Chapter 28 - Those In Power (Patreon)

“You must kill the Human.”

In response to the nonchalant declaration, Kiirion Sylpeiros – the High Seneschal who presided over all living Elves – took great pains not to do what he desired, which was to go over and wring the Dragon Queen’s scaly fucking neck. Fortunately for everyone involved, he wasn’t suicidal. He instead went searching through his inner catalog of Diplomacy-Approved Interactions, picked out a generically polite frown, and slipped the mask onto his face.

“I’m quite aware that the Human must die,” Sylpeiros said, making sure his voice sounded like a placid river instead of the raging torrent he was barely keeping dammed up. “After sufficient torture and interrogation, of course, to ensure that we root out wherever else any of his brethren may be hiding. However, fair Queen, you should give greater focus to the far more urgent matter that has been brought to our attention. Namely that an entire forest is being overrun by Infected wildlife!”

“An entire Elven forest,” Queen Ragnavi retorted, with a teasing tone and a crooked grin.

The dam almost broke. It was only decades of experience dealing with the Dragon Queen and his own well-nourished survival instincts that prevented him from raising his voice to the heavens.

Perhaps sensing that Sylpeiros was nearing his limit, Queen Ragnavi brushed a few roaming strands of wavy red hair out of her face and straightened her back. Marginally. Her posture remained atrocious, to the point where she was slouching more than she was sitting, but when one was close to 7 feet tall they could afford to slouch and still tower over everyone else in the room. “It’s unfortunate, I’ll admit,” she addressed to Seneschal Sylpeiros, “But what would you have me do? If the Infected creatures are set to explode in number within our borders like they have in yours, then we’ll need to devote additional resources to culling their numbers and finding a cure. We can scarcely help you if we end up mired in dealing with our own outbreak. Not to mention that there’s a potential civil war brewing among my people.”

The King of the Merfolk, thus far content to wait and watch in his corner of the room, let out a grunt. “There’s always a civil war brewing among your people,” he muttered.

Queen Ragnavi bared all her teeth in a blooming smile. “That’s why I’m always so busy,” she purred. “Teaching people their place in the order of things is a neverending – if always satisfying – task.”

The King of the Merfolk shuddered, as did Sylpeiros and everyone else present in the meeting. There was something innately offputting about seeing two wide rows of sharklike, red-tipped teeth in the mouth of a beautiful woman. It wasn’t a sight one ever got quite used to. Were Ragniva not the Dragon Queen, her smile would have made for an excellent power play to be brought out at crucial moments to disarm her enemies during a negotiation. But as she was the Dragon Queen, and thus didn’t need to try very hard to win arguments, she mostly did it because she enjoyed making people squirm.

“Do correct me if I’m wrong,” Queen Ragnavi continued, “But I haven’t heard a word about what your people are going to do to solve this Elven problem in Elven borders, dear Seneschal. Are they incapable of defending themselves from the rabbits and deer of a single forest? And are the other Elven cities so uncaring that they won’t so much as wiggle their pointed ears in support of their own Race?”

“Ixatan is by far the largest forest in Elatra,” Sylpeiros replied. Which you already know, you spiteful creature. “It is vast, ancient, and home to all manners of animals that predate you or I. Powerful animals, that under brighter circumstances, would be worthy of our respect. I dare you to name a city that wouldn’t buckle under the pressure of hundreds of creatures over Level 30 descending from the trees en masse. The Village, whose combat core primarily consists of hunter-gatherers, is ill-suited towards repelling an invasion of mindless beasts with no regards for self-preservation.”

“Which village?”

“The Village.”

The Dragon Queen blinked, and a glimmer of genuine exasperation passed by her features. “They still haven’t named the place?”

Sylpeiros closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and counted to five. “Let’s not allow ourselves to digress towards trivialities. The fact of the matter is that The Village cannot defend itself without incurring massive casualties. The other Elven cities are either too far away, don’t have the expertise necessary to traverse Ixatan safely, or still haven’t replenished their ranks of Combat Classes which were depleted by The Scouring. I’ll be mobilizing my own personal standing army to assist The Village, but by the time I’m able to get there in time I fear it will be too late.”

“You keep discussing distance like it’s an issue,” the Dragon Queen queried. “Why is The Village being so judicious with its Wayfarer Crystal? Costly as it may be, I can scarcely think of a better time to teleport people in and out of an area.”

Sylpeiros suppressed a wince. “They have no Wayfarer Crystal. The Village is a composite of the half-dozen smaller disparate communities in Ixatan that were hit hard by The Cataclysm. They were...rural, to begin with, and after the rays of light ravaged the lands, the residents were left with only one Class Crystal to their name.”

Queen Ragnavi tapped her sharpened nails on the conference table. “You fail to make any sort of case that would arouse my sympathies. What self-respecting city wouldn’t make attaining – at minimum – one of every kind of Crystal a priority during reconstruction? Mine certainly did. There is a fine line between independence and arrogance, and it’s one the people of The Village have unsuccessfully toed.”

