The Dragon Cake

By Zachary Holbrook

Min’s hands shook as she applied the final layer of icing. She’d longed to present the dragon cake at the festival of Hero Bai—but not like this.

Not when the Horde saw it as another Ki’anin treasure to defile.

Not when the deliverance of her people rested on her deception.

Not when the cake contained her own doom.

Drums pounded in the feasting hall, so loud they shook the kitchen. Min wiped her hands on her apron and forced herself to breathe steadily. The cake looked as rich and delicious as any she’d seen in the days before the Horde, frosted figures of Bai and the dragon rising from the dough like guardian spirits.

Arban approached from across the kitchen and beamed. “Beautiful! Hordemaster Makrul will be pleased.”

Min took a deep breath. “Yes, he will.” She turned to the Horde’s elderly chef. “Arban…”

Arban’s eyes twinkled. “Yes?”

“Thank you.” Min bowed. “You protected me after I was captured. Brought me into your kitchen even though I was a foreign slave. Without you…” She fell silent.

“You’ve repaid me,” Arban said. “Serving the cake at Makrul’s first-ever Bai Festival! What an honor!”

The words pierced Min’s soul. She turned away. This cake would save her people, end the Horde’s invasion—but she wouldn’t be the only one to pay the price. How much would Arban suffer because of her betrayal?

The drums quieted, and the chanters began reciting the Horde’s warped version of “Bai and the Dragon.” Min shot one last glance at Arban, who smiled and gestured for her to enter. Oblivious. She almost quit in that moment, almost made some dumb excuse about the cake not being ready.

But she remembered her capture. Homes burning. Her family screaming. Hordemaster Makrul laughing in the village square.

She wasn’t the last of the Ki’anin to suffer. And if she didn’t stop the Horde now, it would never end.

Min straightened her back, picked up the platter, and strode into the candlelit feasting hall.

The eyes of a hundred of the Horde’s fiercest warriors bore into her. Min clenched the platter to stop her hands from shaking. A voice inside screamed that they knew, that at any moment they’d tear her to shreds, then march out to massacre the rest of the Ki’anin slaves.

Min walked past the chanters as they told of how Bai overcame the dragon by sheer strength, then brutally punished his treacherous allies. Lies. The Horde had no legends of their own, so they stole the ancient stories and twisted them for their own purposes. Their touch stained every aspect of the once-beautiful room—tapestries marred with charcoal scrawl, fine rugs stained with grease and spilled mead.

Makrul sat enthroned at the far end of the hall. Min found herself before him, surprised she’d made it without collapsing into a puddle of fear. She’d wanted to assassinate the Hordemaster once, before she’d realized he had a dozen generals all too eager to take his place. How futile her fantasies of rushing him with a knife had been! His iron eyes, his slight smirk—everything about this man whispered, I am in control.

An attack was out of the question. Min’s only hope was far more subtle.

“O unconquerable Hordemaster!” Min sat the platter on Makrul’s table and knelt. “I bring you the greatest dish among the Ki’anin, whom you rule with your might. May you taste it and rejoice in your power.”

Makrul regarded the cake, then tore off the dragon’s head and ate it as the chanters claimed Bai had done.

Stillness. Makrul chewed and swallowed. Min’s heart pounded louder than the drums ever had.

“Your offering is accepted,” Makrul said. “Perhaps the Ki’anin have a place in our empire, despite their cowardice.”

Min’s mouth went dry. Say it! Now!  “Hordemaster,” she said. “May I explain the ingredients that make this cake worthy of only one so mighty as you?”

Makrul chuckled. “Very well. Rise.”

Min stood. She felt like a ghostly spectator, powerless to intervene as her own mouth carried out her plans. “The key ingredient is a slow-acting toxin that will paralyze you within three days.”

A murmur spread throughout the hall. Makrul rose from his throne.

“Wait—” Min raised her hands.

Makrul’s fist slammed into her jaw. Min gasped and fell to the floor.

“Anti… anti—” Min struggled to form words, every syllable sending fresh waves of pain across her face. Makrul knelt over her and drew his dagger.

“There’s an antidote!” Min gasped.

Makrul cut a thin line across her cheek. “Tell me and I’ll grant you the mercy of a swift death.”

“The Ki’anin Temple.” Min put a hand to her cheek. Tears mingled with blood. “The priests there—do what they say, and you’ll be cured.”

The temple—the heart of unconquered Ki’anin territory—accessible to the Hordemaster only as a humble pilgrim.

Makrul laughed. “You think I’d submit myself to a priest of weakness?” He slammed a boot into Min’s stomach. Min cried out.

Makrul raised his dagger—then froze. A spasm shook his body, and he collapsed alongside Min.

Min pushed herself up, shuddering. “This is only the beginning. You don’t have to let it be the end. The priests will cure you.”

Makrul regained control of himself and rose to his feet. Min glimpsed something in his eyes—fear.

Hope flickered in her heart. Maybe her sacrifice would work, would force Makrul to establish a lasting peace with her people. Maybe—

“Beat her, but keep her alive,” Makrul ordered. “I’ll need to interrogate her later.”

Two warriors dragged Min from the hall. Through her tears of pain, she saw spasms hit the Hordemaster again.

The poison had taken root. He had no choice but to submit to the priests.

Min smiled. She was prepared to suffer. Just like Bai, hero of the Ki’anin—who defeated the dragon at the cost of his own life.

And like Bai, her suffering would deliver her people.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Zachary Holbrook is a writer, which is a euphemism for ‘weird’. He accidentally wound up living in Middle Tennessee, and six months later decided he never wanted to leave. However, by the time you read this, he’ll be in the deserts, or mountains, or maybe Austin, Texas. Life is unpredictable, but at least it provides ideas for stories. Download one of those stories, “The Besouler”, for free at his website.

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