Lux Aeterna
by
Steven Mayo
Book I ~ The Meager
Chapter 3 ~ Shindig!
Herrik Gipson halted his feet and let out a warm gasp of air. It was marvelous, as amazing as he'd heard. He wanted to stand there for an eternity and enjoy the moment. Few times in his long life had he known such beauty.
Up from several red and blue striped tents shot swift rockets that sought the heavens until wafting down in gravity's grasp. And then they burst, brilliant sparkles of color jetting the perimeter of the town, like a newly formed blanket of stars. Gipson's cragged face reflected them. Greens, yellows, and reds glimmered against his irises, changing them at their will. The puttering thumps of the rockets exploding pleased the air, like a diligent snare cadence. It was celebration, and it was wonderful!
Gipson looked back to his entourage, a content smile on his face. This was the best part of the job, truly. He took a full-chested breath of the glowing atmosphere and admired the sight before him a moment longer.
Over six feet tall and broad like a troll, Gipson would frighten all who gave him notice if he hadn't so perfected his smile. It was friendly, flavored with the wrinkles of a wise man, and most importantly, adjustable. Gipson had a smile for all seasons. He would flex his muscles strongly and raise those peaks when he received praise, beam it out with the utmost humility. But he could also turn it slight and shallow, the glint of a coming joke, and the audience would be ready for it. Then would come a heckler and he would throw it into overdrive, a smile so bright the heckler went blind. And, his personal favorite, he could turn it sad, a salute to times lost with hope still strong. Herrik Gipson could change the world with a simple twitch of his lips. He wasn't attractive, but that smile. Wow!
But time was already running late. He would make a late entrance, of course. It would give him a chance to practice his forgiveness smile, still under construction. He turned his head and nodded to the men behind him.
"Well, fellas? Let's rock and roll!" and Gipson, followed by a modest crew, entered the grounds.
********************
The Corneria Centennial celebration is such a fantastic event that the four previous Kings of the empire considered changing its name just so that they might host one during their own reign. By the second centennial, all connections with wartime propaganda had been excised, and the true meaning became commerce. Covering the entire grounds between the township and Corneria Castle, the fair was a nineseven-day extravaganza of food, drink, shows, business, invention, and the highest of pomp. Each of the King's family visited, a practical impossibility away from the splendorous event. If nothing else, King Eliv, a popular but antisocial king, sure knew how to throw a party.
No veil had been cast over the many tents and buildings. No dark grief suppressing the gaiety. The abduction of the Princess, the severe economic downturn, the new meagerness of life did not matter now. Women and their husbands, young poets with their girlfriends, and the little children yanking panting dogs behind them, each of them basked in wonderment. Even those dogs were filled with an uncommon zeal, chasing each other playfully. The primary generation to experience the centennial was known as "God's generation". And, indeed, it seemed that the deity was smiling upon them.
At every corner were magnificent food stands, bringing delicacies from Elven and Dwarven lands. The arts and crafts were of the highest quality, some artisans preparing a single work for the whole of their lives in preparation for the fair. The contest started early that evening and went until the final day, considering thousands of submissions. The fair was famous for bringing new oddities to Corneria: household appliances, new foods, games for the children, games for the adults, a new life!
But the greatest wonderment of all was the shows. Jousting displays, wrestling, monster battles, cantrip displays. Perhaps the only problem was that it was too much to see. This first night was always the greatest. The townsfolk, rural Cornerians, and tourists all helped spread the terrific rumors. King Eliv was not a man that would not let them down. He would have a true spectacle on this first night.
At the far end of fairgrounds, right up at the castle, was a gigantic paddock, a cage larger than had ever been constructed, and just for this very night. The event was to take place there. People were already saving their seats.
********************
Gipson's booth was far, far away, all the way up to the castle, and this he loved. What better excuse to admire the attractions?
He had to work his smile just right in this instance, enough to seem warm but not recognizable. He didn't like to be swarmed when wearing his dress attire. Herrik Gipson's face didn't really show his age much, he'd kept it healthy with more exercise that five normal men. On top of that, his hair, brilliantly red and combed into various spikes, gave him that youthful energy that he felt. Each time he passed a mirror he had to admit it. He looked good. He looked happy. To confirm this he stopped by a booth with a chubby but humorously spoken man wagering to guess the weight, height, or age of any passerby. He was right most all the time, but in case he was wrong you got a plush doll shaped like a forest imp. Pretty good quality, too. With all that Gipson was wearing weight was out of the question, but Gipson didn't want to hear that anyway. He jubilantly dared the chubby man to guess his age.
"Forty-five!" exclaimed the booth attendant, his face red as if sunburned. Though the man was clearly well-practiced, Gipson, hawk-like towards observational detail, noticed the man's hopeful stare after the pronouncement. He was good, but afraid to make mistakes. Gipson chuckled lightly.
"Not even close, friend," he said, and then paid the man anyways. It wouldn't do to reveal his age. The chubby man was perplexed a moment but then he smiled back; it wouldn't do to ruin his reputation, either. Still, he was glad to see the failure go.
