“Ugh. This is going to take forever,” Vanimax groaned.

“You know, Max,” his sister rejoined cheerily, skipping along on her current two legs, “you could very easily match your pace to the group if you just shifted.”

He snorted, this time hard enough to ruffle the huge garland of vines and flowers still draped around his neck. Kaln had a certain amount of sympathy for him, but only a certain amount. He was indeed taking one halting step per everyone else’s dozen, but also, Vadaralshi was right.

Vanimax silently invoked magic and Kaln instinctively focused on what he was doing—not that he didn’t trust him, exactly, but Vanimax was still more than a little unpredictable. This proved harmless, though: he simply cast a spell of preservation across the flowers and vines draped about his neck and wound through his horns. They immediately ceased ruffling in the intermittent breeze that puffed across the desert, shifting only with his own movements.

Vadaralshi put on such a huge, mischievous grin it was as good as announcing beforehand what she was about to say.

“Aww, look at that! He likes his flowers! That’s so sweet!”

“Don’t listen to that smug harpy, Vanimax,” Zhiiji ordered, causing Vadaralshi to stumble a step. “You look great. That is a solid look right there. Sure, flower-heavy accessories can look wishy-washy or effeminate, like if pretty boy here wore the same thing.”

She jerked a thumb at Naaren, who just rolled his eyes and shook his head while Isabet frowned over his ears at Zhiiji, who blithely continued her spiel.

“It’s different on a dragon! Twenty tons of fangs and fire goes with anything. That’s a look that says ‘yeah, these are my flowers, the hells you gonna do about it?’ Like I said, solid.”

“Excuse me, but did everyone else hear that little hairball call me a smug harpy?” Vadaralshi demanded.

“Don’t be one if you don’t want it pointed out,” Kaln said. She bared her teeth at him, sending a spray of sand across the path with a lash of her tail.

Vanimax had raised his head at Zhiiji’s encouragement, and now stuck his nose in the air, a massive sculpture of self-satisfaction. “I was thinking about what you said previously, Kaln—about treasure, and what makes it truly valuable. If you think about a garland of flowers not just as flowers, but what it means to the specific people who made it? To desert-dwellers who don’t see much greenery, to particularly tiny people for whom the creation of anything large enough to decorate a dragon represents a great deal of effort… Why, in context, this is a kingly gift indeed. I doubt even my father was ever shown such esteem. I am quite touched—I find that I feel most gratified. Perhaps I shall visit these Hiiri again sometime. They are quite agreeable little mortals.”

Vadaralshi grinned up at him, which he of course ignored. Even Naaren was surreptitiously regarding the dragon with an amused expression; fortunately Vanimax didn’t seem to notice.

Isabet, however, was steadily watching both dragons, as consistently as she could without staring directly at them. Kaln had already noticed that she kept unconsciously shifting position in the group as they walked, keeping someone between her and both dragons whenever possible. Also, that the air around her had grown slightly but noticeably colder.

He casually adjusted his own pace, falling into step on the other side of her from Naaren. “It’s amazing how quickly you get used to them,” he commented lightly. “Even with what a wild idea that is—getting used to dragons. But in many ways they’re like everyone else. Individuals, and…surprisingly personable. Well, these ones, anyway.”

“These,” she whispered. Isabet ducked her head and Naaren glanced up at her in concern. The mage kept her voice low, glancing repeatedly at Vadaralshi, the only dragon who might currently be close enough to overhear. “It’s just that, Kaln. These have terrorized my homeland and my people for so long that our very culture has been shaped around the fear of them!”

“Not these two,” he said, just as quietly and far more calmly. Deliberately calmly, making himself a counterpoint to her nerves and bringing down the level of energy in the conversation. “Vadaralshi and Vanimax are barely more than a hundred years old. And they haven’t done anything but hunt game for their family. There was really only one dragon who actively terrorized the Evervales.”

“’Actively’ is an important word. It’s carrying a lot of weight in that description.”

He nodded; it was a fair point, and one he’d had to make peace with, himself. Looking up, he caught Vadaralshi peeking over at them, but she immediately averted her eyes. At least one of the dragons was listening.

“We don’t have hereditary nobility in Rhivaak,” he said, “not in the sense that Vale nations do. So I may be extrapolating a bit, but… I think talking to dragons is a lot like talking to aristocrats would be. Their pride is important in a way that goes beyond not hurting the feelings of someone who can breathe fire at you. It has weight, a significance that verges on the sacred. Pride is absolutely core to who a dragon is.”

