H - 92: Seems a Bit Farfetched (Patreon)

The bandits were completely nonplussed, with the sole exception of Kessi, whose eyebrows drew together.

Gunhild apparently noticed this, even sidelong, and turned her head toward the girl.

“Does that name mean anything to you, sweets?”

“It means even less than a name I’ve never heard. Kaln is like…” Kessi waved a hand vaguely. “Jean, Juan, John, and Johannes. There must be dozens of Kalns in Rhivkabat alone. Hundreds, counting variations in every dialect.”

“This one is Ar-Kaln, if that helps,” Cora supplied.

“I cannot begin to express how much it does not,” Kessi said disdainfully.

“Well enough,” said Gunhild, returning her attention to Cora. “Tell us about this Kaln, then.”

Cora sighed. “I’m not sure you realize how much backstory is involved in this.”

“Well,” Gunhild said mildly, “start with the assumption that I’m not too thick to understand simple facts, and let’s see where that takes us.”

“As you wish. Do you know where magic comes from?”

“Lady Cora,” Gunhild answered with a pleasant little smile, “you wouldn’t be trying to waste my time by inflating this…backstory beyond all reason, surely?”

“Do me the favor of recognizing that I cannot waste your time in this situation without also wasting my own, which I value. Magic comes from gods.”

“It’s really more a chicken-and-egg dilemma,” Oswald cut in. “The two are closely related, but it’s not actually known whether magic or gods came first.”

“That is inflating the backstory,” Cora said in irritation. “For all practical purposes, magic comes from gods. Do you know where gods come from?”

“All right,” Gunhild mused, “you’ve found a gap in my understanding. Do enlighten us, Lady Cora, as to where gods come from.”

“They’re originally people,” Cora said, not troubling to conceal her annoyance at having to delve into this. “What causes a mortal to rise to godhood isn’t well understood, and seems to be an anomaly in every case—basically, it’s a different cause every time so there is no way to reliably, predictably induce it.”

“Convenient,” Gunhild commented.

“So I don’t know exactly what Ar-Kaln did or how, but I know there’s a godling up in that lair.”

“A what?”

“Sort of the…larval state of a deity,” Rafaela supplied. “Godlings are fairly obscure magical trivia, but this is a known phenomenon.”

“Is that so?” Gunhild mused. “And what are we to expect from this…godling?”

“That depends on the individual,” said Oswald, shooting Cora a narrow look. “She’s right about that—the process is apparently unique each time. There’s not a consistent way to achieve apotheosis, it’s more a…peculiar thing that can happen if you pry at the stitches of reality in just the right way.”

Cora folded her arms, falling silent. If these two wanted to take over the explanation, good; Gunhild was more inclined to listen to them anyway.

“Most people it happens to just die,” Rafaela added. “And then of the few who manage to become godlings, most die for more deliberate reasons before they achieve full godhood. Gods and other powerful beings don’t want more competition, and a godling is still vulnerable. They’re hard to kill, but they can be killed. Anyone inclined to kill them needs to take advantage of that window of opportunity; felling an actual god is…eh…”

“Technically not impossible,” Oswald said with a grim smile, “but not a realistic prospect.”

“So…” Gunhild narrowed her eyes in thought. “You’re telling me that in charge of those dragons now is…a man with the powers of a god, but not the invulnerability?”

“Yes and no,” Cora said when the two spellblades looked pointedly at her instead of obligingly continuing to do her job. “No godling is a match for any god in terms of power. They can’t produce their own system of magic and allow others access to it yet, and they don’t have a divine realm, a heaven or hell under their own influence. They are extremely resilient, but not invincible. And their power is above and beyond any kind of magic—and unlike magic, which usually requires some degree of mastery to use well, a godling can wield theirs purely by intuition.”

“What powers, specifically?” Gunhild demanded.

“That depends on the individual. Just as every god has their own concept and domain, a godling’s powers might be anything, but they’ll usually be narrow in scope—but unbeatable within that scope. And to bring all this back around to the actual point, Ar-Kaln’s divine power is that he has control of dragons. Either that’s how he took out Atraximos, or he got it by doing that. Or maybe both? I don’t actually know where he came from or what happened up there, but that’s the situation now.”

“Seems a bit farfetched,” Gunhild mused, lightly tapping the barrel of her musket into her hand.