Gipson always wore his best armor and full arsenal in such situations, a definite part of the persona. Over the mythril armor, which was painted a brilliant red, the color of his hair, he carried one great sword, two long swords, three short swords, five daggers, seven different vials, a long bow and quiver, the arrows silver tipped, and oddly enough, a small book tied to a beaded chain around his potion belt. It didn't even weigh him down. He felt lifted by them, stronger by them. God did Herrik Gipson love weapons.
"Here it is folks, the sensation brought all the way from the Onrac Festival of the Waterfall. It tastes great, it's lighter than air, and the kids love it!"
Gipson, waving his entourage to the side, walked happily over to the booth, which was quite crowded. The man on the stand wore a striped suit, complete with peppermint hat and cane. His voice was clear and powerful.
"That's right, folks. I have met the creator of this wonderful treat myself, and he looked me right in the eyes and said, 'All I want is to make the children happy'. Now, have a taste of that, young one, and tell the crowd what you think!"
The man lifted for all to see a white paper stick covered with a pink feathery mesh, puffing into a bulb like cotton. The young boy, just happy to be picked out of the group, reached forward and tore a chunk away, the small piece looking even more feather-like. He placed it in his mouth and instantly began to hop.
"Wow!" said the little boy, careening towards explosion.
"That's all I would need to here, folks! Now, who else wants to get a part of the miracle?"
The crowd swelled into an uproar and shouted at the cheery entertainer, raising their gold bags high over their head. Gipson respected the showmanship. That money just kept on rolling in. And so with an honorary nod and wave of the hand that the showman never saw, Gipson walked on. As he walked away, he heard the man begin another pitch.
"How you folks doin'? Have you heard about Lucky Joe's Cotton Candy? Well, let me tell you about it. We make it…"
********************
Edrick Valance lifted his hand, stuffed his fingers into the groove of the other hand, and then repeated the process with different grooves. Simultaneously he tapped his two feet in a sloppy drum roll and clicked his teeth together, rhythmically separate from his feet. He kept his gaze at the mobile fingers, never looking up at those around him, not wanting to catch their eyes. Just study the floor and it'll be over soon. Why would they choose me for this?
He still wore the white robes lined with burgundy; it was a requirement for an apprentice to do so. He had long forgotten his meeting with Seville and Dr. Sylum only hours before, more pressing matters had presented themselves. That sinking feeling, the proverbial butterflies in his stomach, kept him uneasy. It wasn't long before he was rocking back and forth. Why, why, why? Fingers danced!
"All the preparations are made for tonight, of course?" said the powerfully jovial voice, not a statement but a question. Edrick silently whimpered before looking up to the glorious man.
"Uh, yes, sir." He said with a stutter. "Of course, sir. All is ready, sir."
The man let out a cruel laughter, strong enough to let his thin belly flop, and shook his head as he came down from it.
"You needn't be so nervous, Edrick. This man is a professional; the best! I promise you that you will not have a worry. Understood?"
"Uh, yes, sir." Crumbling, crumbling, crumbling…
"Speak louder! This could be a big night for you. Something to tell the minister. I wouldn't allow my eyes to focus on my hands during the event, if I were you," the man said, peering on keenly. Edrick pulled his hands apart so quickly that he almost lost his balance, and his right hand slapped hard into the wall. He thought to grasp it for a moment but then decided to pretend it didn't hurt. He'd completely forgotten he was doing that.
"Of course not, sir!" said Edrick, trying to deepen his young voice. Crumbling, crumbling…
"Good. And you realize the responsibility I am granting you?"
"Of course, sir."
"Good. Then don't forget that you are the most important. If something were to happen to the champion during the contest, if that were the story that got around, the King of Corneria, me, made into a global laughing stock," the man, seething with intensity, brought his face up next to Edrick's, "Well, then, I just don't know what I'd do. Understood?"
Edrick let escape him a foolish terror laugh, but he choked it short.
"Uh, yes, sir."
Crumbling…
********************
What was that color? Were his eyes playing tricks on him? No, with the lids shut so tight it must be his brain. The synapses had filled with liquid and had altered the ocular transmission, resulting in hue shifts. Not really that uncommon in the grand design of things. That's what Professor Sylum would say.
Ah, but what was that noise? Like cannons off in the distance, the report of a death machine. Could his ears be enacting a devious deception? Perhaps attempting to quicken his pulse and lead him to a startlingly grotesque battle, fueled by the slaughter of hundreds. The cannons of a frontal charge?
But what is all this now? The reds and blues and greens and the reports of the cannons. Why can he not escape it? How did he become bound to them? It feels important. It feels like destiny.
Listen there, the cannons have grown close. Another report and…
Seville awoke, a thick filmy veil upon his eyes so that all before him was dark gray. But as he rubbed his eyes he saw that gray distance adapt brighter hues with sudden intensity, only to fade just as quickly. As he struggled for vision he inventoried whatever he could, another of his practiced skills.