Her expression was skeptical, but she was listening. Taking that for the only encouragement he was likely to get, Kaln continued.

“So there are things one can’t just come out and say in a dragon’s hearing. Like, for example, that Atraximos was more powerful than the rest of them combined, and they were as afraid of him as everyone else. That they might feel as relieved as we are that he’s gone.”

Vanimax emitted a sharp sigh that verged on a snort. “And I thought we were being discreet about that.”

So they were both listening. It occurred to Kaln that he didn’t really have a solid idea of the acuity of their hearing, or other senses.

“Oh, did you?” Vadaralshi asked sweetly. “Is that what you thought? That’s good, Max, it’s very reassuring to know that nobody’s going to charge off and do something big, splashy, and incredibly stupid to rile up the local mortals as much as possible.”

He bared his teeth and pointedly turned his head away, scowling out across the passing desert.

“Discreet doesn’t mean secretive,” Kaln hastened to interject before either of them could escalate—or Zhiiji could say whatever her suddenly intrigued expression portended. “It means applying judgment and taking each situation as it comes. At this point, Atraximos hasn’t been seen in weeks; everyone in the Vales will have already noticed that something is up, to say nothing of…recent events in Boisverd. Given what we came here to ask of the Hiiri, it was important to deal with them in good faith. And it’s not as if they or Isabet are in a position to rush off and tell the Valefolk, at least not before they figure it out on their own.”

“Nor would we,” Naaren added, his tone mild as ever. He didn’t have his brother’s effusive good cheer, but they shared that fundamentally calming demeanor. “The Hiiri understand very well the distinction between discretion and secrecy. We are not interested in other people’s business, nor in disseminating ours.”

“I still can’t…it’s almost impossible to credit.” Isabet shook her head slowly. “The Dread, gone? That’s… It’s like hearing death itself took a holiday. I can’t… And you! Kaln, the scribe I met crossing the great plateau. You slew Atraximos? I don’t think I would believe it if you didn’t have two of his own get here corroborating the story. And apparently following your orders!”

“We follow his lead, not his orders,” Vadaralshi said solemnly. “Big difference.”

“Not always even that,” Vanimax muttered.

“It wasn’t really that impressive,” said Kaln.

Isabet came to a stop, turning to stare incredulously at him.

“Wow,” Zhiiji remarked, “that is a strong contender for the single dumbest thing I’ve ever heard anyone say.”

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

“Okay, yeah, I see how it might be,” Kaln admitted. “I just meant… There wasn’t any grand struggle, or whatever you’re envisioning. It was just a really weird alignment of incredibly rare and specific conditions, and in large part Atraximos’s own fault.”

“I remember your description,” Isabet acknowledged, falling back into step with them. “You of all people heading for apotheosis would be enough of a surprising development. You’re not even a mage! I’m getting the impression you don’t even realize the magnitude of what you achieved, Kaln. Of the very few who find a path to apotheosis, most don’t even survive the initial ascension.”

“I had help,” he said, smiling. “That’s why I’m here, after all.”

“Even so. No one knows how to use divinity before they have access to it; even training in magic doesn’t really help prepare you for that. The fact that you immediately were able to turn around and do something so…so incredible, and apparently by instinct?” She shook her head. “I’m not trying to give you a big head, Kaln, it’s just…borderline frustrating to hear you downplaying this.”

“Yep, that’s our Kaln!” Vadaralshi said cheerfully. “A real down-to-earth guy. Humble, self-effacing, to the point it is actually annoying.”

“You’re overstating it,” Kaln told her pleasantly. “Nobody manages a dragon family without manhandling dragons as necessary. Or do you need a reminder? I don’t have a pool to dunk you in, but we can make do with sand.”

She hissed at him and hopped backward, then stuck out her tongue when he grinned.

“Incredible,” Isabet muttered.

“Gotta admit, I’m hoping I get to see that before we part ways,” said Zhiiji. “No malice meant toward you kids, but c’mon. That would be a sight, all right.”

“Kids!” Vanimax huffed.

“Anyway,” Zhiiji continued, now tilting her head to eye Kaln in a manner that made him suddenly sympathetic to all the cuts of beef he’d given her, “that’s a cool sword. Khopesh, right? Is it enchanted?”

“You can tell that?” he asked.

“I’m decent at spotting enchantments, for a layperson who can’t actually do any magic. But

nah, mostly context clues. You say you were a scribe back in the Empire, so you wouldn’t be walking around with a sword, especially one that over-designed.”

“It is a bit fancy,” he agreed, drawing the weapon to inspect it. The blade itself had a decorative engraving, and the hilt was all ivory and wrought silver.

