The Bringer of War

Roland gasped as the dragon queen burst into the treasure chamber, the wall exploding inward around the tunnel far too small to accommodate her bulk. He watched as a stone twice the size of a horse spun through the air and crashed into a mound of coins, pelting him with a painful spray. The seneschal scrambled to get out of the cavern, not stopping until he nearly bowled over King Drakken as he padded down the dim hall.

“Peace, old friend,” said Drakken, his face beaming “she will not harm you. Her belly is quite full, I assure you.”

“What, what is she doing?” said Roland, turning back to face the dragon’s chamber. They both felt the heat of her blue flame, heard the gout rushing into the clammy air.

“Preparing the nest,” said Drakken, clapping Roland on the shoulder. He pushed past the cowering man and entered the vast chamber without a trace of fear. The little man followed, prepared to dash back up the spiral stairs at a moment’s notice.

They walked into the cavern and beheld the dragon’s open maw rushing forth a torrent of indigo fire. Its serpentine neck flexed as the head was swept side to side, engulfing the massive mounds of gold. Before their eyes it began to run into liquid pools, forming a glistening, hazy lake.

“The gold,” said Roland, his jaw slack “my King, the gold!”

“Relax, Roland,” said Drakken “this was expected. Dragon eggs need heat to hatch, you know. That is why we had to wait for this summer’s heat to begin the casting, so the waters of the sea would be warm enough to produce a queen. Once her brood hatches, I will have an army that no man or faerie can stand against. We will march to Breslin, cross the Sea to Port Gar and the other city states. We may even go so far as to fly our banner over the desert lands of the Sun People. Once we are through, the sun will never set upon our empire. It’s exiting, isn’t it?”

Roland dropped to his knees, his speech leaving him. Drakken laughed manically as the Dragon continued to create its golden nest.

“My king,” said the seneschal in a tiny voice. His eyes stayed transfixed upon the horrific creature before him as he spoke. “I was coming to find you...it seems that a crowd has gathered outside the castle. They are demanding an explanation, your majesty.”

“Then,” said Drakken “I will go and give them one, though as king I owe them not.”

Casually, as if he were about to deliver an edict regarding the size of beer steins in the kingdom, Drakken swept out of the chamber and back into the tunnel. Roland followed a moment later, casting one last fearful glance at the dragon.

** *

Stella stared down at the wide fissure before her, the bottom not visible in the sputtering light of her torch. She glanced ahead of her to where Crown and Lobo stood on the opposite side, beckoning her to follow.

“Come on, jump!” said Lobo “it is not so far as it seems.”

“Hurry up, Stella,” said Seamus, putting a hand on her shoulders “we do not know how long Bruno can distract the King and his Templars! We’ll have our hands full with the dragon as it is!”

“Unhand me, fool!” said Stella with a sneer. “I have short legs, I can’t jump that chasm!”

They were many hundreds of feet below Fort Drakken, using a passage that was older than the kingdom. Crown had said that the myriad passages that wormed their way through the rock had been built by an ancient civilization that had prospered in a forgotten time. Stella did not think much of their architecture, which seemed prone to crumbling and cracks. The ceiling was about a dozen feet above their heads, though at times it dipped so low that Seamus had to duck his head, and at others rose until it could no longer be seen. There were no obvious landmarks or markings on any of the tunnel walls, and yet when they got to a branching corridor Crown always seemed to know the right way without having to think about it.

“Then I’ll assist you,” said Seamus. Without ceremony he scooped the wizard up in his arms and heaved her through the clammy air. Stella wailed the whole time, her eyes locked on Seamus’s scarred face until she crashed into Lobo and Crown on the other side.

“You bastard!” she screamed, face turning red “I could have been killed!”

“Aye,” said Seamus, leaping the span with relative ease “but my aim was true.”

He adjusted the uncomfortable breastplate he wore, wondering for the thousandth time if the smith Daveed had followed the recipe closely enough. The prospect of testing it in combat was a daunting one, but the big man was determined to see it through. He had come a long way, and though gaining revenge for his brother had not flown from his mind he had to admit that it was but one of many reasons he meant to see it through. The former orphan had drifted most of his life, not really having a purpose and quite convinced that he would go to his grave completely unsung.

The thought that there were those who would sing his praises after he was gone gave him some measure of comfort. The dragon needed slaying, and it seemed that there was no one more suited to the task than he.

“Which is really pathetic when you think about it,” he mumbled. On his collar, Roikza shifted from clawed to claw. The little dragon was being quiet, her eyes full of fear. He had tried to leave her on the surface, but she had clung to him tightly. It seemed that she, too, was resolute and would see the quest to its end.

Quest...that’s really what it was, when he thought about it. A quest to slay a monster that threatened goodly folk. Somehow, he had ended up in one of the legendary stories that had kept him enthralled as a lad. He wished he were a real hero, instead of a half blind ex mercenary cum swindler with only one good hand and a suit of armor that might-might-protect him from the dragon’s burning blood and flames.