He recognized first that he was damp and cold, then ground beneath him being made of wide block stone. The only noise he could detect was his own foot scratching against the floor and the mild thumps from the distance. His vision finally cleared and he looked about. Before him the wall was indeed gray stone, smooth and finished. A cot rested to his side, a small metal pan lying at its end. The room was small, consisting of two identical walls, another wall with a small window in it, and a fourth side lined vertically with rod iron bars. He had little room to move around, so he pushed himself up on the cot and rested for the moment. Waking up was such tiring work.
It was his first time in prison, not bad for three years of active crime. And his charges would be light, no doubt. All of the stolen materials could be replaced rather easily, just a few errands to run on the matter, and perhaps just some community service. They were always looking to force the younger generations into farming, and idea that made Seville shudder just a tad.
A flash of red…….thump.
His armor and daggers had been removed, of course, along with that weird orb. Due to the lack of noise, he imagined he was occupying the dungeons alone, at least for the time being. Looking out the bars as best he could he saw no guards. That was strange.
A flash of green……thump.
It wasn't the best capacity but he still felt that soothing comfortableness come over him. The walls, like the force of the darkness from the catacombs, wrapped him into a blanket. Seville was sitting silently, admiring his situation without giving it thought. Just drifting with time's river. He shook his head hard suddenly. You're losing it, Seville!
A flash of blue…….thump.
"What is that?" Seville asked the walls. But when he stood to investigate the window he had to sit immediately, the spidery chills now crawling his body over. His arm hurt again, he could feel it growing. It would come again very soon.
I need to get out of here!
********************
The vocal applause of the crowd was a low boom, growing like a coming stampede. They quickly shot into a loud rally of cheers as the announcer stepped up onto the high stand and pointed his arms out to the crowd, pacing from side to side quickly and feeling the waves of sound. His dressed formally enough and moved with a certain confidence. The crowd was momentarily his, but he had his notions of humility. When he spoke his voice was forcefully pleasant and excited. The crowd tried its best to settle.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, the…" but then a loud ripple of combusting fireworks popped overhead and it drowned his voice away behind a shield of fanfare and color. Before continuing he shook his head with a smile and over exaggerated his laugh, all for the stage of course. Feeling the crowd, he lifted his arms, palms up, to each side and twisted. With a majestic thrust of each hand he regarded all that surrounded them. He brought his head back around slightly low, giving the impression of bowing, and the audience rose again, hollering proudly and stamping their feet. They were great, weren't they?
"Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls!" said the announcer, letting the resonant echoes of his voice ricochet through the crowd until they quieted. "The time has come!"
More energetic applause followed, but the announcer would not be delayed again. He had found the groove.
"The man you've been waiting to see!" The chatters of the audience were infectious, rising and falling like a bouncing ball. To the announcer's left and right were massive tables lined with stacks of books, each topped with another book facing out to the crowd, the leather covers shining brightly the reflections of the flares in the sky.
"The man who has traveled the entire world in his lifetime, searching for exotic species and mystical lands." The announcer quickly found stage left and made a broad arc with his finger atop a waving hand. "Knight of the Coast, Lieutenant First Class!"
The left side of the crowd screamed out, many of them jumping up and down, but the announcer couldn't let it stand for long. With long hurried, but precisely timed, steps he moved to the other side of the stage and made another arc with his finger, a mirror image.
"Editor and columnist of Dragon Magazine!" And that side of the crowd began to hoot loud whooping calls to the man up stage. The excitement was as palpable as a tornado. The announcer shifted smoothly and centered himself with a grin, forming dual arcs with his fingers. "Author of the award winning Dragon Compendium!" And the entire crowd was caught up in the whirlwind, but he would not give it to them yet. He made a brief concessionary pause, forgiven by his visible chuckle, and continued, wagging his finger to his side now, point by point.
"He's here now to promote his new book. The definitive guide on monster lore and classification. The Knights of the Coast Monsters Manual!" The crowd slapped their hands together and called out hurrahs but they were not here for the book. They were here for the man. Knowing they very well might lynch him soon, the announcer decided it was time. Alright, you all can have it!
"I give you…" one final stall, just for the effect, "Monster hunter extraordinaire! Herrik Gipson!"
The wall of voices pushed the announcer back, but he hadn't seen anything yet. He spun his arm to regard the stairs.
Behind the stage, Herrik Gipson put the finishing touches on his smile and perked up his vibrant hair. Looking to either side to his helpers he said, "Showtime!" and then walked up on the stage.
The crowd exploded!
********************
He wasn't a remarkable king; not famous for good woks of any kind, but people typically liked him, and the centennial would be very much to his favor. King Eliv didn't have the most regal of looks, with a sharp nose that pointed downwards and a flat forehead and weak chin. Whenever he thought too hard his forehead would wrinkle in several small folds, almost the look of a dunce. Add to that the fact that he needed glasses, had little meat on him, and had an overall insignificant stature, and King Eliv was little of a king to behold. And so he learned to carry himself as majestically as possible. The first rule of ruling is that it doesn't matter whether or not you know what you're doing; you just have to look like you do. His wife had died of consumption a few years past, so he couldn't count on a beautiful mistress to heighten his appeal. It was all him, baby!
