Enarion was having a good day. In fact, he was having a very good day. Ever since taking over the kingdom after his brother's dragon-related removal, he had done his best to undo the economic damage his brother had done while smoothing relations over with neighbouring countries. He wasn't about to grovel or anything like that, but letting everyone know that he had no intention of pursuing his brother's ambitions was important. A merchant king could make for a fine neighbour, a warlike king with conquest on his mind was another matter.
Naturally, his reign had not gone unopposed. However, Doomwing's support had provided him with the proverbial big stick required to get started. Obey me or the gigantic dragon comes back and murders everybody was a wonderfully persuasive argument. The remaining members of the royal guard had all pledged their loyalty to him, but he had made sure to add as many of his own supporters and loyalists to their ranks as possible.
Of course, most the royal guard hadn't really been loyal to his brother. They'd been loyal to the coin and influence he gave them. As Enarion's reforms had come into effect and his overtures to other kingdoms had been accepted, he had made sure to pass on the monetary benefits while making it clear that the extra gold in their pockets was all because of him.
It would be a stretch to say they loved him, but they did love gold. As long as the kingdom's finances continued to improve and their pay continued to impress, they would obey. Eventually, though, all of the old guard would retire, and only his loyal supporters would remain. Maybe then he wouldn't have to watch his back so much.
Nevertheless, the upcoming tournament was an important occasion. His brother had used it to identify promising talents, so he could recruit them. Enarion planned to do much the same. However, he also had an ulterior motive. Thanks to his own spy network and some assistance from Doomwing, he had become all too aware of various plots to assassinate him and his family. Few of the conspirators had the ability to legitimately threaten him, but the tournament would give them a chance to go after his niece.
Which was perfectly fine with him.
If even half of what Doomwing had told him of Antaria's progress was true, then his niece was the perfect way to deal with those would-be assassins. Let his enemies hire their finest assassins and enter them into the tournament. Such individuals were the product of a lifetime of training, with the very finest organisations committing untold resources into honing the perfect instruments of death.
If they just so happened to die horribly in the tournament while trying to assassinate his niece, then too bad. And while they struggled to train successors, he would have the perfect chance to strike back. The fact that dealing so… decisively with their enemies would garner Antaria the fame she needed was even better.
Because if Antaria planned to recruit people, then she needed to be famous, not just as a princess but also as a warrior in her own right. The people of the kingdom had a fairly martial attitude. A king didn't have to be the strongest, but he couldn't be weak. A princess who could flatten anyone in her path was exactly the sort of leader that potential recruitment targets would look favourably on.
And there were a lot of potential recruitment targets.
Amongst the nobility, it was customary to have at least four children. The first was the heir, the second was the spare, and the third was to seek high office as a soldier, priest, mage, or administrator. As for the fourth? Well, the fourth was there in case some horrible stroke of bad luck wiped out the others.
Enarion was personally aware of many talented fourth children. Even if they managed to rise to a high rank outside their family, there was little chance of them ever holding lands of their own. But Doomwing had a lot of land and not all that many people. He could give those people the lands they wanted, and they could use their talents to help those lands prosper. Having Antaria to rule over them in his name granted the whole thing an air of legitimacy.
There were also commoners who were skilled in different areas whose humble origins made it hard for them to rise too high in the kingdom where bloodlines mattered and lineage was so important. A powerful warrior might be able to buck the trend – it wasn't unheard of for commoner members of the royal guard to be made into minor nobility – but what of a skilled blacksmith? No matter how gifted, such a person would always be viewed as lesser than a noble, scarcely better than a labourer.
Doomwing did not view matters in that way.
"You are all the same to me," Doomwing had told Enarion when they had discussed the subject. "What are your petty lineages and young bloodlines to me? I am a primordial dragon. All that matters to me is power, wisdom, knowledge, courage, and cunning. I want those who can serve me well. I do not care if their parents were farmers or kings. I know better than any of you that a son of farmers may be a father to kings in time."
