Bentwhistle the Dragon Box

by Paul Cude

  With his mind reeling, and having had only a few precious hours of sleep, the youngest member of this eclectic group, the young hockey playing waiter from Salisbridge, Taibul, excused himself from the human contingent, deciding that now was the time to take a leak. He'd been warned that they would soon be on the move once again, this time taking on a force they might well not be able to defeat. Gee Tee had, however, stressed just how important taking back Fleet Street was in relation to the much bigger picture. It wasn't all doom and gloom though. The humans, all of them here, had great faith in not only the master mantra maker, who'd worked absolute miracles back in the Salisbridge market place, but in the dragon they called Steel. He'd been a natural leader, and despite his surprise at finding a contingent of humans, here underground, had welcomed them with open arms after hearing about their heroics from the previous day. So winding his way through darkened, rubble filled corridors that your average family saloon would have no trouble traversing, the youngster searched for some suitable shadow in which he could relieve himself.

  "Brave lad... that one," whispered Angela, nodding in the direction Taibul had taken off in.

  "He's a team sports player. That about says it all," ventured Emma.

  Eyes closed, head leaning back against the hard rocky exterior wall, Sam nodded in agreement.

  They were all missing not only their homes, but their respective sports and of course their friends, who were somewhere else below ground, involved in goodness knew what kind of shenanigans. It was Emma who voiced what everyone was thinking.

  "I hope they're okay!"

  Sam lazily opened his eyes.

  "You mean the others?" enquired Angela.

  "Richie, Tank, Hook, Janice, Peter, and all the others that we've met since being down here... I hope they're all okay."

  "It stands to reason that they'll be okay," Sam said.

  "How so?" both of the women responded.

  "Think about it. They had an experienced fighting force alongside them, and more importantly... the element of surprise. Manson, whoever the hell he is, and the rest of his contingent, fully assume that Tank is dead and that any kind of resistance has been nullified. He and his force will be overconfident and unprepared, certainly not on the lookout for any kind of confrontation. If they can sneak in without being seen, then just maybe it'll all be over before it's started. That's what I'm hoping for, because anything else just doesn't bear thinking about."

  "But humans... up against dragons?"

  "We weren't too shabby back in Salisbridge, were we?"

  "That relied an awful lot on luck," Angela stated. "As well, they don't have Gee Tee with them. We do. And we all know what a pivotal part he played in events."

  "Give them some credit," chipped in Emma. "If Tank can lead like he plays rugby, the whole thing will be over before we know it."

  That made them all chuckle.

  With Taibul returning and with nothing else to do but wait, their thoughts turned to their families, who by now would be worried sick about their whereabouts.

  42 All Creatures Great and Small

  Top of the list of things he wanted to know at the moment, was where the hell was he? As he reached around in the pervading darkness, he couldn't quite fathom what was wrong. Not knowing how he'd got there, didn't help. One moment he was in the middle of the mother of all battles, and next he was here... wherever the hell here was. What he did know though, was that time was of the essence. Somewhere, nearby he assumed, his friends were fighting for not only their lives, but for the dragon way of life and the protection of the humans on the surface. So stumbling forward, not for the first time, he decided to do something that he considered so utterly ridiculous, it bordered on the insane.

  "Hello? Is there anybody there?"

  Not really expecting any kind of answer, he was more than a little perturbed when haunting laughter drifted out of the darkness.

  For the most part out of sight, he called on all his experience, knowing that without it, some of those he cared for and loved would already be dead. Ignoring a ground shaking explosion that hit a wall about fifty metres from where he was tucked away, furiously spewing red hot shards of marble in his direction, Yoyo gave over his full attention to what was happening in and around the group of dragons he thought of as his kin. Of course he didn't have all of them covered, the exceptions being Hillier and Zebediah... wherever they were. He hoped they were cloaked and able to avoid the worst of the battle magic. But he couldn't focus on that now. The group needed him, and so he was here for them, like he'd been ever since the fighting had started.

