Chapter 24 : Don't Stop Me Now (Patreon)

Peleps Galan

Realm Year 764, Resplendent Wood

House of Hale Mind Outskirts, An-Teng, Satrapy of the Realm

Mnemon Rhomon, a mortal sorcerer just lucky enough to survive graduating the Heptagram.

It wasn’t unheard of for the Heptagram to accept mortal students with an interest in the occult, after all, even if a dynastic scion had yet to exalt by the time of their admittance, that didn’t mean they wouldn’t be exalted by the time they graduated. Exaltation can strike at any point from the tenth to twentieth year of life, and students begin studying sorcery at fourteen to sixteen. It was entirely possible for one to enter mortal and emerge exalted, and with such a pedigree as Mnemon’s backing him, it was reasonable to presume he was just a late bloomer.

The truly remarkable thing was that he was allowed to survive to graduation without exalting. Sorcery was dangerous, far and away too dangerous for mortals. The experience changed one’s perceptions of the world in unpredictable ways- even Dragonblooded wouldn’t come out the other side totally sane. His own cousin Margaret went in a few years ago and has become increasingly absent and pale as linen in her letters to the rest of the family. 

A major change from the lively, ambitious, almost rambunctious young girl who entered just a few years earlier. Her graduation was sometime this upcoming year or the next, and the elders were looking for anyone to marry her off to.

Rhomon was a very interesting case. For as far as anyone could tell, he initiated into sorcery and emerged as a graduate of the Heptagram more sane and confident than when he had entered. His lack of exaltation made that something of an insult- if a mortal could master the essence of the world and emerge better than before, what were the exalted betters doing wrong?

Galan disliked being pulled away from his projects in An-Teng, but when your Elders tell you to jump, you ask ‘how high?’ Reports were that the Tepet girl was going to probably call off the engagement if her betrothed didn’t awaken to his Dragonsblood, and house Peleps was interested in sweeping in and securing the engagement before anyone else got ahold of him. Margaret was a good candidate, a fellow sorcerer, and someone that the Mnemon boy might be able to ground out.

Sorcerers weren’t to be trusted, but their connections were still useful. Mnemon would surely provide favorable deals to her son and the son would surely be grateful to have a match with a proper Dragonblooded- his superior in every way. Peleps would get favorable contacts, Margaret would get a husband who understood whatever nonsense magic she was distracted by- it was a win for every party.

So it came out that the sorcerer boy was making a trip to An-Teng for his sabbatical, and as the house that controls the majority of the Realm’s navy, House Peleps jumped on the chance to provide transportation. Galan was recalled to escort some mortal brat and his immaculate bodyguard over to his territory and keep an eye on them.

Unfortunately, the moment he looks away, that same mortal boy decides to kneecap one of his projects and run off with her.

The sorcerer looked much the same as last time, this time wearing a slightly different coat. Kettle helm on his mane of bright red hair, tanned skin, one eye perpetually closed, and a staff with a smokeless flame in its tip. The boots were new though- layered plates of white jade over imperishable leathers, an artifact if ever his eye identified one.

The sorcerer paused, squinting at him. “...Forgive me-”

Absolutely not, you meddlesome brat.

“-Did you tell me your name was ‘Gal-en’ last we met?” The sorcerer recognized him at least, and had enough sense of mind to recall little details like that. Impressive for a mortal to remember a conversation that happened months ago. 

Galan gave a practiced smile and chuckle, leaning forwards on the crate and raising one of his eyebrows. “Do you give out your true name to every sorcerer you meet?” He asked, raising a finger as he made the point.

The meddlesome sorcerer raised a finger as if to counter the point, before dropping the hand and nodding to relent the point. “I can’t fault that.”

The sorcerer was accompanied by a small entourage. The monk, as was familiar, that Sesus boy who has been slumming around An-Teng practically begging for prestige handouts instead of making something of himself for a few years now, one of those beastmen from further south, and an incredibly old man wearing an abundance of talismans. 

