A Feast of Dragons

chapter TWENTY FOUR

Andronicus sat on his throne, surrounded by a dozen servant girls, chained naked to the floor, fanning him, placing fruit into his mouth, as he leaned back with a smile and watched the festivities unfold before him. In the circular floor of his massive throne room, the night’s games were beginning.

Spread throughout the room were hundreds of Andronicus’ closest followers, contingents that had arrived to pay homage from every corner of the Empire, wearing every possible color. They feasted, dancing, drinking, drugging in this room, as they had night after night. There was a never-ending stream of dignitaries who wanted to pay tribute to him. If they did not, he would have his armies crush them in an instant. And these games, the center of the night’s festivities, were a nice complement to a long day of drinking and feasting.

The first game of the night was always the most exciting, and this promised to be no exception. They had found a massive Spokebull, with three horns, a jaw twice as wide, eight sets of long fangs, and they had paired it against a Livara—a massive, lion-like creature with four sets of wings. In the ring, the Spokebull charged the Livara, roaring, and the Livara charged back. It promised to be a good matchup.

The two creatures, each enraged, met in the middle, snarling, each sinking its fangs into the other’s hide. They hit the ground and rolled, and the room became filled with the sounds of their vicious snarls. Within moments, blood and saliva was spraying all over the room. Andronicus smiled wide, thrilled as some of the blood sprayed through the gate and hit him in the face. Inspired, he reached over, slipped one hand around one of the naked girls, and pulled her up onto his lap. Before she knew what was happening, he extended his huge fangs, and plunged them into her throat.

She shrieked as he drank her blood, feeling the hot liquid gush down his throat, holding her tight until she finally stopped writhing. Finally, she slumped there, dead, in his arms, and he wiped the back of his mouth, and let her lie there. There were few things he enjoyed more than holding a freshly-dead corpse in his lap. This was turning out to be a great night, indeed.

An agonizing howl rang out, and the crowd jumped to its feet, roaring, as one of the animals got the best of the other. Andronicus stood himself, and looked down to see that the spoke-bull had won, piercing the Livara’s chest with his third horn. It stood over it, snorting, tapping its foot.

The crowd cheered as an attendant opened the gate, preparing for the next bout.

As he did, though, something went wrong: the spoke-bull, enraged, charged right for the attendant. The man could not get out of the way quickly enough, and the animal gouged him with its horns, piercing his stomach and sending him up high over his head, pinning him to the cage of the arena. Instead of rushing to help him, the crowd screamed in delight, as the attendant hung there in agony. No one came to his help; on the contrary, they all enjoyed it.

Three more attendants rushed in, holding spears, and they kept the beast at bay as they went to rescue their co-worker. The beast charged them, biting their spears and breaking them—until finally another attendant stepped forward with a huge double axe, and in one clean swoop, chopped off its head. Its corpse fell to the side, blood gushing everywhere, and the crowd roared in excitement.

Several more attendants rushed in to clean up the bloody mess, and a door opened from another end of the arena and two more animals were led in for the next round. They were identical. They looked like rhinoceroses, but were three times the size, and one was led to each end of the ring, grunting and snarling, barely able to be contained by four attendants with ropes.

As the cadavers were pulled out and the gate barely closed, a whistle sounded, and the two animals were released from their ropes. Without hesitating, they charged each other, ramming heads as they met in the middle. There was an awful crash as their heads met, their hides as hard as iron, shaking the entire room.

The crowd cheered in delight.

Andronicus slowly sat back down, still holding the fresh corpse in his lap, reveling in the games. They were going even better tonight than he had expected, and his spirits had not been this high in he did not know how long.

“My liege, forgive me,” came a voice.

Andronicus turned to see one of his messengers standing beside them, whispering in his ear.

“Forgive my interruption, master, but I bring important news.”

“Speak it then,” Andronicus snarled, still looking straight ahead, trying to ignore the man. Andronicus had a sinking feeling that whatever it was would interrupt his mood. And he did not want it interrupted.

“News has spread that the McCloud army has invaded the other half of the Ring. Our spies tell us that the MacGil’s kingdom may be overrun within days, and that the McClouds will control the Ring.”

