The Hunt for the Dragon King, page 10
Ricochet turned to Goggle-Eyes and said, “Oh dear! Sir, it would appear that you tripped and fell off a rather rocky cliff…”
Gilbert looked about to see many of the militiamen walking towards him. They were punching their fists into the palms of their hands.
“You were saying, sir?” Ricochet said.
Gilbert gulped.
“Now remember, boys,” Ricochet said to the militiamen, “save a piece for Jason when he comes back!”
‘*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*’
Myra sat in the dimly lit living room; candles on the table gave a warm glow, lighting the faces of her friends. Beatrice, Daniel and Mr. Goatmen were there with her. They waited for Jason to arrive but the sun had already fallen below the horizon and night was fast approaching.
“He’ll be here,” they kept reassuring her. “He promised he would come, didn’t he?”
Myra didn’t pay much attention to them as her friends began to talk among themselves. She sat there on the couch and looked out of the window. She was happy that it was her birthday but there was something missing and it wasn’t just Jason.
If her parents and sister had not disappeared they would have been celebrating with her. Myra missed them very much. She looked around the room and imagined her father standing by the mantelpiece smoking his clay pipe. He would be wearing his favourite tweed suit and bow tie and his gray moustache would be trimmed and waxed. Myra visualized her mother sitting in one of the armchairs. She would be dressed in one of her beautiful gowns. Her long dark red hair would be tied back in curls. Finally Myra imagined that Lena would be standing beside her. She could see her whole family, happy and smiling.
The pretend images began to fade away. They dissolved like snow melting in the sunlight and soon there was nothing left of them but a memory.
“Are you alright, Myra?” asked Beatrice.
Myra smiled at her and said, “Well that’s a stupid question Beatrice. Of course I’m alright. It’s my birthday party. Although if Jason doesn’t get here soon—”
Someone knocked on the front door.
Daniel hopped up and rushed to the front hall.
“Speak of the devil! You’re late, Jason,” Daniel said as he opened the door. “We were beginning to think that you weren’t going to make it.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve held up the party on my account,” asked Jason as he stepped into the living room.
“I wouldn’t let them start until you came,” replied Myra. “But now that you’re here we can begin.”
“Let me get out of this monkey suit first,” said Jason, gesturing at his uniform. “Then we can start to have fun!”
He quickly rushed up to his room, changed his clothes and stored his equipment in large chest at the foot of his bed. Myra’s birthday party began when he returned to the living room. They ate cake and ice cream and sang silly songs.
Then it was time for Myra to get her presents. Beatrice and Daniel gave her a kite that was painted to look like a flying dragon. Jason gave her a little wooden horse that he had carved by himself over the last several weeks. Finally it was Mr. Goatmen’s turn to give Myra his secret gift. He handed her a package wrapped in green tissue paper and tied with gold and silver ribbons. Myra began to peel back the covering and saw to her great surprise that it was a book. It was the same one from which her teacher had read the stories about the Dragon King.
She looked up at Mr. Goatmen and saw that he was smiling from ear to ear. She returned the smile and thanked him for the book.
“I wouldn’t open it just yet,” he warned her. “Not until you’re in your own room. It’s meant for your eyes only, Myra.”
“Don’t worry about her sharing it with us, Mr. Goatmen,” Jason said. “After Myra takes all those things to her room we’ll probably never see them again.”
“You may be right, Jason,” replied Mr. Goatmen, “but somehow I think you’re wrong. I think you may be seeing a lot of that book in the near future.”
‘*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*’
As Myra reclined on her bed she looked down at the leather bound book which she hadn’t opened yet. She didn’t know why she kept stalling. She slowly reached for it.
‘What are you waiting for?’ Myra thought to herself. ‘You wanted to know more about the story so open the book and find out!’
Myra couldn’t believe her eyes when she cracked the book’s spine. All of the pages were completely blank! No words were written on the yellowing parchment. No illustrations. No page numbers. Nothing at all.
“What is this?” puzzled Myra. “Where’s the story?”
The young she-elf was utterly confused as she looked at the empty book. Then words started to write themselves across the pages. At first she thought that it was one of Mr. Goatmen’s practical jokes where he had written the story with invisible ink. Myra ran her finger down the pages as the words continued to appear. She saw, to her astonishment, that the ink was still wet!
“But… that’s not possible!” she said as she looked at her smudged fingertip.
She began to read the words as fast as she could.
These are the words that will begin the long journey of the She Who Was Foretold. On the eve of her twelfth year of life her powers and magic will be born. She will be forced to flee after this dark night because the Enemy will have learned of her existence and will do everything in its power to destroy her. But the She Who Was Foretold and her guardians will survive the onslaught of their foes! They will begin the great journey that has awaited them for centuries. They will begin their hunt for the only one who can end the rule of the Enemy and restore the true order to its proper place in the world. The Hunt for the Dragon King and the downfall of the Enemy have now truly begun. Take care and may good fortune go with you. Be safe, Myra!
When Myra finished reading those words, a gust of wind suddenly blew open her window. She got up to close the shutters but stopped when she looked out across the moonlit prairie. She could hear the faint roars of the dragons in the distance and could see a blazing orange column of fire rising up into the star speckled sky.
