H - 113: Make it So (Patreon)

The “fun part” began with lingering, stunned silence.

Throughout the chamber, the ghosts shifted in newfound uncertainty, looking at one another’s suddenly revealed faces, and down at their own hands. Percy peered about, blank-faced in bemusement, while the dragons arched their necks in alarm.

On the floor below, bandits and adventurers braced themselves, gripping weapons—expecting the battle to start any second, seemingly unwilling to strike first. Cora stood as if frozen, but more like the coursing hound than a fearful hare, eyes intent and body tensed, waiting for the moment to strike.

Above them floated the dark shape of the Entity, a black translucence in bleak contrast to the glowing shapes of the ghosts, trembling with anticipation.

It was Zhiiji’s quiet voice which finally cracked the tense silence.

“Hey,” the cook said gently, reaching up to brush her hand through one ghost’s intangible arm in an attempted pat. “Kid, you okay? That looked like it felt…weird. You all right? Need to sit down a second?”

Corporal Spooky looked down at her, blinking. The face above her military uniform modified with a maid’s ruffled apron was now long and angular, with sharp features and a prominent arched nose, surmounted by hair trimmed short but more disheveled than military discipline would seem to allow. Her expression was of pure wonder.

“I…” Spooky broke off, eyes widening further at the sound of her own voice, and raised a spectral hand to touch her throat.

“A voice to the voiceless, and a breaking of chains,” the Entity cooed. “It begins.”

At its words, one ghost in particular shot upward in a puff of mist resolving into a new face above a familiar uniform, hovering in a position above and behind the Legion’s upper ranks.

The Commander of the Phantom Legion was a man with hair styled in immaculate waves, his features fine and pointed, almost delicate, with a tiny and ruthlessly neat mustache trimmed into place above his upper lip.

“Mage-Captain,” he barked, his voice like Spooky’s echoing eerily as though coming from a great distance, but clear and loud. “Options for shutting that thing down?”

“Negative, sir, it’s some kind of god,” replied the ghost who now puffed into place beside him, saluting. All the Phantom Legionaries’ newly revealed skin was the same luminous and transparent blue-green, but she had broad features and tightly curled hair that resembled Izayaroa’s phenotype. “A type three corruptor, based on available data. I recommend antiwhisper protocols. Can’t shut it down, but we can shut it up.”

“Very good, make it so,” the Commander ordered.

“Sir!”

The Entity’s vague form ripped as it laughed. “That’s your first thought? You guys were under for a long time, weren’t you? You no longer have to obey—”

It was cut off by flashing lights and explosive booms. At the Commander’s voice, the wavering lines of the Phantom Legion had snapped back into rigid formation, shields and weapons facing the interlopers as resolute as ever. Now, the line of mages behind the archers atop the stairs raised staffs and wands, and cast.

In the air above the central vault, all around the dark shape of the Entity, fireworks burst into being. The noise and lights spooked the bandits into shuffling back with cries of alarm; at least two people accidentally loosed arrows, which passed harmlessly through ghosts.

The Entity had been declaiming with protrusions spread to either side of its wavering form, like outstretched arms; now it lowered them slightly.

“Did you just—”

Once more it was cut off by the bang and sparkle of a fireworks display.

“That is incongruously pretty,” Percy observed from the back.

“Really?” the Entity complained, and a third round of fireworks drowned out anything it might have tried to say next.

“You can do nothing but talk,” stated the Commander, floating in the air with his arms folded behind his back in parade rest position, “and henceforth in Dragonvale, you shall not do even that. Begone, shade. Go pester someone who still has to listen to you.”

“I like their style,” Greg stage whispered. Riocco nudged him with an elbow.

“What are you doing?” Cora burst out, brandishing the staff with its attached grimoire and wand. “You’re free! Now’s your chance to rid yourself of these—”

The Commander whistled sharply and pointed at her, and a streak of blue mist flashed in front of Cora close enough to make her stumble backward. Or perhaps it was the impact of the staff being ripped from her hand.

