Of Dragon Riders and Shadows

Chapter Six - The State of the Nation

In a realm distant from Thallium, yet closely bound, a curse was broken.

Phantom, god of the Wastelands, patron of the Rogues – and unofficially, the one whom hurt children call upon for help – returned to his throne bloodied and ready to kill someone.

It had been a difficult summons that had taken him from his palace, and still the horrid images danced in his mind.

No matter how long he had served, had done his duty (centuries, millennia), it never truly became easier. War, as profitable as it was for humans and other beings, spawned casualties and grievances and mass destruction. Destruction that never seemed to stop...

The strewn bodies of his Rogues, of black-and-silver clad spies that answered to the current Regency King, refused to fade away. These days, it seemed that the scenes of carnage he was summoned to attend to continued to stay with him. Phantom wished it would stop, but then again, his wishes had never been given any thought.

After removing the blood from his body, he all but collapsed in his throne, light held in his right hand. He blamed the bone-deep exhaustion of duty for not realizing sooner what had happened.

Only when the battle fervour still pounding through his body calmed down did he feel it. Something – a bond – had snapped. 'Twas gone... How?

The Laws that governed him were very specific, and unable to break. Ever since he had taken up this mantle, that of being the god of the Wastelands, patron of the Rogues, they had all but leashed him in every way. Summons – those made to him, those that he heard – were the only way for him to leave this realm. Subservient to whims, and not much else.

Yet now, those chains that bound him here, that would not allow him choice in leaving this palace – they were gone. Vanished. Broken. Yet...that was all but impossible. The Laws were clear. His oaths had been clear. Phantom would be bound to this home built on lies and lives until he faded from existence.

The images of carnage were what spurred him. What harm would it be to try? If his senses were wrong, if he was still bound, all that would happen was the usual.

Some of his brethren had managed to free themselves in certain ways. If it was true, if he was free... perhaps he could provide more aid. Minimize the events that resulted in Rogues being slaughtered wholesale, and even...surreptitiously aid children who would not know to summon him. Bitterness rose through him, and for once he let it happen unchecked.

His mind was made up. Carefully placing the light on the foot of his throne, he willed himself away from here, to the battlefield he had just left. And it worked...Somehow, the curse had been broken.

Phantom would not know the name of his unlikely saviour for a long time, but upon his return he realized how he had been freed. On the altar was a single frost dragon scale, willingly given. Perhaps he could still be surprised, in a not-completely-horrible way.

Ω

It had been two days since the meeting at the library.

Since all five heirs to the four lines had shared a truce with each other. Rex still wasn't sure how to feel about all of this – but life went on.

There were lessons, and reports, and whatever the Governor would deign to teach him on a specific day. There was his habit of listening in to the Council Chamber. Finally, of course, there was his training at night – except he was joined by four others.

The midday luncheon, an extravagant feast that resulted in nausea, was now over. He had escaped as soon as it was polite to, and the other heirs had followed.