by Paul Cude
"Well?" asked an impatient voice from the darkness back towards the stairwell, on this... the eighth floor.
"It's well guarded," answered Steel, resting next to the master mantra maker.
"But can you see the node exchange? Is getting there unseen a real possibility?"
Scales covering the old shopkeeper's chin wobbled like a jelly on a unicycle traversing a cobbled street, as he turned to face the newly reborn laminium ball player.
"What do you think?" enquired Steel.
"I think there's still too much we can't see. While it doesn't look too bad from here, there could be an army in there waiting to ambush us."
Steel concurred.
"What do we do?"
"A little reconnoitre, in my opinion, should work wonders. But I don't know who to send."
"I'll go."
"Is that wise, young one?"
Steel chuckled softly at the master mantra maker's reference.
"While my body is yet to harden fully, my mind has a vast wealth of knowledge and experience to draw on. Best of all, I'm topped right up with magic. My mana reserves have never felt so vast. And don't worry. I'll be careful. I've too much to live for now. Who on earth ever gets a second chance at life, especially in a brand spanking new body? It'll be okay."
And so it was decided. Steel would infiltrate the main centre of Fleet Street, with a view to finding out just how heavily guarded the node exchange was.
Slipping down the stairs, the noise cancelling mantra aiding their descent, not giving away their position to the enemy, Steel announced to the others that he was off to look around. Jar Man and DomCon immediately volunteered to go with him, and much as he appreciated the sentiment, he knew it was better if he went on his own. Over the course of only a matter of hours, he'd really taken to the two of them. They were an odd couple to say the least, but their friendship was something to be admired, and their fighting spirit seemed to easily match that of anyone else here along for the ride. Bidding one last farewell, his shiny, new, yet-to-set body disappeared silently into the darkness. The entire group wished him well.
Huddled together on the ground floor, tired, weary, caked in sweat and soot, afraid, all wondering if they'd made the right decision in coming here, the four humans Sam, Taibul, Emma and Angela tried to fathom what on earth was going on. For each of them, their situation resembled a dream. It was hard to distinguish fantasy from reality. As they'd moved through the burnt out wasteland of what remained of the underground dragon domain, it had kept on getting harder. The encounter with Steel had been surreal and none of them had known where it was going. For the most part, it looked as though they'd have to fight, but the master mantra maker, who they had nothing but the greatest respect for, given what he'd done for them back in Salisbridge, had talked around the wise dragon in a newly formed body, allowing them to join in their ragtag band of misfits. Gee Tee had worked his magic... well, not literally, but more in a car salesman kind of way, selling the idea of teaming up to who they had gathered, was some kind of famous sports star. They'd all discussed it and none of them had known what the hell laminium ball was, but that didn't stop them wanting to see a match. Any sport that involved dragons taking on dragons had to be awesome. Didn't it?
Sitting in the dark silence, Sam started to massage Emma's back, not for the first time on this trip. It was just one sign of how much they'd done so far, and just how much more was ahead of them. As he stroked and pummelled her muscles, one thought weaved in and out of his mind, a thought that had remained a constant background presence throughout their journey here. What would happen if he were to die here? Nobody above ground would know, not his family or his friends. Of course there was a lot at stake, he realised that. And if they didn't complete the mission they were on, then just maybe the entire planet might be destroyed, but still... nobody knowing. It hurt just to think about it. As well, he wondered what was going on back up in Salisbridge right at this very moment. Their tiny little troupe of humans, as well as Hook and Janice, had been missing for some time. Surely people would have noticed by now, especially given the almost comical way they'd left the restaurant. Thoughts turning to his young friend's back, he dug his thumbs into her sore, tight muscles, kneading them for all they were worth, hoping to give her some sort of respite from the pain.
