Dragon si

by Dextrode

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Original Fiction

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 37: The Raccoon Recruits

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SecretTwelve

Mar 18, 2024

#642

Chapter 37: The Raccoon Recruits

Filch peeked out of the shadows to make sure that no one was watching before he emerged into one of the derelict, overgrown buildings that marred the edges of the city. He wore a bandana of green and gold cloth upon his head. Antaria had given it to him, saying that if he was going to spend so much time perched on her head, then he should at least wear her colours. She also seemed to find the sight of a raccoon wearing a bandana genuinely delightful.

He liked Antaria. She might complain about him hitching a ride on her head, her back, or her shoulders, but she never shooed him away. She was always happy to give him a cuddle or a belly rub, and she didn't mind if he made a little nest out of pillows to sleep in. Daphne had also asked him to keep an eye on her. Antaria was strong, but she was maybe a little too brave for her own good. Even if she ran into something far too strong for her to beat, that wouldn't stop her from trying to punch it to death. Daphne had asked him to take Antaria and run if something like that ever happened. It wasn't as though he could shadow walk all the way back home with Antaria, but he could definitely go far enough to get them out of trouble.

A smart raccoon knew when to fight, when to run, and when to hide. Filch was a very smart raccoon, so he'd just have to look out for the brave but not very smart human who happened to be his friend.

Contrary to expectations, there weren't fights on every single day. Now that the tournament was down to only the best competitors, there were only bouts every second day. This was to give fighters time to rest and prepare themselves. Nobody wanted to see a fighter lose because they were still carrying injuries from their last bout, and giving them time to prepare made the fights more exciting.

With a bit of free time on his hands, Filch had decided to explore the city. Antaria had told him to be careful, and Doomwing had told him to keep his eyes and ears open. There was a lot a raccoon who could hide in shadows could learn, and he might even come across someone interesting who was worth recruiting.

But Filch had found himself drawn to these abandoned buildings and the animals who lived in them. There were so many of them, from cats and dogs to squirrels, raccoons, and rats. Some had moved in from the countryside whilst others had been abandoned by their owners and had fled here to eke out a living.

Had he been like this before meeting Daphne?

He couldn't really remember his early days. He knew he had once had four siblings, of whom only two still remained, and he knew his family had once lived somewhere else, away from the dryad. There hadn't been much food there, and his strongest memory was hunger. He had been hungry all the time, and his parents had given him their food, even as they had grown thin and weak.

Eventually, they had left that place. Filch wasn't sure how far they travelled, but that was when they lost two of his siblings. Hunger had gotten one, and a hawk had gotten the other. He couldn't even remember their names… or perhaps they hadn't even had names. He and his family had been different then, lesser in so many ways than they were now.

But they had crossed the blighted lands where only weeds grew and had reached the crumbling courtyard where Daphne's tree was. Had her magic drawn them to her? Probably. His parents had never been able to explain how they knew where to go, but they had gone all the same, drawn to the dryad by some inexplicable force, whether it be instinct, magic, or simple good luck.

There, they had found sanctuary. The dryad had welcomed them, and Filch had never felt so safe as when she had picked him up and held him in her arms. They had been given fruits and nuts to eat and nourishing sap to drink. His parents had already been old by then, and they had died soon after. But they had died with full bellies, safe in the knowledge that at least some of their children had made it to this place of safety.

The seasons had passed, and Filch had found his thoughts growing clearer and swifter. He was… more than he had been, changed by the food he had eaten, the sap he had drunk, and the magic his young body had absorbed. The world became clear, and his mind sharpened. He knew. He learned. He understood.

He had begun to ascend, turning from a humble raccoon into something more. That was why he was smarter, and that was why the passage of a few years hadn't left him frail and weak like his parents. He would live longer than them – much, much longer. He would live twenty or thirty years, perhaps even longer if he could ascend further.

But with his newfound intelligence and wisdom came a stark realisation. Daphne was dying. It would not be any time soon, but with the blight growing ever stronger, it was only a matter of time before the dryad perished without the magic she needed to sustain herself. She never said anything about it. Instead, she continued to shelter all of the animals while asking the birds who visited to speak of nearby forests and groves.

She was preparing for the day she was no longer strong enough to shelter them.

If Daphne had been older and stronger, she could have dispelled the blight entirely and bent the currents of magic to her will. But she was young, and the soil and magic were so poor that she could not grow stronger. Filch was only a raccoon, but he knew he had to do something. But what could he do? He might be smarter and a bit stronger than a normal raccoon, but he was still far too weak to deal with the blight or the lack of magic.

And then the dragon had come.

Filch had been scared. All of them had been. What could even Daphne do against a dragon? And yet the dragon had not come to destroy them. He had come to make them an offer, one that Daphne had accepted.

And they were all much better for it.

Their new home was everything Daphne had ever wanted. There were rich fields as far as the eye could see. The soil was so good and the magic so plentiful that Daphne had grown at an astounding rate. She had even started to produce relay trees, which were supposed to help her project her influence further. They were extensions of herself and would be able to do many of the same things, like making special fruit, nuts, and sap. She would even be able to project her humanoid form from them too, which would let her travel around a bit more.

Filch was happy for her, and he would be lying if he said he wasn't happy there would be more space too. None of the animals wanted to live in a normal tree after living in Daphne's tree for so long. The relay trees were the next best thing, and some of the animals had already begun to relocate, especially those with families who wanted extra space.

But even with the relocations and their increased numbers, there still weren't enough animals for all the relay trees. Filch knew how much Daphne loved having animals around – she doted on them like they were her own children – so why not get some more? He was smart. He could tell which animals were good and would fit in and which should be ignored. Plus, now that Daphne was stronger, it wouldn't take as long for her to form bonds with new animals, allowing them to begin ascension. They even had a Pool of Ascension now, so once the new animals had formed a close enough bond, they could throw them in to see if they developed any useful powers.

After all, if they were going to live in Daphne's trees, it was only fair they do their bit to help out.

Well, he wasn't too worried about that part. Any animals he brought back were the kind who would appreciate the opportunity they'd been given and the affection that Daphne would lavish on them. They wouldn't have to force them to help. They would be eager and grateful to help, just as Filch and the other were.

Filch peered down at a family of raccoons making their way back toward an abandoned building. There wasn't much food here, but there was plenty available in the rest of the city if they were willing to take risks. They could swipe food from stalls or paw through garbage. There was always a chance they'd be caught, but raccoons were quick and clever.

No, the biggest danger came when they returned here with their prizes. Anyone with food was a potential target. The dogs were probably the biggest threats, especially when there were groups of them. The trick was to get into one of the abandoned buildings and then hide somewhere safe where the dogs couldn't get at them.

The family of raccoons had almost reached safety when a group of dogs emerged from the ruins of another building. The raccoons realised the danger at once and tried to flee, but there were three kits with the adults, and they weren't going to be nearly fast enough. Filch's eyes narrowed, and then he sprang from his hiding place.

He was no match for some of the monsters that Antaria commanded, but these dogs were not those monsters, and he was far stronger than any normal raccoon. His paw struck the first dog and reduced the canine's skull to pulp. The second reached him a moment later and lunged, only for his jaws to close on thin air as Filch fell into his own shadow. He reappeared next to the dog, and a swipe of his tail sent the dog flying into a nearby wall. The other dogs were wary now, and Filch stood on his hind legs, arms spread wide, inviting them to attack.

Two of them backed away, but the largest of the dogs – probably the leader – accepted the challenge and lunged. Before his ascension thanks to the pool, Filch would never have dreamed of fighting like this. He would have looked at these dogs and seen his own death. Now? All he saw were overgrown mutts who needed to be taught their place.

He heaved an uppercut into the dog's jaw and then slammed a kick into his exposed belly that folded him in mid-air and tossed him back to skid through the muck of a nearby puddle. The dog snivelled and tried to rise, but Filch knew very well that his blow had been placed perfectly. All those days he'd spent watching Antaria train had not been in vain. His old body would never have been able to perform the moves he'd seen. His new body was made for them.

The dog gave a low whine and then fell still, and Filch rounded on the two remaining canines. They fled, and he turned back to the family of raccoons. He had watched this family – and several others – and he liked what he saw. They took care of one another, helped out others when they could, and worked hard to survive, doing anything they could to make ends meet.

They cowered as he approached, and Filch reined in his magic. He didn't have a lot compared to Antaria, but he had way more than a regular raccoon. They relaxed a little, and he reached into the small pouch at his side and pulled out an apple from Daphne's tree. The pouch was a gift from Doomwing, who had told him to make good use of it. It was much larger on the inside than the outside, and the weight of the objects it carried was massively reduced to the point that Filch often had to check to see if it was still there.

It would be almost impossible to explain himself to the raccoons as they were now. They weren't stupid for normal raccoons, but they lacked the wisdom and understanding that came from forming a bond with Daphne. The apple was special. It wouldn't make a bond on its own, but it would temporarily grant them some measure of the intelligence that a bond could provide.

They were startled but polite once the change came over them. Filch explained himself as simply as possible. Even with the apple, they just didn't have any real frame of reference for more complex concepts, not the way he did with years spent alongside Daphne.

He wanted them to come with him. He lived somewhere much better where there would always be lots of food – and much better food than anything they could find here. They would safe, protected not only by Daphne but many others. They could form a bond with Daphne. They would be able to stay as smart as the apple made them. In fact, they'd be even smarter. And when they were ready, they could try the Pool of Ascension and grow strong like him.

The raccoons discussed the matter briefly, but he already knew that they would agree. Who wouldn't? He also added that it would not be long before these abandoned areas were put to work again. Enarion, the king, had plans to revitalise the city, and he would not leave these areas alone for long. Sooner or later, humans would come and drive them away, so the buildings could be torn down, the land cleared, and new buildings put up in their place. It was better to leave with him now and go to somewhere better than to stay and then be driven off without anywhere to go.

They agreed, and he told them to follow him while he approached the other animals he had in mind. They knew these animals. They could add their voices to his and help him to convince them. It was a good thing that Daphne had given him many such apples although she had been a bit worried that none of the animals would take up his offer. He chuckled. The dryad had a habit of underestimating herself. She would be very happy indeed when he turned up with so many new animals!

As the night drew to a close, he was about to return to the palace with his new recruits when a cat slunk forth out of the shadows of an alley. His eyes narrowed. He hadn't sensed her.

"You are no normal cat," he murmured. "Who are you?"

"And you are no normal raccoon," the cat replied – the first animal to speak without eating an apple. "My master called me Patches," the female cat said. "Because of the black and white patches on my fur."

Filch motioned for the other animals behind him to stay back. One of the raccoons whispered that he should be careful. Patches was one of the strongest animals in the area, and she was incredibly intelligent too. "If you have a master, why are you here?"

Patches's amber eyes were sombre. "My master was an adventurer. He would take jobs in the surrounding countryside. Some time ago, he left but never returned. The person he had left me with put me out."

"You can speak," Filch said. "How?"

"When I was thrown out, I spent time around the places where adventurers would gather, hoping to find my master. I survived by eating the scraps that were tossed out. I don't know why, but someone threw out flesh from a monster. I ate it, and I was different."

"Ah. You began to ascend. But I can feel how much magic you have. You never went any further." Filch could defeat her if need be, but he was curious now. "Did you learn what happened to your master?"

"I overheard people talking about it. They mentioned his name and said that he and a number of other adventurers perished while trying to drive off a hydra." Patches frowned. "But how could that be? I remember that my master was strong. If there were others like him, how could they lose?"

"Do you know what a hydra is?" Filch asked.

She shook her head. "No."

He winced. "A large reptile, usually bigger than a house, with many heads. It can heal from almost any injury instantly. It can also spit acid, has deadly venom, and its blood is so corrosive that being splashed can kill you within moments."

Antaria had encountered one while clearing out monsters. She had killed it by throwing boulders at it until it was completely crushed. Doomwing had congratulated her on not being stupid enough to try punching it since that would only have doused her in its toxic blood. He had also mentioned that her ancestor had made that mistake, and he had let him scream himself hoarse for half a minute before healing him to make sure that he never made that mistake again. Honestly, Filch had heard about how incredible Elerion was, but who thought punching a hydra was a good idea?

"Oh." Patches sagged. "I can see how he might have lost then." She glanced at the animals behind him. "Where are you taking them?"

"Why do you want to know?" Filch had not noticed her at all while watching the other animals. She must either have come from far away or have hidden herself expertly.

"I have kittens and a mate," Patches said. "My mate… he is not well. I have been tending to him as best I can, but I cannot care for him and the kittens for much longer. If you are taking them somewhere better, I want to take my mate and kittens and go with you."

"Hmmm…" Filch nodded slowly. "Take me to your family. I'll see if I can do anything for your mate."

Antaria woke up and then leapt out of bed. "What the…?" She stared at the assortment of animals that were now in her room. There were raccoons, squirrels, a few dogs, some rats, and even a family of cats! What was going on? "Filch!" she shouted. "I know you did this. Explain!"

The raccoon emerged from her shadow and scrambled up onto her head. As usual, he had a fruit to munch on. "They're the new recruits."

Antaria plucked him off her head. "Recruits? Since when were you recruiting? I thought you were just snooping around."

"I've done plenty of snooping around," Filch said. "But I've also been recruiting." He puffed out his chest proudly. "These are the best of the bunch. Daphne will love them, and they'll fit right in."

Antaria found her gaze softening. Daphne was very fond of animals, and with those new trees of hers growing, she wanted more animals to put in them. "And you're sure they'll fit in? Daphne would be sad if they came along but didn't like her."

"They'll be fine." Filch nodded. "I've talked to all of them myself." He lowered his voice. "I've got a good feeling about some of them too. I bet they'll get some really interesting abilities from the Pool of Ascension if we throw them in."

"Really?" Antaria couldn't help but grin. It had taken a bit of getting used to, but once she'd seen that none of the animals were actually being harmed, the whole thing had been quite fun. "Doomwing will be happy about that – but only if he's the one who gets the animals with good abilities." The dragon had been quite put out that the animals he'd thrown into the pool hadn't gotten abilities as good as the ones Daphne and Antaria had thrown in.

"Anyway, I thought I'd bring them here. The tournament will be over soon, and I didn't want to risk any of them getting attacked or worse before we leave." Filch made a face. "It's dangerous out there, especially if you're weak."

"Okay. They can stay, but you need to introduce me to them." Her gaze locked onto the family of cats with the adorable kittens. "Start with the cats."

Author's Notes

Filch is a clever guy who's always on the lookout for a good deal. What better way to add to your forces than to recruit people who are going to be fanatically loyal since you saved them from a life of despair and hardship? Yeah. Once the animals get back home and meet Daphne, they are going to be loyal for life, and with a bit of time they'll begin ascending too. The wolf pups are going to have even more competition.

The thing about Filch is that he has a different perspective on things than most of the other characters. When he was a kit, he was a normal raccoon. That's why he can't remember much, and what he can remember, he can't remember all that clearly. But once he got to Daphne, he started getting smarter and smarter. The world got bigger for him as he started to understand it.

When Doomwing showed up, his world got even bigger. He saw just how weak Daphne really was despite being impossibly strong compared to him. And instead of freaking out or getting scared, he saw the opportunity they had. After going into the Pool of Ascension, he has become even more, and his world has become very big indeed.

But, again, rather than freaking out, he's trying to make the most of it. He knows how much he has benefited from knowing Daphne, and he knows how happy having more animals around would make her. So he wants to help out, but he's smart enough to make sure he only brings those animals he thinks will fit in.

To Filch, as big as the world is, it's also still really small in some ways because what matters most to him are people like Daphne, Antaria, and the other animals. He can't save the world, but he can save a family of raccoons from going through what his family did.

Meanwhile, Doomwing looks at all of these new animals and thinks… well, if Daphne wants more animals, why not? More chances to get something good from the Pool of Ascension. There are levels, and he and these animals couldn't be further apart.

Last edited: Mar 19, 2024

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SecretTwelve

Mar 18, 2024

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Threadmarks Chapter 38: The Princess And The Tiger

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SecretTwelve

Mar 20, 2024

#662

Chapter 38: The Princess And The Tiger

"Be wary of your next opponent."

Antaria paused on her way to the arena and looked back at Doomwing's construct. "Oh?"

"The report that your uncle compiled underestimates him." The construct's eyes narrowed. "The tiger-man has never used his full strength where others can see it. However, he cannot hide from these eyes of mine. The power I see within him is beyond what he has shown so far."

"I'll keep that in mind." The princess grinned. "He's one of the borderline ones, right?"

She was referring to whether or not they should recruit him. Based on what her uncle had learned of the tiger-man, he might make a good recruit. However, he had also shown a reluctance to follow authority, and the report had spoken of a simmering anger that was well hidden beneath a veneer of civility.

"Yes."

"What do you think?" Antaria asked. Even if Doomwing had only laid eyes on him recently, she had no doubt that his judgement would be ruthless but accurate. "Should I recruit him?"

The construct bared its teeth. "You have progressed far enough in your training that you need not seek my counsel for every small decision. If you wish to rule in my name, then you will need to be able to make decisions on your own. Face him and take his measure in battle. Whether he is suitable to join us or not, he is a tiger-man. Battle will show him for who he truly is."

"Have you known a lot of tiger-men?" Antaria asked. Doomwing's past was mysterious despite the sheer length of it. Yet every now and then, he would reveal parts of it to her. She treasured each piece of information, knowing that he would not have said anything at all unless he thought her worthy of knowing.

"I have met many tiger-men over the years, but I would say that I have truly known only one." The construct looked past her to the end of the tunnel that led into the arena. "Tell me, what is the nature of absolute victory?"

"Philosophy?" Antaria grinned. During her training, Doomwing had often spoken of philosophical matters. Apparently, there were styles of combat that required particular mindsets and attitudes to be fully effective. Furthermore, progressing further in power would require not only greater strength but also greater wisdom. After all, her soul was the source of her magic and power, and a soul could grow as much through enlightenment as it could through martial prowess. "That's a good question… hmm… I guess I'd say when the enemy can no longer fight."

"A very draconic answer," the construct said. "I had a friend, a tiger-man. His name was Brother Tiger, and he was a monk. When he asked me that question, I told him that absolute victory lay in the complete and utter destruction of the enemy and their ability to fight. He told me that he would have agreed with that answer in his youth, but that he had come to think differently in his old age."

"Oh?" Antaria grinned. "You were friends with a monk?"

"I was," the construct said. "And although we rarely agreed on philosophical matters, I found his views intriguing. When a fool disagrees with you, it is easy to dismiss their opinion. Brother Tiger was no fool. When he disagreed, I wished to know why, even if I rarely changed my mind."

"He must have been quite a monk." Antaria could hear the crowd. The whole tunnel shook with the force of their anticipation as they clapped, stomped, and called her name. "What was his answer?"

"True victory is not the complete and utter destruction of the enemy and their ability to fight. Instead, it is the complete and utter destruction of the enemy's desire to fight. It is the conversion of an enemy into an ally and a friend."

Antaria's eyes widened. "The destruction of their desire to fight…?" She smiled. "That would be nice, but it seems quite naïve."

"Oh, he acknowledged that doing so was not always possible. There are foes that must be destroyed, whether that means killing them, throwing them in prison, or merely driving them away. But there are others, those who can become more than enemies, if only we possess the desire and means to persuade them." The construct chuckled. "I will not say that I agreed. I am a primordial dragon. The foes that I have considered true enemies were not the kind that could be made into friends and allies. They were the kind that had to die. But you are not a primordial dragon, and your foes are not the same as mine."

"So you think we should recruit him?" Antaria asked, eyes twinkling at the expression of mild aggravation on the construct's face.

"That is for you to decide… and even if you wish to recruit him, do you really think he will agree just because you ask? He is a tiger-man. Even if you beat him, he will not necessarily agree to join us. Instead, you must give him a reason, and you must convince him in a way that even his pride and past cannot deny."

"Well, I'll just have to do my best then." Antaria turned. "Wish me luck."

"Luck? Let your skills decide the outcome of battle. Still… if fortune should come into play, may it favour you in its dealings."

Antaria strode down the tunnel and then out into the arena. A wave of noise washed over her, so loud that it was an almost physical force that threatened to drive her back into the tunnel. This was the last fight of the tournament, and she had left a trail of devastation in her wake. Her uncle's enemies were in disarray, and she had received no small number of invitations to talk from nobles who were suddenly eager to curry favour, if only so she wasn't tempted to add them to her list of people who needed to be killed or maimed.

Her uncle had found the whole thing hilarious, and he had taken full advantage. He was the perfect foil to her more belligerent persona. They could deal with her, the princess who regularly turned her enemies into bloody pulps, or they could deal with a king who wanted nothing more than obedience and who was even willing to share the profits of success if they would just fall into line.

The choice was obvious.

Her opponent was already waiting for her at the centre of the area. She had seen beast-people before. Few of them lived in the kingdom, but it wasn't unusual for them to pass through, working as mercenaries or adventurers for a time before moving on. She had no grievances against beast-people herself, but there were many superstitions about them that made it difficult for them to live in the kingdom permanently.

Many beast-people were wanderers, and it was often said that they wandered because they had been driven from their homes long ago for committing wicked deeds. Other stories claimed they had brought a great evil into the world although what that evil was or how they had brought it into the world were seldom mentioned. The truth of such tales, it seemed, had been lost to the mists of time. Other stories spoke of their unnatural beliefs, and their worshipping of evil powers. And, of course, their appearances did not help either.

Although the kitsune were said to be people of great beauty, other beast-people were not so fortunate. Bull-men towered over humans, and their horns, muscular frames, and bovine features granted them an air of menace in the eyes of many. Tiger-men had the heads of tiger, complete with big, sharp teeth. They also had retractable claws upon their hands and feet, which could easily tear a man limb from limb.

She had asked Doomwing if there was any truth to the tales, and the dragon had simply replied that such stories existed for a reason. However, the beast-people who had been responsible for the development of such tales were long dead. Only their descendants remained, and even they could no longer remember why those stories were told. He had no reason to dislike them unless they attempted to repeat the mistakes of their ancestors.

The thought of it saddened Antaria. To be outcasts for crimes they could not even remember? There was no fairness in that. Perhaps that was why the deeds of her great ancestor often made her so uneasy. People spoke of Elerion in hushed whispers, a near-mythological figure whose blood flowed through her veins. It was his blood that allowed her family to sit upon the throne, and it had been his blood that her father had used to justify his mad schemes. After all, if their ancestor had once been High King, why shouldn't he be the same?

Pathetic.

It was pathetic.

Doomwing had spoken of Elerion, and the man was worthy of the high esteem in which people held him. However, Antaria despised the idea that she was only worth anything because of the blood they shared. No. If she was to be judged, then let her ancestry be left behind. Let it be her own deeds, her own struggles, toils, and victories that defined her!

Her opponent was the largest tiger-man she had ever seen. He was roughly seven feet tall, and thick cords of powerful muscle rippled beneath vibrant orange fur striped with black. He wore a faded red tunic with grey trousers, and a weapon that she had been told was called a 'dao' hung at his side. The weapon was well maintained, but it also showed signs of long and vigorous use. He paid no heed to the referee as she approached. Instead, his gaze followed her every step of the way, keen and piercing. She smiled. He was taking her measure, just as she was taking his.

"Princess." He brought his hands together in a salute, one hand a fist and the other an open palm, and then bowed. According to Doomwing, it was an ancient sign of respect between warriors, one that originated Ages ago. "It is an honour to face you."

She returned the gesture, much to his surprise. "Your name is Xiang, isn't it?" He nodded. "Then I look forward to facing you."

The referee went over the rules briefly, but neither of them paid the man much heed. They had fought enough already to know the rules by heart. As the referee moved out of the way, they both drew their weapons.

From what Antaria had observed from his previous fights, the dao was similar to a sabre. It could cut and thrust, but it seemed to be most effective when used for chopping and slashing attacks. Given the immense speed and strength that Xiang had demonstrated throughout the tournament, facing the weapon head on seemed like a foolish idea even for her – especially given her own weapon.

The elves of the Third Age had prized precision over brute force in their fighting, and the elvish rapier style that Antaria had been learning to use was a prime example of that. The speed and range of a thrust allowed her to strike to deadly effect, often without giving the opponent a chance to truly respond. She had been surprised and inordinately pleased to discover that the wooden sword that Daphne had given her could change its shape, meaning there was no need for her to use a different weapon. Apparently, that was something most dryad-gifted weapons could do although it had taken her a while to figure out how to do it, even with Doomwing's advice.

According to Doomwing, Alenna Skyseeker had favoured the elvish rapier due to her style's emphasis on mobility. Yes, blocking a blow from a much heavier weapon would be difficult, but the whole point was to avoid having to block in the first place. Speed, mobility, and anticipation should make it possible to interrupt the opponent's strike or to evade and then counter attack.

That style of fighting went against Antaria's desire to simply crush her opponents, but she had found herself growing more and more appreciative of it. Was it simply her magical affinity biasing her opinions, or was it simply a matter of gaining more experience? Yes, crushing people could be fun – especially when she knew they were trying to assassinate her – but there was something so incredibly enjoyable about reading her opponents and the flow of battle, dodging attack after attack and then replying with pinpoint precision that left her enemies defeated with a single, precisely aimed attack.

And what a rapier might lack in raw destructive power could easily be remedied with wind magic. Doomwing had demonstrated several such techniques that could turn even a clumsy strike into something capable of piecing or slicing through solid steel. That was another reason he wanted her to grow adept in a style that emphasised evasion and anticipation. At the highest level, humans simply weren't durable enough to shrug off attacks from creatures like dragons, hydras, and other powerful monsters. Dodging and then exploiting the openings that would appear would be key to defeat stronger opponents in the future.

To his credit, Xiang did not rush in immediately. One of her previous opponents had thought to overwhelm her before she could put her weapon's greater reach to work. He'd earned himself a hole in his heart for his trouble and had died before he could truly understand what had happened – not that she particularly cared. He had been another assassin, albeit not the most dangerous she had encountered. How he'd even gotten that far in the tournament was a bit of a mystery to her.

"You're not going to attack?" Antaria asked.

"Not recklessly," Xiang replied. "I have seen your previous bouts. Some might call your blade flimsy, but I know better."

"In that case, why don't I go first?"

She took a single step forward and then flowed into a thrust. His eyes widened momentarily, and then he retreated, moving just out of range. She followed with another thrust and then another and another, each delivered with the precision and perfect technique that only dragon-related suffering could provide. Doomwing had no need for a sword, but he had seen the finest swordmen of the elves. She would become that good or suffer horribly trying.

So far, it had been mostly horrible suffering, but the improvement was undeniable.

Each time, Xiang gave ground, not simply moving backward but also to the side to see if her footwork could keep up. She bit back a smile. She'd seen too many duellists make mistakes since it was all too easy to get caught up in moving backward and forward without taking lateral movement into account. Doomwing had disabused her of that notion by dodging to the side and then tackling her with his construct.

Broken ribs and full-body bruising were wonderful motivators for improvement.

They broke apart for a moment, and she could tell the exact moment that Xiang came to his decision. He could not continue to give ground. If all he did was retreat, then he would lose. At some point, she would hit him, and she was accurate enough to end the fight in a single blow. He had to attack.

Of course, attacking would not be easy. Even with his height advantage and the length of his weapon, a rapier was not an easy weapon to get past. But he would have to if he wanted to win. His hands tightened on his dao, and his weight shifted onto the balls of his feet. His magic stirred in earnest, and her eyes widened.

He had roughly the same amount of magic as her, and unlike the crude, roughly controlled magic in most of her opponents, his had been honed considerably. It wasn't sharpened in the same way as hers. Indeed, there was a certain roughness to it that suggested he was self-taught rather than trained by someone like Doomwing. However, there was no mistaking the threat he posed.

Her own magic shifted in response, and she readied herself. It was time to see what he was capable of.

He lunged forward, far, far faster than he'd moved before. In the instant that she moved to strike, he sprang to the side in a movement of pure feline grace and then brought his dao down in a tremendous overhand blow. She discarded the idea of blocking immediately. Even Daphne's sword might not be able to withstand the sheer force behind the attack.

Instead, she jerked back, just enough to avoid the attack. The dao smashed into the ground, and the force of the blow cratered the ground and tossed her back. Yep. Dodging had definitely been a good idea. She couldn't be sure, but she was pretty confident that Xiang had used a basic rune to enhance that blow.

Had he been taught the rune? No. He wouldn't be working as mercenary if he had someone capable of teaching runes backing him. He must have uncovered it himself, which spoke volumes of his talent. No wonder he was popular as a mercenary. He could probably do the work of dozens of men himself.

And yet that single blow had revealed something to her, something that made her brows furrow.

She decided to test her idea.

She moved forward again, light and easy on her feet, probing with swift, sharp attacks while just barely dodging his counter attacks. Each of his blows could have ended the fight – the sheer force he could generate was insane – and his reactions, speed, and agility were all outstanding. In fact, he might even be more agile than her, which was saying something, considering all the training she'd gone through. But there was something off about the way he fought…

She backed away and then lowered her sword. He stared at her in puzzlement.

"What are you doing?" he asked. "You cannot be surrendering."

"I'm not surrendering. I just noticed that you're really not all that good with a sword."

His eyes widened. "What?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong. You're extremely fast and agile, and you're easily the strongest opponent I've faced so far. I'd be in a lot of trouble if even one of those swings of yours managed to hit me. But your technique… I won't say it's bad, but it's very simple… so simple that I'm convinced you don't actually favour the sword in battle."

Xiang's expression grew sober. "Princess, do you know why I use the sword?"

"No."

"I am a tiger-man. I have my claws and my teeth. But if I use them in battle, I am called a beast and looked down upon as a savage." He glanced down at the dao in his hand. "The sword is a warrior's weapon, or so I have been told. If I wish to work, then I must follow the ways of those I work for."

"I see." She had suspected it might be something like that. She glanced up at the royal box where her uncle and Doomwing's construct were watching, along with a blonde woman she didn't recognise. A flick of her wrist sent her sword flying up toward them where the construct caught it with magic. "In that case, why don't you show me what you can really do? On my name and honour, I would prefer to face you at your best."

Xiang stared at her for a long moment. "You are my better with a blade. You would win if we continued to fight with weapons. Barehanded, I am much more formidable."

She grinned. "There is no point in winning if I'm not facing my opponent at their best." She nodded at the referee. "Give your weapon to the referee. He can hang onto it for you. I'm sure he'll take good care of it." She smiled. "I don't care if you use your claws or your teeth. You are a tiger-man, and those are the weapons of your people. Getting upset about you using them would be like getting upset at a dragon for using its flame." She took up her stance and raised her fists. "Show me what you can do."

Xiang hadn't been sure what to make of the princess. She was skilled, that much was obvious, but he hadn't realised just how deadly she was until facing her himself. Although his sword work was fairly simple, his sheer speed, strength, and agility had allowed him to easily overwhelm every opponent he had faced until now.

The princess had dodged each of his attacks, and he had narrowly avoided defeat multiple times. A single, properly placed strike from her rapier could easily have felled him. The weapon might have been made of wood, but the amount of magic the princess had and the way she could shape her magic made it clear that the weapon would pierce through flesh and bone as easily as paper.

