Although there were squabbles here and there between his workers, especially those who had arrived later, things were progressing pretty smoothly. They’d cleared out space for the town in record time thanks to the dragons. Taking out the stumps was like pulling weeds for them. The impromptu quarry they’d started was in full swing. Stone was being transported on-site faster than it could be mined, hauled by their large-bodied citizens. All of the raw materials were collected, getting processed by their artisans.
Before Ben knew it, a week of preparations had blown by and foundations for the first buildings had taken shape. He was currently helping assemble the frame for one that was already cured. Sure he could likely get away with only delegating work, but it wouldn’t help him. Integrating himself with as many citizens as possible was how he could regain some control. Become a communal icon. The best way to do that right now was to work alongside them and be seen doing it. Shamefully, this was a technique his brother used with some of his villains. But, if it helped him when he needed it, then he didn’t find himself caring all that much.
Stepping back, he admired the row of what would become houses. It was decided that they should focus on housing first, followed by more secure food production. Water wouldn’t be a problem since there were spells that could produce it, and Kinsoriel could fill up an artificial lake whenever it was needed. Some knew who knew how to set up traps in the forest and by the sea, but it wouldn’t be enough to feed the entire population through winter. Their numbers had already swelled by another hundred people and two more dragons.
That’s the part that had him on edge the most. Hunger wasn’t a pretty sight no matter how you cut it. But where a desperate man may steal or rob, a desperate dragon had no qualms with eating others. Any peace they established now would go up in flames at the first ‘meal’. Thus, long and short-term solutions were being sought.
Taking a break from the more physical work, Ben headed towards the central area where people gathered for now. It had become something of a cobbled-together market square. A simple post board was used to display what jobs were most essential at the moment. It would be infeasible for the ex-Author to micromanage everyone all the time, so this was the compromise. Waterskins and food were handed out as needed for now under the assumption people were actively working. Nobody had tried to scam the honor system yet as far as he was aware. He attributed it to religious fervor but knew that wouldn’t last if the going got tough.
“Could I get some fruit?” Ben asked one of the distributors.
“Got any preferences?”
Shaking his head, he was then handed an apple. Leaning himself against a nearby tree, he bit into it with a big crunch. Juices splattered against the facial hair he was starting to grow, making him feel sticky. It was strange. Authors never deviated from how they chose to look, and yet, here he was with stubble and shaggier hair. Perhaps he’d get himself a haircut once this town was up and running.
From out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone looking around the square with purpose. They were covered from head to toe in thick garb that looked horrible to wear in the current conditions. Finishing his apple, he tossed the core into a campfire and strode over.
“Are you looking for something?” he asked.
The overdressed figure turned to him and said in a muffled, feminine voice, “Where can I find your champion?”Thinking nothing of it, he responded, “Over by the altar most of the time. He’s busy right now, so I don’t think he’ll be able to see you.”
Shrugging, the fully obscured woman said, “That’s fine. I came here to give him a message, so if you would please pass it on, I would be most grateful.”
“Sure, I guess I could do that.” He took out the notepad he had taken a liking to and awaited the woman’s message.
“Come closer,” she said while crooking a finger. Catching a glimpse of it made Ben hesitate. It was more like a tentacle that beaconed him closer. “I won’t bite,” she said almost jokingly. That made him want to lean in even less, but he still did it anyway.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as she whispered her message into his ear. After doing so, she immediately turned and walked away into the forest. Ben wouldn’t know where she went past that. He rushed off to deliver that message immediately.
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“Who didn’t put this column in right?” Kinsoriel wanted an explanation for why the column he stood next to wasn’t completely straight. It was a minor fault in the angle, but those minor faults would become exponential if they weren’t caught early. He understood how much of a rush there was to get it done, but that was no excuse for sloppy work.
One of the younger dragons, only a couple of centuries old at most, came forward. “I think that was me,” he said sheepishly.
“Do you think, or do you know?” Kinsoriel asked while rasping his claws on the column.
“It was me.”
Letting out a click of the tongue, the champion shook his head. “Then learn from this experience and don’t let it happen again.”
