by D K Drake
His mother would soon be standing on that stage. According to the plan, he would need to be as close to the front left column as possible. But right now, no one was even occupying the stairs of the amphitheater, much less the territory right near the stage. All access points were roped off and guarded by soldiers.
“Is this as close as they’ll let us get?” Javan asked. He was on the brink of panic. He couldn’t save his mother from here. If he had his stun balls, he might be able to make a go of it, but unarmed, he didn’t stand a chance.
“Relax, kid,” Hamilton said. “They’ll let us fill the place up soon.”
As if on cue, the castle gates opened. A man wearing a white shirt and black pants and carrying a trumpet walked through the gates, across the square and up the spiral stairs to the stage. He blew three long notes that reverberated throughout the stadium. Once the echoes died down and the crowd packed around the top of the steps hushed, the man spoke.
“Execution ceremonies are to begin in two hours.” No microphone enhanced the man’s voice, but Javan could hear every word as clearly as if the man were standing beside him. “Soldiers, let the people in!”
The soldiers unhooked the ropes, and the people flooded forward. Ravier led the charge down their row of steps, and Hamilton picked Astor up to keep the old man from getting trampled in the sea of people descending toward the square. Javan stayed between Ravier and Hamilton but had to keep his elbows up to keep from getting battered on his right and left during the surge.
He almost tripped on the steep steps several times and was relieved when they made it to the flat ground of the square. Then the battle for positioning began.
They, along with thousands of other people from every direction who wanted to watch from the front row, sprinted toward the stage. Javan kept his eyes on the front left column as he ran. That’s where he wanted to be. That’s where he had to be in order for the plan to work.
Ravier and Hamilton, however, needed to be near the front staircase. Javan thus kept plowing forward when Ravier split to the right. He didn’t look for him again until he reached his intended spot.
Hamilton, still toting Astor, filed in right behind him. “This is where we part ways, kid,” Hamilton said, setting Astor on his feet beside Javan. “Stick with Astor, and don’t let anyone get in your way.”
“Yes, sir,” Javan said. He tracked Hamilton’s walk to the bottom of the front staircase and watched him meet up with Ravier.
So far, so good. Now all they had to do was wait.
◊◊◊
After two straight hours, Javan had had about enough of being pushed and pulled and poked and prodded as he fought to retain his position. The task of holding his position became more and more difficult as more and more people packed into the square like sardines. The bigger, stronger men were forcing their way to the front lines with their wives and children in tow. He and Astor thus lost ground with each new wave of people, and he found himself constantly inching his way back to the front while pulling the old man with him.
When they made it to the front yet again, he took a moment to catch his breath and study his surroundings. The entire amphitheater was so packed with people all decked out in brown clothes that the square looked like a giant mud pit while the seating area appeared to be more like a dirt hill with a pulse rather than rows of stadium seats occupied by individual people. And they were all here for one purpose: to watch his mother die.
“Look! The gates are opening!” a nearby spectator said. “The show’s about to start!”
All eyes turned toward the castle gate, and the crowd parted to form a pathway from the gate to the platform. Whispers spread throughout the finger-pointing crowd, and Javan strained his neck to see what they were all pointing at. It took several agonizing minutes, but he finally saw Esmeralda come in to view about halfway between the gates and the stage.
She wore the same plain brown dress as the rest of the women in the crowd, only hers was about five sizes too big and overwhelmed her emaciated frame. Her long black hair had been chopped off and hung in uneven patches above her shoulders. Her hands were clasped in front of her, which was only natural since her wrists were tied together. She walked with a limp, favoring her right leg.
As she drew closer, Javan also noticed dark circles under her eyes and a strangely pale complexion despite her naturally tan skin. Nevertheless, she walked with confidence and kept her head held high as she moved forward and ascended the steps to the stage.
Javan tried to catch her eye, to let her know he was there, to give her hope. But she was too focused on the path ahead to look into any of the faces of the crowd below her.
