H - 124: I Deeply Regret My Actions (Patreon)

The Palace courtyard was full of soldiers, dragons, and the entire royal family of Boisverd; all of them turned toward Kaln with varying expressions of relief and apprehension. The sole exception was Lady Cora.

“You,” she snarled, half-lunging forward and clenching her hands into claws. And…she wasn’t even looking at Kaln, but past his shoulder.

“Don’t you me, I have no idea who you are,” Shadrach said with every ounce of disdain he could muster, which seemed enough to strike a lesser person dead on the spot.

“That’s the Court Mage,” Kaln said, glancing back at him.

“Oh?” The portal mage straightened up, his unfairly perfect features falling into a scowl. “This is the fucking imbecile who’s been conjuring people as if that’s a thing you can do, not to mention flooding the city with colossus spiders? If you need to say anything to her, Zelekhir, do it now. I’m about to confiscate this bitch’s skeleton.”

“Don’t!” Percy shouted from across the courtyard. “It’s not her fault!”

“You think I wasn’t ready for you, bastard?” Cora screeched, staggering forward.

“Cease,” Kaln ordered, and once again, poured the weight of divinity into it. All three drakes drew up short, but it was only they over whom he had true authority. He could see—in fact, he could feel the various humans present also reacting, but it was to a much lesser degree. After his breakthrough with Anessima he clearly had significantly more power, but the extent of it seemed to be creating a sense of gravitas that made people hesitate. He was still far short of an actual god, and anyone other than dragons was still outside his domain.

At least it had been enough to make both Cora and Shadrach pause, which was a blessing; he was pretty sure both of them had been about to start casting the nastiest things they could think of. In truth, Kaln wouldn’t have mourned anything that happened to Cora d’Acron at this point, but this courtyard was already littered with the obvious detritus of battle and there were a lot of vulnerable bystanders present.

Including some whose deaths would precipitate a political crisis…for which he would undoubtedly be blamed.

“There has been more than enough violence,” Kaln said aloud, keeping his voice as simultaneously firm and calm as he could manage while also filling it with all the divine weight he could muster. “We’ve been brought to this crossroads by a series of mistakes and misconceptions. It’s time to stop and reach a compromise, before more suffering results.”

“Kaln, no!” Vadaralshi exclaimed. “You can’t reason with this one, she’s got brain damage!”

“She’s been self-conjuring!” Pheneraxa added.

That meant nothing to Kaln, but Shadrach let out a hiss. “Oh, shit.”

He risked a glance back, finding Shadrach suddenly intent rather than angry, and already bringing up his staff.

“Wait—” Kaln got no further before Shadrach ripped open a portal directly under Cora’s feet, but even that was too late.

Cora was already in the air, having hopped during Pheneraxa’s warning, and now landed upon a disc of rune-engraved metal with glowing edges which kept her hovering above the hole into wherever Shadrach had just tried to dump her. In the next instant, a pyramidal construct of similar metal rods with glowing ends flashed into being all around her, and Kaln did not need to understand teleportation or conjuration to recognize a defense.

It would help him in planning a response if he knew how effective that would be; right now he was stuck on the fact that if this woman was actually insane, it was more important, not less, to try to talk her down. People who could not be reasoned with were all the easier to manipulate, and if she kept lashing out, the consequences could be catastrophic.

He didn’t even get as far as opening his mouth before a spell circle appeared on the flagstones under his and Shadrach’s feet, and sent a burst of fresh-smelling mountain air upward with a force that knocked both of them head over heels.

Kaln landed awkwardly, but he was really feeling the godling resilience now, bounding back to his feet with more athleticism than he remembered ever possessing before. Shadrach hadn’t bothered, simply teleporting himself back upright without interrupting his litany of curses.

“If nothing else today,” Cora hissed, “I will succeed in ridding the world of you two.”

“Asshole, all we have done today is clean up your messes,” Shadrach snarled back.

