He sat back on his old, rickety rocking chair, ancient bones creaking. He could remedy that at any time he wished, but he liked this body just the way it was.
The sound of a door opening reached his ears. He turned and looked to the door. She was here.
"About time you visited."
She pulled up a stool and sat down next to him in his old cabin. "You haven't changed the place a bit since we last met."
"And you haven't aged a year. Now tell me why you are here?"
The Woman exhaled. "You felt it, didn't you?"
"Who among our number didn't?"
"Áqirni certainly has. He's been busy these past few years."
"I know."
A purring reached his ears. He glanced to one side and saw a large, shaggy black cat. He smiled at it and its eyes seemed to twinkle back.
The Woman asked, "What are we going to do? I have only heard from three of the nine of us, excluding you. And of them two, the Twins, have sided with the evil in the North. Moarn remains neutral."
"You mean undecided?"
She did not answer. Neutral was the best that they could hope from Moarn.
He pulled on his long, white beard. The Twins never were ones to follow rules anyway, but this still was grave news. "No word from the others?"
"None at all. I cannot even find them, and I fear that they have all fallen, not in body but in purity of soul."
Their situation was dire. "So there is no hope?"
"There may be," the Woman began. He sighed, he had heard this argument many times, as she continued, "The Riders, they can help us."
"The Riders will not be enough. You remember how he had brought this shattered world together? You and I both felt the ground shake as mountains were razed and valleys filled. How could a few thousand men and dragon face might such as that?"
"Then we strike now, while he is still recovering from his imprisonment!" The Woman exclaimed, slamming her fist into her palm.
The old man shook his head sadly. "You are farsighted, more so than the rest of us were. Tell me what you see?"
She sighed. "There are many futures that could be."
"Tell me the most likely."
Silence.
"Tell me."
"He… will take all for himself."
Frelsa had strange dreams.
In the one she was currently embroiled in, she ran down a long, winding corridor while someone chased her. That someone was, strangely, a hooded man in blue and white robes, laughing hysterically and spouting random facts about the care of dragon scales. They ran down the corridor and he called at her, "Monthly sand rubs make the scales nice and shiny! Nice and shiny!"
She woke up, bathed in sweat, just as the crazy man's hands closed on her, grasping frantically for Delswoir's hilt. But there was only air. The ground was too hard beneath her. Frelsa looked around and realised she was in a stone room. Wait, not room, prison cell. Thick, black stone surrounded her on three sides and the fourth was a wall of metal bars, most of them rusted. Outside the cell bars was a single wooden chair and a table. A candle on the table was the only light, no sunlight or moonlight reached them, the cell was devoid of any windows.
She tried to rise to her feet but her legs gave way beneath her and she fell hard to the ground beneath her.
"Hurts to stand up, don't it?"
Frelsa turned back to the source of the voice. A man sat at the back of the cell against the wall, a fairly large man with neat brown hair and clothes that had once been fine. She recognised him as Lod and saw Shepherd next to him, snoring away.
"How?"
"It's the Sentinels, they touch you once then your world goes dark. You wake up completely unable to walk or even stand. Just a precaution to make sure you don't escape."
"I mean, how are you still alive? How am I and my friend still alive?"
He gave a chuckle. "That's the thing about these people. They're crazy. They think one of their 'Gods' sent them an omen through you two."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Because you two interrupted my hanging, thanks for that by the way, they took it to mean that their Gods were against my death. So they're keeping us down here until they've come to a verdict on our fates."
Frelsa tried to crawl forward to check if Shepherd was alright, but her legs still refused to obey her. She settled back into her lying position.
"Don't try, girl. I've been thrown in here enough times to learn that the hard way."
She looked out the cell. Past the wooden table was a stairwell that led up and out of this prison. She pointed at the cell door's lock, grasping her magic kite within her mind, and murmured, "Mor'armr."
The lock did not budge, it did not open as it should have. She frowned and tried again. Still nothing.
"No magic, girl?" Lod asked. "Expected of them. Don't want you 'Magic Scum' escaping then running amok through Feinster."
She sat back dejectedly on the bare stone floor.
"Don't worry, girl. If you're lucky, then you'll live here for the rest of your life."
The thought slightly soured her mood. She snapped at the man, "It's Frelsa, not girl."
Then she realised that she had told him her real name. She cursed herself for not using a pseudonym, but Lod only narrowed his eyes. "And my name's King Blynen, now how about your real name, Rider?"
Her heart slowed down slightly. "Why would I tell you?"
"Okay, I'll go first." He cleared his throat and straightened up slightly, "My name's Lod, son of Keol, son of Jeod."
Lod glanced at her. He did not seem to be lying. She replied, "My name is Frelsa, daughter of none."
"You want to play it like that?" He asked. She was about to protest that she was being truthful when he said, "Never mind, didn't really think a Rider would give up her name that easily anyway."
Frelsa returned her attention back to the cell lock, trying to open it again and again. The complete absence of magic within her was unsettling, the mental kite feeling desolate without magic to conduct to her. She heard a sharp cry about curried pug from behind and turned to see Shepherd wide awake.
"Whu…What happened? I had my sword out then that thing touched me then… you!" He exclaimed, pointing at Lod. "You're supposed to be hanged!"
He explained what he had said to Frelsa, adding that Shepherd should not try to get up and walk around. He tried anyway, landing on his rump every time rather humorously.
Shepherd jerked his head towards the door. "Frelsa, open that up or knock it down will you?"
