Kelly Drake and the Tears of the Dragons

Chapter Five - Valon

"Displodo!" Kelly whispered as she disappeared into the black pool along with the boot-scrapers. It was a whisper that reverberated in Valon's Black Lake. The still water, known for its breathtaking beauty and abundant life in the days of light, has through eons of neglect and abuse become a shadow, a rancid site used for punishing those who refused to join the legion of David Allen. That early morning, the lake imploded, strewing traces of unfortunate souls about its banks, and hurling bits of flesh over the embankment. The earth shook for a few moments, causing bricks on the outer walls of Blackhall Castle to chip and break off, and ancient armors within to teeter and fall. Cracks appeared on the ground surrounding the lake, with some of the trees uprooted.

"What in Abaddon's name was that?" David Allen shouted from the balcony of his room following his rude awakening. After hearing and feeling the blast, soldiers, farmers, and castle workers rushed to the courtyard, thinking they were under attack.

"I said, WHAT BE THAT EXPLOSION?" he shouted.

A squire answered nervously, "The lake, Sire. It came from the lake."

"Well, what are you fools waiting for? Asmeagan!" David Allen was bare-chested. Folks who hadn't seen him in that state saw for the first time the enormous jagged round scar on his chest. It still seemed raw and about it was a green glow. From time to time, it would burn his skin and flesh and send him writhing in pain. That particular morning, he was pain-free.

Several Dark Riders mounted their scrawny chargers and sped toward the lake to investigate. Upon reaching the levee, which had shattered in many places, rendering it useless, they saw chunks of flesh comingled with the tattered traditional cloak of boot-scrapers, with tinges of glowing green flecks. The Riders' leader ordered the men to pick up everything that did not seem to belong there. The remains were placed in several sacks and transported in a makeshift wagon pulled by six horses; individually, they were too heavy to be carried. Upon reaching the castle, the load was hauled straight to the dungeon and laid on the cold adobe floor.

"Do yer work, witch!" snarled the leader Rider.

"I work when I please," replied the sorcerer without looking up from the herbs she was mincing.

"Ye don't want the Master to be coming down here, do ye?"

When his statement fell on deaf ears, he left and ran up the stairs, no doubt to report the witch's insubordination to the master of the house. Two hours later – for David Allen never did any business until after a good meal – the dungeon had another visitor in the form of Master Blackhall.

"Well, you had a couple of tids to reconstitute my bodas. Where may be they?" said David Allen while cleaning his teeth with the tip of his templar dagger.

"Some ancient power scattered them, Sire," she answered. "You might be familiar with it. See how the boot-scrapers' flesh burn green, even after being immersed in the Black Lake?"

The revelation sent a rush of fear and resentment through David Allen's body. The witch was right. This evoked old memories. By instinct, he reached up and clutched his chest. Even if pain was absent at the moment, remembering how it felt made him reel in agony once more. She merely watched as he struggled to regain control and stand with dignity.

"I...need...what they have," he said deliberately.

"If I can re-form at least one of the heads, will that suffice?" She asked smugly.

"As long as it can speak, yes, it will have to do."

"I will do my best, Sire."

"With haste, witch! Or your head is mine."