FSE

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Chapter 21

"Then the guards shot me right here," Thorolos said, craning his neck around towards his injured wing joint. "It was a waste of a bolt, really. Didn't even slow me down."

"Heh, sure. Is that why you still can't move it?" Zedryn teased.

"I can move it just fine! I just... don't feel like it."

Zedryn laughed, and Thorolos smiled. It felt great to have friends that were just friends. Not waiting for the smallest slip-up to take advantage of, not constantly trying to sabotage your entire life. Even if he was only a servant.

"Hey, shouldn't you be getting back? You've been here a while," Zedryn asked. Thorolos paled.

"I completely forgot. Synarth is going to kill me!" Thorolos said, standing up. They were in the dining common, lying in one of the low-walled lounges where the servants took their meals. Thorolos stepped over the wall and started trotting towards the exit.

"See you around!" Zedryn called after him.

"See you!"

Thorolos sprinted down the corridors that led to the dormitory, barely glancing at the lines scratched into the walls. He slid to a stop in front of Synarth. She glared at him, but said nothing.

"Sorry I'm late," Thorolos said.

"Here," she said, tossing him a tablet. He caught it, and his face dropped. The tablet was completely covered with the longest map he had ever seen. This was his punishment for being late. He knew it. He would definitely get lost. At least once. Synarth stood behind her desk, watching him desperately try to memorize the whole tablet. She chuckled.

"You can take the directions with you. This time."

"Thanks!" Thorolos said.

"You better not be late getting back!"

"I'll try not to be." He turned to his dormitory and trotted to his niche. He curled into it to take a closer look at the tablet. Drawing his eyes away from the intimidating lines of directions, he read the actual orders. In rough letters, it said:

GET MEAL, BRING TO PRISONER

Thorlos squinted at the letters, making sure he read it correctly. Prisoner? No free dragon would be caught dead having a servant deliver them a meal, yet Thorolos knew the directions led away from the dungeons.

Thorolos rummaged through a deep hole in the side of his niche and grabbed a leather bag he thought would be a good size for a meal. The servants all had sets of leather bags. Since resources were scarce this far north, the Glaciaren palace couldn't afford to waste any part of an animal. Animal skins were brought to the palace tannery, located a fair ways away from the palace. Once tanned into leather, they were sewn into bags by the more dexterous Glaciaren servants using needles of bone and thread of sinew. The whole process took a fair while, and Zedryn had loaned Thorolos a few leather bags while Thorolos' were still being made.

Still curious, he trotted back to the dining hall. Zedryn was still lounging around, finishing his meal. He looked up at Thorolos and cocked his head. Thorolos held up the tablet and he nodded, returning to his cooked seal.

Thorolos slipped within the kitchens, dodging between the bustle of dragons fetching food for themselves or their friends. Slowly, he made his through the crowd to the section that held the food for prisoners. The small pile of food too poor even for servants to eat looked disturbingly similar to what they served in the slave camps. He wouldn't wish it upon any dragon. After hardly a moment's deliberation, he darted into the servant's food line. The food served to the servants was surprisingly good. He held out his whale skin bag

"No seconds," the grouchy old dragon serving food droned.

"It's not for me! It's for... ah, Synarth!" Thorolos blurted out without thinking. He cursed himself internally. Even if the serving dragon gave him food for Synarth, he wouldn't give her any when she came to take her meal. Then she really would kill Thorolos.

The serving dragon raised his eyebrow, but began to fill the bag. Thorolos had been hoping he would say no, that he would save him from the impending doom that was fast approaching. Instead, the serving dragon slid his death sentence into the whale skin bag, bit by juicy bit.

Thorolos thanked him, sat back on his haunches to fasten the straps around his chest, and started off. He passed through the dining hall quickly and stopped by his niche to grab the tablet. He hooked the tip of his tail through the hole on the top and started through the passages. The task of traversing the tunnels was almost mindless, leaving Thorolos plenty of time to berate himself. Why say it was for Synarth? It would have been infinitely better to steal food from any other dragon. She held power over his entire life. His time off, his tasks. He was bringing down the dispatcher's wrath upon himself just to get a prisoner a better meal.

After he was late.

On his third day.

Great.

