by Sain Artwell
Sofi pushed the oddly long chest with Alron’s glaive to the fore, and opened it. It seemed to be filled with neatly arranged bars of precious metals, rare salts, and ores.
“You’d best ask for… Who was she? Our liaison redcloak.” Alron turned to Fei. “N-something.”
“How should I remember? They all look the same.”
“Nje, master,” Sofi said, bowing her head as a meek slave should after offending her owners by the act of speaking without being spoken to. “Your redcloak contact was called Nje five-eight-seven…”
Fei pretended as if she had not heard Sofi speak, and addressed the redcloak guard. “Well? Are you not going to fetch her? It is hardly our fault that the Ministry cannot organize its internal affairs.”
“Uh…” The redcloak looked at his companions. No sooner had their confusion begun, when the double-doors into the Ministry swung open. A female redcloak stomped out with two sentinels in tow.
“I beg your understanding, Master Lashnikov, Mistress Lashnikov,” said Nje, commanding the two sentinels with a sharp gesture. “Right this way, please.”
The other redcloaks moved to allow the entourage and their chest of weapons through.
Alron had visited many courts in his lifetime, but this was his first foray into a ministry. Based on the name, and the militant appearance of redcloaks, he’d expected it to resemble a military fortress. Instead, what awaited him was a lavishly decorated four-story lobby of black marble, gold and lavaglass ornaments, and an exhibit presenting several early prototypes of pneumatic battle-armors. Alron also noted ornately decorated sentinels standing in the corners, blending into the background decor.
Nje lowered her voice to speak when they got to a quiet hallway. “We failed to get you a private meeting with chancellor Yutin. The best I can do is get you inside the public waiting room. He’ll see you eventually, but there’s no telling when exactly.”
“Do we have a workaround solution for the oracles?” Sofi asked, her voice equally hushed.
“This is the best I could do. Should you succeed without destroying the building, take this.” Covertly, Nje slipped a hefty blackmetal key on Sofi’s palm. “The master-key for all redcloak firewagons.”
“Thank you. For Mlevanosk,” Sofi said.
“For a new tomorrow,” Nje replied stiffly.
For a new tomorrow? Psht! Please, had I the idea of founding a cult in Obsidian Maze, they’d be a real cult. Fei’s thoughts held a noticeable, if sardonic, bitterness.
Alron suppressed a would be chuckle into a brief half-smile. And what manner of doctrine would you have enticed them with? What secret wisdom would the Friends of Fei have gleaned from you?
Firstly, they would never have been called Friends of Fei, though it would for certain be centered around the worship of my glory, and yours, of course. Hmm… Actually, yeeesss, yes, I know how it would’ve gone. It would’ve been a cult of warrior concubines battling for the favor of their messiah. That’s me. To the fiercest and most beautiful, I would’ve granted the privilege of being fucked by you, the most glorious one beneath the heavens.
Alron suppressed a wry grin.
You would finally receive the worship you deserve!
I’ve experienced worship, he replied. Though addictive, it sneaks upon you a burden, which is not easily shed.
Alron pondered. Had the squids of the Nameless Island been a tribe of wyrmkin, could he have had the determination to shed those bonds and pursue this vengeance? Would he have killed Fei to protect that new family?
What? No! When did this happen? Why did you not tell me? Did you at least demand regular ritual sacrifice? The virginity of all the most beautiful women? Fei nudged Alron with an elbow.
You’ve met them already. And I received sacrifices, actually, though they were the ones to initiate the tradition… Alron had actually already shared many of his tales with the puddle of squids, though he was happy to recount them through the lens of cult-hood.
Conversing through the bond, the two of them remained silent, whilst traversing vast chambers and hallways, the luxury of which was a blend of ancient oldblood and a more simplistic modern style.
They paused at an indoor garden of black sand. Nje gestured at a marble slab path meandering through orderly rows of crystalline cacti. “You may await his invitation at any of the pavilions.”
“Much obliged,” said Alron.
