28 – The Throne Room

Simon stood before the doors of the King’s Chamber while the distant thunder of artillery rolled across the city.

A sudden sound rose above the mechanical din, a deep roar that tore through stone and metal alike. The vibration traveled straight up through the soles of his boots, making his stomach drop, and for a handful of seconds, the entire bombardment outside seemed to fade beneath that horrific acoustic weight.

Simon shivered, the chains around his wrists rattling softly as he shifted his weight.

I don’t even want to know what made that sound.

“Do we really have to do this?” Simon lifted his shackled hands, the heavy iron links clinking for emphasis.

“Absolutely.” Gomp adjusted his spectacles, his fingers entirely steady despite the noise. “The White Gnome has been quite clear on the matter. No outsider enters the city without the proper precautions, especially after the destruction of our ancestral home.”

He turned toward the corridor, where the candelabras quivered whenever another thunderous rumble echoed through the city.

“Particularly with that demon woman running wild outside.”

​”Okay, let’s put that aside for a second.” Simon rolled his shoulders, trying to work out the tension in his neck. “Don’t you think you’re going a little overboard with him?”

Simon nodded toward the dragon, and Gomp glanced back at him.

Heavy chains anchored all four of the dragon’s legs to iron rings in the floor. Another thick set binding his wings flat against his ribs, and a leather-and-iron muzzle enclosed his jaws completely.

Paco answered the look with a low, vibrating rumble that rattled the metal cage over his snout.

“See?” Gomp jabbed a finger toward the bound beast. “That right there is exactly why the precautions are necessary.”

“Oh come on. He’s just a pup.”

“He is a dragon pup.” Gomp crossed his short arms, his posture signaling that the statement explained everything.

In a way, it does, but Paco is still entirely too small to justify this mountain of iron.

“Is this some kind of revenge because he blasted you with fire earlier?” Simon leaned down slightly, matching the gnome’s height.

The fur on Gomp’s chest bristled, a tight twitching that Simon had learned to recognize as the gnomish equivalent of mild offense. The priest pressed on anyway, refusing to let the silence settle.

“Listen. Didn’t we agree we weren’t your prisoners? That I’d come here and try to talk to your White King?”

“Yes. And?” Gomp tilted his chin up, his spectacles sliding a fraction of an inch down his nose.

Simon raised his shackled wrists, letting the manacles sharply against one another.

Gomp followed Simon’s gaze down to the chains, then back up again.

“Oh. Right. The chains. Don’t worry. As soon as we explain to the King that woman isn’t a threat—”

A deep, cracking boom shook the floorboards, traveling like an iceberg splitting apart under unimaginable pressure.

Both of them spun toward the great windows lining the corridor. Frost raced across the city. Street after street vanished beneath a creeping shelf of white, and the distant towers turned instantly pale. Out in the moat, the boiling lava hardened into a jagged crust, sending pillars of scalding steam billowing into the air.

Neither Simon nor Gomp spoke. They stood locked in place, staring at the frozen expanse before slowly exchanging a glance.

One second dragged. Then another.

The silence hung thick, until the massive double doors of the throne room swung open with a heavy, grinding groan.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

A gnome in a bulky black battlesuit emerged from the throne room, marching at the head of a small army.

Kit Kikkity’s heavy armor still bore the same scorched dents and fresh scratches left from their earlier encounter. Behind him, the soldiers in the column carried similar marks, their battered equipment revealing a brutal engagement fought only hours ago.

Kit’s stride never faltered as his gaze swept across the corridor, locking onto Simon before dropping to the heavily chained mass of Paco. His eyes widened, but he kept moving, planting a gauntleted hand firmly on Gomp’s shoulder.

“Well done, Gomp.” Kit’s praise boomed through the chamber. “I always knew you had potential. You managed to survive and bring back prisoners. And two of them, no less.”

He gave Simon and the muzzled dragon the satisfied look of a man admiring someone else’s freshly caught fish.