Chapter 55 #2
“I will take that as a no.” Harlow turned to the rest of the crowd, his arms outstretched, as if seeking connection with them.
“See your brother, bent low before you. This is what happens when we allow the Dragonborn to speak. They lie to us and then they manipulate us. They get into our minds and make us confused. It is how they control the dragons, bending them to their will. And it is why we must seize the power of these creatures, before the Dragonborn use them to destroy us. It is only by keeping control that we can protect ourselves from this power.”
Murmurs broke out amongst the crowd, and Harlow allowed them, basked in them. There was no whistle to remind the men of their duty to listen in silence. He let their fear spread through them like a fire.
“We must take the power for ourselves before it’s used against us.
We cannot let the Dragonborn massacre us while we cower in fear of their gods.
There are no gods beyond the kings, only darkness that must be mastered before it overtakes us and destroys everything we’ve built.
They will bring us low with their lies if we let them. ”
Perhaps anything weak enough to be brought down by words wasn’t ordained by gods.
Harlow motioned to someone out of Fox’s eyeline, and a moment later his shirt was being ripped from him.
It was a temporary relief to have the wet cloth removed.
A moment later he registered the whistle of the whip before it cracked across his skin, setting his nerves on fire.
His groan caught in the gag shoved down his throat.
Harlow seemed to notice the muffled sound and snapped to the other soldier.
A moment later the gag was being torn from him, and Fox snarled. “I thought you feared my—”
He didn’t finish the sentence, two strikes coming in quick succession. His jaw snapped, and he pulled back his tongue just in time to not bite it off.
Harlow smiled, and Fox locked his jaw, choking on his groans. He wouldn’t give Harlow the satisfaction.
He looked out over the crowd, his glare defiant.
And then he saw her, just beyond the gathered soldiers, a flash of curls and bright eyes.
His mother stood in the back, her hand covering her mouth and her eyes wide with horror.
And when she met his eyes, it was anger he saw, piercing and sharp.
She turned before the next strike fell, and he felt his body crumple under the pain, a scream finally bursting from his throat.
He felt the satisfaction rolling from Harlow as he paused, just long enough to let the scream echo. And then he struck again.
Fox didn’t bite back his screams. His mother’s eyes burned into his brain as he let tears gather in his eyes.
When he was panting on the ground, blood turning icy across his back, and his screams muffled in the dirt, Harlow stopped.
He stepped back, examining his work, and Fox was reminded of his father.
He blinked up at the man, wondering if it was his father.
Perhaps he hadn’t killed him after all. The man had always felt larger than life, and immortality would have suited him.
He blinked again, and it was Harlow once more, looking down at him with utter disgust and disappointment. He shook his head and turned away.
“Bring the dragon out!”
Fox could only watch as they dragged Chalia forward, her claws fighting against the ground weakly. But she was chained, her wings tied back with iron netting. He could already see angry red scars along her scales where the iron bit into her.
“Stay strong, Pale Scales,” she said, even as Harlow moved toward her, his whip replaced with an axe.
He brought the axe down on her foot with little fanfare, blue blood spraying across the snow as her toe fell away.
She roared, birds shooting into the sky all around them.
Some soldiers flinched while others watched in awe as Harlow tore scale and sinew from Chalia’s bone and talon.
“Jordi, step forward,” he said, turning and presenting the bloody bone. “Congratulations on your work for the crown. You’ve proved your worth and loyalty. You will be rewarded as such. Take this dragon as proof of the power of the king’s men and make your first command.”
Fox watched in numb horror as the light and pain drained from Chalia’s eyes.
“Stay strong, Chalia,” he sent, but he could already feel her mind slipping as Jordi approached her, smirking.
“Bow to me,” he said, gripping the bone hard in his hands. Chalia’s elbows dropped to the ground, her neck stretching low. Jordi raised the bone above his head, and a cheer rose among the soldiers.
“Mark it!” some yelled out from the crowd, and someone passed a dagger to the man. Grinning like a child, he cut into Chalia’s neck, carving a “J” there before stepping back to admire his work. The entire time she didn’t make a sound, her eyes clouded.
Fox tried to reach out to her again. There was nothing but a faint buzzing. He slumped against the ground, any fight drained from him. He’d been so worried about dying, but he was beginning to understand there were things much worse than death.