Chapter 5

By the time that the medical sky-ship, the Dragon’s Mercy, exited the magma tunnels into the caldera of the floating volcano, Adeena had recovered enough that, with some effort, she could stand. This was despite the best effort of a disciple of Terraten, who kept on trying to heal her with holy magic, even thought she told him she would be fine. Two back-to-back resurrections would leave her feeling worn out for likely the rest of the Long Night, but hopefully nothing more strenuous than a bit of shopping would happen before the scheduled departure at First Dawning.

That meant that she was on the sky-ship deck, standing beside Heidi and Xavier as they caught their first glimpse of the city of the dragons. Xavier was leaning heavily on a cane. Like the tunnel, the immense, two mile-wide caldera was composed of a mix of stratified black basalt. Here and there the rock was studded crystalline growths, and seams of metallic ores glittered in the light which, for whatever reason, the dragons hadn’t chosen to mine.

The city itself was built in a series of thirteen immense flattened terraces that ringed the entire caldera, and between which more buildings could be seen carved directly into the sharply sloping cliff-faces. A series of canals, aqueducts, and waterfalls brought fresh water in from what she assumed were snow-fed reservoirs, and elsewhere torrents of glowing magma, that were presumably created somewhere else abovem sluggishly slid down in artificial ‘rivers.’ The liquified rock was siphoned here and there to either power the factories and workshops built along the ‘banks,’ or else warm parts of the water system to be used for, Adeena assumed, washing and the like.

The thirteenth and uppermost terrace seemed to have been designed with dragons in mind, and dwarfed everything in scale. The most eye-catching part of the uppermost terrace was a massive metal and crystal triangular pyramid, which dominated an entire quarter of the terrace, and was recessed so far into the wall that it disappeared into darkness. She had no idea what such a massive object could possibly be used for, but presumably it did have a purpose.

The twelfth below was almost park-like in appearance, and she assumed was where the highest ranking of the lizard’s servants were permitted to dwell – with only a handful of large manors and mansions visible.

The eleventh had barracks and sky-docks for what looked like exclusively military ships – their metal hulls gleaming in the artificial light of the city, and some of which looked only half-constructed.

The tenth terrace appeared to be devoted to offices and the bureaucracy that the Imperium was so famed for, judging by the lack of obvious residential areas or workshops. It was also the level that seemed to host the ports for medical ships, and was where the Mercy made for – a complex with some thirty or so sky-ships with distinctive white hulls marked with blue doves – the universal symbol for medics.

The ninth and eighth terraces were clearly entirely residential in nature, with massive apartment blocks identifiable by the washing lines strung across balconies, broken here and there by green areas and artificial lakes that seemed to be for recreation, as well as clusters of shops, cafes, inns and the like built around what were clearly temples to the various gods – all laid out with mathematical regularity and precision. The dragons didn’t worship, of course, but they knew that the boons granted by the deities were useful, and, so long as the giant reptiles weren’t enraged beyond reason, a dragon was nothing if not pragmatic.

The seventh through to third terraces were agricultural, mostly rice paddies, but also interspersed with fields and orchards, all irrigated by water from the peak and warmed by the lava-flows. Despite the fact that it was Long Night, she saw workers sowing crops. But of course they were. Warmed by magma, protected from the elements, and lit by magi-tek, there would be no reason for the city to shutter itself during the Long Nights. Crops could continue to grow, workshops would stay open, and people would continue to wander the wide boulevards. She saw now that the idea that Seat of the Stars was a ‘fall-back’ in case the outside world fell to the Wyrd was not some mere last desperate ploy. It had been a considered, and realistic contingency plan – for those lucky enough to make it there.

The last two terraces were where the factories and workshops and shipyards and civilian sky-docks were located. The foundries were notable in the lack of fumes and exhaust chimneys. Presumably they produced by-products, but there seemed to be some comprehensive system for dealing with it all, and beyond a few plumes of steam that dissipated in the pleasantly warm atmosphere, the air was remarkably clear and clean.

