Shadows of the Past Take Flight

The clouds hung heavy in the air, dark with storm and pregnant with rain, rendering Blackplane dull and hardly to King Paug’s liking.  Even the wine, normally sweet and thick, tasted thin and bitter on his tongue, as if the atmosphere had tainted its pleasures.  Yet he sat and sipped at his window, as he always did at the end of the day.  A touch of rain was hardly reason to change up his routine; King’s do not bow to such trivial things as the weather.  In fact, there are precious few things a King will bow to, though Paug had reason to believe he would be on his knees soon.

As he stared into the haze, he wondered what had befallen his precious daughter.  The shape of her face was growing dim in his mind, yet her voice, always sharp and clear, remained.  He could hear her shrieking for her freedom when the men first whisked her out of the city in the dead of night; he could not bring himself to face her hatred and say goodbye.  Even the knowledge that he was doing the right thing was small comfort.  No wonder he spent so much time looking after himself: it felt better, which meant it had to be better.

Having lost faith in the wine, Paug turned to the small, ornate box on his end table in search of more immediate betterment.  He opened it to reveal a fine, pink powder, the best Rosedust in the Known Realm, or so he had been lead to believe.  A pinch and a quick sniff provided the desired effect, closing his body in airy fluff and soothing his nerves in warm, steady trickles. 

Feeling sleepy, he looked out the window once again to bid farewell to the gloom, and that’s when he saw it.  It was small at first, something that could quickly be ignored as a dark shade of cloud, a product of the Rosedust, or some other anomaly.  But it moved.  And grew larger.  And its long edges swept up and down in a slow, steady rhythm.  And the rain had suddenly started to fall, as if on cue.  Paug got to his feet and approached the window, steadying himself on the sill, the cold stone delightful against his skin while his guts were hot with fear.  He stared, transfixed, as the shape grew in clarity and stature.  He never imagined death could be so seductive.

A terrible roar that shattered the very drops of rain snapped him out of his stupor.  The winged malice had snuck up on him as he drifted in his stare.  The Rosedust slowed his reactions as the last of the day’s light disappeared behind the great beast as it swept over the tower, sending rain and dirt swirling in a mighty gust as its wings swept it forward.  He cowered in his chair too late, his body already dripping wet, his eyes stinging with dust.  A great, sour stink saturated the room, nearly choking him.  Panic gripped him so tightly he couldn’t move.  Even the sound of the door flying open and a frantic, familiar voice could not rouse him.

“Paug!” shrieked his wife, Phelee.  “He’s come!  Please, we have to go!”

Paug remained curled in his chair, even as Phelee shook him with both hands, her face contorted in fear, jewels rattling desperately.  He could get lost in her eyes, even in that moment; for all her faults and all their sins, those eyes could still save him.  He reached out to her and pulled her close, willing her to be still. 

“Paug!  Paug, no!  Paug!”

She fought with him but he would not budge.  Horns, meanwhile, blared in alarm, echoed by cries of terror.  Another roar shook the very foundations of the palace, silencing all other protests.  The heavy beat of wings sounded, rattling the windows and shingles in their wake.  The world was suddenly all noise and fury.  In time, even Phelee grew still and clutched him back.  Together they stayed in their chair and rocked as the world outside rocked in turn.

When it seemed they might die of fear and bombardment, a heavy blow struck the tower.  As one, the royals looked up to the ceiling and were greeted by the sound of stone and plaster tearing like paper.  In one fail swoop, they were exposed to the elements, their shelter ripped away with lazy contempt.  Rain cascaded down, each dropped kissed with flashes of white as lightning snapped through the clouds.  The wretched stench invaded the tower, capturing them.  All had suddenly gone quiet. 

Then, the rain disappeared.  A great, horned head emerged into their vision, its outline lit up by the sparks in the sky.  Paug and Phelee stared up in terror, strangely desperate to make out features.  As if answering their silent request, it drew closer, the walls crumbling down around it.  Large, luminous white eyes swam out of the shadows, milky and unspoiled by pupils.  The horns swept forward and flanked its broad, angular jaw, itself bristling with teeth.  Its flesh was impossibly black, yet it seemed thin and cracked, as if it had been stretched too thin over the bones.  Vast, deep nostrils completed the picture of a demonic skull, and they nearly pulled the King and Queen out of their seat as the beast drew in a deep breath and opened its maw to speak.

“WHERE IS SHE?” it demanded, its voice ringing in their bones.

Paug and Phelee looked at each other.  Lies, apologies, guesses – everything except defiance crossed their minds.  In the end, there was only one answer.  They exchanged a look of resignation and Paug, ever the good royal, turned to speak on behalf of them both.

“We d-d-don’t know,” he stammered.

The dragon remained utterly still, yet its ghostly eyes, blank though they seemed, betrayed tremendous displeasure.  Then it drew closer, and the whole tower crumbled around them – only the beast’s horns stopped a hail of massive stones from crushing the pathetic captives.  In an act of childlike desperation, they pressed themselves further into the chair, willing it to swallow them up as the mighty snout drew nearer, bringing with it heat and the sting of toxic gas.  Just when it seemed the two would be crushed under the weight of its heavy chin, the dragon stopped and waited, letting the gravity of its presence sink in.

When it spoke next, it was strangely quiet, quieter than Paug and Phelee would have thought possible.  Yet that only made its command more chilling, for it was clear that softness from a beast of such magnitude was a sign not of gentleness, but of cool, solemn assurance that failure would not be tolerated.

“FIND HER.  AND BRING HER TO ME.”

With that, the dragon reared up, retracted itself from the tower, and set about savaging the rest of the palace, leaving Paug and Phelee sweltering, wet, and dreading what would come next.