It Could Be Worse (3rd Season)

Episode 18: Dragon War

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke.

E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw.

Note: I'm still accepting people into the mailing list. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

Rating of this episode: PG-13 for adventuring, the usual tiny amount of cursing, and more surprise than our characters would like…

Author's pre-episode comment: Sorry for not posting for so long… School blows. There's no other way to put it. Well, actually, you could interchange "blows" with a LOT of words, but it wouldn't do to have an R-rated author's comment on a PG-13 rated episode…

~~

The sun had not yet risen, but Liam was as wide-awake as if it had.  He could still see the moon, a waxy light that did not comfort him at all. It actually reminded him of the pale skin of the sick. It was an ill omen.

He reclined on a chair in the Stargazer Dome, staring upward through the nearly opaque ceiling of the observatory as if it were a misty haze spread across the sky rather than a crystal barrier fashioned into the shapes of blossom petals. There were no stars to be seen, anyhow, so he turned his attention away from the vast expanse of nothingness above him. His gaze drifted toward the covered stairway entrance in the middle of the dome's floor.

"What do you want?" he asked sharply, his mouth immediately twisting into a displeased frown.

Yahiko recoiled as if Liam had transformed into a snake. He threw back the wooden hatch so it slammed onto the floor. Then he climbed up into the observatory and defiantly stood his ground. The crowned prince was slightly quaking in his boots, but Liam decided not to point it out just yet. The last thing he needed was a royal tantrum on his hands.

"I want to know," Yahiko began, "what it is that you and Uncle have been talking about. Why don't I get to know? I'm the one who inherits it all! I should know!" He paused. "Does it have something to do with Misters Queenscove and Stone? Because if it does—"

"You need not bother with such trivial matters," he interrupted. Liam sat up straight and rested his hands calmly on his thighs. "Your Uncle and I are taking care of everything. You will know only what is necessary for you to know."

The boy clenched his fists. Nothing would give him more pleasure than to punch the impudent man sitting before him. No one save for his uncle had ever taken such a strict stance with him. Being raised as the crown prince had always allowed Yahiko to have whatever he wished, within reason. The arrival of his uncle back into the City several years ago had thus bothered Yahiko, not because he had not known why Enishi had left in the first place, but because Enishi had brought this foreigner back with him as his Second in Command.

Yahiko moved aside as Liam got up from his seat and approached the hatch door. The foreigner dismissed the boy from his mind quickly, deciding instead to focus on more dire matters at hand. He could hear Yahiko muttering angry obscenities just the same. The words were truly unfit for a royal mouth. Liam smirked. The boy would learn, eventually.

Liam briefly thought of checking the gardens for his master. Then it occurred to him that Enishi enjoyed his rest and would probably still be in his chambers. There was no thought as to whether the King was awake. Liam had never seen him off guard and expected it to be impossible. Enishi somehow knew when he was going to have visitors, invited or not. He would be awake at Liam's arrival.

The dark haired young man glared icily at a fireplace attendant who nearly ran into him with his brooms and brushes. Of all the servants to be awake at such an early hour! He sneered and brushed off tiny traces of dust and soot.

The doors to the King's chambers were not as elaborate as some might have envisioned them to be. They were inlaid with silver and white crystal, a picture of tigers lying in wait in the tall emerald grasses. The original image had been accented with gold leaf, but its current owner had thought it to be too gaudy for his tastes. As soon as he was crowned, the golden leaf had been moved to some other decoration in the Palace that he cared naught for.

Liam gripped the silver knocker and rapped it three times against the door.  Without waiting for a reply that he knew would never come, he opened the door and slipped inside. Just as he expected, his master stood alert in his light blue silk robes, hands clasped behind his back as he faced the pre-dawn through his open window. The air was warmer than expected. Liam suddenly noticed how cold he had been.

"I've already given out orders of preparation, if that's what you're thinking. The generals are preparing defense tactics as we speak," Enishi said, never moving from his spot.

Liam bowed his head slightly. "I thought you would have. I was just wondering—"

"How you might be of more use? What, no quarrels today?" his master questioned airily. "Oh, but you love to be quarrelsome. I'm somewhat surprised you have not kept your disagreeable temperament."