Far below the lowest terrace was what powered it all, the largest fire elemental she had ever seen, so large, in fact, that the Kraken sized creature lit up the city with a deep orange glow. Bound in shining chains with links as big as houses, and which glowed with a million inscribed runes, the creature struggled futilely and let loose inaudible roars from its hideous flaming maw – perhaps silenced by some kind of massive enchantment. Great arcs of elemental energy pulsed along the chain’s length into two massive facilities on either side, which seemed to be siphoning it and converting it into energy, which in turn fed into what, after a moment Adeena realised, was the largest enchanted object she had ever seen: a giant ring of brass, a hundred meters high, and which ran around the entire circumference of the caldera which, she assumed, powered the enchantment that kept the entire mountain aloft.

Other examples of the extensive use of elementals as power sources were visible too: trains that crackled and sparked ran around each of the ringed terraces on raised causeways, the trapped lightning elementals that powered them visible within their crystalline prisons at the front of the wagons; funiculars that connected the different layers, bringing people and goods and cargo between the terraces; and even the street lamps that lined the various boulevards seemed to contain tiny elemental spirits. Although Adeena knew that Everhearth, with its population of a mind-bending eleven million, was the largest city on Ruvera, the Seat of the Stars showed the true extent and complexity of draconic magitek-engineering.

And high above it all, moving about in the dizzying heights, the forms of several massive dragons floated against a backdrop of stars. She picked out the massive form of Lord Adamantus as he made for the uppermost terrace, stopping for a moment to consult with a glittering golden dragon before vanishing from view.

Alhough she had seen so night of open poverty in Everheart, but it still somehow shocking to see no beggars, no homeless, and no destitutes as they soared over the ever larger terraces. She had assumed that the claim that ‘no one went hungry in the Imperium’ was just propaganda, but it seemed that, at least in the major cities, it was true.

“Wow!” said Heidi, who was almost vibrating with excitement. “Do you see the trains!?”

“I thought you had those on Althaea too?” said Xavier.

“We have one, and it keeps on breaking down,” said Heidi. “They’re talking about building a second, but they’ve been talking about it since I was a kid. The joke is: ‘it comes every four years.’”

“Four years?” asked Xavier.

“The Academic Senate elections,” said Heidi. “It’s popular with students and the tutors, but no matter who gets elected it always seems to stop being a priority.”

The Mercy coasted gently towards what seemed to be its dedicated berth, and several gang-planks were extended as it was carefully secured to the sky-dock. Medical facilities lined the boulevard that ran alongside it, with different buildings marked with signs in multiple languages: the complex circular symbols of draconic at the top, and the Low Elvish that served as the lingua franca of the Post-Wyrd world, as well as Merish, Fehleen, and Aldarese. They read things like ‘somnomantic therapy,’ ‘hereditary curses,’ and ‘gender-affirming transmutation,’ and Adeena assumed they were specialised departments, or something.

The ship was met by more medics, who insisted on checking them all over again before allowing them to leave without being hospitalised. The healers were fascinated by Adeena’s rapid recovery, and it took some sharp words to get them to finally release her to the tender mercies of a group of bureaucrats who had been patiently lying in wait to demand her papers.

“I told you, they were destroyed!” said Adeena in an exasperated voice. “You do know that our ship was shot down in the tunnels? Right?”

The tortoiseshell grimalkin who was dressed in a smart red double-breasted coat gave her a withering look. According to his name tag, which was in three languages, he was ‘Tier Three Customs Officer Earl Fiddlequizzel Nettlefish the Seventh.’

“All entrants to the Seat of the Stars must have proper documentation,” said the Grimalkin, tapping a claw against his clipboard. “No exceptions.”

Why exactly an immortal from a race of fey creatures had signed up with the Imperium, Adeena had no idea. A desperate goblin like Bloodmoon’s mother? That sort of made sense. But grimalkin didn’t need to eat (unless they wanted), they didn’t need to sleep (despite doing it all the time), could come and go pretty much anywhere through the feyroads, and usually valued gold only insofar as it was shiny and it made an amusing sound when you knocked it off high places.

Then again, Clawdia had joined Adeena’s mercenary company for no other stated reason beyond ‘Adeena had nice hair,’ so perhaps this bureaucrat just really liked paperwork for some reason. Grimalkin were weird, and any attempt to understand their motivations was usually just an exercise in frustration.