Sentinels laid the explosives chest down, and left with Nje. Whilst carrying it through the shimmering garden, Alron studied their destination. Beneath the fake sky of black clouds, the Chancellor’s estate loomed impossibly large, a fortress stretching from one wall to the other. It had thick blackmetal walls, and several cannon platforms manned by sentinels, but nothing insurmountable, should an alternate entry be required.
“No sense waiting,” said Alron.
He laid the chest down, opened the lid, reached for a missile, and froze.
Forty feet away, Dente and three wyrmkin armed with blades and cannons sipped bluemoon brew at a pavilion surrounded by a hedge of prismatically glowing crystal cacti.
The wyrmkin wearing full blackmetal battle-armor met Alron’s gaze, nodded, and said something to Dente. She perked up, straightened her back, and gave Alron and Fei a wave.
“Greetings,” she said. Her smile was friendly and beautiful. “You’re in for a long wait, friends, if you’re here to meet Yutin. Care to join us? We’ve been warming the benches for half-a-day with these grunts and could use an injection of civilized company.” Dente rolled her eyes at the two men by her side.
The largest of the men—a near eight foot tower of cherry-red muscles—struck his clawed fist at the table. “Stars, Dente. Grunts? You’re the one with claws and blades for a brain.”
“Would you care to be quiet when I’m making a first impression with fellow oldbloods?” Dente nearly shouted at the man.
The ice blue Iceweaver gentleman, whose head and shoulders sprouted a thick mane of horns, laughed heartily. Even the man in blackmetal armor chuckled, removing his helmet to reveal that he was a she. The blackmetal armored sniper had been a beautiful young girl with long black hair, charcoal skin, and cross-shaped pupils of an oracle specialized in future sight.
“Don’t mind them,” she said. “Pleasure to meet friends from the other shoulder. The City folk tend to be awfully stiff, even when they aren’t being terrorized by an ancient war criminal. My name is Katjan. The Blood Jungle shaman here goes by Zhu-Zhu, the Iceweaver refugee is Isac, and our beloved princess goes by Dente.”
“Stars! Katjan, if you’re robbing me of my introductions, you could’ve at least used my full title,” Dente grumbled.
Alron and Fei were both still frozen, staring at their daughter in disbelief.
She doesn’t recognize us, Fei thought.
No, she does not.
I want to talk with her. The thought was one shared by Alron and Fei.
Even if it was for only a brief moment and under a disguise, neither could pass by the opportunity to learn of the precious girl that the world had stolen from them. They both knew that this might well be the sole peaceful moment they could ever share with their daughter, the only time they could speak with her and get to know who she was.
Sofi gave Alron an urgent look, her eyes pleading for them to retreat.
“If the wait is as arduous as you say, we’d be fools to reject your offer for company. Admittedly, I am somewhat curious as to how a cadre of young awakened masters such as yourselves are acquainted with ‘the princess’.” Alron joined them at the pavilion, gesturing to Fei and a visibly anxious Sofi to follow suit.
“Are you really the princess? Heir to the Sorcerer King princess?” Fei asked, so giddy that her voice rang unusually high.
Dente shifted uncomfortably. “An adoptive daughter of the throne, but yes. I’m ‘the Princess Dente’. Apologies for my lack of protocol, but my lovers are from slightly more rambunctious backgrounds.”
Dente’s companions
shared knowing looks, suppressing reactions as if they were conversing wordlessly through their bonds.
Lovers! ALRON! Alron! She has three lovers! She is her father’s girl! She’s just like her father! Well, aside from her sharing the bed with men and women, but AAAAHHH, I’m so proud I might die! Fei howled inside Alron’s head like the storm of Deathwind.
Yes, Fei, we are both proud of her… promiscuity.
Likely Dente had had more than three lovers, though Alron refrained from mentioning it. If the girl had survived the same ritual as they had, she had paid the same grave price.
She’d pursued him through all the steps Alron had hoped to spare his offspring from treading. She’d gone through a lot. But right now, Alron didn’t wish to dwell on any of it. Instead, he introduced himself and Fei as representatives of clan Lashnikov, two awakened masters awestruck by the opportunity to socialize with a princess to the Sorcerer King’s throne.
