Corralled and bunched together, surrounded by thirty times their number, slowly they were marched up the steps of the council building, past the dimly lit pools of lava on either side, the hissing and spluttering of the molten liquid reminding Tank of the last time he'd visited the king. As they filed through the huge, arched doorway and into what remained of the lobby, darkness fell across the group, because the lights as well as everything else were out, after the pitched running battle with what remained of the King's Guard. Nothing had been repaired yet, as that had been deemed secondary to capturing the king. All of Manson's resources were currently being thrown at that. It wouldn't be long now.
26
Staring Into The Abyss
Reminiscent of a New Year's Eve fireworks display, the magical shield erupted furiously in a riot of colour as wave after wave of magical attacks detonated unsuccessfully against it. Fifty metres back, Amelia Battlehard stood stoically next to the king, looking on, both dragons keeping their thoughts very much to themselves. Battle tactics for the unavoidable upcoming skirmish and how best to rally her troops raced feverishly throughout her mind, as she mused about just how they were supposed to overcome the insurmountable odds stacked up against them. Momentarily she wondered if any of the other garrisons across the world were headed her way, any and all able to mount some sort of rescue attempt. Almost instantly though, she pushed the thought from her mind. No doubt the dark dragon Manson had all of that covered, given the planning that had gone into everything else. Silently she hoped her colleagues and friends across the planet were fighting gallantly to preserve their way of life and just survive. Deep within her mind, she wished them luck.
A gazillion different things swam through the king's consciousness, one after the other, often skittering away before he had a chance to consider each properly. For the most part this was a good thing, as the vast majority of them were much darker thoughts than even he should be thinking. But time and again one such thought kept on coming back to him, centred around living to rally and regroup the dragon world, and surviving to fight again another day. For him it was a distinct possibility, due to the secret entrance only known to him (of course he'd told Flash about it when he was staying here, but they were the only two that knew of its existence) only a hundred or so yards away from where he now stood. He could flee to safety. No dragon here would begrudge him that. At first he'd toyed with the idea, but not for very long, and not particularly seriously. It wasn't for him. Not on this day. And who's to say just what he would find back in the reality of London? For all he knew, there could be almost nothing left, no one to call on, no one to rally around him. NO! He wouldn't run. The very thought of leaving those who had sworn to protect him to whatever fate was rushing their way, was abhorrent. Some time ago he'd decided to stay and fight by their side, die in their defence if necessary, although he had a feeling that, for him, it wouldn't be quite that straight forward. No doubt Troydenn had other plans, plans that featured torture and endless suffering for him. But if he could buy some time, just maybe a rescue or a retaking of the planet was feasible. There must be some pockets of resistance out there somewhere. What about Flash? Where was he? One of the few individuals on the planet that he trusted, he must by now know what was going on. Was he at this very moment mounting a rescue? And if so, just how far away was he? Momentarily, it all threatened to overwhelm him. He knew deep down that he couldn't count on Flash turning up. Perhaps the ex-Crimson Guard had already been taken out of commission, although he did find that hard to believe. Letting out a deep sigh that startled Amelia Battlehard out of her thoughts, he paced forward just a few steps, gazing intently at the events occurring on the other side of the transparent magical shield. As he did so, the current bombardment subsided. All those behind the shield suddenly became alert, on guard for something as yet unseen. Amelia and the king shared a look... one that almost said it all.
'Is this to be it, the beginning of the end?'
As magical beasts of all shapes and sizes retreated back out of view, far beyond the end of the broken bridge that they'd been forced to destroy, three figures abruptly appeared on the edge of what was left of the structure, only a step or two from the infinitesimal drop.
Squinting, the king tilted his head slightly to get a better view through the protective hemisphere, and when he did... GASPED loudly.
"MY GOD!" he muttered.
"Sire?" enquired Captain Battlehard from just behind him.
Shaking his head, the king closed his eyes and fought back the urge to cry, so great was the pain at just what he was witnessing.
Remaining quiet and still, there for him if he needed her, Captain Battlehard realised at this time, he required just that little bit of space. It's a shame things hadn't played out differently, as she would have made a wonderful diplomat.
In his mind, the king raged.
'It can't be! It just can't be! She can't just turn up here and now. Not like this! Not with them like that! Please no!' he pleaded with no one in particular. A tiny part of him hoped this was a dream, a nightmare even, but he couldn't be that lucky. Of course he'd recognised the being shoving Peter and Tim before her as someone responsible for numerous crimes from far off in the past, the estranged daughter of his missing/captured best friend, Fredric, one that went by the name of... EARTH!
'Of all the vicious, malevolent, self centred beings, why the hell...?' suddenly his thoughts were interrupted as a self serving, smug and deeply hypnotic voice floated across the gap that the destroyed bridge had once spanned.
"Enough is enough, old timer," announced Earth, the devious, sickly smile on her magically scarred face visible even from where the king was standing. "There is only one outcome here. And you know it better than most. I've about had it with your time wasting. So now you get to choose. Lower the shield and order your fancy ring to rebuild the bridge. You have five minutes to comply. Should you fail to do so then your favourite little pet here and your saviour, the White Dragon, will be doing a spot of flying, only they might find it a tad hard to revert back to their natural forms on their way down into the abyss with these magic restricting binders on. And oh... wouldn't that be a shame now. Tick tock. Time's a-wasting."
Stomach turning, heart racing, as anger, desperation and fear battled each other within him, the king's head spun as he knew not what to do. Not unaccustomed to nightmares, this was something that genuinely scared the living hell out of him, and that was without knowing the full weight of history was well and truly balanced precariously on his shoulders, right here and now. Putting aside his feelings for Peter, his best friend's grandson, there was the very real and grave matter of the White Dragon. If the prophecy was to be believed, then that same White Dragon was the answer to all of it, the dragons' and the humans' saviour all at once. How on earth could he let him die like this, here and now? Deep down, he knew that he couldn't, he just couldn't. And then there was the small matter of lowering the shield and rebuilding the bridge, which was easily achieved with the power from the ring, but what would happen afterwards? Would that evil witch of a dragon still kill Peter and the White Dragon anyway? There was no guarantee that she wouldn't do just that after rounding up every dragon here. So what was he supposed to do? What was the right answer to every one of his worst nightmares?