Dragon si Chapter 4: 4, a 17776 fanfic

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The Ballad of a Semi-Benevolent Dragon

Thread starter SecretTwelve Start date Jan 24, 2024 Tags original fantasy dragon

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Threadmarks Chapter 28: The Dragons Meet Again

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SecretTwelve

Mar 5, 2024 Awarded 1

#416

Chapter 28: The Dragons Meet Again

Doomwing had worked hard to temper his wrath over the years. As a hatchling, he had sometimes been quick to anger, but he had also been quick to forgive. His parents and Mother Tree had all cautioned him against letting his temper rule him. He was clever and cunning, and allowing his anger to rule him would rob him of those gifts.

It had not always been easy. He could still remember snapping at his friend Stormtooth from time to time. She had never been the cleverest dragon, and she had been stubborn and foolish too. More than once, they had gotten into trouble, only for him to become wroth with her. But he had never stayed angry with her for long. They had been friends, and he had known he could rely on her when it really mattered.

Sometimes, he wondered what would have become of her if she'd survived the First Age.

The thought of seeing Dreamsong again stirred several emotions. There was a part of him that despised her weakness. Kagami had been her pupil, and she had viewed her as a daughter, but how could she sit back and do nothing at all in the face of Kagami's machinations? Doomwing had been forced to make many hard decisions in his life. How dare she refuse to do the same! He had almost died in a battle that would have been far less difficult if she had aided him.

Even now, the thought of his near death and how easily it could have been avoided made his blood burn like liquid fire in his veins. When had he ever abandoned his comrades when they had needed him? When had he ever forsaken those he had sworn to help? When he had first realised that she would not be helping them, his wrath had burned hot. The urge to rip and claw and kill until he was sated had been almost impossible to subdue. Only the knowledge that acting foolishly would get him killed had stayed his hand.

Yet there was also a part of him that sympathised. Dreamsong had been unable to raise her own hand against someone she considered family. It was a foolish decision, driven by emotion instead of logic, and Doomwing wanted to say that he could not understand it. But he could. And it was that understanding that had eventually cooled his wrath to a manageable level.

They had not spoken for more than a thousand years. Perhaps it was time to change that, but not here. No, his lair was full of all the treasures he had accumulated in his life, to say nothing of his recent acquisition of the phoenix egg. Should his rage get the better of him, he did not want to put it at risk. It was better they speak where momentary anger would not result in any great loss.

He took wing and soared out over the seemingly endless fields of rock, ash, and lava. He flew until he came upon a plain of razor rock, the jagged material glinting in the orange light of several rivers of lava. Below him, lizards skulked back and forth amongst the winding alleys of sharpened stone, the braver amongst them emerging to bask along the searing banks of molten streams. In the skies, wyverns and drakes flew, giving him a wide berth as they sought the safety of their roosts and nests.

For a moment, he was gripped by the urge to simply annihilate everything he could reach. But he was no weak-willed hatchling anymore. He was a primordial dragon, and he would not allow his temper to get the better of him. Besides, in the years to come, these creatures might be of use to him and those he ruled over. Slaying them all now would provide only monetary relief while bringing years of regret at squandering potentially valuable resources. Even so, he wanted to do something – anything – before speaking to Dreamsong.

"If you wish to live," Doomwing boomed, his voice carrying through the air like thunder. "Then leave this place."

There was a flurry of activity on the ground below him and in the skies around him. They did not question his words. They simply fled as quickly as they could, running, flying, crawling, and creeping until they were far away. He let them go, and his senses stretched out to determine if any of them had been foolish enough to remain.

None remained.

His lips curled. Yes. These creatures might be useful later. He had expected at least a few to be too stupid to leave. He'd even expected at least one to be stupid enough to challenge him. Instead, they had all taken his words to heart and had fled.

His golden eyes blazed, and he lashed out in all directions with a shockwave of pure telekinetic force. It crushed the ground beneath him, shattering the spires of volcanic stone and pulverising the maze of razor rock into gravel. In the skies, the shockwave parted the seemingly endless clouds of ash and smoke, leaving a column of clear air and open sky that stretched for miles around.

There was a certain joy to be had from wanton destruction, but he quickly clamped down on the urge to do more. He folded his wings and landed with an earth-shaking boom. His claws dug into the gravel, and he exerted his telekinesis again, turning the gravel into a fine powder that was carried away in great clouds as the air his telekinesis had shoved aside rushed back toward him.

Almost without thinking, his telekinesis shaped the clouds of debris into familiar shapes. It was tempting to continue putting aside their meeting, but he had delayed long enough. He knew Dreamsong better than most. If she had mustered the courage to seek him out, then rejecting her would simply lead to her retreating into seclusion again.

He reached out with his magic and examined the wards he had put over his territory. He had woven them into the earth and sky, anchoring them to the towering peaks that dotted the land and to the great reservoirs of magma that lurked below the surface. Gently, he manipulated the wards to loosen the defences in the area around him.

And then he sent a shockwave of his power rippling from the physical world into the dreaming lands. It was crude, but he had never been skilled in dream walking. However, Dreamsong would not be able to miss it, and she would see it for what it was. Not an attack, but an invitation to speak.

But would she accept it?

Dreamsong had not expected Frostfang to be as polite to her as he had been, but having hatchlings and taking a mate had seemingly mellowed his icy heart. She had come bearing gifts, which might have swayed him too, for her gifts had been chosen to aid the hatchlings in their growth. While she was not the wealthiest of her fellows in terms of material riches, her ability to crystallise memories and dreams was a gift that none of the others could match. She had given them memories and dreams made solid – techniques and experiences that would stand the hatchlings in good stead and save them years of toil.

Frostfang had always been thoughtful, and he had acknowledged that although he thought her actions foolish, there was no changing them now. He had been more interested in securing her assistance in the event of future conflicts and in making agreements to have her pass on additional useful techniques to the hatchlings when they were old and skilled enough to use them.

She had been relieved. Frostfang could be cold at times, but he was not one to bear a grudge if compensation was offered. Doomwing was another matter. The nova dragon could be almost as sentimental as her at times, which meant appeasing him would not be a simple matter of making promises and offering gifts.

It was a question of trust.

He had trusted her, and she had betrayed that trust.

She was fortunate that Ashheart had been asleep during the Sixth Age. Doomwing had been enraged by her refusal to fight, but he had not pushed the matter any further. Ashheart would not have taken her refusal so well. The tectonic dragon had little love for traitors, and only his inability to face her on even footing in the dreaming lands would have prevented him from dragging her into the battle by her tail.

She would need to speak to him later. If she was lucky, she would have Doomwing with her. Regardless of how Ashheart felt about her… lack of action, if Doomwing forgave her, then he would leave it at that. He trusted Doomwing's judgement although he would undoubtedly keep a closer eye on her, lest she abandon them in their hour of need again.

A sudden shockwave of power rippled through the dreaming lands, and she turned her attention to the disturbance. It was Doomwing. She could not possibly mistake his power for anyone else's. He had loosened the wards around part of his territory, making it possible for her to travel there from the dreaming lands.

Was it a trap?

No. If Doomwing wished to harm her, he would simply devise some ridiculous magic to blow up significant chunks of the dreaming lands without ever exposing himself to harm. It sounded impossible, but she had learned not to doubt the other dragon. He had a knack for accomplishing the impossible when it came to magic.

This was an invitation, and it was not one she could easily refuse.

"Will you go?" It was Hikari. She had come to discuss matters regarding Frostfang.

"Yes." Dreamsong uncoiled, scales gleaming a thousand different shades of purple as her power stirred in earnest. "If I do not show myself, I do not know when I will receive another invitation."

"It could be a trap."

"We both know it isn't. That's not the sort of person he is."

Hikari sighed. "Be careful. And flee back into the dreaming lands if it goes poorly." She paused. "Do you want me to go with you?" It went unspoken that she would be of little help in an actual fight, but she might provide a decent distraction should Dreamsong need to flee.

"No." Dreamsong shook her head. "This is… complicated enough already. I do not think your unexpected presence would help matters."

"I see." Hikari inclined her head. "Then be safe… and good luck."

Dreamsong let the currents of dream, desire, and fantasy sweep her away from the shadow of Mother Tree and into the fraying fabric of the border between waking and sleep. It would be easy for the inexperienced or unwary to be swept away, either thrown out into some random place in the physical world or else dragged ever deeper into the dreaming lands. But Dreamsong was neither inexperienced or unwary. She rode the currents and then bent them to her will, seeking the junction between her domain and the physical world that corresponded to Doomwing's location.

She arrived to find herself in clear skies. Some great force had driven back the endless clouds of ash and smoke that spanned the horizon, leaving only the open sky above her. Below, a great section of the twisted volcanic landscape had been crushed flat, nothing but fine powder remaining of what had once been a morass of jagged rock and soaring stone.

And waiting below her was Doomwing.

He was resplendent in the orange glow of a dozen molten rivers. His red scales were a deep, luminous ruby whilst his blue scales were a vivid, piercing sapphire. He was roughly a mile long, and although his form lacked the sheer size and bulk of Ashheart's, there was no mistaking the carefully controlled deadliness that lurked within.

Doomwing was renowned for his magic, but he had no reason to fear an opponent who closed in. He was swift, strong, decisive, and cunning, and his claws and teeth were as sharp as any dragon's. Even amongst their fellow primordial dragons, perhaps only Ashheart would not baulk at facing him in close combat. Doomwing might not be the strongest or the fastest, but he was no slouch in either area. Against an opponent who was stronger, he would turn the battle into a contest of speed. Against someone faster, he would make it a battle of strength.

His golden eyes narrowed as she landed, maintaining a respectful distance between them. She was all too aware now of the differences in their posture. He stood proudly, utterly confident in his power and ready and willing to give battle at a moment's notice although he had no intention of seeking it without reason. She, however, was coiled in on herself, not afraid, but wary. She made a conscious decision to adopt a more confident posture, and she saw the faintest glimmer of something in his gaze.

It was tempting to reach out with her telepathy, to find out what precisely that emotion was, but that would have been unbelievably rude. Instead, she contented herself with studying the injury he'd taken. It was almost completely healed now, with the remaining damage being mostly cosmetic in nature. To this day, she had no idea how Kagami had obtained a spear made of god-metal with functional divine runes upon it. And she had even less idea how Doomwing had not only survived the spear but also broken it and used its power to strike down Kagami.

"It has been a while," Doomwing rumbled.

"It… it has," Dreamsong replied. "Are you well?"

For a long moment, he stared at her. "Am I well? A strange question coming from you."

The words stung, but there was truth in them. "I would like to apologise."

"Is it forgiveness you seek?" Doomwing asked. "When you refused to aid us against Kagami, there was a part of me that hated you, that wanted little more than to tear you limb from limb. That part of me was very loud indeed when I got stabbed by that spear of hers."

Dreamsong barely managed to keep from flinching. "I understand."

"But another part of me understood your decision. She was your daughter… your family in all but blood."

"She was," Dreamsong said, and she hated how heavy the grief in her voice was despite the thousand years that had passed. "But that was no excuse. I should have acted."

"Yes, you should have." Doomwing's voice was flat, but his gaze burned. "Even so… I understood why you could not act even if I could never make the same choice as you."

Despite the situation, she couldn't help but wonder what he meant. "What do you mean?"

"To kill someone you love is not an easy thing. It is a weight as heavy as the world," Doomwing said. "I too have faced that choice, and there will always be a part of me that wishes I could have made the same choice as you – as foolish and pointless as it would have been."

Was this about Mother Tree? Dreamsong knew he and Mother Tree had been close. Of all the dragons of the Second Age, perhaps none had known her better than Doomwing. That was why he had led the battle against her and had devised the strategy that had eventually laid her low.

No… this could not be about just Mother Tree. There had to be more.

"Did I ever tell you how I achieved my Second Awakening?" Doomwing asked.

She shook her head. "No. You've spoken of your other Awakenings, but never that one. It seemed odd, but…" Awakenings were generally considered private affairs. It was rude to ask about them unless invited. Doomwing had occasionally mentioned his other Awakenings, but not once had he ever mentioned his Second Awakening to her. She had asked Dawnscale about it once, in the days before the other dragon had left. She had simply shaken her head and warned Dreamsong to never ask about it if she valued her friendship with Doomwing.

And now, he was speaking of it.

"I remember the day my parents died," Doomwing said. "It was the day we dragons went to war against the Broken God." He stared into the distance, at a time and place that now only existed in fleeting dreams and fading memories. "They told me to hide, to find somewhere safe should the worst occur. I promised them I would, but I followed them in secret." He chuckled mirthlessly. "I had already experienced my First Awakening, and I could not believe that anything could stand against us dragons when we gathered all our might."

Doomwing's eyes shone. "It was beautiful, Dreamsong. It was so beautiful. The skies were filled with dragons, so many you could not count them all. From horizon to horizon, as far as my eyes could see, in whatever direction I cared to look, there were dragons. Scales of every shade and colour, wings of every size and shape. It was the most splendid thing I had ever seen, and my heart swelled when I saw my parents. They were a part of it. They were there amidst all the others."

Dreamsong had not been there that day. She had not seen that sight. She had not yet experienced her First Awakening, so she had hidden as her parents asked, huddling in a cave in a mountain range far from the fighting. Her parents had left her with plenty of food and several treasures to help her grow, and they had nudged her with their snouts and then left. She had never seen them again.

"The greatest of our number were there too," Doomwing said. "The oldest and mightiest of our kind, dragons who had been crafted by the Seven Gods themselves. I wanted to be just like them." His voice did not shake, but his claws curled into fists. "At the head of them all was Sovereign Flame. He was like a star shining in the sky, his flames so bright and hot that I could not believe he could lose. And alongside him were Tempest Claw, Paradox Fang, Night Storm, and so many others…"

Doomwing took a deep breath. "It was so beautiful, and when I saw the Seven Gods marching into battle in the distance, I knew we would be victorious, for who could stand against so many and prevail?"

Dreamsong knew who could. They all knew.

"Even when I saw the Broken God, I could not believe that we could lose." Doomwing's voice came out in a hiss. "He was a wretched thing, an abomination of corrupted god-metal whose mere presence was wrong in a way that words cannot describe. He loomed in the distance, as large as the Seven Gods, and the very world recoiled from his presence." He took a deep, deep breath. "I remember seeing him throw the Seven Gods aside… and then I remember the flash of un-light that followed, a radiance that corrupted instead of cleansed, that consumed instead of revealing. And then I remember falling and burning…" He stared down at his claws. "I never thought a dragon could burn until that moment. But I burned, and so did all the dragons around me. They burned, and they fell like dying leaves in an autumn wind, and all that beauty, all that glory… all of it was gone, cast aside as easily as you or I might cast aside a pebble."

Doomwing shook his head as if to clear away the memories. "When I woke up, I was dying. I knew it as surely as I knew my own name. All around me were dead and dying dragons. You cannot… imagine what it was like. The dead lay sprawled about in great heaps, their scales broken, their forms mangled. The dying cried out for help or mercy or death. I cried out too. I cried out for my parents, for Mother Tree, for my friends… but they were not there."

Dreamsong was silent. What could she say to that? She had felt the moment the Broken God had attacked, for it had shaken the very mountains around her despite the great distance between them and the battlefield. And by the time she had emerged from her cave, little had remained of those dead dragons. Their bodies had been utterly destroyed in the increasingly destructive battle between the Broken God and the First Gods.

But Doomwing had seen their bodies. He had been there amongst them.

"I don't know why, but I knew I had to seek out my parents. I couldn't fly. My wings were broken. Instead, I crawled. With broken limbs and shattered claws, I crawled. It wasn't far. The distance was perhaps several times the length I am now. It felt like forever to me. And on a hillside, I found them."

Flame kindled in Doomwing's jaws. "I dragged myself to them. They were still alive, Dreamsong. Somehow, they were still alive. When they saw me, they wept. I had never seen them weep before. They had thought me safe, and there I was, dying alongside them." He stared up at the sky and the twinkling stars overhead. "I remember thinking that it wouldn't be so bad to die beside them, that at least, I wouldn't die alone. I… I didn't want to die alone, surrounded by strangers. If I was going to die, I wanted it to be with people I cared about. And I was dying, Dreamsong. That attack… it had ruined all of the channels that carry magic through my body, along with most of my bones and internal organs. I still don't know how I managed to reach my parents, but I did."

His voice was cold. He could have been talking about the weather. But his eyes. He did not weep, but there was sorrow in them deeper than she had ever seen before.

"But my father… he didn't want me to die, and neither did my mother. So they asked me a question. They asked me how close I was to my Second Awakening." Doomwing's jaw clenched. "I told them that it didn't matter, but they insisted. Do you know why?"

Dreamsong nodded slowly. "A Second Awakening would have been able to heal your injuries."

"Yes," Doomwing said. "And my parents knew that. But I wasn't very close to my Second Awakening. It hadn't been all that long since my First Awakening. But they wanted me to live, and so they asked me to do something for them."

Dreamsong felt a shiver run through her. She had an inkling, a vague suspicion, but she dared not voice it. "What did they ask you to do?"

"Did you know that a dragon's heart contains an absolutely massive amount of power?" Doomwing said. "But cannibalism is rarely practiced since a heart unwillingly taken will rebel against whoever takes it. There are ways around that, of course, magics and rituals that can be carried out. But I didn't know any of them and neither did my parents. However, a heart willingly given… well… that's another story, and a far, far rarer one."

Dreamsong wanted to wretch.

"No dragon would ever give up their heart to another. Why would they? It would mean death, and no dragon wishes to die. But my parents were already dying, and so was I. My father and mother had both experienced their Second Awakenings. They were strong, or so I thought. They asked me to take their hearts, to use their power and achieve my own Second Awakening. They wanted me to live, Dreamsong, even at the cost of their own lives."

Doomwing dragged in a deep, deep breath. "The strictly logical part of me knows that they made the only reasonable choice. We were all dying. All three of us. There was no way they could save themselves, but they could still save me if they gave me their hearts. There was no guarantee that I would achieve my Second Awakening, but better probable death than certain death." Doomwing chuckled softly. "I was so stupid. I couldn't understand what they were saying or why. My father had to explain it to me. He talked about it like it was the most normal thing in the world, like the three of us weren't just… dying there."

Doomwing stared down at his claws. "But you know… he and my mother were too badly injured to tear out their own hearts, so he asked me to do it instead." He stared at her. "My own father asked me to tear out his heart and eat it before doing the same to my mother. Do you know what it was like to hear him say that?"

Dreamsong was silent. What could she even say to that?

"I wanted to say no. I wanted to say that I was happy to die beside them. But I wanted to live. I wanted to live because if I died, who would avenge them?" Doomwing roared. "They were my parents! I loved them! I thought they were the greatest dragons in the world! And there they were, dying on some nameless hillside. I could have borne it if they had fallen in a battle worthy of story and song, in honourable combat with their teeth and claws stained with the blood of the enemy, their fire scorching the armour of their foes! But to die like that? To be cut down like sheep by a foe who didn't even know their names? Unbearable! It was unbearable! They were Flareroar and Riftclaw! Their names should have been known throughout the world. Instead, they were dying, and the one who'd killed them hadn't even spared them a glance!"

Doomwing snarled. "I did as my father asked. With what remained of my strength, I tore his heart from his chest and ate it. He died screaming, and my mother praised me for being able to do it. And then I tore her heart from her chest and ate it too, and she died screaming just like he did. The last thing either of them ever felt was my claws tearing them apart!" His snarl turned into another roar. "They gave me their hearts, and it was their power, what little of it that remained, that allowed me to reach my Second Awakening. I was healed, and they were dead, and the Broken God was still alive. That was the first time I knew what real hate was."

Dreamsong shuddered. She wanted to comfort him, to tell him that he had done what was necessary, that his parents had asked him to do it. But the words were like ashes in her mouth, and she could not speak them, not with the rage and sorrow in his gaze.

"I wanted to join the battle again, but I knew that if I did, I would die. And my parents had wanted me to live. My vengeance would have to wait until I had the strength to take it. Instead, I looked for others who might have survived. I remember Stormtooth had told me she would be fighting. She had been so proud, so ready to do her part against the Broken God. I found her. She was already dead. Her scales were turned to dust, her flesh to ash, and only her bones remained. But I recognised her by her teeth. She had always been so proud of them. She was my best friend, and all that was left of her were her bones." Doomwing shook his head. "She had been closer to the Broken God, you see, so his power had struck her even more heavily than it had hit me or my parents."

"But not everyone was dead," Doomwing said. "I helped those I could, and I wondered why I hadn't learned more healing magic. But there was little I could do for them. I think… I think I must have tried to help several hundred of them. Only a handful survived. And then the Broken God fell. I saw it in the distance. It cost the First Gods their lives, but he fell."

"Doomwing…" she finally managed to speak, but it took all she had to simply speak his name.

"It was Mother Tree who comforted me afterward. It was her boughs that held me, her words that soothed me, her presence that made me believe we could rebuild. But you know how that ended." Doomwing exhaled, weary. "So believe me when I say that I understand what it is like to have to kill what someone you love. You were faced with that choice, and you could not bring yourself to do it. I did. And there will always be a part of me that wishes I had not been able to do it, that I had been able to die alongside my parents instead of killing them with my own claws. It was necessary. It was the only way. It was something they asked of me. But that does not change what happened. It only explains it."

His gaze drifted to her once more. "Do not ask for my forgiveness. It means little in the end. Instead, do better. I live now because others were willing to die for me. I cannot – will not – allow their sacrifices to have been in vain. My parents loved this world. They died trying to defend it. If I must die doing the same, then so be it. I have made my choice, and I will stand by it to the end – whatever that end may be. You made your choice, now all you can do is live with the consequences. You spared Kagami, and it cost many their lives. If you cannot bear to be confronted with that choice again, then make sure it never happens again. Save as many lives as she took."

"…" Dreamsong took a deep breath of her own. "Hikari is planning to bring the kitsune back into the world."

Doomwing's eyes blazed. "And is she like her mother?"

"No," Dreamasong replied. "She is better. She carries her father's dreams of peace and prosperity but with none of the madness that consumed her mother. She and the kitsune will come with open hands, seeking friendship and cooperation. They will come as equals, not as conquerors or rulers."

"Then you have already begun to atone for your mistake." Doomwing peered at her. "The guilt never truly goes away, but in time it grows dull, and there are days when it is almost gone. Your guilt comes from being unable to do what must be done whilst mine comes from doing what had to be done. Others may hold your mercy against you, and there is a part of me that does too. Yet the young dragon in me, the foolish, naïve hatchling who thought his parents were the greatest dragons in the whole world will not fault you for your choice. That dragon would have preferred to die beside his parents rather than use their deaths to survive. That dragon would not have been able to strike down Kagami either. Mercy… mercy is not always a bad thing."

"So what now?" Dreamsong asked.

"We move on," Doomwing said. "I am trusting you when it comes to Hikari and the kitsune. I was wrong to trust you with Kagami. I hope that I am not wrong again."

"You won't be," Dreamsong said. She paused, uncertain if she should speak her next words. In the end, she decided to say them and risk his wrath, if only because it might provide him comfort too. "You know, when you used to come to the dreaming lands, there were two shadows that always followed you. I did not recognise them at the time, but…"

"I know who they are," Doomwing said. Fondness filled his words. "My parents were stubborn fools, right up until the end. It is not surprising that their wills should linger even this long after their deaths." He turned away. "We have spoken long enough. You should go."

It was a dismissal, plain and simple, and it stung. But as she too turned to leave, he spoke again.

"I have business to attend to, but we will speak again when it is concluded. Bring Hikari next time." He paused. "And do not seek out Ashheart on your own. If you must speak with him, come to me first."

Author's Notes

There is a reason Doomwing is the way he is.

Last edited: Mar 30, 2024

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SecretTwelve

Mar 5, 2024

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Threadmarks Chapter 29: The Dragon Educates

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SecretTwelve

Mar 6, 2024

#441

Chapter 29: The Dragon Educates

Ashheart quite enjoyed the sensation of flying even if he had never been as good at it as some of his peers. His flight had always possessed a workmanlike quality whereas Dawnscale had flown as if the winds themselves were with her. Nevertheless, he was no slouch in the air, and he knew how to leverage his strength and size to either cripple his opponents in a single blow or drive them to the ground where he was almost guaranteed to have the advantage.

But now was the not the time for such thoughts. Now, he was sharing the skies with Diamondfang and Adamantheart, and a feast awaited them. It had been many, many years since he had tasted fresh fish, whale, kraken, or leviathan. Being encased in the mountain had saved his life, and the great currents of magic that had been bent to nourish his wounded form had not only healed his injuries but also added to his power. But although magic could substitute for food in many ways, it could not fill his belly or please his palate. Food – preferably fresh food – was required for that.

"Will there be other dragons there?" Ashheart asked. "If food is as plentiful as you say, it would not surprise me if there were."

Diamondfang banked toward him. "Yes. The great migrations of whales are also accompanied by vast numbers of fish. The abundance of prey also lures leviathans and krakens from the depths, along with sea serpents and other predators. There is something there for dragons of every size and age."

Adamantheart nodded. "We have friends who come at least once every few years. Some are of an age with mother whilst others are closer to my age."

"Are there squabbles?" Ashheart asked. He did not much care for the squabbles that often occurred when dragons had to share space. He would prefer to enjoy his meal with Diamondfang and Adamantheart in peace. Of course, he was a primordial dragon. If he wanted peace, he doubted that any of the other dragons would gainsay him. And if they did, he would be happy to teach them a lesson.

"Every now and then," Adamantheart said. "But nothing too serious although…"

Ashheart's eyes narrowed. That pause was suspicious. "Speak freely."

"As of late, there has been trouble. A dragon named Tideweaver has been making trouble. He recently achieved his Fourth Awakening, and he has been throwing his weight around ever since. There are rules about how much can be taken from the sea, and he has tried to encourage others to flout them."

"Rules?" Ashheart tried to remember who Tideweaver was. The name was vaguely familiar. He had certainly heard it before. He could try using memory magic, but his memory magic was adequate at best. It might be better to ask them instead. "What kind of rules?"

"During the early Sixth Age, too much was taken from the sea," Diamondfang explained. "And each year there were fewer and fewer fish, whales, and other prey. Doomwing created rules governing how much could be taken from the sea and what sort of animals could be slain."

"Oh?"

"Amongst whales, for example, no mothers or calves are to be taken. It took a few centuries, but the seas were soon as full of prey as they had ever been. Since then, all have followed the rules, and there is more to prey upon each year as a result. However, some, like Tideweaver, wish to flout the rules and gorge themselves once more, claiming that prey is now so plentiful that the rules no longer apply."

"Hmm…" It reminded Ashheart of something Mother Tree had once explained to him when he had been only a hatchling. Dragons were voracious eaters. More than once, they had almost wiped out entire species with their appetites, only stopping when Mother Tree herself or the First Gods had exerted their powers. Mothers with young were often the easiest prey to catch, but killing them would only ensure that there were fewer to eat in the future. Doomwing must have remembered her lessons and put them into practice. "What of this Tideweaver? Who is he?"

