“As we slowly learn about magic once more, the varying kinds of powers are being discovered. Long forgotten energies not drawn upon in these lands for nearly half a millennia. Fire, Ice, Storm, Barrier and Healing are but a few types of spells that can be wielded. What we are learning is that a spell caster can only harness the power of one type of magic, the reason of which we do not know why.”
Jordell Torvin, Former priest at the Great Temple, 254KR
I hammer on the door of Trovell’s office, my blood still boiling from Grush’s actions at the shelter. “Trovell, it’s Orjan!”
“Enter.” Trovell’s voice sounds laboured, almost bored, and I swear I hear the man sigh.
I enter with such force that the door almost swings from its hinges as it bounces back from the stone walls, banging loudly in the process.
Trovell frowns at my entrance. “What is the meaning of this insolence?”
Realising I need to tone my behaviour down before I escalate another situation, I hold up my hands as a sign that I mean him no harm. “Apologies, Trovell. I forget my own strength sometimes.”
“What is it?” He raises his pointed face from the book he is scribing notes in and inspects me. “It does not take a wise man to realise that something has irked you.”
“Grush,” I growl. “The man inflicts torment on people for pleasure. Just this moment he and his men are doing unspeakable things to people who have not wronged the Wyverns.” My breathing steadies as I get a grip of my temper, a feat far easier knowing that Grush is not in my vicinity.
“I see.” Trovell looks up at me from behind the spectacles that sit at the bottom of his nose. “Grush has done a fine job at keeping the people of Eltera in check. He helps make sure that no one steps beyond their means. Without Grush, I am afraid there would be no order.”
“Then at least make sure that those who are harmed are only those that have committed crimes. They take what they want from the people, when they want it. A system that will at some point lead to a revolt of some kind.”
Trovell studies me for a moment before closing his book, his long, wrinkled fingers resting on top of the leather-bound cover.
“A revolt, you say?” Trovell stands and makes his way to a cabinet in the corner where he removes a bottle of whiskey. “Grush assures me that he has dealt with a member of a group threatening to rise up against us. He said you had quite the hand to play in the maiming of the man.”
Shame overcomes me for the part I played in breaking the man’s leg that first night with Grush. Since then, I have reluctantly aided him in delivering beatings to the people of this kingdom. I have stopped asking what their crimes were because I would rather not know. I am a shadow of the former knight of Rashouya. What I wouldn’t give to be able to return to my kingdom, to be accepted by my kin once again. Instead, I find myself here, cursed by this scaled form with no honour, no dignity, no self-respect. I have fallen such a long way since my days of protecting the royal family. The gods play cruel games indeed. The harder I try, the more those around me pay the consequences. Everywhere I go, I leave nothing but a trail of sorrow and scorn. Is there even any point in trying to do the right thing anymore?
“So, you don’t like the way we do things, even though we have kept order since the witch trials went so wrong,” Trovell asks whilst pouring whiskey into two glasses.
“I said you run the risk of people rising up. They do as you ask because they are fearful of you. You would command more respect from them if you only punished those that committed true crimes.”
“Interesting.” Trovell stares out the window into the darkness for a moment before stepping towards me with an outstretched arm, offering me one of the whiskeys. “I will discuss this with Breyton. Grush and the other Wyverns will not be pleased if Breyton agrees. I am not touching the pits though. The Wyverns need it for their entertainment, and it is a good way for people to earn their coin.”
“This is all I ask of you. In return, I will continue with our agreement.” I take a sip from the whiskey and savour the soft, sweet blend of flavours. It is of far better quality than the whiskeys I have become accustomed to. I stare into the bottom of the glass as I finish its contents, Trovell’s frosted face blurred by the base of the glass.
“That is what I am hoping.” Trovell grins and a strange sensation overcomes me. My arm feels heavy and the world around me becomes muffled as if everything around me moves in slow motion. As nice as the whiskey was, I find it hard to believe that it would be potent enough to affect me this way so quickly, unless –
“It’s poisoned.” I stumble back against the wall, finding it difficult to keep focused as Trovell’s smile blends into the rest of his facial features.
“No no, what would be the point in poisoning you?” Trovell’s voice sounds distant and fractured, his notes deeper than usual.
I take a step towards him but as I plant my foot, my leg buckles and I slam into the ground. My glass shatters to the floor, spraying across the room in front of me. I attempt to lift my head, but its weight is too much, and my eyes begin to fall shut.
