by Paul Cude
"My... my... my predecessor lost it while battling a horde of mentally unstable, rogue vampires across Eastern Europe and Russia. Throughout the decades I've sent many out to search for it, but none have come even close to finding it," he stammered, hands shaking, unable to look directly at the dark dragon.
"REALLY! How convenient!"
"I never inherited it, only the ring, I swear."
"In all of my research about the ring, father," put in Manson, "not once did I ever come across an account of him with the trident. I think he's telling the truth."
Considering this for a few moments, much to the king's relief, which he most certainly didn't show, the matt black monster seemed to concede defeat, turning his attention to other matters.
"NOW show me this supposed White Dragon that I've heard all about for all these years," bellowed Troydenn, "I'd very much like to take a look at the dragon domain's so called saviour."
Standing beside Tim, Peter's focus now was solely on controlling his own body, stopping it from shaking, vomiting or peeing, in the hope that he himself wouldn't get noticed.
For his part, Tim tried to do the same, but with the ominous looking prehistoric beast stalking its way towards him, as Manson pointed him out, his legs shook violently, barely able to support his weight, and tears started to fill his eyes. His heart felt one beat away from stopping altogether.
"So you're it!" spat Troydenn contemptuously, his booming voice ruffling the hair of both Peter and Tim.
"Dragon got your tongue?" he goaded.
Tim, to his credit, at least had the good sense to keep his mouth shut, something both Peter and the king knew to be best.
"Does it speak?" Troydenn turned to ask Manson.
"It does," answered Earth from off to one side. "I do believe that because it was still only human just a short time ago, it is absolutely terrified of everything in the dragon domain. Also, it's not quite sure that this is entirely real."
"Entirely real!" scoffed Troydenn.
"Indeed," answered Earth.
Giant primordial jaws swivelled slowly round to face George, the dragon king, Troydenn's glistening yellow eyes holding much menace.
"So this is what will save you, your precious White Dragon, the being from the prophecy that was predicted thousands of years ago. It's almost too amusing to take in. And just how is that supposed to happen, pray tell? Will he suddenly transform and take us all out?"
"Rumour has it that he can barely fly," chipped in Earth, adding to the king's consternation.
During all this, Janice still had her eyes closed, hugging her knees to her chest, having not gotten up from being knocked down during the melee in which Tank had been tossed viciously at the king. With her mind set firmly on one goal, she was certain she was getting blessedly closer to full on communication with Fu-ts'ang, or at least, that's how it felt. Although not able to see the dragon killing weapon, she could feel exactly where it was, gripped in two hands by a slimy naga two rows back from the front. She was so close. Giving up now was not an option.
Hook couldn't believe what he was seeing or hearing. He'd recognised the prisoner standing next to Peter as Tim, the treasurer of the Sports club. But all this talk of prophecy and a 'white dragon', what the hell was that all about? There'd been no mention that Tim was a dragon, or that he was anything to do with a prophecy. Hard as it seemed, for Hook things had just gotten a whole lot stranger.
Keeping a straight face, George wondered where on earth all this was going. Playful, could best describe Troydenn's mood at the moment, having changed from chillingly terrifying at the flick of a switch. He knew it could turn back the other way at any moment, something he couldn't allow to happen. The prophecy (which had to be believed... it just did) described how the White Dragon would save them all. Without the White Dragon they were doomed, it was a well known fact about the prophecy taught throughout the dragon race. He and just about every other dragon on the planet believed it with all their hearts. If something happened to Tim, there was no saving dragonkind or the earth itself.
"TROYDENN, YOU ARE SUCH A SELF ABSORBED..." that was as far as the king got in providing a distraction.
Out of the blue, Troydenn whirled, almost unseen so fast was he, catching Tim full on in the stomach with the punch to end all punches. Heavyweight champions across the world winced. Tim cried out as he cut through the air, a blur to Hook, who still couldn't believe what he was seeing. Landing with a dull 'THUD' and the sound of breaking bones, some way away, the supposed White Dragon found himself in a heap, almost directly below the vent that Richie hunkered down in.