"He is the son of Fathombinder, which has only heightened his arrogance. Since Doomwing entered seclusion after the Sixth Catastrophe, he has grown increasingly arrogant, and he has invoked his father's name more than once to cow others into submission. It was not so bad before he achieved his Fourth Awakening. I was able to drive him off on more than one occasion. However, with his Fourth Awakening, I can no longer fight him on even footing," Diamondfang said.

"That is understandable." From what he remembered, Diamondfang was a vicious and tenacious fighter. Dragons of her lineage were relatively quick but also incredibly durable. She had preferred to close in, ripping and tearing at her foes, weakening them with wound after wound until they could no longer resist. Her swiftness made her difficult to hit, and her toughness allowed her to withstand the blows that did manage to connect. However, she had only undergone her Third Awakening. Against a dragon who had achieved their Fourth Awakening, it would be difficult for her to win. "So… he is one of Fathombinder's get?"

Fathombinder was another primordial dragon – an oceanic dragon who had done much to help them in the battle against the Lord of the Tides. Ashheart had not dealt with him much, for they were two very different types of dragons, but he remembered Fathombinder as being a reliable dragon, one given to cold fury and unwavering resolve. If what Adamantheart said of Tideweaver was true, then the whelp must have grown arrogant and proud, secure in the knowledge that his father would aid him if things took a turn for the worst.

Yes. He could remember Tideweaver now. Doomwing had mentioned him in passing during the Fifth Age, saying the whelp had advanced quickly through his Awakenings although he had wondered if Fathombinder was coddling him. It was true that coddling could only do so much – especially for a Fourth Awakening – but it would be foolish to underestimate the resources at a primordial dragon's command.

At the very least, Fathombinder could ensure that his son had the best places to gather power, as well as access to all manner of rare and exotic materials to ease his Awakening. It might seem indulgent, but Ashheart could not blame the other dragon for doing what he could to aid his son. However, if Tideweaver wished to play the part of a fool, then Ashheart would be happy to educate him. It could even be considered a mercy, for Doomwing would be far less gentle when he learned that someone was trying to flout his rules.

Doomwing had always been fond of rules.

"Yes." Diamondfang scowled, and her opalescent eyes narrowed into slits. "He has even approached me."

Ashheart's molten heart crackled, and the volcanic glow emanating from between his scales blazed. "In what way?"

"He wishes to take me for his mate," she said. "Saying that he doubts you will ever awaken."

"Hah!" Ashheart threw his head back and laughed. "The whelp has courage, for all that he is foolish. But courage alone is not enough, and a fool is still a fool. Let me deal with him."

Tideweaver flared his wings and preened. The dragons who had gathered to partake in the rich bounty of the sea all regarded him warily, as well they should. He had achieved his Fourth Awakening, and he was an oceanic dragon. The waters of the world harkened to his call, and with the sea at his back, he was all but invincible.

It would not be long before Diamondfang and her son arrived. The boy was brave and hardy – no match at all for Tideweaver but still worthy of respect. But his true interest lay in Diamondfang. The female dragon was magnificent with her gleaming scales and lithe, sinuous frame. It was as if she was wrought of gemstones. Every movement made her shine with myriad mineral lights, and it was clear from her son that she was more than capable of birthing strong hatchlings.

Tideweaver wanted her, but she had stubbornly refused his advances. And for what? A dragon who lay silent and all but dead in a mountain? Bah! Ashheart might have been a primordial dragon, but what good was he? He had not stirred even once during the Sixth Age, and even if he did emerge from that mountain of his, he was likely to be weak and frail after so long slumbering.

He had pushed his suit again after achieving his Fourth Awakening, but she had again rebuffed him. She had even invoked Doomwing's name as if that slumbering fool had any say in the world. True, Doomwing had been mighty, but he had been wounded almost to his death by the Sixth Catastrophe. He had retreated to his lair and had only been seen once a century.

His father had cautioned him to be careful, but Tideweaver was confident. He was strong and would only get stronger. It was only a matter of time before Diamondfang acknowledged his worth and accepted his suit. They would have many strong hatchlings, and he would even help Adamantheart continue to advance. After all, the younger dragon was her hatchling, and he clearly had potential. It would be foolish not to win him over too.

He was about to dive into the water to seek out his first whale of the day when he felt a maelstrom of power approaching. He was not the only one who felt it either. The lesser dragons around him looked about furtively, unsure of whether they should flee or seek his protection. He took a deep breath then unleashed a long, bellowing cry.

He was Tideweaver! He was an oceanic dragon! He feared no one!

The roar that answered him sent a shiver through his body, as an emotion he had thought he had left behind after his Fourth Awakening filled him.

Fear. Primal, instinctive fear.

For the roar that had answered him was less a peal of thunder and more a thunderstorm in full. It shook the sky, and the seas behind him trembled before it. He looked to the south. Was that… a cloud of ash?

No. It was not just a cloud of ash. It was a dragon, the largest dragon he had ever seen. Like a living volcano, the dragon seemed to fill the entire sky, and a vast cloud of molten ash and smoke followed in his wake, like a fiery thunderhead ripped straight from the burning heart of the earth.

Power, the likes of which he had only ever felt in the presence of his father, filled the air, and he realised, at last, who was flying toward him.

World-Shaker.

Mountain-Breaker.

Earth-Binder.

Lava-Caller.

Volcano-Bringer.

Ashheart, the largest of all living dragons. Swallowing thickly, Tideweaver realised that the older dragon's slumber had not left him frail or weak. On the contrary, he was bursting with vitality and might. This was the dragon his father had spoken of as the strongest and most durable, the dragon who had shrugged off blows that would have killed other primordial dragons with little more than a laugh and a bloody smile.

The other dragons scattered as Ashheart approached until he was only a mile away. He stayed in the air, his massive body kept aloft by the steady beating of titanic wings. Baleful orange light shone from within his scales, and his twisted, jagged scales shone from within as if lit by currents of lava. Vast coils of rippling muscle shifted beneath his scales, and his very presence exuded unmatched physical power. But worst of all were those eyes. It was like staring into the heart of the world.

And those eyes… they looked at him, at Tideweaver who had achieved his Fourth Awakening, and they dismissed him as a threat.

Tideweaver's blood boiled. He was no whelp! He had achieved his Fourth Awakening! His father had helped, yes, but he had worked hard! He had trained until his bones broke and his body bled! He had honed every aspect of his being until nothing could be found wanting! He had searched far and wide for the things he needed that his father could not provide, and he had fought monsters of great power to acquire them!

He was an oceanic dragon now, the same kind of dragon as his father. He would not be looked down upon!

"So… you are Tideweaver," Ashheart drawled. "You are as small as I remember."

Tideweaver's jaw clenched, and the waters behind him began to writhe as his magic surged to life. He was smaller than Ashheart, but so was every other dragon. Even his father could not match Ashheart in size. But Tideweaver was no hatchling, no puny, stunted dragon. He was three quarters of a mile long!

"You must be Ashheart," Tideweaver replied. "They say you are a great warrior. Perhaps you could demonstrate your skills."

Ashheart smiled. It sent another shiver down Tideweaver's spine. "Gladly. I wonder, though, are you the warrior your father is?"

Tideweaver's claws dug into the sand beneath him, and his wings tensed. Ashheart was twice his size, but he was clearly not the most gifted flier. He could try to whittle him down by using his greater speed and agility in the air to gradually weaken him, but that was a strategy fraught with peril. A single blow from the larger dragon might be enough to end the fight.

No.

He had the sea at his back, and he was an oceanic dragon. Ashheart was a tectonic dragon. He would be weaker in the water.

Yes.

Tideweaver would use the environment to his advantage. Ashheart was said to have a heart that burned with all the heat of the molten centre of the world, but not even such heat could withstand the quenching depths of the ocean.

Above him, Ashheart waited, as if daring him to make the first attack. Very well. He would use his arrogance against him. He would drag him into the depths and prove his strength by defeating him!

Tideweaver roared, and the sea erupted. Runes of water, binding, and trapping flared to life, and the sea itself rose up like a gigantic claw, seizing Ashheart and dragging him out of the air and away from the shore. Bellowing his fury, Tideweaver followed, pouring more and more power into the attack as the raging torrent drove Ashheart deep beneath the surface, shoving him away from the continental shelf and into the endless darkness of the deep.

Was this all the power a primordial dragon possessed?

Hah!

Ashheart must have been putting on a brave front while actually being far weaker than he appeared. It was his own fault for bluffing. Did he truly think that Tideweaver was a coward who would run from a fight? Never! Now, Tideweaver would seize victory. The glory of defeating a primordial dragon would be his! He was no fool, so he would not slay Ashheart. Instead, he would extract promises of wealth from him. His hoard was bound to have priceless treasures within it, and they would all be Tideweaver's! Once Ashheart was defeated, Diamondfang would come to her senses. He would not have to seek her out. No. She would seek him out!

"A fine strike," Ashheart rumbled as they descended into the depths. He slammed into the sea floor with enough force to carve out a crater several miles wide. "You struck swiftly and without hesitation, using what was likely your strongest attack. You also dragged me into the ocean where you thought you would have the advantage. Even now, I can feel your power in the waters around me. The pressure here is tremendous, and your power has amplified it thousands of times over. Your father must have trained you well, and you must have worked hard to reach this level. However…"

The pitch-black of the fathomless deep gave way to volcanic orange. Stifling, mind-boggling heat began to emanate from Ashheart, so intense that Tideweaver was forced to retreat. He, a dragon, was forced to retreat in the face of heat! Impossible!

"I am Ashheart," the primordial dragon growled. The water around him boiled and was blasted away by a sudden eruption of searing ash. He was shining almost like a star, his scales gleaming like fresh lava as the entire ocean trembled, the sheer force of the boiling water and burning ash clearing away the ocean and leaving a broad column bereft of water that stretched all the way back up to the surface. "I was the one who wrestled the Lord of the Tides. He tried to drown me, and he failed. Compared to him, you are nothing."

Tideweaver tried to flee, but he was too slow. Ashheart launched himself upward, and the impact when the larger dragon hit him transformed his entire world into pain. He bit and clawed frantically, and he called upon every spell and rune he could think of. Water spewed from his mouth, only to instantly boil into steam before the raw heat blazing from Ashheart.

And then they were out of the water, and he was slammed into the beach. Dimly, he was aware of Ashheart looking down at him with those eyes, those eyes that had never once seen him as a threat. He wanted to roar, to rage, to get back up and fight, but his body refused to obey. How was this possible? He had achieved his Fourth Awakening! Ashheart was older than him, yes, but could the difference truly be this large? Impossible!

Somehow, he forced himself up onto his haunches. He did not know how many of his bones were broken. It had to be most of them. He could barely even open his jaws. Yet still, his pride and his desire to prove himself drove him to stay on his feet. This was no longer about Diamondfang or anything else. All that mattered was changing the look in those eyes. Just once, he wanted to see those eyes acknowledge him as a threat. Just once, he wanted this primordial dragon to consider him an equal!

He roared and then lumbered forward, all of his remaining strength thrown into a single blow – only to be batted aside with a flick of Ashheart's tail. He crashed to the ground in a heap and darkness closed in.

Ashheart watched the younger dragon collapse to the ground unconscious. "He wasn't half bad," he rumbled as Diamondfang and Adamantheart came forward.

The female dragon tilted her head to the side. "Is that so?"

"His attack was worthy of a dragon who had achieved their Fourth Awakening. It would certainly have felled its fair share of dragons at that level. However much help Fathombinder has given him, he has clearly worked hard to make the most of it."

"Were you in any danger?" Adamantheart asked.

Ashheart chuckled. "No. He never stood a chance. I simply wished to see what sort of attack he would use. He chose well, but the difference between us is simply too great." His gaze drifted to the horizon where another oceanic dragon was approaching. It was Fathombinder.

The other primordial dragon soon arrived. "Ashheart."

"Fathombinder."

The oceanic dragon's scales shimmered, a captivating mix of cerulean, sapphire, azure, and the darker shades of blue nearing black that could only be found in the depths of the oceans and seas of the world. "My son appears to have acquired some injuries."

"A challenge between two dragons," Ashheart replied. "Nothing more."

"Is that so?" Fathombinder's magic reached out, probing his son's injuries. "Hmm… nothing a bit of healing magic won't fix." He bared his teeth. "I had warned him about pursuing your mate, but the boy is too stubborn for his own good. His Fourth Awakening went well, and it has made him a tad…"

"Arrogant?" Ashheart asked.

"Yes. But such arrogance is not uncommon for those whose Fourth Awakening goes so smoothly. This fight should serve as a stern reminder that he still has a long way to go, that his Fourth Awakening is not the end of his journey, merely the beginning."

"He fought well," Ashheart said. "He struck swiftly and without hesitation, and he took full advantage of his surroundings. A lesser dragon than myself might easily have fallen before him. You should be proud."

"I am." Fathombinder began to cast healing magic. "His mother will not be pleased that I allowed this to occur, but such defeats will do much to further his growth." He inclined his head. "You have my thanks, Ashheart, and I am glad to see you well."

"It is good to see you too, Fathombinder." He gestured vaguely at the beach. The other dragons had returned, no doubt sensing the end of hostilities. "Will you be eating anything? There is supposed to be plenty of good prey here."

"Another time," Fathombinder replied. "I will take my son and go."

"Until then," Ashheart replied.

Fathombinder left, carrying Tideweaver in his claws. Ashheart watched them go. The whelp had acquitted himself well, for all that he had been defeated. He was young and foolish, but time would change that. From what Diamondfang had told him, Tideweaver had never pushed his suit too far. Instead, each attempt had been accompanied by displays of strength and power as he sought to convince her that he was a fine choice for a mate. He had been persistent, yes, but he had accepted each rejection, waiting another decade or two before trying again. Had he overstepped himself, then Ashheart would have been far less merciful.

"Well…" Ashheart said, turning back to his mate and his son. "Shall we go get something to eat?"

Author's Notes

This is the difference between a primordial dragon and a dragon who has recently achieved their Fourth Awakening. It is a cavernous difference. Remember, the older a dragon is, the stronger they become. Since Ashheart has been at the final stage of his lineage for Ages, his power has grown to absurd proportions.

Tideweaver's approach was correct. A normal tectonic dragon would have been at a steep disadvantage against an oceanic dragon in the depths of the ocean. However, Ashheart is not a normal tectonic dragon. If he had been fighting Fathombinder, Ashheart would not have given him a freebie hit, and one of the first things he would have done is to use lava and his own searing heat to boil away as much of the nearby ocean as possible.

That said, Tideweaver is actually lucky it was Ashheart. Doomwing would have taken an extremely dim view of some newly Awakened oceanic dragon flouting his rules. Doomwing's telekinesis and magic are strong enough to no-sell Tideweaver's hydrokinesis. Doomwing could have simply stopped the water from moving before taking control of it and beating Tideweaver over the head with the sea just to make it abundantly clear that messing with his rules is an awful, awful idea.

Meanwhile, Fathombinder is just happy his son got his ass kicked. Overwhelming arrogance is a common defect in those who have experienced a smooth Fourth Awakening due to the sense of incredible power it provides. However, it usually recedes once they get beaten up a bit to remind them that, no, they are not actually invincible. He would have done it himself, but both he and his mate dote on Tideweaver since he is the only hatchling they've managed to have although there are signs that they will be having another one soon.

The other dragons are just glad they can go back to hunting in peace although the more adventurous ones are sure to approach Ashheart for advice.

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SecretTwelve

Mar 6, 2024

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Threadmarks Chapter 30: The Dragon Knows Magic

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SecretTwelve

Mar 7, 2024

#473

Chapter 30: The Dragon Knows Magic

Having spoken to Dreamsong, Doomwing was eager to find something else to occupy himself, lest he dwell on their meeting more than was wise. His mind was perhaps his greatest asset, but over-analysis of what was, ultimately, a mostly emotional matter would not do him any good. Emotions were not like spells or runes. They did not adhere to strict sets of rules or laws. He would simply have to wait and see.

But what to work on?

Two projects came to mind.

The first was communication. His mirror was an incredibly powerful device, and its communicative abilities were unmatched. However, it was not something he could simply lug around, and he could hardly mass produce it either. What he needed was something that could be carried around easily and which could be shared with the various leaders and individuals he might wish to speak to on a regular basis.

Yes, he could use his own magic to contact them, but if he wanted his empire to function properly, then his subordinates needed a way to contact him. One possibility was to provide them with single-use spell crystals that contained communication spells. With his raw power and alchemy, it would not be hard to produce vast quantities of those. However, the sheer… wastefulness of the approach rankled him.

What he wanted was something that could be used repeatedly without having to be replaced. Ideally, he would never have to replace it. Moreover, it had to be operable by people with miniscule reserves of magic. It also had to be able to reach across long distances and provide reliable audio-visual communication.

With all those constraints in mind, the solution was actually fairly obvious. He needed to craft spell-stones, similar to those used by the dwarves of the Third Age, except instead of containing spells to manipulate gravity and generate force, they would have to hold communication spells. Since he could not rely on his subordinates to generate the magic required themselves, there needed to be a system in place to allow the spell-stones to absorb ambient magic from their surroundings.

It would also be much better if the communication-stones – as he had decided to call them – were small enough to be transported by a human or dwarf while still being durable enough to withstand rough treatment. Yes, he could easily shove a large communication-stone in a tower somewhere, but what would his subordinates do if they needed to show him something away from the tower?

A spell-stone was essentially an alchemical construct that could 'crystallise' spells. These crystallised spells could then be operated by running magic through the spell-stone. Creating a spell-stone for a sky ship was an arduous affair that required multiple dwarf craftsmen working in tandem, often for days or even weeks a time, depending on the size and power of the spell-stone.

Doomwing had far more magic than any dwarf and had far better control of his too. He was also far better versed in alchemy than the dwarves of the Third Age. The issue was that communication spells were not only more delicate than the spells used by sky ships to fly but they were also incredibly power hungry, depending on how far they needed to reach and what sort of communication was involved.

The spell-stones used in sky ships were simply not suitable for what he had in mind. To make the communication-stones smaller, the material had to be capable of handling much greater densities of magic, so he could pack in all of the various communication spells required. Moreover, the material would also have to be able to withstand multiple runes to enhance its durability and allow it to absorb ambient magic. Due to the lack of volume and surface area, the communication-sphere could not operate like the sails of a sky ship. Instead of merely absorbing ambient magic that passed through it, it would have to actively draw in ambient magic from its surroundings.

Alchemy was renowned for its use of complicated and elaborate rituals, along with exotic and rare ingredients. However, those were not necessarily required. At its heart, alchemy was about the transmutation and transformation of matter and energy. Those rituals and ingredients allowed an alchemist to shift the hefty burden of transmutation and transformation from themselves to the rituals and ingredients. More elaborate rituals and more exotic ingredients would allow even a relatively weak alchemist to perform impressive feats of transmutation and transformation.

Doomwing was a primordial dragon. Power was not an issue. Rather than rely on rituals and ingredients, he could exert his great power and mastery of magic to perform transmutation and transformation directly. The drain had the potential to be enormous, but he was really only limited by his understanding of the rules that governed alchemy – and he had millennia's worth of study and experience to draw upon when it came to those rules.

His first several attempts to create a communication-stone were failures. That was to be expected. He had never made one before, so creating a material that matched his requirements necessarily involved a bit of guess work. However, his fifth attempt resulted in a satisfactory communication-stone.

It was a cube of dull grey material that was roughly the same size as a human head. However, when it was activated, the material would turn transparent, revealing the intricate spell craft within as the communication-stone projected an illusion of its immediate surroundings while receiving an illusion from another communication-stone that showed that communication-stone's immediate surroundings.

A lesser dragon might have baulked at the visibility of the spell craft, but Doomwing did not care. Anyone with the skill to understand what they were seeing would have been able to divine the spell craft involved anyway. The most important part of the communication-stone was the material, and even another master alchemist would still have to break off a chunk of it to understand what it was – and that would not be easy at all with the runes upon it.

The communication-stones operated in a straightforward manner. Each communication-stone could be 'connected' to other communication-stones. Once two communication-stones were connected, they could reach out to each other. Assuming the person being contacted accepted the contact, then the people using them could see and speak to each other. It was also possible to connect multiple communication-stones, allowing for a conference of sorts to be held.

He tested the first two by giving one to the earth elemental he'd summoned and then flying away from his volcano. There were no problems, even at great distances, and the communication-stones showed no signs of damage or failure. Their ability to absorb ambient magic was also working as intended, and they did not burn through the magic they absorbed too quickly. In his territory, it was difficult to imagine them ever running out of magic although more judicious use might be required elsewhere.

He made more than a dozen other communication stones before stopping. That should be enough for the first batch, and he could easily make more now that he had experience with the process. It made him wonder why someone else hadn't done this earlier.

It was likely due to a combination of factors. He could easily imagine the unscrupulous using such items to plot against people. Since he was not a fool, he had ensured that he could listen in on what people were saying – and even listen to past conversations. He would not allow these tools to be used against him.

In the past, long-range communication was usually reliant on individuals skilled in that sort of magic. It was extremely reliable, and there had always been enough such individuals for people to manage. There had been enough of them in Elerion's kingdom that every major settlement had several, with even small towns often having at least one. Combined with aerial couriers and short-range communication magic, there had been no pressing need for things like communication-stones.

Materials were another issue. The material that Doomwing had made for his communication-stones was not something that just any alchemist could have produced, nor was it something that occurred naturally. Naturally occurring materials were much better suited to other applications, and even those that could be produced using more typical alchemy were not ideal for the delicate yet powerful spell craft of long-range communication magic.

Dragon alchemists were ideally suited to making it, but most dragons who practiced alchemy used it to craft other kinds of artifacts or to make treasure. If they wanted to speak to someone, they had the raw power to rely on normal communication magic. It didn't help that dragons who focused on alchemy tended to be reclusive and weird. He, of course, was a rare exception, regardless of what Marcus might think.

And speaking of Marcus… he might need his help for his second project.

Even if Doomwing could now communicate with his subordinates, that still left the matter of educating them. Casting magic through the communication-stones was not possible. What he needed was something similar to the construct he was using to teach Antaria. However, as useful as that construct was, it came with a serious downside – he had to control it himself. Given his many talents, controlling his own body and the construct's at the same time was not especially hard. Unfortunately, the mental load of controlling additional constructs was closer to exponential than linear.

So what to do?

He wasn't about to do anything stupid like tear out part of his soul and shove it into a golem or something. He wasn't a lich, and there was a reason liches often went insane long before their phylacteries failed. The simplest answer was a doppelganger.

Unfortunately, most doppelganger were stupid. A typical earth doppelganger, for instance, could follow basic instructions, but it would almost certainly fail when confronted by any complex problem. They were only useful in battles as distractions or as a means of overwhelming the enemy via sheer numbers. Few dragons made use of them since they typically lacked the power to meaningfully impact a fight, and draconic sight could easily distinguish between a real opponent and an earth doppelganger.

Blood doppelgangers were different. They seemingly possessed the potential to have the same knowledge, skills, and intelligence as their creators – but at the cost of requiring copious quantities of blood and far more power to create. Blood doppelgangers were also fleeting, seldom able to last as long as their less intelligent peers.

Although blood doppelgangers were not unique to vampires, vampires were, by far, the best at making them. Marcus's father – the Fourth Catastrophe – had been fiendishly good with them, and had used a small army of them to help manage his empire of undead. Unlike other vampires, his blood doppelgangers lasted far longer and demonstrated a number of incredibly interesting abilities, like being able to communicate with him, use higher-level magic and runes without much loss in power, and the ability to maintain themselves by consuming magic and blood.

They had even been able to serve as vessels for the Fourth Catastrophe, allowing him to reincarnate into them in the event of his destruction. Unfortunately for the vampire, Dawnscale had been a celestial dragon, and her astral sight had allowed her to use that connection to attack the Fourth Catastrophe and his blood doppelgangers simultaneously.

Doomwing had been interested in learning how he had created those blood doppelgangers, but the Fourth Catastrophe had taken his secrets to the grave – and Doomwing had been forced to destroy the vampiric homelands to prevent any further… issues from arising. However, there was someone who knew a lot about blood doppelgangers, someone who might even be considered an expert in them, and there weren't any world-threatening crises getting in the way of a proper discussion…

When Doomwing contacted Marcus, the vampire was fending off Faustina.

"We are not attacking Commodus just because he has the heart of an ancient sphinx."

The female vampire clung onto his leg as he tried to escape. Quintus was eyeing a chair contemplatively, seemingly wondering if he shout hit her with it. Ivar, meanwhile, was just nursing a bowl of hot soup. "Do you know what I could do with that? Besides, he's evil. We'd be doing the world a favour – and I'd get the sphinx heart."

"And what do you intend to do with that?" Doomwing asked.

Marcus gave him a tired smile. No doubt, Faustina had been haranguing him about the sphinx heart for some time. "Please, tell me you're not calling because something awful is headed my way."

Doomwing paused. Frostfang would likely be headed Marcus's way soon, if only to speak with him and make clear his position. Did that count as awful? Probably not. "No."

"What was that pause?" Marcus asked. "You had to stop and think! What's headed my way?"

"Nothing you need to worry about. Just remain calm if Frostfang shows up. I have spoken to him. You and your forces need not worry about him, but he will likely wish to discuss a few matters with you. Rest assured, you will be fine if you do nothing foolish."

"…" Marcus sighed. "Thanks. I appreciate it. But if you're calling about that…?"

Doomwing glanced at the other people in the room. "It pertains to some of your father's research."

"I see." Marcus straightened and then pried Faustina off his leg. "Faustina, Commodus is a bastard, and we'll probably have to kill him later. But right now, he is fighting a few of our other enemies. We'll let them bleed each other out and then swoop in once they're done weakening each other."

"And the sphinx heart?" Faustina asked, pouting. "What if something happens to it?"

"If it's as valuable as you say, I doubt anyone would destroy it. We'll just take it from whoever has it. But what does it even do?"

Doomwing chose to answer before Faustina could slip into another rant, as she was prone to do. "A sphinx's heart can be used to craft items with power information-gathering or information-revealing properties. Given Faustina's proclivities, I suspect she wants to make an item that can reveal the properties and origins of other objects. She likely already has several such items, but there are often strict limitations on what sorts of objects they can analyse. If you were to use one of those on me, you would receive no information whatsoever, due to my immense power and resistance to magic. An ancient sphinx's heart could be used to make a much stronger item, one capable of analysing much rarer and more powerful objects, as well as providing much more detailed and useful information."

"Would something like that work on you?" Faustina asked.

"No. I am beyond such things," Doomwing replied. It wasn't arrogance. It was fact. Analysis magic could be incredibly useful in battle, so Doomwing maintained multiple protection spells against it, in addition to his own natural resistance. "But it would almost certainly prove useful against other ancient vampires, even if they tried to conceal information using magic."

"Hmm…" Marcus pursed his lips. "You know, maybe we will attack Commodus. That does sound quite useful."

"See?" Faustina said. "And I can use it for my research too." She glanced at Doomwing. "I don't suppose you have any items like that, do you?"

