Shades of Grey

KESTASLA— JUNE 1844

After the face of Truceris and his many red-eyed steel sentries disappeared, the Dragons all transformed back: outraged.

“This cannot be happening!” Roslyn lamented.

“The Dragon races have never been captured before,” spat Caelan darkly. “This is disgraceful.”

“Caelan, if you don’t have anything constructive to say then shut your damn mouth!” Freyja shot back. I smiled, grateful. I was quickly growing tired of the hopeless proclamations of the younger tribe members.

“Well, what does the spawn of Echo think we should do?” Goran snapped in a sardonic voice.

I narrowed my eyes at his gall, but several Darklights and Redlights had unfortunately overheard his remark.

“The kin of Speaker Echo? Is that what he meant?”

“Where are they? Why have they not stepped forward?”

“If there is Echo blood here, we are most certainly saved!”

I kept my eyes on Goran.

“I think you need to watch your tongue before I cut it out and string it on my necklace.”

Goran’s eyebrows rose, surprised at my pert retort.

“You would dare threaten your own kind?”

I stood from the root I had until now been perched upon, glaring at Goran.

“I would when my own kind disrespects my heritage.”

“Stop it!” cried Roslyn. “This isn’t helping anything!”

Roslyn had her hands on both Goran’s and my shoulders, pushing us away from each other. Slowly, the tension began to dissipate, broken only by enraged outcries from other Dragons.

“We cannot stand for this!” cried a young male Darklight. “This is against our nature!” This statement was followed by acquiescent outcries.

“There is no creature more fearsome than a Dragon!” cried a female Blacklight, followed by more shouts of agreement.

“We must not be hasty or more lives will be lost!” contradicted the Darklight chief, turning to the other two chiefs. “The chiefs of each tribe shall come up with a strategy. Until then, we must protect each other!”

The crowd cheered and then began to talk softly amongst themselves while the four chiefs turned to me, the weight of my earlier revelation clearly weighing in their eyes.

“You are sure about your information?” asked the Darklight chief.

“Yes. My Maisling is inside the palace at this moment, searching for us.”

“Excellent,” piped the Graylight chief. “In the meantime, you are to continue your training with Gefahr. We need every Dragon at the height of their power if we are to escape this place.”

A week passed before Forma had made any progress in locating the prison. She gave me nightly reports as she followed various soldiers down to a viewing room where they could survey the entire prison, which she had discerned was on a low level of the dungeons. She had yet to discover the precise location of the entrance, however.

By day, I trained more with Gefahr as other Newlings from the other tribes trained with their own trainers while simultaneously managing to avoid surprise ambushes from the mechanical sentry animals as well as the random lectures from Truceris himself and surprise encounters with the shadow figure, who had a strange habit of lurking in the shadows around the tribe. Between the random encounters with the sentry animals and the daily training sessions, I learnt quickly and grew stronger with each passing day.

“Well, Echo,” Gefahr marvelled some three and a half weeks after my prison training sessions had begun. “You have certainly come a long way, given our current state.”

I smiled appreciatively at him and bowed, when a great churning noise sounded from the storm cloud ceiling. We waited, as we had grown accustomed to doing, to see whether it was Truceris or one of his Hands of Fate. Seconds later, one of the metal Hands emerged from the storm cloud and made its way for us.

“Take cover!” commanded the Darklight chief.

The rest of the population was only too happy to obey. I quickly turned and followed, when a sudden insight struck me. I stopped running and turned, watching the Hand descend down the monstrous cavern towards the scurrying Dragons.

“Grey!” cried Ian. “What are you doing?!”

“Fighting!” I said simply, transforming easily and roaring in anger as the Hand came closer and closer to me, sensing the transformed Dragon.

“Are you mad?!” Ian shouted. Roslyn then stopped as she noticed me.

“Grey! Hurry!”

I answered with an abrupt, loud grunt before I shot into the air, headed straight for the great Hand that easily caught me in its metal fingers.

“GREY!” came several protesting voices from the ground as the Hand pulled me upwards towards the smoky ceiling. If I could see for myself where each Dragon was being taken, there was a chance I could possibly come up with a plan…

I roared and fought, just as the Sorceress must have assumed I would, and held my breath as the Hand flew upwards into the red storm cloud. Upon seeing what lay beyond the red cloud, my breath burst out of my Dragon lungs with a fiery spark of surprise.

It almost looked almost to be the cargo hold of a large airship. There were three levels furnished with many long tables strewn with books, diagrams and canvasses of ancient runes. In various corners in between some of the large piles of books sat chamber pots filled with different colours of boiling liquid. Above me sat poised a great mechanical pulley that controlled the Hands of Fate; all ready and waiting for the Sorceress to use, ready to apprehend the next Dragon.

The Hand that had captured me moved abruptly upwards and manoeuvred my Dragon body onto a large, metal table on the highest level of the workshop. Thick cuffs then sprang to life and locked themselves around my neck, arms and legs before pulling themselves taught and restricting my limbs.

