H - 17: Simple Problem, Simple Solution (Patreon)

“Well, that’s nothing,” Vadaralshi said minutes later.  “Simple problem, simple solution!”

Kaln had teleported over to join the group and explain his predicament, and also tucked away his meager lunch because no amount of hunger was going to get it down his throat at this point.  The dragons had opted to begin their own lunch while they listened, and for all their conversational sophistication, in their more bestial forms they ate about as gracefully as monitor lizards.  So in addition to the older bones and the general stink of rot, the immediate vicinity was now splattered with blood, hair, and various bits of mammoth.

The smell was truly incredible.

Now, Kaln honestly couldn’t tell whether Vadaralshi’s grin was schadenfreude or genuine happiness at being helpful as she held out a dripping femur with most of its muscle still attached.  The mammoth drumstick was nearly as long as he was tall.

“Here ya go!  The good news is you’re tiny,so there’s no real problem hunting for you, too.  We probably wouldn’t even need to bring in any more game.”

Kaln stared at the grisly offering, then up at Vadaralshi…  And then past her at his currently gigantic wives, who were unanimously watching this with undisguised amusement and fresh mammoth blood dripping from their faces.

Pheneraxa cleared her throat.  “Humans can eat raw meat, in relatively small amounts, but it’s harder for them to digest and they are vulnerable to parasites and microfauna.  Most mortal races cook most of their food.”

“Oh.  Well, okay, sure.”  She pulled the hock of meat swiftly back up, incidentally scattering a spray of blood which Kaln only dodged by teleporting, and held it up in front of her face.

The blast of fire she produced lasted only three seconds, and then Vadaralshi proudly lowered the giant drumstick back down to Kaln.

At least it was no longer dripping.  In fact, it was smoking, charred completely black, and noticeably smaller than it had been seconds ago.

“Are you dense?” Pheneraxa demanded.  “I mean, medically. Is there just an extra layer of bone where your frontal cortex should be?”

Vadaralshi hissed at her, scattering a spray of old bones with a lash of her tail.

“Well-rebutted as always, Vadaralshi,” the blue dragon sneered, and then was buffeted to the floor as her mother swatted her upside the head with a wing.

“No one’s going to tell you not to needle your sister,” Emeralaphine scolded, “but doing so while she is trying to be helpful and you are merely being snide reflects poorly upon us both.  Since you’re so proud of how well-read you presume to be, daughter, tell us something useful about human dietary needs.”

“In fact, keeping a human adequately nourished is one of the few things we are not well-equipped to do,” Pheneraxa stated, straightening back up.  Like her siblings, she appeared to take being smacked around in stride, appearing neither cowed nor resentful.  “Humans are omnivorous, and sufficiently versatile to subsist on a wide variety of available forage, but they cannot survive on the same diet as obligate carnivores such as ourselves.  Optimally, a human should eat primarily leaf vegetables, bolstered by smaller amounts of fruit and animal proteins such as flesh and eggs.  As available and necessary, their diet may be rounded out with grains, tree nuts, milk derivatives, and root vegetables.”

“Oh, really?”  Izayaroa arched her neck highly, staring down her long nose at the younger dragon.  “Your…theoretical knowledge has some gaps, Pheneraxa.  Every human civilization without exception survives primarily upon grain.”

“Yes,” Pheneraxa agreed, and Kaln took note of her extremely careful tone—sufficiently deferential to avoid provoking Izayaroa, but not so much as to irritate her own mother.  “That is mostly for economic reasons, however.  Grains are the most energy-dense and nutritious type of crop that can be easily cultivated in sufficient quantities to feed a large society, and stored for relatively long periods.  But for an individual human, optimally… I’ve read accounts of many detailed experiments performed by various rulers and wizards, many of which could not have been performed in Rhivaak as they fell well short of your…ethical standards, Izayaroa.  Grain is a practical necessity for civilization, but given options, not the best cornerstone of a human diet.  Its excessive consumption causes abnormal tooth decay, a host of digestive issues, and potentially neurological problems late in life.  If we are going to feed Kaln properly, he needs vegetables, fruit, and meat.”  She grinned at him.  “Cooked meat.  In small amounts.”

“This is cooked!” Vadaralshi protested, wagging the chunk of charcoal on a bone which moments ago had been a mammoth leg.

“What laughably delicate creatures,” Vanimax snorted.  “Well, he’s supposedly a godling now, right?  What’s the worst that could happen if we don’t feed him?”

“I’ll complain,” Kaln stated.  “Loudly and often.  You have not begun to resent me, Vanimax.  I used to work in a government bureaucracy; I can teach you things about annoyance of which you haven’t the imagination to conceive.”

