I ran. I ran with all the strength my legs could muster. I ran disregarding the dragons. I ran without looking back. I ran past the Scarlet Lady, who didn’t follow. I ran past Gadorprims, who tried to sweep me off my feet with his long, scaly tail. I ran until my muscles and lungs burned harder than the light of Jillsenbane. She couldn’t be. Not she who used to be my Abeline, not there, not with the dragons hanging from whatever her wings really are. I ran away before the illusion died out, before soundness of mind settled in revealing the cruel landscape that surrounds me and her and me.
I ran away like I did when I condemned her. God damn me. I ran and now I hide in the “brewery”. The barrels are made of magically reshaped bone, intertwined, twisted. The foul liquid they contain cannot be anything but rancid blood. I have drunk it, and worse yet, I have enjoyed it. It explains the sweet initial flavor and the metallic aftertaste of the “wine”. What have I been reduced to?
Still, I am better off than Abeline, why? Why am I better off than her? I deserve her torment, even if she doesn’t deserve mine.
There are corpses fermenting inside the barrels, soaked in the blood of who knows who or what. How many people and animals did these dragons exsanguinate? And why?
I will cry myself to sleep, and hope to wake up back in the Lady’s palace of insanity.
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I got chastised by my dear Lady. She found me sleeping on the Brewery, and woke me up by slapping my head with the back of her hand.
“What was the meaning of that subversive behavior, pawn?” she said, black flames coming out of her mouth, escaping between her white, sharp teeth.
“I wanted to get the book enchanted.”
“That damned book! Fie on that piece of skin and paper! I shall take it away if you keep on behaving like an absolute moron. A harmful moron, pawn. You slew… how many puppies?” she joined her hands behind her back and started pacing from side to side, never breaking eye contact.
“A few, my Lady. Less than a dozen, I reckon.”
“Seven. Cabalistic number, the seven. Some consider it lucky. Ritualistic number, the seven. Some consider it holy. Painful number, the seven, as it is composed by several ones. Why did you commit such heinous act, Pawn?”
I lowered my gaze. I was not worthy to look at Lady Scarlet. “They attacked me first, my Lady. I just defended myself.”
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“I appreciate honesty, Pawn. Yet, punishment is still due. For three days you will not write, and if I surprise you doing so, the Diary will burn together with the quill. For three days, you will tend to the dogs, and none of using your silly magic to make the tasks easier. You will walk them about the palace, take them to the place where the puppies you murdered lie forever resting. I am going to escort you to make sure no other acts of self-defense take place,” she said, and came towards me with an extended hand, ready for me to hand you in, Diary.
“May I write another entry before beginning to serve my sentence?”
She snorted. “You may, dear Pawn. Hurry up, lest I change my mind.”
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I recovered my writing rights. The dragons sleep, and the ample time spent being under their supervision gave my mana reserves a needed respite. I fear for my life. Gadorprims is a proud father, a protective father. He may have hundreds of children, and yet still wants my head on a platter because I killed half a dozen.
The other day I eavesdropped their conversation during a moment of clarity. I faked to be still under the spell and carrying out my tasks, by heaving a blood barrel in direction to the garden. They must have thought the illusions were rendering the conversation harmless.
“We cannot kill him, Gadorprims the Peerless. The sword will choose another wielder. I prefer to have a small nuisance causing little mischief about, rather than a brand new hero hell-bent on ending our bloodlines. Next time, that ominous weapon could choose a competent one,” she said, and then snickered.
“Don’t utter my full name just because you are angry at me, Scarreladai the Deceiver. Those are my children we are talking about. My blood courses through their veins just as yours does. How can you let him get away with shamelessly attacking our offspring?”
“Because it is convenient to me, and so it is to you. As long as I am alive, we can have more offspring. And if not, explain to me why would I be wrong to assume this, Gador.”
“Killing our children is an affront we cannot let go unpunished while we sit on our scaly buttocks. If you will not give death to your pet, Scar, I shall seek a new mate to raise my descendants with. Do you even know what humans do to dogs that bite the hand that feeds them? They hang them, stab them, hit them in the back of the head with a hammer. Even humans know what must be done when their little allies become traitors.”
“Killing dogs don’t make their collars seek vengeance and choke you in your sleep, Gador. As for the new mate thing: may fortune aid you in finding a dragoness that can give you whelps more powerful and abundant than I.”
Gadorprims stomped his claws on the floor repeatedly, spat out a cloud of sparks and smoke that illuminated the room, and then headed in my direction. I hurried to hide behind the nearest corner.
“I am going out to hunt. Maybe ransack a village, purloin a local female in reproductive age and make some low-level chump try to be a hero. Give them the death they hope for, and the one that many deserve. Make sure your little experiment doesn’t mow our family down again.”
“Take care, Peerless.”
Gadorprims lowered his head and relaxed his posture.
“I shall, Deceiver. I shall. I’d also like to gainsay my previous statement about finding a new mate. That’s all.”
And that was all.