Chapter 8

The throne room of Presidia

Queen Dracyr

Dracyr sat upon her throne, thoughts running through her head. The various courses she could have taken streamed through her consciousness, each one bearing different outcomes. She wondered whether the choice she made was the right choice, though this thought lasted only briefly. She took a deep breath in, closing her eyes so she could see her thoughts clearly. Death and disaster were in front of her in nearly every direction. She scanned the horizon of her mind, looking for a glimmering bit of hope, and saw scarce little. She took another breath and the vision in her head reset. A large chessboard was laid out in front of her. The game had been set long ago, well before Dracyr or Emeria became players, but they had been chosen to be the ones to help it reach the conclusion. Deep in the pit of her stomach, Dracyr felt an uneasiness, she knew she had been played, but by whom? She didn’t believe Emeria was capable of this level of manipulation on her own. She let the thought swirl around her mind before her trance-like vision was finally interrupted.

With a heavy sigh, Grayston made his feelings clear. “Speak your mind general,” Dracyr said as she snapped from her silence. “You know I hate it when you try and brood like this.

Grayston ran his fingers through his hair nervously before speaking. “If you must know I’m wondering if that was really a wise choice.”

“So you’re questioning not only my actions but my wisdom now?” Dracyr replied coldly.

“I… I didn’t mean it that way...” Grayston stammered.

‘Then how exactly did you mean it general?” Dracyr said turning to lock eyes with him.

Grayston felt a cold shiver go up his spine as his eyes met Dracyr’s, “I simply mean that the odds of anyone getting Kraevos to help are quite slim. Even our best negotiators would be hard-pressed to converse with the man. Not to mention that’s all based on the assumption that he’s still alive.”

“He is Grayston, I know he is,” Dracyr interjected.

“How?,” Grayston blurted out, instantly regretting his words.

“I’m amazed at how much you’re willing to question me today general,” Dracyr said, standing up and placing a hand on Grayston’s chest. “I know I’ve told you that you are free to speak your mind, but you have so rarely spoken to me like this.”

Grayston looked directly at Dracyr, the faint glow of yellow washed around her eyes as he felt his pulse slow. “I’m sorry, you know I only speak out of concern for my men. I know a conflict with Sacrotia has been on the horizon for quite some time. I just don’t want blood to be shed in vain.”

“And that is why you are a good general, for whatever faults you may have, you do still care about your men,” Dracyr said with a smile. “It is why I trust you so much.”

“Then why didn’t you send me?” Grayston replied. “I know you told them that I would be found out, but I’ve infiltrated more than my fair share of places. I could have blended into Aroster with ease.”

“Come now general,” Dracyr said tauntingly,” we both know that’s not what you really want to say.” Dracyr turned and waltzed down the stairs before waving up a small stone table to begin to plan.

“Fine, why in the name of the gods did you have to send him of all people?” Grayston said angrily. “You could have sent anyone else and had your reasons, but why Aren? On top of that, why did you give that girl the wyvern? That dragon is worth more than I make in a full year, what am I missing here!?”

Dracyr turned back to Grayston with a wry, condescending smile on her face, “Quite a lot actually general.” Dracyr waved her hand over the table and a map of all of Surren appeared. “Look here general, do you see all these dots on the map?” Grayston looked down and saw about 20 different glowing dots throughout the Draeton countryside. “Each of these is a dragon farm.”

“Yes, I knew that, what’s your point?” Grayston said back grumbling.

“I know you don’t generally look at dragons for more than their military purposes so I am going to educate you a bit,” Dracyr said with a smirk. “Do you know how many of these farms actually breed wyverns?” Grayston shook his head in reply. “None of them actually. So didn’t you ever wonder why we didn’t have many?”

“Well yes, of course, but that’s why I thought we should keep it. If they are hard to breed and valuable we shouldn’t just be giving them away to a farm girl,” Grayson replied getting more agitated with each word.

“Actually the dragon is essentially of no value to us now. We could sell it to a collector, but that’s about it,” Dracyr replied. “You see Wyverns are smart, prideful creatures. You can’t force them or trick them into breeding. They also won’t breed in captivity, at least no one has managed that in hundreds of years. The real problem though is that they are incredibly picky about their riders. There have been many Wyverns who have refused to be ridden. I’ve heard stories about riders being thrown off mid-flight. Even if they do accept a rider I have never heard of one that accepted a second in their lifetime.”

“But that girl said she rode the Wyvern here,” Grayston said, finally realizing what Dracyr was saying.

Dracyr smiled at Grayston, “Exactly, I can’t explain it, but that Wyvern has taken another rider. We haven’t tried to breed wyverns in a few hundred years, that said, I wouldn’t be surprised if that particular wyvern was raised at Vella’s farm. It would at least explain why the dragon showed up there in the first place. The dragon has at least seen something it deemed worthy in that farm girl.”

“So the girl gets along with dragons, I fail to see why we couldn’t just sell it,” Grayston mumbled.

“We could have, sure, but again you are missing the bigger picture general,” Dracyr said, again taunting Grayston. With a wave of her hand, a glowing piece of parchment appeared on the table in front of Dracyr. “You have seen this, have you not?”

