Chapter Seventeen

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Chapter Seventeen

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Revaramek galloped down the street towards the gateway. Excitement coiled taut and shuddering in his belly. It prickled at his spines, left his frills flared, their golden edges fully displayed. He’d never gotten to do anything heroic before. And ever since that horrible day he struggled forget, he hadn’t gotten to do anything villainous, either. If he was stuck serving Mirelle, he may as well get to have as much fun as possible. So there was no way in hell he was going to get a bunch of stuffy guards or a stick-in-the-mud councilwoman have all the fun now.

“Out of the way!”  

Revaramek ran up behind the trio of spearmen cautiously approaching the urd’thin and his band. When they didn’t get out of his way fast enough he just bowled them over, spears and armored men flying in all directions. Their commander turned around, eyes wide as he saw the dragon streaking towards him. Revaramek skirted around him, but not before throwing up a forepaw to shove the guard captain aside.

“I’ll handle this! Councilwoman Mirelle has placed me in charge of these affairs!”

“I have not!” Mirelle’s shout followed him down the street. He glanced back and saw her stop chasing him long enough to help one of the guards up. “Let the guards deal with this!”

“Oh, no, Mirelle!” Revaramek snarled, shaking his head as he bound through the city. “You wanted a dragon to solve your problems, and that’s what you’re getting!”

Further down the street, a few more guards had surrounded the urd’thin and his va’chaak minions. Yet the urd’thin seemed to pay no attention to the spears and swords leveled at him. Instead, he waved both gray furred hands around in little motions. Four of the Va’chaak started singing in time with his gestures. One cupped hands around his muzzle and made trumpet noises. Another beat his fists against his the bone-hewn armor lashed to his broad chest, adding percussion. The four who were singing did not sing words, only notes and sounds to accompany the urd’thin’s march down the street with a vocal symphony.

Revaramek skidded to a stop, claws scratching at cobblestone. “Mirelle, he has a theme song! I want a theme song!”

“Lord Asterbury!” One of the Va’chaak put words to the tune he’d been singing. “He’s small but he’s migh-tee! Get in his way, and he’ll…cut you down to size!”

The urd’thin stopped, and swiveled his oversized gray-furred ears. He turned, scrunched his vaguely canine muzzle, then scratched at the base of one of his short black horns. He stared up at the taller lizard who was singing. The lizard looked down at him, then shrugged green shoulders.

A second Va’chaak, with red patches on his green scales, took up the vocal. “Step up to him, and…he’ll…kick your ass!”

The urd’thin glanced between them a few times, bushy tail twitching where it protruded from under his purple and gold cloak. “What’s all this?”

The two lizards glanced at each other. “Uh…lyrics?”

“Yeah, boss, ya like it?” The dark green va’chaak flared his tiny frills. “Thought it was more dramatic.”

“It’s not bad.” Asterbury swiveled an ear back, then waved his hand dismissively. “But it needs work. You two practice that later. And next time check with me first before you go improvising over my entrance music.”

“Sorry, boss.”

“Yeah, sorry, boss.”

“No problem boys, I know you’re only trying to help.”

As soon as the Urd’thin spun around again, Revaramek could hold back no longer. “You’re a villain, aren’t you! With a theme song!”

A devilish grin split the urd’thin’s muzzle. “That I am.”

The urd’thin strode towards the dragon, gesturing for his men to stay behind. As the group of guards closed in, Revaramek raised his own paw and waved it at them, emulating the villain’s gesture. If an urd’thin could boss people around, then a dragon could damn sure do the same thing.  

“You men stay back! Maintain your distance! I’ll handle this.”

The guards all gave each other confused looks. Lord Asterbury smiled. “I’d listen to the dragon, if I were you. And shall I assume than that you, Revaramek the Resplendent, are the proper party with whom we are to negotiate?”

Oh, gods, now he got to negotiate? He’d never felt so important. And how he loved to hear his full title used. “That I am!” Yes, that sounded just as dramatic coming out of his muzzle as it had when the urd’thin spoke it. His jaws ached from smiling. “What is it you wish to negotiate?” He cocked his head, his smile faltering just a tiny bit. “Wait, didn’t you say something about-”

“Taking over his wretched story, yes.” The urd’thin flicked his cloak back, perking his ears. “But one thing at a time. Negotiations, first. So then. Negotiator!” He raised his arms above his head, and clapped twice. Nothing happened. “Hrrrm…” He clapped two more times. When nothing happened again, he clapped again. Once more nothing happened, and he glanced back at the va’chaak. “Well?”

A gray and black lizard glanced up at the late afternoon sun, shielding his eyes. “Think we’re early, boss.”