  Noticing the youngest dragon of his young horde, Pixma, had let a hole in her defensive rear shield develop. without even thinking about it, the Australian dragon healer recalled the words he needed inside his head, added the desired amount of willpower and watched as the gap disappeared. Right at that moment, he caught a slight movement in his peripheral vision. Noting a brown coloured naga sneaking its way through an array of cadavers, heading in the general direction of his team, Yoyo's internal sense of danger kicked into overdrive, almost overwhelming him with a sense of urgency. Not knowing what the beast's end game was made things difficult, especially as he was constantly deflecting away the odd magical attack here and there already. With one eye on the rogue naga, Yoyo used a controlled blast of kinetic energy to push his young charge Tarko forward, allowing a missile of deadly poison spores to narrowly miss her legs, whilst at the same time throwing up a huge chunk of rock that had fallen from high above to detonate some kind of magical grenade harmlessly away from them all. Diverting his concentration in these precious few seconds had allowed the devious naga to outflank the whole group, giving him the perfect angle to launch his attack. Worse still, Yoyo could only stand and watch, because his magical abilities were being used up elsewhere in the battle. Telepathically, he urged any of the youngsters to turn around, spot the threat and react to it. Probably because of everything going on, and because it was their first time in battle, none of them took heed of his warning. And so, working furiously with his mind, his hands and arms almost a blur the way he was dishing out his magic, he watched in horror as the sly naga started to cast his supernatural power. Focused fully on the deadly monster about to unleash his attack, and with a sinking feeling of epic proportions set to burst his gargantuan scaled belly, he was surprised to catch a glimpse of the naga's eyes almost popping out of his head. Wondering what on earth had happened to disrupt him during his crucial spell, it was only when he looked down at the reptilian beast's chest that he noticed the blade of a rather futuristic, cold enshrouded weapon poking directly out of it. Full of relief and delight at the outcome, for a moment he wondered where the weapon had come from. If he'd had to take a guess, and that's all it really was, he would have said it was somehow related to the young human woman sitting on the floor in the middle of the chaos, looking more than a little bruised, battered and broken. But just how and why she was doing it was a mystery to him, if that really was the case. All he knew was that they'd once again escaped tragedy by the skin of their teeth. Glad that they had, he turned his concentration back to the matter at hand, but not before sending a writhing tendril of healing energy in the mysterious human's direction, restoring her back to full health in but an instant, knitting her broken ribs back together, reducing the inflammation in her ankle and repairing all her cuts and bruises.

  Assessing the threats and the young dragons' propensity to deal with them was all he could do, but up until now their teamwork had paid dividends, keeping them all relatively safe. Deep inside he knew it wouldn't last. The odd glance across the far side of the rebuilt bridge told him that. Reinforcements appeared to be mounting, in both dragon and naga form. As soon as they swarmed across, which they inevitably would, sheer numbers alone would see them defeated. It was all a bit of a disaster, but he vowed to keep on fighting, defending and healing until his last breath, hoping against hope that help of any sort would appear. To be honest, it didn't seem
that likely.

