Remove ads

A Dance of Wyverns (Original - Victorian England)

Reader mode
Remove ads
Chapter 14
  • Threadmarks
    • Thanks to @Armoury for the beta!

    ---

    Of all of the places I had woken up over the years; the barn, the wagon, a relatively comfy patch of grass near the pens, I was rather proud to say that the inside of the constable's mansion was, up to that point, not on my list. Admittedly that was partially because the constable lived a good three miles away in town and he was a fat and lazy bastard at the best of times. It was also because I didn't have a habit of getting into trouble, but unfortunately, it would seem wyverns both cause and land me into trouble.

    The sense of grogginess that I would expect wasn't there as I opened my eyes, and beyond a dull pain in my head, there was little evidence that… I blinked. Staring at the cell illuminated by morning sunlight behind me. The thin rays lit up a small room, little more than maybe five feet in any given direction, with a small cot off to the side and a bucket beside it. The floor was broken stone, and the walls weren't in a much better state. But my surprise wasn't caused by the luxury of my accommodations. It was the fact that there was sunlight streaming in behind me, which means that unless I was dead I fell asleep. I vaguely recalled waking up while they were dragging me away, but it's all foggy after that. Which, I suppose should be considered a blessing, I've seen a horse kick a man in the head, the bludgeon from the constable was only slightly kinder.

    The light was golden at the very least, which means that unless something was well and truly wrong with southern England that it was morning. My nose twitched as the scent of the room hit me, and I grimaced towards the far end of the room. There, running from wall to wall was a series of iron bars with a door set into it. Pressing against the floor I was glad to find I wasn't chained down, and with a stumbling walk, I made my way over to the bars. The gambeson I still had on was soaked and damp, whether from sweat or from the waters of the channel I couldn't tell. It smelled like salt water, but then, so did everything else about myself. At least I didn't sleep in the breastplate, I'd have been lucky to be able to move at all. My hands grasped the bars, steadying myself… and I found myself staring directly into the face of Morrigan. She wasn't in nightclothes anymore, which does mean she probably got a more fitful sleep than I did. She also looked pissed, but that I was at least used to. That, and I was angrier than she was.

    When I spoke I was barely above a growl, though it wasn't her I was angry with. "Is the woman okay?"

    Morrigan's eyes widened for a brief moment as she was apparently surprised by that being the first thing out of my mouth. Then she nodded. "Yes. Badly burned but the doctor says she'll make it. She's lucky she was so close to the school, the doctor keeps good burn remedies around."

    "Ah wouldn't call 'er lucky." I replied. "Luck when relatin' an injury implies a miracle, and no god of mine is gonna put someone in the path of a flamin' wyvern. How long are they keepin' me in here?"

    "You are free to leave," Morrigan answered. "I spoke to the constables and they have been made to understand that you didn't know the local laws, and that you were attempting to save the life of an injured woman. They have… little patience for wyvern riders."

    "Aye? I'm feelin' precious little patience for them myself." I replied. "One tortured his wyvern enough that it broke free and burned down my property. Others let them roam free when they get too big and solve the homeless problem. An' now ah find that there's some that decide to burn ships and buildings to test the heat of the flame of their beasts."

    With a metal shunk the door to my cell unlocked, and Morrigan stepped back with a brass key in her hand. Pushing my hand forward I swung the door open, stumbling out of my cell and into the long stone hallway. "Ah don't know what form of operation ya have runnin' here. But ah'm afraid to say I'm not the biggest fan."

    Morrigan frowned. "None of my students would do such a thing."

    "Well I haven't met any of them have I?" I replied, then stumbled past her towards… somewhere. I assumed the entrance.

    A hand on my arm stopped my walk, and I found myself forcefully spun around to face the irate irish woman. "Listen yeh stupid scot, A've about as much control over the London idjits as you do so don' be getting' mad at me about 'em. Ay got yeh out of that damn cell, so the least yeh can do is be polite, be quiet, and walk with me back to the school before Ay beat yer head in against these bars and lock ye back in!"

    …

    "Aye, sounds fair," I replied. I had seen her angry before, I had never seen her so angry that she lost the proper accent she liked to put on. "Sorry about that."

    Morrigan stared at me for a few long moments before nodding. "Forgiven. Now steady yourself, the carriage is just outside."

    I nodded, pressing my arm against the wall to draw in a few breaths once she let go of me. My vision, previously swimming from the sudden movement, cleared, and I could make out the 'lobby' at the far end of the hallway and the door to the outside world. "Where's… where's Beithir?"

    "Back at the school," Morrigan replied. "She's fine, the constables didn't have anywhere to keep her so I volunteered."

    Well, that's good, I halfway expected the local boys to have butchered her for meat. "Good, sure she's missed me." I replied, a small smile coming onto my face as I did so. The smile only grew as we stepped outside, and I relished the transition from the dingy interior of the jail to the bright and beautiful morning. It still smelled rotten of the city, but anything was better than where I was. I stepped forward firmly onto the cobblestones, looking down the street towards the hills beyond the town. The school wasn't visible from here, too far back for that. But the golden morning light glinted off of the aerodrome and painted the surrounding buildings in colors like the stained glass of a church. It was a pretty sight, and it being the weekend and relatively early the sounds of the nearby ocean crashing against the shore was just about the only sound beyond the distant shouts of the dockworkers who didn't know sleep, and the horse knocking its hooves against the ground in front of me.

    I stared at the large draft and the fancy carriage behind it. "Ya sure ya want me to ride in your carriage?" it was about as fancy as the rich bastard back in London, and you were currently filthy.

    "Please do not ask that question. If I stop to think about it I may make you walk back to the school Arthur." Morrigan responded, stepping past me to open the door and step inside while doing so.

    "Once again, fair enough." I replied, then stepped up after her and settled in the seat across from the woman. On some hidden signal the man up front started the carriage moving, and I held onto the bench as it started shaking and bouncing on the cobbled road. Beyond the clack of the wheels on the road the journey was quiet, and it was only about a half-hour into it that one of us spoke again, Morrigan specifically.

    "What precisely do you mean to accomplish Arthur?"

    "A shower when we get back," I replied. "Though ah feel that wasn't what you were askin'."

    "Your deal with Wellbrook, assuming you even win a tournament to collect the prize money. What do you plan to do then? You certainly don't enjoy the life."

    I snorted. "Ah enjoy ridin' wyverns just fine Morrigan. It's the nobles and boat burners ah have problems with. Once ah get the money to buy Beithir ah'm going to use the remaining funds to rebuild my farm then set 'er loose."

    "Highly illegal and highly dangerous with a full-sized wyvern." Morrigan replied, an edge to her voice.

    "Set 'er loose in the pens then. She can protect the coos from the whipper-drakes." I said. "Ah ain't gonna let her loose in a forest regardless. But she deserves more than ah cage, even a coo bound for slaughter isn't kept in one long term."

    Morrigan let out a long slow breath, her gaze turning towards the windows. "The first tournament is a race, do you think you can handle that?"

    I smiled. "Aye, I think I can handle that."

    ---

    *Two months later*

    ---

    My hand ran along Beithir's snout, the wyvern letting out a soft trilling sound as my fingers ran along the ridges. Her tongue darted out to briefly lick at my fingers before she turned her head to look at me.

    "Excited girl?" I asked.

    The wyvern blinked, then looked forward again as the platform we were standing on lurched. With a loud hiss of steam and a screech of metal, the elevator started to rise. The stable previously visible all around me disappeared from view, and I glanced up to see the ceiling a good fifty feet above me slowly start to slide open. The transition from the darkness of the elevator shaft caused by it rising, to the almost punishing brightness of the noon sun pouring almost directly down into it was striking, and I raised my gauntleted hand to block it as best as I could as we rose steadily upwards.

    The light only made the barding Beithir was draped in glint all the more beautifully. The silver wyvern was bedecked in blue cloth with golden edging, it ran along her entire frame from the base of the neck near the horns to drape over the wings then split just at the base of the tail. It was beautiful silken fabric, and Beithir seemed to actually rather enjoy having it on… given how long it took to get it back off of her the first time she had a dress rehearsal. Across the top of the fabric was the print of a golden rose in the grip of a raven, the symbol of the school. Unlike the other wyvern riders I saw around I didn't have my family crest on the barding… mostly because I had to borrow some barding from Morrigan due to not being able to afford my own.

    Still, the wyvern looked good, and that seems to be the point. I didn't exactly have a family to advertise anyway. The cheering crowd broke me from my contemplation, and I looked up again as the elevator lurched to a stop. I stood along with a good dozen other wyvern riders in what was basically a gigantic oval. It was several hundred yards from end to end, and maybe a hundred yards wide. Extended from it were stands, stacked atop each other with each higher section a bit further back. Above all of them mounted on truly gargantuan poles was a gigantic and thick net that ran over the top of the structure, in it… it was probably the largest building in England by my reckoning.

    Of course, that was just the stands and the dirt. Sprouting up from the dirt was a series of large rings held aloft by poles. Each space a few dozen yards apart and creating a sort of 'path' around the arena. The race, as it has been explained to you multiple times, was a timed event, where each rider was to make solo laps through the rings three times, and the best time overall continues onto the main event where everyone that qualified races against each other all at the same time.

    Frankly, it sounds like a mess, but the crowd loved it… and Beithir had been eager to show just how fast she is for some time now. I stared up at the crowd, tightening my gauntlets without looking before reaching for Beithir's reins. I let the cheering wash through me, the energy was damn infectious, and I found a rather unfamiliar giddiness in my voice when I leaned down to speak to Beithir. "Let's show 'em what two Scotsmen can do aye?"
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Man, how long was he put up in the dragon school again?

    Feeding and housing both him and Beithir, along with all the things like equipment must have all cost a pretty penny.

    So either Beithir's original owner is just that much of an asshole that these costs are worth it for the comeuppance, or this dragon riding school is not as prestigious as it is presented as, which is weird due to their complete and seemingly expensive facilities. Maybe some sort of scandal (maybe caused by that asshole dude) made Morrigan recently lose prestige/students?
     
    TimEd said:
    Man, how long was he put up in the dragon school again?

    Feeding and housing both him and Beithir, along with all the things like equipment must have all cost a pretty penny.

    So either Beithir's original owner is just that much of an asshole that these costs are worth it for the comeuppance, or this dragon riding school is not as prestigious as it is presented as, which is weird due to their complete and seemingly expensive facilities. Maybe some sort of scandal (maybe caused by that asshole dude) made Morrigan recently lose prestige/students?
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...

    He's been in there about two and a half months.
     
    Chapter 15
  • Threadmarks
    • Thanks to @Armoury for the beta!

    ---

    My gaze panned over the crowd, and I couldn't help but be surprised at the sheer variety of the people present within it. Plenty of the rich types around, like those I saw in the one area of London I visited previously, but mixed around them in their own sections are a decidedly more working-class sort, those who wore their overalls for work, and just about everywhere else they could get away with it except for church. No farmers though, that much I could have guessed without looking. Frankly I still wasn't sure what I was doing myself, several hundred miles away from home, on the back of a giant scaled beast, ready to fly faster than god ever intended for the amusement of a roaring crowd and the chance of prize money.

    I could have rightly been considered insane, but at the moment all I cared about was making placement to the more important events so that I could actually make the money to rebuild my farm. Then, Beithir could do whatever the hell she wanted, and I could get the hell out of London as fast as a train, or possibly Beithir, could take me. But at the moment I was here, I had a wyvern as quick as a whip, and I had roughly two months of training at Morrigan's considerable expense to back me up. Why the woman was so hellbent on lodging me I couldn't say, but I wasn't going to question her charity, even if I was more than a little curious about it at this point. Maybe she just hated rich Londoners?

    My thoughts however, were interrupted by a very loud man with a metal megaphone held up to his lips, the same kind I'd seen travelling carnival men use in the past. His voice is joined by several others around the arena as they start to speak in sync to the crowd.

    "Ladies and gentleman!" the voices echo. "Welcome to the Southern London Racing Preliminaries!" The announcer nearest to me, a crazily dressed man with a glittering gold-colored vest and equally ugly tophat, gestures to the line of wyvern riders. "The rules are simple! Our brave contestants must take their wyverns and fly through these rings in order one at a time."

    It's all the same rules that were explained to me prior so I tuned it out. One rider at a time, go in order, if the rider hits a ring they lose a second of time, if they fall off the wyvern they are fully disqualified and they will probably be marched through the city and pelted with rotten tomatoes. Admittedly none of the people who explained the rules to me mentioned that, but with the level of importance people in this town seem to place upon these events, I would not honestly have been surprised if that was somehow part of it.

    Either way, I knew the rules, and the announcers weren't giving me any new information. So instead I just lightly rubbed Beithir's scales and waited for the first race to begin. The wyvern riders around me were all unknown, mostly because from the moment I saw them they were all wearing their helmets, and nobody bothered giving out names beforehand either. Still, they were all impressive, colors of reds, blues, and all others on the spectrum making a dazzling display in the arena. And each had wyverns a good half-again the size of Beithir. Beithir was a small but quick beast, but where I had the speed advantage these blokes probably actually knew what they were doing.

    I glanced at them, then at the rings. Each was standing on a tall pole and each ring itself was identically sized to the rest, they should fit Beithir quite easily from what I could tell from here. But the true difficulty is making some of the sharper turns around the edge of the arena. I breathed in deeply to calm down, as there was little to do but… just do it. That, and I tended to notice Beithir responded to my moods, so if I got anxious at all, she got anxious. Which was a rather poor thing for a wyvern to be when I was about to lead her through an obstacle course.