Although Enarion would not have put it so bluntly, he shared Doomwing's opinion. Some of his most useful and loyal supporters were merchants, men who had risen high not because of their ancestry but because of their cunning, wisdom, and courage. And too many of the backbiters and lickspittles who had plagued his brother's reign – and who continued to plague his – were lesser sons of far greater sires. At least those greater sires were dead. He could scarcely imagine what some of them might think if they could see their present descendants.
But why was he having a good day?
It was because Antaria had arrived… upon a flying ship, along with a newly crown dwarf king. It had been quite the spectacle, and the entire city had turned out to gaze up in awe at the flying ship. It was a splendid thing, a relic from a bygone Age that had been lovingly restored by exquisitely skilled craftsmen.
To have a dwarf king with such a treasure under his command attend the festivities had been a feather in Enarion's cap, especially when that same king had greeted him warmly and extended a hand in friendship. It was all carefully orchestrated, of course, for both he and Harald served Doomwing. Nevertheless, Enarion had certainly enjoyed his time speaking with Harald, and he was very much looking forward to speaking with him more when the opportunity arose. There was much their two groups could gain from each other.
As for Antaria…
His niece had changed. Or perhaps not. He had always thought his niece to be quite free spirited under all the royal decorum she had learned. She had dreamed of being an adventurer as a child, of facing monsters and becoming a hero. She had set those dreams aside as she grew older and came to understand the full weight of her father's actions. Instead, she had aimed at become a just and fair ruler, one who could bring an era of peace and prosperity to the kingdom.
Her time with Doomwing had changed her… or perhaps brought out who she truly was more clearly. She was no longer beholden to royal decorum. Indeed, when the flying ship had taken some time to deliver its passengers to the ground, she had simply leapt off it and landed easily on the ground.
She no longer walked with the tightly-held dignity of a princess who had spent almost her entire life in the palace. Instead, she walked with the ease and grace of a warrior, someone utterly confident in her training and the skills she had acquired. She had looked upon the royal guard – a force that had driven them to the brink of death not so long ago – and had completely dismissed them as threats. It wasn't arrogance either. The keenness of her gaze made it clear that she understood exactly what they were capable of. She just didn't think that what they were capable of was any danger to her at all.
Oh, yes, he was definitely looking forward to watching her fight.
With the first of her matches taking place tomorrow, he wanted to make sure that she understood the plan. Doomwing had probably already explained it to her, but it never hurt to be sure. He found her in her chambers, speaking with the magical construct that Doomwing had sent to accompany her while his actual body waited until tomorrow to arrive.
The dragon would immediately attract all of the attention, so he wished to give this day to Harald and his sky ship. Let the kingdom's inhabitants see the quality of the people sworn to Doomwing. Tomorrow, as evening fell, he would make his appearance and remind all of the traitors and plotters what fate awaited them.
"Good evening, uncle." Antaria had flopped onto her back. She held a raccoon in her arms, and the creature was sighing contentedly as she ran her fingers through his fur. Enarion might almost have dismissed the raccoon as a threat if his magical senses weren't so keen. This was no normal raccoon. "Have you come to discuss my bouts tomorrow?"
"Yes." Enarion smiled. "There are a few people that you need to deal with."
She grinned. It was a toothy grin, more reminiscent of a dragon than a princess. "And by deal with…?"
"They're going to try to assassinate you, so feel free to deal with them as you see fit – preferably fatally." Enarion handed her a list. "These are their names. I wouldn't have been able to acquire these on my own, but their efforts at concealment meant nothing in the face of Doomwing's magic."
"This is a long list," Antaria said. She giggled. "You've been picking up a lot of enemies, uncle."
"Unfortunately, yes." He chuckled. "Which means I must be doing a good job."
"Incidentally… how is your family?" Antaria asked. "Are they in the capital?"
It was a polite way of asking if his position was secure. Prior to their attempt to overthrow her father, he had sent his wife and children away. Had they failed, his family would have fled over the border where merchants he trusted would see to their care.
"Unfortunately, the weather in the capital does not agree with them. However, I am sure the weather will improve after the tournament."
