Thirty One
Alara
Another horn, another day of death.
I’m not down in the sand this time, I’m in the royal section.
“It is time for the third game. Blood of the Bonded!” Halen shouts, and the crowd erupts once more.
My eyes go to Rohan and the other Dragonbonds below, standing tall.
“I know, I know,” the king says, and the crowd settles down. “We do have some transgressions to attend to first. Guards!”
Transgressions?
There is a commotion within the crowd below, and I lean forward for a closer look.
The guards have three people in tow, dragging them up the side steps and onto the stage.
“Oh, I like this one,” Violetta says, clapping.
“I wanted to be the one to end them,” Nathanial complains.
Ivor and Alexandar stay silent.
One woman and two men stand there, fear etched onto their faces, and one of the men even wets himself.
I swallow over the lump in my throat.
“It seems we’ve had some who tried to escape their den late last night.” My eyes go to the king with dread. “They know the rules.”
The guards behind them kick their feet out from under them, and they crash on their knees as blocks are brought upon the stage. They’re quickly strapped down, heads hanging off the edge, chest to the block.
I stand, heart hammering against my ribs.
“What are you doing, elf?” Alexandar says. “Sit down.” A rough tug at my arm has me dropping back into my seat, and Rohan instantly takes a step in my direction.
I shake my head, and he stops, but his eyes are on his half-brother, who must feel it because he chuckles.
“Are you playing games, brother?” Nathanial asks Alexandar.
“Aren’t we always?”
Violetta says nothing, eyes glued to the stage.
“Now, once you have entered The Games, you stay in The Games until the end. This year is a little different with everyone in the clans participating, but rules are rules!” Halen snarls.
“You three tried and failed to leave last night, caught by my guards as you tried to bribe one of them to help you flee. What do you have to say for yourselves?”
“Please, I’m sorry,” the man who wet himself cries. His ribbon is white.
The woman, wearing a green ribbon, stays silent.
The red ribbon says, “Do what you will.”
“Pathetic Dragorie, what do your Dragonbonds think? Hmm?” The king turns to them, and a cruel smirk twists his features. “It is only fair that the punishment is given by your leaders.”
The king steps back and waves a hand.
More guards appear, escorting Sigrid, Durruk and Karag to their people.
No… he can’t possibly mean… They wouldn’t do it, right?
An axe is provided, and the Dragonbonds move to the site of their clan members.
Oh Gods.
“Now, when you’re ready, cut off their heads or I will do it. And if I do it, I will choose more of your clan to join them!” Halen threatens, and the crowd goes wild.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Sigrid seethes, and a guard points Nighturn at her.
“Then do as you’re told!” the king snarls. “Or I will rid you of half your clan right now.”
Karag moves first. He lifts the axe high and without a moment’s hesitation, he swings it down, the head of his clan member goes rolling across the stage, blood spurting everywhere.
My mouth opens in shock and horror. Violetta and Nathanial laugh.
Karag walks back to his clan without a word, dropping the axe as the crowd cheers.
I nearly throw up.
Durruk is next, though hesitant, but he too beheads his clan member and my fingers curl into fists. I look away.
Sigrid is looking down at her male and they seem to be having a silent conversation that has him nodding his head.
“May Morana guide you,” Sigrid says, and as soon as he closes his eyes, she takes his life.
I can’t grasp what I just saw, my mind struggling to accept it.
Am I in shock?
“Perfect!” The king coos. “I hope this is your last warning as to what happens if you don’t follow the rules. Now, on to the next game. Blood of the Bonded! Bets are being taken as I speak!”
The crowd cheers, and I look over at them, the excitement on their faces. I scan the stands, breathing speeding up a little but at least I don’t spot Emerish amongst them.
“Did you bet?” Nathanial asks.
“No,” Alexandar replies.
“You’re no fun, brother. Or is it only elves we bet on?”
I tense as Violetta giggles.
“I have five hundred coin that one bleeds out.”
What?
“Enough,” Ivor says quietly, but firmly.
“Settle down, settle down.” The king grins. “What is Blood of the Bonded, you may ask? Well, it’s better to show you rather than explain.” He waves a hand and guards come out, placing very large round tubs down with the clan colors on each one. “Now, Dragonbonds, if you would, please.”
I look to the leaders and watch as they slowly make their way to center stage. Each goes to their respective buckets, and after a moment, they step inside.
“Strip,” the king says, and Sigrid whips her head toward him, a snarl on her lips. “Not all the way,” the king chides. “I don’t want to see how disgusting you all are.”
The Dragonbonds strip down to their underwear, dumping their clothes at the side of the tubs while the crowds laugh and jeer.
