Shining Wyrm & The Blood Immaculate [Original Fantasy/Dragon Fiction]

[Nighzmarquls]

This chapter, and reading ahead to the next on Royal Road, I′m starting to worry over how protective Jewel is. It has always been in her nature to be attentive towards others. I worry that sooner or later shewill either become too overbearing in her oversight or fall into dispair at the impossibility of protecting everyone.

Click to shrink...

Tyranny comes in many forms.

Also sorry for the delay in chapter here. Forgot to post before I headed into the office should be up in an hour or so.

 

[Nighzmarquls]

2.5

Alexander surprised Jewel by arriving from the Eyrie the day before Count Thurzó and his retinue were due.

Bold as could be despite the fact he was still supposed to be training with the Gryphon riders as an apprentice for another year!

Jewel was not expecting to next see him in person until her wedding ceremony!

But there was Alexander in simple leathers with a heavy pack on his back. Her brother just strolled into the courtyard that morning while she was stretching for her flight to Valasect.

A simple cloth sling over his left shoulder to hold his bonded Gryphon whelp, a bright smile and a friendly wave.

Dust and sweat and the signs of a long road all over him.

And not a single escort or retinue in sight.

"Alexander! What are you doing in Rochford! You're supposed to be training and rearing your gryphon in the Eyrie!"

To which her far too brave brother simply laughed and shifted his hip to show the absolutely pure white-feathered face of his bonded Gryphon.

Fully feathered now, with a black beak, fluffy white feathers and bright golden eyes that blinked at Jewel before looking up to her Brother and then back over to Jewel.

"Ho Sister! I pleaded for a reprieve to come home as both my mother and sister had borne children in my absence! They drilled me thrice as hard to make sure I knew the steps to care for Blizzardwrath here and then granted me two seasons to travel here, meet and bond with my family and then head back."

Jewel narrowed her eyes to glare for her brother.

"And so you traveled alone!? Without sending word of your plans by bird?!"

Alexander waved his sister's fussing off with a casual easiness that he never had quite lost. Ever fearless. Jewel noted the Gryphon had settled back into its little nest of a sling to sleep.

Which spoke well of the strengthening of the bond he was meant to cultivate.

"I had my sword and a spear with me, and I was not alone for most of it, I went with the caravans which ferried supplies to and from the Eyrie on the first leg. Hardly was on my own for longer than a few days' walk! I wanted it to be a surprise!"
Jewel's voice rose high and wide, deepening and filling the air with tones that shook the leaves of the trees far outside the garden filled walls of Fort Rochford.

"A Few Days Alone On the Road?!"
Jewel stared down at her brother who grinned up at her despite all her fury and worry.

The Gryphon whelp had woken at her voice and looked around in fear, but silently her brother soothed the young one with a practiced hand. Its bright golden eyes were fixed on Jewel.

She was utterly gobsmacked at her careless brother. For the sake of the still very young whelp she brought her voice down to a quiet hiss.

"Alexander! You are Father's heir! What if something had happened!?"

He waved her off again with the hand not occupied with soothing and now gently feeding small pinches of jerky to the whelp. He just blithely continued on his way past Jewel as if it was no matter.

Strided past a wyrm in all her fuming and fury.

There was a distinct crackle of thunder and lightning in the air from her agitation. Her voice no matter how restrained in volume was now echoing, A good portion of the village had probably heard the first outburst she made and felt hints of the second.

And her brother was concerned not one bit with her.

It made her heart crack and melt at once to realize that.

He was her brother.

Her foolishly brave and wonderfully at ease brother.

She had missed the fool so much, and right now she very much wanted to throttle him in a way that would definitely have been fatal.

Fortunately for Jewel, everyone in the household had definitely heard her.

Which was why before her brother could even reach the door it was slamming open to reveal the thunderous intensity of Father and an equally stern faced Mother.

By the presence of Gwenn held in one arm propped against a hip the whole situation had interrupted some of the time that had been set aside where mother and daughter could be together without the wetnurse.

Time that head full of rocks Alexander had completely interrupted.

Jewel fixed Alexander with a look, which he had the audacity to grin sheepishly back up to her in response before father spoke.
They were quiet words, not loud or overbearing. No anger or wroth, just tense and soft.

"Son... this is unexpected."

Alexander's smile was finally strained.

"Ah, yeah I bargained for a leave to train Blizzard-wrath in my family home with you and Zephyrvam for a time. Drilled hard so I'd know all was expected and passed the trials for the next two seasons early so I could."

Father raised a brow, which got Alexander's voice to raise a hint of worry.

"It was cause Ma- I mean Mother had Gwenne there... and you all wrote that Jewel also had a child. So I plead for the chance to meet my youngest sister and first niece. And well-"

Father was still stern and still quiet.

"You should have sent letter by bird. If you had been late by even another twelve days we'd have been gone. That was incredibly foolish of you."

The voice was not angry, it was not even overly harsh, it was soft and gentle. But with what Jewel now could see was a sadness to the eye. Jewel felt her agitation come undone, she had been angry with her brother for his foolishness.

But it was dangerous to travel alone.

He could have died or worse.

Even questing knights of great renown traveled in groups on the road.

Only the truly wretched or extremely stupid traveled alone!

Jewel spoke up stiffly.

"I need to make way to Valasect. I don't want another accident to happen this time and they are starting to set the timbres for the stone vaulting this afternoon. For all your foolishness it is always good to see you are well dear brother."

Father nodded to Jewel and dismissed her with a wave.

Her brother seemed to finally be realizing what he had almost done. But for the auspices of the stars above he could have perished.

Jewel launched herself into the air. Pushing off with her wings, then sweeping them out and spreading her wyrmflame as far as it would go. Catching all the air she could and then hurling it downward upon the courtyard with just enough extra shove to surround her idiot brother in a whirlwind of dry grass scrap and loose dirt.

Before she filled her coils more properly and rose gently and serenely into the sky.

She had promised to attend and perform rites for both men that had perished beneath the collapsing stone. She had promised good silver to their families compensating the loss of solid backs, strong arms and loved lives.

Furthermore Jewel had also bequeathed to each man's household a year and a day free from labors or obligations to their liege. Time to mourn and find a new way forward.
She would thank them and all the village for the service and honor this ultimate gift that had never been asked of them.

Next year Jewel was going to look over every single scrap of wood going into the scaffolds for the stone work, there would not be a single life more paid to construct her home.

If she had to burn the stone blocks and drag them free of the cliffs herself then set them in place with her own back to make sure of it, Jewel vowed there would not be a single death more in service to the construction of her manor.

She had seen what nobles became who spent the lives of their subjects and family freely.

Jewel vowed for all that she had been made the chosen heir.

She would never be like the Countess Bathory.

Spoiler: Author's Note

Sorry for the delay today folks.

 

[Nighzmarquls]

2.6

With the addition of Alexander there was thankfully only a single extra seat needed at their Table.
But already they needed there to be an entirely new table.

The added length was needed for all the expected guests, along with Sir Kroak, Squire Smithson, Father, Mother and Jewel (although she only took up as much room as a single person's place in seating, furling the rest of herself out and around to surround her family's seats at the head of the table).

The addition of Alexander, while unexpected, did not overly burden such arrangements.

Filling the rest of the placements were the count and his wife, their three daughters, the young Thurzó heir and places for those of their party that were to be honored a seat at the table.

All told, the feasting hall had scant room to fit more than the table and seats itself.

She would not embarrass herself.
Jewel had to practice with Mother several times before she understood the subtle difference in the saying of the names of Erzsébet Czobor and Elizabeth Bathory. It all seemed nearly identical to her on the first five times Jewel had made the attempt, but Mother's acumen in the nuance of the way of their speaking in Arva over Viznove was very great.

To be fair, Mother had to learn the speech of Viznove as a second language along with its nuance in the other counties.

Jewel tried to restrain her wings as she lounged at the feasting table with anticipation for the announcement of her long friend of letters to show himself again.

Her memory had returned to the terrible shame of when she'd finally realized that her Mother was in fact a foreign lady wed to Father from abroad.

Not even someone from within the remit of the realm of the High King!

Mother had traveled clear across a sea in her youth as an alliance hostage to the Realm. Then again when she was older across four over-ways for her wedding to Father. That had been a terribly embarrassing day. To not have realized that her own mother's homeland was from a greater distance than Fizzbunches?!

She'd looked up what books and histories she could find on the place afterwards and found that half the reason she never found out is that the place was an island of squabbling so-called kings who often commanded less land then Rochford.

Even the memory of her foolishness was putting a tremble in Jewel's wing shoulders and a tremble down her neck in restraint from rearing back.

A gentle hand from her mother on Jewel's scales stilled the tension yearning to flare her wings.

"Be calm daughter, if they are friends and allies, there is nothing to worry about from this reunion."

Jewel only nodded and took the comfort as it was meant, best to not even admit what had actually been worrying her. Of course György was a friend and there was nothing to concern her.

He'd gone to war with the countess for Just and Good reasons.

Jewel had just happened to be the vassal of the countess.

There was no reason at all for ill will between them.

György had written as much in his letters.

Finally the crier for the evening's feast struck the stones in a smooth and practiced manner. Voice clear and sure as he read from the scroll prepared for him.

"Announcing the Esteemed Knight Captain of Arva and Mountain Slayer, Emil."

A man entered, his dress was well sewn but clearly travel wear of a sensible and durable nature. Fit for a questing knight or the main guard for a caravan.

Jewel took careful note of his face as Mother and Father insisted. Noting the dark shoulder length hair, the nose which was, if Jewel was honest, looked simply nose-shaped (as opposed to the veritable blade that Tsulogothulan usually had) and he had some of his dark hair growing off his chin in a short beard. He looked quite a lot like Jewel remembered György but with a leaner face and less beard.

If she had to go solely by her eyes, Jewel might even mistake Emil for a son or relative of the count. But her nose was very clear; he had hardly any relation at all to the man.

He took his place at the table on Smithson's right. Who was a bit bright eyed at the prospect of sitting next to an esteemed and titled knight (nevermind that he sat with Kraok all the time).

However Jewel's Squire was more practiced in noble manners and the way of feasts than he once was and so did not do anything improper or embarrassing.

