H - 133: Forward the Flame (Patreon)

Rafaela had been right, and that was both good and bad.

The soldiers-in-training did not seem put off by Kaln’s arrival at the plaza where they were recovering from their morning run—in fact, those not too winded to stand up seemed as excited as if meeting a celebrity. Which, now that he thought of it, they sort of were.

This was probably a moment when other leaders would give a rousing speech, presumably while standing upon something elevated, but Kaln had decided long since that if he was going to succeed at this leadership business it would be by sticking to his own proven style. And so he circulated among them, shaking hands and clapping shoulders, smiling and greeting anyone brave enough to approach him, engaging each in brief conversations while exercising every iota of his social skills to smoothly disengage after brief exchanges so as to make time for the next person without leaving any hurt feelings.

Pretty much the same stuff he’d done purely for the satisfaction of it, growing up in Rhivaak. Except now there were stakes. And the way each of these people looked at and spoke to him drove it home.

That was the other part of Rafaela’s assurance, the part that made it worse.

He could feel it again: the cloying pull of the power he had over these people. This was totally unlike circulating among equals—everything in their eyes, their demeanor, the tones they took with him emphasized that Kaln was the superior here. A good many of the one-time bandits stayed well back in clear fear; those who dared approach seemed to unconsciously hunch in his presence, adopting a placating aspect that verged in some cases on obsequious. Kaln wanted to find it uncomfortable; he was sure that in his former life, he definitely would have.

But it was so sweet, in that sinister way. A shiver running up his spine with each interaction, the pure satisfaction of it that had no parallel in his experience. Power was, indeed, a drug.

Kaln had to wonder, to his own great discomfort, if it was like this for everyone, or he was just unusually susceptible. There seemed no answer that wasn’t alarming.

Keeping a lid on this was obviously going to be a lifelong pursuit—which meant, in his case, an eternal one. He was very fortunate to have a bunch of dragons hanging around. They were supremely skilled at keeping a guy humble.

Altogether it came as quite a relief when it was finally Gunhild’s turn. She had noticeably hung back while he circulated among her fellows and former subordinates—former and future, the way he understood it; Tiavathyris had insisted that all trainee soldiers were equal until she deemed them capable of being true soldiers, but that Gunhild’s experience and aptitude had her marked out for an officer position as soon as there were any.

He could see it. Gunhild did not hover, or dither; there was no submissiveness in her demeanor, and based on what he’d seen of her history through the Storyteller and his own subsequent conversations with her, Kaln suspected there was none whatsoever in her soul. Here and now, that made her possibly his favorite subordinate.

She just waited, to the side, poised and calm, until he moved through the crowd. Probably picking up on the same traits he did, the rest backed away a few paces, breaking up into their own little groups, when Kaln strolled over to stand by Gunhild.

She greeted him with a deep nod—respectful, nearly verging on a bow, but nowhere even in the family of groveling. This was more like it, just two people who respected each other having a conversation.

“How’s Kessi?” Gunhild asked.

Kaln, though surprised, managed not to react as such. On giving it a moment’s thought, it made some sense that this would be her leading concern.

“She seems quite well,” he said. “I’ve known Kessifret for a few years, but I can’t say we were ever close. Clearly she’s been changed by her experiences, as have we all, but from what I can tell she appears happy in her new role. Navigating an uncertain mishmash of Rhiva, Missari, and Vale customs is just the kind of social challenge she excels at.”

“Aye, she’s got a knack,” Gunhild grunted, her eyebrows lowering. “I…well, if she’s doing all right, that’s what matters.”

Kaln nodded. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out.”

She let out a soft but sharp huff that once again made him think of a wolf. “It’s not… Well, sure, nobody enjoys being dumped. And I’m not mad that she was just using me, I knew that going in and it’s not in me to blame anybody for doing what they have to. Survival’s not a given, it’s something you take and fight for if you’re to keep it. No, I…”

Gunhild trailed off, drawing her teeth back in a feral grimace. Kaln remained silent, watching her sidelong while she gathered her thoughts. It occurred to him, with some amusement, that had they met a year ago he’d probably have found Gunhild intimidating. She stood a head taller than he and her shoulders were broader; the light exercise clothing she wore showed off her abundance of lean muscles. All things being equal and purely physical, she could probably pick him up and throw him. Possibly wouldn’t need both hands.

Of course, things were…as they were. Kaln found himself mostly appreciating her for being too self-possessed to find him intimidating.