"Can't, no magic."
He frowned and concentrated for a while, saying something under his breathe, before he gave up and resigned to the truth.
As Lod seemed to know quite a lot about their captors, Frelsa asked him, "So what's up with this town and magic?"
"Yeah, and those what's-their-names, Sentinels, is it?"
Lod nodded. "You seek the reason behind these peoples animosity for magic? I'll tell you. 70 years or so back, during the war between the Varden and the Old Empire, the rebels laid siege against this city. And leading the charge was the only Rider and dragon besides the old king."
She winced and tried to shut out the memories of her masters.
"So the siege is mostly one sided, the Varden push through the streets, they get to the Keep and go in to get Lady Lorana, lady of Feinster at the time, but then word is that the spell casters up in the keep are performing one last spell in an effort to save their city from the Varden." He leaned forward slightly. "They made a Shade."
Frelsa paled at the name. Shades were among the greatest and deadliest threats she had been taught of. Slaying them was a feet not many undertook, and even fewer could boast of doing it.
"The Shade was dealt with in time. Now we continue our story in Belatona. During the siege of the Varden. The siege goes well for them, until an unexpected complication. The castle doors open and a man rides out on a horse, wielding a green lance. No one knows why, but this lance was deadly to dragons. He managed to wound the dragon on the Varden's side before his throat was torn out by one of the elves."
"Now one of the spell casters that made the Shade in Feinster was the mother of a child, Vagurn. And it just so happened that his father, was in the defence of Belatona, a particular rider who rode out with a green lance. Now Vagurn was a spiteful being, and many don't blame him. His mother and father were killed and he was orphaned by war, and life as an orphan gave this man the tenacity to rise in importance throughout our hierarchy here in Feinster, he eventually became Lord. He had a son, before his wife ran away with a magician and his father was assassinated. By magic."
Lod paused to let those words sink in. "So Vagurn's son is orphaned just as his father was, he grows twice as spiteful but instead directs his anger at one thing. Magic. He reasoned that it was because of magic that his grandmother lost her life. His grandfather would have done his job and the war might've gone in a different direction if not for the elves and their magic. His mother was seduced by a life on the arm of a magician, and his father was slayed through it. He gets to the rank of Lord quickly, all opposition mysteriously falling dead from food poisoning. He declares independence of Feinster and bans all magic and magi, promising that their kind will be eradicated from this world in time and their city will be a 'Gleaming Sun, towards which all humankind shall endeavour to reflect'."
Frelsa was beginning to understand this man's plight, and even sympathise slightly. His entire lineage had been decimated by magic, she felt he rightly had a hatred for it.
Lod picked up a loose rock and started fiddling with it. "Things were starting to look bright, that's why I moved here. But after a month, problems began to appear. The gangs were back in power, thieves were rampant. Even the rubble in the streets, I'm sure you've seen it, hasn't been cleared up. The piles of ruin have been there since the Siege 70 years past. Independence was not looking so good for the people of Feinster. But then the lockdown started, all gates were closed. No civilians were allowed to go out of the city. All boats restricted to port, even the Dragon Wing I got from my father. Sentinels started showing up, strange hooded men walking up and down the streets with their strange staffs, accompanied by soldiers. The Sentinels would weed out the magic users, even those who did not know they were, and the soldiers would 'escort' them back here to the Keep. They're never heard from again. But even after that, the people in here became convinced that our Lord is the saviour of our kind from the 'plague that is magic.'"
She did not like the sound of that.
"Our lord became more reclusive, rarely going out. He took the name 'Neoettr'. The lockdown was lifted, but the Sentinels never left, the hooded things' presence subvertig the people and anyone who stayed too long in the city. I keep indoors most of the time and thankfully don't suffer much from it, as did a few others. They are the lucky ones. Would have left by now if they did not pay me more here than anywhere else for the services of my ship. That's one of the reasons this city hasn't fallen to the gangs yet, the money never seems to stop flowing."
Mournful howling reached Frelsa's ears, and by the way it echoed she realised it was coming from nearby, a nearby cell at least. "Are those… wolves?"
"They'd want you to think they are," Lod replied with a smile.
She sat against the rusty bars and listened to the howling for a few minutes. Soon, it ended, followed by a few whiny whimpers which were undoubtedly from a wolf, before it ended altogether, followed by voices.
"Forget it, pack-brother. They're not going to fall for that trick again. Not after what happened to that short fellow of theirs."
"You just had to bite him didn't you?"
"I was so hungry!"
"Well now, because of that stomach of yours, we're going to die here. Great going, hot head."
"Call me that one more time, you mangy mutt."
"Fine…hot head."
A series of grunts and scuffling ensued, which soon turned to canine snarls and snapping jaws. A voice, probably from another prisoner, shouted, "Shut up, magic demons! Some of us normal humans are trying to enjoy our last few hours."
The two arguing beings snarled, before the area fell into silence again.
Drukjl sat on the rock glumly, sliding a whetstone down the edge of his copper axe. The stone did not really do anything to the brightsteel edge whatsoever, but the action was familiar to him, comforting even. It reminded him of a simpler time before he joined the Riders.
He raised the copper coloured axe, Zhâda, literally 'Doom' in his language, and inspected the edge. Razor sharp as ever. He had to admit, though he missed the old life in the clan, this life was much better. Back in the clan, he was known only as the Son of the Chief, great things were expected from him the moment he was born, and when the Old Blood of the Kull was found to run in his veins, even greater expectations rose. He needed to be the strongest, the fastest, the greatest, the best. When the strange Elf came with the dragon eggs to let the children be chosen by one, Dýrgrir immediately hatched as he lay his hand on it. The little brown dragon had delivered him from a life of expectation and great responsibilities, and he had to admit that he was grateful for it.