Instantly, the king took a step forward. Manson brought his cane around and swept the monarch off his feet. Peter rallied against his chains. Earth gave him a slap that caused his head to ring like the inside of a church bell. Throughout the residence, the King's Guards set themselves ready, only to find vicious looking bastard swords drawn, ready to carve them in two. Amelia Battlehard had been ready to give the order, go all out in one last stand to save not only her king, but the White Dragon as well. But in the blink of an eye, her troops had been neutralised; any attempt now would end up with nearly all of them dead, she knew. From across the shining marble floor, with the ancient text smattered across it, she caught the king's eye. And that said it all. She knew what was coming next.
Giant, purposeful strides reverberated around the hallowed sanctuary as the matt black personification of evil headed Tim's way.
Concealed from view behind the vent, her essence shrouded by the cloak, Richie stood up, banging her head for her trouble, trying to see how Tim had landed. 'Awkwardly' best described it.
Across the way, Manson savoured the moment, Earth likewise.
Fighting her urge to drop down and kick the mighty dragon's arse, Richie kept telling herself,
'He won't kill him, he's far too valuable,' hoping that if she said it enough, it would make it true. Unfortunately for her... it didn't!
Picking up the shattered body of the famed White Dragon, in one swift and deadly motion, Troydenn tore Tim in two.
Time stopped, as blood and guts hung motionless in the air. Voices ceased to sound. Surprise had found its niche and was doing a little jig at how accomplished it had become. Hope died. Love lost. But in that tiny sliver of a moment one thing above all happened... righteous fury ignited!
Turning to face every other being there, the two parts of Tim's destroyed body held high above his head for effect, Troydenn's smile couldn't have been any bigger or bolder... he was in his element and took delight in seeing almost every different emotion possible play out right in front of him. The king's dejected face and crushed spirit were the icing on top of the cake.
Apart from Tim's blood dripping onto the marble from a great height, silence reigned. That is until a huge twisted wreck of a metal plate clanged firmly onto the floor against the wall behind Troydenn's singular victory parade. Everyone, especially Manson, his queen and the dark troops, all glanced up to see what had happened, but only a sullen dark hole remained, nothing at all visible inside. Having checked for danger and found none, every being's attention turned back to the mammoth monster, the dark destroyer, the primordial pariah. Strangely, he remained totally and utterly motionless, even his twisted grin of sick satisfaction unmoving.
'Odd,' thought almost everyone. That is until the reason why presented itself. Or should I say, herself?!
It was so close. That's all he knew, feeling even now the magic-laden blade within a heartbeat of taking his life. Now that he knew what to look for, he could sense another being beneath him, cloaked in the shadows his massive body created. But something, other than the obvious threat to his life, was wrong. On no account could he tell who or what this other being was. He had to assume it was a dragon, but it made no sense. If that were the case, surely he'd have recognised them, and would have acknowledged the threat long before it had got within his personal space. But if not dragon, then what? Naga? Certainly not human, that was for
sure. Those puny, uneducated, self absorbed weaklings were way too cowardly to attempt such an audacious act. Currently though, it mattered not. What mattered was getting his son to act, to preserve his life, even if it put a dent in their plans. There would be another time, another place. The only thing of importance was that he lived.
In but an instant, more swords were drawn. Magic crackled and sparked as it was brought forth, yet to be released. Everyone became on guard.
Having aggressively ripped off the metal vent, Richie had tumbled to the ground behind it, letting it shield her from everyone's view. Moving faster than she ever had before, she'd slipped beneath Troydenn's massive, matt black belly, into the shadow created by his huge left leg, and slid her laminium dagger quite a long way into the evil dragon's weak spot, almost replicating what George had done with his well worn two-handed sword all those years ago. The tip of the dagger was now only millimetres from doing to Troydenn, what he'd just done to Tim. Ironic really, but that was lost on Richie, because she was way too far gone.
