ã€ŠThe Shining Wyrmã€‹


 1.1

    1.1

    A fierce dragon faced a valiant knight.

    From her perch, the great shining wyrm loomed high over her opponent. With her scales like a fine mesh of metal shields, her teeth like the sharpest swords, her wings poised to unleash the fiercest winds, her tail looped tight ready to crack like a thunderbolt and her breath an incandescent, all consuming death glowing with-

    ¡°Jewel! Not indoors!¡±

    Jewel cut her flame with a choking gasp and buzzy hiccup at the chastisement from the sudden appearance of Her Governess. The aborted breath (which would only have been a spark of light!) rattled her scales slightly with the swallowed magic, wings flaring wide in shame.

    ¡°Ah! S-sorry, Muriel! It was only going to be a bit of shine, nothing dangerous! I swear!¡±

    The brave knight, Once fearless against the dragon, cowered before Governess Muriel¡¯s presence and immediately pointed at Jewel with the gleam of forced tears rushing to his eyes and a quaver in his voice.

    Jewel would forgive the betrayal of course ¡ª he was her brother after all.

    Also he was eleven.

    ¡°She was the one that wasn''t paying attention! She was playing with the books and making a fort and-¡±

    Muriel softly coughed from her position in the doorway of the study. Her cough brought silence to both of her ward''s protests.

    ¡°Alexander, that helmet is an antique! It was stored on the top shelf! I was away for five minutes. Just how did you even get it down?¡±

    Jewel shrank and curled up on herself even more. Wings clenching up against her bundle of coils, eyes looking down at the stone floor.

    She still had the presence of a large pony or a small war horse, but besides bowing or groveling with her chin on the floor it was the smallest she could make herself.

    ¡°Uh, I got it down from the display for him. There was a mention of it in the book and he was curious about what the knights wore in the Tyrant War. But Alex is right! It wasn''t his fault. It was all my idea. It¡¯s just we¡¯d been reading about the war and-¡±

    Alexander¡¯s tears were mostly forgotten at her stated guilt; he quickly rallied with his sister.

    ¡°See?! She admits it! It was her idea!¡±

    Muriel however was unconvinced, squeezing the bridge of her nose for a moment then shook her head.

    ¡°I thought better of you both. But apparently you two have too much energy for history today. Pack up your work; We¡¯re going down to the courtyard so you can run off some of this energy.¡±

    ¡°But It was her fault!¡±

    Jewel nodded at Alexander''s claim, Glancing furtively at her governess, trying to catch Muriel¡¯s eye and convey her agreement with her brother.

    ¡°Alexander, you were obviously not forced to play with Jewel. You will be giving me at least three circuits of the courtyard at a charging pace¡±

    ¡°But that¡¯s not fair! she-¡±

    ¡°And Jewel will be flying ten circuits of the manor with two lodestones.¡±

    The wyrmling could not help a flinch, but quickly resumed her resolved gaze on the ground, and tried to give a dutiful nod of acceptance.

    She started to pack up their quills, inkwells and blotting paper. Sliding around the room with soft shoves against the floor to keep her sailing gracefully.

    The tools and materials were quickly wrapped, packed, and put away in the drawers of her father¡¯s study.

    Alexander continued to try and wheedle his way out of the ¡®punishment¡¯. But the sibling¡¯s Governess might as well be an indomitable mountain for how well either child could sway her. Jewel had learned to stop trying when she was six.

    ¡°No, Alexander. if you keep at this, It will be ten circuits.¡±

    Jewel did not interfere, focusing on using only her claws instead of her mouth to handle the latches. There were battles you did not fight and Muriel¡¯s orders were one of them.

    ¡°But-¡±

    Her older brother protested anyway.

    ¡°Four circuits.¡±

    Jewel snuck a glance, but no Muriel was still watching, she had to keep to her claws.

    ¡°B-¡±

    The slightly raised brow was more than enough to dissuade even peeling back her lips for a gentle bite to pull the drawer open.

    ¡°Five.¡±

    That was too much for Alexander and he finally accepted with a muttered breath.

    ¡°Fine, I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    It was always so fiddly to grasp with any four of her claws. But that was the ¡®proper¡¯ way to do it.

    ¡°Sorry what, Alexander?¡±

    With a soft breath Jewel gently pushed the last cupboard closed.

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.¡°I¡¯m sorry Ms. Muriel, four circuits is perfectly reasonable.¡±

    Jewel shook her head; Muriel really wasn¡¯t being fair to her brother. She agreed with Alexander that he was not to blame: it had been her idea, and she¡¯d wheedled him into it by talking about the battles against the great tyrant. She¡¯d encouraged him when he suggested getting the helmet from the old armor on display to try out a re-enactment.

    It was her fault, not his.

    But she knew that Muriel could not be swayed.

    Still, she did give Jewel a bit of a look. But this was one thing the wyrmling felt deserved her own meaningful glance back. Unspoken but heard, she nodded to her Governess.

    Why yes she had cleaned up Alexander¡¯s stationary as well as her own, Governess.

    If they were alone perhaps Muriel might have said something but instead she turned her focus to herd Alexander into the hallways.

    Jewel of course followed dutifully.

    Their lessons had begun to delve into the historical importance of Fort Rochford. During the Tyrant War it had been a bastion and redoubt against the Conquering Wyrm and his armies.

    A staging ground, too, for incursions and offensives deeper into the territory of the Tyrant.

    But that had been many centuries ago and these days it was more of an overbuilt manor house for the Rochford Barony.

    They remained rich; the sheep herds were said to have some of the finest hides for vellum this side of the Ridgetail Mountains.

    But the histories were making Jewel appreciate just how underused her home was from what it could be.

    Their battlements had been turned to gardens. The numerous rooms and twisted passage ways were rarely walked by anyone.

    Entire wings closed off for half a year or more.

    And then there were the hints of what it was once for.

    The narrow windows.

    The winding passageways that could have been straight.

    So many things you just did not even think about. Honestly, Jewel had been enjoying the history lessons (except the writing, her limbs were poorly positioned for easy writing.)

    But as the younger sister it was her duty to help her brother, and he had been getting incredibly bored and just seemed not very interested in the histories at all.

    So she¡¯d made a simple suggestion to help engage him.

    It was totally Jewel¡¯s fault it got so rambunctious.

    The openness of the courtyard contrasted with the narrow halls and heavy thick stone walls of the indoors. A wide space partly overgrown where armies and cavalry would have mustered both winged and ground troops.

    Now the marshaling grounds at attention were abandoned. Almost lonely with just Samuel the groundskeeper and his two dogs, tilled for vegetables with a few hunks of wood for weapons practice by the footmen and visiting knights.

    The noonday sun was warm and enthusiastic as it greeted her scales and fresh air contrasted with the stern eyes of Muriel as she ordered her ¡®squire¡¯ Smithson (she knew for a fact he was still the stablemaster¡¯s apprentice) to fetch her training gear.

    Jewel settled into a proper and regal pose. As Alexander was ordered to start his laps, his sister waited for her equipment.

    Eventually Smithson and three stablehands Jewel recognized but never quite recalled the names of arrived, hefting her weight harness and setting it aside the pile of Lodestones.

    It was a finely crafted thing commissioned by her father to help her ¡®train her strength¡¯, fitted to be as comfortable as could be managed given the purpose.

    Muriel rallied Alexander back to pace with a curt shout: he was now puffing around the courtyard at speed fit for breaking a defensive line with a spear.

    Now it was her turn.

    She shouldered herself into the leather loops of the harness, then bent her head down in a swoop to fit it through the straps. She wished she could fasten the buckles with her teeth. But with Muriel watching she had to fiddle with her foreclaws. Then the same for the buckle around her ¡®midsection¡¯, using her hind limbs this time.

    Jewel had seen cats twist around themselves in grooming, but was not terribly impressed with their flexibility.

    On good days, she agreed with her mother that she could poise and twist like the finest serpent. Right now she felt more like a worm (not a wyrm) or a particularly gawky ermine.

    Smithson managed a few of the more fiddly buckles and clasps, and helped her tighten and adjust them. She honestly could have done it all herself, but only if she was allowed to use her teeth. Her neck was long and supple enough and her jaw was incredibly deft and flexible.

    But ¡®biting at yourself like a mangy dog¡¯ was unbecoming for her stature and title as a Lady of Rochford.

    So Smithson had a job to do on little notice as her ¡®Squire¡¯, when she knew for a fact his real master still had work for him to do with the horses and the family¡¯s one Gryphon.

    She would have to make it up to him later, maybe see if he needed any help with the larger horses. Muriel was making such a hassle for everyone except Jewel!

    Finally she was settled and her harness secured, and Smithson could get back to doing something actually productive.

    With a nod from her Governess, Jewel walked over to the pile of lodestones and slipped one into a pocket over each shoulder and thigh. The weight pulled down on her body, but not unevenly. It was honestly rather light as far as a punishment goes, a completely unfair token compared to how hard Alex was having to work to run around his circuits of the training grounds. Or the interruption to Smithson¡¯s heavy workload.

    What did Muriel have against both of them?

    Taking a deep breath in and letting out a sigh kept distinctly clear and soft, Jewel put it out of her mind and ¡®exhaled¡¯ her wyrmflame. Not out of her mouth, where it could burn, of course; but inward and out along her wings and body, pulling her flesh and wings up against gravity. And then with a heavy flap of her wings she was airborne, dragging the quartet of lodestones along with her as she moved over to the archery posts before starting her own circuit.

    Unburdened flight was freedom in itself, so effortless that Jewel had struggled not to simply float and glide through the air since she was three! Which had promptly been followed by a ban from going any higher than a hand span while indoors.

    Without the lodestones this would have not even been a punishment at all but a wonderful diversion!

    The sky welcomed her and the sun¡¯s golden glow filled her with its warmth and gently stoked the heat of her flame with its own.

    Jewel soared up and felt the currents of the world with her. Pulling her with the wind, or the wind with her. Filling her wings with the feeling of the storm and letting her draw on it and her own wyrmflame to sweep around the manor.

    She carefully kept herself in sight of Muriel. And it was impressive how often her Governess was looking right back at Jewel as she flew. She had been told that humans could barely see anything about her at this distance.

    But she was not sure she believed it: as she flew, Muriel¡¯s stern but approving countenance always matched her gaze whenever she peeked over.

 1.2

    1.2

    The walk to the bathing room after ¡®exercise¡¯ always made Jewel uncomfortable. Alexander had a tangy animal scent and Muriel shed a soft oiled wood ambience in her sweat whenever it was particularly hot or she¡¯d been working Alex over in sword practice.

    But after a heavy stint at flight Jewel always reeked of rain on dry soil and the sharp sting of lightning. The same smell that clung to whatever unfortunate targets were being used for her ¡®practice¡¯ in the archery field.

    As such Jewel felt like she stank like how they say a scorched bog down in the terrible southlands did.

    It did not help that she was always too worn out to do anything but walk afterwards either.

    Jewel hated walking. Actual walking, that is, instead of the mock-stride she usually affected when her flame was not a guttering, overworked thing.

    Not because it was difficult. But because there was almost no way for her to actually do it without looking like an ¡®ermine with a distressed chicken tied to its back¡¯ as she heard one of the stablehands that worked with Smithson say.

    She never told Smithson, of course, not after she got a stablehand in trouble with him when she was five.

    Because for one, she didn''t like knowing they were punished, but more importantly, it really was true.

    Without the breath of her wyrmflame to hold them aloft, her wings were really imbalancing and wanted to droop down and act as a third pair of awkwardly splayed legs. Her other limbs by contrast were absurdly short for her body length, and on a charitable day the best she could describe her gait was to repeat to herself she had ¡°the curving grace of a serpent¡±.

    Today Jewel could not muster up niceties for herself. She stank like a soggy forest in a thunderstorm and her flame was too sparse to lift even her wings!

    So she was wobbling and waggling from side to side with her wing-knuckles dragging against the stone and hunched up in the middle to keep her fore and hind legs closer together. Her tail twisting and lashing around behind her in short little snaps instead of languid loops.

    She was also failing to keep a slight buzzy whine out of her voice as she galumphed towards her bath.

    The sooner she got into the big wooden tub the better. With the hot water and the cleansing soap and masking lavender oils and wire scrubbing brush and her favorite copper pail.

    Really as soon as possible would be best!

    ¡°Jorge!¡±

    The bath man nodded a bit to her as she turned a corner in the hallway toward the bathing room (it used to be one of the Armories!).

    ¡°Yes, Lady Jewel? It was a vigorous day in the courtyard today?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Jorge. Please tell me the water is ready and hot? yes?!¡±

    ¡°Started bringing up the boil soon as I heard you were leaving for the yard, Lady Jewel¡±

    ¡°Superb! I¡¯ll be as long as I¡¯m able! Can you hold back any inquiries until it¡¯s time for supper?¡±

    ¡°I hear from the cook we may be having guests this evening, Lady Jewel¡±

    ¡°What?! No one told me!¡±

    ¡°Perhaps it was to be a surprise?¡±

    ¡°I guess? Um, do you think I can get by without a scale polish today?¡±

    Jewel momentarily un-hunched herself, sparing a huff of flame through her wings to raise herself up to a more regal posture as befitted her family¡¯s standing. Showing as much of her flanks as she could to the bathman.

    Jorge gave a quick evaluation of her nearly brass scales before shaking his head confidently ¡°You¡¯re plenty shined already, Lady Jewel, just make sure to scrub the mud and dust off good and tend your mane and you should be fine.¡±

    ¡°Splendid, now please let me through, and make sure the door is watched? I don¡¯t want to be disturbed while I¡¯m indecent!¡±

    Jorge nodded firmly before opening the door which she slipped through with something almost resembling the grace her mother always attributed to her.

    The air in the bathing room was heavy with moisture and heat. Steam billowed throughout it. And there before her was one of her favorite pieces of furniture.

    Her bed was a bit too soft and clingy despite her parent¡¯s best efforts. But the bath?

    It was perfect.

    Finally alone and most importantly in private, Jewel could finally relax a bit, breathing full and deep with her wings flopped flat over the flagstones. On the floor she could feel the subtle indents and signs of shelving and weapons racks long since removed.

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    Telling her a story she could finally appreciate thanks to her lessons.

    Jewel indulged in a secret buzzing rumble of contentment, stretching herself fully across the room before grabbing up her copper pail from its place on a hook on the tub. Cradling her childhood treasure in her fore claws.

    It was much too small for her now but bathtime just would not be complete without it.

    Normally what came next would be easy, but with her wyrmflame so taxed she could not muster the effort to simply glide smoothly into the water.

    Instead she had to actually work her heft and bulk with her muscles which sapped as they were quivered in protest at the thought.

    After several false starts, Jewel tried hunching herself up over the lip by using her wing fingers to push her middle high enough. Then tilting her ponderous abundance of forebody, neck and face she let gravity carry her limp landslide of scales over the lip and slowly poured her coils face first under the steaming hot water.

    Blessed hot water all over!

    She took a heavy breath all the way into her lungs and let the hot, thick, toasty fluid burst through her insides herself.

    Mother often told jovial stories about when they had discovered that Jewel did not need to breathe air.

    Jewel herself remembered a lot more panic, crying, and being quite terrified she had done something terribly wrong for how frightened her parents had been.

    But now no one screamed or cried or pulled her out of her baths. Jewel simply spent a luxuriantly long moment simply cradling the smooth sweetness of delectable copper from her pail against its special place in the small of her belly. Her scales just below her seventy-third rib tingling in a way distinct from the seeping heat of the water coming from within and without.

    After just a moment more lingering below the surface Jewel popped her head out of the bath and gave out a soft bubbling croon of satisfaction, letting the water burble out of the squeeze of her lungs and her growing Wyrmfire scalded them dry. Releasing the electric-scented mist to billow from her nose and spark along her teeth and tongue.

    Wings unfurled in the warmth of the water to touch nearly every familiar line and whorl of varnished wood grain.

    This was just a perfect moment she always treasured.

    The sound of her emergence prompted the usual ritual.

    ¡°Everything to your liking Lady Jewel?¡± the bathman called, muffled from behind the door.

    Her reply resonated through the room with a throaty buzzing burr she tried to restrain everywhere but here. ¡°Delightful as always, Jorge! If you don¡¯t hear me scrubbing in a bit, a gentle reminder if you please?¡±

    A muffle of affirmative noise answered her and she turned her attention back to bathing.

    She could happily luxuriate and stoke her inner flame in just the heat of the water until it went tepid. But they had guests and Mother always said she needed to be presentable for guests.

    Refined and civil to prove she was nothing like what they feared.

    First the mane, it always seemed to get chock full of dust and detritus even when the rest of her rarely ever seemed to catch more than a slight dulling unless she literally rolled in manure and mud.

    Jewel reached over to grab the soap with her left hind claw and a comb with her right fore, twisting her head around so she could scrub it into the mane at the top of her head before passing the comb to its hind-partner to help draw out tangles, burs and the occasional bug.

    She had once reminisced with father after he had returned on Griphonback how flying involved far more dirt, grime and bugs than most people appreciated.

    One time that she even joked with Smithson over the time she¡¯d gotten distracted and flew into a goose! The beast had hounded her for half an hour afterwards!

    Truly knights should study the bravery of geese!

    Which reminded her, the manor had some potentially unexpected guests?

    Jewel softly murmured to herself as she worked her soap and combed her mane to between her foreshoulders. Getting the hairs clear before she scooped up a pail full of more water and poured it over her head was somewhat ineffectual but it gave her the excuse to use the copper pail for longer.

    ¡°I didn''t think anyone was scheduled to visit this season. Well at least it can¡¯t be the Countess or anyone of that import, no one¡¯s shown up to open up the guest wing.¡±

    Swapping her left hind limb for her right so she can get the soap scrubbed into the dusty roots of mane between her wing shoulders she scooted and curved herself up out of the bath water.

    Luxuriating a moment with her head submerged before she surfaced.

    ¡°Maybe it''s a knight ? Or a traveling bard troup?¡±

    A thought suddenly struck her and excited her voice.

    ¡°Oh what if it''s elves!¡± Her voice had a slight squeal at the possibility.

    ¡°Yes, Lady Jewel?¡±

    Helpful as ever her bathman had his ear out if she needed anything.

    ¡°Nothing, Jorge!¡± she huffed and hummed, mulling the idea over a few different ways.

    She continued to work through her mane, down to past her wings, shifting and slipping the portion needing a scrub out of the water so it did not get overly diluted by the rest of the water.

    Jewel liked keeping the fresh suds from rinsing before twisting the already lathered portions of it around in the water.

    On reflection she discarded the earlier spark of hope muttering as she worked suds into her mid-back.

    ¡°Meh, as if elves would visit a barony in the middle of nowhere like us.¡±

    A huff of admonishment at her own childishness and she switched the soap and comb from her hind claws to her foreclaws. Working the soap into the roots of mane over her hindquarters and then up and down the line atop her tail.

    She grumbled to herself just to drive home her own stupidity.

    ¡°It¡¯s probably just some merchant or mayor or something. No one important or interesting would be showing up on such short notice¡±

    She considered her tail mane with a critical eye and a pursed lip, it was likely it would be presentable and the rest of her bath water was ever so slightly starting to cool in spite of the heat that was now toastily burning inside her.

    ¡°Well I wouldn''t say that. After all, it could always be a wizard,¡± said the deeply rich and unmistakably male voice.

    A male voice here in the room.

    A voice that apparently came from the black cat wearing a tiny red floppy cap.

    The cat who conspicuously sat on the edge of the bathtub.

    Jewel blinked at the cat momentarily. Then finally shrieked in a proper and very ladylike manner that she would later insist did not at all resemble a cockerel screeching from inside the throat of a moose.

 1.3

    1.3

    ¡°I really don¡¯t see what all the fuss is about,¡± spoke the cat from its position on a stool. Why did her bathing chamber have a stool? No one had needed to assist her in bathing since before she was big enough to need the new tub!

    The intruder, somewhat frustratingly, was completely and utterly dry. Not even a single drop of water marred that black fur.

    This was despite every single other surface in the chamber being drenched, including the area immediately behind the aforementioned intruder.

    Jorge had forced the door open but stood momentarily baffled on precisely what to do.

    ¡°What are you doing in here whilst I am bathing!¡± Jewel tried to put on the tone of dignified affront and high culture airs that her mother used when a courtier with a disdain for their rural barony needed addressing. She suspected that it sounded more like a badly tuned trumpet.

    The cat licked a paw that was not dirty or wet at all and then with that same paw nudged a set of minute spectacles further up its muzzle.

    Dragging the silence out very intentionally for all involved as it fiddled with its eye-wear.

    Finally, the black cat raised its gaze to fix Jewel with a flat stare. ¡°I¡¯m sorry but was I misinformed of Lady Jewel¡¯s propensity for nudity on the castle grounds? I was quite sure that my sources were very clear on thy manner.¡±

    Jorge barely restrained the chuckle while Jewel seethed in her bath and roiled the much depleted water with her coils. Wings flaring out and curving over behind herself to try and make herself in flustered shame.

    ¡°That is not the same! This is my bathing time!¡± If she was not already exhausted from the earlier flight Jewel was pretty sure her mouth would be glowing white with barely restrained wyrmflame. Her foreclaws clenched gently but firmly over her pail, pressing it against herself for security.

    To add to her mortification two footmen chose that moment to come rushing into the bathing room.

    They were good footmen. Looking for a sign of untoward conduct and prepared for violence. There was also a third peering in from outside, all of them had hands on the hafts of their spears and muscles tense ready to fight and die for her honor.

    Sadly it was enough to break what composure Jewel had managed to scrape together on short notice. She hoped she would be forgiven for the fresh wave of water drenching the room and all present with her tail lashing she was sure.

    ¡°Out! All of you Out!¡±

    The resulting surprise at being soaked by an irate dragon set the two footmen to stumble backwards.

    One almost fell as his foot hit a piece of soap but his comrade provided just enough support to hold him up while he braced the butt of his spear into a corner. They vacated to the outside dripping on the stone floor outside.

    But they distinctly did not close the door!

    The third footman had a slight crinkle to his eyes that suggested there would be laughter and stories in the barrack tonight. Jorge was just as soaked through as the two footmen but being the bath man unwarned splashes of water ultimately unphased him. He had the same dignity he always bore in matters of his role.

    The cat was still completely dry. Although it appeared to be slightly bothered by the fact that its chosen perch was at least pooling with water and suds.

    Its feet were alternating flicking water from each as it circled around a few times on the stool before fixing Jewel with another intense look.

    The yellow eyes set Jewel on edge the way they settled on the slightly dented copper pail in her foreclaws against her the slight cleft between her belly and rib cage. ¡°Ah, I see! my apologies you were settling with your hoard then?¡±

    Jewel¡¯s wings shook with the effort it took to hold them in and avoid possibly shattering the wooden slats of the bath by extending fully out in every direction.

    Mother and Father had commissioned this tub specially for her!

    Yes it had been when she had broken her old one from stretching just a little bit too hard against its walls!

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    But they had to give up some of their coins for it!

    She would not go breaking this one and forcing them to replace it.

    ¡°I¡¯m not settling in my hoard! I¡¯m having a bath after a strenuous day of exercise to clean me of the sweat and grime of my labors! To make myself presentable for some unexpected guests to my family¡¯s court!¡±

    The ostensible wizard but very much a cat closed his eyes to near slits and tilted his face up in a way that somewhat resembled how she¡¯d seen courtiers smile.

    All assurance and smug superiority.

    ¡°Ah, of course, Lady Jewel is indeed correct on the matters of hoards and whether or not her own possessions qualify for it. I humbly beg forgiveness for the misstep of this simple mortal. She is a delicate flower of a lady that is simply distraught over the impropriety of others seeing her beautiful scales less than they do every day in court.¡±

    That certainly did not drag another buzzing growl like a finger over her metal comb from Jewel.

    She absolutely only huffed like a properly refined but affronted lady.

    ¡°It¡¯s not about that! It¡¯s IMPROPER for you to be in here with a lady of my standing while she¡¯s bathing!¡±

    The cat looked down at the half full and rapidly cooling water. His eyes roving across her coils in a way that made her scales tremble in great tremulous waves with their passing.

    ¡°Well, since her immortal ladyship Jewel, Wyrm of the Barony of Rochford has finished her bathing there is no impropriety! Now If you would I had-¡±

    Jorge, blessed be his name and all of his line interrupted with the most soft spoken of interruptions that nevertheless still bore the weight of an interloper into his sworn and sacred domain.

    ¡°Pardon me, Lord Sorcerer and Weird of the Demesne of Ghergeintat, but it is customary in these lands that the act of bathing is not concluded until proper drying, dressing and styling of the lady is concluded by her staff.¡±

    The still incredibly, suspiciously dry cat with his spectacles and small beret flicked an ear at the interruption but did not take his eyes off of Jewel, despite how much it set quivering spasms of her hide to flow up and down her coils.

    Jorge, receiving no rebuke continued as gently and politely as Jewel had ever heard him to anyone.

    ¡°Furthermore, my Lord Sorcerer, an audience with a member and ward of the Lord Rochford¡¯s household is customarily made after an official introduction is announced to the benefit of both parties, which I am sure were already planned for this evening during the welcoming feast being held in your honor.¡±

    The cat slowly turned to look at Jorge with marginally wider eyes, then a slight head tilt and a widening of luminous gold.

    Jewel was not sure why but the way that the pupils widened from slits to wide black pupils was enthralling.

    ¡°Oh! Terribly sorry! Thank you for helping to smooth over any diplomatic concerns, good servant! But I¡¯d prefer to not step any harder upon Lord Rochford¡¯s hospitality then I already have. I shall retire to my accommodations and present a proper boon and compensation after custom is observed in recompense.¡±

    And then with that the cat made a turn around a corner and was gone.

    A corner which was distinctly and clearly absent from atop the stool where the Cat Wizard had been sitting just a moment before.

    But it had gone around a corner anyway.

    Jewel blinked a moment, tilting her head at the curious feeling to the air where she could see a corner was not but could clearly feel one had been.

    The soft cough from Jorge was needed to draw her attention back and with it her awareness on the sopping state of himself and the entire bathing room.

    ¡°Oh Jorge! I¡¯m so sorry, I¡¯ve made such a mess for all of you! I can help dry everything out if you like it would-¡±

    The bathman gently waved her off with a laugh and a dip of his head.

    ¡°No no, we needed to do a proper wash of the room anyway, don¡¯t want mold and the like to take any root here! It¡¯s fine, Lady, get yourself dry and ready for the feast, I suspect you will need the time to prepare and check in with your family.¡±

    That certainly was likely true, but it still pained Jewel to leave him with such a mess, huffing a bit of wyrmflame through herself to wick away the water into steam and gently crackling from her scales.

 1.4

    1.4

    Normally meals were pleasant and unofficial affairs: the family could spend some time unwinding and Mother, Father or both would generally enquire about how Alexander and her studies were doing, or otherwise relax and talk.

    Jewel could lounge on the familiar friend that was the feasting hall flagstones, her coils reading the old stories of past revelry and if it was winter there would be a roaring fire in the hearths to tickle her inner flame with their own joy.

    If there were any entertainers or otherwise interesting guests in the barony they would also be present, either during or after the meal, in exchange for her Father¡¯s hospitality.

    And everyone was far more relaxed and comfortable, sometimes even the staff might attend if there was reason to grant them the boon.

    Father was very generous like that.

    But then there were official Feasts, like this one. Usually brought up when esteemed guests arrived that required the pomp for appearances.

    Bigger affairs with proper criers were brought up to announce guests then and everyone had to sit precisely to show and posture or placate as needed by the family. Jewel didn''t know the crier tonight, he was some new kid brought on as an assistant to Jorge, maybe? Or one of the other senior staff, she thought. No Smithson as crier this time, which suggested no one was sick.

    The official crier tabard was an alright fit for the boy, and he apparently knew his letters well enough from the way his eyes roved the scroll he would announce from.

    Yes, an official Welcome Feast.

    That meant proper seating, which meant that Jewel had to be seated like a proper lady.

    Tonight, she was positioned to the right hand of her Father as a sign of familial allegiance and power. Which was a point towards the guest being a potential rival, or at least a not entirely trusted neighbor. Or a mostly genial foreigner.

    Jewel being seated meant that there had to be a seat to sit upon.

    Much to her dismay.

    But for her father¡¯s sake, Jewel sat carefully on the specially made ¡®furniture¡¯, taking great care to neither rip the fabric of the cushioning with her claws or overly rest her bulk upon its wooden frame, despite the assurances upon delivery that it could take her even without lift from her Wyrmfire keeping her weight from settling entirely upon it.

    No, she would never force her parents to replace this piece like she had the chairs and stools she¡¯d destroyed as a hatchling.

    This one had been commissioned especially for her so that, to quote her mother, ¡®No daughter of Rochford shall be seen to lay on cold stone¡¯. Jewel wished it was acceptable to just let her lounge in a pile by the fire: the cold stone of the feasting hall was comforting, venerable with soft tales of trials and joy, and the hearths were warm and complementary.

    Instead there had to be this ostentatious thing she was worried she would accidentally break.

    And the expense?! She¡¯d heard Mother and Father one night behind their bedroom doors that it cost more than the throne of the Duchess, which had stung so much. To give up so much coin for her sake?!

    Jewel looked upon the preparations and the still-to-be-taken seats waiting for the arrival of their guests. Glancing at Mother and Father curiously before turning back to the entrance so that they could sit united and framed by the footmen at the ready in proper splendor.

    Alexander was seated to Father¡¯s left, as close as her as appropriate for his heir, but less favored for while a year older than her, he was not as physically imposing a show of strength as a dragon.

    That he was present at all spoke to trust where her positioning had been a posture of strength.

    He looked bored and uncomfortable in his feasting finery, a match to father¡¯s own outfit, though of significantly less expensive fabrics and gilding.

    Mother was seated next to Alexander further along the table. Which was a bit awkward but further cemented the suspicion Jewel was developing that the status of their guests were foreign powers.

    She was subtly buffering the heir from direct engagement.

    The preparations and dress of her family said a lot as well, where Jewel had not felt comfortable asking just exactly who (besides the wizard cat) was attending the feast.

    It had been a bit of a hassle and a rush to get Alexander properly washed and fitted into his clothes. Mother had been upset he¡¯d gotten all sweaty, instead of simply being perhaps a little ink blotted from history and scribe work.

    It was mostly the usual but not overly unique signs of wealth from her parents. She¡¯d seen that shirt on her father many times and mother generally favored that veil when she was not needing to overly impress.

    So probably a contemporary to their own rural backwater, maybe?

    But not a neighbor, Rochford was on near kin-alliance terms with all the surrounding manors, villages, towns, and the one other Barony.

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.Jewel ever so gently kneaded her forelimbs on the cushion, expertly keeping her actual claws from tugging on the fabric. There was also only the usual family regalia on display so it was unlikely that the attending guest had direct rulership over Father which meant it definitely was not the Countess or the Duke and King above her.

    Likewise it could be no representative of either.

    Jewel surreptitiously rubbed her left wing at an itch on its foreshoulder in front of her where a casual observer would not notice if anyone should show up that second but it still got a bit of a look from Mother.

    That was more tense then she should be with a contemporary yet foreign barony.

    Which was concerning, although again Jewel could not find the will to break the silence so close to the official start. Alexander¡¯s impatient shifting under so much oppressive quiet got a soft whispered admonishment from mother again.

    So given the timing, dress and accommodations, Jewel mused that despite the fact of the Wizard cat, this was not a terribly powerful political figure or their representatives.

    So it was thankfully not The Countess Bathory herself!

    Just thinking about the time of Bathory¡¯s visit put an involuntary quiver rippling along Jewel¡¯s scales.

    That was the biggest welcome feast the wyrm had ever attended, at least after hatching. Her egg was apparently gifted to Father¡¯s Father¡¯s Mother¡¯s Father from the King himself at the time.

    The tapestries and histories made quite the ado about that feast, but it was tied up into the three YEARS of victory feasting that followed the victory in the Tyrant War.

    But Jewel was not really THERE for that except by technicality.

    So it was not the Countess or anyone equivalent. When she attended, the staff of the household had tripled during the preparations seasons in advance. Most of them were foreigners from the Countess¡¯ own household coming to make way for her ahead of her arrival.

    Entire rooms had been opened up and furnished, rooms that Jewel had not even known existed! A whole second guest wing was opened just to house her courtiers and the extra staff!

    Strange new foods were prepared and Jewel had to be followed around everywhere by Smithson and Muriel at all times she was not in her room. In addition to often having at least one of the footman and the Countess¡¯ own guard as well.

    That had been incredibly stifling but at least Rochford was out of the way enough the Countess  never saw fit to visit since.

    This Welcome Feast was nothing like that, even assuming they somehow had hidden it from her in her own home, the banners were only her family¡¯s own crest despite apparently being in honor of another lord.

    So less ostentatious than a direct superior to father.

    But that still left a lot of room.

    The far more common situations for a welcome feast were Knights or other esteemed lords of their own baronies.

    Those however rarely needed the kind of posturing and defensive stand-offish display that fully kitted footmen brought up. Further there was Jewel¡¯s own position on Father¡¯s right or the awkward placing of mother as a buffer to Alexander instead of having her place either on Father¡¯s left or right.

    Jewel had seen the other seating arrangements other times when she was just supposed to impress, then depending on the standing either Mother or Jewel would be seated on Father¡¯s right while Alexander either was seated next to Jewel or Mother.

    All of it itched and worried her, almost more than the fact the blasted Cat Wizard had interrupted her during her Bath!

    Which was also concerning.

    Jorge had been incredibly civil with the Wizard, which she had read some about their standing.

    Jewel was unsure precisely what the standing of a Wizard was usually, she¡¯d never met one before today. In the books they were generally titled at least a lord even when they were not landed with any territory. But often they also would have two or more other titles, half of which were either unique or particularly strange.

    The visiting guests could be the Wizard as the head of it, with attendants to support him, or he could simply be an attach¨¦ to another individual.

    Wizards were inconsistent and difficult to fix down in hierarchies.

    She¡¯d read about some that even insisted on being freemen or commoners rather than lords and at least one who was explicitly a serf despite having five other titles!

    The sound of Alexander¡¯s knee bobbing ever so slightly did not seem to be drawing anyone¡¯s attention but the sudden cessation of it despite no visible sign from mother or father suggested something got him to stop and settle.

    For the time being.

    Before Jewel could start on chewing (figuratively) what might be able to be gleaned from the plates set out for the family and their guests the sound of metal on stone echoed into the feast hall signaling the guests (finally) were about to be announced.

    The crier uttered a half muffled squeal in surprise and fumbled a moment with the scroll before settling into the familiar rhythm.

    ¡°The honorable house of Rochford welcomes their esteemed guests.¡±

 1.5

    1.5

    The door opened and in strode a questing knight if Jewel had ever seen one, though He was not dressed in full plate harness or even a chain shirt: it would have been a grave insult to suggest that Father could not protect a guest in the feast hall.

    But his figure was muscled in that way the fitter footmen were, and he stood a good head taller than any in the room save Father and herself. Below his dark hair, a light scar crossed down from his brow and over his nose before glancing off onto a cheek.

    She did not recognize the heraldry upon his tabard. But Jewel had hardly had time to memorize any but the houses of their closest neighbors.

    The crier however was ready to do his duty and began to introduce him.

    ¡°Knight of Garmendan, Lothlar¡±

    Father tilted his head in acknowledgement and uttered the traditional greeting.

    ¡°Be welcome to my house; eat and be at peace.¡± A gesture to a seat with a gap between the knight and Mother spoke of confidence, but uncertainty. So Father did not know what standing Lothlar had but was not at least overly hostile to Garmendan, wherever that was.

    The bang of a spear butt on the stone echoed in the hall cuing the Crier to his next announcement.

    Jewel idly flexed the toes of her hind limbs and clenched her tail around herself but she did not brush even a single scale upon the floor to feel the subtle tremble.

    It would have been improper.

    ¡°The Esteemed Lady Sorcerer and Weird of the Autumnal Briarwood of Bothgola, Euewyn¡±

    Wait what?

    That was not the name that Jorge had addressed the Cat by!

    Jewel could not help herself but gawk as a vaguely conical form made entirely of red, orange and yellow leaves glided into the room. Only on a third glance did Jewel properly apprehend that the leaves in shape and size subtly framed specific kinds of flowing features.

    At the top was a tall pointed ¡®hat¡¯ with a wide brim, made of broad three split leaves that favored a bit more red than orange, riding over a heavily shadowed darkness that smelled of peat and old mulch and showed no visible eyes or features.

    Framed in a more flowing fashion by somewhat hair-like strands, not unlike willow, were tiny little pricks of orange and red color, strung in chains of color that reminded jewel of clover, if clover turned the colors of maple leaves in fall.

    This further draped over what she guessed must be a robe of slender oval leaves, continuing the theme of oranges  and reds, mixing in a few deep amber and browns. Jewel presumed it was maybe a cloak or perhaps a very long and billowing gown? But really there was just no details upon the figure to tell, besides assumptions and the overall shape of a pine tree clad in the raiment of an oak.

    Father seemed momentarily taken by the appearance but offered his traditional greeting and a gesture to the seat between mother and Lothlar.

    Jewel was so flustered by the idea that there were two wizards among their guests that she barely had time to consider what that seating arrangement meant when the next strike announced another guest.

    ¡°The Esteemed L- ehr uhm¡± The crier seemed thrown off for something written on his scroll but then marsheled on ¡°Esteemed Sorcerer and Weird of the Uloghai Bog, Su-¡± The poor crier again coughed on his tongue trying to say the name and then with a face turning bright red struggled through the rest on a few more breathily whispered tongue twisters before finally doing his duty.

    ¡°Tsulogothulan¡±

    If the name was difficult, the figure that entered was something that ¡ª well, until this moment Jewel had been sure tapestries and histories were just exaggerating about the countenance of wizards, especially those that pertain to the difficult and strange to find details on the title of Weird.

    But no, apparently those depictions had merely been as close as artists and weavers could manage to the actual thing.

    What entered the feasting hall slithered in a way that Jewel came to realize she probably would never be able to manage.

    Because, for all her slender serpentine form, she still was restrained by the encumbrance of bones that did not bend like rotten swamp grass.

    It was wrapped in black clothes around a figure that was ostensibly human-like. At least in that it had two arms, two legs, and a protrusion that was probably a head. But each bent and swayed in a sinewy, sweeping manner that made Jewel even at her most bedraggled look absolutely rigid and graceful.

    Legs, arms and necks were definitely not supposed to sway that much in the process of ambulation (she could not bring herself to call it walking).

    And the diaphanous material it wore as robes Jewel thought was on closer inspection a many layered thing that looked suspiciously like cheese cloth and lamb gut-lining that had been dyed black and wrapped in layers sufficient to obscure whatever was underneath.

    All of that would have been quite enough for Jewel and already strained her composure, but the head and what could charitably be called a hat (wide brimmed and also pointed as Euewyn¡¯s but in every other respect nothing like it) were what froze her and the rest of her family transfixed.

    It was like the result of someone, having heard a nose described like a beak, then took it terribly literally and sought to sculpt a smooth, pale, blue-veined mass of flesh into just such a shape; the proverbial sculptor however did so without understanding that such things as nostrils were necessary features of such.

    It was sharp and fleshy and was the only visible skin in the entire figure, jutting out from a darkness framed by a billowing veil from the ¡®hat¡¯, everything else wrapped in the black cloth or otherwise covered.

    And then the head tilted one way and brought a massive, singular eye embedded on one side of the ¡®nose¡¯ to look upon all of them.

    It was honestly a very pretty eye, bright violet iris. Clear and hardly veined sclera, a keen and intelligent gaze in the pupil, and very full lashes.

    But it was the size of father¡¯s fist and every detail was so perfectly, exaggeratedly huge ¡ª right down to the lashes being bristly quills in their hugeness.

    A few wet and soppy blinks audibly filled the stunned silence of the hall.

    The figure poised in a posture that was absolutely bizarre in its normalcy compared to the fluid boneless jaunting slink that had gotten it there.

    Finally, father found his words and, with a brief apologetic glance to Jewel (who could only stare blankly in dawning realization) gestured for Tsulogothulan to be seated next to his wyrm daughter.

    Which to be fair, Jewel was a dragon and the least needing of protection from something horrific or uncertain. But Still!? REALLY?!

    It took the poor crier quite a bit to compose himself.

    But Jewel did not blame him, she had snuck her tail down off her perch to the stone of the floor so it could comfort her with the etched laughter of happier times.

    The boy needed a solid three strikes of announcement before he could actually find his voice and his place on the scroll.

    During all of which Jewel noted how the knight was frustratingly indifferent to the strangeness of either wizard. Even smirking a little in the direction of Tsulogothulan! Who blinked wetly and audibly in response. The lids were almost popping and slapping like lips.

    After this Jewel was prepared for it to be a veritable parade of ever more absurd kinds of Weirds but the announcement spoken by the crier was familiar, if not precisely welcome.

    ¡°Esteemed Lord Sorcerer and Weird of the Demesne of Ghergeintat, Fizzbunches¡±

    However, that Jewel now felt the presence of softly settling paws then a fuzzy rump and a tickling tail on top of her head was not at all expected.

    Her father glared at the cat wizard, who had apparently not seen fit to arrive by the entry door but find a corner to sneak around to the top of Jewel¡¯s head, Her fathers eyes fixed  above her before offering the traditional greeting and then very pointedly gesturing to the seat next to Tsulogothulan.

    Fizzbunches took just a moment too long to acknowledge father¡¯s gesture before he leaped in a sweeping arc that barely pressed any force at all upon Jewel¡¯s head.

    The cat wizard landed in the seat so poised it was almost difficult to believe he had ever been anywhere else.

    He was however only just barely visible due to the tops of his ears and his floppy and rather untraditional wizard headwear.

    With that, the closing statements came.

    ¡°The house of Rochford welcomes you all! Let us eat and be merry.¡±

    The voice of Tsulogothulan was soft with a strange foreign lilt that dragged on the vowels ever so slightly. But far too normal for the uncanny nature of the rest of it. Just low enough probably only Jewel and Fizzbunches likely could hear it.

    ¡°Must you always be such an over theatrical ponce Fuzzbunches? We are not here to antagonize the lady or her father.¡±

    The cat fixed the blank faced side of Tsulogothulan¡¯s ¡®nose¡¯ with an unamused glare. His voice, however, was quite clear and carried out to everyone in the hall

    ¡°If Lord Rochford wanted me to make a polite entrance, then proper seating arrangements for my personage should have been prepared beforehand.¡±

    It barely required a glance from Father towards Jorge before Fizzbunches had enough cushion to see over the lip of the table.

    Jewel found herself sharing a look of baffled commiseration with Tsulogothulan¡¯s wide glistening orb of an eye. Utterly baffling that the most disturbing of the four guests was suddenly one she immediately felt a kinship with.

    It was further cemented when a cloth covered hand bonelessly snaked its way up from under the table and muffled the cat wizard before he could say something else.

    Father very diplomatically did not look in the cat wizard''s direction, but seemed to share Jewel¡¯s sentiment of camaraderie with Tsulogothulan. Who slowly blinked her one eye in acknowledgement to him.

    Jewel could hear the faint slimy gliding of the wet skin against the orb so close to her.

    ¡°Well then, before we get to the business our guests brought before me, let us eat! A meal to settle the weariness of travelers before I answer your request.¡±

    A muffled yowl of annoyance was met with a disturbingly uncomfortable spinning twist in Tsulogothulan¡¯s neck as it brought that oversized eye to glare reproachfully down at the cat.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    The look silencing whatever protest Fizzbunches was trying to get around the coverings wrapped around his face.

    Only after he closed his eyes almost entirely at it did the other wizard release its ¡®companion¡¯.

    Pitchers of small ale arrived. Which was a bit odd for a feast unless it was to the taste of a particular guest, not out of the ordinary for their usual evening meals together as a family but normally anything warranting ¡®honored guests¡¯ would have called for at least one of the lighter wines.

    Fascinating for Jewel, despite their strangeness, all three wizards partook, although Fizzbunches required his to be served in a shallow bowl.

    Euewyn drank it the most normally of the three. The mug rose upon air gently whirled with hints of old leaves and the smell of coming winter.

    Tilting her mug back in the cradled winds, the small beer was poured in an elegant arc into the shadowed void beneath the wizard¡¯s hat and hair. There was a sound a bit like water bubbling in a brook but no scent of spilled beer, or the splash one would expect on the seat or floor if she was indeed actually hollow.

    Fizzbunches naturally lapped it up, hilariously getting foam on his whiskers, but he drank heavier than was seemingly possible for such a small frame as a cat and was already on his third serving.

    It reminded Jewel of how she used to drink her small beer before she figured out how to drink from a proper mug like a lady.

    And Tsulogothulan?

    The Bog Wizard stared at the mug and occasionally took incredibly languid blinks accompanied by deep gulping sounds in the general area of their? throat.

    And the level of small ale in the mug dropped in ponderous trembling jumps with each raising of their? oversized eyelid.

    Jewel had no idea how that worked, but Wizards were supposed to be strange creatures.

    There was a further uncomfortable silence, even after everyone was drinking!

    The void of conversation between her family and their ¡®guests¡¯ got tenser and more squirming with insinuations until finally Lothlar broke it, laughing so jovially it was like a hammer through one of the colored glass windows in the village temple.

    ¡°Hah! Well I honestly can¡¯t say how much I appreciate your hospitality already Lord Rochford! A good solid drink being one of the least of them but still welcome!¡±

    His words were sharply clipped and a little more rounded in places than anyone Jewel had heard speak before. It was not anything like Fizzbunches or Tsulogothulan.

    He chugged a hearty gulp from his mug of small beer before belching appropriately and heavily.

    ¡°Truly no offense to them but my companions, being esteemed Lord, Lady, and Other Sorcerers have hardly been bothered by the trials, pains and filth of the road. And our road has hardly passed an inn or village on our way here.¡±

    Fizzbunches gave a pronounced snort of disagreement. Which prompted a breathy wordless admonishment from Tsulogothulan

    ¡°So I must say, getting a decent and even HOT bath and a solid meal is more than welcome after the journey we¡¯ve had to reach you! Praise be to you, Lord Rochford!¡±

    Which prompted a toast that all raised their drinks too. Fizzbunches and Euewyn did so by levitating their drinking vessels without touching them.

    The tension partly broken, Mother took on her role in family hospitality to further carry the conversation.

    ¡°So, from whence have you traveled to meet us? I must admit that I¡¯m not familiar with the lands of any of your titles.¡±

    Jewel could see this drew Alexander¡¯s attention as well, her brother leaning a bit over the table to see the knight past their mother and the leafy autumn wizard.

    Although Mother had left the address open to all their guests, it was only the knight who filled the emptiness that no one else seemed willing too.

    ¡°Well, I was drawn up on this quest when Honorable Lord Sorcerer Fizzbunches came through Garmendan. He had a small caravan for this business already but at the time it was just his lordship as part of the noble personages.¡±

    There was a palpable lack of comment from the lapping tongue of the wizard as he seemed engrossed in his small beer.

    ¡°Then we met up with lady Euewyn shortly passing through her briar forest.¡±

    The just mentioned autumn wizard continued to not make anything resembling the sounds of speech. But it was with far less disdain then the cat had managed to pack into his own silence.

    She even turned to look between the knight and mother and offered some rather enthusiastic nods that rustled her leaves violently.

    ¡°And again with the Bog for the honorable Weird Tsulogothulan. They both had arranged it beforehand with the Lord Sorcerer, apparently. Although I admit the business of wizards was not part of my quest.¡±

    Which got a nod, earning a pause in the Bog Wizard¡¯s literally consumptive staring contest with a yet ¡®untouched¡¯ mug of small ale, along with a soft whispered comment.

    ¡°To be honest I¡¯m quite glad to have had your companionship for the journey, my good knight. Lady Sorcerer Euewyn, I fear, has almost forgotten how to speak in any audible manner herself!¡±

    The Autumnal Weird nodded in agreement and shrugged lightly.

    ¡°Lord Fizzbunches is direct and not one to waste his voice. It would have been an entirely less lively trip if it was just us three Weirds.¡±

    A wordless grunt and another impromptu toast from Lothlar was matched by everyone but Fizzbunches (although he did raise his head and nod to the gesture before returning promptly to draining his bowl).

    And then the first dishes began to stream in from the kitchen, most of the servant staff of the manor appeared present pitching in with aprons with obvious signs of use and mess upon them.

    It was a bit strange, actually. Normally they would have called up serfs from the nearby village for the feast.

    But here was just about everyone that served the household except the footmen themselves making a show to carry all the dishes.

    And as for the dishes?

    Well, first was mostly just a few salted and roasted medley of the smaller turnips and other root vegetables.

    Fizzbunches turned his nose up to the offered vegetables and his plate was skipped before insult could be given but the other guests seemed amiable. Lothlar practically inhaled the meager fare with a laugh and loud chewing before continuing his tale of their journey.

    ¡°So after the Bog we split from the caravan, traders had business towards places with actual civilization-¡±

    The other food continued to arrive as he extolled the adventure. It was honestly the usual boasting and careful gossip and scouting report Knights always brought to their father.

    Jewel began tuning out the hunts for wild game and the tales of various creatures, threats and sightings that knights tromping on a quest through the wilderness accumulated like dust.

    There was something very peculiar about the dishes being offered to them.

    It was decidedly not anything much more spectacular than her family¡¯s usual supper of roast haunch from a recently slaughtered bull, pig or ram. Plus a somewhat peculiar diversity of roast birds of many varieties and more assorted cooked roots, vegetables and other sundry with a smell of heavy pork fat, salt and dried herbs in the mix.

    But otherwise there was not a lot of anything particularly artful. The bread was fresh yet plain, there was nothing but a few dried winter fruits from last year¡¯s summer harvest. And nothing like what even the casual neighborly feast to share news and affirm alliances generations old.

    It was all similar to the small beer serving as a starter.

    Fine for private family dinners, but this was not the fare for entertaining guests except in the sheer variety of different animals being offered to devour (which Jewel enjoyed and was making a note to maybe request something a bit similar if with proper flair for her next hatching day).

    But even then the additions, despite being an eclectic mix of different fowl that had been cooked and prepared, did not really fit together and had no themes.

    Actually the smell of different hearths rather than the usual great roasting pits spoke that perhaps a few of the manor staff¡¯s own servant meals were going to this feast. In fact, she recognized that particular whiff of char and firewood!

    The hen that Fizzbunches was laboriously chewing every scrap of meat off of most certainly had been in the hearth whose smoke was in the air while she was flying around the manor before her bath!

    This was not right at all, not even the most casual of welcome feasts was so slapdash as this.

    And Father never called such a tithe as to claim the very supper right off the tables of the village like that! He took great offense whenever one of their neighbors did something even slightly similar.

    Her parents would have been livid if this was the food delivered to even a minor knight¡¯s feast.

    But yet it was here and happening and they were not angry with any of it, even appreciative and apologetic to the staff working in positions quite unusual from their normal roles and duties.

    She gave Father a furtive glance of worry and tried to catch his eye looking intensely at the roast hen that lord Fizzbunches was halfway through rendering down to stripped bone.

    He raised his hand ever so slightly, keeping it below the edge of the table so only she would notice it. A placating but hidden gesture.

    Yes, Father knew precisely what was going on here and he was asking her to not bring any further attention to it?

    To trust him? She was not entirely sure.

    Mother offered a smile across the way and a slight dip of the head and a gentle brushing of her hair behind one ear.

    So she knew as well?!

    This was a totally impromptu feast, and yet it was also the best that her parents could expect of the manor staff!? In fact, if she was reading it right, Jewel was not to draw any attention to that?

    That spoke to even Father and Mother having been required to arrange this feast on incredibly short notice!

    Just what precisely was going on here?

    Jewel tried to ignore the weight settling in her gut that had nothing at all to do with her usual meal portions or the grinding churn of bones being rendered down to dust in her throat as she swallowed her own roast hens.

 1.6

    1.6

    Jewel attempted to not fidget throughout the meal despite the awkwardness and the pressure it represented. There were appearances to be kept with guests such as these.

    Mother managed a few understanding glances and took charge with keeping cordial conversation going. Mostly by encouraging Alexander to speak his mind and curiosity in regards to Lothlar¡¯s journey and drag further embellishments and even more fantastical expositions that from experience Jewel knew were quickly moving from the factual nature of the early reports and into the more proper boasting.

    Nevermind that when he first told them the boar had been hardly larger than Alexander, now it was twice Jewel¡¯s length and sporting seven tusks made of solid steel.

    Even his first telling it had been quite riveting stuff: there was an impressive number of mountains and quite a few truly bewildering caverns to pass through between Rochford and what they learned was the citystate of Garmendan.

    But now, he was making it sound like the journey had trespassed through the outermost edge of the world. As you do when you were a knight, Jewel supposed.

    However, the wizard sitting next to her shared certain details from their home that drew Jewel into conversation at last.

    Apparently the place was distant enough that they had not been involved at all in the Tyrant War!

    Which meant Jewel could assist with Mother¡¯s duty by holding her own conversation with their guests. Still, among the wizards it seemed like only the Bog Weird was interested. Still considering how personable the most physically disturbing of the trio was, Jewel found she did not mind.

    ¡°Truly, Lady Jewel? A war with a dragon monarch? I mean there are rumors and legends, but there was actually a proper war just over and under a few hills from my bog? I never imagined it.¡±

    Jewel was mostly over the all-consuming attention of that incredibly gooey chunk of oversized eye that peered out from one side of the nose like a particularly large and ocular wart.

    ¡°Yes indeed, Weird Tsulogothulan. Although the proper address, if you must, is to call it the Tyrant Wyrm if you need mention it at all.¡±

    But the way that Tsulogothulan twisted and spun at far more places than just the neck still made her hide tremble in disquieted ripples. However as long as the bog wizard was not needing to turn their gaze too abruptly, or handle the cutlery for reasons that still left the wyrmling a bit baffled.

    ¡°Fascinating, my dear lady, In the Uloghai Bog we heard little to nothing of such. Our road was quite removed, I suppose, but I find myself bereft of such news quite¡­ disquieting.¡±

    It¡¯s not like the bog wizard took any bites or chew, just ¡®blinked¡¯ and food and drink was vanished away and swallowing ensued. But still Tsulogothulan moved a knife along their? plate daintily and cut up its? food into small portions. Then fluttered their eye at the plate and with wet slapping sounds the portions were replaced with sudden absences.

    ¡°Uh, well according to the histories it was four hundred and twenty years ago by the Reichlan calendar. So I can¡¯t say it was particularly recent. Rochford was a Marquee at the time of the Tyrant wars even. Instead of rather more middle of the heartlands.¡±

    Which caused the posture of Jewel¡¯s conversation partner to do something disquieting like a partial deflation into a less attentive holding of shoulders and arms.

    ¡°Oh, well that would explain it. A good three hundred years before I was even born.¡±

    A distinct sound of wind and rustling leaves cut over Alexander¡¯s latest interrogations of the Knight and Father¡¯s encouraging words to his heir.

    It was the closest sound to words that Euewyn had made since her arrival and Jewel could not quite place what was even said.

    But whatever it was prompted a chuckle from Fizzbunches as he licked at a paw. Every scrap of meat was stripped from the skeleton on his plate.

    ¡°I always forget both of you are so young... Although I myself was still only an apprentice when news of the rebellions first reached my alley. They did not call it the Tyrant war then. Was not until close to a century after it was done and over that name reached my ears.¡±

    That drew the attention of Father.

    ¡°It was no rebellion, the Tyrant claimed land not owed them and my family was never under its sway. We held the marque against invasion and rallied with our rightful liege in defense with honor.¡±

    His voice was a little sharper than Jewel had ever heard with any guest before.

    He had been stern with some rowdier knights of course but not so intensely cutting as that!

    Father was very careful with that voice; she had only heard it on very rare occasions.

    Four times when he reprimanded the footmen for their conduct with the village or serfs.

    Thrice for criminals under sentencing for murder or assault.

    Twice with Alex, the first time when he had cut her with a knife while playing knight and wyrm, and the second when he talked her into flying with him after she had first grown big enough to manage it.

    And even once with herself when she had snapped at Alex during her first year out of the egg.

    But he had never used this tone with an honored Guest.

    No one who brooked that tone outside the family had ever had the right to their table.

    Just what was going ON with these wizards?!

    Fizzbunches mrowed and dipped his head in assent to father¡¯s authority, a sign of supplication that somehow didn''t quite work when a cat seated on cushions performed it.

    It dripped with insincerity from each whisker despite how soft and acquiescent the words that carried with the bow.

    ¡°Of course my Lord Rochford, it was simple travelers tales and hearsay and I was quite young so very long ago. Not even landed or lordly at the time. I¡¯m sure it was just a common mistake. Perhaps I misremember in fact?¡±

    Father fixed the Lord Sorcerer, Wizard, and Cat with a frown normally reserved for when a hard year was going to prove a terrible harvest for the fields.

    Then spared a glance to the rest of the table.

    Father stood and as was proper Jewel, Her Family, the Knight and the three wizards followed him from their seats. Jewel with some relief to no longer have to avoid damaging hers.

    ¡°We¡¯ve supped and now I think those without business with myself and my Daughter had best retire for the evening. We¡¯ve set aside rooms for you all. My staff can see you to them Sir Knight.¡±

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    Mother nodded and shooed the protesting Alexander from the room as one of the footmen led Lothlar away.

    After they left, the dishes and remains of dinner were taken away to be washed and some of the extra furniture removed to storage.

    Naturally, nothing but spotless platters were before Jewel for the staff; she never wasted food and preferred to make the dish washers and maid¡¯s lives easier when she could.

    He gestured for attention and declared to the hall and the remaining footmen.

    ¡°Everyone, you can be at ease for the night. And it will be a rest day tomorrow for all that worked tonight, call up the spare hands from the Village to relieve those normally on duty and tell the elders of the village that for the day the manor¡¯s stores are open to them for their sacrifices this evening.¡±

    And then with a flick of his finger he called them all to follow him and strode confidently back to his study.

    Ironically the very room Jewel had been to that morning for the start of her scholarly studies with Alex.

    Only the slightly different tilt of the old helm to indicate anything having been at all out of order before.

    Father took his seat behind the solid old desk and gave a sigh, smiling softly to Jewel before his face turned harder as Fizzbunches had found his way to sitting imperiously upon father¡¯s desk. Dangerously close to an inkwell. Tail sweeping languidly from side to side.

    Jewel was getting good at noticing the very distinctly arriving corners that the cat wizard made use of but was still not very certain precisely how they happened.

    Or where exactly it was they went when Fizzbunches was not in need of one.

    Before father could begin in what she was sure would be an interrogation of the Wizards and their business with her, the Cat saw fit to figuratively pounce into the conversation.

    ¡°Before we begin, Lord Rochford, I must offer compensation and beg apologies, for I have betrayed custom and failed to act as befits a guest under the aegis of hospitality and honor to your house and my station.¡±

    Which caught father rather off-guard, though he hid it very well, his face and body barely moved towards the shape they wanted, but Jewel knew her father and he had smells aplenty to betray him. There was a single nose twitch from Fuzzbunches; she suspected he smelt the shock too.

    ¡°A betrayed custom Lord Sorcerer? I admit your entrance was rude, but it was hardly-¡±

    ¡°No my lord, I mean the trespass and circumvention of proper decorum, before the welcoming feast and proper introductions had been made I, through my own will and sound if foolish decision, did seek out your daughter for an audience before my introduction. A mistake I assure you from an aged mind, and it was thanks to the keen insight of a servant of yours and the lady that I was informed of the violation before it was compounded.¡±

    Jewel blinked at that, the tone of voice was sincere, contrite even, but there was not a single thing in that posture that read as anything but smug superiority and the assurance of a well laid plan coming together precisely.

    The Bog and Autumn Wizard both fixed their individually unsettling stares at the cat in obvious surprise.

    The wet slimy slaps of Tsulogothulan¡¯s lids clapping together and the slight rasp of lashes dragging through each other on the rebound was especially distracting in the silence that followed.

    Jewel settled herself by letting her wings and coils press a bit more intensely into the thick woven rug beneath her. Pressing hard enough she could feel the whispering encouragement of the stone and earth below that.

    Father finally found his voice, although he was cautiously neutral. On edge in his own way, and just as intense as Jorge had been.

    ¡°If the Lord Sorcerer deems it necessary. The Barony of Rochford will accept the recompense for this insult and all will be forgiven.¡±

    Which was not how Jewel felt Father should have been sounding to this revelation, he did not take insult from anyone lightly. Not even from Alexander in jest.

    Patiently? Yes!

    Kindly? If it was appropriate and possible.

    But not with words so carefully put forth that he sounded almost as acquiescent as a serf before their lord!

    Not even the Countess Bathory had earned the right to that from Father!

    Just what was the rank of these three Wizards that they could bring father to this?!

    There was admittedly only sparse word of Wizards in the histories Muriel had tasked them to read so far.

    But were three really so dangerous?

    ¡°When, by chance, did the Lord Sorcerer find the time to intrude upon my daughter for this audience? You only arrived this afternoon seeking an audience with me.¡±

    This afternoon?! Before Alex and Jewel had even left this very study!?

    ¡°Well that is what I meant by the time addled and aged mind of mine ¡ª I had sought her out as soon as we had secured the hospitality and acceptance to stay and treat with your lordship Rothford. A mistake and misunderstanding of the local custom I assure you. Such will not happen again.¡±

    What?!

    They had only settled the arrangements right before he showed up while she was bathing?!

    Jewel kept her posture full of poise but she could feel the hairs of her mane standing on end and the muscles in her wing shoulders were tense holding them from flaring up and back. Her jaw was clenching to keep from widening to show her teeth. Neck with little trembles wanting to arch back threateningly.

    Father¡¯s gaze turned towards her and a slightly raised brow was met with the finally slightly shamed flaring of her wings which further gave a tensing of his shoulders in commiseration and understanding.

    Yes, Father the cat before you had interrupted your daughter while she was bathing.

    And with a stiffening of his lip and brow furrowed, he considered the cat on his desk with more of the solid back demeanor she had been expecting from him at the beginning!

    Lord Fuzzbunches did not seem perturbed at all.

    ¡°I see, that does clarify much, Lord Sorcerer. I hope you are offering something substantial in apology given your trespass.¡±

    The smug cat with his tiny spectacles and floppy red hat set Jewel¡¯s teeth to itching.

    The Wizard¡¯s voice of pure contrition, even lilting with genuine and sincere apology just was not at all matched with his countenance or posture.

    ¡°Why of course, as recompense for such I offer you, Lord Rochford, Your Heir, Family, and Your Court the service of and loyalty of a single Wizard. Consecutively and without interruption to not exceed Seventeen years. To command as your vassal in warfare and peace, in defense and attack, in honesty and subterfuge with all the obligations so entailed, aligned solely to you and yours and no other noble above you irrevocable and without renegotiation until under no duress that you or your surviving heir so release this pact, as is sworn by the right of my magic and lore.¡±

    Jewel had never seen a look enter father¡¯s eyes of quite so acute wonder and abject surprise before.

 1.7

    1.7

    It was not Jewel¡¯s place to speak out of turn. This was Father¡¯s study and his negotiations, his lands and his domain; the Wizards were here to entreat him.

    She was his daughter and it was her place to trust him.

    But she had to pull every reassurance from the gentle stone beneath the study¡¯s carpet to hold herself back from demanding an explanation.

    A comfort reinforced by the glance of concern and soft kindness from her father as he took in her obvious distress at a glance.

    ¡°A single Wizard? I note these terms are not specifically for yourself, Lord Sorcerer Fizzbunches.¡±

    All three of the Wizards stood straighter and fixed Father with their version of a composed but steady look. Jewel found a hysterical humor in the least threatening of them being from the partly lidded and apologetic Eye of Tsulogothulan.

    The silence was just a hair¡¯s breadth from awkward when, finally, Fizzbunches spoke with his head inclined in a vague intimation of a respectful bow.

    ¡°Yes, it would be inappropriate for you to be forced to take on the service of the very one who trespassed your family¡¯s honor. Nor would it be right to even demand that such a service be maintained with one you consider a total stranger now, without proper interview and consideration. Or to have you left without the full boon of my offer if you should find something unacceptable in any single candidate present before the debt is paid.¡±

    None of the wizards seemed perturbed anymore.

    There were no subtle glances or shifts in position between them, they stood united and certain.

    Jewel had the strange and somewhat exciting feeling of being an afterthought in the room. No visitor or noble had ever kept their entire focus on her father like this when she was present before. A wyrm demanded at least passing glances when they thought others would not notice.

    But the Wizards apparently dismissed her very existence while this matter was being presented to Father.

    Father mulled it over before looking to the Autumn Wizard and then the Bog Weird.

    ¡°Are you both willing to execute the Lord Sorcerer¡¯s Debt as he is implying? I admit not knowing much of the hierarchies of Wizardry but your titles have all sounded comparable to my ear.¡±

    The amber through red leaves of Euewyn dipped into not just a nod but a curtsy, the hem of her robes curling up to either side without any sign of sleeve or hand to guide them.

    Tsulogothulan nodded with a stately dip and bob that reminded Jewel more of a swan or chicken type motion than a human nod.

    ¡°There are among Wizards many favors owed to the Lord Sorcerer, Weird of all the Alleys, Roofs and Gutters of the Trifold city of Ghergeintat. Such multitudes are his dealings that far more than just we three are an option to answer this debt Lord Rochford. Although to call some of them could be such an undertaking that the debt would be discharged waiting for the replacement to arrive.¡±

    That drew Father to a pause of consideration and a light drumming of his fingers on his study¡¯s desk. Solid old wood that desk, friendly and patient Jewel had found.

    ¡°This boon is acceptable recompense for your trespass, Although the decision of which of you three will service it is one I will confer on until no sooner than tomorrow evening. Now, as to the business that you sought an audience with me about this afternoon.¡±

    The Lord Sorcerer was so smug that Jewel was surprised it was not dripping from his every whisker like honey.

    ¡°Of course Lord Rochford. I and my company of fellow wizards have traveled here to your lands in spite of the need to abandon our own domains for this chance to study and describe your Daughter.¡±

    Father¡¯s eyes darkened and Jewel tried to contain her trepidation. This sounded quite intrusive, uncomfortable, and perhaps a little confusing.

    Why the emphasis on describing her? Any courtier could describe all about her. What need was there of a wizard?

    What was so important about her?

    As if to answer her thought, the cat continued:

    ¡°She is the first wyrm egg within mortal care to hatch in seven centuries according to records searched by my own resources and those of my associates both present and otherwise.¡±

    Jewel considered that, she had read that quite a number of eggs were gifted to the houses involved after the Tyrant war. But so far she was the first hatch in the county. But there had been well over a dozen in the spoils!

    And it was not like the Tyrant Wyrm was the only dragon. The knights reported on the feral wild wyrm beasts all the time and there was even a slaying just last year in the neighboring duchy of Kahvheim with three eggs in the hoard!

    Which all told would have meant a Wyrm household member should be a rare but not a wholly unique boon to a family.

    But for Jewel to be the only one to hatch in seven hundred years?

    In a span of lands for however far the Wizard Cat¡¯s reach spread?

    Even Mother was not familiar with the realm he and his party had come from.

    If she was the only one? Then that made her a very valuable and dangerous asset. That made her Family terribly vulnerable to it.

    The Countess Bathory was there to protect them but Mother and Father were more cowed by three Wizards traveling with but a single knight than they ever were by her.

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    ¡°We have come to you to arrange terms and conditions for our exclusive access to her person for sorcerous study. Such access as stipulated will extend to at least those three Weird present and if possible other colleagues that bear a magic mark showing they are a part of our peerage.¡±

    Jewel had read her letters on rulings in the histories with Alexander. Much of the work of being a Lord dealt with things such as exclusive access to things. Land, Water, Animals, even people in the case of marriage or adoption.

    It was a vital skill in a Lord and their family to understand the dealings and responsibilities expected of them.

    And this was a deal regarding access to Jewel!

    And there were MORE wizards potentially involved?! These three were just those that could be gathered along the way?

    Jewel had read her histories, she knew the power of allies and so far every single wizard here was at least granted a title of Lord, Lady, or some equivalent.

    That put them at least on par with Father on rank alone, perhaps more or less depending on their other titles and the richness of their demesne.

    And this Lord Sorcerer Fizzbunches was owed enough favors by other wizards to dictate their placement outside their own demesne?!

    For years?!

    Longer than she had been alive!

    Not even the Countess had that sort of sway over Father!

    Which meant that the Lord Sorcerer Fizzbunches, despite his equality in noble rank, was ruler over at least two lords with far tighter sway then even the Countess!

    Jewel found herself curling up tightly against the carpet and floor until her shoulders were almost below the level of Father¡¯s desk.

    ¡°To include support from all beneficiary members thereof to ensure by any magic and arms at our command for her and your house''s safety from any and all other claimants or outside powers, authorities or persons.¡±

    And they were speaking of war too. It was not spoken out right as that would be a declaration and potential insult to many and sundry. But she knew what the words ¡®ensure by any magic and arms at our command¡¯ meant.

    Simply having ¡®access to¡¯ and ¡®right to describe¡¯ Jewel was reason to be preparing for a war with OTHER Wizards?!

    That drew a harsh huff of shock from Father. Why would it-

    Oh...

    Those terms were not just for wizards or sorcerers. They were an open declaration of protection from all comers.

    The Wizards would give Father protection from his liege the COUNTESS BATHORY if there was deemed a threat or danger from that way with at least three or more Wizards! Who were prepared to be at war with those that did not bend the (potentially proverbial) knee to the Lord Sorcerer Fuzzbunches for the right to access her?

    Jewel¡¯s neck quivered with the tension to resist her mounting urge to burrow through father¡¯s fine carpet and into the safe embrace of the stone below.

    ¡°As well as all proper accommodations, limits, legal customs, and clauses as you deem required. For your daughter¡¯s comfort, health, and protection, of course.¡±

    Once again Fizzbunches¡¯ voice was all sweetness and cordiality.

    But Jewel could not see if his posture matched.

    She was too busy hiding her head under a wing and quivering in as tight a ball as she could manage.

    Trying to shrink as impossibly small as the egg she had hatched from.

    She could not see anything, just heard the words.

    Father¡¯s words were colder than when she had secretly listened in to him passing judgment on a kinslayer.

    ¡°You have given me much to think about but it is late. And you traveled long to get here. We will discuss this later Lord Sorcerer when we have all had time to rest and consider. I wish a peaceful evening to you and your party under my hospitality.¡±

    Jewel stayed curled up, even as the sound of departing figures and closed doors signaled that the three wizards had departed.

    She trembled and shook at the contact of her Father¡¯s hand on her shoulder.

    Only slowly relaxing with a shuddering breath as he ran his fingers through her mane.

    ¡°It¡¯s okay, my little Jewel. They''re asking us to give them terms. And we shall give them to protect you. It will be alright. You don¡¯t have to worry.¡±

    She felt father¡¯s weight settle against her tightly wound coils and his arm looped over her to squeeze her from either side while he continued gently stroking through her hair and muttering softly.

    At some point she smelled Mother approach the door to the study. Heard the door opening and  Mother breathing something sharply before she too settled down against her daughter to softly soothe and calm her.

    It was not proper, she should have slept in her own room and bed as she had since she turned seven and let her parents get their rest in their own room.

    They had both been dealing with all of this for at least half the day and whatever was needed to bring a feast together so quickly.

    But she did not stir from the floor of the study, forcing her parents to stay with her until Jewel finally found sleep.

 1.8

    1.8

    Jonathan the Third of House Rochford, Lord Baron of Rochford considered the restfully breathing mass of his daughter as he leaned against her side.

    It was a funny thing.

    He had not expected to become Jewel¡¯s father.

    He had not expected her egg to hatch at all within his lifetime, if he was being perfectly honest.

    Many of his peers had their own theoretical Wyrm Children waiting in eggs. Mostly by inheritance or trade off of such from the clutch claimed and divided in the aftermath of the Tyrant War.

    A few others came as spoils from the rare wild wyrm hunt that had met success.

    But right up until it finally happened nine years ago, Jonathan had not thought it would fall to him out of all his line to be the Wyrmkeeper.

    And even then in the first year or so, though bewildering and full of entirely unexpected new accolades, responsibilities and sudden political relevance, Jonathan had expected that the Wyrmling would be something like a particularly intelligent pet or warbeast.

    Perhaps something he cared for like a hunting hound or his Gryphon Zephyrvam. But it had simply not turned out anything like that.

    Alexander was the light of his world and demanded attention too, of course.

    But his (then still little) Jewel had acted far more like a toddling child than any animal. And even though that was endearing and surprising it was not the moment that truly made her his or his wife¡¯s daughter.

    No, they each had a separate moment for that.

    It was the words that did him in.

    She had called him papa not shortly after Alexander had. And with a far clearer and sharper understanding than his son showed. You could always see it in her eyes that she spoke with understanding then and now.

    That was when he realized that somewhere along the way she had stopped being just some beast which he was entrusted to care and raise and instead his own child.

    And by her own declaration a daughter.

    His Caroline admitted that for her, the moment when Jewel became daughter instead of pet had been a few years later.

    Jewel had been singing softly one of the lullabies that soothed Alexander whenever he was frightened. Rocking him gently in her coils, already nearly bigger than he was but gentle as can be.

    Their son had been crying over something neither parent could remember, children cried a lot, even Jewel when she was especially young.

    But after that the bemused and exasperated tone had fled Caroline whenever Jonathan had called Jewel their daughter instead of their charge and obligation.

    It took quite a bit of doing after that, not helped by the stories of the Tyrant War that were still immortalized in songs told up and down the kingdom in every tavern and court.

    He had not been stopped by such custom and pushed through the recognition by his right as a lord.

    The Countess herself had come to his court to officiate and apply her seal on the adoption.

    And so that was legally the day which made Jewel not just a spoil of war and a family heirloom but a legitimized child of House Rochford. But she had been his daughter for far longer than that.

    Which made the predicament they found all of themselves in just that bit thornier.

    A noble by right, blood, and compact Jewel might be, but she was still his, as her lord and father.

    And it was, to be fair, a far more reasonable and less extreme overture of alliance then he had joked about with his friends and fellow Gryphonlords after the adoption.

    No one had yet actually made the hilarious overture of a betrothal to Jewel, thinking a sham marriage to an animal would be an easy alliance.

    He and Caroline still were not settled on what they would do if that day ever actually came.

    He admitted that, despite trying to become as knowledgeable as was possible regarding her species, Johnathan was not entirely sure if Jewel was actually female, or if that even applied to dragons.

    The naturalists, clergy and scholars had frustratingly little detail except that they all seemed to have eggs.

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    Which was a point in favor, he supposed, for who knew what time there in the dark trying to find sleep where it would not come.

    The Lord of Rochford breathed carefully and deeply and shifted as much as he dared. For all that she was near impervious to casual cutting, abrasions and her own apocalyptically destructive flames, his daughter could be disturbed by the slightest out of place brush or shift of weight near her.

    She was also hilariously ticklish if you knew where to brush your fingers.

    If she was still sleeping when he had to resume his duties Johnathan considered waking her like he did when she was still something he could lift.

    This he considered with great effort to smother even a tremble of laughter.

    But sadly such moments were distinctly relegated to the past for him and his daughter.

    The tickle fights were now absolutely only an outdoors affair.

    Given what it had made of his former study.

    The extra accolades and military funding to facilitate the upbringing and training of such an asset to the realm as Jewel represented were substantial and helped with many of the expenses needed for her care and comfort.

    But the County, Duchy and Kingdom over him would only tolerate so much.

    Best to save any ostentatious requests til later.

    She was growing to be such a careful and considerate child there was liable to be quite the fortune available when she was old enough to make proper use of it.

    Thank every god among the stars and sky that she got along so well with her brother too.

    Alexander had never needed any extra reinforcement that his younger sister was anything but family.

    Even when she outgrew every horse in the stable he still treated her like the ¡®little¡¯ sister.

    Even when she spoke and read quite a bit better than the 11 year old boy did, she still conferred to him as her elder.

    It was endearing in the extreme but sometimes worried him.

    She would let her youthful ¡®elder¡¯ brother get the both of them into trouble far more then she should.

    Jonathan was no stranger to siblings egging each other into trouble (he was one of five brothers himself) but if she just took on the authority and responsibility he knew she could, there would be a lot fewer gray hairs taking over poor Murial¡¯s black locks.

    Then again, it was easy to forget just how young Jewel was.

    He recalled what had just happened this evening.

    One of those moments that reminded him for all her aptitude and attentive watching and grasp of word and letters poor Jewel was nine.

    The Lord Rochford shifted again as softly as he could and envied his wife her ability to sleep like a stone while half stood up snuggled into a loop of their daughter¡¯s coils.

    He¡¯d never managed that no matter how many times he found himself in this position and simply resigned to suffering through the next day bleary eyed and yearning to settle in early for bed.

    He was far too young to be getting this old, not even thirty and blessed with two far too incredible children that were going to age him before his time.

    A son that showed such bravery that, if tempered with wisdom, would make for a great lord, possibly even a possible count.

    And a daughter who was literally a latent weapon of war that, given time to grow and mature, would challenge the strength of arms of every other soldier and knight of the realm put together.

    And that was before a literal peerage of thrice-damned Wizards arrived and insinuated their interests into his and his daughter¡¯s business no matter what he did.

    He again, as quietly as he could, let the frustration out in a long slow breath, staring at the dark of the ceiling of his study and listening to the soft deep rumble of his daughter and wife snoring.

    As if there was any doubt that she was anything but the girl¡¯s mother.

    How such a small woman could be so loud at rest is a mystery beyond wyrms and wizards.

    He tried for the eleventh time that hour closing his eyes but the noise of his spouse and child and the position he had to take to bring her peace conspired with the looming specter of tomorrow.

    He would find no sleep tonight so instead he thought and pondered.

    Jonathan had not intended or expected to become Jewel¡¯s father.

    But despite all of it he would never trade that he was for anything.

    Whatever came, he would protect his family.

 1.9

    1.9

    Jewel knew that sleeping in Father¡¯s study was improper.

    But waking up to him and Mother leaving to prepare for the day was such a relief that, at least in this one case, Jewel felt she could say it could sod off with being proper.

    Naturally, she was fully awake by the time Mother had stumbled off her, muttered at least fifteen things Jewel had been explicitly forbidden to ever say for herself and stumbled out the study door to get washed and dressed in something unrumpled from a night sleeping among the coils of her daughter.

    Jewel gave an experimental sniff at her own scales and made a face.

    The lavender scent from the bath was more or less entirely burned away.

    Replaced by petrichor and lightning again.

    Still, it would be terribly wasteful and rude to call up Jorge to heat another entire bath just for this subtle scent.

    Jewel stretched and unfurled across the study, unbundling her loops of body and twisting her spine from side to side and around itself, getting each muscle and vertebrae unkinked and loosened. Wings next, although even with the voluminous space within the study she still needed to be careful not to flap overmuch.

    Stationery and books were liable to be blown about if she did.

    With a quick glance over her back and then a bit of a pawing through her mane, Jewel supposed she at least looked presentable enough for walking the halls with guests.

    She would have to settle for more lavender-infused oil, unless something particularly strenuous came up with Muriel¡¯s lesson plan.

    She walked with a smooth graceful stride, undulating up and down with each step through the halls to her bathing chamber. Jorge was not in attendance, but honestly he technically did have duties other than guarding her empty tub in case she wanted a hot soak.

    A glance around for any suspiciously arriving cats upon stools or that slight itch that preceded any of those hidden corners he liked to arrive from behind seemed prudent. Especially given the wizards were apparently staying here somewhere.

    Satisfied she was not going to be disturbed, Jewel raised herself up so she could reach the upper shelf and retrieved the precious jug of lavender-infused oil.

    It was rather large; she believed the trader had said the earthenware container had once carried wine from somewhere terribly far away and supposedly impressive.

    If the usual boasting was to be believed, the waters there were full of salt, or filled with gold dust, or something equally absurd.

    Jewel had at the time been quite incredulous in her four year old wisdom of just what was and was not likely.

    Given that Wizards apparently were just as strange if not more so than books had implied she found herself considering the tale a bit less skeptically.

    If cats could arrive from around invisible corners in your bathroom and command more power than a Countess, why couldn''t waters so vast and wide be salty as tears?

    Either way she had the reek of sleep to scrub through and if not wash away at least to cover up for the sake of guests and her household¡¯s noses.

    A glance over her scales left her pausing. She did not think she looked particularly less shiny than she had yesterday, but honestly Jewel could not be sure what people were talking about there. It almost always looked the same to her, and when it did look noticeably different she was told it was the same.

    Vexing things her scales were.

    She used the rough felted wool today rather than the polishing stone. If Jorge, her parents or Governess offered comment later she would go over to buff her scales with the stone originally meant for polishing show armor and mirrors.

    A healthy dollop of oil filled the room with the sweet and (more importantly) masking scent of lavender as she carefully worked the now sopping wet rag up and down her body.

    Going in smooth circular motions with whichever of her four legs was working the wool helped press the scent into the subtle little crevices between her scales where the pulse of her inner Wyrmflame would slowly burn it off.

    It took two more applications from the bottle to replenish the cloth before she managed to get every scale properly lubricated and, at least to a cursory sniff, the deep caustic fizz of her own scent was properly masked.

    Properly prepared for the daily activities, Jewel returned the jug to its shelf and slipped out to breakfast with her family and possibly guests.

    Yesterday was a trial both surprising and terrible.

    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    But with the light of a new dawn just worming its way into the narrow windows of her home it all seemed a bit smaller than it had been.

    She was sure Father would have it sorted.

    The feasting hall was dressed back down to normal unofficial levels. There was only one household banner over the head of the table, instead of all seven that didn¡¯t have fraying threads or moth-nibbled gaps.

    Father was spooning morning porridge into his mouth a bit stiffly, going over a scroll that smelled of foreign vellum and the kind of charcoal that was easy to wash out of the pages rather than fresh ink.

    Mother and Alexander were eating their morning porridge a bit more enthusiastically. Alexander had gotten a fleck on the very tip of his nose, somehow.

    The Autumn and Bog Wizards were here as well, spooning proper portions from and having a staring match with their bowls, respectively.

    Jewel settled onto her ¡®seat¡¯ with an internal sigh and began daintily working through her own proportionate bowl. lamenting the need to uphold appearances. Until the guests were considered a bit better integrated with the household it would not be seemly for her to lounge on the good friendly stone floor.

    Still, Jewel always liked eating out of her bowl.

    The thick, sturdy wood had inspired numerous complaints about its intractable and tool-destroying nature from Richard Wodseer the Carpenter. Apparently after over a fortnight of attempts, he had finally worked out that if he got hot coals from the blacksmith¡¯s forge he could burn it to a carvable consistency without ruining the edge on his chisel.

    Jewel found it resisted her claws and teeth almost as well as steel, but she still had to be careful not to scrape at it too harshly.

    Not that she ever actually touched her teeth to the fine surface or more than brushed her claws on its fine finish.

    Jewel, of course, used a spoon like any proper lady when she ate her porridge.

    Even if said spoon was originally a wooden soup ladle requisitioned for the task.

    ¡°Good Morning Father. I-Is that the provisional contract for Lord Sorcerer Fizzbunche¡¯s ...¡±

    The possible ramifications from yesterday started to make her joints itch to flare out and her tail lash but she held them mostly still, or at least slowed her agitated wag to something more calm and composed.

    He looked her way with a slight crinkle to his eyes and nodded.

    ¡°Apparently the Lord Sorcerer is not accustomed to the rhythms of such a rural province as Rochford.¡±

    Which drew Jewel¡¯s attention to something both like the cracking of twigs underfoot and bird song, yet unlike both and distinctly full of humor and frivolity.

    That it was coming from the shaking shoulders of Euewyn finally clued Jewel into the fact she was laughing at something.

    Tsulogothulan paused in blinking up another chunk of porridge out of their bowl and swallowed heavily before speaking, voice lilting in mirth as well despite the strangely round accent.

    ¡°The Lord Fizzbunches is not wont to rise any earlier than noon save for imminent mortal peril.¡±

    And then the mirth became an actual chortle that somehow smelled of dew and mist.

    ¡°And in such cases I find myself deeply sympathetic to the plight of said peril that should seek to disturb him.¡±

    Wind whistling in branches followed, to the mystery of everyone present besides apparently the Wizards, in whom it inspired another heavy snort of laughter before they both returned to their breakfast.

    Taking a good few spoonfuls of her own breakfast and swallowing in a proper manner, Jewel pried a bit: ¡°And the Knight Lothlar?¡±

    ¡°He chose to eat on schedule with the footmen before dawn and check in with the village for any troubles he could help them with, as a ¡®spot of exercise¡¯.¡± Mother spoke lightly while she wiped at Alexander¡¯s cheek and nose to remove more errant porridge.

    Jewel did not understand how he managed that. It¡¯s not even like he was a messy or over enthusiastic eater, it just kind of ended up in places during the process in a manner that was perhaps a latent magic gift?

    She was unsure.

    Still, that covered the state of all of their Guests.

    And breakfast continued to finish with hardly much more conversation, but unlike yesterday¡¯s feast the silence felt cozier and familiar.

    Father was busy with affairs of his position, nevermind that they were affairs directly related to her.

    Mother was fussing over Alexander maybe a bit more than necessary.

    The Knight was comfortably being a knight as knights always do.

    And right on cue as they were mostly finishing up, Muriel arrived for her and Alexander so they could resume their interrupted study of the histories.

    You could almost forget that three wizards had just arrived to completely throw into disarray the political position and the very foundational alliances that protected her home and family.

    Almost.

 1.i

    1.i

    Of all the Wyrms, the Tyrant is the most dangerous. It is as intelligent as a man and can speak the languages of its country. It can learn other languages, if it encounters a speaker. The Tyrant''s scales are impervious to any single strike from metal, stone, or wood. It must be brought down by a constant barrage of blows to the same spot until its hide finally gives way and blood can be spilled.

    To compare, the Mountain Wyrm''s scales are too thick to pierce, while the Lesser Lepori Wyrm''s scales are so soft that the challenge is to avoid damaging them during a hunt. Hunters of the former favor long spears with hooks for prying open the armor so that a partner can stab between the scales, while the latter are best brought down with sling bolts or cudgels.

    As with all true Wyrm from the mouth can be expelled a blinding white smoke which leaves naught but ash in its wake. As their most destructive weapon it is vital for any would-be slayer or hunter to avoid attacking from the front with the Tyrant Wyrm especially.

    While with the merely cunning Wild Wyrm, a forward charge might not provoke this form of attack, the Tyrant is well aware of its own power and will make use of it on any such foolish charges.

    No shield of steel, wood, or stone however fashioned will suffice to defend for much longer than a moment from direct assault by this all-destroying smoke. Avoidance, surprise, and flanking are the only viable tactic, and the Tyrant Wyrm will make this more difficult than any other of its kin.

    It is conjectured that the exhalation is not in fact fire, but a fluid which releases the latent elemental fire in all it touches. Nonetheless, all attempts to extract such a venom from the corpses of any wyrm including the Tyrant have so far failed.

    In records from the accounts of Pythra of Veracules the Wanderer, encounters of two Tyrant Wyrm and their deaths were witnessed:

    First, the Serpent King Ghaurganzor who was fifty feet from snout to tail tip and a hundred feet (or perhaps hundred and twenty) between the farthest tips of the wings at full extension. His hide was that of tarnished copper and mottled in black, and he commanded a legion of armed snakes deft in use of spears and possessing a powerful venom and by them commanded all the peoples and land between the peaks of Fraeidillo and Winchost in serfdom.

    He was slain in the year of 1052 by the Dynasties of the Sun Lands. The last of his legion was seen in 1056, as part of the expansion of Aurelia of Cantor.

    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.This is corroborated by records of this engagement stating it was at the cost of three centuries of fully armored soldiers and the act of two military-trained Elementalists, one of whom was lost in the act.

    When the Tyrant Wyrm fell, his legions broke and routed from the battle in all directions. The corpse was divided and the skull was carried at the head of the Triumph on return from the expansion campaign.

    It would be used as the framing for the Imperial throne of Cantor for a decade after, until it was broken down at the behest of the Academy of Sages for study.

    Second, the Mountain Seer Shialtza¡¯s physical descriptions were solely reported by Pythra and said to be a hundred and eleven feet long and possessed of voluminous wings that could never be properly measured at once. The scales were white like ivory or snow and it commanded no apparent legions but the inner circle of the monastery was always fully obscured in full dress and never spoke.

    It commanded allegiance from all the plains of Inochi within view of the mountain peak which housed its monastery.

    On a return visit to the region Pythra found the lands ruled by barbarian kings and the monastery sacked.

    The cause of the Mountain Seer¡¯s death is not known but according to the locals, in the year 1046 (by the Dynastic calendar) the inner circle descended from the mountain bearing a train of palanquin burdened by its corpse and playing instruments of mourning local to the region.

    There are legends, tombs and remains that are said were also Tyrant Wyrms but whether these were the distinctly dangerous foes attributable with the powers of thought, speech and provincial command exhibited by True Tyrants is mere conjecture.

    Every domain and province of the empire makes claim to fealty to the wild wyrms as their own special Tyrant Wyrm but the monstrous packs which roam around such animals is sure proof against these assertions of intelligence and speech where such still live.

    And in death there is little to distinguish Tyrant Wyrm from their feral and far less dangerous kin.

    It is conjectured by Altun the Elder that the Tyrant Wyrm is but a fully mature specimen and that it is within the means of any wild wyrm to successfully mature into such.

    But if such is the case, the Serpent Lerner''s vast size and completely feral nature offers a counter argument. It has preyed upon man and beast and grown in its marshes from records that predate the founding of the Sun Land¡¯s Dynasty to present times (1074 SD).

    - Excerpt from Orion¡¯s Historica naturalis Cantora

 1.ii

    1.ii

    The Tyrant Wurm is significantly larger than the common Feral Wurm. I observed one such beast to be between five and eight tons in weight (while their size is somewhat difficult to measure exactly as these monstrous creatures are often seen moving about) and approximately fifty to sixty feet in length. It is a fearsome beast, whose scales are as hard as steel, teeth as knives, and claws deadly swords.

    Its breath has a terrible reek of it that can fell men of strong constitution and kill women and children.

    Such is the terrible and unwholesome stench it can also slay or sicken livestock and bring to waste whole acres of crops. I have further witnessed this terrible reek to even tarnish copper at five hundred feet.

    The Tyrant Wyrm eats everything that men might need for nourishment just to deprive them. But most of all these terrors desire meat, hunting and devouring its favorite food of the noblest and most prized of horses and the most treasured of good cattle. However, they will devour all other manners of animals if convenient if these are not otherwise available as well as men, women and children if they are found alone.

    A fearsome beast, and one that is a maturation from the more common and tractable Feral Wurm. The Tyrant Wurm is cunning but contrary to stories entirely incapable of speech. Driven by its wickedness and hunger only it will never stop hunting, devouring the flesh of man or beast until its belly is full and straining to bursting. Even after a large meal, it will continue to search for prey and even while stuffed so full one can spot its plunder heaping out of its throat it will despoil wholesome food out of spite.

    Tales say Tyrant Wurms can summon beasts to do their bidding, but believe not! For this is nothing more than a foolish tale. The Tyrant Wurm is a powerful and dangerous creature, but it is not a magician.

    Do not be confused by those who spread this tale for they have simply seen the habits of the younger specimens in Feral Wurm, which are known by all learned men to nest with animals.

    Verily a creature of such chaos, gluttony and destruction. Its actions are yet comical in their absurdity, and often undone by its own wickedness as when such King Wurm have been known to enter a city gate, steal a single piece of cheese out of avarice and covetousness, and then attempt to flee the town in its equally sinful cowardice.

    These Wurms have also been seen eating entire carts of produce simply to deprive honest laborers and lords of their succor, as well as consuming whole granary stores chaff and seed together before moving onto pastures to slay and devour cattle and spoil the seedlings.

    Flee these terrifying creatures if possible. They do not seek or hunt man especially, preferring to prey on livestock or bring ruination to fields.

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    They are truly terrible creatures and a blight on all the world.

    But fear not there are ways to ward off  all such beasts even these Tyrant Kings of Wurms.

    As I can attest by the efficacy among many villages which were once plagued by assault from all sundry of these beasts.

    The first and most certain of a guard from wurm deprivations is to carve a wurm of your own from stone or wood. The figure must be larger or at least its eyes higher positioned than the wurm you seek to ward off, and it must be carved in the shape of an equally fearsome beast.

    The wurm being sinful in all things is so proud of its own image that it will challenge the figure head to a staring contest. The figurehead being carved and unliving will never back down, and the wurm will eventually give up and leave in shame never to return or succumb to starvation or thirst and die.

    Another less efficacious but also more accessible manner of deterring the wurm is to use a mixture of herbs hung in a bag over one¡¯s front door.

    The wurm while it has a truly poor sense of smell, cannot stand the scent of anything pleasant. For this is anathema to its own stench and wickedness.

    A mixture of garlic, rosemary, thyme, and lavender will work well. Wildflowers will suit as well although they will not last as long and should be replaced every three days or as soon as the scent is no longer evident to a healthy nose.

    This will drive off the more lazy and less determined of Wurm if there is nothing else to entice them most times.

    However, this is not a guarantee, as the wurm is a stubborn beast and may take offense to the pleasantness instead of being driven off. If this should happen fear not, stay hidden and wait as it chooses to attack the warding bag, after a tumult of wroth the beast will eventually leave in a fury.

    Replace the warding bag and herbal mixture and it will remain as efficacious as before.

    However, despite these wards, remember to always beware the Wurm in all its forms, for it is a creature of great danger and boundless evil. If you encounter one, do not attempt to fight it, nor make use of the warding while it can witness you or any animal or edible beast (which to a Tyrant Wurm is all of them). Their efficacy is only such if there is no mortal flesh to entice its hungers and lure it otherwise.

    And remember If you should see any Wurm flee as quickly as you can.

    Spread this word far and Wide and Blessings be on you.

    -On The Sinful Tyrants by Brother Ordelain, naturalist and Monk of the Hrothfield Monastery in middle Egelheimvin.

 2.1

    2.1

    Jewel decided that she rather liked hunting after all.

    It had sounded like it might be a very frustrating affair if you went by the way that Adventuring Knights or footmen complained about the dirt and the aches from horseback. Or how they all complained about the way the brush of the woodland tangled in cloaks.

    However so far none of these problems were ones that dragons seemed to be concerned with.

    She mused on these many qualities that did not matter for her while lightly skipping in slow undulating waves, her body trailing in sweeping arcs. Her head first, followed by her shoulders, and then the rest, each rising along in great rhythmic swells as they strolled through the woods.

    Jewel kept herself aloft with little flexes of her mostly-furled wings and the occasional dainty kick off of the ground.

    Following along atop trotting horses were Muriel, Alexander and four of the footmen supposedly most skilled in woodscraft and hunting.

    While Jewel had stayed away from hunts (as it was mostly not considered proper for a lady like mother), Alex had been taken on a few hunts before.

    Though it had not really been her brother doing the hunting; he¡¯d not been allowed to actually shoot his bow.

    But today that was changing.

    Jewel was determined to be there for him on his special day. But it was honestly turning out far less of a chore then she had expected!

    The churn of the many chewing things that lived all through the woods mingled with the scent of pained cry, panic and warning suffusing the woods and groves.

    Filling her nostrils with the anguished cries of fresh spilled blood belonging to clover, beech, betula and hornbeam.

    Her brother was riding Fetherfew, the calmest old mare in the family¡¯s stable that had not gone to nag, while Muriel was comfortably seated on Halberdine, one of the youngest of the stallions that her family was training as chargers. In a few years if the training went well he might very well be her brother¡¯s steed, at least according to the manuals she had read while waiting for him to catch up with his histories.

    Although given his role as Father¡¯s heir they might need to acquire a place at one of the rare Gryphon hatchings so he could fulfill his duties as a Gryphon lord and obtain a steed that way.

    Jewel guessed those manuals and treatises had been written for the training of children for nobility who favored grounded cavalry.

    But they had agreed that it was good and proper for the male offspring of nobility to train in the acts of hunting. Those same manuals are why Jewel had spent so long trying to learn embroidery, which was by far one of the most fiddly of activities she had ever attempted.

    That is until she started doing it with her hind claws while lounging on her back so she could comfortably look at what she was doing without having to stare down at her own collarbone.

    The horses the footmen rode were not from the manor¡¯s stables and probably came from one of the pastures that kept a small herd for Father to select the best colts and fillies as a tithe to maintain the horsepower of the house. One of the better Stallions had even gone to the Countess for her stables as part of their Tithe.

    Jewel was uncertain precisely how much of their demesne¡¯s value could be measured in horse or what the cost was.

    The Accounts and Ledgers of the barony were always locked up when Jewel and Alexander were using Father''s study, so she had to assume from what books on stewardship and the care of beasts and fields said that this was less expensive than paying another lord to supply their stables with adequate steed.

    The sun shone warm and strong down in great streaming light through the scattered pockets of open sky and for once, the smell of impending rain was not because Jewel was overly stressed.

    The intermittent golden light and silver clouds set her Wyrmfire coursing with a delighted burbling brook kind of feeling that rushed in echoes through her muscles and bones, bouncing around against her scales like rambunctious pups kept too confined for too long.

    The leaves over her sang with her in sleepy wet breaths and sighs as they drunk the light as surely as she did.

    It was hard not to simply rush forward and upward into open flight over the woods but it would have not been proper.

    They were to go hunting and a hunt meant to ride through the woods after the signs of game.

    The hunter Kraok Axeson stalled to bring his horse apace with Muriel to speak.

    ¡°The Rabbits have been bountiful this last spring, Miss Governess. Should not be a trial at all to set up a still shot for the lad, if we dismount and step lightly before the meadow. If we miss the shot a few snares will ensure we don¡¯t return empty handed regardless.¡±

    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Alexander huffed and waved to the kit he was burdened with in exasperation.

    ¡°If all we¡¯re here for is rabbits why do we always bring everything else?!¡±

    Jewel¡¯s eye following the gesture to his Short Bow (he was neither big nor strong enough for a proper ridingbow), Spear and of course a knife and a short hafted wood ax.

    All of it was perhaps a bit over sized for his still growing stature. But was everything Jewel had heard you wanted on a hunt.

    If you weren¡¯t a dragon.

    Kraok shook his head and answered patiently.

    ¡°Only a fool only takes what he thinks he needs, young sir.¡±

    Alexander looked around with a pout.

    ¡°Well why are we hunting something so common as rabbit, Miss Muriel! Why can¡¯t we go after something proper and honorable! Like a good stag or a proper Wild Boar?!¡±

    One of the footmen, Jewel thought maybe his name was Gimletson or something spoke with just enough jovial laughter to avoid being offensive to a lord¡¯s son.

    ¡°Oh! It¡¯s not the best season for stag, good Sir. And while we are carrying spears, that is more preparation just in case we come across any bear or perhaps something monstrous wandered far from a lair.¡±

    Muriel spoke up over the building groan from her charge.

    ¡°Young Sir.¡±

    Which quieted Alexander promptly, Jewel did not giggle at her older brother¡¯s comeuppance; such would have been improper as a dutiful and supportive sister. But one was not supposed to present so improper a mein as he had been giving on this hunt.

    ¡°It is best to listen to those more experienced, and take their consul with consideration. As Lord you will need to weigh what your subjects bring to you and come to decisions even when you yourself are not as experienced as they. When you are older you will set the quarry of the hunt. But for today leave it to those yet wiser and more learned in the way of beasts.¡±

    Mollified, Alexander nodded to the footman turned huntsman for the day and gave a still somewhat petulant tone to his ¡®order¡¯.

    ¡°Rabbits it is then.¡±

    Jewel presumed they had been riding towards the aforementioned meadow and rabbits this whole time. Not even pausing for the ¡®discussion¡¯ and planning period.

    It was quite a pleasant time all around in the woods. The horses were as quiet as can be managed, their saddles less intensive affairs than full war kit to avoid the louder tack.

    Likewise was everyone armored lighter, the greater stealth appropriate for a hunt.

    Muriel was armored the most in heavy leather over a gambeson. While Alexander and the footmen were in lighter leathers with less chance to creak when they moved. But the Governess was not kitted to partake in the hunt herself, only wearing a short sword as arms.

    It required further smothering of giggles at the thought of their Governess taking down rabbits or even deer with a sword. She was pretty certain that Muriel could manage it, and even make it look skilled and graceful. But it was such a ludicrous image.

    As for herself Jewel was confident in not needing to make much effort to be quiet, she left hardly a trace and her body barely disturbed the air or underbrush with its languid bobbing in smooth undulations. For fun, she made a game of only pressing off against the occasional moss covered stone or root so that not even the slightest tap of her claws would be heard.

    All of it fairly superfluous given how such light a noise was drowned out by all the little creaks and squeaks which even the softest leather suitable for armor and riding gear produced.

    Nothing egregious enough to disturb the birds in the branches amidst the trees that just barely failed to reach over their trail but still a disturbance other game were acting on.

    Jewel could scent that hardly any beast which might possibly be the target of a hunt was coming within range of her nose, unless it was cowering in the muffling dirt of an earth dug burrow or the focused quality that came from a tree hollow.

    She neither heard nor smelt recent deer save for spoor left good hours before their arrival.

    But even if their quarry was simply rabbits it was all around quite a pleasant diversion.

    This was shaping up to be a wonderful cool summer day.

    Perhaps there would be a bit of rain later in the evening, but if everything was finished by noon they could be home well before then.

    And what''s more, for all the lackluster and ad hoc nature of the feast set for the Wizard¡¯s arrival three days ago, today¡¯s homecoming was planned well in advance to have some pageantry to celebrate the success of the Lord¡¯s heir on his first personal hunt.

    Not as much as when they would join with a few neighbors for a grand hunt alongside Father come mid summer.

    But a local affair for the family and subjects all the same.

    Jewel looked forward to seeing her brother triumph and the party afterwards to commemorate Alexander¡¯s first hunt where he was expected to actually contribute something to the effort.

    He was quite good with that bow so mere rabbits should serve no trouble for him.

 2.2

    2.2

    When they were drawing close to the border of the forest and the meadow, the riders dismounted and set their horses to loose ties on branches near the trail. Alexander stretched and did a few squats to work the ache out of his thighs.

    The saddle was not as well proportioned for her brother, since he would eventually grow into it. He had to sit with a wider splay to his legs than Muriel or any of the hunters did on their own horse.

    After that the hunting party moved softly on foot. Jewel settled on far less exuberant strides, keeping herself practically belly crawling, bunching herself with twists from side to side instead of arcing her spine in humps.

    It was harder to remain quiet like this. Her tail took extra concentration to avoid lashing at the brush and shrubs.

    Her wings were especially awkward impediments and limited the routes she could take, while Alexander and the four hunters could take narrow passes between brambles and underbrush.

    The soft leather of their hunting shoes and even steps barely disturbed the grass and hardly made a sound at all.

    They had circled around the side of the meadow to stay downwind, and Jewel could smell the warren even before they saw it.

    She could smell the beasts gnashing at the freshly sprout soft leaves of clover and meadow grass. The pleas and dire warnings tingling in her nose to try and muster for those around they needed to grow more bitter against the endless devouring.

    The smell of the rabbit¡¯s prey dying was almost stronger than their own scents.

    A glance to Muriel for permission was rebuked with a gentle shake of the head.

    Jewel¡¯s pleading eyes got an eyeroll from the governess as she slowed her approach to stalk beside Jewel and whisper softly.

    ¡°I know you can smell them, young lady, but let your brother win by his own merit, not yours. It¡¯s his hunt and his glory this day. We are here for his honor, to be there for his triumphs.¡±

    Jewel could hear the unsaid but still present message in her tone that they would also be there to commiserate with Alexander for his failures too on this hunt. Should he not be able to make any of his marks himself.

    So she held her tongue despite the growing scent of rabbits eating. Mingling and interlaced with the scent were the other beasts walking through the meadow and the vegetation there.

    There was a great many Quail foraging amidst the taller grass just over a rise away from where the four hunters and Alex were stalking forward. They were careful to avoid disturbing by noise, scent or sight as  they entered the sun-dappled clearing of the meadow.

    The other animals added their scent as Jewel paused at the edge of the clearing. The grass would perhaps conceal her, but it was too rich a green to fully hide the shine of her scales. If it was third summer or early autumn the grass would blend well and obscure her.

    But the shoots of all the plants were still young and fresh despite the carnage chewing and biting through them everywhere.

    Muriel nodded at her restraint and then strode hunched and hidden into the tall grass, trailing her brother, leaving her to watch the meadow and drink in the rivers of scent that carried on the wind.

    Burrowing beasts she had never seen before announced their presence from the earth. Small field mice practically chirped their presence among the taller stalks.

    Even the faint sweet scent of bees and others of the world¡¯s smallest of birds settled into her nose as they flitted upon the summer blooms before ascending above the tall grasses and entering Jewel¡¯s view.

    Standing this close to the quarry, their ears alert, and trying to line up a good shot on the warren and its rabbits, the party no longer spoke. She could not spot them through the drifting grass and had to guess that they were catching one another¡¯s eyes and gesturing circumspectly to guide and consider the situation before them.

    Her nose tickled with Alexander¡¯s sweat, the four hunters and Muriel¡¯s own musk. So much like their horses and yet distinctly unique to any other beast Jewel knew.

    Their leathers added a unique fragrance that took a forefront with no other senses to distract.

    Jewel imagined they must have found a vantage to line up a shot since their smell was no longer moving further into the field.

    And it was not very far from the diffuse presence of the rabbits and the midmorning meal she had already caught.

    A quick glance to make sure no one was looking and Jewel slid her tongue loose into the air to taste, letting the fuzzy sense of presence sharpen to clear rivulets of scent dancing in the wind, arcing over and through each other like a tapestry¡¯s weave.

    Making sharp and clear all the presences of plant and beast all through the meadow. Practically rendering the obscurement to sight an afterthought.

    Yes, that was her brother down low enough for a crouch, but the distinct shift suggested where his arms were poised, exposing his pits more as he pulled back on the bow string. She could not hear the strain of the string over the sound of the many beasts in the field.

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    The wind told the story, a spike of tension rising, he was breathing harder. Jewel could taste it on the wind, lapping the details out of the air and then the twang of a bowstring released and the muffled skid and clatter of an arrow that missed flesh and instead drug a furrow in the dirt.

    The short plants cut by the arrow¡¯s passing screamed their blood voices into the perfume of the meadow. Sharp and sudden and unlike any nibble or browsing. Shocking all that grew with their suddenness.

    The rabbit¡¯s scents spiked in terror and Jewel found herself little concerned that she could disturb the quarry more than the scattering rabbit already had been.

    She strode still quietly but quite openly, not close enough to spook the quail from their huddling in the tall grass. It would be rude in case maybe the hunters might want to have her brother try for a shot at them.

    She arrived at the clearing, with not a single rabbit visible but plenty hiding out of sight by their smell, her brother stomping over to inspect his arrow and the four other hunters already unspooling twine rope and their knives to fashion some snares to leave near the burrows.

    ¡°Well sour luck that, we will try again at the next clearing, young Sir, and circle back through here to check the snares. On our return though. No worries, plenty of daylight left.¡±

    Jewel caught Muriel¡¯s attention then turned her gaze up to the clouds, which while still scattered and fluffy were starting to smell with a ponderance of the rains to come.

    She could feel the lightning in waiting, gently tugging upon her own flame.

    Her Governess considered the sky but offered a slightly raised brow.

    Jewel glared briefly, then turned to look at poor Alexander going after his arrow off into the woods.

    Her brother was shortly huffing back into the clearing, already inspecting his arrow like it had personally betrayed him. But far as Jewel could see the fletching hadn''t even been mussed from its short trip into the loam and shrubbery.

    Given the opportunity she sidled up to the group she shot Muriel a defiant look and then spoke softly to avoid spooking the quarry she was about to share.

    ¡°There is a flock of quail huddled in the brush over there, just shy of fifty paces.¡±

    Which got a brief look from Muriel, but it¡¯s not like any of them were likely to have noticed the fowl without her.

    Also as the hunters and her brother were distracted she caught the Governess¡¯ eye and pointed even more obviously with her eyes up at the slowly building mood of rain above. It was so obvious but Jewel found some times she needed to exaggerate.

    Muriel looked again and then seemed to finally have a realization and with a silent sigh and a subtle nod acquiesced. It was best to not have the day be a total waste from weather, and the more attempts her brother got the less the sting of not hitting anything might be.

    Tenacity had an honor all its own, after all.

    Alexander was looking hopefully up at the elder of the Hunters. Kraok was rubbing his beard and considering Alexander, bow in one hand and a still unbroken or bloodied arrow in the other. A short look to their Governess responded with an ascending nod.

    ¡°Alright, worth the shot if we can get in position, Quail are very alert and easily spooked, so we best settle in and try for a hide to see if we can get a clear shot rather than trying to creep up to them. Worst case, you get in position and we drive them to the sky for you sir. You spotted them where, Lady Jewel?¡±

    She did not correct him that she had yet to properly see them at all but pointed where the birds were still huddling close to the ground beneath the field grass swaying in the wind. Just across the meadow.

    ¡°Mmm, we will want to take an ambush this way, then. Gimletson, you finish up the snares, you two take up a position on the other side just in case. This way, young Sir.¡±

    With that the hunters split up, one staying there by the mostly (there were pups down below, huddled away for safety, but that was not the hunt today) abandoned warren with Jewel and Muriel, and two circling around silently into the meadow to one side while Alexander and Kraok disappeared from sight to the other.

    Muriel watched Jewel with a look that was rather familiar. It was the one she got whenever Jewel was signaling to Alexander how to spell a word that gave him trouble or hinted the answer to a pointed question.

    Jewel knew Muriel wanted to give her another lecture over cheating the spirit of an activity.

    But given they were still on the hunt she held her admonishments to just a glare.

    Jewel had brought up to Mother and Father only once how she thought their Governess hated poor Alexander. But when she explained her suspicions and why Mother and Father had both laughed and then gently told her that she needed to not coddle her brother so much.

    Worse, they had started gently forbidding her from helping her brother as much from then on.

    Jewel settled down into a lazy coiling loop in the meadow. Flattening down the grass in a pleasing spiral of stalks, she waited for the sound of Alexander¡¯s bow.

    This hunt was Important to Alexander. And it was her duty as his sister to help him find his honor out here.

 2.3

    2.3

    Jewel did not sigh or otherwise show any of her disappointment, as that would be very rude to her poor brother. But inside, she really wanted to.

    So far, Alexander had not managed to hit a quail from the flock Jewel had found. He had missed three more rabbits after the footmen had carefully gotten them into position for another shot, and his aim was honestly only getting worse as the hunt continued.

    The weather had also continued to worsen as they moved their way from meadow to meadow in the hunting woods. What had started with scattered breaks in the cloud cover was turning into an all-encompassing gray above them, with roils that called to Jewel with their promise of lightning and the churning rain waiting to break free all over them.

    The mood was also souring around her brother¡¯s growing frustration, and any calls to try and calm him so that he could perhaps make a shot clearheaded fell upon deaf ears.

    Most recently, his latest attempt had spooked the game before even letting loose an arrow.

    It was looking like whatever they caught in their snares was going to have to be the prize of the hunt. Which was turning her brother¡¯s disposition to an even darker gloom as Muriel¡¯s glances at the sky and a few pointed looks at Jewel who very staunchly refused to nod or acknowledge them.

    Which she thought said plenty on the matter: yes, they would indeed need to head back if they did not want to be caught in a summer downpour, Muriel.

    As if this silent confirmation was the final straw, the noble children¡¯s Governess finally spoke up before Alexander could badger the poor footmen into another fruitless scrounging for a prey.

    ¡°Young Sir, we are going to be caught in a storm if we do not turn back now. Best to head along our old trail and retrieve the snares and what catches they have for us to conclude the hunt.¡±

    Which started a tear filled complaint.

    ¡°But I haven¡¯t stuck ANYTHING! Not even a stupid rabbit!¡±

    But he did at least turn with them back to the horse who had been having a far more pleasant time of it, having plenty of success getting fat on their devastation and ruin brought to the clovers of the wood, their lips wet with the lamentations of their victims.

    Kraok offered another fruitless word of encouragement.

    ¡°It¡¯s nothing to be worried about, young sir, we set the traps just in case. When I first went hunting as a boy I had to spend a night hungry because I barely even caught sight of anything, let alone hit them with an arrow.¡±

    Which honestly just seemed to upset Alexander more.

    ¡°It''s the stupid rabbits, and birds and all. They''re all too small, I can hit the targets in the courtyard from twice this distance!¡±

    And more did he complain.

    But as they made their way through the woods and back to the meadows that started the hunt, Jewel started to hear the most distressing sound she had ever experienced.

    It was shrill and terrified and full of pain.

    Before that day If there could be said to be a sound of panic and horror Jewel would have imagined something far less terrible than that sound.

    It rose in shrieking breathy wails, almost whistling out and it put her ill at ease.

    Was some kind of monster tormenting some animal?

    Not simply killing but torturing with a cruelty that was unmatched.

    Muriel pulled her horse over from the fuming whining of her Brother to get close enough to whisper to Jewel.

    ¡°Is there a problem, Lady Jewel? You seem ill at ease.¡±

    Jewel gave a heavy shudder that passed from the back of her skull to the tip of her tail then reflected back up her haunches. She whispered softly to Muriel.

    ¡°Something ahead of us is screaming. I¡¯ve never heard a sound like it. No bird nor beast I¡¯ve ever heard sounds like that.¡±

    Which brought a look of concern to the Governess and she pulled back to consult with Kraok and Gimletson while the other hunters moved ahead of them, eyes alert.

    The whispered conversation abruptly broke with Gimletson¡¯s laughter.

    ¡°Oh that¡¯s nothing to worry about, rabbits in snares sometimes give a blood chilling scream when they get caught. Is the damnedest sound but nothing to worry about. Although it might draw in a fox or wolf if we¡¯re not fast. Best pick up the pace!¡±

    Which prompted the riders to bring their clover-stuffed horse to a disgruntled trot along the worn deer path. Soon they needed to go single file for the sake of not injuring the horse on uneven ground. Jewel instead just continued her soft skipping off of trees and moss adjacent to the trail but a bit above the tangled shrubbery of the underbrush rather than doing so along the once thicker trail.

    Her brother and Muriel stiffened and looked around, which told Jewel when they could hear the awful rabbit shriek for themselves. And, spurred on by the sound and the hunters, they soon broke into the meadow again, empty now of any and everything which lived above ground. Not even the bees and other smallest birds were to be found or heard.

    Although with a glance to the sky, Jewel suspected that was more because of the threat of rain the clouds were starting to bulge and tumble with.

    The rabbit was caught with its leg in a snare, but it was stiff on its side, as if somehow frozen by more than the ugly loop of twine and terrible twisting to its leg.

    Did the footmen know some sort of magic to weave into their snares?

    The small beast¡¯s screaming was terrible, the mouth gaping wide on its inhale and the eyes staring in all directions.

    It was disquieting, the rabbit unmoving but for trembling shakes and eyes darting, yet screaming all the same until with great mercy, Kraok silenced it with a short stab of a knife through its neck.

    Then in blessed silence, casual as any of the kitchen staff, he undid the knot of the twine, rolled it back up and then gutted the carcass down the middle with a swift tug and a practiced hand pulling the innards free with a sudden blooming smell of offal.

    Alexander flinched back a bit but Muriel and the other footmen were inured. Simply going to check the other snares. Where apparently the rabbits had managed to die from panicked seizing snapping their spines or simply because their necks had been caught in the snare and they had been strangled.

    Those corpses were likewise gutted, the blood drained mostly before they were tied to the horse, but left dangling to finish letting out the last drabs while they rode and then everyone was back in saddle (besides Jewel) and they were moving onto the next meadow.

    And the next.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Jewel only heard the terrible screaming panic of the rabbits one more time, but she almost wondered if that was better than the ones they came across that were obviously alive but simply frozen in terror too afraid to even manage the death scream.

    It was so different from how plants screamed. More than just how it was sound instead of the distressed aroma.

    But when a blade of grass or a clover was torn into and it bled its cries to the air there was a sense of determination and obligation.

    Something like what the books said about honor, Jewel thought.

    It did not smell like panic. There was none of the despair. Even when it was a mortal wound upon the stem.

    But Rabbits.

    They feared and screamed in terror more blind and horrible than the literally blind foliage they fed upon.

    Jewel considered in silence the difference.

    With the gutting and cleaning finished on the last of the rabbits they were in the very first meadow they had come to.

    The saddles were loaded with a dozen open carcasses. Three to a side tied to two of the horses.

    Alexander had gotten off his horse to stretch his legs and have a look around, he had settled somewhat from half-shed tears of frustration and pleading, turned to obstinate silence.

    Apparently screaming rabbits had not bothered him since he had attended other hunts. Jewel was not so sure if she would ever be so accustomed to that sound, but maybe she heard it differently then they did.

    She was scenting the air as they she had before, the pregnant tumultuous imminence of rain and thunder was growing so thick it almost smothered out the sparse animal trail still in the meadow.

    Thanks to the shrieking no other game was present. Not even the wolves or fox that had been warned of.

    Alexander¡¯s scent went off downwind of them. He was being very quiet.

    Jewel was a good sister and given she could not smell the sharp pin in the nose of piss (that was a mistake she would only ever make once) she confidently skipped through the meadow in great undulating swells, peeking up over the field grass as she went like it was a green pond.

    Even as such she could not spot her brother ¡ª he was taking the time to practice his hunter¡¯s stride!

    That must mean he was feeling better after all!

    She used her nose to find the spoor from his sweat in the grass, winding sinuously and as stealthy as she could now to play the game with him as well.

    Her greeting however froze on her lip when she reached him.

    Crouched in his hunter¡¯s stance, bow drawn, and eyes clear and angry as he lined up a shot.

    But it was not upon another rabbit, or even a deer.

    No, instead there in line with her brother¡¯s arrow and square in his gaze was the snuffling flanks of the largest boar she had ever seen.

    No, the largest boar she had ever even heard legends of!

    If this was not some monster wandered free of a lair she would drink lye!

    Its hair was bristly and brown, and the thing¡¯s shoulders were rippling with muscle and a thick near pitch skin. It was rooting at the earth quietly.

    A few hundred paces away, just barely visible in the underbrush for how it disturbed it.

    But even so it was obviously incredibly large.

    It was taller than any of their horses at the shoulder. It had four tusks that shined near white, flashing through the gaps in the leaves and foliage.

    It looked like it might even be heavier than Jewel herself!

    Her spine trembled in concern.

    She drew up next to her brother and hissed as quietly as she could.

    ¡°Alexander, No, That¡¯s a Boar.¡±

    He had to just not have realized how big it was at this distance and mistook it for a deer between all the leaves and other sundry.

    Surely?

    But despite all her care to warn him of his mistake, apparently that was a bit too much, as her brother let fly. The arrow sailed truer than any had all day.

    And stuck solidly halfway down the bladed head in the boar''s rump.

    Which in spite of the arrow sticking out of its hide welling with a bit of blood grunted with barely a hint of discomfort and spent what felt like a good while simply finishing snuffling and munching on whatever it was eating behind the bushes.

    Jewel gave herself a moment to hope that maybe it would not be enough to provoke the animal. Boar gave even Father concern and the hunts for them were always a much larger and better armored party then this.

    And those were much smaller beasts then this Behemoth.

    Finally and with a complete lack of fear the thing turned about in its bushes to glare at the Wyrmling and then after evaluating her as not being the source of the offending arrow, turning to her brother and fixing him across the yawning distance with a dismissive snort.

    Jewel could just barely find it in herself to repeat what she had said but more accusingly.

    ¡°Alexander! That. Is. A. Boar!¡±

    The beast ¡ª whose ridged back stood high enough it would just be in petting range for Alexander astride Fetherfew ¡ª slowly, laboriously turned around fully and shook all down its back, the Arrow coming loose with barely any resistance against the violent shake.

    Her brother seemed frozen in the dawning realization of what he had just done.

    But instead of doing something sensible, as Jewel turned and joined the boar in staring, he strung another arrow and lined it up on the boar¡¯s head.

    Who watched him do it with complete calm, not a shred of fear.

    ¡°Alexander!?¡±

    Her voice was rising in panic as she flicked her eyes from watching her brother¡¯s grip tightened and the animal he¡¯d already only slightly injured squared up with him.

    ¡°That¡¯s!¡±

    He let loose the arrow. It hit squarely in the middle of the thing¡¯s head and simply skimmed up its brow and sailed off into the woods, leaving an angry welling line of shallow blood with hints of bone just visible beneath.

    ¡°A!¡±

    Jewel took in a great heaving lung full of air and let out a shout so loud that all the forest might have heard it, but more importantly it definitely was going to reach their guardians further back in the meadow.

    ¡°BOAR!¡±

 2.4

    2.4

    The boar snorted at Jewel¡¯s outburst before fixing her brother with those beady eyes.

    It was still for a moment longer, Jewel began pulling on her Wyrmflame, trying to drag the annihilating power into alignment in her neck.

    But was it even going to be enough time?

    There was a solid two hundred paces between the beast and them.

    That should be enough space right?

    Just in case, she took a step forward to begin interposing herself between the Boar and Alexander, but the monstrously huge beast burst into action as soon as she even shifted!

    As if launched from its own bow, one moment it was still quite a ways into the brush of the wood. The next it was already most of the way out!

    Jewel¡¯s throat clenched and her grasp of the Wyrmfire sputtered and scattered, failing to hold the proper shape to do more than maybe blind it?

    She wasn''t in position to protect her brother OR unleash her flame!

    Alexander¡¯s face had only just started to show something other than blockheaded determination.

    In the time it took him to finish registering what a monumental mistake he had made the boar was already crossing the border of the meadow. Half her assumed safety buffer was gone in an instant!

    Jewel could hear the rest of their party rushing through the meadow.

    But they were even farther away than the Boar had been!

    And Alexander, had only barely realized how dangerous and foolish this was and turned to run, dropping his bow as he did.

    Of course, NOW her brother started trying to flee. After he had spoiled any chance that the animal might actually let them be!

    Jewel was not in position, her Wyrmfire was just barely being pulled back together after the shock of the thing¡¯s speed had scattered it through her scales.

    Her brother was definitely not going to be anywhere near fast enough. For how utterly absurdly massive the boar was its speed was the most terrifying thing Jewel had ever seen.

    She could imagine it playing out, her brother would be gored in the back, possibly even the side while he tried to turn. Shattered and skewered by those tusks, trampled by those cloven hooves and probably stamped into a pulp for his foolishness.

    He might scream as the rabbits had, He might go still in terror and pain.

    She could feel the flames building in her throat, but not enough! her wings started to flare in panic.

    Her lips pulled back to reveal teeth.

    There was no time!

    She let loose with the malformed and ineffective flame, the Wyrmflame bursting incoherently just in front of her snout to flash the air blinding white.

    Hoping to at least STUN the behemoth long enough she could get in position to cover her brother.

    The boar stumbled hard but not enough to avoid the inevitability of crushing Alexander. Jewel was out of options! She did the only thing she could and lunged hard into the beast with everything she could muster. Leaping the intervening distance between them in a single bound.

    She felt herself slammed by a skull like stone, blood hot and slick from the arrow graze, she was hurled up and over before she could do anything else, her wing was caught and pinched sharp, soft soil suddenly pushing into her face, Jagged line of pressure, catching in the join of wing fingers, pain.

    PAIN.

    Dizzy, she was looking at a tree trunk.

    Things were happening all over her.

    Gasping breathless wheezing, Bones feeling bruised, something wet in her mouth.

    What?

    What happened?

    Trampling hooves seemingly everywhere on her sides and neck.

    Terrible bellowing shrieking roars of anger from where she was feeling the most battered and trampled.

    Sharp lancing gouges, her chest, her throat, something wrenched very wrongly in her fore left shoulder and then choking, can¡¯t breath, teeth strong, bones grinding together, scales flexing hard, can¡¯t breath, can''t swallow, Where? What?!

    And then shaking, tugging on both her torso and her head like she was a loose rag.

    Everything a whirl of senses, sight never holding still as she tried and failed to keep her eyes stable.

    Then by happenstance, the shaking tossed her about enough to give some slack on either side of the pained crushing on her throat.

    It was violently worrying at her mid throat and putting the greatest effort to crush the life out of her neck.

    For a moment with the extra slack Jewel could start to try and figure out what in all the damnations had just happened?!

    She was bruising all over, both her wings were agonies that felt like something wrong and would not bend right.

    Nothing had broken her scales though, she did not think any of her spine was hurt and besides not being able to breath Jewel was mostly just disoriented.

    Jewel tried to get a census of the parts of her not being tossed about by the raging boar. She was all together too long to be lifted entirely by that first blow. But the front half of her was thrown clear into the air before she even had the chance to react.

    And then as if by military drill the boar had caught one of her flailing wings with a tusk sliding up the membrane, wrenched it between the fingers and then spun itself around to... body slam her down maybe?

    That had pulled wing joints out of the socket, and the shoulder and elbow too maybe. Nothing wanted to move there.

    Then was the trampling, Jewel was unclear exactly how or where but hoof prints and concerning dents littered everything from her ribcage forward.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    Her right foreleg was a mess, crumpled and wrenched apart at her wrist and shoulder. Flopping about painfully as the boar continued trying to work her neck deeper into its jaws where the grinding teeth were.

    But it seemed to be noticing the futility there and-

    Uh Oh.

    Jewel met eyes with the boar and the beady glare rolled before it spun its entire body around to square with her head, already digging and kicking up dirt as it scrabbled for traction to hurl itself at her face. The mouth wide and tusks already angling to try and gore her through something softer than it had found so far. One point seeming disconcertingly aimed right at her eye!

    naturally, she yanked her face back and whipped it around and away. Not with any grace but in sheer blind panic. Hurling her head more like the tip of a whip then anything particularly natural or with any intent.

    The joints of her neck popping up and down as she smacks her own head into the dirt of the meadow, blinded by the plume of dirt.

    Shake the dirt off, don¡¯t lose track of the maelstrom of angry boar that moved like a lightning strike.

    There was the noise and scent of Alexander, Muriel, the four hunters, screams and yells.

    But Jewel¡¯s eyes were on only one thing. Making sure she did not lose track of the ferocity that was still barreling down on her.

    The Boar¡¯s own momentum gave her barely the time to actually move backwards.

    Barely able to rear back in a pathetic heap. Only three workable legs. One wing.

    Her Wyrmfire all scrambled and roiled without intent or focus, like a disturbed coop of chickens panicked and running through Jewel¡¯s flesh with no coordination.

    The thing was upon Jewel before she could even begin to try and clear her crushed throat enough to unleash the chaotic sputter of Wyrmfire she could drive in even a semblance of a guide.

    Slammed under her screaming, again flipping her over in a spine-twisting joust, dragging tusks with an almost musical buzz as it tried to scour the flesh from her ribs. Down her chest and then to the marginally softer flesh of her belly. Scales being dragged painfully, but still not breaking.

    Her still-collapsed lungs flinched and flopped uselessly around in her chest, her throat whistling sharply as it barely was able to pull any air through her crushed windpipe.

    And then even that minute air was shocked loose and her chest failed to even flex enough to manage that feeble whistling gasp.

    Her Wyrmfire was like embers tossed loose of a shattered hearth.

    Her tail snapped about and her hind legs pedaled in the air before the wet touch of a mouth closed down hard on her right thigh and then wrenched hard. Tossing her lower half over the boar¡¯s shoulder, slamming her in the face with her own hips!

    Jewel tried to clear her throat and get the rhythm of her lungs back in order.

    She could feel the Wyrmfire in disarray, sputtering in shock and unable to find anything to catch on and burn.

    Jewel thought she heard noises but they were muffling under the roaring, stuffy silence rushing like rivers through her head. Blood empty and starved galloped in her ears. Heart pounding like a drum announcing a parade of guests.

    She reflexively tried to lift herself up, but a great weight dropped on her like a fallen tree. Like her crashes when first learning to fly. Like the time she had knocked the leg out from under one of the feast tables and the whole thing had tilted and fell on her.

    Her ribs caved in their joints to her spine and sternum, soft spongy cracks echoing with the blows of cloven hooves.

    She did not break - her ribs remained solidly whole - but they were not even, they had been pummeled out of alignment, pressing uncomfortably on her lungs, splaying a few of them loose from her sternum.

    It hurt.

    It hurt more than anything ever had but Jewel could barely even pay attention to the pain so awash in the sea of it.

    A twitch from one of her legs was attacked with sudden furious tugs and bites, shaking its head in a frenzy, slamming her hips and lower section into the ground until a wet snap announced that her last functional limb popped from its socket.

    There were voices, there were people over there but Jewel could barely even get her eyes to focus against the waves of pain and her nearly guttered flame.

    The boar snorted with satisfaction and shook its hide free of the strange sticks of wood that had embedded themselves in its back.

    A tusk gored at her neck and flipped her limp body over.

    Jewel did not move.

    And only then with her limp and trembling, struggling to even breath, feeling her heart start to stutter did the Boar turn from the Wyrmling.

    Towards the vague shapes that had drawn its ire.

    Jewel could barely focus but.

    There was something important.

    She pulled on her barely burning sparks and embers, pulling them to the one eye.

    Bringing the burning Wyrmfire to the lens and little flexures inside, pulling her eye this way and that, opening and closing and straining.

    Finding the image coming clearer.

    They were brandishing spears.

    The sticks shaken loose had been arrows.

    The boar was undeterred.

    It bled but rallied on the six figures ahead of itself anyway.

    Jewel could not focus on all their faces, her lack of breath stalled her nose.

    But she pulled her one clear eye to focus.

    One of the shortest of the six figures was being held back by the rest. But yet it struggled to pull away, a long spear gripped in its hands, screaming words Jewel could no longer hear against the raging silence in her head.

    Alexander.

    It was still after Alexander.

    Jewel felt her Wyrmflame all but guttered out at the thought.

    No!

 2.5

    2.5

    Jewel¡¯s muscles did not want to move. Her blood felt heavy and sluggish and empty of life.

    Her bones were tired and in disarray and her heart was thumping ever harder and faster the longer it failed to accomplish anything.

    Everything hurt.

    She had barely a single arm that was not crumpled and twisted out of place.

    But Alexander was there, barely holding himself back, lips flapping on at the footmen as they braced in a line in front of the boar.

    Muriel had drawn her sword and was standing just to the side of Alexander. One hand on the pommel while the other held it out and to the side in a ready stance she had seen so many times before as their Governess trained Alexander in the sword.

    Jewel¡¯s eye did not want to blink.

    It barely would let her see.

    Jewel felt barely more animated than the trees around her and the torn up loam of the meadow where the Boar had so casually brutalized her.

    What kind of great and powerful Wyrm was Jewel?

    That a swine barely heavier than she was could best her so easily?

    She was hardly more than the dirt she lay in.

    Yet there was life to that torn up dirt. A flickering warmth and glow of Wyrmfire in spite of how it had been tossed and spread about in a heap.

    Just as alive as when it was all together in its proper place.

    Friendly and eager to share with her of all the things which had grown within it and trod upon it.

    Not any more bothered by the turbulent brawl then it had been by the gentle steps of deer the day before.

    Or the grass roots all through spring.

    That was nice. Maybe being dirt would not be so bad.

    The boar was charging.

    One of the hunters braced and waited, then jumped to drive his spear into its neck.

    Jewel saw with her blank, barely focused eye the way the metal head caught in its thick flesh. The burst of blood around it and the deep bend in the wooden shaft as the weight of the beast and hunter met in its fibers.

    But the boar was not stopped, even with the spear finally breaking past its thick hide and plunging the metal head entirely into the shoulder haunch.

    Everything felt so slow, Muriel¡¯s face seemed wrong, all twisted and mouth wide, eyes blazing. A sword skittering across the shoulder and brow of the beast. Clipping an ear.

    There was blood but it did not turn towards her. Instead leaping forward.

    The second of the hunters was not as lucky as the first.

    Jewel could not place his face in the rush despite how everything oozed along like mud.

    The boar caught his spear with its jaws. Pulled it out of his hands with a twist of its head, then continued in a follow-through to a lunging slash back the way it had come.

    The tusk caught in the man''s thigh, below where his gambeson and the leather might have protected him.

    Then the tusk carved up.

    Jewel could not hear anything over the rushing pound of her deadened blood in her head.

    But she almost felt the way his hip cracked apart in the path of that tusk.

    The blood pooling out from the torn-open flesh in arterial splashes and spurts and the armor lifted from beneath by the point of the tusk as the beast''s head swung and its own charging pace drove it up and through the poor man¡¯s torso.

    Ribs cracked apart and his guts spilled over the animal¡¯s snout just as the intestines and other offal had spilled from the rabbits they snared.

    Jewel tried to laugh but nothing about her throat or lungs would let her.

    Her blood pounded so thick and loud she kind of wished it would stop. That her heart would quit trying to beat so hard and let her be quiet and still, like the dirt of the meadow.

    Just so she could hear what was going on, you see.

    Maybe it would hurt a bit less too?

    The beast tossed the man. He was certainly dead even if his flailing limbs and panicked eyes had not yet caught up to it. Turning on the last two footmen and dipping its head down. Digging in its hooves to arrest the charge.

    Tearing up more meadow which was just as pleased as it would be for the coming summer showers.

    The two footmen failed to manage much, yet again.

    One spear tip fell short of even touching its blood-drenched flanks. The other caught the thing in its skull and nearly skittered out of the man¡¯s grip as it bent and skipped without finding purchase.

    Scratching more angry red lines over the pig¡¯s brow.

    Jewel flexed her Wyrmflame, dragging her eye to follow the action, to help her blink where the exhausted and aching muscles in her face could not manage.

    Pulling things into a wobbling blurr before scraping focus back into place from indistinctness.

    Muriel had tried to strike again, with a full bodied stab this time, driving forward with both hands, one gripping tight around the hilt, the other¡¯s palm at the pommel. Everything committed to the lunge.

    But Jewel regained clarity in time to see that she had landed the hit wrong and there was a slight flex to the sword as it caught in the thing¡¯s shoulder blade.

    A shifting of trotters spun the beast about face in the grass and a shove into the blow from the boar pushed the sword back into muriel and nearly disarmed her, forcing the Governess into five steps of retreat before she regained her balance.

    The three surviving footmen were scattered and off balance from the last charge.

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Muriel was out of position by the deflection.

    The hateful eyes of the beast settled on Alexander.

    He had to run!

    Her brother was trembling, throwing glances all over, hands holding far too tightly to his spear.

    She wanted to admonish him for it, they had practiced better than that.

    You need a firm but still loose grip on a spear or the shock of a hit would travel all the way up your arms!

    Alexander met Jewel¡¯s gaze with his own.

    Oh no.

    Her stupid, stupid brother.

    Jewel felt her panicked beating heart clench so hard she swore it must have burst something somewhere in her battered body.

    She knew that look.

    And putting her fears to truth he braced up, loosened his grip and lowered his hips and set the spear in position.

    Facing up against the boar, his lips moving to words she could not hear and with that stupidly stupid determined look he sometimes got.

    Tears were in his eyes but his brow was fixed and wrinkled in anger, every muscle in his jaw taught.

    She thought he must be screaming.

    He was going to die.

    The Boar took a moment to shake itself off, splaying blood both its own and human, then breathed so hard Jewel could see the steam.

    Her brother was going to die.

    Jewel pulled on her Wyrmflame like she never had before.

    So what if her throat was crushed closed.

    So what if her blood was stagnant and starved for breath.

    So What?!

    Alexander was being a total idiot of a fool and standing up to a boar that had laid low a Wyrm a dozen times his weight in stone over.

    And the horribly idiotic fool was squaring up because he was upset it hurt her?!

    The total Imbecile!

    The utter Knave!

    The HEROIC IDIOT!

    Jewel threw herself from the ground at the Boar as hard as she could.

    Not with muscles which could find no proper purchase or leverage but the raw Wyrmflame.

    Her jaws flung open like a badly made hinge, she felt meat tearing at the joint.

    She barely registered that she was not the only one moving.

    Muriel was running as hard as she could to push Alexander out of the way in favor of getting herself trampled.

    One of the surviving Footmen was also charging with her. Spear in both hands, running right at the beast.

    Jewel collided first. She grabbed her own body like a rope that had incredibly offended her, and wrapped it around the beast to try and pull it off course from her brother (or Muriel, but mostly her brother).

    The rough treatment was not gentle on her injuries, her spine creaked and her muscles strained in protest. Her own innards did not take kindly to it either but Jewel pulled herself taut by Wyrmfire and Will alone around the boar¡¯s neck and then slammed her jaw so hard down on its stupid impervious face she felt a tooth flex hard in its root.

    Her desperate heart was still pounding, shoveling empty, worthless blood through her head and neck and other sundry.

    But she was not moved by the strength of her blood.

    The one Footman brave (or stupid) enough to join her attack had thrown himself under the beast and was nimbly rolling under the suddenly panicked stamping and flailing boar. Half blinded by her upper jaw pressed hard into its face.

    Jewel realized her mistake and pulled her mouth to try and close it over the boar¡¯s skull entirely...

    But the thing¡¯s head was far too wide for her to manage!

    So she just pushed hard on her chin until she felt the snap of her jaw pulling loose and tendons screaming til she could hold her head in an improvised blindfold/vice.

    Wyrmfire hissing and sizzling from her scales stung and blackened the stupid pig¡¯s bristly hairs. But nothing like it would have been had Jewel been able to clear her throat.

    How the wyrm wished that she could burn the thing to ash though. Leave it in cinders and dust scorched clean by her hate.

    Alas she just could not manage the focus for that, only the spiteful purity of simply stopping the monster from hurting her brother!

    Finally the Footman under it found a proper spot (he was still alive?!) and there was a thunderous squeal of pain.

    Jewel could feel the blood in the body pressed against her own scales.

    Thundering in panic and the heat of battle, just like her own stale blood was.

    And then guttering to a stop.

    Finding a silence that Jewel''s own heart refused to mirror.

    Next the legs began to buckle.

    Jewel nearly didn¡¯t pull the thing over, but then it would have collapsed on and certainly crushed her ally.

    And he had killed the stupid pig!

    It was dead.

    Alexander safe?

    She let go of her body with her Wyrmfire.

    Without the force holding it tight she collapses like soggy grass.

    Her eyes abandoned by the flame staring blankly and out of focus at the sky.

    The rain was just about to break.

    Jewel was glad.

    At least she would be clean.

    The dirt was happy too.

 2.6

    2.6

    Alexander rode as hard as Fetherfew would gallop in the rain and the mud that the breaking storm had made of the road.

    Muriel had stayed behind to guard Jewel.

    To help keep his sister safe.

    Safe, so he could bring help!

    His sister that might-

    His sister was hurt because of him!

    The three surviving hunters were riding with him. Poor Gimletson. That was also his fault, he hadn''t listened to them.

    Muriel had told him he was supposed to listen.

    It was his hunt, but they knew better.

    And now Jewel-

    Jewel would be fine, he would bring help. There were three Wizards and Father!

    They would fix everything!

    If Alexander just could bring news fast enough.

    Fetherfew¡¯s breath was a frothy bellows filling her barrel beneath his legs.

    His thighs burned terribly.

    He was going to be bruised with how hard he was riding.

    The pounding of the mud was splattering his legs and face at the pace they were making.

    Dark mud washed away in the downpour even under the heavy cover of the forest.

    ¡°Young Sir! We have to slow down!¡±

    Kraok yelled over the storm. But Alexander could not bear the thought.

    ¡°Jewel¡¯s my SISTER!¡±

    The hunter that had finally felled the horrible boar by sliding under the damned monster to stab it through the chest simply bellowed back.

    ¡°If the horses break their legs or you''re thrown into a rock in this mess none of us will reach help in time! We have to slow down Lord, to a canter at most!¡±

    He wanted to scream!

    Alexander wanted to strike down the man with the spear that failed to even pull a drop of blood from the monster that had brutalized his sister.

    But...

    That had been exactly how he got his poor sister hurt and Gimletson dead.

    He pulled back on the gasping nag he had been forced to ride. Fetherfew¡¯s eyes were rolling, she could probably sense his terror and the urgency, but there was a heavy, wheezing nicker as he slowed her back from the near gallop to a safer trot.

    The other horses were breathing hard too.

    Soaked down in the rain. The stupid matted down fur of the rabbit carcasses seemed so inconsequential.

    Such a stupid reason for his sister to-

    For him to have brought her out here and gotten her hurt.

    If he¡¯d not asked her to come with him for his hunt...

    Stolen story; please report.

    It would have been him trampled by the boar.

    He tried to close his eyes off from the tears.

    Alexander nearly fell out of his saddle when the hand landed heavily on his shoulder.

    It was not as large as Father¡¯s own, but Kraok was not a small man.

    ¡°Eyes on the road, breathe even. We won¡¯t leave her and your sister won¡¯t perish. Even the slightest and smallest of Wyrm takes a long time to die. And that¡¯s if you spear their heart dead.¡±

    Alexander shook his head, then coughed and sobbed and nodded instead.

    He was glad it was raining, no one could see what a coward he was to cry when it was his sister that had suffered the most.

    The squeeze of the hand on his shoulder left and he was given a firm slap on his back.

    ¡°Eyes on the road, hands on the bridle, knees ready, feet solid, we will make it. Just focus on riding at this pace. Any harder and poor featherfew will keel over afore we get there.¡±

    And so they rode.

    Alexander could not see the sun, the day had practically gone to twilight with the storm clouds, torrents of rain blinding but for a dozen yards ahead.

    They broke from the woods into the open fields around Fort Rochford and it was everything he could do to not push the wheezing nag even harder through the rain.

    But Kraok set the pace to what felt like a crawl as they trotted far too slowly for Alexander up the winding road.

    Drawing through the gates that had never been closed in his entire life and finally pulling to a stop in the courtyard.

    He leaped from Fetherfew¡¯s back before the stablemaster could even finish arriving to take her reins.

    His sopping boots clinging to his toes as he threw his legs ahead of him, desperate to make the distance go away faster. Throwing open the doorway without a care for how he did not close it. Rushing through hallways that now felt far too twisted and long.

    Bursting into Father¡¯s study where the wizards were.

    Alexander was sopping wet and face dripping with more than just rain.

    He was ruining the good carpets.

    But he couldn¡¯t stop to care, the words tumbling out of him.

    He couldn''t hold any of it in anymore after taking so long to find aide.

    ¡°Papa! I¡¯m Sorry! There Was a Boar! It¡¯s My Fault! And Jewel! She¡¯s Hurt! She¡¯s Hurt so BAD! In the Woods! Muriel Is There! She Needs Help!¡±

    Papa was there, lifting him up so suddenly it was like he was magicked into his father¡¯s arms and squeezed so tight against his chest.

    Papa hadn''t done this in years; he was too old for it, Nearly Twelve!

    But that didn''t matter because Papa was pressing Alexander to his big chest despite how much mud, water (and tears) was getting into his fine clothes.

    In all the rush Alexander only just realized he was shivering, teeth chattering from the cold.

    And only just because his Papa¡¯s arms practically burned in how warm they were around him.

    He felt as much as heard the booming voice terribly fierce but also fragile in a way Alexander had NEVER heard his Papa speak to anyone.

    ¡°I don¡¯t care who is in my service, all of you go NOW! Find her! Help Her and save her or so help me wizard or not I will lay waste to all your domains.¡±

    There were sounds that Alexander had never heard before and then a deep brooding silence that was filled with his shivering and chattering teeth and the soft noises of his Papa holding him close and trying to rub some warmth into his trembling body.

 2.7

    2.7

    Jewel was not sure exactly when breathing started to actually work again.

    But one moment her lungs flopped and folded and pulled painfully on the haphazard jumble that had been made of her ribcage uselessly, sucking hard on her crushed throat.

    And then the next her chest burned with the clear, frost-parched wind of autumn, driving chill and pain down her throat and into her chest in a great billowing gust. But more importantly, it filled her lungs with air.

    Gloriously crisp just before winter air that was a bit out of place in early summer but Jewel was not going to complain about the gift rushing through her lungs.

    Honestly Jewel would have been happy to breathe mud if she had too, maybe pond scum or bath water would have been a bonus. To have actual air of any description was just too much good fortune to complain about.

    It was like an entirely different kind of fire running through her body. Veins were coming alight with a fierceness that almost smothered her Wyrmfire.

    Eyes twitched, nostrils flared and her body shuddered without needing to be dragged around by will and Wyrmfire alone.

    Instead things properly just happened because she did them.

    Not acting as an intermediary holding her slack body and forcing it to move like a tool rather than a body one inhabited.

    She was wet and the storm and the mud around her sang with joy at it. And she too was full of joy as flesh seemed to come awake in lethargic surprise to still be existing and actually there inside her.

    Everything was painful but it was a living pain that was bracingly joyous despite its terrible overwhelming depth.

    In time, she even managed to do some things besides breathing.

    Hearing and seeing were two of them!

    ¡°-old you the neck was the most critical issue!¡±

    Tsulogothulan¡¯s overly round and at the moment incredibly common-sounding vowels were a feast upon the senses.

    But honestly, anything at all was a delight to hear instead of the constant pounding of stale blood in her head.

    ¡°Fascinating, by any normal reckoning she should be quite utterly dead. For any other creature several hours of trying to live without breath at all is death. I wonder what¡¯s different for Wyrms.¡±

    Even Lord Fizzbunches¡¯s dry dissection of her own suffering was a joy.

    Jewel blinked the rain free of her eyes and slowly turned her head. Finding it curious (and painful) how her lower jaw had already been facing towards the wizards.

    ¡°Gzlya?¡±

    Speaking with your jaw dislocated to the extent it is more loosely associated by flesh and tendon with its proper place made even that much speech terrible in its shooting pain and also, of course, utterly unintelligible.

    The sound of rain in the branches occurred with a far colder and unseasonal quality announcing that the Autumn Wizard was somehow present but not visible from this angle.

    Jewel however could see two of the wizards.

    The impeccably dry Fizzbunches, seated upon a rock where for reasons beyond her no rain would fall.

    Wetness just failed to touch him in a way that seemed more a fundamental law of the world than a simple state of things, even in this utter downpour. She wondered if that made it difficult for him to drink and thus was why he put away so much small beer during meals.

    By contrast, Tsulogothulan seemed to be so eagerly welcomed by the wet mud, muck and downpour of rain that the clothing seemed wholly more solid and almost like it was just a blink away from eagerly sprouting tall reeds and bubbling over with frog, fish and heron.

    The humanity of their posture all but lost now, everything about them obviously being far more a sculpture of some tall reedy bird or a moss twisted tree bent by humidity than anything in the shape of a man or woman.

    It was laughable to think Jewel had ever thought the Bog Weird was anything so human.

    ¡°Oh you''re awake Lady Jewel? I would recommend against moving much, or even trying to speak to be honest. Just slow careful breaths. As that seems to be doing you the most good of everything else we tried. Just rest and we will see what we can do about the rest of you.¡±

    Jewel could agree to that. Simply laying in the cool jovial mud and friendly rain and only moving as much as was required to inflate her lungs in the jumble that had been made of her ribs sounded quite good.

    Although she thought maybe she should go a bit easier than she had been with the breathing.

    Very slowly now in fact if her heart would just settle down and stop panicking with the sudden abundance of breathable substances.

    She did understand its worry over never having more again, truly. But the desperate muscle did not need to empty her blood of every single scrap of good feeling and set her aching to gasp as big and heavy as possible.

    That made her pain considerably worse than just simply existing entailed.

    At this point Jewel was pretty sure there was barely a joint or part of her body entirely put together the way it was supposed to be, besides the wholeness of her individual bones and the unbroken scales of her hide. Which was a bit of a puzzler when it came to how one was even going to fix anything.

    A conundrum that was giving the trio of wizards pause as well.

    The Bog Wizard slid through the mud, totally in their element. Appearing in great wet splashes at one side of Jewel and then pouring back into the mud before sprouting on another side to peer in a truly avian manner at the mess the boar had made of her with that singular eye.

    ¡°I must confess I¡¯m not sure where to go next after this, Fizzbunches, The neck was obviously needing to be pried open so air could flow. But the rest? She¡¯s a terrible mess. How are you feeling, Lady Jewel?¡±

    ¡°Eaaahegh! eghah!¡±

    In horrific pain Lady Sorcerer! Thank you for asking! But she was still so heady with the joy of simply having anything going in and out of her lungs that was a trifling matter. Even flapping her tongue around ached and hurt in sympathy to the truly astounding amounts of screaming pain coming from everything to do with her jaw.

    Fizzbunches jumped from his stone to land on her tumbled ribs. And wasn¡¯t that a new form of pain, but not atrociously overwhelming pain. Jewel was finding there were nuances and qualities to pain that she had never imagined existed before.

    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    ¡°Since breathing is doing so much for her, I say we work at her ribcage next. Euewyn, I want you to push as much of the north wind as you can down her throat. Tsulogothulan? With me as I pull these ribs into a proper place and set them to heal.¡±

    Oh, that did not sound good. Jewel found her previous admonishment to her heart a bit hypocritical. Go on oh dear little clenching fearball of meat! Beat with all your terribly painful vigor because both of us are about to be-

    !!!

    Jewel was pretty sure the only reason she did not thrash out of her position sunk into the mud was because nothing in her body could manage better than minor shivers with the state she was in.

    So much inside her chest was bruised terrible soreness now.

    This was only an improvement in contrast to how terrible having most of one¡¯s ribs flipped, twisted over and sometimes even shuffled under each other had been.

    And it did make breathing in full lungs a less arduous affair.

    Barely.

    All of the muscles inside were quivering and strained into nearly exhausted jelly after no longer being over extended and sprained by improper relation of their anchoring bones in her chest.

    Jewel didn''t even know she had muscles for breathing there until today.

    But their abused presence and complaints made it clear she absolutely did, and she promised she would find something nice and soothing to do for them as soon as she figured out how.

    Maybe a good submerging in a bath?

    Until then¡­

    Euewyn was more than welcome to keep sending that slightly-biting wind down her throat, please. She could barely muster the strength to inflate her chest even half as well as the Autumn Weird was managing.

    But eventually Jewel was forced to do it on her own as the Wizards went back to puzzling over just how to put the scrambled puzzle that had been made of her skeleton back together and in which order.

    Jewel turned her eyes (the only thing that only sort of hurt, instead of absolutely hurt) to find Muriel sat in a heap breathing hard in the rain, just sat in the mud getting her leathers horribly muddy, leaving her sword to rust!

    She wanted to draw attention to that, Muriel had been very strict with Alexander about proper care of swords.

    But no, after fully seeing the shock, misery and relief in that face. The way that it was more than rain that made her face look so wet?

    Muriel was breaking down in a way Jewel had never seen before.

    Because of Jewel?

    Because of Alexander?

    ALEXANDER?!

    ¡°Alelahaha!¡±

    She tried moving and was promptly admonished for it. Not that she even mustered the motion to shift Fizzbunches where he was pacing up and down her flanks staring at the state of her spine and then hips.

    ¡°Lady Jewel! While I¡¯m certain it won¡¯t make it any worse for you, please stop moving, this is going to take quite a great deal of time as it is!¡±

    She stopped flailing as hard as particularly lethargic moss, but tried speaking again.

    ¡°Alelahaha!¡±

    Her tongue slapped around in her gaping jaws and half the time met the loamy taste of mud and torn up grass, the other half doused in the soothing humor of rain and storm.

    She could see Muriel trying to draw herself together and pry her backside out of where it had sunk into the mud. If this was not serious Jewel would have accepted the pain that laughing involved.

    ¡°Alelahaha! Eh ah Alelahaha!¡±

    Which seemed to fall deaf on all ears, or the equivalent amongst the wizards and Muriel.

    ¡°Well fine if you insist I guess we will work on the jaw next. Now stop trying to speak so we can do this right the first time. Tsulogothulan!¡±

    And this time Jewel was able to stay just barely aware enough through the blinding all encompassing pain to see what happened.

    She had to admit that if you told her she was going to be healed by magic, she would have expected it to involve a whole lot less mud in her mouth and paws all over her face and a lot more shining light and warm fuzzy feelings.

    Or maybe some kind of herbs?

    But the sudden, densely packed wet earth was quite good at shoving, twisting and holding her dislocated jaw from every side.

    And Fizzbunches could press almost as hard as the boar did with those dainty little pads on his paws.

    Which made her head ring with an all-encompassing pop as her jaw was forced despite its protests back where it was supposed to go.

    It was a whole lot less magical than she had been expecting. Although there was the way that despite her entire mouth, nose and everything below her eyes being filled with rain and mud it came away from both her and the cat¡¯s paws entirely clean leaving her tongue feeling kind of weirdly tingly from the absolute absence of  flavor.

    ¡°Aughnclagh Blecgh!¡±

    Oh my, her mouth all hurt almost as much to use as her ribs did for breathing!

    ¡°Ahw ohhww! Alahs- Ahem¡±

    Jewel sputtered and struggled, suddenly, hilariously finding her mouth and tongue just a bit too confined and feeling small after so long letting them hang loose and over stretched. A few wet slaps and a gulp of soggy mud was nice though.

    Okay, again!

    ¡°Alaxandur! Whur Alaxahndur!¡±

    Which got Fizzbunches¡¯ yowl of annoyance and stomping with his dainty little paws down her neck to examine the horrific mess made of her many shoulders.

    Tsulogothulan however looked over at Muriel who had finally found her way over (still bereft her sword! Don¡¯t leave it in the mud! What if Alexander saw?!).

    Before saying the words that made Jewel relax so much she forgot to breathe and got yelled at and her lungs filled with more icy sharp autumn wind.

    ¡°He''s fine, Lady Jewel. He rode near a gallop through the storm to get help.¡±

    A gallop?!

    In the rain!?

    Her Idiot brother was lucky he didn''t break his neck!

    Why If he had been anything but fine she would-

    Jewel did not know what she would do.

    But it would be incredibly unladylike and improper!

 2.8

    2.8

    Eventually Father along with what might very well be the entire household¡¯s contingent of footmen and even the Knight of Garmendan Lothlar arrived.

    Sopping and soaked to the bone.

    Carrying storm lanterns barely alight in the downpour.

    They cast the once pleasant meadow into gold-traced gloom, revealing the muck of the torn up battlefield it had become.

    Dragging an empty tun-sized cart pulled by four draft horses that seemed to be having a difficult time with the sucking mud that had become of anywhere that was not spongy weaves of grass, tangled knots of roots or treacherously slick stones.

    Jewel was mostly put together properly again. Nothing was actually wrenched out of place anymore.

    But everywhere she had gotten her joints pressed back together either felt tender, sprained, bruised or otherwise over stretched or twisted.

    Muscles and ligaments and crunchy gristle Jewel could have gone without knowing was inside her were so pained and overexerted it made moving almost as difficult as before.

    But according to Fizzbunches and Tsulogothulan, she was well enough to heal on her own now, given rest.

    It helped that her Wyrmflame was stoked to near full, almost brimming out of her in the torrents of the storm and the way the lightning danced percussively through the sky.

    So she was able to at least hold herself (carefully) aloft on that alone, making herself a little presentable.

    ¡°F-father, I¡¯m sor-UReeeK¡±

    The crushing hug around her neck enveloping her was not doing anything good to her overly sore muscles. Especially not where the boar had crushed her windpipe closed.

    He abruptly released her at the improper squeal of pain with a squint of apology to his eyes.

    ¡°You¡¯re alright? When Alexander came I feared the worst but you look quite hale! Good job dau-¡±

    Fizzbunches yowled loudly and sharply.

    ¡°Lord Rochford, your daughter was for all accounts and practicalities a corpse with a heart beat when we reached her. The boar had trampled and crushed her, pulled every limb out of joint and place and crushed her throat until it stuck that way! It¡¯s been the effort of all THREE of us to revive her as well as we did and I shall only not be charging you for the trial above and beyond the promised service of one of us because the chance to study her skeletal structure and incredible tenacity to survive where any mortal creature would succumb is within the remit of study you still have yet to fully finalize the agreement for.¡±

    The dark glint in her father¡¯s eyes hinted at violence before he heaved with a sigh and bowed his head towards Fizzbunches.

    The conceit drew a startled meep from Jewel and a few surprised glances from the accompanying household.

    Though Muriel seemed too exhausted and sodden to react. She had finally, after Jewel¡¯s admonishments, gotten her sword out of the mud and even made an effort to dry it out under the downpour.

    But it likely would need a solid treating and oiling after tonight.

    ¡°Lord Sorcerer Fizzbunches, for this service here? I pledge that if you include the full care towards healing and protection you showed toward my daughter this evening you will have your writ of access for your arcane studies, and if you so vouch for them I will even extend that to any that bear your seal. On the stipulation you are responsible if any should use such seals to bring harm or dishonor to my house or mine.¡±

    The smug cat wizard was incredibly smug, dry as a bone despite the downpour. Looking up at Father in a way that somehow was still looking down his nose at the great man.

    Jewel focused on keeping herself aloft and as gently cradled in her Wyrmfire as possible.

    ¡°Such a momentous decision I can accept in principle. But we should wait till we are all well rested before committing it to writ and vellum. I will hold no obligation to your house for tonight regardless how you feel in the ¡®morrow.¡±

    And with that he spun around a corner and left them all standing there in the rain.

    Of which only Jewel and Tsulogothulan seemed entirely unperturbed by it.

    Even Euewyn was a bit sodden and unhappy looking under so much precipitation. Constantly throwing eddies and zephyrs of chiller, cooler autumn wind up and about to rustle the raindrops from her leaves.

    Releasing whistling agitations like the keening displeasure of sparrow and the arguing of squirrel and other tree vermin that Jewel was pretty sure was as close as the Autumn Wizard would manage to cursing in a way not taken literally.

    Father turned to address his gathered Footmen and nodded heavily to them before marching over to the absolutely massive hillock of a corpse that had been the boar.

    ¡°Kraok! It was you who struck the blow who felled this beast?¡±

    The footman stood up and marched over to father to nod, a head shorter than him now that Jewel could see them standing together.

    ¡°My Lord, it was a group effort, Lady Jewel was tangling with the beast and the Governess Murial also was making strikes. Further more Arberson and... Gimletson... It is not my honor alone.¡±

    Muriel shouted over the thunder and the roar of water crashing into the forest, wind in the leaves.

    ¡°Sod off it Kraok! While we were being flung about and toyed with like babes at a tournament you lunged yourself UNDER the beast to skewer its heart!¡±

    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    Father raised a hand for ¡®silence¡¯ although the storm refused his orders, bringing thunder and lightning and if anything even heavier torrents of rain.

    Then turned and walked, boots squelching in the muddy bog that had been made of this side of the meadow in the rain and the churned up mess the boar had made in its battle with them.

    He looked over the four-tusked beast that Alexander had baited out of the woods and taken poor Gimletson¡¯s life.

    That corpse was already wrapped tight in burial cloth, sans quite a lot of the innards which were probably mixed into the mud at their ankles right now.

    Finally Father spoke with a heavy tone.

    ¡°This beast took the life of one of my subjects and your comrade right before your eyes and would have murdered my only son. It brutalized my daughter to the brink of death and likely would have slain her as well if not for you.¡±

    Father turned to Kraok and clasped his shoulder in a hand that nearly brought his fingers to the shorter man¡¯s throat.

    ¡°This beast could have cut all of my line down this very day. But it did not because you struck with honor and bravery against a foe no one could expect you to survive.¡±

    He brought his brow down to meet Kraok¡¯s own and was still a moment, everyone was silent.

    Father¡¯s words cut through them all as he held the footman there speaking firmly over the wind and rain.

    ¡°You have earned the right to call yourself my Knight.¡±

    He stood and Kraok stood straighter.

    ¡°I name You Sir Kraok Boarslayer and grant you all the privileges and responsibilities deserving that station, including the right to a landed title and a dynastic household yourself. I swear to defend this honor by my house and name.¡±

    He turned back to the muddy heap of a corpse.

    ¡°Now let''s get this monstrosity gutted, cleaned and loaded on the cart. I don¡¯t know about all of you but I¡¯m ready to get indoors and dry by the hearth fire and then a soft bed.¡±

    A laugh from the footmen as Father beamed even in the dark of the woods at dusk in a torrential downpour.

    ¡°We have a feast long-delayed today so there will be plenty of food to be had. But tomorrow I declare a festival! All of you and all of my demesne shall enjoy the fruits of Kraok¡¯s victory! A hunting festival for the champions who took down the Terror-Boar!¡±

    And with that, the many hands of the foot took to work preparing the colossal carcass and hoisting it up onto the wagon, whose heavy wheels sank deeply into the mire that was being made of the road.

    But Rochford¡¯s draft horses were sturdy as oxen and far more clever and sure-footed.

    Where the wheels would not turn through the muck the man and beast alike pulled and pushed to simply slide the burdened cart over tree roots and stones and through the near-streams that some of the deer paths had become in the rain.

    On the way inward into the woods brush had been cleared and even the smaller saplings had been cut down and torn up from their roots.

    But the way back was still incredibly slow.

    The cart had passed unburdened into the woods and now it bore the weight of a mountain of boar flesh that pressed it ever deeper into the mud with every pace they seemed to get it forward.

    This continued at a crawl until Tsulogothulan finally seemed to have had enough watching them struggle and took to the head of the procession.

    ¡°Really now! You are going to work so hard when you have the stated service of a Sorcerer and Weird of bog and all that steps, crawls and swims in its waters and mud?! Fools all of you! Behold!¡±

    And after that quite a few men had to leap back and the horses had a momentary fright before their ability to move was taken from them.

    For as had been done with repairing and shifting Jewel¡¯s own broken body, the mud and water of the forest¡¯s impromptu bog swelled up around them all and carried cart, horse and any footmen too slow to get out of the way bobbing along and through the woods. Swallowing the animal and men alike up to their necks to hold them fast and speed them ahead and along the route.

    Tsulogothulan¡¯s laughter was the most inhuman Jewel had ever heard the wizard, sounding more like a murder of crows having great delight than any sound of human throat.

    But it somehow complemented the ride and after the initial shock those men caught in the mud made the most of the situation and hollered in merriment along with.

    It was barely much faster than a trot yes, but significantly better than the sluggish trudge they had been going before. And likely meant they would indeed reach Fort Rochford before sunrise.

    Jewel honestly would not have minded the slower pace. It would have meant she could take it easier.

    She stayed close to Father riding astride one of the tallest warhorses from their stable, Midnight Justice; an imposingly powerful beast so black and shining he hardly stood out from the night in their scattered lantern light.

    He would have been entirely invisible if not for Father and all the glittering metal of the stallion¡¯s full kit.

    One of the few beasts beside Zephyrvam that could bear Father¡¯s weight for longer than a short circuit around the courtyard.

    Hovering and moving as little of her body as possible though Jewel could just about keep pace. Barely moving a limb if she could help it, pressing herself up on almost entirely the will of Wyrmfire alone.

    She could see him wincing when he saw her own pained care with her every limb.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry father! I kept Alexander safe, and the Wizards say that I probably will recover entirely. You don¡¯t need to concern yourself with me.¡±

    Which got nothing but the saddest chuckle she had ever heard her Father ever make.

    With the pain of the talking and the shame she felt over not having somehow stopped Alexander before it all happened Jewel remained silent.

    But her Father¡¯s warm presence was enough.

    Jewel was starting to think she did not in fact like hunting after all.

 2.9

    2.9

    The next morning, Jewel just wanted to lie in her bed and not move, or maybe take another hot bath if it was available. She was still so incredibly, utterly sore.

    Breathing was a labor that had not gotten easier even after a long hot soak in her bath.

    Sleeping had been a chore, and she was paying for the constant cries of her many aches and pains drawing her away from restful slumber.

    Yesterday''s celebration for Alexander had mostly been canceled. Not that the food had not been eaten. Even Jewel had managed the laborious chewing and swallowing to get herself a proper meal before bed.

    The rest had been eaten by the footmen, guests and Father.

    But there had been absolutely no ceremony to it, everyone except the wizards was exhausted, the footmen, Muriel and Father were soaked and cold.

    It had been a very muted affair mostly consisting of people sitting in front of blazing hearths and mechanically chewing through the food. Some quiet joviality but mostly just shivering and trying to get warm.

    After they arrived, there had been much to do to get the boar situated in the larder for the butchers today.

    And then all the gear and armor had to be dried, then oiled lest it rust, and stowed away. The horses had to be cared for. That task had fallen to the Stable staff and those footmen that had brought horses from the village. Given the late hour of their return many had gotten even less sleep than Jewel.

    All around last night had been exhausting for everyone involved.

    Jewel heard the noise continue into the night for long hours past normal. She was unable to sleep at all but for fitful naps before a twinge or her own aching chest woke her no matter how she lay.

    Not even soaking in the bath had been entirely without ache and pain despite how wonderfully the water buoyed her.

    Jewel was exhausted and she knew she was not alone in that, but Father would be up for his duties and she needed to be as well.

    He had declared a festival feast would be held for the entire demesne and all the villages of the barony.

    To celebrate the Knighting of Kraok and the slaying of the beast, now named and whispered in newly sprouting legend.

    That would keep everyone busy for days at least while things were scheduled, prepared and word sent out across the barony.

    All to celebrate the ending of a monster.

    Terror-Boar.

    She could not fault the choice in name.

    If Jewel had not listened to how Knightly stories of adventure accumulated embellishments like burs in a sheep¡¯s wool she might be surprised the way the tale already was growing beyond reason.

    It seemed likely that by the time they had eaten the thing to the bone, the story would say it had been taller than the highest tower of the fort and slew a hundred men before a gallant hero and some stupid aggrandizing version of herself took it down with nary a scratch.

    Which okay that was technically true for Jewel, but that was because her own skin was armored scale that little could pierce at this point.

    Uncuttable did not in fact mean invulnerable.

    She was so tired and everything hurt.

    But a festival meant there was work to be done, preparations to make and scheduling to set. She supposed the local villagers would appreciate it, they had already gotten a less ostentatious relief day just after the Wizard¡¯s arrival.

    But the ones closer to the borders? She wondered if they would enjoy the bother of needing to send sufficient representation to not give insult.

    The hay harvests were still at least another ten days in coming, if the weather had not delayed that. So it¡¯s not like the peasants had anything terribly important to do, but traveling for anyone without flight eats into time like nothing else.

    She hoped the gift of salted boar meat or whatever they were going to do with the carcass would make up for the inconvenience. It¡¯s not like they had enough mouths to eat all of it fresh among the demesne.

    But everyone was busy with the preparations for the Festival on top of normal obligations. And here Jewel was laying like a lump in bed!

    There was no delaying it - Jewel had to be up and about, for appearances if nothing else.

    It helped that she could smell the wonderful scent of the butchers and cook-smoke and the delectable salting of slabs of bacon being prepared for the ceremonial gifts to go along with the pieces that would more immediately be roasted for those already present.

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    The smell helped buoy her towards the feast hall and the far less savory breakfast of porridge.

    Moving through the halls was arduous: without the power of a thunderstorm she could not afford to lug herself around on Wyrmfire alone. Which meant that although Jewel did not have to do unassisted walking (if she did she would just lay in bed and wait to die or heal, whichever came first) but it was still an endless strain on her still sore muscles.

    And it did not help when she finally reached the table.

    Jewel gave one look at her ¡®seat¡¯ and silently and with no acknowledgement of guest, family or staff pushed the offending furniture to the wall of the room and slumped her coils thankfully on the comfortable stones and their soft encouraging memories.

    No one said anything about how she was not being a proper lady and she was hurting too much to be shamed by her behavior.

    Breakfast was exhausting and mostly silent for actual conversation. Oh, there was plenty of speaking but it was all Mother and Father consulting with the household staff on the preparations of what Jewel had already heard being called the Summer Boar festival.

    She wondered if it would turn into a proper celebration every year? The thoughts helped her delay trying to grapple with breakfast.

    It was hard to muster the will to eat her porridge properly, and after the third shaky scoop of porridge and the prospect of trying to finish her usual portion that way, Jewel dropped her spoon and succumbed to expedience and her lesser nature. She grabbed her bowl, stiffly opened her mouth and started gulping breakfast down as swiftly as possible.

    It still hurt to swallow but at least it was over fast.

    She finished it in a single sitting, swallowing it down more like a tankard than a meal.

    Finishing with a heavy clatter of her bowl. It was not even fully licked clean like she usually did. But even her tongue was sore and Jewel could barely find it in herself to bother licking the scraps of porridge from her face where they had settled around her lips and nose.

    Damnation and gods above and out she was worse than Alexander today.

    But no one admonished her like she expected and had braced for.

    Her brother did not mock her. He¡¯d avoided even looking at her, gloomy in mood. Flinching from her gaze.

    That hurt.

    Mother had nothing to say and Father only commented softly.

    ¡°Glad to see you with an appetite, Daughter.¡±

    She only nodded and waited for Muriel to arrive for whatever lessons or activity they would be expected to do today, probably something related to the festival.

    But everyone¡¯s meal was finished with no sign of the Governess.

    The two Wizards who actually woke up in the morning took their leave and as usual the guest Knight had taken his morning meal with the footmen at dawn.

    Finally looking around Jewel drug the words from her throat, feeling a buzzing creak from the ache that she had thought banished since she was seven.

    ¡°Where is Miss Muriel? For our Lessons?¡±

    Alexander flinched a bit inwards.

    Mother smiled with a brittleness to her eyes.

    ¡°Your Father and I thought it best if you and Alexander have some time to restore yourselves from your ordeal, And for you to recuperate especially dear Daughter. Even the greatest warrior must convalesce after such a battle.¡±

    Father nodded and then added his own thoughts.

    ¡°Furthermore Miss Muriel is in need of some rest herself to fortify her spirit and requested time for a reprieve from her duties.¡±

    Jewel blinked at that and hummed a bit.

    She didn''t like that at all, but then again she had not been looking forward to any possible physical lessons.

    But to have nothing at all to do while others were so busy?

    That almost hurt more than everything else in her body.

    Then again without Muriel she could help Alexander as much as she wanted.

    Yes, there was something she could do that involved nothing but lounging comfortably against friendly stones and time with those she most wanted to spend it with in all the world.

    Putting thought to words Jewel called out to her brother.

    ¡°Well that hardly seems proper to a lady of my station... But if you insist, Alexander! Would you like to join me in Father¡¯s Study? I believe we were only part way through the third volume of Historica naturalis Cantora!¡±

    Jewel had actually finished that one but she knew Alexander had not, and honestly she wanted to do nothing more than read to her brother in that way that kept his attention and made the dry events written by the author shine in his eyes and spark his imagination.

    The shocked look of surprise, wariness and then tearful relief that crossed her brother¡¯s face almost made the aches in her chest seem to vanish.

    But they returned with a vengeance when he seized her in the tightest hug his small frame could manage.

    That hurt so much it hilariously made her laugh.

    Which just hurt more and made her and the rest of her family laugh even harder in pained relief.

 2.i

    2.i

    Do not hunt rabbits in wide hilly meadows,

    When you can smell rain on clear summer days.

    For it might just be a Lepori Wyrm¡¯s warren.

    Hidden in burrow with tall grass most frayed.

    Or Nibbling clover, maybe sleeping a spell.

    It will cower so timid and flee with its kin.

    Its Long ears flapping hide danger most fell.

    For many fool hunters from it meet their end.

    Please, however foolish and odd the beast might just look,

    With the body of wyrm, but quite undercooked.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    Legs like a frog, the head of a rabbit,

    Tail of a dog, Don¡¯t you dare grab it.

    Yes a sight that will make you titter in glee.

    But listen dear hunter you should best just flee.

    Though some say it''s wit is dull as rock,

    And can¡¯t even catch the lamest of cock.

    Please heed this warning, Hunter to be.

    From beast, Man and Snare the Rabbits are free

    For any who dare cause even a scare

    Will be the Wyrm¡¯s own prey! all hunters beware!

    With white fire bright and vicious wrath hot,

    Terrible claws bloody and teeth dripping rot

    The Lepori Wyrm will fall in unending might

    And slay all would be hunters that give its flock fright.

    So do not hunt rabbits in wide hilly meadow,

    Where you can smell rain in the air, yet see no cloud shadow.

    For hunters you may find a fell end in pain.

    For that might just be the warren,

    Where Lepori Wyrm Reign.

    -A tale of the Ulathin hinterlands.

 3.1

    3.1

    Jewel looked around at the courtyard. The last few days had seen the mostly empty space transformed.

    Canvas shades had been set up to spare their subjects from the baking sun.

    A dais had been erected for herself and her family.  There, they could be presented before their subjects.

    All the usual paraphernalia for training had been cleared and stowed away from wandering peasant fingers.

    And there was already a minstrel troupe arranging a main stage and plotting out routes for sections of the shaded courtyard. Practicing juggling, musical instruments or the wording of tales.

    In one case, a very clever thing was being done with wooden carved figures that Jewel was very interested in seeing later.

    She had heard quite a row between the entertainers to make sure that their particular instruments would not be ¡®clashing¡¯ from being overly close in the space - unless both performers came to an accord on harmony and topic of play.

    There had also been grounds that were normally used for Alexander and the footmen¡¯s training, now set aside for a few knightly games of sport, probably to be attended mostly by the footmen and a few of the more adventurous visitors. Jewel had heard wrestling and archery were likely to be an event in the days to come.

    But nothing with live steel or even training weapons was to be used on one another.

    The smell of smoked wild boar sausage layered over everything as even before the festivities the household staff and visitors worked to prepare and stock.

    That was Jewel¡¯s favorite part of the upcoming events, the flavor was unique and already she had heard discussion on how the plain meat of the monstrous Terror-boar had been remade using lesser pigs and spices.

    Jewel did not think they had actually succeeded as much as was claimed.

    The natural bite, aromatic nuances and peppery undertones of the genuine meat were utterly delicious to Jewel. And not just because she got to devour the flesh of the animal that had left her aching and sore clear through the hay harvests!

    Certainly a good effort was done with the spices but the imitation just lacked something, at least when she¡¯d sampled it from the kitchens.

    She would miss the Terror Boar sausage, and she honestly considered that perhaps maybe she might be convinced to hunt some smaller boar. If she could find any that matched its flavor. Just to keep the family larder stocked in these treats of course!

    Breakfasts and evening meals had been flush with the juiciest slabs of bacon since the hunt. And Kraok had attended as an honored guest and knight to all the family meals, instead of as a guard among the footmen.

    He seemed rather unsure and embarrassed by his rise in rank. But that had settled out after Father and Lothlar began drilling him on his form, making sure he had kit proper for his new station commissioned and other sundry.

    And all of that while Mother managed the staff for disposing of the incredible tonnage of carcass.

    The sheer size of the boar and its many uses had been bewildering.

    Jewel had understood that much could be done with an animal but when it was this big the industry of it really brought a clarity that did not come with smaller games.

    They had tried many things to preserve and prepare the absolute abundance of meat so it would not go to waste, but the household favorite (especially Jewel¡¯s) was the lean-meat smoked sausage stuffed in the boar¡¯s own intestine.

    What the staff and local villagers were already calling Kraoska.

    And Jewel was going to miss it.

    Another novel snack involved the bone marrow stewed out and left simmering over the last fortnight and made available to all the demesne for their abundance in big iron pots. That had been a savory treat and nuance added to the pottage! When every scrap of flavor had been sapped the remaining bones themselves were worked over.

    The ground up and boiled empty bones, according to the headman of the village, had the right taste for feeding the soil. So the ground meal of such was parceled and portioned for every acre of the Barony.

    The heart was soaked in brine and vinegar, Pummeled soft and then baked in honey and served in a feast honoring the Countess¡¯ acknowledgement and ratification of Fathers choice in knighting Kroak. The decree granted him a landed title within the Rochford barony. She even endorsed him as fit for a title beyond Father¡¯s lands if Kraok could find a marriage for it.

    The skull and tusks were being kept in Father¡¯s possession in trust for Sir Kraok as a start for the wealth expected of his station. It might be sold off or fashioned by artisans into gear or other artifacts.

    The brain had been drained and made into a liquor or something that delighted the tanners working its hide, and was said to have given both suppleness and strength even to mundane pig hide when worked in it.

    The praise placed upon the leather by the armorers that had made Kraok¡¯s kit was near unceasing.

    Of course the best portion of the hide went to armor for Sir Kraok. And that would be debuted at the Festival¡¯s start. The rest was still waiting for craftsmen to claim it and might even be bundled and sold if enterprising traders came through, or it¡¯d be given in tithe payments to the Countess.

    The sheer density and strength of the skull had been so great that, despite all the blows it had taken in the battle, it was still wholly intact!

    Jewel had been quite shocked by how undamaged it was once the skin and flesh had been stripped and mostly eaten in many curious kitchen experiments by the household. After cleaning and polishing it, they could not scratch it! Even with the working tools needed to extract two of the tusks there was still not a mark upon it!

    And the tusks were very fine white ivory after they were cleaned. Exceptional in length and quality on their own and then there were four which was unusual and brought much speculation that there might be a Wild Wyrm Lair hunt to be taken to find from whence the monster had come.

    All told it was a great bounty Father was gifting to Kroak to start his career in knighthood.

    The skull and tusks would be presented during the fair, cleaned up for viewing at the start of the Celebration which was done ostensibly to honor Kraok¡¯s service and the now-legendary hunt.

    But also to verify for the skeptical just how much of a threat the Terror Boar had represented.

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    Jewel and Alexander would of course be required to attend on the dais for that, and then expected to move amongst the peasantry in the Courtyard for the rest of the fair days.

    It was especially important, according to Muriel, for Jewel to take this opportunity to be seen and interact with the peasantry who lived further out in the Barony. The local villagers were quite comfortable with her, but this would be the first time for many of the farther flung peasantry to meet the lord''s daughter since she had been officially adopted.

    Which was exciting, yes.

    But also worrying.

    She still remembered a few of her first impressions with the village when she was younger.

    The lavender oil that was thrown in her face by a frightened child (which she really quite liked actually and thanked the horrified mother for, In fact that family was now the primary source for her lavender bathing oil).

    Numerous insults and oaths of curse taken to one god or another when they thought she wouldn''t hear.

    A few comments comparing her to their livestock.

    And other things said about her personage and figure she wished she could remain unaware of.

    Mother and Father¡¯s displeasure had interceded for some of it. But Muriel had made lessons out of going into the village and speaking to her subjects as well.

    Familiarity was apparently key.

    Getting to know their troubles and even attending to a few of their disputes before the problem reached a point Father needed to intervene.

    It took a year before she was mostly accepted. But the coldest seasons were especially fruitful.

    Apparently offering to warm a hearth on nothing but stone and spent ash so they could save on firewood went a long way for most people in winter.

    Jewel had only been able to do so for a few houses a day, but the village headman had been helpful in showing her to those that were the worst off in firewood and food stores.

    These days, she was welcome from fields to forests, tannery to smithy and all sundry places between in the demesne and village.

    But tomorrow the Boar Festival would begin in earnest, and the courtyard would be filled with more than those people who would wave and welcome her.

    She had never helped any of these new people resolve a dispute by interrogating the earth where a fence post had been a decade ago.

    Or warmed their homes against the bite of winter.

    Or cleared snow to a shed for them.

    Or came with grain or even milled flour to make bread when larders were bare.

    It would probably be the muttered frightful words all over again, and the insults and the scented oils to the face!

    She just knew that they would all hate her-

    ¡°Oiy! Little Lady! No brooding!¡±

    One of the butcher workers, Jewel, was not sure exactly who, she wanted to say his name was  something to do with salt, or maybe field sowing? Commoners had such terribly boring and repetitive names and half the time you just had to guess some random noun or verb related to their profession and you were golden.

    Before she could proclaim how she was certainly not brooding as she was a lady, the man tossed an entire Kraoska at her underhanded!

    ¡°Here I¡¯ve got a treat for ya!¡±

    The precious sausage was sailing through the air in an arc that would miss her face if she was inattentive.

    But then the delicious Kraoska would get in the dirt!

    Her jaws were snapping on the peppery spice-filled delight of smoked pork and springy casing before it even began to dip from the apex of its arc.

    And since it had found its way into her mouth anyway, she proceeded to chew and absolutely did not utter any overly pleased and unlady-like noises.

    It was as perfect as all the other¡¯s she had eaten!

    But truly, Jewel tried to scowl at the incredibly friendly but unfortunately totally plain butcher type man in his leather smock and high heeled wooden clogs. She wanted to admonish him, but the traitorous smoked sausage would simply not let her lips make a frown or her brows furrow.

    Still she tried to make her displeasure known without opening her mouth (lest she lose some of her involuntary snack). These were for the fair guests! Not for distracting Jewel with their delicious smoky perfection from her totally justified concerns!

    She glared down at the man and chewed furiously, but being one of the villagers that was now quite comfortable with her he just grinned happy as can be, arms behind his back, bracing him so he could avoid a crick in his neck without breaking eye contact with the towering lady dragon.

    ¡°Sod off on that, Little Lady - it''s doing you good and would have gone to waste, I swear. That one was a bit manky!¡±

    Jewel was unconvinced, as she could taste the pure pristine quality of the sausage.

    But since she could eat totally spoiled meat and just get some interesting hints of sourness, the household staff (and apparently the villagers too now) had taken to using that excuse when they wanted to sneak her treats.

    Jewel encouraged it when she was five but she wasn''t such a spoiled hatchling anymore! Jewel would be ten this winter!

    She was no child!

    ¡°I swear little Lady, I swear! It would have had to go to the dog! But you were looking in need of a mite more cheering then ole Bonecrusher there.¡±

    Jewel spared a glance to the dog as she continued to chew the illicit pork. And indeed, there below at the butcher¡¯s feet were hopeful eyes of what was certainly a bear-hound cross of some kind.

    Laying amiably by the side of the butcher¡¯s heavy oaken table, where she presumed he was going to slice portions for those that wanted their sausage today instead of to take home.

    The hound¡¯s deep black eyes spoke to the endless optimism of all dogs that despite the assured fact that Jewel was indeed going to finish chewing this mouth full and swallow it for herself she surely did not have too.

    Sparing affronted glares between dog and owner both Jewel finally huffed heavily (through her nose, no morsel would escape her jaws) and reluctantly swallowed the wonderfully flavorful smoked boar sausage before it started to lose its flavor from chewing.

    ¡°A pleasure to help avoid the waste, fair butcher. But I worry for your stock if something spoilt made it all the way from the smoke house to your stand?¡±

    She eyed the numerous hanging sausages of all sizes.

    Jewel had already tried quite a few of them during the presentations to Father and the family so they could pick which would stay in the family larder and which would be parceled to the representatives of each village and other households.

    It was all a cumbersome affair, for however incredible the quantity of meat from the boar it was  significantly less when split among the thousand-four hundred and some subjects that worked and lived among the villages across the barony.

    Even if you only accounted for the last statements, citing there being only about seven hundred and forty able-bodied men of proper strength and age to cut hay, it still was not going to be that much of a parcel per guest had they stuck to only the flesh of the Terror Boar.

    Father had called for boar hunts across the forests when it seemed the larders would only be able to give a token Kraoska for every able bodied man of the Barony.

    And from that came the inferior imitations.

    So she really should not have any more of these precious meats.

    Jewel had honestly already eaten more of the boar and its wonderful spicy pork then any of her subjects were going to be able to.

    Quite a few were going to have to accept the inferior imitations some of the kitchen staff had made with a mix of garden herbs and the household''s sparse store of pepper and coriander.

    But then again.

    ¡°Well, I suppose since you found the one which snuck by we best check to make sure that there are not any others unfit as gifts representing Father and his generosity.¡±

    After all, maybe there were some sausages that were poor-eating for commoners.

    It was after all Jewel¡¯s duty to make sure they did not take ill from Father¡¯s gift.

 3.2

    3.2

    The first morning of the Festival began with the very breaking of dawn and came with all the weight of a foreign Lord¡¯s visit. Jewel was bathed, her scales polished and her mane combed through.

    The rest of her family, Bromthil and Kraok and the footmen took the hot water after her for their own baths (Jewel had no idea why, their animal scent was quite nice today but she did not comment as that was apparently rude).

    Her favorite lavender oil was anointed along her scales and a wreath of flowers from the gardens along the walls was wound and set upon her head, affixed with twine to either of her horns and a little clever tie in the back to her mane so it would not dislodge during the day.

    Alexander had to have his finery adjusted since his last fitting nine days before, let out around the shoulders and loosened to hang taller than it had before. A few places of wear revealed by this needed a stitch, tuck or otherwise made presentable.

    Father and Mother had their own attendants to make certain their clothes were fine and impressive for the showing to the barony¡¯s gathered subjects.

    Breakfast was a rushed affair in the still-early hours of the morning and everyone (even Father) wore a guard cloth over their front in case there were any splatters that might mar their preparations.

    Kraok had already been a fixture every morning since his official assumption to the rank of Knight. But today he was also fully kitted in the new leather that had been made of the Boar Hide.

    Jewel thought It was very fetching stained black, all shiny and new and every metal rivet wet with fresh oiling.

    It was smooth and flexible to have a minimum creak, as was proper for hunting leathers. But built considerably more for military use than just the light treatment to ward off brush and brambles.

    There were even embellishments done in the pristine white of tusk ivory. Both Father¡¯s GryphonRampant and the newly made crest of Kraok¡¯s dynasty were prominent (a Boar and Axe naturally).

    Though being fully armored for war meant he had to sit upon one of the more narrow stools out of the barracks to keep the leather fauld from bending awkwardly under his ass.

    He was joined in this unique seating requirement by another knight.

    For once, Lothlar was also actually eating with them instead of the footmen. Dressed in light mail with his home city¡¯s crest in tabard over it. All told his well worn armor looked far less impressive and more frumpy than Kraok¡¯s even though his mail was almost certainly a stronger deterrent when worn over a brigandine like it was.

    The rush everyone was in, getting their morning beer and porridge down as fast as possible, left conversation sparse and mostly taken up by updates and last minute troubleshooting for the fair, various issues brought to Father¡¯s attention by the household staff.

    They cleared out breakfast and then moved on into the courtyard. Even though it was hardly a few hours past sunrise the peasantry and other attendants were already filling up the space.

    A few of the minstrels were warming to the occasion with songs and ballads. A few had been written over the last day or so recounting Kraok¡¯s exploits in the slaying of the beast.

    Jewel could immediately spot those among the peasantry that were not from the local village nestled so close in the lee of Fort Rochford.

    For one, they tended to stop dead and cause a fuss around them at the sight of her.

    A few whispered and she heard and saw much ogling and astonished whispering.

    As Muriel and Mother had instructed her Jewel did not pay their reactions any mind, She strode with her family confident and seemingly ambivalent to their stares, flanked by their footmen, Kroak and Lothlar at the head of each single file column.

    Father moved at the head of the procession, Mother at his right and Alexander just a step back from her on his left. Coming up last, taking up a little more than the entire procession of their available footmen was Jewel. Her tail had grown in the last few years to the point that it simply would not fit down a procession of foot without sacrificing adequate, honorable spacing.

    Jewel strode with all the regal grace and flowing elegance she could muster. Honed by many drills with Muriel and Mother¡¯s commentary and critique.

    She did not float or fly, she did not bound. But each step drifted just a bit overly long in the air.

    Her coils flowed and her wings stayed furled close, but with a relaxed poise.

    She bore her head tall, just above Father¡¯s own shoulder, looking ahead as if she was the Lady of all before her instead of Father¡¯s daughter.

    So it was the family strode to the wooden stage that had been made as a dais for their seating.

    All of them were appointed with seats, although hers was regrettably the same one that was used when they were hosting a feast with less familiar guests.

    At least the dais was mostly timbers cut last year and hardly venerable in anything but growing in the wood as trees.

    It would have made for less comfort than even the seat.

    She was to lounge regally behind father, her head at his right, looming over and behind Alexander in a suitably imposing manner.

    Alexander himself had a finely worked but mostly unadorned stool, Mother¡¯s was a scaled up but otherwise comparable seat.

    Father had a fully backed and carved chair. One of the finer works, although not his favorite (he kept that one at the dining table).

    Kraok had another simple stool to father¡¯s right, suitable for use while in full armor, Jewel sniffed slightly and confirmed that it had indeed come from the barracks but was at least different from the one he used during breakfast.

    He was mirrored to Father¡¯s left with another barrack¡¯s armor stool seating Lothlar, which was humorously the same stool used by Kraok during the morning meal.

    Maybe she should enquire with father if the armory needed more stools.

    The procession turned and as one sat in their assigned places upon the dais, the canvas top ready to offer a welcome shade for when it came around for the summer¡¯s baking noon-sun.

    Although at present Jewel welcomed  the walls of her home, as they were keeping the early morning light out of her eyes.

    It was not a moment after they were seated that Alexander struggled with a yawn, only just smothering it.

    Jewel had to agree, despite the admonishment she wanted to give her brother. The hour was quite too early to be quite so presentable and even earlier for how long they would have to attend the peasants here.

    Mother was probably going to be quite drunk by the afternoon, despite keeping to the watered down wine and small beer given the way she tended to go parched in the sun even shaded as they were.

    Jewel wondered if Mother would end up in a singing round with the village and minstrels this time?

    Their arrival had been fanfare enough, Jewel thought. No one in the courtyard had missed the chance to gawk at them (mostly her). But just in case the Crier for the day (another boy Jewel did not recognize) called out with a solid but clear voice.

    ¡°Presenting your Lord, Liege and Baron, Jonathan the Third of House Rochford!¡±

    Good pipes on him! He cut the murmur of nearly a four hundred gathered peasantry and the forty some mix of attending footmen, Minstrels, Vendors and general staff present.

    All below the rank of knight bowed, which was everyone not already seated on the dais.

    Jewel kept her face placidly serene and neutral. Frowning while up here presented the wrong mein for a Lady.

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    Smiling might give others a hint of mischief or idiocy.

    But there was a specific expression that you could let your muscles take which was not quite relaxed but also not overly tense.

    Muriel had drilled her and Alexander on their own variations exhaustively.

    Mother and Father seemed to simply be able to take it up without a moment¡¯s thought.

    The silence was punctuated by summer bird song and a cool morning wind.

    Even the Minstrels silenced.

    And then Father¡¯s voice carried out sonorous and deep as he used for public address, he stood from his chair, striding forward on the Dais so all could see him, take in his stature.

    ¡°We are gathered here to honor a service to my house and to you my subjects, the valiant defense of my son.¡±

    He nodded to Alexander who schooled his face, this part had been the most difficult of the preparations, it had taken two days of practice before they found something that did not make Alexander burst into unseemly tears.

    ¡°...and the slaying of a terrible monster, a threat to us all.¡±

    On cue the footmen marched from behind the dais, eight of them bracing the poles which bore the terrifying skull of the boar.

    In death it was somehow even more terrifying than life.

    Even missing two of its four tusks, the scale of the thing made portions of Jewel¡¯s hide carefully obscured from the peasantry tremble in fright.

    The jaws were seemingly big enough to swallow a man whole, stripped of the heavy jowls and muscles; the impression was that it could have even made a go at devouring Jewel and her formidable bulk entirely.

    The image made her jaw give phantom twinging aches at the memory of how she had accomplished similar results by forceful dislocation.

    The gathered peasantry that had not already been spending well over fifteen days stripping, butchering and treating the remains of the Terror Boar recoiled as was appropriate to the visage.

    The footmen procession carried it to the front of the dais and then with a practiced kneel they brought it down to rest on the packed dirt of the courtyard.

    Father gestured to all of them.

    ¡°Today we celebrate the Slaying of the Terror Boar, and the Man, The Knight, who struck it through the heart.¡±

    On his own cue Kraok stood in his fine new armor and approached father to kneel in allegiance.

    Father¡¯s hand was already raised to rest on Kraok¡¯s head.

    Just as practiced for the last three days.

    ¡°Rise and be known by all the people of Rochford! Rise and be recognized, Sir Kraok Boarslayer! Knight of Rochford!¡±

    That drew some murmur and attention away from the boar skull that ominously stood before all the peasants, dwarfing even the burliest of them.

    A few of the less polite peasants had ignored most of father¡¯s speech and gone to poke and prod. Run their fingers over its teeth and tusks, even a couple children took to trying their knives on its skull and Jewel had to hold with every fiber of her being to not laugh when the simple iron implements chipped against the solidity of its bone.

    But the older amongst the outsiders considered Kraok with knowing eyes. Rochford had not a proper Knight other than the technicality of Lord Rochford himself in close to two generations.

    They of course still paid for the full Knight¡¯s fee of all the fields of the barony to the Countess Bathory, but there had mostly been head men and mayors of the villages to manage those affairs too distant for direct supervision by Father.