Still, a knowing look from the Knight and a nod of acknowledgement to Jewel's squire was offered.

Jewel expected that once the meal was underway the two of them would be talking excitedly as usual.

"The Ladies Mária, Antonina, Ilona, Borbála, Małgorzata and Marta of Arva, Daughters of Count Thurzó"

As their names were called, a line of girls in what Jewel expected was the youngest to oldest order made their way into the room, moving to their places with all the poise and practice expected of the children of a count.

Jewel recognized Marta by nose more than sight despite her best attempts. The hair had been done entirely differently from the victory feasts at the end of the war and she was dressed in different finery.

She also had far less of a haunted look to her. Although she was not alone in being wary of Jewel.

The third from youngest (Borbála?) had nearly tripped when she caught sight of Jewel but a hushed whisper from her elder siblings helped snap her out of it. No one among the Rochford household acknowledged the mistake. It was, despite news of Jewel's status as heir to Viznove, still a very common reaction.

All of their dresses were cut and sewn in matching colors of white and blue. Although Jewel's eyes caught on the four youngest how there were tucks of fabric with looser threads ready to be undone so that the dresses could spread and hang longer as they aged.

When Marta had settled herself, with an empty seat between her and Tsugotholan and the other girls were able to muster the will to quiet whispers of awe and fear about Jewel that everyone present politely ignored, the Crier continued.

"The Heir of the barony of Gladeshore, Husband of Marta Thurzó, Einar"

A man that Jewel could only barely acknowledge was not a boy (he looked younger than Smithson in the face) strode in, like the Esteemed Knight his clothing was fine, but practical for travel and action if battle was needed.

He had pale blond hair to him and strikingly dark eyes with a paleness to his face that reminded Jewel a bit of what skin Tsugotholan tended to have.

It all around made him look a bit like cloth that had been left to bleach in the sun.

Like the younger daughter of Thurzó, he also had a hitch in his step when his eyes fully took in Jewel. Skimming along her coils, wings, horns and finally fixing on her eyes.

Which Jewel answered with a twitch of one brow that at least helped get him moving quickly to his seat next to Marta.

Although apparently he was so distracted by Jewel that he failed to realize that he was acting as the honorary barrier between his wife and the inhumanity that was Tsugotholan, Weird of the Uloghai Bog.

He was still caught in an impromptu staring contest with the sizable violet eye of Jewel's wizardly friend when the next name was announced.

"Announcing the Heir of House Thurzó and the County of Arva, Imre Thurzó of Arva."
Jewel felt her throat stuck a little bit when the shy five year old barely managed to peek his way into the room before flinching back behind the door.

She had been looking forward to what was arguably the very light of her friend's world. Almost every other letter she received from György contained some proud words for his first born son and heir.

The soft whispered encouragement in the familiar gentle voice of Imre's father was clear to Jewel's ears though she knew no one else in the dining hall could hear them.

"Imre, my little Imre, do not fear. She is very large but that is Jewel of Rochford, I've told you about her. She's a very nice dragon."

The heir of the county of Arva whimpered back to his parents.

"No! She's a big big Dragon snake! Snake Dragons eat little boys! Argwenna said so and-"

The voice of whom Jewel presumed was his Mother cut in sharp and intensely.

"Argwenna?! These are mummary and lies Imre, We will have words with what that governess is telling you. But please Don't worry Jewel is not going to eat you; she is a very good and honorable Wyrm. She has written letters with your Father for years and we came all this way so you could meet her."

The crier was looking over his shoulder then back at Jewel and Father.

She could smell fury and agitation and shame rising from some of György's numerous daughters.

Although the one (Ilona maybe?) who had stopped and faltered at the sight of Jewel was glancing between the door and Jewel with quite a bit of fear building up.

The pleading of his parents was not making much headway with little Imre. Who was seemingly convinced that no matter what his parents said that Jewel was going to devour him because he had somehow failed in something and he was on the verge of tears by the sound and smell of it trying to beg forgiveness from his parents to not send him in to be eaten by the Tyrant Wyrm.

Jewel leaned her head over, whispering to her parents.

"The young heir is utterly distraught and too shaken to brave on his own... Can we?"

Father nodded and made three gestures to the slowly panicking crier who had started to fidget the scroll in his fingers. But on seeing Father's gesture nodded sharply and rushed into further announcements.

"A-Announcing the Countess Erzsébet Czobor-"

Father made another gesture with his hand and the Crier quickly shifted his words before he stumbled further.

"The Count György Thurzó-"

One more loop of Father's wrist which led the crier to widen his eyes and nod hard.

"And their son and heir Imre Thurzó of Arva."

All three of them now announced (if a bit improperly) it was enough to at least get the fearful boy to accept being carried into the dining room by his Father, on the solemn promise that he would protect him from the Tyrant Lady Wyrm.

And at last her friend and his numerous family had been welcomed and were shortly after seated at her family's table.

Jewel put on her gentlest and softest smile and made sure to speak as delicately as possible.

The way she did when tending to the kinder during the boar festivals or when seeing them for her visits to Valasect.

It hurt to find her friend's son so utterly terrified of her. But Jewel had learned that there was nothing she could do for it but to be gentle and extra demure when dealing with especially frightful children.

"It is good to see you again, Count Thurzó of Arva"

György offered an apologetic smile. His son had turned away from Jewel at the mere utterance from her. Hiding in his father's coat.

"It is good to see you again as well, Shining Wyrm of Viznove."

And with that the feast could begin.

Poor Imre hardly ate anything.

 

[Cecylene]

Oooooooh boy, the governess may be looking at a formal dismissal from service for badmouthing a leal friend and ally like Jewel, especially given Jewel's position as heiress of a full County.

Which is going to be disastrous for her future prospects and family, because being a Governess is one of the prime positions for many people. Though depending on her family's history of service she may simple be reallocated to assisting in other manorial duties.

 

[Nighzmarquls]

2.7

Jewel found that despite the best efforts of his father, mother and sisters, little Imre refused to be at ease whenever the Wyrm was in his presence.

He could just barely stand to share a room with her, and if she should approach him?

Jewel was not proud to say that she had been forced to flee and get one of the staff on far too many occasions. An act to both give him some space and to fetch some one that might calm his shamefully incontinent tears.

However for all his terror of her, there was a paradoxical comfort.

Imre seemed to be utterly entranced by 'Gem' and Jewel's younger sister. Which was its own kind of awkward as Jewel was quite often curled around her smaller self/daughter/spawn.

But it was one of the few things that would at least convince Imre to get near Jewel. So long as she did not speak, kept her head well and away from him and there was either his Father, Mother or the Esteemed Knight Sir Emil to 'protect' him.

And that was how she found herself in the mid-afternoon with Imre making various noises and waving at 'Gem'. Jewel was effectively shackled and muzzled by a five year old's terror of her in her own bedchamber!

While simultaneously warbling, waggling and making strange chirps and whistling gurgles with the far too short throat of 'Gem'.

For some reason this utterly delighted Imre. He enjoyed fussing over and playing children's games with 'Gem' even more than he did with Gwenn. Jewel's sister would eventually grow weary of the boy's presence and was not shy about making her ire known.

Quite loudly most times.

But being a proper lady just as Jewel was, 'Gem' was content to humor her friend's son. Which brought some relief and made the stillness she had to endure whenever the two of them had a 'visit' bearable. Despite everyone else's insistence to the contrary, Jewel was still certain 'Gem' and she were one and the same.

Jewel felt that once 'Gem' could finally speak it would be as obvious to everyone else as it was to her.

But words continued to be incredibly difficult with such a cramped throat.

Nothing Jewel was used to worked correctly, and given the trial of it all, Jewel was finding far more appreciation for the time it normally took babies to learn to speak.

If it was this much of a strain to simply shape the sounds? No wonder the village children could take years to learn to speak properly. If their throats were even twice the length and half as clumsy as Gem's it would be ridiculous to go faster.

But all good things had to come to an end.

They were both expected to be dressed and prepared to their best for tonight's supper. Jewel would be having a bath and then getting her mane braided and scales polished. Imre would need a wash and to be prepped in his proper finery.

For Jewel that was going to take at least an hour.

Given the urgency, she was forced to oh so gently 'clear' her throat.

Which had Imre flinching hard, but not outright leaping back from her like he had in the first few days of his visits with 'Gem'.

As she had been trying so far, Jewel stressed her throat into as gentle and soft a tone as could be done. More so than she ever had used with even the babes of Valasect.

"We both need to prepare for the welcoming feast, Lord Imre."

He only just barely managed not to flinch from her voice, and he still refused to look anywhere but the smaller face of 'Gem'. But it was progress!

Jewel flexed and turned 'Gem' away from him while closing her eyes, curling up to feign sleep.

It seemed to get him to at least step back from Jewel's coils and towards the door.

"Sir Emil, l-let's go get ready?"

Jewel did not sigh, but she desperately wanted to.

Not acknowledging her at all was progress compared to outright panic and fear.

The heir of Arva soon departed her chamber with the Knight Emil escorting.

Imre was so frightful around her that he'd not managed to openly face or directly acknowledge her more then twice in ten days.

Furthermore, his fright about her person had interrupted and prevented anything like a proper exchange or discourse with Count Thurzó or his family! With the heir so disturbed by her and him often seeking comfort in his father's presence?

It had made what Jewel hoped to be a time to share and enjoy her friend's company and that of his family to a series of stilted and awkward interactions.

Simply speaking spooked the boy, prolonged conversation on Jewel's part brought him to tears. It was the first time that anyone had been so absolutely terrified of her. Not even the soldiers she faced in the war had been so unmanned and frozen by her mere presence.

The entire experience turned the better quarter of a season into a tense chore. And now the High King was arriving at Rochford this evening and all of Jewels' hopes of time with Count Thurzó were dashed.

Tomorrow all of them were to make their way as entourage with and heralds of the High King to Kaeketeh and there join the audience between Countess Bathory and the High King to reaffirm their vassal obligations.

Jewel huffed heavily with both sets of lungs.

One was significantly greater than the other, then she exercised a habit that had been forming in those times she had with herself like this.

'Gem' and Jewel.

Staring into each other's eyes as one spoke and the other attempted to imitate.

"What a wasted visit this was."