Dýrgrir sniffed the air, entertained for a moment by a strange smell, before Kalla spoke, Something's gone wrong.
"What has happened?" He asked.
The green dragon narrowed her emerald eyes in concentration. I was talking to Frelsa just a moment ago, then she just vanished.
Vanished? Errol asked. He had seemed rather uncomfortable for a while after returning from his hunt, seemingly unsuccessful.
She just disappeared.
"Do not worry, Green-Scales, to speak with another over that great a distance is something not meant for us to have mastered yet."
There are bound to be complications if you do so, Dýrgrir finished.
I suppose, Kalla said uncertainly, staring off in the direction of the human city. He was glad that she seemed to be feeling another emotion now besides sorrow, even if it was worry for her Rider.
Drukjl picked up a dry branch and chopped straight through it with Zhâda, halving the wood. Then he quartered it, then made an eighth of it. He had planned to continue and amuse himself as such, before Dýrgrir reached out a claw and pulverized all the pieces of wood. The Urgal looked up at the brown dragon above him, who seemed to radiate amusement. I thought you were trying to make the wood into as small pieces as possible?
Dýrgrir and he always conversed in his native language when they spoke in their minds. It was the first language either of them learnt. Drukjl replied, I was trying to test my skill and precision with Zhâda, but unfortunately a certain dragon has ruined my challenge.
His dragon made that sound in his throat whenever he laughed.
Even after several hours, when the Sun began to dip, Kalla was still uncomfortable, kneading the dirt between her claws and she kept on turning back towards Feinster. She was obviously very concerned for her Rider.
How long does it take to charter a ship? She asked irritably.
Not long, if luck favours you. But with Shepherd, who knows? Dýrgrir chuckled. Errol laughed along, but it seemed slightly forced.
Kalla got up off the ground and began to pace the clearing, occasionally swiping one claw through a pile of leaves in frustration. She growled, saying, I can't take it anymore. I'm going after those two.
A fool's errand, Dýrgrir remarked, barely shifting from his position on the ground next to his Rider, who could not help but agree.
"The human city has many defences, more than enough to slay three young dragons."
I'm hardly a hatchling, she snapped back even as she began to spread her wings. Drukjl raised an eyebrow. Surely she was joking about going to Feinster. It was an old city, but still had more than enough power in its walls.
Come on, Kalla, trust in our Riders, Errol pleaded. Drukjl felt how heartened Dýrgrir was that the grey dragon had actually sided with them. Even he, who usually agreed with Kalla, could sense the folly in her proposed mission.
His words gave the green dragon pause, before she answered, I do trust in them. I trust that they would have performed their duties by now. I know they would have. But they have not.
Drukjl got to his feet in alarm as the green dragon took off, the gale she left in her wake sending the leaves in the clearing swirling around and into faces and eyes. The Urgal spat out a dry leaf and mounted Dýrgrir, who did not need to be told what to do.
Come, Errol! The brown dragon instructed.
Kalla, come back! Was the only response.
They left the treeline behind, rising into the dusk air. Dýrgrir flew straight and true for Kalla, Errol undoubtedly behind. The city of Feinster was a dark shadow on the horizon.
Stop this madness and return, Kalla! Dýrgrir blasted.
I'll return when they have.
They'll shoot you down!
They can try, she replied grimly. Drukjl knew there was no convincing her. They would have to stop her through force.
They were nearing Feinster now, and Kalla was far too fast for Dýrgrir or Errol to catch up to. They were barely keeping pace as it was. Feinster grew ever larger as Dýrgrir strained to catch up.
Please don't go, Errol pleaded.
You should be on my side! She retorted. It's your Rider down there t-
She gave a roar of pain and the sparkle of her scales shining in the last of the Sunlight veered off to the left.
Drukjl, what did you do! Errol screamed in fear as he dived down after Kalla.
I did not do anything! He protested, but the grey dragon barely heard, he was zooming down to where Kalla had fallen. Drukjl realised that they were dangerously close to Feinster.
Another roar of pain, this time from Errol, and he veered off to another direction.
Hold on, brother! Dýrgrir roared as he dived down to Errol who lay immobile on the ground.
As they neared, Drukjl realised with horror that the reason for Errol's immobility was the weighted net of strong rope that covered his figure. He trashed in the rope, entangling himself even further, and roared back at them, No… no help Kalla first!
But-
Go!
Drukjl was about to protest but his dragon took flight again and took a sharp turn towards where Kalla had fallen. The green dragon did not thrash at all, instead squirming about like a worm, wings pressed close to her body. Drukjl dismounted and saw that instead of a net there was a single long length of thick chain wrapped around Kalla, the ends attached to heavy cannonballs. A giant bola. He glared for a moment in the direction of Feinster.
Dýrgrir crawled forward and tried to break the chains with his teeth while Drukjl hacked at the weaker links with Zhâda, but even though they were weaker they were still a challenge to part. He heard the sound of wrenching metal and turned to see Dýrgrir with a recently bitten through chain in his teeth.
There was a snapping branch behind him and Drukjl spun around to see a cohort of figures approaching. He reached out with his mind to incapacitate those he could, or at least glean their purpose, but found that he could not project his thoughts. No matter. He could still just as easily slay these fools with Zhâda and Dýrgrir at his side.