    But a Knight of Rochford meant a manor house would be either reclaimed from current residents, restored up from ruin or possibly even built whole cloth if none was suitable in the chosen lands Father had marked to give to Kraok.

    It probably was at most a year away before he was ready for the administrative task and fully settled.

    For one, he would need to be brought back up to a standard in letters and stewardship.

    The skills of a Footmen sometimes hunter were simply not sufficient for a Knight.

    Time to settle all affairs and make all parties comfortable with the tidings and new arrangement. But even then, he was to be the liege of up to a hundred of those present if all things went well.

    That was newsworthy to the clever eyes watching Father. The trip was already worthwhile for the considerate faces Jewel saw in the crowd. She could not quite smother the entirety of her smile for Father¡¯s next reveal though.

    ¡°In the coming days of merriment you will hear the tale told by our minstrels and your fellow subjects until I¡¯m sure everyone is quite sick of it.¡±

    Father gave them the slight hint of his joke in his voice.

    A few automatic chuckles and some genuine ones followed on cue, Jewel was pleased there was more of the later then the former.

    Father was a good lord.

    ¡°But this is not just a day to celebrate the bounty I give to only those that serve my house in battle against terrible monsters. Today is a festival for more! For yes the great Terror Boar was mighty, and vast.¡±

    He stood up tall with a wide grin.

    ¡°But it was also quite delicious! And as your Lord and Baron, I take pride that I guard you from more than mere giant beasts and the depredations of bandits. Not just the threat of invasion or subjugation by cruel masters.¡±

    Everyone was quiet in the air, even the birds in the distance silent.

    ¡°I know we are entering into the hunger¡¯s season before the wheat harvest. I know and in my responsibility as lord this last season before the haying I did open my granaries to those of my immediate demesne in need.¡±

    Those who were not so local turned to their fellow subjects and received nods and grins, which rippled out through the visitors turning suspicious but hopeful eyes to Father as he waited for the slight murmur to finish.

    ¡°In life the Terror Boar was a beast and a monster, a threat to all, my son included. But in death it is a boon! And one I share with you!¡±

    He gestured with a hand and one of the footmen came up to him with the tied bundle of Kraoski Sausage, a leather pouch almost the same size as the sausage that Jewel knew was filled with a mix of grain and bean for pottage, a small round of hard sheep cheese from their very own reserve, and a clay urn filled with a mix of ash and ground bone powder. Good for probably an acre of land or several plots of garden.

    ¡°As your lord and Baron I declare every household of my subjects is owed a portion of this bounty! Come forth and affirm your loyalty, state your place in my land and receive your due!¡±

    And with that he returned to his seat and awaited the first petitioner.

    It was going to be such an ordeal. Making sure that every household got what he declared was owed.

    And Father was going to be stuck here handing them out all day and tomorrow, possibly even the day after if it was slow going.

    However the first few appointees had already been selected and gotten into position for their gifts at the start of Father¡¯s speech.

    Trusted headmen or their chosen heir representatives from the villages, influential freemen with important trades, farmers with particularly strong ties to the other peasants and the like.

    It was to make sure that the most loyal got the genuine Kraoski as there was not actually enough from the fabled boar itself to portion to every household of the barony.

    But enough that there was that every village certainly could get a dozen or so of the genuine article.

    Father just had to make sure that they went to those most deserving.

    For the rest whether the tardy that were slow to affirm their loyalty to father? Or were simply just late to the festival, such as not arriving until tomorrow?

    Well they would get the inferior attempts to duplicate the wonderful flavor of the Terror Boar smoked sausage.

    It would be just as filling for the belly through the hunger¡¯s season. But not quite as much an explicit treasure.

    Jewel watched the procession of Subjects affirming their loyalty to Father, stating the place in his barony of their household and the land they worked or craft they practiced in his name.

    She was glad that her and the family only had to be present for the first day of this.

    Poor father had to be here for the entire festival potentially!

 3.3

    3.3

    ¡°Can you really set fire to horseshoes?!¡±

    Jewel was starting to think this was not worth the good will of the visitors.

    ¡°Can I have a ride?!¡±

    Surely a little bit of hate was not so bad?

    ¡°Your mane is so pretty! Can I braid it?!¡±

    Muriel must have been a star-sent fiend in disguise. That was the only reason she could have come up with this horrible, torturous plan.

    ¡°Da said that Uncle told him that he heard from old Sue that you eat five oxen a day! Are they really tasty? I¡¯ve never had Oxen before but Ma says their really tough and stringy when its time ta kill da ones that pull the plow.¡±

    Jewel had just about given up on answering every question, and instead just picked some at random and stayed as carefully still as she could while the few visiting children joined the local kinder in scrambling all over her.

    However, sometimes their requests turned into arguments with each other.

    ¡°If anyone gets to ride Lady Jewel it¡¯s gonna be me! She came by last winter and cleared out all the snow to the privy! That makes us sisters! Pa said so!¡±

    Who in their right mind traveled across the barony with children?! Jewel did not let out a sigh of frustration, she kept her amused and friendly smile (no teeth). And occasionally offered a wing, arm or leg to help catch an over adventurous youth from falling too hard when they found her scales had significantly less purchase then they had expected.

    ¡°Oh I¡¯ve had ox once, and your ma is right they grow tough and stringy from the work. But no I hardly ever eat them and shining heavens about NO I don¡¯t eat five oxen a day! I have a bowl of porridge in the morn for breakfast and a round of bread at noon and maybe another before supper with a pot of stew for the evening.¡±

    The lucky kinder that had asked her about the outrageous rumors of Jewel¡¯s dining habits seemed quite affronted by the simplicity of her diet and groaned in disappointment.

    ¡°Why that¡¯s hardly more then pa and big Ovah eat on days they fix the fence. Not even as much when it was cutting day!¡±

    Well there was an opportunity and it was getting close to noon and she¡¯d missed her usual snack.

    ¡°Well I didn''t say how big a round it was! In fact I am feeling a mite peckish. A moment little ones!¡±

    She raised her head much to the dismay of those that had not waited for her permission to braid her mane. Turning her head to look across the bemused crowd of parents, elder siblings, grandparents, uncles, aunts and other sundry guardians.

    Finally she spotted one of the footmen at the edge of the courtyard near the entrance to the family quarters and after staring intently, finally caught the eye of one of the footmen and mouthed out ¡®food¡¯ with just a bit of a wide desperation to her eyes.

    This got a few muffled chuckles from those that had been amusing themselves with the novelty of the daughter of the Baron, a Lady and a so-called Devil Wyrm acting as an impromptu dry nurse for the children of the peasantry.

    Her noonday meal secured, Jewel lowered her head back down so curious hands could grab at her horns and the more crafty could fiddle with her mane. A few enterprising girls complained loudly that she had spoiled their careful braid work but they were soon diligently setting it right so that she would be ¡®prettier then auntie¡¯s best stallion¡¯ or other such vaguely not quite demeaning comparisons.

    She glanced around at the collection of nearly a dozen of the younger children. Most were hardly much more than four summers old, but one of them was actually almost certainly a year older than Jewel.

    However unlike Alexander she seemed to be not at all keen on shouldering the responsibilities of an adult like a young lady or lord would.

    Jewel wondered just what this girl¡¯s parents were thinking, foisting her off like an infant onto a Lady of the barony.

    ¡°Kor tell of happen on hunt the Pig!?¡±

    Jewel froze at the question and looked down to find the speaker, but did not immediately spot who it was.

    A quiet had settled over the other kinder at her reaction and she realized she had to pull her smile back into place but it felt far too brittle to be convincing.

    The little fingers still worked at her mane weaving hair in handfuls and binds but all the murmuring had fled their little throats.

    Ah there they were!

    The extra short one at the back looking so shy!

    Having finally sussed out who it was, Jewel peered down at the toddling little black-haired child, barefoot and in a peasant babe¡¯s smock that, if not for her nose, would have made it a trial to discern if it was male or female.

    But since she was a Lady and a wyrm of impeccable senses, Jewel knew this was a particularly young boy.

    Maybe three Summers at the most.

    Jewel¡¯s voice came out much less sure then she wanted, there was even a creak and buzz that seemed to draw every eye.

    ¡°I think the minstrels and knights all tell it better then I could, of the honor and the bloodshed tha-¡±

    ¡°No! Won¡¯t kor hear you! Was there yo wor Jewel? Tell it true no fancy¡±

    The child that was either too young (or too rough-mannered) to know better than to interrupt had a fierce tone to him.

    He even had stamped his foot in the hard packed dirt of the courtyard!

    Really, what were her subjects teaching their kids?! Was this just a youth thing? Or some deficiency in their peasant-rearing practices?

    It was just so baffling that this child thought to interrupt his Lady and Liege¡¯s Daughter.

    Every eye among the children was on her and quite a few adults turned with interest. That she was present could not be omitted from the ballads, but at her own request to lessen the discomfort a lot of her part in it had been left out.

    And the specifics of her Brother¡¯s foolishness. But those eyes... so many curious eyes just wanting to know.

    On Muriel¡¯s head this would be!

    They reminded her too much of Alexander from years ago.

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    Defeated by the curiosity of babes, she surrendered. Jewel began speaking into the gaping void of their attention.

    ¡°We were out hunting, you see. It was Alexander¡¯s first time sporting a bow on the hunt.¡±

    One of the older children piped in with a gleeful adoration.

    ¡°My da hunts with a bow come autumn! You Lord¡¯s Son went out to take down the boar first hunt?!¡±

    Jewel shook her head and laughed a bit, silencing the boisterous girl that was currently sitting on one of her shoulders so she could pull the mane there out into separate strips for braiding with one hand while the other was holding a fist full of flowers.

    ¡°Nae nae! Alexander, my brother was out to shoot Rabbit.¡±

    That caught quite a number of the children aghast and confused.

    ¡°Rabbit?!¡±

    One simply shouted in dismay.

    ¡°Everyone knows you don¡¯t shoot rabbits! You snare them! Even big Kob knows that and he''s fool as bristle flour!¡±

    Said another who seemed suspicious of this part of the story, like Jewel was trying to pull a wool over their eyes with this obvious falsehood.

    Jewel found herself laughing a bit at their incredulity.

    ¡°Well we were out to shoot rabbit, I don¡¯t hunt myself¡±

    A few more gasps of shock at that.

    ¡±So I¡¯m not sure why it was the proper way but Sir Kraok told my brother it was the thing to do. And we did set snares for them too of course but my brother was supposed to shoot them.¡±

    She was starting to get a feel for this story telling thing. Maybe it was all the times she had heard minstrels, knights and the like extol events over a boisterous feast getting ever deeper into their cups but¡­

    In a fit of inspiration she had a thought of how to keep to the truth while also saving her brother¡¯s honor!

    ¡°But there was a wicked curse to the winds that day, I think maybe it was the wild wind of the Boar itself perhaps?¡±

    The mention of a wicked magic drew attention from all the kinder though, after all if the Lady and Wyrm was saying it was so then surely it was, and honestly she was hardly saying anything different then how it happened. Just embellishing perhaps a mite bit.

    But compared to what the Minstrels sang? This was practically the utter sworn truth.

    ¡°No matter how sure my brother, who is skilled in the bow, let fly with his arrow, every last one was twisted and turned from its chosen mark.¡±

    She continued on with the story, soon the parents and other guardians were also there to sit and listen as she told what had happened that day.

    Softened not to disparage or dishonor her dear brother, but keeping close enough that every missed shot and foiled arrow brought winces from hunters who had felt the bite of such cursed hunts.

    ¡°Such was the curse that my brother who stuck every eye in archery just the day before was left bereft, so wrought was this ill wind that by mid day every coney was so unperturbed by the lack of danger presented by my brother¡¯s arrows they did not even fright for how absolutely his shots were sent to a field of them.¡±

    She leaned in close then, having pulled in all their interest.

    ¡°And it was then at last that my brother and I first came upon the great Terror boar. Having been chasing another stray arrow, hoping that it would be at least left unbroken rather then sundered as so many others had been and then in seeing its terrible mein did we both turn and realize the nature of the day¡¯s trial and ills was there before us so-¡±

    She had planned to stop here, the thick heavy smell of her noon-meal bread was tickling her nose and filling her mouth with enough drool she had to swallow hard a few times to cover it.

    So the interruption came just before she had to get to the painful and difficult parts of the story.

    ¡°Ah and there is my mid-day bread at last.¡±

    Which brought first groans of dismay at the interruption of her story, but then wide gasps of amazement when they saw the scale of the two rounds of bread that had been baked for Jewel.

    Their eyes nearly popped out with shock and awe.

    It was almost as big from end to end as the shortest kinder was tall and about as tall as the eldest child was thick around the middle.

    There was also a nice clay bowl of butter already going soft in the summer heat.

    She took the first round between her fore claws, then dipped her head down to tear a good bit out from the side, cracking the wonderful golden crust and filling the courtyard in the smell of fresh pale flour bread. The scent mingled deliciously with the air of smoked meat and peasantry.

    A little shimmy brought her hind leg over to grab the bowl of butter, half as wide as any of the kinder¡¯s heads and then daintily scooped a heavy smear of butter up with her bread before she tossed back her head and began chewing with great satisfaction.

    The crisp crunch of the golden baked rind between her teeth was almost as satisfying as the delicious flavor of Sheep¡¯s butter and steaming inner bread-flesh.

    Only after clearing her throat did she smile down at her audience/attendant children and then tilted the wheel towards them with a delicate swooping bow of her head.

    The point of this fair was the generosity of her family after all, in particular Father but why not add it from her own ¡®table¡¯ as it were.

    ¡°Have a meal with me, good kinder of Rochford?¡±

    The crack of bread and spray of crumbs filled the air around Jewel as children tore off their own pieces of bread and with some coaxing even scraped out dollops of their own butter to stuff their faces with and (of course) get the fat and crumbs smeared all over themselves.

    Jewel was not overly concerned, even with so many small mouths to feed she barely had to surrender more than half of her first round to fill their bellies to bursting.

    Much to the jealous longing from some of the adults that were loitering around her.

    But to them she would not share and Jewel made certain they knew it with a look heavily laden in meaning.

    Why yes this was the fine noble wheat flour, near pale as snow and with a crust of golden brown your kinder were getting to enjoy with your Lord¡¯s Daughter.

    No she would not be sharing with any of the adults that had foisted their offspring onto her.

    And it was clear that many were receiving that implication well. She smiled softly and beneficently to them to further drive home her point with nobility and grace.

    Internally though? Jewel was chortling.

    She liked to imagine they also heard the undercurrent of her thoughts too.

    Maybe being a bit more civil to her in future would be best if you wanted to get the benefit of such a generosity, you baked mud barley roll gobbling curs.

    She smiled serenely and properly as any lady should while tearing another hunk out of her noon-meal and pointedly got some butter on her own snout, scraping up a truly egregious dollop of sheep butter infront of everyone before licking it clean like a particularly satisfied hound.

    It was from the colder deep cellars where her family¡¯s best dairy reserves were kept.

    With any luck after she stuffed these little scamps full they would forget she never finished the rest of the story about the hunt.

    Maybe they would even be too full to stay awake and clamber all over her?

 3.4

    3.4

    Jewel was extremely grateful that she managed to convince the various kinder that no, she would not be taking any of them on a flying ride.

    But when the subject was broached, Muriel did think it was a splendid idea to give her some exercise for the day.

    Not that it was at all strenuous since she was leaving off the weighted harness. No, Jewel took to the air to demonstrate for the crowd.

    Father had caught word of the idea and promptly declared to make a show of it with Zephyrvam.

    Jewel could not blame him, the fair was a delightful splash of color from high in the air.

    Sailing high above the courtyard and the fort. Sweeping in the amber of the evening setting sun, high enough to catch more of it then the deepening shadows of the valley did.

    From up here, she could even see the tents that had been setup just outside the village for those that could not arrange lodgings with the town.

    The peasantry and staff had crowded on the walls, squeezing into place between the many raised beds that held the manor¡¯s herb gardens.

    Jewel sailed a lazy loop through the sky while she waited for Father.

    Doing loops and flaring her wings wide so that the sun could catch and shine on those below. The braids that had been done all the way down her mane were coming loose. The stems of wildflowers breaking in the catch of the wind.

    Spreading petals, leaves and vines in the air.

    She thought the way they glittered around her was something like stars in the golden light of the setting sun.

    At last rising on powerful wings, pulling at the latent warmth with its great billowing flaps rose the black pelt and plumage of Zephyrvam. And astride him, in the practiced crouch of a Gryphon Rider, was Father.

    It was so nice he could join her today, Although Jewel thought half the reason was that if Father had to hand out one more care package to the peasantry he might have exploded from boredom.

    She was just glad to give him an excuse to properly fly. Only Father really understood what was so delightful about flight and even then he could only do it while practically tied to Zephyrvam.

    It was a special thing between them. Jewel hoped that she would get to share it with Alexander when he got his own Gryphon.

    But for now, only Father could join her in the sky and Jewel could not deny how much Gryphon and Lord were one when in flight.

    Right down to the black leathers of Father¡¯s proper armor.

    Very few saw the proper kit of a Gryphon Lord up close except his squires and the stablehands.

    Any quarry or enemy would be dead before he got so close to even see him or very shortly after.

    And of the rest?

    Most would only witness the pageantry where he dressed in a full surfeit of shining plate that Jewel was certain had never seen a single battle in the three generations since it was commissioned. The overly polished metal was just too suspiciously thin.

    It was light enough for short hops, sure, and maybe a little gliding but it demanded a posture from Father that was unnatural and rode heavy on poor Zephyrvam¡¯s shoulders. She could see how he struggled to not tip over when Father had to wear the stupid shining affront for a show. It left him seeming far clumsier and was fit only to make an entrance for ceremonial events.

    But whenever Father really wanted to fly? With actual altitude or speed? When he needed to make use of the prowess that earned him a place as a Gryphon Lord? When on great hunts across the countryside with his peerage? Or to sally and fulfill his military obligations to the Countess?

    Then he dressed in his proper armor.

    Where in the shining show trash he was a man sitting upon an uncomfortable beast, when properly kitted he became Gryphon Lord in truth.

    All black leather, stiff enough it creaked when he bent his limbs but fitted tight and secure by numerous ties and belts, letting it hug close to his skin and not shake at all in the torrents of the wind.

    The helm was a family tradition: each Gryphon Lord kept a master armorer just to craft, maintain and refine their personal preference. A working of wood and molded leather shaped specifically for each Gryphon Lord.

    Jewel had come to understand it helped to cut the wind in flight so it did not overly blow into the eyes. For herself, she simply blinked with her inner eye whenever dust or bugs got in there.

    But her eyes were significantly harder and less sensitive then Father¡¯s.

    So the all-concealing armor of the helm. Dark with a stiff gorget to hold his head straight and unable to turn lest it be whipped about in turns or spun clean off by wind.

    The other leathers were also shaped specially. At the shoulder, forearm, back, thighs and hips.

    Meant to slice through the wind like an arrow and hold Father close to Zephyrvam. When the two of them moved at speed or in a dive Father practically all but disappeared into the Gryphon¡¯s plumage between the wings.

    She was more agile than the Gryphon in flight, buoyed from within at every inch and measure of her flesh in Wyrmflame that could push her any way she desired.

    But the Gryphon was by far much faster even though it held no inner fire.

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    The manner was similar and familiar but it was external entirely to the Gryphons body, using the natural currents within the air that so mirrored her Wyrmfire rather than producing them himself.

    His flight was made out of great voluminous flaps, soaring glides and a light frame. Jewel could feel those wings, stretching farther than the beast was long in dark shining feathers outward and gripping the air in greedy scoops.

    And the way it caught and held the echo of the air¡¯s own flame reached almost a dozen times further still beyond the reach of each wing. Extending it into heaving biting gusts that all pushed the Gryphon aloft.

    The air around Father and Zephyrvam in flight could howl harder than the fiercest storms through the gryphon¡¯s mastery of wind. Or be utterly stilled but for the sheer rush of speed when it glided in the hot updrafts of the plains.

    Father pulled up ¡®alongside¡¯ her. Which was still quite the distance. It was customary for Gryphon Lords to not grow any closer than for the ¡®wing¡¯ that extended past the feathers to barely brush. The absolute limit before the steeds risked interfering with one another¡¯s lift.

    And if the Lord was fit of eye and trained well, this was just close enough to see the posture and gestures of one another.

    He raised his fist in greeting. Leaning back a bit from Zephyrvam. Securely fastened to his mount.

    It was less a saddle and more extensions of the riding armor itself. In flight every ounce was dangerous for the rider and the steed.

    So instead of bulky tack he rode more tied to his mount then riding it.

    The weapons favored by the Gryphon Lords were likewise far lighter than some tapestries showed.

    No massive horse cutting swords, great mauls or halberds to be had here.

    Most of them would interfere with the wings of their mount anyway.

    And if you were close enough a sword or spear would even help? The wings, claws and beak of a Gryphon were far fiercer than anything father could wield.

    No, GryphonLords fought with a great and terrible bow and arrow.

    Father¡¯s own bow was a family artifact! Hart Lightning! Taller than Alexander and thrice over Father¡¯s age his elder. Honed from the horn of some long dead monster.

    A lesser man¡¯s spine would break on the pull of its draw and it loosed arrows longer than most men¡¯s legs and big around as Father¡¯s thumb.

    Jewel had only seen Father fire it once and it had been sudden death striking dead a bear from a seemingly empty sky.

    The animal had been driven into the ground and half the arrow skewered into the loam.

    Father however was armed with his bow only as custom today.

    He was not intending to use it.

    No, the show of martial power was for her today?

    So he was saying with his wide gestures.

    A circular twist with a forearm, wide and open, easy to read for another human rider in vision obscuring kit just barely at this distance. But it was clear as can be to Jewel.

    Truly, she could have read Father¡¯s gestures from thrice this distance, but he would have been unable to discern her reply from much farther.

    Hands striking in a cross thrice over on the far side of him from her.

    Then twice on the side nearer with a wide cut to mark and denote a modification.

    All paced with the tempo of the Zephyrvam¡¯s beating wings.

    She swooped and bobbed, then tumbled onto her back so he could read the more precise gestures she gave with her own arms. They had to work out a few variances in the Gryphon Lord¡¯s cant to accommodate her own posture and mobility in flight.

    ¡°We swoop them low! Twice from the sunriseward! Together?¡±

    She replied.

    ¡°Together! Wing to Wing?¡±

    A few more wide and easy to read gestures as they idly paced themselves in circuits around the demesne for the crowd.

    ¡°Wing to Wing! Then you pass Wyrmdoom, in narrow, the fallow field.¡±

    Most of these gestures were not Gryphon Lord cant proper but special gestures for her, decided between them in advance, adjustments and combinations of the other gestures. Jewel wondered that whenever her peerage in eggs hatched if they too would be taught this particular cant so to coordinate with her and the Gryphon Lords.

    She agreed with the flourish of affirmation and then as one flock of two they peeled upward. Zephyrvam holding back of course, Jewel was still not able to match him in speed. Although the Gryphon delighted in coddling her almost as much as his rider. They ascended at the greatest pace she could manage.

    Then an arcing twist in the air and the two of them descended, Father vanishing into the shelter of Zephyrvam¡¯s plumage and Jewel laughing inaudibly in the roar of the air.

    The wind shrieked and howled around them as they swooped by over the heads of the Peasantry. The distant forest boughs wild and tumbling, tossed in their wake and quite a few hats and less secured clothes blown back or clear free of their owners into the yonder in her and Father¡¯s passing.

    And of course as agreed she and her Father rode the rush back up into a rising arc before tilting back over themselves and parting a bit, still ¡®wing to wing¡¯ but the Gryphonnow separated enough for safety as Jewel began her sweep.

    Wyrmfire already filled out in all her body from the way she had scooped it while they dived.

    Jewel¡¯s lips parted and Wyrmdoom sprayed in blinding white fire before her. The gesture was a mix of the rapid cutting signal for a beast too terrible to face, and a desperate strike of final mortality witnessed.

    The fallow fields did not burn as tinder and torch might. They were annihilated.

    It was like there was the gray dusting of ash found in a hearth after a long night burning but it was better to say that the fallow fields of shrubbery, weed and grass did not burn, But were wrought utterly undone in the glare of her passing, so swiftly that nothing remained in wholeness enough after to catch a flame.

    A few sparse guttering embers sparked briefly in the gray desolation left behind. But for the most part all was reduced to dust in what had once been two plow furrows going down the entire acre of fallow fields.

    The popping of cracked stones splitting from the heat tickled her ears as Jewel pulled up to shed speed and then joined Father and Zephyrvam upon the yet untouched fields in full view of the crowd on the wall.

    The old coot of a gryphon rearing and giving a piercing shriek of triumph and congratulations that Jewel could not help but echo in her own roar.

    Naturally, the people cheered, of course.

 3.5

    3.5

    Jewel watched the wrestling with consideration. Before, she had not entirely seen the point. After all she could simply lay on top of anyone that actually tried to wrestle her.

    Or that had been the case until the Terror Boar.

    Now though, there was a lot more to appreciate in how the combatants moved. It was in some ways incredibly similar to how the boar had treated her like a harmless babe once it closed.

    It was all in the weight, the leverage, the positioning.

    She was going to ask Father if he and Muriel could come up with a regime that would let her practice Wrestling in some form, maybe they could have her try and grapple oxen?

    The way that she had been utterly defeated as soon as a suitably sized opponent closed with her? That had shocked and shamed her terribly.

    Lady Jewel she might be, but as a Wyrm she was supposed to be a part of the military obligations of the Barony as well. Just as Alexander would someday be Baron and if he had the talent for it, even Gryphon Lord, she was to act in some sense like a Knight herself.

    So Wrestling had gone from a confusing past time she thought everyone was maybe a bit too enthusiastic about to a vitally important craft she had to master as soon as possible.

    That said, some of the staff she had taken to talking with seemed to not understand the sport any better then she had, despite the enthusiasm. Especially the dairymaid, who would not stop talking about the sweat and the muscles and things Jewel was pretty sure had little to do with the artful application of force and balance Wrestling entailed.

    It was however a bit uncomfortable how much the current match reminded her of her experience with the Terror Boar.

    Kraok was putting in a mighty effort to try and match the skill of Lothlar. They had sparred, of course, and Kraok was learning fast. But no matter his talent, a few fortnights of work and the years of service as a footman had not really prepared him to match the expertise and training of a Knight, even a foreigner like Lothlar.

    Which is to say that while they struggled mightily Kraok was definitely losing.

    That is until at the last minute, when Jewel knew that Lothlar had him entirely and just needed to shift one leg into a sweep to finish the plunge off center that Kraok was about to do he simply refused.

    A hand squeezing tight at Kraok¡¯s shoulder, a glance passing between them and then a scowl from Kraok even as he got his balance under him further confused.

    The once Footman braced and then did a mighty heave that seemed to have caught everyone else spectating by surprise and drew a great deal of cheering and gasps but Jewel could plainly catch this had been an opening Lothlar intentionally left the still in training Knight.

    The foreign Knight slammed into the hard packed dirt of the Courtyard with a huff and a laugh. Shouting in a good natured way he always seemed.

    ¡°A good bout from the Lord Baron¡¯s Champion!¡±

    Which got even more cheers. Especially from the Dairy Maid (Adeline! That was her name!).

    Lothlar rolled back onto his bare feet and he and Kraok held each other, hands on each other¡¯s forearms, right to left so that the other was free to embrace tightly as was proper for allies and brothers on the battlefield.

    Jewel strode up to the two ¡®combatants¡¯ giving each of them a considering eye before nodding. Since Father was still occupied dispensing his generosity to last stragglers amongst the subjects the rest of her family had to take up the other officious functions of the fair.

    Today Jewel was the Lady of the Arena, dispenser of prizes and supposedly judge of fair play.

    She kept the frown she wanted to level on the two of them. Throwing the match like that was a good move for establish Kraok¡¯s prowess, and it¡¯s not like they had not done a good showing between them for those farm hands with more muscle then sense, and the other footmen.

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    But she didn¡¯t think it was in the spirit of things to have thrown the match like that.

    Still, it would do damage to both their honors to acknowledge it here and now.

    And it was obvious that Lothlar had done it as a way to forfeit without losing face for either of them.

    Jewel would have preferred to see a proper match between them but she supposed she¡¯d just have to watch when they were actually sparring in the mornings or something.

    ¡°To the champion of today¡¯s bouts I present the prize! Praise to Sir Kroak! Boarslayer and champion of Rochford!¡±

    She handed him the leather satchel of silver coins with a carefully suppressed wince.

    It was only a hundred and some, but that had come from her family¡¯s own coffers.

    Jewel never liked giving up the family coin. Just one of them was a solid day¡¯s labor worth haying a field.

    This was only for freemen and the occasional band of transient laborers without proper allegiance to fief and land of course.

    Her Father¡¯s arrangement with their subjects was that they worked all of the fields of the barony at each appointed season and were given in kind their portion for sillage, grain, and if the harvests or weather was good, a generosity such as now.

    But still in principle, Kraok had just been given as a prize the labor of well over a hundred strong backed men toiling all their work hours cutting hay in the sun.

    Compared to the work of simply throwing a dozen men to the ground between them. It made her feel uneasy with the exchange.

    But again, the work of a Knight was expensive, his manor would need coin to purchase what could not be obligated from the demesne¡¯s subjects.

    In which case it was hardly like she was doing anything but moving this pile of precious coins from one shelf in the coffers to another.

    Jewel nodded and smiled a bit brighter  and more genuinely as feeling relieved that it was not really giving up such a great sum away from her family.

    Not like when they had to pay for salt and other foreign herbs and spices.

    Kraok for his part opened the bag to inspect, drawing out a silver penny with the profile of the countess on one side and a gryphon posed rampant on another.

    He bit it right then and there!

    Like some common merchant unsure of the worth of the metal!

    Jewel bristled, her mane standing on end, the tension pulling a few of the recently rebound braids loose at the roots.

    Quite a few of the older visitors also got sharp and Lothlar was tense with shame.

    Oblivious to his faux pas Kraok strode with assurance over to where the losers from the wrestling bouts had sat down to watch their betters finish.

    Jewel was too shocked at the insult he¡¯d done to check the coin to even speak.

    But that blossomed into relief and admiration at the coup he proceeded to blunder into.

    ¡°Here, each of you, fifteen penny! The Lord¡¯s Generosity and honors are already overflowing for me.¡±

    The shock as he divided up nearly the entirety of his bag of winnings amongst them drove Jewel and the crowd to silence.

    Either still oblivious of the scene he was making or just because he wanted to earn the reputation of generosity befitting Father¡¯s Knight Kraok continued.

    ¡°You all were excellent fighters. Keep working on your footing, get some solid meals. And when I am settled in my lands come find me any of you, all of you. I¡¯ll have a place in my staff for you.¡±

    Ah!

    That made more sense.

    Jewel nodded firmly.

    To some, this might look like he was somehow poaching the labor and able bodies of Father¡¯s immediate fiefs for his own.

    But as she had noted with the coins it¡¯s not like they were actually leaving the Barony.

    A little shuffling around of people was no different then moving coins from one barrel to another.

    Kraok might make a very good knight indeed.

 3.6

    3.6

    It had to happen eventually.

    ¡°M¨©n d¨­htor is ealdan bl¨­c and t¨©n w¨ªder sind sceald on ¨±re h¨±se!¡±

    Mother had gotten a bit too deep into her cups.

    ¡°I ? eart t¨± gr¨¥atan! C¨­m buee her t¨± folc!¡±

    And now she had gone entirely unintelligible and had to be held back by three of the footmen to save the particularly rude wanderer who had set up shop in the fair to sell trinkets and baubles.

    ¡°H¨¥, lato me! H?? t¨± h¨¥ gr?pt h¨¥ h¨¥? T?t p?t is hund suna and onurlaics¨¥o!¡±

    Jewel dipped her head to the poor man that had made the unfortunate turn of phrase regarding herself. Mother had laid him out! Just clear knocked him off his feet and into his stall scattering baubles and coin to the ground.

    ¡°Many apologies there sir, I¡¯m sure Mother had simply misheard you. It¡¯s been a hot summer day and she is quite deep into the cups.¡±

    Mother had not misheard at all but it was important to be polite to strangers. One never knew who they actually were. Many a book and several a more solid lesson from Father and visiting Knights had drilled that into her.

    The unfortunate man however seemed to be stuttering and confused. Face flushing with anger before paling when he realized that Jewel was now right there in front of him instead of across the Courtyard.

    Much to the Wyrmling¡¯s consternation.

    The drunken rage of her mother demanded her attention and intervention where Jewel would have preferred to have just pretended she didn''t hear him describing her like that.

    And now she had to be involved and defend the man and his honor from the peasantry and Mother.

    Jewel had already glared several grabby fingers off from swiping away with his belongings. Her bearing and the subtle curl of a snarl finally gave the whole debacle proper clearance so that the Footmen could keep the sticky fingers a bit further back.

    But they might not be enough if the looks passing over their faces at Mother¡¯s words caught on with the rest of their subjects present.

    A few of the more fluent in mother¡¯s drunken rambling were already shifting their posture from bemused to angry and even more were fingering at their belts for knives. The Footmen were going to need reinforcements to keep the strange man from being mobbed and stabbed at this rate.

    ¡°lata me ege t?re throppin him.¡±

    That would not do.

    Jewel coughed.

    It was not a proper cough like a Lady should but right now and today she needed to be heard and attended and Jewel was not as skilled as her Mother was when she was sober.

    Instead of a dainty, delicate yet somehow piercing sound Jewel used what her voluminous throat had gifted her.

    It was buzzing, grating, A crude, blunt thing, almost like a hatchet of sound. It had elements akin to a rooster¡¯s crow or the shout of a disgruntled raven. Yowling of angered cats and a dog¡¯s howl.

    All cut abruptly short, yet it was so loud and encompassing as it buzzed out from the entire length of her throat that Jewel could see hairs on the man¡¯s arm trembling from the noise.

    In the stillness that followed Jewel fixed everyone circling the infuriating little man with her best commanding glare.

    She was sure it was not as good as Father¡¯s, but she would make do.

    ¡°This poor sir must surely have misspoke. After all no one would dare to give such an insult to a Lady and Baron¡¯s Daughter surely? It must have been an honest and simple mistake¡±

    Jewel ended her survey glaring down at the man who had progressed from anger to blubbering stuttering terror as the full ramifications of the things he had said about her in ill-tempered jest across the courtyard from where she was lounging.

    She hoped the slight frown and raised brow further cemented the point that why yes she had heard him from all the way over there.

    Then turning from the trembling man to her fuming mother Jewel dipped her head down low to say calmly but still audibly.

    ¡°Isn''t that right Mother? Surely just an honest mistake. No insult given.¡±

    That seemed to have finally penetrated mother¡¯s wine-addled mind and the flush to her cheeks reddened before she dipped her head with an unintelligible thanks but at least the tone was clear.

    ¡°O tu eart t?t ?it d¨¥htor! Mid feallen, h¨¥ mest ?eorean on t?m beotte.¡±

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    However it did not last as she started shouting what were probably invectives or insults or something to do with the nasty little stain of a man¡¯s parentage.

    ¡°Ne c¨²ee gietan ta ??ter lihter, ta stowe on his folc ofsleanne lichtor of a scoltendum!¡±

    However she was only shouting now, and even allowing the poor footmen to lead her inside.

    Jewel really needed to do something for them tonight, one of the younger ones had gotten an elbow to the eye when they first intervened.

    He was not as well practiced in what happened when Mother got too deep in her cups.

    Jewel stood guard over the man who seemed to not be able to compose himself properly.

    Which was unfortunate as he had quite a lot of belongings scattered about that he needed to secure or some one was liable to run off with them.

    She clicked her tongue to two of the footmen holding back the calmer but still agitated crowd of her Subjects.

    ¡°Please help this... man pack up his property and escort him somewhere he can recover from his ordeal? It would be poor for him to have any other Misunderstandings and tarnish Father¡¯s hospitality further.¡±

    Not that it likely mattered. Just by the smell and look of him this man was some errant traveler.

    No Title, no Liege, he was almost certainly at best under common law. If not maybe even some outlaw.

    But as the stories go you could never be too careful.

    They would treat him with the care of any guest to their home.

    Even if he had dared to say that about her.

    The footmen were gentle with him. Getting the man back to his feet and scraping up the random assortment of coins and random trinkets and oddities the peddler had been hawking.

    Watching them pack she noticed something strange.

    It was an amulet.

    Wrought of a fine copper if she had an eye for these things. But the details along all the edges had been rubbed smooth and rounded where they probably had once been sharp There were hints of a green patina on it in several places that some amount of industrious scrubbing had failed to remove.

    It was on a simple bound strap of leather.

    All not terribly remarkable. Much the same as the other oddities he had laid out or kept in his case.

    But what was inset in the middle was far and above more precious than anything else.

    In the midday it shone with a clear blue light. A perfect mirror of the cerulean peeking from between the clouds but Jewel knew it would change to the pitch black and sparkling twinkles of stars come sundown.

    She could only recall seeing the like but once when she was maybe a year old.

    And that was the collected remains from her very own hatching being packed for transport.

    This old bauble was set around a shard of Wyrm Egg.

    The inner surface of it turned outward.

    Her own fragmented shell had been claimed as rightful tithe by the Countess Bathory and all of it spirited away to her own treasuries.

    A year later Jewel had been sitting on Father¡¯s lap when she was still small enough to do so and he was going over the ledgers.

    At the time she had not understood the sums written there.

    But the memory rushed back to her now.

    The shards of her egg were more valuable than their weight in gold at least a dozen times over.

    It had cleared his account of obligations to the countess for two full years!

    And this Peddler was selling a piece of such to the peasantry?!

    Maybe he was more important than she thought?

    Jewel was shocked out of her memories as it was scooped up by a footman and she could only barely keep her voice from going to a sibilant hiss in her panic. Her wings twitching with the desire to splay out.

    ¡°Wait!¡±

    She turned to fix the still apprehensive and speechless man properly, considering him as more than just a wastrel from the road that had said uncouth things about her person.

    He was dressed in dusty clothing but looking closely she could see the faded colors of valuable dyes, tight weaving of fine and well made cloth. Even places where what she suspected might have been metal buttons and filigree once, now removed. Finery stripped with care where it had once embroidered and bedazzled the fabric.

    These were not the clothes of a commoner. He was dressed in what she could only surmise was very worn and scavenged finery.

    But it was finery.

    Her idle apprehensions to always take care with strange guests was turning disturbingly prophetic.

    ¡°I¡¯d like to make sure that any insult or concern is cleared up about this, see him settled with a guest chamber and inform Father of the situation and that there may be dealings to settle with our guest merchant.¡±

    That seemed to stun the speechless man to gaping. Mouth opening and closing like a fish caught and just pulled out of the river.

    Before he could find his wits and somehow manage to insult her worse then he already had Jewel turned from the situation and strode back into the fair.

    After this ordeal she deserved honeyed barley cakes.

    And her nose told her there should still be some baking this way.

 3.7

    3.7

    After the current day¡¯s fair obligations everyone in the family was incredibly exhausted.

    Father had not been amused when he learned Jewel had volunteered a guest from the attending strangers. More so once Mother had found out (before she finished sobering up) and gave him an earful on the man and what he said about their daughter.

    Mother had been so vocal in her drunken displeasure, Jewel was pretty sure that the stablehands clearing the courtyard of detritus and filth could hear.

    But he had waited until the evening meal (a thin stew of pork and turnips) had been finished and the dishes cleared away before he spoke.

    ¡°My Dear Jewel, could you perhaps explain why you extended hospitality too a common peddler after he compared you to-¡±

    There was the dull and distinct thunk of Mother¡¯s boot into a well muscled shin.

    Well accustomed to the blunter signals Mother favored when she was still settling towards sobriety late in the day, he did not even twitch a muscle as he corrected himself.

    ¡°Who insulted you so gravely? I appreciate the act of diplomacy during the fair but it hardly seems appropriate to have gone so far.¡±

    Jewel cleared her throat in the dainty manner appropriate for a Baron''s Daughter and Lady.

    ¡°At first I thought the same Father - Best for him to be set up in the stables for the night to stave off any incidents with the subjects in public. And then maybe a swift escort out of our lands, yes?¡±

    He nodded for her to continue.

    ¡°But then I got a proper look at some of his wares, and after that, a survey of his garments. And at once I realized.¡±

    She paused for a moment of dramatic pacing.

    ¡°That this is not some mere scrap peddler, Father.¡±

    Her revelation did not garner the response she had hoped. No one gasped in surprise and Father just nodded for her to continue. Only a little disheartened Jewel pressed onward.

    ¡°He, either through skill in trade, artifice or a greater standing than he appears, is most assuredly dressed in trappings befit a titled Lord at least. They are threadbare, the gold embroidery was stripped but the taste of it was still upon him and it had been removed with great skill and care to preserve the fabric.¡±

    That got a raised brow from Father.

    Jewel continued on, now getting Mother¡¯s full attention as well and at least a passing interest from Alexander.

    Kraok seemed a bit lost, but he was still in the start of his education as a Knight.

    Lothlar however had a glint to his eye that he seemed to be appreciating what she was implying.

    The Wizards however were apparently not interested in the discussion at all, mostly watching Jewel in that distanced and vague way they had taken too. Occasionally writing notes on rolls of parchment in each of their own manners.

    Fizzbunches¡¯ feline shape in particular was quite amusing, despite all suspicions to the contrary, He actually insisted on writing with a tiny chicken¡¯s feather quill held in his right paw.

    Not some mystical levitating instrument as big as the cat Wizard himself! Just a little quill held in his little paw!

    Jewel had never appreciated the fact he apparently had a thumb before he started taking notes on her.

    Shaking her head of the distraction, Jewel continued before the silence got too awkward.

    ¡°Furthermore, of his wares? I suspect that they may very likely be of significantly greater value than the hae and whole pennies he was charging the peasantry. Of note he has a copper Amulet set around a fragment of Shell of Wyrm Egg!¡±

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    That brought a dead silence to the table until Alexander muttered a question.

    ¡°What?¡±

    Mother gently patted him on the shoulder and explained softly.

    ¡°The value of the shell alone could well exceed a whole Crown Auren or more Alexander.¡±

    That finally got Kraok to pay some attention, good he at least knew the name of a currency of higher court. Although perhaps not the valuation?

    Fizzbunches of all people had something to say. Although he did not turn away from his writing to even glance at anyone but Jewel.

    ¡°This assumes the Amulet is not also a work of sorcery. It is distinctly possible it could be ten times that or more if the workings are a rare one and even somewhat intact.¡±

    Jewel nodded hard to the Wizard, loath as she was to offer him anything. It was the place of Wizards to know the value of enchantments.

    Father leaned forward in consideration.

    ¡°And he was peddling these wares to peasantry? For hae penny?¡±

    Jewel shrugged.

    ¡°Of the few folk I talked to, the highest price charged had been ten silver penny and that was for a copper figurine fit for a temple offering to warm a household through midwinter¡¯s harshest season.¡±

    Father nodded.

    ¡°We might be able to get the amulet for a pittance then.¡±

    Jewel nodded, that had been her idea but such a purchase was best made by Father officially than herself. Even a pittance of the value of that amulet might require far more expense than Jewel was allowed.

    However Father had more to say.

    ¡°But if he is, or more likely was, of a means to acquire it in the first place there could be a boon in assisting him far more than simply taking his treasures at a bargain price.¡±

    That had not crossed her mind precisely, she had mostly been worried that they might insult someone with a powerful relative.

    But if he had been disgraced then perhaps there were other angles to gain here she had not even realized?!

    Jewel could not help but puff up a bit with pride! Arching her neck with how pleased she was to have caught onto such a boon for her family that could easily have been missed.

    Father nodded and then turned too Fizzbunches.

    ¡°I will consider this matter the last trial before I select which of you may remain to serve out the duration of your Debt Lord Sorcerer. After that while you are welcome to visit for a season to attend your studies of my daughter I expect you to do so from properly rented, maintained and paid for accommodations in my demesne and not under the aegis of my hospitality. Is that clear?¡±

    A firm nod from Fizzbunches which was mirrored by the other wizards.

    Jewel trembled a little inside.

    She had mostly put it out of her mind, but one of the Wizards was going to be an actual sworn Vassal of Father¡¯s for more years then she had yet breathed.

    A glance to the whispering wind of the Weird of Autumn and the slick Inkinesss of The Weird of Bogs followed.

    Jewel hoped it was at least one of the two of them.

    Fizzbunches was far too smug of a cat for her to see anymore of him then entirely necessary.

    ¡°Of course, my Lord Baron Rochford. You may count on my attention personally for this. In fact if the artifact is of particular interest I might be willing to purchase it immediately. At the full and honest price for such a find.¡±

    Which was enough for Jewel and Mother to boggle at the Wizard Cat.

    Just how much money did he have on paw that he could drop what might very well be a dozen or more Crown Auren on a trinket?!

    The smug blink of amusement just further cemented Jewel¡¯s desire to see no more of the cat Wizard.

 3.8

    3.8

    Jewel was glad that it was too much of a hassle to bring her ¡®seat¡¯ in from its place on the dais.

    It was just more comfortable to sit curled around yourself, arms and legs tucked in close and wings in a relaxed arch buffeted by Wyrm Fire. Settling one¡¯s belly right against the carpet and stone of Father¡¯s study.

    Like this she was just about even with Father¡¯s own eyes.

    Which was a towering position to their guest.

    ¡°Peter Bulchava, Humble Merchant of exotics and trinkets, at your service, Lord Baron Rochford.¡±

    He was far more composed then the blubbering man that Jewel had loomed over before.

    Watchful and even smiling although Jewel found it did not touch the corners of his eyes.

    He had gotten his trousers cleaned, and even changed out the shirt he had been wearing before, opting for a less frayed one.

    The dye was not as faded, but it was still only a hint of blue.

    But no insignia, emblems or marks to state his rank or allegiance.

    His ¡®wares¡¯ were on display in their entirety, at Father¡¯s request. Laid out on an unfurled cloth across the desk.

    Notably, however, the Amulet was not among them.

    Instead it was around his neck, shining on his chest.

    Fizzbunches was sitting amiably, looking for all the world like a perfectly normal cat. If you discounted the extra digits on each fore paw, which she now knew were thumbs.

    Oh, and the glasses and hat of course.

    But Jewel had heard rumors of the things the foreign Counts and Countesses dressed their hounds and even a goose in. If one was to believe those stories It was not really out of the question to expect that Fizzbunches was merely just an eccentrically decorated pet.

    Apparently, Peter Bulchava too had heard similar stories and did not even blink at the cat.

    As was usual, most of his attention was on Jewel. A Wyrm that she was.

    Fizzbunches was thus left unmolested to sit there, tail lashing and eyes glinting in amusement at the charade.

    He¡¯d given all the trinkets a single glance, a longer look at Peter¡¯s wearing of the amulet and then blinked thrice at father and turned to stare at the peddler with the kind of languid disinterest only a cat could manage.

    So there was only the one artifact of sorcerous interest, but the Amulet was indeed bearing some enchantment of note and thus worth more than just the rarity of its inset eggshell.

    At this late hour, the image set into it was shining with the dark of night and glittering stars.

    The view through the trinket  was honestly clearer than you could actually see the sky right now with the overcast.

    Another summer storm would probably break soon.

    Hopefully not for too much longer into the season. The hay had been mostly dry enough after the deluge during the boar hunt but if the rains went late into the hungry season it would have to delay the Wheat harvest.

    And boons from Father or not there was only so far their granaries could be stretched for the peasantry.

    Peter Bulchava seemed ill at ease with everyone¡¯s silence and sought to fill it.

    ¡°I w-was told that you had interest in purchasing some of my humble wares? I must say I am honored but I did not come prepared with treasures that befits a baron! Please take no offense that I only have such trifles on sale.¡±

    He was sweating under his clothes. He had wiped his brow before entering but Jewel could smell the salting of stress on the sleeve he¡¯d used.

    Jewel tried out the softer smile that Mother used when she was trying to put someone at ease.

    But it appeared to not have the intended effect as she could smell and see the fresh perspiration bursting over the man¡¯s brow. The rising scent indicated the moistening of the clothes on his back.

    Father gave her a glance and gently waved her off.

    Drat! She had wanted to be comforting! But since she was apparently intimidating? So that would be her role here? Well she could do that.

    A flash of teeth before she pulled back and resumed a more placid expression. Closer to the one she used during the announcement at the start of the Festival.

    Peter looked hard at her teeth for quite a bit too long, only turning away from her lips when Father spoke.

    ¡°Indeed I am, but as we both know, every item has a story to tell, might you share those of these?¡±

    Peter¡¯s eyes shot to Father¡¯s gesture. Running over what might have been a single earring. It was polished up to a shine, but Jewel could smell it was not gold.

    Given direction, Peter Bulchava began spinning a yarn so thick that Jewel thought she could have knit it into a scarf despite her forepaw dexterity. He seemed to calm a bit at least in working his craft.

    ¡°Well this beauty right here I can tell you is the sister twin to an ornament worn by the Archcountess of Karabas. I came upon it you see as a favor, reward for aiding her husband in a trial with a cruel and most fearsome ogre. See how it shines?! And feel the weight, the luster, it tarnishes not though feel the weight my Lord!¡±

    Father Obliged the peddler and hefted the earring before he raised a brow with suitable signs of interest.

    ¡°Very light. Not gold then?¡±

    The peddler took the earring back and placed it gently back to its place on the cloth.

    ¡°No, it is a metal of far northern and high mountain make. Along the freezing salt waters it is mined some magic of Copper and other secrets. A bargain for my lord at Ten Denari.¡±

    Peter Smiled with a hint of desperation.

    Jewel almost crossed her eyes at the term trying to remember what that even was.

    Father smiled and nodded.

    ¡°Are we speaking to the classical Dynastic Solar Denari or the adulterated Middle Republic Denari Peddler?¡±

    There were more than one?! Jewel was so glad she had delayed trying to purchase the amulet and left it to Father¡¯s business.

    That seemed to cause a flicker of a frown for Peter before he flew back into his jovial tone.

    ¡°Oh good lord is very learned, but of course the proper Dynastic, of course such coins are not so common here so I¡¯d accept- ¡±

    Father waved a hand.

    ¡°Eleven Pennies and a Hae if my memory serves for the silver of the Classical Dynasty Denari. That is correct right?¡±

    The peddler paused, eyes going a bit sharper before nodding to Father. Peter swallowed a little heavily. Some of the tone shifting from exuberant tale too shrewd consideration.

    ¡°Just so Lord, just so.¡±

    Father nodded to him in consideration.

    ¡°What is the tale you have for that one?¡±

    And it continued, with each item the Peddler Peter Bulchava spun a tale. Most certainly false. But with each one they went on until they got to the price, or a comment on the nature and quality of its metal.

    And every time Father¡¯s words made the Peddler grow a bit sharper eyed and pause longer in consideration.

    Drop both his fake joviality but also a bit of the nervous sweat as well.

    Fizzbunches yawned widely, having grown very terribly bored with all the haggling and tale-telling.

    His tongue curled, lips pulled back and jaws wide, showing off how pearly white and dainty his teeth were.

    Jewel was tempted to answer his challenge with her own yawn but without a cue from Father it would probably send mixed messages.

    And if she had half a mind to guess there was something close to a peak in the negotiations coming to a head here.

    Why the last item Father had pointed out had gotten a far more honest laugh from Peter and the far more abbreviated comment.

    ¡°To be honest that one I picked up off a guttersnipe who fished it from the street. Probably fell in some one¡¯s privy and was tossed with the rest. But I assure you I washed and blessed it myself a long two years ago.¡±

    Father laughed with the same gentle tone and response as he had taken with the bold faced lies.

    Finally with a finger father gestured to the point of this all, Jewel tried to keep her expression still even though Peter was not even looking her way.

    He pointed right at the amulet hanging over the Peddler¡¯s chest.

    ¡°And I suppose you found this one in the woods then?¡±

    But Peter was quiet for a time. Looking thoughtful and then with a heavy sigh turned to look up at Father.

    ¡°So it¡¯s that one you wanted then Lord?¡±

    Father smiled and nodded.

    ¡°A bit too obvious? I must say what gave it away?¡±

    The peddler sighed and scooped the pendent up from its place at his chest to look at it. Letting it spin from the leather thong.

    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    ¡°Well, to be putting it plainly, this one was not supposed to be for sale to the common folk of your realm, Lord. It was not even supposed to see the light of day today but an unfortunate tumble sent it to the dirt.¡±

    Father only nodded and Fizzbunches was watching the amulet spin intensely.

    ¡°You want to know where I came upon this amulet then? Well it was my father¡¯s and before him it was his father¡¯s. And from him I don¡¯t rightly know but as a treasure of my family I can¡¯t rightly say I could part with it.¡±

    Father leaned forward considering.

    ¡°And what family would that be which held such a trinket in trust for three generations? What kind of family is Bulchava?¡±

    Peter the Peddler laughed and shook his head. It was not a happy laugh.

    ¡°I can¡¯t rightly say Lord. What¡¯s it matter to the high and noble like you? Sure my ma and pa told stories. Descended from a king, or some nights it was a duke. The stories were never the same. Who''s to say how many generations back? Might even be true. Wild Oats and Noblesse Oblige eh my Lord?¡±

    Father¡¯s face was no longer friendly. It was stony all of a sudden but he nodded.

    And while his voice was now calm it was also cold.

    ¡°So you''re just a peddler with an heirloom then? Nothing more?¡±

    Peter shrugged and laughed.

    ¡°Just a peddler? My lord none of us are just anything any more than your daughter. There is just a simple maiden with a touch of a dry complexion.¡±

    Jewel blinked, where was this coming from?!

    Peter¡¯s tone had dropped all proper manners of civility or proper diffidence!

    ¡°How¡¯d you manage that I wonder lord? A wyrm Daughter?¡±

    He looked over Jewel with a very nasty and uncomfortable smile as he fiddled with the Amulet, spinning it this way and that as it hung from his fingers and the back of his neck.

    ¡°I¡¯ve seen the wife, no beast is she well besides her manners. Is it a secret? Are the tales of how they can change shape true? Or was this something before the marriage? Will I hear of something scandalous in your dungeons all chained up for you?¡±

    Where was this little peasant getting the gall to speak to Father like that?!

    Lord Rochford¡¯s face was turning stony as he glared at the man.

    ¡°Or maybe I misheard that it was the manner of this realm to slay Wyrms and monsters? Is it custom that you lay wi-¡±

    Fizzbunches chose that moment to break his charade with a yowling laugh.

    ¡°Ah I see. So that¡¯s what the working is then?¡±

    That caused Peter to whirl on the Cat Wizard sputtering in shock and waving the Amulet in front of him like a shield.

    Fizzbunches batted lightly at it, setting off strange twistings of glimmering light in the air where he touched the copper.

    ¡°Fascinating thing, but wasted on you Sir Peter of Bulchava, Son of the Son of the Son of a Son of a Warden of the Western Gates. You may very well break it trying to force the matter like that. Not at all its purpose¡±

    The cat fixed the sputtering man with those golden eyes.

    ¡°I will relieve you of this burden and responsibility for Twenty-five Truskal gold Sovereigns or three gold Tallet of Ihaka.¡±

    That made the man¡¯s eyes bulge.

    Jewel however was noticing that Father was getting a look on his face that suggested Peter would be lucky to leave the barony with his life.

    Father had not signaled it but she began to stoke and pull upon her Wyrm Flame. Drawing it into her throat and neck. Filling out the ridged spaces.

    If he commanded she would strike down this peasant and leave naught but ash.

    The things he had said!

    Fizzbunches seemed unconcerned but, as if led by the panicked swerves of Peter¡¯s eyes, he spared a glance over his shoulder at Father then back to the sputtering man.

    ¡°Ah right, a price in gold of either as stated. Sovereigns or Talets as you prefer and safe passage immediately from these lands on my word as a Lord Sorcerer!¡±

    Peter seemed to not be convinced and Jewel was not sure she liked the sound of it either. He had insulted Father and Mother!

    Fizzbunches rolled his eyes and continued.

    ¡°That¡¯s the sworn protection of the Weird of all the Alleys, Roofs and Gutters of the Trifold city of Ghergeintat. If you part with this trifle at this fair price no harm will come to your skin, nor blood be spilt, no pain suffered or life ended for you while you travel the lands held by the Lord Baron of Rochford or his allies or liege.¡±

    Jewel was pretty sure that father was growing ever more furious by the moment and was liable to call on the guards or Jewel herself to deal with the Peddler and maybe even the Wizard.

    Who was gazing in panicked spasms between Father and the glare Jewel was giving him.

    However his grip on the thong of the amulet just tightened.

    Which got a scowl from Fizzbunches.

    ¡°Good Merchant Peter Bulchava, that trifle will do naught but irritate a full and true Wyrm! I am offering you gold and safety to leave before you are rendered but ash for your idiocy! Take the Gold you Imbecile! That Amulet has done you a terrible disservice already!¡±

    There was a tense moment.

    Father began to rise from his chair; he almost towered over Peter before standing his full height.

    Jewel readied, her lips already parting.

    But before Father even finished leaving his seat or Jewel could fully open her jaws in menace the peddler finally broke and dropped the Amulet.

    ¡°Fine! For the gold! F-four gold Tallet! Proper Tallet from Ihaka! And your word I am safe to leave!¡±

    Fizzbunches raised a brow at the attempt to haggle. Honestly Jewel was surprised by it as well.

    The Cat Wizard snorted and nodded.

    ¡°Four it is.¡±

    And with a clatter four intricately carved... sticks of shining metal gold clatter in the middle of his bundle.

    They honestly were far shorter and thinner then Jewel had expected.

    Peter threw the amulet to the ground. Which bounced before landing far heavier then it seemed like it should.

    Then the man was bundling his trinkets up quickly and hurrying out with wild eyes for all of them.

    Father took a heavy breath and glared at Fizzbunches.

    Who was delighted and smug as always.

    He waited until the peddler was gone from the study and his steps echoing down the hall before voicing his displeasure.

    ¡°That was not the agreement of how you were going to assist us, Lord Sorcerer.¡±

    Fizzbunches batted the Amulet about on the ground a bit, skittering the thing about in blatant refusal to acknowledge Father.

    ¡°The deal was we would pay and treat with the Merchant and then you would pay for the amulet to us it¡¯s fair price Lord Sorcerer¡±

    Father was standing, he was moving around his desk like he intended to kick the cat wizard through the wall.

    Jewel was honestly feeling like she very much would like to see that.

    But before anything interesting could happen, Fizzbunches hit the Amulet with a final hard slap.

    And the amulet failed to clatter to the ground anywhere in the room.

    ¡°Our arrangement shall of course be met in full, my Lord Rochford.¡±

    Jewel was about to complain - how would it be in full if Fizzbunches had already paid the peddler?

    But the thunderous clatter of coin crashing into fathers desk and then clattering and rolling free all over the study stilled her tongue.

    Turning to look at the not insubstantial mass of gold coins further silenced her.

    That.

    That was far more Crown Auren than would have paid for Jewel¡¯s entire egg.

    Fizzbunches looked up at Father with all the smug attitude now expected of him.

    Father glared down at him.

    ¡°Just what sorcery was upon that Amulet?¡±

    Fizzbunches eyes were crinkled in the most pleased grin Jewel had ever seen a cat wear.

    ¡°It was hard to spot at first, all the markings of district and rank were worn off.¡±

    Jewel watched the cat lecture with his whiskers all a-twitter in delight.

    ¡°But it is a genuine badge of a Lord Captain from the Wardens of the Western Gate, Blood and Oathsworn protectors of the city of Intat once one of the richest provincial capitals of the Solar Dynasty Empire of Cantor.¡±

    Father turned to look at the small mound of gold coins that had spilled over onto the floor of his study.

    ¡°And the fair price from you is all of this?! What does it do?!¡±

    The Cat grins even toothier up to Father.

    ¡°Any rightful and ranked citizen born of a line of Intant - now the third district of Ghergeintat - who bears the badge of office, as captain and warden of the gate, shall suffer no strike done in malice or hate. Any who should trespass a blow upon his brow three will strike their own. All blade¡¯s wielder which seek to pierce him shall feel thrice their blade¡¯s bite.¡±

    Father stared down at the Wizard.

    Who smugly blinked his gold eyes up at him, a glittering expectation there as well.

    ¡°You are decidedly not my choice as Wizard to serve me.¡±

    The absolute shock on Fizzbunches face was one of the most delightful things Jewel had seen in a season.

 3.9

    3.9

    Jewel could not say she was surprised by the choice of attending Wizard that Father had settled on.

    Tsulogothulan was, honestly, the obvious choice.

    Euewyn was very helpful, friendly and had an excellently sharp sense of humor. But her inability to actually speak in anything but the sounds of autumn and forests made her usefulness as a subject in Father¡¯s court quite limited.

    And given everything that went into Fizzbunches?

    It was a decision that practically made itself.

    The timing was also fortuitous. For it was now the closing of the now firmly named Boar Festival.

    Given that it had opened with the naming and acknowledgement of a new Knight for Barony, it was appropriate to acknowledge the start of service of a proper court Wizard to Father at its closing.

    ¡°My subjects and guests, I have given to all of you your due from the bounty of the Terror Boar. I have acknowledged and heard all of you and welcomed your pledge to me as your lord and renewed my own honor bound vow to protect you. Not just from Boar and Beast, Not just from bandits and outlaws, But from summer¡¯s hunger and winter¡¯s cold!¡±

    For this last day they had opened up a few casks of the cheapest wine available. The household staff had of course watered them down so that even the kinder and infirm could enjoy the refreshments and it had raised the mood of those attending.

    That it also stretched their meager stores to the point that the nearly eight hundred attendees could all get at least a cup helped as well.

    Nearly five days of smoked meats, frivolity, minstrels, chance to exchange gossip and goods had done wonders for the spirits that travel and imminent hungry summer had made low.

    The general good cheer and fortune from games of skill, glory and chance had done even more to endear all present.

    There had of course been a few sour ones in the bushel.

    But like with the foul-mouthed Peddler by work of the footmen or the peasantry themselves (as was normally best with common law) proper justice was meted out and troublemakers either put away to gain their senses or driven out of the demesne entirely.

    ¡°And before we bring these celebrations to a close...¡±

    The obligatory groans that all good things had to come to an end was acknowledged with a bright smile from Father.

    ¡°I bring forth one last tiding to take with you home to all under my obligation. For while I have raised a good Knight in Kraok Boarslayer, so have I also accepted the services of another.¡±

    He gestured, and on cue the well cut fresh boards of the dais flexed and groaned, then grew muted and wet.

    Soon the dampness became a sopping puddle of at first clear water, but rapidly was run through with the black damp mire of mud and the green flecks of duckweed.

    The air up upon the dais grew humid and then at last, as much a liquid ooze as some kind of incredibly oversized leech squeezed and pooled up from underneath the boards.

    Leaving them warped and waterlogged, aged before their time and already succumbing to the sort of rot that took ages in stagnant water.

    The Bog Weird stood in the sun, their single eye peering out at the crowd, wide brimmed hat obscuring the brightness of the noonday sun and casting thick, almost foggy shadows over their pale continence.

    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    One bonelessly undulating arm rose like a sinewy whip of flesh, only after it settled in a crooked arm and a dainty waggle at the wrist did the wave of greeting become apparent.

    And then with a turning twist that started approximately at the point of the ankles but spiraled up where shins, knees, thighs, hips and abdomen their new Wizard bowed to Father.

    Jewel had to hold her face steady with great attention to avoid reacting to how that one motion was affecting her.

    One of the less sturdy among the audience actually turned and vomited into the packed dirt,

    politely they would probably blame the wine.

    Father politely did not acknowledge the man of ill constitution.

    Quite a number of the audience seemed not very far from loosing their stomachs into the dirt either.

    ¡°I present to you the Esteemed Sorcerer and Court Wizard of Rochford, Tsulogothulan Weird of the Uloghai Bog¡±

    Father had gotten quite a lot of practice saying that name correctly.

    From the faces of the peasantry they were going to be struggling for quite some time with it.

    Tsulogothulan for their part unwound from the contorted ropelike twist they had taken up to bow to Father and again swept the crowd with that single voluminous eye.

    Then in a further boneless undulation the Wizard of the Bog bowed to all of them and spoke in the clear yet foreign, round-voweled drawl.

    ¡°I will be attending my duty to Lord Rochford and through him the barony and by the land yourselves. Fear not my passing and may blessings be upon all of you and your crops.¡±

    And then with that the Tsulogothulan melted into black ichor and muck.

    Ooze seeping through the warped gaps in the planks where they had emerged and with a disconcerting groan of timbers was gone.

    Leaving behind a hole that seemed like it had been the work of ages of wet rot, rain and mold.

    Only discernible as a working of magic by its sudden appearance in the dais and absolutely perfect circular shape.

    Already the sound of frogs and other marsh life was rising from the pit and new shoots of swamp plants were emerging from it.

    Before all of their eyes fresh and flush green marsh reeds hallowed out from the dark pit that had been ¡®worn¡¯ into the dais.

    Father marshaled himself with a face that looked not at all as perturbed as she knew he was.

    His hands clapping to draw attention back to himself.

    ¡°With this I close the Festival, you may still partake of the delights and frivolity with this sun but we will be clearing come sundown!¡±

    And with that the mildly disturbed crowd began their departure.

    Some left hurriedly to get to their lodgings and pack.

    Others moved to get last minute exchanges or treats for the road.

    But as her family sat at their places upon the dais, there was only one thing on the young Wyrm¡¯s mind.

    Tsulogothulan¡¯s abrupt arrival and departure had ruined most of the timbers involved in erecting the platform. Carving through with sopping moisture and damp rot what should have been solid wood to last for years in but a moment.

    Leaving behind what as Jewel craned her neck appeared to be a complete miniature pond. Water inky black with depth and silt, dappled over in duck weed and even a wide circular lilypad.

    Perfectly circular all the way down to what just moments ago had been hard packed stone.

    Did it go all the way down to the chambers below?

    Was there now a swamp in one of their cellars or did this new mass of fresh bog somehow avoid any interference with the fort¡¯s architecture?

    Was there going to be mildew concerns, going forward?

    She did not have any certainty from here and could not depart to investigate until Father himself departed or dismissed her and Alexander.

    But one thing that was certain.

    Jewel just knew that the poor groundskeeper Samuel was not going to appreciate the addition of a water feature to the courtyard.

 3.i

    3.i

    A proper modern Pfennig (Penny) should weigh no less than twenty barley-corn and no more than twenty two of the same on a fair scale. If melted and treated by proper smiths it should be between seven-tenths and eight-tenths true silver.

    When stamping one''s own coin, though tempting it may be, a lord should never adulterate the pfennig any further than seven-tenths lest it draw doom upon his dominion.

    For a day¡¯s labor in the hay fields no more than three Hae Pfennig (half a penny) should be paid, unless there is a desperate need. When harvests are rich and peasant bellies full, vagrant hands should go for a hae penny to a penny depending on the quality of the muscles on the man.

    Dynastic Solar Denari is of the purest silver among the imperial coinage at nearly nine-tenths or more and should weigh twenty-four barley-corn if unshaved.

    Middle Republic Denari (or Bad Penny) is heavily adulterated with a purity between an eighth and a third silver depending on mint and year and weighs twenty-five barley-corn unshaved most often (but the lumpier casts are as much as thirty barley corn and the weakest eighteen).

    Late Republic Grosz are a thick coin, of silver or bronze and is weighted at no less than twelve modern Pfennig of either metal. If bronze, expect a tarnished gold, black or pale steel gold color depending on age and polish. The bronze tender is also thicker than its silver counterpart if you must measure by touch alone.

    Trade is best done at weight by scale when dealing with Grosz.

    It is important to recognize the metal before seeking to exchange by smith, as the preferred artisan will vary and the exchange can be in better favor if taken to the appropriate trade.

    A modern Knight¡¯s Mark is a rarely made but useful denomination for the dealings with one¡¯s lieges and in the accounting of the demesne.

    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    When it is minted, a Mark is one-hundred and eighty-six modern Pfennig by weight on fair scale and measured to a purity of eight-tenths silver always.

    A Knight¡¯s Mark, as its name illuminates, is the fair tender to exchange for one annum fief owed in obligations of war.

    Such is only valid and honorable if it is given within the fullness of two years and a three season prior to the rally of one¡¯s liege. So as it can be further given to reinforce and muster mercenary or arms in one¡¯s absence.

    The Crown Auren is the highest denomination used in the modern era. It is minted to use for affairs of realm dowries for marriage, when obligatory payments made in lieu of service in war would suffer under the weight of silver and the settlement of tribute to bring about peace from conflict.

    When minted, it is weighted at two-hundred and sixty-eight barley-corn of gold at no less than eight tenths purity.

    It should be kept in soft leather or cushioned chests with no other coinage or metal to avoid loss to wear.

    If heavy travel and rough handling is expected the Tarnished Auren is recommended for coinage over the Crown Auren as it is sturdier.

    To be Proper a Tarnished Auren is smelted as the alloy with a purity of two-tenths gold to eight tenths silver. A single coin is weighted on fair scale at two-hundred and twenty-one barley-corn and is proper tender to stand at five Tarnished Auren to one Crown Auren.

    Of the rarer and less common tender it is best for the discerning lord to bring upon gold and silver artisans or a jeweler of high virtue and trust to make certain the proper weight in gold or silver for the coin and set fair price thereof as one would with an unminted metal.

    For foreign coins only the Dynastic Solar Empire and its inheritor republics are common enough to be of concern enough to set the measures and standards to memory.

    -Coinage and Lordly Stewardship by Sir Broghuilidad Silvertongue of Cortaza

 4.1

    4.1

    Jewel tried to muster herself the will to try again.

    So far every other time she had attempted had been a tangled disaster of limbs.

    Disaster and bruises for everyone involved and a terrible time all around.

    She was not yet abandoning all hope, but to date she was beginning to recognize a very sad reality.

    No matter how long she practiced or worried at the problem there was not going to be a different conclusion.

    And she did not have three nor two seasons to practice.

    Jewel did not even have a full season to worry at this unfair curse upon her.

    The weather holding bright and dry suggested that the wheat harvests that closed the season would happen within no later than five days.

    Five days at the latest before work would begin to take in the wheat grains.

    And after harvest work finished, the gold grain festival would begin.

    And Jewel could no longer dance!

    The ability had been stolen from her by her endless growth.

    And the time she had been able to hold it was far too brief.

    When she was younger she had been quite a bit too small to properly do it.

    Not tall enough or long enough in any dimension to manage to join hands with dancers to either side of her.

    Not coordinated enough to avoid being a terrible hazard of tripping when she inevitably stumbled out of place and underfoot.

    But over the years she had grown larger and more supple in limb.

    She had grown into a grace that her Mother still assured her was incredibly fine and properly majestic for a Lady.

    And so for a wonderful time she had been just barely the right size to dance the carola at Hungry Summer¡¯s end.

    Awkwardly balancing on Wyrmflame coursing through her body and wings?

    Yes.

    Fore legs out at an awkward angle to clasp with the hands of children and a few brave teenagers?

    Yes.

    Only just graceful enough to manage the undulations of her hindquarters and tail needed to get her hind limbs to stay in place below her without getting any of her length underfoot of the other dancers?

    Yes!

    She''d never been particularly good at dancing the carola.

    But she had been able to dance in four of the hungry summer festivals before!

    Though she had been an absolute disgrace of a disaster last year.

    And it was so much more awkward now then it had been even then.

    Over the seasons the simple fact that she grew longer than a draft horse and her neck was making her taller than any man but Father had made dancing difficult.

    And then she had just kept on growing ¡ª it was to the point that any attempt to join into the circle would end in her shoving or barreling over all involved simply trying to get into place.

    Nevermind taking the proper posture to join hands.

    Today¡¯s attempts at dancing practice proved that point.

    She¡¯d ordered up a bunch of the footmen to practice with her in the courtyard and they had made the attempt.

    Jewel really owed all of the poor men for the injuries her attempts at dancing involved.

    They had made several attempts and much to her embarrassment and shame all had been such catastrophes that it was deeply fortunate they wore their leathers and gambeson.

    Quite a few of her more spectacular tumbles had seen heaving coils big around as a war horse thrown into their midst and scattering them like leaves.

    They had tried to joke it off.

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.¡°Not to worry Lady Jewel, it¡¯s good combat training at least! Wouldn''t want us to go soft eh?¡±

    But this was not supposed to be a bout!

    Jewel was supposed to be having a proper dance and merriment!

    This was supposed to be fun and frivolity for all!

    And now they had to stop because Jewel was so embarrassed she could not keep her wings at her sides!

    No, in her shame and frustration they were stuck flared out and she had to stomp off away from the scattered footmen to go and hide in the hallway and try to breathe calmly and deeply until the pressure to pull her neck back in a tight curve and bare her teeth in fear diminished.

    There were also the tears.

    As a lady it was not as shameful to shed tears she thought.

    But why could dragons even cry regular tears?

    Jewel was certain she had read in a book she was not supposed to be able to.

    Either for being a heartless beast who felt no pain or remorse.

    Or that they were supposed to be gemstones of some kind?

    Or was it pearls?

    Maybe fire?

    There was a lot of nonsense written down about dragons.

    Nevermind that despite being a lady and a dragon, here was Jewel huddling in a less often used hall (out of the many ones that never even got dusted unless guests were around).

    Crying like a coward, listening to the drip of her tears in a puddle on the old stone which, while friendly and welcoming, could not understand her sadness.

    Stone did not get embarrassed or ashamed or even understand wanting to dance.

    Wanting to be able to share something with her family and subjects.

    Stone for all its venerable age and soft stable appreciation for her and all that had strode over it in ages past did not really want things like that.

    Stone was just perfectly pleased to be stone.

    There for her of course but not the best equipped to even have an inkling of an idea of how to help.

    But being a good collection of smooth rock cut apart and then fitted together. Content and welcoming to sit on and catch her tears regardless of having no proper concept of how it could help besides that.

    There in the unused hallway, Jewel felt like she must have wasted hours of everyone¡¯s daylight.

    She hoped the footmen had gone off to do something better with their time then collect bruises and stunned heads from her lumbering foolishness.

    What kind of Wyrm danced the carola?

    What kind of oversized snake, or fish or whatever cursed source spawned her egg wanted to frolick and spin in a circle like she had managed to just a few years ago?!

    Jewel sobbed hard and could not hold back the words any longer and just roared them into the empty hallway.

    Voice so cavernous it seemed to barrel over any echo that might dare to respond. Buzzing and rough and hardly words at all but for her own knowledge they were spoken.

    ¡°THIS ONE DOES!¡±

    The silence that filled the hall probably felt a bit more profound than it was.

    She could not pull her wings in close as Jewel realized that everyone in the manor almost certainly heard that.

    ?But there were no admonishing voices coming down the hallway.

    Just the light pitter-patter splash of tears still running down her cheeks and dripping off her chin.

    Only silence until a familiar and round voweled voice broke it.

    ¡°Well then, it sounds like my services as court-wizard are required.¡±

    Jewel startled then looked down into the embarrassingly substantial pool she had shed onto the floor.

    A pool that even as she watched was turning silty and black with the imminent arrival of Tsulogothulan Bog Weird and court Wizard of Rochford.

    Silt that turned thick and muddy and then reedy before twisting into the black peaked cap and then in a truly stomach-churning, twisting, wet tearing, it peeled up from the flagstones, dragging moisture and mire up in thick ropey strands around the brim.

    The sound of tearing roots ending with bone jarring and grinding creaks as the entire mass gave a shuddering twist and the fleshy blue veined scythe of a nose popped audibly free.

    The last affront to all sense of flesh, bone and body was the sudden peeling open of the Wizard¡¯s far too large violet eye directly out of the side of the ¡®nose¡¯.

    Jewel noted in her distant feeling of shock and mortification at being interrupted while having such a shameful sobbing that apparently Tsulogothulan did not actually reliably keep the eye on the same side of its nose.

    As it was now on the opposite one (and a little further back) from the last time she had seen it.

    A few audibly wet pops of eye blinking and then a general shaking out which somehow shook loose the boneless arms and fingers of the Bog Weird finished the arrival before that round and wide accent slipped free with just the most common and almost bawdry lilted speech.

    ¡°So then, My Lady wishes to dance?¡±

 4.2

    4.2

    Jewel was uncertain about how this was going to work. So far she just felt even more excluded and awkward then she had at the start.

    Tsulogothulan was standing amiably in what had come to be the wizard¡¯s preferred place in the courtyard.

    That is to say directly in the seemingly bottomless pool of silty bog water that had been placed at the end of the Boar¡¯s Festival.

    Samuel had surprised Jewel in his delight over the new water feature, but apparently a never ending source of ¡®good rich water¡¯ and robust silt¡¯ that stunk vaguely of rotten eggs and manure was precisely the best thing ever to grace Father¡¯s Demesne in all living memory.

    At least according to the Groundskeeper.

    Jewel had been even more surprised when he had requested of Father that the courtyard entrance be guarded night and day from ¡®thieves¡¯ trying to make off with bucketfuls of mud.

    Or when in counter to the concern Father had commanded Tsulogothulan to make similar ponds or boggy springs between the borders of every field in the immediate demesne.

    Apparently going further abroad would be a more complex endeavor and for reasons unclear to anyone but the Wizard themselves could not be accomplished until the coming of the spring rainstorms and the thawing from winter ice.

    But really who knew that apparently bog mud and water was so valuable that people might actually be motivated to try and steal it?!

    Still the position in their own private well of swamp seemed to bring a life to Tsulogothulan that Jewel had only ever seen while they were in a torrential downpour.

    It made her wonder just how much inconvenience being dry enough to converse and interact with normal people actually imposed on the Weird.

    All of which was a distracted musing to try and distance herself from how she felt like a strutting goat or hungry dog circling the footmen in their far more proper carola circle.

    It had been going on for almost the entirety of mid day, with only a break for a noon meal and beer. Jewel and Tsulogothulan were indefatigable. The Wyrm due to her barely slacked inner fire and the Wizard for reasons inscrutable but probably related to standing in a bottomless bog pond.

    But after the first two hours of what was becoming more a kind of military drill in full kit than an actual dance for the men¡­ it took its toll.

    Bromthil, the Captain of the Guard and the Footmen, nearly put a stop to it there. Only by Jewel¡¯s pleading and Tsulogothulan¡¯s thankfully only figuratively penetrating stare was the exercise not canceled all together for the day.

    As a compromise, he brought down the size of the circle of the dance and was running them in shifts, cycling men in from their other duties around the manor and village for a few hours and then sending them off to avoid ¡®burning through all the health and vigor of the manor¡¯.

    Stil Jewel did not see how bounding like an eager dog was helping her learn to dance.

    Which was frustrating for her and apparently amusing to Tsulogothulan.

    Finally she had enough and came to a stop.

    ¡°This is not proper dancing!¡±

    As one the Footmen promptly took the opportunity to settle into restful squats still in place in the circle.

    They had started taking the opportunity for every scrap of rest available by the first hour under Tsulogothulan¡¯s ¡®lessons¡¯ in dance.

    ¡°I can¡¯t agree with you more, Lady Jewel; you aren''t dancing! But it is not because of where you are positioned or because you are not taking stride or touching fingers to your fine footmen.¡±

    A few breathless laughs of acknowledgement from the less fit of the Footmen presently gasping from their circle.

    Jewel stamped a food and felt the course of her Wyrmfire building towards her throat.

    Spiraling in under her scales and filling up the strange cavities up and down her neck in rhythmic pulses.

    ¡°Well then, what am I doing wrong?! I¡¯m stepping as you said in a circle around them! We¡¯ve tried Widdershins and Sunwise and neither was dancing! I¡¯ve gone forward and backward but neither satisfied you! Leaping high and sweeping low! But you keep saying I¡¯m not dancing! I don¡¯t even think I know what dancing even is anymore, Tsulogothulan!¡±

    Insufferably the bog wizard laughed a bit and wriggled in place poking out of the duck weed covered pool of their tiny little swamp.

    The green flecks had started migrating a bit up the hem of their ¡®robe¡¯ in a manner that made the veiny diaphanous layers of almost skin like cloth appear to be more water then fabric.

    ¡°Quite right, I don¡¯t think you do. And I don¡¯t think I can tell you. So we must demonstrate. My Good Footmen ?¡±

    As one they lurched back to standing from their brief respite.

    A few wobbled in a way that Jewel was pretty sure Bromthil would berate them about.

    Father¡¯s Footmen were supposed to be sturdier than this!

    Yes, they were not expected to be Knights but still a few hours of dancing in full kit should not have already exhausted them!

    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    Still, before they could get started again, Tsulogothulan held up a hand and whistled sharply and hauntingly.

    It was not the sound of a human throat or lips. But more like some kind of bird if Jewel had her guess.

    Probably something native to swamps and bogs considering the theme.

    ¡°No no, it¡¯s time for you to have a break, Good Footmen. Your efforts have been most fine on my eye but I¡¯m afraid the lady needs more direct supervision.¡±

    With that and for the first time all afternoon, the Bog Weird stepped out of the pond, water pooling off of them with each step, leaving footprints of moist duckweed in their wake and scattered dew about before they stood before Jewel.

    ¡°Now, good Footmen, give me a round chant and a clap, something slow and steady to start.¡±

    A few of them got started on a low rising and falling murmur, they were a bit out of sorts and Jewel was not sure of the point but Tsulogothulan soon was putting a stop to it, apparently unsatisfied.

    ¡°No! No! That is all out of rhythm. Like this. I shall Call! You will Respond.¡±

    And then the Bog Wizard gave out a single clear and round tone in a voice that was still humbly and distinctly human.

    ¡°AeeOWH¡±

    And then clapped twice.

    It cleared the air, it felt different than before.

    ¡°AeeOWH¡±

    And then the Wizard did it again.

    And the Footmen tried to follow.

    Then again.

    It took twice more before they were satisfied with the chant and clap from the Footmen.

    Then with a gesture Tsulogothulan turned and gestured to one half speaking along in the undercurrent.

    ¡°You lot shush it but keep the clap, You will now follow me in a new tone, the rest of you keep that pace, keep that rhythm. But only when I tell you. Now Lady Jewel Listen to them and watch me, follow as I move. Then I want you to move and sway with yourself but to the same time yes? Like a tree in the wind, like reeds in the current.¡±

    And Tsulogothulan began to move.

    In all other sudden spurts and twists the movement had felt wrong, boneless, disorienting.

    But now somehow the claps and the voices made it natural.

    Jewel was stunned to silence and stillness at the feat.

    The hips swung in rhythm to the rise and fall of voices.

    The hint of knees and feet stepped and moved with the claps beneath the sheer drapes of fabric.

    The hands stayed planted on hips but the shoulders swayed in opposite and yet complement to the hips.

    ¡°Hey now Lady Jewel! With me! Swing with me! Feel the same wind, the same water and move with it! Not as I move But with the same wind and the same water! Feel it!¡±

    And Jewel tried, it was hard, at first she could not manage.

    There was not really any wind, there was not really any water.

    But then again, in the way that the Bog Wizard dipped and moved with the movement, you could almost imagine there was.

    It was almost like the way that the Wyrmfire coursed through Jewel herself. The way it moved with the wind when she flew. The way that Zephyrvam caught and pulled it and the two of them moved together in the sky too distant for any to see.

    It was almost like that but it was happening with sound?

    With clapping hands and rising voices.

    Before she properly realized it Jewel found herself sweeping side to side, not precisely like the Bog Wizard was.

    But she could almost see the current running off of Tsulogothulan¡¯s hips and shoulders riding invisibly in the air and then somehow catching on her snout, running in sweeping waves down her coils.

    ¡°Ah! There! Yes, like that Jewel. Now let''s try a bit more.¡±

    Without even losing her catch on the invisible waters and wind of the music Tsulogothulan turned once more to face the footmen they had sectioned off beforehand, catching each of them in that massive wet eyed gaze.

    Hands rose up wrapped in black gauzy strands and thin wet strips and sheets.

    The clapping and the undercurrent of low chanting continued.

    Jewel tried to focus on following that strange current that somehow Tsulogothulan had found in the sound of the Footmen¡¯s hands and voices.

    Somehow, for each double clap there was now a sway and an anticipatory void. A emptiness to the sound of the other chant. Until again Tsulogothulan¡¯s voice rose up, but where before it was a single utterance in beat this one swayed and swung like a bird in flight.

    It rippled like a fish in the waters.

    And falteringly at first but then with more confidence, the Footmen¡¯s voices rose around the Bog Wizard¡¯s and Jewel became so caught up in it all for a moment she tried to move against the way she had been told.

    But she pulled back, and yet somehow that was all wrong and the more she tried to fix it and regain the wind, the ephemeral waters the worse she became. The less she felt in line with the motions of her teacher.

    Until finally Tsulogothulan¡¯s voice cut off the chanting and the clapping with a sharp barking.

    ¡°No, No, No! Jewel! What was that?! You almost had it!¡±

    She did?! But how?! She completely lost the wind! Even when she tried to pull herself back too it.

    The Wyrmling was utterly confused!

    She wanted to flare her wings in shame at the deeply weary sigh Tsulogothulan made.

    ¡°Let''s take a break everyone. Jewel won¡¯t be able to try again until she stops puffing up like an affronted cock.¡±

    Jewel could only barely keep herself from flaring her wings and arching her neck even MORE too that.

 4.3

    4.3

    Jewel wanted to brace herself. But she had learned you needed to be loose.

    Muscles could be ready, her Wyrmfire could course through her. In fact it even helped, once she got going.

    But she had stumbled and failed to find the ¡®wind and water¡¯ as Tsulogothulan had put it. For the last three days she had depended on the Bog Wizard to help her find how sound and voice and the movement of the Footmen could mean wind and water and movement in her own coils and wings, legs and tail and head.

    She was confident that, if shown the way to start by the Weird of Swamps (and so much more) Jewel could continue.

    Over twenty times now, she had shown that she did not even need much.

    But Tsulogothulan was again standing solidly and still in their pond. According to the Wizard, whatever strange magic there was to dance Jewel was not quite getting it yet.

    And Jewel was now convinced there was a magic to dancing that was simply foreign to her.

    Like when she tried to explain Wyrmfire to Alexander, or even Father and Mother.

    Apparently one simply was meant to feel it and it was there, obvious and whole and ready to guide you.

    But Jewel was yet unable to catch the start of it.

    She had not yet caught it the first four times today they had tried, never getting into sync and requiring Tsulogothulan to step in and demonstrate.

    It was not helped that having identified how she was cheating (apparently memorizing exactly the timing was not how it was done) the boneless reed of a Sorcerer had started guiding the Footmen to chant and clap in different tempos and rhythms.

    Jewel wondered if the lessons would culminate with Jewel memorizing every rhythm and meter and whatever other words Tsulogothulan came up with.

    Or would she somehow overcome her shameful inadequacy and actually get whatever the Wizard was trying to teach her?

    One thing she had learned.

    Jewel had never danced before she started taking lessons.

    She had copied and cheated and as infuriating as it was Jewel could not deny the difference now that she had (with guidance) felt it for herself.

    Compared to the feeling when she caught the ¡®wind and water¡¯ that Tsulogothulan could seemingly slip into effortlessly and Jewel could only stumble in and out of without the initial guidance?

    Dancing was magic.

    It was like Wyrmfire.

    Jewel paused for a moment.

    She heard the rhythm coming up and stood still in consideration.

    Hearing the music, but more importantly feeling it washing through the air and the Footmen and their voices.

    Into the ambivalent earth.

    Through the playful wind.

    Disturbing the leaves and shoots of the grasses and even ever so faintly brushing the diffuse water that swung and swooped and...

    Jewel turned her gaze up to the sky and she could not help but gape.

    The clouds danced.

    The sky and wind was not some result of the dance, some trick to think of it.

    Jewel swayed her head slowly, slightly at first to the rhythm turning to look left and right.

    She tried moving her feet and wings to the clap of hands and found it right.

    Jewel spread her wings and while ducking and lifting her neck and shoulders tried to catch and carry the feeling of waves of sound from the footmen¡¯s voices.

    Tsulogothulan had no mouth, but its eye could squeeze to one side or another in a way that definitely resembled how eyes clenched in a smile.

    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    Nothing needed to be said.

    Jewel understood.

    And instead of congratulations or acknowledgement in words the Bog Wizard opened up and sang.

    The song was wordless and yet it rose and fell with the wind, with the seasons, with water and reed.

    The Footmen, having kept from moving but the minimum in all the drills since Jewel had first been taught to dance properly began to move with it. To clap and sing as they moved into circles while others slapped their hands together and stomped their feet.

    Wordlessly and yet carried and buoyed on the songs were joined together and guided with Tsulogothulan.

    And Jewel could feel it!

    She swayed and spun and stomped and even gave delighted laughter.

    The bewildering array of people moving in so many different and yet unified ways was not so daunting.

    How could it be?

    Jewel could feel her Wyrmfire in herself and the echo of it in all of them.

    And they moved as one and separate.

    All of them like leaves in the wind.

    Like flecks of duckweed in the currents of hidden waters.

    Music felt and heard but unseen still swayed and twirled and Jewel found herself spinning and twirling and stepping and sliding with it.

    She leaped in delight up into arcs and cheers from the Footmen.

    She sweeped low and they leaped over her.

    Sometimes they even failed to clear the dipped coils of her body but instead of this throwing all into disarray and confusion Jewel could simply carry it through with the rhythm.

    With the music.

    With the song!

    It was magic!

    Jewel never wanted it to stop!

    But soon she could feel them tire.

    The claps grow faltering.

    The voices are hoarse.

    The sun was dipping towards darkness.

    No one had eaten.

    Or stopped for a drink.

    How could Jewel have even considered it?

    The music of the world had been through her and within her and all the rest.

    She could still feel the very beat and stamp of her feet still echoing up from the hard packed stone.

    The spiraling patterns almost glowing in her Wyrmfire where her claws had scraped and carved.

    The stone below the packed dirt happily humming in time with the song that while no longer rising from throats or carried in clapping hands or stamping feet was still bubbling and sparklingly present.

    Jewel felt a fizz all through her as her Wyrmfire coursed and charged in a way it never had before in her entire life.

    Suddenly in the stillness that finally overtook her in absence of the song but still echoing cavernously with the music every single muscle found in the absence of motion to scream in unison.

    And startled into laughter and growling in pain as one Jewel collapsed to the carved pattern she and the Footmen had made in the packed dirt of the courtyard.

    A pattern that Tsulogothulan was peering at with great trepidation, poised in their pond as if it was a stool to keep them up from a particularly vast mass of vermin.

    Jewel felt silly and happy and in so much wonderfully burning pain she could barely pay attention to the voice.

    ¡°Well, that was quite a bit more than I expected was going to happen.¡±

    She faintly considered the fact all the Footmen were groaning and collapsing into leaning support for each other.

    But everyone seemed to be smiling just as goofily as Jewel.

    It was hard to be mad about dancing too much even when every single limb and join in your body demanded you had.

    ¡°Well, congratulations are in order, Lady Jewel.¡±

    Jewel rolled her neck so she was looking up at Tsulogothulan with one eye. Heavens and Stars she was terribly thirsty now.

    ¡°I declare that you can certainly Dance.¡±

    Jewel could not find anything to do but hoarsely squeak.

    ¡°Yay.¡±

 4.4

    4.4

    After the first time, Jewel paced herself significantly better.

    Not entirely by choice however.

    She was a bit embarrassed to admit it came at Father¡¯s, Tsulogothulan¡¯s, Mother¡¯s and most especially Bromthil¡¯s insistence!

    She had ruined the footmen that had joined in her day long jubilation for almost two after.

    Some had serious cramps and sprains!

    She had apologies aplenty for all and insisted that Father let her make up for the injuries when she heard the extent.

    But still to dance?!

    It was almost better than flying!

    In fact Jewel had taken to dancing during her flights when possible.

    But all of the adults had insisted that she could not make a repeat of going all day until she collapsed.

    So early in the mornings after breakfast was set aside and Muriel exchanged it in their schedule for physical exercise and combat labors. The Footmen were portioned off and rotated from one day to the next to make sure none of them were overexerted.

    And Jewel practiced.

    Now that she understood what dance was they worked with her at finding how she could fit/move about and through a carola.

    Weaving into and out of the circle without disrupting the rhythm was especially tricky. How to mark or tap those that joined in the circle just enough to make way and then how to ease herself out of it.

    But it was also joyous in a way nothing had ever quite been before!

    And she was even getting to dance with her family!

    Father and Mother joined in a bit on mornings where their responsibilities were light.

    Alexander enjoyed it too when he was not doing other training with Muriel or Sir Kraok.

    The Footmen still joked, of course, but it was far more good naturedly.

    Complimenting on her singing voice or grace began to overwhelm the jabs about her mistakes and stumbles.

    Although those never ceased entirely. But it was to a level on par with their own camaraderie with one another.

    And by measures, with each of those few hours Jewel was finding a confidence she had rarely felt.

    This was something she could do!

    Not muddle through or utterly overpower by stint of her natural talents or imperfections.

    But a skill she could properly hone, strive and excel at.

    Jewel could dance and come the festivities after the summer harvest finished she would.

    But life could not be only dancing. Apparently her distress over her earlier failures had gotten her an unofficial reprieve from her other lessons and responsibilities.

    At Tsulogothulan¡¯s insistence that the wizard would solve Jewel¡¯s problem as swiftly as possible.

    But now Muriel had her reading and reciting passages from every book in Father¡¯s study.

    Working with coinage from the family coffers and even tabulating and marking the accounts of some of the tradescrafts that lived among the various villages.

    Gathering up coins that were suspect on the scales (or more often to her own nose and tongue) and carefully dividing them for review with a silversmith when next the journey could be made.

    Receipts had to be written until she had to alternate from left to right foreclaw and then, when even that was insufficient to still the aching throbs of cramped fingers, she switched to her equally dextrous hind claws and folded her hips up to her fore so she could see what she was writing.

    Jewel occasionally spied what Alexander was working on in secret.

    She was now forbidden from actually working in letters or anything involving quill and ink in the same room or even at the same hour as him!

    But as his younger sister she was worried!

    Even now when she snuck a peek he was sometimes still working on scribe skills of simple calligraphy, or copying a record onto scrap vellum that had not made the muster to be shipped as tithe or sale!

    She¡¯d mastered that when she was seven!

    Their Governess was obviously doing something wrong with his education.

    Was he overly distracted?

    Muriel had already admonished her for the few times that Jewel had taken the load off her poor brother doing copy exercises. It was unfair to make him do so much! Alexander could only write with one, albeit far more dexterous hand!

    His penmanship was even worse with his left!

    She had however been forbidden and told it was not proper. So Jewel had stopped for a time.

    But when she had realized what flourishes they were using to spot her assistance Jewel had started trying to imitate Alexander¡¯s more shaky quill hand. And for a while it seemed to work.

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    But that had eventually gotten even further admonishment from Mother and led to their separation during calligraphy studies.

    Although Muriel had been uncharacteristically nice afterwards! There was congratulations on Jewel¡¯s aptitude in scribecraft and then the Governess had got her some quite wonderful books to practice copying instead. Not just simple records but full book manuscripts and she was even given the good vellum instead of scrap!

    Muriel and Father had praised her work on it this year. And they even said if she finished by winter they would see about getting her another. Possibly even some of the fine inks so she could practice her hand (claws) at illuminated manuscripts!

    But Alexander was still languishing whenever she stole a few moments to slip down a hall and check in on him in Father¡¯s study.

    This was not fair at all.

    Alexander was Father¡¯s heir!

    He was her elder brother!

    Jewel was the younger daughter!

    It was not right!

    So she checked up on him like she was now.

    When Muriel walked up from behind her, she did not jump or squeak in an undignified manner.

    The household staff are liars if they said she did.

    ¡°Ah there you are Jewel! It¡¯s time you joined your Father on a survey of the harvests! Only so much to learn from old books, no matter how skilled your scribecraft!¡±

    How did the Governess always do that? Was she secretly a wizard?

    Although the only one of those that could even begin to surprise her had been Fizzbunches.

    Euewyn the Autumn always had red and orange leaves precede her and Tsulogothulan seemed incapable of doing any kind of appearing without bringing a profound quantity of damp and peat bog with them.

    Jewel was unsure ¡ª perhaps Governess¡¯ had some other magic unknown to wizards?

    If they did it was significantly better than even Fizzbunche¡¯s mysterious corners. Jewel had started being able to spot those well ahead of his use of them.

    But Muriel still could sneak up on her somehow.

    ¡°Come on, Lady Jewel. Leave your brother to focus; there are fields to see and peasants to watch.¡±

    And dutifully the Wyrm let herself be shooed and guided back down the hallway and down the corridors.

    But what she had seen, had continued to see for seasons left a sour taste that not even the prospect of being with Father in his obligation as overseer and Liege could dispel.

    ¡°Governess Muriel? May I broach a question? Meant not in any offense or malice.¡±

    There was a stiffening to her Governess¡¯ back, a bracing of the muscles and a fixing of expression. Then all was smoothed into natural poise and a gentle practiced smile that went properly to the corner of the eyes.

    ¡°Yes, as your Governess, that is what I¡¯m here for.¡±

    Jewel fidgeted her wings a bit, flexing them in and out to try and shed some of the shame of having even thought this.

    But she had to know. There had been too many years for it to be a fluke.

    ¡°Is... Is Alexander simple?¡±

    The widened eyes of shock demanded that she clarify herself.

    ¡°I mean, he is years my elder and yet still struggling with letters. He¡¯s hardly even competent in stewardship. His grasp of the coins would see him fleeced by a stablehand!¡±

    And then there was a just smothered laugh.

    A laugh?!

    Before she knew it Jewel found herself growing heated for her Brother¡¯s sake!

    The Wyrm whirled on the women whose responsibility and obligation was to both of Father¡¯s children and their education and mastery of the skills needed to thrive in the world.

    There had been a hint of mirth! of mockery, of the evil cruelty that Jewel had seen time and again in their Governess turned towards Alexander.

    ¡°Is that it? Is that why you hate him? Is... Is my brother infirm in the mind? Is that why you punish him so?¡±

    But then all the mirth fled and was replaced with something else. It was similar to the look that Jewel had seen after the disastrous hunt. Muriel slumped in the mud, not even seeming able to fetch her sword from the corruptive touch of the muddy water.

    Suddenly that face had returned in force and Jewel felt her flame go cold and quiet.

    ¡°Oh Jewel, No your brother is not simple. And I¡¯m not punishing him! I love dear Alexander as my own flesh and blood.¡±

    What?

    But he was the eldest! And she was so ahead of him! If it was not an infirmity of his mind or sabotage by the governess?!

    Jewel just stared gobsmacked and confused.

    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry my dear Lady Jewel. I¡¯ve done you a grave disservice. It¡¯s so easy to forget how young you are. But of my two students one is indeed far from the norm.¡±

    Jewel could feel the idea but it felt wrong, not this too. She was a dutiful and good younger sister!

    ¡°Your brother is not simple. In fact he is quite bright and talented for a child his age.¡±

    There was a sad cast to the eyes of her Governess and she could already guess the words.

    She was, after all, obviously larger than her brother. Had been for years.

    ¡°But you are a Wyrm, Lady Jewel. And although it surprises and astounds us with new wonders every day. Illustrates for us, seemingly by the hour, how wonderful and beautiful a thing that makes you.¡±

    Something had gone deeply wrong with the universe that so much praise was coming from Muriel¡¯s lips like this.

    ¡°I can say with certainty that it makes you one of the brightest minds I have ever met. I¡¯m not punishing Alexander for stupidity or holding him back out of malice, Jewel.¡±

    Her Governess placed a hand on Jewel¡¯s cheek. The fingers were calloused by her skill in the sword.

    Muriel¡¯s eyes had wrinkles at the corners and there were streaks of gray to her hair that had never seemed important before.

    ¡°I¡¯m trying to make sure both of you can excel to your greatest.¡±

    Jewel could not find any words to say to that.

    Muriel didn''t hate her or Alexander?!

    Her Governess was trying to help?!

    The rest of the walk out to the fields was done in silence under the noon sun.

 4.5

    4.5

    While any man with the muscle could swing a scythe to make hay, there was some finesse for the wheat harvest that closed out Hungry Summer.

    The peasants of the village were out from morning to mid afternoon working the copper and yellow fields. And as was custom, Father was present in some respects for all the harvest through the barony.

    Although for most of that, it was from high in the air as he made circuits of each village and its surrounding field. But less occasionally he was down on the ground to see the peasantry toil.

    Which was where he was to make the rounds of his more immediately supervised lands.

    Jewel preferred being down on the ground with him for these more stately marches of the manor fields. And Zephyrvam did not mind the opportunity to laze about simply strutting and preening under the attention of the Villagers.

    You could hardly feel the ebb and pull of the fields from so high up after all.

    It had frightened her a bit when she first witnessed a harvest all the way back in her near-hatching youth.

    Mother, Father and Muriel had fussed over her crying and wailing. Which had also set off Alexander.

    But she¡¯d been so scared!

    She was always embarrassed of it now if anyone brought it up. Her entire family had been quite confused by her distress.

    Jewel was just a sensitive hatchling, she supposed. But it was terribly frightening to watch all the peasants go to the fields like a butcher. On a scale far more overwhelming then anything she had properly smelled or seen before.

    As she had grown and become calmer and more able to read the taste in the air to a good summer harvest. Jewel realized that there was quite the absence of actual distress from the wheat.

    It was late in their lives, the seeds would have gone free soon anyway and felt heavy.

    Yes, being chopped was a bit of a sting, but they were already growing dry and brittle.

    They did not cry out in those sharp undercurrents like happened with fresher cuttings.

    That helped soothe her and after every year of her life having the same reaping brought to the mostly ambivalent grains Jewel was mostly over it.

    At this point she could really appreciate the efficient carnage wrought by the peasantry across the rolling shine of ready-to-harvest wheat.

    They worked in five men to a team, four reapers with sickle and careful hands, grasping the stalks at a practiced point below the plump head of each. Some would take several in hand at once for decapitation. But others preferred to do them in single stalks.

    Behind the sickle-bearers was the binder. Grasping hold and tying the free¡¯d heads together and moving them to bushels and bundles.

    Sometimes the reaper was a bit too fast, or the binder was a little slow and they would fall to the ground. Other times the bushel was a bit loose and would not hold all of the harvest together, or any other minute little foibles.

    And so some of the harvest would fall to the ground for gleaning. In the fields of Rochford barony Father¡¯s decree was that gleaning rights would go to whichever households fell short the most of their neighbors'' store of wheat from the same field team.

    Disputes between such to be handled by common law. If such an accord cannot be made the decree was then there would be a total forfeiture of the entire gleaning of that field to Father.

    In the Manor fields of the neighboring village Jewel had never seen such a dispute. But messengers and headmen from the villages and hamlets of the Barony occasionally arrived to father to inform him of arguments that had come to blows over the rights of a gleaning that grain turn.

    In two cases she had witnessed Father had been required to go out to the hamlet and seize half of every peasant¡¯s winter grain to put down the bickering.

    Father was a good lord of course and he made sure that after personally conferring with the headman that each household of the uppity hamlet was bequeathed back enough to last them through the year.

    But the squabbling had taken him away for days to settle the matter!

    Jewel wondered if maybe they didn''t deserve how kind her Father was.

    But here in the immediate manor fields, where she could walk along with Father and Zephyrvam in the winding roads between the fields. Stopping for a moment by one of Tsulogothulan¡¯s sharply smelling boggy ¡®springs¡¯. Which against all reason Zephyrvam had spotted and plucked a frog from.

    ¡°I think the harvest will be good this year, Father.¡±

    He nodded from the show saddle nestled on Zephyrvam¡¯s back. Fitted just behind the wing shoulders.

    Jewel watched the peasants working through their acres. Striding amiably in her light little bounds to keep up with the Gryphon¡¯s trot.

    There was nothing precisely to talk about, no duties either of them needed. But after the unmooring from Muriel¡¯s revelation she desperately wanted to speak with him about something.

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    Not about Alexander or her freakish monstrosity.

    But anything else?

    ¡°Do you think the peasantry will enjoy my dance come the festival carola?¡±

    There were a few enterprising chaffinches making for the gleanings from the harvest. Sitting with eager attentiveness in branches or making sweeps for the droppings in the fields.

    Watchful children with sticks and reed woven lashes were eager to rush in and drive them off. It was almost like Harrowing during spring planting.

    Father took long enough to respond to Jewel that repeated herself before he did answer.

    ¡°I think they will find it lovely, perhaps we should have you make a habit of it? For the other fairs and festivals. But only one or two dances. Bromthil was torn on whether to praise or curse the state you left the Footmen in.¡±

    That put her wings to flaring a bit. And drove them both into contemplative silence. A few of the less busy serfs bowed to father. They were waiting for the bundles of wheat head to grow fat enough to not be a waste of steps to carry to the cart prepared for today¡¯s labors.

    It was not really anything important that was said but still it was nice to speak to Father.

    Jewel pressed on trying to get the most out of their time together ostensibly watching the labors that the Peasantry were quite capable of doing on their own.

    ¡°Do you remember when I thought I was a Gryphon?¡±

    That drew a surprised chuckle from Father and he shook his head with a laugh.

    ¡°You made a very compelling argument on account of the number of limbs. But your Mother was not amused by your idea that Zephyrvam was your sire.¡±

    Jewel again felt her wings want to flare, she had not known quite how great the impropriety of that childish misunderstanding was at the time. Then again she was only three.

    She and Alexander had started speaking around the same time. But he was older than her.

    And looking back on her memories it was clear that she had quickly surpassed him in speech.

    Left him struggling to match her.

    As if she was the elder and he the younger.

    The sun slowly turned as they made their way round the grain fields. Some further along than others. Not every field was as conveniently close to a family. Some had longer walks or cart rides to begin their labors.

    Some had less firm hands working the sickles or bundling the wheat head together.

    Some had fresher youths not yet learned in all the ways of a harvest and thus were clumsy with a greater portion of gleaning at their feet.

    At a particularly egregious one father slowed Zephyrvam¡¯s trot to a slow walk and then as he surveyed the laborers¡¯ poor form even made the excuse to stop at another of the Bog springs for the excuse of watering.

    Jewel watched them with him.

    Her eyes were better than his, and though his stewardship far surpassed hers good eyes could make up for a lot.

    Intentionally fattening a field¡¯s gleaning was theft from Father¡¯s own hand.

    Food taken from the hungry mouths of the rest of their fellow peasants.

    This could be serious.

    But no, this was just nerves, over rushing and youth.

    There was not a man or woman in this acre¡¯s team older than seventeen winters.

    No elder to supervise, no knowledgeable parents, uncles or aunts here. No particularly young children to watch for birds.

    ¡°Jewel, take a note. I want someone to check the health of the households for the northeast third summer field.¡±

    She nodded and continued, her memory was better than most.

    If needed she could keep such a note as surely as she had written it to page.

    Though normally Jewel didn''t hold onto such ephemera so tightly. Having a head full of irrelevant reminders was awful and she actively avoided it after she realized she did not have too.

    ¡°Of course, Father, if you like I could do it myself after the Festival?¡±

    That brought a pause from him.

    Jewel reflected how she was almost always given leave to do things such as this.

    Alexander almost never was.

    Then a firm nod as Father came to a decision.

    ¡°When Muriel has time in the schedule to accompany you.¡±

    Jewel froze a moment, then considered.

    They afforded her more than her brother because of her nature.

    Because she was a Wyrm.

    But did that mean she could also request things in his stead as well? Like Mother or Muriel might?

    ¡°I think it would be good to make a lesson in stewardship about it for Alexander. He does not take to the books and figures of coins. But he is sharper when it''s a practical issue.¡±

    Father gently eased Zethervamp back into a faster trot, nearly a canter all told to make up for the time they lost more closely observing the underskilled serfs for signs of theft from father¡¯s grain.

    Again in his slow way he came around to answering but his tone was thoughtful and appreciative.

    He liked the idea.

    ¡°That does sound like a splendid idea, I know I certainly was never happy to spend so much time with books like some monk. Especially not in the summer. I¡¯ll speak to Muriel about your idea.¡±

    Jewel put her own little extra push into her bounding leaps along the road.

    Catching up to match his pace. Spying a bit of mischief in Zephyrvam¡¯s eyes.

    It was not a race per say. But the old Gryphondefinitely was enjoying getting a bit more of a stretch in his legs than the amiable trot had been.

    Feeling somehow lighter, Jewel gazed over the fields and the harvest.

    If everyone was going to insist she be held over her dear brother then she would just have to use that to lift him up to meet her.

 4.6

    4.6

    Jewel mused on the day and the pacing of the harvest while she curled up in the water of her bath.

    By the pace of the local demesne and Father¡¯s comments on the progress from the rest of the barony, they were about three days away from the ending of the harvest. Which would mean the festival to celebrate the end of the hungry summer would begin.

    What stores of wheat from last year remaining would be ground and made into fair, soft breads and cooked in hot fats kept in the larders of the barony. Sheep''s butter would go for the local demesne and the ones further along-stream (she had heard that others used pig lard or ox butter which sounded wrong on many levels). And then there would be the carola and Jewel would dance.

    She shifted and shimied with excitement, she wished that somehow the peasantry could finish sooner!

    But only cruel and stupid lords tried to force the harvests beyond their pace.

    It took most teams of five peasants a half day to work through an acre. So it was written by Sir Broghuilidad the Silvertongue.

    A written statement Jewel was inclined to agree with. Of course, there were some that could work a bit more in that time without excess gleaning (her and father had seen two more overly-youthful teams at harvest this year!).

    But those were balanced by the slower and more careful that lagged behind.

    There were a few overly elderly for the work or cautious mid-aged teams this year. The slower teams take a bit more of their daylight hours to barely manage their acre.

    Jewel thought they were good signs despite the delay. Better a careful but slow harvest in good weather then rushed harvest and accidentally stealing from Father by over-glean.

    She mused on this while gently cradling her copper bucket to her chest. She¡¯d already rinsed out her hair. But this was her bathtime and Jewel was allowed to cuddle her favorite bucket in private!

    She mouthed a saying that seemed appropriate, her voice buzzing around the water in her throat but the words were incoherently muffled by it.

    ¡°A cautious hand in grain-turn was a full belly in spring plough.¡±

    It was a saying on the lips of the peasants to their kinder when Jewel had made her visits before. Said most of all in spring through to the hungry summer.

    In homes and open fields away from where they thought she would hear them.

    She might even ask Muriel about the apparently secret lessons the Peasantry taught their youngsters.

    Apparently her Governess actually did like both her and Alexander?

    That thought was still deeply disturbing to Jewel¡¯s understanding of a properly ordered universe.

    Maybe later she would feel ready enough to ask. But not yet, she was still very imbalanced by the idea.

    It was an interesting way to do their lessons, in place of books or a governess. Muriel had never taught her or Alexander like that. Sir Broghuilidad the Silvertongue had not written anything like it down, he even suggested some things counter to it and other sayings they murmured and even sometimes sang to each other in the fields.

    But Jewel liked the little rhymes and phrases that passed through the village in a chatter outside of ¡®earshot¡¯ of her or her family.

    It said so very much with very little.

    Not like some of the histories she and Alexander had to read.

    Jewel nuzzled her pail a little and gave it a tiny lick like she used too when she was two.

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    She really wished there was a way to bring the festival sooner.

    To speed the sickle cutting of the wheat.

    The counting and stacking for the first granary tally before the gleaning rights would be given.

    So they could all finally get to the harvest festival and the dancing and the wonderful carola.

    And Jewel''s own dance!

    The thought of there being a dance that would be hers and yet shared with everyone made her Wyrmfire flutter and do its own dance up and down her coils.

    Hmmm the water was starting to feel a bit stale in her lungs.

    Time to end her bath.

    Jewel smoothly pulled herself up and out of the water, shaking herself out in quick little twists then running claws and a sturdy wooden comb carefully through her mane.

    She really tried not to get the bathing room overly soaked when she left the bath but a few puddles were inevitable.

    Poor Jorge had to do the work as a bathman as well as helping to manage quite a number of the other castle staff.

    Maybe father could pay for some more help with his duties?

    Probably a lot more of the staff honestly.

    It¡¯s not like they didn''t have the room to house more servants.

    Most of the manor was closed off for years without use.

    The stones sat quiet and sleepy with only their memory of the throngs of footmen, squire, knights and other soldiery that once strode them.

    Jewel was just finishing up with her oiling and placing her pail in its prize place high on the shelf when one particular puddle in the stone turned ink black with silt and then erupted in a half dozen croaking frogs.

    She turned to look down at the suddenly significantly more swampy puddle.

    ¡°Are there required etiquette lessons for Wizards on the manner in which one interrupts a lady¡¯s bathing that is only technically not interrupting?¡±

    The Wizard of the Bog Puddle did not emerge, but one of the mysteriously arrived frogs croaked with their voice.

    ¡°Apologies, your Father asked if I could do something to assist the staff.¡±

    Jewel blinked a bit and tilted her head.

    That was certainly a novel use of a wizard that none of the histories had ever brought up.

    Generally wizards were only described when casting or breaking terrible spells and enchantments, making powerful artifacts or laying waste to cities, great beasts, armies or all three at once.

    The idea of doing something domestic with them put a smile to Jewel¡¯s lips as the frog continued to speak with an exasperated tone.

    ¡°I thought I was doing so much better at this then Fizzbunches, Euewyn or even Urul!¡±

    Ah this, Jewel knew what this was.

    She had heard cooks and scullery maids do this.

    ¡°But The Kitchens say frogs are unfit meat and my water leaves the dishes dirty somehow!¡±

    The Bog Wizard was venting.

    ¡°The Butcher complained that I made the blood rot!¡±

    Jewel could feel her lips peeling back to reveal her teeth with the grin that grew. If Tsulogothulan  was venting to her that could mean only one thing.

    ¡°Both the Armourer and the blacksmith apparently find everything I do far too damp for their precious metal.¡±

    Jewel was Tsulogothulan¡¯s friend!

    The tirade continued, passed from one frog to another whenever their tiny bodies had to pause for breath.

    ¡°And don¡¯t even get me started on the maids! How can water be ruined?! It¡¯s water! But no apparently I¡¯m no good for washing either! Even though I leave the clothing completely free of all corruptive foulness it¡¯s still ¡®filthy¡¯ and smells like ass!¡±

    Jewel waited to see if there was more, when none emerged she looked around at the bath and then down at Tsulogothulan¡¯s puddle with consideration.

    ¡°Well, how good are you at pulling water out of things?¡±

    Jewel had never seen frogs try to sputter indignantly before.

    But she was going to treasure the memory for the rest of her life.

 4.7

    4.7

    The Wheat Harvest Festival had begun. The smell of baking bread, cakes and honey cookies filled the air all around the immediate manor since before dawn broke.

    The Manor staff had been hard at work baking fine sweet treats into the morning. Honey glazed rolls and even a few berry stuffed foldover bread snacks.

    There were even little hand-sized rounds of black grain wheat cakes being made in the temple, adding their own distinctive scent to the air.

    But then all of that was set to cool and their last obligation was Jewel¡¯s family and the household breakfast.

    The morning meal was the usual plain porridge, only notable because it was the last thing eaten until this evening.

    And then everyone was given time to do as they wished for the day.

    The Temple held a congregation at noon to get out of the still baking sun and enjoy some cool shade while hearing about the pacts offered by the gods.

    Further enticing those wandering with watered down wines and small beer chilled in their cellars.

    Her Family had attended and thankfully Mother had not drank too much for once.

    After this unofficial but required duty was attended the temple staff handed out that morning¡¯s black grain cakes to each of the attendants to eat in sacrament before the dance at sundown and that was the end of anything anyone was obligated to do.

    It was a respite and a gift for all the peasantry after all.

    Except for preparations of the nightly festivities, no work or obligation was required of the peasants or manor staff. The footmen had almost the entirety of the daylight hours free to wander and handle their own affairs, with only four of them at a time required to cover watch duties.

    Jewel however was abuzz with anticipation all day long. More so than the slowly growing pit of her empty stomach she could feel the tingling hunger to move, to swing her body around and find the rhythm of the world and share it with all around her.

    To finally dance with not just a few footmen or her family, but with all the village and staff of her home.

    In other villages across the barony she knew similar preparations were being made.

    But unlike with the Boar Festival there would be no traveling to meet with Father¡¯s own fair.

    Instead every harvest was a local gathering for each hamlet and town.

    Instead of the near nine-hundred that had poured into the courtyard during that festival, it was only going to be the hundred and twenty some peasant men and staff who lived in the manor, plus the remaining hundred and seven women and children.

    Jewel flexed and twitched from her spot among the gardens along the fortress walls. She liked the stones here, they were the old stonework from before the Tyrant War.

    With some of them being fresher cut replacements mingled into their neighbors afterward.

    She was free to do and be wherever she wished for the day. But all she wanted was for the festival to get properly started!

    It was practically a buzzing itch up and down her coils and through every limb and scale.

    She could no longer stand to sit still so she began to stride along the walls, weaving between the garden beds laden with herbs and vegetables that were yet to meet their harvest time.

    Skipping along the old smooth worn grooves in the rock. Brushing each of the familiar friends with a flaw or the pad of her feet.

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    Jewel made her way along the walls of the manor and did a slightly longer hop to skip one bit.

    That one section of wall in particular was a whole third the age of the rest. And twice as long as Jewel herself. She had looked and asked but no one knew why or how such a large span of the wall had required complete replacement. It was presumed to have happened during the Tyrant War but no battle seemed to quite match the documented ballads or histories.

    It was just a mysterious healed over wound in her home¡¯s flesh.

    Unknown and forgotten by all except her. The stones and mortar.

    She bounded over it on one of her circuits of the walls. Then realizing how she was snubbing stones that had done nothing wrong made a point of striding smoothly and intentionally across it on her second pass.

    By her fourth circuit the evening sun was finally turning golden orange and red.

    She was already practically thrumming with the anticipation and a sense of music even though not a sound had been made.

    The villagers were gathering, lighting candles or bringing torches. Gathering in little rivers of light across the manor as they began their slow amiable walk to the manor house and into the courtyard where wood had been piled high for the dance-pyre.

    Stacked with a delicate blend of favored woods and woven with the sweet sharp branches of pines and other shrubs.

    Some of the logs had been painted in fine smelling saps or oils prepared at the start of the hungry season.

    It was coming soon!

    The dance would be announced by Father at the final setting of the sun.

    Already the torches were being laid in their place at the soon to be pyre and people were drifting into rings around it in the courtyard.

    The smell of the many cooked breads and local treats. Freshly finished either that morning or in the late afternoon was filling the courtyard and wetting the appetites of everyone present.

    Jewel amongst them.

    Finally the fire caught, the scent of the oiled and carefully cured woods and the bound cores of sweet smelling herb bundles filling the sky with smoke and the air of the courtyard with sweet heady scents that ripened the day¡¯s hunger even sharper.

    At last, it was time.

    Jewel made her way down from the wall, nodding to her and Father¡¯s subjects. Listening to their heartfelt well wishes and appreciation for those goods she had done for them over winter. The appreciations for her father¡¯s generosity that had seen them full bellied through the normally straining hungry summer.

    She took up her place with her family, coiled loosely upon the good solid ground behind Father and Mother.

    Alexander stood back from their parents on Father¡¯s right. Positioned just where so if she tilted her head exactly right she could ruffle his hair with a well placed puff or snort.

    The speech was the same as it always was.

    A ratifying of the vow and obligation of Father¡¯s position and Lord, Baron and Guardian of his subjects from the specter of hunger.

    That he had shared for this fasting day with them.

    And so much more that just droned and itched under Jewel¡¯s scales.

    Tsulogothulan stood in their pond a bit away from the outermost circle of the gathered villagers.

    At last Father raised his sacramental cake. And from among their clothing the gathered villagers and staff all reached up with their own.

    Not all had a whole cake to themselves but the less fortunate families broke theirs into pieces and shared with those children old enough to not wolf down the snack immediately.

    Mother herself offered Alexander and Jewel a whole cake themselves of course.

    The black grain from last year in Father¡¯s store was plenty for all the household to have a full portion.

    When all who would partake had presented their sacrament before the fire Father tore into the small dense bread with a vigorous bite.

    A hearty chew and a solid and audible swallow.

    And then as one everyone old enough to participate followed.

    Jewel herself swallowed hers whole and with hardly a chew.

    And then with a woop from among those before the fire, the time had come.

    Jewel was going to dance.

 4.8

    4.8

    Bolemir was tempted to eat the sacrament in one bite as soon as his mum handed it to him. Fasting for most of the day had dug a pit in his stomach that no amount of small beer could fill.

    But he only had to wait like every other year. As soon as the lord took the first bite he would be allowed to eat the wonderful treats already being laid out on sturdy tables.

    And of course the sacrament itself ¡ª which was not his favorite but bread was still bread.

    Why did they call it black wheat bread? It was the palest bread he had ever eaten besides when the Lady Jewel had shared her noon-meal with him and the visitors at the boar festival.

    The pyre filled the air with a magical smell like wildflowers and strange woods and so much more.

    It smelled so strongly it was making him feel a little dizzy.

    Or was that hunger from a day long fast?

    The Lady Jewel Wyrmdaughter of Lord Rochford moved among them in the light of the fire and the heady smell of the woodsmoke. Sweet and sharp and crisp while hot and stinging at once.

    Like the paths going up the hillsides towards the mountain where Father had shown him how to set snares for the wild goats.

    And also the temple herb gardens and stronger wines that he was not allowed to drink.

    Finally, Lord Rochford took his bite of the sacrament, tearing out a mouth full with great relish that made Bolemir wonder if there was something extra in the lord¡¯s sacrament?

    But no he got his from the temple like everyone else.

    Bolemir¡¯s stomach roared awake at the touch of the ¡®black wheat¡¯ cake on his tongue. It mostly tasted like bread, with a bit of a dirty flavor.

    Like a rind left in the dust or when you got loam in your mouth.

    Was it called black wheat because they used dirty grain and dust?

    But there was no grit to it like some of the bread he had eaten.

    Despite the taste he could not stop himself from watering at the mouth and he found himself in the throng of everyone else getting their own fluffy breads and cakes.

    Hands clapping and feet stamping as some people who had already gotten their fill began to circle the fire in dance.

    But he was here for the food, the hungry summer had not lived up to its name this year. But he remembered when his stomach had been a pit like this long before the wheat harvest. He was very small, the memory was fuzzy, but Bolemir could still recall that hunger.

    Days of it where he spent the evening gnawing on a rind of bread so hard it hurt his teeth.

    And he had made it through then.

    According to his mum there were some whose children had not.

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    And others, neighbors he didn''t remember but people got sad or hard looks in their eyes when someone mentioned them

    No more hunger here though!

    It was the Harvest Festival and the closing of the Hungry Summer!

    He could fill the emptiness in his stomach at last, and he definitely was going too!

    Soft breads as good as the ones the Lady Jewel had shared!

    Made even better for how they were wrapped around the tartness of berries or sweet temple honey!

    It almost made him choke but there was watered wine in cool pitchers to help wash it down!

    He ate until he felt full.

    And then waited to see if this year the sacrament would make his stomach turn and set him to the floor or drive him forward with vigor.

    It was important, he¡¯d had to lie down for some years. Like others were already doing away from the fire.

    But instead of immediately feeling tired or slow and heavy with a churning stomach he was getting quite the opposite.

    The meal that might otherwise have laid him out with a heavy belly just seemed to be energizing him. He felt his legs buzzing with the kick and stamp and clap of feet and hands as his neighbors and liege family moved around the fire.

    Voices rising in cheers and whoops and chants from the circling figures and the crowd around them.

    And as he turned from eating to the dance he saw the Lady Jewel Wyrmdaughter of Lord Rochford.

    She had not danced last year, she had barely been a tumbling disaster in the year before.

    But all of that had been cast off from the vision before him now.

    Stepping and sweeping through the crowd like a shining river of metal scales. A color not unlike a blend of steel and the bronze grain of the wheat fields.

    Dark mane of hair gloriously shiny in a line all down her spine. Her wings furling and unfurling as she moved, billowing the fire and those that danced and circled around her in the night.

    Bolemir was not entirely sure of himself as he felt the tingling lightness in his feet spread up through the warmth in his stomach and out through his fingers.

    But the uncertainty passed as he felt the beat and rhythm of the dance.

    He jumped as she bounded, he skipped with the others as she dipped her head. In waves she rode up and down around them and among them.

    And it was with absolute surety that all of them followed her and she followed them.

    Sometimes the Wyrm Daughter even sweeped over dancers as she moved in a circling wheel around the fire. Mostly apart and yet all the same together with them.

    Other times she sweeped in with the cheers and clapping to surround the entire fire in a tight loop that cast everyone else into her frolicking shadows.

    But in spite of the rising chill in the summer night and the strong winds whistling seemingly in time with this greater beat, the radiant warmth of her wings and body swept them all up and guarded them from the cold.

    And then she began to sing.

    Voice soft and buzzing, rolling over them. It was like a bird song, it was like crackling thunder.

    He found his own voice and those of all the others joining her, he felt his knees move with her rhythm. He felt her wings, he sang and she sang and all of them danced.

    Roiling and writhing even as the sky grew dark and black with obscured stars.

    The crack of lightning in the sky did not startle him, instead he whooped and cheered and roared with his Lady Jewel alongside all her partners in the dance.

    He had never felt a dance like this before but he knew that he would gladly fast for three days next year if it meant he could dance like this again!

 4.9

    4.9

    Jewel had to drag herself to her bed.

    That is where you were supposed to sleep.

    And sleep and rest is the thing she wanted most of all.

    She¡¯d tried not to over do it.

    But everyone was so eager to frolic and leap and bound and she had danced with them that it had all just been a blur of revelry, wine, bread, sweets and fire.

    She took breaks, but never broke her dance.

    Wine and bread swallowed and eaten in pace with the revelry and clap and stamp and music of throats joined together in song.

    They had danced until the bonfire had burned down to dull coals.

    They danced until most of them collapsed in a heap in the courtyard.

    Mother, Father and Alexander all retired before she was done.

    And then when the dawning light was coloring the sky from black night to the silver clouds of overcast that threatened rain she realized that she had to stop.

    ¡°Whoo! Lady Jewel.¡±

    That cheer came from some young man that had stayed dancing alongside her for the entire night, only stopping to drink when she had.

    He and her last few partners all collapsed with her into a heap among those that had fallen to  sleep or their own flagging vigor earlier in the evening.

    She can¡¯t say she minded them flopping over her despite knowing it was improper for a lady to be flounced onto like a mattress.

    It was hard to feel much of anything regarding impropriety against the still buzzing rush of dancing all night long with her subjects and family.

    Well, her family had retired before the night was half over, but she had enjoyed the rest.

    The light of the sun drove down on her happiness. She was aching in every muscle and fiber of her coils and in that foggy joy, a sudden mote of darkness loomed.

    She tried to ignore it, but once the thought had wormed into her head it would not leave.

    Jewel had come to the awful realization that she had not slept at all.

    That it was already dawn.

    She was supposed to be in bed and preparing to wake for breakfast.

    She had not even taken a proper bath and was covered in dirt, grime, spilled wine and the reek of thunderstorms.

    And none of her limbs could even feign supporting her.

    Nevermind actually carry her on the journey needed to accomplish any of those obligations.

    Every appendage and joint in her yards upon yards of scaled flesh were limp as damp clothes hung out to dry.

    At least she was not alone in the delighted, exhausted, groaning.

    So she had spoken words that she only half thought were right.

    Weakly she tried and failed to raise her head to address her subjects, but soon gave up and just spoke from where she had let her head fall.

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    ¡°A-as daughter of Lord Rochford I hereby call thi-this this celebration closed.¡±

    Her voice sounded funny since someone was laying sprawled across her neck.

    But her declaration got a few weak cheers from those that were still conscious and not addled from drink, food and dance.

    ¡°I think perhaps I should set myself to bed?¡±

    Which got chortles and noncommittal groans from all aware and present.

    One peasant weakly called out.

    ¡°Could you take me with you?¡±

    Which was scandalous, but given the revelry they all had shared, she could not bring any heat to her tone.

    ¡°No, I can barely lift myself. Find someone else to take you home.¡±

    Which got weak commiserating chuckles.

    She tried to heave her neck up but found the weight of whoever was splayed over her throat an insurmountable totality on top of the near limitless heaviness that seemed to be holding down every other bit of her body.

    ¡°Could some of you get off of me?¡±

    Which led to spastic strains and light hearted groans as various masses and pressures on her scales tried to lift or slide off her.

    All but two of them failed to even muster that strength, and collapsed back onto her with seemingly more weight than before.

    One of the suddenly increased weights murmured into her scales a muffled ¡°m¡¯sorry m¡¯lady¡±

    Well!

    At least Jewel was not alone in her predicament. Laid out in a manner that might be described as boneless were she not intimately familiar with how that actually felt.

    Maybe this was not so bad?

    After all it was not only her.

    In fact there sure were an awful lot of people laid out in the courtyard this year.

    Which was not strange for the Harvest Festival certainly; it happened every year.

    They normally ended up with a few that the footmen would gently take home to bed but considering at least twelve of those laid out were the footmen themselves and that was not even half?

    Jewel did not fancy the odds high that they would clear the manor of indisposed revelers till midday at best.

    Maybe late evening, even?

    In fact if Jewel did not manage to lift herself by her own power, she was not sure if they could get her to bed.

    Not without a few carts and more oxen or draft horses to pull them.

    She tried reaching for her Wyrmfire to lift herself.

    It thrummed happily through all of her flesh and even woke a few of the people snoring into her belly and shoulder briefly at the rising heat and tingling presence beneath her scales.

    But Jewel found that, although she had thrummed with it all through the song, her Wyrmfire was also feeling quite tired and just a bit limp to the prospect of going anywhere.

    ¡°Hmm, it would seem, my dear subjects, that I¡¯m a bit indisposed...¡±

    Which again got a few lazy cheers.

    Considering how incoherent they were, Jewel was not entirely sure they had even heard a thing she said since dawn broke.

    Or possibly since midnight come to think of it.

    Well, the courtyard had good solid dirt to lie on and she did not even really mind that some people had collapsed on top of her.

    She recalled Mother had been found passed out in a cellar once, so it was not entirely scandalous to sleep outside one¡¯s bedroom.

    In fact that was a good enough reason for her.

    ¡°I believe I will join you in enjoying my father¡¯s very comfortable courtyard. Fair morning to you all.¡±

    And with that she gave up even the minute strength she could muster to keep her eyes open.

    The dirt was welcoming, her everything was tired and Jewel was sleepy.

 4.i

    4.i

    Fallow Turn, also known as the Spring Ploughing, marks the time when work begins in earnest after the hardships of winter.

    Plough teams begin the first day with the turning of the fallow field when the soil is soft enough to break easily. Each team should use a heavy plough pulled by eight oxen, guided by a plowman and an ox-goader. Motivated and loyal peasants with healthy oxen will plough an acre a day. If one¡¯s subjects are slower they should be reprimanded and if they continue to fail to meet their obligated labor a discerning lord should grant portions of their land to another household.

    While the plows are busy on the fallow field, expect the peasantry to also tend the sowing of other spring crops.

    If your peasants are planting barley or wheat they will cast the seeds seemingly without care all among the dirt around them. If you have not observed your peasants before acting in this manner do not be alarmed; it is the expected way.

    Peas and bean crops are planted with the poking of holes via dibbling sticks and then dropping of seeds into their place before covering.

    If the crops of the fields worked by one household grows to a poor harvest while their neighbors are bountiful, take from them these fields and give it to their neighbors to command them in the proper manner of tending your lands.

    In Bird¡¯s Bane, it is custom and good for peasant children to guard the newly-sown seed from marauding birds with slings or the shaking of sticks. If they should harm a messenger bird, however, mercy should not be given: penalize their families harshly. If trouble persists and the child is male break no more than one hand lest you risk the quality of future work by your subject. If female both hands may be broken without worry.

    After the planting is finished, the peasantry will perform harrowing to cover it with soil. This is done by as many means as deemed fit by peasantry from the absurd (tying branches to the tail of horse) to the clever. Ensure your peasants have access to skilled carpenters and cart makers for best effect.

    If they complete their labors, expect your Peasantry and their love of toil to send them to seek further work in their gardens. This indulgence to their baser natures is to be nurtured as they can earn you more Pfennig, madder, woad, dyer''s greenweed and weld are popular and useful in keeping clothing dyed presentably to match one¡¯s house.

    Other herbs may also be found and a savvy lord can arrange a tithe or exchange of obligation if a household has auspicious skill in the craft of medicines.

    Cows are to be expected to be grazing the pasture and to produce cheese and milk through the end of Birdbane. If a cow has failed to go to milk and pregnancy for a season it is best to mark them for butcher in Blood Season.

    First Summer is marked by haymaking and all subjects should be expected to participate.

    Of those meadows outside your demesne, expect them to be held by one¡¯s subjects in common.

    Haymakers make use of the formidable-seeming long-handled scythes to cut the grass close to the ground. Teams of men move down the meadow in lines.

    For each man, whether local subject or paid transient, expect an acre felled a day.

    Women and children should be seen to turn the hay behind the men to ensure proper drying.

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    It is a custom which can pacify the peasantry if you allow them to carry home whatever hay can be balanced upon their scythes.

    This is the practice as it hones skill and acts as punishment and reward in one with minimal supervision.

    The number of animals that can be wintered is pegged to the hay harvest of First Summer.

    If the haying is poor there will be fewer kept over winter. Always take careful note of the hay stores as it will in the dueness of time become meat and sustenance come winter.

    Lambs shall be weaned as soon as they take their first bite of grass.

    The shearing and final haying closes the first summer.

    Take note of one¡¯s wethers (castrated males), for they will be the finest wool and the earliest shorn sheep of the season will be the finest and expected to fetch the highest price.

    Lambswool is extremely fine, but it is better to wait to harvest wool in a sheep¡¯s third or fourth year.

    The plowing of the first summer is done in the pastures, where much manure is already spread on the field.

    Each acre of grazing supports two sheep. Cattle require no less than two acres each. For best quality of your direct demesnes demand all beasts overnight on your pastures to ensure the most this valuable manure is left to your benefit.

    Beasts are not to be permitted to graze meadows until halfway from first summer¡¯s haymaking.

    The Hungry Summer.

    It is so called as it is now when the stores laid out in the former year begin to grow sparse and if famine is to claim lives, it will be now.

    In this season, expect the peasantry to mostly laze about before the harvest with only a fraction making busywork among the fields.

    Your peasants may also be found to fashion rope and be willing to offer them for sale.

    Expect thieves and poaching from even your most loyal of subjects for the Hungry summer reveals the true nature of one¡¯s lessers.

    The season closes with The Summer¡¯s Wheat Harvest or simply the Harvest Festival.

    Winter planted wheat and rye ripens for harvesting first, followed by the spring planted barley and oats.

    The harvest should follow over twenty sun-blessed days but if it turns poorly unripe or rain-dampened grain can be harvested and baked if you have the peasantry with the talent from the uplands.

    Wheat is harvested with a sickle, used to cut a couple of hands-breadths below the ear of corn, leaving the long stubble standing in the field. Rye barley and oats are cut closer to the ground with haycutting scythe.

    A team of five (four reapers and a binder) should harvest two acres of wheat or other grain a day. Expect a waste of some to fall to the ground during harvest as gleaning. If you have the favor of a temple for a manor it is good to bequeath them tithes as one sheaf in every ten from the field after your own right but before peasants cart their portion of crop to their barns and houses.

    It is customary to hold a festival or spas on the conclusion of this harvest after gleaning has been claimed to your preference.

    But look out for the greed of one¡¯s subjects after an entire season to layabout before the necessary labors to close the hungry summer.

    Count your harvest and grain stores closely at the Closing of the Hungry Summer.

    -Coinage and Lordly Stewardship by Sir Broghuilidad Silvertongue of Cortaza

 5.1

    5.1

    Jewel was flying with her weight harness, circling the manor when she saw a messenger bird arrive.

    It was not unusual, strictly speaking, but the direction from which it had flown was concerning. To the east and west were neighboring baronies of Midglen and Clearwater, fellow vassals under the Countess Bathory.

    To the north was the county of Zekhedge ruled by Count Fiebron. And beyond that Jewel had not yet learned, but there were many vague foreigners both under and over hill in every direction besides the cardinal directions found in flight.

    Tsulogothulan and the rest of the wizards had arrived from the southwest for example, but since they had traversed by ways underhill at a reckoning of twenty-two days'' travel it was no use to try and seek out any of their lands as known neighbors or even neighbors of neighbors.

    Garmendan, Bothgola, Uloghai and Ghergeintat were not on any of the flight maps father kept.

    No lands known to those reachable by wing under open sky could say whence their direction might be.

    But it simply was thus when a traveler took routes that went underhill.

    Father¡¯s study did not have many books that mentioned the lands reached by underhill ways.

    For the most part the paths through the caves found in the county and neighboring lands were too narrow to accommodate any but small bands, a few enterprising traders, a knight and retinue. But completely impractical for marching armies or trade caravans.

    But the messenger bird was not flying from one of the known underways (and who would be so cruel as to ask for a bird to fly through the dark?). It was not flying from north, east or west along the open skies.

    It was coming from the south.

    And there was only one thing south of Rochford that had one of their messenger birds.

    The Countess herself.

    Bathory.

    Jewel shook herself as she saw the bird coming home to roost. Likely tired from covering over the length of the barony twice over.

    The peasantry were working the harvest brought in over Grain Turn, threshing out in the sun such that Jewel could see their work as she flew over in her exercises.

    Bushels of wheat, barley, oat and rye each set aside waiting for their turn under the threshing beatings brought down upon them. Then the broken mix of them was put to the winnowing sheets, the chaff and straw blown off by the wind where children and women caught and gathered it up into different bushels.

    Leaving the separated grains behind. Even with her eyes she could only really distinguish the wheat for the shortness of the bushels, more grain then stalk.

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    The rest were a muddle of colors that she supposed distinguished them but were unclear to her from a vantage so high.

    Together, though, the work shined, filling the vista of Father¡¯s demesne with a glory all its own.

    The glittering luster of the dusty labor brought a sparkle to all the open places of the village. Shining, glittering sparkles decorated all places windward of houses, hills and wood available to the peasantry.

    The labors of Threshing Turn surrounded and suffused the manor lands of Father¡¯s immediate demesne spread out before her.

    There was harvesting still to do, of course, peas being plucked by children or women not otherwise occupied by the labor of threshing.

    Wandering through the stillgreen clumps that had been planted earlier that year.

    She turned from the open fields, meadows and the labors done under sun to cross over Father¡¯s hunting woods.

    Jewel suppressed another shiver in memory of the Terror Boar. A beast whom none had yet found the origin of.

    Perhaps there were no more in the barony? A beast wandered from some monster lair beyond Father¡¯s borders?

    Jewel did not know but she hoped to not see its kind again.

    Quests had already been offered to criers for any of the enterprising knights errant. Both passing through and among Father¡¯s peers among the Gryphon Lords.

    But yet no word of it.

    She flapped her wings, pumping another gout of wyrmflame through herself and into the air riding around her.

    It was time she turned again so as to not leave the lands worked and labored directly by Father.

    Jewel had two more circuits to finish, laden with heavy stones dragging her down to earth, before she was done with today¡¯s exercise.

    Alexander would likely be sore and tired from his own training by the time she was done.

    Muriel might not hate him or Jewel, but it did not make her kind or soft when it came to training. This was in spite of Jewel¡¯s efforts to get his struggling book studies into stewardship traded  for more open air experiences dealing directly with the toils and responsibilities of a lord actually engaging with peasantry, coin, grain accounting and the like.

    Jewel had tried, but their governess still ran him ragged when it came time to drill with a sword or march in heavy armor.

    But at least that made sense.

    If Alexander wanted to be a Gryphon Lord as Father? Well he would need to be a pinnacle of vigor.

    Simply surviving the heights Zephyrvam soared strained even Father sometimes.

    In their service to the barony Tsulogothulan was apparently trying to do some sorcery with moss to help in that matter, but was not yet ready to promise anything.

    Jewel mused as she pumped the flow of her Wyrmfire through her wings and body and out into the world, feeling it coil and spin in whorls beyond her own flesh. Buoying her up on its own reinforced currents rather than being used to pull her up directly. It was much like how the Gryphons flew.

    Conserving her fire when under load.

    She would still be fresh and strong, flamed enough to not have to walk under only her own muscle power.

    But still the question itched.

    Why had the Countess sent a message?

    What did this mean for her family?

 5.2

    5.2

    Dinner was not exactly any more tense then it had been.

    But Jewel personally felt the weight of anticipation despite the comforting support of the stones on her coiled up belly.

    It was honestly nothing like when the wizards first arrived. Only her family, the Bog Wizard and Kraok attended dinner these days.

    The peculiar habit of Tsulogothulan blinking bites out of their meal barely was notable. Except for the continued perplexity of precisely what the rules were on what could and could not be snapped up and ¡®eaten¡¯ that way.

    Sometimes it was apparently possible for the bog wizard to consume an entire bread roll in one blink. Other times something had to be carefully parceled into ¡®bite¡¯ sized bits significantly smaller.

    Whole peas were hilarious to watch the bog wizard attempt to eat as they needed to blink each one individually for some reason.

    The solution was apparently to mash them all into a pile and ¡®eat¡¯ that up all at once.

    There was amiable talk of how the harvests were going. Jewel offered her own observations from her circuit of the manor.

    ¡°I saw everyone is making brilliant pace on the threshing, I believe we will be finished a full nine days earlier than last year!¡±

    Alexander had once again managed to get something on his forehead despite always eating quite daintily. At least whenever Jewel was looking he did.

    But there it was, a single crumb of bread stuck to his head by a fleck of sheep¡¯s butter.

    He was proudly speaking of his triumphs in mastering a particularly tricky maneuver in his lessons of the sword with Muriel.

    ¡°I finally was able to match Muriel in a parry Mother! And she only knocked me over four times in the spar!¡±

    Tsulogothulan¡¯s side project of drawing the spillage of water from various parts of the castle into ¡®dug rivers¡¯ seemed to be going well; it especially helped sop up the spillage from the kitchens, butchery and Jewel¡¯s own bathroom.

    ¡°It all turned out to be quite simple really, A bog is after all to whence waters flow from streams and rain. So why not from kitchen spills, baths and blood? All drain to the marsh in time in its journey onward.¡±

    And other such chatter. Mother reminded Father that a few of the homesteads had lost old hands, elders and in one case all adults of an age to act as guardians.

    ¡°Ill humors took them in the spring and they did not rise to it ¡ª their heir is only twelve winters old and barely mature enough to work a field with his siblings.¡±

    Father mulled over that a bit and wiped at his beard.

    ¡°No cousins, uncles or relatives in the village?¡±

    To which Mother shook her head sadly.

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    ¡°All relations, according to the headman Gierolt, live in other villages and have their own fields to attend to.¡±

    Father mulled that over before nodding. Considering the matters of the Demesne and how best he could rule.

    But no mention of the messenger bird that had arrived near noon.

    Just chatter and eating and nothing to do with the thing that was slowly burning through Jewel¡¯s coils with a raging curiosity.

    Finally it all got to be too much as the supper dishes were cleared (Jewel, of course, left hers utterly spotless) she could not stand it anymore.

    ¡°Excuse me Father, what news came from the south?¡±

    That got some curious looks from Kroak and Alexander. But Tsulogothulan and Mother simply joined Father in giving Jewel a look that made her feel like she had somehow performed some terrible trespass of hospitality.

    It made her want to hunch back and splay out her wings, but Jewel resisted.

    She met Father¡¯s gaze with her own. Level with him for a few moments longer than was appropriate for either of them.

    But he sighed and broke the contest right before Jewel lost her nerve. He looked to the now rapt attention of Alexander for a moment before turning to address the rest of the table.

    ¡°Our Liege, Countess Bathory, has called a mustering and accounting of all her vassals and their arms to attend in her Demesne Kaeketeh, so as to assure her of the might of Viznove and reaffirm the vows of her armies. This is to be done at the end of Threshing Turn, so it coincides with the settling of tithes and accounting of debts.¡±

    Oh. Well, that was not too terrible. Father made journeys of this sort at least once a year, sometimes even twice. It was the way of being a vassal of the Countess to have to attend to her call.

    ¡°Ah I see thank you, Father. When will you be departing?¡±

    He sighed heavily and looked between Jewel, Tsulogothulan and Kraok.

    ¡°We three and half the footmen in retinue will be departing seven days from now, alongside the anum¡¯s tithe to Kaeketeh.¡±

    Wait what?

    Tsulogothulan blinked heavily and audibly. Like a stone dropped in a pond.

    Apparently the wizard had not realized they would be included either.

    And Jewel wanted to dismiss this as some kind of a joke since she was only going to be turning ten this winter! But father¡¯s face left no possibility this was at all in jest or a mistake of phrasing.

    ¡°The Lady Bathory has called up all armaments of war to make a showing in her demesne as is her right as liege of Rochford. This includes all exceptional assets of war at my disposal.¡±

    His eyes were hard when they met the bog wizard¡¯s one.

    And to the unspoken question, Tsulogothulan nodded silent assent.

    Father¡¯s eyes softened when they turned to Jewel and there was a heavy breath that passed his lips before he spoke much more softly.

    ¡°I thought we would have a few more years, daughter... but there is no denying that you are already a match for a novice GryphonLord. And even a half trained heir would suit the command. The Countess will know this and if I do not bring you it would be a disgrace and an insult.¡±

    Jewel found herself nodding as well even as her head began to fill with a whirling chaos.

    Seven days.

    Jewel had seven days to prepare to travel farther than she ever had in her entire life.

 5.3

    5.3

    In the end the question of what to pack was quite simple.

    And also entirely outside of Jewel¡¯s responsibility.

    They were going to pack food and drink, for the most part.

    The wyrm share of that being water by weight.

    Not just for Jewel, Father and Kraok, but for Zephyrvam, the warhorses that Kraok and Bromthil would be riding, the Hackneys For the twenty-five footmen and their riders plus four of the barony¡¯s sturdier pack horses to carry extra supplies.

    Tsulogothulan would not be riding any beast themselves but did promise they would be in attendance in case of bandits or monsters, and furthermore would be able to keep pace with the slowest of the entourage quite effortlessly.

    They also promised that, if needed, they could bring forth safe water to drink for beast and man alike.

    But according to every footman that had tried it, the silty and sulfurous scented water Tsulogothulan called forth was unpleasant enough that they would only take it when in dire need.

    Even the horse and Zephyrvam were averse to the stuff, despite the bog wizard¡¯s assurances that they would be left far less liable to be sickened by it then if they kept to small beer or traveler¡¯s wine.

    So water and two wooden rundlets of lighter ale were still going into the supplies. With a promise that if they made a good showing in Kaeketeh the general footmen could drink from the remaining beer on their return journey.

    Otherwise it was for Father, Jewel, Kraok and Bromthil to share the ale for watering down to small beer over the journey.

    (Already, Jewel had heard Bromthil planned to give some of his men a ration on the journey there to reward good behavior.)

    Kraok would be carrying the coin owed in tithe to the Countess, so that father could be kitted in proper gryphon lord armor just in case Zephyrvam needed to take flight and go on the attack immediately.

    And last of all among the vital baggage there were a dozen Rochford hatched messenger doves to reinforce the number which were already kept by the Countess.

    All of that was settled and decided, which only left Jewel¡¯s place in the party.

    And the issue of provisioning for her that was causing Father and Bromthil some consternation.

    Jewel had to admit, despite all her figuring on stewardship, the vital importance of storing up the grains and sillage for the feeding of animals and peasants over the winter,  through the spring turns and first two summers, that she had never really appreciated just how much food and drink one went through in a day.

    Even for simple footmen and horses!

    Nevermind Father¡¯s own meals and the expected rations for a Knight or Captain!

    And the troubles there only grew when it was making certain there was provision for a dragon!

    She was not proud of it, but Jewel easily put away ten times as much food as Father did any given day and that was if she was only eating enough to leave her quite peckish each evening and near starving come breakfast.

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    Trying to journey at a solid march on less than what would feel like a half meal ration did not sound appealing at all.

    ¡°How much weight can you manage in flight these days, Jewel?¡±

    Father and Bromthil were considering the figures and planning out their route, which inns, temples or wayhouses would be their lodgings, where there was rumor of bandit or monster lairs.

    Whether they would seek fording points or risk ferries.

    She shook herself out a bit trying to get a feel for her memories from her latest ¡®exercise flights¡¯.

    ¡°I can manage forty-five ironstone worth for a single circuit of the manor but it leaves my Wyrmfire exhausted upon landing. At thirty, though, I could fly most of a day and still have enough for one flame strike across the longest northwest fallow field.¡±

    Father considered the figures then nodded to Bromthil.

    ¡°That should be enough for your provisions for the journey there and back again. Plus some to spare. In case we are held up by weather or detours.¡±

    He nodded to Bromthil and made a note on the poor quality vellum they were using to mark and plan out provisions. It was scrap apprentice work from the tanners, not even really suitable for cutting for pages or scroll work.

    The Captain of the footmen nodded.

    ¡°I¡¯ll check with the stablemaster and see that her saddle is adjusted and enough satchels and packs are found to carry it.¡±

    That caught Jewel a bit short, she did not often speak to Bromthil directly but no one ever called her training harness a saddle.

    ¡°If possible use my spare panniers, we want them to be easy to drop from her kit in an emergency.¡±

    At least Father tried to correct his first among the guards on the slight.

    She was so distracted by Bromthil¡¯s intimation that she was some beast of burden to be ridden that she only barely managed to remember to interpose herself with a few words before she was dismissed.

    ¡°Father, could I bring a few things? It is my first time even leaving the lands of the manor... just a few tokens. For good luck and fortune of course.¡±

    Bromthil glanced her way and seemed to be about to say something before Father raised a hand.

    ¡°If it is important, it would be best to not bring it, Daughter. The road will be perilous and our lodgings with strangers-¡±

    She began to droop involuntarily at his words. She tried not to but found it happening before she could brace herself.

    Of course it would be stupid to bring anything precious while traveling for the four days or more required to reach Kaeketeh with full retinue.

    ¡°But a small token of not much weight should be fine.¡±

    With a dip of her head to Father¡¯s kindness, Jewel slipped away from his study to let him and Bromthil manage the balancing of provisions and the distribution of weight across the riders and horses of various kinds.

    She knew it was foolish, but there was only one item she could possibly imagine bringing on her first ever journey away from home.

    Jewel slipped into her bathing room a good quarter day before Jorge would be expecting her. She had to make sure she had something to properly wrap and secure her pail if it was going to be traveling with her for at the shortest a full ten days upon the road at military march.

 5.4

    5.4

    Jewel was not amused.

    She had completely forgotten about Smithson.

    Smithson who might technically be considered her squire and thus a required part of any entourage or mustering that involved her.

    That technically meant he would be attending her on their journey at all times.

    But she knew for a fact he had quite a lot of important duties to do for the Stablemaster and she barely even knew the boy.

    In the four years since she had been fitted her first harness and the five more extensions and two outright replacements after they had maybe spoken a few hundred words.

    Not even a dozen if you discounted ¡°Yes, No, Alright, Too Tight, Too Loose, Lady, Squire, Boy¡±.

    If it was not for their brief interactions every few days getting her kitted up for exercise and then putting the harness away she would not even know his name!

    Really, considering him her squire was a gross exaggeration Jewel suspected Father had only done so that he could claim some extra coin off their tithes to the Countess.

    It¡¯s not like she had any arms for him to keep well-maintained, or tasks required for him to attend her. He was barely more than a groom. And since she was a Lady, and thus fed, washed and cared for herself, and had no need for armor, and was not even able to train him as an apprentice knight, the entirety of his role consisted of buckling and unbuckling a few spots in her kit that were more fiddly to reach without using her mouth!

    Jewel was pretty sure that he was going to hate her for being forced to accompany all of them on this trip for at least twelve days away from his duties, home and family.

    He did have a family didn''t he?

    She huffed heavily, she didn''t even know him well enough to be sure of what his lineage even was!

    Jewel had assumed he was probably some peasant boy, maybe a serf¡¯s child or perhaps a freeman¡¯s kinder.

    But she didn''t actually know!

    They never talked except for right before or after she was exercising or when she tried to help him to make up for all the interruptions in his work.

    And even then the words for so sparse and stiltedly consistent they were practically burned into her memory.

    ¡°Yes, Lady Jewel.¡±

    ¡°No, Lady Jewel.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Lady Jewel.¡±

    And every once in a while the rare ¡°Of course Lady Jewel.¡±

    It was so frustrating!

    She had less stilted conversations with the complete strangers and children that mobbed her in the Boar Festival!

    Smithson obviously did not like her and was going to hate her for forcing him into this venture over a technicality of his duty to her.

    And apparently he had been quietly and dutifully preparing to go with her the last seven days and no one had even mentioned it until now!

    Jewel had been about to say goodbye to him when he walked over to what she had assumed was a still unladen pack horse and swung himself up into the saddle!

    There was not much fanfare, Alexander and Mother were there to see them off, along with the remaining twenty seven footmen (two had sprains which had seen them excused from traveling) that were to guard the demesne in Father¡¯s absence.

    Not that they had any threats on their borders to be concerned about.

    But the farewells were informal and short and then they were riding at an amiable trot out of the courtyard and down the southern road before Jewel was fully done being flustered over not having realized she would have an attendant squire to look after for the journey there and back!

    At least her packs were light enough she didn''t have to strain her Wyrmfire any to simply amble along in properly graceful bounds.

    Keeping a bit behind Bromthil and the two footmen taking lead ahead of him to scout for banditry or blockage along the road.

    Not that anyone expected anything like that for the first day of riding.

    They were not even going to be leaving the barony until tomorrow morning.

    And Father had put an end to the rare sign of banditry as soon as it was reported last Hungry Summer.

    The footmen and horse were soon sweating in the early sun, and their smell only grew stronger as the morning turned towards noon. Talk was quiet and mostly murmured between those that were immediately next to each other to avoid needing to raise voices over the general rattle of kit and baggage.

    They were reaching the end of the most distant fields considered directly under the Manor¡¯s bounds and traversing onto the worn dirt path into the surrounding woods.

    The golden and orange canopy closing overhead brought a few sighs of relief under the breath among the men and even a few pleased knickers from the horse in the entourage. Although naturally Zephyrvam, Father, Jewel and Bromthil were not moved by the relief of shade.

    Jewel herself honestly barely noticed the heat or the cold, she¡¯d used to like to play with the glowing coals of the hearth when she was small enough to fit. But that was before realizing what a panic it brought Mother, Muriel and even Father to when they found her.

    And equally even in the chillest winters she had enjoyed playing in the snow until she¡¯d been reprimanded for keeping her brother out so long he took ill.

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    In comparison, the difference between sunlight and shade in the warmer half of Threshing Turn barely was worth mentioning.

    Still the smell of horse and man exerting themselves gave a nice feel to the march that undercut the smell of thunder and petrichor that wafted from Jewel¡¯s own efforts.

    At noon they halted alongside the road to water the horses and let them graze as well as for everyone else in the party to take a portion of their traveling rations.

    Before she could even turn to get some of the hard smoked nibbles of meat from her pack Smithson was already hopping off his own horse and rushing to her side to unfasten one of the satchels for her.

    ¡°Let me get that for you Lady Jewel.¡±

    Which of course meant she could not actually do anything but acknowledge his service and nod.

    ¡°Thank you...¡± ¡ª ugh, she was going to have to get in the habit if they were to make proper impressions to the countess ¡ª ¡°Squire Smithson¡±

    Which caused him to start a bit at the word, before he straightened himself out and got the leather-wrapped bundle of Jewel¡¯s rations free and unrolling it for her and holding it out.

    ¡°Your rations, Lady Jewel.¡±

    She briefly shifted to grasp it with a foreclaw, but then realized what she was doing.

    She had already been marching along the dirt road for half a day on those claws.

    Yes, she tried to avoid settling too heavily on anything with her Wyrmfire assisted bounds. But there was no convenient brook and Tsulogothulan was moping about not even the horse finding their waters fit to drink so had refused to actually summon a spring. Or maybe it was just a poor place for their particular manner of magic? Jewel didn''t know but she liked to think that the Wizard was just moping.

    She couldn''t very well touch her food with the same claws that had trod through the dirt without washing up.

    That would have been improper.

    But then that left only one option and it was almost as bad!

    And her Squire Smithson had not yet gotten a chance to eat or drink his own ration for the day and instead was standing there waiting with an unfurled roll of leather offering the dried sticks of smoked meat up to her like a platter.

    Jewel blinked in what she felt was almost as audibly a manner as Tsulogothulan.

    Then as elegantly and poised as she could possibly manage, daintily nibbled up her noon-meal.

    Smithson for his part did not even hint that this was anything but natural to be feeding a Lady like one of his more equine charges.

    If it had not been for the leather wrap between his fingers and her lips, Jewel was not sure she would have been able to keep her wings folded at her side and even so the sheer embarrassment of the whole situation threatened to spring them loose to either side of her.

    She got it all down as soon as she could without breaking propriety and drew her head back with all the poise she absolutely did not feel having had to subject the both of them to such action.

    At least no one was making any comment about it or turning their gaze her way.

    Too busy getting their own ration and drink down.

    Jewel silently thanked all of them and especially her Squire for so consideringly ignoring the situation.

    In fact, she was going to do more than silently thank him.

    Squires after all were supposed to be extensions of their Knight¡¯s honor and status.

    ¡°Squire Smithson, grab your noon-meal ration and attend with me for a cup of small beer.¡±

    The way he started again then nodded sharply spoke to him at least not hating her for the awkwardness of this whole situation too much.

    ¡°O-ofcourse, Lady Jewel, would be an honor!¡±

    Before she could even tell him to come along he had rolled up the half eaten bundle of smoked jerky, tied it and stowed it back in the pannier at her side then ran off to get what smelled like hard rind traveling rolls.

    He was back at her side with an alacrity that was genuinely impressive. Both a cup for her and a much larger mug that...

    Oh, no Jewel drew the line there.

    She walked the two of them in silence over to the pack horses where Bromthil and Fatherwere already getting into the water skins and beer rundlets.

    Jewel strode up to the uncorked rundlet, pointedly taking the travel stein from Smithson in a foreclaw before he got any ideas about feeding her drink by hand like she was some kind of invalid or worse, the object of a fool headed attempt at courting!

    Then she cleared her throat gently and held it out to the footman who had been assigned pouring duty for the higher-stationed members of their party.

    ¡°A small beer for me and my squire please.¡±

    Drat! that apparently was upsetting smithson for some reason, judging by the way his ears were turning red.

    But he was quite skilled at schooling his face to not show whatever kind of insult or fury Jewel had inspired in her appointed servant as his much wooden traveling bowl was given a splash of beer from the rundlet and then filled the rest of the way with water from one of the skins.

    Jewel took a deep sip of her own, noting they had favored her with a bit more beer to water then her Squire but finding that acceptable.

    She held her cups better than anyone in the manor after all.

    Not indefatigably so, but enough that it would take substantially more ale then they had packed to incapacitate Jewel.

    It was probably just a factor of size honestly.

    Smithson was watching her swallow with wide eyes.

    She glanced down at him and then pointedly at his untouched cup and raised a brow.

    The dawning realization of his near insult flooded the boy¡¯s face and he quickly swallowed down his watered down ale so fast and hard he started choking.

    Much too the good natured laughter of the footmen and a wincing from Jewel.

    Oh bother!

    Now he was going to think she had set him up somehow!

    She finished off her mug and lowered her head to assure him she meant no such thing.

    ¡°Easy, Squire Smithson, the beer isn''t going anywhere.¡±

    She tried to offer him a comforting smile but managed to somehow mess it up again.

    His ears and face were turning an even brighter flush of red.

    ¡°I-It¡¯s, I¡¯m sorry Lady Jewel, it won¡¯t happen again, I was just thirsty is all.¡±

    Oh! He was mad she made him wait to drink! But at least his tone said he was not harboring a grudge!

    Well, that was easy enough!

    She nodded hard and turned back to the pourer/footman.

    ¡°Another for my very thirsty squire!¡±

    Which was definitely the right choice as everyone laughed a lot more good naturedly and Smithson was so grateful he was rendered speechless.

    Maybe Jewel could salvage this and make up for how much she had inconvenienced Smithson by taking him from his duties in the stables.

 5.5

    5.5

    To try and pass the time Jewel slowed her bounds to match pace with Smithson¡¯s own horse. His steed was another Hackney, although perhaps a bit better tempered than some that the footmen were riding. Her Squire rode the mare with reins looped into the saddle and dangling low with slack at the halter.

    Smithson was apparently quite the accomplished rider. Using just the occasional click of his tongue, whistle and shifting of his hips and legs in the saddle to guide his steed alongside the rest.

    When he was not letting the mare simply make her own way through no direction at all of his own.

    Well, he was a stableboy after all.

    Maybe this would be a good way to make inroads to her squire and resolve his undoubtedly numerous complaints against her.

    ¡°What¡¯s her name?¡±

    Which caused him to jolt so hard that he squeezed a bit tightly with his legs and jolted the Mare in a brief canter before calming her back to the more manageable plodding pace the party had settled into up to that point.

    ¡°Ah uhm apologies, Lady Jewel, who?¡±

    Jewel, having not even lost pace with them despite the erratic little bound raised a brow and then nodded down.

    ¡°Your steed. You know her name, don¡¯t you?¡±

    His ears were turning red again. How could Jewel mess up so badly that she managed to insult him with that?

    ¡°Ah! Of course, my apologies Lady Jewel!¡±

    Or maybe not? That was not the tone of anger at all. It was closer to fear. Strange she¡¯d never seen someone get flushed from fear before ¡ª usually the opposite, in fact.

    ¡°Uhm. Her name¡¯s a bit of a poor joke. She used to step on Stablemaster Gizo¡¯s feet when she was still a filly. But instead of stepping off like most horse she would just lean into it and settle all of her weight and just stare at him. Like an Oxen might you see. So she¡¯s named Oxhoof.¡±

    Was that the problem? Did she scare her squire? Oh dear, Jewel had been going about this all wrong and just making it worse.

    ¡°She¡¯s mostly broken that habit, at least as long as I¡¯ve known her, but I don¡¯t think he ever forgave her for it.¡±

    Yes, he was rushing through all of his words with a terrible tension to his voice, a flood of words that was definitely fear.

    How could she salvage this?

    She offered a sweet smile (no teeth!) and nodded to him.

    ¡°Ah I see, I think it¡¯s a fitting name. One to be proud of. She¡¯s no draft horse but I¡¯ve read they can match the strength of an Oxen in the field. And a Hackney Mare is judged by her endurance and constitution. Not the delicate lightness of her step, yes?¡±

    He stared at her apparently paralyzed with fear? No, not fear this time. It was in surprise? Maybe?

    Oh good he was starting to smile as well so maybe she did something right?

    ¡°W-why yes, that is exactly right, Lady Jewel! I didn''t know you knew your horsecraft, my Lady. I figured it would not have been interesting given you can¡¯t ride them and all...¡±

    His eyes bulged with sudden terror but Jewel was watching for it and tried to interrupt whatever he was going to say.

    ¡°Oh! No offense in speaking your mind, Squire Smithson. And it was naught but what was written in Father¡¯s study. I¡¯ve hardly had a chance to practice much with horses.¡±

    That seemed to bring an entirely different expression of shock.

    ¡°They write down in books about horses?¡±

    Jewel nodded along with him.

    ¡°Quite a lot actually, at least three of the books in Father¡¯s study have writing on the breeding, care and value of horses. We provide most of the quality of War Horse for a third of Viznove, so it¡¯s important for me and my brother to know of them so as to be proper Stewards of the barony.¡±

    Her squire seemed struck dumb by the prospect of three books that dealt with horses. Which Jewel admitted she embellished a bit, there were only passages on the topic of horses in each of the three books.

    Then again she had been told Father¡¯s study was quite a bit larger than most lords of his ranking. Apparently Rochford¡¯s trade in high quality vellum had led to lucrative favors and copies of various books of interest to the Rochford family being made as payments over the centuries.

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    It was strange to consider the idea that sheep lead to books and quite possibly also lead to the extensive amount of scribe work lessons her and Alexander had been subjected too.

    If Father¡¯s demesne had contained fewer sheep would there have been less time studying the histories?

    The silence between them as she bounded alongside Ox Hoof¡¯s slow plod continued to grow longer as Smithson failed to offer another topic and Jewel continued to feel even less prepared to provide one.

    It was a great relief to all of them when they finally heard word that the way station where they would stop for the night was within sight along the road.

    Jewel was getting to the point she was ready to ask the gods to send them a bandit ambush or a monster raid just to escape from the awkwardness of her situation with her Squire.

    Father gave her a glance and a nod and as the ever dutiful daughter Jewel shifted her pace to meet up with him and Kraok at the head of their march.

    One of the scouts was there as well, his own horse breathing in heavy bellowing gasps and slick in sweat. Pushed a bit too hard Jewel thought to bring news of their lodgings for the night.

    ¡°Lord Rochford, the way house is unoccupied but secure. The log slates tell it has not been used since Weed Blight.¡±

    Jewel considered the footman at that, he must have been a farmer born lad. Only field working peasants called the second summer weed blight.

    Father meanwhile nodded and then called out to the empty air.

    ¡°Tsulogothulan, go on ahead and make room for your own comfort. We will discuss tomorrow''s journey over supper.¡±

    There was only a single wet but very distinct croak of a kind not heard their entire journey so far. And then an absence of moisture to the air that Jewel had not fully realized had even been present.

    A clear dryness to the wind that had been ever so slightly cloying.

    She would have to remember that.

    Wizards could be present even when you did not see them.

    The ride was quiet but in a jovial mood for everyone after that.

    The coolness to the air welcome and refreshing.

    Wicking away the scent of man and horse¡¯s exertions into the air and leaving on the slightest hint on their clothing and kit.

    Before long they came into sight of the way house and Jewel was to be honest a bit disappointed.

    It was at one point probably a stone watchtower, with a cut and a feel to the blocks that reminded her of the Manor Houses¡¯ oldest walls.

    But where it had certainly once reached well over the height of the tallest trees it now resembled more of a round stone hut not much bigger than the middle-sized of peasant houses.

    One and a half floors, the second mostly serving as a repurposed roof with a conical thatch pattern to it that reminded her greatly of Euryale or Tsulogothulan¡¯s hats. Around the edges on one side the original stone walls reached up like teeth out of the gums of bound straw.

    There was a narrow murder hole of a window and a few piles of smaller stone rubble grown over with moss scattered around it.

    The hearth was already lit inside and she could smell a stew pot just being brought up to temperature to boil their rations for a heartier meal.

    Well, their rations and some of the coneys that were strung up to bleed out off to the side. One of the scouts had apparently snared a few of them.

    Probably for Father, Jewel, Kraok and Bromthil.

    As soon as they pulled up, and the rest of the footmen began unpacking and stretching out the weariness from their day of riding, Kraok had taken one look at the hanging rabbit carcasses and shook his head.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to make a check of the surrounding wood for more game, that¡¯s hardly enough meat to even give Zephyrvam a snack.¡±

    Father considered him then shook his head.

    ¡°Nay Boarslayer, your duty is to guard the tithe box. I¡¯ll make a sweep of the woods with Zephyrvam for a bit of exercise. You and Bromthil see to the camp and settle in.¡±

    He turned his gaze to Jewel and there was a twinkle to his eyes that she immediately recognized!

    ¡°Jewel get yourself unloaded and join me. Between the two of us we should be able to find something enough to feed the men.¡±

    With speed being of the essence, she almost bit her buckles off right there, but she remembered just as her neck was craning to nip them.

    Right, that was unbecoming.

    But she did have a Squire.

    ¡°Squire Smithson! Attend me and my gear, See it stowed properly, I am going on a hunt with my Lord.¡±

    If every evening she got to fly with Father, Jewel was going to have to see if she could be obligated to attend him on more trips like this!

 5.6

    5.6

    There would not in fact be an evening flight every day they were traveling. For one, there was only so much hunting worth doing along their route in Debt''s Season (or Pea Harvest, if you were a peasant).

    For two, there were some concerns about being accused of poaching as they traversed through lands not actually within Father¡¯s domain.

    The lands immediately under the command of Countess Bathory would take the majority of their remaining four and some days'' travel. As Father¡¯s Liege it was only proper that she commanded more land. Though Jewel was still learning the full extent of the territories directly sworn to her or her Knights.

    There were supposed to be two Gryphon Riders among them, Jewel did not know their names. Unlike the GryphonLords, which were entrusted with full barony and the management and care of such, Bathory¡¯s two knights only each had the right to the immediate lands of a manor to cover the cost of their beasts and provision them with necessary armaments.

    Which would have made any hunting Father and Jewel did by air imminently obvious, but neither of those manors were on their route, positioned even further south than Kaeketeh, where they could guard the border of not just Viznove but also the Realm itself.

    Still, it would have been a dishonor and an insult by Father to the Countess to be seen taking from her forests.

    So the flights would henceforth mostly be brief circuits to exercise Zephyrvam and confirm that the roads were indeed leading their party in the correct direction.

    Their next destination along the road was expected to be a Temple settlement set comfortably along one of the many curling valleys which cut between the shorter peaks of the Ridgetail mountains.

    But until then they marched through the heavy wooded lands of a deep forest.

    It cut the light to a dim shade for all but the height of noon, and now that the year was turning towards fall on this day¡¯s march, the sudden warmth spilling over the road was most welcome by more than just Jewel.

    Smithson even managed to actually laugh a bit and there were a lot more smiles among the footmen and even a few happy whinnies from the horse.

    Jewel never understood how much sun or shade was too much. Yesterday she had guessed it was nice to have some shade and cool instead of warmth and sun but now they were glad for it? She had never quite gotten the point before.

    She enjoyed a hot bath.

    But she enjoyed a cool tumble through heavy snow as well.

    Temperatures just were.

    She could see how it upset and discomforted some, she had seen the bodies of those peasants that had not had sufficient fuel for hearths in winter.

    It was obvious that for other people, the heat or the cold was a serious matter.

    Jewel however did not know really what that was like.

    She found it best in the way that some books spoke of it. In the words used, it helped her imagine what it must feel like.

    That winter had teeth which could bite and kill.

    That the mountain winds, like the vampire that Zephyrvam was named after, came down in winter from the ridgetail peaks drained away the life of one¡¯s body.

    The same way she had felt when choking for breath under the Boar.

    Jewel imagined cold was something like that for men.

    But that only worked for winter.

    The idea of the baking sun, the burning heat, the sweltering summer?

    She had snuck into a lit oven when she was both young enough to not know better and small enough to fit and found the entire experience wonderful!

    She had not found a heat they could bring water to that was not a delight upon her scales, throat or lungs.

    The only manner in which she burned was the wonderful feel of her Wyrmfire within.

    And there was no abrasion yet strong enough to harm her scales.

    Jewel simply had found no way to consider how burning that hurt would feel.

    She filled the time on the road they walked with such thoughts. Speaking to no one and listening less. When they stopped for another meal (and to rest the horses) she was so consumed by it she turned to Smithson and without even considering found herself asking what she had always held back speaking her whole life.

    He was supposedly her servant after all.

    ¡°Squire, a question for you.¡±

    He didn''t jump this time and was less red around the ears. Even when he held the parcel for her noon ration. Jewel was not sure what that was about but glad he didn''t actually seem to hold any grudge or ill will for her.

    ¡°Yes, Lady Jewel?¡±

    Finishing her meal with a single smooth swallow and a gently polite belch, she fixed her gaze upon his face.

    ¡°Have you ever been burned?¡±

    That caught him off guard although he wasn''t doing the ear thing at least. Just seemed confused.

    ¡°Burned, lady?¡±

    Jewel gave him a nod while they drank, Jewel from her tankard of small beer and him from a water skin.

    ¡°Yes, like on a candle or stove or something, whatever it is people burn themselves on.¡±

    He mouthed out what she just said before blinking a few times back at her.

    ¡°Well, I suppose a bit. Why do you ask?¡±

    Jewel considered him then looked around at the rest of the footmen where Father was striding amongst them with Kraok and Bromthil.

    ¡°I¡¯ve never been burned before. Not in any way that hurts. And none of the books explain it very well to me. I was wondering if you might help me understand.¡±

    Smithson gaped at her and blinked in a passable imitation of the Bog Wizard.

    Wetly audible pops and all.

    ¡°I well, Lady Jewel. It''s kind of a... well a bur-¡±

    She glared but before she could even part her lips to speak he was rushing past his mistake.

    ¡°S-sharp! It starts as a kind of sharp feeling. When you first touch it, a... well with a smaller candle it can be a bit like the feeling after a really hard pinch. And then it just... lingers... for hours sometimes after, the worst I ever had was a day.¡±

    Jewel gawked herself a bit at that and tried to think of the last time something had pinched her hard enough to actually hurt.

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    It had been when she was quite small and definitely did sting terribly.

    Her expression pulled back in shock and then with a quick glance over the rest of the footmen.

    ¡°Truly, Squire? You do not jape with me? That is how it feels to burn?¡±

    And Smithson nodded while chewing around his ration bread.

    Truly?!

    And they said the summer sun could be burning?!

    Goodness no wonder the footmen were so happy to get some shade yesterday! If the heat had been like an oppressive pinching ache all day!

    She left her squire to enjoy his convalescence from the ordeal of their journey and meander amongst the rest of the travelers with a new appreciation for their mettle and vigor.

    Every one of them endured this? Every hot day?

    And with the way that cold could bite and sap life as well?

    The poor men!

    Another realization struck Jewel as they packed up from the break and resumed the trot.

    Was this why everyone wore so many clothes?

    When the sun and air and wind could bite and pinch from one season to the next? Leave you aching at all hours if not defended against and smothered at all times?!

    Jewel had understood that they did it to be proper and that armor was for defense in battle or hunting.

    But to need to be armored at all times from the simple joys of the world?!

    So distracted by the ramifications and reframing of all she had ever seen in her life with this epiphany, Jewel found herself bounding along deep in thought close to the head of the procession.

    Then Father¡¯s voice cut through the fog of perplexed dismay and horror at all the trials besetting everyone around her at all times.

    ¡°I haven¡¯t seen you so distraught about something since your first wheat harvest. What troubles you, Daughter?¡±

    Which was enough of a shock that she just blurted out her thoughts.

    ¡°Everyone is so much braver than I thought!¡±

    Which caught the attention of a few of the riders closest to them, Jewel could see and hear them shifting to listen and look.

    But like a proper Lady, she did not deign to show she noticed.

    Father considered her before nodding and scritching Zephyrvam along his neck. Careful to work between the feathers gently and always go with the grain.

    ¡°A noble and wise thing to realize, yes, but in what way are we brave, dear daughter?¡±

    Which just was too much for Jewel and the words just poured out of her of how she was so sorry for never realizing how hard the Sun and the Cold and the Winter and so many other things that happened were for him and Mother and everyone. How she had never understood before how important it was to have things be just right and that she was sorry for the time she left all the windows open one winter night so she could play in the snow indoors.

    She tried to stop but she found she couldn''t by the time it all started and watched with growing terror as her own mouth kept just saying so many horrible things she had done!

    Father was going to be so upset with her!

    By the time she finally managed to get herself to stop spilling every single wrong and awful inconsiderate thing she had ever said or done regarding the terrible trial everyone faced with both heat and cold Jewel could not make herself meet Father¡¯s undoubtedly unapproving gaze and stern anger.

    But instead his voice was gentle, jovial even.

    ¡°Well, I can¡¯t say I ever thought of that as being particularly brave of me or anyone. But I think I¡¯m going to have to repeat myself to my dear daughter. That is a very wise thought you¡¯ve been brooding on.¡±

    She looked up at him with her eyes shining with the threat of tears.

    ¡°W-what? B-but I didn''t understand before and was so terrible to everyone, thinking it so frivolous.¡±

    He laughed and looked around at the rest of the party, raising his voice to the deep carrying tone meant for armies and parades.

    ¡°You all heard that I¡¯m sure. So terribly brave we are to risk the burn of warm autumn sun and the bite of the winter yeah?¡±

    His tone said it was a joke and several chuckled along with him. In a way that did not make any sense to Jewel.

    ¡°But she¡¯s right.¡±

    All frivolity left his voice. It was a stern and somber thing now.

    No one laughed at that. Those that had been chuckling coughed in surprise and confusion.

    ¡°She¡¯s right that the hot sun can slay just as certainly as a blade in the gut. Maybe not as swiftly, but with far more cruelty.¡±

    He raised a canteen for all to see and drank deeply from it.

    ¡°Lack of water will slay a man and sap his strength and leave him scarce able to even raise arms in his own defense.¡±

    He continued on nodding to their pack horses, slapping his own far lighter bags on Zephyrvam¡¯s sides.

    ¡°Lack of food and supply will slay armies and countries.¡±

    He met each of their gazes tilting in his saddle in a way that would have been awkward if his steed did not subtly shift into a strafe to facilitate it, moving smoothly at a horse¡¯s pace sideways as easily as forward.

    ¡°Winter will happily gnaw on any man¡¯s bones. Its teeth are cold and its ice cuts harsher than knives and arrows.¡±

    He turned back around to face their road but his voice still carried.

    ¡°My Daughter is right, the cold and the heat are terrible dangers and we face and weather them every day. It is bravery to face them. But that is only if you look and see the danger and not march through it blind.¡±

    Jewel could hear the men shifting and riding straighter and at more attention, with more care and pride.

    ¡°She is a Dragon, a Wyrm. She can stand untouched in the maw of winter and laugh at the ice. She can sleep blissfully in the heat of a kiln. She does not need to be brave to face these things.¡±

    He glanced over his shoulder and spoke far quieter than he had but his voice still carried all the way down the march of their party.

    ¡°But you men cannot. Face every danger head forward and eyes open. The Countess Bathory of Viznove has called us to muster in the ill season for war.¡±

    That seemed to catch in the heads of a few, even though father was not looking, Jewel was. Some faces were coming to a realization of what he meant by that.

    ¡°Though we are called only to show our mettle and arms, it is still a call for war¡¯s price. We will muster, we will show the might of Rochford for this muster and we will return home safe.¡±

    He raised his hand up high and bellowed to the road ahead of them.

    ¡°But do not forget what dangers you face every day. Do not forget what my Daughter has seen in you.¡±

    And he finished with a final bellow fit for the finest field of battle.

    ¡°You are brave!¡±

    Which got a cheer from the entire accompanying party and made Jewel feel her Wyrmfire thrumming brightly all throughout herself for another solid hour of evening trot.

    But eventually the excitement mellowed down and a bit of time after they were exiting the wood in the brown and orange light of sunset to a cleared land of meadows, fields, a few small buildings and a solid stone structure set a bit away from them.

    It was far smaller than Fort Rochford, but otherwise a greater building Jewel had never seen. It was even larger than the village temple!

    Already at its main door, the Rochford banner hung alongside what she presumed was the local coat of arms. Signaling that the harbinger who had ridden ahead had made arrangements for their stay.

 5.7

    5.7

    Jewel had never been on this side of a guest feast before. She, Kraok, Father, Tsulogothulan and Bromthil were all waiting in a far too small hallway for the mass of them. Well mostly it was too small for Jewel and anyone else of any consequential size.

    It was different from home in Fort Rochford, no convenient winding hallways of stone to spread herself out in, just this cramped little room with solid heavy exterior doors going outside to the yard and then lighter interior doors blocking off entry to the next room with two beeswax candles for light paired across from one another.

    One of which was almost entirely useless on account of the heaps of dragon in the way.

    She had ended up having to coil up on top of herself on one side of the room so everyone else could stand very carefully on the other. Pressed in a bit too tightly even then and arranged in order that they would be called upon to their seating. Bromthil and then Kraok were closest to the doorway that would lead into what was passing for an audience room.

    It was a small space to contain a dragon but she expected there would be more space beyond.

    Jewel was not entirely certain what the size of the feast hall would be, but judging by the character of the stones beneath her talons there should be a substantially sized room beyond those doors.

    Finally there was the bang and the muffled words of announcement.

    ¡°Captain of the Guard of Rochford, Bromthil.¡±

    Bromthil exited at his name, straightening his shoulders and smothering the weariness of the road so he could put on the best impression for the sake of Rochford¡¯s reputation.

    And so he was through the door. Jewel could have craned her head to peek but that would have been almost certainly unbecoming. She did however catch a whiff of sweet honey, berry pies and roast rabbit over garden vegetables wafting through the door before it closed behind him.

    She spared a glance with Father and then Tsulogothulan¡¯s prominent eye. Apparently today it was on the left side.

    So far the Wyrmling had yet to muster the courage to ask if there was any significance to which side the Bog Wizard chose to manifest their eye.

    Still this was an incredibly stuffy and uncomfortable affair and soon Jewel could stand the muffled greetings no more.

    Her voice was soft as she could manage while still being heard over the murmuring of the officious and sluggishly droning voice of their apparent host.

    ¡°Is this what it was like when you were waiting to be welcomed to our table? When you first arrived in Rochford?¡±

    The bog wizard gave a silent nod so as to not be heard while Kraok was called forth, bringing another wave of delicious smelling supper into the entry chamber.

    ¡°Knight of Rochford and Boarslayer, Kraok.¡±

    Only once the door was closed again did they murmur in a soft reply.

    ¡°Oh yes, complete with the torture of smelling supper just out of reach.¡±

    Father nodded along and laughed a little as the poor crier of their host proceeded to stumble on the Bog Wizard¡¯s title and name just as had happened in Rochford.

    ¡°The E-Esteemed Sorcerer and Weird of the Uloghai Bog, Su-¡±

    They were already gliding through the door, not bothering to actually open it rather than bleed around the door, like water welling up around a stone.

    ¡°Tsulogothulan?¡±

    And then it was just Her and Father.

    He offered one of his gentle private smiles of encouragement to her, but all the words seemed stuck in Jewel¡¯s throat.

    Soon, after what now felt like far too short a time to wait, it was Jewel¡¯s turn.

    ¡°The Esteemed Lady Wyrm, Daughter of Rochford, Jewel¡±

    It was only right for Father to close out the arrival of their party and be welcomed last.

    She strode into the chamber with every bit of poise and grace she could manage. There had not been facilities to have a proper bath; there had barely been time for a brush down to clear the dust of the road from her scales and to see her harness and bags stowed in the stables with the rest of their packs, animals and Zephyrvam.

    The chamber she entered struck her in a way she had not been expecting at all.

    Jewel¡¯s earlier comparison to the Village Temple seemed surprisingly apt.

    The ceilings were taller than any in Fort Rochford, stones arching overhead like the boughs of trees, windows narrow but shining with colored glass reflecting the incredible abundance of light.

    And light there was, despite it being well into sundown!

    Light sparkling from dozens upon dozens of wax candles! Each set into alcoves and cubbies in the column and walls of the room filling the space with an incredibly clear and steady yellow glow.

    The expense of that alone was an astounding price to be bringing out for mere visitors!

    But then again there was the extensive extravagance of the space itself too!

    In the space where the pews would have stood for a congregation in the temple back home the floor had been entirely cleared out and several solid wooden tables had been arranged with equally solid benches.

    Upon the table was spread out a feast more opulent than any Jewel had seen since Bathory had been a guest at Rochford!

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    Heaping platters barely contained an absolutely wonderful medley of pies, whole honeyed rabbit arranged in trios with hind legs bound together, surrounded by small breads and candied vegetables. The overbearing smell of sweet bee produce absolutely saturated the vastness of the space in the aroma of wax and honey and nearly made Jewel miss the people seated at the table.

    Kraok, Tsulogothulan and even Bromthil were all obviously amused although they were putting on a good act Jewel could tell by the smell of them.

    At the head of the table the man who Jewel presumed was their host had stalled in his rote welcome to stare at her as she paused in her approach and presented her most polite but firm smile.

    The rules of hospitality were very clear that she should not take her seat until indicated where it was by the master of the household.

    Even though she could guess it was one of the only two chairs with a full back that were present at the opposite head of the tables.

    Chairs that neither of which would have been able to accommodate her.

    When indicated she would either politely move the chair out of the way and simply lay upon the perky flagstones that tingled in delight at her arrival or wait for servant staff to do the same.

    The Host however was failing to set this properly in motion as he was still gawking!

    Which Jewel was willing to give him at least a moment for as she appraised him curiously.

    He did not wear any distinguishing finery.

    Besides his position of leadership at the table, there was not much to mark him out from anyone else present but for the whiteness of his hair and the lines in his face.

    He was dressed in a fine tightly woven but otherwise unadorned brown cloth robe. But so were the other dozen men present of various ages.

    A strangely large number for a household.

    Finally after the surprise had run its course, the one at the head of the table laughed in a moment of apparent relief. Proclaiming far too casually:

    ¡°Hah! I see, Wyrmdaughter! That¡¯s very clever, and she is very well trained too I see. Well I suppose... Be welcome to my house, eat and be at peace. Heh, go on then.¡±

    Well that was mildly insulting. He was speaking to her like an infant! But Jewel bowed to him, which for some reason delighted the man and his household immensely. Relief and the all too familiar rapt curiosity breaking through the initial frozen shock.

    But it was the correct words of hospitality and he was gesturing very exaggeratedly to the seats at the head of the table.

    Jewel approached, considered the chair and to a surprising amount of cooing praise and infantilizing noises gently lifted up the furniture that would by no means be sufficient for her, placed it to the side for any staff that might be attending them (where was the household staff? These were obviously more than mere peasants or temple-minders like in Father¡¯s demesne) and took her place on what would inevitably be Father¡¯s right side. Shifting her coils about to avoid blocking his own approach.

    The Herald (who was also dressed just like everyone else?!) banged a simple wooden staff against the stone rather than a spear, announcing Father.

    ¡°The Esteemed Lord Baron of Rochford, Head of his House, Wyrmkeeper, 1st Among Gryphon Lords and 3rd Captain of the Armies of Viznove, Jonathan the Third¡±

    And so did Father enter, striding smoothly in his campaign finery and with a bearing to his stature befitting a Lord. A full head taller than anyone else in the room besides Jewel and, just for decorum, she kept her neck curled to give her Father the proper deference in height.

    He waited as Jewel had, but where there had been an almost insulting delay and demeaning tone, the man in the simple robes gestured immediately to the last chair and performed the greeting of hospitality in a curtly precise rush and once Father had settled clapped his hands twice.

    ¡°Well, I must applaud you Lord Rochford, your messengers earlier this season and harbinger this morning have given me one of the most delightful surprises I¡¯ve had in years! I had known you were Wyrmkeeper and that hubbub about an adopted daughter. But even then I must beg to be forgiven that I did not make the connection of the literalness of your ¡®Wyrm Daughter Jewel¡¯! Truly a delight! and so well behaved for such a fearsome beast.¡±

    Jewel put on her best smile and bowed her head to the complement. Taking on that airy tone that she knew mother preferred when someone complimented the household on how well kept it was for a ¡®provincial lord¡¯.

    Just like mother she also waited until he was taking a deep draft from what her nose said was a delightfully sweet mead.

    ¡°Why thank you sir! And I must complement the quality of thine vittles. Such an abundance of honey and wax! Truly it is an honor to have such an expense made for our sake.¡±

    Jewel watched as the shock from before came back with a thunderous vengeance and a sputtering choking.

    And though it would be terribly improper to outwardly acknowledge it, Jewel silently and invisibly basked in the quiet chuckling from her traveling companions.

    The man at the head sputtered and gasped around his mead and his neighbors leaned away from the spittle and drips coming off of him before he finally managed to gasp out with utterly horrified pair of words.

    ¡°IT SPEAKS?!¡±

    To which her wonderful father responded with the most utterly perplexed and insidiously innocent expression she had ever seen on his features.

    ¡°Of course she does. Why so surprised, Abbot Herbort? I would assume word would have reached you if my daughter was mute.¡±

    Jewel glowed underneath her scales at Father¡¯s noble bearing, he made it look so easy. While she herself was having to work so carefully to hold her smile of bemused politeness.

    It was nothing close to as good as Mother¡¯s subtle mastery of faces but it was the best she could manage.

    ¡°One would assume they would have reached me that your daughter is an accursed tyrant wyrm.¡±

    However Jewel had to strain a bit harder to maintain it. Especially since those words had been muttered far too quietly for any but the man¡¯s nearest neighbors to hear.

    Well them and Jewel herself.

    She curled her coils around Father¡¯s chair, closing off any potential attackers.

    The rules of hospitality had been sanctified. But suddenly she did not feel they were particularly safe here.

    Still no one would dare violate those rules. The impropriety alone!

    And besides, the food was amazing!

    Jewel tried to put the thought out of her head but she could not bring herself to move her coils away from their protective curl around her Father.

 5.8

    5.8

    Jewel and her Father had been given separate but tiny rooms within the temple complex.

    It was very gracious of the Abbot Herbort to prepare beforehand for their lodging.

    However the space available was far too small for Jewel (also they didn''t have anything like properly sized baths!).

    So it was not the most comfortable to sleep.

    Jewel had ended up settling her face and neck mostly on the bed while the rest of her curled and looped two layers deep in coils over the floor, her sides touching every wall of the room and her wings needing special care to avoid scraping the rafters.

    It was an incredibly tight fit but she preferred to stay in the cramped tiny space just to prove that she would take the accommodations instead of giving the Abbot Herbort even the hint of an excuse for anyone to more openly suggest she go sleep in the stables with Smithson and the horses.

    And apparently Bromthil and Kraok had been bunked in a room they shared between the two of them!

    So Jewel was thankful at least no one else had to try and squeeze into the room with her.

    And at least she got to sleep near to Father.

    And they were also fortunate to be given proper board at all.

    The twenty-five footmen¡¯s accommodations had apparently been made of lodging with the village nearby or bunking in the stables with Smithson and the horses.

    It was a rather cramped way to sleep, but not overly uncomfortable. Although the sound of a bell echoing before dawn broke was an incredibly unpleasant way to wake up.

    The sound came piercing and mind-addling in a way wholly unnatural, leaving her completely flummoxed at the predicament of being packed into a too small room and buried under herself.

    Jewel spent quite a while just trying to figure out why anyone would be making so much awful noise in the middle of the night.

    Which was then interrupted some time later by a knocking at her door, followed by a muffled voice (by wood, stone and heaping mounds of wyrm coils).

    Jewel was still trying to get her senses clear and figure out precisely how she was going to get out when she felt the cool brush of air on the parts of her coils that had once been pressed against firm wood.

    Followed first by stunned silence and then an utterly flabbergasted yelp of confusion from a young male voice who appeared to have come to wake her, knocked and then decided it was somehow appropriate to open a lady¡¯s bedchamber before being admitted!

    He was fortunate that instead of finding her being in inappropriate attire he was met with a wall of (what she could only imagine) was slowly heaving scales blocking the door!

    Well, if their host was going to be so incredibly rude, she was going to have to get up and meet them properly.

    But the intricate process of slowly looping over and under herself while keeping wings, arms and legs from getting tangled or twisted until she could get her face to the door was less than ideal.

    For one it was not helped at all by being woken up so terribly and put out of sorts. Furthermore there was just not very much clearance to maneuver in any particular way.

    Getting into the room had seemed fairly straightforward and she had even managed to swing the door closed to latch!

    But that had been a whole night of subtly shifting in sleep and now she was a bit lost as to where exactly she had to move to undo the roiled up pile that had been made of her.

    Still some thought and care eventually had her sliding over herself and finally getting a look at yet another one of those cloth garbed men that seemed to be the only kind present in the household (and staff?).

    The possible servant (but who could tell when everyone dressed identically?!) was still frozen and looking quite pale at the sight of her. Also now that she was able to get an unobstructed whiff and look at him significantly younger than anyone that had been there for supper.

    He reminded her a bit of Smithson, actually.

    The utterly silent gaping however was significantly worse then her Squire had ever been.

    Honestly not unheard of among strangers but this looked like it was going to be a bad one. And it was far too early for dealing with this.

    Jewel sighed and yawned a bit to clear her throat and try to wake up more. Maybe if she gave him some time he would come out of it on his own?

    No, that apparently caused him to strangle and freeze up even harder than before.

    Well okay, maybe he was also under the impression she could not speak and thought she was a wild animal that somehow made its way into his home? Well if he did, this was very stupid of him!

    A poor man acting like this with the Terror Boar might have gotten him killed. Or maybe not, it had been fairly docile before Alexander shot it.

    Hmmm¡­ well if he¡¯s going to stay frozen and hope she goes away, they would get nowhere. He came to her door and knocked ¡ª that suggested she was who he was looking for and he had a duty.

    But it was far too early to be managing all the poise Mother always had with speaking to rude strangers. So she settled on keeping her words short.