The younger man was taken aback by the harsh reply. "I… I had time to think while I was traveling back here. That is all."

"Amazing what a little time can do," Enishi remarked. He didn't believe the response, but he would not delve into it at the time being. There were too many other problems to deal with. He flippantly continued. "You know, you and Yahiko are more alike than you might like to think. Both feeling threatened by a change in the status quo."

"I do not feel threatened by him," Liam insisted, face muscles tense as he set his jaw firmly.

And Enishi knew that he was not really referring to the boy prince.

"The guns. Are you going to use them?" Liam inquired, hastily changing the subject.

"Only if it is completely necessary. We have done well without them. I do not need a bunch of inexperienced men shooting themselves in the feet. More harm than good, wouldn't you say?"

The two men stood in easy silence after that sentence.  Liam knew he was not to answer. Frankly, he didn't want to. One more defeat after another.

Things could be tiring. Actually, they were downright exhausting.

~~

Joren had something resembling a plan. It was not a thorough plan, or even a decent plan, but a plan nevertheless. Certain complications arose to ensure that he would have a difficult time attempting to plan or organize anything, really. Keladry refused to leave her brothers, despite cold threats made by Conal. If Joren could have his way, he would hogtie the Mindelan brothers and send them with Cleon, Faleron, and Keladry back to the City, whether they liked it or not. At least they would all be safe there.

His biggest problem was currently figuring out how to transport Faleron on the back of a wolf for dozens of miles. The severely ill man would require warmth and treatment, if he managed to survive long enough to leave the Black City.

The medical supplies were badly organized and labeled. He had sort through them until he came up with basic pain reducers and anything else Faleron might need. Extra layers of warm clothing were also necessary for survival. But all that bulk would slow them down. And they needed to get Faleron help as quickly as possible.

Could Cleon take this responsibility? For all his innate immaturity, Joren had to admit that the redhead pulled through in a crisis. At least the wolves knew the way home. Cleon, despite his good heart, would probably lead them in circles until they froze to death.

Joren surveyed the packs, making sure they were as small and light as possible. Keladry sat nervously on a stool beside a fireplace, behaving like someone very unlike herself.

"I'll go with them, if you really want me to," she said at last, glancing at the blond with guilty eyes.

He looked up, meeting her gaze and holding it. He offered her a placating, but brief smile. "Your mind would be somewhere else. Your head would need to be in the game in order to lead them."

The remorse only increased in her expression. Joren sighed. He leaned over her and brushed her cheek with a gentleman's kiss that he immediately regretted. "Look. It will help to have you with me. Trust me on that."

She nodded, though she did not visibly relax.

"I need to find a way to sneak them out. Can you keep those guards distracted?"

Keladry frowned. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

He thought about it for a moment. Then he bent toward her and whispered in her ear. For a few moments, Keladry's face was blank. Then her expression turned into that of revulsion. Finally, she sighed and nodded. He needed her to do this. And she would. She wouldn't ­like it, of course, but there were a lot of things she didn't like.

This being one of them.

She excused herself from the room and went out into the hall. She was immediately under the observation of every watch guard within range. They followed her with their eyes, stoically noting every little movement she made. She could imagine every double-headed axe, spear, sword, and dagger that they had all coming at her with deadly precision. What she was about to do was risky, too risky for words.

Keladry cursed silently before she made a pained face and fell to her knees a few meters away from the door. She clutched at her lower abdomen and groaned faintly.

"What's the meaning of this?" the nearest man demanded. He tipped back his helmet and clutched his spear tightly in his gloved hands.

"What does it look like?" Keladry snapped at him. "I have cramps!"

The guards who heard this exchanged confused looks.

She rolled her eyes. "As if I would expect any of you to know! Quick! Get me some…" She rattled her brain for a fake cure-all. "Bread! Fresh bread! And warm milk! Not that goat's milk crap… actual cow's milk!"

A few staged groans followed this, followed by a rather pitiable squeal.

