Adamaï surprised even himself at times. Using a combination of his own respectable flight speed and the zaaps that connected along the road to Bonta had resulted in a journey of a mere day and a half, much shorter than he had expected. He arrived over the sprawling city at sunset, as the fading light of day began to paint the buildings and towers in brilliant shades of orange and gold.
Two glinting dots detached themselves from a rampart tower and rose to meet Adamaï, spiralling upward at reasonable speed. He slowed to allow them to catch up, steadily churning the air with his wings as he came to a near stop. The armored screagles caught up quickly enough, and their Cra riders waved for Adamaï to follow them down before turning their mounts back toward the tower. Adamaï had been expecting this, but the guards seemed much more solemn than usual; on previous visits to Bonta they'd at least been talkative when they flew up to him, whereas now they were completely silent.
The screagles settled on their perches as they came in to land, one on either side of the open platform that ran the length of the wall below the tower's roof. Adamaï set himself down on the platform and folded his wings; the length of cobbles that made up the platform suddenly felt a lot more cramped now that he stood on it. If he kept up his current rate of growth he wouldn't be able to fit his true form into places like this for much longer, not that it was such a terrible loss with his ability to fall back on a humanoid form. He would just have to be more careful about where he wore his natural shape.
"You're Adamaï, aren't you?" one of the guards asked as he slid off his mount. His voice was tired, and Adamaï noticed deep lines around his mouth and eyes when he removed his flying helmet.
"That's right. I'm here to see Master Joris, it's urgent," Adamaï replied. He decided to hold back on changing his shape—doing so might spook the screagles, and panicked birds were probably the last thing the guards needed at the moment.
"We'll send a message through to the palace," the guard said. "Please wait here," he then turned and entered the tower, where the shadow of the doorway took him from sight.
Adamaï looked out over the city once the guard was gone. The sun had drifted below the horizon by now, and darkness swept in like a tide. Something was wrong. A city as large as Bonta should have been a glittering jewel against the velvet shadows of the surrounding countryside, but tonight the markets and normal gathering places were dark save for a few street lamps.
"It's the Red Plague," the remaining guard still sat astride his screagle as he watched the gates. "The king has been trying to control its spread by restricting the citizens' movements, not that anyone wants to be out these days anyway," he said, a notably bitter edge in his voice.
"That bad, huh?" Adamaï moved closer to the platform's edge and looked out at the palace, one of the few structures that was still fully illuminated. A painful, silent question hung in cool air between them: How many thus far? He knew it would be more than the last figure Joris had given them, the plague's spread had showed no signs of slowing when he last told them of it. Adamaï slowly filled his massive lungs and let the air out in one long sigh. The length and speed of the journey were finally starting to weigh on him, on top of the gravity of the Red Plague's effects on Bonta; he'd never seen the city looking so dead and quiet before.
And just how many would die if no cure was found? How much would the population be culled by the time the disease ran its course? In the worst case scenario, it was possible that they could end up with a world almost empty of humans.
A fleeting, treacherous thought slid through Adamaï's mind as he considered the possibility: It would be easy for our people to return if there were so few to stand in our way... He swatted it aside as quickly as it had come, but it made him uneasy regardless of how quickly it passed. No, that wasn't the way to go about it. Such disregard for sentient life was callous, it was—
The rest of the thought was cut off by the guard's reply. "We've lost a lot of people, including some of our best Eniripsas. Now all we've got is a bunch of those quacks over in their little school, and no one's holding out high hopes for them being able to deal with it."
"Hmm?" Adamaï looked at the guard properly this time, eyeridges raised in inquiry. "Quacks?"
"Healers who insist on not using magic to heal their patients," the Cra replied. "Mostly those who never chose a god and who wanted to heal others regardless, some believers who dabble in the stuff for fun." He gave a weary shrug. "Like I said, no one has high hopes for what they can do."
"Highness Adamaï," the other guard had returned from within the tower, and he gave the dragon a polite bow as Adamaï turned to him. "The palace is ready to receive you. Master Joris will meet with you as soon as he can."