She had been winning, and yet she had realised what he was doing and had all but ordered him to set his sword aside and face her with his full strength. He wasn't sure whether she was insane – as some people he had spoken to had suggested – or so confident of victory that she didn't care. No. The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that she had spoken the truth. She wanted to beat him, but only at his best.

It warmed his heart.

Such honour.

If only all such humans were so honourable. But he knew that wasn't so. He hadn't lied about his reasons for using the sword. When he had first come to this land with his fellows, securing work had not been easy. They were strong, yes, but they preferred to fight with their teeth and claws. It was their way, for they were tiger-men.

But they had been labelled savages for it, and work had only become easier to get when they had reverted to using weapons. It rankled that he could not fight as he wished, but he needed the work. Ever since his clan had been forced from their homes, they had been faced with a simple choice. They could work, or they could starve.

Xiang had been only a boy then. He and his clan had lived by the shores of a sea that he could barely remember. His father had been a fisherman, as had his grandfather. In fact, that was what most of the men had done. They fished. And the sea had been good to them. They had lived off its bounty and made a decent living selling the fish they caught to those who lived nearby.

And then they had discovered pearls in the sea near their village. The pearls had brought fresh wealth to his clan, and people had come from far and wide to buy them. Most of the pearls were bought for their appearance, but now and again, they would find one with magical properties. Those pearls were prized above all others, and his clan had taken pride in supplying the ruler of those lands with those special pearls.

The king there had been pleased with them, or so his clan had believed. They couldn't have been more wrong.

Soldiers had come in the dead of night with swords and spears and spells. Xiang could barely remember the sea, but he had never forgotten that night. The screams, the pleas for mercy, the smell of blood… and the words, those terrible words.

They were beasts that the king had only tolerated because getting rid of them wasn't worth the effort.

Was the king supposed to be impressed by their meagre offerings of fish? How typical of a bunch of savages to think he cared about fish.

The pearls were the final straw.

What right did they have to those?

The king's ancestor had allowed them to settle in the kingdom because he had been a soft-hearted fool who pitied them. They were beasts who lacked even a homeland to call their own, exiles who had spent centuries wandering as outcasts because their ancestors had been fools who had ruined their own homeland.

The king's ancestor should never have let them stay. They would only bring that same misfortune upon the kingdom. But it was pity that had stayed the hands of the king's predecessor – pity for their simple ways and pathetic past. And perhaps the king had felt pity for them too – until the pearls.

Why should savages like them be the ones to control such riches?

Those pearls – and all such treasures – should belong to the king. So what better time to rid the kingdom of them and claim what was theirs?

Xiang's clan were not fighters, not really. Oh, there were those amongst them who could fight and hunt, but they were fishermen first and foremost. It was the sea they loved, and it was the sea's bounty that sustained them.

They had little hope against soldiers and mages, especially when taken by surprise.

By some miracle, Xiang's grandfather and some of the others were able to escape. He had taken Xiang and his mother and fled, with Xiang's father and some of the other tiger-men staying behind to cover their escape.

He had never seen his father again, nor any of the other brave tiger-men who had stayed behind.

Later, Xiang would find out that their own neighbours had turned against them – humans he had known all his life and considered his friends. His grandfather had looked at him sadly and explained.

"Greed, Xiang. Greed has no limits. We had something they wanted, so they took it."

"But why, grandfather?" he had asked. "We were there friends, weren't we? Who would steal from a friend?"

What a naïve, foolish boy he'd been.

"They tolerated us, Xiang," his grandfather had replied. "Because it was easier than driving us off. Once… once we found the pearls, I should have known this would happen." His grandfather had held him tight, and Xiang could feel the tears falling from his grandfather's eyes although he could not see them. "I should have listened to your father. He tried to warn me, but I thought… I thought that we had finally found a place where we could belong. We had been there for so many years… and after wandering for so many more before that… it was supposed to be home, Xiang. It was supposed to be home."

After that, they fled the kingdom. The king's troops pursued them all the way to the border, only relenting when they crossed the river that marked the kingdom's end. They had been reduced to less than a quarter of their original numbers, and they had thrown themselves on the mercy of the neighbouring kingdom's ruler. For what else could they do?

The queen who ruled had given them food and shelter, enough to let them recover, and they had dared to hope they might have a place there. And then she had told them to move on. Her own conscience had forced her to lend aid, but beast-people were not popular in her kingdom, and giving a group of tiger-people land would only make trouble for her.

And so they had left, taking work as labourers from those who were willing to spare coin to hire them. It was hard work, and the pay was poor, but it allowed them to get by as they made their way from one kingdom to another. Again and again, they asked for sanctuary, but tales had been spread of them by the king who had driven them to exile.

They were thieves, the stories said, traitors who had tried to cheat the king of what he was owed. It was all lies, but what were the words of vagabonds to a king's?

And so they had wandered, and the years had passed, one after the other. They had survived, if only because they were too stubborn to die, and Xiang and some of the others had learned how to fight because there was always work for mercenaries, even tiger-men, if they were willing to take risks and put themselves in danger.

He came to love battle, for the arts of combat seemed to come easily to him, and he spent countless hours refining his skills. Some of the mercenaries were kind too. They did not care that he was a tiger-man. They cared only that he fought at their sides. Yet that camaraderie rarely lasted long. They might be willing to add him to their numbers, but what of his people? There was no place for them, not for the old who still remembered the village by the sea, or the young who he wished to shield from the blood and carnage of the battlefield.

And so more years passed. His grandfather grew old and frail, and Xiang had children of his own. He dreamed of a place where they could belong, where they could put down roots and stay instead of wandering from one place to another, taking what work they could. He longed for a day when he no longer had to kill for money but could instead earn his keep on a fishing boat as his father and grandfather had done.

And then he heard about the tournament.

It was said that the winner was often offered a place in the royal guard. Xiang was not so foolish as to think he would be offered a place. He was a tiger-man from another land. There would be no place for him. But the winner would also be given a rich prize and a chance to speak to the king. The new king was said to be a man of fair mind and great wisdom. Xiang would win the prize and beg the king for a chance to purchase land for his people. He didn't need the richest land. All he wanted was a place for his people to settle, so that his children would not have to wander endlessly while spilling blood to make ends meet. If he had get down on his knees, he would. If he had to swear service to the king and strike down his enemies, he would not hesitate.

The tournament had gone well.

Xiang knew his own strength, and he did not take his opponents lightly. He had made it all the way to the finals where he faced the princess.

He wanted to dislike her. It would have made it easier to beat her. Yet how could he? She crushed her enemies utterly, and it was said that those she slew were assassins out to take her life. Yet she treated others fairly and mercifully, never slaying those who fought with good intentions or who simply wished to test themselves against her. One of the clan's young cubs had even pushed his way through the crowd, eager to get a glimpse of the princess who had captivated the capital with her power.

He had tripped and fallen to the ground in front of her, and guards had moved to push him aside, but the princess had merely brushed them aside and helped the cub to his feet, dusting him off and then sending him on his way with a pat on the head. She hadn't mentioned it to him, which made Xiang think she hadn't thought much of it at all. She had helped the cub not because she wished to weaken his resolve, but because it was the right thing to do. She had seen a child in trouble, and she had helped. It had not mattered that he was a tiger-boy.

And now… now she was telling him to fight her with his full strength, to hold nothing back. His heart was moved. If only the king of their old home had been like her.

"I must win this tournament," Xiang proclaimed. "So I ask that you prepare yourself, princess. I will face you with all that I have." He could not afford to lose.

She grinned at him, violet eyes shining. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Xiang gave a low rumble, and his muscles bulged. His magic roared within him, and his senses came alive. Power coursed through his veins, and his strength, speed, and agility soared beyond their previous limits. He reached down to remove his boots, and he tossed them aside as he unsheathed the claws on his hands and feet and bared his teeth. He took off his tunic and cut the legs of his trousers until he might as well have been wearing shorts. Then he moved into a stance, lower to the ground, ready to spring into motion.

"Heh." The princess chuckled. "This should be fun."

Enarion gasped and shot to his feet as Xiang vanished from view. He reappeared a moment later, just as Antaria flinched away. For an instant, he thought his niece had avoided the attack, but he was proven wrong as blood spilled from a cut along her arm. It was the first real wound that Antaria had taken throughout the tournament, and it spoke volumes of Xiang's power. Enarion had seen Antaria block swords barehanded. For her to be wounded…

And then the tiger-man vanished again. He reappeared behind Antaria, claws flashing, and his niece dodged – only to once again emerge with a wound on her arm. She lashed out with a punch of her own, but Xiang dodged the attack and aimed a kick at her side. The blow came within inches of landing, yet Antaria was still sent reeling back, a cut across her side.

What was going on?

"Impressive."

He turned toward the blonde visitor that Doomwing's construct had brought along. She was utterly average in appearance, yet her presence suggested she was far more than she appeared. He strongly suspected she was using an illusion to conceal her true identity, but he wasn't about to ask. If Doomwing had chosen to bring her along, he must have his reasons.

"What's happening?" Enarion asked. "I could have sworn she dodged those attacks, but she was still cut."

The woman chuckled. "I'm not surprised you don't see it. You're not at the level of advancement required." She smiled. "Water. He's cutting her with water."

"Yes," Doomwing's construct rumbled as the fight continued. Antaria was giving up ground and focusing entirely on defence, yet she was still being wounded in each exchange. She was losing. "Beast-people do not use magic in quite the same way as humans do. Humans typically rely on ordered spells. Beast-people, however, tend to have a more… instinctive grasp of their magic. Xiang appears to have a strong affinity for water magic. He is using extremely thin blades of water to lengthen his reach. At the speed he moves, they are almost invisible. And to cut through her clothing… his skills are impressive for one who is almost certainly self-taught."

"That's…" Enarion gaped. That sounded utterly insane, far beyond what any of Antaria's other opponents had been capable of. "Can… can she win?"

"Yes," the woman replied. "But whether or not she actually does depends entirely on how well she can use what she has."

Antaria had backed away, and with every passing moment, it seemed as though Xiang was moving faster while she was moving more slowly. Her arms and legs were covered in cuts, but she had managed to avoid any further wounds to her torso. Xiang was a blur of motion, striking from seemingly every angle, blow after blow after blow raining down as he sought to end the fight. Yet his movement remained eerily graceful, so very much like an actual tiger in the smooth, languid elegance they possessed despite the power behind each attack.

"Where is he even getting the water from?" Enarion asked.

"From the air," Doomwing's construct replied. "The blades of water he is using are incredibly thin, so he doesn't need as much as you might think. His affinity for water magic is quite strong although I'm curious to know if his raw power can match his control."

"He probably hasn't had much of a chance to focus on raw power," the woman said. "If he has been working as a mercenary, he has to be careful about standing out too much. A skilled mercenary is valuable, but one with too much power is a threat that needs to be eliminated."

To Enarion's disbelief, neither of them seemed worried despite Antaria so far failing to land a single blow. To make matters worse, Antaria had ripped off part of her mangled sleeve and tied it around her head. A blindfold. "Why is she covering her eyes?"

"Just watch," the woman said. Her lips twitched. "You'll see."

Xiang closed in again – and then Antaria dodged cleanly. For the first time, the tiger-man swiped and failed to draw blood. He immediately moved into another attack, only for that attack and the three that followed to be dodged as well.

"What…?" Enarion whispered. "How is she dodging with her eyes covered?"

"Her eyes were deceiving her," the woman said. "Tiger-men share the same sort of patterning as tigers. This patterning not only breaks up their silhouette but also draws the eye in a way that makes focusing on their exact movements difficult. That is why he removed his tunic and cut his trousers. Furthermore, the blades of water he extends from his claws are constantly changing in length, with him only settling upon their true length at the final moment. The great effort required to see them in the first place, combined with that constantly changing length, makes it hard to keep track of his other movements."

"In other words," Doomwing's construct said. "His fighting style is designed to fool the eyes of his opponents. Against a dragon, it would be of little worth. Our eyes and minds are far superior to a human's. But against Antaria, it was working, which is why she covered her eyes."

"So then how is she dodging?"

And Antaria was still dodging, moving seamlessly around Xiang's attacks. She had yet to land a hit of her own, but she had yet to be hit again either. Finally, as Xiang duked one way and then went the other, hoping to strike at her unprotected side, she landed a hit. The punch struck with a sound like thunder, and Xiang went flying back. He had managed to block the attack at the last second, catching it on his crossed forearms.

He skidded to a stop, and the tiger-man shook his arms and opened and closed his hands. The attack must have left them almost numb. There was a puzzled and frustrated expression on his face. Enarion couldn't blame him. He'd been winning, and winning handily too, yet now the battle felt like it might somehow be slipping away from him.

"Xiang's technique is impressive," the woman said. "But it is rough. It lacks the refinement and cleanness of a technique that has been honed over generations. It is almost certainly self-taught. As a result, the technique is constantly bleeding magic into its surroundings – as is Xiang himself due to all the magic he is channelling and the amount of enhancement he has used on himself."

"Wait… are you saying that Antaria is reacting to his magic and the magic of his technique?" Enarion asked.

"Yes." The woman chuckled. "Magic comes from the soul, and it is the soul that perceives the magic of others. Do you think your soul needs eyes to see? No. Unlike her eyes which can be more easily fooled, Antaria's magical senses are incredibly keen and far harder to fool. She also has an affinity for the wind. She can almost certainly sense the air displaced by his attacks."

Doomwing's construct chuckled. "And she claimed my blindfolded training was useless."

"Your blindfolded training is an excuse for you to pelt people with low-level magic while they try to dodge."

"Yes… but it is also useful." The construct turned back to the battle. "Now watch… watch as your niece proves she is worthy of the effort I have put into training her."

Xiang could not understand it.

How was he losing?

He had struck so many blows at first. None had enough to end the fight, but he had been getting closer and closer. No. Ice ran through his veins. All the wounds he'd landed except for that one blow to her side… all had been to her arms and legs. She hadn't been able to dodge completely, so she had chosen to take the blows on her arms and legs while protecting her torso… all so she could buy herself more time to understand his technique.

He'd underestimated her. Somehow, despite everything, he'd underestimated her.

He had to end this now. That punch of hers could have finished things if it had landed. He could not afford to give her any more time to understand his technique. It was the work of years – the work of his lifetime – and yet she had found a way to counter it. Who knew what she would be capable of if he gave her more time?

He darted forward again, magic surging in rhythmic bursts as he accelerated far beyond his normal limits, little more than a blur to regular people as he moved back and forth, searching, probing, hoping for an opening. The thin blades of water around his claws pulsed in time with his own racing heart, their lengths shifting back and forth until he finally committed to a strike –

She moved.

And his slash went wide.

She moved again.

His kick missed.

She moved yet again.

And his leaping strike went over her head.

And then her fist hit him in the stomach.

He went flying back and struck the wall of the arena with terrible force. For a moment, he passed out, but the sudden shock of tumbling off the wall and into the ground brought him back to consciousness. He staggered to his feet, ignoring the ache in his body and the blood in his mouth.

He had been hurt before. Indeed, he had been hurt many times when he was younger and had yet to fully embrace his gifts. The world always became simpler at times like this. If he won the tournament, he could get his people the home they needed to survive. His children would not have to suffer as he had.

He liked the princess. He genuinely respected her. But he would not let her stand in his way. He would not let anyone stand in his way. He would win. He had to.

He roared and reached deeper into the wellspring of power within him. He could not remember the last time he had been pushed this hard, and the combination of fear, excitement, and desperation thrilled him. Was this his tiger-man blood coming to the fore? Perhaps, for his grandfather had once told him that they were the descendants of a mighty kingdom of tiger-people that had been destroyed long ago after they sought to conquer their neighbours.

That blood burned in his veins and drove him to draw on more and more magic until it felt as though his whole body was on fire. If she had learned to anticipate his movements somehow, then he simply needed to be faster. If she could dodge his attacks, then he simply needed to make his water blades longer. And if that still wasn't enough, then he would simply have to go further, to turn the very air around him into a storm of blades!

"How interesting…" The blonde woman chuckled as Enarion fought the urge to scream. The whole crowd was on its feet, roaring almost as loud as the tiger-man as his magic grew even stronger. The blades of water were visible now, not just around his claws, but even in the air around him, a maelstrom of liquid death that seemed impossible to dodge. "He's improving even as the fight goes on."

"His desperation has granted him strength, but…" Doomwing's construct was smiling smugly. "It is over. He has lost."

"How can you say that?" Enarion asked. "How is Antaria supposed to dodge all of that?"

"Just watch." The construct gave a rumble of amusement. "Your niece has spent all of her time since leaving this kingdom training with me. That training has allowed her to improve at an incredible rate, but training against someone like me presents certain problems too."

"Deep down inside," the blonde woman said. "Antaria knows that she cannot beat Doomwing's construct as she is now. Her soul senses that too."

"My power is so far beyond hers that there is no hope of victory. Constantly facing a superior opponent can help someone grow, but it can also be limiting. There are times when the only way to improve is to face an opponent of similar strength, to be pushed to the edge and then grasp at the ever-dimming chance of victory."

Antaria saw, but not with her eyes. All those days of being pelted by Doomwing and the animals, all those times she'd cursed the dragon and sworn vengeance against the raccoons and squirrels, they had not been in vain. Magic was everywhere and in everything. She had been forced to sense it in order to survive. Combined with her increasingly good grasp of the air around her, she had finally found a way to sense what Xiang was doing.

She could dodge, and she could fight back.

But he was still faster than her, and now he was attacking with not just the blades around his claws but countless more formed in the air around him.

Before this fight, she would have lost. She was certain of that. But he had also shown her the answer to her problem.

She had been working on enhancing her body with magic, and she was working to master all of the many ways that magic could be channelled through her body to increase her speed. Using everything she'd learned and copying what she could decipher of how he enhanced his own movements, she was certain she could match his speed.

But even matching it would not be enough. She needed to be faster, and she knew how.

The rune of floating.

Why did she float when she used it? Because she was weightless. And something that was weightless could be moved very easily indeed. Moreover, she had seen how Xiang extended his claws with blades of water. Why couldn't she do something similar and wrap her limbs in wind? She didn't have the control to unleash cutting winds to overwhelm his water blades, not yet, but she could push herself… and when combined with the rune of floating.

Limitless freedom.

That was the name Alenna Skyseeker had given to her style – a style that was designed for aerial combat, a style that had impressed even a dragon.

Limitless freedom.

The ability to move unhindered.

Xiang closed in, blades of water flashing, and Antaria smiled.

And then she moved, her feet not quite touching the ground, truly free for the first time in her life.

Xiang could not believe it. How could the princess dodge all of his attacks? She had gone beyond matching his speed. She had surpassed him, and she was moving in ways that should be impossible, almost as if… as if she was no longer bound by gravity. He jerked back, and his gaze snapped to the ground.

When using magic to enhance their speed, it was common for people to damage their ground due to the sheer force and weight of their footsteps. For much of their fight, that had been true for both him and the princess. And yet now, in their most recent exchange, there was only a single set of footprints.

The wind magic he'd felt… she was using it to enhance her movements. And if she had a way of making herself weightless – it wouldn't be quite the same as flight, but it would allow her to move in ways that no normal person could. Indeed, by using her wind magic on herself, she could simply push herself out of the way of his attacks despite completely lacking the leverage to do so using her limbs.

A sense of despair swept over him. He had already used up most of his magic, but the fight was slipping further and further out of reach. He had to risk it all then and put everything he had left into a final attack in the hopes that he could win. He roared, as much to raise his own spirits as to threaten his opponent. The blades of water around him stilled and turned into countless needles that drifted in the air.

"This will be my final attack," he rumbled. "I call it the Conquering Rain."

The princess nodded. "I like that name. I guess it's a contest of speed, right? Can I get past all those attacks and hit you, or will you be able to bury me beneath them."

"Yes. That is how the fight will be decided."

"So let me ask you a question." The princess grinned. "Which is faster? The rain, or the wind that carries it?"

"Let us find out."

He launched the needles and braced himself. The princess moved and then –

Darkness.

Xiang woke up and found himself staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling. "I lost…" he murmured. He felt tears prickle at the edges of his eyes. He had lost the tournament, and with it the opportunity to save his people.

"What were you fighting for?"

He gasped and turned to the side to find the princess sitting on a chair beside his bed. She was holding a raccoon in her arms, and the animal was doing its best to glare him to death. "Oh, be nice, Filch. The whole point of the tournament was to fight. You can't blame him for fighting me." She chuckled. "Sorry about, Filch. He's a friend of mine, and he can be surprisingly protective when he's not being obnoxious."

"I… I see." Xiang sat up. His wounds had been healed, and were the memories not so fresh, it would have been easy to think he'd imagined the entire battle. "You asked about why I was fighting? I'll tell you. I think… I think you would understand."

And so he spoke, telling her of what had transpired. When he was done, the princess sighed.

"I don't think you want my pity or my sympathy. There's not much either can do for you. But you should know that even if you won, your plan wouldn't have worked."

"What?" he growled.

"My uncle is a good man, but his reign has only just begun. He has many opponents he must deal with before his rule is truly secure. Allowing tiger-people from a foreign land to purchase land and set up their own settlement… that would provide his opponents with a cudgel to use against him. It would never have been allowed."

Xiang growled. "How long must my people continue to pay for a sin that we cannot even remember? Are we cursed to wander, never knowing a proper home of our own?" His anger banked, and he sagged wearily. "I… I am tired, princess. I just… I want a home for my people. I like fighting, but I don't want to have to kill for a living! I want a place where my people can be safe! I want that village by the sea back!"

"You can never get back the home you lost," she replied gently. "But together, you and I can build your people a better one."

"What?" he asked, not daring to hope. "What do you mean?"

And so she told him of the lands ruled by the great dragon she served, and of how amongst those lands, were lands by the sea.

"Swear your loyalty to me and to him, and your people will be given those lands to rule in his name."

"Will he really accept us?" Xiang asked quietly. "We are tiger-people."

"That doesn't matter to him." The princess laughed. "To him, we're all the same – humans, beast-people, dwarves, dryads, or monsters. Trust me, all that matters to him is that you serve him loyally and do your best to improve both yourself and his lands. Do that, and you'll get along just fine."

It sounded wonderful, but years of distrust had made him wary of dreams.

"Xiang," the princess said. "You spoke of how much your grandfather loved the sea. Tell me, how long has it been since he last saw the sea?"

"Too long…" Xiang murmured. "Far, far too long." He nodded firmly. "I will speak to the dragon, princess. And… and if all you have said is true, then I will swear whatever oaths he asks of me."

"That's great." She stood as the sound of footsteps came from outside the door. "I am sure your wife and children wish to speak with you, so I won't take up any more of your time." She chuckled. "By the way, Doomwing had a friend once – a tiger-man. He doesn't talk about his past much, so for him to mention him… I don't think he has anything against tiger-people."

Author's Notes

Yeah. This was supposed to be shorter, but, oh well, it is what it is, and I had a lot of fun writing it.

Xiang is basically a xianxia protagonist, complete with a tragic past and incredible levels of talent. He's basically one more tragedy away from going full protagonist vengeance mode. Unfortunately (or fortunately) for him, he ran into Antaria who has been going through her own protagonist training arc. She really does get better the more she gets beaten up, to the point that Doomwing is probably looking at the fight and coming up with new 'training' exercises to take full advantage of it.

In any case, the discrimination Xiang and his people face is a result of the role the beast-people played in the Fifth Catastrophe. Even after people have forgotten what they did, that resentment lingers although the exact justifications for it might change. His people eked out a living in a fishing village because they were useful, and they did hard work that nobody else wanted to do. The moment they found those pearls, especially the magical ones, they were doomed. The king of that nation was never going to let those slip from his grasp, and he wasn't going to baulk at wiping out a group that a lot of people already didn't like.

Also, in case it's not obvious, the blonde woman is Hikari in a somewhat lazy disguise.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It's the longest one yet.

Last edited: Mar 20, 2024

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Mar 20, 2024

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Threadmarks Chapter 39: The Dragon Goes Fishing

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SecretTwelve

Mar 21, 2024

#673

Chapter 39: The Dragon Goes Fishing

Doomwing found it amusing that the fish of the lake had chosen to gather around him. At first, they had kept their distance. He was a dragon, and they were fish. The possibilities were obvious. But he was no hatchling. He was a primordial dragon. What use were normal fish to him? He was far too large, and they were far too small.

Only the bravest and most foolish fish had approached him. But when he had continued to ignore them, the other fish had soon joined them. Why? The fish were not particularly intelligent, but they had a crude sort of cunning. They had noticed that the fishing boats gave him a wide, wide berth, unwilling to risk rousing his ire.

As strange it seemed, the fish were safest when they were next to him.

That fact amused him, as did the plight of the fisherman who were torn between going after the schools of fish that clustered around him and staying as far away from him as possible. In the end, none were brave enough to approach, and so the fish were able to enjoy themselves without fear of being caught.

He would be meeting with his subordinates later today, along with the prospective recruits. He had taken their measure using his construct, but there was something to be said about meeting them face to face. It was easy for a man or beast to contemplate betrayal when the consequences were not obvious. It was harder when those consequences were him, and he was there in the flesh.

In the meantime, however, he found his mind drawn to those long ago days when fish such as these might have been worth his time.

"This is a bad idea," Doomwing said. He was twenty feet long now. Alas, he had yet to fully cast aside his hatchling proportions. His wings were still too big, his tail was still not quite long enough, and he had yet to develop any of the frills, crests, horns, or cranial ridges that were common to older dragons.

"It'll be fine," Stormtooth replied. She was a tad larger than him, but she was very proud of her increasingly refined proportions. She looked more like a small adult dragon rather than a large hatchling. "There will be two of us, and sharks usually travel alone. We'll have it outnumbered."

"You're talking about going after one of the giant sharks," Doomwing said. "Not a regular shark."

"Well, yeah." Stormtooth nudged him with her snout and grinned. Her teeth were big and sharp and shiny. "Normal sharks don't taste as good. We both know that. The best sharks are giant sharks. Besides, it's not like we have to go after one of the huge ones. We can go after one of the smaller ones, you know, something about fifty feet long."

"Fifty feet long? That's longer than both of us put together." Doomwing flexed his wings nervously. "And giant sharks have magic too. Not to mention, it'll probably be too big for us to carry out of the water. We'll have to fight it underwater, and it's a shark. They live underwater. We don't."

"If worse comes to worst, we can always just run away. What's the shark going to do? Follow us into the sky?" Stormtooth sniggered. "We'll be fine."

"I guess…" Doomwing nodded slowly. "But if it's too strong, we should run away. We can always come back when we're bigger."

"Yeah, yeah. But that's not going to happen." Stormtooth flared her wings as electricity crackled over her body. "We're dragons. No stupid shark is going to beat us, even if it is a little bit bigger."

They headed out over the open sea, their wings carrying them swiftly through the air until they reached a spot a few older dragons had told them about. Giant sharks were supposed to come here from time to time, drawn closer to the surface by whales, seals, and fish. It might have been easier to go after a lone whale, but whales rarely travelled alone. The last thing they needed was to find themselves fighting off a whole pod of the creatures.

"Come on." Stormtooth peered down at the water. "I think I see one over there!"

Without another word, she folded her wings and dove.

"Wait!" Doomwing shouted. "Shouldn't we check to see how big it is first?"

But Stormtooth had already vanished beneath the waves, her streamlined form slicing easily through the water. Doomwing sighed and dove after her. Why was he friends with her again? Oh, right. She was actually really nice when she wasn't doing something crazy.

The water was cold, but that was no problem for a dragon. His eyes had no trouble seeing either, and he took careful note of the fish and mammals that immediately moved to avoid him. He doubted any of them were looking for a fight, but it was better to be safe than sorry. A whale might not have a dragon's teeth or claws, but some of them had fearsome horns, and their sheer size and weight meant they could do a lot of damage with a ramming attack.

Looking around, it didn't take him long to spot Stormtooth. The other dragon was swimming toward a large shark. The shark was perhaps forty feet in length, and Doomwing allowed himself to relax. Forty feet? That wasn't so bad. They could handle a shark like that easily enough, and Stormtooth was right about how good giant sharks tasted. They were young dragons too, so eating the shark's heart and other organs might even help to make them stronger.

He used his wings, limbs, and tail to swim toward her. It was almost like flying underwater, albeit not nearly as fast. Yet just as he was about to reach her, she suddenly stopped.

"What's going on?" he asked. He was using magic to communicate. Stormtooth wasn't good at magic, but even she could manage a communication spell when they were this close to each other. "Why did you stop?"

She didn't reply. Instead, she began to back away, wings beating furiously as something emerged from the darkness of the truly deep water below them. It was another giant shark – and it was more than a hundred and fifty feet long. The shark she had been following was slower to notice the threat, and it cost the animal its life. With one massive bite, the larger of the two sharks ripped a chunk out of the smaller beast.

The smaller shark thrashed and tried to use magic to heal itself only for the larger shark to finish it off in brutal fashion. Yet even as the massive shark swam through the cloud of blood its kill left behind, its beady eyes locked onto Stormtooth and Doomwing. The smaller shark might have sated its hunger, but even a shark of its size could benefit from consuming a pair of hatchlings.

"Run!" Stormtooth hissed. "Go!"

Doomwing turned and began to flee for the surface – only for the water around him to thicken and harden. It was magic! The giant shark was using magic to slow them down! Desperately, he tried to use his own magic to clear the way, but the shark barely seemed to care. Instead, it closed in, tail thrashing, mouth wide open, ready to devour him whole.

"We can't get away," Stormtooth shouted. "We have to fight!"

Doomwing knew she was right, and the urge to point out that he'd warned her about this exact possibility was almost overwhelming. But now was not the time. "Fine!" His mind whirled as the shark closed in. "We can't fight it head on. It's too big. We need to avoid its mouth, grab on, and hit it as much as we can!"

"Okay!" Stormtooth nodded. "You're usually right about stuff like this. Watch out. Here it comes!"

Doomwing stopped trying to dispel the magic that was thickening the water and instead layered every speed enhancement magic he could think of on himself and Stormtooth. It was tempting to make them more durable, but he doubted that any magic he knew would allow them to survive even a single bite from the monster in front of them.

"Dodge!" he shouted. "We have to dodge!"

The shark closed the distance, and Doomwing flung himself to the side. The shark's jaws snapped shut, only inches from his wings, and he turned and latched onto its side with his claws. Rather than dig into flesh, his claws skittered off the thick, armoured plates that covered the shark's body.

Younger giant sharks had scales, but the older and larger ones had armoured plates that made it easier for them to survive close combat against the savage creatures of the deep. He bit back a curse. If he couldn't grab on, the shark would simply turn around and attack him again. He had to hold on!

Finally, his claws found purchase on an oddly shaped plate as he found himself dangling off the shark almost halfway down its body. He looked up and saw Stormtooth a little closer to the shark's head. She had managed to avoid the shark's jaws as well although the scales on her side were broken. It must have managed to strike her with its fins or the side of its head.