She scoffed. “Forest-dwellers, are they? Perhaps it would be best to sit back and let nature take its course?”

Crack.

The Merfolk King, Harpy King, and Gellin Empress were all blown back a few inches by the electrifying pressure that suffused through the air. Sylpeiros stood ramrod straight, eyes piercing and wild, his hand outstretched as a wicked spear of lightning formed over his shoulder and pointed directly at the Queen’s heart. The spear was hot enough that it turned the room into a sauna, dense enough that it caused the conference table to buckle under its own weight just by being near it. It was a thunderbolt made manifest by mortal hands.

Ragnavi didn’t stand. She just licked her lips and smiled. “Go on,” she said. Her tone was inviting, almost sultry. “I’ll give you one shot. No tricks. No reprisals.” Metaphorical fire burned in her eyes, and literal fire burned inside her mouth at the base of her throat. Her tail slowly wagged back and forth, like a dog waiting impatiently for its treat. “I won’t dodge, nor shall I defend. Show me your absolute best.”

She smiled again, and her predator’s grin wasn’t nearly as disturbing as the madness in her gaze. “Show me your best. Show me so I can show you how little it matters. How little you matter.”

Her teeth and claws grew an inch, and her voice began to echo. “Such small, fragile creatures you all are.”

Sylpeiros ground his teeth together so tightly that they threatened to crack. With a contemptuous gesture, he dismissed the spear of lightning and took his place back on his (lightly-singed) seat. “If you’re quite done entertaining yourself?” He crossed his arms at The Dragon Queen. “There are still matters to discuss, and the day grows no younger.”

Ragnavi pouted for a fraction of a second before returning to her prior relaxed demeanor. “You’re no fun,” she sighed. “But what else is there to say, truly? I think I’ve made it clear I’m uninterested in providing support, and as the King of the Merfolk has neglected to jump to your aid-”

“As I shall not!” The King interrupted, like he’d been waiting for his cue. “One of my ambassadors traveled to your elven Village and has yet to return. I would never have sent him into that pit of vipers had I known they were harboring a Human of all things!”

“That is none of your concern,” Sylpeiros drawled.

“And how is it not?”

“Because if your ambassador is weak enough to be threatened by a single Human, he won’t survive the trip back regardless.” Sylpeiros sneered. “Although I would not be surprised. Do you know why I beseeched the Dragon Queen for aid, yet not you, despite the Merfolk Holdings being closest to The Village? It’s because I have no expectations for you, you oversized tadpole. I could have begged until I was blue in the face and it would have been as fruitful as dunking my head underwater and screaming into the depths. You lack strength and you lack conviction, and to be perfectly honest, I’m not sure why you bother showing up to these meetings anymore when you do little more than bluster.”

And here it begins, Sylpeiros thought, already tuning out the Merfolk King’s retaliatory diatribe. So much bark for so little bite. Somehow the most spineless creature in the room, and that’s including the giant floating jellyfish.

An impression of annoyance pressed into his mind from the outside. Hah! Took offense to that one, did you, Empress? Well, you’re not supposed to be skimming our thoughts in the first place, so we’ll just have to call it even.

The Gellin Empress sent a flash of emotion at him that he interpreted as ‘slightly embarrassed mollification’. A second flash of emotion, this time one of simple assent, let him know that he’d been correct. Parsing out what each emotional impression a Gellin sent over was supposed to mean was more difficult than learning a new spoken language, but he’d gotten better at it over the years.

“Are you lot quite done yet?” A deep voice grumbled. The leaders of Elatra peered down at the ground, where a small mechanical device lay fallen to the side. Before the conference table had been broken by the pressure of Sylpeiros’ Thunder Spear, the mechanical device had been sitting at its customary position on the Dwarves’ seat at the table. Without waiting for anyone to respond, the voice continued to speak, gravelly tones warbling out of the device as if the Dwarven Stonewarden was right there with them.

“It sounds like you’ve all moved past the part where anything constructive is said – if there ever was such a part – and moved onto dropping your trousers and checking to see who’s sporting the biggest cock. Is there any reason I should still be here? Only five minutes left before the self-destruct kicks in anyway. Would I just be pissing into the wind by asking for some damn help in dealing with the Fiends moving southward?”

“We’ll send help when we are able,” the Merfolk King curtly replied.

“Of course you will. Well. Unless someone has an earthshattering revelation they’d been hiding up their crev-”

Without a word, the Harpy King spread his full wingspan – his left wing smacking Sylpeiros in the face – and soared out the nearest window on the blended sounds of gusting winds and rustling feathers.

“What was that?” The Stonewarden asked through his device.

“The Harpy King just left,”  Sylpeiros offered.

“Did he say a single word this entire meeting?”

“Not that I recall.”