He couldn't help it, he really couldn't, despite the fact that he knew it was wrong. A smirk so smug that it could have belonged to a newly elected politician wriggled across the king's face, half of which was currently pressed against the cold marble of the floor. His view of what had occurred was wrong by about ninety degrees, but he couldn't have cared less, amazed at the sudden turnaround of events. Knowing the strength of feeling the young woman holding Troydenn to task had for the former White Dragon, it didn't take a genius to work out that things in the immediate future were going to go very badly for Tim's killer. Where that left all of them though, was anybody's guess.
"What the hell?" screamed Peter's brain as he blinked furiously, effectively doing a double take. "How is it possible she's here? The world's gone totally and utterly mad." It was then that he spotted it, sitting innocuously on her finger, the ring of dark metal, tiny blue triangles just visible through the gloom. It didn't explain how or why she was here, but he did at least understand what had gone on. She'd put on the ring and rediscovered her dragon memories. His friend was back. Back to her true self.
Revulsion at Tim's disgusting death instantaneously turned to hope as his friend stepped out of the shadows, fulfilling her vow to him about being there when needed. How she must have felt, he couldn't possibly even begin to guess. Witnessing the love of her life torn apart in front of her must have been enough to almost drive her insane. Silently he whispered a prayer for her, trusting that she would do the right thing, not just for Tim or herself, but for all of those here and indeed across the planet.
Eyes remaining closed, it was almost as if she could see what had happened through the link that she'd forged with Fu-ts'ang. Outraged at the death of Tim, a warm trickle of relief filled her body at seeing the young lacrosse player gripping the hilt of her dagger, the blade of which was clearly stuck well into the monstrous dark dragon. A sense of relief swept across her mind, something Fu-ts'ang picked up through their bond, reinforcing that it was good Richie had joined the fight, but that now was not the time to be complacent or unfocused. The time was near at hand, he murmured, and they both had to be ready.
Almost succumbing to the pain gnawing at his broken bones and the despair squeezing at his weakened mind after having watched Tim's body stretched and finally broken in two, Hook's resolve returned ever so slightly at the sight of the being he considered his leader. After all, she was the one he'd followed down here, and the one that had got them all into this mess. For her to be here now was nothing short of magnificent, and something of a fairy tale ending. He just hoped that ending played out in their favour.
Stepping out of the shadows, still maintaining the grip on her dagger, which very firmly remained well inside Troydenn's weak spot, mere millimetres away from ending his life, Richie's face betrayed no sense of the emotional turmoil her body now felt. Anger, rage, confusion, loss... it was all there, buried deep beneath the overwhelming red mist that threatened to lead her down a very unwise path.
"AHHHH... If it isn't the pathetic little lacrosse playing dragon from Salisbridge. I'd heard you'd had your memory wiped and been turned into a human... how disappointing."
Part of her baulked at Manson's words, that were no doubt meant to sting her. But she shrugged it off, knowing full well that she was now in control of the situation.
Watching as Manson tried to get a rise out of her, Peter hoped to hell that Richie remembered the much bigger picture that was going on around her. She wanted to kill the monstrosity of a matt black dragon that she found herself nestled beneath, of that he was certain. But if she did, then they had no leverage over Manson and his bloodthirsty cohorts. Instead, she needed to remain calm, bargain to get them all released and then perhaps once back in the wider world it might be possible to regroup, assess the threat, and begin the process of winning back the dragon domain and returning the rightful king to his throne. One diabolical act of revenge right now, was no good to anyone.
From the king's prone position one unusual thing rather stood out. Fear! Genuine fear sparkling there in Troydenn's bright yellow eyes. He'd recognise it anywhere and had never seen it or any sign of contrition ever in the being he thought of as his mortal enemy, only a short way away. Something else was going on, he thought. Some sort of subplot if he wasn't mistaken. Perhaps all was not quite what it seemed.
"So... what is it you want, lacrosse player?" challenged Manson, using the same inflection for lacrosse player that he usually reserved for the word 'Bentwhistle'.