He was standing at his throne, a temporary model that had been placed at the front of the castle where the holding cage for the event was built. He'd found that being a king gave him little time to feel secure about anything, and since the disappearance of his daughter, a mind-boggling stupor had plagued him. It was only now that he could look upon something proudly. This festival, the entire order of which had been seen to personally, was so far an uproarious success. Something that could only go wrong in one way.
He surveyed the holding cage. It was fifty feet on each side, forming a square with one side against the castle wall, which there was lined an incredible door that would be pulled open by over forty men. And behind that door was the event. As if he had known it would happen, he stared deeply into the door, looking beyond it, and suddenly came a strong, foundation-upsetting thump against it from within. King Eliv felt it right to stifle his laugh at the poor man beside him for jumping at the sound.
"Come now, Edrick." Said the king. It would be time to head out soon and initiate the event. He wanted to start as soon as possible but knew that waiting would be the more effective. Some people had already established their seats in the grass field, but he had to wait for more. And so he stood there, waiting for the right time, gazing out over the grounds, admiring the greatness. He spoke but did not turn to Edrick, or even seem to care whether the nervous priest heard at all.
"They will remember me for this!" he said, an odd mixture of hope and obligation. "I will not be forgotten!"
And the king stood solemnly.
********************
"Hello?" called Seville from within his lonely cell, but the only returning sounds were echoes. When his mind had the chance he finally remembered that it was the night of the centennial, so figured the guards would be light, but they wouldn't leave him unguarded. Would they?
But security didn't matter. Seville was very sick. An unnatural sweat already forming over his body once more, he'd had to lie down and cuddle his arm firmly against him. It had started low as before but accelerated much more quickly this time. Already his arm throbbed at each of the fast beats of his heart, sending sore shockwaves through him. With his eyes closed, he could even see his pain, the pulses of the sickness leaving vein-shaped scars on his eyes lids. He tried the best alertness exercises he knew, but to no avail. Absorbing damp air through his nostrils and then putting it back out past his teeth, he still could not calm his building anxiety. Tears of pain began slowly.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Dunnings" he said.
If help did not come he would be dead, very soon.
********************
The commotion took over five minutes to settle, but eventually Gipson could get control of the crowd, warding them down with the raise of his two big hands. The whole occasion had been lit by glowing orbs placed atop hundreds of tall poles, and his hair shone brightly in that lighting. Through his red armor and hair it looked like a massive flame pacing upon the stage bravely.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," he said with a precise voice, "I give you the Monsters Manual. Over three hundred and fifty monsters, each of them I've defeated personally, and here provide you with vivid descriptions, along with habitat information and useful combat techniques should you come across them. No traveler should be without this invaluable source of monster information." And Gipson lifted the small book chained to his belt up high for all to see. "I never go anywhere without it!"
"How much?!?!" yelled out a man closer to the back, jumping up and down to get the best view possible. The crowd gave an excited laugh to this and started to reach for the gold pouches. Should it really be this easy? Gipson lowered his smile a tad to qualify the situation but then put it back on full, a cautionary wave of his finger.
"We're selling them at a special price here at the fair, only thirty gold pieces for the entire manual, with limited edition leather bound cover. Plus, just because I've looked forward to this night so long, I have signed each one personally, and will add personal messages if you return to the booth tomorrow."
So the book only cost about two gold pieces to produce, but the audience still seemed to like the price. They pressed hard against each other, trying their sternest to filter in towards the stage.
"But first, Ladies and Gentlemen, would no one like to hear a passage from the manual? Come now, shout a monster out to me, I assure you it's here."
"Forest Imp!" came a loud heckler's voice from the back, met with surging guffaws. Gipson took an effective double take and then, not about to be bested, picked up the book nearest him and turned to the page.
"Forest Imp. A small goblinoid creature found in the forests and plains near the land of Corneria, distinguished by their communal structure, tattered clothing, and ambush like attack patterns. Though they consider themselves ferocious opponents, a forest imp is rarely a concern for the common adventurer. They attack with one to two knives and occasionally a short sword, but are never skilled with these weapons. There parties will typically desist after few shortcomings." And then Gipson turned the book face out with a finger upon the page. "And you will see here that the Forest Imp, along with every other monster in this manual, has a color illustration, sometimes done by yours truly."
Another rumble of impressed murmurs.
"Have you included the were-dragon?" asked a brave voice from the crowd, and this question seemed to have an immediate stifling effect on the crowd, which then leaned its ear in intently.
"Indeed, I have slain the were-dragon. They are a monstrous beast!"
"But, how could you defeat it? The creature is invincible," called the same man, now making his location known. Gipson let the question get across the crowd and then chuckled.
"Nay, friend, the were-dragon is not invincible, though to an unprepared adventurer it may seem that way." And then Gipson skillfully unsheathed one of his short swords and brandished it for all to see, its polished surface luminous in the night's light.