"Only a dozen or so. I prefer to use my magic since it's more powerful."

"…" Faustina glared. "I hate you, you know that, right? How can you can have stuff like that and just keep it in your hoard?"

"I either found it, made it, or won it in battle. I decide where it goes, and it goes in my hoard." Doomwing nodded at Marcus. "About your father's research…?"

"All right." Marcus motioned at the door. "I'm afraid I'll have to ask the rest of you to leave. This is a private matter."

"I heard someone say research," Faustina said, batting her eyelashes at Marcus. "I don't suppose that I could listen in?"

"No," Marcus said. "Not this time." He winced. "Trust me. This isn't the kind of research you – or the world – should know about."

"Fine. Fine." Faustina flounced toward the door. "You don't have to be so grumpy." She made a face. "It's not alchemical research, is it?"

"No. Blood magic." Marcus shooed them toward the door. "If you want us to attack Commodus, then you need to gather intel. Go send some bats or something to scout out his territory."

When they had all left, Marcus used a few runes to ensure that they were truly in private. "So you want to know about my father's research? What brought this on?"

Doomwing explained his idea.

"I see… you're right. Blood doppelgangers might be able to help you, but not the normal ones."

"Oh?" Doomwing asked.

"A normal blood doppelganger still needs to be told what to do to some extent. There's a pretty decent mental load involved in maintaining them. Yes, they can act just like a normal person, but how smart they are is determined by how much blood and power you're willing to spend."

"I have plenty of power," Doomwing replied. "And far more blood than you."

"That's not it. Most magic works on a fixed cost basis. Assuming two people have the same level of skill and control, then using the same spell should cost them the same amount of magic. Blood doppelgangers are different. How much blood and magic they require is based on the creator's overall abilities. It's a fixed percentage."

"That is… inconvenient." Doomwing's magical reserves were tremendous, but their size wouldn't matter if creating each blood doppelganger demanded a certain percentage of his power. Yes, he did recover magic at an unbelievable rate, but even so, it would be troublesome. "Yet your father was able to create so many."

"That's what his research achieved – a way to get around that issue." Marcus shuddered. "It's just… not pretty, and it requires a certain level of expertise in a number of different forms of magic."

"Can you do it?" Doomwing asked. "If I could see it in action, I might be able to replicate it."

Marcus made a face. "Yes… probably. It's complicated. I'd need several things, not all of which I have here."

"Tell me what you need. I'll send it through the mirror."

"…" Marcus sighed. "You really want to learn, don't you?"

"Yes. Although I doubt I'll be using the exact same method since I'm not a vampire, I do believe I'll be able to work something out."

"Just as long as you don't plan on doing anything too crazy with it," Marcus said. "My father was always a bastard, but I think linking his soul to so many blood doppelgangers didn't help."

"I have no intention of forging such a strong link between myself and any constructs I create," Doomwing replied. "Besides, given how he was still alive and how his blood doppelgangers continued to fight after the link was severed by Dawnscale, a link of that strength should not be necessary."

"That's true," Marcus said. "Fine. Here's what I need…"

Doomwing sent through the materials and tools that Marcus would need. He had to make a few of them himself, but the majority could be obtained from his hoard. He had destroyed the vampiric homelands, but he had been able to raid several of the Fourth Catastrophe's outposts elsewhere in the aftermath. He had been able to obtain a variety of tools, materials, and books although none had revealed the most important secrets, and he had been forced to cleanse all of them to ensure there was no residual taint from the madman's sorcery.

Sending the materials through the mirror was an interesting experience. Due to the mirror's limitations, some materials could be sent through fairly easily. However, others required significant chunks of power, and still others had to be wrapped in subtle but powerful layers of protection to prevent them from being damaged in transit. The crystals he had given the hatchlings had been simple things whereas some of the things Marcus needed were far more complex and delicate. If he pushed too far, there was a chance he could damage the mirror. However, he had been keeping a close eye on it, with several diagnostic and analytical runes in place to warn him the moment the mirror was in danger. So far, it was doing well, but he made a mental note to work on it afterward to ensure there was no lasting harm.

What immediately stood out to him was the ritual involved in creating the blood doppelganger. When Marcus normally made a blood doppelganger, there was no ritual involved. It wouldn't be very useful on the battlefield if he had to stop fighting to carry one out.

"The important thing to realise is that my father did not create all of those blood doppelgangers at once." Marcus's lips curled. "No. What he did was create blood doppelgangers who did not require significant mental and magical investment to maintain… and who could, at least theoretically, be maintained indefinitely."

"Fascinating." Others might have been… disgusted by the collection of blood magic paraphernalia that had been used in the ritual, to say nothing of how bizarre any normal person might find it that Marcus had repeatedly drawn out his own blood and used it to paint elaborate spell formations all over the walls, floor, and ceiling. He also wondered if a goat was strictly necessary. However, Dooming was truly fascinated to see such high level blood magic in action.

"That's one way to put it." Marcus drew out more of his blood – it was fortunate that he kept a liberal supply of other people's blood on hand to drink – and ripped out one of his own teeth. Setting the pain aside, it regrew almost instantly, as would be expected of an ancient vampire. "The key is that you need an anchor, something that will serve as a core for the doppelganger. That core will provide the doppelganger with a place to store magic on a long-term basis, as well as give the doppelganger a stronger connection to you, creating a link that will allow you to control the doppelganger or even receive its thoughts and memories when required."

"Yes," Doomwing nodded. "Which is why you used your blood and a tooth. Those are two things that are incredibly strongly linked to a vampire's sense of self. Magic derives from the soul, so using something with such a strong link allows for the creation of a better core than simply taking a crystal or some other medium of storage."

"Yes. Using blood to make the core also links it to the doppelganger's body, which is, ultimately, made out of blood and magic. The core is also what allows them to use high-level magic without the same sort of drop-off as a normal blood doppelganger. Now, why do you think blood doppelgangers are so intelligent?"

"It's the blood. Blood is tied to the soul, and the soul is ultimately bound to both our memories and our intellects," Doomwing replied. His lips curled. "Dawnscale was an expert in soul magic, and she explained the concept to me once. Essentially, our soul contains an idealised 'map' of everything we are. Astral and light magic heal by restoring a person to match the 'map' their soul provides. That is why they can easily heal limbs that have been severed in battle. The missing limb is seen as a deviation from the idealised map, and the magic restores the body to match that map. Likewise, even massive damage to the magic circulatory system can be healed in the same way. With its links to the soul, the blood must be creating a copy of that map, including things like knowledge and other abilities."

"That's right," Marcus said. "Sufficiently high-level blood magic can copy the map, as you refer to it, of the soul. Now, the copying process isn't perfect. Blood, as a medium, can only copy so much, which is why normal blood doppelgangers can't perform at the same level as their creators without truly massive expenditure of power and blood. The blood doppelgangers my father made – that I'm teaching you about – use the core to better copy that map, allowing them to better match the abilities of the original." Marcus paused. "Incidentally, as someone who can't use any astral or light magic due to being a vampire, is that why you can't use astral or light magic to heal someone who has born with a missing limb?"

"Correct," Doomwing replied. "Since they never had the limb to begin with, the map of their soul does not include it. From the point of view of astral and light magic, there is nothing to heal. The same goes for issues like blindness from birth. In both cases, you would be better off using growth magic, a subset of life and nature magic, to create a new limb or better eyes. Once you do that, however, the map of the soul will eventually realign itself to include the improvements." He chuckled. "It's why Dawnscale went to such lengths to learn those too. The idea of being unable to heal someone distressed her."

"She always was a softie…" Marcus murmured. "When she wasn't flying around and blasting everybody with mountain-piercing beams of light or ripping people's souls apart."

"I always found the contrast intriguing," Doomwing said, the memories painful yet precious at the same time. "She could go from scolding a hatchling about being careless to exploding the soul of whoever had harmed them in a matter of moments. It was the reason so many of us learned defences against soul-based attacks."

"Heh." Marcus sighed. "Anyway, here's how you make the core…"

Making the core was an intricate process, and Doomwing once again paid very close attention. There were several moments were blood magic that was unique to vampires was employed, but he could already think of several substitutes to make up for it although he'd have to test their efficacy.

By the end of it, Marcus stood beside a copy of himself. "You see, the funny thing about blood doppelgangers is that since they're magical constructs that are made of blood, you don't actually have to give them clothes. They can change their outward appearance to match what you need by changing the appearance of their exterior. Now, if you really want to fool people and you've got a bit of time on your hands, you'll give them proper clothes and have them speak. Most doppelgangers can't speak properly. Blood doppelgangers, especially ones like this, can." He shuddered. "But I prefer to avoid that when possible. It's extremely creepy."

"Can you demonstrate it replenishing itself with blood and magic?" Doomwing asked. This was the critical process, the one that ensured the longevity of the doppelganger.

"Sure. Keep in mind that normal blood doppelgangers can't do that. Only these special ones can."

Marcus handed the doppelganger a gourd of blood, and Doomwing cast more advanced spells of analysis and divination as the doppelganger drank. It was… truly fascinating and a testament to the genius of Marcus's father, at least in term of magical research and development. The long-dead vampire was still an absolute madman.

The doppelganger did not have a proper magic circulatory system. Instead, it was constantly leaked magic into its surroundings. Drinking blood allowed it to absorb power from the blood – and that power was then shunted into the core where it was safely stored. That power could then be used to replace the power the doppelganger radiated over time. It was a simple idea, but the magic used to execute it was truly worthy of praise. Little wonder that no one else had been able to replicate it independently.

"And that's how you do it," Marcus said. The explanation had taken the entire night. "As you can see, the process has some drawbacks."

"Creating the doppelganger took roughly a third of your power – a sizeable chunk. How long does the doppelganger last?"

"Almost indefinitely, assuming it can get the nourishment it needs."

"It must have taken your father centuries upon centuries to accumulate his army of doppelgangers…" Doomwing's eyes narrowed. "Wait… the doppelganger's themselves can also create more doppelgangers, can't they? There does not seem to be anything preventing that."

Marcus smirked. "That's right. Each doppelganger can create more doppelgangers. Obviously, they will be weaker than the first set, but that's the other bit of genius my father showed."

"If you use the same core for each, even the second generation of doppelgangers will eventually get strong enough to match the first generation."

"Yep. As long as father dearest could keep providing blood and teeth – and believe me, he had plenty of ways of boosting his regeneration and healing – his doppelgangers could just keep churning out more." Marcus grimaced. "Of course, blood magic could be considered a form of soul magic. The more powerful someone is, the more stress their soul can tolerate. Creating this sort of doppelganger stresses the soul."

"It is most likely that the 'copying' of the soul map can be detected by the soul, and that each additional copy extracts some sort of toll and that only a certain number of copies are permitted to exist simultaneously." Doomwing used an ancient rune of analysis to examine the doppelganger as closely as possible. "Yes. There is definitely a link although it seems you can modify the strength of the link and how easy it is for the doppelgangers to influence the original. That same link must be how your father planned to be reborn through his doppelgangers and why Dawnscale was able to strike at them all simultaneously."

"Yeah." Marcus shuddered. "That's why I don't use this technique much. It takes a big chunk of my power, takes an entire night to prepare, and that link… the bigger your soul is, the more doppelgangers you can sustain before it starts to become an issue. Me personally? Any more than three for more than a few days… I'd be very concerned about long-term damage to my soul as well as mental contamination due to soul fragmentation."

"Your father was insane even before that became an issue," Doomwing replied.

"Absolutely, but it didn't help." Marcus squinted at him. "But you? You could maintain far more of these for much longer, maybe even indefinitely." His expression twisted. "Vampires are, well, our souls have never been the most… concrete things. Ultimately, we're parasites, and our souls reflect that. My father always believed that the Progenitor – the first of our kind – was an accident, a human who bonded or enslaved some sort of astral parasite to make himself the first vampire. It would explain why blood, which is connected to the soul, nourishes us and why we have such close ties to our fledglings. It also means that our souls are relatively unstable, which is why light and astral magic are so dangerous to us. Dragons are different."

Doomwing nodded. A dragon's soul got stronger and stronger with age and Awakenings. Contrary to common belief, injuries to the soul were not permanent. At a certain level of power and understanding, people could heal their own souls, either passively or through direct effort. A primordial dragon's soul was tremendous, a vast, unyielding thing that was almost impossible to damage and which constantly healed and renewed itself when damaged. In other words, it was entirely possible that he would be able to use blood doppelgangers or their equivalents far more safely than the Fourth Catastrophe ever had… but with the restriction that his inability to use true vampiric blood magic would nevertheless severely limit how many he could make in the first place.

"Thank you," Doomwing said. "Your demonstration has been most helpful."

"What's a little bit of forbidden blood magic between friends?" Marcus drawled.

"By the way, what are you going to do with that doppelganger of yours?" Doomwing asked. The doppelganger in question was slouching in a chair and had put its legs up on the table.

"I was thinking of using it against Commodus. It should last long enough for that."

"If you do…" Doomwing bared his teeth. "You should try this." He explained his idea, and Marcus began to laugh.

"Oh, that is hilarious. I wonder why my father never mentioned that… ah. He would have considered it a failure. He always was obsessed with perfection."

Doomwing's idea was fairly simple. The core was an intricate structure. When destabilised in a certain way, it would rupture, and the doppelganger would release its accumulated power in a huge explosion. In theory, it appeared that there was nothing stopping Marcus from destabilising the core remotely using the link he had with it.

"I don't know if that would actually kill Commodus, but it would definitely do a lot of damage if he's not ready for it." Marcus grinned. "My father would have had a hard time doing it too since he made so many of them. Just trying to sort through all the links with a fragmented soul would have made it very difficult for him to avoid accidentally exploding the wrong one. Plus, he would have hated to do that. He was so closely linked to them, it would have felt like blowing himself up. It might have distracted him so badly that he lost control of his other magic. Still, for someone like me who never makes many, usually just one if I ever do make any, it's ideal. Thanks."

"You're welcome." Doomwing called several treasures to him and sent them through the mirror. "Have these."

"I don't need your help," Marcus said, chuckling. "I said I'd handle things up here on my own."

"You have explained the secrets of your father's magic to me. It would be disgraceful for me to accept such knowledge without offering recompense." That was true, but this was also a way for Doomwing to help his friend without injuring Marcus's pride. "Take them."

"Well… if you put it like that." Marcus accepted the treasures. "I guess you're going to give it a try now, right?"

"Yes."

"Let me know how it goes." Marcus snickered. "And try not to make too many. Soul fragmentation and insanity aside, I'm not sure the world can handle a bunch of you wandering around."

Doomwing spent an entire week carefully considering his course of action while examining his memories of Marcus's demonstration multiple times to ensure he did not miss a single thing. Only once he was confident of what he wished to do did he proceed.

First of all, he would not be creating doppelgangers of great power. Marcus's doppelganger had consumed a third of his power and had wielded perhaps a quarter of his strength. Doomwing had no need for a doppelganger that powerful. Moreover, reducing the strength of the doppelganger would also substantially reduce many of the associated problems. Doppelgangers capable of activating the more useful greater runes should suffice.

He could still use blood as a general medium, but the core would need to be made of different materials. Blood, yes, but also flame, for fire was the essence of a dragon. Combining blood and fire might seem impossible, but that was where alchemy came in. The two could indeed be combined, and the resulting material could be used to form the basis of a core, along with additional materials, like scales he had shed, teeth he had lost in battle, and so on.

Since he was not capable of use true vampiric blood magic, he would have to turn to substitutes. This was where his lessons with Mother Tree, the elves of the Third Age, and Dawnscale were critical. Mother Tree had been the greatest master of life and nature magic outside of the Life Bringer, the member of the Seven Gods who had created Mother Tree, along with many over forms of life. Indeed, the Life Bringer had played at least a partial role in the creation of basically all living things of the First Age. Doomwing had learned all he could from Mother Tree, and even if he had never reached her mastery, the knowledge had stood him in good stead ever since.

The elves of the Third Age had developed elven script, a counterpart to the dwarven script used by the dwarves of that same Age. It had its own uses, but it was incredibly good at capturing the essence of life and nature magic and in modifying living things. Rather than etch it onto their living ships, they had grown the script into the very body of the ship. It was the same reason the mightiest elven weapons were technically alive – the elven script used to empower them was woven into them in a very literal sense.

Dawnscale had taught him a great deal of astral and light magic before leaving. He… he had never been as good at it as her, but she had been the greatest living exponent of those disciplines. Now, with millennia more experience and power under his belt, Doomwing was one of the mightiest practitioners of those arts, not through natural talent but through obsessive study and practice.

Using his telekinesis, he could sense and affect the inside of an object. In other words, it was possible to use his blood as a framework for the doppelganger before taking a material similar to the core he would make and then weaving it into the doppelganger's interior, tracing out countless lines of elven script to substitute for the true vampiric blood magic he was unable to perform. Throw in astral and light magic bound into the core to make up for other shortcomings, and the end result should be a doppelganger that met all of his requirements.

Another month…

It took him another month of constant, unrelenting effort to succeed. To a magic user of his calibre, that was almost unfathomable. Winter was now very close indeed, but he was glad to have completed his task in time. His very first doppelganger stared back at him, an almost perfect replica of how he had looked back when he had only been twelve feet or so long, right down to the overly large wings and stubby tail. Nevertheless, this doppelganger was capable of using most greater runes and was able to operate independently without his direct oversight although it would still pursue his objectives as best it could. After all, it was effectively still a fragment of him.

"The mental load is negligible," the doppelganger said, flapping his wings. "And the load on your soul is also well within tolerable limits."

"Yes." Doomwing smiled toothily, an action his doppelganger mimicked. "And as long as there is ambient magic for you to absorb, you should be able to operate indefinitely."

"Yes. How about the link between us?"

Doomwing concentrated on it, and the link was indeed present. He could modify how deep it was, whether or not information could pass through it, and so on. Better still, the safeguards to prevent soul-based attacks on his doppelganger from harming him were operating as expected. "It meets expectations."

"So… what will I be doing?" the doppelganger asked. "Will it be Antaria or the dwarves?" He chortled. "I do think Antaria has gotten attached to your construct despite it being a puppet."

"True… I think she wants it to remain, so she can eventually murder it as revenge. Even so, I think I will be replacing it soon. It simply isn't worth the mental burden now that a better alternative is available."

"You're not going to make too many more like me, are you?" the doppelganger asked. "Even with the strength of your soul, that would be unwise. A dragon's soul may be stronger than a vampire's, but a vampire's soul is able to withstand more fragmentation before complete disintegration."

"That is correct." Doomwing was pleased to see the doppelganger's intelligence. Clearly, his work was excellent. "Perhaps half a dozen like you in total. Any more might be pushing it, especially if I wish for them to operate indefinitely. At the very least, making more than that would be extremely unwise until I can confirm that there are no long-term dangers."

"Half a dozen of us? That should be fine. I'm guessing you wish for me to go to the dwarves then."

"Correct. The dwarves need an instructor. I want you to teach them as much as they are able to learn in the fields of metalwork, artifice, alchemy, and magic."

"That should not be too difficult," the doppelganger said. "If nothing else, I am sure they will be enthusiastic about learning."

"As for the others… I will leave one with Antaria to oversee her training later and to assist Daphne and the villagers. That leaves four others… whose deployment I will decide when the need arises. I imagine we will have more people to deal with soon."

"If Antaria impresses at the tournament."

"She will. My construct has been seeing to her training. Her progress has been commendable," Doomwing said.

"She has yet to fly," the doppelganger said.

"No. But she has gotten very good at falling less awfully, which is decent progress. Besides, her combat prowess has increased considerably."

"Teaching her a style popularised by the elves was a good decision."

Doomwing nodded. Historically speaking, elves typically favoured fighting styles that emphasised speed, agility, and accuracy over raw strength and power. Antaria could already hit disproportionately hard. An elven style ensured she would be able to land her blows while avoiding those of her opponent. Once she mastered flight and could move freely in three dimensions, she would be ready for Alenna's fighting style. Even a bastardised version of that style would be terrifying and would likely make her the most dangerous human alive.

"It was." Doomwing studied his doppelganger. "Now… what to call you…"

"Don't call me Doppelganger One. Marcus would never let us live that down."

"Since you are the first… you should have a name that reflects that. You will also be helping the dwarves. Ah… yes. You will be named Vængr."

The doppelganger's expression grew sober and then fond. "Ragnar used to call us that when he was drunk. It meant 'wing' in his language." The doppelganger chuckled fondly. "He always used to complain that Doomwing was a silly name since it wasn't like our wings brought doom."

"Not to him or his fellows, anyway," Doomwing said. "I remember him laughing when I told him why our parents gave us the name they did. Of course, it was hard to be mad with him after he explained what his parents were originally going to call him."

"Their original choice meant 'screamer' in their language since he screamed so much when he was born. I'm glad they went with Ragnar instead." The doppelganger nodded. "Vængr it is then. I like it. It's a good name."

Doomwing chuckled. "Now that I've made you, making more shouldn't be too difficult. Two more should suffice for right now. One for Antaria… and another for my hoard."

Vænger's eye twitched. "Wait… one of us gets to stay with our hoard?"

"Yes. It's been a long time since I've catalogued the contents, and I do need to make sure that everything is working as it should. I also need to retrieve anything that might be useful in the immediate future, not to mention having a doppelganger to watch over the phoenix egg would be a wise precaution to take. The elementals can see to its protection, but a doppelganger can help if there are any complications. Not to mention, that doppelganger can also carry out research here and even use the mirror to contact people if necessary."

"Hmm… he'll be busy then. Still, the thought of lounging about with the hoard…"

"The dwarves will keep you occupied, and I'm sure there will be riches for you to roll around in once their mining truly takes off." Doomwing stretched. "For now, I will create the other two doppelgangers, and then we will leave. There is more work to be done elsewhere."

Author's Notes

Doomwing is arguably the greatest living magic user, and it's not just because of his tremendous power. His understanding of magic is deep and covers a vast array of different areas. Furthermore, he is driven, goal-oriented, and capable of breaking down even complex problems into manageable chunks.

He also isn't above asking for aid in learning or understanding something that he knows he doesn't have expertise in.

In any case, he has managed to solve two of his most tiresome problems. Communication and having to be in multiple places at once. Note that just as Marcus can destroy his doppelganger remotely, so can Doomwing, and the doppelgangers themselves would self-destruct if they thought they were going to put him at risk by being captured or attacked. He – and by extension the doppelgangers – are all too aware of the risks and have taken steps to minimise them.

Also, yeah, I wasn't going to break this chapter in two.

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SecretTwelve

Mar 7, 2024

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Threadmarks Interlude 4: The Monsters Under The Bed

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SecretTwelve

Mar 8, 2024

#483

Interlude 4: The Monsters Under The Bed

"I think there are monsters under my bed," Hikari said gravely.

"Is that so?" Doomwing found it amusing indeed that one of her preferred activities was to go fishing... on top of his snout when he was napping or lazing about in the lake. Due to his immense size, finding a good place to lay down was not always easy.

"Yes." Hikari nodded. She had a basket beside her. She had only caught one fish so far, but it wouldn't be long before she added more. Knowing her, she'd keep enough for herself and her parents before giving the rest away to the staff who served her family. "There are definitely monsters under my bed."

"You do realise that the palace is heavily warded, especially your family's chambers. And even if a monster somehow managed to sneak in, it would have to contend with the royal guard and your parents."

The royal guard were powerful by human standards, and Elerion was stronger than all of them put together. However, Kagami was the proverbial elephant in the room. A nine-tailed kitsune was a foe that even most dragons would have to take seriously. Marcus was usually around as well, and the ancient vampire was no slouch, especially since his skillset was almost perfect for dealing with assassins and their ilk.

"I know... but what if they use super powerful teleportation magic and can get past all of the guards and stuff." Hikari lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I think the monsters have a teleportation anchor under my bed."

Doomwing made a mental note to be more careful about what sort of magic he spoke about around Hikari. Teleportation was certainly possible although it was rarely used in combat. It simply required too much time and power to be efficient. Long-range teleportation was likewise rarely used due to the nightmarish cost and mental strain involved. That wasn't to say there weren't people who used it. Dragons belonging to the rift dragon lineage were particularly adept at manipulating space and time, so they were able to avoid most of the downsides associated with teleportation. Doomwing's mother had belonged to that lineage. However, he had not inherited any particular proficiency in that area. Nevertheless, he had studied teleportation thoroughly. There were ways to reduce the time needed to cast a teleportation spell although the costs were steep enough that they were really only viable in emergencies.

"To do that, they would already have had to sneak in. Not to mention, the wards around the castle would definitely detect teleportation."

"I guess..." Hikari made a face. "Could you make a construct and put it under my bed? That way if there are any monsters, you can get them."

"..." Doomwing considered refusing before deciding that it might actually be easier to just go along with it. "Fine." Besides, Hikari had good instincts. He doubted there were actually monsters under the bed, but there might well be something odd that needed to be dealt with, perhaps a disloyal servant passing on information to one of the factions in Elerion's court.

Kagami stared at the other kitsune and just barely managed to keep from ripping the other woman limb from limb. Behind her, her tails stirred restlessly, motes of emerald light flickering in and out of existence as a multitude of half-formed spells trembled in the air. Elerion was taking Hikari on another jaunt through the marketplace, which was quite fortunate. It would be a shame if her lover or their daughter had to deal with this... mess.

"Please!" the kitsune cried, flinging herself at the ground. "Spare me!"

Doomwing's construct ignored the wailing fox woman. "I caught her sneaking into Hikari's room. I believe she used a combination of shadow walking and dream walking to penetrate the castle's defences."

"That could work," Kagami conceded. Shadow walking allowed someone to travel through shadows, and dream walking could be used to move between the physical world and the dreaming lands. Although the castle had formidable magical defences, they had been constructed mostly by humans with Kagami adding a few defences of her own. Defences of the kind she employed around her residence in the realm of the kitsune simply weren't possible given the materials and the political situation Elerion had to manage. Even so, the defences they had in place should have been enough. "Especially if they knew what sort of defences were in place."

The construct considered the matter for a moment. "The culprit is a kitsune. Treachery is clearly involved."

"You knew about the palace's defences, didn't you?" Kagami directed her question to the cowering kitsune. "Speak." The kitsune remained silent, and Kagami snarled. "Speak!" There was magic behind the command this time, and the other woman's nose began to bleed as she tried to fight off the compulsion. Kagami's eyes glowed emerald, and her tails went taut. "You will speak."

The other kitsune began to speak.

Once Kagami was confident that she had learned everything she could, she used a flick of her wrist and a spell to decapitate the other kitsune. She flopped onto the ground, and Kagami used magic to capture the blood that spilled across the ground before using another spell to destroy the body.

"Was that necessary?" Doomwing's construct asked. "She might have had value as a prisoner."

"She was a deniable and disposable asset, nothing more. Keeping her alive would have served no purpose, especially since she was deliberately kept in the dark about anything beyond her objective, or so she believes. Besides, I collected her blood. I can give it to Marcus. He will be able to peer into her memories, and she doesn't need to be alive for him to do that." Kagami's voice was calm, eerily so, despite the rage boiling within her. "I did not expect my enemies amongst my people to get into contact with my enemies amongst Elerion's people."