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    Well that made him jump. Not the best response but movement was an improvement from barely even breathing, eyes not even blinking in terror.

    Still no explanation for why he woke her up. Just mouth opening and closing.

    Maybe more words would help? That¡¯s how talking worked? Jewel¡¯s interrupted sleep was not helping her thinking.

    ¡°Why are you here?¡±

    More silent gaping like a fish plucked from the river. Not very helpful, Jewel was starting to feel bad for the poor man. Maybe he was actually mute? Or perhaps simple?

    There was an insult there regarding something but it was too early to unknot the implication. Ugh why was he here before sunrise?! He was still using a candle to light his way!

    ¡°Were you sent for Lady Jewel?¡±

    That caused an expression of realization and a strangled throat noise followed by desperate looking nodding.

    Jewel blinked and yawned again, What time even was it?! Too early to be doing anything she was sure.

    ¡°Ah... Well good job... you have found her. Was there a reason why?¡±

    More nodding and strangled throat noises and panicked looking at every single part of her face. Jewel decided to see if this was the situation that some rubbing her eyes helped with; she had seen everyone else do it but still did not understand the reason.

    Not like yawning, which was invigorating and a great stretch of the tongue and jaws.

    Still no answer, Jewel was pretty sure they had sent a mute servant to get her.

    Because otherwise this was possibly one of the worst reactions Jewel had ever seen someone have to her before. She¡¯d gotten less trouble from babies who couldn''t speak! Maybe she was doing something wrong in her bedraggled state?

    Was she sticking her tongue out?

    No, tongue was in the right place, she checked her teeth for something between them.

    Ugh, she was going to have to guess.

    ¡°Did my Father call for me?¡±

    A head shaking and more throat squeezing too tight and a few grunted words.

    ¡°Something else? Some kind of trouble?¡±

    More nodding. And then shaking. So no emergency? What reason could there be to wake up and then come get her?

    Before sunrise even began?

    Wait...

    That smell.

    It was cooked egg and porridge and honey drifting faintly off his robes.

    Could that mean?!

    This EARLY?!

    Jewel spoke the words hesitantly and slowly, hoping to hold back the anger from her throat.

    This was absurd! Who did this before sunrise?!

    ¡°Is it time¡­¡±

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    But the sudden eager nodding and slight vocalization was damning.

    ¡°...for breakfast?¡±

    More nodding.

    Bother.

    Jewel nodded, but she wanted to sigh, this was not enough time sleeping! But they were here at the grace of their hosts and it would be grave insult to refuse a meal offered.

    ¡°Very well, lead the way.¡±

    Which got a grateful nod and a bow as he continued to mutter and squeak out things that might be attempting to be words.

    His eyes glanced over her as she continued to emerge from the room for several seconds before quickly turning away, straightening his back like Footmen working drills and marching the front of her down the hall and away from the many doors all presumably leading to further narrow rooms.

    They strode by them and Jewel found herself spooking other (possibly?) servants or staff in identical robes.

    All of them walking (some sleepily stumbling) in the same direction.

    They arrived once more to the room where they had the evening supper before, but the tables had been rearranged and added too.

    One set in the center line, at the farthest end of the long hall from the entrance door. Eight of them arranged down the hall with many more stools for seating and again the air was filled with the scent and light of burning wax candles. The extravagant expenses surrounding her baffled imagination.

    The tables were set with absolutely delicious-smelling covered wooden pots of food but no one was eating or even sitting. They all stood and once again Jewel was struck by the similarity to the temple.

    Was it a Temple?

    Jewel knew a few god keepers and other such lived in Temples but never this many!

    Also, a Temple was for a village! Where were the villagers?

    No, it can¡¯t be a temple.

    But looking at the stone work and the windows it was very similar. But the only figures gathered here were the men in brown robes, quite a lot of them in fact. Maybe seventy or more Jewel saw as she followed her guide to a table at the head of the others and found Father with one of the Brown-robed men between them at the obvious place of leadership/honor to the whole ceremony.

    Tsugotholan and Bromthil were already there at the nearer tables but not at a pride of place seating like Jewel and her Father. There was a murmuring quiet of people moving slowly into the space. Followed by a pause before Kraok arrived with his own guide stepping a bit unsteadily into the room with his dinner clothes rumpled on him.

    He found a place near Bromthil standing by the tables and Jewel made the necessary shifting and adjustments to take her own place. Although technically she was laying on the ground instead of standing at seeming attention like everyone else, this brought no comment from anyone.

    Only then after Jewel had settled into a comfortable lounging pile over herself with head just slightly lower than Father¡¯s own standing height was it apparently time to begin.

    The man in the brown robes between them ¡ª who, judging by her nose, was definitely Abbot Herbort (although from this angle she could not see his face) ¡ª raised a hand and all the subtle murmuring fell silent.

    One of the figures at the entryway of the hall unrolled a scroll of vellum which was a bit too old and far away to identify if it was from Rochford lambs or not.

    And then the far figure spoke, presumably reciting from it.

    But it was not some ceremonial address as she had been expecting.

    It was something like music or singing, it had a character similar to it. And there were sounds like words.

    The voice of the ¡®crier¡¯ rose deep and low with rumbling change.

    It made the air flicker and twist in presences that Jewel could feel tingling the same way that her Wyrmfire danced itself.

    It was like little spinning rings, each no bigger than a finger.

    And then the first voice was joined by the others. First one and then all the dozens of men. The pitch shifted and the calls became clear and Jewel could feel the not quite wyrmfire sparkling and shining like kindling in the air.

    The light of the candles catching in the spiraling rings and being pulled into a sparkling, almost liquid radiance through the air with them.

    The Bog Wizard had grown still, bright violet eye following the motions of the rings as they spun and moved, in weft to the songs and voices rising.

    Pulled together into stacks around the rooms and then columns weaving those stacks together and then those further joined over on top each other and twisted further into growing shapes of cascading light.

    Slowly, each voice petered off. Leaving the scroll bearer to continue and his voice alone guided the resultant columns. Moving them gently, adjusting their placement.

    Only for old, well-worn throats to rise and join his and in their new song grasp the light in the air and the effervescent current of flame beneath before and within it to further dance and stack together.

    It reminded Jewel a lot of watching the peasants pulling together hay in the harvest, busheling up the not quite wyrmfire before her and as a result carrying golden light with it into kind of radiant stacks of woven light and flame.

    Bromthil and Kraok were trying to hold themselves still but they were very tense.

    But Father just smelled bored and Tsugotholan, while interested, did not move as if there was any danger.

    The singing continued and the old throats petered off until at last there was but a single column stacked and pressed in rings of wyrmfire close enough she could have nipped it with her teeth.

    Tall as the room itself and almost as wide as Abbot Herbort¡¯s shoulders, settling in front of him like a slowly drifting feather as the voices all fell silent.

    And then slowly, with the precision and care of an elder farmer at harvest with sickle in hand Abbot Herbort brought hands and fingers into the spinning torrent of wyrmfire rings. Touching and brushing them, flicking and moving the corded, ropelike spirals that had been fashioned by the throats of the robed figures present.

    And then his voice took up song and where every one of them had kept low and gravely, his soared: it rose like flight, like wind over summer fields and as he called he tilted back his head, his hands shooting upward in a rush and as one in voice and hand the column was carried and soured up above him, pulling Jewel¡¯s gaze to the path that shot up what she had originally thought solid stone above.

    But there was a glass window set there, perfectly circular and the torrent of light and spiraling fire shot up as one into it and then in a rush were gone leaving only the dark of night that fell upon them like a blanket.

    The rush of air that had pulled with the column had snuffed out every candle and doused the room in darkness and the gentle scent of smoke and tantalizing breakfast.

    It was quiet there in the room, but for shallow barely audible breathing.

    Darkness.

    And then in silvery shine the windows began to light up with the rising sun, filtering in as if in gentle answer to the radiance that had been sent out.

    And Jewel saw every figure in robes relaxing, breathing a sigh of relief as it touched them.

    All but Abbot Herbort who was watching her and the way the dawn slipped from the windows and filtered in and onto her scale.

    It was very strange, this dawn. It didn''t welcome her the way she was used too.

    Jewel looked down and frowned with Abbot Herbort. This was odd. The fresh sunlight seemed dim on her scales and the heat felt anemic as well. Tired and distant, somehow?

    She looked back to him and saw a strange expression.

    A deeply upset frown was there for a moment, long enough that others were turning to look at her as well.

    Which was itself almost as uncomfortable as their faces. Some confused, others (now that she paid attention) groggy and tired, unused to the early hour.

    But among all the older faces an equally deep concern mirrored Abbot Herbort.

    Jewel looked back at her scales in befuddlement before she realized what it must be, well that made sense! There must be very heavy clouds this morning for the light to feel so weak and timid on her. That was going to be rough traveling and possibly even rain.

    Perfectly good reason to frown so much.

    Jewel gave him a soft smile and a nod for his concern.

    For his part, the Abbot Herbort raised a brow for some reason then shook his head and turned back to the rest of the room and raised his hands again.

    This time the movements were in a far less precise gesture than last time, and he spoke as he had at their welcoming feast, losing the incredible soaring beauty.

    Dronning and dull and a little raspy from strain.

    As soon as he was starting to utter a word he was joined by all the other robed men around them. Jewel imagined it was to help muffle how absolutely boring his usual speaking voice was.

    ¡°Once more offered.¡±

    Their voices filled the space to join the dawn silver glow that now flowed in from every window.

    ¡°Once more accepted.¡±

    They lowered their heads and their hands went to their hearts. Jewel felt like she somehow should bow too but Kraok, Father, Bromthil and Tsugotholan simply stood, so she did as well.

    ¡°Thanks and Praise to the Silver Lady on this day as always for all her gifts and blessings.¡±

    And finally with that, everyone sat down and they proceeded to eat the absolutely wonderfully smelling breakfast!

    Honey was again very prominent. And they served their eggs somehow both solid and runny at once!

    The white all pristine and stiff but the yolk thick and running like some kind of buttery blood syrup of the richest orange! It was really a very different experience to eat it like that instead of all mixed together and springy yellow or whole, raw and slimy like Jewel had eaten it before.

    And this porridge?!

    She took a solid double of her usual breakfast portions and was thanking everyone for the treat, be damned their strange looks!

    It had been uncomfortable and annoying but if waking up before dawn and doing something strange with wyrmfire and light in the morning was part of having breakfast like this?!

    Well Jewel might do it every ten or so days.

    As a treat.

    She was just finishing her third helping when her wings twitched in the sudden sharp warmth of a welcoming new dawn and had to pause in confusion.

    Surely the sun had been up and shining strangely silver for most of breakfast already?

    But there on her wing was the warmth of an early dawn just peaking free and full.

    What?

    But if it was dawn now.

    What happened to signal breakfast?

 5.9

    5.9

    They departed shortly after breakfast. And much to Jewel¡¯s consternation apparently only the four of them that were staying inside the strange temple-esque manor house had actually been woken up well before sunrise!

    And it had been well before sunrise, they had been eating breakfast before dawn!

    And The food was just as delicious as supper had been. But there was something awful about being cheated out of good solid hours of nighttime, even if they were edging out of the unpleasantly short summer nights and into the deeper and longer evenings of threshing turn.

    In the proper dawn light, though, everything seemed even stranger in the narrow valley.

    What trees were visible from the road through the village were still vibrantly green! And some were even still springing with summer blooms!

    Among the meadows the shoots were hearty, smelling richly wet and healthy, dappled in morning dew.

    The vibrancy of them speckled here and there and ringed the highest points along the sides of the grassy hillsides in blooms, all other land left to pasture meadow, still standing stalks of grain harvests or even a few fields of yet ripening wheat!

    The hills set to pasture were alight in speckles of yellow, violet and delicate pink. Filling the air with a sweet scent almost like the spring of a new year instead of the last flowering at the end. Entire humming flocks of bees wove and danced through the air in the considerably warmer morning then Jewel had been expecting.

    Counter to her initial guess, the day was clear, not utterly so, but with bright puffy clouds that hinted at gentle showers to come in mid day. The leaves seemed open in welcoming expectation of rainy summer instead of the golden or amber shade of autumn that had surrounded them from Rochford to here.

    Tsugotholan was walking among the party as well.

    Which was its own kind of unusual and demanded some discussion.

    ¡°What brings you among our party to walk, Sorcerer?¡±

    Jewel shifted her shoulders a little. Smithson had done a good job but after two days walking already some of her pack was getting a little uneven from the weight lifted by her meals.

    She would have to ask him to rearrange things at their noon break.

    The Bog Wizard rolled their monocular gaze from one side of the valley to the other in a smooth twisting of the neck as they ¡®walked¡¯ beside them.

    ¡°What do you see in this valley, Lady?¡±

    Not an answer to her question but apparently Tsugotholan was wanting to play wizard games today.

    So Jewel replied in the manner she had found the least embarrassment in the past.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I understand what I am seeing, Sorcerer.¡±

    That brought in one of those bird neck swooping kind of nods that usually snuck out when Tsugotholan was particularly muddy or wet or agitated.

    ¡°A fair answer, but what does it look like you see?¡±

    ¡°Well it looks like I see a year being held at least a season past its time?¡±

    Which got a solemn nod from the wizard sliding along the road beside the Dragon, the top of that wide brimmed pointy hat barely reaching midway up Jewel¡¯s neck.

    A trail of slick fading fast behind the wizard in the warmth of the morning light.

    ¡°Just as you see, just as it is. These god botherers have made a deal with their Silver Lady. for longer summers and softer winters. At a cost and condition of course. That¡¯s how they always work.¡±

    Jewel tilted her head a bit.

    ¡°They who?¡±

    Tsugotholan chortled like frog calls.

    ¡°Have you not gotten to that in your books yet Lady Jewel? Or perhaps you missed it among all the nattering in that temple in your village?¡±

    Jewel blinked almost as solidly and wetly as Tsugotholan did. Which got the Wizard to nod and chortle again.

    ¡°Gods, Lady Jewel. The brown robed hedge-magisters here have made a deal with a god for better weather.¡±

    There was a gesture all around the far too vibrantly green valley and then a sudden stillness to their head. Then without turning their gaze a raised finger to point up at one of the peaks. Drawing Jewel¡¯s eye to consider, it was quite high up on the mountain, taller than Jewel ever cared to fly even!

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    But some kind of structure of cut stone was visible up there on a peak amongst the snow and ice.

    The wizards'' round vowels and incredibly common drawl continued.

    ¡°And from the look of it, this is one from further into the sky then I¡¯m comfortable sliding by the usual way. Can be touchy things about trespassing on their property gods. I¡¯ll walk the obvious way out in the open precisely where they expect me to be until we are clear of their workings.¡±

    Which was a thing that brought confusion and quite a bit of concern from Jewel.

    She¡¯d never seen any Wizard particularly wary of anything.

    But then again, she¡¯d never seen any of the Wizards attending Temple before either.

    Or even going near it.

    Wait...

    ¡°If this Manor was a Temple, and you''re so concerned about gods, why did you go into it?¡±

    Which prompted the bog wizard to twist their head around to fix her with an incredulous stare of their one eye.

    ¡°Why? Because I was invited and it would have been worse to refuse, of course. Just as why I announced myself to your father when we were guests. Gods are hardly much different than lords in that respect. The easiest way to avoid them being suspicious is to be precisely where they expect you to be.¡±

    A hand wrapped in black gauzy cloth gestured to the path before them.

    ¡±Hence I walk with you where people are expected to walk.¡±

    And Jewel supposed that did make some amount of sense, After all if a Wizard or Knight simply walked through Father¡¯s Demesne without stopping by to say hello? Well that would be a concern and probably have required he go and find out himself directly and likely greatly annoy everyone involved even worse then the impromptu feast had.

    After that they continued along through the village in companionable silence, picking up the rest of their party as they made their way from various houses and their own (comparably late) breakfasts.

    But halfway through the road, just as the last stragglers were getting themselves up into the saddle, Tsugotholan started talking again.

    ¡°If I had more time or expected to deal more consistently with this Silver Lady of theirs I would study their doctrine and what books and arrangements they had made, consulted the village elders and other god botherers in the neighboring hills and gotten a proper idea of precisely what mannerisms and preferences this Silver Lady might have.¡±

    Jewel nodded, yes that did sound like the right thing to do for a Lady of standing. In fact if Jewel was visiting the Wizard in Uloghai Bog she would certainly want to learn the proper way to address them.

    Come to think of it...

    ¡°Tsugotholan? Are you a god?¡±

    Which caught Father¡¯s pledged Sorcerer in some amount of surprise considering they proceeded to jerk and expel silty water from their eye in shock.

    ¡°W-what?! Lady Jewel, NO! Absolutely not I am assuredly not some sky borne god! What are you reading in all of those books if you don¡¯t even know that?¡±

    Jewel recoiled a bit at that and a few of the closer footmen were peering curiously over at them. Even some of the peasants they passed along the street heading to their labors gave Jewel and Tsugotholan a considering eye.

    ¡°Well, most of the books in Father¡¯s study have to do with the histories, proper weighing of coins for tithes and the care and stewardship of peasantry, livestock and other affairs of one''s demesne.¡±

    The wizard blinked in intense incredulity at her. And Jewel was reminded that while she liked to think others (including herself) could imitate the Bog Weird¡¯s blinks it was always a far distant thing from the wet dribbble pop of the genuine article.

    ¡°Farming and livestock?! The learned House Rochford, most esteemed supplier of Vellum for the entirety of the County of Viznove. The family who has traded the treatises of every scribe and noble learned in word for craft in kind over generations?! The Scholar Baron Lord Rochford mostly keeps books on farming and livestock in their study?!¡±

    Jewel glared at the wizard, they were usually far more polite than this. She decided this called for some of the way that Mother spoke when affronted but was still being polite. Or Jewel¡¯s best attempt at it.

    ¡°Well, of course! What matters would be more important to him and his children¡¯s learning than the proper care of the Rochford domain?¡±

    Which brought a far less comfortable silence to the journey as they made their way along the fields and then finally crossed a prominent threshold.

    Before them on the path were returned the bright golden yellow and orange leaves of the last harvest seasons, heralding the imminent coming of Swine Turn. The first season of autumn.

    Behind them the green vibrancy of a far too late summer.

    And with its passing was a colder breeze which set everyone (but Jewel) caught in its sudden gust to tighten up and shake themselves over.

    Tsugotholan spoke again then. Gentler and far closer to their usual polite yet rounded drawl.

    ¡°As part of my service to your Father, it would appear that there is a need to give my Lady lessons in the wider world and to broaden her grasp of things vital to her station. I will confirm this with your Father and arrange which days will be taken with me or Muriel¡¯s lessons on our return.¡±

    And then with that, the Wizard was gone, sunk into a muddy squelch of muck from one stride to the next. Nothing but some green speckles of duckweed and an incredulous swamp thing that Jewel could not decide more resembled a fish or a frog.

 5.i

    5.i

    Debt Season is the time when the peasantry harvest peas, beans and vetches. While not as valuable as the wheat harvest it is useful to sustain the subjects of the land amidst that harvested in their own portion of wheat.

    Ongoing while they harvest these crops is the further processing of the tithed and counted bushels of grain both your own (first of course) as well as their share of the harvest.

    For all grains, first it is threshed with a flail to separate the grains from the ear. The grainflail may be used, a stick of two long dowels: handstaff and beater, joined by a leather thong. A subject can be expected to thresh about seven bushels of wheat in a day, or eight bushels of rye, fifteen of barley or eighteen bushels of oats.

    After threshing the grain is winnowed to remove the chaff and straw. This is best done upon a windward hill where the breeze can bring the chaff and straw loose of the heavier seed.

    Proper and attentive peasants will carefully collect this waste to use as animal fodder. It is not recommended to tax and a gracious lord can bequeath the chaff and straw from his own grains to the laborers if rewards are earned.

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    Finally the grain is sieved to remove the smaller fouling seeds. From here it is now the most precious. If properly tended and stored wheat will keep for as much as a year if one is on well terms with local gods.

    Beans and peasecods are to be dried as they will not keep without this special attention unlike the good grains. These serve well as feed for peasants and livestock alike to fodder over winter.

    By the end of the season all debts are to be paid in full both by subjects and lieges both.

    Ideally it is best practice to have portioned off all the owed grains for the subject and yourself far in advance in the previous season but as is tradition it is not final until the storing and measuring of the grain.

    So is it known as the Debt Season.

    -Coinage and Lordly Stewardship by Sir Broghuilidad Silvertongue of Cortaza

 5.ii

    5.ii

    When dealing with gods it is important to first identify what is the character and numena of the prospective deity.

    I have in my practice as a Monk seen numerous kinds and each bears a different approach in ritual and requisite favors.

    When acting as mediator for your charges it is vital to first identify what manner of gods they encounter in their daily lives.

    Many gods are either benign or even when driven to wroth are fickle and easily distracted, appeased or driven off through the proper ritual.

    In the day to day the biggest concern with any god is to identify the size but again this is usually made simple by the pride of the divine.

    However the Fortune is a kind which is neither easily identified or driven off when its attention is roused. All the worse, many common men tragically misunderstand their nature and as such often seek them out!

    Fortunes whatever the size are thankfully difficult to draw the attention of initially. They should never be given any enticements to change this.

    Discourage all under your guidance from ever seeking out a Fortune as the best and most likely outcome is time and offerings left abandoned and in waste or eaten by another god. The worst is if they do draw a Fortune¡¯s attention and it is an iresome one such that now they and quite possibly all of their line will be burdened by its attention and agitation unto their deaths.

    A Fortune¡¯s stubborn focus can easily be mistaken as loyalty when it is pleased but the manner of its attention on families even when the intent of a Fortune god is benign can prove disastrous.

    Unlike most gods the Fortune will not boast or proclaim its presence. As such it must be identified through other means.

    The most reliable I have found to detect one¡¯s presence is with the throwing of weighted knuckle bone dice by the object of its obsession. I find gryphon or eagle are best for this as the size makes them more manageable while remaining hollow. But if you cannot afford either then a far smaller chicken bone can be fashioned although this requires great care in preparation.

    After you have procured the bones the initial fashioning and preparation ritual is required:

    Take the bone and polish it down to flat on six sides then drill a hole in one side and daub within its hollow spaces heavy redclay and allow it to dry. Then test the balance and repeat this process until it falls more than nine out of ten with the clay burdened side down.

    When you tumble the bones you are preparing make sure you are outside the aegis of the sky, the minimum of which should be performed in a deep cellar closed from the stars and in mid day when their presence is most diminished but all the better to be as far down an underway as is safely achievable during their construction.

    If you have a trusted Temple who fashions such Fortune finding bones it is safe to have them made elsewhere but the sanctity and absence of starlight upon its construction is paramount.

    Once fashioned, keeping them stored in a sealed box except when in use should suffice to preserve their unhallowed nature for years to come.

    Once you have properly made dice clean from interference, you are ready to perform the ritual.

    To test for the attention of a Fortune upon a family or individual have them tumble your bones in a trifle but still onerous bet.

    Record the result and dispense the winnings or losses (make sure not to absolve the impact of the bet as this will spoil the trial).

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    It is best for you to perform this ritual thirty times, but they need not be within the same day. Best this is done at night with clear skies overhead.

    If they should win (or lose) half the time on a bone you have proven should only allow it for once in ten then this is near certain sign of a Fortune at work.

    The measure of greater success (or failure) should give you a sense of the severity of the attached Fortune and denote the care that one must take in treating with it and the necessary sacrifices.

    For the ritual offerings suggested later add an additional portion of every offering to match for every two out of thirty games won upon your dice over fifteen.

    If you should find that a member of your congregation never loses upon your weighted bones no matter the number of tries? if after their handling the dice become fair when handled even by other hands?

    Do not test them further, this is not a Fortune.

    Cease all inquiry of the nature presented and refer to my words on deep sky divinations as previously listed to inquire too the proper terms for clearing any debts or insults owed for your trespass immediately!

    After verifying a family or individual is under the aegis of a Fortune god it is next most vital importance to identify its favored star if it is not already known.

    Check with the Fortunate for particularly pleasant days, significant events in the Fortunate¡¯s life that seem to occur each year or times of great toil or calamity can help to narrow down which portion of the sky or even the specific star that may be of special significance to the Fortune.

    Birthdays, Weddings, First Kisses, Loss of loved one, Pet or the day of a grievous injury are all good candidates for either the day of the favored star or its antithesis.

    Unless the favored star and Fortune¡¯s name has been verified beforehand A proper sky ring of hard stone (or wood if a mason of sufficient skill is unavailable) should be consulted to refine the exact celestial portent.

    Every night at sundown and sunrise for the next year place an offering of a single grain of barley, a single drop of honey and a single chip of bone upon the stone for that night¡¯s star.

    Provide the thanks to the star for all that has been good for the day and plead forgiveness for all that has gone wrong.

    A single circuit through every stone of a sky circle should be sufficient to determine the Star or Stars favored by the Fortune.

    Do not cease the circuit unless accident, disaster and illness begins to grow sharply.

    This is a strong sign of a Jealous Fortune

    In the event of a Jealous Fortune a sharp downturn in the health or calamities of ill fate may begin to take root as one moves along the ring, if this is the case immediately make a turn to the opposite side of the ring and then make offerings once every night at sundown with profuse apologies for the insult until conditions improve.

    Once the favored star of a Fortune is known a more consistent and general ritual can be prescribed to appease and guide its influence in the Fortunate¡¯s life.

    Fortunes as a rule favor acknowledgement first and a token portion of the fruits of their blessings second. They do not speak except by mishap or coincidence. They abhor being seen or sought and as already mentioned some can be jealous.

    If one is finding attempts at love failing or children suffering more than usual accidents while under the aegis of a fortune it is best to include the child or lover into rituals of appeasement, supplication, acknowledgement and thanks.

    If acknowledged or even thanked for the blessing of a child or luck in life a Fortune can often be appeased and turned away from such jealousy.

    If this does not remedy the situation with a Jealous Fortune a banishment may be the only recourse, however as mentioned all Fortunes are incredibly stubborn and it may require a costly prayer to another God to dismiss one once attached.

    In such a situation some fools recommend that performing a supplication of your charge as sacred property to the Fortune is a solution. However this is not wise. Though it may bring relief to the community it is a life of servitude for the Fortunate, can complicate legal obligations and will also certainly encourage the Fortune in its Jealousy and drive it to greater demands on others in future.

    The gifts and protection offered may seem great but this is never a story I have seen end in any way but tragedy.

    -On the treating with Gods and Grain Watchers by Brother Ordelain, naturalist and Monk of the Hrothfield Monastery in middle Egelheimvin.

 5.iii

    5.iii

    The world and this - whatever other name men have chosen to designate the sky whose vaulted roof encircles the universe, of every land as one is fitly believed to be a deity, eternal, immeasurable, a being that never began to exist and never will perish.

    What is outside it does not concern men to explore and is not within the grasp of the human mind to guess. It is sacred, eternal, immeasurable, wholly within the whole, nay rather itself the whole, finite and resembling the infinite certain of all things and resembling the uncertain, holding in its embrace all things that are without and within, at once the work of nature and nature herself.

    That certain persons have studied, and have dared to publish, its dimensions, is mere madness; and again that others, taking or receiving occasion from the former, have taught the existence of a countless number of worlds, involving the belief in as many systems of nature, or, if a single nature embraces all the worlds, nevertheless the same number of suns and other immeasurable and innumerable heavenly bodies, as already in a single world; just as if owing to our craving for some end the same problem would not always encounter us at  the termination of this process of thought, or as if, assuming it possible to attribute this infinity of nature to the artificer of the universe, that same property would not be easier to understand in a single world, especially one that is so vast a structure.

    It is madness, to go out of that world, and to investigate what lies outside it just as if the whole of what is within it were already clearly known; as though, forsooth, the measure of anything could be taken by him that knows not the measure of himself, or as if the mind of man could see things that the world itself does not contain.

    Let no concern touch on the acts of the heavens except in such that they reach down by their nodens to the affairs of mortal earth and be bound by such among us men.

    Its shape has the rounded appearance of a perfect sphere. In spite of whether one views it from lands found by underway march or overway canyon that through meticulous measure can be said to sit in direct oppositional occlusion with one another.

    Yet it is all encompassingly visible from every valley and peak.

    Of the primitive people who have never traveled under or over is it bestowed the name orb. As it surely appears to be. But any seasoned traveler who has attempted passage beyond the clefts of an overway can attest this is not but an illusory shape of the world.

    However by the nature of its uniformity from all vantages and the extent to which as one traverses the greatest heights and peaks it suffuses and surrounds in encompassing vastness that the nature of the enormity is better named expanse.

    As one traverses the heights and peaks which hold it aloft in the sky does the vision of it enwrap out and around leaving all lands and valleys of foothills diminished in their distance vanishingly small within its enclosing until one stands upon a seeming pillar surrounded in eternity.

    At such high vantages it so appears to be holding itself together without the need of any fastenings, and without experiencing an end or a beginning at any part of itself.

    However within its motions is the shape of the orb the one best fitted and so despite its vastness beyond such trifles and otherwise nature as alike too to a great depth but upward it must as any man can witness repeatedly revolve, but our eyesight betrays us further on the nature of heaven, because the firmament presents the aspect of a concave hemisphere equidistant in every direction when low upon the horizon. And curves around into full englobing with altitude.

    The expanse of the firmament thus shaped then is not at rest but eternally revolves with indescribable velocity, each revolution occupying the space of a day: the rising and setting of the sun have left this not doubtful.

    Whether the sound of this vast mass whirling in unceasing rotation is of enormous volume and consequently beyond the capacity of our ears to perceive, for my own part I cannot easily say - any more in fact than whether this is true of the tinkling of the stars that travel round with it, revolving in their own orbits; or whether it emits a sweet harmonious music that is beyond belief charming. To us who live within it the world glides silently alike by day and night.

    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    It is conjectured by the deeply learned ¡ª and yet by it made foolish ¡ª that it is not one sky which is seen by all but rather duplicates of skies around each firmament englobing them as grapes upon the vine with the under and overways channeling together to join the lands of man the vines from which they hang.

    But again and again is witnessed such perfect synchronicity in sight and action across every witness from the farthest edges of the Empire that refute such small minded assertions.

    The world is of a shape both round and all encompassing and riddled within and it is the failure of simple minds to try and adhere the reasoning of mortal earth and lowland geometry to the infinite arcs and perfections of the heavens.

    Stamped upon this singular and universal surface are countless figures of animals and objects of all kinds - it is not the case, as has been stated by very famous authors, that its structure has an even surface of unbroken smoothness, like that which we observe in birds'' eggs: this is proved by the evidence of the facts, since from seeds of all these objects, falling from the sky in countless numbers, particularly in the sea, and usually mixed together, monstrous shapes are generated; and also by the testimony of sight - in one place the figure of a bear, in another of a bull, in another a wain, in another a letter of the alphabet, the middle of the circle across the pole being more radiant.

    For my own part I am also influenced by the agreement of the nations. The Nation of Waves has designated the world by a word that means ''ornament,'' and we have given it the name of mundus because of its perfect finish and grace! As for our word caelum, it undoubtedly has the signification ''engraved,'' as is explained by Aurus the Watcher. Further assistance is contributed by its orderly structure, the circle called the Zodiac being marked out into the likenesses of seventeen animals; and also by the uniform regularity in so many centuries of the sun''s progress through these signs.

    As regards the elements also I observe that they are accepted as being five in number: topmost the element of nodus, the matter of gods, set within the firmament and by which is bent all the will of genius and divine upon the others, Next most is the fire, source of yonder eyes of all those blazing stars set hovering within the grasp of heaven; next the vapor which The Nation of Waves and our own Solar Dynasty call by the same name, air - this is the principle of life, and penetrates all the universe and is intertwined with the whole; suspended by its force in the center of space is poised the earth, and with it the fourth element, that of the waters.

    Thus the mutual embrace of the unlike results in an interlacing, the light substances being prevented by the heavy ones from flying up, while on the contrary the heavy substances are held from crashing down by the upward tendency of the light ones.

    In this way owing to an equal urge in opposite directions the elements remain stationary, each in its own place, bound together by the unresting revolution of the world itself; and with this always running back to its starting-point, the earth is the lowest and central object in the whole, and stays suspended at the pivot of the universe and also balancing the bodies to which its suspension is due; thus being alone motionless with the universe revolving round her she both hangs attached to them all and at the same time is that on which they all rest.

    Upheld by the same vapor between earth and heaven, at definite spaces apart, hang the enumerable stars which owing to their motion we call wanderers. Their comings and goings marking the ages and the great shifts of the world.

    In the midst of these moves the sun, whose magnitude and power are the greatest, and who is the ruler not only of the seasons and of the lands; but even of the stars themselves and of heaven.

    Taking into account all that he affects, we must believe him to be the soul, or more precisely the mind, of the whole world, the supreme ruling principle and divinity of nature.

    He furnishes the world with light and removes darkness, he obscures and he illumines the rest of the stars, he regulates in accord with nature''s precedent the changes of the seasons and the continuous rebirth of the year, he dissipates the gloom of heaven and even calms the storm-clouds of the mind of man, he lends his light to the rest of the stars also; he is glorious and pre-eminent, all-seeing and even all-hearing - this I observe that r the prince of literature held to be true in the case of the sun alone.

    - Excerpt from Orion¡¯s Historica naturalis Cantora

 6.1

    6.1

    Jewel was becoming very tired of people being surprised she could talk. She was also becoming a bit upset that she never realized everyone (except the Wizards) who first met her before was surprised she could talk as well!

    Also she really missed her baths!

    She had spent five days on the road with nothing to clean herself but shallow tubs or basins of water and a precious supply of lavender oil.

    Father had forced her to ration it after Jewel used half of the supply by the third night on the road.

    Which neatly reminded her of the actions of her Squire.

    The sound of Smithson running a polishing stone slick in lavender oil in smooth circular motions against her side.

    Taking great care with it too as he had quickly learned.

    For Jewel was much to her shame an incredibly ticklish Wyrm.

    However she couldn''t go meet the Countess dusty and smelling of storms and the road! And she could not afford to do the polishing herself, for one she could hardly reach everywhere without tumbling in the dirt!

    So her squire Smithson needed to do it for her.

    Thus she couldn''t go anywhere or do much of anything but fume and try not to twitch or laugh when he hit a patch from the wrong angle and brought her to giggle.

    So Smithson Polished Jewel¡¯s scales.

    And he had a lot of yards of Dragonscale to cover before she would be ready!

    Which she was ignoring as much as was physically possible in stoic silence because shining all of her was inevitably hitting some of her ticklish spots!

    Talking was a fool¡¯s errand; it made it harder to ignore the Squire¡¯s work with the stone and oil.

    Which left her only to stew and consider her own stupidity.

    It was just so obvious on reflection, the sudden jolts, the surprised jerk. All the signs were there but she had never had it happen too many at a time.

    It had only ever been a few here and there. And with only those cases she had just let it slip her mind and then assumed that it was just some people that assumed she was an animal. That it was just the rudeness of the strange peasants.

    But the last three towns they had made lodgings did not break the precedent set by Abbot Herbort.

    It was not just the occasional rude headman, innkeeper, abbot, yeoman or any number of other strange titles for the same lesser not quite knight position. The same responsibility of stewardship over the fields and pastures their party passed through each morning and evening.

    Why did they have so many words for it?!

    Sir Broghuilidad had never even mentioned half of the names in his book!

    No, it was not just an aberrant rudeness to be found as a rarity in only a select few people and some uneducated peasantry.

    It was every single-

    Jewel flinched and her scales rippled in agitation as her throat tightened to stop the giggle that wanted to erupt. Smithson had already learned what to do when he brushed an unexpected ticklish spot and he quickly eased off on the stone and applied pressure elsewhere.

    Her Squire was learning but she wished she could have been doing this herself!

    But her feet would get streaks of dirt and trail dust into the oil despite how careful she had been stepping all day!

    So it was Smithson¡¯s duty to polish her scales so as to look her best for the Countess.

    The Wyrm tried to turn her attention back inward, thinking about how ticklish she was always made it worse.

    She needed the distraction!

    So back stoking her anger and frustration to try and smother out any giggles.

    And there was plenty of agitation to go around!

    Everyone first thought she was an animal at best!

    Every single one of the pseudo-knights and all of their staff beside!

    Every villager and field hand and even itinerant laborers and that traveling peddler they passed on the road!

    Jewel was finding the lessons learned at Muriel''s insistence in dealing with the villagers, farmers and woodsfolk of Father¡¯s demesne suspiciously relevant every single day!

    And it was exhausting!

    Every single day was a new handful, or dozen, or even a hundred people one time that had to be reassured and proven that she spoke for herself as Father¡¯s true and acknowledged daughter as a member of his house!

    Every single day she had someone think it was a clever trick she¡¯d been trained to perform!

    That she was a particularly strange beast of burden or a warhound of sorts that belonged to Father!

    Even SPEAKING did not always dispel this notion (apparently there was a kind of small hunting gryphon which could speak quite well actually.)

    She had to fight in word and action and civil poise and grace every single night to prove herself every inch the Lady and Noble she was!

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    Prove that she could hear, understand and judge them far more than even Zephyrvam could (and gryphons were far brighter and more judgemental than most of these people realized!).

    Jewel was glad that this had been the last day in their march to Kaeketeh.

    Because Jewel had already met the Countess Bathory.

    She had effectively ordered Jewel to come and knew who Jewel was.

    There would finally be no more need to prove that she was deserving of a room (no matter how poorly she fit).

    That she was not to be fed fodder or kitchen scraps.

    Not to be sent out of the hall to be tied up outside or boarded in a barn.

    Not to be feared or even prodded to deter her from eating some one¡¯s goats.

    Not to be belittled or insulted or demeaned like an infant or some hound pup that was doing a clever imitation.

    Compared to the hospitality Jewel had been afforded in a few of the towns on their way Abbot Herbort was actually among the most civil!

    Jewel froze and took in a heavy breath that was assuredly not a gasp as her Squire found yet another incredibly ticklish spot over her right hip.

    Smithson, the good Squire that he was, did as he should and paused so as to let Jewel sink back into her intensely roiling agitation again.

    The only single person that had been better than the Abbot which cursed at her under his breath was at their last place of rest!

    And she wasn¡¯t even the landed ruler of the town or mayor or whatever!

    Ho?anka was just an Innkeeper!

    But that nice innkeeper had been a wonderfully friendly and only slightly fearful woman! And had even gladly gotten Jewel a second pot of stew when she heard how young Jewel was because ¡°growing ladies need good bone broth they do!¡±

    Jewel liked Ho?anka and her cozy (if a bit cramped) rooms and tasty stew.

    She hoped they would stop by on the return journey when all of this was done!

    But besides that brightest spot, every time they had settled in for lodging had been a degree of disaster!

    Insults piled upon dishonors towards her!

    Atleast Father had gathered up a lot of favors, debts and recompense on their journey from all the insult brought upon Jewel¡¯s person!

    Which she supposed was probably a good thing.

    It had helped when one of the footmen had done something no one would talk about within Jewel¡¯s earshot regarding the house he had made a night in.

    Father had been annoyed but resigned and there had been some performatory shouting from Bromthil afterwards but given the punishment Jewel doubted it was a terribly important transgression.

    But still all of that was behind them, they were due to arrive in Kaeketeh soon. Apparently the Lady and Countess Bathory¡¯s demesne encompassed a city of the same name.

    A place of almost ten thousand people!

    Jewel took in a breath at the thought of just so many and as he had for when she was bracing not to laugh Smithson shifted the polishing stone along.

    But Jewel and Father would not be visiting this incredible impossibility of people today.

    While the rest would be marching through it and then out to the lake where had been built the multi isle Fortress of Kaeketeh proper.

    Fully garrisoned and secured, despite being almost equally distant from any borders of the realm as Rochford.

    But apparently still important enough as a mustering point.

    A fortress still in use for its intended purpose.

    Not like Fort Rochford which was left mostly abandoned, with its battlements used for gardening and its mustering halls and barracks closed or used to age sheep¡¯s cheese.

    It was an exciting time and Jewel was anxious to get a chance to see both it and this city!

    Which did not help with her ticklishness at all. Still Smithson was almost done.

    Just a few more spots on her tail and then maybe a buff on her knees and shins!

    Father promised that she would fly in with him and Zephyrvam as part of their arrival ceremony.

    Which was going to be wonderful!

    Sure it was not going to be a very long flight as Father was going to have to do so in the awful ceremonial armor.

    Poor Zephyrvam was going to be exhausted after and likely needing to rest for a full day to recover!

    But it was an important show of respect to The Countess!

    And that was her tail finished!

    Jewel trembled a bit up and down her coils, shaking out her mane. They would not be taking flight until the rest of their party was already arriving at the gates.

    But for the noonday meal Father and Jewel had started preparing themselves to be welcomed by their liege.

    For Jewel it was almost entirely a proper scale buffing and polishing to bring her to a brilliant almost coppery shine!

    With some accents given by the leather of her unburdened harness.

    The half emptied panniers for her rations had been moved to the other horses for the last march of the journey.

    Smithson had been polishing her while he chewed his own meal to make sure there would be enough time.

    And she had to admit that besides her ticklishness she was feeling amazingly vibrant!

    But Father and Zephyrvam had to don the absurd metal plate.

    All bulky and shiny metal!

    So thin as to be almost worse than his actual gryphon lord leathers.

    Polished to so bright it would make him stand out even in the sky.

    And impossible to hug close enough to Zephyrvam¡¯s back to blend with the flow of his feathers.

    For the Gryphon there was an absurd saddle and tack that she could tell the old black feathered beast did NOT approve of.

    If it was anyone but Father dressing him in it the unfortunate fool would probably have lost their head!

    But Father was careful, gentle and soothing and made sure that there was a prodigious amount of dried jerky on hand to placate and bribe his steed with.

    And Jewel could see that Zephyrvam trusted him.

    As He Should! Father was, after all, Father!

    Jewel shook herself out again, trying her best to ignore how Smithson was polishing her scales again over her knees and shins.

    Every muscle locked up and her throat squeezed shut with Wyrmfire as hard as she dared.

    Jewel was so INCREDIBLY ticklish there.

 6.2

    6.2

    Jewel and Zephyrvam would launch into the air together.

    The Gryphon¡¯s wings threw out the tangible shimmering tingle of fauxfire first. Wreathing the air all around him in it. Stretching past and between the branches of trees and the leaves. Rippling around Jewel like the thin film of oil that came to cover her baths if she laid still within them long enough.

    She dipped her head low to stop breaking the thin layer as it furled outward further and further. While he prepared to launch Jewel was filling her own Wyrmfire out within her wings and body, thrumming with it all along her scales, setting her mane to wave and twist in the currents that flowed through it and the skin between her wings.

    Zephyrvam¡¯s grasp of the wind was tight and overwhelming. Wings snapped upward high and the film of his flame shot up with them like a piercing arrow, the leaves and grasses all throughout the surrounding woods shook and air rushed to follow it. Whirlwinds of orange and amber leaves torn loose from the branches of the woods spun under and around them both.

    She could feel the canopy extending straight up into the air, bracing and tracing beyond every feather. Tautly running under them and along the Gryphon¡¯s sides. Seeping up into his head and funneling in through the planes of his metal harness.

    Father was preparing himself, legs slightly bent but his hips over Zephyrvam¡¯s actual saddle. Bracing over the cushioning that would soon be shooting up to meet him.

    Underneath the ornamental metal he still had the bracing of a Gryphon Rider¡¯s armor. More than that besides in fact as he had padding and reinforcement to further protect him that would have been anything but useful in battle.

    It made him stiff and unwieldy at anything but gesturing with ceremonial spears or posing and waving.

    Then Zephyrvam took in a chest filling breath. Air whistling through his neck as his flame pulsed, drawing himself full and spinning off more and more flows of reinforcing ephemeral fauxfire through the air down his wings and sides.

    Jewel braced herself as well, but it was with the intensely tightening roiling bands of her Wyrmfire running along her body and spine, through her tail and down her legs and wings.

    And then they were off, the wings came down and the Gryphon¡¯s claws were already tearing up the road, throwing him forward even as a torrential maelstrom of air was thrown down and over Jewel.

    She thrust herself upward and through the film, spearing only a whisper of air through it with her passing before she was sailing up and away to the left. Moving out of the wake of the Gryphon¡¯s wings in time for the next wingbeat to tear up into a squalling howl of air that threw dust, leaves and random scraps of twig and seed.

    Another flap and another, in five Zephyrvam had torn all the leaves from the trees around them. In twelve he was carrying father aloft over the tree line and drawing up to level with Jewel.

    That was her one skill over a Gryphon.

    She might struggle to match them in speed or endurance.

    Her Wyrmfire ran dry long before a warkitted gryphon lord could.

    But Jewel could lift herself silently and with not a whisper of wind out of place compared to the spiraling explosion that followed her Father and his steed.

    The take off was always the most intense, the time close to the ground when building the lift and the speed.

    Air billowing out to frame the normally invisible reaches of Gryphonwings. Now alight in the late day sun with a corruscating whorl of amber, red, yellow and orange. Four acres of forest stripped bare before their time to let leaves fall.

    Now carrying up to chase Jewel and her father into flight, like banners across the sky announcing their ascent.

    Slowly spiraling off in rivulets of crimson, gold and amber as they catch the sun half set against the fringe of mountains Jewel had never seen before and did not yet know the name.

    And then when finally free they both caught the high autumn wind.

    A chill cold that she understood now all too deeply was biting her Father.

    Scraping at him despite his armor and padding against it.

    His ceremonial armor did not allow him to lean forward enough to hide from the torrent of wind as Zephyrvam flew.

    Flapping harder and far more constantly then he normally would have.

    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    Their Speed too was perhaps two thirds normal. Easily in Jewel¡¯s normal wing pace rather than straining her to the limit.

    Father made the gesture in gryphon cant and Jewel acknowledged him.

    They were climbing further up so as to make what would be a stately glide into the courtyard of Fortress Kaeketeh. Which meant more heavy beating of wings from Zephyrvam when normally the stately beast would have already been coasting.

    Jewel kept out of the poor dear¡¯s way, slipping ahead of the wake that scooped and drug air. Soaring closer in formation then was normally proper, but this was not for hunting or practice for war that they flew.

    This was for pageantry and parade.

    And as they pulled into the sky Jewel was struck by the shining splendor flatness of the wide water!

    Supposedly it was a River.

    She had seen small ponds, brooks and even the distant glimmer of rivers to the north from the skies of home before.

    But the site of Kaeketeh was upon something that Jewel only realized was a river when she turned her head to look up and down its banks as they swam and turned between the hills.

    Wooden craft (Boats?! Rafts?! Who knew!) moved along it far into the distance in either direction. Making flows, as much a current as the water they rode. All coming or going to the near side of this great expanse of water.

    All converging to the thing that she could only surmise was Kaeketeh. It lanced into the gentle waters from the nearest bank and she finally grasped a portion of the vastness that was a city that nearly housed Ten Thousand.

    She could already see the whole of it along the bank. The Fortress Kaeketeh stood tall with narrow windows and wide open patios sufficient for a Gryphon(or dragon) to make landing.

    Larger than the entire courtyard and keep of Fort Rochford combined and by far more busy then she had ever seen her home.

    Tall canvas banners tall enough to make out from the air (probably) even with Father¡¯s eyes made a vibrant bloom of the keep.

    The structure''s pale white stone stood upon a paved island with vibrant dappled color of spring green gardens. Out of season against the orange, amber and yellow of the woods at the far banks of the river. All of it perched far into the waters on the end of stone bridges. Dangling like the prize Jewel of the rest of the buildings that made up the Fortress and City together.

    Next came a flat wall, stout and thick, a working of narrow slot windows and bristling spears, hanging with further banners and signs of footmen far in excess of those that they had brought from Rochford.

    Symbols and Houses Jewel could not quite place among those banners. She was sure they might have been mentioned or described and maybe even one or two seen when she was very young but not standing out with the importance she now felt.

    Next was another fortress, a structure of many towers and tall buildings, all made with pale looking walls and sturdy dark timber framing. Sitting on foundations of stone.

    Clay tiled roofs on every structure.

    Surrounded by a sturdy but lesser wall compared to the bulk which stood between the keep and them.

    And then last of all was a wide spear of stone streets and wooden platforms. The wood was strange, like aborted bridges thrown out in all directions into the river, except along the route that the stone bridges took straight and sure as an arrow from the keep.

    Which bore one final wall taller than the last but not the first, separating it from the last sprawling expanse of buildings by five different gate houses.

    And here, Jewel decided (barring any other instruction), was where the Fortress ended and the City began.

    The buildings quickly changed to match closer to those she had already seen along her journey. More like the Temple in Rochford or the larger houses they had taken lodgings in. A bustle of structures like brick and stone beads at the throat of the opulence that was Kaeketeh.

    From there the streets became packed dirt, the roofs quickly turned to thatch and then as it did in her own home¡¯s village the shift came from dense packed inhabitation to sparse homesteads and open fields, mostly stripped from harvest or being tilled over for a winter planting.

    Continuing along on the shores of the river to the north and south banks were more strange partial wooden bridges and houses with strange little wooden pails she would never have guessed were buoyant if not for the few men and women in them out on the river throwing equally strange sheets and blankets out into the water or pulling them in.

    Washing perhaps? But why go so far out into the water for it?

    All of it was there before them, splayed out from the sky and shining in the sinking sun.

    Reflecting back at them from the waters like a trembling mirror.

    Jewel was so taken with the view that Zephyrvam had to shriek to get her to look over to him and spot Father¡¯s flight cant.

    It was time to begin their glide.

    As was proper of his daughter Jewel took up position in his wake, riding the chaos and rivulets tumbling and twisting off of the Gryphon¡¯s widely splayed wings without any apparent loss in grace.

    Which was an absolute lie of course, Jewel had to spend years learning how to ride that chaos without ending up flopping through the air like a loose braid in the wind.

    And down they went.

    As Jewel and her father began their descent upon Kaeketeh.

 6.3

    6.3

    Ginter was sure in his old bones he would never grow comfortable with the hauntingly deep and yet sharply piercing cry of a War Gryphon¡¯s Howl.

    Not if he lived another fifty winters.

    It was customary to compare them in ballads and tales to the sound of wolves and the cries of eagles.

    So sang all the minstrels.

    But no man who had ever heard either could mistake that call for anything else.

    Some northerners said that their call was like that of the giant elk, but deeper, crueler and more ominous.

    Deaf men could feel the voice of a war gryphon bellowing up from inside their chests if it was close enough.

    And the piercing shriek too it could carry from the horizon.

    On the battlefield the freshest fighters among a levy were liable to break and run if caught unaware by that deep booming howl.

    And when combined with the death that came down from above when enemy Gryphon Riders were in the skies?

    It only took seeing a captain on his fancy charger skewered into the throat and out the small of his back by one of those horrific spears they called arrows to find far more practical fear to temper bravery and youth.

    Ginter had served his time in the levy of the Countess¡¯ army as a young fool. Called to war when the realm marched against the Magarska Kingdom in the south.

    On the march south Ginter had gotten to witness the terror that was enemy Gryphon Lords in the air unmolested.

    It was not the terror of a cavalry charge, although if you got within reach of their claws little armor would save you. It did not matter how thick the metal was if the thing could strike you hard enough to knock your head clear off, metal or not.

    Smaller Gryphons might pounce from the air in deadly dives, the larger War Gryphons could do this too if their riders ran out of those Arrows.

    But it was a rare act, only done when you made the mistake of being separated from the rest of the army when enemy Gryphons Riders were in the air uncontested.

    No, the terror of War Gryphons was not their claws or beaks or the terrifying speed at which they could sweep down from the sky and cleave men¡¯s heads from their shoulders in passing. Nor was it in how they could end one of their terrible dives by planting themselves so suddenly and thunderously from the air that the man so struck¡¯s chest flew apart around it.

    The true fear of Gryphon Riders and especially those that were lords as well is the Arrows.

    They struck from the sky, often with no warning but the rallying cry of one¡¯s own Gryphons.

    If you were lucky you had time to brace and cower from sight before one struck out of the blue.

    Longer than any but a knight¡¯s torso was tall.

    Killing you before you even properly had time to realize it was coming.

    Any youthful dreams of becoming a footman and rising to command as a captain or even a lieutenant were dashed the day he saw what happened to them without support from allied Gryphon Riders.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    He still could hear the sound of heavy wood and metal crashing through bone, flesh and armor.

    The captains crumpled like grass underfoot.

    Sometimes the blows went through a captain and killed the horse he rode on!

    Ginter would never grow familiar or comfortable with the howling of War Gryphon on the hunt.

    Flying death in the skies.

    But that did not mean he was not out on the street to see the spectacle of one of the Countess¡¯ Gryphon Riders arriving.

    Sailing stately in his shining Armor.

    Ginter did not know which one this was, his eyes were not good enough to make out the heraldry on the chest of the likely Baron slowly descending above the wide mainstreet of Kaeketeh.

    But the terrifying howl of triumph from the gryphon turned his head.

    And then something that Ginter had never imagined he would ever hear echoed after it.

    The sound was metallic, buzzing, harsh and unfathomably vast.

    It was like an iron comb running down a blade. It was the crow of a rooster. It was like a shout of triumph.

    It was like all of these things.

    In the same way that a songbird¡¯s gentle warble was akin to the War Gryphon¡¯s howl.

    It suffused the world with sound and dominion. It felt like the roar of a fire briefly passed over him and drew his eye to the figure sailing in behind the Gryphon Lord.

    The roar of it silenced the city and he saw the late sun catching gleaming scales, shining like gold, a serpent easily four, maybe five times longer than the gryphon leading it. Blurry shapes that might be wings extended out to glide. But that was far closer than any other Gryphon Rider could hold position behind a leader.

    He knew how harsh the wake of a gryphon even gliding could be when it passed. A wall of howling wind that could flatten unbraced men and the frail or infirm.

    And this shining serpentine figure blurred by his aged eyes was swimming in that maelstrom with hardly a seeming care to the effort.

    The voice faded out and the two figures passed, still far overhead.

    Moving onward past the rooftops of middle Kaeketeh and proceeding onward to their ordained place in the final courtyard at the keep itself.

    Definitely a Baron and Lord then.

    The Knights would have made a landing at the wallfort that separated the keep from the lesser opulence of the rich houses of high Kaeketeh.

    The gryphon made one last bone shaking cry in the distance. Sounding small for more reasons than just the distance as it swooped up before its final landing.

    Just as before again that tremendous thought dousing wall of sound echoed it. Smothering all other noise.

    And the shining maybe winged gleaming serpent shape spiraled up and around the gryphon lord as he shed the speed of the gliding dive.

    Then sunk just as gracefully and effortlessly as it had followed in the torrential wake up til that point while the bird-beast settled with a flapping that Ginter knew could flatten a marsheling attack.

    He did not hear the criers or the rest of the ceremony from here.

    He did not see the Countess.

    But he had seen clearly what this meant.

    There would not just be War Gryphons in the skies when next she mustered for battle.

    The entire city seemed to be digesting that fact with him in a shared silence.

    Not even the yap of dogs or cries of the river birds dared to risk following the domination that those two roars had brought.

    Babes did not even cry.

    It was only slowly that the lapping of the river at the wharf and the brush of boats on the docks began to ease the city back to life, motion and sound.

    Ginter made his way to the pub, he needed to hear what those with clearer and younger eyes had seen, what those that listened in richer places or heard courtly whispers said.

    To find out what it was that the Countess now commanded.

 6.4

    6.4

    Jewel settled with all the poise and grace she could muster for it, holding in the delight and wonder that coursed up through her fore- and hindclaws as they touched friendly new stones for the first time.

    The pavers of Kaeketeh were eager and full of bouncing joy. They metaphorically tumbled in delight at her presence in eagerness.

    They reminded her of when the hunting hounds had puppies!

    So many feet, hooves and talons had trodden them year after year: burly marchers and Gryphons, heavy lords and delicate ladies. And as she followed behind Zephyrvam and Father¡¯s stately stride, she settled at attention and it was an effort of utmost will to not freeze in place before her appointed position at what one in particular whispered cheerfully up to her.

    She had just stepped where an elf had tread!

    As soon as the proper announcements and requisite feasting and ceremony was over Jewel was going to walk up and down this courtyard and listen to all they had to tell of this long since passed elf and their delicate yet powerful steps.

    Where they had gone and what they had done!

    But first she had to make the appearance expected of her station and her Father¡¯s

    And there was certainly a lot more to it than she was expecting.

    Every footman stood at attention beside them, armor shined and cleaned from the dust of the road. Swords in scabbard but easily seen, shields at their backs and spears held at their sides.

    Bromthil was on the line with his men to bring each side to an even thirteen.

    Kraok was standing at attention, in armor shined and still smelling faintly of the liquors that had brought it to suppleness and strength.

    Yet untested in battle.

    He had a newly made riding bow at his back, not as immense as Father¡¯s but it would be long years (if ever) that a knight not born and raised to the way of a Gryphon Rider could even draw such a thing, let alone shoot it with any skill.

    In his hands he held the iron-banded coffer which Jewel knew held Father¡¯s tithe in silver and gold to the Countess. An Annum of obligation for all his lands held by a single man. He was admirably steady under the burden.

    And then there was Jewel, bringing up the line to stand at Father¡¯s right and slightly back, coiling herself loosely, like a spring or some kind of shining river.

    Not so settled as to seem lazy but also not so straight as to seem unready to leap to action.

    Father and Mother¡¯s instruction had helped her master it for an event such as this.

    Poised to strike but at ease was the impression her posture ¡®at attention¡¯ was drilled for.

    Something to imply her power but to not dismiss or disrespect her liege lady and countess.

    And before them arriving now from the wide doors of the keep was the Countess Bathory and her own attendants.

    Three at the head of the entourage, including the Countess.

    Twenty to each side of Footmen dressed in armor clearly bearing the crest of Bathory and the County of Viznove.

    Of Bathory she was dressed in finery that dazzled with metal and leather just enough to show she had the means to employ skilled armorsmiths but not in a manner that would serve in any way on the battlefield or a hunt.

    There was far too much cloth exposed for proper armor and too much material around the legs. The skirts lacked either the give in fabric or the necessary cuts needed to allow one to ride a horse or Gryphon.

    It was an outfit suitable only to impress and display ¡ª like many of Mother¡¯s gowns in fact.

    Her face had lines at the corner of her eyes, along her brow and around her mouth. All deeper than either Mother or Father bore, although only just.

    She looked wearier, too. More than Jewel remembered her from her visit to Fort Rochford.

    Still standing with the imminence and posture befitting a lady, but also tired in spite of it.

    At her left was a man in black robes with finely-done crimson embroidery along the sleeves and collar. His hair and beard were straight and almost pitch black. The hair hanging to just below his chin in a shape almost like a helm around the pale egg of his skull. His beard was just as straight and sharp looking, sprouting from just his chin to a point over his collar bone. The shine of the setting sun made both look crimson.

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    At her right was a knight dressed in similar armor as Father, helm closed off heraldry of Viznove and a Gryphon Rider Arrow pointed down.

    They strode forward and as pre-arranged Jewel, Father, Kraok, Bromthil and all the footmen dipped down with heads low in observance of their fealty to the Countess.

    However before anything further could be said and the ceremony opened the last of their party arrived.

    With a sound like mud sloughing from sodden shore into burbling brook, Tsulogothulan appeared in all their boneless glory. Stepping free from the silty water that had swollen up between the pavement stones.

    Leaving them pristine as the waters seeped upward to flow into the Weird¡¯s robes.

    Jewel found it interesting how the man at Bathory¡¯s side paled even further and boggled at the very sight of Tsulogothulan.

    The countess paused a moment to give the Weird a chance to lower themselves to her, but all the Weird did was dip their head in a nod of acknowledgement. The act of an equal rather than a subordinate. It made Jewel want to flinch and hiss a warning at the Wizard but to even hint at it would be even more inappropriate.

    After a long and awkward moment dragged between the two the Countess turned her gaze to Father and pointedly ignored the Bog Wizard¡¯s disrespect.

    ¡°My Vassal, Jonathan the Third of your name, Baron of Rochford, Head of your House, Wyrmkeeper, 1st Among my Gryphon Lords and 3rd Captain of my Armies, be welcome to my house, to eat at my table and rest at ease in my protection.¡±

    Her voice was rich and strong, used to command but there was a strain in it and an ache that reminded Jewel of when Mother had been crying or how Muriel had sounded during the terrible night of the Terror Boar¡¯s slaying.

    As one Father, Jewel and all their party stood back from their supplication (except Tsulogothulan of course who had not even bent more than their neck).

    Father spoke as he did to his men when rallying them or at festivals, voice strong and sure.

    ¡°As called so the forces in arms of Rochford have rallied. All but half my guard are gathered here before you. I can also promise a levy of two hundred and fifty able bodied men armed in spear or bow to be mustered for summer march this coming year if called.¡±

    He turned to Kraok and gestured forward. The new knight was heavy as he stepped with the weight of the coffer and its bounty in silver but sure footed and straight backed besides the burden.

    ¡°Furthermore I give One Hundred and Forty-Nine Knight¡¯s Marks in silver. As agreed for the past five years in obligations for my absences as first among both your GryphonLords and to the Realm¡¯s service.¡±

    Two of the Countess¡¯ Footmen came forward from her entourage and took the chest to no doubt be secured and counted. With the obligations secured Father continued.

    ¡°I also give an official introduction of my newly raised Knight, Sir Kraok Boarslayer. Elevated in standing for valor above others.¡±

    The Lady Bathory considered Kraok with a considering eye before nodding to father.

    His hand is going to the Bog Weird.

    ¡°As well as The Esteemed Sorcerer and Weird of the Uloghai Bog Tsulogothulan, pledged to my service for the next Seventeen years.¡±

    The strange man in black with red trimmed robes paled even further at the declaration of Tsulogothulan¡¯s titles and name. Which was rather amusing, he was the first person she had seen who appeared to have any idea where their wizard hailed from.

    ¡°Until I release the obligation or seek their replacement by another Wizard in good standing with Lord Sorcerer and Weird of the Demesne of Ghergeintat, Fizzbunches.¡±

    It was even more interesting how he boggled even harder at Father at the naming of the stupid smug cat wizard.

    That definitely suggested something.

    Again Jewel had never met anyone who recognized Fizzbunches¡¯ name either.

    Bathory offered an imperious glance to the man trying to keep his composure next to her, raising a single brow at him to which he only nodded and then turned to Tsulogothulan with her own acknowledging bow.

    ¡°I see, it is an honor to meet one of the esteemed and storied Weirds of Magic. During the feast tonight the tale of how the Lord Rochford came to earn your services simply must be shared.¡±

    And then she turned back to father.

    This was it. She knew it was time.

    ¡°And last of all I introduce you once more to my Daughter, Jewel of Rochford¡±

    Father took a step to the left and back as he gestured to her and Jewel on cue strode forward as gracefully as she had ever been. Putting every single nuance and emphasis she had been taught into every inch of her coils, every subtle motion of her steps.

    Jewel dipped her head in a low bow just barely over putting her snout to the pavement stones of the courtyard.

    Pausing the appropriate moment of supplication to her Liege and Countess before raising her head just a bit lower than the Countess¡¯ own, so that she remained peering up at the countess.

    ¡°As my fathers daughter, I am here to answer and assure my pledge as my father has, as your vassal to aide in peace and serve in war.¡±

    There was a raised brow as she spoke but not the shock of seeing a beast do the impossible. No, it was more just a shock at her eloquence. The kind of thing that Mother or Muriel might do when she finished a book far ahead of Alexander.

    Well that was fair she supposed, Jewel had been far smaller and far less sure of her speech when the Countess had last seen her.

    And the surprise soon faded to a delighted smile that soon broke into a wide grin with shining white teeth.

    ¡°Oho! Do you oh daughter of Rochford?! Well I definitely accept such a dutiful daughter¡¯s pledge!¡±

    And with that she clapped her hands sharply.

    ¡°Then that is the obligations and pageantry done! You¡¯ve traveled long and we will be quite busy tomorrow! Come join me for a meal! The Feast is waiting!¡±

 6.5

    6.5

    Jewel thought she had become accustomed to the role of welcomed under the rules of hospitality and feasts. They had already been guests at four households on the journey over.

    Ironically, the first with Abbot Herbort¡¯s had been the largest. The similarity to a temple''s room for congregations had been an astute observation of Jewel as she later learned that was its primary purpose according to Tsulogothulan.

    But Countess Bathory¡¯s feasting hall was larger than even the Abbot¡¯s had been! If by just a bit.

    The halls were dominated by the tallest glass windows Jewel had ever seen. Letting in the last shine of golden red light. But to supplement that light was something Jewel had never seen before.

    Four shining works of art. Sculpted of practically glowing yellow metal and glass intermingled with fine near white burning candles. The scent of beeswax only faintly drifted down to the tables below. Most of it pulled up to the center of the ceiling to join a column of heat.

    They hung by glittering chains and filled the room in illumination so well Jewel suspected there must be some spell in their making at work.

    Further adding to the light of the Countess¡¯ Hall was a solid hearth down the middle, made of more of that pale stone. But carved in reliefs showing the marching of armies and Gryphons against the insurmountably vast serpent of the Tyrant Wyrm.

    Merry bright crackling coals glittered in reds and oranges and sizzled with the fat of ten full pigs turning on a spit.

    If Jewel¡¯s nose did not betray her they had been stuffed with turnip and apple, glazed in some kind of sauce made of honey, cream and of the most delicious spices she had ever smelled. The scent was sweet, rich and crackling like fire, almost floral but yet unplaceable in its novelty.

    Whatever it was dyed each of the full sows a richly bright orange that reminded her of a setting sun.

    And around the hearth and its deliciously roasting bounty were set the tables.

    There were three, and each of them were larger than Rochford¡¯s largest and more solidly built besides, with the thinnest of them set upon its own dais with only one side of seating facing out into the hallway.

    This highest table was where The Countess Bathory, Father and the strange man in black robes with red embroidery were seated. Joining them were another four figures Jewel did not recognize by scent or sight, clad in a similar level of finery to Father¡¯s own best feasting garb.

    naturally, the Countess was in the center in the finest carved seat.

    On the right to the Countess was a chair equal to hers in height and artistry but distinctly and notably empty.

    Father was seated to the right of the auspicious empty seat. And then to the Countess¡¯s left was the black robed man with the disturbingly straight hair.

    The rest of the places were filled in by the strangers in garb of comparable opulence but considering their placement they were almost certainly favored positions in the Countess¡¯ court or direct vassals such as Father.

    On the table to the countess¡¯ right was where Jewel had been given all of one side of the table for herself. A luxuriantly expansive affair that provided freedom to lounge in poised grace and absolute regal dignity just as Mother had taught her.

    Rather than a seat, she had been allowed to lay on the quite well-hewn stone floor with the wonderful delight of  an excellently woven carpet at least ninety winters old to soften it!

    Across from where Jewel had a plate and a full pitcher of wine was Tsulogothulan. A position which might have been an attempt to make it awkward for the Bog wizard to turn and observe the high table but in practice just meant that everyone present got a direct demonstration of the fact that Tsulogothulan considered rigid skeletal posture a polite suggestion that would be ignored if at all inconvenient.

    Jewel was not even entirely sure the Bog Weird had any bones but if they did they were soggy and supple as fresh shoots.

    Following from Tsulogothulan¡¯s left was Kraok and then the man that Jewel suspected was one of the two Gryphon Rider knights that served directly under The Countess, his dinning finery matching another man that given his matching build was very likely the other one.

    Descending down from that were another four people who were quite obviously in descending importance and not worth noticing.

    Bromthil had not managed to secure the honor of dining directly with the Countess. But given he had no peerage to be spoken of alongside those that were, it was probably for the best.

    After all, it''s not like Jewel would have insisted poor Smithson attended because he was her squire.

    Although¡­ Was she supposed to do that?

    He was supposed to be of an associative rank and aide for her after all. But a stable boy was definitely not prepared to hold himself with the correct bearing for a feast such as this.

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    Yet still it seemed wrong to doom him to eternal squirehood, the position was supposed to be one that came with a prospect of Knighthood in the future!

    Jewel wished that the Countess would call the feast to begin. She could smell the wine slowly going warm in her pitcher.

    And the hissing of delicious pork fat was sizzling into the air from the hearths.

    It had been a long time since the mid day meal and she had done a long flight near her limit on speed. It made the Wyrm rather peckish and seeking distraction with her thoughts.

    Jewel probably should see if there was something more she could do for Smithson. She would ask Father when she next had the chance.

    Just where was the one meant to sit beside Countess Bathory? It was very rude of them to be late.

    With a chime of her dining knife to a perfectly clear glass chalice half filled with a deep red wine the Countess drew everyone¡¯s attention and then straightened herself to speak.

    The seat beside her was still disturbingly empty in its prominence.

    ¡°Guests, my Trusted vassals. You are here in my hall tonight because you are in one way or another the heart and bone of the armies of Viznove. With the arrival of Baron Rochford we are all here and together at last.¡±

    She raised her incredibly clear glass to the air and together Jewel joined all others present in raising their own less pristine drinking vessels.

    Jewel took an appreciative sip from her pitcher after the countess lowered her challice.

    It was faintly sweet but also bitter as well! Very rich indeed! This one had been aged in a venerable cask cut from a fine oak tree, she was sure of it.

    Jewel could taste that the wood had felt the touch of the grape juice as it ripened at least three winters before the wine grew disoriented as it was moved to the practically newly born clay bottles.

    The hint of a whisper of its age and life danced with the grapes and their spirits as they flowed over her tongue.

    The Countess Bathory continued her speech as was proper for a Lady of her stature.

    ¡°And now here secure in my demesne I can at last reveal what could not be sent by wing or rider, before we can feast and fill our bellies on fine food and flame our hearts with fine wine, there are matters of grave importance for all of Viznove.¡±

    Jewel was not alone in lowering her wine to the table to look intently at the Countess.

    Father was also considering her from across the still auspiciously empty chair.

    ¡°It has come to my ears that honorless traitors among our neighbors in the Realm and even King Matthias himself have conspired to see me tried unjustly and deposed from my titles as both Countess of Viznove and your rightfully pledged liege.¡±

    There was a sudden stillness in everyone there.

    ¡°This affront is not only undertaken despite the service I and my only recently passed husband count N¨¢dasdy gave to the Realm. But is being plotted to be done in his name!¡±

    She took what might at first be a fortifying sip of her wine.

    But there was a hard look of fury in her eyes.

    ¡°You all know me, some of you flew under my late count¡¯s banner when the Magarska attempted to claim Viznove in conquest.¡±

    She turned to look directly into Jewel¡¯s eyes.

    ¡°I will not stand by and let Matthias and Thurz¨® unseat me for invented atrocities.¡±

    She turned to fix Father with a look that hinted at more that would be said later. Then she turned to sweep the entire feast hall. Voice clear and strong.

    ¡°All we have built together is at risk, Thurz¨® is a pet of the King, an honorless coward that licks Mathias¡¯ boots if so ordered. If I am deposed on these charges he will dissolve all promises and assurances I have given you. He will carve Viznove and its baronies apart. Parcel your lands to his cronies.¡±

    She raised the glass high.

    ¡°But I will not stand for this affront to my honor, nor the depravations of your trust in me and our pacts of loyalty generations strong! Come this next year upon the warmth of the first summer¡¯s light shall be a full muster of the armies of Viznove. I am declaring independence before the traitor king can move against me. If our neighbors are honorable they shall join us in our war against the realm¡¯s tyranny!¡±

    She drained the wine glass and then settled her gaze upon Jewel with a toothy grin.

    ¡°But do not fear, even without them we shall be victorious. The realm may be vast, but we have been its shield against Magarska for two hundred years. Before that it was the same blood in our veins which struck down the Tyrant Wyrm.¡±

    Everyone else in the feasting hall was also looking at Jewel now. And she could already guess the words that were coming from that alone.

    ¡°And now we have a Dragon of our own: Jewel Shining Wyrm of Viznove!¡±

    There were cheers and Jewel could not do anything but to bow and acknowledge the honor the Countess was bringing.

    But not even the wonderful smell of the feast as staff took to carving out portions from the pigs or carrying heaping trays of pies and vegetables and cakes could entice her appetite.

    Her stomach felt like she had filled it with lodestone.

    Only as everyone was digging into their portions and drinking deeply of their cups did she catch the look of painful regret in Father¡¯s eyes.

 6.6

    6.6

    Jewel did not want to admit that the food was incredible. She had started eating only because it would be unacceptable to refuse the hospitality of the Countess. But it was at odds with her leaden mood.

    They were going to war.

    They were going to war with The Realm!

    With the High King himself and all the armies he commanded!

    Depending on who rallied with the King, Rochford could be on the very front of it. Just as it had been in the war with the Tyrant Wyrm.

    War with over a dozen other Counts and Countesses potentially and even somethings called Dukes and Duchesses?!

    What even were those?!

    Were they like Wizards?

    Abbots apparently could talk to Gods!

    Would Jewel have to fight a God?!

    There was a chance there would be armies marching along the great canyon road that moved so close to the sky that the air went thin!

    There might be armies ten, twenty, even forty thousand strong!

    And they were all counting on her to turn the tide!

    Because she was a Dragon!

    But Jewel had not even managed to defeat an oversized PIG on her own!

    She desperately had wanted the dinner to be ash and dust in her mouth to match her mood but it was delicious, the wine was incredible and although she still had yet to find the limit on how far she could drink into her cups she had made a sound and mighty effort tonight!

    If ever there was a time to try and get as drunk as Mother did on the regular, tonight was the night!

    Also, Jewel decreed that Saffron was the most wondrous substance within all the world and that she adored everything it''s delicious orange colour graced!

    A pity that it was worth more than ten times its weight in gold!

    So despite her wishes, the meal and drink was wonderful.

    But now she and Father had been summoned to meet with the Countess.

    And it was a bit of a surprise that Father¡¯s study was actually larger than the Countess¡¯.

    Jewel had to coil over on top of herself a few times in the corner to not overcrowd anyone else.

    Even with only Father, the man in Black robes and Countess Bathory to take up the rest of the chamber.

    As soon as Jewel was settled and the door closed Father turned on the Countess with a fury tightly restrained.

    ¡°She is not ready for war.¡±

    To which the Countess smiled back at him and gently clasped her hands one over another at her stomach.

    Standing imperiously and unbowed despite him being nearly two heads taller than her.

    ¡°And whose fault is that, Jonathan? I will have bought you ten years to train your daughter by the time we muster. I have pleaded excuse after excuse to King Matthias and his sycophant Thurz¨®. Do you think either of them would have even let you keep the wyrmling once she hatched? Despite what every gryphon lord and rider would say about your bond and the damage it would do to break it?¡±

    She smiled at Father but it was fierce around her eyes. But he did not bend to her gaze despite the pain in his face, ache and worry that was overpowering his fury.

    ¡°No, they would not, Jonathan. They are fools, and most of all greedy cowards. Even with every Rider and Lord of the wing screaming the foolishness of it, if you had stood alone against them? They would have taken her.¡±

    Jewel shifted uneasily, feeling somewhat lethargic from dinner. Was that the wine finally getting to her? That seemed strange.

    ¡°The King would not have allowed you to adopt her either. Without me Jewel would already be a caged warbeast in the Capital¡¯s menagerie across three sky routes on the Canyon road from here. Clear on the other side of the world. You are nothing to the king, a mere provincial baron and an oversized Gryphon Rider who can¡¯t fly more than half as far as his peerage because he¡¯s twice again too heavy for his steed.¡±

    The Countess never raised her voice but Jewel could see how she knew just how to whip Father with every word. They landed like a lash made of steel chains.

    She wanted to be angry, but still felt slow and sleepy.

    In spite of her lethargy, this was not fair to Father! It had to be lies, Father was a great Gryphon Lord!

    He had proven himself first amongst their number!

    But Countess Bathory kept talking.

    ¡°The King does not care about the title of Lord Rochford, he only cares that you managed to hatch a dragon. And without my protection he will take her and both of you will never see each other again.¡±

    Jewel felt her blood trembling in a sluggish tired way despite the thought that, wait... No it wasn''t...

    It wasn''t her blood, or the wine or the food. She was fine.

    Not tired at all.

    But something was itching at her as if asking if she would just grasp herself with her Wyrmfire and slow herself down.

    Father¡¯s tone perked her ears with his anger and even a hint of fear.

    ¡°Elizabeth, this is madness, we can¡¯t hope to stand against the entire Realm! Jewel is only going to see her tenth winter this year! All the armies of Viznove are at best maybe fifteen thousand strong! Twenty thousand if we draw past sanity in the levy and leave only the too old and too young to bring in the harvest!¡±

    It was kind of peculiar, almost like a whisper, but if no one was saying a word.

    The Countess seemed unmoved by his anger.

    ¡°I have read your reports Jonathan. With the element of surprise and her flames we could wipe out a force three times greater than our own in a single battle!¡±

    Jewel gave a shake of her head and tried to tilt her ears to listen better but her ears were not what was hearing the strange insistent little whisper. It was something else entirely, almost felt.

    Father continued to give a spirited rebuttal.

    ¡°They will know we will use her Elizibeth! They will expect this, the capital has Wizards they will-¡±

    The Countess¡¯ and Father¡¯s words grew indistinct as Jewel turned her attention from her ears to this something else.

    Then she found it.

    It was in her Wyrmfire, tones and little twisting requests and something else?

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    She felt around in herself, and paid attention to the strange twisting requests. It was familiar after a fashion. She had felt hints of this before, never in her own Wyrmfire but out in the world around her.

    It felt a lot like-

    There!

    Jewel snapped her head to stare at the strange man with his straight black hair that hugged to his head down straight all around like some strange helm.

    With his short beard all straight and smoothly held together in one piece narrowing to a point.

    Hair that she had thought was black out in the evening sun but now could see was just an incredibly dark red.

    Black robes with a filigree of branching patterns almost like tree branches all done in crimson red embroidery at the edges of the sleeves, collar and where the cloth folded over in front cinched by a belt..

    Whose lips were not moving and yet was politely and insistently asking her to move her own blood, to slow it down as she would when calm and sleepy.

    The man that had an expression of intense concentration while he was staring at her.

    Somehow trying to tell Her Wyrmfire to do things to her?

    To command her?!

    ¡°Excuse me?¡±

    Jewel took a few moments to notice the silence between Bathory and Father before she realized she had growled that out aloud.

    In fact, not only had she said that out loud, she had moved considerably from her polite and un-intrusive pile on one side of the room.

    She had in truth moved to take up considerably more space then she normally would want and now was looming over the man in black and red as high as the ceiling would allow her to, wings splayed wide.

    Jewel found that, in addition to that change of posture, she was also staring down at his wide eyes as he now held his hands up, empty of anything and yet flexing fingers in a way that twinged off of her Wyrmfire annoyingly.

    The unvoiced silent pleas became so much more desperate. A begging not-voice whispering in near hissing urgency to Jewel to please stop her heart until she passed out if she would so kindly.

    Which was quite silly to ask.

    Silly and annoying.

    Why would Jewel ever DO that?

    She began to call up her Wyrmfire into her throat.

    More twinges and infuriating requests rippled over her. Driving clarity to her thoughts on just what she needed to do.

    It was clearly time to dismiss this irritating gnat that kept poking and prodding at what was hers.

    A moment more and it would be over.

    Jewel¡¯s throat was ready to open and her jaw was flexing to part-

    But suddenly there was a sound like a particularly hearty belch and a wet slap of muddy roots all over Countess Bathory¡¯s nice cut wooden floor and fine carpet.

    Shocked out of her focus Jewel found the Weird of the Uloghai Bog had arrived and was sporting a deeply disapproving monocular glare on the now nearly bone white faced man flailing his fingers and arms and screaming in that not-voice at Jewel to lock her muscles tight and hold still and also please die.

    Jewel shook herself in annoyance and snarled at him but her friend interrupted before she could start rallying her Wyrmfire again.

    ¡°Wizard Jaksa the Red. I am extremely disappointed, the circles speak very highly of your aptitude and even your sharp wit but this leaves me suspecting they have greatly over embellished your accomplishments and abilities! Cease immediately! You cannot ensorcell a Tyrant Wyrm!¡±

    The now named Jaksa the Red finally stopped his voiceless nattering at Jewel and turned on Tsulogothulan and puffed himself out, the color of his skin returning to a more healthy hue as his face contorted in fury!

    ¡°Weird of Bogs or not, Tsulogothulan! I will have you know by my workings I have subdued and slain seven wyrm! Including a lupine, two belaros and a full grown mountain drake!¡±

    Which just made Tsulogothulan laugh like a crow drowning in pond scum.

    ¡°How!? By catching them unawares? You idiot! She¡¯s not just some feral beast you can trick into your bidding if her mood and the stars align! She is a fully cognizant and aware Wyrm. She can Tell!  What did you THINK was going to happen? Have you not read what happens to those that attempt sorcery upon the Tyrants?!¡±

    Father stared at each of the Wizards then suspiciously back at the Countess who seemed intrigued but not concerned or surprised.

    Jewel herself was completely confused, sure she was a dragon but that did not make her anything like the Tyrant Wyrm!

    But then Countess Bathory spoke her voice low with breathy reverence.

    ¡°So it is true then? She is Immune to sorcery?¡±

    Jaksa glared at Jewel. The silent not voice tried to tell her Wyrmfire to blink her eyes. She of course refused it and rumbled again in warning.

    Then watched Jaksa the Red as his expression turned from consternation to confusion and then slowly to disbelief.

    ¡°B-but It was a myth! The misunderstanding of god botherers, hedge practitioners and primitive wizards! I PROVED that! The Wyrm are not immune to sorcery of the right sort¡±

    Jewel looked between the Supposed Wizard and Tsulogothulan.

    Honestly, Jaksa did not seem anything like a wizard. He was ultimately just a man in a robe with peculiar hair that could tell her to do things without speaking.

    He was nothing like what Jewel had come to understand Wizards to be. She had not even seen him disappear or reappear once! He walked to dinner with the Countess!

    He lacked all the proper strangeness befitting what Jewel understood to be the domain of Wizards.

    Oh wait, is THAT what being a Weird meant?!

    Well, now she was feeling a bit embarrassed it took this long.

    The Weird of Bogs however had far more to say to what she was now considering some kind of junior or squire equivalent to wizardom.

    In contrast to the Knight or lord-like rank held by Weirds.

    ¡°Really!? What are you fledglings learning these days? That you''re dismissing one of the Truths!? primitive wizards?! Pfah! Idjit needs reminding of the words of the world.¡±

    Tsulogothulan then proceeded to intone in the roundest and most common sounding drawl Jewel had ever heard the Bog Weird speak.

    It felt like it was laced thick as peat with insults to everyone who heard it for daring to be something that thought themselves made of something better than the good mud and muck amidst the reeds.

    And yet it resonated, in a way that ran along Jewels scales and ever so delicately brushed her fire in a friendly tingle.

    It landed like a question that felt quite amiable to Jewel and thrummed where she agreed with it.

    It flowed and shook off more than just Jewel. And a presence rose in answer with her to the unsaid question. It rode into the room from the waters outside and the loam around the foundations of the keep.

    From the stones in the floor and the wall. In the tapestries and the wood of the furniture.

    All pooling together in their own subtle and soft agreement that yes indeed these were very agreeable things being said.

    Words spoken aloud as statements but gently pleading for acknowledgement in the silences of Wyrmfire around them.

    And in the echoing answer from all around them and everything the statement was made ever more solid and true.

    Taking on a foundation in that confirmation of the world as something that had always been there which the Bog Weird was just reminding everyone of the facts on.

    Drawing attention to it in the speaking.

    By Mortal Hand, By Divine¡¯s Art.

    From Tyrant¡¯s Flesh All Spells Depart.

    Should Fools attempt, And Sense Rebel.

    The Dragon¡¯s Wrath Your Life Dispel.

    And there was a palpable stillness and a deeply satisfying approval welling up from not just Jewel and her own indignation at the previous attempt to dare to command her but also the very air, stone and wood around them.

    Each in their own sleepy way agreeing with it like amiable puppies nodding along.

    It was the single most united act of will by the world around her that Jewel had ever witnessed!

    So distracting it all was She nearly missed the best part!

    For Tsulogothulan had appeared (like a proper Wizard!) directly behind Jaksa the Red and hit him hard upside the back of the head with a wet slap of the palm.

    ¡°So no ensorcelling the dragon, Ya Idjit!¡±

 6.7

    6.7

    Jewel was not sure if the meeting last night had become more or less tense with the addition of Tsulogothulan. But it had certainly settled into something before Countess Bathory had dismissed them so that they could be well rested for the morning.

    Which became apparent today as they were treated to an equally as decadent meal to breakfast as they had for their welcoming feast (there were eggs, sweet cakes, porridge, slabs of pork belly and even preserves of fruit!).

    After the meal, Jewel and Father were set to muster in the sizable courtyard grounds outside of the Fortress¡¯ Keep.

    Joining them was every single attendee from Supper (although some had not joined them at breakfast).

    The Countess stood where she had to welcome them at the door.

    However filling the space that had once been clear was the most peculiar sight Jewel had ever seen.

    Arrayed before them was a densely packed set of training posts. Setup somewhat as they would when Father needed to hone his skills in the bow from the air.

    But there was a difference for the sheer number of them.

    In solid rows one after the other in effigies, four figures to a shoulder, with a punctuation of taller ones with considerable height and a shape that made Jewel think they were meant to be horses.

    The figures however were not just simple wooden stakes. For one they had something like a rounded head and torso on display made of extremely coarse fabric.

    This fabric had been tied ( with rope! ) around the training posts and stuffed tight with what Jewel¡¯s nose told her was molded straw and mud.

    And unlike Father¡¯s or Alexander¡¯s training posts, these were dressed up in something like armor!

    Not anything decent even to Jewel¡¯s eye, most of it either rough or rotten leather, either old kit from a midden or castoffs probably from apprentice work. Joined by metal scraps and rusted ruins of chain and plate.

    But every single one of them was still outfitted!

    At what must have been a considerable expense even if it was just using garbage and refuse.

    All to create what stood before her.

    It was a facsimile of marching footmen or maybe levies? Four Hundred strong at a guess?

    With one in ten being set up as a horse in a formation Jewel now suspected was meant to be captains.

    A marching line of trash.

    And Jewel was to use it to demonstrate what use she had for the Countess and her War with the rest of The Realm.

    The one point that had been made abundantly clear was that this had always been Jewel and her Father¡¯s war. It was only a question of if the Countess would be with them or not for it.

    So Jewel needed to demonstrate for the council of war to their own eyes what she could offer.

    For the War Council to plan the campaign.

    Everyone settled and then father looked at her, stood with the other figures in fine dress, He was by contrast wearing his riding armor.

    The mass of his bow in one hand, strung and ready to draw.

    Finally The Countess raised a hand and spoke with the voice of command, that practiced trick Mother, Father and even Alexander was starting to learn. Jewel found it harder to speak softly herself.

    It was easy to bellow when your throat was taller than most men.

    ¡°Do not doubt that I am fully aware of the gravity of the situation, that our war, though just, will not be an easy one. And that help may not come from our neighbors or allies. Let it be said, however, that I do not take up arms foolishly. I have long since entrusted the raising and mastery of war to Jewel and her Father. Kept the full breadth of her might and power hidden for any but her family and my own eyes and closest council.¡±

    A few of the figures shifted with displeasure at the implication they had not been privy to this inner secret that apparently was Jewel¡¯s daily training.

    ¡°But now is gone the time of secrets and here I will demonstrate why the might of a Wyrm aligned with us on the battlefield is a force beyond any other reckoning. More than a match for all the power that can be rallied by the king. If we just use it wisely.¡±

    Jewel nodded to her and flexed her wings in anticipation. This had been discussed last night in fragments.

    The expectations, the show to be performed.

    ¡°But first an honest measure of the best the realm can offer in comparison. Lord Rochford! Let loose on a captain.¡±

    It was almost over before Jewel could track her gaze to Father.

    The bow which far outstripped any other of his peerage in height flexed with the ominous creak of strange leather and beast horn.

    It was drawn in a breath and then the arrow long as Father¡¯s arm was let loose and tore through one of the ¡®mounted¡¯ targets. Splitting the wooden stake in half and shattering the trash that had been placed over it in armor.

    Mud and moldy straw exploded outward as wood tumbled amongst the ¡®army¡¯, the heavy crack of the missile embedding itself in the mortar of the far wall almost simultaneously with the release of the string.

    It was a stupid demonstration, Father favored shooting at ranges far greater than this courtyard could contain. And his bow was true further then even he could place a reliable hit.

    At the ranges given his arrows were certain death.

    No one was shocked, they all knew the might of Gryphon Rider Arrows. There were just nods of confirmations, not even congratulations, the only comment would be if Father had somehow failed to destroy his target entirely.

    The Countess however called out again.

    ¡°Jaksa the Red, place a warding upon the army ¡ª your very best if you would.¡±

    And forward stepped the wizard, he looked over the assemblage of the ¡®army¡¯ and then raised his right hand high and then lowered his left. His fingers brushing over with the feeling of the now familiar manner whisper in the air touching it. But more so from his fingertips lines of red glistened as it flowed from under his nails.

    It arc out into the air and it was deeply curious.

    He spoke without voice to the blood that spun out of him like thread.

    His lips moved and parted and from his mouth more flowed.

    Filling the space before him in a red mist that drug up rivulets and arcs of what Jewel was coming to consider the inner fire of the air itself.

    He threw out his hands as casting a stone and as he did Jewel paid close attention to how he spoke in the silent flame.

    He spoke of sheets of rope tied and crossing over each other together in weaves which caught the passing of fish in the water!

    He spoke to the blood and from it to the air and told it of the catching of things that traversed it.

    The sheet of his work grew thin and eventually the blood became invisible.

    But the thick iron tang of it settled into Jewel¡¯s nostrils even though she could spot no sign of it.

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    And its presence was there in the wind, spreading out until it hovered over every single figure in the ¡®army¡¯.

    In a wide swell of power, over every piece of wood.

    Finally with a last set of suggestions that Jewel assumed finalized the task Jaksa the Red had been ordered to perform he lowered his hands and stepped back gingerly beside the Countess.

    His skin looked paler then it had started.

    Countess Bathory looked him over and he nodded firmly.

    ¡°Very good, Lord Rochford, let fly on any target you wish, empty your quiver.¡±

    And Father did.

    Arrows Jewel knew should skewer through every target as surely as the first sailed into the midst of the army, but the billowing clouds of Jaksa the Red took in their might and dampened them.

    Sometimes a cloud would burst and fall asunder, other times it would hold fast. But in every case as long as a figure was protected by the Red Wizard¡¯s working the Gryphon Arrows were slowed and shoved aside like the flailing of a child.

    Still, some of the targets did eventually succumb.

    But even when Father was able to break the protection of one it took two strikes at least and one time five.

    There was a grim continence from the other lords and the two knights at the display.

    One of them who was fully armored with his own bow raised his hand and the Countess nodded amiably without even needing him to voice the request.

    ¡°Please all of you, let fly with your arrows if you wish, take up your weapons, feel the mettle of my Wizard. Try and take a single target and know this.¡±

    She placed a hand on Jaksa the Red¡¯s shoulder.

    ¡°His peers can be mightier and by last word from capital numbered in a dozen across all the Realm. We will not warrant all of them, but even three could turn a tide. We have guaranteed in our service only two Wizards.¡±

    The Knights each shot three arrows before they could manage to get a solid hit through Jaksa the Red¡¯s defenses.

    And even when a blow was landed like Father¡¯s, they did not follow through past their mark, the surrounding ¡®soldiers¡¯ buffeted and damped the blow even further.

    No one else took up the challenge to seek a different weapon.

    Jewel considered the Wards with concern.

    She had been thinking it would be a simple demonstration but if there was going to be Magic involved?!

    There were a lot of stories that said the only way the Tyrant Wyrm from the war and those before it were defeated involved both the might of arms and the act of Wizards or sorcerer lords by other names.

    Seeing this she worried that it was far more the work of the Wizards than the soldiers and heroic acts of weapons.

    Sure, Tsulogothulan assured her last night this would definitely work. But Jewel did not trust that Jaksa the Red did not have it out for her. After all he could have faked how her wyrm flame popped the smaller version of this working like a soap bubble.

    The man was very unpleasant even when he was not silently telling her heart to stop.

    Finally Father ran out of arrows and the Knights seemed satisfied. The other people present seemed impressed by the defenses.

    A few muttering about positioning their Arcane support during the campaign next summer to cover for gryphon harassment.

    The Countess Bathory turned to Jaksa the Red and squeezed his shoulder then looked to Jewel. Her voice was just as much a command as it had been the entire morning.

    ¡°Lady Jewel, your demonstration.¡±

    It was time then. There was no more delay. She looked to Father and he nodded and performed the order in their shared flight cant.

    One of the knights looked perplexed at familiar gestures in an unfamiliar order.

    But Jewel understood and she filled herself with Wyrmfire.

    Wings splaying out and already lifting her up even as she flapped to help carry herself up into the air.

    She rose directly up at first, then swept out into a spiraling glide.

    She could see the Knights watching her acrobatics with intense gaze, the way she could turn sharper and harder than any Gryphon.

    The speed at which she ascended and then as agreed Jewel gave a single barking chirp.

    It was high pitched to pierce the distance and loud enough to carry to those on the ground as she hung high in the sky. At a level far above father¡¯s own preferred firing height.

    If Jewel had the arm length to manage a bow she was certain that she could strike true from here.

    But her limbs were awkward, her body an impediment and all around arrows were fiddly in her claws.

    Maybe someday.

    But that did not matter.

    Jewel had Wyrmfire.

    As Father had commanded, so would she obey.

    She built her flame¡¯s tingling presence into her throat. Welling up and through to take shape all along her flesh. Before pooling and concentrating it at the back of her throat.

    Slowly loosening her control and shaping the radiant power of it around in her mouth with her tongue. Spiraling and concentrating it into one of the forms she had trained with Father in doing.

    It took a moment of uninterrupted concentration and fiddling attention to get right, but in the sky there was time.

    Then when the coiled together shape felt right on the tip of her tongue Jewel spat it down at one of the ¡®captain¡¯ targets.

    It speared through the sky, screaming as the air burned in its passing.

    The distance was tricky. She had to gauge it carefully as every moment past her lips the Wyrmfire shed itself, devouring everything it touched, whether that was air, metal or stone.

    But still it reached her target down below with plenty to spare.

    There was a flash of light and flame as the target burst under the impact. The wood, straw, leather and metal that had touched her Wyrmfire ignited all the same.

    The entire figure peeled apart and burned where its fragments had not been thrown afield by the sudden ignition.

    But those around it were just as untouched as they had been from Father¡¯s Arrows.

    Jewel flinched inside at that, sure she had pierced the protection made by the wizard but that had been hardly that much better than one of Father¡¯s arrows.

    Jewel mustered her courage though, she had another command to perform, the Wyrmdoom.

    Shorter than she usually did on account of the ¡®army¡¯ of targets not being long enough to cross several acres.

    But Jewel was confident in her agility and control. She spun wing over wing for show and gave two short barking chirps to warn the onlookers of her imminent attack.

    She gathered as much as she could spare from the rest of her body to build in her throat.

    The weight of her body returned to her as the lift of her flame left it.

    Jewel dived, letting gravity carry her like an arrow building speed, spearing through the howling wind and then flaring her wings and her flame.

    Lightening her coils as her wings flared and her dive turned into a sweep and then in a moment it was time.

    Her jaws opened wide and she unleashed her flame in a single sharp burst before cutting it off and sailing back into the sky.

    Jewel spent as long as she could not looking at the results of her pass.

    But finally she needed to come back around and start settling for a landing and she could not really do that and not see what the results of her pass had been.

    The sight surprised her.

    Jewel had never done a pass on flagstones before.

    So she had been unsure how it would be affected and tried to be as restrained as she could.

    She had worried it would not be enough.

    Relief filled her as she came in for her landing.

    There simply was nothing left of the ¡®army¡¯.

    Just piles of fine gray dust. That was more or less expected, wood and metal and leather all burned apart under Wyrm Flame if she concentrated it enough.

    But what surprised her was the very clear dip in the once level flagstones that now dug in a wide depression along the line of her path.

    Filled with the same pale gray powder as her flame reduced everything else she had tried to burn.

    Her landing spun up eddies and whorls of air that carried the dust out of the newly carved dip in the Countess¡¯ courtyard.

    Revealing that the depth it sank to was at least ankle deep for Father.

    Jewel held her composure as firmly as she could but she knew there was a tremble to her lip and a hint of tears to her eyes.

    The poor stones! Some of those had been stepped on by an elf!

    She had been careless and burnt them away instead of managing her Wyrm Flame like she trained too.

    And that certainly was going to be expensive to replace! A solid section of the Courtyard had been dug out! Surely the Countess was going to be furious at Jewel¡¯s lack of control!

    Jewel turned to her Father¡¯s Liege and dipped her head.

    Only after showing the proper respect did she dare to glance up and check how upset the terrifying Elizebeth Bathory was.

    The glitter in the woman¡¯s eyes shined with a terrible intensity.

    But the absolutely brilliant toothed grin was somehow even more terrifying than anger or disappointment.

    ¡°That, my vassals and knights, is why the armies of Viznove will be victorious!¡±

 6.8

    6.8

    After Jewel¡¯s performance there was a change in the mood.

    Excitement, awe and a buzz of activity.

    The other Knights, Gryphon Rider or not, made a show of their martial powers and the might of their arms and training. Father¡¯s own demonstration of the true limits of his skill with the bow were as expected from him and drew politely impressed noises.

    The other Gryphon Riders Jewel had to admit were far more maneuverable and swift in the air than Father and Zephyrvamp. Yet she had not seen one that could match the range, power and accuracy of Father with the Rochford bow.

    When one of them made a remark that it was all the magic of his weapon that imparted skill he even offered to let every other party present make the attempt to withstand the pull of the family heirloom.

    Only one had even been able to pull its string.

    And his shot had not gone half as far.

    The day was punctuated with elaborate and delicious feasts in the midday and then in the evening.

    But Jewel kept catching eyes on her from all of them and hearing their muttered conversations about her.

    Especially the Countess Bathory.

    But also from Jaksa the Red. And all the other Lords and the Knights.

    Those considering eyes were closer to the gaze of a farmer appraising horseflesh then was befitting a peer.

    At first she was mortified by the thought that it was the petrichor stink of thunderstorms that always came out when her flame rose up high as was needed for a Wyrmdoom strike.

    The exercise made her feel sullied and unclean and the lack of proper baths left her poorly equipped to resolve it.

    For all her opulence, the Countess lacked anything like a properly sized bath for Jewel to wash away the stink of thunder.

    She thought it was the smell of her that was getting the attention but Smithson assured her it was not and even helped her anoint fresh oils upon her mane and scales to be sure.

    However, that did not stop the looks.

    None spoke down to her face, or acted surprised at her manners.

    There were no wrinkled noses in disgust.

    And with a sinking feeling she realized what it was.

    In spite of their flowery speech and finery it was the same as it had been on the road.

    Somehow, none of them made Jewel feel any less like an animal in their eyes. Even when they were giving all the correct courtesy.

    But still she felt that to them she was a beast.

    A novel, even prized and valuable beast, yes.

    But the way they spoke about her when they thought she could not hear?

    They praised Father in his training and cleverness.

    In his aptitude with taming and gentling her monstrous nature.

    In how well behaved she was (unsaid was the implicit for a wyrm).

    And even then, they still discussed her as lesser then even their footmen.

    They wondered among themselves on how she would mature, whether she could remain tame on the battlefield.

    The considerations on if she was to be seen tactically as loyal like a hound or gryphon and thus intractably tied to the life of her Father.

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    They made plans that if she broke the manner they might seek to put her down or drive her towards the enemy if the Wyrmkeeper should fall.

    They traded favors and obligations on the possibility that perhaps Jewel was actually more like a warhorse in her loyalty and thus able to be parceled to another Lord in the event that her Father fell in battle?

    They mused if one of them could rise to be the new Wyrmkeeper after Father. Or would it be a hereditary thing and only her brother would be able to inherit?

    They murmured these things across the feasting hall from her.

    In the hallways near her, in passing when they gathered together away from her.

    The Countess Bathory thankfully never made any onerous musings like this or weighed in with anything so uncouth, she always referred to Jewel as a Lady, a person, an Inheritor of Titles and one of her valued subjects.

    No matter whether Jewel was close enough most thought she could hear or clear around the bend of a hallway.

    The Countess even mentioned to Jaksa the Red how she was going to officiate the title of Shining Wyrm as a noble rank. Equal to captain at the minimum once Father deemed ¡®the lovely wyrm girl¡¯ sufficiently experienced.

    But it was ill comfort to Jewel, because although in the Countess¡¯ eyes at least she seemed to be the equal of any knight, maybe even more than equal.

    That was not as much an elevation as it might appear.

    Jewel also heard and saw how the Countess viewed even the well-dressed lords around her as much like a piece of meat as they did Jewel.

    Spoke to even Jaksa the Red (who seemed to be something of a confidant for her) like he was a tool, sometimes.

    To the Countess, all were animals before her.

    Most were lesser beasts than Jewel, yes.

    But that was hardly much better.

    After a whole day of this it was a relief to retire to her chambers.

    And given the intensity of everything and the needling stares at all hours awake, Jewel was not even disturbed when Tsulogothulan arrived in a roiling pond that almost certainly utterly ruined one of the fine carpets that muffled the stones of her guest chamber.

    In lieu of a bed the Lady Bathory had ordered half the room¡¯s floor filled with pillows, cushions and thick carpets!

    It had been a wonderful delight last night and it offered excellent and interesting hills and valleys to roll her coils across tonight as Jewel luxuriated.

    In such a state did the Weird of the Uloghai Bog find her.

    ¡°My Lady Jewel, given present events, I have accelerated the plans to educate you on the nature of Sorcery both mortal and divine.¡±

    Which was not exactly welcome news for Jewel.

    ¡°Lessons?! Now?! The day has been a chore onto exhaustion! Lords, Knights and war council muttering about me every waking moment, A day of peace please Tsulogothulan!¡±

    But the Wizard (whom Jewel was definitely willing to call her friend now) simply shook that strange, almost featureless half-crescent of a nose and spoke as common and roundly as always.

    ¡°It cannot be helped, Lady Jewel. We will have far too few seasons until the war and you need to be prepared for the nature of this well before then. Do I have your permission to summon some assistance for our lesson so we can spare as many hours as possible for you to rest from the ordeal of the day?¡±

    To which Jewel sighed but finally relented.

    ¡°Yes, whatever will let us get done with this sooner, my Esteemed Sorcerer.¡±

    And Tsulogothulan spared no time after permission, producing a long knife from their sleeve and cutting a bright red gash down their forearm.

    Spilling a crimson sheet of blood into the already sopping marsh that had been made of the carpets.

    However the crimson stain hardly had time to even begin to soak the fabric before it bulged and swelled into a tumorous writhing mass and then unfolded itself into the continence of Jaksa the Red.

    His lips were thin and he fixed Tsulogothulan with a disapproving furrow before speaking.

    ¡°I had just stepped foot in the guest wing. A working of this sort was hardly necessary, oh esteemed Weird.¡±

    Jewel was far too tired to be perturbed by all of this and simply said the first thing that came to mind.

    ¡°Jaksa the Red, are you SURE you''re a wizard?¡±

 6.9

    6.9

    Jewel slept so heavily and deeply that night that she had to be woken by her Father¡¯s hand gently pressing against her shoulder.

    The exhaustion remained even into the sumptuous and incredibly rich breakfast.

    It was coming to astound her but Jewel was slowly but surely growing to miss the simple porridge her family had at breakfast each morning.

    The dishes for breakfast with the Countess were full of meat, eggs and sweet cakes.

    Berry preserves and these little rolls of light fluffy bread that honestly tasted more appropriate for a festival cake then anything one should eat every morning.

    It was not a tiredness of the body or fire. Jewel¡¯s Wyrm Flame was honestly marginally fiercer and richer then it had been last morning.

    But the world seemed to be crushing down on her like she was being buried in lodestone.

    There was a feeling like the air was trying to press in and smother her. It was like she was being swallowed up in mud that was not at the command of her friend.

    Jaksa the Red and Tsulogothulan had so many terrible things to speak to her about. Things that made the words around her so much worse than she had thought.

    And none of it had anything much to do with teaching Jewel about gods, or sorcery or magic.

    It all came about because her friend had asked what was bothering Jewel and what happened after she answered.

    After that, it felt like hours that they spoke to her.

    And she had gone to sleep after their departure with a heavier foreboding then when she had reached her chambers that evening.

    That pressure was already returning at breakfast.

    Jewel caught appraising gazes all around her.

    The way that all of them muttered and planned for Father¡¯s possible death in battle starting up just as they had yesterday. The way they bartered the possibility of taking his place as the Wyrmkeeper.

    And there was little comfort she could get from Father. He was still having to sit with the disconcertingly empty chair between him and the Countess Bathory at the head table.

    It was too much and before she fully realized it, Jewel had enough.

    When one of the knights started another oblique discussion in muttered whispers on the matter of the Wyrmkeeper¡¯s succession?

    That was when Jewel raised herself up to standing on two legs like a coat of arms rampant.

    Her Wyrm Flame filled her wings and the front half of her coils.

    The easing of weight let Jewel raise herself up until her horns were within reach of brushing the high vaulted ceiling.

    She did it slowly and with all the proper poise and grace Mother and Muriel had tried to instill into her.

    As she rose the conversations around breakfast began to fall quiet.

    All those that were looking about themselves became silent as she drew her head up high enough to cast a shadow on the two lesser Knights.

    When that was insufficient to draw their attention from their deep speculation on her person Jewel frowned.

    When one of them mused on how Jewel could be fitted with a Saddle she discovered a new limit of her patience broken.

    ¡°Excuse me, Sir Knights¡±

    Jewel had to work quite hard to keep her voice soft and dainty, the effort was one which changed with every season.

    For she had yet to stop growing, and what retained her ladylike tone in spring was a threatening rumble come autumn.

    But here and now she did not make the attempt.

    The dining knives, plates and cups of the fast breaking meal trembled in her voice.

    And finally that drew the Knights to finally look up, necks craning and eyes squinting to see Jewel¡¯s scowling face against the halo of the morning sun streaming through the high windows.

    Having gotten their attention she turned her scowl around the room. Sweeping up the gaze of every single eye of the Countess and her War Council.

    When Jewel had acknowledged and drawn every eye to her she spoke softer, more gently but still not to the full restricted pitch she had used until now.

    ¡°I can count on one hand those of you who have not brazenly besmirched my honor in your whispering words and naked greed for my person.¡±

    She nodded to the Countess and Jaksa the red. Then Father and Tsugotholan.

    ¡°The Countess, The Wizards and my own Father. This is the sum and total of those before me that have not bickered and bargained with one another over me like scullery maids with a plump hen between them.¡±

    There were faces of shock, some of anger and much indignation.

    One of those at the head table sitting on Father¡¯s left stood and raised his finger to point at Jewel. Already starting to deny her words.

    She did not want to hear more from his infuriating tongue, she had listened to it wag to others all of yesterday. Her glare fell on him and she spoke with barely any restraint, her words filling the room and smothering his lies.

    ¡°You called my Father an over elevated provincial sheep herd! You all but promised to him¡ª¡±

    Jewel nodded to the man sitting on the standing lord¡¯s left who was staring between them with a dawning realization of horror that tickled her deeply.

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    ¡°¡ªthat it was a near certainty that in the chaos of war-torn skies accidents could happen.¡±

    He stilled into silence and glanced over at Father, even standing the singled out lord was hardly much taller than a head and a half against her Father while seated.

    The Countess raised a brow and then spoke. And as was her due Jewel was silent.

    ¡°Oh? Marcis?aw, what dangerous turn of phrases she claims of you. But what possible reason could there be that you''d ever wish ill upon the Barony of Rochford? Your long standing and oath bound ally?¡±

    Jewel spoke over the man again. Drowning out whatever drivel was coming from his lips.

    ¡°He promised if such misfortune should come that he would back a transfer of the Title of Wyrmkeeper to a more suitable lord on the War council.¡±

    The Countess laughed, it was not a pleased laugh, it had a creak to it that Jewel had heard in the matriarchs of some of the peasant households.

    The ones who could not walk so far anymore but still could shape up an entire harvest with their vicious tongues commanding the young and inexperienced.

    The ones that knew all the old rhymes and stories and told them to the children.

    Jewel considered the mostly smooth face and still dark hair of the Countess.

    She was not very good at judging age but the Countess still looked about the same age as Mother. Or at least Jewel thought that was how she looked.

    Nothing like the older peasant women at least, all pale hair and deeply furrowed leathery skin.

    The man that had stood settled down in his seat.

    The old creaky laugh continued and then with mirth still in her tone Countess Bathory pointed across the way to one of the Knights.

    ¡°And what were they saying that offended my dear Lady Rochford¡¯s sensibilities so greatly to bring this to a boil?¡±

    The two knights'' heads snapped to the Countess at the gesture and then back to Jewel with looks of true surprise and fear.

    Jewel snorted and the gust of her breath made the shining metal and glass of the chandelier sway and tinkle.

    ¡°They were discussing fitting me for a saddle and how it would feel to ride me into battle.¡±

    And again the Countess laughed, sharp and creaking and very cruel.

    But she pointed again to another and Jewel was starting to feel less angry and more confused.

    ¡°Questioned if my loyalty to my Father was closer to that of a hound or a warhorse.¡±

    And it went, Father¡¯s face growing colder and crueler and more full of wroth as each of the people who was breaking fast with him had their moment of shame. The Countess simply grinned in delighted mirth and commanded Jewel to reveal the words she had heard from all around her.

    Always addressing Jewel with the utmost respect befitting her title. Giving difference perhaps even in excess of what her rank deserved.

    But it was a balm, it was soothing if not comforting.

    The Countess was using her like a lash, like the whip of words that had been used to beat against Father so.

    But she seemed to respect Jewel as that instrument of violence.

    And the Countess did smile even wider the times Jewel simply spoke over the attempts to refute her words.

    So she was doing things properly?

    Finally when Jewel¡¯s heart was empty of any of the words that had weighed so terribly down upon her all the previous day there was a dead silence.

    The Wyrmchild had settled back down into her place at one side of the table.

    She stared down at her half eaten breakfast and for all the allure that it might have to her nose there was no appetite.

    She had spoken out of turn, she had been a horrible affront and an embarrassment to her Father who was trembling with barely restrained fury.

    She was only holding back tears because the Countess did not seem displeased, perhaps she would be spared because her liege was amused by her terrible manners.

    But Jewel could see the outrage and more damningly the terror that were mixed among the faces at the tables.

    All but Jaksa the Red, Father, The Countess and of course Tsulogothulan were terrified.

    In the silence that filled the dining hall the Countess¡¯ Voice finally rose.

    Softer than Jewels had been at the start and yet commanding attention all the same.

    ¡°Well then! It would appear there is a terrible weakness at risk of poisoning our ranks before even the first arrow is loosed, or sword swung. Before even our armies marched there was an enemy within us.¡±

    Several backs stiffened. A paleness spreads through every face of the ones that had spoken so Ill of Jewel and her Father.

    There was a clap of the Lady and Liege of all of them¡¯s hands that made several jolt in surprise and Countess Elizabeth Bathory smiled wider than Jewel had yet seen.

    ¡°But a concern of succession in this case is a trifling matter. And it is an enemy easily slain! The title of Wyrmkeeper was one made to secure the binding and care of a Feral Wyrm. A feat uncertain to be successful and fraught with substantial risk. It was viewed as a necessary one.¡±

    Bathory swept her gaze over all that were gathered before speaking solidly and with all the authority of the Countess of Viznove.

    ¡°But I see it is not.¡±

    That brought another trembling jolt and a flash of panic in Father¡¯s eyes.

    ¡°I hereby declare among all my war council the dissolution of the title of Wyrmkeeper. As the Lord Rochford is not in possession of a Feral Wyrm the title possesses no purpose and if any other should find themselves blessed to hatch a peer to the Lady Jewel of Rochford they will not be bequeathed it unless eight years should pass and the child proves no ability of reason or ability to speak.¡±

    She swept the crowd again and the smile shrank from a broad grin to something slimmer and somehow far more cruel.

    Not a tooth shining and yet promising terrible violence besides. Jewel took careful note of every single curve of the Countess¡¯ face. She was going to have to practice that look.

    ¡°As is perfectly obvious to any lord of honor, the care of the Lady Jewel of Rochford falls to her family. And in the unlikely and terrible event that her Father should fall that is likely to be the Lady Baroness and Regent Caroline of Rochford. Until such time as the Baron¡¯s Heir is of age.¡±

    The silence was almost deafening.

    And it was only as Bathory sat back down that Jewel realized the Countess had even stood up for her address.

    ¡°Now then, with that unfortunate misunderstanding dealt with, I wish to thank the diligence of the Lady Jewel of Rochford for bringing this to my attention. Now let us not let a bit of bureaucratic nonsense spoil this wonderful breakfast.¡±

    She raised her red wine in its astoundingly clear crystal chalice and uttered with the same voice of command she had used before.

    Lips settling into a slightly annoyed frown.

    ¡°Now Eat.¡±

    And mechanically everyone, Jewel included, obeyed.

 6.i

    6.i

    Swine Turn closes with the third and final ploughing of the fallow fields.

    This is carried out prior to the sowing of winter crops of rye. As in Birdsbane, harrowing is performed after sowing

    Most important concern for the astute lord is that of Pannage.

    As the season turns and the bite of autumn cold begins to sink into the evenings, expect the swineherds among your demesne to desire to drive their charges into the woods to forage for beechnuts, acorns and other such feed.

    Charge for or bestow these rights as a boon to one¡¯s peasants. The fee is to be added in addition to normal tenant dues, for expediency it is best to charge it as the largest swine of each dozen.

    If one¡¯s swineherds are vested in coin and pork is not to the lord¡¯s liking  the annum fee for Pannage should be between Twenty-Four and Thirty-Six Silver Pfennig depending on abundance.

    The Time for pannage shall continue until Autumn proper arrives in full with the Blood Season. During this time expect the field hands to harvest down the Wheat stubble left at the summer harvest to mix with the stored hay as winter fodder.

    When it comes to this last harvest of the Wheat, it is best to give in excess of that allowed to one¡¯s subjects in the grain portion as It earns goodwill and if one¡¯s own Animal are already secured in fodder it can further enrich the diet of the laboring peasant with household meat for use in levies or greater yield in harvest come summer.

    Autumn proper, also known as the Blood Season and Smoke Season, opens with the slaughtering and salting of the swine and old beasts no longer fit for milk, work or wool.

    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.The pigs will have been fattened in the pannage during Swine Turn.

    And the accounting of winter foddering stores will make the decision of how many stock can be kept over winter.

    The traditional day for slaughtering begins with the last leaves falling from the trees.

    Of all animals taken in dues at this time every part has its purpose and value (aside from simply roasting entirely as an autumn feast).

    The meat is preserved well by salting or smoking, skin is to be cured into tough leather and the blood saved to make black puddings. Of any Oxen slaughtered, their skin is to be cured into fine leather.

    After the slaughter, tanning and preserving are done the peasantry will be preparing for the hardships of winter.

    Firewood will be in great demand.

    Ensure peasants are nominally forbidden from taking anything but dead wood for their own personal use. If you do not ensure this, their lust for warmth will turn decadent and all your woods will be stripped empty in a season and be left empty of good fuel come next winter.

    Wood thieves in one¡¯s lands seeking to indulge their vices will cut and and give for sale your forests, Fines or beatings as custom locally allows is recommended to drive off these villeins.

    If you are bereft of woodland but possess bog, the peat may be cut loose and stacked to dry in this season for burning through winter.

    If lacking in both bogs and woodland to take winter fuel from cutting and drying of grassland roots and all can serve.

    Likewise along river or lake banks reeds and sedges are permitted to be cut and dried for thatching.

    Water bracken can also serve as winter bedding for cattle.

    When rain and storm do not permit the outside labor expect your peasants to huddle in their homes and perform little of value, as suits their base natures.

    -Coinage and Lordly Stewardship by Sir Broghuilidad Silvertongue of Cortaza

 6.ii

    6.ii

    All workings of mortal sorcery have in their foundations the fundamental aspect of the word.

    My colleagues and peers will pontificate that the calling of Wizardry is a deeper and more primal form of communion with the matters of sorcerous workings than mere words but I refute all who claim such as the bluster of braggarts.

    It is an act of oafish snobbery to believe that mere vocal utterance in the tongues of man or beast is the same thing as a word.

    Though it may not be spoken or even thought in terms of speech, even among the most far gone and distant of Weird the nature of a working is still as such a communication.

    And in this it is a universal foundation of all sorcery as practiced by mortals (the workings of the starborn is another thing entirely and older and wiser men then I have found nothing but madness staring too deeply into the sorcery of stars).

    As simple minor practitioners, god botherers and Wizards yet young to their primal insight or entrenched entirely within their Truth we all of us work with the world in the manner of a kind of speech.

    When I bring forth flame it is only by my deep familiarity and practice in the depths of my Truth that it happens in a seeming instant gesture.

    But I am ultimately calling to the depths of the inner world and saying in the manner it will know my intent what it is that shall transpire.

    As is my Truth my word is then struck as letters onto the script of the world. And in the case of fire that word is burn.

    For the god botherer I have witnessed their calling of miracles and I am confident in stating plainly that it is an act of mortal sorcery (despite what some claim).

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    Of this act the so called divine casters perform a call to the stars or their collection of enticed entourage of gods. They will then again speak their word as prayer and in doing compel or plea that a contract be struck that moment or a prior earned promise fulfilled and then by a divine  heavenly magic will the bequeathed god bring spark and flame (or total and worthless immolation, do not trust a young and proud god botherer to accomplish anything in a controlled manner).

    And for the simple minor practitioners, who muddle through the hardest of any user of sorcery, the managing of many intricate and difficult means might yet be required for the simple expedient of fire.

    They might gather the sticks and tinder and then make of them a cairn like pile and perform a ritual of spun wooden wand within, or concoct together with ash and the spittle of a fire serpent a fluid which leaps into a heat on touch with wood, or they might have the correct stones to crack together for a spark carefully gathered and the proper striking angle mastered.

    Or maybe they might even know a fragment of a fragment of a Truth learned either from a Wizard or passed on by tradition or book and so be able to utter in a mangled way some of the piece of a word.

    But in all cases the fundamental aspect in all mortal Sorcery is the forming of a word or more.

    Imparting it to be spoken by actual throat or whatever manner is needed to reach the world itself or the agents of stars.

    And by this spell forth the change desired upon creation.

    The tricky part after that is making sure that once the word is heard that anything of use is done about it.

    And it is in this that a separation exists for the Wizard and even further those deep in our Truths to have earned the mantle of Weirds.

    We have learned how to be convincing in our words.

    -On the Workings of Sorcery by Lord Sorcerer Urul The Written Weird.

 7.1

    7.1

    Jewel was glad to be home.

    The food in Kaeketeh was rich and flavorful and sweet and just so many other things. But after almost five full days of that, while Father and the rest of the ¡®war council¡¯ demonstrated and discussed the strategy for the coming summer and war she was growing rather tired of it.

    The journey back had been less colorful and all around not as pleasant.

    Heavy rains had slowed their journey by four days.

    If not for Tsugotholan they likely would still be trudging through the mud.

    But instead, Jewel was home.

    They had missed the smoke season. The pigs and other animals that would not see the end of winter had already been slaughtered and the smoking of sausages and salting of pork bellies were now half a season past.

    Still, Jewel took in heavy breaths of the smells of home.

    She had never realized all the subtle and welcoming nuances that lingered in the air even as Autumn had just half a season left in it and winter¡¯s reign was coming.

    The colors of the forest had been shed to the ground, leaving only the bare limbs of trees. Even those hues were turning dull brown.

    The fields were either sowed for winter or left fallow.

    The bare stalks of wheat left from summer were already cut down.

    Few people went outdoors if they could help it. And on the way Smithson and the other footmen had begun to shiver in their coats.

    Jewel had been tasked to ignite wet logs for fire in the waystation that marked the border of Rochford last night.

    The sun seemed distant and pale. Lonely in the emptiness of a blue sky.

    The horizon and the sky over the mountains were boiling with the threat of storms from all sides.

    Rochford was bundling itself away in anticipation of the enveloping white of Winter.

    Autumn would soon be at an end.

    But Jewel could not be happier to be home!

    And as they marched through the familiar street of Rochford Village, she could not stop herself from humming a little tune to herself.

    Waving and nodding to the bundled up peasants who were rushing with bundles of dry sticks for fuel or river-reed for roof thatch.

    As they came to the courtyard, Mother was already waiting, bundled in her heavy winter cloak alongside Alexander, Murial and the remaining half of the Footmen.

    ¡°Greetings husband, daughter and men of Rochford! Welcome home!¡±

    Father dismounted from Zephyrvam and strode clear across the courtyard in a few long strides before he lifted Mother up and spun her around in a sweeping arc before holding her close to him.

    Jewel turned her attention away from her parents. Instead, she stepped up to Alexander and dipped her head.

    ¡°Brother! Have your studies been going well?¡±

    Alexander for his part nodded sharply and beamed with pride.

    ¡°Yah! Muriel has had me out checking on the peasants. And I went on another hunt and this time I took down a buck!¡±

    Jewel beamed and congratulated her brother!

    ¡°Most Excellent, Brother! Felled by your own arrow? Then the hunt went well I presume?¡±

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    Muriel beside her brother smiled widely at that and nodded along to Jewel.

    ¡°It went quite well indeed, though we had to chase it from mid-morning til just past noon. Felled by lack of blood and exhaustion it was. Next time take a better aim for a clean strike through the heart, young master.¡±

    Her brother nodded firmly at the words. Although technically an admonishment, it did not seem to perturb his good spirits.

    ¡°Yes, Governess! I¡¯ll practice my bow every day! Even through snow and winter storms!¡±

    Which brought Muriel to a good natured laughter that Jewel could not help but join.

    It was so good to be home!

    There would be a familiar feast of hearty Rochford autumn stew, and then a nice stress relieving bath!

    Jewel sighed happily to herself.

    ¡°Lady Jewel, your pail.¡±

    And it was just getting better, for Smithson, the best squire a Wyrm could ask for, had finished unloading her packs and now was offering her precious pail.

    She¡¯d hardly had the opportunity to use it during the journey or even at the Countess¡¯ keep in Kaeketeh! She still was astounded that for all its opulence the keep had lacked a tub large enough for Jewel to properly luxuriate!

    She had to make do with oiling and rinsing her claws and snout awkwardly in basins of water or the insufficiently sized tubs available (all a rather tight fit for Father to bathe in let alone Jewel).

    With a sharp nod she took the pail in her foreclaws. She had to shift her weight to the knuckles of her wings to keep it out of the dirt.

    It was less becoming or graceful but Jewel was home and after spending more than half the season trudging along the road, having to assert her dignity and right as a lady and not having adequate facilities to bathe she was utterly done with appearances for the day!

    She crawled/strode up to Mother and Father, looking absently to the space around them and their affections and then cleared her throat with her quietest and most dainty chirp.

    ¡°Mother, did Jorge have sufficient notice to have my bath prepared?¡±

    Jewel loved Mother. She loved Father and she was just about ready to accept that Muriel was an ally and maybe someday a friend (as strange as that felt to consider).

    So it was with great consideration to them that she did not squawk in indignation at the burst of laughter from all her loved ones at her request.

    Even if Jewel would have every right too! She had not had a bath in nineteen days!

    This was not a jape or a frivolous request!

    Jewel was certain there was grit in her mane that had never properly combed out despite her and Smithson¡¯s best attempt that had been there since she left Rochford.

    She could only imagine that the reek of thunder and lightning hung on her like a funeral shawl.

    Only barely covered by lavender oil that had run dry three days ago.

    And Autumn showers were no excuse for a proper bath!

    The hot water was needed to fully cleanse her of the scent of Wyrmish exertions.

    Jewel had every right to be affronted but this was her family and governess, so she was not.

    Mother finally got her laughter under control and waved Jewel into the main doors.

    ¡°Y-yes daughter, Jorge began preparing it when word caught that you were in sight of the village. Will you be taking a bath prior to dinner then?¡±

    Jewel nodded firmly and with all the seriousness that the occasion demanded.

    Then marched on her wing knuckles into the castle and down the hall to her bathing room.

    Father had the audacity to chuckle, and she heard his muffled words promising the footmen that there would be hot water enough for all of them to enjoy a good soak once she was finished.

    The warm cheers were quite good and proper Jewel thought.

    Hot baths were a delight for her, she could only imagine what they meant for those that winter¡¯s teeth could touch.

    Jewel felt far more worldly than she had at the end of last season. Truly the books had not lied about the benefits of travel to bring insight and appreciation of one¡¯s home.

    Yes, familiar food and welcoming feasts were important.

    But a good bath was the true meaning of home.

    Jewel considered that then nodded as she made her way along familiar stones in the direction of Jorge¡¯s comforting scent.

    The fortress of Rochford welcomed its Lady and the bath promised relief.

    Jewel was Home.

 7.2

    7.2

    Jewel stood in the rain, looking over the courtyard of the fortress.

    Her hair was wet and matted down.

    Rain ran in rivers and sheets over her scales and wings.

    Her flame was swimming through her coils in a rushing current. Leaving her nearly floating off the sodden earth and mud.

    Next to her, slick and black like the muddy silt of what Jewel presumed was their bog, stood Tsulogothulan.

    Jewel understood that the chill of winter was already well underway. That she was NOT to let Alexander play for any length of time in this sort of weather.

    But as a dragon Jewel was fortified such that the bite of cold held no teeth for her.

    The waters running over her and leaving all the earth sopping and muddy held no danger of sapping the vigor from her flesh. The chill in the wind had no danger to take the life from her bones.

    To Jewel the terrible fangs of the mountain winds were as much a concern as her Father¡¯s gryphon ¡ª who had been named after them.

    A comforting presence that welcomed her as much as the now muddy packed dirt under foot or the stone work that supported the vault ceilings of the fortress¡¯ cellars below it.

    Likewise, the Bog Weird seemed equally comfortable in the heavy chill of near-winter rain.

    Even the little tickle of ice that meshed with the falling water did not seem to bother Tsulogothulan.

    They could both enjoy the simple pleasure of rain at the death of autumn like no one else in Rochford.

    Which was why they were having a lesson here in the courtyard. Staring at markings that ran in whorls and sweeps. Lines sliding around each other almost like the ripples of water or the feel of the wind.

    At least half of the Bog Weird¡¯s lessons on magic were like this. Quiet with few words. At least two they had not said anything at all, just enjoyed one another¡¯s presence for their time and then gone their separate ways.

    Today they were staring at the courtyard. Because the footmen had noticed that there was something peculiar going on a few days ago and the Bog Weird had finally gotten around to investigating it.

    The pattern in the courtyard honestly reminded Jewel of the furrows from a plough as seen from the air. But straight sensible lines were in very short supply.

    These lines, although running in rank on rank together never moved straight for any length of time.

    They spun and whorled all over in a great looping pattern like the oxen had gone somehow simultaneously mad in precisely the same way.

    But it was not plough lines from the sky Jewel and Tsulogothulan were looking at.

    It was the lines in the rain-flooded mud of the courtyard.

    And it was not oxen digging those furrows but the rivulets and flows of the water shifting and sweeping in a subtle but inevitable pattern.

    One which Jewel was all too familiar with.

    It was, after all, exactly where she had danced with the village for the Wheat Harvest Festival.

    And she could remember having moved the way that the waters now moved.

    Tsulogothulan offered their rounded vowels after Jewel had followed a leaf caught in the endlessly cycling gyre of a current making its third circuit.

    ¡°I should have probably expected this could happen.¡±

    All the motion of the wind and rain was maintaining a near tapestry of mud and water laid out where the histories said Rochford had mustered the armies of all the lands of men against the Wyrm Tyrant.

    But more recently, where Jewel had learned to dance.

    She looked over at Tsulogothulan, who met her eyes with their one and then turned to look back. The Dragon finally found she wanted to fill the silence with words.

    ¡°What exactly DID happen?¡±

    The Wizard hummed like frog calls in summer, the sound a little unsettling so far out of season for it.

    ¡°You performed a working of sorcery, moreso you performed a proper enchantment. And an incredibly stable one at that.¡±

    Jewel could only nod. If the Wizard told you that you had done a sorcery then you had best believe them.

    ¡°But how?¡±

    The Wizard shrugged, which Jewel was amused to note involved actually manifesting shoulders (and the hint of arms) for what must have been the sole purpose of making the expression.

    When no longer needed the two lumps sank back into the smooth sweep of hair/robes which Jewel was still not entirely sure was not actually part of Tsulogothulan.

    Were all Weirds nudists?

    Did that even make sense as a question to ask?

    After some time with the sound of rain and wind and watching the leaf make three more circuits in spiraling twisting loops up and down and over in the wind and rain, the Weird offered an explanation.

    ¡°It was probably my fault, after a fashion. But in particular you almost certainly performed it during your dances. Repeatedly. Likely reinforcing the pattern.¡±

    Jewel frowned a bit and considered that before quoting her earlier lessons.

    ¡°Mortal sorcery is the act of imparting new nature upon the world. To shape the elemental quality of things. But how did my dancing do this? And what do you mean your fault?¡±

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    Tsulogothulan laughed and looked over at Jewel.

    ¡°What were my exact words to explain to you how to move when you danced?¡±

    Jewel could only turn to stare at the pattern that continued to re-shape and sharpen itself despite the chaos that was made of the mud and rain all around it.

    There were clear and precise borders.

    A few days ago the pattern had been scuffed.

    After the rains passed it would settle and the simple acts of the world would slowly erase it.

    But with the next storm the wind and rain would shape it anew.

    Exactly as before.

    ¡°Huh... Like wind and water.¡±

    The Bog Wizard nodded.

    ¡°Exactly. My fault, seemed like the most sensible metaphor... But here we are. Wind and Water moving as you moved.¡±

    The two fell into a companionable silence again. The leaf made another circuit, then the quiet was broken by the Weird.

    ¡°That said I didn''t expect it to settle in with such permanence as this. To reemerge over and over like it¡¯s been carved into the firmament. I was certain, after the first time, that the sorcery of it was far more ephemeral. Only affecting those that danced with you at the moment and a bit after.¡±

    Jewel jerked back around to gape at Tsulogothulan. Voice rising a pitch.

    ¡°You¡¯ve known I did a working of sorcery since the third Summer?!¡±

    Tsulogothulan laughed and shook their beak of a nose.

    ¡°Certainly, but everyone does a bit of sorcery all the time. There is a working in the way birds fly, frogs sing, in the whistle of a peasant done with a day¡¯s labor. The division is not as sharp as most people make it out to be. if I called out every time a working happened by accident I¡¯d never stop talking.¡±

    Jewel blinked, she¡¯d suspected sorcery of Muriel and a few others. But everyone? However, given this premise that brought on a burning question.

    ¡°But if everyone performs sorcery all the time and everywhere what is the point of Wizardry? Does that not make everyone a Wizard?¡±

    Tsulogothulan just laughed like the burble of a brook and shook their head.

    ¡°I used to think so, but sadly it''s not the case. I don¡¯t rightly know myself honestly what makes a Wizard, or a Weird for that matter.¡±

    Jewel settled down into the cool welcoming mud, She would be getting a bath this evening before dinner anyway so no point not to get comfortable for what sounded like a bit of a lecture, or a rant. There was not as clear a distinction between the two with Tsulogothulan.

    The Bog Wizard was here to teach her the nature of Sorcery and other subjects. Had been trying since Kaeketah.

    Jewel was yet unsure of the success, there were far fewer books involved then time with Muriel.

    ¡°Urul calls it my Truth, Fizzbunches says it¡¯s the knack, Euewyn refers to the-¡± And the wind blew through reeds and marsh grass, but with a cold biting winter feel that definitely did remind Jewel of the Weird of Autumn but with a hilarious lilt to it that was undeniably every inch of silt and drop of pond scum from Tsulogothulan.

    ¡°But unless one of us is looking at a working in the world ourselves, it barely makes any sense to any of us without having conferred before on the subject together.¡±

    Jewel tilted her head in confusion.

    ¡°But is it not all the works of sorcery? Surely you can just speak of it.¡±

    The Weird considered Jewel and then shook their head again.

    ¡°My workings are obvious to me, but I could explain my way of things from dawn to dusk from winter round through a whole year for ten scores and that would not bring Jaksa the Red any closer to being the Weird of Blood then if I¡¯d said nothing.¡±

    Which caused Jewel to frown in confusion.

    ¡°What about teaching him to be the kind of Weird you are?¡±

    Which got another laugh and another shake in the negative.

    ¡°Even harder and far more dangerous. We¡¯re not the same. I don¡¯t know his way well enough to even guess how badly that could go. But Fizzbunches and I? We¡¯ve made a try at it before.¡±

    Jewel scowled, she didn''t like even being reminded that not only did Tsulogothulan know Fizzbunches but was actually colleagues with him. Was even friendly with the insufferable cat and that the Bog weird was even somehow subservient to him.

    It was not as sure a fealty as Jewel or her Father to the Countess Bathory, but the thought was unpleasant.

    ¡°It did not go well, even for a simple working both of us had our own version of. He collapsed a house into dust. I ended up scouring a field of water for ten years. We were trying to share notes on how we carried luggage.¡±

    That was... something else.

    ¡°Carrying Luggage?¡±

    Tsulogothulan nodded.

    ¡°Collapsed a house?¡±

    ¡°Into dust. Powdery stuff too, it got everywhere, and even made a few people sick.¡±

    Jewel tilted her head to the side the other way and blinked slowly.

    ¡°How do you carry luggage if he could make a mistake like that?¡±

    To which the Bog Weird reached into a sleeve, and as Jewel paid attention pulled threads of something out in their fist.

    Well, almost like that, it was like fingers had grasped a thousand threads and started pulling on them.

    It was hard to see, because none of it was happening where Jewel¡¯s eyes could actually see anything.

    But she could tell in the way she felt her Wyrmflame move that there were threads of a thing and they were being tightly grasped and as the hand emerged from the sleeve it sort of was weaving whatever it had grabbed all together into-

    A Loaf of bread?

    Jewel blinked and tilted her head at what appeared to be a freshly baked round of bread from the Kitchens of Rochford.

    Only the longer she looked the more she realized there was something wrong.

    No.

    It was what might have been a loaf of bread. If you somehow had found a way to un-bake it.

    The thing was far more similar to a round of dough before it was put through the oven, but with the coloring of a golden rind painted on it.

    However the entire thing sagged in the Bog Weird¡¯s hand the longer they held it forth.

    The rain pummeling down around them muffled the scent so Jewel leaned close and gave it a sniff.

    Which left her even more perplexed.

    It still smelled like a fresh baked round.

    It even gave off warmth like it had just come out of the oven.

    But it was definitely sagging more and more through Tsulogothulan¡¯s fingers.

    Jewel stared at the drooping, almost oozing mass that was both bread and very much not.

    Then fixed her gaze to Tsulogothulan and because Jewel was the Weird¡¯s friend she felt it necessary to say this.

    ¡°That is very interesting but please don¡¯t help to carry any of my possessions.¡±

    Which for some reason utterly shocked and flustered the Wizard.

 7.3

    7.3

    On what she was told was an especially cold and unpleasant winter day, Jewel read the works of Lord Sorcerer Urul the Written Weird.

    It was quite interesting how much of a difference his perspective on things seemed to be from how Tsugotholan explained them. But to quote her teacher on matters of sorcery and the divine, ¡°I am not so proud and foolish to think I am the sole font of truth.¡±

    Which was a very humble perspective from the Sorcerer, in the Wyrm¡¯s opinion.

    Then again Jewel had immediately, after receiving the book, also gotten a warning that it was quite common for nearly every wizard to have some period of their long lives where they absolutely did think they knew everything and that Urul the Written Weird was still quite stubbornly not moving past his and thus reading his work should be done with care.

    Jewel had agreed to be careful of what she read, although was still not exactly sure how one was supposed to be careful in that regard.

    It¡¯s not like books could hurt her. But she was very cautious and slow in her reading all the same.

    After all, it was a book on the nature of sorcery, handed to her from the sleeve of a Wizard and Weird.

    Taking the advice of its owner on being careful seemed quite prudent.

    Still, after the first time opening the spine did nothing but disturb Jewel with the altered physicality of anything once stored by the Bog Weird she relaxed substantially.

    Which was why she was curled around one corner of the study carefully peeling pages apart to turn them.

    Also she was making sure that her brother was keeping up with his own reading.

    Alexander was making another attempt at concentrating on reading through the histories.

    By the leather cover and the scent of the vellum, it was the third volume. The one that dealt with the reformations of Viznove into fealty to The Realm and its then King. The event of which immediately followed after the first war with the Magarska Kingdom when but for a few stalwart allies Viznove had stood alone against the forces from the south.

    Jewel rather liked that period as it had brought clearer to her the nature of the Honor that the house of Rochford held as vassals to the Countess of Viznove and the obligations she and her brother would one day hold as members of their family and... The Realm.

    Jewel wilted a little bit at the reminder.

    Well she supposed that part was less important now, but the rest of it was still very interesting she thought.

    However, since there were barely any battles in that section, Alexander was much less enthusiastic about the Third volume of the Histories.

    Alexander was very hard to motivate on the histories when it was not to do with the Tyrant War or the other battles that followed after the splintering of its vassals into the many territories that eventually either swore to the Realm or fell to their neighbor and often enemy in the Magarska Kingdom.

    But so far today he had finally reached a half of the way through the volume!

    That was better progress than he had ever made before at it. And she liked to think it was because she had been allowed to join him in the study for reading practice again.  (Though she was still forbidden from being near him when he was practicing his scribe craft!).

    Assured that her brother was still diligent and not yet needing encouragement, Jewel returned to her own reading.

    And such a delightful book it was!

    For all the warnings and disparagements upon its author, it was a very pleasant read.

    Urul the Written was shaping up to be maybe Jewel¡¯s fourth favorite author.

    Maybe even third!

    She honestly thought she might even rank him higher in time!

    It was just there was something extra special about reading his words in particular. Urul the Written Weird was a Wizard that Tsugotholan knew personally! Jewel never even imagined that one could actually know an Author!

    And Tsugotholan had said that she might actually get to meet Urul the Written!

    There was some kind of correspondence between them and it was looking likely that he might arrive some year as part of the agreement that Fizzbunches had made to describe Jewel (which she still had yet to get a sensible explanation for but she assumed involved some kind of sorcery.).

    So of course Jewel had utterly been delighted to go through the book after Tsugotholan had needed to ¡®attend other matters¡¯.

    Jewel had some difficulty at first though (but not for the words which were clear and very well written!).

    No, she had been taken aback about the state of the book when Tsugotholan had produced it in the same manner as the terrifying specter that was the unbaked loaf of bread.

    However despite being floppy in a way that Jewel had never experienced any book or its binding to attain before or since the letters were unsmudged and the vellum of the pages were quite dry to the touch.

    The whole thing even smelled dry and well kept. Better than some of the older volumes that Father stored in the southeast tower.

    Really there was not any one single thing wrong with the book per say.

    Except that the leather felt flush and alive in a way no well treated and tanned binding should.

    The wood within the cover was itself supple and springy as if a fresh grown sapling.

    And the pages themselves flopped and curled and even wrinkled more like cloth or fresh cut skin then the treated vellum it otherwise apparently was.

    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    And even stranger, Tsugotholan could not even seemingly tell the difference between what they had handed Jewel and the other books in Father¡¯s study.

    Jewel had made precisely one comment as to what was wrong with the book (but not the unbaked horror).

    And all it did was completely baffle and confuse Tsugotholan.

    Which had gotten them on a tangent that had gone over the nature of the book to a surprising degree for Jewel. The two of them had traded words in a very spirited conversation over it and she had found it very perplexing.

    By the end of it the Bog Weird had left Jewel being unsure if she herself actually knew the proper nature of a book. The discussion had muddied her thoughts so terribly and utterly failed at getting across at all to the Weird why a book should not feel like it was so waterlogged it was about to fall apart!

    The counters had all made terrible and disquieting sense.

    For one despite its limp nature the book was perfectly sturdy and intact.

    All the glue was strong and gripping well, the pages sewn tight, every scribed letter of ink still completely legible and in fact near pristine.

    Nothing was actually wrong with the book on any number of the list of things that Tsugotholan had duly noted were important to the function and purpose of a book.

    It was pristine and clean and even dry as the day it was given to the Bog Weird (of which they vowed solemnly and Jewel could not dismiss for it was true in a very obvious way).

    There was not a drop of water or mildew in the pages.

    The vellum even took fresh ink properly! One single drop to demonstrate which Tsugotholan had then drawn back out of the page by sorcery because if they had let the mark stand to besmirch his work Urul would have vexed them for thirty-six years over it (very precisely thirty-six, he apparently was quite specific in how long he berated his peers on this topic).

    But in spite of the overwhelming litany of preserved qualities of bookhood that Jewel had to admit were maintained, Tsugotholan''s storage had left the tome utterly changed and altered in deeply fundamental ways that seemed also fundamentally invisible to the Weird.

    It had made Jewel so confused with the otherwise sensible Weird¡¯s incapability to understand that she had given up the discussion with a sour taste on her tongue and gone to Muriel just to reaffirm that Jewel was actually correct what a book even was.

    Which had been terribly reassuring. Muriel had also stared at the floppy and yet dry pages with just as much bewildered horror as Jewel had and then confirmed for her ward that yes, this indeed was a strange and vaguely terrifying work of sorcery and taken Jewel¡¯s warning on not daring the risk of Tsugotholan storing any items with proper seriousness¡­

    Jewel did not even have to explain the nature of the horrifying unbaked goods either!

    However after the excitement of its physically transformed nature (and discerning how one was supposed to part and then ¡®turn¡¯ pages that wanted to flop and fall like wet linen sheets) the actual reading of the book itself seemed hardly at all the trial that Jewel had expected given Tsugotholan''s earlier warnings of vague danger.

    It was essentially a book about sorcery.

    It just had a lot of interesting ideas. Mostly on how one performed workings that really did line up well with what Jewel had experienced too!

    Obviously Jaksa the Red had requested that her blood move various ways. And naturally Jewel had been able to ignore it.

    So yes, that all lined up with what was written on the nature of Mortal Sorcery.

    Actually, that was a curious point.

    Surely if people simply knew this about the nature of magic they could just learn to recognize when a Wizard (or other practitioner) made requests for them to do something they did not in fact want to do (such as burst into flames) and just ignore that too?

    Was it particularly hard to ignore these things?

    Jewel supposed she had not actually ignored what Jaksa the Red was telling her to do until she had realized he was telling her to do it.

    Maybe it was harder for most people to notice when a practitioner was telling them to do things like Urul¡¯s book said wizards did?

    Jewel supposed that did in fact make sense.

    She already noticed so much more than most people, and you¡¯d have to be very good at noticing things to be able to ignore it when the thing you were being told was something nasty.

    Like ¡°die.¡±

    Or ¡°explode.¡±

    Or ¡°turn into a newt.¡±

    Actually how did you even tell someone to turn into a newt?

    Jaksa the Red seemed to be far more specific about things then what the words that Jewel knew how to say actually meant.

    And then there was Jewel herself.

    Obviously she was performing sorcery all the time.

    But what was she saying?

    Thinking about it was confusing.

    Jewel didn''t feel like she was saying much of anything to anyone, world or not.

    Jewel simply did.

    Maybe doing was the same as saying?

    But that didn''t really match up with what Urul the Written Weird was trying to say. He very obviously described that doing things was just another way of speaking, but also a slower way.

    But to speak you had to be speaking to someone.

    And Jewel didn''t really speak to anyone really when she did things.

    She went back a few pages to check on another passage but the words did not really work with how Jewel had experienced things anymore then it did when she simply remembered it.

    Hmm.

    Jewel closed the book carefully (so as to avoid wrinkling the far too flexible pages) and looked over to her brother.

    Alexander had only gotten about another ten or so pages through his volume of the Histories, and from the look in his eyes he was also hardly seeing the words in front of him anymore.

    Just staring blankly at ink on treated lambskin.

    She checked the light from the shuttered windows and listened to the wind that seemed to be easing off enough to suggest clearing clouds.

    It probably was not too cold for Alexander.

    And he was not getting anything from his histories anymore.

    Well, it would appear she had sisterly duties to perform!

    ¡°Brother, I think I need a respite from the heavy conundrums in this book of sorcery. Would you do me the favor of joining me in the courtyard for some exercise and perhaps some martial training?¡±

    The beaming light of his face nearly matched the warmth that flared in her own inner flames at the sight of it.

    His quick nod brought a smile to her lips.

    ¡°Oh yes, Sister! I mean, I would be honored to assist you in your martial exercises.¡±

    She considered his state of dress and recalled what she had learned about the bite and sting of cold and heat for others that were neither wizards or dragons.

    ¡°Well let us go check with Muriel and Father and get you properly armored against the weather.¡±

    He was off and out of the study before she even finished the suggestion.

    Jewel smiled and set to put the books back to their places on the shelves. She would catch up easily, after all.

 7.4

    7.4

    They had not been allowed out for martial training for three days. The storm and the cold were (according to Mother and Father) too much for Alexander, despite his protests.

    But Jewel honestly didn¡¯t mind, because the consolation of this wait was that Father would join them in the training as well!

    The day was rich and bright in golden sun that morning, slowly growing silvery pale towards noon. Hillocks of shimmering white snow blanketed the fields.

    Breakfast had been the usual wholesome porridge with a few scraps of winter sausage (smoked and spiced as mock Kraoska!).

    Alexander¡¯s armoring against the cold seemed a bit excessive to Jewel given the richness of the sunlight .

    Did he really need so much wool wrapped around him?

    Yet Jewel was perhaps not best to judge, having never felt the actual bite of winter herself; she could not argue how sufficient it was.

    Father himself was dressed in something closer-fitting, almost like his Gryphon Riding Leathers. But without the stiff bracing around the neck. Worn over it all was a thick winter coat.

    And Muriel was dressed in her heavy leather and gambeson with only the addition of a woolen scarf around her neck for further warmth.

    In the late morning the sky was practically pouring warm sunshine all over them as well as the valley of Rochford, rendering it lovely in its winter colors. The golden hues of dawn had now settled to clear pale that shone back from every direction as the sun rose further towards its zenith.

    The courtyard¡¯s blanket of white was mostly untouched, only a few trails stamped flat by the passing of the groundskeeper Samuel, and the Stablehands and the Footmen.

    You could tell which trails Samuel left because they were interwoven with the excited braiding of his dogs bounding through the snow.

    He¡¯d been marking out his rounds along the courtyard inspecting things, checking the winter plantings in the garden were coming along well.

    As opposed to the significantly more direct trenches left by the Footmen and the Stableworkers, moving to their posts as directly as possible.

    All of them were now softened ruts, after last night¡¯s snow.

    Jewel trailed behind Father and Muriel. Alexander was beside her, trembling and bouncing visibly with as much excitement as Jewel felt in her Wyrmfire.

    Father marched out into the pristine snow of the courtyard with Muriel then nodded sharply to her.

    ¡°To begin, we will be practicing the melee. Alexander, Muriel and I shall use training spears, Jewel you will go unarmed, no flame, not even a flash spit, and no flight higher than the walls.¡±

    Jewel nodded. That was sensible. This winter, Jewel had learned that, with hardly any effort at all, she could bring her Wyrmfire to the points of her teeth and when so fortified, no mere steel could hold against her bite.

    Really, between that and her flames it hardly seemed worth the effort to seek any form of armaments.

    But she was a bit sad that she was not allowed to use any form of breath, even the harmless light show.

    ¡°We all can be best served by better work to avoid hits in the first place. So any blow will be a mark against us. Jewel, that goes thrice for you, your scales may be all but impervious but though they may not pierce we know that you can bruise and be pummeled.¡±

    But of course Father was wise and had a plan ¡ª if she was forbidden from her breath, she could better prepare for when she was unable. The memory of the Terror Boar from that summer had yet to leave her.

    Jewel nodded sharply to her father.

    ¡°Now then, we will work in a melee of three. Me and Muriel will trade off to judge the match and track your marks. Muriel I will take the first round with the childer.¡±

    He flashed them both a grin which neither Jewel nor Alexander could avoid returning.

    It was alright to train with Muriel everyday, but this was them against Father!

    With a silent nod Muriel moved off to the side of the Courtyard and took position to watch.

    Jewel took up her position, taking a point in the triangle between them. With each at one end of the Courtyard, it was a bit large for a normal melee, but Jewel could have covered the normal range of a sparring ring without even moving her hind claws.

    It was as much an effort of endurance running for her brother when she and Alexander sparred (which was why Murial said she did not allow it often).

    Father and Alexander took up their positions and readied their spears.

    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Muriel raised her hand and then dropped it sharply with a shout of ¡°Go!¡±

    And Jewel bounded towards Father.

    She covered half the distance in one bound and was already preparing to leap for the next, but Father and Alexander shared one glance with each other before running directly towards her.

    Spears held low and ready.

    She had to adjust her bound from a charge to a leap up and over the two of them. Taking care to keep even her wing tips below the limit of the walls. Hunching her belly and hips as quickly up and over the reach of Alexander as she could.

    But despite her efforts, Father jumped nearly a foot higher than Alexander¡¯s forehead and swung the wooden pole with a rounded nub into her flank. Right between the wide expanse between her hips and shoulders.

    ¡°Mark against Lady Jewel!¡±

    She tumbled over herself away and as Father fell into a bracing crouch and Alexander came at him with a quick stab of his own training spear.

    The blow was slapped down and aside as Father came out of his landing. Then in the same swinging motion after that redirection he wrapped around for a sharp jab right into Alexander¡¯s shoulder.

    ¡°Mark against Lord Alexander.¡±

    Jewel bundled herself up and came back in for another strike. Sweeping her tail around to try and catch Father unawares.

    Alexander saw it coming and ducked low, but Father was substantially taller and could only go so low without flattening himself prone.

    His only choice was to go over ¡ª or so Jewel had thought. Instead he braced his footing and jabbed his spear into Jewel¡¯s tail with both hands, aiming for closer to the base than the end she was trying to crack him in the side with.

    The blows came together and Jewel could feel the sting of the blow in the meat of her tail where the wood pressed her scales hard and pinched it against her spine.

    Father rocked back from her own blow but did not fall even as Jewel recoiled and tugged herself back.

    ¡°Marks against Lord Rochford and Lady Jewel!¡±

    Alexander made another go at trying to catch Father while he was distracted by Jewel and this time got a blow to the chest with the butt of Father¡¯s spear.

    ¡°Mark against Lord Alexander.¡±

    It followed after that, the sun climbing towards noon as Father, Alexander and Muriel worked through the melee.

    When the sun was straight above their heads, they stopped for a meal of hot soup and mulled wine.

    It was a wonderful time and Father and Muriel were both congratulating them alongside pointing out their mistakes.

    Jewel felt several stinging bruises up and down her body and neck with one particularly painful one on her left cheek.

    Alexander ended up eventually getting three marks on Father for his efforts to take advantage when he was distracted by Jewel.

    But considering both children took well over thirty marks each from Father and Muriel (for a total of sixty strikes on Jewel¡¯s poor hide!).

    Well that made even Jewel¡¯s ten marks on Father and eight on Alexander feel poor recompense.

    ¡°Alexander, you¡¯ve got a good head to aim for when a better foe is otherwise engaged, but you are too focused on one of us at a time. Both eyes open and turn your head about more, you need to be able to sweep the whole field of battle and not lose sight of one enemy for your dedication to another.¡±

    Jewel had heard Muriel say something similar before, but Father¡¯s voice seemed to bring a determination to Alexander that Muriel never could. He straightened his shoulders and nodded hard.

    Father took a heavy slurp of his soup. Chewed some of the meat and vegetables taken up then nodded to her and swallowed.

    ¡°Jewel, you spread yourself out too wide and far. You present too many openings and targets, pull yourself together, rear your head back. And keep yourself poised to strike more in defense.¡±

    She nodded to Father then grasped her own whole stew pot and supped deeply from it. Swallowing-whole most of the meat, roots and beans. Leaving only a mouth full to savor with a few slow chews at the end.

    ¡°Okay father. Will we go for another melee after we finish eating then?¡±

    To which Father looked over Alexander before considering and then shaking his head.

    ¡°No, I think that¡¯s enough time out in the cold and the snow for your brother today. If the weather keeps, we will make a bout of it tomorrow.¡±

    That was disappointing but it was important to keep Alexander safe. Despite his cry of protest.

    ¡°Oiy, your mother would skin me with a soup ladle if you catch the blue out here! The evening chill is no time to be caught out wet in sweat and snowmelt.¡±

    To which Alexander responded with a ball of snow right in Father¡¯s face.

    Jewel was a bit shocked, but Father laughed and in a blink had pelted Alexander in the back of the head with his own snowball.

    Then the second one actually knocked her brother clear off his feet but did not slacken his prodigious bravery.

    It took another round of white projectiles between them before Jewel could not stand to watch how badly her brother was outmatched any longer and leapt across the courtyard to Alexander¡¯s defense.

    Her claws were poor tools for shoveling up snow and shaping it into balls, but she could sweep her entire body along the courtyard to gather up more material for missiles and if needed even raise her wings as walls in fortified defense of her Brother.

    In spite of this She could not manage to block every deft strike launched by both Father and Muriel! Even if she was not delightedly only half hearted in her attempts.

    The great battle of snow continued until the sun had begun to dip low enough that most of the courtyard was cast in shadow.

    Mother was rather cross they had been out so long in the cold but after making sure that Alexander was not too damp, chilled or hot with fever relented there was no harm done so far.

    After the scolding Jewel joined Father and Alexander in recounting the many clever maneuvers and brave turnarounds of the battle through dinner and quite a bit after into that night.

 7.5

    7.5

    Jewel¡¯s hatching day had come shortly after the longest night of the year.

    She did not really recall it very clearly. Thoughts and feelings were muddled so tightly together for most of her first year that nothing in particular was certain.

    But she had known the scent of Mother before she even opened her eyes.

    Father had come next and in so doing she had recognized her brother as being both of theirs.

    Before words had given clarity, before she could even reliably move or hold herself aloft on Wyrmflame, Jewel had known her family.

    The year¡¯s Last Night and the march the day before always brought her family to mind. Partly because today, they would all walk together, Mother and Alexander bundled in their finest winter furs and heavy cloth, Father in his lighter leathers and a fine wool cloak.

    But breakfast was less peaceful than usual.

    ¡°What do you mean I can¡¯t go?! Everyone over ten winters old in the village can go! This is my eleventh winter!¡±

    Jewel winced a bit inside at that. She would almost certainly never get to participate in the festival of fires like her brother wanted too. A dragon, no matter how carefully covered, could never wear the shrouds and garments like her peers.

    Not able to move from house to house and dance with her fellow kinder and offer the carols of the dark. Nor speaking for the dead long since stolen to the frosted icey stars that hang in the sky and the frozen winds of the peaks.

    Never able to receive the sweet cakes and honeyed jerky treats offered in return for a task well done.

    But Alexander could pass easily amongst them if he wanted. He was not yet growing to a height to match Father. He could be mistaken for a boy perhaps two years his elder among the villagers.

    Mother had forbidden it. Alexander was the one and only heir to Rochford and going off in disguise amongst all the villager¡¯s children without any guard was a terrible risk for his person.

    But then again, that gave Jewel an idea.

    ¡°What if Smithson went with him?¡±

    That stalled out the argument that had circled over their breakfast porridge several times now and left Alexander¡¯s half eaten and going stiff and gel-like with cold.

    It actually caught Mother off guard a moment.

    ¡°The sta-I mean your Squire?¡±

    Jewel nodded hard.

    ¡°He is honorable and loyal and has served me well on our trip to meet with the Countess and back. I¡¯d trust him to look out for my Brother.¡±

    She did in fact think that well of Smithson, even if it had taken her a long time away from home to conclude it. She¡¯d satisfied her worry that he was hateful of her for taking him from his duties.

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    In truth, he was ecstatic to serve as everything a Knight might want in a Squire.

    Sadly Jewel was not anything like a Knight.

    But he would do this service for her at just a whisper of her request.

    Father, seeing an opportunity to bring peace to their household and an end to an argument that had been stirring and flaring through all of winter, also nodded.

    ¡°Smithson and one of Gierolt¡¯s grandsons can watch Alexander and join him for the Festival of Fires. Furthermore, word of his presence among them will be good for the village, the winter has not been easy on them.¡±

    Jewel nodded sadly.

    The winter storms had been cruel this year.

    One of the households she had gone to visit had been cold and quiet in the morning just ten days ago. Inside the small family of younger sisters and elder brothers (no parents, no elders; they were lost three and then two years ago) were frozen huddled together in their bed together.

    They had firewood in their stock but the burnt ash in the hearth spoke to her that in the depths of the night when all were asleep it had gone out.

    The thatch in the roof spoke of the winter wind tearing loose patches at the rim and letting in its hungry teeth.

    Their larder was still stocked.

    They had hardly failed in any one duty. Just not as diligent and wise as age would have made them.

    An entire household of seven lost. Two boys just growing into their strength and unready for spouses.

    Five girls not yet blooded.

    Jewel shook the memory free of her head. The Village of Rochford could indeed use something to help raise their spirits after news of that loss had spread.

    And well if that could be done by letting Alexander dance and sing the words of the dead with the other shrouded boys and girls in disguise during the Festival of Fires?

    That turned indulging her Brother¡¯s desires into a duty performed for the Family.

    And Mother would not disagree with Father on those grounds, especially after two guards had been secured for him.

    ¡°If proper protections can be secured, then I suppose it is a noble duty. Is it the Bolemir boy or Ginterson you are thinking of escorting him?¡±

    Father hummed a moment then nodded.

    ¡°Bolemir is better, he¡¯s closer to Alexander¡¯s age and will stay sharp, I believe. Ginterson might be bigger and older but he¡¯s so smitten with the Helina girl I suspect he would lose track of our boy. They will aim for marriage at the close of next hungry summer I suspect.¡±

    Mother nodded at that.

    ¡°Most likely, unless their bloom turns sour...¡±

    She shook herself out.

    ¡°Well if you are to join the carols you will need proper shrouds. Smithson and Bolemir will need to be summoned as well. Have them bring their masks and chosen shrouds as well.¡±

    Alexander whooped and was already standing but Mother¡¯s voice cut in with an ice that Jewel imagined must be what winter felt like to those without a body coursing in Wyrmfire.

    ¡°You will do so after finishing breakfast!¡±

    And then the family sat there watching Alexander eat. Their own bowls long since emptied.

    But where before he had prodded and picked at it, her brother was now devouring the near cake like jellied mass of his porridge like it was the sweetest of cakes.

 7.6

    7.6

    Jewel and her family walked along the village road on their way to the Temple. Ahead and behind them the voices of youths rose up.

    In woolen shrouds, furs and toothsome masks they danced and sang to the houses. Voices were raised for those that had passed. A torch of bundled, sweet-smelling herbs was held aloft by the leader of each group.

    Somewhere among them was Alexander, Smithson and one of the Headman¡¯s grandchildren.

    Jewel could probably find them if there was any cause for concern. She would recognize her brother¡¯s scent even with the perfumed smoke surrounding him.

    Jewel and the rest of the family however had a different role. At the center, before the temple itself, a pyre had been built, burning hot and fierce. Where the men, women and elders slowly gathered after dispensing their thanks to the speakers for the dead.

    Standing before the fire, naked but for a wrap of red-dyed deer hide, stood the head man. Jewel knew he was the head man, she could smell him even under the red powder and charcoal that he had been covered in.

    It was the headman of the village and yet for today and tonight it was not.

    For this day and night the head man sank away into himself somehow, Jewel could smell him and yet he was not there.

    No, for this day and the coming darkness of the longest night he was not here, but something else was.

    He was The Old Man.

    For the last three winters he had been The Old Man come the Last Night that broke one year from the next. Before him, another had been where he now stood in front of the fire for as long back as Jewel could remember.

    He played a rough fiddle as people came. It was slow and mournful; it reminded Jewel of the cries of mothers when their children did not make it through winter.

    High and sharp and then growling rumbles.

    His fiddle quieted to a gentle hum when someone walked up to him but he never stopped playing even as he spoke.

    Words that were not the Headman¡¯s flowed from him with his song.

    The words of the Veles.

    The Old Man of Winter.

    People came to him slowly with their worries, with their hopes, with pleas and with thanks he answered in his own time to each of them.

    Jewel turned her attention away from the words of course, focusing on the crackling of the fire.

    She had been scolded firmly for the time she had listened in and then asked Mother about it.

    The words one spoke with The Old Man were not for others.

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    In the air around him, Jewel could taste a twisting whorl of somehow gentled wind. Moving with the rhythm of his fiddle and the pattern of his words. He swayed with the winter and though the wind was not any warmer for his interference, it stood as a wall against the greater chill and let the fire fill the space before the temple in the heat of its flame.

    Only after each household had taken their turn to speak to The Old Man and his fiddle did Jewel and her Family approach.

    First was Mother.

    And as before Jewel did not listen.

    And there was a gentle curl of wind and a tumult over the fire that made its tongues of flame dance wildly.

    Mother stepped back with her answer and whatever it was left her looking grim.

    Father walked up to The Old Man next, but instead of asking his question he gestured for Jewel to come forth as well.

    She momentarily froze in shock. That was not proper, Jewel was not even past her tenth winter! Speaking to The Old Man was for those already past youth and Jewel was hardly entered into it!

    Furthermore the council of the Veles was a confidence. What you asked and what was answered was for you!

    But Father commanded and Jewel was a good daughter and she obeyed.

    There was a stirring in the crowd around them as she joined Father but The Old Man did not seem at all bothered by it. Which reassured Jewel some. After all, if he had no complaint then it had to be okay.

    The Veles swayed and played on the strings. The wind gently greeted Jewel and she gave a nod for both the player and the wind as her foremost legs took their place in the packed dirt beside Father.

    As always her neck curled just enough to keep her head lower than Father¡¯s.

    He turned to the being that was wearing the Headman like Father wore his finery.

    ¡°Veles, in the summer there will be war. And I and my kin will meet it. What advice can you give me and my daughter? What can you see for us ill or well?¡±

    The music rose with a swelling note and then The Old Man bowed his head first to Father and then Jewel.

    ¡°Boy who guards the Wyrm and takes her into his house, you will find joy and bring terrible sorrow for your choices. Go to war and bring misery, bring suffering. But will you find defeat? How could I see such a thing? Summer is for war, not Winter.¡±

    Jewel could feel something in the air to his voice, it was running along her coils and in it she felt an echo of his words brushing her scales before he spoke them.

    As he turned to her, he gazed into her eyes and there was a sharp sting to the sound from the strings under his hand. The wind kicked up around him and her.

    ¡°Young Wyrm who claims mortal men as her own. There is no voice that can set your path, there is no vision in stars or deep earth that holds you but your own. Heed no divination for you are Wyrm and are not in the sight of the stars, and are kin and ally to earth. You will find victory if you choose it.¡±

    And then with that he turned from them, eyes taking in all those around before he turned back to the fire and continued to play and sway.

    The Old Man would remain there at the fire for the rest of the night.

    A willing ear and gentle voice for any that needed it until the breaking of dawn.

    And then he would leave the Headman a discarded garment, out of sorts and drained. Just as he had every year.

    But as the youth of the village joined them at the fire, in the waning light of the last day of the year Jewel and her family turned to the Temple.

    Alexander, Smithson and the Villager boy drifting into the crowd.

    Her brother seemed bright eyed and happy from his adventure and his breath smelled of honeyed jerky.

    He was alright and now he would join the family in their obligations.

    There was one last thing all of them needed to do for the Longest Night.

 7.7

    7.7

    The Temple was packed with barely room for everyone.

    Every inhabitant of the village (except The Headman worn by the Veles).

    All the footmen, Knights and staff of Rochford Manor (except Tsugotholan) also packed in with Jewel and her Family.

    Braziers burned bright and hot, filling the room with the scent of smoke. Jewel and her family had entered first, partly as was due their station and partly so Jewel could get into position without having to wind through the crowd.

    It begins with the priests.

    Three of them stood at the ¡®front¡¯ before the packed crowd, along with Father.

    An unlit bundle of herbs is held out to Father and his hand joins the Priest¡¯s in holding them.

    Then the song of the ritual begins.

    Father¡¯s voice rose deep and resonant, working over words Jewel still did not know despite hearing it every winter.

    Mother and the women begin their chant next, soft calls that rise in sweeping answers with her while the men mirror father¡¯s words.

    Chanting in an almost tumbling wave of old words. Swelling up and down like drifts of snow in winter.

    The women¡¯s voices reminded Jewel of the howl of winds.

    And all of it now joined by the sound of feet against the stone of the temple floor.

    Slow and plodding steps that echo the stride through heavy snow and howling wind. The march through a blizzard.

    The voices of the children join then and Jewel can feel the change in the air. The sensation of fauxfire stirring in their words, in their movement. In the fire of the braziers, in the stones of the temple walls.

    Building up from the earth below and sinking down into the roof and timbres from the sky.

    The darkest, longest night is filled with song. One of the priests shakes a metal bell now in time with the calls. Father let his voice settle down into a soft low hum while the eldest of the youth takes his place in the chant.

    Mother¡¯s voice and those of the women of the village and the maids sinks down into a soft buzz as well.

    Now it was the time for the youth to carry the burden, to hold the song. Amidst the crowd, the other priests and their assistants tend to the braziers.

    The chant continues and Jewel can feel the dark outside echoing in the fauxfire around her.

    The presence of the cold and sharply empty winter sky was practically felt, even through the thatch and timbres of the temple¡¯s roof.

    The currents of the dirt and the even deeper stone rising up from it. Carried and drawn out by the voices and the marching feet.

    Another bell chimes and the youth and children are given a chance to rest their voices, sinking into murmurs and soft heavy breaths as the women return, speaking the words now as the men raise their voices like flames consuming a pyre.

    Jewel raises her voice now.

    She had memorized the sound of the words as well as she could and she spoke them with the women as gently and softly as her throat could manage.

    No one could tell her what the words meant, no one still living knew. But Jewel could feel an echo of them each year.

    And after what she had learned in her march to Kaeketeh, something snapped into place.

    The words, or rather the song, the chant, the ritual was about cold.

    About Winter.

    An ever enclosing, encroaching, squeezing crush of biting winter.

    Smothering dark seeping down from the sky, reaching into the world from the beyond and taking with it warmth.

    Light.

    Heat.

    Life.

    She thought of the small family of brothers and sisters slain dead by cold in their sleep.

    And felt that in the voices of her Family.

    In the incomprehensible noises of the words she dutifully chanted.

    And under and over that she heard the fire.

    The flame that beat in every breast that sang.

    In the legs trudging through the snow to bring fuel for the hearth.

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    In the braziers kept lit by the priests and their attendant orphan assistants.

    In Jewel.

    In the still unlit torch of carefully woven herb, branch and wheat stalk.

    Held by her Father and the Head Priest together.

    Her first turn at speaking the words passed, and she let her voice settle down into the murmuring support.

    The foundations of the ritual.

    Making room for Father and the men to rise to the call.

    To carry the chant again.

    Their voices filled the room as the heat of the fire and the bodies filled it.

    Building with the smells of their breath and the smoke of the braziers.

    More Fauxfire was pulled up from the earth and bound and held with the thin vines and branches of it growing down from the winds.

    When the turn for the youth came again, Jewel took up the call.

    Tasted the hope in it and the danger.

    Winter¡¯s bite went deeper in the young.

    When Mother and the Women took up the chant and the young retired Jewel continued, shifting her voice lower to match them.

    When Father again led the men she released the tension in her throat even more and boomed with his words.

    Again and again and around the cycle went.

    Winding and binding the Fauxfire in the temple tighter and stronger till it was woven like spinning thread in a column on the torch held between Father and the Priest.

    Until it was a column tightly wrought between earth and sky.

    A tree of Fauxfire just as beautiful and glorious as it had been every year she had joined the ceremony.

    Not seen or felt with flesh or eye, but present for her to witness all the same.

    She could feel the chant that was the tree reaching and growing as they fed it on fire and voice and the beat of their hearts.

    All the village together forging it as a spear and a shelter against the bleak and all consuming darkness of the longest night.

    Building an Oath of determination into an Order of mortal man upon the unrelenting cold of the night.

    Outside the temple, before the bonfire, The Old Man swayed with their voice and he played his fiddle to their chant.

    Jewel could feel the current of him and the fire joining in theirs.

    A strange shaping that wound around the temple¡¯s from him.

    Again and again the chant passed from Fathers to Children, From Children to Mothers.

    Sometimes to Children again, Sometimes from Men To Women.

    They did not need to decide whose voices needed to carry on for others. You could feel the strain in the voice and the muster to carry on.

    But Jewel had stopped taking a rest, her voice continuing into the night, never stopping but only shifting to match the chorus that was yet carrying the burden of the words.

    The Village sang against the dark and the terrible deathly grip of winter.

    And at last in a searing flash within the current Jewel felt and saw the Torch light between Father and the Priest.

    A single delicate spark of fire. Easily lost anywhere else.

    But in that carefully wound bundle, it caught and smoldered.

    The chant continued and slowly tongues of flame caught and spread.

    Father and the priest raised the gently guttering flame of the torch high as the flame caught.

    Letting all in the temple see.

    And with that signal, every voice rose to fullness.

    Child and Elder.

    Man and Woman.

    Jewel and Her family.

    They sang together now as the torch took light in its fullness.

    Father¡¯s arm reaching higher than the priest¡¯s could.

    But that was not important.

    Jewel could hear the sharp whine of the fiddle outside as The Old Man struck his tone with theirs.

    And in a flare of fire the Torch was blazing.

    And the Longest night was broken.

    Dawn and Life returned.

    They had done it.

    Jewel nearly collapsed in the sudden wash of warmth coming undone from the tightly woven knot of Fauxfire in the torch.

    She could see the wave of it spilling out over everyone in the temple.

    Binding deeply in their bones. Filling their flesh as her own Flame did in hers.

    The excess washing around them and rushing into the walls and timber of the Temple.

    Then out into the soil and the fields beneath the snow.

    The only thing left untouched was that of the Old Man.

    The Veles stood alone like a stone in a brook.

    Parting the wave of fauxfire around him.

    He lowered his fiddle and bowed.

    Then He stood tall and proud watching the temple.

    Jewel could feel his eyes on her sharp and strong and deep as the earth.

    Given that stare she could only look back at him, never mind that her sight did not pierce the stone of the temple walls.

    She still met his eyes and acknowledged him with her nod.

    He had never done this before in all her years, whether he was wearing the Headman or the elder before him.

    He bent to place his fiddle carefully at his feet, the bow across it.

    Gaze never leaving Jewel¡¯s.

    And then after his back had straightened once more he finally nodded in answer to her.

    And then like one of those strange wooden contraptions that she had seen at the Festival of the Terrorboar last year, he collapsed.

    Body crumpling like a discarded cloak.

    And in that Jewel saw, in the wyrmfire, the last of his breath release.

    She felt in the wind the heat of his body already sapping away.

    The head man had passed on.

    Taken by the Veles that he¡¯d housed.

    As his predecessor had been.

 7.8

    7.8

    Jewel¡¯s hatching day anniversary was a special day.

    Not for feasts.

    Or acclaim.

    There was no grand festival or ritual associated with it.

    Just the third day after the dawn of a new year.

    But Father, Mother and Alexander put in the effort to have as few duties or distractions as possible.

    Jewel honored their support by doing the same where she was able.

    It helped that it was in the midst of winter, when there was little to be done and, even with the loss of the Headman for Rochford Village, his heir to the title had long since been settled by matters of common law and required no interference from Father.

    It was some elderly grandfather as apparently usually happened but Jewel had heard in the morning after the Longest Night that the new headman would not be the one taking up the role of the Veles next winter.

    Some other Elder was apparently deemed better suited for it.

    But still, besides those few responsibilities, Jewel¡¯s hatching day was free for all her family.

    A personal bit of peace where the morning was not burdened with what was to come that day.

    It was another thing Jewel had once found a bit unfair for her Brother.

    Who, being born so close to the Summer Harvest, was often unacknowledged amidst all that needed doing and the responsibilities weighed on everyone.

    So some years ago (when she was four) Jewel had declared that her hatching day was also for Alexander as well.

    And Mother and Father had obliged.

    They still had the required ritual obligations in the Temple for him on his summer birthday. But the day for Alexander to simply have time with Mother and Father was the third of the year.

    Along with Jewel¡¯s.

    Breakfast was the usual pottage of winter. Some peas, some beans and the grains that were less suited to white fluffy bread.

    But unlike usual there was no discussion planned. Father was smiling, although he did not smell as relaxed as he looked, mother for her part was relaxed and Jewel was happy to simply be there.

    ¡°Well then children, what should we make of the day?¡±

    Tsugotholan was lazily and slowly blinking up their breakfast and Kroak had excused himself to do something relating to his training to be a Knight and Captain.

    Jewel considered a moment then looked at Alexander. If she suggested anything he likely would go along with it even if he didn''t prefer her choice. So at least for the start of the day it probably was best to do something that he would enjoy first.

    ¡°Perhaps we could have a ride through the woods come noon? The weather feels like it will stay clear well into the evening. Not a proper hunt but just some time with the horses, Gryphon, trees and family?¡±

    Mother smiled warmly, looking at the beaming face of Alexander who nodded enthusiastically for inability to speak in his excitement.

    Father hummed and nodded. Gesturing to Jorge who also nodded and departed to arrange for the stables to prepare.

    ¡°Hmmm, that sounds quite fine, and how about for the late afternoon and evening then children?¡±

    Jewel considered carefully, with Alexander¡¯s preference served by a fine ride through the winter woods and an adventure on horseback (which she also would enjoy) that left the evening for something she would prefer more herself.

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    And given the option, Jewel had only one thing she would rather do with her family.

    ¡°Could we spend the afternoon and evening before supper by the fire? Just time to talk? Perhaps mother could help me with... some spinning? I think I¡¯ve grown again. The spindle feels smaller and thinner than it did last time.¡±

    Her mother nodded and smiled kindly to her daughter.

    Embroidery, spinning and the other work of a woman and lady were the things Jewel was worst at, Muriel didn''t teach it except the bare minimum to keep cloth and armor in usable state.

    So her only lessons had been from Mother in those moments they had together.

    ¡°I think that sounds like a fine time, Jewel. A warm sit in by the fire after a ride in the winter sun would be lovely.¡±

    And with the day planned out Breakfast settled into soft and light banter.

    Words rolling over Jewel as Father mused on if they would see any winter elk on their ride. Mother admonishing him light-heartedly that it was not a hunt but a simple ride in the woods to relax.

    Alexander grew attentive and finally found his voice to ask if they could bring their bows just in case and Mother sighing and nodding.

    It was not, however, to be a hunt.

    But everyone was alright with that.

    The dead of winter right after the turn of the year was a poor time for it, but if opportunity presented itself there was no harm in bringing bow and arrow.

    The noon sun came and they made a ride of it, Jewel on a whim called Smithson to join them. And although it slowed everything down a bit, she felt he had earned the honor for watching over her Brother and perhaps they might have become closer over the Longest Night festivities?

    He certainly was not shy with talking to Alexander.

    Which left Jewel and her parents to simply appreciate the fresh snow and bare trees of the forest as they rode at a pleasant walk.

    Jewel glided in soft-footed bounds over the snow drifts along the wood path. Sometimes she managed her Wyrmflame such that she did not even shift the snow as she stepped over the hidden piles of leaves and sleeping brush.

    Father sat on Zephyrvam. The Gryphon¡¯s feathers puffed out heavily making him look quite fat due to the cold, in a way that still made Jewel want to giggle.

    It was just so comical to see the normally fierce steed looking so rounded all over.

    Mother riding sidesaddle on Midnight Justice made the black Warhorse seem even more of an oversized expression of his breed. But she sat completely at ease on the giant of a stallion¡¯s saddle as much as if he was a chair at dinner.

    Jewel held her head a little higher, trying to match Mother¡¯s grace and poise as they passed under the bare canopy.

    Simply enjoying the delighted words of Alexander and Smithson.

    Her brother excitedly pointed out tracks from small game and Smithson nodded along.

    It was a quiet afternoon, the sound of birds all but fled from Rochford in Winter.

    Leaving the stillness in the air of ice and the smothering silence of snow over the world.

    Creaking squeaks carrying under the boys¡¯ mostly one-sided conversation as Gryphon and Horse trudged through it.

    The sun shining full force onto Jewel¡¯s scales made a winter walk very different from spring.

    When the leaves would be drinking up the sun¡¯s light well before it reached Jewel.

    But here, Jewel could feel it welcoming her while the trees, drowsy in the chill, mostly ignored her.

    However, for all the wonderful perfection of the sun and the exuberance of Alexander, Father¡¯s eyes did not manage to light up with the simple joy Jewel had wanted.

    He smiled and laughed and Mother smiled back to him warmly.

    But Jewel could see he had sadness in his eyes.

    Smell that he was even now not fully at ease.

    When she caught him looking her way and just, in every moment she noticed he was simply staring off over the winter-wrapped sight of his Demesne.

    Jewel wanted to frown, to ask what was troubling Father but she could guess.

    And today was not about such worries.

    Today was a day for their Family to enjoy their time with each other.

    Not think about the inevitable War that was yet half a year distant.

    She was mustering herself for what it would entail. It would be difficult and embarrassing to bring it up now, but Jewel drew together all her fortitude and skill as her Father¡¯s daughter to do what needed to be done.

    ¡°Mother! Do you recall when I broke the dining table?¡±

    She would bring the smile to her Father¡¯s eyes even if it made her want to flare her wings in embarrassment.

 7.9

    7.9

    Save for a few heavier than normal storms, winter was as quiet as always. Jewel made her rounds of the Village, checking in with the new Headman to find out which households were in most dire need of her flame or ability to march in all manner of cold and wet weather without harm.

    It was quiet but for one change.

    Father and Bromthil had the footmen training on every clear day. And Alexander and Jewel had their schedules shifted to join them.

    Alexander¡¯s training was in bow, endurance, strengthening and sword.

    Jewel¡¯s training was quartered into kinds. Alternating and intermixed as weather and availability of time of the others involved allowed.

    For the first, she was in the courtyard to face off ten or more men at a time in a melee. Held back from flying higher than the fortress walls.

    As before the rules were that any touch by either her or the men upon her was to count as a mark against them.

    Jewel rarely came out of those sessions with less than fifty marks against her, but she had slowly been climbing to at least deliver almost half again as many against the footmen.

    The second kind was Jewel¡¯s least favorite, but Father had been insistent that it be done.

    It started with as many able bodied bowmen were available (Father and Alexander included).

    After they were gathered all would string up with the fastest draw short bows available and let loose volleys of the plain wooden shafts of training stele at Jewel.

    For the first five days of the exercise she had been allowed to counter them however she wished and to face the direction from which they were shot.

    Blasts of Wyrmfire had been her first instinct, but Jewel soon found that she could not actually keep up either bursts of breath or a continuous stream long enough to defend herself adequately from the literal rain of wooden missile raining down on her.

    After that she had tried using her wings to push them off course, but even that had been insufficient over the constant barrage. Some stele made it through despite the turbulence either by Father calling for a change of angle or a just simple sheer quantity.

    On the sixth day Jewel was ordered to turn away from the lines of archers. Which Jewel also found unfair but Father overruled.

    She had only just managed to bring the marks against her down to seventy-six hits (counted by a combination of Murial¡¯s watchful eye and charcoal from the burnt wood stele heads leaving sooty signs on her scales).

    But that mark count climbed into the hundreds after that. It was significantly harder to dodge and deflect blows she was not allowed to look at and anticipate beforehand.

    The Third and Fourth kind of training days were less embarrassing and frustrating in some ways. But in others they were worse.

    While in the melee and the archery practice Jewel was constrained from taking aloft, the third and fourth kinds of training were in the air.

    The Third was target practice, but of a kind Jewel found far more finicky than even spindle work!

    Father would fly with her, then fire one of his own training arrows into a particular tricky spot for Jewel to hit.

    Usually amidst the naked branches of the forest.

    Then she was expected to strike exactly what the arrow had with her Wyrmflame and nothing else!

    There was no one to witness or disappoint but Father in this training but every shrub, tree branch or rock she even touched with her Wyrmfire would bring stern looks and gestures in Flight Cant.

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    ¡°Squire¡¯s arm.¡±

    ¡°Captain¡¯s head¡±

    ¡°Brother¡¯s Leg¡±

    Jewel knew what he meant. If she had to use her flame and missed like that it was not rocks, shrubbery or branches that would be turned to naught but ash.

    It was potential friends, footman, allies, kin.

    Squire, Captain, Brother.

    Smithson, Bromthil, Alexander.

    The reminders every time that if this had been a real battle she might have maimed or killed one she cared for.

    That training was the worst of the four. Made tolerable for the time with Father but awful as well.

    The Fourth form of training came in as a close second.

    It was similar to the Melee and the Archery practice combined. But there were no dozen or dozens of footmen against Jewel.

    It was only Father and Zephyrvam.

    And whereas the melee and archery were relegated to the ground and Jewel¡¯s wings proverbially clipped.

    Here it was in the open sky.

    Jewel now just ten winters old against her Father and his skill in Archery and Flightcraft.

    They were still training arrows. Light young wood still soft with life, unhardened or headed with metal or stabilized with fletching. Merely carved into the shape of an over long and thick Stele.

    But for all the accommodations to make the shafts of pointed wood less lethal.

    They were still being fired from Father¡¯s full Gryphonbow.

    And just as assuredly as it would do Jewel no harm but a temporarily stinging bruise that did not make it hurt less.

    At middle range, Father¡¯s keen eye and bow were a threat.

    Outpacing the pair was impossible for Jewel as the Gryphon could fly faster.

    Then there was Zephyrvam himself to contend with as well.

    If Jewel kept her distance or tried to flee, Father would draw the Gryphon into altitude faster then Jewel could raise herself and then strike from above with punishing lances of wood.

    But if they closed?!

    Zephyrvam had four talons and a massive beak to contend with.

    He was not as maneuverable as Jewel but there was quite a lot of her for him to try and snatch, claw, bite or kick in diving passes.

    They closed and parted and swept by each other as she attempted to muster herself and her Wyrmfire to defend.

    Both in pressing and shoving her body through the air or lifting abruptly but also more aggressively.

    In place of her full fire Jewel used a sudden flashing burst. Bright enough to sting the eyes, maybe singe a bit of hair or feathers but otherwise harmless.

    Enough to make them wary and act as a ¡®mark¡¯ against her Father when she managed to bathe him in the white flares.

    No one was there to keep score except Father and Jewel, but she could count on one foreclaw the times she caught him in her ¡®fire¡¯. And she could feel the bruises that accumulated in their spars when he or the Gryphon got her.

    The disparity was obvious and her stinging flesh was more than enough reminder of her failures.

    Father always was gentle with her afterwards. Zephyrvam, too, did not bite or claw as hard as he could. He preened over her scales and crooned and nuzzled when they were no longer sparring.

    They were both trying to be as gentle and accommodating to her inexperience as they could. The footmen both in the melee and archery also tried to not overly strain her. But it was clear that Jewel was greatly outmatched on land and in air despite their efforts.

    And as her Father told her the first day of Training.

    They needed to be as harsh as possible so she would learn as quickly as possible.

    He loved her, he would do everything to protect and train her for the War to come.

    And this was part of that.

    She could see past his bravery, see how much fear there was in his eyes. Jewel could taste it In his sweat on the air.

    Father had hardly smelled calm or happy since they met with the Countess Bathory.

    Jewel knew he worried despite how he looked or sounded amongst the Footmen.

    Jewel did not complain or wince or limp if she could help it.

    It was important that she put in everything she could to her training.

    For her Father.

 7.i

    7.i

    With Forest Turn passed, the specter of winter will fall upon your lands.

    By now almost all the labor of your peasantry is complete. If you are possessed of particularly slovenly tenants then some little grain processing remains unfinished but what scraps of such, if well managed are solely in the portion of the laborer¡¯s own share instead of your own.

    Cold, rain and eventually snow will confine peasants indoors, where they will mostly laze about and possibly, if you are blessed, contribute to labors of value. Amongst these you might see but should not expect women to spin and men perform handicrafts such as wood carving or what toolswork does not require a smithy.

    Encouragement of these works and their sale can provide a useful supplement to the upkeep of one¡¯s lands and should traditionally not be taxed in kind.

    A wise steward of their demesne lets the land and its people cultivate themselves where possible.

    When the weather and the cold allows, you may see labors of maintenance carried out, and animals cared for.

    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.Make sure all dung from one¡¯s flocks is stockpiled to be mixed with marl, clay or wood scrap and chips from carpentry. These stores are treasure and will give returns when spread upon the fields come Spring Ploughing.

    Take care in its placement though, for there is almost never enough to fertilize all fields and thus they should be prioritized to your choicest crops.

    As is their nature, your tenants will be lazy and only fertilize those strips closest to their barns or homes if left to their own devices.

    Making central store houses for dung near your best fields can cater to this failing of theirs but at risk of losing more of your labor force over winter then if allowed to store closer to their homes and barns.

    A better compromise is to build up or reinforce such prized fields with scattered households.

    But the cost and agitation of the peasants can be greater than the returns.

    Expect Lambing to begin as the weather turns and this will herald the end of winter, this is a popular time for festivals but the local variety is so numerous it would be the work of an entire volume to even mention all I¡¯ve seen.

    Plough teams will begin their labors soon after this point if the earth thaws swiftly and from then one should turn to my notes upon the Labors of Fallow Turn.

    -Coinage and Lordly Stewardship by Sir Broghuilidad Silvertongue of Cortaza

 7.ii

    7.ii

    All workings, whether of mortal or divine providence, are touched and touch the nature of water.

    A curse can be carried from surface to soil to stone and deep into the wells. A binding or ward can spread from lake to river and past into the deepness of the underwells.

    It is possible, but extremely rare, for the will of a Wizard to travel by water and fill an entire city and all within it.

    Or to sink even further.

    It is for this nature that a great many highly inaccurate traditions and taboos are commonly held as truth. I have witnessed provincial lords trying to command their armies to kill themselves for thirst or break the backs of their wagon and horse in the effort to hold all the water needed for campaigns.

    All to avoid the possible machinations of foreign practitioners or wizards.

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    While such rituals most assuredly do exist, the scope, spread and the diffusion of such over the tracts of land that feeds the waters of most clean sources is so vast as to be all but insurmountable.

    Anywhere but within a Weird¡¯s own domain the expense and precision required to master an entire demesne¡¯s worth of water is impractical in the extreme.

    The simple precaution of filling one¡¯s own water skin from a pure source or securing such wells immediately drawn from by soldiers is more than enough to prevent nearly all possible methods of influence or attack that might be carried by way of waters and streams.

    Tales of great plagues and terrible curses lasting for millennia after the events of their strikes is pure foolishness.

    Unless you are literally sieging a Weird upon their chosen domain you should not fear an enemy enthralling entire armies by expending half their life time to begin such a spell and every waking hour after maintaining the effort to keep such a working active over a single water source.

    Nevermind countless manors and villages across the countryside.

    -On the Workings of Sorcery by Lord Sorcerer Urul The Written Weird.

 7.iii

    7.iii

    1058th Year

    Mid Grainturn.

    Our mission to secure the border of the Empire in this campaign has met with failure.

    The northern fortress city of Thorn we had come to liberate from barbarian occupation is no more.

    Accursed by the workings and Nodens of the barbarian practitioner Volta The Stricken. To stride a ruin that was once a bustling city of twenty-five thousand after less then a year strikes a pain in the heart.

    And the means by which it was accomplished? It will haunt me.

    The devastation is not in cut down bodies, ash, stripped skeletons or even rotting corpses. The buildings here are still standing. Though abandoned for most of the spring season or more by the growth of plants and the rot in their stores.

    It for all accounts is the appearance of as if every living soul of the city, man and beast alike simply fled entirely and never returned or maybe astoundingly perished in winter.

    But within the center of the city, every man, woman and soldier of the original fortress garrison was found.

    Arrayed together in a great disk in the plaza at the center of the city.

    Joined hand in hand in great spokes that had been tightened to wind around so that every body was pressed and contorted into its neighbors.

    Amongst the men are also the beast, swine just as twisted, holding fast to ankles with mouths and then tail or trotter further grasped by mouth in their own chains.

    So forth on inspection were rats and dogs and even birds. The only living animal absent was the cats who apparently held some premonition of the danger. But all others, even proud horses and cattle could be found scattered in the midst of the rest.

    All of them wound through a great disk that had been made of the populace and now held fast and still like a carpet woven of joined bodies.

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    All of them still and staring to the center at nothingness.

    Their faces are placid and serene where visible.

    Bodies untensed but for what was needed to entwine them so.

    And every single one is run through in their veins with cold black stone.

    To cut the limbs is an effort much like hewing young saplings.

    And they bleed not at all although their flesh oozes other humors.

    The rest of their bodies and especially their eyes are each marbled in its own stone, not yet complete in many but tentative scouts were able to confirm that in the very center the spread progresses almost totally through the afflicted.

    Like ice finding its way through the lakes in these hateful northern winters.

    Stone mixed and mingled with flesh and left every living inhabitant of the city stone and cold but given their subtle shifts and movements, not entirely dead.

    If only they were dead.

    Our Wise Magister of Noddens and his attendant Elementalists made a survey of the calamity and after three days of investigation and strict discipline put upon the soldiers announced the cause of the terrible sorcery.

    Upon the wells of the city a foul working had been made and for reasons known only to the barbarian practitioner Volta, the city was set to this by the nature of that working into their flesh by what should have been life giving waters.

    Of the practitioner responsible no sign was found in the city although we had come to make war and liberate it from him. It is my opinion that the barbarian practitioner, contrary to what had been reported, had brought down the fortress by a single stroke of cowardly art.

    That the city was already dead by the time we had received word and planned to muster.

    The Magister believes that every well must be filled, every aqueduct toppled and all plumbing melted or broken asunder.

    When this act is done he will set the Elementalists to a great working of our own and topple all the works and history of the fortress of Thorn.

    Only once there is no chance that more unwary men or beasts will add to the number of the abominable horror that was made of the populace will we depart these lands and return home.

    I expect that I will suffer for a failure; that was certain before I even set out. Even so I will entreat the senate and the emperor that another campaign is called for.

    These barbarians must suffer twice fold the horror that was enacted here.

    - Excerpt from the General Aurelia of Cantor¡¯s Campaign Journal

 8.1

    8.1

    Jewel was not sure why, but the biggest shock that the coming war had brought to her home was that Samuel¡¯s gardens had been taken down from the walls.

    For all their trip to Kaeketeh had been its own kind of trial.

    For all the shifts in her routine towards martial training nearly every single day.

    For all the rearranging and opening up of long unused wings of the Manor and the use of the mustering grounds in the courtyard for its original purpose.

    Seeing the soil from the gardens emptied into pots and taken away to storage and then the frames of the raised beds themselves taken apart to clear the fortifications struck Jewel as incredibly sad.

    For all of her life, Samuel¡¯s gardens had been there.

    The bubbling confusion of exposed stones now feeling sunlight for the first time in generations spoke to how long they had been there.

    Rochford had long been distant from any border concerned with war.

    But now, instead of merely the works of the fields and farms, the Barony was already mustering and preparing for war.

    The granaries of the village were emptied, the precious cargo moved to within the manor itself.

    Alongside what remained from the winter sillage and any other items or goods deemed too precious for their owners to risk being taken by marching armies that, until this year, had been neighbors.

    A good number of the doves taken to Taeketeh with their visit had already returned with missives for Father. Some of them had flown even in the dead of winter!

    Other birds flew from all eight directions of the wind as soon as the spring thaw came.

    Not all of them were bound for Rochford, but it was hard to miss for Jewel¡¯s eyes, even amid dodging and sparring with Zephyrvam and Father.

    The white feathers of messenger doves were distinct from any other bird or gryphon that flew in this season.

    Jewel heard Father and Mother discussing the situation.

    Bathory was preparing.

    Testing what alliances would hold strong in the coming war.

    Finding pledges from others to if not join her in support with arms at least offer contracts ahead of time for passage by her armies or sworn oaths to not raise their own armies against her.

    Jewel saw her home changing everywhere.

    But Samuel¡¯s gardens left her heart feeling like it was tearing.

    The stones were pallid where once they had sheltered under good, rich earth.

    Raised slightly still where their fellows had been smoothed and slowly worn away by passing feet.

    ¡°Jewel! Focus!¡±

    Muriel¡¯s voice cut through her pain and called her attention back to the task at hand.

