H - 109: I Will Be Right Back (Patreon)

“Designated teleportation chambers,” Emeralaphine huffed. “I could have brought us right to the little brat’s feet.”

“And we would be instantly attacked, as you well know,” Tiavathyris said mildly. “Thank you for your help, Emeralaphine, but with all respect, let us handle matters of strategy.”

“That is what I am doing. A certain amount of grumbling is par for the course.”

Izayaroa fortunately did not take advantage of that conversational opening, being fully occupied studying their surroundings. “I believe we have been identified, ladies. If not by name, then as elder dragons.”

They had been forced to compromise efficiency by arriving in Shima Vaat rather than Shamissar’s capital, because only port cities seemed to have designated teleport platforms; the disruptive wards which seemed to cover the entire rest of the country were nothing Emeralaphine could not punch through to land them wherever they chose to arrive, but such would have ignited an immediate battle and scuttled any hope for diplomacy. Dragons were nothing if not fast-moving, so travel overland should take a matter of minutes, but for now, they had made their arrival through the proper channels.

This particular arrival platform had turned into a proverbial kicked beehive within seconds of their materialization. Troops poured in, positioning themselves in formations along the wall and across the door with weapons very carefully not aimed at the three dragons. Obvious mages were among their number, as well as individuals with clipboards and pens scurrying about behind the ranks.

A middle-aged human woman in expensive but tasteful attire now approached them directly, putting on a somewhat successful pretense of not being terrified for her life.

“H-hhh…ahem, excuse me. Most honored guests, I am—”

“Greetings,” Izayaroa said, projecting calm but not the slightest spark of warmth. “I am Izayaroa. With me are Emeralaphine and Tiavathyris. We were recently sent a most presumptuous message at our home by Savasmittar. We will now discuss the matter with him.”

“O-of course, your Excellency. Please let me show you to a lounge where you may—”

“No, thank you.” Izayaroa strode forward, making for the line of soldiers as if unable to conceive of the possibility that they might not get out of her way. “This is a matter between dragons.”

The brave and relentless functionary scurried around in front of her, bowing even as she backed continually away. “Your Excellency, forgive me, but one does not simply march into the Sovereign’s presence. We have certain procedures—”

“We have indulged you to the extent of arriving in a designated teleportation zone,” Izayaroa said with a deliberate tinge of acrimony, “despite the inconvenience this has caused. From dragons of our stature, this is a great concession, and you have no need to expect further. The next and last concession you shall receive is that we will step outside this building before assuming larger forms, at which point we will fly to Savasmittar’s location and address him in person. This will take several minutes. Have sending mages notify him of our imminent arrival. I do not wish him to mistake our approach for a sign of hostility.”

“Ah—yes, well—then you do wish only to…to talk?”

“Obviously,” Izayaroa said, permitting herself open annoyance now. “You are all still alive, are you not?”

“So be it, then.”

She had continually pressed forward, Tiavathyris and Emeralaphine stalking silently at her sides—looking imperious and irritable respectively—until they had stepped into the arched entry to the platform chamber and the formation of soldiers before them had actually begun to buckle when the new voice brought them all finally to a halt.

The soldiers fully parted to reveal a shape behind them: a floating eye, bigger than a pumpkin, hovering at roughly head level and wreathed in seething streamers of smoke. Its vertically slitted pupil was surrounded by a ring of crimson, fading into darkness where its black sclera became one with its smoky aura.

“Welcome, travelers, to Shima Vaat.” Its voice was eerie, resonant, yet sibilant and deliberately menacing. “You stand before an eye of Djraaeisz, Goddess of Careless Whispers, and…” The eye paused, then emitted a wordless hiss of clear disgust before continuing. “…sanctioned observer of the Sovereignty Port Authority. Know that you have invoked the right of passage allowed to all those who come in peace, and who…ugh…adhere to all relevant transit codes and regulations of Shamissar. Be you thus bound by the ancient and immutable law of hospitality. Should this eternal code by broken, by host or guest, the one guilty shall be named by Djraaeisz, she who spills secrets into the wind, as FORSWORN.”

The last word was barely a word; the eye of Djraaeisz might have bothered to produce audible syllables, but it was delivered in a surge of pure divine force, a weight of godly attention which exceeded anything of which Kaln was yet capable. Reality trembled and lensed around them, that weight of divine emphasis driving its point deep into the shape of existence.

“They who break the law of hospitality,” the eye continued, then paused before going on with audible irritation, “by…gnnh…violating proper Sovereignty procedures of border control and overland transit…shall be known ever after as untrustworthy, their faithlessness whispered to every ear which might care to hear, its weight carved into the bedrock of creation. Let they never be granted again the trust of divine patron, mortal follower, or any soul in between.”

There was absolute silence in the teleport chamber as rows of guards and functionaries barely dared to breathe, watching three elder dragons gaping at the eye of Djraaeisz in stupefaction.

