly little arms, the pupils of their dinner plate sized eyes dilated much more than usual, all their senses heightened, each wishing they were anywhere else on the planet apart from here. Reaching the gargantuan oak doors from behind which the noise of the revelry originated, the two misbegotten, beaten and bruised dragons both stepped off to one side and in unison pulled open the mighty wooden gates.
If the diplomat’s worst nightmares had seemingly come to pass before, things had just been ramped up to a whole new level.
A gigantic inside amphitheatre the size of fifty football pitches had been turned into a banquet hall without any equal, at least not in the grisly stakes. Amongst the roaring fires, the spit roasted meats included lamb, beef and pork, molten magma ran down the walls and across the floor, huge vats of wine and mead littered the landscape, emaciated, terrified servants waited on everyone’s needs. There was sword fighting with a range of oversized weapons much the same as on the decorated corridor walls, and one on one magical contests, but a couple of things above all others stood out, immediately drawing the attention of the diplomats from the south.
Enormous dragon carcasses littered the room, scale hanging off the bone, the flesh beneath mostly torn away, some of it raw, in the hands of the revellers, a delicious pink snack to chomp on in between raucous partying, individual battles and much, much drunken merriment. Huge dragon skulls, ribs, arms feet, and talons littered the waste ridden floor. Hygiene was clearly not something any being cared about here. A stomach turning sight to be sure, one equally matched by yet one more disgusting spectacle.
In the midst of it all, upright rusted metal spits seared by the heat from the lava running down the walls, whirled around and around, the light, white meat upon them sizzling with every turn. Not so bad you might think considering everything else going on, but for two things. One, the flesh in question was human, something the diplomats were appalled at because the whole of their domain had pledged to avoid treating people as prey because they had some semblance of intelligence and a whole lot of potential, which the dragon race had recognised some time ago. And more importantly, they had been put on the spits whilst still alive, some still screaming in absolute agony as their misery continued. It was all that the diplomats could do not to throw up there and then. Fanti and a couple of others quivered in fear, their discomfort obvious to every being there, much to their delight.
No words this time, allowing only the soft reassuring touch of his presence to permeate their shared telepathic link, For’son knew that was as much as he could allow, given the circumstances in which they found themselves. He didn’t doubt for a minute that something like this was a regular event, what he was sure of though, was that they’d bolstered it big time, knowing exactly how it would make them all feel. It was as though the only warm welcome these beings knew was the one that the captured humans were now currently experiencing. Bracing himself for whatever came next, he took two steps forward and stopped, the others following just behind.
Suddenly the mammoth room fell silent, all eyes focusing in on them.
From off to one side, a peppermint candy blue coloured serving dragon covered in very strange, unrecognisable white tattoos, her ribs clearly visible through her scales, bruises abounding on the left hand side of her face, approached carrying a tray full of tankards, filled to the brim with mead, currently the refreshment of the hour. Almost reaching their blue shaded leader, abruptly a dark brown beast of a monster, scars and slashes across his misbegotten face, kicked her legs out from under her, sending the tray scattering, mead splattering up the wall, her beautifully
scaled head crashing into For’son’s knees, the rest of her smashing clumsily into the stone floor.
“STUPID BITCH!” yelled the brown brute that had so callously instigated the whole incident, stepping forward, about to rake his talons down her thin yet stunning body in an effort to cleave her in two.
With every being there watching, all knowing exactly what had happened, predictably, honour, courage, duty and the ‘right thing to do’ all wrapped up in a blue form, took two steps forward placing himself in between the injured servant and the drunken reprobate, who was almost certainly acting on his leader’s orders.
“OUT OF MY WAY!” he bellowed, straight into For’son’s face, from about two inches away, his rancid breath washing over every part of the diplomatic leader, the stink of raw meat and offal wreaking havoc on his olfactory senses. Pushing that to one side, the southern hero and king’s friend stood his ground, unflinching and resolute, readying the magic inside should it become necessary.
“Let it go!” urged Thomas through their shared telepathic link, knowing that this wasn’t how diplomacy was done.
Without even an answer, For’son shrugged off the contact, choosing to ignore the envoy with the most negotiating experience of them all, instead determined to show the difference between right and wrong, good and bad, light and dark.
“STEP OUT OF THE WAY OR I’LL SLAY YOU WHERE YOU STAND, DIPLOMAT OR NOT!”
Fully centred, one foot in front of the other for perfect balance, the shaded blue hero inhaled, and while all the time staring at his adversary, announced,
“If you think you’re capable, you’re very welcome to try. I might remind you though that I’ve already killed one of your kind today, very much against my wishes I might add. Yet one more on that tally would bother me not. Choose... and be quick about it!”
As the standoff continued, every being there held their breath, the tension in the room almost palpable, with the diplomats from the south knowing that if this went... well, you know, SOUTH, then they’d almost certainly be dead within seconds, given that there must have been at least a hundred of their opponents, probably even more, just within their sight.
Not one of them blinked throughout the gigantic room, all eager to see just how all this would play out. Only one being knew the answer, and that would have been the king’s friend and protector, because you see, he was never going to back down, not here, not now, not... EVER! There was simply too much at stake and when I say that, I’m not talking about the negotiations or bringing the last remaining land into the dragon domain that covered the rest of the world’s surface... NO! I mean he of all beings, just as he’d been brought up, trained and nurtured over the decades and centuries, would never do such a thing. Would never allow evil to rise up, show its face or the smug smile associated with its dour deeds. No longer would he play their sickening games, much like earlier, through no choice of his own, back when contact had first been made. NO! If they wanted to harm this dragon, here, now, in front of every being there, each of them well aware of exactly what had happened, then they’d do it over his dead body. A red line had been drawn, and if they wanted to cross it, he’d punish them with everything he had.