Both of them still her as assuredly as her tail or hands.

As intuitive to move and flex as any other part of her. As receptive of her wyrmflame as any scale.

With Gem's throat she made some noises that might have been charitably called words but had far too little nuance.

And then at last it was time to depart and separate again.

Jewel rose to her feet with a twinge of anticipatory fear.

Every time she left there was a terrible absence of her Wyrmflame left behind.

Not from Jewel. But from her smaller self.

From 'Gem'.

The greatest distinction between the two of them.

The assurance of which was Wyrm and which merely spawn.

Undeniable in spite of the strange shared self between them.

But though it dragged at her and made every limb feel heavy and even brought a sting of tears to all four of her eyes, Jewel found the fortitude to part with herself.

To lose the immediate sense of her other lesser self, and leave the small form to suffer bereft of her flame.
Except instead of feeling the comforting presence remain Jewel found herself small and diminished.

Just as she always did.

Always some of her was the one that had to be left behind.

Her coils were suddenly absent, her flame slowly draining out of her small form.

Leaking out from her far too delicate scales.

Leaving her feeling empty and uncomfortable.

Bundled up in blankets that helped with the bitter pain that cold now meant for her. So much was different that had once been familiar.
Sight felt smudged, diminished.

And of what she could see it was quickly bleeding away what they even were.

Thoughts stalled and tripped as they rapidly then fell into a woolen sluggishness, confused.

Memories of the assurance of herself, that she was a Wyrm seemed distant and smothered.

Rapidly fading out of both anticipatory thought and past memory.
Even the clarity that this would be temporary and that soon she would be together with herself and full of her flame again were draining away

Only the faintest glimmer of hope letting her grasp that it was not a passing vision, a dream of comfort that had now been lost.

Jewel struggled with her throat, trying to make the sounds she felt she should be able to. To cry for aid, for assistance.
For something?

The sounds and their meaning leaked away, like water through her tiny, clumsy fingers.

What was the correct manner of it?

She tried. She gurgled, growled, hissed, chirped.

But though she could not grasp what the correct sound was she knew that none of these were it.

Finally the frustration and confusion rose up in an overwhelming wave and her eyes were squinting shut and her mouth opened wide.

It was so cold, it was so empty, it was so absent and confusing.

The faint glimmer of hope that she was more, that she was a powerful wyrm was nearly guttering out entirely. Surely something so wonderful had no place in the maelstrom of confusion that her life and memory consisted of.

Sounds that she knew that had once held meaning were nothing but disturbances. Had she merely imagined that there was sense to any of it?

The meaning, the all-important nature of sounds had been stripped of her. Had possibly never even been present.

The loss and terror of it shook her, set her scales to tremble and shiver as if she was chilled.

Jewel cried.

She wailed in despair, feeling the fleeting assurance of her larger self now gone far beyond her reach.

Jewel was waking from the dream of herself as anything more than this weak helpless frightened meat.

She wept in terror at the thought that somehow this had been the last time that she would ever again feel fully herself.

Howled in horror at the prospect that she never had been herself but for passing daydreams.

Until at last comforting arms and soothing but incomprehensible words filled the world. Fresh strips of food waved in front of her nose and soon were snatched to touch her tongue and without even thought her jaws and throat bit, chewed and swallowed.

Then the terrible stickiness and wetness that had found its way out of her body involuntarily was tended to, and though the relief from it was welcome, it also felt despicable and wrong in a manner she could not even say for certain how.

And yet?

She was quieted, partly by exhaustion, partly by the soporific soothing of a voice and gentle rocking, the close warmth and clean cloth against her.

The terror was banished slowly, belly full, head foggy, flesh warm.

Sleepy.

At last Jewel was quieted to slumber.

But her dreams were awash in frightful confusion of things she could not name.

And even there the terror of losing the assured greater presence of herself was clinging.

Haunting her with horrific thoughts.

What if this was now her forever?

What if it had never been otherwise?

What if this was all she would ever be again?

What if this was all she ever was?
Jewel did not rest well.

But there was always warmth, a soothing voice and gentle rocking when she woke.

 

[Lonzo34]

Um, Jewel? I know it seems like you and Gem are one and the same when you're together, but this last bit sounds more like a proximity mindlink instead. It feels like one-ness right now because Gem is a newborn -barely cognizant of their surroundings- so when Jewel is nearby, her 'mental weight' (for lack of a better term) is more than enough to assume control. The better eyesight might just be Wyrmflame doing Wyrmflame things.

I bet that as Gem matures and grows more intelligent, the difference will become more evident. Independent movement, second stream of thoughts, all that stuff.

 

[Nighzmarquls]

2.8

Jewel was expecting more from the high king of the entire realm of Cantor Reborn.

But she supposed that there had yet to be a noble man with stature to match her Father's.

They had to use one of the larger mustering halls of Fort Rochford and lay out three tables to contain both the entourages from Arva and the High King of the Realm.

The entire assembly was made up into two tables facing one another, with the third longwise between them.

Count Thurzó was set to the High King's right, at the table opposite Father.

On Father's right was Mother, and to his left was Jewel, with her coils looping behind them.

On Mother's right was Tsulogothulan. And then on Jewel's left was Sir Kraok.

Alexander, Smithson and Thurzó's household were mingled among the central table between the two heads, along with a few men that Jewel judged must be lesser nobles from the King's party.

The meal was a joint effort by both the Rochford, Arva and High King's staff. Jewel had heard some vicious rows between the attendant cooks of each party clear across the manor from the kitchen, and it was not because of her superior hearing.

That had gone on from morning to noon, because the King's head cook had arrived nearly a full day ahead of his main party with three Hackneys burdened in supplies. Thurzó's cook had mostly submitted to the High King's own kitchen master, but Jewel took some pride that the Rochford staff did not bend like sodden reeds in a winter storm.

The meal that had been settled on was a mélange of good Rochford seasoned pork sausage with the exotic pheasant apparently favored by the High King. For seasonings, there was a surfeit of honey glazing as befitted any proper feast by Jewel's house since their acquisition of the Temple of the Silver Lady.

Likewise was the hall lit with only their best and whitest candles.

Cracked peppercorn was also prominent, with just a hint of sharp herb and a grinding of dried berry that had been pressed with the rest into the brine soaked birds.

But completely absent was even a whiff of Saffron. It was over this that Jewel had heard the greatest contention from the High King's cook and near blows from Rochford's head of cooking.

But the battle of words, and brandished spoons (possibly also meat cleavers if gossip among the staff was to be believed) and the cajoling by the cook from Arva eventually had won the day.

Jewel had already told Father and Mother that all the kitchen staff were due a great boon for standing firm for her honor.

Having to muscle the despised flavor of saffron down her throat in her own home?
Not even for the High King did Jewel wish to suffer such.

To go along with the meat dishes was also a wonderful approximation of Jewel's favorite stew.

Although it was yet not the same as Jewel's favorite from Hożanka Masondottir, she had hopes that her overtures to hire the innkeeper's third son as kitchenmaster of the Valasect Manor would be fruitful.

She had been willing to accept his service as a freeman or servile, whichever was his preference. And she would uphold whatever he chose with all the backing of her rank as a Lady and eventually Countess.

And of course, to complete the meal was the best and palest flour bread, molded into golden baked rounds.

Served with some of the best available of the many Rochford sheep's cheeses.

It was a wonderful feast and to Jewel's eye, almost everyone present was enjoying it.

Imre had settled in to talk with Alexander, part of her brother's ongoing effort to try and gentle the heir of Arva's impression of her. Her brother had finished speaking of her valor and prowess on the second day.

In the time since, they had moved onto other topics.

Of late Jewel tried to not pay attention as her brother had of late chosen the stories that befuddled or even amused Imre. If only those stories were not so horrifically embarrassing for Jewel.

At least the way that they shared common ground in discussing the so-called foolishness of sisters seemed to be letting them bond.

Although on more than one occasion Imre had gotten incredibly pointed glares from his elder sisters. She considered the daughters of Thurzó, sadly Jewel's own embarrassment for her brother's gossip seemed to fail to kindle camaraderie when they suffered their own.

Unlike their brother, none of the girls were quite so utterly terrified of Jewel.

But they also seemed to have closed ranks on the position that Jewel was not welcome to their circle when they pursued the more feminine arts.

Lady she might be but apparently in Arva Jewel's status as a Martial Lady who served in War set her apart far more then her status as a Wyrm.

Which was terribly unfair in Jewel's opinion. It's not like Jewel had any say in whether she went to war. Refusing the call to battle when Jewel wielded the might of a wyrm would be treason and dishonor for all her family!

But no! In Arva, Jewel (and Muriel too apparently) were exiled from all circles and places of womanhood! Worse than men the transgression made them out to be. Or so the whispers Jewel heard amongst the daughters and their attendants said.

Jewel had settled for ignoring the infuriating foreign strangeness. Sure Muriel was less practiced in womanly duties but that did not mean she should be forbidden from even attending in conversation!

And Jewel?! She could spin and weave better than the lot of Thurzó's immediate household combined.

It had been frustrating and she focused on the food before her, eating with the proper amount of vigor for meat and dishes well liked. Showing the staff that they should have pride in the quality of the meal they had prepared for her.

Mother, Father and the rest of the Rochford household ate similarly.
But as had come to be the pattern over the ten days they were with them the Arva party was far less polite. They cut their food and picked at it in sparse portions and small bites. Not so badly that they didn't at least finish their plates, but if you didn't watch for the smiles on their faces or the warmth in their eyes?

You'd think they hated the fare presented before them.

But the worst of them now was the High King himself.

Who sniffed, picked and frowned at his dish.

He took a bite and, though he swallowed the excellently cooked bird, crisp skinned just this side of golden brown and rich with its own fats beneath, he did not relish it.

Never mind how well dusted with the pepper, salt, herbs and glazed in honey it was, he seemed in great discomfort over it.
At last Count Thurzó spoke up to the High King.

"Is there a problem with the meal my liege?"

High King Matthias The Second of Honorable House Stein, Liege of Father's Liege. Someday to be her own Liege looked down at the cooked bird with open dismay.

"Hmmm, does it not taste a bit... Strange to you? The color is also off, has the seasoning spoiled since our last feast?"