    Another melee. This time with all the household footmen in attendance against her.

    When she had gotten less than one mark per opponent against her they had doubled the number for her training.

    Then another ten had been added to it.

    And then the method of melee was changed. The footmen were given time to position themselves, plot how would be most advantageous a situation they might catch Jewel in.

    After the first time she overheard them right before the bout, Jewel was sent to perform other duties or training while they plotted.

    For twelve days the marks against her in the melee once more grew to more than twice per opponent.

    But even then she had dragged herself back to keeping it to only one or less.

    Muriel, Father and Bromthil had finally conferred and now her melee bouts were staggered almost as much as the archery practice.

    Needing time to recover, plot and plan for the footmen and Bromthil.

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    Father still mostly did not take to the field amongst them, but with their captain the fifty armored and armed soldiers were significantly harder to avoid.

    There was no longer a signal. At least not one Jewel could hear.

    The footmen moved in ambush, their spear heads, like the arrows, were burnt cinders so that any strike upon her of force would leave a black smudge.

    It had taken almost all winter but none of them held back anymore.

    All the strength of a man was barely enough to bruise Jewel.

    She had grown again.

    Not as much as when she was three but there was definitely an extra foot added to her. Precisely where exactly was not entirely certain.

    Jewel thought it mostly went in her middle between her hips and shoulders. Mother and Tsulogothulan disagreed and insisted she got more of it in her tail and neck.

    Jewel swung her tail with consideration. Trying to avoid impacting with the full force she could actually muster.

    That was for the training she now undertook far from the fragile bodies of the footmen.

    Jewel had found that if she ran Wyrmflame through her bones and flesh as well as her scales, she could strike stone as hard as she wanted and only get light bruising.

    But for the melee where friends and allies were trying their best to help her improve Jewel held back.

    The rules were simple.

    Any contact from her was grounds for the men to have a mark against them.

    Some of them had tried to cheat. Held back from letting whoever was scorekeeping know that Jewel had touched them.

    But a few times slapping the offenders clean off their feet in the next round quickly cleared that up.

    Father and Bromthil had told her to do that.

    This was not just training for Jewel. It was for the footmen as well.

    If they grew complacent, then they might be less careful against a Gryphon or one of the other trained warbeasts of The Realm.

    Jewel twisted and bounded around spears. Trying to keep them from touching her.

    It was so awkward, she had to stay below the walls. There was so much more of her to hit and she needed to move both swiftly and gently in every single strike.

    While her opponents could throw all their might into every attempt.

    But she did not complain.

    Father had ordered this and despite all her efforts she could not rid him of his now omnipresent stink of fear.

    Not the terror of battle as Kraok felt against the boar.

    But the lingering, sapping fear which could build for seasons in the body.

    Father smelled like the fear of a maimed peasant unsure how they would manage harvest.

    Of a child recently thrust into the position of the head of a household without an elder for guidance. Struggling with a scythe day after day.

    Father smelled of the kind of fear that clung to those with cursed humors who likely would not see another spring but yet had to suffer through the summer.

    And his fear was for Jewel and Alexander and Mother.

    He assured Jewel, when she asked after one of their flying spars, that her progress did his worries good.

    Lessened his burden.

    ¡°Hold! That¡¯s enough! You lot of milk sops are obviously not prepared to face the coddling of a Ten Winters Old Lady!¡±

    Bromthil had called an end to the melee before the allotted time. He did that some times.

    Usually when Jewel was barely taking one mark per four footmen.

    She let her feet settle to the ground and shook out her coils and wings.

    Trying to ignore the stink of thunder and storm that poured off of her despite not even releasing a flash of her breath to distract.

    She could hear Muriel and Bromthil speaking off to the side as the entire contingent of Rochford¡¯s footmen groaned and in a few cases limped from sprains or bruising Jewel had failed to avoid inflicting.

    There was some blood from split lips and scrapes made against the packed dirt of the mustering ground.

    ¡°She¡¯s gotten wise on how to fight against these numbers. We¡¯re using her more to test the men¡¯s metal then teach her anything new by this point.¡±

    Her Governess then spoke firmly.

    ¡°Then let''s raise volunteers from the levies. Divide them amongst your men, Say train them to manage ten to each?¡±

    Bromthil muttered then shook his head.

    ¡°Lord Rochford believes we can spare no more than two hundred and some come the marshaling. Best to train with what we will have and stick to five each.¡±

    Muriel replied. Their words surrounded and buffeted by the noise of the footmen removing their gear and gingerly poking their injuries.

    ¡°That will likely require every able bodied person among the village and staff combined join in a bout.¡±

    Jewel pretended not to listen but she winced inside. The footmen were not quite as carefree with her as they once had been before the melees started.

    And now the villagers were going to join in that?

    She wished the war was gone and settled already. That it did not insist on forcing itself upon her life like this. That she didn''t need to train so harshly with those who did not flinch away from her or mistake her for a beast.

    But Father said this would help.

    So Jewel did not complain about how unfair they made her training.

    She¡¯d fight all the village raised in arms stripped of her Wyrmfire and somehow win, if it would save her Father just one day of that terrible, lingering fear.

 8.2

    8.2

    Jewel walked upon the friendly dirt of the village road.

    Today was the day that the village would be joining in a mock mustering.

    In the days prior she had seen the footmen going on horseback to bring news to the rest of the villages to make arrangements for the levy.

    To find the sons and fathers that would take up the spear and bow when their lord called.

    The riders had returned last night.

    Those levies would not be a part of today¡¯s bout.

    No, instead every boy and man elderly or young that could hold a spear or draw a bow string would instead be standing in for the final levy.

    A day was being taken from their spring labors to make a try at this.

    The footmen had spent the morning running drills and trading between each other under Bromthil¡¯s guidance.

    In most cases there were five villagers to a footman. Although due to the balance of bows, spears and general availability of villagers, a few of the footmen had to make do with four. Five of the footmen had only three.

    Still they had taken it and made the attempt to rally the villagers to the effort all morning.

    Correcting footing and angle of spears, warning them what was going to be expected of them with experience.

    Bromthil was taking the field today as well, drawing up four whole footmen himself to act as a core of hardened infantry that could move with the mostly levy-populated groups.

    All told, it was forty-three footman led groups of villagers arranged in the fallow fields left to waste.

    Just shy of two hundred ¡®soldiers¡¯.

    All against Jewel on her own.

    Food had been provided and even watered down wine from Father¡¯s stores were being given to all the villagers that participated.

    Promise of further support to all the families of those participating also had reached Jewel from the closed door meeting with the new headman.

    The congregations were rather loose compared to the discipline Jewel had come to expect from the Footmen before her bouts.

    It gave hints and minor bursts of frivolity and festival air to the assembly despite the glare of Bromthil and the stern barks from the acting captains in the footmen.

    Jewel saw many faces she knew among them. There were smiles. Some of them were almost as young as Alexander.

    As the sun rose towards noon Father rode out before them and called with a single bellow that echoed in the valley.

    ¡°Ho!¡±

    The footmen all stood straighter and the stand-ins for levies among the villagers made an attempt at it.

    ¡°Today is the first of a full training bout to aid my daughter the Lady Jewel of Rochford. For in the coming summer she will join me in mustering for war at the command of the Countess Bathory, my liege and for the security of Rochford and Viznove.¡±

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    Among the faces Jewel knew she saw some of the festival joy flee with a stiffening and firming up of expression. Hands held the wooden spears with charred tips harder.

    ¡°My footmen have been preparing you all morning. But it¡¯s been a bit and I know the wine is good.¡±

    Which got cheers from most and a few scattered cups of wine raised despite attempts that had been made to get them to put them down.

    ¡°So for those in particularly high spirits I will state the rules again. You are to listen to and obey your captains as if their words were mine.¡±

    A nod to one of the footmen and another affirmation from the crowd.

    ¡°The goal is to put my Daughter to the utmost limit of her ability. To test her as she would be in battle. Strike her as fast and as surely as if you meant to skewer her. She is a wyrm, her scales did not bend under the goring of the Terror Boar, when she was just a babe she slept in the oven with baking bread. She is not impervious but nothing you could wield will risk harm to her. Strike True.¡±

    That got some laughs and Jewel wanted to flare her wings in embarrassment for Father¡¯s joke at her expense.

    ¡°Your spears will leave a mark of charcoal, for her part Jewel¡¯s task is to prevent as many marks on her scales as she can.¡±

    Father narrowed his eyes and fixed a few around him that still had their cups.

    ¡°For your part, beyond following orders your task is simple. If any part of my daughter should touch you, fall back, drop your spear, retreat away from battle if you''re able.¡±

    Father nodded to his footmen and now they were the ones who were laughing a bit darkly. A few of the villagers noticed the shift in the air and turned worriedly to their superiors.

    ¡°If you find yourself in a blinding white fog and hear a clap of thunder all around then you should consider yourself likewise to be finished for this bout.¡±

    That brought alarmed eyes and glances to Jewel. Almost everyone here had seen Jewel¡¯s flame perform all manner of terrible destruction.

    ¡°This is a bout and a test for my daughter and for you my footmen and those of you amongst them that will be answering the call as levies this year. It is a friendly one and my daughter is a kind gentle soul. You have nothing to fear.¡±

    Then his tone went grim and his eyes distant, the smell of long lingering fear rose ever so stronger than had become distressingly usual.

    ¡°But do not think to cheat her, if this was war her blows would shatter you. And her breath would be a mercifully instant death¡±

    He gave them all a stern look and then cracked a wide smile.

    ¡°So let us have a fun bout, anyone left standing and untouched after each round against my Daughter will join my family in a feast for tonight¡¯s supper. Good Luck.¡±

    Jewel shook out her coils and pulled herself back as she had learned best suited battle against superior numbers. Bunching her coils up so as few of them could stab her with spears or rain arrows down upon her.

    The rules on Jewel were still strict, she still could not simply leap into the air to escape, even though in a real battle that is what she almost always was supposed to do.

    An approximation of her Wyrmflame had been approved. It did naught but blind, deafen and amusingly set every hair on one¡¯s person to stand on end and spark with the most adorable lightning when they touched others.

    But it took about as long to muster as her regular flame and did not destroy those caught in the midst of it. Father had her train with it for days before he approved its use in bouts with the Footmen.

    Jewel braced herself and waited.

    Letting the Footmen organize and array their force of villagers with spears and arrows as they saw fit.

    Nearly two hundred friends and acquaintances rallied together against Jewel.

    She braced herself to do all she could and hoped they would not fear her after this.

    Father¡¯s voice bellowed again, just as clear and sharp and strong as he had to get their attention.

    ¡°Begin!¡±

    And on her Father¡¯s word Jewel danced into battle.

 8.3

    8.3

    Jewel glared at the spindle, then looked over to Mother and how effortlessly she seemed able to take a bundle of wool and just magic it into thread on the simple little piece of wood and stone.

    If everyone else had to focus as hard as her to accomplish the grace and mastery of their spinning, Jewel would not feel so bad.

    But instead, Mother and all the other women were talking constantly, barely even paying attention to the effort.

    Even the girls who were still learning themselves seemed to mostly be able to turn their attention away most of the time.

    And Jewel was ashamed to say she was jealous of them to only have a few years of growth and at most a doubling in size to concern themselves and their lessons.

    Jewel had doubled in her length nearly four times since she was hatched!

    Mother commented and talked about how the children were fairing through the village, how the men were getting on.

    A few admonishments for the bruises they had seen from Jewel¡¯s rough treatment.

    Apologies offered just as freely and good natured laughs and encouraging smiles.

    Jewel was yet not a mistress of wool enough to afford much attention for the banter all around her.

    She needed to keep her focus.

    As Jewel got longer and bigger, the nuance and specifics she learned the year before in spinning always changed. It felt like every year she had to struggle just to regain competence all over again.

    When she was four she had mostly been able to do it as children and her Mother spun.

    But then she had gotten too long to hold herself all the way upright.

    So she had briefly learned to run the pulled line of wool horizontally from hands to foot before dropping the spindle down. But then she had gotten so long that way was too far for the wool to go and still let gravity keep the pull.

    Then as her Wyrmfire grew stronger and deeper that caused all kinds of other problems.

    And that was after she had found a way to even manage what peasant girls could do at half her age!

    Her hands and feet had started poorly suited to the work. Her claws are sharp and easily either snared or broke the wool, her digits, while usable to grasp, had less finesse in their splay and her scales had a different texture to any skin of the women and made keeping the wool moving the right pace through them difficult.

    And then all four of her limbs had grown larger, their capacity for the tingling flame of Wyrmfire swelling more.

    At one time Jewel had even briefly used the claw finger of one of her wings to help drop the wool to the spindle but that had worked poorly at best and impossibly when she got a bit more wingspan.

    Spinning was probably one of the works that Jewel was the absolute worst at.

    But it was the proper duty of a lady to know how to spin thread, weave fabric, repair garments and embroider clothes.

    So Jewel was there with Mother and twenty-five of the women and girls from the village working on Father¡¯s wool from last year¡¯s shearing.

    Jewel huffed again and shifted and bunched herself up another way. She had gotten just big enough that the way she had used to hold herself before was making the thread too weak.

    Shifting around and trying to find the right compromise and folding and piling herself to get her feet and hands at the right distance from each other all over again.

    Struggling to get the angles right. Her arms were so awkwardly placed! They were both too close together to give a spindle that fit her hands with proper room between them and yet far enough apart the child¡¯s one would not work.

    She shifted and moved around on her side of the spinning room. Which was whichever room had good light on that particular day and enough space for Mother and the day¡¯s tithe in spinners to work in the same room as Jewel for the season.

    It had been one of Mother¡¯s suggestions years ago that Jewel abandon trying to spin precisely as a human woman did and instead sought to leverage the gifts she had been given as a dragon.

    And that did help.

    Temporarily.

    Whenever Jewel could manage to find a proper posture her size did provide means to handle a great bulk of wool at once, and when she was not failing to pace it such that the thread grew weak, she was often complimented on the quality and strength of her thread.

    So she was using her size to do a longer drop with a heavier spindle.

    And when she managed to get all things properly sorted, Jewel could spin thread quite well indeed.

    Jewel could be an asset.

    But that assumed Jewel could get the pace, spin and balance right for her latest dimensions.

    Then that she also successfully adjusted for how her scales could be simultaneously too smooth and too catching on the wool at the same time!

    Which was a nuanced property that changed as much with her mood as it did her age!

    It meant Jewel often had at best half a season in five when she felt even reasonably useful at spinning.

    Jewel just kept growing and changing every year, and her scales shifted and did frustrating things in the precise nature of how they went down her fingers when there was more finger to cover.

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    And then there was how, if she let her Wyrmfire get too heated the wool, started to bend and cling to her from all over the room and snare itself together.

    Which meant that she also could neither grow overly excited or agitated or frustrated or even let herself daydream overmuch as some of the girls did around her when they grew tired of talking.

    To spin Jewel had to be calm, poised, serene and at peace not just in appearance but in truth.

    She tried again holding the wool, spindle and thread precisely. The main clump held in her right hand, fed from a bundle resting on her coils, the loosely aligned thread running over her left hand finger just behind the root of her claw and from there dropping down the length of her folded up midsection to the weighted spindle dangling just over the floor.

    The place of her current posture consternation was finding where she needed to alternate with her right and left foot to gently keep the spindle going.

    Jewel focused inward on just the feel of the wool passing from hand to finger and down and to simply get to the business of relearning and remastering just how long she needed to wait before the thread was strong.

    Keep her wyrmfire to only slightly running through the tips of her fingers and toes to help the fibers only stick to her otherwise smooth scales without pulling the thread apart mid-wind.

    Breathing deeply and ever so slowly so she did not disturb any of the other women and girls in their work.

    Yes this probably would work, the thread was coming out properly strong.

    It had taken her a quarter of the morning spinning time before the noon meal but she finally had an idea of where she had to hold her body.

    Now from this posture, she was trying to match her Mother¡¯s or even some of the older peasant woman¡¯s grace as they shifted smoothly from the spinning of a length of thread to the winding round the spindle of the finished portion and the drawing out of more wool into a fresh line for spinning.

    All simultaneously! The clumps of wool sliding through fingers and down into a fresh length. The best amongst them (and Mother was nearly the best) could keep the motions all fluid and constant and without the awkward stalls and stops that Jewel faltered into repeatedly.

    As she failed to keep the fluid movements right for the fifth time that morning, Jewel had to smother her frustrated groan.

    But of course, that meant her wyrmfire was no longer tamped down everywhere except in the very tips of her fingers and the root of her toe-claws.

    The agitation spread through her hide as the wyrmfire rose up and pulled the thread of the spindle towards her, picking up specks of loose fiber and dust. They clung to Jewel''s scales before she could recenter herself.

    The banter hitched a bit but they all knew how much it bothered her to interrupt their gossip.

    Mother¡¯s duties for Father were important. Talking to the other women of the Village while spinning was about more than just filling spindles of thread, after all.

    The words and gossip that passed among them was the heartbeat of the village.

    It was among the reasons Mother insisted that the women who worked spinning Father¡¯s wool stock should change every day among the households of the Village.

    Thinking about this, Jewel found her center.

    Focusing on something other than her own failings helped.

    The slack returned to the wool around her coils as once again the trembling tingle of Wyrmfire focused itself back to her fingers, toes and deep in the core of her body near her heart.

    Jewel glanced around at the way the eldest and surest spinners around her moved.

    There was a sort of rhythm to it.

    To their voices, to the way they spoke, the way the wool moved in hand among them and then was drawn into thread.

    The slight bobbing of the spindles as they twined the thread into being was magic.

    A familiar kind of magic.

    Jewel paused in her struggle, relaxing, letting her spindle still.

    This was familiar.

    Jewel began moving again, but this time it was different.

    She listened to the murmurs and the gossip but more than that she listened to the music in it.

    She felt it in the wyrmfire that ran in the thinnest spark through each finger and toe. Not just her own but in the others.

    In the way that there was almost a hum to the wool as it passed her digits and ran over the smoothness of her scales.

    The subtle winding against the grain of the wood, not just in her spindle but all of them.

    There was a hum in the thread being made.

    Jewel found herself humming softly along with the music in that.

    She felt how the music wanted to move.

    How the wool and the light and the wood and the fibers sang.

    And started to shift herself, moving her legs, her coils, her arms and neck.

    Making the sound more right.

    Making the movement more smooth.

    The conversation stilled a bit around her for a time. A few of the girls and older women offered their own songs.

    Old songs Jewel had heard before when she walked the village.

    Outside houses where families learned old truths they did not share with Father or any of the Footmen.

    But they were here to spin thread from wool.

    And soon while Jewel¡¯s humming did not vanish entirely the gossip and the talk returned.

    Jewel was surprised when they had not even reached the noon day meal and they had all of them run out of bundles of wool.

    Or to be more precise, Jewel had started taking from their own loads of wool in order to spin more of it into her own line.

    And then she had simply run out of more work to do.

    Everyone seemed to be staring at her with a bit of wonder and amusement at the incredibly burdened spindle of thread she had made.

    Mother beamed at Jewel and looked around at the rest of the women and girls that had come to fulfill their service as Spinners.

    At the fully spun wool that should have been the effort of a group this size for at least another thirty days.

    Now all nicely wound and wrapped.

    Jewel felt the urge to flare her wings rising but held to the decorum mother expected her.

    ¡°Well then! It looks like we''re done for the day girls! Who would like to join me in a celebratory drink with the noonbread?!¡±

    Jewel could not help but laugh.

    Mother was wonderful but she loved her wine.

 8.4

    8.4

    Jewel considered the village from the air. With all the training with Father, there had been significantly less of her flying under the burden of her harness and lodestones.

    She found the peace of simply trying to fly as long as she could under burden so relaxing now.

    The smell of baking bread had not been absent from the air since spring broke. For seasons every oven in the demesne was doing some part of preparing the dense ration bread rounds for the coming campaign

    And there were more changes besides.

    The peasants would move between their homes and the fields as was normal. The men worked with the ploughs. But now there were always some of them making use of Father¡¯s draft horses and other beasts.

    In preparation for the coming war Father had dropped any obligations owed in exchange for using the draft animals.

    He left it to the village Headman to judge who would have their turns with the horse and oxen.

    Father had made several decrees of that nature since the start of Fallow Turn.

    Fort Rochford¡¯s empty halls and storerooms were being opened up to the households of the village to store their own grains, fodder and what few valuables the families treasured.

    Thread and cloth from his own stores were being set aside for the use by the women of the village to save them the labor of spinning and weaving their own.

    Numerous other preparations were being made.

    Missives and promises to the villages and hamlets of Rochford offering the same wool and cloth that Father was giving locally, should they manage the journey.

    All of it to fill the gap that was going to open when he raised the levies.

    Two-hundred and some dozen of the strongest and sturdiest men available in the barony.

    Strong hands that would not be available for the harvest of First Summer¡¯s hay, or the Hungry Summer¡¯s wheat.

    Not just in the village near Jewel¡¯s home but all throughout the Barony. And although she did not know much of them, Jewel heard word of the planned muster all through the lands which were either directly pledged to Countess Bathory or were like Rochford her vassals.

    All of Viznove, which Jewel had barely seen any of in her one outing with Father, was going to be mustered to levy.

    The Countess had not yet set the place the Armies were to converge but all through her lands preparations were surely being made.

    Doves were traveling back and forth in the sky over Rochford, as they carried plans and discussions with Father about what might be the best place.

    As first among Gryphon Lords he was the trusted voice and leader amongst them in the arts of battle and hunting from the sky.

    Jewel could smell how tense he was when he read and wrote the letters of correspondence bound for Kaeketeh.

    All of that colored the actions of the Villagers for Jewel.

    The spring ploughing was half done on many of the fields. And it looked like the already planted hay and wheat was growing in well based on other years she had flown over them.

    But there were more women out among the fields than was usual for this time of year.

    There were carts laden with household treasures and bundles of clothes and pots of grain making sporadic trips up to the Fortress.

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    And a Fortress it now looked in truth, more than it ever had in her life.

    The gardens were gone from its walls.

    Footmen marched along its stones and there were even a few masons inspecting or shoring up places Jewel had long grown accustomed to having sagging and crumbling mortar.

    Jewel saw spears and bows among more than just the men of the village.

    There were scattered signs of women and girls stringing bows. Arms trembling on the draw but assurance and familiarity in their backs although the muscles looked strained and long unused.

    More had children fashioning simple leather scraps or cloth into slings. All over the village among the usual work of the season were weapons being fashioned or taken out of storage.

    Missiles loosed whether stone or arrow, more often than not both fell short of the targets set out for them.

    But among all of this Jewel saw the change in her home¡¯s character.

    Children were encouraged to run along the fields. Or played a game of hiding in the woods. Families huddled together to speak conspiratorially.

    Jewel¡¯s home was changing around her, nothing left entirely untouched by the threat of War growing ever closer.

    As she made her turn back towards the courtyard to settle in for a landing and probably another drill of some sort Jewel spotted something curious.

    A figure with the banner and colors of The Realm¡¯s messengers on his back and kit.

    The Horse draped with the loose cloth on either flank. Already soaking through from the sweat of the beast despite the still seasonably cool air.

    He was moving at a fast trot that would have both eaten the miles and driven his steed to exhaustion if he had been keeping that pace.

    Heading directly towards Fort Rochford.

    Jewel dived fast as soon as she identified the heraldry!

    The sight of him rushing her landing, her voice calling out in a sharp clear bark.

    ¡°Out of the Way!¡±

    It was barely enough time for the footmen and other staff training in the yard to flee her imminent landing.

    One of them was a bit slow and got bowled over at the force of her stalling flight.

    Jewel had flared her wings late and flapped hard, the buffet of her Wyrmfire in the air shoving the poor man clear off his feet, but she did not have time. She had dived but the messenger had not been going slow and would cross the entire village in due time.

    ¡°I¡¯m Sorry! Need to Tell my Father!¡±

    Jewel glided along the courtyard and then through the halls of her home, making her way to Father¡¯s study. Nearly throwing the door off its hinges as she hadn''t done since she was seven.

    ¡°Father!¡±

    At her entrance Father rose to his feet, face only showing a minor concern but Jewel could smell the old lingering fear that hung off of him even now.

    She stopped herself short, bunching up the carpets of his study in her haste to brake her tumbling mass of coils.

    ¡°A Messenger!¡±

    She didn''t want to burden him so, and the wince that he tried to hold back hurt worse than all of his arrows in their training.

    ¡°A Messenger, Daughter?¡±

    She nodded, finally managing to completely arrest her momentum before she actually tumbled into his desk.

    Her claws had dug several shallow marks into the stones beneath her, waking them partly from their lethargy at the sudden fresh cuts and her familiar presence.

    ¡°A Messenger riding from the north, just passing the old brook. A Rider bearing the heraldry of the Realm.¡±

    Jewel wished she could have done something to help more than this. To stop her father from taking a heavy breath and letting it out with a long sigh.

    ¡°Thank you, Daughter. I will meet him in the dining hall when he arrives, go tell your Mother so she can also be in attendance.¡±

    Jewel nodded at his command and twisted over herself to get back out through the door without having to partly fill his study in the process.

    Skipping along the hallways to find where she had last heard Mother had been.

    The Countess¡¯ words about what the High King Matthias of The Realm would wish to do with her echoing back and forth between Jewel¡¯s ears.

    ¡°Without my protection he will take her and both of you will never see each other again.¡±

 8.5

    8.5

    Jewel had eventually found Mother tallying up the household¡¯s store of spun wool and comparing the qualities.

    In short order they were able to hurry to the feasting hall in time to meet up with Father. Before they even settled down she was speaking to him in a hushed voice. Not enough to hide her words from Jewel but concealing her parent¡¯s council from any of the staff.

    ¡°This is sooner than the Countess promised.¡±

    Father shook his head and sighed heavily.

    ¡°The Countess and the other lords had more hope than certainty that the king would not act until after the first summer season. A refusal given now by her won¡¯t change the mustering of armies by either the Realm or Viznove and her allies.¡±

    Mother huffed and shook her head as they settled down at their places.

    ¡°For the acts of armies and arms, yes, there is little change but to have a crier running up and down the county and beyond calling the Countess unjust? Denying her right to rule? It will rile up the peasantry and even some of the less loyal lords and counts. Undermine all you¡¯ve worked to do with the risk of rebellion!¡±

    Jewel tried to settle her coils upon her own furniture; an official messenger from the King of the Realm was one of those occasions she had to sacrifice comfort for appearances if ever there was one.

    Father¡¯s words were sharp and harsh.

    ¡°What would you have me do? It¡¯s a Messenger of the Realm! He is under protection by the auspices of Honor and Hospitality even besides his role!¡±

    Mother scowled and hissed sharply back, loudly and obviously enough some of the milling staff were giving Jewel¡¯s parents concerned looks. They rarely quarreled openly (Jewel¡¯s ears knew for a fact they would certainly have some rather intense rows in private).

    ¡°The Messenger of a King and a Realm that you and the Countess will be in open rebellion against! Who will report all he sees here and further in Viznove to the lords and officers of the Realm¡¯s army! It is your duty to Viznove, Rochford and your Family to do something about this!¡±

    Father was silent and Jewel could smell his fear rising stronger in his sweat even as his face looked like nothing but consideration and weariness touched him.

    Before either of them could continue, the day¡¯s crier entered the hallway.

    Announcing their guest despite everyone present already knowing.

    ¡°The honorable house of Rochford welcomes the messenger and representative of The King of the Realm of Blessed Cantor Reborn the Solar Dynasty Apparent: Mathias of Royal House Stein. Heed his messenger as bearer of the king¡¯s word abroad.¡±

    And then the doors opened and the same heraldry Jewel had spotted riding in from the northern woods entered on the body of what must have been a man barely out of boyhood.

    He could hardly be a winter older than Smithson at best.

    The dust of the road and the smell of horse sweat still clung to him but he stood tall despite the (obvious to Jewel) tremors of ache from riding as the Messengers did. Trading horses on the King¡¯s authority wherever he found their strength spent.

    An effort that could devour a hundred miles or more in a day.

    Less if the route passed by overway on the canyon road perhaps.

    But still at a pace that was only beaten by wings through an open sky.

    Father stood and, as was appropriate for the words of the King of the Realm, he bent at the waist and bowed half ways.

    ¡°The Barony of House Rochford acknowledges the messenger of the King. Deliver his word.¡±

    The man reached into his messenger pouch and took out a scroll. Holding it aloft to present to Father the unbroken seal of The Realm¡¯s high court.

    He marched up to Father with both hands on the scroll and held straight with locked elbows in front to show no capacity for violence. Offering the seal for Father¡¯s inspection.

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    Jewel glanced over at it as he passed, considering the seal that held so much portent and power back.

    That so little beeswax and colored shining metal mixed together could mean so much.

    The glittering crimson seal was nearly fully encircling the fine vellum in a band of red. The scroll barely thicker than Father¡¯s smallest finger. Where the mark was pressed, one could easily discern the full coat of arms of the King of the realm.

    Unbroken and uncracked in spite of the trials it must have faced in reaching them from the capital.

    Jewel had never seen one unbroken like this.

    Father nodded his acknowledgement of receipt of an untampered missive and then the Messenger stood back and broke the red wax to unfurl a forearm length of what, if Jewel was not mistaken, was a yearling¡¯s vellum at oldest.

    From a younger animal than Rochford would ever have slaughtered for parchment.

    A stupendous waste.

    ¡°For the crumes of murder most fool of the ladies of hur court to be counted at leust to a full score blud deathed and hurtly much, it is declored by Oorder of High King Mathias of the Royal House Stein, Furst of hus name that the once Countess Al?beta B¨¢toriov¨¢¡±

    Jewel had to take a moment to untangle the absolutely awful mispronunciation before she realized who the messenger was even talking about. Furthermore, his words struck her ears with a wobbling and yet stilted manner that while perhaps a bit like the smoother tones of the Countess Bathory felt deeply misshapen and at odds with actually being understood.

    Did the king send someone addled in the mind or tongue to insult Father? But no there was no sign of affront from either Mother or Father so this must just be some expected foreigner thing.

    ¡°Effectuve immediute all tituls, allegiunce and pacts of vassaulage are declured trunsferred to the regent proper and rightous of the counties Viznove, Zekhedge and Grortovo to Juraj Turzo. Who so farthung elevuted is to the rank of low-king to hus High King¡¯s Will execute upon Viznove and all lords thereun as well as well as the neighborings counts.¡±

    Jewel drew back her ears as she listened to words said half right, names utterly mangled and an ordering of the words barely coherent.

    The disturbing misspeaking made the overly rounded vowels of Tsulogothulan seem crisply cut and clear.

    But in spite of the near unintelligibility of the King¡¯s messenger, Father nodded.

    Then he spoke, clear and concise and blessedly understandable.

    ¡°The Accusations of The Crown of the Realm of Blessed Cantor Reborn, Solar Dynasty Apparent are found wanting and unjustified by the Barony of Rochford. As honorable vassals of Viznove we will stand with the Countess Bathory against this unlawful usurpation. Let it be known.¡±

    The Messenger seemed to take a considerable time to come to understand Father¡¯s perfectly concise words but then nodded.

    ¡°Givun Such I besuch you to spare horse for passuge in duty to spread word for High King.¡±

    To which Father again calmly and clearly answered.

    ¡°Abiding and honoring the King¡¯s Messenger Rights under noble law I will spare you a horse and an escort for your protection back the way you came to the northern border of Zekhedge. To carry the missives of Viznove so empowered as I am as First among Gryphon Lords counted from Viznove to Grortovo. But you will not be permitted to spread these lies deeper into the Countess¡¯ lands or her neighbors.¡±

    The Messenger who Jewel was starting to think was particularly simple and dull witted in the time he was taking to simply understand began to try and disagree or maybe just did not comprehend Father¡¯s words.

    ¡°Horse fur travel to Countess castle Kaeketeh?¡±

    Father turned to Mother who nodded and then Mother¡¯s voice filled the air with complete and total nonsense.

    Was Mother drunk?

    But no this was not her usual speech when she went too deep into her cups.

    And furthermore it was responded to with relieved words from the Messenger which Jewel could also not understand.

    The two traded back and forth and Jewel could see in the Messenger¡¯s face both concern and then taste a rising stink of fear before he slumped in resignation from a particularly curt and firm bark of something from Mother.

    Jewel was silent and poised, just as she had been taught, but in her head was a rumbling of realizations.

    She had thought that the words and languages of things merely changed with time. That people simply stopped using a few words. Like some of the older texts that Father had in his study or the unintelligible old speech of some of the rituals.

    But Jewel had missed something.

    For apparently not everyone in the modern era spoke the same tongue!?

    Not even everyone in the Realm spoke the same tongue!

    There was more than one!

    Jewel had a deeply disturbing premonition that a great many more lessons were in her future.

    Piled on top of all her other necessary training.

    And the specter of War.

 8.6

    8.6

    Mother and Father stayed up late last night.

    Jewel could smell and see the fatigue that clung to them. And she had heard them going towards Father¡¯s study after dinner instead of to their chambers.

    They very pointedly did not discuss what had kept them up far too late this morning.

    Musing on how the training had been going, confirming where Jewel and Alexander¡¯s education would be improved or delayed.

    Other matters that would have been strange any other year but were now common, as it had been since this spring started.

    Jewel finished her porridge quickly and considered Alexander, who appeared to have not noticed Mother or Father¡¯s tiredness beneath the facade of normality.

    ¡°What shall we be doing now?¡±

    Father looked a bit confused.

    ¡°I just said, you will be working on the aerial maneuvers, Alexander will-¡±

    Jewel shook her head to his words, waiting until he gave pause to correct him.

    ¡°I meant about the messenger, about the war, what are we going to do now?¡±

    Mother and Father looked at each other. Alexander looked confused but gave a firm nod when Jewel glanced his way.

    Without an answer she continued.

    ¡°I can hear you talking late into the night, I can read glimpses of your missives, I can smell how terrified you are Father. I want to help! What can I do? What will we do?¡±

    Jewel had to struggle to keep her voice quiet, demure, gentle. She held tight to her voice to speak exactly as she knew she should. To hold back the rumble, the growl, the deep resonance that she could hear echoing back to her in the bones and hearts around her.

    ¡°If you tell me more training will help, will ease your fear, I swear to you, Father, I¡¯ll do it.¡±

    She looked to Mother. Jewel¡¯s voice was threatening to swell. It was already breaking through in unseemly growls and little buzzing warbles more akin to the calls of ravens then the tones and timbres she practiced to perfect and maintain.

    To be in voice the daughter she could not be in any other way.

    ¡°If sitting in the spinning circle all day every day and turning wool to thread will help? If it will smother the horrible, awful stink of fear pouring out of you? I promise you, Mother, I will do it!¡±

    Jewel felt tears on her cheeks. She could feel in the stones around her the way her voice was breaking into an unladylike rumble.

    The way that she was failing to live up to being her parent¡¯s Daughter in the one way that she had held onto since she had failed to stop growing.

    ¡°But I am doing all of these things already! I am doing everything I can and still Father reeks of fear every waking day. He smiles falsely to make me feel better! Mother, Father you hide from me what will help. Please tell me what we are going to do?¡±

    She felt a tremble ride up and down her coils, felt and could not restrain the urge to arch her neck and back, flare her wings. Make herself seem bigger despite her already terrible vastness.

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    Now Jewel stopped needing to hold in her voice, the rumbling fell off, it was suddenly hard to even make more than a whisper.

    ¡°Please... Tell me what will make you less afraid.¡±

    Mother took a heavy breath and before Jewel realized it there was a chest pressed against her nose, arms looped under her horns and fingers running through her mane where they could reach.

    Her mother¡¯s head resting against her own and softly murmuring.

    ¡°Oh my poor daughter, you are too young to have to do this. Barely old enough to worry about your first blood. And taking on burdens even women twice your age would be ill prepared to stand under.¡±

    Jewel laughed and nuzzled up against her Mother despite how improper it was.

    How long it had been since she was held anything like this? The Wyrmling whispered softly, quietly as this was not a proper place (if there even was one) to speak of it.

    ¡°We don¡¯t even know if I¡¯ll ever have a seasonal bleed, Mother.¡±

    To which Mother simply laughed heavily against her daughter and shook her head against her daughter¡¯s brow.

    ¡°We are not so lucky for that. Oh sure maybe it won¡¯t be normal but I¡¯m certain it will be something. Likely something astoundingly overwhelming and blessedly absurd like everything else about my dear daughter.¡±

    If her mother was not in danger of being lifted by the motion Jewel would have recoiled and splayed her wings to the rafters of the dining hall.

    She settled on croaking in shock and surprise.

    ¡°MOTHER!¡±

    Which seemed to be the cue for Father and Alexander to join the two of them.

    Her brother wrapped around her neck where it joined her shoulders and chest. Her father joining Mother close too her head to run his hands through her mane.

    ¡°I am sorry, my Daughter. There is nothing you can do to banish my fear.¡±

    Jewel tensed at that, ready to deny it but he shushed her softly.

    ¡°But that is because you should not try. Fear is not the enemy of Bravery or Valor. It does not dishonor me to be afraid. Anymore then it dishonors you. I am afraid, your Mother is afraid, Even your brother is afraid.¡±

    There was a muffled denial from Alexander but Father just laughed and leaned over to tossle his hair before standing back.

    ¡°It is not Fear that is dishonor, but Cowardice. To let Fear rule you, to let it drive you away from what is needed to protect your family. To let Fear drive you to betray those you are sworn to protect? That is Cowardice.¡±

    He shook himself and Jewel smelled a hint of relief but still he stank of his fear. But if that was not something for her to fight then, what was Jewel supposed to do?¡±

    ¡°Fear will pass, I do indeed fear now, Daughter. I fear this war. I fear for you, and your Mother and your Brother.¡±

    He stood tall before them, voice carrying into the hallway.

    ¡°The only thing any of us can do in the face of that fear is to prepare, to make alliances, to muster Rochford and all our lands to best be prepared to face it. To seek aid and bring forth the honor of our Neighbors and friends. To make ourselves ready before the war and before every battle.¡±

    Mother gently brushed her hands through Jewel¡¯s mane one more time before pulling back to wipe her daughter¡¯s eyes with the sleeve of her finery.

    Father met Jewel¡¯s gaze and sighed heavily, letting his expression fall into the exhausted pain that Jewel had smelled on him for seasons now.

    ¡°But if you are going to hear of our plans in part and piecemeal you might as well attend the meetings. It is best for you to know the whole instead of fragmentary parts.¡±

    He smiled at her and Jewel could see he was sad in his eyes and smell some pain to him.

    ¡°If that will help you my Daughter. I would be a coward not to offer it.¡±

    Jewel could not find words, only nod and cry unseemly tears.

 8.7

    8.7

    The site of muster would be in Rochford.

    Already Mother was arranging for grain and barley from the rest of the Barony to be gathered in the Fortress¡¯ holds. And the ovens of the kitchens and the town set to the task of preparing rations.

    There were missives being sent to the rest of Viznove to see if further supply could be carted in from neighboring territories to assist with keeping the army fed and supplied while the muster continued.

    Already there were small groups of footmen, captains and levies arriving from all over Viznove being bunked in newly opened rooms.

    Joining sparring and drills in the courtyard.

    A few even volunteered to add even more numbers and veracity to the occasional melee with Jewel.

    Or work in groups practicing marches up and down the streets of the village, in the fallow fields or, as often as not, through the many corridors and walls of Fort Rochford.

    The stones all over the fortress felt like they were waking up to the activity. Familiar, long-unfelt steps of marching men stirring something in the old rooms and floors.

    Deep memories from long ago now sparking fresh.

    Only Jewel seemed to notice.

    Not even Tsulogothulan was able to recognize the history in the stones. But they were also not surprised when Jewel mentioned it.

    ¡°I¡¯ve known a few wizards who would mention such. But Stone has never been my way or truth.¡±

    And that was all Jewel heard on the matter. Then again it''s not like she had a lot of time for lessons in Wizardry.

    It was thirty days before the muster for Viznove was scheduled to be done in full. When all the Countess¡¯ armies would converge in or around Rochford. And then set forth to claim an old Cantorian Fortress in the High Forest.

    Last word was that it was from there Thurz¨® was mustering force of his own.

    The route was expected to be over the western sweep of the Ridgetail mountains. And furthermore, it was expected that there would be a sign of the armies of the Realm on that march to which they could maneuver either to harass or offer battle.

    Failing that, there would be a siege upon that fortress in order to bring a swift end to the conflict by securing Thurz¨® as a hostage and make the King drop charges against Countess Bathory. Or release Viznove and her allies from allegiance to the crown.

    Mother and Father had shared how it was plotted and planned out.

    She had agreed that Alexander did not need to attend all the same meetings and summaries and discussions as she did. He was still young, as men aged, and Jewel was starting to feel strangely older despite herself.

    Older and better able to share the burden with Father and Mother to keep her and the family safe. Jewel had vowed to not speak of anything to anyone else. There were worries of some of the words reaching the Realm and Thurz¨®.

    From the letters the Countess had written and the discussions Mother, Father, Kraok and Bromthil had with Jewel in Father¡¯s study she very much had decided she did not like Thurz¨®.

    The man was originally appointed regent in waiting for Viznove upon the death of the Countess¡¯ Husband. But then he had invented some fiction about her murdering ladies!

    Then using this excuse he had officially announced a claimant to the title of Low King of Ridgevaul. And was gathering the armies from the High King¡¯s Realm in order to press his claim against the Countess Bathory of Viznove and anyone who honored their obligations to be her allies!

    The deception and trickery of it all was so thick it made her Wyrmflame curdle and spark inside Jewel¡¯s throat!

    To take a position of a trusted Regent and betray it like this was one insult!

    But then there was his new title.

    Low King of Ridgevaul.

    Jewel found the whole thing disturbing. It was also pure fabrication. There had never been such a kingdom according to the histories. Nor any such place as Ridgevaul, not even a town or hamlet. Nor any territory named otherwise that had fully encompassed the ones that were supposed to be under its aegis and no people taking up the title for themselves or their lands.

    It was all false!

    It was an obligation and fealty invented purely whole cloth to wrest control from the Countess and yoke her neighbors! Just as terrible a fabrication as the accusations that supposedly justified it. Or at least that is what Jewel had heard, if the heated discussions between Mother and Kraok where things got particularly loud were to be believed (and of course Jewel did).

    The Realm itself claims at least some loyalty from Viznove and by allegiance Rochford.

    Over a two centuries old alliance in fact.

    The histories were at least clear on that, fealty offered for protection against the deprivations of the southern kingdoms.

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    Which meant that one of the acceptable outcomes of the war would simply be the deposing and imprisonment (by the Countess of course) of Thurz¨® for his dishonor and the retraction of the accusations against her. With reparations for the dishonor given to Countess Bathory of course.

    It was only if The Realm refused these terms that Viznove and whatever Allies were rallied would consider outright Independence.

    But if the so-called High King spat on that offer and was openly greedy in his goals?

    Something Jewel had been assured by the Countess¡¯ letters was partly out of his coveting of her person for his own possession?

    Well, such an act might very well draw far more than just Viznove and their neighbors into the war.

    It could tear the entire realm apart.

    All of this made Jewel¡¯s Wyrmflame quicken and rumble through her spine. It drew anger from her almost as bad as when the Red Wizard had tried to command her fire.

    And she was not alone in this.

    The mere suggestion of such a dishonorable act was enough that those who were yet unwilling to vouch for the Countess made rumor they might change their minds.

    Father was away to try and secure just such an alliance from Count Fiebron of Zekhedge to the north.

    They were both Gryphon Lords and Father had thought that his place as first amongst them would lend weight to the situation where the Countess¡¯ letters had not.

    He was out with the Count and the other Gryphon lords of the surrounding lands for a hunt by sky.

    Jewel would not be attending the hunting flight, some of the lords present might very well be against them in the upcoming war, and revealing all she could do was something he had cautioned against.

    But it was not too much of a loss to miss father for the eight days of his expedition with the other Gryphon Lords.

    The hunting flight where he was planning to make a case for the honor owed to Rochford (and by proxy Viznove) was, strictly speaking, not even actually open to her. She had not been accepted into the ranks of their fraternity.

    But after this war, Father intended to push for her inclusion into the order,

    ¡°Daughter or Wyrm, you fly better than some of their worst and you will be as bloodied in war as any other Lord or Knight after this.¡±

    He¡¯d said that while brimming with scents of pride, fear and sadness all at once, and she¡¯d failed to hold to decorum and not give him a hug and a promise she¡¯d be honored to join him for one of their hunts after the war.

    She¡¯d needed a cloth to wipe her eyes when he departed after that.

    Her training had stalled out after a fashion anyway, and Mother had praised her spinning work so profusely that Jewel had been physically incapable of keeping her wings closed to her side.

    Which had then turned into taking on almost the entirety of wool spinning with all the time that had once gone to Jewel¡¯s training.

    She still assisted in the drills with Bromthil.

    Aiding the Footmen to further hone their tactics for mounted enemies and warbeasts.

    But by Mother¡¯s word, Jewel was going to assure them almost half again more levy from Rochford with the deal that was now feasible.

    Every household in the barony was given the promise of either their own wool or Father¡¯s spun into thread and cloth as an assurance that the women and younger girls could take up the labor of the harvest without fearing it would leave their loved ones in rags or less come winter.

    With that promise and the word of its assurance, half of Rochford¡¯s Levies had arrived already so far and were well into training they normally could not afford.

    This granted an opportunity for drills to be done with those peasants that would actually be marching to war with the footmen and for a deeper bond of brotherhood in arms to be forged well ahead of the strain of war and the march.

    It would empty most of Jewel¡¯s family store of linens and other cloth and would have been unfeasible any year before now.

    But Jewel apparently finally learned how to actually spin thread. And not in the halting and stilted manner she always managed every year or so before her body caught up to it and rendered every lesson moot.

    No, Jewel could spin thread at a pace that put thirty skilled spinsters to shame.

    It only applied to thread however. Jewel was just as bad as ever weaving bolts of cloth. Which was comparably bad as her worst at spinning.

    But Mother had simply taken that in stride and set Jewel to the spinning and had her complement of girls, women and crones to do the weaving with the hands freed up.

    And with the thread and cloth so made she produced deals with the mothers, daughters and grandmothers of the villages of Rochford. Cloth enough for a year of garments and spare to their families in exchange for releasing husbands and sons early for the levy.

    Jewel then obliged Bromthil time to rough up the fresher levy and the footmen with what time was not spent spinning, sleeping, eating or bathing.

    Kraok was also often in attendance now for the melees when he was not joining Muriel as a training prop for Alexander¡¯s lesson in sword form.

    It was technically also training for him too but Jewel was wondering if maybe she was doing something wrong that Muriel often left the newly made Knight more bruised then a dragon did.

    Bromthil had not told her she needed to be rougher on anyone yet so she assumed she was being the correct amount of rough with his men.

    Jewel was doing so much every single day the sunlight hours felt so full they should be bursting. But despite so much activity, Jewel was hardly tired at all. The beat of boots on stone, the sound of training duels and formations?

    The overwhelming undercurrent and the slow tense fear beneath the actions of everyone all over her home?

    It left Jewel feeling jittery, her wyrmfire hot and sparking so hard she had to focus hard when it came time for spinning.

    Every day since Father left it was just so dense and tightly wound.

    But then a familiar cry broke through it all. The friendly call of Zephyrvam coming from the north!

    Jewel was launching herself into the air almost before she finished realizing what she had heard.

    She apologized profusely to the few people she¡¯d knocked off their feet with her downdraft.

    But even though it probably shocked a few of the newer arrivals, Jewel could not quite find it in herself to care.

    Because Father was home!

 8.8

    8.8

    Count Fiebron of Zekhedge was arriving!

    Jewel had just spotted him in the morning light as she flew in a circuit over the Rochford manor.

    Straining to try and bring her speed to something approaching what Zephyrvam could manage.

    The smell of hard travel ration baking had been joined by that of smoking meats. Spring hunting had been called for and any lame or poor producing animal in the barony had been put to slaughter early rather than waiting till the usual season.

    Meat smoked to supplement the dry bread in a quest to satiate some of the hunger of the army.

    Father had spoken readily and happily about all the maneuvers and honors done by the Gryphon Lords in their hunt. Aerial acrobatics and boasting of course, but also keen and considering observation of those that had arrived for the activity who were going to be siding against them in the War.

    Jewel did not know most of those names and even Father was less than familiar with some of them. The Gryphon riders had flown in from the far west, their tales having mentioned the harrowing experience of riding the harsh winds of the sky touching overway.

    Cold that could make feathers brittle and stars so close that spirits, gods and nightmares threatened every night.

    Apparently some parts of the canyon road that connected the rest of the Realm to the lands of the Ridgetail mountains could be so perilous it was better to march on foot than attempt flight for any duration.

    The hunt had confirmed that there was a count of at least five of them, and more who were not recognized members of the ridgetail fraternity had been mentioned.

    At a guess, there might be as many as fifteen aerial riders to contend with. Gryphons for most but not guaranteed to be all on the side of the Realm and Thurz¨®.

    For Allies, Father had gotten the pledge from no more than Zekhedge, who gave a full oath of support with armies and his Gryphon Riders.

    Their Eastern neighbor, the County of Grortovo and its liege Count Osterwick, had promised only that he saw this as an affair of no concern to him and would refuse to stand on either side.

    However, he seemed inclined to join up if the issue escalated beyond the affairs of the Countess. If the attempt to lay claim to Jewel grew more blatant then it had he swore an oath to fly with Rochford and rally not just his armies but also those of his allies and pledges even further eastward.

    Of the rest who joined the hunt, they lacked the independence from their lieges to take oaths either way but three from the far north (traveling for some quest) were sending word to plea  permission to rally with Father in this conflict.

    It was not unanimous support of the entire order, but Jewel was glad to hear they were getting what support they did.

    With Zekhedge¡¯s pledge, Viznove would not be standing alone against the Realm.

    And while the armies marched, Fiebron was arriving ahead. To officially ratify the alliance and offer his direct support for Father during the muster, Gryphon Lord to Gryphon Lord.

    And Jewel could now see him and his retinue.

    Four Gryphons high on the wing, spaced wide apart to avoid tumbling one another in their wake.

    The pale feathered formel was at the head of the loose diamond.

    The female Gryphon was so pale her plumage was nearly lost among the late spring clouds.

    Smokespear, Steed of Fiebron.

    Mother of Zephyrvam.

    On the Formel¡¯s flanks to the right and left were the Gryphon Lords of Zekhedge. Jewel was sure she had heard the names of them before but not often enough or with clear description to place them by the sight of their steeds.

    The one on Jewel¡¯s left was a near-golden feathered drake, the one to the right somber brown of indeterminate sex that hinted at almost red on the very fringe of the wing.

    They looked like they might be about the same age as Zephyrvam. Perhaps from a clutch a year earlier or later.

    Tailing the three was what had to be a newly-trained Gryphon Knight that served under Fiebron. News was sparse on who precisely the rider or gryphon was, but it had to be on the younger side based on the wingspan.

    There had been three candidates for the last Gryphon clutch in the region five years ago. But which of those Riders in waiting had gained the honor to present themselves to one of the eggs was unknown to Jewel.

    Still, seeing friendly wings in the skies over her home was most welcome!

    She did the maneuvering flight-cant of a tilting twist in her wing to offer greeting and welcome as one flier to another.

    Smokespear and her entourage twisted in response and acknowledgement of their welcome, then dipped and rose to request their landing.

    Jewel replied with a giddy sweep that she hoped was clearly visible despite her excitement feeling jittery, then began to circle towards the courtyard.

    In trained unison they answered in acknowledging dips then mirrored her to circle opposite Jewel¡¯s own slow descent.

    As they drew closer, the diamond formation broke apart into a line of four descending deltas of Gryphons in glide.

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    Once she confirmed they had the right heading, Jewel dropped to land as only she could! darting and turning far tighter than any Gryphon.

    Even if she could still not master the speed that Father and Zephyrvam could manage, in this she was a Mistress of the skies.

    Jewel¡¯s warning cry of ¡°Gryphon Lords Landing!¡± cleared the courtyard swiftly ahead of her.

    Her own wings might bring a great wind but she was a gentle and circumspect lander compared to the tumult that a braking Gryphon brought when landing at speed.

    Which proved very prudent because the lead of the Gryphons seemed intent on making an entrance.

    Fiebron and Smokespear were anything but gentle in their wind! Sweeping low, fast and then up abruptly before flapping thrice with heavy wings hard enough to finish the stall and alight on the ground.

    The roar of the wind filled the air with whorls of dust and dry grass torn from its roots.

    If there had still been gardens along the walls, their foliage would have been torn asunder under the torrent of air.

    The soldiers that had not had the good sense to take cover crouched low to the ground and had to weather the torrent best they could.

    A few of the recent levies from elsewhere in Viznove were bowled over and sprawled in the dirt.

    Jewel simply stood unmoved by the storm brake.

    Soon after each of Fiebron¡¯s escort also swept into a landing, although their approach was far gentler and merely added heavy gusts to the existing tumult.

    Finally when all four were settled the riders began the work of undoing their buckles and bindings that kept them affixed to their steeds. The familiar flight leathers, more or less as her Father wore them.

    Although each helm took a different shape, choosing its own places to put angles and the way the wooden gorgets under the leather blended in their own manners into the back of the armor along the spine and head of the helms.

    Shaped by the crafts and tradition of each armorsmith¡¯s design.

    Jewel appraised the first time she had seen any of the northern Gryphon Riders.

    And could not help but gawk.

    The most striking thing about all of them is how slight and short they all were.

    None of them were taller than Mother!

    Even the Countess¡¯ Gryphon Knights and the rest of the Visnove lords had been taller than Mother!

    Jewel bowed her head (incredibly) low to the pale bleached leather figure that had dismounted from Smokespear.

    His armor¡¯s grays matched the plumage of his steed.

    ¡°Greetings Count Fiebron of Zekhedge. I am Lady Jewel of Rochford, My Father Lord Rochford will be with us shortly to welcome you to our home and the war.¡±

    She added into her greeting the more standard formal salute of a junior rider to a superior in Flight Cant then stood back and waited.

    Jewel was braced for shock at her mastery of speech or dismissal of her personage but not a single one of the riders so much as flinched in their work to unfasten their kit.

    The Identified Count laughed and clapped his hands and arms together with the cant in a familiar greeting from teacher to junior (it was the same one Father used with her!) then spoke verbally.

    ¡°Hah! At last I can meet Rochford¡¯s wonderful whelp! The overlong in the leg oaf cannot go a half day on the wing without signing your praises girl! Having seen you dive and turn I can see he¡¯s at least not completely addled by his Fatherly doting!¡±

    The other riders laughed and nodded along as they worked at their various buckles, sighing as the leathers were loosened around waists and thighs.

    Jewel nodded to that and realized she had forgotten an important duty as host. She quickly remedied this and barked out a quick order.

    ¡°Smithson! Stable Master Gizo! Assist our guests with their gear! Show them the care due to Lord Rochford himself. These are our Allies and Gryphon Lords!¡±

    Her squire ran to Jewel first and with but a nod he immediately shifted to assisting Fiebron in undoing the leathers and the more restrictive portions of a Gryphon Rider¡¯s kit while Gizo and the rest of the stablehands attended the other Knights.

    Jewel offered another bow to the Count before nodding to Smithson to introduce and honor him.

    ¡°Count Fiebron, this is Smithson, my sworn Squire, trained in the care of kit for Gryphon and Horse Riders as well as skilled and trusted enough to handle my own harness and packs.¡±

    A grunt and nod from Fiebron was her answer before the man (with Smithson¡¯s assistance) finally removed the fullness of the helm.

    Revealing a heavily lined face and a white mane that now freed from his helm stuck in every direction by almost a handspan.

    His facial hair was only slightly darker for the threads of gray between the near snow white beard cut close to his chin.

    Eyes bright blue, stern but clear as any Gryphon rider had to be.

    He immediately turned from Jewel and Smithson and started running his still gloved hands along and through the feathers of his steed. Gently straightening and aligning the feathers that had been shifted by the removal of his straps.

    Hushing and clicking reassurances and fussing over the plumage just under the wings. All of it while the gryphon in question refused to acknowledge him at all, staring at one of the walls that, had Jewel not grown up with a gryphon she might have mistaken for blankness. But if Smokespear was anything like her son in mannerisms, she was feeling extremely smug and proud of herself.

    The other gryphons by contrast seemed a bit skittish of both Jewel and the staff working to assist their riders. The junior most rider was having to wave off all the stablehands for how much his own steed was puffing up in distress. Without his helmet he looked like he was barely older than Alexander!

    ¡°Fiebron, you dried up manlet of a waif! Welcome to the War and my Home, Second Among Gryphon Lords!¡±

    Jewel did not in fact jump when her Father threw open the doors of the Manor¡¯s inner keep, bellowing with a voice of joy that Jewel wished she could have heard more of over the winter and spring seasons.

    That would have been improper to startle so easily.

    For his part the Count laughed and bellowed right back ¡ª if anything louder then even Father had been.

    ¡°Jon! You absolute lumbering oaf of a mountain! If I was ten years younger you¡¯d only be first by Stonage, you heaving yoke around poor Zephyrvam¡¯s neck!¡±

    The other knights laughed good naturedly and the sheer cheerful tone that seemed to fill the courtyard nearly covered the subtle stink of tension that wafted off every one of them.

    Jewel smiled along but she could tell that, even with another County in their muster, no one felt completely assured.

 8.9

    8.9

    The Mustering was nearly complete with the arrival of marching footmen and levies from the southernmost manors of Viznove expected within the day.

    Rochford had heard the final answer to its call for levy and they had either arrived armed with heavy cloth, helm, shield and spear from their local stores or been outfitted by Father¡¯s dwindling store of arms.

    Old helms had needed to be bartered for with arriving lords or old broken heaps dug up for repairs for the last dozen Men to arrive.

    And all the levy of Rochford, three hundred men including Footmen and Bromthil were but a drop in the mass of the rest of the Army.

    The halls and rooms of Fort Rochford that had seemed so empty and unused all Jewel¡¯s life were packed full to accommodate the lords, captains and footmen of the army of Viznove.

    Not even when Bathory had visited to acknowledge Jewel¡¯s inclusion in Father¡¯s family was the Fortress so full.

    There had not been room for any but the officers, captains and their direct retinues in the manor house itself!

    For the rest it was camping or accommodations secured in the lodgings of the village.

    Every fallow field and now even the just harvested hay fields were filled with the camping tents of Levies.

    They lined every road that would not block the wagons of the Harvests.

    And they had kept coming day after day long after Jewel had thought her Father¡¯s Demesne was going to burst for the sheer humanity filling it.

    What houses could accommodate soldiers were already claimed when some of the latest of lords arrived and there had been discussion and argument all through the manor to trade for accommodations in Jewel¡¯s home.

    When Father had said that it would break Viznove to muster Twenty-Thousand men Jewel had not fully understood what that meant.

    But now there below her covering her home and filling every house and hall was the might of Twenty-Five Thousand Men.

    The combined armies of Viznove and Zekhedge arrayed all over every scrap of open land.

    More people than lived in all of the Barony of Rochford ten times over had marched into her home.

    Not even the skies were free of the army.

    Gryphons flew in formations and drills with one another all around the Demesne and the Barony beyond. They took up bets and challenges with one another to prove their speed, their grace, the accuracy of their arrows.

    After the four that were pledged to the Count of Zekhedge Bathory¡¯s own Knights and the three other Gryphon lord¡¯s that owed her Fealty arrived.

    And then three more questing Gryphon Knights from lands afar answered the call against tyranny.

    All told there were now thirteen Gryphon Riders, most of them lords.

    With Jewel she supposed it could somewhat be counted that there were fourteen knights on Wing for the Army.

    Compared to the sheer mass of knights on horse, levy and footmen, it felt utterly insignificant.

    Jewel practiced against three hundred men in melee and felt it an overwhelming force to contend with.

    These thousands upon thousands of armed soldiers seemed an overwhelming obstacle.

    And word had it that Thurz¨® might have mustered more than their match in soldiers from the rest of the Realm to press his claim.

    Calling up errant soldiers and mercenaries with coins taken in good faith in his former position of trust as regent.

    In Rochford, though, Jewel knew that the mustering, whether complete or not, would soon have to end.

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    Any stragglers from far-flung allies would have to meet them later upon their road.

    The mass of men and their hunger demanded it.

    Rochford and Jewel¡¯s family could simply not feed the army from their stores. They would be emptying most of their stock simply to supply for the troops as they left.

    And that was with those that had marched carrying rations for the upcoming march into the Barony.

    Jewel twisted and dodged in lighthearted maneuvers and drills with some of the newer arrived Gryphon Riders.

    Each of them had wanted to test her mettle and get the measure of her maneuverability. And Jewel was glad for all of Father¡¯s training and practice.

    These most junior of Gryphon Lords or simple knights were made clumsy against Zephyrvam¡¯s grace. But in one aspect she had to admit that Countess Bathory had been right.

    Father¡¯s steed did struggle under the weight of his bulk.

    The lighter and smaller riders, although yet unable to match her in maneuverability, could climb even faster and higher than Father did. Although they mostly dove about as fast as Zephyrvam and a few were even slower in the dive.

    Eventually though, the sun was moving towards dusk and Jewel gently tilted a wing to plead off for her other obligations from her fellow flyers near and far.

    They saluted her in Flight Cant in turn. With arms for those close enough, and with maneuvers of their steeds for those farther. The special terms and gestures she had worked on with Father had spread easily amongst the Gryphon Riders.

    Although many had not yet come to terms with how far her sight could see.

    Jewel called piercing and sharply as she descended.

    With all the traffic of foot and horse through the courtyards it was necessary to warn well ahead of her arrival. And nearly all cleared the space with haste.

    The stragglers who still had yet to learn what her warning preceded pulled along by their fellows.

    Jewel shook herself out and did not even need to call Smithson before he was there to unburden her from her kit. The other stablehands gingerly removed the lodestone first that onced weighed her down so much and yet now barely felt like any burden at all.

    Then off with the panniers and then the straps.

    ¡°Is my bathing room cleared and ready?¡±

    Smithson nodded sharply. He was getting better at holding the bearing proper of a Lady¡¯s Squire after attending his own training with Kraok.

    ¡°Yes, I checked with Jorge to make sure at noon! No one should be there to disturb you Lady Jewel.¡±

    She nodded and once fully unburdened of all her harnesses strode into the hallways.

    Even in these once-empty rooms, there was a bustle of officers, captains and lords moving too and fro between the various rooms. Words filled the hallways.

    Murmuring men and the occasional woman from the army caravan that had already been forming despite the consternation of Father and the Lords.

    Some of the footmen of the other lords had brought their wives!

    Some hired mercenary soldiers brought their Children!

    Still, Jewel had over twenty days to grow used to moving through the now crowded halls of her home. And most of those that stayed in the Fort¡¯s rooms had grown to learn that no matter how strong they were they were nothing to a determined Wyrm on her way to her bath.

    She nodded to Jorge at his post guarding her bathing room. A necessary act with the mass of strangers and curious men liable to take an opportunity with her bath before she was done with it.

    Apparently the opportunity to have hot bath water every day was among the luxuries that had nearly started outright duels of honor for the right to stay in Fort Rochford proper.

    Still Jewel took solace in the muffling of the noise that now filled her home at nearly all hours.

    She was just ready to get her pail down from its shelf when a most unmistakable corner appeared in the middle of the room just between Jewel and her tub.

    ¡°Greetings, Lady Jewel of Rochford, To your preference I have come to you before your bath. It took some doing but I am very pleased to announce that as per our agreement I can pledge defense of you and your father. Five Wizards of our venture to your protection. We will rally to your campaign in addition to the aid of Jaksa the Red and Tsulogothulan.¡±

    Jewel sighed heavily and turned to glare down at the black cat in his stupid floppy red hat. It had been a long day and she simply had not the patience for this.

    ¡°Fine, go tell my Father and the Generals and let me have my BATH in PEACE you insufferable knave!¡±

    To which the cat smugly turned around a corner in the middle of the room and was gone.

    Jewel glared at her bath then determinedly got into it.

    She was going to enjoy herself in spite of the insufferable actions of Wizards.

 8.i

    8.i

    One should entrust one¡¯s wife to the specific care and concerns of the weaving and spinning labor. But in the generalities likely to concern a lord, I¡¯ve found the following evident.

    If you should find yourself betrothed to a youth these can also serve as lessons for one¡¯s spouse to gain a foundation but I recommend marrying no younger than sixteen winters for precisely the concern of skill and experience in these matters.

    In the event that one¡¯s spouse must be younger than this I recommend bringing in consul and tutors in the matter. Especially valuable is to have a trusted elder of women to see to the training of a child wife so she may grow into the responsibility.

    Men who claim skill in weaving and matters of spinning should be distrusted until proven by trial in the workings of it and even then, unless they are otherwise infirm or incapable of the normal work, should not be considered for the task.

    Now all said I can give forth in general terms thus.

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    For every three persons in your staff and household to be clothed well, it is recommended that you employ at least five women¡¯s labor year round to the act of spinning thread and weaving cloth.

    This is in addition to what work is required to harvest the necessary plant or animal produce to begin the process. Flax is abundantly found in warmer lands, but animal wool is also very fine.

    Furthermore, keep close watch on households among your demesne who through fate or calamity are short on men. A household of women can be a powerful source of weaving and spinning hands. Seeing that such are otherwise supported and allowed to meet a double obligation of labor paid to spin your own thread and cloth.

    If you have the flax or sheep to support it you can either distribute the fields that such a household of spinning sisters might otherwise labor as this spinster work can be its equal to the fields unworked by them.

    It is however best to leave such labors and the governance of such to one¡¯s wife where possible.

    -Coinage and Lordly Stewardship by Sir Broghuilidad Silvertongue of Cortaza

 8.ii

    8.ii

    Over the course of a year of observation I¡¯ve seen with my own senses much that was already known by me to be true and much that was common knowledge among sorcerers to be false.

    To start with I am uncertain that we have the full understanding of what the category of ¡°Tyrant Wyrm¡± truly means.

    All encounters thus recorded available among the circles of Wizardry and even available to the more mundane practitioners and historians give conflicting reports. That there is even such a thing as a Tyrant Wyrm is brought up for debate by some accounts.

    But I can attest to the observation of my own Eye and my truth born of the waters and the earth.

    The subject has, by well corroborated accounts of her family and other witnesses, been cognizant at least since the moment of hatching. Superstitions and gryphoncraft traditions aside, regarding the importance of who was first witnessed by the subject upon her hatching it is quite evident that by now the familial bond is as strong as any made by birth or blood.

    If not significantly stronger.

    When a sibling of the subject was threatened by a monstrous boar<sup>1</sup> she intervened and suffered significant injuries in his defense.

    During the necessary recovery and care of the subject after this altercation several further discoveries were made.

    The flesh of the subject is not actually conventionally alive as such matters are understood. It is vital, active, it feeds and breaths and exhales, its waters move and the earth of it writhes as any living matter should.

    But all of this is secondary action to the true vitality within.

    The subject was bereft of breath of air for longer than any save winter sleeping frogs and other swamp children could survive.

    Furthermore I have observed the subject readily breathing water and air as easily between each other. Although she has reported that the vitality<sup>2</sup> goes out of her baths sooner than cool streams or ponds.

    I can also attest that, although bruising, strain and dislocation was accomplished by the assailant, no blood of the subject was spilled, no bones broken and no tissue fully torn apart although signs of great strain and greater pain and exhaustion was present.

    It is my conclusion that the most damning injury was actually the collapsed throat of the subject as though breath was not necessary for life, its lack did seem to impair action.

    To further reinforce my observation of her bond to her guardians and their own child<sup>3</sup>.

    She is submissive and accommodating those she views as her parents and brother. Loyal to their interests to the absolute best of her ability.

    This ability is also worth noting precocious for a human of her age but not outside the realm of all possibility.

    Despite having grown to twenty-six feet in length from snout to tail as of the writing of this report the subject is still a juvenile in perspective and personality. Furthermore by my own observations she is still growing.

    One thing of some surprise that was found with the subject is that she is able to perform workings of sorcery by means heretofore never witnessed or recorded by any within my known circles.

    As any practitioner to reach the station of Wizard could discern, via my truth I can ascertain and know the workings of mortal sorcery and even the presence of divinities.

    The subject however performs workings whole cloth and directly in a manner like no other I have experienced. It is the closest in experience to the sense of the world when a feral wyrm takes flight or breathes flame. Or when other monster-descendant beasts such as Gryphon, Pegasi or Wind Serpent attain lift.

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    But all of those acts in the world are wild and instinctive things, blunt and simple and above all ephemeral. Whereas what the subject has done by accident dug itself into the firmament to a degree and density in the nature of things that I would swear it was an act of an enchanter sorcerer deep enough into their truth to be all but lost to mortal reason.

    And this was accomplished completely unintentionally!

    She has left a mark in the world where water still dances more than half a year later from when she set it in motion! <sup>4</sup>

    Furthermore I have seen no signs of the effect diminishing or requiring any reinforcement since it was put in place. It acts as readily on natural rains as it does well water fetched in a pail on hot dry days.

    This is not the only act of sorcery the subject has demonstrated by far, just the most overt. She has also shown clear awareness and ability to learn and eventually recognize the preceding effects of a sorcerous pathing to her presence. Even ones explicitly meant to go unnoticed even to other sorcerers with their subtlety.

    There are also several indications that none of her abilities that had been assumed to be instinctive or natural workings of the flesh are actually automatic.

    She has proven ability to vary and alter the nature of her workings for flight in manners not present in any flying monstrous beast known to me.

    And then there is the most fundamental art of every Wyrm. The proof that the subject is indeed Wyrm and not some exotic Lair Spawn Beast.

    The Vanquishing Breath.

    The Rebuking Flame.

    The Aetheric Forbiddance.

    Among the circles and the lores written by and known to them it is given many names but to be close to its presence consistently and habitually I can attest brings no familiarity or habituated assurance of safety.

    It is as unsettling and humbling now a full year with the subject as the very first time I felt it when I was barely changed by my truth.

    But in that the character of the subject¡¯s destroying breath departs from the uncontrolled violence used by other Wyrm.

    While just as destructive and all erasing of any workings of mortal sorcery or matter as any of the Feral Wyrm, it is like her flight in that it is not static or constrained.

    The ferocity of its power is a tool which the subject wields with as much assurance as a mortal might shape their hand.

    It can be narrowed, delayed or otherwise altered in its delivery or effect in subtlety and wroth.

    The Subject, when questioned on its nature and malleability, speaks of it as one with the force that strengthens her scales, buffets her wings and even lifts and moves her body.

    The depth and versatility to which she ascribes to her ¡®Wyrmflame¡¯ is one that any sorcerer should find deeply familiar.

    For it is spoken in the same breath and manner as we all discuss our own truths.

    Furthermore when Jaksa the Red foolishly tempted fate by ignoring the Deep Truths of the world, he proved that there is indeed no working which can take hold of the Subject¡¯s flesh that is not welcomed by her and voluntarily allowed at every turn.

    The Subject is at minimum to be considered SOME degree of sorcerer above simple practitioners and hedge magisters as any mortal might practice.

    Whether it can be said that all so called Tyrant Wyrm were also such Sorcerous Wyrms I cannot say as I have witnessed no other.

    But I find it as further evidence given that the category is wholly insufficient.

    1 Investigations are ongoing as to whether it was a direct lair spawn or merely a descendant there of.

    2 I make note that there is something here that touches upon my own deep truths that has yet illuded my powers of explanation. Some waters thrive while others are of rot. Yet others will preserve. I have struggled to convey the nuance and nature of these self-evident facts to my peers but to hear it from her perhaps there is a vital substance that varies from one to the other? I intend to contemplate this within my waters when my assignment to this task is done.

    3 This is a very unreasonably small sized family for the nobility of this region and there is no sign of curse or other infirmity in either parent. Perhaps there are effects from the nature of a Wyrm which saps some motive element required for the quickening of offspring in mortals? Perhaps even in other beasts as well? I have yet to observe any diminishing of the livestock or villager¡¯s fertility but I have only observed for a year.

    4 See diagram and notes of the exact ritual performed by the subject in the supplemental figure attached. While the duration of nearly eleven hours and accompanying supplementary actors in its enactment might be a factor that would certainly produce a working of considerable power the stability is far beyond normal mortal sorcery.

    -Research Notes of Tsulogothulan Weird of the Uloghai Bog on the nature of the Tyrant Wyrm.

 9.1

    9.1

    Jewel joined the gryphon riders in the air to scout around the army. Father said it would also be good for her to get used to the pace of the march, to which the other gryphon riders had agreed.

    At first, she had not understood what they meant. Surely there would be no danger of men on foot outpacing her in the air.

    She was slow compared to a gryphon but Jewel was not that slow!

    However as the morning passed, Jewel got a clear view of the efforts of the army gathering to march. And it was as she witnessed this that Jewel began to understand that they were not warning at how fast the army was going to be. No, the gryphon riders were warning about how slow it was going to be.

    The army set out at the most incredibly slow crawl of a pace Jewel had ever seen.

    And it was not by any fault Jewel could see, the captains and lords were making a solid effort to get everyone to move at pace.

    They had begun to pack and gather to depart with the dawn.

    And they had continued to pack and gather to march onto the road for almost the entire morning. Slowly unspooling onto the north western road out of Father¡¯s immediate Demesne came row after row of men walking shoulder to shoulder.

    But that continued for hours.

    The issue was that the army was just so incredibly massive and the road was only so wide.

    In some ways it was much like how Jewel herself might uncoil from a cramped bedroom: the mass of soldiers on foot and horse slid onto the road like a great serpent unwinding its coils. The ¡®head¡¯ of the army went forward from the village and into the woods and as the hours grew later and later it grew ever more distant from Fort Rochford.

    In theory, the formations were simple ones.

    Five men standing shoulder to shoulder and marching close as could be maintained to those in front of them. Footmen moving with the levies as they were available. Making sure that those who were yet unfamiliar with the proper manner of marching in regimented lines were instructed. Tightening their formation and evening out the pace.

    With each bundle of levies was a Captain on horseback, riding elevated so he could keep an eye on his footmen and their charges. There was a captain for roughly every three hundred levies and under his command, there would be footmen to help manage the march. Sometimes as many as a hundred such experienced soldiers, more often less than twenty-five.

    And between the bundles of levies were the pack horses, burdened as heavily as could be risked. Unlike when Jewel had traveled with Father, water was mostly absent from the packs. Instead, food in the form of the astoundingly dense travel bread and what jerky had been made in the winter and spring seasons.

    And then past the blocks of levies trotted each herd of pack horses and their minders, two beasts to the shoulder and sometimes a dozen deep, and then there would come up another marching column of levies and their minders.

    Interspersed with the footmen and their levies of either bow or spear man were the steeds of the Knights at march. Dressed in maile with proper fashioned plate (not the useless dressing of father¡¯s ceremonial armor) usually trailed by another horse (sometimes two!) carrying further supplies ridden by squires or other servants.

    As with the pack horse, the knights rode two animals shoulder to shoulder and almost as deep as the horse and mules.

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    And then, midway through the morning, the Gryphon Rider caravan finally moved out. At the head and tail of it walked the pack horse for the gryphon lords and knights and their servants. Carrying both food and kit for the fliers. The attendants were also joined by Smithson as amongst them some of Jewel¡¯s own supply would be kept to conserve her stamina in flight during the march.

    The horses in total for the needs of the Gryphon lords counted thirty. Split more or less evenly between the head and tail of the formation. Sometimes the horse would move between the head or tail as the formation made way.

    But between them was the vital supply to keep the Gryphons in fighting shape during the campaign.

    Nearly a hundred goats were driven from Rochford and every other Gryphon Rider¡¯s demesne, with attendant goat herds and trusted guards from each of the Lords and Countess Bathory''s own elite for the purpose of her knights.

    Animals drawn from Zhekhedge and Viznove.

    A herd of goat flesh to feed the gryphons in case of poor hunting or forage. Mostly just matured kids but also with a few dames that would supplement the army supplies with milk and camp cheese.

    And then the gryphon lord¡¯s caravan was past and once more it was levies, their pack horses and occasional punctuation of Knights.

    It was by no means as orderly as any caravan save the most ramshackle Jewel had witnessed. But the sheer size of so many feet and hooves moving as one force onto the road and away had a quality all its own.

    The last of the camps were only just barely packed, their owners shoved into march before noon.

    And even then that was only the soldiers and their own supplies.

    After Jewel finally saw the last of the levies packing and marching out of the village then the second march began.

    All of the peddlers and other people and their animals that had followed the army into Rochford through the muster. Men, Women and Children that had come with the soldiers. Some of them were even free men and women from Rochford itself packing up their trade onto horse or mule to join in the wake of the army.

    In this far less organized and chaotic march, there were families. Some even pulled carts along behind with further goods, craft and supplies.

    Cloth, thread, practically a festival''s worth of goods and further food packed up into whatever bundles or packs the people had available to them.

    All of this setting onto the same road as the army.

    Following the already staggering throng of soldiers that Jewel still was trying to grasp the reality of.

    Twenty-Five Thousand Men.

    And then there were Thousands More following them if Jewel had any sense of the look of things.

    It was like the entire population of all of Rochford Barony had chosen to march out of Viznove and Zekhedge to war without the obligation or intent to see battle.

    None of the books on warfare Jewel had read or any of the ballads told by Adventuring Knights of wars afar mentioned that entire baronies worth of people would follow soldiers with wares to sell.

    And even though some of the books had mentioned the number of the armies, it had not fully dawned on her.

    The scale of warfare had never been real before. But here she had just watched the better part of half a day pass for the army to simply leave!

    And then there had been the chilling reality of what it all cost.

    Father¡¯s granaries were nearly emptied to bake the rations he contributed to the effort in making traveler¡¯s bread for the army, the herds had been culled as the peasantry could afford without starving over winter for jerky and the hunting grounds stripped almost bare of game out of season.

    His portion to the Gryphon Lord meat herd was by contrast relatively minor in the scheme of expense, only slightly giving over Zephyrvams own needs as a token to the allies that had joined them for the war.

    And he was only giving a portion of what the army needed!

    All this cost after supplementary caravans of supply were accounted for as they poured in from the rest of Viznove and Zekhedge for the entire muster.

    Jewel had seen entire years worth of grain passing through Rochford as baked traveler¡¯s bread.

    All of that just to support the half season of the army mustering and filling their packs with rations for the march north.

    Jewel turned away from her home, flying northwest to take her place in the rotation of the Gryphon Riders scouting ahead of the Army¡¯s march.

    Giving a silent goodbye to the familiar fields of her home.

 9.2

    9.2

    Jewel was finding that traveling with an army was nothing like her journey to Kaeketeh.

    For one, she and the Gryphon Riders spent substantially more time on the wing. Most of it in fact. Rather than actually striving for any sort of speed they mostly spent the day in lazy glides, catching the hot wind off sunbaked fields or exposed stone and cliff faces.

    The rest of their responsibility was slow, lazy sweeps from high altitude, scouting roads that the army would likely not be taking for days ahead and making passes up and down the winding line of men and horses that made for the vast march.

    For two, Jewel noted how the army did not stop their march at midday. Instead they took breaks every few hours for short respites to drink, eat travel bread or dried jerky ration, water the horses and let them graze a few mouthfuls of grass.

    This happened all along the road the men marched and was as closely regimented as the captains, footmen and lords amongst them could manage.

    These brief breaks were the only change in the dull march for most of the day.

    Besides that there was just the endless marching line of men and beast and of course the singing.

    It took a few low passes for Jewel to actually hear it, but for most of the march the men were singing strange ballads in time with the fall of their feet.

    The words of the songs varied, some of them were not even ones Jewel recognized at all. But all together and with the guidance of the captains, banner bearers and what Jewel thought might be some kind of military minstrels, they mostly kept time across the entire march.

    Intrigued and hopeful for a distraction from her tedium she got lower in her flights to listen to the repetitive rhythm and beat of the singing as music.

    Eventually Jewel even started dipping low enough so she could fully make out the words. Much to her disappointment.

    ¡°Where is the road?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s this way!¡±

    ¡°Is that the road?¡±

    ¡°Yes it¡¯s this way!¡±

    Jewel rose up again as the song mostly kept along in that vein. What a dull and simple song. A few sections of marching men later she slipped lower again to listen in hopes of something better.

    This one seemed to be more of a proper song over a more rhythmic humming. The deepest voice amongst the particular batch of men leading the words.

    ¡°We are gonna march to war today.¡±

    ¡°Says the lord of the land but to skies we pray.¡±

    ¡°That we won¡¯t march All day, All day, all day, ALLL DAAAY!¡±

    Somehow this was worse as they continued with their complaining and general bemoaning of the honor of their lords. Jewel took flight again in a huff and then slowly lowered herself back down in ear shot of another band.

    ¡°Keep up the pace, it¡¯s that Way!¡±

    ¡°Left, Right¡±

    ¡°Left, Right¡±

    This time it just kept going like that for far too long. Jewel started climbing angrily to gain altitude again but then there was a barked order from one of the captains and the march shifted up a pace, having to fill a gap that was forming ahead of them.

    And with the faster pace the words seemed to change of their own accord all along the troops.

    ¡°The shout of the cap means we¡¯re gonna fight

    We¡¯re gonna march from dawn to night and more.

    Because we are the men of the hills of Viznoze.¡±

    Well that sounded at least more honorable and proper for the proud soldiers of her home!

    But it did not last and eventually Jewel grew tired of hearing the variations of what sounded like nothing but complaints and slander for the meticulously planned march that Father and the Lords of Viznove had spent seasons working out.

    She was outright shocked at the insult given to their sworn lords and the Generalship.

    Jewel skipped over the army, up and down it to listen for hopefully better songs. She normally rather liked music.

    But the Soldiers (even the knights?!) were almost to a man singing about getting lost, going in circles, sleeping in haystacks for lack of bedrolls and mistaking the contents of chamber pots for stew! and for some reason long ballads about the various shapes of shepherd daughters.

    Jewel thought perhaps there was something wrong with them but from head to tail the army showed nothing particularly different in the manner of the songs sung. And none of the captains or even the lords were doing anything about it (some of them even joined into the very songs complaining about them?!).

    So maybe that just was how army marches went?

    Jewel had heard work songs before among the peasants but nothing like these!

    Most peasant songs were at least educational!

    When she had made two more full passes up and down the army low enough to hear the content and witness not a single captain (or lord?!) performing discipline against any singer for their audacity she concluded that this was not at all unexpected.

    Which was when Jewel decided that military music was not for her and stopped dipping so low that she could hear their voices as anything but soft murmurs of melody under the roar of the wind.

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    She was bored, but she was not that bored.

    Deprived of the distraction, Jewel turned her attention back to the now very familiar woods, valleys and fields.

    They would not be leaving Rochford today but for some reason the army would also not be marching entirely into the village nearest their camp site.

    Jewel had not heard why but apparently it was better for discipline and the health of the land to keep the army a few hours walk away from the peasantry after it got underway.

    Also the Generals Marcis?aw of Kliatbatrn and Count Fiebron wanted to have a night in mostly secure lands to work over the levies and their ability to make camp (and in the morning pack it up again).

    Sadly, there was nothing of note to scout for while they yet marched in Father¡¯s lands.

    Thus besides the awful singing of the marchers there was little to do but watch men march slowly along the same road as they slowly made their way to the chosen campsite.

    So Jewel practiced Flight Cant with the Gryphon riders. Working in gestures with her hands and tilting her wings with their formations, the various signals and signs she and her Father had worked out and proposing new ones to help enrich things even beyond that.

    And among that necessary training were gossip of a sort and even a few jests between the Gryphon Riders.

    The restriction of total gestures possible made otherwise simple riddles deeply challenging and as often the convoluted answer deemed correct by a riddler made of the available ¡®words¡¯ were argued vehemently between the flyers in equally restricted terms.

    Which was an amusing diversion after a fashion.

    Jewel personally preferred playing ¡°what do I scout¡± to help fill the dull hours rising up on warm rising winds and counting the same houses in the same towns for the fifth time. Flight Cant mostly had all the terms for describing and guessing things as they appeared from the air.

    In the fullness of time the sun did reach about two thirds along its path in the sky and with it the army ¡®began¡¯ to make camp.

    But even that was an endeavor of patience the Wyrm had not anticipated.

    The head of the march stopped well before Jewel and her Father¡¯s caravan had on their journey.

    For what was probably a good hour they were unloading pack mules and setting up tents, putting up pens for the eventual arrival of the goats and organizing groups to enter the woods for burnables to fuel the army¡¯s fires.

    As all the land was still Father¡¯s, the parties set to this labor were about as safe as anywhere else in Viznove but the captains still berated and organized them to move with armed footmen and levy.

    Making training and a drill of the camp setting work so that when there was actual present danger they would not be caught unawares.

    Likewise there was work for the Flyers of the army.

    Jewel for her agility and quiet ascents and landings had been picked to relay the lay of the land from their scouting flights and save the gryphons from the strain of having to make multiple landings and take offs in the evening.

    And so she was soon landing to do that vital duty.

    Which meant she got the tiresome experience of being forced to tell a Captain¡¯s aide that had somehow missed in the entire mustering that Jewel could talk and think. It made what should have been a simple debrief into an estranged exercise in further patience as she finally confirmed the scouting reports of the rest of the flight of Gryphon Riders was understood and would be conveyed to the captains.

    Really were there actually so many aides that there could still be those ignorant of her?

    Jewel was not sure how they managed this. Surely they had to run out soon? For the entire muster and the training and drills involved Jewel had unerringly had to constantly speak to people that she had never met before when giving these reports.

    But still the day of the march they somehow were still managing to find the ignorant somewhere in the teeming mass of soldiers and servants to take her reports.

    Finally she was able to make certain that the aide did actually hear her report and was going to give it to the necessary captains making firewood arrangements for the camp.

    And with that, Jewel¡¯s last duty for the march completed for the day she turned to look around for something else to do. Flexing her wings and back to ease some of the tension from most of a day flying.

    The encampment was still growing around her. Soldiers and pack mules continuously arrived and captains, aides and even lords tried to direct them to the correct places to camp.

    Milling levies from the same towns or territories clustered together around pits dug for cooking fires. Some stared at Jewel but she was making her impressions slowly through the army and most at least had seen her before and gave her little more consideration than the gryphons.

    One of the younger ones who seemed too absorbed in his own troubles to notice her drew Jewel¡¯s attention.

    The levy had his helmet off and his face looked on the probably younger side. He was staring at the round of his traveling bread ration with resignation, tapping it against his shield with a hollow clatter.

    He smelled hungry and tired but also was not moving to even try and gnaw at his ration. Just sat there staring at it.

    Listlessly.

    Jewel sighed and called up the lessons Muriel had given her on dealing with strangers. The suspiciously ever growing relevance of which still made Jewel want to squint at her Governess and whatever powers of prediction she had. But it would serve her again now as she looked at the exhausted looking levy.

    In at least an hour Father¡¯s portion of the supply train would arrive.

    Jewel had her fill of flying for the day and she was not expected to do anything else until the rest of the Gryphon Riders made camp.

    Her course set, Jewel made her way over to the despondent soldier that seemed a bit younger then Smithson. She had nothing better to do after all.

    So she strode up to the levy and spoke softly, making sure her voice hit the notes as fair and gently as she could.

    ¡°I¡¯m told it''s better if you soak it in a broth.¡±

    naturally the levy jolted and dropped his ration. It clattered off his shield, bounced and then tumbled to the dirt packed hard by many feet and hooves.

    But travel bread was hardier than that and Jewel snatched it up off the ground before it finished rolling and buffed it off on her scales before handing it back to the staring man.

    ¡°Here, keep this till they get the cook fires going and the broth pots boiling.¡±

    There was a growl of hunger from his middle but still no words, just a tiresomely familiar look of complete shock and gaping mouth.

    Well Jewel had practice with that.

    Slipping a bit into the voice of polite command Mother used Jewel ordered the levy.

    ¡°Help me with this kit.¡±

    That seemed to not quite penetrate so Jewel sighed and deepened the timbre.

    ¡°Attend me, Levy! Undo the latch on this pack, no not that one, the one further down...¡±

    It took some work but she managed to direct the gobsmacked peasant to take out one of her bundles of dried meat ration, unfold it and hold it out to her so she could eat a portion from it.

    Then when she had her fill she withdrew. Leaving him holding a decent portion to cover for a missed meal on the road for a man.

    ¡°Eat the rest, that is a command by the Lady Jewel of Rochford.¡±

    Which finally got a whining mumble of shocked protest. But Jewel would have none of that. And had already planned her rebuttal.

    ¡°If you go all day without proper food you will be no good for Viznove. Eat to get your strength back then go ask a footman or one of the more experienced levies how to prepare the ration on the march.¡±

    And then with that Jewel strode away from the befuddled peasant.

    Working her way through the rapidly filling camp on the lookout for someone else to help until her Father¡¯s tents were stood up.

 9.3

    9.3

    Father and Jewel¡¯s tents ended up being placed in the very center of the encampment along with the other Gryphon Riders, space and bedding set aside for the Gryphons themselves and the tents for the Acting Generals of the army.

    Smithson was there ready to finally unburden her of kit and cargo.

    And Jewel welcomed it.

    ¡°Thank you, Squire Smithson, have you been keeping fed and watered on the road? We have a few barrels of ale in the supply. I could probably get you some small beer to better slake your thirst.¡±

    Her squire turned red and shook his head firmly. Jewel would smile and assure him it was a jest but there were Knights and Lords about and she needed to keep up appearances. However she trusted Smithson understood the intent.

    And he kept up proper decorum in his response besides.

    ¡°Is no problem Lady Jewel. I had a full canteen at the start, and I made sure to drink my fill every time we stopped for a spell.¡±

    She nodded, it was good that her Squire had not foolishly deprived himself like the near dozen she had found among the Levy that apparently had never had to eat Traveler¡¯s Bread before.

    Jewel needed to have a word with the war council on the failure amongst the army to properly take care of their levies!

    Which was why she was making her way to the real general of the army¡¯s tent.

    As senior-most in experience and rank, Count Fiebron was the first among Generals for the mustered armies of the campaign. But as an allied power he was not in sole command of all the army.

    The honor of officially leading the ranks of Viznove lay with Lord Marcis?aw of Kliatbatrn. One of the deeply unpleasant men that had just last Debt''s Season tried to barter and trade rights to Jewels'' person in case of the unfortunate event of Father¡¯s death.

    It made Jewel tense that one of those awful conspirators was here and so highly ranked in the command. She thought that the Countess was being far too lenient with him after the traitorous talk he had offered regarding her and Father.

    But it was not Jewel¡¯s or even Father¡¯s place to speak against the Countess.

    And according to the Countess, Lord Marcis?aw of Kliatbatrn had seniority over Father.

    Ostensibly it was because his barony mustered the majority of the cavalry for the army.

    Even if by the scent of them, Jewel recognized it was almost entirely Rochford chargers they were riding.

    But she was not going to deal with the deeply unpleasant man that held the rank of second Among Generals for the campaign.

    No, she moved to Count Fiebron¡¯s tent, already hearing and smelling his presence.

    Although he was not alone; Jewel could smell Father as well, and with him four familiar scents.

    The strange whiff of smoke, gold and absolute smugness that could be nothing but Fizzbunches.

    The deep metallic tang of freshly spilled blood that lingered when Jaksa the Red was performing a working.

    The subtle hint of sulfurous water that denoted Tsulogothulan was in attendance.

    And the chill crisp smell of leaves just turning red that Jewel would never forget was Euewyn Weird of the Autumnal Briarwood of Bothgola.

    But there were equally distinct and foreign smells in the tent as well.

    Mingling in concentrations and character that Jewel could not say for certain how many or which kind.

    But she suspected that there were going to be three other wizards in attendance.

    She could hear words and things that only had the idea of words but shared nothing of the sort with their sound.

    Mostly though, Jewel unfortunately heard Fizzbunches talking.

    ¡°Count Fiebron I must again insist that although we will aid you in this endeavor neither you nor any under decree by the Countess Bathory may hold sway or command over me or those of my enterprise. The engagement that I have with the Barony of Rochford is with its lord and his daughter alone. We are here solely for their safety and the security of their interests and for no other reason.¡±

    It was in her experience not possible for Jewel to actually avoid being noticed when entering any room, let alone a tent that did not possess the dimensions to contain her.

    Which meant that she had to suffice with only bringing her head, neck and shoulders into the quite already crowded interior of Count Fiebron¡¯s tent.

    As such Father and the Count readily turned to acknowledge her with a respectful bob of the head (not to be mistaken for a nod or stars forbid a bow).

    The familiar faces (or equivalent) of the Wizards also gave some acknowledgement of greeting.

    Of the strangers, Jewel felt the disappointment that there seemed to be only one more Weird in attendance.

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    A being that resembled a collection of lightly curled scrolls masquerading as either heavy winter cloak or equally heavy furs. The outer surface was made completely of half unfurled parchment with countless letters and vibrant illuminated illustrations upon every available surface revealed.

    The ¡®garment¡¯ rose up into a man height shape with a sharply pointed ¡®hood¡¯ that curled forward to frame a space as hollow as Euewyn¡¯s own visage.

    It was almost akin to the Autumn Weird like that, but with vellum scrolls instead of leaves.

    But as Jewel peered she recognized that the interior lining of the Weird¡¯s cloak was distinctly rugged leather with ridges and metal adornments in a manner that briefly confused her before she recognized where she had seen such things before.

    A Binding.

    A book Binding.

    With the hints of a spine running into darkness along the middle line and into the back of the hood. The furls of parchment exposed suddenly became clear for what it was.

    Not scrolls at all.

    They were pages, fantastically vast numbers of pages all nestled together in the figure like the feathers of a Griffon. Ruffling, shifting, furling and unfurling as the living thing they were.

    A rainbow glory of colored ink, with silver and gold leaf shimmering over the Weird¡¯s plumage of parchment.

    And as Jewel watched closely the pages changed their letters and images as they were obscured and then revealed.

    In contrast, the other two presumably mere wizards were almost forgettable. For one they actually looked like human beings.

    If strangely clothed ones with very ostentatiously odd hats.

    But compared to the four Weirds in attendance, they barely looked like anything but middle aged to elderly men.

    Even Jaksa the red had a hint of more going on with his bizarrely too-smooth, near-black crimson hair and beard.

    Fizzbunches, of course, saw Jewel and immediately turned his tail to the Count of Zekhedge to directly address her.

    As if she was the only person present of any notable status at all.

    ¡°Ah! Jewel, so nice to see you again. I was just explaining to this boor that while our services will certainly aid to ensure your interests in this war, we are solely at your and your father¡¯s service in this endeavor.¡±

    And as the smugly pleased cat looked at her with eager and proud eyes, Jewel had a sudden shivering premonition of just what Euewyn and Tsulogothulan must have felt when Fizzbunches was negotiating terms with Father.

    Somehow, the Cat Wizard was as bad or worse when he was on your side then he was opposing you.

    Father cleared his throat to draw everyone¡¯s attention, his face a confused muddle of stern aggravation at Fizzbunches and mortified horror at his treatment of the Count.

    ¡°As I was trying to say, Lord Sorcerer Fizzbunches, in the interest of protecting the security and freedom of my daughter and the sanctity of our own agreement against the tyranny of the Realm, I think it would best to make of it a rotating duty amongst our sorcerous forces. One of you to see to Jewel¡¯s safety directly and the other five distributed amongst the army to render such aid as is within their ability both on the march and in battle.¡±

    The overly smug cat wizard smiled as if Father had said exactly as he expected then nodded to him, flicking his tail in the Duke¡¯s face.

    ¡°Ah, is that so? Well that sounds like a perfectly sensible arrangement, I and the weirds will muster and convene the other sorcerers to decide placements. I expect the laywizards will always be attached to the army as it will less strain them with the challenge of keeping up with a Wyrm in the air.¡±

    Father glanced at Fiebron and Jewel saw some meaningful weighting of thoughts and consideration passed in their expressions. Even a few half aborted gestures of Flight Cant twitching along their arms and hands too subtly for Jewel to read clearly.

    Then Father turned fully on the smug faced Cat Wizard.

    ¡°Yes, I would prefer if the Countess¡¯ Wizard Jaksa the red lea-¡±

    ¡°ADVISE!¡±

    Jaksa shrieked his interruption, the entire room turning to consider him most intently and Jewel noted that he paled for reasons that probably had nothing to do with his preferred medium of sorcery being used.

    ¡°Most Humbly Advise the good Lord Sorcerer Fizzbunches and the esteemed Lord Sorcerer Urul. Purely for my regional expertise of course.¡±

    Father glared at Jaksa the red, then shared another look with Count Fiebron who rolled his eyes very heavily and blew air through his near white mustache.

    To the complete and utterly disrespectful lack of note from anyone but Jewel and her Father.

    Who sighed heavily and continued.

    ¡°I would prefer if the Lord Fizzbunches took the advice and counsel from the Countess Bathory¡¯s sworn Wizard Jaksa the Red, for both his regional expertise as well as cultural tradition of the way of our lands.¡±

    Fizzbunches blinked slowly at Father then opened his mouth in apparent surprise and then lidded those same eyes in a conspiratorial gleam that left Jewel feeling even more suspicious of the smug little monster.

    Father continued although he was looking rather annoyed with the entire predicament.

    ¡°This is, after all, the Countess of Viznove¡¯s campaign. Enacted to aid in the security of Rochford and my daughter¡¯s freedom but it is tradition for her interest to be involved in command.¡±

    Fizzbunches gave a curt nod and a toothy grin that absolutely looked like it would spell great trouble and terrible plots in the future.

    ¡°Ah, I understand completely Lord Rochford! Have no fear I will certainly take on Jaksa the Red¡¯s Advice with all the care it is due.¡±

    Which set the wizard mentioned clenching several muscles in his face that Jewel was not at all sure the meaning of but she thought it was some kind of strangled panic.

    And then the Cat wizard departed without a word, spinning around one of his corners directly before them all.

    Leaving everyone else to suffer the awkwardness he had created.

    After the silence continued with no one breaking it Jewel remembered why she had come here in the first place and before she realized what she was doing Jewel found herself tumbling into the brittle quiet like the Terror Boar itself.

    ¡°Oh! First Among Generals! I have news and concern towards the vigor and training of the levies!¡±

 9.4

    9.4

    Jewel woke with the dawn.

    Which was very much not to her preference but it was better than waking up before it.

    The voices of the captains and through them their aides and footmen were already moving through the camp. As Jewel unwound from her own tent she could already see the Gryphon Riders attending their mounts.

    Zephyrvam was a familiar sight and Father was going over him with Smithson. No words between them, just assurance and confidence.

    Familiarity with Jewel¡¯s squire as they gently brushed fingers down the gryphon¡¯s plumage. Feeling for loose feathers or irregularities.

    Jewel nodded to the Gryphon and got a head bob and a warble of greeting in reply. His steed¡¯s action drew Father¡¯s attention and he gave a nod to Smithson who took over his place going over the work to groom the feathers.

    ¡°Daughter, how goes the campaign for you? Spotted any more-¡± He made the Flight Cant gesture from one of the particularly egregious riddles yesterday.

    Why anyone would describe a sheep like that, Jewel would never know, but she recognised the jest for what it was. However she only smiled at Father¡¯s humor.

    ¡°Not yet, Father, but I only just woke. Are we going to break fast soon?¡±

    To which he nodded then jerked his head to Zephyrvam.

    ¡°As soon as the Gryphon¡¯s meals are seen too we will. It¡¯s always best for their bonds to be present when it''s feeding time in such close quarters. Jealousy and greed can get the better of them.¡±

    And that did make sense. Jewel raised her head a bit higher than Father¡¯s to peer over the camp and towards where the Gryphon¡¯s own cooking tent had been set up. Flaring her nostrils and perking her ears. By the sound of solid metal cutting bone there were probably goats being broken down for feed as they spoke.

    The scent of blood and viscera however did not yet reach her with this wind.

    Jewel dropped back down to a more respectful height below her Father¡¯s.

    ¡°I think we won¡¯t have to wait much longer. I just heard them chopping in the tent.¡±

    To which Father nodded amiably.

    ¡°Then we will be breaking fast soon in council with the generals. And then it will be time to take to the flight and securely scout the path ahead of our march.¡±

    Jewel scowled a bit at mention of both of the army generals but she was proper and knew not to insult her superiors.

    Even if they should have been insufferable in any just world.

    Father sighed at her as he looked over the other Riders and Gryphon Lords soothing and fussing over their steeds. Some alone, others with as many as four servants attending.

    The different plumages were their own kind of fascinating.

    Each Gryphon, even ones that Jewel knew were blood kin, took after different birds in their feathers.

    Zephyrvam was black as midnight coal, like a raven, but his mother was a snow white interspersed with speckled gray and near black blues. Smokespear¡¯s colors blended together with distance and made her like a gray cloud when in the open sky.

    To contrast those two, Bloodcrown, the steed of one of Countess Bathory¡¯s knights, was a smooth coat of near solid deep indigo that blended lighter in places, with a splatter of bright crimson just atop his head.

    And then the partner in that pair who went by Woodstrike who was ridden by the other knight was the pale gray and brown colors of a common forest dove. According to the gossip on the wing yesterday those two Gryphons were brother and sister from the same clutch and by the same Drake and Formel.

    Yet they could not look more different from one another.

    It was very peculiar. Jewel knew that Chickens, Sheep, Horse, Cattle, Pigs and even Men did not so vastly differ in the appearance within their families. But War Gryphons did?

    There was also amongst them quite the variance in size.

    Zephyrvam and Woodstrike were the largest among the thirteen. With the russet brown youth (Jewel had only ever ¡®spoken¡¯ to them via flight cant so did not know their proper name) being the smallest.

    But age was not an assurance of size with the War Gryphons.

    Seeing them all together on the ground instead of scattered in the air made the variance even more striking.

    ¡°He¡¯s not a dishonorable man, Jewel.¡±

    Father¡¯s words shook her out of her musings and drew Jewel¡¯s attention back to his somber face. Before she could manage to still her expression as Mother had taught he was already shaking his head and sighing again.

    ¡°I know, I was upset with him too at the time. But it was because I thought he was betraying old blood ties made by both our families to one another.¡±

    That was news to Jewel and she boggled at her Father to his even more confusing laughter.

    ¡°The Barony of Kliatbatrn is old but it is not prominent or powerful as the families of Viznove go. It is also the direct neighbor to Kaeketeh, just north along the V¨¢h from the Countess Bathory¡¯s own home. His demesne is closer to the Countess and her court then our home is to Abbot Herbort¡¯s¡±

    Jewel tilted her head not quite seeing the relevance. Her Father sighed and turned across the clearing set aside for the Gryphons, joining the various steeds'' own attention turning as staff from the cooking tent began marching up bearing the freshly portioned carcasses of Goats.

    Father sighed and moved closer to Zephyrvam who was attentively watching the approaching kitchen staff.

    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    ¡°We will discuss it later, Daughter, but please understand he is required to do things because of the reality of his position. He is not the enemy you might expect him to be from his actions and words at the Countess¡¯ Court.¡±

    Jewel sighed but nodded, her Father was wise and besides that also her Father and Lord. She would trust his judgment in this.

    Feeding time for the Gryphons was mostly the usual as she had seen these things go. The only notable thing being that instead of freshly caught game or slaying and devouring one of Rochford¡¯s feed pigs they were being given freshly butchered goats.

    It made sense, she supposed, with so many Gryphons it would be difficult to keep the animals from panicking from normal feeding or the Gryphons from gorging.

    Beaks snapped up legs, heads and organs whole. Sometimes claws came into play to hold ribs or spines so that Zephyrvam or one of the others could shear out a more easily swallowed chunk.

    But all around it was over swiftly and the Gryphons were allowed to begin preening blood and bone chips out of their feathers.

    With the potential for greed or jealousy over meat to instigate fights passed the riders left their mounts to the capable hands of their servants and in Zephyrvam¡¯s case Jewel¡¯s squire and moved to see to their own breakfast.

    Jewel and her Father joined Count Fiebron on his way from attending Smokespear¡¯s feeding. The three of them heading to his tent for the morning war counsel.

    The Lesser Knights and other Gryphon Lords were off to make their own arrangements. With both the first amongst their fraternity attending and the highest General also being a flier there was little reason to attend the meeting themselves.

    However, that did not make the tent any less crowded.

    Jewel held herself back outside the tent for all the other esteemed lords of the army to pass.

    Marcis?aw was already waiting outside the tent with two of the other figures that Jewel did not know the name of but recognized as having sat with the Countess Bathory at her table.

    After them were two lords from Zekhedge that were apparently there to speak for the state of the ground forces that had marched south to Rochford during the muster.

    And then at last, still going everywhere with his own two feet like the most unwizardly wizard that ever wizarded, was Jaksa the Red.

    After this last member of the council, Jewel slipped her own shoulders and head into the tent and took up her place at the table set up with the odd porridge of Travel Bread soaked in bone marrow broth and goats milk that had been made up over night while most of the camp slept.

    It was not the decadence of most of the many meals she had while traveling to Kaeketeh but it still seemed a bit indulgent for breakfast as far as Jewel was concerned.

    Once everyone started eating and Count Fiebron had inhaled his entire bowl almost faster then the Gryphons had, the meeting was under way.

    Fiebron opened with a rough cough and a statement that left Jewel shocked.

    ¡°So how many did we already lose to desertion in the night?¡±

    The Baron of Kliatbatrn and 2nd General huffed and with just as much seriousness answered.

    ¡°By my captains¡¯ counts and words I¡¯ve gathered from the other lords, less than four hundred but more than a hundred and fifty. All from the levy of course ¡ª the footmen and Knights are accounted for and have held to their honor.¡±

    Fiebron nodded and seemed happy that possibly the entire population of Rochford village or more had apparently deserted on the first day!

    ¡°A good start to any campaign, we should make a reminder of the plunder and riches to come and see that a bit clearer word goes out from the captains to explain the basics of military living. These levies are very green. I¡¯ve heard reports that some of the youngest have never even eaten Traveler¡¯s Bread before.¡±

    Which got a few chuckles from the lords in attendance, even from Father. Jewel didn''t see the humor in it.

    However the 2nd General nodded sharply at that after the murmur settled.

    ¡°A good plan. I¡¯ll see the order is given amongst the ground force. All is in order with the flyers, then, first general?¡±

    Which had Jewel snapping to focus away from her confusion.

    Count Fiebron nodded back.

    ¡°Indeed, second General, as expected all have been well. Perhaps a bit overeager to finally get to the fighting but none have drifted from their duties and I trust as we move away from the shelter of Rochford and Viznose they will all sharpen up. The entanglement with the sorcerous chain of command has also been duly settled?¡±

    Jaksa the Red straightened up at that and spoke clearly and confidently but Jewel could smell and taste his fear in the air.

    ¡°As well as can be hoped with what I can best describe as the nearest equivalent of two Kings of wizardry feigning obedience to us. They do precisely as they wish but there is at least agreement from our sorcerous allies that they will mostly remain predictably near where the Generals have requested them to be.¡±

    That got a heavy sigh from Fiebron and a curse of ¡°confounded wizards¡± from one of the Lords of Viznove Jewel didn¡¯t  know.

    Which she thought was an especially poor choice as fluttering of pages and the smell of old vellum, ink and leather preceded the arrival of who Jewel was only now fully rested enough to appreciate was Urul The Written Weird.

    Everyone stiffened at the intrusion, but the Wizard said nothing, simply ruffled his pages.

    Jaksa the Red was still and the silence grew a bit unpleasant before Jewel felt one of those wizardly whispers that were not word or speech or spoken act and yet conveyed their workings pass from Urul to Jaksa.

    Which caused him to shake himself and then stand straight at attention before speaking.

    ¡°It has been settled that for the next three days of march, the Guardianship assignment to our Shining Wyrm Jewel will be undertaken by Lord Sorcerer Urul The Written Weird. Expect that he is present at all hours henceforth when in the... The Lady Jewel¡¯s presence.¡±

    And with that and a flutter of pages Urul was gone.

    Or at least not visible.

    Although Jewel was unsure of precisely where or how he was present yet.

    She did not yet feel anything in the Wyrmfire around her.

    The rest of the meeting after that was rather boring for the next hour it was undertaken. Discussion about supply, the arrangement of which of the Kitchen camps would be at the head or the tail this day and which lords or captains would be best to give rousing speeches to hopefully stall or slow the apparently expected attrition to desertion among the levies.

    Father was taken off scouting duty to attend to the freshest levies directly as his bearing, titles and speech craft would go well there.

    Jewel honestly had little mind for it after fully comprehending what her situation was however.

    She was going to be accompanied by the Author of a Book that she had Read.

    She was going to be accompanied by Lord Sorcerer Urul The Written Weird.

    It took great effort to not make the happy little chirping squeal of delight and want Jewel had once made when she was still two years old and begging for snacks from Mother.

 9.5

    9.5

    Jewel found it frustratingly difficult to engage Lord Sorcerer Urul the Written Weird in conversation.

    For one, she was flying for most of the day.

    For two, he was apparently completely incapable of actual audible speech.

    For three, he actually seemed to prefer to take substantial periods of time between hearing what you said and his own responses.

    Which made ¡®conversing¡¯ with him far more of an exercise in speaking to him at length before he returned with a page full of thoughtful and incredibly formal responses.

    It was like exchanging letters more than actually speaking.

    And it was further made awkward because in Jewel¡¯s case she was mostly speaking to the empty air of the wind in flight or the occasional fluttering pages of illuminated manuscript that rode along with her as if caught in her wake.

    I once again repeat myself that It heartens me greatly to know that you find such honor in my words, Lady Jewel of Rochford. In answer to your many queries and boundless curiosity, the following are my findings on these matters both mundane and sorcerous:

    I do indeed still eat as you have deftly observed all wizards do. It is in the nature of all living things to need to draw out sustenance from the world around them.

    In fact one of the sure signs of risen dead is their lack of true consumption, although some yet feel the hunger and appetite of life for all it does them no good.

    So yes, expect nearly all but the most far gone into their truths of Weirds to eat as any living being would, Lady Jewel.

    Furthermore I also draw breath and in taking it inscribe its vitality upon my pages. I am curious to hear of your own thoughts on this matter as the Esteemed Sorcerer Tsulogothulan spoke highly of insights they are yet still investigating in the topic as pertains to the rotting or reviving quality of waters.

    I have in my studies found that in mining there is much concern regarding accursed air and its nature but much is hearsay, superstition and secrets coveted highly as miner lore. Alas, there has been no Wizard of a truth compatible with metallurgy in well over a century among the circles and his words upon the matter were steeped in frivolities endlessly expounding on sacred fire and degrading rust.

    I believe that there is a fundamental problem of paradigm in the understanding of any given Wizard or to a greater degree Weird in the quality of their truth and its applicability to the nature of others truths. I am of the opinion although not all of the circles agree (which is their mistake) that all sorcerous truths that can be said to beget wizardom are but different sights of the same whole as taken from each of the positions upon which we first set forth in our path to power and purity.

    But as we each go deeper into our truths we are in approaching this truth overwhelmed by only our part of it, as one¡¯s eyes are filled by approaching the foothills of a great mountain peak and in doing so lose the greater whole.

    I am more partial to the berry of the black pepper plant well dried and crushed fresh upon a haunch of mutton, actually. Saffron does make for a wonderful pigment for cloth dye but I admit having never thought to imbibe it for a flavoring before.

    The latest reply from the Written Weird required some concentration to try and remember just which questions she had actually asked to prompt the text elegantly written on the page before her.

    She had not realized how she was going to be answered when this started and it had taken almost an hour from her first starting to ask Urul before she actually got the reply.

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Jewel really should have expected that all her conversation would be closer to correspondence. Urul was the written weird after all! Every reply was in the form of pages that deftly remained six or so feet ahead of her nose as she flew along in the air.

    It was a bit disorienting to be reading while also in air passing leagues by on the wing and had taken some getting used to.

    After the first reply, however, she learned that if she kept her questions to only a few in number the actual delay would be shortened.

    Urul the Weird took his time formulating replies and every single page was a treasure that Jewel would have had to labor for half a day or more on to match in the clear precision, beautiful illustration and embellishments of rich inks and metal leaf.

    She found it humorous his various additions that often had little to nothing to do with his words. illustrating knights facing off against monstrously vast snails, dancing dogs, griffons and other lairspawn along side commoners and lords in clothes and forms of dress Jewel had never seen before.

    It was, despite the awkwardness of delay in the correspondence, quite an improvement in relieving her boredom as she made sweeps up and down the army¡¯s marching line. They had left Rochford and the demesne of any lord allied to Viznove.

    The Gryphon Riders were making a sport of hunting game as they flew with the army now and more and more of their words and the necessity of spotting signs of village smoke and fields on the horizon was of concern to be passed between the Generals.

    Second General Kliatbatrn was of a mind that they should delay the forage until the return from the siege (or the battle if Thurz¨® took up their offering to engage).

    From the morning counsel Jewel knew that First General Count Fiebron was more interested in doing a light forage of the villagers on their approach to subdue them and conserve supply for the siege.

    Furthermore, he thought that the plunder would help bloody some of their levy and reinforce morale to stall out all but the most cowardly in the army deserting.

    Jewel heard a lot of reasoning in both directions that morning. But had not actually noticed exactly which way the decision had settled.

    Still in either case, Jewel and the other Gryphon riders were making sweeps and keeping count and position of the villages and which would be closest to the path the Army was marching along.

    Dutifully conferring and verifying with Count Fiebron and Father and most importantly (according to both of them) keeping her superior eyes sharp on the horizon to catch sight of any other Flyers.

    They were still only a quarter of a day¡¯s march into the territories that had fallen behind Thurz¨® and the Realm for their treachery, so it was unlikely they would be engaged this far from his primary muster.

    But this was not a certainty.

    A Gryphon could fly far and fast, especially with good wind ¡ª and it was blowing against them today.

    Jewel made the flight cant towards one of the pages around her the sign for attentive.

    The Wizard had not known of the language of Gryphon riders and requested Jewel give him a short explanation of them and the various signs for what might very well be a new book he was going to write.

    He still was not sufficiently fluent to follow the banter, gossip and reports passing between the Gryphon Riders on scouting duty with Jewel, but he knew enough to understand she needed to have her view unobstructed for the moment and hold off on any of his correspondence.

    Jewel peered intently over the hill sides and the sliver of glowing sky that hugged over the lower mountains ahead of them.

    It was trickier to spot a Gryphon who could launch from a cliff than one vaulting into open air from a low valley.

    They needed less initial push and thus disturbed the trees and wind far less when bounding off a cliff face or mountain peak.

    However with a few more sweeps with a considering gaze Jewel saw nothing in the air larger than some Jackdaws.

    She quickly made a flex and sweep with her arms to sign to Urul clear skies.

    A moment later another page unfurled in front of her and Jewel turned her attention to roving her gaze over the wonderful illustrations and intricately embellished text.

 9.6

    9.6

    Iwik was proud, he had gotten through the entire day without dropping a single seed of wheat in gleaning this harvest.

    The hungry summer was coming to an end. Everyone would be finishing the harvest in maybe another five days and then they would dance the carola. It had been an exciting spring and summer.

    More riders made their way going east and west than Iwik had ever seen any other year. One of them even traded his horse with the headman for Thistlejump! He¡¯d paid silver on top of leaving a horse that, beside the exhaustion from running at a full gallop, was still hale as ever.

    The poor thing just needed some grain and to be taken care of for a few days, and the mare was already almost as hearty as Thistlejump had been!

    He was just making sure another bundle of wheat head was properly tied off and secured in its basket when he noticed a few strange men coming out of the woods.

    That was odd, but there had been a lot of travelers.

    He was just getting back into position to start bundling but Da, Uncle Jirzy and Uncle Jagel both had stopped in their work with the sickles.

    Iwik looked ahead to see why.

    More men were emerging from the forest, coming along the road but also arriving from the woods like hunters.

    But their bows were drawn even as they came into the fallow fields and pasture lands.

    Da spun on his heel and grabbed Iwik firmly on the shoulder and gave him a heavy shake.

    ¡°Iwik! Run home. Get your Mother and Sisters. Tell them to flee to the hide in the woods.¡±

    The tone in his father¡¯s voice was scared, his eyes wide. What was going on?!

    ¡°Wha? Da what¡¯s¡±

    ¡°Run Boy! Those are Soldiers! They¡¯re going ta take everything! Run to your mother and sisters, run and yell, tell everyone!¡±

    Iwik had never heard his da sounding so frightened in his life.

    Da spun his son around hard and then shoved him in the small of his back so forcefully it nearly put him face first into the ground.

    But he got his feet under him, and Iwik was fast. It was not long ago he still was given the duty of harrowing during Birdbane and he preferred running with a switch branch over throwing stones.

    He ran and he saw the rest of the men running with him.

    Running and shouting.

    ¡°Raid! Raiders! Raiders in the Fields!¡±

    And then he heard a sound that he had never heard before.

    Sometimes, from the cliffs and sky you would hear eagles.

    Sometimes, you hear wolves crying out from the woods.

    Sometimes, you hear other things, like the scream of an elk.

    This was louder than all of them, and more horrible.

    It shook his heart in his chest with the sheer booming sound of it.

    It came and then he felt a sudden roaring wind rush up around him, stronger than any storm he had ever felt. The blow of it lifted him clear off his feet. Tossed him into the air and as he was tumbling over he spotted the howling shape roaring ahead of him. The wind following behind it bowled over the men and boys trying to run.

    Like a wide black arrowhead. Frayed at the edges with hints of feathers. But there and gone back into the sky before he could properly say what it was.

    Wings?

    Like a Chicken?

    Or a Raven?

    But one with wings wider than even a lord¡¯s charger was long.

    It was already gone and past the entire village, all the fields in the time it took Iwik to finish falling to the ground.

    He tumbled like you did falling from a cart or a tree. Rolling with it lest you break your bones or head.

    The dry earth, cut stalks of wheat and small stones dug into the skin of his arms where the sleeves were too short.

    Ma had promised he¡¯d have a new shirt this fall. She¡¯d been working on the thread for it all last winter with his sisters and babcia.

    A hand grabbed him suddenly around the collar of his shirt and before he could even finish getting his legs back from under him his dad was running alongside him. His taller stride made it hard to even get his footing back as he was pulled along.

    ¡°Fool boy! Run! Get your mother and sisters and GO! Don¡¯t look back, just Run and Hide! They are here!¡±

    He did not ask who they were.

    Babcia spoke of it in winter. Some summers soldiers would come and it did not matter who they were.

    As soon as he was able to get to his feet he was already running away from his father, not even stopping to brush the dirt and rocks from his forearms.

    The scrapes from wheat straw stung his cheeks but he threw arms and legs ahead of him as hard as he could.

    Behind him he heard screaming of his uncles and the neighbors. He heard cruel words in the voices of strangers.

    But Iwik did not pause now. He ran, like boar and wolves were coming down on him, when he heard the terrible howling cry coming from his left he knew what was coming and ducked into the shelter of Uncle Jagel¡¯s shed before the wind came.

    He got a better look of the black wedge of midnight feathers as they swept by overhead. Saw a few of his neighbors that had not found shelter thrown to the ground by the terrible wind in its passing.

    As soon as the torrent fell away he was running again towards home. His throat was burning as he yelled.

    Voice joining that of the others, men that he knew were brave when it came to driving wolves from their goat herds strained sharp and high with terror.

    All of them were the same in their fear.

    ¡°Soldiers!¡±

    ¡°Raiders!¡±

    ¡°Gryphon!¡±

    The last one he quickly learned meant that another terrible cry was coming from the air. That he needed to take shelter in the lee of something.

    Before it¡¯s passing tumbled by in another gale.

    The looser thatch was being ripped from the roofs of houses all around him by this wind.

    Straw scattered in its wake like the hay harvest came again.

    Everyone was running and fleeing for home or already sprinting for the tree lines away from the soldiers.

    All but one man.

    One of the hunters was coming up from a crouch from where he had sheltered from the gale and was stringing his bow.

    The shout of ¡°Gryphon¡± and then another terrible cry set both Iwik and the man to duck into their shelter.

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    When it passed though the hunter was ready.

    He was drawing an arrow and taking aim for the sky.

    He was choosing to face the monster that screamed like thunder and whose passing was a storm.

    No one else was making a stand, and Iwik could not help but crouch frozen as he watched.

    There was fury to the man¡¯s face. He was someone strange, only come to their village last winter. Iwik¡¯s Ma and Da told him to keep clear of the man.

    Hunters that wander from town to town were not to be trusted.

    But here he was standing tall and drawing arms while all of them were running.

    Like a Hero from a story.

    Like a Knight there to slay the monster in one of the ballads that Ma didn''t want him to listen to when travelers were telling tales and singing songs for bread and board.

    He drew his bow, ready to take aim and then was letting loose an arrow. He did not wait like a hunter to spot a hit.

    Already he was drawing another and trying to take aim.

    Iwik braced to run but he was transfixed on the man with a bow aiming to the sky. Ready to see a hero slay the beast like all the stories said they would.

    But two arrows were loosed and then-

    There was no howl this time, there was no cry to warn from where the monster was coming.

    There was silence and then blinding dirt and sand tearing through the middle of town.

    Instead of simply loose thatch being torn from the roofs, entire sides of them were stripped bare of straw and some of the thinner supports underneath snapped and flew free of their bindings.

    Sailing into the air above him like spears.

    Sheets of straw flying into the wind like a careless scythe big as the sky had made a harvest of the village¡¯s roofs.

    Before he even realized it was happening he was tossed in the air by that wind.

    It threw Iwik up from his crouch and then back to the ground, he heard screams and cracks of bones against wood and rock from others caught in it.

    The wind was knocked out of him from hitting his back before tumbling over onto his side and lying still. Left stunned and gasping helplessly.

    He heard the sound of torn timbres and wooden supports from houses landing and sometimes the landings were wet and paired with cries of pain or worse silence.

    He saw people thrown against the walls of their homes all around where the man that he thought would be a hero had stood. But he had been thrown onto his side looking away.

    He struggled to fill his lungs, to regain the precious air, but he could not pull any but the shallowest breaths.

    There had been an awful wet sound and a splash. It was like a sound from the butcher when an oxen was set to slaughter. But far too loud.

    So much louder and harsher by far.

    When Iwik finally could breath a full chest worth he stumbled back to his feet shaking his head, his ears feeling off kilter and his legs wobbly he could see where the strange hunter had taken aim against the monster.

    Half of him was still there.

    Legs thrown out and askew as if he had fallen.

    It was almost comical.

    It was like his boots, leggings and tunic had just been tossed to the ground in a way Ma would have berated Iwik for.

    But it was not clothes lying there.

    It was legs, still in boots and cloth.

    At the waist was a ugly tangle of red and purple and pale flesh with hints of bone.

    Spread out like spilled milk from a turned over pail was the dark muddy color of blood in the road.

    It seemed like far too little blood for half of a strong man.

    The other half of the hunter was nowhere to be seen. His bow was a good twenty feet along the road and snapped in two the string loose and coiled up between the two halves.

    People were still screaming, the same words as before.

    ¡°Soldiers!¡±

    ¡°Raiders!¡±

    ¡°Gryphon!¡±

    He did not realize that he was screaming too until he was throwing open his own home¡¯s door.

    The thatch he had watched his Da and uncles work this spring on repairing was stripped to the rafters on the side that had faced the hunter and his stand against the monster.

    The thinner wood that supported the bound straw had been torn loose of the ties that were meant to hold them together and hung or had fallen loose on the floor already.

    Some were gone entirely.

    He rushed into the house but Ma and his sisters were gone, the door was ajar, bundles were missing but furniture and spindles and the other tools for housework were left on the ground or table.

    The house was empty.

    Were they gone?

    Were they dead?!

    It took him long shocked minutes staring at his empty home with the morning light shining into it before he realized what it actually meant.

    They weren¡¯t gone.

    Not like the hunter was.

    Torn apart and away by a black horror sweeping down from the sky silently or screaming in vicious glee to scatter them like spooked sheep.

    They did what Da told Iwik to warn them to do.

    They Ran.

    They Hid.

    He was pretty sure where they would be found.

    Every family had a hide in the woods.

    Some of his friends made extra ones just for themselves away from the usual family ones.

    Secret places everyone needed.

    Somewhere you¡¯d be safe if there were monsters in the village.

    Monsters.

    He shook himself down and prepared to join them in the woods, he would find their special hide away and they would meet up with Da and Uncle Jirzy and Uncle Jagel.

    He just had to run to the woods. As he turned in the doorway to make deeds of this thoughts-

    ¡°Gotcha!¡±

    Iwik screamed and nearly wet himself!

    Only realizing it was human hands on his shoulders kept him from pissing in fright.

    A stranger had grabbed him from behind and before he could squirm away they spun him around and lifted him up. Pinning his arms to his sides then planting him hard enough his heels were sore, jerking his wrists behind his back.

    And then there was a man in front of him.

    He looked like some of the guards from the lord up in the hills that sometimes came around to inspect them or receive reports on the quality of the harvest.

    He had leather with a glint of metal like one. Also like some of the riders that passed by, but he wore different colors then the ones that had been riding through.

    He had a helm, but his face and eyes were there clear as can be. The steel guard making his nose seem crueler than Iwik ever remembered such being.

    Or was that just the glare and the hungry light to him as he looked him dead in the eye.

    ¡°Now then, boy. You''re gonna tell us where the rest of ya family has smuggled themselves and their goods off too.¡±

    There was a smile there that was anything but friendly as he leaned in close. His breath smelled awful and sour. Like old goats milk and boiled marrow.

    Outside and behind him there were very familiar voices, neighbors, friends and family. Iwik knew their voices.

    They were screaming, they were crying, there were wet heavy sounds and grunts and cries of pain.

    There was another terrible howling cry from the monster far away in the sky.

    His breath was coming in rapid gasps and pants. His head felt light.

    A slap of leather across his face shook him out of it and forced tears to his eyes.

    ¡°Hey there! None of that, boy! You need to focus here and now. It¡¯s Important, you see?¡±

    The same leather clad hand grabbed his chin and turned Iwik to face the awful sharp-eyed man with his stinking breath. Matching the boy¡¯s eyes to his.

    ¡°We need a bit of cooperation, you see, we need a bit of food and such is all. Weary travelers, all us soldiers. But you all always go and hide it. But I ain¡¯t mad about that, none you worry.¡±

    There was a solemn nod and again a smile that Iwik could not see as anything but ugly.

    ¡°That¡¯s understandable, isn''t that right, Ulrik?¡±

    The one holding his arms behind his back spoke above him with a far younger voice than the man in front of him that looked like a guard.

    The hands on his wrist and arms were not gloved but they still felt coarse, like they did proper labor.

    ¡°Yeah, sir, it''s what I¡¯d have done if I was back home and some men marched in like this. What my ma told me you do.¡±

    And the awful man nodded.

    ¡°So you see boy, we know how it is, but it is how it is. We all gotta eat, after all. So here is how I¡¯ll make it easy for ya.¡±

    He leaned in close and smiled, his breath was just so awful.

    ¡°You are gonna tell us where your family keeps their special stashes, and then we will let you go and run and hide in the woods after. Or else... well food will be tight you see.¡±

    Iwik tried to shake his head but the man¡¯s grip tightened hard enough to hurt his jaw.

    ¡°Now, again none of that boy I¡¯m trying to save ya here. Ya see if food is tight we will have to make do with what we have here boy. And well for the most part that¡¯s just you and I just don¡¯t like having a boy¡¯s blood on my hands.¡±

    And then he said something that made Iwik actually lose control of his piss and wet himself.

    ¡°The Gryphons get mighty hungry ya see.¡±

 9.7

    9.7

    Jewel was unsure about the forage.

    It was required that the army find food, of course. The force of all these men needed more than it was able to carry, if they were going to make a siege successful.

    Every Lord and captain said as much.

    And both Generals and all the Lords had treated it like a given that there would be a forage.

    Their route had been chosen because it was well populated with villages and farmland even with the rougher terrain along the shorter mountains, and the season of march was likewise chosen for when the wheat would just be coming in to harvest.

    She sat in the morning and evening councils often enough to know the incredibly tight margins that simply keeping everyone fed and battle ready on the march worked under.

    For the Gryphons alone ¡ª if they could not guarantee hunting and the forage of the village¡¯s livestock ¡ª would be out of meat in another six days. Maybe eight if they were willing to greatly aggravate the beasts to the point of risking them going for one of the horses or men in their hunger.

    Jewel had been surprised how swiftly thirteen gryphons could go through so many goats.

    She knew that Rochford and any Gryphon Lord¡¯s lands kept a great number of pigs solely for the sake of satisfying a Gryphon¡¯s appetite.

    For the march, the preference was goats, as they were more amiable to army living, apparently.

    Jewel had understood that Zephyrvam and the other griffons eat a great deal.

    But seeing the meat portioned and devoured every morning and the way they had already gone through almost thirty goats in barely a tenth as many days had struck harder than any earlier knowledge.

    It made Jewel self conscious of her own appetite, watching packs get lightened even a short way into the journey.

    And that was only thirteen Gryphons and a single Dragon.

    Then there was the still twenty-five thousand strong army. Who, with men and horse (cavalry chargers, spares and pack carriers) had an appetite that humbled Jewel¡¯s to insignificance in its vastness.

    The seemingly endless bags of Traveler¡¯s Bread and Jerky that had been made beforehand or carried into Rochford from the rest of Viznove and Zekhedge were already getting close to half gone and they still had two more days to march before it was expected they would either begin to siege or begin the negotiation of offering and refusing battle between the armies.

    All assuming that everything goes well on the road.

    Against the sheer scale of the reality of hunger, Jewel could at least intellectually conceive of the need for the forage.

    And after they had started, it certainly seemed to help the levies and the rest of the army.

    This first day after they began to forage was greeted by a much lightened mood all through the camp that night.

    Freshly slaughtered meat was cooked and enjoyed by many. She had seen a man eating simple grilled meat like it was the most delicious seasoned feast just because it was not the leavings of Gryphon feed stewed in a pot with watered down goats milk.

    Then there was the flat breads made in a firepit with the gathered flour and even a few proper rounds with fluffy loaves and soft crusts baked for the Lords and their officers by the kitchen tents with some kind of clay ovens they brought along.

    And of course there had been treasure as well that the levies and footmen were very enthusiastic about.

    The food all went to the general supply (with perhaps a few vittles stashed away by the acquiring levy or footman if Jewel¡¯s nose was right).

    But everything besides was, by the pledge of their lords, the possession of the man who claimed the spoils.

    Trinkets, clothes, shoes, children''s toys and fine tools to replace ones that were going rough back home. And occasionally, a few piles of silver coins.

    All of it, silver or otherwise, was more often than not immediately funneled into the caravan that trailed not far from their own camp every day.

    Amusingly often for purchasing more food, or some spice to sprinkle and help make boiled travelers bread more palatable.

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    Or traded for goods that had been sold to the caravan for such treats.

    Or pay a seamstress or smith to help mend or replace worn shirts, leggings or armor.

    Or other matters Jewel turned her attention away from.

    Honestly Jewel had heard plenty of ballads but she suspected it was a bit less intrusive for those that could not take in the whole of the camp in their ears and nose in passing.

    She now avoided the camp of army followers after that first time she snuck close enough to see, smell and hear.

    But the mood of the Levies, Footmen and Knights were much improved and desertion among the levies had all but stopped once forage had gone underway.

    So there was definitely a noticeable positive for the army to be doing the forages now.

    But still, she did not know if she agreed with them. Without participating she feared much of the danger to the men she had come to know and the reports and hearsay did not ease her fears.

    Jewel had not been asked to assist in any of the foraging expeditions yet. Count Fiebron did not want to show signs of her other than as a scout during the march. And definitely did not want to reveal her to any of the villages or hamlets they were lightly skimming for supply on their march in the midlands.

    Jewel heard and reported from the flight cant from the various Gryphon riders as they saw and did in their role as escorts for the foraging teams.

    Always keeping well back and out of sight of anyone on the ground.

    But never so far she could not at least watch the Gryphons dive and sweep.

    And she felt justified in it!

    Father had barely reported one bowman firing upon him! His report was more concerned with informing there were no injuries to the force or its later support!

    He complained more about the wives of some of the footmen coming in to loot before the village was secure then he did the arrows that had gone past him!

    They were supposed to wait until after the village was safe to help their husbands pick over for choice finds, not while the men and father were still settling the village and trying to flush out scouts from the enemy.

    Jewel was not to be seen or involved in the forage until after she had been revealed on the field of proper battle.

    But that did not mean she could not see some of what they were doing.

    That she had not spotted Father as he made harrying dives into a village, the same she had seen him do to spook and drive a herd of deer through the woods for hunting.

    Or nearly froze and tumbled from the air when she noticed that there were arrows firing up from his target at him. An attack that thankfully was ended suddenly by the far more lethal pass of Zephyrvam moving for a kill.

    Jewel was not sure about the army and its forage.

    Why did Father need to risk himself to possible arrows for a bit of extra food?!

    Fighting boar or elk (normally) were safe affairs. If they were not lair-descended beasts or other monsters, you could mostly deal with them trivially from gryphonback.

    But the villages were full of men who could have bows and arrows!

    The whole affair deeply upset Jewel.

    Why couldn''t they simply give Father and the army food without all the fighting?

    It¡¯s not like they had any quarrel with these people.

    They just needed to eat on their march to face Thurz¨® and bring him to heel for his lies, slander and greed.

    If the villages just opened up some of their stores and flocks to assist the army like Rochford had surely all of this trouble would be entirely unnecessary?

    But no, these peasants instead loosed arrows on her Father and demanded that the soldiers march into their homes to take a bit of food. And even tried to steal it away so that even after all the risk they might find nothing at all?!

    All because of a bit of lightly skimming for supper on their approach?

    It made Jewel¡¯s Wyrmflame tumble and twist in her throat.

    Was it really worth this risk? This trouble?

    Surely there was also hunting to be had in the foothills and forests around them?

    Jewel had seen some signs of game lightly scattered along the wood that flanked their road.

    Was this the only way?

    She just was not sure about the forage.

    It all seemed far too great a risk to her Father.

    The thought of those arrows she had seen loosed into the sky as she watched him from a distance.

    A blow to Zephyrvam¡¯s wing in the wrong place, at the wrong time could send him tumbling and leave both Father and him broken and helpless if not dead outright.

    Their mastery of wind could only protect against so much.

    It had taken all of her discipline to not dive to her Father¡¯s aide at the sight of that.

    Why did they need a Gryphon Lord to do a bit of foraging on the land?

 9.8

    9.8

    Jewel was first to spot the flyers of the enemy. It was when they were about one and a half day¡¯s march away from the general manor that surrounded the ¡®Old High Forest Fort¡¯.

    She saw them flying on the horizon, the flapping wings of gryphons. Too distant to spot enough color to identify, but familiar motions of the original Flight Cant that the riders used before Jewel and her Father taught them the additions to cover her own abilities.

    The army had been making their way up the hills along a winding switchback through the inclined woods.

    This was a dangerous point, villages and hamlets were sparse and forage was more difficult in the hills.

    The Road itself also presented dangers, although its incline was gentle enough for a careful cart to be moved along it.

    Wide enough for most wheels and thus plenty for the army to keep formation, but otherwise quite cramped when it came to the rest every few hours.

    There were precious few wide patches to stop on that were not the road itself and precious little for horses to graze upon.

    Also the incline, however slight, was tiring the men and horses faster (but not the goats apparently) than the more even trails they had taken till now.

    Yet the twisting path upwards made it easier on the flyers in general and Jewel in particular.

    The way that, besides the hills of dense wood between them and the relative elevation, the army head and tail were now closer together then they ever had been before meant that at any given time any given flier could see almost the entire rank and file of the march from the air.

    For Jewel it was especially nice in the rougher winds. The zephyrs coming around the hills from over and past the more distant mountain peaks buffeted most Gryphons terribly. She in contrast had to work significantly less to make her loop than any Gryphon.

    But it also meant there was more climbing for altitude to get a clear sightline of the road ahead.

    At the end of the day, the army would finally crest the comparatively gentle hills they had been trudging up. The plan was to seek camp close to that point, as after this they would be going once more down into the valleys and more importantly, would be well in range of a harassing flight by the enemy fliers.

    It was also conceivably within range of the longest distance sorcery of enemy wizards, although Fizzbunches, Urul and Jaksa all were unconcerned that any working attempted would be able to avoid being repelled by the combined ability of their own sorcerous forces.

    Urul had traded off with Euewyn for duty guarding Jewel¡¯s person against attack. Which was an altogether different experience.

    Unlike Urul, Euewyn visibly moved with Jewel and had a body most of the time.

    The seemingly hollow Weird of Autumn riding the winds in whirling billows as easily and gracefully as Jewel herself could manage.

    Green leaves would occasionally be pulled up from the grown summer foliage and, in passing into air, turn yellow, orange or red as they circled and moved over and around the two of them.

    The presence of the Wizard of Autumn also brought a crisp chill to the air even for its altitude. It reminded her of Debt¡¯s Season and the time that followed.

    The reason for the freshly pulled leaves was that, for whatever reason, as she flew with Jewel, Euewyn seemed prone to losing leaves from her own dress/body.

    Whether from some unknown expenditure of sorcery or just the simple happenstance of errant currents, leaves would come loose from the cloak/hat/hair of the Weird.

    And in their release, they turn from brown to mulchy black before disintegrating entirely into dust and damp rich smells as they fall away.

    Hence the somewhat constant harvesting of fresh leaves to pull up around them and then integrate into the Weird¡¯s garments.

    ¡°I counted four, maybe five flyers at this distance around the skies over the fort just now. Can you see any further?¡±

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    She spoke into the wind, but knew from experience a wizard could discern it even if Jewel could barely hear herself over the rush of air.

    A shake of the head and a whisper in the chilling air all around Jewel gave a negative.

    Jewel turned and tumbled to draw the attention of Father and Zephyrvam. They were closest amongst the flyers that braved the rougher winds during this route.

    The extra weight of Father that impaired Zephyrvam¡¯s endurance and maneuverability was an asset now that they were needing to hold fast against sudden chaotic gales coming off the distant mountains and cutting through the narrow canyons.

    The smallest half of their Gryphons were grounded at the head of the army with Count Fiebron and Smokespear.

    At the rear Baron Kliatbatrn had taken watch. Keeping an eye for deserters with his Rochford chargers and a dozen Knights.

    Father swept closer to her, drifting on what warm lifting air the forest would provide. Catching the drafts that bent up from the east alongside the usual warmer air. Riding the whirlwinds where westerlies intermixed and clashed with their counterparts.

    With a few tilts of her wings and then a broad flight cant of her arms Jewel relayed what she saw. He swung his arms in acknowledgement then pointed her to return to watching the horizon and the flight of the enemy. To report swiftly to the other Gryphon Riders if she saw them break to approach them.

    Then he was already tilting Zephyrvam back and beginning to circle for a ¡®gentle¡¯ descent and landing at the head of the army where Count Fiebron was ¡®marching¡¯ astride Smokespear.

    None of the Gryphon Riders divested themselves of their kit until camp. Barely even landing and undoing their harness to make water in the day with the target of their siege so close at hand.

    Jewel watched Father make for a ¡®gentle¡¯ arrival. Barely disturbing the leaves of the forest or dirt of the road as he alighted a dozen yards ahead of the Count.

    Then, matching pace with the first General of the army. Making swift gestures as he undoubtedly talked aloud. Emphasizing his words with Flight Cant.

    Jewel turned her attention from the Army and her Father at its head to drive herself higher against the turbulent winds and focus upon the wheeling and swooping shapes of Gryphons and who knows what in flight.

    They were all of them flying how Jewel knew Gryphon Riders did. But it was known to her from some of Tsulogothulan¡¯s lessons and the concerns raised in the councils at dawn and dusk that there were other beasts descended from wyrmlair monsters that might be employed by aerial knights in warfare.

    Jewel tried to discern enough detail from the dark shapes moving over the silhouette of the fort to say what they were, but only came to think that there must be at least nine separate flyers at the fortress (and possibly more as, without being able to tell them apart, she could not say if those nine were new beasts or old).

    She turned from her task after seeing the numbers dip down again to only three in the air and addressed Euewyn.

    ¡°I know your duty is to my safety and I appreciate that, but can I ask a favor of you? Could one of you see to Father¡¯s safety too? There is much that would not peril me but would outright slay him and Zephyrvam. Please can one of you keep him safe?¡±

    The near winter chill in the wind caught and the wild tumult of the zephyrs all stilled around them. Jewel buoyed by her wyrmflame and the Autumn Weird by some sorcery hung in still air high above the still summer forest.

    And then a soft almost voice of exhalation sighed from the gap beneath the brim of Euewyn¡¯s pointed hat and the empty neck of their robes.

    It was an ascent and the nod confirmed that but Jewel could almost taste in the autumnal chill more than that. Pained understanding, admiration, affirmation and a promise most sure of all.

    It was not yet clear to Jewel enough to describe what the Wizard did to be words as she understood them. But it was already clearer to her then when she had first met Euewyn.

    And it was enough to be assured that if there was something the Wizard could do to bring sorcery to protect her Father it was now a compact made with her.

    Jewel read that Wizards held their word to an especially high standing.

    That they even would keep an oath onto and beyond their ruin and death. Even if the one who held it became a sworn enemy.

    It was the best Jewel could do to protect her Father.

    And it was not an absolute promise of his safety.

    Jewel could tell that much.

    But if it could be done Euewyn at least would do what they could.

    Jewel remained in the air watching the distant shapes of the other flyers over the fort. Wondering who they were and if they were all Gryphons or something else?

    Jewel had a thought that almost shocked her so much she fell clear out of the sky. Only catching her weight in wyrmfire when a whistling cry of shock drew her attention.

    ¡°E-Euewyn... Would you be able to tell if they had a Dragon at this distance?¡±

    The silence from her guardian wizard was of a sort that said and implied nothing.

    Jewel wished it had.

 9.9

    9.9

    Jewel stood with most of her body furled around the outside of the tent finishing off her supper of Traveler¡¯s bread soaked into a porridge of goats milk and bone broth.

    Count Fiebron and Baron Kliatbatrn had finally settled on the plan for the day.

    ¡°In the morning, we will do a half march to offer battle to Thurz¨® and his army, arrayed on the ridge of the hills. If he accepts it will be a solid advantage to us on the first charge and discourage the levy from breaking  as their best way of retreat home will be uphill and through the woods.¡±

    Baron Kliatbatrn huffed and then pointed at the scrawl of a map done in charcoal on wood by Fiebron and the Gryphon Riders with some assistance by Jewel¡¯s own memory.

    ¡°Best if we have at least one line of our knights here close to the road back. It will further imperil any cowardice amongst the levy or footmen, should it come to that, and also give our chargers the opportunity to encircle if opportunity arrives. With their twin in number on the opposite ridge.¡±

    Fiebron nodded to his counterpart.

    ¡°The Gryphon riders will be in the air to shield our march from harassment. Open flight forms to discourage attack. I¡¯ll descend if I see a trap or a line in danger of breaking. I will leave it to the Gryphon lords to do the same and cover one another. The Junior Knights are to remain in the air and offer support from there.¡±

    Jewel looked at the scratches of charcoal on pale wood and tried to place their gestures to her memory of the shallow hills deeply furrowed by ploughs. Roads and trails and expanses of trees. The wheat had long since harvested and likely kept secure in the walls of the Fortress they were arrayed against.

    Or in the awful secondary fortress that had been made of mud, wood and loose stones outside it.

    Jewel considered that she had missed the opportunity to dance this year with the Summer Harvest.

    Fiebron continued, gesturing here and there.

    ¡°We hold back from the offensive in air until we have felt the mettle and number of their wings. Then strike as there is opportunity.¡±

    Father spoke up then.

    ¡°And we are sure we are keeping Jewel grounded for the march and the offering of battle? Her agility in the air is unparalleled, as is her capacity to attack hampered by being on the ground.¡±

    The first among Generals shook his head, shaking out his snow white mane and waggling the gray streaked beard.

    ¡°Our use of her is best done after either Thurz¨® has committed his army to battle and cannot call them back or we have gained assurance that he is holding himself for a siege. Before they fully realize the danger she poses. We will at best have one opportunity to use her wyrm doom to its greatest effectiveness.¡±

    The second among Generals nodded to Father and rumbled.

    ¡°We stay to the plan and keep her mostly grounded and only using spurious and short bursts of fire if we come under attack in the march. As alike to a wild wyrm as we can manage to start. Have her fly only in short bursts and make it as ungainly a tumble on the wing as possible with low altitude. She can do that, can she not?¡±

    Jewel glared at her father who dipped his head in permission.

    So allowed she spoke to the council.

    ¡°I can make an attempt to act the lame sparrow and lure out Thurz¨®¡¯s army. But I am not well versed in the art of it. I worry how convincing I shall be.¡±

    Fiebron chuckled and shook his head.

    ¡°I know it hurts the pride of any flier to do less than their best, but simply act worn and tired near to exhaustion and I expect none of the eyes of flier or otherwise in the so-called low king¡¯s army will know the foolery in it. They will have never seen how well you truly soar. And by the time you shall, it will be too late for them to correct. And then they will behold you and be in awe of your valor and fury. Ballads will be sung of you that day, Lady Jewel.¡±

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    Jewel had to focus extra hard to keep her neck from craning back and her wings flaring. That was a mighty complement for a lady only half past her tenth winter.

    Father however huffed hard then nodded.

    ¡°It will be acceptable that she marches with the third, then? It would be expected for her to be amongst the levy and footmen of Rochford and my captain aground, Bromthil, is familiar with her fighting more than any but myself.¡±

    Baron Kliatbatrn rumbled and mused at the map then nodded and jabbed a finger in the middle of the ridge where they planned to array the army.

    ¡°Put the third with my own footmen and levies in the twelfth and the twenty-fourth to either side clear in the center then? They are the heaviest armored in Viznove who don¡¯t ride a charger.¡±

    Fiebron nodded his ascent, letting Kliatbatrn room to continue.

    ¡°And then we reinforce them with the Viznove ninth and forty-ninth with my fourth together as archer support? Their bows go longer and the eyes are sharper amongst all the army from what I¡¯ve seen. With Jewel¡¯s own sorcerous escort on defense that will make for a mighty center. If we have Jaksa as well in support, it is liable to surprise any knights who think to break open our middle¡±

    Jewel again tried to fill in her memory with the vision that was going to be there. She would be marching with the army itself, not sailing overhead as she had been.

    Amongst friends, with Bromthil and the other footmen and even the levies who all came from Rochford and her own village.

    Flanked to her left and right by lines of levy, footmen and eventually even knights for near a half mile to either side.

    The strongest peasants that could be spared, armed and armored from not just Rochford but all of Visnove and Zekhedge.

    And then interspersed between and also framing the whole of the army in two horns ranks of Knights on chargers (a third of which were bred in the herd of Father¡¯s own demesne!).

    Twenty-Four Thousand and some Seven-hundred men (and to her surprise a few women!) all counted as of the last camp.

    Seven Wizards.

    Thirteen Gryphons and their riders.

    One Wyrm.

    Against a force that by last word had been gathered by coin and pledge to the assumption of Thurz¨® as low king under the High King Mathias in the number of Thirty-Thousand to Forty-Thousand men.

    It was not as bad as it could be.

    But there was an uncertain number of flying beasts and Wizards amongst the more readily gauged force that word and rumor had spread to tell of.

    Some of the forage had turned up words spoken by messenger riders for the Realm and travelers passing through that had seen the mustering forces on the march.

    They had been gathering at much the same time as Viznove had mustered, for much the same reasons.

    The only difference being the number and potentially the stores of food bought or impressed from the countryside to stock their Fortress in preparation for either siege or marching on Kaeketeh itself.

    The Generals thought that if Thurz¨® wanted to march on the Countess¡¯ capital to press the unjust charges against her they would take the reverse of the roads from Rochford and in turn forage from the lands of Viznove and perhaps the southernmost hamlets of Zekhedge in their assault.

    To date, no word of other forces being rallied from the farther reaches of the Realm had come. And it was late enough into the last summer season that no further armies would be able to be ready to do anything but fortify at incredible cost over winter either.

    Thus at least for this year, the war would be between what had been rallied already and mustered to arms now. And for both sides those armies were here in this valley and if Thurz¨® cooperated it would be in battle tomorrow.

    Jewel stared at her empty dish (an entire cooking pot from the kitchen tents) musing on the enormity of what was going to happen.

    It would be war.

    Her first war.

    And with any luck it would be decided with finality for at least this year in a single battle.

    Jewel did not feel ready.

 9.i

    9.i

    1064th Year

    Late Hay Turn

    A Century of Fortunes¡¯ Wrath upon Volta The Stricken!

    Two years atoning for a failure not my own and the spittle of cowards who have not seen war in decades!

    Two years in such atonement working valorously under derision in the bloody work of pacification of the Nation of Waves.

    Three years after that of badgering the senate for their leave on what should have been a righteous campaign of justice. Years spent trading for backing and gaining favors to support the initiative and ensure proper supply and treasure to pay to the legions!

    All to finally be allowed the right to march north and finally crush the contemptible Volta The Stricken!

    Who, as a barbarian monster of some equivalence to our own Magisters and Elementalists, is of course still hale and hearty while I have had to spend years of my finite mortal life simply getting the fools in the senate and my peers in the legions to muster the will to bring righteous vengeance against him!

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    And after spending half a decade upon the endeavor, restoring my standing and securing the campaign, the accursed Volta the Stricken refuses to meet my army with his!

    It has been nearly a week we have attempted to engage and offer battle and the coward has continued to refuse, arraying with his barbarians away from us in the day, sending forth harassment skirmishers on our lines in the evenings.

    Striking at our captains and lines with ranged sorcery where our magisters do not stand in counter to him.

    I have confirmed he is bleeding out supply and succor for his army as we are but the coward will not accept the offer of battle to settle this.

    It is infuriating, but not at risk of defeat. If he continues on this path our supply and ration will most assuredly outstrip his own.

    The barbarians are inferior to the legion in this. If the campaign drags into Grain Turn the men will reap the fields themselves and take every scrap of wheat in forage from the lands and the camp millers will sustain us.

    If needed we will outlast this contemptible wastrel and slay him with starvation.

    It will be a miserable victory though, and in the process the vile feral magister may escape justice again!

    - Excerpt from the General Aurelia of Cantor¡¯s Campaign Journal

 9.ii

    9.ii

    I¡¯ve long thought about the great failures of the Solar Dynasty of Cantor.

    So often we do not even find a word, ballad or song made on the deeds which did not win the day.

    We are blessed in this for the Armies of Old Cantor with an abundance of records from their legions, both general and officer alike, give us not just accounts of the excellent triumphs (and oh the victory parades were spectacular if even half of their written accounts are true) but the terrible failures.

    The last campaign of General Aurelia is by many accounts believed to have found failure due to his arrogance and poor character among his peers. Expressed by a terrible laxness of managing his supplies and a terrible short-sightedness deemed sinful by his peers. Lacking in the virtues that were the providence of any good general of the Solar Dynasty.

    However in reading his logs and memoirs, I think it more likely he suffered a fundamental misunderstanding of the depths of desperation his opponent had been driven to.

    What it must have been like to face the insurmountable legions of the Solar Dynasty of Cantor at its zenith?

    A force not seen in match to its reach over the known world even to this day so many centuries since.

    Although as is their tradition (even now amongst the strange hill people) no written accounting is to be found for his foe Volta the Stricken or even if that was indeed the moniker used by his own people it can be assumed that since he hailed from the lands of the present county of Viznove there was a character in similar to those that yet dwell here now.

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    And I take comfort that I might share some of the vigor that had felled the mighty armies of old Cantor.

    The highest Knights and Lords of the Realm of New Cantor will proudly show their lineage to the conquering might of its armies. I myself by my father carry such blood in kind.

    But it is also the tenacity of the people that fought and won against it that I admire and feel has further strengthened my line.

    So in light of this insight to its character I feel it is worth defending the Generalship of Aurelia of Cantor.

    The Sorcerer known as Volta the Stricken was not even conceived capable of taking the action that defeated the general. To raze every field of what would one day be Viznove in order to drive him to starvation and in doing so take his own armies with them in this doom.

    To make a pyre of both forces to secure victory.

    Nevermind the cost that wracked all who lived there and by some legends fed the rise of the Tyrant Wyrm itself and its centuries of terror and dominance in the region.

    It was a stroke that brought victory to one against the mightiest foe the world could have set against him.

    I think it important for those of us entrusted to govern our lessers to study the defeated and ridiculed of history just as we do the triumphant victors.

    - Excerpt from the Personal Memoirs of Georg Thurz¨® of ¨¢rva

 10.1

    10.1

    Jewel was glad that she would be among her people for this. Marching with them, hearing their voices. It was like a bit of Rochford was there with her.

    The footmen were all known to her by scent and sight if not name. Bromthil was Father¡¯s captain aground organizing the levy and the footmen from horseback.

    Kraok was even on a horse opposite of Bromthil in the formation. Although only a junior Knight, he had been training as hard as Jewel to try and be at least a partial match upon the battlefield to the riders of Thurz¨®.

    As the middle of the formation that would offer battle, Rochford¡¯s single troop of mixed bow and spear would actually be among the last to march from camp to the ridge. Only ahead of the archers from Kliatbatrn, there to further reinforce them in bows at their rear.

    Breakfast had been rushed by all. The energy in everyone practically trembled in the air. Battle would be offered today at close to noon and all knew it. Despite this, a final affirmation of the Count Fiebron and Baron Kliatbatrn was made over breakfast, after messengers were running through the camp and captains yelling for levy and footmen to finish eating and secure their kit.

    Jewel had needed to wait close to two hours before they finally set out, and in that time she was grounded.

    But now they were on the path. Not really a proper road - yesterday jewel had seen it as only a bit more than a hunting trail through the woods. But now it was already cleared well ahead of them by the thousands of men already formed up and cutting through.

    Jewel had made an attempt to sing something more palatable, keeping to the rhythm of the march, and was delighted to hear the simple song sung among the villagers working the harvest mirrored by her subjects.

    The melody and rise and fall of voices spreading ahead and behind them among the other levy and footmen was a pleasant surprise and Jewel thought they probably would appreciate it.

    It put some of her fear to rest about what was coming and it was far more pleasant than the awfulness they had been singing on the marches here day after day.

    Although those she could hear further ahead did not have quite the same words for their own songs, the music held firm and the feeling and rhythm was the same.

    However, for a few of the levy, it seemed to upset them somehow.

    Younger and older, Jewel could smell the salt of tears on their faces. And yet those same faces seemed to sing with her all the stronger for it.

    It seemed unseemly, but Jewel had long since learned tears were something not to comment on even when she noticed their presence.

    Something shameful that men were not meant to share.

    Jewel did not stop singing the songs and she did not acknowledge the failings of the men who sang in spite of whatever troubled them.

    Bromthil¡¯s voice was as strong as Kraok¡¯s now as they chanted the song for cutting wheat.

    And although it was subtle, Jewel thought she would be able to taste a bit of the salted water welling in their eyes if she deigned to let loose her tongue to sample the air.

    An hour into their march, Jewel heard the cry of Cloudspear and then from much further afar, Zephyrvam.

    Then unfamiliar Gryphons howled and the singing all stopped.

    Bromthil and Kroak both grew rigid in their backs and turned their gazes up to the sky. Bows were unslung from shoulders and strung,  arrows knocked among those so armed.

    And then the scent of blood filled the air as Jaksa the Red appeared for once like a proper wizard amongst them.

    His weaving of blood and air together settled over everyone around Jewel. Leaving only herself unshielded.

    But that was alright, Jewel¡¯s scales and bones would not break under the blows of even Gryphon bows. But still she turned to the sky as they marched. Looking for signs of unfamiliar fliers. Gathering an intentionally spurious and short reaching glob of Wyrmfire upon her tongue.

    Father and the Generals had been very insistent. Until either Thurz¨® committed to the battle and could no longer retreat orderly or he allowed them to encircle his fortress and lay siege Jewel must not show her true ability in Wyrmflame or flight.

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    It was as she understood it a snare.

    Despite that she was a Wyrm her size was not yet any greater then the largest of the Lupine or the average of a Belaros Feral Wyrm.

    As such it was expected that until proven otherwise that Thurz¨® and the lords of the Realm would expect her to be of a similar threat.

    Even the most vicious and ancient of Lupine Wyrm, alongside a full pack of its lair spawn, was not insurmountable to slay.

    It would always be a great deed worthy of ballad and song of course, an effort of monstrous risk and often terrible loss but experienced questers with only a company of Knights (as few as twelve combatants) had managed it.

    And of the Belaros Feral wyrms? From the songs Jewel had heard and the (certainly exaggerated) boasts of Knights on Adventure that passed through Rochford? On the whole they were often considered the less dangerous of the two. Considerably more durable and difficult to injure to be sure, but what lairspawn they might have were often less coordinated and their aggression when roused was very direct, easily anticipated and simply maneuvered around.

    Thus, with the known tales for these two most common Feral Wyrm of a similar size to Jewel was the snare for Thurz¨®  fashioned.

    So Jewel was grounded, as one might expect most ferals to be without an affinity for flight.

    So would she be uncoordinated and short burning in her Flame.

    Offering feeble and often poorly judged spittle of flaring Wyrmfire instead of what she could truly manage.

    It was a feint.

    Jewel knew this, but she could feel the tumult and worry that made her Wyrmfire try to rise.

    She felt all the honed reflexes of her training fighting her here.

    There were Gryphons in the sky against her, against Father, against the subjects of Rochford that were also hers.

    This was not some simple exercise where a feint merely opened Jewel up to a smudge of charcoal on her scales or a risk that she might lightly slap a footman or levy and mark him as ¡®out¡¯.

    Those arrows would slay unprotected men.

    They would end lives for those she was among even if they did not harm her.

    And she was holding back and risking them.

    Jewel felt a tremble running through her coils at the thought of if Smithson was here with her.

    Or worse Alexander.

    If her brother was amongst the lightly armored and sorcerously shielded men (some of them if she was honest not very much past being boys themselves).

    If he was at risk?

    Jewel was not certain, if Alexander was here marching fearfully with eyes turned to the sky, that she could have held back and avoided ruining everything.

    She was barely able to keep herself on the ground as she heard shrieks and cries of friend and foe among the flyers.

    The trees made for a terrible obstacle to vision and the wind was strong today.

    The sky was too high for her to hear or smell anything but the cries. Leaving Jewel with guesses at the maneuvers of aerial combat based on her own training and experience watching the Gryphon Riders sparring one another.

    Braced and ready for what unlikely opportunity there might be for her to hurl an ineffective splash of wyrmfire into the air.

    But the opportunity did not come.

    The battle what there was of it did not spill into arrows raining against them or a passing strange Gryphon in sight of Jewel and thus a target for her to try and miss with her flame.

    After an eerie quiet with only the sound of feet upon the road and the forest life of summer around them a new cry was taken up by their Gryphon.

    The signal for skies clear.

    Bromthil relaxed with Jewel almost immediately and then the levy and footmen were informed for those that did not know the distinct calls of Gryphons at war.

    ¡°Skies Clear! March at Ease!¡±

    Jewel shivered again still glancing at the sky and trying to get her Wyrmflame calmed.

    There came long tense moments before Kraok took up singing again, words for cutting free hay in summer sun and wheat after. He sang alone for a while. His voice was kind of poorly suited to it and he only just barely could keep rhythm. But slowly the words were picked up by all the men around Jewel.

    Together what had been halting and rough became harmonious and true.

    Surrounded by their voices Jewel¡¯s shivers stilled.

    The words filled her again with the comfort of home and soon Jewel found her voice again and sang with them as they marched to battle.

 10.2

    10.2

    Jewel had always read in the histories that the great armies ¡°offered battle¡±. And she had thought she understood what that meant.

    That it was an honorable discourse between combatants to set the field.

    She had read of days of generals offering and refusing battle between them.

    Jewel had imagined these events as two wise lords meeting together between their armies and discussing it under vows of truce and brotherhood of nobles where and when their battles would be fought most fairly.

    That had turned out to be quite far from what the reality actually was.

    Much of the offering of battle was tied up in the simple requirements of how slow it was to simply get the thousands upon thousands and thousands of men to simply move and stand in formation at the appointed spot.

    It took nearly three hours to march and arrange the army of Viznove in position upon the ridge.

    They began the work just past breakfast.

    And most of the army was marching to the chosen grounds and moving to their appointed place before she and the rest of the center even left.

    And with the center being the last of the army to get into position, it was indeed just shy of noon sun when finally they had taken up position. The generals had chosen good ground as she understood it.

    Their vantage of the valley was encompassing. Jewel could see the cut down fields, the scattering of houses for the more far flung households and then the close little cluster of homes, temple and a smithy in the middle of the valley.

    All of it felt so much like Rochford.

    It was perhaps a bit larger of a manor than her home, but even the fortress looked somewhat similar.

    Tall where her home had been wide perhaps? Nestled into stone cliffs at one side of the valley where hers perched upon a hillock near the very center of it.

    But it was stone work with familiar lines. Weathered to a familiar degree.

    The High Forest Fortress might as well have been her own fortress home¡¯s brother for how similar they were.

    And just around it bristled tents of the enemy army.

    Filling the space and fields just as Viznove¡¯s had in Rochford during the muster.

    But where they had simply occupied the fields available back home? Here they had dug and torn them up all around the fortress. Great trenches and spikes of wood and stone encircled the camp. They had been erected in staggered gouges over the landscape. Shreds that dug up what should have been fields and pasture.

    Deep trenches bristling with signs of sharpened stakes and raised hills of earth and rock surrounding the tents on all sides.

    Enclosing the entire space of a camp that, if Jewel would guess, was easily twice the acres of their own.

    She could see the army teeming behind those barriers and men moving on the walls of the fortress.

    They were also lined up behind the trenches and atop the tall earthworks that even from here had the look of freshly overturned and then packed dirt.

    It was not as regimented a line but the enemy seemed ready for them besides.

    Filling out troops and knights and more all along. But none were outside those barriers.

    Thurz¨®¡¯s men were not idle as Jewel had seen the Viznove army act when at rest.

    They were bristling just like her own side¡¯s lines.

    The Viznove Army¡¯s chosen grounds were set upon the ridge so that their chargers could come down and any attackers had to climb to meet them.

    It was a good position for them.

    It would have favored them in the offered battle.

    Jewel could see the fields both fallow and recently cut that would afford good charges by their horse.

    Whatever the name of this village they had actually stripped the wheat to the root instead of leaving the stalks standing as she was used to. It made the grounds flatter than she thought they should be with the smell of recently reaped wheat in the air.

    A glance up into the air saw Father and Count Fiebron making sweeping arcs obviously in menace from one end of the army to the other.

    Banners of the baronies of Viznove and Zekhedge were raised with each troop of levy and footmen.

    Every knight had their own house banner raised in turn to make obvious their muster and the might they represented.

    Kraok had taken up his just this year woven banner and waved it high himself.

    They were ready and offering battle.

    But none was yet coming.

    The sun was just reaching its zenith in the sky and Jewel did not yet see any sign Thurz¨®¡¯s army was going to march. The only movement was the wheeling shapes of ten Gryphons in the air over it. Only Gryphons though, no sign of another Wyrm as Jewel had feared might be the case.

    Jewel could smell sweat building under the clothes of the men around her as the welcoming sun covered them all in its joy.

    Their own flyers made wider and wider sweeps away from the army. Moving closer and closer to sail over where the earthworks had been raised. Scooping out portions of sky over the valley towards the fortress and signs of Thurzo¡¯s camp with the circling of foes in the air.

    And then when they were halfway into the valley there was finally a response.

    Gryphons sweeping out towards them. Driving a retreat of Zephyrvam and the juniors towards the Viznove line.

    But the enemy flyers did not press further than that.

    A call went out from Smokespear as she bore Fiebron in a sweeping glide just a dozen yards over the front lines, the wake of the Formel buffeting the men, but they were already braced. Banner cloth was thrown about in the wind as two long Gryphon cries and then a short chirrup went out. The call was repeated thrice more as the Count gave his signal up and down the line of the army.

    With a smell like fresh spilled blood Jaksa the Red once more appeared.

    But along with him also came the sudden chill wind and a cyclone of red and yellow leaves to declare the presence of Euewyn the Autumn Weird.

    Jewel¡¯s angle was not good enough to say for certain but she suspected interspersed up and down the army¡¯s line the other Wizards were also arriving in their appointed places.

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    She did not need to suspect for long, as Bromthil took up his captain¡¯s horn and blew the three short and one long signal that his Sorcererous force had arrived.

    She heard its counterparts pierce the tension in the air up and down the lines.

    As Fiebron flew low over the army, the signal was repeated by the captains on his approach. And only after he confirmed with a second sweep did the Count of Zekhedge set his steed to climb.

    Taking position at the very center, just above and ahead of Jewel. She could follow Cloudspear pushing herself high enough to make a counter dive to an attacking flier.

    It was a position Father often had taken against Jewel herself in training.

    Around Euewyn and Jaksa the Red there was a building tension thicker than elsewhere. The silent whisper of sorcery building. The sense of the world¡¯s own flame rising to meet the entreaties of Wizards echoing back and forth around Jewel.

    She could feel the faint sense of similar rising from her left and right.

    And then there was a single piercing cry from above them all. Booming and sharp. The carrying cry of Gryphons meant to be heard for leagues.

    To echo off the mountains.

    And before Bromthil could even echo the command as ¡°Wizard Fire!¡± the attack was commencing.

    Each Sorcerer took to the act with their own means. Their own version of truth, as Jewel had come to understand Urul and Tsulogothulan often called it.

    For Jaksa the Red the truth was obviously blood, it was the pumping heat of a heart and muscle. The flame she smelled in the bodies of a man running hard. The way that a brow burned in fever.

    It was the heat of labor and passion and rage against all the world that might deny it.

    It was the desperate fire of man¡¯s flesh that winter¡¯s cold sought to snuff out.

    It was the heat that burned in every chest.

    It was the fire of blood.

    And it rose into the air a sizzling, tumultuous and sickly thought. A body¡¯s heat driven harsher and crueler and fiercer than any fever. It was a heat and a sickness that took up blood and flesh and would burn it to cinders from within.

    It was a fire that would erupt from a heart like a black smith¡¯s furnace in a pile of tinder.

    And in its heat was anger and rage and refusal to bend to any other.

    The world and the air answered all of this and fed that flame.

    It drew from not just Jaksa but the blood of the men around him. Sapping the summer heat from their veins and then going onward. Pooling the fire in the blood of one band of men to the next, from man and beast alike. Drawing on all but Jewel herself.

    Even the summer grasses and the leaves of the trees seemed to give of their blood heat to his sorcery.

    Euewyn in absolute distinction from Jaksa touched not a speck of flesh with her own working. Instead the sun and the leaves of the forest aged to autumn all around her. The woods losing all their summer flush and turning crimson, orange and red. And then that was spreading out along the army as well. Sapping summer from the land in an upwelling of Autumn that spoke of the imminent chill of winter.

    The fire that was coaxed into being was the fire of hearths, of wood, of the preparation and mustering of dried timbre in tall piles and stacks.

    Of the works of men among the trees claiming the long dried brush of fallen branches and kindling and the felling of long burning heart wood. And then the leaves began to fall from the branches around them and were carried on the dry chilly wind so out of season for summer. The riot of color drew together in their seeming flame of red and orange and gold. A Spear of them whirled over Euewyn, with the promise of dry thatch caught aflame by inattentive families.

    Of desolation that brought chilly starvation and death.

    Into the spears of these truths both were gathered into flames of their own.

    One liquid, sopping, steam and sweat mixed with burning hearts.

    The other brittle and simultaneously cold and burning, the tongues of its flames made by foliage and yet somehow no less fire.

    And Jewel could hear more vaguely, up and down the line other such workings were being made.

    And then they were let loose. Seven of them from all along the line of the army.

    Each its own arrow, each longer than Jewel by twice again.

    Every one of them a sorcerous wroth unlike any she had seen before.

    All of them somehow fire.

    Even when one was clearly gold leaf and crimson ink illustration of flames somehow manifested in the world free of parchment.

    Sailing through the sky towards the encampment of the enemy.

    And then when it was halfway across the valley.

    Just as it had been with the Gryphons

    Thurz¨®¡¯s army made their reply.

    And the sky tore open in fury, light and violence.

    It went on in a roaring cacophony that reminded Jewel of the fiercest thunderstorms.

    And when all had settled and the echoing violence of sound had faded Jewel looked down in the valley.

    There was smoke obscuring much of the camp and its fortifications.

    Of what Jewel saw, the earthen works of their opposing army were mostly untouched.

    But amidst what had once been a village and farmland so much like her home. Was only shredded ruin and torn earth.

    The only standing structure of the main village was half of the temple. The rest of the building was slumped inward from the fury that had fallen upon it.

    Of the houses and even the blacksmith and granaries?

    Nothing but scattered detritus and tumbled earth.

    It was like some great giant of a farmer had simply ploughed over an entire town for a spring planting.

    Jewel¡¯s scales quivered and shook in waves up and down her coils. No one said a word, what could they even say?

    If this had been Rochford that would have been the entirety of the village gone in a moment''s breath.

    Levy and Footmen were silent.

    Bromthil and Kraok had nothing to say.

    Jewel could only stare.

    For close to an hour they stood there. Conversation weakly filtered back in as hushed whispers between the men. All of them were yet braced for a proper reprisal from the obviously present Wizards of the enemy.

    The smell of what the sorcery had already wrought drifted up to them slowly.

    The stink of burnt bog and scorched sweat and fever, the familiar whiffs of petrichor and sulfurous ash. A hint of something that smelled like cooked pork belly over an open fire charred and salted brought unwanted moisture to Jewel¡¯s mouth.

    As they waited, Jewel watched and breathed in the fumes and smoke from the first exchange.

    Braced and ready. Even as others found time to mutter and even try to joke around her she was silent and watching.

    As were the two wizards with her.

    Not even Jaksa seemed willing to dare turn his gaze from the valley.

    As the smoke finally cleared entirely, Jewel could see that there were indeed some signs of actual damage amongst the enemy camp.

    Some of the earthworks had been torn up at their highest points and a few trenches sunk into themselves were now useless.

    Stone spikes along the walls had been shattered or split, wood spikes burnt. Bodies were already being pulled away or set aside with blankets over them. Captains scurrying to rally panicked levy.

    Some men seemed to have broken under the wizard fire and tried to flee and were being beaten down by knights.

    But there was no further action taken by the enemy wizards.

    It was four hours past noon by Jewel¡¯s judgment when the Generals called off the battle and they began the laborious march back to camp.

    Tomorrow they would make another test of the enemy.

    Jewel saw that Jaksa did not move from his position even as the army marched around him. His eyes kept on the fortress and where his sorcerous opponents must be lurking.

    Neither did the Gryphons leave their place in the skies over the original battle lines.

    All that is except Zephyrvam who was making a circuit over Jewel and then back to the original center of the line.

    It took until Smithson was removing her harness for Jewel to realize her hide was still trembling up and down her coils with the shock of what she had seen. But she could not answer when her squire asked why that was.

    Jewel could barely recall what was discussed by the Generals over supper by the time she felt herself collapsing in her tent.

    It was the same stew of traveler¡¯s bread, bits of meat, bone broth and milk anyway.

 10.3

    10.3

    Jewel felt all out of sorts throughout the morning meeting. The generals seemed unconcerned by how their first offering of battle had gone.

    There was more discussion from Jaksa the Red this morning than before. It was not yet clear the precise number of Wizards involved in the exchange, apparently?

    Jewel had trouble fully focusing on the exact words, it all was just a mumbly mush that seemed a twin to her breakfast porridge.

    The counter-workings had been engaged distant enough it obscured precisely what character and methods were in play.

    And that was bad?

    However, by the sheer power and ability to match the seven arrows of Wizard Fire it had to be at least three wizards comparable to Jaksa or two Weirds with considerable time to prepare.

    So that was good?

    Another set of strikes was proposed, but Jaksa and Kliatbatrn both argued against it. Without the direct support of Tsulogothulan, further attack and its counter would turn the approach to the fortress and the camp fortifications into an impassable mire for the army.

    The damage already done had Kliatbatrn in particular insisting that it had ultimately created a better barrier for assault on their enemy¡¯s fortifications then already were present.

    That sounded bad.

    Fiebron was saying that given the state of their supply, they were going to have to offer battle at a worse position and hope that baited the enemy out to engage.

    That sounded... bad?

    With breakfast and the decision of the marching and fielding of the army settled, Jewel withdrew first from the general¡¯s tent and made her way to go wait with the men from Rochford again.

    Everything seemed out of sorts.

    Nothing was how she had read it would be.

    No story, ballad or legend had prepared her for the force that an attack by seven wizards meant.

    Nor did it give her any idea how horrifying a defense against that could be!

    Thurz¨®¡¯s men had fortifications and hills and possibly workings had been set in place beforehand to counter sorcery. But if so much ruin was made when that attack was checked and countered?

    What would it have done to the peasants, footmen and mere two knights that followed her on the march to battle?

    Even if Jewel herself suffered not at all from sorcery as the Countess and the rest of the Sorcerer Lords thought (and Jewel was feeling incredibly doubtful of their assurance), that did not mean she would have anything but herself left amidst torn apart bodies.

    And now if she understood the orders that were being explained to Bromthil by Father they were going to march deeper into the valley to line up and offer battle again closer to that terrible power?

    With only the promise of their contingent of Wizards for defense? Euewyn with Jewel and the Rochford men this time.

    Jewel had long hours to wait as the rest of the forces of Viznove rallied and marched out to the fields to stand and wait to see if they were now close enough that Thurz¨® would feel secure in ordering his forces to meet them army with army.

    ¡°Euewyn... is war always like this? I¡¯ve read histories but they never write of anything like this.¡±

    The Weird of autumn arrived and a sigh of wind moved through the air. Cold seeping into once warm bodies splayed out upon meadows and fields. Trees ripe with summer shedding leaves to brown and red.

    Strength sapped from footmen and knights alike in their hundreds and thousands.

    The wind in the leaves spoke of a lot and only half of it was in words. The other half in the not quite heard silent whispers that Jewel was slowly learning to understand was the way of sorcery as Wizards did it.

    ¡°Really... why would anyone even fight against a Wizard then?!¡±

    There was a pause and then the sound of swords cutting through and down a robe of leaves, mere leaves, less armor than leather. Of the hard sturdy wood of bones and flesh beneath chipping at first and then the axes and the maces beating and breaking.

    Branches snapping. Young saplings shredding.

    Bark battered and sloughing off.

    Of whispers coming too slowly to drive back or sap strength with cold.

    Of fire stifled for lack of leaves to make its flame.

    Of unending hoards of axe wielding men in armor and flight along the wind to escape when blood spilled from wooden flesh in an icy sleet of half frozen brooks that nonetheless was life blood precious now lost.

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    Jewel spent a time thinking about her encounter with the Terror boar and nodded.

    She could understand that.

    Her situation for all her practice was not all that different then a Wizard in that.

    ¡°But that town, it was gone in a moment, all of you struck you... loosed your sorcery like arrows. But yet it was stopped before its mark? Can you do that too? Stop such a strike?¡±

    Another pause then a firm nod and wind and strong autumn storms blew from that hood. Sounds of speed and fire sapped from the air, from the limb of archers, of arrows and their journeys cut short by the blade of the autumn sleet. Of the trees reaching high and burning in their stead.

    Of the woods lifting their boughs to shield them.

    Jewel shivered, she still did not understand why. Her scales and skin kept trembling since noon yesterday.

    She felt heavy and leaden.

    Her Wyrmflame seemed nothing but dull embers, sluggish to come to her limbs and coils even enough to hold her off the ground.

    ¡°There are going to be other wars for me... I¡¯m going to have to march and fly and there will be wizards there. And armies, and other gryphons.¡±

    Euewyn shook her head, or the space a head would be beneath her hat and the locks of her hair.

    Then lifted a sleeve from her robes and placed a hand of pale white birch bark skin upon Jewel¡¯s scales.

    The fingers barely flexed to squeeze the wyrm¡¯s shoulder.

    There was no warmth in it, just cold wood.

    But it made her feel a little lighter.

    The wind whispered through the weird. Of the very end of summer yet warm, of single wizards holding back to merely watch the marching of soldiers through forests. Of the incredible and vicious demands made when men and women in finery and armor dared to ask for intervention by the one who would rather stay apart from all but their woods.

    The price of a village left empty, its fields abandoned and all its roads and works grown over in eternally orange and gold leafed forest with pale smooth bark.

    The price of one in three pigs or goats or wild deer drove into the hungry ever autumn forest.

    Animals taken and driven from not just all of Rochford but all of Viznove and Zekhedge and their neighboring lands besides.

    The price of a year without spring, summer or winter over a realm.

    There was the faintest whisper, the sharp click of wooden branches near bare. The hiss of early snow settling.

    Together they barely managed to almost make a word.

    It was honestly only discernible for the welling of meaning that also whispered in the wizard¡¯s way of sorcery.

    But the word was there.

    ¡°kh-osss-t¡±

    Cost.

    The price being paid for the service of Euewyn for even a single battle as they had just been in.

    Jewel felt her legs going weak and a moment later lost her footing and collapsed.

    Much to Smithson¡¯s concern, but she shook her head at his fussing and whispered something she hoped was comforting but did not even recall.

    Jewel¡¯s mind was too full.

    The thought of what Euewyn Weird of the Autumnal Briarwood of Bothgola considered the right price to charge for a single battle.

    A price that no matter how vast the realm was could almost assuredly not be afforded indefinitely.

    Jewel shook her head, surely not every single wizard on their side normally took such a ruinous investment for their action. But even if Jaksa¡¯s loyalty came at a tenth the price normally there was no way Viznove could have afforded all of them for even this battle.

    Jewel felt her flame beginning to flicker alight again and she pushed herself back to her feet and more.

    Settling back to the more comfortable gliding bound over land.

    Smithson seemed assured by it and offered her a smile.

    Jewel shook herself down again, but it was not the strange spastically felt trembles that had been rippling up and down her coils since yesterday.

    Jewel was shaking loose that fear.

    How deep did Thurzo¡¯s coffers go?

    How far could he have possibly bartered for the allegiance of Wizards given the sheer price demanded by most of them?

    What favors left did he or the realm have to promise to keep them here engaged in battle?

    How often would any army or war that Jewel was called to be able to afford such ruinous expense?

    The price was almost unfathomable.

    More than needed to feed the tens of thousands of men in the army surely?

    Jewel thought she understood the strategy of the generals now.

    And likely what Thurz¨® thought he would be doing as well.

    After all, who would expect that Countess Bathory could afford Seven Wizards!?

    When the time to march back out came again, Jewel already could feel a song building in her chest and running through her Wyrmflame.

    Euewyn would see that Jewel¡¯s people were safe.

    Thurz¨® was assuredly not going to be able to maintain as large a force of Sorcery as the Countess¡¯ Army.

    And even though she was surely going to be called to war again. Most of her opponents would not be able to afford the aid of direct sorcery!

    This siege was just especially bad for it required that they humble the coward Thurz¨® and his fat pockets filled by the High King of the Realm.

    But after that it would surely not be so horrible.

 10.4

    10.4

    Today, Jewel found the center to be well into the valley, almost at the halfway point which Father and the other allied fliers had probed five days ago.

    It was also plenty before the torn up earth and broken timbres that had once been the village.

    They offered battle properly by noon, as had become rote, waving the banners of their Captains and Knights high to be seen by the watchers on the Fortress Towers and their counterparts standing on the higher earth works.

    Today Tsulogothulan had joined Jewel with the rest of the force of Rochford as guardian. Standing and looking at the torn up earth in a contemplative manner with their single violet eye.

    As Jewel waited she watched her friend considering the turned over earth. And then the Weird spoke.

    ¡°Not a proper bog yet, but give it water and time and it could be. Make a lake and mire of this valley, I could. A deep soak and it all would be right. Bring in the heron and the weed and reeds. The good silt and frogs and fish. A cold bog, but a proper one.¡±

    Jewel looked at the tilled over village and its half ruin of a temple. She could smell meat, still mostly fresh, but with the stink of spilled offal spoiling it.

    ¡°You could, but then it wouldn''t be a village. There were houses here, there is still half a temple. If you made a bog of it then no one could live here again.¡±

    Tsulogothulan nodded but their eye kept moving along the furrows and hillocks of turned over dirt. The pits where the wizard fire, maybe even their own had however diffused landed and undone everything beneath it.

    ¡°No man could no, but it¡¯s not a village now, and if they marched on us, the mire would catch their horse¡¯s legs and drown their men. Tangle their weapons and hold them off long enough for the trap to finish being sprung. Assuming we don¡¯t have to work against the Earth-Mover.¡±

    Jewel turned from the devastation back to Tsulogothulan.

    ¡°Earth-Mover?¡±

    The Weird nodded and pointed past the village to the trenches, hills and spikes that had been raised. In particular at the regular stones spearing alongside the wooden stakes.

    ¡°One of the wizards among them is an earth mover, perhaps with a truth or knack for stone. But I¡¯d guess it is earth and ground in general. I know bog land and water and mud. Those are not the hills of land moved with shovels or hoes. And those stones were called by sorcery, not made by any mortal tool.¡±

    Jewel looked harder at the shape of the stone spikes, she¡¯d not thought much about it but they did indeed look more like simple outcroppings jutting from the dirt as if that was simply the natural shape. Strange in their regularity when you considered it that way.

    ¡°So an Earth Wizard? Are they a Weird do you think?¡±

    Tsulogothulan shrugged.

    ¡°There is a Weird of farming and tilled soil that I¡¯ve heard has the grasp for it. But he is Southeast and then through two over ways and one under. He also abhors traveling and warfare and I¡¯ve yet to see the bounty that could bribe him to serve in an army.¡±

    Jewel considered that with what Euewyn had told her.

    ¡°The other I know is very deep in their secret indeed by this point. Far my elder and barely inclined to think let alone speak. That one is the Weird of a specific mountain even further away far north and over and under twice more than past a sea.¡±

    Jewel frowned a bit trying to recall the meaning of that word. She was sure she read it but had not found much sense to the term. Eventually she gave up and asked the Weird.

    ¡°A sea?¡±

    Which got Tsulogothulan to actually turn away from the once village and meet the Wyrm¡¯s eyes with their one.

    ¡°Unfathomable masses of water, deep as mountains are tall in places, full of vast beasts and with water salty as tears. Like lakes and rivers but filling all below a sky vault sometimes. I know you¡¯ve read books which mention them before, Lady Jewel.¡±

    Jewel boggled at that and put her full attention on the Weird.

    ¡°Truly?! I thought that was flowery prose and exaggeration! Boasts, Like the knights that claim to have slain lairspawn thrice my size.¡±

    The Bog Wizard shook their head at that and chuckled like a mud choked crow.

    ¡°No, seas are quite real. A distant journey to find any of them from here, but no less real. But given the distance, I think we don¡¯t face either of the Weirds that work stone and earth I know of. They could be uncircled or newly risen but that would be quite an odd thing in either case.¡±

    There was mostly silence then, the men around them murmured and muttered conversations. Bromthil and Kraok reprimanded those whose attention was too lax. But it was shaping up to be another day of long, boring waiting.

    That is until Jewel felt it.

    A sorcerous working trying to take root in the earth below their feet. Seeping like roots.

    And just as suddenly stalling and stymying as Tsulogothulan fixed their one eye upon the dirt below them.

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    A disconcerting, rumbling bubble and a seeping moisture welling up was the only sign of the abject violence and conflict Jewel could feel in the fires of the earth beneath them. Around the shoes of the men and the hooves of the horses there was a damp moisture. But no one¡¯s footing was even fouled.

    A few curses and complaints at the sudden sogginess drew a lashing hiss from Jewel¡¯s tongue before she even realized it.

    ¡°Quiet you! Tsulogothulan is parrying a blow of sorcery against us! Bromthil! Sound warning: the wizards are striking!¡±

    The captain of her father¡¯s guard and of Rochford¡¯s footmen and Levies nodded hard to her and set his lips to blow hard the three long two short notes. The signal of enemy wizardry in the ranks.

    He was just finishing the first call and taking breath for the second when Jewel heard the same from their left and right flanks. Echoing each other, Jewel¡¯s sense of the other sorcery was unclear and muddled by distance.

    Some of it familiar and friendly, much of it distinctly not.

    The rest was uncertain.

    The tumult and rumbling shifts in the land beneath and around them continued to fail to fully rise and present any issue other than a slight sinking into moist soil.

    All of Rochford¡¯s foot and levy and those under the captains to their left and right were secured by Tsulogothulan.

    But those further afield from them were stumbling a bit as the earth rippled and heaved a few inches.

    Their lines rallied, shifted and mostly avoided the uncertain ground, the captains getting them into good order and even getting the levy to turn their attention back to the hills and trenches that had been dug ahead of them.

    Or at least where they had been.

    Where before there had been walls well over the head of a man even on horseback was now nothing but a line of soldiers, footmen, archers and mounted knights.

    Where the torn-over village with loose dirt had been the earth had gone packed tight and compact as the most solid trail. All signs of wooden stake or stone spike had vanished all along with the fortifications.

    And that was not the end of the change to the landscape.

    The incline was even as Jewel watched turning against them. The earth ahead was dipping down and the rest rising up in a swell of smooth dirt.

    A ridge similar to what they had been trying to bait Thurz¨® into assaulting up on their first offering was now growing before them.

    Carrying at its peak the arrayed and ready army into position.

    And then the cries of unfamiliar Gryphons called in the air and the enemy army began marching towards them.

    What Jewel had assumed were levy at a distance resolved on approach to be distinctly better armored then their forces.

    More like a full line of footmen built up in the opposing center.

    Or dismounted knights.

    Their offer of Battle had finally been accepted.

    Jewel braced herself. Neither Zephyrvam nor Smokespear had made the cry that signaled she was to take flight.

    She had to stay grounded with the troops and spew ineffective spurts of her weaker flame until then.

    Jewel stared ahead as Bromthil and the other captains bellowed.

    And then they began moving at a paced march to close with the force of Thurz¨®.

    As their opposition also approached the swell of terrain moved with them, carrying a hillock and steepening the angle between them all along the lines of Viznove. Except the five formations in reach of Tsulogothulan¡¯s working.

    Where instead of rising hard packed land there were streams and springs breaking out along the incline, cutting and undermining the forming hill, threatening to break the swell of earth carrying easily a thousand men into a churning froth of bog, duck weed and shaking reeds.

    A swamp fighting against stones, timbres and the moving earth.

    Jewel glanced to the left and right with a frown.

    The reach of her friend¡¯s sorcery was nowhere near as far as the apparent working of their opponent.

    The entire Thurz¨® line had good terrain moving with them.

    She spoke softly to her friend, who was looking significantly less solidly human, their cloak, hat and eye almost wobbling in place like waters over thrashing eels.

    ¡°Tsulogothulan... are you alright? Are there more than one wizard doing this?¡±

    It took the Weird a disturbing amount of time to even respond. Jewel had never seen any wizard having to concentrate like Tsulogothulan was right that moment. The violence of sorcery moving under their feet  and the narrow wedge ahead of them where the terrain bowed to the will of the Bog instead of whatever it was their opponent was doing seemed to consume all attention.

    Even Jaksa the Red had not been so single minded when he did his protections.

    They were still moving with the army, approaching on the only even terrain as the rest of their allies had to fight a rising incline.

    And then Tsulogothulan found words or attention or perhaps just a moment¡¯s respite to respond to Jewel.

    ¡°Blasted stars¡¯ fortunes. I was wrong, it¡¯s not an earth moving wizard, nothing of the sort.¡±

    There was a wet throaty laugh. Like frogs choking on mud.

    ¡°They have Lord Sorcerer Veoul, War Mage of the Realm of Cantor Reborn, Weird of Fortresses.¡±

    Jewel had a moment to consider what a Weird of Fortresses even meant before the work of the  springs and reeds to try and cut and stymy the approaching swell of earth suddenly was turned over by a rising swell of stone, wood and packed dirt.

    She felt the stones and earth rallying up together, marching like the boots that once had trod them. Paving over the swampy bog and skewering it deep with solid foundations. Cutting off the springs and wells that sought to undermine them.

    Her friend turned to Jewel and before the wizard even could speak Jewel knew what she needed to say.

    The wyrm loosed her voice with none of the restraint she normally kept. Bellowing at her full volume.

    ¡°Men of Viznove! Brace!¡±

    And then Jewel discovered what it was like to have a wall of stone actually leap up to her like she had often felt they wanted too.

    Even when it was rushing up out of the dirt around them Jewel could feel how joyful the stone was to meet her.

    It arrived quite rapidly.

 10.5

    10.5

    Jewel was not feeling particularly immune to sorcery at the moment.

    Yes, the wall of stone and timbers that had practically galloped out of the earth beneath her did stumble and fail to stay together as it trampled into her when she braced with her wyrmflame.

    But it was nothing like how she had felt when Jaksa the Red had tried to command her blood.

    To her right, Bromthil was trying to keep his charger from panicking and turning to flee as the earth heaved and shifted on top of the bones of stone and timbre.

    Like a great beast had been made of the very ground they stood upon.

    As soon as it was on them, with a wet squelch it suddenly fell away. The once solid earth sloughing from the stones like stewed meat from the bone.

    And as Jewel¡¯s sense of the sorcery cleared, without the panic of being tumbled over by a stampede of stonework, she could feel that Tsulogothulan seemed to have gotten a better grasp of the land beneath them.

    The men of Rochford had lost their footing for the most part. Only half of them having braced in time before the earth itself had tried to throw them like a rearing stallion.

    However, of those that had fallen, they found a cushioning of soft mud to cradle their bodies that was already setting them right.

    Less fortunate were those at their right and left flank.

    And Kraok had been thrown from his own charger. However he had tumbled well and was already on his feet without assistance from the marshland that had bloomed under them.

    His horse however was screaming and Jewel winced when she noticed that its left hind leg had been snapped from what must have been a fall.

    She knew what you were supposed to do with lame horses, even proper chargers. Broken legs left them nothing but suffering.

    She shifted her coils amongst the still recovering men and Tsulogothulan¡¯s mud and swamp.

    The terrain firmed up under her own claws and the feet of the men to help them traverse.

    Beneath and to either side, she could feel the fortifications of the Lord Sorcerer Veoul grappling with her allies for control of the terrain.

    Tsulogothulan had shifted tactics, instead of trying to fight the earth and stone with simple water and springs, they had moved to suffusing and surrounding the stones with fast flowing soil and sand.

    The timbers were rotted and soaked through til they rounded and refused to take on shape as spikes or support.

    The stones eroded under the teeth of whirling silt.

    All around Jewel, a great upwelling of marsh was taking hold. With islands of firm ground bobbing in and out of near black silty water and reeds to hold the feet of the soldiers.

    Before Jewel could turn her attention back to the horse she found that it was already dead, neck and body pulled under into the water. Drowned and entombed.

    In the distance on her left, Jewel saw what she was pretty sure was a building rising up to crash and grapple with more timbers and fortifications.

    To her right, trees blazing in yellow and red leaves were pummeled and twisted in roiling churns of earth and wood work.

    Bark peeling into planks and timbers like gashes of a gryphon¡¯s claws raking their trunks.

    In sight of her Jewel saw very few of the captains rallying their shocked men. She could already see some of the levy and even some footmen dropping their arms and running in a panic.

    Fleeing the battle onto land that had been suspiciously cleared and leveled for them.

    And ahead of her, still on their rise, was Thurz¨®¡¯s army, although the swell of land had stalled.

    Now they were marching to engage on their own feet and hooves.

    Despite the lack of direct sorcerous assistance the army before her still had the favorable terrain the Weird had fashioned for them. A poor situation even with its guiding will distracted all along the front by the Wizards.

    They were advancing and her side was ill-prepared. Even Bromthil was having trouble getting the levy to rally. Kraok was struggling to get attention without the height of his horse and despite Tsulogothulan¡¯s effort to not foul their footing, the simple visible presence of the bog water was spooking the men out of formation.

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    Jewel took in a heavy breath and bellowed, voice filling the air, every ounce of command she had studied and heard in her Father¡¯s voice put into practice to try and draw attention and more importantly obedience.

    ¡°Men of Viznove! Brothers of Zekhedge! Form Up! The Enemy is ahead! Fear not their Sorcery! Our Weirds and Wizards are with us! Forward with me men!¡±

    And then setting word to deed Jewel began to move to meet the enemy charge.

    It was different from her usual training melee.

    Those had been to aid her in the event of ambush or otherwise being trapped in battle.

    Every figure was an enemy.