"Silver?" asked another member of the crowd. The crowd had quieted down significantly, each of them direly curious to hear of the fabled were-dragon.
"A keen eye, sir. Indeed, silver was in the mix. But many travelers have discovered that a silver weapon is not enough to slay such a creature. It regenerates with too startling a speed. No, this is five times more powerful than silver." And then the crowd fell dead silent, nervous glances every which way. Those with any knowledge burdened their minds, but still could not find a response. And then an old man somewhere in the middle spoke up, his voice soft with the utmost reverence.
"Werebane…" he said. And the crowd exploded again. Around Corneria, magical arms and armor were best left to fairy tales, as nobody had ever seen the real thing. This was wonderful! And Gipson did not need to speak again, but rather let the man enjoy his small celebrity. He gave another wave of the weapon and then sheathed it. And then the selling began. Questions floated to Gipson and he always answered them in perfect form. His knowledge of monsters truly was unrivaled. Yes, this had to be Gipson's favorite part.
After a little time there was a loud blast on trumpets, quickly followed by, "Make way for the King! Hail his majesty!" and much to the simple townsfolks surprise, King Eliv was riding right into the fair, up to Gipson's very booth. He reined his horse and shot his head up with royal fervor, trying to keep his chest broad and spoke down to Gipson.
"Master Gipson. I cannot express the pleasure of having a man of your incredible stature at our festival. You honor us with you presence."
"Nay, you majesty, I am merely humbled to be given so good a land as I received. I must thank you," said Gipson sincerely. He had to deal with this type all the time.
"Of course! Now, Master Gipson, I have arranged a special event to celebrate the first night of this incredible centennial. A monster battle needing of the highest skill. Would you mind a demonstration of your renowned technique for this first night of the centennial?" And the king stared in at him pleasantly, but aggressively. This was not a time to trifle. Not that Gipson would.
"Why, I would be honored, your majesty!" and then he turned to the crowd, "Couldn't hurt my sales!"
The crowd bust out in joyous laughter again as Gipson, fully armed, mounted a horse the king had brought and rode off towards the paddock.
********************
Darrin Sylum did not share the festive behavior of everyone else, even though he had been looking forward to this night for years. Standing at the far end of the seating grounds where the event would occur, his head was turned down, deeply in thought.
These three orbs had come together so quickly and were identical but for a small grooved pattern. There was an obvious answer in his mind but he made himself set it to the side. That was old lore and nothing more than that. His scholarly life had produced more abstract answers as well, but those felt insignificant in comparison. This was so much more powerful than coincidence would allow. All he needed was a starting line, a wave of the flag, and then his mind would take off. But something resisted him. But what?
The coming of the crown and ruby warrior had been met with standing ovation by the gargantuan audience, the excited conversation oozing over them, and now the warrior had made his way into the paddock, swinging his greatsword in mighty arcs for the crowd. Introductions for the grand knight, along with a brief introduction for the medical staff, a short blonde man in white robes that clearly butchered all his cues before sitting at the far end of the paddock, were made, and then all was ready for battle. However, before the king would allow the battle to begin, he gleefully announced that a reward was in order for the brave combatant should he survive the night. An ancient family treasure the king called it, a Cornerian symbol of prosperity, and then he lifted it high. In the king's small hand was a crystal orb about the size of a child's palm
"Huh!" said Sylum, a startled laugh. And then as smoothly as could be he started moving. The flag had been dropped.
********************
Displays of combat were Herrik Gipson's second favorite part of the job. For him they were the qualifier. He knew that a lot of what he did was for show. In order to make the sales you have to find the right persona. But these displays were proof that behind the act was the skill. He truly practiced what he preached.
There came a harsh, aggravated strike at the huge stone door before him, and this excited him, made his adrenaline start to fill his arteries. He never feared combat; it was sloppy to do so. Especially in the instance of having an audience, each of his movements would have to be calculated and precise, always giving off a demeanor of control, no matter the villain. And by the sounds, this was a good one.
Twenty men on either side of the door, up on the castle bridgeways, began to pull on thick ropes centered on the door. It slowly pried apart and then picked up steam and split open swiftly. Gipson widened the gap of his feet and set them at a sturdy angle, squeezing the handle of his sword tightly. He barely breathed as he watched his opponent step out into the ring, the creature the size of two houses.
It was a dragon with a sharp noble snout ridged with spikes and beauteous wings that hugged in against it. Its armor-like scales were frosty white, lined all the way down to his incredible tail, also ridged with rows of spikes. It stood high on its four incredible legs, perhaps itself a showman, and displayed the immense size. And then let an earth-shattering roar that set the crowd into a shocked quiet.
Frost dragon, easy, thought Gipson, and then he said, "Rock and Roll!" and the fight was on.
********************
Smack!
Seville instantly awoke from his trance and placed his good hand upon his face, coughing in the suddenness. But this action immediately lost all meaning. The pain of his arm set in with staggering quickness.