One of the figures lifted a blowpipe to his lips and blew. Drukjl felt a sting on his neck and immediately reached up to pull the dart out. Why had the dart passed through his wards so easily?
Dýrgrir roared and pounced, seizing one of the humans and snapping straight through the man's abdomen with his tusk like teeth. Drukjl tried to lift Zhâda and charge forward, bellowing with might, but the axe felt like a thousand weights had been attached to his hand. The bellow came out as a meek and confused purr. The dart's poison worked fast, quickly slowing down his reaction time and dulling his instincts. He guessed that it was a tranquiliser of some sort.
Kalla was still struggling to free herself from the rope which though snapped in one section, was overlapped and layered so many times that that one break was all but useless. A roar came from Errol's direction. Thankfully Dýrgrir was holding off the hunting party.
He batted aside a soldier like a puppet, and used his tail to send another flying. His prey was defenceless against him, which was until they realised that his snout was devoid of the hardened scales of dragons. A spear immediately found its mark in his muzzle. The sight of blood leaking from his dragon spurred Drukjl on, and he stumbled forward, barely able to hold Zhâda up.
Help Kalla, I'll-
A rope lasso thrown by one of the hunters fell over Dýrgrir's head and slipped as snugly as a noose around his neck. The hunter yanked hard and the brown dragon was barely pulled back. He growled at the man with the lasso and lunged forward to disembowel him, just as another lasso closed around his right foreleg. The second lassoer pulled back on his rope, yanking Dýrgrir in the opposite direction. He roared at him, just as another rope fell around his neck.
Drukjl could only watch, dazed, as his dragon was subdued. The last lasso fell over his back legs, the dragon tried to crane his neck down to bite through the ropes but the hunters would pull back on their ropes, painfully stretching him in all directions and subverting him. The hunters had formed a large ring around the dragon and there were so many that even Dýrgrir's strength could not best them all. One of them saw the dazed Urgal staggering towards them and shouted, "The Urgal! Someone get the beast!"
One or two hunters left the ring of lassoers, drawing swords and bows, before Dýrgrir began to thrash, yanking on all ropes at once. The two hunters quickly withdrawed to the ring and pulled on their lassos to subvert the dragon once more. He stared at his Rider with his amber eyes, almost golden in the last rays of the setting Sun. Run!
Drukjl would have protested any other time, but with the tranquiliser in his body even a young Urgal such as him grew docile and meek, graciously obeying his dragon's order, staggering somewhat quickly into the dark.
Frelsa did not know how much time passed before the guards came down.
They sat there in their stony cell in silence. She would have liked to have a private discussion with Shepherd, Lod's presence was slightly unnerving, but she found that she could not even project her mind to have a mental conversation with her fellow Rider. She sat on the hard, slightly mossy, floor, eyes fixed on the lock, waiting for that one spark of magic to open it.
She was so focused on the lock that she did not realise that they had visitors. Real, natural light flooded down the stairwell and the sound of boots falling heavily on stone echoed down, followed by laughing.
Three guards came down the stairs, the front two holding a tiny figure between them. They laughed and jeered at each other as the tiny figure was pushed along in silence.
As they passed their cell, Frelsa saw that the tiny figure was a child, the one she had seen with a fat purse in each hand and running across the roofs with a posse of fellow children. The child was young, maybe six or seven, but his eyes had that mischievous light in them that once he passed you would quickly check if your purse was still there.
The howling had resumed again. The trio of guards were not perturbed, one of them yelling, "Shut up, you stupid dogs!" The howling stopped, replaced by snarls and snaps, followed by the laughing of the three.
The guards escorted the child down a few more cells or so by the sound and shoved him into one, locking the gate. One of the guards lingered a bit, "Sorry about this, kid. Orders from the top."
"It's okay." The voice sounded so innocent and pure Frelsa doubted that it was the same child she had seen with the stolen purses.
"Believe me, if I could I'd never put you down here with these Magic Scum. No one deserves that." His voice actually sounded sincerely sad, Frelsa wondered to what extent had the Lord and his Sentinels brainwashed the citizens, if Lod had told the truth.
The three guards stopped outside of their cell, laughing at a joke about a girl named Janette and a bartender. The ringleader, obvious by how his armour was slightly less dull and he wore a plumed helmet, most of the horse hair on it long gone, pulled a large key ring adorned with countless old rings off his belt and found the one corresponding to their cell. He unlocked the grate and pushed the door open.
"Hello there, wonderful afternoon, huh Magic Heathen?" Called one of the guards outside, smiling lopsidedly from behind his helmet.
He laughed and crossed the cell to Lod who sat at the back. "It's your lucky day, merchant. These two that stopped your hanging have shown that the Gods don't want you dead, yet."
The Ringleader yanked Lod to his feet and shoved him out the cell, following close behind. He paused when he was next to Frelsa, turning slowly towards her. "Now this one's a pretty one for a Heathen ain't she?"
"Hey, no fooling around with the prisoners," warned one of his fellow guards, but by the tone he was obviously not opposed to what could happen next.
The Ringleader knelt down in front of her. She tried to back up but her legs, stretched out before her, barely responded. He reached forward and brushed a speck of dirt off her shoulder. "My, my, they've treated you badly haven't they?"