As the guard had said, the palace was ready. Adamaï spotted an ornate terrace lined with servants and palace attendants, all waving lanterns suspended on poles to catch his attention. He tipped to the right and began a slow descent to the terrace.
A small wind kicked up as Adamaï dropped onto the terrace, just strong enough to rustle the attendants' flowing garments. The leader of the group—a status made obvious by the extra intricacy of her uniform—approached Adamaï as he settled and gave him a polite bow. "Welcome, Highness Adamaï. We have prepared a feast and a chamber for you, if you would please follow me," that said, the attendant turned neatly and walked through the largest door on the terrace.
Adamaï resettled his wings with a shrug of his shoulders and followed. The rooms and hallways beyond the door were filled with their usual decadence, as expected, but somehow things seemed more gloomy than before. He paused briefly to get a closer look, and noticed that there was a fine layer of dust coating the decor. So the palace was either moving resources away from the more superfluous tasks in favor of more essential ones, or they'd lost so much of their serving staff that cleaning constantly was out of the question. Strain from the plague was showing even here.
"And here we are," the attendant flung open a large pair of double doors, revealing a roomy bedchamber decorated in colors of deep blue and silver.
While the halls may have been left to the dust, this chamber certainly was not; every silver surface shone as if it had just been polished, and the drapes and fabric looked as dark and rich as the day they'd been dyed. Evidently Adamaï was such an important guest that he merited the use of such a well-kept room even in a time of crisis.
The heavy, mouthwatering scent of cooked meat and various vegetables and breads filled Adamaï's nose as he stepped through the door, and he noticed that the central table was cluttered with a multitude of dishes and drinks. It was more than enough to remind him of how hungry he felt after such a swift journey. The serving staff had even left the table without chairs in order to accommodate Adamaï's large size, and a few large cushions had been piled off to the side in case he required a more comfortable seat while he ate.
"We heard that dragons have large appetites, so we brought as much as we could fit on the table," the attendant stopped by the door as Adamaï continued past. "And if you require more we would be happy to accommodate you," she gave him another respectful bow as she spoke.
"Thank you," Admai gave the woman a nod of gratitude and settled himself on the other side of the table, where he would be facing the door. "Will Master Joris be coming soon?"
"He is in a meeting at the moment, but he will arrive as soon as he is able. Are you in need of anything else?"
"No, this is fine. Thank you," Adamaï replied.
The attendant gave Adamaï another bow and left, closing the doors behind herself.
Adamaï selected a large gobball leg and took a bite. It was expertly cooked, juicy and flavorful. They were really going all out, they must've thought he had some sort of good news to share, or some solution to help with the plague. He hoped Qilby's intellect would be enough, once he had the right resources.
His mind wandered back to the thought that had come to him earlier, while he was on the guard tower. Disgust started to creep back as he remembered it. It sounded so much like someone he knew, that kind of blatant disregard for life... The gobball leg drifted away from Adamaï's mouth when he realized who it was.
Qilby. It sounded like something Qilby would have done. He had been willing to ravage the World of Twelve for the sake of getting their people on the move again, without a single care for how many lives it took in the process. Goddess only knew how many budding civilizations Qilby must have wiped out for the sake of the journey, how many planets he'd left in ruins. The notion horrified him when Qilby first mentioned it, and it still horrified him now.
That was not the way they were going to operate, not anymore. Adamaï would see to it. They would save the peoples of the World of Twelve and find a way to coexist with them.
And he'd left that same world destroying monster alone with his brother. Adamaï let out a frustrated sigh and took another bite. He hoped Joris would be able to get what they needed quickly so he could get back home as soon as possible. Yugo was strong, it was true, but he was still so very... Soft, even after all these years and sometimes it worried Adamaï. He didn't want Yugo to be hurt for that.
The door opened, rousing Adamaï from his musings, and he looked up to find Master Joris standing in the doorway.