"Here, drink this," said a voice and Seville obeyed without thought, how could he think of anything with this kind of hurt? If nothing else the tart liquid was refreshing against his parched throat and when all the liquid was gone he slumped sadly. For a moment there was no effect but a swirling coldness in his stomach, and then the tragedy in his arm began to fade, eventually to nothing. The pain disappeared so completely it was hard to believe.
"It is working?" said the imperative voice.
"Yes, the pain has….Professor Sylum!" said Seville with sudden energy. "How did you…"
"Not a lot of guards on centennial night. They're all out there." And Dr. Sylum pointed to the window, out of which you could hear shouts and a roaring monster.
"Yeah, but, but why would you…"
"Consider it an apology. You got caught for doing something I asked you to do. The least I can do is help out."
"But now they'll just throw us both back in the dungeons when we're caught." Seville was utterly baffled that this man he so looked up to had come to save him.
"I don't think so," said the doctor, clearly with much behind it.
"What do you…"
"Look, Seville, we don't have time for this now. This is a weaker form of morphine you should be able to walk just fine, now hurry up. We've got to get out of here."
And as simply as that, though drowning in mystery and confusion, Seville broke out of the Cornerian dungeon.
********************
After attempting two swift slashes with its spiked tail, which Gipson gracefully dodged, the dragon desisted and began to circle the paddock, searching for that right moment. Herrik Gipson, fully confident, chose the interlude to preach out to the crowd, all that could hear.
"The Frost Dragon can be quite the foe, and I pity any traveler who comes across one unprepared. In order to defeat it, you must know the weakness."
The dragon took all of this as Gipson's weakness and he suddenly vaulted forward, a full dash. Gipson turned instantly at the noise and evaluated the movement, ducked his head just right, and strafed to safety as the dragon bit down. Gipson ran along the edge of the cage to align himself opposite the beast and then readied himself for another strike, but the dragon returned to patient pacing.
"Of course, the Frost Dragon is sorely weak against fire, along with several other cold weather monsters, which is why it is vital for any adventurer moving through cold habitats to have some of these," and Gipson lifted from his belt an orange long neck potion bottle filled with a clear liquid that seemed to light up into short flames as he shook it.
"A simple fire potion will devastate your average Frost class monster and is the perfect intro into the offensive against the more powerful ones. As you will now see."
Gipson moved in closer to the dragon, which parried around the cage as a response. But eventually the warrior drew close enough, and with his mighty arm he chucked the potion forward. It sailed brilliantly, an orange beacon coursing the sky, and collided with the back of the dragon, flailing liquid flames over the hide of the beast. Gipson flexed his strong thighs and began a frontal charge but he pulled it short and shifted sideways just as quickly. The fire upon the monster's back hardened into small fragments of orange ice and then fell to the earth, the dragon seemingly unaffected. But it was definitely offended. Gipson knew what was coming and he took large steps backwards, bracing for the blast.
The dragon reared its head and then aimed, and along with its roar came both a strong jet of ice and one of fire. Gipson jerked his waist and scrunched in between the two currents, one side of him chilling and the other singeing. The crowd marveled it, frightened to the core.
A half-breed, thought Gipson, this is trouble!
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"We're lost aren't we?" asked Seville as him and Sylum rounded a corner and faced yet another long passageway made of stone bricks and lined with ornamental suits of armor and high-hung torches. Sylum stuttered a moment, but it was no use lying to Seville. A flag would go up every time.
"Yes. It would seem so."
"Well, that's fantastic."
"Hey, don't criticize the man who's both getting you out of jail and keeping you in medicine. Here, let's go this way."
"We've been that way."
"No, we haven't, now come on!"
They had been sprinting to begin with but now could barely jog, Sylum slowing down much faster than Seville. They had clearly taken a wrong turn somewhere, and were discovering with every hallway that the castle dungeons were quite a vast. This new hallway gave several more paths to choose from, and always Sylum moved into one confidently without a moments thought.
"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" asked Seville as they chose the left route of a T-junction.
"Do you think I know what I'm doing?" Sylum asked back ironically with a humorous glance at Seville.
"Call it wishful thinking."
"Well, hate to let you down, Seville." And then Seville proceeded to run at his mouth about the uselessness of this entire effort. How could a political scholar not find his way out of a prison?
"Hey, now, you're the rogue among us, Seville!" but Seville didn't have this and continued on with every breath. Deciding to allow it, Sylum had been listening to the sounds of distant voices that came occasionally in strong pulses. All his turns were headed towards them. Where there are voices, there are people, and the people are outside. And now they were growing rapidly, just a little bit down the hall maybe. And then he saw an open door down the side of one passageway and they ran towards it, but by now Seville was so emphatic with his ranting that he was paying minimal attention. Just as they were upon the door they heard tumultuous cheers and clapping, followed by a terrible roar. Sylum and Seville rounded the corner, Seville still going at it.
"Seville!"
"Sixthly, it should hardly be regarded as…"
"Seville!" and then another loud roar.
"High expectations that a public teacher posses certain…"
"Seville!!!"
"What?" and Seville heard the four thick clomps of a creature's feet colliding into the soft earth very near by. He looked up:
"Oh…" and the dragon smiled at him, "Shit!"