The guards were now at a loss for words. They looked to each other for guidance, but none of them had ever heard of such a thing. There had always been rumors of what certain illnesses were endured by females alone. Unfortunately for their curious minds, they had been raised as soldiers for the majority of their lives, with little interaction with women outside of passing a serving maid in the hall.

"Are you just going to stand there? Or shall I wake all your superiors with my belly-aching?" Keladry yelled at them, trying to recall how irate Lalasa sounded when the Carthaki woman was impatiently ordering someone around.

"You! Go!" one of the older guards commanded to a younger man who subsequently scurried away like a frightened rabbit. The rest continued to look awkward and uncomfortable as they crowded around Keladry, still on her knees and clutching her middle.

She was almost curled up in the fetal position when she noticed that the door to the room she had been inside had opened ever so slightly. A dark shadow fled, one she only assumed belonged to Joren. Luckily for him, she had made enough noise to attract all the surrounding guards. The ignorant men had abandoned their posts, anxious to see the cause of commotion. Their new quests to know what exactly ailed females overwhelmed their ingrained training for duty and kingdom.

"Should you not move to… to a chair or bed?" a guard asked.

Keladry shook her head. "No! I must stay where I am. That's important! And…" She threw in another sickly moan. "And I need you all to ward off the bad spirits! Women are very vulnerable to bad spirits when they have the cramps!"

"How do we do that?" another one asked.

"Turn in circles," she blurted out before she could make sense of what she was saying. "And chant, uh…. 'Spirits be gone!'" She gave them a very threatening look. "If I'm overcome with evil spirits while I'm lying here with the cramps, my brother—your superior!—will be sure to know! And then you'll be in big trouble!"

It had to be the most ridiculous, most demeaning moment of her life. But it worked. In a few moments, half the soldiers—mostly the young ignorant ones—were spinning in soldiers and chanting incantations against evil spirits. The elder guards stood back, conversing with each other. Very few of them had wives and sisters that they saw often, so they did not have any information about these mysterious illnesses.

Meanwhile, a certain shadow traveled further and further away.

Joren slipped through the halls unnoticed. He had decided not to listen to Keladry's diversion out of respect. He knew she felt embarrassed. He almost felt embarrassed for her. At least their plan, as idiotic as it was, was working.

He supposed a good course of action was to inspect the entrances and exits of the castle. He considered taking Faleron through the dungeons and the sewers that he'd come in through, but decided that it would cause Faleron too much physical exertion. They needed a safe route, one that wouldn't get them caught and executed.

The walls were too dangerous to climb. That much was obvious. The only other path lay in leaving through the front gates. From a window, he silently watched the people who came and went through the main gates to the Black City. They all seemed to be common folk—servants who were on their way to market or disposing of trash.

He made his way back the infirmary where Cleon and Faleron were still nervously awaiting any news. The guards around this area had also irresponsibly left their posts since Keladry wasn't too far away. Joren found that all he head to do was walk through the doorway without any fear of capture.

At least DJPF security in Mithros wasn't this incompetent.

Cleon bolted up from his seat when he heard the door hinges squeak. "Stone! You're here! What's going on?"

He tossed the tightly bundled packs at his feet. "I'm getting the two of you out of here."

Faleron struggled to sit up. "And how do you propose to do that? Politely ask Maggur to let us go?"

Joren smirked. "Even better."

~~

Dakar had served at the front gates to the castle for five years and for two years before that at three of the twelve gates of the Black City's outer walls. He'd never particularly excelled at swordsmanship or even archery. But he could turn a crank over a hundred times a day. And this was exactly what was needed to engage the mechanism that lifted and lowered the gate. A pathetic job, but one that put food on his table every night.

During his years serving at the gate, he'd become used to the sights. Wagons and carts with goods or trash entered every hour. Squads of soldiers who patrolled the Black City's streets marched underneath him as Dakar leaned out over the ramparts. Even a few succubae and creatures of the night were seen discreetly leaving their castle confines to spread their mischief. It wasn't too rare to see a pair of royal guards and a black robed advisor bringing back a protesting she-demon. Dakar had learned not to give them another thought.

