Chronicles of a Royal Pet_Of Scales and Distant Shores by Ian Rodgers

Author:Ian Rodgers [Rodgers, Ian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781983323133
Amazon: 1983323136
Publisher: Independently Published
Published: 2018-07-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11: The drums of war

The morning sun shone brightly over the rolling hills and lush greenery. Beneath the warm light and soft breeze, an elegantly dressed and heavily guarded procession snaked its way through the knolls and trees, drums beating and pipes playing.

Fifty scaled, bipedal beings with the appearances of lizards walked calmly towards a towering stone ziggurat in the distance. Many of them went without shirts, though their legs were covered in woven reed skirts. These bipedal lizards were the ones performing the music.

A smaller group of these travelers wore golden armor and were armed with ceremonial obsidian blades and clubs. Their eyes were sharp, and they stared at everything around them with suspicion.

At the center of the procession was a hunched lizard whose red and orange scales were tarnished with age, eyes milky white and staring at nothing. He wore a robe made of snakeskin, enough gold and silver jewelry to double as armor in its own right, and an elegant gold headdress decorated with vivid blue and purple feathers. He sat upon a palanquin being carried by four of the shirtless servants.

In his lap was a giant, beautiful egg of mottled pink and white. It was easily half of his size, and he held onto it like a precious treasure.

The stench of rotten wood suddenly filled his nostrils and he let out an unconscious growl. A greasy feeling slithered across the scales of the assembled lizardfolk. The entire procession ground to a halt, and the guards looked around, weapons clenched tight, while the other servants nervously glanced around and bunched up close to the palanquin.

“Show yourself, wretch! Who dares to impede the sacred passage of a Priest of the Eternal Dragon?” one of the golden armored guards demanded, shouting out in a hissing language. For a moment, nothing happened. Silence squatted upon the area, increasing the nervousness of the group.

“What does one of the World Rebellion want with a poor, old soul like myself?” the elderly lizardfolk priest asked in Common, his voice strong despite his decrepitude.

At his question, something answered. The bark of a tree nearby rippled, and slowly something pulled itself out of the wood. The leaves upon the branches shriveled up and turned brown, and the plants around the tree died.

Clad in a hooded robe black as tar, and wearing a mask of silver with a tree etched into the surface, the person who dared to halt the religious procession revealed himself, stepping out of the tree.

“It’s nothing personal,” the man said, raising two dark brown hands towards the group. “It’s just that I need a conflict to test someone, and a war suits my needs perfectly.”

Dozens of roots erupted from the ground, lashing out and attacking the lizardfolk. Twenty defenseless servants died screaming as the spears of wood impaled their chests, puncturing their hearts. The rest of the wooden tendrils were blocked by a hastily raised shield of fire courtesy of the priest and turned to ash.

The golden warriors reacted, lunging at the assassin, swinging their weapons.

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