Thurzó seemed perplexed at the statement then shook his head.

"Not at all, I confirmed its quality and color upon its arrival this morning. But now that you mention it-"

Jewel spoke, taking care to not be overly a burden to poor Imre's strength of spirit but still taking upon her tongue a cutting tone.

"It does not taste of Saffron because there is not a single mote of Saffron anywhere in this room. Your grace"
That brought up her friend and the High King short. Jewel had just interrupted the highest voice in the Realm.

Four years ago Jewel would have found it unthinkable.

But that was before the war.
That was before she had met and spoken in confidence with the Countess Bathory.

That was before she was heir to Viznove.

And betrothed to the fortune-damned son of a woman she despised.

Jewel stared across the tables at the High King, meeting his eyes, even though she kept her head respectfully lower than his (which was almost a full foot below Father's).

Thurzó's voice was ever so slightly strained.

"Ah, why is that, O Shining Wyrm of Viznove?"

Jewel took up a whole pheasant of the two remaining on her plate, grasping it with her right fore claw, then ever so slowly laid it on her tongue and closed her jaws over it.

Slowly and audibly crushing bone, meat, impeccably cooked crispy skin, succulent marrow and a stuffing of honeyed breads, goat's cheese and herb spice.

She shifted it to the back of her jaws, to teeth that were honestly very ill suited to the task of grinding and crushing as a man's would.

Too sharp and far too thin and uniform her teeth were.

Mostly made too shred and slice.

Not crush or grind.

But Jewel had over a decade of practice eating properly like her parents and brother.

If she worked her jaws just right and did not fully close them there was just enough clearance in the gaps between the rearmost fangs that they could be delicately slipped between each other while she swiveled her jaw from side to side.

And with the muscle and force of a dragon and a slight application of her own wyrm flame to reinforce the teeth Jewel could imitate the usual chewing manner of a man or cow.

If a bit more noisily than either.

Finally she swallowed audibly and loudly. Shreds of meat and shards of bone running through her neck and cracking just as audible as she constricted and twisted the inside of her neck.

Jewel had learned at a young age she could chew all the way down her prodigious throat.

She offered a warm smile of enjoyment and a little dip of her head once enough of her throat was clear to speak.

"Apologies to your grace, but I absolutely detest the taste of Saffron. This is well known to the Rochford staff and to spare you the dishonor of me refusing to share a meal with you in my family home accommodations were made."

Everyone was eyeing her, Imre with a look that Jewel was not sure was a good one. It was not terror, but it had a disturbing quality very similar to the mein Alexander tended to get right before he attempted something stupendously foolish.

The High King glared at her, eyes to eyes.

Jewel did not bend or bow, she did not even lower her head an inch more than was necessary for due respect to his station.

His words were as hard as his face.

"Might I ask the Shining Wyrm and Heir of the county of Viznove what a quite expensive and honorable spice could have possibly done to bring such wroth?"

Jewel offered a smile she had been practicing since she first laid eyes upon it.

Cruel, yet entirely polite. Laced with malice, wroth and terrible threat of violence most cruel without overtly offering such.

The lips that first showed her that smile might be hated, but she could not deny the power of the expression.

And then she spoke, as softly as she possibly could for Imre's sake but still striving to fit every single drop of hate she bore for that terrible monster of a woman.

"Honey and Saffron Glazed Pork is the Countess Bathory's Favorite, your grace."

The High King of the Realm of Cantor's brows raised in surprise, and then a smile broke across his face so wide it twisted the curled ends of his blond mustache nearly to the point Jewel feared he might put out his eyes.

A glittering was present in his gaze that had not been there before.

With a sudden motion of relish and every expression of incredibly messy gusto he tore a leg off his own pheasant and bit half a drum stick off with a single hearty chew.

The King gnashed so hungrily that specks of herb, pepper and grease sprayed over both his and the joining table before him.

Bits of spice and flecks of skin and fat ended up in his beard and mustache.

Droplets of honey were dangling from the left curl of his mustache.

Jewel had not seen someone manage to get food so far from their mouth while eating since Alexander was twelve.

The Man grinned wide at Jewel with bits of meat stuck in his teeth and laughed hearty and loud. More a roar really or a humored bellow. It made a few of Thurzó's daughters jump in surprise.

Shaken from the frozen statues Jewel only just realized they had become.

The High King Matthias The Second of House Stein laughed with her and offered delighted praise.

"Well that sounds like an absolutely fine reason! A Wonderful Feast and my compliments to our gracious hosts!"

He grabbed a cup of the new honeyed wine that Rochford had begun keeping since they vassalized the silver lady's temple and its bounty of honey just south of them.

Jewel answered the toast along with all others present.

But she and the High King did not break their gaze on one another until both of their chalices had been drained.

Jewel was for once feeling hopeful for a visit with the Countess.

 

[Aabcehmu]

Nothing quite like disliking the same person to help find common ground, eh?

 

[Eclectic Fluff]

Sometimes it can be troublesome to think up a good comment, but this chapter is definately deserving of one before the next comes along. Jewel′s political maneuvering and confidently speaking her mind were amazing to witness after her previous struggles. However, I can′t help but focus on some of the smaller details.

to his left was Jewel, with her coils looping behind them

Click to shrink...

It would seem Jewel has outgrown her chair. I hope this means she was spared the akward contraption.

And Jewel?! She could spin and weave better than the lot of Thurzó's immediate household combined.

Click to shrink...

She learned the (literal) magic to weaving! I really want to see more detail of how her discoveries in spinning, weaving, dancing, and likely other tasks parallel the journey of a wizard or weird. Hopefully it doesn′t have so severe of an alienating effect. At the very least, I suspect Gem will play a part in keeping her grounded whether they continue to act as a single being when together or not.

 

[Nighzmarquls]

2.9

In the entourage of the High King, the most absurd of solutions was found for Imre's fears.

Jewel's abhorrence and apparent refusal to even entertain the idea of saffron being near a dish she ate had stirred some youthful idiocy.

But at least he was now content to merely carry a talisman containing the spice hanging from his neck.

Despite the smell reminding Jewel of the terrible visits with the Countess, Jewel could handle that and if she was honest, having the boy confidently, if not brashly engage with her now that he had 'proven protection' was a boon.
Especially compared to his first attempt to use his newfound wisdom.

Originally the heir had ended up sniffling and coughing, near-blind with his entire head and shoulders dusted bright yellow-red.

This was because the very night of their departure he had attempted to dump a box of the precious spice worth more than his weight in a silver over his head.

Thankfully, Jewel's nose had been able to catch onto what he was doing before he ruined the entirety of the High King's supplies.

The waste of it was astounding and if there had not been such humor in why Imre had done it for the man, Jewel was sure he could have beggered several villages with the recompense for the loss already.

But now that they had talked the prince down to the fact that Jewel's sense of smell and taste was so acute that even a pinch of saffron in a locket around his neck provided ample protection from her ever possibly devouring him?

Well on the road to Kaeketteh, Jewel finally was starting to see the vibrant youth that Thurzó praised with every other letter.

Their caravan was a curious one.

It tinged Jewel with memories of the campaign. Not anything close to the thousands upon thousands that had marched.

But with the attendants of both Arva and the High King, the entourage easily numbered near onto five hundred!

They moved as a pair of caravans.

A smaller party made up of the households of Arva, Rochford and the forward supply with its bearers moving ahead as vanguard. The High King followed a solid day later with his main party. All of it was to best make ready either their places of lodging or ensure a camp was provisioned and usable by the time the main party arrived.

The entire arrangement was absolutely burning through the vigor of the horse they used to keep ferrying supply from the main contingent.

Jewel could smell a deadening exhaustion building in the beasts even though they cycled through three groups on the march.

"Lady Jewel! Can I play with Lady Gem today?"

Which brought the new complication Jewel felt when traveling.

The very thought of leaving her smaller self alone and bereft of her Wyrmflame for the near half season this whole endeavor was going to involve could not be borne.

Which meant that much like her Brother, Mother and the Wet Nurse Jewel had a sling for carrying a child.

It was mostly for the road in Gem and Gwenn's cases. They could both mostly manage to stand and walk unsteadily now.

But not at the speed required to make good time on the road.

"Hmm? Oh, certainly Lord Imre, but no taking her out. We can't tarry lest the High King's party catch up with his heralds."

He nodded vigorously, so changed for the simple assurance of a bit of seasoning locked tight in a bit of silver hanging by a leather thong round his neck.

Imre was bundled in winter-ready travel clothes instead of feasting finery, but the heavy coat and cloaks hardly seemed to impede the boy at all in his bounding exuberance.

And via Gem, Jewel finally appreciated how painful the cold could be. Who she now kept prodigiously swaddled in as many layers and blankets as would physically fit in the sling! After the brief respite of the divinely blessed valley, they were once more walking in the pre-autumn chill of early Debt's Season.

Given permission and emboldened by his amulet, Imre was soon once more fussing into the little hammock on Jewel's side.

"Here little Gem! This is a Pfennig. It's silver"

Jewel nodded and obligingly chirped and gurgled at Imre, although most of her attention was elsewhere.

A good portion of it was trying to keep as much of her smaller self as warm as possible as they traveled.

The rest was trying to distract herself from where she failed in that.

Father was now Liege Lord of the Temple of the Silver Lady and her divinely gifted Demesne. It had been within his right to make rooms within the temple's tiny cells for the arrival.
But after consul with Thurzó, it had been decided making use of the tent would be better for actual sleeping arrangements. Bizarrely, not even the abbot had a larger chamber then any other of the 'brothers' that tended to the temple.

Jewel shifted a bit to adjust the weight of her spawn's sling hanging on her left side just ahead of her wing shoulder.

Its opposite holding the currently sleeping bundle of Gwenn.

It made some sense, Jewel thought, they were both about the same size and weight, Jewel needed to balance the load of her harness or it started to twist something awful. And what bearer could be better trusted then her own family?

But it had still stirred quickly shushed murmurs among Thurzó's Daughters anyway.

"It's not right having such a brute carry a babe."

Again not because Jewel was a Dragon.

"Does she even know how to properly hold one? It's a child, not a spear or sword."

But because she had the audacity to serve in the army as a martial lady.