"I'm fine!" Stormtooth growled. "Let's kill this thing!"

There was a flash of light, and then electricity erupted from her mouth as she spewed a bolt of lightning straight into the shark's side. That should have ended the battle – and against a normal shark, it would have. But this was a giant shark, and it had magic of its own. The shark's body gleamed, and Stormtooth's electricity petered out.

"What?" She snarled. "This thing has magic to defend against lightning? Why would it even have that?"

"I doubt you're the first opponent to try use lightning underwater," Doomwing said. "Keep trying!"

"Fine! Let's see how long you can keep my lightning at bay!"

As more lightning lit up the water, Doomwing reached deep within himself and then unleashed a torrent of searing flame at the shark. The water immediately boiled and rushed outward, only for more water to thunder in to fill the sudden void. The shark began to thrash and roll, and Doomwing just barely managed to cling on.

"It's not working!" Stormtooth panted. "I can't get through its defences!"

Doomwing growled. "Just keep trying! There's nothing else we can do!"

But no matter how hot he made his flames, they just couldn't burn through the thick plates of armour the shark had. Wait. Why not use his telekinetic breath too? Instead of having his fire spread out when it hit the shark, he could keep it tightly bound, like… like a spear! No. If he wanted to pierce through the shark's armour, then he needed to concentrate as much force as possible in as small an area as possible.

He didn't need a spear of fire. He needed a needle of flame.

Using his telekinetic breath and fire breath at the same time was hard, but the torrent of flames went from a blast to a narrow beam and finally to a needle-thin lance. The shark writhed, and Doomwing had to struggle to keep from being thrown off. But it was working. The spot where his attack was hitting began to glow before the beam burned a narrow hole through the thick plate of bony armour.

The shark seemed to realise the danger, and it swam toward a reef. Doomwing's whole body shook as the shark slammed its side against the reef in a bid to knock Doomwing loose. But Doomwing held on, his entire mind focused solely on keeping his flames as hot and narrow as possible.

The needle-thin beam of flame punched through the shark's outer armour and went deeper, burning through its tough hide and then into its flesh. It roared in fury, and Doomwing cursed. He'd managed to wound it, but the wound simply wasn't large enough. He couldn't swing the beam back and forth either. It would need time to pierce through any other parts of the shark's body.

But what if… what if he stopped trying to control the end of the beam? If he just stopped containing the end of the beam, the flames would expand, right? There would be a cloud of fire inside the shark, and he doubted the shark's interior was as tough as its exterior.

The shark contorted, and Doomwing would have been torn off its body if not for Stormtooth. The other dragon had realised that whatever he was doing was working, and she had abandoned her position to throw herself over him, shielding his body with hers as the shark rammed them into another part of the reef.

"Just finish what you're doing!" Stormtooth shouted. "I'll make sure you don't fall off!"

Doomwing didn't bother to reply. He needed every ounce of his concentration. He called on every scrap of fire he could muster and shoved it into the narrow beam of flame before allowing his control over the end of the beam to slip. The result was devastating. Flame erupted outward inside the shark, and he felt the sudden surge of heat as his fire went on a rampage, expanding like a cloud of molten death as it charred the shark's organs.

The shark gave a shocked, horrified groan, and flames belched out of its mouth and eyes. It thrashed violently, trying to stifle the flames within it, but the attack had done too much damage too quickly, and whatever healing magic it knew wasn't nearly enough. After one last, frantic spasm, the shark went still and began to float toward the surface.

Doomwing sagged, utterly exhausted. He was dimly aware of Stormtooth grabbing him and swimming for the surface before they breached the surface beside the body of the shark. They floated on their backs, and he glanced over to see that his friend was covered in wounds. Some of her scales were shattered whilst others had been ripped out completely. How many of those had she gotten protecting him at the end?

"Heh." Stormtooth began to laugh. "How do you like that, you overgrown guppy? We did it, Doomwing! We killed that shark!"

He laughed tiredly. "Just barely. If its armour had been any thicker, I doubt I would have been able to pierce through it."

"That's not the point. There's no use in worrying about what ifs. What's important is that we won." Stormtooth swam toward the shark. "Now, come on. We need to think about how we're going to get this shark back to shore. Otherwise, a bigger one could turn up to take it."

Doomwing shuddered. "If that happens. We're leaving. We are not fighting an even bigger shark."

"Yeah, yeah." Stormtooth perked up. "Look! That's an elvish whaling ship! We can get them to help us drag it back. I'm sure they'll help if we offer them part of the shark." She cackled. "Although we'll be keeping the best parts."

Doomwing groaned. "If we're lucky they'll be friends of Dion. They'll definitely help us out then."

Dion was a god and one of Doomwing's best friends. He had always told Doomwing that if he ever needed help from the elves, he was welcome to use his name. Dion was friends with most of them, and they owed him plenty of favours. If Doomwing used his name, they'd help him out. He could also use Mother Tree's name. She was quite fond of him, and the elves owed her their allegiance. But he'd try Dion's name first. Mother Tree would be quite upset if she found out that he and Stormtooth had fought such a large shark.

Doomwing chuckled as the memory faded. The elves had indeed been friends with Dion, and they had agreed to help them haul the shark back to shore if they got to have a bit of it. He and Stormtooth had ended up enjoying a roasted shark with the elves on the beach, and they had eaten their fill of its organs, growing stronger with each bite. They had split the heart, and Doomwing had been forced to admit that it was truly delicious, no matter how dangerous it had been to acquire.

Dion had been quite proud of him when he'd found out. Unfortunately, Mother Tree had also found out, and she had lectured both him and Stormtooth on their foolishness. Afterward, she had sent them off to learn from a leviathan she was friends with. If they were determined to hunt in the water, then they needed to learn magic that would keep them from being overwhelmed by the natural predators of the deep.

That magic had later proven itself against the Lord of the Tides.

Oh, yes. That had been a difficult battle, far harder than that childish squabble against the giant shark. Every moment of it was burned into Doomwing's mind.

He could remember the frantic struggle as he and the other primordial dragons had tackled the titanic creature. Ashheart had been the largest of them, and even he had been nothing compared to the Lord of the Tides. That abomination had been twelve miles long. Only the gods and Mother Tree had been larger.

They had tried to force him out of the sky and onto an island, but he had managed to twist and turn his fall into a dive. They had gone into the water, all of them, and the battle had soon turned in the monster's favour.

Ashheart had been the first to be thrown off, and the Lord of the Tides had sent him tumbling into the depths with a blast of magic so powerful that the shockwave of the following impact had shaken the entire ocean. But there had been no time to worry about Ashheart. The water around them had closed in on them, the devastating pressure of the deep magnified millions and millions of times over.

Against such force, even his scales had begun to crack. Fathombinder had done his best to lessen the pressure, but even he had been no match for the Lord of the Tides despite being an oceanic dragon. Doomwing had clawed his way up his enemy's body, climbing even as his scales cracked and blood spewed from his mouth. If he could just get up to the Lord of the Tides's head…

And then the blackness beneath them – the endless, bottomless void of the true deep, had grown bright with volcanic light. Ashheart had not been slain. Wounded, scarcely able to move, he had used his magic to tear open the bottom of the sea.

From the great gash in the seafloor had come the molten blood of the earth. Lava poured out, and Ashheart took hold of it, shaping it into a great suit of armour in the shape of a dragon. More and more lava came from the earth, and the molten dragon grew larger and larger until it was of a size with the Lord of the Tides himself.

At the heart of it was Ashheart, and the tectonic dragon's roar was long and loud as he braced the armour's feet against the ocean floor and heaved himself upward, heedless of the water and the pressure, the armour's great arms wrapping around the Lord of the Tides as the armour's wings beat and drove them up toward the surface.

They had broken through the surface, and Doomwing had almost slipped off the Lord of the Tides as the crushing weight of the ocean – magnified millions of times over by their enemy – vanished. Yet the ocean was still near, and the water rose up, heeding the Lord of the Tides as it sought to drag them back down into the depths where their enemy was stronger.

"Higher!" Doomwing had roared. "Higher!"

His wings were broken, and the scales all along his body were shattered and torn. Blood seeped from countless wounds, and he could barely see. He tried to use healing magic, but the Lord of the Tides was no fool. His own magic was present, doings its best to cancel whatever runes or spells they might try. There was no finesse to it and little skill, but there was power – so much power.

"We have to get away from the water. Take us higher!"

And Ashheart, loyal to the point of madness, obeyed. He must have been even more badly wounded than Doomwing, but still, he obeyed. His armour beat its wings, and they began to rise, slowly but surely. It wasn't enough. The Lord of the Tides had many followers, and they raced to intercept them. If they could force the battle back into the water, it was over. Even with Fathombinder, they were no match for him.

But Doomwing had allies of his own. Stormbringer and Dawnscale raced through the sky, with Frostfang, Regal Flame, and the others at their heels. They met the forces of the Lord of the Tides head on, and the sky became a battlefield yet again.

Rising higher, the Lord of the Tides seemed to realise that the waters of the world would no longer be able to help him. Instead, he called to the clouds and the storm, to the birthright his father, a fool of a tempest dragon, had given him. Lightning flashed, rain poured down, and the wind howled. Even with Stormbringer there, the storm would not clear, and once again, the Lord of the Tides writhed in Ashheart's grasp, close to breaking free.

"Take us above the storm!" Doomwing had cried. "Take us above the clouds and the rain and the lightning!"

"He is too heavy!" Ashheart boomed from within his armour. "I… I cannot lift him quickly enough."

That was when Dreamsong had returned. She had been felled earlier in the battle, and Doomwing had feared her dead. But she was there, wings tattered and barely capable of flight. She sang, and a dream became real. Wings wide enough to span the skies formed, attaching themselves to Ashheart's volcanic armour.

Their slow ascent became a heady climb, and Doomwing continued to claw his way up the Lord of the Tides's body. Higher they went, above the storm, above the thunder, the clouds, and the rain, higher until the world curved below them and the air grew truly thin. Chains of dream and hope flared to life and added their strength to Ashheart's.

The Lord of the Tides broke them one after another, and with each broken chain, Dreamsong spat blood. She was no longer able to fly under her own power. Instead, she clung to Ashheart's titanic armour, bleeding magic and blood into the cold air that seemed just shy of the stars.

How many had given their lives to get them this far? Aurai and the braves elves and dwarves of the sky had all perished, as had many of their other allies. But now, at last, the Lord of the Tides was away from the waters and storms he commanded. He was no longer at full strength. This was their best – perhaps only – chance to slay him.

But how?

The great ancient runes that Doomwing knew could not be used so easily against a foe who was still struggling so mightily, nor was the Lord of the Tides undefended against such attacks. At best, they might break even, but how then should they slay him without runes or magic?

A slow smile crossed Doomwing's lips.

He knew how.

He threw all of his magic into an assault meant to break the Lord of the Tides's defences. It just barely worked, even with help from Dreamsong and Ashheart. The others were trying to fly up to lend their own aid, but the forces of their enemy were keeping them occupied. Not even Dawnscale, the best flier amongst them, could break free of the endless swarms that had thrown their lot in with the Lord of the Tides.

"You are out of magic and runes," the Lord of the Tides had taunted as his great body contorted, on the verge of breaking free. "Without them, how will you kill me, dragon?" All of his runes and magic had been dispelled, but he could tell that Doomwing had no others left to throw at him. In a contest of pure physical might, the Lord of the Tides would eventually win.

Doomwing had not bothered to reply with words. Instead, he had heaved himself up at the Lord of the Tides's head in a desperate, awkward leap. He just barely managed to grab hold, and he reached deep within himself for what was left of his flames and telekinesis.

A needle of flame.

He dragged in a deep, deep breath, and then unleashed a needle-thin beam of heat as bright and devastating as the sun. It struck the head of the Lord of the Tides – and the scales there held.

The Lord of the Tides had laughed. "It is hopeless, dragon! You cannot kill me! My scales were tempered in the depths of the sea! They are a gift from my mother and father! No flame can pierce them!"

Doomwing roared, and the flames grew hotter and narrower still – but still, the scales refused to give.

"Doomwing!" Ashheart bellowed. "I cannot hold him much longer!"

Dreamsong gave a wordless cry of distress as her remaining chains began to snap, and the ethereal wings she had gifted Ashheart's armour began to fray.

A needle wasn't enough…

But what about a drill?

Doomwing's head threatened to split in half from the strain of trying to control his flames and telekinesis while so badly injured. He took the needle of flame and made it spin, faster and faster and faster until he could scarcely perceive the speed of each rotation.

The scales that had held firm against every attack so far finally began to give way, glowing first white and then cracking as the needle-thin drill forced its way through.

The Lord of the Tides screamed in true pain and disbelief, and Ashheart could barely hold him still. Dreamsong let her chains snap and instead lashed out with a frantic mental attack. The Lord of the Tides fought the intrusion, and Doomwing pressed his attack. Down the drill of fire went, down and down until at last there was no more scale or bone before it and only the vulnerable brain beneath.

The monster's roar turned into a keening wail, and Doomwing poured every last ounce of flame he held within his body into the end the needle and then let go.

A star bloomed to life inside the Lord of the Tides's skull.

But even as he died, the Lord of the Tides would not let them go unscathed. Doomwing felt their enemy's magical circulatory system begin to come apart – a suicide attack.

"We have to get clear!" Doomwing shouted. "We have –"

And a second, even larger, star filled the sky as the Lord of the Tides exploded.

Doomwing's jaw clenched at the memory. He had lost consciousness and awakened again as they fell to earth, pummelled by pieces of Ashheart's ruined armour. He had shielded himself with his wings at the last moment, and both of them had been burned away, leaving only stumps behind. Dreamsong was in a similar state but still unconscious. He had seen Dawnscale rising quickly, angling toward them, and he had dredged up whatever telekinesis he could to shove Dreamsong at her. She would catch her.

And then he had seen Ashheart. His friend was in an even worst state than him. His wings were both gone, just like Doomwing, but his limbs were scarcely any better. Great gashes and burns covered the rest of his body, and it seemed impossible that he could still be alive. Ashheart must have tried to shield Doomwing and Dreamsong with his armour at the last moment, and he had paid the price for it.

The armour itself was gone, reduced to a storm of meteors plummeting back to the ground around them.

Doomwing had forced out the very dregs of his magic, heedless of the damage he was causing to his soul and magical circulatory system – both would heal in time, but not if he was dead – and cast the strongest runes he could upon himself and Ashheart. He had hoped to stop their fall entirely, but all he could managed was to slow their descent slightly.

But that had bought the others the time they needed to arrive as the Lord of the Tides's forces either fled or were cut down as the shock of his defeat swept over them. Doomwing had allowed himself to be carried down to the ground where Dawnscale had set about healing the worst of their injuries, only stopping when he had warned her to be careful of exhausting herself. She was their best healer. She would not be able to help any of them if she collapsed.

It had taken him some time to fully heal from his injuries – even with all the help he had received – but he had healed in the end, and as bittersweet as their victory had been, it was still a victory.

Movement caught his attention, and he returned to the present, leaving his memories aside. His subordinates and the prospective recruits had been taken for a ride upon the sky ship. Now, though, the sky ship was coming to land in the waters nearby, so they could enjoy a dinner on the water – and speak with Doomwing.

He shook himself, startling the fish and sending waves rippling across the lake. Enough of memories. There was no changing the past. It was time to look to the future. Although… perhaps when he had the chance, he would go hunt down a giant shark.

He could leave half of the heart on the beach to honour the friends and allies he'd lost over the years. Sentimental, perhaps, but only a fool forgot the past and the lessons, both sweet and bitter, that it taught.

Author's Notes

Yeah… the Lord of the Tides was pretty tough. For those of you hoping for the full battle, that will be shown eventually, most likely over multiple chapters. This is only the ending part, and only Doomwing's perspective of it.

It also puts into perspective how strong the Exiled Star was. Ashheart was able to contend with the Lord of the Tides in physical strength after creating the armour. Against the Exiled Star, Ashheart got so badly hurt that it took him an Age to recover. Yes, they didn't have Dawnscale, but even so, he got mauled. And that fight took place on land where Ashheart was stronger, whereas this fight took place underwater or in the air.

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Mar 21, 2024

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Threadmarks Interlude 5: The Dawn Breaks

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SecretTwelve

Mar 23, 2024

#690

Interlude 5: The Dawn Breaks

"Where is the king?" Alessandro shouted. "Where is the king?"

Despite the troops milling about, despite the soldiers, mages, clerics, paladins, and more who moved with desperate vigour to man the city's walls, none could tell him the fate of the king.

"You, there!" He shoved his way through a terrified group of militia and seized a royal knight by the arm. "Where is the king?"

"The king is dead!" the knight cried, trying and failing to break free of his grip. "We told him to retreat. We told him that we had to leave, but he insisted on stopping to evacuate the villages along the way. We were overrun. There was nothing we could do."

Alessandro shoved the knight against the wall. "Nothing you could do? How is it that you still live while the king is dead?" He looked around. "Where are your brother knights? Why do you alone remain? Coward!" He spat. "You abandoned the king, didn't you?"

"You don't understand!" the knight wailed. "You weren't there! I had to run! There was no point. The king… the king knew what we were up against. He should have fled as we advised." He tried to break free, and Alessandro snarled and pressed a dagger to his throat. "You…" The knight stared into Alessandro's eyes. "You have to see it for yourself. Go up onto the walls, paladin. Go, you will understand why I fled when you see them."

"Get this coward out of here," Alessandro hissed, all but throwing the knight at a pair of nearby guardsman. His gaze hardened, and he turned to the mage who had watched the entire confrontation without saying a word. "Sofia, send word to the palace. The king is lost."

The mage grimaced. "What of the queen and the royal children?"

"Let us see what we are up against before we decide. If the enemy can be dealt with, then it will be better for them to stay in the palace. If things are as bad as that coward said, then we may need to evacuate them to a safer location." Alessandro shook his head. "Ancestors willing, it will not come to that."

Alessandro wasted no further time, making his way up onto the city walls. For two thousand years, Murata had stood firm against the enemy. The great orc tribes of the south had broken against its walls, as had the ravening hordes of the rat-men and their lizard-men allies. Even the great hosts of the Ever-Summer Empire could not take the city, and their emperor had died weeping, a dozen of his sons dead in failed attempts to breach the walls.

Murata would face this new enemy and it would stand firm as it always had, and then Alessandro, the leader of the city's legendary paladins, would turn his attention to the royal knights. Their standards must have grown lax, for their duty was, above all things, the safety of the king and his family. If the king had refused to see sense, then they were to take him and flee, regardless of his protests. If such actions later cost them their lives to the king's wrath, then so be it. Their oaths were clear. Death before dishonour, and the royal family's safety above all. Better an angry king than a dead one.

As he reached the top of the walls, he realised that something was wrong. The men and women here should have been rowdy, filled with the nervous energy that only approaching battle could bring. He should have been forced to shout for calm before bellowing his orders. Instead, there was only a terrible, terrible silence.

And looking to the west, he could not blame them.

At first he thought it a trick of the eye, some strange shadow cast by a low-lying cloud. But it was no cloud, for no cloud ever moved so swiftly or with such horrible purpose. No. It was a verminous tide of rotting flesh and mangled bodies, a seemingly endless swarm of undead that seemed to span the horizon.

"Ancestors…" Sofia whispered, the normally calm mage's voice now filled with fear that would have already become terror if not for her renowned composure. "This… there must be millions of them."

Alessandro swallowed thickly. Millions? There might well be tens of millions, for there seemed to be no end to the zombies as they drew closer and closer, their footsteps churning the ground and sending up plumes of dust. The earth shook as they approached, and his horror only grew as he raised a spyglass to his eye and saw the true nature of their enemy.

Orcs, goblins, beast-people, elves, dwarves, and humans… and in such numbers he could not help but wonder if all of their neighbours had been slain and turned into these abominations. He had not believed the rumours – no one had – but there was no denying them now. A necromancer had risen, one far beyond the lesser wakers of the dead they had encountered over the years.

But worse than the shambling dead drawn from neighbouring lands were the nightmarish zombies that towered over them or soared through the skies above them. Zombie hydras lumbered alongside their lesser fellows, along with zombie monsters of all kinds, from giant wolves to basilisks and gorgons. A handful of zombie dragons ruled the skies while clouds of zombie drakes, zombie wyverns, and zombie birds filled the air.

But even the zombie monsters could not compare to the unspeakable horrors that could only have been created by the maddest of minds. They were… conglomerations of undead flesh, hideous abominations that combined the body parts of different creatures into a single, horrific whole. Largest of them all was a zombie dragon with the heads of a hydra protruding from its shoulders, the tails of many manticores, and the heads of dozens of gorgons attached to its body.

"Ancestors…" Alessandro forced himself to put on a brave face. If the others saw him panic, then they were lost. "Sofia," he said quietly. "Send word to the palace. Tell the queen that she and the royal children need to flee. They need to leave now before the horde can reach us, and they are to tell no one else, lest morale collapse." He paused. "Not in one group either. She should take the two youngest with her and flee east. Her brother is king there. He can take her and the youngest in."

"And the three older children?" Sofia asked.

"North-east, south-east, and north. We cannot afford to have the royal family in one place, not with that… that horde headed this way." He lowered his voice. "If this city falls, the east will not be far behind. Those three are old enough to know what they must do if that happens. Our neighbours in those directions are friendly with us. They will take them in, if only because supporting us in our hour of need will allow them to win concessions later." Assuming they survived, but he would not risk saying that where others might here.

"Very well." Sofia's magic crackled to life as she sent word to the palace via communication magic. "What now?"

"We fight," Alessandro said grimly. "And if we are lucky, we survive." He cleared his throat and then raised his voice. "Brothers and sisters, take heart. For two thousand years, Murata's walls have stood unbroken. Do you think some shambling corpses fresh from the grave will be the ones to breach it?" There was a bit of nervous laughter at his words, and he drew his sword with a flourish. It was a relic from a bygone Age, forged by dwarves who had once soared through the clouds. He let his magic flow through it, and the holy blade lit up in response, the lines of dwarven script that ran the length of the blade gleaming with pale blue light. It had been found by the first paladin of the city, and it had been passed down for two thousand years, going from one leader of the paladins to the next. "Let these monsters come. They will die like all the others!"

Alessandro stumbled. His ears rang, and blood coursed down his face. He would normally have healed the wound, but he no longer had the magic to do that. "Sofia!" he shouted. "Sofia, where are you?" Men in armour ran past, some called out to him whilst others stared and then fled. He paid them no mind. "Sofia, where are you?"

The woman was at his side a moment later. She could barely stand, and she sagged wearily against him. Her fine robes were covered in soot, blood, and the mangled remains of the undead. "Alessandro, your head…"

"It matters not," he growled. "The city is lost. Get to the temple. There is a passageway behind the main altar. It will take you out of the city and into the foothills behind us. With any luck, the undead will be too busy killing the rest of us to go after you." He pressed a potion into her hand. It was the last he had. "Take it. It will heal enough of your injuries to let you move freely."

Her eyes widened and she tugged on his arm. "Come with me."

He shook his head. "No. Someone has to continue to lead, and I cannot abandon our people." He bit back a wince as pain from dozens of wounds cut through his exhaustion. "The walls are lost and the gates broken, but we can still make our stand in the streets. If we can hold on then perhaps…"

"Perhaps what?" she asked harshly. "What help can we expect?"

None. That was the cruel answer.

And the battle had started so well too. The horde had broken on the walls like a wave against the shore. Their spells, siege weaponry, and archers had slain thousands of zombies. But there had been more zombies to replace the ones that fell – and more to replace those… and more to replace those.

They had run out of arrows, and their mages had exhausted their magic. And the piles of slain undead had grown so tall that their fellows had been able to climb them to reach the top of the wall to attack the defenders.

Worse, the monstrous undead had unleashed their wrath. Volleys of acid from zombie hydras had melted chunks of the wall while zombie basilisks flung their giant bodies against the gates, heedless of the wounds they took, their petrifying gaze turning defenders to stone as they broke through one gate after another. The zombie fliers had tormented them from the skies, swooping down to seize defenders or simply landing within the city and causing chaos. The zombie dragons and the… twisted abomination that seemed to command them had unleashed waves of fire that left entire districts in flames and blew great holes in the walls. Even now, long after night had fallen, the battlefield continued to be lit by periodic bursts of dragon fire, each blast signifying the deaths of dozens, perhaps hundreds of people.

Who could help them now, and what hope did any of their neighbours have of surviving? The city was lost, and he was smart enough to know that there was no saving it or any of its inhabitants. That was why he was asking Sofia to run. Yet he was a paladin, and paladins did not flee in the face of the enemy.

"Sofia," he said. "Go. Head… head north and catch a ship across the sea. I fear this whole continent is lost to us, but you can still warn the kingdom across the sea. There may still be hope." The words tasted like ashes in his mouth, for no kingdom he could think of could stand against the forces that had broken Murata in less than a day. But she needed hope. She needed to believe there was a way to survive.

"I…" She lingered for a moment and was about to speak when suddenly her eyes looked past him, past even the horrors going on around them, to the eastern sky. "Is… is that dawn?"

He followed her gaze. The eastern horizon was brightening, but… it was too early for dawn, wasn't it? Or had his injuries robbed him of the ability to judge the passing of time. But as the light grew closer and brighter, he realised that it was not the dawn drawing near… it was a dragon.

"The Dawnbringer," he murmured. It was said that the very first paladin of the city had been taught the holy arts by a dragon he had proven his worth to. Dawnbringer, he had called her, for where she went the dawn followed. Alessandro had never been sure if those stories were simply myths told to explain the powerful magics that he and his fellow paladins wielded, but although he had seen dozens of dragons over the years, he had never seen one that matched the descriptions passed down by the first paladin. Until now.

"With scales of light," he said, the familiar words falling from his lips and spreading through the panicked crowd like spring rain on parched desert earth. "And wings of dawn. Her breath harms only the wicked, and her eyes shine like the moon."

And then she was there, a dragon larger than any he had ever seen but swifter too, so graceful in the air that she might have been dancing. And where she went, the undead died. In their scores, in their hundreds, in their thousands, in their millions, they died.

Light burst from her scales, so bright it should have blinded him, and yet his eyes were unharmed. White flame poured from her mouth, and though the undead around them were burnt to ash, not a single living person was harmed. Instead, their wounds were healed and their spirits restored.

Each beat of her wings sent a wave of light and radiance outward, and the undead were felled where they stood, crumbling away, their tormented souls sent straight to the hereafter. Only the mightiest of the zombies remained, the undead dragons and the twisted abomination, and they soared up to meet her.

The Dawnbringer laughed, a sound full of contempt that they – these twisted aberrations, these vile undead, these corrupted corpses – would dare to challenge her in the air. She banked to meet them, and the zombie dragons were dead within moments, the bladed leading edges of her wings shining like dawn-wrought scythes as they cut through them. The last to fall was the amalgamation, the hydras heads braying, the gorgon heads sobbing, and its dragon head weeping as it was put out of its misery, blasted from the sky by a beam of coruscating radiance that would have put the sun to shame.

And then the Dawnbringer was floating above the city, her wings no longer beating, held aloft solely by the pure force of her power. Her silver gaze stared down at them, and Alessandro nearly wept at the compassion he saw there. She was so mighty, and yet she grieved for the losses they had suffered. No more undead remained. They had been cleansed, destroyed utterly by her might.

"Dawnbringer!" he shouted, kneeling, as did the others around him, a tide of obeisance that ended with the whole city on its knees. "We thank you for your aid!"

"Dawnbringer?" she murmured, though her voice carried clearly to all of them. "Is that what you call me?"

He looked up. "That is the name given for you in the writings of the paladin who founded my order. He called you Dawnbringer."

"Dawnbringer is a title, one of several I possess." The dragon looked westward. "My name is Dawnscale, and I have unfinished business to the west." She cast magic upon the city, and a glowing barrier appeared around it. "You should be safe here. See to your city and its people. I will return when the threat has been dealt with."

And then she was gone, soaring west at a speed even a falling star would have envied.

Dawnscale fought the urge to scowl as she flew west. She had not arrived in time to intercept the zombie army before it had reached the city. Thankfully, she had arrived before it had been completely destroyed, but the loss of so many lives within it still rankled her. Worse, she knew that the horde that had attacked the city had contained only the very weakest of the mad vampire's forces. A zombie dragon might look imposing to a human, but a zombie made out of a dragon who had not even reached its Third Awakening was no danger to her.

But there were rumours that the mad vampire had been able to slay multiple dragons who had undergone their Third Awakening and perhaps even a few who had undergone a Fourth Awakening. At least none of her fellow primordial dragons had perished, or so Doomwing believed. The other dragon was still preparing his own countermeasures and trying to contact their fellows, but he would have told her if he so much as suspected a primordial dragon had been turned into a zombie. That was a threat that even she would not have been able to take lightly.

What drew her west was a colossal well of necromantic energy. She could sense it from thousands of miles away, and she knew that whatever that energy was being used for, it had to be stopped. To think that an ancient vampire would have been able to do this! It should have been impossible. Not even the Progenitor, the oldest and mightiest of vampires, had possessed power like this. There must be an explanation. Hopefully, Doomwing would be able to unravel the mystery because that would make killing the mad vampire much easier.

West she flew as fast, as her wings could carry her. Half a continent passed by, stripped of all life. Not even the beasts of the fields and forests had been spared. All had been slain and either used to fuel dark sorcery or turned into zombies.

At last, she neared the well of necromantic power, and she slowed, caution coming to the fore as she realised the full scale of the danger in front of her. The amount of necromantic power in this area was orders of magnitude beyond what she'd sensed coming from the entire horde of undead she'd destroyed earlier.

Magic and light at the ready, she drew closer… and a combination of horror and pure, undiluted raged filled her.

"This…" she snarled. "This is… there are no words!"

The well of necromantic power was a lake of putrid black foulness that resembled a combination of blood and tar. It was hundreds of miles across, and there were countless bodies floating within it. Largest of all were the bodies of several ancient dragons. The souls of millions filled the air around the morass, bound there by unholy sorcery. Floating above the centre of the lake was the mad vampire.

No. Her eyes narrowed. He was not the mad vampire. He was some sort of blood doppelganger but far more advanced than anything she'd ever seen.

"I was wondering when you'd show up," the doppelganger said, smiling. "You handled my army quite easily, not that I expected them to accomplish much against you. But this?" He gestured vaguely at the lake of charnel madness. "This might be a little different."

"Be silent," she snapped. "You die here."

And she lashed out with a combination of her cleansing fire and ancient runes. It should have been enough. But the sheer quantity of necromantic energy here, drawing upon the magic of an entire continent and the souls of millions of slaughter innocents, stood firm against the assault.

To her disbelief, the lake of horror began to rise, enveloping the doppelganger and taking on the twisted form of a titanic dragon made of blood and rotting flesh. The bodies that had been floating in the lake forced their way to the surface of the monstrosity, their dead mouths opening to sing hymns of mocking praise to the mad vampire and his schemes. Power began to build, an unstoppable tide of raw death, and then she was tumbling backward, end over end, crashing through a mountain and then a lake before instinctively taking wing and trying to understand what had happened to her.

