The Tiger and the Dragon: Act 11, Chapter 5

The Tiger and the Dragon: Act 11, Chapter 5

Chapter 5

“Can the corruption be fixed, papapapa?”

The Brightness Dragon Lord’s movements paused for a moment before he continued his work.

“I don’t know, Draudillon. None of the hardest questions in life have easy answers. I can only continue to try.”

Deep under Oriculon Palace, Draudillon watched as her great-grandfather paced slowly around the secluded chamber. She had sensed that it was there since she was young, but she could never figure out how to reach the place. The answer turned out to be through an underwater tunnel in the river, which had been buried in over a century of silt. Despite their great size and the space that they demanded to live comfortably, Dragons were very good at hiding their lairs.

Except it wasn’t his lair – it was hers. Or, rather, the lair meant for the Dragon Lord that would hopefully be born one day to rule over what was commonly known as the Draconic Kingdom.

Admittedly, it was far too spacious for a Human-sized Dragon Lord to live in. And too damp. It was nice and cool, however, and she could see herself retreating to its depths whenever the days grew too hot to bear. Unfortunately, she couldn’t for the life of her figure out how to get any furniture inside.

For the time being, it was a place for her to practise. Beyond that, it was a place to craft. Primal Sorcery was unlike the ‘Tier Magic’ of the present day. Mastering it was nowhere near as simple, but its greatest feats were far beyond what Tier Magic could ever hope to achieve. She was still learning to wield it in a rudimentary manner, so fashioning more complex things would have to wait until later.

Draudillon watched as wisps of primal energy wove themselves into a series of complex formations. No, it wasn’t so much ‘watched’ as felt. While not a perfect comparison, Primal Sorcerers were much like the regular Sorcerers who deftly wielded Tier Magic through force of will and personality rather than clumsily grabbing at it through rationalisation and study.

“Platinum won’t get mad that you’re showing me this, will he?”

“The magic of the World belongs to the World, Draudillon. We Dragon Lords are each simply caretakers in our own little way. Even for the more meddlesome fellows like Tsaindorcus, there is nothing to be angry over. We can only be content that another one of us has appeared after so long. Also, I always mentioned that you’d be better at this than he is...”

She wasn’t so sure about that. It was all she could do to influence the reality about herself. The Platinum Dragon Lord could blast chunks of the continent into glass if he wanted to. Some would carelessly say that she was capable of little more than cantrips, but Wild Magic didn’t work that way. Draudillon understood its advantages over Tier Magic, but, as a weak practitioner of Wild Magic, she could only envy the ease by which Tier Magic casters could gain power and produce results.

“Say, papapapa...is the corruption truly so terrible? I understand that it’s alien, but the World still has its stories, right?”

Her great-grandfather stopped again. He looked over at her, and, after a long moment, he sighed.

“Perhaps one needs to have been there before it happened to understand the corruption in all of its depth. Like everyone else who came into existence after the corruption set in, you were born inside the cage that formed out of it. All you know is the cage, and there is no other reality by which to make comparisons.”

The strands of primal energy around the Brightness Dragon Lord tied themselves off. He came over to sit on a rock beside Draudillon’s, his seven-coloured robe settling about him.

“Before the corruption,” he told her, “everyone was free. Free to choose the path that they wished to take, then change that path if they felt like it. There were no limits; nothing that naturally bound one to the steps of a certain path. A farmer could become a blacksmith and then a singer and a soldier if they felt like it. How good they were at anything was only limited by the resources and effort they were willing to put in.”

“That doesn’t sound any different from now,” Draudillon frowned.

Her great-grandfather snorted.

“What happens now is but a shoddy imitation of what came before, little Wyrmling. Before, someone who learned how to farm was simply someone who developed their knowledge and skills in agriculture. Now, they are a Farmer.”

Little Wyrmling.

A twinge of sadness twisted within her. He called her that less and less as time went by. It was a sign that their time together – filled with his lessons that were so filled with mystery and wonder – would soon come to an end. When he finally left, only ‘Draudillon’ would remain.

“...I don’t understand.”

“Hmm...well, since you’re so obsessed with your budget recently, consider it along those lines.”

“I’m not obsessed with the royal budget, papapapa,” Draudillon’s face twisted sourly, “I hate it. It’s like my enemy.”

Her great-grandfather’s chuckle echoed off of the chamber’s walls.

“Then focus your ire on this example. Imagine that every soul in existence is allocated a certain budget at birth. Some were born with ten coins; others, more. The vast majority tend to have a smaller budget. Every time one commits themselves to advance in a ‘vocation’, they spend one of their coins. If they spend them all, then they have become all that they will ever be. Some will reach the end of their stories without spending all of their coins – they don’t even know that the coins exist – while others may spend everything before they mature into adults.”