"Well she is a dragon, I suppose she was able to learn something since she doesn't need to swing a blade all day like some half-man. But did you hear that their matron was one too?!"

Honestly the gossip of those girls and the outrageous concerns they had that the blood of war would somehow harm her sister just from being carried in a leather and cloth sling against Jewel's side!

"Father speaks well of her, she's honorable. But still there is the honor of a man and a warrior and the duty of a woman."

They were not much kinder to Imre for his interest in Jewel's own offspring.

"Poor Imre, he was so craven at the welcoming feast, embarrassing father like that. The little goblin! He almost ruined everything."

Although apparently being the immaculate git of her brutish nature softened the shame of their brother being overly soft.

"At least he mostly is interested in the wyrmchild, the craven twit. I bet it's a soldier's bastard from one of the times she went off to war. Have you heard what they get up to in those camps?"

Imre was not even six winters aged!

"No, no, weren't you listening when Father found out? Poor thing had it Immaculate, Star sent it was. It prolly bewitched Imre something, only reason he'd be so infatuated."

Jewel distinctly remembered that her brazenly fearless fool of a brother had been equally intrigued by babes at that age and he was now well on his way to being a Gryphon Lord (after a scathing scolding and being shipped back to the Eyrie with proper guard).

"Oooh! I heard it's a girl-child! Do you think he'll wed it when it's grown? Serves the craven little fool right to be ensorceled by a beastly bride."

One of the younger ones murmured curiously.

"Well the mother is a good and dear friend of Father's, it could be an alliance."

The oldest one after Marta added her own opinion.

"Oh but then that handsome brother of hers would be out of reach, only needs one marriage for an alliance."

The foolishness of girls that were ostensibly her peers in nobility left Jewel in a tumult. No one in Rochford ever excluded her from their circles for this, but then again they were all either free women in her family's demesne or serviles bound to their lands.

Jewel had never met other noble girls.

Were all of them going to exile her for being Martial?

Did all of them gossip with such pettiness?

The Wyrm's repertoire of examples in this was on consideration quite sparse.

Among peasants and commoners, she had either the usual apprehension of her presence as a Lady, Dragon or both. A few friendly and very welcome exceptions besides.

But for Nobility?

There was Mother of course, and the Countess Bathory, but the less said about that fiend the better.

And then the random attending courtiers who she heard murmuring about in Kaeketeh?

That...

Was not many examples of noble womanhood to consider and on balance, nearly none that Jewel felt deserving of her respect.

Eventually they were coming upon the next town, it was larger than any in Rochford. Set with proper walls around all of it and fed with the grain and labor of a half dozen surrounding hamlets to among the hills and valleys.

But still barely a smudge of buildings against the bustling overgrowth of Kaeketeh.

Jewel turned her focus inward, narrowing it to just the simple sights of Imre and his fussing and awkward endeavors to engage Gem's attention.

Something Jewel was happy to oblige.

The Heir of Arva seemed to have a rough way of it with his other siblings.

 

[Nighzmarquls]

2.i

Our party made its approach by a narrow canyon through the mountains, and though we traveled at the height of warmest summer, there had still been heavy snow and need for winter gear to make way through passes barely wide enough for two men abreast or a single pack-laden mule.

I was simply glad that by this route we were ever-descending, and I hope that our return can be by a different route for I do not look forward to a climb.

At the narrowest point in the pass, the vault of heavens was close enough that one man was able to reach up to try and touch it.

For his trouble he lost a finger to the cold and the purple discoloration of skybite.

After his example, all in our party gave a proper due and dipped their heads suitably low whenever the vault was not held far enough above us.

It was after a walk of three days by this narrow way that we finally broke into view of the valley that was our next chance at rest and settled land.

The Inochi are a strange people, of them I saw only farmers and few craftsmen but was told of shepherds that were still up in the highlands grazing animals. Their valley contains no cities apparent, although there is a large fortified town set into the foot of the highest peak.

To this we made our way.

On the road we saw many farmers and a few beasts of burden.

They make use of a curious wide hat and shawl fashioned from woven reeds to keep the near-constant deluge of rain from their heads and walk with wooden sandals that allow traversing the numerous shallow ponds with ease.
Nearly all their textiles are coarse-woven fibers and they eschew leather almost entirely, except for use as waterskins.

Isolated as they are on all sides by mountains and an extremely low vault of heavens, I would not be surprised to find that there are no lands but their own valley to be found without passage through an underway or via skypaths.

Of such, I saw none but hints of roads winding through the valley up and away into the mountains or abruptly ending at soft hillsides, though whether that was indication of an underway or simply some local destination, I cannot say.

Thankfully, they still spoke a common language with us (although my Kolkor was rough, father's was quite adequate to the task and I got the impression our hosts spoke it hardly better than me.)

We were welcomed as travelers and what goods we had from home were appraised and considered with interest.

It was while we were settling in with lodgings in the town (which was simply called the town, as there was none else in the valley) that word reached us that our arrival had garnered interest from the seer of the mountain Shialtza.

To which we were requested to attend them in an audience come midday tomorrow.

I will admit that, after traveling for three days through the narrow canyon with the very stars and sky in hand's reach for much of it, I was not looking forward to climbing so many flights of stairs to the structure that they called a monastery.

Still, at least whatever lord or master this seer was had the good manners to allow a night's sleep before that.

-Excerpt from the travel log Pythra of Veracules

 

[Nighzmarquls]

2.ii

Treat the lambs with gentle hand,
Lead them kindly, understand.
No harsh blows, no sticks or whips,
Nurture them with tender tips.

As they grow, their spirits bright,
Guide them with a loving light.
A sprinkle of dirt, a gentle nudge,
Teach them well, without a grudge.

Yearlings, ewes, and rams so bold,
Guide them firm, but never scold.
Leather lashes, gentle cords,
Teach them manners, as their Lord.

With crook in hand, we gently guide,
Through valleys green, where sheep abide.
Teaching patience, teaching care,
In the fields, we tend and share.

So heed these words, young ones, dear,
In sheep husbandry, hold them near.
For in these rules, our flock finds grace,
A shepherd's song, in every place.

-A Song of Shepherds in the Fields of Marne

 

[Aabcehmu]

I hope Imre learns to appreciate Jewel in the future, and also that Jewel has an opportunity to just completely savage the other noble ladies at various games of intrigue.

 

[Eclectic Fluff]

Hmm, the start of Pythra′s encounter with the Mountain Seer Shialtza and a song of animal husbandry that definately draws no parallels between a ruler and their subjects. The anticipation for Jewel to properly rule, and learn some hard practical lessons along the way is mounting. Also, what is up (heh) with the sky? It might be a working, but I wouldb′t be supprised if it just is that way with the speculation that everyone percieves their own version of the sky.
In the mean time, I wonder how the situation with Thurzó's daughters will be resolved. Jewel could really benefit from having some proper peers, but I can′t think of how she′d ear their respect. The show of force that got the lords to change their minds, if only out of fear, would be wholly counterproductive here, and besides I doubt that Jewel would bring up her being able to hear them as she has unfortunately grown acustomed to bearing insults from those who don′t know her well as a fact of life. At this point, even if given opportunity to demonstrate to them, I doubt her domestic workings would change their minds. Short of her truly shoking them or them being forced to have some form or proper conversation, I doubt anything will change. Hopefully societal expectations will become a little less stifling for Jewel once she rises to power.

 

[Nighzmarquls]

3.1

Jewel hoped that the Countess Elizabeth Bathory lived and reigned for a very long time. Not because she wished well for the woman.
No Jewel absolutely detested her.

She wished her good health and vigor and many long years because the longer that the Countess reigned Jewel could avoid having to either move to Kaeketeh or finding some lord to manage it in her stead.

The city was full of people, and all the smells and noise and thievery she was coming to understand came with such.

And it was not made any better by the arrival of the High King and his entourage in full parade.

At least Thurzó and his family had ridden with Jewel and hers a full day ahead of the King and his party.

It meant they only had to deal with a relatively minor parade for their arrival (but the citizens of Kaeketeh had made a festival of it clear into midtown anyway).

The pageantry on display now felt stifling even from a distance.

Jewel could see the High King's parade making its way ever closer from her place on the battlements of the wall fortress that separated Midtown Kaeketeh from the opulence of the Countess' keep.

Thurzó had joined her, the first moment the two of them had gotten alone since his arrival in Rochford.

Well alone but for 'Gem' and Smithson.

Who had taken the duties of 'wetnurse' for Jewel's 'daughter' for much of the journey so far.

But honestly, anything said by Jewel's long time friend in letters could be said in front of her Squire.

And to everyone else 'Gem' was a senseless babe.

To Jewel? She still was not sure but at least it hardly mattered so far. What one saw the other would remember eventually.

Maybe?

She was not always certain.

"I'm glad that Imre found the courage to finally deal with you Lady Jewel. I was worried."

Jewel shook her head and could still barely believe how well such a token worked for the child. Had she ever been so easily soothed?

Well maybe with her Copper Pail.

But that was different.

"I hope it won't put you too out of coin to supply him with Saffron Count György."

Which got a friendly chuckle from him and a shuffle at his side. Jewel wondered when he was going to bring out his gift.
Which had been obvious three days into his visit to Rochford.

Jewel's nose already told her what it was. But not its contents.

"Oh it's a trifle, now I must apologize for not having gotten this to you sooner. But there was always something, and with Imre's fear of you-"

Jewel waved his concern off with her foreclaw and a light flex of a wing, shaking her head to fully dismiss his worries.

"It's alright, I knew you were trying. I could smell you worrying at it like a dog on a bone for days. So tell me, what book have you found that will actually add to the oh so much praised Rochford Library?"
Another chuckle, an honest one too. Just like Jewel strived for, like Father seemed able to inspire so effortlessly.

He presented the leather-bound book. It was not Rochford Leather or vellum, that was for sure.

And its nature spoke of very long years kept dry and warm amidst dust in some room upon a wooden shelf followed by brief travel in parcels of oiled skins, before again once more resting in darkness and the dry, until again finding its way in carefully stored luggage once more.

And then of course György's hands.

"I present to you, Lady Jewel the Shining Wyrm of Viznove, with this gift. The travels of Pythra of Veracules. One of only three texts I know of which contain a first hand account of discourse with a Tyrant wyrm."