Six soldiers all carrying trumpets followed behind her. She took her place on the center of the stage while the soldiers fanned out beside her, three on each side. They simultaneously lifted their instruments, played a series of triumphant-sounding notes and said in unison, “Prepare the way for Dahlia the Dawn Stalker and Viviana the twelfth queen, mother of the thirteenth son!”
The twelfth queen? Javan coughed to cover his surprise. How many queens were there? Were all thirteen sons hers? Or did some of them belong to some of the other queens? Javan was thoroughly confused and wished learning the hierarchy of the royal family had been part of his training.
He was about to ask Astor for a quick lesson when the castle gates opened once again. The crowd gasped and pushed back to form an even wider walkway than the one they formed for Esmeralda, allowing Javan to easily see the white-scaled Dawn Stalker from where he stood. Standing atop the dragon and holding its reigns was a dark-skinned woman with a long black braid draped over her right shoulder. She wore a flowing purple gown, jeweled necklaces and a diamond-studded golden crown.
She slowly guided the dragon forward, soaking in the reverence of the bowing crowd as she proceeded. The dragon kept her nose stuck in the air just like the queen. Javan wasn’t sure if that was because the dragon was a snob or because that’s how the queen forced Dahlia to walk by the way she held the reigns of the halter. Then he heard the dragon’s thoughts.
That’s right, people. Back away and feast your eyes on my magnificence. I know I’m beautiful now, but I’m even more stunning when my scales change colors. Dahlia stuck her nose even higher in the air and walked a little slower. But at least I do get to enjoy the admiration without wanting to eat everyone.
Javan could practically feel the dragon’s arrogance the closer she walked to him. As self-absorbed as she was, Javan wondered how she functioned without a mirror to stare at herself in wherever she went.
When the queen reached the stage, she turned the dragon around to face the gates. That’s when Javan noticed Dahlia’s tail ended in a ragged stump rather than its naturally thin point. He felt a stab of sympathy for the vain dragon and wondered what it was like to be marked as a slave who was stripped of all free will.
More triumphant notes sounded from the stage followed by another announcement. “Prepare the way for Eli the Dusk Stalker and the thirteenth son, Micah the Mighty!”
“Eli?” Astor said, sounding surprised.
They hadn’t expected Eli, the dragon who was once a part of Kenton’s collection and Mertzer’s brother, to make an appearance today. Javan took a few steps to his left and strained his neck around Dahlia’s massive body to catch a glimpse of the dragon Omri had used to cheat his way into power.
At the castle gates, Micah stood at the base of the Stalker’s neck. Micah’s black skin and even blacker uniform contrasted sharply with the white scales of the Dusk Stalker he stood upon. One hand held the reigns of the halter while he pumped the other in the air in victory fashion. The crowd erupted in applause, and Micah forced the dragon to trot forward.
The dragon was not an impressive Stalker specimen. His long body was thin and gaunt with patches of missing scales. His vacant eyes and defeated posture didn’t exactly strike fear in the hearts of the onlookers. Nor did the halter the dragon was forced to wear.
While Da
hlia’s halter looked similar to the halter he used on his horse Storm, Eli’s had a muzzle attached to the noseband which prevented him from opening his mouth. The leather strips also weren’t sitting flat against Eli’s scales thanks to spikes on the underside of the halter. The cruelty of the halter reminded Javan of Micah’s cruelty.
The image of Micah whipping the boy last night played in Javan’s mind. Hearing the crowd praise a man who would do such a despicable thing made Javan want to knock Micah off the dragon and talk some sense into this senseless crowd.
The only thing that kept him from taking such action was looking up and seeing his mother. She was ignoring the fanfare behind her and staring straight ahead. She appeared unmovable. Unflappable. Unshakable. If she could be a vision of strength on the brink of death, he could be strong enough to not move or act until Astor gave him the cue to do so.
Micah steered Eli to the stage beside his mother and her dragon, climbed up his dragon’s neck and deposited himself on the platform. Amidst the cheers, Javan tuned in to the dragon’s conversation.