He’d need to get a better read on them. “Glad you joined us- it’s not right for sons of the Realm to be skulking about at the thresholds, isn’t it?” He commented with a smirk, reaching over and snapping his fingers. “Winsa- pour the guests a glass of wine, will ya?” He smiled at his slave, an impressively busty woman that he picked up a few decades ago. She was getting a bit too old for his tastes, but she was still useful and it’d be a waste just to throw her away.

The slave nodded, skillfully retrieving a bottle of a middling vintage from a winterbreath jar and pouring out the demanded servings. The warriors of his camp made ample space for their conversation, setting up chairs and a table before making themselves scarce.

There was a note of tension in the air as the sorcerer, beggar, and straggler before him settled into their chairs and took the offered glasses. The Sesus boy drank immediately, complimenting the wine. “Ah- a magnificent taste! Your choice of drink is as discerning as ever, Sir Galan!”

The Sesus boy was just discerning enough to realize he should compliment the drink but not enough to tell that Galan didn’t particularly like this vintage. Galan shrugged and took a drink himself. “It’s acceptable to whet the appetite.” 

The monk, of course, didn’t drink. Neither did the sorcerer. The beastman and the old man both drank. Paranoia or a distaste on the sorcerer’s part? “I have to say, you’ve been remarkably busy since my ship brought you here to An-Teng, Mnemon. Finding the lost regalia of the princes, trading favors amongst the Snakes Who Walk Like Men, pilfering artifacts at the treacherous depths of Thousand Dragons Lake, finding this long lost manse…”

He paused and took a drink. “...Recruiting thaumaturges you pass by.”

“Melia told us about your interest in her- a few days away from The Lap.” The sorcerer commented casually, shrugging and leaning back in his chair. “Course, I didn’t know that when asked to join us.”

“Ah, so she was with you after all.” He smiled to disguise his irritation. This was just confirmation of what his contacts in Abundance had relayed to him about her whereabouts. He raised a brow and cast his gaze around their party in an obvious manner. “She… doesn’t seem to be with you now. Whatever happened to her?”

“I paid for her passage and protection by a local mercenary company in The Lap. She’s probably swearing herself to the Perfect of Paragon right about now.” 

He closed his eyes, the brass goblet in his hand groaned as it dented inwards. A lost cause then. Those sworn to that upstart mortal with his fancy stick were branded with his symbol. That brand didn’t come off, and Galan refused to have marked property in his fine entourage. By the time he got over there and tracked her down again, it would be much too late.

That effort, that fine clay… wasted. 

“Hey now cousin- don’t claim feats that weren’t your doing- I was the one to pay for her passage and protection, as per our agreement.” The Sesus boy spoke up, gesturing at himself. The sorcerer’s face stretched into a strained smile.

Galan opened one eye, smirking politely. The sorcerer was trying to obfuscate your actions and protect you, boy, shame you were too much a fool to realize that. “I’m somewhat irritated that you were so careless, sorcerer. Shortsightedness is the mark of the mortal though, I suppose.”

“She was pretty, but not all that pretty. If you wanted a concubine then there’s a thousand slaves in Cynis auctions that are her better.” The sorcerer pointed out.

“I suppose a mortal wouldn’t really understand.” Galan sighed, reaching up to scratch his finely groomed beard. He waved a hand, locking eyes with the one-eyed magician. “Everyone you see here? They are my hand-picked servants. I picked them because I saw in them something of value, something to be refined and put to service for a more-righteous cause. If I just wanted a slave, I could just buy one, but I don’t want that-”

He raised a declarative finger. “-I want to make Creation a better place, a little bit at a time. One threshold commoner taken into my service, trained, groomed, improved, bettered in station and in purpose.” 

“...being your concubine?” The sorcerer asked dryly, raising a brow.