“In seriousness,” Emeralaphine added, “it is actually probable that he can’t starve to death, but that is not an argument in favor of trying.  On the contrary, a godling who is starved is likely to turn into a god of famine, which is high on the list of things I don’t want in my front parlor.  Or on my planet, for that matter.”

“We probably shouldn’t feed him raw mammoth, then,” Pheneraxa mused, “or anything else that’ll just make him sick, for the same reason.  Could you even imagine a god of food poisoning?”

“Even worse,” Tiavathyris said quietly.  “It seems his main aspect is already fixed, and we can only modify it.  Quite apart from the inherent value of preserving our husband’s personal comfort, let us try not to elevate a god of starving or sickening dragons specifically.”

“Well then,” Izayaroa said briskly, thumping her tail on the ground for emphasis, “we must clearly secure a long-term source of human food.  This should not be delayed on any account, but as for the urgency…  Husband, how much usable food do you still have?”

“I can manage for another day or two, at a stretch,” he said.  “And that’s just with what I have.  If you’re willing to share your kills—and if I can build a much more modest fire and properly cook some—meat will definitely keep me from starving.  For weeks, probably.  I will need some veggies and fruit eventually, but it takes a while for nutritional deficiencies to really develop into a problem.  It’s not like I’ve been eating all that well for the last year, what with one thing and another.”

“That, if anything, increases the urgency, husband,” said Tiavathyris.  “Besides, it would be an unacceptable affront to our dignity for you to languish in anything less than the best conditions our collective power and wisdom can provide.”

“Well!”  Emeralaphine tossed her head proudly.  “That is certainly the case.  As such, and because I have found you to be surprisingly pleasing company, husband, I deem it not a great imposition to donate a trinket or two from my own hoard to your well-being.”

“Your generosity is exceedingly touching,” Kaln said cautiously.  “I’m curious, though, what in a dragon’s hoard would be…applicable?”

“I hope you’re not considering some kind of magical apparatus to pipe nutrition directly into him, Emeralaphine,” Izayaroa snorted.  “Those never work without adverse side effects in the best cases, and there’s no telling how such a thing would affect a godling.”

“Obviously,” Emeralaphine retorted scathingly.  “No, the essential problem remains.  We must secure a source of food for Kaln.  However, I can contribute something to tide him over until that is done—something rather more suitable for the head of a draconic family than those…bits of sticks and pocket lint he’s eating.”

“That’s jerky and hardtack,” Tiavathyris corrected.  “A serviceable soldier’s ration.”

“Whatever. It’s nowhere near as sufficient as this!”

She gestured casually with one claw, and with a swirl of light something manifested in the air in front of Kaln, at roughly a dragon’s eye level.  It floated slowly downward, lit by its own spotlight which Emeralaphine appeared to have conjured as well.  The thing came to a halt at about his waist level and hovered there, slowly rotating in the air and glistening under its personal illumination.

He stared, dumbstruck, at the cake.

It was a cake, that much he could tell, but only after a moment’s scrutiny.  It was easily the most elaborate, artful confection Kaln had ever seen.  Rising in a total of six tapering tiers, the highest towering over his head at its current altitude, it was deliberately crafted with a kind of lopsided symmetry, each tier angled in a different fanciful shape which, taken together, created a sense of harmonious balance.  Layers of sugar icing in different shades, fading from white at its peak to deep blue on the largest bottom tier, were further accented with fanciful shapes in spun sugar representing a different theme on each tier.  A spray of waves on the base, pillars and battlements on the next, then sculpted trees, flowers and vines, a collection of abstract swirling shapes that he took to be representative of blowing wind, and finally glittering stars on the uppermost tier.  Sitting at the very peak of the cake was a huge crescent moon made of spun sugar, carved in facets and polished until it glittered like a jewel.

Kaln stared at the cake, then up at Emeralaphine, who beamed proudly down at him.  Her muzzle was still covered in blood.

“Emeralaphine, why,” Izayaroa demanded in exasperation.

“Hmph!”  Emeralaphine lifted her nose, swishing her tail through the bones behind her for emphasis.  “And here I thought you of all dragons might appreciate culture. I have seldom found reason to walk among mortal civilizations and it has been many years since the last such event, but in my youth I did study magic in the halls of Evynsidel.  Humans by and large fail to interest me, but I do have fond memories of the city and the mastery of magic which permeated even its humblest works.  This is one of several pieces I commissioned from its most prestigious bakery.  I never much cared for pastry, in fact, but they catered to kings and emperors; actual battles were fought to command the interest of that house’s chefs.  Long have I held these artworks in magical preservation among my hoard, but surely no such trinket is more important than my husband’s well-being.”