  Chilled to the bone by the icy cold, white marble floor he found himself lying on, and despite the magic screaming through the air all around him, the current dragon monarch only had eyes for one being... his best friend, comrade in arms, the dragon he thought of as a brother: FREDRIC! Seeing him stride through the magical wormhole had brightened his soul, lifted his spirit and energised the magic within him. But almost immediately things changed. For some unknown reason, the dragon giant and founder of the Crimson Guards had dropped down to his knees, looking a shell shocked wreck, startled beyond belief. Was it the humans here, fighting alongside the dragons? Or maybe he recognised his grandson, his emotions becoming all too much for him. Whatever it was, it didn't bode well. The others needed him in the fight... and NOW! Commanding his broken and beaten body to roll over and up into a sitting position whilst ignoring the blazing pain that burned throughout his human shaped limbs, it was then that a kind of emptiness washed over him, forcing him to feel half the dragon he'd been. Gazing down at his hand, it became immediately obvious what had provoked such a strong reaction. THE RING! Currently now in Tank's possession, George wondered what he'd done wrong. Throughout his guardianship of the precious magical artefact, it had always been stubborn, distant, even aloof at times. But for the most part it had agreed with his decisions, supported his actions and provided him with its inherent power on the occasions that he'd needed it. Not only that, but it had been his constant companion. When he'd not been able to share his thoughts and rationale with anybody else, the ring had come to his aid, giving him good, solid advice, clearly built up from a long history of experience. So why, over the last month or so, had it all gone wrong? Nothing had changed as far as he knew. Of course he was under an extraordinary amount of pressure, but that was nearly always the case. At least that's how it felt. Shoving the puzzling dilemma towards the back of his mind, and ignoring the ear splitting explosions all around him, George reached out with his psyche, searching for one consciousness amongst many, one that he'd interacted with more times than he could remember, one he was sure would recognise him in an instant.

  Unkempt, bruised, battered, and clad in laminium chains, Fredric, now free from the captivity of the icy hellhole in Antarctica, knelt down on the floor, head bowed, his long, matted, scraggy hair concealing most of his face. Having survived the tortuous ravages of decades in confinement, it was ironic that his first taste of freedom should break him almost immediately.

  Floating on the air, dodging and ducking brilliant bolts of blistering magic, George's mind finally reached his friend. Not wanting to startle him, the king rubbed his mind across the back of Fredric's head, something akin to a human handshake. Normally a reaction would be instantaneous, but not now. Stumped momentarily, the floating will changed tack, deciding that perhaps startling was what he needed. Now he tapped... tap, tap, tap... hoping a more concerted effort would have a noticeable effect. Not so. Searching his memory, scanning the vast array of knowledge he'd accumulated across his time walking the planet, he discovered another tactic, one he'd only used once, many, many decades ago. Enclosing Fredric's head, the consciousness poked and prodded this time, but once again to no avail. It was as he thought though: his friend had erected a mental barrier, something only usually done in times of danger or close quarters combat, like now. To the king's mind, it felt very much like a dome made from brick, mortar filling the gaps and all. So with that in mind, and with what felt like his last chance at reaching his friend, his consciousness dropped onto the top of the brick and effectively turned into liquid. More than anything, this required an awful lot of magic, something the king lacked by not having his majestic ring any more, and a mighty amount of concentration. This he could manage. And so having held the liquid in place with quite a lot of effort, slowly he allowed a few tiny drops to trickle down the side, searching and scouring for any gap at all, no matter how infinitesimal. One by one, he let even more go, each and every drop trickling across the course surface of the brick, some following the maze of the mortar, until finally every last inch of the surface of the protective dome had been covered. 'Blast,' he thought, frustrated at not having found a way in. It was then that he realised what he had to do, back across the other side of the chamber, deep within his body. Recalling his consciousness, he used a little of his magic to create a soothing wave of healing energy that he let run riot throughout his being. With not quite so much pain inhibiting his aged limbs, he staggered to his feet, looking for some way to cross the distance between himself and his friend without getting fried. In all his time, he'd never done anything like this.

  From one king to another...

  Flattening himself close to the brilliant white marble floor, he soaked up the refreshing cold, almost missing the icy confines of Antarctica. ALMOST! With no time to dwell on that, he rolled three times to his left, raised himself up to full height, ducked out of the way of the oncoming razor sharp blade his dragon opponent scythed in his direction, and in his mind, conjured up the words he needed. Foreign to all but his own distinctive race, the language, combined with just enough willpower and magic, produced a spectacular result. From just above the dark grey dragon, a dozen needle sharp, ice encrusted stalactites rocketed down, inundating their target, piercing it in over nine places, the most lethal of which punctured the beast's skull. Instantly dead, the prehistoric corpse toppled forwards. Effortlessly, Vasuki slipped out of the way as the giant shadow did its best to consume him.

