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DISMOR
“Follow them and ensure she comes to no harm.” King Kaio gave the instructions quickly, as soon as the blonde woman had dragged Gwen away, quickly followed by the retired gladiators. “Wait,” he spoke again, lifting a hand and sighing, “we cannot interfere and jeopardize the contract I have struck with Bloodworm.”
“Then what would you have me do, my King?” Dismor bowed her head, clasping her closed first against her hearts. “I am at your service, as always.”
“Follow them but keep your distance. If you see an opportunity to help her, do so. Do not risk yourself in the process, Dismor.”
“As you wish, my King.” Dismor slammed her fist against her chest twice, keeping her head bowed a moment longer.
When she straightened her posture, King Kaio turned away from her, his golden robe billowing like a weightless shimmering cloud behind him. He pulled it tightly around his body, hugging it to him like a security blanket. His shoulders slumped and he seemed to have the weight of the world weighing him down.
In a way, he did.
If he had not struck the deal with that odious Magnum T. Bloodworm, then fifteen hundred of Orenda’s citizens would have been drafted.
Dismor wanted to scream though, to tell King Kaio to break his oath and return to the safety of their world.
Yet if she spoke her mind now, she’d unleash a mountain of feelings upon her sovereign. That was not proper, nor wise, even though Kaio had proven to be the most gentle-natured of rulers, kind to a fault. He’d often told her to speak her truth, promising no consequence.
But still, she chose to bite her tongue.
Because of who he was, because of why he was here in this archaic place, offering up his very lifeblood to a barbaric competition. A competition of criminals and fools.
Her King did not belong here. She hated that there was nothing she could do to save him from the coming battle.
Dismor walked swiftly to the double doors, giving Magl’on a jerk of her head toward the King, making it clear that Magl’on should stay and guard their liege. He would see as easily as she had that the King was vulnerable at this moment. Her counterpart, though oafish at times, was diligent and an admirable fighter. When it came to menfolk, Dismor felt like Magl’on was an acceptable specimen.
“Forse-le Oooghna Madagar Ohdan,” Dismor muttered under her breath when the pale doors reclosed behind her, and she was blissfully alone. They were words her great-grandmother imparted to her. Sometimes, all we can do is close our eyes and jump. Of course, back then the words were whispered over scraped knees and hurt feelings. Dismor would be called ‘my dear one’ or ‘star of hearts’ after. Now, Dismor heeded the long-ago words in faith, trusting her King.
For he was closing his eyes and jumping into the fray.
And she could do very little but watch him fall.
He had asked her to follow the woman and try to help her, though, and that was a tangible assignment. Something Dismor could do. Some small way to be helpful during this trying time.
Dismor loathed feeling helpless.
When their people had no food during the Great Drought, she’d worried over her own stomach, her own family, and felt she could do nothing. She was a creature of the spear, a being of physical prowess. The dance of economics and politics was not her strong suit.
The King had risen to the occasion though. She had followed behind him, at his beck and call, handing out grain and dried fruits. He had opened the royal stores to feed as many as possible, without a moment’s hesitation. The rations had been meager, and on more than one occasion Dismor could hear her King’s stomach rumbling, barren of sustenance. During the devastating fires ten star cycles ago, he had opened the palace to those who’d been left homeless while he coordinated efforts to rebuild and replenish.
If Dismor thought Magl’on was an acceptable man, then Kaio was the perfect model of nontoxic masculinity.
When sparks of feeling ignited for her sovereign, she knew to quickly smother them though. She was his servant, in all things, undeserving of romantic designs toward royalty.
If only his father and grandfather were still alive to witness his hard work. To see the man he had become.
It often made Dismor sad that he was alone. Even his mother had died shortly after his father. A broken heart, the citizens said. Elorsha was so well loved. Beauty and grace incarnate.
Despite the King being lonely in Dismor’s eyes, it felt very strange to see her King interested in a human. Of all the species, she found them to be incredibly emotional and weak of body. They were far from warriors. Far from worthy of her King.
After walking a few paces, Dismor realized she was not focusing on her goal.
Cocking her head, she listened carefully, and then dropped to a crouch to place her palm against the hard floor. The sound of heavy footsteps, a group of at least seven, called her attention in the opposite direction. Beneath the louder marching were two softer sounds. Lighter bodies moving at the same pace. The retired gladiators were escorting the two much smaller humans back toward the holding pens.
Standing, she began to jog, arms pumping lightly against her sides and spear now hoisted securely against her back.
In short order, she was nearly upon the parade of guards and human women. She slowed her pace, careful to not come into view, staying around corners and inside shadows. The environment was dimmer and damper the further into the belly of the palace they went. This area was no better than a dungeon, barely fit for the rabid rodents of BellaCrusa, a garbage planet with a lovely name.
