Distopia (Land of Dis)

by Robert Kroese

  What got Wyngalf’s attention, though, was the second dragon hovering above the crowd, less than a stone’s throw from Verne, her red scales shining brightly in the mid-morning sunlight. A small human figure was visible on its back: Evena. She was alive. Scarlett must have caught her as she fell. Evena lay flat on Scarlett’s back, gripping the base of her wings, clearly terrified. Down below, the chants of the crowd gave way to confused shouts and gasps.

  “You dare to interfere in the internal affairs of Skaal City?” Verne bellowed.

  “We had a deal,” Scarlett boomed. “I give you the three fugitives and you give me the jewel of Skuldred.”

  “You didn’t live up to your end of the deal, sister,” said Verne.

  “I delivered them right to you!” said Scarlett. “Put them aboard a ship and sent it right to your port.”

  “Ha!” Verne cried. “You expect me to believe you were behind their escape? Nice try, Scarlett, but I owe you nothing. Fly back to Brobdingdon before I lose patience.”

  “Fine,” said Scarlett. “But I’m keeping the girl.”

  “No,” said Verne. “The girl and her friends are mine. They must be punished for their insolence—that is, their crimes against Skaal City.”

  “You can keep the other two,” said Scarlett. “But the girl has information I need.”

  Verne laughed bitterly. “If you think she’s going to tell you where the jewel of Skuldred is, you’re mistaken. There is no jewel of Skuldred, Scarlett. We were duped.”

  “You always were a terrible liar,” said Scarlett.

  “I’m afraid it’s the truth,” said Verne. “I just found out myself.”

  “Then you won’t mind if I keep the girl,” said Scarlett, who clearly didn’t believe him. Wishful thinking apparently ran deep in dragons when it came to invaluable jewels.

  “On the contrary,” said Verne. “It’s all the more reason for me to keep her. She played me for a fool, and I cannot allow that to go unpunished. Put the girl down and leave right now and I’ll forgive this encroachment on my territory.”

  “Make me, brother,” said Scarlett with a smile. With Evena still lying prone on Scarlett’s back, gripping the base of her wings, the dragon spun around and shot into the sky. Verne shot after her.

  As the two dragons receded in the distance, Wyngalf forced himself to turn his attention back to his immediate surroundings. The remaining guard, still dazed from being knocked flat, struggled to his feet in front of him. Wyngalf, eyeing the key ring at the man’s waist, launched himself at the guard, catching him in the throat with his shoulder and knocking him back down. With his hands still bound, Wyngalf could do little more than roll backwards onto the man, trying to use his body weight to keep him down. As the guard tried to throw him off, Wyngalf thrust his head backwards, hearing a loud crunch as the back of his skull struck the bridge of the man’s nose. The man gave a gurgling scream followed by a hacking cough as he choked on his own blood. Wyngalf slid off him, feeling desperately for the keys. After a few abortive attempts that might have been taken as amorous advances under different circumstances, he managed to locate the guard’s key ring. Wrapping his fingers around the ring, he jerked it away from the guard and rolled away.

  Several keys dangled from the ring, and Wyngalf could only go through them one by one, hoping to find the key that unlocked the shackles. Behind him, the guard was still coughing and gurgling, but Lord Popper had noticed what Wyngalf was up to and approached him, rapier drawn. Wyngalf struggled frantically with the keys, but it was no use; he’d never be free in time. Popper grinned and ran at him, rapier drawn back to cut Wyngalf’s throat. Popper was nearly on him when he suddenly collapsed on the bricks, screaming. Crouching behind Popper, his hands still bound behind his back, was Tobalt. Blood streamed down the goblin’s chin, and Wyngalf realized with sudden shock of horror and gratitude that Tobalt had taken a chunk out of the mayor’s calf.

  While Lord Popper howled in pain, the guard continued to cough and gurgle, and the other city dignitaries cringed uncertainly at the perimeter of the tower, Wyngalf managed to locate the key to the shackles and get his hands free. The ex-mayor, Dwalen, mustered his courage and darted forward, picking up Lord Popper’s rapier where it had fallen on the stones.