“What- do you think concubines aren’t important? That they don’t do good work? That’s rather callous of you, Mnemon.” Galan raised his brows and leaned back in his seat, mimicking the relaxed stance of the mortal. “Further- not just a concubine, but an alchemist too? She’d do me fine service in my expeditions and reclamations of Dragonblooded heritage from barbarian hands.”

The Sesus boy was half-nodding along, and gleams of understanding entered the eyes of the stragglers- except the old man, who was absently fiddling with a compass of blue jade around his neck.

That was a hearthstone compass. He’d make a note of taking that- it’d serve him much better than as a decoration around a withered neck.

The sorcerer, meanwhile, looked entirely unconvinced and unimpressed. “If you wanted to help make Creation a better place, there’s a hundred more effective ways than that.”

“It’s just my hobby, not a great crusade on my part.” Galan shrugged off with a smirk. “Can’t a dragon have his hobbies?”

“I like painting.” The old man declared with a smile, eyes wandering over to him. Galan raised a brow. No other information was forthcoming, and there wasnt a hidden meaning that he could detect.

“You’ll have to forgive him, the honored elder is quite deranged. Sick of the mind.” The sorcerer explained, gesturing towards the elder on the ram lizard and then at the manse behind him. “It’s actually why I’ve brought him to this manse- its hearthstone has the power to cure derangements in those it is attuned to.” 

The sorcerer waved his hand. “You’re free to have the manse after that purpose is fulfilled, this is the only task I need it for.”

“A hearthstone? Would you mind if I see it?” Galan asked with a half-curious note in his voice. He was fully intent on crushing the jewel in his hands, just to watch the sorcerer’s misery at the setback.

The manse would regenerate its hearthstone in time, but the mortal needed a distinct lesson on hampering the projects of his betters. A brief delay was downright merciful compared to what he had the right to inflict here.

“Sur-” The Sesus boy began, only to be interrupted by the sorcerer. 

“Absolutely not.” 

The Sesus boy paused, flinching and looking over to the sorcerer with a hesitant smile. “Heh- Cousin?”

“If we hand him the hearthstone, he’d smash it to make a point.” The sorcerer declared with absolute confidence, staring into his eyes. “Wouldn’t you, Captain Galan?”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t do that…” The beggar laughed before glancing over at him.

He had a smile on his face, but inwardly his anger was beginning to build. “You’re quite presumptuous for a failed dragon, aren’t you?” Galan turned his gaze to the beggar, smile dropping from his face. “Sesus- you’re an Exalt. Why are you being deferential to this mortal?” As he spoke, he shaped the essence of his words into a hammerblow, and smashed it against the camaraderie that they shared. 

His words, rich with his power, smashed the bond of loyalty in an instant. The Sesus boy flinched and then glanced over, a slight frown on his face. “Well…”

It was his preferred tactic for dealing with enemies of the Realm. So often did beastmen, barbarians, and heathens gather their strengths to war against the mighty dragons- by striking at these bonds, they were easy to manipulate into internal warring.

And an enemy divided against itself could not stand against the dragons. The treasures that they hoarded were simple to retrieve afterwards. 

The sorcerer paused as well, narrowing his remaining eye. Galan huffed and sat up straighter, waving a hand. “Regardless- you did poorly to secure this manse for the Realm. A single weak ward, no message to any of the Dragonblooded visiting An-Teng, none of the dangerous jungle cleared away from it…” He paused and then gestured at the fields of ash, a flame flickering to life in his palm. “I did the service of securing this place, even if you may have found it and looted it. House Peleps has done more than House Mnemon in securing it.”

He was intent on taking for himself as soon as he followed their tracks here, while investigating where the sorcerer had found those shogunate era relics that the beggar tried to sell off. That assassin had a good reputation, but it was apparently smoke and vapors, because the sorcerer was still clearly alive.

With the mortal alive, house Mnemon could push their claim to the manse quite effectively so long as the sorcerer was alive to do so. A mere mortal he might be, but Lady Mnemon herself was significantly more powerful and important, and she’d never give up a new place of power like this.