“And we are willing to let that go if you will just stop and think for a moment,” Kaln added.

“The hells we will! That—”

“Shut it!” Kaln barked, pointing at him. Thankfully he was spared further intervention from Cora because she was busy hurling boulders at the drakes and conjuring more iron barriers against dragonfire. “You are still here under contract. If we can settle this by talking, that is what we’ll do.”

“That went out the window the second I learned a mage this powerful has conjuration sickness. Shut up and step aside, Zelekhir, or everyone is going to die.”

At that moment, another teleportation occurred directly above the Palace. Kaln was aware of it before he even looked up, because it was cast by dragons.

The sight of them prompted shouts and backpedaling from the assembled Verdi in the courtyard, and even Cora and the drakes paused in their renewed dueling, turning to stare.

Emeralaphine, Izayaroa, and Tiavathyris spread their wings as they descended, perching lightly upon the walls surrounding the courtyard. There simply wasn’t room for them within it; even looming overhead, they all but blotted out the sun.

Kaln processed three revelations in the span of a second, because that was all the time he had to spare for it before he was forced to react.

The first was that Izayaroa’s scales were pure black, without her distinctive golden accents. He could sense the magical glamour she had cast over herself, and immediately understood its political purpose, then put that aside as currently irrelevant. The second was that the last he’d heard, which was…actually, it was less than an hour ago, though the time since felt like a few eventful days…they were going to be bogged down in Shamissar for such an unknown length of time that Emeralaphine had deemed it necessary to bring Shadrach in to help. So their mission there had either gone horribly wrong, or succeeded beyond their most optimistic hopes.

The answer to that, he suspected, was also tied up in the third thing: he sensed a second glamour Izayaroa was holding, rendering invisible the humanoid person currently sitting between the spikes on her upper back. That individual had the same almost-presence to his dragon-related senses as that Missari emissary. So, a dragonborn.

“YOU!” Cora roared, pointing upward.

“Good day,” said Emeralaphine, at whom the mage’s finger was directed, in a bemused tone. “I don’t believe you’ve had the pleasure.”

“You…you filth! Finally, finally you show your scaly hide!”

“What did I do?” Emeralaphine demanded, now visibly miffed. “I just got here.”

“Mother, she has conjuration sickness!” Pheneraxa called.

“Ah.” Emeralaphine’s entire demeanor changed instantly; peering down at Cora, she now looked purely sorrowful. “You hate to see it. Well, there’s nothing else to be done, then.”

Cora d’Acron did not have the expression of someone under threat of immediately execution by dragon; in fact, she looked so simultaneously enraged and delighted that just looking at her expression gave Kaln sympathetic pain in his facial muscles.

“HAZEPFELL’S DIMENSIONAL NAIL!” she screamed, and magic roared in the skies above them all.

Twenty swirling vortexes formed in the air, arranged in a loose dome above the Palace, and from each emerged an uneven spike of some substance that was hard to look upon, each protruding only halfway from its own portal, and of a color that seemed to defy the mind’s attempt to categorize it. In Kaln’s case, it was familiar: they looked like the same substance as the shadow crystal the Entity had sent him to acquire, the unearthly thing which had powered the Timegate that enabled his apotheosis.

He had no idea what he was looking at, but he recognized the name Hazepfell; that would have told him how bad this was, even had everyone else not been thrown into an immediate panic.

All three drakes tried comically to flatten themselves against the walls, and even their mothers quailed back from the sight rending the sky above them.

“All battlemages, STAND DOWN!” roared one of the Verdi soldiers. “No one cast a spell, any magic will activate those!”

Even Shadrach was staring at the sky with an expression of helpless stupefaction, his staff hanging loosely from his fingers.

Kaln was probably the only one present who felt the sudden press of attention from four major gods fixing their power upon this spot. The entire Vale pantheon descended, invisible and silent, but pressing down with all their power to keep this contained. After his recent conversations with Anessima, he understood how significant it was that they were involving themselves at all. Their presence formed, however, and held, and the spells in the sky remained. It seemed the gods were adhering to their policy of letting mortals solve mortal problems, but the fact they felt the need to enforce some kind of containment on this revealed the stakes.

