The next day morning I was greeted by Tamryl, who was busy scribbling on a long piece of paper with a quill.

"I need to write an update," she said in a matter-of-fact tone, "staying connected with the community brings in more books to read." Then rolling up the parchment, she tied it to the back of a turtle.

"And the turtle?"

"That's my pet." She groaned. "Apparently everyone uses birds to deliver their content. But thank my parents, they bought me this. Jackson, meet Sputnik."

Sputnik the turtle got a head start of five minutes; well, that was the time in which two mean looking guards came into the cell. They gladly did their work of putting me in chains, made some odd jests about "Jackson in chains" and sliced a couple of slaps in turns as they bound me.

The turtle looked longingly at me as I was dragged along the floor- again- en route to apparently what seemed to me like a giant party.

The Great Banquet was set up in the Great Hall, somewhere below the Union Station. The sounds of railroad would faintly interrupt the excited murmurs filling the room, which was slightly relieving- it felt good to hear the voices from the world above. My world!

The lords sat on the Long Tables and feasted on choice food while the crowd of commoners looked in through the giant window. Occasionally a glutton lord would throw some leftovers of bread or bones of turkey through the windows and the men outside would scramble into a game of death. Women would join in to fetch what they can for their starving children.

Some lords shook their heads at the pathetic state and carried on with their food, others threw more to see them fight and had a belly of laughter.

Then there was the High Table in which the distinguished guests including the witch queen sat with their platter of mouth watering food. Roasted beef and carved turkey along with a variety of salads, peas and tomatoes decorated with a plumage of green leaves gave flight to the breakfast call in me.

I was hungry, and I knew where my place in this society was- outside the window. That is, if I survive the trial, which was unlikely. If I were to speak a word, the witch would silence me with her tricks, just like how it was yesterday.

This was just their way of entertainment. Playing trials and killing knights. This was how they drove fear into the heart of Resistance, I understood. After the Queen, the first one I noticed on the High Table was Sir Gawain, making his way to the Seat of Honour.

Sir Gawain Williamson had his coal black eyes fixed on me. It was like he was trying to relay a message, but he wouldn't budge a muscle or twitch his lips. The were-orangutan knight stood beside his Seat of Honour like a poker, jaws clenched and his French beard trimmed in a much nicer fashion than it was yesterday.

He was dressed gracefully for the occasion- the finest shining armour with Orange medals paraded across his chest, the golden lining of his armour throwing off a sheen so brilliant that would make any woman want a bite of him. The majestic pauldrons covering his shoulders had attachments to the blue velvet- the cape of the Ambassador Knight, and the greatsword hung loose on to the belt. With much grace, he sat down.

I stood helplessly staring at the other faces in the Great Table, engulfed in the silence of the Great Hall whilst Her Orange Majesty sat on the Throne munching a robust banana. Through the slit like eyes, she gave me one of those looks which reflected a sense of curiosity mixed with contempt, glancing over the pages submitted to her by Lady Omega Scotlander, whose name plate read Human Resources Manager.

I wondered what a Human Resources Manager was doing here while she whispered something serious in the Queen's ear. The Queen made a quick pout of her jaw like an orangutan, but then shook herself and got back to the calm and composed mode.

The were-orangutans looked much like humans, except for the orange hair where others had black or blond. The menacing look and the array of wrinkles (which the female were-orangutans loved) were prominent in men, not to mention their sheer valiance and exceptional qualities of loyalty and brotherhood.

As far as Tamryl had fed me with the knowledge of Witchpad, they were also known for ripping apart traitors in a single stroke.

I shuddered. Right now, I had only one goal in mind: to do something that would not get me ripped apart. But I was sure it was not going to be easy- the entire Witchpad has come here to witness my execution.

In front of Sir Gawain sat the Ambassador Knights, seated on the lavish Round Table of Witchpad, their eyes sizing me up like I was a human bomb. The knights, like their were-orangutan Commander were clad in shiny plate armour, broadswords on the table- except for Captain Paulie Shook, who sported a slender yet lethal rapier.

"Evil Lords and Ladies of Witchpad," the Witch Queen began, "I know we have been waiting for the execution of this unworthy knight, Jackson Kross, who dared to conspire against me alongside the Resistance... and kill me." She made a mock-sorry face as the knights hoisted me up to a platform and pushed me against the rails.

There was a collective "Boo!" and some thumped their mugs on the table.

"Well, there has been a slight change in the course of events," she announced, "our much honourable Lady Omega, the Human Resource Manager, informs me that our human resources for blood had dwindled, and Sir Jackson's blood results from the Facility had arrived with good news. It seems to be the most relishing drink for the vampires in the Paranormal realm. A half-vampire myself, how can I refuse her advice of not killing the goose that laid my pretty little golden eggs? That would be unwise, wouldn't it?"

Another collective holler.

"So I have decided that this unworthy man be given a chance to redeem himself from his death and choose slavery instead... along with some entertainment. I mean to say, what's the fun in letting him end his sorry life in a stroke of axe?" Adding a throaty laugh at the end, she said, "I've decided to give him a choice... Sir Jackson, under the witness of heaven and hell, what would you rather choose to prove your worth? Trial by Combat, or Trial by Wattys?"

The roar from the crowd was deafening. "Trial by Combat!" Someone from the crowd hollered, and that was followed by a round of applause from the feasting tables. Another shout from the commoners, "Kill the Orange Knight and his bitch, Jackson!"

Another round of shouts and unrest followed along with a team of fresh Ambassador Knights marching out to handle the situation.

Tamryl had told that once there was a time when the Ambassador Knights were Witchpad's knights in shining armour. Nobody would fear them, and they aided everyone. But with the fall of King Allyn Lovedragon, things had changed. The same hands that helped were now trained to whip and behead.

As the crowd kept shouting, "Combat! Combat! Combat!" Sir Gawain's pokerface made a sudden flick of movement and the doctor that I am, I caught the message clear.

I stood up straight and announced, "I am not Sir Jackson Kross!"

***

A/N: Sorry guys, I know it's been more than a week since I updated. I was busy with work and editing my Jackson Kross novel. Thanks for the patience. I'll try to stick to the two posts a week schedule. And btw, did you like the chapter?