Distopia (Land of Dis)

by Robert Kroese

  Wyngalf got to his feet and moved to the door, trying to place the man’s voice. It seemed familiar, but it didn’t sound like Orbrecht. Wyngalf looked to Tobalt and then Evena, but they shrugged, apparently not recognizing the voice either.

  “Who is that?” called Wyngalf.

  “It’s your servant, Arbliss,” said the voice.

  The name hung in the air, connecting to nothing in Wyngalf’s memory.

  “I’ve kept it safe,” said Arbliss.

  “Arbliss!” cried Wyngalf. Tobalt and Evena stared at Wyngalf, still puzzled. “The man who gave us directions to the harbor,” Wyngalf explained to his companions. “What are you doing down here, Arbliss?” he called.

  “The SMASHERs have outlawed Ovaltarianism,” said Arbliss. “They think we pose a threat to their rule. Most of us have gone into hiding, and a few have been killed. They’re keeping me alive because they think they can get me to tell them where it is, but I’ll never talk.”

  “Where what is, Arbliss?” asked Wyngalf. “What are you talking about?”

  He heard the faint sound of Arbliss chuckling. “That’s it,” Arbliss said. “Play dumb for now. Our moment is coming.”

  “Seriously, Arbliss,” Wyngalf pleaded, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. What are you keeping safe?” But Arbliss’s faint chuckle was the only answer. Wyngalf sighed and sat down next to Evena again. It was pretty clear that Arbliss was going to be of no help.

  Turning to Wyngalf, Evena said, “So this Arbliss is a member of the sect that believes in the… what did you call it, Tobalt?”

  “Ko-Haringu,” replied Tobalt. “The messiah that will deliver the Land of Dis from the scourge of dragons.”

  “And he’s convinced you’re the Ko-Haringu,” Evena said to Wyngalf. “Just like Orbrecht was. I wonder how many others there are.”

  “I don’t see that it matters,” said Wyngalf. “They’re not going to be able to break us out of this dungeon. We’ll rot in here until they decide to turn us over to Verne.”

  “So much for your faith in the Noninity,” said Evena.

  Wyngalf shrugged, too defeated to rise to the challenge. “I’m resigned to my fate as a martyr.”

  “And we get to be martyred with you?” asked Evena. “For a faith we don’t even believe in?”

  Wyngalf, past the point of caring what anyone thought of him, lay down on the straw and closed his eyes. He just wanted it all to end.

  Nineteen

  They were roused by a guard banging his sword on the bars of the cell door. “You!” he snapped, pointing at Wyngalf, “Come here.” Blinking the sleep from his eyes, Wyngalf got to his feet and approached the door. The guard sheathed his sword. “Turn around and hold out your hands,” said the guard, producing a pair of shackles. Wyngalf did as instructed, and the guard clamped the shackles tightly over his wrists. The guard ordered him to step away, and had Tobalt and Evena step toward the door in turn. When he had shackled their wrists as well, he unlocked the door. “Follow me,” the guard barked, and they filed into the tunnel. Another guard followed close behind.

  The guards escorted them through a series of narrow hallways and then up a spiral staircase that brought them to a balcony overlooking the city. They seemed to be in the mayor’s palace, at the southern edge of the city square. Judging by the angle of the sun, it was mid-morning. The new mayor, Lord Otten Popper, was waiting for them, along with several other guards and a few other people whose garb suggested they were functionaries of the city government. Among these were Glindeen, Hendrick and Dwalen, who stood next to each other as if they were old friends. The ex-mayor’s smile was probably fairly convincing from a distance, but it was pretty clear he wasn’t thrilled to be there. Politics, thought Wyngalf, is a strange business.

  The scene reminded Wyngalf of their encounter with the mayor of Brobdingdon and Scarlett in Skaal City, but so far there was no sign of a dragon. Something else was different, too: a low, rumbling sound that seemed to come from somewhere down below. Wyngalf, still trying to clear the fog of sleep from his brain, took a moment to realize that it was the sound of hundreds of Skaal City residents gathered in the streets below. They had evidently been summoned to witness a demonstration, and Wyngalf had the sickening feeling he had a rough idea of what that demonstration was going to consist of. He only hoped his death—and that of his two friends—was relatively quick and painless.