It was Izayaroa who recovered first, turning her attention back to the cowering receptionist, who flinched under her direct stare.

“Exactly how long is this going to take?”

“W-well…” The young woman held up a clipboard before her throat as if for protection, but gamely met the dragon’s stare and answered her, if tremulously. “I-it is very difficult to say. An audience with the Sovereign is…is not a small matter, you understand, your Excellency. I…I cannot guess how he will respond? Much will depend upon… Ah, that is, many details—”

“Delegates of a hostile power shall not cross the lands of Shamissar except under military escort,” hissed the Eye of Djraaeisz. “Heads of state and guests of equivalent rank must be escorted with due ceremony and all provision for their comfort, lest the hospitality of the Sovereignty be shamed. Expect to spend a day or two in transit.”

Izayaroa’s tail slapped once against the floor, causing every mortal present to jump and several guards to half-draw weapons. She turned a shoulder to them. “Emeralaphine. Privacy, please?”

Emeralaphine waved a white claw and a translucent wall flashed into being around them, its surface like frosted glass making a complete circle which reduced their view of the chamber and its other occupants to vague shapes and cut off all sound. “You know, you’re capable of a simple privacy screen yourself.”

“Yes, but I presume none of my magic is as potent as yours, and this is no time for half-measures. On the subject of which: Djraaeisz, of all bloody things? I thought that miserable nuisance had dissipated from lack of followers decades ago. Can this wretched creature actually do what it says?”

“Not…as severely as it implies,” Emeralaphine said, narrowing her eyes in thought. The tip of her own tail was now rhythmically snapping against the ground in a steady staccato of irritation. “Djraaeisz is a withered old thing; in terms of raw power, any of us could probably beat her stuffing out. But she wouldn’t give us a fight, and there’s no magic or might that can directly counter a god, as you both well know. Her aspect…hm. She is capable of, so to speak, inscribing a truth into the world; she’s done it before. She can make it a sort of…fundamental precept that the three of us are not to be trusted, but only if we create a pretext—by violating hospitality, for example. I doubt it would cut between us and our husband or children, or other such personal relationships, but it would definitely cost us considerably in terms of power. Our pacts with various gods by which we gain spells, for one. Such a thing would also be absolutely devastating to any, say, nations or armies which might depend for their legitimacy upon the idea that one of us is a trustworthy patron. We could undo the effect, but…it would take, optimistically, decades.”

A pause fell in which the three dragons stared at one another.

“Why, that conniving little brat,” Tiavathyris finally said, looking equal parts impressed and irritated. “He not only dug up Djraaeisz, of all the absurd things, but found a use for her! Back when she was a going concern affecting the world I never imagined such might be possible.”

“The rule of a nation is a crucible,” Izayaroa said, frowning. “One either creates a debacle that consumes continents or becomes…some manner of mastermind. It appears we may have taken Savasmittar too lightly.”

“He has actually concocted a way to make elder dragons stand in line at the customs office,” said Emeralaphine. “I am profoundly impressed by the ingenuity, and needless to say, my fangs thirst for his lifeblood. How much time is this going to cost us?”

“I can cajole and pull strings with the dignitaries of any nation,” Izayaroa said pensively, “and find ways to expedite whatever…procedures are in place to slow our approach. It helps that he clearly wants to talk to us and has no particular need to slow us down. But we were counting on being able to blow past bureaucracy and red tape entirely. With that off the table… Hours or days is a fair assessment. As things currently look we likely will be tied down here long enough for whatever the shadow is planning for Dragonvale to unfold in its entirely.”

Emeralaphine bared her teeth in displeasure, her tail lashing faster. “Well, there’s nothing else for it, then. We’d better put this aside, go home, and deal with that before we try again.”

“Emeralaphine, put yourself in Savasmittar’s scales,” Tiavathyris said gently. “You’ve been approached by three dangerous elder dragons, claiming they want only to talk. At the first sign that betraying that confidence and attacking you under a flag of truce will have actual consequences, they turn and leave. What would you think?”

“Bugger,” she exclaimed, slapping her tail so hard against the floor that the stone cracked. “Damn it all, you’re right. We’d never get near him again, and he wouldn’t make the alliance we need out of this even after negotiating for weeks through ambassadors. We don’t even have ambassadors!”

“This…was a good trap,” Izayaroa admitted. “We have well and truly stepped in it, ladies. Now there’s nothing we can do but press forward. The consequences of any other course are even worse.”

“All right,” Emeralaphine said, scowling. “Our original strategy is kaput, so…gods and their aspects. The shadow’s clearly encompasses complicated plans. It has been my experience that complicated plans usually do not work; the more variables must be accounted for, the greater the certainty the whole thing will blow up. Yet, it seems to be able to make and execute these complex arrangements with some success. That sounds to me like a divine aspect at work. Which makes it noteworthy that it never seems to achieve its ultimate goal, because that comes down to the choices and will of an individual. It can arrange convoluted schemes to elevate godlings, but can’t ever convince them to become gods of revenge, because that would be an unfathomably asinine thing to do and anyone who’s not terminally chest-deep up their own butt can see it.”