“And the other two members of my Company have them,” she said, shoving Heidi and Xavier’s passes, which were a bit bloody but still legible, towards him. “See how it says under organisation ‘Yassin’s Irregulars’ – well, that’s me, Adeena Yassin.”

The Grimalkin was unmoved. “All entrants to the Seat of the Stars must have proper documentation,” he insisted. He tapped the clipboard again. “No exceptions.”

“It’s alright Officer, they’re with me,” came a lyrical, feline voice from directly behind her, making Adeena nearly jump out of her skin. She hadn’t so much as heard a whisper of an approach.

She turned to see a tall feyleen woman in familiar, heavy plate mail and red surcoat standing behind her. A Dragonsworn, another of the Imperium’s special forces slash totally unaccountable secret police.

Despite their passing similarity to grimalkin, and the starting part of their species’ name, feyleen were not at all related to the smaller fey creatures. The lion-esque people were entirely mortal, and like most of the sapient species on the Plane had arrived on Ruvera during one of the several Great Conjunctions somewhere in the aeons past.

They were relatively rare, having primarily inhabited the arid southlands before the Wyrd, and thus not many had survived the trek north. In the old world they’d had an unfair reputation of being con-artists and thieves, and like the gnomes, had never been powerful or numerous enough to have their own kingdom or state.

Standing at almost seven feet tall, the woman was an imposing presence. Lithe and athletic, even in her heavy armour she held herself like a predator. Despite wearing heavy metal greaves over steel shod boots she balanced on the balls of her feet, as if ready to spring at any moment. She had a massive two handed sword on her back, two shortswords at her belt, and Adeena stopped counting the knives and daggers after five.

Like all feyleen, she had a fine layer of downy fur over her entire body, although it was currently only visible on her upper neck, which was white, and face, which was a yellowy tan. A pair of rounded ears poked through her fantastically fabulous, luscious and curled lion-like mane of hair at the top of her scalp, and slitted grey eyes twitched and flicked, never staying still for more than a moment. There were a few silver hairs in the feyleen’s impressive mane, but she still looked to be very much in her prime. Like goblins, Adeena had no idea as to the upper limit of a feyleen’s lifespan, the old world had not been kind to them, and most had perished to either hunger or violence.

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“Captain Yassin, it has been some time,” said the feyleen, smiling widely to reveal wickedly sharp canine teeth.

Adeena frowned. Some time? Before that day, she had never heard a Dragonsworn say anything that wasn’t a war-chant-

“Dracaris Victoria!”

The words echo in her ears as the wave of fanatical steel crashes against them. She parries and then cuts down one of the zealots, only for another to take his place: a towering Feyleen, drenched in blood and wielding a huge claymore that crackles with lightning.

“Dracaris Victoria!”

Their blades meet, and to Adeena’s shock, the feyleen’s strength overwhelms hers. She disengages and regards her foe warily. The feyleen lunges, and they begin to exchange a blinding flurry of blows. She’s good, incredibly good. Adeena parries and moves to riposte, before moving backward as the woman’s tail flashes up and the attached blade nearly takes out her throat-

“You- you were at Chace,” said Adeena, her mouth suddenly dry. This woman could, quite ‘legally’ and with no repercussion, strike her down where she stood. And, although their last duel had only ended inconclusively, she knew she would not be able to best her now.

“Indeed,” purred the woman, offering her gauntleted hand. “I have faced few better swordswomen; I learnt much from our brief encounter. I am Ser Samara, truly a pleasure, Captain Yassin. I was so pleased when I received word that you’d signed on.”

Adeena stared at her extended hand for a moment, still totally thrown. “You’re the one who hired me?” said Adeena in disbelief. “Don’t you want me dead?”

“Dead?” said Ser Samara, cocking her head to one side. One of her furry ears twitched. “Whatever would I wish you dead for? Chace is history, and one can hardly fault a mercenary for fighting for coin.”

Adeena gave her a tight smile and finally accepted her gauntleted hand. This wasn’t what she had expected in a Dragonsworn at all. Far too friendly.

“I assure you, my friend, I seek nothing more or less than what is in the contract you signed – to purchase your assistance in security matters during the upcoming expedition,” said Ser Samara, placing a second hand on Adeenas and shaking it warmly. “Really, it is a pleasure to meet you. I hope we will be able to find the time for a spar or two. That parry into riposte you did, the one that almost took off my head, it was art!”