“Shilling for your thoughts, Seamus,” said Lobo, pausing while Crown checked the safety of the passage ahead of them.

“I was just thinking I’m not the man for this,” he said simply with a shrug.

“And what kind of man would you have down here?” said the minstrel, blue eyes flashing.

“I don’t know,” said Seamus “an epic hero, for one. You know, one of those blokes that’s as big as a tree, with a sword that fells men by the dozens...”

Lobo laughed, a musical sound that seemed more suited to a maid.

“...shoots fire from his arse, is as much a wizard as a warrior...”

“You’ll do fine, Seamus Dragonsbane,” said Lobo “the kingdom could not ask for a better champion.”

“Why are you here again?” said Stella, losing patience with both of them and with Crown’s dickering with the floor. “Are you going to bore the dragon to death with one of your lame songs?”

“I must record the heroics of our band,” said Lobo, drawing himself up proudly “I cannot put the dragon to metaphor and lyric without being there to see Seamus slay it!”

“Oh, please,” said Stella, rolling her eyes.

“I, for one, am glad to have him along,” said Crown.

“You are?” said Seamus, his eyes growing narrow. Bruno had warned him of the assassin’s profession, and possible treachery, but had said nothing of the man being a music aficionado.

“Of course,” said Crown with a slight bow to Lobo “my own admittedly clandestine activities often preclude adulation of any sort, let alone an epic ballad.”

Their banter was cut short by a stiff, hot wind that inexplicably blew past them. Stella’s hat flew from her head and sailed down the chasm, vanishing within the inky blackness.

“What in the Nine Hells was that?” said Seamus.

“The dragon,” said Stella, a profound frown upon her face “it is draining the ley lines almost dry!”

“For what?” said Seamus.

“For its fire,” said Lobo, realization dawning on his impish face. “Are we too late? Do our friends lie charred to ash on the outside?”

“Come,” said Seamus, giving Crown a polite but firm shove “we had best be about it then, and quickly.”

** *

Drakken strode past Kate, who sat numbly in a comfortable padded seat outside the throne room. She still had dried blood from Quinn smeared upon her person, the servants who may have implored her to clean up fled from the dragon. The king smirked, then extended his hand.

“Come, my dear,” he said “you will not want to miss this. My augury has predicted a fantastic show.”

Stiffly, Kate rose to her feet. Dimly, she was aware that there was a tumult outside, but the combination of Drakken’s eldritch charm and the fact that she had just killed a helpless man weighed upon her more heavily. She took his proffered hand and followed him towards the eastern stairs. They alighted them and made their way to the walls.

The acrid smoke, the glow of many fires still burning, was enough to snap Kate out of her delirium. She balked, causing her hand to slip from the King’s.

“What have you done?” she said, her brown eyes reflecting the carnage below.

“Hmm,” said Drakken, as if he were puzzled by a complex, but unimportant dilemma. “It seems you are stronger willed than I thought. No matter.”

He turned from her and strode to the edge of the wall. Below him, the grand avenue was filled with a mass of people. By his count, most of the townspeople who had survived now stood upon the cobblestones. Upon sight of him they raised an outraged cry.

“There he is!”

“Someone give me a crossbow and I’ll strike him from the wall!”

“Murderer!”

“Heathen trafficker with demons!”

Drakken smirked at their insults, shaking his head as if a tiny puppy were nibbling on his boots. The street was fifty feet below, but Drakken was an accomplished public speaker. His baritone reached most of the ears of the mob.

“Such a lack of decorum,” he bellowed “and after I have saved you from the clutches of a dragon!”

The mob went silent. Drakken’s mouth split wide in a smile devoid of warmth.

“Yes,” he said “saved you...saved you all!”

“Lies!” shouted someone, nudging their way to the front of the throng. Bruno stood at the ready, fully clad in his Templar armor. “You succor the beast, allow it to creep beneath our very feet!”

“Sir Cromwell,” said Drakken, a sneer crossing his features. “Do you forget your duty so quickly, Templar? You should be standing against this rabble, not commanding them!”

“They are here of their own will,” said Cromwell, as much to the crowd as the King. “And by their will, we demand you abdicate the throne!”

“Abdicate?” said Drakken, a laugh seizing his body. “Oh, such a rich jest. And I suppose that you will be crowned king? The gold crown will be sullied by your black skin.”

Bruno began to hotly deny the accusation, to extoll the virtues of his squire as the rightful monarch, but the people surprised him.

“His skin is black, but his heart is pure!” shouted one man.

“The black knight is a hero, he is!” shouted another.

“Three cheers for King Bruno!”

“Long may he reign!”

Drakken sneered, his eyes narrowing to slits. His fists clenched and shook with rage.

“How dare you,” he said “how dare y-”

His speech became a shout as he plummeted off the side of the wall, having been pushed by Kate’s slender hands.