“Sort of,” said Rafaela. “Godlings are… Well, as I said, they’re a real thing, but obscure. And this story is too…idiosyncratic. A person trying to trick us would spin a more consistent, down-to-earth tale that’s easier to believe.”

“Which is what she did originally, if you’ll recall,” Oswald added. “I agree with Rafaela, Gunhild. This doesn’t smell like a lie to me. It’s too out there, and also explains everything too well. Her previous story was less fantastical, but it had holes.”

“Unless that’s what she wants us to think,” said Kessi.

Rafaela gave her a look of such blistering contempt Cora could only take it as personal dislike that went well beyond this discussion. “That’s not how it works. A con artist might spew a grand tapestry of fantasies to dazzle someone, but an operative on a job with more specific needs than parting us from money would keep variables and distractions to a minimum. They always go simpler.”

“But…wait,” said Kessi, not seeming to notice Rafaela’s hostility, “if this godling can control dragons, and Izayaroa is up there, wouldn’t that mean he already has control of the Empire?”

“I’m less worried about that,” said Cora. “No godling is a match for one god, and Rhivaak has nine. If he tried something like that, the Rhiva pantheon would move against him. No, it’s clear his plan is…basically, the Valereld Empire restored, this time under the rule of a god of dragons. This must be stopped.”

Far too many of the onlooking bandits smirked or even chuckled. Rafaele sneered; Oswald made a thoughtful little moue, tilting his head.

Gunhild shifted again, once more resting her musket over her shoulder.

“It’s all the same to us who’s in charge. In fact, as far as politics and rule go, I would say all my wishes were granted when that godling took out the Dread. None of the others burn us out.”

Kessi cleared her throat. “Wasn’t the last forest fire because of…?”

“Not on purpose,” Gunhild amended.

“I thought you said he didn’t like to use fire in Dragonvale? That he attacked with—”

“Kessi, sweetling.”

The girl clamped her lips shut.

“Quite a tale, Lady Cora,” Gunhild mused, looking down her sharp nose at the mage. “Quite a tale. Now, let me guess… Your plan for us was to distract the dragons and godling whilst you retrieve your princess, and likely all die in the process, yes?”

Cora made herself breathe evenly, trying to think fast and feeling every missing hour of sleep. She had to give them more. This wasn’t the kind of rift that would be mended with a show of honesty; they needed to feel in power. How much could she safely tell them.

“Ten second of fire breath,” she repeated. “And that’s if the White Wind didn’t decide to do something creative.”

“True enough, true enough,” Gunhild agreed. “Not to mention that nothing you could dangle would induce us to tackle dragons head-on.”

Cora looked up and down the line of bandits arced around her. She had only one idea.

“How many of you have seen the ghosts?”

Immediately expressions stilled, or fell into outright frowns. Gunhild’s eyes narrowed suddenly.

“Ah, I see you’ve heard reports,” Cora said, fixing her attention back on the bandit boss. “Not enough to believe them, yet? Blue-green phantoms, like walking skeletons or mummies, appearing and disappearing in puffs of mist. Something…you knew you did not know?”

“I’m not too proud to acknowledge that,” Gunhild said, inclining her head briefly. “Do enlighten me, Lady Cora, if you would be so good.”

“Kaln is planning for the long term,” she said. “He is too canny to rely on enslaved dragons alone. There are vast resources in the hoards of those old monsters, most of which we may hope never to see unsealed. He’s already opened the Scroll of the Phantom Legion.”

Oswald and Rafaela both jerked back, eyes widening.

“Another known phenomenon, I take it?” Gunhild said, glancing back and forth between them. “And another gap in my education, I confess.”

“Not one I’d judge you for,” Rafaela replied. “I’m never surprised Oswald has read about something, but aside from him it takes a fondness for… Let’s call them romantic old stories.”

“The last legion of Amaar-Darash,” Oswald said, barely above a whisper.

“Now that I have heard of,” said Gunhild. “A contemporary of Nourvranth, weren’t they?”