  “See here,” Dwalen said, waving the rapier uncertainly in Wyngalf’s direction. “There’s no call for this sort of—”

  His speech was cut short as Wyngalf lunged forward, ducking past the blade of the rapier and bringing his right hand, still holding one of the cuffs, up in an arc toward the man’s face. The other cuff struck Dwalen’s jaw with a loud crack, and he reeled backwards and fell limply to the stone. Without slowing, Wyngalf helped Tobalt to his feet and handed him the key.

  “You have some sort of plan, I take it?” asked Tobalt, removing the cuff from his left hand.

  “None whatsoever,” said Wyngalf. As he spoke, he caught a glimpse of Scarlett darting between two distant spires, closely pursued by Verne. The tiny figure of Evena remained perched on Scarlett’s back. “Let’s go.”

  Twenty

  Wyngalf and Tobalt ran past the dazed and frightened dignitaries. If any of the others had ideas of stopping the two prisoners, they thought better of it when Tobalt bared his fangs at them, his face still smeared with the blood of Lord Popper. The two companions scampered down the steps past more guards who yelled at them to stop but seemed too confused about what was happening to take any decisive action. They emerged from a side door from the palace into a narrow alley. With no plan in mind other than bypassing the crowd in front and somehow rescuing Evena, Wyngalf took off down the alley, Tobalt following closely behind. Behind them they heard shouts and the clanking of armor on cobblestones, but the two fugitives quickly lost their pursuers in the maze of side streets around the palace.

  Eventually they came out onto a main artery that allowed them a mostly unobscured view of the sky, and after a moment Wyngalf caught sight of Verne pursuing Scarlett over the slums to the south. Scarlett seemed to be flying a bit cautiously, not wanting to lose Evena, but even so, Verne was having trouble keeping up. Wyngalf realized after a moment that Verne was being forced to crane his head at an unnatural angle to keep Scarlett in view, which was affecting his ability to fly straight. It seemed that although Tobalt had failed to blind him, he had succeeded in doing some damage to his vision. Occasionally Scarlett would make a beeline to the north, evidently attempting to return to Brobdingdon with Evena, but on the straightaways Verne would overtake her, blasting her with fire. Each time, Scarlett was able to shield Evena from the worst of the blast, but clearly she wasn’t going to keep this up forever.

  For some time, Wyngalf and Tobalt ran to and fro across the city, trying to keep the two dragons in sight. Eventually they ended up running unwittingly down a side street right smack into the city square in front of the palace. Fortunately the crowd had thinned somewhat by this point, and those that remained were too distracted by the spectacle of the two dragons chasing each other overhead to pay much attention to the two fugitives. To the right, Lord Popper and the other city officials gaped at the scene from the balcony. Wyngalf and Tobalt stopped in the square, drenched with sweat and exhausted from their pursuit.

  Scarlett shot overhead, Verne following seconds later. Just as Verne closed within range of Scarlett, the red dragon banked sharply to the right. Wyngalf’s breath caught in his throat as he watched Evena sliding across Scarlett’s back, barely keeping hold of the base of Scarlett’s right wing. It took Verne only a split-second to adjust his own trajectory; he was getting better at anticipating Scarlett’s moves without being able to see her. If this kept up, Evena was going to be in trouble.

  “There they are!” cried a voice from across the square, and Wyngalf turned to see a trio of guards running toward them. He and Tobalt groaned and took off running again, dodging the confused spectators in their path. Scarlett shot overhead again, this time from their left, so close they could feel the breeze from her wings.
Verne continued to close the gap between them.

  “Give up, sister!” they heard him bellow. “I’ve always been faster than you!”

  “Faster, maybe,” called Scarlett in response, “but not smarter.” She banked left and for a moment disappeared behind a row of buildings. The guards continued to gain on Wyngalf and Tobalt; the two fugitives were simply too worn out to make very good time.

  “We’re caught,” gasped Tobalt.

  “Don’t stop!” cried Wyngalf, but every muscle in his body screamed at him to do just that. They made it nearly to the edge of the square before collapsing in exhaustion. Spectators backed away from them as the footsteps of the guards grew louder.

  Wiping the sweat from his eyes, Wyngalf ventured a glance at the horizon. After a moment, he caught sight of Scarlett shooting above a row of buildings in the distance and arcing back toward the square, with Verne close on her heels.

