Chapter 9
Tired as the workers may be, their toiling continued. The moon hung high in the sky over the quarry in the northeast corner of Solemn Valley, watching the workers much like the dragons were. Sweat and grain, blood and steel, mud and meat, tears and armour. No matter how rough the conditions, the work continued. No matter how harsh the storm or cold the night, the work continued, lest the workers face the scaled wrath.
On a platform at the entrance of the quarry stood four men on a line. One was bound to a pole with a sign hanging on his neck. Written on it were the words ‘Delinquent. Lazy. Only cares about himself over Divinity.’ Next to him, another was on his knees, his back bent over. Over him stood a miner holding a whip in his hands, colored black and red from coal smears and blood respectively. Before them, a sign: ‘Humiliated Divinity with their games.’ ’Next to that, one more was shaking. Not far from the platform, two dragons were debating whether or not to bite his head off. The final man lay on the floor, foaming at the mouth, having wetted his green pants.
Most workers in this quarry were prisoners of war. Imperial troops captured on raids, put to work at the tip of a claw. The dragons didn’t care. All keeping them from mauling the workers were orders, and the odd local forced to work here too. Hurt one of them, and it was their hide getting flayed. But there were no other restraints. Spitting, threats, disciplining, all allowed as long as the worker could work afterwards. And no dragon here held back.
But the quarry was just one piece of the misery in Solemn Valley. A stone path connected the quarry with forges on the outskirts of Revalsburg. An uneven, shoddy road, that no one but the prisoners used. They went back and forth for hours, pulling carts filled to the top with unprocessed ore. There were no breaks or medics. Quickly dubbed ‘Road to the Abyss’ by the prisoners, though any mention of that name was met with a dozen lashes. It was uttered only in their ‘house’ : A dusty, damp barrack next to the quarry, where the windows were covered with cobwebs and the food was little better than stale bread. The minimum needed to keep someone alive and working.
Anyone voicing their plight would quickly be silenced. The guards told them they should be lucky they weren’t all dead yet. And so they toiled for days on end, praying for mercy, praying that the Imperial army would save them before their bodies couldn’t take it any more. That was all they had, and they only had it because the guards couldn’t take their souls. Many had died. What became of their bodies was a mystery. One the workers could guess.
Today was inspection day. Merahn herself came down to the foundry to see how progress was going. Armies do not build themselves. If there was anything she’d learned from that golden fool, that lesson had been carved into her brain forever. But the process could be sped up. She ordered the guards to keep up the pressure.
By the end of her inspection, she had come to two conclusions. First, that progress was too slow to launch a full conquest of Lokahn anytime soon. Second, that the dragon guards and collaborators were unfortunate to have to deal with the stench of smelting ores and sweaty bodies all day. She vacated the foundry and bathed in the river right after.
“Blegh. Miserable wretches…”
After shaking the leftover droplets off her scales, and hissing back towards the foundry, she longed for a sunbath. There wasn’t much sun today. Most days of the year didn’t bring sun to Solemn Valley. It was always cloudy, rainy, dark. Even the summers weren’t so fortunate as the rest of Lokahn. Thanks to how far north the valley lay, that was to be expected. But Merahn wasn’t fond of it. Not one bit.
“Once we take this country back,” she growled while flapping her wings in anticipation to take off. “Once Divinity has been restored back to the throne, this land will forever be blessed with dragon’s weather. I will. Make. Sure of it!”
A growl crept out of her throat, an orange light creeping into her mouth concurrently. The grey dragoness clenched her teeth. She was stressing over nothing. Just ordinary life difficulties you face on a daily basis. Not everything goes the way you want it to. In fact, many things don’t. Some fall flat on their face. Some end up in the mud. Some end up exploding in your face. Even war plans hadn’t worked out all the time.
She shook her head. Sun or not, resting for a while would be perfect. Her people didn’t need to be observed constantly: Loyalty to Divinity would take care of everything. And her personal duties to Divinity would be affected if she remained agitated. This wouldn’t do. So she recused herself, returning to her tower at the centre of Revalsburg.
But as fate would have it, her rest wasn’t long lived for this world. Ten minutes after she had laid down on top of her tower, wings to try and catch as much of what little sun the valley received, another dragon approached. Merahn craned her head up, her eyes half shut. The wings belonged to a white dragoness.
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“Merahn! I have important news to share!”
The grey dragoness sighed in response, before lowering her head back onto her paws. “Can’t it wait, Veraede?”
“Not in the slightest,” Veraede sneered, her white scales jittering. “Unless you wish to hand our enemies the victory on a silver platter.”
“What is it?”
“An important artefact has been discovered. The Crown of Reval.”
Reluctantly, Merahn stood back up, and shook her scales loose. “This better not be a joke. Reval’s tomb has been lost for centuries.”