“Oh, damn.” The urd’thin scowled and folded his arms across his golden shirt. “How long?”

“Ten minutes, boss.”

“Very well.” He nudged a loose stone with his boot, glancing at the dragon. “Terribly sorry. Thought my negotiator would arrive before the rest of us. Have to wait a few minutes.”

“Oh.” Revaramek eased himself onto his haunches, curling his tail. “That’s alright.” He gazed around at the guards. “You men can go home. I’ll handle this.”

“Revaramek!” Mirelle stumbled to a halt alongside him, panting. She must have run down the street after him. “Stop ordering people around! Let the guards arrest this-”

“Councilwoman Mirelle.” The urd’thin strode forward again, and held out his gray-furred hand. “A pleasure to meet you! But you should let Revaramek handle this. I assure you, things are better that way.”

Mirelle glanced at his hand, but did not take it. “How you know our names?”

Revaramek beamed, arching his neck. “Everyone knows my name, Mirelle!” Finally he had proof of his own importance.

“Of course we do!” The urd’thin pulled his hand back, smiling, his voice soft and complacent. “We all know of our great and benevolent overlord!”

“How’d you know my name?” Mirelle slipped her knife free and took a step forward.

The urd’thin cocked his head, one ear flopping down. “Weren’t you listening during my introduction?” He waggled fingers at his henchmen.

As one, all six va’chaak called out. “Presenting Lord Asterbury, the All Knowing Urd’thin!”

When they started to hum his theme song again, the urd’thin cut them off with a swipe of his dull claws in the air. He smirked at Mirelle. “They don’t call me the All-Knowing just because I’m good with the ladies. And the men.”

Mirelle made a noise impressively close to a dragon’s growl. “You know what I’m gonna do next?”

Asterbury gave a weary sounding sigh. “You’re going to kick me in the balls, because you’re one of those empowered heroines.”

Mirelle strode towards him. “You got that part right, at least!”

“Only you won’t.” The urd’thin folded his arms. The complacency was gone from his voice in an instant, replaced by a dangerous, unhinged glee. “Because when you try, I’m going to break your ankle, climb you like a ladder and ride you around like a hobbled pony before I have you put down.”

Mirelle halted, uncertain. Revaramek encircled a foreleg around her middle. He pulled her back, hissing at the urd’thin. “You leave her alone, you little-”

“What, you didn’t like that?” The urd’thin snarled right back at the dragon, baring his little fangs. His voice crackled like fire. “Suddenly the story’s not so funny anymore, is it? And here, I thought you wanted a villain. But just suggest the gruesome murder of a main character and all the laughs evaporate like rain in the wasteland. But I bet you smell it, don’t you?”

Revaramek pulled his foreleg back from Mirelle, gave her a glance, and then glared at the urd’thin. “What are you babbling about?”

“I think you know. Everything just changed…” He spread his hands before himself, chittering in devious urd’thin laughter. “And any moment now…”

Just as Revaramek was about to reply, a strange, yet familiar scent tickled his nostrils. Smoke, hot and acrid. He glanced around, but saw no flames, not even torches. He sniffed the clear air, smelt hot, papery fire. He knew the scent from both dream and memory, and it made his belly twist. Icy claws raked his bowels. Something about that scent suddenly terrified him and yet he had no idea why.

“You smell it now, don’t you.”

Revaramek lifted a paw, rubbing his nose. He wanted to sneeze, or blast flame across the urd’thin, anything to get that scent out of his nostrils. “I don’t understand.”

Asterbury glanced back at the lizards. “Time?”

“Eight minutes boss.”

“Excellent.” He flourished his cloak, and paced around the dragon. “Tell me dragon, what is it you smell? Tell us all.”

Revaramek swallowed. His whole long throat was parched and cracked. As the urd’thin strode around him, Revaramek pivoted around to keep himself between Asterbury and Mirelle. “Vellum. I smell burning vellum.”

“Burning. Vellum.” The urd’thin moved around him again, pacing. “You’ve smelt it almost all your life, haven’t you, Revaramek. And you get déjà vu a lot, don’t you?”

Revaramek froze. A shiver racked his entire body, all his scales clicked. “What?”

Mirelle hurried around the other side of him. She put her hand upon his far shoulder. Her fingers were cold. “What the hell are you talking about, urd’thin?”

“Asterbury.” The urd’thin growled at her, the sound sheer threat as he stalked back to the front of the dragon. “My name is Asterbury.” Just as quickly, the growl was gone from his voice, replaced with a bubbly sort of sadistic glee. “Do you like the name? I stole it, you know. Took it from some big noble I murdered in an alleyway.” A devious grin spread over his little muzzle, showing off every fang. “Put a few knives between a few ribs, decided to take his name. Suits me better, don’t you think? He was an asshole. But me?” He cackled, and then snarled. “I’m a delight!”