    A loud cheer sounds out, and I turn my head to see that they have unveiled the timeboard over the four sides of the arena. On it are a list of names of all the wyvern riders, their times, and the order going from top to bottom that they will race in… and I was dead last, somehow that didn't surprise me. At the very least I could watch and see what others were doing and adjust accordingly. My eyes passed over the list once more, and went wide as I read the first name, my lips moving to mirror what the announcers shout out through their megaphones.

    "Crawford Bailey!"

    I turn my head slowly to see a large wyvern walk forward towards the starting posts. It was bedecked in blue barding, with green trimming along the edges and a symbol printed along the side that looked rather suspiciously like a coat of arms. A green shield with a blue wyvern wing stretched across it, it billowed as the wyvern moved. Atop it was a man fully bedecked in plate to the point I couldn't actually make out any features. But unless there are two Crawford Bailey's running around, the man on the wyvern was the same one who helped me take care of Beithir all those months ago. Though admittedly, unless he saw my name up there he probably wouldn't recognize me either. Beyond just the plate I myself was wearing, Morrigan had actually made me shave for the day's event.

    The brief bit of annoyance I was feeling was wiped away however as a loud whistle sounded throughout the arena, and Crawford took off like a bullet. The wyvern, despite its size, was a fast one, a red streak tearing through the air as it cleared the first, second, and third rings with what seemed like nothing more than one giant leap. I studied its movements as Crawford led it through the first turn, the beast tilted slightly and pulled its wings inward, allowing momentum to pull it around and through the ring at the edge and continue on around the corner in a tight arc over the crowd that had them all cheering. Then, once it had a relatively straight path once more the wings shot back out, slamming hard against the air as it rapidly regained the speed it lost from the turn. Whenever it approached a ring it tucked the wings in, using the speed it gained to sail through it quickly, then flexed the wings out again to regain control. Over and over again as he made one complete lap through the arena. No faults, no touching the rings, the man knew how to control his beast, that much was certain.

    With a loud thud the red wyvern landed back down onto the crowd, and Crawford raised his hand to wave at the crowd as his time was announced. Twenty-five point four seconds, or, in layman's terms, very fast. The question running through my mind was whether someone could get a better time by continually flying instead of tucking while diving through the rings. Beithir may have been just small enough to pull it off.

    The thought ran through my head repeatedly as the next wyvern rider took off, then the next.

    Twenty-seven.

    Forty,

    Twenty-six,

    The times vary, none beating Crawford, and two riders out of the original twelve were disqualified along the way. One poor unfortunate fell off the wyvern as it tried to correct its altitude to get through a ring, the man being only narrowly saved as it came back around to catch him. The other, far more amusingly, was a case of the wyvern deciding the rings would make a good perch, and it got up on the first one then just sort of… sat there until the man was disqualified.

    Which means, once all is said and done, to qualify for the actual race, I would need to get through the rings in at least thirty-five seconds. Right. I could do that. My heart hammered in my chest as I got Beithir standing besides the starting posts, and I gently ran my hands down her side as I tried to calm my breathing. "Right girl, we've got this aye?"

    Beithir softly grunted, and she turned her head to look at me. I smiled down at her, not that she could see it, and we both looked ahead. The crowd was silent except for faint chatter as I leaned forward with the reins. I couldn't match the maneuvers of any of the previous riders, not by a longshot, I was far too new for this and trying anything too fancy was as likely to get me killed as anything else. But I had speed on my side.

    Then, with a kick against her side.

    We flew.

    Beithir had been watching the other wyverns as much as I had been. And the moment my foot hit her side her wings slammed against the air. The takeoff was more like being thrown by an angry giant, but the speed was rocket-like as she cleared the first ring, then the second, and the third, her wings pumping through the air as she let out a happy roar. My back slammed back against the saddle, the reins going taught in my hands from the force. Beithir pulled up into the air, her training overtaking her so that when I pulled back on the reins she lifted into the air. It also meant she was hovering, and I threw myself forward and kicked my legs against her sides, forcing her forward once more as she desperately started flapping to regain the speed she lost.

    I leaned forward as far as I could on Beithir, pressed my knees against her sides, and stretched my arms out to the sides holding the reins. The more air that hit me, the slower we go, and at the moment I couldn't afford that. I pulled against them as we hit the first turn. The world went sideways as the crowd screamed in delight below us.

    I tightened my grip on the reins, then let them fall slack as we rounded the corner. Beithir letting out another roar as my right foot nudged her in the side to speed up once more. Her wings, flapping wildly, only narrowly missed clipping the rings as we sailed through them. But I was grinning from ear to ear as the world blurred around us.

    "Thattaway girl!" I cried out, but the wind was so loud I couldn't even hear myself as we tore through the arena.

    As we approached the second curve I yanked back on the reins once more, pulling her into a sharp turn without losing much in the way of speed. I still had to make up for the first stop, my eyes glanced towards the scoreboard, just a bit mo-

    The only warning I got that I was out of position was the sudden jerk of my body as my left shoulder slammed into a ring. The second was the blinding flash of pain that erupted across my entire body, and the sudden blacking of my vision. My left arm flew widely back, letting go of the reins as I slammed back bodily against the saddle. Beithir roared once more, and I fought through my blackened vision to see her straightening out again past the curve. I reached desperately for the reins, grabbing ahold of them with one arm. The other, my left wasn't responding to my commands to move it at all. It hung limply at my side, flopping with the winds. I ignored it, and the pain as Beithir flew through the last series of rings, and I pressed down against the stirrups to force her down onto the ground.

    I didn't start screaming until she actually landed, my working arm moving to grasp my limp one. My vision was still swimming from the impact, and I could just barely make out my time on the board as men came running up to help me off the wyvern. I had gotten middle place.

    And I had just shattered my left shoulder, and I can't feel anything below it any longer.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 16
  • Threadmarks
    • Thanks to @Armoury for the beta!

    ---

    My gaze stayed transfixed on the arm, motionless and without any trace of feeling beyond a dull throb at my shoulder. I couldn't move it, not that I would even try at this point; the last time I did I nearly collapsed from the pain. Since then I've gotten a rather lovely amount of likely dangerous medication that has reduced the terrible screaming pain to something more akin to merely sleeping on your shoulder. Of course, that's a different problem, as the moonlight comes in through the window of my bedroom I wasn't quite sure how I was meant to sleep on it either. The chair perhaps? Maybe the only option.

    The arm was held firm against my stomach via tight straps meant to keep me from moving the shoulder. A futile gesture, because I simply couldn't. It's shattered, ruined, it won't heal. I had grown up around enough farmland to know the many ways one can destroy an arm or a leg, and this was roughly the equivalent to being walloped by a horse fully angry. Even if I did ever manage to get movement in it again, which was likely at least to some small extent, I would never have the strength I needed in it ever again. Some movement, but not enough. I glanced at the other arm, lifting it above my head and swinging it down before yanking back. The long piece of wood I would normally be holding was gone, but even then I could tell the balance wasn't there; a child could swing a hoe better than this.

    I couldn't work a hoe with one hand, I doubted anyone could. Or turn hay, or manage coos, or milk them any faster than half-speed, or rebuild a barn. About the only thing I could do easily was toss seed, and that wouldn't get me very far. Managing a farm alone, which had never been an easy task, just became impossible. All because I was a hasty fool that tried to do more than I could, hell, more than I was meant for. And now I've managed to quite likely ruin my life along with the arm, as I have no idea how to ride a wyvern one-handed either.

    I let out a sigh, shaking my head slowly as I pushed myself up from the sitting position on the bed. It was odd moving without an arm, a sense of balance is lost that one doesn't realize they were using. If I was to compare it to something… it would be like someone was missing an arm. I made my way around the recliner and over to the window, looking out over the school grounds illuminated by the midnight moon. The green grass in the light looks nearly blue, a far lighter shade in comparison to the black surf of the channel in the distance. It was still the same day, scarcely more half-a-day passed since I destroyed my shoulder, and there was little reason to stay in London. The next event was still a month away, something apparently to do with having to build a new field after the one they used previously got heavily damaged by a beast during the spring season.

    I placed the good working hand against the glass, my reflection staring back at me… I needed a shave. A flash of light illuminated a speck of the water briefly, and I found myself watching the ship. The light attached to it danced in the waves for a good long time, however long I couldn't say, but it was approaching the docks of Dover itself as the door opened behind me. A familiar figure appeared in the reflection, and I frowned slightly at her presence.

    "Normally people knock." I said, turning back to look at the woman.

    She was dressed in her usual nightwear; a silver and blue dress that clashed with her hair. It did nearly glow in the light of the moon though, so I didn't fault her choice regardless, not that a Scottish lowland farmer has much in the way of opinion about fashion, to begin with.

    "I own the room, and the door, and the clothes you are wearing. I can do what I like." Morrigan replied, a cautious humor to her voice, like she was afraid of offending me. Not that she could, wasn't her fault what happened today and there was nothing to gain by blaming others for my own stupid mistakes.

    "Ah never got the story of that. How you came to run this school." I said, turning around to face the woman as she closed the door behind her. I didn't particularly care either, but I was in no hurry to talk about what she likely came in here to discuss.

    Morrigan came to a stop a few feet in front of me, and her gaze went past me out the window. "You never cared before, why now?"

    "Ah want to distract myself from the inevitable. And ya have been… unnaturally generous." I admitted.

    "Kind of you to say so," Morrigan replied, a small smile coming onto her face. "Does that mean you will be less of an ass?"

    I matched her smile. "No promises. But regardless, what stake do you have in this anyway? Ah half expect ya to be sendin' me back north tomorrow."

    Morrigan let out a breath, green eyes looking out over the moonlit fields out the window before she turned them onto me. "It took you long enough to ask."

    I shrugged with one shoulder, gesturing to the cast with my working hand. "Not much reason not to be curious. Thought ah wouldn't look ah gift horse in the mouth before. Frankly, not sure much ah care now."

    Morrigan hummed, her gaze moving about the room. It wasn't much changed since I moved in. Barring a now fuller closet and the mattress placed back onto the bed… which would be on the floor later, but I didn't feel so far like it was worth figuring out how to move the heavy thing one-handed. "I've been pushing for the rights of wyverns for quite some time. Bastards like Welbrook abuse them, and they are half smarter than most people I tend to meet."

    "Aye, at this point ah'm fairly sure Beithir is smart enough to talk," I replied. Peering out the window towards the stable the wyvern was currently sleeping in. She almost seemed to know something was wrong, as the moment she saw me again she damn near barreled over the handlers trying to get to me. "just wise enough not to."

    "Something like that. Yes." Morrigan said. "I saw a wyvern being loaded into a cage in London several months ago. But she looked like she had been chained down for some time before that. It was being set in the colosseum for wyvern brawls when I… broke in and freed her."

    I blinked, slowly. Then I asked the question I felt I already knew the answer to. "Did she fly off wildly to the north afterwards? Roarin' and spewing fire the entire way?"

    "It did, yes." Morrigan replied. Her gaze turning away towards the wall.

    I didn't say anything, at least, not for a little while. I just sort of laid sideways against the wall on the good shoulder and looked back over the bed. Morrigan stared at me but said nothing as I thought about what she said. Then I simply just let out a breath and turned my head back to her. "Nothin' to be done about it."

    Morrigan gave me a shocked look, and I shrugged and explained. "The beast was scared, and if ah saw Beithir in the same position as ah know 'er now ah'd probably do the same." I shook my head, looking back towards the stables through the window. "Ah want to be mad 'bout it, damn mad. But Beithir didn't deserve what that git did to 'er, and ya helped me out already by givin' me the chance." Then I gestured to the arm again. "But ah'm fairly sure ah can't get back at Wellbrook with a shattered arm, let alone get back to farmin' either. Unless ya've got a plan in that Irish brain of yours."

    Morrigan lets out a thoughtful hum. Eyes landing on my arm as she does so. "You should focus on speed instead of control if you are to fly with one arm."

    "Ah think Beithir is plenty fast already." I replied.

    Morrigan grins. "I think there are plenty of tricks I could teach you to make her go faster. If you are still interested of course."

    "Ah don't have much of a choice," I started to say. Only to get a finger pressed against my lips. I glanced down, to find Morrigan's pointer finger shushing me.

    "Get some rest Arthur, we start in the morning. I want no complaining." She pulled the finger back a moment later, still grinning before she turned on the spot and left the room.

    I stared after her, not finding much to say as the door clicked shut behind her. I didn't have much choice did I? It was riding the wyvern or nothing at this point, but at the very least… I had more to learn.

    With a sigh, I turned back towards the bed. I couldn't help but wonder.

    What was I hoping to get from this?

    ---

    Sorry for the short crappy chapter, one week I was a zombie, the second I was a work zombie.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 17
  • Threadmarks
    • Thanks to @Armoury for the beta!

    ---

    "Down." I said firmly. Pointing down at the dirt with my finger.

    Beithir stared at me, tongue flicking out as she tilted her head slightly in apparent confusion.

    With a sigh, I crouched down, careful not to brush the dead hand against the dirt as I tapped onto the firm earth of the school. "Down."

    Beithir stared at my hand, then, as I watched, she patted the ground herself with her claws to mimic my motion.

    … I let out a sigh, good hand running down my face as I shook my head. "Ya think ah was speaking Scots to 'er."

    "Perhaps you should," Morrigan responded, and I turned back to see the woman walking across the field with a book tucked underneath her arm. "You barely make enough intelligible sense when you try to speak English. Perhaps switching to a simpler language would be easier for you both?"