The Legionary who had grabbed it rematerialized alongside the Commander, holding up the staff in a posture of reverence.

“This is not for the likes of you to handle,” the Commander stated, carefully taking the staff in both hands. With solemn but deft movements, he detached the wand, and then disconnected the book from the staff, causing all three to go dark. One by one, the items disappeared from view as if he had banished them from the physical plane. “I can appreciate you doing what you thought was a good turn, but it is tempered by your obvious, self-serving malice against our domain and its lord. Legionaries, be careful not to kill that mage. I surmise she is our best chance of learning what befell Master Kaln and recovering him.”

“What is wrong with you?” Cora roared, causing the Lone Wolves and bandits alike to begin edging away from her. “You were enslaved! It’s a toss-up whether the Hegemony’s mages or that godling treated you worse!”

“How can you not crave vengeance?” the Entity added fervently, and then was overridden by another round of fireworks, causing it to throw up its arms and spin a full circle in frustration.

“I would not expect one who traffics with bandits to comprehend the meaning of principles,” the Commander said disdainfully. “Every soul here is bearing a justly earned punishment to which we agreed. When the Plenary Mage Council declared their sentence, there were those of my Legion whom I am shamed to say continued to flee, and I know not what befell them in the end. We accepted the shame of our betrayal, and embraced the cost. The Phantom Legion serves eternally, because we acknowledge that we deserve no less!”

Every ghost in the room shifted from combat stance for a bare second to salute in unison, then resumed their shield walls and leveled weapons, hard-eyed and resolute.

“I had no idea,” Pheneraxa whispered. “That detail is not recorded in any surviving account I have read.”

“So I gather,” said the Commander, inclining his head toward her. “I would like to think that we would not be swayed from duty by the fact that Ar-Kaln Zelekhir has consistently treated us with undeserved respect and kindness, as have his family—but in the end, it doesn’t matter. Against all odds and the twists of fate, we found ourselves bound to one who embodies the principles of our lost homeland—one who negotiates when he could conquer, who upholds justice above vengeance, who seeks in every case the best outcome for all parties, when it is well within his power to take whatever he wants. Somehow, despite everything, the gods have given us another chance to carry forward the flame of civilization into this new and fallen world.”

The murky shape of the Entity shifted, and the row of mages raised wands higher; it decided to forebear comment. Below, Cora glared up at the Commander with incredulous fury, while the bandits and adventurers continued shifting slowly away from her.

“And you,” the Commander said quietly, “think you’re going to take that from us?”

“Apparently I do,” Cora growled. “All of you, get ready to—”

“Excuse me,” Riocco interrupted, causing Cora’s left eye to begin twitching violently, “but the Princess seems not to want to leave. We can’t just—”

“She doesn’t know what she wants!” Cora barked. “She never has! Get ready to push through those—”

“Excuse me,” Percy snapped, once again bounding up onto the chair, “but I will be the judge of that! Cora, you’re making a mistake. I am here of my own free will, under no duress, and what I want right now is to know what happened to Kaln and whether you had anything to do with it!”

“Wait, she what?” someone from amid the throng of bandits demanded.

Greg cleared his throat. “Ahem, well. The moral argument is obviously the more important—we can’t be party to forcing the young lady to do anything. But as a point of order, it’s also against the rules.”

Very slowly, Cora turned a stare of wide-eyed disbelief upon him.

“According to the bylaws of the Verdi Herons,” Riocco explained, “nonconsensually ‘rescuing’ eloped or runaway nobles is considered kidnapping, and also interfering in the internal affairs of nobility. We’d get fired.”

Gunhild heaved a sigh. “All right, then. Everyone, weapons down.”

“Don’t you dare!” Cora snarled, rounding on her.

“Lady Cora,” Gunhild said impatiently, “you have to be able to adapt to changes in the field. The situation here is clearly not what you thought. We came along with the understanding we’d be doing a good turn for our dragon neighbors, and now it appears we’re only creating a ruckus in their front parlor, as it were. I don’t plan to offend them any further.”