That… thing had just blasted her hundreds of miles with a single attack. She shook her head to clear it and turned to find the abomination approaching her at high speed. There was nothing graceful about its flight. If anything, its flight was tortured, accompanied by the wailing of the damned souls that powered it.

She gathered her power again and then surged forward to meet the creature.

She lost track of time after that.

The battle was fierce beyond anything she'd experienced since the last Catastrophe. Her power should have been a perfect counter to this creature, yet the sheer amount of energy it possessed meant that it could restore itself even faster than she could damage it. She was effectively fighting an entire continent, for the mad vampire had found a way to bind this abomination to the currents of magic that flowed through the land, to say nothing of the millions of souls that had gone into creating it.

Onward they fought, racing back and forth across the land. Beams of searing light and blasts of white flame were met by bolts of pure death and swarms of lesser zombies bursting from the body of the foul creature. They met in mid-air – a mistake on her part – and she found herself barely holding it at bay as claws wrought of thousands of corpses sought to tear her limbs off whilst the bodies of thousands more clambered onto her, full to bursting with foul magic. They detonated, and that foul magic seared her scales and burned at her soul. All the while, the bodies within the creature screamed their hate, cursed her inability to save them, and begged for mercy.

But she was winning. Somehow, slowly but surely, she was winning. A tide of death washed outward, and she dodged before her answering beam of pure radiance severed one of the creature's limbs. The severed limb crashed to the ground, instantly corrupting the land it touched, and verminous zombies sprang from the ruined limb, taking to the air to pursue her as others scampered across the land in search of the living.

Another exchange saw the creature lose a wing and go tumbling to the ground. She stayed aloft, blasting it with magic over and over and over again. The connection it had to the currents of magic was fraying, and she pushed herself harder, willing her light to burn brighter as she tried to erase this misbegotten creature from the world.

Her reserves were growing low, and still the creature tried to rise, to take to the air and strike her down. She hissed. She couldn't keep this up much longer. As titanic as her reserves of magic were, they were not infinite, and she and this creature had been fighting for what felt like hours. Why couldn't it just die? She had already tried multiple ancient runes of true death, but the creature had shrugged them off somehow. It seemed the only way to kill it was to destroy its body and then to keep on destroying it until there was nothing left and its connection to the currents of magic was completely severed.

The creature had abandoned its draconic shape. Now, it was little more than a twisted mass of writhing undead flesh straining desperately up at the sky in a bid to reach her. Higher that twisted spire went, fighting through her unrelenting barrage, and she saw the mangled jaws of a dragon emerge from the corrupted, patchwork aggregation –

BOOM.

An ancient rune of fire combined with an ancient rune of amplification and several other ancient runes turned the area below her into a cloud of heat so intense that even she had to retreat to feel comfortable. She breathed a sigh of relief and drew on her dwindling reserves to form ancient runes of purification, extirpation, and light. More ancient runes formed around hers, amplifying their effects, increasing their ability to penetrate the enemy's defences, and turning them from momentary attacks into lingering changes in reality.

Only one person in the world knew her well enough to mix their ancient runes with hers, and she allowed herself a momentary smile before unleashing the combined attack on the horror that had somehow managed to survive even the earlier fiery barrage.

"Just die!" she snarled. "Just die already!"

This time, her foe had the decency to comply, and she finally turned to greet Doomwing. The other dragon took note of her exhaustion, and she felt a combination of healing magic and restorative magic wash over her. Healing her own injuries was one thing, but restoring her reserves of magic was more difficult. That, however, was something Doomwing could do.

"Thank you," she said.

The other dragon studied the massive crater below them with a clinical eye. "That thing… it was far more durable than I expected."

"It was more durable than I expected too," she murmured before briefly explaining what had happened before his arrival.

"Hmm…" Doomwing drifted closer, and she felt his gaze sweep over her, checking for any injuries that remained unhealed, as well as any other, less obvious, forms of damage. "This vampire… I hate to admit it, but he is a true genius. To create something like that… there is no other way to describe him."

"Were you able to learn anything from observing it?" Dawnscale asked, knowing that as briefly as Doomwing had seen it, his extremely powerful scrying, divination, and analytical magic could provide him with great insight.

"Yes. I believe I understand how he was able to link it to the currents of magic that flow through this continent – which we will most likely have to fix once we kill him."

"How was it able to resist so many ancient runes?" she asked.

"His blood doppelgangers are special. They can use ancient runes. Moreover, he has… a lot of them. I would estimate thousands with the ability to make more. If he was willing to sacrifice enough of those doppelgangers, he would be able to layer his greatest creations in enough ancient runes backed by enough power to withstand attacks from even you or I." Doomwing gave a low rumble of anger. "But we were fortunate. I believe this was a trap."

"A trap?" Dawnscale's eyes widened. "You mean for me?"

"Yes. You are a celestial dragon and therefore a natural counter to the undead. You had every reason to be confident that you would be able to defeat whatever foe you encountered here. If he knew that you'd be coming, he could have prepared ancient runes specifically to combat your abilities. By catching you off guard, he most likely hoped to kill you before help arrived."

"But help did arrive," she said, smiling at him. Doomwing could be awkward at times, but he was utterly reliable when it mattered.

"You had the situation in hand," he replied. "You would have won although it would have taken longer, and you would have exhausted almost all of your magic. He underestimated you. I doubt he will make that mistake again."

"Hmm…" Dawnscale nodded. "Yes. We'll have to be better prepared. Who else is nearby?"

"Ashheart should be here soon, along with Stormbringer. However, the others are dealing with undead in their own areas. This vampire seems to be quite adept at multi-tasking. Once they've beaten back the undead on their doorsteps, we can try to divine the vampire's actual location. So far, he has managed to evade detection by my magic, but I have found several key locations that we should attack as soon as possible."

"Good. The sooner we deal with this…" Dawnscale trailed off. She hadn't noticed it during the fight because she'd been so focused on keeping herself alive and killing that thing, but the magic she'd put on the city was no longer active. Had it been cancelled due to her dwindling reserves, or had… her eyes widened. "Doomwing, use memory magic on me. I need to recall the fight in perfect detail."

She could use memory magic, but Doomwing had always been better at it than her.

"What?"

"Please," she said. "Use memory magic on me. I need to remember the fight."

"As you wish."

A few moments later, she was racing through the sky toward the city.

"No," she murmured to herself. "No, no, no, no…"

She was barely aware of Doomwing rushing to keep up with her – as fast as he was, she was faster still – and then she stopped. She had reached the city. Or where the city had been.

During the fight, she had dodged one of the creature's blasts of raw necromantic energy. It had contained enough power to seriously wound, if not outright kill her, and blocking the attack would have consumed power she hadn't been able to spare, so she'd dodged.

She'd dodged – and the blast had struck the city instead.

The barrier she'd put around the city had been designed to ward off the kind of undead she'd faced earlier, not a full-strength attack from a being that could kill her if she got careless.

The city was gone. In its place was a lake of slowly dwindling necromantic energy… and the shambling forms of thousands upon thousands of newly created undead.

Wordlessly, she lashed out with her magic. A beam of light descended from the sky.

Author's Notes

Marcus's father might have been pretty much completely insane, but the man knew his stuff. He is the perfect example of what happens when a mad scientist is given too many resources and too much time to plan. You can bet he studied all of the places he attacked to determine the best way to create the most zombies and the strongest zombies while also studying which dragons were most likely to show up to defend them since they're his biggest threats.

And you can see why Dawnscale might be getting sick of it all. She saved a city full of people… who then got killed and turned into zombies anyway, not to mention she flew over most of a continent that had been stripped bare of life and had its currents of magic twisted to fuel an abomination. Basically, everything to the west of Murata is either a zombie or was used to make zombies. That's the scale of the atrocity she witnessed. What separate the mad vampire from the other Catastrophes is the sadistic glee he seems to take in what he does. He likes the suffering and carnage that he wreaks, and he loves inflicting torment on others. It's no wonder that Marcus bonded with Doomwing over murdering his crazy father – or why Marcus is so cautious about using any of the magic associated with him.

Without time to plan and prepare, the mad vampire is probably the weakest Catastrophe. But with time to plan and prepare? Yeah. You get continents turned into zombies and zombie abominations that can stand up to primordial dragons. You can also see why Doomwing hates necromancy and has gone out of his way to blast anyone who looks like they're progressing beyond a certain stage. He does not want a repeat of this.

Last edited: Mar 23, 2024

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SecretTwelve

Mar 23, 2024

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Threadmarks Chapter 40: The Dragon Goes To Trade

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SecretTwelve

Mar 25, 2024

#719

Chapter 40: The Dragon Goes To Trade

Frostfang rarely travelled from the endless winter of his northern home. He had no reason to. He preferred the cold, and whatever loneliness he might once have felt was no longer an issue, not with his mate, his hatchlings, and the frost giants. He was happy in the far north, and he saw no reason to spend any time in lands he cared nothing for amidst people he did not know or wish to know.

But Snowscale's diminishing power had changed everything. His mate had achieved her Third Awakening long ago, but her Fourth Awakening had remained stubbornly out of reach. She was less powerful this year than last year, which meant that time had begun to take its toll on her. It would take millennia, but she would eventually wither and fade – unless she could achieve her Fourth Awakening.

Doomwing's return was most fortuitous. No dragon alive – perhaps ever – knew more about the process of Awakening than him. Fortunately, the news had been mostly positive. Snowscale's Fourth Awakening was no certainty. No dragon, not even Doomwing could guarantee success, and Doomwing was far too cautious to make promises he could not keep. However, her odds could be greatly improved through certain forms of training and the preparation of a special catalyst.

The training that Doomwing had suggested had already begun to bear fruit. Despite how recently it had been suggested, Snowscale could already feel the once immutable well of power within her shifting. It would takes years – decades, really – before she made significant progress, but after so long without any change, it was welcome news.

As for the catalyst, Doomwing had informed them that it should only be prepared just before she made her attempt at a Fourth Awakening. However, there was no reason he could not secure the ingredients now. It would be trivially easy to preserve them with magic, and at least a few might be complicated to obtain. If he waited, they could fall into the hands of those he was not on good terms with. Worse, they might be used up for other rituals or devices. Given how rare these ingredients were, it might be impossible to get more in a reasonable timeframe, and he refused to leave anything about Snowscale's Fourth Awakening to chance.

And so Frostfang had chosen to leave his home behind and seek out those ingredients. The thought of leaving his mate and hatchlings without his protection made him uneasy, but Doomwing had recently delivered a device that helped soothe those concerns. He called it a communication-stone. Frostfang already had ways of contacting Doomwing despite the vast distance between them, but the communication-stone would allow his mate or even his hatchlings and the frost giants to call upon the nova dragon for aid.

The communication-stone had been delivered using Doomwing's mirror by a most peculiar doppelganger. It was, by far, the most capable doppelganger that Frostfang had ever seen, and it had proven capable of weaving the powerful but delicate magics required to send the communication-stone through the mirror without damaging it. Clearly, Doomwing had been hard at work.

If the worst should come to pass while he was gone, he had instructed his mate to call on Doomwing for aid. The other dragon had ways of shortening the journey, and there were few indeed who could stand against him, now that he had recovered from his injuries. His mate was strong, the frost giants were loyal, and the defences around his lair were potent. Short of another primordial dragon laying siege to his home, he was confident they would be able to hold on until help arrived.

And Doomwing had made it clear after the Fifth Catastrophe that treachery amongst primordial dragons would not be tolerated. Those who helped fight the Catastrophes could call upon him for aid, and he would answer.

Frostfang shuddered as he flew, his mind drifting back to the dark days after the Fifth Catastrophe. Ashheart had been wounded almost to his death, and Doomwing had been forced to seal him within a mountain and bend the currents of magic across an entire region to feed the countless runes and spells of healing he had placed upon the wounded tectonic dragon.

Doomwing had been in a truly foul mood then. His own wounds, Ashheart's injuries, and the devastation the Exiled Star had wrought had filled him with a simmering, barely controlled wrath that Frostfang had not seen since the end of the Third Age. The other primordial dragons had wisely turned their attention toward healing and seeing to their own domains. They had not been frightened of Doomwing – they were primordial dragons, and fear did not come easily to them – but they had been wary.

Only Soulseeker had been foolish enough to violate the truce that existed amongst the primordial dragons in the wake of a Catastrophe. He was a primordial quintessence dragon – the last stage of the lineage that astral dragons and spirit dragons belonged to – and he had not participated in the battle against the Exiled Star.

Like the coward he was, Soulseeker had sought refuge in the astral plane as the world shook and those braver faced the living star. He had always been like that. He had barely survived the destruction wrought by the Broken God, but the experience had twisted him. Why should he risk his life fighting against those stronger than him when he could simply hide and grow ever stronger with the passage of time?

He had done nothing to help when Mother Tree had turned against them, and he had stood by when the Lord of the Tides and the Mad Vampire wrought havoc upon the world. Frostfang had nothing but contempt for him. It was unbecoming of a dragon – never mind a primordial dragon – to be so cowardly, but Doomwing had advised him to ignore him.

"Better a coward who stays out of the way than a coward who gets in the way," Doomwing had said. "Let him hide and let him rot. While he relies on age to grow stronger, these battles temper us. If he is a blade, then he is brittle and poorly quenched. He will shatter in the first true battle he faces. We are different. We have been forged in fire and water. We will not break."

And so Frostfang and the others had ignored him although his help would have been greatly appreciated against the Exiled Star. Doomwing had not even bothered to ask him for aid in healing Ashheart, saying that he would not trust the fate of his friend to a coward who would just as easily find a way to steal power from Ashheart as heal him.

Regal Flame had helped in the battle against the Exiled Star, and the female dragon had done much to hold the monster at bay after Ashheart had been wounded. Her injuries had not been so severe as the tectonic dragon's, but they had still been the type to require a few centuries to fully heal. She had proven, once again, that she was worthy of her name. She had been only a hatchling when the Broken God had slain so many of their kind, but she had been no ordinary hatchling. She was the last and only surviving child of Sovereign Flame, the oldest and greatest of dragons.

Her domain had been adjacent to Soulseeker's, and he had long envied it. Of course, he had lacked the strength to face her in open battle. Regal Flame was an inferno dragon, and quintessence dragons were much like muse dragons – suited more for support than direct combat. It would have been like Dreamsong challenging Ashheart to a contest of physical strength.

But Regal Flame had been wounded, and Soulseeker had spent many years planning his treachery. He and his followers had laid siege to Regal Flame's home, driving off her defenders and threatening to slay her while using magic to cut off her attempts to call for aid. Although many of her followers fell defending her, some managed to escape and call for help. The rest of them had been too far to reach her in time, but Doomwing had answered.

Although his own injuries had yet to fully heal, Doomwing had used magic to shorten the long journey to mere moments. Regal Flame had never spoken of what happened next, but his wrath must have been terrible indeed. He had already been in a foul mood and to see Regal Flame on the verge of death thanks to the treachery of a dragon who had not even bothered to help would have been more than he could bear.

Soulseeker must have believed that Doomwing would never risk battle until he had fully recovered. He must have thought that Doomwing would take the safer option and leave Regal Flame to her fate. Fool. Such thoughts only showed how little he understood Doomwing. And as well as Soulseeker had planned for Regal Flame, he had failed to plan for Doomwing.

By the time Frostfang had arrived, the entire area around Regal Flame's lair had been turned into molten glass. It showed how desperately she had fought despite her injuries and being outnumbered. But what had caught his eye were the remains of the dragons scattered across the molten landscape.

Those who had fallen in Regal Flame's defence bore marks from teeth, claws, flame, and magic. The others, presumably Soulseeker's followers, were little more than piles of mangled flesh, seemingly crushed and exploded at the same time, their bodies torn to shreds as if by countless tiny but impossibly sharp blades.

Those were the effects of telekinesis on a level that only one being in the world was still capable of.

And splayed out in a crater was Soulseeker. The primordial dragon had been torn limb from limb. His head was crushed, and his wings had been ripped off and tossed aside like a pair of broken kites. Hunched over him, jaws dripping red, eyes wild, and magic raging like a storm was Doomwing.

"He laughed," Doomwing had rumbled as Frostfang drew near. "He called me a fool who hid behind Ashheart, and he laughed. He said if I stepped aside and let him slay Regal Flame, he would help heal Ashheart. He wanted… he wanted to eat her heart and drink her blood. He believed it would help him ascend further – perhaps even achieve a Fifth Awakening. Fool! It would have done nothing of the sort, and even if it could, I would never have allowed a coward who hid while his betters bled and died to achieve what no dragon ever has." His eyes narrowed, twin slits of golden flame. "Cowards I can abide, as long as they stay out of the way, but traitors? Never! I would rather die than suffer such as him to live."

To kill a primordial dragon was no easy thing. Frostfang knew that well. But Doomwing had been right. There was a cavernous gap between a primordial dragon who had fought against each Catastrophe and one who had hidden whenever danger was at hand. Doomwing had used what was left of his magic to heal Regal Flame before collapsing, and even then, it had been necessary for Dreamsong to add her own powers to ensure the inferno dragon was out of danger.

They had been fortunate. Soulseeker had focused his attacks on Regal Flame's soul, and as potent as such attacks could be, both Doomwing and Dreamsong were very familiar with them since both of them had been close to Dawnscale. And Dawnscale's attacks had been more potent than anything Soulseeker had been able to muster.

Frostfang had watched over Doomwing until he had awakened and headed back to his lair. The wrath he had witnessed earlier had seemingly burnt out of him, and he wondered how much of it was solely due to Soulseeker's treachery and how much was because of Ashheart's fate and the many losses they had incurred against the Exiled Star. Doomwing had spent considerable time in the homelands of the beast-people, and he had mentioned, in passing, a monk he found amusing. He had never spoken of him again nor made an effort to seek him out, so Frostfang could only conclude that the monk had perished amidst the fighting.

Frostfang's attention returned to the present as he drew near to his destination. He had already contacted Stormbringer, so he could only hope that she had been paying attention instead of spending all of her time flinging whatever animal she could get her claws on into that damned Pool of Ascension she and that dryad of hers loved to use. It would be tiresome if the people who lived within her domain attacked, to say nothing of the lesser dragons and other beasts who lived in the archipelago she called home.

Only she and the dryad could truly threaten him, but it would be tiresome if he had to fly all the way to her lair while being pestered by her minions. He'd have to be gentle with them if that happened. For all that he and the others made fun of her for her overuse of a Pool of Ascension, she cared deeply for the creatures who served her and would respond with fury if they were harmed unjustly. He could recall her almost ripping apart a dragon who had dared to threaten a monkey she had come to treasure.

As he drew closer to the archipelago, he caught sight of the perpetual storm that hung over her lair. Her lair lay at the centre of the archipelago, but the massive bank of clouds could been from hundreds and hundreds of miles away. The storm itself did not seem especially fierce, so she was either in a good mood or napping. The former was preferable because no dragon liked to be interrupted during a good nap.

There were ships below him now, but he paid them no mind, just as he paid the buildings below him no mind either, though he was careful to temper the effects his passage might have. His cold was kept tightly controlled, and his magic ensured the winds and force of his passage did not simply flatten the settlements and lands beneath him.

Still, it was fascinating to note the differences in architecture between this area and the far north. Most frost giants lived in great houses hewn out of stone or made of wood. The more powerful amongst them live in homes made of ice, gleaming structures carved out of glaciers or forged with magic.

Here, however, the homes were mostly wooden, and they also made use of doors with wooden frames and translucent paper. The frost giants would have been truly confused had they seen those. To Frost giants, doors were there to keep out the elements and repel enemies, so they should be as stout as possible.

Leaving the settlement behind, Frostfang's attention was drawn to one of the more… impressive features of the archipelago. Stormbringer's domain was made up of hundreds of islands, some of which were quite large and some of which were quite small. Linking many of these islands were vast bridges made of living wood, interlocking trees who roots reached down into the seafloor and whose branches provided humans, beast-people, and other such creatures with another means of travel between islands other than the sea. These bridges were the handiwork of the dryad who was Stormbringer's best friend, along with that dryad's daughters.

Birds, bats, drakes, wyverns, hippogriffs, and lesser dragons all made their homes amidst these tree bridges, for the seas were teeming with fish, whales, and other prey. They regarded him warily, but none were so foolish as to bar his path although he sensed several using communication magic. Most likely, they were informing Stormbringer of his approach although her keen senses should already have made her aware. There were other creatures there too, scampering monkeys, racoons, squirrels, and all manner of possums and other arboreal species.

It was a stark contrast to the frozen north. Few things lived in the far north, for it was a harsh and cruel place for those not adapted to the cold. But those that lived there were strong, more than a match for any who wished to intrude into that place of ice and snow.

Onward Frostfang flew until he reached the great, snow-capped volcano that Stormbringer called home. A vast forest grew around it with a tree as tall as the volcano standing sentry over its lesser kin. That was the dryad's tree, a worthy home for one of the oldest First Daughters.

He slowed his pace and circled over her lair. Stormbringer was awake, and her scales shimmered, a dazzling display of blue, silver, grey, and black that was mirrored by the crackling of lightning in the storm overhead. She motioned for him to land on the slopes of the volcano, and the whole island shook as she joined him.

"You've come a long way, Frostfang." Stormbringer stretched her wings, and he was reminded again that she was one of the finest fliers amongst the primordial dragons. "And in person too. It must be important. Otherwise, you'd have sent one of your minions instead."

There were dragons he could call upon, to say nothing of the elementals he could summon, but he would not risk anything tied to Snowscale's Fourth Awakening in the hands of another.

"There are some matters that are best handled in person," he replied.

"True. Very true." She tilted her head to the side. "So… what brings you here? Let us not speak in circles. I have important matters to attend to."

The comment drew a snicker from the dryad perched on her head.

"Quiet, Tyche." Stormbringer huffed. "Just because you won yesterday doesn't mean you'll win today."

Ah. Her important business was most likely throwing yet more creatures into that Pool of Ascension. In that case…

"As a visitor, it is customary for me to bring a gift." Frostfang took out the polar rats he had captured before leaving his home. They were hardy creatures, different in appearance from their kin who lived in more temperate climates. They had thicker fur, sharper claws, and were perhaps more vicious. More importantly, they were not readily available in Stormbringer's domain. "Polar rats."

"Ah." Stormbringer's eyes lit up, and he saw the flash of greed within them. "I don't have any of those here, and you've brought two dozen of them. That's a good number."

"We could start a colony with that," Tyche drawled. Despite the tiny size of her dryad form – no larger than a human woman – the massive power she radiated made it clear that she was truly a First Daughter. "Who knows how they'll turn out?"

"A fine gift." Stormbringer used her magic to transfer the rats to Tyche. The rodents, so restless in her and Frostfang's possession, immediately calmed and then clamoured for Tyche's attention. The dryad smiled gently and let them scamper up onto her shoulders, back, and head. "But you didn't come here just to give me some rats."

"No, but I thought it polite." Frostfang saw no reason to beat about the proverbial bush. What he wanted was so rare that there was no point in trying to disguise his interest in it. It was better to be blunt, so they could get straight to negotiation. "I have heard you came into possession of a polar kraken's eyes."

"Perhaps." Stormbringer smiled toothily. "But I'm quite fond of them. I would be sad to part with them."

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. She wasn't even trying to be subtle. "May I ask how you got them?"

"The people in these lands know they exist because I allow them to. As such, they offer tribute and other gifts on a regular basis. In exchange, I spare them my wrath and deal with the occasional threat. The kraken came from the icy waters north of my realm and laid siege to their northern ports. Ships were attacked, and he even went so far as to attack lesser dragons." She bared her teeth. "A grandchild of mine was amongst the wounded. The hatchling was lucky to escape with his life."

"So you decided to deal with the kraken?"

"He also flooded several islands. Two of Tyche's children were put in danger. She cannot easily go to their aid, which only gave me further cause to intervene." Stormbringer's tail lashed the air. "He was more powerful than I expected."

"A kraken from the Second Age?" Frostfang asked, hoping that the rumours he had heard were correct. The older the kraken the better, or so Doomwing had said.

"Yes. Perhaps that was why he thought he could challenge me." Stormbringer shrugged. "He was wrong. The battle was difficult, if only because he dove deep into the sea, but I am Stormbringer. I pulled him from the depths and showed him why even the sea answers to the storm." She chuckled. "He was tasty… very tasty. I sundered his body and kept the parts. What interest do you have in his eyes? You live in the far north. Surely, you could find a polar kraken easily enough."

There were indeed polar krakens in his domain. However, the only polar kraken of similar age was not someone he could attack. That kraken had aided them mightily in the battle against the Third Catastrophe, and so Frostfang had made an oath not to attack him or his kin without provocation. As much as he wished to help Snowscale, he would not break his oath. A dragon should not make oaths lightly, but they should keep the ones they make – or so he had he been taught by his parents in the long ago days of the First Age.

"There are, but none are so old as the kraken you slew. I only need one of the eyes."

"I see." Stormbringer and Tyche both chuckled, and Frostfang realise belatedly that she had been making a joke. "Well… if you want an eye, I would be happy to trade it to you for the right price… and for knowledge of what you wish to do with it."

Telling her what he planned to do with it would undoubtedly drive up the price, but his position here left him with little room to negotiate. Besides, Stormbringer was smart enough to know that if she got to greedy, he would resent her. It was better for her to be reasonable, especially since there were many things from his domain that could not easily be obtained elsewhere.

"My mate is planning for her Fourth Awakening. The kraken eye can be used as an ingredient for a catalyst that will aid her."

"Hmm…" Stormbringer hummed thoughtfully. "I suppose you will have Doomwing make the catalyst?" She grinned. "I know he is awake again. I see Dreamsong from time to time, and during our most recent meeting, she was moping less than usual. It did not take much effort to learn why. Still… an ingredient for a catalyst to help in a Fourth Awakening is a valuable thing…"

"What do you want for it?" Frostfang asked. "If it is reasonable, I will do my best to accommodate you."

Stormbringer stared at him for a long moment, her gaze almost serpentine. With how she normally acted, it was easy to forget how cunning she could be. Yet the greed that blazed in her eyes soon softened. "My youngest son had a hatchling recently. His mate is a frost dragon. The hatchling is an ice dragon… and he is sickly."

"Ah." Frostfang sighed. Dragons did not reproduce quickly, so to have a sickly hatchling was unfortunate indeed. "Can anything be done?" he asked. He was fortunate that his own hatchlings were healthy. If they were sickly, he would do whatever it took to see them well. "Have you consulted anyone? I would be happy to examine the hatchling if you wish."

"I have already examined him," Stormbringer said. "As has Tyche. His mother is not very strong herself although my fool of a son is quite taken with her. It would seem that being born in my domain was unfortunate. He has not been able to absorb enough of the right kind of magic, and she is too weak to provide magic of the quantity and purity he needs."

"His body is smaller than it should be," Tyche said. "And the flow of magic within him is sluggish and weak. His mother is much the same although her case is not quite so bad."

"That cannot be all," Frostfang said. "I was not born amidst the ice and snow, yet I never had any problems as a hatchling." For reasons he had never understood, his parents had lived in a forest of all places.

"Because you were able to convert different kinds of magic into the kind you needed to grow – as is normal for dragons. My grandson and my son's mate have… problems doing so." Stormbringer made a face. "I have never seen the like of it – a dragon unable to properly convert magic. But that seems to be the case, and I suspect at least some of the problem may have been caused when her egg was exposed to the Exiled Star during her parents' flight from the battlefield. I imagine she passed that flaw down to my grandson."

"Ah." Frostfang scowled. "The energies that fiend radiated were… foul in the extreme. That her egg survived at all is fortunate, but to be weakened in such a manner… yes, I can see how that might happen."

"What my grandson and my son's mate need is a place to live that is rich in magic associated with ice and cold. However, such places are highly contested by dragons of their lineage, and with their problems, they could never take and hold territory of their own. My son can help them, but he is young yet and has only recently achieved his Second Awakening." Stormbringer growled. "I had thought to send my older children with them to secure territory or to go myself, but then that kraken attacked. However, that might have been for the best…" She looked at him meaningfully. "After all, your mere presence, to say nothing of your territory, would be good for them."

Frostfang nodded. "You wish for them to live in my lands?"

"Yes. I ask that you permit my son, his mate, and their hatchling to live in your lands. Tyche and I both believe that achieving a Second Awakening would cure both my son's mate and their hatchling." Her smile turned crafty. "Moreover, I know you have hatchlings of your own. They are of an age with my grandson. I am sure that Doomwing has passed on techniques for them – I know you would have asked – I wish for you to share those with my grandson too."

"I know Doomwing has gifted you with techniques in the past. You have had seven hatchlings over the Ages," Frostfang said.

"Yes. But I also know that he constantly updates those techniques. The ones he gave you are undoubtedly the newest and are probably chosen to be of greatest aid to hatchlings of your lineage. As such, they will be of great use to my grandson."

"It could take millennia for both to reach their Second Awakenings," Frostfang said.

"I know, but my son is much taken with his mate, and my grandson is an adorable hatchling who deserves better than to wither away in lands that cannot nourish him. Do this for me, and I will give you the kraken's eye."

Frostfang considered the matter briefly. "They will have to serve me as they serve you while they are in my domain," he said.

"Of course… but I would ask that you treat them like family, for they are dear to me." Stormbringer's eyes were sharp. "And know that if you treat them so, I will treat any kindred of yours the same way."

It was an offer of sanctuary, should his hatchlings and mate ever need it. "Very well," he said. "In exchange for the kraken's eye, I will welcome your son, his mate, and their hatchling to my lands until his mate and their hatchling both achieve their Second Awakenings. They will serve me as they serve you, and I will treat them as family, including passing on techniques to the hatchling. In return, I expect my kindred to be offered sanctuary if they should ever need it."

"Agreed," Stormbringer said. "I will send for them at once." She smiled, pleased with the deal they had struck, as was Frostfang. "Since you are here, would you care to try your luck with the Pool of Ascension? Perhaps throw in a rat or two?"

Author's Notes

Treachery is a big no no to Doomwing. He hates treachery. Being a coward is one thing, but being a coward and then stabbing people who aren't cowards in the back is how you end up dead. It was honestly a really bad matchup for Soulseeker. As a quintessence dragon, his most powerful attacks are soul-based, and he isn't exactly geared for physical combat. Alas, Doomwing has plenty of experience against soul-based attacks, and he is more than capable in physical combat, to say nothing of his more diverse magical skillset.

As an aside, you may have noticed that Regal Flame's name is spelt out as two different words. This is because of who her father is. The oldest and mightiest of the dragons, like Sovereign Flame, had two-word names. It was only later than names started becoming two words put together. As such, she has a two-word name as well. Regal Flame was his last hatchling, and her egg hatched not long before the Broken God wiped out most of the dragons.

Stormbringer and Frostfang's trade is how things are often done between primordial dragons. They have little use for money since they're all stupidly wealthy, so they will generally trade rare items or special services amongst themselves. What Frostfang wants is exceptionally rare, and Stormbringer's problem is likewise exceptionally rare. They are thus basically trading for a solution to each other's problems. Stormbringer isn't trying to extort him for more despite knowing how much he wants it because she knows he could do the same with regards to her son's mate and her grandson. They are both being reasonable because it results in an outcome that both can accept.