“Can’t they earn more coins?” Draudillon asked.

“No,” the Brightness Dragon Lord shook his head sadly. “What they are born with is all that they will ever have.”

The implications of his allegory were not lost on her.

“But that means the stories of the World...”

“That’s right, Draudillon. The stories of the World, once gifted with infinite potential, have become chained and caged. And this is not the only atrocity that the corruption has wrought upon us.”

“...what else happened?”

“The very nature of things changed. Imagine yourself as a Beastman living at the time of that change. You live in an average city in the centre of the continent, living an average cosmopolitan life. You have good friends from several different species, including Humans. At some point, you find a mate and have your first child...and, to your horror, you find that the child bears little in common with you. She injures your friends’ children when you get together, seeing them as prey. The other parents have their own problems, too. Like yours, their children are alien to them, both mentally and physically.”

“And all that is a product of the corruption?”

“Indeed,” her great-grandfather said gravely. “The realities of an alien existence were arbitrarily imposed on our own. Civilisations all around the world collapsed within a generation because their essential workings no longer applied properly, suffering catastrophic failure. You cannot fathom the pure anarchy that the world devolved into when its denizens were forced to face their new and alien reality. It was not a quick process, either – it is still happening to this very day.”

“Then the Beastmen attacking my domain,” she said. “That’s the corruption’s fault, too?”

“Fundamentally, yes. It is as if someone arbitrarily decided ‘Humans are thus, Merfolk are thus, Beastmen are thus, Giants are thus...”

His voice trailed off and he looked her in the eye.

“‘...Dragons are thus’,” He said softly.

She swallowed, eyes wide in stupefied horror. Her great-grandfather sighed.

“And, so,” he said, “the vast majority of those who were born after the fact became thus. Aeons of evolution and ages of civilisation invalidated in a blink of eternity’s eye.”

It’s not their fault...

It wasn’t the Beastmen’s fault that they were like that. They were forced to be like that.

...but that meant it wouldn’t be right to hate them. She could only be a part of their story. As a Dragon Lord, it wouldn’t be right to use Wild Magic to destroy them; no more right than it would be to destroy the souls of her people to do so.

Her great-grandfather regarded her with a certain look – one that told Draudillon that he understood what was going through her mind. He gave her a nod, placing a hand on her head.

“It’s gratifying to know that all my instruction hasn’t been for nought,” he said. “I feared that the mortal side of your lineage would result in a narrow, self-centred worldview, but you appear to understand what is important. If anything, your compassion and love for each and every soul may stay your hand from doing what is necessary.”

“What should I do?”

“What we all do, Draudillon. In our limited way, we each try to promote a world where the best stories may be written. Such that they are.”

“In that case,” Draudillon said, “is there any other weird stuff I should be aware of?”

The hand on her head withdrew. Her great-grandfather rose and returned to his work.

“I have told you everything you need to know, Draudillon,” he said with a mysterious smile. “It wouldn’t do to spoil the rest. You have your own story to write, after all.”

“Do you believe that people have much choice over their lives, Sebas?”

The Sorcerer King’s Royal Butler did not immediately reply, so Draudillon took the opportunity to fork a piece of buttered potato into her mouth. It wasn’t a crop grown in the Draconic Kingdom, but as she savoured the starchy tuber, she thought it wouldn’t be a bad thing to cultivate a few fields for the palace kitchen.

“I believe it is the choices that we do make rather than the number of choices we have available that are important, Your Majesty.”

“And what is ‘important’?”

Silence fell over the room again. Draudillon looked out the window beside her table. The tower of Phelegia’s central keep offered a commanding view of the city and its surrounding territories, and, from her vantage, it almost appeared as if everything was normal. Since the deluge had arrived in full, people mostly stayed inside, but the sparse number of smoking chimneys spoke of the ravages of the Beastman occupation.

“It depends,” Sebas eventually answered. “What is important differs from individual to individual, and it is one’s associations that often dictate what is possible. With that in mind, I believe the choices that hold the most relevance to the bonds that one maintains are the most important.”

At her other shoulder, Ioena smiled and nodded in agreement. That was to be expected, as all properly-raised aristocrats were raised not as individuals, but as members of a house. They were part of a generations-long effort to build something greater than themselves. This thinking wasn’t limited to Nobles, of course: anyone that built anything inheritable did their best to make sure that their heirs didn’t bring the work of multiple lifetimes to ruin.Vissit novelbin(.)com for new novels

“But not everyone thinks that way,” Draudillon noted. “Some consider those bonds to be nothing more than fetters.”