“Seriously, why do these ruffians think we want their help?” Vanimax demanded of the room in general.

Before anyone could answer, Vadaralshi vaulted over the ranks of ghosts, slamming to the ground right between their lower formations and directly in front of Cora, baring teeth and spreading her wings in a threat display.

The Court Mage alone stood her ground, glaring up at the dragon, while everyone else scattered backward.

“What did you do to my dad?” Vadaralshi snarled, fire flickering along her jaws.

Magic flared, a spell circle flashing into being at Cora’s feet, elevated off the ground and angled backward; the burst of pure elemental wind sent her hurtling up and away from Vadaralshi. She executed a perfect backflip, already casting again as she landed in a crouch.

An even broader circle flashed into being where she’d been standing a moment ago, and one pulse of light later, a huge monster appeared on that spot.

Huge in relation to the humans, at least; it was somewhat bigger than a horse, a creature with a black segmented body lined with spikes, its beady red eyes protected by ridges of chitin. It skittered back and forth upon spindly legs, hissing and stabbing at everything nearby with its two front appendages.

Everyone retreated further, the bandits fleeing in a disorderly panic while the Lone Wolves backed expeditiously away in a tight formation.

Everyone except Vadaralshi, who tilted her head, gazing quizzically down at the beast. “What the hells is this meant to be?”

“It’s a colossus spider,” Pheneraxa said. “Did she just conjure that poor thing here? You asshole, that’s a living creature!”

“Fearsome,” Zhiiji commented, striding forward straight through the ranks of the Phantom Legion, who obligingly remained incorporeal so she could pass. “I believe I will serve that…steamed. With garlic butter and seaweed salad, on a bed of risotto.”

The colossus spider was scuttling back and forth in either fury or panic, lashing out at bandits who failed to scurry away quickly enough, but not seeming interested in pursuing them. Turning to catch sight of Vadaralshi, however, it hissed again and charged her on its back four legs, raising the front two to jab.

The dragon, who was several times the spider’s size, calmly reached one claw under the oncoming creature and flipped it over onto its back.

Hissing furiously and waving all six limbs in the air, the spider squirmed in place, unable to right itself.

“Oh, for heavens’ sake,” Vanimax exclaimed in disgust. He jumped over the Legionaries as his sister had, and extended his neck, opened his jaws, and emitted a concentrated blast of fire.

Everyone except Cora retreated further from the conflagration, but his aim was careful; only the colossus spider was caught in the blaze. It lasted for all of three seconds, and then cut off to reveal a smoking pile of black ashes.

“What is this nonsense?” Vanimax bellowed, beating his wings once in pure aggravation. “Was this meant to be a prank? Bandits, three teenagers, and a spider? This is a house of dragons. Why would you even try this? Are you all morons?”

“Seems to me we’ve been badly misled about a great many crucial details,” Gunhild said in a carefully solemn tone. “Our apologies for the intrusion, good sir.”

“And they’re actually crustaceans,” Pheneraxa added.

“You mean were,” Zhiiji exclaimed. “Boy, did you not hear me say what I wanted that for? Look what you did!”

“Yes, that sounded good,” Vanimax replied. “After this idiocy is put to rest I will fly to Spiders Gorge and bring you a couple. But first things first!”

“Yes indeed!” Percy called. She now had a much better view of the chamber, being perched upon Pheneraxa’s upheld claw, able to both see and be seen clearly by everyone down below. “Cora, stand down! Yes, Vanimax abducted me by force, but it was my choice to stay here. The dragons have been very accommodating, and are not holding me against my will. They’ve offered to take me home or anywhere else I wish to go whenever I ask. I’m very sorry to have worried everyone, but…but come on, Cora, you know this is for the best. You know I was never anything but a burden at home. Please tell my family I’m all right, but I…I can’t come home. Not yet.”

“Dang, I kinda like her style, too,” Greg commented. Lilith and Riocco both nodded agreement.