"You could argue that they're being quite hypocritical, working with kitsune when one of the main reasons certain factions in Elerion's court dislike you is because you are a kitsune."

"I wouldn't trust me either if I was in their position," Kagami conceded. "But I would also not be planning to kidnap a child either." Her brows furrowed. "How did she get into Hikari's room? I warded that room myself. I should have been alerted if someone entered it uninvited. She didn't seem to understand how that was accomplished only that it would be possible for her."

"Hikari was right. There was something under her bed. It wasn't a teleportation anchor. It was a device that created a shadow tunnel through the defences around the room. That was how that kitsune entered without triggering the room's defences. It was remarkably well concealed."

Kagami's eyes narrowed into slits. "How was the device smuggled into the room? I interrogated her, but even she didn't know how that was accomplished."

"It was buried in the floor beneath Hikari's bed. I believe it was placed their during construction of the palace."

Kagami's blood went ice cold. "That long? They've been planning this for that long?"

"It would seem so."

"Doomwing," Kagami said. "I..."

"I will scan the palace," the construct said. "I doubt that anything will be able to evade detection in the face of multiple ancient runes. I will also shore up the palace's defences myself. There will be no repeats of this incident."

"I will have to speak to Elerion. The staff will need to be investigated... and I will have to deal with matters in my own court. Dreamsong has been in the very deepest parts of the deep dreaming for the past several months. That is likely why they made their move. It would have been impossible for them to act without her noticing otherwise."

"Do what you must," the construct said. "I will remain until the situation has been dealt with."

Kagami nodded. "You have my thanks." She paused. "If the worst should happen..."

"Dreamsong will take her in. You know that. But if, for some reason, that is no longer viable, I will handle it."

Marcus sighed. He didn't mind a bit of bloodshed. He was a vampire. But Kagami might have been going a little over the top. Yes, her enemies had made the mistake of targeting Hikari, so he wasn't exactly going to shed any tears for them. However, there was a difference between killing people and slaughtering them. And this was definitely a case of the latter, not the former.

The pagoda was home to a particular group of kitsune who were against kitsune having children with people who weren't also kitsune. Marcus had always found that idea a bit strange since kitsune genetics weren't like human genetics. There were no half-blood kitsune, not in the way most people meant the term. Instead, children either expressed their kitsune heritage fully or not at all. Hikari might have been half human by parentage, but she might as well have been completely kitsune if the way her blood felt to him was anything to go by.

This particular group had been quite outspoken in their views, and they had taken particular issue with Hikari since Kagami seemed to favour her so much. They likely feared that Kagami would pass over her full-blooded kitsune children in favour of HIkari, but Marcus found that difficult to believe. It wasn't a case of Kagami loving Hikari more than her older children. Rather, her older children were centuries, even millennia, old. They neither wanted nor needed her babying them. In contrast, Hikari was still a child. Of course, Kagami was going to dote over her.

When Kagami had turned up and demanded to speak with the elders who ruled over the group, they had refused. That alone was insulting. Kagami ruled over the kitsune. To refuse her like that suggested they already knew how much trouble they were in. Oh, they'd covered their tracks well, but Marcus was an ancient vampire. It was possible for a skilled and powerful kitsune to seal memories and thoughts away from even Kagami, but as long as he could get enough of someone's blood, it was almost impossible for them to stop him.

Under Kagami's supervision he had drunk his way up the metaphorical food chain, going from the would be assassin/kidnapper to her handler and so on until he'd been able to secure proof that the group in the pagoda was responsible. Kagami had then immediately moved to confront them, not even waiting for her personal retainers. Instead, she had left immediately, leaving her retainers scrambling to assemble with only Marcus at her side. To their credit, her retainers should be here soon, but it would already be over then, if Kagami's present pace was anything to go by.

Upon being refused, Kagami had immediately attacked the pagoda. Kitsune were masters of trickery, deception, illusions, and mental interference. Few of them were experts in the sort of bloody, visceral combat that Marcus had cut his teeth on. But Kagami was. She was older than all of the people in the pagoda, old enough to remember when the kitsune had been forced to flee in the aftermath of the Fifth Catastrophe, and she had fought a bloody war of succession when her siblings had tried to usurp her after her mother's death. These kitsune had enjoyed lives of relative peace thanks to the strength of Kagami's rule and the lack of outside threats.

Evidently, they had forgotten just how Kagami had secured her leadership, and they had confused her often easy-going nature with weakness.

He doubted they would make that mistake again. Ever. Since most of them were dead or in the process of dying.

Kagami had torn her way up through the pagoda, leaving mostly carnage in her wake. Those who had the intelligence to surrender were given the chance to lay down their arms, and Marcus had used magic to restrain them. Those who chose to fight died. Horribly. Something most people forgot was that a kitsune's tails were prehensile. Kagami was excellent with a spear, and she had nine tails. Yeah. A woman with a spear who could wield up to nine other weapons while using illusions and mind control to completely confuse her opponents was an enemy that none of the pagoda's defenders were ready to face.

And now they were at the top of the pagoda where the leaders of the group were busy begging for their lives. Honestly, Marcus wouldn't have spared them. He would have dragged them off to endure a quick trial where all of their misdeeds were aired for the public to see before having them executed as a warning to anyone else thinking of trying to do the same thing.

Kagami had decided to skip straight to the execution part.

It was honestly a little worrying to see, but Marcus could understand. This sort of treachery had to be torn out root and branch. it could not be allowed to fester, and people could not be allowed to think it was tolerable. Moreover, what the elders had planned for Hikari was the sort of thing that would drive any parent to violence. They hadn't planned on killing her. Instead, the plan was to kidnap her and then ransom her back to Kagami in exchange for various concessions. However, that wasn't their true objective. Instead, they had planned to use the time Hikari was in their hands to implant certain mental compulsions that would allow them to control her and turn her against Kagami.

Kagami was too powerful for them to confront directly. But would she be able to defend herself from an assassination attempt that came from her beloved youngest child?

It was sickening, but Marcus could see the ruthless logic in it too. Kagami truly loved her children. She would absolutely hesitate if Hikari tried to assassinate her, and with the right preparation and equipment, that could prove fatal. It wouldn't be any time soon, of course. It would take a while for Hikari to have the strength to pose any sort of threat to Kagami. They might even have to wait centuries, but they could afford to wait. They were kitsune.

And now the leaders of the group were all dead, save for the most senior members who were likely only being spared for further interrogation and then extremely public execution. Florid starbursts of blood stained the walls, floor, and ceiling, and Kagami's normally pristine robes were drenched. She could easily have used magic to clean them or keep them from being dirtied in the first place, but she had been too enraged to care.

As the cowering survivors were taken away by Kagami's retainers who had finally arrived, Marcus looked for a place to sit that wasn't covered in blood before realising there really wasn't anywhere available. Instead, he continued to stand, glad that he'd been standing back far enough to avoid the worst of the mess. It wasn't as though Kagami had really needed his help.

"Feeling better?" Marcus asked.

"No." Kagami had put her swords away, but her spear was still gripped tightly in her hands. It was a masterpiece, forged by dwarves in the Third Age and handed down through her family. According to Doomwing, it had been made by one of the legends of that Age, a dwarf whose skills had been considered truly exceptional even amongst dwarves. Supposedly, the dwarves of the Sixth Age no longer possessed the skills to make such weapons, and Kagami had been offered an obscene amount of wealth for it by the dwarf kings of the Sky Claw Mountains. She had refused, of course. "Not really."

"Well, you certainly looked like you were enjoying yourself."

"They got what they deserved." She snarled. "They were not there when I had to fight my siblings for my birthright. They would have mired us in bloodshed until there was nothing left of us but dwindling memories in the dreaming lands. They were not there when our numbers were so few that many of us had to look elsewhere for people to have children with. They were not there when those same children proved themselves, giving their lives to help fend off the horrors of the deep dreaming or risking everything to leave our realm and bring back much-needed supplies when Dreamsong entered seclusion. A kitsune cannot choose how pure their blood is, for no child can choose its parents. What matters are actions, and their actions have shown them for who they truly are... traitors. And to think they would even use my own daughter against me..."

"There will always be people like them," Marcus said. "The trick is dealing with them before they get out of hand."

"Yes. There have always been people like them," Kagami said. "But maybe there shouldn't be."

Marcus sighed. "Come on. Let's get you cleaned up. You're going to have to make a statement about this, and I doubt you want to do that covered in blood."

"Perhaps it would be more effective," Kagami drawled. "As a reminder that there are lines that shouldn't be crossed."

"At least wring out your clothes and hair. You're dripping blood everywhere."

Author's Notes

Yikes. Kagami suffered from her own success. Basically, her early reign was marked by a bloody power struggle against her siblings who wanted to usurp her despite her being her mother's designated heir. That power struggle reduced their numbers even further, to the point that many of them started looking outside the kitsune for lovers and spouses. That helped increase their numbers but led to a schism in those who agreed with that course of action and those that didn't. This is despite the fact that kitsune genetics tend to either express completely or not at all, so you either get children who look wholly kitsune (e.g., Hikari) or those who don't look kitsune at all.

In any case, Kagami's rule was strong and successful to the point that the kitsune near the end of the Sixth Age are at their strongest since before the Fifth Catastrophe. Unfortunately, that led to political strife as her people forgot about the struggles and mistakes of the past and began to pursue increased power for themselves. If Kagami were to die, then any successor would be far less powerful than her and much easier to manipulate or influence. Some are even thinking of seceding and forming their own groups but rather than just leave, they are determined to seize as much power and as many resources as possible before going.

To some people, Hikari also represents a nightmare outcome. To them, there is a possibility, however remote, that Hikari ends up on the throne of both the human kingdoms and the kitsune since her parents are the rulers of those two factions. They fear that should that occur, Hikari will favour the humans over the kitsune since she is being raised in the human kingdoms. This belief is based on the idea that Kagami chose Elerion to have a child with a blood claim to his throne and that she is secretly working to position Hikari to succeed him while also favouring Hikari to succeed her, thereby eventually unifying the two factions. What they don't realise (or don't believe even if they're told) is that Kagami picked Elerion for strictly romantic reasons... and that the reason Hikari is being raised away from the kitsune is because of all the plotting and scheming they do. They also view her agreement with the High Queen as pretence, believing that Kagami is actually secretly plotting against her and will betray her and her son to put Hikari on the throne when the truth is that the agreement is completely genuine and Kagami has no intention of betraying her. Yes, kitsune politics are ridiculous.

Honestly, if they could go back in time and do it over, I'm pretty sure that Doomwing would just blast everybody involved and call it a day.

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SecretTwelve

Mar 8, 2024

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Threadmarks Chapter 31: The King Prepares

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SecretTwelve

Mar 9, 2024

#494

Chapter 31: The King Prepares

Harald walked through the freshly hewn halls of his people and smiled. It had been more than a month since he and his followers had settled into what they were calling the Twin Peaks. They had chosen to build their first settlement in the eastern peak since it had the best landing site for the sky ship.

Progress had been swift. Unlike humans or elves, dwarves were not restricted to simply digging with whatever tools they could make. No. Dwarves were sons of rock and stone and earth. Even the weakest dwarf was capable of learning some earth magic, and they could use their earth magic to vastly increase the speed and safety of excavation.

There were few dwarves with the raw strength to simply carve out halls and chambers with magic alone. However, there were many dwarves amongst his followers who could use their magic to soften even hard rock into something their stout tools could deal with easily. It became more like shovelling loose sand or gravel than hewing through solid stone.

"Birger!" Harald called. "How is our progress?"

The stout dwarf fell into step beside him as Harald continued his walk toward the entrance of their new home. Birger was a poor warrior and a mediocre craftsman, but there were few who understood the earth the way he did. He was in charge of excavation, not only for living quarters but also for mining and defence. Birger was of an age with Harald's eldest son, Leif, and the two had been friends since childhood. Harald had counselled Leif to maintain that friendship. There were few more important to the proper functioning of a dwarf settlement than those who had mastered the art of delving into the earth.

"It goes well, my king. We are continuing to carve out living quarters, and there have been no setbacks. We have also made good progress in carving out chambers to grow food. If anything, our people are overeager. I have had to enforce rests and breaks upon my workers."

Harald chuckled. "Can you blame them? We lived as exiles for decades, and now we have a mountain of our own – one filled with riches! Who would not wish to act swiftly?"

"Aye, that is true." Birger chuckled. As usual, his hands were coated in a thin layer of dirt. His earth magic was potent indeed, but it required physical contact to be at its best. Tucked into the belt at his waist was a magical cloth that could clean his hands in a moment. It was much more convenient than using water. "But we have time now, and it is better to get it right the first time."

Harald grinned. It was a much better problem to have than wondering if their homes would be able to withstand the next winter or heavy rain. "What of the mines and defences?"

"We have dug several tunnels and shafts already in accordance with your directions," Birger said. "Our miners have confirmed your suspicions." He gave Harald a shrewd glance. "Your prospecting magic is potent indeed, my king. We are fortunate to have you."

Harald had never said where he had learned it, but Birger was no fool. He had not possessed it before, but they had sworn oaths of loyalty to a certain flying, fire-breathing font of magical knowledge. "Just make sure the tunnels and shafts are properly reinforced. We will be using them for quite some time."

It would take them millennia to mine out the mountain, so great was its wealth. Harald would have to speak to the miners once again. Like any dwarf, they would be tempted to focus on what was most valuable first. However, they needed to devote a suitable portion of their efforts to more practical materials, especially those that could be used for defence.

With their fortress deep in Doomwing's territory, there was little chance of an attack by some rival kingdom. However, the mountains and foothills at the edge of the volcanic region were rife with monsters and other wildlife. Some, such as the hardy mountain goats that traipsed up the steep slopes with ease, could be domesticated or hunted without much difficulty. Others, however, such as the wyverns, drakes, giant lizards, and various other reptiles were more troublesome.

It would have been easy for Doomwing to simply annihilate anything that could threaten them, but Harald could see the test for what it was. Doomwing had given them a land filled with riches. It was now up to them to prove they were worthy of it. If they had to run to him for help whenever a monster so much as looked their way, they could not call themselves proper dwarves, nor could Harald call himself a proper king.

Their rocs had done much to aid them, patrolling the skies and helping them keep monsters at bay. They had also had some success in negotiating with the younger and smaller wyverns. Due to their size and youth, they were often forced away from the best hunting grounds, forced to eke out livings in less hospitable areas where they were often preyed upon by the hydras, drakes, and manticores that stalked the slopes.

In exchange for serving as their mounts, these younger wyverns were allowed to roost near the settlement in areas the dwarves had hewn out of the stone. A young wyvern was no match for an adult roc in the air, but wyverns grew larger with age although they would likely stop growing once they were similar in size to a roc. They were not like dragons and drakes who would grow until the day they died. Still, simply having more fliers at their disposal made them safe, for even the most vicious manticore or drake was unlikely to attack a group of half a dozen other fliers.

Hydras were another story. The multi-headed reptiles were fierce, and their acid, venom, and corrosive blood made fighting them a nightmare, to say nothing of their regeneration. Harald had ordered the forging of hydra-resistant armour that made use of their dwindling supplies of rare materials. They needed protection now, and those materials would soon be replaced as their mining operations got underway.

They also had the Stalwart Guard, and the sky ship had proven to be a deadly weapon against the hydras. Its magical and mundane weaponry combined with its ability to fly allowed it to attack hydras from a safe distance and to devastating effect. Hydras could regenerate, but that regeneration had limits. Being blown into thousands of bloody chunks by the magical cannons of the Stalwart Guard surpassed those limits.

They had used the sky ship to scour the mountain of the most aggressive hydras, and those that remained knew to give the dwarves a wide berth. That had given them the time they needed to construct more cannons and other defences around their settlement. They were still unable to make anything that could match the power and range of the Stalwart Guard's weaponry, but his craftsmen could still make weapons of similar power to those used in the Sky Claw Mountains.

They were fortunate that the only hydras that lived upon the mountain were of the lesser sort, with the mightiest only possessing a mere four heads. An ancient hydra – a beast possessing seven or more heads – would have been a threat to even the Stalwart Guard, and Harald would have been forced to call upon Doomwing for aid if such a beast had been found.

Harald could still remember the stories he'd been told of the time a nine-headed hydra had laid siege to the kingdoms of the Sky Claw Mountains. They had been forced to band together to face it, dispatching multiple armies and dozens of heroes of renown. They had all perished, and the hydra had only been slain when the dwarves had reached out to a dragon in desperation.

They had offered the dragon an absolutely exorbitant sum to deal with the hydra. Even so, the battle had been fierce. According to legend, the dragon had been seriously wounded before emerging victorious. If accounts were to be believed, the hydra had measured almost a quarter of a mile in length, with the dragon being of similar size. Not even the famed armour of the dwarves had been able to withstand the hydra's acid, and its size and bulk had allowed it to tear open the gates of multiple cities to attack those within.

Of course, even such a foe would be nothing before Doomwing. The primordial dragon could easily crush it with a single blow or annihilate it with magic.

Harald had ordered his alchemists to carefully collect the remains of the hydras they had slain. The scales of a hydra could be ground into powder that could be added to certain alloys to vastly increase their resistance to acid and other corrosive agents. A hydra's blood and venom were both deadly toxins. Arrows and other weapons dipped into them would soon corrode, but their killing power would be vastly increased.

Basilisks, drakes, and the other monsters that lurked nearby were all loath to risk wounds from weapons dipped in hydra blood or venom. It might not kill them immediately, but it would weaken them, and the dwarves had many bows and crossbows available. It was simply not worth the risk, so they would look elsewhere for prey.

Harald would have to keep a close eye on the hydra population. Wiping it out might be gratifying, but they were a source of many useful materials. Could they be reared as livestock? Unlikely. Hydras were too intelligent and prideful for that to work. It might be best to manage them, killing off any that grew too strong while allowing the weaker ones to survive away from the settlement. Alternatively, they could wipe them all out and seek out hydras elsewhere. His scouts had already reported many groups of them on neighbouring mountains and amidst the foothills and plains.

"Our defences are also proceeding well," Birger said. "As per your instructions, we have focused on fortifying the entrance and establishing outposts nearby that give us full view of our surroundings."

"Good." Harald paused to greet the guards near the entrance. Theirs was a tiresome duty – until there was trouble, then it could get very exciting in all the wrong sorts of ways. "We are not so many yet that we can afford to meet any foe we encounter in open battle. It is better to let the mountain fight on our behalf. If we can see our foes coming, then we can retreat into the mountain and let them break upon our fortifications. We also require time to launch the Stalwart Guard, and the sky ship remains our greatest weapon."

It was sobering to remember that the sky ship was a mere 'destroyer' and that there had once been far more powerful vessels to sail the skies. But the Stalwart Guard would not be alone forever. He and his people would work hard to unlock its secrets, and then they would build sky ships of their own.

Harald spoke a bit more with Birger, but all was going according to his expectations. His followers were hard-working folk, and they all knew how important it was not to squander the opportunity they'd been given. They had resigned themselves to lives of exile, but they had been given a chance to rise higher than they ever imagined possible. Unlike the old kingdoms of the Sky Claw Mountains where it could be almost impossible for a dwarf of common blood to rise above their station, Harald's new kingdom was full of opportunities.

Back when they had lived around the excavation of the sky ship, rank amongst his followers had been determined by merit. He had made it clear that he intended to continue that policy. He would not have a nobility comprised of backbiters and schemers. Instead, those who contributed the most to the kingdom's success could expect the greatest rewards. Better dwarves whose hands were worn from mining, crafting, fighting, and building than dwarves who knew only soft beds and council chambers.

Outside, Harald savoured the brisk wind upon his face and the panoramic view of the landscape. It was not the land of his birth, but there was beauty to be found amidst the rolling hills, rising peaks, and the land of fire and ruin to their north. Great plumes of ash and smoke filled the north, and the volcanic glow of rivers of lava could be seen even from afar.

And approaching from the north was another sight that filled him with both fear and awe.

It was Doomwing.

The dragon arrived in a matter of moments, for he flew more swiftly than anything Harald had ever seen. Not even the swiftest of rocs could match his pace, and Doomwing had cautioned him against trying to outdo him with the Stalwart Guard. Apparently, Doomwing had raced the fastest vessels of the Third Age and had never lost, and he was faster now than he had been then.

To Harald's surprise, however, Doomwing was not alone. Instead, two smaller dragons accompanied him, both of whom shared his general appearance and colouration, and both of whom were about twelve feet in length. In fact… the two smaller dragons looked virtually identical.

"I did not know that you had hatchlings," Harald called out.

Doomwing chuckled, and the air shook. Harald could see a few of their newly acquired wyverns panic, but their handlers calmed them with soothing words and hands. "They are not hatchlings. They are constructs – doppelgangers that can carry out my will in my absence. They carry my knowledge and wisdom. I will be leaving one here with your people."

"We are grateful," Harald said. "What will your doppelganger be doing?" Inwardly, he was stunned. He had seen doppelgangers before. Some dwarves could make them out of earth. But none looked so… lifelike as these ones did, nor could they be counted on to do anything but the most rudimentary tasks.

"I am Vængr," one of the doppelgangers said. "I will be staying here with your people. My task is to pass on my knowledge and wisdom in the areas of metalwork, artifice, alchemy, magic, and whatever else I think you might find useful. I will teach as much as you can learn."

"This… thank you!" Harald bowed deeply. If Vængr truly possessed Doomwing's knowledge and wisdom, then this was a priceless opportunity. "We will do our best to learn all that we can."

Vængr landed beside him. The doppelganger was oddly proportioned. His wings were too big and his tail too short. Was this what Doomwing had looked like in his youth? Perhaps, although Harald was not so foolish as to ask. Amusingly, though, the voice that came from the construct was Doomwing's, deep and striking, rather than the more childish voice that a hatchling would have.

"I will teach all who are willing to learn," Vængr said. "But I will only teach what people are able to learn. Should your people prove talented and hardworking, they will learn much. Should they prove untalented and lazy, they will learn nothing."

"Rest assured, there are no lazy dwarves here," Harald replied. "And there are many of talent amongst us. I will gather them at once."

"Do so," Doomwing said. "I will remain out here. One of the reasons I created these doppelgangers was because my size makes entering settlements like yours difficult."

"Ah. That does seem like it might be an issue," Harald said. "Vængr… how strong are you?"

"I shall be blunt," the doppelganger said. "My power is nothing compared to Doomwing's. Nevertheless, even spells of the twelfth order are easy enough for me, and I can employ the more useful greater runes too." The little dragon bared his teeth as Harald gawped in amazement. "I could easily face every single thing living upon this mountain and win, so rest assured, although I will not fight all your battles for you, if some foe should appear that is beyond you, I will deal with it."

"We'll try not to trouble you," Harald said. "We are dwarves. We'd prefer to do the fighting ourselves if possible."

Harald took Vængr inside and introduced the doppelganger to his people. They accepted him without much trouble. Doomwing's power was so far beyond what they considered reasonable that him turning up with a doppelganger who looked and acted like an actual dragon was simply attributed to Doomwing's exceptional power, regardless of how impossible it might seem.

When Harald explained what Vængr would be doing, he was pleased to see the spark of ambition in his people's eyes. They knew how valuable this opportunity was, and they would not waste it. In short order, Vængr was organising times for various kinds of classes. The doppelganger seemed to enjoy the process, which made Harald wonder if Doomwing also felt the same about teaching. Perhaps, but it must be hard finding people who could meet his standards.

As his people resumed their tasks, Vængr accompanied Harald to his chambers. There, he gave him two objects – cubes of dull grey material. The doppelganger explained what they were, and Harald carefully set them on a table nearby.

"You have brought us many gifts today," Harald said. "The debt we owe you grows larger and larger."

"Repay it by serving well and by taking full advantage of the opportunities that you have been given." Vængr hummed thoughtfully. "You and your dwarves have made much progress since arriving, and you have ruled wisely. You dealt with threats swiftly and decisively and have focused on fortifying this settlement instead of just trying to haul as much treasure out of the ground as possible."

"Treasure is only good if you can keep it. Besides, defence comes first. We are no great kingdom yet, and not a single dwarf under my rule should lose their life needlessly."

"Still, you have likely felt much better now than before your arrival," Vængr pressed.

"That is so." Harald nodded. "But wouldn't anyone after finding a home again?"

"Hmm…" Vængr's brows furrowed. "I see you do not know."

"Know what?" Harald asked.

"Dwarves are sons of rocks and earth and stone. That is not merely a saying or a reference to your origins. It speaks to your very nature." The doppelganger's eyes narrowed. "Dwarves draw their strength from the earth itself. That connection is strongest when you are within or upon the mountains you call your homes."

"Aye," Harald said quietly. "We dwarves do get homesick easily. It is why few of us become merchants. No dwarf likes to leave their home for long."

"You still do not understand. I am saying that your actual power is weakened when you are away from a mountain you have a connection with. You are weakened in a very real way when you are away from your mountain homes. Why do you think no exiles have ever rebelled or tried to take their homes back by force?" Vængr asked. "Or why exiles struggle so hard to claim new homes for themselves? They lack the strength to do so."

"Wait…" Harald's eyes widened. "You're saying that it goes beyond mere homesickness? I felt weaker upon leaving the mountains behind, as did my followers, but I always attributed that to homesickness and the ills that come from being in an unfamiliar place without the comforts of home."

"The effect becomes stronger over time," Vængr explained. "And it is worse amongst normal dwarves. The blood of kings flows through your veins, Harald. That same blood means your connection to the mountains of your birth is deeper and longer-lasting than a regular dwarf's."

The doppelganger touched a claw to his chest, and Harald could suddenly see into himself. A network of light appeared within him, and he realised that he must be seeing his magical circulatory system.

"That is your magical circulatory system. From your expression, I can see you have some familiarity with it."

"Yes. We are taught of it as children," Harald said. "However, I have never seen it so clearly before. Even the exercises we are given as warriors to help shape it only allow for a crude grasp of it, more intuitive than anything else."

"I will teach you how to perceive it more directly. It will be useful. In any case, what is important is that dwarves naturally draw in magic from their surroundings. They use this magic to increase the size of their reserves and to expand their magical circulatory system. These two processes will strengthen a dwarf. This process is natural and occurs automatically and without conscious effort."

"I have been told something along those lines," Harald said. Experts in this sort of magical theory were rare amongst the dwarves. They tended to focus on more practical areas, especially since they lacked the tools to investigate it properly.

"Not all people work the same way. Humans, for instance, must be taught to absorb magic from their surroundings, and the process of absorbing magic, refining it, and then using it to expand their reserves is not natural for them either. In fact, many who attempt to learn how will perish in the attempt."

Harald blinked. "That seems… unfortunate. Is that why we are stronger than them?"

"Yes and no. Even without magic, the average dwarf is stronger than the average human. However, dwarves' instinctive and automatic absorption of magic exaggerates this difference. However… humans do have one advantage over dwarves in this area."

"What is that?"

