The flight was… unpleasant.

Eclant barely avoided vomiting as the iron-dark dragon accelerated, clinging tightly to Miah as the sea streaked far below. He refused to look down, or look at all, eyes sealed shut. The dragon’s vast wings would beat from time to time, hot winds and smoke blowing into his face. He felt Miah turning in his seat, and felt hot breath ticking his ear.

“Well, are you going to look? You’re missing out,” he shouted over the wind. Eclant opened his eyes, seeing Miah smirking faintly. The Conqueror turned to the front, and gestured towards the sky and sea with one arm. Eclant’s eyes followed the sweep of his arm, seeing white, wispy clouds against the painfully blue sky. Over the black wings, when they were on the downstroke, he could see the ocean far below. The sun was slowly lowering in the sky, painting a glowing trail across the waves. It was the most wondrous and terrifying sight he’d ever seen.

Eventually, the Grand Light rose from the horizon. It was at least a thousand feet high, the stone dark and veined red. A bonfire blazed at the summit, lighting the way into the Gulf. The long shadow it made pointed into the distance, like an accusing finger, the dark line of the Arming Cliffs visible.

After they passed the Light, the Seagate was not long in appearing from the cliffs. It was all Vakratian marble, a bridged fortress across the only gap in the Arming Cliffs. It was said a thousand men could hold out for years inside it. And then it was behind them, shrinking, diminishing- gone. The waters of the Gulf of Graves churned, the blackened hulks of an entire fleet still dimly visible in the shallows. A faint fog of dark grey clung to the waves.

In the distance, the colossal black towers of Citadel loomed. Vakratian make, Eclant guessed through his squinted eyes, but he couldn’t be certain at this distance. Then he noticed a pair of long shadows rising from the Citadel’s dark mass.

Two more dragons rose into the skies, and they lanced coiling around the other with clicking roars that sounded half-human. One was silvery-grey, darker along the horns and spine and wings, streaked with gleaming gold. The other was deep bronze, copper horns and wings shining.

The two serpents strafed the black one, coiling within a lance’s reach of the dark wings. Eclant almost jumped at their speed, his dark hair whipping from the force. The black dragon roared, belching a stream of incandescent fires. Miah shouted something chastising, and the two other dragons fell away from his mount. Eclant clung tighter to Miah, shivering. The dragons had shaken him, made it all of a sudden real. He would defend the most powerful man in the known world.

And he’d be right next to gigantic monsters big enough to swallow a horse. Right next to the fire and spiked jaws, underneath the burning dark gaze. At a word, at any provocation, he could be dead.

Execution was one thing. Being potentially eaten alive was quite another.

As he ruminated, Miah directed his mount into one of the courtyards, one that jutted over the furious Gulf. The courtyard made not a creak as the dragon settled, and the black beast set down one wing to allow them to slid off. Eclant went first, carefully making a path down the joints and armor. Miah slid off with the easy grace of long practice, and suddenly winced.

“Are you all right?” Eclant asked, his training rising to the fore. Certainly nothing else moved him.

“I’m well,” Miah said in a tight voice. “Go on now, Wraithling.”

The dragon raised its wings with a scream of metal, and dove off the courtyard. A wingbeat later, it rose into the sunset, its siblings diving at it with ear-splitting roars. The dragons tumbled end over end, before breaking apart and hurling themselves into the sky. Before long, their sparking and smoking forms vanished.

The sun was red and bloated, just touching the horizon. The sky was gold, purple and pink, beautiful beyond words.

Eclant turned back to Miah.

“You look wounded, your Radiance,” he said carefully. Miah half-opened his mouth to speak.

“My Lord!” Another voice shouted. “I see you have returned.” The speaker was a grizzled old man, tall and broad, scarred from a hundred battles. He was dressed in polished steel armor, almost as nicked and scarred as he was. The old man dropped to one knee.

“Warmaster Alconius, you may rise. It’s a pleasure to see you. I’ve just purchased a personal defender, as you wanted. Stipator Eclant, step forward,” Miah said. He did so, bowing at the waist. Alconius glanced at him with icy eyes, and nodded with grudging approval.