'It was all so different,' thought Angela, watching Sam weave his magic on Emma's back. From the acrid smell of smoke and sulphur, to the landscape with its high, cavernous roofs, sometimes impossible to see, to the buildings, or currently, what was left of them. It all seemed so alien. And then there were the dragons themselves. In this case, their teammates! How was that even possible? Taking a sneak peek at one of the nearest prehistoric monsters, she marvelled at the magnificent scales that looked utterly impregnable, the impossible wings that looked both flimsy and graceful, at the ferociousness of the mighty jaws and the soft light of intelligence ever present in the beings' bulbous green eyes. It terrified her, whilst at the same time made her heart sing. Dragons here, underground, and intelligent ones at that, helping to shape the planet and now trying to save it, was a mind blowing concept. And the whole of the human race up there, blissfully unaware of what was going on. How was this even possible? And then there was Richie... a dragon... unbelievable really, but not the most shocking thing about the last few days. Looking back though, at just some of the incredible things the young lacrosse captain had got up to, it kind of all made sense. If, of course, anything could in this bizarre world of supernatural power and ancient enemies. Curling up into a ball, hoping that Sam might turn his magic fingers onto her next, she closed her eyes, hoping to gain just a little rest.
It was all he could do to keep terrified in check. It constantly threatened to overwhelm him, and it was only the thought of letting down the others, his friends, there, that had prevented him falling apart. Young and idealistic, he'd had no idea what was going on when he'd joined Richie's disjointed party and left the restaurant, still wearing his waiter's outfit. The experience so far had been beyond his wildest imagination. And boy, did he have one of those. But all of this... wow! This was something else, barely believable, even though he'd been living amongst it for some time now. And THAT experience back in the giant market place, here underground in the world of the dragons was... EPIC! Okay, it had scared the living daylights out of him, with the blood, violence and gore forcing him to empty his stomach on more than one occasion. But what had gone on, and just how the day had been saved, was nothing short of legendary. Now here they were doing this. Gazing at the other humans, it was then that he realised just how grateful he was for their company. He couldn't imagine trying to do this without them. In fact, it would have been impossible for him to do so. Then and there though, the things that he missed flashed up in the forefront of his mind. Hook, Janice, Richie, his family, the restaurant, playing hockey and the rest of his team. Peter! Goodness, he'd almost forgotten about Peter, the person he owed so much. Thoughts turning to the other mission, he hoped that they'd saved his teammate from the clutches of evil and that everything was going well for them. Rest... he knew it was important, and so watching Angela curl up into a ball in front of him, he laid his head on his shoulder, ignored the cold biting at his back from the wall he was leant against, and closed his eyes. For Taibul, sleep was hard to come by, with all the fantastical images playing out through his head.
Earth's surface. The Blue Mountains, just west of Sydney, Australia.
Mirroring events unfolding deep underground across the dragon domain, thick, choking black smoke blazed up into the air, visible from almost fifty miles away, as what had now turned into four major forest fires razed everything in their paths, leaving blackened vegetation, crispy fried animals and a wake of destruction behind them. Planes and helicopters peppered the area with massive bombs of water to little or no effect, the pilots risking their lives in the deadly and volatile high winds.
Plumes of yellow, red and orange flame snaked into the sky, some rea
ching heights of nearly ninety metres, often attempting to tickle the underside of the aircraft regularly attempting to curtail their out of control nature. Others transformed into huge red, superheated tornados, spinning precariously in a multitude of different directions, their course as random as a lottery winner, the magnitude of danger increasing tenfold.
Out of control, running north to south for about sixty kilometres, a swathe of fire and astonishing heat, one of the four cut directly across both of the main arteries leading west out of Sydney, the A32 and the B59, melting the tarmac and destroying the road's substructure, rendering a mass exodus in that direction all but impossible. Having already destroyed a huge strip of the Blue Mountain range itself, the fire, with the wind having changed direction, was now encroaching on the densely packed suburbs of Richmond and Penrith. Although used to the odd forest fire or two, residents across the whole of that area, from Sydney to Newcastle, had never witnessed such intense and dramatic weather conditions, with most being stunned into relative inactivity until it was much too late. Alerts went out across the news, ordering those that could to evacuate in either a northerly or southerly direction if at all possible. Main roads, particularly the M1 northbound heading up towards Newcastle and on towards Port Macquarie soon became clogged up with vehicles because of this, becoming every traveller's worst nightmare. And still the blazes burned on. Ferries, and boats conscripted at a moment's notice, jam packed full with passengers, headed out of Sydney harbour, as well as Botany Bay, their destinations unknown, their only objective to keep people safe and away from the end of days blaze that seemed to be swallowing up everything. It was Sydney's darkest hour.