"A human who learns to absorb magic from their surroundings can absorb and purify any form of magic, at least in theory. This means that a human can live on a mountain, beside the sea, or even in a desert, and as long as the ambient magic is sufficient, they can continue to grow in strength. Dwarves… are sons of rock and stone and earth. The only forms of magic your bodies can properly process are magics associated with those things, particularly when they come from a mountain or similar area that you have close ties with. In exchange for your weakness away from your mountain homes, there are few who can match your might within them."

"Then… the weakness you spoke of…"

"Yes. What you refer to as homesickness is weakness caused by no longer having access to large quantities of the right kind of magic. Exiles are weak because they are cut off from the magic they have grown used to having access to their entire lives. Over time, this weakness becomes greater and greater to the point that exiled dwarves have no hope of challenging those who continue to live in their homes."

"Then the wanderers, those who have survived without a mountain to call their own for generations, they must be weaker still."

"Yes." Vængr nodded. "Think about it. Why else would they continue to wander instead of seizing a home for themselves? After a few generations, they grow so weak that they are only slightly stronger than normal humans."

"Then what of my people?" Harald asked. "We have a home now and a mountain of our own."

"You and your people will be fine. Even now, your bodies are being re-energised by the rich magic of this mountain. Soon, you will be linked to this mountain and this area in much the same way as you were once linked to the Sky Claw Mountains. Within a year, it will be as if you were never driven from your homes."

"How long does this weakness take to emerge?" Harald asked. No wonder his instructors in warfare had always cautioned him about taking troops outside the mountains for too long. Even if they had not known the cause, they had still understood that dwarves were weaker away from the mountains.

"You need not be upon or inside the mountain itself to receive strength from its magic. Merely being close enough will suffice. In fact, given the sheer strength of magic in my domain, I would say that you will not suffer weakness while you remain in this area. Should you leave it, however, it would take about a month for a normal dwarf to feel any noticeable weakness. After a year, though, they would definitely feel less energetic and capable."

"How did the dwarves of the Third Age deal with this problem?" Harald asked. "For they lived upon sky ships and not inside mountains."

"The sky ships themselves solved the problem," Vængr replied. "You lack the skills for it, but in time, you will understand that the core of each sky ship radiates magic of the right type for dwarves. Although dwarves can only process certain types of magic, the same is not true for the cores themselves. They can process and absorb any type of magic, and there are functions built into them that allow them to radiate a steady field of magic associated with rock and stone and earth." Vængr's lips curled. "You felt more energetic on the sky ship, right?"

Harald nodded. "I thought that was simply the thrill of flying."

"That played a part, yes, but that was not all of it." Vængr chuckled. "In the past, dwarf lords would carry artifacts that did something similar with their armies to let them march freely beyond the mountains. There are also small devices that can be worn that will help, but the art of making those appears to have been lost to you."

"Do you know it?"

"Of course, and I will teach it if there are any who can learn." Vængr bared his teeth in a smile. "Would your son be able to rule in your place for a while?"

"Leif? I believe so. Why do you ask?"

"Soon, a great tournament will be held in a neighbouring kingdom. I intend for one of my followers, the princess, to make a suitable impression there. I believe she will be able to recruit many people. I have been informed by the king there – who rules at my behest – that several groups of exiled dwarves are present. Apparently, they are searching for work and lands where they may live for a time."

Harald smiled back. "And you want me to recruit them?"

"Yes. In fact, I want you to go with Doomwing in the Stalwart Guard. Show them what you have accomplished and speak to them of the lands you have been given. I believe they will be more amenable to the offer if you make it, rather than Doomwing."

"What would happen to them?" Harald asked.

"They would either live here as your followers, sworn directly to you, or they would found settlements of their own elsewhere. You would still rule over them as king – as I have promised you – but they would manage their own settlements, with their leader acting as a lord below you in rank and station."

"I see. Yes, that should work. When do we leave?"

"As soon as you are able."

Author's Notes

The dwarves are back, and things are going well. Harald is a good ruler, and he knows what he needs to do. What he needs now, more than anything, is more people, and Doomwing knows where to get them.

Exiled dwarves live an often miserable existence. They can rarely hold lands of their own for more than a few decades at a time before being driven off by others. Instead, they wander, seeking out work where they can find it and offering their services to others in exchange for food, pay, and lodgings. Their weakness leads many dwarves to look down on them, but as Vængr pointed out, there is a reason for that.

This is also why dwarves are such brilliant defensive fighters and are much more mediocre away from their mountains. Not only is attacking a fortified mountain a suicide mission but the dwarves themselves are also buffed simply by being in their mountain homes. Conversely, trying to conquer vast swathes of territory outside of their mountains isn't really viable due to their problem, which is why dwarf empires have, historically speaking, been confined to mountainous regions.

Funnily enough, this issue is something that dwarves and elves have in common. Dwarves can really only process magic associated with rock and stone and earth. Elves can really only process magic associated with life, growth, and nature. This is why elves are almost exclusively found in forests ruled by dryads since dryads will naturally emit vast quantities of that magic and will alter the ambient magic and currents of magic nearby to be of the same type as well.

Note that most species can absorb different kinds of magic and will simply convert what they absorb into whatever type they need. Dwarves and elves are rarities in that they are unable to do this or do it extremely poorly. In exchange, however, they get big boosts when in the right environment. Humans get no boosts from being anywhere but don't get nerfed from being in the wrong place either.

Dwarves of the Seventh Age (the current age) do not understand their weakness since the knowledge has been distorted or lost over the Ages, and they lack the magic to properly examine their own magical circulatory systems. Moreover, since they rarely leave their mountain homes and dislike contact with exiles, they don't really have a way of comparing things either. Instead, they speak of it as 'homesickness' and chalk the associated weakness up to a number of other factors.

As an aside, this means that dwarves could potentially get a boost from hanging around Ashheart since he just casually radiates vast quantities of the right kind of magic unless he makes an effort to rein in his power.

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Threadmarks Chapter 32: The Princess Is Lucky

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SecretTwelve

Mar 10, 2024

#505

Chapter 32: The Princess Is Lucky

Antaria no longer screamed when Doomwing's construct carried her high up into the air and then dropped her. No, screaming wasted air, and she needed air to think. It had taken her multiple falls and no shortage of bruises, broken bones, and other injuries to finally master a lesser rune of gliding.

The fact that it was a lesser rune thrilled her. Basic runes were already powerful, and lesser runes were a step above them. Better still, it was a rune associated with flight. Admittedly, gliding wasn't the same thing as flying, but it was very close. Supposedly, the next step up would be floating followed by actual flight.

Rather than flail around like an idiot and then crash into the ground, Antaria activated her lesser rune of gliding and spread her arms and legs. She had taken inspiration from some of the squirrels that lived in Daphne's tree. They had flaps between their wrists and ankles that allowed them to glide.

Antaria didn't have those flaps, but that didn't matter. When it came to runes, Doomwing had explained that intentions were often more important than practicalities. She was changing the story of the world, but the story wouldn't change if she refused to believe in those changes. So she pictured those squirrels in her mind, spread her arms and legs like they did, and believed she could glide.

And she did.

What should have been a terrifying fall followed by an impact that added another crater to the ground was instead turned into a pleasant glide through the air. She was even confident enough to do a few tricks before finally touching down with a flourish.

"How was that?" Antaria asked, puffing her chest out and accepting the congratulations of the various animals who'd come out to watch. Sure, they had originally delighted in her failure, but they were now revelling in her success. Daphne was there too, and the dryad clapped politely. "Pretty good, right?"

"It was acceptable," Doomwing's construct said. "You will soon be ready for a rune of floating."

"Can we do that today?" Antaria asked. "I'm just bursting with energy."

And she was. Regardless of how brutal her training was or how exhausted she felt when she crawled into bed, she felt energised and ready for more in the morning. According to Doomwing, it was due to her improved magic circulatory system and the increasingly dense ambient magic that filled through the area. Even the daily agony of learning to control her magical circulatory system better was manageable. Sure, it hurt, but the benefits were obvious and growing each and every day.

The monsters under her command were also pleased. Many of them had ascended further, with some of them attain some particularly intriguing forms. For example, the wolf pups, who were now as big as she was, had turned into what Doomwing's construct called wind wolves. Apparently, they could now harness wind magic to run faster and augment their attacks. In time, he was hopefully they could ascend further, perhaps into sky wolves that could actually fly. Their mother had actually already reached that point, and the female wolf had delighted in flying circles around Antaria during her many trips to greet the ground with her face.

Doomwing believed that Antaria's increase in power had affected the monsters under her command. Supposedly, monsters typically ascended in ways that reflected their situation – or the abilities of their 'boss'. Since Antaria was in charge of them, it wasn't surprising that their magical affinities had come to resemble hers.

If only she could have gotten the ability to fly first… oh well. She'd get there soon, and then she'd show the mother wolf who was boss.

Probably the biggest surprise had been a giant… boar creature – the villagers had taken to calling him a hell boar due to his enormous size, spiky hide, and gigantic tusks – who couldn't fly but who could launch himself like a boulder from a catapult, soaring up and then crashing down into his foes to devastating effect. It looked absolutely ridiculous, but the boar seemed to enjoy doing it, and the damage was undeniable. Daphne had banned him from using the attack anywhere near the fields after he'd almost damaged some of them.

The boar had bristled and refused right up until Daphne had pinned him to the ground with roots while several of her tree folk threatened to turn his insides into his outsides. It was strangely gratifying to see the dryad demonstrate her ability to terrify people when necessary. Hmm… Doomwing must be rubbing off on her.

"Not yet. There is something else we must do. My actual body will be arriving soon, and then we will be departing for your kingdom. To add to our prestige, I wish to bring along several monsters. However, Daphne pointed out that bringing some of the larger monsters might give the wrong impression."

"That we're evil and want to kill everybody?" Antaria loved having the wolf pups around – they were so cuddly and adorable – but she could also see how they would terrify normal people. The wolf pups were as big as she was and perfectly capable of turning the average person into a bloody smear in a matter of seconds.

"Yes. To solve that issue, Daphne suggested we use some of her animals. Apparently, there are some amongst them who also wish to ascend and who have now attained the power and wisdom required to do so. They merely need a… catalyst to spark their ascension."

Antaria turned to eye the array of animals on Daphne's branches sceptically. "What if we just end up with giant squirrels with burning eyes and swords for tails?"

"There are ways to preserve their general size and shape while still allowing them to gain power. This will provide us with minions who are both formidable and adorable." The construct nodded sagely. "Such creatures were quite popular in the Sixth Age. Indeed, Elerion was most displeased when he was unable to secure enough badger warriors for an actual squad."

"Badger warriors?" Antaria asked.

"Similar in size and appearance to normal badgers but capable of wielding magic and far, far stronger in combat. Elerion was only able to find three, and they all refused to join. Just one of them would provide you with a decent challenge although I think you would be victorious more often than not."

"Is that so?" Maybe it was the blood of her great ancestor flowing through her veins, but now that she'd heard about them, Antaria kind of wanted some badger warriors too. "So, wait, how are we going to do this?"

"The process is simple. However, the outcome will also rely heavily on luck."

"Luck?" Antaria asked.

"Yes." The construct nodded. He motioned for her to follow, and they walked over to where Daphne had dug out a large pit. In short order it was filled with pure water, and the dryad's roots began to pour glowing green sap into it. The mixture of sap and water shimmered, and Antaria took a wary step back as the pool began to radiate power. "This is a Pool of Ascension."

A number of animals had gathered at the edges of the pool, and they all peered into its opaque depths. More than one of them looked as if they might jump in, but Daphne reached out to catch them before they could try their luck.

"How does it work?" Antaria asked.

"A normal animal can ascend into a monster once certain conditions are met. These animals, by virtue of consuming copious quantities of fruits and nuts from Daphne, have been able to meet most of those conditions. What they lack, however, is the raw power required to make the jump. A Pool of Ascension is made by infusing pure, magically receptive water with a special kind of sap that only dryad's can produce. You can think of it as incredibly dense life, nature, and growth magic. Dryads specialise in that and are arguably more skilled in altering living things than anyone else." The construct paused. "A gift, you could say, from Mother Tree who played the part of mother to countless creatures over the years, helping them to grow and achieve out their best."

Daphne smiled. "I only developed the ability to make it recently, which is why we haven't used it before."

"It also wouldn't have worked for you," the construct said to Antaria. "As a human, your path to… greater power is not the same as an animal's. You would likely have been afflicted with severe hallucinations followed by multiple organ failure and then death. Alternatively, the waters of the pool could have left you in an inebriated state that would make drowning incredibly easy."

"…" Antaria took another step back. "And they're going to be okay?"

"Yes. They are animals, and their long-term exposure to Daphne's power via eating fruits and nuts from her tree means that their bodies are naturally receptive to her power."

"So do we just let them drink out of the pool?" Antaria asked.

"No." Doomwing's construct shook its head. "We put them in the pool and then hold them under until they drown."

Antaria gaped. "What? Are you serious?" She rounded on Daphne. "Look, I get that they can be pretty annoying, but are you really okay with this?"

Daphne patted the raccoon in her arms affectionately. "They won't actually die. It's just that in order to force the ascension, they have to be on the very verge of death. In that state, their body will attempt to absorb all the power it can from their surroundings in a desperate bid to survive."

"And if they can't get enough, or it doesn't work?" Antaria asked.

"Then we pull them out and use magic to heal them," the construct said. "You aren't actually dead for a while when you drown, so there will be no complications." The construct nodded at the animals. "They have all been informed of the risks, and they have agreed to try at least once. Should they fail, they will be resuscitated, and we can try again later. If they succeed, they will ascend into monsters while keeping their general form and receive powers." The construct's expression darkened. "Unfortunately, it is currently impossible to predict what powers they will receive."

Daphne sighed. "Each animal has a set of powers they are predisposed to. However, which set they'll get seems to be random. In other words, it all comes down to luck."

Doomwing's construct made a disgusted sound. "There is one amongst the primordial dragons – Stormbringer – that has made a pact with a powerful dryad, one of the First Daughters. They both find this process so amusing that they decided to work together to make the largest, most powerful Pool of Ascension in the world. They routinely throw in animals of every kind to see what powers they'll gain."

"How many animals have they thrown in?" Antaria asked. She wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know, but the whole thing was just so bizarre.

"During the Sixth Age, I would estimate the number to be in the tens of thousands… or more. It is likely why the forest she rules over in conjunction with the dryad goes by two names – the Forest of Storms… and the Forest of Monsters." Doomwing's construct scoffed. "I regret telling her about the process. During the Sixth Age, she even sent missives to the rest of us primordial dragons detailing the luckiest outcomes. She was particularly proud of a monkey that ascended into a supreme simian sorcerer who was capable of using magic up to the twelfth order."

"That… I don't even know what to say to that." Antaria grimaced. "But what does that have to do with me?"

"Despite her… madness in throwing in so many creatures, Stormbringer at least had the decency to keep track of the results. Upon examining those results after repeated badgering, I realised that who throws in the animal or holds it under has some influence on what powers it might receive. That is why all three of us will be trying our hand at it. Keep in mind that this process will only work for animals with a close bond to Daphne, which is why only animals who live in her tree are here. The dryad I spoke of earlier got around this restriction by going out of her way to feed as many animals as possible."

"That's probably a good thing." Antaria could already picture the chaos that would erupt if just any old animal could be thrown in. "So… who goes first?"

"I think I'll go first." Daphne walked over to the edge of the pool with the raccoon. "Uh… I'm sorry in advance, but I'm sure you'll do well."

The raccoon in question gave her a jaunty salute, seemingly unbothered by the fact that she was about to drown it.

"Proceed," Doomwing said. "I have healing magic at the ready."

Antaria had to turn away when the raccoon thrashed underwater before finally going still. However, a burst of light had her turning back as the raccoon leapt out of the water with a triumphant cry. The creature's eyes were now glowing a radiant green, and a twig flew up from the ground and transformed into a gnarled staff.

"Interesting." Doomwing's construct activated its magic. "He appears to be a druid of some kind. Excellent. He can help supervise the tree folk and assist in growing crops. With his aid, you will also be able to spread your influence even wider."

Daphne hugged the raccoon tightly. "I'm glad you're okay."

The raccoon nuzzled her back, and then patted her cheek with his little paws before hopping onto her shoulder and brandishing his staff. A burst of green light came from the end of the staff, and flower petals drifted through the air.

"As you can see, the increase in power and utility is swift and impressive. Although such creatures typically are not suitable for frontline combat, many of them are quite useful in other ways, which is fine since tree folk are generally better fighters anyway." The construct picked up a squirrel with telekinesis and dunked it into the pool. "Let us see what I get."

The result was a squirrel who could store items in some sort of… folded space that allowed it to carry stuff around with relative ease.

"Not the best result," the construct grumbled. "But passable. At present the folded space occupies a volume of perhaps a cubic foot. With time, however, it should grow. More importantly, the weight of objects in the folded space is massively reduced to the point that the squirrel can carry even a cubic foot of rock with ease."

"I guess it's my turn, now, right?" Antaria said. She walked over a raccoon who had frequently bet on her succeeding unlike most of his peers. He gave her a cheerful smile and what passed for a thumb's up. "Well… best of luck, little guy."

She held him under the water and looked away. A few moments later, he burst free of her grip and landed nimbly atop her head. Then he vanished only to reappear next to Doomwing's construct before reappearing on one of Daphne's protruding roots and then one of her branches.

The construct stared at the raccoon and then turned to give Antaria a glare. "It would seem that you are especially fortunate. The raccoon has been blessed by the pool."

"Oh?" Antaria wasn't sure why, but she felt rather happy about that. "What did he get?"

"He received two powerful abilities – shadow walking and tree walking. Shadow walking allows him to travel through shadows while tree walking allows him to travel through trees. The former has obvious application whilst the latter does not refer to simply leaping from tree to tree. Instead, if he is in contact with a tree, he can travel through it to any other part of that same tree or to a nearby tree."

Daphne's eyes widened. "Then he could travel from my trunk all the way to where my roots end?" The raccoon struck a pose, preened, and then did exactly that, vanishing and then reappearing before collapsing in a heap.

"Naturally, both abilities incur a certain cost, and his reserves are not yet so large that he can use them freely. He will have to work hard to increase them if he wishes to take full advantage of his abilities."

Antaria sighed. "How come I didn't get any awesome abilities when I got stronger?"

"You are human. Humans are not blessed with many innate abilities unlike monsters. However, the path that monsters walk is far less flexible. Almost every single thing that the raccoon learns as he ascends further will be tied to those two abilities. His skillset will forever be narrower and more focused than yours – ease of use and immediate power at the expense of versatility and choice. Moreover, his progress will be much slower than yours since the Pool of Ascension is a forceful process, bringing into the present what would have been gained in the future. I believe the First Gods gave this ability to Mother Tree and dryads to help them when they were young since a young dryad is neither mobile enough to avoid danger nor strong enough to easily fight it off. Being able to quickly raise helpers is undoubtedly quite useful."

"I guess…" Antaria grinned. This was kind of fun. "So… we're going through the rest of the animals here, right?"

"That is the idea."

By the time they had finished, perhaps half of the animals had managed to ascend. Doomwing's construct considered that a remarkable result, likely driven by the close bond between Daphne and her animals. It was confident that the remainder would also ascend with a few more attempts. However, the construct was not totally pleased by the results – not because the ascended animals had failed to gain any useful abilities but because the animals the construct had thrown in had been the least impressive by a noticeable margin.

"Bah!" the construct grumbled. "I will do better next time. Besides, this isn't even my real body. I'm sure my real body would do better…"

"Maybe you're just not as lucky as me," Antaria said. "But on the upside, we got a bunch of suitable minions to bring along, right?"

"Yes," the construct conceded. "We shall take a dozen of the most suitable. My real body will be arriving in two days. That should be sufficient time to train them to a decent standard since usage of their abilities is mostly instinctive anyway. As for you… we shall try a rune of floating. Consider it a reward to go with your good fortune."

Author's Notes

The biggest weakness that dryads have is their relative immobility. Technically speaking, a dryad's tree can still move around. However, the process is draining and almost never attempted unless absolutely necessary. It just doesn't end well most of the time. Instead, once a dryad settles somewhere, it will stay there until the day it dies.

This means that young dryads are often at great risk since they can't move around and lack the skill and power of older dryads. This is why dryads will typically only settle somewhere after acquiring tree folk to command or in areas where there are plenty of tree folk who can be recruited. Of course, older dryads can make tree folk, but that is rarely an option for younger dryads.

Instead, younger dryads can use Pools of Ascension to boost the animals who rely on them for food. This gives them access to decent minions relatively quickly. For the reasons that Doomwing outlined, such minions are most useful early on, when a dryad is relatively weak. As a dryad grows in strength, tree folk, other monsters, and elves become more useful. Nevertheless, many dryads continue to maintain such minions since they are often good in more support-focused roles or to do other work that is less combat-focused (e.g., the raccoon that Antaria helped make would be perfect as a delivery boy in conjunction with the squirrel).

Daphne only recently developed this ability due to her situation. All of her power was used to make crops, which slowed down her 'evolution', and then the blight happened, curtailing her growth even further. However, in her new home, there's plenty of power to fuel her growth, so she was able to unlock the ability.

Also, yes, Stormbringer is a gacha addict, and so is the dryad she hangs out with. If she ever finds out about Antaria, she is going to want to see if Antaria's luck generalises.

Last edited: Mar 10, 2024

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Threadmarks Chapter 33: The Dragon And The Dwarf Talk

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SecretTwelve

Mar 12, 2024

#541

Chapter 33: The Dragon And The Dwarf Talk

Corundum was the other special doppelganger that Doomwing had brought along. With Vængr staying behind at the dwarven settlement, it was his duty to accompany the sky ship on its journey to the great tournament. However, they first had to pick up Antaria, as well as a few ascended animals.

Doomwing himself was flying alongside the sky ship whilst Corundum lingered on the deck, standing silent sentry beside Harald as the dwarf gazed out over the railing. There were only a handful of clouds, which left the moon free to illuminate both the sky and the lands below in pale silver light. It was an impressive view although Harald could not enjoy it the way Corundum could. Even as a doppelganger, his sight and other senses were far keener than any dwarf's. Still, the sight must have pleased the recently crowned king because there was a small smile on his lips, and the tension that had clung tightly to him for much the day had given way to an ease that a dwarf half his age would have envied.

Truly, Harald had been born to seek the skies. It was just a pity that his loyal roc was no longer with him. Dooming – and by extension, Corundum – had never thought too highly of rocs. The ones he had encountered in the past had either fled at the mere sight of him or had postured as though their threat displays and cries meant anything at all to a dragon. From how Harald had described him, Goldwing would likely have been tolerable, and such loyalty as the bird had shown was to be commended.

And the bird had deserved a better end. To be so old and feeble that he could no longer fly? The bird had fought in many battles and proven himself many times over. He should have died in battle, his beak and claws stained with the blood of his enemies, his loud, pealing cry echoing over the mountains. At least Harald had honoured him properly, scattering his ashes from the tallest peak of the Sky Claw Mountains. The skies had been taken from Goldwing in life, so it was fitting that he be returned to them in death.

If the day should come that Doomwing fell, he could only hope that his end would be better. Let him meet death with fire and claw and teeth. Let his magic rage and his flame howl. Let the enemy know the full measure of his might, and if that was not enough, then let his last moments be worthy of remembrance that he might enter the cycle of death and rebirth with a roar and not a whimper. His parents had given their lives for him, and so had others over the years. He would not shame them by falling easily. Let none say that Doomwing lived his life in vain!

Was it the moon, or was it the wind? Perhaps it was the stars and the landscape spread out beneath them. Whatever it was, he found himself in a contemplative mood, his thoughts venturing to places and people far off in space and time, all of them lost save for in his memories and the slowly dwindling echoes they'd left behind in the dreaming lands.

"Why are you named Corundum?" Harald asked. The dwarf was staring up at the sky now, to the constellation that his people called the Hammer. Corundum could remember Doomwing's lessons with Mother Tree. The dryads called those stars the Forked Bough, and the merfolk referred to it as the Trident. Honestly, he didn't think it looked much like any of those, but he could understand the temptation to name them. The brightest star in the constellation was easy to see, even on cloudy nights, and there was something comforting about its light.

The only time that Doomwing could ever recall seeing that star vanishing was when the Exiled Star had come. Was it another living star then, perhaps a more benevolent one? Maybe. But if it was, it had never left the heavens, nor had it spoken as the Exiled Star had often done, his voice at once heavenly and infernal, each word accompanied by the soul-piercing music of the spheres.

"What do the scales of my real body remind you of?" Corundum asked.

Harald's gaze drifted to where Doomwing flew, a cloud of sapphire and ruby, more resplendent in the moonlight than any gem the dwarves had ever dug up from the earth. "Sapphires and rubies… ah." His lips twitched. "I see."

"Yes. As any decent alchemist can tell you, sapphires and rubies are both variants of the mineral known as corundum. Only certain trace impurities give them different colours. And yet those minute differences give rise to such contrasts, both aesthetically and magically. Doomwing thought it fitting to name me after the origin of the gems that are most frequently likened to his scales."

"Seems as good a reason as any," Harald replied. Despite the late hour, his eyes were still keen. It was common for the youngest dwarves to sleep early and rise late, but older dwarves slept late and rose early. Ragnar had once said it was because the old had no time left to waste, but it was common amongst many species for the youngest to need more sleep.

"It also seemed fitting since I will be the doppelganger assigned to Daphne and Antaria." Corundum flexed his wings. They were rather large for his size, but they still had the general appearance and proportions of a hatchling's wings. "I – or rather, Doomwing – trained Antaria's ancestor. He was fond of alchemy… but he was absolutely hopeless at it, as in he genuinely possessed zero talent for it and his magic was completely incompatible with it too."

Harald chuckled. "It reminds me of my luck with instruments. I've a fine voice for speaking, and I'm a decent enough singer, but I've been trying my hand at the fiddle for decades now, and I swear I'm little better than where I started."

"Elerion found the idea of being able to transform matter and energy fascinating. Alas, his magic was geared almost entirely toward enhancement. He could have learned the rituals and procedures, but his magic was so specialised that even those would have been difficult for him. He always found it amusing that corundum could give rise to gems with such different appearances. He said it reminded him of people."

"How so?" Harald asked. He had a gourd full of stout dwarven whiskey, and he took a small sip from it before offering some to Corundum.

"The offer is appreciated but unnecessary," the doppelganger replied. "I cannot eat or drink the way you do. But to answer your question, Elerion was struck by the fact that all humans shared the same general shape: two arms, two legs, one head, and so on. Yet seemingly small differences in these things could lead to people looking quite different indeed. Moreover, small differences in people's lives could lead to dramatic differences. A bit of good luck might see a farmer's son rise to become a king whilst a bit of bad luck could see a king's son with his head on the chopping block."

"Hmm… the same could be said of dwarves," Harald replied. "My brother and I share the same parents, and we share the same general form, for we are both dwarves. Yet our strengths and weaknesses are very different, and those differences have led to us living very different lives. Indeed, one could argue that if I had been born first, well, we would not be speaking to one another right now." Harald's expression sobered. "In truth, I am glad I was born second. I do not think that my brother would have survived exile, and I would not see him come to harm."