********************
"Fools! Get out of there!" yelled Herrik Gipson, rushing in to the dragon and trying to attract its attention. The dragon had acted quickly and thrust itself before the doorway so that the newcomers could not retreat. It made a few hasty snaps at them before they ran off to the opposite side of the fence, yelling at each other the entire way. The dragon reared up and prepared to chase but Gipson intercepted and swung his long sword at its legs. It growled angrily.
Gipson unsheathed a short sword to use in his off-hand and made for another advance but the dragon jumped with its back legs and then caught itself in the air with mighty flaps of the wings. With what space it had it flew in circles over the top of the cage, still eyeing the two new morsels that reeked of fear.
"Watch out for it!" called Gipson, knowing what was coming and he charged off towards the two men. But the dragon was swifter and it dived in at them, filled its lungs, and sent the two jets to tear up the ground. Seville quickly somersaulted off towards the center but Sylum was sliced across his left side with shattering slivers of ice and sent hurtling into the fence.
"Professor!" screamed Seville and made to return to him but then a hand grasped his shoulder firmly and it pushed him back.
"Are you crazy, boy?" said Gipson as he rushed past, now holding his long bow and firing at the dragon. His quiver was running low. Seville rose to his feet and charged after this red-armored man with a single movement, and then overtook him with his speed and grabbed Dr. Sylum by his arm. The dragon, seizing the moment, trotted in and made to bite them through but then yanked back as an arrow stabbed into its broad tongue. Gipson was upon the beast again and he pulled another of his long swords, this one glowing with a green haze about it, and he moved in and slashed at the underbelly. The dragon cried and lifted up from the ground once more, soon to prepare another breath.
"That was some quick work, boy, but the both of you need to get out of here. Are you alright?" he asked the doctor. Sylum adjusted his glasses which had miraculously stayed on and said that he would be fine. Now all three of them were at their feet and they turned to find the dragon, still flying about. The whooshes of air from each flap could almost knock from your feet.
"Disperse," commanded Gipson.
"What?"
"He won't land until we do, now move it, try to get to the other side. He'll use his breath weapon first so be ready for it." And Gipson galloped away from the two men, who could not move at first. The dragon chose that bait and dove in at him, readying its breath. It landed just before the armored man and shot the weapon but Gipson had briskly ran under the monster again and made quick slashes at the thick scales. The dragon hopped sideways and swung his tail into the man, who went coursing through the air for twenty feet and collapsed near a far wall. The strike had also knocked the sword from his hand, and once standing he unsheathed his last remaining short sword. The dragon was already pounding its feet towards the other two men, who had split up and were trailing opposite directions along the fence.
The dragon came upon Seville who rolled forward and jumped over a low slash of the tail. The grand creature headed Seville off, and so he ducked under one of its stomping feet and ran out from under it, but the creature took little time to realize this and it turned and bounded upon the running man again. Seville could barely push his legs over the powerful thumping of the blood running through them, but he did enough, and soon the dragon was struck hard on the head by a potion, which quickly became wreathed in blue flame that then turned to ice. The dragon roared, but the roar was weaker. Some of Gipson's strikes to its underside had penetrated and the blood loss was becoming great.
It slapped its tail into the earth and Seville lost his footing under the tremble and toppled to the dirt. Before he could push himself up the dragon was upon him and it kicked its front paw into the ground in an inescapable pin. Sylum had already been running towards the monster, brandishing his own short sword, but the dragon jetted a breath at him and Sylum was again sent back. The dragon tried another roar out to the cage and then faced down at the man in its paw, its toothy maw wrenched apart.
Gipson knew he couldn't make it. The dragon had his victim halfway across the paddock, and there was no time remaining. And so Gipson began his charge and held the short sword back behind him. But then he pulled the blade forward quickly and released it, pitched it into the air. The light from the glowing orbs caught the magnificent blade as it shuttled across the cage, making the silver glimmer like bright stars. Gipson shouted as loud as he could, and for the briefest moment the dragon looked up at him, and that was when the flying sword struck, a perfect penetration to the throat.
The shock made the dragon heap upwards and then fly confusedly for only seconds before it fell to the earth, letting out pitiful gasps. In a fury it aimed at Gipson but when it tried to breathe only the jet of ice came out and it ended shortly. The dragon milled its hands into the soft dirt, like a cat pawing at a scratching board, and tried its best to move forward, but tripped again. The creature let loose a couple horrible groans and then all was silent. The dragon half-breed, slain at last.
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And the grounds were stunned. The hundreds of people stayed in their positions at an absolute loss for expression. It had all been so dramatic that they now surged with cathartic heat, a single vibe that connected each person to every other. Over a thousand statues dotted the fair grounds, their cold eyes bulging out of wide lids, around them a silence that pervaded the mind. And then a single chipper snap of two palms against one another rang out, vibrating from statue to statue. The echoes settled, wafted down and absorbed into the soil. But then the snap came again, so loud that it shook the stony foundations of the others. So then another crisp beat of skin followed more quickly, and then more and more. And by now several hands working against each other, developing into a veritable drum roll. And then the hollers began, confident from the first and building. Soon each man and woman was sending overwhelming ovation up from the ground and into the wondrous sky. And still they were one. One consciousness, washing wave after wave of happiness forward to the paddock, smiling bright as the sun.