Jewel blinked at that then gently took the book from her friend and ever so gently shifted onto her haunches so she could turn the pages and peruse.

She'd only ever read references to this work.

The original Pythra of Veracules, the so-called Wanderer, had died centuries before the tyrant war.

There had been copies made of it by scribes in what places had gotten hold of it and numerous translations besides of course, but even a copy was a precious treasure.

Jewel gently closed the cover and gestured it towards Smithson to take before she settled back to all fours.

Dipping her head low to her friend.

"Thank you, I'll make sure it is settled as the treasure it is in Rochford's library."

But György shook his head.

"You can put it there if you wish for safe keeping Lady Jewel, but this is not a gift to your Father or your family. I am giving this to you, my friend, the heir to the house of Bathory and the County of Viznove. The Shining Wyrm."

Jewel stilled a moment at that.

She met his eye, that was a massive gift. Easily in the range of value to the right hands exceeding a dozen Knight's Mark.

"Count György ! Th-"

Her friend silenced Jewel with a glare. He was standing straighter, taking on all the bearing of a Count equal to her Liege.

"You are the heir to the County of Viznove. This is a gift of no consequence for your station. But I know you yearn to know anything of those like you that have come before. As anyone with sense should. Take the gift as your own, from a friend, an ally and a fellow vassal under the High King Mathias."

He turned away from her to watch the procession as it made its way out of the poorer district that Jewel had come to learn some called the 'gate town' of Kaeketeh.

Jewel was stunned, so perplexed that both her mouths were left open.

One of which found itself suddenly filled with dried jerky that triggered a reflexive bite, chew and swallow from the relatively tiny jaws of 'Gem'.

Jewel, shaken from her confusion by sudden feeding, turned also to watch as the first of the King's fully armored entourage crossed onto the bridge joining Gatetown to Midtown.

The festival for the citizens was not clear into the courtyard of the wall fortress like they had for Jewel's Victory Triumph.

Instead, the Countess had her footmen lined up awaiting the king's arrival, across the courtyard of the wall fortress over the last connecting bridge and then along the approach to Bathory's own keep.

Where she was waiting like a proper vassal for her liege.

Not yet bowing, for she bowed to no one but the High King.
And Jewel thought, with a grim spark of her wyrmflame over her tongue, only when that suited the Countess herself.

Jewel hated the vicious woman standing there at the end of finely armored and dressed footmen.

The countess was flanked on her right by Father and on her left by the near black crimson robed figure of her court wizard Jaksa the Red.

The Shining Wyrm of Viznove vehemently wished the Countess Bathory of Viznove a very long reign indeed.

 

[Eclectic Fluff]

I hope that book gives Jewel a much clearer idea on what actually ruling is like, and the pitfalls of it. While she is definatwly very well read on stewardship over her people, I′m certain all of those accounts were written by those who are themselves rulers, giving a skewed perspective. That is then compounded by how she often takes written material at face value, only doubting it in the face of personal experience contradicting it. Having a perspective of someone who isn′t ruling class seems almost as portant as it being about a fellow dragon ruler while every other text relates to humans. I can′t wait to see her confounded by it. With some luck, I hope she is able to synthesize her own conclusions before taking the countess′s throne.

 

[Nighzmarquls]

3.2

Jewel was not petty. But she took great delight in High King Mathias forbidding the use of Saffron in any meal he shared with the Countess of Visnove.

And enjoyed the tense looks and quiet murmuring questions it had brought during meal time.

Instead of Saffron Sows and Piglets glazed yellow-red in the spice and honey, they were feasting upon pork turned near black from an encrusting in pepper and other herbs?

That the fat, salt and honey had been joined with other spices from both the Countess' stores and the High King's own luggage?

That there was also a particularly peasant-seeming stew with the distinct mix and flavor of an imitation of Jewel's favorite innkeeper's family recipe?

That the breads were not quite so sweet but just as rich and hearty as was more to Jewel's own preference?

Served with Rochford reserves of sheep butter and cheeses?

Jewel was not Petty but she reveled in the whispers. Proof that more than just the Wyrm was noticing the statement being made of the meal.

It did not bring more than a stiffness to the Countess' smiles so far, though. Where before the beastly woman relished and flashed her perfect white teeth at every opportunity, now her lips were merely a tight smile.

But the ever so slight snub and the blessed avoidance of having to muscle every bite of a meal into her protesting stomach was a boon on Jewel's mood!

And she had this wonderful moment all thanks to the High King Mathias The Second of House Stein.
Her Liege's liege.

The man she had been told the hateful woman was protecting Jewel and her family from was now so obviously showing his true honor. A sharp contrast to the manipulative woman that had made Jewel her Heir and betrothed her own eldest son off with all the concern of a discarded hae-penny.

And it was all accomplished with an ultimatum on the contents of a welcoming feast!

Jewel was not petty but it was just so nice to be rid of the hated spice!

If it was not for little Imre she thought Mathias probably would have sold his entire supply for the trip at the first opportunity.

(Likely at a ruinous loss for it to be affordable to the freemen that hosted them for the trip between Rochford and Kaeketeh.)

But given the preciousness of it to György's son now, they had kept the stores on hand, though mostly stowed and tightly sealed (though Jewel still easily picked out its packaging by nose alone).

She could get used to black pepper-crusted pork!

After the pleasantries and the food had settled, the King signaled for attention and as one all descended to silence from the murmuring gossip of the feast.

"My Vassal, Countess Bathory, as always your hospitality and accommodations are exemplary."

Jewel's Liege nodded to him and raised that far too clear glass chalice.

One which met its brother in a heavenly chime in the hands of the High King, his already half-drained of the rich red wine imported from the very ancestral lands of Cantor itself.

The Countess Bathory regained some of her usual predatory and toothsome grin.

"Oh, I make do with what I can with the wealth of Viznove. I can assure you they would be even finer, my liege, if the matter of your debts to me were properly settled. But I assume we are not yet going to resolve such accounts?"

Jewel did not even know why she was surprised.

Of course the Countess would be owed a debt by the high king. Undoubtedly a ruinous one by the brittleness that reached his own smile or the ways his eyes shifted and hands clenched.

Jewel wondered how much of that debt had been offered out of money paid from Rochford because her Father was holding back his military service while seeing to her upbringing.

Mathias, for his part, found his voice without barely a tremor despite the discomfort Jewel could see the Countess had squeezed out of him.

"As a matter of fact, the scheduled payments will be renewed upon my return to the capital. And increased to cover their too long absence, The debt should be fully settled within the next three years."

The Countess smiled widely at that, Once more returning to her usual form. Although Jewel hoped she saw that there was perhaps a bit less delight in that woman's eyes then when she was 'genuinely' pleased.

King Mathias continued.

"My tour is of course one to ratify and restore the oaths of fealty from my Vassals, To reaffirm my responsibilities as your liege and here in particular to acknowledge the Countess Bathory and her choice of heir."

There was a lot of stressing on that word. He said it with a strain that undercut the tone.

Jewel smelled some fear on him even with his protection as liege and high king over Countess Bathory, even as a welcomed guest into the house of his vassal, he still smelled of fear.

But there was also a fury, and some triumph as well.

The Countess nodded along, although again was her smile strained? Did it even touch her eyes? There was not a tooth free to shine.

"It is an honor for you to support my declaration. My liege"

A declaration made nearly five years ago. Jewel idly watched her family and the other guests' reactions. Poor Marta was incredibly tense, she had been through the entire meal. The stink of old fear rekindled to a near inferno was seeping like morning fog off of the young woman.

Jewel hardly ever found her not subtly grasping an arm or elbow of her husband and was never far from him since they arrived in the city.

She had not learned exactly what György's daughter had suffered during her stay in the Countess' possession. But what she had heard around the matter proved that the marks of it still lingered upon her.

The High King nodded to Elizabeth's pointed response.

"I also want to personally offer congratulations and a sworn promise that I will be attending the wedding of your son as well, my Countess Bathory. I expect it will be a truly grand affair."
Jewel did not consider herself petty, but she was going to treasure the absolutely furious grin that the woman was practically having to drag out of her face like the very touch of it burned her skin.

"Oh- Certainly my liege. It definitely will be an Event to Remember."
The Wyrm was not certain precisely what was going on, but the thought that it was going to make the horrible woman suffer somehow was evident.

Although she paused in her inner revelry when she noticed the absolute stricken looks her Parents had.

What was frightening them so much about Jewel's wedding?

 

[Cecylene]

Jewel's wedding is now officially an EVENT. The kind that since it involves the first High King acknowledged Wyrm nobility, the first acknowledged marriage of Wyrm and Man, and will be personally attended by the High King and his entourage.

Jewel, you lack and understanding of the scale now involved in this production. Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, who is or ever wants to become a SOMEONE will need to attend this wedding. Which means bringing their entourage, which means their connections will want to come, which widens the net again and again. There will be Wizards and Weirds drawn into attendance by dint of old agreements or just plain interest in what has so many powerful people on the move. Or even the fact that other Weirds will already be in attendance to monitor the effects of how a blessed wedding and a Tyrant Wyrm will interact.

Mathias has just with that statement of intent almost certain of bankrupted more than a few local businesses and ensured the Countess will not be able to enjoy the "repayment" nearly as much as she planned on with the expense involved in hosting this once in a century level of event.

I'm also thinking that Mathias plans to slowly sell off his Saffron reserves to pay for the repayments as well. Turning what was once a bit of indulgence into an economic coup for his treasury.

Love the levels being displayed while they're all still flying above Jewel's head haha.

 

[Eclectic Fluff]

Hopefully Jewel′s family isn′t caught up in the economic collateral damage because this will surely be worse than the mustering for economic strain. Even if they don′t need to pay for hosting, if there′s any expectation of a dowery in this setting, that would likely be a sizable sum itself. Also, while I need more thought to predict as to what exactly, Jewel definately doesn′t have the full picture or understanding of what a marriage will mean for her life, even for such a politically motivated one that her books would have likely touched on.

 

[Nighzmarquls]

3.3

Marta stood tall and strong, though she braced herself on Einar quite often. Still, she would be no coward. Father had checked that she was up to the task.

He had demanded that she be certain. He had given her every opportunity to avoid having to come here. To the place that had stolen nearly three years of her life.

