Alastair Archibald: Dragonblaster

"Quite understood, Reverend Mother!” Drex saw Melana's head touch the floor.

"You may go, dear Sister. Train this Supplicant well but fairly, and you will have my gratitude."

The harsh voice hardened to an almost metallic tone. “On the other hand, go against my wishes in act of spirit, and you will find retribution inevitable.

"Don't dare to go against me, Melana."

"Never, Reverend Mother, I swear! All will be as you desire."

"You may go, then, dear Sister. Go in peace."

"Thank you, Reverend Mother,

"Come on, Supplicant."

Drexelica climbed to her feet, taking care not to meet the Prioress’ gaze. “Thank you, Reverend Mother,” she muttered, remembering to tremble in a deferent manner.

This is going to be easy, she thought. These people are idiots!

[Back to Table of Contents]

Shakkar strode through the streets of Crar, his red eyes closed almost to slits, his mouth compressed into a tight, inverted U-shape. Several citizens greeted him as he passed, but he ignored them. General Quelgrum had set up his headquarters in a formerly deserted slaughterhouse, a large building with thick, grey stone walls.

Three guards patrolled the entrance courtyard, carrying ancient Technological weapons that gleamed as new, but such toys did not impress the thick-skinned demon in the least. Of even less import was the wooden pole that barred entry to the courtyard.

"You, there!” Shakkar boomed to one of the watchmen, who wore corporals’ stripes on his uniform. “Is Sergeant Erik here?"

The corporal, in contrast to his youthful companions, was a grizzled veteran of maybe forty years, and he strode up to the barrier with a confident air, looking the demon straight in the eye.

"He is, Lord Seneschal,” the corporal said, “but we have orders that he is not to be disturbed. If you'd like to come back-"

"Your orders are cancelled.” Shakkar hissed, looming over the man. “I will see Erik right now. Is that quite clear?” He punctuated his demands with a threatening growl, just in case the slow-witted mortal had misunderstood his purpose.

The two younger guards, their faces pale, moved to the large double doors at the entrance to the building, presenting their puny weapons in a half-hearted manner.

"Lord Seneschal, you don't have the right to cancel the order,” the older soldier said in a calm, deliberate voice, as if addressing a naughty child. “I take my orders from-"

"Damn your orders!” the infuriated demon yelled, splintering the barrier to fragments with a single blow of his scaly, taloned hand. “That for your orders! Fetch Sergeant Erik, or I will pound this building into dust!"

The younger guards pulled their weapons into their shoulders, pointing them straight at the demon.

"Hold your fire!” the corporal snapped, before turning back to Shakkar.

"I advise you not to threaten us, Lord Seneschal,” he said in a low voice. “We've got far more powerful weapons than this; powerful enough even for you, I think. Sure, you can kill me with one hand tied behind your back, but there are many of us; can you kill us all? If you want a war, we'll give you one. Do you want to start it right here? I won't try to stop you if you do-I can't stop you. Go ahead."

The infuriating human laid his weapon on the ground and bowed his head before Shakkar!

How dare you, you impudent sack of skin! I could…

Despite the anger that had compressed the demon's mind to a dense, burning ball of resolve, the Seneschal found himself beginning to admire this weak, pathetic parcel of mortal flesh.

He had killed many men in his long life, and he had even eaten a few during his long incarceration on Starmor's dismal punishment pillar. He had never enjoyed the act, but he had regarded the miserable mortals that Starmor had seen fit to send him as little more than unfortunate animals; pathetic livestock to be consumed as required.

The stripling mage, Grimm Afelnor, had shown him the nobility that resided within certain men. Since then, he had met many other humans who bore the same stamp of courage against considerable odds. This was one such man, and Shakkar felt a stab of compassion. His argument was not with this corporal, who was just fulfilling his duties as best he could, but with the lax guards at the Tower. He could not, in conscience, kill this man.

As if he had read the Seneschal's mind, the soldier raised his head. “Now, Lord Seneschal: would you like me to ask Sergeant Erik if he'll see you on urgent business?"

"Yes,” the demon mumbled. “Please.” He added the last word almost as an afterthought; nonetheless, he felt that the courageous soldier deserved his full respect.

"If you wouldn't mind waiting here, I won't be a moment, Sir,” the corporal said, turning his back on Shakkar and striding towards the doors, with a measured gait.

Shakkar could not be sure, but he thought he heard the man exhale forcefully. The act meant nothing to him, but he guessed it was a human indication of relief.

Feeling foolish, the demon stood behind the smashed remains of the barrier, while the two remaining guards held their weapons in trembling hands. He knew these two young fools posed no threat to him, but he waited nonetheless.

At last, Sergeant Erik emerged, in the company of a man Shakkar recognised: Lieutenant-Colonel Shandimar, Quelgrum's second-in-command. Neither man appeared to be armed.

"Now, what's all this, Lord Seneschal?” Shandimar demanded, a tall man with silver hair. “We're having an important security conference, and we-"

"My issue concerns security, Colonel,” Shakkar growled, remembering his purpose. “Lady Drexelica has been abducted, from right under the noses of his so-called ‘guards'!” The demon indicated Erik with a single, clawed digit.

The Colonel raised an eyebrow, which, Shakkar had learned, indicated surprise in mortals. “Is this true, Sergeant?” he demanded.

"I don't know, Sir,” the hapless Erik confessed. “It's the first I've heard of it-"

"It is true,” Shakkar shouted. “She is not in the Tower, and the watchmen claim that nobody has been in or out since midnight: since your watch, Sergeant Erik!"

Shandimar turned to Shakkar, his eyes gleaming like blue diamonds. “We'll get to the bottom of this straight away, Lord Seneschal."

Turning back to Erik, the Colonel said, “I want all the Tower guards brought here at once, Sergeant. If you've got to wake them up, do so! I want to know if our sentries have been slack in their duties, and I'll have the balls of any man who has shirked his responsibilities! Is that clear, Sergeant?"

"Yes, Sir!"

The Sergeant accompanied this bark with a salute so crisp that it threatened to remove the top of his head.

As far as Shakkar knew, the Sergeant's response was the only one a soldier could make to a senior officer's direct order, but Erik appeared sincere in his fervour.

"Bring the Gate guards as well, Sergeant!” the officer yelled, as Erik strode away. “Whatever happened, Lady Drexelica's abductors must have gone through the Gate!"

"Yes, Sir!” came the swift response. Shakkar had often heard sullen overtones in these two words, spoken by other men, but there were none on this occasion.

"I want somebody's head for this, Colonel,” Shakkar growled.

"If negligence, or any lapse in discipline, is at the root of this issue, you can rest assured that the guilty man, or men, will be punished, Lord Seneschal,” Shandimar said. “We'll get to the bottom of this."

The monotonous words of Melana's-Sister Melana's-litany dropped into Drexelica's mind like pennies thrown into a deep well. She had been determined to resist at first, earning many blows from the whips of the two ever-present Novices. She recognised the tell-tale signs of fatigue, and she had begun to respond to Sister Melana's prompts with greater alacrity, just to avoid further chastisement and blurring of her mind.