Drakthareon lounged, at his ease.

He’d set up in the main tavern room, which now stood dark and mostly deserted, except for one attendant who stood, head down and shaking slightly, a dozen or so feet away.

The humans were very accommodating, he thought.

He raised a finger, and the human scurried up to him, head bowed low. They murmured something vague and appeasing and handed him a wooden goblet before moving back to their place.

Drak looked into the goblet, then gave it a long sniff with his nose holes. If he’d had salivary glands, they would have been gushing. It smelled like…

Ah yes, blood of the innocent.

Turns out he’d been the teensiest bit wrong about these humans, but who could blame him? He’d only ever tasted [Bandit] before, and it really was quite similar to [Cultist]. Ah, well. All in the past now. He swirled the cup of blood under his nose.

Oh, I really shouldn’t, he thought, as he stared into the beautifully deep red liquid in the simple cup.

He had to admit, with the golden seal-orb that proved he was Sanctified tucked away downstairs, he did feel a bit…closer to his old ways. Not that he needed the orb nearby. It was just more of a…symbolic thing. And really, with the cultist who’d brought the cup over sneaking glances at his reaction, drinking it was really the only way to sell his part. Kalin had made such a big deal of that, so…

Just as he’d decided that the damage had been done and it wouldn’t hurt anyone to take a tiny little sip, a whisper came from the dark kitchen. He sighed and set the goblet down, dismissing his attendant.

“Yes, Kalin?” he asked in a beleaguered voice.

***

Kalin made his way carefully out of the kitchen, edging along the walls and keeping to the shadows. He didn’t see any of the cultists around, but all it would take was one coming down for a midnight ransack of the pantry, or for a patrol to come in from the street. Drak seemed to have mostly convinced them to listen to him, but Kal wasn’t convinced the situation was entirely stable.

He stopped in his tracks when he saw Drakthareon.

The Bloodthirster sat with one long, bony propped up over the side of the largest wooden chair in the room. He looked like a [King] draped over a small toy throne. A platter of sausages and other meat from the kitchen sat before him.

“What the hell, Drak?” he whispered, coming closer but keeping an eye back to the kitchen, where he saw Sam watching. “What are you—” Kal stopped as he saw some half-eaten fruit and vegetables on Drak’s platter of food. “Do you eat…plants?”

Drakthareon smoothly threw a tablecloth over the platter and stared at Kalin imperiously. “That is not the proper form of address for a [Cult Leader], you know.”

Kalin’s eyes lit up. “It worked, then? They all just…left?” He’d figured getting the cultists to accept Drak as their leader would be the tough part of the plan, but he hadn’t thought this part would be quite so—

Drak cleared his throat. “Let’s, ah, have this conversation somewhere more private.”

They moved to [Innkeeper] William’s small office, though Kalin saw no sign of the man. He looked at Drak.

“So, you told them to just leave?”

Drak re-spread his gangly form over the chair behind the desk, which was even smaller than his first throne. He held up his fingertips and inspected them.

“Well, no. I haven’t mentioned that bit yet.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Kalin stared at him. That bit? That was the whole bit. The entire idea.

“What?” Drak replied languidly. “Newly elected officials shouldn’t—”

Kalin took a step closer, fire in his eyes. “You’re not an official Drak, and you definitely were not elected.”

“Well, they didn’t stop me, did they?” Drak waved a hand. “Same thing. My point is, I don’t want to rush into things, you know? It might compromise the group’s longterm stability, and I don’t want such a precarious…why, hello Sam. You’re looking dashing this evening, if I might say.”

A cloaked and hooded figure strolled into the room from the kitchen. Sam pulled down Drak’s hood before taking out the golden orb inside and tossing it to Drak with a smile. “And you,” she said, sweeping a small bow. Kalin was going to have to ask sometime why exactly someone who’d fought in the Scourge Wars was so comfortable around a Bloodthirster, Sanctified or not. The two acted like they’d been friends for their whole lives. Or un-lives, in the case of Drak.

But now was not the time for that.

Drakthareon gave the orb back to Sam and insisted it was necessary for his role for it to be hidden. Which was true, but Kalin didn’t like the way his voice had gone suddenly casual.