She pushed the hand away and tried to push him away but her arms still felt weak. He edged a bit closer. One of the guards outside, by the voice the one who had apologised to the thief-child, said, "We should go, don't want someone coming down here to check on us. Let's just get this fat man out of here and be done with it."
"Yeah, magic gets really dangerous when it's too near to skin, "the other guard said. "Especially, ahem, certain sensitive areas."
Despite the laughs of the guard outside, the Ringleader just kept on inching closer. "She can't be that bad, look at how pretty a girl she is."
He was now close enough she could count the scars on his face and smell the ale on his breathe. He gave off a fetid stink that made her gag, but he merely grinned stupidly. She struggled to move her legs, and they responded.
Unknown to any of them, an unintentional side effect of the Sentinel's magic were violent spasms the first few times anyone would try to use their limbs, especially legs. And in this case both Frelsa's legs were situated beneath the fork of the Ringleader's.
He screamed, loudly, staggering away with both hands pressed to his groin, eyes scrunched up. The Ringleader stumbled out the cell and fell to the ground, face pressed against the stone floor. One of his companions locked the cell door and latched the key ring onto his belt while the other was roaring with laughter. Lod bent over laughing before the laughing guard pinned his arms behind his back painfully, all the while laughing so hard that tears ell from his eyes..
"See what I said?" Asked the guard holding Lod.
"Shut up!"
"Come on, man," said the other guard, supporting the Ringleader, "Let's get some ice on that-wow. She dented your armour there."
"Just hurry up and-" he yelped, voice several octaves higher, "-get me out of this pit."
As they disappeared up the stairwell, the Ringleader called down one last time, "You Magic Bitch!"
The flood of golden light disappeared, leaving them with only the meagre light of the candle once more. Shepherd looked at her and raised an eyebrow.
"It was an accident," she defended. In truth it was.
"Uh-huh."
She managed to scoot closer to him so they would not disturb any of their fellow prisoners with any conversation. Thankfully her legs did not spasm anymore. He chuckled, "That was one good kick you nailed him with."
"I told you it was an accident. Try moving your own legs."
He concentrated for a moment, before one of his legs kicked so high it nearly struck her in the head. She gave a chuckle as he clutched his leg muscles with pain. "Argh! I didn't even… know it could stretch that high."
"Well now you do."
He lay in pain for a few minutes, before he sat up again, nostrils flared as he breathed hard.
She settled back against her wall. "How are we going to get out of here, Shepherd? No magic, no mind, no weapons. Just about anything that makes us a Rider."
"And this is what it feels like to be human," Shepherd stated.
If this was what it felt like to be normal Frelsa was glad she became a Rider. She felt so useless, so weak and vulnerable. With Kalla's presence not by her side she felt like a part of her body had been amputated, she just could go on like that. The thought that Kalla was still out there, somewhere, kept her sane. Shepherd consoled, "At least Drukjl's still out there, with our dragons. Sooner or later they will come for us."
She nodded glumly. Then a thought came back to her, "Remember back in the clearing, we were talking about moving on, then you said something about a pact between Drukjl and you."
"We did it years ago, back when we first came to this island. The two of us swore to each other not to mourn the other's death."
"Why?" In her mind it was much better to be remembered in a funeral.
"I know that look, Frelsa. You think I'm crazy. Well, the reason was that, remember back when we first got into our class? We had to attend some Rider and his dragon's funeral."
She remembered. Their bodies were laid in a casket and cast out to sea, and by the dragon's insistence, the raft was not lit alight. Apparently many of them believed that the death of a great hunter should in turn be sustenance for another hunter. She saw a flurry of waves at the raft once it was out to sea, then something pulled it under and it was lost. She had cried to herself, hidden among the rows of Riders honouring their fallen brothers.
"Well, the two of us really hated that sappy, teary stuff. We figured it would be better to honour the other through our actions, or in his words, 'glory in battle'."
She wondered how Drukjl was doing, how their dragons were going. Whether they had formulated a plan to save them, or if they were already doing it.
Drukjl woke up in a ship's hold. He looked around in confusion, he could only remember staggering away from Dýrgrir and Kalla as the brown dragon was lassoed down and then- Dýrgrir! He tried to reach out with his mind but could not. He struggled to his feet and found Zhâda buried in a wooden post nearby. He wrenched it out, glad to find his strength had returned.
There was the sound of rusty hinges moving, he turned as light flooded down the stairway down into the hold. A large man walked leisurely down the steps, a brown haired human dressed in disgusting clothes. The kind that humans deemed 'beautiful'.
He was engrossed in a scroll in his hands, turning away from Drukjl and examining a few crates, opening them to reveal rolls of chain. He tutted, "Ah, stupid man. Why did you get these?"
Drukjl advanced and placed one hand on the man's shoulder. He barely flinched. "Bran? Shouldn't you be back in the city? We don't set sail till-"
"A word, human."
His body tensed up. "You're not Bran, are you?"
"No."
"Are you human?"
"No."
He sighed and looked up at the wooden ceiling. "I just got thrown from prison and you send this guy to kill me? Well screw you too, crazy Gods."
"Prison?" Drukjl asked. That would be the logical place that they would keep Frelsa and Shepherd if they had been captured. "Did you see two young humans, one male and one female?"
"Yes…"
Drukjl sighed. "I am not here to kill you human. I myself do not know how I got into this ship's hold."
"You mean MY ship's hold." He did not turn around.
"Be at ease, human," he said as he turned the large man around and showed him the silvery mark on his palm.