  As Wyngalf was prodded toward the railing, he saw that he had underestimated the size of the crowd below. There had to be thousands of people down there—men, women and children—all waiting to see Wyngalf and his friends punished for whatever crimes there were supposed to have committed. Wyngalf glanced to his right, where Evena stood a few feet away, looking dolefully down at the crowd. Tobalt stood stoically to her right.

  “Good morning, citizens of Skaal City!” cried Popper, who had stepped up to the railing on Wyngalf’s left to oversee the crowd. He was greeted with cheers and applause. “As you know,” the mayor went on, “there have been a lot of changes in the city of late. Two days ago, we affirmed the right of all Skaal City residents to carry swords anywhere in the city!”

  More cheers from the crowd.

  “Yesterday, we repealed cumbersome environmental regulations that prohibit proprietors of inns and taverns from dumping raw sewage in the streets!”

  Hesitant clapping from the crowd.

  “And today, we are making a stand against foreign invaders who violate our laws, disrespect our customs, and make us feel uncomfortable about ourselves!”

  Enthusiastic cheers from the crowd.

  “These two humans, with the help of this filthy runt of a goblin, infiltrated our fine city, sabotaged the Shipping Guild office, drowned Halbert the clerk, threatened me, and caused the destruction of the Numinda Fae.”

  “Verne destroyed that ship!” Evena cried. “I was just trying to get—”

  Her words were cut short as a guard jabbed her in the back of her skull with the pommel of his sword. Wyngalf turned to intervene, but in a flash the guard reversed his sword, the blade stopping less than an inch from Wyngalf’s throat. Off balance, with his hands still shackled behind his back, it was all Wyngalf could do not to fall forward onto the tip of the blade, eviscerating himself in the process. Another guard gripped Wyngalf by his shoulder and shoved him back to the railing, nearly throwing him to the street below in his enthusiasm. Wyngalf reeled as he hung suspended over the edge, and for a moment he considered throwing himself forward to break free of the guard’s grip: with any luck, he would die quickly, his skull crushed on the pavement below. But Noninitarianism did not look kindly on suicide; he’d have a hard time explaining himself to Xandiss the Auditor, and Shotarr the Purifier would deal harshly with him. No, as gruesome as his death was likely to be, he would face it bravely, like the martyrs of old. He risked a glance at Evena, to his left, who seemed dazed but otherwise unhurt. Tobalt stood next to her, somber and squinting in the bright light of the morning.

  “As I was saying,” Lord Popper went on, “by violating shipping regulations and sneaking on board the Numinda Fae, these three scofflaws forced Verne to incinerate a perfectly good ship and much of its crew.” He turned to look at Wyngalf and Evena, as if daring them to object. When they didn’t rise to the bait, he shrugged and continued. “These are serious crimes indeed. That said, Skaal City has a long tradition of respect for the rule of law, and part of that tradition is the guarantee of a fair trial for anyone suspected of a crime—a guarantee that extends even to foreigners from across the Sea of Dis.”

  Boos and hisses from the crowd.

  “I take these traditions very seriously,” Popper continued. “In fact, I was up most of the night deliberating on the fate of these prisoners. As you know, Skaal City has many enemies—chief among these being that hub of villainy to our north, Brobdingdon.”

  Enthusiastic boos from the crowd.

  “We are fortunate in Skaal to have a protector against those who w
ould do us harm. The dragon Verne works tirelessly to keep us safe from barbarians, goblins, and that winged terror who does the bidding of the Brobdingdonians.”

  Murmurs and nods of understanding from the crowd. Wyngalf wondered if Lord Popper didn’t know Scarlett’s name or if he didn’t speak it out of some superstitious fear, like the fear of the seamen for the Hafgufa.

  “With Verne shouldering this burden for us,” Popper continued, “it is all too easy for us to forget the threats that we face. But make no mistake: we are at war, and during war certain liberties must be sacrificed to ensure the security of our fine city. Further, it has come to my attention that these three prisoners have had contact with agents in Brobdingdon, and in fact have conspired against us with that foul beast who haunts our skies and terrorizes our borders. I ask you, what good are legal niceties when our very existence is threatened?”

  More sympathetic murmurs.