Two mighty warriors, one much more that just that, the other barely so, stood unblinking, staring directly into each other’s face, both trying to get the measure of the other. Realistically though it wasn’t really a contest. There only ever going to be one winner.
Blinking first in more ways than one, much to the disappointment of his leader whose gaze he attempted to attract, an angry nod was enough to get the dark brown dragon to stand down and wriggle back to his previous spot. Noting exactly what had happened, realising who was in charge at this point, For’son turned around and, keeping his senses on high alert just in case they attempted to ambush him from behind, very graciously helped the injured servant to her feet. Like the soft whisper of an artist’s brush, one that only he could hear, the peppermint candy blue dragon thanked him for what he’d done but berated him at the same time for risking so much just for her. In response he just smiled, bowing his head ever so slightly as he did so.
Picking up all the dropped flagons, the servant attempted to go about her business. An outstretched hand reached out to grab her. Faster than the eye could see, even with their enhanced magical senses, For’son moved, slipping in between them, seizing the brown dragon’s spindly little fingers, whilst at the same time kicking him in the shin, before spinning him around, slamming his head on the table, and holding one of the many knives in the room at his throat. Every being there readied their magic.
Tensions and lives quite literally on a knife edge, For’son glanced up directly at the being he now knew to be Nev’dir, the leader of this dastardly and cruel land, their eyes locking, neither willing to budge, both attempting to gaze into the other’s soul in an effort to see what kind of being they were dealing with. For the leader of this twisted land, all he could fathom was weakness from his opponent, the kind associated with too many comforts and not enough challenges. You and I know that to be far off the mark, but that was the conclusion he quickly came to. For the leader from the south, those penetrating eyes that both resembled tortuous black holes held no end of misery and violence. There and then, he knew there was no way he could win, and would almost certainly have to go against every instinct his body held. Unfortunately... he was right!
Briefly Nev’dir smiled and that, For’son knew, was the signal. Realising an instant too late just what his leader had condemned him to, the dark brown dragon drew on all his magic in a fruitless attempt to break free. But there was no escaping the grisly fate he’d signed up for. Flooding the knife with magic to make sure it not only stayed strong, but sharp as well, all the time watching the leader who he’d come here to negotiate with, the blue shaded dragon did the only thing he could, and putting all of his power behind it, pulled the blade across the brown dragon’s throat, before turning him around and slicing the whole of his front open, both acts sending bright green viscous blood spurting across the wooden tables in front of them, soaking the nearest half dozen or so patrons in the process.
Silence turned into a multitude of beings all simultaneously drawing breath, all ready to unleash their magic in an act of unmitigated revenge. However, the need to do so disappeared as their leader broke into howling laughter, just as the cadaver hit the floor at For’son’s feet. Slowly, the rest of the room laughed, right on cue, all mimicking Nev’dir. It really was quite sickening.
“It would seem you have guts,” chuckled the leader of this land, darkly.
“Much like your dragon here,” deadpanned For’son, pointing to the recently spilled innards that lay across the filth stained floor.
“Come, all of you,” announced the dragon in charge, a huge black and grey monstrosity with a crocked nose and missing molars on the left hand side of his jaw. “Join us all for a drink... I insist,” he urged, motioning to some empty seats directly in front of him.
Stepping aside, For’son let Thomas lead the way, ably followed by the rest of their contingent. About to follow in their wake, suddenly a being of beauty and peppermint candy stepped directly into his path... the servant dragon who he’d stood up for only moments ago.
Appearing to be struggling with the empty flagons on her tray, subtly she leaned in, her head now close enough to speak so that only he could hear her words.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Your chivalry and courage says much about you, not least your foolhardiness.”
That surprised him, but there was no time to dwell on it, because she only had a matter of moments at most.
“Take heed of what I tell you. Be careful of what you all eat and especially drink. If I had to take a guess, I’d say he’s up to no good, although I have no truth on which to base that. Take care.”
And with that, she side slipped around him and disappeared off through an entranceway that appeared to lead to some sort of kitchen from the look of the activity and the disgu
sting smells.
“COME, join us my friend,” declared Nev’dir, growing impatient that For’son was the only one of the diplomatic delegation that hadn’t sat down. More than a little reluctantly, the blue shaded leader did just that, sitting down at a seat reserved especially for him, between their foul smelling leader and Thomas.
Offering out one of his grey little hands the opposition leader officially introduced himself.
“Nev’dir.”
Ignoring the tinge of revolution deep within the pit of his stomach, the king’s friend and diplomatic leader from the south gripped the proffered hand.
“For’son.”
“Well... For’son, you should eat, drink and be merry. In the morning we will get down to the serious negotiations. For now, enjoy the entertainment.”
And that, for the time being at least, was very much that. Music was made, alcohol in all its different forms was consumed, with everyone there but the diplomatic delegation eating heartily, the most popular dish easily the roasted humans on display. Gruesome might best describe what was playing out, but for the sake of the negotiations that they’d all been sent here for, they had to play along, at least to some degree. And so as a group for the next few hours, they did as little as they could, for the most part drinking water and eating either fruit, vegetables or in For’son’s case, absolutely nothing, risking the wrath of the local leader.
Landing hard in a howling crosswind amongst a freezing shower of ice cold rain, Orac did his best to ignore the wave of pain gained from stubbing two of his talons on the rocky ground. Shooting off in front of the guards that had accompanied him on the mission, determined to reach the monarch first, he knew that he had a decision to make, one that he’d been mulling over on their treacherous flight back. What should he tell the king? The truth appeared, for him at least, the hardest option, because he knew Greger would go wild, possibly berating him, maybe even punishing him for what he’d done. But the more he thought about things, the more For’son’s wise words came back, haunting him enough to make the decision for him.