Distopia (Land of Dis)

by Robert Kroese

  “Kill it!” Garvin cried again, evidently reconsidering the wisdom of his plan. “Kill it!”

  The dragon fluttered over to Garvin, the fallen torch throwing a terrifying shadow across the wall. “Back!” Garvin cried, his sword against Evena’s throat. “I’ll kill her!”

  The dragon landed on the Garvin’s sword hand, latching onto his forefinger with its tiny teeth and wrapping its tail around his wrist.

  “Ow!” Garvin yelped. “What the—”

  Still tightly attached to Garvin’s hand, the dragon began batting wildly with it rear claws, tearing into the man’s flesh and spattering blood on the wall. Garvin screamed and dropped his sword, releasing Evena. Evena spun around and punched him square in the nose. Garvin reeled and fell backwards, slumping against the wall. The dragon uncoiled itself, leaving the guard to clutch his bloody hand, moaning in pain. It fluttered toward Wyngalf.

  “Easy,” said Javik, backing away with his hands up. “Call off your dragon, Bishop. We surrender!”

  “It’s not my dragon,” Wyngalf moaned, managing to roll onto his back. “It’s Tobalt’s.”

  “Well, whoever’s dragon it is, call him off!”

  “Come here, Shelly,” said Tobalt, who had pulled himself into a sitting position against the far wall. “It’s okay, girl. Come here.”

  The dragon squawked defiantly at Javik, and then spun around and fluttered back to Tobalt, landing on his shoulder. Garvin and Corbel continued to whimper and moan, nursing their respective injuries.

  “Shelly?” asked Evena, rubbing the knuckles of her right hand with her left.

  Tobalt picked a tiny fragment of shell from the dragon’s head. “It was the first thing that popped into my mind,” he said. “I imagine we can find a more suitable name with minimal application of effort.”

  “No,” said Evena. “Shelly is good.”

  Wyngalf groaned, and Evena ran to his side. She lifted his legs onto the bed and put a pillow under his head. She pulled up his tunic and made a grimace as she glanced at his wounds. “Javik,” she said, turning to the man behind her. “Get me a basin of warm water, a bottle of wine, and some clean rags. Oh, and a needle and thread.”

  Javik hesitated, clearly not enamored of the idea of taking orders from Evena. In the distance the sound of more boots coming up the stairs could be heard. Evena stood up and looked the man in the eye. “You saw what that dragon did to your friends,” she said. “If Tobalt wants Shelly to tear your eyes out, she will. And Wyngalf is Tobalt’s best friend. There’s been a regime change. Do you understand?”

  Javik nodded. “I’ll get the stuff,” he said.

  “Good idea,” said Evena. She turned to Garvin, who was still clutching his bloody hand. “Grab that torch and bring it over here so I can see what I’m doing.”

  Garvin groaned, but got to his feet. He picked up the torch, which was still smoldering on the floor, and carried it to Wyngalf’s bedside.

  Two more guards ran into the room, looking around in confusion. One of them carried a lantern. Their eyes came to rest on Garvin. “Captain, what’s—” one of them started. “Is that the mayor?”

  Garvin and Javik exchanged glances. “Not anymore,” said Garvin. “Get this body out of here. And clean up that blood.”

  The men glanced at him uncertainly, then at the tiny dragon glaring at them from Tobalt’s shoulder.

  “If you value your life,” Garvin growled, “you’ll do as you’re told.”

  The men each grabbed one of Orbrecht’s arms and began to drag him out of the room. Javik went to help Corbel to his feet and the two of them left the room while Garvin stood silently, holding the torch over the bed. He regarded Shelly stoically.

  “Are we going to have a problem, Garvin?” Evena asked.

  “Not s’long as everybody knows who’s in charge,” said Garvin, his eyes still affixed on the dragon.

  Evena nodded, apparently considering this a satisfactory answer. “Tobalt, come here,” she said.

  Tobalt, with the dragon still perched on his shoulder, approached the bed. The shirt wrapped around his wrist was soaked with blood.

  “I can’t reattach your hand,” said Evena, “but I can keep the wound from getting infected. Lie down.”

