Brothers in Arms; the re-awakening

The company were brought to a new cell, larger and furnished with a few threadbare chairs, and with a wide but securely barred window that looked out over a vast sandy arena. They crowded round the window, searching for any clues as to what was going to happen. The arena floor was undecorated, and laid with fine sand; every so often, though there seemed to be little breeze, a capricious gust of wind would scare up a little swirl of dust, and the sand would shift and stir uneasily before settling down to a quietness once more, as if waiting for something, pensive and expectant.

The arena was bounded by great walls of stone, at least fifteen feet high; the walls were rimmed at the top with long metal barbs which faced outwards, obviously to ensure that once in the arena no man, or no creature, no matter how agile or determined, would be able to climb out. Behind the walls sat long rows of spectators. Without exception they were dressed in the crimson robes of the Inquisitors and like any crowd they rustled and murmured restlessly, but from this crowd no recognizable words could be heard. Out beyond the spectators they saw low grey hills on all sides.

They could hear music; an outré, toneless grating tune from an unseen band of fiddles, flutes and drums. On the opposite wall, they could see a small raised dais; Richard was sitting there, surrounded by a retinue of guards. In the arena wall immediately beneath him were two huge bronze gates, ornately inscribed and brightly polished, which gleamed and sparkled like gold in the stark noontime sun.

As they watched Richard raised his hand and signalled. A door set high in the arena wall near to them opened, and Targon stepped out into the light. Kitti gasped; he had been dressed in beautiful robes of golden-red and blue-green silk, which flowed down over his back like a waterfall, artfully concealing his deformity. He looked around, unsteady for a moment, as if blinded by the harsh, brazen sunlight after the darkness of the cells, then walked carefully down the steps to the floor of the arena. Under the skilfully tailored robes his movements seemed elegant and graceful as a dancer.

“For once in his life he truly is beautiful,” whispered Kitti, tears glinting in her eyes, “At the least they have done this for him.”

“A fine sacrifice, for an evil day under the sun,” said Donal.

They saw him gazing around the arena, taking in his surroundings, then searching the crowd, obviously looking for them, before finding their window. Now he would at least be able to see their faces, strained and anxious though they were, and perhaps even feel their support, although they knew there would be nothing they could do to help him. He mouthed some words which they could not hear.

“What is he saying?” asked Ethan.

“He is telling me not to worry, and that he is glad he was chosen instead of me,” said Kitti, “Oh, I knew that, my love, I surely knew that.”

Targon then turned away from them and walked to the centre of the arena, the murmur of the crowd dying away as thousands of pairs of eyes inspected him curiously. His own gaze was now fixed on the great bronze gates on the other side of the arena; he obviously knew the threat, whatever it was, man or beast or monster, would have to come from behind them, and he did not have long to wait. Another cursory signal came from Richard and abruptly the minstrels stopped; there was a few moments silence, and then a lone trumpet brayed, it’s brassy discord reverberating round and round the walls of stone, an impossibly deafening, disorienting noise to be made by a single instrument.

The great gate began to grind slowly open, inch by massive inch, hinges shrieking and squealing in protest, and a huge shape gradually began to emerge from the shadows behind them. Then, more speedily, it padded out into the light.

“Goddamn, what a brute,” Ethan said, almost in admiration, as the crowd screamed and bayed with excitement. Kitti gave a little whimper of dread.

“A dragon,” hissed Jack, “They have snared a dragon! This is beyond belief. See how they have shackled one of it’s wing so it cannot fly and escape. How cruel they must be to bind a flying creature in such a manner. But how could they have captured it? Is there no limit to their powers?”

Hearing the howls of the crowd the dragon drew itself up to it’s full height and clawed and thrashed at the air, trumpeting it’s rage and defiance. The crowd hushed, momentarily quelled by it’s ferocity, then began a chant, soft at first, then building to a roar; as before, there were no identifiable words, just grunts and raucous screams. The great creature paced out into the centre of the arena and Ethan could now see more it more clearly.

It was at least twenty feet long, tip to tail, and covered in glittering scales of golden-red, the same colour as Targon’s robes. It’s head was shaped like a horse, although it looked about ten times bigger, and filled with huge threatening teeth, and with eyes which were burning bright scarlet with anger and fury. Despite it’s immense size, it moved as lithely as a panther, although one twelve foot wing flapped uselessly, unbalancing it slightly; it’s other wing was bound tightly to it’s chest by a thick metal chain.

The dragon suddenly rushed at the arena walls, rearing up against them in a frenzy of tearing claws and rending teeth, but they were too solid to be overthrown and the cruel spikes at the top made them impossible to scale, even for a dragon.

Despite knowing that they were quite safe, the crowds behind the walls gave back in momentary dismay at the dragon’s attack, and the force of their chanting wavered for a time. But then the chant grew again in strength from the other side of the arena. Richard was joining in, shouting and waving his fists and urging the crowd on to greater efforts.