"Good evening, Highness Adamaï," Joris said with a respectful nod. "I hope everything is to your liking."
"Let's skip the niceties for now and get straight to why I'm here," Adamaï placed the gobball leg on an empty plate and focused his attention on Joris. "You asked us if there was any chance of our culture holding a solution to the Red Plague in your last letter, we think we might have it."
"You're sure?" Joris hurried up to the table, small legs moving in a blur from his speed. He was beside Adamaï almost in an instant, looking up at him expectantly. "What did you find?"
Adamaï tapped one foreclaw on a plate as he thought on how he wanted to phrase it. "We brought Qilby back to help," he said. There was no real delicate way to say it anyway, no sense in delaying things by dithering over it.
"You—What?" Joris took a step back, the shock showing even from under his hood. "Why? He almost destroyed the World of Twelve!"
"We've taken precautions to keep him from causing trouble again," Adamaï replied. He'd been expecting a reaction like this, it was only natural for Joris to be concerned after what Qilby did.
"How do you expect him to help, then?" the shock left Joris's face, but he remained on-edge from the news.
"He's brilliant," it almost hurt Adamaï to admit that. Qilby was smarter merely through age alone, and it was clear that he had the problem solving capability to back the memory and experience up when presented with a problem. "He's done research on and found cures for diseases before. If anyone can find a cure, it should be him."
"Still, this is a big risk," Joris said, still unconvinced. "I would like to see the precautions you're taking myself."
Adamaï nodded. "That's fine. We were hoping you would come back with me anyway."
As a general rule non-magical medicine was something to be laughed at by the majority of the World of Twelve's populace. They just didn't see the point. Why bother with mundane medicine when an Eniripsa could heal you with a mere wave of their brush? In a world overflowing with magic and power there was simply no need. Such studies were pursued only by eccentrics, the godless, or those with an odd sense of curiosity.
At least, that was how they used to see it. Change came fast on the heels of the Red Plague, bringing with it a desperate need for healers after so many Eniripsas had fallen to the disease. Suddenly mundane medicine and the "quacks" who studied it weren't so worthy of laughter anymore...
Joris crossed the length of Bonta at a sprint, leaving a small dust trail in his wake. No check point guard stopped him as he ran; they knew who he was, and they knew that he was out and about, being one of the few who were granted full freedom of movement after curfew. The Institute of Medical Science appeared between a pair of buildings ahead, its modest towers framed by the faded stars above. They would need accurate documentation of the disease, Adamaï had said, and Joris knew where the best place to find it would be. The Institute's doctors had always been meticulous in their documentation of health conditions and disease—something Joris had recognized and respected for a long time—and now their abilities would have to be put to the test.
The gates loomed up before him in the dimmed illumination of the street lamps. They were shut, since it was now well after normal visiting hours. Joris made his way to the smaller entrance just beside the gates and knocked.
A muffled clatter come from the other side of the door as someone undid the lock, and it opened to reveal a young Iop guard. He peered around the street a few times as he searched for the source of the knock, then looked down and nearly jumped out of his boots when he realized that Joris was standing before him. "Master Joris I'm so sor—"
"Don't worry about it," Joris cut him off before he could finish the hasty apology.
"Giran, be ready!" the sound of footsteps echoed beyond the door as someone toward them. "The palace says Master Joris will be—" the speaker, an older Iop this time, stopped as he spotted the open door and the guest standing just beyond it. "Good evening, Master Joris," the older Iop gave Joris a quick bow of respect as he spoke. "The dean will be waiting for you in his office."
"Thank you," Joris nodded and stepped through the doorway as the younger guard shuffled to one side. He kept to a walking pace until he reached the door that led to the campus grounds, at which point he resumed his sprint and darted across the grass toward the building that held the dean's office.
The doors to the dean's office were shut when Joris arrived, and there was no reply when he knocked. It seemed the dean was not yet in, nothing to do now but wait. He hopped onto a nearby chair and clasped his hands in his lap, doing his best to keep still and be patient.