“Finally,” Lady Cora said in a truly unsettling tone, somewhere midway between a hiss and a scream. Her wide eyes were fixed upon Emeralaphine to the exclusion of all else; she seemed genuinely unaware that there were five other dragons present, not to mention threats such as Kaln and Shadrach. “Finally, finally, I have you! Right here under my claws! What is the great White Wind without her magic? What are you without—”

Dragons could be deceptive, especially the larger, older ones. At their great size, with the care with which they moved, they gave off an impression of ponderousness which belied the reality. A dragon, even one the size of the White Wind, could strike with the same motion as a desert asp, and with at least the same speed.

Cora d’Acron’s tirade was aborted when, with a clap that echoed off the courtyard walls like thunder, Emeralaphine’s jaws closed upon her.

Emeralaphine lifted her head, grimacing in displeasure, and shook it once.

Across the courtyard, Queen Henrietta gasped softly as a few droplets of blood splattered her cheek.

Above them, the shapes of Hazepfell’s Dimensional Nails flickered out, and Kaln felt the presence of the gods recede.

Everything was silence, everyone shocked by the abruptness of it all.

“What were those, exactly?” Kaln asked into the stunned quiet.

“So, Magus Hazepfell wanted to devise a universal magic blocker.” Unsurprisingly, it was Shadrach who was both knowledgeable about magic and unaffected emotionally by anything which had just happened; he stepped in before even Pheneraxa could answer. “That’s impossible, even for him. It’s a matter of definitions; magic is too many different categories of thing for any one countermeasure to apply universally. So he did the next best thing and invented a universal magic…disincentivizer. The Dimensional Nail basically…incarnates a dimensional boundary into something incredibly fragile. If anything happens in its vicinity which falls outside the mundane laws of physics, it breaks, and so does the boundary. The immediate environs are merged with whatever dimension was selected—usually one of the hells.”

On the other side of the courtyard from them, Percy had been swept up into a fierce hug by Princess-Consort Etienne, with Prince Franz piling onto her from behind. Henrietta stood nearby, carefully wiping her cheek with a kerchief and speaking quietly to one of her officers, though she, too, kept a hand on Percy’s sleeve as if afraid to let her go.

“Ah,” said Kaln. “If magic is too many different things to counter, how does the…nail react only to magic?”

“I didn’t say magic, I said anything outside the mundane laws of physics,” Shadrach replied irritably. “The definition ends up being pretty arbitrary. Nuclear reactions will also set one off, in theory. In practice it doesn’t really matter because the sun is too huge and too far away to be affected, and anyone trying to cause one of those on this world usually gets stepped on by some god or other. Also, there is no reason to use more than one,” he added, growing more testy by the word. “Twenty? That woman was a special kind of crazy. I’m surprised this whole city wasn’t blasted into orbit just from those things being near six dragons.”

That explained the attention of the gods. Kaln decided there was nothing to be gained by telling everyone about that.

He looked up at Emeralaphine, who now had her head fully raised, frowning into the distance as if considering something. Izayaroa and Tiavathyris were both regarding her with…resignation. Well, he decided, there was no use quibbling over methods. There had been a problem, and she solved it. No one else had had a better idea.

“And with that, Shadrach,” Kaln said, turning to the mage with a smile, “your job here is done. On behalf of my family, I consider your contract fulfilled, and very well at that. You can feel free to use me as a reference for any future jobs, which is a promise I feel I can make with impunity because I know what you do to people who try to hire you and don’t have dragons.”

“Finally,” Shadrach groused. “I swear, what is it with you people and—”

His growing tirade was interrupted by a sudden louder one from across the courtyard.

