by Paul Cude
With a brief lull in proceedings, nearly all the beings there broke out either food or water, or both. Janice and Hook shared some freshly baked bread that they'd been given back at the nursery ring, along with a strawberry flavoured bottle of water. Given their surroundings, they did well to keep everything down. All the time Janice kept hold of Fu-ts'ang, aware of the mysterious weapon not only in her hand, but in her head as well. Odd didn't begin to cover it.
Tank waited in silence, not having moved from his position below the heavy, circular, metal cover, his thoughts for his friends churning over and over as he gazed up at the two guards resting at the top of both ladders, just below the surface. It didn't take long, less than ten minutes in fact. Four delicate taps in a row on the surface of the dragonhole was the signal. Cautiously the two guards lifted up the cover... a little at first, wary of being caught out. It turned out to be fine, with the two ex-King's Guards dropping through the small gap provided, splashing down right next to Tank, splattering dragon poo up both his legs. Currently, that was the least of his worries.
"It's clear," said one.
"As far as we can tell," added the other. "And we've been as far as the square. There are half a dozen guards milling around the entrance to the council building, but they look disinterested and disorganised. Clearly they're not expecting an attack. I don't think we're going to have any trouble in disposing of them."
Tank nodded, pleased that things seemed to be going their way. He did find it a little strange though, given all the evidence of death and destruction they'd seen so far across the capital. Somewhere there must have been a massive force, and he'd assumed it would have been here. Of course, most of it could well be inside... the council building was, after all, huge. But to leave it virtually unguarded, vulnerable to a counterattack from behind, sounded like a childish mistake. And given the kind of planning and organisation that had so clearly gone into this devastating surprise attack in the first place, the more he thought about it, the more he didn't like the smell of things. And he wasn't just talking about down here, in the sewer.
"We should attack now... while we have the chance," announced one of the guards, forcing him out of his reverie.
"I... I... I don't know," stuttered Tank, trying desperately to weigh up everything in his mind. Defending the king was their number one priority, but the lives of everyone here mattered... to him at least.
"It does seem like now is our chance," added the other one. "Maybe they're waiting for reinforcements to arrive. If that happens, then we're pretty much done for. It certainly didn't smell like a trap to me. More like overconfidence on their part, something I say we crush with all our might."
Backed into a corner, that's how he felt. Of course he trusted the two that he'd sent up there. Why wouldn't he? He was as sure as he could be that they didn't want to throw away their lives. But nothing about this felt right. From Richie leaving, to avoiding all the marauding patrols of psychopaths, skulking down here in the sewers, and now this. It didn't feel right at all. But he could come up with no other options. And so with the clock ticking down, he very reluctantly agreed that they should all move forward with a view to gaining access to the council building.
With the dragonhole cover slipped fully out of place, dragons and humans alike skirted through the gap, concealing themselves in the shadows of the alleyway and the deserted doorways at the back of the row of shops. Two minutes... that's all it took for all of them to make their way out of the sewer and up above ground. With the dragonhole cover replaced, it was agreed that one of their kind, a librarian named Kymoto, would stay behind and keep an eye on their exit, in case they needed to use it in a hurry. As the shy librarian disappeared up onto a first floor balcony, the guards at the front of the group silently sloped off in the direction of the square, each and every member of the small band alert now, with no telling where the danger might come from; the same could be said of Janice and Hook, both far too aware of the danger, their mouths on occasion hanging open wide, not just at what they were part of, but at the scale and sheer size of the buildings around them. It was almost as if they were in the financial district of London up above, with huge skyscrapers towering over them. They'd thought they'd gotten used to the underground landscape, having taken in first Salisbridge and then of course the area surrounding the Nursery Ring at Hampton Court. But this was something else altogether.
Slowly... that's how it progressed, and of course silently. Minutes... that's how far away the square and the council building were. Moving like this took them at least four times as long. But soon enough, they were there, peering out from beneath the shadows of an all encompassing alleyway opposite, skulking, observing and single minded in their attempt to avoid any and all deceptions.
Along with the contingent of ex-King's Guards, Tank was at the front now, determined to be the one to give the order, if that's what it came down to. Part of him thought they just wanted to circumvent him and ignore the authority that had been so unjustly thrust upon him. And although he didn't like it, or hadn't wanted it, now that he found himself in this position, he thought it only fair that it was his call, and his alone, as to whether or not they went ahead with things. And so he bided his time and listened to those around him laying out their ideas on exactly how they should deal with the rearguard and gain access to where they needed to go.
