“RAAAWRRR,” Amantius shouted, the intensity of his roar surprising even to him. Nilawen spun around and put on a face of true terror, which felt so real that for a brief moment Amantius thought he had actually scared her. “I am the dragon Dorkan and I…”
“Durkan,” Nilawen whispered.
“Durkan!” Amantius corrected as a few front-row audience members snickered. He was grateful he was wearing a mask because he could feel his face turning red. “And you will be coming with me, Elfling! Mwahaha!”
Amantius reached for Nilawen’s arm and received a slap across his face, which invoked a lively reaction from the crowd. He then tried grabbing one of her legs to sweep her into his arms and was rewarded with a swift kick in the gut. He tried wrestling her, but she was nimble in her dress while he was so awkward in his winged dragon costume that he ended up on the worse end of the exchange. Though he knew her resistance was part of the act, Amantius could not help but become annoyed by the beating he was taking. This isn’t worth it! If she doesn’t quit hitting me so hard I’m just going to walk away. She can do her damn show by herself!
Amantius wrapped his dragon arms around her one last time and felt her body go limp as she pretended to faint. Though there was a part of Amantius that wanted to be relieved by her submission, his more cautious side suspected a trap. He waited for a moment, tensing the muscles in his torso, but no elbow, fist, or knee came. Princess Myria had been captured by the evil dragon Durkan.
Finally.
Chapter 3
Ulam
People have been staring at me my whole life. I survived a burning house as embers fell all around and smoke filled my lungs. I have battled vampires, coming within inches of having one rip into my flesh.
Yet, why am I so afraid of this crowd?
Ulam stood just offstage, on the second-to-last step, watching the current scene unfold in front of him. A couple actors played the roles of the Elf King and Queen lamenting the abduction of their daughter, as noble warriors kneeled before them promising her safe return. Behind him he heard Nilawen orchestrating every last detail of the upcoming scenes, giving instructions on lighting, speech, and props. She had told Ulam that he was to make his entry as soon as the Queen exited the stage and then proclaim himself to be the Princess’ savior. What she had not told him was what to say, or how to say it, and the lack of any relatable life experience left him unnerved. How do they create lines on the spot, and how am I supposed to do the same? I find it difficult to lie, let alone pretend to be a completely different person!
“Don’t worry,” Amantius said, pulling Ulam away from his thoughts. “At least Nilawen isn’t going to try to maim you.”
Ulam grinned. Knowing Amantius had been publicly ridiculed in the opening episode brought him some form of comfort. At least, if he were to suffer the same fate, he would not be alone.
The Queen’s monologue ended, and Ulam watched as the woman exited the stage to the sound of applause. Though they were only a few scenes into the play, it seemed as though everything was going as smoothly as an unwritten, on-the-spot, production could be going. With Ulam’s big moment quickly approaching, Amantius gave him one last piece of advice.
“Just remember to breathe,” Amantius said while rubbing sore foot muscles from all the stomping around. “And if you do anything too stupid, I’ll do something worse.”
Ulam grunted. We will see.
On his cue, Ulam proceeded onstage and approached the Elven King, played by a man wearing the same uncomfortable pointed ear props, though they looked far more natural on him than the Orc. Everything about Ulam’s costume seemed absurd to him: the shining green-gold vest he wore was too small, the wooden sword at his hip slapped his thigh with every step, and he lived in fear that his cape would somehow wrap itself around his legs and trip him. Although the others routinely assured him that he looked the part of a hero, Ulam could not help but believe he looked more like the lead from The Jester’s Court instead.
The music slowly faded as he neared the King, until its absence left the theater totally silent, providing him a perfect moment to speak. Ulam kneeled when he reached the throne, which was nothing more than a wooden chair with golden-lined royal blue cushions. He was unsure what to do next, wondering whether or not he should speak first or to allow the King. Cold sweat began to form on his brow, and his tongue ran dry as panic welled in his heart. He kept his eyes fixed on the wooden floorboards from fear of locking eyes with anyone else, wishing he could somehow become thin enough to escape through the gaps in the worn pine and escape this torment forever.
“Oh look, yet another warrior who has come to save my daughter, my Myria, and take with him all the gold this kingdom has to offer,” the King said with a booming voice that carried across the theater. He spoke in an irritated tone, one which befitted his character’s distressed appearance. “Pray tell me your name, so that when your kin comes looking for you, I can at least say with full confidence that you were here before you were slain by that evil dragon.”
Though it was only a play, and Ulam was pretending to be an Elf named