Mirelle pressed herself against the dragon, waving her knife. “You’re crazy! You are the one burning those villages, aren’t you!”

Asterbury splayed his ears, flourishing a hand. “Not by myself!”

“Revaramek, just roast this crazy little rat-dog!”

“Now that’s just racist, Mirelle.” Asterbury took a step towards her. Revaramek lifted a forepaw and backed Mirelle away from him. The urd’thin laughed. “I don’t know why you want to protect her. Wasn’t long ago she was chiding you for being racist, was it? And how many times has she kicked you in the balls for no good reason? If I was you…” That dangerous snarl returned. “I’d roast her.”

“Leave her alone!” Revaramek strode forward, every muscle coiled, his claws unsheathed. “Tell me about the vellum, about the déjà vu.”

The urd’thin stood his ground as the dragon reached him. “If you’re going to ask how I know, I can always have my henchmen repeat my introduction.”

“Five minutes, boss!”

Revaramek lowered his head till he was muzzle to muzzle with the smaller creature. His snarled breath rustled the urd’thin’s gray fur. His eyes were dark and impenetrable with a fiery gleam like lamplight through swirling ink. Behind his scents of urd’thin fur and forest air and earth, there was something else. The acrid smell of scorched parchment.

“Tell me, or I’m going to burn you.”

“We’re all going to burn, eventually.” The urd’thin just smiled that same maddening smile. “But I’ll tell you just the same, because it’s only fair you know. After all, you might decide to help me some day.” He took a step back, thrust his hands out to his sides, and spun in a grand circle. “We are all scribbled on parchment, scrawled upon vellum! And when the story changes, the vellum burns!”

“You’re godsdamned insane!” Mirelle started to storm around the dragon, but he grabbed her in a foreleg to keep her back. “You’re…bloody loopy!”

“And you’re a collection of tropes!” The urd’thin pulled a long, curved dagger from inside his cloak, thrusting it at Mirelle. “The fiery heroine, hot-headed and self-assured, so full of confidence that she’ll do anything to prove herself right! And you hate your partner, but that just means you’ll like him all the more by the time the story’s done! Aww, how touching!”

“This isn’t a story, you babbling git!” Mirelle stomped her boot. “Gods, I could fill a warehouse with the amount of crazy you are!”

“You see?” The urd’thin cackled. “Hot-headed! And don’t worry, I’m happy to prove I’m right. What’s the name of your village, Councilwoman?”

“What?” Mirelle faltered and glanced up at the dragon. “It doesn’t-”

“What’s the matter, Councilmen? Don’t know the name of your own village?”

“It doesn’t have a name!”

“Oh, how convenient!” The urd-thin waved his dagger in the air, sneering.

“It doesn’t have a name because it doesn’t need one! The villages are all a collection of independently ruled-”

“Oh, you’re right about one thing, the villages don’t need names. They’re just generic placeholders! They’re just like you two, a collection of tired tropes thrown together to make someone laugh!” The urd’thin paced up and down the street, thrusting his dagger at guards who backed away as if suddenly terrified of the little beast. “I know all about your village, Mirelle! It has saucy barmaids, a ruling council, and what else? Let’s see…you’ve the bumbling knight, deafened by his own helmet! Why, he can’t see you or understand anything you say!” He flailed his knife in the air as if cutting apart the very idea. “Hilarious! And the best part, he’s in a position of power he couldn’t possibly have attained. Perhaps it’s a satire of modern government! Oooh, it’s all so funny!” He put a hand over his muzzle, wide-eyed. “I’m just tittering.”

Revaramek felt numb, chilled to his very soul. None of this made  any sense at all, and yet for reasons he didn’t understand, all of it terrified him. He could scarcely feel his paws against the street. “What are you…That doesn’t…make sense.”

“Exactly!” The urd’thin jabbed his blade in the air. “And what else have you got there? The whole village is a running joke about someone’s old gran! That’s not a city, Mirelle, it’s a trope! It’s a story! In fact, it’s a bad story and you should feel bad for being part of it!”

“Listen, you addle-brained mongrel!” Mirelle growled through grit teeth. She put her hand on the dragon’s shoulder again. Now her touch was the only thing warm Revaramek felt. “I don’t know how much fireweed and drink it took to scramble your brain that badly, but the villages don’t have names for a reason! It keeps them all equal, it-”

“What’s to the west?” The urd’thin whirled on a startled guard. “Quick, what’s to the west?”