“Of course, I have, this is the note from Sherid,” Grayston replied getting angry again.

“Well based on this Emeria very rightfully believes that we committed the attempt on her life. She believes this, but she doesn’t have insurmountable proof, it’s not like we made a full military movement against her. This leaves us with two advantages actually,” Dracyr said.

“I fail to see any advantage, even if it’s just a guess she is still right that the assassin came from Draeton,” Grayston responded. His face was beginning to get noticeably red. He couldn’t stand the sort of cat-and-mouse way that Dracyr taunted and talked to him sometimes. It was a very rare occurrence that any person could make Grayston feel like a fool, but Dracyr did it regularly.

“Well, simply the first advantage is that based on this letter Sherid is alive. This means that we still have a spy in her inner circle and at least as of now he doesn’t appear to be compromised. The other advantage that we have is that at least in the eyes of our people we have done nothing to incite this attack. It will appear as though Emeria is starting a war. This will make it considerably easier to keep up morale and rally our troops. The more we keep our people unified the better chance we have of not just surviving, but turning this into an opportunity.”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Finally, the information clicked in Grayston’s head, “So you sent off Aren and Vella because they are the only people who know otherwise. You even got them to take the only piece of evidence with them.”

“Exactly! They can’t spread any rumors or anything of the like if they aren’t here. With the Wyvern going with them we also tie up that loose end. The only two people in the whole of Draeton that know the truth now are you and I,” Dracyr said calmly. “Though we must lie to our people it is a lie for their own good. I believe you’ll agree that security and safety are far more important than the truth in this case.” Dracyr looked deeply again into Grayston’s eyes.

“Of course, my queen,” Grayston replied simply. “The people have put us in positions of power so that we may make judgments for them because we understand far more than they do.”

Dracyr smiled, “I knew you would understand.”

“There is one part that still bothers me though,” Grayston said heavily. “Do you really think that we can trust Sherid? There is a part of me that thinks this has all been a trap. I know above all he serves his blood gods and after all, he is a part of the Sacrotian high council.”

“His devout belief in his religion is actually why we can trust him,” Dracyr replied. With a wave of her hand the parchment disappeared and in its place was a large red tome that hummed with energy. “Due to the strained relations between our two nations, I have tried to study the religion of Sacrotia. They guard their texts rather well, but I still managed to acquire this a few years ago. It took me a while to figure out the writing and the magic, but it has been quite enlightening.” She opened the book and began to thumb through the pages until she reached one with a particularly large illustration. “Their religion is rather grim sounding, but it’s actually rather unclear in a lot of ways. There is quite a lot of interpretation involved. The one core belief is that blood is what binds and brings all of life together, humans, animals, magic, everything. If you have power over blood, you have power over life itself. Blood is sacred according to their religion, but this is where I diverge from how they see it. The way I read it made it sound as though all blood is sacred and that spilling any blood is an act of ritual and sacrifice to the gods. They seem to see this as a demand for sacrifice, I see it as a reverence of the blood itself. From what I can gather I am not alone in this interpretation and I believe Sherid sees things the same way. Emeria sheds blood without a single care, she follows none of the rituals and doesn’t honor the gods, she spits in the face of everything that a real Sacrotian would find sacred.

“And how exactly does this make her different from other Sacrotian leaders?” Grayston interjected. “There have been plenty of killers and conquerors from every one of the kingdoms.”

“As I said,” Dracyr continued, “She does not follow the proper rituals. She does not honor the blood taken or the blood lost. I went back through our own recordings of Sacrotian events and I saw certain mass rituals being followed before and after every major Sacrotian conflict. That is until I reach Emeria’s rule, then all the rituals stop.

“So he’s angry at her for not following their beliefs?” Grayston muttered. “I suppose I’m not religious enough to understand his anger.”

“It would appear so, but look at it this way,” Dracyr kept talking, though she began to pace the room as Grayston listened. ‘You have spent your whole life in the service of the Draeton royal army. If someone were to insult it and belittle it, wouldn’t you be angry?”

“Well yes, of course,” Grayston said. “Which makes a fair equivalency, the military is the closest thing I have to a religion.”

“As it is for many soldiers. Now, there is a second part though. Emeria not only ignores the rituals, but she sees herself as a god on Surren. The Bloodstone, the thing we sent Fenir to retrieve, is the divine mark of Sacrotia. It is always held by their leader and it marks them as chosen by the blood gods. It holds immense magical power and she wields it like a simple toy. On top of all that she hasn’t aged a day since she took the stone from her father.”

“That’s actually true?” Grayston questioned. “I had heard the rumors, but I always thought that was just Sacrotian propaganda.”

“As far as I can tell, it is true,” Dracyr replied finally stopping. “Sherid confirmed this for me, he is not sure how, but she hasn’t aged a day. Somehow the magic running through the Bloodstone has kept her young.”

“Splendid,” Grayston said sarcastically. “So she immortal now too?”