Well, well, Dahlia said, look who got to come out and play today.
Not my choice, Eli said.
Nor mine. You are a miserable excuse for a dragon and belong in that dark little dungeon where the Hunter keeps you.
You’re just bitter the Hunter didn’t think enough of you to let you lead the execution.
I am the favored one! He knows I--
“People of Zandador,” Micah said, now standing in front of Esmeralda. His booming voice quieted the conversation of the dragons and the cheers of the crowd. “People of Zandador, welcome Serenity the Midnight Stalker and your King, King Omri the Omnipotent!”
Micah turned and pointed up to the sky in the direction of the castle. The trumpeters played loud, bold notes as a dark grey spot in the light grey sky grew bigger and bigger.
Omri was approaching on his winged dragon just as they expected. Javan’s heart began to beat a little faster. The arrival of the Dark King signaled the start of their plan.
Chapter 32
The Dark King
Serenity spewed a string of lightning bolts as she flew the Dark King over the castle walls. The brilliant flashes of bright lights were met with shrieks of both terror and awe from the crowd below her.
The shrieks didn’t stop the trumpeting soldiers from playing, however. They maintained their tune and their focus even as they moved to the back edge of the stage to create a landing space for the Midnight Stalker.
Esmeralda wasn’t as accommodating. Despite Omri and the Stalker hovering above her and the wind from the dragon’s wings blowing her already disheveled hair, she maintained her position. Javan was sure he saw her smirk until Micah snagged her arm and forced her to the front of the stage.
With the landing area cleared, Omri masterfully landed the massive dragon onto the platform. The entire platform and the columns it rested on shook from the weight of the grey-scaled beast. The stage was just long enough to hold the twenty-five-foot long dragon, but not long enough to hold her stumped tail. It hung over the edge and came close to scraping the ground near where Javan stood. Had its tip not been cut off, it would have easily reached the ground.
Serenity snorted several puffs of electrified smoke as she brought her pointy wings to rest alongside her body and bent her tall, fifteen-foot high frame to allow Omri an easier path of descent. The Dark King took his cue and slid down the dragon’s right front leg. The moment his feet touched the stage, he lifted his hands in the air, palms to the sky and shouted, “Welcome!”
The crowd roared to life in response. Whistles. Shouts. Cheers. Applause. And the rumbling of stomping feet all along the stone stadium steps. Like an orchestra director, Omri kept his hands lifted, encouraging more and louder noises.
The people responded. Javan could sense the desperation they felt to please the tall, broad-shouldered black man beckoning them to praise him.
Unlike his queen, he wore no crown.
And unlike his son, he wore his black hair in short, tight braids rather than long, loose dreadlocks. His hairline was beginning to recede on either side of his brow, his dark brown eyes looked almost black against the whites of his eyes and the nostrils on his wide, flat nose flared in tune with each pump of his hands.
His boots added to the clamor as he paced from corner to corner of the platform in his black pants, white silk shirt and long black leather coat. The man must have prided fashion over comfort because it was way too hot out to be wearing such a warm coat.
The man radiated more arrogance than that of his narcissistic Dawn Stalker. He knew he controlled the crowd, and the crowd knew they were at his mercy. The plan to challenge this man suddenly seemed suicidal.
Omri stopped his pacing at center stage so that he stood in front of Esmeralda and Micah. He slowly scanned the crowd, then quickly snapped his hands into fists. The noise immediately ceased.
“Good people of Zandador,” Omri said, his voice vibrating throughout the square, “you have done well to come here today. Your willing obedience to the Laws of the Land have allowed our nation to prosper, have kept our cities safe and have contributed to longer lifespans. It always pains me to have to send my Dragon Stalkers on city raids when I learn someone has broken one of my laws, but your compliance these past few decades has prevented any such punishment, so I thank you.”
I thank you, too, Eli said. I despise the taste of humans.
You despise being a dragon. Chills shot through Javan when he heard the eerie voice of Serenity respond to Eli. It’s the fear of humans that makes them the most fun prey to consume. I wish I was the one who was hungry right now. These people would make a splendid feast.