I swallow around the knot in my throat when I catch sight of what’s been hidden beneath the other leader’s clothing.
Scars that tell stories of battle. Of Hardship and survival.
I look at Sigrid, and the scar going down from her navel into her underwear.
My fingers clench.
This is wrong, so wrong.
“Choose a dragon each,” the king bellows, and my heart stops.
“Tell us what the game is, first,” Varan growls.
“We cannot choose if we don’t know,” Durruk adds.
The others stay silent.
“Hmm, but where is the fun in that?”
“Fuck you!” Sigrid shouts, axe in hand as she jumps out of the tub and stalks forward, only to halt when an arrow lands near her feet.
“Careful now,” The king warns, as my pulse pounds in my ears. “Now, announce the name, Clan Highwing.”
“Almera.” Sigrid grits out.
“Clan Greenclaw.”
Durruk. “Bertix.”
“Clan Firehorn.”
Karag. “Zarvix,”
“Clan Rivertail.”
Varan. “Wentyr.”
“Blackscale.”
Rohan looks to the board, and then back to the buckets. “Doren.”
The breath catches in my throat, and I turn to him, heart hammering.
“Excellent.” The king claps, and a moment later, five gates open around the Enclave and the dragons appear, muzzles on.
The crowd quietens down to hushed whispers at the sight of them.
It must be odd to see them this close, an occurrence that only happens during The Games.
“They are magnificent,” Violetta says, her voice tinged with awe. “I never get to see them closer than this.”
“That’s because they will tear your head off,” Nathanial remarks.
“They aren’t friendly with us, niece,” Ivor says.
“We can just make them be friendly.”
I look at her sharply, and she grins at me.
“A dragon won’t just bow down to your whims,” I tell her.
She scowls before grinning. “That’s why you make them, elf.”
I turn my head away from her, watching as the Dragorie part for them, stroking down their scales before they all take flight.
The crowd’s screams are quieted by the roar of the dragons as they reach the top of the Enclave, trying to fly higher until they’re stopped by the metal curving above. My heart breaks for them.
“Control them,” the king shouts, as one changes direction and lands on the other side of us, in the stands.
It starts to tear into the people there, limbs shredded, bodies clawed.
I gasp as screams erupt at the proximity of the snarling dragon, and arrows are aimed its way. “Here, Wentyr. Now.” Varan shouts to be heard over the terrified crowd.
The blue dragon thankfully turns to him, flying to the stage, dropping down behind him with a thud.
“Come, Doren,” Rohan calls, and the others do the same. I can tell the Dragonbonds are eyeing the bolts aiming at their dragons from above.
“Calm, now,” the king shouts, looking into the screaming crowd, at some of the bodies on the floor left by Wentyr’s attack. “You know the risks, now, quiet!”
The crowd quiets while guards go into the stands and drag the dead and injured away.
I should feel something, I should be sad that some are hurt, or dead, but they’ve come here to watch Dragorie die, dragons die.
I won’t feel anything over their deaths.
I freeze at the thought and frown, looking down at my hands.
I don’t want to feel nothing over death.
Doren roars, and my head snaps to him. Rohan rubs a hand down Doren’s chest, his ears flicking as he scans the enclave, growling, much like the others.
I can feel their anger, their worry for their leader all the way up here.
“Control them, or we start shooting,” the king reminds them, when the dragons continue to growl menacingly.
The Dragonbonds calm their dragons the best they can, though it still looks like they will attack at a moment’s notice.
They may have muzzles on, but they still have claws, as we’ve seen with Wentyr.
Karag and Durruk seem to just murmur rather than touch their dragons.
Sigrid strokes down the horns of Almera, a blue dragon, and Varan strokes the chest of Wentyr.
“Clans, line up in a single line.” They move, the guards making sure they comply. “Now, Dragonbonds, the tubs you are in are for you and your dragon’s collection, and the one who has the most by the end of your clan’s line, wins first place.”
“Fill with what?” I mutter aloud, before Declan grabs my arm and drags me out of my seat.
My eyes lock with Rohan’s, and then my body compresses.
I feel dizzy for a moment as we land in the familiar hallway, not used to it as I catch up to Declan.
“You have things to attend to,” Declan snarls, still dragging me. “You will be collected when the game is near its end,” he smirks, “You will be required as you are in clan Blackscale.”
Then he shoves me through the door, slamming it behind me.
My hands shake, and my chest heaves as I make my way down the steps, trying not to worry about the game.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I take a breath and open the door into the dragon’s dungeon.
A wave of despair hits me right away, and pain shoots through my chest causing me to gasp. Rushing inside, nearly tripping over myself, I stop dead at the scene in front of me.