“Slightly after, with some overlap. When they were conquered…” He shook his head, looking actually somewhat shaken. “The Hegemony’s armies were somewhat…overspecialized, trained for a variety of purposes at the expense of their combat effectiveness. They were no match for the Ebon Horde; that entire war was a series of decisive defeats. Until only one legion was left to protect the capital, and…didn’t. The soldiers turned and fled to save their own lives, leaving behind the remains of their country to be overthrown. The final act of the Darashi mages was a grand working of vengeance, not on their conquerors, but on their traitorous soldiers. Their souls were bound into a scroll, the opening of which would give the one who opened it permanent command of them. They forsook their oaths and so were condemned to serve for eternity.”

“Hmm.” Gunhild looked unconvinced. “How would this dragon godling have gotten his claws on that? That was at least…what, eight centuries ago? And on another continent, to boot.”

“I believe that part,” Rafaela said quietly. “The Scroll came to be a treasure of the Valereld Empire, something kept in reserve in case it ever faced a threat like the Ebon Horde and needed emergency soldiers. But of course, what toppled the Empire wasn’t the kind of thing you fight with armies. Atraximos pillaged most of its treasures; just about any Valeri artifact that went missing during his attack is probably up there in that hoard.”

All right…so far, so optimistic. Cora had regained some credibility here by steering the conversation into esoteric but established knowledge—letting Gunhild’s pet spellblades take over explanations made the boss likelier to believe them. Hopefully it would be enough for her own explanations to hold some weight, now.

And hopefully she could figure out what lie to spin while doing it; Cora had not yet actually seen a way through this to the goal she needed. She was so tired…

“There’ll be no prospect of fighting the dragons, enslaved or not,” she said. “A means has been prepared to take that damned godling off the table permanently. I am…working on methods to lure the dragons away, and lure him into the trap. That just leaves the ghosts between me and the Princess.”

“Ah.” Gunhild looked, to her relief, satisfied by this. “Now, that sounds more our speed.”

“An invincible ghost army is better than dragons?” Kessi whimpered.

“I keep forgetting you Rhiva have such a…different view of dragons,” Oswald muttered.

“In fact,” Gunhild said slowly, an equally slow smile beginning to tug at her lips, “this works out…ideally.”

Everyone stared at her.

“Yes,” the bandit leader went on, now grinning outright. “Now this is good news indeed, Lady Cora. Very well then! It seems I won’t even need to ask you for any further…remuneration, your little deception aside. A treaty assigning me the fief of Dragonvale, bearing the royal seal of Boisverd and Henrietta’s own signature, will do nicely. Just as Tiavathyris knows the value of irregular forces, Izayaroa will know the value of legitimacy. Having that to hand her will buy us the negotiating posture we need…at least, once we’ve already placed them in our debt by freeing them from that godling.”

“You…” Cora blinked twice. “Wait, what?”

“You seem to be under a misapprehension, my Lady,” Gunhild said with understated relish. “Just because we merry folk of the forest are too proud to kneel to the overbred, overbearing parasites ruling the Vale states who are the reason we’re scrabbling out here in the dirt doesn’t mean we are too proud to kneel, period. Everyone kneels to someone. If she to whom you bend the knee is a dragon… Why, that’s an outright point of pride, that is.”

“You can’t be serious,” she protested. “Those creatures have no use for the likes of you!”

“They’re not Atraximos,” Gunhild said lightly. “I’ve done my studying, Lady Cora; I reckon I know their minds about as well as any mere mortal can claim to. If you truly disagree, why then I’m clearly on a course to rid you of me for good. So why complain?”

Some of the bandits looked uncertain about this. But perhaps not for the reason Cora expected, to judge by Kessi’s next question.

“Okay, but…this still requires us to fight a ghost army. Gunhild, that can’t be much better than fighting dragons.”

“Ah, but there it is exactly,” Gunhild disagreed. “There are two important facts about the Phantom Legion: first, that they are dismally inferior soldiers, and that’s half the reason they’re in their current situation. And second, they are faithless cowards, which is the other half. Frankly, in a pitched fight? With the right magic to counter undead, I don’t hate our odds. But even that we won’t have to do. Once we buy Lady Cora enough time to take out that godling, nothing will be holding them. That lot won’t fight to the last or bother to avenge their enslaver. It’ll be a laughably easy fight. For us, at least.”

“Wait,” Rafaela objected, peering at Cora. “Godlings are hard to kill.”

“But not to imprison,” Cora insisted. “Boisverd has the—”

“Yes, I know what is under the palace in Boisverd; I also read.”

Cora found her mouth hanging open.