Her smile this time was not merely toothy. It was all teeth. "Oh, have no fear uncle. There will be nothing but fine weather once the tournament is over. It has been such a long time since I saw my cousins, and I'm sure they'll enjoy life in the capital once the weather has improved." She paused. "Although… some of them might be useful to us if they could be convinced to mend their ways."
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Lyra was the scion of the greatest clan of assassins that the kingdom had ever known. Their deadly arts had been passed down from mother to daughter for centuries. From the day she could walk, she had been trained in all the many ways a person could be killed. Her mother had spared no expense in her training. She had received the best tutors and the finest equipment, and she had been sent out on mission after mission to hone herself into a perfect instrument of assassination.
The old king had so feared their family that he had taken out a standing contract, promising to exceed any payment they were offered to target him. The new king had not been so wise. Instead, he had relied on his royal guard. Admittedly, the clan had yet to succeed, but Lyra had entered the tournament to show him the error of his ways. His beloved niece would die screaming in horrible, hideous agony, and her death would serve as a reminder to all who doubted the power of her clan.
Fear the shadows and the knives that dwell within them.
For her part, the princess was nothing special. Oh, she was pretty enough with dark hair and violet eyes, but she wasn't even wearing armour. Instead, she wore cloth of green and gold, and her weapon was a wooden sword. It was almost insulting. But if this foolish girl wished to make her life easier, then Lyra would not complain.
Still, Lyra had not become the scion of her clan by being careless. As she and the princess walked into the arena to the raucous cheering of the crowd, she extended her senses. Her lips almost curved into a smile. She could not detect much power at all from the princess. Clearly, the rumours of her undertaking rigorous training were all fabricated to improve her image in the eyes of the easily fooled commonfolk.
On the battlefield, however, such lies were swiftly exposed.
The referee introduced them to the crowd and then stepped back to let them fight. Technically speaking, killing was allowed, but it was greatly discouraged. Lyra would slay the princess, and her clan and their allies would handle the fallout. She looked over to where King Enarion was speaking with the dwarf king. He was smiling now, but he would not be smiling for long.
"So…" The princess hadn't bothered to take a stance, or perhaps she didn't know how. It would not surprise Lyra at all if some pampered royal had no idea of how to fight. "Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to do something?"
Lyra's eyes narrowed. She would be doing something, all right.
As the princess continued to stand there nonchalantly, Lyra layered several fifth-order spells onto herself. The world slowed down and came into perfect focus. The cries of the crowd fell silent, and everything faded away except for the opponent in front of her. Strength filled her limbs, and she felt as light and easy on her feet as a feather. A pale, ghostly glow surrounded her daggers, and her thoughts were momentarily drawn back to the training she had endured to get this far.
Her clan had been founded centuries ago when a woman's family had been wiped out by her father's political opponents. Bereft of support and filled with thoughts of vengeance, the woman had sought training from a wandering nun who took pity on her. She travelled with the nun for fifteen years, learning all that she could from her.
She had even learned that the nun had actually been expelled from her order for using her order's arts to strike down those who preyed on the innocent, thereby breaking her vow to never take a life. From that day onward, the nun had wandered, teaching those she felt could best make use of her skills.
Lyra's ancestor had eventually avenged her family and started a new family of her own. Realising the power her skills gave her, she had taught her daughters, who then passed on their skills until an entire clan of assassins had formed. They would dwell in the shadows, and they would rise to power with daggers in the dark, poisons undetected, and plots and schemes brought to fruition. Never again would they be at the mercy of others. Never again would their fates be in the hands of corrupt nobles and fallible rulers.
They had almost succeeded too. Her great-grandmother had almost managed to marry the king at the time before a rival family had managed to wed their heiress to him instead. They had wiped out that family in response, but the damage had been done. Never again would so fortuitous an opportunity arrive. But now, with the kingdom in flux, they had a new opportunity.
The spells she had used on herself formed the unshakeable foundation of her clan's fighting style. Keen perception, peerless strength and speed, and unspeakably deadly weapons. An adept in their techniques could cut their way through a dozen skilled guards in moments to reach their target or sneak past the most well-devised defences to deal a deadly blow.