Note that this is an exchange between two primordial dragons who basically get along. There are others that Frostfang is not on such good terms with, and so he is wary of approaching them and would request a meeting on neutral ground rather than visiting their lair. He might even go through an intermediary like Doomwing or Ashheart rather than make a direct approach. Doomwing is popular as an intermediary due to his many skills and generally reasonable disposition. He is the closest thing they have to an arbiter. Ashheart is popular because he can and will kick the crap out of anyone who does anything stupid during negotiations.

Last edited: Mar 25, 2024

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SecretTwelve

Mar 25, 2024

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Threadmarks Chapter 41: The Dragon Speaks About Cooperation

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SecretTwelve

Mar 26, 2024

#750

Chapter 41: The Dragon Speaks About Cooperation

Corundum gazed at the people assembled before him. As one of Doomwing's doppelgangers, these people were his responsibility. "To survive, most creatures require five things: food, water, clothing, shelter, and defence." He bared his teeth. "Dragons are mighty because of how little these things matter or how easily we can acquire them. What need has a dragon for clothes or shelter? Our scales are proof against the elements, and even the most inclement weather cannot harm us. Defence? We have our claws, our teeth, and our flame, and these also make it easy to secure whatever food and water we desire." His eyes narrowed. "But you… you are weak because these things matter to you and cannot easily be acquired. How many of you can grow your own food without aid? How many of you can hunt prey? Without clothes and shelter, how long would you survive? And how would you defend yourselves without the aid of weapons that only a few of you know how to make?"

The villagers listened intently to his words, as did the dwarves and the various monsters and ascended animals in attendance. Daphne listened too, her expression faintly amused where so many of the others were trying to conceal their displeasure or dismay.

"But… that is acceptable." Corundum's lips curled. "Dragons are not the same as dwarves, humans, animals, or monsters. We were made by the First Gods, and they made us so that we could stand alone if needed. You were not made to do the same, so to hold your individual weakness against you would make little sense. You were made to stand with others, to build settlements, whether they be small villages or proud cities. Dragons build no villages. We build no cities. We live as we are because we have the strength to stand against the world. You do not, and so you must change the world around you to survive." He smiled toothily. "Be proud of that. It is commendable."

The people gathered before his relaxed ever so slightly. He meant what he said. There was indeed something admirable about the struggle that other creatures went through simply to survive. A dragon could live almost anywhere with minimal effort, but a human or a dwarf? No. They had to fight and scrape and claw to make homes for themselves, and that effort – that determination to survive – was worthy of praise, even if they were often weak, ignorant, and short lived.

"You were not made to stand alone, and yet it is rare for different groups to work together. Dwarves and humans often compete for the same resources, and monsters and animals are a constant threat in many parts of the world. But not here. Here, you all serve me. Here, you will all work together. Here, you will all stand together because you will be stronger together than you could ever be alone."

He let his words linger. There was resolution on some faces and doubt on others. Good. They might be ignorant about many things, but they were wise in their own way. They knew how little words alone meant, even if they came from a dragon.

"I am the ruler of these lands. I will not have my people live in hovels, not when they have shown a willingness to obey my orders and work hard."

And indeed, the villagers had worked hard. They had worked tirelessly with Daphne and the monsters to plant and harvest crops, and they had attended his lessons on magic despite few of them having any real talent. Those who had shown promise had thrown themselves into their training with enthusiasm that would have seemed maniacal if he had not already trained people like Elerion and Antaria. To a villager, magic was a terrifying and mysterious force, one they had occasionally seen but had never really been taught how to use. But they knew what it meant. Magic meant power. It meant influence. It meant a brighter future. They would spare no effort in seizing it for themselves.

"Specialisation is common practice in most societies. One man might work as a farmer whilst another works as a blacksmith. This allows both men to truly excel in their work, and by sharing and trading the fruits of their labour, both may benefit from their respective expertise. A farmer can grow enough food to feed many people while the blacksmith can make tools and weapons of much higher quality than any normal person. Each of the groups who serve me have their own specialisations. Sharing and trading your talents with each other allows you all to prosper."

There were nods now. This was something they all understood even if they had not necessarily put it into words. After all, it was common for a hunter to trade his catch with a farmer or a craftsman. Likewise, amongst dwarves, those who worked metal frequently traded their services with those who worked stone.

"You have made do with the materials and expertise available, but it is time for your villages to improve and better reflect the prosperity that will come under my rule. You no longer have to rely on whatever materials you can scavenge and whatever expertise you have. I am here. Daphne is here. The dwarves are here. The monsters and animals are here." He nodded at one of the dwarves. He had spoken to him earlier and explained his plans to him. "Hallbjorn, step forward and explain."

The dwarf stepped forward. His beard had begun to grey, but he was tall for a dwarf and broad-shouldered too. His arms were thick with muscle, and the hammer slung over his shoulder with casual ease was so heavy it would have taken four or five of the villagers to lift it. "I am Hallbjorn. I work with rock and earth and stone. Your houses are decent enough, but what do you think of houses with stone walls?"

There were murmurs from the villagers. All of their houses were made either of wood or mudbrick.

"I am a dwarf," Hallbjorn said. "We know rock and earth and stone better than anyone. After all, we live in mountains. We can shape it with tools – and with magic." He drove his hammer into the ground, and his magic flared. A wall of stone rippled upward. "See? What would take you months, even years, to accomplish, we can do in days." His expression softened. "Growing up, I had to beg my parents to buy fruit, and we could never afford much. Fresh produce? A luxury. I remember my father smiling at me and passing me his share because he wanted me to grow big and strong." His gaze turned misty as it swept past the others and to the seemingly endless fields around them. "Here, nobody cares if I pluck an apple from a tree, and every meal is the sort of food my father would have broken his back to provide." He thumped his chest with one big hand as his gaze went back to the villagers. "You and yours can manage the crops and tend the land. Let me and mine see to your houses!"

His words were met by raucous cheers from the dwarves in attendance whilst the villagers looked equal parts grateful and bewildered. Even now, they could not quite understand what it must be like to live a life where an apple was a luxury.

"Hallbjorn speaks truly," Corundum said. "The dwarves can craft the walls and floors of your new houses out of stone, and they can put magic upon them that will make them warm during winter and cool in summer while avoiding many of the problems associated with the use of mundane stone. There will be no damp to worry about, nor crumbling walls or damage from rain. They are dwarves. There are none who know stone better than them."

"What of the roofs?" a canny villager asked. "Will they be stone as well?"

Corundum chuckled. "They could make roofs out of stone, but I do not think those would be best for you. Instead, I will instruct you on the making and installations of shingles." He used an illusion to show them what he meant. Those who had been to larger towns and cities had likely seen shingles before, but the villagers had not made use of them. Instead, their roofs were made of thatch. "They might seem labour intensive, but with the tools the dwarves can provide and the abilities some of the animals possess, it will not take long to make them. And once they are made, I assume you can all manage a hammer and nails."

There was some nervous laughter. Corundum had witnessed the villagers using hammers and nails before, and some had been left with very sore hands.

"But I have chosen shingles for a reason. We have a dryad," Corundum said. "The shingles we make need not be made of mundane wood."

"Indeed." Daphne stepped forward. "I am young for a dryad, but what Corundum plans is not difficult for me. Each shingle will be made out of wood that I have influenced with my powers. As such, the shingles will be far more durable and resistant to weather and other damage than regular wood. More importantly, I can weave magic into them. Rather than simply sitting atop your houses, those shingles can absorb magic from our surroundings, which you can use for various things."

The elves had used precisely this technique over the Ages, and Daphne had already been receiving instruction from the other dryads she was in communication with.

"A few of you have shown some talent in alchemy," Corundum said. He held up a claw, and a small, oddly shaped crystal appeared. "I will not say that this impresses me, but it is a start. It is something you made through your own efforts." He ran magic through the crystal, and it lit up. "A magical light… something most of you cannot power for long. But the shingles will provide the power that you lack." His eyes gleamed. "No more relying on candle light to get by. No more burning valuable oil for lanterns. You can make your own lights powered by your own homes."

The villagers' eyes widened.

"Did I not promise that you would prosper under my rule?" Corundum chuckled. "But that is only the start. For what is a village without water and a means to manage waste?"

In many ways, the villagers handled these issues better than larger settlements. They lacked magic, but they possessed common sense. Water was drawn up from wells, and every effort was made to dispose of waste in a manner that did not threaten hygiene or their water supply. It wasn't perfect, but without magic, their methods were reasonable.

Larger settlements could use magic to obtain and purify water while also disposing of waste. Of course, some of the devices used to do so were from the Sixth Age or earlier, and he would not be surprised if they began to fail, which would be a major problem if those who used them had not learned how to repair or replicate them. In large settlements without magic, the situation could often be quite dire.

Dragons were virtually immune to disease, but humans and other creatures were not so fortunate. More than once Brother Tiger had bemoaned the difficulty the poor had in gaining access to clean water while wrinkling his nose at the poor sanitation practices he observed. As a tiger-man, his nose was sensitive. And as a monk, his heart was soft. He had often badgered Doomwing into using his magic to help those people, whether it was by making some device to meet their needs or by working some long-lasting magic that would help.

Doomwing had not given much thought to those incidents, and he had helped mainly because helping would ease Brother Tiger's concerns. Yet now those memories were coming in handy, as were his memories of aiding the dwarves of the Third Age. Brother Tiger had been right in the end – his good deeds would be repaid one day.

"At present, you draw water from the ground via wells using entirely mundane methods – namely, having some burly young man operate the well." There were chuckles from the villagers. It was a rite of passage for the young men to work the well for the very young or the very old. "Again the dwarves will be of aid here."

Hallbjorn stepped forward again. "As miners, water is a constant danger to us. A flooded mine is a disaster that can result in the deaths of hundreds. Moreover, we also have many enemies in our mountain homes. Obtaining water without having to leave the safety of our fortresses is key. We will build pumps to draw water out of the ground using magic, and we will show you how to build and maintain such pumps of your own in the future. The process is easier than you would think, and it does not require a lot of personal power."

Doomwing had helped design such pumps for the dwarves of the Third Age. They used ambient magic to draw water out of the ground using a combination of magic and mundane methods. Few dwarves ever developed an affinity for water magic, so such pumps were a necessity.

"You're not dwarves," Hallbjorn continued. "But there are a few of you who I think would take well to our methods." He grinned and rubbed his beard. "I've not done much teaching as of late, but it should be interesting to see how well you humans can learn our methods."

"Magical pumps?" One of the village headmen nodded. "I saw things like that in the cities and towns I visited in my younger days. It was amazing. You would simply turn a knob or lever, and water would come out."

"We can go further," Corundum said. "We can build pipes to each home, so you will not have to go to the pump to fetch water." Such things had once been common. Indeed, by the end of the Sixth Age, plumbing could be found in any decently large settlement. Hikari had been fond long baths to the point that Elerion had often teased her about turning into a prune. Doomwing had found that particularly amusing since dragon scales suffered no such effects from lingering in water. Hikari's love of long baths had only grown when she'd realised that Doomwing possessed a formula for bubble baths that was vastly superior to anything the kingdom's alchemists or apothecaries could create. "Again, this is something the dwarves are familiar with, but I expect any amongst you who can learn to do their best."

"We'll be quite busy," Hallbjorn said. "But busy is good." He grinned. "We can rest when we're dead."

"What of the waste?" another dwarf asked. "That has always been the biggest problem for us dwarves." Many of the dwarves of the Third Age had adopted a simple strategy: dump it out of their sky ships. Doomwing had often smiled at the thought of such waste filling the ocean around the Lord of the Tides. It was petty, but his ancient foe deserved every bad thing that happened to him.

"Daphne," Corundum said. "I will leave that to you."

The dryad grinned. "I'll be happy to handle it."

"Oh?" Hallbjorn rubbed his beard again. "How are you going to deal with it? We dwarves have developed a multi-step process to ensure our waste is managed properly, but we've never had access to dryads either."

"My roots already cover most of this area," Daphne said. "If you dig a large pit and have pipes empty waste into it, then I can send some of my roots into the pit. Using those roots, I can use my magic to accelerate the natural process of decay to break the waste down into fertiliser that my other roots can carry to the soil beneath the fields."

Hallbjorn blinked. "That… is very easy compared to what we have to do."

Daphne nodded. "A lot of people don't realise that growth, life, and nature magic can be used to hasten the natural decay of things. It's not about killing, so much as it is about accelerating what would happen naturally and converting waste into materials that can help other things grow."

"Makes me wish we had a dryad," Hallbjorn muttered. "Because, let me tell you, no dwarf likes waste disposal duty, but it's got to be done. Otherwise, you'll find yourselves knee-deep in –"

"As you can see," Corundum continued. "I have already considered your housing situation in some detail. Better housing and buildings are a fitting reward for your service, and they will help improve your productivity even further. I will not be emperor over a land of beggars. For that same reason, you can expect the construction of roads and other infrastructure to hasten too."

Doomwing had informed him of their new recruits. With more dwarves available, along with some additional human mages, they should be able to dramatically improve their infrastructure. It should not be long before all the villages were connected by good roads, and from there, they could work on connecting the villages to the dwarves and then to the lands to the west.

"As for defence, let me be clear." Corundum's gaze bored into them. "I do not plan on turning you into an army. Most of you are not well suited to fighting and are far more useful doing other things. However, I firmly believe that everyone should know how to defend themselves. Whether it is with magic, their fists, or a pointy stick, it is always – always – better if you know how to fight."

"But we have the monsters to protect us now," one of the villagers said. "And you are here as well."

"The monsters are not invincible, and they cannot be everywhere at once. If, by some unfortunate twist of fate, you find yourself in danger without them around, will you simply lay down and die? As for me, I will gladly defend you from threats that are beyond you, but I am not here to protect you from everything. Complete reliance on others will only lead to stagnation and weakness. Learning how to defend yourself will make you stronger, both mentally and physically, and such training may even help you achieve greater power." He had explained Ascension to them, and many of them were drawn to the idea of becoming stronger and living longer lives. Who wouldn't be?

"Is that why you're not doing everything for us?" Daphne asked shrewdly. "With your power, you could easily surpass anything we could do with regards to housing."

"That is true," Corundum admitted. "I could make you houses that kings would envy, but what would be the point? I am your ruler, which means that I am supposed to lead you – not do everything for you. What happens if I am wounded or am called away for an extended period of time? If I do everything for you, you will be helpless. It is a lesson that we dragons learn from a young age. To struggle is to grow and improve. To struggle is to obtain power. What I ask of you may seem difficult at times, but I will never ask you to do the truly impossible. I want to rule over a great nation, but great nations require great people. And to become great, you will have to work together, learn new things, and strive for more. You cannot do that if I coddle you. I will show you the way, but you must have the determination to walk it."

Silence fell over the group.

"Think of how helpless you felt when the soldiers burned your crops, slew your neighbours, and tore down your homes," Corundum said to the villages. "Do you ever want to feel that way again?" They shook their heads. "Then learn how to fight. Perhaps you will never need to. Indeed, if all goes well, you will never have cause to take up arms. But if the need ever arises…" He bared his teeth. "Wouldn't you like to be able to kill the bastards who think they can harm you and yours?"

The fire blazing in their eyes said it all.

Corundum dismissed the dwarves and the villagers. They were to discuss matters further amongst themselves. He was a dragon, so no matter how closely he had observed houses in the past, there were things that he was bound to miss that somebody who actually lived in a house would not.

"This is training for me too, isn't it?" Daphne asked, running her fingers through the soft fur of a squirrel. "Spreading my roots over a wider area while taking on more responsibilities definitely seems like training."

"Yes. Dryads have two powerful advantages when it comes to magic. First, they can develop truly gargantuan magical reserves. Having you spread your roots as far as possible while handling a variety of tasks will encourage your reserves to grow even more quickly. Second, multi-tasking is something that dryads do better than almost anyone else. Many humans will never be able to cast two spells at once. Some of your older sisters can use tens of thousands of spells at the same time. You may not have realised it due to your prior circumstances, but you have the potential to do the same. Having you manage multiple things at the same time will improve your multi-tasking. This may not seem important now, but as you grow more and more powerful, it will become essential. You will be able to use more runes and spells than your opponent, which will often allow you to simply overwhelm anyone who might wish to harm you. Those two things are what make dryads so deadly in magical combat – enormous magical reserves and the multi-tasking to make good use of those reserves."

"You seem quite familiar with how dryads use magic in battle."

"Of course, Mother Tree was one of my teachers. I sparred against her many times, and I learned firsthand how important multi-tasking is. Even now, there is no dragon alive who can use as many spells and runes at the same time as I can."

"How did you beat her?" Daphne asked quietly. "My memories of that are… murky."

"Speed," Corundum said. "It was true that I developed magic specifically to defeat her, but it would have been worthless without the speed to use it. It doesn't matter how powerful you are and how many things you can do at once if I can strike a critical blow before you can complete your defences."

"Ah."

"In any case, we must begin. I want as many of the homes completed as possible. In fact, I'd like to have extra homes ready for our new recruits when they arrive."

Author's Notes

Doomwing (or in this case, Corundum) is calling on all the knowledge he has acquired over the Ages to help make better houses. And, well, the houses of his people reflect on him. Better houses make him look like a better ruler. Also, this sort of thing fascinates Doomwing. He is both a great theoretician when it comes to magic and someone who loves to see it in practice.

At least some of Doomwing's views on how people work together were heavily influenced by both Dion (one of the First Gods) and Mother Tree. He is proud of his dragon heritage but still cognisant that others are not the same and therefore cannot readily be judged using the standards he would apply to another dragon. After all, dwarves are not dragons, nor are humans.

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SecretTwelve

Mar 26, 2024

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Threadmarks Chapter 42: The Tigers And The Sea

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SecretTwelve

Mar 27, 2024

#758

Chapter 42: The Tigers And The Sea

Xiang watched as his grandfather stared at the sea. The old tiger-man was still and silent.

"Grandfather," he murmured. "Do you want me to help you reach the sea?"

Age had bent the old tiger-man's back, and he needed a cane to help him walk. Yet when he turned to Xiang, there was a smile upon his lips, fragile but growing stronger with each passing moment.

"No," his grandfather murmured. "I can do it."

And so he made his way down to where the waves lapped against the shore, his cane digging into the soft sand. As the first wave washed over his feet, his grandfather dropped to his knees. Xiang hurried to his side, worry clawing at his heart, but then his grandfather laughed.

"It has been so long since I have seen the sea," his grandfather said, and if there were tears mixed with the laughter, Xiang was wise enough not to mention them. His grandfather scooped up a handful of wet sand and let the next wave wash it away. "It feels… it feels like home," he said, and then his smile turned watery indeed. "I wish your father were here with us. Oh… he would have loved this place. I know it." His grandfather struggled to rise, and Xiang helped him back up onto his feet. "This is a good place, Xiang. Our people will do well here."

"I think so too," Xiang murmured. "It is a good place… a good home."

And it was.

When they had accompanied the dragon back to his lands, they had been met with endless fields of rich produce and houses made of stone with fine shingled roofs. Xiang and the other tiger-people had marvelled at the magical pump that delivered water to each house and to the system that handled waste with none of the mess so often found in other places.

The villagers were friendly folk, and while they had been initially been taken aback by Xiang and his people, he could tell that it was simply because they had never seen any tiger-people before. Their smiles were warm and welcoming, and when they invited all of the new arrivals to join them in a feast, there had been no hidden malice, no snide remarks, or veiled insults.

The dragon had spoken truly. They were all equal in his eyes.

They had stayed in the village for a few days, resting and learning more about the others who served the dragon. There were dwarves, humans, monsters, and ascended animals. All worked together at his behest, their different skills woven into a tapestry that promoted success for all.

And his people would be a part of it.

Their lands to the south were said to be rich in fish and the bounty of the sea, and there were jungles and mangroves nearby where all manner of resources could be obtained. In time a road might be built to their settlement, but in the meantime, it would be quickest to take a boat up the coast and then up a river to one of the villages. They could also fly. Several of the flying monsters had agreed to accompany them to the coast, and there were others down there that might be tamed or won over if they were careful.

Xiang had never been especially fond of flight, but that was because he had never experienced it himself. Now that he had soared in the flying ship the dwarves had and through the air courtesy of Doomwing's magic, he found himself looking forward to the opportunity to fly again. The largest of the bird monsters that had accompanied them south was big enough to carry two or three people at once, and Xiang had already spoken to him.

The monster would set up a roost nearby for himself and his family. They would aid the tiger-people in exchange for a share of their catch. Their swift wings and keen eyes would certainly prove useful in the days ahead, and they were fierce fighters too, gifted with razor-sharp claws, fearsome beaks, and wind magic.

The site of their settlement was a sheltered cove with the jungle to one side and mangroves to the other. White sand awaited them on the beach, and the seas nearby teemed with life. It was a good place, far better than the desolate lands Xiang had hoped to purchase with his tournament winnings.

"Come on, grandfather," Xiang said. "We should decide what to do first."

He helped his grandfather back to the makeshift camp they had set up. Doomwing had departed to survey the seas nearby, leaving behind a doppelganger named Brother Dragon. It was a strange name, reminiscent of the names he had seen amongst beast-people monks.

"What do you think?" Brother Dragon asked. "Can your people make a living here?"

His grandfather laughed. "We can do more than make a living here. We can make this our home and bring all the bounty of the sea before you." He grinned. "I am an old man now, but I remember my fishing days well. The seas here are full of fish, and this cove will protect our boats from rough seas and storms. We have not explored the mangroves yet, but such places often have crabs, shrimps, lobsters, and other such animals. As for the jungle, we shall not want for wood, and there are many other resources to be gained there too."

"We shall have to be careful," Xiang said. "I am strong enough to drive off most foes, but there may be dangers here that I cannot face." It went unspoken that if he could not fight something off, then the others would stand little chance. He was, by far, the strongest of his people.

"Fear not," Brother Dragon said. "I have tree-folk in my service. They have yet to arrive, but I have called for some of them. They will aid you in establishing your settlement and help protect you from threats." The doppelganger's eyes gleamed. "As for threats beyond you or the tree-folk, I shall deal with those."

"In what way?" Xiang asked.

"I shall try reason first. Powerful monsters generally possess some intelligence. If they acknowledge my authority and follow my rules, I see no reason to exterminate them. But if they defy me and threaten those who serve me, then I shall crush them."

As expected of a dragon – mercy offered from a position of overwhelming strength.

"This camp will suffice for a few nights," Brother Dragon said. "But you will need to build proper homes soon."

"Yes," Xiang agreed. "It should not be too difficult. We have some experience building our own homes, and the tools the dwarves gave us are excellent. If we take trees from the jungle, it should not take us long."

"You refused further help from the dwarves," Brother Dragon said. "With their magic and skills, they could have built you houses of stone."

"Yes," Xiang said. "But this… my people have wandered for so long with no place to call home. Now that we have a home, we would like to build our houses with our own hands. It is… sentimental perhaps, maybe even foolish, but it is something we must do."

Brother Dragon's lips curled. "I knew a tiger-man once. He spoke of how fiercely independent his people were. What they built, they built with their own hands. What they claimed, they seized with their own strength. Such independence has its merits, but never forget that you serve me now. You and your people are no longer alone."

Xiang bowed his head. "Of course." He patted his grandfather on the back. "It is only mid-morning, grandfather. I shall go with some of the other men and harvest some lumber, enough to begin building houses and boats. I trust you can supervise the making of boats?"

His grandfather puffed out his chest proudly. "I may be old, grandson, but not so old that I have forgotten how to make a proper fishing boat. You and the others youngsters should consider yourselves lucky that I am still around to share my wisdom, else you might end up on the water upon some ramshackle raft."

"Hah!" Xiang found himself smiling again. It had been so long since his grandfather had been so happy, and it made him happy too. "I humbly accept your wisdom, grandfather." He turned to Brother Dragon. "Can I leave the women and children here with you?"

"No harm shall come to them while you and the others are gone," Brother Dragon assured. "But I am sure there is work they can do while you are gone."

"Indeed." Xiang nodded. "I will find work for them to do."

Xiang made his way over to where the women and children were. All tiger-people knew how to fight, but their days of wandering had led them to prize the safety of their women and children even more than most tiger-people. They simply could not afford to lose them, and so it had been the young men who had become mercenaries and adventurers, taking risks that could just as easily lead to profit as death.

"Husband." His wife, Hua, had their youngest on her hip whilst his three other children played nearby.

To his relief, none of them had been too aggrieved by his loss in the tournament. He had Antaria to thank for that. Upon meeting his children, the princess had lavished praise upon him, telling them that he was by far the strongest of her opponents and only good fortune and preparation had allowed her to triumph.

His children had taken to the princess, perhaps because of how kindly she looked upon them. They were used to others looking upon them with fear and suspicion, but the princess had greeted them warmly and treated them like normal children. She had even answered his daughter's many questions about her hair.

Tiger people did not grow long hair the way humans did. Instead, their heads resembled tigers. As a result, his daughter had come to find long hair fascinating. The princess had answered her questions patiently, pointing out the advantages and disadvantages of having long hair, especially as it pertained to combat.

His children had also been quite taken with her raccoon companion, Filch. Although the raccoon had eyed Xiang with suspicion, he had allowed the children to bribe him with food – a strategy that Antaria had suggested when the children had asked how they could befriend him.

It was deeply satisfying to see his children worrying about when they might next encounter the ornery raccoon, rather than worrying about their next meal or if they would have a roof over their heads.

"How goes it?" Xiang asked. His wife had some talent as an alchemist and apothecary, and Brother Dragon had promised to teach her and any others who showed promise. She was also in charge of their supplies, and she had developed a keen mind for managing money.

"We were running short of supplies, but we were given many before our departure from the village. As it is, we have enough to last us for at least a fortnight although I do not think it will be hard to acquire more food and water."

"Yes," Xiang said. "We found a spring nearby, so fresh water should not be an issue. I plan to build our new village around it."

"A fine idea," Hua said. "So you are taking men into the jungle to harvest lumber?"

"Yes," Xiang replied. "While we are there, we will begin clearing land around the spring and checking for monsters and other threats. We have almost the whole day ahead of us, so we should be able to accomplish a lot before returning here come nightfall."

"Be careful," Hua advised. "You are strong, but if the enemy proves stronger, ask Brother Dragon for aid."

"I will," Xiang said. "And we are supposed to receive help from tree-folk soon. I do not know exactly when they arrive, but they are supposed to be quite strong."

"Once you are sure the area is safe, send for me," Hua said. "I can take some of the women and children and collect useful plants and herbs. I have seen several already, and it never hurts to keep our supplies well stocked."

"While we are gone, can you and the others finish making camp?" Xiang asked. "Perhaps set up a few wards and the like?"

"Of course," Hua said. "It will be good practice, and it is time some of the children saw us make them."

Wards came in many shapes and sizes. However, the ones used by tiger-people were large posts of specially prepared wood that were driven into the ground. They were imbued with magic and served a variety of purposes. They were most commonly used to repel pests, animals, and weaker monsters.

Xiang could remember the wards around their old home – dozens of finely carved wooden posts that ringed their village. He had little talent for such things, but Hua had some skill, and there were others amongst the women who were especially gifted in making them. One of the old women could even make healing wards that helped heal injuries although the effects were slower and weaker than taking a potion.

Brother Dragon had expressed some interest in the wards, saying something about how they could be greatly improved with certain alchemical techniques. Xiang had not been able to understand a lot of what he'd said, but his wife had been suitably impressed and had vowed to learn all that she could from him.

"All right then," Xiang said. "I leave the camp in your hands, wife."

"Be safe, husband."

Xiang went into the jungle with more than a dozen other tiger-men. They were all battle-tested although none were as strong as him. Like him, they knew how lucky they were to receive an opportunity like this, and none of them had any intention of wasting it.

Xiang had not known a lot about harvesting lumber until he had met a human mercenary whose father had been a woodcutter. Xiang had still been young then, and the human had been close to retirement. He had taught Xiang about what to look for when harvesting lumber and how to bring a tree down safely before preparing it properly. Xiang had wondered why he was bothering to teach him, but mercenary work often involved preparing fortifications and other construction. With his strong body and talent for cutting things, Xiang was often asked to help.

The human had eventually retired, using his money to set up a tavern in a popular town, but Xiang had never forgotten his lessons or the kindness he had shown him. The human had not needed to teach him. He could have simply ordered Xiang around, but he had taught him, and so Xiang had been sad to see him go while being happy that he had been able to retire without any serious injuries. Few mercenaries were so fortunate.

He and the others searched the area for threats before he began to point out the trees they should take and how they should be brought down. The others lacked his experience in this area, but they knew how to follow instructions. Besides, the prospect of labouring to build their own homes had filled all of them with enthusiasm.

Yet as the day wore on and morning gave way to afternoon, Xiang sensed a change in the air. So far, they had mostly encountered normal animals, the kind who could be easily scared away or dealt with. What was a regular tiger or leopard to a tiger-man? The few monsters they'd sighted had been smart enough to know the odds were against them and had slunk off, fading back into the jungle. Even so, he'd delegated two of his men to keep watch. They could not afford to be careless now when everything they wanted was within reach.

Now, though, the air was different. He could not put his finger on it. The birds still chirped. The jungle was still filled with movement and sound. And yet his instincts, the ones that had served him so well in battle over the years, were telling him that a threat was approaching, one that he had to be wary of.

"Hold!" he cried, motioning for the others to set aside their axes and saws. "To arms!"

They went for their weapons at once – and they were right to do so.

Emerging from the towering trees and moving silently despites its sheer size was one of the tree-folk. The creature had to be at least thirty feet tall. It was vaguely humanoid, its branches and roots twisted together to form its limbs while its trunk made up its body. High above them, a face could be seen in the wood, and it paused mid-stride to look down upon them.

"Do nothing foolish," Xiang warned his men. "The tree-folk here are not our foes." He cleared his throat and raised his voice as he shouted up to the tree-man. "Greetings. I am Xiang. My men and I serve Doomwing."

"Hmm…" The tree-man gave a low rumble, akin to a hillside giving way in the midst of a storm. "He did say that tiger-people would be coming here. You must be them." The tree-man glanced past them to the trees they had already felled, and Xiang wondered how he must feel about it. "You have a good eye for lumber."

"You… are not upset?" Xiang asked carefully.

The tree-man chuckled. "Upset? Do you plan to cut down the whole jungle, or have you taken only what you need? Your folk are not like mine. You cannot withstand the wind and the cold and the rain. You need houses, and for that, you need wood. Be mindful of your actions and take no more than you need, and you shall not incur my wrath. Besides, those trees were not my kin, and others shall soon replace them."

"Thank you for your understanding." Xiang bowed his head, as did his fellows. This tree-man had more magic than him and Antaria put together, and by no small margin either. "How should we address you?"

"An interesting question." The tree-man made a series of sounds that reminded Xiang of the whale-song he had once heard as a boy. "That is my name, but you cannot make such sounds, can you? Call me Roots-Delving-Deep."