It was a struggle, one of epic proportions. She was so close she could almost feel his life touching the tip of the legendary laminium dagger. 'Want' didn't do it justice... 'need', that was it. She needed to kill him. Make him pay. Nothing else mattered, not now that Tim was dead. But that tiny bit inside her, the rational bit, the one tucked away in the back of her mind, surrounded by darkness, with currently no friends at all, grappled for her attention... it screamed at her to take in her surroundings, look at what was going on, who was here and recognise the stakes of the game being played out around her.
For some of the others, for example the king, Amelia Battlehard, and the troops under her command, witnessing the death of the White Dragon from the prophecy they'd all grown up believing, having had it instilled in them through their formative years in the nursery ring, was a heart wrenching, hope destroying act of utter malevolence, something that was no doubt Troydenn's very intention. Peter though, standing there with Earth still hovering behind him, had just put the pieces together.
'That's it! She is, and always was, the White Dragon. I knew it. Perhaps things aren't so messed up after all.' Just how wrong could one being be?
Taking note of all the beings in range, particularly Peter, Tank, Janice and Hook, it was the rational component of Richie's mind that gained the upper hand and stepped forth.
"Let them all go... NOW! Or he dies," she commanded.
"Listen to her, son. I think she means business," implored Troydenn, sounding more than a little stressed.
Scratching his stubbly chin, tapping his cane on the marble, all the time circling the prone form of the king, Manson appeared to consider Richie's demand. Abruptly though, he turned to face the human shaped dragon interloper.
"KILL HIM. SEE IF WE CARE!"
The look on Richie's face was a picture, but nothing compared with the look on Troydenn's. It wasn't what Richie or the elderly dragon above her had been expecting. How things progressed now was anyone's guess.
Earth's surface. Amazon River Basin, Brazil.
You'd think the rain forest would be used to being bombarded by a little precipitation, given its name, but here and now the circumstances were like nothing that had ever gone before. Driving rain continued to pelt down, just like it had been doing for over six days without any let up, in warm, moist streams that stung when they hit the skin. Water levels had long since exceeded all records, and with this being midway through what was considered the dry season, p
eople up and down the Amazon were rightly fearful for their lives. Villages had flooded before the end of the first day's rain, with a national emergency being declared along nearly the entire length of the waterway. From Macapa at the river's estuary, where the river meets the Atlantic ocean, back upstream far beyond Manaus, covering some 1600 kilometres, the mighty Amazon had long since burst its banks, causing whole communities to flee, ruining wildlife and habitats, destroying valuable areas of land and putting human life at imminent risk. Sloths were isolated, even though they can swim, with the few who made it to relative safety having to move far faster than their agonisingly slow average of about a tenth of a mile an hour, for the first time in their lives. Jaguars bounded away from their natural hunting grounds at speed. Capybaras and anteaters, with their food sources destroyed, had little choice but to slope off inland in search of alternatives. Intensely dazzling poison dart frogs, covered in slippery potent venom, leapt from leaf to leaf, much higher up in the forest's canopy then they normally would be, whilst piranhas and black caiman stalked through the raised water, discovering uncharted territory. It was a catastrophe unmatched in modern times, affecting every single creature located within five kilometres either side of the mighty Amazon. Worse still, there seemed no let up in the magically induced deluge, with forecasters unable to predict when it would stop.
The culprits responsible for the relentless, supernatural downpour, all five nagas in disguise, had fled the area almost immediately, paying passage on a boat that headed up stream, eventually peeling off into a tributary called the Ucayali, which would lead them south, ultimately ending up in Pucallpa, where they were now, after over five days of travel. On the long, tedious journey, all five of them dreamed of slipping over the side into the murky, fast flowing water, but each knew better than to risk their cover identities, now with the end of days, and the supposed return of their king, so close. Instead, they sat quietly, keeping themselves to themselves, avoiding the other passengers, making absolutely no trouble and very little fuss, trying to blend in and be totally forgotten. For the most part, it had worked perfectly. Through their hidden telepathy, they'd discussed what kind of mischief they could get up to on reaching their destination. Fires, imbuing some of the local wildlife with temporary magical powers and murdering sprees were just some of the suggestions considered. In the end though, they decided to wait until they reached Pucallpa to see if anything obvious jumped out at them.