So it was that ten minutes later they were all ready to go. Five of the ex-King's Guards had skirted around the council building until they'd reached the nearest side to the entrance. They were within only a few seconds of the unruly, disorganised rabble that guarded the way in. Once the signal was given, Tank's group, comprising of a mixture of dragons and humans, would charge across the square, effectively creating a distraction, while at the same time the ex-King's Guards would ambush them from behind, stopping them from calling for help from inside the building. Focused on his breathing, Tank waited for the telepathic nudge that he knew was due any time now. Sure enough, what felt like a little tickle on the left hand side of his brain came only a few seconds later, and so pumping his fist in the air, a rather crafty lightning mantra at the forefront of his mind, he yelled, "CHARGE!" at the top of his voice and sprinted out of the darkness and into the square, heading for the council building's entrance at top speed. Sure enough, that got their enemies' attention, with all those visible rushing across the square to meet Tank, and his comrades who were right on his coattails. As Janice hefted Fu-ts'ang while at full sprint, Hook tried to keep up, the base of his heavy water pack slapping furiously against his lower back as he ran. Brilliant bolts of bright blue electricity arced violently from Tank's fingertips as the ex-King's Guards cut off their opponents' escape route back into the council building. Catching the first sloppy dragon directly in the throat, the sizzling electricity pierced his dark yellow scales in several places, causing him to scream in agony as he lost his footing and slipped to the cobbled floor. And then... it was chaos. Not the kind of chaos that had taken place in the market place in Salisbridge. No! This was just the swift killing of half a dozen guards, all over in mere moments really. They never stood a chance. And that was how it was supposed to go.
With their enemies down, the ragtag group of dragons and humans paused to catch their breath after the furious few moments of intense fighting.
One of the guards approached Tank, talons dripping with dark green dragon blood.
"We should head inside. The longer we stay out here, the more vulnerable we are."
Tank was just about to agree, when the dragon's words became more accurate than one of Richie's shots at goal.
Drifting across the square, carried by what little breeze existed, it started very much as a singular being's chuckle. As one, the group of heroes turned this way and that, trying to find the origin. But as they did so, the chuckle increased in pitch, with more beings joining in, and not just a few. A couple almost instantly became dozens, and then dozens became a multitude, with the laughter having taken on a chilling, sa
distic air.
Standing amongst the bodies of the enemies they'd just slaughtered, Tank's heroic band instinctively formed a circle and watched as a fighting force six or seven times their strength, numbering well over a hundred, mainly slithered into view. Nagas poured out of nearby buildings while dark dragons hefting huge black swords dropped from the sky all around them. If Tank's group had been terrified during the events that had played out in Salisbridge the previous day, this had taken fear and dread to a whole new level.
Knowing they were massively outnumbered, and exactly what these sick, heartless, brutal murderers did to anyone left alive, Tank vowed there and then to fight until his dying breath. Little did he know that everyone else in the rest of his team currently had the same thought. As the chortling continued, striking fear deep into his heart, he swore to take as many of them with him as he possibly could. With the words already spoken deep within his mind, and the full force of his rage and willpower behind them, he cast an arc of superheated air straight out in front of him, toppling the deadly dragons and nagas like dominoes, and then leapt into the fray, concentrating only on staying alive.
Earth's surface. Salisbridge, England.
Pulling in through the tall, blue, metallic gates of the secure police yard at the back of the station, he still couldn't get his head around all the strange things that seemed to be going on of late. All the explosions that had ripped through the planet and devastated lives and property, in particular the one here at the sports club, which had turned out to be much smaller than all of the others, was where it had started for him. Strange things had gone on. First and foremost, he hadn't been allowed to see the immediate damage after the bomb had gone off and destroyed the clubhouse itself. Odd, suited men from some government department he'd never heard of had turned him away from the site. Of course he'd checked them out, and it was all above board... supposedly. But he couldn't shake the feeling that something else was going on. What? He had no idea. But he was sure some sort of coverup was underway. And then the two young fellows who'd been arrested immediately after the clubhouse had been destroyed... they'd remained in custody for some time, before unexpectedly being released by the sergeant, with no explanation given, only that they hadn't been guilty of any of the charges and had in fact tried to prevent the act of terrorism that had taken place.
And now this! Salisbridge was more like a tight knit community than a city, and for somewhere like this to experience all these odd goings on was unusual and disturbing both at the same time, and he was sure... no coincidence. Side lights flashing to indicate that his car was now locked, he punched the four digit code into the keypad. A barely audible 'click' informed him of his success after which he pulled open the heavy door and squeezed through, just as two uniformed officers made their way out. Nodding to both, he continued down the corridor and up two flights of stairs that led directly to his office. Slipping off his jacket, he slumped down in the heavy office chair, its form by now moulded to his particular shape. Still he was plagued by it all, sure that he was missing some stand out link that connected everything together. Logging into his computer, he sat back and played Saturday night's CCTV footage of the Poultry Cross.
'There they are,' he thought, 'exiting the Indian restaurant, slipping on their coats. And then all of a sudden they stop. Probably being told to by the young woman... what was her name? Ah, that's right. Richie Rump. With the onlookers having stopped, the young Rump woman staggers her way alongside the ancient monument, towards the base of the support holding the camera. Moments later, a hand appears in view for a split second, before something... gum as we now know it to be, is placed over the lens. After that... NOTHING! No sign of any of them.'