“That we will have to find out,” Dracyr said with a seriousness that worried Grayston.” She walked back over to the throne and sat down. “What I am trying to get you to understand is that Sherid is our ally out of necessity. Not just our necessity, but his own. He is by no means loyal to us, it is that his disloyalty to Emeria is far greater than anything else. I trust him to help us as far as Emeria goes, but once she is dispatched I do not trust him one bit. Even now I know that he can only do so much. He can help with information and some small deeds, but in the end, it is Draeton that must plunge the dagger into Emeria. Sherid may hate her, but even he can’t try to kill someone who is a god in his religion, even if she is a twisted god at that. At this point in time the enemy of my enemy is my friend and that is how we must act.”

“That I can accept for now,” Grayston replied. ‘Why now though?” Grayston locked eyes with Dracyr. Even with all the pieces he knew, that was still the glaring hole in the puzzle in front of him. “After all these years, why act now? Sherid doesn’t seem to be the kind of person to act hastily without a significant reason. Emeria has been reigning over that kingdom for years, what has spurred this on?”

Dracyr tilted her head to the side, pausing for a moment but reaching no conclusion. “That is the important question I don’t have an answer for. Certainly, there must be a move that has caused all of this to happen. After all the years of positioning, now seems like an odd time for Emeria to place her pieces in the open and press the attack. Sherid did not appear to have had long to think this out either, which does concern me.” Dracyr stood up and walked back to the table, with a wave of her hand the map reappeared. “What could have pushed Sherid to act, what could Emeria be planning that would have scared him so?”

Grayston and Dracyr hunched over the map and looked over every inch of Surren. At the center of the map were the sprawling fields of Draeton. At the heart of that lay the city of Presidia. To the northeast, the hills began and Sacrotia lay nestled between them and the mountain range that separated continents. Just below Sacrotia in a small range of mountains was Chirock, the great mountain keep of King Graclose and his people. Far to the south of Draeton in a naturally protected bay was the harbor of Aroster, the smuggler’s bay that Aren and Vella were leaving for. This lawless space was the only part of the land not outlined as part of a kingdom. To the north of Draeton was the massive forest of Morenseo, a land filled with tribes of hunters united under their one chief who held the title of Moren. To the northwest was the small rocky edge of land called Horath. This was the home of the mage’s academy. The school where all the nations sent their magically gifted youth to train and learn the proper rules for magic. Lastly to the east of Draeton, past the plains, past the flatlands was the coastal kingdom of Lazzure. The merchant kingdom thrived with trade from all of Surren and beyond under the watch of the High Arbiter.

Silently Grayston and Dracyr continued to look over until Grayston broke the quiet. “Staring at this isn’t going to do me any good. I can see the outlines of the kingdoms in my sleep, it’s not as though any new information is going to come to me. I’m going to go gather the supplies for Aren and Vella, the sooner we get them on their way the better. After that I am going to begin the preparations for the troops, these days only have value if we use them.” Grayston turned and left the room without any recognition from Dracyr.

With a heavy sigh, Dracyr stepped back and sat down on her throne, she waved her hand and the map followed, hanging in the air in front of her. She snapped her fingers and the doors to the throne room all locked shut. Dracyr began to take deep, slow breaths as she placed her hands over her eyes. A hum filled the air as the map in front of her began to fill with words. Names covered the map, the great generals and rulers of Surren all appeared on the map as Dracyr opened her eyes. Dracyr’s own name hovered over Presidia. Emeria’s name hung over the keep of Sacrotia like a curse. Dracyr scanned the map, noting one name missing, she wasn’t sure how, but the name of the chieftain of the north was nowhere to be found.

Dracyr took one more deep breath and closed her eyes again. She let all the possibilities surround her and flow through her mind. Different images of battles yet to be fought and conversations yet to be had rippled past her. Death and glory ran through her closed eyes as her heart slowed and her body grew cold. With a twitch and a cry she opened her eyes and the room was filled with a blinding yellow light. “Chirock… Graclose…,” She murmured. As the light faded Dracyr’s body shivered and felt heavy. Her breathing became heavy as her vision came back into focus. “She’s going to Chirock next and I can’t stop her,” Dracyr murmured again.

Dracyr’s head dropped and she looked down into her lap, seeing blotches of blood on her dress. She stood and walked to the nearest wall, summoning a mirror with a wave of her hand. She gazed into the mirror and saw her reflection, shimmering and sublime. Her golden crown sat atop her hand and her long hair still sprawled across her in perfect symmetry. The faint yellow glow around her body was stronger now, but she knew what was really there. “I suppose this would be easier if I could see everything,” she muttered. She raised her hand up to her face and it began to glow a deep yellow before she took her hand back away. Now in the mirror was a very different face meeting her. Where before there was perfect skin and makeup creating an image of beauty there was instead pale rosy skin, sickly looking as her body still shivered. Lines of blood ran down her face from her eyes. Lastly and most grotesquely where her eyes used to sit now sat two large pieces of golden stone, carved and placed into her flesh. The blood pooled around these pieces of gold and dripped down from the scar tissue around her eyes. Dracyr took a small piece of cloth and began to dab gently at the wounds, cringing as it touched the deeply scarred skin. “The price of wisdom is always high,” she said sadly to herself.