Manipulation of Draken Part 2

Several hours before Orla arrived at the slave camp

Draken had changed his appearance greatly. His horns had been polished down to being smooth and shiny, his hair had been cut short and neat. His body was cleaned greatly, while his blackened claws had been healed, bandaged up by scarce bandages. His nails had been cut and manicured. He looked at himself in the black and blue suit that fit his frame so nicely. He gave himself a charming smile as he opened the door, however he was greeted without Orla there. "Where did she go, Soldor?" He called out to his new friend, disappointed not to find her waiting.

“Where did who go?” Estoban Soldor asked, then caught himself. “Your friend Orla, of course. I am sure she's around here somewhere. She expressed an interest in viewing the dogwood trees in my garden, so that's where she might have gone. She is unusually knowledgeable when it comes to plant lore and herbs, did you know? Now, not to change the subject, Draken, but might I say that haircut is perfection, and my tailor did such a wonderful job! Did you know his teacher was a student of Lars Saiki?”

The Countess of Llandry smiled and clapped her red-nailed hands as she walked up with several other nobles. “My goodness, doesn't our new Lord Sainte look so handsome this morning!”

“He looks very sharp in those colours too,” remarked the Marquess of Radogast and he smiled at seeing Draken was still proudly wearing the war medal that he had given the lad.

The fourth noble eyed Draken with more than a hint of contempt. “He looks almost civilized,” Lord Cartagan said with a sardonic twist of the mouth. “Although they say you can dress up a pig as much as you like, but it is still very much a pig.”

Soldor scowled at the man's crude remark. “Are you calling Draken a swine, and after he saved all of our lives yesterday?”

“No, not at all, Estoban, but the fact is our would-be king here is more closely related to the vile beasts of hell infesting the countryside than he is to a normal human being. No offense intended,” Cartagan added, insincerely.

“Draken is also more closely related to the Dalish royal line,” Soldor said back in reply. “As for the demons, with him keeping them at bay we'll be able to accomplish so much more now than we did having to fight them all the time.”

“They were quite a nuisance,” the Countess agreed and looked to Draken. “Do you plan to banish them from the kingdom or keep the demons around as a reserve force?”

“That is an excellent question, my dear,” the Marquess said.

Cartagan said, “I wager Draken will want to keep those evil things around in order to maintain his usefulness, and the power they give him over us.”

“Cease your needling,” Soldor chided. “The demons have caused so much pain and death on the good people of Dalen that I personally would like to see them all gone, but Draken's control over them may be the one thing standing between us and living under Gelt's boot-heel.”

Draken smirked at Cartagan. He stepped over to him and slapped him across the face, "You call me swine, but last I remember, it was a Cartagan that led to the death of Thaila, the death of the Sainte, and the destruction of Dalen. If you really want to show me what for, then prove yourself in trial by combat, I won't use my magic nor my wings, all I will use is the skill given to me."

Cartagan shook with fury, clenching his fists. “You besmirch my family's good name with slander and lies, you, the son of a notorious demon lord? Soldor is a fool! You have no business being given the crown of Dalen. I accept your offer gladly, Draken. Know that I am a trained knight like my father before me and a swordsman of the first rank. You haven't a chance!”

Draken looked over at the other shocked nobles, "As for the demons, do you shame or punish wolves for hunting deer? Do you shame or punish them once they are domesticated? I understand the people's fear of them, however to the far east we have the Iron Queen and her forces. To the Alps we have Gelt and his followers. To the east we have the Church, and should I mention to the west about the burnings of villages by an angel? They will stay, but they will follow the new rules I give them. The people of Dalen will get their homes again, however the demons only agree to this if they get to reside in the forest and underground passageways. I agreed to this, I doubt the people would want to live in those areas."

Draken lifted his hand, and in a bolt of lightning, his sword was summoned to him. He sheathed the blade before looking coldly at Cartagan, "The funny thing is, those vile beasts see you as vermin, like rats. However Aldous and Soularous know better, so prove to them, or prove to me that the demons are wrong." He felt uneasy, "Now excuse me, Ms. Orla promised to judge my wardrobe change, I would also like to hear her opinion."

Cartagan could not resist a cutting taunt, and gave a nasty laugh. “The wench is gone. She left with her friends. They were all laughing at the idea of you taking over the throne. Even those three knew what a joke that is!”