“And House Peleps can have the manse and hearthstone- after I’m done with it.” The sorcerer stated bluntly, brushing his words aside with a little sweeping motion of his hand. “I’ve already told you that.” The red-haired brat had the nerve to sound annoyed with him. 

“You’ve had the hearthstone in your position and immediately ran off with it, doing minimal work to secure the manse. You are not trustworthy with it.” Galan declared bluntly, lacing his essence into his next command. “Hand it over.”

The sorcerer narrowed his eye, the words washing over him without a flinch. What a stubborn brat.

“Lord Peleps, please allow this simple task. Mnemon’s request is entirely reasonable to secure the manse is it not?” The monk attempted to smooth things over diplomatically, raising his hands and speaking out of turn.

It wasn’t really about reasonably securing the manse at this point. Galan already had it and they all knew it. It was more just a matter of teaching this brat some humility. “A sorcerer handing over such a valuable place after a single act? That’s suspicious don’t you think? What’s the value of curing this deranged man to him that would make it worth surrendering an unclaimed manse for?”

“I’m confident that the purpose is nothing malicious, lord Peleps.” The monk attempted again.

Galan shaped his next words with his essence again, once more forming the sledgehammer. “You trust a sorcerer? Really Immaculate?” 

Words smashed apart the bonds of trust between the parties, and the monk stopped short, face falling into a thoughtful calm. He hesitated, glancing at the sorcerer and then looking away.

With the bonds shattered like this, the sorcerer would have no one to speak in his defense- 

“Brother-Against-Brother Insinuation." The sorcerer declared, leaning back with a black expression and intense eye. 

Galan paused, glancing back at the sorcerer. The sorcerer’s blank look slowly turned into a toothy smile. “You should be more careful in your use of your Charms, dragon. I could feel you use it both times.” The sorcerer reached up to tap the side of his face, next to his eye. 

Galan narrowed his eyes, distracted from his attempted manipulations. “You’re well versed in the techniques of the Dragonblooded, aren’t you?” He observed. It didn’t really matter if such powers were called out, not for the immediate future, the bonds were shattered regardless. 

“You can skip the attempts at social manipulation, I’ve already decided to ignore everything you suggest.” The sorcerer responded arrogantly, waving a hand and standing up from his chair. “Just get to the part where you make demands at me, I ignore those demands, and then you try to cut our heads off or something.”

Galan sighed.

The brass cup in his hands shrieked as he crushed it, wine spilling between his fingers as he rose from his chair. “You’re an arrogant little worm, aren’t you?” Galan laughed, fist shaking with restrained fury. He dropped the cup and shook his hand out. “Alright then, no pleasantries, allow me to dictate terms to you, mortal.”

He raised his hand and raised a finger. “I won’t kill you, despite your multiple insults and undermining of my work, because I am merciful. I am, however, going to beat you to near death.” He smiled and nodded. “Then, I will be taking the hearthstone and this manse on behalf of house Peleps. I will be taking your artifacts and talismans and put it to better use. After you have recovered, you are going on a boat back to the Blessed Isle, straight to Peleps land, and you will be the guest of my elders until cousin Margaret comes of age. You will marry her.”

“Wait what?” The sorcerer asked with a note of genuine confusion, holding up a palm in a gesture of ‘slow down’. “Margaret- two years my junior Margaret? Attending the Heptagram? That one?”

“That one- house Peleps would like to arrange a betrothal between you two and I was asked to make the proposition at some point.” Galan explained briefly.

“Ah- uh- maybe? I don’t know, you’d probably have to ask my mother instead, I'm not really…”

“Don’t have a say in your marriage?” Galan asked sympathetically. The sorcerer nodded, and Galan nodded in understanding. “Right then- but you’d be willing to if she agreed, yes?”