So when a cart of manure arrived, fresh from the stables, he disgustedly turned the crank to let it leave his sight as soon as possible. The attendants of the cart weren't so pleasant to look at either. He recognized the three heavily hooded, cloaked, and bandaged men with disdain.

"Lepers," he spat. "Of course, only they would do such work as that. Give them space down there! Don't want to get near them, do you?"

The soldiers posted at the gate covered their faces to avoid the stench and to protect themselves from disease. They moved quickly aside as the horse-drawn cart was led away. Curses could be heard muttering all around the gate, including Dakar's own despising voice.

Back outside the castle walls and in the filthy streets of the city, Faleron fanned his face. He was seated on the bench behind the horse, beside Joren who held the reins.  He leaned heavily against the blond, not because he wanted to, but because he could not stay upright otherwise. Cleon walked alongside, one hand on the horse's neck as they made their way to the edge of the city.

"Did you have to hit that stable hand so hard? I feel a little bad for him," the redhead muttered.

"Of course I did. It was either him or us," Joren replied nonchalantly. He did not lower his voice. No one was coming near them because of their appearances and the stench. They could speak as loudly as they wished without being heard. As soon as they approached, men and women rushed inside or ran around the corners into the alleys.

"How are you feeling?" Cleon asked.

Faleron shook his head. "The smell is awful. I'm going to vomit soon."

"Then we'd better hurry," Joren said. He flicked the reins, urging the horse to a trot.

By the time they were through the Black City's boundaries, Faleron was dry heaving over the side of the cart. Cleon helped him down, gently holding him up so that the former thief did not collapse into a heap on the ground.

They abandoned the cart and walked a little ways toward the mountains. The natural terrain of the land, ridges and rocks, everywhere they turned, hid them from sight.  As they walked, Joren whistled shrilly. The farmers' fields were on the other sides of the city so he expected no one human would hear him. The dragon was also still peacefully slumbering where Chisakami and Cleon had last left it. Hopefully, it would not pick up the scent of three Mithrans sneaking out of the city. They couldn't imagine being able to escape the large mythic reptile as easily as they did the gatekeepers.

It wasn't long before two very large wolves approached from the wild. One appeared to be the same wolf Borealize had ridden on. Joren supposed the man had known they would need more mounts to stay in the area. He couldn't have been more grateful if the wolf herder had sent a helicopter.

"They know the way home. Just make sure to tell them to slow down when you need to. They can't tell when you need rest," Joren informed Cleon. He tilted Faleron's face up to ascertain his health. "He'll be fine. Just get him there alive."

Faleron blearily gazed at the wolves. "I'm hallucinating, aren't I?"

Joren blinked. "Sure you are. Cleon!" he snapped. "Don't just stand there. We're losing daylight!"

They carefully placed Faleron on the back of the larger wolf, tying him on with a loose makeshift harness. They made sure he was warm and comfortable as could be, despite his nervous insistence that he was in fact hallucinating.

"They're just… hairy mules, right?" Faleron said, his voice slurred. He exhaustedly laid his head down on the warm fur of his steed.

Cleon chuckled awkwardly. "Yeah. Hairy mules that could huff and puff and blow your house down.

Joren glared at him. "Hey, Red Riding Hood! Get going already!"

"Okay, okay! Sheesh," Cleon muttered. He goaded his wolf beast forward. "See you in a few days stone! And I hope your constipation doesn't bother you too badly!"

The blond considered the departing men very lucky that he did not know the verbal command to make the wolves eat their riders.

~~

He slipped into the castle as easily as he came in. The guards had returned to their places. Even a few new soldiers had arrived, most of them cursing those who had been distracted by a moaning woman writhing on the floor. (They were making the succubae jealous of the attention, the captain of the guard proclaimed.)

Pausing in the darkness, Joren listened to the footsteps of pacing guards in the corridor ahead of him. He decided to find a servant's passage and retraced his steps to the last stairwell he had climbed. There were less soldiers and succubae there. And even if he did run into one, he would be far more prepared than the last time.