“I thought she was an Imperial spy,” she burst out suddenly—still in a low enough tone not to share their conversation with the nearby onlookers, but still clearly losing a measure of that self-control. “She showed up telling that absolutely idiotic story about how she allegedly came to be wandering about the Reaches alone with a fortune in jewelry, then immediately cozied up to me, and Rafaela and Oswald and everyone else in the gang who’d had a hand in playing the great game said ‘oh, aye, that’s Rhiva doctrine all right, she’s a spy,’ so I figured, hells, if the Lord Regent wants to send me a cuddly little piece to warm my bedroll, I don’t mind if he keeps an eye on my doings in exchange, it’s not as if I’m up to anything he’d actually care about.”

She ran out of breath, finally. Kaln was genuinely impressed that run-on sentence had kept going as long as it had.

“And then the truth comes out,” Gunhild continued, even more softly. “The preposterous bullshit story was true. Kessi wasn’t an agent of the most powerful political force on the continent, someone representing power over the likes of me. She was just a girl trying to stay alive, in a situation where I and mine were the greatest impediment to that goal. I come to find I’ve used threats to her life and safety to coerce a lass into my affections. That’s…”

Her lips drew back in that snarl once more, and now it looked anguished.

“There is not a more vile thing one person can do to another,” Gunhild whispered.

Kaln took a second. This didn’t seem like a silence to let linger too long, but he definitely needed to gather his thoughts before stepping into this one. He had definitely not come over here to meet with the troops expecting a social predicament like this one.

“You said she’s the one who…cozied up to you?” he said finally.

Grimacing, Gunhild shook her head and made a slashing motion with one hand. “That’s not better. That’s the shitty trick they all use, all the landlords and judges and sheriffs who only live to take from those who actually do work. They set up everything around us just so, arrange it such that the only thing you can to do keep your arse alive for another winter is come crawling to them to take one of their rigged deals, and then they give you that smug smirk and say ‘well it was your choice to agree to it.’ If anything, that’s worse. Even bandits will just take your shit and knife you at worst. I was never asshole enough to tell anybody it was their own fault.”

“That’s…a pretty apt summation of…way too much of civilized society,” Kaln admitted. “I’m from a country which has laws that are supposed to prevent that exact thing, and a year ago I was in a prison cell waiting for death because it turns out that wherever there’s a law, there’s also a well-heeled bastard who’s figured out how to twist it to his own ends.”

Gunhild nodded once, emphatically.

“I still think,” Kaln continued thoughtfully, “in cases like this, intent is the only thing you can judge by. I mean, if all the rules and laws that’re supposed to settle these matters in advance have already failed to, what is there but intent?”

“Hm,” she grunted.

“Life is just weird sometimes,” he mused. “This situation we’re all in is… Well, I’m sure none of us could’ve predicted it a year ago, much less the…twists and turns that brought it about. Fact is, Gunhild, you’re comparing yourself to someone who would have deliberately coerced Kessi into a situation like you describe if they were in your shoes, and it seems to me that the fact you’re so disgusted at the accidental resemblance to them goes to show you’re nothing alike.”

She inhaled, then exhaled, and then again, before speaking. “I…hear what you’re saying, m’lord. I see the logic. Just… Sometimes, with some matters, logic isn’t enough. Y’know?”

“I do,” he agreed, nodding. “Gunhild, have you talked with Kessifret about this?”

She looked away, her mouth twisting for a moment. “Not since… I mean, no, I’ve not gone near her since she said we were quits. I figured…”

“Well…you might be assuming too much about how she feels about it,” Kaln said, reaching up to lightly pat her shoulder. Good gods, it was like a drum full of beef—skin taut over what seemed an excessively hard mass of muscle. “Like I said, she and I aren’t really close, but she overall has not acted like a traumatized person. She is…mostly as I remember her, from what I can tell, albeit with some coarser language and more gumption. Pretty much the opposite of someone who’s just escaped an oppressive situation.”

“That’s…good to hear, m’lord,” Gunhild said, letting out a relieved sigh. “It helps. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Look, it should go without saying that nobody here is to force their company on anybody else, but it’s important enough I’m saying it anyway.”

“A good rule,” she agreed with a hearty nod. “No other way to keep a place running without everything turning toxic.”

“Exactly. So, if Kessifret refuses to talk with you, then…that’s that. But honestly, if she’s willing to hear you out, I recommend you tell her what you just told me. I’ve got a feeling you both could benefit from the closure.”

There was silence for a few more moment as Gunhild stared, stony-faced, out across the city, past the heads of her fellow trainees. Then, slowly, she nodded once more.

“You’re a good boss, m’lord. If some rando had to end up in the Dread’s place, I’m glad it was you.”

“Thanks,” he said, a little wryly. “No pressure or anything.”

“Aye, better you’n me, that’s for damn sure.”