The man's eyes widened. "You're… you're…"
"A Rider, like my two companions you saw."
"But you're… an Urgal."
"And you're a human, that is obvious, now tell me about my allies."
The man still seemed quite intimidated, babbling out, "I-I was going to be hanged, then your two friend's got caught by the Sentinels."
"Sentinels?"
"Hooded men in robes, carrying big golden staffs. They find magic."
Drukjl had a feeling that they were connected to his absence of magic. "So about my allies?"
"Uh… yeah, I got thrown in the same cell as them. Spent a few hours there or so before they pulled me out."
"Why?"
"Some stupid superstitions or whatnot."
Drukjl turned around and headed for the stairs up to the deck. The man called, "Wouldn't do that if I were you, the Sentinels are out on the docks with the guards right now, looking for an intruder."
He grunted, "How did they know I was here?"
"Hah! How could they not? I did not believe my crew's stories at first, it seems that they were drinking a bit on deck when a huge shadow walked up the gangway plank and stood on the deck for a few minutes before he disappeared into the hold. Gave them a right fright, sent all of them running to the Sentinels. Can't really blame them though."
Drukjl spun Zhâda expertly in his hands. "I need to get to my allies, or our dragons at least."
"Dragons? How many?"
"Three. All of them were hunted down last night."
The human nodded, "Your dragons dangerous?"
"You have no idea."
The man put aside his scroll and smoothed back a portion of his brown hair. "In that case, Lord Neoettr would want to parade them down the streets, all chained up and caged."
"Surely the people would not stand for such injustice?" Drukjl asked, outraged. Even humans could not stoop so low.
"You don't know these men."
Drukjl continued up the steps. "So I shall slay these Sentinels and any men between me and my dragon."
The man rushed up and grabbed Drukjl, pulling him back before he exited onto the deck. He hissed, "I won't let a Rider die before me! You can't hope to fight these Sentinels."
"Watch me!" He growled.
"No, I've got a better idea."
"What?" He asked. Truthfully, if Shepherd and Frelsa got captured he did not think he would stand much chance.
The man turned to the crate which was filled to the brim with chains.
The streets were crowded, unusually so. Their city was a city of order and peace, not much interesting happened and most were happy with that. But these had been an eventful few days. Citizens of Feinster lined the streets, jostling and shouting for space to see the new magic scum brought in from beyond the walls. The fetid stench of the streets and drains was amplified several times into a rank, horrid odour. Strange, wild children were seen darting through the crowd, slipping through gaps, always leaving a trail of outraged adults with missing purses.
"Today's a good day for the Sentinels," one man remarked to his wife.
"Yes, they've brought in more than the usual scum haven't they?"
The crowd was rife with rumours and gossip on what had been caught lurking outside the walls. The town criers had only spoken of 'great beasts' and 'horrid examples of the magical plague'.
"They say its Dwarves," whispered one citizen.
"No, Elves more likely," hissed another.
There was a grinding noise and the crowd fell silent. A rattle of chains, the rolling of wheels, and some great shape turned onto the road.
The citizens were silently awestruck for a moment, passing down the road, a procession of three cages on wheels drawn by huge oxen, each with a huge, savage beast inside. Dragons.
Behind the thick iron bars of the first cage was a green monster, the size of a war horse at least. The beast was chained to the four corners of its cage and thrashed uselessly against the thick bars. The crowd had found its voice again, men, women and children alike picking trash off the floor and flinging it at the beasts. The green dragon roared at them and the crowd around it fell back for a moment, before they returned with redoubled vengeance.
The second cage had a monster the colour of copper, chained in a similar fashion to the first. It snapped on its chains and a gasp passed along the crowd, before they realised that even its teeth had not left a dent on the links. It bared its wicked fangs at the humans around it but the hail of trash did not relent.
The third cage held a grey dragon, grey as steel. This one slammed its body against the sides of its cage, shaking the cage and threatening to tip it over, but for all its strength and weight it could not. A glass bottle smashed against its snout and it tried to flare its wings to scare them, before it realised its wings were chained against it body.
All three of the beasts were covered in thousands of hard scales that reflected the sunlight into a harsh, ghastly glow that burned the eyes of those who lingered too long. The crowd closed the trail left by the procession, immersing the cages in a sea of jeering humans.
A roar from behind. Every head turned to look at what had made such a threatening bellow. From where the procession of cages had come, a tall figure stumbled forward. He was six feet tall, at least, horns spiralled out from his skull on either side. He wore no clothes save a war skirt of hide and goat horn. He gazed at the crowd on either side with hatred and rage in his eyes. Four men surrounded him, each holding a chain that connected to a limb of the Urgal, while a fifth, a large, brown-haired man in fine clothes, led them forth. The Urgal roared again as one of the men yanked too hard on the chain, the man who had commited the act looked ready to drop the chain and turn tail, but held fast.
One man in the crowd shouted, "Kill him! Kill the beast!"
Few of them had even seen an Urgal before but there were more than enough stories of their savagery. Others shouted in agreement, thirsty for the blood of this monster.
The man in fine clothes stepped forward, raising one hand for silence. He grabbed the Urgal's right hand and held it high, revealing a silvery mark on his palm. The crowd's cries for deaths soon fell silent. They shrunk back from the Urgal, not daring to come closer. No matter how much they wanted to kill this thing their fear for magic would win out. Magic was the Prime Evil in their eyes.
The crowd dared not utter a word as the Urgal passed, following in the wake of the dragon procession. The four monsters were led under the scrutinising eyes of the crowd, all the way into the keep.