“What do you mean, you asked to stay with the dragons!” Etienne bellowed, the royal hug having just broken up. She had now seized Percy by both shoulders and was bodily shaking her. “Asylum? Young lady I swear I am going to throttle you—”

Pheneraxa thrust her head forward, snarling; Etienne instantly cut off and backed up, spreading both arms and pushing her family behind herself.

“NO!” Percy roared, ducking under Etienne’s outstretched arm and delivering a roundhouse punch to the tip of Pheneraxa’s nose.

The dragon jerked back with an almost equine snort of what had to be pure surprise, given how little effect such a blow would have on her physically.

“Pheneraxa, don’t you dare!” Percy shouted, brandishing an accusatory finger up at the dragon. “She’s my mother! I have seen the way your mother handles you, don’t act like you don’t fully understand!”

“Hmph.” Pheneraxa raised her head fully, turning it sideways to look down upon the royal family with one eye. “Well, fair enough, I suppose. My apologies.”

“Ugh, whatever,” Shadrach grunted, and vanished with no further ado.

“Maman, it’s all right,” Percy said soothingly, turning back to Etienne. “Pheneraxa is my best friend. She’s actually very kind, just…overprotective. And impolite.”

“Your best—”

Etienne cut herself off. She and Pheneraxa stared at one another with mutual suspicion, neither offering to break the silence.

It was Percy who did so, loudly clearing her throat. “Vanimax. Now that we are all here, is there something you would like to say to my parents? Properly, this time, with none of your…editorializing.”

As multiple human and dragon heads turned toward him, Vanimax hunched his shoulders for a moment, but then deliberately straightened his posture. He looked toward Izayaroa, who nodded once, her expression grave. Then he paced forward, placing each claw with excessive care to avoid the debris of battle, until he stood alongside Pheneraxa in front of the royal family of Boisverd.

“I…apologize,” Vanimax said.

Queen Henrietta raised her eyebrows sharply; Franz and Etienne just stared incredulously. Percy gave him a nod of encouragement.

“There was no plan behind my…abduction of Perc—that is, of Princess Perseverance,” Vanimax continued awkwardly. “I was simply…seeking to demonstrate power, during events that left me feeling…bereft of it. At the time I didn’t… I did not think your perspectives, or hers, to be worth considering. I…failed to regard mortals as… Well, as meaningfully conscious, I suppose. After getting to know Percy—I mean, her Highness, as well as others, I’ve come to…”

He hesitated, hunched his wings uncomfortably again, and then straightened them, raising his head.

“I deeply regret my actions, and I am sorry.”

Percy smiled in approval.

“Had I the power,” Queen Henrietta said in a soft but carrying tone, “I think I would claw the still-beating heart out of your chest and take a bite of it before your eyes, while I watched the light fade from them.”

Vanimax jerked back, then bared his teeth and flared his wings aggressively.

Percy took one long, stomping step toward him and brandished an admonishing finger in his direction. Izayaroa and Pheneraxa both extended their necks fully toward Vanimax’s face, displaying their own teeth.

Wordlessly chastened, Vanimax hunched down again.

“I think we can all agree,” Henrietta continued, “it is for the best that I do not have the power, and can only deal with you as a queen, not as a mother. I accept your apology, Vanimax, in precisely the grudging spirit in which it was offered. May that be the end of any animosity between us.”

Vanimax opened his jaws, glanced back and forth, and then squinted at her, clearly at a loss for words.

“Are you missing anyone?” Emeralaphine asked suddenly.

Everyone in the courtyard turned toward her. The white dragon was holding something tiny between two claws, the sheer scale of her rendering it indistinguishable.

“Aside from the obvious?” Henrietta replied.

Emeralaphine grinned in amusement, which caused many of the assembled soldiers to retreat. “What I mean is, have you noticed the recent absence of someone that insane mage might have wanted to get out of the way without killing them?”

The Queen hesitated, drawing in a small breath, then her eyebrows drew together. “In fact… My spymaster has been inexplicably absent his duties for most of the day.”

