Shadow of the Dragon Prologue (0/16)
Lance Hall
By Lance Hall
Doctor Who and related characters are property of the BBC. All other
characters are mine! All mine I say!
PROLOUGE
The dim flickering of the torchlight was all that illuminated the
banquet hall. The icy Scandinavian breeze blew the black smoke of war
in through the open windows. Mixed with the acrid aroma of scorched
flesh, was the smell of death itself. There was a reason this would
become known as the War of the Dead. The side of victory had suffered
a great loss, eighty percent of its people perished. The enemy had
laid waste to the People of the Mountain, devouring the women and
children as quickly as the men. They suffered much, but won in the
end. All but one of the enemy was destroyed. One representative of
the evil horde was left to bear the punishment for his dead brethren.
The creature knelt before the Leader of the Mountain, its black
leathery wings folded behind scaly haunches. Even bound and kneeling,
the creature was taller than everyone in the hall. The dark scales
glistened in the firelight. It was the last of its kind, the last of
what the People of the Mountain called 'Dragons'.
The Dragon begged for its life, his sharp white teeth flashed as he
pleaded. The Leader sat on his wooden throne in silence, listening to
the creature's pleas. When the Dragon ended his groveling, it fell
prone before him, full of hopeless tears. It was the end of the
bloodiest war in remembered history, and death had become the mother's
milk of the People of the Mountain. Perhaps that is why the Leader
chose to be merciful His sons and daughters were outraged, leveling
accusations of senility and demon possession. The Leader said nothing
in his own defense. The Dragon looked on him with watery serpent
eyes, and thanked him for his kindness. After the angry children fell
quiet, the Leader rose to his feet. He ran his fingers over the empty
eye socket, reminding himself of the price he had paid to win the war.
'Sons and daughters,' he said in a loud voice, echoing in the stone
hall, 'I will not punish the Dragon with death. Their kind have
brought death to our doorstep too often already. Likewise, I refuse
to let a creature so bloated with evil exist in the same realm as my
children and my children's children. Hence, I will call on our Doer
to spellcast the beast out of our sight, beyond our touch, and beneath
our contempt. Can this be done?'
A figure reluctantly stepped forward. He was not dressed in the dull
grey armor of the rest. He wore a dark frock coat, and a pair of
green checkered trousers. His black hair fell just short of covering
his large, sagging eyes.
'Leader,' the figure stuttered nervously, trying to find the right
words, 'I_ I mean_ I shouldn't really be here at all, and to go
messing about on this scale would be, well, improper.'
The Leader stroked his white beard, 'I do not ask for your judgements
on propriety. You are our Doer, and I only require you tell me if my
request is possible.'
There had been much jealousy among the sons and daughters since the
sudden arrival of the stranger. He proved he was a magician of great
expertise, but the ones closest to the Leader feared treachery was in
the mind of the little man. All of the armor clad warriors stood in
silence, waiting on the Doer's response.
He bit at a finger nail, and muttered to himself, 'Yes. Yes, I
suppose a temporary anomaly connected to a temporal pocket existence
might do it. No, no that won't work because of the anti-matter
feedback. The only way would be to infuse a link to another
dimensional time stream, and that would be downright rude.'
The little man gazed at his feet in thought for a moment, then finally
shook his head and announced loudly, 'No. I cannot do what you ask,
Leader.'
'Then you and the creature will both be executed,' the Leader
answered. The Dragon snorted, and shot a look at the little man.
'What? That hardly seems fair?' The Doer shoved his hands into his
trouser pockets and began to pace the wooden floor briskly, 'after
everything I have done for you? Without my help you would have been
no more than a bunch of dogsledding barbarians! You would have
perished in the Cataclysm like the others! Need I remind you of
you-know-who? Well, I dealt with him too, didn't I? How many times
must I save you lot?'
The Leader took his seat, 'All this is true, Doer. But alas, you
refuse to perform a task ordained by the Mountain. There is but one
punishment.'
'All right, all right,' the Doer pouted melodramatically, 'But I
won't like it! And it's your neck if word of this gets back home.'
'That is your strength, my friend,' the Leader laughed, 'you know
when to make the correct decision.'
That night, when the heavenly bodies were in place, the ceremony
began. The Dragon was brought into the great hall bound in silver
chains, the People of the Mountain hissed and threw rocks as he was
led to the center of the massive room. The Leader and his eldest
children, along with his wife, sat a the far end. The Doer was pacing
the floor, whispering to himself, and occasionally counting on his
fingers. He looked up nervously as the creature was brought to the
predetermined area. On the floor were three black triangles about
eight spans apart, linked by lengths of shiny black wire. The Dragon
was placed in the center.
The Doer adjusted a round knob on each of the triangles. A high
pitched squeal grew in the hall. Bolts of blue lightening shot up
from the triangles, connecting in the air to form a pyramid of thunder
around the Dragon. The squeal continued to grow. The People of the
Mountain covered their ears and screamed in pain. The Doer stood
beside the crackling blue pyramid watching the creature within. When
the noise was so great that the Leader himself winced in pain, the
Doer pressed a button on a small black box he held in his hand.
Suddenly, from the apex of the pyramid, there was a shower of
lightening and flames. The bright flash momentarily burned the image
of a triangle into the vision of anyone who didn't look away in time.
The Dragon was gone. The light had vanished, and silence once again
hung in the air of the great hall.
'There,' the Doer smiled approvingly, 'rather impressive if I say so
myself.' Then he turned to face the Leader. His smile faded and he
leveled a severe stare at the old man, 'From now on do your own dirty
work Odin.'
All of Asgard watched as the little man in the strange clothes stomped
out of the banquet hall, and Odin knew they would never see him again.
To be continued...