“What’s happening?” Myra cried out. “Why are they doing that?”
Then she heard something. It may have been her imagination but she thought she heard a silent voice in the wind sighing.
“It… Has… Finally… Begun…”
Interlude
Dawn
The Captain held his hands clasped behind his back as he walked up and down the ranks, inspecting his troops. The men were all armed with Kar#.98 rifles and MP40 submachineguns. They were clad in grey green overcoats and heavy flack vests with black stahlhelms and gasmasks hiding their faces from view. If the Captain hadn’t known any better he would have sworn he was looking at a collection of mannequins. He stopped in front of one of the Shock-Troopers and gazed into the heavily tinted lenses of the man’s gasmask. It was almost impossible to tell who was who while they wore their dehumanizing uniforms. That was one of the reasons that the Soolian Empire made its soldiers wear their gasmasks. The dark lenses hid the eyes, the long rubber hose elongated the face and the constantly hissing rebreather made their voices sound like muted growls. All of these things made the Soolian soldier appear as nothing more than a faceless soulless automaton. The Captain had to admit that the Shock-Trooper before him was a fearsome sight to behold. He smiled as he resumed his inspection of the men. After a few more minutes he was satisfied that the company was up to snuff and he stood before them.
“At ease!” he shouted.
The men moved in unison, resting the butts of their weapons on the ground as they stood with their legs apart and their left hands held behind their backs. The Captain was pleased.
“Men of the 137th, you are here to protect our embassy from the savages that exist just outside these walls. You were chosen for this assignment based on your combat record in the Elven Isles campaign. You are a crack regiment with a long and proud history. You and your forebears have won many bloody glories and have earned the right to call yourselves true Sons of Soolia.”
The Shock-Troopers stood just a little bit taller at hearing this praise from their commanding officer.
“You may have heard that the Agro-Caelestians are famous soldiers in their own right,” continued the Captain. “Boasting that they can hit a dime through the centre at 1000 meters. The officers back on the home front will say that this is not true and that it is nothing more than propaganda to make you afraid of mere militiamen. I am here, however, to inform you that it is true. You will find that the Agro-Caelestian militiaman is a crack shot and will sell his life just as dearly as you will! Do not underestimate him or else your reward for your oversight will be an early grave!”
“Spreading sedition, are we, Captain?” said a voice from behind the man.
The Captain turned around and his heart nearly burst with fright. Standing before him was an Imperial Inquisitor! The man was short and stocky and was dressed in a long double-breasted black coat with brass buttons. He wore a pair of black pince-nez and a pencil line mustache. He had an ugly flabby pockmarked face with fat drooping lips and a wart on his left cheek. His cold beady eyes were filled with disgust and suspicion. Flanking him on either side were a pair of Inquisitorial Legionaries. Their war gear was identical to that of the Shock-Troopers except for the fact that they were colored pitch black and were armed with STG.44 assault rifles. The Captain stood to attention and saluted the Inquisitor.
“No, sir!” said the Captain as he stood before the man. “Merely ensuring that the men know exactly who it is they’re fighting and what their enemy is capable of. Sedition was the furthest thing from my mind!”
“I see…” replied the Inquisitor as he half-heartedly returned the salute.
“May I ask what you are doing here sir?” said the Captain.
The Inquisitor gave the Captain a tired condescending look and sniffed. He sighed and shook his head.
“We’ll discuss this inside,” he said as he turned around and beckoned the Captain to follow. The two men marched out of the courtyard and entered the central building of the Soolian Embassy. They stalked down featureless concrete hallways and passed several heavy iron doors until they came to a room in the very heart of the fortress. The Captain noticed that it was one of the chambers that only high ranking officials were allowed to enter. The Inquisitor flashed his identity badge to the guards who stepped aside and saluted him as he entered the room. The Captain followed close behind the little man and felt his body grow tense as the iron doors clanged shut behind them. The room was a small office with wooden paneling and a dark red carpet. There was an ornate oak desk on the far side of the room and a liquor cabinet on the left side. The Inquisitor stopped in the middle of the room and turned around to face the Captain.
“I was told that you are a reliable and loyal servant to the Empire,” said the little man.
“You are correct, sir!” replied the Captain as he stood to attention. “I live only to serve the Empire of the Master Race! For the greater glory of Soolia! Long live Emperor Sablanca!”
“Yes, yes, enough of that patriotic flag waving rot,” scoffed the Inquisitor with a dismissive wave.
The Captain was taken aback by this statement. He had been told that the members of the Imperial Inquisition were infamous for their undying loyalty to the Empire. It was often said among the other branches of the Imperial Armed Forces that their devotion was so strong that it often bordered on fanaticism! But surprisingly this little man that stood before the Captain didn’t strike him as being very enthusiastic about anything.
“I am here to give you and your regiment a vital mission,” said the Inquisitor as he reached into his long coat and withdrew a leather binder. He handed it over to the Captain who opened it and began to look through the documents that were inside. As he flipped through the papers he saw that several photographs were included. He took hold of one and gazed at the black and white image of a young girl. There was a line of text penned on the back of the photo: subject – Myra Allison GreenLeaf. Sex – Female. Age – 11. Race – Greater High-Elf. Height – 137 centimetres. Weight – 39 kilograms. Threat level – 100.