    But here amongst the men Jewel was bolstered and protected on three sides. She could run her coils loosely amongst and behind their formation while keeping her jaws and tail free.

    And with her voice and sign of valor, the men of Rochford rallied with her and took steps into marshy soil that landed on firm land.

    At their flanks the captains of their allies managed to rally as well and formed up with them.

    Jewel felt the upwelling of a fresh wall of stone and timbers forging ahead of them, aiming to break through. Jewel felt that the sorcery of her friend while able to undermine and sink such an effort after was not going to prevent this one.

    Neither Father nor Count Fiebron had given the signal for her to let loose her full ability, so she could not lance the approaching army with her flame.

    If she did it could spoil everything, it could ruin the war.

    Jewel was a good daughter. She would wait until her father or the count told her she should take wing and bring forth the Wyrmdoom.

    But the sign of what looked like a full thousand armored footmen marching on the levies from Rochford and Kliatbatrn made her wings twitch to flare wide and her neck ache to arch.

    And then the wall was moving at her and Jewel released her flame.

    Not as trained and honed as she had learned to make it. She tried to keep it wild and dangerous looking. The way she had released it on a very aggressive rooster when she was scarcely bigger than a goat.

    It flew in a wide corruscating white over the heads of her men. Splashing into the rising stones of the sorcerous attack.

    Stone burned and blew away as dust, the heat of it joining that of the air rushing free and forced the levy and footmen of Rochford back.

    Leaving Jewel alone.

    She eased on the angle of her flame to strike more of the earth before her and sucked in air through her nose. Pulling Wyrmflame from her wings and coils, settling her weight heavier on the ground so she could funnel it up her throat and into the bulwark before her.

    The stones burned, and the timbers exploded, the life of their wood flaring at the slightest brush of pale white.

    Even the earth and the water of the bog around the stones burned. The water catching under her flame as surely as anything else and adding its own hues to the tumult around the searing white of her wild fury.

    Jewel always wondered why water burned blue-purple under dragon flame instead of the cheerful gold and yellow of most things.

    No one she had asked seemed to know.

    When the bulwark had finally stopped, Jewel let up on her own attack. She felt her Wyrmflame petering off, and precious little was flowing back into the rest of her just yet. Jewel felt heavy, winded from the exertion of releasing her flame in so uncoordinated a manner. It was so wasteful without her usual control.

    At the start of the year Jewel would probably have been grounded the rest of the day for lack of flame now. But she already could feel her Wyrmflame recovering.

    It was filling up in her faster as she heard the sounds of men screaming, spears hitting heavy cloth or catching in flesh.

    And as soon as the glare of her fire was gone the men were filling in the space around and ahead of her as well.

    Helping to buffer her from the chaos raging all around, filling her ears with noise.

    Horses shrieking and bones snapping. Metal on metal, wood, flesh, bone and leather.

    She would not be lacking in flame for long at all with the rush of it now building to a torrent already.

    The line of the enemy¡¯s approach ahead of her had been broken. The once favorable terrain had torn and collapsed where the earth, stone, water and wood had burnt hot and fierce under her breath.

    And she smelled shredded earth, the sharp whiff of thunder and stink of broken open bodies. Blood of men and horses everywhere. Filling the air and muffling out the more pleasant scents of man and horse sweat.

    The scent of sundered earth and grass mingling with clay, stone and broken clouds.

    Jewel turned her head to the sky, Gryphons wheeling overhead, twisting and turning so sharply and moving so swiftly she could not tell friend from foe except for those absolutely closest.

    But she could not linger and watch. Already arrows were starting to fall on her like rain.

    She dipped her head low and flared out her wings.

    The sting and pinches of iron heads striking her membranes painfully.

    But it was better than letting those points strike her men.

    Better to bear a minor pinch for her then let a wounding strike hit one of the people of Rochford who followed to fight in a war that was her fault.

    Jewel felt her wyrmflame rising harsh and fierce just thinking about it.

    Like a thunderstorm was building despite the clear summer day.

    She would keep her people safe.

 10.6

    10.6

    Jonathan the Third of House Rochford, Lord Baron of Rochford,  was flying for far more than just his life.

    All told, they had thirteen Gryphon Riders in the combined force of Viznove and Zekhedge. By Jonathan¡¯s count, the Gryphon Knights and Lords arrayed against them numbered at twenty two.

    He had himself only twenty-five arrows.

    And despite how skilled a shot he was, getting close enough to hit a Gryphon by arrow was a blink away from them closing in range of beak and claws.

    He and Zephyrvam tumbled over to the left. He trusted his steed and brother in the wing. Hugging in close and smothering his face and head into the plumage of the Gryphon¡¯s back.

    Getting as close to the middle of Zephyrvam¡¯s own chest during the turn was the safest he could be.

    Gryphon Rider Whelps made that mistake often. Sprains or even death had claimed far too many aspiring riders who¡¯d tried to keep their heads back and out so they could watch maneuvers they should trust their steed to make.

    Those that found a means to avoid those pitfalls in training later could lose their heads when Gryphons close for a melee and protruding body parts made easy targets for beak or claw.

    You leaned out and back for precisely two reasons riding in battle.

    If you are surveying the land and sky for your next move.

    And if you are lining up a shot with your bow.

    After that keep your head and body close and cling to your Gryphon, listen to their throat and feel their body move under you.

    Trust that you trained well together and that your steed is wise and clever.

    For their eyes are sharper than yours, their wings faster, their claws and beak stronger than any blade.

    Zephyrvam was just as much a warrior and a lord as his rider and the two had grown up together for a long seventeen years.

    And it was on that trust which the Lord of Rochford hoped they would fly for as long as Fiebron and Smokespear had together.

    There was a worried clucking in the throat of his steed. And a shift and tilt of concern to the wing, tension in the muscles.

    Too subtle to be seen or heard on the wing by an enemy.

    But enough warning for Jonathan.

    He shifted his weight in time to the turn. He was ready and braced for the spin.

    He was already gripping an arrow in his left hand.

    His bow was sliding free as he extended his right arm to catch it.

    The leather thongs that secured the bow were already given slack enough to slip free as Zephyrvam tumbled around a diving enemy.

    He saw a flash of russet feathers, leather armor, claws and beak.

    He was drawing the bow and lining up the shot in the brief lull as his steed shifted to catch wind and climb against the force of their enemy¡¯s wake.

    An arrow flew, chasing the diving Gryphon.

    A scream as the arrow failed to deflect.

    The wake of a Gryphon was all but absent when it came to arrows where Zephyrvam had chosen to catch air and stall.

    The enemy rider twisted in concern to spot the arrow and where it had found its mark in their steed¡¯s back.

    Looked to be just high off the hip.

    Missed the vital spine.

    It could be lethal if they tried to force flight or climb with the barbed head caught in the flank.

    If the rider glided to flee for safety and tended the wound, the steed might live.

    Jonathan did not have time to confirm whether the enemy was wise or foolish. Zephyrvam was shifting, he had a tell-tale warble in his throat that carried into the Lord of Rochford¡¯s chest.

    He tugged the catch of his bow¡¯s anchorline and pulled it close to his back as he sank his face and arms close into his Gryphon¡¯s plumage again.

    Darkness and warm feathers surrounded him as another shriek of an enemy Rider making a dive for them sounded.

    Then another flex and warning chirp to keep him secure as Zephyrvam had to make his own dive and another tumble to the right.

    A matching but distinct shriek had echoed the first.

    Two on one for him, then.

    He leaned back in another lull to catch a scan of the sky before diving back against Zephyrvam.

    Giving the squeeze and stroke with his thighs and arms to signal they should rise.

    A perfunctory and agitated chirp was his reply.

    Zephyrvam knew what to do in these odds.

    But so did the enemy, the two of them harassed and harried Jonathan and his Gryphon. Preventing him from having enough clear space to climb.

    Keeping him hugged close to the feathers or risk his head and neck during a maneuver.

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    Working and worrying at his biggest weakness.

    Zephyrvam could not climb as fast for the burden of his rider¡¯s weight.

    It was a problem for the taller riders of Viznove.

    And Jonathan was the tallest man to ride a Gryphon in any memory.

    He could feel in his stomach the dips and falls of lost altitude.

    Zephyrvam warbled and shifted in warning against him as they kept needing to twist, tumble and shift.

    Jonathan could hear the agitation and anger in his steed.

    The violence he wanted to enact, but none of their harassers were committing enough to risk his claws or Jonathan¡¯s Arrows. But between the two of them they did not have too. They were pushing him down from the sky.

    Eventually there would be nowhere left to fly for Zephyrvam.

    A sudden buoy of wind roared around them.

    Zephyrvam barked in confusion and given that Jonathan had to risk a glance around.

    He leaned as slightly back as he could, even as he felt his insides dropping away under lift.

    They were rising to a dizzying degree, red and golden leaves flowing past Zephyrvam¡¯s black wings to either side.

    Lifting him enough to break out of the dives and spearing strikes of his opponents.

    Two Gryphons were now below him and trying to pull back and climb away from him, but the winds were harsh and against them. The fluttering glints of red and orange leaves rushed into their feathers in torrents.

    Wings and the fury of their wakes fighting against the strange wind.

    With cleared air and a moment¡¯s respite, Jonathan could get the lay of the battle, sky and land.

    Fiebron and the rest of the fliers were occupied. Their counterparts realized the numerical advantage and kept the general and his rider¡¯s hands tied from doing anything but defending against dives and strikes.

    Oftentimes any given one of their gryphons were in the same position as Jonathan just was.

    Two to one, sometimes opportunistic thirds adding on the pressure.

    They had lost two riders by his reckoning already judging the absences.

    Where was Jewel?

    They needed her up here.

    The Army of the realm was well and truly committed, she should have taken flight and begun her Wyrm doom.

    The chill wind bizarrely rising up around him and Zephyrvam continued to buoy them into the sky.

    He surveyed the chaos of the lines.

    Sorcery danced and struck up and down it.

    Earth tumbled and moved. Walls of stone and incongruous whole buildings seemed to writhe and grapple one another on one front.

    Searing and bizarre flames sparked and blew against each other.

    Arrows were turned mid air or burst into flame before finding their mark on either side.

    And below it all men clashed in the melee. Captains prominent in their saddles or holding banners high on foot if they had been unseated from their horse kept order on both sides.

    No gryphons free on either side to strike against them to break and scatter men under their command.

    And there in the center was the unmistakable sinuous line of Jewel.

    Marching with the men?

    Grounded?

    Was she injured?

    No.

    She was moving fine and even acting well to shield the levy and footmen from arrows.

    Then why was she still on the ground?

    He saw a messy wide splash of white wyrmflame crash into a sorcerous earth-work rising to meet her.

    Burning it messily, sloppier than he knew she could.

    None of her training or precision on display.

    Like a common Wild Wyrm might.

    Jonathan felt his blood go cold despite his armor and the warmth of his Gryphon.

    They had told her it was important she not let loose early.

    Did any of them tell her she could act after the fight began in earnest?

    No she was young and inexperienced, Fiebron had argued they ensure the trap was sprung at the best time.

    Has no one given the order?

    He could not remember.

    The other Gryphons had been upon them as soon as the fortifications suddenly fell and battle was joined.

    Fiebron had been in a melee with three fliers for almost the entire battle so far.

    The First General made an excellent showing of acrobatics and cunning with Smokespear and kept whichever Gryphon engaged him from harassing others or going for their captains.

    But he had been the same as Jonathan, unable to give the command.

    Jewel was still holding back!

    Someone had to tell her to stop that.

    With a glance over the field in another searching glare he finally spotted the smudge of what looked like Kliatbatrn¡¯s colors. Nearly a mile from where his daughter was still hobbling herself as she had been told too.

    She had promised she would hold back until she received the signal or direct order.

    She needed to stop holding back.

    The Realm¡¯s army was committed.

    But no one had told her it was time.

    Jonathan guided Zephyrvam with his legs and muttered close into the plumage as he huddled into the neck of his steed.

    ¡°Dive hard! And tell her it is time.¡±

    He also slapped the signal against the black Gryphon¡¯s neck. Pressing for the long calls, tapping for the light.

    But before he had even begun, Zephyrvam already was giving the piercing booming call.

    The buzzing-booming Gryphon howl that you could feel in your chest as it rattled your bones from miles away.

    Finally signaling that Jewel could stop pretending.

    She was a dutiful daughter.

    She had obeyed and done as she was told.

    Jonathan and all of them had failed her.

 10.7

    10.7

    Jewel weathered the arrows, she spat wyrmflame recklessly and widely. She tried to rally the soldiers around her.

    And for the most part she simply occupied the efforts of the opposing Weird of Fortification and kept the soldiers too frightened to close with her.

    Her jaws snapped in the air before them. Her tail cracked over their heads.

    She could hear dying.

    Screams of men and horses piling on top of one another in her ears from all directions and distances.

    She could smell their sweat, blood and organs spilling

    The places where armies were meeting stank of pierced guts and many of the bodies laying on the ground yet breathed and still cried.

    Jewel tried to think about the wheat harvest. Tried to remember how scared she had been and how inconsequential and normal it became.

    If she could learn to weather the screams of the fields she could overcome this.

    She needed too, Father needed her too.

    Just a bit longer here in the melee and then they would give the signal and she could launch herself into the air.

    Join the wheeling shapes in the sky.

    Get above the stink and the screams of the ground.

    Kraok was making a solid showing on her left.

    Bromthil pairing well with him on her right.

    Amidst, behind and ahead of her the levy and other footmen moved.

    Stepping in to stab with a spear, or planting their feet and taking shots with arrows.

    Jewel¡¯s presence and size drove back retaliation. Her wings and coils offered shelter and protection.

    And Tsulogothulan¡¯s workings held firm for the men of Viznove and their horses. Falling away into sucking mud and bog for all others. And shooting up from the waters around them were more dangers than simply ill footing or suffocating mud. There were lashing reeds that shredded open the first few layers of cloth armor and cut jagged gashes into unprotected skin. Strange squirming shapes that struck unarmored legs or shins and set those unfortunate enough to dare to intrude too deeply into the Bog Weird¡¯s domain with shakes and wailing pain.

    Jewel¡¯s presence and her childish blasts of white flame intermixed with the bog that surrounded her was keeping the men of Rochford safe.

    Their only injury so far was one of the younger boys who was caught before Jewel could intercede a wing or flank to block the stray arrow that struck his thigh.

    Tsulogothulan had slapped something sticky, black and according to the Weird purifying onto the wound. It stunk of sulfur but stopped the bleeding of the wound even after the arrow was torn free and even let him stand in spite of what should have been agonizing pain.

    His elders still had him move back into the middle of the formation near Jewel, where the uncertainty of his stance would be less of a liability.

    He smelled a bit off now as far as Jewel was concerned, but she had too many other things to worry about.

    She had to hold on and wait for her signal.

    Just had to-

    Zephyrvam¡¯s cry from on high and behind her filled Jewel with relief so strong her scales trembled in waves down from her head to her tail and made her mane stand on end all along her spine.

    Finally!

    She took in a heavy breath and let her wyrmfire course properly through her coils and wings.

    One flap was already driving her upwards.

    Two more and she ascended three times her length in altitude.

    In a dozen she is already rising up over the battlefield, drawing ineffectual if stinging pricks of arrows on her scales.

    As she rose Jewel could see the lay of the forces of Viznove, Zhekhedge and Thurz¨®. Or at least she assumed that was them. But there was so much confusion. If not for the banners she had come to know along the march it would be impossible to discern anything in the writhing tangle of fury. Bouts curdling up and down the valley.

    The works of sorcery just further complicated it all. What she had once thought of as soft whispers spoken in silence beneath things had been raised up into a torrent of near shouting on all sides.

    They clashed and overwhelmed the now distant screaming and whimpering of the men and beast injured or harried on the battlefield.

    Without that distraction it made the desperate, violent, angry pleas spinning up and down the line even sharper and clearer to her.

    Jewel rose and as she did two Gryphons moved to rake her with claws and beak. She spun before even fully recognizing that it was an enemy act. Muscle and flame twisting as Father had trained her too.

    Her reflex letting off the gentle flashing burst of light on each and sending unaccustomed Gryphons screaming and wheeling up and away into the sky erratically.

    That was a mistake.

    She was not supposed to hold back like that now.

    This was a real battle!

    Father on Zephyrvam finally swept past her with a flight cant of greeting. Praise despite her letting instinct rule her and fail to follow through with her flame.

    Her Father was too kind.

    Looking over all the writhing lines and formations all the order of the march and the offering of battle was lost.

    The only sense left was where sorcery met sorcery and no man dared to cross. But everywhere else Knights made charges, archers attempted to form ranks on whoever had the wrong colors. Footmen and Levy bundled and bunched together then dived into each other and lost all coherence.

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    In places Jewel (and she suspected the men below) did not even know if they were fighting friend or foe.

    It was chaos and even up here she could still hear as a murmur the suffering and anguish, all mingled together. Man and beast alike dying, fearing, bleeding.

    It was like the butchery of a wheat harvest all over again.

    She had to be strong.

    Jewel could feel Euewyn¡¯s familiar voice on the wind around her and Father. She could see the other Gryphon Lords and Riders spinning and struggling now. How they were outnumbered by the forces of Thurz¨®.

    There were four trying to harry and bloody Cloudspear and count Fiebron just now!

    Jewel looked around, she could not tell where she should go, what she should do.

    The noise, the blood, the chaos of everything under and around her.

    There was none of the clarity or assurance the histories had made about battle.

    Even in the air she was unsure of where or how she should proceed.

    Gryphons wheeling up into the sky drew her eye.

    Unfamiliar and making for a dive.

    Two more were sweeping high and towards her after it.

    The crumpled form of one of the Riders that she had traded riddles with had just crashed into the ground so hard that feather, bone, blood and earth fountained and then barreled over horse and men alike with the pinwheeling corpse.

    Jewel tried to focus, to still herself, to listen as her Father had taught her, to push harder. She could see Father flying in position above her, taking height for his own strike, positioning where at least one side of her attackers would prefer to ride.

    She tried to push the sounds and scents of death away. Like she had when she was young.

    It was much harder to ignore the suffering of men than that of wheat and grass and other crops.

    But she had too.

    The first of the enemy fliers was diving towards her.

    The second and third close behind.

    Father and Zephyrvam were not diving to intercept them with an arrow or claw.

    That was her task.

    Jewel mustered her flame, she focused to try and keep it mastered. To watch and see them as they speared towards her. One from the front, the other two coming at her from the left and right.

    Denied a full rear flank by Zephyrvam¡¯s threatening presence.

    Euewyn¡¯s autumn winds were around her but not buffeting or interfering.

    Jewel reached out and felt the currents in the wake of the diving Gryphons.

    She willed her own flame in answer to them up her throat. Shaped it as she had not when she had rebuked the last strike.

    Held the presence of it in her mouth with more to spare bundling and coiling up behind in her throat.

    The Gryphons closed and though the speed of the dives from all three devoured leagues in a moment it all felt so slow.

    Jewel thought of how she had missed her chance at this when the Terror Boar closed.

    How it had cost the simple footman Gimletson his life.

    How a knight she had not even known the name of but traded wit and jokes with just a few days ago was thrown broken and certainly dead in the roiling chaos below her.

    How it was the acts of those closing with her.

    How they harassed Fiebron even now across the sky from her.

    Jewel waited until it was too late for them to turn from their course.

    And then she breathed without restraint.

    Pushing Wyrmflame from her mouth and throat in a sharp spear. Lancing out and across the sky hard and fast before barely any of it could catch and burn in the air.

    Three Gryphons move to pass and rake claws and beak over her coils one right after another.

    Set to close and cross paths in her body.

    Her neck twisted from left to right.

    The air bursts open with the stink of petrichor and thunder.

    The still smoldering wings and one head of the Gryphons fall past her.

    Eyes widening in shock, beak opening in silence.

    Tumbling in the air.

    Of their bodies and riders only ash swirling past her wings remains.

    Jewel stared.

    She looked around.

    Her coils were tense, ready for another returning pass.

    But...

    There is none.

    She had struck and now her opponents were no more.

    Just gone.

    Faster and more utterly than even wood.

    Not even time for them to make their dismay known

    Even wheat under sickle had more chances to cry then three Gryphon Knights had.

    That was-

    Jewel had read of many battles but none had been like this.

    She felt like she was being smothered in the quiet of the sky and the cries from below. In the stink of her own thunderous scent and the blood and sweat of man and horse rising on the summer winds.

    Zephyrvam had to call to draw her gaze as she just hung in the air flapping her wings like an absolute fool leaving herself open for another strike.

    But none of the enemy fliers were moving to close with her. Steering clear of Jewel and her Father.

    She watched them circling, recognized their flight cant as they flailed in confusion and panic of just what they had witnessed her do.

    Signaling Danger.

    Sky Death.

    Lightning.

    Unseen/Uncertain.

    Her Father¡¯s steed had to call again to get her to turn to him once more.

    What was wrong with her?! She was in a battle!

    Why was she so addled?!

    Focusing hard, pushing the sound and smell of everything away Jewel looked at her Father and held her gaze there.

    Saw at last the flight cant he was making. Read his gesture and the subtle extensions of them in Zephyrvam¡¯s wings.

    The point of a hand/finger. The emphasis of a tilted wing.

    The facing of a beak.

    Jewel replied with her own arms and wings in affirmation and then spun high to gain altitude.

    She had practiced this before.

    She knew what she had to do and he had told her where to do it.

    Jewel was a dutiful daughter.

    She would perform as her Father ordered.

    It was easy.

    She had done it many times before.

    Wyrmdoom.

    Across many fields much like this one.

    So why was it so hard to focus this time?

 10.8

    10.8

    He was the fortress and the fortress was him.

    That had been the words which rang through him like a temple bell that day.

    Standing in the levy with a hundred other men from his village, together as a wall, spears held strong. It was what he had wished to be true.

    It is what he had come to realize was so.

    He had a name for his flesh then, but like every other fort it was not really his. Something said of him. But since when has his flesh been bone and meat instead of stone and timbre?

    Since when did he have legs instead of foundations?

    What even were legs but spindler, lesser, weaker foundations?

    Since when did he hold a shield instead of a wall?

    Since when did he move instead of maneuver and rise?

    Since when did he stand instead of fortify?

    What was being clothed if not weaker, useless reinforcement?

    He was the fortress.

    And the fortress was him.

    He swelled beneath the earth and carried the armies to their place.

    He guarded them from the arrows and fire of the Invader.

    He overturned and speared assaults.

    He stood tall with roots like the mountain.

    His stones carved and made solid within him.

    As him.

    His foundations were struck, his towers tangled, his bulwarks undermined. His parapets were circumvented.

    He was under siege and gathered in himself the weapons to counter. To reinforce, to support, to protect.

    He was the fortress and no fortress was complete without those to protect.

    A city drove into him like a battering ram against rotten timbres.

    One single building corroding his stone with bricks, grappling his foundations into cobbles.

    Stripping his timbres for doors, tables and cheap shingle.

    He struck back, walls of the mind enclosing and squeezing that spur of a city.

    Digging over the feeble foundations and rising anew, stronger than before.

    The bog was damned, solid earthworks diverting it, aqueducts draining it, stone shaped to turn water. Timber and works of man stronger than mere earth and mud.

    Except then the bog swelled with floods that had washed away lesser forts.

    Sunk them.

    Drowned them in silt and time.

    But he was not so poorly built a structure to be found in such a place.

    His roots were the mountains, his stones were solid, they fit together tight and their mortar was sure.

    His timbres were from strong old trees and aged well besides.

    And within him he had guards and villagers, the protected giving him strength beyond even his stones.

    For what was a fortress without those it guarded?

    Without soldiers and granaries and villagers.

    He felt a tremor within him.

    He felt his stones come undone.

    Wild wyrmfire was a danger all its own. It was not the place of stones to hold against the anathema.

    He called to the knights within. He called to the armies, to his other half.

    He tried to reinforce their footing, he tried to harden their steel and wood and shields.

    But flesh and bone was not stone and timbre.

    And only so much weight could be born by such foundations.

    He was a fortress but he could only be as strong as the place he stood.

    Flesh made for poor ground to build a wall and as he watched from his many narrow windows, rising up behind the lines of battle he saw the knights and men of arms faltering against the wild wyrm and the invader bog.

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    He pressed on anyway, supporting everywhere, on all lines.

    He was a fortress and today he was a serpentine wall, dancing and weaving, rising and sinking away in roiling combat with five of his number.

    A younger construction of mere earth might be overwhelmed, untested and green wooded such a bulwark would fail to cover so much land as he.

    But Stone Fortresses were old, and so was he.

    He had time to sink deep and become whole.

    His foundations touched the very spine of the mountain here.

    He had stones stacked tall from there and braced in a flesh of earth. And he was full of traps and snares.

    Poised wood, solid iron teeth and the waiting knives in the dark of his halls.

    Foul things and filth ready to be vomited on any that dared breach his walls.

    Belly full of provisions and grains to last a half year and slay those that dared encircle him with starvation.

    His Patience is sharper than any sword or spear.

    The wind howled helplessly against his stones.

    Gryphons soared from him and struck fiercely against their own numbers beyond his reach. He held their roosts in confidence ready to welcome them home, to restore and fortify their flesh such as could be done.

    He was the Fortress and he would stand for all of them.

    Whether against bogs, cities, winds or words, all were ephemeral to his stones.

    Even their fire was nothing as long as he held his timbres safe, close behind stone skin.

    His charges were far outnumbering the invaders. His foundations were stronger than the many elements gathered against him.

    Only the feral wyrm that had been driven against him was a concern.

    It was not acting as it should.

    It lashed at only him and his.

    It shielded the invaders from arrows no matter how high he raised towers to aid them.

    It spewed its devouring breath on his stones and left them undone and the stones held above them loosened.

    It harmed none but him and his.

    That was not the act of a beast.

    This was concerning. He had never found a wall yet that stood well against a wild wyrm. It was best to just go for thickness of earth and patience with such beasts and wait for them to leave or the Knights to slay them.

    But something was wrong.

    He was the fortress and the fortress was him.

    He could guard his charges from wind and fire, from spears and arrows, from sword and steel.

    But how would he guard against this?

    He was the fortress and the fortress was him.

    But what was a fortress that could not protect?

    Was that anything at all?

    He felt a shifting tilt in his foundations deeper than the mountains and stone.

    The wild wyrm was rising.

    The Gryphons flew as they should and moved to intercept the clumsy creature in the air.

    But there was grace in it that had not been there before.

    He pulled in his stones to consider, to plan and plot himself as defenders did. Penned in and surrounded in thought if not force.

    Invaders were sometimes clever.

    They set traps, they dug with patience to undermine less wakeful forts then he.

    He tasted a snare in this.

    He tasted maneuvers and ploys.

    He tasted poisoned water in the wells and refugees sent to his gates to sap his strength.

    There was a trap here.

    The Gryphons swung by again and then they fell before the wild wyrm.

    It was over almost before his windows could catch sight of it.

    He felt cold creeping through his timbres.

    His foundations felt even more unsettled.

    For the first time in a dozen sieges, and twice more wars where he had been more encampment than solid walls, he felt something that he could never shed.

    For every fortress was as much a thing of fear as stone.

    One did not protect without something to defend against.

    And even the strongest walls did not always hold against the works of a siege.

    Whether by draining hunger of his charges or terrible power to break his walls, he had not always held.

    And he felt the tremor in the deep at the spine of the mountain where his foundations stood. He felt a crumbling deeper still.

    There was something he needed to do, a thing with wind blowing through empty halls and echoing over stones and the groaning creaking wooden timbres.

    It was difficult.

    Harder then pressing back the bricks of the city, or closing ranks against the waters of the bog.

    Harder than hiding his timbres from the searing fire of spilled blood.

    But he needed to do it.

    He needed to wrench himself from his place in the order of the world and do what he almost could no longer remember.

    But he had other memories then his own, huddled memories seeking shelter from storms and armies. Beasts and fury.

    He gripped the memories of those he sheltered hard and slowly ground from those moments the secret puzzle of it.

    Erecting it like a tower, shining meaning into it like a signal fire.

    He had to give a warning.

    To send word to his brother towers distant.

    But not to a tower or other fort, but to a man.

    A thing of flesh poorly suited to bear the burden of his stones and the weight of his power.

    The wild wyrm that was not a wild wyrm released a curtain of death beneath it.

    Slaying those he was made to protect in their thousands.

    Shattering and breaking his walls.

    Finally the labor finished and he managed to bring all the parts together in the correct order.

    To give warning.

    Just in time.

    ¡°Lord Thurz¨®, I fall.¡±

    And then the all destroying anathema filled him.

    And his timbres came undone, his stones became dust, his will unraveled.

    He was a fortress, but inevitably he fell.

 10.9

    10.9

    Jewel swept the fields with her flame as Father ordered.

    It seemed wrong that men, horses and armor smelled little different under her fire than the shrubs that grew in the waste of a fallow field.

    That there was hardly any difference between the way mens¡¯ flesh burned under wyrmfire then the simple rotten posts and scraps she had rendered to dust for the Countess and her war council.

    Why were they the same?

    Shouldn''t men fighting honorably in war smell differently than grass when they were felled?

    She swept a third time but Father had stopped ordering her to fly over the fleeing men.

    Sweeping over empty fields and fallen bodies, the torn and twisted landscape where Wizards had clashed.

    The enemy lines were broken.

    Had been crumbling since her opening pass.

    The first strike had been against a tower that had been rising by sorcery during the battle.

    A tower which had whispered to the earth and the stones around the line of the battlefield.

    A single line of her flame had cut through that tower and the embankments and hills past it.

    Leaving dust and crumbling stonework in its passing.

    And from that first pass half the sorcery arrayed against them had faltered and stalled.

    The whispers that had been running so subtly through all the valley silenced.

    It left Jewel feeling sad.

    But not just her, the very stones and grass around her cried in a way she had never heard before.

    Mourned the quiet voice that had been whispering to them the entire time.

    A lamenting wail that rose and fell through the air, through the earth, through the stones and trees. It washed over everything around Jewel and dragged on her thoughts, going back to the feathered wings sheared through and the blankly staring and gaping head of the Gryphons she had fully unleashed her wroth upon.

    The valley was still ringing with the cries of the world at its loss.

    At the wound of silence that Jewel had made when she toppled the tower.

    Jewel needed no one to explain.

    A Weird had died in this place.

    The world would miss them.

    And Jewel knew it was she that had slain it.

    After her second pass where she confirmed that men and horse flesh absolutely did burn with the same scent as wood and fallow waste shrubs, any sorcerous support for Thurz¨®¡¯s men vanished.

    Not accompanied by the sucking wounded sorrow that had come when Jewel had struck one down.

    No this was just the muted absence of sorcerous voices that opposed those on their side.

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    Bereft this support, the Weirds and Wizards drove deep wedges and in many places on the line Knights and Lords broke and fled the field as if they were too youthful levies.

    And without the Knights and Lords?

    All but the most stalwart of warriors ran together as one panicked mass when the very blood in their veins might tear itself loose and strike them in defection to their enemies.

    Jewel saw close to four hundred men melting away amidst a teeming mass of black cats wielding sharp shining knives in the dark. Ankles, thighs or groins cut through as the felines leapt through them.

    The bodies vanished after they fell and were briefly covered by the river-like flow of black fur.

    Father failed to order her to make another pass of Wyrmdoom and Jewel could not find it in herself to do anything but hover in the air.

    The skies were theirs.

    The enemy Gryphon Riders had fled shortly after the Wizards.

    Jewel looked to her Father, she gave a cant to ask if she had missed another order.

    But he replied in the negative and gestured to return to roost.

    Jewel shook her head and waved out a negation. Pointed to the still teeming knots of battle and bloodshed even as the enemy was broken and fleeing the field.

    Footmen were fighting.

    Knights were charging down fleeing levy.

    Some of their force were encircling and mustering at the still closed gates of the Fortress.

    Wounded and dead were either being recovered or stripped for armor and valuables.

    There was so much more she could do here.

    But Father ordered more firmly that it was time for them to return to camp.

    And Jewel could only look at the scattered lines where fleeing men had been cut down, or charges had failed.

    From up here she could not really tell apart who was with Viznove or Zekhedge or from the forces of Thurz¨®. All were bodies, horse and man and the terribly torn and tumbled mess that showed where Gryphons and their riders had been thrown from the skies by their melee.

    The battlefield was a contrast of pristine farmland, fields, the still risen hills that the Weird of Fortresses had made yet touched by grass.

    And the patchwork tangled landscape that each particular Wizard had passed through.

    Cobblestones and collapsed brickwork with strangely feline shadows cast amongst them where Fizzbunches had fought.

    Pale barked trees unseasonably flush in red and golden yellow from saplings to elder heights where Euewyn had struck.

    The stink of iron and burning blood where Jaksa the Red had slain men. Bodies torn in half, steaming hot or burnt black.

    One field was strewn with bodies that looked as if the illustrations of a great war had been taken from the page and left tumbled among the grass and dirt.

    The only sign they had been men was the very real and wet blood soaking the soil around them and the rends which showed once living flesh and bone beneath the painted parchment made of their skin and armor.

    And then marking along the battle lines were three wide gashes of powdery ash where Jewel had released her Wyrmdoom.

    Zephyrvam called sharply to get her attention and Father turned towards the camp.

    Jewel followed.

    Trying to focus away from it, trying to remember what she had learned when she was five. It was just like the harvest fields.

    The men were simply wheat under her sickle.

    Nothing more.

    But it was so much harder than it had been to ignore the cries of the wheat

    She was failing in her duty as a Daughter and Lady of Rochford.

    This was what she was supposed to do.

    What she had trained for.

    It¡¯s what would keep her and Rochford safe.

    Though she was faltering now she would strive to do what was right going forward.

    It was her Duty.

    And Jewel was a Dutiful Daughter.

 10.i

    10.i

    My Dear Wife Erzs¨¦bet,

    The ruse has worked and the armies of the fiendish witch march into our trap. The Weird Veoul of Fortresses has had all of two years to set his sorcery into the land and when reports can be forced from him, the War Mage appears confident that he alone could hold against both the vile wizard employed by the Blood Countess and the newly gained fealty of the Weird.

    I am, as you so often admonish me for, yet suspicious of the confidence of Sorcerers. Their mettle is unbreakable right up until it isn''t. Especially the more powerful Weirds.

    But in the Council of War Wizards Thun and Hazgaul assure me that although powerful and learned, this Tsulogothulan of Bogs is not a martial worker of sorcery. And that our ground is not suited to their nature. They agree that all three of them should be more than enough if on even ground with the two set against us.

    And we are offering no fair contest for the star-cursed countess and her army. On prepared ground The Weird of Fortresses is unmatched and it is expected that with his aid we will sap and destroy the forces arrayed against us.

    Of the concerns about the Countess¡¯ Pet Wyrm, our immediate scouting brings doubt to the word from those eyes and ears loyal to the Realm in Viznove.

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    After we finish breaking her army here and have later secured capture of the monster in her capital I will put pointed questions towards the exaggerated tales that reached me on the danger presented by the Wyrm.

    I will see that murderous beast in the shape of a woman burnt and her ashes mixed in sacred salt and scattered to the cardinals when this campaign is over.

    And all survivors of her line will be put under question to ensure that her evil died with her.

    The High King promises me support in pacifying the other counts and securing my position after the concern of the Countess is settled but I honestly do not care.

    I promise you she will pay for her crimes against us.

    But enough of those matters, how are the lands of ¨¢rva in my long absence?

    How is little Imre?

    Give Ilona and Borb¨¢la their fathers love too.

    And save some yet for yourself.

    Your Husband.

    Your Count and Soon to be Low-King of Ridgevaul

    Gy?rgy Thurz¨®

    - A Letter from Count Gy?rgy Thurz¨® of ¨¢rva to Countess Erzs¨¦bet Czobor of ¨¢rva

 10.ii

    10.ii

    My Dear Husband Gy?rgy,

    It is good of you to temper your distrust of the sorcerers. Though you struggle I as always plead you try to remember it is not their fault. For it is the price the stars take from them in exchange for power. The Council of Sorcery across the realm are loyal to the King and will serve well.

    It is good tidings that the war will swiftly be over, the girls and Imre miss their father terribly. You were already away for half a year in council with the king on this matter, and then another year in your investigations and marshaling of the army.

    You are missing their best and brightest years in this. And though I know you do it out of love and just fury for the crimes committed against us please remember you have yet children that live and wish to know their father before they are fully grown.

    Imre especially is growing bigger every day and he is nearly sure enough in standing now that I expect he will be walking and swinging a practice sword by the time you return from the campaign.

    Also you have explained before that it is a clever reference to some provincial language or another spoken in the highlands, but is the name Ridgevaul really the best that could be made by the King for our new title and lands?

    Surely something with a better pedigree would serve better?

    Maybe the Kingdom of Aung Erie?

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    I can already hear the tittering of the ladies in court over the absurdity of the name. It is not the best start to a dynasty.

    But as always I will endeavor to make do with what may.

    I will do my best dear husband.

    As to your concerns of the domain fret not, I have it in hand as well as I did in my last letter.

    The weather stayed fair for the grain in all but the south-easternmost lands where the wet forced a harvest.

    The concerns of ¨¢rva and the demesne in particular otherwise are good, the baronies report heavy yields even where rain interfered and the merchant¡¯s guild here in the capital is docile for once over the tax on their goods.

    I have already given all of our and your daughters your love and promises of gifts and especially promised Imre his father would bring him a special trophy from the war.

    Please find something suitably impressive amidst the spoils for him as well as baubles for the girls.

    Your Wife.

    Your Steward of ¨¢rva and Countess.

    Erzs¨¦bet Czobor

    - A Letter from Countess Erzs¨¦bet Czobor of ¨¢rva to Count Gy?rgy Thurz¨® of ¨¢rva

 11.1

    11.1

    Jewel did not feel ready to march out again, she had slept poorly despite the leaden exhaustion and the nearly drained embers of her Wyrmfire.

    The earth felt tender and agitated everywhere, so she favored to float more than usual. Yet even the wind seemed curdled somehow.

    But she was called.

    Breakfast was not preceded by the riders needing to tend the Gryphon during feeding.

    Now counted only as nine from the thirteen that had set out with them.

    Jewel did not focus on the names. As was usual of death in flight there was little of either Gryphon or Rider recognizable or even intact and what could be found of either would be burned in an honorable pyre tomorrow with all the lost riders both on their side and not.

    Returned to the air and the stars enemy and ally would be.

    All of the fraternity of Gryphon Riders were one in death.

    Besides that and the securing of their own dead, be they Knight, Footman or Levy, the rest was left afield.

    Stripped of armor and weapons, the naked bodies were scattered among the ruins of Wizard Fire and other stranger wreckage from the battle.

    And it was through this Jewel traveled.

    As they marched over the torn and warped landscape none of its strangeness impeded their pace. They strode a road of stone pavers drawn up out of the earth that leveled out the hills, sorcerous detritus and fortifications from the day before.

    Smoothing and kneading back the twisted and rumpled land to level as if it was dough under the hands of a baker preparing a pie.

    Jewel felt a hitch in those stones where they had once been raised as walls.

    A subtle resistance to being changed.

    They were led by Fizzbunches as he performed the working to ensure easy footing for the entourage.

    The stones grumbled and almost seemed like they might hiss and snap at his whispers for a seeming offense.

    Which was something new for Jewel.

    She¡¯d never imagined stone could actually be angry.

    Well more lethargic and grumpy and upset to be asked to do anything right now, but still it was more malice then she had ever felt before from any mineral.

    Unsurprisingly, Fizzbunches seemed to ignore it and pressed his whispers on til they complied begrudgingly to his sorcery.

    The Cat Wizard marched tail high and face smug as ever. He preened with every step despite the torrent of sorcerous whispers pouring out of him like water from a never ending bucket.

    He moved like he thought himself the lord of all the armies of Viznove and Zehkhedge and had conquered this land by his will alone and no other.

    Even though he had to cajole and plead and yell silently in places to make some of the timbres and earth move as he wished.

    After the smug wizard came the rest of their party.

    It was a small showing, many soldiers from the army were already settled into the fortress ahead of them.

    Where they did the necessary jobs of securing both grain stores and prisoners that could not wait for the ceremony.

    But this party was the official claimant force in the war.

    Banners were held high in victory.

    Viznove and Zehkhedge most prominent, followed just behind by Rochford and Kliatbatrn.

    And then the flag of the house of each lord that had joined battle from either county and the few foreign knights that joined on their side.

    Thirty seven riders were needed to make a showing of every house that had contributed to the muster across the vassals of both counts.

    Jewel strode at a place of honor just behind Fiebron on his land steed.

    It was strange to see the small man astride a horse instead of Cloudspear.

    But there were no gryphons for this entourage. Busy as they were in their own postwar feast.

    She could see Cloudspear and Zephyrvam freely tearing into the belly of a horse across the twisted and rumpled fields.

    The rider was already half devoured, the Gryphons leaving no bones of what they eat.

    The rest of the war beasts were scattered in little knots of one or two as their own sociability and preference allowed.

    Jewel was led to understand it was mostly mothers or fathers with their now fledged offspring that allowed such.

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    Siblings amongst gryphons apparently had far less love for one another than Jewel and Alexander did.

    She turned her attention back to the entourage, trying to focus on something other than the gray tinged furrows and pits where her own flames had touched the battlefield.

    Father for his part rode Midnight Justice. Holding the Rochford Banner proudly.

    Jewel had been surprised to discover that Jaksa the Red knew how to ride quite well and joined them to represent the Countess. His horse had a hide and mane almost the same color as his own hair. A crimson so deep it was nearly black.

    He had been given the honor of carrying the banner of Viznove and thus rode directly to Fiebron¡¯s left ahead of Jewel.

    She was relieved that the Red Wizard had the propriety to perform the honor of banner-bearing in a more wizardly way at least. She had half expected him to hold it like a knight or herald in his hands.

    But no, blood in thick strands and threads carried the pole of the flag aloft behind him. Holding it properly higher than even the one for Zhekhedge.

    Jewel¡¯s flame was as bright and strong as ever and yet she felt heavier than she had even in the Countess Bathory¡¯s dinner when all of Kaeketeh seemed to plot against her Father¡¯s life.

    She had been so drained last night that she had nothing to say to Father, could not even muster words. Even this morning the weight seemed to just sit inside her like she¡¯d swallowed lodestone.

    But now, walking the far too freshly cut stones that pretended to be worn, trying to ignore the battlefield and the bodies of men, horse and fragments of gryphon scattered amidst peaceful fields and warped sorcerous refuse she suddenly felt the pressure of it all building up in her throat and grappling her tongue for the words that seemed impossible to contain.

    For all the force that they dragged their way out of her, Jewel¡¯s voice was reedier and softer then she had ever spoken before.

    ¡°Is war always like this?¡±

    Father is quiet, she can¡¯t see his face behind his ceremonial helm but she can smell the pain he feels and the sadness.

    ¡°It can be, but normally there is far less sorcery on either side. Even in the campaigns to the south.¡±

    His back stiffened and she could smell some ease under the sorrow. His voice settled into a familiar tone of lecture.

    ¡°Until our arrangement with Lord Sorcerer Fizzbunches there was only one wizard pledged directly to the service of any lord or lady for a thousand miles and that was the Countess Bathory. The others are all either completely independent or have their own arrangements as vassals of the King.¡±

    Jewel nodded, listening intently and looking at his helmed face. It was not strictly speaking why she had asked.

    To be honest Jewel could still not feel why the question had burned so fiercely inside her. But to hear her Father speak at all somehow helped with the weight that dragged like it wished to pull her down and bury her beneath the earth and stone.

    ¡°Only full musters of the Realm would normally draw any of them from their duties or domains. So in that, no War is not often like this.¡±

    Jewel brought her gaze back to surveying the field of bodies, as far as her eye could see. Blood spilled on grass, man and horse speared, cut, crumpled, crushed.

    Gryphon corpses tangled and shattered.

    Feathers broken and askew as easily as bone.

    Sometimes in single bursts where their fall had been direct.

    Other times great gouges as their flight had propelled them on even in death.

    As often as not their deaths bringing more of the same to those unfortunate enough to be at their final resting place.

    Bodies scattered or torn asunder from the passing or arrival.

    The smell of an abattoir was already rising in the morning heat of summer. A butchery of men and horses that smelled far too much like pig for Jewel¡¯s comfort. Especially where it was still charred from Wizard Fire.

    Father¡¯s voice rose again.

    ¡°But in other ways, yes. This is exactly what war is like, Daughter. But do not fear.¡±

    She turned her gaze back to him where he was turned around to meet her eyes with his own behind his helm.

    ¡°You did very well. All the mustered men from Rochford live because of you. Scarred for certain but not even maimed. You guarded them well and true as a martial lady should. And you fulfilled your duty to the orders given with a stalwart nature even Knights thrice over your age have faltered to uphold. I¡¯m proud of you for your bravery and honor.¡±

    And that was true Jewel supposed.

    She tried to focus on the good in this, not a single levy or footman lost to battle in war?

    By even the greatest ballads and most celebrated lords in the histories that was an astonishing accomplishment.

    Yes, Kraok¡¯s horse had been lost, but it was ultimately just a beast.

    Jewel nodded hard to that and focused on the good in it.

    They had fought in war, She had met the enemy and they had fallen before her.

    That was right and good.

    Remembering that helped.

    But as they approached the fortress that was now claimed for Viznove on a path paved in still grumpily confused stones woken from deep sleep beneath the earth and freshly cut then polished, worn and smoothed by sorcerous whispers she could not seem to shake the terrible sense of weight.

    All the histories and ballads said that one should feel exalted to have felled a great many warriors in battle.

    But looking at the battlefield that ostensibly only still held the bodies of their foes Jewel could not see much of any difference between them and the people she had grown up with in Rochford.

    It did not feel triumphant, just confusing, distressing and sad.

    Far worse than she had felt from the felling of the wheat fields.

    But that was not what was proper.

    So she must be mistaken.

    Her Father was Good.

    He was Proud of her.

    So this must be Right.

    Somehow.

 11.2

    11.2

    When imagining the reason for this war, Jewel did not know what she expected.

    But it was not this.

    After all that he had done to upend her entire world, there was so much to be disappointed in and confused by with the reality of Gy?rgy Thurz¨®.

    For all the ostentatious claims made of his right to the farcical title of low king he was barely taller than her Squire Smithson.

    Furthermore, he was not particularly impressive even accounting that he was bereft of arms or armor as a prisoner should be.

    He was slight of build in the way that bound chords of twine over bone were, rather than the supple muscles of a knight.

    All around, he did not look, smell or sound like a lord befitting to rule over Father or the Count and Countess.

    He stank of fear and bone-deep weariness. The kind of exhaustion that its scent lingered even if one slept for days after it had lost its grip in the flesh.

    If not for his finer garb, he would not have been at all out of place as a younger headman of one of the villages of Rochford.

    Perhaps overwhelmed by new responsibilities, but not entirely bowed by them.

    Dark hair, bushy beard, lined face. A considering intelligent eye that despite the dour circumstances lit up at the sight of her.

    As they entered through the front gate Jewel could respect how he at least stood straight back as a count should.

    Even in defeat he was still afforded the honor of guard here in the courtyard of the fortress he had controlled until just yesterday.

    They were likewise unarmed but otherwise allowed armor and to bear his standard and that of the Realm.

    His was a curious heraldry, a field of blue and yellow with some great white bird in center. The figure reminded Jewel of a goose. But all in white with lines of black at its eyes.

    As their entourage marched into the fortress, the head of their party settled in front of the man who had claimed to be king over them all.

    Count Fiebron at the front, standing as Gy?rgy Thurz¨®¡¯s counterpart.

    To the count¡¯s right, Father towered over all but Jewel herself despite standing back as a counterpart honor guard to those afforded Thurz¨®.

    On the left was Baron Kliatbatrn.

    Jewel was settled in a loose coil behind all of them, Father having explicitly asked her to raise her head higher than even his or the count¡¯s for the purposes of intimidation.

    The rest of the Lords or their chosen representatives marched to encircle and display their banners proudly to Jewel¡¯s left and right. As discussed (and vehemently argued) prior in the morning¡¯s (significantly expanded) council, they each had taken a specific position as befitted their performance in the battle.

    Notably absent from the party was any Wizard but Jaksa the Red, who stood close to Jewel on her right, the Banner of Viznove raised high to catch the near noon sun.

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    As first among the generals, Fiebron opened the ceremony.

    ¡°Gy?rgy Thurz¨®, General and Lord on this field of the Realm of Blessed Cantor Reborn, the Solar Dynasty Apparent, and her armies on behalf of the Countess Bathory and her allies, I, Count Fiebron of Zehkhedge, am here to accept your surrender in honorable battle and withdrawal of all accusations and lies set against her person and to denounce and refute any claims you make to her lands or any other on their basis.¡±

    Thurz¨® scowled and looked around at all of them. Fixing a particularly hateful glare at Jaksa the Red.

    ¡°I acknowledge that you are victors, and for the sake of my men and those I sheltered here in this fortress from the Countess Bathory and her abominable lust for the blood of the innocent I have surrendered in this war. But you will have to drag such lies and false oaths from my corpse with the sorcery of your mistress¡¯ favorite accomplice.¡±

    He nodded to Jaksa the Red harshly and then spat on the ground.

    There was a stiffening among the lords present. But Fiebron did not even move in response, holding fast before he merely shook his head, that puffy mane of white that seemed blown to every wind of the world swaying with the motion.

    ¡°Enough of that nonsense, Gy?rgy! You made your play of it, it¡¯s plain as days and stars to every other count across the ridgetail valleys what you and the king were trying.¡±

    Jewel noted with some confusion that Thurz¨® was utterly shocked at this, but the shock turned to a shining eyed look as the count continued.

    ¡°I rallied to her banner because this was a monumental overstep! Take back your lies and we can send you home to your daughters and son. The war can be over.¡±

    Gy?rgy Thurz¨® just shook his head at that and turned to look Fiebron dead in the eyes, then turned and faced each of the lords in turn.

    Father and Kliatbatrn to start but meeting every eye after. Even the least of lord¡¯s representatives. Some were mere Knights, or in one case a Footman!

    And then he laughed, it was a strange sound.

    Ugly in some ways, relieved in others, horrified in more.

    He was stinking now with a scent that matched his laugh.

    He looked at Fiebron and then finally met Jewel¡¯s gaze and chuckled a bit softer before clearing his throat.

    ¡°Lies? You think my accusation against that monster in the guise of a Countess was Lies?!¡±

    He shakes his head and laughs again. His voice sounded wrong somehow, like something inside was breaking.

    ¡°You all took my word and bond as a lie to claim your lands?¡±

    He whispered softly.

    ¡°You want to send me back to my daughters? To my son and family?¡±

    He glared at Jaksa the Red.

    His voice rising with a fury Jewel had heard only once before.

    ¡°Then tell me where she is! Tell me what that witch did to my Marucha!¡±

    And then the voice turned softer and somehow harsher then the loudest shout.

    In a way far too familiar for Jewel¡¯s ear.

    ¡°Tell me where my daughter is.¡±

    Jewel had only heard such a fury once before.

    And it had been in her Father¡¯s voice.

 11.3

    11.3

    Jonathan glared at the Countess Bathory¡¯s Wizard. Jaksa the Red stood with a serenely contemplative mood across from their captive of war.

    There was not a hint that the Sorcerer was at all bothered by the accusation that had been leveled against him in public earlier. Neither out in the open nor now that the Generals, Jonathan and the Wizard were all here in a closed door council to discuss the details of the official surrender.

    The wizard¡¯s face bothered Jonathan. It was an expression that Alexander might make when he had stumbled onto an unfamiliar spelling of a familiar word.

    Or perhaps when one was trying to recall what they had for lunch a fortnight ago.

    It was not the expression one should have when being accused as an accomplice to murder of a fifteen year old lady by her father.

    ¡°I must admit to you, Lord Thurz¨®, that I cannot recall at this time if your daughter was among them.¡±

    Jonathan could not quite hold back his gasp. He glanced hard to his fellow vassal and confidant in that viper¡¯s nest that was the Kaeketeh court.

    Kliatbatrn¡¯s jaw clenched hard and then the man turned away from him.

    More than enough admission of some knowledge of it.

    He turned to Fiebron who shifted and flexed fingers, hands and arms in the familiar half-aborted language of Gryphon Riders in close quarters.

    A question to verify.

    Jonathan flexed and shifted himself with a denial, unseen movement.

    Thurz¨® shook his head and laughed. ¡°Among them?¡±

    He fixed Jonathan with a hard look and then made three sharp gestures wide and open with his hands.

    They would be easily visible from a hundred paces or more.

    The sign in Gryphon Cant to verify a flier had been spotted.

    Fiebron and Jonathan stared at the man who smiled, although his eyes were now downcast.

    A heavy breath whistled from his teeth as a sigh of relief and exhaustion.

    ¡°So at least two of you didn''t know. Probably most out there in the courtyard don¡¯t know? That their Countess is a monster that bathes in the blood of the innocent?¡±

    Jaksa the Red sighed and shook his head, tone that of a Father lecturing a son who had made a particularly stupid mistake.

    ¡°She is neither a monster nor does she bathe in the blood. And for the most part those that contribute are hardly what I would call innocent. Ladies of the night, Witches selling false cures, adulterers, vagabonds, peasant girls, unwanted street youth.¡±

    He huffed heavily.

    ¡°The stories and rumors around my Countess¡¯ condition and her treatment in the realm are sensationalized to absurdity. If half of them were true she would have depopulated all of Viznove a decade ago.¡±

    Thurz¨® glared at him.

    ¡°And yet you are not certain that my daughter, a lady of noble birth and impeccable virtue is not amongst them?¡±

    Jonathan felt a pit in his stomach growing deeper as he considered Marcis?aw Kliatbatrn¡¯s face. There was no denial there, no surprise, nothing but pained acceptance.

    He¡¯d known.

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    The Wizard spoke smoothly and calmly.

    ¡°I can¡¯t say I was present for the actual enacting of every ritual, the proper manner of it has been one the Countess Bathory and her handmaidens have been able to perform for well over twenty years now.¡±

    Twenty years?!

    Jonathan briefly wondered why everyone in the room was staring at him. Then he realized he had spoken that out loud.

    ¡°Yes, Lord Rochford, The Countess Bathory has been of ill humor since she was born. Her sight and body were routinely struck by accursed starsent visions that overwhelmed the senses.¡±

    The wizard¡¯s tone took on a heat that had been absent before.

    ¡°Plagued with blinding light and deafening sound, was as she described it. And a feebleness could strike her that was far beyond even a sheltered lady of her birth could expect. I¡¯ve attended her at her family''s request since before my assumption of the mantle of Wizard.¡±

    He smiled then, as if in a happy reverie of the past.

    ¡°It was my formulation of the very ritual which assures her good health and vigor that saw my start upon the path to my station.¡±

    Fiebron fixed Jaksa with a glare that seemed to slide off the Wizard entirely.

    ¡°And what, pray tell, is this Sorcerous ritual?¡±

    To which the delighted smile seemed to shine all the more.

    The disquietingly dark and slick hair of the Wizard almost seemed to ripple to Jonathan¡¯s eyes.

    ¡°Why, to trade life and vigor, via the blood of the whole for the illness of the wanting.¡±

    Thurz¨® shook his head at that and pointed at Jaksa.

    ¡°She has had her accursed life drawn out longer than it had any right, the witch should have perished before she ever flowered! She Inspired a Sorcerer of blood as a child! Is there any further proof you need that she''s a monster? She murders to extend her own life!¡±

    Again Jaksa made that condescending sigh that if it had been directed at Jonathan might have brought him to punch the man. Wizard or no.

    ¡°Of all the daft peasant tales and witch words you idiot of a man! None of the feedstock perish from the ritual.¡±

    That struck Thurz¨® still. His eyes suddenly wide.

    A bit of a near manic light suddenly shining.

    ¡°They live?¡±

    Jaksa the red scowled across the way at their captive.

    ¡°Assuming that she was somehow taken by mistake in the last four years? Yes, absolutely. She should be merely woozy and perhaps a bit out of sorts from spending a year or so in the countess¡¯ care asleep.¡±

    There was a sagging relief and all the strength seemed to go out of their captive. He looked hollow and yet inexcusably happy.

    ¡°But assuming she is amongst those the Countess Bathory draws vigor from for her health? Then yes she is fine. Easily returned to you. I presume that producing your missing daughter and giving her to you will suffice for you to withdraw all accusations against the Countess as we have already offered? Since no murder has in fact occurred?¡±

    There was nothing in the near-broken looking man that was Gy?rgy Thurz¨®. Just a relieved smile and a nod.

    Then Jaksa nodded and the Wizard intoned with a voice that struck the air and the stone and deep into the bone and out through the flesh.

    ¡°I swear on the blood of my covenant that I shall restore to you the daughter you have lost.¡±

    And in that declaration none could deny the truth of that.

    They moved out of the chamber, Jonathan staying back as Gy?rgy and Fiebron left, then Jaksa.

    He waited till his friend in court, who had briefly seemed to betray his daughter and him was the last to exit. Then he leaned in close and asked the question he most feared the answer too.

    ¡°What would happen to the girl if it had been five years since she was taken by the countess?¡±

    Marcis?aw Kliatbatrn turned and stared at him and there was nothing but a sunken horror in that gaze.

    He whispered back quietly.

    ¡°She¡¯d be worse than dead.¡±

 11.4

    11.4

    Today they were finally returning home.

    Jewel still slept poorly, but she was invigorated in spite of it with the thought that this morning they were starting the march back to Rochford. It would be a short visit, and it would still be moving with the army initially until they split off after crossing the borders of Viznove.

    The air still felt bad in this place.

    The stones were grumpy when she noticed a wizard attempting sorcery on them. Although they were not unkind to her, the sense of the ill temper bothered her.

    She was glad they would be leaving this angry land for home.

    There was the trifling matter that Father and Jewel would not be staying in Rochford longer than a night.

    First they needed to travel to Kaeketeh so that Thurz¨® could be reunited with his daughter and the final terms of the surrender and end of the war could be completed.

    After all, the crime would be a proven lie if there had not in fact been a murder and on those grounds Count Thurz¨® was willing to accept the dishonor of declaring his accusations as false and refusing the accolades offered by the high king in rulership over the other counties it had entitled him too.

    But leaving the battlefield and its surroundings was enough for Jewel just now.

    Jewel was glad that the man, for how awfully he had overturned her life, had not in fact lost his daughter to some terrible fate by the Countess Bathory.

    Father had not elucidated the full nature of the misunderstanding, only that the girl had apparently been taken as a criminal in Kaeketeh three years ago and rumor had eventually led the Count Thurz¨® to believe there had been a murder.

    Jewel found her thoughts drifting to the carrion left in the battlefield, some of them reclaimed by the townsfolk or possibly their families. Others were swallowed down by the Viznove Gryphons, and the rest picked at by vultures and beasts of the wood.

    So many dead for what might have been a coveting of her person by one and a case of misunderstanding by another?

    It left her feeling as if everything about this was deeply wrong.

    But no, Father had already assured her that she had been right and honorable in this war.

    It was just her childish worry.

    She was just being troubled over things that did not matter.

    Like with the wheat harvests.

    Jewel needed to focus, until they reached the first Village past the borders of Viznove they were still an army on the march, and there were duties for her.

    With the battle won and the war, if not quite finished, at least postponed until next year, there was less need for scouting. But with her might shown in full to tens of thousands, there was also no longer a point to hold her back from the responsibilities she and the other fliers had.

    On the relaxed, three-day march back to Viznove, it was finally Jewel¡¯s turn to guard and assist in the forage.

    A duty made all the more important for the losses their Gryphon Riders had suffered in the battle.

    And though they had restocked their supply from the granaries of the fortress and buoyed the mood of the Levy, Footmen and Knights with treasures from those that had been kept within, forage was still a vital task on this march back.

    There was still the never-ending hunger yawning in the beast that was the army.

    Every man needed good supply on this march back and then packs enough of ration or coin to make his way home once the army dispersed in Viznove.

    The Generals and Lords were adamant in this, although none saw the need to explain why.

    It just was assumed that soldiers within allied borders without proper provisions for their way home was a disaster to avoid most ominously.

    So Jewel flew differently than she had on the march to battle.

    Instead of staying above the loose pack of a hundred mixed soldiers, she watched ahead and occasionally dipped low to correct their route towards the village she had spied for forage. One that had been avoided on their first march through these lands.

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    Her charges made their way along the sparse trails that tangled through the surrounding forest and along the wider road.

    Among Jewel¡¯s foragers were Knights, Footmen, a mounted lord from a Zekhedge demesne to supervise and assist, a captain of the footmen and a trailing gaggle of men and women who would assist in the gathering and securing of the foraged treasure and supply.

    Some of the lords frowned upon the practice of having women amongst the foragers but Jewel¡¯s particular lord seemed amiable to it.

    It might have something to do with the captain¡¯s wife being among them but Jewel was not entirely sure if it was this group or another that had been rumored amongst the army.

    It would explain why the woman dressed in not-quite-noble finery, riding astride a charger, was talking animatedly to the captain while she led a pack mule loaded up with empty sacks and baskets.

    The couple reminded Jewel of how some of the married peddlers that passed through Rochford would talk as they departed from their business in town, either laden with goods, coins or both on their departure.

    They seemed in good spirits like those peddlers had been, and it lifted Jewels mood some.

    So probably a wife and husband?

    Whatever the case, Jewel was happy to simply be able to do something unambiguously productive and good after the turmoil the battle still left her in.

    Their supplies were still tight on the return, a few of the Gryphon feed-goats were slaughtered in celebration but a dozen animals were hardly more than a bit of flavor for the thousands of men in the army.

    So, forage.

    Jewel had seen the village during scouting on their way in almost half a season ago, but it was not included in the first bit of forage.

    Oh dear! Some of the men were drifting towards the wrong wood trail!

    Filling her coils to near bursting with Wyrmflame, Jewel folded her wings tight and began to sink. Clenching hard to keep her weight strong enough for the dive but light enough she would be able to rise from the dip beneath the tree line after.

    It was a rapid rush of foliage, leaves, and the shouted yelp of the wandering levy and footmen.

    Her voice pitched just a bit louder than the rush of wind and leaves around her passing.

    ¡°Left Path, Sirs.¡±

    Her duty done Jewel already was ascending out.

    Smooth and gentle through the forest and then with a swelling in her chest and one quick half-stroke of her wings, Jewel was sailing back up and out through a gap in the branches. Once clear of the tree line her wings shot wide and she pushed her flame from them in the manner of the Gryphons.

    It was not as strong or as wide, the wake she could manage was far shorter than even the youngest Gryphon whelp.

    But wyrmflame reaching out a good half again her span past each wing finger was still more air to push against as she climbed.

    And with the rest of her flame lightening her coils even more, it made her ascent almost as rapid as the more junior Gryphon Riders.

    With the soldiers in that flank of the approach pulling back in line to make it to the village on time, Jewel nodded proudly.

    Without need to dip in to correct anymore she held back as she flew. Staying distant whenever she might give the village a clear line of her.

    Father had been adamant that before the men reached the village she should stay back. Then only once they were spotted and well past the edge of the wood she should make a few passes to announce them.

    He recommended a similar call to that she had used in Kaeketeh. If not louder if she could manage to make sure to be heard by all.

    Jewel was told it was better to lock the foreign villagers in fear then to risk the men having to chase them down and away.

    There was mostly no concern that the scattered army that had rallied to Thurz¨® would be a risk, but just in case stragglers turned to banditry it was best for the foraging teams to not be drawn out and split up.

    Ambushes could slay hundreds if allowed to snare their men or otherwise catch them distant from support.

    Jewel¡¯s duty in the air was to provide warning of just such surprises, as well as aid in humbling the foreigners enough they would part with the supply asked of them.

    The smoke from hearths drifted into the air from houses just out of sight at her angle.

    The forest below her was familiar and rich with the scent and sounds of Late Grain Turn.

    It was peaceful and soothing to fly like such without the worry of battle or the sound of the dying.

    On her seventh circuit of the forest borders of the village that peace was broken by the ungrateful screams of the peasants.

    It brought back the phantom sense of weight that had lingered after the battle.

    However, that was her cue.

    Jewel climbed high and breathed deeply.

    Filling her throat and lungs with air as she made her way to cross over the village center.

    A glance showed that, but for the specific placements of wells, houses, temple and granaries it was much like Father¡¯s own village in Rochford.

    Same thatch, same simple works.

    Same use of rough timbres on some and even cut on others.

    Same work in the fields. Mostly the kind that was the very start of tasks that would be in full swing during Debt Season.

    Jewel held her breath a moment, feeling her throat clench uncomfortably before she forced herself past it.

    Like she had forced past her distress of the cries of the wheat.

    It was the same here.

    Jewel gave a call announcing herself and the forage.

    Her voice echoed off the mountains, left stillness and silence beyond it.

 11.5

    11.5

    Betty rode along behind the menfolk with only a bit of a shiver to her spine.

    That roar had made short work of any resistance or will to flee in the village she was joining the forage on.

    She told her acquaintances and family who didn''t know the camp town lifestyle of all the lucrative and downright profitable business of being a captain¡¯s wife on the campaign.

    But if Viznove was going to be in the habit of fielding that absolute beauty of a beast called The Shining Wyrm?

    Well then lucrative was just down right inadequate a word for the spoils and riches she and her dear Odolf were going to make every few summers.

    She¡¯d long gotten used to the bone shaking chills that a Gryphon Howl brought to a village under forage.

    But that beast could roar in a way like nothing else.

    Ever since her fourth campaign following Odolf to war she¡¯d been mostly fine with Gryphon howls. She¡¯d married him when he was a footman and against her mother¡¯s advice decided to pack up their home on a hand wagon and follow him to the first war he was called to.

    At the time Betty freely admitted she had been thinking a lot less with her head than her loins in that particular matter. They had only just been married the day before that muster had been called.

    And she¡¯d heard plenty of stories about what happened in the war camps with so called ¡®war wives¡¯ and she¡¯d courted Odolf for two years without him being called before he finally caught on and proposed to her.

    But driven by passion or later good sense, Betty was confident it had been the best decision she could have made.

    When they had returned heavier in coin and goods then they left and richer one horse and a proper wagon from just the one war, Odolf and her Mother had both been begrudgingly convinced she made the right call.

    And after that fruitful year, Betty happily marched out with him in the camp-village to every battle since. And joined him on every forage he was sent on.

    Between wars she made a tidy sum peddling in Kaeketeh too. Enough for them to pay the fees for some rooms in the middle district where guilds and lesser nobles stalked the streets like hungry foxes at a hen house.

    But all the real silver was in War and picking up after the army.

    And when another war flared up, her little family packed up their belongings, closed their account with the owner of their room (these days rooms) and headed off with the camp followers.

    First it had been just her on her lonesome following Odolf and making sure his clothes were cared for, then their children each in turn joined along the march.

    And it had been a very good life for all of them.

    This war alone, she¡¯d already gotten twelve good spears, twenty four intact helms and six sets of solid armor in cloth, leather and metal ring with only a good wash needed to get the blood, piss and shit out of the worst of them.

    The heraldry would need to be stripped from some of the garments and she might have to send some of the less commonly worn colors to get their dyes bleached and redone but lords all over Viznove always needed more armor and arms for their levies, footmen or even knights.

    Good silver coin in those and it took only a bit of knowing the right laundresses in the cities and towns along the road that are willing to work with a war wife.

    Frustrating stigma that was.

    But Betty could not blame them, she¡¯d had thought worse of the women who chased the army herself before she came along to be one of them. But even the ones that actually did the less proper things for the unmarried soldiers were far more cordial and nice in their manners than she had expected.

    It was by all accounts downright unfair the reputations those girls got for doing a good service for good pay to support the soldiers that marched with them all.

    And she knew none among them were cheap with their virtue either.

    Half the coin she made tended to flow through those particular hands, and by the gossip of it that silver was half being paid to do not much of anything but hold the barely out of boyhood fresh levy or tired older man and let them shed a tear where none would judge them or tell.

    At least not to their faces.

    The ladies gossiped plenty amongst themselves and the other womenfolk in the camp.

    Oh the stories Betty heard about some of the hardest most frightfully scarred footmen and captains and even once a knight going into a tent for some sporting relief only for it to be them bawling like a babe against a maybe under-dressed bosom until they fell asleep.

    It took a few campaigns, but Betty had shed just about every one of her fool girl notions of just what a war wife was even at its most irreputable.

    Stars of Fortune Claim her Betty usually had Maszota watch her kids this campaign while she was out here working the forage or picking over the battlefield.

    Really, the so-called women of ill-repute were often absolutely amazing with the kids. Especially the older madams that more managed the others then did the business these days.

    And besides, Betty as a proper married woman did none of that and still some peasants would put her in the same pen as them. Treat her like she was going to curse them as soon as touch them.

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    Betty was a proper working woman keeping her family in food and clothes just like them, not her fault they had not caught onto the riches to be made following the army.

    But for all the campaigns she had followed Odolf on with their livelihood in tow and kids bouncing along in the march, this one was proving to be the best so far.

    Really if you had told that over-gangly girl chasing her freshly married boy of a man to war that a beast right out of legend would be flying ahead of her to pacify a village and nearly single handedly turn the tide of a battle between close to eighty thousand men?

    Well, she probably would not even believe you now without having seen it with her own two eyes.

    The pale white glare of that thing¡¯s strikes had shone stark through the trees where she and the others waited. That was the tensest part of the work of a war wife. When you huddled away from the battle to either flee for the camp or descend on the battle to strip the choicest bits.

    But with Lady Jewel The Shining Wyrm on their side?

    All those worries were a thing of the past!

    Betty never met the beast herself, but the gossip among the soldiers and the men and women of the camp village was the wyrm was the sweetest thing.

    And she was certainly gonna thank the lovely dragon wyrm beast lady with all her heart if she ever came by the followers camp.

    Seemed maybe something about the camp did not agree with the beast though.

    Well that was fine, here Betty was lucky enough to have that power to cover her for the forage on the safe leg of the march home!

    Well, it was not exactly luck really, since Odolf had asked that his band get overseen by the wyrm personally. And being the fine captain he was, his lord for the campaign agreed and so he had gotten this whole situation for Betty because he was the sweetest to her like that!

    But either wise, Betty was feeling good about how plentiful the silver would be at the end of this campaign. She already had filled up three of her bags and a few baskets with good garments, rough but usable cloth and some of the nicer metal tools available. As well as a few boxes of fine salt and some spices for peddling in the camp.

    And of course, as was the required due, she also made sure that a few sacks were filled up on grain or other easy foodstuffs to be handed over to the army cooks on their return.

    And then there were the more luxury goods.

    Betty herself, with the help of Odolf and his present batch of levies, had secured seven very fine peasant girls.

    The fresh flowers were tied up proper with some rough cloth twist bindings. Not proper rope of course, the lass¡¯s were hardly going to break free, no point wasting it on them.

    The roar of that wonderful dragon had shocked almost the entire village like statues until it was far too late.

    Made the whole matter far less bloody, which was always good for the comfort trade with Maszota¡¯s tent.

    A quick inspection had proven these fine ones would go over well.

    ¡°Come on then girls! Don¡¯t any of you worry bout a thing, we will only be keeping you for the night and then you can run off home!  We¡¯re all good ridgetail folk here. None of ya even so much as bruised by us yeah? All your families are safe right?¡±

    A few of them gave hesitant nods, but most were wide eyed and fearful.

    There were tears too.

    Which of course the peasant girls were not all smiles. Betty could understand, she wouldn''t be joyous of things either in their shoes back when she was so young to be worth the bother. But if they were marching with an army through Kaeketeh, she didn''t expect they¡¯d do her any better a turn then this given the option.

    So it was no concern of her except that they were left unmarked til they settled in camp.

    The Lords and the Ladies went to war, and all anyone else could do is make the most of it.

    Betty considered the height and fullness of their youngest and the looks of those not under her  Odolf¡¯s command. It was probably best for them to start walking back to camp now despite the forage still only being half done.

    She didn''t want to rush them and Maszota was going to owe more than just a day¡¯s babysitting for this good a haul.

    She gave a tug to the twisted line of cloth that had been tied around their wrists to hold them in a line with her.

    ¡°Come along, if none of you girls make a fuss on the way there I can promise you a hot bath, a good meal and five Pfennig for your troubles tonight.¡±

    To be fair they were going to get everything but the Pfennig either way. Clean costs more after all.

    But that still perked them up a bit which Betty appreciated.

    She was going to squeeze Maszota for triple that a head so it was no real loss. And she¡¯d listened to the barter over girls of a similar comeliness earlier in the campaign. Her friend was likely to charge double or more than that herself, quadruple if it was a lord or knight.

    Even if she had to pacify the girls with herbs or wine beforehand so they didn''t fuss over the boys, that would be plenty of profit going to Mazvota even after Betty¡¯s cut.

    A lot of them were definitely worth more than a half day watching the kids.

    Betty nodded and hollered over to her husband.

    ¡°Odolf! I¡¯m full up enough here, be heading back so the girls have time to wash up and get a meal before tonight! Keep an eye on the boys!¡±

    Her husband turned briefly to watch her, nod and smile before turning back to shout at one of the peasants who had started to move out of place when she distracted him.

    The shadow of their overwatch passed over all of them then, the girls froze in shock at even the reminder of what circled overhead.

    Even though Betty knew that the wyrm was on her side, she still had to shake loose the tremble that had rooted her in place at that first call when the forage had begun.

    There were simply no words for the roar of a dragon.

    It had struck silent the entire countryside.

    And even this brief shade to remind them had frozen the girls and all the villagers.

    Betty had to jerk hard on the cloth tying her current prized spoils to bring them back to their senses and get to walking.

    ¡°Come on! The sooner we get to camp the sooner this will all be over and you can return home girls.¡±

    Betty glanced up to the almost golden looking scales catching the sunlight of the aptly named Shining Wyrm of Viznove.

    Then turned to face the road to camp. Burdened Mule and peasant girls in tow.

    Yes Betty was certain that with a dragon flying to campaign the wars to come were going to be so very lucrative indeed.

    She might even be able to open up a proper shop in a few more campaigns!

 11.6

    11.6

    Jewel circled overhead, watching the villagers clump up as the Captains and other soldiers secured supply and treasure in the forage.

    Some of the women were taken into houses by the men, some of the younger girls and boys were tied up loosely in what looked like bolts of cloth. But no one fought back, no one hurled stones or fired arrows.

    She thought that was good?

    It was what her duty was supposed to be.

    Make sure the forage finishes swiftly and with no need for violence or loss of life.

    Father¡¯s advice to roar loud and fierce seemed to work very well for that.

    She stayed high in the air to watch for signs of ambush or splinters of Thurz¨®¡¯s former army. Or maybe even just regular brigands seeking to exploit the opportunity.

    Or even wandering lair spawn or other monsters.

    But there was no sign of them. For miles in her sight there was no sight of any danger at all. She wanted to come down and see and smell and hear how this village might differ from the others she had seen.

    That however was not her duty today.

    A flier in the army needed to be dutiful.

    Jewel was the over watch for the foragers, her sight was meant to protect them and from the air was where she could see farthest and intervene fastest if there was danger.

    But the woods were bereft of monsters, brigands or anyone who was not a peasant or allied with them. It was in fact still and all but silent except in the very center of the town.

    There was some kind of discussion or peddling of business happening between the captain in command of the forage and what she¡¯d guess was the Village (more of a hamlet really) headman.

    Jewel recognized those gestures as being heated waving and signs of anger and though she could not hear or smell anything from here to be sure it was not something with deeper malice there was no concern in the captain about an old man bereft of arms and surrounded by levy and fully trained footmen.

    The arms of the old man continued to move angrily, the only motion from any of the peasants. The rest mostly huddled together or glanced up at Jewel.

    What whiffs of scent drifted into the air this high stank of fear and anger. So pungent it lasted all the way up without being fully dispersed.

    But Jewel expected that.

    Most people were afraid of her even when she was being perfectly polite.

    The anger too made sense.

    Peasants always preferred to keep everything to themselves if they could.

    Her books were very clear on that and she¡¯d not seen anything to suggest otherwise in father¡¯s demesne or her brief journeys beyond.

    Still, Jewel wished that the forage could have been a gentler affair.

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    That she would not be needed to take overwatch at all like this and instead walk down there amongst them.

    Perhaps after the matter with the King is settled and Thurz¨® absolves Countess Bathory of his charges against her, Jewel might travel this way and visit? Surely there might be some business Father has this direction? Jewel would like to apologize and perhaps give some Rochford generosity to win them over?

    There was also a subtle and yet implacable sourness to the air all around her that seemed to be present and yet not at all.

    But that had been with them since she took wind. Must be something rotting in the highlands maybe?

    Hmm, some of the camp followers that had joined the foragers were walking off back to camp already?

    Bringing some of the peasant girls with them.

    That was odd.

    And a bit of a problem as they did not have guards. And Jewel was told to stay with the foragers.

    But Father had also told her to think more for herself when she saw a situation that she¡¯d not been explicitly ordered to deal with. For her to take more initiative.

    She was technically not required to watch anyone but the Foragers that were officially part of the army.

    But she was pretty sure one of the camp followers leaving was the captain¡¯s wife. The colors of the dress were right and no one else had come on forage dressed like that, riding a charger with a mule in tow.

    It would be no good to let anything happen to her.

    Jewel pumped her wings to ascend higher. Climbing to get a better view of the little train of figures with donkey and a mildly fine dressed woman on a charger at its head.

    High enough to see the road clear to where it met with the patrols of the camp guards.

    It was a strain on her eyes from this distance to discern anything too clearly, but when she was sure that the guards had caught up to the little group and was escorting them to the side of the camp with the laundry and hot bath pots, Jewel felt satisfied.

    It looked like they were just offering the girls a bath.

    That seemed more than fair.

    A hot bath was a wonderful gift in compensation for a bit of food and trinkets.

    Jewel turned from the camp and descended in lazy circles back closer to the village so she could better discern the actions of the forage.

    It looked like they were just about done. Packs were being loaded and some of the less adventurous camp followers were waiting around for the actual footmen and levy to begin marching back.

    Jewel turned on the wing and offered them the Flight Cant of clear skies. But the only one to respond was another Gryphon Rider who was circling one of the other hamlets under forage.

    The tilt of Gryphon Wings confirmed that he too saw no danger from the air.

    Jewel wished that the riders had better eyes.

    It was even more limited to try and have a conversation when all you could do was bank and open or close your wings very expansively to communicate. Even when she could see their arm gestures most of the time they could not spot hers.

    It made for very one sided conversations.

    Jewel glanced down again and sighed into the flurries of the wind.

    They were underway now. Moving in a guarded close march along the road, as opposed to the spread out approach they had made.

    The loaded pack mules and a few more girls and men from the village in the center.

    Jewel supposed that they were going to get baths too, given the hour they were arriving, probably a hot meal from the army cooks as well.

    That was probably what the argument was about.

    Who would get to go and benefit from the army¡¯s hospitality.

    Jewel¡¯s spirits felt lighter than they had since the battle.

    It had been a good day, she had done her duty.

    She was glad no one was hurt.

 11.7

    11.7

    Jewel was still feeling heavy this morning.

    She was sleeping poorly, visions of men dressed in levy cloth maile little different than Rochford¡¯s own caught briefly in the white glare of her Wyrmflame haunted her dreams.

    The smell of petrichor and lightning mingling in the subtle hint of old dry ashbeds from long burnt out fires.

    Whole men, trees and branches caught in sharp contrast against white and then washed away.

    But all of that was not the worst, for beneath everything there was something that had been so profoundly present that Jewel had needed days to fully notice what it was.

    A terrible, haunting keening yet ran through all of the world.

    And now that she had fully acknowledged the wail that had never really fully stopped Jewel could not ignore it.

    The world all around her quietly wept.

    Soft enough she had not realized the mourning never ended since the battle but now it was undeniable.

    A Weird was gone and though Jewel did not feel any less welcome by the stones and earth and trees all around her, they all knew she had done it.

    It hurt worse for the lack of malice or even disapproval from the world.

    Jewel had smelled hate.

    She had smelled fear.

    Anger and so much more.

    There had never been such a thing felt against her from the world.

    The other Wizards and their sorcery had instigated grumbles and even hints of genuine wroth and agitation. But Jewel¡¯s memory held none of it directed at herself.

    Yet the wind knew that there would never again be whispers spoken by the Weird of Fortress to it.

    Although he rarely had before she could feel the dashed hope that he might.

    The stones and wood were closer to him than that and they mourned in the dead heartwood of every tree that would never be known to him as timber and support.

    Jewel was surrounded by a silent wailing and she¡¯d not realized it.

    It had been days and they were long distant from the place he fell.

    But the world mourned for him in spite of the distance and time.

    Something had been taken from it.

    Yet in spite of how terribly and fully she could feel that it was by her act and hers alone, Jewel could not find a single mote of malice felt against her by anything.

    Not among earth or soil.

    Nor in the sky.

    Not in the rain or water.

    The stones had hated Fizzbunches more for disturbing their pain then they felt ill of her for causing it.

    Everywhere she could feel the mourning for the one she had killed.

    The gaping, sucking void of his absence.

    And Jewel knew the world understood she had done it.

    But it judged her not for this pain.

    It accepted it was her will that took him from them.

    Yet they sought no punishment or recompense from her for it.

    And that made it so much worse.

    It had been four days after the battle and two days on the march and still everything seemed to ache for want of someone that Jewel had not even known existed before the battle.

    How could everywhere miss The Weird Veoul of Fortresses this much?!

    And now that she realized what she had felt, Jewel could not find the will to ignore it again.

    This morning, instead of coming to breakfast, she had trudged out of her tent and sat down. Curled up with the much diminished herd of goats for griffon feed and stared at the stones and dirt in their pen.

    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Even the pebbles seemed to almost be crying for him.

    Crying and at the same time somehow wishing her well, wishing her comfort.

    It made her want to admonish them for their kindness.

    But it was like how some village widows acted after the loss of their man or a child. They had eyes red raw with tears and yet they were all smiles for the surviving children and the others in the village.

    All smiles and wishing them well even when you could smell and see the hurt and pain so full up inside them they could not stop it from leaking out.

    Brimming up in the eyes and seeping out in the sweat.

    A pain so deep and awful it could not be contained without breaking its vessel.

    And yet they didn''t want anyone to worry for their sake.

    Didn''t want her to worry for them.

    Only Jewel had murdered him.

    Slain him dead as sure as if she had bitten him in half with her jaws.

    Which the pebbles acknowledged of course in their slow sleepy puppy like way, but she certainly must have had her very good reasons and they understood and trusted that she had to have it happen don¡¯t worry Jewel.

    Don¡¯t mind that even the smallest pebbles felt cracked inside for his death. She must have had a good reason for it.

    They would make do without.

    Like this void in every blade of grass and breath of air was somehow only as inconvenient as a piece of bread she had eaten out of turn.

    The pebbles didn''t talk, they never really spoke. Jewel had oftentimes wished they would instead of this kind of fuzzy knowing she had of them.

    Now she was glad there were not actual words of comfort bubbling up from the little sad stones.

    She¡¯d thought the cry had ended shortly after the battle.

    If it had been an actual sound it would have.

    There was only so quiet and small a sound could become.

    But whatever the whispery words of the world were, they had no such limits. The stones did not have breath.

    Their voice was not made with a throat.

    Their pain could rise as high and spread as thin as anything in the world.

    Would Jewel be hearing this pain slowly grow thinner and quieter forever?

    Smithson was there now for some reason.

    The goats were gone.

    The camp was mostly packed up.

    ¡°Lady Jewel? Are... are you alright?¡±

    A Weird was gone and Jewel could still hear everything screaming in a very tiny and sharp way for his absence.

    How could she be alright?

    ¡°Lady Jewel?¡±

    How could she have ever been alright and somehow ignored this?

    A hand was on her trembling scales.

    When did her hide start quaking like that? Rippling up and down her body in waves like ripples in a pond that somehow never ended.

    A large hand that was warm as flesh could be was on her and had somehow stilled the shivers she never even realized were there.

    It was warm but at once nothing really at all compared to the heat she could withstand.

    What was the flesh of a man compared to the fires of an oven?

    Jewel looked up from the weeping pebbles to find her Father.

    Whose hand while warm now felt barely any different from ice.

    He had pain and fear in his face. Felt for her of course.

    Worry and comfort and love too in those eyes and in the scent of him.

    But he could not understand this.

    He did not know sorcery.

    Had never felt the world or the life in it like Jewel had.

    She needed to explain but who would know.

    A Weird was gone-

    ¡°Tsulogothulan... F-father I need to speak to Tsulogothulan¡±

    She saw a wince, a pain there and deepened worry and fear. But he nodded.

    ¡°If that will help, I will see that they are fetched for you, we need to set out to scout, but you will walk with the Gryphon caravan today. Speak to the Wizard on the way if it will help.¡±

    He paused, his hand still on her scales, feeling warm and full of life and barely different from dead ice.

    ¡°But if there is anything I can help you with, come talk with me. Your Father is no stranger to the horror of war.¡±

    Then after a ruffle of her mane he was walking off to his duties, to ride Zephyrvam in the watch.

    To fill in the gaps in their fliers that Jewel now left probably.

    But he had commanded.

    Jewel was a Dutiful Daughter.

    She would trust him.

    But for now she needed to talk to someone who could understand.

 11.8

    11.8

    Jewel walked with Tsulogothulan as they spoke of the mourning world around them.

    ¡°Those that don¡¯t know better call it a death curse.¡±

    It seemed odd to be so casual about speaking of this here on the road where the goatherds and other pack drivers for the Gryphon caravan could hear.

    But if a Weird did not seem concerned with mere men hearing sorcerous secrets then Jewel had little reason to dissuade them.

    ¡°And those that know better?¡±

    Tsulogothulan was quiet as they walked and when they spoke there was far less word and voice in them then there was wind in reeds, croak of frogs and the shifting of gloopy mire and slow water.

    Maybe a bit of the hum of heavy rain at a distance.

    ¡°One day, I will either die or sink so deep into my truth that I will neither speak nor think in any way but my waters and my mud and its reeds and little swimming, flying and crawling things does.¡±

    Jewel watched the Weird.

    The way they moved, there was a hint of a knee pressing against the robe only every other step or so, despite them ever sliding forward beside Jewel.

    There were not really any footprints left behind. But a kind of sodden living moistness in the road where they had been.

    And Jewel could hear the chirping of frogs, the sound of strange bird cries and the rattling of dry reeds.

    ¡°If I should perish before I find my way fully into my waters I can tell you Uloghai will be in such a terrible wroth and fury the likes of which no living thing not of it could safely pass its skies or step on its earth. And not even Fizzbunches could touch its waters and leave unscathed.¡±

    Jewel blinked at that. Then she looked around, feeling the ache of loss but there was nothing like the fury described.

    The Weird noticed her craning neck and laughed like a frog. Or perhaps croaked amusedly in a manner resembling a human.

    ¡°We are nowhere near the dominion of Veoul, but even if we were, his way is much kinder and more civil than mine. Fortresses are made things, meant for men and like Fizzbunches and Ghergeintat even in its sorrow, I doubt it will turn its hate to anything but an enemy set on siege.¡±

    The Weird nodded as if they had convinced themselves.

    ¡°Not any more than the anguish of Uloghai at my passing would harm a single tadpole in its waters or a heron in its fog. It¡¯s not what I¡¯d want for it. But anyone else? Striding through the waters without me there to care for them? I trust that my bog will drag their corpses deep and pickle every last one of them. Unto a hundred years or more if it can help it. Good send off, that.¡±

    Jewel could only stare at her friend.

    To want that to happen?

    But then what would Jewel wish for her family or Alexander if she had to fall?

    Jewel was unsure, she¡¯d never put much thought into it. It was not a musing children were supposed to make.

    But still this endless keening pain all around her was something the Weird understood. It made sense to them.

    Maybe they knew how to stop it?

    ¡°And... how would I make the pain stop? I mean... if it was you, what could I do to ease the suffering of your domain?¡±

    Tsulogothulan tripped to a shuddering and deeply unnerving stop.

    Jewel was absolutely certain for most of their march the Weird didn''t even have legs.

    But somehow the undulating indeterminate mass of slick black which was as likely mud and reeds as it was cloth stumbled.

    ¡°Ease the suffering... you¡¯d do that? You could do that?¡±

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    That single eye was fixed on Jewel and though they had tripped, stumbled and even stopped now it was as if Jewel was somehow dragging the weird along by their eye.

    Jewel for her part nodded hard at the silly question.

    ¡°Well of course, if just the rocks and stones and air who barely knew him are so hurt by the loss of Veoul I can¡¯t even imagine how much Uloghai Bog would miss you. Is there anything that could help?¡±

    The Weird was silent. Blinking slowly once, twice, pausing still and then three more times. Staring at Jewel in a kind of baffled wonder.

    The wake of moistness was getting a bit deeper, more water and muck and speckled with weeds.

    Jewel slowly moved their path to the side of the road so that the soldiers would not have an unfortunate surprise.

    The Weird for their part kept the position relative to Jewel through the process but did not speak for enough time the sun shifted across the sky.

    Finally after Jewel had thought that would be the end of it a quiet, whispery voice rolled free.

    It was rounder than any Jewel had ever heard from Tsulogothulan before. So round and soft voweled that the words were not really the same at all. But Jewel had spoken to a Wizard that could only convey meaning in autumn wind and this was so laced in the whispering of sorcery that she practically knew it before she heard it.

    ¡°When pa didin¡¯t get better we tied him up in fetherflax and painted his brow on with the woad brew. We each zoulthoag and me and little itzy and ma and dama all cried hard and yelled at the smoke and the fog one after ¡®nother then all together. Just like old witch whithoulga did afore when her son drownded.¡±

    There was a shudder and something more like a child¡¯s sob then any noise Jewel had ever heard from Tsulogothulan. It was not a boggy sound, it was a human sound.

    But somehow so wet and thick in the lung it made Jewel worried for her friend¡¯s health. There were bubbles in it popping with the words.

    ¡°Then, after we put him under the water with stones on his chest and in his shoes and mouth. And everyone yelled again. He sank deep into the wight water where your na s¡¯posed tae drink, fish or frog around. Even if some the biggest shoals swim there.¡±

    There was a nod there and finally the eye turned away. But Jewel could not say what the Weird was actually looking at.

    ¡°And then we had a big fire, and drank from a brew with ma and dama and even little itzy. We all talked about pa all night. We cried some bout what he did that was sad now. But more we laughed and we sang a song of him and Zoulthoag danced so hard and fast she fell over and was sick from spinning but Dama told tale of how pa had done just the same afore when he danced first with ma.¡±

    There was a shudder then, a wet squelching sound and a clenched eye closing so hard and deep it sank all the way into Tsulogothulan¡¯s featureless scythe of a nose.

    There was a deeply swollen silence there.

    Then the eye emerged from the side looking away from Jewel with an especially wet plop and a black shrouded hand coming up to rub at it.

    ¡°If ye-¡±

    There was a wet cough that sounded like bone was coming loose from something meaty and then Tsulogothulan was speaking round but familiar words again.

    ¡°If you would drop some stones in memory of me in the waters where I-¡±

    Another disturbingly wet almost tearing sound.

    ¡°Where my home once stood. And light a fire for me, speak of me as you knew me with others that... with the other wizards. For a night by the fire with good food and drink. I think that might soothe Uloghai in its sorrow.¡±

    Jewel nodded to her friend and turned her attention to the keening in the wind.

    To the sobs in the earth.

    To the brittle near cracking grief in the stone deep beneath.

    Jewel nodded again, harder and with a flame now building in her heart.

    She spoke gently.

    ¡°If you should perish before finding your way deep into your waters I promise I will. And thank you for telling me my friend.¡±

    To which the Weird stared at her. Twisting their head around so the eye which seemed far more red rimmed then Jewel had ever seen it could stare in confusion.

    ¡°Thanks for what?¡±

    Jewel flexed her wings and plotted what she would do when they reached camp.

    ¡°For showing me what I must do.¡±

    She would need to arrange a meeting with Count Thurz¨® to start.

 11.9

    11.9

    Father had been concerned when Jewel requested an audience with Count Thurz¨®.

    But when she explained her reasoning he had relented as long as he could attend the audience with her. Which of course Jewel would accept!

    He was her Father after all.

    Which brought her to the tent that was accommodating the Count and his guard.

    It was honestly more comfortable than Jewel or her Father¡¯s own tents.

    As a count escorted rather than a full prisoner of war he was allowed staff, personal guard and even a weapon.

    He marched with a good two hundred footmen and ten knights of Viznove as further escorts around that staff on the march.

    And his tent¡¯s placement was decided for him and kept surrounded by the rest of the army camp while they were still traveling outside the lands of Viznove.

    But he was given luxury, food as the Generals and Lords took it, comforts and baggage from his apartment.

    He even had a small library of a dozen books with him!

    And his messenger birds, for sending missives abroad (though all were opened and read before he applied his seal).

    Writing such a letter was how Jewel found him.

    There was a start when she followed her father into the tent, the flaps tickling her scales in passing. Going just midway down her neck just before she was encroaching on polite spacing for a count.

    For all its luxury the tent was not very large.

    He had a familiar stiffness in his back and the stink of fear that was normal for those not used to Jewel¡¯s unexpected presence.

    But his eyes still held that bright and shining curiosity she remembered from her first meeting. A sign of courage in how his expression was lighting up even though she could taste his fear under the scents of wonder and even genuine joy.

    Jewel was a danger but one he seemed to welcome.

    A sign of bravery that was at odds with what the Countess had said of the man.

    ¡°Count Thurz¨® of ¨¢rva, I am Lady Jewel of Rochford, and I have a request for your aid in a matter of honor and peace for one of your fallen comrades in arms.¡±

    The surprise was muted but still there, he was not expecting her words or perhaps not expecting her eloquence and carefully held timbre of a proper young lady.

    ¡°A request? Not a demand, nor a bargaining? Can I refuse?¡±

    He turned to consider Father, who was simply watching. Jewel herself nodded though. Drawing a glance back her way.

    As was proper he should have been facing her the entire time. But that was a frustratingly familiar mistake for strangers speaking to her.

    ¡°Yes, you may refuse, although I hope you do not. It is no act or task or I should hope even an imposition from you. I merely seek to know a few things.¡±

    The count turned his full attention to her, he looked at her lips, ran his eyes over her own, followed the locks of her mane, passed over her cheeks and snout.

    Then his assessment apparently complete fixed his gaze to hers and frowned.

    ¡°I may yet refuse, although deeds are written as the movers of this world, it is knowledge that can have the greatest danger and the harshest price.¡±

    Jewel nodded.

    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    ¡°I can be at peace with this, Count Thurz¨®. Your refusal will hold no consequence for you or our dealings for peace. I am only my Father¡¯s daughter in these matters.¡±

    She nodded to Father, which got a raised brow from Thurz¨® that was also exhaustingly not unexpected.

    ¡°Fine then, Lady Jewel of Rochford, ask your question. Given all your courtesy it would be a poor thing to refuse you even that.¡±

    Jewel nodded then spoke softly. Respectfully in hopes of soothing some of the yet still keening world around them.

    She tried to make her words sound like she remembered mother did in a gentle address to the bereaved.

    ¡°Dost thou know from whence the Weird of Fortresses Lord Sorcerer Veoul hailed from? If he yet has a family that cares for him? Of what rites would be expected to set his spirit to peace? He fought well and was an honorable opponent and deserves whatever arrangements are due him.¡±

    That seemed to shock the count.

    Brow furrowed in thought and tone soft in bewilderment.

    ¡°The Lord Sorcerer? Family?¡±

    Jewel nodded again to the question and watched as Thurz¨® marshaled his thoughts quite visibly before her.

    His lips going tight at something he seemed to recollect but all trepidation and fear was going stale around him. The question seemed to have taken all his attention from her.

    Finally he closed his eyes and nodded. Then opened them to meet her gaze.

    ¡°No family, but he hailed from the provinces of the Free Men south west by sun¡¯s reckoning. He held a Demesne there with a castle and a small manor around it. His lands were small but exempt from all tax by the Realm. Paid instead by a service of one campaign per ten years where he would attend at the High King¡¯s request. Or station himself to reinforce and repair a fort of the Realm¡¯s choosing thrice in that same time.¡±

    Jewel nodded but she had never read of these Free Men or their ways. She didn''t even know they existed until today.

    ¡°And how do they honor their dead in that demesne? Do you know it?¡±

    Another frown and consideration before he stood from his desk and walked over to the little table holding his books and ran his fingers over the leather spines before tilting one free and then lifting it up and to his desk.

    Jewel could hardly help herself and craned her neck a bit to look at the pages but was disappointed to find there was no script she was familiar with.

    The letters were right but their ordering was entirely wrong.

    Disappointing, something else she would have to study.

    ¡°Hmmm, Funeral rights, death rights.... Ah here!¡±

    He muttered something equally unintelligible that seemed to flow and flit about almost like the wind of Euewyn¡¯s voice. But with an actual throat and tongue instead of rustling leaves and branches.

    Thurz¨® glanced up at her for a moment, asked something Jewel could not understand, then smiled with shining eyes and spoke in legible words.

    ¡°My book on them is quite old, but not in fact older than the war mage. But by its word the people of the Free Men¡¯s Lands practice a ritual of flowers around the body and then a burial in the ground of their ancestors. Singing of their life and then a pouring of wine upon the ground as a final farewell.¡±

    Jewel nodded at that and bowed her head to the count.

    Voice soft and gentle.

    ¡°Thank you, if you wish to attend I will be holding such a ceremony for the passed Weird of Fortresses tomorrow morning before we break camp. We have no body but the rest seems simple enough. Our Wizards will be attending as he was known to them and as his lord in the battle it is only right to offer you the same.¡±

    That again seemed to utterly surprise the Count.

    But he nodded hesitantly to her.

    ¡°Such would be an honor. A-and it is good of you to seek me out to do this.¡±

    Jewel dipped her head again and then withdrew it from the tent, followed by Father.

    As she was turning to leave and make what hasty arrangements she could Thurz¨®¡¯s voice still carried well enough to reach her ears.

    ¡°Oh that absolute fool of a witch, does she have any idea what she has stumbled on?¡±

    There was a dry chuckle and then the familiar sound of someone applying blotting sand to vellum to prepare for another session of calligraphy. The faint scratch of an inked quill faded as Jewel walked away.

    Soon maybe she could bring some peace to the aching pain of the world all around her.

 11.i

    11.i

    My Liege King Mathias of the honorable royal house Stein,

    As in my last letter this missive has been read by the generals of Visnove¡¯s army but they permit me to seal it again afterwards. Since my last letter, I can now say I have now both been able to witness the power of the Countess¡¯ Wyrm on the battlefield and speak to it in person and learn of its intelligence.

    I must beg of you to recall why you took me up in your court and council when you ascended the throne from your brother.

    Your words were, ¡°If I could take your eyes and acumen for my own I would in a heartbeat. But since it cannot be so, join me in my council Georgy. The Realm needs your wisdom¡±.

    Know it is me in truth as such has never been shared outside of your confidence before.

    Recognize my hand in these letters and my scribecraft and be assured it is a match.

    I beg of you all these things my king because what I have learned is of vital importance. It can neither wait until I am once more secure in my holdings in ¨¢rva nor risk being lost if the Countess should prove treacherous in her mens¡¯ promise to me.

    The rumors and whispers passed down by our loyal and honorable watchers among the countess¡¯ court and lands were woefully inadequate.

    She is not merely in possession of a tamed Wyrm of the more familiar feral kind, as fantastic and potent that might be on the battlefield.

    But of a creature wholly on par in potential as the legends still told of the Tyrant War.

    On the battlefield it struck down the Fortress Weird and War Mage in a single blow of its flame. A blow which, though its target was the Wizard, slayed on the final tally at least eight hundred men in formation as collateral!

    The army broke in two more such strikes which drove the remaining wizards in our forces to flee.

    The entire army, lords, knights and two experienced war wizards broke and fled like fresh levies against this might!

    And this is not the most dangerous aspect of the beast which the countess thinks she commands.

    The old hag of a woman may yet look young and hale but her age most assuredly is well advanced to overlook this. For though I¡¯ve yet to see her behave with the beast, I remember her from the unpleasant times she has attended your court.

    She has no idea what she has welcomed into her house.

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    She cannot possibly understand.

    The Wyrm is honorable, intelligent, observant and, most assuredly, will be as independent as any noble.

    It is purely by youth alone she is not already commanding all of Viznove instead of accepting the yoke of subordination to a mere provincial baron.

    A lord who, I can assure you, is loved and respected by this wyrm as strongly as any daughter would her father.

    Our records are sparse on the workings of the Tyrant¡¯s domain, spoken mostly in legend, but its age and longevity are not in question.

    The Countess has welcomed and acknowledged an immortal into the peerage of the houses.

    That role has been accepted by the wyrm.

    And worst of all, it is already acquiring allies and backing beyond its ¡®family¡¯s¡¯ ancestral ties past the borders of Viznove. As I have already reported to you, the army assailing us was reinforced with sorcery far in excess of any previous reports.

    Just this evening I learned that the nascent tyrant is in good standing with the greater circles of wizardry.

    Not just with foreigners but in a manner close enough to hold our own war mages in respect and honor them with funeral rights!

    To put it plainly for my king, I must advise that no force of arms barring a total rallying of every asset and ally available to the realm in sorcery, military arms and warbeast can be assured to be able to gentle this beast.

    And the impossibility of pulling such force from our other borders assures one truth.

    We cannot wrest control of Viznove or her Allies from the Countess Bathory.

    But there is yet hope my liege king, even if this should be my last missive, know that the Countess has almost assuredly laid out her own doom.

    I speak this plainly and without fear even though her very generals will read and report this.

    It is already too late for the hag.

    Even if you have lied and ensorceled me to believe my daughter¡¯s life yet has hope you have already taken your very doom and laid it to your bosom.

    Though it may not be in either of our lifetimes, Viznove will pass from her family¡¯s grasp. This is assured.

    The Tyrant Wyrm will Rise again.

    I must advise my king that he make arrangements to have The Realm of Cantor Reborn be allied to this new power and if possible even acting as a liege regent in its nascent era.

    Your Ever Loyal Subject, friend and counselor,

    Gy?rgy Thurz¨® of Arva

    - A Letter from Count Gy?rgy Thurz¨® of ¨¢rva to High King Mathias Stein of The Realm Cantor Reborn

 11.ii

    11.ii

    My Dear General Marcis?aw Kliatbatrn,

    Your concern and loyalty is commended but in this matter unneeded.

    Count Gy?rgy Thurz¨® is yet a fool who thinks himself wise and that all around him are blind, deaf and simple.

    Fear not for his panic and prattle. I have the matter of the Shining Wyrm well in hand.

    Mathias is too distant, too slow and far too late to have any consequence in this matter.

    On your return we will have the wayward daughter found and taken from my larders to recover. That so much pain came from the unfortunate wandering and mistaken identity of one foolish girl is more proof of the King and his chosen council¡¯s incompetence.

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    There is no danger or concern from Jewel or her family.

    Her brother and mother should be informed ahead of your arrival that they will attend the caravan to Kaeketeh and should bring finery befitting glorious feasts and declarations of great renown.

    The House of Rochford will be receiving accolades and needs to look the part for it.

    Also tell that fool Thurz¨® his daughter should be hale and ready to return home after the festivities.

    Your Liege commands it.

    Countess Elizibeth Bathory of Viznove.

    - Military order from Elizibeth Bathory of Viznove to Baron Marcis?aw of Kliatbatrn

 12.1

    12.1

    Lord Sorcerer Urul had been quick to provide Jewel with even more detailed instructions on the specific rites Veoul would have wished for, calling forth a beautifully illustrated scroll which not only provided words to describe it, but the signs and flowers expected.

    One of the mere wizards had gotten into a heated argument with Euewyn and Tsulogothulan to arrange for such flowers to bloom overnight.

    Fizzbunches surprised Jewel by being somber about the whole endeavor. No smugness, no inserting himself into the affair.

    He simply provided an old and obviously well loved doll.

    Simple burlap for its smock over a wooden core.

    Face a crude lump of wood that Jewel could only somewhat guess was the right way around.

    Sparse scraps of wool for hair.

    It spoke of an age to her that was so advanced it amazed Jewel it was still in one piece at all.

    That its simple dress fibers were as complete as they were.

    That the wood was not dust from dry rot.

    That any wool at all still clung to its ¡®head¡¯.

    His only words regarding it were.

    ¡°We have no body, but that was once passed by Veoul to a young and very foolish child he caught trying to pickpocket him in an alley. It will remember him for us.¡±

    And with all of these parts together they were prepared.

    Jewel stood before the simple little doll, which was so old that it should not have been whole at all.

    Arranged around it were bright pale golden red flowers that honestly reminded Jewel of floppy oversized clover.

    She felt the world¡¯s attention on them all. The keening pain was still rising ever quieter and thinner.

    But it was witnessing them.

    Against the overwhelming attention of the air and earth itself, the curious knights, Barons and Counts (Thurz¨® included) were an inconsequential drop in a deep well.

    Not even the wizards¡¯ presence with Jewel was anything against the feeling of the world itself watching and judging.

    The dawn had broken; it was time.

    It was important to do this in the fresh light of a new day ¡ª so had Urul written for her.

    And now they began.

    Jewel recalled the words that Urul had given her to speak. And she raised her head and opened her voice for them. Her tongue and throat shaped the sounds in that strange twisting fluid manner that she had heard Thurz¨® speak.

    That she had drilled to produce correctly despite not even being quite sure where one word began or ended.

    The speech of the land of Free men.

    But she also spoke them in her flame, in the manner she had come to understand all Wizards could whisper and shout.

    And in those she knew their truth.

    I remember

    of these past moments

    without even knowing you.

    I remember these moments

    Which still remain in spite of me.

    Of us two there was Fear and Terror

    and scant few hours

    Where we fought for life and you were vanquished

    I remember you

    Because your presence has remained

    In my heart, in my life.

    In my pain and in my cries.

    I remember you.

    Of your presence and your voice.

    In my heart, in my life.

    In my thoughts, your memory grows.

    I remember you

    That at any moment, I cannot forget you.

    Jewel dipped her head and raised a Rochford-made spear. It was one of the ones made for the levy.

    If she was a man it would have been a sturdy wood and this effort a great endeavor.

    But the wooden haft snapped between the twisting grasp of both her foreclaws with a thunderous crack.

    And then she laid it to rest amid the flowers beside the little wooden doll. The weapon of an enemy broken. Their feud surrendered in death.

    And in the air all around them she could feel a shift to the pained keening of the world. There was still suffering but it was shifting, growing deeper and less strained. More open.

    Next approached Fizzbunches. And Jewel was again surprised by the sombreness of the cat.

    He walked up to the pile of near-crimson flowers and dipped his head amongst them, just over the head of the doll.

    There were words spoken that not even Jewel could hear clearly despite how close he was.

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    And then a wave of the paw and a clatter of two silver coins settled on where Jewel presumed was the doll¡¯s eyes.

    Another almost choked sob of an echo washed over her from the world. The anguish of loss becoming somehow deeper and yet lighter for its release.

    Next was Urul, who naturally said nothing, but there was a whispering scratch of quills on parchment that rose like the cacophony of a flock of birds.

    It filled the air with soft skittering noise that ended as suddenly as it had begun.

    And with its passing there was upon the ¡®chest¡¯ of the doll a tiny book sized to it. Leather bound. Sealed with a metal latch of gold.

    Another echoing cry, another shifting of the near piercing wail.

    Like breaths finally being taken between the shrieks beneath the wind.

    It was helping.

    Jewel was not expecting any others, only Urul and Fizzbunches were apparently at all close with the Weird of Fortresses.

    But Jaksa the Red of all people marched up from amid the crowd of wizards to stand before them all.

    He raised his right arm high, the sleeve sliding down to leave pale skin and blue veins in the dawn light.

    Then with his left thumb he dragged a line across those veins. Parting his skin like wet clay under the nail.

    Spilling an arc of red blood which spun in the whisper of his working. Sinking into the flowers around the effigy with meanings of life, vigor, strength, the indomitable will of blood and the joy of life lived.

    He said nothing with his voice and his wound had closed before he even finished lowering his arm back into his sleeve and stepped back amongst the wizards.

    No speech for mortal ears but plenty of respect given in sorcery.

    And that too helped, not as strongly as those before but it opened up gaps in the thin reedy howl of the world. Forced gasps and release instead of ever tightening pain.

    And then each of the other mere wizards took their turn. Adding a single working that was at once a reinforcement and preservation as well as a declaration and affirmation.

    Life and knowledge.

    Solidity and strength.

    Honor made solid.

    Each prying open the pain of the wind, the wood, the rock and stone, the earth and air itself.

    Forcing a painful sharp release that nonetheless seemed to bring relief to a wounded world.

    When it was Euewyn¡¯s turn the weird looked a little put upon by the whole affair.

    She glanced around at all the soldiers and lords and their peers in sorcery.

    Then fixing Jewel with her absence of a face and slumping of shoulders that the Weird had manifested solely to move as such in mock sigh.

    A breeze in the wind of chill autumn passed amongst all of them. Icy and sharp and brief.

    Jewel was still only somewhat fluent in Autumn Forest but it sounded dismissive to her.

    The absolute barest acknowledgement that Veoul was ¡®probably alright maybe¡¯.

    And for the first time since the Weird had been slain by her flame Jewel felt a shocked bubbling amusement under the torrent of anguish.

    Like a surprised laugh choked in a sob.

    Then the Weird flounced back to stand with the rest of the wizards behind Jewel.

    Which left her friend Tsulogothulan last amongst their number.

    The Bog Weird strode up with a lot more grace then the Autumnal one, then turned to fix all the soldiers with a piercing glare of their one eye.

    Sparing a softer glance and a nod to Jewel before turning to stare down at the effigy. And finally broke the silence that every wizard until that point had more or less maintained.

    ¡°Veoul I have a thing to say to you.¡±

    The words were round and full of disdain. And yet speaking out loud the name seemed to draw a sudden anticipatory silence.

    The keening had finally stopped.

    ¡°Fighting you was an absolute pain. You dug up my waters like a pig rooting in shit and you tore away my marshes with stone and timbre. Before this battle you spoke little and stupidly in what meetings of the circles you even deigned to attend and it took me half the battle to even recognize who the fortune¡¯s damnation you even were when we met in opposition because you hardly ever talked to any of us before that day.¡±

    And again there was that bubbling burbling joy and pain intermingled together. A familiarity and stinging reminder.

    But a memory that was good coming up from the stones.

    With that the weird nodded sharp and hard.

    ¡°I never liked you at all. But I¡¯m sad to see you gone.¡±

    And then turned away and slid across to undulate into place behind Jewel.

    The world was crying again, but it was different, not some ongoing neverending silent screeching note that ever rose in higher and higher tension.

    It rose and fell with the wind. It rustled in the breeze, it shifted and settled in the earth.

    There was still pain. But it was no longer tightening ever harsher.

    She nodded to her friend then scanned the crowd of men who had come to witness a Funeral overseen by a Dragon for the death of a Wizard.

    ¡°Are there any others who have words for the dead?¡±

    For a moment Jewel thought none would come and they would have to move on to the traditional songs of farewell and then the burial and the last draft of wine.

    But then as she had hoped, Count Thurz¨® walked up to the place at the head of the effigy.

    ¡°I called for the mustering of the Lord Sorcerer Veoul, Weird of Fortresses to join me on this campaign. The high king agreed, but it was my command under which he was called and it was under my command that he fell in an honorable battle.¡±

    There was a dipping of his head in consideration.

    Jewel felt a suddenly disturbing gnashing malice through the wind.

    ¡°His last words were spoken to me, warning that he could no longer sustain against the powers brought forth against him. He did not flee in the face of the unbeatable. But stood firm and passed on to me news of his defeat with his last breath.¡±

    More wroth buzzed and hummed in the earth, in the blades of grass, in the very flowers that surrounded the effigy. Jewel could see some of them bending subtly inward to coddle around the doll that stood in place of a corpse for the dead Weird.

    Thurz¨® raised his right hand with the signet ring of his house shining proudly in the early morning sun. Jewel thought it was probably brass by the smell of it.

    The attention of the mourning of all things around him narrowed and sharpened with attention on him.

    ¡°As Count of ¨¢rva and consul confidant of the High King, I pledge that the land and people who once sheltered under the demesne of Lord Sorcerer Veoul will suffer no tithe or tax so long as I reign. And when our business in Viznove is concluded, a heroes memorial will be held in his home to honor his service to the Realm of Cantor Reborn.¡±

    The tension fell out of the wind and grass so suddenly Jewel had to brace herself to avoid flopping onto the ground like a slack rope in shocked sympathy.

    ¡°Let today be just the first of those celebrating the memory of this great man.¡±

    And the bittersweet rising joy and agreement that rose up had Jewel cheering along with it before she realized what was happening.

    By the time she had, almost everyone else had chosen to join in the cry.

    Jewel composed herself as well as she could and did a quick glance around. It looked like the funeral was a success.

    Although some faces were staring at her.

    Father was giving her a look that was equal parts proud and pained.

    For some reason, Count Fiebron was beside him and laughing so hard he had to bend at the waist and gasp for breath.

    Jewel shook her head and moved on with the rest of the ceremony.

 12.2

    12.2

    Jewel was not expecting to feel as strongly as she did when they broke camp as an army for the last time.

    It was not a complete dissolution of the soldiers. There were still those that would be following them along the roads.

    And at least right now, a bit more than half the army was not yet fully parting ways as they still needed to travel out to the rest of Viznove.

    But Count Fiebron and his lords from Zekhedge were turning home now. Splitting off down another road from Jewel and the levies from Viznove.

    Also surprising for Jewel was that most of the Levy from Rochford were leaving well ahead of the army. It made sense when Jewel thought about it. They were already practically home, a solid day¡¯s hike or less for some of them.

    But seeing that core of Rochford men melt away in the morning?

    The only remaining friends from home were the Footmen, Bromthil, Kraok her Squire and Father.

    It made Jewel sad in a way she never would have expected.

    One of them had taken an arrow when she was not fast enough.

    Another had swept into the space her own jaws had cleared to cover her neck from a charging footman¡¯s jab.

    They had fought together for a single furious day and marched many more besides that.

    And now they were off home to do peasant things again.

    And Jewel was still with the army.

    Scouting and flight were less of a duty now.

    Missives had been sent and a rider from Rochford had confirmed that the High King Mathias had ceded the claims of the war.

    There would be an official celebration in Kaeketeh (which Jewel, Father and the rest of their family would be attending) and maybe even a royal visit in a few years time after that from Mathias himself and his court to solidify things.

    But the tension that had hung over them even as they had ostensibly won the war finally began to lift.

    The old stink of it slowly coming clean from Father with each day.

    So Jewel flew more or less for nothing more than exercise and the joy of it. The other Gryphon Riders were also making sport, much as they had during the muster. Making aerial demonstrations of acrobatics, performing hunts on what game they could find by wing in the forests of Rochford.

    Jewel enjoyed these, even if she still could not match even Zephyrvam in a race.

    She was third place amongst them in dives though!

    And absolutely first amongst all for her powers of sight, sometimes even spotting things before the Gryphons themselves did.

    But for all that distraction, and though she could still see the little clumps of departing allies and comrades in arms or the sinuous coils of the Zhekhedge army on the march from above, there was a sense of finality to it all.

    The followers'' camp was also breaking up. Some had even done so before they reached Rochford.

    Taking other paths and roads north, south or even back west the way that they had just marched.

    Burdened carts, mules and travel bags with goods or coins gained in the campaign.

    For all the time it took to gather everyone together and make an orderly march of them, the pace at which the army simply was disappearing to every direction now that it was no longer needed was incredible.

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    Jewel swung in the air and flapped her wings hard. Angling such to beg off another offering to dive and dance in the air with the other fliers.

    She instead sank low to settle amidst the all but gone herd of goats that had been brought as griffon feed.

    She was gentle, coming to rest alongside the path and the goatherds gave her a nod.

    Smithson was leading Ox-hoof along with the other Gryphon minders. The pace of the army, even much diminished, was still plenty slow to handle on two feet without a horse.

    He brightened up and broke away from them much to his laden mare¡¯s annoyance at the increased pace.

    ¡°Lady Jewel! What brings you to the ground so early? Do you need me to run a message or perhaps a snack?!¡±

    She waved him off though.

    ¡°No, Squire, I simply wished for some company and the sound of a friendly voice. The flight cant is all well and good, and flying is wonderful, but it is not the same.¡±

    Smithson nodded and slowed a pace to let the irate Ox-hoof relax in her plodding walk.

    Jewel slid in amongst the herd of goat keepers and with the space in the march they were still afforded, it was almost comical to have more minders then beast and so much open space in the marching line besides.

    But Jewel trusted there was some good reason for it.

    They had been diminished as well. Half their number (and goats) split off to join Count Fiebron¡¯s march home.

    The rest would likely part when they reached Rochford with each of their own gryphon lords and knights.

    Jewel looked over at Smithson and nodded with a smile.

    ¡°How have you taken to your first war my Squire?¡±

    Smithson flushed in the way it had taken Jewel quite too long to realize was shame rather than anger.

    ¡°Might I be honest, Lady Jewel?¡±

    Jewel for her part nodded to him and shook out her wing shoulders. Skipping lightly in the packed dirt of the road. Her wyrmfire was more than full enough to lift her with every step in the sinuous grace she preferred.

    ¡°It was rather boring, my Lady Jewel, a whole lot of walking, waiting around in camp, a bit of busy work. When we make or break camp, I think I worked harder on our trip to Kaeketeh. And harder by far than either the war or that trip when I simply stay home and mind the stables. ¡±

    That was certainly not what she expected.

    But then many people were in the camp that never even saw battle.

    Her squire was not younger than some of the Levy, but his role as a minder with the other Gryphon keeping staff kept him in camp.

    At the same time Jewel considered the thought of an arrow or one of the sorcerous forces cutting Smithson down in a blink.

    Of her own Wyrmflame gone awry and leaving him nothing but ash.

    Or maimed but yet living.

    Screaming like the broken horses and men on the battlefield.

    Doomed but still breathing.

    Jewel could not keep her voice from being small and quiet.

    ¡°Would you have preferred to fight? With me and the rest from Rochford?¡±

    Smithson for his part broke into the widest grin and in that moment Jewel realized what one of the looks Father had been giving her all this year meant.

    The sad, pained yet proud looks in his eyes.

    Jewel was certain if she could see her own face she would have the same eyes.

    ¡°Of course, Lady Jewel!¡±

    She saw her Squire and friend walking there beside her, looking up to her with wonder and pride and bravery.

    Saying he wanted to go to war with her.

    Jewel could barely bring the words from her throat.

    But she had to say them.

    ¡°Of Course, my Squire, I will see to it.¡±

    What else could she do?

 12.3

    12.3

    Jewel missed Mother and Alexander. Seeing them felt better than sweet air after your throat had been left crushed closed for hours.

    Of this she could personally attest.

    It was a relief to see them both safe and whole.

    Even if Mother and Father then proceeded to be quite improper out in the courtyard where everyone could see.

    Kissing in public was for marriage.

    She had, of course, like a good noble daughter, and not some mismannered peasant born girl turned away from her parents out of propriety.

    Alexander had joined Jewel in studiously avoiding looking at their parents being shamefully affectionate in public.

    To fill the time he peppered her with questions about the battle. Which Jewel tried to explain.

    It all felt far too short in glory and daring actions then confusion, dirt, sadness, screaming, pain, blood-

    Jewel mustered herself and remembered the lesson she had discovered in talking to the villagers about the nature of her shameful encounter with the Terror Boar.

    She recalled how she had heard the knights boasting.

    And on reflection Jewel now wondered if some of the reason that they said things so bombastically was much as she now did.

    Was all battle actually like this? Was every boast and flowery word on the subject there to ease the telling of it?

    Seeing her brother¡¯s wide eyed adoration and glee for her and how she was telling of the thing that she herself did not even want to think about felt like the very foundations of her home were shifting under her.

    Could Jewel ever find it in herself to tell her Brother what it was really like?

    Could Jewel even find the words to describe it?

    The blood, the screaming horses, the sudden and shocking pain of the entire world closing in on you if you slay a Weird?

    Jewel felt her brother''s hand tugging on her shoulder but for a moment a thought struck her even harder.

    Every Levy from Rochford had mothers, fathers, even children for some. Many had siblings just like Alexander.

    And every levy, footman and Knight that had been left torn apart upon the battlefield and stripped for armor was much the same.

    All of them in their thousands.

    Bodies torn apart on the ground, Gryphons tearing into their bellies.

    ¡°JEWEL?!¡±

    Father was there, as was Mother.

    Alexander had been shouting?

    Everyone was looking her way. Was it improper somehow? Maybe? Jewel was not sure all she had done was stop a moment.

    Stop and freeze and think of the bodies.

    And the ash that smelled the same as grass and soil under her flame.

    There were hands on her, Father¡¯s large warm hands, Alexander¡¯s arms hugging her neck. But they were still in the courtyard. She tried to protest, but nothing came out of her throat but a very low and yet somehow sharp keening.

    Mother was holding her close and whispering something?

    Something about a bath?

    Jewel had not had a bath since the battle.

    Not a proper one.

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    Just dips in streams and some scrubbing from Smithson.

    Jewel missed her baths.

    That would be good right?

    Jewel felt a tugging lightly on her neck and only then realized she needed to walk with her Mother and Father.

    To move through familiar halls that were yet still somewhat crowded by officers and lords from Viznove.

    They would stay a night in Rochford before setting out again?

    Jewel thought she remembered that, but everything was muffled and distant.

    The stones welcomed her feet.

    Her flame was strong and let her mostly be dragged along by Father and Mother.

    Make her weigh little enough even mere human hands could pull her.

    Alexander looked very distraught for some reason.

    She should say something but Jewel was not sure what she could say.

    There were words happening around her. People she knew that somehow felt faceless.

    The air changed, she smelled lavender oil.

    Jewel wanted to protest that her Father and Mother were here in her bathing room with her but they all seemed too delicate suddenly.

    Too fragile.

    A single breath from Jewel could reduce them all to ash.

    Ash that smelled the same.

    Jewel could only keen again despite how much she wanted to send them away.

    Despite how much she wanted them to stay.

    Gentle familiar but far too small hands helped her into the water.

    Hot water and lavender oil floating on top.

    Jewel sank slowly and with much prodding into her bath.

    And she would have stayed coiled up underneath the thin skin of scented oil until the water felt stale in her lungs, maybe even beyond that point.

    But those same familiar and yet far too small hands refused to leave her there. Pulling at her head, muscles straining taut to bring her to the surface and the air.

    Without the lift of her flame the muscles went taught with the effort but they dragged her free of the surface.

    Smaller gentler hands running over her mane with the metal comb.

    And then suddenly something sparkles.

    A small copper pail.

    Brushing her nose.

    The metal catching on her wyrmflame and drawing it out and back.

    Every crevice and dent of it is familiar.

    With her since she had first been bathed in a tub.

    Filled with water now and gently poured over her by the same hand that had done it that first time.

    Father.

    Jewel was home.

    She was Safe.

    The war was over.

    There was no blood, no bodies, no ash.

    Her Father was here holding up her head out of the water despite how heavy it was without her supporting herself.

    His sleeves and front were soaked from reaching into the bath.

    Mother was brushing her hair.

    Alexander had fetched her pail and was filling it and pouring it over her head.

    Jewel could not find the words.

    But she could finally find the tears.

    Jewel cried, she leaned into her father, lifting her head from his straining arms.

    Taking a tiny burden from him.

    She took the pail that had been used to rinse her since she hatched. That she¡¯d grabbed and held after her first bath and treasured ever since.

    She cried and keened and rumbled in deep sobs that made the water around her splash and dance with droplets.

    Her family¡¯s clothing was soaked.

    They were all in her Bathing Room.

    It was so improper.

    And Jewel didn''t care.

 12.4

    12.4

    ¡°Lady Jewel! Oh have you grown girl?! Welcome back to the Flushed Lamb! Oh and to you too, Sir Lord Rochford!¡±

    Freewoman Ho?anka Masondottir was proving to be one of Jewel¡¯s favorite people outside of Rochford.

    The boisterous, loud, and very round woman bustling about with a size of personality that could make you forget she was no taller than Mother

    ¡°We¡¯ve got your rooms all settled, Praise stars for the messenger ahead of pace, my lord! I was able to get the boys to close off a feasting hall and get it all situated with a bed for your daughter in time!¡±

    A glance over at Mother in her traveling clothes and the strangely shy shuffling of Alexander was followed up by further outpouring of delighted and incredibly happy words.

    ¡°Oh and is that the wife?! And your son? Oh what a scrumptiously fine lad he is!¡±

    Jewel had found her experience with Smithson incredibly useful on this new journey to Kaeketeh. Her brother, for all his bravery and bravado when it came to hunts and mortal peril, was adorably shy when it came to the many strangers and personages he was presented to in their journey.

    He¡¯d even hidden from Abbot Herbort behind mother¡¯s skirts like an infant!

    Jewel¡¯s older brother was adorable!

    This bashfulness was on full display now as the force of nature that was the welcoming storm of Freewoman Ho?anka Masondottir descended on his flushed red face.

    ¡°Oh Lady Jewel! You did not mention that your brother was such a wonderfully handsome young man! For shame, a sister not vouching for her kin at every opportunity!¡±

    Jewel smiled warmly in the eating hall of the inn, which had been cleared ahead of their arrival this time (on the Countess¡¯ coin).

    The only ones present being Jewel, her family, Bromthil, Kraok and Smithson.

    For this trip Jewel had insisted that her Squire join them in the nicer accommodations instead of staying in a tent or barn like he had last time!

    She had gone to war for the Countess, fought and seen men die.

    The scheming nobles could suffer her Squire not knowing the basic courtesies.

    The idea of letting her fear of impropriety force Smithson to sleep with the horses and eat with the servants seemed cowardly now.

    Jewel nodded to the Innkeeper and grinned sharp and toothy.

    Knowing from experience that nothing she did short of refusing extra portions of stew was liable to bother Ho?anka.

    ¡°Oh dear, I apologize, Lady Masondottir. I was just a young girl out on her first journey from home then! I completely forgot to regale you on the virtues and valor of my dearest brother.¡±

    To which Alexander finally managed to make something like speech. Well more of an awkward squawk much like Jewel sometimes did when she was caught especially by surprise.

    It was in fact a very good imitation of Jewel despite his relatively tiny throat.

    ¡°Oho! Tell me more about this valor! But first you¡¯ve all been long on the road yeah? I can see your dust and smell your horses and leather! Come come! Have a pot of stew to warm your bones all of you!¡±

    And then she was fussing all of them to their seats, Lords, Ladies, Dragon and Squire all alike under her commands to settle at a sturdy wooden table.

    Clapping hands to call her maids and staff with bowls of that wonderful hearty stew Jewel remembered. Steaming hot bowls and what must have been an entire cooking pot of it brought over to Jewel¡¯s place at the table!

    It was just as good as she remembered and conversation briefly stilled as everyone tucked into the welcoming hot food that banished the chill of the season.

    Not as cold as when Jewel and Father had last traveled, but still well into the start of autumn cold.

    Mother finally spoke up over the meal as Ho?anka left to oversee something in the kitchens.

    ¡°Well, she¡¯s certainly a very friendly host. And a good cook. Pity she¡¯s a freewoman or I¡¯d say we should claim her for the manor staff.¡±

    Father laughed and shook his head.

    ¡°I made the offer to hire her after I saw how taken with her Jewel was. But she declined, plenty of family here and she makes more than I could justify paying for a cook. Even if she was head of the whole household staff.¡±

    Mother nodded and looked at Jewel.

    ¡°Still, it is good to have friends and allies abroad, and known safe shelter on the road, even if she charges for the pleasure. I imagine we will be making this trip more often?¡±

    Father sighed.

    Jewel imagined he also nodded while listening intently, but her view was blocked by a pot of the absolutely delicious stew she had taken up and was drinking deeply from.

    ¡°Yes, I think our time being able to stay hidden away in Rochford all year every year is at an end.¡±

    Time on the army march had given her so much more appreciation for having a proper stew with meat, turnips, peas and beans!

    She would never again think even her suppers at Rochford were simple.

    Mother¡¯s tone also sounded weary from more than the road as Jewel swallowed and occasionally chewed her stew.

    ¡°We knew it would not last. Well, at least after this battle we can stop paying for your absence from the army each year.¡±

    Compared to the thin broth of milk, bone and soaked traveler¡¯s bread they eat every day in the army, it was as lavish as pig dripping in saffron!

    Father¡¯s words were jovial in response.

    ¡°Jewel is certainly going to receive a title on par with that of a Knight of Viznove. With both obligations and dispensation appropriate I expect. It might even be a landed title on par with my own, but if so I will insist to the Countess it be one neighboring Rochford if not a manor within it.¡±

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    That statement struck a chord, but with such delicious stew to eat Jewel could not break herself away despite her need to interject. Thus she had to finish her pot off in a rush.

    She lowered the iron pot after dragging every scrap free with her tongue in time to see Mother had not even gotten halfway through her bowl!

    Jewel licked her lips and brow clean of splatters as everyone at the table but father was staring at her.

    He too was looking, of course, but seemed greatly amused instead of shocked.

    Mother for her part was using a practiced calm that came down when she needed to hide her expression.

    ¡°Was there something you wished to say, Daughter?¡±

    Jewel nodded heavily. Then realizing there was a speck she missed earlier licked it up from the tip of her ear.

    ¡°Y-yes Mother!¡±

    Nodding quickly Jewel continued in a rush.

    ¡°A Title?! I know the Countess promised to declare Shining Wyrm a properly declared rank in the army but a full landed title?! On par with a Barony like Father¡¯s?!¡±

    Father laughed and gestured to the completely empty iron cooking pot that the inn-staff were hauling up and away between two of them.

    Quickly replaced with another pot of equal size and just as delicious smelling stew. Like the last one it was brought in by a pair of very well built cookhands.

    ¡°My dearest daughter, the most fresh of gryphon riders is entitled with at least a full manor and a knighthood just to secure feed and kit for his steed and your appetite alone is more than enough to match two gryphons.¡±

    Jewel started at that, she knew she ate quite a lot. But twice over for a Gryphon?!

    Mother¡¯s smile was understated but her eyes shined with jest.

    ¡°Oh yes, I have some very well listed accounts on your meal costs alone, If you are a curious daughter. And then there is the price of the oils, and firewood burned for your daily baths.¡±

    Jewel went still.

    Her Baths?

    What did that have to do with needing a landed title?

    Every lady needed to be clean. Jewel¡¯s daily routine just made of her a stink that required hot water and scented lavender oil to overcome.

    Father chuckled good naturedly, this was an honest jest. None of her family held any malice for her.

    No more harm than the teasing she made of Alexander earlier.

    But Jewel did not understand.

    ¡°I beg your pardon, Mother? What of my baths?¡±

    Which swept the conspiratorial smile from mother¡¯s face for a warmer, gentler one.

    ¡°As of last accounting we go through rough abouts forty-three felled trees worth of two-year aged firewood a year to heat your baths.¡±

    Jewel felt like she had been struck by the terror boar between the eyes, she knew her bath was large, that in principle it took wood to burn for heat and make of it a fire.

    But Forty-Three Trees a Year?!

    ¡°We use the water after of course, when in season it is very fine for washing the wool of lanolin. For the rest of the year the staff are allowed to use it in the wash of the dishes and clothes. The smell is very nice.¡±

    Jewel could only think of all the houses in the village through winter that were short of firewood and needed her to help light still wet or fresh wood to burn for heat.

    ¡°And I must admit, a good bit of lavender scented hot water is very pleasant at the end of the day. It does wonders for my skin. But this is not something that comes for free, Daughter.¡±

    How many households could she have warmed with the wood they burned for just one of her baths?

    How many days of warmth in winter was that?

    Mother smiled warmly.

    ¡°So yes, Daughter, you very much deserve a full manor of your own to see to your life, food and comfort, even before the need to house, clothe and feed your staff and own footmen, captains and knights. And then with your value in battle? Really a barony is the least you deserve.¡±

    Jewel¡¯s head was feeling incredibly full with the very idea of it.

    To which she was going to blame this burden for her complete unawareness. And by which the startled squawk when Freewoman Ho?anka Masondottir appeared like a wizard directly beside her.

    ¡°Speaking of baths, since your last visit me and the staff have made arrangements for the Lady Jewel and her family to enjoy some of her expected comforts tonight!¡±

    Jewel¡¯s nose caught the scent of Lavender on Ho?anka. It was a different blend, different oils and fats and not the same exact plants as the blend she had in Rochford. But it was lavender oil all the same.

    ¡°Took some doing and I apologize, but we had to set it up in the stables for want of room but it¡¯s a proper bath as set by lord Rochford¡¯s last specifications! Steaming Hot! Fit for the Lady Jewel herself!¡±

    Jewel nodded mutely and in shock.

    No wonder no one had been able to see to her usual bathing routine last time!

    The sheer expense of it?!

    And given such a kindness, Jewel for all her new understanding could not dare to refuse.

    Her voice was quiet and reverent for the flame expended on her behalf.

    ¡°Thank you deeply, Freewoman Ho?anka Masondottir¡±

    Jewel could feel tears in her eyes, but she hoped the wide smile kept them from being an insult.

    ¡°Oh no worries Lady Jewel! Think nothing of it.¡±

    Those last words echoed in her head and almost put Jewel off from finishing her stew.

    Almost.

    It was really very good stew.

    But it was one request Jewel had to refuse while she tucked into her second pot.

    She refused to think nothing of it.

 12.5

    12.5

    Approaching Kaeketeh on foot was a very different experience to gliding in by wing. Doing it with the footmen and guard of Countess Bathory keeping the road clear so they could march with cheers and the air of a festival in celebration of their victory was something else entirely.

    Those they stayed with along the road had been aware there was war. But some of their hosts had not even known who they were even fighting.

    But soon were they welcomed to the Capital of Viznove.

    Initially, it was hardly different from Rochford¡¯s own villages and those that they had passed on the way here or made forage in during the campaign.

    Thatch roofs, wattle and daub walls. Sturdy timber doors and window shutters.

    Close to fields with a garden nearby for some.

    The far flung households which worked the fields furthest from the city itself.

    At the greatest reaches of the fields of Kaeketeh there were even little clumps of houses that anywhere else would have been hamlets in their own right if not for their closeness to the Capital.

    Then the houses grew denser. The room for gardens began to come less often. And then at last they reached the outermost extent where Jewel felt it properly changed from fields to city.

    The buildings grew closer to one another and sometimes taller.

    The simple plain earthen walls take on pale shades and were braced in woodwork.

    The roofs make a shift from thatch to wood shingles.

    And then brick and stone intermingle a bit as well before the first wall is finally reached.

    Made of fine stones that Jewel could now see were also kindred to those in Rochford.

    Cut from different cliffs, but in the same manner and aged just as much.

    The gate was wide open, and a teeming mass of people were cheering. Musicians, jugglers and other entertainers that found their way to any grounds for a fair moved up and down the street ahead of them. The smell of sausages, hand pies and sweet festival cakes with honey billowed down from the street.

    Jewel walked with Father astride Zephyrvam in his ceremonial armor at the head of the retinue.

    Mother and Alexander rode just behind Father as Jewel¡¯s own length demanded the place of two more horses when she went as loose in her coils as this.

    After them were both Generals from the army, Count Fiebron in his own dress armor upon Cloudspear. The count had flown in that morning and promptly inserted himself into the retinue of honor.

    Above, Countess Bathory¡¯s Gryphon Knights were making circles of the city and as they entered the city each gave booming welcoming calls.

    And then trailed the rest of the retinue. Smithson rode just behind the generals on Jewel¡¯s insistence. Dressed up in some gifted finery from Alexander¡¯s wardrobe that had only needed minor adjustments.

    You¡¯d scarcely believe by the look of him he was anything but a noble¡¯s son.

    And then the rest of the lords and their footmen trailed behind them. It seemed such a small group to Jewel now. Even if it counted all heads told at nearly two hundred. Most on horseback.

    It had shrunk and grown as they made their way through Viznove, some lords breaking off to return to their duties. Others returning that had broken away from the party bound for Rochford earlier.

    But now at last they all marched as one on the streets.

    Dirt road to start but swiftly changing to cobblestones.

    Small cut and laid out before them between houses that had looked so delicate and small from the air but now managed to loom over even Jewel.

    Jewel offered her courtly smile to all the teeming people around them. Mostly peasants, this close to the first walls, but finery was among them all. Mingling and blurring the lines. There were a lot of peddlers about, hawking food, or just simply selling right out of the windows of the closest buildings.

    The smell of the food and the thick rich scent of men, horses, pig, duck, goat and fish creeped and swept under everything else.

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    Smoke, incense, baking bread and all the festival fair running over that.

    And bubbling and roiling beneath that the pungent rot of middens and waste.

    Nightsoil carts hidden around corners and down alleys from the road of their parade still undeniably evident to Jewel¡¯s nose.

    In the scent of the people there was joy and peace and happiness. Hardly a whiff of anything like the oppressive stench that had been clinging to the staff in the war councils.

    And as they walked down the streets, the same shift in character Jewel could take in at a glance from the air grew slowly around them.

    It started with the buildings.

    The lime-bleached white earthen walls braced by dark stained timbres gave way to painted bricks, the roof shingles turned to red clay from dull gray wood. The hawkers and peddlers working either in the street or out their windows were dressed finer.

    Their clientele started looking less like peasants.

    The smell of fish and animals other than men and horses came from further afield. The pungency of the midden and night soil smells stopped being merely around corners and quite properly distant.

    Jewel had to muster every ounce of control to not shout when she noticed her first thief.

    It was a smaller child somewhere in the size between Alexander and Smithson and they seemed very well practiced. For no one in the teeming excited masses noticed how they walked by and with a glint of a knife and a shift of their weight a pouch was cut loose from a belt and snuck into a sleeve.

    The slender girl (a flicker of Jewel¡¯s tongue when she parted her lips confirmed it) turned to glance at Jewel. And Jewel for her part fixed her with a bit longer stare then she strictly had given the crowd until then.

    Which spooked the thief and had them slipping past the crowd in a manner the wyrm could only envy.

    It was like watching water flow between reeds.

    And then light feet signaled an all out run down an alley and then a turn and another before Jewel finally lost track of her.

    The first was a shock, but as they walked further along Jewel spotted more thieves. Some were as skilled as the girl, most not. A few even caught in the act by their targets. Twice one was captured and taken by what Jewel presumed was Countess Bathory¡¯s footmen.

    With time it became another detail of Kaeketeh Jewel mostly ignored. A texture to the moving crowds cheering, eating, laughing, waving and all around just filling the air with their smell, sound and joy.

    Sour notes of agitation, anger and the like flared up, a few brawls started by good natured folk too deep in their cups strained Jewel¡¯s smile away from the serenity she was supposed to have.

    The three men who went so swiftly from beating one another to laughing and holding each other up reminding her so much of Mother.

    And then as they made their way to the first bridge, Kaeketeh changed yet again.

    The strange little wooden platforms with their boats were visible as they crossed the bridge, leaving the music and dance and cheers of the first crowd behind.

    Jutting out from every edge and side that touched the waters.

    The smell of the river itself welling up strong here, and from it the hints of chamber pots and other pungencies.

    Jewel took a breath and leaned in close to Father, as they had a brief moment in this crossing before the next crowd.

    ¡°Alexander cannot be left alone on his own here, I spotted twenty-seven thieves on our walk alone among the crowd.¡±

    To which Father shook his head and laughed.

    ¡°Of course, he won¡¯t even be leaving the island keep.¡±

    Assured in her Brother¡¯s safety Jewel turned her attention forward to the waiting crowd ahead.

    Middle Kaeketeh had stone instead of brick, fine colored glass windows in many places and fewer peddlers leaning right out of their windows to sell to the crowd but in character it smelled, looked and sounded much the same.

    There was a different kind of quality to the music played, the foods smelled a bit different, a lot more finery on display and the scent of men and women was often mingled with that of herbs, flowers and other oils and perfumes.

    But they still teemed.

    They still smiled and waved and cheered.

    And although their number might be smaller Jewel could still spot two thieves making off with other¡¯s property.

    There was still, if even more distant and less obvious, the smell of shit, urine, beast and fish.

    Jewel kept her face serene as she had been taught.

    She walked with a stately grace that Mother approved of.

    And she offered a distant but gentle mien to the people that came to enjoy a festival without any seeming concern about what others had fought for it.

 12.6

    12.6

    Marta had just wanted to get some sweet rolls for herself.

    Not to let one of the servants find some for her, not to order a cook around to make it. Just go out, hand over some silver from her own coin pouch.

    Sit on a corner

    And have a sweet roll.

    That¡¯s all she wanted.

    But something went horribly wrong.

    There were guards, there were ropes, there were words said about her?

    She didn''t remember clearly. It was hard to remember anything.

    Then she was asleep.

    And then Marta started waking up.

    Always just waking up.

    Always drifting out of a heavy slumber.

    Always feeling weak and confused. She had just- something..

    There was a sweet taste filling her mouth so thick and cloying that she yearned for clean water to wash it out. Her throat felt raw somehow, but not quite. Scratchy. Like she was going to choke but had somehow forgotten too.

    She tried swallowing hard and felt things move and shift inside, some of the awful syrupy sweetness diluting in her spit. Her teeth felt woolen.

    Her eyes audibly cracked as she opened them, then they closed just as hard without her will.

    It was bright.

    Too bright.

    She felt her fingers move, her hands flex, arms bend. All without her say.

    She felt addled and confused.

    What had happened to her?

    Her back bent unnaturally, strangely, it was not how she stood or bent or got up in the morning.

    And then her eyes opened again and though the light burned, she did not squint or close them, she tried.

    But the will to move anything felt like it was sinking into a mire.

    Like every part of her had to move through thick blankets.

    There was a voice, but it felt as muffled as her eyelids.

    Something in her jaw flexed and her ears popped.

    Marta swallowed hard.

    The voice repeated it was coming from an indistinct blob in front of her.

    ¡°Marta? Marta Thurz¨®?¡±

    The voice from the blob said her name, and Marta blinked by her own will.

    That was a stranger¡¯s voice, a southern voice. Either Viznove or maybe Zekhedge? She was still learning the manner of speech of their neighbors.

    To prepare for her trip?

    She was pretty sure she had been making a trip, there were preparations.

    Marta¡¯s voice cracked trying to speak and something came loose inside that caught her off guard and started a spasm of coughing and choking.

    A hand was suddenly on her neck as she hacked and wheezed around a crumbling profusion of ¡®things¡¯ in her throat that kept coming loose and tickling her to cough even harder. And then heat and flush filled her neck, squeezed it closed and then ¡®clenched¡¯ against her will and ¡®pressed¡¯ up to her jaw.

    It was like she was being sick, and yet it was nothing of the sort, awful flaky chunks filled her mouth as they were squeezed out by her swelling flesh from below and then suddenly a cool chalice was at her lips.

    ¡°Fill your mouth, don¡¯t swallow. Move the water around then spit to your side.¡±

    Marta could not have swallowed if she wanted, her neck felt full to bursting and hot as a fever! She could barely breathe for how swollen her throat was. And even though she was mostly doing as the voice commanded it felt like it was half her own body moving to the command then by her actual desires.

    Swish blessed water in her mouth, turn head.

    Spit.

    With whatever the awfulness that had come up her throat now washed clear and the terrible syrupy sweetness cleaned away, her mouth felt fresh as mountain air.

    The swelling in her throat vanished as suddenly as it had come.

    The figure that she still could not focus on and only recognized as darkness and hints of a pale blob that might be a face spoke again.

    ¡°You are Marta Thurz¨® of Arva? Daughter of Count Thurz¨® of Arva?¡±

    She nodded and tried to speak again, her voice came out like something from a crow.

    ¡°Ye-asg?¡±

    Why was it so hard to speak?

    And then suddenly she was starting to sit up without her say so, her voice bleating like a half dead lamb as legs moved without her own desire to and stood her up and then turned her like a soldier.

    ¡°Good, your father has been very worried about you. You will follow me.¡±

    The sudden change in height made her briefly feel dizzy before there was a rush in her ears and suddenly she was not.

    She didn''t even sway on her feet but her hips twisted uncomfortably as they tried to walk her along. Half blind as she was, she could barely coordinate but tried to move with a less rigid gait, the effort easing her steps.

    And for her attempt, Marta felt the pace come to her, the steps becoming her own. Although they subtly twisted her ankles still to guide her through the blurry confusion of the world.

    At first warm carpet and then cold stone was under her toes. They moved past a shift in the air, There was something light and thin hanging on her body.

    Then a thud sounded behind her.

    Things felt strange.

    Vision started to clear as she blinked, focused, blinked once more and found herself in a long stone hallway.

    It looked like a cellar.

    But along the walls instead of casks of wine or other stores were alcoves with people.

    It was only after they passed the fifth one that Marta realized they were all women and girls. Each wearing a plain undyed smock, like you might dress a babe in.

    Each laying on a length of rough bedding.

    All of them moving slightly, weaving and twisting. Shifting their bodies almost like they were uncomfortable. Or dancing on their backs.

    But they moved in sinuous unison. Like reeds of grass carried by a water¡¯s current.

    They moved and yet their eyes were closed. They twisted and turned in waves in their alcoves.

    Some seemed weaker and frailer then others but the pull that washed over them was still noticeable in even the faintest most faltering twists on those that looked half starved.

    Marta reached to the fabric that draped over her and found the same undyed woolen smock.

    As her eyes cleared even in the dim light of candles around her she could see her own hands, they looked sunken and aged. The flesh pale and the skin hanging on her knuckles and veins like an old woman.

    Her fingers trembled as she raised them to her face and felt relief at the flushed and full cheeks that her fingers still found.

    The man in black robes, for that is what was ahead of her, glanced over his shoulder and frowned.

    Not in a way that seemed to judge her. More like one of the painters doing a portrait who noticed a mistake.

    Marta had not even realized she stopped.

    His voice had a hint of annoyance, frustration but no anger.

    ¡°That won¡¯t do.¡±

    He gestured at her and there was a flush of heat up and down her body, tingling in her hands and a faint rush that made her jolt.

    One of the women in the alcoves behind her gave out a shuddering gasp almost like a moan of pain.

    And then the heat settled and the only sound was of slowly writhing bodies in stone alcoves.

    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.The man seemed satisfied, he nodded and turned away, resuming walking.

    Marta for her part followed, staring at her fingers, flush and alive again just as she remembered them before the horrifying withering.

    Maybe even more so?

    She turned to glance again at the women in their alcoves to either side, at the manner of their dress, the sunken flesh of their bodies. The dust and grime on their skin and smocks.

    They moved and breathed and yet they were somehow asleep?

    Marta remembered waking.

    Always waking.

    Stings of pain, draining cold, a weakness, dizzying confusion, lightness between her ears and then sleep again.

    Only to wake once more to the same.

    Over and over again.

    Until now.

    Her voice creaked to try and say something but she could not make the words come.

    Was not even sure what she was going to say.

    So many questions jumbled in her head and strangled in the jam at her tongue.

    The figure walked ahead of her and when she tried to slow and stop her steps, Marta¡¯s legs and hips simply pulled her along uncomfortably and unnaturally out of pace with her own gait. She was quick to take initiative so that at least she walked comfortably.

    Ahead there was a whispering sound like wind.

    But somehow it seemed hungry.

    They turned a corner and the alcoves were left behind. But now there were solid iron bars and shuffling unseen things in the dark beyond to either side.

    Shuffling, whispery, wheezing things.

    Marta again tried to pause, to stop, and again her shoulders, hips, knees and feet jolted her along. Kept her going.

    The soft, almost panicked sounding breathing poured in from the dark. Desperate, hungry breaths. There was a lot of whispery wind moving past teeth and passing strained tight throats.

    Throats that almost but not quite were keening in hunger.

    In desperation.

    In want.

    But never fully breaking into voice, never uttering even animal pleas.

    Just wind passing throats that sounded far too dry.

    There was other noise too adding erratic percussion. Slide of flesh against stone, a rattle of chains and sudden clack of teeth coming together.

    But nothing else.

    Marta could not see into the black behind those bars, and she could either walk of her own accord or by the unnatural will of her limbs and the foreign force that commanded them.

    The hall with the dark, and the bars and the strained near silent wheezing breaths went on for longer then she ever wanted it to be.

    And to her horror, Marta could feel that while she could not stop, her limbs also refused to let her run ahead.

    She was trapped at a slow easy pace as they passed room after room of those black cells and their thick iron bars.

    The subtle hint of chains rattling against one another.

    Clacking teeth.

    Shifting skin on stone.

    Finally they turned another corner and were leaving behind whatever that was.

    The desperate and somehow hungry whispers now past had made her skin pebbled like plucked goose flesh despite her warmth.

    Up a stairwell they went. Turning over two floors in ascent at least. The feel of the stone on her toes somehow was familiar. Like something half remembered in a dream.

    Finally, a heavy oaken door with an equally heavy lock was before them but the solid metal latch undid itself and the door opened without a touch by the man

    There was not even a pause in their shared stride..

    Marta was embarrassed to admit it was only this that finally made her realize that sorcery was in play upon her.

    But even that brief self-recrimination was melted away by the beauty of what was before her.

    Daylight.

    Not low candles, but proper sun.

    Blessed daylight through windows and a warm comfortable hallway that felt achingly familiar to her.

    And people, living, wakeful people who moved and looked and saw!

    People other than this strange sorcerous man!

    Servants and footmen and fine carpets and even tapestries and items of honor on display.

    A proper hallway fit for living!

    Not a horrible cellar or a horrific dungeon full of unseen reedy breaths past hungry teeth.

    As they walked, there was even a view of wonderful blue water and the light was so beautiful! It burned her eyes to take it in but Marta could not have stopped even if it was searing her to cinders.

    Her skin prickled where a sunbeam touched it.

    Tingling lightly.

    But she welcomed every scrap of it despite the slight itch that swelled underneath the first touch of sun on her skin.

    She turned to look around and just welcome the sight of everyone around her.

    But there was something off there.

    The Footmen studiously kept their gazes straight, looking through her rather than at her. Like she was invisible.

    She thought maybe sorcery of some sort had made her unseen.

    But the Servants actively did not look at her at all, turning away and shuffling past quickly when her guide crossed their path. Their postures were full of shame and fear. As they refused to acknowledge her. The fright of those shying away from a wrathful lord or lady.

    But that was all wrong for Marta.

    She was joyous, not wrothfull.

    The strange man in dark robes and slick hair walked without giving any of them or her a glance.

    But then again Marta was incapable of not following him. She was chained to him as surely as if she had been tied and led by a rope.

    What was going on?

    Had she done something wrong and forgotten?

    Where was she?

    And then they came to a door and like the other it was opening without a touch. The man and her entered again without a single hitch in their stride.

    Before finally stopping.

    Even without the stilling in her joints from sorcery, Marta would have frozen at the sight before her.

    Tears welling in her eyes as she saw her Father.

    Standing there, caught mid stride in what looked like pacing. Slowly settling and then turning to face her entirely.

    Hands held up halfway between either welcoming embrace or to cover his mouth like a distraught widow.

    His eyes were shining wetly.

    The sorcerous man¡¯s voice sounded bored.

    Executing the last step of a bothersome chore.

    ¡°As Promised, I have produced your Daughter healthy and unharmed. Does that satisfy your terms?¡±

    Marta heard her father say the words in the brittlest and most exhausted tone she had ever heard from him in her life.

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    And then Marta was being embraced in warm arms.

 12.7

    12.7

    They were welcomed as a group, all the lords of the entourage, but this time Father and Jewel were welcomed first among them. Even ahead of the generals!

    And after that they were swept into the feasting hall.

    But the seating had been rearranged from last time.

    On the Countess¡¯ right an entire half of the table had been set aside for Jewel (and Jaksa the Red).

    To the Countess¡¯ left, past the still notably empty chair, Father, Mother, Alexander and Count Fiebron were seated to occupy the other places of honor at the Countess¡¯ table.

    The other two tables were filled out with both those she remembered from the original War Council, as well as lords Jewel did not recognize.

    Neither from the war itself or any other meeting.

    Among them was Smithson and to his left, Tsulogothulan. He looked incredibly nervous but Jewel trusted her friend to keep her squire safe.

    Judging by their muttering, these newcomers also had never heard from their peers about Jewel and many were whispering conspiratorially to one another.

    Subtly enough that Jewel supposed they expected she could not hear them.

    If they even thought she could understand.

    Was Jewel going to have to correct every single person in all of Viznove of her personhood on the first meeting?

    No, she¡¯d not had to do that for any of the Gryphon Riders.

    But these Lords and Ladies?

    Probably.

    Ironically, the only one of the nobility she recognized that had not been present for her last visit was Count Thurz¨® and beside him, a young woman in finery Jewel¡¯s nose told her was his daughter.

    She seemed shaken, fear still hanging on her but there was relief washing that away and she was putting on a brave face.

    Jewel felt awkward put up here in such a place of prominence, it made the scale of her even harder to hide, and left precious little room for her wings if something embarrassing happened.

    At least the smell from the kitchens promised that there would be Jewel¡¯s favorite Saffron-glazed pigs for the feast. Although for some reason they were not being cooked over the hearths in the center of the hall.

    The Countess Bathory stood tall and everyone stilled to silence.

    ¡°My Vassals, today we celebrate victory. But more than that we celebrate peace made once more with our neighbors and the Realm.¡±

    She nodded to Thurz¨® with that before continuing her speech. Smiling benevolently in a way Jewel was still mastering under Mother¡¯s tutelage.

    ¡°My Honor has been restored, Your safety as my vassals is assured and for the misunderstanding on my part which spurred the Good Count Thurz¨® to his foolish claims, I have chosen to forgive the duly owed recompense Arva owed to Viznove.¡±

    A few of the lords and ladies that had not even been privy to the first war council for lack of the Countess¡¯ trust muttered about that.

    Displeased that spoils promised from the Countess¡¯ enemies were not going to pass in even a small portion to them.

    Spoils they had not even been there to claim.

    But the Countess continued, and seemed especially interested in where the mutters were coming from, despite them being well below what should have been audible to her.

    ¡°To meet all obligations and promises made before our armies mustered, I will open my own coffers to pay that due to those so owed, as had been prior arranged. Fear not: none of you will go hungry this winter.¡±

    She spoke of the very idea of anyone here going hungry with a tone of jest that made all laugh, although Jewel noted that unlike with her Father making such jests, there was not an honest chuckle among them.

    Though some faked it better than others.

    Count Thurz¨® and his daughter did not even deign to try at laughter, but Jewel thought that to be expected.

    The Countess¡¯ eyes turned to Jewel and then her face followed, bringing that smile bright and white between red lips to bear.

    ¡°Furthermore, there are honors to bestow, for the peasants there will be an announcement tomorrow and a festival made of this going on the next ten days, but as my esteemed vassals the news will reach your ears first, of course.¡±

    Another chuckle, this one more honest sounding, though Jewel did not understand the joke.

    ¡°For honorable action in arms acting in my name and as a pivotal strike in the victory of the war, I bestow upon the House of Rochford the lands south of their present holdings, to include the Temple of the Silver Lady¡¯s vassalage and all surrounding hamlets.¡±

    Father bowed in thanks, but the Countess was not looking towards him.

    She was still smiling with eyes only for Jewel, and so the Wyrm bowed as well low and respectfully for the sake of her family.

    That was a mighty sum to add to the wealth of Rochford.

    But the Countess was not finished.

    ¡°Furthermore, I elevate the title of Shining Wyrm of Viznove so held by the Lady Jewel of Rochford to one of land holdings to be no less than a full manor. And more at the discretion of and to be provided by her Father and Liege Jonathan the Third of House Rochford, Lord Baron of Rochford.¡±

    That was also not unexpected and better than Mother and Father had feared.

    Finally she turned from Jewel, spinning in place and sweeping all the room with her gaze, settling on Father who duly gave his bow of acknowledgement.

    There were some very quiet murmurs. Some upset, again from those that had not gone to war as lords in the army.

    Jewel turned her gaze to fix one of the muttering lord¡¯s neighbors that she did know and was already fixed to watching the wyrm as soon as she moved. Jewel gave a subtle shift of her brows towards the conniver next to him.

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    Which got the muttering lady a hard elbow in the side and then a hissed whisper and pointed glance Jewel¡¯s way.

    Jewel smiled and nodded in acknowledgement to the rapidly paling face of the stranger.

    Then her attention was drawn as the Countess Bathory was turning from Father to address all the hall before them.

    ¡°Furthermore, today I am announcing that in recognition of her contributions to the rightful defense of my honor, the safety of Viznove and to forever bind our families into the future, the Shining Wyrm of Viznove, Lady Jewel of Rochford as a landed lady of good standing in the court is hereby betrothed to my only surviving son and youngest child, Paul N¨¢dasdy.¡±

    Jewel¡¯s thoughts stalled out entirely, all the world falling away to focus on the singular figure of the Countess Bathory.

    Focusing on every muscle of her skin, every breath of her body, the delighted smile which suddenly reminded her far too much of Fizzbunches and his insufferable feline pride.

    ¡°To be married when my son and heir of my late husband¡¯s titles is of the proper age of sixteen.¡±

    The Countess was utterly calm, her heart beat was slow and steady pushing blood through her veins, her eyes were bright and her skin seemed healthy and unweathered. But Jewel could smell age and rot on the Countess.

    With so much attention drawn to the single woman it seemed blatantly obvious.

    She could taste stress and pain.

    But above all else, there was a heat of triumph and exultant delight. Of a victory stronger and fiercer than any matter of armies or arms.

    Jewel could not even feel what her Father or mother was doing so intensely was her focus, and the words didn''t end! They seemed like an entombing mountain of stone pouring in from all sides.

    ¡°Furthermore, as the sole inheritor of the lands held by the house of Bathory, I name her my heir to assume all my duties, titles entrusted and vassalages owed to my name raising her family name to join mine, as both Jewel of Bathory and Rochford.¡±

    And with that the Countess sat back, to shocked silence, her lips peeling back in such a wide and delighted grin Jewel wondered which of them was truly more a beast then the other.

    Finally the room came into focus, the scents of the countess and her terrifying triumph fading beneath the plate of saffron glazed pork set before Jewel. An entire sow had been roasted and set on her side of the table for Jewel alone.

    Father and Mother looked strained, their lips and mouths smiled and they made thankful noises to the countess¡¯ announcement but they were both pained and panicked in their eyes and the stink of their sweat.

    Alexander was at least thankfully ignorant and unconcerned, happy for Jewel on all the praise she was awarded.

    Far more distracted by his own mere plate of saffron glazed pig.

    Jewel could not stop herself from whispering to the Countess across Jaksa the Red¡¯s head.

    The wizard seemed content to ignore her and just dig into his meal at least.

    ¡°Why? Why would you do this?¡±

    To which the countess turned to Jewel with the sweetest smile. Lips moving as if they were discussing something pleasant but words so soft that none save perhaps Father might hear other than Jewel (and Jaksa).

    ¡°My dear now-daughter, betrothed to my son and heir apparent. With this stroke I have assured either that not one fool in the realm will dare to see me perish. Or that I will have delivered to them a force of such intractable threat and undeniable danger that my vengeance will be assured upon them no matter what you do with my titles.¡±

    She took a slow bite of a slice of ham and made delighted little mumbling noises of joy that Jewel suspected had nothing to do with the quality of the meat.

    ¡°Jaksa the Red does his best and the rituals are as invigorating as ever. But I still grow old, dear daughter. I grow old and am, for all their tales, mortal. But you, my Shining Wyrm? You are a dragon, you are immortal! In Rochford? Unlanded? You might be controlled, a chained beast of war in all but name. A weapon for whoever holds your family.¡±

    Another slow bite of teeth sinking into flesh, chewing, tongue licking lips and then a swallow of a throat.

    Jewel¡¯s entire world felt pulled into just that mouth and its chewing.

    Those lips shaping the words of her future like an oracle.

    ¡°But now? In a trifle of a battle and a single speech I have made you a Tyrant Wyrm in truth. And all that holds you back from usurping all the power owed you in that is me and my frail, old, oh so fragile mortal life.¡±

    That too clear glass of a chalice was raised and deep red wine that smelled strongly of the barrel it had been aged in. It passed those lips and the throat swallowed hard.

    Tongue licking over teeth in relish.

    ¡°Welcome to my family, dear daughter. It would be nice if you treat my son well, he¡¯s hardly older than you. But it¡¯s not important. Be cruel to him, oh wyrm, if that is your fancy.¡±

    Jewel had not even known Countess Bathory had children before today, she had seen none of them or heard of them until this very moment! And yet she felt affronted and horrified to hear how little their mother seemed to care for them.

    ¡°Allow him to sire a child with a concubine, or not as is your won¡¯t. Have him bed you if you so desire, perhaps some wyrmish sorcery could even beget some offspring there. I care not. It is your business. My daughters already continue my blood fine enough for me. And my late husband¡¯s name can die with him for setting Thurz¨® upon me.¡±

    Jewel could only stare dumbfounded at the thing before her, that held allegiance of her family, that was owed at least until her death allegiance from Jewel.

    That had set them to war.

    That tossed her children aside in a scheme.

    That had apparently done something so horrible to a man¡¯s daughter that he thought her dead?

    All of that wrapped up into a woman just there next to Jewel.

    A self-stated fragile, mortal woman.

    ¡°Now then betrothed to my son, Shining Wyrm of Viznove, my beautiful heir, it would be poor manners if you did not eat at a feast held in your honor.¡±

    The command was there, laced as harshly as before when last Jewel had heard it.

    And once again Jewel was forced to eat something that, until this day, she had truly adored.

    But the wyrm was not sure that she would ever be able to stand the taste or scent of saffron again.

    Not after this.

 12.8

    12.8

    Ginter ate the meat pastie of uncertain providence.

    Was pretty good, meaty, greasy and even salty!

    But exactly what meat in particular had been wrapped inside the baked dough was a bit of a puzzler.

    Wasn''t greasy like dog, not light enough for any bird or fowl Ginter ever ate, wasn¡¯t eel or any kind of fish, not enough gristly crunch to be rat or mouse either.

    Unless the enterprising pastie peddler with his little wheeled oven or whatever dubious butcher supplied him was uncharacteristically diligent. But that was an absurdity on an impossibility in Kaeketeh.

    If someone was serving rat it was either whole on a stick roasted or mashed to a pulp under a butcher¡¯s mallet and baked into a pie or pastie.

    Not worth the work to butcher with something so fiddly and small as a rat unless it was some oversized lairspawn rats.

    Ginter paused in his chewing to peer into the bitten through half of his pastie and get a good look at the meat, grease and pottage mix of the filling.

    Maybe?

    He finished off the last half and contented himself it was not close enough to pork to make one concerned of its providence.

    Life was better with little mysteries anyway.

    The Countess had opened up the gates all the way to her fancy keep for the festivities and Ginter was making his way through the crowd to hear and see the announcement.

    He had been nursing a hangover when The Shining Wyrm came through on parade yesterday. And worse than having missed such a moment he found most of his sources were worthless to describe the event. Ginter was not going to miss the proper address from The Countess.

    But it was best to get your fair eats in the outermost city. Even in the docks afore the first bridge the hawkers will charge you thrice the silver and up in the middle city or further? Ten Haepenny for the same pasty!

    And Ginter knew it was the same pasties because he kept an eye on the hawkers as they made their way and it was the same faces selling from the same ovens.

    Sure, a few might swap their garb. Best to look fancier when peddling to the mid-towners or higher.

    But all the same meat of mysteries cooked in the same oven with the same dough.

    Death and Meat Pasties united all men as one, noble as gold or common as mud was all the same as he saw it when it came to pasties.

    So Ginter bought his pasties in the outermost city close to the gate when it was a festival. Then he walked to the keep.

    As he walked through the open gates, he mingled in middletown. Nodding to the maids, runner boys and other such whose mothers he knew. Keeping his head low and his eyes down whenever there was a lord, lady or uppity merchant that thought themselves such.

    Ginter knew the weave of the stones under his thin leather boots. They always laid them the same way and with a good ear for the water and thin boots you could orient yourself quite well anywhere in Kaekettah even in pitch black or blind drunk.

    He could walk and avoid shoving youngsters fine on a clear day like today.

    A quick grab at the wrist of one of the thieving waifs was common courtesy and a quick kick to the ribs a proper admonishment to better respect one¡¯s elders or get better at thievin¡¯.

    If he¡¯d been some noble or one of the Countess¡¯ men that would have been a knife to the gut if the waif was lucky.

    Ginter had seen what happened to girls that went after a noble in Kaeketeh. Or just were unfortunate enough to be out after dark.

    In that they were bundled off to the keep and never heard from again.

    Never a body found, never a word spoken of them.

    Those new to the city from some hamlet or such hoped it was just traveling off elsewhere or returning home.

    But Ginter had a walk off to a village once when one of the maids asked him to see where her daughter milly had gone too.

    Milly never was seen again and he eventually found a good thief who was better at sneaking than that last one who spotted the maid¡¯s girl one night.

    The Countess'' men cornered her and then bundled her off.

    That was just Kaeketeh as long as Ginter had lived there.

    It was always the girls too. The street urchins caught onto that quickly. Dressed like boys if they were savvy these days.

    But all that did is that young and fair enough boys started going missing.

    Only difference being they showed up again. Not even beaten.

    Just confused, speaking of their heads going hot with a fever and then waking up on the street or if they were taken for a proper crime in the stocks.

    Ginter slipped past a noble and tipped his hat to a footman.

    The Countess¡¯ men.

    He was slipping tight in with the crowd now. Worming along with them all through the fortress wall isle that separated the keep proper of Kaeketeh from the middletown full of the rich and noble apartments.

    All the barracks and such were technically in the ¡®wall¡¯. Where they kept the Gryphon feed pigs too. For when the Countess called up her Knights. Right now the clear patch of bare ground often used for mustering and training was cleared and made festive.

    Dancers, performers of all kinds, even one of those clever puppet masters were in attendance.

    And of course there was the very same pastie maker that had served Ginter the meat pastie of uncertain provenance two hours ago.

    He nodded to the familiar face in a fancier hat and finer clothes and got a knowing grin and a dip of the head. A fresh baked pastie waved in the air. To which Ginter just laughed and shook his head.

    Shouting over the murmur of the crowd.

    ¡°Not for Twelve Pfennig, ya bastard!¡±

    Which earned him a good natured scowl and a kindly gesture to go fuck a goose.

    He offered back his own gesture suggesting a ram was to the liking of the peddler and they both had a spirited laugh as Ginter swayed and slid between the crowd up to and over the bridge.

    The stones under his feet were not so familiar here.

    Only ever got a chance to feel them under his boots when the Countess was feeling especially good about some such thing.

    But he stumbled a step on what were definitely fresh laid pavers.

    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.Ginter frowned and weaved and slid from one side in the crowd to another. Good and practiced as he was at the crowded streets, taverns and brothels of Kaeketeh, he could move amid his fellow men like a fish in the river.

    Left and right, forward and back.

    Just to assure himself that yes indeed the Countess had relaid stones for nearly the whole expanse of her keep¡¯s courtyard. Which was an expense and effort Ginter had somehow missed despite dropping in with masons and road workers for a drink at least once a season.

    Mighty peculiar that, but enough musing it was another mystery of the world.

    Like the meat pasty, which Ginter was still suspicious of how well it would get along with the fish on a spit he¡¯d had for breakfast.

    Meat twice a day could disagree with him on the way out, and that sometimes even applied to fish.

    But not always.

    After assuring he would not need to get back through the crowd in a rush that required actually shoving, Ginter found a good spot to settle into his practiced resting stand.

    Best spot for the Countess¡¯ Festivals, this.

    Not too close to the front his countenance could disturb some noble sensibilities, but close enough to see their lady and mistress of the city.

    Just the right spot to blend into the crowd and still have his aged eyes able to mostly pick up on the details.

    And it was much the same as a usual festival for a bit. Out came the Countess¡¯ men.

    Across the sky roared the terrible booming calls of the Gryphons that held less a fearful grasp in his spine then they once had.

    Not since that day.

    When the city went still.

    But yes, there was the Countess and she proclaimed it was a festival for victory from some war she had been in.

    Then out came some nobles to be honored, some lucky sods that got to be generals. Some lords and knights that earned a fair turn from the good fight.

    A few captains offered land for their commendable acts in battle and surviving not getting a Gryphon arrow through the head.

    Then some big shot Gryphon Rider Baron was getting some more land handed off to him to tax or whatever nobles did with land and the people in them.

    And then at last something happened that made Ginter and all the other fools who had thought it was wise to get close up in front regret that choice.

    The doors to the keep parted.

    And from it emerged a beast he had seen only at a distance once before.

    It emerged like a snake almost, head and then neck, scales shining like polished copper or near harvest wheat in the sun.

    With a mane as black as coal and shining luxuriously radiant.

    He felt a heady thing in his chest and his nose smelled rain and thunder.

    The eyes were sharp and crisp and intricate with the color of honey. Their sharp focus moved over all of them in the crowd before dipping with a solemn expression to its lips.

    Lowering its horns below the Countess¡¯ head before striding, smoothly in gentle steps that yet carried it further than they should from within the Keep. and kept rolling forth in shimmering metallic scales. The tightly folded wings held close to its sides.

    Emerging yard upon yard until it was all coiled up nice and proper like a well trained dog on the Countess¡¯ right hand side.

    In a space that had been cleared beforehand.

    Sat and waited while considering the crowd in slow, easy sweeps of its gaze.

    With eyes that made Ginter feel like a possessed thing.

    A mere trinket held by one of his betters.

    The Countess'' words rang out in his head.

    ¡°I present to you, people of Kaeketeh and all of Viznove, Lady Jewel of Bathory and Rochford, Daughter of Jonathan the Third of House Rochford, Heir of I your Countess Elizabeth Bathory of Viznove! Newly announced Betrothed of my Son Paul N¨¢dasdy the heir of our late count and my husband.¡±

    There was a pause and silence descended.

    Had the countess gone mad?

    Marrying her son to a beast?

    No matter how magnificent, that was surely the act of an addled mind.

    But then a voice soft and sweet and gentle as the most refined daughter of nobility spoke.

    The voice of a youthful girl better fit for Ginter¡¯s own granddaughter shivered through the air.

    The voice was so soft and yet it carried, it filled the air and beneath it was a rumble felt in the ribs and bones more than heard in the air.

    ¡°People of Viznove, I look forward to seeing to your safety and well being as your liege and countess, someday. But only after we can all enjoy the guidance and stewardship of the esteemed Countess Bathory for many more long years. I swear to you even when we must one day say farewell to our liege, I will protect you as my own for as long as I should reign.¡±

    Along with the others, Ginter stared, stocks still.

    The lips had moved, the voice had rumbled, the words had come from the beast. From Lady Jewel.

    He looked between the crowd where others too had seen it and were doing much as he had.

    The clap of the hands and the familiar cutting voice of command from the countess struck them like a whip and all heads snapped back to look at her.

    Ginter felt a pain in his neck with the violence he had turned to attention.

    ¡°People of Kaeketeh, give welcome and promise of fealty to your Lady, The Shining Wyrm of Viznove!¡±

    And without a word needing to be said, Ginter dropped to his knee, there was not a man un-kneeling, not a woman unbowed.

    Only the nobles remained standing under that voice of command.

    But Ginter kneeled for more reasons than that.

    And he thought many a native to Kaeketeh did the same.

    They had all heard the wyrm¡¯s voice before.

    Not dainty and soft as she spoke with it now.

    But overwhelming and all consuming.

    Silencing in its awe and majesty.

    Terrifying in its power.

    The countess might have commanded it.

    But Ginter kneeled to his new liege to be.

    The Tyrant Wyrm of Viznove.

    The Lady Jewel.

 12.9

    12.9

    Jewel was glad to be home to stay at last.

    To finally be looking back at the war in its entirety. To be able to focus on lessons other than training for battle and bloodshed.

    They had been held at Kaeketeh for the entirety of the festivities. Making numerous showings and appearances for both the populace of the city and those that had traveled clear across from Viznove and beyond.

    There had been a particular surge of guests most notably pressing the capacity of the capital to bursting at the seams halfway through their stay.

    But all of that and the trials of the road home were behind them.

    Sleet no longer needed to be shielded off her family with an extended wing.

    Strangers no longer needed to be reminded of her status.

    It only took four trips across Viznove, participation in a war, ten days of speaking in a festival to thousands, being declared the heir of the entire county and a betrothal to the countess¡¯ only son to make being treated like an animal on first impression a bit less common.

    But Rochford was home and she was glad to be back.

    Samuel had not yet gotten his gardens back on the walls. But Jewel had already heard him speaking of it happening come spring. There were already young boys picked out to help with the heavy lifting of timbres if they survived winter.

    There was now war spoils flush in both the Footmen and returned Levies¡¯ coffers or whatever it was that peasants kept coin in?

    Maybe bags like those peddlers in Kaeketeh?

    Jewel shook her coils out in the training yard, finally empty of men and the feet of armies. But beneath her claws, the stones and earth still trembled and hummed with the memory of them.

    The weather had not quite managed to fully turn to snow yet, but the rain was thick with a slushy kind of ice most days that kept men, women and all other beasts indoors.

    Not even Gryphons wanted to be out in this weather.

    No one did but Jewel and Tsulogothulan.

    They sat in the rain and the ice, enjoying the feel of the sopping mud beneath them and the burbling dance of the water and the wind Jewel had enchanted to dance there before them.

    ¡°It still hasn''t shown any signs of stopping? Truly?¡±

    The Weird of Bogs shook their ¡®head¡¯, still following the sleet and occasional twirling crystal of ice with the one eye. The glittering slush that flowed and swept around in arcs and lines like the most flowery lines of ink from a quill.

    Far better than any actual penmanship Jewel could manage on a page.

    And she¡¯d done it by accident.

    ¡°Why have Fizzbunches and your circle promised and done so much for Father and I to simply sit and talk to me and watch me live, Tsulogothulan?¡±

    The weird considered the waters a moment longer before turning to Jewel and sighing.

    ¡°You consider me a friend, Lady Jewel?¡±

    To which she nodded firmly.

    The Wizard sighed and looked up at the sky. Seemingly unbothered by the sleet hitting their eye.

    Only blinking occasionally even as slush welled up upon it.

    Then shaking the ice and water loose and blinking loudly.

    ¡°That¡¯s good, I feel much the same. But there are by our counting at least two hundred and thirty eggs of true wyrm in the hands of men. Some in the open, but most simply are stowed away in cellars or treasure rooms without a thought. Few men that even remember what they have. But so far none have hatched yet besides you?¡±

    Jewel blinked at that, she knew that the occasional slaying a feral wyrm could turn up a true egg. But she was not such a beast.

    ¡°Yes? But why not study other wild wyrm for that? The histories speak of only a dozen or fewer from the clutch of the Tyrant.¡±

    The weird shook their head.

    ¡°As your friend, I must apologize for a lie by omission made against you and your Father. You are not the first to hatch from the clutch of the so-called Tyrant Wyrm.¡±

    Jewel glared a bit.

    ¡°But Fizzbunches said I was the first to hatch in mortal care within the last seven centuries.¡±

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    Tsulogothulan raised a finger.

    ¡°In their care, but how many eggs do you suppose were left abandoned by happenstance as they moved and were inherited between the families Jewel? Urul the Written found one three centuries ago. And it had duly hatched before he came.¡±

    Jewel stilled, there was another dragon out there? Not just another but another offspring of the Tyrant wyrm? The being that by all accounts, Jewel could no longer deny was her flesh and blood?

    That she had truly grown to earn the title of Tyrant Wyrm herself?

    As unfitting as it felt.

    But Tsulogothulan shook their beak of a nose.

    ¡°It hatched in the care of rats, it has to this day barely grown longer than you were on your first day out of the egg. It still lives to this very day in the cellar of a collapsed fortress long forgotten. Caring for and living among those same rats. It is nothing like you.¡±

    Jewel stilled.

    An Egg of the Tyrant Wyrm, Hatching a Rat-Dragon?

    Some miniscule Rodent Wyrm, which was centuries her elder and yet barely even grown longer than she was as a hatchling?!

    Jewel stared at the working that still persisted before her.

    ¡°It¡¯s a Feral Wyrm... A Feral wyrm hatched from the clutch of the Tyrant?¡±

    The Wizard nodded.

    Jewel focused on the welcoming presence of mud, water, storm and sky.

    Of the familiar stones that had been there for her since she hatched.

    Of the soothing presence of her friend and the fauxfire around her.

    The way the world dotted upon her even now.

    Relaxing her wings back to a close, letting her coils unflex and settle in the watery earth.

    Her friend continued.

    ¡°We are giving so much to study and know you Jewel, because you are the first to hatch in the care of men, to grow among men and become like them in a very long time.¡±

    The Weird stared at the dancing water of Jewel¡¯s working.

    ¡°The record of when last this happened is barely legend, and although we have suggestions it once occurred seven hundred years ago, Urul has disputed that such tellings might in fact be from much older times.¡±

    Jewel focused on calming herself, trying to think about this like a lesson instead of yet another flipping of every sensible thing in the world. She¡¯d had so many of those in the last two years that she was feeling almost numb to them.

    ¡°I¡¯m the only one?¡±

    The weird sighed with a burbling croak.

    ¡°You are the first.¡±

    The Weird gestured over Jewel¡¯s coiled body and folded wings. With sleet flowing down them in cascading falls.

    ¡°You are the first to hatch into the care of mortal men in sorcerous memory. But if a Tyrant¡¯s eggs can hatch feral when among beasts, then why can a Feral¡¯s egg not hatch as a Tyrant if the right conditions are met?¡±

    Jewel stared at her friend, her wings flaring not in shame or embarrassment. But in a chilling fear. Her neck arching back in horror at what the Wizard was saying.

    The wyrm¡¯s voice was quiet and strangled. So much of her throat closed so tightly it was barely open at all.

    ¡°What conditions are the right ones?¡±

    The words round as always came soft in reply.

    ¡°That is what Fizzbunches and all of his circle are trying to find out about you Jewel. Before it is too late.¡±

    And then there was silence between them.

    Eventually the Weird slipped away into the mire around them. And Jewel turned to go in for her Bath and Supper.

    Along the hallway she stopped in front of Kraok, staring down at him, he was so fragile. A breath from her lips could leave him as nothing but ash, could strip her home to its foundations.

    Jewel could do it.

    Had done it in the war in moments.

    And she was the First of who knew how many Tyrant Wyrms.

    Jewel stared down at the brave man who had saved her Brother¡¯s life.

    Who would be nothing against her or any other of her kind.

    A fierce dragon faced a valiant knight.

 12.i

    12.i

    The Seasons of the Year as used in the county of Viznove.

    <ul>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Spring Ploughing/Fallow Turn</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Spring Seeding/Harrow/Birdbane</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Summer Haying/Hay Turn/First Summer</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Weed Blight/Hungry Summer/Second Summer</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Wheat Harvest/Grain Turn/Third Summer</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Pea Season/ Threshing Turn/Debt''s Season</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Winter Ploughing/ Swine Turn/ Pannage Season</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Autumn/ Blood Season/ Smoke Season/ Forest Turn</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Winter</li>

    </ul>

    The Logistics of Jewel¡¯s Bath.

    <ul>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">4~ meters diameter, 1~ meter tall.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Roughly 10,000 litres of water by volume</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Takes approximately 280 kilos of wood to heat a full bath.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Takes 42 trees a year (with two years of aging to dry the cut wood out beforehand) assuming one bath a day.</li>

    </ul>

    The Rochford Finances and Demographics (prior to inclusion of the newly granted territories).

    <ul>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">2900~ Population in Rochford</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">71,832 Acres in Rochford</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">20,300~ Acres of worked farmland in Rochford</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">6,767 Acres worked directly for Lord Rochford</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">13,533 Acres owned by farmers in Rochford</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">5,413 Acres equivalent produce paid in taxes.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">12,180 Acres of produce available to Lord Rochford</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">56,840 Bushels of Wheat Equivalent Product after Taxes produced by the population of Rochford.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">369,460 Approximate Pfenning Annum Income for Population of Rochford (before food)</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">167,438 Approximate Pfenning Cost Per Annum of Food for Population of Rochford</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">202,022  Pfenning Annum Income of Population of Rochford After Food cost (and taxes).</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">85,260  Bushels of Wheat Equivalent produced Owned by Lord Rochford</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">554,190 Pfenning Annum Income for Lord of Rochford.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">2,980~ Knights Marks Annum Income for Lord of Rochford</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">149~ Knights Marks owed in tithe when not meeting military obligations (2 Knights Marks per thousand Acres of the Barony)</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">7,993,125 pounds of bread equivalent theoretically produced in Rochford.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">3,197,250 pounds of bread equivalent produced by farmers after taxes.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">2,140,818 pounds of bread equivalent eaten by people of Rochford per year.</li>

    </ul>

    Stolen story; please report.This does not account for land or labor needed to produce other goods required for living such as clothes or firewood, which is where a much greater strain on food stores and availability of nourishment comes. This is also an optimistic measure of an average year. Which can easily be changed by any number of weather or perturbations to the productivity of the land or viability of individual crops.

 12.ii

    12.ii

    Acknowledgements and Research References:

    A Collection of Unmitigated Pedantry</a>

    This blog was incredibly valuable for giving me a deeper insight into fleshing out less well documented aspects of medieval and classical era life. I knew some of what was already mentioned but honestly there was so much that was expanded on from my own knowledge this story would have been significantly worse without the insights of this blog.

    The Medieval Farming Year

    </a>This is an amazing article on the labors of the year for peasants written by Andrew Staples. As an overview of the labors of the year it is unparalleled even now. Large sections of the interludes were directly based on it.

    Behind the Name

    </a>This is an incredible resource for names. Enough said.

    Feudal Terminology</a>

    I knew a lot of these from other sources but I was using this to help triple check some of my terminology.

    List Price of Medieval Items</a> & Medieval Prices and Wages</a> & Table of Medieval English Wages and Prices</a>

    It turns out that it is actually really hard to get a solid read on the valuation of currencies in the past. Most of my sources ended up being English due to my linguistic inflexibility and distrust of machine translation for scholarly research but without resources like this I am almost certain the money in Shining Wyrm would have been less rigorously thought out.

    Pliny The Elder¡¯s The Natural History</a>

    I originally thought I¡¯d just be cribbing some ignorance/flavor in word use from Pliny, but the man was hilariously applicable to Shining Wyrm and I really must recommend anyone who is doing world building in a vaguely fantasy setting to dig in and take a look at how modern his observations are and how they slide smoothly and with no friction at all into completely insane propositions.

    Really it is wild and humbling to read this stuff.

    SIMetric.co.uk</a>

    This is one of the most useful sites for writing with any rigor in science fiction or fantasy I have ever found. Seriously, being able to answer how heavy something is quickly or finding approximate equivalents of bulk goods in easy tables is invaluable.

    Koleda Winter Solstice Festival</a>

    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    For giving me some of the foundational inspiration for the winter solstice celebration traditions of Rochford and making me aware that Santa Clause might in fact be a dragon</a>.

    Tips on Writing Military Science Fiction

    </a>While not holding a foundation in medieval era tactics, doctrine or the rest this is an invaluable site full of very good resources for grappling with the realities of actual war, logistics, tactics and more written by someone who is a passionate nerd about military organization.

    It¡¯s what really got me out of the mindset of First Person Shooters and the like when considering military matters way back in college.

    French Poems and Prayers from Miron-Wilson Funeral Home

    </a>I did in fact use machine translation to convert one of their poems to english and then performed minor edits to fit the context. I am at best an amateur poet and word smith and there are those whose words are far more powerful then mine.

    Visionaries: Knights of the Magical Light

    </a>Stars and fortune damn me I love the rhyming spell songs from this show so much and I think more fantasy settings should bring this shit back. I absolutely stole two of them for a section in shining wyrm and just altered the word choice til it fit the situation.

    The Hobbit</a> and The Return Of the King</a> Animated Films

    Some of my ideas of what a dragon should be are still defined by Smaug as depicted in this version of the hobbit. And I just love how goofy the orcs were with their songs in Return of the King.

    Elizabeth Bathory</a> & Gy?rgy Thurz¨®

    </a>Seriously, the truth/myth is stranger than my own fiction here and the situation with these two and the situation around them is wilder than I can do justice even in a story that effectively hinges around an alternate history fantasy of their entire deal. I waffled back and forth on how I was gonna handle them both and settled on what you got in the story but there is plenty of room for the facts to go any other way given the ambiguity of the situation.

    I aimed for upping that ambiguity and playing with and against that legend until the very end for Shining Wyrm but really you could tell a lot of your own stories here and not even stray from the historical record.

    Google Maps

    </a>This is an amazingly good tool for writers, street view can give you a lot in general but also just the ability to get an idea of how long it takes to walk places for long distances through europe can be a great grounding tool.

    Fire Wood Tree Calculator

    </a>I actually checked these facts with a few different sites and their own math to get some of my details more grounded on how much burnables certain things take. Foresters take their productivity very seriously friends and they have tons of great tools for it!

 1.1

    1.1

    It was Jewel¡¯s hatching day.

    The third day after the dawn of a new year.

    She was now fourteen winters aged, and she would be married to her betrothed in two more years and some seasons.

    As was the proper duty of a Lady, a daughter, a Baroness and an heir to her father¡¯s liege.

    Jewel shifted herself and pumped wyrmflame through her coils so that she could mostly hang over the tub while soaking the membrane and fingers of her left wing in soothing hot water.

    At least her growth had finally begun to slow.

    Not stall entirely, but she was considerably slower to gain notable differences in the length of her coils from snout to tail, or the extent of her wings, arms or legs between them.

    Jewel slowly pulled her left wing from the water, flexing her wyrmflame through the air to push the clinging droplets from her scales and the furled expanses of skin. Rolling over to her right side to give her other wing a soothing soak in the hot water and lavender oils.

    For the last few years her growth that had once been measured in feet per year had begun to slow, inch by inch.

    According to her friend and attendant Wizard Tsulogothulan, her growth had likely been slowing since she hatched, but the initial rate was so vast as to have carried her to the present length of nearly thirty feet.

    She gently pulled her right wing free, pushing the water off it as she had the left. Then twisting in mid air to present her belly before letting her flame drain from the hovering mass. Sinking luxuriantly into the still steaming water, letting it sooth her for the special day.

    Her poor bath-tub no longer properly fit. Simply attempting to submerge all of herself at once would force the vessel to empty entirely, even without the risk of splitting its iron banding.

    It had been over a year since Jewel had been able to do more than soak a portion of her length in the hot cleansing waters at any given moment.

    She shifted slowly and luxuriantly down her coils from her wing shoulders. Sliding up in a hump with the aid of wyrmflame and the bracing of her fore and hind legs. Dragging the water in rivulets from her scales so she did not spill so much as a drop for her bathman (and Father¡¯s batman) Jorge to have to clean up.

    It was a chore to only be able to soak so little at a time but still Jewel refused to have a larger bathtub made of wood.

    For one though her growth had slowed it was far from anything close to finished.

    For two wood that did not buckle if she pressed overly hard on it did not come cheaply.

    And furthermore the sheer cost in firewood to bring it to boil felt wasteful even with just the portion she did use.

    Jewel had taken to only having a bath when it was assured there was use for the hot water that would also serve others instead of partaking every evening as she once did.

    The existence of that demand was in fact quite common it turned out! Especially after Jewel had opened the opportunity up to the village. Mother and Father had been somewhat scandalized by the offer of hot baths or washing water to the commoners.

    But today was Jewel¡¯s hatching day. So she¡¯d have indulged herself as a special treat even without the assurance that others could benefit.

    She missed being able to totally submerge and rest until the water lost all vitality to breath (simply submerging her face and neck was not enough).

    But sliding her coils through her tub of lavender oiled water and rinsing her mane with her favorite copper pail was still a very soothing exercise.

    Jewel¡¯s tail sang in relief as she finally got her hips free and dry, most of her free of the tub now as she coiled the third of her length that was tail in the steaming water.

    It was a good day and a good winter so far.

    No one but three of the eldest and two just born infants had perished in Rochford village.

    No one had wanted for firewood or warmth this year.

    There had not been any wars or calls to arms for Jewel from the Countess or the King since the unpleasantness of Jewel¡¯s tenth year.

    And her Brother was finally deemed ready to be among those presented to a Gryphon clutch come Harrow Season!

    Jewel deftly swept her tail free of the bath before finally turning around on herself to start submerging her face, neck, forelegs and up to just before her wing shoulders in hot lavender water.

    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    Alexander, as had become tradition, chose the activity for the morning on Jewel¡¯s hatching day, and since Mother was feeling a bit ill from her pregnancy they had foregone anything strenuous.

    Well, less strenuous for their Mother.

    Alexander had asked for a proper duel with his Sister and Jewel being the dotting younger sibling (if certainly not smaller, only father dared jest as such now) obliged him.

    It had been a playful bout and not at all a challenge for Jewel, She could arrange her coils to put all of the Rochford courtyard in reach of at least a wing, claw, tail or jaws.

    But for the sport of it Jewel kept to the old melee rules that kept her grounded and did not entirely overwhelm her brother.

    She didn''t coddle him of course.

    Alexander was to be a martial lord and a Gryphon Rider. Just as Jewel was a martial lady and the so ranked Shining Wyrm of Viznove.

    Jewel spat harmless flares of wyrmfire at range. She punished every over-extension, she did not let any of her all encompassing senses be lax in a duel with her brother.

    But every death blow was done as a light tap which tumbled and bruised him rather than shattered his bones. And he made a good showing of it against her.

    Landing four blows that properly hurt Jewel and stung even now at the end of the day.

    Which was a better showing then most knights against her.

    Even Father generally only landed a dozen of such. Even with live steel.

    That had been another boon of the last year.

    Father had finally conceded that Jewel could practice against opponents using more than training blades after she had shown that even an arrow directly to her eye did not successfully puncture when she was braced and reinforced.

    It had stung horribly and left a blurry mark in her vision for months. But Jewel had recovered.

    If Jewel was being honest, if the choice was to have a bout against a trained Knight with a sharpened sword or one wielding a warhammer, Jewel would take the sword every time.

    Warhammers stung terribly and they bruised deeply into the muscle despite her so called ¡®impervious¡¯ scales.

    After Alexander¡¯s utter thrashing of a bout (which he took with good spirits and enthusiastic discussion on how he could improve from Jewel and Father) they had settled into a quiet afternoon meal where Jewel worked on her efforts to learn weaving. Mother had to mostly supervise as she was still feeling a bit poorly and easily tired, but Jewel appreciated the time to talk all the same.

    Last of all was the quiet evening meal and a discussion on the Stewardship of Jewel¡¯s Demesne and what plans she had for it.

    The warmth of the water sang as it ran along inside her throat, up her neck and settled into her lungs full and hot nestled mostly over the lip of the tub and just past it on the floor.

    The level of the water dropping enough it let a bit of a chill catch on her scales.

    Only to rise again as she clenched her chest and expelled the water from her lungs and then flexed her neck to further squeeze it free of her throat.

    Jewel¡¯s official demesne was neighbors with Rochford and Father¡¯s only other vassal Sir Kraok. Situated in the hamlet between Rochford proper and Kraok¡¯s Dewgrove.

    She would eventually be the proper liege of the knight when she came of age.

    The little village of Valasect and its growing foundation of a manor house was set further along the mountain ridge that surrounded Rochford on the east. The village was settled in a place where the foothills of the mountains gentled enough that shepherds could march their flocks up into the high pastures for grazing each year.

    The distance was hardly an inconvenience to fly for Jewel, even in winter. She was easily there and back in a quarter of a day even in a winter storm. Which let Jewel administer and practice her stewardship with Valasect while still being able to remain in her family home.

    She drew her shoulders, neck and head free of the bath just as she had every other part of her. Making sure that the water was willed by the extension of her wyrmflame in the air and the rivulets of bathwater and scented lavender.

    Making sure every drop was conserved so that others could benefit from it.

    A last touch of the slightest, most delicate brush of wyrmflame through it before her head broke its surface.

    Slowly running rivulets of raw wyrmflame over her tongue and past her lips.

    Just a bit.

    Not too little that it was smothered against her nose and barely heated anything.

    Not too much that-

    The entire tub burst over with a splashing bubble of deep purple flame.

    Jewel withdrew her face from the tub, making sure to peel the water free to at least leave her dry.

    All the care to avoid making a mess and now the floor was soaking wet!

    Jewel would have to apologize to Jorge.

 1.2

    1.2

    Jewel ate her breakfast porridge.