“Ah, yes, that’d do it,” Emeralaphine said, nodding. “That’s exactly who a mad Court Mage cannot have poking about asking questions. Sit tight, then, I’ll handle this.”

She brought her other claw up and did something so tiny and detailed with the object she was holding that none of those in the courtyard had any hope of discerning it; Kaln was probably not the only one in awe of the precision with which she could use those enormous talons.

The object spewed forth a torrent of smoke which plummeted to the ground, coalescing into a huddled human shape in clothes that were simultaneously charred and damp; the figure twitched and made a sound of pure agony.

Then Emeralaphine waved one claw, and a column of pure white light burst upward from the body, piercing the highest vaults of the heavens. All around him scintillated fractal patterns of lines decorated by glowing sigils, the entire display accompanied by harmonious tones that could have been the product of bells, flutes, or voices, and also the scent of flowers.

Then it vanished, leaving the man sprawled backward on his hands, blinking up at the white dragon. He was an older middle-aged Valefolk man with silver hair and a trim build, his clothes clearly of expensive quality before they had been damaged.

“Hello,” Emeralaphine said pleasantly, leaning over him. “You were imprisoned for several hours in a djinn containment vessel. Those should not be used to contain corporeal mortals; as you are clearly aware, the side effects are quite debilitating. I have used magic to remedy any physical damage to you, but the same methods would do more harm than good if applied to psychological effects. You will likely experience symptoms of post-traumatic stress and claustrophobia. I strongly recommend that you take at least two weeks off to recuperate, and then assess whether you are fit to return to duty.”

Clarent blinked up at her, opening his mouth, then shutting it, several times in succession. “I…it…ah…”

“Ordinarily,” Emeralaphine continued, smiling, “I require significant expressions of gratitude from mortals whom I go out of my way to aid, but one does not make demands of trauma victims. Rest, sir. My instruction to you is to relax, and recover.”

“…thank you,” the spymaster managed, staring around at the assembled dragons with bulging eyes.

“You are welcome,” she replied graciously.

“I appreciate your kindness very much, Emeralaphine,” Kaln said, smiling up at her.

The great dragon inclined her head toward him, looking smugly pleased with herself. “It is only proper, husband.”

“What did she call him?” a shrill voice demanded from the back of one of the clusters of soldiers, followed by the bark of a sergeant calling him back into order.

“Indeed, thank you,” Henrietta repeated gravely. Her tone was purely solemn, but her eyes were narrowed. “Such compassion presents a marked departure from a pattern encompassing…the entirety of history, in fact.”

“Mother,” Percy hissed in a beautiful stage whisper that echoed across the courtyard while presenting a plausible attempt at discretion, “dragons’ pride is very important to them! It’s like dealing with aristocrats. They can’t just come out and say Atraximos was more powerful than all of them and they were as afraid of him as we were. Not in front of all these people!”

Another silence fell in which Henrietta stared incredulously at her daughter, and the rest of the Valefolk present assiduously pretended to have heard nothing—an art which was a well-practiced cultural institution for them. Izayaroa and Tiavathyris looked resigned, Emeralaphine and Vanimax reared up in outright offense, and Vadaralshi tucked her head under her wing and began twitching and vibrating.

Pheneraxa just stared at Percy in something like pride. Percy, though surrounded by her family, cut her eyes sidelong toward Kaln from behind her black lenses, and even from across the courtyard, he could see one corner of her mouth curl upward smugly.

Well, there it was. He’d been taking Izayaroa’s word for something of which he himself had seen no evidence until just now, but after this he had to admit it. Percy really did have good political instincts. She had just needed someone to help her access them.

He, himself, had to admit he didn’t have such gifts. But Kaln knew how to deal with people, and he could extrapolate from there. True, he very much preferred his interactions one-on-one, or at least as part of a group of equals, but he had seen his share of political theater and could infer how one set of skills translated to the other task. Hopefully.

It was time to prove it.