“I cannot speak for those individuals, Your Majesty,” Sebas replied. “To be certain, a degree of freedom can be appreciated in anyone’s life, but, try as I might, I cannot understand those who live solely for themselves. Also, in a way, those bonds that some consider ‘fetters’ offer a sort of freedom of their own.”

Considering his position, Sebas’ answer was also understandable. Butlers were nearly always members of the nobility, and Corelyn’s delegation always addressed him as such.

Draudillon sighed inside, no closer to an answer to her question than before. The question both did and didn’t have to do with what they discussed, but it was a difficult topic to frame for casual conversation. She desired her domain to be a realm where the souls that dwelled within could live their stories to their fullest, and she felt that an integral part of that had to do with breaking free of the rigid, mechanical ‘system’ that they were trapped in.

The Marshal rose and turned, nodding to the soldiers at the door. Baroness Zahradnik entered with Countess Corelyn, who had been waiting outside all day just in case the court summoned her over one thing or the other. Behind them came six Elder Liches in two columns. Draudillon watched as her courtiers did their best not to back away from their advance. The Sorcerous Kingdom’s delegation came to a stop five metres from the base of Draudillon’s dais; two curtsies and six bows were performed in perfect unison before her.

“Your Majesty,” Lady Zahradnik’s mellow voice drifted up to Draudillon’s throne. “I hope the evening finds you well.”

“It’s been a productive day,” Draudillon said. “And We suspect that you are about to become very busy. You may raise your heads.”

“Indeed, Your Majesty,” the Baroness said. “We have come to review our strategy going forward and receive your approval to commence our offensive.”

“Very well. Show Us.”

The six Elder Liches came forward simultaneously, unrolling a huge map over the floor between them. They proceeded to place markers on the map, and Draudillon’s courtiers overcame their wariness to curiously examine the arrangement. Lady Zahradnik examined the room while they did so.

“Where is Lord Tian?” She asked.

Ioena glanced at Draudillon, who nodded in response. The Prime Minister nodded to the guards behind the throne, who went to retrieve Sebas from the corridor behind the hall. Once he arrived to stand by the throne, the Baroness’ briefing commenced.

“This will be the disposition of our forces in two days’ time, Your Majesty,” Lady Zahradnik gestured at the map. “To take advantage of the ongoing deluge, we will advance in three days. The first phase will involve the liberation of Rivergarden.”

Draudillon watched as the Elder Liches started moving markers across the map.

Enough Elder Liches to wipe a city off of the map and they’re being used to move wooden tokens atop it...

“If the objective is Rivergarden,” she asked, “then why is the advance beginning from the north and the south?”

“The Beastmen’s posture over the last few days indicates that they will initially retreat and regroup rather than stand and fight. We hope to push them out of Rivergarden without a fight by taking advantage of that posture and making their position untenable before they realise what is going on.”

“Without a fight?” Salacia furrowed her brow, “Should you not be destroying those filthy Beastmen at every opportunity, Captain?”

“As always, Your Excellency,” Lady Zahradnik replied, “we would like to minimise damage to the Draconic Kingdom and its citizens. Fighting in urban centres is chaotic and presents unnecessary risks to the residents. We can always eliminate the Beastmen when they’re out in the open.”

The Elder Liches stopped moving the markers and stepped back. Draudillon leaned forward. The Sorcerous Kingdom’s lines had engulfed Rivergarden and advanced to the first major road past the highways on the eastern banks of the Forst and Billaeus.

“This is what the situation should ideally look like two days after the beginning of the offensive. Progress will be relatively slow since we’re ensuring that no Beastman is overlooked.”

“What then?” Draudillon asked.

“At this point, we’ll be watching the Beastmen for their reaction while continuing our advance. How we do so ultimately depends on how the Beastmen conduct their defence. The Sorcerous Kingdom’s general staff does expect them to make a stand before we reach their headquarters at Corrin-on-the-Lake, however.”

“So things will be a mystery after the first few days, hm...”

“At this point in time, Your Majesty. After the first few days, we should have a better picture of how things will develop.”

“That’s understandable enough,” Draudillon nodded, “but the air about you suggests that you have something more to discuss...”

The Baroness took her attention away from the map to look Draudillon straight in the eye. A wave of gooseflesh crept over her.

“It concerns the fashion in which this advance is conducted, Your Majesty.”

“The fashion?”

“Yes. Thus far, we have operated as an ‘Undead horde’. The opponent we face now is far more capable and resilient. It may be best to thoroughly demoralise them.”