    "Aye? An' hear ah thought my tones were the envy of every man in Dover. Between my accent, my heroics, and my grizzled features ah'll have ya know ah've yet to meet anyone immune to my charms."

    Morrigan snorted, coming to a stop a few feet away from me. "Truly? Charming are you?"

    I nodded, "observe." Then I raised my hand to my lips and let out a whistle. I smiled as the heavy footfalls filled my ears, and I moved my hands from my lips to the air as Beithir rubbed her snout against it. I curled the fingers, scratching lightly at the scales at the tip of her snout and caused a happy growl to escape the wyvern.

    I never stopped looking at Morrigan as I did this either, a smile on my face. "See? The ladies love me."

    Morrigan laughed, one hand moving to cover her mouth as she looked away as if embarrassed I made her do so. "Well, at least your sense of humor didn't get any more damaged from the accident."

    "Aye, small mercies. But it's not easy to mount her with only one arm. Been trying to get her to learn to lay down so that ah can more easily. Seems that she can't quite figure out the issue ah'm havin'."

    Morrigan let out a thoughtful hum, her gaze moving from me, to my ruined arm, then to my wyvern. "Well, nothing to do but to keep trying. Do you feel up to it?"

    I shrugged my good shoulder and turned back to the wyvern. Removing my hand I pointed at the ground. "Down."

    Beithir stared at me, then her long tongue came out to run across my hand.

    … This was going to take a while.

    ---

    "Back ya dumb thing!" I shouted, eyes narrowed as I glared at Beithir.

    The wyvern grumbled, backing away from me before letting out a snort of flame from its mouth that dissipated against the rocks. The slab of meat that I was previously offering was now held behind my back, and I stood on my toes a bit more for extra intimidating height… as much as you can intimidate Beithir in any case. I was offering her a treat, but in her haste to get it she nearly took my one remaining good hand off.

    In the face of my glare Beithir tucked into herself, then she leaned forward slowly, placing her head down onto the rocks and looked up at me. Her tail lightly tapped the rocks behind her as she begged for the food.

    "Aye? Yer a big scalie dog now? This the ca-"

    My words were cut off as Beithir lifted her head and licked my face, her breath smelling of carrion. I sputtered, then tossed the treat forward and past her. Little more than a slab of raw beef, Beithir spun on the spot and chased after it, roaring and leaving the cliff shaking as she tore off after it. It landed onto the ground with a wet splat, and sadly before it got a chance to hide or even offer a prayer to god the wyvern was on it, curling around it like a snake around an egg, then, with a burst of hint and the scent of gas she let loose flame down onto it, the sound of sizzling meat filling the air before she plucked it off of the ground with her claw and stuffed it into her mouth.

    She swallowed it without chewing, her tongue darting out to lick at her lips before she looked at me expectantly for more. "Ah don't know why ya bother to cook it when ya can't be arsed to chew." I said, then pointed to the spot in front of myself.

    Beithir, on cue, walked across the rocks to come to a stop in front of me. I stared up at her, then lifted my hand to rub it along her neck. The wyvern stretched, head looking up towards the glass of the aviary as I ran my hand along the softer scales of her neck.

    "Most wyverns do it," Morrigan says, responding to my earlier question. "To help with digestion likely. Or perhaps they simply like their food hot?"

    I smiled at Morrigan's announcement of her presence and patted Beithir's neck before allowing my hand to drop. My other hand hung, still useless, against my side, but I paid it little mind as I turned around to look at Morrigan. I also paid Beithir butting her head against my back little mind. Morrigan was dressed in her full regalia, which to her meant her armor as I tended to find. Her silver helm glinted in the light of the morning, designed in such a way that the only part of her face I could make out was her green eyes through the slit, and even then they were cast heavily in shadow.

    "Well, here's hoping she never decides ah look particularly tasty then," I replied. "Lord knows she's tried to cook me more than once."

    "Pity," Morrigan said. "Mount up. I want another run of the course outside. You have less than a week until London and you need to be practicing as much as possible."

    "Aye." I agreed. It had been three weeks since the injury, and since then it had been nothing but work. When I wasn't riding Beithir I was reading about Beithir, when I wasn't doing that I was receiving tips from Morrigan or sleeping… and I wasn't doing much of the latter recently. But the progress was substantial, even if I wasn't anywhere near where I would have liked to be. Turning back to my wyvern I pointed at the ground, and without a word from me Beithir lowered her entire body to the ground and looked up at me expectantly.

    I walked up and threw my leg over, my hand grabbing the reins. With a slight tug against them, Beithir stood, and I nudged my left knee against her side to get her to turn towards the entrance at the lower level. Then, without any prompting on my part, the wyvern started forward, walking along the rocks and then the path towards the entrance to the aviary. I tugged the reins to the right to make her stay on the path, but Beithir was already halfway through the motion when I was. It is a difficult thing to control a flying animal, or any animal, with only one hand. But Beithir had been remarkably agreeable during the process, once you got to work teaching her hand gestures… she basically took over the rest, needing little prodding from her rider to actually maintain herself with me on her back.

    As we stepped outside I pulled the reins back, and with a flap of her wings, Beithir lifted off of the ground. A happy trill lept from Beithir as I carefully guided her towards the racing grounds. They were little more than a series of twin poles stuck into the ground at odd intervals over several acres, but they served as a safe...er way of learning how to fly around obstacles without risking my other shoulder. It was a short flight from the aviary to it, but I needed to be flying as much as possible just to get used to guiding Beithir with only one hand. It was imprecise, clumsy, and I had to rely far more on Beithir's instincts than my ability to control an animal. But it was also the only option I had available to me. The wyvern came to a skidding stop between the starting poles, looking around expectantly for the fun to begin. Beithir took to wyvern racing like… well, a racing wyvern. And I was lately all too eager to give her the chance to practice and learn, as she seemed to be about as new to it as I was.

    Of course, that was just to learn control and how to turn a bit better. My weeks were full of training and adapting. Beithir… had to adapt to little actually, the moment I fully let her go as fast she wanted to she took to it like a bullet to gunpowder. Both in terms of speed and being something I was unable to take back after the fact. 'More please' was the order of the day for Beithir, and at this point, I was willing to let her go as fast as she wanted as long as she didn't splatter me against a wall. Which she almost did.

    Twice.

    At those speeds, it was more on Beithir's part to make the turn than myself. I was mostly there for general direction and command, she handled the actual difficult bits. Which she once again took to rather well, seemingly knowing what I wanted her to do even with the inaccurate rein tugging I was capable of accomplishing. I let out a low whistle, and Beithir leans her body forward, pressing her tail against the ground for balance as she nearly fully extends.

    "Go!" I shouted, and I lost the ability to hear the words as Beithir took off like an arrow. She didn't fly through the first gate, she leapt, her strong legs pushing off against the ground as she leaped into the air. Only when she reached the plateau of the jump did she flap her wings, the tips of them nearly touching the ground as she flapped them rapidly to increase her speed. The next passed by in a rush of wind, and I tugged against the reigns and pressed hard against her side with my left foot to bring her into a turn that took us through the next set of poles. My back slammed against the padded rest of the saddle behind me as we straightened again, and I pressed both of my feet against her sides this time as we approached a pair of pulls set onto a raised platform. Beithir could easily clear the platforms without the trick I was about to pull off, but it allowed her to keep her speed even as she gained height.

    Flames billowed from Beithir straight down, blasting against the brown dirt below and sending the both of us higher in the air as the heated air hit her wings. We passed through the raised platform easily, then twisted to the right to pass through a harsh turn right next to it. Then, dead ahead were three pairs of poles in a row before a 'gentle' curve back towards the start. I kicked instead of simply pressing my legs against her side, "aye, faster girl!" I shouted.

    Beithir likely couldn't hear me, hell, I could barely hear me. But Beithir understood the gesture well enough. With my single hand holding firm onto the reins in case I needed to command her to lift herself back up, Beithir tucked her wings against her side and dived. I leaned forward, fighting the wind to wrap my arm around the front horn of the saddle, making as little of my body 'visible' to the wind as possible as we gained speed. Three.

    Two.

    One.

    I snapped back and yanked the reins to the left, Beithir's wings extended as we cleared the last set of pulls and she made a sharp turn to the left at my command. Then, all that was between us and the end of the course was a straight shot, Beithir's wings pumped in the air, yesterday's time was thirty-one seconds around the entire course, and I could feel the grin spreading across my face as I made myself as low to the saddle as possible once again. "Come on girl!"

    We didn't slow down or even stop as we passed the starting line once more, I wouldn't dare to try. Instead, I pulled against the reins to send her in a wide turn to the right, and lightly patted the back of her neck to tell her to slow down. The wyvern's wings fully extended, and she lifted herself back slightly to slow down. Then, and only then, did I guide her to a skidding stop against the dirt a good twenty feet away from the poles… and I'd estimated only just a bit more than half a minute since I started.

    I laughed, tossing my gauntlets aside as I scratched the scales along her back. Beithir growled happily, turning her head to look back at me in what I would swear was a smile. I then slid off of her, landing unsteadily onto the ground and looking up for Morrigan. My legs were unsteady below me, my heart was pounding, and I was fairly sure that I may have bruised my back from how hard I hit the saddle.

    Completely worth it mind. "What's the time?" I asked, looking towards the Irish woman standing next to the starting line.

    She holds up a stopwatch, though from where I was I could make the time. "Twenty-nine seconds, almost exactly. Do you feel ready?"

    I grinned, reaching up to pull the helmet off of my head as I started to walk towards her. A heavy thudding sounded behind me as I did, telling me that Beithir was following along as usual. "Last time ah felt ready my shoulder exploded, but ah'm ready to give it another try at least."

    Morrigan smiled, slightly. "We'll be leaving in two days for London, best to get in what practice you can, Jock."

    I reached behind me to pat Beithir on the shoulder, the wyvern grunting and leaning into the touch before I pulled away. "Aye, plan on it. An' thanks for the help, even if ya got me into this situation, to begin with." You then twist your body, making the useless limb move slightly in the case "Shake?" I asked, grinning as I offered her the currently useless hand.

    Morrigan stared at it, then at my face.

    The laugh we both shared lasted precisely as long as it took for Beithir to get annoyed that I was no longer petting her and headbutted me in the back.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 18
  • Threadmarks
    • Thanks to @Armoury for the beta!

    ---

    I wasn't quite sure if I missed London, to be perfectly honest. While the sheer scale of it was always amazing to look at, I still preferred the scent of coo-shite than the general stink that hung over the city like a fog. It was a hard one to rightfully describe, a mix of coal and sweat and sense of… depression I would guess. Like the scent in the air before a spell of bad weather one knew damn well would bring little else other than misfortune. Of course, more than likely that was my own opinions of the cities bleeding through, but they started it when they drew away all of my neighbors like a damn selkie calling from just off shore. Then of course the city-folk came in and bought all the damn land around me to ranch, which means my land has transitioned from having crops and coos to just coos, though a hell of a lot more coos than were present previously I'd imagine.

    Though with the luck I'd been having lately I wouldn't be half-surprised if by the time I got back up to my little town in the valley it was gone entirely, replaced by some giant factory or the like. My family had been there for longer than we had any record, not in any positions of great importance, but just being gone at all was unusual. I was pretty sure I was further south than any member of my family going back generations had ever been, and if you count the channel I flew over, probably as long as Scotland has existed. I was an explorer, currently sitting on a cushioned bench with my feet up on the table as the train pulled into the station. Morrigan, bless her kind soul, was doing her best to ignore my lack of manners, she however was not wearing the gambeson, so I had little other choice for a comfortably sitting position than angled. Said comfort on the train ride was quickly replaced by a stinging sensation in my legs as I set them down onto the metal train floor to head outside, something that caused no end of amusement from Morrigan I might add.

    "Told you that was a bad idea," Morrigan said glibly. Walking past me and out the door as she did so.

    "Aye, my life is a series of bad ideas that will more than likely lead to a bitter end," I replied, stumbling out of the traincar after her. By the time I made it to the door I had worked out the kinks in my legs, and I turned to look at her with a grin. "Sides, ah'll take a few moments of unstable legs for a few hours of comfort, thank ya kindly."

    The witch at my side snorted, but started a quick walk down the wooden floor of the train station towards the cargo station. There a crowd had started to form, curious to see what new manner of beast had arrived for their amusement. It was Beithir of course, managing to look both curious and grumpy as she stared out of the cage towards the crowd around her. A wyvern arriving in London of course isn't anything particularly unique, but the fact that she was decked out in Barding on the day of the races was, and more than one eager child had been waiting out in the train station for exactly this purpose. I smiled as I pushed through the crowd, then with a grunt I pulled myself up onto the train car, a rather tricky operation with one arm, then undid the latch on the gate and pulled myself into the cage.

    "An' how ya doing there ya big dumb lizard?" I asked, reaching over to scratch at the spot Beithir liked between the eyes. Beithir growled happily, leaning into my hand as my fingers rubbed between her scales. Her tail slapped against the side of the cage, causing a rattling sound to ring through the train station, before, with a hiss of machinery, a crane lifted the crate off of the traincar and behind a waiting carriage.

    "Do you intend to stay in the cage all the way to the colosseum?" Morrigan asked.

    I looked over to her, the crowd now dispersing. "Aye, might as well keep her calm before the race."

    Morrigan looked the cage over then shrugged her shoulders. "It suits you."