Grinning, Kaln punched her lightly on the upper arm, which was a sensation rather akin to patting a horse. It was a friendly little punch, not at all intended to inflict pain, but it left him with the impression that if he’d put his whole weight into the blow it wouldn’t have had much more of an effect.

He stepped forward, back toward the group of resting trainees, and raised his voice.

“All right, I won’t take up any more of your time! Your General has informed me that you’ve all been making excellent progress, and while it has never occurred to me to doubt her word, I do appreciate seeing it for myself.”

Kaln grinned up at Tiavathyris, who was perched nearby, once more across a row of Timestone structures in her larger form. She smiled and dipped her head toward him once.

“I know all of this would have been unimaginable to you not long ago,” Kaln continued. “Me, too, believe it or not. All of us were handed rough situations we did nothing to deserve…followed by a weird situation we sort of blundered into. I’m a big believer that while life tends to dish out random nonsense to us, it’s what we make of what we’re given that defines who we are. I’m proud of you all for the progress you’ve made; it gives me inspiration to keep improving myself. Bit by bit, we are creating something real out here in this wilderness. I know progress feels slow sometimes, but I want you to be assured that I see the results of your effort. Dragonvale salutes you!”

It was a bit extemporaneous; Kaln allowed the specific phrasing to flow, the way words did when he was in a rhythm of interacting with people. The bones of it, though, the basic structure he had of course hammered out in advance. Kaln had not done much public speaking in his life, and it came as a relief that he didn’t get stage fright—and that the words came easily once he got stated.

The reaction came as a surprise, though.

“Forward the flame!” chorused dozens of voices, accompanied by upraised fists and cheers.

Blinking, Kaln turned his head once again toward Tiavathyris.

“The battlecry of ancient Amaar-Darash,” she explained. “They picked it up from the ghosts. I’ve chosen not to discourage them; it seems oddly appropriate for a dragon-led nation. I suggest you ask the Darashi about the Flame of Civilization when you have time, husband—that is the philosophical concept at the heart of their culture, and I believe an explanation would be more impactful coming from an active adherent. And then, perhaps, seek a more critical perspective from Izayaroa later.”

“Your counsel is wise and valued as always, my lady wife,” Kaln said. “And as always, you’re right. I like it.” Turning back toward the assembled troops, he grinned and saluted in the Darashi fashion. “Forward the flame!”

“FORWARD THE FLAME!” they roared, copying the gesture—with less overall precision than the ghosts, but this was clearly not the first time they’d seen it.

Belatedly, he noticed the other figures present—bluish-green, translucent and subtly glowing in the sunlight, arrayed here and there on the surrounding rooftops, looking on. Kaln wasn’t sure if they had just arrived, or he simply hadn’t noticed their presence due to focusing on the people in front of him.

Before he could focus on anyone enough to read their expressions directly, one puff of mist in particular zipped right up to him and materialized into the familiar form of Commander Sharamin.

“Timir,” Kaln greeted him with a polite nod while Tiavathyris set about chivvying her suddenly-protesting trainees off to their next exercise. “Sorry, I probably should’ve… Well, I hope all this isn’t, ah…appropriative?”

For the first time since Kaln had known him, the Commander seemed momentarily at a loss for words. He recovered quickly, though, clearing his throat and making a tiny controlled shake of his head. “Ah… Ahem. I assure you, sir, absolutely no offense is taken. To be quite honest, I… I’m not sure I have the words to express how gratifying it is to hear that call from a new generation of mortal voices. However!” He had now fully recovered, straightening up and lifting his chin as his voice resumed its normal, clipped delivery. “I came to notify you of a situation, my lord. Dragonvale has a…important visitor.”

Kaln narrowed his eyes. “Something about the way you said ‘visitor’ made me hear ‘intruder.’”

“I would say it is an edge case, sir. He is a known ally, I am frankly doubtful of our ability to keep him out, and he is not making his presence…excessively agreeable.”

That combination of descriptions immediately added up to only one possible name.

“Wait, Shadrach is here? Voluntarily, under his own impetus? What the hells does he want?”

“In a word, sir: you. He vociferously demands an audience with the Dragonlord, while also being loudly derisive of that title. At the moment, the Young Mistress is entertaining him—or perhaps it would be better to say, is entertaining herself at his expense.”

He gestured out across the lake at the large, sinuous green shape looming over several human figures on a plaza at the opposite edge of the city, near the library doors.

“Vadaralshi…teasing Shadrach? Oh, hells.”

“Yes, sir, I thought it best to let you know immediately.”

Kaln was already reaching out with his mind and power, latching onto Vadaralshi herself and teleporting right into that confrontation, hopefully before anybody got sent to the bottom of the ocean.