“Arrogant prick,” the Stonewarden grumbled. The sounds coming out of the mechanical device became uncomfortably muddled in that distinct crackling way it sometimes did. Stonewarden Grant had described it before as being caused by ‘microphone peaking’ or ‘too much feedback’, whatever those meant. Sylpeiros didn’t care what caused the problem, only that it was uniquely unpleasant to listen to, like an uncanny valley effect for his ears.

This wouldn’t be an issue if he just showed up in-person, Sylpeiros thought. But I suppose I am forever destined to be surrounded by willful melodramatics.

“Just one parting question for you,” the Dragon Queen said. “Why haven’t you commented on the news of a leftover Human turning up?” She chuckled. “I was expecting at least one or two calls for peace. Maybe a request to grant the animal asylum in your homelands. Not even a sentimental speech fit to raise the bile to my throat?”

There was silence for about five seconds. Then the Stonewarden’s mechanical device started emitting a series of loud, repetitive noises that the dwarf had previously designated as ‘beeps’. Sylpeiros and the rest of the Elatran leaders took a few steps back as the device crumpled inward upon itself, filling the room with smoke and a cacophony of creaking metal, before finally igniting into a white-hot bonfire. When the process had finished, there was naught left of the device but ashes and spite.

Sylpeiros couldn’t help but shake his head. For all the Stonewarden had called the Harpy King an arrogant prick, at least the King had showed up to the meeting. Neither Sylpeiros nor any of the other Elatran leaders had seen so much as a single curly beard-hair since The Scouring ended. Having always been closer to the Humans than the other races, the Dwarves had been apoplectic at their extinction and proceeded to hole themselves up even further in the eastward mountain ranges. In lieu of coming to the monthly summit in-person, the Stonewarden would send over one of his strange mechanical devices crafted for the purposes of long-distance communication. And to prevent other races from stealing it and reverse-engineering its secrets, the device was set to destroy itself either at the will of the Stonewarden or after a certain period of time had passed.

As far as Sylpeiros was concerned, it was all a farce. Oh to be sure, the Dwarves were upset about the deaths of the Humans, but their standoffish attitude regarding the eventual outcome of The Scouring was hypocrisy at its finest. Their spot on the moral high ground has been lost the moment they fell in line with the Dragon Queen’s Declaration. They could have made a stand and changed sides. They did not. Just because they complained every step of the way doesn’t mean they didn’t march with the rest of them.

No. Like everyone else in the Allied Forces, blood was on the Dwarves’ hands. They may try as hard as they like to wipe it off onto the other races, but it was a stain that would never fade.

“I believe today’s meeting is adjourned,” the Dragon Queen hummed. She faced Sylpeiros and dropped any hint of levity. “Do see that you kill the Human, Seneschal,” she said, eyes cold as winter. “Or I’ll see the deed done myself.”

Sylpeiros forced down a grimace. After refusing to lend aid, she had immediately pivoted to claiming that she would go into Elven lands and do what she willed. Her statement was tantamount to a proclamation of war.

And all he could do was hold his tongue. Because even if every leader of every race fought the Dragon Queen as a united force, the result would come down to the flip of a coin.

“The Human will die,” Sylpeiros replied. “Mark my words.”

He was honestly more insulted that she felt the need to make her ‘request’ than he was about the implied threat behind it. Did she think for one iota that he did not wish to see the Human scourge expunged from the lands as much as she did? The fact that The Scouring and the Cataclysm had seemingly missed one or more of the vermin was a distasteful matter that would be rectified forthwith. But there were priorities to consider – first the defense of The Village, or at the very least, cleaning up the mess that would be left behind after the Infected attack. Then the Human.

And then justice. For if his fellow Elves had truly welcomed a Human into their fold with open arms, then punishments would be in order. The civilians at the bottom of the chain of command would be spared the worst of it; while they could have rebelled against the Elders or spread the news of the Human’s appearance outside of their Village, in the end, it was not their full responsibility. Some light disciplining would be in order.

The Elders should have known better. Far better. Should they fail to provide a proper excuse for their actions, one or all of them would be facing the headsman’s block.

They were there, Sylpeiros thought. Have they truly forgotten?

Visions of horror flashed in his mind’s eye. Light piercing down from the sky, shattering the ground into pieces, obliterating entire cities in its wake. Men, women, children, disintegrating as they were wiped from the planet like heavenly wrath had fell upon them. Broken homes, broken families, broken souls.

If there was one Human, there could be more. And if there were more, then the Cataclysm could be repeated. And if the Cataclysm was repeated, then Elatra would be left a barren husk. Bereft of life. All souls returned to their Hallowed Halls, never to feel the transient joy of life again.

No. There would be no peace with this Human. A precedent of that magnitude could not be set. The world had bled rivers of red because of the Humans, and he would make sure no one ever forgot that.

Lest history repeat itself once more.