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At the age of sixteen, Lyra had mastered these spells and had proven herself by defeating several of her cousins for the position of scion. Her grandmother had lavished praise on her before submitting her to hellish training. For months, her fellow clan members had been allowed to ambush her. The could not slay or cripple her, but they could inflict agonising wounds. Lyra would have to keep the spells active to survive. And she had… and the spells had evolved, her understanding of magic and its applications for assassination expanding further and further until she was finally ready to take the next step.
Planting her feet firmly, Lyra tossed her cloak up into the air and sprang toward the princess in a blur of motion. To her credit, the princess was seemingly able to follow her movements. Was it an artifact? Or perhaps it was a spell? Whatever it was, it would not be enough. Even as the princess turned to face her, Lyra activated the abilities that had allowed her to hang onto the position of scion despite all of the efforts of her cousins.
Shadow walking and illusions.
A spectral copy of her appeared. It would never stand up to close scrutiny, for it was little more than a shadowy outline, but it was enough to draw the eye. At the same time, she vanished into the shadows cast by her cloak before emerging from the princess's shadow, her daggers poised and ready to strike.
This was the pinnacle of her abilities.
Unmatched physical and perceptual enhancement combined with an illusion to distract the opponent followed by shadow walking to strike from a completely unexpected angle in a completely unexpected way. Her victory was assured. Her clan would show the king what a fool he was to defy them –
THUD.
Lyra's entire world transformed into pain.
She was dimly aware of tumbling out of the crater she'd left in the wall of the arena as her daggers slipped from her hands. Her sternum was broken, as was every single one of her ribs. The last thought to cross her mind before she mercifully lost consciousness was to wonder what had happened.
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Antaria lowered her fist. She really hoped that assassin girl wasn't actually dead. As she had pointed out to her uncle and Doomwing, having an elite cadre of assassins might actually be useful down the line if they could break them out of their bad habits. Yes, treachery would probably be an issue at some point, but she had also read her uncle's report about them.
The clan was strictly matriarchal and absolutely obsessed with power. In fact, there was even a clause in there about how the strongest should rule the clan. It was a strange perspective for a clan of assassins, but they also seemed a bit odd for assassins to begin with. They were rather notorious for making big displays of their assassinations and killing people in dramatic fashion to make statements about their power. Doomwing had scoffed, pointing out that smarter assassins would make everything look like an accident to ensure nobody even knew they existed.
Most importantly, the clause about the strongest ruling didn't specify that the ruler had to be born in the clan. All it said was that the strongest woman should rule the clan – pretty much assuming that the strongest woman would be a member of the clan. Well, Antaria was reasonably confident she could beat the crap out of anybody in that clan – and Doomwing agreed – so why not take over it? Apart from being assassins, they could be used as spies and bodyguards, gathering intelligence and protecting their people when they travelled outside of Doomwing's territory. Monsters were stronger, but she couldn't exactly send the mother wolf to accompany a trading caravan into a city.
The assassin's plan hadn't been that bad either. The enhancement magic had been a bit… unimpressive, but it wasn't like she knew any better. Not everybody had a magically inclined primordial dragon to teach them magic, and not everybody was willing to subject themselves to the horror that was the aforementioned primordial dragon's version of training. According to Doomwing, the best way to learn enhancement magic was to use it – and using it meant fighting his construct or a small army of monsters on a daily basis.
It was also clear that although Lyra had some ability to absorb magic from her surroundings, her progression was muddled and, frankly, a bit odd. Antaria's improved senses allowed her to detect the magic in others, and Lyra's magical circulatory system was kind of a mess. Well, maybe that wasn't fair. To her senses, most people's magical circulatory systems looked kind of awful. Apparently, it took dedicated training of the right kind for a human's magical circulatory system to look even halfway presentable to someone who could perceive it properly.
Even so, Lyra had moved as fast as any member of the royal guard. Combining that with an illusion and then shadow walking would probably have killed most people. But Antaria's magical senses could easily distinguish between an illusion and a real person while allowing her to keep track of the assassin when she slipped into the shadows.