A few urgent thoughts caught up now that he had a chance to sit still. They brought Qilby back! Qilby, of all people! That was the last thing Joris was expecting when he wrote that plea to Yugo. Qilby had appeared smart and knowledgeable enough when Joris last spoke with him, but the old Eliatrope was also a skilled liar. Just how much could he be trusted now? Surely he hadn't changed in the years since his reimprisonment. It wasn't as if he's learned his lesson after being imprisoned the first time.
And which twin made that choice? Surely it would be Yugo, he was the more empathetic of the two. Joris knew that the young king had always felt bad about what happened to Qilby. But why had Adamaï gone along with it? He was supposed to be the more level-headed, the more logical of the two. Stubborn as well—they both were—but Adamaï's say on the matter should have held a great deal of weight with Yugo because of what Qilby did to him.
"Master Joris, so sorry I wasn't able to get here soon enough," the light tenor voice came from just beside Joris, and he looked up to find just the man he was waiting for.
"Good evening, Dean Erik," Joris hopped down from the chair and waited for the dean to lead him into his office.
"I hope I find you in good health...?" the dean asked hesitantly, doing his best to get a look at Joris's face under the hood. The dean was a slim man of average height and lacking in any divine features that would mark him as a follower of one of the Twelve, which made him a bit boring to look at in comparison. Such was the case with many of the doctors at the Institute, though there were still a few curious followers spread here and there.
Joris nodded. "Still nothing, same as when I was let out of quarantine," he replied. Exposure to the Red Plague had been accidental, a result of Joris trying to give early aid to those who were suffering, and he had willingly gone into quarantine when the Institute advised it. Every human exposed at the same time he was had come down with the plague after just two days in quarantine; Joris had not, and after being kept isolated for a week had finally been given permission to leave. "I have not come into recent contact with anyone who was infected either."
"Good, good," the dean sounded a bit distracted as he turned to his office door and unlocked it. "It's not that I distrust the palace's policies, it's just that you can never be too careful, right?" he gave Joris a worried smile from over his shoulder and opened the doors.
"Of course," Joris gave the dean a nod of agreement and followed him inside. The dean's office was much as he remembered it, save for a few new decorations; the walls were completely obscured by book shelves, the desk tidy but still piled high with paperwork, and the furniture worn but well maintained.
"Now, what can I help you with, Master Joris?" the dean strode to the other side of his desk and took a seat. "The palace mentioned it was urgent but gave no other details."
"We have someone working on a potential cure for the Red Plague," Joris replied as he took a seat in one of the chairs placed before the dean's desk. He would have to be choosy about what he told the dean, there was no need to give the more sensitive details the opportunity to spread. "If we could have copies of the documentation you have on it and hire a few skilled assistants that would be most helpful, and we will be happy to compensate the Institute for any help given us."
The dean raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Someone who could cure it? Who? Are they in Bonta?"
"Not at the moment," Joris replied, shaking his head. "They will be operating from outside of Bonta for the time being."
Dean Erik gave a small half-cough of disbelief. "Are you sure that's wise, Master Joris?" he asked. "Surely this person would do better if they conducted their research here at the Institute, with all possible resources at their disposal."
"You have a point, and I will bring it up with my associates," Joris said with a nod of agreement. "But I'm not the only one making the decisions on this matter, so there are no guarantees."
"Very well," the dean sighed. "I already have two assistants in mind, and we should be able to have copies of our information on the Red Plague ready for you soon. When do you need them?"
"The sooner the better," Joris replied. "Being able to leave by morning would be ideal."
"Morning," Dean Erik pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes shut as he considered how much time he would need to get everything Joris required done. "We might be able to make that deadline." He got to his feet and gave Joris a respectful bow. "Would you mind returning around eight o' clock tomorrow morning? We will hopefully have everything ready by then."
"That's fine," Joris got to his feet as well. "Thank you for your help, Dean Erik. Be sure to send the bill up to the palace and we will see to it that the Institute is compensated in full for its aid."