    "Behave, 'fore I drag you in here as well." I replied, moving to lean back against my wyvern as I did so.

    Beithir, being far wiser than either myself or Morrigan saw no part in including herself in any of our banter, instead she merely turned her head to look at me before pressing her nose against my side. I lifted my arm, allowing her massive hide to slide over onto my lap before I laid the arm back down onto her neck. A few moments later the carriage started to move, bouncing out of the train station and down the road through the city. Beithir's head lifted the moment we cleared the station, looking around curiously at all there was to see as we bounced along. There was, admittedly, a lot. Last time I was rushed through the town and was so nervous I didn't bother looking around. It was… busy, for lack of a better term. Something I expected, but even compared to the first time I was in town it was packed. Hundreds of people lined the streets, and all around pasted to the walls were posters advertising the event I myself was to take part in. Bright yellow posters with a red wyvern rising over a brown colosseum, wings curled around it like it was protecting a clutch, there one roughly every dozen or so feet. It would seem they took the sport rather seriously… or rather, they took the amount of money it surely brings in rather seriously.

    Beithir grumbled in discontent as the cart bounced once more, and I ran my hand down her back to calm her. "Settle girl, ain't far from the station to the arena. Most people in this town are too fat to walk that far."

    As I said this the carriage turned a corner, and my words were proven true as at the end of the long street was a gargantuan building. Oval in shape, it was more than likely the largest building in London, if not England itself. At least, that was from my perspective as the thing was easily wider than the schools entire property back in Dover. Hell, I thought it was likely bigger than my field back home, and all the fields next to it besides. A tall building made of blemish-free brown stone with a giant glass dome rising up from it into the sky far far taller than the aviary. Proud pillars were set into it every half dozen feet, rising up with the stone built around it. Hanging from each pillar was a banner flapping in the wind, each depicting images of wyverns of various breeds, of the dozen I could see from the cage I recognized maybe… two of them, and none of them were the same species as Beithir. I tapped Beithir on the nose then slipped back out of the cage as we went underneath the wide arch that served as the main entrance. The wyvern looked after me as I stepped out, and I tapped the side of the cage as it came to a stop to let Morrigan out of the passenger cabin. "Apologies Beithir, you'll be in the stabes for a wee bit before it's time. Only about an hour though."

    Beithir's eyes narrowed as if she could understand me, but before she could get a word in edgewise the carriage continued down a side tunnel that I would imagine lead underneath the stadium.

    "Are you quite done carousing with your wyvern?" Morrigan asked.

    "It's the only way to get an intelligent conversation in this town." I replied, idly looking up at the stones of the archway as I did so. It was… dizzyingly tall, but then, London never did anything small and simple from what I had seen so far.

    "... Not wrong." Morrigan admitted. "But come, we are to show ourselves in the VIP gallery before the match. Drinks and small finger foods, I expect you to behave yourself."

    "Aye ma'am, I will be on my best behavior as I hang around upper-class twits who've never worked a day in their lives." I replied. Then followed her as she walked into a guarded side door then up a long set of steps. I counted a good eight floors by the time we reached the top, and found myself standing in a decent sized booth set with tables and seats that overlooked the large oval shaped arena. Dotting it were large metal places the racing poles were to be set into, though at this moment they were curiously absent, indeed the only thing within the glass dome that marked the arena was the dirt and some rather flamboyantly dressed people milling about.

    Of course, up in the booth I was standing in there were also flamboyantly dressed people milling about, but these were, at least for the moment, a 'type.' It was a good hour before the first race began, one I wasn't even in mind, but for the moment the vast majority of the riders were here in the VIP booth, drinking, eating, and talking amongst themselves. Among them were quite a few of the riders I saw from the last race, including Crawford and… one gentleman I meant to meet actually. I never caught his name, a rather overdressed man with blonde hair and green eyes, but during the last race was injured as he was coming in for the landing, twisting its leg rather severely. I was curious how the wyvern was healing, mostly because you felt a bit of an odd kinship with the poor thing. That, and it was another smaller breed like Beithir was.

    I toss a nod towards Crawford but head over to the blonde man first, idly picking up a drink along the way before stopping alongside him. "How's the wyvern?" I asked.

    The man blinked at the question, apparently not having expected a ruffian to approach him. "It has been handled, it will be part of the day's events." The man then offers his hand. "George Scott."

    I grinned and shook it. "Arthur Adair, and good to hear it. Good luck today?"

    The man nodded. "Good luck, and good show."

    "Arthur!" I heard Crawford call for me, and I looked back to see the man waving me over. I smiled and took a sip of the drink in my hand… then immediately placed it on the frame of the window next to me. Far, far too fruity.

    "Crawford!" I replied, using the exact same tone he did. I came to a stop before the man, he, like myself, was in his riding outfit. However unlike myself he was already wearing the gauntlets and the metal boots. Though there was a good reason for that. "What do you think your chances are in the first round?"

    Crawford smiled at the question. "I have to diplomatically say that all racers are equally good and I hope to see you do well in the second round. How's the arm?"

    "Entirely useless," I said. "But I've learned how to ride well enough without it."

    Crawford raised a brow then looked to Morrigan, the woman nodding to back me up on that statement. "I'm impressed, unfortunately we won't be racing together but I do look forward to seeing how you do."

    "Aye, me as well. Curious to see what limb I will lose today."

    "Your brain likely," Morrigan replied. "But I'm not sure you were using that to begin with."

    I opened my mouth to respond, but my thoughts are torn from me as a jubilant cheer rises from the decent sized crowd already in the stands. I blinked, then looked down towards the arena proper.

    A man stood there in the center of it with a cone in his hand, much like the last time I was at the other arena. He's joined by about four others spread throughout the grounds, and in almost perfect sync they started to talk. "Ladies and gentlemen, it's time for the first event before the races!"

    Next to the man in the center is a cage, and as they continue to speak the walls of it collapse down on the ground revealing a pale blue wyvern. It's thin, and is looking around confused as it steps off of the metal bottom of the cage with a noticeable… limp.

    "We shall be starting the day's events with a wyvern-fight! Lancaster-Blue versus the Monster of Newcastle!"

    That's… the wyvern that was injured during the last race I believed, they signed it up for a spar? As my brain tried to process that the announcers quickly left the arena, the reason for which became obvious a moment later as a gate along the side opened and out rumbled an absolute, well, monster. It was a deep green, the wings at its side were clipped, torn, shredded and utterly useless, and all along its bodies were poorly healed scars and burns that showcased a rather painful life. As it lumbered towards the other smaller wyvern a raucous cheer erupted from the crowd, and just barely over it a whistle could be heard, a metallic and shrill one.

    On cue the beast charged, and the injured wyvern, apparently realizing the situation it had been put in, quickly lowered itself in an attempt to meet the charge. To precisely no avail, the beast slams itself broadside with the smaller wyvern, and physics takes over to send the smaller blue wyvern tumbling over itself on the hard ground. I could see the wings bending unnaturally, and I could tell even from my distance that the weak bones in the wings were broken, if unlucky damn near unrepairable. "It won." I said quietly, cold disgust washing over me.

    The smaller wyvern eventually came to a stop, the already broken leg bent at an unnatural angle, with a roar of pain it snapped its head forward, attempting to bite at the beast that caused it pain. The fangs bit into the brute's skin, but it just ignored it as it bent it's own head down and clamps its jaws around the midsection of the slimmer wyvern. Rearing back the green beast shook the blue one violently, Lancaster's teeth forced out of its skin with a spray of blood that painted the arena floor. Then it was tossed forward, bouncing along the ground.

    "Stop this." I said, but my voice, quiet, is inaudible over the crowd.

    Lancaster-Blue dazedly looked up at its attacker, and as it did a second, louder whistle was heard over the crowd. On cue the monster billow flame, not the red of Beithir, this was the blue fire I had seen in the forges. The smaller wyvern lets out a roar of terrible pain, scrambling against the ground and attempting to crawl away from the flames covering it.

    I turned my head to look George, only to see the man talking calmly with one of the men I saw announcing the 'fight' down below. A small sack of what I assumed to be money was in George's hand, and he had a small smile on his face as if nothing was wrong at all. I stepped forward, only for a hand to roughly grab my shoulder. I looked back to see Morrigan shaking her head, and before I could say anything my attention was torn away by the sound of a second roar of pain. Looking back towards the Arena I could see Lancaster-Blue flailing on the dirt, scales boiling off of it as it burned to death. Slowly, without seemingly any hurry the Monster walked over and calmly lowered its jaws around the flaming wyverns throat.

    I looked away as the smaller wyvern died. But whatever death roar it let out was drowned out by the cheer from the crowd. Far louder than any cheer I heard back in the race.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 19
  • Threadmarks
    • Thanks to @Armoury for the beta!

    ---

    "Morrigan, ya need to get me out ah here." I said, calmly, slowly, and doing my best to look straight at the woman and precisely nothing else in the room. Lest I grab Mr Scott and threw him bodily into the arena below to see how he would do against 'The Beast'. I could feel the helmet I was gripping bending in my hands slightly, the metal giving way to my hands as I pressed it against my side. I don't recall when I grabbed my helmet, I may have walked up here with it on autopilot, but at that moment it was something I could exert my strength on that wasn't alive.

    Thankfully Morrigan received the message, as upon meeting my gaze she looped her arm through my own and guided me back towards the steps away from the VIP booth. I turned away from the group as we walked, my eyes briefly meeting Crawford's before I made my way down the steps. The man's expression was unreadable, or at least, it was unreadable to my current mind, and with hurried steps, Morrigan led me down the arena until we were once again back outside. The woman kept a death grip around my arm the entire way as if afraid I would rip it away and charge back up the steps.

    Unlikely. Fair, but unlikely.

    Once we reached the ground level however she freed my arm, and I looked back at the woman's frowning face for a moment before I made my way towards the tunnel they took Beithir down. My boots crunched against the packed dirt as I moved, and I worked to unbend the faceplate of my helm as I stomped across it. The tunnel itself was as wide and tall as the one I saw back when I first arrived in this pisspot of a town, and I started to make my way down it with Morrigan chasing after me.

    "Where precisely are you going Arthur?" Morrigan asked, having run the final way to come to my side once more.

    "The one place in this city with people worth dealin' with. They keep 'em in cages here." I replied. The yellow gas lights marked my way as I headed down into the underground section of the arena. Ahead I could see a door and beside it an armed guard. The man looked up as I approached, and whether out of fear from how I was walking, or the fact that I was uniformed, he opened the door for me. I didn't bother looking at him as I stepped through and into the stables underneath the arena. It wasn't…

    The smell of shit was the first thing that hit me, the second was that of other refuse. All around me, spread out throughout a vast basement, were caged wyverns. Some were barely larger than the whipper-drakes that were within them, others were gargantuan things holding beasts not dissimilar to the one I saw above. Most were in bad shape, bars bent, stains on the floor, and the wyverns themselves, especially the 'beasts' were scarred and muzzled, heavy iron jars around their snouts to ensure they'd burn their own faces off before they had any hope of burning anything else. I looked past them all, looking for one in particular, and in the far corner I saw her, Beithir sitting in her cage, head resting on metal. It was the same cage she was in earlier, with the heavy lock holding the bar that blocked the door shut.

    I felt a hand try to grab my shoulder as I walked forward, but I ignored it, walking past the wyverns until I reached my own. At my approach Beithir opened her eyes, she looked at me without apparent recognition for several seconds before she lurched back up onto her legs, wings pressing against the ground to hold herself up as she stared at me. I smiled at her, then looked at the lock, it was a simple thing of iron that went through a loop that prevented the bar on the door from being pulled off.

    "I can get the ke-" Morrigan started.

    But as she was speaking I simply raised my helmet and slammed it down onto the top of the lock just where the loop met the actual frame of the lock. I would be the first to admit I wasn't very smart, the schooling available to me was adequate for what it was, and I had a knack for arithmetic, but any trades? The world? That was all unknown to me. But a life spent hauling farm equipment, rearing horses, and moving cattle. That gave me one thing if nothing else. Brute strength. With a satisfying metallic 'ping' the lock split, the loop popping out and the rest of it just hanging there loosely. I grabbed it, unhooked it, then tossed it aside. Then I wrenched the bar aside and swung the heavy iron door open. Beithir growled as I did so, and I smiled up at her and stepped inside her cage, my hand moved to rub at her snout as I did so.

    "Arthur, what's your plan here?" Morrigan asked.

    "Ah'm staying with my wyvern until the race starts. If ah go back out there I'm likely to kill somebody," My fingers traced the contours of Beithir's scaled nose, the wyvern leaning into my touch as I answered without looking back. "Then ah'm going to participate in the race, ah'm gonna win, collect my prize money, then ah'm gonna pay off Beithir's original owner then never return to London."

    "Are you angry, Arthur?" Morrigan asked, her voice was a touch quieter.

    I blinked, then slowly turned my head to look back at the woman with as flat of an expression as I could muster.

    "Stupid question," Morrigan admitted. But she doesn't avert her gaze.

    "Aye, it was," I replied. "Ah've had the pleasure of watching all of my friends and neighbors over the years move to London and Edinburgh, and frankly ah haven't seen a single damn thing that impresses me. In fact, what happened up there would likely get ya chased out of town back where ah came from. And up there? They cheered louder than they ever did at our race."

    Morrigan crossed her arms. "Are you truly that naive Arthur, that you believe only people in the larger cities do this?"