  Tobalt climbed into the bed next to Wyngalf, sitting up against the headboard. “It would seem,” Tobalt said, regarding Wyngalf, “that politics does indeed make strange bedfellows.”

  Wyngalf began to laugh, but stopped when pain shot through his side. “I mean no offense,” he managed to gasp, “you’re not the member of the team I had hoped to get into bed with.” He realized as he said it that it was a highly inappropriate remark, but his wounds were clouding his judgement. Also, he was fairly certain he was about to die. Even in the dim light, Wyngalf could see that Evena was blushing.

  “No offense taken,” said Tobalt. “I saw the way you looked at that baker.”

  This time Wyngalf couldn’t help it. He laughed despite the pain.

  Soon after, Javik returned, carrying a tray bearing the supplies Evena had requested. He set it down on the nightstand. “I’ll get some lanterns,” he said, glancing nervously at the dragon. “Better light than the torch.”

  Evena nodded, unstopping the wine bottle. Shelly seemed content to watch the proceedings from Tobalt’s shoulder.

  “Seriously, though, Tobalt,” Wyngalf said. “You’ve been a good friend. I was wrong about you not having a soul. There’s no one I’d rather die next to.”

  “You can’t die,” said Tobalt. “You’re the Ko-Haringu.”

  Wyngalf shook his head. “We misinterpreted the prophecy,” he said. “I’m not the Ko-Haringu, Tobalt. You are.”

  Tobalt’s brow furrowed, considering this possibility. “Then what does that make you?”

  Wyngalf smiled. “I’m the brute who talks like a man.”

  Evena poured wine on Wyngalf’s wound, and for a moment there was nothing but pain. Then everything went black.

  Twenty-six

  When Wyngalf awoke, it was daytime. He had a vague sense that several days had passed since the dragon had hatched, but other than his own condition, he had no way of knowing how many. His whole lower torso was sore and bandages were wrapped around the wound in his belly and the laceration along his ribs. The sheets of Orbrecht’s bed were damp and his skin was clammy, as if he’d been feverish. Tobalt was no longer next to him, and the mess in the room had been cleaned up. Only a faint bloodstain remained on the wood floor where Orbrecht had fallen.

  Seeing a glass and a pitcher of water on the nightstand, Wyngalf suddenly realized how parched he was. But as he reached for the pitcher, pain shot through his body, and he nearly blacked out. For several minutes he lay in bed, breathing deeply and trying to force his muscles to relax. When he’d recovered from this grueling ordeal, he noticed a small metal bell next to the pitcher. He gingerly reached over and tried to pick it up, but succeeded only in knocking in to the floor. The bell tinkled softly as it struck the floor and then was silent. Wyngalf groaned in frustration.

  But soon he heard footsteps coming down the hall. He reflexively looked around for a weapon, and then chuckled at his stupidity. He couldn’t lift a pitcher of water. How was he going to fight off an intruder?

  He needn’t have worried: the door opened to reveal not a member of the city guard, but rather a beautiful young woman. She was dressed so finely, in a stunning topaz gown, her hair perfectly coifed, that it took Wyngalf a moment to realize that he knew her. “Evena,” he murmured.

  “You were expecting an Eytrith?” [4] asked Evena. “Keep dreaming, Wyngalf.” She walked to his bedside, picking up the bell and placing it on the nightstand.

  “I’m no warrior,” said Wyngalf. “My brilliant plan to steal the dragon egg nearly got us all killed.”

  “It turned out okay,” said Evena. “That’s what matters.” She poured him a glass of water and held it to his lips.

  “Did it?” Wyngalf asked. “How long was I out?
” He took several swallows of water and then held up his hand.

  “Five days,” she said, setting the glass back down. She sat down next to Wyngalf on the bed. “I wasn’t sure you were going to pull through. You’re incredibly lucky Orbrecht’s blade seems to have missed all your vital organs.”

  “And incredibly lucky to have a skilled nurse at my side,” Wyngalf said. “It seems there’s no end to your hidden talents. Where did you learn to throw a dagger like that?”

  Evena shrugged, a bit embarrassed. “I didn’t,” she said. “I was aiming for the dragon.”

  “Oh,” said Wyngalf. “Well, like you said, it turned out okay.” His eyes fell to her dress. “You seem to be doing well. Did you become the new mayor of Skaal City while I was out?”

