The Dragon s Bride

The iron gates of the City open to display a red-light-coated road. Lyra held the folds of her ceremonial gown closely as she shook palms to confirm the peace she so sorely desired. The fabric felt now like a shroud, a lovely white covered with silver embroidery. Usually humming with vendors and daily traffic, Eridale's streets were strangely quiet.

Her feet slipped on soft, slippery cobblestones drenched in morning dew as though in a dream. Her mob of people gathered around her seemed to be ghosts, their visage distorted with loss and terror. Some silently observed, helpless to turn away the damsel scheduled to see the Dragon King. In contrast, others murmured prayers with faltering voices.

Lyra, that small whisper of voice.

She turned very slightly to see Elder Myron among the councilmen. She became briefly self-conscious when his sunken eyes locked with hers. "Remember," he urged gently, "your sacrifice promotes the whole. Should you fail, our defences will not hold his wrath.

She nodded, her mouth fixed fiercely. Words today have absolutely no significance. She had been preparing for this-a prisoner in her own City-subjected to ceremonies and daily prayers intended to "bless" her for the road throughout the past week. Still, no gift could undo the awful truth-she was only a sacrifice, a lamb to the slaughter.

Lyra saw some robed seniors practically at the edge of the audience. In low light, beyond them, a black wagon poised with surface faintly run-through symbol-shining waited. Designed for the service of the Dragon King, the horses fastened to it were enormous black-coated, black-starving creatures with blazing eyes.

Elder Myron waved to the car and pressed for the fast pace.

She appeared, and the audience's whispers became louder, their words mixing into a dubious hum. A few complained about the gods allowing one so young to undergo such a fate; some sounded depressed, while others were hopeful.

Lyra stopped immediately across from the carriage. Her fingertips raced over the odd designs on the carved wooden door. They hardly throbbed as though under her control.

Myron said, his voice abruptly sharp, "Climb inside." " Time is of basic character."

Long then, she gasped and stepped softly, precisely, into the carriage. The door whistled loudly behind her, and the runes glowed more plainly across the threshold.

The run-through stones generating a faint blue glow provided the only illumination in the cold and dark tunnel. Lyra's chest hammering, she sat firmly on the cushioned bench. Though she had nowhere to hide, she wanted to run and yell. Still waiting.

The carriage silently moved around, twisting roads darkened and frightening with every mile for hours. Lyra gazed out the small window from views ripped from another dimension to her nation's acknowledged hills.

The trees grew taller and more horrible, their limbs twisted in bizarre shapes, hooked at the heavens. Melted gold rivers emerged over acres of magnificent black grass. Like the echoes of a tongue long gone, little whispers floated around the air, smelling of sulfur.

Lyra's intellectual background characterizes her even though she feels fear twisted in her breast. Every detail counts, and every observation matches a puzzle piece in a broader general mystery. Her fingers miss her quell and diary, but she had lost pleasures before the journey began.

Searching for some justification, she executed the mythology she had studied:

Originally a celestial being of unmatched might, the Dragon King, Kael, was revered among mortals and gods. But his disdain for the gods had exacted horrible outcomes. When he lost his immortality, his people, fallen to the mortal plane, were destined to roam as shadows of their previous grandeur. Now, he was a despot detested by everyone, only calmed down with respect.

Still, then, why a bride now?

She stopped to assess the sudden veering the automobile made. Lyra stayed on the edge of her seat while the wheels halted; the rune sunk till it disappeared entirely.

"We have arrived," remarked a serious voice from outside.

The door opened, presenting a black armoured shape. One of Kael's fighters could plainly see the coiled dragon around a burning sun on his armour, even if a helmet covered his face.