    "Ah know they don't!" I replied, raising my voice and causing Beithir to slink back as I did so. "Don't treat me like a damned fool Morrigan. There'll always be dumb kids trying to tame little whipperdrakes they caught in the woods or damn blasted fools getting rid of a wyvern that grew too large. But that? An injured animal that has no way to defend itself against a scaled goliath? That's not cruel, that's ah damn affront to God 'imself." I then sighed, shook my head and looked back at Beithir. "People up there acting more like beasts than the wyverns down here."

    "Why do you think I'm against the practice Arthur?" Morrigan asked after several seconds of silence. "I don't condone the practice."

    "Aye? What would you have to gain from tearing it down, ya teach a school for wyvern-riding." I replied, not looking back at her. At least I wasn't until she grabbed my shoulder and violently wrenched me around to look at her again.

    "Yes. Wyvern-riding, not fighting Arthur. I don't like it or condone it, and that's why this is all happening. Beithir wasn't signed up for racing, she was signed up to fight. I've tried to teach my students as best as I could."

    That gave me a moment's pause, the thought had never crossed my mind that Beithir was being used for the fights instead of the races. I met her gaze for several moments more before looking away again towards Beithir, the wyvern watching us both. Her eyes twinkled in the dim gaslights with what I would swear was amusement. Enjoying the show? "What do ya suggest ah do then."

    I felt her hand touch my shoulder again, this time far more gently. Then she leaned in to whisper something into my ear.

    I smiled.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 20
  • Threadmarks
    • Thanks to @Armoury for the beta!

    ---

    As I stepped out onto the field the roaring cheer of the crowd filled my ears. It was an odd sound through the helmet, like hearing someone down a distant hallway yet still at such a volume as to be all-encompassing and… overpowering, if I was going to be perfectly honest. I craned my neck up as I looked out over the stands, it was full, hell, it was probably at capacity, I could hardly see a single empty seat amongst the gigantic oval that made up the 'colosseum' in the outskirts of London. It was a mess of colors and people, a mishmash of the type I had seen in London and many more, that seemingly came from all across the world just to watch the day's events.

    Speaking of which. My eyes landed on a chunk of broken claw sticking out of the sand a good thirty feet in front of me near one of the pillars that form the gates for the race. Some unlucky wyvern involved in the first race of the day must have partially collided with it, tearing out a chunk of its claw in the process. It was Crawford and his group, though you doubt it was Crawford himself, the man was involved in the first group of racers, you are in the second, then after you, there was a third and then a fourth. The man was too good of a rider for that, at least, I suspected he was as such. My eyes lingered on it for only a moment longer before I turned my gaze to the others coming out of the stables. Of the three other wyverns arriving Beithir was the smallest, though by comparison not by much. The largest, a long yellow almost… serpentine beast came in next to its rider wearing what looked to be silks instead of the gambeson the rest of us were wearing. The wyvern's wings were of a different shape as well, not near as wide but far far longer than Beithir's, going almost from the head to the legs, probably twenty or so feet long, in comparison to Beithir's ten. The other two were more standard variants, one red, and one green respectively. Beithir was the smallest as usual, though the one with red scales was close.

    I turned my gaze back to the announcers as they started to laud the achievements of the four of us, the man's shouted praises echoed throughout the stadium, and it was something I ignored as I reached up to climb up onto Beithir. I had little in the way of achievements to laud in any case, though I turned my head slightly as the man's voice hiccuped in surprise as I mounted Beithir early.

    "Well, ladies and gentlemen, it seems one of our racers is rather eager!" the announcer said, an overdressed fop with a ringleader's mustache to match. He looked down at the sheet of paper in his hand, quirking a styled brow in the process. "Arthur Adair, on his Caucus Skyracer!"

    A cheer sounded out through the crowd, and I simply stared down at the man. "He's fro-"

    Our eyes met as he began to speak, and the words died in his throat. It was the same man who announced the fight earlier, and I simply glared down at him without a word. My one-handed grip on the reins tightened, and the man hurriedly focused on the racer with the green wyvern nearby. I loosened my grip on the reins and let out a breath, idly looking over the field once more as with the last platitudes the announcers started going over the rules. A simpler affair than the last one arguably, and safer as well. Poles were set at regular intervals along the arena, and the job of the racers was to fly through them in order in two laps, with the leader at the end of course taking the victory. The main difference compared to the last time however is there are fewer things to actually hit, like I unfortunately did, and my competitors were actively flying with me and attempting to get in my way.

    "Contact with any other racers or their wyverns is forbidden, the queen expects a clean and honorable race!" The announcer finished. "Take your station's riders!"

    I gently nudged Beithir, and she took a leisurely pace towards the starting line marked in the dirt. The other three racers lined up beside me, some looked relaxed, others looked tense… and I was just looking to get this started already. Leaning forward I gently ran my hand along Beithirs' neck, the wyvern letting out a snort that I had vaguely learned to translate as 'focus, you idiot'. Smiling slightly, I leaned back and grabbed onto the saddle horn with my good hand, the other hanging limply at my side, the reins, for the moment, forgotten. The sound of the gunshot was piercing, a loud crack that announced the start of the race. The signal for the riders to spur their mounts into action.

    …

    I had to do nothing.

    Beithir leapt forward, her wings flapping at her side as she took off from the starting line like the aforementioned gunshot. My grip on the saddle horn was tight, and unlike before I didn't slam into the back of the saddle, instead I used my strength to pull my body forward, presenting as little of myself to the air as possible as Beithir screamed past the riders beside me. Beithir was best in a straight line, the shape of her body meant that she accelerated hilariously quickly but didn't have enough wingspan to keep that up through turns. I tilted my body, leading Beithir through the first turn, a wide half-moon arc that takes us right against the glass that protects the stands. As we did so the yellow slithering wyvern overtook us, passing a good foot above my head as its long thin body allowed it to twist into the turn far more easily than Beithir could. I ducked underneath it reflexively and made Beithir go into a slightly shallow dive as we came back out of the turn again. Now underneath the other wyvern, I nudged Beithir in the side, hoping to use the straightway to pass it by, only to lurch away as the snake-like wyvern lowered itself as well, its rider looking back as it blocked our forward movement.

    Aye?

    The rider in yellow looked forward again, snapping the reins of his wyvern and increasing the distance between the two of us. With effort, I stood up in the saddle, then leaned forward as far as I could until my arms, useless and otherwise, were wrapped around Beithir's neck. Then with my knees, I squeezed against her side as strong as I dared.

    Beithir roared a challenge, and she flapped her wings as hard as she could three times before slamming them taut against her side. The wind screamed through my helmet as we gained speed, and in a moment we were side by side with the yellow wyvern and following it through a turn, my head turning right to look at my opponent. Our speed was a perfect match as Beithir slowed to make it through the turn, and we both came out onto the long stretch back to the starting line neck and neck. The next two gates passed us by with our wyverns fighting for speed, Beithir pulling ahead slightly but the other rider doing all they could to keep pace. The other wyvern wasn't as gifted with acceleration as Beithir was, but her long and thin design meant she could naturally keep a higher speed than my own. We went into the next turn, still neck and neck, but then we both veered to the side as with a loud roar the red wyvern went screaming overhead, bellowing flame that narrowly missed us both. I pulled Beithir back under control as the wyvern recovered, the yellow wyvern gaining a lead and chasing after the red one. I glanced back to see the green wyvern chasing after me, its rider desperate not to be in last place. While I was in the straightaway with the yellow and red wyvern both gaining speed away from me.

    …

    I smiled. Then leaned forward further until my head was just by Beithir's horn. "Are ya just gonna let them beat ya like that?" I shouted.

    Beithir looked up for the first time in a half minute, having been focused entirely on keeping above the ground and avoiding the poles. I watched as her gaze landed on the yellow and red wyverns, and her eyes narrowed. Beithir had something to her I had noticed some time back, something that reminded me of myself more than any other animal. She was stubborn.

    Beithir's flames erupt from her throat and paint the ground in orange and red, and this time I did slam back into the saddle as Beithir let loose everything she had into her charge. My hand grabbed the reins and yanked them to the side, pulling Beithir as tight as I could into the turn as we narrowly missed colliding with the yellow wyvern. Then I let go, throwing myself forward to grip the saddlehorn once more and lowered my body once more, "down girl!"

    Beithir tucked in her wings and dived, passing by the red wyvern and stirring up the dust and dirt beneath us in a billowing cloud. Then, in another instant, it was over. Beithir's head passed between the starting poles, then the rest of her body, and I led her through the next two gates as she gradually lost speed, before, with a gentle pull of the reins my wyvern slowed to a stop onto the ground. She looked back up at me curiously as we stopped, then looked up at the crowd roaring in adulation as we were announced as the victors.

    I smiled.

    Not at the victory, though that was of course precisely what I was aiming for.

    No, I smiled at the look Beithir had given me.

    'What, that's it?'

    ---

    I stepped into my room with a sigh, they didn't actually allow me to leave the colosseum until the rest of the races were finished, and then there was a mandatory dinner. It was good food, but past a certain point, a man is just hot and tired and wishes to be done for the day. The room was fancy, provided by the staff for those that couldn't, or didn't wish to, afford to get their own places in London to stay. In my case, I couldn't afford a place to stay in London even if I wanted to, and I was not going to lean on Morrigan's charity more than I already was. I placed down the helmet onto the nightstand, the dent from my earlier grip gleaming in the light provided by the streetlights outside, their dim rays reaching through into my second-story room and painting the whole space in a sickly yellow pallor.

    Morrigan was a few rooms away from me, though at the moment I was in no mood for more… talking. I had left the field with Beithir in tow the second I finished the race, just barely catching the shocked looks from the other racers; as if I had just slapped their mothers. I did not find many conversations during dinner, which suited me fine as I wanted nothing to do with any of them. Not like there was anything to discuss in any case. I glanced towards the window once more before I pulled off the remainder of my riding outfit then switched into far more comfortable clothing. Once done I took a glance at the bed… then turned right back around to the door and made my way through the hotel and back outside. The cool night air of London was a relief, despite the… less than savory smell it brought with it. I had been in my gambeson for most of the day, and while that did an absolutely wonderful job of keeping a wyvern from crushing my ribcage with a nudge, it did precisely nothing when it came to sweating to death. Or rather, it did quite a lot and I was not wholly appreciative, my heavy boots clicked against the sidewalk, and I let my eyes wander around as I made my way towards my destination only a few blocks away. Shops lined the street, most, but not all closed for the day. Their wares were still plainly visible in their glass front begging people to browse and purchase, the foot traffic had lessened, not completely, but lessened, with most of the people out at this time of night either heading home from their work or stumbling into… or out of the many bars that are present in this section of the city.

    I breathed in the air and idly looked up towards a wyvern perched along the roof of a building before I heard the chorus of footsteps behind me. Too many and too close together to be just a small random group, and the fact that the people in front of me were rather hurriedly crossing the street gave me a good idea of what was following just behind me. With my boots still on it was not at all hidden as to what I had found myself doing for a living, and my face was plastered over half of the town regardless. So these weren't random muggers, which meant… I had pissed someone off. Not a surprise, hell, I had expected something to happen. Though perhaps not this soon. Turning right at the end of the street I increased my pace, not quite a jog, but definitely a quick walk. They followed, but didn't speed up themselves, probably waiting for me to walk somewhere they could rough me up without too many witnesses.

    Well.

    I could oblige in that case. With another quick turn, I reached my destination, a small building, little more than one story with a crude drawing of a wyvern on a sign above the door. Walking past the door I made my way around to the back where a large barn door was set at the end of a ramp that led into the building's converted cellar. I could hear the sound of their boots on the grass nearby as I slipped the key I was given into the lock and swung the doors open. Darkness greeted me, darkness, along with the smell of flameproof hay. The building was a little family-owned shop that sold pets, and they also happened to have a space to take care of larger wyverns if necessary.

    I briefly wondered who sent these men after me, but there was nothing that immediately came to mind. So instead I simply turned around and looked back up the ramp where they had started to make their way down. There were six of them, each fitting rather well the description of 'thug'. The sound of heavy breathing sounded out behind me, as did the sound of rustling hay as they approached. I was rather proud of my strength and endurance, but that meant very little against six men armed with canes and knives. "I would ask if you would simply consider backing away."

    "'Fraid that isn't an option friend." One of the men says, a larger brute with a bald head.

    "Are you sure?" I asked, idly moving my hands to my side as two of the men move to block the exit.

    A laugh comes from the man, something echoed by the rest of his friends.

    I snapped my fingers, and the laugh died immediately as Beithir's silver form came out of the darkness to hover over my shoulder. The men don't so much back off as flee from the building as fast as their legs could carry them, running off into the night to be away from the wyvern that appeared from the dark like a wraith.

    I simply reached up to rub Beithir's snout, the wyvern in question growling happily. "Aye, good girl."

    I slept in Beithir's stable that night.

    ---
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 21
  • Threadmarks
    • Thanks to @Armoury for the beta!

    ---

    I woke up feeling I had spent the entire night laying on something hard and lumpy. It took the sound of Beithir's breathing for me to register that that was in fact exactly what I had done. I turned my head slightly to the left, coming face to face with an equally tired-looking wyvern. Beithir stared at me, eyes half-lidded… it was also only then I noticed I could actually see her clearly. I turned my head back to the door to clearly see the morning sunlight streaming through the crack between the two halves quite well. Not much, but enough that the room was also not quite as dark as it was the evening before. It was also what lightly woke me, given the fact that I had to raise my hand to block it as I forced myself to stand.