  “On your feet!” snapped a gruff voice behind them. Wyngalf groaned and staggered to his feet. Tobalt, still panting on the ground next to him, made no sign of having heard the command. Wyngalf seized the goblin’s arm and tried to help him to his feet, but Tobalt’s body remained limp.

  “I said, on your feet!” the voice barked again.

  “Come on, Tobalt,” urged Wyngalf. “We’ll get through this somehow. You and me. Don’t give up yet.”

  Tobalt nodded wearily and allowed Wyngalf to pull him upright. Wyngalf watched as Scarlett banked again, just ahead of a blast of fire from Verne. She neared a pair of tall buildings at the edge of the square. Wyngalf was beginning to anticipate Scarlett’s moves: if she were true to her pattern, she would bank left just past the buildings, flying over the square and back the way she had come. But if Wyngalf could see this, he had to assume Verne could too. If he were smart, he’d bank just short of the buildings and intercept Scarlett on her way back over the square.

  “Turn around!” the voice barked, and Tobalt dutifully turned to face the guards. But Wyngalf couldn’t tear his eyes from the spectacle. He could see it in his mind: Scarlett banking as she passed the two buildings and Verne banking around them the other way, surprising her with a blast of fire as they met over the square. He could only hope Verne’s timing was good: if he released his torrent of fire a split second too early or too late, Evena would be badly burned but not killed. On the other hand, she’d never survive a fall from Scarlett’s back, so she was dead either way.

  Something hard struck Wyngalf on the back of his skull, and for a moment his vision blurred and his knees buckled. “Simply Wyngalf!” cried Tobalt, doing his best to catch Wyngalf as he slumped to the ground.

  “Get up!” barked the voice behind Wyngalf again.

  “If you want him ambulatory,” Tobalt gasped, “might I suggest refraining from further bludgeoning?”

  Wyngalf heard another whack, and he was vaguely aware of Tobalt slumping to the ground next to him. But Wyngalf’s attention remained focused on Evena, clinging in terror to the back of the dragon. She was going to die, and it was all his fault. He didn’t care about his own death, and he could only feel so much responsibility for Tobalt, who hadn’t exactly had a promising career ahead of him when Wyngalf found him in the ruins of Sybesma. But Evena was just a girl, clever, beautiful and full of promise. And now, because Wyngalf had wanted to impress her by making himself out to be some kind of bold adventurer, she was going to die.

  But as he watched, Scarlett banked more sharply than he expected, and he realized that she intended not to go around the two buildings, but between them. The buildings were barely far enough apart for a narrow street to run between them, and Wyngalf was almost certain that there wasn’t enough room for Scarlett to make it through.

  Verne, who had already begun banking sharply to intercept Scarlett, seemed puzzled as well. If she made it through the narrow gap, he’d end up in front of her, which was not where he wanted to be. Verne widened the angle of his turn, attempting to follow her through the buildings.

  But while Scarlett had planned her move with precision, banking so that her wings were stretched perfectly vertical as she slipped through the gap, Verne’s turn was abrupt and awkward. Scarlett, with Evena pressed flat against her back, missed the walls by mere inches on both sides. Verne did not.

  Having intended to turn more sharply, Verne had to level out slightly to angle himself toward the gap between the buildings, but this meant that as he approached, his wings were less than fully vertical—and there was no margin for error between the buildings. Realizing his mistake, Verne spread his wings in an attempt to slow his approach, but this only made things worse. The underside of Verne’s wings struck the stone corners, bending the wings backwards. Verne howled in pain as the joints dislocated and the wings folded behind him. Unable to halt his movement, the great green dragon continued through the gap, plummeting toward the square below.

  Wyngalf realized without a moment to spare that Verne was heading directly for him, and threw himself to the ground next to Tobalt. A shadow passed over them, followed by a crash of metal on stone, and Wyngalf turned to see that the three guards had been bowled over by the crippled dragon, who was rolling to a halt near the center of the square. Scarlett, meanwhile, soared across the open space, her body still angled sharply to the side, heading directly for the palace. At first Wyngalf couldn’t determine why she wasn’t leveling out, but then he realized that Evena had tumbled off Scarlett’s back and was now hanging off the tip of her wing, weighing the dragon down.