"The same goes for dragons," Corundum said. "We all share the same general form, yet the simple matter of lineage can dramatically alter our powers and appearance. Even amongst those with the same lineage, small differences in fortune or experience can have dramatic effects. There were many hatchlings of the same lineage as me, yet none have risen so far as I have. Indeed, of the hatchlings of the first age who shared my lineage, none still live although some do have descendants."

Corundum thought back to those long ago days. It had been good fortune that allowed him to befriend Dion, and it had been good fortune again that had helped him to befriend Mother Tree. Those friendships had all ended in pain, yet he would not trade them for anything. Those friendships – and the deaths that had followed – had made him who he was, and regardless of how they may have ended, those friendships had nevertheless meant something to him. That he had been forced to help strike down Mother Tree did not erase the many years of companionship they had shared, nor had the tragedy of Dion's death erased the happy memories.

"Do you know what a storm opal is?" Corundum asked.

"A storm opal?" Harald rubbed his beard and took another sip of his whiskey. From the smell, it was strong indeed and likely of high quality. Doomwing had never been one to indulge much in alcohol, but Ragnar had, and the dwarf had frequently lectured him on what made various drinks good or bad. "I have heard of them, but I have never seen one myself. They are said to be exceedingly rare. I believe only three exist in the Sky Claw Mountains, and they rarely leave the vaults in which they are kept."

"They are indeed extremely rare," Corundum replied. "Even in the First Age, they were not common." He chuckled. "I had a friend named Stormtooth. She wanted one more than anything else in the world. She was young then… we both were." He shook his head as if to clear away the memories, but they remained, stubborn as always. "She was my best friend, and after she achieved her First Awakening, I wanted to get her one as a gift."

"That would have been a kingly gift," Harald said, blinking. "Were you so wealthy even in your youth that you could afford it?"

"Hah!" Corundum laughed. "Not at all. My hoard was as meagre as any hatchling's, but I had an advantage. Even in those days the dwarves and elves did not always get along, for they viewed the world in very different ways. To a dwarf, it was only natural to delve into the earth for riches. To an elf, such riches were better left in the bosom of the world. As a result, it was rare for dwarves to have access to certain magics. Luckily, I was much favoured by Mother Tree, the oldest and greatest of all dryads, and it was she who had given elves the knowledge they were famed for. I was able to learn certain magics from her and then trade them to the dwarves for a storm opal."

"A cunning plan indeed," Harald said. His gaze was shrewd. He would no doubt tell his historians of what Doomwing had said to help them get a better grasp of the past. "Would… could I see it?"

"I will make one." Corrundum raised his claw and focused. In those long ago days, he could never have imagined that he would one day possess the power and skill to make a storm opal. Now, however, making one was no great labour, merely a matter of concentrating for a few moments and being willing to expend a significant chunk of power. "Behold."

In his hands, an opal formed. It called to mind an approaching thunderhead, at once white, and grey, and black with an interior that gleamed from within as though lit by the flash of lightning in a storm-darkened sky. Shifting it back and forth, it seemed almost to crackle, the trails of electric blue that writhed in its depths seeming to spread like cracks upon a pane of glass before vanishing, only to reappear when the light struck from another angle.

"Magnificent…" Harald breathed.

"A trinket," Corundum said. "Made in the image of something far more special." His lips curled. "Ask any alchemist of worth, and they will tell you that making a gem with alchemy will result in an empty husk unless you are willing to add power to it."

"Is that so?" Harald reached for the opal gingerly, and Corundum let him take it. "Why is that?"

"If you are only interested in appearance, then an alchemically made gem may actually be superior to a natural one. A skilled alchemist with the right materials or magic can make a flawless gem in the form you require without the need to risk damaging it by cutting and polishing. Yet if you wish to use a gem for magic – and the most valuables gems are valuable because of their magical properties – then a natural gem is superior. You see, natural gems are born in the heart of the world and are wrought from mundane and magical processes of tremendous power. You can use alchemy to mimic the form of a gem, but it is much more difficult to replicate those esoteric properties, for they are bequeathed to the gem through millennia of formation. Some, such as myself can do so, but that requires great power and a deep understanding of the processes involved, as well as the nature of high alchemy."

"You said this was only a copy," Harald stared intently at the opal in his hands. "What became of the original?"

"I gave it to Stormtooth," Doomwing said. "And she was most pleased with it. It took pride of place in her hoard, and she was forever saying that she would get me a suitable gift in return upon my Second Awakening." He paused. "She never did keep that promise, however. She perished right before my Second Awakening."

"I'm sorry," Harald said. He made to give the opal back, but Corundum shook his head.

"Keep it. It matters little," Corundum said. "I only ask that you remember the words I have spoken." He stared at the moon. "After she died, I went to her hoard. All of her kin perished alongside her, and she had never been too good at making friends. She was too much for most dragons – stubborn, foolish, and never the smartest, but she was loyal, and in my youth, she was my finest friend. I took her hoard for myself, and I have kept it ever since."

"All this time?" Harald whispered. "How many years is that?"

"Too many years, some would say," Corundum replied. "But not enough, others would argue, for the memories have yet to fade. We would talk, she and I, of all the great deeds we would accomplish when we had Awakened further. We would be legends in our own lifetimes, fighting battles worthy of story and song, our names known in every corner of the world." His gaze hardened. "She died at the hands of an enemy so mighty, he likely never even knew she existed. There was no glorious death for her, no passing worthy of remembrance."

"Yet you remember her," Harald said. "That must be worth something, right?"

"Yes. I suppose it is." Corundum chuckled. "Stormtooth never had the chance to do great deeds and become a legend. But that is why I kept her hoard. In many ways, a dragon's hoard is a concrete expression of their dreams and aspirations. As long as I have her hoard, her dreams are not dead. We could not reach our dreams together, but I have been able to reach them for both of us."

Harald looked at him for a long moment, and a single tear trickled down the dwarf's cheek. It was fitting, perhaps, because Corundum could shed no tears, for Doomwing's had run dry long ago. Carefully, Harald reached into his tunic and took out a charm that hung upon a necklace. It was made of roc feathers. "I burned Goldwing, as was his wish, and in accordance with the ways of my people. But I kept these feathers and had them made into a charm." He pointed to the dwarven writing carved onto the charm. "Do you know what this says?"

"Together," Corundum said. "That is what it says."

"Aye. Goldwing had gone as far as he could, and I would not shame him by denying him the burial he had earned with his great deeds. But I wanted some part of him to be with me, for no truer friend could I have asked for. Too short did he live, and unfitting was his ending, but at least some part of him can accompany me on the rest of my journey, wherever that might take me." Harald tucked the charm back into his tunic. "When I pass, all that I have shall be given to my children and my people. No grave piled high with treasure for me, no tomb filled with swords and shields and spears. No. It will be the wind that takes me, and I shall be ash as my friend was. Let our journeys end the same way. Only the charm shall go with me, the last of him to pass with the last of me."

Corundum nodded. "Rule well, Harald, and I will give you a pyre worthy of a king. Rule well, and it will not be a torch that sets you aflame. It will be dragon fire – the fire of a dragon of the First Age."

Harald's lips curved up into a smile. "Aye… aye, what a thing that would be. I'll have to do my best then, if I am to prove worthy of that honour."

"Indeed." Corundum chuckled. "In the Third Age it was custom to pour a drink out for those who passed, to give it to the winds and the sky. What say you to that?"

Harald smiled and took up his gourd again. He opened it and tipped it out over the railing. "To Goldwing," he said. "And Stormtooth. To those who passed too late…or too early."

Alongside the sky ship, Doomwing continued to fly, his gaze solemn as he watched the sky and land for threats. There were none, but still he watched. A faint smile crossed his lips. Each of his doppelgangers was just a little bit different from the others. How fitting that the one he'd named Corundum should be the most sentimental of the bunch.

Author's Notes

A different sort of chapter, introspective in many ways, but necessary, I feel, if only to give some insight into how and why Doomwing seems to get along with Harald. It also shows why Corundum might be best suited to dealing with Antaria and Daphne. Vængr comes across as Doomwing's more scholarly side, someone who analyses and teaches.

But Antaria would not do well with someone so analytical, nor would Daphne. Indeed, the construct that has been teaching her has always been a tad sentimental, so it is fitting that Corundum is the same. Corundum is most similar to Doomwing near the end of the Sixth Age, the one who would take the time to help a little girl deal with monsters under her bed or help her make a kite. It makes him more approachable, which could be very helpful when dealing with Antaria, Daphne, and the villagers.

Next chapter will probably have Harald meet Antaria again, and he'll be quite surprised by what he sees. I could have included it here, but I think the tonal shift would have made it weird.

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SecretTwelve

Mar 12, 2024

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Threadmarks Chapter 34: The Princess and the King

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SecretTwelve

Mar 14, 2024

#565

Chapter 34: The Princess and the King

Harald gazed down at the sprawling fields full of thriving crops and felt a swell of emotion deep in his chest. Dwarves were renowned for their riches, for the wealth they drew up out of the earth. Gold, silver, jewels, and countless other rare and exotic materials were piled high in the great treasuries of the dwarves.

And yet so much of their wealth was spent on food. For dwarves were not elves. Though rock and stone had ever bent to their will, the same could not be said of crops. Hands that could craft the most wondrous jewellery or the mightiest weapons seemed unable to draw life out of the earth.

Some of it was simply the nature of their domain. Dwarves did best in deep caves or within soaring mountains. Such places were not kind to crops. Either the tearing winds and bitter cold killed them before they could grow, or the torch-lit interiors and cold gleam of magical lighting had them wither far from the warm light of the sun.

To be sure, the dwarves had occasionally cut terraces into the mountainside and then set up pillars to hold magic that would warm the air and block the wind. Yet those terraces rarely lasted long. The cold was unrelenting and the wind seemed to blow fiercer, as if insulted by their attempts to conquer it. Worse, monsters would be drawn to the terraces, vile beasts who knew the dwarves would come to defend them. Without the mountain to shield them, such dwarves were often easy prey.

Those few dwarves who had magic that could help them grow crops were honoured and prized above almost all others, gifted with high station and their choice of spouse, all in a bid to increase their numbers. Yet even in his brother's kingdom, there were less than half a dozen such dwarves. Such magic often skipped generations or simply faded, never to appear again. Attempts to recruit outsiders had failed, either due to the extortionist demands they made or, more commonly, the inability of others to live as the dwarves did in halls of stone within the mountains or beneath the earth.

And so his people, the stalwart lords beneath the earth and within the mountains, would have to trade their treasures for what others took for granted. He had seen the fields where humans, elves, and others grew their crops. As a young dwarf, he had marvelled at the heads of grain, heavy with golden wheat. He could still remember the first time he had seen an apple tree. The old human who had owned it had been so struck by his awe that he had plucked an apple from it and given it to Harald.

He, a dwarf prince, had been moved almost to tears by such a simple thing. For the apples he had eaten had never been so fresh or given so freely. Instead, they were carefully preserved to survive the long journey from the fields to the Sky Claw Mountains, and each apple was expensive, a rare treat for any normal dwarf, and not something that even a prince could enjoy every day.

Their famed dwarven liquors were so expensive because the dwarves themselves paid hefty sums for the grain needed to make them, and there was always a balance to be struck. Any food that was used to make liquor was not being eaten, and in lean years, that was simply not an indulgence they could afford.

Harald could still taste that apple sometimes. Yet the taste turned bitter when he thought of the lean years, when those they bought their food from raised their prices or lowered supply. The dwarves would grumble and sometimes posture as if for war, but everyone knew what would happen. In the end, the dwarves would pay, and why not? The treasures of the earth were theirs for the taking. Yet in the lean years, when food had to be rationed, Harald sometimes wondered if the truest treasures were not the treasures of the earth but those of the field. For what good was gold if his stomach was empty and his people starving?

One of Harald's keenest memories was of his brother raging when he had received a missive from the humans they bought much of their food from. War had broken out amongst them, and some fool had gotten it into his head to burn the fields to deny them to the enemy.

Burn the fields?

Unthinkable. No dwarf would dare, and any who did would be cut down by their fellows for their madness. But to the humans, whose fields often swelled with produce, it was seemingly an easy decision to make. And yet, those burnt crops meant that the dwarves would have to pay even more for food, if they could even find enough food to buy.

Doomwing had promised Harald that his lands were rich, and he had upheld that promise. Yet he had also spoken of the bounty that his lands could grow, and Harald had not been sure what to think. When they had passed this way before, there had been some crops but also clear signs of battle. Yet now those same fields were burgeoning with produce of every kind.

There were vast fields of grains and vegetables, along with orchards of fruits. How could this have happened so quickly? And then Harald remembered the dryad. This must be her doing. He had never really spoken to one before. If the stories were true, they had little love of dwarves and much preferred the company of elves. Yet Doomwing had a dryad in his service, and unless Harald missed his guess, her tree had nearly doubled in size!

"I promised you that your people would be able to eat their fill," Corundum said. The doppelganger was beside him. Doomwing himself had headed east to examine the other villages and to deal with a few small matters.

"Aye," Harald said. "You did. But what price shall we have to pay for this?"

"You speak as if you and these people are not both sworn to me," Corundum replied. "I know well the troubles of the dwarves in this matter. It has been like that since the First Age. But you need never fear that your people will be exploited or overcharged or forgotten. Man or dwarf, all that matters is that you are sworn to me."

Harald nodded slowly. "When we go down there," he murmured. "Can I visit the fields?"

"By all means. All I ask is that you and your dwarves help these people as they will help you. They are skilled farmers, and there are those amongst them who can hunt or craft, but none can match the skills of your people. They need better houses, better facilities, and better roads."

"We will do these things for them," Harald said. "If they share the fruits of their own labours with us."

"And they will." Corundum gazed over the fields of produce. "Dragons were made so that they could live alone on whatever they could seize with their teeth and claws and flame. But dwarves and men are not dragons. You are stronger together than you are apart. The weakness of one may be the strength of the other, and so prosperity is most easily achieved when all strive together." The doppelganger's lips curled. "And even dragons, those who the First Gods made with the strength to stand alone, still seek company from time to time."

Harald was tempted to go straight to the fields, and he knew his fellow dwarves felt much the same. In the same way that a typical human would be drawn to the shimmering gemstones and metals that dwarves pulled up from the earth that they had never laid eyes on before, so too were dwarves drawn to the fields that they themselves could never grow. But first, Harald had to meet the princess. They had not really spoken before, and if she would be accompanying them to the tournament, it would be rude not to seek her out first.

He had expected typical human nobility. That was not what he got.

Instead, the princess walked forth, somehow fiercer than any of the wolves at her side, despite each of them being larger than any of the dwarves. Her hair was black, and her eyes were deep violet. By any standard she might be called beautiful, but it was her bearing that drew the eye and held it.

The princess wore no finery. Instead, all she wore was a simple tunic and trousers, both stained with mud. More of that mud clung to her face and dripped from her hair, but not a single person would have dared to make light of it. The princess moved with almost inhuman ease, smooth and light on her feet, making not a single sound as she stalked toward them with predatory grace.

It reminded Harald of the time he had confronted one of the great, long-toothed tigers who dwelt in the mountains. He had been a young dwarf then, out on only his second real hunt. He had stumbled upon the beast by accident, and it had stared at him, teeth stained red by the blood of a fresh kill that lay torn open on the slope before it. For a long, long moment, Harald had been afraid even to breathe, for the tiger was huge, perhaps three times the size of the lions that lived in the savannah beyond the mountains. With the tiger so close and his companions so far – what an overeager, young fool he'd been to rush ahead – the tiger would need only a split-second to close the gap, and he knew as well as any dwarf what its teeth would do to even sturdy dwarven armour.

But the tiger had simply stared at him and then turned away, returning to its meal. It had not seen him as a threat and had been more concerned with filling its belly. Harald had retreated and warned his fellows of the danger. They had wisely steered clear of the area, and they had all been wary that day, the tension only leaving them when they were safely within the mountain again and away from the swirling snows and looming crags that could so easily conceal a white-pelted, feline shadow with teeth like daggers and claws like knives.

The princess reminded him of that tiger as she prowled toward him and his fellows. There was no hostility in her gaze, no outward sign of aggression, yet every instinct he had honed in his long life screamed at him to be careful, that if she wanted, she could fight him and all his companions – and win. Her violet gaze seemed almost puzzled by his reaction, as if she could not understand why he would be wary of her.

Did she truly not know her own strength? What sort of hellish training and terrible foes had she fought to not realise the danger she radiated? Her eyes sparkled with something – perhaps amusement – and a smile crossed her lips. It took him a moment to realise why it unsettled him so much. It reminded him of Doomwing, and the way the dragon would sometimes smile when he was trying to make himself seem harmless – a foolish pursuit for one so mighty as he.

"Welcome," the princess aid. "King Harald. It is an honour to meet you. I am Princess Antaria."

"The honour is mine," Harald replied. He gazed past her at the wolves who trailed in her wake. "I can see you've brought an escort."

The princess sighed. "I apologise for greeting you in such a state. One of these little ones thought it would be amusing to leap into a puddle of mud that was beside me." Her eyes narrowed at the wolf in question. "Rest assured, he has been disciplined."

"Little ones?" Harald asked.

"Ah, right. These are wolf pups." Antaria pointed behind her. "There mother is back there. She's a lot bigger."

"…" Harald blinked. "How big?"

"Maybe the size of a house? It's hard to be sure. I've gotten used to her." A wolf – apparently a pup – leapt at her, and Antaria sighed again and let it clamber onto her back. "Don't let their appearance fool you. They're a lazy bunch. They'd have me carry them everywhere if they thought they could get away with it."

"Is that so?" Harald was not oblivious to the ease with which Antaria carried the wolf upon her shoulders, or the nonchalant manner she eased it off her back and shooed it away. When the pup had leapt onto her, it had done so with enough force to crumple armour. Yet she had barely even noticed.

"A lot of the monsters are like that. You just have to let them know who's boss, and they'll fall into line." She tilted her head. "By the way… who is that?"

"I am Corundum," the doppelganger said. "And I will be taking over for the construct that Doomwing left with you. Due to the way I was made, I will be able to accomplish substantially more."

"Oh." Antaria stared at the dragon construct beside her. "Do you think you could wait until after the tournament? I know this guy here is just an extension of Doomwing's will, but he has been the one teaching me. It would be a shame if he didn't get to see the tournament."

Corundum considered the matter briefly. "Very well. I will remain here while the construct goes with you to the tournament. However, once the tournament is over, I will assume his duties."

"What will happen to him?" Antaria asked.

"He will simply collapse into dust," Corundum explained. "He is a puppet, nothing more, a direct extension of Doomwing's will. I am a special doppelganger and am thus capable of much greater independent action without burdening Doomwing unnecessarily." He bared his teeth. "I possess Doomwing's memories, so you need not concern yourself with any lapse in training standards."

Antaria grinned back. "I was almost afraid you'd start taking it easy on me." She glanced back at Harald. "So… would you like to meet Daphne? I've noticed you staring at the fields this whole time, and she's done a lot of the work to make them this good."

"Yes," Harald said. "I would like that."

Antaria kept one eye on Harald as the king and his fellow dwarves walked through the fields. There was something kind of funny about watching a bunch of dwarves who could have bought the fields dozens of times over marvelling at something as simple as wheat, but her mirth had faded when Corundum had explained it to her.

"It is nice to see someone appreciate what I do," Daphne said. The dwarves had lavished praise on her, perhaps taken aback by how friendly she was toward them.

"Hey, I show plenty of appreciation," Antaria said. "I give thanks before and after every meal, you know."

"You do," Daphne said. "But you don't look at me the way they do."

Antaria giggled. "That's because they grow plenty of crops back in my kingdom. Yes, we often have to import, but the dwarves, from what Corundum said, barely grow anything at all." She paused. "I think a few of them actually cried when you offered them some fruit from your tree."

Some of the animals had not been happy about that, but Daphne had insisted.

"If they're going to be working with us from now on as part of Doomwing's empire, then we need to make them welcome," Daphne said.

"Indeed." Corundum nodded. "Fruit from a dryad's tree is considered an offering of friendship. The dwarves will remember it long after this day, and they will think fondly of you for it." He turned his attention back to Antaria. "I hope you understand what I expect from you at the tournament."

"Basically, shock and awe, right? If we're going to recruit people, I need to make it absolutely clear that joining you is a good idea. And what better way than beating the crap out of everyone else, right?"

"You know," Daphne said. "I don't think you were quite this vicious when we first met. I do think Doomwing is rubbing off on you."

Antaria shrugged. "The way I see it, my father might not have been such an awful ruler if someone had beat the crap out of him earlier. Besides, I've been training until I collapse practically every day. It'll be nice to finally have a chance to see how I stack up to other people."

Daphne sighed. "You really don't know, do you?"

"Know what?" The dryad shared a glance with the doppelganger, and Antaria huffed. "Anyway, the tournament isn't supposed to involve killing people, so I'll have to be careful."

"Yes. I imagine that using your full strength against most of your opponents would be unwise. However, your uncle has informed me of several… troublesome individuals who are entering the tournament."

"Oh?" Antaria smiled as Filch, the shadow walking and tree walking raccoon, climbed up onto her head. However, her smile faded as he decided to start munching on some nuts. "Hey, no eating on my head." She lifted him off her head and cradled him in her arms. "You're going to get crumbs in my hair." The raccoon snickered and sank into her shadow… before reappearing back on her head. "Now, you're just being obnoxious."

"Your uncle announced your entry in the tournament at my behest. We both believe those troublesome individuals will attempt to assassinate you."

"Oh." That might have bothered her once. It didn't anymore. "So, I can just… massacre them, right?"

"Yes. Crush them so utterly that none ever think of trying again." Corundum's eyes blazed. "Dealing with them will not only remove enemies of yours but also make your uncle's position as ruler more secure. If nothing else, his enemies will be much more enamoured with keeping him on the throne… lest you take over and start murdering them all."

"We could just murder them all anyway, couldn't we?" Antaria asked. "Although I suppose that is a bit bloodthirsty. But you did warn them back when you put my uncle in charge."

"It is better to let them scheme for a while. We shall allow them to ensnare the foolish and disloyal in their treachery – and then we will destroy them, tear them out root and branch. That will be easier and more efficient than running a purge every few years."

"You two are pretty scary sometimes," Daphne drawled. "But I can see where you're coming from. Anyway, you should probably give Antaria the things."

"The things?" Antaria's eyes gleamed. "Wait… am I finally getting proper equipment?"

"It would make for a poor impression if you went as you are. Harald did not care, for he is a warrior. Appearances mean little to him, only ability. But others are not so wise. You will need to impress them with more than just your abilities."

"Please, tell me that I can get a magical sword that can cut through the clouds or something like that. What about magical armour that can absorb magic to make me stronger? Or how about boots that let me fly?" Antaria paused. "Wait… do those even exist?"

"They do indeed exist." Corundum chuckled. "The first High King of the elves possessed a blade named Cloud Splitter. In his hands, it could slice apart the clouds from the ground. As for the armour, the first High King of the dwarves possessed something of that nature although it, of course, had limits as to the amount and type of magic it could absorb. As for the boots, there are charms that can be made that would allow it. However, you will not be receiving anything like that. Those who rely on overly powerful equipment tend to stagnate or even regress. They use their equipment as a crutch instead of honing their own abilities. Conversely, those with poor equipment will often find it getting in their way and may even be better off without it. What is best, especially for someone like you who is still growing in power and skill, is equipment that is not so weak that it hinders you but also not so strong that it does too much of the work for you."

Antaria made a face. "So… no magical stuff with awesome powers?"

"No." Corundum gestured. "But consider yourself fortunate. I will craft much of it for you myself."

"When?"

"Right now. For equipment of this level, I am more than enough."

Light gathered before Corundum, and Antaria had to take a step back as magic beyond her comprehension took effect. When the light cleared, several garments where there. They were simple in design, mostly tunics and trousers, but their quality was unmistakable. The cloth was a rich green trimmed here and there with gold.

"Elerion was a farmer's son," Corundum explained. "And so he took green and gold as his colours – the colours of healthy leaves and ripe wheat. His children took colours of their own, but given how your stubbornness and occasional bouts of stupidity remind me of him, I think it fitting that you should take them for your own as well."

"What does the cloth do?" Antaria asked. She resisted the urge to touch the clothes since her hands were covered in a thin layer of dust from her most recent training.

"The cloth is based on the silk produced by the spider people that can be found in certain places. As such it is resistant to cutting and piercing. Unlike their silk however, it is also resistant to fire. More importantly, it is designed to channel magic. You will find that it is however strong you can make it."

"Wait…" Antaria's eyes gleamed. "Are you telling me that if I use a basic or lesser rune of durability on those clothes, they'll be able to handle it."

"Precisely. I have no desire to make your victory inevitable by simply showering your clothing in powerful magic. Instead, it is your magic that will determine how strong this clothing is. Consider it further training since you should be able to keep up a basic rune of durability almost indefinitely at this point. But even without that enhancement, it will be difficult for any normal weapon to damage it or for lesser magic to pose much of a threat. However, if I see you relying on those innate properties too heavily…"

"I get it. I get it. Harsher training, another pit of monsters, all that sort of stuff."

"Daphne," Corundum said. "Give her what we discussed."

"Oh?" Antaria grinned. "You're giving me something too?"

The dryad nodded and then handed her a wooden sword. "Here."

"Oh." Antaria blinked. "A wooden sword? That's… great. I can just enhance it and… wait." Her eyes narrowed suspiciously as her magical senses got a better grasp of the sword. "This isn't a normal piece of wood, is it?"

"No. It's made from one of my branches," Daphne said. "And before you worry, it's not like I hacked off a branch or anything. I can have a branch fall off whenever I want."

"Dryad wood has special properties. That wooden sword is much like the clothes – unspectacular unless you make it so. It will be able to channel and hold far more magic than any normal metal or wood before breaking, so it will be as durable and sharp as you can make it."

"Awesome." Antaria could already picture the havoc she could wreak. Sure, it would be nice having some kind of invincible weapon, but she could understand the lesson Doomwing was trying to teach her. By giving her armour and weapons that were only as strong as she was, he was pushing her to use what she'd learned rather than rely on what she'd been given. Besides, it was better this way. If she was going to beat people, she'd rather she do it with her own strength and not borrowed power. "We're leaving tomorrow, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, let's invite the dwarves to share a meal with the villagers. We'll be working together a lot from now on, so we might as well get to know each other now."

Author's Notes

Yes, the dwarven food supply has generally been a problem. The mountainous terrain they prefer isn't necessarily ideal for growing crops, and their lack of people with magic suited for growing crops doesn't help either. It's one of the reasons that dwarves think long and carefully about expanding. They have to check if they'll be able to feed all the new people.

In contrast, the villagers can go easily grow crops. They were great farmers even without Daphne's help, so with the dryad and the monsters lending a hand, they're going from strength to strength. Harald no longer has to worry about his food supply, and you can bet the dwarves are going to be happy about that. It'll be a major recruitment tool too since things are even tougher on the exiled dwarves who have to wander around.