  She snorted. “Hardly. I’ve had my hands full just trying to keep you and Tobalt alive.”

  Wyngalf frowned. “This is your nurse’s outfit?”

  “No, silly,” she said. “After I cleaned and sutured your wounds and bandaged you up, there wasn’t much I could do for you but wait and hope you pulled through. For the past few days I’ve been focused more on external threats. Fortunately for you, I’m better at diplomacy than dagger-throwing.”

  “Diplomacy?” Wyngalf asked. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, for starters I had to convince the city guard that Orbrecht was a power-crazed old nut who had a personal vendetta against you, and that you killed him in self-defense. I may have also played up the idea that you’re the Ko-Haringu, since it seemed easier than convincing them that their much-ballyhooed messiah was a goblin. I’ve sworn the men who were here that night to secrecy, but rumors are rampant among the city guard that you’ve got a dragon on your side. That ploy actually worked better than I imagined; the last I heard, the dragon is twice the size of Verne and five times as mean. I had to keep Tobalt and Shelly in seclusion down the hall to keep the rumors going. Anyway, the city guard is more-or-less on our side, although sentiment could shift against us at any moment. Once I’d made sure you weren’t in immediate danger of being murdered in your sleep, I invited the new heads of the SMASHers and the SAURIANs to a series of negotiations about the future of the Skaal City government. By playing them against each other, I think I’ve managed to convince them to support you as the new leader. A nominal mayor would be selected, but the office of Noninitarian Bishop would hold most of the authority in the city. Of course, either side could double-cross us, or the two factions could decide to meet behind our backs and cut us out, so we’re probably going to have to cultivate some spies within their organizations. I’ve identified a few possible candidates, but—”

  Wyngalf groaned, and a look of concern came across Evena’s face. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Did the stitches tear?”

  He shook his head. “No, I’m just sick to death of all these political machinations. What was the point of all this, if we’re just going to replace Orbrecht’s oppressive regime with our own? The one good thing about Orbrecht was that he shut out the SMASHers and SAURIANs, and now you’ve invited them right back in!”

  “I hardly had a choice!” Evena shot back. “I was trying to keep you and Tobalt alive!”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Wyngalf moaned. “Don’t you see? It starts out as self-preservation, but ultimately it’s just the same thing, all over again. A regime built on fear.”

  “Well, in a sense,” Evena said. “But—”

  “Forget it,” he said. “I’m done fighting. It was inevitable that another dragon was going to take over this city eventually. I suppose it’s just as well that it’s one under our control. Well, under Tobalt’s control, anyway.”

  “Wyngalf,” said Evena, “you should know—”

  “I know, I wanted to kill the dragon. And I’m still not certain we shouldn’t. But maybe the dragon isn’t ultimately the problem. And if anyone can train a dragon to act civilly and avoid, you know, wholesale slaughter and the like, it’s Tobalt.”

  “I agree,” said Evena, “but the thing is, we don’t have to—”

  “Ultimately the three of us will end up as puppets, I suppose. And who knows what will happen when Tobalt dies. Hopefully he’ll live long enough in this poisonous political climate to impress upon Shelly the importance of—”

  “Wyngalf!” exclaimed Evena. “Shut up for a second, would you? I’m trying to tell you you’re getting all worked up for nothing. Tobalt is gone.”

  “What?” cried Wyngalf, sitting up in bed and immediately regretting it. “Gone where?”

  “I don’t know,” said Evena. “He and Shelly were gone when I went to check on him this morning. He left this.” She pulled a scrap of paper from her pocket and handed it to Wyngalf. It was written in an awkward, barely legible script.

  My dear friends, Wyngalf and Evena —

  It is too dangerous to keep Shelly in the city. I have set out to find a place, far away from here, where I can train her. My hope is to keep her safe from people and to keep people safe from her. Wish me luck.

  Your friend, Tobalt.

  Wyngalf stared at the letter. “He just left?”

  “So it would seem,” said Evena.

  “I didn’t even get to say goodbye to him.”

  “You kind of did,” said Evena. “When you thought you were dying, I mean. You got pretty emotional. Frankly, I was a little embarrassed for you.”