Andronicus slowly nodded, taking in the information with a seething rage that he did not show—then he reached over, grabbed the messenger with both hands, stood, and hoisted him across the room with a superhuman strength. The messenger, a small, frail man from the Hinterlands, went flying through the air, shrieking, and the crowd watched, transfixed, as he cleared the fence to the arena and landed inside with the wild animals.

The two animals, startled, took a break from smashing into each other and turned towards the messenger. Together, they charged him, and the messenger turned and ran, screaming, trying to flee. But there was nowhere for him to go. As he climbed the wall, trying to get out, one of the animals pierced his back with its thick horn, pinning him to the cage.

The messenger shrieked, blood gushing from his mouth, grasping the wall with his fingernails as he died.

The crowd rose to its feet, screaming in delight.

Andronicus pondered the news. It had put him in a very bad mood, indeed. That McCloud king had defied him, had not accepted his offer, had not acceded to his wishes to let him cross the canyon, to attack the MacGils together. That McCloud king was more hard-headed than Andronicus had anticipated. He was out of Andronicus’s reach. And Andronicus hated things he could not control.

Andronicus had expected a moment like this. The Ring had been nothing but a thorn in his side, in the side of the entire Empire—the only free territory left in it, for as long as his ancestors could remember. He was determined to change that. He had conquered virtually every corner of the Empire, and his victory could not be complete without invading the Ring, making the entire land subservient to his will.

Andronicus had a backup scenario in mind for news such as this, and now it was time to employ it.

He suddenly rose, the entire room dropping to its knees and bowing down as he did, and threw off the lifeless corpse, now cold, of the young girl. He marched across the room, as hundreds of his followers bowed low to the ground, and was followed his entourage of loyal advisors. The advisors knew better than to question where he was going, knowing to obediently follow until he told them otherwise.

Andronicus left the chamber, and his men followed close as he entered the corridors of his castle.

Andronicus marched, fuming with rage, deep into the bowels of his castle, working his way down towards the torture chambers. The corridors were shaped in wide circles, and he went around and around, the walls lined with torches, until finally he reached a square, metal door, iron spikes protruding from it. At the sight of him, three attendants hurried to yank it open, bowing their heads low.

Andronicus marched in, his men close behind.

In the chamber stood two prisoners, members of the McCloud kingdom, men they had captured years ago off of one of the McCloud ships. Andronicus examined the men, chained against the opposite wall, hands and feet bound, and decided that they looked ripe. They had kept these men chained here for years, starving them, torturing them once a day, breaking them utterly, completely, for a moment such as this. For a moment when McCloud had defied him. Now it was time for Andronicus to use them, to extract the information he had been needing to know for a lifetime. He only one had shot at this, and he needed to get it right.

Andronicus stepped forward, grabbed a long, sharp hook off the wall, came up close to one of the men, and held the hook under his chin. He began to lift it, under the most tender and fragile part of his vocal cords, until the point pierced the skin.

The man’s eyes flooded with tears, and he shrieked out in agony.

“What is it that you want?” the man shrieked.

Andronicus smiled down at him.

“The Canyon,” he growled, slowly. “You have one chance to give me the answer. How do we breach it. What is its secret? What is the energy shield? Who controls it?”

The man blinked several times, sweating.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I swear it—”

Andronicus was not in the mood: he lifted the weapon high and the man shrieked in agony as it severed his throat, then his head. A moment later, his head rolled off his body, onto the floor.

Andronicus turned and looked at the other prisoner, chained to the opposite wall, the other McCloud. The man blinked several times, staring; he started moaning and shaking as Andronicus approached with the hook.

“Please!” the man squealed, “please, don’t kill me! Please, I beg you!”

McCloud got close to him, and held the hook to his throat, leaning in.

“You know the question,” Andronicus said. “Answer if you choose. If not, join your friend. You have three seconds. One, two—”

He began to lift the hook.

“Okay!” the man screamed. “Okay! I will tell you! I will tell you everything!”

Andronicus stared at him closely, trying to see if he was lying. He was expert at that, having killed so many people in his lifetime. As he stared deeply into the man’s pupils, dilating, he saw that he was telling the truth.

Slowly, he smiled, relaxed. Finally, the Ring would be his.