From the benches on her right, Salacia snorted.

“If it’s the Beastmen, why should it matter? Scare them to death if you must.”

Several people immediately voiced their agreement. Draudillon suppressed a sigh.

That girl...she still doesn’t get it.

As a follower of the Six Great Gods, Salacia considered all non-Humans as enemies to be destroyed. This was even with the Draconic Kingdom having amicable relations with the aquatic Demihumans off its shores. What she didn’t understand was that all souls in Draudillon’s domain were in her keeping, be they Beastman, Human, or anything else.

What the Baroness was asking for was permission to crush the spirits of the Beastmen in every way possible short of harming the Draconic Kingdom’s citizens. To anyone else, it would be considered a strange thing to ask of the sovereign of a nation that had been overrun by its aggressive neighbours, but, somehow, she knew that it mattered here.

Draudillon closed her eyes and took a deep breath. How much would it help? How much would it hurt? Could she control the outcomes? On a mundane level, at least, Lady Zahradnik was asking that the Draconic Kingdom not spread any unsettling information no matter what the Sorcerous Kingdom’s army did. That much, she was sure she could keep under her thumb, but the rest...

“What are the risks should you continue the way that you have?” Draudillon asked.

“Considering our opponent,” the Baroness answered, “not breaking their will to fight will result in more effective resistance on their part. It didn’t matter with the civilian tribes, but it will make a substantial difference moving forward. Additionally, your subjects may begin contributing to the defence of their territories.”

“Are you saying that our people would turn against us?”

Ioena’s tone mirrored the other courtiers’ expressions of incredulity. Lady Zahradnik glanced to either side.

“Not against the Draconic Kingdom, Your Excellency,” she said. “But they would against an Undead horde. Reports from our infiltrators indicate that their fighting spirit is still very high...the recent movements by the Beastmen actually have them thinking that the Theocracy has finally arrived to drive out their captors.”

“The Theocracy...”

The corner of Ioena’s mouth twitched. Following the Sorcerous Kingdom’s arrival, sentiment for the Theocracy had hit rock bottom in the Draconic Kingdom’s liberated territories. They had essentially been a tributary of the Theocracy, and the Theocracy had failed to protect them. Ironically, the lands still under Beastman occupation still expected the Theocracy to come to the rescue.

“So you’re saying that the people are more than willing to resist the Undead,” Emmad said. “Won’t this increase in...aggressive behaviour not encourage them to resist even more?”

“Not if I–our forces scare them witless, Your Excellency,” the Baroness replied. “Ideally, the citizens will cower in their homes until everything is over. That would make it far easier for us to deal with the Beastmen.”

She said ‘I’, right? Just what the hell is she going to do?

Baroness Zahradnik’s generally polite and calm demeanour only made thinking about it all the more terrifying. From the looks of it, Draudillon wasn’t the only one that took note of her slip. Her courtiers bore unsettled looks. Countess Corelyn was all smiles. Did she do it on purpose?

“Let’s continue the way we have for now,” Draudillon told her. “We can review the situation after Rivergarden is retaken.”

“Very well,” Lady Zahradnik lowered her head. “Does this mean that the other parts of the offensive that we reviewed have Your Majesty’s approv–”

The Baroness straightened and her hand went to her ear. Draudillon’s courtiers looked at one another in confusion. After a few seconds, her chestnut eyes narrowed.

“What happened?” Draudillon asked after she lowered her hand again.

“A report from one of our infiltration teams. They say that Laira is being deployed to suppress your subjects.”

“What?!”

Draudillon shot to her feet. Outraged expressions rose from her court.

“How did that garbage from Re-Estize enter my country?”

“Is it not native to the Draconic Kingdom, Your Majesty?”

“No,” Draudillon’s lip curled. “We made sure that it cannot grow here.”

“I see. Either way, it is not the same as the variety cultivated in Re-Estize as a ‘recreational drug’. What’s being distributed is a wild species which is orders of magnitude more potent. It could have come from anywhere.”

Draudillon lowered herself back into her seat. Her fingers drummed steadily on her armrest as she wrestled down the fury welling within her. It wasn’t any Human sensation: her draconic blood was boiling at the violation of her domain.

“Do it,” she said.

The hall quieted down.

“Your Majesty?”

“Purge these interlopers from my domain,” Draudillon said. “Do what you must.”

Audible swallows sounded from the collection of ministers and their aides. Draudillon had not issued her command as Queen Oriculus. She had done so as the Black Scale Dragon Lord.

The Baroness lowered her head, spreading her skirts in a smooth curtsey.

“By Your Majesty’s will.”