The tournament is coming up, and you shouldn't worry about it turning into some long, drawn out, dragged out affair. As Harald's reaction shows, Antaria is almost hilariously over qualified. She has lost any sense of perspective about what normal is since she has spent the entire time since leaving her kingdom being subjected to near-death, torturous training on a daily basis. Her sparring is against the kinds of monsters entire squads would flee from – and Doomwing's construct. What she views as 'normal' is the stuff of absolute nightmares for any normal human.

But with so many people visiting the kingdom, someone interesting might turn up.

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SecretTwelve

Mar 14, 2024

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Threadmarks Chapter 35: The Tournament Begins

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SecretTwelve

Mar 15, 2024

#581

Chapter 35: The Tournament Begins

Enarion was having a good day. In fact, he was having a very good day. Ever since taking over the kingdom after his brother's dragon-related removal, he had done his best to undo the economic damage his brother had done while smoothing relations over with neighbouring countries. He wasn't about to grovel or anything like that, but letting everyone know that he had no intention of pursuing his brother's ambitions was important. A merchant king could make for a fine neighbour, a warlike king with conquest on his mind was another matter.

Naturally, his reign had not gone unopposed. However, Doomwing's support had provided him with the proverbial big stick required to get started. Obey me or the gigantic dragon comes back and murders everybody was a wonderfully persuasive argument. The remaining members of the royal guard had all pledged their loyalty to him, but he had made sure to add as many of his own supporters and loyalists to their ranks as possible.

Of course, most the royal guard hadn't really been loyal to his brother. They'd been loyal to the coin and influence he gave them. As Enarion's reforms had come into effect and his overtures to other kingdoms had been accepted, he had made sure to pass on the monetary benefits while making it clear that the extra gold in their pockets was all because of him.

It would be a stretch to say they loved him, but they did love gold. As long as the kingdom's finances continued to improve and their pay continued to impress, they would obey. Eventually, though, all of the old guard would retire, and only his loyal supporters would remain. Maybe then he wouldn't have to watch his back so much.

Nevertheless, the upcoming tournament was an important occasion. His brother had used it to identify promising talents, so he could recruit them. Enarion planned to do much the same. However, he also had an ulterior motive. Thanks to his own spy network and some assistance from Doomwing, he had become all too aware of various plots to assassinate him and his family. Few of the conspirators had the ability to legitimately threaten him, but the tournament would give them a chance to go after his niece.

Which was perfectly fine with him.

If even half of what Doomwing had told him of Antaria's progress was true, then his niece was the perfect way to deal with those would-be assassins. Let his enemies hire their finest assassins and enter them into the tournament. Such individuals were the product of a lifetime of training, with the very finest organisations committing untold resources into honing the perfect instruments of death.

If they just so happened to die horribly in the tournament while trying to assassinate his niece, then too bad. And while they struggled to train successors, he would have the perfect chance to strike back. The fact that dealing so… decisively with their enemies would garner Antaria the fame she needed was even better.

Because if Antaria planned to recruit people, then she needed to be famous, not just as a princess but also as a warrior in her own right. The people of the kingdom had a fairly martial attitude. A king didn't have to be the strongest, but he couldn't be weak. A princess who could flatten anyone in her path was exactly the sort of leader that potential recruitment targets would look favourably on.

And there were a lot of potential recruitment targets.

Amongst the nobility, it was customary to have at least four children. The first was the heir, the second was the spare, and the third was to seek high office as a soldier, priest, mage, or administrator. As for the fourth? Well, the fourth was there in case some horrible stroke of bad luck wiped out the others.

Enarion was personally aware of many talented fourth children. Even if they managed to rise to a high rank outside their family, there was little chance of them ever holding lands of their own. But Doomwing had a lot of land and not all that many people. He could give those people the lands they wanted, and they could use their talents to help those lands prosper. Having Antaria to rule over them in his name granted the whole thing an air of legitimacy.

There were also commoners who were skilled in different areas whose humble origins made it hard for them to rise too high in the kingdom where bloodlines mattered and lineage was so important. A powerful warrior might be able to buck the trend – it wasn't unheard of for commoner members of the royal guard to be made into minor nobility – but what of a skilled blacksmith? No matter how gifted, such a person would always be viewed as lesser than a noble, scarcely better than a labourer.

Doomwing did not view matters in that way.

"You are all the same to me," Doomwing had told Enarion when they had discussed the subject. "What are your petty lineages and young bloodlines to me? I am a primordial dragon. All that matters to me is power, wisdom, knowledge, courage, and cunning. I want those who can serve me well. I do not care if their parents were farmers or kings. I know better than any of you that a son of farmers may be a father to kings in time."

Although Enarion would not have put it so bluntly, he shared Doomwing's opinion. Some of his most useful and loyal supporters were merchants, men who had risen high not because of their ancestry but because of their cunning, wisdom, and courage. And too many of the backbiters and lickspittles who had plagued his brother's reign – and who continued to plague his – were lesser sons of far greater sires. At least those greater sires were dead. He could scarcely imagine what some of them might think if they could see their present descendants.

But why was he having a good day?

It was because Antaria had arrived… upon a flying ship, along with a newly crown dwarf king. It had been quite the spectacle, and the entire city had turned out to gaze up in awe at the flying ship. It was a splendid thing, a relic from a bygone Age that had been lovingly restored by exquisitely skilled craftsmen.

To have a dwarf king with such a treasure under his command attend the festivities had been a feather in Enarion's cap, especially when that same king had greeted him warmly and extended a hand in friendship. It was all carefully orchestrated, of course, for both he and Harald served Doomwing. Nevertheless, Enarion had certainly enjoyed his time speaking with Harald, and he was very much looking forward to speaking with him more when the opportunity arose. There was much their two groups could gain from each other.

As for Antaria…

His niece had changed. Or perhaps not. He had always thought his niece to be quite free spirited under all the royal decorum she had learned. She had dreamed of being an adventurer as a child, of facing monsters and becoming a hero. She had set those dreams aside as she grew older and came to understand the full weight of her father's actions. Instead, she had aimed at becoming a just and fair ruler, one who could bring an era of peace and prosperity to the kingdom.

Her time with Doomwing had changed her… or perhaps brought out who she truly was more clearly. She was no longer beholden to royal decorum. Indeed, when the flying ship had taken some time to deliver its passengers to the ground, she had simply leapt off it and landed easily on the ground.

She no longer walked with the tightly-held dignity of a princess who had spent almost her entire life in the palace. Instead, she walked with the ease and grace of a warrior, someone utterly confident in her training and the skills she had acquired. She had looked upon the royal guard – a force that had driven them to the brink of death not so long ago – and had completely dismissed them as threats. It wasn't arrogance either. The keenness of her gaze made it clear that she understood exactly what they were capable of. She just didn't think that what they were capable of was any danger to her at all.

Oh, yes, he was definitely looking forward to watching her fight.

With the first of her matches taking place tomorrow, he wanted to make sure that she understood the plan. Doomwing had probably already explained it to her, but it never hurt to be sure. He found her in her chambers, speaking with the magical construct that Doomwing had sent to accompany her while his actual body waited until tomorrow to arrive.

The dragon would immediately attract all of the attention, so he wished to give this day to Harald and his sky ship. Let the kingdom's inhabitants see the quality of the people sworn to Doomwing. Tomorrow, as evening fell, he would make his appearance and remind all of the traitors and plotters what fate awaited them.

"Good evening, uncle." Antaria had flopped onto her back. She held a raccoon in her arms, and the creature was sighing contentedly as she ran her fingers through his fur. Enarion might almost have dismissed the raccoon as a threat if his magical senses weren't so keen. This was no normal raccoon. "Have you come to discuss my bouts tomorrow?"

"Yes." Enarion smiled. "There are a few people that you need to deal with."

She grinned. It was a toothy grin, more reminiscent of a dragon than a princess. "And by deal with…?"

"They're going to try to assassinate you, so feel free to deal with them as you see fit – preferably fatally." Enarion handed her a list. "These are their names. I wouldn't have been able to acquire these on my own, but their efforts at concealment meant nothing in the face of Doomwing's magic."

"This is a long list," Antaria said. She giggled. "You've been picking up a lot of enemies, uncle."

"Unfortunately, yes." He chuckled. "Which means I must be doing a good job."

"Incidentally… how is your family?" Antaria asked. "Are they in the capital?"

It was a polite way of asking if his position was secure. Prior to their attempt to overthrow her father, he had sent his wife and children away. Had they failed, his family would have fled over the border where merchants he trusted would see to their care.

"Unfortunately, the weather in the capital does not agree with them. However, I am sure the weather will improve after the tournament."

Her smile this time was not merely toothy. It was all teeth. "Oh, have no fear uncle. There will be nothing but fine weather once the tournament is over. It has been such a long time since I saw my cousins, and I'm sure they'll enjoy life in the capital once the weather has improved." She paused. "Although… some of them might be useful to us if they could be convinced to mend their ways."

Lyra was the scion of the greatest clan of assassins that the kingdom had ever known. Their deadly arts had been passed down from mother to daughter for centuries. From the day she could walk, she had been trained in all the many ways a person could be killed. Her mother had spared no expense in her training. She had received the best tutors and the finest equipment, and she had been sent out on mission after mission to hone herself into a perfect instrument of assassination.

The old king had so feared their family that he had taken out a standing contract, promising to exceed any payment they were offered to target him. The new king had not been so wise. Instead, he had relied on his royal guard. Admittedly, the clan had yet to succeed, but Lyra had entered the tournament to show him the error of his ways. His beloved niece would die screaming in horrible, hideous agony, and her death would serve as a reminder to all who doubted the power of her clan.

Fear the shadows and the knives that dwell within them.

For her part, the princess was nothing special. Oh, she was pretty enough with dark hair and violet eyes, but she wasn't even wearing armour. Instead, she wore cloth of green and gold, and her weapon was a wooden sword. It was almost insulting. But if this foolish girl wished to make her life easier, then Lyra would not complain.

Still, Lyra had not become the scion of her clan by being careless. As she and the princess walked into the arena to the raucous cheering of the crowd, she extended her senses. Her lips almost curved into a smile. She could not detect much power at all from the princess. Clearly, the rumours of her undertaking rigorous training were all fabricated to improve her image in the eyes of the easily fooled commonfolk.

On the battlefield, however, such lies were swiftly exposed.

The referee introduced them to the crowd and then stepped back to let them fight. Technically speaking, killing was allowed, but it was greatly discouraged. Lyra would slay the princess, and her clan and their allies would handle the fallout. She looked over to where King Enarion was speaking with the dwarf king. He was smiling now, but he would not be smiling for long.

"So…" The princess hadn't bothered to take a stance, or perhaps she didn't know how. It would not surprise Lyra at all if some pampered royal had no idea of how to fight. "Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to do something?"

Lyra's eyes narrowed. She would be doing something, all right.

As the princess continued to stand there nonchalantly, Lyra layered several fifth-order spells onto herself. The world slowed down and came into perfect focus. The cries of the crowd fell silent, and everything faded away except for the opponent in front of her. Strength filled her limbs, and she felt as light and easy on her feet as a feather. A pale, ghostly glow surrounded her daggers, and her thoughts were momentarily drawn back to the training she had endured to get this far.

Her clan had been founded centuries ago when a woman's family had been wiped out by her father's political opponents. Bereft of support and filled with thoughts of vengeance, the woman had sought training from a wandering nun who took pity on her. She travelled with the nun for fifteen years, learning all that she could from her.

She had even learned that the nun had actually been expelled from her order for using her order's arts to strike down those who preyed on the innocent, thereby breaking her vow to never take a life. From that day onward, the nun had wandered, teaching those she felt could best make use of her skills.

Lyra's ancestor had eventually avenged her family and started a new family of her own. Realising the power her skills gave her, she had taught her daughters, who then passed on their skills until an entire clan of assassins had formed. They would dwell in the shadows, and they would rise to power with daggers in the dark, poisons undetected, and plots and schemes brought to fruition. Never again would they be at the mercy of others. Never again would their fates be in the hands of corrupt nobles and fallible rulers.

They had almost succeeded too. Her great-grandmother had almost managed to marry the king at the time before a rival family had managed to wed their heiress to him instead. They had wiped out that family in response, but the damage had been done. Never again would so fortuitous an opportunity arrive. But now, with the kingdom in flux, they had a new opportunity.

The spells she had used on herself formed the unshakeable foundation of her clan's fighting style. Keen perception, peerless strength and speed, and unspeakably deadly weapons. An adept in their techniques could cut their way through a dozen skilled guards in moments to reach their target or sneak past the most well-devised defences to deal a deadly blow.

At the age of sixteen, Lyra had mastered these spells and had proven herself by defeating several of her cousins for the position of scion. Her grandmother had lavished praise on her before submitting her to hellish training. For months, her fellow clan members had been allowed to ambush her. The could not slay or cripple her, but they could inflict agonising wounds. Lyra would have to keep the spells active to survive. And she had… and the spells had evolved, her understanding of magic and its applications for assassination expanding further and further until she was finally ready to take the next step.

Planting her feet firmly, Lyra tossed her cloak up into the air and sprang toward the princess in a blur of motion. To her credit, the princess was seemingly able to follow her movements. Was it an artifact? Or perhaps it was a spell? Whatever it was, it would not be enough. Even as the princess turned to face her, Lyra activated the abilities that had allowed her to hang onto the position of scion despite all of the efforts of her cousins.

Shadow walking and illusions.

A spectral copy of her appeared. It would never stand up to close scrutiny, for it was little more than a shadowy outline, but it was enough to draw the eye. At the same time, she vanished into the shadows cast by her cloak before emerging from the princess's shadow, her daggers poised and ready to strike.

This was the pinnacle of her abilities.

Unmatched physical and perceptual enhancement combined with an illusion to distract the opponent followed by shadow walking to strike from a completely unexpected angle in a completely unexpected way. Her victory was assured. Her clan would show the king what a fool he was to defy them –

THUD.

Lyra's entire world transformed into pain.

She was dimly aware of tumbling out of the crater she'd left in the wall of the arena as her daggers slipped from her hands. Her sternum was broken, as was every single one of her ribs. The last thought to cross her mind before she mercifully lost consciousness was to wonder what had happened.

Antaria lowered her fist. She really hoped that assassin girl wasn't actually dead. As she had pointed out to her uncle and Doomwing, having an elite cadre of assassins might actually be useful down the line if they could break them out of their bad habits. Yes, treachery would probably be an issue at some point, but she had also read her uncle's report about them.

The clan was strictly matriarchal and absolutely obsessed with power. In fact, there was even a clause in there about how the strongest should rule the clan. It was a strange perspective for a clan of assassins, but they also seemed a bit odd for assassins to begin with. They were rather notorious for making big displays of their assassinations and killing people in dramatic fashion to make statements about their power. Doomwing had scoffed, pointing out that smarter assassins would make everything look like an accident to ensure nobody even knew they existed.

Most importantly, the clause about the strongest ruling didn't specify that the ruler had to be born in the clan. All it said was that the strongest woman should rule the clan – pretty much assuming that the strongest woman would be a member of the clan. Well, Antaria was reasonably confident she could beat the crap out of anybody in that clan – and Doomwing agreed – so why not take over it? Apart from being assassins, they could be used as spies and bodyguards, gathering intelligence and protecting their people when they travelled outside of Doomwing's territory. Monsters were stronger, but she couldn't exactly send the mother wolf to accompany a trading caravan into a city.

The assassin's plan hadn't been that bad either. The enhancement magic had been a bit… unimpressive, but it wasn't like she knew any better. Not everybody had a magically inclined primordial dragon to teach them magic, and not everybody was willing to subject themselves to the horror that was the aforementioned primordial dragon's version of training. According to Doomwing, the best way to learn enhancement magic was to use it – and using it meant fighting his construct or a small army of monsters on a daily basis.

It was also clear that although Lyra had some ability to absorb magic from her surroundings, her progression was muddled and, frankly, a bit odd. Antaria's improved senses allowed her to detect the magic in others, and Lyra's magical circulatory system was kind of a mess. Well, maybe that wasn't fair. To her senses, most people's magical circulatory systems looked kind of awful. Apparently, it took dedicated training of the right kind for a human's magical circulatory system to look even halfway presentable to someone who could perceive it properly.

Even so, Lyra had moved as fast as any member of the royal guard. Combining that with an illusion and then shadow walking would probably have killed most people. But Antaria's magical senses could easily distinguish between an illusion and a real person while allowing her to keep track of the assassin when she slipped into the shadows.

Filch, the shadow walking raccoon, had spent most of the trip playing pranks on Antaria and just generally being aggravating. He was so lucky that he was adorable and cuddly, but his antics had made her quite adept at tracking someone who could move through shadows, and Lyra couldn't do it as easily or as quickly as Filch.

In the end, all Antaria had needed to do was to take a step to the side, turn around, and then punch. Of course, she might have underestimated her power a bit, so instead of just knocking Lyra unconscious, she'd pulverised her chest, but she was confident Doomwing's construct could fix that.

And with so many high-ranking members of Lyra's clan in the city for the tournament, it shouldn't be too hard for Antaria to introduce herself later by pummelling whoever she needed to pummel in order to take over.

Slavery was illegal in the kingdom, but there were ways around that. The most common was referred to as 'debt contracting' where someone was forced to work for a pittance – or nothing at all – to pay off their debt. King Enarion's reforms were designed to put a stop to the practice, and that was not something certain individuals could abide.

Killing the king was no easy task, but his niece had entered the tournament, which made her a much easier target.

Foley had witnessed the fight between the princess and the assassin. It had been impressive, but he wasn't worried. The young assassin had made the mistake of underestimating the princess, and she had paid the price. Now that the princess had revealed her full power, Foley would have no problems dealing with her.

As he and the princess took their positions in the arena, the cheers of the crowd grew louder and louder. Nobody had expected the princess to make such brutally short work of her opponent, and the commonfolk and nobility who had gathered to watch the tournament were thrilled with the prospect of a royal finally having the sort of strength their legends spoke of. Fools. The princess had likely relied on some combination of magic and potions to increase her power. It simply wasn't possible to grow so strong so rapidly.

Foley readied himself and tightened his hold on his spear. It was a masterwork, forged by indentured dwarves and covered with dwarven script to enhance its durability and destructive power. It could pierce through even the toughest armour with ease and block any weapon. Of course, Foley was not so foolish as to rely solely on his weapon. He was an exquisitely gifted spearman, and he had spent his entire life honing his skills and challenging himself against both beasts and men.

As the fight began, he layered himself in enhancement magic and gulped down a trio of potions to raise his powers even further. Lightning crackled to life around his spear as the charms he wore about his neck amplified his affinity for lightning magic, allowing him to surpass his natural limitations and reach a level only the kingdom's mightiest mages could hope to attain. Rather than hurl the lightning at the princess, he wrapped it around his spear, taking its destructive power to absurd heights.

"Are you done?" the princess asked. "Or are you going to keep enhancing yourself and your weapon." She lowered her voice. "Why can't I have a lightning spear?" she muttered. "But that soul-cutting magic on those daggers earlier was pretty good too… damn it. Why can't my magic look like that?"

Foley ignored the princess's rambling in favour of taking up his stance. He began to breathe in and out slowly and evenly. This was a technique that had been passed down to him by his instructor, a former general of another kingdom who had been cast out for wiping out villages that had defied his orders to hand over their crops when his army had passed through. The general had been a bitter, old man, but he had taught this technique to Foley after Foley had promised to use it to assassinate those responsible for his downfall.

Foley had kept his promise, and the general had died with a smile on his face.

The technique itself was simple in concept but incredibly difficult in execution. By training his senses to the utmost, he was able to detect minute currents of magic in the area around him. He could pull on those currents and feed them into his enhancement spells, strengthening them even further and allowing him to achieve inhuman feats of strength and speed.

How should he do this?

There was no point in holding back. The princess had clearly prepared for the tournament. It was best to slay her in a single strike. Yes. A charge followed by a flat thrust of his spear, all of it delivered at a speed that would make dodging impossible and enhanced with so much strength and lightning that attempting to parry or block would be a death sentence.

He called this technique the 'Killer Bolt' for it was like a bolt of lightning that never failed to slay his opponent.

Foley bent his knees and then surged forward… as the princess reached down and picked up a rock. No. It was a piece of the arena wall that had broken off earlier when she punched the assassin.

The princess weighed the rock in her hands and then –

The rock vanished.

Foley stumbled to his knees as his spear slipped from his hands.

"What…?" He glanced down to find a rock-sized hole in his chest. "How…?"

The princess smiled at him. "I like rocks. You can bash people over the head with them, or you can throw them. I kind of wish that I could have brought my favourite rock, but Doomwing said it would look strange if I walked into the arena with a rock instead of a sword. Oh well. It's like one of his friends said, there's no problem you can't solve with the right rock."

As the sun began to set, the tournament came to a close for the day. Bouts would resume in the morning. The crowd was abuzz with talk of the princess who had turned what should have been an incredibly challenging tournament into something that was equal parts amazing and ludicrous. Not a single one of her opponents so far had presented anything even remotely resembling a challenge, and some of them had died in ways that were, quite frankly, comical.

A rock?

Foley of the Lightning Spear was a legendary mercenary who often played the part of assassin. It was an open secret that he worked for a number of nobles and merchants who made vast quantities of money through what was basically slavery. He was considered so deadly that only the kingdom's finest warriors could even think of facing him.

And the princess had killed him with a rock.

She'd cut a swathe through the rest of her opponents although she had been surprisingly gentle with some of them, even allowing a young nobleman to surrender after dodging all of his attacks for a few minutes. The young man had put on a decent show, displaying powerful magic and skill with a blade, not that it had meant much against the princess. Another opponent had simply surrendered upon being called into the arena. Apparently, he'd been afraid of embarrassing himself. For her part, the princess hadn't even used her sword, instead relying on punches, kicks, and random bits of debris to win her fights.

However, the day had one last surprise.

As the bells of the city's temples rang out, sounding the hour, a dragon appeared, scales of ruby and sapphire lit in the westering sun. He was massive, so huge that his mere presence had commonfolk and nobles alike standing still in a combination of awe and terror. He was Doomwing, the dragon their king had sworn oaths of loyalty to, and he had apparently come to enjoy the ambience of the tournament.

The great dragon circled the city twice, and despite the fear he provoked, there was hardly a person there who did not stare at his magnificence. Nobles like to clothe themselves in finery and show off their power, but what jewels or cloth could compare to the dragon's scales, and what power could compare to the magic that momentarily lit the sky, turning it bright as day as the dragon spoke, praising the participants of the tournament and urging them to do their best in the days to come.

At last, his words spoken, the dragon wheeled away from the city, coming to rest in the vast lake. He was like a living island, and the boats on the lake hurried to put distance between them. Some in the crowd worried that the dragon might turn his fire on them, but those wiser had no such concerns.

Had the dragon wanted them dead, they would be.

Doomwing glanced up. It was an hour after midnight, and an illusion had just been made. It was a small thing, but the skill of its weaving was impressive indeed. A lesser dragon could very easily have been fooled, and even a keen-eyed observer who was less familiar with such magics might have missed it.

But he was Doomwing, and he was very familiar indeed with this kind of magic.

A lone figure walked across the waters of the lake toward him, hidden from all eyes save his, her presence so completely concealed that her footsteps left not so much as a ripple on the surface of the water.

Nine golden tails stirred in the breeze, and piercing green eyes met his for the first time in almost a thousand years.

"Good evening," Hikari said. "Uncle Doomwing."

He looked at her for a long moment. She had grown strong indeed since they had last spoken. Dreamsong was to be commended for her training. Indeed, although her power could not yet compare to Kagami's – even before her madness – there was a razor sharpness to it that Kagami had never quite possessed.

"It has been some time, Hikari," Doomwing replied. "And it is no longer good evening. It is good morning."

Her lips twitched. "You used to say that to me whenever I snuck out of bed to badger you into telling me another story."

"And do you still remember those stories?" Doomwing asked. "And the lessons they taught."

"I remember them all," Hikari replied as she sat down on the water, her tails spread out like tongues of golden fire. "Would you tell me more if I asked?"

"Perhaps." Doomwing peered at Hikari. The naïve, indecisive girl was gone. In her place was a ruler. "Is there one you would like to hear?"

"The story of the scholar and the general," Hikari replied. "Since it's about two old friends meeting again."

"Is that what we are?"

"It's what I'd like us to be, if you'd allow it."

Author's Notes

Antaria undoubtedly had a lot of fun in this chapter. The longer and more intricate the backstory, the more amusing it is when they get a punch to the sternum or eat a rock to the chest. In all seriousness, though. Antaria is picking up Doomwing's habit of trying to recruit capable subordinates wherever she goes. Will it work out? Who knows? But if it doesn't work, she can just go back to exploding people with punches. It works on monsters, so it'll work on assassins. In any case, Enarion is obviously going to be happy. Either his enemies are ending up dead, or they're ending up somebody else's problem. There are also all sorts of magical methods to deal with treachery. Plus, maybe some of them will read the writing on the wall and try to change teams instead of getting run over. Also, yes, Antaria has learned to conceal her power a bit, and the friend of Doomwing's she referred to with the rock is Ashheart.

As for Hikari, you can be sure she has been enjoying the tournament too. Antaria's straightforward approach will definitely have reminded her a bit of Elerion, as will the colours of her clothing.

Last edited: Mar 15, 2024

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SecretTwelve

Mar 15, 2024

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Threadmarks Chapter 36: The Dragon Tells A Story

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SecretTwelve

Mar 16, 2024

#589

Chapter 36: The Dragon Tells A Story

Hikari had almost forgotten how it felt to hear Doomwing tell a story. As a little girl, she had often badgered him for tales. Dreamsong had told her stories too, of course, but Doomwing had known different stories, and Hikari had wanted to hear as many as she could. More than once, she had snuck out of her chambers and made her way to where the dragon rested, which was usually in the lake or the nearby countryside.

Never once had she worried that some misfortune might befall her. To her, Doomwing had been a force of nature, and his presence was synonymous with safety. Each time, he had feigned sleep, only opening those golden eyes of his when she was either about to try swimming across the lake or climbing up onto his snout.

He would not chide her for sneaking out. Instead, he would ask her if she had prepared appropriately. Had she put on the right shoes? Had she brought a cloak? Had she brought some way to defend herself? She had always huffed and pouted, insisting that she would be fine. As long as he was nearby, what did she have to fear? Nevertheless, she usually ended up following his advice, if only to stop him from badgering her.

Only later had she realised what he was trying to do. He would not always be there to protect her, but the habits he'd helped her develop would remain – and they had saved her life on several occasions. But by then, she'd been much older, and he had no longer been around for her to thank.

It was much the same for the stories he told. As a girl, she'd found them captivating. Like Dreamsong, he was so very, very old. He had seen the best and worst the world could offer, and his stories were as much about far-off places and strange people as they were about familiar problems that were common across many groups throughout the Ages.

