The Dragon's Betrayal

by Martha Woods

  “Align ourselves with such traitors?!” barked a voice from the audience, and there was a certain implication in his voice– the notion that such a treasonous idea meant that I, myself was a dyed in the wool traitor. I tried not to lose my cool, and managed to catch Keya's eye, standing next to Mordeos. She seemed nearly as worried about this possibility as I was, but cast her eyes down after a moment once she caught sight of me looking at her.

  Thankfully, Mordeos raised a hand to silence his comrades, and shook his head slowly.

  “No, no... I believe this is a practical thought. Unpalatable though it may be, I think our friend here may have a point. If it is as he says, then such men, however misguided, may play a crucial role setting the Kingdom to right...”

  I nodded, grateful to him for seeing eye to eye with me on the subject.

  Thinking that this might be too soon, but feeling that it was an organic enough moment for the topic to arise naturally in conversation, I decided to mine for some information of my own– that being my whole point of the mission here, after all.

  “Again, I think a lot of it will come down to a charismatic leader. Someone who can sway the former Dark Ones that their ways are superior to those of the Wreckers, and win them back to our side again. If I might humbly submit the notion, I feel that you, Mordeos, would serve us all capably in this regard. I see what you have accomplished here, with this single faction alone, and I can only imagine what you might achieve once bestowed with the proper authority.”

  Mordeos beamed at my praise, and gave a single, slow nod, looking more convinced than ever that I was who I said I was, doing what I said I was doing.

  “Smartly observed,” he said simply.

  Asshole, I thought to myself, but smiled endearingly at him nevertheless.

  “My only concern,” I continued, “Would be our present numbers. Though the crowd here tonight is hardly unimpressive, the simple fact of the matter is that the Wreckers outnumber us, at least a hundred to one. At least with the traitors now presently working among their ranks... If Ynder is to fall, and the prodigal Dark Ones are to be swayed back to the side of right, sufficient military force will be absolute necessary in persuading them. More men. Grown, strong men. Able to convince them that we also have might on our side, and not just right.

  “Now, I am largely in the dark on this subject at the moment. So forgive me if I speak unrealistically. But, upon receiving the intelligence that there were other Dark One's, sympathetic to Ryl's cause, I was informed of the existence of multiple cells. Multiple factions of Dark Ones, scattered throughout the country. I wonder whether this is true. And though it is by no means my call to make, I wonder if it might not be prudent to seek them out. To join forces with them, in order to present a unified front against the Wreckers, and all that they have come to represent.”

  Mordeos' eyes seemed to darken at the mention of these other factions, and I wondered with a stab of panic whether I'd perhaps said something that I shouldn't have, something that betrayed my true intentions here among them.

  “Yes,” he said slowly, somewhat menacingly. “Yes, there are others. At least half a dozen of us, I can be sure. Factions, I mean. I have been kept in dark, however, about the exact amount.”

  “Oh?” I said, genuinely wondering why this should be the case.

  “Upon the Dark Ones' broader dissolution, we decided– or rather, it was decided for us, that it would better ensure our survival to break off into smaller groups. To limit the information shared between us, for at least the time being. That way, in the event that one of us fell, we shouldn't all collapse like so many dominoes...”

  “I see,” I said, remaining outwardly calm, but wildly scribbling down these details inside my head.

  Ynder had already known, of course, that there were multiple factions of Dark Ones still in existence throughout the country. The news that the factions themselves were aware of this fact, and seemed to be utilizing their separation as a means of their survival, seemed highly significant. It meant that they were, in a way, working together, without actually being in proximity to one another.

  Mordeos continued, as if now that he'd arrived on a particular sore spot, he was determined to keep picking at it, until it was bloody and raw.

  “Not all of us agree, though. In my view, every day spent in hiding, as the Wreckers continue to plunder and to defile what was ours, cements our place in history. As cowards. As much traitors to our race as those working for Ynder himself. And yet we have largely towed the line, for the time being. It is not our place to decide how to act, or so we have been told...”

  Again I raised an eyebrow at this, genuinely curious as to his meaning.

  “And... Whose place is it, exactly?”

  Mordeos snarled, as though the very act of speaking the name would make him physically sick. His features then softened, as though forcing himself to muster up a reverence for it which he did not truly feel.

  “Tyrius is the one in charge. Tyrius the Mighty, as he so loves to refer to himself...”

  “He was one of Ryl's top men,” I said matter-of-factly, hoping for more information, and also curious to see how Mordeos might react.

  “Yes. Was,” he said, and shook his head, and stared angrily into the middle distance, as though contemplating some great injustice. “Perhaps it is not my place to question his means. I truly believe that his interests are those of our people. But I sometimes wonder if a desire for power, for control over us, clouds his better judgment. He more or less arose, straight from the get-go, and proclaimed himself a figurehead. And for the most part, the faction leaders all kowtowed to his command. But that was then. Then, we believed that he knew what he was doing. But it has been months now, and where has he gotten us? We're as scattered and as in the dark as we were at the beginning. If not more so...”

  “Why would he keep you in the dark like that?” I asked. “I knew Tyrius. He was a faithful servant of Ryl, an instrumental member of the previous kingdom.”

