Chapter 67 #2
An eerie blue light glows around Vanora. “This man cannot be trusted,” she says. “He has even deceived me. I’ve just realized he’s not even a man! He is an abomination. A shapeshifter! And he will soon suffer the wrath of Othrix!”
Fire streams from the effigy again, heating the air above us.
The klericks move toward Zogar, a few holding out their hands as if they’re trying to use magic, but I don’t see any evidence of it.
This is chaos. If there was a plan, this can’t be it. Amongst everything else, Tynan’s father has broken away from his guards and is arguing with Vanora.
With a huff, she raises her hand toward him, and the King staggers back.
“Good people!” Zogar spreads his arms widely. “Everything you see here is fakery!” He marches to the edge of the stage to address the crowd.
I twist my neck, trying to see him. Hands fall onto one of my ankles.
I look down. It’s Tynan.
His fear-filled eyes look up at me, but then he winks and quickly frees my ankles, followed by my wrists. My arms drop, and the rest of the burlap robe falls off.
Tynan supports me as my feet find the floor. “Here.” He removes his velvet cloak, wrapping it over me and lifting the hood to cover my head. “You must hide.”
I long to fall into Tynan’s arms, but too much is happening. Zogar is still addressing the crowd, and he and Vanora seem to be alternatively using their magic against each other.
Tynan ushers me into the wings, and we crouch behind one of many panels, which are clearly designed to reflect light and shield the crowd’s view of what lies behind the effigy.
Many multi-level scaffolding structures surround the back of the altar, all with men standing and kneeling at various levels atop their platforms.
“Don’t move from here,” Tynan says. “Keep the hood over your head.”
Before I can object, Tynan runs back onto the altar. Zogar is pleading with the assembled audience, and the illusions battle. The scene on the altar changes often, and each time it draws exclamations from the audience. If there’s a plan, Zogar didn’t think this part through.
He turns toward the klericks. “Vanora is a liar!” he points toward her. “This mage claims to be your leader, but I am your true King!” He pounds a fist against his chest. “I am King of the Dragons, King of all Mages. Every one of you klericks is a mage, albeit weak ones.”
I cringe at his words. This was a big mistake. Some of the klericks laugh, others look insulted, and it’s clear that he’s losing even the ones who looked like they’d begun to question Vanora.
Unnoticed in the chaos, Tynan creeps across the stage, keeping to a shadow below the effigy. Once he’s across, he heads toward Saxon, Xendus and Surath.
Zogar and Vanora continue to argue in front of the klericks and the audience, and I have no idea which way the tide is turning.
King Lancet spots Tynan and confronts him.
I can’t hear what they’re saying, but it’s clearly heated.
The King raises his hand to strike his son, but Tynan ducks under his father’s blow and lands a hard punch to his belly.
The King staggers back, and Tynan quickly releases the copper chains holding Xendus’s hands together.
Xendus releases his muzzle and the bindings around his own ankles, as Tynan releases Surath’s hands. And then Xendus takes over freeing Surath and Saxon.
Tynan strides to the platform that Vanora vacated and leaps atop it.
“All of this. It’s all fakery!” Tynan shouts. His voice is amplified, filling the space.
Everyone stops and turns toward Tynan. Clearly whatever magic was used to cast the Prime Klerick’s voice throughout the large space is tied to that platform and not the person upon it. Tynan is suddenly the loudest person in the temple.
“Who the fuck are you?” one of the klericks shouts.
“I am Tynan. Rider of dragons, and Crown Prince of Khotor.”
The crowd visibly reacts, some showing deference at hearing his identity. Most of the klericks seem confused.
“The Prime Klerick has tricked you all!” Tynan shouts and points toward her.
Light glowing around her, Vanora holds up her hands.
Tynan falls to his knees, clearly in pain. My heart rises in my throat and my body itches to run toward him.
Xendus rushes forward. He plants himself between Vanora and Tynan, then thrusts balls of light toward Vanora.
She barely flinches, but Tynan gets back to his feet.
“This man is Xendus,” Tynan gestures toward him. “He is a man, to be sure. But he is also a mage. And he is also the dragon I ride.”
Sounds of dismay and disbelief ripple through the crowd.
“Seize him,” Vanora says. “Seize them all. Obey me or suffer the wrath of Othrix.” Fire erupts from the effigy’s mouth, and some of the guards, who’ve been cowering in the wings, move toward Tynan.