“Right, so that would be something you got out of the old dragon’s hoard. Right? I dunno what kinds of stuff he liked to collect, exactly, but you don’t seem like the kinda guy who’s dumb enough to tote around a weapon he doesn’t know how to use, unless it’s got some enchantment that makes it useful.”

“Thank you for giving me that modicum of credit,” Kaln said solemnly, returning the weapon to his belt. “Yes, it does have a basic… Well, actually, I’m not qualified to judge how basic anything is, but it has a skill enchantment. So the wielder can actually fight with it, even if they don’t know how.”

“Ah!” Zhiiji grinned. “Nice, I like it! Practical. That makes way more sense than fire enchantments. I swear, every prince and princess I ever met who got their first enchanted sword wanted fire magic on it, like it wouldn’t be obvious what was gonna happen next. If you’re not a cook or blacksmith, whatever skill you’ve got with the tools of your trade suddenly becomes a lot less relevant when they’re on fire. I have seen so many juvenile hotheads spend their birthdays giving themselves cool scars and almost burning down their homes.”

“You…meet a lot of young royalty in your line of work?” Kaln asked.

“The way I do it, yeah! I’ve cooked for the royal households of half the kings in the Nourdells.”

“Really? That sounds like…a surprisingly long career for someone who doesn’t even seem middle-aged.”

“Yeah, well, you ever been there?”

“Only to the very edges. I visited the Moonless Tower.”

“No kidding?” Zhiiji turned as she walked to give him an appraising stare.

“Visited it,” Vadaralshi added, “climbed it, looted it, and came out unscathed and richer!”

Isabet and Naaren were both staring at him now, visibly impressed.

“He was following the orders of the single shadiest entity any of us have ever seen,” Vanimax rumbled. “For someone who grew up in a library and seems generally intelligent, Kaln has done some impressively stupid things.”

“Which is fortunate, these days,” Kaln added. “That trait gives Vanimax and me something to bond over.”

Vanimax gave him a sour look but forbore comment this time.

“Damn, we’ll have to swap stories,” said Zhiiji with an approving nod. “Perfect, that’s our campfire chat for this trip settled. But yeah, anyway, the Nourdells are basically like the Evervales, on a smaller scale. What they call Kings are pretty much chieftains. They control, like, one mountain each. The borders slosh around like stirred soup, it’s all conquests and schemes and whatnot. They’ve stayed independent so far because they unite when attacked; that’s how they pushed back the Zouzhi. The nearest Vale states aren’t organized enough to launch an effective invasion, not that they haven’t tried, and Rhivaak… Well, I dunno. I guess Izayaroa just didn’t feel like it.”

“There’s a bit more nuance to Rhiva foreign policy, but that…actually sums it up well enough. So, wait, if you’ve been living in the Nourdells, did you see the war? I don’t suppose you ever encountered the Lord of Chains?”

She curled her lip, displaying sharp little teeth. “That guy. Yeah, I’ve met him. Never worked for him; all the other warlords in the Dells were excited to have me as their personal chef, but that character’s way too focused on Zouzh to appreciate the finer things in life. Like feeding your family properly, much less having a prestigious cook for your feasting hall.”

“The way Zhiiji tells it,” Naaren said in an exceedingly even tone, “she was quite the celebrity in the Nourdells.”

“I’ll be the first to admit a curiosity would be a better way to describe it,” said Zhiiji. “Those guys compete over everything; an exotic cook was a feather in the ol’ hat. But also, I did get along very well with the Dellfolk. War and hunting are huge there. I’m an adventuring chef—I kill stuff and cook it. Yeah, the Dell kings competed to have me in their kitchens. It was a pretty sweet deal, I won’t lie. Respect and adventure—the chance to go new places, meet people, learn recipes, fight monsters and serve ‘em up on the table! That life agreed with me.”

“Until?” Kaln prompted.

She snarled again. “Like I said, the Lord of Chains. Look, I can respect a guy who rallies his people and fights off an invasion. Seriously, fuck the Zouzhi, those slaving bastards deserved everything he gave ‘em. But they didn’t call him that because he was against chains. Guy started press-ganging beaten Zouzhi soldiers and even nobles into rebuilding Dell castles they destroyed and tearing down their own settlements. Juts ‘cos somebody deserves something doesn’t make it okay to do it to ‘em, you get me? Not to mention any idiot could see he was making it worse. Zouzh probably would’ve abandoned a failed colony, but if some backwater warlord inflicts an insult like that they pretty much have to launch an even bigger invasion. Yeah, I decided it was a good time to visit home, see how everybody’s getting along, show ‘em what real cooking is like.”