    Last year she¡¯d finally had to ask for a whole pot to be made for just herself.

    The normal serving bowl was simply no longer a satisfying meal to start the day with.

    Mother had been feeling better since winter. Tsulogothulan had provided a bitter smelling tea that they swore was healthful for women with child.

    Jewel had declined the bog wizard¡¯s offer of a taste. But it seemed to help Mother with the dawn sickness that had been afflicting her.

    Seeing mother¡¯s belly grow and tasting the way her scent changed was somehow different from when Jewel passed the villagers or beasts so burdened with children.

    In specific it was much the same as any other woman or animal getting heavy with a child this time of year.

    Especially those that had newly wed in Grain Turn the year before.

    But seeing it in her own Mother¡¯s body?

    Tasting new life quicken and grow in the woman that raised her?

    It was different, somehow.

    ¡°How goes the construction of your manor house in Valasect, my daughter?¡±

    Jewel did not startle out of her musing over the state of her mother¡¯s pregnancy. She¡¯d been taught better than that, but despite her gaze being smooth, her smile cordial and her tone utterly undistracted the wyrm could feel she¡¯d been caught staring anyway.

    ¡°It is going very well indeed Mother, the headman-er adul- uh ado?¡±

    Father admonished her, sliding into a lecturing tone.

    ¡°Headman Adorj¨¢n, it¡¯s important for you to learn the names of your people Jewel. Especially the headmen.¡±

    Jewel huffed.

    ¡°I had just finished learning Borthin¡¯s name before he perished.¡±

    It was so unfair to have her first headmen die two years after she was starting to actually manage her own demesne.

    ¡°Jewel this is important, he is your voice in matters of common law and through him the village are your hands for the labors you require.¡±

    The wyrm sighed and only just restrained her wings from flaring, although she knew her parents could see the muscles twitching in the shoulders and read the ruffling of her wing fingers and the membrane between them for what it was.

    The way that even as she dipped her head in acceptance, her neck was tense and curling tighter than need be.

    That her shame was so easy for them to read made it worse.

    Jewel continued.

    ¡°You¡¯re right father, Adorj¨¢n reports fine progress. He is managing it all quite well and the extra laborers from Rochford and Dewgrove have been helping since spring broke. He says that the foundations and well will be finished come winter and that we should have the main house done next year, stars and seasons willing.¡±

    Jewel paused in consideration of that, this was going to be her home. She would be expected to move there once it was fully laid out. With some staff from Rochford itself, yes, but she would be living on her own.

    And then barely a year after her husband would be joining her.

    Speaking of Rochford.

    ¡°Father? Mother? You''re sure that the peasants of Rochford Village and Dewgrove can afford to spare the labor in the midst of Harrow Season?¡±

    Mother nodded amiably to that. Jewel noted her hands settling on the round swell of her belly before forcing her attention up to her mother¡¯s face. Which was smiling with a very knowing glint in her eyes.

    ¡°With you doing the spinning of a hundred women in as much time there is plenty of labor to spare. It costs us in cloth we otherwise would not have even had by this time. And it is the much vaunted wyrmspun cloth at that.¡±

    Jewel¡¯s wings wanted to flare in embarrassment there, it turned out that the thread she spun was enchanted somewhat.

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    Not terribly much, it was harder to cut, dirt and filth clung poorly to it and it took up dye and sun bleaching a bit better.

    But such was enough to make Proper Wyrmspun Rochford Wool Cloth go for a few more coins than normal to the peddlers.

    Jewel had no idea why some acts of hers would end up as the enchanting workings of sorcery while others did not, she feared that one day they would find something happened to her bathwater and the peddlers would start buying it.

    At least Tsulogothulan found it interesting, although the Weird had little input on why some of Jewel¡¯s acts altered the world more than others.

    Mother released a wistful breath.

    ¡°Ah I¡¯m going to miss having you on hand in the demesne when you''re finally settled in, daughter.¡±

    Jewel did bristle visibly at that. Assurance already past her lips.

    ¡°I can always come visit for spinning circles! It takes only a few hours to fly here from Valasect!¡±

    Which got a chuckle from both her parents and a huff¡¯d grunt of boredom from Alexander. He never did settle well for the more domestic aspects of Stewardship.

    Father put on a firm face but his eyes were shining with jest.

    ¡°You will have your own people and concerns to see to in Valasect daughter, best to only make a visit every three or four days.¡±

    Jewel nodded to acknowledge her father but decided to rescue her brother from further discussions of women¡¯s work.

    ¡°Brother, are you excited for your presenting to the gryphon clutch? You¡¯ve not slacked in your bow craft or exercises have you?¡±

    Alexander nodded hard, now almost as tall as father, although still lanky and youthful where his exercise and work had yet to put on muscle. Eyes going bright with interest and his voice rushing from his lips with such vigor that he spread some porridge onto the table from his lips.

    ¡°I¡¯m running up to the foothills and then up the mountain trail every other day with a full pack of lodestone! And I¡¯ve not missed a mark with a longbow more than twice in ten this season!¡±

    Father shared a glance with Jewel too fast for Alexander to spot but easily notable for her.

    A few hand gestures in that aborted secret cant used by the more experienced Gryphon riders spoke silently in circumspect flexing in his hands and shoulders.

    A whelp soaring open but high.

    Jewel gave a nod for Alexander and her father. Her brother was enthusiastic and ambitious but that brought risk. This would be the first clutch he could be presented at and not every prospective was even given the chance before the eggs hatched. Father had been fortunate to have a clutch available when he was twelve.

    Alexander was already fifteen, a few years older than that ideal time.

    He¡¯d have to prove he had the mettle for a Gryphon rider even harder to the rest of the fraternity.

    Father still holding his position of first amongst them or not.

    ¡°Speaking of the presenting, We will be making for the Eyrie in four days'' time. Have you settled all that is needed of you in Valasect my daughter?¡±

    Jewel nodded.

    ¡°The village has managed well under only their headmen and common law and there has been no concerns in the harvest for years before you granted it to me Father. Really besides overseeing the setting up of the manor house at proper proportions for me there is hardly anything that needs my stewardship.¡±

    Father frowned a bit at that.

    ¡°I expect you to take on your responsibility as a lady of your demesne seriously Jewel. That it was well tended before you does not mean you can be lax in this. You are certain all will be well in your absence?¡±

    Jewel firmed up her wings and held her head higher. Not yet higher than Father, as she was not his countess (yet).

    But more proper her station as a landed Lady with a manor in her care.

    ¡°Yes Father, a-Adorj¨¢n is skilled, trusted and well liked among the people of Valasect. He was a mason before he became head man and his sons are the ones laying in the foundation and guiding the quarrying of the well. I trust my headman¡¯s wisdom in this.¡±

    Father held the stern look for a moment longer before it broke into a delighted grin and a laugh.

    ¡°Good! Then we just need to make sure everything is prepared for our journey to the Eyrie.¡±

    Jewel nodded to that, looking forward to seeing Count Fiebron again.

    Her future sibling was not due till well after they would be back. Well in the midst of this year¡¯s Hungry summer.

    Much as Alexander and the other villagers'' births often were.

    Yet still Jewel felt a trembling worry pass across her scales.

    For her Mother and future sibling both.

 1.3

    1.3

    The Eyrie of the Ridgetail Mountains was in cliffs overseeing highland pastures. No book Jewel had ever seen or heard of was written of it or any of the lore shared between Gryphon riders.

    There were other Eyries, far north of even ¨¢rva, where the Ridgetails rose into the proper heights of the northern spine peaks and the pinnacle which supported the skyvault.

    There were also Eyries said to be across overways to the west in the Realm proper and presumably south among the Magarska from whence their own Gryphon riders must be hatched, though Jewel heard little said of them from Father and the books were as absent as they had been for the Ridgetail Eyrie.

    It was a long walk of three days east to get into the foothill lands of Grortovo where the Eyrie was found.

    Father had shown her from the air in an evening flight where riders welcomed into the fraternity could land and be met yesterday.

    But for the supply caravans and prospective youths wishing to be presented to a clutch, the winding trail up the mountain was the only road.

    And it was along this road that they walked with their entourage.

    Tsulogothulan swayed along as bonelessly as an eel (which was a kind of swampy fish serpent Jewel had learned of) and left a trail of damp earth and green speckles of duckweed.

    The Bog Weird moved with far less human proportions than when Jewel had first met them. The head was still a pale fleshed crescent of blank skin which occasionally sported a single violet eye as big as Father¡¯s fist. But lately there had been a lot more fluidity with everything else.

    Also accompanying them was Jewel¡¯s Squire, Smithson, armored in leathers more befitting a knight then a stableboy. He stood so proud in them if still a little stiff.

    Muriel was also in attendance, once Jewel and Alexander¡¯s governess and now Jewel¡¯s choice candidate as captain for her nascent footmen. Her hair had gone far more silver then it had been even a few years ago.

    But the woman wore riding leathers and armor like she was born to it.

    And then the rest of the luggage train of five Hackney mares with other candidates for Jewel¡¯s staff.

    The morning had been quiet, fitting for the ceremony of the day. Alexander¡¯s trials for joining the brotherhood of Gryphon riders would begin as soon as they reached the foot of the mountain.

    At last they reached the place and Father called a halt with a raised fist.

    Jewel, Father and the luggage train would now part with Alexander here at the ¡®start¡¯ of the mountain path. (It was technically not, they had been marching in the foothills of the Ridgetails for a full day already).

    Father stood for a moment in proper Gryphon leathers already tied onto Zephyrvam. They would be flying today and he¡¯d gotten prepared in the morning rather than waiting until evening.

    Jewel stood loaded down with her own luggage in panniers attached to her flying harness.

    They watched as the youth that was Alexander looked up at the rough stone, shrub and sparse forest ahead of them.

    There was a fork of sorts in the trail.

    Really more of a tributary sparser brush that was slightly off from the main road.

    To the left was a wide and gradual incline wide and cleared as was suited for horses and carts.

    To the right was a rocky forest openness, more a tumble of rough stones rising sharply up into the mountains towards the cliffs than a proper path.

    A prospective rider had to reach the Eyrie by the harder way.

    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    It was unmarked and un-notable except for its presence and clarity; no overgrowth blocked the trail, but no markers denoted it either.

    Father squeezed his legs in subtle signal to his Gryphon.

    Zephyrvam made the call.

    And Alexander stepped up to the rough stones.

    A long cry of announcement filled the valley, booming and sharp. The howl answered from the peaks and the sky around them with other cries of welcome and challenge, dozens of Gryphon voices acknowledging Zephyrvam and the prospective Alexander.

    The sound buffeted and echoed off the ridgetail and the highlands. Still empty of the herds of sheep that would be coming up later in the year after their numbers swelled with new lambs.

    Father nodded hard to his son and heir.

    Who, having paused as the cries echoed, now braced himself with a shake and began the long trudge up the mountain to the eyrie. A full pack was all the supply he would be offered for what was likely to be a few days trek on rough terrain.

    Jewel and Father for their part waited at the fork for their caravan to finish departing up the left path. Watching Alexander climb with sure and practiced steps, hopping up the stones like a goat despite the burden of his pack.

    She could still smell the salt of tears and a little fear that had been settling off her brother.

    Once he was beyond Father¡¯s sight around a bend (but just emerging into Jewel¡¯s vision again if she craned her neck high enough) they both took flight.

    Zephyrvam¡¯s stormy wake shook the leaves of the fresh foliage and Jewel''s almost silent ascent barely made a breeze through the air in the pair¡¯s initial grasps for altitude.

    But soon the sun baked highlands and their rising winds caught both sets of wings, Gryphon and Wyrm alike, and they soared into the sky.

    All around them riders and gryphons were happy to greet them in waving arms and tilted wings sweeping in circles around the same mountain side.

    Jewel for her part responded along with her father and many of their fellow fliers circled with them to watch the trails together.

    Other riders were joyfully waving and pointing out the progress of sons, nephews, wards and friend¡¯s children along the various winding and intentionally arduous routes up the mountain to the eyrie.

    Jewel did not see Cloudspear yet among them but a few familiar sets of plumage from her first campaign greeted her with friendly sweeps and a few offered japes and acrobatic diversions.

    The prospective youths might technically be alone in their journey, to prove their strength, valor, determination and if opportunity arose brotherly bonds with their fellow aspirants.

    But they were all of them under the watch of what Jewel could now see were well over three dozen sets of sharp eyes.

    Gryphons and riders together.

    Father and Zephyrvam made a cant towards Jewel that took a moment for her to parse but eventually she realized it was a clever way to bring up that their meal tonight was likely to be freshly caught mountain goat.

    Jewel offered a waving tilt of a wing to acknowledge and express her interest.

    She¡¯d never had mountain goat before.

    It made sense though, the beasts were obviously scattered all over the hillsides and cliffs around the Eyrie now that she was in the air. They must be some form of lairspawn descendents if the way they could cling to sheer rock walls was anything to go by.

    Surely that was some act of natural sorcery.

    She suspected they would probably be quite delicious.

    Jewel turned her attention back down to her brother, he was making a solid effort to travel up the tumbled over rocks of his path. Burdened by a heavy pack, and likely would be alone to set his own fire and prepare his own supper while Jewel and his father enjoyed a warm meal in the Eyrie.

    But he was not alone really.

    Alexander might struggle here.

    But he would be as safe as possible under the watchful eyes of the gryphons.

 1.4

    1.4

    The Eyrie was a welcoming and comfortable sort of place for Jewel. Carved rooms into the stones of the mountain which sang of feathers and gryphons and eggs.

    The greatest of the chambers was a high vaulted space that Jewel could not reach the ceiling of even while rearing back onto her hind claws.

    Riders and their steeds could be found everywhere in the Eyrie and the halls and doorways had been made to suit them, but of the Gryphons there were almost always wide gaps afforded unless it was the close knit preening and nuzzling reunions of children with parents or the stoic affection afforded between the mated pairs.

    For siblings and strangers there was not a single Gryphon who did more than tolerate one another in close quarters.

    Jewel was enamored with having every door, hall and room made for riders, affording enough space for a Gryphon and as a result plenty of space for her own over-large self.

    And what furnishings there were had either been carved into the stone or made of incredibly sturdy oak that bore many layers of scars from claws and curious beaks.

    In fact, Jewel was pretty sure she had tasted the scent of this sort of wood before from her own old dining bowl (which she still used but mostly for snacks rather than the main dish of her meals).

    All around the Eyrie was a delight as accommodations for Gryphons readily served for young lady Wyrms.

    In fact, the only thing really lacking was a place for a hot bath.

    The gryphons apparently preferred a combination of preening, rolling in dust and stones, or taking dips in the cold lakes that collected on the far side from the Eyrie landing cliff.

    However it was good that the accommodations were so accommodating because apparently gryphon eggs, while nowhere near as unpredictable as wyrmish ones, did not seem to precisely hold their schedules to the day.

    Alexander and the other prospectives had made it up the cliffs and were being settled into a routine of training and martial evaluation with bow and trips even further up the mountain under heavy load while they waited.

    But wait they did.

    For close on to eight days.

    They were nearly into the end of harrow season, by Jewel¡¯s count.

    She had come to spend much of it sitting in the nest chamber for the expecting formel and drake, Honeydown and Bloodbeak. The eggs were never left alone by either of them.

    She had sought some distraction socializing amongst the riders but here were only so many drills and acrobatic maneuvers to be praised for.

    Jewel still could not extend her wyrmflame as far as a Gryphon¡¯s wake did but still with how light she could become while buoyed by the flame coursing through her flesh and bones, she had finally begun to make up for her lack of speed.

    Now, however, she was settling in to watch (at respectful distance) the two parents as they fussed over their eggs, sometimes turning them over with foreclaw or beak between taking up their roosting duties.

    The prospective parents were overburdened with offerings of food from all the gryphon riders for the duration.

    Feeding both drake and formel nearly to the point of bursting and if not for the cliffs Jewel was pretty sure even the great wakes of a gryphon would have been unable to take them aloft.

    Honeydown was especially plump, although Jewel thought most of that was her prodigious pale crimson and yellow plumage which when not in flight hid almost every detail of the predatory formel¡¯s shape.

    She was an unbonded gryphon, the hatchling of one of the northern riders. Kept tame and accommodating by easy feed. Quite friendly to any and all even while she brooded.

    But like all of her kind who had not been taken up at hatching, Honeydown was unchallengeable in her pride.

    Her mate and sire of the eggs was grey and black feathered and reminded Jewel of an owl more than any other bird.

    He had once been bonded to a rider, but the knight had perished of illness between campaigns and now no other would be accepted to force their weight upon him.

    They were both first time parents according to Fiebron.

    Jewel believed it, for how much they fussed with care over even the slightest branch or bit of bedding amiss in their brooding nest. She¡¯d seen similar nervous fussing in newly weds and even the youngest hens.

    As she watched them between her only obligations of lunch and supper, Jewel considered and pondered. She thought of her mother back in Rochford.

    The eggs were reported to be seven in number, Something Jewel had eventually verified with her own eyes.

    Which took a while as neither parent left more than the briefest moment of the eggs open to observation.

    This afternoon Honeydown broke all pattern set for the last four days with a sharp warbling cry. The formel¡¯s eyes wide as she flapped and stepped uncertainly back from her nest, wings flared and neck arched.

    The expression of shock poignantly clear to Jewel. A mirror of her own instinctive flare.

    Those riders that had been passing through the nest chamber ran out in a rush.

    Calling for the lords and the prospective riders to return only once they were well down the hallway.

    The first hatching was at hand and their chance for a new rider to be accepted and bonded had arrived.

    For all the commotion Jewel had eyes only for the first egg in the nest, a light tapping from within, a faint burble.

    A shifting body straining.

    As the men rushed back and forth, Alexander and the other young men and boys were rushed into the room.

    All plans of feasts and activities other than attending the hatching were abandoned.

    Raw strips of the tenderest meats were prepared for each prospective.

    Honeydown was given what meat and comforts she would accept.

    Her drake Bloodbeak was given equal measures when he arrived and fluffed up almost as round as his mate, turning from svelte and dangerous to a round scrambling checkered ball of black and gray plumage in his own consternation.

    Jewel could smell and hear Alexander, dressed in heavy leathers and burdened with a soft slice of liver.

    Stood up third in line with the other boys.

    And then as the egg rattled and cracked, as the beak within tried to pierce the shell they began.

    First among them, some northerner Jewel did not know.

    Dark hair and eyes, slight build.

    Maybe eleven?

    He walked up nervously to the nest with a portion of meat, to try and seek a bonding with the chick yet hatching.

    But his nerves betrayed him.

    His fear that stank so thick that Jewel could have faced him with her eyes covered and her ears full of wax alarmed Honeydown.

    The formel flared her wings and lowered her beak. As round and friendly her plumage might make her, the sudden growling hiss which washed over all in the chamber put a stop to this prospective.

    The boy froze.

    And the expectant mother puffed up her plumage even more, somehow making a nearly completely round orb of yellow and red hints look like fury and death.

    Another rider, likely the boy¡¯s sponsor (if not his father), was beside him in a blink, pulling back the prospective rider until the gryphon calmed.

    The terror reek so sharp Jewel thought the boy nearly pissed himself.

    They all waited tense seconds as the cracking of the egg continued, shell flakes had burst out and they could see the beak. They did not have much more time before the opportunity for this hatching was passed.

    The second in line seemed to make up his mind, and where the other had stank of too much fear this one smelled far too little of it.

    He looked confident, yes. He was older then almost any other there.

    But he also was arrogant. Aggressive as he stepped up.

    He also did not watch as carefully as the other and when the plumage of Honeydown started rising in agitation, he simply kept approaching the nest.

    Instead of giving a hissing warning this time the Formel lunged fast as a cat, beak sharper than a spear. The boy had only a moment to realize his mistake before he was thrown back by the Gryphon pecking him full in the chest.

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    A wet gurgling wheeze and the scratch of his leathers scraping to a stop along the stone of the chamber. Jewel spared the slightest glance to verify that at worst he probably only had a cracked rib.

    Which considering he had just been struck by a Gryphon mother defending her nest was an incredibly soft rebuke.

    He likely would live although he might never take breath the same for the rest of his life.

    There was another tense lull after that.

    Offerings of meat to the tame but still fiercely protective Gryphons were done. All tension in the riders was absent when they approached. All practiced gentle posture and soothing voices.

    Softening the fear of Drake and Formel alike. But a few soft whispers in the room were saying they would only have another attempt after this at most before the egg had to be left to their parents.

    Some insisted too many attempts had already been made to risk the gryphon¡¯s trust further.

    The arrogant boy was taken from the chamber as the last prospective had.

    Now it was Alexander, who stood watching, brave and foolish as ever.

    But also cautious and careful.

    He watched the still agitated mother, who was mostly fusing over the slowly emerging chick. Its beak had mostly broken free, a pale white nearly the same as its eggshell.

    Parting open as it drank in the air.

    Soft gurgling and the first mewling warbles.

    A new life emerging into the world.

    Jewel¡¯s attention was torn between catching glimpses of the egg and her brother slowly approaching.

    Not at all predatory, but simply softly, unassuming.

    Gentle and with a face of concern.

    His gaze instead of fixed to the egg were on the Formel Honeydown herself.

    The other attendants finally noticed him but trapped far too close to an only tame but not bonded gryphon could not risk any sudden sound or shift in posture to admonish Alexander.

    They barely even glared at him, but he reached out to the mother and whispered softly, he spoke gently and much as Jewel did and she felt a new tension suddenly build in her wyrmflame.

    If that gryphon started to prepare to strike her brother-

    But there was no sense of malice, only confusion and the same undercurrent of worry to Honeydown.

    She rumbled and boomed at Alexander.

    But he merely waited and let her relax before approaching.

    When she did not give a sign of forbiddance he reached out.

    He stroked her plumage as he often did Jewel when no one else was watching.

    He spoke gently as he did to Zephyrvam.

    He was tense, he was careful.

    His eyes were watchful and he always paused before actually touching her.

    But he did it.

    And as the egg rattled and cracked again the other riders moved further back, for fear of claiming the bond undue them.

    Wasting half a gryphon¡¯s life in service to an adult that would perish before them was a shame that none wanted in the brotherhood.

    Leaving Alexander alone with the two gryphon parents.

    He clucked and soothed Honeydown. Even tore a small piece of the strip of meat he had and after graciously taking a bite, chewing and swallowing himself offered her a small portion.

    The Gryphon though prideful and extremely overfed seemed nervous enough with the egg to accept the curious tiny human¡¯s offering.

    That given there were mutters from some of the older riders that Alexander had cheated his turn to sneak close to the egg.

    Others seemed impressed with the audacity of him and that he had done so well.

    But her fool brother, rather than taking the advantage to position himself in the nest, turned after that and walked as he had to Honeydown to her mate.

    Slow, gentle, always letting each parent see and know where he was going, never meeting their eyes but also not turning away from them entirely.

    Not fearful but not arrogant.

    He walked past the nest entirely and to the Drake.

    He offered the same ritual as he had done before, a bite for himself from the same meat and then an offering of a piece that was meant for the newly hatched chick to the father to be.

    With a shake of his feathers and a head tilt that nearly went completely upside down Bloodbeak gently took the offered snack in his red tipped namesake and swallowed it.

    Only then after meeting with both parents did Alexander turn gently and without any guile to his posture to face the nest, glancing slowly and smoothly from one gryphon to the other before taking a single tentative step.

    It was slow and gentle.

    Honeydown still gurgled in concern.

    So Alexander stopped.

    The egg was cracking, the voice of the nearly free gryphon was almost done.

    The time for Alexander to earn the trust of its parents and their blessing to take and care for it was rapidly dwindling away.

    But still he stood and waited until the feathers in Honeydown settled, until the more subtle tension of Bloodbeak eased.

    Then he was able to take two steps closer to the nest and the hatching egg before there was protest.

    Jewel could feel her wyrmflame coursing so harshly through her body it took a moment for her to remember that she should breathe to avoid starving her flesh of vitality.

    Five steps.

    Ten.

    And then he was there among the eggs, slowly lowering near the hatching one.

    But only just.

    The crack of an egg shell startled everyone in the chamber, Jewel, Honeydown, Bloodbeak, Jewel and all the riders.

    Everyone jumped but Alexander.

    He simply sat there in a squat with his portion of meat beside the nest, giving cautious, slow sweeps of his head up to either side to watch each gryphon¡¯s posture.

    And the chick, now most of the way out of the egg, wrinkled horrifically and pink with flesh far too loose and sickly looking was tilting precariously in its mostly broken egg.

    Eyes still closed, voice peeling through the air in demand of food.

    Alexander extended his arm to the chick and its open mouth.

    He watched Honeydown tense but where before he had always stilled now he merely slowed.

    The meat was hanging from his heavily armored hand.

    The same meat he had eaten.

    The same meat Honeydown and Bloodbeak had also tasted.

    He held it over the wide open mouth of the still blind chick.

    Waiting, the noise from the wrinkly thing¡¯s throat scraped at the inside of Jewel¡¯s skull with its demand for food.

    The grating was putting everyone, including the gryphons, on edge.

    It seemed to hold forever.

    And then with an exhausted warble the formel slumped down from her over tense posture into a sprawled heap in front of the nest.

    Alexander nodded to her and dropped the thin meat into the waiting beak.

    Who upon even feeling it hit their tongue was swallowing it down fast as could be.

    He was already taking up the soft woolen blanket that each prospective student had been given.

    Slowly scooping up the Gryphon chick into a single armed carry.

    Hardly bigger than a hen right now.

    He stepped back slowly with the parents watching him intently, returning to the rest of the riders.

    Holding his charge in the crook of his arm.

    But he had fed their chick, and silenced the first hunger cry.

    He had earned their trust and acceptance.

    Alexander had done it.

    He had proven he would be a gryphon rider.

    But Jewel could somehow not quite find it in herself to feel proud of him.

    She had only eyes for the confused befuddlement and exhaustion that was present in every feather of Honeydown and even Bloodbeak.

    Something was there that made Jewel¡¯s insides clench in dismay.

 1.5

    1.5

    Jewel was going to miss her brother, but she was so proud of him for having earned his bond to a gryphon.

    That he would be able to follow father in being a Gryphon lord.

    That in the years to come she would be able to share with him the joys of flight.

    But today they would have to part.

    Of the seven eggs laid by Honeydown, only five were bonded to aspirant riders (Alexander included).

    For the next four days after his acceptance, there were no more exercises for the potential riders. They stayed in the eyrie in anticipation of the hatchings. Two happened in the middle of the night and barely a third of the young men got in position before offerings had to be made.

    After the incident with the second in line (who lived but had taken a breaking blow to the ribs), only one other among the older prospects was seriously maimed. But, beyond the wound in his arm, he brought further shame as all attempts to bond that egg had to be abandoned so as to avoid further angering Honeydown.

    That was the first to be left to the parents to tend, and grow into a tame if unrideable gryphon.

    The second was the last egg of the clutch, when Honeydown simply refused to step back from her nest and growled at all comers, whether they were the trusted attendants or prospective riders to be.

    Having already been agitated before and only gentled by prodigious offerings of fresh meat and gentle grooming of her feathers, it was deemed that no further eggs could be claimed from her clutch and that the choosing had concluded.

    Father had embraced Alexander openly after that, gently holding him to as not disturb the young chick that was hanging in a hammock of cloth over the boy¡¯s chest.

    A bag of soft jerky at her brother¡¯s hip.

    And then they had shared many soft words on the proper care and concerns to look out for with a Gryphon chick.

    As descendants of lairspawn they were hearty beasts, but as infants there were still dangers of illness and injury.

    To Jewel¡¯s ear a lot of the advice was to trust in the staff and the caretakers and heed their advice. And which ones were to be accepted beyond reproach when Father could not be in the eyrie himself to offer mentorship.

    Then there had been a great feast, full of fine roasted goat but subdued and quiet, as  the guests of honor all had easily disturbed chicks to attend too. And already many had haggard and sunken eye looks from needing to attend to feeding and care of their charges at all hours.

    She hated to leave her brother to this endeavor among strangers but their time was up.

    Jewel and Father were to depart, returning to Rochford by wing, with their caravan to travel after them.

    She bowed to her brother in farewell. It was uncertain when next they might meet. It could be more than a year.

    They both had responsibilities and duties to consume their days ahead.

    Father had to attend to his demesne and court in Kaeketteh with some regularity. Jewel herself was required to attend as well most years.

    Alexander would be raising a new Gryphon and ensuring the strong bond that would see him as both rider and later a Gryphon Lord upon his inheritance.

    There did not seem to be any words to fill the space.

    The best Jewel could manage was a stilted and formal.

    ¡°Take care brother, until we meet again.¡±

    To which he bowed back to her slowly. Careful to avoid waking the sleeping Gryphon chick in his sling hammock of cloth.

    His left hand hovered over the feed bag even now, fingers grasping reflexively.

    He smelled exhausted and elated at the same time.

    Tired from too little sleep and charged with a determination and vigor Jewel had only seen glimpses of before.

    Her brother was growing to be a good man, like their father.

    ¡°Take care sister, soon you will have to show me what the sky is like on the wing.¡±

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    He tried to give her the flight cant of safe departure but he mangled the angle a bit and instead declared there were enemies in retreat.

    Jewel laughed and corrected him with the proper motion of arms.

    Her wings did a bit of the same motion as normally would be made by a rider¡¯s gryphon. And she noted with pride that Alexander¡¯s tired eyes widened in realization at his mistake and quickly gave the correct signal.

    Father, for his part, offered his hand in a knightly greeting.

    Main hand open, forward and bereft of weapon, off hand out to the side and equally unarmed.

    Alexander swallowed some kind of utterance, whether laugh or other Jewel was unsure.

    He grasped his father¡¯s armored forearm with his hand and the two squeezed one another. Father¡¯s off hand patted Alexander¡¯s shoulder while her brother hesitantly mirrored it.

    Then it was time to go.

    Jewel turned away towards the cliff where Zephyrvam waited for Father to mount up and be tied down by the Eyrie attendants.

    ¡°I think he will do well here, Father. He cares for his bond. And he earned the respect of the formel and drake for all to see.¡±

    Father could not nod in his full flight armor but his waist bent in an almost bow to approximate.

    A gesture of arms reinforcing the affirmation in flight cant.

    ¡°He will do well, though being so acknowledged is going to haunt him with some jealousy. I argued he should have been in the second or third choosing from the clutch. The first is always the hardest to earn with a new mother.¡±

    Jewel thought of the expression in the wings and neck of Honeydown when Alexander claimed his future steed. She could see why, but had nothing to say.

    Father continued.

    ¡°But I was overruled, they implied that if Alexander was so poorly prepared with the first among gryphon riders as a father then maybe neither of us were of honor. It was a jealous and stupid tactic. But the choosings always have tempers high.¡±

    Jewel blinked at that, tilting her head to the side. She had grown used to hearing the whispers of those that thought she could not hear.

    But there had been none of that apparent among the Gryphon Riders of the Eyrie.

    Then again, gryphon riders in general were far better at controlling themselves at all times then most other nobles. Their steeds were observant and considerate beasts after all.

    ¡°Truly? They are so wroth at such an auspicious time? It seems very petty.¡±

    Father sighed as he swung over onto Zephyrvam¡¯s neck and shoulders.

    The attendants coming forward to work the straps into their matching buckles on the Gryphon¡¯s own harness.

    Others pulled the legs, arms and waist of the flight armor to proper readiness.

    Squeezing father in until his armor creaked with every movement.

    ¡°Many lords and riders failed to see their sons or wards being accepted by this clutch. And it¡¯s not certain all of them will have another chance before they are too old to avoid dishonor.¡±

    Jewel hummed at that, considering what it would have meant for Alexander and Father if he had not been accepted.

    Her brother would have been wracked with shame over the prospect.

    Father, for all his goodness, would have suffered questions of his fitness as First among Gryphon riders. That his own son could not meet the standards of acceptance despite the circumstances being unfavorable.

    Jewel sighed and shook out her wings then waited patiently as Smithson secured her panniers and made sure they were loaded and balanced to best avoid burdening her in the flight home.

    It would be hardly a day and a quarter night of fine gliding home to Rochford. But both Father and Jewel had matters and responsibilities to see too that had been left in their time in the Eyrie.

    Jewel felt her scales tremble down her sides.

    The fact that even among the Brotherhood of Gryphons there was politics put an odd quiver in her guts.

    Finally prepared, the cliff was cleared of attendants (and Smithson). As one Jewel and Zephyrvam leapt into open sky for the flight home.

 1.6

    1.6

    First summer came and went. Jewel¡¯s demesne briefly paused work on the foundations so that the hands would be free for hay turn.

    Then the peasants returned in force and numbers in excess of those needed just to get the extra pay in grain from Rochford¡¯s stores.

    The final carving of foundation stones of the main manor and the clearing down to bedrock to place them was finished well ahead of the original estimate. Most of the work for her manor after that was checking to see how the marked out places for walls, doorways and rooms felt when Jewel moved through them.

    Adjustments, expansions and extensions to ease a few particularly awkward bends and too narrow or too abrupt passageways had bought another fortnight of labor, but after that work on the Manor¡¯s foundations was done for the year and Jewel was left with little expected of her.

    So she had taken to simply doing what she knew and visiting headman Adorj¨¢n and asking how her people were faring through the hungry summer and what labors there were to have during it now that the manor was settled until next year.

    ¡°Excuse me, but what do you mean ¡®is there anything you can help with¡¯ Lady Jewel?¡±

    Jewel did not acknowledge how her headman still had that frustrating hitch when addressing her. The subtle cue that he yet struggled to properly see her as his lady and more importantly a person.

    She knew from experience that most would eventually either master their tells, or actually grow to accept her station.

    But it was frustrating how slow going that could be.

    Jewel shifted a bit around in her coils, her latest bit of growth had been coming in unevenly around her middle between her chest and hips. And made her scales feel more strained than they ever had before.

    Which was not helping with her mood.

    ¡°Over the winter in Rochford, I have helped with seeing that those without dry fuel had lit hearths. That¡¯s not been a recent concern in either my father or my demesne of course. But why should winter be the only time I render aid?¡±

    Jewel had ordered that before construction on her manor even begin its foundation that proper storehouses for firewood be set aside for her demesne far in excess of their or Jewels'' (now diminished) bathing requirements.

    That any household in good standing in their labors for the land be provided from that storehouse in the event they came up short in the deep winter.

    She had insisted that if the storehouse was not sufficient or should go empty, any house that struggled by burning green or wet wood would be visited by Jewel personally to see their hearth¡¯s warmed over winter.

    Adorj¨¢n nodded his head. His skin was rough around the face in a way most were not. Pocked in places and his hands shook a bit even when he was completely at ease.

    He bent little in the back even when he bowed in respect.

    ¡°Of course, Lady Jewel. But it¡¯s the height of hungry summer, we have no need for extra flame for our hearths. And it would hardly be proper to ask to impose upon the Shining Wyrm of Viznove for anything less vital.¡±

    Jewel sighed and shook her head.

    It was so much easier in Rochford where everyone had known her since she was young and grown up alongside her.

    Here in Valasect she was a stranger and everyone was uneasy with her.

    It made what she thought should have been easy so much harder. But they were hers and she would see they were well cared for.

    That was the compact between a lady and her subjects.

    Even if they made it difficult for her. Still, stewardship was about more than crops.

    She needed to offer the headman something to prove her nobility. There were many tales of cruel lords and ladies whispered in corners where they thought Jewel could not hear.

    ¡°It is up to me to guard my own honor, Adorj¨¢n. You are the headman of my village, you are my voice and hands in common law, here between us I relieve you of any burden of insult. I withdraw all obligations of propriety. Please, at least in private council with me, feel free to speak openly and without fear.¡±

    Jewel¡¯s headman gawked at her.

    He blinked hard a few times, then ran his tongue over his lips, looking all over those of her coils that fit in his house, Jewel¡¯s back half was furled up around his front yard gardens.

    Finally he met her eyes for the first time since he assumed the role of headman.

    They were clear eyes, they held strong and he took a shuddering breath before exhaling hard and bracing like a footman squaring up against a knight in full charge.

    ¡°At your command, I¡¯ll be honest, my lady. Having you around the village is liable to be thrice the trouble of anything you could possibly be doing to help. You terrify the lot of them¡±

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    Jewel felt herself wilting. She¡¯d asked, but it still made her eyes sting with tears. Her voice was quiet and small. The constriction needed for it practically filled her entire throat.

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    The headman¡¯s eyes continued to fix her firmly for a moment longer before he seemed to lose some of the stiffness to his expression. Not his back though, that remained as rigid and indisposed to bend as always.

    Muttering under his breath.

    ¡°Blast it, no noble reared star fortuned dragon should be able to do that better than my granddaughter.¡±

    Jewel without even thinking of it apologized to the words she was not supposed to have heard.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry about that, headman Adorj¨¢n. But it¡¯s my responsibility as your lady to see to the care and livelihood of the people of Valasect. It is my duty.¡±

    Adorj¨¢n was staring at her again, his voice whispery and quiet, possibly too quiet for most to hear.

    ¡°You heard that?¡±

    But in a room shared with her head and ears Jewel could hardly deny anymore it was clear as noon sun.

    ¡°I¡­¡±

    Then Jewel paused.

    She had never told a peasant or commoner this, only her parents, Tsulogothulan (with their circle of wizards) and Lady Bathory had the full knowledge of the powers of her hearing. The other nobles likely suspected her ears were very capable,  but they did not know the full extent.

    But Adorj¨¢n was to be her voice in her demesne. He needed to have trust from her, they needed to start somewhere.

    Jewel coughed gently (barely really a cough in truth for her).

    ¡°I can hear the women talking as they spin in the house across from yours. I can hear birds singing in the apple tree between the south and northeast big fields. I can hear your heartbeat, Adorj¨¢n. I¡¯m sorry for the rudeness but I can¡¯t not hear these things.¡±

    The headman¡¯s heartbeat was rising to a thunderous pace as she spoke. The expression on his face made Jewel¡¯s insides clench uncomfortably (again in her middle).

    He finally mastered himself though, she gave him the time for it.

    Adorj¨¢n was her voice for common law and she needed his trust. So said all the books on stewardship and the consul of Mother and Father.

    ¡°I recall from the Boar¡¯s Spas there are tales spread that you entertain the children and offer them your bread?¡±

    Jewel nodded along. She¡¯d done that the first time and it had ended up being something that was demanded she repeat every year since.

    The headman considered.

    He chewed at his lip and his pockmarked face roiled over the bone of his brows and the rise of his cheeks in deep concentration.

    Grey hair on head and face wagging about as he thought. Eyes on something in the air below Jewel¡¯s throat. Not focused on her but a bit before her scales.

    ¡°And your hearing is good enough you could rightfully keep track of every kinder clear across the northeast field?¡±

    She nodded along.

    Adorj¨¢n hummed heavily and with a solid grit to it then finally faced her dead in the eyes again as he spoke.

    ¡°The Boar¡¯s festival in Rochford is coming soon. As our lady, could you accompany the children and watch over them on the way there, together with the few men and women making the trip this year? And after that set up in one of the fallow fields to see to the youth with nothing better to do through hungry summer?¡±

    Jewel mulled over it. That did not sound terribly difficult. And if it was what would help her village, according to her headman Jewel was eager to spend the time regardless of the difficulty.

    ¡°If it will help the people, I¡¯d gladly do it. Would it be alright to bring a few rounds of lunch while I am acting as the Kinder Guard?¡±

    He seemed surprised at her.

    Jewel quickly amended hoping to avoid giving the wrong impression.

    ¡°Oh! I promise I¡¯ll share with the children in my care, it¡¯s just I¡¯ve been quite a bit more peckish than usual this summer.¡±

    To which Adorj¨¢n finally gave the first honest laugh Jewel had ever heard from him.

    ¡°That would be perfectly fine, Lady Jewel.¡±

    His smile was sparse a few teeth but there was warmth in his eyes and a joy to his pitted rough skinned cheeks.

    Jewel nodded and wished her headman well, extricating herself from his home with great care and delicacy.

    Twisting and clenching her wings especially tight to make sure she did not damage the timbres of the doorframe on her way out.

    It was good to make progress with her Demesne!

 1.7

    1.7

    Midway through the hungry summer, just past breakfast, Jewel¡¯s mother went into labor.

    Jewel had been struck still and silent for a moment.

    Her mother had turned to Father and spoken in a strained whisper. ¡°It¡¯s time¡±.

    The wisewoman, her apprentices and a few serving girls were called into her parent¡¯s bedroom. Father and all the guards were promptly evicted to wait where they could not interfere.

    Jewel was nearly sent out as well, but mother had screamed at the top of her lungs ¡°That¡¯s my daughter you decrepit crone of a wench!¡±

    For that, the wisewoman had been quick to instead saddle Jewel with the important duty of guarding the room and only letting girls and women pass into the place of the birth.

    There was a glint to her eye and a grin in her full set of pearly white teeth, glittering behind wizened lips and wrinkled skin.

    It reminded Jewel a bit of the Countess. Which made her scales tremble in apprehension.

    But the gentleness and care she treated mother with whenever Jewel spared a glance inside soothed that.

    After the initial hurry and commotion, things settled into a rhythm.

    Sometimes Jewel¡¯s mother was told to sit squatted in the room with cushioning to support her and groaned or screamed in effort.

    Other times she was told to move and shift, to even stand if she was able. Sometimes she would lay back against the cushions.

    As the hours continued, Mother was kept down on the floor squatting, propped up with support from the maidens and the pillows, it seemed undignified but the wise woman had a confident strength in her. And the apprentices were untroubled in their bearing.

    All of them offered support, they touched the laboring mother to check the position of the baby.

    They made sure she had water and broths and teas to drink if she wished

    They massaged her back and belly gently.

    And it passed like that for what felt like ages.

    Sometimes they spoke to Mother, but mostly they simply soothed her or murmured amongst themselves.

    ¡°Head¡¯s in a good position.¡±

    ¡°Thank the gods the babe does not take more from the father. Any larger-¡±

    Then admonishments from the elder silenced talk of that sort.

    Mother screamed. She sometimes had a stick of wood between her teeth to help draw her attention from her trial.

    Other times she howled mouth open.

    Jewel had to interpose herself on the wise woman¡¯s command on more than one occasion to block concerned guards.

    Father showed up once to check and Jewel assured him that there was not yet anything that seemed to concern anyone in the bedroom.

    Jewel was given a midday meal that she could just barely manage to eat. Her ears were constantly tilting back to listen.

    Hearing flesh flex, hearing wood creak under teeth, the every minute echo of her mother¡¯s anguished, feral voice booming off the confines of the room.

    Calm but tense murmurs among the women attending her.

    ¡°No tears, healthy parting.¡±

    Slick sounds of hands wet and touching something or running over skin.

    It sounded almost like a battle.

    Or a wrestling match.

    Yet slow and gradual.

    But Jewel¡¯s furtive glances through the door showed it as anything but.

    Yes, mother visibly struggled. Her body was bare in a way that the wyrm had never seen before, skin and muscles flexing and moving in ways that gave Jewel phantom pangs in her own middle.

    Sweat soaked through the normally well cared for hair and a redness was all through her face with the exertion.

    But there was also the presence of the apprentices, girls and young women all and the careful closeness of the wisewoman. Gripping mother¡¯s hand in hers with a tension that spoke of the strength both women were bringing to bear.

    The soothing murmuring soft songs.

    Rising and falling. Breaths follow from all those in the room in a rhythm.

    Jewel could feel a stirring coming in the fire of the world.

    Faux flame.

    A working.

    Her mother howled again, groaned, roared.

    Jewel let the door close. Feeling the need to seal things in, the feel of it in the world, in the unspoken silent words pouring off the women.

    Not full sorcery as wizards did it. But it was still a working and it had a way to it.

    The sense of it reminded her of the nest in the Eyrie. Of Honeydown brooding on her eggs.

    Of the shell of the egg enclosing a growing life.

    The sound of a once lone voice in effort, pain and exhaustion were joined in a rhythmic chant now.

    They rose with hers, they fell with hers.

    And they guided her.

    Mother set the rhythm and yet the rhythm became a song and, as Jewel had heard many a year now, it became the magic of music.

    The working of it swelled in waves, like roiling storm clouds folding over one another.

    Casting in and out like ripples off the walls of the room, surging from and back upon her mother and her labor to bring a life into the world.

    Jewel felt the push and pull of it in her own scales, in her own muscles. She hummed along to the voices of the wise woman when they rose to brace and strengthen mother¡¯s own.

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    Time seemed to slide away like water, her coils shifted and flexed with the hum and roar.

    Suddenly it was supper and Jewel could barely bring herself to eat so enmeshed into the flow and sound of the room under her guard she was.

    Father checked upon them again and Jewel did not even recall what the words were that she assured him with.

    The pot of her supper was suddenly empty.

    The voices rising and falling like her own heart beat. In her coils, in her body.

    Listening and moving as she heard her mother move.

    As she felt her mother and the room beyond flex and push.

    Pushing life.

    Pushing blood.

    Pushing air.

    Pushing Sound.

    The stones were keen to join the words to offer their wisdom in how to hold strong under all but the sharpest burdens.

    The air eager to fill every lung with freshness and fiery vitality.

    The sun had left the sky but it parted over the horizon with support and hope to see the fruit of these labors in its next rise.

    Jewel could not see them, and yet she felt the sharp intensity now of the stars as they emerged from the smothering light of the day.

    Piercing sharp and distant and forever.

    Their light rattled against the room¡¯s borders like ice falling on metal.

    And Jewel did not need to hear the sharp words from the wisewoman to know that no door or window could be allowed to open now.

    The stars were out and they were eager to land upon a child born under them.

    Jewel could feel this and knew it.

    She again could not recall what words passed her lips but the wisewoman returned to the depths of the safe shell they had woven around Mother and the child to be.

    The song continued, the labor dragged on, hours upon hours within the warm extension of her Mother¡¯s own flesh that had become of the room.

    Of the walls made more of voice and the deep fierceness of a beast guarding her child than any stone.

    Jewel found herself glaring not at passing men folk.

    They were inconsequential and easily halted.

    No.

    Her gaze turned upward to the unseen sky above.

    The vault that was now unshielded by sunlight.

    Her coils flexed, her muscles pulled.

    Deep within Jewel felt her wyrmflame rising and falling alongside the voice and push of her mother.

    And then at last.

    At an unknown hour in the depths of a short summer¡¯s night.

    There was a wane cry and a new voice silenced all the others.

    A new voice had joined the world and relief fell upon the room.

    The stars shined intensely and were rebuked by the working the wise woman and her circle had erected.

    Had shaped with their voices and the birthing roars of a mother.

    And finally at last the sharp prickling of fortunes and who knew what other gods lost interest in the newly born.

    Jewel felt herself coming back into clarity with herself.

    The safeguards of the room had held.

    Shuffling bodies were moving, muscles were lifting, voices exerting.

    Work was being done within and Mother was moved.

    But a content quiet had fallen.

    The voice of one of the girls spoke with an exhausted and wrung out voice. And finally Jewel had the awareness to recognize it.

    ¡°The elder says the birth was good and the mother and child yet breathe healthy and well. Come the morning sun the door may be opened, until then none may breach.¡±

    Jewel could only nod and whisper back.

    ¡°I will guard my mother¡¯s room until dawn.¡±

    There was something deep and personal in that oath. Something that felt stronger than any promise or binding of fealty Jewel had ever known.

    It touched on something that even Wizards seemed to barely brush against.

    There was only breathing behind the door, before the woman spoke again.

    ¡°The child is a daughter.¡±

    Jewel smiled, starting to feel the pang of exhaustion.

    Sympathy for her mother¡¯s effort through most of the day and night.

    Joy bubbling up for her newly born sister.

    A sister, a truly younger sister!

    Jewel shifted her coils to settle in and was brought up short by an odd impediment against one leg.

    And a sudden sense of stickiness.

    Had someone spilled something on her while she was in that fog?

    Jewel turned to look and boggled.

    Nestled in her coils against her thighs was an egg.

    Oh.

    So that¡¯s why she had been growing so strangely the last few months.

    Jewel took a few more moments to blink and stare before she strangled out a sound that was only barely words.

    The volume of it was only constrained for fear of disturbing her Mother and new Sister.

    ¡°Tsulogothulan!¡±

 1.8

    1.8

    Her friend arrived immediately, seeping up with a creaking shift of the old stones as bog peat pried its way between them. Parting the stone through the expedient of simply lifting them up and out of the way. Peat turned sopping with sulfurous water and then in the time it took Jewel to begin breathing far too rapidly the black spire of vine-like heaving ¡®substance¡¯ arrived.

    By the time the brim of the hat unfurled like the wings of a crane and the crescent of pale blue-ish grey skin pierced free Jewel was already speaking, her voice rising in whispered panic.

    Straining to keep her volume down so as to not disturb the sounds of slumber from her mother and newly born sister.

    ¡°Tsulogothulan!¡±

    Before her friend could finish picking a side of their nose to push out their eye Jewel was already tripping over her words.

    Cradling the topic of her panic in her hind claws as gently as she could. Almost afraid to squeeze the thing which had apparently slid out of her.

    ¡°I just! I just now! Tsulogothulan!¡±

    A burbling croak of a frog sliding into a heron wail in the wind passed swamp reeds drug its way past earthy effluvient.

    ¡°Tsulogothulan this is no time for japes I just laid an egg!¡±

    The eye finally popped free ponderously on the very tip of the weird¡¯s nose. Like the bud of some grotesque tree and then rolled in all directions glancing everywhere before finally settling on the egg partly cradled in Jewel¡¯s coils and feet.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry?! say wot Jewel!?¡±

    Actual words rolled free in classic Tsulogothulan fashion. But far too loudly.

    Jewel shushing with a hiss more suited for water dropped into a hot pan then any civil noise.

    ¡°Quiet! Mother is convalescing after giving birth!¡±

    Which actually brought up a good point: Tsulogothulan was Father¡¯s sworn wizard. Why were they not present to see to his wife¡¯s birthing labor?!

    ¡°Where were you?!¡±

    The Weird for their part shushed Jewel with a black, gauze-wrapped finger that seemed more rotten bones with dark rotting flesh then the clothed appendage it sometimes appeared to be.

    ¡°Quiet Jewel, your mother is convalescing. And I¡¯m no good with births. They don¡¯t involve eggs hatching or swamp water. If your mother was a heron, fish or toad I¡¯d have been of great service. But few beasts which bear children as men do pass my waters.¡±

    Jewel was about to make a very inappropriate noise.

    But the Weird had leaned over her... Her egg!

    Jewel had laid an egg!?

    And then proceeded to rap it quite loudly with a single gauzy knuckle.

    The sound seemed to fill Jewel¡¯s entire head with the thunderous presence of it. It was like a blow had been made to her skull with a mountain.

    It left her stunned and deafened before a terribly grating scrape followed, echoing up and down her bones. Filling the world with the awful noise and making jewel hiss for quiet, for comfort, to just make the sound stop.

    ¡°Stop that!¡±

    Which happened, but more because the Weird and her friend had recoiled back, body bending in several places it should not. Somewhat mirroring Jewel¡¯s own rearing curved neck posture whenever she was over shamed or frightened.

    It took her several slow breaths between them before she realized that she had brought her wyrmflame to rest in her mouth with the demand.

    Could feel it laced and waiting with terrible potency on her tongue. Fizzling and flaring on the errant air that yet slipped past her lips.

    It took great effort to swallow the threat back down her throat and pull it into the rest of her flesh.

    ¡°I... I¡¯m sorry my friend. But it was so loud.¡±

    Tsulogothulan for their part withdrew their eye from the tip of their nose and then pushed it out to blink wet and loudly on one side. Shaking themselves out of the sinuous curve they had contorted into and becoming a posture much more manshaped.

    Exhibiting lumps that might be shoulders, hints of a torso and hips beneath the now far more cloth-like pillar that their body was.

    Still black and slick but more like a garment wetly clinging to a body beneath rather than an extended oozing pillar of fleshy tree limbs masquerading as a person.

    Voice soft and rounded but even less reedy and swampy.

    ¡°I... I¡¯m sorry Lady Jewel, but that is terribly interesting. I hardly touched it harsher than this.¡±

    And the weird rapped against Jewel¡¯s coils (well away from the egg) and then dragged their ¡®nail¡¯ (just a sharper edge on a finger) against her scales.

    It was incredibly gentle.

    Something that would not have even left a mark on a maiden¡¯s skin.

    Almost un-notable to Jewel¡¯s scales.

    Which hardly made sense, but since when had anything made any sense when it came to growing up as a tyrant wyrm?

    ¡°But... it felt like I was being pummeled and gouged by the terror boar all over again!¡±

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    The bog wizard scratched at their ¡®nose¡¯ under the one eye. Then nodded softly.

    ¡°Interesting, and most peculiar. You laid that egg? How did you manage that?¡±

    Jewel gawked at her friend aghast, then looked down between her thighs and the scales which she had been just about certain were entirely smooth and without any hint of blemish or parting as she¡¯d seen in any of the farm animals or other beasts.

    That was actually a good question.

    ¡°I... I¡¯m not entirely sure.¡±

    She¡¯d been thinking, feeling, all but caught up in the rhythm and working of the wise woman for Mother. The rhythm of birth and protections erected for it.

    Had been leaning into it as she had felt herself when performing other workings and had sympathy pangs to her mother¡¯s own labors when-

    ¡°Ah! I see, so you are at least partly female.¡±

    Tsulogothulan was staring between Jewel¡¯s legs.

    Jewel blinked slowly, then in dawning comprehension she found she could not restrain her wings from flaring and her neck curling back aghast.

    A new motion also joined that one completely unintended but welcome all the same, her hind limbs crossing so her thighs came together to cover the place the Weird had been staring at.

    Jewel could not find any words. She could not find any words at all. Everything was colliding in her head in a jumbled mess.

    Confusion, horror, new found ways to feel shame.

    But under all of it was a surge of relief and a completely unexpected joy.

    Jewel was in fact a lady, as she had asserted for her entire life.

    The ambiguity of whether that was true, whether it even applied to Wyrms had haunted her.

    But there she was, with an egg nestled in her tightly wound tail.

    All the requisite parts for womanhood.

    Well half of them.

    But still!

    Something now made her the same as her mother and her newly born sister.

    It almost let her forget the sheer incredible absurdity of how she had found out.

    ¡°B-but, I¡¯ve never been with anyone before! That¡¯s not how it¡¯s supposed to work!¡±

    Tsulogothulan stared pointedly into Jewel¡¯s eyes with their one.

    The big violet colored iris of the orb and it''s over thick lashes blinking even slower than usual.

    Scraping the lid closed even more audibly.

    Popping it free of the interlocking lashes even more sharply after a brief clinging to remain joined.

    Then that gaze fell on the egg for a time and then again returned to Jewel, and just to make the point abundantly clear, shoulders popped into place to either side of where Tsulogothulan¡¯s neck generously could be said to widen into a torso.

    The left and then the right.

    And only then did they shrug so slowly and so intentionally that Jewel was starting to become rather cross with her friend, but more so with the absurdity that was her life, her world and everything. It all seemed absolutely obsessed with bringing to her as many burdens as possible.

    Her friend offered in a soft but also commiserating tone.

    ¡°The entire reason I am here to observe and describe you for the next thirteen years beyond our friendship is so that it can be known precisely how it works for wyrms Lady Jewel. All bets are off on what that will be.¡±

    Jewel just stared, then turned her gaze down to stare at her egg. It was her egg. She was certain of it, as assured of its providence and connection to her as she was her own limbs, her every coil, her mane, tongue and tail.

    This egg was hers in a fundamentally true way that could not be denied.

    The two were both equally shocked out of the contemplative quiet that had finally settled over them by a soft creaking voice emerging from behind the closed door to her mother¡¯s bedroom.

    ¡°Now that y¡¯all both have shut it for the moment, would the young Lady Jewel and the Weird Wizard Tsulogothulan kindly shove off quietly to environs that are not liable to disturb her mother and newly born sister in the middle of the night?¡±

    Jewel was made properly aghast and whispered the softest of apologies for her poor manners.

    As they departed, she settled on walking with her wings so she could gingerly carry her egg in her foreclaws.

    Tsulogothulan gently cajoling the stones and miniature mire of swamp they had traveled by away to wherever they brought them from.

    It was only by Jewel¡¯s hearing that she heard the voice of the wise woman behind the door muttering a chuckling.

    ¡°And congratulations on the laying young lady.¡±

    The condolences even if not meant for her to hear gave a warmth to her wyrmflame Jewel did not expect.

 1.9

    1.9

    Jewel was curled up in her room, coils settled among the many cushions and rugs that gave her some bedding to sleep.

    Wearing a blanket over her hips.

    She was filling the majority of the room around her. The newly laid egg (now gently wiped clean and dry) in the midst of her coils.

    Tsulogothulan and Jewel¡¯s very disheveled father stood in what little floor space was not occupied by either rugs, cushions, egg or scaled dragon coils.

    Once Jewel had explained in a panicked rush what had happened, her friend finally filled the dragging silence.

    ¡°Well I have some fortunate news, Lord Rochford.¡±

    Father for his part turned to stare at Tsulogothulan. He had not slept well, with Mother¡¯s labor going well into the evening, and what rest he had been getting when news the birth had gone well was abruptly interrupted by Jewel¡¯s laying.

    ¡°Oh?¡±

    The weird nodded.

    Jewel¡¯s attention was constantly sliding back to the egg, the way she felt it. There was an absolute certainty it was hers. A part of her sitting in the world. Her wyrmflame coursing and jumping from her coils to suffuse and flow within it before they danced back out and into her other flesh.

    It seemed to swallow all of her attention, dragging on her thoughts, if she didn''t focus on anything at all the presence of the egg filled her eyes with blank darkness.

    Soothed her mind with warm sleepiness.

    Maybe it was just the awfully late hour.

    But something warm and oh so comforting filled her when she kept close to this little egg.

    ¡°It is not in fact a true wyrm egg that your daughter produced.¡±

    Father and Jewel shared a look then turned back to the Weird.

    The meaning of the words felt sharp, wrong, and impossible. Jewel had laid it, and beyond that she felt so utterly that she could not deny it was hers. No more than she could claim her wings were not her own.

    The egg was Jewel¡¯s sure as her tail or tongue was. So what could the weird mean?

    Jewel for her part offered the words before her exhausted father did not.

    ¡°Then it¡¯s not a fertile egg? Does that... does that mean I¡¯m like a chicken!?¡±

    It was somehow upsetting and felt obviously wrong, but Jewel trusted her friend. There was some sadness at the thought, no life forming in that egg? No child?

    Jewel had been reeling in a tired rut over the possibility the egg represented. But she was yet too young for motherhood. Finding out that as a dragon she had a similar cycle as a chicken was embarrassing but growing up was not always honorable or clean.

    But something was wrong.

    Her words seemed to confuse the weird as much as the sleep deprived baron of Rochford. It took the bog weird a few slow blinks before finally shaking their head.

    ¡°What? A Chicken?¡±

    Jewel nodded, perhaps the bog weird was also tired from the late hour? She happily explained herself.

    ¡°Yes, the hens in the village lay eggs as soon as they''re of age, whether or not they have had time with a rooster or not.¡±

    It still felt wrong but Jewel would trust her friend if that was the truth of it. The egg was still hers but if it was never going to hatch?

    It felt painful to consider.

    There were several more blinks from Tsulogothulan before they slowly shook their head.

    ¡°I did not know that was how chickens worked... and no, Jewel, I do not mean the egg is empty, it¡¯s quite obviously well along and heavy with life. There¡¯s already a heart beat. If this was a heron or duck I¡¯d expect it to hatch in another day or so.¡±

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    Father blinked almost as slowly as Tsulogothulan and raised a hand to cover his yawn before speaking.

    ¡°Then what do you mean it¡¯s not a true wyrm egg. Especially if Jewel laid it.¡±

    The weird sighed heavily and then lectured as if repeating the obvious.

    ¡°Because it is not impervious to all harm, of course. It rattled when struck, it was scratched when scraped, it is as fragile and mortal as any egg would be of its size. I¡¯m sure as a family who held a true wyrm egg for generations you surely must have noticed that they are until hatching all but indestructible.¡±

    Father just stared in blank confusion.

    ¡°Jewel¡¯s egg was indestructible?¡±

    The weird sighed heavily and nodded to both of them. Jewel for her part was rather gobsmacked at the news. But then, if the egg was full of new life, which in fact was Jewel¡¯s child! But if it was not a wyrm?

    ¡°If I didn''t lay a wyrm egg then what is it?¡±

    The weird¡¯s one, overlarge eye glittered with the light of a sun not yet risen breaking through scattered clouds on a foggy morning. It was rather distracting in fact the way it did that in the mostly dimly lit room with but a few candles for father¡¯s eyes.

    ¡°That is the exciting part, we will have to check to be sure before it hatches, but I believe that Jewel has just produced her first Lair Spawn!¡±

    Jewel and her Father stared, then all eyes slowly followed the Bog Wizard¡¯s in settling on the egg.

    All she could think of is the words written and spoken in fear.

    Lair spawn.

    Monsters.

    The threat and danger that spread and if left alone would fill all the lands with terrible things.

    Creatures more potent and far cannier, than other beasts.

    The cruel and terrible ancestors of the Gryphons and the other, more distant warbeasts used across the realm.

    The Terror Boar was always believed to be a Lair Spawn though in all the years since they had not found the hole from which it had come.

    Jewel¡¯s child.

    Her first born?

    Or first hatched?

    It was going to be a monster?

    Her child?

    Suddenly a much worse truth struck and Jewel felt a terrible realization.

    Jewel was not yet wed and she was already a mother!

    Her neck was already craning back in a tight terrified curl and her wings had pressed themselves into the walls and ceiling of her bedroom before the terrible realization had finished settling.

    Her father¡¯s tired voice was full of concern.

    Tsulogothulan was close to her, but careful not to accidentally touch the egg.

    Jewel, however, could not understand them over the roaring panic that was filling her ears.

    She could feel the egg in her coils settle back down from some internal motion that had tilted it to the side.

    All of it felt distant and muffled to the wyrm¡¯s racing-yet-frozen thoughts.

    The same fact circling over and over again.

    Jewel was going to have a child.

    Jewel was going to be a Mother.

    All of that was shocking, terrifying, far too much too soon.

    But it was nowhere near as bad as the last thing she had realized.

    Her first child was going to be a bastard.

 1.i

    1.i

    In the following duties to see to the health and safety of one¡¯s charges, not all troubles or trials will be of the star-born gods.

    Sometimes danger to your congregation¡¯s life and limb will rise from the deep as earth-sent beasts which are sometimes known as Lair Spawn.

    While a star-touched beast can be taken as an omen and treated with such via the provinces of gods and thus sent away by them, the vulgar beasts which boil up from underways and otherwise emerge from the deep and unlit places of the world have no such reasoning to be had.

    It is often best to leave the smaller and more common of beasts to village guard and experienced hunters, but when terrible omens rise from below greater force of arms is needed.

    When at all possible if there is witness of any beast of unusually great size, peculiar manners or misnumbering of limbs it is best to seek out a knight or lord¡¯s intervention immediately to call for a quest that the beasts be undone using experienced and trained martial prowess.

    Check with the portents to determine if it is in fact an act of the heavens, but sending word as soon as possible is vital.

    If the danger is imminent, the lord absent and knights yet unavailable, only then are active measures at all to be undertaken by common folk. Expect in all but the best cases that there will be lives lost in the attempt.

    It is of foremost importance to understand that the misshapen beasts are, for all their fearsomeness, still just base animals, Albeit ones of prodigious and unnatural abilities. Where star-touched may be gifted with a terrible reasoning or oracular powers and senses by the heaven¡¯s contact and should never be underestimated, it is generally safe to consider the vulgar so called lair spawn to have minds as much as their unaltered forms.

    Seek out the woodsman experienced in dealings with that which shares most similarity with their form to consider action and surmise their dealings.

    A stag whose horns dwarf an oak tree and stands taller than a house will on the balance behave much as an overlarge stag does.

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    A serpent that glides in the air and spits fire otherwise natural flame bereft any further changing by the stars, is a creature that can be sent off frightened by noise and bluster and mostly wishes for warm rocks to laze about sinfully upon.

    A wolf the size of a Knight¡¯s charger with metal for fur, while clever and all hungering as its smaller kin, is still just a wolf though so prodigious and dangerous to man it has become.

    Make use of one¡¯s own star-blessed reasoning and gifts and lay snares and traps whenever possible. Or if a means of driving the ominous beast is known by hunters, make use of it.

    The best solution in most cases varies with the particular animal that has been accursed by the deep places.

    In the event of a horned rabbit the size of an ox, the fundamental truth of its meek nature can be used to drive it from the fields and crops. The baying of dogs can even be used to drive it to flight and panic. Its greatest danger to man is that of the desolation and famine brought by its appetite.

    Simple wood craft hunters can suffice in slaying such a beast, although word of it still must be sent to knights and lord for where there has been one accursed beast there is undoubtedly more, and even the most tame and easily wrangled of these monsters can prove perilous if in sufficient number.

    That is the other vital knowledge of these creatures.

    There is never only one of them.

    Whatever their nature, be assured that where one is witnessed there are others, whether they are close or far, immediately present or far into next year there will be more.

    Always call for aid even if the first sighting is promptly dealt with.

    The curse of these beasts upon the land are almost never vanquished with the first.

    A simple toad that can comfortably sit in your hand and belches a candle flame worth of fire at night might be innocuous as one, but when there is a plague of them it can bring ruination.

    -On Beasts of Note by Brother Ordelain, naturalist and Monk of the Hrothfield Monastery in middle Egelheimvin.

 1.ii

    1.ii

    Gather ''round, ye folk of the land,

    For tales of Etele, brave and grand.

    Performed these deeds, where legends cling,

    In Ulathin''s Hinterlands, do we begin.

    In that wild realm, our tale is born,

    Etele the knight, forever sworn.

    His armor gleams ''neath the sky¡¯s soft light,

    Guided by stars, he rides with might.

    Through highland rough, where shadows play,

    Etele and his knights, find their way.

    Through forests deep and valleys wide,

    In search of honor, side by side.

    On hills they stand, those rabbits tall,

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    Like shadows cast, they hear the call.

    With swords unsheathed, they face the beasts,

    Their courage strong, the spirits feast.

    In battle fierce, ''neath the stars bright gaze,

    With every stroke, they earn their praise.

    And midst the fray, a dragon soars,

    Lepori Wyrm, its legend roars.

    With ears as long as shadows'' flight,

    And fur as soft as the sky white light.

    Its eyes like coals, its breath a flame,

    A rabbit''s form, with dragon''s mein.

    With blinding breath and claws so keen,

    It challenges Etele, in the star¡¯s soft sheen.

    But knights stand firm, against the foe,

    With courage pure, their hearts aglow.

    Through clash of steel and dragon roar,

    Etele and his knights set right the score.

    And in the end, ''neath the starlit sky,

    The Wyrm was vanquished, no more to fly.

    So raise a cup to Etele bold,

    And his band of knights, whose tales are told.

    In lands afar, their names shall ring,

    Etele and his knights, with me let''s sing!

    -The Ballad of Etele and the Lepori Wurm

 1.iii

    1.iii

    Momentous events came this summer season.

    It is known that among nearly every single feral wyrm, there aggregate and move beasts aligned either partly or directly to its cause.<sup>1</sup>

    It has been long conjectured whether their presence is intrinsically linked to the dwelling of a wyrm and in what manner their nature is linked. But it is observed and witnessed they do cohabitate within its lair and they emerge from some providence in most cases of such a creature settling into its powers in a territory.

    The propensity of such creatures to settle and rest within the dens or nests of a feral wyrm has led to the common name given for the phenomena of lairspawn for all such beasts.

    And in the past seven days, I have made great strides in understanding this phenomena.

    It is at this point four and a half years into observation and description of the subject that I have witnessed something that shall give weight on the origins of such beasts in at least the case of what I still attest is the inaccurate title of a tyrant wyrm.

    To the legend and hearsay that lairspawn occur spontaneously from the environs of a wyrm of a given type or are caused by a deep and wyrmish enchantment enacted naturally upon those beasts which dwell with them, I can partly refute.

    While there may be some spontaneity to the process, there is also a direct lineage I can now assure, with my very own eye as witness to the event.

    Lairspawn are born from eggs laid by a wyrm which lack the properties of a true-wyrm-egg.

    This is not a new claim, although direct observation has until now not confirmed the witnesses and boasts of slaying knights. That true Wyrm eggs are always among clutches of similarly sized eggs is verified truth but otherwise it was assumed these were mere mortal decoys provided by the lairspawn themselves.

    That when smashed these eggs contained immature wyrm spawn that were also seen in the presence of the slain feral wyrm has been until now seen as proof such a service is made by the beasts in service to their masters (or as I can now concluded mistresses and likely mothers and grandmothers)<sup>1</sup> .

    As pertains to the subject, one egg has been laid<sup>2</sup> and its hatching has yet to be seen, but by simple expedient of well versed techniques its contents have been confirmed<sup>3</sup>.

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    The subject¡¯s offspring so far continues the pattern of wyrmspawn taking after a particular feral wyrm¡¯s beastly company. But in this case the beasts which the subject keeps company of predominantly are mortal men.

    Although yet maturing within the egg by sight and ken of my truth in these matters, I have an initial judgment as to the nature that the subject¡¯s spawn will take on hatching.

    The Tyrant Spawn takes after men, in that there are arms and limbs and a shaped body as one would expect of men and women. The curl of the body in egg is of a kind similar to that of a man¡¯s child while curled within the womb of a mother. In difference there is the presence of a still prominent tail and a skull which is very reminiscent of the mother¡¯s in shape.

    This event is insufficient to fully dispute that Wyrmspawn might also be the product of a natural enchantment<sup>4</sup> but given the proximity and closeness of the subject with her family, beasts and other potential candidates of such transformations including myself that this has not occurred in even the slightest gives me doubt this is the way that they occur in the wild.

    Although the manner of other beasts often is confounded when it comes to Wyrm and Lair spawn, I am confident that observations of the hatching and further behavior of the Lair spawn will be within the season if not sooner.

    <sup>1</sup> See attached notes transcribed from the ventures of Etele wyrmslayer and his company of merry knights.

    <sup>2</sup> This process does not appear to have been voluntary on the part of the subject and brought some amount of distress and confusion.

    <sup>3</sup> The technique was the use of raising the egg to rest between the observer and the noonday summer sun. Allowing its radiance to bring to clarity the shadow of the form found within. Even hinting at performing an operation to open the egg for direct observation was met with agitation and uncharacteristic, possibly involuntary aggression from the subject. Care must be taken to receive full informed consent if verification by autopsy of this study is to be undertaken with this or any future subject.

    <sup>4</sup> As proposed by the volume of Orion¡¯s Historica Naturalis Cantora which informs on the beasts of the searing southern sands of old Kahmatt and their particular breed of limbless wyrms which nest amid the rocks and have venomous stings on their tail. So say¡¯s Orion that it is believed that great enchantments cover all the sands that these wyrms dwell in, some of which are even capable of turning unwary travelers into more wyrm spawn if they should set camp overnight unaware. As none of my circle have ever traveled so far as Kahmatt there is no verification of this effect to be had and literature on it is sparse. Even if it did once occur it is unclear that any living wyrms of this kind described yet reside there who could be studied.

    -Research Notes of Tsulogothulan Weird of the Uloghai Bog on the nature of the Tyrant Wyrm.

 2.1

    2.1

    Jewel had the most foggy of recollections to her own hatching. Impressions and uncertainty. Vision clouded, senses smothered.

    Darkness and confinement were chief among them.

    Then overwhelming texture, smell, sound.

    Barely memories at all.

    But she had some.

    When she had spoken of it with Tsulogothulan, Jewel had learned the astounding fact that everyone she knew had essentially forgotten everything from their first few years of life.

    However, though disjointed and confusing, Jewel did not forget these years.

    She supposed that, given how they spent that time, Jewel understood why they would forget.

    Jewel¡¯s new sister had spent most of her first days either asleep, crying, or eating. To wit she was not doing terribly much in general, although everyone cooed over her, Jewel included (her sister was utterly adorable after all).

    Jewel vaguely remembered similar acts towards herself. Although the memories after hatching were foggy and hard to set in clear order.

    Still, she did have those memories.

    Memories that felt so much stronger whenever she was in her room these days, nestled carefully around her egg. Passing her wyrmflame in and out of the life within, more out of the need for the comfort it brought her, than any assurance what she was doing was right.

    While knowledgeable to the nature of frogs, heron, fish (but for some reason not eels) Tsulogothulan made for a poor wise woman or midwife for Jewel.

    Her egg had been laid practically full with a child within, which was very strange according to the weird. Further, the temple priest, and Mother¡¯s wisewoman, and the hen maidens from the village and even the Rochford bird keeper could offer little better.

    Of the sorcery Jewel was performing with her flame, absolutely nothing was known.

    But it felt right, so Jewel did it. Refusing to impart the flame in her egg filled Jewel with a cold dread the one time she had abstained, and she had never refused to pass her wyrmflame in and out of the egg at every opportunity since.

    Beyond this sorcery (which Jewel had to attend to herself) they made sure that the egg was kept at about the heat of a man¡¯s body in her room. And that too had surprised her: how sensitive she was to the temperature it was kept at. When there was a chilly draft in her room, she felt a sapping of vigor.

    When there was a heat she felt simultaneously constrained and addled.

    It echoed disquiets of similar but entirely different sorts within her whenever she returned to her room and found something amiss.

    An open window which had never bothered her before left Jewel¡¯s skin shaking down her coils in waves and filled her with an even stronger desire to coddle the egg.

    Jewel did not move it much, however.

    Taking great care whenever she settled for sleep or woke for the day, so as not to not over jostle it.

    Twice now just past dawn, Tsulogothulan would gently touch the egg and raise it up to check the occupant within against the morning light through Jewel¡¯s window.

    No one else was permitted to touch it. If this was how Honeydown had felt, Jewel had found even greater respect for the gryphon formel and her restraint.

    Jewel did not understand it, but any touch of the egg, any brush, a simple rattle or shake addled her mind entirely.

    The idea of someone breaking its shell filled her with a clenching horror she¡¯d not felt since Alexander was nearly gored by the terror boar.

    Jewel had obligations that she was expected to attend to, but given the situation, they were treating her as if she was a new mother convalescing.

    And whenever she found herself needing to coddle and shiver against her egg to bring up its temperature, or run wyrmflame in and out, it was welcome.

    But the rest of the time it was very frustrating. Other than strange new fears, Jewel felt as hearty and strong as ever.

    Nothing like how slowly Mother was recovering from bringing her sister into the world.

    At least the egg¡¯s bastardry was resolved just yesterday by messenger bird.

    A simple oath on paper and the assurance she had laid with no man applied with Rochford¡¯s seal (Jewel did not yet have her own signet) and the word of the countess saw her child declared immaculate.

    Which Jewel had then learned was not even uncommon.

    Divinely begotten children were in fact quite rife in the histories if you checked the ones that dealt with gods and the divine instead of stewardship.

    Even in recent records!

    Jewel being somewhat consigned to her room to ¡®convalesce¡¯ from the ¡®ordeal¡¯ had little to do for the past five days but read, eat, fuss over her egg and sleep.

    So she had finally had the time to dig into Father¡¯s less-read books.

    Most of them were old ledgers from the barony itself going back generations, but there were also histories that had been paid in kind for good Rochford vellum.

    And in one of those books Jewel found out about one village in Arva of all places that had suffered a simultaneous mass pregnancy of every woman of bleeding age only fifty years ago!

    Priests from all over the realm had descended on the village once they heard of it.

    Sorcery had been suspected, or possible stranger curses. But eventually the cause was found.

    It was written that a woman (whose name was notably absent from the record) was so bereaved by a stillbirth the year prior that she had set out on her own into the wild hills and pleaded fervently with a woodland god for children.

    Said god had apparently answered with such enthusiasm that the result was deemed a divine calamity.

    There had been concerns of starvation, worries over deaths for lack of care available for the upcoming simultaneous births and it was only by intervention of the then count (the father in law of the Countess Bathory) that the matter did not end in a famine.

    Every birth, it was noted, finished with no peril or deaths at all, even in those substantially too young or old for childbearing.

    And with the assistance in keeping them fed and cared for, the children all survived to adulthood.

    Nothing else was written of them that Jewel could find regarding this mass of immaculate births.

    Besides the nature of their conception and interest from some of the temples that had investigated, there was little else of note. These star-conceived children proved unremarkable peasants in every respect, not even a strange hue of hair or skin to distinguish them.

    There was a note that the god who had caused all the trouble was identified but its name had been locked away and all who knew it sworn to an oath or otherwise silenced.

    It was deeply disturbing to consider that apparently a god could simply be convinced by some random woman in the woods to force motherhood upon an entire village of women and girls.

    Wedded or not.

    But for Jewel, the important part was that the status of Immaculate superseded any claim of bastardry and with such a precedent, Jewel¡¯s own child, her own honor and future betrothal was safe.

    The child would be of both Rochford and Bathory houses as it inherited directly from only her line.

    And the Countess was unlikely to annul the betrothal she had declared Jewel would have over it anyway.

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    The young wyrm sighed, flexing her wings and coils a bit.

    The feeling of being exposed had passed after the first few days. Immediately after her laying she¡¯d been too mortified to even move her hips out from under their blanket coverings once she fully comprehended what had happened.

    That she actually possessed indecent parts that might need covering outside of bathing had been terrifying.

    However the visibility of such things faded.

    But with that strange new shame gone other issues arose.

    Her room was feeling even more confining than usual.

    Almost like it was pressed in on her.

    Against her back, close to her nose, at her sides.

    Like it had felt in her egg.

    Right before-

    Hatching!

    Jewel¡¯s neck jerked.

    But it was not her neck.

    It was short, tense, and far too weak.

    It was obviously not the sinuous arcing shape of Jewel¡¯s neck which was longer then any man.

    But it was her neck, attached to her shoulders, fitted into her head just back from her jaw-

    Another jerk of her neck and shoulders.

    A spasm.

    But Jewel was utterly still.

    What was going on?!

    Was she somehow ensorceled?

    But no words whispered to her flame to demand she move.

    And move she did not.

    Another spasm that Jewel could feel all throughout her body but not see.

    Movement that was not.

    Strange revelatory memories of her own hatching catching in her mind.

    It took the sharp and sudden crack of her egg to draw Jewel¡¯s attention to turn and look down.

    To see a single spiderweb of cracks along her egg, just at the top of it where nothing could have touched it.

    The spasm rushed through her entire body once more. Like she was being grasped and shaken in a way no one had been physically capable of for most of her life.

    But it was not her familiar body.

    The neck was short, the shoulders too close to the head, the arms overly long, the legs and hips too close to the shoulders, the tail stubby.

    The wings entirely absent.

    She spasmed with shape and form unfamiliar and yet was perfectly still.

    Looking down to watch as her egg flexed and cracks spread.

    A shape within jolting and flexing as she felt her own move.

    Without even thinking, Jewel passed her wyrmflame in and out of the egg. And with it she felt a sharpness of clarity, of impression, of strength and assurance.

    The power of it overwhelmed with an imperative, a familiar echo of her own memory now fresh and sharp and absolute.

    Confinement, confusion, a need to move.

    And then flexing hard, Legs pressing, back arching, head and neck shoving forward.

    Jagged cracks spread.

    The shell of the egg bent and bowed from within.

    Jewel could feel the tiny spots where toes and feet pressed from within. She could feel them from both sides.

    Where the shell bent and flexed into the side of her belly, where it was protectively wrapped around the egg.

    Where the shell bent around her feet and around short toe claws from within the egg.

    This was not right, this was not birth, this was different.

    This was sorcery!

    Jewel however could not speak, her throat was clogged full of fluid, almost jelly like in how thick and intrusive it was.

    Her throat was clear and overly long and vast. She could not quite clearly discern how she was supposed to move it.

    And then another spasm passed through her body. Involuntary, forced, moving her as she did not wish.

    Foreign and alien.

    It passed through her body within the egg.

    At last the shell broke open.

    A split and pressure breaking free.

    A thin membrane so much like her own hatching.

    Her first hatching.

    The memories muddled over one another.

    The old and the new, confusing in their similarity.

    Shocking in their differences.

    Jewel¡¯s head broke free of the egg and its warm confines.

    Was shocked with a stinging bitter pain as air finally broke over her face for the first time.

    For a first time.

    A second first?

    Jewel was hale and hearty. Not even a tremor in her coils.

    She was wracked with exhaustion.

    Her lungs were full of fluid and she was coughing up gummy slime.

    The coughs brought more flexes, sharper bends of her spine, thrashing tail, kicking legs.

    Her egg¡¯s split broke entirely.

    The slime and wetness that yet remained spilling out over the carpets and cushions that the Countess had gifted her.

    At last air dragged into fresh lungs for another first time. Her eyes would not open but she could see herself fine.

    She was much as Jewel was.

    The same scales, although these were even smaller.

    A similar face as Jewel had, but shorter, stubbier, eyes much bigger, horns not even nubs.

    Barely a mane of dark hair.

    A tail.

    But there the similarities ended.

    The body was stretched and strange.

    Short and stubby in some ways, lanky and over-long in others.

    It looked like Jewel¡¯s sister in that way. Like a freshly born babe.

    Jewel stared dumbfounded and addled.

    Until the cold made her smaller self tremble uncontrollably in a way Jewel had never felt before.

    And she enclosed the fragile trembling body in her coils and a blanket.

    Scales almost rattling with the force she shook them to bring warmth to her-

    Was this even a child?

    She looked like a babe, more definition in that regard then Jewel had ever shown.

    But Jewel felt her as assuredly and absolutely as her own claws, her own tail, her own wings.

    This was not someone other.

    This was Jewel.

    Somehow.

 2.2

    2.2

    In some ways having a little sister changed much. In others it was hardly notable at all.

    It monopolized Mother¡¯s time, and it meant that one of the villagers had been taken on as wet nurse. Work was also being done to seek out a promising governess already.

    Muriel had accepted Jewel¡¯s offer to join as captain of the guard for the manor of Valasect now that her obligation to Father as Alexander and Jewel¡¯s tutor had been finished.

    One somewhat familiar face seen more often in the household, a bundle at mother¡¯s side and an extra layer of shit, piss and sick mingling with the sweet tang of mother¡¯s milk on the air was the sum of most of the changes to Jewel¡¯s life in Rochford due to her sister.

    Meanwhile, her demesne of Valasect duly moved from summer harvest to autumn labors.

    And as had been the case for the last few years, she needed to survey, tally and report the harvest of Valasect herself and present it to her father, rather than him surveying from the air and comparing that to reports made by Adorj¨¢n¡¯s predecessor.

    In many regards life was little changed.

    In others everything was entirely different.

    When she first hatched Jewel did not appreciate how mobile and capable she had been.

    With this second hatching she found she could barely even keep her eyes open. Everything came in a rush, and she was constantly hungry.

    Jewel was already moving about by the time she was four seasons old.

    But her sister and whatever the thing that was Jewel but also not was still hardly able to move!

    Was this another manner in which she as a wyrm differed so much from men and women?

    And if it was because she was a wyrm, then what was this strange miniature otherself?

    Jewel¡¯s sister was so fragile and delicate, not even to be named until she passed the harshness of winter and reached summer again.

    The hatched immaculate child was to be treated much the same, although Jewel struggled to believe that this was the same as what her mother was experiencing.

    Wasn''t it?

    She¡¯d not even been able to find the words to explain this to anyone.

    The simple utterance of ¡°that¡¯s me, that¡¯s mine, she¡¯s me¡± did not convey the magnitude of it and seemed to just distract and delight her parents.

    Jewel returned to her chambers, foregoing a bath today. It was still early autumn. No one but her cared about the smell of dragon exertions.

    Several staff had even complimented it without realizing it was Jewel.

    And as she crossed the familiar threshold it all came rushing back into her.

    Jewel¡¯s daughter that was not a daughter.

    Her lairspawn.

    It was thankfully not much that had occurred today.

    She¡¯d been fed and cleaned by the Rochford manor staff. The wet nurse and Jewel had agreed that the usual feeding of infants was inappropriate the very first day. Much to the young woman¡¯s relief.

    Jewel¡¯s younger, stranger self had hatched like her wyrm self with a full snout of teeth.

    Pottage and milk had been far less pleasant for the little mouth than the eventual strips of meat Father had suggested they use. It was much as Alexander would be feeding his bond in the eyrie, and easily enough to obtain as scraps off of Zephyrvam¡¯s daily pig.

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    For all the unendingly nagging hunger that filled the tiny belly nestled in a bundle in Jewel¡¯s room, the belly was quite tiny.

    Beyond eating, there was fussing, and what had been the astoundingly unpleasant surprise of what happened to food if anyone but a wyrm ate it.

    Jewel had been horrified the first time it happened while she was there.

    Sudden movement inside yourself, wet, sticky and awful sensations on her scales and a terrible mess and smell that Jewel could now not deny was coming from herself.

    Well, one of herselves.

    She¡¯d been glad for the staff to tend to it, but Mother had insisted Jewel learn to tend her ¡®child¡¯ and its needs in this as much as she learned weaving.

    Even if they were expected to always have staff, a Mother and a wife should know how it is done right in the first place so she could spot caretakers failing in their duties.

    Thankfully the changing had already been taken care of today.

    But even so Jewel could feel the memory flowing through her as soon as she entered the room.

    And with it the cold and terrifying feeling of the absence of her own Wyrmflame for hours on end.

    A sucking void which she was already acting to remove. Curling around her smaller, tiny self. Filling her diminutive body with the soft soothing touch of her fire.

    Was this what motherhood was?

    Feeling and recalling all that happened to your child in your absence?

    Being so much a part of it in its presence that you could not distinguish your child from yourself?

    Being overwhelmed with your child¡¯s feelings of cold, of heat, of helplessness?

    Mother spoke of loving her children, Jewel, Alexander and their yet to be named sister.

    Of them being a part of her.

    Was this simply normal?

    Jewel looked down at herself.

    And she looked up at herself.

    In one set of eyes she was tiny, small enough to with effort fit in Jewel¡¯s own mouth.

    In another set of eyes she was blurry, indistinct, vast. But the assurance of this larger self, of knowing where she was?

    It was comforting somehow.

    As was the rushing return of her wyrmflame.

    Something that she had felt the biting absence of for most of the day amid constant bouts of sleep and confusion.

    Something that had also been just as present as the first day she hatched.

    Jewel huffed and stared down at her daughter, or spawn or whatever it was.

    Whatever she was?

    No one seemed to understand or know what to expect of this.

    Feral Wyrm had great packs of lair spawn some times. Others had little to none.

    Sometimes they would join one in battle, other times they fled and hid away.

    No one knew much about this. Despite them being slain in droves little was understood.

    Jewel sighed with two sets of lungs, the larger able to continue the exasperation long after the smaller needed to refill and empty several more times.

    Jewel greatly wished that the world would stop revealing more about herself she did not know.

    What even was Jewel?

    What even was a Wyrm?

    What was all of this?!

 2.3

    2.3

    Tsulogothulan considered the child with long, slow blinks and a keen interest. The size of the Bog Weird¡¯s eye made it easy to track where her friend¡¯s gaze was falling.

    Running up and down the body in a quick pass.

    Then slowly lingering on different features.

    Jewel watched from both sets of eyes, meeting the blurry indistinctness she knew was her friend.

    Her smaller snout was shorter than Jewel¡¯s original in proportion. But still much too long for a human. Mouth and nose running together as Jewel¡¯s did. Giving the infant¡¯s head a profile with a slightly stretched out appearance, almost like a dog¡¯s.

    The ears were much as Jewel¡¯s were, somewhere indistinctly between a horse¡¯s and a wolf¡¯s.

    The horns were in the same place as Jewel¡¯s but barely nubs, instead of long and sharp.

    The mane was wider on the head than Jewel¡¯s. The hairs were sparse but you could tell where the dark strands would fill in to give a full head where Jewel¡¯s more resembled a horse¡¯s mane sprouting in a narrow ridge down her back.

    The hands were almost the same as a man but bearing Jewel¡¯s claws instead of nails. And lacking the smallest finger each.

    The tail was just long enough to reach the knees if it relaxed straight. But it often writhed with Jewel¡¯s mood.

    The scales were exactly as Jewels had been freshly hatched. Finer than wheat grains, bigger than sand.

    Paler on the front, the palms, feet, finger tips, under the arms and down the inner side of the thighs.

    Darker along the back where Jewel¡¯s mane grew along her larger spine, this smaller back was otherwise bare, however, save for a splaying of darker scales over the shoulders, almost in the shape of wings.

    After the inspection, Tsulogothulan raised a single finger out of their cloak and moved it. Jewel watched the finger with both pairs of her eyes. Although it was a barely distinguishable smudge to the smaller ones.

    A vague black blur in the misty indistinctness of her bedroom and the fading afternoon light streaming through the window.

    ¡°Well, she seems healthy to me, hard to judge, but she looks like a mostly human child.¡±

    Jewel gawked at her friend.

    ¡°She¡¯s covered in scales.¡±

    Tsulogothulan shrugged very overtly, meeting the incredulous expression that had settled onto Jewel¡¯s smaller face with a placid blink of their one eye.

    ¡°She¡¯s got horns.¡±

    The Weird finally turned their otherwise featureless hatchet of a face towards Jewel then tilted to one side so the vastness of a single eye big around as her father¡¯s fist could fix on Jewel judgmentally.

    The reedy strands of black hair framed the pale hook of flesh, more like the bedraggled vines of some creeping plant clinging to a tree than any kind of hair.

    The wide, almost fleshy brim of the hat and its pointed peak, subtly writhing with a texture of shifting things and drifting mucky currents.

    Jewel weakly tried one last time against the silent judgment.

    ¡°She has a tail.¡±

    The weird turned away from Jewel, twisting in a tight spiral that obviously wrung out the trunk of their body.

    A long, scaly tail with twin ridges on its back suddenly slapped its way out from the murky, black flesh strands of the wizard¡¯s ¡®robe¡¯. Pale square plates and triangular spines were more or less the same hue as the hatchet of a nose.

    The purple eye came back around to fix Jewel with a tilt and an impression of a raised brow even though Jewel had never in all the years with her friend ever seen them bother with one.

    ¡°I can have one of those too if I want, hardly of consequence.¡±

    The mentioned appendage slurped its way back into the robes and then a faint churning snap of something wet and springy tearing sounded as the wringing twist broke and rewove itself back into the usual vaguely human countenance that the Weird kept when they were being ¡®presentable¡¯ to Father or guests.

    Their tone takes on a soft friendly jest.

    ¡°But more seriously, Jewel, this is not the strangest mein I¡¯ve seen mortal men have, even at birth. When workings of sorcery, or star sent divine acts are concerned this is not even that severe. Perfectly normal baby, all things told.¡±

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    Jewel gawked a bit.

    Her friend turned back to look at the child and extended a hand to waggle fingers in their face, it was somewhat dazzling in her poor vision. They appeared and vanished with the rapid motion in and out of focus. Drawing her to stare at them despite herself.

    It was like a sorcery act all of its own just from poor vision and fast fingers.

    ¡°And when Wyrmspawn are involved? I don¡¯t want to alarm your sensibilities, Jewel, but men and women of a peculiar taste have occasionally succeeded in fruitfu-¡±

    Jewel¡¯s wings were flaring and both her own throat and that of the maybe child rose. One spouting half coherent outrage, the other crying and warbling in distorted manglings of speech that sounded like warbling birds drowning in mud.

    ¡°No! no! No! NO! I do not need to hear about such debauchery, Tsulogothulan!¡±

    The weird blinked in bafflement at her.

    ¡°Jewel, you literally can hear your parents every night they do the act, you could tell when your sister was conceived!¡±

    Jewel¡¯s wings were splayed as far as they would go in her bedroom, the membrane touching the ceiling and walls, her neck was curled back as far as she could, horns brushing the arch of the stones overhead.

    Her forelegs had long since left the cushioning of her bedroom floor.

    In contrast to that however the smaller form felt a furious rush of blood within, especially in her face and ears.

    Jewel¡¯s voice rose far higher and louder than she wished. Likely several people could hear her now.

    Her smaller self warbling below the louder words from her voluminous throat.

    ¡°Th-thats different! Mother and Father are Properly Married! It¡¯s not fornication if you''re married!¡±

    Which brought up the weird short for several long moments.

    Then came the slow, languishing blinks that Jewel had come to understand meant her friend was mulling over something especially tricky for them. Which was not always a thing that Jewel thought should be difficult.

    It gave Jewel time to calm her scandalized breathing, laboriously relax her wings, unclench the tautness in her neck and carefully extract her horn tips from the grout in the ceiling vault.

    This was fine, sometimes Tsulogothulan or wizards in general for that matter were strange about sensible and obvious things. It was letting Jewel get some control and composure over both of herselves. Although she had no idea what to do about the rushing blood in the smaller face.

    Jewel still had not succeeded in explaining to Tsulogothulan why freshly baked bread should never be simultaneously crisp, warm, flakey, soggy and droopy.

    This blinking confusion lasted for a few more wet rolls of heavy lid across an overlarge eye. But finally in the most befuddled and incredulous tone Jewel had ever heard from her friend the words broke free from the Weird.

    Their lid closing to a squint and their eye¡¯s pupil going to a pinprick as if Jewel was somehow a flaring sunrise.

    ¡°Jewel, would you not be bothered by... by a man laying with a gryphon if they were properly wed?¡±

    It was Jewel¡¯s turn to stare at her friend in equal incredulity. What an absolutely silly and incredibly weird question.

    Which she supposed suited her friend.

    ¡°Well of course not! Assuming it was done properly and their parents consented. Why would I?¡±

    To which her friend blinked again very slowly before turning away.

    ¡°Your child is fine, Lady Jewel.¡±

    And then in a squelch the Weird vanished more abruptly than Jewel had ever seen.

    Which was incredibly rude of them.

 2.4

    2.4

    When she first learned of him, Jewel would have been shocked if she was told that Gy?rgy Thurz¨® of Arva might come to be a welcome friend.

    Even when she first met the Count, Jewel would have doubted. He was not a terribly impressive man in bearing.

    But her friend Gy?rgy was, and very welcomed one at that.

    It was so peculiar how much could change after a war.

    Father and the Rochford family had a great many books, one of the largest personal libraries in the valleys of the Ridgetail mountains she had learned.

    But Jewel had come to realize that just because one had a great many books did not necessarily mean one read or remembered all of them.

    Jewel¡¯s father was well-read, but as with Alexander, he did not retain what he learned as voluminously as Count Thurz¨®.

    What had started as letters that were stiff, officious and put to deep suspicion by Father and Mother grew over the years to a welcome series of questions and discussions on the nature of the world and the many attempts men had made to codify it.

    And now, after years of letters between them since their last meeting Gy?rgy Thurz¨® of Arva and his entire family were on their way to visit.

    Well, to be precise they were arriving as vanguard for the high king¡¯s visit to Kaeketeh. Which would also be passing through Rochford ten days after them.

    The halls of the fortress had been cleared and the Countess Bathory had sent staff and supplies to see that Rochford (and other places of rest on his itinerary) were made ready for the King.

    Jewel shifted her coils and squirmed in her swaddling simultaneously. Something which got her smaller part shushed and fussed over by the wet nurse.

    Her sister Gwenn was equally fussy; it was strange the pair they made.

    Jewel had feelings twice over regarding her sister.

    She was older, larger and wiser without doubt. A respected elder sister who looked out for her safety.

    But simultaneously she was also a peer, a fellow struggler of the great challenges of the world.

    Of the frailties of one¡¯s body. The yet insurmountable struggle of staying upright under quaking muscles.

    The shared frustrations of trying to move along the floor in the easy crawl (which Jewel being four legged as her larger self was well-versed in).

    The agitation with how often the adults fussed and picked them up and took them from things they wished to do.

    When she was absent from her larger self, Jewel¡¯s memory said she was the same. But in review it was not really so.

    Her smaller head was full of foggy uncertainties, her vision was awful, her hearing oversharp and yet indistinct. She was easily startled at every noise and sudden movement. She could not make such a short and cramped throat do much more than mewl, cry and chirp.

    Over fourteen years of practice with a throat more often longer than a man is tall was worthless with the tiny neck her smaller self had.

    And without the presence of her larger self, Jewel felt addled and confused in more ways besides.

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    Voice and tone dominated everything.

    Her vision for all its inadequacy felt plenty clear when alone and she observed with great concentration as she always had.

    But somehow details were lost despite her attention.

    Most disturbing of all, Jewel as her smaller self alone could not hear or feel the world.

    The stones were mute, the trees silent.

    All of it was smothering and frightening and it made her yearn and strive to reconnect with her larger self and the comforting certainty and rightness it brought even when just hours prior she had known that she should stay with her minders and do as she was told.

    From that impulse came action.

    And naturally being the peer that she was, Gwenn would follow Jewel¡¯s smaller self in these ill thought out ventures.

    Or rather would follow ¡®Gem¡¯.

    The name felt silly to both of her, intensely strange and childish.

    Like naming her toes.

    But everyone had insisted that Jewel¡¯s daughter was separate and that she should have her own name.

    So she had compromised and gotten much exasperation over it.

    Jewel had ultimately given up on the topic after the intense pressure from the adults. Unable to explain her assurance that it was not the case any better then she could explain to father the nature of sorcery and her own Wyrmflame.

    Perhaps when she finally could get the tiny throat to speak proper words she could disabuse them of the misunderstanding.

    But the struggle there was another she was sharing with Gwenn.

    Still. Gy?rgy Thurz¨® of Arva was visiting!

    Arriving in just a few more days, according to  his last letter.

    She chortled along with Gwenn in a good mood while working through another ledger book with her larger self¡¯s eyes.

    Considering things carefully, there had been an accident in erecting one of the halls of her manor house. A timber had been badly rotten in the core while looking good and strong outside. No one had caught the failure, not even when Jewel looked over the initial framing.

    She must have been distracted by something? Worrying over her smaller self back in Rochford?

    Whatever the cause, it was unacceptable.

    Two of her men had died when the wood failed to hold under the weight of stone over them.

    The partial vault of what would have been one of her hallways collapsed.

    The good stones had cracked out of shape.

    The construction was likely to be delayed for a full year to quarry, cut, shape and begin again on the framing and laying of the ceiling there.

    Jewel focused on the ledgers, considering the cost, the labors, trying to divine as Gy?rgy often mentioned the way one can look to the past to see the future.

    She didn''t see precisely how that worked yet. But there was a lot of sorcery and workings Jewel did not understand.

    Much magic she did not know the way of.

    But Jewel would learn.

 2.5

    2.5

    Alexander surprised Jewel by arriving from the Eyrie the day before Count Thurz¨® 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.

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    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.

 2.6

    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 Thurz¨® 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 Erzs¨¦bet 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 Gy?rgy 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.

    Gy?rgy 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 Gy?rgy 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 M¨¢ria, Antonina, Ilona, Borb¨¢la, Ma?gorzata and Marta of Arva, Daughters of Count Thurz¨®¡±

    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.

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    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 (Borb¨¢la?) 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 Thurz¨®, 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 Thurz¨®, 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 Thurz¨® and the County of Arva, Imre Thurz¨® 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 Gy?rgy 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 Gy?rgy¡¯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 Erzs¨¦bet Czobor-¡±

    Father made another gesture with his hand and the Crier quickly shifted his words before he stumbled further.

    ¡°The Count Gy?rgy Thurz¨®-¡±

    One more loop of Father¡¯s wrist which led the crier to widen his eyes and nod hard.

    ¡°And their son and heir Imre Thurz¨® 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 Thurz¨® of Arva¡±

    Gy?rgy 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.

 2.7

    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 Thurz¨® 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 Thurz¨® 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.

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    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.

 2.8

    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 Thurz¨® 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 Thurz¨®¡¯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. Thurz¨®¡¯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 m¨¦lange 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 Ho?anka 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 Thurz¨®, 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 Thurz¨®¡¯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.

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    At last Count Thurz¨® 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?¡±

    Thurz¨® 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).

    Thurz¨®¡¯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 Thurz¨®¡¯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.

 2.9

    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 Thurz¨® 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 Thurz¨®, 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.

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    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 Thurz¨®¡¯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 from 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.

 2.i

    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.

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.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

 2.ii

    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,

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    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

 3.1

    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 Thurz¨® 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.

    Thurz¨® 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 Gy?rgy.¡±

    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.

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    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 Gy?rgy¡¯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 Gy?rgy 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 Gy?rgy ! 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.

 3.2

    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 Gy?rgy¡¯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?¡±

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    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 Gy?rgy¡¯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?

 3.3

    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.

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    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.

 3.4

    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.¡±

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    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 ¡ª 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 Thurz¨® 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.

    Thurz¨® 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 Thurz¨®. 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.

 3.5

    3.5

    Jewel kept that terrible dangerous weight of a thought to herself for the rest of the High King¡¯s visit to Kaeketeh.

    There were thankfully no more discussions of the awful things. At least none in meetings that Jewel had to attend.

    Jaksa had apparently refused to give up a single one of his patients from the Kaeketeh dungeon and the Countess had backed him in this against the High King.

    But the thought continued to writhe inside her flame.

    She kept it to herself when her family departed from the city and headed back to Rochford.

    She kept it quiet for the days in which they marched where her squire and the footmen could hear.

    She kept quiet in the nights where they stayed within walls that could have listeners close by.

    But finally they were camping in the old way station that had once been a guard tower.

    Mother and Father stayed in the actual thick-walled stone room with Gem and Gwenn. The rest took the shelter of their tents, or in Jewel¡¯s case, nothing at all.

    She liked to see the stars sometimes and without the worry of her harness or pack being soaked through by rain she did not really mind sleeping in the open.

    With her kit safely stowed, it had been her habit on their annual trip to Kaeketeh each debt season to sleep under the open sky here.

    But this night after the meal and before settling in for bed, Jewel gently tapped on the door.

    Father¡¯s voice was tired, they had been traveling all day.

    But he called for her to enter.

    His tone and expression softened at the sight of her, and Mother was soon walking up as soon as Jewel finished furling herself up into as compact a tight coil as she could. The Tower was not sized for a Wyrm of her size.

    How long would it even be possible to fit all of herself within?

    She was growing slower but still she gained in length and girth each year.

    Mother spoke first, softly.

    Jewel¡¯s sister was sleeping; her other, smaller self was feigning it, but Jewel could still hear even if those eyes were closed.

    ¡°Jewel, what brings you to us daughter?¡±

    The question left her addled. How could she even begin to ask?

    Begin to even consider what she was considering?

    She fidgeted like she hadn''t for years.

    Foreclaws and the thumb of each wing all tapping and brushing each other down over her collar bone.

    Finally, under the tired but concerned stares of her parents Jewel found shame forcing her words where bravery could not.

    ¡°F-Father... is the High King... Is He... I m-mean... I-Is his rule J-just?¡±

    A pained wince from Father that Jewel did not want to see.

    She turned to her mother and did not see anything reassuring there either.

    Mother again spoke first. Father had walked over to sit down at the simple stool the waystation kept.

    ¡°That is a very heavy burden to be considering my daughter. How long have you been carrying this question?¡±

    Jewel spoke before she even realized it.

    ¡°Since the war.¡±

    That got a deep sigh from Father, before he finally spoke.

    ¡°Why dear daughter, why are you asking now? Why didn''t you ask us sooner?¡±

    Jewel let her forelegs drop onto her bundled up coils. Clenched her wings despite the tension that wanted to spring them open (which would be to disastrous consequence for the meager room she was in).

    ¡°I thought I had found the answer.¡±

    Mother offered a soft and gentle smile.

    ¡°Oh that sounds like my clever daughter, what had you concluded?¡±

    Jewel sighed and met her mothers eyes.

    ¡°I thought he was.¡±

    The sad smile on Mother¡¯s face was making Jewel¡¯s wyrmfire and Gem¡¯s stomach both feel like they were being smothered in a tightly wrapping sodding cloth.

    Mother¡¯s words were soft.

    ¡°But you don¡¯t anymore?¡±

    Jewel shook her head.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know anymore.¡±

    Father was looking pensive and finally he spoke with a whisper that felt far worse than anger to Jewel just now.

    ¡°Tell me dear daughter, what is it that you do know?¡±

    Jewel mustered herself, rallied her thoughts and memory. Taking deep breaths, focusing on her flame.

    There were unwanted currents to her wyrm flame that could be stilled and smoothed out.

    Made whole with her.

    She even cycled some of her flame into and out of Gem to further center herself.

    Ease the distraction of the emptiness there.

    When at last she felt herself stable again, Jewel began to speak.

    ¡°I know that Father is a good lord, he is just in his dealings with our subjects. He is not unfair or demanding to our serfs and he readily opens our family stores with the servile and free residents of our demesne alike when they need it.¡±

    He and Mother laughed softly and smiled to her praise but Jewel continued.

    ¡°I Know that Bathory is a wicked fiend of a woman. She looks upon and treats all before her as beasts. Cattle, swine, trained dogs and flocks for her leisure. She¡¯s - She¡¯s been making such terrible things.¡±

    Father tensed at that, but his expression was stiff and there was a sternness there. Mother¡¯s own expression hardened a bit then she turned from Jewel to Father.

    ¡°So the rumors are true?¡±

    Father rumbled then shook his head.

    ¡°No, the rumors are false, but honestly having seen some of the things for myself? It would have been better if they were true.¡±

    Mother offered a muttered exasperation that honestly sounded like a litany of curses in tone.

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    ¡°Forhatan t¨¡r-eallan mearc fira bearn beot wita beadu or hunti?e¡°

    Jewel had no idea what any of that meant. She almost understood it less for not being slurred through half a bottle of wine.

    But Mother offered more coherent words after.

    ¡°And what do you know of the High King?¡±

    Jewel mulled on that. What did she actually know?

    For a long time she had known less than she did of the Countess Bathory before the war.

    ¡°He has earned the trust and respect of my friend Count Thurz¨®. He rules as the head of all the Realm of Cantor Reborn. He approved a war with the Countess Bathory with what he could see as a just cause.¡±

    Mother frowned as Jewel spoke, Father simply seemed saddened for some reason.

    Was Jewel somehow failing in some way?

    ¡°I thought that the Countess in her wickedness had lied about his coveting of me. Lied about what he would do to our family.¡±

    That made it even worse, Jewel could smell the pain and sadness clear as daylight in a summer sky.

    Perhaps it was that the High King was not in fact just? She hurried to assure them otherwise.

    ¡°But then when he saw the things that the Countess had made, He wanted them. He wanted to make more of them! He coveted them! Just like the Countess Said he coveted me.¡±

    Jewel shook her head a bit to try and distract herself from the awful sadness that swept off her parents in a stink.

    They were sad, but not surprised.

    Jewel was not even sure what that could mean.

    Father offered his words, and his voice sounded brittle.

    ¡°The cruel and terrible can be truthful, and for all their wickedness a liege can still be a good steward of their lands, subjects and vassals in spite of it.¡±

    Mother frowned at Father over that; Jewel could smell a current of anger there. Hints from discussions Jewel had heard behind closed doors away from the ears of staff or court.

    Mother¡¯s mouth was a thin line before she turned back to Jewel and then said with a steel to her voice that was usually softened.

    ¡°The very kind and trusted can also be terrible and unjust to their people. It is a rare and precious thing to have all one knows to align simply and say if a lord or lady is Just.¡±

    Father nodded and tried to offer wisdom. His words were in the tone of the wise but as they landed Jewel did not feel the clarity that he had always been able to bring her.

    ¡°The Countess named you her heir, she betrothed you to her son. For all her terrible cruelty and monstrous acts. She has given you and our family everything. Protected us and you.¡±

    Jewel did not want to be hearing this. She wanted her parents to give her answers, to bring things into the simple clarity that they always could.

    ¡°She is our Liege and she serves us well as her vassals. You must understand this, Jewel. Because though he is all sweet words now, the High King would have claimed you without her intervention. Word was plain among the Gryphon riders of such when you first hatched.¡±

    But here? Where was the clarity? Where was the world Jewel had known?

    Mother¡¯s voice was soft, gentle, tender. Trying to tell Jewel something soothing in tone.

    Like when she explained how it was fine for the wheat to be cut so that they could make their bread.

    ¡°The Countess can do well by us and be just to our family while being a horrible fiend of a woman. The high king or your friend Thurzo can be sweet words now and just five years prior wanted to chain you like a beast and set you on every war and battle they could like a dog in hunts.¡±

    Jewel could not listen anymore, she was saying something, she was apologizing.

    She was carefully opening the fragile little door and stumbling as carefully and gently as she possibly could out of that far too confined room.

    Jewel had held in all of this weight till now, waited for the perfect and safe time to unburden herself and for her parents to make everything right in the world again.

    But...

    Their words had not made it better.

    The world was even more muddled and confusing then it had been before.

    And Jewel could not feel anything but distress as she finally finished extracting herself from the room, saying things she didn''t even know what.

    Fleeing like a craven coward from her own parents.

    From their words.

    From her own thoughts.

    From the rising bawling cries of her smaller self who was left trapped in the room with them while she fled her parents and all the awful words they had buried her in.

    Jewel caught sight of Smithson and briefly considered fleeing from him too.

    But he was her trusted Squire, not old and wise like her parents, not supposed to know better then her.

    But he would listen and speak with her anyway.

    Smithson was her squire and trusted friend.

    Finally Jewel found her voice uttering words that she could recall.

    Brittle, wet with tears and worry.

    ¡°S-smithson, Squire, w-with me.¡±

    He was already rushing to follow her into the chill dark of the late autumn weather.

    ¡°Of course, Lady Jewel.¡±

    Jewel walked at a pace slow enough for him to keep up. But it took a long time into the dark before she found the words to even begin.

    ¡°C-could we talk a while Smithson?¡±

    He was patient with her though, simply rubbing her foremost shoulder.

    ¡°Whatever you need.¡±

    Jewel could only choke on a laugh at the offer.

    If only he could give it.

 3.6

    3.6

    Jewel felt craven.

    She had been avoiding her parents whenever possible. Not so much as to be inappropriate of course. She attended the meals to break fast and also the evening supper.

    But every excuse or responsibility that could draw her away or distract her?

    No one was at the work site for her manor house.

    The vaults of most of the rooms had been raised and set with their proper arches. But until all of them were finished and the last touches of the peripheral chambers were done, there was little point to move into the space.

    Yet Jewel was here to inspect after conferring once again that Adorj¨¢n knew of no family that needed her aide this fall.

    The children did not need seeing to, as all the women were either working on labors that could watch them or their small hands were needed to aid their elders. There was no concern of fuel for winter.

    There was nothing for Jewel to be doing here.

    But she came anyway to get away from the stinging pain she felt every time she saw her parents.

    A familiar scent slid into Jewel¡¯s mouth.

    She knew who was walking up the road wrapped in a winter cloak and riding leathers already but the scent confirmed it.

    When they were close enough for a civil amount of volume Jewel voiced her surprise.

    ¡°Muriel? What are you doing in Valasect? The manor won¡¯t be ready until Harrow at earliest. And we will still be settling upon the guard who will join from Rochford til then?¡±

    Jewel¡¯s soon to be captain of her footmen walked up to her lady, gesturing for Jewel to lower her head to listen closely.

    Perplexed at the conspiratorial gesture when they were the only listeners of consequence for almost a quarter mile at closest! Still, the Wyrm lowered her head to listen. It must be important if-

    The solid fist fist struck as hard as the martial woman could possibly manage directly into Jewel¡¯s ear.

    Unbraced with her flame she might have been, but the pain was still mild. The thunderous deafening noise of it and the sheer audacious shock threw Jewel so off balance she toppled to the ground with a thunderous crash and a highly undignified warbling squawk.

    The words that followed were bellowed harsher than Jewel had ever heard Murial speak. Not even when giving Alexander drills in sword or forcing him to run at march.

    ¡°You absolute knave of a girl! You fool-headed addle-wited oversized newt of a whelp!¡±

    The words kept Jewel down in their viciousness and complete surprise.

    Her wings flared awkwardly and neck clenched in tight curves, even while she found herself cowering into the dirt and mud that had been made of the land around her soon to be home.

    ¡°I had my doubts before but no, you truly are the very image of a spoiled girl precisely your own age!¡±

    Jewel felt something strangely warm building in her flame at the words. It was spat with vitriol, literally spat right in Jewel¡¯s face. But a sudden closing of one of the ever mounting and painful barriers between Jewel and her family felt healed in spite of the sting and shame.

    ¡°You¡¯ve set both your parents to a near panic, you know? Ever the dutiful and obedient daughter they have no idea what to do. They are beside themselves and terrified that you will never speak to them again.¡±

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    Jewel found a tiny, frightened voice to argue.

    ¡°I have spoken to them.¡±

    Muriel, her captain to be, scowls down at Jewel and a very familiar tremor of fear her once Governess could instill fills Jewel.

    ¡°The barest minimum of courtesy twice a day at obligatory meals is not speaking, Jewel.¡±

    And to that Jewel could not deny, she had been craven, cowardly, and for no good reason.

    The woman gave a sigh as she settled into a squat. Jewel could hear more than the leather creaking and straining from the motion.

    ¡°So yes, they are worried about you Jewel. They don¡¯t understand. They never imagined their perfect daughter could have a tantrum on them.¡±

    Jewel brought her head up a bit this time with the tightened curve in her neck. Pushed off a bit from the ground.

    ¡°It-it¡¯s not a Tantrum!¡±

    Jewel¡¯s snarling face and vicious rumbling in her throat did not even phase the woman still squatting before her, glancing up with a raised brow.

    ¡°Girl, I have taught you and your brother since before he could walk. I know a tantrum when I see it. So what was it that finally broke the perfect shining wyrm of Viznove and let through the young lady just shy of fifteen winters at last?¡±

    The tone was irreverent, but calm; it had become soft and gentle.

    Patience settled in as the woman whose hair had far more gray then Jewel could remember from her own youth.

    She was not even the slightest afraid of Jewel. She had been calm and collected as always even as a Wyrm easily six times her height in length, snarled and reared back.

    The eyes that looked back at Jewel did not see a beast.

    Just a tantruming girl.

    A girl and a lady of fourteen summers.

    Jewel for the second time in so many hours was brought to the ground by the woman before her.

    Collapsing entirely.

    There were tears in her eyes as she rumbled out, lacking the composure to gentle her throat.

    ¡°It¡¯s so stupid and cowardly.¡±

    Muriel for her part just nodded, shifting back to plant her ass in the cold dirt and then stretch out a leg to either side. Propping herself up with a hand to either side as she nodded. Jewel had never seen her Governess sit with so little grace or poise.

    ¡°It always is, but we all have these moments eventually. Now can you tell me what¡¯s upset you so much my Lady? Your squire is a noble and loyal one and has not shared a word.¡±

    Jewel huffed at that. But was also pleased enough to chuckle on hearing that Smithson had held to her confidence as he should.

    That was a very good squire and friend.

    But then Jewel marshaled herself and took the first step from cowardice to bravery.

    It felt like dragging a lodestone hooked in spines from her own heart and out of her throat.

    But the words came.

    Slowly.

    And Muriel Listened.

 3.7

    3.7

    Father did not meet Jewel¡¯s eyes, preferring to look down at his own palms.

    Then finally, after what had felt like far too long in the too-tight quarters of her parent¡¯s bedroom, he spoke.

    ¡°Her husband, Count Ferenc Bathory, Black Knight of Viznove saved my life as a whelp of a Gryphon Rider in war. But it was the Countess Bathory who saved Rochford and our family.¡±

    Jewel listened, she wanted to rear back in shock. But her parent¡¯s room was simply too small for that.

    But more than that, the tone in her Father¡¯s voice was brittle.

    ¡°There was a blight. The fields failed, not just the wheat but the barley, the peas, and the veches. All that grew in Rochford and the surrounding lands was fouled.¡±

    He sighed.

    ¡°It was only one year without harvest, but one year was enough, our granaries were empty come winter. And families were starving come Fallow Turn. I sent letters begging for aid from all our neighbors and allies of our house.¡±

    He shook his head.

    ¡°Fiebron offered enough to feed our household. But it was only the Countess who, in hearing of their plight, sent food enough to save the lives of the people. Bought and imported grain at ruinous cost for them.¡±

    He finally seemed to find the will to face Jewel, to meet her eyes with an intensity she often saw when he spoke to the footmen. She¡¯d seen it during the war as well.

    ¡°She asked for not a haepenny of debt from me or anyone in Rochford. She¡¯d have been within her right as my liege lady to do so. But she refused, even when I offered.¡±

    He sighed.

    ¡°Elizabeth is a spiteful woman, a dangerous one, but she is not overly cruel, she does not wish for suffering or pain on others. When she has set her course she will not heed those that she trods upon in her path. But she will not choose to do that-¡±

    Mother interrupted with a tone that silenced Father sharply.

    ¡°Oh fool husband , do not lie to yourself or our daughter. The Lady Bathory would absolutely skin alive every man, woman and child in Rochford if she had the fancy for it. Do not dress up that fiend of a woman as what she is not. Her mercy back then was the same reason for her cruelties.¡±

    Jewel blinked slowly, she knew her Parents might quarrel, but she¡¯d never actually been in the same room when they did. And honestly, this was not the fiercest her Mother could be behind closed doors.

    But still, to actually see it with her own eyes?

    Father gave off a groan.

    ¡°She is my liege and has ever sought out the wellbeing of Rochford with distinction and honor as is proper for her station and responsibilities to us.¡±

    Mother scoffed and bit out with that cutting tone.

    ¡°She bestowed your daughter with a betrothal to her son and has her declared heir! You can stop simpering and bowing to that fiend of a woman!¡±

    Father whirled around with what Jewel could almost believe was fury. But then caught himself and took a deep breath to steady his wits.

    ¡°She has served us, protected us, since long before Jewel hatched, and supported every decision we¡¯ve made regarding Jewel¡¯s care.¡±

    Mother heaved another breath and threw up her hands as she rose with all the fury that Father had restrained.

    ¡°Because as far as she is concerned, you, me and even Jewel are Hers. We are hers and that is the only thing that beastly woman cares about. That she keeps what is hers and that it serves her well.¡±

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    Father¡¯s jaw clenches hard, the tone and the hint of the words were familiar.

    Mother always supported father in court, they were always unified as a Wife and Husband should be.

    But within their own rooms her mother had a fury that Jewel could only respect her father for standing unbowed against.

    ¡°She is my Liege, that is her Right. And she looks over us justly and with a care and stewardship well above what we are due from her.¡±

    Jewel did not know what to say. It did not feel right to be here, now, when her parents were not united. When they were here in private.

    Suddenly, Mother¡¯s fury went out, she met Jewel¡¯s eyes and in doing so drew Father back to look as well.

    ¡°Johnathan, you fool of a man, your daughter is going to inherit every one of those rights, every one of those dues. But she is considering treason to the High King because she doubts he is just and good.¡±

    Father looked shocked, surprised, hurt and then rising from him in a wave of horror and fear Jewel never wanted to smell off him again he fixed his eyes on her.

    ¡°Daughter, is this true?¡±

    Jewel was a dutiful daughter, she would not lie to her father.

    So she answered.

    ¡°Of Course.¡±

    The look of surprise and pain on Father¡¯s face stung. But mother¡¯s words stung harder.

    ¡°She won¡¯t just be a simple baron, Johnathan. She is going to be the Countess, a Wyrm Countess! She is making bonds with The Heir to Arva!¡±

    Jewel considered little Imre and his meaningless ¡®token¡¯ of protection from being eaten by herself.

    ¡°Her brother is certainly going to be high amongst the Gryphon Lords, maybe even like yourself First amongst them.¡±

    Alexander and his soon to be steed also welled up in her mind.

    ¡°You are all but inducting her into your brotherhood of Gryphon riders. Binding her with Fiebron and the other rider counts of the Ridgetail mountains.¡±

    Mother¡¯s words were a sharp hiss, but there was a fear there too.

    ¡°Fool Husband, what did you think was happening? If Jewel calls for war after she inherits?¡±

    Father¡¯s fear was rising sharply and suddenly from a slight unease to the tension of imminent peril. Mother however continued, although she was growing quieter. Her scent spoke to the worry her own words were bringing up.

    ¡°If the Shining Wyrm of Viznove, an honorable friend to all the lands and hills of the Ridgetails calls for war? Of course they will follow.¡±

    Father turned to look at Jewel as if it was the first time he had ever seen his daughter.

    Mother turned back to Jewel again as well with very tired eyes. Still speaking, but voice so quiet now.

    ¡°If such an exemplary character as her declares against the High King on grounds that he is unjust? They will flock to her.¡±

    The next words were practically a whisper.

    ¡°And it will tear the realm in half in the fighting.¡±

    Jewel could not stop herself from shuddering at the thought.

    The entire realm at war?

    But if the High King was not Just. Was that not right?

    Yet all those soldiers.

    All those lives that would be lost.

 3.8

    3.8

    Jewel was fifteen winters old, she was to be married next year, and she already had a demesne of her own to look after.

    By all accounts of responsibility and age she was practically an adult.

    But she did not feel much like it.

    The Footmen she and Muriel had chosen were already being settled into quarters in the Valasect manor, the only thing delaying her own arrival was the final work on her bathing room.

    Smithson was so proud and puffed up that he was joining Jewel as her master of horse as well as her squire.

    Although the wyrm herself did not need any of the beasts, Father was willing to give a few for the manor to spare for her men, guests and the occasional messenger from the Realm.

    And there was of course Oxhoof, even if she was getting a bit long in years for a hackney.

    The new lodgings would be good for her squire¡¯s training with Kroak. Although not far, it was still a full day¡¯s hard ride to reach Dewgrove from Fort Rochford. Time that took away from Smithson¡¯s other responsibilities and leisure.

    With the new closeness, Jewel expected many more of the friendly spars between her Squire and Rochford¡¯s sole knight.

    At least when either of them had time to spare.

    Which right now they distinctly did not.

    Jewel¡¯s daily hours had once been filled with studies and training with Muriel. Then in the last few years it was her own reading for simple pleasure and pass time between training her flight, prowess in combat and spinning thread or cloth as the season came.

    But now Mother was taking up all of Jewel¡¯s time.

    With the spinning done the days of reading, flying or the occasional melee with the men were suspended.

    Because apparently Father was ¡®a fool of a man with a head empty of anything that did not involve fields, armies, archery or gryphons and cannot be trusted to prepare his daughter for her ascension to countess of Viznove¡¯.

    For all the sudden restriction upon her time, Jewel welcomed her mother¡¯s consul.

    It was rather nice actually.

    And it also gave them both an excuse to handle and coddle their ¡®daughters¡¯ while together.

    Whenever Gwenn was not bothered by the confinement at least.

    Ever more proof that Gem was definitely not a normal child.

    She toddled about as unsurely as Jewel¡¯s sister, but she moved and behaved more or less exactly as Jewel wished her too. Well more she acted as Jewel did and so Jewel wished to be proper.

    Even now, she had not found satisfaction in trying to convey it to her family or friends.

    It was further complicated because while together, everything was simple.

    But it all only held as long as Jewel was actually present.

    When they were apart everything was considerably harder.

    After a reunion, she could always recall what she had been thinking at the time in her smaller head. But even when she could recall every moment and see how she had been foolish, it was not helping much to improve how she acted in absence with herself.

    Which was where Smithson came into the picture. Although without her wyrmself Jewel became confused and addled, she could still recognize Smithson. And he was always careful and gentle with her smaller self to not disabuse her of that opinion.

    Not like the one wetnurse which sometimes scowled and ignored Gem when no one else was around.

    So her Squire had taken on the unofficial role of minder for her ¡®child¡¯, which undoubtedly would get some terrible lashings from anyone hailing further north in Arva.

    But it seemed to only bemuse or delight the people of Rochford and Valasect.

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    For all the frustrations Jewel had with the Wet Nurse she was quite friendly with Smithson and seemed thankful for his handling of Gem whenever Jewel could not manage self control.

    Ugh, that whole matter was so confusing.

    At least she thought she had some of the speech sorted out.

    Jewel focused back to the lesson at hand.

    Mother was waiting expectantly for her.

    Mustering her memory to recall all that she had been told.

    ¡°First and most important of all, I am not to trust solely what I see, hear, smell or otherwise sense. Within court what is shown, what is said, what is even carried into the space with me is not the whole of the truth.¡±

    Mother nodded and offered a few additions.

    ¡°This is especially true now that it is widely known the extent to which you can hear. Your little trick in Kaeketeh is spoken of and warned widely in the courtly circles. You cannot depend on your ability of hearing things not meant for you anymore, daughter.¡±

    Jewel sighed but nodded. It felt deceitful, rude, improper and dishonorable to act as such. But her mother had supported Rochford in this side of courtly women¡¯s work since before she even hatched.

    She would trust her mother in this as she had trusted her father in war.

    Jewel continued.

    ¡°Second I should always strive to know the desires of others before they arrive before me in court, to listen to words and whisper well ahead of their coming. And never expect loyalty unless such are one with mine. ¡±

    That one tasted foul on her tongue; it had been the hardest lesson to accept from mother. It was far too much like how the Countess Bathory seemed to treat people.

    Mother sighed and once again admonished Jewel¡¯s recollection.

    ¡°That one is only for those that have not proven loyalty. Your inner confidents that have proven trust and honor, that share bonds of blood or compact need not suffer such suspicions daughter.¡±

    Okay, Jewel had been a bit overly bitter on that lesson. A stranger unproven or yet uncertain perhaps was not due the full respect and trust she gave her brother or friends.

    But that brought her to the next lesson. And one that stung the most.

    ¡°Third, when I am powerful and rich, false friends will flock like birds to the harvest gleaning. But when I am weak and in need do allies truly show their mettle.¡±

    Mother nodded, and thankfully she had no more to say on it. Jewel had gotten all four ears full on this topic.

    Jewel had known Mother and Father were tense about her friendship with Thurz¨®. But it seemed like half of all the time that her mother sought to educate her was filled with thinly veiled warnings that the northern count of Arva was only her friend because she was powerful.

    So went the evening until Mother was growing weary from the hour and Jewel struggled to keep Gem from passing out.

    There was also of course the usual things they had once covered. The Courtesies, and how one could simultaneously insult and praise a knight, baron, count or even king. But more than these familiar skills there was also deeper knowledge.

    Sharp and striking examples in regards to the histories.

    Recent events that had befell Rochford, or Visnove.

    The far flung gossip of the machinations regarding the other subject counties and territories of the High King¡¯s Realm.

    Jewel had never realized the sheer density of word that passed by mouth and letter, gossiping and traveling across the roads on peddlers and messenger alike.

    Mingling like pools of water in the courts of each baron, low king, count, duchess, abbot, and a seemingly endless deluge of other names of titles that might be both equal, lesser or greater then Jewel¡¯s own inherited rank of Countess.

    By some alliances and pledges of fealty, Arva was over Viznove, even though the fields of farmland and mustering armies were almost a match between them.

    All of that and the way that it colored the character of any conversation, any statement, any word or letter sent between lords or ladies within the realm?

    She had to consider it all.

    Jewel was supposedly an adult lady, to be housed in a demesne all her own.

    She was going to be moving out from her rooms in Rochford to settle fully into the manor house come midsummer.

    But in just a few seasons of lessons with her mother on the deeper nature of court and intrigue, she felt woefully unprepared.

    Like she was still barely a child.

    Jewel had to shake her smaller self awake, the sleepiness of the smaller body leaking addled dimness to her wit.

    Which Mother took as a signal that they had been at their lessons long enough.

    Morning, afternoon and evenings after supper were a long time to spend discussing so much.

    But at the same time Jewel welcomed these chances to simply be with her mother.

    To learn from her all that she could.

    Before Jewel moved into her own house.

 3.9

    3.9

    Jewel wobbled on her feet, but with care and tremendous effort she did not fall. She wanted to giggle, and as soon as the impulse arrived she produced warbling chirping sounds.

    It was improper, and she soon mastered her laughter (mostly).

    But this was a victory. She had managed to walk fully on her own across her room for the first time as her smaller self.

    It was accomplished completely, if a bit unsteadily.

    Her squire, so tall and comfortingly stable, was there next to her. He always was close when she made these attempts. And even a few days ago she had needed his shin to brace against with her hand.

    Yet Jewel had strode clear across her bedroom and its many vast cushions without needing any aid at all!

    ¡°Excellent work, Gem! Good girl!¡±

    The words were still confusing, but every day they struck clearer in her head. Fit better and meant more.

    The truth of them staying longer even without the presence of her greater (proper) self and the touch of her wyrmfire.

    But even when the precise memory of the words¡¯ purpose had eluded her, Jewel could always tell in his voice that Smithson meant well. And now she heard his encouragement and the joy he shared with her in her accomplishments in addition to the meaning.

    And these victories mattered.

    No matter how small or trivial they were for her true self.

    ¡®Gem¡¯ had spent a year unable to stand upright without her strength giving way.

    She still could not quite bring the words together in her throat. Her mouth was far too short, her neck squeezed down to practically nothing.

    Jewel had found, after much trial and error, that there simply were not the same parts to make sound in this throat.

    She had learned all her life how to speak with something entirely different from what her lesser throat held.

    Jewel was not even entirely certain that this neck and mouth could speak.

    But she tried again anyway, producing a high-pitched, warbling cry that simply refused to meet together into actual words. Although at least her joy was evident.

    Smithson nodded to her, squatting down so she could toddle back to him for a hug and the utterly exhilarating sweep as he lifted her up and spun her around.

    It was not really anything like flying.

    Jewel thought in some ways it was even better!

    One of the very few joys she alone could feel and then share with her greater self. To be lifted, to be carried, to be swung around by a force utterly and entirely not her own?

    When she flew, when she rose on the buoy of her wyrmflame, there was an assurance. Jewel was always the one who imparted it.

    But whenever Smithson or any of the other adults handled her Jewel was entirely at their mercy. With the nurse maid or any of the staff this was utterly terrifying. Filling her mind with muddled terror of the great boar and how it had tossed and trampled her.

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    But with Smithson, Father or even Mother she knew that she would be safe. And that safety and assurance turned the completely uncontrolled whirling into a tremendously exciting delight.

    Finally, her Squire set her back down and Jewel made a brief attempt to step again, but her head was suddenly quite a bit more addled than normal and nothing was up right properly.

    Before she could even take her first step, she had started to fall!

    But ever the perfect gentleman and Squire, Smithson was there for her, holding her shoulders and giving her something to brace against while the room slowly stopped tumbling and whirling.

    She tried again to speak to him, to give thanks.

    But all she could manage was the tone and gurgling.

    Yet even there he was just so perfect, nodding to her despite the utterly mangled attempt at speech.

    ¡°You are very welcome, Lady Gem. Ready to try again?¡±

    One of the staff came into the room and it startled her enough that she was suddenly frozen from walking for fear of the shame in front of a stranger.

    Jewel felt uncomfortable itches in her head that she should recognize this person but could not without the presence of her greater self and the clearer memory to say for sure.

    Her smaller eyes had only gained the clarity to discern faces across the room a short while ago.

    But at the same time, the ages of time since she had so mastered her eyes also seemed an eternity.

    Yet another mind-addling part of her situation.

    Smithson and the staff member spoke rapidly, with a muddling tone that Jewel could not properly break apart.

    All too deep and overlapping. Not clear and sharp like the tone Smithson, Her parents or even the spiteful nursemaid took when speaking to Jewel or her sister.

    It was so frustrating, and as soon as she began to think it, Jewel felt tears were already welling at her eyes, a tightness building in her chest and throat. She had even the start of a keening in her untamable throat building to overwhelm her.

    All rising in a sudden uncontrollable torrent.

    It was just not fair!

    Why did Jewel have to be maimed like this!

    Why was she like this!

    Why could she barely understand what her greater self heard as normal speech instead of the senseless infantilizing kinder talk meant for babies!

    Why did she have to know how inadequate she was?!

    Why wasn''t Jewel just a normal daughter like her sister was to her mother?!

    It was all too much and soon she was shuddering and sobbing and horrible sticky ooze was coming out of her nose and her vision was even worse for all the tears flooding from her eyes.

    But Smithson was there and holding her and giving her something to chew on and rocking her.

    When had he picked her up?

    Jewel was not sure but the stranger was gone and now she was rocking and everything was getting fuzzy and she was getting rather full and it had been a very arduous day despite the length (barely a few hours awake).

    She wanted to struggle and yell at the injustice of it. Jewel was a Lady, she was a Wyrm.

    She should be able to stay up longer!

    But as her wonderful squire rocked her and spoke soft soothing words and even sang a gentle song Jewel soon calmed from her wroth.

    And then after that she drifted swiftly into sleep.

 3.i

    3.i

    Between man and those beasts untouched by the nodens of the divine, there is this essential difference, that the latter, moved by sense alone, adapts himself only to that which is present in place and time, having very little cognizance of the past or the future.

    The divinely-touched, on the other hand ¡ª because he is possessed of reason, by which he discerns consequences, sees the causes of things, understands the rise and progress of events, compares similar objects, and connects and associates the future with the present ¡ª easily takes into view the whole course of life, and provides things necessary for it.

    And in further contrast among those beasts blessed with divine reasoning, even that man distinguishes himself.

    By his nature and his virtue of reason, man is drawn into relations of mutual intercourse and society with his fellow men.

    For a man has a special love for his children; a drive in him to promote and attend social gatherings and public assemblies and the desire to provide what may suffice for the support and nourishment, not of himself alone, but of his wife, his children, and others whom he holds dear and is bound to protect.

    This care rouses men¡¯s minds, and makes them more efficient in action.

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    The research and investigation of truth are a property of divinely-touched whether beast or man. Thus, when we are free from necessary occupations, we want to see, or hear, or learn something, and regard the knowledge of things either secret or wonderful as essential to our living happily and well.

    To this desire for seeing the truth is annexed a certain craving for precedence, insomuch that the man well endowed by nature is willing to render obedience to no one, unless to a preceptor, or a teacher, or one who holds a just and legitimate sway for the general good.

    Hence are derived greatness of mind and contempt for the vicissitudes of human fortune.

    Nor does it indicate any feeble force of nature and of reason, that are providence of divinity alone and a gifted to beast and man a sense of order, and decency, and moderation in action and in speech.

    Thus no base animal feels the beauty, elegance, or symmetry, of the things that he sees; while by nature and reason, man, transferring these qualities from the eyes to the mind, considers that much more, even, are beauty, consistency, and order to be preserved in purposes and acts, and takes heed that he do nothing indecorous or effeminate, and still more, that in all his thoughts and deeds he neither do nor think anything lascivious.

    From these elements the right, which is the object of our inquiry, is composed and created; and this, even if it be not ennobled in title, yet is honorable, and even if no one praise it, we truly pronounce it in its very nature worthy of all praise.

    -Letters on Duty by Marcus Tulius Tritico of Cantor

 3.ii

    3.ii

    When the ewes come back from their pasture, especially in summer time from Hay to Threshing turn, the shepherd should not put them or make them go immediately into the fold. Rather, he should lead them the whole way at great leisure and should give them shade and let them cool off under an elm or linden or other spacious tree, if there are any near the stable or sheepfold. If none exist, he should find another means and convenient way for the relief of his animals, to relieve their heat.

    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.The good remedy for the animals¡¯ heat is to muck out and clean the stable and remove the manure, to cool the animals¡¯ heat and keep them refreshed. And if, with the approach of dinnertime toward noon, the sun should cast its rays in the door of the sheepfold, the shepherd should close the door and provide fresh cool water to scatter and throw in the door¡¯s entry and throughout the stable to refresh and cool it to give moderation of the heat to the ewes, who by nature have a warm and dry constitution, wherefore heat is harmful and adverse.

    -Old Jean of Brie, a Shepherd of the Free Men¡¯s Lands.

 4.1

    4.1

    Having her own home felt different.

    The halls were all made to suit her size, and in that respect they resembled the Eyrie in its proportions. The workers laying the stones had muttered and complained how every hall of the manor was wide and tall enough to race horses through.

    The sheer space of it meant the manor and its solid stones would also make for a good keep in case of siege, although it lacked the tall defensible walls and courtyards of Rochford.

    Besides the passages, bedchamber, study/weaving room, bathing room, kitchen, cellars and feasting hall sized to Jewel¡¯s comfort, there had also been twenty smaller chambers made to house staff and guests.

    Although by any sensible reckoning it was only equipped with the two floors, Jewel¡¯s manor resembled one sprawling with four floors. That however was only because Jewel¡¯s bedchambers, study and bathing room were set higher by the necessity of the hillside the manor had been built into.

    Meanwhile the feasting hall, kitchens, staff and guest chambers were settled further down the hill, with the cellars and well under them.

    All told, the manor had almost the same scale of interiors as two of the wings of Rochford¡¯s keep.

    And standing in it now, it seemed a wonder that so much could have been made in only three years.

    Even with the hands of almost half of Rochford involved in its construction.

    And Jewel had filled it with her ¡®staff and household¡¯. With room to spare for the eventual inclusion of her betrothed and his own staff.

    Muriel had a room to herself and would be sleeping there even after the barracks and stables were completed in the coming years.

    As did Smithson, her Squire, Master of Horse and eventual knight.

    Then there was Ho?anka¡¯s third son Dariusz.

    He had taken up her offer as master over her kitchen and the cooking staff as a freeman. He¡¯d joined the household with his wife Eryka who was now taking up a position with him on the staff seeing to the cleaning and upkeep of the manor.

    Jewel, via ¡®Gem¡¯, was also becoming acquainted with their four children.

    The younger three, Jewel was still struggling with the names - ¡®Gem¡¯ mostly thought of them as the smaller one, the just-her-size one and the bit-taller one.

    The eldest of them at thirteen winters was Cibor.

    He already labored well in the kitchen with his Father and Mother, but seemed ill at ease around ¡®Gem¡¯.

    But it was not like he was required to interact with her overmuch.

    Jewel had her squire for that.

    Smithson had gotten the less than flattering cognomen of the ¡®nurse knight¡¯ amongst the village already for his doting on ¡®Gem¡¯, but Jewel heard a fondness in their tone. And she appreciated the service he offered her in calming the erratic tumult of her smaller self¡¯s emotions too much to ask him to stop.

    It¡¯s not as if Jewel¡¯s own unofficial title of ¡®the kinder-guard-dragon¡¯ was much better. At least Adorj¨¢n thought it was suitable that the both of them made a pair like that - and it apparently was easing the tension and fear she had brought with her assumption of the demesne as lady over Valasect

    She probably should introduce her ¡®daughter¡¯ to the children of the village when she was next called to watch them.

    After that, staff were two girls who once worked the Rochford Kitchens and then?

    Well, there was only so much staff Jewel could in good conscience take from Rochford, and although they had tried, Adorj¨¢n had yet to find anyone willing to take up residence in the manor itself when their family home was just down the road in Valasect.

    Jewel had not yet even found anyone to lead the staff in her manor, or see to the arrangements of which peasants would spend their obligation of service to her in cleaning and upkeep rather than to toil in the fields.

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    Perhaps now that she was settled in, the offer of hot water for baths scented in lavender might entice more?

    It was yet difficult to speak directly with anyone in Valasect in person save Adorj¨¢n. Nevermind the still-lingering trepidation and fear - Jewel was yet having to see to the settling of all her affairs and stewardship.

    The procurement of firewood (and for more than just her own bathing).

    And seeing that the stores of grain, meat, cheese, honey and other food were maintained and filled to Dariusz and his far more critical wife¡¯s specifications.

    And the tracking and accounting of pay and obligation towards the one freeman, two free women and one squire of what Jewel was finding to be very dubious and hard-to-settle status regarding accounting.

    And the assurance that her shares of harvest would either be put to her granary or otherwise stored as-is or arranged for sale (usually to her father or sir Kroak so far) for spending silver.

    And That the accounting of that silver was properly parceled into a correct and separate coffer just in case she wished or needed to spend a tithe to her father (and from him the Countess Bathory) for the next two years to hold off on an obligation for war.

    And that was just the stewardship and accounting for her manor!

    Jewel¡¯s demesne then had its own concerns, such as the inevitable shearing of wool when the shepherds came down from the high pastures with their veritable floods of wooly sheep.

    Rochford¡¯s immediate demesne had their own sheep, but Valasect¡¯s place on a gentler incline made it the preferred place for the long absent highland Shepherds to have their winter homes.

    Apparently this was in fact where most of the cheese that sat in Father¡¯s reserve was actually made.

    And where a good portion of the wool Jewel had been spinning came from.

    As a town, Valasect could double in the number of men and women living within it over winter. And absolutely fill to bursting with the sheep folds besides.

    And all of that was now Jewel¡¯s responsibility!

    It was all utterly crowding into every waking hour of the day! And Jewel was obligated to see to all of it!

    Thus, Smithson was a star-sent blessing! Even with his ¡®duty¡¯ to seeing to ¡®Gem¡¯ and her care, Jewel¡¯s squire assisted her in any way he could. Mostly speaking to the people in the village on her behalf. Trying to find those of the character and means to fill out the roles that Jewel had not yet found for herself, and ferrying messages.

    He was taking to all the new responsibility in her service with the same steadfast dedication he had once set the buckles of her harness or unwrapped her rations on the road.

    Which was why it was rather disturbing to see him entering her study like the Marzanna herself had descended from the black sky of winter to curse him personally.

    Jewel looked over to her pale, haunted squire with some concern.

    ¡°Smithson... are you alright?¡±

    The boy, who really was much more of a man by this point, looked disconcertingly like Jewel had felt after the war. Shocked and not all together in command of himself.

    Shaken loose of his foundations in the world he knew.

    It was a disquieting thing to see in her normally bright and dutiful squire.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I am, Lady Jewel.¡±

    The worry bloomed into genuine fear and concern as Jewel moved to check her friend for injuries, but his leather maile was freshly shined, not a drop of blood was on him and even when she patted him down there was no reflexive winces of bruises or broken bones.

    But even with her fussing over him like he did ¡®Gem¡¯, Smithson did not fully break from that shocked stare ahead of him.

    Her concern bled into her voice.

    ¡°Smithson, my squire, my friend, please tell me what happened?¡±

    He finally broke from vacant shock and looked up at her, and there were tears in his eyes, barely holding back and the thought that this boy was more properly a man fell away like water.

    Yes, he had a scruff of beard to his chin and was no longer soft-faced like a child.

    But those haunted eyes were every bit the stable boy that had attended her most of her life.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, my Lady...¡±

    Jewel hushed him.

    ¡°Smithson, whatever it is, please just tell me. I swear I will keep it in confidence. But you have to tell me what happened to see you in this state.¡±

    He hiccuped and nodded, struggling with himself to even admit whatever horrible thing had occurred.

    But when he finally mustered the words Jewel was left utterly stunned.

    ¡°I lost an argument with a cow.¡±

 4.2

    4.2

    There was apparently a talking cow in Valasect;. And no one thought this was worth mentioning to Her! The cow''s name was Bethica and she was in the care of a family on the opposite end of the demesne from Jewel¡¯s manor house.

    According to Adorj¨¢n no one had thought it was unusual enough to mention, and yet their mentions managed to escape all of Jewel''s explorations of her family library. Apparently there had been talking cows in a small herd there since he was a boy. He in fact only found it a bit strange and wistful that there was only one talking cow now.

    The children Jewel kept watch on had not mentioned it because they personally found ¡®betsy¡¯ rather dull and boring. Apparently her preferred stories went overlong and everyone had heard them all already. But she''d been there the whole time, keeping to herself and occasionally singing songs to the villagers who chose to listen when the weather was good.

    "Would the folk of Rochford fail to make note of myself to those strangers who passed by as well?" She had wondered aloud, amused by the thought.

    Actually, now that Jewel thought of it? She was pretty sure they were delighted by not warning strangers about her.

    So, too, was it with Bethica, apparently! Thus, she found herself on the way to the fields to see for herself.As the wyrm and lady of Valasect approached the pastures, the supposedly talking cow entered her view.

    To be honest, there was not much to distinguish Bethica from any other Cow. And Jewel had seen a few. Soulful black eyes watched the wyrm come nearer with the wariness of most animals. But not so wary that she stopped chewing in slow grinding strokes of her jaw.

    Jewel took a deep breath of the air. But all she smelled was cow and grass. No hint of a working or fauxfire that she could determine, either.

    Jewel considered the cow, then looked side to side, but there were no others apparent in the pasture. She couldn''t smell any sign of another one either.

    Just the one cow.

    And this should be the correct house.

    Well, when in doubt it was best to be polite.

    ¡°Excuse me, but are you Bethica of Valasect?¡±

    The cow (Bethica?) turned her head to fix Jewel with her left eye before the beast nodded her head in answer. Then settled down to simply chew, looking not much at anything.

    Mashing something wet and sticky in between her teeth.

    It smelled like grass as to be expected, but aged in the way that all cows smelled. As the silence continued eventually ¡®Bethica¡¯ turned so that once again it was looking at her one eye¡¯d.

    It was somewhat like Tsugotholan honestly.

    Having given what seemed like plenty of time for a response, Jewel nodded but did not bow, she was the lady of this land and this Bethica was a beast upon it.

    ¡°I am, if you did not know, Lady Jewel of the houses of Rochford and Bathory, Lady of Valasect, Heir to Viznove. And I must apologize for not speaking to you sooner.¡±

    The cow shifted her weight from one foreleg to the next and lowered her head in what might have been a bow. Although it almost looked like she was just looking for better grass. Then after raising her head she turned to fix Jewel again with her left eye and to get a good look up and down Jewel.

    The deep black eye lingering on her claws, her teeth and then finally on Jewel¡¯s own eyes before turning and checking with the other eye and then giving a sudden head twist.

    Presumably because a fly had been buzzing around her ear.

    ¡°I must admit I am very curious, you seem to have left my Squire quite unmanned with your wit. Was that entirely necessary?¡±

    There was a low mewling groan of a rumble from (presumably) Bethica. It didn''t sound very much different from any other cow Jewel had heard. Although it may have rumbled and rolled in a way that was a bit more like laughter then she thought she¡¯d ever heard from such animals before.

    Jewel considered the cow and again looked around before settling herself down in the dirt of the road. Crossing her forearms over each other and tucking her hind claws close in under her body.

    She very much hoped this was not a jape by her peasants or some poor trick performed on Smithson.

    Jewel had a great deal of work yet to do, but she was leaving that to sit by being here.

    ¡°You can speak right?¡±

    The cow raised her head to fix Jewel with that same judgemental left eye. Then groaned heavily and swallowed very hard whatever she had been working over in her jaws.

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    Once her mouth was free she gave a soft cough to clear her throat.

    ¡°Pardon your ladyship, but my mother taught me not to speak with my mouth full. Did yours not tell you it was rude to interrupt someone in their meal?¡±

    Even braced for it Jewel felt shocked as Bethica spoke in a tone and accent that sounded far more noble and elegant then the wyrm had expected. It had an oddly flowing manner that struck harshly on some of the sounds, but not unpleasantly so.

    Voice deep and strong but despite it no less feminine. It was a fascinating sound

    So different from how Jewel attempted to shape her own voice.

    Jewel thought she was prepared for it; she thought she had believed Adorj¨¢n and trusted his judgment as the headman of her demesne.

    She had been so sure she was ready to accept that a cow could talk.

    But Bethica still left a stunning surprise in Jewel that, while not quite enough to make her neck want to rear back in a tight curve, still gave a pause. Which was apparently enough for Bethica to decide it was time to continue speaking.

    ¡°Ah, yes, you would be the new lady of the land. I suppose you never had the opportunity to make the mistake before? Every meal is a festival for you. All proper announced personages before and the like?¡±

    Jewel boggled a moment more at the thought that others wouldn''t have their meals planned and their arrivals announced. But then again was that not what she had just done?

    And her Mother and Father had taught her better than that!

    ¡°Oh! Oh no, I¡¯m terribly sorry Bethica of Valasect, my mother has in fact taught me better than that. But-¡±

    Bethica made a rumbling chuckle.

    ¡°Oh stars and elysium¡¯s meadows girl, Don¡¯t fret so. I understand the surprise. I am a cow, after all.¡±

    Jewel thought of all the times that some one had been shocked that she could speak and treated her like a beast. The very thought she had done the same despite being warned beforehand sat wrong in her belly. Pushing the words past her lips with a rush.

    ¡°No, I should have known better twice over. I deeply apologize to you, good heifer Bethica of the fine fields of Valasect.¡±

    Bethica, for her part, was now speaking with definite laughter in her voice and making an odd concerted effort to watch Jewel with her right eye instead of the left. There was even a bit of a smile to her lips.

    ¡°Well, you certainly are a sweeter and gentler child than I expected. But don¡¯t paint me up as what I''m not. I¡¯ve not been a heifer since I was four winters old! But it is very kind of you to suggest I look so young.¡±

    Jewel found herself still speaking in a rush at her shame for having done precisely what she often lamented others put her through.

    ¡°No, I truly should have known better, to expect a beast of you in the first place? Every time I meet a stranger they always see little else in me.¡±

    It would seem that it was Bethica¡¯s turn to be speechless, and then she shifted around to more comfortably fix Jewel with her right eye. Looking over her face, meeting her eyes with the one soulful near-black one.

    There were hints and shapes just barely visible in that dark orb. Just barely visible behind the glare of blue sky and sparse clouds.

    Then she swung her head back around to look Jewel over again with her left one.

    ¡°Well how fancy that is, I¡¯ll be a heifer in my soul this afternoon that the stars and fields saw fit to give me a new sight at the end of my life¡¯s summer. You do know better! Don¡¯t you?¡±

    Jewel stared at the beast, no, the person before her, the unexpected and delighted kindred spirit found of all places simply standing in a field.

    The moment suddenly seemed heavy with portents that she should find such in her own demesne.

    Bethica for her part shook up and down, skin trembling and a deep and heavy breath bellowing from her snout.

    ¡°Well, far be it  for me to give less than my best for a sister in kind to the foolishness of ver, I am Bethica, Daughter of Belora who was daughter of Orthica, who was daughter of-¡±

    And it went on from that for quite a time. That while Jewel was somewhat astounded at the depth of her pedigree (Bethica''s line went back more than a dozen generations), it was deeply welcome.

 4.3

    4.3

    At that first meeting Jewel and Bethica spoke well into the late afternoon, until her new friend had to beg off because she really needed to continue chewing her day¡¯s grass.

    Apparently for cows there was an inordinate amount of chewing, swallowing, spitting up what had been chewed, chewing it again and then adding more grass to the whole endeavor.

    Really, Bethica had almost a full day¡¯s labor in life simply occupied with grazing to fill her belly and managing the rest.

    It put Jewel¡¯s own workload into a very different perspective.

    At least a meal only took most of an hour at worst.

    Poor Bethica spent nearly an entire day simply eating.

    But she was pleased to talk with Jewel.

    And that had carried through to the next day.

    And the days after that well into the summer haying season, becoming a routine as surely as all the other discussions and council she needed.

    So she started the morning with a wonderful breakfast of porridge for one of her bellies. ¡®Gem¡¯ still needed some assistance from Smithson despite Jewel¡¯s best efforts of coordination.

    And porridge still did not settle well in her comparatively tiny stomach.

    But it also gave her an excuse to break fast with her squire.

    After that was her exercise, and if it was the fourth day since her last trip, she returned to Rochford that morning to see her parents.

    On the other three days, Jewel did her necessary obligations of work for the manor and demesne¡¯s management. Checked in with her headman, Smithson and Dariusz for those tasks she had for them.

    Then in the late afternoon she made her way over to Bethica¡¯s little plot where her friend was mostly done chewing and pulling up fresh fodder and instead had settled in the sun to let her insides work their own sorcery.

    In hindsight, Jewel probably should have long ago judged there was something special about the cow who was standing all on her own without a fence or tether in one corner of Valasect. But the presence of beasts in the fields had grown so completely normal she had ignored the oddity like she did the subtle little nuances of the other animals.

    As was their custom, Jewel waited to be welcomed before speaking. Her friend did not have a court or a crier, but Jewel insisted they did things properly.

    So she always waited until the cow acknowledged her.

    Something Jewel could smell brought Bethica unspoken relief and joy. A Courtesy that as far as she was concerned was very well deserved indeed!

    Bethica was incredibly learned! She had no knowledge of reading, but when offered to be taught, the cow quietly admitted she ¡°finds letters very frustrating to discern one from the other.¡± Jewel had confirmed it even with wide sweeping symbols dragged in the dirt of the road. (But not the grass - Bethica had admonished her terribly for ruining good clover).

    Yet despite her illiteracy, Bethica held deep knowledge. Going back all the way to the old Sun Land¡¯s Republic before it had been named Cantor!

    And all of it having been passed down from mothers to daughters and sons. According to Bethica ¡®in the distant past of long generations ago¡¯ it once was also fathers who taught it to their children.

    So Jewel gave her friend the respect due for such a sage.

    And today, after a few moments had passed her friend bellowed over to the road.

    ¡°Alright, your Ladyship! Stop staring! I¡¯m full up and tumbling the fodder in my belly, Oh fussing nurse of a snake! Get over here so I don¡¯t have to yell! I¡¯ve heard a mighty curious things in the yattering among the vir.¡±

    Jewel nodded in acknowledgement and made her way over.

    ¡°Welcome to you, Bethica, daughter of Belora, granddaughter of Orthica. What gossip have you heard?¡±

    Jewel had committed the full list of Bethica¡¯s genealogy to memory. But even the proud bovine accepted only the first two generations were needed for respect when nothing too officious was warranted.

    ¡°I heard that this Threshing Turn you are to be having a wedding?! Lady Jewel I did not know you were even betrothed!¡±

    Jewel laughed and shook her head.

    ¡°Oh Bethica! I am so sorry! I forgot to tell you, but yes I am indeed betrothed, after the wedding my husband will be joining me in the Manor. Honestly, it¡¯s why I¡¯ve been pulled in every direction trying to settle things! Have it prepared before he comes in with all of his own staff and household.¡±

    ¡°Oh! Well that sounds fine. No worry, I suppose. The vir do make such a fuss over it too. Then I shall be meeting what you take as a handsome flying serpent? Tell me about his horns!¡±

    Jewel froze in surprise, Her friend thought that Jewel was to be wed to a dragon?! But then again, the only news that Bethica heard were what her human family told her and what gossip was passed along the road by her fields.

    Bethica had not even known they had been at war with the realm.

    ¡°Oh! I¡¯m sorry! No, no my betrothed is a man, a vir, like Smithson. The youngest child of Countess Bathory. I¡¯ve never even seen another wyrm, let alone been able to meet one.¡±

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    And as sometimes happened it was Bethica¡¯s turn to be in a bit of a place of shock at something Jewel said.

    She even spat up some of her still ¡®too fresh¡¯ grass into her mouth and started chewing in her befuddlement.

    Jewel was patient with her newest friend and politely waited for the cow to swallow her meal again.

    Finally the words came, thoughtful but also softly crooning.

    ¡°But... you¡¯ve spoken much and highly of your mother?¡±

    Jewel felt something clench inside and she shook her head at the misunderstanding.

    ¡°Mother and Father are likewise a woman and man respectively. As is my brother, a young man, my sister, an infant girl. My family are much like those that care for you here in Valasect. My egg was in their care for centuries. Laid by the Tyrant Wyrm herself.¡±

    Bethica breathed softly with a different tone, in words Jewel had read but never heard spoken.

    ¡°The Dracorexter itself? As my mother spoke and hers before her and-¡±

    Jewel gave Bethica a look and the cow huffed and groaned much as those of her kin without the gift of speech did. She found it frustrating whenever Jewel interrupted her ancestral chant.

    ¡°And so on, though I suppose Dracorextrix is more correct given the egg. Truly you are more esteemed in your heritage then even I, young Lady of Valasect. But to never have known her words? To grow as a child raised by the vir?¡±

    The cow shuddered and shook her head.

    ¡°To have none of her words, deaf to her songs, her great heritage unknown to you?¡±

    There was an anguish to her voice that Jewel was honestly a bit shocked by.

    ¡°In the fields of elysium, I am sure she has cried for your loss of her. As my mother¡¯s mother and all of theirs before them weep yet for my future.¡±

    Jewel ruffled her wings, not at all comfortable at the implication that her egg layer could be construed as anything like a mother.

    But was that not the point? Technically she was. Then again her elder sibling by that clutch lived as a rat.

    Jewel offered her friend soft words.

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure, but I think it is different for dragons. A sister by blood of mine hatched before me, yet she did so among rats and yet lives to this day much as one, or so I am told.¡±

    Bethica tossed her head and there was a groan of dismay at that. But Jewel continued with soft but firm words.

    ¡°My only mother is the one who raised me from the day I hatched and she sang songs to me as I grew. My only Father is the lord of Rochford that trained me for war and leadership. Whoever laid my egg was long gone before either of them. That is no mother.¡±

    The cow hummed deep and resonant then nodded and fixed Jewel with her ¡®family eye¡± (the right one).

    ¡°That is true and it is wise, a Mother is the one who teaches you your story and weaves yours with hers in the telling. Would be I found a calf of one of the muffle minded who could carry my words to his or her offspring I¡¯d gladly call them my child, give them my milk and feed them with my wisdom as any son or daughter I bore myself.¡±

    Satisfied with that Bethica nodded, then gave a deep groan of frustration.

    ¡°Not that I will have any to give the old tales too by my own blood or another''s, my family is cursed. All of us are now gone to the last fields but I.¡±

    Jewel blinked.

    ¡°Cursed? What do you mean Bethica.¡±

    An uncharacteristically sour glare settled on the dragon and an equally bitter tone followed.

    ¡°You might notice there are not a great many cows that speak Lady Jewel. I¡¯ve birthed five calves, all have been dull minded as any other here.¡±

    Jewel could only stare, so Bethica continued.

    ¡°My Mother even took on my mute but clever brother as a sire as we sometimes have had too in the past. All to try and kindle the words in even one more child. But she died passing her twelfth, also mute calf and left me alone to carry her words.¡±

    Bethica stared down at the grass and the dirt. Stinking of hurt and pain.

    ¡°I tried with my brother too, and every other bull that would have me in Valasect each year since I could. But four calves that lived and all of them mute and mind muddled was the fruit of it. I loved and nursed every one of them properly of course but none could carry the words. Nor see or think more than usual.¡±

    The anguish that had risen when Jewel admitted to not being betrothed to a Wyrm had risen up in Bethica¡¯s voice as she spoke.

    Creaking into her tone as if to break but instead the cow sighed heavily. Voice going soft and empty where before it had been near bursting with pain.

    ¡°I am at the end of my life¡¯s summer, Lady Jewel. At best only two more calves will I bear and cursed with muddled minds mute they will certainly be. All the words given me by my mother and all the other mothers before her will fall silent with me.¡±

    She smelled of old fear and an exhaustion that had nothing to do with the weariness of muscle.

    Jewel stared.

    Bethica cried, tears running down her cheeks and Jewel could smell how much more she was hurting.

    It was the first time she had ever heard Bethica so anguished.

    Not knowing what else to do Jewel walked up to her newest friend and gently rested her chin on her shoulder.

    For the rest of the afternoon they were silent together.

    But Jewel considered.

    Surely she could make this right.

 4.4

    4.4

    Tsugotholan huffed and shook their head.

    ¡°The cow-¡±

    Jewel huffed back harder, interrupting the Bog Wizard, who was polite enough to correct themselves.

    ¡°Pardon me, Bethica the cow has no work of sorcery upon her that could explain the lack of gifted offspring. Of this I am sure.¡±

    Which confused Jewel but only got that swaying shift of a shrug from Bethica. She spoke calmly but Jewel smelled despair on her.

    ¡°That it¡¯s not by sorcery does not change that a curse is on my family. The words are quite clear as spoken to me: twelve generations back a mother could expect one-to-three able in speech among her life¡¯s offspring.¡±

    Bethica gave a deep sigh and then settled into the chanting tone she took whenever recounting her family¡¯s wisdom.

    ¡°Five generations back it was only two at best. And it was then that the taking as sires of our brothers and sons still gifted in speech began, But in this was the curse not halted and grew ever greater and now all my children are mute.¡±

    Another deep sigh of pain made its way past Bethica¡¯s lips.

    ¡°The herds were once so great and so full of fine speaking bulls, masters of wit, finest of horn. Great and strong and wise were they.¡±

    There was a happy tone, speaking of something Bethica had never seen but assured in its truth as passed down to her.

    ¡°Mother spoke the songs and shared their ballads. But our herd was split in the coming north and over hills where sky dips close and cold bites with winter in every night. And now none in this valley¡¯s herd speak but I.¡±

    Tsugotholan tilted their curved hook of a head on a neck far too long and bending in too many places to have anything like a solid spine. Speaking just as round and common sounding as always.

    Jewel found it funny how the wizard sounded lower in station than Bethica.

    ¡°Well, I can¡¯t speak to any of that, but there is no working divine or otherwise on you or your flesh that I can find. You''re quite a healthy cow as far as I can tell. But I believe Jaksa would know better than I. He''s better at this sort of thing.¡±

    Jewel considered that before speaking.

    ¡°Well I suppose I could request he come to verify. Would you mind sending word by your own means? Or should I use a messenger bird?¡±

    Tsugotholan gave a shrug and waved vaguely with a hand only formed for that sole purpose of the gesture.

    ¡°I¡¯ll send word via the circle that you want him to check over your co-¡±

    Jewel glared at the wizard.

    ¡°-Your Friend Bethica.¡±

    And then with nothing else to do, Tsugotholan was gone.

    After Bethica finally spoke the affront Jewel had been able to smell on the cow during the entire ¡®examination¡¯ her weird friend had performed came out in voice.

    ¡°Well. I must admit I never imagined getting the aid of a great serpent who was also the lady of the land. Or the attention of not one but two great magisters to see to the concerns of my own family¡¯s plight. Yet could I pardon some rudeness towards your company Jewel? I have a pressing question.¡±

    Jewel nodded to Bethica.

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    ¡°Of course, Bethica.¡±

    The cow which had grown to be a fast friend and confident for Jewel squared her shoulders and planted her hooves.

    ¡°Are all of your acquaintances insufferable idiots?¡±

    Which was not exactly what Jewel expected but she had kind of guessed.

    ¡°Tsugotholan is very knowledgeable in sorcery and honestly probably knows more about swamps and their waters than I could ever learn.¡±

    Bethica shook her head and huffed.

    ¡°Not knowing things and being foolish are not one and the same. I don¡¯t fault others their ignorance of my family wisdom. Or what they did not witness. But you have quite a number of fools very close to you, Lady Jewel.¡±

    Jewel paused, thinking of a wizard she definitely would agree is foolish.

    ¡°Well, Fizzbunches is far worse than Tsugotholan, I think. He¡¯s a weird of a city, and a cat as well.¡±

    Which got a chuckling snort from Bethica.

    ¡°A cat? Hardly a surprise such a magister would be anything but an insufferable idiot. But I speak of both your Squire, and now that Wizard. You at least keep good company with Adorj¨¢n, a fine man he is, duly elected like a proper senator was he.¡±

    Jewel could not help but chuckle herself before defending her Squire.

    ¡°Smithson is very fine and good to me, he watches over Gem and has always seen well by me. Even when I was young and foolish with him.¡±

    That also caught Bethica¡¯s attention.

    ¡°Don¡¯t judge your mute daughter harshly, she is still yours no matter the providence. Care well for her. Even if you are bereft of milk to give there is more to mothering than that.¡±

    This again drew Jewel to deeply sigh. One thing she had not found a way to explain even to Bethica was the trouble with Gem.

    ¡°I care for her as she is me, Bethica, I have said it before. When we are close the two of us are one, more than one, all that transpires for her I then know. All that I see she then also knows. I am certain by all rights she is nothing like how a daughter is meant to be. She is something else.¡±

    Bethica huffed and twisted her head to shake loose a fly.

    ¡°Matters not if you are one soul split between two, a child needs a mother to guide and comfort them. She needs it more than simply knowing. She needs to be close and to be sure of you. This is more than words and thought, this is flesh and blood. A child needs more than to know their mother is there, they must also feel it. As you and her are one, can you say she does?¡±

    Jewel stilled the words she was going to say and instead thought. Did she see herself as her own mother? Of course not. But did she as ¡®Gem¡¯ feel the absence of that?

    Puzzling over the memory she was not sure she could deny the pain there.

    It didn''t make sense, but her presence definitely brought comfort to her smaller self. More than just the wyrmflame and the wholeness of it.

    Separated from herself, Jewel knew that ¡®Gem¡¯ was addled, lesser, confused.

    Struggling with all the knowledge and weight of herself, but bereft of the ability to do more.

    Bethica nodded and mooed with a knowing tone.

    ¡°There ya see? So you are bringing your little one to see me next visit? I¡¯m curious what a child that is both serpent and vir looks like.¡±

    Jewel huffed but nodded to her friend who was far too clever for her age. After all, Bethica was only ten years old!

 4.5

    4.5

    Jewel luxuriated in her new bath.

    It was quite possibly her favorite thing about her new home.

    And although she strived to keep from over-indulging and always ensured that the water would see use beyond her own relief, today the village and staff had agreed that hot water from Jewel¡¯s bath would help in laundering and dish washing.

    If only there was more good news.

    Jaksa was unavailable to see Bethica any time before the wedding. And Jewel, to be honest, was slowly sinking ever deeper into ever more tasks of her household.

    Yes, being able to soak the entirety of her coils with room to spare and both wings was definitely warranted.

    If only the bath was not the sole part of her home that was actually complete. They had finally reached the point where the items she required to fully furnish her manor could not be sourced from the skill and crafts of her demesne, or even Rochford.

    She had made due with what carpentry and crafts were available.

    But all of it would need to be replaced.

    It was all far too fragile.

    The trees which made up so much of Rochford Manor and the Eyries¡¯ furniture grew incredibly slowly. Theor wood was extremely durable, but as such it was resistant enough to cutting that it broke the teeth off most forms of saw that could be forged when not felled with care. Once it was cut down and dried, the difficulties apparently did not end.

    It was mostly shaped by application of fire to burn it into shape instead of conventionally carved, as Rochford¡¯s carpenters had discovered in Jewel¡¯s youth.

    Which meant much was lost to waste as ashes.

    And due to the difficulty, Jewel¡¯s manor had hardly any of it that she did not bring from Rochford with her!

    Which amounted to her ridiculous and now somewhat too small chair and her old serving bowl that mostly saw use as a place for presenting snacks; Jewel tended to take a whole pot to herself at meals now.

    The rest of her home¡¯s furnishings were distressingly flimsy.

    The far more common and workable kinds of lumber were all so delicate that Jewel could hardly say she found any objects made from them comfortable to handle or move. It was fine for quarters, beds, chairs and tables used by guests or her staff. But for anything Jewel was expected to touch reliably? No, far sturdier materials were needed.

    And as the trees which bore such strength were rightly known as Axe Breakers, it was at substantial cost in silver, iron tools and labor to source and work anything made of them.

    Jewel was loath to spend any more of her family¡¯s coin then was absolutely necessary. It was bad enough how much of the wealth of their land had been paid to the Countess for the years Father had taken absence from his place in the muster of Viznove.

    But she would not burden her family or land with even more cost if she could help it.

    And it would be a substantial expense to see all the furnishings of her home built from the same timbres in use at Rochford and the Eyrie. Nevermind that the proper means of working the fiendish wood could take years by the estimate of the few men capable of it known to her.

    Jewel wished to have her home settled before she was married. But that was looking like that would simply not be the case.

    If all had gone as planned they would have had time to cut the few trees available in Rochford or Viznove in general or import it from elsewhere in the realm. There would have been time for it to be properly shaped by the carpenters well before Jewel¡¯s husband arrived with his staff.

    But the Manor had been delayed by almost a full year due to accidents, adjustments and general happenstance. Jewel had not foreseen what that meant until now.

    Jewel sank under the hot water and tried again to heat the water by way of Dragon Fire.

    She was able to keep it from splashing too much if she kept her head right at the bottom in the middle of the flooded stone chamber. It helped ease some of the sting of shame. Mother and Father had simply smiled and nodded when she voiced her troubles to them yesterday.

    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.Mother told her she was learning a valuable lesson in stewardship.

    Father had laughed and said it was good that she realized this with something as inconsequential as having not quite sturdy enough furniture and spoke about how often they had to replace their own over the years due to Jewel¡¯s accidents.

    Failing to plan for an unexpectedly poor harvest was much more dire.

    But frivolous or not, her failure meant Jewel still had barely any of the permanent furnishings she was supposed to. She emerged from the waters of her bath, as was her habit she made sure every drop of water and most of the oil stayed in the wyrm sized basin that filled half of the high vaulted chamber.

    Her home was built.

    The stones were a bit disoriented but pleased to be there and many were warming to her presence and growing familiar with her.

    Especially in her bathing room.

    They had all of them spent their time as part of the bones of the hills and the mountains as long as they could remember until just now (as stones thought years were barely a moment) when they were quarried out of the nearby cliffs, well and cellar.

    Jewel was pleased to meet all the friendly stones of her manor and looked forward to them growing to know one another well.

    But she still had almost no furnishings she could touch without fearing to leave them in splinters!

    Just pillows and carpets for her room.

    A feasting table that Jewel could literally shatter if she was not careful, the tables and chairs for her guests and a bunch of other odds and ends she definitely was forgetting and would doubtlessly discover when she needed them.

    At least her new bathing room was cut and mortared in proper stone, with a hearth for heating water in great iron pots just over and behind the basin that held her.

    Instead of forcing her staff to march buckets from the kitchens to her bathing room they could just tip the pots of water and pour them in to fill her basin. Some work was still needed to fill those pots with water in the first place, but cold water up the shallow stairs was a far safer endeavor than risking scalding with it just done boiling.

    Tsugotholan thought they might be able to source a spring or mountain creek into the manor one day from the mountains.

    But it had taken long enough to build her home as it was.

    And her bath was marvelous even without the luxury of its own spring of water.

    It was based on an Old Cantor style Balneum mostly, although due to the sheer scale of Jewel the arrangements resembled the full Thermea in the City Cantor itself and the more populous cities scattered all over the realm and beyond.

    Where it differed from those was in the water being held in a tall basin with a wall just shy of Smithson¡¯s chest in height when he stood at the lower level. The depth was shallower than that in the basin itself. The room was set further up and into the hillside her manor was rooted against.

    The most important part of the bath, however, was that it fit all of Jewel with room to spare!

    And then there were the very clever improvements Jewel had insisted on to ease the labor of her staff.

    By clever use of a flood gate the overflow channels that would catch splashes could be joined with an entire emptying of the bath when Jewel was done. The water when released traveled via a channel to another gate right before a fountain spout that had been carved in something resembling Jewel¡¯s own likeness.

    If she squinted.

    In its blocky features and obvious chisel marks, it really had far more resemblance to the effigies used as Wurm Wards south of Rochford. Adorj¨¢n¡¯s son and his apprentices had put in a solid effort but they were no old Cantor masters of the stone. The only thing to truly denote that it was Jewel¡¯s lips that the water passed and not any other dragon is there was a bit of a softer line to the stones and they made great effort to get her horns mostly right.

    If quite a bit shorter.

    Still it eased the parceling of her hot water after use for the kitchen, laundry and anyone in Valasect who wished to make the journey to her manor for use of hot water with lavender oil. Adorj¨¢n said he already knew several gardens that planned to grow Jewel¡¯s preferred herb as an acceptable obligation to their lady.

    The fat for the oil was still being sourced locally, but there was talk that maybe they could make use of Lanolin from the shearing. Although pigs were also being considered simply for the expedience with which raising a herd of them would have.

    Jewel was honestly so overwhelmed with everything else she left that to Smithson and headman Adorj¨¢n to resolve.

    She was getting married this year.

    Her home was settled for her own needs to only the barest minimum and she was going to have to settle her husband and his staff in with him as well.

    Would she disappoint the Countess¡¯ son with her failure to have her house in order?

    It was a wife¡¯s duty to see to the household and land in a lord¡¯s absence.

    Jewel dipped her head back down into the water to try again to heat the water by wyrmflame alone. If she could just find the knack of it there was so much firewood they could save.

    A sudden shock sprayed water all over the stones of her bathroom when Jewel hiccuped.

    She had a solution to her furnishing woes!

    Her headman¡¯s family were Masons!

 4.6

    4.6

    As she walked with the relatively small caravan of her and Kroak¡¯s households, Jewel mused on how similar and different this journey was to her first time leaving home.

    They would be settling for a late supper in Rochford keep and from there she would be traveling with her family. Making it in only a quarter day¡¯s time from Valasect was doable without flying or galloping, although it was a bit of a strain on the horses to go at this pace.

    Still, except for the rush where they were trotting more often than walking, it all went much as when she had taken her first trip to Kaeketteh.

    Instead of Bromthil, the captain was Murial, riding a proper Rochford charger as befitted her rank over Jewel¡¯s (still meager) footmen.

    Then there was Smithson, her squire, who still rode Oxhoof.

    He looked just as much a proper armed and armored warrior as Muriel and Kraok.

    Who had met up with Jewel last evening for a modest feast with his own only slightly larger entourage.

    After that was Jewel¡¯s cook and kitchen master Dariusz, who was also bringing his wife and children along so they could stay with his Mother during the festivities.

    Jewel offered to invite them as well, but Eryka firmly refused to get any closer to the ¡®shit stinking heap¡¯ of Kaeketeh than necessary. And having smelled the city herself Jewel did not disagree with the sentiment.

    Alas, the wyrm had no way to avoid the smell herself.

    It had also been almost a year since last the family had seen Dariusz¡¯ Mother Ho?anka and all of them were eager to reunite. Jewel had scarcely gone four days in ten without seeing her parents, so she could not fault them for taking the opportunity.

    Dariusz would have stayed as well, but this was Jewel¡¯s wedding and she would not have her chosen cook not be on hand for the preparations, nevermind whatever insult or frustration that brought the Countess.

    The man was a little apprehensive at the prospect, until Jewel swore he had her full protection as the Lady of Valasect, a Daughter of House Rochford and the Shining Wyrm and Heir of Viznove.

    After those important members and Jewel herself, the rest of the party consisted of a dozen Footmen and their own horse for guard and some extra hackneys to carry supplies.

    The majority of the guard traveling with them was from Kraok¡¯s demesne, as Muriel only judged two of Jewel¡¯s own guards trained enough to avoid embarrassing her in front of the Countess.

    They would pick up more of them tomorrow when they departed Rochford as the entourage to the rest of Jewel¡¯s family.

    All told the party was sizable, but hardly a third of what it was going to become the next morning.

    The initial planning of supply was light as they would restock at Rochford proper and Jewel had already made those arrangements in her last visit with her Family.

    But still it had been an exercise for Jewel and her household.

    Alexander was already home with Blizzard-wrath waiting for her. He had again taken an early departure from the Eyrie but at least this time he did so with guards.

    He hadn''t quite made it in time for his birthday, but it had apparently been a near thing. He had also actually sent word ahead to confirm his arrival well in time to travel with the family again.

    His sister had longed to join her family for the Summer Harvest Festival in Rochford, but as Lady she held responsibilities to Valasect now.

    Jewel found it interesting how her demesne did not quite celebrate the end of the hungry summer the same as the demesne around the Rochford Manor.

    They did not gather at her Manor, for they had only just finished it and tradition deemed it occurred elsewhere.

    There was still the dance, there was still the black-grain bread, but instead of gathering within the modest temple in the mornings, to be beseeched by the minders there on which gods were in need of thanks for the harvest that year? The people of Valasect gathered around a very mighty tree at the first light of the day.

    They also did not fast through the day but instead ate all throughout with a warm mood.

    Breads were in less abundance though; instead her people favored a fresh porridge of a cheese that was milked that very morning and then chilled in cellars before eating with fresh berries and honey.

    The fires, instead of being the center of the dance, were lit much smaller and set all around the tree past the extent of its boughs, and around that were laid the tables for the customary feast.

    Jewel¡¯s own dancing had initially been taken with some suspicion, but by the time the night was well under way and the spirits of everyone else were risen on the sacred bread, everyone took well to her joining them in her own version of the carola.

    It helped that Jewel could sing in every timbre of voice and at a volume that went well with the fiddles and sheep skin drums.

    Jewel was careful to focus on the wind while dancing. As she had come to learn in the years since her first dance that had grown into an enchantment. The courtyard of Rochford yet pulled upon any water spilled in it. Wind was safer.

    The gentle swirling breeze that it left around the tree gave a welcome freshness in the morning after.

    She had also avoided dancing quite through the entirety of the night like her first time. As much for her own muscles as that of her subjects. Who had, as always happened, been drawn into the wyrm¡¯s motion as assuredly as the air and they spun and whirled with her around the tree even after she had retired for the evening.

    It had just been ten days ago the festival had finished, but still Jewel¡¯s thoughts along the road were filled with it and other distinctions between her old community and new one.

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    The difference between even villages as close as Valasect and Rochford weighed on Jewel¡¯s mood.

    For in the other festivals and celebrations did she also see differences.

    Of particular concern for her right now was the weddings.

    In her home the season just after the Hungry Summer was the traditional one for weddings. She had attended such ceremonies in Rochford manor as her father¡¯s daughter.

    But in the days after harvest celebrations it was Jewel as their lady who was called on to attend and wish well to them. It was her right to weigh in with her approval for unions between people that were yet strangers to her.

    A voice of weight alongside the temple staff who sought out the gods and stars that might be expected to make a fuss over any given joining.

    There were a surprising number of gods who took note of weddings apparently, and due to the attention, one needed to have the temple involved to make sure none of them felt slighted or took offense.

    Jewel reflected with some annoyance that the way that Adorj¨¢n seemed to act as her own intermediary in case she also felt somehow slighted or offended by the matches of peasants.

    What business of hers was it that one family wed to another?

    Nothing in Jewel¡¯s Book or lessons on Stewardship said it should be her responsibility or right to try and work the matches of her subjects like they did their farm beasts.

    ¡°My Lady, what woolgathering thoughts trouble you so?¡±

    Blessed stars above have thanks that Jewel¡¯s Squire was so keen in knowing her moods!

    ¡®Gem¡¯ was already soothed into mostly dreamless sleep for the walk hours ago. Which had been its own kind of disorienting once, but like all of the absurdities in Jewel¡¯s life, now hardly was it worthy of note.

    ¡°Oh, Smithson, I am just musing on what exactly my subjects expect of me? Like what possible reason is there for me to object to who they wed? Is that not at most a matter of common law?¡±

    Her squire was careful as he shifted posture on his horse, even though it was not needed. Jewel¡¯s smaller self tucked into a bundle at his back was in such a deep sleep she was rumbling like a restful hen.

    ¡°Is this truly about the people of Valasect or is it more your own marriage you worry over my lady?¡±

    Jewel focused on the thick smothering of her smaller self¡¯s sleeping mind.

    By age ¡®Gem¡¯ might be a bit old to be so swaddled, but by size she was starting to lag behind Jewel¡¯s younger sister.

    Finally Jewel had waited too long and had to answer her friend and Squire.

    ¡°Perhaps in a small portion, Do you suppose Paul N¨¢dasdy has any gods we will have to appease during the wedding? Like that shepherd girl did? Mother and Father have never mentioned that I or Alexander have the attention of one and I don¡¯t remember seeing any god sign around me.¡±

    Smithson shrugged, his shoulders rising and falling with a bit more motion then needed, he still was not entirely comfortable in armor.

    ¡°My ma and the temple in Rochford say some goddess is named the ¡®Wet Lady¡¯ and that she put her sign on me when I was born.¡±

    Jewel blinked, that was certainly a name. Her Squire, not being in the habit of ever actually touching the reins of any horse he rode these days, waved off the look. His tone exasperated with the troublesome joke.

    ¡°Yeah, I know, but not much has come of it that I¡¯ve seen and it¡¯s hardly that much of a bother. She¡¯s not supposed to be the jealous or demanding sort, you see.¡±

    He paused to scratch at his still somewhat sparse beard.

    ¡°In fact it¡¯s a bit strange, she normally starts to get cranky if her chosen don¡¯t get married but the temple says she¡¯s been very pleased with me for the last few years. They advised me to keep doing whatever I¡¯ve been doing since it''s working so well.¡±

    Huh, well that was interesting, but also troublesome. If gods could be so fickle about things or change their minds like that Jewel could understand why the wizards she knew preferred to avoid them.

    Then again the only thing of divinity that Jewel could say she ever spoke too was the Veles during his riding of the various elders in the longest night of winter.

    And she was not entirely sure if they counted. Was it truly speaking to a god if the god was speaking through a man?

    At the very least, the Veles never had anything different to offer her in advice besides ¡°your destiny is your own, young wyrm¡± or variants thereof. But he was always polite with her and greeted her with friendship regardless of the man he wore.

    Which was better than most.

    She¡¯d never spoken to the Silver Lady besides the goddess¡¯ demesne being a common stopover on her family¡¯s annual visits to Kaeketteh. Which was very rude, Jewel thought. Even when the equivalent of the goddess¡¯ head man was right there in Abbot Herbort.

    Jewel knew that particular goddess absolutely did speak to some of the monks directly without having to wear anyone, but she never even once so much as touched the wyrm with her faux light in the mornings, let alone speak.

    It made the monks very nervous every time Jewel attended those awfully early breakfasts they held.

    And that summed up the entirety of the gods Jewel knew much of. There were far too many of them to keep track of.

    And without having a patron in the heavens it was mostly not her concern.

    Half the time, they were tied to specific stars over which they held sole dominion, other times they seemed perfectly willing to share one across many.

    Sometimes new stars would flare in the sky either to herald the coming of unknown divines or portents. Other times there were so called lonely stars vehemently unclaimed by any and all that the temple staff could ask.

    Every village was said to have at least a dozen of them and they did not always share common ground with ones from just a two day walk distant.

    Divinity had been a sparse topic in Jewel¡¯s studies until recently.

    The matters of the temple, stars and divinity were not the providence of lords and ladies. Like the working of the soil it was best to leave up to those suited to the task. But while walking towards her marriage and the ceremonies to come, it settled oddly new and fresh in her mind.

    The temples and books said that it was from the stars that the gift of thought came to man and beast. Was some distant ancestor of Bethica blessed somehow to give so many of her family their acuity in speech and thought?

    Would men like her brother, father and Smithson someday have that blessing run out and leave their children as mute and empty headed as any other beast?

    Jewel did wonder why such a blessing would ever be given in the first place.

    What even was a god?

 4.7

    4.7

    Jewel had been coming to Kaeketeh since she was nine winters old. The first time she arrived flying over it; the second she entered with festivity and ceremony.

    It had never again been quite as much a production since that victory triumph.

    But still she acquired a wake when traveling through the city with her family.

    Vendors trailed her with snacks for the gawkers.

    People cleared the way ahead of her well before the Rochford footmen needed to prod them.

    Even now there was a pressure from the crowd squeezing close to the open space that surrounded her family¡¯s party.

    Over the years Jewel had become more comfortable for the locals. Still a spectacle, but one which did not require that they close off the main street with guards to control the press of bodies.

    She had even on occasion taken tours outside of the Countess¡¯ keep and wandered down the side roads of Kaeketeh in curiosity.

    She had looked at the little gardens and small orchards which riddled the city in greenery like a marbling of verdant fat in the flesh and meat of brick buildings.

    She had in fact grown quite familiar with the seat of the Countess¡¯ power.

    However Jewel was never going to get used to the sound or the smell.

    Villages were not without their own scents, the middens and manure of beast and men were carted to the fields often enough.

    But the concentration of man and beast alike was so much greater in the city. Everything was pressed in closer.

    Where the tanning and dying in Valasect or Rochford would happen well away from where anyone lived, that was not the case here.

    In Kaeketeh it was just down river along the south side of Gate Town¡¯s shores.

    Jewel mostly found the smell of man and woman pleasant in their exertions. The times for harvest and tilling tended to fill the air with a fine perfume of laboring peasants and beasts.

    But in the city many of those same smells grew sharper to the point of unpleasantness. The many bodies that filled the city reminded her of the war camps, all of them mired in their many strains of fear. The beggars and thieves stank of desperation and despair even if Jewel never saw them.

    And then there was the withered, ill, starving and dead.

    Jewel rarely saw them, but she could smell them.

    She could hear the cries and the shocked gasps.

    And every visit was an assault on her senses.

    The city always poured over and into her.

    Jewel had to strive to restrain herself and hold to the mein of grace that befit not just a Lady but the heir of Viznove.

    But she was not alone as an object of spectacle.

    Father rode Zephyrvam in his ceremonial armor. Although it was dustier for the grounded walk where a flight would leave it gleaming.

    Mother, Alexander, Murial and Kraok.

    All properly mounted on horse and dressed in either finery of armor as befit their stations.

    They were all of them moving at a noble gait.

    But as Jewel sought to ignore the sound and smell of the city, a sudden shout of anger and then a sound of thin soled shoes slapping hard on the pavement caught Jewel¡¯s ear.

    She turned towards it, her throat clenching slightly, her wings bracing.

    Her own motion and shifting weight was only just drawing the attention of the entourage when the source of the noise slid between the pressed crowd like a snake through grass, washing past the footmen of Rochford like water in the reeds.

    The figure was dressed poorly, visibly dirty, smelled like at best their last bath was in the river itself and even with the rough cut of their clothes, it was in even greater disrepair for the shredded sleeve and half torn open front.

    Jewel was rearing back as a figure ran past the stunned expression of the crowds and Jewel and her father¡¯s own footmen.

    But before she could chastise or move to defend herself, the figure was already prostrate before her.

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    The voice was the high lilt of what Jewel¡¯s nose was just catching up to her to inform was a young woman.

    ¡°Sanctuary! Mercy! Shining Wyrm of Viznove! I surrender myself to your justice! I am a thief, I¡¯ve stolen coin and food since I was two and ten winters old! You witnessed me scampering off five years ago! I admit it all and will tell you of everie silver! I surrender!¡±

    The long dark hair was not even done spilling out onto the street as Jewel stalled to a stop by the outpouring of desperate guilt. Her coils bunching up against one another and her claws having to grip the stones tight enough to crack one of them in her stalling.

    One of the cobbles came loose and Jewel had to stumble to grasp another

    Her wings splayed out and flapped once to finish arresting all of her momentum. The air set the footmen of Rochford to sway on their feet and pressed the closest of the crowd into their fellows.

    The unintended flaring and arching of her neck stilled the crowd and all of her party.

    The only sound was the still ongoing litany of desperate confession rising in a breathless rush at the wyrm¡¯s foreclaws.

    Jewel stared down at the waif of a girl, she smelled less malnourished then the wyrm expected from her state of dress.

    There was thin muscle and even a bit of fat to her.

    But most of it was hidden under hair and the torn dress. Her shoes were simple leather and thin enough that the pattern of her toes was visible where they had pressed to the cobbles in her haste.

    While Jewel was still trying to think of what to do about the sudden appearance of a prostrating young woman (who had just gotten to all the pies and fruit she had ¡®nicked¡¯ in her earliest years), the shouts of angry men and annoyed onlookers drew her to turn back up to the crowd. A pair of guards in heraldry of the Countess were pushing their way through.

    A smell on them immediately struck Jewel.

    She knew that smell.

    ¡°Ah There she is! Oh! Begging your mercy, Lady Jewel - we lost her in the alleys. But thanks for catching that lying whore.¡±

    Jewel glanced down at the woman, the smell of fear rising off of her. This woman did not look like even the cheapest ladies who traded virtue for coin in the follower¡¯s camp.

    She didn''t smell like they did either the few times Jewel had visited it.

    Lying was not among the crimes she had been profusely admitting, except where it pertained to her thefts.

    And Jewel could hear the truth in her words.

    One of the guards stilled his approach to Jewel and the woman, staring up at the wyrm. The other however was either braver or more familiar with her from earlier visits.

    He smelled like some of the soldiers did when they had gone to visit those tents Jewel actively avoided during the march.

    He also smelled a bit like some of the houses and glens after a peasant¡¯s weddings.

    And occasionally Jewel¡¯s own parent¡¯s room.

    But even he stopped before approaching Jewel. A good pace away from the woman still pleading and admitting her crimes.

    As she continued he finally seemed to catch onto what was going on.

    ¡°Well, I fancy that admittance is all proper, thanks again, Lady Jewel we just be taking this thieving rat to face the Countess¡¯ justice then the-¡±

    Jewel knew what mortal terror smelled like.

    She knew what a heart that was about to die sounded like.

    She remembered the hungry emptiness of that thing from the Countess¡¯ larder.

    The woman had choked into panicked silence on hearing what her fate would be.

    Jewel¡¯s wing was between the man and the woman before he could take another step.

    The fingers closed tight. But they could easily be snapped open. The angle if they did would have thrown him to the ground and likely cracked ribs.

    Jewel¡¯s voice was not constrained.

    It rumbled in the air, she could hear it echoing back to her as it shook in their bones.

    ¡°No.¡±

    She briefly saw the visage of the guards, consumed in her white flame. Blowing away as dust.

    But a blink and they were simply mere men staring up at her frozen in terror.

    For all that these were the appointed guard of Kaeketeh, Jewel could not find it in herself to pity them.

    She was satisfied to find only two hearts were now rising to the tempo of assured death and the scent of relief pouring up from the ever so slowing panic of one at her feet.

    How close had she been to killing them?

    An eye''s blink of lost control?

    A fraction of an exhalation in anger?

    What if she¡¯d taken just that much longer to come to her senses?

    Everyone was staring at her.

    She needed to say something else.

    Jewel pulled her neck tight again, she constrained her voice.

    She eased her tension visibly and once more assumed the figure of a lady, the poise of the heir and Shining Wyrm of Viznove.

    ¡°She has surrendered to my justice, and I shall see that her crimes and trespass are seen too. Not you.¡±

    The silence lingered long after Jewel and her family resumed their walk to the keep.

    Jewel¡¯s prisoner was lifted up by Smithson¡¯s grip on her arm. And held firm while he followed on foot.

    Leaving Oxhoof to dutifully follow without need of any further guidance.

    The crowd they left behind were quiet until Jewel was out of mortal earshot.

    But she could hear the rising whispers.

 4.8

    4.8

    Jewel was starting to suspect that it was actually impossible to do more than temporarily dampen the spirit of the Countess.

    Was that a kind of madness?

    A symptom of her illness?

    At first she had thought the High King could manage it. But on reflection what she had seen and smelled were much less then she hoped they were.

    Even when Jewel openly defied her justice and claimed her own right to decide the fate of a found criminal in the very heart of the Countess¡¯ demesne, there was not a hint of anger or disdain.

    Jewel apparently was utterly delighting the Countess.

    The feasting hall had been ordered for acts of court on short notice. It was quite improper for a matter of such low station as a thief to be brought to this room.

    But Jewel¡¯s involvement had made it so.

    The crime had been declared and recompense was to be decided.

    The guilty had not stolen more than a knight¡¯s marks worth of coin or goods, even if you tallied up every single admitted theft in what Jewel was expecting was her entire life¡¯s career at thievery.

    Honestly even that summation was a gross exaggeration.

    There had also not been a single burglary in the admitted wrongdoing.

    There had mostly just been food snatched from unwary customers of the cookeries in gate town. And considering she kept taking from some of them for years the thefts were likely known and being ignored.

    Even if the punishment was to the absolute extent of Jewel¡¯s understanding in the matter, the thief would likely only have her left hand broken at worst.

    This was a matter of the common law at best.

    Something so below the esteem of this room that it should have given insult to bring it forth here.

    But that was assuming it was somewhere other than Kaeketeh. Jewel had long since heard that the crimes of a woman and especially a young girl was officially to be taken into service under ¡°the Countess¡¯s mercy¡±.

    Jewel had seen what the fate of those women was.

    What they were used for.

    This should have been an act of infuriating defiance against the Countess, her Father¡¯s liege and possibly even put Jewel¡¯s position as heir in jeopardy.

    But Mother had been teaching her.

    Jewel had still been hoping to at least annoy the fiendish woman.

    Yet still Elizabeth smiled.

    Sitting in her chair beside the still ominously-empty seat of the now long-passed Count N¨¢dasdy, she was smiling warm as can be.

    That void in that chair drew her attention.

    The Black Knight of Viznove.

    It was said he had perished from illness and infirmity sustained in war. Was that the truth? Jewel did not know.

    But she truly did hate this woman.

    Smiling as if she did not even see all the insults and disrespect laid out before her.

    If she had not been completely caught by Elizabeth Bathory¡¯s schemes before Jewel would have thought her father¡¯s liege was simple.

    But the truth was much worse.

    This woman was, despite how horrible and careless she was of others, an incredibly happy woman.

    She was of an absolutely sanguine humor to have a petty thief brought before a court meant for treason and matters of fines fit to ruin manors and knights.

    And the witnesses of her court, although alert and attentive to the proceedings as due, were watching Jewel with what she suspected were jealous eyes.