The Captain looked at the youngster in the photograph in utter confusion. This girl appeared to be a plain ordinary everyday sort of child. She was dressed in a modest frock and wore her long hair down over her right shoulder. She had a pretty face with soft features and kind eyes.
‘How can this child have a threat level of 100?’ the Captain thought as he looked back up at the Inquisitor. His puzzlement showed on his face and the little man smirked in bemusement.
“I can see that you don’t agree with the threat assessment,” he said.
“I would be lying if I said I did,” replied the Captain as he began to thumb through the girl’s file.
“You do not have to agree with it, Captain,” said the Inquisitor. “All you have to do is follow my orders and not ask any questions.”
“Ours is not to reason why…” the Captain said to himself.
“My orders to you are really quiet simple,” continued the little man. “Once the action starts I want you and your men to find this girl. The latest intelligence confirms that she is living in the settlement of Diana’s Crossing. It is lightly populated and does not have any strategic installations which means there will be no militiamen stationed there. There should be little to no resistance from the locals.”
“Sir, may I ask if this is a capture or kill mission?” inquired the Captain.
“I want that girl, Captain!” snapped the Inquisitor. “Preferably alive but I will accept her dead. In the grand scheme of things it doesn’t matter. All that counts is that she is eliminated, one way or the other… you don’t have any objections to this mission, do you, Captain?”
“No sir!” answered the Captain.
“Even if it means possibly harming an innocent child?” asked the little man.
“If she is in your files then she is not innocent. Besides, she is an elf,” the Captain said with and air of disgust. “She’s a waste of skin and breath like all her pointy-eared ilk! It will be a pleasure to eliminate her.”
“Good!” said the Inquisitor. “I look forward to updating her file – Threat Level – 0.”
“For the greater glory of Soolia!” said the Captain.
“For the greater glory of the Holy Imperial Inquisition!” said the little man.
“*~~~~~~~~~~~~*”
The sky was purple with predawn twilight. A few blue white stars were still twinkling in the heavens. The air was cool and crisp. A light layer of frost covered the ground. Twizel and her little Whelpling were curled up together in their earthen nest, sharing each other’s warmth. The youngster was fast asleep, his limbs twitching as he chased a delicious rabbit in his dreams. His mother was already awake. She smiled as she watched him dream. She thought that he looked so peaceful, so content. Everything was still and quiet. Nothing stirred, not even the wind. But then the tranquility of the scene was shattered by Amaron. The great grey bull dragon was stamping and stomping this way and that, growling and snarling in agitation. Thin tendrils of black smoke wafted from his flaring nostrils. His black and amber eyes narrowed as he gazed towards Diana’s Crossing. He extended his massive wings out to their full span and held them open to make himself appear larger than he truly was. He bared his razor-sharp teeth and flexed his claws. Twizel looked up at her brother and snorted for him to be quiet. The sun wouldn’t rise for another few hours and she didn’t want her son up before then. Amaron ignored her. His blood was up and he was on the alert for any sign of danger. He’d been this way ever since the neighbouring bulls in the area had begun to roar all at once. Normally they only did this one at a time to establish dominance and to reinforce their territorial claims. But last night had been different. All of the dragons, even the youngsters and the females, had begun to bellow and breathe fire at the same time. It had lasted for hours and had only just died down. Amaron didn’t know the reason for this sudden outburst but he knew that something was wrong. He could feel it in his core. Something bad was going to happen today. He didn’t know what it was but he knew that it was coming quickly. Amaron was so agitated that he didn’t feel the slight tremor under his feet until Twizel drew his attention to it. He looked down at the ground and stomped his three-toed foot as hard as he could. There was a loud boom from the impact and the tremoring stopped for a few moments before starting up again. Amaron couldn’t understand it. It felt as though a million rabbits were digging out a million burrows right under his feet. Was this strange thing the cause of the outcry last night? Amaron didn’t like it. He glanced over to his sister and nephew, both now fully awake, and decided that they should move to somewhere else. Twizel rose to her feet and looked over her shoulder at her little green Whelpling as he curled up on her back. Both adults had unfurled their bat-like wings and were about to take flight when they became aware of a stranger approaching them. The man was clad in a hooded cloak that obscured his features from them. Both dragons growled a warning at this figure but it didn’t slow down. Instead it raised its hands up in a gesture of peace.
“Amaron, Twizel, sindri kush dra fli,” he said in a strange language, “It is time. We’d better get going before it’s too late!”
The dragons looked at each other before turning back to the mysterious figure. If it had been anyone else they would have either chased him off or roasted him if he got any closer. But they knew who this cloaked stranger was and trusted him to an extent. Amaron begrudgingly lowered himself down to allow the figure to jump up onto his back. Once the man was seated Amaron leaped into the air and took off like a skyrocket. Twizel and her Whelpling were close behind them. The sky was just starting to turn a shade of pale blue in the east.
