The Council's Request
Submission for IronAge Media's prompt The Pair
Thlin stood next to Silvath, a large dragon, slim and agile, almost feline, with scales like an ice-covered lake. Her snout, which was long and narrow, was right next to Thlin’s head. Thlin breathed a sigh of frustration. Both of them stood in the Council’s chamber, and before her were two things aside from the council.
“Ah, you could not expect that we would never be found by them, Thlin,” came Silvath’s sly, almost whining, voice in her head. Thlin had hated it at first, but now it was a comfort, since it meant her closest friend was near. No one, not even a lover could be closer than the two were. “We have a bond such as no other but our kind share. They seek to enslave all like us.”
“Like I don’t know that!” Thlin snapped out harshly. Several of those around her jumped at the unexpected outburst, for they could not hear Silvath’s poison voice like Thlin could. She knew that it had been inevitable that they would be discovered.
Unlike her friend, Thlin was human, thin but not gaunt. Silvath had found her while still a hatchling, and they had quickly and unknowingly formed the bond few could survive. Currently, there were only seven pairs of the bound, like she and Silvath, still alive. And the two of them were the only pair not under the Council.
“I had hoped we might escape notice,” she thought back to Silvath, much kinder this time.
“My darling,” Silvath wheedled back, “hope is hope, not reality.” Thlin accepted the dragon’s cruel sounding words; they were the truth in this hopeless moment.
“I know,” she said quietly. Then in her mind, “What do they want us for?”
“That axe in front of you makes that quiet clear,” Silvath chuckled, pleasure dripping from the voice inside Thlin’s head. “They want you to be their executioner.” She could tell Silvath liked the prospect, but she just wanted to be sick. Leaning forward, she picked up the axe, one of the two things in front of her. She stood there a moment, holding the ornate axe in her hands. It was beautiful, but it’s beauty was like that of a cruel goddess.
She was an ordinary girl, and her clothing made it painfully clear. Her well-patched dress was plain and simple, something even one of the Council’s lowest slaves would be ashamed to wear. Her parents had been bakers before they died, nothing special, and yet here she was, summoned by the Council and waited upon this last week by the finest servants in the palace.
“I think,” said a weasel-like man, one of the Council, “that you understand what it is we want from you.”
“I do,” Thlin replied cooly, and she felt Silvath quivering behind her, or rather, she sensed it in her mind. “But why this? At least one of the pairs is a diplomat. Can’t I do something peaceful like that, or am I to be forced into service like the others?”
“My young girl, only one pair of the six other pairs was forced, but we don’t like that word, and they serve on the front lines because of that. You need not worry about anything being done against your wishes. And you would not do well as a diplomat my dear; you possesses none of the, ah, subtleties and the delicateness it requires.”
“I am not to be forced then?” she said quiet surprised. She noticed Silvath egging her on, nudging her emotions, something only Silvath could and dared to do. Thlin let it slide this time, knowing the dragon would not go too far.
“No, of course not,” said a fat man who looked rather like an uncooked dumpling. She tried hard not to laugh, and Silvath’s huge form quaked in not so silent mirth at Thlin’s thought.
“You will be given anything your heart desires,” said a thin man, also one of the eight members of the Council. “Spacious living quarters will be made for you to your whim. All of the best food, drink, clothing, and jewelry will be yours. If you agree, that is.”
“And if I don’t?” Thlin asked, eyebrow raised. She found feel Silvath’s anger at the question. “Don’t I get a say,” she hissed in her mind.
“Of course, but things will be unpleasant for us if you don’t accept,” Silvath said. Thlin wasn’t quite sure if that was a threat or not. She looked back at the dragon behind her, who was now laying down, but her face gave no hint as to her disposition.
“If you don’t,” the weasel man said, “we will find other ways to. . . motivate you. Now, will you or wont you?” He gestured to the king who was kneeling before Thlin with his hands bound behind his back. The other thing in front of her.
She looked at the king. Gripping the axe tightly in both hands, she tensed. The idea to strike the weasel man in front of her was discarded as quickly as it had come. Silvath would not object to a fight either way. Thlin chuckled. But she had one more question before she made her decision.
“Why do you wish me to kill your king?”
“He has his own . . . ideals,” said the fat man.
“His principles are nothing like ours, and he gets in the way,” said another.
“Yes he is getting in the way, and we have no further need of him,” said the only woman on the Council. She was ancient, her beauty long since vanished, in part due to the strange piercings and experiments she had done.
“You will be well rewarded.” All eight watched her, waiting for her to make her choice.
Thlin considered her options, and their reasons. She raised the axe, and the king hung his head in resignation, their eyes meeting briefly. She deliberated about what she was going to do, and what she should do.
“What are you going to do?” Silvath asked after a minute, suddenly grave and curious, drawing away mentally to let Thlin decide without any interference, for which she was grateful.
Thlin thought for several seconds, axe poised above her. Then, she made up her mind, the axe singing through the air as it sped downwards. Silvath gave a growl of delight as blood stained the marble floor. Thlin knew that the next neck given to her would inevitably be one of the Council itself.
Nice!😁