The woman was insane. That was it. Utterly insane. She was talking to a crazy person. A crazy person who was utterly accountable to no one, and could do whatever she wanted.

“This is highly irregular,” complained the grimalkin, cutting in. “I can’t just let someone in without documentation. It’s against regulations! No exceptions!”

The feyleen smiled at the grimalkin sweetly, although it seemed to have absolutely no effect on him, since he just glared back.

“Perhaps then you could be so kind as to issue her with new papers?” said Ser Samara. “I will vouch for her, of course.”

The grimalkin grumbled. “Very well, that is in the regulations,” he said. “But I shall need your seal, and a signature.”

“Of course,” said the Dragonsworn smoothly, taking the clipboard and splaying her gauntleted hand on the form. There was a hiss and a sizzle of magic as she burned a mark into the paper, before she pulled a pen from her surcoat and signed it with a flourish.

Mollified, the Grimalkin shuffled about in his satchel for a few moments before producing a new set of documents which he filled in with careful, painstaking precision before handing to Adeena.

“Do not lose those, Ms. Yassin, it is highly irregular to be issued a second set of identification,” he said, before turning and approaching his next victim – an elvish passenger dressed in a bloodied green Imperium uniform. “I require your papers.”

“But- but they were in my luggage!” protested the man. “Look at my uniform, I’m a member of the agricultural corps-”

“I require your papers,” repeated the Grimalkin. “No exceptions.”

The green clad elf looked despairingly at Ser Samara, but she had already turned away.

“Please, follow me,” said Ser Samara stalking off, her long, armoured and bladed tail swaying behind her with every step. “I have already arranged accommodations, and you look tired.”

Adeena glanced at Xavier, who shrugged.

“Why would a Dragonsworn hire mercenaries?” asked Adeena, struggling to catch up to the tall woman. “Can’t you just… draft soldiers if you need them? You can basically do whatever you want, can’t you?”

Ser Samara let out snicker of laughter and slowed her pace slightly. “I’m afraid you have rather a fanciful notion of the Imperium, dear Captain,” she said. “We are not a monolith. The wide discretion my Order is given is a sacred trust place in us by our wise rulers, one we do not abuse.”

Adeena took a moment to translate what she was saying. “So there are those who oppose this expedition?”

Ser Samara inclined her head. “Just so. This expedition was deemed a ‘private’ venture, which is why I cannot simply appropriate Imperial forces.”

“A ‘private’ venture?” said Adeena. “I didn’t think your airships were for sale, or even loan.”

“They are not, my Lady appropriated the Firestorm,” said Ser Samara, before offering Adeena a conspiratorial grin. “To the considerable irritation of her parents, who then deemed her actions private.”

Lady? The only possible being that could appropriate an airship was a dragon, which probably made this the daughter Lord Adamantius had told her to protect or else. Wonderful, so she’d landed herself in the middle of a family spat – where said family were immortal dragons the size of battleships.

“A dragon?” she said.

“Indeed, Lady Aeviexistrixia,” she said. “Youngest child of Lord Adamantius and Lady Althaeaixistria. I have the honour and privileged of serving as her steward.”

“And she couldn’t appropriate a squadron of Imperial Marines?” asked Adeena.

“Her venture is considered… reckless by many,” said Ser Samara carefully. “She is still young, a mere seventy five cycles-

“Wait, the organiser of this trip is a baby!?” said Adeena.

“‘Whelpling’ is the correct term,” said Ser Samara, the faintest, tiniest crack appearing in her otherwise pleasant facade. “The analogy does not work; dragons cannot be compared to mortals. They are far, far beyond us.”

‘Right, speaking to a fanatic,’ Adeena reminded herself. She needed to be careful. “If she’s so young why don’t her parents just… ground her? Take away her ship?”

“Order a dragon, take that which they have claimed!?” she said, her chuttering and snickering in what was the feyleen equivalent of a belly-laugh. “No, no, no, my friend. To do such a thing would require, and invite violent retribution – and against one as young as Aeviexistrixia? Unthinkable!”

So, basically, dragon children did whatever the hells they wanted? Sure, that sounded like a reasonable way to raise a child.

