The Elder's Curse by Andrew Walbrown (ereader for textbooks TXT) 📕

“What is to become of me? Will Durkan the Flamefang keep me in his lair until everyone else is gone, slain by his claws? Or will he show me mercy? Not that he has any reason to do so. Killing me does not seem to be his priority, though I am sure with time that will change. But how absurd can I be? He has slain a dozen of the greatest warriors in the realm, all in the name of revenge!”

Princess Myria walked to the other side of the stage, a softer, more thoughtful expression spreading across her face. “Perhaps there is a kinder side to him, though. He does not have to feed me, nor is he required to bring fresh water, yet he does. He may be awesome in his terror, but I cannot come to fear him. If anything, I pity him. Durkan saw everything he had ever known stolen away from him. His parents died before his very eyes, leaving him alone in the world, surrounded by his family’s murderers. I dare to say if circumstances were reversed, I would not be so tolerant of my enemies either. Perhaps there is a way to avoid further conflict, or perhaps I am a fool. Only time shall tell.”

The crimson curtains suddenly appeared, obscuring the stage and ending the first act. The crowd went berserk with their applause, a mark that they had been captivated by the onstage performances. Ulam waited at the base of the steps for them, greeting Nilawen as she walked by and punching Amantius in the shoulder as he followed. Typically his massive fist would have knocked his foster-brother off-balance, but the dragon costume had absorbed a portion of the quick jab.

“What the hell was that for?” Amantius asked as he returned a punch that had no effect.

Ulam smiled wide, his pearl-white tusks shining in the firelight. “For trying to steal the show, you little thief. I am supposed to be the protagonist, remember?”

“You still are, don’t worry. I made sure to be a little more villainous at the end.”

Ulam grunted. “And what about that backstory?”

“I’m not sure where that came from. Nilawen had told me a few things about the story, how the Flamefangs had been killed off through a series of wars fought over generations,” Amantius replied. For a brief moment, the joy in his face disappeared, replaced with a glimmer of sadness that surprised Ulam. “But then something happened while I was speaking. It was like I became Durkan, as though his soul and my soul somehow became connected, allowing me to feel his anguish, his ancient grief. And then I thought about you, and how people have always thought you were a monster just because you’re different. I guess I pulled some inspiration from you.”

Ulam felt a lump in his throat, a tear building in his eye.

“Of course the difference is that you wouldn’t kidnap a princess to kill a whole kingdom,” Amantius continued, “you would just read history books aloud until everyone died of boredom.”

Ulam hit him in the shoulder again, though this time the dragon costume was unable to absorb the blow. He chuckled as he watched Amantius fall on his backside, wincing at the pain.

Amantius grinned. “Worth it.”

Chapter 4

Amantius

A brief intermission followed the first act, during which Nilawen planned the rest of the play. While she ran around giving orders to anyone in her path, Amantius took the opportunity to remove the dragon suit and lounge against a tall oak tree. He relaxed as an evening breeze caressed his skin, so happy was he to have a moment of respite from the insufferable insulation of the costume. The fabric only had one asset, and that was the small amount of cushioning that protected him from the multitude of slashes and lunges he suffered from wooden swords. However, this did not render him completely invincible, as Nilawen especially had a knack for striking him where the padding was thinnest. It’s almost like she knows where the weak spots are. I’ll have some bruises in the morning, that’s for sure.

From a distance, Amantius watched as Ulam put on a makeshift helmet, made of the flimsiest material, and began walking up the steps to the stage. He could not help but let out an involuntary groan as his eyes made their way to his own crumpled garments. The material was so thick and oppressive, and the wind so cool and tantalizing, that he struggled to find the motivation to continue with the play.

I should at least go see the next scene, Amantius thought as he watched Nilawen manage the bedlam around her. If not for myself then at least for her; she cares so much about this. Besides, I should probably know what’s happening in the story for when it’s my turn to go onstage.Ugh, but that damned dragon costume! I should have someone else finish the play, it’s not like anyone can tell who is in there, anyway.

Amantius gathered the individual pieces of his outfit, including the mask and hood, and weaved through a maze of activity towards the stage. He let out a mock whimper, similar to the cry of a begging puppy, as he felt the breeze vanishing on his back. He knew the friendly wind would not follow him for long, but he had hoped to enjoy a few more moments of freedom before becoming Durkan the Flamefang once again. I’m finding a stream after this show and taking a long, icy bath.

“Hail, Fervalor the Something,” Amantius shouted as he approached Ulam. His foster-brother had a piece of paper in his hands, a dozen lines of writing scribbled on its surface. “What are you reading?”

“The Fearless,” Ulam grumbled without looking up. “It is Fervalor the Fearless, Brother. I wrote some dialogue while you were resting by the tree. I thought perhaps if I wrote down some lines, I would not have to rely solely