Veraede’s orange eyes took on a grim shine. “The Homefront recently rediscovered the tomb… and they are not the only ones. Our spies have reported that they’re planning an expedition to the tomb to claim his crown for their own plans. There is no greater symbol of legitimacy in all of Lokahn. You know this.”
“Indeed I do, and do not insist otherwise,” Merahn retorted, pacing around the tower as Veraede landed. “What of the Imperials? Have they discovered the tomb as well?”
Veraede nodded. “We have no direct confirmation. But all signs point to them knowing the same information. In fact, they may know more about the tomb than the Homefront does. And they are well aware of Reval’s legend, and the greatness he represents.” The white dragoness bared her teeth, and scowled ahead, head and horns tilted forwards like she wanted to strike. “If they get their greedy pink hands on his crown, they will taint this realm for eons. We will never be able to wash their rot out! All the water in the Stejer wouldn’t be capable of it!”
Merahn growled at her, talons gripping onto the dirt. “Vermin… vermin, I tell you. But let me make one thing clear. No imperial scum could ever taint an inch of this great land we live in, nor its people, nor our history, nor our faith. That hag they worship is but a false idol that will fade in the shadow of Divinity’s magnificence. No matter how many swords they raise, ours will always be sharper. No matter when, where, and how, the will of Divinity and its people will ring true… forever and ever.”
“Hrrgh.” The white dragoness strutted along the sides of the tower, violently lashing out her wings and whipping her tail all the while. “We are not in any position to be soliloquising here, Lord Merahn. We are but fish in a barrel. All we have is this valley. The rest of Lokahn is in the talons of Justitian devils and the false leader, Lothar. How can we say this discovery will not be important? If either of them breaks the seal on the crown, as has been prophesied, then our rule is at an end before it’s ever even begun. And what will we do then? Sit around as the armies of despots bring down the gates?”
The grey dragoness shook her head. “I never meant that we will not contest the crown, of course. But we will not go to the tomb.”
Veraede’s head lashed backwards, all teeth bared. “What did you say?” she slowly growled out, her throat vibrating at the end of each word. She spoke as if her throat had been coated in centuries old cobwebs. Merahn licked her lips, then sat down on her haunches.
“It’s useless to try and go there right now. We do not have the resources nor manpower to contest the crown at this time.”
“So we will let them take it?”
“No.”
As the wind howled through the trees below, Veraede watched how Merahn rose upon her hind legs and gazed up at the misty skies, lost half in thought, half in prayer.
“Think about it. They spend all their energy fighting this war against each other… while we are biding our time, gaining our strength. We’ve both agreed to this, haven’t we?” she asked, looking down upon Veraede, an angry flicker passing through her lavender eyes.
“We have,” the white dragoness replied.
“And you agreed to it.”
“Yes, but we’ve persevered through this occupation! The crown will change everything, everything I tell you!” Veraede stomped her claws into the ground. Merahn simply shook her head in response, and wagged a talon in front of her snout.
“Hence why we’re continuing this new approach. Let them fight over the crown, and send their finest troops to seize it. Let them tire themselves out, tear themselves apart, make them believe they have won and beaten back the storm, when it has yet to arrive. Before either of them break the seal, we take Reval’s crown from them.”
“Easier said than done,” Veraede said. A scream sounded in the distance, followed by the lashings of a whip. Neither dragon was phased by it.
“Why yes,” Merahn said with a deep, satisfied growl. “But remember, dragons have always prevailed in the end. Do you remember the tales of Cretia slaughtering the Easgandian hordes? Or the tales of Gogos burning the greedy Bolodians in their little fortresses? We will add our names to their ranks. We bear their banners much like they bore ours. Divinity is with us.”
Veraede breathed in deep, a frown forming on her brow as she turned back to face Merahn.
“For the love of Divinity, I can only hope you are right. I have given my entire life to this cause. Every other bridge that once spanned out in front of me, trying to lure me in to false ideals, I burnt them down.”
Merahn’s eyes narrowed. “Do you regret your choices?”
“Not in a million years,” Veraede snapped back. “But I do miss my peaceful life. And the longer this crusade of ours continues on, the further away we get from it. I want this occupation to come to an end already. All of Lokahn suffers under the Justitian bootheel.”
“Faith. And patience,” Merahn said. “Do not lose either of them. We will stand victorious in the end.”
“They can only go so far…” Veraede growled weakly. “We need to make progress. We need to. This is my life. This is the meaning of my life, this cause… Divinity… It’s the only thing that keeps me going even now.”
Merahn raised her head. “It’s what keeps us all going. And it will forever keep us, and the Draconists of the future going. Do not give up.”
“I won’t,” Veraede answered.
“Good,” Merahn emotionlessly deadpanned. “Go and rest now. You are exhausted.”
Veraede gave nothing more than a tepid nod before flying off, leaving Merahn to herself in the tower. Her wingbeats were weak, and she struggled to fly despite the wind being no stronger than a mere breeze.