Oracus: The Lavorian Rider

Twenty-Seven - Chiming Bell

Jowra swept his long, greasy hair from his eyes as fury coursed through his veins. He marched purposefully through the darkness with his black cloak billowing behind him and the cold snow crunching under his feet.

The magnificence of the palace in Melzor was unparalleled, but even walking up its icy steps did nothing to quell Jowra's rage. A Grevlor at the palace door offered him a respectful bow as he passed. But with an indignant sneer, Jowra struck the Grevlor across the face with a pale hand, leaving it whimpering in his wake.

Jowra swept through the palace to the room he cherished most – the keep. The keep was colossal; never had there been a room so grand. The four walls reached far and wide, and they rose not to a ceiling, but to an open view of the night's sky. Snowflakes fell inside the keep, onto a floor that was already a foot deep in white powder. It was so cold and blustery that the oil lamps on the walls refused to light.

Inside the keep, two enormous Dragon Lavorians were waiting for him, their silver bodies reflecting the moonlight. They were lying on the snow, their long bodies entwined like rope, and still they were several metres tall.

"My King," they rasped together, breathing smoke out their nostrils and bowing their heads.

Both Lavorians – Wravias and Pseubas – had crimson eyes like their Rider. Their jaws were full of sword-sized teeth, and from the crown of their armoured heads to the tips of their armoured tails, they were covered in sharp silver spines.

"Where is Zarad?" Jowra asked as soon as his Lavorians were in sight.

"Riskin is bringing him here," Wravias answered.

As if Wravias's words were a cue, two men followed Jowra into the keep. One was short and clumsy, while the other tall and handsome.

The shorter of the men spoke first in a fearful mumble, "My King, we have a guest."

"I am well aware of that, Riskin," Jowra replied, attempting to suppress his impatience.

The second man, Zarad, walked arrogantly forwards. He lowered himself casually onto one knee. "My King," he said smoothly.

"Stand up and explain yourself!" Jowra demanded, unable to stop his fury from enveloping him.

Zarad stood and his expression quickly changed. "Alvoria was attacked, my King."

"Do not consider me a fool, Zarad! My only foolishness was trusting someone with your incompetence!" The walls of the keep shook under the might of Jowra's voice. "Alvoria wasn't merely attacked, it was burned to the ground!"

"It was an unfortunate event," Zarad said quietly.

"Unfortunate suggests it was down to chance," Jowra disputed. "But I specifically remember telling you that Alvoria was vulnerable and that I needed you to protect it. What went wrong?"

Zarad gathered himself but couldn't conceal his fear. "A Rider from the rebellion attacked while I was absent, my King."

"Absent for what purpose?" Jowra probed, now pacing angrily.

Zarad dropped his eyes guiltily to the floor. "I had no reason, my King."

"But you returned to Alvoria in time to apprehend the culprit?" Jowra pressed.

"I returned when the city was already on fire," Zarad replied. "There was nothing I could do."

"And you apprehended the culprit?" Jowra repeated.

"No, my King. The Rider and his Lavorian got away."

"GOT AWAY?" The ferocity of Jowra's voice knocked Zarad off his feet. Riskin quickly covered his ears and the two Dragons shirked away from the noise.