A strong smell of vapours erupts up my nose, snapping me back into consciousness. I growl and the young Wyvern in my vicinity is right to quickly get himself out of my range. As I come to, the sound of raucous conversation catches my attention from above.
I am in the base of the pits again.
Jeers greet me as I stumble to my feet. A fat Wyvern catches my attention as he throws his tankard towards me. I catch it with my right hand before it can hit me, staring down at the cretin whose colour drains from his face. Without thinking, I hurl it back at him, and it crashes square into his face. He falls backwards and his comrades laugh at him. When he stands back up, it takes two of them to hold him back. In truth, I welcome the challenge. Let him step into this arena with me, let me show him what I can really do to him.
Trovell clears his throat, and the room falls silent around me. Two Wyverns to my left continue their discussion at an audible volume and Trovell gives them a stern look. One of them, seeing that he is looking, elbows the other and the two of them end their conversation.
Trovell clears his throat before addressing the room. “Dragon has spoken. He asks that we only punish those who have committed crimes.”
The Wyverns jeer in disapproval, spitting at me from above.
Trovell stretches out his arms and the room falls silent once more. “I thought about this and, following discussion with Breyton, we agree.”
There are grumbles of discontent amongst the ranks. They do not like what they are hearing, but I cannot help but smile. There must be more to it than this though. Why else would Trovell spike my drink and dump me in the pits? The man wants me to fight, but the question is, who?
“There have been rumours of a group rising up against us, and it grows in size. Breyton has declared that we need to keep the people on side, and he has an idea that he thinks you will enjoy.”
There is a cheer from the crowd, ringing with uncertain approval.
“Grush, if you will.”
Grush shoves a burly man in front of him as the other Wyverns follow with two more people. Those captured have their arms bound behind their backs, their faces blotched and swollen from the recent beatings.
“Kneel!” Grush commands, his intimidating physique enough to make the three prisoners do as they are told.
Kneeling opposite of me on the far side of the pit, the three of them look at me with terror in their eyes.
“These three cowards have committed crimes. All three need to stand and face judgement,” Trovell announces. The room falls silent once more as he speaks. “They will face judgement at the hands of the dragon!”
The room begins to cheer loudly, excited by the entertainment they are about to bear witness to.
“Our dragon here will fight one of these men to the death. The others will go free. Which one do you choose to fight, Dragon?”
I scan the three quivering prisoners, none of whom make eye contact with me.
“I will not do this.” I elevate my voice so that it echoes around the room above.
Trovell smiles at me and brings his hands together in front of him. “I thought you might say as much. Grush, if you would.”
Grush stands behind the young man in the centre and grabs hold of his hair before pulling his head back. In a quick movement, he removes his dagger and drags it across the throat of the red-haired man, whose eyes widen as his neck spills blood.
Grush holds him in place for a few moments as the young man gargles and splutters. The crowd above us cheers wildly.
“Do as Breyton commands, or the remaining two will share the same fate. Further blood spilled due to your inability to do as you are told,” Trovell says.
The gods play a cruel game to put me in this position. Either way, blood will be spilled. Who am I to be the judge and executioner?
“What are their crimes?” I ask reluctantly.
“The man whose throat has been slit was caught stealing food from the market,” Trovell starts. “The man to your left –” Trovell points at a man of average build with greying hair –“beat up a member of our Wyvern family, so much so that the victim is now blind in his left eye.”
“Please, Dragon, I only sought to protect my daughter from their wandering hands.” Grush slams his fist into the side of his head. “No one asked you for your excuses.”
I feel a pang of empathy for this man. If his words are true, I do not see how I can punish a man for standing up against these monsters.
“The man on your right solicited company with a lady of the night. Only, once he had received his pleasurable company, he refused to pay. This woman falls under Wyvern protection and the way we see it, this man has committed rape!” The prisoner in question is a portly man with a thick black beard and matted dark hair. His eyes look deeper, unforgiving as they fix onto my own.
The crowd jeers loudly, some beginning to throw their glasses and tankards towards the two men.
“Tell me, Dragon, who will you face? Who will seek judgement and appease the gods, appease Breyton?” Trovell smiles once more, savouring every sickening moment of this.
My mind is made up. With little choice in the matter and the crowd baying for blood, I will have to go along with this repulsive game.
One way or another, I will end Breyton and his cruel reign.
The crowd cheers as I raise my arm and point at the black-bearded man.
Trovell grins. “Fetch this man some armour and a sword. Let’s make this an interesting fight.”