  Momentarily free from any opponents, again he reached out for his brethren, something so instinctive it was positively built into his DNA. But again there was nothing. Well, not nothing exactly, more of a kind of static, perhaps a magical interference. Resigned to not being able to help his kind, at least for the moment, the powerful, strong and proud king glanced around to see where he could be of most use. Charging towards the nearest dark dragon that had just touched down from the air above and was about to launch an assault on the still kneeling Fredric, Vasuki vowed two things to himself. One... he would help his new found dragon comrades right to the very end if need be. And two... he would not spill naga blood here today, even if it meant sacrificing his own life. While these two things might be contradictory, he was determined to do no more harm than had already been done to any member of his race.

  Slithering across the marble, the naga king sank his long, needle sharp fangs into the prehistoric beast's scaled tail, and was rewarded with a very satisfying scream of epic proportions. Relinquishing his hold on the magic he'd prepared, he let it loose and watched as forked lightning tore open the supposedly invulnerable scales of his opponent. Heading in for the kill, he kept his telepathic senses open to everything around him, hoping for some sign or contact from any of his race. He wasn't optimistic though.

  From two true kings, to one wannabe pretender...

  Powered by pure, unadulterated evil, Manson's rage reached tipping point, and in a magical act so astounding, he used the power of his mind to rip Flash off him and tossed him angrily against the nearest wall. Flash impacted with the force of a sledgehammer being wielded by a power lifter, all but leaving an imprint of himself in the cracked, fractured and smashed construction. Sliding almost comically to the floor, the 'clink' of the chains wrapped around his torso barely audible over the magical racket that played out across the rest of the chamber, the courageous ex-Crimson Guard valiantly surged to his feet, greedily gobbling up as much of the magic as he could from the laminium chains he wore.

  Jumping up, shaking himself off, whilst at the same time using a miniscule amount of magic to repair his false human features, Manson was both surprised and annoyed to see Flash almost immediately get back to his feet. This on its own was enough to set alarm bells ringing throughout not only his head, but the rest of his body as well, and he was unable to remember any being he'd ever met that would have got up so quickly from a hit like that. Whoever this newcomer was, he was good... and powerful, he thought. Cursing his luck, unable to believe these n
ew found obstacles that had been placed in his way, he delved as deep inside himself as he dared, searching for the most wicked of his magic. Finding it almost instantaneously, he found himself faced with a choice. Five deadly spells sat lined up against a wall in his head, each giving off matt black wisps of evil looking dark vapour. Selecting not quite the worst, he conjured it up in his mind and, with barely a glance, spat it out in the direction of Flash, who by now was running steadfastly towards him.

  Head pounding like a pneumatic drill and blood gushing down his cheeks, Flash surged forward with all the speed he had. A blur didn't do him justice. On closing the gap to about half way, a succession of black tendrils rippled from the would-be king of this world's right hand, expanding out much as a spider's web would over time, only this happened in a split second. Caught off guard by not only the speed in which his opponent had reacted, but by the look of whatever strange mantra had been used, the ex-Crimson Guard had to re-evaluate all his options in far less than the blink of an eye. As the remarkable magic closed in around him, powered by the metal he wore, Flash leapt up and over, just off to his right, forgoing an immediate opportunity to get to his chief target. Sailing through the air, he felt ever so slightly smug at having skirted the dark dragon leader's attack, and was already preparing his next move. Thoughts of that disappeared in an instant as a liquid fire pain tore up his left leg, from ankle to shin, so bad in fact that he wished he were dead. Instead of forward rolling and bouncing back up to his feet, Flash crashed to the ground face first, breaking his human shaped jaw instantaneously, not that he noticed at all. The pain from the tendril of magic that had sliced open his left leg was all consuming. Nothing else existed or mattered. Thoughts of everything else were long forgotten as the ex-Crimson Guard writhed around, almost bound inside the laminium chains that circled his chest.