“Oh, probably yes. She seems like a nice enough girl, a bit airheaded though.” The sorcerer shrugged, then paused. “Ah, sorry for the interruption, please continue the threats.” 

“No worries.” Galan waved off, he paused and thought about it for a moment. “Now where was I…?”

“You’re going to beat me bloody, steal all my belongings, then ship me back to Peleps land as a hostage?” The sorcerer offered with a roll of his wrist.

“Ah, yes- you’re also going to beg me to stop the beatings, and thank me for my mercy after I decide to do so, understand?” He tilted his head and smiled. “But you got one thing wrong, I’m not going to be beating you personally. I have men to do that on my behalf.” He gestured wide around, and his entourage of soldiers and pirates, warriors and swordsmen, all of them the match for any royal guard.

The beastman rose up with a hand on his sword, but the monk and beggar were much slower to rise, and glanced hesitatingly at them.

“Don’t worry, I’m going to presume that you alone are responsible for this, sorcerer. Your allies will remain unharmed so long as they don’t intervene.” Galan assured, making the Immaculate and the Dragonblooded shift nervously, glancing at the many men, himself, and the sorcerer. 

“...Shuri…”

“Siata, if you are to suggest we do not defend our friend, then waste no words.” The beastman declared firmly. 

“...Surely, if Rhomon were to just hand over the hearthstone, you’d be gracious enough to provide mercy, Lord Peleps?” The monk attempted- his compassion sufficient enough to warrant a last-ditch attempt at diplomacy despite the shattered bonds.

“Sure, I’d be agreeable to such.” Galan lied, then waved his hand at the monk. “Retrieve the hearthstone, monk. I command it as an Exalted of the Realm.”

The monk froze, before gritting his teeth and clenching his hands into fists. “...Sorcerer.”

“That’s not happening, Brahm.” The sorcerer stated plainly, starting to stretch and roll his joints. “All of twenty minutes and the elder’s mind will be healed, this guy can get his hearthstone, and there’d be no conflict. The fact that he’s insisting on this, like this, means that he doesn’t give a shit about either the hearthstone or the manse-”

“-He just wants petty revenge on me because I happened by the girl he couldn’t convince to worship him.” The sorcerer pointed a dramatic finger in his direction, a toothy grin and malicious squint in his eyes.

Galan was quiet for a moment.

He inhaled slowly, then exhaled slowly. 

“You’re trying to get me to kill you, aren’t you, worm?” Galan asked, all pretense of politeness gone from his tone.

“No, I’m just buying time.” The sorcerer admitted with a smirk. 

“Buying time? Time for what? You’re entirely surrounded.” Galan asked.

The sorcerer pointed to the left, grin splitting his face. “You didn’t feel that expenditure of essence, but I certainly did.”

Galan’s gaze narrowed, and he sharpened his hearing. 

The cracks of jungle wood snapping and the shaking of leaves. Something large and monstrous was coming. His gaze snapped over to the side, just in time for a massive, dark grey shape to explode out of the treeline and into the ashfields.

A monstrous centipede with three glowing eyes, five hundred yards long and with pincers the size of carts burst into view, a chitinous roar echoing out of the mandibles that passed for a mouth.

“Defensive positions!” Galan immediately commanded with a wave of his hand, the monstrous centipede charging right for their camp, eyes aglow with inhuman violence.

A burst of movement. He turned to see the sorcerer pulling the elder off the lizard and running towards the manse with him in hand, the beastman following close behind. Galan snarled, and filled his voice with essence.

“Monk! I command you as a Dragon of the Realm- arrest them and stop whatever plot that sorcerer has!”

The monk, seized by his command and training, immediately leapt towards the fleeing group.

“No- what is-” 

“Sesus! Go aid the monk- I will hold off this beckoned monster!” Galan turned, drawing his sword and moving forwards, a sweat on his brow and heart beating with furious palpitations. “Do something useful for once!”

At that point, the monstrous centipede smashed into the walls of their camp.

And men began screaming.