As he came closer, his mind drifted to his ever-unfinished plans. So many plans! So much was at stake (when wasn't it?) but succeeding meant more to him now than it used to. Perhaps it was because he didn't have the secret desire to get himself killed anymore. He'd never told anyone about that. And he didn't intend to.

Caring more had made him sloppy, though. Joren startled when he suddenly noticed the glow of a torchlight coming up the stairwell. He reached into one of his belt pouches for Selirithel's stones, but he could not find the right one. The black one, no. The cube-like red one—no, not that one either. He cursed under his breath as the light continued to approach.

"Who's there?" a voice called.

Before Joren could turn and flee, a bright flare lit up the corridor. He squinted and lifted his cloak to cover his face, now regretting taking off his leper disguise to free his movement.

A young man dressed in the black robes of the Royal Advisors lifted a bright torch whose orange and yellow sparks reminded Joren of a Roman candle. His eyes were dark, but familiar. Joren began recognizing certain features in the stranger's face—the straight line of the nose and the curve of his chin. The hair was dark, but beside that the resemblance was there.

Conal Mindelan, Joren thought.

"Who are you?" Conal questioned.

Joren lowered his gaze and attempted to look humble.  He could capture neither the look nor the voice, but he continued anyway. "A servant, milord. Just a lowly servant."

Keladry's brother shortened the gap between them by a few more steps. He scrutinized the man before him skeptically. "I've never seen a servant like you. The people in this place tend to be darker. Your skin and hair are so pale. You look as Nordic as they come."

This caused an inner twinge of irritation on Joren's part. The blond dipped his head forward. "An albino, milord. I'm sorry my ugliness displeases you."

Conal shook his head. "No, I do not mind that. Something else… Lift your head. Stand up straight."

Joren complied. He was grateful Keladry had never introduced him to her family. There was no possible way that Conal could identify him. Just the same, how was he going to shake him now? He couldn't turn and run. There would be a shout for guards and whatever other hell spawn was nearby to attack him. All that he could do was play his part and hope he could regain his acting skills from his days as an operative.

"There's something about you. Maybe the fact that… no one in this primitive hell hole knows what an albino is!" Without any warning, he reached within his robes to draw a weapon. The instant that Joren saw a glint of steel, he reacted. His hand reached for his belt. Conal thrust his torch forward, throwing some dust on the flame to make it flare. Joren leapt backward to avoid being burned.

The light from the sparks increased, making it difficult to see Conal in the orange red glow. He spied the colors of the flames reflect off Conal's toothy smile.

"She sent for you."

Joren froze.

The prodigal Mindelan smirked. "Reaching for the ever-present holster. You think I wouldn't know that movement? That stupid little gesture? I've seen my sister do it a million times."

Joren glared at him. "I don't see how you could have. She never goes home."

"That doesn't matter." He lowered the torch slightly. "I'm not going home again. There's nothing there for me."

"That's a lie. You have your family, you ungrateful bastard."

It was an argument that carried a lot of weight for him. He had no family to return home to. Joren didn't even have a home. He'd heard that Conal acted tough, but that persona was not the real him. Late at night, Keladry would tell him random things, as if she was afraid he would never get another chance to listen to them. And from this, Joren knew Conal loved his sister,

Or at least, he once did.

"So what are you going to do?" Joren asked, gauging Conal's potential as a threat.

"Have you thrown in the dungeons, of course."

"You and what army?" The most clichéd thing he could have said, but Joren felt like pissing Conal off. And fortunately, he succeeded.

Conal sneered. "I'm not defenseless. Far from it. But you wouldn't hurt me. Not if my sister sent you."

Joren paused. Then he smiled. "Of course not."

The blunt end of a broom came down hard on the back of Conal's skull. He crumpled to the floor like a rag doll. Joren watched indifferently as the new arrival picked up the torch and cursed as he accidentally burnt himself with the sparks.

"You," Joren sighed, "must be Inness."

The young man nodded. "Sorry I'm late." He glanced down at his own black robes and back up at Joren, the corner of his eyes almost twinkling in the reddish light. "Couldn't find a darn thing to wear."

"I see."