    Forced was the important word in that sentence, as the moment I found myself standing on my own two feet a sharp pain ran up my back. Moving my hands back there I rubbed it, grimacing as I carefully twisted myself to look back at my wyvern. Beithir tilted her head, watching me curious as with all of the grace of a dancing drunken highlander I stepped back, then fell backwards onto Beithir's spine. I felt something shift and heard a definite pop as relief filled me, and I let out a long slow breath before turning my head slowly to look at Beithir again. She stared at me, with what I could swear was a look approaching judgmental. I stared back, "don't look at me that way ya dumb lizard. Ya make fer a shite pillow."

    She let out a deep breath, bathing me in the scent of carrion. I blinked, then raised my hand to rub it along her snout. "Aye, good point. Ah best be goin'."

    Standing back up I make my way over to the door, undoing the latch and swinging it open… coming face to face with the owner in the process. An older man, with thin grey hair that hadn't quite become fully bald, but little enough that in the right light there might as well be nothing there at all. He stared at me with a slight smile, curiosity writ large on his face. "Good morning Arthur. Checking on her?"

    I nodded. "Aye, thanks for takin' care of her on such short notice."

    The man nodded as well, looking past me towards Beithir. The wyvern was finally getting her own lazy butt up and was padding around in the stable to stretch her legs. "My pleasure. Are you taking her out again soon?"

    "No," I replied. "Not for another week at least, may borrow her for some training but the next race isn't until next Saturday." And with today being Sunday… it means I get a day off, without any training even, an unfamiliar feeling.

    "Well, have a lovely Sunday then, Arthur," the old man said, shuffling past me.

    "Aye, you as well," I replied. Then made my way past him up the ramp and into the yard. Stretching my arms above my head I looked up to see the sun just barely poking up beyond the horizon. Probably seven or so in the morning by my reckoning, I doubted it was much later. For once, the city was quiet during the day. There were still the usual sounds of traffic, both foot and wheeled, and a general buzz of activity seemed to hang over the city no matter the time of day, but definitely the quietest I had actively heard it during the day. The distant clangs of the factories were absent, normally running at all odd hours; it would seem that even in London Sunday was kept as a day of rest. Smiling to myself I made my way out of the yard and back onto the sidewalk, moving my hands to my pockets as my boots clanked against the ground.

    My eyes moved this way and that as I walked, the general stench of it was still present in the air but with morning sunlight painting the streets it was almost pleasant to look at. The hotel was still some blocks ahead, so with my hands in my pockets, I set a steady pace down the street, watching the people pass by and enjoying my morning.

    "Hey, mister!"

    For a few moments at least. I had perhaps gone half a mile before a voice called out from down a side street. Turning my head I looked to see perhaps about four kids sitting on a bench in front of a small shop. The side street was more of a small park between a dozen buildings, with a large sunken area in the middle of it all where a brown pool of water had formed. The kids themselves were eating bread, the one who called out to me holding a rather small loaf between two hands. Not homeless, at least, not going by their cleanliness, but their clothes were rather ragged.

    I debated the merits of just walking on for a moment before I turned and made my way down the street, coming to a stop a good dozen feet away from the children. "Yes?"

    The kid, who I'd hazard a guess was the ringleader of this little band of likely miscreants pointed at my feet. "What's with your shoes?"

    I glanced down at that, they have a slight layer of mud on them along with hay from the night before. But the armor glinted in the light nonetheless. "I ride flying lizards for a living." I answered honestly.

    Four loud startled gasps was the reaction to my revelation, and I watched with some amusement as all of the kids hopped off of the bench to look me up and down. For one, an even smaller boy with curly blond hair kept poorly tucked underneath, my identity apparently clicked. "You're Arthur Adair!"

    "Aye." I replied. Not sure if I had a fan club or if this was another attempt to rough me up. Probably the first, but with small children one could never know. Vicious wee bairns, the lot of them.

    "Where's your wyvern?" One asked.

    "Back at the stables," I said quietly, moving to kneel down as I spoke. "She's a lazy thing like that."

    "Is racing scary?"

    "Terrifying," I replied. "But very exciting at the same time."

    That gets a chorus of giggles, before the ringleader scarfed the last of his bread down and stared at me. "Why didn't you use your reins much in the last race?"

    I blinked. "You were at the race?"

    The kid shaked his head no. "No, but it was in the papers. They said you just kind of hung onto your wyvern."

    I smiled at that. "I let the wyvern do all the flying. She's smarter than I am."

    "My dad said wyverns are as smart as dogs!" One in the back said, a freckled face covered in breadcrumbs speaking up.

    "Aye, and ah've met many a dog smarter than me-"

    Another voice, louder and booming cuts your answer off coming from up ahead. "Oi! Ah fed ya brats, don't give ya free reign to hang 'round in front of my shop and bother the locals!"

    I opened my mouth to say something, but before I could the kids ran past me, giggling and laughing all the while. I watched after them for a moment, before looking ahead to see who had started shouting so early in the morning. It was a man with perhaps a decade on me, a heavy gut sticking out from a vest that was perhaps just a touch too small for him. His hair, brown, was greying at the temples, and along his clothes and on his fingers was the familiar white powder of flour. I glanced up from where he stood in the doorway to the sign and… yes, it was a bakery. "Yer open on a Sunday?" I asked.

    The man nodded. "Just about the only day those kids aren't workin' in the factory. Use the time to prepare for the week and to feed the little bastards." With him not yelling, there's a definitely familiar accent to the man, not quite the lowlands, but familiar.

    I arched my brow. "Foos yer doos?"

    The man blinked, then grinned. "Aye peckin!"

    I grinned back, stepping forward and offering my hand. With a damn firm grip he took it, and with a hearty shake we separated. "A proper man of the country!" I said.

    "Aye, an' look at yew with yer fancy boots. Thinkin' yer one of the queen's knights?" He asked.

    "Wyvern racer actually," I replied. "Don't suppose yer servin' breakfast?"

    The man laughed. "Nae, shop's closed, but ah can whip somethin' up fer ya."

    I patted my pockets. "'Fraid I don't have much on me, but if ye wanted help cleanin' the kitchen or the like ah could help out."

    "Nae, the hen would chase ya out with 'er roller if ah let ya in back there." He then stepped aside, opening the door for me. "Just come on in."

    I nodded, stepping past the man and into a small bakery. It was just that, a counter covered in flour with nothing in the way of seating or comfort. The smell of fresh bread filled my senses, and caused a loud growl to escape my stomach in the process. Above the counter was a blackboard, currently wiped clean, and below it and past the counter was a large window looking into a kitchen where I could see a blonde woman rolling out dough on a long wooden table.

    "So what brings ya down to London?" I asked, moving to lean against a wall as the man stepped past me towards the counter.

    "Sold me land to ranchers." The man responded. "Nothing for us up north so me and the hen wanted to try things down here in London."

    I sighed. "Ah familiar story if ah ever heard one. Ah had my barn crashed in by a wyvern so took my try at the sport."

    "That so?" the man pondered. Then reached below the counter to produce some bread to offer me.

    I took it gratefully, ripping off a chunk and biting into it. It was… old, but it was also free so I had no room to complain about it. "Thank ya."

    As I did so the woman stepped out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron and looked me up and down. "Should have said something George, didn't know we had royalty in."

    "Just because a man has shiny boots doesn't mean he's the king of Scotland, ya cut that shite out right now." I replied, grinning.

    The woman smiled back, and I started to laugh as the door in the front swung open. All three of us turned to look as a familiar devil with red hair stepped in. Morrigan, dressed in a white dress. Her hair hadn't been put up, and a fair bit of sweat was on her face. "Arthur? Where the devil have you been. I've been looking for you for the past two hours."

    I stared at her for a moment, then down at the bread in my hand. "Breakfast."

    "Want some food miss?" the owner asked, "fraid you'll have to pay unless yer a Scot."

    "She's Irish actually," I replied.

    Then Morrigan started swearing. Precisely what she said I didn't have the slightest idea as it was in neither English or Scot. But it was apparently heavily therapeutic for the woman, as once she finished her tirade a good thirty seconds later she let out a deep breath and glared at me. "Where were you?"

    "Went for a walk last night and almost got jumped by men likely hired by another rider." I replied. "Ended up sleeping in Beithir's stable, only woke up about a half-hour ago. My apologies, was heading back to the hotel but a gaggle of children found me."

    Morrigan glared at me for a moment longer before letting out a long-suffering sigh and turning to the owner. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out some money and started to get some breakfast herself.

    "You the missus?" the man asked. Causing a deeply offended look to come across Morrigan's face.

    I chuckled. "Me and 'er only have one thing in common."

    Morrigan shot a look at me from the corner of her vision, and I continued… carefully. "Hating the English."

    She stared at me for a moment longer before nodding, handing the money over to the man before turning to face me fully. "Are ya ready Arthur?"

    "Ready as I'll ever be," I responded. "Not for another week though isn't it?"

    Morrigan smiled, icily. "Aye, true for the race. But you've made it to the final rounds, which means you are scheduled to appear at a social event tomorrow. We need to get you fitted for a suit this morning. Then I'll be teaching you the finer points of etiquette and gentlemanly behavior."

    I stared at her for several long moments. "Don't suppose we could just set me on fire could we?"

    Her smile got just the smallest amount wider. "Oh, you will wish we could Arthur."
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 22
  • Threadmarks
    • Thanks to @Armoury for the beta!

    ---

    Cinch. Tweak. Tug.

    Such was the order of the day, as a man roughly half my height and a quarter my weight danced around me to take my measurements and fit a suit around me. About a half-hour ago I fully lost the ability to breathe and as of the current moment, I was filling my lungs with annoyance and pure spite for the woman grinning at me from her seat across the tailor's shop. The novel in her hand, some foreign book from across the Atlantic, sat forgotten on her lap, instead, the woman leaned forward in her chair, chin resting on her palm and an irritating smirk on her face as the man yanked the jacket down again.

    Despite the man being an older gentleman of roughly three-hundred-and-seventeen, if you had to give a schoolyard guess, his smaller frame belied a strength that served him well to nearly knock you down on several occasions. Until, with a satisfied noise coming from the man's throat, not unlike a frog croaking on a pond during summer, he stepped back, allowing me to truly look down for the first time since I walked onto this pedestal. It was roughly two more levels of clothing than I was used two, and still one more above than Morrigan usually tried to stuff me into. A slate-gray overcoat rests over an eight-button suit with white trimming, while underneath that is a white shirt that shows through the gap between all of that and is decorated by some blue...tie… thing.

    A rather uncomfortable pair of pants tweed in color went down to my ankles, and I had some form of black leather shoe that had cut off the blood flow to my feet some time back. To the point where I had the slightly worrying feeling that if I dared take a step forward I would fall and crush the poor tailor like one might a table after a drunken stumble. I lifted the one arm I physically could, looking at the material. It was nice to be sure, but there was also something to be said about putting lipstick on a pig.

    "Very dashing, Arthur." Morrigan said.

    I looked up to see the woman had left her seat and was now standing but a short distance away, her eyes traveling up and down my new outfit.

    "Aye. In the sense that anyone with a bit of sense will be dashin' away from me at a moment's notice." I replied.

    The woman snorted. "Never worn more than that farmer's tunic in your life have you?"

    "Plenty of times," I said, turning to look at the woman. "You've dressed me in plenty, and I had nice clothes for Sunday. But this?" I glanced down again. "Damn inhumane is what this is."

    "Look at yourself in the mirror." Morrigan replied, gesturing to the long-standing mirror mountain against the wall.

    I glanced towards the mirror to confirm what I already knew. The outfit hid the vast majority of my body and between that and my trimmed hair and close-shaved face, I was unrecognizable. I reached up with my right hand to rub at my chin, barely any hair greeting me there. "I look like a dandy."

    "I hardly think so," Morrigan replied. "Try smiling."

    I frowned.

    "No, the opposite of that."

    I grinned, I grinned as hard as I possibly could to the point my mouth hurt and the corners of my lips pulled up to be nearly as high as the bottom of my ears.

    Morrigan stared at me. "That'll do. Now come on."

    With a sigh, I stepped off of the small podium I had been made to stand on for the last two hours. Thankfully I didn't collapse, but there was an uncomfortable… squeeze on my foot from where the leather had never had a chance to stretch in its life. Stepping past Morrigan I moved to the door and opened it for her, the woman flashing me a smile before stepping out into the afternoon London air. I followed her a moment later and nearly ran into her elbow in the process.

    The woman extended it out, fist pressed against her hip. "That's a good first step, Arthur. Now be a gentleman and guide this lady through the streets to her evening gala."

    "Woman? Maybe. Lady? Questionable." I replied, but looped my arm through hers nonetheless and start leading her down the road towards the Nort-

    "It's south."

    Turning around I led her south. And despite my grousing, I was damned careful to not accidentally drag her, that would simply be rude. And while I was an uncouth bastard I could be a gentleman when I needed to be… even if I wasn't particularly good at it.

    "Good boy, now, you will behave at the dinner and not embarrass me."

    "It is fully within my ability to lift you with one arm and throw you into the street, Morrigan." I warned.

    Morrigan smiled. "You would not survive the attempt."

    ---

    It was… definitely a party of some sort. That was the best and kindest way I could describe it. I had not been to many in my life, and of those, absolutely none were in any way, shape, or form like the one I just walked into. The large ballroom, sitting on the third floor on some noble's estate, was easily twice the size of my barn. It was a golden room, reflective flowery wallpaper covering the walls that ran up to a concave ceiling. On either side of the room were large windows that looked over the city of London and an expansive garden respectively. They ran nearly the entire length of the wall, only broken up by doors leading to balconies or roman pillars running from floor to ceiling.