“Very good, my Lord. The traitors have been gathered, and await your presence.”

“Let us see them,” Miah said grimly.

“Follow me, my Lord,” Alconius said.

They strode through a pair of huge, iron doors, and Eclant followed them. He didn’t fail to notice the sheer size of the tower above him, thrice the height of the old Tower he’d resided in. Eclant strode through the doors, silently praying to the gods.

The doors slammed shut behind him like jaws.

{+++}

Eclant stood a respectful distance away from the Conqueror on his Throne, quite aware of the weight of the new sword on his belt.

“You’ll need a weapon,” Alconius had said, before giving him a gladius. It was a short blade, only three feet long, but that was well-suited to the corridors of the Citadel.

The Throne Hall, however, was large enough to hold a small castle. It was at least five hundred feet to the broad ceiling, a double row of columns shouldering the weight that pressed on them. They were at least thirty feet across the base, dwarfing everything else within the room. The hall stretched well over two thousand feet long, the reflective black floor catching and drowning the light of the hearths between the pillars.

Each hearth was fifty feet tall and forty broad, deep enough to hold an elephant in comfort. The incredible heat of the fires within barely reached Eclant, but the chamber was still warm.

The Dias taking up the end of the Hall took twenty steps to ascend, allowing even the guards arrayed around the base of the Throne to look down on any supplicants. The Throne itself was another ten steps, looming huge and heavy over the proceedings. The squared mass dwarfed anyone to sit in it, a starburst pattern of gold drawing attention towards the Conqueror at its heart. He was still dressed in riding clothes, but an iron crown banded with sharp black points sat atop his head. A ring of gold was inset within the crown, looking caged behind the blades.

Twenty men were bound in chains before the Conqueror, two guards behind each one. Some were abashed, others angry, a few red-eyed from weeping. A courtier stood behind all the prisoners, and recited from a scroll.

“You all stand accused of plotting the death of High Lord Miah the Conqueror. The price for such treason is death. How do you answer these charges?” One of the men raised himself as high as he could while remaining on his knees.

“It is not treason to depose a Usurper!” The man shouted. “By what right do you claim the Throne?” The guards on him slammed the pommel of their swords into him, driving him to the floor. Miah raised a hand, stopping them.

“What right indeed?” Miah stood, and strode down the steps of the Throne. “You’re correct! I have no blood claim. I have only right of conquest to back up my reign. But the old Royals had the same claim as I. History shows me that your beloved Royal Family of Loraeb seized this land from half-a-hundred squabbling warlords and tribes. They had no right, save conquest. You say it’s acceptable when they do it? Then you should have no issues bending the knee to me!"

The man spat on the ground.

“I’ll never suffer a-“ he said, before Miah raised one hand. A steely boot drove the breath from the man.

“Time to be judged. Any of you wish to speak?” the Conqueror asked. No man spoke. Miah gestured, and walked down the great steps, Eclant following just behind. The prisoners were parted, Miah walking almost in arm’s reach. None dared touch him. Once he was through, the guards escorted the prisoners behind him.

Aside from the sound of footsteps and rattling chains, there was silence.

They emerged from the towering doors, and into an oversized courtyard. The walls were huge, looking more akin to cliffs than something made by man. A double row of six-foot iron spikes lined the walls, guards watching from behind them. Conqueror Miah whistled a sharp note, and an answering dragon-screech echoed. He then walked to the other end of the courtyard, and Eclant followed. Once he arrived, he turned around and looked at the plotters.

“Traitors and treason must be answered,” Miah said as the dragon’s wingbeats grew audible. “If you hadn’t made an attempt on my life, I could consider simple banishment. But your actions cannot be taken back. Your actions are irredeemable. And so I, High Lord Miah the Young Conqueror, Ruler of the Five Realms and Dragon Rider, sentence you to die."

The men were shoved into the center of the courtyard, and the guards leapt back. A blast of flames half-blinded Eclant, and when he’d blinked away the swimming blue-green blotches all he could see of the conspirators was ash and molten metal chains. Miah bowed slightly.

“May the Gods have mercy on their souls,” he said.

The ashy bones cracked and popped, as liquid iron trickled over the stone.