********************
Feeling the windstorm of voices upon his back, Edrick Valance ran into the paddock and over to Sylum, who was now kneeling down weakly.
"Just a moment, Doctor Sylum, lie down and I will cure you."
"God help me!" said Sylum, but he still obediently lay down on his back. Edrick performed the cure spell successfully this time and the doctor got to his feet, a thankful look of amazement on his face.
Seville was happy to see him well and they stood together for the moment, coming down from the rush of the battle. Gipson was combing the arena and picking up the bulk of his lost weapons, wiping them free of blood, and sheathing them. Afterwards he joined Sylum and Seville, along with Edrick, in the center of the arena. They couldn't really hear each other over the screeching sound of the applause but perhaps words weren't necessary. They stood and admired the fallen dragon. Also because of the noise Sylum did not hear the coming of armed guards, and didn't notice them until they had grabbed him arm to arm and pulled him taught. They fell upon Sylum as well.
"Wait a minute, you can't…" said Sylum, but it was futile for the moment. The crowd settled quickly when the king stood and cast an arm out. He motioned for the guards to pull Sylum and Seville back, to be dealt with later, as he would first reward the victor of his contest. This was not the time to ruin the incredible moment. Once the crowd found silence he spoke out, a sincere attempt at booming:
"Bravo, Master Gipson! What a wonderful display of courage under unique circumstances. You truly have proven your mastery. Take now, your reward." And the king walked to Gipson and personally delivered the orb, a nod of approval. Gipson, still regaining his stately composure, bowed and gave his thanks. But he was concerned about these two men from within the castle. The king walked over to them and spoke.
"Doctor Sylum? An unexpected meeting this is. And who is this here?" but one of the guards broke in.
"He's a prisoner, your majesty. He must have escaped from the dungeons. He will be returned immediately and the guard at fault will be seen to."
The king, currently willing to look past the interruption and the terrible service of his guard for sake of the situation said simply, "So be it then, leave the Doctor."
The guards released Sylum, who brushed off his red robes quickly and then turned to Seville, watching the young man's head droop low. He figured something like this would happen, it was now or never.
"Wait! Your majesty, you cannot imprison this man!" he said loudly but with a fear in his voice. Where should it go from here?
The guards halted for a moment to hear the king's response, which came with a jovial laugh. The night obviously had put him in a very good mood.
"And why is that, doctor? Is my sparing you not enough good will on this night?" He asked with regal affirmation, and it made Sylum look small. The doctor glanced nervously about, a hand twitching in his cloak pocket.
"Because…" he said but his tongue was tied. The crowd was silently watching the scene.
The king smiled and motioned for the guards to continue. Seville gave Doctor Sylum a glance, one of longing appreciation, and then dropped his head once more. Voices began to travel from person to person in the crowd, everyone had finally placed their feet upon the ground and it was over. What a night! But Sylum reached inside and forced out the courage, and he called out as the guards neared the castle door.
"Your majesty, you cannot imprison this man because … because he is a light warrior!" he said firmly, trying hard to keep his face stern
"I'm a what?!?!" cried Seville flatly. No one knew quite what to do with this.
"A what?" asked the king, now slightly annoyed.
"A light warrior, sir! A mystical hero from the old legend. He is bound by destiny to do good, and so he must not be imprisoned." The king stared at him for a moment, and then decided to bite.
"There are four light warriors, Sylum, and when they come they will carry the magical orbs. This is a criminal that will be dealt with as usual. Where is his orb, and where are his companions if he is a light warrior?"
"They are here, your majesty. They've come together just as the legend predicted." And here Sylum pulled from his pocket three crystal orbs and showed them high to the king. "The light warriors of destiny are here." And then Sylum tossed one of the orbs to Seville and one to Edrick, who fumbled and had to chase it across the ground.
"This man, named Seville, is the keeper of this magical orb, just as I have owned this one for many days. The apprentice clergyman, Edrick Valance, also is the keeper of an orb. I had brought the three together to study them and only now know what they are. And Master Gipson, you are the fourth of the light warriors, as you have now been gifted the final orb. We are the light warriors, your majesty, we just didn't know it until now."
The king stared blankly at the doctor, who had begun to blush in the silence. So much was riding on this. And yet, the king for some reason wanted to believe it. Perhaps it was just the night's infectious euphoria.
"What proof do you have?" asked the king.
"No proof yet, majesty, but we will get the proof together."
"And how is that?"
And Sylum stared just as intently back at the king, hoping not to deliver this badly. Since he had stepped into the cathedral what felt like years ago though it only be hours, Sylum had felt this coming. Felt this incredible sense of power over himself, lifted on the wings of greatness.
"I … We, shall rescue your daughter!"
The king flushed, and all was spoken.