The younger dragon agreed and tried to leave. Kinsoriel put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I was helping an elder carve stone for the center platform. Was there something else?”
Sighing heavily, Kinsoriel realized he’d also need to play the part of a parent. “Yes, there is. You can go tell that elder that you need to fix a column. We fix our mistakes when we make them; we don’t leave them around for others.”
“Aww,” the younger dragon said, his head now hanging low.
As he sulked off, Kinsoriel heard another voice rapidly approaching from behind him. “Kinsoriel!” cried the little author. Spinning around, he saw the man with hands on his knees, panting heavily. Had he run all the way here?
“Is the reservoir prepared for water already? Are one of those troublemakers not listening to you?” Trying to wonder why he’d come so hastily was ultimately fruitless, but that didn’t stop him from trying.
Benjamin shook his head before looking up. “It’s much, much worse.”
“Out with it then!” Kinsoriel said impatiently. If there was an emergency, wasting time on trivialities could cost them dearly.
“A messenger came to tell you that Dumarn’s champion wishes to speak with you to the south.”
The tip of his tail twitched and his teeth clenched together. This early? He knew to expect the other gods and their champions, but how had they already been found?
“What awful timing. The temple is barely finished with the first floor!” He looked around at the unfinished altar with anger. Wex was supposed to be with them before anything like this happened.
“What are we going to do?” his student asked him. He didn’t sound fearful, more unsure of everything.
“All those present,” Kinsoriel shouted across the construction site, “stop what you are doing and follow me!” Craning his head back to his foreman, he commanded, “Get those working on the town and bring them.”
Rearing back, he got a running start before flying through the middle of the open ceiling. He could hear all the others following him shortly after. Even with all of them at his back and Wex’s aid, he dreaded what awaited him.
Soaring south, it wasn’t long till he could see the makings of an army. A swathe of smells assaulted his poor tongue as he got closer. Fur, fish, and even that of other dragons. Just what did this group have?
If he was of a more vile sort, he’d consider breathing fire down upon them and being done with it. Having been given the forewarning and requesting to speak, that wasn’t an option in his mind anymore. Landing in front of the army, he sat back with his arms crossed. If any of them aggressed upon him, he’d consider that reason enough to attack.
The other dragons followed his actions and took a seat. They were soon joined by the five assigned to the town, replicating all their peers. It was here they would wait.
Looking closely at the individuals in the army, Kinsoriel noticed something peculiar. They all wore thick clothing like those he’d seen in Dewn. None of them seemed to be anything but humanoid, and yet, the smells he was getting from them implied another story. Some of them even had scents he had never come across.
“Well? You wanted to speak with me,” he called out over the army, “I am Kinsoriel, champion of Wex. Let’s get this over with already.”
After saying this, he heard the rapid thumps of multiple deathbounds coming from behind. Whirling around thinking they’d been tricked, he realized that it was only his pupil and others from the city.
“Benjamin,” he asked while dragging a hand across his face, “why did you bring them?”
“They insisted on coming when they heard what was going on,” he said while gesturing to the barely armed mortals.
“This is our land too!” Some whined.
Had the little author’s madness infected the rest of them? If this threat was enough to overcome an entire flight of dragons, what hope would they have? The sheer stupidity of it made him question how stringent Wex’s selection really was.
Before he could order them all to leave, one amongst them yelled, “Look! Something’s going on over there!”
Shifting his view back to the army in front of him, he saw that around twenty had separated from the rest. They disrobed themselves, and before Kinsoriel could shield his eyes from their shamelessness, he saw what they were. Gelans. Their bodies were semi-transparent gel, somehow maintaining the shape of a deathbound. Perhaps he was too quick in thinking that. All of them lost cohesion shortly after and fell into puddles. They all slid towards each other along the ground as though friction didn’t exist for them. Smashing together, they steadily grew larger. There weren’t twenty Gelans here; just one that had split itself up. Standing at around three-quarters of his height, its gel took on a prismatic effect, refracting every color within it. The huge creature did what Kinsoriel thought impossible for them: It spoke.
“Greetings champion of Wex,” it said in a multitude of voices and languages. “I am the vessel of Dumarn’s will. You may call me Morpho.”