"I am Xiang," Xiang replied. "I am honoured to meet you. Have you come here to aid us?"

Roots-Delving-Deep nodded. "I am to stand guard over your people and to drive away monsters that might threaten your settlement." He paused. "But I am not to aid you once you venture away from your settlement."

"Ah." Xiang could see it now. Doomwing wanted them to be safe in their homes while still providing them with a chance to test themselves and grow. "Your aid is most welcome." He pointed. "The rest of my people are that way. They are staying on the beach for now."

"A wise choice. Continue your work, tiger-man. When night falls and you must leave this place and return to the beach, I will stand guard here. Your work and materials shall be kept safe."

Xiang was pleased to hear that. It would be troublesome to post guards here, yet they could not leave their work and materials unguarded. "Thank you. By the way, are there any monsters in this jungle that we should be concerned about?"

"There are many monsters that might be a threat to you if you are careless, but you have the strength to overcome most of them or at least escape, provided you remain alert and make use of your cunning. However, there are a few you should avoid at all costs."

Xiang suppressed a shudder. The tree-man's voice was flat, and the words were an order more than advice. "Who?"

"There is an elder hydra who rules over much of the jungle. She could slay all of your people with ease. Even I could not face her and live. If my fellow tree-folk were to join me, we might be able to best her, but few of us would survive."

Xiang's eyes widened. "Such a creature lives here? Yet why has she not driven you from this place if she is so much stronger?"

"We serve Doomwing, and she is no fool. She knows that if she draws Doomwing's ire, she will die. Even an ancient hydra could not withstand him, and there are not many primordial hydras left in the world."

"So we should just avoid her?" Xiang asked.

"Yes. She and her brood live deep in the jungle, so it is unlikely that you will encounter her. But if you do meet her, flee. She will let you go. I suspect that it will not be long before she seeks Doomwing out to establish terms."

"We will be careful," Xiang promised. "Who else should we be wary of?"

"There are several spirit tigers in the jungle, as well as a number of ghost leopards. They may be able to slay you, but they rarely emerge during the day, and they can be found only in the deepest parts of the jungle. If I or one of my fellow tree-folk are with you, you should be safe. Our magic can harm them, and we are too durable for them to risk combat." Roots-Delving-Deep gave another low rumble. "And be mindful of the birds. Drakes and wyverns roost amidst the high places. They will not go anywhere near Doomwing or his doppelganger, but if you stray out onto open ground, they may target you."

"There are many threats," Xiang mused. "But also much opportunity." He exchanged looks with his fellow tiger-men. "As strange as it is, I am pleased by that. As much as I have looked forward to the peaceful life of a fisherman, I cannot deny that battle has honed my skills and increased my power."

"That is the way of life," Roots-Delving-Deep replied. "There are many paths to power, but a life free of struggle rarely leads to true power."

Brother Dragon gazed out over the sea as the waves rustled to a stop just shy of his claws. Doomwing was far out to sea. He had noticed some strange activity there. It was most likely nothing, but the last thing they needed was for a kraken or a leviathan to show up and smash the coast. His years of slumber might have emboldened some of the larger sea dwellers, so a reminder of his presence and power might be necessary.

Perhaps he'd even stumble across some merfolk. On one hand, it would be good if there were some to trade with, for there were many things beneath the waves that could not easily be obtained on land. On the other hand, if the merfolk were too close, there might be a dispute over territory. The results of any such dispute were obvious, but it would still be a tiresome affair, especially if a primordial kraken or leviathan showed up.

"Brother Dragon." It was Hua. "Will you not join us?"

He turned. Night had fallen some time ago, so the tiger-people had all gathered in their makeshift camp on the beach. They were all in high spirits, especially since Xiang's grandfather had taken a roughly-made canoe and paddled out into the cove, returning with a decent number of fish.

He was impressed. He hadn't thought the old tiger-man had it in him, but despite his exhaustion and needing to be helped out of the canoe by Xiang, he had been grinning from ear to ear.

"I am not useless just yet," he had snapped. "And someone had to test the canoe. It might as well have been me, considering I've forgotten more about fishing than any of you have ever learned."

Xiang had heaved a great sigh and had carried his grandfather back to the camp, refusing to let him walk. Still, the fish had been turned into the centrepiece of the evening meal, and the tiger-people had gathered around their campfires to talk, eat, and make merry.

"I am a doppelganger," he explained. "Despite my appearance, I do not need to consume regular food. Instead, I can subsist on ambient magic."

"Oh." Hua smiled. "But even if you do not eat, surely you can still enjoy our company?"

Brother Dragon considered the offer. "It has been a long time since I shared a fire with a tiger-man."

"You have mentioned knowing a tiger-man several times," Hua said. "Would you be able to tell us about him?"

Brother Dragon looked past her to the other tiger-people. Young and old alike were smiling and happy. Their bellies were full, and they talked of the bright future that awaited them. He could almost picture his old friend sitting amongst them with his robe and the wide-brimmed straw hat he often wore when travelling. He would have liked this place, and he would have been more than happy to share a tale or two by the fire – each with a lesson, of course, because that was the way of his order, to couch lessons in stories that even a peasant could grasp.

"Perhaps I could share a story," Brother Dragon said as he followed her away from the waves and back to the campfire.

"It's raining again," Brother Tiger drawled. "Not that it matters to you."

Doomwing chuckled. His actual body was some distance away dealing with a dispute between a group of younger dragons. Honestly, they were little better than hatchlings, and what passed for deadly battle amongst them was scarcely any different from play fighting. It would have been amusing if one of their parents hadn't been a fellow primordial dragon who was threatening to enter the battle on his child's behalf. Instead, his construct was accompanying Brother Tiger as the monk journeyed north. Brother Tiger had no particular destination in mind, but it had been some time since he had passed that way, and he was curious to see if much had changed.

"I could say the same of you," Doomwing replied.

Days of intermittent rain had softened the road, but the previous night's downpour had turned it into a quagmire. Despite that, however, neither he nor Brother Tiger were much encumbered. Doomwing's construct was more than capable of using magic that would repel muck and allow him to walk unhindered through the mud. Brother Tiger was likewise capable of using several techniques that made traversing the swamp-like road far easier than it would be for any normal traveller.

"There seems to be an inn up ahead," Brother Tiger said. His vision was not so keen as it had once been, but it was still keener than most. "Perhaps we could stop there and ask about any local goings on. I can also offer my assistance. There are almost always injuries that need healing or equipment that needs repairing in weather like this."

"By all means," Doomwing replied. "Let us hope it is more peaceful than the last inn."

The last inn had turned into a battlefield not long after their arrival after rival mercenary groups had arrived at the same time. Both had wanted lodgings, and there had not been enough rooms to accommodate them all. Brother Tiger had done his best to mediate, but the mercenaries had been spoiling for a fight. In the end, Doomwing had knocked all of them out with a few spells before looting their belongings to pay for the damage they'd done to the inn. He'd finished by awakening them and then tossing them into a nearby stream. He'd almost been disappointed when they'd exercised the good sense to scuttle off rather than trying to get revenge on his construct.

"In fairness," Brother Tiger replied, smiling faintly. "We only encounter violence in perhaps a tenth of the inns and taverns we visit, and it's usually of the drunken kind where the combatants are more of a danger to themselves than others."

"True." Doomwing chuckled. "And watching you lecture them on the evils of drunkenness is always amusing."

"It is not the drunkenness that is the problem," Brother Tiger replied. "It is the loss of control. Whether it is alcohol, battle, or even magic – to lose control and lash out at others is no way to live. Moderation is the key. Control of one's life and one's surroundings begins with control over one's self." He paused. "Although that is easier said than done."

"It is a pity that so many enjoy excess then," Doomwing replied. "And before you say anything, I am aware that hoarding treasure could be considered a form of excess."

Brother Tiger bit back a smile. "I will not lecture you again, my friend. Besides, you are a dragon. I would be more concerned if you didn't hoard treasure."

It did not take them long to reach the inn, but they arrived to find a small rabbit-boy being berated by an irate merchant. The goat-man was gesticulating wildly, and the rabbit-boy was shrinking in on himself more and more with each word. Brother Tiger's gaze hardened, and he quickened his pace.

"Good afternoon," Brother Tiger said. "May I ask what is going on?"

The merchant rounded on him, ready to continue his tirade, but the words died in his mouth as he took note of the robe Brother Tiger wore. The monks of his order were respected throughout the land, and a merchant who treated one poorly could easily find themselves cast out from polite society.

"Ah… master monk…" The merchant took a deep breath to calm himself before pointing at the rabbit-boy. "My apologies for making such a ruckus, but I caught this thief sneaking out of my wagon. I only ask that he be punished appropriately."

"A thief?" Brother Tiger looked from the merchant to the rabbit-boy.

To Doomwing, if the rabbit-boy was a thief, he must be a lousy one. His threadbare clothes left him with nowhere to hide stolen goods, and he was clearly terrified by what was happening. Besides, what kind of thief would sneak into a wagon to steal something while at an inn in the middle of nowhere?

"Are you sure he is a thief?" Brother Tiger asked.

"Why else would he be sneaking out of my wagon?" the merchant replied.

"Has he actually stolen anything?" Brother Tiger pressed.

"Well… nothing seems to be missing, but I might simply have caught him before he could escape with stolen goods."

"Escape to where?" Brother Tiger asked. "This inn is the only building for miles."

"Perhaps he is working for the inn," the merchant said. "Robbing travellers when they let their guards down."

That remark earned him a thunderous glare from the enormous bull-man who ran the inn, and the merchant quailed. Goat-men were hardy, but in a contest of strength, there were few amongst the beast-folk who could challenge a bull-man.

"The owner of the inn is a bull-man," Brother Tiger said. "And I doubt any of his staff are rabbit-people either." He turned to the bull-man. "Would that be the case, sir?"

"That is right, master monk. My staff are cattle-people like me. There are no rabbit-people here." The bull-man scowled at the goat-man. "I've never seen that rabbit-boy before, so I warn you to watch your words. I am no cheat or thief, and neither are my employees."

The goat-man bowed his head. "My humble apologies."

"If I am not mistaken," Brother Tiger said. "There is a village of rabbit-people perhaps a day's travel from here. Did you happen to pass that way?"

The goat-man's eyes widened. He had realised what Brother Tiger was implying, and it did not speak well of his intelligence. "I… yes. I did pass that way."

"I see. I think I know what happened." Brother Tiger knelt, but his tall frame meant that he was still taller than the rabbit-boy by a reasonable margin. "Child, do you know what I am?"

"A monk," the rabbit-boy said.

"Yes. That's right. Now, you know it is a grave sin to lie to a monk, don't you?" The rabbit-boy nodded quickly. "Good. Now, tell me the truth. Why were you in the merchant's wagon?"

The rabbit-boy hesitated for a moment.

"Speak truly," Brother Tiger said. "I am a monk. I will protect you, but you must speak the truth."

The rabbit-boy sniffled. "I was playing hide and seek," he said. "And I thought it would be good to hide in the wagon. It was working. Nobody could find me, but I fell asleep, and the next thing I knew I was here."

"A likely story!" the goat-man blustered. "I –"

Brother Tiger looked at the merchant, and Doomwing bit back a chuckle. The tiger-man hadn't done anything more than look, but the expression on his face and the ice in his gaze spoke volumes. "Do you truly believe that this boy is a thief? Perhaps you believed it at first, but you seem to be a merchant of some means. You must be wise enough to see that he speaks the truth." The merchant made to speak, but Brother Tiger spoke over him. "Will you put your pride before the truth?"

The merchant sagged. "Perhaps I was mistaken. But what am I to do? I cannot take him back to his village. I have appointments to keep. I cannot afford to double back."

At the merchant's words, the rabbit-boy paled, which was an impressive feat considering his white fur. "But… but what will I do?"

"I am heading north. I can take him back to his village." Brother Tiger patted the rabbit boy on the head. "Fear not, young one. I will see you safely back to your village."

The rabbit-boy sniffled. "Thank you."

Brother Tiger smiled and then stood. "Mistakes happen from time to time," he said to the merchant. "Not a single one of us is perfect. How can we expect forgiveness for our mistakes if we refuse to forgive others for theirs?" The merchant sighed heavily. "But days such as these are trying, and I know well how difficult a day on a muddy road can be. Perhaps you did not handle this situation as you should have, but there is no reason you cannot do better next time."

"Of course!" The merchant brightened. Brother Tiger was giving him a way out, a way to save face despite his mistake. "I shall strive to do better!"

As the merchant scuttled off, Brother Tiger motioned for the rabbit-boy to follow him into the inn. "Follow me, child. You look hungry. Dusk is not far, and the rain is worsening. We shall have to wait until tomorrow to begin the trip back to your village."

Doomwing followed them into the inn, ignoring the strange looks he received. Most people assumed his construct was a dragon hatchling, and dragon hatchlings were rarely far from their parents. Little wonder then, that the stares directed at him were often accompanied by wary glances at the sky.

As Brother Tiger and the rabbit-boy ate, the rabbit-boy introduced himself. His name was Haruto. His family lived in a village of rabbit-people, and they had been farmers for as long as anyone could remember. He had never met a tiger-man before, never mind a tiger-man monk, so he had many questions, which Brother Tiger was happy to answer.

"Are you planning to become a monk?" Brother Tiger asked once Haruto had stopped asking questions to eat his meal.

"No," Haruto said before adding quickly, "Not that that I think monks are bad. Monks are great. But I'd like to be a hero."

"A hero?" Brother Tiger smiled. "There are many types of heroes. What sort would you like to be?"

Haruto made a slashing gesture. "I want to save princesses and slay dragons!"

Doomwing cleared his throat, and the rabbit-boy paled. "Slay dragons?"

"Only bad ones," Haruto said quickly. "Not good ones."

Brother Tiger smiled. "Do not be afraid. My friend is only teasing you."

"What's your name?" Haruto asked Doomwing. "I forgot to ask you earlier."

"I am Doomwing."

"Doomwing?" Haruto's brows furrowed. "My father told me a few stories about a dragon named Doomwing, but he's supposed to be huge. They say he can tear mountains from the ground, set the seas ablaze, and even pierce the very sky with his magic." The rabbit-boy made a face. "But you're not very big for a dragon."

Doomwing was sorely tempted to bring his actual body over to the inn, if only to see the rabbit-boy's reaction. His thoughts must have shown because Brother Tiger had to bite back a laugh. "I'll grow," was all Doomwing said. "And it's not like you're very big either."

"Hey!" Haruto cried. "I'm not that small!"

The bull-man who owned the inn had been listening to their conversation while pretending to work on a ledger. He snickered, and Haruto gave a strangled squawk of dismay before slumping back into his chair.

"Okay, maybe I am pretty small, but it's not like rabbit-people are very large."

That was true. Rabbit-people tend to be swift and agile but not very big. In contrast, cattle-people were known for their strength and durability.

"Size is not everything," Brother Tiger said. "Size means nothing without courage, and strength without compassion can all too easily serve evil." He patted Haruto on the head. "And not all heroes wield swords. Some wield magic, others their wits, and still others their words."

"I guess…" Haruto grumbled. "But I'd still like to be the kind who uses a sword."

They spent the night at the inn. Haruto had not fallen asleep easily, so Brother Tiger had given him a meditation exercise to practice. That had done the trick, and the rabbit-boy had woken up the next morning claiming to feel more enlightened in a bid to hide the fact that he'd fallen asleep.

"The rain seems to have stopped," Brother Tiger said as they walked out of the inn. "And the road has dried a little. Hmm… Doomwing, would you be able to help Haruto?"

Doomwing sighed. "Very well."

The rabbit-boy squeaked when Doomwing's magic washed over him. "What did you do?"

"I used a spell that allows you to walk across mud unhindered. You are already smaller than both of us. It will take us forever to reach your village if you have to slog your way through the mud."

"Oh." Haruto walked over to the road and took a step onto it. When he saw that his feet didn't sink into the mud, his eyes lit up and he began to skip back and forth. "This is great!"

"Save your energy for the walk," Doomwing advised. "Because Brother Tiger is too old to carry you, and there is no way I'm going to."

"Don't worry," Haruto promised. "I can make it back."

The rabbit-boy could not, in fact, make it back. To his credit he tried valiantly, but he was too young and too small to keep up with them. In the end, Brother Tiger decided to carry him although Doomwing did use a spell to reduce the rabbit-boy's weight to basically nothing. His friend was getting on in years.

They reached the village not long before dusk, and it wasn't long before Haruto was pulled from Brother Tiger's back and subjected to a scolding that he would not forget any time soon. The boy's mother was a ferocious rabbit-woman, and Doomwing could almost imagine her breathing fire, she was so angry. At the same time, however, it was easy for everyone except Haruto to see the relief she felt at having her son returned, and she heaped praise upon them both for bringing him back to her.

Apparently, the village's men had searched the area all night but had found no sign of him. They had feared the worst, and she had prepared herself for bad news. His safe return was like a miracle, and she insisted on offering them a place to stay, as well as the finest meal she could prepare.

Haruto's home was a humble place and a bit crowded with him, his mother and father, and five siblings. Rabbit-people were known to have large families, and his was no exception. He was the youngest of his siblings, with his older brothers helping their father toil in the fields whilst his sisters helped their mother who was a weaver.

"Master monk," Haruto's father asked once dinner had finished. "Could I trouble you for some advice?"

Brother Tiger smiled while Doomwing turned most of his attention to the squabble his actual body was adjudicating. "Of course. How may I help you?"

"We're harvesting our crops now, but we've had a few injuries – more than usual, to be honest. We also have a few women expecting in the next couple of months." He shrugged. "That always seems to happen during harvest time. We did have a healer, but she passed away last year. Her apprentice is doing her best, but she's still quite young… I feel ashamed to ask after you've already done so much for us by returning my son, but… would you happen to know anything about healing?"

"I would," Brother Tiger replied. "I would be happy to look at the injured and to offer what care and guidance I can."

"Thank you." The rabbit-man bowed low. "It would greatly ease our worries if you could."

The next morning, Doomwing followed Brother Tiger around as he met with the injured, checked in on the pregnant women, and consulted with the young healer. He doubted he would learn anything interesting – the magic the rabbit-people employed was… crude and lacking in both power and sophistication – but there was no harm in observing. Even if he didn't learn anything new, what he saw might inspire a new idea or two.

The injured had a variety of ailments, most of which were well within Brother Tiger's abilities to treat. It was more a question of time. The treatments available to them would take weeks to heal their injuries, and the harvest would be over by then. Admittedly, they would probably be crippled without magic, but there was still a harvest to take in.

The pregnant women were likewise in a reasonable state although from what Doomwing had observed, the birth itself was often the most dangerous time. Things could go wrong quickly, and healing magic that was designed to slowly but surely treat injuries and cure illnesses was of little use when a woman and her infant could be dead within minutes.

As for the healer, a young rabbit-woman, Doomwing was grudgingly impressed. Her magic was crude, and the alchemical and apothecary methods she possessed were laughable when compared to his expertise. However, she made the most of what she had, and Brother Tiger praised her for her ingenuity. She needed more experience and better techniques. Time would provide the former, and Brother Tiger promised to provide as much of the latter as he could during his stay.

In the afternoon, they happened across Haruto. The rabbit-boy must have finished his chores because he crept off to an isolated corner of the farm and pulled something out of the hollow of a long-dead tree. It was a sword – a rusty, broken blade that he must have found buried in the ground somewhere nearby.

Grinning from ear to ear, the rabbit-boy began to swing the broken sword around haphazardly.

"You should go stop him before he cuts his own arm off – if that blade can even manage that much," Doomwing said.

But Brother Tiger was frozen, his gaze locked onto the sword.

"What is it?" Doomwing asked.

"I recognise that sword… or at least, I've seen many like it before."

"Oh?"

"Before I became a monk… the soldiers under my command used swords just like that," Brother Tiger said.

"I thought tiger-men fought with their claws," Doomwing said.

"Yes, we prefer to fight with our claws. However, weaker tiger-men have a tendency to break their claws if they use them too much in battle, which is why we also use swords." Brother Tiger shuddered. "If he found a sword like that nearby… this village… ah. I see."

"What?" Doomwing asked.

"My brother was asked to set this area aflame. He must have been stopped before he could. Otherwise, this village would have been completely destroyed and all of its people slain." Brother Tiger swallowed thickly, and Doomwing knew that he was no longer seeing the village with its fields of crops but a wasteland of ash and blood. "Even now, it seems I can't escape my past," he murmured. "I…"

"Brother Tiger? Doomwing?" Haruto had noticed them. The rabbit-boy stared at them and then glanced down at the broken sword in his hands. "I…"

"You're holding it wrong," Brother Tiger said gently.

"Huh?"

"You're holding it wrong." Brother Tiger picked up a stick and took up a stance. "You should hold it more like this and use this sort of stance."

Haruto's eyes widened. "I… really? Is that how you're supposed to use a sword."

"It is one way to use a sword," Brother Tiger murmured. "Here. Copy what I do."

Not quite able to believe his good fortune, Haruto hurried to obey. His movements were clumsy compared to Brother Tiger's, but he tried his best. After a few repetitions, Brother Tiger stopped demonstrating and moved to correcting Haruto more directly. It went on like that for almost an hour, and by then, Haruto could barely stand.

"How come you know how to use a sword?" Haruto asked. "I thought monks didn't fight."

"I wasn't always a monk," Brother Tiger replied, and then he sat down in front of Haruto. "Haruto… do you know what a sword is?"

"Um… a sword?" Haruto said. Doomwing laughed, and the rabbit-boy glared. "Hey!"

"A sword is a tool, Haruto, and it is no better or worse than the one who wields it. In the hands of an evil person, a sword can be an instrument of terror and suffering. In the hands of a good person, a sword can bring freedom and safety."

Haruto was quiet now, hanging on every word. There was an intensity in Brother Tiger's voice that had not been before. Even if he didn't know why, Haruto knew that these words were important.

"You are young, Haruto," Brother Tiger said. "Young and innocent. You do not know how terrible this world can be, the kind of suffering and sorrow and heartbreak it can inflict, and I pray you never do. But if you really want to be a hero, if you truly wish to walk the path of the sword, then you will learn about all of those things. I know. I have been there." Brother Tiger reached for the broken sword and then jerked his hand back just before he could touch it. "Haruto… once you take a life, there is no going back."

"Are you saying I should never kill?" the rabbit-boy asked. He was young, but he wasn't stupid. He must be imagining how hard it would be to be a hero without ever taking a life.

"You are not a monk. You have not made a vow to never kill. But killing… killing will change you, and if you kill someone, you can't take it back. They are dead, regardless of whether or not they deserved it. And as hard as it may seem to take a life, Haruto, it… it can become very easy too. It can be so easy that one life turns into two turns into ten turns into a thousand turns into… too many more."

Haruto had gone pale, and the sword had slipped from his fingers.

"I wish I could tell you that you will never have to kill. But this world… this world is not always kind. There may come a day when killing is the only option you have. Maybe it's bandits attacking your village. Maybe it's a monster attacking your family. Or maybe it's an army marching to lay waste to everything you hold dear. When that day comes, you may have to kill. But first, ask yourself if there is another way. Ask yourself if you truly have to draw your sword. But if you must kill, if you must take up arms, then there is something I want you to remember."

"What?"

"If there is no other way, if you have no option but to kill, then do not hesitate. Do not think about just the people you might have to kill. Think about those who will die if you are not willing to kill. You should not take a life lightly, but once you are in a position where you must take a life, do not falter, do not turn away, do not shirk your duty. Kill if you must, so that others may live. Kill so that others do not have to because taking a life is a great burden – a great burden – and a hero must have the strength to carry that weight."

"Before you were a monk… were you a hero?" Haruto asked.

Brother Tiger shook his head. "No. I was no hero. I killed when I shouldn't have and failed to kill when I should have, and the weight of those failures was too much for me."

"Oh."

"It's okay if you don't understand yet," Brother Tiger said. "And I hope you never have to understand. But remember my words, Haruto, and may they bring you comfort and wisdom if they are ever needed."

"Okay. I'll try to remember."

They stayed in the village for almost two months, long enough to see the harvest brought in, the injured fully healed, and the pregnant women deliver their children safely. Brother Tiger taught the village healer as much as he could while continuing to train Haruto. To Doomwing's surprise, the rabbit-boy seemed to have some talent with the blade.

When the time came for them to leave, the villagers saw them off with a combination of smiles and tears, with Haruto promising to come find them again when he was all grown up and a hero in his own right.

They spent their first night away from the village under a tree.

"How many years do you think I have?" Brother Tiger asked as he stared into the campfire.

"At least another ten," Doomwing said. "You are old, but you still have some measure of strength."

"Ten years?" Brother Tiger smiled ruefully. "It's been so many years already, and I still have so far to go…" He shook himself. "I've been meaning to ask you, but what do dragons believe when it comes to death? Where do our souls go?"

"There is a great and endless cycle of death and rebirth," Doomwing replied. "That is what our creators taught us, and it is what I believe."

"Have you seen it?" Brother Tiger asked curiously.

"No. There are things beyond even my magic."

"Ah. A pity. I was going to ask what it looked like." The monk smiled faintly. "Do you know what tiger-people believe? According to our ancestors, we came in ships from across the sea. We believe that when we die, our souls go back across the sea to the land of our ancestors. We call it the final shore, and they say that when we reach it, we will be greeted by those we have loved and who loved us in return. I wonder… I wonder if there will be anyone to greet me."

"I think there will be many," Doomwing replied. "Perhaps not tiger-people, but many others." He paused. "You have done so much for others, my friend. Perhaps… perhaps it is enough."

"It can never be enough," Brother Tiger said. "It can never be enough." He looked down at his hands. "The good deeds I do now could never be enough to wash away the sins of my past, but still… but still I must try." He took a deep breath. "They say that souls are guided to the final shore by cries of welcome from those who love them. But if no one calls out… if there is no one there to greet them, then they wander forever." He sighed. "I wonder which of us is right, my friend."

"If the dead cannot return, then perhaps we shall never know."

"I hope you are right," Brother Tiger said.

"Oh?" Doomwing's brows furrowed. "Why?"

"Because if there truly is a final shore, then I have to hope that we never see each other again after I pass. Time no longer wearies you, so if I see you there…"

"Ah. I must have died."

"But if you're right… even if I die, then, well, there's still a chance I'll see you in my next life. After all, you've lived for so long already. Who's to say you won't still be around when I come back."

Doomwing chuckled. "You do realise that if you reincarnate, you won't be you anymore. In fact, I might not even be able to recognise your soul."

"Maybe, but I'd like to think we'd still become friends somehow."

"I'd like to think so too." Doomwing nodded. "You still have plenty of time, but when you do pass… I'll keep an eye out for you. That way, we'll know which one of us was right."

Brother Dragon let his last words linger in the air before turning to the tiger-people. They had listened avidly, and Xiang was the first to speak.

"This… Brother Tiger what became of him?" Xiang asked.

"He died a hero." Brother Dragon smiled sadly. "His was a death more glorious than any tiger-man could have imagined. It was a death worthy of the greatest of dragons. And I think… I think at the end, he finally made his peace with his past, and that was worth more to him than any glory he achieved."

"And Haruto?" Hua asked.

"I do not know," Brother Dragon admitted. "A great evil came from the skies, and we never had the chance to go back to that village." Brother Dragon did not have the heart to tell them that Haruto and his fellow villagers had most likely perished in the devastation the Exiled Star had wrought.

"Brother Tiger was a monk," Xiang murmured. "Did he leave any teachings behind? I would like to study them if I could."

"He did leave teachings behind," Brother Dragon said. "I can teach you, if you like. I will not say that I agree with all of them, but nobody knows them better than me."

"I would be honoured."

"He would have liked you," Brother Dragon said. "I think he would have liked you a lot."

Author's Notes

The tiger-people start getting into the swing of things. It'll be a lot of work, but I think they'll do just fine in their new home. And then there's Brother Dragon's story (the source of his name should be obvious). Brother Tiger did so much good in his life, but he never felt like it was enough. Only at the end, only as he gave his life, did he feel he'd done enough. And Doomwing was right. If there is a furthest shore, then there will be plenty of people there calling out to Brother Tiger, welcoming him home.

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SecretTwelve

Mar 27, 2024

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Threadmarks Chapter 43: The Dragon Imposes Himself

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SecretTwelve

Mar 29, 2024

#773

Chapter 43: The Dragon Imposes Himself

Doomwing scowled as he flew out over the sea. He had sensed power stirring near his territory, and that sensation had grown stronger with each passing moment. This was no ancient titan rising from the depths for a bit of air. This was most likely two ancient giants of the deep doing battle.

Normally, he wouldn't have cared. If the ancients of the deep wanted to kill each other, then let them. Perhaps they'd be spared a repeat of the Third Catastrophe that way. However, he did not want any such squabble near his territory. The last thing he needed was for the tiger-people village to be crushed after some kraken picked up a leviathan and threw them onto land.

He'd seen it happen before. Even setting aside the Lord of the Tides, the oldest and mightiest of the ocean's denizens were more than capable of radically altering the weather and landscape when they fought. He'd once gone looking for a bit of whale to eat only to stumble across a kraken beating a leviathan over the head with what appeared to be the remains of an island before the kraken flung a coral reef at the cephalopod.

It had not helped that Ashheart had been with him.

The other dragon had taken one look at the chaos and had promptly thrown himself into the melee with gleeful abandon. In the end, the kraken and the leviathan had gone off to lick their wounds while Ashheart lounged upon a newly made island.

And Doomwing?

He'd been forced to deal with all irate merfolk who'd fled the area only to return and find their homes destroyed, their coral reef imbedded in a new volcanic island, and a new volcanic island where open sea had once been.

And the worst part?

He hadn't managed to get any whale.

Just the thought of the debacle deepened his scowl as he took note of the massive storm up ahead. The formerly clear skies had given way to a mass of towering black clouds, a thunderhead that promised wind, rain, hail, and lightning. The once calm surface of the ocean was now riven by clashing mountains of water that slammed into each other with fleet-crushing force.

He bared his teeth.

This whole mess was headed toward his territory.

The gathering storm parted before him as he drew closer, the tempest's rage meaningless before his might and his magic. Thousands of merfolk fought in the waters below him, their sleek, swift forms accompanied by giant sharks, manta rays, and octopi. More fought along the surface, riding on the backs of hippocampi, their tridents, spears, and swords flashing as they laid into their foes. Sea serpents roared and sent magic streaking up into the sky after flocks of sirens whose eerie singing threatened to rob them of their wits and lull them into a sleep they would never wake from.

And at the heart of the battle were the two giants of the deep he had sensed: a kraken and a leviathan. They were each bigger than him by a considerable margin although that said little of their power. By and large, the creatures of the deep grew larger than their terrestrial or aerial counterparts.

The kraken was mostly a dull brown, but her body was punctuated by rings of bright blue and green. Her eyes were a baleful orange, and her massive beak was exposed. Her opponent was a male leviathan of similar size. Dark blue scales covered most of his body, with twin streaks of green along his belly.