“Add in a few dancing girls and a marching band and he’d make a damn good cheerleader, wouldn’t he?” said Ethan, though he could still hear no recognizable words as the noise echoed and swelled.

After a while the assault on the wall ceased as the dragon slowly realized it’s futility. And now, for the first time, it seemed to become aware of the small figure of Targon, standing alone on the sand. All at once it became still; it sniffed the air, once, then twice, pawed at the sand, and then began to stalk slowly towards Targon, lethal menace brooding in every footfall.

Targon retreated till his back was protected by the arena wall, and he held his sword well out in front of him, keeping it between himself and the dragon. It followed him implacably; at ten paces it stopped briefly and snarled, then came on in a sudden rush, claws bared and fangs gleaming, it’s one good wing flapping wildly. The chant stopped abruptly as the crowd gasped and shrieked in excitement, but when the dust settled, golden motes floating in the sunlight, Targon was still standing, and the dragon was licking blood from a grazed claw.

“Good man,” shouted Ethan, “You can do it.”

Donal shook his head.

“He is overmatched, for all his bravery,” he said bleakly, his eyes cold and without hope, “It is just a matter of time; no matter how skilled his defence, he will tire soon, and then the creature will take him.” Jac also looked resigned, and Kitti’s face was white with fear.

The combat was resumed, and the pattern repeated many times. The dragon would rush in, clawing and biting, and Targon would parry with the sword and try to avoid the huge claws. By now the crowd had been silenced, their concentration utterly in thrall to the spectacle before them. Targon’s gasps were audible even in their cell and they could see his chest heaving. He had already taken some minor wounds, and his sword arm was steadily oozing blood. Then, still holding up his sword, he turned briefly away from the dragon and looked up deliberately towards them, as if trying to catch Kitti’s eye; a gesture of farewell, thought Ethan.

“I’m here, Targon, I’m here,” Kitti cried.

Targon now changed his tactics, as if hearing Kitti’s heartfelt cry had emboldened him. He stepped forward, away from the relative safety of the wall and approached the dragon slowly, sword still held forward, shining bravely in the sun like a banner of silver.

“Goddamit, get back to the wall, man,” yelled Ethan, “What the hell is he doing?” he said to the others.

“He knows the contest cannot go on this way for much longer,” said Donal, who did not sound surprised, “He knows he will die sooner or later, and he wishes to end it quickly, one way or the other, by his own choosing and his own action - the act of a free man; it is the way I also would have chosen.”

“No,” said Kitti, “Not just that, there is more. Look; he is trying the mind-search; but this creature is too cold, too different, too fierce. It surely cannot work with a dragon.”

“Wait,” said Jac, “something is happening; is the dragon responding?”

The dragon had appeared bemused by the approach of it’s small adversary, and seemed uncertain how to react to this changed threat. Now, for a long moment, the fiery whirling red eyes of the dragon locked with those of the hunchback. The rage within them seemed fade and to die, and hope flared briefly within the company; but this hope was all too fleeting.

Suddenly with a great roar, the dragon unfurled it’s free wing and clawed the air again, screaming and biting, as if breaking out of a net, inciting itself to even greater fury. It leapt forward with irresistible speed and force, and a great claw struck Targon on the shoulder with fearsome strength. He staggered once, almost falling, and a dark stain sprang out immediately through his silken vest, the red blood purple on the golden cloth.

“That’s it then, he’s a dead man for sure,” muttered Ethan, as he turned away in despair, unwilling to watch the death of his friend.

“No, not yet, Ethan,” said Jac, “look again!”

As the dragon paused before launching it’s final assault, Targon stumbled forward and with the last of his strength hacked fiercely at the dragon’s wing; then he slumped to the ground in an exhausted bloody heap. For an instant there was absolute silence, then they heard a slithering, metallic sound, and all eyes watched in stunned astonishment as the crude chain, cloven by Targon’s last strike, slowly unravelled and slid to the ground at the dragon’s feet.

The dragon looked down at the chain that had shackled it; then with a sudden snap, the great wing unfurled like thunder, and the dragon leapt in the air. Ethan heard Richard shouting orders; the arena door opened and a squad of Inquisitors rushed out with a huge net. But they were too far away to intervene; the dragon ignored them, and glided slowly down to the ground, it’s great head cocked askance as it regarded the limp form lying before it on the sand.

Then, as if it had come to a decision, it reared to it’s full height, and brought it’s front claws slashing down. Targon’s body convulsed once, and a spray of crimson blood gouted in the air; the crowd bayed and Kitti screamed and buried her face in her hands, Donal enveloping her protectively in his arms.

The dragon flapped it’s great wings once more, blowing up a gale of blinding sand, and then soared up into the sky, high above the clutching nets of the Inquisitors. It circled the arena once, diving and swooping at the crowd and roaring in triumph, then darted off at great speed to the north, disappearing from view in an instant. The dust of the arena settled into stillness once more, and Targon’s body lay quiet and still, alone on the sand.