“Eloquently stated,” Izayaroa praised.

“I am not making idle conversation,” Emeralaphine snapped. “We have to come up with a counter-strategy, fast. Strategy is your area, both of you. What can we do?”

Izayaroa and Tiavathyris turned, locking eyes.

“You’re right about strategy,” Tiavathyris answered thoughtfully after a short pause. “It’s always the unknown variable that undoes a good plan. I have dealt in the past with gods and other beings which had strategy-related powers, and it’s been my experience that some manifestation of that same principle is also their weakness. The shadow is able to account for everything, and preternaturally influence events to proceed in the direct steps it needs. It cannot compel individuals, however. The introduction of someone with a counter agenda who will not play along throws its plans into chaos.”

Emeralaphine clapped a claw to her forehead. “Oh, damn it all. All right, I know what to do. This is just…not going to be pleasant.” She heaved an irritated sigh, then deliberately composed her features. “I’m going to drop the barrier in a moment. Izayaroa, I need you to stall with these absurd little mortals while I go pull a few strings as quickly as possible.”

“You cannot go back to Dragonvale, Emeralaphine,” Izayaroa cautioned. “That is, unless you can see our family under a well-planned attack and then turn aside, trusting Kaln and the hatchlings to handle it. Frankly, I don’t think I could. And if even one of us leaves, Savasmittar will go on such high alert that our attempted dealings with him will be hamstrung.”

“Unfortunately, I’m afraid I agree with you,” Emeralaphine growled. “But…no, I won’t need to visit the lair. All right, ladies, faces on. Here we go.”

She dispelled the barrier; it shattered into particles, which swirled away as dissipating mist, to reveal some changes had occurred outside while they talked.

The soldiers were re-arranged, now forming a clear honor guard lining the corridor before them. The Eye of Djraaeisz still hovered there, balefully staring at them, but it was now off to the side and out of the way. In the middle of the exit now stood a dignified-looking man, who bowed as soon as they turned to look in his direction.

“You!” Emeralaphine barked, striding toward him. “Are you supposedly in charge here?”

“Welcome, your Excellencies, to Shamissar,” he said with deep and grave courtesy. “I am Commissioner Mandar Madiin, and most honored to—”

“All right, shut up,” the white dragon said curtly. “Understand this: I came here planning to make a brief trip to have a sensible discussion with your master, and now I learn that I shall have to loaf around picking my claws whilst you little creatures scuttle about doing whatever it is ants do when their hill is kicked. You have inconvenienced me more severely than any mortal whom I have previously permitted to live.”

“I deeply regret your—”

“Just shut up! Why are you talking? For what conceivable reason should my time be wasted further while you incinerate perfectly useful oxygen? If I wanted to know your thoughts I would get them directly from the claw up your ass, and thankfully for us all by the time I finally see him I can assure you that you will be the farthest thing from any of our minds! Be silent and listen. I left my home in the expectation of a quick trip, and now that I find I will be away for who knows what interminable span of pointlessness, I must make arrangements to ensure everything remains stable in my absence. Therefore, I am going to commandeer your teleport platform for its intended purpose.”

She took one aggressive stride forward, brandishing one white claw in Commissioner Madiin’s face, which he bore with admirable poise.

“I am not leaving. I will be right back. You will not even contemplate relinquishing my spot in whatever…absurd queue you have organized here. I will use your platform to go make arrangements quickly, which is a concept I gather you are not equipped to understand, and then I will be back here and I will find that your expeditious pursuit of arrangements has not been interrupted for one instant. You will re-route teleportation traffic to other facilities, because I am most definitely not going to be further importuned by random tourists and merchants bumbling through my business. Anything else you may need, you can discuss with Izayaroa. Am I unmistakably clear?”

Commissioner Madiin hesitated for a moment, weighing the obvious demand for a response against her previous and far more emphatic demand for silence. It was only half a second, which it turned out was too long.

“WELL?” Emeralaphine roared.

“You have made your needs clear, your Excellency, and I shall do my utmost to see them met,” Madiin said smoothly, bowing to her again. “Please avail yourself to the teleport platform. I shall see you are not disturbed, and your companions will be escorted to—”

“Finally.” She turned and stalked away from him, back toward the center of the platform. Commissioner Madiin had to hop adroitly to avoid her tail whipping his ankles out from under him. To his credit, he pulled it off without even stumbling.

“I apologize for Emeralaphine’s manners,” Izayaroa said smoothly. “She is…not a people person, and is unaccustomed to waiting.”

“I more than understand her regrettable discomfiture, your Excellency, and your own,” Madiin replied, bowing deeply to her.

“It is not going to get better,” she said pleasantly. “I will do my best to ensure none of your people have to talk to her a bit more than necessary. Now, be so good as to explain to me what procedures you have for visiting diplomats?”