“Do not move. It will make this much easier,” spoke a voice of dark indolence, as though this had become nothing more than an irritating routine.

I listened as the footsteps belonging to the owner of the voice descended the stairway behind me and the chains to which I was bound began to rise vertically until I hung limply in my Dragon form, struggling and growling in spite of her warning.

“You are a bit young to have been captured by my Hands of Fate,” she said as she stepped into my view. Once I beheld her, I stopped struggling, for I could not believe it.

There stood Natara, just as maliciously beautiful as she had been during out last encounter. She must have recognised me as well, for a sly smile spread across her eerily beautiful face.

“My, my, my: the mighty Hunter?”

With a flick of her finger, she forced me to transform painfully back into my human form, leaving me to hang limply by my wrists.

“You just can’t seem to avoid getting into trouble, can you?” Natara smirked.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked pointedly as I found a suitable position for my wrists to hang. “Why are you making these potions for Roman? What interest is it of yours?”

Natara laughed an evil, cold, cruel laugh that seemed to echo down into the cavern below, creating an odd, thunderous bellow.

“For Roman? Oh, my dear foolish girl, they are not for Roman.”

I frowned.

“What are you doing then? Why are you skinning Dragons?”

She just smiled at me.

“That is not for you to know.”

She cackled to herself and I felt my anger rise. I struggled against the chains, until Natara caused them to tighten, pulling my limbs taught and restricting my movement.

“It really is a pity,” she said as she strode across the room and to a table three levels up. “You could have been such a wonderful Hunter, you know; if you weren’t so obsessed with freeing people. Hunters are supposed to Hunt, not liberate.”

She smiled at me and produced a Longsword, its blade a stark shade of blue. I began to panic.

“How is your fairy enjoying the gift I gave her?” she asked with a spiteful grin.

I shook in anger, rattling the chains that restrained me and shouting with such loud fervour that I heard my voice echo in the caverns of Truceris.

“DON’T YOU DARE SPEAK OF HER! DON’T YOU DARE SPEAK OF WHAT YOU DID TO HER!”

Natara laughed again.

“That well, I see,” she said sarcastically as she raised the blue sword over her head, its colour growing more vibrant with each passing second. My rage mixed with panic and I began to speak rapidly, eager to buy enough time to think of an escape plan.

“Natara, please, whatever he is doing to you, I can make it stop! If you are a prisoner, I can free you! PLEASE!”

Natara laughed once more.

“You really are dense, aren’t you? I am not a prisoner and I am not doing this for Roman.”

I felt the heat of the glowing blade quickly approaching my skin.

“Then tell me why you need the hides!” I said quickly.

“For the potion. That is all you—”

There suddenly was a great crash from a door on the third level in a hallway that I could not see. Natara fumed. Literally, I saw flames actually surround her for a brief moment.

“WHO DARES TO ENTER MY CHAMBERS?!” she shouted, gliding up the three levels and disappearing around the corner in the blink of an eye. I took the opportunity to struggle fruitlessly against my restraints, trying to slide my limbs out of the cuffs…

“Grey?!”

I looked up and saw Forma jump gracefully over the three levels and land next to me, where she began to pick at the locks around my limbs.

“Forma! How did you find the entrance?”

“I watched a drunken soldier stumble into a painting which actually turned out to be a magical projection of a painting, not a solid one.”

“A projection?” I asked as she managed to free my wrists. I fell to the floor and began to pick the locks on my ankles.

“Yes, which explains a lot, actually,” she said as she helped me to stand when I had freed myself. “Grey, no one in this castle is real. Everyone is a magical projection. That’s why I had problems trying to get information from them.”

I stared at her.

“What?”

She nodded.

“It’s true. I was following a pair of soldiers that I thought were descending to Truceris, when they stopped at the end of a hallway and faded into smoke.”

My mouth fell open.

“Even Roman?”

She nodded again. I ran my fingers through my hair. Yet again I was chasing phantoms…

“What about Natara? Is she a projection as well?”

“No, she is not!”

Forma and I turned to see Natara standing at the top of the stairway, black, angry flames dancing around her.

Several chamber pots of boiling liquid then exploded, casting many brightly coloured showers all over the room. Forma changed immediately into a Magorgian Beast and I quickly leapt atop her back. We easily avoided the burning liquids as Natara began to conjure more animate flames, sending them chasing after us like great fiery wolves. We dodged them and instead they charged right into a very large control panel, which began to spark and sizzle dangerously. The lights then began to flicker and the red storm cloud that hung over the prison began to swirl rapidly until it disappeared and revealed the gaping chasm that looked out over the prison. Hideous groaning and shuddering emanated from the steel trees as the electrical current was disrupted: Truceris was crumbling.

Natara’s eyes widened in horror.

“NO!” she cried in anguish. “You are destroying everything!”