"You must be this Joren Stone she's secretly gushing about. How's my sister? Virginal, still?"

"As if I'm going to answer that. What, did bashing your brother on the head give you a taste for blood or something, Mindelan?"

Inness shrugged and bent down to turn Conal onto his back. "No. But being in this place after a while, I've found that insanity comes naturally."

"Obviously."

~~

The march was under way. The dragon and its maiden were at the head of the army, appearing regal and intimidating. Maggur and several of the advisors and generals rode not too far behind on meticulously groomed and trained stallions of midnight black.

"Are you sure you saw no one?" Conal demanded. He glared at the man beside him while trying to ignore the throbbing of yesterday's concussion between his temples.

Inness pretended to be disinterested in his brother's ranting. "I'm sure. You were just lying there on the floor. It could have been anyone." He tossed a dirty look in his direction. "I honestly think you deserved it."

"Hey, you chose to stay. If you're so pissed off about what we're doing, you can leave with Kel!"

Inness remained silent.

His younger brother narrowed his eyes. "You wouldn't betray me, would you, Inness?"

"I couldn't even if I wanted to. You're an ass, but you're family." He rolled his eyes. "It's not like when we were kids and I ratted you out to Ma for breaking her designer lamp. Ma's not even here, and Kel makes a lousy substitute."

"You'd better watch it," Conal warned.

They traveled in silence, each sibling far too angry with the other to form civil words. While the march had been about to begin, it was discovered that Cleon and Faleron had escaped. Rather than tell everyone that the legendary redheaded king had gone missing, Maggur had decided to tie up Keladry and put her in the king's carriage instead.

Four black horses pulled an ebony carriage manned by only one sinister looking attendant. Red and white curtains of silk and diamond dust covered the windows to the carriage. Half a dozen of the most dangerous horsemen flanked each side of the carriage in full armor. A younger man in front of it carried the blood red standards that showed the entire world that this was their leader, their king of darkness.

Keladry, bound and gagged within, could only watch through the haze of the curtains in frustration. She wanted to strangle someone. Chisakami, Maggur, Conal… Things were not going as planned and she had no idea where Joren was or even if Cleon and Faleron had made it out safely.

She knew that the dragon maiden had been asking to be let into the king's carriage since the start of the mobilization. Maggur had refused her, insisting that she be near him and the other advisors to keep the dragon under tight control. Keladry wondered if she would really attack Chisakami if given the chance. If this maiden was the key to controlling the dragon, then perhaps… It was for a good cause, she insisted to herself. She couldn't let a dragon of all things hurt any innocent people, even people she had no clue even existed before this whole mess began!

If Joren were here, he would have said the same thing. The target was the dragon maiden.

But Keladry had been a strict defender of justice. And the idea of attacking, maybe even killing this immortal girl who had never done any wrong that Keladry had observed—it made her cry out in aggravation.

Premeditated murder. That's her crime. She controls this dragon. It is her intent and the intent of everyone else to murder the citizens of Enishijirou, she thought. She angrily thumped the floor of the carriage with her foot and tensely stared out the windows again. Keladry couldn't do anything else.

Nothing else but wait.

~~

Author's note:

11-11-03

Happy Veteran's day! Oy, it's been WAY too long since I posted. I think I already mentioned how sorry I am for the wait, but here it is! Another installment of It Could Be Worse! I just came out of four straight weekends of racing. I was in Boston, Atlanta, Palatka in Florida, and home again. And I must say—I am thoroughly exhausted. My mind has been tried with every academic torture known to man (college prep school, my ass.) and my body has been racked with the flu and the soreness of muscles that have been worked to the breaking point.

I think my exhaustion is easiest to observe in my rather bad grammar and editing. I'm too tired to care. It took this one holiday to finally come along to give me enough time so I could sit down and write out the rest of this episode. Oy, oy, oy.

Let's hope I can post again before Christmas. Cross your fingers folks, and tell me what ya think via review or email. Always glad to hear from ya.

-Sulia Serafine, the one and only

(Serafine! Not Serafin or Summerfine! Just Serafine! SARAH-FEEN! Okay, phew. Thanks.)