Occultus Draconem

End the Betrayal

Agni paced back and forth in front of his throne, a frustrated scowl on his face. He'd sent Soren and a small group of Enforcers to Draconia to finish off what was left of the Dragons, but no one had returned yet.

"He's late," Agni said, eyeing the group of Enforcers that had reported to him. No one had any idea what had happened to Soren or the others.

"I wouldn't trust a Draconian, no matter how loyal they pretend to be," one of the Enforcers said. He cracked his knuckles and scowled. "Who's to say Soren isn't secretly helping the rebels? He could be with them right now."

Without warning, Agni rushed forward down the steps, his fist colliding with the Enforcer's jaw with a loud crack. The man was knocked back onto the floor, the king standing over him with his fists raised.

"Get out of my sight," King Agni demanded through clenched teeth. "Take your men to Draconia and bring Soren back to me. Kill any other Dragons in your path! He'll regret the moment he decided to betray me!"

He shoved the others out of his way and left the throne room, slamming the large doors shut behind him.

He stalked through the castle, furious at the thought that Soren might have gone against him. He'd allowed the Dragon to live in exchange for the upper hand against Draconia. If he wasn't going to work, he wasn't going to live.

Agni found himself standing in front of the containment chamber, glaring up at Prince Zane's lifeless body. Soren had told him that the Dragon Prince was dead. Was that just another lie?

"I'm going to kill you," he told Zane's body, "one way or another. You'll never have your kingdom back, and Draconia will be mine!"

***

Theron sat up slowly, rubbing his side where the Siren had bitten him, and hissed in pain.

"Damn, I shoulda brought some Draíocht with me."

"You should be restin' still," Blaise told him.

Theron eyed him curiously. Blaise was dressed in his Occultus Draconem uniform, and he was sitting at the table, counting what little money he had.

"What do ya think yer doin'?" he asked. "Looks like yer preppin' to leave."

"I came here to get somethin' done," Blaise told him, not bothering to look at Theron. "I'm gonna see if there's anything I can get in the port, and then I'm headin' to settle things with my Da."

"Yer not goin' nowhere. Ya don't know how to wield nothin' 'cept a sword, and ya ain't gonna be able to afford one with what ya got there. Ya don't even know where to find the Moordenaar, neither, and folks here ain't gonna say nothin' 'bout it."

Blaise sighed in frustration and leaned back in his chair. He hated being treated like a child by everyone around him. Why couldn't they just let him figure things out on his own?

"Ya might be able to find an old sword somewhere in the slums," Theron said. "Lotta shady places that sell shit on the low. Their prices ain't high neither, even for the good stuff, 'cause they'd be arrested if anyone knew what they was sellin'. So, they take what they can get."

"I'll go there then." Blaise stood, smoothing the front of his shirt, and Theron just chuckled.

"Not dressed like that, you ain't."

Theron dug an old shirt out of his bag and tossed it to Blaise. It had a large open collar—Blaise's scars would show.

"You wanna fit in with some lowlifes in the slums, ya gotta look the part."

Theron's shirt was much too big on him, and a lot of his chest was exposed. Blaise didn't like it—the scar on his chest was a horrible reminder of what had happened to him in Cadmus, but he trusted Theron.