“Then stop using spells to fight us!” I countered boldly. “Come at us with your own strength! Or do you have any without your magic?”

Natara’s eyes widened quickly in rage; so much so that I thought for a moment that they would plunge from their sockets to the floor.

“That was either very foolish or very brave. I’m not sure yet,” Forma quipped.

“Thanks…maybe,” I replied in a similar tone, keeping my eyes on Natara, waiting for her to move.

She made an agile and weightless lunge for us, but Forma was quicker. Reading my thoughts, she leapt between me and Natara, giving me a chance to extract a large bomb from my bandoleer, lock it securely in my mouth and jump back into the shuddering prison, transforming in mid fall. The roots and trees retreated: either cowering in fear or preparing for attack. The Titanic groan of aggravation that shook the metal prison confirmed the latter.

“Grey! You’re alive!”

“What’s happening?”

“What did you see?!”

The questions flew at me as I descended into the clearing with the other Dragons. I ignored them all and instead I pulled the trigger on the bomb, throwing it out towards the outer shale wall. An immense blast of rock bits and parts of broken metal roots exploded throughout the cavern and outside towards the distant daylight, followed by a loud cry of pain from Truceris.

“Go!” I shouted after transforming again, leading the many Dragons over to the gaping hole leading to the outside.

“What about you?!” shouted Freyja.

“I have something I need to do first!” I answered as the tribes all leapt into flight. The Graylight chief looked at me and clapped his hand strongly on my shoulder.

“You are welcome back to our camp any time, daughter of Echo.”

I gave him an appreciative smile and nodded when there was a sudden ripping sound from inside the prison. Turning, I saw that the roots of the floor had sprung to life and were now furiously grappling for any Dragons that were left within its walls, coming ever closer to the gaping crater I had created for their escape.

“GO!”

The chief and several younger Dragons were the last to transform and fly away while I turned and leapt atop one of the flailing roots, taking great care not to stay on a root for any longer than it took to activate and toss my bombs.

After I had unloaded enough bombs to successfully collapse the far right corner of the prison, I transformed and flew upwards towards Natara’s workshop, now completely demolished. Natara hovered several feet off the ground, enveloped in black flames, while Forma stood as a monstrous Dranis, waiting for her next move.

“YOU HAVE RUINED EVERYTHING!” Natara shouted as I flew into view. “I WAS ALMOST FINISHED!”

Natara punctuated this with a great scream of aggravation before her flames overcame her and she disappeared.

“A bit more emotional than we remember, eh?” marvelled Forma after a moment as she quickly changed into a Magorgian Beast again. “She’s hit me with every magical manoeuvre she can think of.”

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, I’m just worried about the consequences of dealing with a psychopathic witch. I’m not experienced in the field of medicine, but common sense tells me that a mad witch will be slightly more difficult to handle than a sane one.”

“Well, witches are usually not altogether stable to begin with,” I retorted with a small grin as I leapt atop her back. “And I don’t think Natara has been sane for a long while.”

Together we sailed out of the room and up through the magically projected painting Forma had described, crashing roughly into the opposite wall of a corridor filled with paintings of ancestral royalty.

“ALERT! INTRUDERS IN THE CASTLE!”

Natara’s voice rang through the empty halls and after seconds of silence, Forma and I both heard it: approaching footsteps marching in perfect unison.

“Let’s go!” I said automatically.

“Wait, where are we going?” Forma asked.

I stopped, thinking.

“You said Anesthia was here?”

Forma nodded.

“She’s isn’t due to leave for two more days.”

A wild realisation struck me.

“I need to find her.”

“Why?”

“No time to explain!”

Forma transformed into an Incendila and I quickly jumped atop her back. She leapt into the air and immediately took off, agilely flying through the many looping staircases and intertwining halls before we were suddenly met with an unforeseen obstacle — an entire horde of Cynocephali soldiers riding the Turma beasts that made up the Hybrid Squad. The eyes of every soldier and Turma were glowing with a maliciously scarlet artificial light, further confirming the fact that the soldiers’ minds — like those of the people Forma had encountered — were not their own.

“You will go no further, Hunter!” all of the Cynocephali ordered at once.

I raised my eyebrows at their uniformity and the precision with which they spoke. I then decided to try something.

“Whom do you follow?” I asked.

“We obey the supreme commands of Lord Malehvarei!” they all responded loyally.

I froze. I had not expected that answer. I turned back to Forma, who appeared just as shocked.

“Malehvarei was the name of the wizard Roman and Anesthia were discussing…his failing health…”

I nodded in remembrance and turned back to the soldiers.

“What about Natara?”

They all laughed sharp, crackling chuckles.

“The Lady Natara is merely the instrument of Lord Malehvarei. She will be great and powerful at his side.”

I frowned and exchanged a glance with Forma.

“And what does Lord Malehvarei command of you?”

“KILL THE HUNTER!”

They all swiftly drew their swords and dismounted their Turma beasts, striding towards me with murder in their glowing red eyes.