    The scent of cologne, perfume, and far-too-expensive wines were in the air, and my ears filled with the sounds of conversation, laughter, and a small group of musicians in the corner playing what I would guess would be a waltz. Though if you were to ask I would admit I couldn't recognize one musical style from another, the only 'music' around back home was the mooing of the coos. And barring someone playing fiddle at the local tavern you were just rather out of luck, at least on my farmstead. I was also desperately trying to distract myself from the fact that I was rather drastically out of place here, something I could tell immediately.

    I recognized some of the people here from the tournament, but the vast majority were completely foreign to me. "An' here ah thought there'd be more peasants." I said quietly, leaning slightly towards Morrigan as I did so.

    "Not hardly," Morrigan replied, looking ahead with a small smile on her face. I had known the woman long enough to tell that it was practiced, not genuine. "I shall mingle, I would suggest you keep your head down, perhaps try some of the food. Most people here know who you are already so don't worry about any introductions."

    "Then what was the point of all the lessons?" I asked, walking forward again with her.

    "So that you don't embarrass yourself in case something stupid happens," Morrigan replied. Smiling a touch wider and raising a hand in a wave as she walked past a woman she apparently knew. "You'll be fine, just don't hit anybody."

    "No promises." I replied, then stepped to the side so that she could go forth and mingle. I for my part made an immediate pivot to the right and wandered over to one of the long banquet tables set out. I idly watched the woman for a moment as I walked, the red-head moving with practiced grace through the throngs of people before starting some jovial conversation with a woman that looked roughly three times her age. I watched her for a moment longer before coming to a stop by one of the tables, it was a long thing covered in a white sheet and large metal trays filled with… all sorts of things, most of which I could not name.

    Drinks, desserts, meats and cheeses. I reached down, carefully picking up what looked like a small piece of lamb with a toothpick in it. It was oddly pale, but it didn't smell bad. I experimentally popped it into my mouth and… whatever it was wasn't lamb. It was bland, but it wasn't lamb. Tilting my head slightly I swallowed it, before reaching towards the nearest glass and wiped out the flavor with the taste of something fizzy and… vaguely alcoholic. I blinked, looking down at the now empty glass.

    "Not a fan of Champagne?" A familiar male voice asked.

    I looked to the side to see Crawford approaching, the man was alone without his wife, but he was dressed in the same blue outfit I first met him in all those weeks ago. "Tastes too expensive." I replied. Setting the glass back down onto the table and grabbing another as I did so.

    I started to raise it to my lips before I paused, my eyes locking onto a familiar figure towards the back of the room. A rather large man, pompous by his bearing and impeccably dressed. He was talking amicably with a small crowd of people, seemingly enjoying the night's festivities. Wellbrook, the very man who got me into this situation, to begin with. I felt the scowl coming on before I actually did, but I forced myself to look back towards Crawford.

    Crawford looked back curiously before turning back to me and placing a hand on my shoulder. "Up for a talk on the balcony, Arthur?"

    I nodded, casting one last glance back towards Wellbrook before moving around the table and towards the wall. With a turn of the knob, the door to the balcony overlooking the garden was opened, the crisp night air washing over me as I stepped through. The difference in the environment was immediate, gone quickly was the scent of expensive perfumes and the notes of the band. Instead, it was filled with the scent of London and the sounds of a fountain splashing in the garden below me. It was a beautiful thing, all forms of flowers growing in well-manicured beds spread about the distant grounds below. In the center of it all was a large fountain, three bowls of water built on top of each other and pouring down from the top.

    "My apologies Arthur, for absconding with you," Crawford said, moving to stand beside me. "Didn't want to take any chances of a scene starting."

    "Ah wouldn't have." I replied, "ah'm here for a social function. Startin' a fight would hardly solve that problem."

    "That wasn't what I meant, Arthur." Crawford said, the man turning his head to look at me.

    "Then what did ya mean?" I asked. Staring down at the water below me.

    Crawford didn't respond to that. Silence passed between the two of us before I spoke. "Ah'm no good with these kinds of events. Morrigan is in there doing what she does while I just keep out of the way."

    The man beside me chuckled quietly. "I'm unfortunately used to them. One learns over time."

    "I don't plan on picking up the skill," I admitted. "Were you not always doing this?"

    Crawford snorted, the sound unfamiliar coming from his usually dignified tones. "Not hardly. I grew up in the city but my family was decidedly middle class. We were not poor by any stretch, but far from wealthy. My father came into a windfall however with some exotic product and we had to learn rather quickly." The man lifted his glass to his lips, taking a deep drink before letting out a long breath. Whether from satisfaction from the drink or his thoughts you couldn't say. "I became entranced by wyverns, and ended up going to the same school you did."

    I blinked at that. "You were taught by Morrigan?"

    He shook his head. "Not her specifically, back then the school had more teachers. But that was still where I learned."

    I hummed. I never did bother asking Morrigan if she was the only teacher, but with the school being out of season I never much thought of it. "Are you looking forward to our race next week?" I ask, changing the subject.

    "I am, and I am expecting it to be a good one. Do you have a wish?" He asks, trying to sound innocent. Curiosity fills his voice despite his attempt to hide it, however.

    The wish, as the wyvern rider's called it. The winner of the race would receive a cash prize, but to most of the wealthy fops competing the prize was just icing. The true prize, for those who had too much money to care about winning more, was a meeting with the queen herself; they said one could ask her for a favor. Help with a farm out in the middle of nowhere of Scotland would be within the might of the crown. A new barn, workers to help with the heavy labour that a cripple couldn't hope to achieve, and a quiet life. It sounded like a dream.

    "Simple, ban wyvern sports." I replied, bringing my glass to my lips again.

    Crawford's head snapped to look at me so fast I was briefly worried he broke it. He then laughed awkwardly. "That's… a tall order."

    "Aye," I said, bringing the glass back down to rest it on top of the balcony. "And ah'm sure it'll be refused. But it's worth a try." I gestured towards my left arm with my right. "Ah can never farm again, and Beithir will have scars the rest of her life from her mistreatment. If ah win ah'll ask that that kind of abuse be removed. The same for the damn wyvern fights as well."

    Crawford said nothing for several moments, looking down into his glass. "A noble goal. But I'm afraid I can't throw the race for you. Too much is at stake for me as well."

    I smile, leaning over the rail to look over the garden again. "Wouldn't expect ya to." I replied. "At this point ah just want to be done with all of this."

    No response from Crawford yet again, so instead I merely started at the water bubbling in the fountain in the garden. Surrounded by blooming flowers it was pretty in the moon's light.

    There was a shove against my back.

    My eyes widened as I attempted to grab the railing of the balcony, but my hand merely slapped the glass that went flying back. I dimly heard it shatter as I was forced over the side of the balcony. I tumbled over, good arm waving wildly as I went hurtling towards the grounds below.

    Then there was nothing.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 23
  • Threadmarks
    • Thanks to @Armoury for the beta!

    ---

    It took more than a little effort to force my eyes open, it was… lethargic, the lids unusually heavy as my senses returned to me. I regretted it as well; the light was painful. I groaned, the sound little more than a croak coming out of my throat as I moved my hand to rub at my eyes. At least… I tried to, I felt a numbness across my entire body that was quickly morphing into a tingling pain. I blinked repeatedly, attempting to jerk my head up to look at myself to no success. My head trembled to slightly lift then fell back against the pillow, and I drew in a deep breath as my eyes darted around the room. It smelled of soap and linen, and light from a window behind me painted the room. I could hear a carriage coming to a stop, a horse whinnying clear in my ears. No matter how hard I tried though I couldn't tilt my head back to see the window, so instead, I kept my focus on the room itself. It was… a lot of white. White walls with a black and white tiled floor I could only make out on the very edges of my vision. Against the far wall to my right was a long table with what looked like cards and letters set up on it, but my vision was far too blurry to make any of it out.

    I drew my eyes back, straining due to the efforts of trying to look as much as possible without actually moving my head. I glanced down, and to my annoyance my entire body below my neck was covered in a white blanket, large enough that I couldn't actually see any part of my body. Past the bed, a simple metal-framed thing was a wooden door set into the wall, the brown clashing rather starkly with the black, and with my swimming vision looked impossibly far away. Just above it was painting, a mix of greens and browns that I couldn't make heads or tails of. I sighed, my throat painfully dry. It's a hospital, that much is clear, I could make out talking outside, but I couldn't summon enough energy to speak even if I wasn't particularly inclined to try. I just settled my head back onto the pillow, trying vainly to make my arm or legs move. Nothing, just a distant but rapidly closing pain and numbness that ran up and down my body as if the entire thing had managed to fall asleep at once. It's an odd feeling, I could sense my limbs, all of them thankfully, but I couldn't manage to move any of them. Like a man stuffed with cotton, it just tingled when I tried.

    Was I paralyzed?

    That was the first thought in my mind. I could move my head but nothing below it. Not a twitch, not a jolt, not a pull or tug. I closed my eyes and tried to think back. I remembered the party, talking to Crawford. I remembered someone pushing against my back and I tumbled over before I could catch myself. Then it's a blur and… waking up here. Given that it appears to be the morning after I would guess that I had fallen into a coma. Something similar happened in town once when one of the neighbors got kicked in the head by a horse. He was down for about two days before waking up, always talked with a lisp after that too.

    Holding onto such thoughts, or even the man's name, was rather difficult. As the pain grew more intense a wave of lethargy washed over me, thinking becoming more difficult, though I was just trying to distract myself from the fact that I was likely paralyzed. It's been one thing after another since this all started. Lost my barn, lost my neighbors, lost my arm and now possibly lost the ability to move at all besides my head. Not quite sure I deserved that, but at the moment there was precious little I could do about it.

    Maybe I was too stubborn.

    Hell, maybe I should have gone with Mary to the city. Though… I suppose I found my way there anyways, didn't really give much thought to my neighbors that had moved away. Wonder what they would think if they could see me now. Lord knows I was always a stubborn bastard, and that was frankly how I managed to find myself in this mess altogether.

    Doesn't change that Wellbrook was a bastard however. Likely the man that pushed me over the edge in fact. I let out another breath, allowing… at least some calmness to come over me. I didn't know how much time passed before I heard the door click open. Could have been five seconds, could have been five hours. The numbness had completely suffused my body up to the head, making any conscious thought near impossible. I strained my ears to make out the sound, boots, familiar heavy boots.

    "Good morning Arthur. Awake?" Morrigan asked.

    I tried to open my mouth to speak, but nothing happened. I couldn't open my eyes or move my head anymore either. I could hear her moving, but I couldn't move at all in response. The scent of her perfume washed over me as she approached, lilac… I thought, I grew crops, not flowers as a general rule.

    The walking stopped, and her soft accented voice spoke up again. "I'm… very sorry Arthur." She said, an emotion I had never heard in her voice until now. "I dragged you into more than you were prepared for in an effort to… do something."

    I felt a hand press against me, vaguely. There was a weight against my chest and I assumed it was a hand. It was damn near impossible to pinpoint where it actually was. "I used you, and you have gotten hurt repeatedly for it. Just… wake up when you can. I'll handle things until then."

    I then felt a hand against my cheek, and something wet pressed against my forehead.

    Speak.

    I felt the hand move away.

    Speak.

    I heard her boots on the tiles again.

    SPEAK YA RAT JOCK.

    "Nay." I croaked out. Pain throbbed in my throat as the words left my lips.

    The walking stopped, then started again rapidly towards me. "Arthur? Are you awake?"

    "A-aye." I managed to say. "Can ya kindly pry open my eyes?"

    I felt her hands press against my face, then suddenly light filled my senses once more as her fingers forced my eyes open. The shock of it filled me with new energy, and I blinked rapidly as I took in the sight of Morrigan standing above me. She was in one of the lovely blue dresses she seemed fond of, and was staring down at me with more than a little worry… and consternation. "How long have you been awake?" she asked.

    "When ya started to walk away." I responded weakly. The pain still throbbed in my throat and it was painfully dry. But I talked regardless.

    Morrigan's eyes narrowed. "And how would you know I was walking away?"

    "Because I'm lying to you," I said. "How long have I been out?"

    "Asshole," Morrigan muttered. "Three days. You've been out since you went over the edge."

    "Explains why my throat is so dry," I replied. "How bad is it?"

    Morrigan frowned, clearly trying to find the words to say. After a few moments she seemingly gives up, and instead pulls down the blanket for me to see myself. It's…

    Well.

    I supposed that was just how my life was going. My left arm, the one that was previously a shattered wreck, was now just completely gone. A bandaged stump all that was present shortly below the shoulder. Beyond that, I had a series of bandages around my stomach and a rather large one around my knees. Alright. "What happened exactly?"

    "You fell three stories and caught the top section of the fountain with your arm. It was… pulverized. But it slowed you down enough that when you hit the water you were fine besides damaging your knees. The doctors had to amputate the arm however, I'm sorry." Morrigan said.

    I looked back up at the woman, and found she was looking away from me deliberately. "Who pushed me?"

    "We… don't know. It was someone who wasn't on the guest list. Crawford thinks it was one of Wellbrook's men." Morrigan admitted. "Crawford had already beaten the man within an inch of his life before the security got there. The man that is, Wellbrook had already left the party."

    I nodded. "Is Crawford okay?"

    "He is. But you should worry about yourself first I think… you are taking this rather well."