“An Arc-Knight of Myrwing?” Alron feigned surprise. “Pardon me asking, but how did Sorcerer King allow his adoptive daughter to join the knighthood responsible for her own protection?”
Dente laughed. “That’s the perk of adopting so many of us! The bastard didn’t much care whether we killed ourselves, or each other.”
“And yet, you wear your titles with dutiful pride,” Alron observed.
He had done most of the talking. Fei remained at a loss for words as she giggled and grinned like a fool at Dente’s smallest gestures, unable to take her eyes off of the girl. Meanwhile, Sofi was frozen in a state of confliction, which coincidentally perfected her slave disguise.
Dente gave Alron a sharp nod. “If I don’t grow up and stand up, who will?”
“You’re not resentful of carrying duties of such weight?” he asked.
A solemn look fell over her playful demeanor. Dente shook it off. “Resentful? No. I’m proud. We are proud to be trusted with our duties. Fivewyrm Ascendancy may not be perfect, but the Sorcerer King is building a brighter future. I grieve the price we have paid to get here and the sacrifices we’ve yet to make, but I do not resent carrying that responsibility. It’s given me a true purpose, without which I would be a hollow shell.”
“‘The duty of a hero is its greatest reward,’” Alron said, quoting his old mentor.
“Just so, though I wouldn’t call myself a hero.”
“Which is good. Never change,” said Zhu-Zhu. “Could you imagine Dente if she dared to wear her pride outwardly? She would be more insufferable than a boot full of tickworms!”
The man guffawed at his joke, earning himself an elbow stab from Dente, and a round of laughter from the others.
Alron opened and closed his mouth, opting not to speak his mind. He knew all too well the rush heroism filled one with. It granted weightlessness and power by erasing the wyrmkin behind the title, and, in so doing, simultaneously gifted them with an immeasurable sense of purpose. It was an absurdity of the wyrmkin mind. A state of being doomed to trip on the cruelties of a world borne of dragongods.
Instead of trying to change Dente’s mind, Alron savored the sight of her happiness.
“It seems they’re ready to receive you,” said Fei sadly.
“Oh?” Dente blinked.
A straight postured man dressed in servant’s clothes paused at the entrance to the pavilion. “Princess Dente, Chancellor Yutin is ready to welcome your entourage.”
“Finally!” Dente stood to leave, giving Fei and Alron a parting nod. “Oh, and Mihail.”
“Yes?” Alron asked.
She smiled. “You may think this forward coming from a princess, but try to look on the bright side. I can see the cynicism straight through your mask. You’ve two wonderful women following you around, and a clan to take care of. This may be just my dragonsoul whispering gibberish, but I’ve a feeling you’re a man who’ll end up bringing some change, however small. Keep the people around you close and maybe you’ll be a hero yourself one day.”
A cold smile tugged Alron’s mouth. “Kind words. Take care now, Princess Dente.”
“Bye, bye, I adore you!” Fei interjected, eliciting awkward laughs from Dente’s companions.
Dente had already left the pavilion, when she spun on her heels and marched right back. Leaning close to Alron’s ear, she whispered, “We are here to stop the Great Betrayer from recovering an artifact that could spell doom for us all. Unfortunately, the chancellor has not been very cooperative, which may force us to punctuate our demand by force. If I were you, I would take your chest of taxes and come visit the ministry another day, or another month, or another year…”
“Duly noted. We thank you for the forewarning,” Alron whispered back.
Dente gave him a pat on the shoulder, and entered the chancellor’s inner fortress together with her bonds.
“They’re here for Mlevanosk’s vestige,” said Alron.
“Are we finally proceeding with the plan?” Sofi asked. When Alron gave her a puzzled look, she added, “Apologies, I’m just confirming to see that you haven’t been struck by a sudden urge to abandon your cause.”
“Because of Dente?” Alron and Fei exchanged a knowing smile.
“Fret not, dearie,” Fei said. “It’s a parent’s job to make the world a better place for their hatchlings. Once we destroy the Ascendancy, slaughter the corrupt clans and twisted sovereigns, and remove every unnecessary ugly monster from it, only our precious girl and her good friends will be left.”