But Xendus firms his stance protecting Tynan. He growls and the guards stop.
“Release me!” Vanora yells.
I turn. Surath and Zogar have Vanora secured. Surath is holding her arms as Zogar binds her in copper chains. Vanora struggles but can’t lift her arms to use her magic, and she seems to be rapidly weakening.
A hand slides onto my shoulder.
I startle, but quickly realize it’s Saxon. I lean back against him, grateful that he’s not only safe, but close to me. His heat and the scent of the forest ease my fear.
“What’s the plan?” I ask.
“This certainly isn’t it.” He shakes his head.
“This image of Othrix?” Tynan, still on the platform, shouts to the crowd. “This god that you worship? Every part of it is fakery. This image is nothing but pieces of metal, attached to ropes and pulleys, all operated by men, not a god.”
He looks toward the scaffolding structures, along the sides and the back of the altar. “I call on the good men operating these devices to drop their ropes, to redirect their panes of reflective glass that amplify the light, to extinguish the fires creating the smoke and awe.”
Hands above his head, Tynan turns toward one side of the altar then the other, and then he turns so he’s looking directly through the image of Othrix.
I move further behind the effigy to get a better view of the workings.
Saxon follows me. Dozens and dozens of men are stationed on various levels of scaffolding all around the back of the altar, and hundreds of ropes, many looped over pulleys, are fastened to the backs of metal pieces that form the image of Othrix.
Mirrors line panels at the sides of the structure, and more hang from the ceiling above. The reflections are helping to create the illusion of dimensionality and life, and the smoke adds to the illusion.
“Expose the truth,” Tynan shouts. “Surely, if Othrix is all powerful, he does not need mortal men to put on a show for him. Surely, if this god exists, he needs no such fakery.”
“It’s true!” a man shouts from the scaffolding. “It’s all fake.” A rope falls to the floor, and one of Othrix’s cheekbones droops.
More men drop their ropes. The smoke lessens. Some of the mirrors redirect. Even from our perspective beside it, it’s clear that the effigy is flatter from the audience’s perspective. Far less real.
Men climb down from the scaffolding and walk from behind the effigy. More of the effigy collapses, making it even clearer that it’s a large number of metal plates joined together.
In a rage, one of the klericks stomps toward the men. “Return to your posts or you’ll be beaten.”
The men stand firm.
A klerick leaps onto the platform, next to Tynan.
“Silence,” he calls out. “Do not be fooled. Do not listen to the lies of these heretics and blasphemers.”
“It’s the klericks who lie!” Tynan shouts. The klerick pushes Tynan, and other klericks drag Tynan off the platform.
“I am Othrix,” a loud voice booms. “All who question me will suffer my wrath.”
“Look.” I tug on Saxon’s arm. “Over there.”
A klerick is standing behind a large metal cone that’s clearly amplifying his voice.
“Bow before me!” the klerick says, and his voice booms through the temple. Fire erupts through the effigy’s now drooping mouth, but it’s weaker this time, and the crowd’s sounds give me hope that they’re beginning to realize the truth.
“We’ve got to do something,” I say to Saxon, and he nods.
We rush toward another red-robed klerick, and Saxon constrains him. “Where does she keep the manticore?” Saxon asks the klerick.
The klerick shakes his head, but his eyes reveal his fear.
Saxon tugs the klerick back toward the amplifying device.
“Where does Vanora keep the manticore?” Saxon asks through the horn so everyone in the temple can hear.
“Where does Vanora keep the poor creature she feeds upon? The creature whose blood gives her the power and longevity to trick these good people?”
Sounds rise from the crowd, and I step out of the wings to better see what’s going on.
“Move away,” Zogar shouts as he strides to the front and center of the altar. “Everyone. Stand well away.” Lifting his arms, he turns slowly, and everyone else on the altar shifts back—perhaps in fear, perhaps pushed by Zogar’s magic. I can’t tell which.
Zogar crouches down, and in mere seconds he shifts into dragon form, filling most of the altar. His clothes shred to land on the floor. More of the effigy collapses.
The crowd gasps, backing away from the altar. Many push toward the entrance. It’s mayhem. Someone is going to be hurt.
Saxon and the klerick he was holding have vanished, so I stand behind the amplifying horn.
