H - 101: The Scribe Lived (Patreon)

His voice was as tight with strain as his posture, but even on his knees with an irate dragon looming over him, Samed Melchavidan managed to speak with an admirable semblance of poise.

“Your Excellency, in your absence—”

“My absence,” Izayaroa interrupted. The chamber resonated once as the tip of her tail flicked against the stone dais; Melchavidan flinched at the noise. “Do you mean to lay fault for your actions upon me?”

“Absolutely nothing of the kind,” he hastened to answer.

“In a sense, though,” she said, “the fault is mine. I have already expressed how I recognize my long absence to have been an error. The people benefit from periodic reminders that they are not bereft of my oversight. It is further clear to me that the remove at which I have kept myself has enticed you and your ilk to begin regarding me as some creature of myth. A historical figure, perhaps. You have certainly conducted yourself with the blithe assurance that you can run amok in my domain and never have to contend with me in person.”

He drew in a short, sharp breath. “Your Excellency, I have worked closely with your—”

“I know exactly with whom you have worked, Samed Melchavidan. You have been adroit indeed, to so deftly play different elements of my government against one another. I owe you some thanks, at the very least, for illuminating that vulnerability in the apparatus of the state. It has been corrected. For your information, sir, the agents with whom you have been collaborating are all aware of one another, now. Were I a truly cruel person, I would remand you to their custody.”

“If,” Melchavidan said, his voice now even more strained, “I have erred in my efforts to be of service to your Excellency’s—”

With a boom that echoed through the chamber and caused several exclamations of fright from the onlookers, Izayaroa slammed one claw to the floor right beside Melchavidan. He toppled over in the other direction from a combination of startlement and the sheer vibration it caused; her enormous clawed hand was big enough to encircle him entirely should she clench a fist. After a stunned second, he scrambled to resume his posture on his knees before her.

“Part of me,” Izayaroa said in a voice whose quietude filled the chamber like the echo of thunder, “truly desires to let you talk. To see just how clever that tongue of yours is, to weigh the agility of your lies for myself. Fortunately for the endurance of all those present, it is a small part, and dwarfed utterly by the part which is entirely out of patience for your chicanery. Do you think I had you marched in here on a whim, Samed Melchavidan? You witnessed the entirety of your network of contacts in chains just now. Or perhaps I missed a few? It is not impossible. Police work is in some ways like rat catching: one can never get them all. It will suffice for the network itself to be destroyed, and for you, its architect, to have the proof of that destruction dangled before your eyes.”

She leaned forward till her pointed nose hovered in the air above him; Melchavidan chanced a look up at her face and pitiless golden eyes before lowering his head again in a submissive posture augmented by a defensive hunch of his shoulders.

“You will not dissemble with me. I will not tolerate it. I know all of it, Samed. You are not here to defend yourself, but to experience consequences.”

Slowly, deliberately, Izayaroa lowered her head further, until her nose brushed the ground right next to him, on his other side from her still-clenched talon. Her hot breath was strong enough even though she spoke in a whisper to disturb his hair.

“The scribe lived, Samed. He escaped, and found his way to those who still value the spirit of law. I feel it is important for you to know upon whose testimony your undoing hinged. He outlasted all your schemes, and will by far outlast you.”

His eyes widened, then widened further, but he kept them fixed upon the floor. Apart from that and a persistent twitch which began to afflict the left side of his mouth, he managed to keep his expression still.

Slowly, after letting her words sink in for a nearly gratuitous span of seconds, Izayaroa raised her head again. Then she lifted her claw, taking a step back to sit upright upon her dais, tail wrapping around her feet. All around the room, people were silently and unconsciously pressing backward from her; even knowing, rationally, that they were not the targets of her ire did not fully suppress a person’s instinctive and reasonable fear at being in a chamber with a dragon openly expressing anger.

“There are those of your offenses which I could almost pardon,” the Empress continued. “Not in the legal sense, you will account for every one of your actions before a judge. But some of it, some, I would not deign to take personally. It is almost…an occupational hazard. Just as blacksmiths tend to suffer burns, those whose trade is in currency and power become obsessed with acquiring more. To curb such impulses, we have the law. But you have far exceeded the limits of my tolerance, Samed Melchavidan. Not content merely to enrich yourself at the public’s expense, you have dared to interfere with the running of my government, to not only impede but to blackmail and assault my personnel, those charged with the task of upholding this civilization… And for what? Often, it seems, out of nothing more than petty pique. Out of simple, stupid malice, of personal affront that the servants of the state presumed to hold their sworn duty above catering to your insignificant whims. To sabotage my Empire, for so paltry a reason? You, sir, have thereby earned my personal attention.”

Her tail flicked, and this time it was no light tap, but a heavy impact against the stone dais that caused far more than the target of her ire to flinch; Melchavidan remained silent, but multiple onlookers instinctively cried out.

“My treasure is the happiness of my people,” Izayaroa growled, glaring down her long nose at the small man cowering before her. “It is daring indeed to steal from a dragon’s hoard.”

His head snapped up, eyes wide in a very different expression now. “I would never presume—”

“You have certainly not hesitated to help yourself to that which is mine. We dragons have certain traditions regarding those who challenge us so personally.”

“Your Excellency—”

“Since you are so enamored of my possessions, Samed Melchavidan, I shall loan you one, to facilitate the resolution of this dispute.”

Magic flared, and a swirl of mist formed in the air before her, then descended as it coalesced into a solid form.