Chapter 22

The tunnels he passed through gradually became less familiar. He tried to keep track of where he was relative to the palace corridors and rooms he grew up in, but it was nearly impossible. Eventually, when he neared the end of the map, other paths stopped crossing the one he was on. A single path led down, deep into the center of the ice. The tunnel twisted and turned, always down, looping around but never intersecting itself. The floor was much rougher. Thorolos guessed that it hadn't been worn down by years of dragons hustling across it. The further he went down, the darker it got, as less light made its way through the increasingly thick ice. The cold, slippery surface of ice gave way to stone. He realized, with a shudder, that the tunnel had made its way through the Great Glacier and punched into the bedrock beneath.

Thorolos debated turning back. Surely this was the wrong way. He had made a wrong turn somewhere. He must have. It was time to cut his losses and start again. Who knew how much farther this corridor went on for? If it went on for much longer, he would be late. Again. With Sylarys' wrath to look forward to. If he went back now, he could give her the food. Say it was making up for being late. But then she would give him another order, and another, and he wouldn't have the time to finish this one. She would find out sooner or later, put the pieces together, and be just as mad.

He rounded a curve just as he made up his mind to turn back. A faint, blue glow emanated from the end of the passage.

The thought of returning back to a furious dispatcher suddenly seemed much more appealing. Thorolos had a general policy of avoiding strange lights in pitch black tunnels.

His curiosity drove him forward even as his mind shouted at him to turn back. He crept towards the light cautiously. As he got closer, he could see the light emanating from a small slit in a large stone door. Without getting too close, Thorolos flattened his head against the ground. Through the door, a pillar of ice was glowing light faint blue. He tried to get a better look from where he was, but all he could see was a roughly hewn stone cell.

"H-hello?" Thorolos asked quietly.

A female voice penetrated the quiet he had been immersed in for what felt like ages. "If you are bringing food, just give it to me and get out."

Thorolos jumped, startled. He hadn't really expected that this was his destination, and he expected a response even less.

"W-what are you doing down here?" Thorolos asked.

"I was sleeping, and I plan to keep sleeping. Just throw the slop they call food in here and get out."

Thorolos fumbled with the straps on his bag until it fell open. He gently slid the cooked seal through the hole in the door. He watched it through the slit. It sat on the other side, untouched. Silence weighed down on Thorolos. It pressed heavy into his ears.

"What... what is this?" the female voice asked uncertainty.

"It's a seal," Thorolos said.

"But... why?"

"I, ah, thought the food for prisoners was... inadequate."

Another moment of silence passed before a high, clear note of laughter rang from the cell. "You could say that again. I've thought about starving myself and getting this whole thing over with more than once. Trust me, the food doesn't get better after sitting around for a few hours."

He heard a few clacks, and a deep, purple paw took the seal and retreated. It must have been a trick of the light. Blue light on red, Coruscaren scales made purple. He chuckled nervously.

"I believe you. It reminded me of something the humans would serve us."

"Humans? Why would a human be serving you anything at all?"

"Ah, well..." Thorolos didn't want to tell this prisoner any more than he had to. But... he already had. What was the harm in talking a little more?

"I... uh, got enslaved by humans. About two weeks ago. They gave us the same slop. If we were lucky, we got some real meat."

"So that's why you wanted to bring something a little more edible."

"Yeah. Didn't want to subject anyone to that. Seemed... cruel." More light, hopeful laughter hit him.

"How did you get real food for a prisoner?"

"I... ah... stole it. From my boss."

"Really?" she asked incredulously.

"Really. Not my best idea yet. Not quite my worst, though."

She chuckled quietly. "Well, thanks for the seal. And for talking with me. Yours is the first voice I've heard besides my own in a long while. All the others do is dump off my food and leave."

"Uh, you're welcome, I guess? Hasn't been the worst thing I've had to do as a servant," he said with a chuckle. "I've... got to get going," Thorolos said. He turned away from the huge, stone door and started trotting back towards the dormitories.

"Wait!" the voice pleaded. Thorolos stopped.

"Could you... bring another seal sometime?" she asked hopefully.

Chapter 23

Thorolos lay in his niche dejectedly. His wing membrane stung where it had been pierced by Synarth's teeth, and his wing joint was in agony. As expected, Synarth had been furious. Thorolos had been asleep when she found out. He awoke when a shadow blocked the faint light entering his niche. He could feel the rage radiating off of her. She had taken his wing in her jaws and forced him to awkwardly hobble along beside her as she strode to the kitchens. He had confessed that he took the extra meal for himself. It had seemed like a better idea than saying that he had stolen it for a prisoner. In her anger, Synarth had jabbed a claw into the wound on his wing joint - which he suspected wasn't healing properly, as it still had never closed - and twisted. She was apologetic after, but that was little consolation.

