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Dragonblooded
Chapter 69

Chapter 69

In Fialla’s mind, it happened in an instant. She lunged forward, still as quick as she’d always been, even in the stupid dress she wore.

Her long knife, carved from a fragment of dragontooth, reground down and polished into a blade, hafted in a fragment of dragonbone, bound in strips of dragonhide sliding into her hand, creamy blade threaded with veins of gold-

The knife slipping into her hand as easily as it had when she was a child, a youth, a young woman, shoving Sheilah’s father Toril aside with her left, even as she drove the blade just under the elven woman’s sternum, angling up to gash open the detestable High Elf’s heart.

Twisting to slash open the bitches’ lung, twisting the knife again and forcing the razor-sharp blade down through the diaphragm into the abdominal cavity, straight down through elven woman’s guts even as the bitch gurgled a frothy scream of blood-

Grabbing that silvery shimming white hair, yanking the head back, forcing the dying High Elf bitch to stare into the face of a Wildling Elf- the ‘irredeemable savage’ that had murdered her before she even knew what happened, a moment’s laxity plunging the indolent monster into the yawning gulfs of the Abyss- the last thing she would ever see-

Fialla shifted her foot to do just what she envisioned, and Andrea’s hand clamped her wrist in an implacable grip before she could grab her dagger. Fialla dragged her eyes from the High Elf to the maid, who gave a subtle shake of her head.

It was a surprise that Andrea’s grip was so strong. She hadn’t expected that.

Fialla took a desperate, shuddering breath even as sweat gushed from her pores, her hands trembling, her body shaking as she struggled with her thirst for murder

*****

“We wanted to ask you Toril, as to the location of Artrus and Eatha.” The woman offered, unaware or unconcerned that her life balanced on a hair’s thickness.

Toril gave the elven woman a legitimately confused look. “Who?”

The High Elf sighed at this. “There were three Dark Elf ambassadors attached here: Damiel, Artrus, and Eatha. Two of them seem to be absent.”

Toril gave her a baffled shake of his head. “I’ve only had dealings with Damiel. I haven’t seen the other two.” He paused. “I knew they were here, but I never encountered either of the other two.”

One of the male high elves- Toril wasn’t certain which was which- whispered in her ear in some way that prevented others from hearing what he said, and Sureya let out a very long and put-upon sigh.

“Very well.” She decided, disappointed.

She looked from Toril to Galen to Sheilah to Magdalene to Fialla and Andrea.

“Hmm.” She murmured to herself, but returned her gaze to Toril.

“Five years, human king.” She reminded, and then left.

“Galen, escort them.” Toril ordered.

The soldier nodded after making eye contact with his king. It was obvious he wanted the High Elves gone, and confirmation that they were in fact gone.

“Yes sir.” The door closed with a heavy thud.

“By the Light, by the Hammer and Shield, by the Sun and the Storm, by the Sacred Ancestors-” Toril prayed in a mumbling rush.

“You-” He pointed to Sheilah- “I don’t-” He paused, and tried again, “You’re not-” He gave an exasperated look to Magdalene, “That was embarrassing!” He complained. “That was much too forward!” He complained, rubbing his eyes. “And he’s entirely too old for you!”

He shook his head, still rubbing his eyes. “I can’t believe you said such a thing, right in front of me!” He yelled.

A little smile was on Sheilah’s face, but she gave her father a small shrug. She looked to Fialla, and Andrea gripping the elven girl’s arm. Her smile faded.

“Thank you very much.” She offered to Andrea, who let go of Fialla and bowed respectfully.

“Eh?” Toril asked, looking at Fialla. He glanced back at the door. “Ah. Ahhhh.”

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He nodded.

“I, too, want to be rid of them, Fialla.” He commiserated.

She turned a cool face to Toril. “You might be satisfied with them gone, Toril Stormheim.” She replied. “But I want them all dead.”

He grimaced at that. “It might come to that.” He reluctantly admitted. “But I hope not soon, and not on Stormheim soil.” He gestured to the map. “Magdalene?” He gave his wife a comfortable pat. “I need to rest a bit, so forgive me for sitting through your lesson.”

Magdalene gave her husband a kindly look, and then looked to her daughter.

“Sheilah, Fialla, attend.” She called to them. “Come around the table, here.”