Yet there had been lessons in those stories too, and she had not understood all of them as a child. But he had known – as he always seemed to – that her inquisitive mind would never forget those stories, that she would hold them dear to her heart and look to them for comfort when the world grew cold and hope dimmed. Only then would she understand those other lessons, only then would she realise the wisdom a woman grown might gain from fanciful tales spun to amuse a little girl.

And as with his other advice, by the time she realised the value of what she'd been taught, he was no longer there for her to thank.

But he was here now, and warmth filled her heart as the familiar words of the story left his lips. She knew the story perfectly, for she had relived the memory of it countless times. She was older now, and she could see the great weariness within him that her younger self had always missed, the inescapable weight of Seven Ages that could wear down the strength of even the broadest shoulders.

But she saw the strength in him too, not the strength her younger self had envied – the claws and teeth that could rend mountains, the flame that could burn the world, and the wings that could span the sky. No. She saw the true strength that dwelt within him, the strength that had let him weather all the long and broken years of the world, all the seasons of grief and loss that rolled one into the other until only an endless winter remained, so cold it could quench even a dragon's fire.

But not Doomwing's fire.

The fire within him would burn until the end of the world itself. It would waver at times. It would falter. He was not a god, no matter how powerful or wise he had become. But his fire would endure, a flame fed by the sacrifice of Seven Ages, a flame worthy of the greatest dragons of the First Age, those long-dead titans who had been mighty when even Doomwing himself had been small.

Against all the suffering and sorrows of the world, against all the storms of fate and chance, against the gathering shadows and the rising waters, still that flame would burn, a light in the darkness, a lonely voice challenging the world to do its worst, a mountain splendid and unyielding, a sapling grown into a tree that bent but never broke, rising up and up until at last it bridged the heavens and the earth.

When Doomwing finally finished the tale, Hikari closed her eyes and savoured the last of his words.

"When I was a girl, I thought the story was simply about two friends who were happy to see each other again after a long time."

"And what do you think now?" Doomwing asked.

"That there is more to the story." Hikari's mind drifted to other nights like this, to hours spent on the shore with a campfire burning, her parents on either side of her, and her friends arguing good naturedly about matters great and small. "The scholar and general were close friends, yet they disagreed on so many things."

"The scholar had no great love for war and wished for a world where it did not exist. The general felt most alive on the battlefield and longed for one last war to give him the death he desired – a death of glory and honourable sacrifice before sickness and old age could rob him of his strength."

"And still they were good friends." Hikari smiled faintly. "I used to think that friends would always agree, but the older I got, the more I realised that wasn't true. A true friend need not agree with you on every matter. Indeed, I would like to believe that a true friend would be willing to tell me when they thought I was wrong and to offer wise counsel."

"And yet there are matters in which right and wrong are not so easy to define," Doomwing replied. His gaze weighed heavily upon her, and she felt almost like a little girl again, for what was the wisdom of a thousand years to someone who measured their life in Ages? "Matters of fact can often be settled easily, but matters of the heart, of conscience and philosophy, are rarely so simple." He stared across the water to the city. "I once asked your father what he would do if he came across a group of people who wished to cross the ocean in a ship that was no longer seaworthy. He said that he would offer them advice, and if they refused to take it, then he would stop them. He would protect them from themselves."

"You would not have done the same?" Hikari asked, already knowing the answer.

"No. If my advice was ignored, I would have left them to their fate. They were not sworn to me, nor were they my friends or allies. Whatever care I might have owed them was given when I offered my advice. If they wish to be fools and ignore it, then let their fate serve as a lesson to others. Ignorance, I have found, can be cured with knowledge, but no amount of wisdom can ever fix stupidity."

Hikari's lips curled. It was such an utterly draconic way to view things. And yet, she could understand his point of view. How many times must he have offered aid and advice only to be ignored by those who later beseeched him for help? He was not heartless, but he was no font of mercy and compassion. Even he could only do so much, so why not save his strength for those who actually heeded his advice and had the wisdom to do better in the future?

"My father was always so kind-hearted," Hikari said. "My mother loved that about him – that he could be so strong and yet so gentle. Yet she also thought him hopelessly naïve." Her gaze grew sombre. "If he had been a little more hard-hearted, then perhaps the strife that followed his death could have been averted."

"And yet, if he had been more hard-hearted, he would never have sought me out or given your mother a chance."

"It is possible to be friends despite seeing the world in very different ways," Hikari said. "That is one of the lessons of the story. Despite their different views, the scholar and the general still trusted and respected each other. They were friends not despite their differences, but…"

"Because of them." Doomwing shifted, a mountain of red and blue scales reminiscent of an island at rest in the water. "Let me tell you another story then."

"Is it one that I've heard before?"

"No. It is the story of a tiger-man who became a monk."

"A tiger-man?" Like kitsune, tiger-people were considered beast-people. However, unlike kitsune, tiger-people were far less able to blend in with humans. They had tiger heads and clawed hands and feet, and their bodies were covered in fur. They were often tall and powerfully built, and they had long held a reputation as fierce and uncompromising warriors.

"Long ago, in the Fifth Age, when the lands of the beast-people were at their mightiest, there were many warring kingdoms. Amongst them was a kingdom ruled by tiger-people. They were great warriors, and they looked upon the flourishing fields, bustling marketplaces, and rich mines of their neighbours and were filled with envy. Why should they, the greatest warriors in the land, not seize these things for themselves? To them, a person only deserved to have what they could seize and hold with their own hands. If their neighbours could not defend what was theirs, then they did not deserve to have it in the first place."

Doomwing gave a low rumble. "And so the tiger-people went to war. Their victories were swift and numerous, and their enemies fell before them like leaves falling from the trees in autumn. Revelling in their triumph, they forgot their honour. They slew those who had surrendered, cut down civilians without care, and even devoured their enemies to slake their ever-growing thirst for blood and power. But the actions of the tiger-people did not go unchallenged. Other kingdoms united against them, and a great coalition formed. Amongst them were other tiger-people from different kingdoms. They had not forgotten their honour, and they were disgusted by what their fellows had become. The alliance marched on the wicked tiger-people and crushed them in battle."

"The rulers of the wicked tiger-people were dragged from their palaces to be judged," Doomwing said. "The king, the queen, and all the princes and princesses were brought before a council of their enemies. They were sentenced to death, and even as they were taken to the fields of judgement to be slain and then left out for the vultures and crows to pick at, they refused to repent. Instead, they roared their defiance, swearing vengeance upon their enemies and calling on their people to rise up against their foes. Only one amongst them did not roar and thunder and curse. Instead, he wept."

"He wept?" Hikari asked. Tiger-people were famously brave, some would say to the point of stupidity. The kitsune rarely dealt with them, perhaps because of how much the kitsune favoured covert action and intrigue over brute force. "Was he a coward?"

"No. He was no coward. From the crowd, an old crow-man stepped forth. He was so old that his feathers had turned grey, and his once keen eyes were almost blind. He was the abbot of a monastery, and he asked the prince why he wept. Was he afraid? But the prince shook his head. He was not afraid. He was ashamed. He was ashamed that when his family and his people had given in to their madness and bloodlust, he had not spoken up. He had said nothing and had done nothing to stop them."

Hikari bit back a wince.

"The abbot pointed out that the prince was only one person. What could he have done? He was only the fifth prince. He would have been throw in prison, exiled, or killed for disobeying his father, and his people would have viewed him as a traitor. The prince replied that at least he would have kept his honour."

"What became of him?" Hikari asked. The worst cut close to home.

"The abbot asked the executioner to stay his blade, saying that no sword in the world could ever cut so deeply as regret. The prince begged the executioner to strike, so he could be free of the guilt that weighed so heavily upon him, but again, the abbot bade the executioner to halt. What good would slaying the prince do? His family was all dead, and his kingdom was in ruins. What harm could he cause if he lived? Even a fool could see that he no longer had the desire to wage war or harm others. But if he was spared, then perhaps he could begin to make amends."

"The abbot was a merciful person," Hikari said.

"He was an old crow-man with too much time on his hands," Doomwing replied. "But he was wise in his own way. Because the abbot was held in high regard, the council gave the prince to him, telling him to make the prince a monk. At the very least, he could spend the rest of his life praying for the souls of the dead. And so the abbot took the prince back to his monastery. It was a peaceful place, built at the foot of a mountain near a lake not so different from this one. The monks there were scholars and healers, and they were welcome in many kingdoms. They asked no payment for their aid, seeking only food and lodgings to tide them over while they healed and gave what counsel they could. They were also famous for their vow to never take a life, with the sole exception being for food, for there were those amongst them, like the prince, who needed to eat meat to survive."

Doomwing gazed southward. "The prince stayed there for a long time. In keeping with the traditions of the monks, he set aside his old name and took up a new name. They called him Brother Tiger, for he alone, of all the monks, was a tiger-man. Brother Tiger learned from the abbot himself, and he grew skilled in the arts of healing and became a scholar of renown. Although many looked down upon him because of his bloody past, he worked tirelessly to help others. Many were those he healed, and many more received wise counsel. In the land around the monastery, Brother Tiger was much loved, for he turned away none who needed his aid and never held himself above others. Yet the ache in his heart remained, and the weight upon his shoulders never seemed to lessen. At last, he went to the abbot and asked him what he needed to do to be free of his burden."

"What did the abbot say?" Hikari asked. It was not mere curiosity that drove her to ask the question. She knew well how Brother Tiger must have felt.

"The abbot praised Brother Tiger's efforts, but he reminded him of the words he had once spoken. No sword in the world could ever cut so deeply as regret. Those that Brother Tiger had wronged the most were all dead. They could not grant him the forgiveness he sought. But above all, Brother Tiger could not forgive himself, and so the weight upon his shoulders would only grow."

"Guilt," Hikari murmured. "Does not lessen with time. If anything, it grows ever sharper."

"The abbot told Brother Tiger to wander the land. He had spent his years since being spared in the monastery or helping those in the lands nearby. Only further away would he find his answer. But the abbot warned him to be careful. Brother Tiger would see many evils in the world, and his heart would be moved to take action. He should remember the vows he took when becoming a monk and strive to uphold their ways, but he must also remember that to act was to make a choice… but to do nothing at all was a choice as well. Those words cut deeply, for it was his failure to act that Brother Tiger most regretted."

Doomwing smiled faintly. "And so Brother Tiger went out of the monastery and began to wander. He did good deeds where he could, healing and counselling and offering what aid he could to whoever might need it. Many years had passed since the war his people had fought, so there were few left who still remembered who he had been. Besides, he was much changed. He was no longer a young tiger-man. His once bright fur had dulled with age, and his once powerful frame had grown lean and almost frail. He was old, and it amused him that the abbot – who had already been old when he had asked for hm to be spared – was still leading the monastery. Before leaving, he had joked that the abbot might actually outlive him. The abbot had smiled, but it was a bitter smile, for even the eyes of a half-blind crow see far."

"Brother Tiger wandered for quite some time before he met a dragon. On a rainy day, Brother Tiger came to a broken bridge. The dragon had warned the townsfolk many times that it was in need of repair and maintenance, but they had ignored his words despite having more than enough money to fix it. Now, they beseeched the dragon for aid, begging him to use his magic to restore the bridge, lest their livelihoods be affected."

Hikari blinked. "You were that dragon, weren't you?"

"I was. Brother Tiger, being more compassionate than me, entreated me to fix the bridge. He did not come as a beggar but offered me a trade. He would pass on some of the wisdom and knowledge he had acquired from the monastery and during his travels. I had heard of him and knew him to be a scholar of repute, so I agreed. I will not say that his wisdom and knowledge impressed me. Indeed, I disagreed quite vehemently with some of his opinions. Yet Brother Tiger not some fool who merely parroted the words of others. He had thought deeply on these matters, and he chose to stand his ground, arguing against me and interrogating my own thoughts." Doomwing chuckled. "I still thought he was wrong, but I was impressed by his intellect. He wished to travel through the lands beyond the bridge, and I decided to accompany him, if only so we could continue speaking. It would not do for such an esteemed scholar to leave with the wrong opinion."

Hikari bit back a smile. Doomwing could be quite argumentative when the mood took him, and he could be relentless when arguing for a position he favoured. More than once, she'd fallen asleep to the sounds of him and Marcus arguing, only to awaken and find them still arguing the next morning. It had been oddly soothing, like listening to the waves lap against the shore.

"We travelled together for years, and somehow or another, we became friends." Doomwing's gaze drifted south again. "We had many adventures although I did most of the work. And although I thought he was wrong about many things, I will say that I always enjoyed our discussions. I have always found the company of fools to be grating, even if they agree with me. Far better to share the company of a proper scholar, even if he happens to disagree. He would go from place to place, learning what he could and offering aid to those who needed it. We would discuss what he learned and observed, and he would take notes. He found my thoughts fascinating – as well he should – and he wished to share them with his fellow monks."

"But he disagreed with you, right?"

"Oh, yes. He disagreed with many of my thoughts when it came to matters of conscience and philosophy. But he respected the fact that I sought to defend those thoughts with reason rather than flame, and he said himself that having to defend his own thoughts from me helped further refine his understanding and bring him closer to enlightenment." Doomwing chuckled fondly. "That fool. I used to tell him that if he wished for enlightenment, he need only ask me, and I would provide it."

Hikari could almost picture it: an old tiger-man sitting by a fire while a massive dragon loomed over him, a living mountain sheltering him from the wind and rain as they argued happily over philosophical minutiae.

"Those were good days," Doomwing said. "Magic has always been my first love, but I never realised how much I had learned of philosophy and other such matters until Brother Tiger asked me about them. It reminded me of the Third Age when a friend of mine asked me what it was like to fly. I could barely described it to him because I had never given it much thought, yet seeking to put it into words helped me to understand it better and made me a more skilled flier. But those good days… they came to an end."

"What happened?"

"The Fifth Catastrophe. Fools who should have known better – some of whom I had already warned – called a great evil to this world from beyond the Greater Darkness. The Exiled Star. Ask Dreamsong about him if you wish to know more, but do not seek out even the faintest memory of him in the dreaming lands. As powerful as you have become, even a memory of him would be dangerous for you to face."

Hikari shuddered. She had heard of the Exiled Star in passing, but Dreamsong had never spoken of him much, saying only that he was a foe of terrible power who would have destroyed the world if not for the combined efforts of the primordial dragons and their allies. Hikari's mother had become the Sixth Catastrophe, and yet the way Dreamsong spoke of the Exiled Star, it was clear the dragon thought he was the stronger of the two, and by no small margin either.

"There were those who worshipped the Exiled Star like a god, and with his aid, they summoned other horrors to our world. Some could be dealt with by the beast-people, but others were far beyond them. One day, I went to confront one such horror. I told Brother Tiger to retreat to safety and await my return. He promised me that he would, but I later learned that he lied." Doomwing's smile was bitter yet proud. "Instead of fleeing, Brother Tiger went to aid the people of a nearby town. When I returned from my battle, I searched for him. I could not find him, and the town was in ruins. Eventually, my magic led me to the mountains where townsfolk were fleeing to seek refuge in a neighbouring kingdom. I had hoped to find Brother Tiger amongst them."

"But he wasn't, was he?"

"No. The townsfolk came to me with a book full of notes that my friend had taken of our discussions, as well as the robe he normally wore, the one that marked him as a member of his order. I asked them what had happened, and they told me. The town had been overrun by the followers of the Exiled Star. They had fled as best they could, with Brother Tiger leading them through the mountains. But with the children, the old, and the sick, they could not outrun their pursuers. Rather than leave them behind, Brother Tiger had told them to go on while he went back to hold the mountain trail for as long as he could." Doomwing growled. "He was no fool. In his youth, he had been a great warrior, yet he was old now and had not fought for many years. He knew he was going to his death. He gave his book to the townsfolk, so it would not be lost."

"And the robe?" Hikari asked. "Why did he give it to them?"

"To buy the townsfolk the time they needed, he would have to break his vow not to kill. To break that vow meant expulsion from the order, and he did not wish to bring shame to the order or the abbot who had been so kind to him by sullying his robe with the blood of his foes. And so he went to face the enemy, choosing a narrow part of the trail to make his stand. He was smiling as he went, or so the townsfolk said, and that was the last time they saw him."

"He was already dead by the time you got there," Hikari said. "Otherwise, you would easily have sensed his presence."

"Yes. I went to the place where he had fought, and I found his body. I could barely recognise it, so great were the wounds he had taken. Yet there was a smile upon his lips and no wounds upon his back. Even at the end, he did not seek to flee. Instead, he put his back to solid stone and fought until his body failed him, for I know that his spirit would never have faltered." Doomwing's jaw clenched. "The trail was blocked by the bodies of the dead, so many had he slain, and so fierce was he that those who lived fled rather than try to force the trail again. I took wing and scoured the land of the enemy. And then I took the body of my friend, along with his book and robe, and flew to the monastery."

Doomwing hissed. "I raged as I flew. Why had he not fled when he had the chance? I had told him to flee. Why, of all times, had he chosen that moment to ignore my words? Why had he chosen to die for people he barely even knew? And why had he died alone? Those cowardly townsfolk were unworthy of his courage. There were young men amongst them with strong backs and stout arms, so why had he died alone? Why had not a single one of them gone with him? My friend died alone saving those who had done nothing to deserve his sacrifice! It was only later, as I drew close to the monastery, that I looked at his book. There, at the end, he had written one last thing, not about our discussions, but to me."

Doomwing took a deep breath. "I will not speak the exact words he wrote, for those belong to me and me alone. But he wrote of his great regret, how all his life his failure to act had haunted him. But not this time. This time, he would act. He would forsake even the vows he had taken as a monk to do what he felt was right and regain the honour he had lost so long ago when he had chosen to remain silent and do nothing. He would do what he should have done all those years ago and save the innocent, even at the cost of his own life." Flame kindled in Doomwing's jaws. "That fool! That idealistic fool! He said that he finally understood why the abbot had asked for him to be spared. This was his chance to finally repay the debt from all those lives he had failed to save before. Debt? What debt? How many had he already helped? How many had he already saved? Whatever debt he might have owed had been paid long ago! And still he went with a smile on his face, his heart free for the first time that he could remember, the great weight upon his shoulders gone and replaced with a freedom he had only dreamed of."

Doomwing scowled. "I wanted to hate him for doing that, for going so proudly to his death for people he didn't even know when he could so easily have just waited. If he had only just waited… and yet I could not hate him. He was my friend, and I knew very well how heavily his regret and guilt weighed upon him. This was his chance, perhaps the last chance he would ever have, to cast that weight aside and to be free in heart and spirit. I just wish I could have fought beside him, that he did not have to die alone, that his sacrifice could have been witnessed by someone who could appreciate and honour it!"

Hikari was silent. She understood now why Dreamsong had returned to the dreaming lands in such a state.

"When I arrived at his monastery, I told the abbot what had happened." Doomwing's eyes narrowed into golden slits. "The abbot looked upon Brother Tiger's body, and the grief was clear upon his face. Yet he would not accept the book or the robe, for they had belonged to one who was no longer part of the order, for he had broken his vows. He would not even call him Brother Tiger, for those who were expelled from the order lost their names as well. I was enraged. If the abbot and the monastery had not been so dear to Brother Tiger, I would have burned them to ash. Were they so unbending, so unwilling to understand that they would disregard Brother Tiger's sacrifice? Yet as my rage grew, the old crow-man said something that cooled my wrath."

"What did he say?" Hikari asked.

"He asked me to take Brother Tiger's body, for he was no longer a member of the order. For that same reason, I ought to keep his book and robe as well. And then he said to me that although he had entered the order as a young crow-man and had thus never had any children, if he had never become a monk, then he would have been proud to call Brother Tiger his son. And bowing to me, he said that he wished for me to take Brother Tiger and his things because he knew I would treasure them more than the monastery. In time, he would die, and all those who knew Brother Tiger would pass into the shadow of time and memory. To the monastery, he would become just another monk – a disgraced one who had forsaken his vows. But not to me. I would remain, and I would remember. He also told me that although tiger-men were often burned after dying that monks were usually buried beneath trees to nourish the future in death as they did in life. He said that I could do with that information as I wished, and then he bade me leave the monastery. By the laws of their order, they would not speak of Brother Tiger again, but I was not a member of their order. If I wished to speak of Brother Tiger, then he could not stop me."

"It was the only kindness he could give," Hikari said. "He loved Brother Tiger also."

"I do not think he loved him at first," Doomwing said. "I think he pitied him. But Brother Tiger became a good man, and so the abbot came to love him as the son he could never have. And in the end, for all that the abbot could never honour the choice Brother Tiger made, he could still give Brother Tiger's body and belongings to someone who would. I found a tree near the bridge where Brother Tiger and I first met, and I buried him beneath it. I remember it clearly, for it was near a meadow of purple hyacinths. I had no interest in flowers beyond their use in alchemy, but Brother Tiger told me they stood for sincerity and regret. I thought it fitting that his resting place should be where he could see them, for his regret had at last given way to sincerity."

"Is that tree still around?" Hikari asked quietly.

"It survived the Fifth Catastrophe, but I have only been back to it once, and that was during the Sixth Age. There was a village there, built around the tree, and the flowers were all gone. But the villagers were smiling and happy, and the tree was ringed with charms. They believed it to be holy, for many who had fallen upon hard times had found safe haven and good fortune after coming to the village and praying beneath its boughs."

"Did he become a guardian spirit?" It was possible that some fragment of the monk's spirit remained.

"No. But there was a blessing upon the land. It was not there when I buried him, but it was there when I returned."

Hikari bowed her head. "Thank you for telling me about Brother Tiger."

"He loved to tell stories," Doomwing said. "He believed it made it easier for people to learn. Do you know why I told you?"

Hikari could think of several reasons. "I can see the parallels."

"You could not have stopped your mother. You were too young and too weak. She would have enslaved you like all the others. But you did not join us either."

"I did not." Hikari's fists clenched. "I wish I had been able to."

"She was your mother," Doomwing replied. "And your decision is one I can understand, even if it is not the one I would have made. Ask Dreamsong about it. Tell her that I permit you to know."

"Do you hate me?" Hikari asked. Even now, she did not fear Doomwing. Was that foolish? Perhaps. But there was a part of her that would always remember the security his presence provided, the absolute trust a silly, little girl had in a dragon who could have crushed her with less than a thought but who had never once harmed her.

"No." Doomwing stared at her. "Looking at you now, I understand the words the abbot spoke. Nothing I could ever say or do to you would ever cut more deeply than the regret you feel. What need have I to punish you when you are doing that yourself? Tell me, did Dreamsong speak truly of what you intend for the kitsune?"

She nodded fiercely. "I mean to bring them back into the world, but I have devoted everything I have to making them better. We are not the kitsune of the past. We come seeking friendship and cooperation. I mean to carry on my father's dream – peace and prosperity. We would stand with others as equals, not rule over them as conquerors."

He stared at her and into her, and she knew she was being weighed and judged. "I am no monk. Mine is not a heart filled with mercy. Yet Brother Tiger was one of the finest friends I ever had, and it was mercy that allowed me to meet him. The abbot gave him another chance, and his faith was repaid in the end. I will give you and Dreamsong another chance." Doomwing bared his teeth. "But there will not be a third. I am a dragon, not an old, meddlesome crow-man."

Hikari felt some of the weight she had carried for so long slip off her shoulders. "Thank you."

"There is something I wish to give you. I would have given it to you long ago, but I was in no condition to give it, and you were not here to receive it."

The space beside Hikari shimmered, and something appeared. Her eyes widened, and she reached out, scarcely able to believe what she saw. It was a banner of green and gold, and upon it were a crossed sword and ploughshare.

"This is…"

"The King's Banner – the banner of High King Elerion." Doomwing's voice grew wistful. "You never met her, but his mother was a skilled seamstress. When he was first crowned king, he asked her to make it for him, and it was carried into every battle he fought thereafter."

"Uncle Valerius carried it," Hikari whispered. "Father asked him to retire, but he insisted, saying he would carry it until he was no longer able."

"Yes. He was one of your father's oldest friends and a cobbler's son. Before your father became king, Valerius would often accompany him on his adventures. When your father became king, he asked Valerius to carry it because there was no one he trusted more to ride at his side."

"I thought it lost," Hikari murmured. "I was there at the end of the battle. I could not bring myself to approach you or Uncle Marcus, but I saw my father, and the banner was not with him."

"Valerius was amongst the last of your father's men to fall. By then your father was blinded, and his sword and armour were already broken. Valerius held the banner high until he too was felled, and when he fell, it was trampled into the muck and blood by the enemy. Your father fought to reach the last place he had heard Valerius's voice, hoping against all hope that his old friend was merely wounded and not dead. But never again would he hear Valerius's voice, and it was there that he fought, at the side of his dead friend and his trampled banner, until he met his own death."

Tears prickled at the corners of Hikari's eyes. She should have fought at her father's side. She would likely have died, but still, would that have been such a bad death? But she had stood by and done nothing. Leading the kitsune properly was the only atonement she could make.

"I was in no state to retrieve it afterward, and neither was Marcus. Later, it became difficult to find because the whole battlefield became a scar upon the world, one that has yet to fade. Yet Marcus eventually retrieved it. It was in a wretched stated, but I was able to restore it. I had considered returning it to one of your father's descendants, but from what little I learned in my moments of waking, none of them were worthy of it. Yet I am awake now, and you are here… the last of my old friend's children."

"I…"

"Take it," Doomwing said. "It is yours by right, but remember this… it was your father's strength that made the kingdoms kneel, but it was his dream that inspired them to follow. You have the strength to rule the kitsune. Make sure that it is a worthy dream they follow, not a nightmare."

Hikari took the banner and held it to her chest. She had seen it so many times before. Her father had even allowed her to hold it a few times. How valiant he had looked in his armour and upon his horse with his banner flying high beside him. He had seemed utterly invincible, as if he could face all the evils of the world and drive them off. The banner was back in her hands again, and a sense of loss swept over her. Her father was no longer there to offer his advice, comfort or praise. He was dead… but his dream could still live.

She looked at Doomwing. This was a gift and a warning, a promise and a plea. The words came to her, and it felt right to speak them. "I swear it. So many dreams were broken at the end of the Sixth Age. Never again."

She raised the banner high, and the breeze caught it. For a moment, she was a little girl again, and anything in the world was possible. The moment passed, and yet the feeling lingered. If a farmer's son could become a king, then who was to say they could not find a brighter future?

Her mother had tried to seize that future, and she had been willing to bind the world to her will to do so. But her father had tried to lead the way in the hope that others would follow. Her mother had always said that Hikari was a lot like her father. Hikari had led the kitsune this far. They were good people. She knew it. She just had to give them an example to follow.

"Doomwing," she said. "I would like to meet with your followers."

"What did you have in mind?"

"If my kitsune are to help the people of this world, then it's about time they had a chance to meet them."

"I see." Doomwing nodded. "Very well." His lips curled. "You should probably make time for Marcus too. He will no doubt sulk if you spend all of your time around me."

She chuckled. "He accused me of favouritism many times."

"He was right to do so. I was, by far, the most favoured of your many uncles."

Author's Notes

Wisdom can be found in many places.

314

SecretTwelve

Mar 16, 2024

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