As further punishment, Synarth had demanded that he only be served one meal every other day for the next week. Normally, the servants were served three meals a day. One meal every three days with the servant's normal workload was the same as a death sentence, so, by necessity, she lightened his work load a tiny bit. She had made sure to emphasize the necessity part. If she was able, she said, she would have increased his workload, but the palace couldn't have her killing off all the servants.

Even with his extra time off, he was still miserable. A deep, gnawing hunger ate away at him. He was off for the next few hours, but that was more of a punishment than a relief. It left him with nothing to do but think about the aching hunger in his stomach. He wanted to visit the strange prisoner again, but without the guise of bringing food, it might start to look suspicious. He had no idea why she was down there, but the Glaciarens wouldn't invest so many resources to tunnel far below the surface of the glacier into stone and ice for just any criminal.

As Thorolos was pondering the prisoner, Zedryn poked his head into Thorolos' niche.

"Hey, I know you can't eat or whatever, but I just got off my shift and was heading down to the dining commons. Do you want to come with?"

The mere mention of food set his stomach growling.

"Actually, yeah, I'd love to," Thorolos said. Maybe Zedryn would know something about the prisoner. Thorolos tried to think of a way to bring her up casually while they walked to the dining hall.

Thorolos went to lie in their favorite lounge while Zedryn got his meal. The dining commons were surprisingly empty. Normally, the commons were almost completely full. Besides dragons taking their meals, others came just to relax. Even during their shifts, in the middle of orders, dragons came in for a few minutes of relaxation or a quick word with friends. At this time of day, the dining hall should have been completely full.

Zedryn came out of the kitchens, a slab of whale between his jaws.

"Do you know why the common is so empty?" Thorolos asked.

"No idea." Zedryn looked down at his chunk of whale. He unsheathed a claw and sliced off a sizable cut of meat. He slid it across the gently sloped ice they were laying on. Thorolos' eyes widened.

"Nobody is here to see you eat. Go ahead, take it."

"Thank you," Thorolos said solemnly.

"Don't worry about it," Zedryn said lightheartedly.

Thorolos devoured his chunk of whale. It did little to sate his hunger, but it took the edge off of the pain.

"Why'd you try to steal Synarth's food? That is the stupidest thing I've heard of someone trying, and I've seen a lot of stupidity here," Zedryn asked jokingly.

"I don't know. I wasn't thinking. It wasn't even for me."

Zedryn cocked his head. He narrowed his eyes at Thorolos. "Then who was it for?"

"Uh, nobody. I misspoke. It was for me. I ate it later. Does it matter?" Thorolos said quickly. A mischievous grin slowly split Zedryn's face.

"It's ok, you don't have to tell me," Zedryn said. He winked.

"No! It's not like that, at all! You have no idea what you're talking about," Thorolos said. Zedryn smiled slyly in response and waved away his protests with a paw. Thorolos dug his fingers into the ice, missing the satisfying feeling of claws scraping furrows in the relatively soft ice. Zedryn could be infuriating. Especially when he thought he was right. They sat in silence for a moment.

"Hey, Zed, do you know anything about the prisoner that's being kept beneath the bedrock?"

Zedryn grew pale. "Not really. Why?"

Thorolos shrugged. "I'm just curious. What did she do to end up down there, how long has she been down there? How is she not dead? It's freezing down there, and she isn't even Glaciaren."

"I don't know. All I know is that she's been down there for longer than I've been here."

"How long is that?"

"Mmm, seventy, maybe eighty years. Not too long. I don't know too much about her, 'sides that."

Zedryn continued to eat, but he seemed uncomfortable.

"Uh, I guess I'll leave you to it. Thanks again for the food. I'm going to see if I can find out where all of the other servants are."

"Ok, let me know if you want to do anything later," Zedryn said.

Thorolos trotted out of the dining common into the halls. He decided he would check all of the usual haunts where the servants spent their time. One by one, he found them empty. However, as he neared the royal banquet hall, the low roar of an ongoing feast grew louder. Ah, a banquet. That would explain the lack of servants. Thorolos decided to sneak by and look in at the banquet. He had never liked being in the thick of them; they were far too warm, far too crowded, far too loud. But the constant bustle of dragons was fascinating to watch. He wove through the halls, dodged the now numerous servants, and broke through into the banquet hall. He kept his head down, in the manner appropriate for a servant, and walked along the perimeter of the hall. Up at the head of the hall, opposite of where he had entered, sat the King and his children. Sans him, of course. The King's eldest son, Yhorrom, sat silently, not touching his food. He was glaring at his plate, anger burning in his eyes. He looked up and glanced around the room. His eyes met Thorolos'. Thorolos quickly looked away and walked on, but it was too late.