That had cost Marta her original betrothal.

Not that there was anything wrong with Einar. But her presumed death had meant the once assured alliance via her marriage had dissolved.

Still he was a good husband. A baron in Arva. Less prestigious for the family, but a securing of the bond between their vassals was not to be dismissed.

And he was kind and supportive of her since their marriage.

He listened when she talked of her ordeal.

And he shared his own experiences with the terror and dark of an oubliette. The last war with the Kingdom Magarska had not been kind to her husband when he was taken in battle.

But just as he did not let his imprisonment and torment drive him from an honorable service in arms as a knight and lord. Marta would not let her terror be her master here.

Her Father had said that to bring all his family would make a stronger statement.

That Marta's guidance in finding the chambers of her imprisonment could help? To guide them to that awful fiend of a woman's larder? That she might prove aide if the High King himself could not press the matter here?

If she could be the instrument that brought justice down upon the accursed Elizebeth Bathory?

No fear or terror would stop her from exacting her due vengeance on the woman.

But such vengeance appeared like it would not in fact be coming.

"Of course my Liege, I'd be happy to have you tour my chosen manner of exacting justice upon the criminals of my lands. Right this way."

Simple as that, they were walking with the Countess Bathory, along with her her disquieting Wizard and a pair of footmen who refused to look anywhere but straight ahead.

The woman's words were sweet and her smile bright but every word felt like a lash to Marta.

The way they traveled echoed in her mind, rising to join the nightmares that she still woke up screaming from even now, years later.

Her feet knew these steps, though her shoes muffled them from the bare stone against her toes that the dreams had.

She knew this wallway, though she now strode it properly with her own gait.

Marta knew these stairs that they descended and then-

The hall.

The terrible hungering whispers of the dark in that hallway.

In her awful, never-ending dreams she walked staring blankly through these halls. And the worst of them are where she is not walking past them.

But is instead taken to her own cell in that darkness, when the creaking metal opens and she is led into the black, her breath panicked and sharp, her teeth clattering, a horrible unending hunger finally breaking free from inside and sucking air as a man dying of thirst drinks water.

Einar's hand on her shoulder squeezes tight and her eyes can see again, her breathing is her own and she can slow the rising gasps.

But nothing stills her thundering heart.

This isn't the dream, she is here with her Father, with her Husband, with the High King and his guards.

They are safe and candles are in the hands of the countess' footmen rather than weapons. Their bright light pierced the darkness that she had never before seen into.

Revealing at last what her nightmares had filled with a never ending conjuring of horror.

And somehow it was both disappointing and worse for how mundane it was.

They were women, girls by their height for some, but hardly all that different from Marta herself.

They wore the familiar smocks she still could feel hanging on her skin some nights.

Their cheeks were sunken hollow, their skin seemed paradoxically youthful and aged. Their eyes were mostly hidden in their sockets but glittered in the candle light.

Their hair was universally drained of all hue, pale in color for some, many locks were shockingly white.

The man, the Wizard, whose hair itself was somehow black and yet slick and wet red as well spoke up. He lectured like a clerk at the end of his day.

Tone familiar and confident, but as if he was commenting on the least interesting of grain or describing why he lacked a stock you had hoped would be available.

"You could have questioned us on this at any time, High King, no spurious rumors needed, no witch words spread. While we are not overly open to the citizens and their foolish knavery to properly learned nobles, the Countess has nothing to hide."

Her father looked over the women in their chains, who stared at them with something not quite like dead eyes.

They were watchful gazes, not thinking ones, not like a man or woman would look at you.

But there was something following them from behind those eyes.

The gasping hunger had quieted when light shone upon them. SIlenced.

It took Marta a while to realize none of the women behind the bars were breathing now.

They stood utterly still, chained to the walls at ankle and wrist every one of them.

Waiting.

Chained on very short links of thick iron, the cost in metal alone was no small thing holding them, there had to be over a hundred emaciated women on each side.

Finally her Father spoke up.

"Those are very heavy chains to hold such wasted and frail looking women."

The Wizard sighed and turned to one of the Countess footmen.

"Approach the bars."

The man froze at the command and Marta finally saw an emotion other than practiced, enforced discipline in his eyes. There was sudden terror, fear at the prospect of drawing closer and Marta realized that both Footmen, for all their posture of professional bravery, were not within what would have been her own arm's reach from the bars on either side.

The Countess merely grinned widely at the hesitation.

But the Wizard sighed and commanded the footman.

"Walk into that cell and-"
The Countess raised her hand and the Wizard was silenced as sure as if she had covered his mouth.
The footmen had already been jerkingly moving to obey and then stilled utterly, but his eyes rolled in terror in a way that Marta could absolutely appreciate and empathize with.

"That won't be necessary Jaksa. Really, you would waste a good and loyal footman of my house for a mere demonstration?"

Marta felt a pressure in her heart release she had not even realized was there. Had she been wrong all this time about the Countess? Was the true villain the Wizard all along? A monstrous sorcerer that had partially slipped its leash?

"No, send in one of the thieves from the larder Jaksa, An older one. It's not like those hold much use for me or you."

And all thoughts of such were dashed from Marta's head.

A dry shuffling came from the other end of the hallway. She grasped Einar's hand tightly in her own and could not stop her trembling.

A rough and not altogether easy on the eyes crone marched out of the darkness.

She moved like a soldier, with the gait of a man in a way that Marta knew would feel awful in the hips and knees for she had felt it much the same from her own body.

Age was impossible to say, her skin hung loose and ravaged. But if that was by the awful sorcery of the Wizard or simple time and age, Marta could not say.

The lock to the cell next to them opened without a touch from any hand.

The crone straight backed unnaturally for her apparent age strutted into the room.

The cell closed and latched heavily.

And every unbreathing face shadowed in the back of that cell fixed on the old woman, heads turning in unison. The eyes that Marta had thought were merely flickering in the candlelight now shining.

Glowing like a cat's caught in a torch. Their natural colors were all but lost for how wide the blacks had become. Only the shine remained flickering from within.

In a terrible chattering rush, sound rose up from the things in the cell that only looked like women.

The sharp inhales and exhales make their chests and shoulders pulse and bounce at a terrible pace. It was not like breathing, it was so fast that no air could possibly be reaching them, if they had been women the pace would set them to faint. But yet their ribs were swelling out in terrible starkness even under their shifts. Pulsing in a pace more with Marta's heart than her breath.
Thundering.

And the teeth.

They snapped their teeth sharply and they were all flat and perfect.

Marta wanted them to be sharp, to be terrible and beastly but they were bright, healthy, pristine.

And far too mundane.

Just like the Countess' own grin.

The agitation of the one cell roused whatever stupor had taken the others and soon the entire hallway was full of a veritable chattering whispering roar of sound.

If it had been one of the things Marta imagined it would be hardly audible in a crowd.

But a hundred? Maybe two Hundred throats sucking air as hard and fast as they could?

The thousands of teeth snapping together in seizing jaws? Chattering like a terrible cold had overtaken them.

The crone stood placid and asleep while her eyes were yet open, blinking too few times into the face of the horrors.
The High King swore an oath upon his patron stars.

Marta politely tried to find something to focus on so she might not recall them.

But there was precious little she wanted to commit to memory instead of the secret gods which watched over the king.

To pay attention to anything but what she was seeing.

She'd turn away from the things, but seeing the horrible gaunt faces with their cat shine eyes and pale hair was somehow better than the terrible visions from her nightmares that rose up when she dared to turn away or even blink.

And then the shackles popped open on just one of the things in the cell.

Marta had not even time to gasp or close her eyes.

First the thing was against the wall.

Then it and all the others were in motion. But only one of them was not arrested in its lunge by hard iron.

The roar of clattering metal and the sound of straining stones that had been used to anchor them filled her head.

It would have been better if, somehow, the crone before her had been bisected by a blade, cut cleanly, or simply vanished into a pulp under the violence that befell her. Anything would have been better.

Instead the blunt force and the dull, all too human teeth pulled, tugged, shredded and tore with terrible power, inhuman ferocity but not total overwhelming might.

Bones had been slow to snap or even crack, flesh had stretched in too many places before it tore.
Blood briefly splayed out in a flowering splash of crimson.

But it did not reach past the bars. It did not even stay extended entirely as far as Marta's own eyes had seen it arc.

No it was pulled inward as suddenly as it had been thrown loose from the now corpse of an old woman.

Pulled inward and turned wet and gurgling as the once near-silent reedy breathing suddenly went thick and almost choking as the thing standing in front of them 'breathed' the blood in desperate convulsing gasps.

No, not just breathed, pulled and sucked the blood into itself through every part it could manage.

Skin trembled and throbbed, visibly flushing as pores drank up what blood they could find and flushed it into veins and skin.

Eyes wide and brows flexing like a throat trying to swallow, crimson rivers poured into the sockets and then disappearing into the corners of those widely dilated eyes or seeped up under the lids.

Ears and nostrils flared and flexed to draw in the thing they hungered for.

Everything of the thing before them was gorging upon the blood.

Dragging it into itself by any means.

By all means.

No one spoke as it continued.

Marta could not dare to turn away from the spectacle, feeling compelled to witness the act.

It felt like hours.

And then as if finally satisfied, leaving what had once been an old woman now a mangled, leathery dry husk, the thing in the cell turned its gaze on them, its eyes still shining with the terrible witch light of a cat's eyes.

But it was no longer half starved looking.

Lips and face were fuller, cheeks healthier. Muscle and tone partly returned although still there were signs of sunken starved flesh.

Even some color had returned to the hair. A pale red where before it had been bone white.

But the face held nothing like life.
Only that same blank faced desperate hunger.

What expression there was resembled more a starving hound than a woman.

And the throat was still so horribly dry as the voice broke free.

Barely a whisper.

"Mhoooaaarrr"

The Countess turned back to Mathias and Marta's Father.

Smiling like nothing of note had occurred.

"Well, does that demonstration satisfy my Liege? Or would you like to check my larder for any other wayward noble daughters?"

The thing in the cell was straining, struggling with itself, flexing and writhing to try and move towards the bar even as its own limbs forced it in an awkward backward march to the wall.

Back to its chains.