“A kingdom.”

“Right, but what’s it called?”

“I…ah…I think…umm…I forgot…”

“You forgot…”

“I…well…I mean…it’s…ah…what was it…”

“Maybe I can jog your memory.”

Asterbury smirked at him, then hurtled across the street and leapt. The guard screamed and stumbled back, lifting his sword, but the urd’thin had already collided with him. The impact knocked him off his feet, and Asterbury rode him all the way to the ground. The guard landed with a great cough, and as he wheezed for breath, the urd’thin pressed his dagger to the man’s throat.

“Tell me the name of the kingdom to the west, or I’ll cut your throat! Now!”

“AH! No! Don’t! It’s…ah…Gorp…ah…lorp.” The guard panted for breath, hands up in surrender. “Gorpalorp!”

“What?” Asterbury pulled his head back, then burst out laughing. He lifted his knife, and waved it around. “Yes, Gorpalorp, of course! Who hasn’t had a memorable vacation in the wonderful kingdom of Gorpalorp? With their rich culture, and a history of war against the evil Doopaloopa empire!”

As he laughed, all around them the other guards sprang into action to aid their comrade. Yet as soon as they started moving, Asterbury shook his head and pressed his knife back to the man’s throat, drawing a little blood. “Oh, please, you have to know what a villain is going to do here! You come any closer, and I’ll cut his throat. In fact, let’s just keep the clichés rolling, shall we? Let my boys disarm you or…” He waved his free hand. “Throat-cutting and all that.”

The captain gazed around at his men, and then tossed down his sword. The others soon gave up their own weapons as well. The va’chaak moved around the grounds, collecting swords, a bow, and snapping spears in half over their knees.

Revaramek scratched his claws against the stone. Maybe he should have just burned the little monster right away like Mirelle said. But the little bastard knew something about his dreams, about the déjà vu, about the vellum. The fractured explanation he’d offered so far only left him even more confused, and yet it still left his soul shuddering. He couldn’t kill that runt until he’d told him the truth.

The dark green va’chaak approached Mirelle, holding out his hand for her knife. She glanced at the captive guard, and begrudgingly handed it over. The va’chaak took it, looked at the blade, then ran it against the rib bones lashed together across his armor. Animal skulls adorned a necklace that hung across his chest. Then he slipped her knife into his belt, which held a heavy black loincloth in place.

“Nice knife.” He reached out and stroked Mirelle’s arm through her blouse, smirking. “Nice girl, too. Can we keep her?”

“Excuse me?” Mirelle grit her teeth, glaring at the lizard.

Revaramek smirked. “I don’t think you want to touch her like that.”

Asterbury sat up on his captive. “This isn’t the time. She’s going to hurt you, you know.”

“Who, this little thing?” The lizard laughed, a grating sound. “Nah, she ain’t gonna do nothin’. I know her type, they just like to act-

And then Mirelle jammed her knee into the center of the creature’s loincloth hard enough to lift him to his clawed toes.

“OOOOOOOPPPH!” His dark eyes crossed over his green snout, and his little red frills flared up. He doubled over, grabbed himself in both hands, and dropped to his knees. Then he flopped onto his face, his long green tail waving in the air above him like a flag of defeat. “Uuuuuuuurrrrrrrrrhhhhhhhggggg!”

“Huh.” Mirelle smirked down at him. “So you can knee a lizardman in the balls. Wasn’t sure you had those.”

“Told you!” The urd’thin called out, while the other Va’chaak gave a chorus of groans.

Revaramek couldn’t help but laugh at the position the va’chaak ended up in, with his rump in the air, his whole muzzle scrunched up, and with both hands clutching between his legs. That was a lot funnier when it happened to someone else. Feeling better for a moment, he offered Mirelle a grin. “Nice shot.”

Mirelle smiled back at him. “Thank you.” She patted his scales, and her comforting touch lifted his spirits a little higher.

“Two minutes, Boss.”

“Ah! Right.” The urd’thin glared at the man beneath him a moment longer. “Stay down.” He tapped his dagger to his throat, then jumped to his feet on the man’s chest. The man coughed and Asterbury leapt off of him, skipping back towards the dragon. “So where were we? Oh, right. The kingdom to the west. Dragon, what’s it called?”

“Gorpalorp.” As soon as Revaramek spoke the name, he smelt scorched parchment again. Speaking the name felt wrong, an alien presence upon his tongue, knowledge wedging itself into his brain. His vision swam and his very thoughts seemed to ache. “What a…stupid name…for a kingdom.”