Izayaroa twisted her whole neck around to bury her head under her wing; after a moment she began shaking.  Emeralaphine scowled suspiciously at her.

“Truly a noble sentiment, Emeralaphine,” Tiavathyris said gravely.  “It reflects most admirably upon you.”

Kaln was still staring at the cake.  Evynsidel had been a famous kingdom of magic, destroyed in a tsunami sent by a rival such nation as part of the ancient Transcendence Wars.  The conflict had wiped out most of the magically advanced societies which existed at that time, ushering in a five-hundred-year darkness.  It had ended more than three millennia ago.

He was looking at a perfectly preserved pastry older than the progenitor civilizations of any currently extant nation.

“I am…absolutely astonished at such generosity,” Kaln said, struggling for poise.  “Truly, I…I have no words, Emeralaphine.  But…  For exactly that reason, I’m afraid I cannot accept this.”

“What?”  She scowled down at him.  “Why not?”

“Because he appreciates history, I should think,” said Pheneraxa.  “And couldn’t bear the thought of one of your treasures going to waste,which is what would immediately happen, mother.  Confections are not good for humans; they are to be enjoyed in moderation at most and better yet, sparingly.  Kaln can’t live on cake,it would make him even sicker than trying to live on raw mammoth.”

“And that’s only speaking generally,” Tiavathyris added.  “If his body is accustomed to plain foods such as those travel rations, he probably couldn’t even eat a few bites of that without immediately heaving it up again.”

“I simply could not bear to be responsible for such a travesty,” Kaln agreed.

“Hm.  Well…I suppose I must accept that, then,” Emeralaphine said grudgingly.  “I certainly would not want it to end up like that after being so carefully preserved for so long.”

She gestured again, and with another swirl of light, the cake vanished back to wherever it lived in her hoard.  Kaln felt an odd sense of relief that it was safe again.

“What a truly precious little greenhouse orchid he is,” Vanimax sneered.  “Well, if you insist it’s important to feed him, that leaves the question of how.  Since apparently nothing available to us suitable for his tremulous mortal constitution.”

“Shut up, Vanimax,” Izayaroa ordered.  “No one has forgotten your performance; on this of all days, be useful or be silent. As for Kaln, we will simply have to arrange for regular deliveries of suitable food.”

“As simple as that?” Tiavathyris countered.  “I do not understate the importance of this, but we must balance it with the preservation of our privacy, for Kaln’s sake as well as our own.  Any involvement with mortals presents risks.”

“Yes,” Izayaroa agreed, dipping her head.  “We must simply do our best to manage them.”

Vadaralshi coughed and spat out a mouthful of charcoal and ash; she had apparently gotten bored and tried to eat the charred mammoth leg.  “Bleargh!  Why in all the hells would you want to do this to food?  How does that make it easier for sensitive stomachs to digest?”

“You didn’t cook it, imbecile, you just destroyed it,” said Pheneraxa.

“Yeah, you wanna be next?”  Vadaralshi flared her wings aggressively, but her sister just rolled her eyes and turned her head away.  “Anyway, the food supply thing doesn’t seem like such a big problem.  Or are you three really gonna pretend you don’t all have contact with mortal merchants?”

All three elder dragons hissed at her; she immediately flattened herself submissively to the ground.

“Dragons like treasure too much not to collect it,” Pheneraxa explained to Kaln, lowering her head to his level and grinning.  “But Atraximos made a big production about having sole looting rights in our territory.  The three of us were allowed to bring back food, not valuables.  Our respective mothers had to—”

Emeralaphine whacked her with her tail, banging her head into the floor.  Pheneraxa immediately shut up, but winked at Kaln.

“Yes, well,” Izayaroa said with deep dignity.  “Be all that as it may, we are not without avenues to explore.  We must simply determine…the specifics.”

***

He’d really expected that to degenerate into more squabbling, but somewhat to his surprise, his three wives came to a swift agreement on what needed to be done.  The first step required someone to escort him to the nearest bastion of mortal civilization and secure a food supply, which brought up the only real sticking point: which of them would get the honor.  Fortunately even that yielded quickly to reason.  Of the three, obviously Emeralaphine was the best at magic, including that which would enable a dragon to pass for a mortal, but Izayaroa not only had the most practice at that specific trick, but was unquestionably the best at interacting with mortal society.

And so, minutes later, Kaln was back in his room—still feeling out of place in the enormous chamber laid out as a museum of Atraximos’s depredations—preparing for his next journey.

He’d finished his lunch while leveraging the wards to sort through the hoard for things he would need.  After Emeralaphine’s display, he had checked, just out of curiosity, and nope: Atraximos the Dread had not preserved any foodstuffs among his treasures.  He had several bottles of wine, and to Kaln’s surprise a variety of enchanted cooking implements, but nothing edible.

