Flight of the Gazebo

Chapter 6 - The Trial

The twittering from the surrounding crowd of kynbar did nothing to improve Drome's mood. Trussed as he was, his arms held tightly at his sides by loops of thick, coarse rope, he felt more than a little ill at ease.

The way the guards had dragged him out him of marquee hadn't made things any better. Much to his dismay he found out that, short as they were, they were immensely strong, which didn't bode well for his match with Heyglmama. To add to his discomfort, Voormama had tied a geometrically-shaped charm around his neck. "To stop you doing any magic," he had said. The rough string scratched his neck every time Drome moved his head.

He was standing inside a thirty-foot circle of hard-packed earth in the centre of a mass of hundreds of kynbar, their red faces expectant, their quills rattling and their voices high with excitement. Beyond the audience were the pale pink tents of the the kynbar's dwellings. The sunlight was bright and hot, and sweat trickled down Drome's back.

The end of the rope wound around his torso was held by a nervous guard who kept looking enviously towards his fellows standing a comfortable distance away at the edge of the watching crowd. Drome had given up trying to plead with him. The guard had looked at him with such fear that Drome had felt quite guilty and had to remind himself that he, Drome, was in fact the injured party.

He sunk into a fatalistic melancholy, but his mood soon edged back towards uneasiness when Voormama entered the circle.

The wizard waddled to the centre and tried to quieten the crowd. The translating function, shoved into Drome's mind by the debris creature, seemed overwhelmed by the noise and only the occasional burst of twittering became speech that he could understand. It wasn't very reassuring.

"...ugly devil... won't stand a chance against Heyglmama... such skinny legs. How does it stand on those? I wonder what its insides are like? ...it might not be as feeble as it looks..."

A new murmur swept through the assembly, and all heads turned to the gap in the crowd through which Drome had entered. A kynbar stood there, resplendent in dark red armour. Polished plates covered its trunk and shoulders, and its arms and legs were protected by heavy, spike-studded leather pads. Its flat head was encased in a helmet adorned with a colourful crest of artificial quills. In its hand was a nasty-looking club encrusted with yet more spikes. Drome's knees shook and his mouth grew dry.

"Heyglmama! Heyglmama!" roared the crowd and waved their arms above their heads as the armoured figure shuffled into the circle.

Voormama hurried over to Drome. "What do you think of that, eh?" said the wizard, indicating Heyglmama who strutted in front of the crowd, shaking his club to the noisy approval of the assembly. "Doesn't he look impressive? That armour came from our world many years ago. It's the first time we've had the opportunity to use it in a long while. I think Heyglmama's already pleased with the attention he's getting. More than he would have got for his skishba, even. Now, put up a good fight and we'll mention you favourably in our prayers, might even sacrifice a koiab in your memory - which will look good when you're reporting back to your master in hell, I should think. The only rule is no magic. Don't bother to try to fly away. The charm will stop you from doing that." He pointed at the shape hanging from the string around Drome's neck. "If you do anything unfair, I'll blast you with this." He patted his staff.

"Look, this is all a terrible mistake. I'm not a devil. Honestly," Drome said. Panic fluttered at the edges of his mind. The crowd was chanting and stamping their feet.

Voormama waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, by Donart's warts, don't start that again."

"If I am a devil, then surely I can't be killed? You can't kill supernatural beings." Drome's eyes were wild and his voice came out in a torrent of desperation.