The High king shook his head.

As one they turned and began leaving the place of Marta's nightmares behind.

But she could still hear the weak, now plaintive begging of the voice of the thing they had allowed to 'sup' on the old woman.

"Mhooar?"

Marta could hear it being shackled back into place with the desperately hissing breaths and clattering teeth of its sisters in bondage. But still the only throat that gave voice to the hunger Marta could hear in every single wheeze was that one.

"Mhhhoooaaarrrr!"

Marta was shaking but she did not care.
She could feel Einar's hands trembling in hers as well despite his own valor as a man and a lord knight.

His words whispered softly into her hair as he held her close.

"We are never again coming back to this place."

Marta knew it was craven but she did not care.

She could only nod and cling to her husband.

The relief brought to her by his words nearly took her to a faint.

But even with the hall, stairwell, heavy doors and heavier stones between them Marta could still hear that terrible voice in her mind.

The thing that haunted her dreams and woke her in panicked screams begging, pleading, screaming in a reedy voice for that which it hungered.

"Moar!"

The fate she had only barely avoided for herself.

The hunger she could feel the slightest twinge of in her own heart.

That would never stop wanting.

More.

 

[Altom]

Welp. If this were a quest, I would be hammering the"War" button till my keyboard broke.

 

[Aabcehmu]

I wonder how cold that place is...

 

[RyubosJ]

What the hell Jaksa. You made vampires. You made vampires and you keep 100s locked in the dungeon restrainted by too weak iron and your magic.

Gods I've just realised if the war had gone badly they would have released them as a final gambit.

 

[Nighzmarquls]

3.4

Jewel stared at the thing before her.

It had been brought chained and shackled. Heavy iron holding arms behind its back and hobbling its legs. An effort to restrain which Jewel had never seen needed even with strong men and Jaksa the Red was still having to murmur the silent words of sorcery.

All to keep the thing restrained and in place.

And all of that was definitely necessary, because despite the iron and constant bindings of sorcerous intent anchored in its very flesh, the thing still managed to writhe, struggle and attempt to pull free.

Jewel, for herself, could only stare.

She'd noticed it as it was being brought down the hallway. The feel of the thing was foreign and unignorable.

Men and Women left a scent always.

They rotted when dead.

Even while alive, their bodies hummed and buzzed with the world.

The thing that stood there, writhing, barely contained in front of the bemused Elizabeth Bathory, the High King of Cantor, Jewel and the closest, most trusted martial lords of Viznove did not smell.

It sucked at the air, it spoke (very poorly), but its exhales were shorter than they should be, rushed and muddled with the straining meat that wanted to keep drawing in air.

The thing stared at them all.

Sliding its gaze from left to right, body shifting with strained taut muscles even as the Wizard of Blood riddled it with sorcery.

Jewel knew that unprotected men stronger than her Father could not even blink under the bonds that were constantly being applied to this thing that, for most appearances, was a very thin slip of a girl.

Pale red hair, mostly pale skin.

A bit gaunt in the face, improperly fed by all appearances.

If this was one of Jewel's subjects that looked so malnourished, the wyrm would have offered her porridge and warm milk on sight in hopes of filling out the hollowness of her cheeks.

But this thing was no woman.

It had no scent, and it was not breathing. It sucked air but Jewel had seen breathing; the trees and grain breathed ever so slowly.
But all that the aberration before her did was suck air.

A stone had more odor than this thing. A tree had more life to it.

And the longer it stood there before them, the more Jewel could feel that it was not merely air it was drawing in.

It left a weakening and languid quality to the winds that it pulled past its teeth.
The very fire of the world was doused low and left guttering after it passed that thing's lips.

It sucked air, took in the humming life within and then gave nothing back.

The High King spoke to the Countess Bathory.

"And you have been making these since you were five?"

Jewel wished she was surprised to find out that among her many horrible qualities, her liege made such monstrosities.

The Countess was smiling in a way that meant nothing good for anyone. But it was Jaksa the Red that answered.

"Not as such, the first one occurred when the Countess was twelve. Five footmen and thirteen ladies perished before it was slain. At the time I did not know the signs that preceded the condition. And it had hidden itself amongst the usual subjects."

King Mathias was leaning closer to the thing over the one table left in the feasting hall with a keen interest, but still well away from the monstrosity. For its part, it was looking back at him, lips fluttering over words that Jewel was certain only she could hear (maybe Jaksa as well).

Neverending words.

"Morepleasepleasepleasemoremoresohungrysocoldmoremore"

On and on it whispered, begged, cried.

Oh so softly, in every breath. In every glance there was only one thing about it.

Hunger.
Finally the thing found the strength or coordination needed to press and squeeze its throat to utter sound greater than a whisper. To raise its voice into audibility for those without dragon ears.

"Mhoar"

The High King Mathias had a bright glint to his eyes.

"So they can be slain then? Some of the restless dead I'm told cannot."

Jaksa the Red, Blood Wizard of the Countess of Viznove nodded.

"If you know the manner of it? Yes. The heart is the key. Strikes to the stomach, head, eyes, lungs and in one case even full decapitation have not fully stilled the afflicted. But a strike through the heart will slay them as surely as any living creature."

Mathias considered the thing and nodded.

"I presume they are all as feral and beastly as this one?"

The Countess laughed and shook her head.

"Hardly, my poor soft hearted Jaksa tried to rehabilitate them, at first."

For the first time since she met the two of them, the Blood Wizard made even a hint of disagreement with his Liege. It was barely a shift of discomfort and the start of a furrowed brow. But it was dissent, which seemed to make Bathory smile all the wider.

"Oh I apologize Jaksa, He is still trying to cure them. Their sense can be restored quite easily after a fashion. They just need to be fed. But it is better that you don't."

Jewel did not want to be here, she did not want to be seeing this thing. She did not want to hear the Countess talk about what they were, how they acted or for anyone to be so keenly interested as the High King was.

She wanted desperately to lay Wyrmflame upon the terrible thing that sucked the vigor out of the air itself.

"Better if I don't, my Vassal?"

The Countess nodded. Jewel could tell she didn't even acknowledge whatever this horrible monstrosity before them even was. No Consequence at all.

"The cost is prohibitive, it takes three or four men to bring them entirely out of the fugue and after they have no loyalty, love or passion to drive them but one."

She frowned a little, as if in annoyance.

"They have no means of control of any kind you can impose on them even when fully restored to their ability of speech and thought."

The thing suddenly lunged — Jaksa's bindings had faltered for only a moment, the hobbles being far less of an impediment than Jewel though they should be.

With its legs bound together, it simply used both as a single limb to hurl itself through the air.

It landed on its stomach and face, but was already twisting to get its feet to the floor again. Not even righting itself, using its head as just another limb to push up and prime for another bound.

All of that after leaping halfway to the high table which contained its audience of nobility.

However, the lapse in concentration from the Wizard was gone.

Jaksa muttered furiously into the sorcery and the thing was dragged by its own flesh back to the place it had just lept from. Wrenching it upright and mostly still as it had been.

But even under his renewed and vigilant effort to hold it fast by its own limbs, it still could writhe slightly.

Jewel only realized she had reared up and prepared to annihilate it after she was relaxing her neck and swallowing her own wyrmflame back down her gullet.

In fact, that very well might be the real reason she was here.

The Countess seemed not to care at all about the matter, continuing as if there had not even been an interruption.

"They care for but one thing, they act only for it, they think only of it, they respond not to love, wealth, station, honor or family except as a means to satisfy their one desire."

The countess looked at the thing with an expression that almost was fond.

"Mothers so afflicted have torn the throats from their children once they got them alone. This is after shedding honest seeming tears over their supposed love of them in heartfelt reunions."

Jewel was aghast, but worst of all was the look on the High King's face. She expected to find horror or maybe rage there. Even dismay as she could smell wafting off of her Father.
But what she saw and smelled was so much worse.

He did not look horrified.
He only smelled slightly of fear.

His eyes were eager, shining in a way that Jewel was all too familiar. The Countess continued.

"I am of course my liege's loyal servant. But I must counsel that there is no manner in which I have found to enforce obedience in them. When fed they merely grow more patient but they always will betray you. I assure you if I had found means to command them you would already be quite aware of that fact."
Mathias the Second, High King of the Realm Cantor Reborn cracked a grin that Jewel did not like at all.

"Oh, of that I am sure Elizabeth, but still I think there is use to be had in such things even as they are. My close consul Count Thurzó tells me the sorcery which eventually produces such as these is one that can be taught?"

Thurzo talked but Jewel could not focus on these words.

The High King wanted this thing, he wanted more of these things. A voice she had believed to lie had said many years ago that the High King would covet Jewel for what she could do.

She'd thought Bathory was a liar and a monster.

But seeing the man now with an abomination that just tried to slay him. A monster that was barely restrained from attacking him even now and yet still he wanted it. To use it as a weapon to wield.

Thurzó was her friend, they had shared letters for years.

He was much like the Wizards in his concern and deep curiosity to the very nature of Wyrms and the world at large. He was thoughtful and considerate and spoke so highly of the king and how he had openly vouched for her position as a recognized lady and countess to be with him.

But there he was speaking up for the High King and discussing this madness with the Countess on the nature of the ritual that would make more of these things.

This was not what she had been hoping for when she had seen that light of camaraderie with the High King at their table in Rochford.

Her neck wanted to crane back, her wings wanted to flare out and encompass all the room.

But she locked down her reaction. He was the Liege of her Liege.
The Liege of her friend Thurzó. Yes, she had fought in a war against him when his will had been unjust but...

Jewel suddenly felt cold.

Not like winter's bite. At least not the ineffectual gumming that such things had for her Wyrm self. But cold the way little Gem felt it.

A rush of stinging pain and ineffable sapping of something vital.
Like her flame was being doused.

Bathory had rebelled against the High King and claimed it was for justice.

It was possible to do that.

And if her liege could turn against the High King?

Could Jewel do the same?

The hungry terrible thing, which was but one of apparent hundreds held beneath the Keep of Kaeketteh slowly turned its grasping, swallowing eyes to Jewel.

A gaze so empty it could never be filled.

 

[RyubosJ]

Poor Jewel, she really has such a wonderful view of the world but everyone she meets continues to spoil it.