Parents, sisters and work colleagues had all called in to report each of the individuals as missing. Interviewing the staff and owners of the restaurant had got them nowhere. Interviewing the other diners, who'd been tracked down via their credit cards, had only led to a confused overall picture. Reports of a scuffle, someone collapsing, no medical attention sought, followed by an argument and then supposedly the whole group walking out of the place armed to the teeth with half the kitchen, something the staff and owners categorically denied. By their own admission many of the other patrons were well on their way to being drunk, but enough of them had come up with pretty much the same story without being prompted. It was hard to know what to make of it all.
Closing down the video footage, he tapped his fingers on his desk in front of the keyboard. They'd thoroughly searched in and around the Poultry Cross... checked all the other CCTV cameras in the area for that time period, and come up with zilch. Nothing! Nada! Squat! Where on earth could they have gone? Abducted? Hard to believe, especially given everything they were carrying. And that left what? No answers. Not for the parents, siblings, or colleagues. This was one of the most bizarre cases he'd ever worked on in his twenty one years on the job. And that combined with all the other weird goings on had him on edge, and kept making him second guess himself, something he knew was never good. To do his job he had to maintain his focus and impartiality, and consider all possibilities. But so far that had led him nowhere. Having told those he was in charge of that were investigating the case to consider every option no matter how unlikely, daft or trivial, his only hope now was that some opportunity presented itself from all of that... because one thing was for sure, he had absolutely no idea where to go next or what to look into. As far as he was concerned, all of them had vanished completely off the face of the earth. If only he knew.
23 Sub-Zero Success
With a roundhouse kick so powerful that it shattered the naga's spine, the bloody battle beneath Antarctica drew to a close. It had been a resounding triumph despite a number of life-threatening injuries sustained by Yoyo's young dragons. But the danger had been neutralised, the jailer vanquished to hell, and his mysterious fighting force dispatched from this plane of existence. As Yoyo and the rest of the young dragons tended to their injured, Flash and Fredric came together in the middle of the cavern, the latter having wrapped himself in the laminium chains that were no longer his captor, but now in fact his saviour. He looked magnificent, his taut, bulging muscles glistening for all to see, in the same tattered rags that had covered him for decades. Words seemed hard to find for them both, at first anyway.
"You came back. I knew you would."
"No being deserves to be held in this place, least of all a mighty dragon like you. I'm sorry it's taken so long."
"Given how long I've been here, the time that's passed since your last visit seems almost insignificant."
"I'm sorry for everything you've been through. And I'm not the only one."
This piqued Fredric's interest.
"The king has done everything in his power to try and free you, since I reported back to him after my brief visit and he learned of your captivity."
Fredric's eyes glazed over, and very briefly he became lost in his own thoughts, caught up with his best friend back in a time long, long ago.
"As well," announced Flash, "there's someone else."
Startled back to the present, Fredric found it hard to think who else it could be.
"Your grandson... PETER, he's been involved in everything. He's one of my best friends."
Raw, unadulterated emotion flooded the founder of the Crimson Guards from head to toe, forcing the hairs on his arms to stand to attention and his legs to go momentarily weak. It was all he could do to hold back the tears.
"My boy!" cried Fredric. "How is he?"
'Here we go,' thought Flash, having no idea how the next few moments were going to pan out.
"When I left... yesterday, we found out he'd been captured by the being that seems to be in charge of this whole New World Order thing and goes by the name of Manson. As far as we can tell, he and the 'White Dragon' are to be used as bargaining chips against the king, who as far as we know is holed up in his private residence, surrounding by a huge fighting force that has pretty much taken London, ma
de up of dark dragons and nagas, who are being held ransom by the captivity of their king, and they more than likely have a grip on the rest of the planet."
"RRRRRAAAAAAARRRRRRRRHHHHHHHHHH," bellowed Fredric, so loudly in fact that icicles dropped from the ceiling in far flung parts of the cavern. Astounded, those still able to turned to look in his direction.
"I'm sorry," added Flash. "I know it's not what you wanted to hear, but I figured you'd rather know the truth."
"You're right, of course... always the truth. But what can we do from here to affect events on the other side of the earth? I assume we're somewhere beneath the Antarctic?"
"We are. In a place called Law Dome, and quite far from the nearest form of civilisation."
Out of nowhere, a soft voice echoed across the confines of the icy cavern.
"FLASH!"
It was Yoyo. Both Fredric and Flash looked over to where the healer knelt, tending to two of his injured youngsters.
"What is it?" asked Flash from where both he and Fredric stood.
"They're dying... and there's nothing I can do to stop it."
Instantly Flash took off, Fredric hot on his heels. Sliding to a halt only moments later, the ex-Crimson Guard took in the scene that lay before him. Two of the young dragons, one who he remembered as Hillier, lay prone, blood seeping onto the ice, mortal wounds obvious for all gathered around to see. Closing his eyes, Flash racked his brain for anything that would be of some use, any unusual or unconventional magic. But before he got any further than that, a powerful arm tugged him out of the way.
"Let me have a look," commanded Fredric, the golden chains encompassing his torso rattling slightly as he moved. As one, the young dragons circling their injured friends moved back, in awe of the mighty being that had been trapped in this icy hellhole for all this time.