  “No one is questioning that,” said Mordeos. “The question is, does he remain the same man that he was back then? Is he still so instrumental as he once asserted himself to be? Many believe that the power vacuum after Ryl's death left him hungry for his position. Too hungry. So that now he forces us to wait, until what he deems the proper moment to strike. So that once he finally does ascend to the position of a proper ruler, there might actually be something there for him to rule over. And yet it is impossible to know whether he knows what he is doing, because no one really seems to know what it is he's doing.”

  Mordeos was steaming by this point, and I felt somewhat disappointed, having hoped for more in-depth intel about the Dark One who was, by all appearances, now running the show.

  “Not even a clue?” I asked casually.

  “Fah,” Mordeos scoffed. “Some say he's looking for something. A weapon of some kind, supposedly to aid us in the struggle against the Wreckers. He's waiting until he finds it, some say, to lead us on into battle. But I put little credence in such a notion. I don't know what possible weapon he might find that could make a Dark One stronger than he already is, inherently. If you ask me, he's just spinning his wheels. Making us all wait around. Wasting time that we should be using to wipe the fucking Wreckers from the face of the Earth, followed shortly by their precious humans.”

  “Well then... Why wait?”

  Again he scoffed– not dismissively, but as though to say dryly, you're telling me.

  “Don't think I haven't thought about acting of my own accord. It crosses my mind, more and more with each new day. Should the ideal opportunity arise, I– But, wait... I have you now...”

  I smiled at him. Nodded.

  “You do,” I said.

  He eyed me for a long time. “Were I to act, without Tyrius's authorization... It could give our faction a significant advantage. The remaining Dark Ones, I think, are hungry for action. They want to see things change. They're tired of simply sitting around, waiting for Tyrius
to finish whatever wild goose chase he's on. But if I were to act... To do what Tyrius himself is too afraid to do...”

  “It could certainly end up setting things into motion,” I said. And again I caught Keya's eyes, gazing at me. I ignored them this time, the best that I could.

  It was a risk, to be sure. Encouraging the Dark Ones into battle. Egging them on to attack the Protectors, and risk destabilizing them. The thing was, I felt, it was bound to happen soon or later– with or without my encouragement. At the moment, I saw, they were so clearly unprepared. Starved for revenge, but hardly capable of carrying it out. Capable, hardly, of sustaining even their sad, present numbers.

  And Mordeos' ego... His insecurity... It felt like something I could easily exploit, sending the entire faction to their doom at the Protectors' hands. They would be captured, forced to give Ynder as much information as he could get out of them– even more, I thought, than what I was getting. Even better, that would mean one less faction of Dark Ones that we would have to deal with. Maybe, it would send a message to the others. Letting them know exactly what they were dealing with, and the extreme deficit of wisdom in daring to face off against Ynder and the Protectors.

  “Tell me... Hypothetically,” Mordeos said, following my lead like a fish on a hook. “If I were to strike... If, in theory, I was to make such a move... What, in your opinion, would be my best course of action? Where might I strike, that would impart the greatest amount of damage? That would best shatter any illusion that the Wreckers are truly in control? That their followers are safe and well cared after while under their command?”

  I opened my mouth to speak, and hesitated. The answer came readily to me– the answer I would give had I truly aligned myself with their cause. And yet I found I could not immediately speak it. The words would not cross my lips. It was too horrific to consider, and if there was even a chance that the Dark Ones managed to carry it out–

  But now their eyes were all upon me. Searching me, for signs of weakness. I very nearly succumbed to the urge to look down– only for a fraction of an instant, just to escape the heat of their collective gaze. I wisely avoided doing so, however, certain that that it would have been as dead a giveaway as any.

  “The Alza Academy,” I said, as though I hadn't missed a beat, as though the time that had just elapsed had never even passed.

  Mordeos raised a curious eyebrow at this.

  “Alza? As in...”

  “The former King, yes. Ynder's father. It's a school. For the young Wreckers. Too much insistence, Ynder seems to think, has been placed upon might and warfare over the years. The Alza Academy foolishly seeks to educate, and indoctrinate the next generation of Protectors. Wreckers... Informing them of the supposed history of our people, Dark Ones and Wreckers and Earthdragons alike. He wants to convince them that somehow, once upon a time, our kind managed to successfully coexist with the humans. To live among them, and to mutually benefit one another.”

  A murmur of disgust now rose up around the fire. Mordeos's face crumpled, and Keya's did the same. Though not with disgust, I didn't think, in her case. I thought, though it may simply have been a play of the green light across her features, that maybe I saw concern there. A look of worry...

  “Nothing surprises me anymore,” said Mordeos, his nose still screwed up as though he'd just taken in a great whiff of skunk. “I mean, what do you expect? Seeing that human bitch he married... Who now presumes to declare herself a Queen among our people! But still... As often as I imagine such disgraceful behavior, taking place on such hallowed grounds as the home that was taken from us...”

  “And that's exactly why I believe it would make the perfect target,” I said, feeding off his disgust. “Think of the message it would send. The Wreckers... They wouldn't even know how to respond!”