“Exactly.” Asterbury thumped his blade against his palm. “A stupid name, conceived of on the spot by a frightened man, because there is no kingdom to the west. The story world doesn’t extend that far. But now that it’s been spoken aloud, now it’s real. Why, if you flew fast enough, you might get there just in time to see someone hastily painting a sign.” He curled his fingers and traced an invisible archway. “Welcome to Gorpalorp! Ten minutes ago there was no Gorpalorp, and yet now, all of you would swear you remember it.” He jabbed his blade towards the dragon. “Everyone but you and I, Revaramek. Because we know it, we smell it.”

He held out his hand, and drew the dagger across his palm pad. Blood welled up and dripped to the streets. “You see, when the story changes…” He curled his hand into a fist, squeezing, and turned it over. He grimaced, bared his fangs, gave a little whine. Then he took a deep breath, and turned his palm back over. The cut was gone. “The vellum burns. None of the pawns will ever know it, but you, and I…well…we’re not pawns, are we? I was never meant to be part of this story, and you? Well, you were…” A smile crept over his muzzle.

“One minute boss.”

“Perfect!” Asterbury wiped his hand on the fallen va’chaak, and strode back towards the rest of his henchmen. “I’d better take up my position, then.” He swirled a finger in the air. “Cue the theme song!”

“I don’t understand.” Revaramek lowered his head, sniffing the urd’thins blood. It smelt of charred paper. He took a few steps after him as the va’chaak began to sing once more. “What about the Déjà vu?”

Asterbury folded his arms, speaking over the singing lizardmen. “Oh, trust me, you’re better off not knowing. There are somethings you don’t want to know.”

“Tell me!”

The urd’thin clacked his teeth and shook his head. “Listen to you, making demands. You must think you’re the hero. Alright…hero.” He sneered the last word. “If you survive this tale, and find yourself lying awake at night, pondering your pitiful existence, your endless loneliness, wondering why you’re always such an asshole to everyone…remember, I warned you wouldn’t want to know.”

“Thirty seconds, boss.”

“You, Revaramek.” The urd’thin tilted his head, one ear perked. “Are nothing more than an amalgamation of the worst traits of other dragons.”

Revaramek pulled his head back, his neck curling. As ridiculous as that sounded, it still left cold claws grasping at his soul. “What do you mean?”

“Rev, he’s just bullshitting you!” Mirelle walked up and put her hand on his side, stroking his scales. “Just roast the little shit!”

“My negotiator wouldn’t like that.” The urd’thin threw back his head, cackling. “You love your exciting tales, you know them so well because they’re part of you! But you’re nothing more than the worst parts of better developed characters from better plotted stories! You were cobbled together from ego and lewdness and arrogance and clumsiness! You’ve glimpsed their worlds, you have fragments of their memories, but you have none of what makes them whole! You’re only here to grate on her, to generate laughs, to bumble your way around and make Mirelle furious! Your life will always be empty because you were only designed to be obnoxious! She’s the hero, dragon, you’re just the…” He waved his hand with a dismissive snort. “Comic relief. You’re a collection of tropes scrawled on parchment.” His voice softened into a hissing murmur. “Or maybe it’s worse than all that. Maybe you’re just a story whispered in some hatchling’s ear. A sweet murmur, made up on the spot to make him laugh and forget his terrifying world for a little while…”

“Now, boss!”

“Perfect!” The urd’thin threw his hands into the air and clapped twice. Nothing happened. “Damn it, your timing is terrible! Or…is it mine?” He clapped again.

“Revaramek!”

Mirelle’s voice was a shout in the distance. His very mind ached. Memories of the swamp filled his head. So many stories he’d been told. From the swamp, they came here but…how? He tried to remember as Mirelle shouted at him. Always shouting. Always angry.

“Revaramek, is that sound what I think it is?”

A soft, distant whistling sound drew his attention. He swiveled his ears as the sound grew louder, followed by a single, familiar WHOOSH.

A wing beat.

The urd’thin clapped twice, and a dragon hurtled over the trees that surrounded the village. A female, with deep purple scales fading to blue, and black mottling on her wings. She dropped to the street behind the urd’thin and his henchmen, her frills flared. Brilliant, silver-white eyes narrowed and fixed on Revaramek.

Revaramek sucked in a breath. “Aylaryl?”

Aylaryl snorted, hunkering down, her body tensing. “Revaramek.” Her claws came out.

“Mirelle, get back!”

“Well, negotiator?” The urd’thin and his henchmen scrambled off the street. Asterbury pointed his dagger at Revaramek, his voice a gleeful, excited snarl. “Negotiate!”

In a flurry of flashing claws and teeth, Aylaryl sprang.