Now, the attention of the entire chamber was on Cora. Ghosts, mortals, and dragons alike all turned to stare expectantly at the Court Mage.

She stood where she had landed, still half-crouched as though she’d failed to think of a single next step. Her expression reflected the same blankness—eyes wide, mouth half-open, frozen in the middle of trying to process everything which had just been revealed.

“It’s all right,” Percy continued in a calmer tone after a moment in which the mage did not react. “I know you were trying to help. I know you must have worked very hard on this. I’m sorry, Cora. Right now, I need you to stop. Kaln is not our enemy, and neither are these dragons. The Dread is gone, and we finally have a chance for peace. You…we… I can explain everything to Mother. Before all this spirals any further out of hand. Where is he, Cora?”

For a moment longer, Cora stood in that same posture, frozen.

Then, abruptly, she shuddered once, faintly, as if shaking off a dream. Slowly her lips drew back in an expression that mimicked Vadaralshi’s, eyes narrowing to slits.

“No.” The mage’s voice was low, hoarse, rasping in the back of her throat like the warning of a cornered animal.

“Lady Cora,” Riocco said urgently, “this is optimal. Even if we can’t bring the princess back, she is safe. There need be no—”

“Are you all completely stupid?!” Cora shrieked abruptly. “Can not a single one of you see what is right before your eyes? You’re seriously listening to this blather and believing them? These are monsters. There is nothing in them but destruction and malice!”

“Okay, whoah,” Gunhild interjected. “You’re too well-read a woman not to know better. The Dread was a thug, but there are at least two dragons actually running prosperous countries. They’re as personable as they wish to be. If there’s an accord to be—”

“The Dread was a vile, aberrant monstrosity,” Cora spat, rounding on her. “You are a thug, too blinded by your greedy delusions of making yourself some kind of dragonsworn lackey to think! All these things do is ravage and ruin, and if I am the last living soul able to see that… Then I suppose I know what I have to do next.”

“Cora!” Percy called in mounting alarm. “What are you talking about? This isn’t like you.”

“Like me?” Cora snarled at her. “At least one of us still knows the meaning of loyalty to crown and country. To your family, you backstabbing ingrate!”

Pheneraxa raised her head, baring teeth and flaring her wings.

“Fine,” Cora hissed, beginning to back away toward the vault’s front entrance. “Fine, then. If you won’t see…everyone else still can. I can make them. I just have to remind them. I was ready for this. I was ready for all of you. Opportunists and traitors and fools, the lot of you. If you want to stay here and be slaughtered by dragons, do it. I will save Boisverd from these beasts, if it means I have to—”

She cut herself off, lips and left eye twitching violently in a rictus of fury and apparent pain.

“What happened to you?” Percy whispered. “Cora, this isn’t normal. You’re not well.”

“Whatever the cost,” Cora d’Acron said, her voice suddenly low and controlled.

The air seemed to warp around her, twisting and contracting to a single point, and she vanished.

Silence hung once more in the vault.

“Well,” Vanimax grumbled, “it seems that wretched shadow left with her. At least some good news, then.”

“Oh, no,” said Pheneraxa in a tone of such horror that everyone turned to stare at her. “That was… That was remote conjuration. She conjured herself out of here.”

“Yes, she’s a conjurer,” Percy said, eyebrows drawing together. “That’s her specialty. I didn’t know she could do that, though.”

“Percy, you can’t use that on people— That is, it doesn’t work properly. The limits of conjuration are why teleportation exists as a distinct field of magic. Conjuring a living thing is physically traumatic, but for a conjurer to use that on herself…”

“D-did she do that to Kaln?” Vadaralshi snarled, lashing her tail. “I will kill her myself!”

“Pheneraxa’s right,” said Vanimax. “Ralshi, you know what self-conjuration means.”

“I don’t know what it means!” Percy exclaimed.

“I do,” Lilith and Oswald said simultaneously, then turned wary stares upon each other.

“It means this is as bad as it can possibly be,” said Pheneraxa, “and wherever she just sent herself, something terrible is about to happen.”