“Alright,” Kalin said, “to clarify, Drak, you haven’t told the cultists to stop kidnapping the merchants and stealing their wares? Or to surrender the town back to the authorities?”

“Well, no. But!” He raised a long white finger. “I did tell them not to kill anyone, for now.” He winced, looking more serious for the moment. “Though they seemed to think even that was a bit suspicious. If I tell them to forget the plan and leave town, I’m not sure they’ll…well, do it.”

Kal thought for a moment. “Alright. We can work with that. I think the first thing we should do is get ourselves out of town now, while most everybody is asleep. The towns nearby have probably noticed the lack of trade in and out of Krinth by now, but we’ll be able to tell them exactly what’s going on, and with any luck we’ll find a [Dragon-Mage] if we head in the direction of Brill.” Kalin took a breath. “Sound good?”

Sam nodded her assent, but Drakthareon hesitated. “Well…the thing is…couldn’t I just stay?” he asked, hurriedly adding, “not just for fun, I mean. They are listening to me, for now at least, so I can make sure nothing too horrible happens while the villagers are held hostage. You two go out on your,” he wiggled his finger bones, “little night-time adventure, and I’ll keep playing [Cult Leader] here. With any luck I’ll learn more about how exactly they put this operation together. I have a feeling someone more powerful than the leader I ate put this whole thing together.”

“I hate to say it, Kalin, but I think he’s right,” Sam said thoughtfully. “If they’re listening to him now, why risk having some bloodthirsty member of the cult take his place when we leave?”

Kalin thought about it, then eventually nodded. “Alright, those are fair points. You’re sure you’ll be good here, Drak?” He still wasn’t totally sure about leaving the Bloodthirster behind, but they needed to get moving and the plan was good enough for now.

“Oh, sure. Don’t worry about it,” Drak said. Something in his chest made a rapid-fire clacking sound, and Kalin was reminded horribly of a kitten purring.

“Alright. The sewer exit is still guarded, so we’ll stick to the alleys as much as we can. Actually—” Kalin said, as he thought of something, “do you just want to come with us one the way out, Drak? If we run into anyone you can just tell them you’re…taking us out to eat us or something.”

Drakthareon smiled horribly, needle-teeth glinting in the low torchlight.

The only resistance they met on the way out was a [Cultist] patrolling the streets. In an eerie imitation of a [City-Guard] the cultist called out for them to stop, then sauntered up to them with a hand on their hilt. Kalin saw with some alarm that an evil-looking red light shone faintly from inside the scabbard, which mean the sword was enchanted.

When the cultist had finally reached them, she had given Sam and Kal cursory glances before staring hard at Drak. “You’re the new leader then?” she asked. Drak drew himself up to his full, towering height. His own red glow from his eyes was strong enough to light the battle-scared features of the woman he spoke to, and Kal got the sense that a fight between the two of them would be no trivial matter.

“I am,” Drak said simply, his voice devoid for once of any levity. The two stared at each other, then the cultist shrugged and walked away, not bothering to say anything else or question why they were out in the middle of the night.

Drakthareon didn’t seem concerned, but Sam and Kal exchanged worried looks. As they reached the gates of town, Kalin spoke.

“Listen Drak, I know you’re strong, since you shrugged off our attacks in the sewers. But that [Cultist]…she didn’t look like she was fresh from the Grasslands, you know what I mean?”

The Grasslands were a zone far to the south, sunny and peaceful. For those lucky enough to be born there, it was the perfect place to grow up and train, and even families from far away would sometimes relocate there for the birth of a child, if they could afford it.

“It is no concern,” Drak replied absently.

And then they were at the gate, where a single mean-looking cultist merely watched as Drak herded the two humans out and into the night, and returned alone.

When Kal looked back at Krinth in the first rays of sunlight rising over the pine forest they were entering, its lights were dim. He knew that all the villagers were still there in their houses, and he couldn't help thinking of Fallowfield, of humans trapped in their own home. He hoped Krinth wouldn't become a similar tale of caution.

It wouldn't, if he could help.