"FATHER!" Thorolos' eldest brother yelled, straightening. The entire hall went silent.

"Yes?" the King said calmly, without looking up from his meal.

Yhorrom grit his teeth. "I'm tired of living under your claws. I challenge you for the throne. Two weeks. High Aula." He stormed out of the hall.

Chapter 24

In the extensive snowfields to the north of the Claws Mountains, a hatchling desperately tried to think of a way back home. He had run from the City to get back to his home in the mountains. However, the snow, sun, and clouds had all worked together to get him hopelessly lost.

The hatchling sat in the snow, hoping an idea would come to him. Some plan to get him out of this mess. Hoping his salvation would swoop down upon him and tell him everything would be alright. It had always happened in the past. Why wouldn't it happen now? He sat and waited, playing out exactly what would happen in his mind, over and over again. The sun crept across the sky. When the giant, golden ball of flame began to touch the horizon, the hatchling began to panic.

His salvation wasn't coming to save him.

Wingbeats distracted him. There he is! I knew he would come!

The hatchling bounded towards the sound of wings cutting through the air. Small dots on the horizon gradually grew larger, but something seemed... off. They were the wrong color, their proportions seemed off. The hatchling's scales stood on end. He flattened himself to the snow, trying to hide. He buried his tail and wings, and his scales could blend into the snow on their own.

The small, discolored dots grew. The hatchling hadn't realized how far away they had been; the flat, open snowfields were deceiving. As they drew closer, the hatchling could tell that they definitely weren't Glaciarens. Their wings were far too large, and they were colored in reds, oranges, and browns. There were eleven of them, flying in tight formation. The hatchling craned his neck up to wonder at them as they flew past. One, near the back of the right leg, glanced down at him. They locked eyes. The hatchling froze, following the strange dragon's eyes as he flew past. One of the others said something and the dragon looked away.

The hatchling stayed frozen in the snow long after the strange dragons had disappeared over the horizon. He shuddered. Who were those dragons? And why were they so scary?

Something crunched through snow to his left, behind a snow bank. His instincts told him to stay still, to let the strange noise pass, but curiosity overwhelmed him. He edged up the bank that separated him and whatever had made the noise. Near the top of the bank, the hatchling's foot sunk through the snow and he fell into the bank. He tumbled down the other side. He landed sputtering and jumped up to his feet. In front of him stood a shocked Glaciaren.

"Father!" the hatchling yelled, jumping up to hug him. Father wrapped his wings around the hatchling protectively.

"Quiet! Don't yell! We can't be heard," Father whispered forcefully. The hatchling cowered back a bit, but Father didn't seem angry. He seemed... afraid. Father was never afraid. The hatchling shivered within Father's embrace.

"What are you doing out here? We must be an hour's flight from the City," Father asked, looking down at the hatchling cradled within his wings.

"I was trying to get back to our old home. But I got lost. But now you can take me there!" the hatchling said.

"Our... old home?" Father whispered. He stared out, off over the horizon, distracted.

"Yeah... I missed the mountains," the hatchling explained.

"Mmm," Father mumbled, still looking into the distance. Dark, sooty smoke began to lazily drift up from the horizon.

"Uh, okay, sure, but you have to promise me this. I'll drop you off at the cave, and come back for your mother. Promise that you won't leave the cave while I'm gone. While I'm gone, Stay. In. The. Cave." The unexpected force behind his father's words cowed the hatchling. He quickly nodded his head.

"Good. Climb up on my back. Quickly!" The hatchling scrambled up, and before he even had time to get a grip, his father launched himself into the air. The hatchling clung to his father's back as they shot over the snow, low to the ground.

The hatchling's father didn't let up, and they were back at their old home in no more than an hour. His father alit on the slope right outside their old cave. The hatchling trotted in. It was bare. They had taken all of their furs with them to the City. He ran back out of the cave.

"Father! Can I sleep out in the snow tonight?" the hatchling called after his father, who was preparing to take off.

Father whipped around and shouted, "STAY IN THE CAVE!"

The hatchling cowered back, hiding his head in his wings. Father softened.

"I'm sorry. Everything will be fine. Just please, please, stay in the cave while I'm gone, okay? When I get back, we'll sleep on the snow together. I promise."

"Okay," the hatchling said. He walked back into the cave and threw himself into the corner. He closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep. The stone was cold and hard, and the hatchling began to shiver.