    I stared at her until she looked at me, then replied simply. "Would it help?"

    "Pardon?"

    "Would me p-panicking help in any way?" I asked. "Ah assume ah am out of the races."

    Morrigan nodded. "You are, though your fans wished you well enough." She turns her head towards the table and I followed her glance.

    It is covered in cards, flowers, and small letters. It's mostly cheap things, handmade or very poorly drawn on bits of card paper. I felt my fingers twitch, and forcing the matter I threw my arm out, ignoring the pain as I gripped the side of the bed and yanked. Morrigan let out a yelp as my right leg swung over the side, and I pulled with all my strength until the rest of me went over as well. Morrigan caught me just before I hit the floor, my one arm straining against the cool tile as my legs slid painfully down. It slipped a moment later, causing me to fail chest-first onto the ground and sharp pain to erupt once more, especially around my left shoulder, but the entire time I kept my head looking towards the table, mind racing despite the pull of the medication and pain attempting to pull my focus away.

    I stared up at the cards. Not saying a word as Morrigan desperately tried to right me. I didn't recognize any of the names I could make out, but I could imagine them being written by the urchins I had run into, or the baker, or anyone else I had met in this city who was more on my level of society.

    "They sent in money as well, I don't know if it would be enough to buy Beithi-"

    "Ah d-don't care." I replied, cutting her off.

    Morrigan finally sat me down against the bed frame, my back propped up against it as a truly god awful throbbing ran its course up and down my body. "What do you mean by that?"

    I turned my head slowly, looking Morrigan in the eyes. "Where does W-Wellbrook live?" I asked, grabbing at the tile once again with my good arm as I tried to steady myself. "Where?"
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 24
  • Threadmarks
    • Thanks to @armory for the beta!

    ---

    The carriage jostled as it made its way through the winding roads of London. With every shift, bump, and jostle my grip on the balance strap built into the carriage roof tightened further. Each motion let new and interesting pain wrack through my body, and by that point, I had damn near chewed through the side of my cheek to mask any cries of pain. I had insisted on taking a carriage to Wellbrook's estate, and by the time I had been loaded into the back of the carriage the lethargy and medicine hiding my pain had washed away completely.

    I was. To put it bluntly. Not a well man. But then, I would probably never be again either with the way things had been going for me. I leaned my head back against the cushioned seat as the carriage trundled along, idly turning my head to see Beithir shifting in the cage behind it. I watched her for a time, the wyvern unable to find a comfortable position as the carriage moved along. Well, that, and she insisted on looking at everything as we passed through the boroughs of northern London, her natural curiosity at odds with her desire to simply lay down in order to avoid being jostled like a leaf in a windstorm. Watching her paws… claws, whatever you wanted to call them move about the cage to find some form of purchase did bring a smile on my face, something that lasted until I turned back around to look at Morrigan sitting at the other side of the carriage.

    She was still glaring at me, and I couldn't say I blamed her. I couldn't say I cared much either. She was still dressed in that same getup she wore in the hospital, while I was dressed in the same clothing I had that night I was injured. It was brought with me, and beyond some bloodstains, it was still wearable. Perhaps not sanitary… but only so much could be done on such short notice. The doctors were just as against me leaving as Morrigan, but they could not keep me there and I was a desperately stubborn man when I wanted to be. It was, generally, genuinely, and lately as a matter of fact, to my detriment. But at this point I simply wanted… I didn't know what I wanted anymore. My head turned more to the side to look out the window, people stopped to stare at the carriage carrying the beautiful wyvern as it went past, and I could make out a few children calling out 'Beithir'. She was as much of a celebrity as 'I' was, a peasant who managed to make a small name for himself.

    Of course, the cost of my 'status' was having an arm shattered, then being defenestrated, and prior to that losing my home, any friends I still had, and… well. I supposed there weren't many great parts of my move to London in general. I closed my eyes, lolling my head back as I did so. I was a broken, tired man, and I can't help but wonder what my parents would think if they could see me now. I wonder if the farm is even still there? A rancher could have easily just 'claimed' it when nobody was paying attention. Could always set him on fire I supposed, Beithir was good at that.

    I could hear a voice calling out my name from outside the carriage, another child. Likely excited to peek at a genuine wyvern-rider in the flesh. I lurched forward, ignoring the… fascinating taste in my mouth that sprung up as I did that and turned towards the window. A cheer rose out from the child… a whole gaggle of them actually, and a few adults as well were seemingly glad at my apparent miraculous recovery.

    "You managed to become popular quickly, Arthur." Morrigan said, and I looked over at her.

    She was still glaring at me, but she was also smiling. I wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. Likely both at the same time I supposed. "People like the underdog." I replied, laying back against my seat once more.

    "You have gained a reputation for coming out of nowhere, yes," Morrigan admitted. "But you efforts with such things as rescuing that family from the Channel made the rounds as well. Along with your relatively humble personality."

    "Ah wasn't aware my rescue had made the rounds, and haven't done any interviews either." I replied.

    "I've done what I can to help you, Arthur." Morrigan replied curtly.

    I grunted, then let out a groan of pain as the carriage hit a bump. Morrigan's glare dropped instantly, a look of worry coming over her face. "Ah… know ya have." I replied. "Just wish things 'ad worked out better."

    "It still could." Morrigan replied. "You have enough in donations to simply buy Beithir entirely."

    "Aye." I said. "But then what? Can't farm, can't really race. An' it's been made perfectly clear that ah'm hardly welcome."

    "The people seem to be welcoming you plenty." Morrigan replied.

    "Aye. But they aren't the ones controlling the system. Or tossin' me out of buildings. I just… want to ask Wellbrook why. Ah honestly fail to see what made him do it. Might kill 'im. But talk first."

    Then, there was nothing but silence between the two of us as I closed my eyes once more, trying to ignore the pain as the carriage made its way out of the city. It took longer than I would have liked, but then, by the time the carriage actually came to a stop I was blurring in and out of consciousness. They opened slowly as the door to the carriage opened, and I found Morrigan stepping outside. By the time I even started to move she was already on the ground and had turned around to face me. "You don't have to do this Arthur."

    "Ah'm fully aware." I said, gingerly lowering myself to the ground on unsteady legs. My hand shot out to grab onto the side of the carriage as needle-like pains ran up my body, legs shaking under my own weight. I held onto it, then forced my body to turn around with a wild motion, I didn't so much walk as stumbled like a drunk as I made my way to the back of the carriage and towards Beithir's cage. The wyvern stood up as I approached, stretching her wings as much as she could in the tight confines before leaning forward to press her snout against the metal bars. I leaned against the cage, raising my arm to rub against her snout, the wyvern letting out soft trills as I did so.

    "Ah'll be back in just a bit girl, then we'll figure somethin' out." If perhaps, things went perfectly and it turned out Wellbrook was innocent I could buy her… then figure something else. If Wellbrook did do it, well, I supposed I knew things would end rather poorly.

    Turning back around I found Morrigan staring at me with a rather complicated expression, and I gave her a crooked smile before hobbling past her. At least, that was the plan. She grabbed my arm and looped hers through it, serving as a point of balance as we made our way up to the estate. "At the very least you won't be stupid alone."

    "Appreciated." I replied, then looked up at the building itself. It was, as I might have expected, a rather grandiose structure, three stories and set in the hills of the country outside of London. The grounds were covered in all manner of trees and statues of men I didn't recognize, and two beautiful marble fountains sat to frame a large staircase that led up to the main entrance. I stared at the steps with more than a little worry but moved ahead regardless.

    No point stopping now.

    ---

    The parlor I was led into by the butler upon entering was nice, but then, I hadn't expected much else. I had been in more 'nice' places in the last few months than I could have reasonably expected in my entire lifetime. Past a certain point, they all started to blend together. Beautiful polished floors, good furniture, rooms too large to be actually practical, statues and busts of men I had never heard of… and a fireplace for every room inexplicably. The butler backed out as we entered the parlor, and I found myself standing in the room with naught for company but Morrigan, myself… and Wellbrook sitting on one of the red and golden couches that were placed around the unlit fireplace. The man was looking remarkably relaxed, and was smoking idly at a pipe.

    His attention turned to the two of us as we entered, and when it did he placed the pipe onto the table beside him with a dull clink before beckoning us forward. The scent of tobacco filled the air as I approached, and with all the grace of a drunken cow I sat on the couch opposite of the man, Morrigan taking the spot to my immediate right.

    "I'm glad to see you moving about Arthur." Wellbrook said, moving his hands to place them in his lap as he focused on me. As he said this doors on the far side of the room opened, and in walked… men not too dissimilar to those who accosted me on the street a short few nights prior. Which answers a question I had I supposed.

    "Thank ya fer thinkin' of me." I replied. "I see ya've brought some friends around."

    Wellbrook smiled, slightly. "Never hurts to be careful. It's hardly polite to arrive unannounced."

    "Aye. Much the same how it isn't polite to toss a man over a railing. Don't suppose ya would admit that was yer doin'?"

    The man shook his head. "I'm afraid I simply can't, as I did nothing of the sort."

    I opened my mouth to retort, but before I could he spoke again.

    "My men did, and I am sorry that it came to that." Wellbrook admitted.

    I froze, staring at the man as his thugs spread out around the room, with a pair of them moving behind the couch myself and Morrigan were sitting out. "Why would ye admit to that?"

    "You asked." Wellbrook responded, reaching down to pick up his pipe again. He fiddles it in his hands as he stares at me, tapping his fingers lightly against the wood. "If it is any consolation you were supposed to die. You've become something of a rather annoying sensation, and while you would be a martyr… for a short amount of time, the masses would quickly forget about your existence with your death. So yes. My apologies for the maiming."

    I felt a stabbing pain in my hand, and I looked down at it to see Morrigan was gripping it so hard that her knuckles were turning white.

    "And it doesn't matter that I do tell you. It would never be tied to me anyway." Wellbrook admitted, shrugging his shoulders before stuffing his pipe back into his mouth. "You see my good man, you are… well, I wouldn't say nothing. But you are worth very little. No land, no possessions beyond my wyvern. Even the clothes on your back belong to a disgraced member of the landed gentry."

    "True Wellbrook." Morrigan replied icily. "But I am still powerful enough to cause you problems if you try anything."

    A pair of hands clapped onto my shoulders, and I jerked my head back to see one of the thugs pressing me down into the couch. Another has done the same for Morrigan, and I turned my head back to look at Wellbrook as the man let out a sigh. "I do think you are a good man Arthur, genuinely. But you've managed a bit too much and have become rather obnoxious, and have become a rather annoying threat in the process."

    "What do ya intend to do about it, kill me?" I asked. Feeling like I knew the answer to that question already.

    "Not a second time, no." Wellbrook said, "what I have done is called the constabulary. For the crime of stealing private property along with breaking and entering, specifically the theft of my wyvern months ago in the colosseum."

    Morrigan moved to say something, shock clear as day on her face, but Wellbrook continued. "You think I didn't know who freed her? A red-headed woman in the dead of night? Use a little sense. No. I was hoping this folly with Arthur would lead you to your own destruction without me needing to involve a messy affair with the constabulary. But… I suppose things got rather complicated, didn't they? As it did land on his property I have pointed out Arthur as the co-conspirator, so if it is any consolation you two shall be arrested together."

    "I…" I started, but didn't find what to say.

    Wellbrook stood, removing the pipe from his mouth and tapping it against his palm, allowing the ashes to fall to the floor as he walked over to me. He stopped a good six feet away, staring down at me with a smug expression. "With the two of you arrested the beast will fall under my purview, and I suppose I'll just throw it in the wyvern fights to get rid of it. A shame to waste the time and effort someone else paid to train her, but she is just about as popular as you turned out to be."

    The arms pressed further down against my shoulders. But it did little to distract from the roar I felt in my ears. I was in a terrific amount of pain, and the hands pressing down against me were strong. But at the moment all I could focus on was the man standing in front of me. I lunged forward, ducking so that the hands gripping me lost their clutch. My body fell forward towards the floor, and my good arm, my only arm, the only arm I had due to this man latched around his leg and yanked.

    With a yelp Wellbrook fell to the floor, the pipe clattering against the floor and spilling embers across the carpet as Wellbrook landed. I leapt from my prone position, falling on top of the man and slamming my fist into his jaw with all the force I could feasibly muster. There was a loud crack, and I felt a sharp pain in my fist.

    A moment later I was dogpiled by five men.

    Wellbrook's head lolled to the side to look at me as I was pressed against the ground, men stomping on me and attempting further injury.

    I kept staring at him.

    Wellbrook simply drooled with a vacant, unblinking stare.

    I smiled, and I kept smiling until someone pulled a bag over my head.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Well, if Arthur's very lucky he, Morrigan and Beithir might only be transported to Australia instead of his being executed, his wyvern butchered in the colosseum, and her being tossed out penniless on the street. Rich men protect their own so long as they don't commit the cardinal sin of actually caring about something that isn't money or power, and Victorian England is nothing if not a sandbox for rich men to play games with everyone else's lives.
     
    The Sandman said:
    Well, if Arthur's very lucky he, Morrigan and Beithir might only be transported to Australia instead of his being executed, his wyvern butchered in the colosseum, and her being tossed out penniless on the street. Rich men protect their own so long as they don't commit the cardinal sin of actually caring about something that isn't money or power, and Victorian England is nothing if not a sandbox for rich men to play games with everyone else's lives.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    It's not a great place to be in general honestly.
     
    Reader mode
    You must login or register to reply here.
    Remove ads
    Back
    Top