<<< PREV | FIRST | NEXT >>>

Mermul has a very bad time. Next chapter may have to be flagged as Mature.

Icon art from the Mermul reference by Billie/FeatheryFlukes

=================

Chapter 20 - Ultimatum

Fardon looked shaken, and seemed to be on the verge of crying.

"What's happened?" Mermul looked terrified.

"Lord Thurr has made another move," the knight said. "He... His agents have murdered Vulthur... one of Fiskul's friends, and he's captured Zeelah while she was gathering spell ingredients in the Disputed Territories. Vinny was escorting her and... they took him too."

"What?!"

"He's sent Lord Varl a list of names and addresses, in Taria, Arcaia, Vorland, the Disputed Territories... Fisk has confirmed they're genuine. He's going to assassinate them, one by one, and execute his captives... unless..."

"...Unless I surrender," Mermul whimpered.

"Unless we hand over both you and the Xebulon," Fardon said. "And we still refuse, if we let Zeelah and Vinny and all those innocent people die... He'll invade Taria."

"What are you going to do?" Fiskul asked, appalled. "You... You can't send Mermul to die!"

"Lord Varl is stalling for now," the knight said, "But I fear that we may not have much choice. We barely handled a couple of assassins... we failed to stop his agent killing Vulthur in our own capital... He's moved his troops for a full-scale invasion, starting with Tarnover. Repelling a mass attack by our fellow dragons, if we can win at all, it will come at great cost.
"Protecting Mermul is something we have tried to do, but at the end of the day, Thurr's realm is a militarised society brimming with soldiers, and we just have our knights, guards and fancy weaponry. Taria is not a soft target, but the harsh reality is that we're geared to fighting Hunters, not thousands of heavily-armed dragons.
"So far, Lord Thurr has left us alone because he has had no real reason to invade, and invading us would result in heavy losses for him too. But if he sees Mermul as an existential threat and turns his full might against us? We will either lose outright, or be weakened enough that the Hunters can finish us off."

"Mermul... the final decision must rest with you," Fardon continued. "You can flee the city if you wish, seek sanctuary on another continent, but even then Thurr might invade to make sure you were really gone. And if you flee, he'll kill Zeelah, Vinny and everyone else on the list."

The fluff dragon sank to the floor, tears starting to well. "I knew it," he said. "I always knew that this was just a brief respite, that he would get me in the end."

He breathed heavily for a few moments, and then steeled himself. "Give me the Xebulon," he said. "If this is what Fercia wanted, then I will do it. Just... after I'm gone... I want Fiskul to have the villa. And Vinny... if he lives... can take his pick from Fercia's possessions."

Fardon went quiet, unable to speak for a few moments, while Mermul took a piece of paper and wrote his last wishes. "We'll build a statue of you," he choked. "Your sacrifice will not go unhonoured."

"Where must I go?" the frost dragon asked bravely. Somehow, knowing that it was all over was strangely reassuring.

"To... To the Disputed Territories," Fardon said. "You can't fly, but I can carry you. And Fiskul... maybe you should come too."

"Just you try and stop me!" the small dragon said. "That bastard's killed Vulthur, wants to kill Mermul - and I want to make him pay!"

* * *

At an empty plateau in the Disputed Lands, Lord Thurr waited, with a bound human prisoner, and two of his trusted enforcers as backup. He craned his neck, a wide grin cracking over the red dragon's face as he saw the silhouettes of three other dragons heading their way, one of whom was clearly being carried by the largest.

"Good, good," the dragon-lord sighed. "I was afraid they were going to stand me up. That wouldn't be good for you, would it, Mr. Roberts...?"

Mermul yelped, tumbling from Fardon's grip as the dragon-knight came into land.

"Welcome!" Lord Thurr said cheerily. "I was worried you weren't going to make it."

"Your thugs winging Mermul didn't make getting here any easier." Fardon replied coolly.

"But we're all here now, and that's what matters," Lord Thurr said. "By the way, my men are watching. If you have any heroic ideas, please don't bother unless you want to cause a mass-casualty event."

"I get the point," Fardon growled.

"And look! Here's Mr. Roberts," Thurr said, gesturing at his prisoner. "One of the esteemed Devourer's little friends, I believe...?"

"Let him go!" Fiskul demanded angrily. "And let Mermul go! We're giving back the artifact... You've got what you wanted! He means nothing to you now!"

Lord Thurr sighed. "You should have said 'please'," he remarked and promptly bit the human's head off.

"YOU FUCK!" the black dragon screamed, growing larger and stretching out a taloned hand towards the red dragon-lord, tendrils of void escaping from their mouth. "YOU MURDERING FUCK!"

One of the enforcers cast a powerful spell, a beam of light that washed over the Devourer's head, collapsing them into a heap. Fardon leaped out of the way, and tried to throw the Xebulon at Lord Thurr, but the power washed over him as well and the glowing orb tumbled from his grasp, rolling to a halt in the long grass. The stream of energy flowed over Mermul too and he struggled to remain conscious.

"Put them on the trucks," Lord Thurr said. "And make sure the Xebulon is couriered separately." Mermul heard an engine starting up as everything faded to black.

* * *

Fardon came to suddenly, and was overwhelmed with disorientation.

"Hello," Lord Thurr said. "Sir Fardon, isn't it?"

The knight blinked, and craned his neck to glance around. His armour was gone and he appeared to be in a throne room, with a large, plush couch for Lord Thurr to lie upon. Several guards were stationed about the room, watching the scene unfold. Further back, was a tiled area recessed slightly into the floor, with a number of drains set around it. Nearby, weapon racks were locked behind sturdy glass doors. It appeared to be a small arena, or sparring area.

