Chapter 4 - THE THRONE ROOM AMBUSH
In the High Council Chamber of Highspire, the air was thick with tension and the heavy scent of burning incense. The chamber was a grand, amphitheater-style room built from polished black granite, with seats for fifty high lords rising in tiers above the central dais. At the center of the room sat the Imperial Throne—a massive chair carved from a single piece of dark dragonglass.
Emperor Dean stood at the center of the room, surrounded by twenty elite guards dressed in silver and grey armor. His longsword lay on the cold stone floor ten feet away, confiscated by order of the War Cabinet.
"This is madness!" Lord Gareth, an elderly nobleman from the southern provinces, shouted from his seat. "You cannot arrest the Sovereign! He is the bonded rider of Kira!"
"He was the bonded rider!" shouted Vice-Chamberlain Vane, Malakor’s chief sycophant, standing at the head of the dais. "You all saw the reports from the border! The Emperor abandoned his post, consorted with a western spy, and allowed his dragon to be controlled by enemy sorcery! He brought the spy into the palace itself! He is a compromised man, a danger to the security of Kalith!"
Dean stood silently, his hands bound in heavy, enchanted iron manacles behind his back. His eyes were cold, scanning the faces of the noblemen seated above him. Half of them looked terrified; the other half looked wealthy, fat, and utterly complicit.
"Where is Malakor?" Dean asked, his voice low and dangerous, cutting through the shouting. "If he accuses me of treason, let him step forward and say it to my face."
"The Lord Chamberlain is currently securing the palace against the western threat you invited into our home, Sire," Vane spat, using the title like an insult. "Under Regency Protocol Article Four, your authority is suspended until a trial by the High Assembly can be conducted."
"There will be no trial," Dean said calmly. "Malakor intends to execute me in my cell tonight and announce that I died of western poison."
A murmur of unease rippled through the assembled lords. Several looked at each other nervously.
"Silence!" Vane roared, slamming his wooden gavel down. "Guards! Take the former emperor to the deep dungeons! Reinforce the aviary guards! Under no circumstances is that western dragon to be released!"
Before the guards could grab Dean’s arms, the heavy oak doors of the council chamber exploded inward.
Splintered wood and iron hinges flew through the air, crushing two guards against the stone walls. Dense smoke poured into the room, followed by the terrifying, deafening roar of an enraged war beast.
The high lords shrieked in horror, scrambling over their seats to escape as the massive, black-and-violet head of Kira forced its way through the shattered entryway. The stone walls cracked and groaned under the dragon's enormous weight as she forced her shoulders into the room.
Sitting atop Kira’s neck, covered in soot and holding a bloody sword in one hand and a dusty logbook in the other, was Isra.
"Dean!" Isra shouted, her voice ringing out over the screams of the noblemen.
"Kira!" Dean yelled, his eyes lighting up.
The dragon lunged into the chamber, her sweeping tail clearing a path through the elite guards like straw. Swords shattered against her scales; spears snapped like twigs. She swept her snout across the center floor, scattering the guards surrounding Dean.
Isra leaned down from the saddle, extending her hand. "Get up!"
Dean kicked his heavy iron manacles against the stone floor, using the sharp edge of a fallen guard's halberd to shear through the enchanted lock with a violent spark. His hands freed, he leaped onto Kira’s snout, scrambled up her massive neck, and swung himself behind Isra on the saddle.
"Shoot it! Shoot the beast!" Vice-Chamberlain Vane screamed from the high dais, pulling a heavy repeating crossbow from beneath his robes.
Kira turned her glowing violet eyes toward Vane. She didn't use her fire—she was inside a stone structure that could collapse—instead, she unleashed a localized sonic roar that shattered every stained glass window in the chamber and blew Vane off the dais, sending him crashing into the granite stairs below.
"Did you get the proof?!" Dean yelled over the sound of crumbling stonework and screaming lords.
Isra thrust the forged logbook into his hands. "It’s all here! The Renth order was forged! Malakor erased your original command!"
"Where is Malakor now?!" Dean asked, his jaw tight with fury.
"He’s heading for the lower vaults!" Isra shouted. "He knows we have the book! He’s going to activate the city’s defensive ballistas to shoot Kira down if we try to fly out!"
Dean grabbed the reins behind Isra, his eyes dark. "He won't get the chance. Kira! Down!"
May you like
The dragon didn't retreat into the sky. Instead, she spun around in the cramped chamber, her massive talons ripping up the marble floor, and smashed through the rear reinforced iron doors leading down into the subterranean infrastructure of the palace.
The battle for the empire was no longer being fought on the distant borders. It was happening in the dark, cavernous depths of the capital itself.
