Chapter 394

The trip back to Tovijar was a bumpy one; he and the other members of the Black Scripture remained frozen, moving only when jostled by the wagons. Curiously, other than the rattled chains that bound each member of their ranks, and kept paralyzed, they were not otherwise inconvenienced or rendered uncomfortable.

The wagon in which they rode was lined with silk and padded with straw so that even though they lay stiff in whatever pose they were frozen in, they were not nearly as uncomfortable as they might have been.

The one bother was that shadow. The mighty Dragon Lord, Olasird'arc, a blood brother to the Queen who, rumor had it, induced the defender of humanity into treason. The great shadow of its body, swishing tail, and wide spread wings covered the wagon in darkness while the demihuman guards from stonemen to snake people and even orcs, walked or rode out in the light.

The Queen of Frost watched them from the air, Alain could feel it, like her eyes were examining each of them as curiosities. 'Those vertical, reptilian slits in her pupils, those narrow, criminal eyes… when she was a human, she must have been…' The word that came to mind off the cuff was 'repulsive'. But the more he thought about them, the more he felt them looking at him and each of his comrades by turn? Then the more he thought of her in the warrior context. And another word came to him, 'Fearsome.'

'So what happens to us now? Were they serious before?' He had to wonder about that. 'A wedding? Cenna's wedding of all things?' Alain tried to picture it. The formal clothing of a Theocracy warrior was to go bare chested and oiled to a shine to reflect the perfection of his or her form.

But instead of that, he saw the far more likely end for them all. 'Secured to a wall, chained up for torture. Cenna was always headstrong, and far too trusting.' Alain thought and began to quietly mourn the deaths which lay ahead.

Tenghe's gratitude for his paralysis was rivaled only by his raw terror. 'We're going to be tortured, tortured! I'll shame us all… can I endure that?! No. There's no way! There's no way! I've been faking my strength of will all this time! Faking my courage! I'm a liability to you all! They'll break me for sure!' Heaven and Earth screamed inside his mind, had his limbs been able to move then he might have clawed at his face and drawn open his jaw with a cry of despair.

Were his legs able to carry him, he imagined himself running free, fleeing into the distance and leaving every danger far, far behind. 'I just want to live… is that so bad?' He asked himself.

'Yes.' He answered his own question. 'If it comes at the expense of your friends, it's awful, and because you want it, you're awful.' The tribunal of his heart heard his defense of himself and judged him guilty of wishing to survive even if his comrades did not.

Up above, the dragon soared with such impossible majesty that it was easy to understand his desire to live, the everlasting sky, the gentle breeze that blew over his body… even the gentle rocking back and forth of the wagon, its cradle motion and steady 'thock' noise, was a pleasant experience. Were it not for the circumstances, he might have called it pleasant.

'I would have liked to try sweet bark one more time… it's so hard to get a chance to snag some of that when nobody is looking.' Tenghe thought, his mouth would have filled with saliva if it were able, but even that was denied to him. 'Idiot! Why are you thinking of something so stupid while Cenna has turned traitor and you're frozen in a cart going off to who knows what kind of personal hell?!'

'How long is this ride…? How long will I have to bear this fear? It's bad enough by itself that it's its own torture!' And so the grim ride went, for Heaven and Earth.

Quaessi's hair wouldn't move. That was an unusual thing in and of itself. Like Zesshi's one long strip, his mop of blonde hair seemed to always sway as if the breeze were just a little stiffer than it was. But now it moved like it was braided to his head. His hands were frozen as if he'd been holding stilettos still, but without them in his grip? Well now one hand was embarrassingly gripped over his privates, while the other was up where the blade had been brought to lick the edge to use his innate skill, [Personal Poison] let him inflict poison damage on his enemies with a chance of weakening their stamina. It even looked fearsome, if bizarre.

Now it let a fly crawl around over his tongue and his mouth was trapped in the open position, far from appearing fierce, he appeared frankly lewd.

The fly crawling on his tongue with its little legs skittering over the muscle and leaving tendrils of the foul tasting substance it must have last crawled over, lingering behind when it finally flew out. But the disgrace was nothing compared to his own dismay. 'Cenna, could you really have turned on us? Betrayed us so completely? Are you under her spell somehow? Is this a trick?' In a way, the treason was almost believable.

'We are still alive, and they captured us, and he showed concern for our treatment. Could he be wanting to lure us into his treason too?!' One Man Army couldn't make heads or tails of the motive beyond the hints of emotional attachment and conviction. 'A vampire's charm could do that right enough.' The reasons a betrayal might not be the Captain's fault ran through his mind like wild horses, so much so that it reminded him of his sister's betrayal. 'What good did it do back then to imagine why she might have betrayed us? In the end she did it because she wanted to.' It was a bitter taste of ashes in his mouth that would never really go away. 'No matter how much I drink, or how much sweet bark I sneak away… now there's the Captain. I'm so damn tired of traitors… it'll be a mercy for all this to end, even if it ends slow.'

With nothing to be said and nothing to be done, the statue-like bodies of the Black Scripture, humanity's champions, rolled on beneath the blue sky and the rising sun until at long last they rolled beneath a great stone gate and they had no doubts about where they were.

'We're in Tovijar… the capital of Demalbion… may the gods help us all.' The captive heroes thought in silence to themselves, unable to move their lips even enough to murmur a prayer.