The kraken brought one tentacle down on the leviathan's head with thunderous force, and the impact sent rain flying outward. A bolt of lightning crackled down from the sky to strike the momentarily stunned leviathan, and it was joined by another and another until it seemed the whole storm was little more than an extension of the kraken's wrath.

But the leviathan recovered, and the waters around the creature trembled before the leviathan's head drew back and he unleashed a beam of water at the kraken. The sheer force of the attack was enough to shove the kraken away, and the gleaming barriers of magic the kraken conjured to fend off the assault shattered in quick succession.

Doomwing had seen leviathans pierce through islands and scour canals into the coast with attacks like that.

Not to be outdone, the kraken hurled herself at the leviathan, and the pair turned the already tumultuous ocean into a scene of utter devastation as they grappled back and forth, heedless of the lesser creatures caught in their path. Sirens were crushed in mid-air as a flailing tentacle swung wildly at a heavily armoured jaw. A pod of horned whales were sent flying through the air as colossal serpentine coils smashed into the water and tried to crush the life out of an island-sized octopoid.

Was there another undersea war going on?

Just as there were kingdoms on land, there were kingdoms beneath the waves. For obvious reasons, most kingdoms either paid homage to or were directly ruled by creatures like leviathans and krakens. Yes, the majority of the citizens would be merfolk or aquatic beast-people, but when push came to shove, krakens and leviathans were the ones in charge.

After all, what were merfolk or beast-people supposed to do when a living island showed up and started smashing everything? Their only real chance for survival would be to find a similarly huge and powerful creature to protect them. And although krakens and leviathans didn't have the same hoarding tendencies as dragons, they were fond of laying claim to vast swathes of the ocean.

Depending on who was involved, these wars could involve more than just two giants of the deep. It wasn't uncommon for the very oldest and mightiest krakens and leviathans to send their children into battle as well, creating battlefronts that could stretch across entire oceans, with each major clash punctuated by raging storms.

The duelling behemoths in front of him were not the very oldest and mightiest of their kind. Instead, they were likely two or perhaps three Ages old. It showed in the way they fought too – all power and fury with little of the cunning and deceptiveness that was common of their older and more experienced kin.

Doomwing was about to announce himself – the fools were so caught up in their petty squabble that they hadn't even noticed his approach – when he caught sight of something that was equal parts baffling and endearing.

A water salamander hatchling was swimming through the battle, his foot-long form riding the crest of one wave after another as he continued to make his way in the general direction of Doomwing's territory. Either through absurd luck or impossible skill, the creature survived near-death experience after near-death experience as he paddled through the maelstrom, a silly smile on his face and a cheerful air about him despite the clash of weapons, the roar of magic, and the monumental thunder of the two warring titans.

Ludicrous.

Yet utterly typical.

True salamanders, like fire salamanders and waters salamanders, were perhaps the most exasperating creatures in the world. They did not raise their young for long. Instead, they looked after their young just long enough to ensure they could survive… and then they sent their young out into the world.

Why?

It was simple. True salamander hatchlings possessed a bizarre form of intuition that would allow them to find a group that would take them in and help them reach their full potential. They would leave their parents and then wander until they found that group, and then they would stay with that group for the rest of their lives.

When Mother Tree had explained that to him, Doomwing had not understood that she meant that literally until he'd seen it himself.

True salamanders were stupidly, fanatically, unshakeable loyal to the group they chose. They could – and frequently would – die defending them. If a salamander joined a group of wolves, that salamander would fight anything and everything that threatened those wolves. It didn't matter if it was a hydra, a basilisk, or a dragon, the salamander would not hesitate to fight.

But the intuition that salamanders possessed was potent indeed. They only ever chose groups of good character, the kind that would take care of them and shelter them… and salamanders did not stay small forever. No. They would grow, and as they grew older and larger, they turned from being simple-minded, almost comical little creatures, to wise guardians of formidable power.

An adult water salamander was usually around a dozen feet long – and capable of shooting beams of water that could carve through granite and creating waves that could sink ships. The greatest water salamanders were powerful enough to give even dragons who had achieved their Second Awakening pause although he'd never encountered any salamander – water or otherwise – who could match a dragon who'd reached their Third Awakening.

Yet despite the power they could achieve, a salamander never forgot the ones who'd raised it and would remain loyal to the descendants of its original group. He knew of a thunder salamander who had been raised by wolves. That salamander had lived in the same area for millennia, faithfully raising and protecting generation after generation after generation of wolves descended from the pack he had joined in the long ago days of his youth. Those wolves had ascended into storm wolves by virtue of their bond with the thunder salamander, and they would only continue to rise further. That salamander was more than three hundred feet long and capable of creating sizeable storms singlehandedly.

Of course, the advantages of befriending and raising a salamander had led many to try enslaving them. That seldom worked. The moment a salamander had the strength, it would turn on those who had captured it and slaughter them without mercy before continuing its search for a suitable group. A salamander's loyalty was a thing of beauty while also being baffling and utterly bizarre.

Still… if the water salamander was headed toward his territory…

He used his telekinesis to lift the water salamander out of the water. Despite the immense disparity in size, the creature smiled happily and chirped a cheerful greeting. It was only later, as they grew older, that they became capable of speech. However, Doomwing had no problems deciphering the salamander's intentions.

The water salamander was indeed heading in the general direction of Doomwing's territory. How long had he been swimming? He wasn't sure. He'd stopped keeping track after about a week.

Doomwing snorted. Utter madness. A week or more? The water salamander was fortunate to have avoided being eaten by a passing shark, large fish or whale.

The water salamander merely shrugged. He knew where he needed to be, and he was confident he could get there if he just kept swimming. But it would be very nice if Doomwing could carry him a bit. He didn't really know who Doomwing was, but he knew that Doomwing was from the place he needed to go to. So if Doomwing could just carry him for a bit and then drop him off once they got closer to shore, he'd be very appreciative.

He'd even give Doomwing a fish once he caught one to pay him back.

Under most other circumstances, Doomwing would have been insulted. However, salamander hatchlings were simple souls and basically incapable of deception or subterfuge. The salamander had offered to give him a fish because a fish was the best thing the salamander could think of. It was like a dragon hatchling offering up a coin from their meagre hoard.

Doomwing chuckled. He had never understood why the First Gods had made true salamanders like this, and not even Mother Tree or Dion had ever been able to explain it to him either. Yet he could appreciate their determination, their almost suicidal loyalty, and their desire to seek strength in their own way. A dragon often grew strongest alone, for it was in facing the world and its challenges that a dragon grew mighty. Salamanders were different. They sought out the company of others, and their strength grew as a result of their desire to protect those who had taken them in.

"Very well," Doomwing rumbled. "I will take you with me when I return. However… I expect an impressive fish in return."

The water salamander nodded earnestly and wagged his tail. He would be sure to secure the finest fish he could for Doomwing once he had reached his destination.

Wrapping an ancient rune of protection around the tiny salamander, Doomwing turned his attention to the battle raging below him. It was actually disgraceful that the kraken and leviathan continued to fight in his presence. Had he wanted, he could have torn them to pieces with his magic and scattered their corpses across the waves. The moment he had arrived, they should have ceased fighting, if only to ascertain his intentions. What were their parents teaching them?

It was time to impose himself, especially since the battle continued to move toward his territory.

"Enough!" Doomwing boomed, his voice amplified by magic until the sound of it was enough to leave the lesser creatures rolling around in the water in agony whilst the two titans sprang apart and turned their gazes toward him. "Cease your bickering."

They regarded him warily, and he thought, for a moment, that they would have the good sense to depart without any further issue. It would have been the wise thing to do. Instead, they proved their stupidity with the very first words to leave their mouths.

"This is none of your business, dragon," the kraken snarled.

"Begone," the leviathan hissed. "You have no power here, you overgrown drake."

The water salamander made a keening sound. Simple minded as he was, even he could tell that had been the wrong thing to say.

"You are nearing my territory," Doomwing replied. "And I will not have your petty squabbles damaging what is mine. As for my power… I have more than enough to deal with the likes of you, you worthless eel."

The leviathan at least had the good sense to attempt a defence. He called for a handful of ancient runes, along with more than a dozen greater runes. It was an impressive display, all things considered. It didn't matter.

Doomwing simply struck him with the telekinetic equivalent of a mountain-sized sledgehammer. His half-formed runes shattered like glass – proving once again that in conflicts of this kind that speed was of paramount importance – before Doomwing's attack sent him hurtling down into the depths until he struck the bottom of the sea. Doomwing kept him pinned there, exposed to the sky, as the continued force of Doomwing's telekinesis kept water from rushing in to fill the gap.

The kraken could have retreated. It would have been the smart thing to do. Instead, she proved herself as stupid as her foe by reaching for the lightning in the storm. And again, Doomwing was faster. He tore the lightning from the clouds with a twelfth-order spell before she could seize it, and her massive form lit up as a rune of enhancement granted the spell the power it needed to leave her paralysed and floating limply on the water.

The assembled merfolk and other monsters had recovered from their earlier disorientation and were now doing their best to blend in with the waves or to slink away. His lips curled. How amusing. They were acting far more intelligently than their leaders. The kraken twitched as the leviathan strained weakly against his telekinesis, and Doomwing wondered if he should simply leave, or if further instruction was necessary.

However, his attention was drawn by the approach of two much larger creatures than the ones he'd dealt with. Ah. It would seem their parents were coming.

"Doomwing." The leviathan arrived first. He was similar in colouration to the leviathan Doomwing had bested, but he was larger and less streamlined. Instead, his scales were rough and jagged, and dorsal plates rose up from his back like the peaks of broken mountains against the westering sun. "Release my son."

"He was one of yours, Torrentcoil?" Doomwing snorted. "With his lack of intelligence, I wasn't able to make the connection."

Torrentcoil had sided with them during the Third Age, turning against the Lord of the Tides. That was worthy of respect, and Doomwing had stayed out the leviathan's business ever since. It was a pity his son was a fool.

"He is a foolish whelp," Torrentcoil replied. "But he is still my whelp."

"Hmph." Doomwing released his telekinetic hold on the younger leviathan, and he wisely fled to his father's side. "This squabble is nearing my territory."

"That was not intended," Torrentcoil replied. "My battle is with –"

His words were interrupted by the arrival of a second kraken. She was larger than the first and of a size with Torrentcoil. Her gaze went from the kraken twitching weakly upon the water to first Torrentcoil and then Doomwing.

"Stormbeak," Torrentcoil snarled.

The kraken ignored him in favour of tugging the smaller kraken to her. "You have harmed my daughter, Doomwing."

"And your daughter is a fool who should have known to retreat instead of trying to strike at me with the storm." Doomwing made a sound of contempt. "She is at least an Age too young to even think of trying that, and she was lucky it was me she faced. Had she tried that on Stormbringer, she would be dead."

Stormbringer was usually easy-going, but she took any attempt to strike at her with lightning personally. She considered it at insult and would generally retaliate by showing her opponent what lightning was truly capable of. And considering she was a primordial tempest dragon, that demonstration was generally fatal. Even Doomwing would think twice before throwing lightning at her.

Stormbeak glared at him, and he stared back. Both Torrentcoil and Stormbeak were powerful, and they were similar in age to him. But they were both highly specialised in how they fought. They had weaknesses he could exploit, and they both knew it. He was more well-rounded, and if need be, he could simply retreat up into the sky and rain magic down until they were forced to retreat. The battle would not be easy by any means, and he could well find himself in trouble if he was careless, but the odds would favour him.

Besides, neither of them would dare risk battle with their children around. The moment the three of them fought seriously, their children would die. They simply weren't equipped to handle a proper fight between three beings from the First Age.

"I care nothing for the wars you wage against each other," Doomwing said. "Fill the ocean with blood if you wish – but do it somewhere else. You know the boundaries of my territory, and you know how close this battle is to intruding. I will not have your squabbles damage what is mine. Take your children and your followers and go."

They locked gazes with him for a long moment, and the very ocean trembled as their power stirred. He almost snorted. They were posturing, nothing more. They could not afford to look weak in front of their followers, but they also knew better than to push him. No doubt they could tell that his injuries had healed. Perhaps they'd have given him more trouble, maybe even tested him, if he had still been wounded, but they knew better than to challenge him when he was at full strength.

Without another word, they departed, leaving with their children and their followers.

Doomwing watched them go and then turned away, carrying the water salamander with him.

The tiny creature made a grateful sound, and Doomwing chuckled.

"Yes. I can fly much more swiftly than you can swim."

Xiang blinked as a strange creature waddled up the beach toward him and his family before making itself perfectly at home by the fire. It even had the audacity to creep forward and tug a fish off his plate before munching on it.

"What is that, father?" his son asked. "And is it dangerous?"

"I… I'm not sure." Xiang wasn't sure if he should be amazed or wary of the creature's audacity. It was only a foot long, and he couldn't sense any great power within it. It was also oddly adorable with its strange half reptilian and half amphibian features. It also had a silly but endearing smile on its face as it ate.

"He is a water salamander," Brother Dragon said, padding over and inspecting the creature carefully. "And it would seem that your family is quite fortunate."

"A water salamander?" Xiang's eyes widened. He had heard of salamanders before. In fact, he'd encountered several of them over the years although they had all been significantly larger than this one, and none of them had been water salamanders although that would explain the more aquatic appearance of this one. If he recalled correctly, there was a legend about them seeking people out…

"Yes. It appears that he has chosen your family." Brother Dragon chuckled. "You're stuck with him now."

"What does that mean?" Xiang asked. Realising that the creature was not a threat, his youngest child had decided to pat the water salamander on the back. The salamander made a happy sound and continued to munch away on his fish.

"This salamander has chosen you and your family. Protect him and raise him as your own, and he will repay your loyalty many times over. He may be small and weak now, but he will one day grow far more powerful than any tiger-person. When that day comes, he will look upon these days fondly and continue to protect and care for your descendants as you once protected and cared for him."

"Ah." Xiang's eyes widened. So the legends were true then. Setting aside his meal, Xiang gently lifted the water salamander up to eye level. "I am Xiang, little one. From this moment forward, you shall be part of my family. May our days together be prosperous."

The water salamander chirped and nodded before going back to eating his fish.

"He agrees," Brother Dragon drawled. "I'd prepare more fish for him too. He had quite the interesting journey on his way here."

Author's Notes

Doomwing does a bit of housekeeping. While he was asleep, people got a little too comfortable making trouble at the edges of his territory. Now, everybody knows that he's awake and means business. The matchup between dragons and krakens and leviathans really comes down to whether or not the aquatic creatures can get the dragon into the water and keep them there. Otherwise, any dragon with decent long-range attacks (e.g., Doomwing) can retreat into the sky and try to whittle them down at long-range. Of course, Doomwing also developed and refined a host of anti-kraken and anti-leviathan strategies during the Third Age, so they are rightfully wary of actually picking a fight, especially now that he is healed of his injuries.

In Doomwing land, throwing people into the sea floor and electrocuting them with a storm are the draconic equivalent of 'get off my lawn'. Also, yeah, surface dwellers don't have a monopoly on warfare. The people under the sea are just as bloodthirsty too, not that Doomwing really cares, provided they keep their mess in their own territory.

Stormbringer will probably throw a fit when she finds out that a water salamander picked one of his minions. True salamanders are like an ultra-rare item that you can't buy or trade for. They have to choose you, and there's no real way of improving your odds of getting them either. Their intuition is extremely powerful but incredibly limited in that it only shows them the group they should join and how to get to them and not much of anything else. Dreamsong thinks it works using the dreaming lands to identify groups that would work for the salamander.

In all seriousness, a water salamander is a fantastic get for a fishing community or anyone who lives along the coast. They're one of the best water manipulators around, other than dragons from the water lineage, who can also live on land and actually get along with land-based species (e.g., krakens and leviathans generally don't bother with surface dwellers).

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SecretTwelve

Mar 29, 2024

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Threadmarks Chapter 44: The Dragon Offers Advice

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SecretTwelve

Mar 30, 2024

#786

Chapter 44: The Dragon Offers Advice

Frostfang glanced at Squallwing out of the corner of his eye. The younger dragon was huffing and puffing as he laboured to keep pace. He had told Stormbringer that he would be seeking out Regal Flame next, and she had asked him to take Squallwing with him. Apparently, her grandson had business in Regal Flame's lands, and having Frostfang around should keep him from getting himself killed.

She had stated that last part quite bluntly, and he could see what she meant. Squallwing had achieved his First Awakening, but despite being five hundred feet long, the younger dragon was the very opposite of imposing. He was a sluggish flier, lacking in both speed and agility, and neither his physical abilities or magic were impressive either.

What he did have, however, was an oddly well-developed grasp of various magic-related subjects that he was only too happy to talk about. And he had talked about them. A lot. The young dragon had initially been quite wary of Frostfang, but once he'd realised that Frostfang wasn't about to eat him or tear him limb from limb, he'd rambled on about a variety of topics, from alchemy and how to shortcut the casting of ordered magic to the creation of charms and magical focuses.

Frostfang had paid only passing attention to Squallwing's monologue, but the young dragon's knowledge was certainly above average for his age. He must be a scholar in temperament although his neglect of his combat-related abilities was troubling.

"You are falling behind," Frostfang drawled as they flew over the ocean. "How often do you fly?"

Squallwing winced. "Perhaps less than I should." He paused. This was likely a topic that he had spoken of many times before, both with his parents and with Stormbringer. "I just prefer studying over hunting and fighting, and my mother says it is safer for me."

"Hmm…" Frostfang was not one to interfere in how another dragon raised their child, but this was an important topic. He wouldn't put it past Stormbringer to have sent Squallwing with him just so he could hear the thoughts of another primordial dragon. "Studying is all well and good, but this world can be a cruel place. If you do not know how to fight, then only death awaits you."

Squallwing visibly shuddered, and the laboured beating of his wings slowed as he shifted himself into a better position to conserve energy. Frostfang frowned. Had he flown so infrequently that flying in formation with a larger dragon wasn't instinctive? He doubted that Stormbringer would tolerate such a careless approach to raising a hatchling, so there must be some explanation.

"I know," Squallwing said. "I am… weak compared to my cousins."

"Why?" Frostfang asked. He saw no need for excessive tact. If there was a problem, then it should be solved now while Squallwing was still young rather than allowing it to fester. If nothing else, addressing his physical and magical weakness would make it easier for him to eventually attain a Second Awakening.

"I was badly wounded when I was a hatchling," Squallwing said. "I strayed from my mother's side and encountered a flock of drakes."

Frostfang growled. Drakes and dragons rarely got along. Dragons viewed drakes as lesser versions of themselves whilst drakes resented the natural advantages that dragons had, foremost amongst them their access to a magical breath attack. Drakes could develop breath attacks, but they were thoroughly mundane in nature.

For instance, a fire drake might be able to breathe fire, but it was a strictly mundane process. Their fire was created by the combination of a number of substances secreted from glands in their mouths. In contrast, a dragon's fire was magical in nature, a product of their soul and magic. It was not uncommon for young fire drakes to be hunted by humans, elves, and other such species. They would slay the drake and take those glands, allowing them to create a variety of flammable substances. In contrast, a dragon's fire could not be stolen so easily. Indeed, once a dragon was dead, their fire was gone forever.

As a result, drakes and dragons frequently clashed. Drakes were typically smaller and weaker than dragons, and their Ascensions were no match for the Awakenings a dragon experienced. However, they often lived in large groups, and it was not unheard of for flocks of drakes to attack and kill lesser dragons and hatchlings.

"You did well to survive," Frostfang rumbled. "What became of the drakes?"

"My mother heard my cries. She was able to rescue me before I perished. When my grandmother found out, she dealt with the drakes herself."

Frostfang chuckled. "That would not have taken her long."

"According to my cousins, it rained drakes that day, so many fell before her wrath."

Frostfang could easily imagine that. Stormbringer was a primordial dragon. There was no drake alive who could stand against her, and her wrath would have been terrible indeed. To harm one of her grandchildren? That was not something she could overlook, especially since Squallwing had only been a hatchling at the time.

"How large were you then?" Frostfang asked.

"About six feet long."

That got his attention, and he turned his head to gaze at the younger dragon. "Six feet long? Your mother was careless then. You should never have been out of her sight at that size."

"I was curious," Squallwing said, coming to his mother's defence. "And I was good at sneaking off. It was my fault, not hers."

"You said that you were badly wounded."

"Yes. I barely survived, and I was fortunate that I was healed without any permanent damage to my magical circulatory system. But since that day, my mother rarely lets me out of her sight, and I have become reluctant to venture too far from our home."

"You were both afraid," Frostfang said, and Squallwing flinched. Cowardice was one of the worst insults that could be levelled against a dragon. It was one thing for a dragon to retreat because they could not win and needed time to devise a strategy or acquire more power. It was quite another for a dragon to flee because they were afraid.

"I… yes." Squallwing sagged. "I was able to achieve a First Awakening with my grandmother's help, but she said that I would be unlikely to achieve a Second Awakening if I continued this way." His body tensed. "I… I don't want to be weak, and I don't want to die so young. When my grandmother found out that you were going to Regal Flame next, I begged her to let me join you."

"Oh?" Perhaps the hatchling had some courage in him after all. "Why?"

"Regal Flame is supposed to have a lot of books about magic. Grandmother says that Regal Flame owes her a few small favours, and that I could exchange those for being allowed to copy those books. I don't have large magical reserves, but I do know a lot about magic. The books I want to copy are supposed to contain training methods for increasing my magical reserves. If I can do that, then maybe I won't be so weak."

It was odd that he was fixated on acquiring new training methods, but perhaps there was something about him that prevented him from making good use of the more common ones. At least he was taking action.

"What of your father?" Frostfang asked. "You have not spoken of him."

"He fell," Squallwing sagged. "When I was still in my egg. He went mad during the Sixth Catastrophe and grandmother had to… to…"

"Ah." Frostfang nodded grimly.

The Sixth Catastrophe's powers had been potent indeed. Part of her pre-emptive strike had involved driving many of her potential opponents mad and having them turn on their own families, friends, and allies. Most likely, Stormbringer had been forced to strike Squallwing's father down before he could do something terrible. Freeing the minds of the afflicted had been possible, but it had not been easy, and it had taken expertise that not all of them had possessed at the time. Fortunately, Doomwing had developed countermeasures and had shared them amongst any who had the strength and expertise to use them, but many had fallen prey to the Sixth Catastrophe's machinations in the meantime.

"You cannot change the past," Frostfang said. "Instead, focus on becoming a dragon your father can be proud of." He bared his teeth. "You are tired. I can feel it. But you are a dragon. Do not falter. As weak as your body is now, it will rapidly adjust if you continue to push yourself."

"What if fall out of the sky?" Squallwing asked. "My wings… they ache so much. I've never flown this far in one go before."

"I will not let you fall," Frostfang said. "So continue pushing yourself. We are not that far from land. We will rest when we reach the coast."

Squallwing managed to stay aloft until they reached the coast, and Frostfang found a suitable place for him to land. The younger dragon all but collapsed upon the desert sands while Frostfang stayed aloft, his keen gaze surveying their surroundings. The desert spanned a considerable distance up and down the coast and continued inland before stopping just shy of a towering mountain range.

That mountain range was where Regal Flame made her home, and on the other side of it should be a vast forest teeming with life. That was not to say that the desert was devoid of life. Several dryads lived there, and their towering forms loomed up over the desert sands like living mountains.

Desert elves lived with those dryads. Some made their homes within the trees themselves whilst others built settlements in the shade the trees cast. Still others dug out settlements in the ground amidst the roots. The dryads survived by drawing water up from deep beneath the surface and by harvesting magic from the powerful currents that flowed through the land.

From what he remembered, the elves subsisted on the bounty the dryads could provide, as well as the many creatures that lurked in the desert. There were reptiles, birds, and mammals of various sizes, many of which survived by digging burrows or developing resistance to heat. There were also massive creatures that lurked beneath the sands, giants that could sate even a primordial dragon's hunger.

The elves also tended to various species of cacti that the dryads had developed. These cacti were fearsome-looking plants with a variety of defences like spikes and poisons to drive away predators. However, the elves had been taught how to harvest them, and their fearsome appearance concealed their nutritious nature.

Closer to the coast, the desert elves could also fish because the coastal waters were rich with all manner of sea life. Since few of the dryads lived near the coast, the elves there would have to build their own settlements, most frequently by digging into hillsides like dwarves. There were even tunnels beneath the surface that linked these coastal settlements to the underground chambers scattered amongst the roots of the dryads' trees. These tunnels were reinforced by the dryads and were often accompanied by other chambers where crops could be grown.

Normal elves could not have survived in such a manner, but desert elves had an even closer bond to their dryads than normal elves. It meant they seldom left their desert homes, but it allowed them to flourish in an environment where regular elves would soon have perished. Frostfang had occasionally wondered why the dryads had not tried to convert the desert into a forest, but apparently, the magic that flowed through the land predisposed the entire area to being a desert, so their attempts would have been quite unlikely to succeed. Perhaps when they were older and more numerous, they might be able to change things, but that would take at least another Age or two.

"How are you?" Frostfang asked Squallwing.

"Better." Squallwing had gone from slumping on the ground to drawing on the magic around him to replenish his strength. Frostfang had food packed away with magic, and he took a whale he'd caught before leaving home and tossed it to Squallwing.

"Eat that," Frostfang said. "You have only achieved your First Awakening, so food will be of great use to your recovery."

The more Awakenings a dragon had experienced, the faster and more efficient they were at replenishing their stamina using the magic around them. At a certain point, dragons could become so good at drawing on surrounding magic that they basically didn't need to eat. That was how powerful dragons could slumber for decades – or even centuries – at a time. Not only could they put their bodies into a state of hibernation but they could also consistently draw on the magic around them to nourish themselves. At that point, dragons ate mainly because they enjoyed it and because it could be quicker than relying on absorbing magic.

However, a young dragon like Squallwing was still a long, long way from reaching that point. Instead, eating vast quantities of regular food was likely the fastest way to restore his stamina. Besides, he was scrawny for his length and age, so a bit of extra food would be good for him.

As he waited for Squallwing to regain his strength, he noticed several desert elves riding toward them on large lizards. They had made no effort to conceal themselves, and they had not drawn their weapons, so he allowed them to approach as he used magic to soften his landing. Behind him Squallwing regarded the elves warily, and Frostfang felt a weak burst of detection magic spill outward. It was a decent idea, albeit lacking in execution.

"Greetings!" the leader of the elves called. These elves had darker skin than their forest-dwelling kin, and their clothes were colours more in keeping with the desert than the greens and browns favoured by those who lived amongst the trees. "Do I have the great honour of addressing the mighty Frostfang?"

Frostfang was amused by the elf's overly polite speech and pleased to be recognised. "You do."

The elf dismounted his lizard, patting the beast affectionately on the side, before sweeping into an elegant bow. He straightened, and his dark eyes were keen as they flicked from Frostfang to Squallwing. "Then allow me to extend the warmest possible greetings on behalf of both my people and our noble lady, Phacelia."

"Phacelia is known to me," Frostfang said. "And I return your greetings. You are polite, elf, and that is good."

"Courtesy is common sense," the elf replied. "Especially when dealing with one such as yourself." He tapped his chest. "I am Eremos, a captain of the elves that serve Lady Phacelia. May I ask what brings you to these lands? I had thought your domain to be in the far north, at the roof of the world."

"Those lands are indeed mine. I have no business in the desert. I am merely passing through. My business is with Regal Flame in the mountains beyond this place."

"Ah. Of course." Eremos inclined his head. "Yet, if I may, I wish to present a request on behalf of my lady."

"Speak," Frostfang said. "Although I will agree to nothing until I know what Phacelia wants."

"You are known as the One Who Brings Winter With Him. My lady has many powers, but the cold has never answered to her. However, there are certain… projects that she wishes to undertake that will be greatly aided with access to magic that presides over ice and cold."

"I see." Frostfang's eyes narrowed.

Dryads could learn ice and frost magic, but few of them were any good at it. It would be far easier for Phacelia if she had a device that could convert her nature, life, and growth magic into magic that presided over ice and cold while also offering her some measure of control over the resulting magic.

Frostfang was more than capable of creating an item that could do so. Indeed, any dragon of his lineage who had undergone even their First Awakening should be able to manage that without much difficulty. However, the capabilities of such items were heavily dependent on the dragons who made them. As a primordial winter dragon, even a lazy effort from him would easily outclass an item made by anyone else.

"I could make such an item," Frostfang said. "But I would not do so for free."

"Of course," Eremos said smoothly. "My noble lady is no beggar. She seeks an item that can match the output and control typical of spells of the twelfth order."

"Oh?" The twelfth order was a useful stopping point since spells of that order were powerful enough to harm most creatures but still easy and quick enough to be practical in battle. "I am capable of making an item that can go further."

"My noble lady is wise. Such an item might prove to be… too much for her purposes."

"And what does she intend?" Frostfang asked bluntly. "I have no desire for any creation of mine to be used recklessly."

"Of course. My lady wishes to grow different plants, many of which cannot survive in this place, even with her aid. But there are chambers underground where cooling magic could be used to help them grow, to say nothing of the advantages cooling magic might offer for various crafting and alchemical pursuits."

"What can she offer me in return?" Frostfang asked.

"It is said that no dryad has attempted to settle in the far north for quite some time," Eremos said. "But my lady has a daughter who has begun to dream of ice and snow. She is young yet, little more than a sapling, but…"

A dryad willing to try their luck in the far north? Frostfang was careful not to let his greed show. This was a most fortuitous encounter. He had no idea if the young dryad would be able to make it work, but just finding a dryad who was willing to try could be considered a triumph.

"Hmm…" He made as if to consider the matter before nodding. "I will need to speak to Phacelia in person, but those terms seem agreeable to me. I will conclude my business with Regal Flame and then seek out Phacelia before I leave this region."

"Thank you, mighty Frostfang. I shall relay your words to my lady." Eremos pointed toward an outcrop of black stone in the distance. "If you and your companion are still hungry, then you may wish to try your luck over there. It is not unusual for great worms to be found in that area."

"Worms?" Frostfang asked. "How large?"

"Many are the length of your companion, and the largest are bigger even than you."

"Hmm… perhaps we shall try our luck," Frostfang said.

"Then good hunting," Eremos said before bowing. "We shall take out leave now."

Frostfang turned to Squallwing. The younger dragon must have known what he was thinking because he was cringing.

"Do we have to?" Squallwing asked.

"If you wish to grow stronger, there is no time like the present. My presence ensures that you shall not come to any true harm. Use this opportunity to grow stronger."

Squallwing nodded. "Yes, that is how I should look at it. Besides, they're just worms. How difficult can they be to slay?"

Frostfang ignored Squallwing's pleas for help as the younger dragon was tackled headfirst into the sand. The worm he'd chosen to fight was slightly larger than him – and far more vicious. A few other worms had gathered, drawn by the fighting, but they kept their distance, wary of Frostfang.

"Help!" Squallwing wailed, clawing frantically at the worm. Unfortunately, the creature's entire body was heavily armoured, so all he was doing was making it madder. The worm's mouth was filled with circular rows of serrated teeth, and sparks flew as it tried to rip into Squallwing's side.