Filch, the shadow walking raccoon, had spent most of the trip playing pranks on Antaria and just generally being aggravating. He was so lucky that he was adorable and cuddly, but his antics had made her quite adept at tracking someone who could move through shadows, and Lyra couldn't do it as easily or as quickly as Filch.
In the end, all Antaria had needed to do was to take a step to the side, turn around, and then punch. Of course, she might have underestimated her power a bit, so instead of just knocking Lyra unconscious, she'd pulverised her chest, but she was confident Doomwing's construct could fix that.
And with so many high-ranking members of Lyra's clan in the city for the tournament, it shouldn't be too hard for Antaria to introduce herself later by pummelling whoever she needed to pummel in order to take over.
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Slavery was illegal in the kingdom, but there were ways around that. The most common was referred to as 'debt contracting' where someone was forced to work for a pittance – or nothing at all – to pay off their debt. King Enarion's reforms were designed to put a stop to the practice, and that was not something certain individuals could abide.
Killing the king was no easy task, but his niece had entered the tournament, which made her a much easier target.
Foley had witnessed the fight between the princess and the assassin. It had been impressive, but he wasn't worried. The young assassin had made the mistake of underestimating the princess, and she had paid the price. Now that the princess had revealed her full power, Foley would have no problems dealing with her.
As he and the princess took their positions in the arena, the cheers of the crowd grew louder and louder. Nobody had expected the princess to make such brutally short work of her opponent, and the commonfolk and nobility who had gathered to watch the tournament were thrilled with the prospect of a royal finally having the sort of strength their legends spoke of. Fools. The princess had likely relied on some combination of magic and potions to increase her power. It simply wasn't possible to grow so strong so rapidly.
Foley readied himself and tightened his hold on his spear. It was a masterwork, forged by indentured dwarves and covered with dwarven script to enhance its durability and destructive power. It could pierce through even the toughest armour with ease and block any weapon. Of course, Foley was not so foolish as to rely solely on his weapon. He was an exquisitely gifted spearman, and he had spent his entire life honing his skills and challenging himself against both beasts and men.
As the fight began, he layered himself in enhancement magic and gulped down a trio of potions to raise his powers even further. Lightning crackled to life around his spear as the charms he wore about his neck amplified his affinity for lightning magic, allowing him to surpass his natural limitations and reach a level only the kingdom's mightiest mages could hope to attain. Rather than hurl the lightning at the princess, he wrapped it around his spear, taking its destructive power to absurd heights.
"Are you done?" the princess asked. "Or are you going to keep enhancing yourself and your weapon." She lowered her voice. "Why can't I have a lightning spear?" she muttered. "But that soul-cutting magic on those daggers earlier was pretty good too… damn it. Why can't my magic look like that?"
Foley ignored the princess's rambling in favour of taking up his stance. He began to breathe in and out slowly and evenly. This was a technique that had been passed down to him by his instructor, a former general of another kingdom who had been cast out for wiping out villages that had defied his orders to hand over their crops when his army had passed through. The general had been a bitter, old man, but he had taught this technique to Foley after Foley had promised to use it to assassinate those responsible for his downfall.
Foley had kept his promise, and the general had died with a smile on his face.
The technique itself was simple in concept but incredibly difficult in execution. By training his senses to the utmost, he was able to detect minute currents of magic in the area around him. He could pull on those currents and feed them into his enhancement spells, strengthening them even further and allowing him to achieve inhuman feats of strength and speed.
How should he do this?
There was no point in holding back. The princess had clearly prepared for the tournament. It was best to slay her in a single strike. Yes. A charge followed by a flat thrust of his spear, all of it delivered at a speed that would make dodging impossible and enhanced with so much strength and lightning that attempting to parry or block would be a death sentence.
He called this technique the 'Killer Bolt' for it was like a bolt of lightning that never failed to slay his opponent.
Foley bent his knees and then surged forward… as the princess reached down and picked up a rock. No. It was a piece of the arena wall that had broken off earlier when she punched the assassin.
The princess weighed the rock in her hands and then –
The rock vanished.
Foley stumbled to his knees as his spear slipped from his hands.
"What…?" He glanced down to find a rock-sized hole in his chest. "How…?"