“Shut your mouth Cartagan,” Soldor snapped. “Draken is right that your family's reputation for lies and treachery is well-earned.”

“But about the girl I'm afraid he is not lying,” the Countess interjected and she turned her sympathetic gaze on Draken. “I am very sorry. I overheard Orla say she had been waiting for the right moment when she could slip away, that she was afraid of you and was only telling you what you wanted to hear.”

“Afraid of me?” Draken said, shaken. “I don’t understand…”

Cartagan smirked. “If you want to know why just look in the mirror, freak.”

“Honestly, Tyrell,” the Marquess reproached him. “Your continuing rudeness is uncalled for.”

Soldor consulted with his guards for a moment and then walked back. “Apparently I was wrong. Orla did leave exactly as they say. How rude of her to do so without even letting you know. Do you want go after her, or duel Cartagan now?” Soldor lowered his voice. “The man is a bastard, Draken, but he's indispensable. He controls roughly ten percent of our army and owns vast orchards and grain fields. If not for his personal holdings the rest of us might have starved long ago. So whatever you do, please don't kill him...”

Draken slammed his fist into the wall, "Draw your weapon, you think you're so better than me, show me you're worthy of being king!" He was shaking in rage, but his emotions were in disarray, he felt betrayed, again. This time it hurt more than ever. He pulled out his weapon, and watched Cartagan, his eyes like someone wanting to lash out. "Draw your weapon, now."

As soon as the noble drew his sword, Draken acted, clashing his blade with him before slamming his elbow under his throat, "Show me, you talk about greatness, so show me!"

Back in the Slaver Encampment

Orla gasped with indignation as Tiberius bore her along over his shoulder. She had never been handled so demeaningly before. She felt puny and helpless, knowing how much she was utterly and completely in the man's power.

The interior of the tent smelt of perfume and incense and was divided by curtains and screens into separate rooms. The slavemaster brought her before a tall dark elven woman. She sat upon a large red cushion, surrounded by bountiful treasures. With grace she got up from her seat, her sinuous figure moving like a snake. She wore a deep violet dress, adorned with spiked shoulder pads and bracers. She studied Orla with her crimson eyes, "Where did we get such a fine specimen, Tiberius?"

One of the armoured guards spoke up, "She said Verden, Mistress Sylla."

The drow didn't even blink as she slapped the guard, "I asked Tiberius, you idiot!"

“She was captured in Dalen,” Tiberius corrected. “At Lord Solder's palace, if she is to be believed.”

“‘Tis true,” Orla said to the woman, hoping to elicit her assistance. “I am only here because of some knavish trick! If you would contact his Lordship or Draken Sainte at the palace, I assure you either of them could easily straighten this whole matter out.”

“Were you a servant at the palace?” Tiberius asked.

“Nay, I was a guest,” Orla explained. “If you would return me there, or simply allow me to pen a brief missive to Draken, I promise I would see to it that you were compensated for your troubles.”

Sylla examined her. "Soldor? Seriously? So the stories are true, Draken is to be king of Dalen? What has happened to this world? It is the worst kind of madness that a creature like him should sit on Thalia’s throne." She shook her head, "No wonder why Cartagan sent you to me.”

“Yes, Draken has both a legitimate claim to the throne and the support of the nobles,” Orla said, easily understanding the woman's disbelief as it was no less felt by herself. She recognised the name Cartagan as being one of the older noble families of Dalen, but failed to understand why he had her sent here. Before she could enquire just what Sylla meant by that, the woman had moved onto another subject.

“Hmm, do you have any skills, young lady? Or are you just a pretty face?"

“Do I have any skills?” Orla blinked at the question. “Why, of course I do. I am an accomplished gardener, herbalist, and horticulturist. I would be quite willing to offer my services as such in exchange for my release.”

The drow woman rolled her eyes, “I don't think you understand. You were sold to us. Draken doesn't belong on that throne and it doesn't matter what that half-breed psychopath says. You are, at this moment, a slave.”

“And a fairly valuable one,” Tiberius remarked.

Sylla nodded in agreement. “There will be no shortage of interested buyers. But given her noble connections we should sell her quickly before Lord Soldor's spies track her here to the camp.”

“Do you have someone in mind?”

“A wealthy foreign customer known to have a weakness for elven women. Someone at this moment who is examining our other merchandise. Can you ask the Zataran to join us, please?”