“For which we are eternally grateful,” Naaren said serenely.

“Damn right you are,” Zhiiji informed him. “I know the way you were eating! You’re gonna miss me when I move on.”

“Not one to stay put for long, huh?” Kaln asked.

Zhiiji shrugged. “Eh. I wouldn’t mind settling in, but it’d have to be a job that kept me on my toes. I get the itch if I’m stuck doing the same thing for too long. Moving on is one way to scratch it, and hey, maybe someday I’ll find a place where I feel comfortable planting roots.”

“A place where there’s plenty of scary stuff for you to fight and then cook?” Vadaralshi asked. “What’s wrong with home, then? I know the Hiiri mostly occupy the safer areas, but there’s some wild stuff in this desert and the mountains nearby.”

“Don’t I know it!” Zhiiji agreed with a grin. “Maybe. We’ll see. But anyway, enough about me! Is that a bag of holding you’ve got, Kaln?”

“It is,” he said, both amused and bemused by this sudden turn. “Why, you need me to carry something?”

“What kind of bag is it? What can it do? How much capacity do you have?”

“Zhiiji,” Naaren warned.

“I don’t know how to answer those questions in concrete terms,” said Kaln, “but it was the best one in Atraximos’s collection. I’m pretty sure I can carry anything I might reasonably need to.”

“Perfect!” Zhiiji grinned and rubbed her hands together. “Hey, Naaren, let’s shift our route a bit north.”

“Zhiiji,” he repeated in a firmer tone.

“What? Whitewall Ravine is a shorter and safer route! It’s shady and there’s water!”

“Whitewall Ravine is anything but safer, and we both know that’s exactly what you’re driving at,” he retorted. “This is a pilgrimage. Not an opportunity for you to hare off and amuse yourself! We have honored guests to escort.”

“Um, what am I missing?” Isabet asked hesitantly.

“Well, reading between the lines,” said Vadaralshi with a grin, “there’s a dangerous monster in Whitewall Ravine that Zhiiji wants to fight. Am I close?”

“You are,” Naaren sighed. “It has been…inaccessible for several seasons, now. We Hiiri are not generally inclined to seek out and confront threats. There’s a reason, you see, why Zhiiji feels generally more comfortable living among outsiders. What’s most important here and now is that a pilgrimage to greet Hii-Amat is an event of the gravest importance, and not an excuse to play around!”

“Listen, Naaren,” Zhiiji said seriously. “If I was playing around, I’d be going there all by my furry little self, because that is the only way I could possibly have any fun. Coming at that thing with an ice mage, a godling, and two damn dragons is an absolutely ludicrous degree of overkill. But you’re right—this is a pilgrimage. It’s a sacred rite of the Hiiri people, a people who famously value practicality.”

“Yes, and if you talk long enough, you can justify anything,” he retorted.

“Buddy, I am perilously close to taking offense,” she warned. “The best possible outcome of a pilgrimage is for the pilgrims and their guides to improve the trail, is it not? To make of our footsteps a path to safety for any who follow us?”

“Yes, you’re right,” Naaren said patiently. “But…the degree of danger you’re suggesting—”

“Is relative to who’s facing it. Like I said! Ice mage, godling, and…”

She turned and gestured emphatically with both hands at Vanimax.

“I suppose…you are not without a point,” Naaren agreed reluctantly. “To do such a service to all the people of the desert would be the best possible introduction to Hii-Amat for our pilgrims. I suppose I’m simply reluctant to…exploit them?”

“Didn’t you tell me that the core of Hiiri faith is blending the sacred with the practical?” Isabet asked. “Honestly, Naaren…this does sound like a good idea. I’m no adventurer, but I am capable of defending myself. And…you know, dragons.”

“Oh, now I get it,” said Kaln. “You were asking about my bag of holding for its ability to carry monster meat.”

“Exactly!” Zhiiji said brightly. “Clear a great hazard from the path and bring back food for the Croft. Best way you could possibly get into Hii-Amat’s good graces.”

“So we’re monster slayers now?” Vanimax sighed.

“Oh, I swear you’d complain about anything,” Vadaralshi chided. “Sounds like a lark to me! Let’s do it, Pants!”

Isabet nodded, her expression serious.

Kaln looked at her, at the dragons—one grinning, her brother looking ostentatiously disgruntled—then at the two Hiiri, who reflected a similar dynamic.

“What kind of monster?”