“Calm yourselves,” I call out. “This dragon means you no harm. I am Princess Rosomon of Achotia.” Surath pushes down a screen that’s blocking me from the view of the audience. Then she points to the wheels under the stand that supports the upper part of the horn. Together we push it forward.
“This dragon’s name is Zogar,” I say into the horn, and my voice carries loudly through the temple. Zogar is the dragon I ride. He and his people have been trapped here in the Light. They were deceived, just as you all have been.”
Zogar shifts back into his true form and quickly uses magic to clothe himself.
“And this.” I point toward him. “This is also Zogar, and he is my husband.”
Surath helps me push the amplifying device further forward, but I have the crowd’s full attention now. And also, the attention of the klericks, workers and guards on the stage.
“It was Zogar and his people who created the veil that protects the Light.” I step forward and Surath pushes the amplifying device along with me. “The mage who anointed herself Prime Klerick not only deceived you, she deceived Zogar and trapped him here!”
Shouts rise from the crowd, but I can’t make out any words.
“It’s true that I call myself princess, but that’s merely a title I was born with. A title I would gladly give up. This woman—” I point toward Vanora “—she gave herself a title and created an entire religion to control you.”
I still don’t understand how she did these things, and look toward Zogar, hoping he’ll help fill in the details, but he nods admiringly at me, encouraging me to continue.
“Please,” I say to the crowd. “I know this is difficult to believe. I only ask that you keep open minds. Come up onto the altar.” I gesture around. “Take a look behind the curtains to see the depths of the klericks’ deception.”
Saxon appears back on the stage, pushing a cage on wheels. He stops beside me and under the amplifying horn.
“Behold whom you truly worship,” he says, pointing to a creature who cowers inside the cage. “Vanora has consumed this poor manticore’s blood to gain power over you.”
Saxon opens the front of the cage, and gestures for the manticore to come out. The poor thing seems emaciated as he crawls forward. Saxon releases a clamp around his tail and then helps him to his feet.
His tail swishes to the side behind him.
The crowd shifts back toward the altar, clearly fascinated, some bowing and seeming to believe they’re now truly seeing Othrix in the flesh.
I point toward the Prime Klerick, still restrained by copper. “Did this woman hold you prisoner?”
The manticore nods.
“Did she drink your blood to stay alive and increase her powers?”
The manticore’s chin rises, and his paws brush through the mane around his human-like face. “Yes, she has used me.” His voice is very soft.
Saxon pushes the amplifier in front of him.
“This mage trapped me,” the manticore says. “She trapped every last one of my kind. We were the last remaining manticores. And I have not seen my mate, nor my children, since we were taken over four hundred years ago.”
The crowd expresses their dismay.
Seeming to gain strength and courage, the manticore points toward Vanora. “This mage held me captive. She drank my blood. She kept me weak and helpless.”
He glances around the room at all the banners and statues. “And to add insult to injury, she stole my image and my name to trick you.”
Tynan’s father strides across the stage. “My loyal subjects.” He holds his arms to the sides. “As King of the Light, I promise to right these wrongs.”
“You will do no such thing!” Zogar shouts. “On your knees.”
Zogar strides toward the former king, who quickly drops to his knees, pleading for mercy.
Zogar turns toward the audience. “Justice will prevail. With the help of my people, we will gather the surviving sovereigns together, and the kin of any kings who were slain. The Seven Kingdoms will be restored. The principles on which these kingdoms were founded will be reinstated.”
The crowd cheers, and pride and joy fill my heart.
“Today,” Zogar continues, “everyone wrongly held captive in this temple will be freed. And those responsible for their captivity will take their places in chains, until they can be fairly tried for their crimes.”
He looks toward the klericks and workers. “I expect some of you knew the extent of Vanora’s deceptions, while others did not. Some of you may have been coerced. You will all have a chance to plead your case.”
Some of the guards and workers surround the klericks, keeping them contained, and Vanora struggles against her bindings.
“Until order is restored, my people will keep the peace,” Zogar calls out. “There are many more dragons in the Light.”
The crowd cries out, both in approval, but also in obvious fear.
“Every dragon breathes fire, but I promise you, no harm will come to the innocent.”
The crowd cheers, and Zogar lifts my hand and kissses it.
None of this will be as easy as Zogar is making it sound, but my heart fills with hope that, even if it’s difficult, it is going to happen.