There was a lot that would be specifically useful to him, though, both in general and for this excursion.  First of all Kaln had selected the best bag of holding, of which Atraximos had a very large collection because adventurers tended to have them and he had killed a lotof those.  The old dragon was something of a neat freak and a meticulous note-taker; presumably he’d done that for his own satisfaction, but the habit now proved extremely helpful to Kaln in identifying the source and nature of his new possessions.

First off, it aided him in identifying which of the absolutely vast amounts of coinage lying in these vaults he should bring.  The bag of holding was able to carry a truly ridiculous amount of money; Kaln opted to restrain himself for the sake of not provoking questions he didn’t want to answer by selecting coins of local and recent mint.  Hopefully any city big enough to have money changers, banks, or merchant guilds wouldn’t be that surprised by foreign currency, but a commotion might ensue if he tried to hand out Valereld coins or anything similarly ancient.

That was also how he learned the name of the kingdom which claimed the valley spread out below the dragons’ lair: Boisverd.  He’d heard of it, back in Rhivkabat, though only in passing.  Rhivaak only had commerce and diplomacy with the coastal kingdoms of the Evervales, because while Boisverd and probably several other little countries were much closer to the Empire, they were closer across a stretch of flat land which tended to come under frequent dragon attack.  There were no roads or trade routes connecting them.

Just one of the things that would dramatically change once people began to realize the dread dragon had fallen…

The next step was to attire and equip himself.  While Atraximos’s tastes ran to the expensive, gaudy, and heavily magical, he had also accumulated everything the innumerable would-be dragonslayers had dropped as a point of principle, and so Kaln had an enormous selection of camping and survival equipment from which to choose.  He wasn’t planning to need anything like that on this trip, but armed himself with a generous array of it anyway; his long months on the road had taught him to appreciate such a bounty, and carrying a pouch at his waist that could contain a house or two, there was no need to skimp.  It was annoying that Atraximos had bothered to not only save but categorize all this but had thrown out the various unfortunate adventurers’ rations when his magic could easily have preserved them…  Then again, it did seem pretty on-brand for the Dread.

For clothing, Kaln dressed in the height of Imperial fashion—or what had been a couple of years ago.  The locals wouldn’t know the difference, and he’d probably stick out more by trying to approximate their own fashions, about which he knew nothing.  Atraximos had evidently taken out quite a few Rhiva of high standing, to judge by the expensive and often enchanted garments in Rhivkabat’s style Kaln found in his collection.  Probably adventurers who’d gone after him first, to judge by the enchantments upon them.  For now, Kaln selected a serviceable outfit and packed away enough changes for a week, which was longer than they were planning to spend.

He tried not to think about what it indicated that none of these clothes were torn or bloodstained.

With that, preparations for the trip were complete, and there was nothing left but to meet Izayaroa out front and depart.  However, his brief experience of dragon lunch had been the straw that broke the camel’s back: Kaln was determined to do something about the condition of this place before he did anything else.  There had to be something in here which could help.

Atraximos’s ward network was amazingly user-friendly.  With no more effort than a thought, Kaln could view and browse through the entire hoard, sorting its contents according to seemingly any criteria he could devise.  That proved immediately relevant as he didn’t particularly know what he was looking for, only what he wanted to do.

There were a surprising number of enchanted brooms, mops, and dusters tucked away, including some that would function independently and automatically, but…  None were equal to the task at hand.  What was needed out there was as much excavation as cleaning, and that on a scale that even the magical shovel and wheelbarrow Kaln found wouldn’t be able to accomplish.  In addition to strength and carrying capacity, this was a task for something with at least some ability to interpret orders and make decisions.  He found a few magical automata, but nothing that seemed large enough, clever enough, or generally suitable.

After a few minutes of frustration, Kaln somewhat reluctantly turned his attention to the far more valuable portions of the hoard.  Atraximos had certain treasures of truly astonishing rarity and power—the kinds of things it seemed a waste to put to such a prosaic use as he now had in mind.

But then again, they were his, by right of conquest.  Everyone had been very clear on that point.  And Kaln was not a dragon; he found value in things that were useful, not just sitting around being…well, hoarded.

At the tug of his will, the item upon which he’d focused his attention was ported instantly out of its vault and dropped into his hand: a black scroll longer than his forearm.  For a moment he just held it, thinking about the description on its attached notecard in the spot where it had been resting for the last four centuries.  What he was about to do seemed…  Grandiose, preposterously self-indulgent…and possibly a little sacrilegious.  Maybe he should reconsider this plan?

Then Kaln thought about the sea of bones outside, and the smell.

He broke the seal and unfurled the scroll.