She pointed at the map. “I’ll start from the capital.” She pointed at the circle on the map. “This is the city and its central holdings.” Her finger slid to the left, to the west. “These are the westlands. You should remember from your previous lessons that it’s where we get the majority of our grain.” Her finger slid south from the westlands to a shadowy area. “These are the shadowlands- a rather dreary place, but still technically part of the Westlands.”

Her finger slid a little east, to where it was directly south. “These are the southlands. They’re...” She trailed off.

“It’s where the Gnolls originated.” Sheilah replied drily.

“That’s so.” Magdalene agreed. “It’s a very savage and untamed land, though we’re surrounded by such-” She cut herself off.

She pointed to the right of Stormheim. “All of this is the Thorheim Forest. It’s so massive that there are no full maps of how far it goes south or east of Stormheim.”

She drew a line from Stormheim to the east, dragging her finger right and slightly upwards, to the north. “This is where the Redstone Valley is.”

“We tried to discover what lay north, of course, but we were unable to find a path-” She cut off there, trying to be diplomatic. “Over here is an impassible highlands. We haven’t been able to find a way into the northlands of the continent by land or by ship at all.”

She gestured to the shores to the north of Stormheim. “Our primary harbors are here, of course. But as we go along the coastline, there is a toxic land of volcanic muds and poisonous swamplands where the air is unbreathable and the water undrinkable.” She circled a spot on a loosely defined area of the map.

“Somewhere here there is an extremely tall volcano.” She explained indifferently, and then moved her finger further north and just above what Sheilah and Fialla knew of as the Ashlands. “These are the Giant’s Steppes. Another place we failed to colonize- the giants there don’t take kindly to the “smalls” that tried to move in.”

She let out a disappointed sigh.

“North of here is the elven continent, including the Silverlands.” Her voice grew frustrated and petulant, “A land we’ve been denied to now, since Davian deemed it necessary to assassinate the High Elf princess.” She finished. “Even if we... disliked each other, we at least were able to trade with them.”

Sheilah chuckled at that, earning an angry look from Magdalene. After a moment however, she dropped her gaze.

“Stormheim needs to grow.” Toril spoke up from his chair tiredly. “We need more people. We need more land to raise those people. We need people strong enough to subjugate what needs to be subjugated. We need resources to develop. Wood. Steel. Gold.”

“What’s gold?” Fialla asked curiously.

Magdalene covered her face with her hand.

“Here.” Andrea handed Fialla a gold disc.

She turned it over in her hand, and then experimentally scratched it with her finger, and then, as Andrea tried to take the coin from Fialla, the young half-elf girl bent the coin.

“Ugh.” Andrea moaned disconsolately.

“It doesn’t seem very useful.” Fialla murmured, indifferently dropping the coin onto the table.

“It’s very useful.” Toril replied, eyes closed. He’d missed the whole thing. “You need gold to give to the nobles to encourage them to move to new areas. You need gold to pay the people to cut down trees. Plant crops. Recruit and train soldiers. Transport food and useful things from one place to another. Without gold, this whole nation grinds to a halt and millions of people die for want of simple things.”

Andrea gave Fialla a bitter look, and then tucked the bent coin into her dress.

“The Silverlands is supposedly rich in silver- a metal that is just as important as gold- and we were supposed to develop the Silverlands with the Elves through a mutual cooperative agreement with them.” Toril explained.

“But every time we’ve tried to establish a colony there, they’ve been destroyed. The elves say the land is crawling with all sorts of magical and terrible monsters, but...” He sighed. “Really, I think the elves themselves are the cause of it all.”

“If we can’t fulfill our part of the agreement, we owe a great outlay of gold and silver to the elves- something we don’t have, because we can’t grow. And so we’ve come to the point where if we don’t establish yet another colony in the Silverlands and harvest the materials there, the elves will take our lands from us and...” He paused. “Judging by how they’ve treated other races, we’re destined for a life of slavery and servitude.”

Toril gave a frustrated, bitter sigh, and beat the arm of his chair with a tired fist. “We can afford to build two ships. Just two. For a proper colony, we’d need twenty, filled with craftsmen and soldiers and prospectors and farmers to grow food for them and blacksmiths to keep their equipment in good repair and doctors and mages and, and, and...” He trailed off.

“We’re fucked.” He spat petulantly. He pushed himself to his feet, stared at his chair for a moment, and then shook his head. “I’m going to bed.” He complained.

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