“We may not be able to dream of a hopeful tomorrow,” Alron agreed. “But we can give our misguided hero a dragon to chase until the day this world is clean.”
A muffled explosion drew everyone’s attention to the chancellor’s fortress. Sentinels guarding the entrance left their posts, and hustled to deal with the source of commotion.
“What? Why would she attack them?” Sofi gawked.
“Because she’s her father’s girl,” said Fei proudly.
“She did mention troubles cooperating her hunt for us with the chancellor.” said Alron, clicking the projector to pause the Shimmering Dream, ending their disguise. He retrieved the jadegold glaive and several missiles from the chest. “Keep yourself far from the fray, Sofi. In this coming battle, we may not be able to spare attention to your safety.”
“Good luck,” Sofi said. “Don’t die.”
“Oh, fret not. We won’t. I only hope we’ll manage to avoid killing Dente’s bonds.” Alron dragonized his ensemble of silks and jewelry into an armor of scales and wings. He let the dragonization spread to a missile from the battleship, and hurled it at the layered gates of the chancellor’s inner sanctum.
Chapter 16 - Broken Dragons
Wading through the smoking remains of a mangled gate, Alron was welcomed by four sentinels. With extra limbs, they trained a small arsenal of cannons at him and filled the entrance with a horizontal imitation of iron rain.
Alron dashed through the violent pattering of projectiles, using a wing as a shield. He spun the jadegold glaive in consequent swirls.
Only one of the sentinels popped open in a burst of steam and dragonfire, its pipes, clockwork, and oil splattering the marble floor. The others, despite losing much of their plating, limbs, and heaps of other mechanical anatomy, lunged for Alron.
For a moment, Alron blocked without counter-attacking, measuring the might of the sentinels for the true battle ahead.
Their claws and bladed tails raked holes in stone and lesser metals with the same ease as the warpicks of the battle armored wyrmkin. Even as Alron kicked them through the walls and tore limbs off of their bodies, the sentinels kept coming at him with a dragon’s ferocity. They seemed to fear nothing, except failure to slaughter their prey.
Alron pinned the last sentinel beneath his foot. The only true weak point in their design was a head-sized metal organ of pipes and tubes, and that too was protected by layers of blackmetal plates.
Though unable to move, the core organ still wheezed puffs of dragonfire and leaked transparent fluids.
Alron stabbed it through. Bits of brain matter stuck to his glaive.
Alron looked to Sofi with sympathy, which he had neither the words nor time to articulate.
An explosion trembled the walls. Several dragonfire lamps on the walls shattered. Trusting Fei with Sofi’s protection, Alron sprinted ahead.
He struck down every redcloak and sentinel on his path without slowing his step. Gilded doors to the chancellor’s office had been blasted off their hinges. Cracked dragon totems from ancient tribes lay broken on the reflective black floor. Wisps of familiar red-tinted flames lingered on the pillars, and a rime of frost covered a wall displaying a wealthy selection of rare vestiges and jadegold weapons.
A dozen redcloaks were barricaded behind bodies of sentinels and their comrades. Flashing like a cascade of thunderclaps, their cannons sent a steady rhythm of death flying into a side-room. Blinks of silver thwipped back at them, striking the redcloaks down with deadly accuracy. At first glance, Alron spotted neither the chancellor, nor Mlevanosk’s morphcore.
“Crazed fools. How could they think these puny cannons could ever kill our girl,” Fei said. Hidden beneath her veil, she and Sofi cast the barest shimmering outline.
A tell-tale shiver perked the scales on Alron’s neck. Oracles were sweeping the room.
“Rasdrev is on his way,” he said.
Alron dragonized the floor beneath himself, leapt across the room, and took the redcloaks by surprise. Wherever the scarlet edge of his dragonized glaive lay a slash, blackmetal dented and bones shattered. Rather than a fight, it was a simple massacre.
Three silver bullets streaked out of a darkened reliquary chamber of shattered display shelves and cages. This time they merely struck sparks against his wing. When fighting against an opponent with foresight, an empty corridor was the ideal battleground.
“I am here, Dente!” Alron threw his sack with remaining battleship explosives deep into the chamber, and stepped out of the way.