“Don’t give me that look,” Rafaela said disdainfully. “It’s a matter of history. The thing is too big to move, especially with a palace built around it, and it’s not as if a Timekeeper artifact can be destroyed. Obviously it’s still there. Yes…that would hold a godling. But holding is one thing. If he’s the one who unsealed the Scroll of the Phantom Legion, then he has control of them so long as he’s alive. And in that case,” she added, turning to Gunhild, “it matters little what spells we whip up or how inept those soldiers are. They can’t be killed and we can. A pitched battle has an inevitable outcome.”

Shit. Shit. Why had she said that? She didn’t have to tell them—she should’ve just said her plan was to kill Ar-Kaln and made up a method. Cora was well aware that she was failing to keep the frustration off her face, and at this point could not do a thing about it. She was just too tired for this. Clarent was right, she needed to rest, or…

“Well then,” Gunhild mused, “it seems I stand corrected. I will require something else from you after all, Lady Cora.”

Cora clenched her fists. “Great.”

“Oh, don’t take offense,” Gunhild chided, “I’m not going to start gouging you—which I think shows great magnanimity on my part, considering the trick you tried to pull. But at the end of all this, the reward I expect is from grateful dragons, so you and your little kingdom may keep your treasures. But I do require that you adjust your plans such that we aren’t marching to our inevitable doom. And toward that end, Lady Cora, I’ll need you to do something about the Phantom Legion.”

Cora stared at her, blinking. For two full seconds, her mind was a blank.

What? Why would… Oh. Belatedly, she recalled what she had just told them: that she had a plan to draw away the dragons.

She had not specified the consorts. She didn’t know the plan, but the shadow had been certain that only the consorts would bite its intended bait.

The bandits didn’t know she was still planning to set them against the drakes.

“I’m…not sure what you expect me to do,” Cora said carefully, struggling to catch up with this situation she’d blundered into.

“It’s simple, isn’t it?” Gunhild said mildly. “I will need you to break the godling Ar-Kaln’s control of the Phantom Legion.”

Her mind blanked again.

No it… It couldn’t be this easy, surely. Seconds ago, everything had been on the verge of ruin.

“Do you have any idea what you’re asking?” she said in a careful tone, clinging to her anger. Anger and frustration made sense here; she could not allow them to get even a whiff of relief.

“Not in the slightest,” Gunhild said with a smile. “That’s why you’ll be doing it.”

“Doing it? Doing it? Just…casually modifying one of the greatest spells ever cast, the last masterwork of the Hegemony? A work that required multiple archmages acting in concert, so long ago that even their notes are long dust?”

“Sounds complicated,” Gunhild said gravely.

“Complicated?” Cora clapped a hand over her eyes, partly to help hide whatever expression the betrayed. “What you are asking is impossible!”

“Now, I have to quibble with your phrasing there, Lady Cora,” Gunhild replied, adopting an insufferably chiding tone. “It may seem petty to insist on small turns of phrase, but these things matter. We must strive for clarity in all things!”

She held up her free hand, the one not holding her musket, with one finger upraised, and wagged it at Cora.

“What you mean to say is: what I am demanding is impossible.”

The bandits grinned and chuckled maliciously. Kessi chewed her lip, watching Gunhild. Rafaela and Oswald looked cruelly delighted by Cora’s discomfiture.

“But I have faith that you’ll find a way,” Gunhild went on solicitously. “Because it’s either that, or I resort to Plan B: call Emeralaphine down here, tell her everything, and take the gamble that with us as a resource that godling doesn’t know about, three elder dragons can figure out their own way to break his hold. And then still owe us a favor. Frankly, I much prefer the approach of removing the Phantom Legion and the godling first, but…”

She shrugged, gesturing around at the group.

“We’re used to making do with what we can get. Right, my lovelies?”

While the assembled bandits cheered, Cora forced herself to breathe, and to look angry.

Among the shadow’s gifts was its ability to solve problems; it seemed able to find just about anything buried or forgotten in any vault. If a problem could be addressed by some artifact, the shadow was able to direct her right to the solution, with clear and explicit step-by-step instructions.

She had the means to do this. That had been settled days ago. Cora could break the godling’s hold on the Legion this second.

Clenching her fists, she scowled at Gunhild and looked as frustrated as she could manage.

“I…will see…what I can do.”