“But doesn’t the Draconic Council rule the Imperium?” said Heidi, speaking up.

“The Draconic Council rules we mortals of the Imperium,” said Ser Samara, delicately wiping at her eye with a finger of her gauntlet. “‘Ruling a dragon?’ Haha! Very amusing, my small friend!”

Adeena gave up on trying to understand the tortuous logic and ‘dragon customs’ behind it all, and let the matter drop.

“But to return to your question,” said Ser Samara, after she had stopped snickering. “Yes, I organised your contract on her behalf. On the expedition I will be your point of contact regarding missions and objectives, unless, of course Lady Aeviexistrixia deigns to issue orders herself. Naturally, how you go about carrying out the set objectives in the field will be up to you.” She frowned and glanced at Heidi and Xavier. “I thought there were six in your company?”

“Mr Blackstone died in the crash,” said Adeena, pushing away the spike of sorrow and shame. “And I have no idea if Mr Grimstone is still alive. Clawdia will… probably turn up, sooner or later. She’s grimalkin, so she’ll probably find a feyroad here eventually, if she doesn’t get distracted and just wander off…”

Ser Samara’s red tongue darted from her mouth and licked her wet, lion-like nose. “Most unfortunate, you have my condolences, Captain.”

“I don’t know if those sea elves you hired survived either,” said Adeena.

Ser Samara ears flattening back against her skull for a moment, before returning to their normal position. “Sea elves?” she asked.

“Yes, there was a company of them aboard the Brighspark,” said Adeena. “They said they were hired for an expedition too…” Adeena frowned. “That wasn’t you?”

“Hmm,” said Ser Samara. “Deceased, also?”

“I’ve no idea – I didn’t see them after the crash,” said Adeena, looking down to see that the woman’s tail had started to grow bushy, a clear sign of agitation in a feyleen. “But…”

“But?” said Ser Samara. She was still all smiles still, but Adeena could feel the change in the air around the woman. This friendly act was just that, an act, one that could be dropped at a moment’s notice and replaced by swift and vicious violence.

“But… I’m not sure exactly. I noticed that all six of them had blessed emblems,” said Adeena, cursing herself for not being circumspect. There was clearly something going on, some internal politicking she didn’t understand. She really didn’t want to pick sides more than she already unwittingly seemed to have done.

Ser Samara licked her nose again. “Lassia?” she asked after a long pause.

“The two emblems I saw, yes…” said Adeena.

Ser Samara clicked her teeth for a moment, before reaching into a pocket of her surcoat and offering a piece of paper to Adeena. “I am afraid I will have to leave you here, my friends,” she said. “This is the address of your lodgings, the proprietor is expecting you and should have meals prepared. I have some inquiries to make. Get settled in, relax, enjoy the baths, take in some of the sights – I will meet you later to go over more of the expedition’s particulars.”

The feyleen gave them a hand-over-heart salute, before turning in the other direction and stalking off at a rapid clip, vanishing.

“What a nice woman,” said Heidi. “I’m glad our client is so friendly.”

“That’s an act, Heidi,” said Xavier, squeezing the gnome’s shoulder. “Watch out for her, OK?”

“An act… really?” said the gnome. “How could you tell?”

“I just can,” said Xavier, before turning to Adeena. “Cap, was that wise? Telling her about the elves? Feels like we’re kicking a hornet’s nest.”

“Yeah, you’re right – I shouldn’t have mentioned it,” said Adeena. “I’m just so damn tired, I need to sleep.”

“You, ah, mean, trance,” said Heidi loudly, looking around at a few of the passersby. “Half-elves trance. Which is what you do, because you’re a half-elf, Captain Yassin. Not something else.”

Adeena rubbed her nose. “Heidi… I promise you, most people have no idea if half-elves trance or sleep. And don’t draw attention like that, OK?”

“Oh… sorry,” said Heidi.

“Wouldn’t say no to a rest myself,” said Xavier, testing his leg before putting the cane back down. “So, where are we headed?”

Adeena looked at the piece of paper, which had a name and a series of draconic numbers scrawled on it which she could just about understand: Azure Pavillion - 9:7:17/3:12/3.

“I have absolutely no idea.”