  Scarlett was gradually righting herself, but with the added weight of Evena on her wing she was never going to clear the palace in time. Scarlett must have realized this, because at the last moment she braked in an attempt to soften the impact. With the sudden movement of Scarlett’s wings, Evena lost her grip and tumbled through the air. Wyngalf held his breath as she fell—and exhaled with relief as she landed with a splash in the fountain in front of the palace.

  Scarlett was not so lucky. Despite her attempts to slow herself, she continued to rocket toward the palace. Lord Popper and the other dignitaries, who had been watching the show from the balcony, suddenly realized they were in danger and began to retreat inside, but it was too late. Scarlett crashed into the palace, shattering two of the stone pillars that held up the balcony and demolishing most of the front wall. The balcony collapsed, sending its occupants crashing to the pavement below. Those that weren’t buried in rubble lay unmoving on the street.

  After a moment, Scarlett raised her head woozily, like a drunk who had fallen off a barstool. The sound of cracking stone echoed through the square, and before Scarlett could extricate herself from the rubble, the rest of the palace collapsed on top of her. For several seconds the only movement was the cloud of dust rising from the rubble. Then the shifting of hunks of marble at the top of the pile indicated that Scarlett was still alive.

  In the meantime, Verne had gotten uneasily to his feet, his broken wings hanging uselessly at his side. He staggered forward, and for a moment Wyngalf feared that he was going after Evena, who was climbing out of the fountain. But Verne walked right past her, intent on the shifting pile of rubble on the far side of the square. “You have broken my wings, sister,” he growled, dragging his wings pathetically behind him, “but I will tear your head from your body!” He climbed on top of the rubble and began tossing debris aside with his claws in an effort to get to Scarlett. Evena, dazed and dripping wet, cowered behind the fountain as chunks of brick and stone flew in every direction.

  Wyngalf wrenched his attention from the scene to tend to Tobalt, who was struggling to get to his feet. As Wyngalf tried to rouse him, Tobalt murmured, “I’m okay… help Evena.”

  “Wait here,” Wyngalf said. “I’ll be right back.”

  Tobalt nodded, and Wyngalf took off running past the still-prone guards toward the fountain. As he approached, Verne tossed a chunk of marble in his direction, and he dived underneath its path, ending up sprawled on the pavement next to Evena. She was crouched be
hind the base of the fountain, shivering with cold or fear, and as Wyngalf pulled himself up next to her, he couldn’t help think of the night they spent together on the island before Verne found them. He had gotten her into this mess, and now he was going to get her out.

  “We need to get out of here,” he urged, speaking loudly so as to be heard over the sound of crashing stone.

  Evena shook her head. “Can’t walk,” she murmured, and as Wyngalf looked at her feet he saw what she meant. Her left ankle was badly swollen, having been sprained or maybe even broken in the fall.

  “I’ll carry you,” he said, and she grunted something that he took as assent. He bent over to allow her to wrap her arms around his neck and scooped her into her arms. He was still a little woozy from being struck on the back of the head, but if he could run with Evena in a more-or-less straight line to the edge of the square, they could conceivably find a hiding place in an alley where Verne wouldn’t be able to get to them.

  As he picked her up, though, a sense of vertigo came over him, as if the ground were pitching beneath him. When he noticed water spilling out of the fountain toward what was left of the palace, he realized he wasn’t imagining it: the pavement was sloping toward the rubble pile.

  “What in the name of Abasmos…?” Wyngalf asked, with a puzzled glance at the water pouring over the lip of the fountain.

  “The caverns!” Evena exclaimed. “The ground is collapsing!”

  It was true. The collapse of the palace must have caused a cave-in in the caverns below. A deep depression had begun to form, with the pile of rubble at the epicenter. Already the walls of the buildings behind the palace were cracking as they slumped toward the deepening hole. Verne was so preoccupied with getting to Scarlett that by the time he noticed they were sinking, it was too late. He and Scarlett—whose head was now visible at the top of the pile—stared for a moment at the water pouring down the pavement toward them, trying to make sense of the situation.