  “After long deliberation, then, I have decided that these three prisoners are to be considered enemies of Skaal City, and therefore outside of the purview of our criminal justice system. They shall be handed over to Verne so that he can extract information from him regarding our enemies and then dealt with them as he sees fit.”

  Cheers went up from the crowd, but then were almost immediately transmuted into gasps and cries of surprise as a familiar shadow momentarily blotted out the sun behind Wyngalf. Gusts of wind followed, and Wyngalf heard the clatter of claws on the stone of the tower. Jabbed in the ribs by one of the guards, Wyngalf took the hint and turned to face the dragon. Tobalt and Evena were forced to face him as well. Verne loomed over them.

  “Greetings, citizens of Skaal City!” Verne’s voice boomed. “And thank you, Mr. Mayor, for that fine introduction. Pardon my late arrival; I have, as the mayor indicated, been quite busy dealing with a few of our many, many enemies. In fact, I have just located some entirely new enemies in a land I didn’t even realize existed a week ago.” He gave Evena a wink with his good eye. “These are extremely dangerous people with no regard for the value of human life, and I won’t rest until they’ve been eradicated.”

  Cheers from the crowd. Evena glowered at him.

  “But as hard as I work to keep the people of this city safe,” Verne boomed, “I’m afraid that even I cannot keep out all those who plot against us. The three criminals you see before you are evidence that we must never tire in our struggle against evildoers both here at home and abroad. These three have conspired with our enemies both here in Skaal City and in Brobdingdon. They violated our laws, threatened our officials and brought about the deaths of a score of innocent men on the Numinda Fae. And for this, they must be punished!”

  As the crowd erupted into cheers once again, Verne craned his neck to get a closer look at his captives.

  “You destroyed my home!” Evena cried. “You killed my family!”

  The guard made to thwack Evena with his pommel again, but Verne raised a claw to stay his hand. “It’s all right,” he said. “Let the girl whine. Although in point of fact, I did nothing of the kind.”

  Evena stared at Verne. “My parents are still alive?”

  “Of course,” said Verne. “I needed them for leverage.”

  While Evena and Verne conversed, down below the crowd had begun chanting something in unison. At first Wyngalf thought they were simply chanting Verne’s name, but after repetitions he realized they were shouting “Burn them!”

  “I don’t understand,” said Evena. “Leverage against whom?”

  “Against you, my dear,” said Verne. “You see, I was unable to locate the jewel of Skuldred using the information you provided, and I suspect that you know more than you’ve told me. I think you know exactly where the jewel is, and you didn’t reveal its location because you suspected—rightly, I must admit—that I would kill you once I no longer had any need for you. But I’m done playing games. Tell me exactly where the jewel is, or I will kill your parents, along with everyone else in your hometown. And then I will return to kill you, slowly and painfully. Tell me the location of the jewel of Skuldred right now, and your death—and that of your two friends—will be swift and relatively painless.”

  As the chant of “Burn them! Burn them! Burn them!” continued below, Wyngalf stared at the dragon, befuddled. How could Verne not have figured out that Evena’s story was a fabrication? That Ashor, Wiggin and Brisby were the names not of men, but of dogs? The first person Verne encountered in Skuldred would have spilled the truth. Then, suddenly, it dawned on him: Verne was bluffing. Evena’s parents—and presumably the rest of the townspeople—must have fled Skuldred after Verne’s initial attack. There was no other explanation. Verne had returned to Skuldred to find the town deserted, and there had been no one to ask about the three heirs who supposedly held the secret of the jewel of Skuldred. Verne’s avarice had so overwhelmed his reason that in his lust for the jewel, it never occurred to him that Evena might have been lying.

  Evena must have figured it out too, because she burst into laughter. She tried to stop, probably realizing that her best bet was to play along with Verne, pretending to know where the jewel was, but the idea of Verne revealing his weakness and ignorance in an attempt to threaten them was too much for her to take.

  “You find the imminent death of your family and friends amusing?” Verne roared, barely audible over the chanting of the crowd, which had risen to a deafening volume. Evena redoubled her efforts to stop chortling. Lord Popper and the other dignitaries had backed away, and were cautiously watching the scene unfold.