Four hours later, and despite the best efforts of many hundreds of courageous fire fighters, the first of the suburbs capitulated to the unstoppable force of nature, with the demonic fire reducing the outlying areas of Richmond, Windsor and Londonderry to ash in under an hour. Nobody had ever witnessed anything like it, with the death toll already in its twenties.
Kanangra, in Boyd National Park to the south and west felt the full force of one of the other breakaway fires, stripping away bush, reducing walking trails to ash, forcing campers to flee in terror on foot in an effort to get to safety. Australia was suffering a humanitarian disaster of proportions never before seen in the country.
As ninety metre sheets of fire, flame, heat and rage converged on the city of Sydney, unsurprisingly, the culprits of the outrageous attack were nowhere to be seen.
33 Snow Point In Hanging Around
It wasn't much of a choice, even he had to admit that. Stay here in the freezing cold wilderness in the hope that a rescue could be arranged at some point in the future. Or jump deliberately through an unknown magical portal that might possibly take you to the heart of the enemy's force. Almost as one, Yoyo and his youngsters snapped up the opportunity to accompany Flash, Fredric and Vasuki and leave this dire hellhole for good. He couldn't blame them, but he worried about what would greet them on the other side. That was, of course, if they made it that far. There was no guarantee. Even Vasuki had expressed as much. Conjuring up one of the magical portals was risky enough, but to use the power from the laminium chains currently winding their way around Fredric and transferring that power telepathically was madness of the highest order. Still... there was absolutely no other choice.
Running through a last minute battle checklist deep within his mind, the ex-Crimson Guard's thoughts turned to those of his friends. Were they safe? Had they managed to achieve their objectives? Were Peter and Tim still alive? A fragment of him hoped that it was all over and that the king and whatever troops he still commanded had thwarted the dastardly plot, captured or killed Manson, and that those he loved (yes... the friends he loved, a whole new concept for him, something he now realised) were safe and sound, waiting patiently for their return. But his experience and cynicism mocked him for such soft thoughts. Nothing was that easy, and this more so than anything else. Just from what little he'd seen, the planning behind this whole scheme had been militarily precise, and if that were the case, then contingencies for almost any eventuality would have been put into place. If that were so, then even with the element of surprise, they were facing an uphill battle. Finishing off his list, he pushed all thoughts of his friends to one side, the professional in him asserting its authority. Now was the time to focus, be ready and prepared, but for what? He didn't know. But with Fredric and himself enhanced by the laminium in the chains, Vasuki hoping to free the rest of his race, and Yoyo and his band of glory hunters all up for the fight, it would take a very special kind of adversary to stand any chance at all against them.
Apprehension at what lay ahead, more for those in his care than for himself, threatened to consume Yoyo, until he fought it off with all his mental resilience. They were here because of him. He'd got them in this mess. But staying in this long lost cavern was no option at all, of that he was sure. It was what awaited them that tore away at his soul. Just the king? Boy, would he be surprised if that were the case. An entire army of soul sucking dark dragons and nagas? That was never going to go well. Being the pragmatist that he was, he assumed it would be something in between. Even that didn't fill him with confidence. But he supposed better here and doing this, than waiting for the planet to be overrun with evil, and the chance to stop them long gone. And so after tending to each, and expressing his love for them one by one, he told them how valiantly they'd fought and how much the courage they'd shown would be needed for what was to come. Now if only it could be just the king in his dressing gown waiting for them below ground in London. That would answer all his prayers.