"You're fine," Frostfang replied. "Stop flailing around and get your footing." Perhaps out of fear or desperation, Squallwing obeyed. The young dragon managed to get his feet under him. "Good. Now brace your shoulder under the worm and lift."

"It's heavy!"

"You're a dragon. You can lift it. And if your muscles aren't strong enough, use a bit of magic. You know enhancement magic, right?"

"I've never used it in a situation like this!" Squallwing growled. He had braced his shoulder underneath the worm as best he could, but the monsters refused to budge. "My feet are sinking into the sand."

"Then harden the sand beneath you with magic." One of the other worms lumbered forward to intervene, and Frostfang sent a blast of searing cold at it. The others fled as the worm was frozen solid. "Breathe. Relax. The most dangerous part of the worm is its mouth. With your shoulder braced under it, it can't get at you. Take your time."

Frostfang could remember his first real hunt. He'd been so much smaller then, and his father had stayed back, allowing him to make mistakes as he'd squared off against a giant bear. At the time, Frostfang had felt as though he was fighting for his life, but he had realised afterward that his father could have intervened at any moment. As the battle had progressed, his father had spoken to him, his calm voice offering advice on how best to approach the situation.

On that day, Frostfang had learned of the importance of keeping his wits about him and mastering his emotions. Emotions could be useful things, but thinking clearly during battle was essential. Anger could make a dragon reckless whilst fear could rob them of their strength. A wise dragon learned how to harness the power of their emotions while never allowing those emotions to rule them.

"That's it," Frostfang said as the ground beneath Squallwing hardened. "Good. Now, use your enhancement magic – and don't forget to keep your grip tight. Don't let the worm squirm free."

Squallwing snarled and bared his teeth as he finally began to drive the worm back. Lightning crackled over his scales, and his wings pushed against the ground to boost his momentum.

"It's off balance now," Frostfang said. "Twist and throw it. You'll know how. It's instinct." Squallwing roared and pivoted, heaving the worm over his shoulder. It slammed into the desert sand, momentarily stunned. "Use your lightning! Aim for its mouth!"

Squallwing drew his head back and then unleashed a bolt of lightning straight into the worm's mouth. The creature shrieked, and then fell still and silent as smoke drifted out of its maw. Most likely, the lightning had fried its innards and brain. Squallwing dragged in several deep breaths and then collapsed onto his back, wings splayed out, scarcely able to move.

Frostfang chuckled and loomed over Squallwing. His scales were cracked in multiple places, one of wings was moving slightly awkwardly, and he had a few chipped teeth from when he'd made the mistake of trying to bite the worm in the head. "How do you feel?"

Squallwing stared at him. "I almost died! It almost ripped my chest open! I… I…" He began to laugh. "I feel… I feel alive!"

Frostfang grinned. "Good. Remember this feeling. This is what it means to be a dragon." He hauled Squallwing up onto his feet. "We should go visit Regal Flame now."

"Like this?" Squallwing motioned at his battered body. "I look terrible."

"Regal Flame is the daughter of Sovereign Flame who was the oldest and mightiest of our kind in the days when the First Gods still walked the world. They called him the Uncrowned King, for dragons have no kings, yet there was not a dragon alive in those days who would not have been proud to call him such. How do you think he won the respect of all our kind? It was through battle… through blood and claw and flame! She will not think less of you for arriving bearing wounds from a proper hunt."

Squallwing nodded slowly. "I… I see." He tested his wings. "I can fly, perhaps not as quickly as usual, but I can fly."

"You are fine," Frostfang said, using a small burst of magic to assess the younger dragon's wounds. "None of your wounds are serious. It will take you a few days at most to heal." He lifted the worm up and stored it away with his magic. "We can give the worm to Regal Flame. If we say it was from your first proper hunt, she will value it appropriately."

"But I've hunted before," Squallwing said.

"Not like this, you haven't. I can tell. Most likely your mother had you fight things much weaker than yourself. This worm was a decent challenge, and the wounds you bear are a testament to its strength. This was a proper hunt."

The words seemed to strike a chord because Squallwing's claws clenched, and he looked at the ruined dunes with fresh eyes. "Thank you," he said at last.

Frostfang stared at him for a long moment. His mother must have been so scared of losing him, especially after what had happened to her mate, and yet her attempts to keep him safe would only leave him more vulnerable in the long run. A weakling he might be, but he would never grow stronger if he was coddled. Perhaps that was why Stormbringer had agreed to let him accompany Frostfang. Frostfang would not coddle him, and seemingly small successes like this hunt could serve as the building blocks for future improvement.

Hmm… now that Frostfang thought about it, lessons such as these would only aid him in raising his own hatchlings.

"There is no need to thank me," Frostfang said. "But if you wish to prove your gratitude, then grow stronger. You may never reach the heights of your grandmother, but there is no reason that you cannot be stronger tomorrow than you are today."

Author's Notes

Squallwing got the short end of the stick when it comes to life. The death of his father followed by his own near-death led his mother to shelter and coddle him. Over time, that led to him becoming relatively weak and frail for a dragon. As a result, despite having a lot of knowledge about magic, he lacks the raw power to make proper use of what he knows. Even so, he managed to achieve a First Awakening thanks to Stormbringer's help, but a Second Awakening would likely have remained out of his reach.

This is where Frostfang comes in. His suspicions are correct. Stormbringer agreed to let Squallwing go with him because he would not coddle him and would likely impart a few good lessons. Frostfang, remember, is one of the most even-tempered primordial dragons, plus he has just had hatchlings. He's in the right frame of mind to help a young dragon improve. Stormbringer would have done so herself, but it's harder since her daughter is getting in the way and they aren't exactly on great terms since she kind of, you know, killed her daughter's mate after he went crazy and tried to do some evil stuff due to the Sixth Catastrophe.

Next chapter, we will likely meet Regal Flame. Keen-eyed readers will have noticed that she is one of the only dragons here to have a two-word name. This is because only the very oldest dragons like Sovereign Flame used two-word names. Their younger kin have single-word names (e.g., Doomwing). As Sovereign Flame's daughter, Regal Flame was given a two-word name despite being younger than Doomwing (although she still hatched in the First Age).

She is a primordial inferno dragon and the most powerful dragon alive from the fire dragon lineage. She is also the closest thing that the dragons have to nobility although the title isn't formal in any meaningful sense, more an acknowledgement of her parentage.

Finally, Frostfang's good deed didn't go unrewarded since he might finally be able to find a dryad willing to head north to all the ice and snow.

Last edited: Mar 30, 2024

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SecretTwelve

Mar 30, 2024

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Threadmarks Chapter 45: The Noble Flame

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SecretTwelve

Mar 31, 2024

#802

Chapter 45: The Noble Flame

"Be mindful of your words," Frostfang advised Squallwing as they made their way toward the mountains. "Regal Flame is not one to take offence without reason, but the place we are going… it is hallowed ground."

"Hallowed ground?" The younger dragon's brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"There is no need for me to explain. You will understand when you see it."

As they drew closer to the mountains looming up toward the sky, Frostfang felt the gaze of many dragons upon him. Dragons were often solitary creatures although they were happy to live with any mates they took and whatever hatchlings they might have. Yet there were still those amongst them who sought the company of others and who looked to others for direction.

That was why powerful dragons often had followers, typically younger dragons who sought their guidance and protection in exchange for serving loyally. It was nothing as regimented as the kingships amongst men, elves, or dwarves, but there was still a hierarchy. The ruling dragon was responsible for those below them and should offer advice and aid with regards to Awakenings and the like. In exchange, the lesser dragons would help defend their ruler's domain and handle any tasks that did not require their ruler's full attention.

Stormbringer had many such followers. They pledged themselves to her because she was powerful and easy-going, and she was known for her willingness to defend those who served her. Moreover, she had ready access to many resources and had demonstrated her ability to help other dragons achieve further Awakenings.

In the days before his wounding and encasement within a mountain, Ashheart had ruled over a group of dragons who shared his disposition and approach to life. They were fierce warriors and loyal to a fault, and they had sought to increase their power through combat and struggle. They had gone their separate ways after his fall, reuniting only when his mate and child had called for their aid, but they would likely regather now that he had returned.

Frostfang could not claim to rule over many dragons, for few dragons enjoyed the endless ice and snow of the true north. Yet the dragons who did live there answered to him. In exchange for his protection against greater threats and the guidance and aid he could provide toward further Awakenings, they helped guard the far north and aided the frost giants who also served him.

But the largest faction of all belonged to Regal Flame. Her father had been Sovereign Flame, the oldest and mightiest of all dragons. He had been a natural disaster given form, a raging inferno bound in scales who could have set the world ablaze if he chose. The Uncrowned King they had called him, for dragons had no kings, yet every dragon of the First Age knew that if ever they were to choose a king, it would be him.

When he and the other great dragons of the First Age had fallen, there had been a scramble for power and control amongst the survivors. Certain older dragons, more cowardly than the others, had hidden rather than fight. They had sought to claim dominion over the survivors, as though their survival was due to wisdom rather than cowardice.

For all that Mother Tree had turned against them in the end, Frostfang would always be grateful for what she had done to those dragons. She had despised their cowardice more than anyone. She would have gladly died beside her creators, but her own form had made it difficult for her to join them in battle. Instead, they had asked her to stay behind, to shelter and protect others.

Those arrogant dragons, those cowards and braggarts, had been lured to her tree, thinking they could cow her into submission with their numbers. Hah! Mother Tree had been older than even Sovereign Flame and so mighty that even the legendary dragons of the First Age would have been wary of facing her.

What did she have to fear from cowards who had only lived by hiding when they should have fought?

They had died at her hands, all of them, and though that might well have been the start of her downfall, Frostfang had never been able to bring himself to care. Those dragons had gotten what they deserved, for they had been little better than greedy, grasping fools seeking to take through trickery and cowardice what should only ever be gained through power and courage.

And so there had been space for new leaders amongst the dragons, and who better, in the eyes of many, than Regal Flame, the daughter of Sovereign Flame?

Over the Ages, dragons had flocked to her, and she had proven a worthy successor to her father. She could not match him in power – perhaps no dragon ever would – but she was wise and brave and mighty in her own right. She treated her followers well and many had risen high under her guidance and protection. In return, they served her with unwavering loyalty.

That loyalty had shown itself most clearly when many of them had perished in her defence during Soulseeker's treachery. Afterward, she had mourned them all and had done her best to help those they had left behind, from orphaned hatchlings to mates who were suddenly left alone.

But the reason Soulseeker had so envied her domain and had been willing to commit such base treachery could be found in what Regal Flame's domain contained. These mountains were amongst the very oldest in the world, and they were home to both Sovereign Flame's old lair and one of the most important remaining relics of the First Age.

"Look," Frostfang said. "Ahead of us."

Squallwing looked, and his wings missed a beat as all of his attention was draw to the sight before them.

At the heart of the mountains were seven great peaks, each so tall that their summits vanished into the clouds. And between them was a vast plateau of melted rock, so large that all the primordial dragons in the world could have gathered upon it with room to spare.

"What is this place?" Squallwing asked.

"They say that the Seven Gods worked together to make the first dragons. However, each of them had a favourite dragon whose creation they were most involved in. When their eggs were ready, they placed them deep within the seven peaks you see before you. This place, more than any other, could be called the birthplace of our kind. There were originally eight mountains, but Sovereign Flame wished for a place where he and the others could meet. He burned the eighth mountain with his fire until only the plateau remained."

"The rock of the plateau looks different," Squallwing said. He made a face. "My analytical magic… it's not working properly either."

"As sand can be melted into glass, so too did Sovereign Flame's fire melt the rock into something else. It has no name because it has never needed a name. It cannot be found anywhere else, for only Sovereign Flame's fire was hot enough to make it, and no flame before or since has ever been a match for his. No creature left in this world has the power to destroy it, and only the greatest of the dwarves of old could shape it. In the First Age, before the fall of the First Gods and the birth of the Broken God, the mightiest of our kind met here, and it was here that they held their council of war before their fateful battle against the Broken God."

Squallwing no longer seemed to notice his injuries. Instead, his gaze was locked onto the plateau and the mountains around it. "And now?"

"When it is necessary for primordial dragons like myself and your grandmother to meet in great numbers, this is where we meet. To hold dominion over this place is a great honour and one that should only belong to a select few."

Soulseeker had sought to steal that honour through treachery, and he had died for it – as well he should have. This place belonged to Regal Flame although Doomwing had some claim to it through his leadership over the years. However, Doomwing had never expressed any desire to take it for himself although he had made additions to it to honour their fallen and lay out the history of the world as they knew it.

"We are being watched," Squallwing said.

"Of course we are," Frostfang replied. "But pay them no mind. I am known to them and expected."

From the mountains and the skies, they were watched. There were dozens of dragons here, from hatchlings to those who had achieved multiple Awakenings and lived several Ages. None made any move to bar their path, and Frostfang banked toward the plateau.

"She is expecting me, so we will wait for her upon the plateau," Frostfang said. "But while we wait, you may wish to take a look around. There are things there you may find interesting. However, remember what I said. This is hallowed ground. Be respectful."

"I will."

They landed on the plateau, and Frostfang marvelled once again at the almost crystalline material that remained in the aftermath of Sovereign Flame's fire. Even now, Ages after it had been made, the material remained undamaged by the weather or the countless claws and scales that had scraped across it. It was an ever-present reminder of the long-dead dragon's power. He had fallen before the fury of the Broken God, but his flames had been mighty enough to wound even that most terrible of foes.

Beside him, Squallwing was doing his best to stay respectful as he peered curiously at the material beneath them, tapping it with his claws and running his tail over it. Frostfang had a sneaking suspicion that if they had not been under observation, he would have pressed his face against the ground.

As he waited for Squallwing to compose himself, a fire drake arrived. The drake's scales were worn and battered, more a dull grey than the vibrant red they should be. But that was understandable. Despite the Ascensions this drake had experienced, he was perhaps the oldest drake in the world.

"Allow me to welcome you on behalf of my lady," the drake said, spreading his wings and bowing. "She should be here shortly."

"It has been a long time, Firetail," Frostfang replied. "I would have expected you to be at her side."

The drake chuckled faintly. "I am not so sprightly as I once was. I would only slow her down. However, an old drake like me can still greet guests – although I do hope my presence does not insult you."

"Insult me?" Frostfang chuckled. "No. It does not. I would be fortunate to count one such as you amongst my followers."

It was true that dragons and drakes often did not get along, but Firetail was something of an exception. His family had pledged their loyalty to Sovereign Flame long ago. After his death, they had offered their loyalty to Regal Flame despite her being a mere hatchling at the time. They had helped to protect her from the many machinations going on at the time and had been almost wiped out when her enemies had moved against her – which may well have prompted Mother Tree to lash out at those traitorous dragons.

Firetail had hatched early in the Fourth Age and had served Regal Flame with exceptional loyalty, following her into battle many times, even into combat against the Catastrophes. He lacked the power to contest them in battle, but he was exceptionally good with communication magic. He had served a vital role, helping to coordinate her forces.

When Soulseeker had launched his attack, Firetail had been wounded almost to death defending Regal Flame and had only fled when she had ordered him to go and send for help. Knowing how skilled he was with communication magic, Soulseeker's followers had chased him mercilessly. He had lost a wing, a leg, and an eye, but he had managed to reach out to Doomwing.

And then Doomwing had come, and Soulseeker and his followers had died.

Firetail had been mostly healed, and Regal Flame had given him the position of herald in recognition of his efforts and loyalty. Ordinarily, the dragons that followed her might have complained about a drake being given such an illustrious position, but none had objected. How could they? He had proven himself again during the Sixth Catastrophe. Despite many turning against their own friends and allies, his loyalty had remained unshaken.

Alas, he was a drake, and he had yet to succeed in furthering his Ascension due to damage he had suffered at Soulseeker's hands. That he had survived at all against a primordial dragon was impressive, but those particular wounds had never healed. As a result, time had caught up with him, and he was now an old drake, slow in the air and frail of limb. Yet he remained Regal Flame's herald and likely would until the day he passed, in recognition of his deeds and loyalty.

"You have a young one with you this time," Firetail said. "Shall we show him the monuments?"

"The monuments?" Squallwing perked up. "What monuments?"

"I shall take that as a yes." Firetail turned. "Follow me, young dragon. Hmm… would you be one of Stormbringer's? You have her look about you."

Squallwing puffed out his chest, pleased to be compared to his grandmother. "She is my grandmother."

Firetail led them to the opposite edge of the plateau where a number of monuments awaited them. The first was a simple column with an orb atop it. The next was a stylised tree with an orb tangled in the branches. The third was a winged serpent with an orb clutched in its mouth while the fourth was a hooded man holding an orb in his hands. The fifth was like the first, a simple column with an orb on it.

"These are monuments to the Ages and the Catastrophes," Firetail explained. "Each orb contains information about the Ages and the Catastrophes that can be displayed via a powerful illusion. The events of each Age and the events that led to each Catastrophe are recorded, as are all the great deeds and important moments. Those who gave their lives in battle are also noted, as are those who accomplished great and worthy things."

"Why are the first and fifth monuments just pillars, and where is the sixth monument?" Squallwing asked. Clever hatchling. He'd noticed those details right away.

"The First Catastrophe was the Broken God." Frostfang fought a shudder as he spoke the name, and both Firetail and Squallwing visibly flinched. "His name alone carries power although merely speaking it is more unsettling than truly harmful. However, Dreamsong advised against ever creating anything in his likeness. He is dead, but even the shadows of dead things may linger in the deep dreaming, and the fewer dream of him, the better. The second, third, and fourth orbs may offer you glimpses of the foes we faced. They too linger in the deep dreaming, but they either lack the strength of our most ancient foe or the raw hate and hostility he possessed. Likewise, you will never see a depiction of the Exiled Star. It was through dreams that he was called to our world, and I've no desire to see if more dreams might summon another like him."

"And the sixth monument?"

"Who do you think made these monuments?" Frostfang asked. "If you're not sure, go ahead and examine them. The answer will become clear."

Squallwing stepped forward, and his analytical magic reached out to the monuments. "The craftsmanship is exquisite – alchemy of a level that I can scarcely comprehend what I'm seeing at all. The same goes for the magic in each orb – impossible power and complexity combined with efficiency. There are so many different forms of magic woven into each monument… each one of them is a masterpiece." He snarled. "I wish I was more skilled. It's so far beyond me that I can't really learn anything at all from it." He frowned. "It must have taken a team of our finest mages to make these."

"It took only a single dragon," Frostfang replied.

"Oh!" Squallwing understood at once. "So Doomwing made these."

"Yes. He made them during the Sixth Age but before the Sixth Catastrophe. He wanted to wait until he had the skill to make monuments that would stand the test of time as this plateau has. If you activate the orb for the Second Age, you will find that he lists the good deeds that Mother Tree and her followers were responsible for. There were many who objected to that, but he insisted."

"But wasn't she our enemy?" Squallwing asked.

"She and her followers were our opponents, not our enemies – or so Doomwing said when we asked him." Frostfang gave a low rumble. "He reminded us of the many good things that she and her followers did before they turned against us. When we were at our weakest at the end of the First Age, it was she who sheltered us and helped us recover. To forget all of that – to act as though she was nothing more than some evil foe to be struck down… he could not abide by that."

Squallwing was silent. Finally, he spoke. "Grandmother never speaks about Mother Tree."

"She was fond of her," Frostfang replied. "So I do not blame her. But none were fonder of Mother Tree than Doomwing and Regal Flame, and it was they who pushed for her good deeds to be included. As for the sixth monument, you likely already know this, but Doomwing was in no condition to add it after the defeat of the Sixth Catastrophe."

Privately, Frostfang wondered if Doomwing would memorialise the Sixth Catastrophe in the same way he had Mother Tree. They had been friends, so would he seek to include her good deeds alongside her eventually evil?

"What about the fourth monument?" Squallwing asked. "Why conceal his features with the hood?"

"Ah." Frostfang laughed. "That is a less sorrowful matter. The Fourth Catastrophe was a mad vampire… who happened to bear a remarkable resemblance to one of Doomwing's friends." In truth, Marcus was the son of the Fourth Catastrophe, so the resemblance was hardly surprising.

"Ah." Squallwing nodded. "It would be unfortunate if people confused his friend with the Fourth Catastrophe…"

They talked for a while longer. Squallwing was an eager student, and Firetail had many details of his own to add. The young dragon seemed to have no problems with the fire drake despite his unfortunate past, and the fire drake appeared to be quite pleased to meet someone so eager to know more about the plateau and its history.

However, Firetail brought the conversation to a close as he turned to the west. "My lady draws near," he said. "It would be best to meet her at the centre of the plateau." He nodded at Squallwing. "Your grandmother is likely less formal than my lady. Allow Frostfang to speak and speak only when spoken to."

Squallwing nodded. "Thank you for the advice."

And so they went to the centre of the plateau to await Regal Flame.

They did not have to wait long, and Frostfang was reminded once again of why Regal Flame was so often hailed as the most magnificent of all living dragons.

It was already late afternoon, and she flew in with the westering sun on her back. In that deepening pre-dusk light, her scales seemed to be made of leaping flames. Yet as she drew nearer, the dark oranges and deep yellows gave way to the colour of freshly spilt blood. She landed graceful nearby, so smoothly that it was difficult to tell where flight ended and walking began.

Her body was perfectly proportioned for a combination of speed and strength, and her movements hinted at immense power wielded with utter precision. The heat radiating from her was stifling, enough so that Frostfang released a little of his own cold to keep Squallwing and Firetail from retreating to a safer distance.

A ghost of a smile cross her lips at that, and she dipped her head in thanks before reaching out to nudge Firetail with her snout. Given the disparity in size – she was roughly a mile long whilst Firetail was a mere seven hundred feet in length – she could easily have crushed him. Yet her touch was full of fond affection and mindful of his frailty. The heat within her banked, and Frostfang allowed his own cold to fade as well. It was a testament to her control, really. Left unchecked, the heat within her could easily have set both Firetail and Squallwing ablaze.

Her gaze went from him to Squallwing, and the younger dragon shifted restlessly. It was hard to blame him. Her eyes were a blue that belonged neither to the sea nor the sky but to that place of myth and dream beyond the ever-distant horizon where the two became one. Those were eyes that had never forgotten the glories of the past but still hoped to surpass them in the future.

"It has been some time since we last spoke, Frostfang." Her voice was gentle, like a campfire, but he knew well that if the need arose it could turn sharp and terrible, like a wildfire consuming everything in its path. "And you've brought someone else with you, I see."

Other dragons were landing around them, members of her court, so to speak. Frostfang paid them no mind. Not only would Regal Flame never order them to attack unless provoked but also none of them were a threat to him except her.

"A grandson of Stormbringer. His name is Squallwing, and he has come here fresh from his first proper hunt with a gift for you." He took out the worm Squallwing had slain and laid it out before her.

"Is that so?" Regal Flame's attention went from the worm to Squallwing. The young dragon barely managed to keep from quailing beneath her scrutiny even as a low murmur spread amongst some of the dragon around them. No doubt, they thought it ridiculous that a dragon of his age and size had only just engaged in his first proper hunt, never mind the absurdity of presenting a mere worm to Regal Flame.

Yet Frostfang was not worried. He knew what sort of dragon she was, as did Firetail who gave Squallwing a reassuring smile.

"I had heard that Stormbringer had a grandson named Squallwing. The rumours say that he is a weakling and a coward." Squallwing's expression fell, but Regal Flame pressed on. "However, it would seem those rumours were false. I do not see a coward before me, and weakness need not last forever." She took the worm and stored it with her magic. "I accept your gift in the spirit it was meant, young dragon. Your grandmother has spoken of you to me, and it is good to see that you are making progress. There is much you can learn from Frostfang. Pay close attention to his lessons, and you will do well."

Squallwing bowed his head. "Thank you! I will do my best!"

Regal Flame turned her attention to Frostfang. "You came here to trade, Frostfang. What is it that you desire?"

The dragons she had brought with her would likely have no say in their negotiations. They were younger dragons, so she had probably brought them along to observe how negotiations should be conducted. It would not do for any of her followers to conduct themselves poorly in the future.

"I seek to capture a fragment of your flame in this." Frostfang took out the crystal he had taken from his hoard. It was a rare treasure indeed – the heart of a mountain he had obtained from dwarves during the Fourth Age for an exorbitant sum. It was one of the only things in the world that could hope to contain the raging flames of an inferno dragon, so they could be used for alchemical purposes. However, it still required the cooperation of the inferno dragon since binding even a fragment of their flame into the crystal would be impossible without the utmost precision and control on their behalf. Naturally, for the purposes he intended, the more powerful the flame the better – and there was no dragon alive whose flame was mightier than Regal Flame's.

"That… is not something to be lightly given." Like him, Regal Flame understood just how powerful her flames were from an alchemical perspective. They could be used to create all manner of horrific weapons… or to help craft a catalyst that would help his mate achieve her Fourth Awakening. "For what purpose do you seek my flame?"

"To help my mate achieve her Fourth Awakening," Frostfang replied.

"Is that so?" Regal Flame tilted her head to the side. "I thought she was a dragon of ice and cold." Her eyes widened, and she smiled sunnily. "Ah, yes, it slipped my mind, but you had hatchlings recently, didn't you?"

"Yes," Frostfang replied proudly. "Three of them. A daughter and two sons."

"Then you have my congratulations," Regal Flame replied. "Hatchlings are to be cherished and celebrated – and to have three is good fortune indeed!"

"I consider myself blessed," Frostfang replied.

"I shall prepare gifts for them," Regal Flame promised. "But… your mate?"

"Yes, she is a dragon of ice and cold. However, I have spoken to Doomwing, and he has proposed the creation of a catalyst that will help her achieve her Fourth Awakening. The captured flames of a dragon belonging to the fire dragon lineage are essential, and there are no flames more potent than yours."

"Doomwing?" Regal Flame blinked. "Doomwing proposed the catalyst you speak of?"

"Yes." Frostfang paused. "Is that… bad?"

"Not at all. I had heard that he had stirred from his slumber, but he has never stayed awaked for long."

"It is different this time," Frostfang replied. "His injuries are healed, and he has no intention of returning to his slumber. Instead, he has been developing his territory."

"Developing his territory?" Regal Flame's noble expression had slipped and given way to an expression of obvious interest. "What do you mean?" The question was accompanied by more murmuring from the dragons around them. Doomwing was well known, but he had a reputation for being fairly aloof.

"He means to create a kingdom, I think. I don't know the details, but he has been training a human, and he has added dwarves and a dryad to his realm."

Regal Flame's eyes gleamed like sapphires, and she bared her teeth. "That is good to hear. I had feared… after his wounds… yes. He has shown his ability to lead against the Catastrophes, so it is only fitting that he turn it toward developing his territory. I have no doubt that he shall succeed."

He could sense her eagerness to learn more, but he needed to get the conversation back on track. "About your flame?"

"Ah. Yes." Regal Flame cleared her throat. "If Doomwing is the one creating the catalyst, then I have no doubt it shall succeed. He is not one to promise things beyond his power. However… what you ask for is no small thing. I shall need something of equal value. Yes, I know just the thing. In fact, it was something that Doomwing also suggested."

That piqued Frostfang's interest – as did Firetail's reaction. The drake now doing his best to bite back a wince. "By all means, tell me what you would like."

"I too possess the heart of a mountain. I will need to capture a fragment of your cold within it." Regal Flame chuckled. "Fitting, isn't it? Doomwing suggested it as a possible cure to the problems faced by my herald."

"My lady, you need not –"

Regal Flame cut Firetail off with a look. "When Soulseeker wounded Firetail, he burnt his very soul. Only Dawnscale could have healed such a wound, and she has been gone for some time." There was a hint of genuine ice in her voice when she spoke the other female dragon's name. "However, Doomwing advised me that it was possible that the injury would settle with time, allowing a different treatment to be tried. What better way to deal with a burnt soul than with ice so cold it can freeze the soul itself?"

Frostfang chuckled. Was this why Doomwing had suggested seeking out Regal Flame? It had only been a passing remark, but Frostfang had committed it to memory, knowing that Doomwing would never mention another primordial dragon without good cause. "Such a trade would be agreeable to me."

"My lady!" Firetail said, bowing deeply. "Please, forgive me, but I must interject! This trade… I… I cannot abide it! He seeks aid in his mate's Fourth Awakening. Such aid is valuable indeed. To trade your help to assist me? Surely, you could ask for something more fitting. Besides, even if the damage to my soul is healed, there is no guarantee that I will be able to continue my Ascension!"

Regal Flame chuckled. "You underestimate yourself, old friend. You have been by my side for some time now, and I have never doubted your loyalty or the quality of your counsel. Perhaps the cure will fail, or perhaps you will be unable to Ascend further even after being cured, but who are you to judge if any trade is fair? I rule here, so I am the one who judges what is fair – and I judge such a trade to be well worth it." She glanced past him to the other dragons who had gathered. "Are there any who would disagree?"

There were none.

"I shall trade my flame for your cold," Regal Flame said. "However, I ask that you stay for a few days. Since it is for your mate, I wish to be absolutely sure that the item is prepared to the very best of my ability."

"I shall gladly do the same for your item," Frostfang replied. He glanced at Squallwing. "Would it be possible for him to copy a few books that you have? He comes on behalf of his grandmother."

"Ah. I do owe her a few small favours. That is acceptable." Regal Flame's gaze locked onto Frostfang. "I know your domain is to the far north. Did Doomwing contact you with his mirror, or has he devised some other method?"

"He has devised another method," Frostfang said. "In fact, he recently gave me an item that makes communication far easier. Even my hatchlings would be able to reach him with ease."

"Is that so?" Regal Flame's voice was deceptively calm. "How interesting. I have yet to receive such an item."

Frostfang realised his mistake. "I am sure you shall receive one soon. He had to… customise it to better suit my needs. I am sure he is doing the same with yours."

Regal Flame made a happy sound. "Perhaps. He has always been thoughtful in his own way, and it would be good to speak to him more, now that he is properly awake." She scowled faintly. "I had offered to watch over him while he slumbered to repay him for the aid he gave me in my time of need, but he refused."

Doomwing had always been reluctant to let others see him in a weakened state, and his volcano was perhaps the most heavily fortified place in the world. Besides, he knew well how many relied on Regal Flame. He would not have wanted her to abandon her duties while her people needed her in the aftermath of the Sixth Catastrophe.

"He has his pride," Frostfang said. "And he knew that you were needed here."

"Perhaps," Regal Flame replied. "But now that things have settled a bit, I may be able to find the time to visit. I would like to see what he has done with his domain."

Author's Notes

Regal Flame has arrived. As you might expect of the closest thing the dragons have to royalty, she has an impressive following. However, she has done a good job looking out for that following, and she has earned their loyalty with good leadership. Just look at how she treats Firetail. It doesn't matter that he is a drake. He has proven himself, and so she has done her best to reward him properly for his loyalty and service.

Last edited: Mar 31, 2024

251

SecretTwelve

Mar 31, 2024

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