The princess smiled at him. "I like rocks. You can bash people over the head with them, or you can throw them. I kind of wish that I could have brought my favourite rock, but Doomwing said it would look strange if I walked into the arena with a rock instead of a sword. Oh well. It's like one of his friends said, there's no problem you can't solve with the right rock."
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As the sun began to set, the tournament came to a close for the day. Bouts would resume in the morning. The crowd was abuzz with talk of the princess who had turned what should have been an incredibly challenging tournament into something that was equal parts amazing and ludicrous. Not a single one of her opponents so far had presented anything even remotely resembling a challenge, and some of them had died in ways that were, quite frankly, comical.
A rock?
Foley of the Lightning Spear was a legendary mercenary who often played the part of assassin. It was an open secret that he worked for a number of nobles and merchants who made vast quantities of money through what was basically slavery. He was considered so deadly that only the kingdom's finest warriors could even think of facing him.
And the princess had killed him with a rock.
She'd cut a swathe through the rest of her opponents although she had been surprisingly gentle with some of them, even allowing a young nobleman to surrender after dodging all of his attacks for a few minutes. The young man had put on a decent show, displaying powerful magic and skill with a blade, not that it had meant much against the princess. Another opponent had simply surrendered upon being called into the arena. Apparently, he'd been afraid of embarrassing himself. For her part, the princess hadn't even used her sword, instead relying on punches, kicks, and random bits of debris to win her fights.
However, the day had one last surprise.
As the bells of the city's temples rang out, sounding the hour, a dragon appeared, scales of ruby and sapphire lit in the westering sun. He was massive, so huge that his mere presence had commonfolk and nobles alike standing still in a combination of awe and terror. He was Doomwing, the dragon their king had sworn oaths of loyalty to, and he had apparently come to enjoy the ambience of the tournament.
The great dragon circled the city twice, and despite the fear he provoked, there was hardly a person there who did not stare at his magnificence. Nobles like to clothe themselves in finery and show off their power, but what jewels or cloth could compare to the dragon's scales, and what power could compare to the magic that momentarily lit the sky, turning it bright as day as the dragon spoke, praising the participants of the tournament and urging them to do their best in the days to come.
At last, his words spoken, the dragon wheeled away from the city, coming to rest in the vast lake. He was like a living island, and the boats on the lake hurried to put distance between them. Some in the crowd worried that the dragon might turn his fire on them, but those wiser had no such concerns.
Had the dragon wanted them dead, they would be.
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Doomwing glanced up. It was an hour after midnight, and an illusion had just been made. It was a small thing, but the skill of its weaving was impressive indeed. A lesser dragon could very easily have been fooled, and even a keen-eyed observer who was less familiar with such magics might have missed it.
But he was Doomwing, and he was very familiar indeed with this kind of magic.
A lone figure walked across the waters of the lake toward him, hidden from all eyes save his, her presence so completely concealed that her footsteps left not so much as a ripple on the surface of the water.
Nine golden tails stirred in the breeze, and piercing green eyes met his for the first time in almost a thousand years.
"Good evening," Hikari said. "Uncle Doomwing."
He looked at her for a long moment. She had grown strong indeed since they had last spoken. Dreamsong was to be commended for her training. Indeed, although her power could not yet compare to Kagami's – even before her madness – there was a razor sharpness to it that Kagami had never quite possessed.
"It has been some time, Hikari," Doomwing replied. "And it is no longer good evening. It is good morning."
Her lips twitched. "You used to say that to me whenever I snuck out of bed to badger you into telling me another story."
"And do you still remember those stories?" Doomwing asked. "And the lessons they taught."
"I remember them all," Hikari replied as she sat down on the water, her tails spread out like tongues of golden fire. "Would you tell me more if I asked?"
"Perhaps." Doomwing peered at Hikari. The naïve, indecisive girl was gone. In her place was a ruler. "Is there one you would like to hear?"
"The story of the scholar and the general," Hikari replied. "Since it's about two old friends meeting again."
"Is that what we are?"
"It's what I'd like us to be, if you'd allow it."