"...I am Sir Fardon," the brown dragon confirmed, still a little shaken from the stun spell. "I don't recall myself being included in your demands, my lord. Is my presence really necessary in your realm...?"

"If I left you unconscious in the Disputed Territories, the Hunters would get you," Lord Thurr pointed out. "But, I had intended to invite you anyway, before the Devourer threw his little tantrum. There are things we must discuss."

"You do not mean to kill me, then...?" Fardon asked suspiciously.

"Of course not!" Lord Thurr sounded offended. "You are a high-ranking official of Lord Varl. Besides, I will need to send someone back to Taria, so that your Lordship may know what has happened. And what is going to happen."

"What about..."

"...Your friends? Depends how things go," Thurr shrugged his wings. "But frankly... I doubt all of them will make it. It's likely some of them will join Mirmjolnar... and on that note, I'd rather you were among the survivors, so please don't try to be a hero. You can't fight all of my guards, and I would hate to have to waste such a magnificent dragon as you," he added, casting the muscular warrior an admiring glance.

"Fiskul won't like that," Fardon warned. "You kill Mermul... they'll be pissed. You're playing with a force you don't understand!"

"That's true, I don't understand the Devourer," Lord Thurr admitted. "But that is something I am hoping to fix." he glanced at the unconscious black form lying slumped in the corner.
"He is under sedation at the moment. Can't have him trying to rescue his friends. And that reminds me, I will have to dissect him soon before the drug wears off... I am very curious to know how his void-breath works."

"And when the Devourer regenerates?" Fardon asked.

"Then I'll get to study that too," Lord Thurr beamed toothily. "I really must thank you for helping to bring me such a prize. It truly has been a win-win situation for me."

"You don't ask for much, do you?" Fardon asked, shaking his head.

"Not really, but you have delivered it anyway! And you should be grateful, Fardon... For what I plan to do will be a boon to all dragonkind! When we expand, and bring more of our kind under my wings, I can show them the true path... the power of meat! Under my diet they will no longer fear! They will be unstoppable!"

"I know something of your... experiments... from Mermul," Fardon replied, wincing. "You mean to expand? Amass a new army of mindless thugs as your killing machines...?"

"You make it sound like they're lobotomised," Lord Thurr said, sounding hurt. "My methods help them reach their full potential, uninhibited by fear and the hesitations of guilt. The perfect predator! The perfect dragon!"

"That sounds like lobotomy to me," Fardon said, grimacing. "Efficient, emotionless killers... Isn't that what every supervillain wants?"

"I am not sure whether to be flattered or annoyed at you comparing me to the antagonist in a cartoon," the dragon-lord sighed. "But I like you, Fardon, so I'll let it pass. For your information, I don't want emotionless zombies as my followers. What would be the point? I want my soldiers to feel the pleasure of their kills. To know the glory of battle and tearing prey, tasting their blood and meat. If they could not share that thrill and excitement, could not enjoy the slaughter and destruction, they might start avoiding just it to save time! We are dragons - we should revel in such violence!"

"A human or furre would call that cartoon villainy," Fardon said. "But as a dragon, I do get where you're coming from, even though I don't agree with it."

"Not yet, anyway," Lord Thurr smiled. "In the end, we have a common enemy, Fardon. You, me and Lord Varl all want the same thing. Those accursed dragonslayers kill your people as well as mine. None of us want our fellow dragons to fall to their hands, our only difference is in how we wish to see that problem solved.
"Lord Varl believes that we should stoop to their level, be friends with puny humans. But one day they shall rise up in revolt and slay him like the Dragon Wars. No! The only true measure of safety is by crushing them, crushing their spirits! Putting them in their proper place... and thanks to you, I can finally do that!"

"With Fiskul...?" Fardon looked very alarmed.

"Yes!" Lord Thurr said, eyes shining. "I will eat the devourer! His powers will pass to me, and when I become the Dark Destroyer, I shall consume Atlantia, erasing it from reality - and ending the Hunters forever!"

"You mean to exterminate the Small Races?!" Fardon looked appalled.

"Don't be ridiculous," Thurr scoffed. "Seriously - the Hunters are a threat that has to be eliminated, but why would I want to wipe out the Small Races as a whole? Without humans and furres, where's the sport? Where's the fun in killing a mindless animal, when you can pit your wits against an intelligent foe? And who would raise cattle for us...? That's not dragon's work."

"And besides," he smiled darkly. "When it comes to sheer cruelty, they can teach us a thing or two!"

* * *

Mermul screamed, woken up by a searing pain in his wing. His feet had been bound in manacles, which were attached to the floor. His neck was restrained as well by some kind of stocks, but he craned it as far as he could, to take in his surroundings. An icy sensation of terror enveloped him as he realised he was in a dungeon. A black curtain was drawn in front of him, concealing what he knew would be some instrument of death or torture.

In desperation, he attempted to use his ice-breath, but could not manage more than a faint cloud of vapour that sank to the ground like dry ice.

"Naughty," a voice said, and he felt another stab of pain as his injured wing was struck again, re-breaking the bones that had been shattered by the assassin's bullet. The dragon gritted his teeth and whimpered.

"Breath attacks won't work here," the voice pointed out. "It's warded against that. Can't have you incinerating me in the middle of my job, can we...?"

Mermul craned his neck to try and see the source of his voice, but saw nothing.

"Down here," the voice said, and at last he saw his tormentor.

"You... you're a Hunter!" Mermul whimpered.

"Indeed," the man said, sharpening the blade of his dragonsword in a slow, conspicuous manner. "My name is Marshall... And I'll be your dragonslayer for tonight."