Compared to the other dragons he had encountered so far, this one was different.
More menacing.
Almost evil.
“But there is one,” Omri continued, channeling the menacing evilness of the Midnight Stalker, “who has refused to obey.” Anger coursed through his words and darted out of his eyes. “Even after she broke the marriage AND child-bearing laws, I showed her mercy. I allowed her to live a comfortable life as my servant in the castle. I even allowed her to use that beautiful voice of hers to sing for me.
“And how did she repay me for my merciful kindness? She ran away. Worse still, she put our entire world in danger when she attempted to activate the portal that leads to earth.”
Attempted? She didn’t just attempt that feat, Javan wanted to say, she did indeed activate the portal. But Javan could tell by the way Micah shifted his feet and averted his gaze that he hadn’t shared the entire truth about Esmeralda’s capture with his father.
“Disobedience is not tolerated in my kingdom,” Omri said. “We are here today to remind you of that fact and to remind you what happens when you rebel.”
Omri motioned to the trumpeters. They played three sharp, unnerving notes.
“When you rebel, my Stalkers deliver justice,” Omri said. “Today that honor falls to Vasilis, my Noon Stalker!”
The Dark King turned and pointed to the sky in the direction from which he had flown in on moments ago. The crowd began to murmur as the golden dragon appeared in the distance.
Javan had to take action before the dragon arrived. He stepped forward, but Astor caught his arm. “Not yet.”
Micah moved to the far front corner of the stage while Omri moved to the corner just above where Javan stood. That left Esmeralda all alone at the front and center of the stage, easy prey for the hungry Noon Stalker on his way.
The dragon passed the castle walls.
Javan looked to Astor. He shook his head, telling him to wait.
Wide-eyed and anxious, Javan held himself back and watched the dragon float over the crowd. Just as it was about to reach the stage, Astor let go of Javan’s arm. “Now.”
“Finally,” Javan said. He sprinted the five steps to the column in front of him and touched the stone seconds before the dragon’s claws snatched Esmeralda.
Chapter 33
The Contenders
The stone Javan expected to feel as he pressed his palms against the column wasn’t stone at all. It was actually a soft, malleable surface that lit up and vibrated when he touched it. A perfect mold of his hands remained once he stepped back. The vibrations stopped but the glow lingered, and a vertical line of four triangles the size of dragon scales appeared above his handprints.
“Halt!” The Dark King ordered Vasilis to a hovering standstill above Esmeralda and peered over the edge. “Who touched the column?”
The people around Javan jumped back, sweeping Astor with them. How they were able to create a fifteen foot berth around him in an instant in the midst of such a packed crowd amazed him. And spoke volumes about the fear this king instilled in his people.
No one had stood up to this man by daring to compete in the Battle for the Throne in centuries. With the Dark King’s gaze fixed on Javan, Javan began to understand why. An obnoxious form of power-hungry evil emanated from the Dark King, and Javan was tempted to join the quivering crowd behind him. A glance at his mother, however, encouraged him to stand his ground.
Javan adjusted his hat, cleared his throat and said, “I did.”
Think I’ll eat him, too, just for disturbing my meal, Vasilis said.
I would, Serenity said. As lean as he is, he won’t be very filling, though.
Doesn’t matter. He’s young. He’ll have a nice crunch to him.
Hearing the telepathic dragon conversation unnerved Javan further. They were, after all, discussing his demise. But he didn’t want to clue them in to the fact that he could understand them. As long as he was able to eavesdrop, he might be able to pick up some interesting information about dragons or the Dark King that could provide an advantage for him in the competition.
Nevertheless, he couldn’t resist looking up into the angry eyes of the half-golden dragon as he floated just above the heads of those standing on the stage. The view into the two large black pools of hatred sent shivers down Javan’s spine. He didn’t detect one ounce of kindness in the dragon’s heart, but maybe that was because they were meeting at the height of its feeding time and it wanted to make a meal out of him.