Time did not exist where they were. Down in the dank, dark prisons, their only time was measured by the size of the candle. Frelsa had not noticed it before but now she did, the air was stale and nigh on impossible to breathe. She felt that if she went to sleep she would never wake up. Shepherd had no such qualms, he was already snoring away peacefully.
The candle had gone out again, casting them into darkness. Frelsa hated the dark, wherever it existed. But now, even more so, it reminded her of the journey under the island, into the dark with Eragon and Saphira…
No, she cast the thoughts out of her head. She would not succumb to despair. At least she found some comfort in knowing that her fellow Rider was only a few feet away.
They lay in the dark for so long, she had given up hope that one of the soldiers would come down with a new candle and light. Since the accident with the Ringleader, no soldiers had dared to come into the prisons. The thought gave her some satisfaction.
No prisoners dared to make a sound, almost fearful of disrupting this all-consuming dark and silence.
A faint rattling, barely audible. She paid it no heed. The prisoners often tested the locks on their doors, they never succeeded. The rattling lasted much shorter though, before silence reigned. As usual.
She stared at where the lock for her cage would have been in the dark, wondering if she had enough magic left in her to open it, when a shadow passed over it.
Strange. There was a patch of darkness that seemed even darker, a faint outline of a small figure. She moved closer and wrapped her hands around the bars, trying to look into the dark.
Something metallic poked her in the nose. She recoiled, as someone whispered, "Sorry."
She knew that voice. "Thief-boy?"
"What? That's not my name."
Definitely the boy. How had he gotten out? She asked him, "What just poked my nose?"
"That was my lock pick," he whispered back. So that's how he got out. Maybe he could get them out too.
"You're different, aren't you?" He asked in hushed tones.
She nodded furiously, even though she knew he couldn't see. "I'm a Rider, me and my friend in this cell."
She remembered Lod's words and realised what a stupid decision it was. This boy might very well run away. But instead he asked, "But that means you're magic? Then why are you so nice?"
Frelsa saw another opportunity, "Not all of us magic users are evil. We Riders help other people with our magic."
"That's not what He says." 'He' undoubtedly referred to Lord Neoettr.
"Well, He is wrong." She prayed for the best.
After a moment, the boy answered, "You are nice magic scum, I like you. I'll help you."
She nearly whooped for joy, but realised that would probably alert any guards above. As the lock rattled slightly, she crawled back to Shepherd and roused him, explaining the situation hurriedly. Soon after, there was the soft screech of rusty hinges. The boy's indistinct silhouette beckoned. "The guards will come down soon."
She helped Shepherd to his feet and staggered after the boy, her legs still a bit unresponsive.
"Come on, magic scum."
"How about the rest of the prisoners?" Shepherd asked. "Surely we can help them?"
"Pick's broken." There was a sound like a metal object falling to the floor. "We can come back later, magic scum."
"We're not all scum," Frelsa answered as she struggled to clamber up the dark steps.
"You're not?" He sounded geniuinely confused. She felt sorry for all the others in the city who had been raised to hate her and her ilk.
"No, my name is Frelsa."
"And mine's Dog," he replied proudly.
She nearly tripped over the boy when they had reached the top of the stairs. "Dog? Did your parents name you that?"
"We don't have parents. 'We make our names and make our futures'. My sister told me so."
She was about to inquire further when the door was flung open, blinding her with golden light. When her eyes had adjusted to the brightness she lowered her arm and saw a very confused soldier there, mouth agape. "Wha?"
Shepherd lunged forward and slammed his palm into the man's face. He staggered back and Dog skipped around to behind him, then promptly pushed him down the dark stairs into the prison cells. He carefully shut the door and locked it, revealing a ring of keys. Frelsa was amazed, the boy barely laid hands on the guard for more than a second. She asked in admiration, "How'd you do that?"
"I'm a special Dog."
Shepherd tapped her on the shoulder. "Sorry to ruin the moment, but we're stuck in a keep stuffed to the brim with Sentinels and guards, how exactly are we going to get out?"
"An Urgal? That's news."
Drukjl had been the subject of continuous scrutiny. Humans in dented and dirty armour looked him up and down. Dýrgrir and the other dragons had been carted off to another section of the keep, and Drukjl would have followed if not for the men blocking his way. He checked and felt Zhâda's handle beneath the folds of his clothing.
"Where did you say you found him?" asked one of the soldiers, this one armoured in a full face helmet with a plume of red feathers.
"Outside the walls," answered the brown haired man, he had told Drukjl that his name was Lod. He seemed trustworthy enough, for a human.
"And what business did you have there?"
"Uh…"
"We caught him sneaking near the docks, real sneaky like," finished one of the men who had held the chains that bound Drukjl.
The soldier asked, "You say you are sailors?"
"Yes sir, the lot of us, we-"
"Ho-ho-ho-hold up." Another soldier joined the scene, this one without a helmet. He pointed at Lod. "Weren't you that fellow who was on the gallows? Yesterday or the day before, am I right?"
"Yes, he does look like him," answered the first human, scratching his chin. Which looked pretty silly considering that his chin was hidden behind his helmet.
"I am afraid you are right," Lod lamented with stage-worthy despair, "I was apprehended recently."
"Arson, Perjury, Defamation, Piracy," the second guard recited. "And that's not all."
"I meant to say, apprehended recently due to a minor misunderstanding."
Drukjl's hand slid slowly to where Zhâda was hidden.