For Fredric, it was almost as if the clock had been turned back decades. Gone were his doubts, the pain from his captivity and his almost addictive urge for revenge which had now been satisfied. These were replaced by a shining confidence that mirrored the glimmering laminium chains that criss-crossed his well honed bare chest, along with a twinkle in his eye at the thought of not only getting his best friend back, but the grandson he barely knew.
Conflicted and barely able to believe he was free, Vasuki delved deep within himself, searching for the particular type of magic needed to open a portal. It was there, lying dormant, but sprang to life instantly at his command despite the decades that had passed since he'd last used it. Opening the powerful nexus would now be possible. The issue was having the energy to keep it that way long enough for everyone to pass through. Fredric and Flash had assured him they now possessed almost unlimited magical clout from the newly transformed metal of the chains that had kept them bound in this unforgivable hellhole. If so, then it should be possible. Much as his mind was on the task at hand, getting them out of here and back to the underground capital of Britain, somewhere he'd only heard tales about, he couldn't help but question his race's involvement in all this and wonder if he had the ability to turn it all around. Would his freedom free those nagas following this dreaded being Manson, or would they still remain somehow under his spell? He supposed that, shortly, they'd all find out.
34 Sucker Punch
Staggering clumsily to his feet, Manson's scowl would surely have turned most beings to stone. But not his father, the gigantic, matt black dragon currently towering over him.
"YOU DON'T SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT!" growled the elder of the two.
Manson's rage rolled off him like fog off the sea. It was there for all to see.
"SHALL I TAKE YOUR MIND AGAIN?" mocked the old dragon, pointing a sharpened talon in his son's direction. "I KNOW EXACTLY HOW YOU FEEL ABOUT THAT!"
Fury, wrath and anger caused him to seethe as his temper threatened to consume him. That stupid old man had to go and do it, he thought. Had to come out and belittle him in front of everyone here, but most importantly, in front of his queen, anyone but her. But he'd done it, and now wouldn't back down, still in denial about his power and position in all of this. Still thinking this was decades ago when just maybe he was the most influential being on the planet. Not now though. Things
had changed... And although he'd planned on letting his father settle the score with his old adversary, the king, they'd planned for every eventuality... even this. So redistributing all his resentment and irritation, letting it dissipate into the atmosphere all around him, a serene look, one of total acceptance, appeared gracefully on his face.
"That's better. And don't you forget it," threatened Troydenn, more than a little lunacy coming across in his words. Turning to face his nemesis, the being responsible for his icy incarceration, he menacingly asked,
"The trident... where is it?"
With little interest in the weapon, Manson remained silent, not wanting to provoke his father further than he already had.
"OUT WITH IT!" spat Troydenn furiously. "I can't tell you how long I've looked forward to getting my hands on that thing. It will serve as a reminder of everything I've been through, and just how the tables have been turned. I won't ask again, where is it?"
Caught more than a little off guard, George's mind started to race at the first mention of the trident. A weapon steeped in history, forged by another race and keyed to the individual DNA of the dragon monarch of the day, it was as formidable a weapon as there could possibly be, easily matching Fu-ts'ang and Aviva's laminium dagger in both grace and magical power. For most of his reign, he hadn't let it out of his sight, with it always on hand in one form or other, there to boost his confidence, give him reassurance and provide that extra element of protection against any unwarranted threats. One of the supernatural properties it had been instilled with was the ability to transform into another object with just a mere thought from the one whose DNA it had been bound to. And so for many, many decades, George had carried it surreptitiously around with him in the form of his magnificent walking stick, up until quite recently that is. Something inside him had become bored of it, feeling it more of a burden to carry around than anything, particularly given that he'd never had cause to use it in anger. So it had been secreted away, deep within the recesses of his private rooms, ironically, not that far away from where he currently stood. Right at this very moment, he wished it were here more than anything, because just maybe it could turn the tide of everything that was playing out around him. For now though, he just had to lie. That weapon in the hands of Troydenn was a nightmarish scenario, even without it being keyed to the psychopathic dark dragon's DNA. And so he did.
