CHAPTER 29: "The Gods' Prayer"

ARI

Utter agony, a writhing stomach ache, an unshakeable, infectious sense of helplessness. That was Nightingshire. The castle walls that once were a pristine white were blackened. Where there were not amber flames, there was heavy smoke. Ari coughed a cloud of it out of her lungs as she, Sir Oliver and Bard ran across the town square.

Lord Gerard had prepared for a dragon attack, in the form of trebuchets, but they were unmanned. Most of the knights who might have operated them had instead been assigned to hover over the plethora of visitors for the Harvest Festival. In other words, it seemed that Lord Gerard had prepared for a dragon attack, but was not prepared to counter a dragon attack.

Sir Oliver ran up to a knight who lie wounded and hid out in a stable. He grabbed the boy’s hand. “Where are the other knights?” Sir Oliver asked.

“T-t-t-t-t… torched,” the poor knight answered. Ari could not see his wound very well, but the abdomen of his armor was coal black instead of its usual silver. “Th—th— the burn… it’s b… bad.”

“Shh, quiet, boy,” Sir Oliver said, gripping the knight’s hand tightly. “Quiet. Conserve your breath.”

“I shall see about that crowd,” Bard told Ari, pointing to the frightened masses pounding on the castle gates to their right. “See what I may aid them with.”

Ari nodded as the little man ran off.

“Hel…el…elp me,” the knight said. “K…k-k-kill m…me.”

Sir Oliver was grim. He pulled a dagger out from his ankle strap, a thin, shiny blade. “Are you certain?”

The knight nodded.

“No!” Ari shouted. “What are you doing?”

Sir Oliver looked to her and sighed. “He is dying. I must help him.”

“D…d-do you kn-know the Gods’ P…P…Prayer?” the dying knight asked.

Sir Oliver turned back to him and recited the rites. “In the name of Reyden, Sarra, Terra, Jerra and Anton, I beseech that the Gods accept this blessing with open arms, a worthy servant in life… and death. May the road to paradise rise to meet you.”

“Th-thank you. D-d… do it. P-please.”

Sir Oliver raised the dagger. Ari did not want to look. Sir Oliver turned to her and said, “Look. And you will not dare look away.”

Ari painfully watched as Sir Oliver lifted the young man’s head and drove the dagger into the back of his neck. Sir Oliver rose. “You may need to one day,” he told her. “Those will be easy. It will be the other men, the men who wish not to die… that will truly haunt you.”

Ari replied, “… I thought you did not believe in the Gods.”

“I do not. But he did.”

Ari tuned into someone else reciting the Gods’ prayer. The familiar words filled Ari’s ears in between desperate cries of the townsfolk. The mass of them were clawing and pounding on the heavy gate to the inner castle for shelter, but the castle guard was poking them away with spears. Bard put his hand on a desperate woman’s shoulder for consolation, a hopeless effort.

“This castle is for the Lord and his advisors only,” one of the spear-wielding guards yelled at the mob. “Disperse, you vermin!”

“FUCK THE LORD!” one grizzly bear of a man yelled.

Another man simply begged. “Please, please. My children. Take my children! Take only my children if you must! My children! Please!”

Another deafening caw. The dragon was returning. Ari turned to see it once again, in its full glory, a featherless bird of prey perched upon the castle walls. It was seething, tiny flames forming in its nostrils, decaying, forming, decaying, forming, each breath teasing the crowd of an inferno to come. The dragon’s jaw slowly lowered and the townsfolk pounding at the gates screamed again in anticipation.

But before a stream of fire was shot, perhaps two dozen harsh arrows hit the dragon’s tongue. The dragon shrieked in pain and flew off, for now.

Ari turned to see the knights that fired the arrows, but there were no knights, only a horde of Women In Blue, bows in hand. The one called Fatime yelled, “Ready your bows! Hold!” She spotted Sir Oliver and Ari and ran to meet them.

“I got word you escaped before we could free you,” Fatime said.

“We had help,” Sir Oliver admitted. “Aiming at the creature’s tongue?”

“We saw arrows bounce off of its skin like it was armor. I wagered that maybe its innards were more vulnerable.”

“True. It was an… intelligent strategy.” Sir Oliver was slow with the praise. The dragon shrieked again. “But I am unsure we will have many more opportunities to hit such a weak spot before the dragon burns down this whole damn kingdom.”

“Can we use them?” Ari asked, leaning her head toward the trebuchets.

“To hurl what?” Sir Oliver asked.

“We will hurl burning clusters of metal at the creature,” Fatime said confidently.

Ari and Oliver wore doubt on their countenance. “Hurl fire at a creature that breathes fire?” asked Sir Oliver.

Fatime shrugged. “It was a suggestion.” There was a wild scream of agony behind them. “We could use suggestions,” she added.

“I am not sure that fire or metal will kill the beast,” Sir Oliver claimed. “My blade hardly nicked the skin.”

“So it cannot be killed?” asked Fatime.

“I am open to any more suggestions that you might have,” Sir Oliver said.

From the left came a mighty horse, and its rider shouted, “Ari! Ari!”

Ari was worried she might never see Barnacle again. The orc rode up to meet them on his new horse, claiming, “I had seen that the dragon had returned and I came to fight beside you! To be a better orc! A better person!”

“Perhaps we can use the orc as bait,” whispered Fatime.

“I approve of that plan,” Sir Oliver said under his breath.

“Where have you been?” Ari asked Barnacle.

Sir Oliver rubbed the back of his neck. “Regarding that… I am sorry, orc.”

“Sorry for what?” Ari asked.

“A story for a better time,” Sir Oliver said, finger to the sky, pointing out the dragon’s speedy return.

“We need to save the people,” Ari said. “They will die out here.”

“We can kill the guards at the gate,” said Fatime.

“No,” Ari demanded. “No more death.” She had seen enough for one day, for one lifetime, maybe.

“Girl, if they do not die, then these people will. The knights are sworn to protect House Youngblood with their lives. They will not show the same kindness for Nightingshire.”

“Then we will find a way, another way. There must be another path into the castle.”

“Aye!” Barnacle cut in. “Perhaps that is where the Prince and Sir Galen came from! Might they know another way in?”

Ari spun her head to Barnacle. “The Prince?”

“Aye,” answered Barnacle. “He has joined the crusade! I saw him with the Kingsguard but a moment ago.”

“Take us to him,” Ari said. “Now.”