Five Souls

“There weren't always dragons in the valley,” said an old man sat by a wooden table at the corner of the tarven. “ But were once filled with gold, rubies and diamonds. It was a place where we dug for treatures.”

“Where did all that gold and diamonds come from papa? '' squeaked a younger voice.

This caught the attention of Theodore, who scanned the tavern for the voice that belonged. Who brings a child to a tavern, he thought. He eyed the old man with the child, his white beard long and dry and had an eye patch made out of worn out cloth over his left eye. The little boy who sat beside him, probably no older than 8, stared at the old man, hypnotised by his story.

Theodore tutted disapprovingly and continued slurping his ale, though he wasn't familiar with the customs of the commoners he definitely knew for sure that a tavern was no place for a child. Yet he angled his ear towards them, intrigued.

“ Well Mordred, there was once a king that ruled hundreds of years ago that made a deal with the devil, Golokhov. The king wanted power, to be the most powerful kingdom in Savain and so wished for all the treasures in the world.” The old man chuckled and wheezed and took a swing of his ale and continued, “ But there was a PRICE Mordred! You think you can deal with the devil for free?” His voice is now loud enough to turn a few heads.

Theodore lowered his hooded cape over his face further and snickered quietly at the theatrics of this old man. The commoners always twisted the story of how dragons came to be in the valley for many years and told them as bedtime stories for children. There wasn't much that Theodore knew except the dragons demanded five human souls at the end of every year to keep the peace. Or in other words, five human souls to keep the dragons from completely tranishing the kingdom and so far this has seemed to work.

The old man was right about one thing though, the valley was once a gold mine where the gold was transfered to the catsle. His voice turned into an uncontrollable cackle, ale streaming from on end of his mouth, dampening his beard.

“They all became dragons Mordred!” he wheezed. Little Mordred furrowed his brows and slowly leaned back from the old man, clearly taken aback from his laughing fit. “ Golokhov turned the whole palace into BLOODY MURDEROUS DRAGONS!” He boomed, clumsily lifting his mug in the air. Theodore slammed his hand across his mouth to stop the ale exploding out of his mouth, but some of it managed to squirt between his fingers and onto the back of a neck that belonged to a woman with dark hair at the counter.

His heart sank. It's only been a week of him sneaking around and exploring town, trying to blend in with everyone else and he was already going to get caught. Heat rose to his cheeks, he had been so stupid to think he could roam the freely without being recognised and his disguise to fall all apart from one careless hiccup. The lady whipped her head towards him. “ You havin’ a bloody laugh, aren't ya ?” she spat. Before he even had the chance to apologise she tore the mug from his hands, liquid splattering all over the counter. She was about to scream all kinds of abuse when her eyes darted towards the racket that was emerging at the corner of the tavern.

“FINEGAN!” she shrieked, “ Get the hell out ya skank and take that child back to wherever ya snatched him from!” The old man shot up from his chair and aimed his crooked finger at her.

“ Now you listen here missy my grandson is no child he's a grown man, here look!” the Finegan yanked the little boys’ bare chin towards her, “Look at them little hairs, he’s growing a beard bless him.” Tears gleamed in his eyes.

“Finegan.” she sternly warned with her bony hand rested at her hip.

“Alright, alright.” he surrendered his arms in defeat.

Theodore took this chance and slipped out of the tarven but only to be dragged into a hectic protest where he was shoved and pushed around by the crowd he was surrounded by. Humid stench of cow manure along with foul body odour hung in the air, yells of the towns people drowned his ears. He was surrounded by all kinds of people; farmers, shopkeepers, beggars, even women with babies mounted onto their hips. “ THE RAFFLES ARE RIGGED!” “ HOW COME THE PEOPLE OF THE PALACE ARE NEVER CHOSEN!” “THE ROYALS CONTOL WHO GETS PICKED, IT'S NOT FAIR!” The screams and chants suffocated him, panic pulsed in his chest. If they find out I’m the prince there's nothing stopping them from skinning me alive in the ravenous state that they're in.

Theodore drowned further in the sea of people and was swam along, lost in the waves. The mob flooded through the hectic market stalls reeling in more people, and all throughout the town until Theodore saw the tip of the palace gates emerging in the distance, silver specks of the helmets of the knights glimmered by the outer walls of the roof of the castle. His mouth parched dry. Surely they're not going to crash into the palace? His eyes darted around looking for an opening where he could escape, a small gap between someone's legs he could squeeze through - but nothing. Everyone was aggressively glued together. The crowds passed the gates and halted right at the castle walls and at any moment Theodore expected the knights to shower arrows over their heads. But they were motionless, their empty eyes looking far off into the distance. Confusion plastered on his face. It soon all made sense when his father appeared onto the balcony along with several of his guards, one carrying a huge round bowl.

It was the bloody raffle.

Theodore probably attended the raffle once, in his seventeen years of life with his father, other than that there were hardly any talks about the raffles in the palace so it made perfect sense as to why it had completely escaped Theodore’s mind. From this view along with the civilians Theodore was able to witness how strong his fathers’ presence radiated, even a blind man could see it. The once loud crowd fell deathly silent and looked up at the king.

“Five souls for our freedom. Five souls for our future. We are all eternally grateful and forever in your debt”. The king's voice, stoic and powerful. “ Let the raffle commence!”

The other guard next to the one carrying the bowl hovered his hand over it and picked out five small rectangular pieces of paper and read them out.

Theodore was the only one undisturbed and remained poised looking up, still hidden in his dark blue cloak, admiring his father's crown that sat comfortably on his head while the people around him remained restless and gripped onto their loved ones.

“Alaric Stuart, Baldwin Petigrew, Celestina Chapman, Hugh Morrinson …” People whipped their heads to whoever was called out.

The guard furrowed his eyebrows and read out the fifth name. “ Erm, Prince Theodore …”