In The Lair of the Draca (Book 2)

In The Lair of the Draca (Book 2) Chapter 77: Havoc (In progress....!)

In the deepest hour of black, Ma padded to the edge of the turrets and peeked below the landing, where six of Dragura's most heinous-looking gargoyles jutted from the Fortress's foreboding facade. They were truly ugly things, with twisted snouts, jagged teeth, and squinting eyes that had once been painted a bright, blood-red. From one of these gargoyles hung the frightened Azee precariously with both hands, her hair streaming back from her tight features in the twilight wind as she used all of her strength to cling to the damp, moldy-smelling rock.

"Ma!" she cried, gasping in sheer terror as a particularly strong gale caused her to buck and sway. "Ma, help me! Don't let me die!"

And Ma, with outstretched, bat-like wings, delved obediently into the Night.

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Dragura stood staring.

With her handmaidens still locked in their bedchambers, she had dared to grace the corridors of the lower floor of her corrupted castle. Tucked away within the confines of a dank closet-- which had not been opened in nearly twenty years-- was the sloe-black chariot in which she had dreamed for decades that she would descend upon the masses, the chariot pulled faithfully by three of her most fearsome-looking Draca. It was a beautiful piece of work, fitted with shiny, obsidian wheels that did not turn, a secure seat lined with the smoothest velvet, and a set of leather reigns for her to grip during the risky flight. How the plebeians would shudder in terror at her arrival, fleeing to their flimsy, straw-thatched homes which would just as quickly burst into flames from the noxious gases emitted by her 'babies'! Yes, she would be feared far and wide even above the healthy fright they had for her now-- and she would find the auburn-haired man.

Yes, he was bound to be there in Hidden Well along with that miserable Sashek...and she would have them all. There would be no one to stop her, no one to hold up threatening hands, no one to tell her that, please, Mistress, if only you would think about what you are doing to the people!

For once, she would have her way, and she would live as the Queen of the Dragons was fit to live. She would be revered, respected, and songs would be sung about her in the decades and centuries long after her death. Her rule would no longer be confined to the flimsy corridors where her handmaidens took to their beds; she would no longer be relegated to the expansiveness of her bedchambers, mindlessly eating live prawns and primping before the polished glass.

It was time: she would be someone, and it started now.

But still, something nagged at her. If she were truly to make an impression on the people whom she wished to terrorize, then it would not do for her to be detached from the Draca in this beautiful chariot, no matter how lovely was its handiwork. To truly strike fear into the hearts of the commoners, she must demonstrate her closeness to the creatures which she had used for decades to collect her sacrifices. And what better way to accomplish this than by showing that she, herself, was fearless-- enough so that she would ride upon the very backs of the Draca who would raid?

Yes, she thought: it was a fabulous idea. After all, Ma had pledged her allegience, and so had Pet and Drako... unless the little snub-nosed bitch who had met her end hours ago over the side of Dragura's turrets had been spreading lies.

Could it be? Could Azee have lied to me in the last few moments of her life, in order to get the best of me even after she was gone?

Dragura decided she would not have put it past her. After all, she was the most respected Queen in all of Weema-- and the most hated. She could not afford to make missteps when finally now, after all of these years, everything was finally beginning to turn around for her. Still, she had made her decision; lies or no lies, Dragura was determined to mount the Draca and show even them that they were mere slaves beneath her silver stilettos.

Morning approached quickly, and she knew that she would have to un-fetter the three beasts of burden quickly, before Sashek could warn Hidden Well of Dragura's planned raid. Slowly closing the closet doors in front of her, she placed a key in the lock, turned it, and then walked away from the beautiful, onyx-colored chariot for good.

..............................................................................................................................................................................................The first thing she noticed after climbing back into the attic was that, aside from Ma, Pet, and Drako, the other four Draca had mysteriously vanished. Dragura was immediately suspicious; all of them wore neck braces, and there would have been no way that they could have disappeared unless someone had specifically un-fettered them-- but who could have done such a thing? Her handmaidens were still locked in their bedchambers, and Franek was long dead. Was it possible that they had finally jerked free and spiraled away into the brightness of the full moons?

But no; the neck-braces had been specifically designed to be too strong to allow her beasts to escape. If Azee--

Suddenly suspicious, Dragura raced to the edge of the turrets and peeked down into the Night. She had recalled no splash earlier when she had tossed the young girl from the top of the Fortress, nor had their been the crack of broken bones that would have been expected had Azee struck the bridge instead. In fact, when she squinted down into the blackness, she could see nothing at all: no hint of a body, no hint of remains. Might a water-dragon have already made a meal of her? Or perhaps...

Dragura turned, a vision of loveliness even in all of her wretched, profligate turpitude, and gazed at the remaining Draca with slitted eyes. Although she sensed something was immediately amiss, the creatures were the picture of innocence: Ma sat on her haunches and had twisted her great head around to lick the insects from her tail scales, while Drako rolled and spiraled on the ground as though he'd found a plant that had tickled his senses and titillated his unspent, male longing. Pet stood between the two, practicing stretching and re-folding his skewed wings, and there seemed not a single point that was out of place.

Well, there would be time to sort out discrepancies later. In the meantime, she needed to mount the Draca and do it now, before the window for her to catch Sashek quickly came to an end. She smoothed her long, verdant tresses, which she had worn loose just for the occasion, thinking of how lovely it would look streaming out behind her as the Draca carried her to her destination, and the form-fitting gown she wore was just as black as the skies above. A single diamond jewel adorned the spot on her brassiere just between her breasts, accentuating well with the silver-tinged stilettos she wore (which were Dragura's favorite foot-wear above all else). She was perfectly dressed, and she was ready, and inhaling the crisp, Night air made her feel rejuvenated and young again.

As Dragura approached, Ma swiveled her head back around and bared her teeth in silent warning. Dragura disregarded this show of defiance; it was she who was the Queen of Dragons. No other, and never would there be-- not as long as she was alive. It was time for these Draca to learn where they really stood in the place of things.

Smiling and crooning as she would to a newborn, Dragura held out a delicate pair of hands and advanced.

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The Twin Moons had begun to retreat, and the light of the stars cast their delicate, shining beams onto the quietude of Hidden Well. Normally, the paths were awash with young women straggling out to the paths to fetch their morning wash and cooking water before the crowds became unmanageable, and the first smatterings of children-- once they'd had their meals of gruel, grains, and a berry-cake mixture that their mothers fried into sweet, crisp little cakes-- would bound into the courtyard ready to play their games of catch, hop-and-skip, or find-and-seek.

Of course, the daily grouping of young men and their grass-sticks would begin to crowd the well as they ogled the particularly beautiful women and exchanged the gossip which they knew would be forbidden them once they reached their classrooms in the school-house, and the few cattle Hidden Well owned were lowing for their morning milkings.

However, this was no ordinary morning.

There were no beautiful women swaying along the paths with water-jars perched on their heads. With children kept inside the lodges by their superstitious mothers, the courtyard was eerily quiet, and the well may as well have been abandoned...