  My feigned enthusiasm for this plan was beginning to make me slightly sick. And yet I knew that if anything was going to convince the Dark Ones of the lie that I was really on their side, it would almost certainly have to be this.

  “How despicable it is,” said Mordeos, still staring forward in contemplation of such a plan, “to have to consider using children... Innocent children... As pawns in our little games...” I almost started to worry here, but then he course corrected, “And yet it must be done. This much I know. The children must die. Must perish as martyrs for the most noble of causes. Better that they should die, then be brainwashed by the Wreckers, their innocent young minds poisoned, before they even truly know how to make use of them. Fooled into believing that a life of subjugation, of servitude, is, in truth, any kind of life at all. And not the abysmal prison that it truly is. That they were born into, through no fault of their own, but which will be their only birthright. Yes... It is a steep price indeed that must be paid. And yet it must be paid.

  “When those misguided souls who lingered behind, who lost their way and retreated into the open arms of the Wreckers, see just how misguided they truly were, how ill-equipped the Wreckers are to protect them, then at last they will understand. They will comprehend the burden, the true price of their betrayal. Then, at last they shall return to us. At last we shall have our revenge upon those who would have wiped us from the Earth had we deigned to allow them, and we shall return the favor in kind...”

  I'd had no doubts as to the nature Mordeos' character up to the present moment. And yet now I found myself more than a little unnerved by him– his eloquence as he discussed the plan now being formulated, as though slaughtering a school full of children had been high on his docket for some time now, but he was only just now getting around to putting the idea into words.

  My heart raced as I considered this. I was excited by how thoroughly he'd accepted my cover story, taken it as fact, and in turn divulged as much information to me as he already had. There would be much more to come, I was sure, so long as I managed to bide my time, and sustain the deception for as long as possible. On the other hand, I needed to be very smart about how I proceeded. I needed to make sure that I got word back to the Protectors, before any kind of serious plans for attacking managed to get underway.

  I was highly confident in the notion that the Protectors would be able to handily combat any attack by such a minute faction of Dark Ones, would be able to quash any potential threat they might happen to pose. And yet, I could not risk the possibility that a single child be put at risk, should they manage to carry out the attack in question.

  This entire operation, and whatever intelligence I might still manage to gather, could never be worth such an astronomical price as a child's life. Particularly, when any child put at risk had never had a say in whether or not to involve themselves in such a plan.

  I'd zoned out for a moment, considering all of these things, as Mordeos continued to babble on across the fire, more to himself than to me or the crowd around him. It just then occurred to me that Keya, previously standing beside him, was no longer anywhere in the vicinity. I blinked at the spot where she'd been, confused and weirdly alarmed, then caught sight of her, storming off, disappearing through the crowd of Dark Ones, and finally fading altogether into the blackness of the surrounding night.

  I furrowed my brow, strangely concerned.

  Why did I care so much about what this woman thought or felt, I wondered? Why was I so bizarrely attracted to her? Was she some kind of Dark One with a conscience– an inherent contradiction in terms? I realized, though, that truly, I didn't even know the first thing about her. It was all just wild speculation, seeing and believing what I wanted, for some reason, to see and believe in her.

  “Yes... Yes,” Mordeos was finishing up, looking no less crazed than I had seen him look moments ago. “That could work... Now, tell me more about this Alza Academy.”

  I snapped back to him from my derailed train of thought, and gave him a mistaken smile. I thought for sure my distractedness would be yet another dead giveaway, and yet he just kept on staring at me with that depraved, expectant smile, hungry for further information, anything he coul
d use to see his revenge other way, as soon as humanly possible.

  “Well...” I said, “the Academy only runs for three days a week. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. It's generally pretty well guarded, as you can imagine. But the guards generally change around midday, and I think that may prove to be your best opportunity to strike...” And with each new detail I offered him, I impressed further and further upon my mind the absolute necessity of getting in touch with Ynder to let him know what was happening, at the very first available opportunity.

  Keya

  What the hell was it about this asshole? I didn't trust him in the slightest. I despised him, from the moment he suggested to Mordeos that he wipe out a school full of innocent children– a notion, surprise surprise, that Mordeos had seized upon. Mordeos disgusted me too, but not as much, for some reason. I think by now I'd gotten used to his brand of cruelty. To the idea that he would use any means necessary to achieve his ends. Did my– not quite acceptance, but resignation to this fact, make me a bad person? Yes, it probably did.

  And yet, rationally or not, I had expected so much more from Iammarth. From the moment I'd lain eyes on him, and I'd felt whatever strange connection the two of us seemed to share, I'd fooled myself into believing it meant something. That it wasn't just some perverse trick of my imagination– a desire, after so many years of unhappiness, of desperation, for some alternative to my present reality. Something besides Mordeos. Besides the Dark Ones. Besides the joke of a future I had to look forward to, which was no future at all, because it remained entirely predicated on such a broken, shattered past. And from that, I knew, I could never escape...

  The illusion had been shattered, the instant Iammarth had put that horrible plan into Mordeos's dumb fucking head. I'd thought maybe he was different. But he was just like all the rest of them.

  ...Or was he?