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    None of them would have dared to stand in her place for this.

    No one dared speak such thoughts in the same room as Jewel. But again Jewel¡¯s true mother had been teaching her well.

    Finally her Father¡¯s liege chose to speak.

    ¡°I see, well far be it for me to deny my heir the opportunity to practice her own ideas regarding justice. The criminal is yours to judge and punish as you see fit my daughter. I release the guilty to the mercy of the Shining Wyrm of Viznove.¡±

    Jewel very much wished the woman would stop embellishing in the mere legal technicality of her adoption of the wyrm.

    It was fooling no one in court and seemed to be something she did explicitly to make Jewel squirm.

    For all the muddied confusion she had regarding the Countess¡¯ virtues there was one thing she had grown certain of.

    Bathory was no one¡¯s Mother.

    She might have borne children but she had not raised a single one of them. And she cared not at all for any of them. Jewel, with her bizarre and unchildlike spawn, was more of a mother than Bathory.

    Still, she had stood in the court of Viznove and demanded the right to justice over a common thief and the final law below the High King had acquiesced without a hint of displeasure.

    The Shining Wyrm of Viznove nodded.

    ¡°Then I pass the sentence that she shall serve me under bondage for five years and a day. And in the meantime I pledge as owing tithe next year to Viznove the full sum taken by her to clear reparations for the property lost to her crimes.¡±

    The Countess shrugged and waved to dismiss the matter. The Knights mark would sting, it pained Jewel to part with more silver from her family¡¯s coffers.

    She was surely to lose out when that was weighed against the labors of a common thief from the city.

    But denying even one more of those empty husks of a thing from the world was worth that.

    And then with a clap of her hands the matter was over.

    Except for the young woman openly weeping and thanking Jewel for her mercy, pledging vows of good service for her kindness and kneeling and even kissing at Jewel¡¯s feet.

    It was all terribly awkward.

    Jewel shook one of her forelegs to dry the wetness from the woman¡¯s lips from her fingers and called on her captain.

    ¡°Muriel, see that the convicted is given proper attire for one that will serve me and that we have secured her lodging and transport for after the wedding.¡±

    Which at least got the sobbing girl out of the hall.

    Leaving Jewel standing alone in front of the Countess and all her court.

    The majority of the lords in attendance were familiar with her from the march.

    She had earned respect if not awe from those that had witnessed her Wyrmdoom.

    And there was that bright and happy smile of the Countess that was both dismissive and delighted.

    So cruel and nuanced.

    Jewel hated it so much, but she still strived to be able to express half the nuance those lips and teeth could command.

    ¡°Well, with that trifling matter dealt with now we can move onto the far more important matters of the day. My son will not be arriving for another ten nights, but there is still much to do and prepare for our celebrations. This will however be mostly not of your concern, Lady Jewel.¡±

    From her seat Countess Elizibeth Bathory leaned forward.

    ¡°But tell me oh daughter and heir, besides the paltry service of some criminal street filth, is there a boon you would ask of me for your wedding?¡±

    Jewel had honestly not expected to completely fail to ruffle the feathers of the Countess, she fully had prepared that the insult of the matter would have seen her stripped of any possible wedding gift.

    But given the opportunity there was something she had been considering for most of the summers.

    ¡°If I could have a day¡¯s service from Jaksa the Red to see to one of my subject¡¯s troubles?¡±

    Bathory raised a brow at that, but she was still smiling. There was also silent if obvious interest shifting amongst the attendant lords and ladies. Required to stand despite the Countess¡¯ apparent dismissal. Court was still in session until Jewel herself was dismissed.

    ¡°Oh, you have a need for the service of my wizard that cannot be performed by your father¡¯s own pledged sorcerer?¡±

    Jewel nodded.

    ¡°Just so, I have found in my demesne one who has a struggle I believe he could aid in. On the advice of Tsulogothulan in fact.¡±

    Curiosity drew the Countess closer and with her the rest of the court present more openly showed their interest.

    ¡°Oh and who might this subject be?¡±

    Jewel met the Liege of her father¡¯s eyes and delivered the words she had been waiting to see for most of a season.

    ¡°Her name is Bethica, Daughter of Belora, Grand-daughter of Orthica¡±

    There was a brief furrow of confusion on the Countess Bathory¡¯s face but she still smiled. Jewel aimed for what she hoped would be a masterstroke to wipe that smug smile clean.

    ¡°And she is a talking cow.¡±

    She was, however, disappointed; the only person not surprised amongst the court of Kaeketeh was the Countess herself.

 4.9

    4.9

    Jewel was glad for the small mercy that it was mostly her parents that had to deal with Countess Bathory for the wedding preparations.

    A landed lady she might be but her father was still Jewel¡¯s direct liege and head of her house.

    That left her little responsibility but to confer with the cook staff and make sure that there was going to be no saffron anywhere in the food for her wedding celebrations, reminding them that the High King himself had lost favor for the seasoning when necessary.

    This absence of duties also gave Jewel time to seek out Jaksa The Red¡¯s assistance with the situation of Bethica and her mute children.

    Although as was usual for the man he seemed incredibly bored by the situation.

    ¡°Yes, Yes. It is almost certainly a matter of the thinning of the blood that carried the necessary gifts from the old minoan stock. Old Cantor inherited a great many of those old blood lines into its herds.¡±

    Jewel blinked a bit at that, it seemed far too simple. And furthermore did not match what she had been told.

    ¡°But surely then the pairings they did with the brothers to sisters  and mothers to sons should have restored the purity?¡±

    And for the first time in her knowing of him Jaksa the red was genuinely disgusted.

    Not angry that she was questioning him, not indignant over his esteem being challenged.

    Utterly disgusted.

    He smelled of it too, the curdling of a rotten abattoir rising off of him strong enough Jewel was pretty sure it would have made anyone but a leather tanner gag.

    ¡°Hardly, the constraining of the blood lines has likely been making the whole problem so much worse. Star sent may give much wisdom but even base dogs know better than to cross the lines as closely as that.Truly it is a wonder that some vital sense is lost in beast and man when they are gifted by the heavens by enough words and thought.¡±

    His displeasure changed as he spoke into the more distant and less visceral dislike Jewel had seen before.

    After a deep breath to further settle his mood he shook his head to Jewel.

    ¡°No, the simplest and easiest solution to your Bethica¡¯s problem with dull witted children is to have a speaking bull join her that is well and truly removed from her family lines.¡±

    Well that answered the question but where was Jewel going to find a bull that spoke well and had no close relation to Bethica? It¡¯s not like they were exactly common... were they?

    Before she could even voice the question Jaksa was already speaking.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be recommending the countess to have a fine spoken and good pedigree bull from the pastures of epirus brought to you. Given time for dove flight and the delay of winter you should expect his arrival in Valasect by mid Birdbane. Now is there anything else?¡±

    Jewel felt a bit off balance, first the Countess had surrendered to her attempt to undermine her authority and now the family curse of her newest friend was apparently solved in scarce hours.

    ¡°I admit Jaksa that I had thought you¡¯d at least have had to visit Bethica to be sure of the cure. I only just learned of her this year but you are so certain of the remedy to the malady of her entire family line?¡±

    Jaksa scoffed. Gaining the familiar affront he bore whenever questioned in his assertions.

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    ¡°I am no weird and if I have my way I shall never suffer the curse of becoming one. But Bloodlines are a part of my truth. I¡¯d know this as surely as Tsulogothulan knows the matter of frog mating or whatever.¡±

    Jewel blinked at that, considering Jaksa carefully.

    ¡°None of the wizards I¡¯ve spoken to think ill of the Weirds. And all of them look forward to the deeper understanding of their truths.¡±

    Jaksa laughed at that, actually laughed!

    It was so out of character she almost missed his words.

    ¡°Of course they would, All the ones you¡¯ve spoken to already have gone too far to care.¡±

    His expression stilled again to the more placid but now more intense look. Considering her in a way she had never noticed from the man before.

    ¡°Have you ever asked what it is that they have given up for their closeness to the truth?¡±

    Jewel was still baffled to have found such sudden new depths to what until now she had considered the least wizardly of all the wizards she had met.

    Her silence drew more words from him with a frown.

    ¡°Fizzbunches has been a cat for so long no record can say if he ever wasn''t one and the idiot can¡¯t think in a straight line to save his life. Urul would happily open up his own head and let you read his very mind as long as you did not stain the pages. Tsulogothulan cannot comprehend why anyone would mind the stink of rotten eggs or the taste of mud and has not had a proper body for at least a century.¡±

    He turned away from Jewel and looked at his own hands, the blood beneath his skin pulsed and flowed prominently, audibly to Jewel¡¯s ears.

    It was not a heart that was beating it through him

    The Blood of Jaksa the red moved his heart.

    Not the other way around.

    ¡°Every Weird has given up so many parts of what it means to be a mortal man for their truth. By the time they are so deep they no longer see any reason to stop.¡±

    Jewel stared at Jaksa. She had thought that all those things he said were  just the way to be a wizard.

    That it was just how each of her friends and acquaintance sorcerers were.

    But had it in fact been something within them that had changed in time?

    Was it some pact for power like in the tales?

    ¡°I apologize for any offense Lord Sorcerer Jaksa the Red. I didn''t know you thought of it like that.¡±

    He shrugged at that and smiled, genuinely smiled for the second time she had ever seen him although he then frowned immediately with a suspicious glint.

    ¡°You are a suspiciously easy to talk to creature, Lady Jewel of Valasect. It is a strange thing to be so understood.¡±

    It was then Jewel¡¯s turn to shrug, she did so with wings and forelegs both in a little tumbling roll of motion through all four shoulders.

    ¡°I could not say, you seem quite legible to me. Not like Euewyn. It took me so long to realize what the sound of mist settling on frozen birch bark was supposed to mean.¡±

    Jaksa snorted in laughter at that and shook his head, a third smile twisting his face.

    ¡°Well, is there anything else you wish of me, Lady Jewel? The countess has pledged a whole day of my service to you as an early wedding gift.¡±

    Which drew a deep sigh of annoyance from Jewel that she was pretty sure was inspiring a fourth smirk offered as camaraderie in suffering from the wizard.

    ¡°No Jaksa, I won¡¯t keep you from your duties, go do whatever it is you would rather spend time on for the day. You¡¯ve solved more in these few words than I thought could be done in an entire day.¡±

    He bowed to her, and then in what she now tried not to judge him for, the Red Wizard turned and exited through the door like any mortal man.

    And walked down the hallway of Kaeketeh Keep until well past the range of even Jewel¡¯s hearing.

 4.i

    4.i

    Of the rolling hills and rocky shores of Cantor much can be said. The lands are blessed by both azure waters and numerous coastlines. The sky vault is high compared to the biting chill of shallower realms and in all but deepest winter the shadow of the great northern pillar never falls over the the verdant hues of olive groves and vineyards.

    In all its lands the soils are of fertile abundance for the good bidding of Mother Earth for she holds great love of wine and merriment.

    Thick fields of wheat colour many rolling hills golden brass most seasons. And along the shores are either rounded stones or soft sands depending on the disposition of the land.

    Amidst the golden seas of grain are also the great profusions of grape vineyards and groves of gnarled and venerable olive trees.

    Where the land is not dominated by grain there are then the pastures of the fine and wonderful herds of cattle. The most prized specimens of which are from epirus and in particular the vast bulls matching in size and muscle to an elephant and renowned for their recital of poetry that bests the wit of senators.

    But even the lesser breeds of cantoran taurus are expected to host one or two orators in a herd capable of simple discourse in clear and civil speech.

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    At the shores are the fishing villages and their labyrinthine roads which twist in every which way. From the sea they pull their bounty daily with the blessings of the seven winds and their seagods.

    Tuna and Porpoise are especially prized fish but even the lessers are made well use of in the fine succor of garum.

    Although the works where the wonderful sauce is made are set well down wind of all but the least of habitation.

    And I would be remiss in not mentioning the cities of Cantor, but especially the shining jewel of cities herself from which the Cantor is taken.

    Capital of the Dynasty of the Sun lands.

    Home of a million souls, seat of the senate,

    Teeming brick buildings stack three to four apartments high and dozens deep off each road.

    With the voices of all the far flung realms and their many languages meeting here.

    Spice and meat from every land whether over skypass, underway or seachannel they all came to the market streets here.

    The City of Cantor, Heart of the Dynastic Sun¡¯s Blessed Lands.

    - Excerpt from Orion¡¯s Historica naturalis Cantora

 4.ii

    4.ii

    If I never have to take another step up stairs for the rest of my life it will be too soon.

    Also the Seer of the Mountain Shialtza is a God Serpent!

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    More to write later, my calves ache so.

    -Excerpt from the travel log Pythra of Veracules

 5.1

    5.1

    The Guests had started arriving seven days ago.

    At first it was the lords of Viznove, then it was the neighboring counts and their wives. Thurz¨® came of course with his son and wife although his daughters stayed home.

    Jewel could not say she missed any of them.

    Imre was proud and brave as Alexander at that age. Assured in his safety from a dragon, what else could he fear?

    It was heartening to see the boy that had been so fearful possessed of valor partly because of her.

    Thurz¨®¡¯s letters had said as much that his heir was even bolder and more assured than ever before with his talisman of saffron.

    Count Fiebron of Zekhedge was there too, along with a woman Jewel suspected was either a recently married wife or a daughter. By sight she would have guessed daughter but her scent stood clearly distinct there.

    It was strange to see the Count in something other than flying leathers. The Finery seemed less suited to the man than even Father and his prodigious height.

    Furthermore if not for her nose Jewel might have mistaken him for someone else with his normally wild white hair and beard brushed and braided tight like that.

    After those Jewel knew personally came the less recognizable of the counts.

    Osterwick of the Eastward County of Grortovo was unknown to her, she¡¯d not had him introduced to her in the Eyrie although finally seeing the man identified she recognized his face from amongst the milling crowd of Gryphon Lords.

    He had thick black curls to his hair. Beard and mane both were trimmed short on him as many of the mere Gryphon Knights tended to. Face lined deeply as if aged and rough from harsh sun and wind.

    Jewel had seen some peddlers pass through Rochford with faces like that but she did not know the meaning of it.

    Grortovo was according to what she read and had seen from the air even more hill and mountain than Rochford or any lands in Zekhedge. Hugging up to the north and down south of the mountains of the Ridgetail rather than encompassing the valleys and forests of the other counties.

    And after that?

    Jewel had not even heard of many of the places that the guests started arriving from.

    She was required as Heir of Viznove to attend and welcome them alongside the Countess Bathory, but was often left having to consult her parents after on just who she had met.

    The Realm was vast, but even so some of the personage arriving for the wedding were not even vassals of the High King!

    A Priest from the lands of Old Cantor itself arrived yesterday.

    But the biggest upset was who stood before them now.

    He had arrived with twelve fully armed and armored men as escort. Although Jewel had never seen the like of their garb or blades before.

    Jewel heard murmurs among and around the court that this was only the men that had been permitted to enter Kaeketeh proper.

    In the courtyard outside was another thirty!

    And beyond the city itself was an encampment made beyond the outer periphery of homes and houses outside the wall!

    He had traveled with an entourage of near to a thousand armed foot and attendant horse and servants.

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    His encampment had been settled on fallow fields.

    And of the man himself?

    His skin was rich brown with a hue that spoke of much sun. His hair was dark and shining.

    He smelled of very rich oils and fine perfumes over the sweat of a long time riding by horseback.

    He wore his beard in a mustache.

    But set upon his head was a most absurdly round wrap of palest white linen.

    Adorning it were chain links and medallions of gold. Set into them were red, green and blue gems that spoke of time in their setting and even longer in distant earth and stone from one another.

    His other clothes were no less rich and intricate and strange in ways Jewel had never seen before.

    Obviously finery for the craft of it but it shined in places that made her think it was proper gold embroidery but some of the fabric was so sheer in places Jewel could see well through it when the light was right.

    And the patterns of his clothes?

    Not even the High King or Bathory wore such intricate weaving.

    She would have been very curious to know who he was if not for his announcement.

    The Crier had announced him as ¡°High King Murad the First of his name, Sovereign of Magarska, Conqueror of Orestias.¡±

    Magarska.

    Jewel was not alone in shock over the announcement.

    Although the Countess and some of her court were not surprised at all.

    So apparently this had been planned for by some.

    But still?!

    The centuries long enemy of the Ridgetail Mountains! The very kingdom which had centuries ago forced the inclusion of Viznove and its neighbors into vassalage to the Realm of Cantor Reborn for aid in defense against their aggression.

    The very realm that had supposedly injured the Countess¡¯ husband so grievously in war he eventually perished four years later.

    The High King of the supposed sworn enemy of her family looked upon Jewel with the same eyes that High King Mathias had held for the awful thing from the Countess Basement.

    But all guest rights were being observed, and he had entered with his own strange if obviously armed and armored footmen and possibly even knights?

    Jewel was not sure how to judge the strange armor.

    He smiled at the Countess Bathory as was polite but Jewel could see that it did not reach his eyes.

    His words were clear if slanted strangely, rolling in an exotic manner.

    ¡°I come bearing gifts, well wishes and tidings of peace for our long time and honorable enemies in Viznove and the Realm of Cantor Reborn. May we share drink, bread and words on this auspicious and joyful day and the festivals to follow?¡±

    Elizabeth Bathory, Countess of Viznove smiled at the man that might very well have slain her husband.

    And where his smile was strained hers was nothing but joyful.

    ¡°Of course! For this grand wedding and a season after I grant passage in peace for you and your people. Let this be an opportunity for us to share words, food and song instead of blades!¡±

    Jewel was not alone in staring at the ruler of the land. Who welcomed their hated enemy like a brother.

    For his part Murad barely tilted his head to Bathory at her audacious welcome. Then he turned to Jewel and met her eyes with an intensity she was all too familiar with.

    ¡°May the warm stars of the south bless your wedding oh mighty Jewel, Shining Wyrm of Viznove.¡±

    And then he dipped his head to her!

    Not a slight acknowledgement either!

    But low enough his waist had to bend to follow his lowered head.

    The gold of his absurd hat shifted and Jewel was sure even the courtiers could hear the metal for the silence that filled the room.

    A man of rank with her own to be Liege.

    Bowing to Jewel!

    It took every lesson trained and honed by her parents and all her years to not flare her wings in shock.

    To maintain the grace and poise of a lady.

    But inside she could only scream.

    Just What was the High King of their ancestral enemy doing at her Wedding?!

 5.2

    5.2

    Jewel glared at Bathory.

    For the last three years Instead of the Countess¡¯ office their private meetings had been happening in the main feasting hall.

    It was possible for Jewel to fit into the smaller room. But the length of her coils was less of an issue than the span of her wings.

    At greatest extension Jewel¡¯s wings were as far from the furthest tip of each finger as her coils were long from tail tip to nose.

    And though she could furl and hold them tightly to her sides, a moment¡¯s inattention or stressful outburst could see them flaring wide and quickly pressing and possibly even cracking the bracing vaults of the ceiling.

    It was substantially easier to ensure the feasting hall was empty and closed off than it was to get the necessary labor to repair compromised stone work.

    She had gently asked for a chance to speak to the Countess in private as soon as the welcome feasts were done. But she had to wait until the next day to actually have the chance.

    But what had been tomorrow was now today and Jewel could pose the question that had been burning in her wyrm flame.

    ¡°Why is the High King of Magarska attending my wedding?!¡±

    Elizabeth Bathory, bereft of all guards, with not even her Wizard Jaksa the Red for protection, looked up at Jewel, a Wyrm so large that the danger of holding her in a smaller room risked the integrity of the keep.

    The small, still youthful looking woman blithely smiled at a dragon in all her fuming anger with a serenity that assured she felt utterly safe.

    And of that Jewel agreed with her. No matter how much she hated the woman.

    To slay her now would do nothing but bring grief for Jewel.

    Mother¡¯s lessons cut deep when wielded by another and she could see how the Countess was far more learned in intrigue then Jewel.

    ¡°I know you are the lady of the season, the betrothed and my heir but really? This is what you demanded a private audience to interrupt my incredibly busy days for?¡±

    Jewel snorted, not with any wyrm flame. That would be a threat too far to risk. But she rumbled ever so slightly.

    The countess was unbothered and continued as if her jewelry and the crystals hanging overhead had not rattled.

    ¡°The Reason my beautiful heir is because I and High King Mathias Invited Him.¡±

    Jewel huffed out hard enough to blow the woman¡¯s dress back. She felt her flame roil in her throat midway up but not even a spark of light touched her tongue.

    ¡°Of course you invited him Elizabeth! I¡¯m not simple, I want to know why!¡±

    Jewel turned away from the knowing grin on the woman''s face, whether it was mockery or pride she didn''t want to have to see either on the Countess¡¯ face.

    She continued with a bit less heat to her tone.

    ¡°What reason could possibly make that a good idea!? Magarska has warred over our lands since the fall of the Tyrant.¡±

    The Countess laughed and spoke just as happily as always.

    ¡°And we have warred over theirs just as long Jewel. It is as much a great risk for him to come here than it is for us to host him. Even with his thousand knight entourage. To come here this deep into our lands was only possible by vows made by me and the High King himself to maintain his peace and safety. Vows made to seven gods trusted by both our people and his. That is the only reason he is here at all.¡±

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    The wyrm shook her head and snarled. Voice breaking from the restraint she tried to hold so dearly most of the time.

    The Countess however had a habit of bringing the more beastly tones out of Jewel whenever they spoke at any length.

    ¡°That just makes it worse! Why should we go through all that trouble of a vow to gods to assure his safety when any year now we will be at war again?!¡±

    There was some reason, some sense to it, that was without a doubt. Bathory was going to benefit from this madness. It was going to serve her and maybe Viznove.

    Probably not anyone else, but there was something to gain here.

    But Jewel could not see it.

    And if the High King was also with her on this?

    That meant at the very least there were apparent gains for the realm and him as well.

    Jewel could not see that either.

    But just because she was blind to it did not mean it did not exist.

    And that means she had to find out.

    Despite how awful the insincerity of all of this made her feel. At last the countess either took pity on her, or grew bored of merely leaving her in suspense. Voice going slightly less jovial than usual.

    ¡°My Beautiful Heir, The time where you were a surprise unknown that could strike like a knife in the dark passed four years ago. The blow we made then together was a thing that could only ever happen once. And I spent that treasure the absolute best that I could.¡±

    Jewel refused to meet the Countess¡¯ eyes. She kept her gaze turned away, lashing her tail just close enough to brush the stones of the feasting hall floor. Seeking to ground herself and her temper at the reminder of the war.

    The single battle really.

    And all it had cost.

    These were good stones, they had come to be close and welcome little joys over her visits to Kaeketeh. They knew the river well and because of it seemed a bit more aware of time then others.

    Flowing water brought stones to a more wakeful state even at a distance. They knew the wind and water would be their end some day.

    And so they lived more in the present.

    Bathory continued, apparently having given up trying to prompt Jewel to speak.

    ¡°So Now? Now all the realm and lands beyond must be made sure of your power. In this the High King and I agree and we have called witnesses from every land of consequence under vows of truce if necessary. Under the peace of a Wedding and witnessed by all the gods in the heavens we and they risk less in this than any other time.¡±

    The countess walked but Jewel continued to refuse to meet her eye. She stepped as she spoke of the reason that hated enemies would be welcome like brothers. Jewel had read and been told more about the war with Magarska in the last three years than all that was written of the Tyrant Wyrm.

    The Shining Wyrm of Viznove flinched, her skin rippling in shivers away from the gentle path of that woman¡¯s hand on the scales of her hip. And then the Countess was leaving, speaking in parting rather than properly dismissing Jewel and their audience.

    ¡°There will be tournaments and demonstrations of power Jewel. There will be boasts and great extravagant feasts. I and the high king will have drained considerable wealth in the coming days to show everyone just what you are.¡±

    Jewel still refused to look at the woman but she still could tell there was that infuriating grin in the way she sounded. The Countess could smile with her voice alone.

    ¡°So enjoy yourself dear, all you have to do is breathe a bit of that wyrmfire, stand at the right place, vow under the gods of Viznove for your union and spend a night in a bedroom with my son. The rest of us have actual work to do.¡±

    And then Jewel was alone in the feasting hall.

    She was long enough to reach the ceiling if she wanted.

    She could lick what she had learned was called a chandelier.

    She had a demesne of her own.

    She was going to be married in another four days. The celebrations and feasts were going to continue for days afterwards.

    Soon she would have a husband.

    She even had what everyone else called her daughter.

    Jewel was supposedly a grown woman by any measure.

    But she felt so small and far too young.

 5.3

    5.3

    The first time Jewel saw her betrothed she felt a bit disappointed.

    It was perhaps unfair to compare him to her brother, but other than Smithson who was years his senior there was little else Jewel could consider his peer.

    She could hardly compare her betrothed with the peasant boys she had seen across Viznove and the rest of the realm.

    But still even then he left less of an impression than she expected.

    Paul N¨¢dasdy was hardly much taller than his mother. But unlike the countess he had the awkwardness Jewel could see in her own brother. The way in which he did not even fill out the presence of his own height.

    Making a diminutive stature even more unimpressive.

    Furthermore he seemed slower in coming to age then the other young men Jewel knew in her life.

    He could barely be said to be growing a beard where Jewel¡¯s own brother had the start of a mustache, and his face was really quite round.

    It was in contrast to the figure his father cut in the portraits around the Keep.

    He was dressed in finery enough for a Countess'' son. Although after seeing the extravagance of the High King Murad even that was a bit disappointing. Simple black cloth with a fine stitching of gold and a few metal buttons to sparkle.

    At least when he spoke, moved and stood it was with impeccably proper courtesies.

    The first sight of him had been when he arrived in Kaeketeh. He was welcomed by his mother first and then Jewel as his betrothed, a chaste kiss to either of her cheeks was offered and that was only barely made awkward by how much of her snout the two of them had to maneuver to keep it graceful.

    Neither of them had strayed a single word from the official courtesies for the situation.

    But there was something at least to appreciate there.

    He didn''t stumble at all at the sight of her or pause in apprehending her immensity, or the quality of her voice.

    Which was a poor measure of a man but one many others had failed to meet.

    Jewel for her part obliged and responded with equal courtesy and kindness.

    She strived to not do anything that might frighten a stranger over her appearance.

    But it was at least in this respect that Paul N¨¢dasdy impressed her.

    He had as little fear apparent to her as Alexander!

    If she was being honest Jewel saw and smelled more apprehension from the young man regarding his own mother then Jewel!

    Which was a rare moment of what Jewel found to be an utterly correct reaction.

    A thirty foot long dragon with an equal to that wingspan she might be.

    But it was the Countess Bathory of Viznove who deserved immediate fear and wariness.

    Even from her own flesh and blood.

    Jewel did not have a chance to speak to her betrothed again for another two days. Although they did spot each other amidst the various persons pulling them through the seemingly endless preparations and court gossip.

    She was congratulated by so many lords, ladies, counts, dukes, abbots, priests, low kings and even a wizard other than her familiar circle through all the hours of each day.

    But now the two of them were set aside in the northern ¡®courtyard¡¯ for ¡®privacy¡¯ to speak and acquaint with one another.

    Of course chaperones of footmen and the peculiar role of something the Countess called a lady in waiting were present to be sure nothing improper occurred (as if Jewel would ever even think such).

    But ostensibly all said between them would be taken to the grave by those watching.

    Jewel laid on the fine stones trying to keep her neck and wings relaxed and Paul N¨¢dasdy sat stiffly on a stone bench staring out at the waters of the river.

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    Neither of them had said more than a brief greeting.

    And that was long enough ago Jewel had been able to take note that the shadows had shifted ever so slightly from the sun¡¯s movement.

    Her betrothed was sweating under his finery, but not nervously.

    Just the unseasonable heat for his form of dress.

    Jewel was uncertain what exactly she was supposed to talk to her future husband about.

    The books and ballads had much to say on the matter but their situation hardly seemed to fit that. She knew some of the peasants sang to and otherwise sought the affection of each other. But that was a thing to do before a marriage was settled and inevitable.

    What did she say?

    The silence was filled with nothing but the distant sound from the shore and the water of the river lapping at the sheer stone walls that protected the keep¡¯s isle. The barriers rose sharp and true from the depths of the river and the sign of them sang out of sight to even jewel in the water¡¯s murk.

    All to make climbing fraught with peril if an army should make the attempt at a crossing. Paul seemed content after a fashion to just stare at the water as it came southwards to meet them.

    Though he did not exactly avoid looking at her.

    He just did not turn towards her except when speaking.

    After a moment longer of Jewel trying desperately not to fidget any inch of her coils or wings she finally grabbed the first thing that came to her mind as a topic, if just to fill the silence.

    ¡°I hope it is not rude to say but I absolutely detest your mother.¡±

    And suddenly her betrothed was convulsing!

    He sputtered, choked, twisted forward as if he had been struck then shook and finally right before she or their chaperones could finish rushing to try and aid him she realized what had happened.

    Paul N¨¢dasdy, Son of the Countess Elizabeth Bathory was laughing. Not only laughing he was bent over double on his stool and wheezing for breath with the sudden fit of his mirth.

    Tears were running down his cheeks and what was worse Jewel was not entirely sure what to do about it.

    ¡°My Betrothed! Are you alright?!¡±

    Was he mad?

    Cursed?

    Injured?

    Ensorceled?

    Jewel sensed no wizardry upon him but she¡¯d been fooled before.

    But he shook his head and waved her off.

    Trying and failing to assure her with words between his bellowing guffaws.

    Had she been irredeemably foolish?

    No she did not think so, he had a looseness to his muscles between the spasms of laughter that certainly seemed at more ease then she had ever seen him before.

    He smelled joyous.

    But why couldn''t he stop laughing?!

    Every time he looked at her it just seemed to make it worse and Jewel¡¯s fussing over him eventually led to him leaning against her shoulder trying to get himself into some sort of composure.

    Finally after what felt like hours of her soon-to-be-husband howling himself hoarse in mirth and seeming to go a little faint from lack of breath Jewel at last got a proper word out of him.

    ¡°Oh thank my birth stars and the mountain souls! Bless you, my wife-to-be. Bless you for being the first person in this entire accursed keep to outright say it.¡±

    Well okay somehow Jewel had done something right by not thinking at all? She may as well continue.

    ¡°Well I do not see the jest but I spoke only the truth. I cannot stand your mother. I hope there is no offense¡±

    Her worry nearly started him to laugh again. But he mastered himself and only chuckled a few times, leaning back against her coils to keep himself from falling from his seat.

    ¡°She¡¯s barely my mother, I didn''t learn to call her that until after I was six. For years I thought my nursemaid Gr¨®a gave birth to me. That should say plenty about how little I saw the countess or care for her company.¡±

    Jewel could not say anything to that, it was not surprising but it made her heart ache to even consider how callously Elizabeth had been towards her own son.

    ¡°And no offense taken my wife-to-be, Jewel, No it speaks well to your character and all I¡¯ve heard of you that she has so truly earned your ire.¡±

    He coughed and cleared his throat, Jewel could feel his heart through her scales with their closeness.

    ¡°In truth I heartily agree. I absolutely hate that heartless smiling fiend too. ¡±

    And it was at that moment Jewel felt a tension she had not even realized she was carrying loosen.

    Her husband-to-be hated his mother.

    Jewel marveled at the horror of her life that this so lifted her spirits.

 5.4

    5.4

    Jewel found herself so relieved that she wished for more time with her husband to be. Beyond their shared dislike of the Countess there was much they had in common!

    It was a welcome comfort to dwell on as she stood like an oversized ornament amidst the mingling crowd of strangers that filled the courtyard of Kaeketteh.

    To start the Bathory family¡¯s men were as martial as Rochford¡¯s own, and despite his mother¡¯s all but disowning of him Paul was still expected and trained to match that tradition.

    It was in many ways much as Alexander had been raised.

    Although instead of a position as a future Gryphon lord he was trained as a land bound knight and general of men.

    It gave an interesting distinction, Jewel now treasured the memory of that discussion as she dipped her head to yet another lady¡¯s empty congratulations.

    As was polite she returned their half hearted complement of Jewel¡¯s scales with some inane praise of her own for the shape of their eyes.

    Which led to the tired dragging out of thanking one another for thanks before courtesy allowed them to part and another took the lady¡¯s place.

    Paul was actually able to explain a great deal more of the details from the march and the important art of logistics there that Jewel herself had not known or read of. It made her proud that her assistance in the care of the greener levies was a praise worthy act of generalship.

    A moment to brace herself against so Jewel did not sigh as one of the High King''s other vassals managed to produce the all too familiar baffled empty stare when Jewel spoke more than a few simple words.

    Really, they came to her wedding and knew less of her then most peasants in Visnove?

    Fools.

    Mother would be ashamed of Jewel if she came to a foreign court so ill informed.

    At least he didn''t compound the error by approaching her just yet.

    Again she mulled on what she had spoken to Paul about.

    Apparently Gryphon Lords and as such Jewel¡¯s own training concerned themselves much more deeply with the art of surveying the battle from air and coordinating in the tumult of war.

    Focusing more on the interference with marches then the planning of them.

    She was surprised to learn that Gryphon Lords were, according to Paul and his tutors, viewed as relatively poor generals among the nobility across the realm. The sky giving them far too much distance from the common trials of the men.

    Though Fearsome and potent forces when battle was properly joined, they were ill practiced in the vital art of the march. Less capable in the rank and file task of directing an army over land.

    He had given a fascinating talk of the division and animosity that could come up between lords, soldiers and levy that were ground bound and those that rode in the sky.

    Points Jewel herself had not even considered and promised to remember.

    They had only just gotten into what Paul heard among his teachers regarding the concerns of the court towards Rochford and why there was such an animosity even in Zekhedge and Grortovo where their counts and lieges were gryphon lords when their chaperones had called for the two to part for the evening meal.

    It was with much regret that they had not been given the opportunity to meet again. Or that propriety required they be seated awkwardly apart at their morning and evening meals.

    Which Jewel thought finally gave her some sense of understanding what ballads and swooning peasant girls were talking about.

    It was just so refreshing to have a peer near her own age to discuss things with. And for the first time since it had been announced she was genuinely looking forward to the wedding.

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    Paul was just such a relief all around to speak too.

    She was glad of it.

    He was to stand beside her as husband.

    Not a servant below her or a brother simultaneously above her in age and below her in sense.

    Not a confidant bound to her no matter how good she thought of smithson.

    Paul at least so far seemed genuinely like someone she could spend her life with.

    If only the rest of the attendees arriving for the wedding could be such a pleasant surprise.

    She wished they had led with the sentiment against Gryphon Lords instead of being cut short on the discussion.

    It would have at least better prepared her for this ordeal and the endless murmuring cloud of words.

    ¡°The poor boy, his mother must have gone mad marrying him to a war beast.¡±

    Jewel could hear them teeming in the crowd. She had heard them at the meals in the Countess proper feasting hall.

    ¡°I heard it could speak¡±

    She heard them whisper down the now crowded hallways of Kaeketeh Keep  and in those guest rooms set aside for the highest ranking of them.

    ¡°So what if it can speak? Plenty of things can speak. A beast is a beast, I heard she granted it a title and adopted it into her family.¡±

    Endless words of strangers judging her and Paul. Now all concentrated here like a bowl of piss set aside for the dyers.

    ¡°No it was that provincial lord who adopted it.¡±

    Judging Rochford and Father on hear say and lies.

    ¡°Oh the Gryphon rider? Of course it was one of those! They¡¯re all wrong in the head. No surprise.¡±

    Judging all of the Ridgetail mountains and the lands in their valleys in their blindness.

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe that they let them be Counts here. Filthy bird fuckers all of them in these mountains¡±

    Jewel held her head high and with grace. She had learned from when she was a youth unable to contain her outrage.

    ¡°Isn''t that the high king of Magarska!?¡±

    She spoke polite nothings with civility to the faces of strangers that mocked and insulted her when they thought she could not hear.

    ¡°I believe the proper title is Sooltan actually and What of it?¡±

    Jewel remembered the new lessons she had taken up with her mother on the nature of Court.

    ¡°Wasn''t he at war with the realm Eighteen years ago?¡±

    She listened and acted as if she did not hear all that was said by those too foolish to listen about the truth of Jewel for themselves and left their words free for her to gather up and hoard.

    ¡°Eh so what? We were fighting the free-lands sixteen years ago. I attended a wedding there in hay turn.¡±

    Stealing up all the filthy prattle and gossip of lords and ladies from all across the realm and more.

    ¡°How many weddings do you attend?!¡±

    Jewel listened and learned and considered their every word. Outwardly she was serene and happy. She focused on how good her discussion with Paul had gone in their one meeting. It helped keep her smile true.

    ¡°Twelve so far, Some of us make an effort to attend proper events.¡±

    But inside Jewel¡¯s flame roiled in anger.

    ¡°How do you have time to do anything else?¡±

    If it was just Paul she thought she might have really enjoyed her Wedding.

    ¡°Why would I do anything else?¡±

    Yet with company like this she doubted she would.

    ¡°Well some of us have interests other than parties and feasts¡±

    But despite what the Countess said Jewel had much of her own work to do here.

    No matter how filthy it made her feel.

 5.5

    5.5

    The day of the wedding broke with the Countess¡¯ ladies in waiting and her mother rising with Jewel.

    ¡®Gem¡¯ had to be excluded as she was in the care of Smithson and no men were permitted to see Jewel until during her procession in the ceremony.

    Even if for the last twelve days she might have been in naught but her scales among the guests!

    But now Jewel was a properly clothed maiden on her wedding day. Paul for his trouble was also being sequestered by his own staff to prepare him for their oaths at noon, and then they will be set away again until the evening vows pledged by husband and wife before the stars and gods.

    Her sheer scale and shape required adjustments and compromises to be made for a wedding gown.

    But shawls of darkly dyed linens thin and fine enough to see through were draped over her face and snout. Other shawls and drapes followed, just as delicately stitched together with bright and vibrant colors of Viznove, Rochford and Bathory in fantastic groves and spirals of flowers and leaves. A veritable transparent tapestry wreathed her flanks and even were tied so they could drape in expanses over her wings.

    Joining the embroidered flowers in her family and bathory¡¯s colors were actual summer blooms. Carefully dried and preserved to retain their vibrancy and enriched  with perfume via herbs and scented oils.

    The hands of her mother and the Countess¡¯ ladies worked over Jewel delicately.

    She had spent a solid evening shining her scales to their brightest luster with Smithson¡¯s assistance last night. Making her hide an almost golden metallic shimmer between the draperies and color.

    Rich dark green, vibrant red, pale bleached white in just a few streaming accents. A bit of black. It was finery after a fashion, although Jewel thought that it draped over her a bit oddly.

    But as long as she held a fine and dignified poise however it all fell well.

    Her mane was braided with more dried flowers and even chains of silver. The entire ensemble took hours to assemble and they had to break their fast in private in the chambers that had been cleared for the whole endeavor.

    During this late morning meal Jewel turned to her mother and smiled.

    ¡°I think perhaps I might fancy him. Paul that is.¡±

    Mother raised a brow at that.

    ¡°Oh? What makes you so sure?¡±

    Jewel shrugged a bit, but only with greatest care, some of the fastenings were not as secure as they could be and if she moved too violently the entire edifice might come undone.

    ¡°Well I greatly enjoyed speaking with him, we have much in common. It is very nice to have someone who understands what we share.¡±

    Mother hmmed around the small portion of bread she was taking as their breakfast.

    Bobbing Gwenn on her hip to keep the girl settled.

    The last hour had been stressful for her sister and likely meant she would be set to sleep during the exchange of oaths at midday.

    ¡°What is it that you share with the son of the Countess Bathory?¡±

    Jewel huffed a bit, blowing the linen over her snout out to billow in her breath.

    This too she found had to be done very gently. Her own lungs could breath hard enough to tear the veil off of her head.

    ¡°We¡¯ve both trained for war and martial matters, we both have felt the responsibility and obligation to defend our home and the honor of our families. We both despise Elizabeth, and it is comfortable to speak to one another and share on this. I think we can be happy together. He also does not treat me like a beast. Not even when he first laid eyes on me.¡±

    For some reason mother smiled in a sad way.

    Jewel had seen that look before and it was when she had done something endearing but ultimately foolish.

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    ¡°Ah, no Jewel that is not fancying the young man. It¡¯s a camaraderie and perhaps the seeds of a good friendship. But that is not the same as fancying him. It is not the same kind of love as a woman might have for a man.¡±

    Jewel frowned at that in confusion. She was fond of her husband, she looked forward to time with him. Surely that was precisely what everyone had meant when they said they fancied their spouse?

    If she had not been betrothed Jewel could certainly see being quite obliged to her parents offering her in marriage to Paul.

    ¡°Is it not? But you and Father are much like that. You are fond and speak well of each other. You enjoy each other''s company. Miss each other when you are away.¡±

    Mother laughed and shook her head.

    ¡°Dear daughter, what is your favorite part of your husband to be?¡±

    Jewel considered a moment then answered clearly.

    ¡°His good sense. He sees me as a lady to be spoken to. And as a fellow child of a noble house.¡±

    Mother hummed and nodded.

    ¡°An important thing for certain, but what of his stature? His eyes? His calves? You there! What is the finest feature of the young Paul N¨¢dasdy?¡±

    The lady who had long finished her own small bread stuttered in surprise being called on before blurting out.

    ¡°His-uh his calves of course Lady Mother! Er-¡±

    Jewel¡¯s mother snorted at that and bit off the young woman¡¯s frantic words with a tone like a whiplash.

    ¡°I am not that fiendish hag of a woman you call your lady. Tell us truly and honestly. What of the young N¨¢dasdy is fine on the eyes?¡±

    The poor woman seemed frozen in silent horror and Mother finally relented by turning her gaze to another of the ladies that had scarcely spoken for the hours they fussed and worked over Jewel.

    ¡°You, are you so cowed by that beastly woman to lose your tongue? Did she cut it out? We are alone here, no listening ears will tell on you, is that not right daughter?¡±

    Jewel could only nod and offer a quiet affirmation.

    ¡°No ears but my own could hear us from where they stand outside.¡±

    Mother nodded, then her voice was gentler than before.

    ¡°My daughter is going to be wed today and she does not understand what it means to fancy a man. Please tell me what you find fine about her betrothed... Please.¡±

    The first woman finally spoke up in a whisper, soft and fearful as if she was admitting something to be guilty of.

    ¡°I like his cheeks, they''re just so round and cute. He¡¯s the best of both a man and a boy.¡±

    Mother nodded then turned to another.

    ¡°I think his lips and the lines of his shoulders are just so good. He¡¯s lithe if you can catch him wearing tight shirts or even none at all.¡±

    The lady said the last with a nervous giggle and a stinking puff of fear.

    A third spoke up bolder than the rest, not so quiet or ashamed.

    ¡°I also fancy his cheeks, but not the ones on his face. Mmmm pert those¡±

    Another two nodded at that.

    And Jewel could only stare at them, listening to them mention features that Jewel could maybe imagine were signs of fit or athletic action but didn''t really seem particularly noteworthy.

    Some of the ways they described Paul sounded more like they were describing a pig strung up for market to be butchered than a man.

    A smell started to build up from some of them Jewel was familiar with but normally tried to ignore.

    Until finally mother raised her hand.

    ¡°I think that¡¯s enough ladies thank you, so daughter, can you tell me truly is there anything you fancy about the man? Is there something you can honestly tell me you fancy about any man? Or woman for that matter?¡±

    Jewel tried, she poured through her memory, she began to part her lips when she thought she finally had found it.

    ¡°Not admire for the mark it gives of their prowess, not appreciate as it is noble. Is there anything of a man or woman that you have seen or smelled or heard that made you want? That you truly desired to touch and know as you might hunger for food or drink? Is there any of that daughter?¡±

    And in a sudden stillness Jewel found that she could not truthfully answer that there was.

    The knowing sad look from her mother settled from the earnestness it had taken.

    Jewel spoke.

    Her words were quiet and soft. And as she spoke them she saw the sad look in the eyes of the ladies with her deepening.

    A smell of pity that could not be for anyone but her.

    ¡°No, Mother.¡±

 5.6

    5.6

    Ginter couldn''t see very clearly anymore, he had trouble walking and the last of his good teeth had come out.

    But he was going to make it at least to the point he could hear the marriage of the one who saved Adelyne.

    Nevermind that an old free man was not supposed to be allowed up here on the wall fort that separated Middle-Town from the Countess¡¯ Keep.

    He had nearly a Knight''s Mark of gambling debts owed over the Countess¡¯ men to make sure he was not bothered.

    And more than that his granddaughter was now the bonded servant and charge of the Shining Wyrm Of Visnove. He couldn''t do anything to the men that had tried to take her, but the fear of a Wyrm¡¯s ire had left one of them near pissing himself.

    Good fortune that, as soon as he heard she¡¯d been taken to the keep Ginter dug up every debt, favor and dirty deal owed him across all of Kaeketeh and from there traded and released them both to get the leverage held by grifters, brothels and dens of ill repute on the Countess¡¯ men stationed in the wall fort.

    He was ready to have his poor fool of a girl ¡®misplaced¡¯ out of the hold of that terrible woman even if it meant spending every single favor and coin owed him over his whole life.

    But by a star damned blessing he¡¯d been left with assurance she would live, well and truly, far outside of Kaeketeh.

    Only found out after he had peddled a lifetime of favors for the debts to the Countess¡¯ men unfortunately.

    Collected from those that would not take them back.

    So once he knew Adelyne was safe? He couldn''t find it in his tired bones to make the fuss of it.

    Four years away from home in bondage to the heir of the entire county and the city?

    That would be good for the fool girl.

    She¡¯d lived too much in the city.

    And even if they worked her like a dog It was better than being disappeared to something no amount of swindling or bed talk with the whores could pry from the Countess¡¯ guards.

    To a man they were stoney silent and terrified about whatever it was.

    Only rumors and hearsay about horrible things in the dark flowed through Kaeketeh on its missing daughters.

    And frightful stories of a child torn apart from back before Adelyne had been born.

    He had to take a few moments to breath hard and even then his feet and arms still tingled.

    At last he was past the fortune damned stairs.

    He was getting feeble in his old age.

    But Ginter had finally made his way to the top of the wall. Now he hobbled with stiff legs and stiffer back over to the battlements where he could stare blearily at the wedding and listen to the sound of the ceremony.

    His eyes were long past good.

    He saw a smear of colors indistinct for most of the crowd and decorations.

    But he¡¯d have to be properly blind to not spot her moving amongst them.

    Tall as can be shining like gold.

    The lady, the one his very heart and bones had sworn to serve as soon as they were called by her voice.

    Who had in passing done more for him and his then any noble or lord ever had.

    Saved his fool headed grand daughter when she should not have been playing at the thieving game like a child anymore.

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    Was too old and filled out for that work, too tall and notable.

    Drew too much attention no matter how she dressed herself mussed up or dirty.

    Fool girl got herself caught and nearly worse.

    His vision blurred even more as the sting of tears welled up in his eyes and then ran down his sun-weathered cheeks.

    But a quick wipe of his forearm was enough for that.

    A good shake too at the lingering feel of needly cold pricks up and down his forearms.

    The Shining Wyrm was having her wedding and Ginter would never get the chance homely as he was to thank her properly.

    But he could wish her well from afar.

    Ladies and Great Big Dragons simply did not deal with or for folk like Ginter and his.

    Except this one had.

    And he would be a miser if he did anything less than wish his stars do well by her.

    Word carried from looser lips then the Countess¡¯ guard.

    She¡¯d stood up to the baby-faced-crone all piss and vinegar and ready for a fight.

    The eyes from the crowd in gate town that were sharper than his had ever been told it straight too.

    She¡¯d been ready to unmake the men that had been after his poor fool Adeylne. Would have not even been hardly mussed for it since she was heir and all.

    Nevermind a fortune damned dragon.

    The Wyrm had saved his granddaughter and gone to fight the Countess for her.

    And there she was, fuzzy and muddled and yet still shining and beautiful.

    He guessed by the colors they probably draped her up in some fancy getup but in his eyes poor and doughy they might be that was mostly lost. Still she was the sight of beauty itself.

    Like a sunrise over the Ridgetails.

    Like noonday sun breaking up a thunderstorm.

    Like a sunset sinking below the western hills.

    It didn''t make it any less beautiful for the smeary blur of his eyes.

    His granddaughter was saved from a monster that played at being a woman by a beast that if word be true was everything nobles pretended at.

    Adelyne was a fool girl but he felt she would do well in service to such a thing. And after her four short years he could tell her off for the idiocy that had gotten her there.

    Ginter took a heavy breath and then coughed and shivered.

    The tingling bites were all up and down his legs.

    It was straight up noon sun and not too late in the season but he was feeling a mighty coldness for all the strange spirits biting him.

    Still he stood there and after shaking himself out and rubbing his arms he focused again on his vigil.

    It was her wedding. It was the first chance he was going to have to see her at all after she saved his dear little Adelyne.

    And his ma had always told him weddings were important to the gods. If there was ever a time his stars would hear him it would be for a wedding.

    And even down here below the heavens with mere mortal man there was much ado about it, people in colorful smudges of rich folk dress. Fancy foreigners he¡¯d been told.

    There were even more of them setup in camps outside the Gates and every inn was booked full besides.

    Barns and pastures were making silver that even a fine room would normally charge in Kaeketeh this season. For the city was so full of visitors.

    The ceremony was progressing, he heard familiar melodies. Same as more common weddings they were.

    But played and sang in more expensive guts and in apparently more divine throats.

    He thought it was alright music and song. Was so rich and full it carried wistfully to him all the way over here across the bridge at least.

    He saw the moment that the oaths were made and the barely-a-boy was given what he guessed was a solemn kiss judging the angle of the great shining blur that was the wyrm.

    Then flowers and such were tossed up and cheers soon followed with delighted voices. The crowd and the color and the music all a mix with the motion.

    And he swore he could feel the gaze of the shining wyrm herself on him if only for a moment.

    He certainly was faint enough for it.

    A sting of indigestion struck.

    Something felt stuck in his chest and he tried to cough again. Everything suddenly was very heavy.

    Hard to stand up. Dizzy like he had a bit too much to drink even though he¡¯d been favoring the smallest of beers.

    His neck and shoulders twinged hard. His vision felt darker.

    His lungs wouldn''t fill.

    He gasped and wheezed in short rattles.

    Before he knew it Ginter¡¯s stinging legs were giving out.

    And then he was rolling back and off the ledge stones coming up to meet him.

 5.7

    5.7

    Jewel was glad there was a chance to eat a proper meal after the mid day oaths of marriage were done.

    That was the official binding of mortal law done and legally they were now man and wife.

    But they still had until the evening for the far more important calling forth of gods and the proclaiming of vows for their marriage.

    The precise ones needed would depend heavily on just which gods were drawn to the matter.

    She wished that the wedding food was a bit less sweet.

    And the spices seemed a bit excessive too.

    There was no saffron at least.

    ¡°Husband? Which gods do you expect will descend to receive our vows?¡±

    Paul looked thoughtful for a time before shrugging.

    ¡°I can¡¯t say, neither house Bathory nor N¨¢dasdy have outstanding debts or interest from the divines according to my teachers. And none of my birth stars are likely to come.¡±

    Jewel hummed and nodded.

    ¡°Rochford has little direct engagement with any either, Business best left to the temple. I Suppose the Veles might show up? But he is a spirit of Winter and we are quite out of season for him.¡±

    The High King spoke up after having waited politely to the side while Jewel and her husband conversed.

    ¡°I expect that at least one of the seven that is overseeing the vow of peace will show this evening if only to verify that all parties are holding to its terms. Maybe Quirinus, Anat or Vesta might be interested in you as newlyweds of high standing.¡±

    Jewel considered.

    Vesta was an old cantor goddess of hearth, home and unwed ladies. She could not quite place who Quirinus or Anat were though. The volume of gods present across all the known lands of the world were as numerous as its people.

    Their interests were usually local and narrow however.

    If these gods were trusted to protect foreign kings in otherwise hostile land their interests must be broader.

    Her husband spoke up.

    ¡°Quirinus would not be a bad patron to receive our vows. I have read he offers prowess in war and protection in combat to men that offer him sufficient pledges.¡±

    Mathias nodded to the both of them.

    ¡°Yes, his promise of protection along with the potential wrath of anat should any violate the peace was the final point of the bargain which saw many of our more foreign guests being willing to attend here.¡±

    Jewel considered that as the High King Mathias departed to go speak to someone else.

    His place soon filled by someone Jewel did not know, but Paul at least was familiar enough with to speak to.

    And on like that dragged the day, until evening and sunset called for numerous candles and torches to be lit and the Wyrm with her husband returned to their place of honor before a brazier of tightly wound chords of herbs.

    Whereas before the wedding had been a festival and a celebration now there was solemnity. And whiffs of dread from the guests.

    Jewel could see figures in long robes of many kinds amongst the crowd. Some wore masks or strange dresses, but others bore the garb Jewel had become accustomed to for temple workers of various kinds.

    Simple brown robes.

    The Abbot Herbort was even there alongside Jewel¡¯s family taking his place as a spiritual vassal of her Father.

    As the sun slipped away and the black of night filled the sky the temple minders and other titles of god tenders and such raised their voices.

    Jewel guessed there must have been much work done that all of them could speak in unison like that.

    Uttering words she did not recognize.

    She could feel the drawing up of the world¡¯s faux fire with their voices.

    And practically taste as it wove in from all over the crowd. Unlike in Rochford during the longest night, or the morning pre-dawn ritual that Abbot Herbort attended in his manor for their silver lady, no one but those of temple offices lended their voice.

    Silence dominated between the words and yet for all that the voices seemed sparse and few they filled the space and the air above with meaning.

    The faux fire rose up and in it carried the satisfaction and amiable atmosphere that had been built all through the day¡¯s festivities.

    Jewel could feel the faintest tugs of it on her own wyrm flame. But it was barely less than a breeze as the weaving tapestry of it all bound together before her.

    It was much like other divine sorcery Jewel had seen. It wove together many things into one.

    It reached high and far up into the sky.

    But this was the first time she had ever seen such a work done under an entirely open sky.

    And the sheer presence of the stars seemed to almost be pooling down towards them.

    In fact they actually were!

    The sky itself bowed in attention as the fervent voices called to it.

    The chanter¡¯s words rose and fell, swelled up into the night and then sank down again towards the brazier yet unlit.

    And as the heaving release and pull seemed to find its rhythm sometimes individual voices broke high and distinct from the rest.

    Calling out in single names from the murmuring swells.

    Twos, threes or single practitioners trying to draw attention to the dipping heavens.

    And as they called, individual stars shone brighter and the weft of faux flame twisted towards them.

    ¡°Anata¡±

    Jewel watched with her husband as a near pillar of raw night sky twisted and shifted above to the beckoning voices.

    ¡°Ereshkigal¡°

    She¡¯d seen weddings under the night sky before, but whatever gods'' interest there was hardly had been felt then. Or they were already well and truly present and invested in the matter.

    ¡°Veles¡±

    Jewel had never witnessed a wedding which called out to the gods for attention like this.

    ¡°Silver Lady¡±

    Or seen so much of a tumult in the sky however pinched and pulled out this portion of it might be.

    ¡°Dorumangul¡±

    As the entreaties were made sometimes a flickering presence would shift and even roil partly free of the sky being called down.

    But most barely seemed to stir at all.

    ¡°Gloom Mother¡±

    And those that did seem at least partly drawn did not remain. Most fluttering back out of the slowly thinning spire of raw sky sinking closer and closer to the brazier.

    ¡°Salus¡±

    As the sky spike sank the robed figures moved among the crowd, drawing in from the edges of the courtyard. Hands raised and moving. Their fingers brushing over the fauxfire that Jewel had learned not one of them could see. By her questioning the best of them could barely feel its touch on their fingertips.

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    ¡°Father Mountain¡±

    There was still not a distinct singular presence that Jewel could discern or group of them to remain beyond the sky but the tumbling sense of them within the black void of the star spackled needle slowly sinking was becoming quieter.

    ¡°Quirinus¡±

    A slight flare stronger than any other at that name, and Jewel glanced to her husband with his intent face staring up to the sinking black spike of infinity.

    ¡°Oberon?¡±

    Some of the names were being offered with trepidation and Jewel was beginning to smell fear.

    There was worry and questioning tones on some of the entreaties.

    A hope that they would not be answered.

    ¡°Muat?¡±

    Still the roil was gentling. The distinct presences within fading away.

    The spire of black sky had now become barely thicker than a hands span and was just dipping beneath Jewe¡¯s own gaze.

    ¡°Mother Winter?¡±

    That one was said with terror barely restrained.

    But still none of the names were drawing full attention from the presences within.

    None so mentioned seemed quite enough.

    Finally Jewel heard the familiar voice of Abbot Herbort. Quiet, fearful and yet also resigned.

    ¡°Zorya?¡±

    And suddenly the needle of raw black sky squeezed sharply covering all the distance to the brazier¡¯s carefully stacked bundle of herbs and holy wood offerings.

    A single star carried on that black thread which ignited the bundles in a flare of silver blue fire.

    And all at once the sky snapped back and returned to its vault.

    Dragging a blinding white pillar of silver fire high into the heavens. Banishing every shadow and gloom in the courtyard and making even the brightest candles seem like pitch black shade.

    Jewel could see the torrent of faux fire gathered by the god tenders and temple keepers grasped and pulled loose of them as casually as a gardener might pull out a weed.

    Root and all.

    Against the shock of the sudden absence Jewel saw many robed figures swoon and three collapse for lack of strength to stand.

    But Herbort stood tall and there was another presence around him, a shining dawn that was like a reflection of the pillar and yet different and opposed.

    And then everyone startled as a great tremble rose up in the air.

    Paul spoke to the silence that followed, his voice was strange, awed, afraid, joyous.

    ¡°Zorya, Lady of Dawn I accept, I vow ten lives spared for every blade turned from me.¡±

    And then there was a lashing strike of silver flame towards her husband.

    Before Jewel knew what she was doing she had interposed herself between him and the strange silvery flame.

    The act stopping the current of white.

    It washed over Jewel with less impact than a summer breeze.

    It did not touch the wyrm¡¯s flesh even as she saw it scorch the stones at her feet and burn away the fine shawls and hanging drapery of her wedding finery.

    The pillar before her shuddered and then shrank, contracted, took on a shape more close to a shadow of a figure caught just before they immolated in flame.

    There was a resounding presence and a roaring vibration in the air but Jewel heard no words.

    Her husband put a hand on Jewel¡¯s shoulder.

    Paul¡¯s voice confused and somehow troubled.

    ¡°She is my wife! we have called you to receive our vows of marriage and exchange a promise together as one for your boon.¡±

    Jewel felt the air roar, she saw that everyone around her was reacting to it, wonder, confusion, stares of horror or fear at Jewel.

    They heard something she could not.

    All of them did.

    Paul stared as the figure again shifted in the column of flame.

    Became more solid, more whole.

    And yet still barely there.

    Like ash about to be scattered away in the form of a woman with billowing hair.

    An effigy caught on the brink of destruction.

    The only voice that spoke was her Husband. And it was filled with confusion and a hint of wonder. He looked at Jewel as he never had before.

    As if he was seeing her for the first time.

    He answered a voice she could not hear.

    ¡°What do you mean? Yes of course she is my wife, Jewel, the Shining Wyrm of Viznove!¡±

    The rumble returned again and Jewel could almost say it sounded like a voice.

    But not in any speech she knew.

    Then the vague almost figure in the fire that was so bright it should have burned her husband¡¯s eyes but seemed to not touch him anywhere near so harshly nodded.

    Another gentle tremor in the air and a gesture vaguely in Jewel¡¯s direction.

    Paul, her husband, followed the gesture to Jewel his wife and asked with concern and uncertainty.

    ¡°Jewel, do you not hear the lady of dawn¡¯s voice? She is saying...¡±

    Another wordless rumble cuts him off.

    ¡°She is admonishing me for not receiving your permission before calling for her interference.¡±

    Jewel could feel every eye upon her.

    This was not how a wedding was supposed to go.

    Gods might be called or intrude themselves into weddings for the sake of the final vows, but they unless overruled by another of the star born never deferred to anyone!

    The wordless rumble of the apparently divine voice filled the air again.

    The figure in the fire staring not quite in Jewel¡¯s direction.

    Her husband, just married and looking like he was using every fiber of his valor to stay standing under such an unexpected pile of divine nonsense, spoke even more softly.

    ¡°She is offering me the boon of her protection from all blade, blow or arms wielded by man. For no vow from me. B-but a-as¡±

    He stammered and Jewel was finding she desperately wanted this part of their wedding to be over so they could sequester themselves together and mutually scream at the insanity that was their shared fortune.

    ¡°As a gift for you. So none might take what is yours before it''s- That is my time. B-but o-only if you will allow it?!¡±

    Jewel was stunned, blessings from the stars were not perfect. Even those given with a price were extremely specific and many old tales were full of seeming guarantees of immortality that had been undone by oversight from their benefactors.

    But still such a boon would assure her husband from a great deal of danger.

    How could Jewel possibly deny such a gift?

    If for no other reason then how it would protect him.

    Jewel nodded to Paul.

    Stepping back from where she had interposed herself.

    She held tight to every muscle when the vague premonition of a woman reached out from the fire.

    With fingers like pitch black ash.

    Hair as much made of silver fire as black char ringlets.

    Eyes that were stars.

    And then she could feel the working coming together around Paul.

    More gently than the lash of flame had been.

    It was not called as fauxfire like the mortal magic she had seen many times before.

    It was not spoken in the silent words of wizardry.

    It arrived as an all encompassing presence that cut through the air near Jewel like a knife.

    It left her flame feeling blown to guttering embers by a sudden wind.

    She felt like her inner light had nearly been snuffed out as the divine working was called forth.

    And yet in its passing her fire blazed suddenly so high she could only barely keep it from escaping her mouth.

    As if something within her rallied at the challenge of this change upon the world.

    And then just as suddenly was softly settled.

    The figure in the flame that was apparently Zorya and a goddess again looked over where Jewel vaguely was.

    It¡¯s gaze passing over her as if she wasn''t there.

    And then in a searing flash the entire column leapt back into the sky.

    And the suddenly oppressive darkness of the fully lit courtyard fell back upon them.

    Everyone was yet struck dumb by what had occurred.

    But Jewel knew better than to hope that would last.

    She used every lesson of propriety and grace to fill her voice with authoritative but gentle tones.

    She spoke clear and well, pulling on some of the timbres she had heard in Bethica¡¯s own yowling moo.

    Deepening while not losing her feminine quality.

    ¡°And so I and Paul N¨¢dasdy are married by witness and law of heavens and earth! And we shall now retire to consummate our union.¡±

    Jewel creeped close to her husband.

    ¡°Good Night!¡±

    And then as gently as she could Jewel grabbed her husband up in her foreclaws and dashed to the appointed bed room before anyone could think to start asking questions.

    She moved with her wing thumbs to pull her along and her near entire mid body hunched up like some kind of loping wolf to hold Paul up from brushing the rapidly moving flagstones.

    It was a bit rude to do so without asking him.

    But Jewel was sure she and her husband had dealt with quite too much for one day.

    She could suffer some indignity of scuttling off in half burnt finery like a thieving rat with her man if it avoided any more of this divine absurdity.

    Having a god acknowledge her like that was far too much, but it was not the worst thing.

    Jewel shuddered for what she was truly escaping.

    She fled from the specter of politics.

 5.8

    5.8

    It was only after the two of them were closed off in the bedroom that had been set aside for Jewel¡¯s wedding she remembered what the next step was supposed to be.

    And promptly put her now husband back down on slightly unsteady feet.

    Her wedding finery was ruined, what of it had not been blasted away by divine magic was further lost in her haste to escape before the full ramifications could settle in the guests or her host.

    She was essentially as naked as usual, but given the situation that felt a lot less acceptable then it normally did.

    Paul was not providing any distraction to this mortification. He was barely doing anything besides swaying a bit on his feet, and Jewel herself did not even know what to say in regards to what had just transpired.

    She distracted herself with the bedroom.

    There was honestly by some counts very little bed to be said to exist in the space she had dragged her now legally and divinely acknowledged husband to.

    As was Jewel¡¯s preference in comfort almost the entire floor was filled with cushions, soft rugs, pillows, blankets and thick folded cloth.

    In other regard the phrase was also incredibly apt, it was not a room which contained a bed. It was a room which had been made into a bed in its entirety.

    Finally Paul seemed to find some words to say.

    ¡°Well, that was certainly a thing.¡±

    Jewel could not help but laugh and shake her head. Once again she was glad that Paul was her husband and not someone like the many men she had met among the guests.

    She shook herself off and more of the draped cloth which probably cost some poor throng of women months of labor to weave fell in its tatters to the floor.

    Every scrap that had been even slightly close to Jewel¡¯s front was singed black.

    ¡°That is certainly a word for it. A meeting to be remembered in song for sure.¡±

    Paul took a heavy breath then looked around.

    ¡°The wedding of a dragon, where a goddess was called and instead of taking a vow in bargain bestowed a boon of protection upon the new husband like a supplicant to her lord.¡±

    Jewel let out a great anguished groan of a sigh which seemed to catch paul by surprise.

    But he did not flee from her, just jolted a bit in place.

    ¡°My husband I must apologize but I fear this is hardly the end of the trials and troubles I have brought you with my marriage.¡±

    He laughed, in a short bark of humor that yet still showed his frayed nerves.

    ¡°My Wife, Jewel. It is our marriage now. And I can¡¯t say I have not feared what you might be before meeting you. But as your husband I must be honest.¡±

    Jewel froze, this was the moment she had feared. A man could hide and pretend to be much and this was when Paul would abandon the mask and show how he really thought of her.

    A beast.

    A great wyrm.

    ¡°You are absolutely and ridiculously too nice of a girl for your station or presence. It is the greatest jest of the stars that you happen to be a dragon as well.¡±

    Which caught her off guard. He was sincere, he seemed to think well of her in fact. He despite his initial fear at the ceremony was now again brash and joyous as before.

    ¡°w-What? Why Don¡¯t you hate me?!¡±

    He struck her then.  Punched with a solid and firm fist right in her throat.

    It was of course hardly something that even phased her.

    His strength might be fine for a man of his years and size but even with all his strength he could not have harmed her.

    ¡°You are a fool to think I should! Why should I hate you? You are kind, you have good sense, you stood between me and the act of a goddess.¡±

    Jewel was not sure why but her voice was getting less and less controlled.

    ¡°But I¡¯m a martial lady, I can lay waste to armies, I¡¯ve slain a Weird, I¡¯m improper in everything there is about me! I don¡¯t fancy you like I should! you¡¯ve had to marry me! I¡¯m a dragon! Everyone out there is expecting you to lay with me and I know I am abhorrent to behold and look like a beast!¡±

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    She did not know why she had ended up saying so much, she did not know that she even thought that. But the words were undeniable, Jewel heard them everywhere, she could smell it on the people around her.

    She had spoken with relief to Bethica on it. The first being she could speak too who had to struggle with a pressure she had never realized she pushed against all her life.

    But Jewel had not dwelled on any of it after.

    She had seen it and then refused to look again. Told herself marriage would make everything fine and proper.

    That she would be a wife and do all her duties and her husband would do his but here they both were and Jewel had lost her last hope she could feel anything like what a wife should for her husband.

    But Jewel could smell it on him, he did not want her.

    Not like the Countess¡¯ men wanted the thief she had rescued.

    Not like the soldiers wanted the women (and sometimes men) in the tents.

    Not like the peasants wanted one another or even the beasts in the fields or forests wanted each other.

    Not like her parents obviously could desire one another.

    She¡¯d fled here for solace and peace and completely forgotten what this room was for.

    What she had just said in parting to their guests.

    Her husband did not desire her no matter how well they might get along.

    And in this Jewel was a failure as a lady and a woman.

    Like she was in so many other ways.

    Her husband who did not want her settled down into the cushions Jewel had not even realized she had collapsed into.

    Leaning back into her scales with his miniscule weight and simply laid his arm on her back, running fingers through the hair over her spine.

    Jewel found breathing that she had not realized was at a rapid pace slowing.

    She felt her heart beat slow.

    The awareness of her own tears running down her cheeks and wetting the cushions far below coming to her.

    He spoke softly after a time.

    ¡°It¡¯s true you can hear my heart beat? Smell the desire in my blood? Sense the truth in my voice?¡±

    Jewel nodded and sniffled, but it came loud and haunting. The sniff echoed in her snout and billowed air too far.

    ¡°Good, then you know I¡¯m speaking the truth now?¡±

    Jewel could only nod again, she did not trust herself to keep her voice from shaking the doorframe.

    ¡°Then you know I mean it when I say I do not care whether we lay together tonight. You¡¯ve more than proven to me every oath we made today. And you acted in more ways than any vow to a god could.¡±

    Jewel finally found the composure to speak quietly, tenderly, as softly as she could. Embodying in voice all she couldn''t in form.

    ¡°But you don¡¯t want me at all. And I don¡¯t desire you either. It¡¯s a sham of a marriage.¡±

    Paul shrugged hard and just kept stroking the hair of her mane he could reach.

    ¡°So what? I like you more than my mother and father ever cared for each other. And they had twelve kids.¡±

    Jewel blinked at that.

    ¡°Twelve?!¡±

    Her husband laughed again at her confusion.

    ¡°Only eight survived, but that¡¯s not including the one or two bastards I hear mother had before she married.¡±

    Jewel stared at nothing in particular considering it.

    ¡°So many...¡±

    To which Paul sighed and patted her rib cage hard enough the sound thumped in her lungs.

    ¡°Your family is extremely small by any standard Jewel.¡±

    Jewel could not deny that.

    ¡°Besides I¡¯d not be the first lord to take some time with brothels or courtesans. It¡¯s not like you need to deprive me of those pleasures.¡±

    Jewel, his wife stared at him, aghast and horrified by the suggestion.

    ¡°Absolutely not.¡±

    For the first time Paul looked upset, he was shifting to get up to his feet so he could be a little closer to her eye level.

    ¡°Now see here Jewel! A man has needs and why would you mind? Neither of us fancies the other.¡±

    He was still struggling to try and escape the position he had sunk into against her side. But Jewel could not stand for this. A marriage without him fathering offspring was one thing but infidelity was quite another.

    ¡°My husband, you shall not lie with any woman, who is not your wife-¡±

    He made a strangled noise of protest but jewel simply covered him with her wing to smother the words.

    ¡°Or an officially acknowledged and sworn concubine bound to our union.¡±

    Which for some reason melted all resistance or struggle to reach his feet that Paul had strived for.

    His voice was muffled by her wing membrane.

    ¡°Oh... that would be acceptable to you?!¡±

    Jewel lifted her wing back and turned her head around to stare at her husband in confusion.

    ¡°Well of course it would be. It¡¯s the proper way to do it.¡±

    Paul for some reason found that so funny he laughed until the weight of the day seemed to settle on him abruptly and then he was fast asleep snoring and slumped against her side.

    Jewel for her part shifted her coils around to better support her husband¡¯s neck and back. Then after watching him for a time rested her jaw across his lap.

    Soon she was joining him in slumber.

 5.9

    5.9

    As they walked along the last leg of their journey to Rochford proper Jewel mused.

    Departing for home after the wedding had not been as different as she thought it would be.

    The festivities and celebrations for the rest of the city of Kaeketeh had gone on for what she suspected was an obligatory ten days after the event itself. But most of the more esteemed guests were departing shortly after the highly unusual ¡®vow¡¯ had been made.

    It was a relief to some extent that there were fewer people to gawk, scrape, bow or scheme at Jewel and her husband so quickly.

    But fewer was not none.

    She turned to her husband, riding a white charger who was honestly not well suited to such long road travel. A hackney like Smithson¡¯s Oxhoof would have been better on the road. The poor stallion¡¯s stamina was strained every evening.

    But it was the horse he had to his name and one he¡¯d ridden often and bonded close too.

    So Jewel did not make much of it. Trying to act more like Father than her mother.

    Paul for his part had worked hard to interpose himself and take the brunt of the questions and attention in Kaeketeh.

    Which had been welcome, but Jewel soon felt so guilty that she tried to take at least some of the burden herself.

    Or so she had intended.

    The first evening of commoner festivities he had asked that she stay back to loom and intimidate silently unless he signaled her for assistance.

    Which was something that was easy to slip into.

    She had played a similar courtly game with her father.

    But it still felt like a failure. It was not how Mother supported her husband.

    But Paul had made a point then that Jewel could not deny.

    Between the two of them it was Jewel who could best any and every comer in martial prowess.

    Of the pair of them as Husband and Wife it was Paul, though a martial trained man that he might be, who could speak the softest, move the least intrusively and despite the promise of his divine boon act in a way that would be underestimated or overlooked by others.

    In their evenings together Jewel found her husband had a very keen if distressing view on his position in their marriage. A lady Jewel undeniably was, but in the matter of her prowess and possession of prominence in court and on the battlefield it was the role of a Man that best suited her in their marriage.

    She¡¯d been very upset with him after that but he¡¯d stared her down and said something that chilled her wroth dead.

    ¡°Of the two of us that might strike the other with the fullness of our strength in anger, who would be the most dishonored for it?¡±

    And Jewel could not deny in such a case it would be her.

    But still it hurt her and brought a terrible roiling to her flame that the awful words from Thurz¨®¡¯s daughters could have even that shred of truth to them.

    That there were in fact some ways that Jewel was less a woman.

    Paul however did not care about the shame and she could not deny his sense in it.

    So Jewel left the courtly work of a wife to her husband.

    It was not entirely the same of course, there were no spinning circles for men to gossip among themselves. But Jewel had noticed that among the men in court at least there were even stranger diversions.

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    They played games of cards or did training or found odd contests of recital trying to match wits. It all seemed especially frivolous activities to engage in compared to the many layered productivity of the way of women.

    But Jewel had only seen a few of the ladies in Kaeketeh even pretend to actually work at anything but embroidering into cloth woven by other¡¯s hands.

    So perhaps city lords and ladies simply worked less in general?

    Still all of that was at least for the moment behind them.

    It was a strange but also a familiar pair they made in the dwindling crowd of the lords and ladies as the last days of the festival closed.

    And now over familiar roads here she had been traveling as a married lady and it felt hardly different at all compared to traveling as a merely betrothed one.

    Her husband and his household swelled their caravan.

    Yet not as much as the High King or Thurz¨®¡¯s party had.

    When they made camp or sought lodging Jewel and Paul now had a room to themselves with the understanding they would take early evenings together each night. But given Jewel¡¯s size she often had a room to herself by sheer necessity.

    When they finally stayed at Ho?anka¡¯s there had been many well wishes and compliments. But really only as much fuss over Paul as had been brought to bear for Alexander. The Masondottir¡¯s words were barely much more than the same compliments on ¡®what a handsome catch¡¯.

    Jewel had noted it cost more coin to find lodgings, but the Countess had settled them with quite the dowry after all was done.

    Which rendered even the greater expense for their party barely noticeable.

    As Jewel skipped smoothly and elegantly along the well trod and familiar earthen road she could still only conclude one thing.

    On the balance besides having time to talk and discuss matters with her husband each night on what was to come Jewel found married life little different from how she lived before it.

    A new man was now a part of her life certainly, close and a trusted confidant perhaps?

    But otherwise it was little different from when she finally started properly taking care of her Squire Smithson.

    Speaking of, there had been a very brief and baffling tension between the two men when they first properly met.

    Wholly on the side of her Squire as well!

    For whatever reason the young man who now rode with Gem settled a little unsteadily astride the saddle in front of him had taken Jewel¡¯s husband as an opportunity to prove his valor and loyalty to some excess.

    It only took the very morning after she was married for him to march up to Pual and swear on his star sign goddess the wet lady that if Paul should hurt Jewel (as if he could?!) that the once stable boy and some day knight would slay the man no matter the cost to him.

    The vow had shook in the faux flame around the two men and Jewel was fairly certain that if it ever (somehow) came to those circumstances that both of them would have ended up bringing their mutual divine patrons into a row with one another over it.

    Which made it all the funnier when Paul¡¯s immediate response was to match the vow with his own on Vorya the Lady of Dawn that he would renounce her blessing and protection if he ever did deed which would draw Smithson¡¯s wrath sufficient he had to defend Jewel¡¯s honor.

    And that had also rippled in the faux flame, although Jewel was now certain that neither man could feel it. After a brief glare they had then matched one another in first the clasped forearms of brothers in arms, and then the full embrace of sworn allies or close family.

    It had struck Jewel so absolutely in shock for there to be such a rapid turn in respect for one another she had been unable to prevent the smaller body of ¡®Gem¡¯ from squealing in delighted laughter at her Squire¡¯s side.

    Which had then turned into Smithson and Paul mutually fussing and crooning over her smaller self. Her husband after that further swore an oath to protect and raise ¡®Gem¡¯ as his daughter in truth.

    All around that was uncomfortable and confusing in precisely how it made Jewel feel across both her bodies.

    Still even that excitement had settled out and rapidly there was just a comfortable routine.

    Looking at Smithson now on steady and reliable Oxhoof you¡¯d not even think He and Paul were anything but the very truest of friends and sword brothers.

    It was good she thought but also left her in disquiet and feeling more the fraud.

    Wasin¡¯t marriage supposed to change your life entirely?

    Jewel felt hardly any different.

    Annoyed to find something else inexplicable that was undeniably tied to her status as a dragon.

    But on the balance she was in fact much the same.

    Jewel had felt more changed from going to war than being married.

    And that just did not seem right.

 5.i

    5.i

    Today I am rested but still aching from climbing a mountain worth of stairs. But at least I am well enough to be able to put down to parchment what was spoken of in the presence of the God Serpent Seer of the Mountain Shialtza and his environs.

    Beyond the torture that was the steep stepped climb the structure of the monastery itself was from without nearly a fortress.

    As much cut from the mountain as built by stone laid upon stone.

    We entered however after our ascent into a flattened garden, past a passageway which held no barrier of wood or metal.

    The idyllic peace of it after the arduous trek up the stairway came as a bit of a shock.

    As did the warmth which nestled within behind sheltered walls.

    The lack of guards at first confused me then but reflecting a day after I have come to understand.

    If any force of arms had sought to invade that monastery I am now certain the climb alone would sap any vigor for the fight they might have held.

    This walled refuge on a mountain peak was much like a broad arcade with tall walls set more to guard against wind than any conceivable assault and many doors and passages into smaller structures or chambers, with gardens flourishing and tended by the strange robed figures which moved smoothly all around us.

    Of note was the quieting of the wind and the silence of all figures present.

    Through this outer section we were taken deeper by direct road.

    The inner circle of the structure was beyond another wall and stilled the air even further.

    Furthermore I saw that none of the robed attendants around us spoke or even seemed to breathe as I could hear, nor signal in any way though they moved and acted in concert.

    I saw not the faces of anyone but me and my father anywhere on those grounds. But the tending of the lands and plants was well done and with the care of tender masters in their art.

    Beyond vegetable gardens many small trees were being trimmed back into fantastic and elegant shapes set in pleasing positions among the many paths and smaller buildings.

    It was a soothing place even while we were led along the path and up more star blighted stairs.

    After ascending to the next level of the monastery, father and I began to apprehend what had summoned us.

    For even though we were at least forty feet distant on a straight cut path from the building which surrounded it we saw the God Serpent.

    White coils looped and shifted in evidence above the walls of the central structure and wings which shined with purest silver feathers spread into the heavens to extents I could not properly judge.

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    The chill of the sky vault was so close in the monastery at this level it was only by the grace of it being midday and the walls that sheltered us that we were not chilled to the bone.

    This closeness of the vault grew even greater when we passed elegant arches within the courtyard itself, where if I am not a fool I believe the structures and roofing of the stonework itself was holding the weight of the vaulted heavens!

    It is to this closeness to the eternal and infinite sky that I attribute the impossibility of describing the full extent of the God Serpent.

    Shialtza, Seer of the Mountain.

    Filled that courtyard with coils and pressed the sunlit sky itself out and upwards with the billowing of his wings.

    His face was somewhat like that of a horse, or perhaps the faces of the spiral horned southern stags.

    The eyes were black and upon his head was a turbulent mane of white which moved even in the dead still air of that place.

    A swept back line of this mane traveled down the back of the neck and along every visible coil of shining white scales.

    When he spoke it was as thunder and I admit that I missed the first words of greeting, though almost certainly clear and knowable they were.

    He spoke in a very refined form of Kolkor.

    And here I could tell even my father with his talent for tongues struggled. The words were strange and sharp from those either of us knew and what ones I could also follow were archaic and bizarre in their placing.

    But as the conversation passed there was a simpleing of words that the God Serpent took upon himself to be better understood.

    After we could do more than simply gawk at his magnificence the matters turned to familiar business of my father¡¯s trade.

    The serpent¡¯s interests were predominantly tales of our homeland, what roads we had traveled and the state of the world beyond his valley.

    Much of which I have already written here in my logs and I admit drifted from my attention while I beheld him.

    The Courtyard which the god serpent hosted us in was by my eye¡¯s measured at least thirty feet to a side, but the far end of it was obscured behind the pearl-white scales of the Seer.

    And by roughest measure I would say he had to be at least a hundred and fifty feet in length if ever he had unspooled entirely.

    However in all the time he spoke to father of our home and places we had been and ways we had passed to get there I never saw the serpent shift much from the reposed sprawl he was in at our arrival.

    After the interrogation of our journeys was done the God Serpent offered to trade any goods or trinkets that interested him for what wealth he could offer.

    To which Father admitted that we had not brought the full stores of our treasures to the monastery as such a climb under burden would be terribly arduous on mere mortal backs.

    And that brought another surprise!

    In what I could surmise from the Seer¡¯s Kolkor and also the expressive if beastly face there was an understanding and even some contrition for that.

    A thing I honestly did not expect to find in such a divine beast which brushed the very sky itself and remained unharmed.

    However it promised to send an emissary down to our place of rest in the following days to negotiate trade and overlook our goods.

    Such business to which Father is in fact now calling me to attend as it is catching well into the morning and sight has been made of the emissaries descending that accursed stairway!

    -Excerpt from the travel log Pythra of Veracules

 5.ii

    5.ii

    On the far west and southern lands at the edges of the empire you can find a wide canyon that allows passage through from the great sea¡¯s lands and its blessed sky vault into the hostile wastes beyond.

    On return one can take the seaway which flows rough in a torrential speed but still evenly enough for small craft and canny ship masters and drains from the dread sea which fills the northern half of these realms and by it reach the great sea of the sun realms of cantor.

    The whole of these distant lands is so named for its place between what once were two rivers, in antiquity before their flows were bent into one another at the fall of the Heaven¡¯s Gate.

    The Vault of the Twin Rivers.

    They are named The Great River and the Fast River. Even though the lesser of the two is since lost.

    These lands formerly belonged to the old and gone Assyrian Lords, and are now covered with nothing but villages besides the teeming and sole city from which the Heaven¡¯s Gate fell that still bears its name.

    Upon your first arrival into these lands the broken spire of the Gate is the most distinct feature for the eye. It can be clearly seen even at the furthest edges of the vault, although its base is nearly as distant from the viewer as all the sun lands of cantor at their furthest extent. Despite this distance the eyes do not need to be keen to spot the broken and jagged edifice which yet stands tall despite its crumpled and ruined state.

    In the approach along the greater of the rivers one will find the scar of the gate¡¯s toppling  coming into view. Scattered all across in its wreckage, in such number and scale is this toppled work of man that they appear as foothills and mountains themselves notable from acts of nature or divine only in their exacting line.

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    The local tales tell that this great felling was four thousand years past and occurred across this venerable realm to the very foothills of its mountains and even further to have left scars where the peak of the tower smote the southeastern firmament of the sky vault.

    Among these remains of lost greatness dwell the people of the twin rivers.

    Third most populous are the Assyrians, who once ruled all the realm and are so named for their god, Ashur. This divine has ever been guiding and intent upon those who dwell here. Although the Assyrians once ruled all the lands between the rivers they are now mostly found within the foundations of the broken Heaven¡¯s Gate.

    Their tales claim to be the descendants of the gate builders but so too do all the people of the two rivers claim this as well and the gods are silent on which is right.

    The Orei are by far the second most populous people of the land of two rivers, whose ways are among nearly all the scattered villages. Their farms bring bounties in dates, lettuce, lentil, onion, barley and beans but are otherwise humble folk with little offered for trade.

    And most numerous of all are the dogmen who are so known as the Gutti, having settled along the shores of the great lake which now pools against the ruins of the fall hills as well as tending herds and livestock in the mountains at the edge of this accursed realm¡¯s sky vault.

    Those that farm are as the Orei in their trade and often live amongst them and will claim them as their kin and people.

    Their mountain dwelling brothers are the ones who claim all dogmen as Gutti (even those disgraced to work and till land among the Orei), and will mostly sell leather, strange fermented milk liquor, cheese and slaves.

    - Excerpt from Orion¡¯s Historica naturalis Cantora

 6.1

    6.1

    Winter had come to Valasect, and it would be Jewel¡¯s first celebration as lady of the village through the darkest night of the year.

    ¡°Really? Your family was so involved in the matter? You attended and participated every year?¡±

    Jewel was finding that for all the admirable qualities of character her husband had, he was bereft in experiences that she was coming to learn were what marked her family as so called provincial lords and ladies.

    As far as she was concerned those that sneered as if the term made them dirty were the ones deeply deficient in vital skill and experience.

    Which was why Paul was having these failings corrected now that they had settled home.

    He was put to work immediately in helping Jewel organize the manor¡¯s staff. Not quite taking up a role as a wife in the household, Jewel after all insisted upon her due time spent with the women of Valasect in spinning, sewing and weaving.

    But he was taking on responsibilities a bit closer to Jorge¡¯s duties that had not involved Jewel¡¯s baths.

    When there was time he saw to the disposition of the staff, hired or called up the service of villagers to stay in the quarters of Jewel¡¯s house to aid Dariusz and Eryka. Paul even put some work in assisting Muriel with organizing the arming and training for Jewel¡¯s slowly growing number of footmen.

    He also was often trading off with Smithson in seeing to ¡®Gem¡¯ so that her Squire could fulfill his official title of master knight of the horse.

    But while his help in all of this was appreciated, the real labor of her husband was in the sending of birds and arranging their exchange with seemingly every corner of the realm.

    Rochford had a small dove house setup in one of its remaining towers.

    Valasect and Jewel¡¯s manor were making do with a small wood shed for their birds, But she was sure that if her Husband¡¯s collection of doves continued to grow at this pace she would have to commision an entire tower half again as tall as her Father¡¯s to house them all!

    The delay it would bring to prospecting for a natural mountain spring or other water source to run into her bathing chamber was upsetting but he insisted proper correspondence with all the upcoming personages of Viznove and the realm were vital if Jewel¡¯s eventual inheritance was not going to spark a war among the lords requiring intervention from the High King.

    So acting as (and someday acquiring) the dovemaster of Valasect was for at least a few years going to be Paul¡¯s primary labor.

    When Jewel saw the expense for a breeding pair of good heritage messenger birds she appreciated a bit more why the recommended punishment for children that harmed them during the harrow was so severe.

    Their dowry had been impressive but a distressing amount of it was constantly draining away to further develop the manor as not just a home but as Paul said it ¡°an administrative hub fit for the heir of Viznove¡±.

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    But those many labors were not the ones imminently ahead for Jewel or her man this season.

    Today they had an audience with Adorj¨¢n and Jewel was going to have settled once and for all what role was required of the lady and lord of Valasect to see through the greatest depths of winter.

    Her husband however was less enthused by it.

    ¡°We have snow hunts either or both of us could be attending, Invitations made for feasts in our own hall to foster goodwill. A half dozen other moves and acts made over winter to better secure our position among the lords. Attending a ceremony over winter for peasants is a waste of ti-¡±

    Jewel had practiced the tone she cut him off with. It had a hint of bethica, much of her own Mother and just a dash of the Countess¡¯ sharpness.

    ¡°Husband, It is the responsibility and obligation of any lord or lady of Rochford to join with their charges in defense of their lives and land. Whether that be by beast, invasion or divinity. We will be doing whatever is called for to aid in the fight against the bite of winter¡¯s cold here in Valasect.¡±

    And that was the end of it.

    He had a pained look for her as they waited for the headman¡¯s arrival.

    But Jewel was only doing what he himself had identified. It was Jewel¡¯s role to be the strength of Valasect, someday it would be her role to be the strength of Viznove.

    A lady she might be, but she was a Martial one. Something those awful girls had tried to make a lodestone on her neck. However Jewel would shape those words made in spite and turn them around on all that cursed at her with them. Just as she would bend the near spat term of provincial into something honorable.

    If she had her say in it Jewel would raise herself and her care of her people up to and shame every lord that merely pretended at defense for those under their protection.

    She would be better than Bathory.

    And just in time Adorj¨¢n was announced by one of the boys that was reasonable enough with his letters. Unlike Rochford it would be a long time until Jewel had an overabundance of criers.

    And then her headman was before them.

    Jewel lounging on the still fresh and raw stones of her feasting hall.

    Curled amiably around the mostly normal wood of her Husband¡¯s chair.

    It was a pretty thing and Paul swore at its comfort but the wood was so soft Jewel had to be careful not to touch it roughly.

    Finally the necessary formalities were done and Jewel and Paul could get to the business of the solstice.

    ¡°Adorj¨¢n, Have you found what role I and my husband should take this winter for the longest night? I¡¯d like to make sure the arrangements are settled well ahead of time.¡±

    Her Headman, old and somewhat crooked by age he might be, met Jewel¡¯s eyes as she had long insisted he should.

    ¡°I must pardon you Lady Jewel and Lord Paul. But All things said plain and honestly?¡±

    Jewel nodded again, she had stressed he should always speak plainly to her when in private. And had reiterated such that her husband was to be taken as a confidant of hers as well.

    ¡°It would be best for neither of you to be involved at all.¡±

    Jewel stared at her head man.

    Surely she had heard him wrong?

    ¡°Excuse me?!¡±

    Jewel¡¯s voice was shriller than she meant it to be.

 6.2

    6.2

    Jewel coddled her smaller self in her coils and pumped the vigor of her wyrm flame deep into their little core of a heart to let it seep in waves back out into the rest of her diminutive extremities. There was a feel to it both the same and different from how she felt it welling up and flowing through the length of her larger self.

    When Jewel flew or spewed her fire in one of the many manners she had learned there was a directionality to it.

    But otherwise wyrmflame came from within equally and all along her body.

    From tail to snout and even along the bones of her wing fingers.

    Its presence could be smothered, slowed, or drained temporarily.

    But it always came from her all at once.

    Inside the body of ¡®Gem¡¯ that was a very different matter.

    Jewel could push it into her smaller self any particular place she wished.

    It was most comforting to press it deep into her little chest and fill her heart, but an arm, a finger, a single claw or scale could all be the place she pushed the flame.

    And then like a cloth wicking away spilled wine the flame was pulled into the rest of her spawn¡¯s body with an undeniable tension.

    Seeking to fill her with an equal saturation.

    And from there leak out into the world.

    Since before she hatched Jewel had been filling her smaller self to bring peace and comfort.

    At first to drive off the terrifying sensation of emptiness that a life without her flame brought.

    But now she did it solely for the calm it helped bring to both her hearts.

    And right now she needs that.

    Valasect did not want her involved in their winter ritual.

    ¡°Neither your husband nor you or the gods which cling to you are of our land.¡±

    So had said her headman, plainly and with all the candor she had begged him to bring to her when they met in private council.

    ¡°The priest of our temple warns that it could bring insult to those that guard us in winter.¡±

    When Jewel had brought up how amiably she had been on with the Veles in his place as Old Man in Rochford, Andorjan had struck an even heavier blow then she thought possible.

    ¡°We don¡¯t waste the lives of our wisest playing host to the Veles himself each winter.¡±

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    She huddled around and against herself to try and bring some sense to it all.

    ¡°The priest does his duty properly and stands between the village and the star borne. We give him a gift of song, tall fires and a slain pig. But not a man¡¯s life in sacrifice.¡±

    Jewel had never thought about it before. That anyone could possibly do it any differently than her home had but then he¡¯d explained it plain and undeniably to her and her confused husband.

    ¡°If someone has trouble they need to speak to the Velles personally about, then just going to Rochford on the longest night is better than potentially losing years with a good grandfather.¡±

    Paul had been briefly amused, but when Jewel thanked Adorj¨¢n and then sequestered herself in her bedroom to hug at her smaller self until she stopped wanting to cry he grew quiet and gentle.

    His hand on her side was soft, moving in long strokes along her scales. His fingers lightly fluttered as they rose up and down her largest, newest scales. It made an almost rattling hum on her ribs if he let his hand pass swift enough.

    But right now it is slow.

    Letting each finger rise up and down those fresh hills of hide stronger than steel.

    Finally Jewel felt able to speak, although she was briefly confused between which throat she was supposed to use.

    ¡°Gh*rzztkhk¡±

    No, that was Gem¡¯s throat, too short and squat for words.

    It made her husband laugh and shift to coo and delight her smaller self with little silly finger flutters and pokes.

    That had been strange the first time it happened but Jewel would take anything to lift her mood from the tumult she had found herself in.

    When her smaller self had calmed enough for both of her, Jewel finally spoke.

    ¡°Paul? What should I do? It is my duty as their lady to give aid in this. But a good lady trusts her headman and his council in matters of common law.¡±

    Her husband smiled gently as he spoke.

    ¡°Why not attend in your parent¡¯s tradition? Like you said you are on good terms with the veles and Rochford hosts his presence for that night.¡±

    Jewel squeezed her smaller self a little more tightly.

    ¡°But Valasect is my demesne... I should be here with them for the darkest night. When we push back upon winter.¡±

    Paul shrugged.

    ¡°But this year you are not welcome, it is your right to demand a place with them. But Adorj¨¢n makes good sense! Valasect¡¯s people and their gods do not know you. To force our way when there is no need?¡±

    Jewel stilled, looking down at herself, small and fragile and yet still undeniably her.

    She turned the thought over in her head of all the ways that Bathory turned and twisted Jewel because of her right as Liege over Rochford.

    Of all the girls that Jewel had not been able to save and would not be able to save because that is how the Countess of Viznove enacted her right as lady over her city.

    Jewel thought of the stories told and carved in relief all through the valleys of the Ridgetail about the Tyrant Wyrm.

    Certainty filled her heart on what she had to do.

    ¡°This year and maybe next we will stay with my family for the longest night. But after we will make efforts to know and be known by my people and their gods. I am tired of being feared by those I¡¯m sworn to protect Paul.¡±

    Her husband nodded solemnly at that and then utterly shocked her by descending on their ¡®daughter¡¯ with a tickle attack that had both of her bodies cackling in joy.

 6.3

    6.3

    Alexander was unable to attend the winter ceremony of darkest night with the family. But more importantly he was unable to be in Rochford for Jewel¡¯s hatching day.

    Her family had made due as they always had but lacking her brother¡¯s presence had left the day feeling hollower every year he was kept in the Eyrie.

    Jewel had also needed to stay in a different room than her old one.

    Between her own length, the need to have space for ¡®Gem¡¯ and also space and room for her Husband and his belongings meant that Jewel now slept in a chamber that had once been set aside for spinning circles.

    In Winter it would have been a drafty cave but while she did not feel the touch of cold or heat sharply Jewel had found with her smaller self and later Paul that she could muster her flame to aid in retaining the heat of a body or hearth to the confines of the room.

    It was similar to the way she pulled water off of her during a bath to avoid mess. With some methods that had been mingled with the way she extended her wings in the manner of a Gryphon¡¯s wake when flying.

    Tsulogothulan had found it curious how temporary it was but so far neither of them knew precisely what Jewel might need to do to make the effect stick permanently.

    The Weird had in fact warned that if they ever succeeded it might turn such a room into an oven come the height of summer.

    Not wishing to cook her husband or ¡®Gem¡¯ Jewel had stopped trying to do more than help conserve a bit of warmth before they all bundled up for sleep each night.

    The Veles had been the same as he had that first year she talked to him. Friendly but distantly acknowledging of Jewel.

    He offered Paul a bit more consideration but his only advice to her husband was to treat Jewel well and that as long as he lived in her wake she would pull him with her currents.

    Her husband shared this with her in confidence, Jewel still strived to forget the words she so often heard pleading with the Veles. Even more so now that she realized that it was not her memory or inattention that made the faces unfamiliar.

    It should have been obvious before that there had always been strangers in the village to speak with the old man come the longest night.

    But Jewel had not paid it any mind.

    Another detail lost as she strived to ignore everything said out of propriety for anyone taking council with the god clothed in a man.

    The ritual was just as beautiful as ever and as had become her habit Jewel sang with it for every part now all through the night.

    Changed however was that her husband and smaller self also offered their voices.

    Although she could not do more than call and hone the pitch and volume with ¡®Gem¡¯¡¯s throat it still included her ¡®daughter¡¯ in a way that her sister Gwenn mostly did not participate.

    Paul took up his part and muddled through about as badly as gem when it came for the men¡¯s role. But he was buoyed by the voices of the men of Rochford and Jewel herself.

    She could forgive him being unfamiliar, for he had never attended the solstice ritual as a child (yet another neglect to lay in the mountain of Bathory¡¯s failure at motherhood).

    Paul had complained the next morning at how late a night they made of it, but she was pleased to see he shivered and trembled less in the winter air than he had before.

    It was only after her hatching day that Jewel realized something that was far more important.

    Jewel found that unlike the other years she had merely attended ¡®Gem¡¯ too seemed to feel less of the bite of winter cold than before the longest night.

    Not just for the day after but lingering many days past now.

    And when she sought in her sense as to why Jewel had to call the bog wizard to examine her smaller self as well.

    ¡°Do you see Tsulogothulan? I didn''t notice until I found she shivered less on our winter ride yesterday. And now? I can hardly not notice!¡±

    A portion of Jewel¡¯s own wyrmfire had somehow been spun and twisted by its transit from her smaller self¡¯s voice into the blaze of the solstice torch and then washed back over her. It now lingered in a tingling weave in her smallest self¡¯s skin, muscle and bone.

    Giving vigor and heat to her flesh greater than she had except when Jewel filled her smaller self full in wyrmflame.

    But this lingered long after Jewel herself was absent!

    For their part Tsulogothulan peered at ¡®Gem¡¯ who stood in her infant¡¯s smock with a steadiness Jewel could feel would only hold for so many hours.

    She was now in her third winter, but Gwenn was gaining on her in height, strength and build.

    ¡°There is a working here, It is much like what is called down every year from the winter gods here in Rochford. But this is no longer divine.¡±

    Jewel tilted her head. Smithson and Paul were sparring in the courtyard while she spoke with Tsulogothulan on ¡®wyrm matters¡¯.

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    She was not sure what to feel about how Paul had joined Smithson in treating her discussions with Tsulogothulan in much the same way as Alexander treated discussions of womanly troubles.

    ¡°It¡¯s no longer divine?¡±

    The weird gently guided ¡®Gem¡¯ to tilt back her head. Jewel of course trusted her friend implicitly and obliged, lifting her chin, exposing her pale scaled and far too short throat.

    The touch that was simply contact for Jewel¡¯s larger self felt cold and wet on the smaller neck.

    The faint sense of pressure was like an immovable presence, unbendable and undeniable.

    ¡°The Divine forces their shape into the world directly. They cut and change and leave what they mark transformed in their passing. Even when they are called on to bring momentary fire or thunder which lasts but a moment the path it takes is changed until the air can fill and restore itself.¡±

    The finger which felt like a faintly reed wrapped branch of cold bog tree dragged up a line in Gem¡¯s neck to the bone of her jaw. Following one thread Jewel could feel her flame clung and pulsed through.

    ¡°In flesh a freshly given divine gift leaves marks much like a wound. In time these can heal and if they are shallow enough they restore back entirely and the gift fades.¡±

    The finger moved up following the lines of wrought wyrm fire over one cheek and then brow before moving up the center of Gem¡¯s head.

    ¡°But like with a deep enough trench torn into the softest mire, So is it with some star sent workings these wounds never fully heal the same. Leaving instead scars in flesh or soil matters little for gods. Then the change takes with permanence.¡±

    Jewel tensed.

    ¡°Paul was bestowed a blessing against harm from armaments of men. Is he hurt? Did that goddess scar him?¡±

    The Weird turned to Jewel¡¯s larger face. Lifting the single eyed gaze from the smaller one.

    Although that implacable finger did not leave the center of her brow.

    It felt so wet and cold.

    ¡°Possibly, But that does not sound like something that would take hold in his flesh to work. More likely the goddess is now watching him and waiting to turn away those attacks she agreed too.¡±

    Jewel released the breath she did not realize she had been holding.

    ¡°Anyway, as I was saying this working might once have been divine in nature. But it is definitely not anymore. Honestly if I had not seen its shape on everyone in this village for the first two days after each solstice I¡¯d have thought you spun this one entirely yourself.¡±

    The Wyrm had heard this sort of thing before and sighed heavily with the familiar circumstance.

    ¡°So I performed another enchantment accidentally?¡±

    Tsulogothulan however shook their head and finally lifted the cold wet finger from Jewel¡¯s diminutive brow.

    ¡°Oh no, this is no enchantment, this is an active and constant working. You said that it is catching your Wyrmflame? Could you please feed some into your child now? Right here?¡±

    The surprise cold of the finger on Gem¡¯s arm right in the crook of the elbow made both of them flinch despite Jewel having watched it coming.

    But she obliged.

    Passing the flame into her smaller self, filling up just the place that Tsulogothulan had prodded and letting it diffuse as it normally did.

    But this time the threaded weave run through her spawn¡¯s body sopped up the Wyrmflame far faster than the rest of her smaller body¡¯s flesh, skin or bone did.

    It ran through her and tingled a bit, the sensation making an uncontainable giggle erupted from Gem¡¯s Mouth which only briefly drew Tsulogothulan¡¯s eye before the weird returned to studying the rest of the slight frame intently.

    Jewel could feel and see that the lone eye was tracking the current of the Wyrmflame.

    Although it hovered and weaved oddly in places that Jewel thought did not quite match.

    ¡°Hmmm, yes that renews and strengthens it, now if you could draw it back out?¡±

    Jewel stared at her friend.

    The look from both of her faces and the equally horrified and aghast expressions seemed to finally penetrate their weirdness.

    ¡°What? We need to know what happens when it runs out.¡±

    Jewel however could only think of the hungry thing that had come out of Bathory¡¯s Celler and the way it left even the air drained.

    She fixed her dear but sometimes insufferable friend with a hard look from two sets of eyes and stated flatly.

    ¡°No¡±

    She didn''t realize she had barked something crude but intonated the same way from ¡®Gem¡¯ until after the Weird was looking from one of them to the other.

    ¡°I see, Then I guess for the next eight days I¡¯ll be watching your spawn. I assume it is acceptable that you at least not keep feeding more of your ¡®flame¡¯ to her until then?¡±

    That made her insides tremble.

    The idea of feeling empty and deadened for so long was terrifying.

    But at the same time it was better than even the thought of taking the flame given her smaller self back.

    Still Jewel was not willing to promise that.

    ¡°We will see one day at a time.¡±

    Tsulogothulan for their part nodded, then looked down at ¡®Gem¡¯ who met them with a stare that seemed to not bring as much fierceness as the one Jewel could see on her longer snout.

    ¡°Well I suppose I shall be joining your squire in spawn keeping this child of yours for the interim.¡±

    Jewel nodded, and found the thought of that at least bringing some joy.

    Which naturally could not be contained and split Gem¡¯s face in a wide toothy grin with wide eyes almost flickering.

    Maybe there was a difference between Gem and Jewel after all?

    Somehow?

 6.4

    6.4

    Jewel¡¯s newly bound servant Adelyne had a problem.

    Well to be fair the girl who was scarcely a winter older then Jewel herself had many numerous problems. Potentially more than could be counted.

    Although Jewel made the attempt while mustering her patience.

    First of all Adelyne had almost incorrigibly sticky fingers of a sort that no one but Jewel, Muriel and Eryka could reliably spot before things went missing.

    If confronted about it the girl folded like wet river reeds and returned whatever had gone missing (when it wasn''t food she didn''t even need to take in the first place).

    Which brought up the second issue, Adelyne would always eat to the point of injuring herself.

    Jewel had watched her force down food even when she was bloated from overeating. If you put any food worth eating in front of her or even left it unattended near her it would go down the deceptively thin waif¡¯s gullet.

    And if her portions were not watched she would make herself sick.

    Thirdly she was slippery as an eel, if you tried to grab her Adelyne had a knack for getting loose and away whenever someone tried to hold her. Which meant even if you did spot and call her out for a theft immediately she could barely be constrained if she panicked and fled.

    The only reason she wasn''t an even worse menace was that the city waif had the endurance of a sickly lamb when it came to open field running and she had the footing on rough terrain of a blind ox after a bee sting.

    The less said of her woodscraft the better.

    Adelyne had already sprained an ankle trying to take flight across a field.

    Which lead to a fourth and most dire problem not just for Adelyne but Jewel as well.

    There was as far as Jewel had found not a single form of work the girl could be set too that was suited for more than children.

    She couldn¡¯t read much of anything worth calling words.

    She could not write either.

    She was a disaster at cleaning.

    A liability doing the wash of anything not durable enough for Jewel¡¯s own handling.

    And utterly hopeless at spinning, weaving or any other needlework much more than a patch job.

    Jewel mostly attended spinning circles to acclimate the women of Valasect to her and had no actual need for a bondwoman to do any such work but how could this girl have gotten to the age of womanhood and not know even how to spin thread?

    The Wyrm was spinning better than Adelyne when she was seven!

    And that was when Jewel was a clumsy oaf who tangled the thread in her scales and claws half the time! This supposed woman struggled with something as basic as carding!

    Jewel didn''t even know you could struggle with carding before she saw it!

    ¡°Adelyne... not so rough, you are throwing wool everywhere.¡±

    The young woman, who Jewel had almost certainly saved the life of and seemed to sincerely want to make up on the debt incurred with the wyrm hissed through her teeth and dropped the two combs she had been brutalizing the rough fleece with.

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    ¡°What¡¯s the point in all of this?!¡±

    The only thing that Jewel found admirable about Adelyne is that when she had noticed Jewel was not in the habit of eating or obliterating people for failures of manners she did not need to be pushed to speak her mind.

    Unfortunately the fifth item of her difficult behavior in Jewel¡¯s tally was Adelyne without the threat of mortal peril always spoke her mind!

    Adelyne was no longer allowed outside of the manor. She was also forbidden from interacting with any of the locals of Valasect without supervision when they visited.

    Apparently her Jewel¡¯s silence was going on too long for the city waif.

    ¡°Hey! Jule! What¡¯s the point?!¡±

    Some of the snarls of rough fleece were only just settling to the floor from Adelyne¡¯s attempt at work that Gwenna was nearly old enough to manage.

    Jewel fixed her bondwoman with a look she hoped conveyed how disappointed she was.

    But it did not have the intended effect.

    Adelyne just snorted at her.

    ¡°Well? I can see you thinking and rolling it around in that scaly head of yours. Out with it!¡±

    Jewel sighed heavily.Turning her attention away from the bobbing spindle.

    She¡¯d yearned to be able to do this so effortlessly it did not require attention and now she missed the excuse to not have to speak.

    ¡°You card to get any leftover sticks, grass, shit, dirt and burs out of the wool. Otherwise it makes the thread coarser, anything you weave with it scratchier and the fibers weaker.¡±

    And for some reason, this basic fact of life struck the woman like one of Urul the Written¡¯s deep revelations of sorcery. She was old enough to be well established in a profession already!

    ¡°Really?! Well fancy... is that why the clothes you can get on the cheap itch so much?¡±

    Jewel huffed and turned back to watch her thread working even if it was unnecessary. She could feel the thread and the spools well enough to work in the dark.

    ¡°That or the fleas.¡±

    Another snort.

    ¡°Nah, weren¡¯t the fleas. I know how you deal with those.¡±

    Jewel blinked at that, curious to hear. Her interest was apparently enough to prompt her bondaged.

    ¡°You roll any clothes that bite ya in an ash pit, Grind it well good. Then boil em in an old fish fry pan with water. If the water burns your skin after it''s gone cold then you know it got all the biters loose and you can rinse the nipping water out and wear it fine¡±

    Huh, She¡¯d have to talk to Tsulogothulan about this strange magic later. It might be useful if they ever had a curse of vermin later.

    ¡°Of course it''s rough and nasty on the clothes too. The little biters are spiteful and they gnash holes as they come loose in vengeance on ya.¡±

    Huh, well that made sense.

    ¡°But that¡¯s not what I was meaning. No see, some rich clothes are fine and soft. Other kinds are rough and scratchy. Even when they taste the same and have the same colors as the rich ones.¡±

    Jewel hummed and then nodded, that did sound like wool that was not carded well or otherwise not been cleaned properly before spinning and weaving.

    ¡°I think so then, that does sound like poor cardding.¡±

    Adelyne picked up the two combs again with a lump of fleece stuck on one.

    ¡°Well if that¡¯s the difference between one Grosz and Three I¡¯ll card this woggle to silver!¡±

    The Lanoline was already rinsed free last season from the shorn herds but there were never enough hands. Even with Jewel¡¯s own labor when she could spare it there was plenty of rough wool needing hands to work it.

    She winced though as she watched the (semi) former thief try to jerk the two combs through the still rough fleece with all the care of a child trying to swipe birds off the field.

    Catching it all in a snarled knot instead of managing to pass the teeth past one another such that burs and detritus could be free¡¯d.

    It was so pitiful to watch Jewel had to stop her own spinning to correct it.

    ¡°No, Adelyne, give it here I¡¯ll show you again.¡±

    If the woman was this hopelessly uneducated no wonder she turned to theft!

 6.5

    6.5

    Jewel no longer risked falling over as she walked.

    Her legs and back finally had the strength to hold her true. She was not yet confident enough to run as she saw some children her size do.

    She didn''t like how precarious she felt on just two legs at that speed even if she mostly was able to avoid losing her balance.

    Still the victory was there Jewel could walk and stand on her own and her arms now moved more or less then she wished them too.

    She could grasp and lift things with her hands, although not as well as she remembered doing with her larger wyrm self at this age.

    She was even managing a few of the simplest flight cants, although her lack of wings made her feel almost as badly muffled as her tiny throat.

    It was there that Jewel still strived the hardest.

    She could produce a wide range of sounds, Gurgle and cry, Yet speech and words yet eluded her.

    Things simply did not flex or open the way she had learned to do it.

    She could trill a bit and mostly hit all the right tones and pitches, but the control was absent to actually shape those much more.

    The rumbling growls in her throat could not be cut off to make any sharp stops besides sloppy clicks.

    ¡°Icha!¡±

    It didn''t sound anything like Smithson¡¯s name but it was the closest sound she could make and many attempts had settled into her Squire recognizing it was her word for him.

    ¡°Hmm? Yes little Gem? Do you need something?¡±

    When she had the clarity of hearing and knowing of her larger self Jewel disliked the way he pitched his voice like that.

    But when they were alone together it made it a lot easier to follow the words. No matter how much it seemed demeaning otherwise, She appreciated it for the kindness it was.

    There was so much noise to discern and focus on and lose even clearly spoken words in the muddle. Her tiny head felt like it was constantly being filled to overflowing some times for all the ways that sounds just seemed to catch in it like burs in sheep wool.

    Her vision and hearing had ceased blurring up over the last year, changing along with her limbs lengthening and muscles strengthening. But instead of relief the clarity turned into an endless pouring of details and confusion bombarding her every sense.

    Sounds.

    Sights.

    Scents.

    Tastes.

    Without her larger self all of them flowed over her and pulled at her attention in every single way.

    Without the stability of her wyrm body and memory she drifted constantly. Following motes of dust in a sunbeam too the sound of trickling water off the manor houses¡¯ roof in snowmelt.

    Amid all of that, words sounded muttered or mumbled even in what she knew were normal speaking tones. Against the catching hooks of everything around her without the infantilizing pitch shift in smithson¡¯s words his speech could be utterly lost.

    ¡°Gem? Focus girl... what did you want?¡±

    And that was the other reason Jewel loved her dear squire.

    He was strong, he caught her when she fell, he could see when she lost the pattern-

    ¡°Gem?¡±

    Jewel shook herself out and nodded hard, then gently reached up to grasp a few of her squire¡¯s fingers in her tiny hand.

    Her squire¡¯s attention and hand secure, she began walking, gently tugging him along.

    Her legs were longer but still short, her head barely was much higher then Smithson¡¯s mid thigh. The simple babe smock she wore billowed out around and over her swinging tail.

    She could just about get the cloth smock over her own head without assistance now, but her horns and the awkwardness of her shoulders still meant Smithson needed to assist her when she had to change.

    Which had been embarrassing the first time but honestly Jewel was mostly used to it now.

    Her squire walked with her, taking a few short steps for every four paces of Jewel¡¯s.

    They moved through the looming vast hallways her larger self required for basic comfort.

    As foggy as her mind still could be however Jewel knew the way in her own home.

    Most of the time.

    For his part Smithson did not try to fill the silence between them. He knew Jewel was frustrated with her awkward speech. She could tell he appreciated her using crude, improper words to draw attention and make requests but did not force her.

    Occasionally he had tried to help her speak words correctly but if simply watching and trying to imitate him as he spoke would have solved her speech difficulties she would have been reciting ballads by now.

    Probably.

    She could not in fact actually remember them as well as when her greater self was close.

    But she had been able to remember the song during the darkest night.

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    Not able to say the words but she sang the feeling of them.

    And that had been a wonderful discovery.

    Because it had given Jewel¡¯s smaller body something she desperately wanted.

    She could once again and for the first time hold her wyrmflame inside herself!

    The near full season it had taken for it to drain entirely out of her left Jewel pained and worried. Chilled in a way that only the absence of her flame could ever feel.

    And she thought she remembered it right from the time Tsulogothulan explained it while watching the flame slowly dissipate and fade.

    But the Weird was much harder to understand without her wyrmself.

    Not as bad as the absolute silence of the stones, air and world at large when Jewel¡¯s smaller body was alone.

    But the Wizard made even less sense than the mumbly resonant voices of the other adults.

    Adults.

    Jewel was an adult, and yet she was also a child.

    She didn''t even measure up to  Smithson¡¯s belt with the tips of her horns!

    She had to reach up to grasp his fingers!

    And only a few would actually fit in her palm.

    Jewel was so small and she was a child and it had been a long two and a half mostly bleary years for her to accept that.

    She couldn''t speak.

    She was only just getting enough confidence in the strength of her shoulders and the suppleness of her motions to make the crudest flight cant.

    Not enough to be understood clearly by anyone.

    Not yet.

    But her Squire was there with her.

    Smithson made it all better.

    Paul too, although he was much less confident around her.

    He put on a brave and assured face when both of her bodies were together, but he deferred entirely to Smithson in absence of Jewel¡¯s larger body.

    The one time he had tried holding her had been a very uncomfortable experience for both of them.

    He was so utterly unsure of himself she feared he would drop her.

    And where that would have been nothing when she was a Wyrm, Jewel the wyrm spawn child had already had a very painful experience with even slight falls.

    The sheer pain of a mere tumble had left her in a mortifying combination of inconsolable sobbing and screeching like a stuck pig.

    But Smithson was there with her, even when she was still too shaky to walk with assurance he would not let her fall.

    And he like the proper squire and friend he was helped her.

    He kept her fed, he made sure she stayed clean and was always patient.

    Cleanliness was a challenge beyond all the awful new sticky things she had to worry about. It required something not quite the same as either the care for a babe or a dragon.

    Her scales were far softer than her larger self¡¯s. But they were also by no means as tender as her sister Gwenna¡¯s skin.

    Even when not fortified by her true self¡¯s wyrm flame.

    They needed care to stay shining, to make sure the occasional peeling didn''t hurt her or look unseemly.

    That she didn''t get stuck too stiff to move.

    And Smithson was there with her to learn about these new challenges for her care and help with all of it.

    There was truly no one that gave greater service or comfort for Jewel when she had to be separate and small like this then her Squire.

    It made her feel warm and happy when he was close in a way almost as good as the safety of the flame coursing through her body.

    And course it did!

    Retained and held by Jewel now via a slight focus of attention. Not shaped as finely or specifically as how it had laid inside her after the longest night, but present all the same.

    Those weaving threads of living fire had broken when at last their vital heat had run dry inside her, without the divine working as a scaffold she could not find how to recreate it.

    But even without its heating structure Jewel could still hold the vital flame within.

    Keep it stored inside pulsing over almost two full days if needed.

    That had interested Tsulogothulan somehow?

    Jewel was not sure, it made sense to her larger self but did not quite come clear in her smaller head.

    Something true about it, but also different.

    Jewel was happy just to hold the comfort of her larger self close and sustained longer than the brief hour that she had before the darkest night.

    That it might one day lead to workings she could perform with it was of hardly any interest compared to the sheer relief she could feel in both her hearts to no longer have to suffer in the absence of wyrmflame.

    Finally they reached Jewel¡¯s study. Where her larger self was not, because today she would be visiting with Mother and Father.

    Paul was also not present, instead about in the village she thought? but that was no concern.

    Smithson had been given the right to enter these chambers. And it''s not like the footmen in Valasect were plentiful enough to waste time barring the way.

    Her Squire opened the vast towering door for Jewel. Letting her gently pull him into her study with its fine high windows that tinted the spring light with murky disks of glass.

    She walked over to a shelf that if she was her full self was just right for reaching over to pluck things from while laying against the fine stones of the floor.

    Jewel released Smithson¡¯s fingers and then extended with a trembling and intense concentration to keep only the one digit extended. To point at what she could not see but smelled hints of and fuzzily remembered should be there. Offering the one word she could almost manage.

    ¡°Ghok!¡±

    As with her attempts at saying her Squire¡¯s name it was barely more than an animal cry. But again Smithson was the best friend and servant she could hope for and had long since learned to hear past her failures.

    He laughed in joy rather than derision (she trusted him too, but it was even harder to tell when she was so small what people actually meant).

    Then reached beyond her sight and lifted the precious treasure of Thurz¨®¡¯s gift. The venerable leather bound book of The Travel log Pythra of Veracules brought such sudden joy to Jewel she could not stop herself from squealing in glee and clapping her hands.

    ¡°Eee!¡±

    Her Squire being of course the best Squire nodded and moved over to sit at the desk in a chair that mostly served Paul when her husband used Jewel¡¯s study.

    But today was going to serve as a place for her and Smithson to continue making their way through the Log.

    They had not yet reached the point he actually spoke to The Seer of the Mountain Shialtza. But Jewel loved to hear the words written there.

    She could mostly still read these days as her smaller self, although some of the letters were hard to follow.

    However Smithson had grown much more confident in his letters and reading in the act of speaking what was written.

    Jewel thought it good that she encouraged her squire to better himself in this.

    She also loved the way he changed his voice when speaking the words of different people.

    That was the second best part!

 6.6

    6.6

    It was exciting!

    Jewel went out into the village every day as her larger self. Even as her smaller self she had seen it before when she was carried bundled up.

    But today in the warm sun of Fallow Turn Jewel was walking alongside Smithson as he performed his duties rather than being carried or bundled up.

    She could feel the stones and earth with her toes, and though she could not hear them speak to her the feeling of them was still a delight.

    There was a difference to simply hearing wind and feeling grass without being absolutely certain of its moods and wiles.

    She could still smell hints of the grass¡¯ cries as it was grazed by recently pastured sheep and cows.

    But her smaller self was deafened and muffled in her senses. Even beyond the way that the world was silent to any but her wyrmself.

    The sights in her eyes felt almost stingingly sharp in their freshness. The smells she had breathed thousands upon thousands of times were despite how muddled and indistinct like new in her tiny snout.

    It was a sometimes confounding and overwhelming blend of familiar and newness.

    A First time that she was utterly accustomed too.

    Paul was also there. Her ears turned and listened to him and Smithson talk as they sometimes did.

    Even as she walked ahead to look at a flower she had seen many times before and yet was fascinating in how different it felt in these eyes.

    ¡°She¡¯s still mostly dumb?¡±

    Smithson sighed.

    ¡°She hears and she knows things. But only a  handful of ¡®words¡¯ does she speak. If you watch her you can tell she¡¯s cross about it too.¡±

    Paul sighed and Jewel caught him nodding when she turned to watch them.

    ¡°And the wizards can¡¯t say why? There isn''t a curse or some sorcery on her?¡±

    Smithson shrugged, they were stopping often, barely really even strolling despite there being actual business both needed to attend too.

    All because she kept getting distracted.

    Jewel shook herself and rushed to get a bit ahead of them on their way towards Bethica¡¯s family. Prompting them to amble barely any faster since even a casual stroll easily could outpace her at a jog.

    Word had arrived from Kaeketeh that a speaking bull had arrived and was already being driven ¡®on the hoof¡¯ towards Valasect. He would arrive in seven days if the weather and roads were fair.

    Officially his care and charge would fall to Bethica¡¯s family and for reasons that were hard to hold in her tiny head that had caused complaints in the village.

    Which was why Paul and Smithson were out to speak to the family in question.

    Jewel had heard as her larger self that it was also an excuse to bring ¡®Gem¡¯ out where the villagers and other children could see and interact with her.

    Part of the ongoing attempt to ease the fear of the families to not just the presence of a proper lady directly ruling over them after generations of distant guidance but a dragon as well.

    Jewel could only foggily remember the years she had spent before this body hatched when alone. But clear were the memories of her striving to endear herself.

    Yet it all seemed to be taking a very long time wasn''t it?

    They continued walking and Jewel mostly was able to avoid stopping or drifting to the side of the Village road to stare at the spring flowers.

    Paul finally filled the silence that had settled between her husband and squire.

    ¡°The family has children about her age don¡¯t they?¡±

    Smithson hummed.

    ¡°Two, a boy and a girl, plus a babe yet to be named and three old enough to harrow the fields and see to the animals.¡±

    Paul hummed in a near perfect mirror of her Squire.

    ¡°And they are familiar with Lady Jewel from her kinder guarding. And with the speaking cow?¡±

    Smithson laughed in a strained manner that masked the old fear that Bethica had lashed into him with her wit and tongue on their first meeting.

    ¡°Ah, Ah my Lord Paul, remember her name is Bethica. And yes in fact she watches them herself when Jewel has not been available. The cow is very... articulate.¡±

    Paul huffed but he shared a note of contrition that made Jewel¡¯s ear¡¯s perk as she was dragging herself back onto the path by what felt like an incredibly disproportionate force of will.

    ¡°Yes, thank you Squire Smithson, Jewel insisted on introducing us. Bethica has a wit sharper than some of the ladies I¡¯ve met in court.¡±

    Smithson laughed at that.

    A wind picked up and Jewel took in a deep breath before something was drawn up into her snout that scratched and irritated horribly. Jewel scrunched her nose and snorted hard to clear the speck out.

    Which drew concerned looks from her two ¡®minders¡¯.

    But when she didn''t do anything else to worry them both men eased their tension.

    Jewel missed her larger self¡¯s sense of smell. It felt like someone had stuffed her tiny snout with linen when she tried to tell how they were feeling with this tiny stubby nose.

    Her ears were better than her nose but even so that was only one sense.

    She was starting to appreciate how unaware men and women actually were since she first could get a clear snout full of things with this diminished little nose.

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    Her smaller face was only slightly shortened, a bit like someone had pressed in her larger self¡¯s face as one would clay.

    But compared to even the longest nosed man or woman Jewel had ever seen her skull had cavernous volumes.

    Which unlike her wyrmish self meant Jewel sometimes had snotty volumes of discharge to clear from it!

    And dust!

    So much dust could get caught so high up in her face it was astounding!

    And of course it itched and tickled so fiercely she then had to sneeze.

    Which was horrifying the first time it happened.

    Jewel had learned to not breathe too deeply when there was dust, chafe or spices in the air.

    And to snort out anything that caught shallower in her nose as soon as possible.

    Paul sighed heavily behind her, perking her ears back again to listen.

    ¡°I hope they take well to her, Peasants can be cruel to the children above their station.¡±

    Jewel turned again over her shoulder to see Smithson bristled a bit at that.

    Which Paul also noted with a huff and a clarification.

    ¡°Not all of them! but many are not so loyal and proud as you were Smithson.¡±

    Her squire¡¯s expression changed to concern and Jewel caught his eyes as he turned to look over to her before she again faced  back to the road ahead of them.

    It was best to keep her eyes on the rough dirt.

    Sure on her feet she might now be but Jewel could still trip if she was not careful.

    Two legs were really quite awful at keeping her face clean and unbruised!

    And she did not have the aid of wyrmflame to hold herself aloft when she tripped.

    Her tail swished a bit violently from side to side against the cloth of her infant¡¯s smock at the reminder of her clumsiness and lack of grace.

    ¡°Do we need to worry they will hurt her?¡±

    Paul offered a laugh that had far too little humor.

    ¡°No, none would be so stupid as to injure a noble¡¯s child like that. But peasant children can be very clever in finding cruelties that don¡¯t leave marks.¡±

    Jewel¡¯s ears perked and tilted back again at that, her husband¡¯s tone was one she rarely heard. And usually only when referring to his birth mother the countess.

    There was a pained hitch to his voice.

    Smithson hummed again at that.

    ¡°Stable Master Gizo could be like that sometimes.¡±

    Jewel¡¯s steps halted in the dirt and she nearly tripped, but she quickly found her feet and continued to walk ahead of the two ambling men before they could worry over her.

    Stablemaster Gizo could be cruel?!

    Jewel had never heard such as even her Wyrm Self. Her memory might be foggy but it was clear to her he was a kind and good man.

    She held her neck stiff to keep from turning around again. If she glanced back or stared too much they would stop talking.

    In fact despite her attempts at subterfuge they let it sit like that for almost a hundred of her tiny paces!

    The men might as well have been giants for how they towered over her even several steps back.

    They walked with slow strides that were despite their pace each easily her own height.

    The silence lingering.

    Paul finally broke it.

    ¡°Was he your father?¡±

    Smithson snorted and Jewel imagined maybe he shook his head by the sound of his voice?

    ¡°My mother¡¯s cousin. He took me on as a stable boy to learn the trade. He¡¯s a good man to give me the opportunity, but his tongue could be sharper than his strop.¡±

    Paul hummed and he sort of sounded like maybe he nodded, the slight shift of how sound moved with him.

    ¡°He only used a strop and words? Sounds like he was a bit soft on you.¡±

    Smithson dismissed it, his voice a bit middling high.

    ¡°Maybe? I like to think it was earned if he was, I stuck to the stalls and seeing to the horse like I was supposed to. Oaken and the Sprattler earned their scars for being foolish. And the lightest of those came from Gizo. A charger¡¯s kick can slay a grown man if it lands right. Nevermind a stableboy.¡±

    Jewel listened intently, she had never heard men or boys speaking of their discipline so openly before.

    She heard and saw it of course, Even Alexander had needed some discipline when his bravery had gotten the better of him.

    Jewel had never been struck by either of her parents except in training, but she also had avoided trouble.

    But the way they talked about it?

    Words that could hurt?

    It reminded Jewel of the way strangers spoke around her when they didn''t think she could hear.

    It was Insulting and now that she considered it that way painful in how many still spoke of her like a mere beast.

    And of course as soon as the thought of that pain entered her tiny head it was practically pouring out of her eyes.

    Tears blurring her vision  and she sniffled as quietly as she could.

    Jewel strove to try and wipe her eyes and look up at the speckled clouds of spring showers in the sky until the clenching pain in her chest eased.

    If Smithson or Paul saw her suddenly crying they might decide this visit was too much for her!

    She needed to be strong and not worry them or let her feelings drown her like they so often did her tiny heart. Jewel quickly started stepping forward again to try and make up for the time where she stopped to center herself.

    Luckily neither of her minders seemed to have noticed.

    Paul finally broke the silence that had settled between them.

    ¡°This family should be a good first try, they are accustomed to a speaking c- to Bethica.¡±

    Smithson¡¯s voice rose up behind her but Jewel did not want the glint of her tears to show so she stayed focused ahead on the road. By his tone she suspected he was sharing a knowing look with her husband to acknowledge the save in avoiding insulting her friend.

    ¡°We should still keep an eye out for it. And check with Jewel when she returns from Rochford.¡±

    Paul¡¯s tone was a bit confused.

    ¡°Check with Jewel? What about?¡±

    Smithson chuckled.

    Jewel could not help herself and glanced over her shoulder briefly to see his grinning face. And quickly turned away when his eyes matched hers.

    ¡°Jewel has a way of knowing whatever is going on in the little gem¡¯s head and what has happened to her through the day. The Nursemaid in Rochford got a tongue lashing you wouldn''t believe from the Lady Caroline over abandoning Gem in a room in favor of the Baron¡¯s daughter.¡±

    Paul audibly scuffed his leather boots in the dirt with a stumble of surprise.

    ¡°Truly?¡±

    Smithson had laughter in his voice.

    ¡°It¡¯s obvious if you look, they share a very special bond.¡±

    Jewel had to force herself to walk again as both men had stopped to wait for her.

    But she could not resist glancing back over her shoulder at Smithson several more times.

    Her cheeks burned for some reason.

    Even though there was nothing to be ashamed of.

 6.7

    6.7

    She had made this trip many times as her larger self. She knew the road, she knew the rocks and stones and what she had once seen as short fences.

    But the stones and earth were silent to her steps now.

    The wind merely blew.

    The sun was simply warm.

    The assured welcoming of the fields was absent.

    The Fence that was below her shoulders and hips in most steps now was over her head.

    Jewel was alone and she was small.

    Positively tiny.

    Smithson and Paul were now ahead of her, shielding her as she hid.

    Bethica felt larger than the Terror Boar itself from her diminutive vantage.

    The crowding family that her larger self could afford to barely note was a teeming crowd of giants.

    Even the children ostensibly the same age as her smaller self were a head or more taller then Jewel

    And the words that her Husband and Squire had shared tumbled in her head, making her timid.

    Cowardly.

    Craven.

    Her heart must be outsized for her tiny chest, it was thundering so hard and it filled her with such feelings as to utterly overwhelm her.

    She had faced armies and yet the prospect of doing more than peeking around Smithson¡¯s legs froze her in place.

    Paul was speaking but it was so hard to focus on what he said compared to fretfully peering at the looming children.

    She had seen them for almost a year now and yet they looked and tasted strange and dangerous to her as she was.

    Bethica finally raised her head up, having either had enough of the conversation going on past her, or perhaps gotten through enough of her grazing she could afford to speak.

    That deep resonant voice sounded incredibly tired of the situation.

    ¡°You vir can gawk and gab over your fiddling ways in regards to my bull to be, But go do it away from me and my grazing. ¡±

    Smithson hesitated at that, but Bethica rolled what Jewel knew was her family eye onto him and grunted hard.

    ¡°Git on horse boy who would be a vir of station, I¡¯ve seen to every child of this family and my own besides. Lady Jewel is as a sister to me and I¡¯ll see to the safety of her child as my own.¡±

    The last words were spoken with Bethica swinging her horned head around to fix each of the giant pair of children, who were struck just as still and stone faced as Smithson had been that first day.

    And before Jewel could even properly move to try and follow her guardians and the adults of the family were gone, fleeing to obey Bethica as if she was in fact the lady of the land and not Jewel.

    To be honest by her sheer size and muscles alone Jewel could appreciate not wanting to upset the cow.

    As a wyrm she had not thought much of her in that way.

    But looming over and above Jewel like this? The point of those horns? The solidity of her stance in the pasture?

    Bethica was easily bigger and heavier than any man or woman, and absolutely towered over Jewel in this smaller frame.

    Although she was not alone in being frozen in fear. The two children across the way were frozen in fear precisely as Jewel was.

    She could see in their faces and their tense legs.

    After everyone had stood there stuck frozen in mortifying terror and silence Bethica finally spoke. Voice a low groan of exasperation.

    ¡°Stars guide me, All of you calves come over close in front of me here and settle down.¡±

    When no one seemed quite inclined to move her tone gentled to a soft friendliness somehow even gentler and more encouraging than Jewel ever heard.

    ¡°Fear and fret not youths of vir and wyrm. Words of warning are only just that, behave well and true and you¡¯ve not a thing to fear.¡±

    The children shuffled around in front of Bethica keeping quite clear of her flanks.

    Then came around and settled to sit in the grass in front of the cow.

    Like Jewel they wore simple infant smocks. Still too small for any other clothes.

    Even with her shorter snout she could smell however they were brother and sister.

    Although her eyes honestly could not have even begin to guess without the scent.

    Both slight and small (if still taller than her).

    Both with dark hair.

    One perhaps a bit taller than the other.

    ¡°Smithson called you Gem wyrmchild, Come along and settle down here with Albert and Dorota.¡±

    Jewel could not make her legs move, her hands squeezed tight into the still unfamiliar curl of her fists. This was her friend, but she was also a huge and terribly frightening beast.

    But thinking of her like that was an insult and only made Jewel more upset.

    Before she could compose herself more everything overfilled her tiny frame and the shaking turned to shudders and the tightness in her throat broke in a cry. Tears bursted from her eyes for the second time that day!

    She was so overwhelmed Jewel shrieked in surprise when a cold wet mass and a heavy huff of hot breath billowed over her face.

    The voice was softer than she had ever heard before and rumbled deep and low in a way that trembled in her bones.

    It shook in the half drained mass of Wyrm Flame that in her misery Jewel had lost hold of and let seep out of her skin.

    What would have lasted a day and a half was not likely to sustain a few hours more of the warm comforting fire of her larger self.

    It was only the fear of losing even that which gave her the will to focus on it.

    But that left her tears to flow down her cheeks and her throat to keen and cry.

    ¡°She Cry.¡±

    Whichever of the pair of children said that Jewel could not see and her ears were such a rush of blood she could barely tell the direction.

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    ¡°Shush shush shush...¡±

    Jewel¡¯s face was scraped with a surprisingly dry feeling blob.

    It scraped up her scales, over one cheek and only revealed itself to be Bethica¡¯s wide pink tongue because it passed her eye on its way to her brow.

    ¡°It¡¯s frightful to be on your own with strangers, yes? Away from your mother? Away from your herd. Alone in the open scary wideness?¡±

    For some reason she had expected a cow tongue to feel more wet.

    The silliness of it washed over her as strong as the fear and despair and suddenly her chest was shaking with hiccuping laughter.

    She tried pushing against the massive head of her friend who was so close to her, but the muscles in that neck were stronger and vaster than her entire body.

    Her efforts accomplished little. The cow simply nuzzled at her neck and blew hard from her nostrils, hot air tickling her throat and blowing back Jewel¡¯s hair.

    ¡°Gehicka!¡±

    That got a light shove in the belly that made Jewel hiccup again and fall back into the grass.

    The sound of a vast overwhelming cow gently sinking to the ground herself briefly shocked her straight backed but it was only her friend laying down in the warm spring sun on soft grass.

    ¡°Hmmm, that¡¯s close but let me see you try again. Look at me, See my face?¡±

    Jewel was confused, but she had a suspicion this was going to be more attempts to get her to say things correctly.

    Jewel had seen quite a lot of that this year.

    They would say the words in front of her and then wait for her to do it right and she would fail.

    But Bethica was her friend.

    Jewel would make the effort.

    ¡°Gehicka¡±

    She closed her eyes and for the trouble got another slap of a wet tongue from her nose to her forehead. The stickiness of some saliva stuck some of her hair straight up.

    ¡°No, Keep your eyes open little one, look close, watch my mouth.¡±

    Jewel glanced at the other children who were sitting and watching her with knowing smiles.

    ¡°Beh-thi-kah¡±

    Jewel frowned, she tried to do as her friend asked, she looked at the mouth, they moved like everyone else did.

    Her friend turned the stranger side of her face around to watch Jewel.

    ¡°Now you try.¡±

    That eye was fixed on Jewel, no it was fixed on Jewel¡¯s mouth.

    Huffing in frustration that seemed to not perturb the cow at all Jewel repeated herself.

    ¡°Greh-heh-kheh!¡±

    Bethica turned her familiar eye back around and leaned in even closer to Jewel.

    Honestly she could no longer really see Bethica¡¯s eye around her own snout anymore. But just as gentle as she had been so far her friend spoke.

    ¡°Say Buh¡±

    Jewel sighed and did her best.

    ¡°Guh¡±

    She¡¯d tried before, Jewel couldn''t make the sound like her larger self did. Her throat refused to shape or sharpen the sounds properly.

    It was mangled and twisted.

    Tears were starting to well in her eyes, would her smaller self always be rendered dumb?

    Grunting like a beast?

    But instead of demanding a repeat Bethica drew back enough to fix Jewel with her family eye.

    ¡°Gem dear, can you move your lips and tongue? Like this?¡±

    Bethica extended her tongue free to run over her own nose.

    Then pursed her lips and let out a cry that was far more the speech of a woman then the call of her kind.

    ¡°MooO?¡±

    Jewel perplexed and bewildered imitated, of course she could lick her nose.

    And shaping her lips like that was simple.

    But what did that have to do with speaking?

    Speech came from the throat.

    ¡°GOoh?¡±

    Bethica smiled, actually smiled and Jewel confused but also feeling a little strange had to smile back.

    Lips spread wide in a grin, flat teeth closed framed by the cow¡¯s mouth.

    ¡°Meeh?¡±

    Again Jewel repeated.

    ¡°Geeh?¡±

    Bethica gave a little shake.

    ¡°Almost dear... But you need to voice in your throat while your lips are closed. Then open them while you voice¡±

    Again Bethica spoke but without saying any word in particular.

    ¡°Meeh?¡±

    Jewel furrowed her brow as she concentrated, trying to do everything she was told.

    ¡°meaAhieek!?¡±

    The way the sound changed! It surprised Jewel so much she squealed, losing the magic of it in her excitement.

    But her friend only smiled and spoke soft and gentle.

    ¡°Yes! Very good little Gem! But keep your teeth together. Again! Watch.¡±

    And again she made the sound, Now that Jewel was paying attention she heard and saw how the lips stayed closed and then peeled back even as the voice continued.

    Jewel focused, it was not easy, it felt wrong from everything she had learned in all her years.

    But if she could hold her wyrmflame inside herself she could do this.

    ¡°Mehmehmeh¡±

    Her heart felt like it was going to burst.

    It was not the same as how she spoke as a wyrm. But it was a sound she had failed to make in this tiny throat despite over a year of trying.

    And it was because she had been trying with the wrong parts!

    Before her friend could prompt her again Jewel forged onward.

    Seeking to shape the sound now that she understood what she had been doing wrong.

    ¡°Mehickra!¡±

    The laughter of the two children felt like a fist on her heart that only eased when Bethica told the two of them off for mocking her progress.

    ¡°Better dear, but now we need another part... Watch me.¡±

    Jewel wiped the tears from her eyes so she could see clearly as Bethica demonstrated.

    ¡°Paaaah¡±

 6.8

    6.8

    Jewel was trying to focus.

    But although she now possessed two heads, two sets of ears, and in some ways attention enough for all of them, it was still difficult.

    Her bodies were far enough apart that the knowing between them was not consistent.

    Rising and falling in swells of memory. Memory that she clearly was present for.

    It was incredibly awkward but the god botherer who looked after the temple and saw to the heavenly needs of Valasect was insistent.

    Children (especially the very young) could bring the wrong sort of attention when treating with certain divinities and even here under the open sun warmed sky it was not a sure thing that one might not be present during the congregation.

    So ¡®Gem¡¯ was kept well back along with the other curious village children while Jewel and the god botherer stood under the ceremonial tree which Valasect used for most of their congregations and divine rituals outside of winter.

    However, one of the young boys (she had to audibly sniff him to confirm) sidled up closer to her and whispered.

    ¡°That''s your ma?¡±

    She was trying to focus but each of her selves had entirely different things they needed to do.

    And by all technicalities he was not wrong.

    Jewel huffed and nodded to the child who was none-the-less taller than her by a good head.

    ¡°My gran says she¡¯s a wyrm, monster and beast. But my ma and pa say she¡¯s good and she¡¯s nice whenever she¡¯s watching us over the hungry summer, she gives us good white bread! Later in the summer she takes us to the boar festival all the way in Rochford!¡±

    He was trying to be quiet, but his excitement over the simple round she shared when she was doing her kinder guarding overtook him. Not being much more in control of herself, a smile was soon splitting ¡®Gem¡¯s¡¯ face as well.

    However there was the problem of how to respond.

    Jewel was not sure what she was supposed to do, words were still incredibly difficult. Even if she could make a few of the proper word shaped sounds.

    She was far too slow to get one right for a proper conversation.

    So Jewel just nodded and made a gesture almost but not quite like the flight cant for acknowledgement.

    She still needed to practice with these hands..

    ¡°Ah yeah, I spoke to Bethica a bit. She said you were good and smart but someone taught you how to speak wrong. That was a mean joke they did.¡±

    Jewel could not even begin to explain, but she could agree. She had apparently learned to speak wrong. Unless you were a dragon!

    So nodding and then another clumsy gesture and a heavy sigh, bits of tears were already welling up in her eyes.

    ¡°Ah! Don¡¯t cry! You know it was wrong now so you can just learn the right way ya? I see ya around the town sometimes with your pa-¡±

    Jewel choked and squawked with a heavy shake, her face was suddenly far too hot, her ears perked high and burning with the rush of blood.

    ¡°The lord squire that¡¯s always with you isn''t your pa?¡±

    Jewel could not keep it in, she chokes into a giggling laugh that requires her to smother her mouth to avoid interrupting the very important ceremony her larger self is attending.

    One of the adults who were there to keep the children away from where the invoked gods might take interest silenced all of them with a sharp look and a raised finger to their lips.

    Which ended all conversation long enough for Jewel to actually get control of herself.

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    The peasant boy squatted down low and whispered quite a bit too loudly for Jewel¡¯s hearing right next to her ear.

    ¡°If the lord-mf?¡±

    Jewel couldn''t handle the suggestion again, she reached out and gently pinched his lips closed with her hand.

    She tried to quietly say the word ¡®lord¡¯. But Could not get even half the sounds right.

    However she shook her head rapidly as soon as she said it.

    ¡°The lor-mhey!¡±

    This time the peasant leaned out of reach of her pinching fingers but she fixed him with one of the looks she had practiced as her larger self.

    The one that Mother used to silence courtiers without saying a word.

    It actually seemed to work on the peasant boy.

    ¡°Is... is he not a lord either?¡±

    Jewel nodded and smiled.

    She made a series of gestures that, if you were half blind might have looked like the sign for ¡®horse¡¯ and ¡®camp¡¯ and ¡®levies¡¯.

    Trying to make the easiest version of the old riddle game she played on the march to explain that Smithson was a stableboy.

    Then Jewel realized this boy didn''t know what any of that meant.

    His confused expression made her sigh again.

    Well she¡¯d taught her and Father¡¯s version to Gryphon riders once.

    She could do it again.

    A quick wave with her little fingers and then Jewel pointed to one of the draft horses.

    He looked over and furrowed her brow.

    ¡°What? What about the field?¡±

    Jewel huffed and shook her head and tugged at his tunic. It was not quite the infant smock she wore but it was still clothing for a child that was at the start of growing, when he was taller it would probably be one of the shirts she saw the youths in the village wear.

    ¡°Hmm? What is it?¡±

    He leaned down low and Jewel with as much grace as her only somewhat coordinated arms could manage grabbed him round the neck, pressed the side of her head to his cheek then with both their eyes mostly lined up she used the practice having two different pairs of eyes gave her and pointed directly at the horse that was out to pasture between labors.

    ¡°Eh hey... wha... oh, you were pointing at the horse... but why?¡±

    Jewel noticed that her actions with the peasant boy had drawn the attention of pretty much all of the other children. Which again made her face burn with rushing blood but she mastered herself and mostly forced down the tears that wanted to well up with sheer determination.

    She let go of the peasant boy now that he had the right idea and pointed at the horse again.

    Then made the gesture for a horse in flight cant as carefully as she could.

    He and the other children stared in confusion, one of them giggled.

    But then a girl that was only perhaps a few winters ahead of Jewel¡¯s smaller body gasped loud enough to draw the ire and shushing of the adults.

    ¡°She¡¯s talking with her hands!¡±

    Which suddenly got everyone¡¯s attention focused on Jewel (or where her finger pointed) and not on the mostly boring and familiar events of a god invocation performed in the day.

    Jewel paused for a moment, she had everyone¡¯s attention on her.

    She had taught over a dozen Gryphon Riders her and Father¡¯s expanded flight cant and helped Alexander practice the more standard forms before he set off to the eyrie.

    Her arms were too clumsy to manage things quickly enough for real conversation.

    But she would need to go slower if she was teaching anyway.

    Jewel¡¯s path forward suddenly was clear.

    Her throat might be shaped wrong for how she knew how to speak.

    But if anything her arms, hands and shoulders were shaped better for this.

    And she needed to find a way to win over her subjects.

    None of these children were afraid of Jewel when she was so small.

    Most of them were older than her.

    All of them were bigger than her.

    To them ¡®Gem¡¯ was safe!

    Jewel did not point when she made the gesture this time.

    And they all ¡®whispered¡¯ their answer with shrill excitement.

    ¡°Horse!¡±

    She didn''t even try to stop her smile.

 6.9

    6.9

    Jewel was glad she had made so much progress with her smaller self. The endeavor with the ¡®priest¡¯ and the local gods invested in Valasect were far less fruitful.

    She could confirm that there was some presence in the divinity of the tree that had been drawn to them.

    But it touched on the world in a way that was strange.

    Although the priest and his attendants insisted it was the spirit of the tree Jewel was absolutely certain that the thing which had brushed through the wind, leaves and bark of that tree like a knife cleaving flesh was definitely not of it.

    The tree¡¯s voice was distinct, both the one which welled up with the world in the soil and stone around it. As well as the soft scents which spilled from its leaves in the slow exhalation that came with the sun.

    Even her smaller self could smell the voice of the real tree in that.

    But while the presence of the god that bent and shifted the tree certainly seemed to listen to the will of the living wood after a fashion it was as much the tree that it was the supposed spirit of as the Veles could be said to be the man it wore.

    That disquieting experience aside there had then been the third strike of a pattern with Jewel and what some of her books called star-born.

    The Spirit of Valasect¡¯s tree had not been able to see her.

    Likewise Jewel had been unable to hear it.

    It was only her trust in the Priest and more importantly in Adorj¨¢n that she believed the thing could speak at all.

    So the Priest, attendant god botherer assistants and her Headman had to act as go-betweens for the presence of what Jewel understood to be the most congenial and safe of the local gods.

    What had followed was a deeply awkward improvisation on the time honored ritual of Valasect and was ultimately not clear to Jewel that it had endeared her at all to the village.

    According to those that could hear the thing rather than sense its vague intrusions and shifting of the tree above them Jewel would say it went well.

    But the fact that both Jewel and the God of the Tree were both apparently near complete enigmas to one another left her with concerns regarding her interactions with others.

    It also was making Tsulogothulan very curious in their capacity as describer of Jewel.

    ¡°Truly you didn''t hear it at all?¡±

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    Jewel could only huff as she continued to scan through the written reports and verify them with the tallies that Adorj¨¢n had provided.

    When she was a youth she¡¯d assumed at first that dues were held in trust by memory and honor.

    That had turned out not to be the case when she first checked the written records that supplemented her father¡¯s memory of what had been given and by which household.

    After that she had assumed that they did things with sensible written accounts.

    But this too had turned out to be a bit naive.

    No, vellum was far too expensive for her peasants to spend on such.

    Instead they made use of notched sticks split in half.

    Her friend finally spoke again.

    ¡°This and the development at your wedding is reason enough to call Fizzbunches and some of the circle for a visit to confer. I¡¯m not the best when it comes to dealing with gods.¡±

    Jewel nodded absently  as she ran a finger down her half of the accounting for a shepherd¡¯s due for last year. Like the others it did indeed match what she had written down for his household.

    She set the half stick of wood with many careful cuts in the pile of those she had already verified.

    Adorj¨¢n¡¯s predecessors had mostly done the business of making and storing the tallies for Father. Saving the backs of mules ferrying extra wood in favor of simply reporting by messenger what had been taken for his due and kept locally.

    For the first ten years of Jewel¡¯s life there had then been a portion of the animal, wool or food stuffs of Valasect sent north to trade in silver that would then come back to Rochford for the tithe owed to the Countess.

    But since her Father, Kraok and Jewel herself had started fulfilling their obligations to the Countess that had mostly stopped.

    There were still some of the dues that were sent north (and south) to maintain the Rochford Family¡¯s coin but substantially less was needed then when the entire barony¡¯s worth needed to be paid instead of their military service rendered.

    Jewel remembered something.

    ¡°It also happens with the Silver Lady when they ¡®call forth the dawn¡¯. She never acknowledges me and her light has never touched me. It always annoys the Abbot.¡±

    Her friend¡¯s audible blinking adds to the soft sounds of Jewel¡¯s scales running along wood that had been used to mark the Pfennig worth of wheat given the dragon at the last summer¡¯s harvest by one of the smaller families.

    More quickly than before the Weird found their words.

    ¡°You never mentioned that before.¡±

    Jewel shrugged her wing shoulders to avoid losing her rhythm of reading with her fingers while also confirming with her eyes.

    It took a bit of concentration, but compared to simply keeping her attention properly divided between both of her heads it was honestly not all that difficult.

    ¡°I didn''t realize it was strange until-¡±

    Oh fiends!

    Tsulogothulan leaned closer, but Jewel could only glare at the parchment there before her.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong Jewel?¡±

    She huffed, she wanted to spit wyrmflame and dissolve the offending marks on carefully prepared sheep¡¯s skin.

    But that would have been so much of a waste.

    ¡°I wrote down eight Pfennig instead of nine last year.¡±

    Which seemed to exasperate the Weird, especially when she asked for Tsulogothulan to draw the ink out of the vellum so she could correct her records.

 6.i

    6.i

    The Zodiac set down in the literature of the old Cantor Republic is a vital tool of interrogation for the nature of the divine.

    While the lights of the heavens and their providence is near uncountable and fluid, prone to swell and shrink by the coming and going of divine interest in our mortal world the steady vigil of the constellations remain secure and act as foundation to which one can discern the position of the prime stars which have remained immutable for all time.

    It is by these prime and stable lights that we coordinate our prayers to the stars and their individual personages found in the gods.

    Of the seventeen constellations set in those texts of greatest concern to you who is entrusted by your congregation are these three.

    The Lion

    Whose smothering by the sun is greatest in the highest of the summer seasons and fullest revelation comes in darkest winter.

    Those divinities which nestle near his dominion in the sky are either of the hungry darkness which saps life or the great rain givers and life bringers.

    The Serpent

    Whose prominence is most exposed in the first warming of spring, and is greatest obscured at the height of the autumn harvests.

    The divines in these portions of the sky are chiefly associated with birth, sowing of crops and the bringing of rain.

    And last and most dangerous of all

    The Storm

    Which is at its greatest dominance in the peak of summer seasons and in winter occluded by the wane light of the sun.

    The divinities which share the heavens with the storm¡¯s constellation are at their full power in matters of war, harvest and the blood of slaughter.

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    I will not put to page the rituals or names of the bloody and warlike gods. For they are not worth the risk of their attention on your charges. They are matters for lords and kings and not the tenders of the common people as we.

    Also I will not write of the gods which cohabitate the skies of the serpent, for though their domains might be benign their gifts can bring ruin.

    My younger peers will say that they know and have mastered the practice of beseeching such from them but many a village has been smote into ruin  by the kindness of a goddess of children or rain.

    No, I advise of the seasonal skies ruled by The Storm and The Serpent that you do little to draw attention beyond what is strictly necessary.

    Do not give offense (and on this I will list many useful ceremonies for these skies).

    But do not draw attention or favor.

    Know that if your auspices should denote that one has been drawn on you by the methods shown earlier that it is a matter in need of a higher authority of the temples and that you must seek allies swiftly.

    But of the skies of the Lion, his prominence over winter brings with it a good blend of powerful but safe divinity.

    Within his sky are the simple beast-like gods of devouring winter alongside many gentle awakeners of dawn. Even foreign, forgotten or yet to be named gods will often fall into those broad tribes when discovered.

    And with sufficient caution to determine if the god in question is hungry all can be safely managed.

    Of the known names of the divines here one of the oldest is Marduk. He is boisterous, loud and will declare to all who would listen that he is great and powerful. But even if such was once true he is now a modest divine whose concerns settle almost entirely on the waters of rivers and the tilling of soil. He is amiable to agreements if you appease his boasting and give simple offerings, It is worth noting he is not offended to also be so named as Enbilulu and may be quieter and more friendly if addressed as such.

    In rituals calling on him there are a list of names you must not utter or have written down for they give grave offense but otherwise little danger from him.

    A companion scroll has been made with this guide and should be copied with it for ease of storage away from places of ritual.

    However for all his amenability Marduk also offers little for your trouble but the moving of water and sodden soil at the banks of rivers.

    If a stream should grow weak in its flow he is one of the least dangerous gods to invoke to bring aid to your people but otherwise of little relevance.

    -On the treating with Gods and Grain Watchers by Brother Ordelain, naturalist and Monk of the Hrothfield Monastery in middle Egelheimvin.

 6.ii

    6.ii

    It should always be a fast rule that in the season of hay turn the stables and sheepfolds should not be cleaned out because the dampness that comes forth from the earth more abundantly then than in any other season adheres to the walls and partitions of the folds and stables and breeds corruption in the fold from its dreadful miasma and stench.

    In winter the ice and cold dissipate such humors and miasmas and they are not as harmful as in hay turn. The reason is that the earth then opens its passages and spews forth the excesses of its bowels more abundantly. Therefore it is better and more advisable to leave the manure in the ewe¡¯s stable in Hay turn than to remove it, since the earth¡¯s humor, which breeds bad air and stench in the stable, does not have a great strength when it is covered with manure.

    The fetid air causes many maladies and great grief to the animals in this season, so it is good to avoid that by leaving the manure, for the freshness of the manure is not so bad or dangerous as the corrupt dampness of the stable¡¯s earth because of the vapors that come from the earth, as has been seen.

    In all other seasons, except that of hay turn, the stable can and should be kept clean and the manure removed each season two or more times. If done more, even better, for more the animals are kept clean and in order, the more they prosper.

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    The shepherd should avoid and prevent with all his power his animals becoming wet at any time, because rain is unfavorable and harmful to sheep and marks them weaken and fall off. Therefore he should watch carefully that they do not go out in the rain and that they are not wet except in the season of Hay Turn.

    In Hay turn it is good for the eyes to have rain before they are shorn, because the wool is more clean, better to shear, and more marketable. Also the rain falling on the wool before shearing brings forth the ewes¡¯ good grease, which protects their body and is very beneficial to them.

    However, as much as the rain is valuable and helpful to the ewes before shearing, it is even more harmful and damaging after they are shorn and at all other times.

    In all weathers and all seasons the shepherd should lead forth his animals and ewes and bring them back for their comfort and profit and keep watch  over them. All these rules should be observed by each shepherd, as well as others that are necessary and appropriate to this learning and those which will be presented separately hereafter.

    -Old Jean of Brie, a Shepherd of the Free Men¡¯s Lands.

 6.iii

    6.iii

    It is quite interesting to actually hear the voices of the attendants of Shialtza. Their voices are soft and rasping. More breath than timbre. They do not hum, but whistle and although beautiful to hear this makes their Kolkor very difficult to follow.

    To be honest they make do with more gestures of the hand, raising of fingers for counts and nods or shakes of the head then words in dealings with my father.

    Still it is a poor traveling merchant that would let a lack of language stop trade and good exchange!

    With at least our side of the language understood by the attendants of Shialtza and assurance they do have the authority of the god wyrm to agree on price the work goes well and fast!

    I can only assume that Shialtza informed his attendants after our departure more deeply of his exact interests because several items we had not mentioned yesterday drew surprisingly great prices.

    Some were understandable minor wonders and mechanical spheres. Which although always a solid bet to fetch good prices in foreign lands away from the greatest sea still were purchased with a shocking bounty of pure gold talyn by the attendants!

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    Of other surprising interest were seeds of common crops we had expected to parcel out along our journey for room and board among farmers when richer clients were unavailable.

    For this too the attendants paid well ten times over the usual price!

    The generosity of our new host was inspiring some concern from father and he had after the third bag of simple wheat grain was offered a patriarch¡¯s ransom in gold insisted that he could not as an honest merchant accept such a bounty.

    That had seemed to confuse the robed and veiled attendant we bartered with but after some nods and sibilant whistles between him and his fellows it was settled and they agreed to the far more reasonable price in Denari weighting.

    Although Father had me use a scale to find the equivalent as very few of the silver that Shialtza apparently had was in the form of a familiar coin.

    It was a surprising bounty for a mostly untaken path to the far east.

    The wealth in metal was by father¡¯s reckoning going to triple at the least when we exchanged it for good elf worked silk and foreign spices and then returned home with the spoils.

    We probably would need to purchase more beasts for the caravan and any adventurous mercenaries with sufficient wanderlust to see to our safety on the road back to handle the weight alone.

    I wonder if the god wyrm Shialtza has as much a love of silk as he does trinkets?

    -Excerpt from the travel log Pythra of Veracules

 7.1

    7.1

    Jewel considered the coming season as she broke fast with her household.

    Bethica¡¯s prospective ¡®husband¡¯ was due to arrive this Grain Turn. There had been major delays due to weather poorly suited for cattle and something to do with the winds that impeded the journey between Cantor and Viznove.

    Then the preferred road between Kaeketeh and Rochford had flooded deep enough a ferry had been set up for lightly burdened travelers.

    But while good for small parties it was incapable of carrying even a single bull according to the messages by the bird. There were doves sent from Kaeketeh stating some of the Countess¡¯ footmen were acting as escorts along with the mercenaries hired before the caravan¡¯s arrival in Viznove and the peddler who had procured the bull.

    The thought of the vile woman still left a sour taste but as long as she lived Jewel could keep her visits to Kaeketeh to single time per year.

    Paul took up another scoop of his morning bowl while Jewel carefully scooped heaping dollops out of her own pot. She was trying to avoid needing to get another spoon, but she might have to commission one in a few more years if her appetite grew much greater.

    Smithson was eating his porridge while Jewel¡¯s smaller self tried again to stomach a small portion. Alas it was still not settling very well and after even a few mouthfuls she had to return to the strips of pork that had been salted and seared for the purpose.

    Jewel swallowed to clear her mouth before sharing some of her thoughts.

    ¡°The wheat fields are healthy, There is no more sign of the blight I smelled in the-¡±

    Before Jewel could even begin to hesitate in recalling the family her husband was nodding and filling in for her lapse.

    ¡°Forest Side South Western field, Worked mostly by Elanor and Heironym¡¯s household, with some extra labor from her uncle come harvest and sowing.¡±

    Jewel snorted but nodded to her husband, taking the opportunity to scoop another glob of porridge into her mouth.

    She always missed the years between getting a new spoon.

    When Jewel was a few years old a simple one fit for her father¡¯s hand would spill out over each side of her mouth. Now one meant to scoop up portions for a man¡¯s serving bowl of breakfast didn''t even fully cover her tongue.

    Smithson finished up the last of his and then checked on her smaller self to see if she was just having trouble with the spoon or if the porridge still was unpalatable. For her part ¡®Gem¡¯ quickly shook her head and tried again to speak clearly. But mostly just mooked and squeaked trying to get the sounds to come out right.

    Every meal eaten properly was a terribly dainty affair for Jewel¡¯s larger self. And a chore of trying to make her preference known as her smaller self at least when it wasn''t stew.

    Jewel refused to not swallow down that delicious medley of meat, vegetable, peas and almost gravy like broth Dariusz mixed up for supper most evenings. And while actually eating any of the vegetables or grains was best to be avoided Jewel¡¯s little mouth happily gulped down that thick broth and the tidbits of meat there in.

    Her kitchen master was almost as good as his mother making up the delectable pottage!

    Paul took the chance while Jewel was swallowing another spoonful of porridge to bring up how his own work was faring.

    That was the rhythm they had settled in.

    Plans for the future discussed in the evenings.

    The labors of the past day shared in the mornings.

    It happened somewhat by accident but at the same time Jewel liked the simple way of it.

    ¡°I¡¯ve received word from afar, it was slow in reaching me but I have trust in the words written and by who.¡±

    Smithson started fussing over Jewel¡¯s smaller self to make sure that the bits of porridge and grease from her smaller portion of breakfast were cleaned up.

    She had developed far more sympathy for her older brother¡¯s challenges in keeping food off of his brows when they were both younger. It was amazing all the places it could end up when your arms and hands were so rough and awkward in their motions.

    ¡±There are absolutely efforts being undertaken by lords within the Realm and beyond it to hatch their own Wyrm Eggs.¡±

    Jewel did not spill even a grain of her boiled porridge from her wyrm sized portions of course. Her larger self was held to a higher standard than that. But she did stop in scooping another dollop into her mouth.

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    She also did not summon her friend and confident wizard, Tsulogothulan had their responsibilities in the Rochford court. But she made a note to do so after breakfast.

    Preferably outdoors where it would not disturb the freshly laid stones of her newly built home. It had been a few years since that happened but Jewel did not want to risk it.

    She pried a little, gently of course Jewel and Paul mostly seemed to get along but they had not even been married a full year yet.

    ¡°Efforts undertaken but no successes?¡±

    Paul shook his head and the tension eased out of her wings that had already begun to flare out at his news.

    ¡°No, and by the word I receive there are a great many who likely will not manage to even get an egg at all.¡±

    Jewel hummed and nodded along so she did not waste too much time that could be spent eating.

    Paul¡¯s portion was almost done already. Despite the size of her mouth unless she was drinking her breakfast he always had a lot less eating to do then Jewel. Smithson and ¡®Gem¡¯ were however both quite finished and mostly just waiting for breakfast to be dismissed.

    ¡°Within the Realm the High King has had to trade some rather extensive favor to his vassals in order to elevate Gryphon Riders to the station of lords proper.¡±

    Jewel considered the way that would probably incense the Countess if he elevated either of her Gryphon Knights to a higher title. That made sense, her husband was really quite good with his network of doves flying too and fro through the air. During her flights and while Smithson and ¡®Gem¡¯ were out in the village she saw far more messenger birds in the air around Valasect than were flying through Rochford even during preparation for war.

    ¡°And bequeath them with the caring and ¡®brooding¡¯ of wyrm eggs. Which naturally he also had to pay quite heavy sums in gold from those vassals and lords of the realm who were not already Gryphon Lords.¡±

    Jewel took three spoonfuls this time to give herself a proper mouth full, or close to it. Letting the flavor and the gritty clumps of texture run over her tongue before she swallowed hard.

    It was so strange, she loved her morning porridge. But her smaller mouth found it bland, sticky and disturbing. It lacked the nuances her wyrm tongue happily enjoyed and what flavors she tasted were so unpleasant.

    At least cheese, milk and meat still were palatable.

    And of course Dariusz¡¯s stews were something both tongues could agree on, although it hit far sharper and louder on the smaller palette. Then there were the numerous ways that food made its parting with her smaller self¡¯s body.

    Or the fact that her larger self never seemed to ¡®relieve¡¯ itself of the food she ate. Jewel had never wondered where it all was going before.

    But after the last three years of her experience as ¡®Gem¡¯ that question tickled at her.

    Was all of it going into more growth?

    Surely she ate more than that in her life? No, Something else must be happening.

    Maybe wyrmflame?

    Did it burn food the way normal fire burned wood?

    Jewel was unsure.

    But besides air, flame and ¡®Gem¡¯ where else could it have gone?

    ¡°Also not all of his vassals have been willing to part with their eggs for any price. Especially given the possibility that one day they might very well hatch and elevate them as you have Bathory.¡±

    Jewel paused at a horrific thought. If she kept eating so much would she lay another egg?

    Was that how it worked?

    She glanced down at the third left of her pot of breakfast, stomach suddenly feeling over full.

    Jewel¡¯s smaller stomach made a threateningly loud burble at her discomfort which immediately had smithson lifting ¡®gem¡¯ up (gently) and rushing to the chamber pot. She was pretty sure this was not going to be another ¡®incident¡¯ but her squire was nothing if not attentive.

    It had happened enough times neither Paul nor Jewel needed to mention his departure. Jewel didn''t fuss, her smaller self was still nearly full from this morning on Wyrmflame. She signaled Adelyne. Her bonded servant was still not really past the competence of a child half her age. But she was improving.

    After getting the girl¡¯s attention (and she was filling out enough that Jewel no longer thought the term waif applied).

    ¡°See that this does not go to waste, I¡¯m feeling a bit less hungry this morning.¡±

    Paul¡¯s brow furrowed. But Adelyne was quick to heft up the cooking pot with a grunt and waddle out of the feasting hall.

    Her husband spoke up after she left.

    ¡°Are you feeling alright my wife? I¡¯ve never seen you not finish a meal.¡±

    Jewel let out a long sigh, looking to the passage that smithson and her younger self had fled down before turning back to her husband.

    ¡°I just had the thought that if I¡¯m not careful with the portions of my meals I might have another daughter.¡±

    Paul startled at that.

    ¡°That can happen?¡±

    Jewel let out another sigh. Answering her man the only way she could.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know that it can¡¯t.¡±

 7.2

    7.2

    Jewel spotted the peddler¡¯s caravan while she was ostensibly out ¡®with¡¯ Smithson on his rounds through Valasect.

    But for most of this season she was rarely any closer than ear shot to her squire.

    Instead she spent much of her time meeting up with the children of the village while they attended the duties of youth. And when the mood struck them took off as fast as their legs could take them for no other reason than the simple joy of it.

    Running on two legs still felt like she was going to fall over at any given moment but she mostly did not anymore.

    Yes there were in fact some tumbles but Jewel was not actually any clumsier in that regard then her ¡®peers¡¯. It was while she was sitting for a breath with the pack of children she mostly could not place names too that she first spotted the peddler.

    ¡°Eyaa!¡±

    A quick shout reaching sharp and clear through the air not entirely unlike birdsong. Jewel found that for however stunted and small this smaller throat was, she was far better at bird calls then any other child in Valasect.

    A quick glance around the valley showed that small faces were already turning to peer at her. The few children that had been resting with her were already paying attention when she had gone stiff and attentive.

    Assured she would be seen and understood Jewel explained in the wide clear gestures of her Flight Cant.

    It was mostly as the Gryphon Riders used with her in flight, with a few gestures and flourishes that she and the children had taken too where Jewel had simply not known a simple way to describe something.

    ¡°Caravan afar grounded.¡±

    She had never realized it before she started teaching the children but Flight Cant gestures were always done with the assumption of altitude.

    Things like ¡®march¡¯ and ¡®walk¡¯ always came together with the gestures for below and grounded.

    The same gesture without that always implied flight.

    Which just came naturally when you mostly used it in the air.

    Jewel was repeating her gesture as she scanned the valley. Making sure that everyone interested had gotten a chance to spot her waving.

    Some signaled acknowledgements and turned away.

    But most kept their eyes on her.

    One of the better canters of the older children waved at her a question from across the fields where they had been checking a fence.

    This one was a field canter.

    If they were a wood canter it would have been harder to discern the gestures.

    Those among the village youth who had practice in slings or even in one case a hunting bow had taken to Flight Cant with a will. The ability to gossip with any other canter silently while sneaking up on a bird or other game had made ¡®Gem¡¯ very popular among them.

    But the hunters tended to not move as openly or widely as even the stiffest new Gryphon Rider.

    This boy was not one of these wood canters, he signaled wide and open so you could tell the signs from each apart across the fields.

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    ¡°Burdened Treasure?¡±

    That one was awkward for Jewel, the children had declared the meaning to be treasure. And the way they used it and gestured it had shifted enough to be distinctly its own; it was not really the original signs she had demonstrated when one had asked for a word to something she didn''t know.

    It was closer to say that the gesture had been a mix of the signs for ¡°Vital Target¡± and ¡°Provision¡±.

    But then it became the two quickly made one after another.

    Then later one of the kids started doing the two motions in a kind of mixed form with both hands.

    And then it just settled together and like that Flight Cant had a new sign where before it had lacked it.

    One that if you were sharp eyed you could see across the open spaces of Valasect¡¯s valley.

    Unsure of the answer to the question she turned away to peer at the slow approach of men and beasts along the southern road.

    Jewel squinted as hard as she could at the caravan. There were quite a lot of animals. At this distance though she was not certain of the kind.

    At least eight were definitely mules carrying heavy packs and about that many great white beasts she assumed were cattle. But there was a muddled herd of smaller beasts she could not place as either.

    Some might have even been sheep or maybe small horses. Jewel however was confident none of the beasts bore riders.

    She hoped Bethica liked whichever of them was her new ¡®betrothed¡¯.

    But she could not even guess which one that was at this distance. Even if she knew what he looked like.

    The horns on some of them seemed a bit silly compared to the bulls the wyrm spawn could currently remember having seen.

    Even across the valley the sheer span of them was visible.

    Easily further between the tips then her smaller body was tall.

    She was glad neither of her selves had the misfortune to have horns that splayed out like that or that far. It would make it horrendous to pass through doorways.

    After peering long enough to judge with an intensity that sparked mixed feelings of her memory of flying with the army Jewel turned back to her audience near and far.

    She signed wide and slow in sweeping arcs that would be clear to the many faces scattered in their chores. Many of them watching her instead of seeing to their due labors.

    ¡°Possible Treasure, Heavy Load, Many Beasts, Burdened Mule, Armed Support¡±

    And there certainly were armed men.

    They were outfitted well enough for a questing knight who either expected mobility to trump solid steel in their mission or could not afford better.

    Six, perhaps seven of them?

    ¡®Gem¡¯ had better eyes than most of the kids.

    But they were nothing compared to the vision of her Wyrmself.

    And unfortunately like her height they had stalled out in growing better this year.

    Still it was enough.

    The field canter signed assent and then warned.

    ¡°Reporting¡±

    Which was a gesture taken up by many around Valasect before youth were running to tell their elders of the approaching strangers.

    Audibly, Dorota spoke up.

    ¡°tell ma ¡®n pa ¡®n betha.¡±

    Which Jewel could only nod agreement too.

    With that the siblings and Jewel were off again, running far too quickly for Jewel¡¯s comfort.

    And yet they were so wonderfully exhilarating in their speed she was soon joining them in their laughter.

    Her own voice trilling and whistling like birdsong.

    The moment of it so joyous she entirely forgot why they had been in such a rush until Bethica was there before them.

    Jewel was so dizzy and joyous from her run she flailed at the uncomprehending cow before remembering with a shame-faced flush Bethica didn''t know Flight Cant.

    She was so distraught Albert had to tell the bemused cow the news.

    ¡°Your Bull¡¯s arriving!¡±

 7.3

    7.3

    The arrival of a peddler was as popular an event in Valasect as it was in Rochford proper.

    She could recall foggily in her smaller head the festival air that even a fairly small trade caravan could bring. News from well past Viznove might be carried on the stranger¡¯s tongue, and these tales could sometimes be of more value than whatever wares they peddled.

    On more than one occasion in Jewel¡¯s life travelers would offer tales and songs from distant lands for a night¡¯s rest in the Rochford manor.

    It was almost enough to make one forget the cheating greed that every peddler bore.

    Almost, but not quite.

    She was running back the way they had come to inform Bethica because now they were...

    Well Jewel was not really sure why but the excuse to run just made it the thing to do.

    Her greater self was making a bit of a parade of it herself. Jewel couldn''t remember if that was planned beforehand or something her larger self must have decided in her absence. But there was presently much ado about her walking from the manor to the town square.

    You could see the party of her household moving in something like a march. Smithson had already met up with them and she was supposed to return as well.

    But it was hardly something to hurry overmuch.

    Jewel was on track to come upon herself by way around the town, winding via the trails between the fields. The other children by silent and unsigned agreement made a game of it with her to weave and wind with the minimal disturbing of the crops.

    To attempt the utterly impossible task of ambushing her greater self and her party.

    It was a fool¡¯s errand, no matter how stealthy any of them were, her senses in her wyrm self were far too sharp.

    But she did not spoil the game for that.

    No one was watching her close enough to catch her signs even if she wanted to.

    Jewel could spot the wings and head of her greater self over the fences and tall wheat well before she saw the rest of the party.

    And though those eyes were not looking anywhere near the route the children took she knew that already they were all known to her greater self.

    A single ear had flicked in Jewel¡¯s direction.

    A subtle shift in the neck and wings.

    Also the wind was at their backs and the scent had long since carried even though her larger self had not even parted her lips to taste the air.

    Still she played her part in the game, feigning ignorance, black mane and shining scales on a neck tall as some of the younger trees along the road.

    The sight was lost when the children dove into the towering heights of grains, still too green to harvest.

    The rush of the tall heads of wheat swaying in the wind making the newly adopted game all the harder.

    She and Dorota twisted and bent between the rising blades, trailing the slim clearance between the stalks. Moving as swiftly as they dared, slinking closer and closer until finally leaving the cover of fields for the shrubs and hedge, from here peeking around the leaves and branches Jewel could make out the rest of the entourage.

    Her true wyrm self was walking with Muriel at her left and Smithson on her right.

    Each fully armored for the captain of her footmen.

    Paul, her ¡®husband¡¯ who confusingly also insisted on being her ¡®father¡¯ was a bit ahead of Jewel¡¯s greater self, dressed up in dark metal armor with equally black cloth and leather between.

    It had a thin, sparse plate. Leaving much of him exposed to strikes to the side, leg or arm. It would be barely better than the heavy cloth maile of a Rochford footman in melee. Honestly not much different to what her Father wore on parade.

    Armour more for showing the idea of protection then the truth of it.

    There was something else significant about the armor but Jewel could not pull it from her tiny head.

    She approached with those children that had kept up with her. About half had split off and were already crowding towards the square to get a first sight of the peddler and their wares. The time for their ambush was upon them, as one the children knew what they must do and Jewel was one with them as they all shrieked in delight and charged the party!

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    Jewel¡¯s short legs beat into the dirt as she ran to meet with her larger self, breaking through the invisible edge where she was separate from herself. Like leaping into a wall of warmest water her wyrmflame washed over and filled her frail body with a fortifying warmth.

    She¡¯d hardly lost any that was held tightly inside through constant focus and discipline, but to be enveloped in the presence of her true self was welcome all the same.

    It let her relax her hold on the wyrm flame.

    Released from the struggle as it came effortlessly now from the core of her greater self.

    The sudden expansion of her senses and the unfurling and enfolding completeness of her memory brought a peace that soothed every worry that had plagued her diminished self.

    As easily as she walked on all fours Jewel ran and collided with her larger self in a hug. Soon followed by Albert, Dorata and the other children and Jewel for her part feigned shocked surprise and theatrical groans of pain as they each landed on her sides with blows that were barely noticeable let alone incapacitating.

    It had interrupted the conversation with Jewel and the rest of her party but the joy of the village children was worth the distraction and when the hysterical giggles and squeals were done she slid from her larger self and settled in beside her gracefully swinging tail. The band of followers, their fun at its conclusion, now dissolved back to their own duties.

    A dozen of Valasect¡¯s youngest children lingered back to add a further trail to the entourage that was once more now ambling along towards the square.

    But only Albert and Dorota were close enough to touch.

    Jewel offered them a smile of thanks for joining her so close to her ¡®mother¡¯ that she knew still was a bit overwhelming for most despite the years she spent watching over them.

    She wished to hold their hands.

    And the impulse was action before she could stop herself and Dorota¡¯s hand was clasped tight in hers so they could swing their arms as one with the light jog that was needed to keep up with the rest of the entourage.

    She could not afford to smile openly and widely with her larger snout, but ¡®Gem¡¯ beamed like the sun with all the welcoming that she had felt for the walk down here.

    In the joy of the moment the rest of the walk into the village blurred away.

    The memories of what she was going to do were there.

    She was still talking with Paul and Smithson about it.

    But all of that was for her larger self to worry about.

    Jewel could simply enjoy spending time with...

    Her friends?

    Both of her stumbled at the thought.

    But that¡¯s what the village children were.

    They were her friends.

    More friends than her larger self ever had.

    It was barely a stalling moment, but where her larger self had to clamp down hard on that wondrously beautiful and somewhat distressing moment and press past it to the business that was coming?

    As the smaller self Jewel could simply let the joy of it burst out of her chest and through her strange lumpy over-short throat to peel free from her lips and tongue in delighted trilling.

    Laughter soon was joined by Albert and Dorota and a few of the other young kids.

    And with the very same undeniable joy that Jewel could only express with her smaller self her heart took a sudden jealous turn and she bolted for the border.

    Her friends joined her at a run already forming up into a new spontaneous game, probably some kind of chase or tag that would involve quite a lot of tumbling in the dirt.

    They charged the invisible edge where she would stop having to be the stuffy lady of Valasect and the heir of Viznove and could just be-

    Except Jewel felt her smaller self vanish past the reach of their shared experience.

    She could still smell, see and practically feel the joy coursing off her.

    She could tell that she had gained every single spark of joy and freedom she had sought.

    It was as apparent as watching her own hands flex.

    But Jewel was still here.

    Having to be the larger self.

    The ¡®true¡¯ self.

    Left behind to wistfully watch the smug and slightly apologetic look, her ¡®lesser¡¯ form threw over her shoulder before tearing off around the corner of a fence and out of direct line of sight. Trailed by squealing youngsters shrieking in joy.

    Jewel had to merely chuckle instead of scream in joy with them. Her own throat was far too long to let loose with the abandon her ¡®daughter¡¯ could afford.

    Smithson laughed with her and picked up the conversation where they had paused when ¡®Gem¡¯ started squealing in laughter and running off to play some kind of chase game.

    ¡°Ah, I¡¯m glad she¡¯s getting along well with the villagers.¡±

    Paul snorted and huffed with a similar sentiment.

    But Jewel could only sigh and give herself a shake.

    She never knew which one she was going to be when she parted from ¡®Gem¡¯.

    But this was the first time she wished she was the smaller of the two.

    Paul Finally went back to business.

    ¡°Five Pfennig says that the foreign mercenaries actually draw their blades at the sight of Jewel.¡±

    Smithson shook his head.

    ¡°I¡¯ll match ya, I say the Countess¡¯ men prepared them better than that.¡±

    Right.

    Jewel was going to have to deal with the peddler.

    And not just any peddler but a foreign peddler.

 7.4

    7.4

    Leandro knew the northern ways.

    Not just the winding routes and roads that kept almost entirely to the sun facing high-passes as most could take. But paths that the old dynasties had carved and hewed from crevices in the deep earth. When their empire had reached over all the known world and its realms.

    The dark under ways where the reliefs and signs still seemed fresh under lantern light.

    He was not alone among the trade guild for this knowledge.

    But his peers in this were sparse.

    So when a contract came to see a herd of cattle through into the north in good time and paying especially good fees to the guild, Leandro was the only one available. Of course it was not only cattle that he would be taking.

    His counterpart playing herdmaster up from the countryside had known this and eagerly had stocks to hand over for good silver and even gold now that his leg of the journey was done.

    Leandro happily took the olive oil and some bundles of even further flung spices.

    He would shuffle what crafts were fine for towns and villages.

    Simple peddling en route for the final delivery.

    But mostly he watched the cows.

    And that business was certainly something familiar and wonderful. As a boy growing up with his father walking between the sun blessed pastures he always enjoyed listening to the wise philosopher bulls. Some folk would insult the beasts or dismiss them as such and Leandro pitied them for what their arrogance cost them. The Bulls did not speak to those without respect.

    As a boy for the price of simple patience or a handful of grain he had heard epics of the kingdom of the solar dynasty, The Odyssey of Homer and from it the fall of troy. And wept at the sorrow sung for the sinking of ancient minos and her unnamed sister island.

    Those that insulted the bulls were denied their wisdom and songs. Denied from attending their festivals and the feasts of their sacrifices.

    Denied to eat the flesh of the wise.

    Leandro had earned that, though he was not a priest or highborn child. Just a simple peddler''s son. He earned by his patience and kindness the right to attend the feast of one bull¡¯s sacrifice. He¡¯d been allowed by the command of the bull himself to be there. He¡¯d watched as the knife struck and the blood spilled.

    Witnessed the life end of a wise bull, and in his death calling forth the descent of a god in full daylight. Blood turned to light as it was supped on by the divine and then heart and organ further taken up in it.

    Leandro ate the strip of sacred meat scorched and salted as the god of the harvest declared his life well lived and his strength a blessing upon the land.

    And now he was here as an escort for another bull.

    He could not even imagine what kind of price had been paid to the pastures for such an esteemed animal to make the journey so far.

    ¡°It is not my place to question you ver and your ways with us, but my patriarch told of a herd far north needing in the gift of wisdom. With but one last cow to speak for them. I am still young and strong enough to travel so far. Where others are too old and near their time to surrender to the gods.¡±

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    The bull spoke like a priest, with the holy word of the old cantor as spoken in temple, not the common words of traders, court folk or villages. A language which opened doors simply by the knowing of it and could have gotten him a place as an apprentice priest if he¡¯d wanted.

    Another gift that Leandro the child owed them. For where else would a merchant¡¯s son have learned the language of the long dead empire?

    And so this was what Leandro thought might be the most bittersweet journey he had ever made.

    Leandro knew the northern ways. But he did not like them.

    He was never overly pleased by spending two days in the dark of an underway, of the fiddling needed to never let the embers go out lest you suffer the consequences. To risk being trapped blind by utter darkness a day¡¯s walk underground. Even though on this road he knew how to find the blessed carved wall which even without light could guide an unfortunate traveler to sunlight.

    Leandor was not overly fond of how the realm northward had a too shallow skyvault which made even the height of summer chilled and cold feeling. The way that night could bring frost even in autumn.

    And he honestly detested the strange people with their suspicious eyes.

    He hated their stories and rumors, of monsters in the dark woods. Talk of Children that were torn apart by their mothers. Of horrifying starvation where men eat one another, Of the tales of the deadly winter wind, the vampire, the zephyrvam which could roll down the mountains and slay men and beast where they stood.

    He hated how mercenaries hired here would insist on carrying all their water for days of travel. How they looked at you if you did not. Like you were a man already dead for the foolishness of simply taking a drink.

    The superstitious distaste they had of any unknown well. The way they would feed it to dogs or birds before daring to drink themselves.

    The way they glared at him.

    There was a lot to dislike about the cold, dreary, foreign lands of the Ridgetail mountains and the wide rolling expanses of forest and farm. Viznove¡¯s whores were practically priests or monks for how they hid themselves away!

    Leandor had long years of familiarity with this northern route and he was wise to the pitfalls that other merchants from home might stumble into.

    But that did not mean he liked it.

    However the bull Celsus made this particular northern trip all the better. He had tales and poems to share, and thanks to the need to feed him mostly on grain rather than what grazing the mules found most nights (except in the underway when they were foddered like the mute cattle) on a diet of grain Celsus had far more time to speak then his kind normally spared.

    Now though this long bittersweet journey which had taken Leandor back to his youth was coming to an end.

    The wondrous animal which had been his charge was going to be left here.

    In some random backwater village, surrounded by armed soldiers from the countess of viznove herself so even the errant thought of simply failing to make the trade was curtailed.

    Celsus was going to live out the rest of his days here.

    In a frigid sky smothered and star cursed land filled with literal biting winds and insane women devouring their own children. Leandor was going to have to abandon a wise, kind and far too noble beast as Celsus to join a herd of base cattle so that some noble barbarian could enjoy the novelty of talking beasts on their lands.

    They probably didn''t even have the proper gods to sacrifice the bull too when his time came.

    Leandor schooled his face, focusing hard not to let his ire show.

    Northern nobles could be mighty vicious even for nobles.

    It was best not to insult this one when they arrived.

    His hired swords bracing themselves drew his eye to the road.

    It was time to do his job and make his silver.

    But the sight of the looming beast trailing behind what was certainly the lord of the land in his oh so ¡®northern¡¯ black armor froze him to the spot.

    Leandor felt a vague memory of news and rumor flutter loose from the edge of the fog of the forgotten.

    Oh.

    So there actually was a Dragon!

 7.5

    7.5

    Jewel took an immediate dislike to the man that had ferried Bethica¡¯s bull from the sun lands of old Cantor to her own demesne in Viznove. He stank of fear and malice that hung in the air around the peddler like an acrid cloud. The bet that the mercenaries would be uncouth enough to draw steel at the sight of her was lost thankfully.

    They were afraid and braced for violence because of course they were at the sight of Jewel. But what fear they held was of the regular sort, a shocked hum of the unfamiliar and intimidating. They did not hold ire for her, merely acknowledged her danger.

    But this man?

    When he looked at her she could smell fear, but she could also taste the hate as he averted his eyes to Paul. He put on a fake smile and even tried to squeeze his eyes in an honest way. But Jewel could still taste the air, she could hear his heart. She could see that he was tense around the cheeks in a way that honest joy never was.

    His attention stayed on her husband in a familiar (if annoying) manner. Although she supposed his position at the head of their little party was not helping. But mother¡¯s words stirred inside her and reminded to not spend an advantage like this one frivolously.

    ¡°Ah my good lord! I am Leandro of Epirus. Merchant of the sunlands, and honored servant to have seen your charge here.¡±

    Jewel glanced at the Countess¡¯ guard and then her own footmen.

    Everyone was standing straight and proper, Smithson and Muriel were decidedly not sharing a conspiratorial glance with her. But the scent in their sweat and the slight shifts across them reeked of humor. The unbeknownst fool for their amusement continued to blather on digging his proverbial grave.

    ¡°Ah! And is this the good lady of Valasect? To which my commission and final delivery is due of the good bull Celsus to his new pasture home?¡±

    He turned not to Jewel with those words but to Muriel of all people.

    Which finally brought a cough from Paul that took this peddler up short in his false courtesy.  His fear filled out into an even wider cloud around him as Jewel glided from one step to another ahead of her husband.

    Her fore claws sinking into the dirt of the road after she had barely brushed them before. Her coils slowly sinking out of the air as Jewel let her wyrmflame recede and drop the burden of her scales and flesh. The weight pressing away the road and bringing her closer to the stones beneath. The soundless voice of the mountain roots deep below stirring ever so slightly as she let herself press against it.

    She coiled her head high, the movement well practiced to draw attention to her snout and lips for moments precisely like this.

    ¡°Good tidings to you Peddler Leandro of Epirus, I am Jewel, Shining Wyrm of Viznove and Lady of Valasect.¡±

    That brought up a hitching breath from the man who was standing utterly still now. Like a rabbit before the hunter. His fear was pouring out his pores now and Jewel offered a gentle smile in consolation for the mistake she was openly ignoring.

    ¡°I thank you for your service in seeing to the well-being and safe travels of the bull Celsus to my lands. Shall we see that he is settled properly on his new pasture?¡±

    The spike of hate rose up again at the mention of the bull¡¯s name.

    Jewel forced her face to the impassive soft mein of a benevolent lady but her flame roiled and fluttered in worry. Did this merchant understand the insult of formally referring to one of the esteemed poet bulls while leaving out his line?

    Jewel had asked for the name. She¡¯d tried to take every effort to be properly courteous but no one who knew his full pedigree had been able to be found. She only knew the bull¡¯s name at all because the peddler at least had mentioned him. Well she was the lady of Valasect!

    Her station should partially soften the insult.

    She stepped past him and over towards the milky white herd that had been brought to Valasect, cows and bulls she could tell by scent. And that mostly did seem to align with which sported the longer horns. Up close the sheer whiteness of them was something to behold. Like pale clouds pulled tight over prominent muscle and bone. Standing they were each of them nearly as high on the shoulder as Smithson was tall.

    Against the peddler they were well over his head.

    Despite the size though each of them moved freely and without a tether or rope. Looking around curiously on the village of Valasect, favoring those around them with their ¡®stranger¡¯s eye¡¯.

    Jewel could not even guess which of them might be Celsus but she nodded to them all and several nodded back. Although a few twisted their heads to ward off flies right after, confusing how much acknowledgement that was.

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    She glanced at the Peddler. The cow¡¯s trick probably could have worked for Jewel too. Muriel was a bit visibly old to be Paul¡¯s wife but it was not the most lopsided match she had read of.

    Perhaps a jape she could play next time she had the opportunity.

    Their little train of beasts, men and dragon made for a rather amusing farce of a triumph.

    Jewel at the head of it with Smithson and Muriel. Paul lagging behind to speak with the terrified peddler, the line of blazingly white pelts that were the cows moving along amiably at no prodding or direction from anyone. Ambling along in a formation a bit better than green levies!

    The rest of Valasect parted before them, following along and gossiping. A few of the women with larger plots of grazing available to them were eyeing the pale beasts.

    Undoubtedly there would be petitions that Jewel acquire more of the herd for them then one bull.

    Bethica had made her way further along the pastures from where Jewel first met her. Grass bitten down tidily where the cow had taken it up earlier in the year. She was not however pulling up more grass or chewing as they arrived. Her ears were perked and her eyes wide and searching as they came down the road. Nostrils flared.

    Jewel could spot complementary attention from the herd of white beasts. The shortest amongst them was still taller at the shoulder than Bethica. The interest continued as they drew closer, but when finally they reached the road the herd stilled.

    Bethica was approached by Jewel alone, while the rest of the cattle stilled to a stop mulling and groaning among themselves.

    Finally a single bull stepped out beyond all of them.

    His coat was white as the scattered clouds above and his eyes were pitch black. At the shoulder bone and his chiseled muscles brought him to almost a foot taller than Bethica. Jewel could see her friend¡¯s nostrils flare and there was something in her eye that the cow had never shown before. Her voice rolled free in a clipping and solid set of words that Jewel almost didn''t recognize.

    Only becoming clear when Jewel realized they were the written word as spoken. The text of letters brought to sound! Something Jewel had never realized even existed.

    ¡°I am Bethica, Daughter of Belora, who was daughter of Orthica, who was daughter of-¡±

    Her friend recited every ancestor Jewel had heard as before, but in a speech Jewel had not even realized she knew. In a speech the wyrm was still grappling with realizing it could even be spoken as such instead of merely written and understood. The confounding reality that the written word was in fact a different language and not just a strange collection of rules for putting meaning to vellum!

    When Bethica had finished her litany of ancestors the white bull dipped his head solemnly to her then turned so his stranger¡¯s eye was facing her as he raised it. Peering closely at her before he closed his eye and swung his face around in another dip before opening on her with the one meant for family.

    Only after this acknowledgement did he begin to speak. And where Bethica¡¯s tone was deep and resonant and undeniably feminine his was sharp, refined, clear and solid like stone, yet clear and legible as air.

    His diction made Bethica¡¯s words sound mumbling and mushy. In comparison, crisp as ice and yet not cold.

    ¡°I am Celsus, who was son of Quintus, who was son of Ennius, who was son of-¡±

    And the bull continued, his words rolling in droning waves rising up and down with the names, like a song. A melody that made Jewel want to shift a little in a dance despite herself. To ride that wind and water she could practically feel in his sharply delineated words. He spoke for generations longer than Bethica had.

    Continuing long enough the shape and sound of the names changed, their form going stranger. The word for son slipped past Jewel¡¯s grasp to understand somewhere in the chant. But still the meaning was clear, his declaration of names always had solid foundations.

    Somewhere in the midst of his words the entire herd had begun to call with the names. Not speaking but their voices rose with his.

    At least Celsus¡¯ lineage was coming to a close, Jewel could feel it and all the herd grew silent.

    ¡°Who was son of most beautiful Father Minos and the blessed Mother Pasipha?¡±

    Every head of cattle dipped low at that.

    Even Bethica, who whispered hoarsely under her breath. So quiet Jewel was sure not even the bull could hear.

    ¡°blessed mother Pasipha?¡±

    Jewel had to focus on holding her every muscle to the graceful poise of a lady.

    Celsus walked up as stately as a king and nuzzled at Bethica¡¯s own snout. Which she accepted although Jewel could smell how awed she was.

    ¡°I will have you¡±

    Bethica barely managed to make it more than a joyous mewl.

    ¡°You will.¡±

    Jewel¡¯s wedding had been the stuff of ballads. There had been actual ballads written about it and her husband¡¯s deal with the heavens! It had been attended by kings and lords and other titles she still was not even entirely certain she actually knew the full scope and providence of!

    But watching Bethica rise from her bow with her familiar eye on Celsus and all she could see and smell in her friend was making her deeply jealous of the wedding traditions of cattle!

    Her friend didn''t have to deal with gods or politics when she was married!

 7.6

    7.6

    After what Jewel could only call the wedding ceremony (The intensity between Celsus and Bethica demanded nothing less)! The merchant settled out to something closer to the usual of merchants in villages. Adorj¨¢n parted from the crowd to discuss with peddler Leandor and a few of the families that had been eyeing the herd of towering cattle.