  “This isn’t funny,” said Wyngalf with a scowl. “Fear of that dragon was the only thing keeping us alive.”

  “Oh, stop,” said Evena. “You just got finished preaching to me about the evils of a regime built on fear.”

  “That’s when I thought we had a dragon on our side!” Wyngalf cried. “They’re going to kill us!”

  “No, they’re not,” said Evena. “Not anytime soon, anyway. The various political factions of the city are still feeling out the new landscape. We’ve got some time. But you’re not really worried about that.”

  “I’m not?”

  “No,” said Evena. “You’re upset because Tobalt is gone. You’re going to miss him.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” said Wyngalf. “Frankly I’m glad to be rid of his pretentiousness and sophistry. He probably just ran away because he was sick of losing arguments to me.”

  “Yes, I’m sure that’s it. Anyway, you should get some rest. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

  “I do? What’s tomorrow?”

  “I’m scheduling a public address,” said Evena. “You’ll nominate the new mayor and explain the new power structure to the people of the city. Well, you won’t actually explain it, of course. You’ll deliver a bunch of platitudes and buzzwords calculated to make each faction think it’s getting what it wants while failing to make any concrete commitments.”

  Wyngalf groaned again. “Do I have to?”

  “If you want to stay alive,” Evena said. “We can either play the political game to the hilt or we can surrender to one of the factions and hope for the best. There isn’t any middle option, I’m afraid. We can probably wait another day or two if you’re not feeling up to it, but the longer we wait before formally taking the reins of power, the more precarious our situation is.”

  Wyngalf nodded glumly. “No, it’s better to get it over with. I’ll manage all right.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Famished.”

  “I’ll get you some food. Then you should rest up for tomorrow. I’ll bring your speech in the morning.”

  Wyngalf sighed and closed his eyes, already exhausted from the effort he’d expended. Hopefully the political maneuvering would be easier once he was fully healed, but he suspected that he’d never have a chance to really relax again. He was doomed to a life of always looking over his shoulder. His one consolation was that Evena seemed more than willing to remain by his side.

  After eating a small dinner, he fell asleep again, and didn’t wake until early the next morning. He managed to bathe and get dressed before Evena came in, bearing breakfast and a script fo
r his speech. A careful examination revealed them both to be bland and tasteless.

  “Do people really swallow this sort of pabulum?” he asked. He held up the sheets of paper to indicate that he was talking about the speech, and not the bowl of porridge. “I’m used to speeches with more substance.”

  “I’ve heard your speeches,” said Evena. “Trust me, this is an improvement.”

  “You heard only a small part of the Fourteen Points,” Wyngalf protested.

  “And lived to tell about it,” said Evena. “Look, just deliver the speech as it’s written. I’m not claiming it’s great oratory, but it will buy us a few days while we solidify our alliances.”

  “But this speech isn’t about anything,” said Wyngalf. “There isn’t a single clear policy initiative in any of this.”

  “Exactly,” said Evena. “Nothing for anybody to get worked up about. We can’t afford to anger anybody until we have a better sense of who our friends and enemies are.”

  “Okay, but once our position is less precarious, we’ll be able to make some real changes, right? I mean, things to improve the lives of the average citizen.”

  “We can try,” Evena replied, “but we’ve got to be careful. I already made a lot of people angry by having the city guard close all the prisons under the city. To be honest, I suspect it’s going to take all of our wits just to stay one step ahead of the SMASHers and the SAURIANs, not to mention the Ovaltarians, most of whom are still convinced you’re the Ko-Haringu. They think you’re indebted to them for your sudden ascendance to power. And of course we have to deal with the Shipping Guild, and the other tradesmen’s guilds, and the—”

  “I get it,” said Wyngalf. “Politics is complicated. Maybe I should stick to theological matters and let the nominal mayor run things. If I can’t improve the citizens’ lives physically, maybe I can at least address their spiritual needs.”

  Evena shook her head. “If we don’t keep control of the mayoralty, we won’t last a week. Also, you can’t risk alienating the Ovaltarians at this point, so any religious pronouncements are going to have to be extremely vague. And then there are the Followers of Grovlik, the cultists of Varnoth, the—”