"You are right, my good sirs. This beast here-" Lod picked up one chain and pulled on it for effect. "Is an offering of sorts, to sweeten my relations with our Lord once again."
The second guard was unconvinced, but the first gestured at them impatiently. "There's a seat at the Blue Dragon with my name on it, so hurry up and bring him down to the cells."
The second raised one hand, "Hold it, someone call down a Sentinel."
"No need for that," the first human said.
"But-"
"Hurry up, Hangman," he said to Lod, the stout man wincing at the name, "the world don't wait on you."
Lod nodded and gestured for the four men to hurry up. He knew the place well, it seemed, leading them down a large corridor.
Drukjl grunted, "Would you tell your men to loosen their holds on the chains? It is mildly uncomfortable."
The men, all trusted mates of Lod, glanced fearfully at their captain, who gestured at them. Drukjl sighed as he was given enough room to stretch a bit.
"What are we even getting for this?" asked one of them, eyeing Drukjl warily.
"I told you, you'll get larger shares the next job. You shouldn't be wanting for anything, after you got me that crate of chain."
"Hey, they said it was textiles, how was I supposed to know different?"
"Hold up! Sentinel!"
Drukjl was still unfamiliar with the word, but from the way they spoke it these Sentinels were humans treated with a great level of respect and reverence. Perhaps fear.
A blue and white robed figure moved silently down the corridor, four blue tails of fabric trailing behind him. His attire was peculiar, to say the least. As his human escort lowered their heads as the tall figure walked by, the robed human turned towards them. Drukjl glanced once at where the human's face should have been and saw nothing but darkness, a swirling pool of shadows that drew him towards it. He was stuck in place, unable to move, captivated on that darkness until a tug on one of his chains brought him back to reality. Lod whispered fearfully, "Don't look them in the eye, you won't be able to look away."
Drukjl nodded, still unsettled by the human who had disappeared behind them. He was not sure that the thing even was human.
"The prison's coming up."
A large, brown wooden door with a black iron padlock. Lod tested it, the door barely budged. Drukjl shook off the chains, which were about as sturdy as bonds made of dry grass, and drew Zhâda. "Step aside, human."
He swung the brown axe in an underhand stroke, the brightsteel blade gutting the innards of the lock. He withdrew it and struck again for good measure, before opening the door. Past the door, there was a flight of stairs leading down
"Frelsa? Shepherd?" He asked. No response. He turned back to Lod, "Are you sure these are the cells?"
"Yeah, I'm sure. The candle must have burnt out some time ago."
Drukjl gestured dismissively, "Take your men and leave. You have done your work, now I must do mine."
He did not even glance behind as he walked down the steps.
The dark was unsettling, but not unbearably so. He walked down the steps with difficulty in the dark and stepped on something soft at the bottom. He trodded on it a few more times to investigate, and when he elicited a groan, he guessed that it must be a sleeping guard. Or an unconscious one.
The Urgal needed light to do his work and produced a flint and steel. He never was good at magic and still preferred doing simple tasks like lighting a fire the old way. Drukjl found a table and had retrieved an unburnt candle from the sleeping soldier. His best guess was that the soldier had been sent down to replace the candle but had fallen down the stairs and been knocked unconscious.
With a lit candle in hand, he walked down the row of cells. Most of the prisoners seemed like regular humans, but he knew enough to know that magic hid itself well. There were many humans, dwarves and even a plant. Passing two feral wolf-like dogs snapping at each other in the last cell, he found that Frelsa and Kalla were not here. He double checked, the triple checked, before ascertaining that no Riders were here save him.
"Hey Urgal."
He turned to the sound of the voice. In the last cell, where he had seen the two snapping wolf-dogs, were two men, dressed in tattered, rough spun tunics.
"Mind opening these cells? I've got an aching for the Sun on me skin and the wind in my fur."
This man was strange, he and his companion had a wild fire in their eyes, their hair was more of a wild halo of black fur and they had a strange, musky dog-like smell.
Drukjl twirled Zhâda in his hands. "Perhaps, if you can tell me a few things, human."
"What 'cha wanna know? What 'cha wanna know?" he asked frantically. These two were very desperate for freedom.
"From this cell, we can see everythin' that goes in and out of this place," said the other human.
"Two humans, a girl and a boy, seventeen winters old each."
"You mean the Riders?"
He had hoped to keep that a secret. "Yes, the Riders, were they here?"
"Sure were, gone now though. Not before giving one of the guards a few bruises to remember."
He laughed a strange, yipping laugh at his friend.
Drukjl got up, then remembered his deal to free them. He swung Zhâda and cleaved the rusty lock in twain with one blow.
Immediately, a chorus of yells began. Every prisoner began shouting to him to free them, their yells echoing painfully around his head.
By the end of two minutes, every cell's lock was broken, even those without prisoners. You could tell which ones were the regular humans though, they remained in their cells, huddled with knees drawn up to their chests.
Drukjl turned to thank the two wild men who had given him the information but no one was there. He looked into the seething mass of escapees and thought he saw two black furred wolf-dogs at the front, leading the charge into the keep.
24-12-13
Sorry for releasing this chapter so late. I have been occupied these past few days with a neat little present from my brother, namely Assassin's Creed 4. I've finished the game so I should be able to concentrate more on the story. And please, please leave a review. I have this ever nagging feeling that I might be on the wrong road for this story so any advice at all would help, or even a little comment to tell me I'm on the right track.