It was a weapon, a straight-bladed longsword of quite simple design, its two-handed hilt wrapped in soft leather and silver wire; the crossbar was of the same silver, straight and undecorated save for curling forward into scrolled shapes at both ends, while the pommel was a smooth sphere of a smoky crystal that might have been quartz. The blade, by contrast, was a wonder: it seemed to be made of glass, and light pulsed from its core the whole way down its length, in alternating surges of crimson and gold luminescence whose rhythm resembled the beat of a heart.

“This,” said Izayaroa as the sword slowly descended through the air to hover before Melchavidan, “is Necessity. Bequeathed to me by the hero Loridon of Chandelavre, whom I was honored to call friend. Most famed of the feats it and he accomplished were the demise of Mesaphilex the Grey, and good riddance to her. Among dragons she was not the worst to damage the name of our shared kind, but ranked high among them. Necessity is, fittingly, a dragonslayer’s weapon. Since you fancy yourself worthy to challenge me directly, I shall grant you its use, that we may test that belief.”

“Your Excellency,” he gasped, visibly sweating now, “I—I never—I most certainly never aspired—”

“I know that well, Samed. Every detail of your assault upon my realm betrays your expectation that you would never have to face me. Most who assail Rhivaak assume as much. Your fate will serve as a reminder. Take the sword. My offer of a chance to redeem some part of your character in the eyes of your fellow citizens is a kindness greater than you deserve.”

“I…am no warrior, your Excellency,” Melchavidan said desperately. “Please, I… It is not that I disdain your kindness, but I simply have no—”

He broke off, flinching, at the clatter which accompanied Necessity’s fall the rest of the way to the floor. The blade lay before him, within easy reach, still pulsing slowly as if breathing.

Izayaroa again lowered her head, until the sharp tip of her nose hovered barely above Melchavidan’s.

“Pick. Up. The sword,” she growled, “and let us settle this with honor. That, or acknowledge yourself to have none, in which case you are never again to open your mouth, nor even raise your head, in my presence.”

Samed Melchavidan bent his neck as far as he physically could, clamping his lips shut as though his very soul might escape between them. Hunching, he trembled, breathing raggedly and not daring to move an iota.

Izayaroa hovered there before him, silent, her looming presence an inescapable menace despite his desperate refusal to look up. The entire chamber held still, hundreds of souls seeming barely to breathe as the moment stretched out. She breathed, deeply and slowly—the heat and scent of molten metal upon her breath washing over Melchavidan and causing him to sweat even more profusely. Even at that controlled, gentle pace, the force of her lungs was such that he struggled to remain kneeling, clearly fearing to give offense by toppling over.

Finally, after deliberately drawing out the silence, Izayaroa raised her head again. Necessity vanished in another flash of magic as she drew herself up to her fullest height, staring down her long nose at the little man cowering before her, far below.

“So be it. You have menaced the rule of law in my domain, and so to the cold grasp of the law shall I consign you. But you also dared transgress against me, and I will have my pound of flesh before I relinquish you to the courts. I am confiscating the assets of your household in their entirety, Samed Melchavidan. From your home and the land upon which it stands down to the buttons in your junk drawer. You sought to rob me, and so I take everything of yours save the fabric on your quivering back, and that only because I find it beneath me to impose the humiliation of parading you naked through the city. Those of your family who were complicit in your crimes are already in custody; for the rest, you need have no fear. As an expression of my mercy, the clerks overseeing the forfeiture are instructed to give them one hour to collect such personal keepsakes from the house as they may personally carry, below a given threshold of value. The state will provide them shelter, food, and if necessary medical care until they are able to provide for themselves; the offices of the housing authority will also direct them to work placement programs. In my Empire, even the destitute are not permitted to suffer the indignity of privation.”

She raised her nose, turning her head aside to glare down at him sidelong with one eye.

“You and your accomplices shall of course be remanded to state custody to prepare for trial. Since you cannot afford legal representation, it will be provided to you. In that, you are in the best of hands. I expect you have no cause to know this, but in Rhivaak public defenders are mandated by law to have comparable qualifications, workloads, and levels of compensation to prosecutors. Your trials shall be fair. And in case it need be said, Samed, the young woman you have pretending to be your daughter is not being taken into custody.”

He twitched again, trembling even more violently.

“My agents have ample evidence of most of your crimes, but are still investigating the fate of Haktria Melchavidan. You are a suspect in her disappearance, obviously. Fear not, you shall be given ample opportunity to plead your case and submit evidence otherwise. Honestly,” the Empress added, curling her lip in an expression of contempt that bared enormous fangs to the chamber, “that you would presume to grasp beyond your reach, while unable to keep your own house in order? Absurd. Lancers, this man’s presence in this audience is no longer needed.”

She remained still and silent, watching coldly, while the squad of Dragonlancers who had brought Samed Melchavidan before her saluted and stepped forward to escort him back out. One had to help him upright and then extend a steadying hand, and not because he offered any resistance; he seemed to have difficulty getting to his feet, and then staying upon him. Melchavidan swayed and periodically staggered as the encircling formation of soldiers marched him out through the side door to the chamber, after the other prisoners.

Only when it had once more boomed shut did she turn to face forward again, narrowing her eyes.

Arranged in a staggered formation before her, the collected princes and princesses of Zouzh, still under the watchful eyes of their own squad of Dragonlancers, bowed once again at finding themselves the direct target of Izayaroa’s attention.

“And with that distasteful business concluded,” the Empress stated, “there is but one final absurdity demanding my attention.”