Another time jump. Bonus: this is actually a moment in Lord Shalafae's past.
***
Young Ulrin led Morrigana to
the family box. The arena was crowded, bustling with Sidhehan, loud
and full of energy.
The hybrid kept close to her
master, desperately wishing she could reveal herself. But in the
Dream realm, she was bound by his memories. And his dragon slave girl
was not his daughter.
Entering the luxurious room,
Ulrin let out a sigh. He flopped into a plush chair, and covered his
eyes with one hand. Morrigana had grown used to his needs at this
age, and immediately fetched him a glass of spiced wine. The albino
quaffed it without looking at her.
The new Sidhehan was shorter
than most. His embroidered robes did nothing to hide his slight
paunch, and actually made him look dumpy. An elaborate coif and
makeup made him flamboyant, and detracted from his sharp features.
By comparison, her father's
outfit and makeup were sedate.
Ulrin gestured at a seat
without rising. "Enter, Throndrell. Let us enjoy the games
together." The rough tone in his voice revealed how much he
wanted to be alone.
I cannot get used to the
differences, she thought, watching Throndrell saunter in and
occupy another plush chair. Forced politeness and courtesy. When
did he change?
"I had no idea you enjoyed
the dragon fights." Throndrell glared at the massive viewing
window. A small display in the corner indicated ten minutes before
the main fight would begin. Advertising scrolled along the borders of
the thick glass, boring the newcomer. "Does Rarkeer's final
battle compel that strongly?"
Ulrin motioned for another
glass of wine, pointedly not offering refreshment to his visitor.
Perhaps not so courteous. Skirts swirled around her ankles,
and she tried to keep any smugness from her face. Being a body
servant seems to come with its own status.
"Personal research has led
me to greater appreciation of dragons." Ulrin's fingers touched
hers, leeching a taste of energy. "I could not pass up a chance
to see two great warriors in mortal combat." Sipping his wine,
Ulrin fell silent.
Throndrell arched one colored
eyebrow. "You consider the exile Takishidar a great warrior?"
Morrigana stiffened. She'd
known they were going to watch dragon gladiators; she hadn't known
one of them would be of her own clan.
Ulrin turned his gaze slowly to
the older Sidhehan. He stared, silent, and the other man looked away
from the albino's crimson eyes. "Until Zeonall's final mission,
he had an impeccable record. A perfect killer, unparalleled in
fierceness or loyalty."
Throndrell rose, heading to the
sideboard for a drink. "Granted, but he is merely a soldier.
Rarkeer is a trained and experienced pit fighter."
"How much money do you
have on the Shimeii?" Ulrin smiled conspiratorially at
Morrigana.
"Blunt as ever."
Throndrell tried to laugh it off as he sat, but Morri saw through his
facade. His pride was stung, and he began to doubt his choice. "Have
you some insight into the fighters I don't?"
Ulrin fingered the arm of his
chair. "Call it a healthy curiosity that has led to detailed
research." Throndrell snorted, saying nothing more as the
combatants were lifted from the pits.
The Shimeii was massive.
Crimson scales and crests, black teeth and talons, muscles thick
beneath armored skin. He was a dominant male, holding himself with
pride, crest expansive behind his head. Scars covered his hide, metal
plates and spikes welded and bolted to his body.
Morrigana stepped forward, awed
and captivated by the Takishidar.
Zeonall was a little more than
half the red brute's size. Takishidar had never been known for their
size; wiry and strong, the black dragons relied on speed and
ferociousness. Obsidian eyes scanned the crowd. He was scarred and
proud, but held himself differently. He was no one's toy, no petty
arena battler. As Ulrin had said, this was a great warrior.
Throndrell laughed. "Your
girl has much interest in the fighters." Morrigana blushed, and
returned to her master's side. It was too easy to forget her place.
Ulrin took her wrist, tugged on
it until she knelt. His delicate hand went to the back of her neck,
slowly drawing on her energy. There was no derision in his voice as
he spoke. "Why shouldn't she be interested in her own kind?"
"Has she sparked your
sudden interest in dragons?" Throndrell took another drink.
Ulrin ran his thumb along the
edge of her pointed ear. Morri shivered, enjoying the moments of
affection the young Shalafae gave her in this Dream. "She would
be a better judge of the gladiators than you," he whispered.
Throndrell sputtered. "Surely
you jest?"
"Enlighten him."
Morrigana ducked her head
briefly, watching the dragons as the announcer rattled off their
history. "Rarkeer is dominant and strong. He is used to these
arenas, and knows how to play to the crowd." The red reared back
and trumpeted, underscoring her point. "Zeonall is better suited
to this fight."
"And what gives you that
idea?" the other Sidhehan scoffed.
"Rarkeer only fights other
dragons in the open arena. There isn't maneuver room here. Zeonall
can spread his wings, and all Takishidar fight with quick and agile
strikes." She arched a brow, daring to look at Throndrell.
"Zeonall will win in less than five minutes."
Ulrin squeezed her neck and
snorted. "Throndrell was speechless, face flushed as he stared
at her. The opening horn sounded, and the fight began.
Rarkeer opened with a massive
gout of flame, head and neck stretched toward the black. Saliva clung
to every surface, splashing against the magical barrier. No magic
out, no power in. Even prescience was blocked, preventing anyone from
foreseeing the outcome.
The crowd approved as Zeonall
leapt over the flame, arrowing toward the red. Rarkeer was committed
to his move, and his reactions were slow when Zeonall strafed his
neck, claws raking scales. Blood spilled, and the Shimeii howled.
Zeonall wasn't a showman. He
fought to win, and as quickly as possible. Tucking his own wings
close, the Takishidar went under Rarkeer's right wing, slashing
patagia. Flight skin shredded, and the red dodged sideways. The black
pursued, relentless.
Rarkeer snapped, caught
Zeonall's tail. A quick slash with wing claws at eye won his freedom.
Silent, Zeonall lunged for the red's throat.
The crowd went wild as the
former soldier clung to the underside of Rarkeer's neck. Blood
gushed, and the red clawed at the black, attempting to dislodge him.
Zeonall ignored his own wounds, seeking the carotid.
Rarkeer stiffened, and Zeonall
released his grip. Covered in gore, he backed away and took to the
sky. Only as the red collapsed did he voice his triumph.
Morrigana's heart sang, and she
flushed with pride. Throndrell swore, and stomped from the box.
"You have a good mind for
battle," Ulrin praised. Morrigana suppressed a smirk. If only
he knew.