  As Wyngalf looked toward Evena, he caught a glimpse of Tobalt, who was still standing in stoic silence on the other side of her. Wyngalf now realized why the goblin was being so quiet: he was gradually working his hands out of the shackles, which fit poorly on his overly large forearms. Already his right hand was halfway out of its cuff, and now that Tobalt was standing with his back toward the parapet, the guards couldn’t see what he was doing. One of them stood less than two paces from Tobalt, staring open-mouthed at Verne, his sword in a scabbard hanging off his hip. Tobalt glanced at Wyngalf, then at the sword, and finally at Verne. Wyngalf gave a curt nod in reply, realizing what the goblin was planning. It was a bold gambit, and as likely to end in incineration as escape, but it seemed to be their only chance.

  “I demand to know why you’re laughing!” Verne roared at Evena, who still hadn’t composed herself enough to reply.

  Desperate to keep the dragon’s attention off Tobalt, Wyngalf took a step forward. “It was a lie, you imbecile,” he said softly.

  Verne instinctively craned his head closer to Wyngalf. “What did you say?” he demanded.

  “I said it was a lie,” Wyngalf replied. “The whole story about the jewel of Skuldred? Evena made it up. And you fell for it.”

  Verne glared at him, then turned his gaze to Evena, who had stopped laughing. “You wouldn’t dare,” he growled.

  Wyngalf ventured a glance at Tobalt and saw that the goblin’s hand was nearly free. Wyngalf just needed to keep the dragon’s attention—and keep him close enough for Tobalt to reach his good eye—for a few seconds longer. “Not only that,” Wyngalf went on, anxious to keep Verne’s eye on him, “but you just revealed your hand. If you had found anyone at Skuldred, they would have told you the story was a fabrication. Which means the town was deserted when you got there. You have no idea where Evena’s family is. You’ve got nothing to threaten us with.” His anger and fear made it difficult not to shout, but he forced him to speak in low, controlled tones. It worked: as he spoke, Verne continued to move his head closer in an attempt to hear Wyngalf over the shouts of the crowd. Verne’s teeth were just inches away from Wyngalf’s face now, and his good eye was only a few feet from Tobalt.

  “Nothing to threaten you with?” Verne asked. “Oh, Simpleton Wyngalf. I’m afraid it’s time for me to teach you a lesson. All of you.”

  Verne’s mouth opened, Wyngalf could see glow of fire igniting somewhere deep in the dragon’s bell
y. But before Verne could unleash the flames on them, Tobalt bounded forward, the guard’s sword in his hand. Holding the sword with two hands, he thrust it toward the dragon’s face. Verne yelped and jerked his head back, and Tobalt sprawled onto the stone before him. The sword was no longer in Tobalt’s hand, and as Verne shook his head back and forth, Wyngalf saw that Tobalt had very nearly struck his target: the sword was sticking out of Verne’s eye socket, just below the eyeball. Tobalt had failed to blind Verne, but he had succeeded in making him very, very angry.

  Verne flailed wildly, trying to dislodge the sword. As he spun around, his massive tail whipped across the top of the tower, sweeping three of the four guards clear off the roof and knocking down the remaining guard, along with Lord Popper and the other functionaries. Tobalt, still on his knees, ducked below the sweep, and Wyngalf managed to leap out of the way. Evena wasn’t so lucky: She backed away, trying to get out of range, but the tip of Verne’s tail struck her solidly in the chest, forcing her to stumble backwards onto the railing. For a moment it seemed like she might regain her balance, but the momentum was too great to fight: she disappeared with a scream over the edge.

  “No!” cried Wyngalf, dashing toward her—but he was too late. Evena had fallen to her death, and it was his fault. He turned to face Verne, who had managed to dislodge the sword, and was now blinking and rubbing his eye with the back of his claw. “You bastard!” Wyngalf cried. “You killed her!” Without thinking, he charged at Verne, his hands still shackled behind his back. If he was going to die, he was going to at least go down fighting.

  But as he approached, Verne suddenly flapped his wings and shot into the air. Unable to halt his own momentum, Wyngalf stumbled and fell to the ground. When he had managed to get back on his feet and turn around, he saw that Verne hung in the air a few feet above the center of the tower, creating great gusts of wind with his wings. The Tobalt, the mayor, and the others cowered at the edges of the tower.