    It was beneath Jewel¡¯s station but she had to remain now that she had made the appearance. Her headman had a better grasp of families in Valasect than Jewel although she was trying to be better.

    Paul was talking to some of the mercenaries that had made their way north with the herd while Smithson had gone to collect ¡®Gem¡¯ who was making a game of avoiding him.

    Jewel offered a smile that her smaller self mirrored before dashing around one of the sheepfold.

    ¡°These are prize Sun Blessed Epirus Cattle! That¡¯s forty Grosz in silver for the least of them! Nevermind what was paid for the seer!¡±

    Sadly she was currently not her smaller self and thus could not run into the fields for freedom from the infuriating greed of petty merchants. Adorj¨¢n was at least aligned with her against the scheming man. Thankfully Leandor¡¯s hate had mellowed after seeing Celsus accept Bethica.

    Jewel considered the size of the beasts before turning to the merchant.

    ¡°Our pastures are only so large, and much of it is rough, spoken for by the shepherds. So we cannot take on the entire herd even if you were to offer a fair price. There is little point in taking on such fine beasts only to slaughter them come winter.¡±

    And that seemed to light something in the merchant¡¯s eyes and bring a straightening to his spine. He smelled sharp, like a hunter who caught prey, like a soldier preparing for battle. The peddler¡¯s fear was faltering against his own will despite how much terror he reeked of when looking at Jewel. He finally spoke up with a fervor now that Jewel was unsure if it was genuine or merely a practiced act.

    ¡°That is the beauty of the fine Epirus hillsides, it is a land of warmth and mountains! Every beast kept there is made strong and sure footed among its rocks. Aside the need to accustom themselves to the winter they will take to these slopes as sure footed or more than your own sheep!¡±

    That claim drew enough attention from the rest of Valasect who prided themselves on their sheep to draw a shepherd¡¯s wife into the discussion. Jewel did not yet know her name but she smelled familiar and her voice was recognizable.

    ¡°Oiy then, let¡¯s see the giant lumbering things make a show of it on the pastures then? The Northeasterly is not so grazed it can¡¯t afford a few extra hooves.¡±

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    And that saw Adorj¨¢n and a good chunk of the villagers parting to make way for the herd.

    A few of them jeering a bit at the challenge. Although many more were already starting to make a more festive bent too it then already had come from the advent of a trade caravan. Jewel could already smell some of them bringing out their various house ales.

    The noise of all of it building up around her so that Jewel almost missed the quiet gasp of her husband.

    ¡°I beg your pardon?¡±

    Paul¡¯s strained voice, held just barely in check, drew Jewel¡¯s attention like the sound of a boar¡¯s snort in the woods. He was talking to one of the mercenaries dressed in more worn but far more protective armor then her husband. The man nodded along, having missed the distress entirely.

    ¡°Truth your lordship, I was brought on last year to do some extra guard work in cantor and it made news up and down the streets. In the pantheon with gods and magisters they did it.¡±

    Jewel held herself from reacting, but she could not stop her ears flicking at the words.

    ¡°Mighty proud they were too heard word of it from criers. Quite the prize to have cracked open a true wyrm egg. Was not a small or easy thing either by my reckoning, you could smell the sorcery and god in the air for nearly the whole season afterwards.¡±

    Paul spoke softly, awed enough in his voice for both of them. Although Jewel¡¯s mind was suddenly spinning in horror, her husband gave voice too.

    ¡°Then they have a wyrmling?¡±

    Which got a laugh from the mercenaries and a shake of the head from his conversation partner.

    ¡°No, they were proud to have been able to force the shell open at all. But even with an entire council of gods and their priests and magister beside them they got nothing even solid from it. What I heard last though is that the yolk does something peculiar. Cantor is offering a king¡¯s ransom in bounty for more eggs.¡±

    The glance he offered Jewel made her hide want to shake off the sudden greasiness. It was an effort of will to avoid the shiver breaking free up and down her coils in revulsion. To help express some of her discomfort she flexed her wings a little and nodded to a question from Adorj¨¢n.

    There was greed and a calculation there that she did not need to imagine the reason for. Jewel was a lady, she was a Wyrm, she ostensibly would lay a true wyrm egg at some point.

    But she definitely would not be selling it to some overlarge temple full of gods!

    However Jewel could not linger to listen to more of the conversation. She needed to stay with her headman and most of the village. There was a contest to prove the honor of the peddler and his pride in the beasts of his homeland.

    Jewel was almost certainly going to end up involved in that by stint of being the Lady of Valasect. Paul met her eyes with a firm nod. He would inform her what he learned tonight.

    Jewel had to force her attention back to the nattering peddler.

 7.7

    7.7

    Valasect had collectively ended up buying four more of the white giants that the peddler called Prized Epirus Cattle. Jewel and Paul¡¯s Dowery had been skimmed for the actual coin to pay the peddler of course.

    These additions to Jewel¡¯s Demesne were then split between the families with grazing that had been too rough for anything but goats until now.

    It had been impressive to see how sure the hooves were of such massive beasts on even rough terrain. The shining white of their milky fur over muscles flexed and showed the fitness of the beasts.

    And the show of their agility and strength had stilled concerns from Adorj¨¢n and the Shepherd¡¯s wife while delighting the rest of the village.

    Jewel¡¯s main contribution to the exchange was to insist they share no close blood relations between the beasts. Now it was evening and Jewel needed to discuss what her husband had heard gossiping with the Mercenaries.

    ¡°I¡¯ve sent birds to the farthest contacts I have to the south and west. As close to the under and over ways that lead into the lands of Cantor or its great sea as I can trust. We will need to make a tour to exchange birds for some of them. Their replies will be the last they can send.¡±

    Jewel sighed heavily before taking a long and savoring drink from her evening stew pot. Only just taking the time to actually chew and taste the meat and vegetables.

    ¡°The wings of the dove are already faster than I can fly. But what of the mercenary¡¯s word?¡±

    Paul took a heavy breath there.

    ¡°I don¡¯t doubt his words, the other mercenaries and the peddler and minders speak similarly. My mother¡¯s men also agree that it''s the same news they were spreading when they first made their way through Kaeketeh. Beyond that though I can¡¯t say, we don¡¯t get a lot of travelers out here in Valasect.¡±

    Jewel took another long sip of her stew. Focusing on slicing through the soft vegetables with her teeth, the flavor of the meat, the roots that had been cut up and cooked soft. The flavors of the pork fat and stewed marrow.

    She was not certain but Dariusz¡¯ cooking might be getting better than his mother''s! Which was astounding and something Jewel was intending to verify on her visit this Debt¡¯s Season.

    ¡°And none of them know what he meant. about the ¡®yolk¡¯ being something peculiar?¡±

    Paul sopped up the last of his own stew with a piece of bread.

    ¡°No more than he himself had to say Jewel. I know you heard the same as me even before you went off to watch the bulls jump and vault along the rocks.¡±

    She sighed, her Husband could do much but there was little that could be squeezed further but the concern that somehow someone had found a way to force wyrm hatchings left her yearning to stay braced for danger. Her neck strained to twist back into a tight spring ready to bite or annihilate with her flame. Wings wanting to flex wide in preparation to lift her clear and away into the sky.

    Jewel forced herself to relax, there was no immediate danger here. Nothing that she could do until messages arrived from afar. Whether by bird or rider or slow plodding foot she could only wait and all her panicked posturing did was cramp her muscles and ruin her sleep.

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    She took a heavy deep breath and exhaled slowly.

    ¡°Very well, Were there any other messages that came late in the day? I must admit I was distracted by seeing such bulls frolicking like goats.¡±

    But before Paul could finish chuckling there was a sound!

    A great and terribly wet sound like someone had sank an entire herd of the heavily muscled Epirus bulls into a cloying mire and then all as one heaved them up and into the air.

    Water did not merely pool in the still freshly hewn stones of Jewel¡¯s feasting hall. It burst and squeezed and bloomed like some black sulfurous flower. Slapping wet and meaty strands of barely flesh like vines that scrambled blindly around before finding one another and binding close and tight!

    The slick oozing sound was familiar and bizarre. Jewel had witnessed a far more careful and composed form of it many times. But this was not how Tsulogothulan had ever arrived before. The fierce immediacy of it coming on so rapidly Jewel had been completely caught off guard.

    That it also took the Weird of the Uloghai Bog several seconds to fully compose into even their more casual and inhuman shape left Jewel in growing unease.

    Paul was far less used to the comings and goings of her many year friend.

    But she would forgive him the maiden like squeal.

    After the great eye of the Bog Wizard had finished blinking open and rolled around to focus Jewel tried to ask what had Tsulogothulan in such a hurry.

    But words burbled over in a torrential rush. Like heavy rains they came in torrents. Thunder on the horizon. Warning dire and ominous latent in the tone before Jewel even fully apprehended the other more mundane meanings.

    ¡°Countess Bathory is dead! Slain by one of her own footmen! They stabbed her through the heart, The people of Kaeketeh have torn her to pieces and are burning her remains on a pyre as we speak!¡±

    Jewel only realized she had rushed forward through her dining table after it was already done. The frail wood rendered asunder under her weight and motion like a bundle of straw.

    The sound of clattering bowls and spilled stew. The feel of it between her toes was slimy.

    There was only one thing that filled her mind though.

    ¡°The Dungeon! Does Jaksa still secure the Dungeon!?¡±

    Her friend shook their head in a way that made Jewel¡¯s flame go cold. The feel of it suddenly burning like snow when Gem had first played in winter.

    ¡°Jaksa the Red and all of his charges are already gone from Kaeketeh. He took them and fled as soon as Bathory perished. By his claim they will be gone from Viznove and all of the Realm of Cantor Reborn in three days'' time.¡±

    Jewel felt a terrible fear ease ever so slightly.

    Kaeketeh was not an abattoir of torn apart husks drained of every scrap of life. There was not an imminent army of ever hungering living dead running like the wind for the people of Rochford.

    The sudden silence was disturbed by the strained voice of her husband.

    ¡°My wife, good wizard for those of us that don¡¯t speak whatever tongue that is, could you please explain what is going on?¡±

    Jewel blinked.

    Tsulogothulan stared at Paul then turned back to Jewel.

    ¡°Jewel, when did you learn to speak Uloghai?¡±

    To which she could only stare back in absolute bafflement.

    What was the Weird talking about?

    ¡°I didn''t?!¡±

 7.8

    7.8

    As he lay on the set of cushions set aside for him in his wife¡¯s bedroom Paul N¨¢dasdy tried to sleep but his thoughts would not settle. The slow breathing of the yards upon yards of wyrm furled up in most of the rest of the room was deep. He knew Jewel was already slumbering well. As was his ¡®daughter¡¯ gem, curled up in her own little nest of cushions.

    The closeness his wife insisted on for them had been strange, at times frightening. But as the seasons went he found it welcoming in how different it was from his own childhood. This was no hollow bedroom where he was kept sequestered and alone.

    Gem would not have to creep down cold hallways to find the comfort of her mother. Even Smithson, the humorously named ¡®nurse knight¡¯ was not very far if he was needed.

    On the balance despite how strange his married life was Paul would say he preferred it.

    But the closeness of his slumbering dragon of a wife could not sooth him tonight. The news roiled in his head even as he lay there trying to bring sleep like he had learned to as a child. To still himself and bring the next day through slow breathing. But he couldn¡¯t bring dreams, and his brow furrowed with his anger at himself over it.

    Why did he care this much?! Why was this keeping him up?!

    Paul barely knew his mother and what he did inspired only his ire!

    But now she had been slain, murdered in the most terrible of circumstances and greatest of betrayals.

    Her own servants took her life while she slept.

    The appropriate feeling should have been seeking vengeance, his mother¡¯s guard had broken oaths and betrayed all honor. He should be furious and raging for violence and justice. If she had been a proper mother he should have been mad with grief.

    Instead his heart was quiet.

    His mood was still.

    But sleep did not come. He had expected when this day arrived he would celebrate. In the words of his wife ¡°Bathory was no one¡¯s mother¡±.

    But he was denied that too.

    Paul was raised by Gr¨®a his wet nurse and Clarita his governess. He could not recall even seeing his blood mother until after he was seven. The trip to Kaeketeh had been like a ballad to him then. He had imagined that she was somehow going to be even more than his caregivers had been.

    After all, if she was his real mother surely that meant that everything they had done for him was somehow a lesser expression of love and caring? That all their warmth was but a pale shadow cast by the sun that was the love of Elizibeth Bathory!

    He had expected an embrace somehow warmer than the women he had mistakenly called mother on more than one occasion.

    He had expected something like how his elder sisters doted on him when they visited.

    Elizibeth Bathory was none of those things.

    She smiled in a way he had at first thought meant she cared for him. And she might touch his cheek or even embrace him when asked. She did not however sing to him, or speak to him fondly. At first he thought that she did love him as his mother because she also never scolded him. Always had treats for him, would indulge him with whatever gifts he asked for.

    But he realized she didn''t care about him at all when he was eight. He had taken a tumble while running through the halls of Kaeketeh in another annual visit. He¡¯d broken his arm falling down the stairs! And she had been right there and looked down on him, her smile just the same as always.

    The Wizard Jaksa the Red had shown more concern than his own mother! He¡¯d spoken softly and soothed Paul''s pain with a word of sorcery and then set the bone right and knitted it whole.

    He¡¯d been screaming in pain on the floor and his own mother had smiled!

    That was the moment Paul realized his mother did not love him. She had no spite for him, no ill will. But she also did not care about him at all. Gr¨®a had been furious when she found out. And then she was gone. Paul never saw her or her son again after the night he told her.

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    No one would acknowledge she had ever existed.

    On his ninth birthday Paul mustered up the courage to face his mother over it. He¡¯d demanded to know what happened to Gr¨®a and Bathory had shrugged and said she did not recall. She had claimed ignorance over the woman that raised him. Paul screamed at her for it and all she¡¯d done was raise a brow and laughed at him.

    He¡¯d said things that should have counted as treason then. He¡¯d wished her death. Instead of rebuking him Bathory had a sword commissioned to compliment his warrior spirit.

    His blood mother had not shown a single hint of fear or worry over her own child declaring he wished for her death and instead encouraged him to train for it. All with that same smile. But when Paul told her he didn''t want to see her on his tenth birthday the Countess Bathory had shrugged and he had never had to visit kaeketeh again until his wedding.

    Simple as that, she made the woman that nursed him as a babe vanish like she never was for reasons she could not even be bothered to recall. But stayed clear of him on a single word!

    Paul as a boy had wanted his mother dead then more than any other time. He¡¯d never been able to find out what happened to Gr¨®a. No one dared to even hint at it. She was simply gone, not even Clarita would say a word about the woman that she had spent nearly every day of Paul¡¯s life with until then.

    After that he could admit he hated his mother and though he had come to realize the impossibility of striking down the countess and the woman who birthed him in the coming years he still wished for her end. He¡¯d imagined doing the deed himself on nights like tonight where he could not find sleep.

    And now she actually was dead!

    She was gone and despite how awful she was, how terrible a woman, was it not wrong to feel nothing but a strange stillness in her absence? Did she deserve as much dismissal from him as she had given Paul? Discarded by her own flesh and blood?

    Did she deserve to have been stabbed, decapitated, quarted and burned to ash like the Weird said she had been?

    His mother had never struck him.

    She had given him almost everything he asked for, even her absence with not a word of complaint. But she had never reached out to touch him with anything close to the love and care that Gr¨®a had. Bathory had not scolded or praised him for his failures or successes like Clarita did.

    But she had done something which his nightmares haunted him with to poor Gr¨®a. He should feel something now that he knew she was gone?

    Where was his hate now? All he felt was cold and empty. Shouldn''t there be satisfaction?

    This is what he had wished for as a child wasn''t it?

    Paul didn''t know, he had learned as he grew of all the terrible things his mother did to other people. More than just Gr¨®a, women and men crumpled and bent at the thought of her wrath. He learned about her ¡®larder¡¯ and the women and what they became kept under Kaeketeh. She had never held back from him anything that she did. Not even Gr¨®a, Bathory simply did not recall precisely what had been done with the woman that had suckled her own son.

    But she had spared him and his sisters. She gave him a sword when he screamed in her face as a mere boy. But still his sisters were careful when they visited. Especially on the topic of Bathory even though they all lived farther away than Paul. Had husbands to protect them from her smiling wrath in foreign courts within the Realm and without.

    Was this from similar indifferences and terrible disregard that their mother had enacted on them and theirs? Had she been crueler to her daughters then her son?

    No one would tell Paul when he was a boy or even now as a married man.

    The only one in all of Viznove that dared speak out in more than hushed whispers against Bathory was his wife, a tyrant wyrm like the ballads of the great war.

    Who spoke to wizards like they were shepherds.

    His wife the wyrm, who yet was sleeping there in a room with him more like a grand hall for the dimensions needed to comfortably house her. A space that seemed open and empty when she was not filling it with a mountain of shimmering scales that you could feel the warmth of like a hearth.

    He could reach out and brush his fingers against her side and feel the hum of her blood and the rise and fall of her breath even though her face was settled on a pillow clear across the room. She alone had the courage to openly oppose his mother.

    All others had been silenced at the terror of her cruel smile.

    Well except not anymore, a conspiracy of some sort had been in play to see her murdered in her own bed. Word had not yet reached them other than by the Wizards and their mysterious circles. But he had no doubt of the truth.

    Kaeketeh was celebrating. He felt like he should be there with them cheering her end.

    Elizabeth Bathory.

    His Mother.

    Dead at last.

    Be Paul N¨¢dasdy felt empty and still. He had thought he hated his mother as much as anyone.

    So he was all the more surprised to find the tears running down his cheeks.

 7.9

    7.9

    She thought they would have more time. But now her poor husband and Jewel were having to try to squeeze the work of years and many casual meetings between peers into a few days of desperate correspondence and piles upon piles of tiny written missives carried by bedraggled birds.

    A dozen riders were burning through horses on the High King¡¯s way carrying doves that had just flown over the same roads the day before. Maintaining the torrent of words between the very edges of Viznove.

    But all of that was only the very minimum. Here in Valasect in her simple little study writing and reading the absolutely tiny scrolls of parchment was only the start.

    It had not even been a year since her wedding and Jewel was going to return to Kaeketeh.

    ¡°Ah here this one, the Baron of Ox glen assures he will swear fealty no later than the 11th of Grain Turn this year now!¡±

    Not only her but every direct vassal of the late Countess Bathory would be traveling. Those who were now meant to be her vassals. But it was all too soon! Paul had been trying very hard to build a network of trust, promises and assurances to prepare for the day his blood mother perished. But almost none of those alliances had settled yet!

    ¡°Well that¡¯s a relief, Paul? have you found any new letters from Ostara? They wrote last it would not be until threshing turn next year!¡±

    External to the county High King Mathias supported her. Fiebron, Thurz¨® and Osterwick also pledged support. Although not even Thurz¨® and Fiebron would be present in Kaeketeh for her ascent to the rank of Countess.

    Internal to Viznove matters were less certain. Father of course would support her and from him the bonds of House Rochford promised a pledge from Marcis?aw of Kliatbatrn.

    The other lords who had joined her in war also seemed fair odds to support her.

    ¡°The baroness Ostara just had a child Jewel. But yes I have one from her promising fealty. She will travel to swear properly after she recovers. Honestly, threshing turn might be a bit too early. Maybe best to just let her wait until debt season that year?¡±

    But that was not all of Viznove¡¯s lords and ladies. There were those who held land bordering Magarska and the less fit for battle. Both kinds habitually paid a tithe instead of pledging arms, although for entirely different reasons. One to avoid emptying the garrisons stationed in case of attack from the south, The other for lack of a suitably martial lord (or lady).

    Jewel thought that Father¡¯s place among the Fraternity of Gryphon Riders and her own camaraderie with them would at least assure that the former Countess¡¯ Gryphon Knights would remain loyal.

    There were from her talks with Paul a distressingly short list among her new Vassals that could be trusted just yet.

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    Being Bathory¡¯s chosen heir and publicly and grandly married to her only son would help at least.

    ¡°Fine, send word to her this is acceptable as long as a captain, relative or other representative is at least present to affirm her ties with us.¡±

    Her husband¡¯s hands were quick with a quill as he made the statement a command and then quickly rolled and sealed it with his signet ring. It was all far too soon. Jewel thought she would have years to settle these matters!

    Paul had thought they would have a decade at least!

    But It turned out they did not even have a full year. Bathory was dead before the end of summer! Word out of Kaeketeh was confused, few messenger birds making it free and what messages did reach Jewel and Paul spoke equal parts of unrestrained revelry and complete loss of social order. The only thing certain in the confusion was that Jewel was welcome in the city, by some rumors the populace was outright demanding her immediate presence.

    Jewel was glad for the support of the people. But it was not making the situation with her prospective vassals any easier. There were already accusations that Jewel planned the murder! But even there nothing was simple, one baron congratulated her for it and promised full support, while a baroness is spreading letters that murdering Bathory disqualifies Jewel¡¯s inheritance.

    ¡°Any word from the marches either way?¡±

    Paul shuffled through the small hillock of parchment. Message scrolls sent by doves were small things, usually curled tight to barely the width of a finger. But between Rochford and Jewel¡¯s own flocks all bearing vital news and their equal number being sent back? That piled rather high on her husband¡¯s desk.

    ¡°Yes! The last of them have officially said they will make time to Kaeketeh by no later than the 14th day of Grain Turn.¡±

    Jewel let out a breath of tension, carefully turning her head to direct it away from the small herd''s worth of sheep¡¯s skin that occupied the shared desks of their mutual study.

    ¡°Then that¡¯s the last of them at least attending if not a solid assurance of fealty.¡±

    Grain turn, Could whoever had finally decided to murder the Countess not have waited until at least after The Wheat Harvest Festival!? Jewel and her husband were going to have to miss their first summer dance! It was a petty thought, brought on by the overwhelming irritation of having the entirety of the county of Viznove dropped upon her far before she was meant to.

    But still it was laughable how many people thought Jewel had somehow planned this! If she had planned this it would not have happened before they finished building Paul his new pigeon tower!

    If she had planned this, Jewel would have made sure she was already on her way for the annual meeting in Kaeketeh for Debt¡¯s Season!

    If she had planned this, Bathory would still be alive this year!

    Jewel huffed again,

    If they left within the next three days that should give her time to settle whatever immediate matters required her attention in Kaeketeh. If rumor and messenger could be trusted the city would be hers regardless of the rumbling of vassals.

    It would be close but that should give them a few days to prepare for the arrival of her vassals and securing of loyalties.

    All of this should have been the work of years.

    Carefully working with Paul.

    But apparently they would have to make it happen in a few dozen days.

    Jewel forgot to turn her head before sighing again. The letters blew out in a cloud of tumbling scrolls.

    Paul was so overwhelmed he actually yelled at her for it.

    She couldn''t blame him.

 7.i

    7.i

    Poor girl doesn''t even smile anymore.

    The shining joy she greeted me with two years ago is lost to utter exhaustion and wasting.

    Her episodes are so intense that it can be days before she recovers enough to do more than suckle broth from sodden squares of cloth.

    Little Bathory¡¯s parents are already starting to mourn. I¡¯ve seen the look before, a drawing back from her to try and make the pain more bearable when the morning finally comes that their child no longer wakes.

    It is not helping the child in her sickness. Sickly and desperate for comfort she¡¯s left alone with strangers when she most wishes for her parents.

    This too I have seen before.

    That separation from care and comfort is as much slaying the child as the ailment itself.

    In simple peasants, rich merchant and noble I¡¯ve seen it land as a final blow that culls the ill as certainly as a cut throat.

    The girl will surely perish and be forgotten soon.

    Her parents will undoubtedly try for another and make her just a painful and slowly forgotten memory. Leave her with me to watch another child perish because everyone around her gave up that she could be saved.

    She will likely stop trying to eat after that.

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    Stop trying to live.

    I should declare her doom with calm certainty and save what reputation I can.

    I should make some recommendations on how to balance the humors of their next child.

    How to assure healthy blood runs true in their next offspring.

    But I¡¯m so tired of seeing children die!

    The lore suggests there is a treatment that might help with the curse that plagues young bathory. If I suggest this and it does not work I will surely lose my position.

    I may even lose my life.

    My peers in medicine swear by it though.

    That the bone and blood of a newly born infant can save those afflicted as this poor wasting child.

    There are plenty of still born that could be procured for such this time of year.

    But The treatments may need to be regular.

    What will her parents do when conveniently dead infants are not available?

    Such a price I cannot say if I could ever condone.

    Yet how can I not act? When I close my eyes I still see the last time Bathory¡¯s smile slipped away.

    When all that life fled from her face.

    And the seizing muscles of her illness took hold and wracked the poor dear in its totality.

    No I cannot let another child perish from the callousness of a family unwilling to bear the pain of their passing!

    I will bring the option of the treatment to her parents.

    If they are going to slay their daughter, I will have them say it plainly instead of simply letting the poor thing slip away from them.

    -Excerpt from the Journal of Jaksa Djuro, Physician & Surgeon of the Household Bathory

 7.ii

    7.ii

    She is dead.

    And though I did not wield the knives which pierced her heart it is because I did not stop them she is gone.

    Her blood, familiar and close as my own tells me she smiled even as her heart came apart under the blades.

    The red spilled from her lips says even with her last breath she tried to laugh in joy.

    But even that news sits like bile in my gut.

    Makes my blood writhe against me in pain. Makes my heart clench at the mistakes I have made.

    When did the smile I gave back to that frail little girl become a thing of such cruelty?

    When did I go wrong?

    Was it that first night?

    When I could not bear to bring the blade meant to heal upon a still breathing infant¡¯s brow?

    When I could not accept to take a life for the blood and bone to heal another?

    Would it have been better to murder an unwanted infant to restore another?

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    Was it the very seed of my truth that cursed the poor girl to become the thing I made her?

    The new path which let what my patient lacked be taken with no immediate harm.

    Not harmless of course, oh how bloody and terrible the price ended up being.

    But it was so clear then.

    Why spend any more of a life than absolutely necessary?

    Why waste more blood then the absolute amount required to restore the girl.

    Why not have two children live instead of one?!

    Was I wrong to want neither to die at my hand?

    Whatever my failure was, the woman I cared for nearly all her life is dead, and yet by my own cowardice the curse does not end there.

    The High King has taken those I taught in my weakness so I did not have to watch and feel the blood changing and sickening towards that ultimate and terrible apotheosis.

    He will make more of my most horrific failures for vile means.

    But I can make this right.

    I yet have my patients, I will find what flaw in my sorcery curses them so. I will heal what I have wounded and when the panacea is found I will restore even those twisted by the High King.

    Do not seek us out my peers in wizardry.

    Until my patients are healed we should not be found.

    I am assuredly an enemy to all of the Realm of Cantor for this but I don¡¯t care.

    I will heal this wound of mine set in the world.

    I will stop this bleeding pain.

    -Last Missive of Jaksa the Red to the Circles of Wizardry.

 8.1

    8.1

    Adelyne could make a run for it.

    Duck into the crowd and slip between the kneeling figures and bowed heads and be off down a familiar alley in a moment.

    They were walking down streets she had grown up on. Cobbles familiar to her toes even through the thicker shoes. She¡¯d not even been gone a full year. She recognized the crowd, even with their faces lowered. Although she was not sure how many would recognize her.

    Adelyne was no longer thinned by hunger, she was now dressed in better cloth than ever before in her life. Supposedly these were servant garments but they were spun and woven by the Shining Wyrm of Viznove herself! Adelyne had heard how much of a price that went for in Kaeketeh even before she was taken as bondage.

    She could make a run for it and live for a good while by selling the clothes off her back.

    Her simple dress with its house Rochford colors was probably worth more than most of the finery the nobles wore in midtown. With how hard Wyrmspun cloth was to come by. The villagers in Rochford and Valasek were loath to give up on what skeins and bolts they had of it.

    It was honestly one of the unstated benefits of the Lady Jewel¡¯s household. Everyone who served her had just that much more comfort.

    Coddling warmth in winter¡¯s chill and cool breath in summer¡¯s heat. A ransom in treasured cloth given to a criminal held in servile bondage. Adelyne could try to flee the duty and obligation she had found herself in.

    But only if she was a complete and total idiot!

    Her lady and bond owner was a Dragon. The Shining Wyrm of Viznove and by the feel in the air here on the street of the neighborhood she had grown up already the countess of Kaeketeh. People now knelt as Jewel passed, like they had when that fiend of a woman first introduced the Shining Wyrm of Viznove to the city. But unlike how they did to the bloody countess the people of Kaeketeh now knelt with smiles! At least here in gate town she was already their lady and liege.

    Adelyne would be the first to admit she made for an awful maid. She could see the looks the others gave her when she struggled at things even the looming dragon could manage! A beast so large as the Lady Jewel had no business having so fine and delicate a touch with thread and wool as she did!

    But if that was the work set too her Adelyne would do it. Her mistress was a terrifying beast with a voice that sank into your bones and declared all it touched as belonging to her. Adelyne would be an absolute idiot to try and flee.

    Nevermind that she knew it would be hopeless, Jewel could smell her out from the air and skip and bound for longer than Adelyne could run.

    ¡°Who told them to bow to me like this?¡±

    Yet for all the absolute dominance Jewel had over her the Lady of Valasect and now assuredly Kaeketeh was the softest and gentlest creature Adelyne had ever met!

    And with the question open in the air like that from her lady the once thief could not stop herself from answering, voice only steady for the practice she had with speaking to the dragon. The tremble had finally come loose even if the primal impulse for it remained.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think there is a soul born of Kaeketeh that would need to be told to bow to you today, Lady Jewel.¡±

    Adelyne had learned to tell when Jewel was exasperated, even when she was wearing her ¡®noble mask¡¯ the trick was to look at how the scales along her neck shifted, the subtle tension of muscles underneath them and precisely how stiff the hairs of her mane were. It was amusing to comment with the other staff of the manor how much their lady resembled a cat. But such words were only ever dared when said wyrm was well and truly outside of the manor, preferably on those days she flew to visit her family in Rochford.

    ¡°I see¡±

    Said the wyrm who Adelyne was only half sure had not somehow enchanted her and everyone else in the city. The terrifying Weird Tsulogothulan said things that suggested it could have happened after all!

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    ¡°Well as this is liable to be the day I claim my title as Countess of Viznove I cannot argue their showing of fealty is unwelcome. Smithson?¡±

    The Nurse Knight straightened in his saddle with the dragon¡¯s daughter settled in front of him. Already attentive and ready to receive another order from his liege. Adelyne tried not to think of how such an obvious crossing of man and beast had occurred.

    ¡°Please see to it that the city knows that such a display is not required of them except when they are presenting themselves to me in court. Have criers sent after we settle into the manor.¡±

    The man that Adelyne was almost certain had the absolutely most impossibly massive balls in the realm acted incredibly differential. She was pretty sure his gonads were wrought of the hardest iron. And for it she could hold nothing but respect for Smithson and his bravery, it was one thing to be a dragon slayer. But the Nurse Knight had obviously bedded one considering the way he dotted on the lady¡¯s so-called-immaculate daughter.

    And there Adelyen went, failing to avoid thinking about the providence of the wyrm child again she was absolutely shit at that.

    Still it was hard to not have one''s mind wander to try and ignore the way that people she had shared a fish stinking alley with were kneeling down at her feet. Men she knew were too old to be prostrated like that with their knees still doing it gladly with quaking calves.

    And worst of all, like it had when Jewel had first come to Kaeketeh the voice of the city had been silenced. Not by a roar, not even by an utterance, but the heavy sensation of Jewel¡¯s mere presence settling over the city and its populace. The simple arrival of their countess had rippled from the gates and the news alone had stilled every voice. Adelyen saw a babe who should have been squalling, silent and wide eyed in awe at the wyrm.

    Held by a mother kneeling with her head bowed.

    Adelyne could not help but stare as they walked past the all too quiet crowds of a Kaeketeh in reverence to its new liege and lady. To a countess that most assuredly was welcomed. The way the babe silently stared with wide eyes at a dragon that by looks of it had never once been seen in this one''s memory.

    But somehow even the babies knew to be still and attentive.

    The river lapping at the docks and the slight rattle of boats and creaking ropes felt far too loud as they made their way through a city that was so incredibly familiar and yet so utterly and disturbingly quiet.

    Adelyne could remember the last time such a stillness had fallen.

    A roar had sounded out from the sky and sunk deep into all of their hearts. A sound which blood and bone seemed to recognize as assured doom.

    Adelyne remembered where she was.

    How both her and the man she had just relieved of his coin purse were frozen together that day. How when the stillness and quiet that followed finally broke she had simply handed the purse back to him and he had just nodded to her.

    And now here the silence came again, she had heard there had been celebrating before their arrival. There had absolutely been some looting. Adelyne knew for sure there were some fat fucks she would have turned over if she was still here when the Countess¡¯ dead body had been torn apart and burnt.

    But by the time that Jewel and her party were through the gates the city was silent.

    It felt like some terrible sorcery had been cast. Even the midtown fops in their finery were not even whispering. Some of them looked rougher for wear than usual. There were black eyes, split lips and soot and blood in their clothes. But even here a stillness followed Jewel.

    Over the next bridge came the first sign of noise and movement and something other than kneeling difference. The gate was closed, and one of the Countess¡¯ former men was standing on the wall above.

    They were still dressed in her colors and the bathory banners still hung high.

    But Adelyne saw the wood of the gate had dents from heavy impacts. There was char on it and chips in the stone and even blood on the bridge. Soot and char from fires that had been set at its base.

    The rest of the city had looked more or less the same for its quiet, maybe some missing windows.

    But here at the gate it looks like some terrible fury had been unleashed.

    Adelyne came to a stop beside her Lady.

    The combined footmen of Rochford were arrayed behind them.

    A gryphon lord, two apparent knights, two captains of the guard and a sizable portion of the staff of two households.

    The Shining Wyrm of Viznove and her husband.

    And Adelyne.

    The voice that still rang in the hearts of a city called out to the guard of the gate.

    ¡°Open the gates for your countess, For Jewel of Rochford, Valasect, Kaeketeh and Viznove¡±

    For just a moment Adelyne thought they would refuse. The pause was long enough.

    But wisdom won that day.

    The Gates Opened.

 8.2

    8.2

    Jewel stared down at the men.

    All seven of them had been stripped to only some worn trousers. They each sported bruises and cuts days old by the color and scabbing. One of them had an eye swollen shut and purple.

    The one ahead of the other six met her gaze with a calm that was matched by his fellows. But there was also an ease to each of them. In spite of the shifting care they favored one side or another from injury they were not men who were broken by their assured death.

    The space that had once been occupied by Bathory¡¯s chair and all the other chairs and table against this wall had to be removed. Jewel occupied far too much space for any but the throne that had been so long empty to be remain. And even then it had to be moved forward on her right so she could more comfortably lay her coils there in comfort and grace. Paul took his place as her husband and count, occupying his father¡¯s seat.

    He was still not tall enough to fully fill the space meant for a larger man.

    Jewel and Paul sat alone in judgment. Her Father could not be here, showing too much difference to him in this matter would undermine Jewel¡¯s still nascent authority.

    The Countess of Kaeketeh had to attend to this matter herself.

    She had not actually heard enough on the road to expect the men were even imprisoned, let alone that they awaited judgment. But then again Kaeketeh ahead of anywhere else in the realm except maybe Rochford was more assuredly Jewel¡¯s then any other territory in Viznove. And there was no court better suited than that of the Countess of Viznove to judge them.

    Still loath as she was to wish death on anyone, Jewel had felt a tremor of frustration to find out that the complications to her inheritance would not even wait until the rest of her vassals arrived to declare their fealty.

    Bathory¡¯s captain of the footmen turned to the men, men he most assuredly trained and knew in person. His face held blank and his voice betraying none of the fear wafting off him.

    ¡°You stand before your Countess, to be judged for the betrayal and murder of your charge and honor bound liege. Who you seven openly consorted in the slaying and subsequent violation of the body and soul of the late Countess Elizabeth Bathory.¡±

    All seven men kept their eyes straight ahead, in that firm stillness Jewel had always seen the Countess¡¯ men maintain.

    The bearing that but for their lack of armor was matched by the guards that mingled with Jewel and her father¡¯s own men. There was fear coming from them, but honestly far less than Jewel expected given their death was assured.

    Beaten and bruised but at peace. What stink of terror there was to them was more lingering than fresh. Days old at best.

    Jewel needed to clear her name of any involvement in this matter. She could not afford not to. But As the final law of the land beyond the High King himself Jewel had no one but herself to forbid her curiosity.

    If she was to decree their deaths there was one question that burned to be answered before it was lost forever.

    ¡°Your fate is sealed, you have forsworn pacts with stars above and mortal law both. But before you are judged I would know. Why did you slay the Countess Bathory? Why doom yourselves so?¡±

    Two of the guilty men shifted uncomfortably, their fear sparking higher.

    One of them seemed almost surprised but it was their leader who spoke.

    ¡°Too long have the daughters of Kaeketeh gone missing in the night! Too long since my sister never came home! It has been twelve long years since that night but the vile fiend is finally dead! For the vengeance of my family I¡¯ll gladly suffer any doom!¡±

    The one who had jerked in surprise tried to speak up. He was muttering something.

    ¡°W-what, b-¡±

    One of his fellows shoved him off his feet with a hiss to shut up.

    ¡°Be Still! You will all be sharing the fate of my judgment! Nothing you say here will absolve you of that. You have spilled the blood of your sworn lady!¡±

    Jewel spat the words with all the authority she had practiced for her entire life. Drawing on the lessons from the war and practice with Mother.

    She waited for them to continue but none moved, not even the guards. The guards who were barely breathing. The silence of the feasting hall turned courtroom festered til it was smothering. Finally it had dragged too long for Jewel.

    ¡°Please to your feet, and come before me, you are each owed to speak for yourselves.¡±

    The other six shuffled away from their fallen comrade as he struggled and then finally got to his feet. The entire display slowed by the shackles on ankles and wrists.

    But he was already speaking as soon as he was up to his knees.

    ¡°They told me! they said you¡¯d approve! That we were doing you a favor! That it was good and righteous work! The Countess was a vile woman! This was Justice!¡±

    Jewel glared at the man, for speaking what she was thinking, what she could with barely a glance see was held as true by far more than the seven before her. The tension in their captain¡¯s neck and jaw spoke volumes.

    The rising stink of fear from nearly half of the footmen and guard of Kaeketeh in the room settled a suspicion. She couldn''t even disagree with him truthfully, and she could taste the agreement from others there. But a newly risen Countess could not afford to reward guards for slaying her predecessor!

    Besides!

    Jewel had not wished this to happen at all!

    And yet how many terrible things had this stopped? How many were saved from further filling the now empty ¡®larder¡¯ beneath Kaeketeh Keep?

    The city was hers, word had already reached her that there was not a single person in Kaeketeh  who wasn''t openly celebrating the death of the old countess. There was already word that these men were being cheered as heroes.

    Not exactly their names, but already the story had grown to legends that entailed at least three instances of terrible magic and fierce battles.

    Jewel was the law of this land, she should be able to make any judgment she wanted.

    But it was all too soon!

    Paul, her father and mother all were very clear in this. She lacked support from all her lords and vassals. She lacked assured allies and though she might be able to lay waste to one or two armies Jewel could only be in one place.

    Most importantly she did not want to do that!

    A rule born in war and bloodshed echoed the terrible stories of the Tyrant wyrm of old.

    Jewel refused to have her first act as countess be the bloody subjugation of her vassals and conquering of their land.

    The room had fallen silent. Paul rested a hand on her coils and gently stroked against her scales. Letting his fingers drum lightly as he passed the ridges of her larger ones. Near the mane on her spine.

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    These men by law had to suffer for betraying the compact with their lady, for defying oaths made to the gods that they would protect their countess. To satisfy and assure her vassals and allies that Jewel did not in fact enact the countess¡¯ death. They had to answer for that betrayal publicly, but at the same time Jewel could not call it justice.

    Not when they had killed that awful woman and her evil.

    And how was it fair that these seven should suffer alone when Jewel could smell far more than them was complicit in the countess¡¯ death?

    That thought struck like a bell in her head.

    There had been more evil in Kaeketeh than just Bathory!

    Jewel turned to the Captain Bathory¡¯s Guard, the silence had truly dragged as she worked over the infuriating problem in her head. Trying to pry open the puzzle like she would one of the simple and now much yearned for disputes on the simple shifting of a fence line.

    But she felt a solution of sorts, a feeling like a rhythm and a music that she could follow into a dance.

    A way out for her and all of them and more.

    It made her tone suddenly light.

    ¡°Captain, for matters of proper recompense and glory to you the rightful protectors of Viznove and her late grace the Countess Bathory. How many of your loyal footmen perished in the taking of these traitors?¡±

    Confusion caught the captain and long trained obedience did the rest of the work.

    ¡°None of the footmen perished that night my Lady.¡±

    Jewel raised a brow in surprise.

    ¡°Oh! How fortunate, then enlighten me, how many other conspirators were felled in the capture of these surviving seven?¡±

    That got the captain to shut up and go stiff, glaring up at Jewel, she could practically hear his head trying to churn up the lie he was going to tell her, could smell the stark new terror and hear his heart pounding with it.

    The lead traitor spoke up in the silence offered while his former captain tried to find a way out.

    ¡°There were no others then us seven, we guarded her chambers that night alone, then snuck into her room and it was we seven that stabbed her through the heart, cut off her head, arms and legs and then took a part each to the courtyard and saw her burned to ash.¡±

    Jewel hummed and widened her eyes in fake surprise, she did as she had learned from mother and Paul. and perhaps just an unsavory bit from the late countess herself.

    ¡°Oh I see! So what poisonous drought or working of sorcery did you bargain for to put all the guards on watch to sleep so you could enact such a blatant act of treason in the Capital and Seat of Viznove?!¡±

    The captain¡¯s eyes widened and he took a step back, his hand going to the sword at his side. There was a shift among many of the armed guards wearing the colors of Bathory.

    More than half.

    But the rest were looking around with shock and surprise much as the Rochford men did.

    Murial was already taking position in front of Paul.

    Good, her husband would be secure if this came to bloodshed. God¡¯s blessing or no.

    The leader of the traitors laughed, dry and cruel.

    ¡°They didn''t get ensorceled or drugged or even particularly drunk. We seven carried her bloody pieces to the courtyard and we burned her on a pyre set by us ahead of time. They looked away as we carried her cursed flesh and stained ourselves in her blood.¡±

    He spat at the captain of the guard¡¯s feet. Who now had apparently fully realized what was at stake.

    Jewel for her part took on another questioning, curious, innocent tone.

    ¡°How strange, that hardly sounds like the acts of loyal, upstanding or dutiful guards holding to the vows you so completely betrayed. Why didn''t you escape if none interfered?¡±

    The seven men were smiling, not joyful smiles, they were cruel grins that knew their future held misery. But that had seen the opportunity to drag others down into the dark rotting pain with them. They smelled like the soldiers Jewel had seen cut open at the belly that still fought to kill their enemies though death was assured.

    ¡°Oh we did not try to escape good Lady Jewel, when the fiendish woman was burned to ash come the dawn we surrendered to the good captain to await your justice. It¡¯s strange actually, I could have sworn I saw quite a lot of them standing with us around the pyre and cheering.¡±

    There was a slight lilt of mock surprise and wonder at the circumstances in the tone as he spoke of it to her.

    The captain of the Bathory Guard was gawking, he was gaping at the unarmored, bruised and battered man. Finally after Jewel watched the comical display for a good while words finally found their way free of the man¡¯s lips as he bloomed into pure and unrestrained panic and fury.

    ¡°LIES! The traitor lies and seeks to drag others into the doom he¡¯s rightly earned! He-¡±

    Jewel interrupts with her softest most penetrating croon.

    ¡°Tells every word true as he knows it.¡±

    Jewel looked around at the Kaeketeh footmen. She saw arms preparing to draw swords or brace spears.

    ¡°Unlike you.¡±

    Her declaration had silenced the captain¡¯s growing rebuttal with a choked off whimper.

    Jewel surveyed the room and saw it was mostly full of cowards.

    She saw the hands that had dragged hundreds of women into the Countess¡¯ clutches knowing full well what it would entail.

    She saw craven brutes who had not even the bravery to stand here with the seven of them before her. Who stole and took from those that would soon have everything of them further taken.

    A Countess had been murdered by her own household guards. And that was not even the gravest of their crimes.

    To Secure her position Jewel had to pass judgment on those responsible for a noble¡¯s death.

    But in that moment Jewel saw a chance to enact True Justice. And as soon as the thought finished forming she could feel the words rising from her throat.

    ¡°As the Countess of Viznove and Lady of Kaeketeh I pass Judgement on the traitor guards of House Bathory.¡±

    The footmen rallied, they were moving to turn on her, on each other, on the guard from Rochford who were already withdrawing to encircle Jewel. Falling into position with either Muriel or in the familiar positions they had taken with Jewel during drills.

    ¡°On all who have turned their eyes from the evil and vile acts done before them.¡±

    Her voice was singing and echoing off the air and stone of the Keep and as each word landed she saw the men of Bathory stumble.

    ¡°On all who saw and knew betrayal of the oaths of nobility and fealty and did nothing.¡±

    And then the weapons began to fall from shaking hands.

    ¡°On those whose hands took life they should have guarded.¡±

    Strong men collapsed to their knees as they gave startled anguished gasps.

    ¡°For every trespass against innocence, for every year stolen, for every drop of blood tainted.¡±

    She spoke the words and though they might sound like she said them for the vile woman who was dead and burned Jewel could only think of Adelyne and the thing that could have been made of her.

    Of the things that yet still existed out there somewhere partly because of these men!

    ¡°I judge you guilty of all acts vile made under the shield of your complacency and cowardice.¡±

    Not one of Bathory¡¯s guards was not curled up in shuddering tremors upon the floor. Even the seven sacrificial traitors convulsed before her. And she could not see it as anything but just.¡°I declare your penance shall be to live and suffer every year stolen under your watch or by your hand.¡±

    Jewel felt it ringing out of her throat like the flame of wyrm doom.

    She felt the stones drawn close to watch every utterance and the very air humming to her words. She had risen up to fill the room, her wings extended to surround all the men who had lived long years in the Countess'' service and then had the gall to look the other way and let her perish now!

    The world which always was there close and attentive and comforting to her now listened as Jewel called out to it.

    And then something inside her twisted and Jewel toppled into a heap, the constant current of wyrmflame that ran through her body suddenly bursting free and clear. Twisting out in a coruscating lashing of bands which struck every single one of the late Bathory''s men in the feasting chamber.

    Their voices rising into the shrillest screams before all the world turned black around her.

    The last voice she heard was that of Paul and Murial yelling her name.

 8.3

    8.3

    Jewel woke up in the feasting hall. Because of course she did. Only Gem got to wake up comfortable and safe if she fell asleep in strange places. Her Wyrm body¡¯s bulk was an intractable weight of muscle, bone and scales without the support of her flame. No one in Kaeketeh could have moved her if they wanted to. She was hardly even in a different position from when she fell.

    But at least some one had brought pillows and gotten a few of them under her head.

    Speaking of Gem she was also here, curled up and still asleep enough it made the rest of Jewel groggy and slow.

    Paul was absent but she could smell he had been here, the sun was just starting to rise and its light through the windows welcomed her tenderly. The sound of the river outside also murmured and spoke to her. With a timid gentleness that was appreciated for how drained she felt.

    Even the stone of the feasting hall were soft and careful with her in their usual exuberance, the welcomes tempered by what was not exactly concern but an acknowledged frailty in her. Something Jewel could not deny she felt deep in the core of her body. Her flame felt stretched thin and low in a way she had not experienced for years.

    Not since her very first flight had anything left her so utterly exhausted. Never was Jewel¡¯s inner fire ever so low.

    As she stirred, every movement brought a strange ache that had nothing to do with her muscles. She actually felt quite well rested if not for the dimness of the light within her.

    She woke as Gem, and in that there was a new strain as well. Normally she was overflowing with the gift of her flame for her smaller self. But although not really a strain it took focus to push enough of her inner fire into her smaller self.

    What should have been almost effortless was now a drag on Jewel¡¯s attention in order to fill out what had been lost in gem¡¯s flesh to the hours of sleep. The effort inspired a desire for air and Jewel breathed deep, and then yawned. Two voices echoing each other, one high, sharp, small and guttural, the other resonant and all consuming, rattling the windows and her smaller self¡¯s bones.

    Before Jewel could even finish closing her mouth from that wet humidity arrived.

    The scent of silt and rotting eggs under mud followed and the upwelling of black mire pooled in the middle of the feasting hall just a bit before the pillows Jewel had woken up on.

    As was custom Tsulogothulan wrought themselves together in burgeoning strands of flesh made as much of mire and muck as water. Bones that were at once branches and reeds weaving through flesh and skin that was both black mud and pale tissue that these years Jewel now recognized as the skin between a fish¡¯s scales.

    ¡°My Lady and Countess Jewel, Apologies for arriving well ahead of even your break fast but your father, family and household insisted that I assure them of your health and wholeness after yesterday¡¯s events in court.¡±

    Jewel shook her head to try and clear some of the fog but even that felt odd.

    ¡°I believe I am hale, Good Sorcerer Tsulogothulan, but I am confused... and drained... my fire is lower now then even when it was after the war.¡±

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    Tsulogothulan nodded at that and their eye finally emerged to fix on Jewel¡¯s face with a softness of worry. With the official business settled the tone of office as her Father¡¯s court wizard fell away to be replaced by her friend¡¯s concerned reassurance.

    ¡°I¡¯m not surprised that you have needed to pay some cost. We can add another act of a major working to the list and if I am not wrong it fully realized as your first curse upon a mortal¡¯s flesh as well. Word of your Judgment is already well and truly cast to the winds of all Kaeketeh and should be well on its way to the rest of the known world by tomorrow.¡±

    Jewel tried to work either of her heads to the task of following through on that but she found neither up to the task.

    ¡°Come again?¡±

    The sigh was a familiar one, Jewel had apparently done something astounding to the Weird but she could barely even recall exactly what it could be. There had been the Countess¡¯ footment, their captain had tried to sacrifice Seven of their number for the guilt of all of them.

    But after that? Jewel remembered nothing certain, just a feeling of clarity of her conviction that there needed to be justice and that she had seen enough of death.

    Tsulogothulan sighed and then stared at Jewel with that one deeply strange and far too large eye.

    ¡°All but a dozen at most of the guard of Kaeketeh have suffered some degree of your curse. The worst of which struck those in this room with you but threads of the working bled soon after from those until it reached nearly every single man who ever wore the Countess Bathory¡¯s colors. Retired or otherwise!¡±

    The Weird of the bog placed their hand on her coils and patted gently.

    ¡°That is over seven hundred men! It would push the waters of my domain to have done half of what you accomplished yesterday Jewel. And it would have been nowhere near as neat and gentle as you managed! You are more than owed to feel some strain from that.¡±

    Jewel blinked, that was certainly more than she remembered being in the courtroom. But it still did not answer the slowly emerging question that came loose in her head.

    ¡°I see, but can you tell me what precisely it is that my curse, or enchantment or whatever actually did?¡±

    That seemed to stall out her friend¡¯s thoughts on the matter. Leading to an even more intense full body boggle as they stared Jewel up and down. Eye roving all over Jewel¡¯s scales and then for some reason scattering to trace the rest of the room.

    Come to think of it Jewel could feel a strange mingling of her own Wyrmflame and the more common fauxfire sort of pooled and writhing in the room.

    ¡°You can¡¯t tell?!¡±

    Jewel shook her head, a bit slowly. Everything still felt almost gummy in her head and blinking was not helping. Neither was shaking actually. Another yawn built up and crawled out of both of her throats.

    ¡°It¡¯s the first light of dawn, Tsulogothulan, and I feel more exhausted than I did after fighting the battle that won a war. I honestly and truly cannot remember most of what I was even doing before I passed out!¡±

    Her friend blinked slowly then sighed again and patted at Jewel¡¯s throat where it met her shoulders.

    ¡°It¡¯s best if you just see it for yourself¡±

    Jewel¡¯s stomach rumbled, both of them.

    ¡°Fine Tsulogothulan, but not until after breakfast. Let the kitchens and staff and everyone know would you?¡±

    Then she was struck by another window rattling yawn breaking free.

    And by the time Jewel opened her eyes her friend was gone.

 8.4

    8.4

    Breakfast was annoying.

    Although Jewel was now technically countess it was still the same cooks and staff who worked the kitchens of Kaeketeh. Dariusz, Ho?anka and their children had stayed with his mother instead of continuing with Jewel immediately.

    He was a freeman and thus not hers to command and even if he was a servile Jewel had agreed he should spend time with his mother. but it did mean that no one had remembered to tell the kitchen not to prepare their usual over indulgent offering of berries and sweet cake levels of opulence for breakfast.

    Minor blessings that Jewel¡¯s appetite was so ravenous she could mostly ignore how rich and over flavorful all of it was. The sensation of eating until her belly was full and yet still not feeling recovered in her flame was disquieting though.

    Gem¡¯s tongue enjoyed the candied meats in a way that surprised Jewel. The flavors that were overwhelming to her wyrm senses were simply pure joy to her spawn¡¯s.

    But with the fast broken and everyone present Jewel felt the matter needed to be addressed.

    ¡°Now since apparently this is something that must be seen to be understood, can someone bring one of the afflicted footmen before me?¡±

    Which created its own confusion as no one among her or the original Kaeketeh staff seemed certain of who exactly should make that command a reality.

    The confusion and awkwardness continued growing until Jewel had enough.

    ¡°Murial, can you please see to it?¡±

    And with that her captain was up and ordering the keep¡¯s staff and at last everyone could jump to the proper order of things. Still the delay grated on Jewel¡¯s tired and still slow mind. If this is what the price was every time Jewel performed a major working she was inclined to swear off ever doing it again!

    It was not a terribly long wait, but eventually the woman that Muriel had ordered off returned, guiding what for all appearances was a younger girl. Only a little bit taller than Gem, wrapped up in a footman¡¯s undershirt with the sleeves bunched up around too short arms.

    Jewel stared at the obviously small child then looked over at Muriel. Her head still felt foggy and before the thought even entered her head the words were loose in the air.

    ¡°I thought I asked for one of the afflicted footmen, not some child Muriel.¡±

    Everyone else just stared at Jewel, Muriel actually startled.

    The moment dragged on for several breaths before Adelyne burst into laughter. Drawing everyone¡¯s attention to her, which eventually stilled her outburst with a nervous pettering off.

    ¡°What!? She¡¯s obviously joking! Right?¡±

    Jewel squinted at Adelyne then back to the child in an oversized shirt who was glaring rather intensely at her. There was even a trembling of rage in the small frame. It was the barely restrained wroth on that face that finally connected her staggered thoughts. Realization at last dawning on her.

    ¡°My Working turned the Countess Bathory¡¯s footmen into children?¡±

    But instead of anyone nodding or confirming her question Jewel got even more confused stares. Muriel was actually a little slack jawed in shock!

    Adelyne proved her fearlessness and total lack of decorum by actually speaking.

    ¡°Wait? She¡¯s serious?!¡±

    Muriel gave herself a shake and then spoke gently, in the tone she once used as a governess.

    ¡°Jewel... That is not what children look like.¡±

    The Wyrm boggled, then looked back at the child. But everything was right as far as she was concerned.

    It was a small person with a slightly outsized head for their body, wide if currently incredulous eyes. The nose and mouth were smaller than an adult¡¯s, the face was clean of any prominent hair. Maybe it was a bit on the side of a babe but hardly out of the ordinary.

    The scowling short figure was the spitting image of a young girl. With a careful sniff just to be sure she confirmed that the smell was exactly correct for one too.

    Jewel after staring at the figure before her finally turned to Muriel.

    ¡°What do you mean? this is exactly what a child looks-¡±

    The room was full of faces and more importantly beating hearts and sweating skin that proved there was not a person in the room who agreed with Jewel. The urge to raise her wings back and crane her neck in shame grew terribly but showing how suddenly shocked she was felt even worse. Gem¡¯s face was blazing hot in a way she knew meant she was shame faced.

    Adelyne, as she was, could not fully contain her laughter now and was only left in the room by the mortified confusion of the rest of the Kaeketeh Staff.

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    But finally that had apparently been enough for the figure that no one (but Jewel) thought looked like a child and she strutted forward, voice rising, straining to be menacing, angry, anything but light and delicate.

    ¡°Y-you, you wretched, star accursed worm!¡±

    She shoved off the poor woman that had been holding her. Moving with what should have been a far too slight and small frame to overpower an adult  and marched up to Jewel.

    ¡°We did you a favor! We put you and your beast fucker of a husband on that throne! We put that fiend to the torch! I called up for volunteers on who would take the blade to her heart and pay the price for that! You OWED US!¡±

    The tiny figure was shaking with fury, the face was twisted awfully, brows furrowed as hard as they could, lips bared back to show tiny little teeth. Hands clenching so hard the muscles stood out sharp on them before the sleeves finally came loose to fall over and obscure them.

    ¡°All you had to do was just kill some poor bastard saps too stupid over their thieving sisters or some whore they were pining over to know what was good for them! You worthless scaly beast!¡±

    The little voice was going raw as she screamed. Spit was flying.

    ¡°We did you a favor and you cursed all of us!¡±

    Jewel¡¯s foggy mind snapped clear under the barrage. Under the recognition, the scent, it was a child, it was a girl. But more importantly it was still familiar.

    The urge to arch her neck and wings was suddenly smothered.

    Jewel would show no shame to this thing.

    ¡°Owed?¡±

    Her flame dampened all morning rose, sparking and sputtering higher, filling out more. Straining to envelope all of her flesh.

    ¡°You Think You are Owed!?¡±

    She lowered her head to glare at the thing which apparently despite all appearances to Jewel looked nothing like a child.

    Well that was fine actually, she agreed this was not a child. She remembered the scent now.

    The Captain of Bathory¡¯s Footmen.

    ¡°Is that right Captain? You think you are owed more than this?!¡±

    She could not fault the bravery, even as he once was the captain would not have measured up to Jewel. A mere man in some light maile and getting on in age.

    And now diminished to hardly larger than Gem. barely past a toddler in size.

    But still he stood as tall as he was and tried to stare her down.

    ¡°You should have been giving us a medal for doing away with that fiend!¡±

    Jewel drew close enough to kiss the little face that had once had a sharply cut beard.

    And she whispered softly enough only the little ears in front of her would catch despite the utter silence that filled the room.

    ¡°If that was your only crimes I would have.¡±

    Which got a sneer from the youthful face before her.

    ¡°Crimes?! What crimes!? What possible crime could deserve this sorcery?! This mutilation and castration!?¡±

    Jewel glanced at Adelyne, the clarity that had suddenly come, the pulse of her wyrmflame, only half as strong as it had been yesterday still made clearer just what had been said in her working.

    When she saw that the false child (once captain) had looked to Adelyne and recognition finally sparked, the wyrm spoke again too softly to be heard by any other but him.

    ¡°How many? While you served the Countess? How many lives did you drag into her pit?¡±

    The former captain tried to strike Jewel, a tiny fist carrying hardly any force at all. It hit Jewel clear on the nose and amounted to nothing. She didn''t even need to shift or flex a muscle under the blow.

    ¡°We did our duty!¡±

    The shrill voice filled the room, the spittle did land on Jewel¡¯s scales this time. She had to squint in fact to avoid getting it in her eyes.

    Jewel drew back from the figure while peering more carefully, feeling the eddies of her own Wyrmflame and how they had settled into the room.

    Drained, empty, barely more than the faux fire. But there was a shape and meaning.

    An intent and an echo of what she had declared would be so.

    This time Jewel spoke fully and loudly for all in the room.

    ¡°You betrayed any right to your duty and dishonored any defense in loyalty when you conspired to murder your liege and countess. If you had done this with righteousness you would have stood before me proudly instead of those you abandoned to suffer the full weight of your dishonor.¡±

    Jewel glared down at him.

    ¡°As I was indisposed after the enacting of your penance let me state what I could not when balancing the weight of your crimes. Your cowardice and dishonor has no place in my guard or footmen, no place in service to Kaeketeh or Viznove.¡±

    She drew her head back to a height so it settled just below the chandelier.

    ¡°You have received precisely what you are owed for your crimes. You and all who have felt the touch of my justice are now free.¡±

    Jewel released even more of the usual careful effort in her throat.

    ¡°Now Begone.¡±

    Only after the thing that looked like a child (to Jewel) had fled from the room did Paul¡¯s voice rise up from his chair, making Jewel cringe and curl her neck in having forgotten he was there.

    ¡°Well. Onto other matters then my dear wife?¡±

 8.5

    8.5

    Adelyne always had a lot of time to think, eventually.

    Before it was when she was slipping through the crowd looking for a good mark, or sitting on the corner to rest her legs and catch her breath after escaping her less skilled snatches.

    Or when no one could offer more than a rind of bread to gnaw and watery beer to drink and she was trying to eat slowly enough she could pretend to be full.

    Lately she had time to think while she failed to measure up in the tasks set by her lady.

    So while trying to somehow get the floors of Kaeketeh free of dust and scraps Adelyne put her mind to thinking.

    Her grandpa would say she should save some of her thoughts for when it actually mattered instead of wasting it all after the fact.

    But Adelyne rarely remembered in the moment.

    She acted and then thought.

    In the feasting hall she had laughed.

    Laughed because it was oh so silly. Then kept laughing because her thoughts had begun to creep into the space beyond the surprise. Once those terrible thoughts slipped in she had to laugh because she couldn''t afford to start screaming. Her lady, her savior, the beast and tyrant and wyrm that owned her life in far too many ways was just so absolutely absurd and terrifying.

    Jewel had thought those things were what children looked like!

    The Wyrm had the power to curse (deservedly) almost a thousand men! With a reach that eventually had touched the entire city! And such a terrible curse it was too! Something fit for dark tales under starlight.

    Adelyne¡¯s Lady had changed them! By the stories and whispers she knew of regarding the powers of sorcery she could have made the men into pigs, or rats, or crawling worms!

    Could have slain them all dead where they stood or made them into scum in the river!

    Stolen their shadows so that the touch of daylight burnt them into nothing!

    Sorcery as Adalyne understood it could do most anything.

    But Jewel was a kind and absurdly fair lady and so had tried to turn them into children! The power of it was horrifying but even worse was the absurdity of how badly her lady Wyrm had failed to do as intended!

    The creatures she had wrought of the old countess¡¯ men were maybe the right size for children.

    From a distance and the back you could maybe mistake them as children. But up close their limbs were too long despite the size, the heads shaped not quite right. And most importantly of all were the faces.

    From the front there was no mistaking the curse changed for a human child.

    Adelyne had seen a dozen of the accursed men. Each had different and distinct features but not one of them had a face any but the blind could mistake for a child!

    Their faces did not even look human!

    The shapes were all subtly wrong! their eyes far too large and tilted slightly, lashes too thick, Their mouths too small. And yet even with that it did not end. Jewel had declared that these were what she thought children looked like?!

    But the faces these things wore while perhaps pretty or even adorable in an uncanny and disquieting way were definitely not children! It did not help that most of them were also scowling with expressions too old for youth, with faces that wrinkled and scrunched far more than anyone Adelyne had ever seen should be able to.

    Not even the fattest lord in middle town could furrow a brow that much!

    Such smooth skin as these things had was not supposed to be able to curdle up like a twisted oaken knot in anger!

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    And when one sneered?!

    Noses should not be able to move like that! Nostrils flaring so wide.

    Their faces squeezed and shifted in ways that Adelyne found equal parts fascinating and disturbing.

    She had not seen one of them smile yet but every expression they made was a disorienting motion across their faces and she suspected if one ever did it would be terrifying.

    But hopefully her lady¡¯s declaration would mean Adelyne never had too.

    It had been a dismissal and release in word, but the tone spoke of exile. No one could mistake one as anything but what they were either. They were visibly and undeniably touched by sorcery.

    Every one of them looked like a foreigner in their own homeland!

    And word was already spreading through the staff just who exactly the strange tiny figures (most of them now in the seeming form of girls) once were.

    Their distinct look would now mark out the old Countess¡¯ man!

    Even some that had retired were changed if the gossip was right!

    Everyone in Kaeketeh with a score to settle would know just who to go after. It was such a warm thought it brought a smile to her lips despite the mystery of why the dust would not go where she pushed it!

    Adelyne stopped in her mostly wasted effort to sweep.

    Her thinking was catching up to her.

    Staring into the hall at the other staff that mostly ignored her and considering just how many fearful looks once watched the streets of Kaeketeh. How many friends cowered at the looming figures in those terrible colors. What would happen when they realized that those strange, foreign looks meant a former wearer of that hated armor?

    Oh...

    Oh, fortune¡¯s stars!

    Oh, that was going to be bad!

    So fortune damned stars in an overflowing shitpit bad!

    Adelyne felt a twinge to run to tell Jewel, but the damage was already done. Word would already be making its way out, and for all the wroth her lady showed Adelyne had learned one thing.

    Despite having cursed the awful men with warped bodies and very distinct faces Jewel did not in fact want the awful things Kaeketeh was possibly already doing to them to happen. In fact the wyrm would certainly be hurt and possibly even furious at those that tried to settle old scores.

    No matter how deserved.

    What would an upset Jewel do to Kaeketeh?

    Adelyne was already running before that thought finished blooming. She shouted to one of the Valasect footmen she recognized as she passed. Something convincing she hoped, but honestly that was less important than the vital need of getting out on the streets.

    She needed to meet with her Grandfather!

    He would know how to get the word out!

    The cursed former guards were not to be harmed!

    Run out of town?

    Sure.

    But not hurt!

    She just had to find him on the street before someone got too high in their new standing in the world and decided to do something monumentally stupid. Did something that was unignorable and drew down the wrath of a dragon on the entire city.

    Adelyne thought the shithead guards deserved worse than they got for working for the countess.

    But that didn''t matter! Her Lady had declared they had paid their due!

    If Jewel couldn''t even tell how badly she had failed to turn them into children, what would she do in trying to bring justice to one of Adelyne¡¯s bone headed peers on the street?!

    And the Lady Jewel had not just cursed one guard or a few!

    The Shining Wyrm of Viznove cursed all of them!

    Adelyne¡¯s over shod feet slapped hard against the cobbles of the courtyard.

    The next curse uttered for the countess¡¯ justice might sweep the entire city!

    Not a gate or shouting voice could stop the daughter of Kaeketeh in her haste to save her home!

    She was through the wall fort and its bridges before she even knew it.

    Now Adelyne just had to get past midtown. Without any but private guards it should be easy.

    Grandpa Ginter would be by the docks eating some smoked fish for a late lunch, or maybe drinking by the gate this time of day.

    She just had to run clear across the city and somehow beat the speed of stupidity and gossip.

    Adelyne was running fast before, but now she fled so hard her lungs burned and her toes smarted.

    This was going to end so fortune damned badly!

    But maybe she could stop the worst of it?

 8.6

    8.6

    Jewel Wanted to sigh as the first of her new vassals was recognized.

    Really it was almost certain that Marcis?aw of Kliatbatrn would be no trouble, but having the preeminent lord of the knights and cavalry of Viznove take the knee and say the words promising service and allegiance took a huge weight from her still dampened flame.

    It had been three days since that working and Jewel¡¯s flame still felt barely more than half what it was before.

    She¡¯d never had her inner fire take so long to recover from anything! Not even her first flight had been so exhausting.

    Every meal she was ravenous, even when her middle felt like she was carrying three more eggs the hunger was more forestalled with a sense of bloating then fully satisfied.

    But her flame was recovering!

    The meals filling her body to bloating each day slimmed down by the next morning and her flame felt enriched and renewed although it was always by diminutive amounts for how much bread, stew and meat she took in.

    Tsulogothulan found that curious and had muttered something about their own limits related to the nature of their domain and its waters.

    Ah it was time.

    Every vassal of Viznove had a token of their fealty and service.

    Rochford¡¯s was Father¡¯s bow.

    For Kliatbatrn it was a gauntlet of black iron and ivory.

    It had been given to Jewel without ceremony after the welcoming feast for Marcis?aw and his party. All so Jewel could step forward as she was right now.

    Ready to speak the words.

    ¡°I accept your fealty as your liege and Countess, to wield the lands of Kliatbatrn in my defense and the righteousness of my will. To be armored by my power and grace as this maile shall armor you.¡±

    Jewel slipped the gauntlet gently and smoothly onto the offered open hand of her Father¡¯s still long time friend. His skin hung looser on that hand then it had when Jewel saw him as the general of the Armies of Viznove.

    Now he would likely be her General when it was needed.

    ¡°Rise as Lord Marcis?aw of Kliatbatrn. The Fist of Viznove and my Horse Lord Paramount.¡±

    And Kliatbatrn stood, his footmen and those of Rochford and Valasect making up for the loss of the entirety of the Kaeketeh guard.

    The dissolution of House Bathory¡¯s forces in the city had been followed by the removal of all flags and signs of the countess herself.

    Instead Rochford and N¨¢dasdy now stood in equal standing in the banners and heraldry.

    Jewel still had the banners of course, and all the tabards and other colored cloaks.

    Some of the cloth would likely be sold to houses which shared enough colors with Bathory to not need to be redyed.

    But the artful banners were bundled up while Paul sent birds to his sisters and the more distant relatives that might wish to claim the family¡¯s banners. There were apparently minor branches of the house Bathory that Jewel could earn ties of alliance and support from by relinquishing her place as heir to them.

    Jewel found that rather heady and bit much considering how many things she had on her plate dealing with just her own Vassals!

    But Paul thought it made good sense so she agreed.

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    One loyal vassal was acknowledged.

    Jewel let the relief wash over her as she thought of those to follow.

    The Countess¡¯ two surviving Gryphon Knights were going to be complicated.

    Paul and Father both anticipated that there would be haggling on their status. And there was precedent for such mere knights to be elevated after good service in war to greater lords.

    Such rewards had not been given at the closing of the last war despite both riders having survived and flown well in a battle that had claimed many of their peers and elders in the art of flight.

    But for today there were cheers and the ceremonial banging of spear butts on the floor.

    This evening there would be what Jewel had finally managed to wrangle into a more modestly seasoned feast to honor her first acknowledged Vassal.

    Later a very similar ritual of acceptance would be performed with her Father. But Paul recommended waiting until either all the other vassals had taken the knee to Jewel as a final mark of her ascension past her Father, or as a way to put pressure on any more stubborn hold outs. When she bestowed the Rochford bow it would be claiming her place as his liege, no longer under his authority.

    However for now the ceremony dictated Jewel¡¯s near every word and how she held herself.

    ¡°My Vassal, is there business or concerns you would bring to your liege and the seat of Viznove?¡±

    And as was to be expected the lord Kliatbatrn replied.

    ¡°All is Well in Kliatbatrn in her fields and along her hills my Countess¡±

    Any such requests were for discussions made the night before. Along with most of the actual arrangements and haggling that would be expected to settle the matter of responsibilities between liege and vassal.

    But there had been little asked of Jewel for Kliatbatrn or its Lord. The trade route and ties between Kaeketeh and the northern barony upriver were so old and well established that by all accounts any succession which smoothly passed Kaeketeh from one ruler to another would also pass the vassal contract with hardly any effort.

    Jewel released the poise of an officious countess at last.

    ¡°Well now that is settled, who''s hungry for a mid day meal? I¡¯m absolutely famished!¡±

    And she was, the hunger was renewed as it had been every day.

    The footmen relaxed, and as Jewel had insisted for all who attended in these ceremonies room was made at the tables for every one of them.

    It was a small token, but Jewel wanted to distinguish herself from the distance that her predecessor had favored. Nevermind the obvious case that said distance from her men had possibly made it all the easier for them to murder and dismember her.

    Food arrived, not the opulent and over sweet or seasoned fare of the overindulgent Bathory, but simple bread, meat and other good eating as Jewel enjoyed in Rochford.

    A proper stew would have to wait until after Dariusz and his family made their way to Kaeketeh for the year. A necessity that pained Jewel terribly, but there was simply no way that she could afford to return to Valasect before the end of winter.

    Simply the act of settling sufficient affairs would have strained that possibility.

    But with the loss of all the Bathory Guard in the city to Jewel¡¯s curse and justice there were not enough men to ensure the peace!

    Muriel, Bromthil and the Kliatbatrn Captain that Jewel still had not learned the name of were working with what members of their own troops had veterancy to organize a muster and training of interim guards.

    Hopefully some of the more trustworthy vassals could be enticed to offer a similar effort to the rebuilding of the Kaeketeh footmen.

    ¡°As you command Countess.¡±

    Coin was of course also on offer and there were plenty of volunteers among able bodied men (and at Jewel¡¯s insistence women who could prove fit enough).

    But eager, unbloodied and untrained foot would be worse than utter lawlessness according to her books and the advice of everyone Jewel trusted the council of. So Kaeketeh needed Jewel¡¯s presence to act as a stabilizing force until an administrator and competent guards could be trained and settled.

    Trust had to be earned and order healed as the word of the former guard¡¯s betrayal spread.

    Everyone took their seats as tables were moved and more chairs found to provide sufficient places for everyone.

    Jewel desperately wanted to be rid of the piss and shit stinking city.

    To leave was technically within her right. She was the Countess and final law of the land under only the distant decrees of the High King. But Jewel could not abandon Kaeketeh no matter how awful it stank until her departure would not leave the poor people in ruin and chaos.

    How long would it be before Jewel could sleep in her own bed and use her carefully carved baths again?

    Hopefully not long.

 8.7

    8.7

    Havel was not having a good day.

    To be honest it was not a good season either.

    And considering where it started maybe he could even extend that probably the whole past year had been a subtle and particularly cruel act of the gods upon him.

    Seemed about right for a fifth son of a Gong Farmer that had thought he¡¯d gotten away from the stink.

    He¡¯d been lucky to earn a place among the guard¡¯s training boys! And when he properly earned a place in the countess¡¯ men two years ago? Well his Lenka¡¯s parents had finally agreed to their marriage after he got his proper coat and armor!

    So he was not going to say that year was bad.

    But this last one?

    The training and hours were hard but the pay was good without needing to shovel shit  and haul it down the street all night and you always had someone at your back. He even had the Countess on his side! He heard some of the lords treated their footmen poorly, but not the Countess. She was always smiling at Havel when she came to inspect the Captain¡¯s work or the times he had duty in the feasting hall.

    But all of that had come crumbling down in an afternoon.

    And it hadn¡¯t been when she died!

    No, it came during the trial of the traitors!

    ¡°As the Countess of Viznove and Lady of Kaeketeh I pass Judgement on the traitor guards of House Bathory.¡±

    He had not even been in the feasting hall but he had felt those words rattle his bones as they poured out from the Keep. The words had rung out from him so terribly and all consuming it felt like his teeth would crack.

    ¡°On all who have turned their eyes from the evil and vile acts done before them.¡±

    And with the words memories had welled up within him, of the moments when he doubted if a particular girl was what his fellow guard claimed.

    ¡°On all who saw and knew betrayal of the oaths of nobility and fealty and did nothing.¡±

    Or when one of them joked how it would be a waste to not give one a taste of womanhood before they were gone forever into the dungeons for their crimes.

    ¡°On those whose hands took life they should have guarded.¡±

    He¡¯d never even realized how many times he¡¯d turned away in just two years. Of just how often a thief happened to be a woman or a girl. How often even those finer dressed might be taken on suspicion of unlicensed whoring.

    ¡°For every trespass against innocence, for every year stolen, for every drop of blood tainted.¡±

    The feeling of those memories seemed to burst open inside him. He¡¯d seen women spot the guard and then in a panic go for blows which saw them taken away for assault of the countess¡¯ men doing their duty.

    ¡°I judge you guilty of all acts vile made under the shield of your complacency and cowardice.¡±

    Those words were when the pain struck, he¡¯d fallen to it and so had Matej beside him. The sentence shook so fiercely from every bone that it burned and buzzed, and then the invisible fire of it moved outward. The world turned white and a roaring silence filled his ears.

    But even in what should have been a senseless relief from pain the words roared through him.

    ¡°I declare your penance shall be to live and suffer every year stolen under your watch or by your hand.¡±

    And then he had finally lost all sense.

    But he was Havel, fifth son of a filthy gong farmer. So of course he couldn''t get the easy simple release of death after that.

    After all, the punishment was to live!

    To live the years that some star forsaken dragon had deemed he¡¯d stolen simply because he didn''t want to lose the best opportunity he¡¯d ever dreamed of! Just because he wanted to be able to come home to his wife without smelling of shit as his father had!

    So of course then it got worse!

    First he woke up in the dungeons below the keep, where women who had been properly convicted were once taken.

    He¡¯d not fully realized what it was that happened, he¡¯d just woken up surrounded by a bunch of inhuman girl-like things with eyes that shined in the dark and had immediately pissed himself thinking that they had thrown him to the wizard¡¯s monstrous ¡®patients¡¯.

    But when one of them cursed and recoiled and the others flinched back just like he¡¯d seen in the barracks when a guard wet the bunk in a drunken stupor?

    When he heard them mutter in familiar words if not voices?

    When he felt himself as he patted down looking for injuries?

    That was when Havel realized what the sorcery had wrought.

    Live every year stolen.

    He remembered the faces, he was sure he didn''t know them so clearly before the curse.

    But now every single face was clear in his mind.

    Every feature.

    His fingers touched his face, and it almost stung.

    It was not any one face.

    But that bit of nose?

    That curve and crease of a lip?

    The corner of an eye?

    A brow?

    A tooth?

    It was all smoothed together.

    But without even seeing it Havel knew the face he wore, the hands he flexed, the muscles and toes.

    The soft skin and locks of hair.

    He knew them the way he knew every single face now panicked and afraid and pleading to him back from his past which he had left to their fate.

    So many faces.

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    Glances out of the corner of his eye as he turned to look at something else. Or when he started avoiding looking in the first place.

    He¡¯d been just about ready to actually sit in the dungeon and give up against the weight of those memories. The crushing certainty of them. But then their new countess declared justice served, their punishment given.

    Havel and all the other cursed were now free to go.

    Released in batches.

    The Wyrm Countess sent them out on the bridge to middle Kaeketeh and her guard closed the gates of the wall fort behind them.

    Quick as you please.

    The banners were foreign now. The familiar colors Havel had worn with pride were stripped down.

    The city felt different and somehow changed, conquered and overturned.

    It hurt in his chest almost worse than that burning curse had!

    So yes Havel was having a truly awful day!

    But even in his shock he had it better than some.

    Not all of the Countess¡¯ men even had a place to sleep other than the barracks! Only the captain and a few of the veterans and those like Havel with a wife or family actually had homes of their own!

    But nevermind that!

    Discharged, Punished, Cursed into flesh not their own and then left as a milling crowd of former men with nothing to their names for some but the infant shifts they wore and a pouch with a season¡¯s pay.

    He¡¯d been surprised their new Countess paid them. But then she was supposedly fair.

    Fair?!

    His brows pressed hard into each other and his lip found new and horribly familiar teeth rubbing against them as he snarled.

    How did he know what those women¡¯s teeth felt like?!

    Havel had no idea.

    Curses and Sorcery!

    At first he had just stood there. Trying to ignore the sounds of once men breaking into sobs.

    Those that had not fallen to such a state as to openly weep had slack expressions and wide eyes. Most who did not wail had at least a shine of tears and trembling lips. Others mustered some honor to only have streams of incontinent cowardice pouring down their cheeks. The only thing Havel could do was maintain a stoic silence.

    But he could feel how his brows clenched in grief, the hot water on his cheeks, the way his lips trembled. All of them were visibly brittle, barely standing in some cases. Huddled like chickens on the bridge.

    Then a voice rose up, from the gate fortress. A Stranger¡¯s bark.

    ¡°The Lady said you''re free! So be free ya filthy traitors! Git Out!¡±

    The tone was familiar where the voice was not.

    A captain had given them an order!

    Before he even realized quite where he was going Havel was walking home.

    Others also moved.

    Somewhere along the way it ended up with only a few of their number falling in with him. A little knot moving in the old habits. The cobblestones were familiar under his naked feet, from childhood, from his wedding day.

    He didn''t know when he parted from the rest of the main crowd. He simply walked familiar streets.

    Then before he knew it he was outside his house.

    He¡¯d bought it for Lenka and him when he¡¯d made his rank as one of the countess¡¯ men.

    Saved up apprentice pay for most of it!

    Inside he could already see signs that Lenka had not been doing well. There was no sign of light or a fire!

    There was no motion he could see through the windows.

    Did she already know what happened to him?

    Had she fled back to her parents?

    One of his followers spoke up. Voice familiar and haunting for the way it reminded him of cries he was certain he had forgotten.

    ¡°Wait... this is... Havel? Is that you?¡±

    His name, he almost wondered if those strangely familiar ears of his perked at that. He could feel his brows squirming up his skull in surprise.

    He turned and saw a face that was the most astonished and yet also hopeful expression he had ever seen. He wondered if that was what his own expression was, the same slightly shocked look which was much like when you took a blow to the head.

    His voice was not his own, it was their voices, bits of each of them all woven together.

    Unique but not his own.

    ¡°Y-yeah... I¡¯m I... Yeah I¡¯m Havel.¡±

    The face smiled, but the eyes showed every single worry and concern. There were crinkles of disgust and also even a hint of a look of desire there. All mingled and blended together but plain as morning sun.

    Those eyes practically shouted every single thought and feeling, screaming the truth across every feature of the poor cursed man before him.

    ¡°Aa-ah I¡¯m- it¡¯s me. Matej.¡±

    Havel offered a smile, but it felt like there was a grimace in it too. His brows and lids and eyes also moved, there were tears threatening. He tried to think up a joke but suddenly the idea of trying to make light of this all collapsed and he let the grief of it just lay plain and true on his face.

    He was not even a man anymore!

    He was nearly bawling like an infant!

    Havel¡¯s tone was brittle and felt thin. Like winter¡¯s first ice on the river. He tried to ignore how the tears were dragging in currents down his too round cheeks.

    ¡°We didn''t talk much... You know where I live?¡±

    Across from Havel a face that was as much a blend of haunting victims if different in the details collapsed into its own form of honest grief.

    ¡°Yah, Captain wanted us to know yer girl... In case...¡±

    Havel felt a sting of memory, he was just starting to shake his head to try and banish the itching thought of it. The memory was interrupted, he saw a looming figure coming up the road to the left. Sauntering in a way that looked like trouble. The clothes were a worn dock worker cut.

    The reek of fish and ale followed soon after. Coming up behind the dockman there were others. Not as clear from Havel¡¯s low vantage. But they looked like rough trouble for a footman.

    For a moment everyone froze. But then a sneer took up the dock worker¡¯s face. The expression was a subtler thing, faint and almost stone faced compared to the open wariness that had overtaken the three faces of Havel¡¯s former comrades.

    The voice was definitely a dock worker, but one smug on deep cups and new found strength.

    ¡°Well well! Fortunate stars favor the bold boys! We got a gaggle of our countess¡¯ freshly cut down and softened traitors just out here wandering their lonesome!¡±

    That brought cruel laughs from the rest of the men.

    Fear was plain on the faces in front of Havel, they didn''t have any weapons or armor. A bag of silver each perhaps but offering a bribe seemed unlikely to work. None of them were even half the height and definitely no more than a quarter the weight of the slimmest and frailest of the men that were spreading out to surround them.

    There were only four of them alone, small and still out of sorts in flesh not their own.

    As Havel looked around the crowd was being joined by the curious and then the interested and equally cruel. But worse still he saw the other people a street down that witnessed what was going on.

    He could see them and after a brief look of concern, recognition settled over them.

    Some sneered just like the dockworker at that moment.

    But many more flinched fearfully.

    And they turned away.

    Havel felt the tears briefly held back finally break free.

    Feeling like it was his own old face turning away from him.

    He could already see what came next.

    Shivers overtook him.

    He could not look away as the thugs closed in around them.

    This was going to be it for him?

    ¡°You idiot fucks get away from those waifs!¡±

    And then a screaming fury of a woman was practically flying between the thickening mass of burley men. Leaving some of them falling with pained groans and hands going between their legs in a way that made all four of the former men cringe in sympathy.

    A goddess blessed apparition of anger and justice suddenly stood between Havel and for a moment he had hope.

    Until he recognized that face.

    The one that he had chased with Oldrich shy of a year ago. The face of the woman that had run from him and prostrated herself before the very countess wyrm that had cursed him and all of her predecessor¡¯s footmen.

    He didn''t even know her name but Havel knew that there was a certainty she would soon realize her mistake and leave the four of them to every awful thing he had ignored and looked past.

    As soon as she realized who he was.

 8.8

    8.8

    Adelyne was not having a good day.

    She just found out her Grandfather died after she was captured. Of course no one bothered to tell her. She was in the Bathory Keep!

    But still surely they could have done something to get word to her?

    Yeah alright she knew better than that.

    First the keep was locked down for Lady Jewel¡¯s wedding and the celebrations after. And then she was a solid ten days travel all the way out in the middle of nowhere Rochford. Somewhere she was honestly still not entirely sure how to get too from Kaeketeh or escape back from! And yes no one that knew Adelyne could have afforded to send a letter by bird!

    But Still!

    Did she have to find out like this?! Trying to track him down in his usual haunts to find no one knew where he was, finally getting told by his friends that she was already almost a year too late to mourn him? While she was desperately and completely unable to afford to even shed a tear for the man that had tried to see right by her even when her parents were gone?

    Did she have to hear he was found dead on the very stones she had just run past this morning?

    Adelyne was not even entirely sure that she was his granddaughter and not some lucky child adopted by him!

    And yet that did not stop the reason she was trying to track down her now deceased mentor and probably relative. There were still far too many absolute fools trying to take a piece out of their former tormentors now that they were diminished and cursed into the form of helpless waifs.

    It still meant that she was dodging her duties to her lady and bond owner on what ostensibly was a service to that same lady. In all honesty though Adelyne knew this was more the act of a desperate terrified girl trying to protect her city and its overabundance of fools from the horror and might of a dragon scorned!

    Even when she thought they barely deserved it.

    ¡°Oiy maiden! Out of the way, in case you didn''t hear these things are the bloody countess¡¯ men! They¡¯re all cursed by the proper shining wyrm herself for their evil! We are just doing our duty as fine citizens and subjects of the reigning lady.¡±

    Adelyne stared at the man. A rough sort of dock worker, the kind that probably never had much actual issue with the Countess¡¯ men. But maybe there had been a sister, daughter or mother lost?

    He had a hint of that spite to suggest maybe there was blood debt involved?

    Either way he was not going to be cowed by Adelyne despite her glare. But some of his cronies might be moved and anything that could cut down the number of burly men in the fight would be a boon. She looked at the cowering, far too expressive faces of the ¡®waifs¡¯. It was so easy to forget what they were making faces like that. Worse than babies! Before she¡¯d gotten the knack for thieving Adelyne would have paid the Knight¡¯s Mark she never had for a face like that!

    Would have made back her money in half a season begging on the street!

    She turned back to the encircling crowd of angry men, some of which had recovered enough from her gentle jabs to their sensitives they likely were already out for blood. This was going to be a scrap no matter what, but maybe less of one if she could give them pause?

    ¡°I am Adelyne, bonded woman in service to her ladyship Jewel of Rochford, Countess and Shining Wyrm of Viznove! And I am here to tell you idiots that if the wyrm hears that you¡¯ve taken liberties with her already punished and then released subjects you will draw her wrath and her curses down on all of us!¡±

    That got a few of the ones in the back and a couple she¡¯d missed with her elbows to lower their clubs. Those likely had mostly been caught up in the fervor and opportunity. But given a moment to pause and look at her might stay out of it. Adelyne was wearing servant''s clothing yes, but they were very fine cloth! She was obviously at least employed by a person of high standing.

    She obviously had some kind of master or mistress that would be displeased if she was bloodied or disappeared. And if the keep staff¡¯s gossip could be believed Kaeketeh should mostly know that someone like Adelyne had been taken by Jewel.

    Although from her own brief encounters today quite a few thought that she was dead and eaten after being taken by the dragon.

    ¡°Nah, I think you''re just some sympathizer, boot licker to one of these once men? Maybe a sweetie whore? Looking for one last coin before they run dry? Well no worries you can have a first cut at their coin when we¡¯re done.¡±

    Adelyne glanced at the pouches that were held by some of the small figures. At the slowly clearing expressions of horror on those small faces.

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    She was turning back to try and muster a rebuttal when one of the high voices behind her spoke up.

    ¡°It is her! She¡¯s the one taken by the wyrm! I know because I was there! I was one of t-th-¡±

    There was a hitch in the throat and when Adelyne glanced down at her surprise supporter she saw a face twisted into such anguish and loss it pulled at her heart.

    ¡°I was one of the men who chased her down! And what she says is true! I was barely with the Countess¡¯ guard for two years! Barely two years with the lot and the wyrm cursed me into this! I hadn''t done anything! I wasn''t even in the keep the night the Countess Died!¡±

    As the words poured out the face it twisted, it went from pain to anger to the deepest and most roiling kind of rage Adelyne had ever seen. Brow curdled, lips pulled back, teeth were bared, nostrils flared and eyes seemed almost to blaze. What had a moment ago looked like the perfect image of a pleading needy almost fae like creature transformed in a blink into a feral vicious thing.

    And despite the size of it a step forward from that tiny little figure pressed several of the men back a foot.

    Adelyne adjusted her thoughts on the numbers. She had been feeling a bit queasy at her chances against so many work honed men. Even if she had managed to drive off half of them that would have been too many for her to handle in a brawl all on her own.

    But the first of the waifs was joined by the other three. Their faces dropping their poleaxed fear for the rictus snarls of hate, they were once footmen, trained fighting men, soldiers..

    They had once had if not respect then fear. But all of that was lost to them now. Adelyne saw that written plain on their every expression. Pain and hate and loss and now a sudden bloody minded fury. She¡¯d seen a shadow of those expressions on the starving and mad who beat and bit and clawed for a crumb of bread or a half rotten rat.

    That look alone on four of these child sized feral monsters taking up fighting stance was enough to actually drive several of the men to run and many more to shift nervously.

    Even their leader was taken aback but like any man in his position Adelyne saw the pride come through.

    ¡°H-ho ho! Looks like we got some fight outta these liars and traitors! Can¡¯t trust any word from them! She¡¯s bluffing and japing! And the little beasts are accursed and weasley! Don¡¯t pay it mind! There¡¯s only five of them and their all of them smaller the-¡±

    Adelyne had fought as little as she could manage, but when she knew a fight had to happen she also knew how she won a fight when the other kid was bigger, stronger and meaner than her.

    She hit them before they were ready.

    Adelyne was fast, she was spry, she had gotten better food then she ever had before in her life over the last few seasons. She probably could have taken a few of them, but not the dozen that were still looking ready to kick her ribs in.

    But she¡¯d recognized the look in those faces that were now with her. They were the vicious faces of someone with nothing to lose. And she knew as well that you didn''t pick a fight with someone that looked like that if you wanted to get out of it unbitten. People with that look on their faces would gouge out your eyes after you stabbed them!

    Adelyne had gone for the gut, the back just below the ribs and the so called family jewels. She hadn''t stayed squared up with the bigger, stronger and probably better fighter but slid past him as soon as she could.

    As she was turning around (making sure to put an elbow somewhere painful) she saw the four waifs leap into battle like starving dogs on a bone.

    The club that her first target had dropped in his agony didn''t even hit the cobbles.

    It was in a pair of one of those slight hands as Adelyne turned.

    It was swinging down hard and cracking a skull and face into the street by the time she had managed to shove another of their opponents.

    It was already arcing back and around to take out one of the men¡¯s knees before she had even realized what it meant that these waifs had once been the footment of the countess. They looked somewhat like a nearly child fairy before! But now those faces were each pulled back into squirming snarls of rage and terror.

    As soon as one had a club the others were salvaging weapons of their own from the fallen.

    As soon as three of them were armed they were already moving back to back with one another and toppling comparative giants.

    When all four of them had wood to swing around or in one case a broken off sharp end to stab with, Adelyne had nothing else to do. The terrified and frozen little things which had faces only showing terror and defeat had transformed into furious beasts. The groaning or silent bodies of their opponents were piled around them.

    Blood was splashed in their mixed up hair and infant¡¯s smocks.

    The street was empty save for the downed and the quite likely dying.

    All but Adelyne and the trembling snarling things that almost looked like children, but now were unlike anything she could even describe.

    They looked ready to turn on her, turn on anything, there was so much hurt and fear and panic. If they were dogs Adelyne would have backed away slowly. But they were not dogs, their eyes were sharp and roving and finally the gasping waifs settled on watching mostly her.

    Until one of them looked past her and all the fury fell off that face for a heartbreaking display of fear and panicked hope.

    ¡°Lenka!?¡±

    Adelyne shifted back a step as she turned to see whoever was being addressed (and get further away from these mad things!).

    The woman who she guessed was Lenka fixed the blood spattered figure with baffled wonder in her eyes. Decently dressed, she wore what Adelyne would have once considered fine clothes indeed. She looked on the waif and was met by open adoration laced with a quickly rising panic.

    Lenka¡¯s voice was incredibly shrill.

    ¡°Havel?! Where under all the fortune cursed stars have you been?!¡±

 8.9

    8.9

    Jewel was not expecting to have to see one of the Countess¡¯ former men, his wife and Jewel¡¯s own bonded servant Adelyne brought in under charges of assault and murder.

    Especially not so soon after she had settled matters with two more of her vassals!

    The day had been going so well too!

    She was so relieved! The two barons had only needed adjusting the price of mules to drag barges up river back to Kaeketeh on the coin of Viznove instead of as the two vassals whose demesne were downriver had once been required to pay. It was such a delightfully simple and familiar sort of bargaining that after some conferring with her family Jewel was happy to agree to.

    With a pittance of a few pfennig on the grosz in their favor both had eagerly sworn to Jewel and with them and Kliatbatrn sworn Jewel now had the entirety of the River Vah secured. As the longest river in Viznove it would be a powerful weight on the other vassals to fall in line or risk being cut off from trade beyond the county near entirely.

    Of course it was after the ceremony where they both swore to her had been concluded that Muriel was proverbially pulling Jewel aside to inform of the trouble that her servant had somehow gotten herself tied up into.

    What was Adelyne even doing outside the keep?!

    Apparently according to said servant Adelyne was doing Jewel¡¯s will and trying to protect her recently released batch of ¡®accursed waifs¡¯ from being abused and tormented by angry citizenry and ruffians in Kaeketeh proper!

    Which was a shock.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, could you repeat that?¡±

    A command which Muriel dutifully obeyed.

    ¡°Twelve corpses of the released waifs have already been found. I can¡¯t say how many others are yet to be discovered, but besides the four that were with the bonded servant Adelyne and Gaurdswife Magdalena I¡¯ve heard reports at least twenty more were found alive but wounded and despoiled!¡±

    Jewel could hardly believe what she was hearing. Her voice was rumbling far more than she wanted. There were just shy of eight hundred of the accursed when she released them!

    She could barely contain the first thing to pass through her thoughts.

    ¡°H-how did you find so many in an afternoon?¡±

    Muriel spat away from Jewel before she said with a fury that could not be contained despite her usually professional demeanor.

    ¡°Of the living and dead those we¡¯ve found were strung up at cross roads or squares for all to see. We hardly needed to look my Lady! We¡¯ve not even begun to check alleys or the river and I hardly have the footmen to start on such while training the new guard.¡±

    Jewel stared at nothing.

    She¡¯d wanted this to be justice, but not like this! She had wanted the men complicit in the Countess¡¯ cruelty to pay for what they had taken!

    But looking down at the one that had only avoided that fate because her servant had managed to inspire enough righteous fury to defend themselves? She turned and stared at Adelyne, who had probably only saved these few with her quick thinking.

    Why had no one told Jewel this might happen?!

    She had felt good about how cleanly she had resolved the matter! And now they were out there in the streets of her city suffering...

    Jewel looked down on the thing that looked like a child, well that she thought looked like a child but everyone else insisted was anything but. At a face that could not help but twist into a scowl of fury at her despite every effort to hide it.

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    There was anger in the woman standing beside the girl looking thing Jewel had made of her husband.

    That had not occurred to Jewel either.

    Some of the Countess¡¯ men had wives.

    Some had families.

    Some even had children!

    Jewel was the law! she had to fix this!

    She looked around those witnessing her judgment. She saw far too many faces looking like soldiers eager for blood. No that would not do! That was not what she had wanted at all! Jewel took in a heavy breath and brought forth her mother¡¯s lessons.

    ¡°As Countess and law of the city of Kaeketeh and the County Viznove I declare you innocent of the charges. Your acts were honorable under my eye and-¡±

    No that was not enough, She had to do something more about this.

    ¡°And I reiterate my prior judgment, the former men of Viznove, who so served the Countess Bathory have already received all due punishment for their crimes by my justice! Until such times that they steal, murder, despoil or otherwise trespass by common or noble law they are subjects of Viznove! To be protected as any other!¡±

    But still the two faces of those Jewel could not deny she had wronged glared at her. One far more subtle than the other. It was like something sharp roiling in her stomach and dousing her flames to see so much hate in so young a face.

    What good were words spoken in a court? Jewel needed this to be known outside and beyond!

    ¡°Send word to the criers. Proclaim this every third hour of daylight in kaeketeh for seven days hence!¡±

    Jewel felt a revulsion at what she had done, what was still happening from her actions!

    She needed to do something more, something to stop this!

    ¡°Furthermore anyone who violates or disrespects t-the waifs will be tried as... as if their act had been done to a lady of Noble Blood and Rank!¡±

    Surely that was enough? No Jewel could feel it burning. That wouldn''t bring back the ones that already had perished or worse because of her fit of pique!

    She didn''t want this!

    But Jewel had done it?

    So surely she could take it back?

    Undo what had been wrought, find a better less awful punishment?

    But even before the thought had finished settling in her head Jewel felt a scathing burn inside her flame. A stinging lash which echoed first inside her coils and then echoed in a snarling refusal from the world itself.

    Jewel¡¯s impulse to snarl back was open upon her face but even that amount of defiance echoed and magnified within and without her! Silencing her unspoken pleas that this was not what she had intended at all!

    But her defiance guttered as her very wyrm flame seemed to abandon her with her refusal.

    It left her staggering in a way that made everyone in the feasting hall step back from her. Probably out of concern she would collapse again. But as soon as she relented, the weakness passed.

    All told she was entirely empty of her inner fire for only for a moment, barely single breath.

    Despite how much she had wanted to deny it she couldn''t.

    The answer was as clear as could be.

    A Singular No.

    Jewel could not take back what she had wrought in the world.

    Her sentence was yet unfulfilled.

    What had been made would not be undone by her own decree.

    She had asked the world for this.

    And it had done as she wished.

    As she had willed.

    And apparently it had no concept of mistakes or regret.

    Jewel stared down at the open and guilelessly fearful face below her.

    The terror in those eyes she had declared this man should bear however unintentionally..

    A child¡¯s face staring at Jewel with all the horror she had once seen given to Bathory.

    There was only one thing to do.

    Something Bathory never would have even conceived of.

    Jewel Apologized.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±

 8.i

    8.i

    Of the four heads into which I have divided the nature and force of the right, the first, which consists in the cognizance of truth, bears the closest relation to human nature.

    For we are all attracted and drawn to the desire of knowledge and wisdom, in which we deem it admirable to excel, but both an evil and a shame to fail, to be mistaken, to be ignorant, to be deceived.

    In this quest of knowledge, both natural and right, there are two faults to be shunned, ¡ª one, the taking of unknown things for known, and giving our assent to them too hastily, which fault he who wishes to escape (and all ought so to wish) will give time and diligence to reflect on the subjects proposed for his consideration.

    The other fault is that some bestow too great zeal and too much labor on things obscure and difficult, and at the same time useless.

    These faults being shunned, whatever labor and care may be bestowed on subjects becoming a virtuous mind and worth knowing, will be justly commended.

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    Thus we learn that Caius Sulpicius was versed in astronomy, as I myself knew Sextius Pompeius to be in geometry, as many are in logic, many in civil law, ¡ª all which sciences are concerned in the investigation of truth, but by whose pursuit duty will not suffer one to be drawn away from the active management of affairs.

    For the reputation of virtue consists wholly in active life, from which, however, there is often a respite, and frequent opportunities are afforded for returning to the pursuit of knowledge.

    At the same time mental activity, which never ceases, may retain us, without conscious effort, in meditation on the subjects of our study.

    But all thought and mental action ought to be occupied either in taking counsel as to the things that are right and that appertain to a good and happy life, or in the pursuit of wisdom and knowledge.

    I have thus spoken of the first source of duty.

    -Letters on Duty by Marcus Tulius Tritico of Cantor

 8.ii

    8.ii

    Concerning the Way of Telling the Weather by the Birds, and Knowing if it Will be Fine or Rainy Weather.

    It is necessarily part of the shepherd¡¯s job that he should know about the weather and in order to take instruction in this, he should pay attention to several things.

    Concerning Starlings

    It often happens in winter that starlings gather in great crowds and fly together and sometimes they sit on an elm or other tall tree. So the shepherd should pay attention to how the starlings take off from the elm tree, for when they leave all together in one flock, this means great cold; if they leave in small groups, one after the other, this is sign of rain.

    Concerning the Heron

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    When the heron rises from its foraging and cries out loudly on its ascent, this indicates rugged and harsh weather. If it flies into the north wind, this means great cold. If it flies into the southwest wind from the valley, which the shepherds call plunging, this means rain.

    If the heron on return from its flight settles again near the place from which it left, this indicates that the weather described above will soon arrive. If it flies and settles at some distance from where it took off, the change in the weather will be delayed and will not come as soon.

    Concerning the Swallow

    When the swallow flies really high and leisurely in long swoops, this means rain.

    When it flies low and fast near the ground, this means an abundance of rain.

    When it is in the air and sporting about seeking little flies, this indicates fine weather.

    -Old Jean of Brie, a Shepherd of the Free Men¡¯s Lands.

 9.1

    9.1

    Havel looked up at his wife.

    He could not say he actually disliked the view, there was a lot he loved about Lenka. And a lot of it could in fact be appreciated looking up at her with his brow not even reaching above her hips.

    It was however disorienting and had made quite a lot of familiar moments foreign and strange or outright impossible. They could not embrace the way they once did. He couldn''t lean over her shoulder and squeeze her with his hands clasped in hers anymore. He could not rest his head in her hair and just breath deeply as they stood together anymore.

    And then there was the undeniable fact that he had been unmanned. More deeply and utterly then even a mere ¡®wound to the thigh¡¯ as some of the tales put it.

    It wasn''t fair!

    He¡¯d courted Lenka since either of them were old enough!

    And now barely into their second year of marriage he was cursed, disgraced and tossed out. A season¡¯s pay in silver would go a while but what was he going to do after?!

    The only work he knew how to do was shoveling shit out of cesspits for his father¡¯s trade and being a footman! He¡¯d married Lenka on vow to Stribog that they would have children and riches for their union!

    ¡°Oiy! Foolish husband! Stop brooding!¡±

    He denied it but knew she would see the truth in his traitorous face.

    ¡°I w-wasin¡¯t brooding wife!¡±

    Havel could not stop the scowl from washing over his face before it was followed by a wince and then the damnably unstoppable tears.

    It was the subtlest but cruelest of violations of his curse that.

    Havel¡¯s face was not his own.

    Beyond just the look and feel it did not obey him!

    Every feeling, every thought, a passing fancy, a moment of joy.

    Everything that Havel felt got splayed out all over his face for anyone to see! When he could have kept his thoughts to himself, spared his wife from the weight of concerns or the pain he had after a rough spar now every single one of those acts were denied him!

    He¡¯d spent years learning to hold firm and noble and stoic for his duty and all those years of discipline were now lost!

    All of that gone, replaced with the incontinent and shameful tears and squirming roiling flesh of his face that refused to not scream to everyone with eyes every single secret he coveted, every moment of weakness he tried to push past, every flicker of cowardice!

    Before he could even try to get control of his face suddenly there were arms around him, there was a bosom against his cheek and a soft shushing voice in his hair. His Lenka had dropped down to kneel next to him so that she could hold him in her arms like she once did.

    They were home, this was his wife that at least for the moment was willing to pretend the way he no longer could!

    His hair was too long and it came in sprouts that each felt and hung differently but the fingers running through it soothed some.

    ¡°Hush you foolish, foolish, husband of mine.¡±

    Even if he could not keep his brows from furrowing, his cheeks sinking deep scowling lines of grief. The water poured from his clenched lids.

    He hid the traitorous face that spilled his every thought to the world in Lenka¡¯s chest and finally stopped trying to fight the overwhelming sorcery of his curse. His poor wife held him. Running her fingers through his hair and rubbing his back in small circles.

    And he howled with a voice that was far too shrill and childlike. Smothering it into the cloth of her dress to somewhat muffle the shame.

    He wanted to stop, that cloth was expensive, and they needed to save. Washing women was not going to be so easy an expense to afford now! But he couldn''t! He couldn''t do anything but howl and cry into the front of his wife¡¯s dress until it was sopping with tears and snot that stuck to his face and slipped in salty rivulets into his too small mouth.

    He didn''t deserve her, Lenka bore his disgusting cries and ruining of her clothes.

    She hushed his infantile tears.

    Finally the sobs stopped, his chest felt empty, his throat was raw from howling into Lenka¡¯s clothes. His face was a disgusting mix of sticky, slimy and faintly crusted effluvium.

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    Her dress was a disaster.

    But he felt like he could pull away, his awful face was still, slack on his skull.

    At least until he finally looked up at Lenka. And then he could feel things happening around his eyes, he could feel the corners of his mouth curl before he even knew why.

    She beamed down at him with some of her own hair out of sorts and a redness to her eyes he¡¯d not expected and immediately made him start to grimace, the writhing muscles stopped by a sudden strike to his nose!

    ¡°Oiy! None of that you were JUST starting to smile at how beautiful your wife is ya fool man!¡±

    The smarting pain brought what seemed impossible, a new sheen of wetness to his oversized eyes. But then she said that one word and his smile was so wide he must have looked like a fool.

    She called him a man.

    Before he could say anything she was talking over him again.

    ¡°There, that¡¯s better. Now if you''re feeling better just what fool thing has snarled up in my idiot husband¡¯s heart?¡±

    He couldn''t take it, she kept saying words like that. Calling him what he¡¯d been robbed like she couldn''t see the thing that beast of a countess had made of him! His voice was raw, it was angry but even when ragged and croaking he still sounded far too young, far too fair in voice.

    ¡°I¡¯m not your husband anymore Lenka. You don¡¯t have to call me tha-¡±

    The slap was hard, it actually laid him out on his ass, but despite the force and the distance he fell it only stung his face.

    ¡°Oh sod that you fool of a shit hauler¡¯s son! Are you trying to call down three more curses on both our heads with talk like that?!¡±

    His traitorous face for once did not move, just hung there like he wanted it too. But soon his brow was coming together and the snarl of his anger was twisting up. Churning over his lips and nose.

    ¡°You married a man! We made our vow as a man and a woman! But this curse has stripped me of everything! How can I be your husband Lenka?!  look at me!¡±

    Lenka huffed and stood up, loomed over him like a giant. Hands planted on her hips, the way her dress was soaked through accenting some of her finer features in a way that was just distracting enough his traitorous face flushed and squirmed.

    But he kept his eyes mostly on her face. Attentive to her words.

    ¡°I remember our vows to the god of bounty, coin and sowing seeds! Do you?!¡±

    He stared, of course he remembered!

    The words rose from his throat even as he was still propped up on the floor of their modest apartment.

    ¡°Stribog, Lord and star of the Fickle North Wind. I, Havel Nightmanson, vow to you a palm of seeds scattered every tenth day sunset and your light upon my first born. So you may bless us a family secure in wealth, health and prosperity. In this marriage to my wife Magdalena.¡±

    Lenka nodded down so his eyes met hers, wet but bright and fierce. Speaking the words she had said under the star of a god of wind and change. The only one who had come for the marriage of a simple gong farmer¡¯s son and a spinster¡¯s daughter.

    ¡°Stribog, Light of the clever North Wind. I, Magdalena Weaverdottir, vow to you a rope wound of my hair each year. Burnt in your name and your light upon my first born. So you may bless me with patience, my children with wisdom and my love safety. In this marriage to my husband Havel.¡±

    He stared at her; he could not stop the slight curl of a smile, and he saw a mirror of it if more minute on his wife¡¯s face.

    But her smile soured as his faded. Havel spat the words.

    ¡°That¡¯s it though! That was a vow to a husband! How can I be your husband if I¡¯m not even a man?!¡±

    Lenka snarled down at him.

    ¡°You''re my husband if I say you are and unless Stribog himself comes down to say otherwise we are married husband and wife and our vows still hold! Do you want to call down a god?! Do we need to go to the temple and pay the coin for it? Is that what it¡¯s going to take to prove you are still mine and I¡¯m still yours?!¡±

    Her voice was shrill, she had a fury almost as plain on her face as his was.

    But at the same time.

    If there was a chance that the gods themselves still saw him as a man?

    Maybe it would be enough to cure this curse?

    Lenka stared down at him and he wished he could stop the way his face betrayed his every thought as she laughed at him, there were still tears in her eyes, she was still flushed and honestly he wished he could keep how that made him feel from his face as well.

    But even so she spoke before he could master his own newfound and cursed weakness.

    ¡°Oh fine! If it takes three grosz in silver to get my fool husband to see sense that price will be cheap.¡±

    Her tone was light but he winced at that. It was not a small sum for a disgraced footmen with just some savings and a last season of pay.

    But his heart and face refused to stay dimmed.

    He could not conceal the hope he felt welling inside anymore than the fear.

    Stribog would either declare him unmanned entirely and in doing so free his dear Lenka to stop forcing herself to care for a useless waste of flesh.

    Or...

    Havel couldn''t quite even think of it.

    His face was betraying him enough as it was.

 9.2

    9.2

    Jewel sighed.

    Why did so many people live so close together as this?!

    She had visited Kaeketeh once a year since she was nine winters old, but she had never fully realized what the vastness of the city¡¯s ten-thousand people meant!

    Honestly more than were recorded might be in Kaeketeh at any given moment. There might only be ten thousand who officially resided and worked in Kaeketeh but many hundreds or sometimes thousands more moved through it!

    It was at least half of the army that had marched with Jewel to war.

    And now there was a terrible lack of trained and experienced footmen to maintain order and peace of so many men, women and children crammed too close together, whether they be strangers or residents.

    Rochford, Valasect and Dewgrove did not have the same number of footmen combined as Jewel had cursed. And not all of those were available to be sent to Kaeketeh or skilled in managing the work required. The training in arms and conduct were the same, but the needs of Valasect, Rochford or even Kliatbatrn paled when put up against the responsibilities that had once fallen to the Countess¡¯ Men!

    The gate and bridge watches alone! At least middletown mostly had families and people of means to see to their own order.

    But Gate Town?

    The surrounding huddle of buildings just outside it?

    Two thirds of Kaeketeh had turned to lawlessness and near outright banditry!

    Her decree had at least stopped them from stringing up the ¡®cursed waifs¡¯ on street corners stripped, beaten and violated. But horrors were still happening despite how Adelyne was taking to her new responsibility as ¡®speaker for the streets¡¯.

    The probably still no longer a thief had a rapport with the people in Gate town which fed Jewel with a vital line of information. Like a gryphon rider scouting the lands ahead of a march the young woman walked through the city to gauge what was on the horizon of tomorrow for Kaeketeh.

    If only the news she could bring were better.

    For every dozen of the former footmen whose wellbeing was known, there was at least one that was missing or confirmed dead.

    And Adelyne only had so much pull with her home (although surprisingly more than Jewel had expected from a mere thief girl). Still where the waifs were not being victimized they were as often enacting violence of their own.

    In the days after their release one no longer saw any of them traveling in numbers fewer than four after dark. And most had taken to carrying staves or clubs and what leather mail or arms they could afford on the pay Jewel had released them with. Many were also taking to covering their mouths in cloth at minimum.

    Other waifs were starting to favor wooden or leather masks!

    And the complaints about them were far too numerous for the sparse skeleton of a trained guard in the city to address. Even with serious fines and punishment for false claims.

    There had always been thieves, beggars and the like in Kaeketeh. She had smelled and seen them every year, But now warring packs of brigands, whether waif or ¡®full-man¡¯ were out in the night. Houses and stores had been burgled!

    And in the midst of a city with at least a third of it on the verge of dissolving into chaos every night Jewel was trying to win over her remaining vassals!

    Why was this not a matter of headmen or other confidants to provide common law in Kaeketeh?

    Because Countess Bathory had found a way to strike back at Jewel from beyond her own burnt and scattered pyre! The Countess¡¯ men had consisted of the entirety of the people of Kaeketeh¡¯s means of appealing for common law!

    As far as her curse was concerned every arbiter of common law or advocate for her subjects in Kaeketeh of lower birth had served in the Countess¡¯ footmen.

    At least any that she could still find signs of!

    Because those that had not befallen to the curse had fled the city!

    Jewel and her allies were all alone in Kaeketeh.

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    It was just her, what vassals were willing to lend footmen (with concessions in their obligations of course), her family and a few true allies.

    And the Guilds.

    Jewel had not been prepared for the guilds.

    She had read of them, she had a passing familiarity with the idea. Thurz¨® spoke of his own domain¡¯s guilds sometimes in his letters. But Jewel was otherwise caught aghast by them.

    Rochford and Valasect had no need of guilds. There were freemen, some headmen to represent the common law of the peasant concerns. And little else for the Lady or Lord to worry about. This was all very sensible for good simple villages of a few hundred.

    But Kaeketeh was a city of just shy of ten thousand by the ledgers.

    From one season to another a hundred or so might die, or be born, or slip away or into the city. With so many not only was there horrific amounts of shit and other waste.

    But instead of having a sensible handful of people skilled in crafts the city had hundreds!

    In every craft and trade! In some trades Jewel had never even heard of!

    Guilds for iron working, for fishing, for boat making, for carpentry, for ¡®gathering night soil¡¯. Guilds for the brothels and baths and drink houses. A Guild for the stone workers (little that there were).

    Even ones for porters and merchants.

    Jewel would not be surprised if there was a guild for the filthy thieves and beggars in this city!

    And where at least Jewel¡¯s vassals seemed at least slightly cowed by her act of cursing over seven hundred men for the crimes of betrayal to the city of Kaeketeh and the Countess Bathory?

    The guilds were quite politely and insistently, nay incessantly complaining!

    Weavers guilds and dyers guilds!

    ¡°If we could make a deal for good Rochford wyrmthread and cloth Countess? Shameful really having the price so high with you here with us.¡±

    The guild for the nightmen (which horror of horrors when Jewel found out what they did!) had been especially cross with Jewel because apparently one of their members in high standing had a son that was one of the cursed!

    There had been an oh so polite and perfectly calm man in her courtroom that had quietly threatened her without even stepping a toe out of courtesy due her station.

    ¡°Well given the troubles we just might not be able to do our duty Countess. Streets at night are no longer safe for the carts see?¡±

    The Baker¡¯s guild had sent an equally polite man last morning saying that given all the difficulties there just wasn''t going to be as much bread available at the keep.

    ¡°Deeply sorry Countess, but we bakers have to rise well before dawn, and it is just so perilous now. It¡¯s everything we can do to see the good people fed.¡±

    And then there were the millers.

    ¡°Well we can¡¯t even hire enough guards to watch our carts Countess, shameful really I try but just can¡¯t always make a delivery cept in daylight hours.¡±

    Jewel felt like the entire city was slipping away from her. All of these guilds smiled and apologized and the worst part is hardly any of them were lying! No if she pressed Jewel always got the truth of the matter. They always offered a higher price to cover the costs she had genuinely caused them.

    But there was only so much that silver could solve. Kaeketeh was like a wounded animal bleeding out now. All because Jewel had wanted to enact justice!

    It felt like everything was just about to collapse around her.

    And all of this was when she absolutely could not afford to have it happen!

    She needed the city to be stable, to be safe, for it to be secure so that she could leave and return home and settle things in Valasect! So that she could continue working with Paul on all the intricate alliances and graciousness required by their roles! She probably needed to see to building a larger feasting hall given all the people that needed to see her!

    Her little stone manor house was apparently far too small for the sheer volume of personages she could expect to treat with as the countess of Viznove. Even with the expansion of most of the rooms and chambers for Jewel¡¯s comfort!

    But before any of that she needed secured vassalage from all the barons and other lords of Viznove. She needed the city to be stable and secure! She needed to not have to worry about where her breakfast was coming from! She needed to settle the matters with the guilds and somehow rebuild the entire apparatus of common law in Kaeketeh!

    Jewel¡¯s wings flared out, her neck arched, she touched both sides of the chamber and the ceiling of this accursed feasting hall!

    She had barely had a chance to escape this single room in five days!

    She had not had a chance to fly in twelve!

    How was any of this right?!

    Jewel was the Countess!

    She was the final law in the land of Viznove!

    Supposedly Jewel was the ruler of these lands and yet she felt more powerless then she ever had in her life!

    It made the fire in her chest lash out and try to crawl free from her throat.

 9.3

    9.3

    Paul found himself in a position strangely in mirror to the very one he had originally been raised to perform.

    Before his late mother¡¯s whim had declared Jewel Heir to the House Bathory and the county of Viznove it was assumed that he would one day stand in the place his wife and countess now held.

    Although it had been expected he would be more a count of war like his father it was as his tutors often told him just as important to know how to manage the realm in times of peace.

    ¡°Make yourself a relief from the oversight of your wife and countess instead of a burden which causes your subjects and court to yearn for your absence in war.¡±

    Which was a lesson he really needed to discuss more deeply with Jewel.

    When both of them had time.

    But here he was presiding over a court of law.

    Although in this case it was technically over ¡®common law¡¯. But with the entire apparatus of lawmen either fled from the city or accursed and dishonored, someone had to fill the void until the damage to the city garrison and administration could be repaired.

    And with Jewel obviously strained with still needing to see to the negotiations with the most itinerant half of her yet to be sworn vassals that responsibility fell to him.

    Although he was thankfully not entirely alone.

    Kraok was barely an elevated peasant of a provincial manor. But he had a sense of fairness to him.

    Muriel was a trained and knowledgeable martial lady who was even more skilled in history and law than the sword. She¡¯d spent long years working as a governess and made a decent if improvisational dispenser of justice.

    Bromthil was worse than Muriel in matters of justice and common law, himself mostly a mere captain of war, but he had an eye for discipline as pertained to the army on the march and knew common folk¡¯s temperament by his position among the levies during war.

    Smithson was surprisingly the most valuable after Muriel in assisting Paul in these matters. He¡¯d been attending with Jewel in the courtly dinners and learning with the passion of the truly loyal in spite of his extended responsibilities seeing to little Gem. He was where he lacked knowledge of history and legality, the closest out of any of them in knowing what Jewel would have wanted.

    And so between the five of them there are almost enough to form a rotating council for justice over common law in Kaeketeh.

    That did not in fact mean that there were enough of them to manage all the churning appeals, judgements or even scheduling and clerical work required for the hundreds of people in need of them.

    And every less trained or able individual that was put between trouble and Paul or his nascent council was an opportunity for the very injustice he knew Jewel needed to avoid.

    It was seizing the courts terribly.

    Furthermore, of the captains and Kraok their time was even more precious as they also were overseeing the training and education of a new Kaeketeh Guard! With heraldry in the city¡¯s colors and new oaths to the City and then the Countess!

    Jewel and Paul had discussed the burgeoning force and given the already rampant unrest decided declaring the new footmen for the city itself instead of a ruling family seemed best. Especially given that the populace that were suffering the most in the chaos were in the common families that predominantly inhabited Gate Town and the immediate surroundings.

    Which was its own sort of trouble. All his tutors had insisted Guilds grew all the more dangerous when armed. But it was the Guilds and lesser members of the noble houses and families among Jewel¡¯s vassals that were currently assuring the peace in Middletown.

    That was probably a headache waiting to break free.

    But he had nothing for this future trouble yet. Paul lacked the hours in his own day, or the trusted men to delegate too for even gate town! He and the rest of the council barely had the time to hear and resolve the judgment on common law matters that they did. Leaving Jewel to handle her vassals with little but brief counsel from him each evening!

    Yet he did what he could.  And what he could was act as judge for common law until such matters could be better delegated.

    Paul waved for the next case to be presented.

    ¡°The Court of Common Law in Kaeketeh will now see Villiam De Ros, Merchant, Residing from the corner of Wharf and Peckling street. As well as the primary accused Waif Bered of no residence, Presided by the Lord Count and Consort Paul N¨¢dasdy ¡±

    The crier was  one of the younger sons of a guildmaster.

    A favor to said guild of butchers and sopers for them resolving a few matters of secured delivery of their goods to the keep and taking up pikes for peace in their side of the tanner¡¯s district.

    Paul sat on the common law stool. As would normally be suited one of significantly lower station then the husband and consort of the Countess of Visnove. Thankful that a scribe was at least available untouched by Jewel¡¯s curse to record the judgements and appeals.

    He had already done it himself too many days!

    Small mercies.

    This was liable to be a bad one, as there was a waif involved. And his fear was not calmed when he saw how this one garbed herself. Dressed up in shortened  leathers, trousers and mouth obscuring veil that had become custom for a good portion of the once men.

    Beside her a full man with dark hair, clothes on the finer side and a black eye fumed. There were bruises and bandages as well. He had brought a boy that was probably his son by the apparent age. The boy really was hardly younger looking than Paul himself but was equally roughed up. Although maybe not favoring an elbow as gingerly. He made the gesture for the bruised man to speak first.

    ¡°I-, er, that is, I am Villiam De Ros my lord count sir, I¡¯m here to a-appeal for punishment of the crimes of burglary, trespass and kidnapping sir.¡±

    Paul nodded.

    ¡°The accused and the specifics of the crime?¡±

    The man, who was almost assuredly a better off merchant of some means, cleared his throat and shook himself. Throwing a finger at the mostly still waif just a few paces away from him.

    ¡°It was that accursed waif Bere! Along with her cronies, the bald pissant Roger and that cheater and shortchanger down the street from me, Robert is his name! Him along with his buddy Nicholas the tailor! They all broke into my home and cellar in the night, stole up my bondsman villein from the cellar and then furthermore stole from my wife a coffer with a full knight¡¯s mark weight in silver and some dozen Pfennig besides!¡±

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    Paul wanted to sigh and rub his brow. Despite Jewel¡¯s mercy there were far too many of the former guards that had sunk immediately into banditry or worse upon their release.

    But for every one of them that took to unlawful malfeasance three more were suffering for the ire of those seeking revenge for those acts or ones done before in their role as his mother¡¯s footmen!

    Hopefully this matter would be relatively simple.

    It was a blessing so many of the accursed waifs insisted on proclaiming their names and being known by them. It would have been trivial with their penchant for masks, similar builds and veils to vanish among the rest.

    Paul was pretty sure some already had and more would in future.

    ¡°That charge is serious.¡±

    Villiam scowled and shook his finger in fury.

    ¡°Damn fortune¡¯s right it is! Robert and Nicholas are still sitting fine and pretty after their theft! That cheap-whore thighcut waif is spreading for both of them too! Was a right bastard as one of the bloody guards Bered was and she¡¯s even worse of a shrewish slut now without the cock and balls!¡±

    The insulted figure refused to even look at her accuser. Staring straight ahead at the wall, but there was a hint of motion around her eyes, without the veil Paul was sure he¡¯d see every pained grimace that the jabs inspired. But with it you could almost imagine they weren¡¯t there with the distance from his judge¡¯s seat.

    One of the precious few law educated footmen that Jewel could spare struck the butt of his spear into the old boards of the court¡¯s floor.

    ¡°Respect the proceedings of this court and chambers or you will be dismissed and fined for contempt and dishonor of the noble lord and count N¨¢dasdy.¡±

    The man who had let his anger run away from him paled from the bright red that had flushed his face and dropped fully to his knees. Which was a bit excessive but the intent was something that Paul could appreciate. He winced hard when one knee landed, aggravating where he was obviously injured.

    Jewel would want kindness and mercy here, so Paul gave it.

    ¡°I will allow that the trespass on home and hearth have left tempers strained, Kaeketeh is in a difficult time for us all. But please keep your words civil. Now continue.¡±

    Villiam took a steadying breath and then continued, gesturing to the boy next to him before he began struggling back to his feet.

    ¡°My oldest son R¨®bert De Ros was there when they broke into the store and made to shout alarm and defend our home and property, rousing me and my wife as well! He saw most all of it, whiIe I only was seeing the cowards as they left with my and my wife¡¯s property!¡±

    Paul nodded, a witness of the wrongdoing at least simplified the matters.

    ¡°Proceed with your witnessing of the events, R¨®bert De Ros.¡±

    The boy threw worried glances at the waif that was half his own height, and Paul saw a crinkle around the eyes and a shift of the face behind the veil that was probably a particularly vicious grin.

    Paul tried not to hold that against the accused, a waif¡¯s curse very obviously prevented them from even a modicum of restraint in their expressions.

    It made them surprisingly good witnesses for court proceedings actually.

    ¡°They stole into the shop in the night, broke the door and then tore open the cellar and free¡¯d the villein from ¡®ere shackles where we been holding them for they been trying to flee from just duties if not watched. When I rushed from my room on the first floor they were already tearing into the door to ma¡¯s room and so I fought them with a knife but they beaten me back and then were away in the night with the villein and ma¡¯s coffer of silver.¡±

    Paul raised a brow at the mention of restraints, and when he looked at the waif Bere he spotted the crinkled eye from a grin of satisfaction. It inspired a desire to groan he had to suppress, In the long days of his role as judge Paul had learned whenever a waif was involved and they began to smile like that it was before they dropped some infuriating counter point.

    It was best for all to get whatever pain over and done with there. He gestured to the until now silent accursed.

    ¡°The common court has heard the appeal of Villiam De Ros, now in defense I will hear the word of waif Bere.¡±

    And then the figure lowered their veil, a smile tinged with obvious hints of mirth and shining glad eyes.

    But by the scowl that was fighting to stay hidden on William¡¯s face he already knew the word that was going around. A waif unmasked could no more successfully lie than a man under vows to a dozen gods.

    ¡°The Villein mentioned is no bondsman to the good, Villiam de Ros!¡±

    There was nothing but a sneer that Bere did not even try to prevent when she spoke her accuser¡¯s name. It was a nasty trick some of the former footmen had learned to lean into.

    If your face could not lie, why not let every word be brutally honest in tone?

    ¡°Not a Bondsman at all in fact! I¡¯ll speak plain-faced to you the truth but also do I have the oath from twelve good men of Kaeketeh willing to take a vow on this matter before three gods assured by temple to hold no favor with I or the de Ros family. ¡±

    There was a sputter from Villiam but the two footmen that could be spared for Paul¡¯s defense in court shifted their grips on their spears.

    The glance from Bere at the footmen did not stop her speech.

    ¡°I learned of this from a witness of the boasting by the good de Ros, words heard by an associate of his on Peckling street that shared a tavern with him that night in fact.¡±

    The grin got all the wider, inhumanly so for how small a waif¡¯s mouth normally appeared.

    ¡°Well first of all I informed the good de Ros they were trespassing on the subjects and property of our Countess and Shining Wyrm and should release the villein to his labors in the fields outside Kaeketeh. But when such failed well-¡±

    Villiam apparently had enough.

    ¡°That¡¯s the lies of traitors and scoundrels! This slut of a waif was accursed by the lady Jewel herself for dishonor! Her words are shit on this court¡¯s honor!¡±

    Paul really wanted to rub his face but he had to hold the decorum of these proceedings even half of those appealing his judgment were not going too. Still the word of a publicly declared traitor was poorer evidence. Even given the nature of their guileless faces.

    There was only one choice.

    He yearned to sigh but held the proper decorum for his position. It was going to cost silver (which he was already planning to fine at least one of these parties for) but worst of all it would cost time.

    ¡°The order of the court of common law in Kaeketeh is that vows before neutral gods for truth will be made by Villiam De Ros, R¨®bert De Ros, Waif Bere and her chosen twelve witnesses to ascertain the veracity of this matter in court tomorrow.¡±

    And for a moment at least the matter was if not settled, at least forestalled, the appealing parties were directed to the scribe so they could set down both their names and places of residence as well as those of the others that would need to be called forth tomorrow.

    Then in the brief respite after they were gone Paul brought his hands up to his face and ground his fingers and knuckles up and down his brow, cheeks and eye sockets.

    He needed the break from this madness, to breath and let the facade fall from his face.

    Just a moment though.

    There were still more cases he had to see to, and now there was a return he would have to meet later after a temple could secure the assured vows of truth for the matter in court!

    Paul signaled to the crier to announce the next case.

    ¡°The Court of Common Law in Kaeketeh will now see Serlo of Plodin-hounds alley and his accused in Osbert of Dimiliock square as well as Jordan and Waltersson of no residence.¡±

    He wondered if this was how his father got those streaks of gray hairs he saw in the paintings.

 9.4

    9.4

    Jewel looked at the finery draped baron before her.

    He had white and blue fabric, shining silver pins and clasps for his jacket. The legs of his dressing were tight enough to show the muscle of his calves and a hint of the thigh.

    But then the rest draped in what was a thin cloth imitation of proper maile. Like her father¡¯s ceremonial metal armor, but even less substantial for its use of sometimes sheer cloth. Hints of gold thread had been stitched along the sleeves and torso.

    His garments proclaimed his wealth, the colors spoke of his house. Matching the heraldry of his city and barony, blue field with a silver and white gauntlet holding a burning wreath in black braid and red flame. Although his finery was noble it complemented and mirrored the more functional armor of his footmen in a way that spoke well. But his house had been notably absent from the muster against the high king.

    Jewel had tried to fit every single detail of each Vassal into her head. And now she was trying to recall everything she knew about the man before her and his place in Viznove.

    The crier echoed the title she already knew.

    ¡°Presenting, Lord Lukas of Ogien. Of House Ogien, Keeper of the flame spring of Ogien and the lands and farms of its banks.¡±

    He was lord of the city and the river of the same name. The city, manor and fortress was straddled on a hill by a bend of the Ogien river where it turned around the mountain of the Moot, the only pillar of the Skyvault within Viznove proper. He also held the lands north and east along one tributary into the mountains and the surrounding valleys. The villages in those territories all belonged to this man.

    Ogien was the richest of the cities that were not on the Vah itself. Trade and wealth mostly collected in the city after coming down the Ogien, with only a few goods flowing downriver to join the Vah.

    He stood before her but did not acknowledge Jewel with a proper bow, just the courtesy dip of the head of a guest in her home.

    Jewel considered the man and what she had been able to read.

    The currents were not as gentle in the Ogien as the Vah¡¯s course south of Kaeketeh and it was written that although water travel upriver was possible it was hard enough that trade had to mostly go over land for goods that flowed along Vah elsewhere in Viznove. However such a position meant that little made north of Ogien ever traveled the waters of the Vah either.

    The Barony of Ogien and the numerous vassalages and alliances which it held had cohered into the largest block of holdouts to recognition of Jewel¡¯s assumption of the County and all who had sworn fealty to it.

    That so many of them were along the very road to Rochford from Kaeketeh made her fire itch to burst free.

    But Paul and Mother insisted this was an opportunity as well.

    ¡°I greet you Lady Jewel, Countess and Shining Wyrm of Viznove.¡±

    That he left off even an acknowledgement of fealty to her was setting the tone of this meeting.

    This would be one of many exchanges to try and sway him.

    If Jewel could satisfy and bring Lukas to bend the knee then he would pressure all who aligned with him as well.

    The position of Ogien as the gate to the numerous tributaries at its headwaters would secure the majority of the County. Just one man who stood tall below her gaze held the key to settling Jewel¡¯s inheritance of the title and would free her to focus on cleaning up Kaeketeh.

    She kept her tone soft and civil.

    ¡°And I greet you Lord Lukas, Baron of Ogien, Keeper of the flame spring.¡±

    The way he smelled as he smiled up at her was far too much like Fizzbunches''s smugness for him to not be completely aware of the position he held.

    ¡°Certainly the fortunes must have held a long gaze on the Countess, Jewel of Viznove. To be married and then less then a year later inherit so much under such circumstances? My condolences to the loss of your predecessor. But you seem to have put quite the will into cutting free the rot in Kaeketeh.¡±

    This was not the usual meeting behind closed doors, Jewel did not trust herself to Bathory¡¯s old study. That room was absolutely tiny.

    But it was also not the full pomp of a proper officious meeting steeped in tradition and long practice with all matters properly and fully settled beforehand. The Feasting hall was meant for such but it had been slowly but surely commandeered to be as much a place of judgment, feasting and official ceremony as Jewel¡¯s impromptu study.

    The ill fitting nature of it all drew another pang of longing for Jewel¡¯s manor house, with its properly sized rooms.

    She nodded to the man, who had brought four footmen into the chamber.

    ¡°Yes, the treachery against the countess bathory and the people of Kaeketeh ran very deep indeed. More so than even I realized until after the sorcery had done its work.¡±

    Lukas of Ogien nodded and his smile was bright. He smelled of fear, as any stranger might. Jewel recognized his scent from the wedding but at the time she had not really needed to consider any of the nothings and flattery he gave.

    He smelled of fear, but resolve, pride and an assurance that left her certain he was confident in this meeting.

    Jewel was presenting that she was a humble liege. Giving him permission to acknowledge it.

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    ¡°That is the risk of sorcery, I can understand the concern and need for expedience given the nature of poor Bathory¡¯s death. But such magic is like a fire, it must be carefully used lest it spark and spread far.¡±

    Jewel held herself as she should, as she had gotten practice with the Vassals of the Vah and those smaller territories more local to Kaeketeh.

    Mother and Paul had helped give her pointers as well.

    ¡°I agree wholeheartedly Lord Lukas, I am not intending to enact such a working in pursuit of justice in the foreseeable future. It is an act best kept to only the most severe of crimes.¡±

    This was the problem with having a feasting hall used for quiet meetings.

    Both of them had their footmen present.

    Both of them had to speak for themselves, their demesnes and the eyes which watched.

    Dismissing their guards under the present tensions within Viznove was absolutely improper. But what needed to be discussed desperately required that they speak plainly.

    However instead  of being able to do such things they had to do this! Unfortunately, Jewel felt that of the two of them Lord Lukas was the far better practiced at the game of courtly intrigue and subtle negotiations under veiled politeness.

    ¡°Just so, Still it pains me to see Kaeketeh being bled so, but I am sure under your gentle ministrations it will heal back all the healthier, in time.¡±

    Jewel was honestly not sure if she would rather be dealing with the guilds or this man.

    ¡°The sooner all of Viznove is whole and secure again from the trials she has been tested with, the sooner I can focus on Kaeketeh in full. I understand that you have come to present how I may give aid to the sheltered interior of my dominion and its peerage?¡±

    That was perhaps a bit brash and abrupt, but Jewel did not want to spend days on this, they had already spent an entire evening on propriety in Lukas¡¯ welcoming feast.

    There was proper and then there was blatant delay.

    He offered a sharper smile than before, and Jewel could smell the triumph on him. She tried raising a brow the way Bathory once did.

    ¡°Ah of course, to business then. It is abundantly clear that the present Countess and her household are less circumspect with the applying of Sorcery to the needs of Viznove? The late Bathory, may she remain resting peacefully.¡±

    Jewel joined him in dipping her own head and offered her own strength to the fervent wish.

    ¡°May she remain resting peacefully.¡±

    Lukas raised from the quite understandable prayer. Of anyone that would be a terrifying force to face as a revenant Bathory was one Jewel hoped to never see.

    ¡°However her quietude aside, your predecessor was unwilling to offer the recent bounty of Viznove in matters of sorcery in aid to the people of her land. I am to understand that in your father¡¯s own demesne a Sorcerer of some skill performs work upon the waters of Rochford?¡±

    Jewel considered, she had not been expecting this. He smelled hopeful, perhaps a little greedy, but not overly so given what she had tasted of the man in the air so far.

    ¡°Yes, that is so. House Rochford retains the service of the Weird Tsulogothulan for-¡±

    She had to count a moment, letting the time settle upon her.

    ¡°Eleven more years. Although if I recall correctly the fields of the Ogien hardly should have want for water?¡±

    The man smiled even wider and the triumph had just about conquered the rank undercurrent of his fear. He showed a great deal of bravery to not betray his feelings like that, his face was bright, hardly even a hint of the tumult she could taste in his scent. He dipped his head lower than that called for merely as a guest. The first hint of even acquiescing to his place as her vassal yet.

    ¡°Oh certainly not, our fields are irrigated and watered well by the Ogien and it nourishes the fields heartily, blessed by the flame spring itself. But as nourishing and vitalizing as the waters of the Ogien are, I am sure my lady is aware it is quite a wild thing.¡±

    Jewel had never seen for herself just how ¡®wild¡¯ any river could be. She¡¯d barely even known what one was until she first saw the Vah.

    But the books, letters, Paul and her parent¡¯s counsel all said it was so.

    ¡°As says the Lord Ogien.¡±

    Whatever his bid was Jewel could smell that the Lord of Ogien was nearing his triumph. The anticipation, the fear, the excitement. It was all building in him. It practically was pouring into the air from his nervous sweat.

    ¡°Given the new freedom with which the Countess Wyrm dispenses sorcery, it is the hope that the deprivation of her predecessor in this matter will be corrected, and that it would be in the benevolence of the Shining Wyrm of Viznove to aide her people in peace as well as war. Especially while she retains the services of a Sorcerer and Wizard suited to the task.¡±

    Jewel took a deep breath, letting out one of the sighs she had often felt the need to. Slow and steady, the air not taking even a lick of wyrmflame, but still she could see how it billowed around Lukas. His fear went even sharper and more acrid even as she blew it back from her nose.

    ¡°If the Lord Ogien would speak plainly of what task he wishes Tsulogothulan to perform in exchange for his owed fealty to Viznove and her Countess?¡±

    He did not even pause in rallying despite the implicit threat. He could have been rendered to ash if that breath had been more than air.

    ¡°If you gentle the Ogien south of my holdings well enough that barges can be safely pulled north from the Vah I will assure you the fealty of Viznove.¡±

    He was terrified of what she would say.

    Yet Lukas asked anyway, he trusted she was more than a monster, more than some legend that would dispense curses. More than a beast to be worked around and tamed, It was not the loyalty or ease she wanted from a vassal.

    But it was a start.

    ¡°I will need to consult with the Weird Tsulogothulan. If it can be done then I will see to it.¡±

    There was the triumph that had been building, the relief, the stink of victory.

    Jewel had smelled this on more martial men. The same scent when they cut down a foe where he stood. When a blow was true and spilled the guts of his enemy.

    Lukas was not a martial man.

    But his pride smelled the same when he won.

    ¡°However, not all things are possible in sorcery, if the sworn Wizard of Rochford declines we will have to come back to the matter of your loyalty, Lukas.¡±

    And there was the fear again.

    Long after he and his footmen had departed Jewel stared at where he stood.

    Wondering if she was already failing in the very thing she had wished to never do.

    Was she really doing any better than Bathory had?

 9.5

    9.5

    Adelyne was not sure that she actually liked the new task that Lady Jewel had for her. She could not deny she was a lot more comfortable with it then the near panic of trying to clean terribly fragile items worth more silver than she ever held in her life.

    But roving the familiar streets of Kaeketeh while dressed in a clean dress worth an absurd amount of Pfennig in ¡®Wyrmspun Wool¡¯ in order to try and do what she could to ¡®speak for the alleys and shadows¡¯ was not anything she had ever been prepared to try. Also it made her rather uncomfortable how some of the children had started treating her like a challenge to hone their craft.

    She released the wrist of the latest sneaky bastard (as most children were).

    ¡°Lil Gombj flaker! I¡¯ve caught ya thrice now! You know the deal! Haepenny each for a good solid true word on what¡¯s up with the waifs! Lie or snatch at my purse and a kick in the ribs!¡±

    Now properly admonished Adelyne kicked out into the side of the too brave by half boy, but soft like. Jewel would probably turn her into whatever the Wyrm¡¯s idea of a frog was if she ever heard that Adelyne did anything harmful to even a thieving child.

    Lil Gombji flaker (so named for when he was younger and left too many crumbs when he ate) winced and bowed to her and called Adelyne ¡°her Ladyship¡± just to rankle her.

    It was not even four years ago she was in the same place he was!

    She scowled at the silently laughing boy and rolled one of the half silver coins she¡¯d been using to bribe the roving band of orphans (or near enough) that lurked and worked the crowds in gate town.

    ¡°So out with the word then?¡±

    The shine shut him up better and faster than any amount of cursing or kicks could. A whole silver this size was fresh bread roll. Or if his stomach could handle saving it a good ways towards one of the meat pasties that you didn''t have to run away with.

    Adelyne remembered the weight of silver on a hungry stomach well.

    She knew Lil Gombji did too.

    ¡°Right your ladyship, so like, word is a waif was spotted through a window in the old Sopper¡¯s house this morning.¡±

    Adelyne raised a brow, she¡¯d already gotten word of one last being seen on streets near there and never coming back out. Confirmation was good and a more specific location definitely worth half a pfennig.

    Still she wanted a bit more.

    ¡°The one that was left fallow three years for wood rotting out the roof? The one none in the guilds gone to fix?¡±

    The boy nodded and Adelyne rolled the half silver into her palm then spun a full pfennig into view.

    ¡°Got more for me lil Gombji? What the state of her was?¡±

    The boy scowled and wrinkled his nose at that.

    ¡°It was bad, I peeked through the window, she was strung up with dock rope, bleeding and indecent. Still breathing though!¡±

    Adelyne sighed and rolled three full Pfennig between her fingers before settling them in her open palm to the boy. It was honestly a better tip then most she¡¯d heard.

    And that was a good spot well within Tanner''s turf.

    On Jewel¡¯s word, the count consort¡¯s deal with the Butchers & Soppers and Adelyne¡¯s own clout being ¡®Ginter¡¯s girl back from the dead¡¯ she could probably rustle up a good mob of men very handy with the art of cutting meat from bone and strong enough to haul full grown pigs over each shoulder.

    The boy snatched up the coins and then was off running like he stole it.

    While Adelyne could not fault the lad (you needed to have your pride on Kaeketeh¡¯s streets). But if he ever actually claimed to have gotten the coin from snatching off her she¡¯d track him down and whoop his hide raw. She might be under the owned bond of the Lady Jewel herself and dressed in a ransom of magic wool but she still had her reputation to uphold on the street.

    Still that was a good tip and now she needed to do the far less pleasant part of her newly assigned duty and make way to the absolute stink and wretchedness that was the tanner¡¯s district.

    Most of the guilds kept their houses or halls somewhat close to their work. But the Butchers and Soppers seemed to delight in having their main building right next door to the tanner¡¯s.

    Adelyne was not sure precisely why but she¡¯d seen a few and heard of more late night brawls between the apprentices of both guilds.

    Exactly what the business was that led to such she never quite found out and even now that she¡¯d talked with them on more than one occasion could not even imagine. Tanners in Kaeketeh were either best of friends or mortal enemies with Butchers.

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    Likewise Soppers either were welcomed like brothers in the tanner district or liable to end up with a slit throat. Or so the word went, but Adelyne was pretty sure that Ginter would have told her if there had ever been any actual murders between the guilds. Either way for whatever reason it seemed like at least for the time being the Butchers & Soppers were throwing in with Lady Jewel.

    While the Tanners apparently were taking this opportunity to make a lot of fuss and not much else.

    Big burly men who reeked of blood and carried heavy sticks and maybe a cleaver or other work knife from the shops had done wonders for ¡®restoring the peace¡¯ either way, And Adelyne figured it was time that whatever price they had taken from the Lady Jewel was further earned.

    As a thief and before that a beggar Adelyne had long since learned to endure smells the softer kids in the country did not.

    Something rotting and awful could be an excellent place to give an angry mark the slip.

    But even at her most desperate of times a youthful Adelyne would have thought thrice about running for the Tanneries of Kaeketeh.

    There was the rot of trash, or meat gone a bit sour. And then there was the concoction of foulness which the filthy tanners and dyers seemed to delight in! Adelyne was glad that the winds either followed the currents of the river or had the decency to go clear across them.

    The few times in the highest summer that the air in Kaeketeh went stagnant and still the stink of the tanners, dyers and other terrible miasma filled gate town like an awful bowl of fetid stew.

    You¡¯d think maybe that filthy terrible smell would be what inspired the ire of the soppers.

    But the bastards were as often proud as can be to walk into the worst of the stench!

    Adelyne walked fast as she could and kept to the streets most upwind to help with the smell. While holding her breath as often as possible on the route to south Kaeketeh.

    When she finally was able to get into the Butcher and Sopper¡¯s guild house and the doors had swung solidly closed behind her, Adelyne gave a deep and thankful breath. You could still smell the blood, but it was buried under the sweet perfumes and other sharper accents of soap and boiling fat.

    The clerk was as always smugly sitting behind his desk and pointedly not looking as Adelyne savored the almost entirely clean air. She was not sure precisely what his name was but he knew Adelyne and the arrangement with her Lady Jewel. He also managed guild affairs and larger work orders, mostly for soap (although skilled butchers were sometimes called on to join on hunts for an entourage.)

    There was still a stagnant pungency beneath all the rest that filled the Butcher and Sopper¡¯s guild chambers. But compared to what even the street outside smelled like so close to Tanner''s district it might as well have been a star blessing on Adelyne¡¯s nose.

    There was unfortunately no one else ahead of her to delay the return to that nostril scouring air.

    So Adelyne sighed and approached the Butcher and Sopper¡¯s Guildhouse clerk.

    Voice ringing out clear to fill the room and spaces beyond.

    ¡°Word is there¡¯s another one that was spotted holed up on your turf. In one of the old sopper¡¯s houses even. Probably won¡¯t be nothing but the Countess¡¯ law is gonna need to call on some of your boys in case the idiots who did it are there and rowdy.¡±

    The guild clerk sighed and nodded. But he did not yet move from his chair to go round up whoever was available and thirsting for potential violence. Which was usually the younger apprentices or journeymen guilders in house.

    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose the countess might also have an order for something in the proper purview of guild business?¡±

    Adelyne made a show of thinking about it before shaking her head.

    ¡°Sorry the linen washers were still full up for soap this morning. Unless you lot feel like you want to take another stab at that kraoska sausage she¡¯s so homesick for?¡±

    The clerk actually paused at that, as if considering it. Adelyne didn''t really understand it much herself. The guilds were always just a dangerous background to Kaeketeh when she was a girl.  You didn''t try to thieve off full proper guild members (the apprentices were fair game, a Journeyman you always made sure you took what was his and not his master¡¯s).

    But as far as what strange feelings guided the comings and goings of anyone of a standing and skill to be in a guild?

    Adelyne was left confounded.

    The best she could compare it too was the way that a street child would rise up and do some truly foolish things if there were at least two others to watch them.

    But applied to something different then posturing to keep your rivals off ya when you slept for fear of the violence you could later do, or showing that you were willing to go above and beyond for an avowed friend or family.

    Guilders were strange like that.

    They took making things as something like a matter of pride.

    Sausage was for eating, if it filled your belly and didn¡¯t make you wretch what more was the pride of it for?!

    That her lady and countess was finicky and apparently wanted something more than a good salty fish and pig in intestine sizzled up and oily with that slight woody hint of sawdust?

    Well that was just strange nobles being noble and Jewel was strange, noble and a dragon besides.

    But the butchers apparently took that as some kind of a challenge.

    Some kind of a failure, like somehow not being able to make a sausage taste like what the lady wanted would risk them getting shoved out of a warm corner in the bunkhouse.

    Adelyne huffed and apparently that was enough to get the Guild clerk moving.

    Which was all the better, there was some waif bloodied and who knows what in the tanner¡¯s district.

    And Adelyne needed to get a bunch of burly men skilled in the act of splitting meat and bone to go with her in case someone in Kaeketeh was stupid.

    Which of course meant there was no question this would end in a terrible beating and violence.

    Adelyne was just going to make sure that it was the other guys that suffered the worst of it.

 9.6

    9.6

    Tsulogothulan did not react how Jewel had expected.

    Taming a river certainly sounded like a great and onerous undertaking to Jewel. Although admittedly she was not even sure of the exact wildness of the Ogien or more than the word that along its path the walk was between two and four days from the city to where it joined with the Vah.

    That definitely sounded like a great inconvenience when Jewel had received the request, She had brought it to her friend, her father¡¯s sworn Wizard with care.

    And the full preparation that it would either be too difficult or more likely too bothersome for Tsulogothulan to perform the requested task no matter how much it helped Jewel secure her domain.

    That seemed sensible to Jewel.

    But instead of having to plead and bargain with the Wizard for this act of tedious sorcery Jewel had needed to do everything in her power to keep them from rushing off to complete it immediately.

    ¡°An Entire river! Nearly sixty miles of it!? To be dragged into slowed waters and stilled banks! Split out over the land?!¡±

    That single eye had shined at the prospect. The reflection of storm clouds and flashing lightning roiling around a half obscured sun prominently in the massive orb.

    Their voice was excited, delighted even, the tone was practically hungry.

    Tsulogothulan, who Jewel had just about gotten used to over the years being at most bemused, was now fervent and wild. Like a child watching a plate heaping with a tower of sweet cakes and fresh berries brought right to their own seat.

    There was a glittery shine of wetness to the normally mostly dry looking imitation of cloth and garments that made up the strands of black flesh of the majority of their body.

    Jewel¡¯s tone took on one of great concern.

    "Yes, the lord of the Ogien promises to rally the rest of Viznove to my banner and secure alliance and allegiance for this service to him.¡±

    The Weird¡¯s eye rolled in its socket, not looking all around in a wide circle, no it rolled, it spun like a cart wheel around in the pale fleshy socket on one side of that hatchet-like face. There was a chittering of happy frogs from late spring starting to hum around the bog wizard.

    ¡°Lady Jewel, my friend, the most wonderful subject of my study, You of course told him yes?! You haven¡¯t? This will not do! we must secure this task immediately! Oh you very silly girl, what possible world is there that anyone would turn down the deal offering an entire river to widen and spread into slowness!?¡±

    Jewel had to hiss to stop the Weird as she felt the working to pull them down into the stones of the floor.

    Undoubtedly to accost the poor lord immediately. Or possibly all the way to the Ogien to start work on what apparently was the absolute sweetest of honey for a Bog Wizard.

    ¡°Tsulogothulan! Please, I am glad that you will enjoy the service and that it is in fact something you relish to begin, but it is offered as a bargaining coin with the barony of Ogien. If he sees you being so over eager he may demand more from me!¡±

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    And that at last seemed to still Tsulogothulan. At least until their voice emerged in an even rounder and wetter tone.

    Dripping with hope and chirping with the whistle of reeds.

    ¡°D-do you think he¡¯d ask me to gentle the rest of the river?!¡±

    Jewel stared at her friend.

    The tone had a whispered fervent desire in a way Jewel had never even imagined a wizard let alone a Weird could ever sound like.

    It was almost brittle.

    Jewel felt bad about what she had to say.

    ¡°I will see what I can do, but I think he actually would prefer that those waters north of his immediate demesne are kept wilder and rougher so that the path of goods remains moving mostly south to at least his portion of Viznove.¡±

    Tsulogothulan¡¯s eye went from wide, pleading and shining with a ruinous storm of flashing lightning to a slowly narrowed glare, nearly a slit. And Jewel thought the clouds had calmed, but also rolled over entirely into an overcast gray in the light that she could see past those overlong lashes.

    ¡°Tell him something, like- ah! Tell him slowing the waters further upriver of the place he wants it calmest and most gentle will make the working more stable and permanent, that should work.¡±

    There was a sneaky tone there, like when Alexander was trying to get away with something foolish years past.

    Jewel raised a brow.

    ¡°Is that actually true my friend?¡±

    The wizard continued to glare, but not at Jewel, to the east. Voice burbling like a croaking frog.

    ¡°Far close enough to what most would believe. Almost everyone knows less than piss and shit about water and rivers. It¡¯s not entirely true but it''s close enough to it for some fool lord that would ask for what he did.¡±

    Jewel nodded, this entire interaction not turning out at all how she had expected.

    However, it was nice!

    Honestly it was an entirely pleasant surprise amidst everything else, to find out what she thought would be in imposition was in fact by all appearances an incredible gift that delighted Tsulogothulan in a way literally nothing Jewel had ever seen before could.

    ¡°Well I will keep that in mind and bring it up with the Lord of Ogien this evening. And Tsulogothulan?¡±

    Her friend¡¯s glare cleared away as that wide eye settled on Jewel. The sky reflected in them neither thunderstorms nor overcast, but a speckling of rain giving flurries and bright sun with a hint of rainbows.

    ¡°Hmm?¡±

    Jewel smiled and dipped her head.

    ¡°Thank you for this, it will take such a weight from my mind.¡±

    The Weird scoffed and blinked hard and wet, eyelashes clashing in a rasping almost buzz and watery fluid squelching past the clenching lid.

    It opened with a softness to the gaze and a sunset warm and pale yellow red.

    ¡°Oh not at all Jewel, This labor is going to be my absolute pleasure to perform. But I need to make some arrangements to prepare. Tell the lordling that it will begin before he departs and finish by this spring.¡±

    Jewel smiled, just utterly taken up with the strangeness of it all.

    And then with that her friend was gone.

    But at least there was not any dampness or other damages to the stone.

    It had taken years to fully explain why that was a problem.

    So another matter settled!

    Things were turning out better at last!

    Yet as she considered the future the Countess of Viznove sighed.

    There was still so much to do.

 9.7

    9.7

    Paul had come to welcome very few things since their arrival in his late Mother¡¯s Demesne. But having a dedicated dove master (with apprentices!) was one of them.

    Someone to keep the birds organized and clear on which would go to what demesne.

    Someone who could see to their care and feeding.

    The rearing and training of the chicks.

    That could see to the missives and simply warn him or even organize a caravan to exchange new birds when a particular flock of communication was dwindling?

    That was something that Paul very much appreciated.

    Also as much as his wife was a wonderful and kind creature he appreciated being able to eat something other than traveler stew with little more than salt, butter and garden herbs for seasons on end.

    He could not say that the food in Valasect was not good. But the fact is his wife loved pottage perhaps a bit too much. It had not even quite been a full year with her and Paul was feeling like he was going to insist that they serve something that didn''t come in a pot at least twice a season. Preferably every few days.

    Sure the flavors were subtly different through the year.

    But a man needed to enjoy his teeth while he had them!

    This and getting used to sleeping in something more like a nest than a proper bed were the trials of a wyrm¡¯s husband.

    Along with the work that he found himself having to take up. Namely his efforts as an amateur birdmaster. Paul was astounded by the near lack. It was only the foresight of Jewel¡¯s captain that there were even any birds at all in Valasect.

    His new wife was unfathomably kind and gentle, incredibly perceptive to the subtlest nuances in people, devoured histories and books with an intensity only matched by her capacity to consume stew! But there were basic skills that Paul was often astounded by her inexperience in. Simple unawareness of the manner one established and maintained control over a realm that shocked Paul.

    He had tutors make sure he understood the care, training and health of doves by the time he was ten!

    But Jewel had been almost completely unaware of the specifics of it beyond the absolute minimum. That one had to keep them fed, housed and trained and that they had to be exchanged in pairs between those parties you wished to converse with.

    If he had not met her Father and Mother he¡¯d think they were simple minded provincials for all the things Jewel did not know.

    And yet Jewel thought much the same of him.

    She was fierce and noble about the role of a lord and their responsibility to their subjects. It was inspiring and beautiful in a way.

    Still Paul was definitely going to see if the local bird keepers had any promising apprentices or journeymen available to take up the mantle in Valasect. After having even a half season of not needing to feed and clean the shit from the bird shack himself?

    No Paul was not giving that up no matter how much his wife complained how soft he was.

    There was admirable character and there was the smell of bird guano.

    And although Jewel¡¯s love of baths meant it was never a terribly long lasting condition he was going to avoid it entirely if possible.

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    ¡°Lord Count N¨¢dasdy! A message just arrived from the capital. It has the High King¡¯s seal!¡±

    Speaking of the apprentices of the Dove Master

    He nodded to the boy (who was really hardly younger than Paul himself!) and took the tiny scroll, outer seal unbroken, then dismissed the boy (man?).

    As the countess¡¯ husband it was acceptable for him to break this seal at least. The casing coming loose and the slender traveling scroll straining as he unfurled it between his fingers. Messages by bird always had a limit of weight.

    As such the text of it was both diminutive and also of a scribed form that thankfully Jewel was fully educated in.

    It had honestly surprised Paul the first time that his dragon wife had penned such tiny lines in ink upon a piece of vellum thinner across than the clawed fingers which wielded the quill. That she also did it with a speed and accuracy that put his own penmanship to shame?

    Well there was a reason besides his wife¡¯s sheer size that he did not overly begrudge her position he was soft handed and unskilled.

    It was hard to argue when you saw a wyrm handle a bone needle with that skill and speed.

    Although his shock had gotten a surprised laugh the first time he saw it.

    Jewel had been upset that night.

    His wife¡¯s massive coils and terrifying and prominent loops of muscle running down a torso heavier than a plow team of oxen were also a factor in his respect of her opinion.

    Just not the only one.

    And after he apologized she did in fact know how to stitch and repair his clothes better than his seamstress Edita.

    Thank the stars that the woman approved of Jewel and thought it was proper for a wife to mend her husband¡¯s clothing. The old bat was so vicious with her apprentices you could hear it down the halls.

    Probably the spinning circles Jewel insisted on attending even now.

    Paul double checked the markings on the dove scroll one third time and sighed. He could hold onto this until his wife finished with her hour of whatever women¡¯s work she was doing today.

    They all needed their relaxation in these arduous days. Stars and divines know Paul wanted more moments of peace. But checking the angle of the sun through the windows of the office that had once been his Mother¡¯s there was only so long he could wait.

    He glanced back down and sighed heavily.

    Knuckling at his brow and then his tired eye sockets.

    Jewel ensured he got enough sleep. But even so half a day of litigation and judgment, another two hours to go over missives, messages and confer with the judgements the rest of the adhoc justice council had made?

    With the two meals that he attended with Jewel and then the hour they had to themselves in the evening?

    Plus bathing, grooming, proper dressing for his station?

    Paul, Count Consort of Valasect, Viznove and now Kaeketeh sighed and took his own few moments of peace. Simply reading over the same short line of abbreviated letters. Each marked as small and fine as they could be.

    It was technically the usual Cantoran letters most older peasants could read.

    Anyone trusted to work with merchants or sit on a council.

    Any trade master could read.

    But lords, messengers, criers and scribes had to be able to manage with the dense, near illegible scratches of dove scrolls.

    It was a mark of pride to be able to convey entire speeches in as scant few letters as possible.

    To know the meaning by the nature of the speaker.

    However the meaning behind this scroll was not overly obfuscated or abbreviated.

    It stood plainly and clearly for Paul.

    The High King had called.

    Jewel¡¯s presence was requested in the Capital of Cantor Reborn.

    To supplicate and affirm the vows as her place in the Realm.

    As Countess of Viznove.

    Next Year, no later than debt¡¯s season.

    Paul sighed.

    He could hold onto the message for a bit longer.

    Let Jewel have her peace for now.

 9.8

    9.8

    Jewel returned her family¡¯s bow to her Father.

    ¡°I accept your fealty as your liege and Countess, to wield the lands of Rochford in my defense and the righteousness of my will. To strike down the enemies of Viznove as my bow.¡±

    Her Father, the man who always stood taller even when she had long since outgrown him, kneeled. For all his stature and height against other men Jewel looked down on her father, scarcely a foot taller than his peers.

    And now so small indeed before his daughter.

    ¡°My Vassal, is there business or concerns you would bring to your liege and the seat of Viznove?¡±

    Her father replied. He was no longer the law over Jewel, he was no longer her liege. He was-

    ¡°Then Rise Johnathan of Rochford, as my vassal¡±

    The name felt foreign and strange in her throat. It rolled unpleasantly past her teeth. It rang strange and hollow in her ears.

    This was all as they had planned, As the final figure to reaffirm vassalage to Jewel to set her father and family in a special position in comparison to the rest. To make a claim about her family and where their position would be going forward.

    To bequeath the Rochford Family Bow and affirm their place in Viznove at a point of honor.

    Each vassal¡¯s symbol of office was different.

    Kliatbatrn was a gauntlet, an oath of protection and arms.

    Rochford was a bow, even though they were in the heartland of the realm there had been a time the county was beset on all sides by enemies. Rochford had once been the blow from the sky of Viznove in the north.

    Ogien was distinct from any of the other vassals for not having a storied artifact. Instead a wreath was woven of herbs and wood from a garden shrine at the very fire spring itself. Brought down from high in the hills that fed into the river it was named after. The acknowledgement and oath to Jewel was one that Ogien would be the flame of Viznove in the dark.

    That oath was sealed by a further vow on the flame of the river and its spring and a burning of the wreath in sacrifice.

    It had stirred very little fauxfire and Jewel had felt no sign of a god¡¯s attention.

    But it was still the proper way.

    Each of her subjects had their own token of authority which were secreted to Jewel after negotiations were complete.

    Baubles and arms, relics and artifacts. It was all finally as she had hoped.

    If earlier then Jewel had ever wished.

    She was now a Countess over her vassals in truth.

    But originally the plan had also been she would be announcing the delegating of Kaeketeh to another authority afterwards. Declaring her place in Valasect as her new home and seat of her governance. Ultimately begin the process of a clean break from all that Bathory had been and done.

    Yet what would have been an act of triumph then would now be a sign of cowardice. An abandoning of a city in turmoil caused by her stumbling attempt at justice.

    Jewel could still feel the words she had once wanted to say here.

    Even though all she trusted had agreed she could not.

    Still she wanted to leave this place.

    The room was filled to capacity with barely room for the staff to move between tables such was the feast that was now being laid out before them all.

    Every vassal of Viznove who could be there was in attendance.

    For those that could not be present representatives in either family, spouses or esteemed positions in their household had arrived with each of the items of their office and position.

    Her family and husband had a place of pride with her, at the head table.  Although it had to be positioned further forward and the original elevating platform moved to accommodate. Jewel took some comfort in settling the majority of her scales on bare stone which had been covered for decades.

    Smithson had also earned a place there, and then after her most trusted were the rest. Splayed out before her.

    Jewel¡¯s vassals.

    She looked at the finery swaddled nobles, at how small and petty they all were.

    She knew they would judge her for the cowardice in her heart.

    Jewel would deny them that satisfaction.

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    So their countess finally spoke the words that had been agreed on.

    The ones she desperately wished not to say.

    ¡°I shall stay in Kaeketeh over this following winter and remain until after the hungry summer, to see that the peace in my city is restored. Come next year I invite all of you, my vassals, to attend a feast celebrating this triumph ten days into grain turn.¡±

    There was a murmuring from the various people that had bickered and bargained with Jewel over trade rights, owed tithes, specifics of inheritance or even the recognition and raising of their standing from mere single manors to multiple landed titles and responsibilities.

    Thirty-Two mostly satisfied faces that all had the courtesy to not speak a word even in whisper within the same room as Jewel unless they wished her to know it.

    It had been an exhausting work of seasons to receive and acknowledge all of them.

    A task that Jewel¡¯s predecessor had not needed.

    Jewel had checked the records.

    Bathory had not been flooded by insufferable bargaining from each of them. And most of the matters were petty and frivolous things that honestly reminded Jewel much more of farmers arguing over a fence then men and women of noble responsibility!

    It was still so unfair Jewel had to do this with so many at once!

    The late countess had ruled Viznove in her place as wife countess of Viznove. First beside her husband and then later as the lady apparent herself. Bathory had never officially had to receive so many oaths one after another. Instead originally taking fealty from a far more manageable dozen liege lords that were now dead.

    Not the Twenty-eight partitioned and parceled minor baronies that Viznove now contained.

    Jewel was certain the awful woman had wanted it this way. A writhing nightmare of a court  to organize and hear from at once. Or draw to attendance for any purpose at all.

    They were halfway into the blood season now! Winter was rolling in! The countess had died in the hungry summer! Jewel had missed another Summer Harvest Festival for this! If any of them had refused to bow by even a day longer the wyrm was going to call down High King Mathias to intervene.

    But it was done, she could still her anger.

    ¡°Now tonight honorable vassals, you are welcome to the food of my table and my hospitality. Let us be merry and may a good winter and safe travels find their way to all of you.¡±

    It was literally the least insulting way Jewel could have said that. Even with them owing her fealty Jewel wanted to see most of these cowards returned to their lands. Those that had the footmen to spare, the integrity to offer it and the nobility to not take it as a sign of weakness in Jewel to exploit could be counted on one of her fore claws.

    But even in this too her words hurt.

    Because her family needed to return to Rochford along with all the others she desperately wished to see away from her. Countess she might be but Father had responsibilities she would not keep him from. The Longest night needed the family Rochford there for the ritual against winter.

    But as for the rest of the nobles who now owed their fealty to her? With their silver chains, gold thread and brightly dyed sleeves in house colors? With the faces that all strained to stay smiling and respectful to her. At the throats she could see tensing with the still unaccustomed need to refrain from whispering where Jewel could hear them.

    Many here had mostly not attended court when Jewel did.

    The only time she had seen most of them was at her wedding.

    The flicker of scowls on their faces rippled among some as the dishes were brought forth. It was more ostentatious then she would have preferred but apparently the tastes of many of her vassals favored closer to Paul and his late mother.

    They probably wanted saffron!

    Jewel had arranged the entirety of the Kaeketeh store of the hated spice packaged up and sent north to Thurz¨®¡¯s manor. To supplement the supply for his son¡¯s trinket and as a boon between friends and fellow members of the High King¡¯s court.

    But even without that spice there was plenty of splendor to the food!

    The pigs were gifts from the butcher and sopper¡¯s guild.

    And they had even included something Jewel found was a passable imitation of good Rochford Kroaska.

    Not as rich as home, but it made the rest of the spices and seasoning bearable, the bewildering expense of the black pepper. Nearly an entire flock of game birds (that had to be caught by falcons!).

    Breads that were no longer so sweet they affronted Jewel¡¯s sensibilities. And a fine collection of roast and stewed apples that Jewel was not sure why the Countess had never had at the feasts before. Honestly the fact that there were Orchards available by the river Vah seemed like a terrible oversight for all the years that she had to attend the Countess¡¯ over-flavored feasts.

    It was perhaps not as dripping with seasoning and honey as they were all used too but it was hardly cheap fare!

    Jewel had seen the accounts for expenditures to stock the Kaeketeh kitchens!

    Viznove¡¯s coffers and ledgers were presently full. But that wealth was still distressingly finite, and even with how much less was being spent on spices the cost to feed all the nobility under her at once made it seem all the more easily exhausted.

    Still many faces were smiling and complementing her falsely.

    Many wore expressions of disappointment or judgment when they thought she was looking elsewhere.

    In this the fact that Gem¡¯s own gaze could pass over them when she was turned away from her subjects helped immensely.

    But no whispers were made.

    In the room at least.

    They spoke politely of nothing of import amongst one another in the courtroom of Viznove.

    But many still whispered in the halls outside.

    Paul rested a hand on her shoulder. And she did not even twitch, did not relax visibly at all. But the gesture was reciprocated by a gentle brush against his thigh with the tip of her tail.

    The contact hidden behind the head table¡¯s cloth.

    His voice whispered so softly that none but Jewel¡¯s own ears could hope to hear them.

    ¡°After tonight they will be gone, and things are starting to settle down. Winter will bring some peace and quiet. At least until the longest night.¡±

    The support was welcome but she could not afford to be overly open in her affection with her husband.

    Jewel breathed deeply and slowly, masking the sigh by theatrically smelling her dinner.

    She had not even managed to have more than a single winter together with her husband before they had to leave Valasect!

    At Least it would only be for one more year.

 9.9

    9.9

    Magdalena worried that she had somehow made a wild prayer to the open night sky.

    Wished too loudly and too clearly to the great dark and its twinkling stars. Let her yearning strike a spark and draw too much of the heaven¡¯s attention down upon her.

    What other reason could there be that her fool of a husband came back to her changed by the sorcery of the dragon countess in a shape that made her weak in the knees? What possible reason but the cruel and dangerous generosity of the gods that they so gifted her with this beautiful and enchanting creature that also was already her sworn married husband?

    Such were her thoughts as they stood in the riverside temple on the northwest bank of the gate town peninsula.

    It had taken nearly all of Swine Turn to get this meeting. The delay was thanks to the shifting auspices of the river vah and the simple fact that in the chaos that followed the Countess Jewel¡¯s curse the priests and temples had been swamped in the people of Kaeketeh seeking intervention by the gods.

    As they said:

    ¡°In times of trouble the temple¡¯s coffers fill and the sacrifices pile high.¡±

    But finally they were here.

    Solid stone underfoot and a statue at every pillar for each of the most common gods of the River Vah, Kaeketeh and a few minor idols and shrines for the farther ranging divinities of Viznove.

    Magdalena did not know when the riverside temple was built, its foundations went deep into the river and it shot free of the shore like a jetty. But instead of mooring fishing boats or barges there were just the sheer walls of stone rising up into the sides of the temple proper itself.

    Inside the space was open and airy, even well into autumn. The breeze carried away the smoke of a dozen braziers up and out, each burning the offerings of a Priest working with people much like Havel and her.

    There were even two waifs off on their own whispering fervently to the apparition of smoke in their own little alcove of the Temple.

    The priests all wore plain brown robes, hoods pulled up to help obscure their faces from easy scrutiny under the noon light from the windows. The flicker of the coals in their brazier where the offering of fish bones and river snails hissed and spat.

    Their own god minder seemed younger given what was visible of his face when the fire rose higher.

    Was the temple so overburdened that apprentices needed to call to the heavens?

    Young or not his work seemed to be proper to Magdalena¡¯s inexpert eye.

    The fire danced and shined and wobbled in colors more like a river than the flame.

    The cry of the shorebirds singing amidst the sparks.

    And just the slightest trembling hint of their marriage¡¯s patron god echoed in the air.

    She tried not to put too much attention on the fire. Tried not to listen hard enough so she would hear the god¡¯s words. It felt more important now then all the lectures as a child. Don¡¯t call on the gods by accident, let the priests take the risk.

    Let the robed ones suffer the burden of the divine.

    More than ever before in her life she tried to avoid notice from the heavens.

    Magdalena was so sure that her desires had already somehow slipped despite all the time in this very temple to learn precisely how not to let loose even a hint of wild prayer.

    Had she cursed an honest if foolish man with her negligence? Harmed one who she didn''t particularly mind as a companion but didn''t stir her longing. Not like the girls that worked the closed off rooms by the docks.

    Poor fool, besotted, idiot of a man Havel deserved so much better than her. They had been fine enough friends, met when she was doing something incredibly foolish. Magdalena had been out later at night then her parents could stand given it was Kaeketeh.

    And there she had run across the boy who she only later learned was the son of a gong farmer.

    They had gotten along alright?

    He¡¯d courted her and she¡¯d found it nice to talk to him.

    And well you had to have a husband eventually. Her parents were going to marry her off to someone!

    So why not him?

    Magdalena rather liked Havel in most ways. He was polite, he treated her like a queen. He worked hard as two men combined. And he was an apprentice with the Countess¡¯ Men! A girl in Kaeketeh dreamed of the safety that being a Gaurdswife assured.

    Guardswives did not disappear in the night. Even though Magdalena had since learned from Havel that hardly happened as often as the rumors sounded like.

    Guardswives were also never taken for questioning and sometimes lost.

    Guardswives did not end up as bloated corpses downriver.

    Not without consequences no one else could afford.

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    Havel was good for Magdalena. She could have borne one, maybe two children with him as a duty. She could have maybe saved enough silver to seek more feminine company for her own needs after.

    They said Guardswives even got the services of the Countess¡¯ Wizard to ease the risk of birth. Sorcery assuring that not a single woman in the keep or spouse of the staff had ever died bringing a babe into the world. She could have suffered worse than Havel for that safety alone.

    Just for that assurance against the death that had claimed her older sister?

    She¡¯d have suffered worse than Havel.

    But there had never been anything to suffer from him.

    To be a Gaurdswife she could have done so much worse than simple, adoring Havel.

    A few uncomfortable nights a season til she was with child was a duty she could stand to carry for the man and all he gave her.

    But now it was like a dream come true.

    A suspiciously granted wish that stank of all the dire warnings of divine intervention that the temple spoke of and warned about every twelve days.

    Havel was now everything that filled her with desire and more than she had dreamed! He was adorable and slight, but not so thin or small as to be mistaken for a child. He was pert where she always appreciated it.

    He was soft where she wanted to squeeze and cuddle.

    He was-

    So nervous beside her, face a war of hope and concern and fear. Eyes welling with tears that he could not help but shed. So different from how stone faced he used to be and yet undeniably the same simple minded boy she ran across that night on the street.

    It was just unfair!

    Havel was now perfect for Magdalena! And it was so obviously a torment for the man!

    She could not find it in herself to hope that her bluff about the gods would not be true. Magdalena wanted to spend the rest of her life with Havel now! He was beautiful! He was kind, he was everything she wanted and had resigned herself to never have.

    Everything she had given up when she finally agreed with her parents they would make a good match.

    Out of obligation for her family.

    Out of her responsibility.

    Out of fear.

    Magdalena had given up so much and then out of the blue her fool husband found a way to be ¡®accursed¡¯ into the most perfectly astonishing creature of her every desire?!

    This was not fair!

    To her or Havel! Really, it was the worst for him!

    She could not even begin to pretend that open, guileless face was not suffering.

    But still!

    The fire dipped low, the sound of water receding off the shore. Their little corner grew quiet but for the murmuring and divine influence drifting through the open hall of the temple from the other priests and their clients.

    Magdalena could not help how she clasped her hand with Havel¡¯s.

    Havel was trembling, eyes a medley of hope and terror that simply could not keep itself hidden.

    At last the priest nodded and signed with his left hand that he had finished the communion with their god.

    There was no risk of interrupting his work.

    ¡°I have conferred with Stribog, and the word is clear, your vows still hold you both in union under his gaze.¡±

    Relief flooded her like a torrent.

    She did not even realize what she was doing until after she had grabbed Havel up around his middle, spun him in a circle and then kissed him more passionately than she ever had in their two years of marriage! Even at their wedding she¡¯d been more chaste than this!

    He didn''t struggle, in fact it took only a moment before his shocked posture turned to squeezing her tight and oh so much stronger than that slight frame suggested. That was one of the few things Magdalena had ever really liked about her husband. In the dark she could forget he was a man and he could grasp her and squeeze her oh so tightly.

    But now feeling her husband¡¯s changed form pressed against her, she did not need the dark to hide what he was.

    She loved every part of him!

    Magdalena¡¯s heart fluttered.

    The priest had to clear his throat twice before she remembered to pull apart from her husband.

    Havel¡¯s beautiful, perfect face was awash in delight, joy and obvious longing in a way that Magdalena could never have been sure of before. And that look in his eyes no longer made part of her squirm to move away and recoil.

    The priest laughed lightly, his tone lifted. She suspected it was good  to see a happy couple with joyous news amidst the labors of the temple of late. Magdalena could see in a glance much more somber or angry faces at the braziers around them. It made her heart clench in guilt that so many suffered while she had this spark of joy. There were obviously sparse good tidings from the gods this season.

    Their assigned priest finally spoke after they stopped mashing one another¡¯s lips together.

    ¡°Yes, I can see you are both relieved, but there is an important matter regarding those vows given the nature of your husband¡¯s condition.¡±

    There it was, no gift from the gods was free. Every sermon and every story told in the spinning circles was clear on this.

    Nothing was ever simply fine. Especially not for Magdalena.

    And here came the cost and the hook that would spoil the perfectly terrible wish Magdalena had somehow carelessly let slip free into the heavens.

    More than poor Havel was already paying.

    ¡°Your vows were explicit and clear and Stribog still acknowledges them. He owes you children of your marriage, and I¡¯m afraid that given both of you are now women-¡±

    Magdalena barked in laughter at the fool man¡¯s face. She couldn''t help it, he was worried about that?!

    ¡°Oh, that''s not a problem, priest. We can find a way that lets Stribog fulfill his vow!¡±

    Her fool husband though proved that for however perfect he might look he still was himself underneath all the pert features and adorable face.

    ¡°Lenka?! How is that not a problem?! Vows unfulfilled by a god are serious! How is Stribog going to satisfy our vow if we are both women!?¡±

    Magdalena laughed and ruffled her now shorter husband¡¯s wonderfully motley hair.

    ¡°My dear Havel, we¡¯ve been given twice the opportunity to make them! It will be fine!¡±

    The way that the realization swam over and practically burst in the most profound and expressive canvas of fear, shock, wonder and burgeoning if slightly smothered curiosity over her husband¡¯s new face was possibly the second most delightful thing Magdalena had seen this season.

    ¡°Lenka?!¡±

 9.i

    9.i

    In addition to the recognizing of the weather by what was said about the birds, it is necessary for the shepherd to know the forewarnings by certain signs from animals.

    First the sheep: Each shepherd or herdsman watching over a flock of sheep should have a good-hearted and devoted wether to whom he gives some of his bread.

    This wether through gentle handling and to be more distinguishable from the others, carries round its neck a small bell of brass or some other metal. This is why in Brie he is called a sonnaillier and in other regions a clocheman.

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    This wether by nature recognizes predictions or signs of fair weather or rain: when it should be fine, he rises first and goes first to the stable door to go out to pasture. When it is going to rain and be foul, he keeps behind the others and shows by his demeanor that he has no wish to go outside.

    In the evening when he comes into the stable and it is going to be cold, he bristles his wool and shakes so that the sound of his bell can be clearly heard.

    Some say that when the cat lifts its face and washes its feet with its tongue, if it puts its foot over its ear, this signifies rain. However there is no need to speak of such a nasty beast in this part, for there are many others from whom enlightenment can be had.

    -Old Jean of Brie, a Shepherd of the Free Men¡¯s Lands.

 9.ii

    9.ii

    And then the terrible bog witch laughed at Gretta.

    ¡°If you can pick from these frogs the one that is your brother, then you can both return home. But if you choose wrong I will keep your brother with me in my cold awful waters forever!¡±

    But Gretta was not bowed, for from her trials she had learned much and she looked onto the pond full of croaking frogs before she spotted the one.

    The light of her brother¡¯s eyes and the warmth of his love.

    She reached out to him and he jumped into her hands and she called out to the bog witch.

    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.¡°This one! This one is Hansa!¡±

    And then the cruel, twisted witch, with hair black as mud and skin pale as a bone snarled and gnashed her teeth like bark. And that was when Gretta knew she had won.

    ¡°You''re sure that¡¯s your brother that you would take with you?¡±

    But Gretta was not afraid, for she knew that the witch and her had made a pact by magic and it could not be overturned.

    ¡°This is my brother! This is Hansa!¡±

    And so the witch howled and there was a storm and a tumult.

    But when the sky cleared and the waters receded she was holding Hansa.

    And they went home to their father and found their wicked mother had died in their absence and both Hansa and Gretta would grow up and marry and have many children after.

    -A tale of the woods bordering the Uloghai.

 9.iii

    9.iii

    I know I am not even yet four decades into my workings of sorcery but can anyone explain this to me?

    Why do they no longer pick the right one?

    Lost brothers, sons, daughters, sisters, lovers, fathers and mothers.

    All have gone into my waters and fallen to the dangers that dwell there.

    Sicknesses, venomous creatures, tripping on soggy branches.

    One of them this year even drowned!

    Who goes into a bog that cannot swim?!

    As the pact I made to their grandfathers and grandmothers, I take up each I can and shelter them in the grotto with the frogs.

    I Make them whole and healthy of what tragedies fell them and keep them to wait for their loved ones.

    As agreed one who is missing is taken home and as that insufferable woman insisted thirty years ago it is always by their choice whom is returned.

    But it''s been years since any of them have picked the one they say they seek.

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    I do my best, I ask them if they are certain. They always say they are. But this last child didn''t even pick a frog that had ever been human at all when she came looking for her brother!

    Do they really care so little for their loved ones?

    I remember caring about the difference.

    Surely I remember that right?

    Or is this like when the crocodile scales upset everyone at the market?

    Have I just forgotten and they actually don¡¯t want their loved ones back?

    Did someone make a deal to claim and care for those left in my care after a time?

    Can one of my elders in sorcery help explain this to me?

    I worry I am losing touch.

    The frog seemed happy if confused to have a human body, sister and father. I¡¯m sure he will enjoy cutting wood as much as he did catching flies.

    I made sure to put the words as his sister knew them into his head and what skills I knew he would need.

    And the brother seems eager to make tadpoles with the lost fisherman¡¯s wife.

    Maybe this is fine?

    They all seem happy with the results, I¡¯ve even checked in afterwards to be sure before and no one complains about more than my own presence.

    No complaints.

    But does that make it right?

    -Missive of Tsulogothulan the Black to the Circles of Wizardry.

 10.1

    10.1

    Jewel let the flurries of snow and ice wash over her scales, soak her mane and fill her wings.

    The howling rage of the blizzard that had descended on Kaeketeh as good a reason as any to finally get out of the halls that despite their size felt stifling. To stretch her every inch of wing and spine.

    It wasn''t a proper bath, closer to a chilly scrubbing. But in its own way the cold seemed to help sooth her muscles just the same as the heat had. The snow drifts on the opposite shore of the river would clear the accumulated dust, grime and other stains that caught in her individual hairs or along her scales.

    It only took a quick tumbling roll in the fresh white piles.

    The storms over Kaeketeh were different from Rochford. Winter seemed harsher here, the roar and howl of the winds off the mountains more constant now that the sun spent so much longer hidden away. The air moved in strange ways when the vault of heavens dipped in winter here.

    So far from cliffs or hills, so far from one of the pillars which held it all aloft.

    Winter and the heat sapping darkness of the sky felt closer.

    Jewel wondered why.

    Was it really the consumption and inhalation of the vital heat and fire from the sky into the hungry belly of the world? If she found an underway would this wind howl into the dark of the earth and draw out even more warmth from the air around her?

    Or was it some order set out by the gods?

    Not everyone performed the same rituals as Rochford.

    Yet winter came and was dismissed.

    Was each god required to push their own personal portion of the sky aloft and away? Were there lazy gods which did nothing of the sort and let their more powerful peers shoulder the burden of pushing back winter?

    Jewel tilted her wings and barely even had to stretch her wake to be pushed aloft.

    Wind lifting her up with a screaming torrential joy. Ice shattering against and dimpling her scales in the rush with delight and familiar touches.

    It was so tempting to simply let herself ride that wind, float away into the storm. Fill herself so full of wyrmflame she became light as the clouds above and around her. Jewel was welcomed in the storm, the air, the very cold itself was a friend.

    But she was not unwelcome in Kaeketeh either.

    The nobles schemed and bartered and cowered from her. But the city?

    Despite her best efforts, announcements and acts to instill in her vassals and liege that she did not order the death of Bathory, Kaeketeh had already made up its mind.

    The Old Countess died.

    The Hated Old Guard were cursed by Jewel.

    And Kaeketeh loved her for it!

    Their tales were that Jewel had destroyed the Countess and all would now be glorious and beautiful. They just needed to finish the work she had started and evict the waifs from their lives.

    Nevermind it was the same hated guards turned waifs that murdered the countess.

    Nevermind Jewel had the scrolls upon scrolls of court records and proceedings of common and noble law to prove most of the pain that Kaeketeh now suffered was coming from the people who shouted the loudest that it was all the waif¡¯s fault.

    No Jewel had apparently slain the Countess and destroyed the hated ¡®bloody guard¡¯ in the hearts of Kaeketeh.

    Nothing she said would convince them otherwise.

    She flexed her spine, dipping back into a dive, letting up on the lift of her wyrmflame subtly through her coils so that her head could lead in the rush. Flexing her wing fingers open to cut at the sleet of the storm, then clenching them closed so she could spiral tight and fast back towards the river.

    The middlemosts portions of the vah were still open water, the current fast enough the ice had not had time to creep over it. But supposedly by the longest night the ice would seal over.

    Before spring thaw the Vah would be solid enough that a fair could be held in the middle of it.

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    In fact the city was planning on it!

    Jewel was still trying to grapple with the reality of the river.  She had been visiting for years but apparently there was much more she needed to learn about the ¡®life blood of Viznove¡¯.

    In Rochford a different collection of streams flowed north among the valleys, finishing with a slow sinking beneath into an underway and from there to the far colder northlands, where an even shallower and more turbulent vault made the winters of Rochford and Kaeketeh feel like summer days.

    Or so travelers and questing Knights claimed.

    Jewel was starting to wonder if perhaps those were merely embellishments about the truth.

    Surely there were not entire realms where simply breathing with an uncovered face at night could slay a man dead and freeze him from the inside out?

    But then Sorcery and Divinity were strange.

    The wyrm filled her coils out in flame again, leveled out and splayed her wings wide, tilting the trailing edges to angle and scoop the rushing wind, snow and tinkling ice. Extending a wake from the tense skin of her membrane that further caught and filled with rushing air. Pressing smooth and slick.

    Almost like she was wrapping her wings around vast roiling fruits of ice.

    The rushing air made solid as her descent was arrested.

    The speed of the drop forced her upward, bleeding speed as she swept over the tallest rooftops of Kaeketeh.

    From the outer shoreside hovels, across gate town and then over middle town, the fort wall (which was still far too understaffed) and finally right as she reached the open yard before the keep/manor house.

    Arriving at the spot with only the slightest rise needed to finish bleeding off her momentum.

    A final constriction of Wyrmflame letting Jewel¡¯s fore and hind claws touch the stones of the Kaeketeh courtyard. The old venerable cobbles cheering alongside their more freshly cut brethren.

    Marking the scar Jewel had burned into them from her first visit years ago even clearer.

    No one was outside to meet her, but that was fine. Jewel would not want any of her household or the staff of the keep to catch their death in this.

    Even on the ground the ice came down in stinging sheets. It felt much like being pelted with minute arrows. Not the fragile training stele but full metal headed armaments. Perhaps not as heavy or as sharp. But bracing all the same.

    Jewel extended her wing forward, furled closed with just her thumb extended to catch the latch.

    Pulling the door open, the howl of the wind struggled in vain as she opened the way into her temporary home. Howling around the door in delight for the challenge she gave it.

    She hurried through the passage as fast as she could, catching the inner latch with her tail and a bit of a stronger clinging nature that she had once struggled with when trying to spin. Now nothing but convenient in how it allowed her to enter and close the way behind her in one fluid dive into the hallway.

    There were no footmen immediately inside the keep to guard the door.

    There were honestly almost none who were not bunking in the wall fortress barracks, training with the more experienced guards, or out in Gate Town trying to maintain the peace.

    Even in the fury of the storm outside there were a few footmen either in the guild houses or staying in little post rooms around Kaeketeh. The main gate itself had accommodations for two shifts of ten guards each. Although they were making do with three men most days.

    Jewel focused on her Wyrmflame, exhaling while not actually releasing any of the raw destructive force. Pushing instead the feeling she normally used to keep the water of her baths in their tub, Which this really was much alike too.

    Instead of hot water scented in Lavender Jewel was glittering with a mix of melt water, frost and ice caught in her mane.

    But with a hum of rushing flame under her skin the heat of her body rose with the roar of her blood in tumultuous currents. From that the ice and cold of the storm melted to a sopping mass all over her scales and wings.

    Then slowly the water was peeled back from her face. Dragging through her mane and over every scale. Pulling the water free of her body in rivulets and then a shining coat of rippling shine.

    Almost like silver in the oil light of the abandoned entryway.

    As it went the coat became more of a wobbling mass of water, almost like the orbs of ice Jewel had imagined filled her wings when she pulled up from her dive.

    The process of divesting herself of the storm¡¯s watery additions finished with a flick of her tail over the large (for a human) bathing tub that was set beside the door for just this purpose. And this last step was the trickiest, the further from her own body the water went the more difficult holding onto it became.

    Releasing it too quickly would splash in a torrent and ruin the entire point of the exercise.

    But with the use of her coils and tail just so Jewel was able to slip the entirety of the storm¡¯s wetness and ice into the provided receptacle and leave the floors just as dry as before she entered.

    Jewel sighed, it was not a bath, there was no lavender scent and it did notably worse for removing her scent of petrichor. It didn''t even really buff her scales to much of a shine.

    But at least her hide no longer carried the touch of grime and oil that accumulated through the day.

    So refreshed Jewel made her way to the ¡®feasting hall¡¯ which was becoming far too familiar.

    At least Jewel only needed to use it as her study, court and dining room.

    The few nights she had slept in that blasted room were too much.

    Three days without even seeing the sky with her own eyes?

    Jewel shuddered from her nose to the very tip of her tail.

    Scales roiling and flexing in waves of disgust.

    Never again!

 10.2

    10.2

    Kaeketeh was different in winter.

    But Jewel was not sure if she liked how it was different.

    She huffed heavily, another arduous day done in the Capital of Viznove.

    As the longest night drew closer the city seemed to go still most days. Braced, her afternoon flights proved that it was not simply a withdrawal from winter cold either. But she felt a tension building. Goods were being gathered, animals slaughtered, things were roasting, food was prepared.

    Haggling happened in the sparse sunny days when the ice and snow glittered to near blinding.

    The violence that had plagued Kaeketeh had finally eased, although whether that was because the winter chill made it infeasible or if the efforts of Paul, Smithson, Muriel and the growing Kaeketeh guard were finally bringing peace?

    Jewel did not know.

    The keep¡¯s own staff were preparing for a staggeringly vast celebration. Animals already ordered before the Countess¡¯ death were stabled for the coming nights.

    When Jewel had tried to insist on less spices the Kaeketeh cook had actually screamed at her.

    ¡°You can¡¯t take away the solstice feast! I don¡¯t care if you''re used to eating rocks and gruel! You will have to slay and curse me before I¡¯ll cancel the cinnamon puddings and apple pasties!¡±

    The vehemence and determination in the old cook¡¯s eyes had struck Jewel silent. She did not eat rocks and gruel! She just liked Dariusz¡¯ stew! But even her hired cook master and freeman had turned against his lady in this too!

    ¡°Solstice feast in Kaeketeh is something I¡¯d be proud to work with Bruno on! Ma loved the tarts she had as a girl here.¡±

    And that had the matter settled, Kaeketeh Keep would be holding its usual feasts. Which were held for the rest of winter, not just on the longest night but for the entire rest of the season!

    That was the strangest thing about Kaeketeh that struck Jewel.

    In Rochford there was some more honeyed pig (especially after Father gained the Abbey of Silver Lady as a holding) and perhaps a bit of richer flavors over winter. But her family¡¯s feasts were nothing so ostentatious as this!

    The entire city seemed to be inhaling spices, sweet things, wine, mead, preserved fruits and fine white flour like a vast lung.

    Storehouses filling to capacity.

    The guilds each in a mad rush for the coming days.

    Jewel as Lady and Countess of the city was of course involved.

    As a newly acknowledged countess the number of people insisting she had to be seen and involved in what was apparently a many days long festival in the dead of winter?

    Countless.

    It all sounded far too busy!

    Where was the solemnness?

    Where was the striving with the voice of every member of the community and family together to brace and strengthen for winter?

    The darkest night in Kaeketeh was shaping up to be more like the summer boar¡¯s festival writ large than anything like what Jewel expected.

    It all was so overwhelming!

    She curled her neck to face her husband in his spot beside her midsection.

    ¡°Is this what you meant by there was so much else we could be doing over winter?¡±

    Paul leaned back against her in their shared bedroom.

    Not Bathory¡¯s chambers.

    The god botherers had been insistent that the violence and violations performed on a body and spirit there should be sealed and carefully cleansed over years.

    Preferably with fire, sun and starlight.

    All quite expensive work they insisted. Jewel was certain that in Valasect and Rochford rites for purification didn''t cost so much silver.

    Maybe it was all of the gods that needed to be involved in Kaeketeh?

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    This room was a bit of a tight fit for all of them though.

    Her husband was able to rescue Jewel from another spiraling snarl of thought.

    ¡°Some of it, b-¡±

    Like he had before Paul¡¯s voice caught just shy of actually saying her name.

    ¡°She didn''t call me to attend the winter festivals until I was eight... and she ceased as soon as I told her to stop.¡±

    He sighed and ran his fingers along her scales in a way that they had both found was soothing without triggering Jewel¡¯s propensity for ticklishness. The trick was to avoid the belly, chest or any of the joins of her six limbs to her serpentine torso.

    ¡°But my tutors made sure I knew the courtesies and actions and the manner in which one is supposed to call a feast for the season, or ride in a winter hunt.¡±

    Jewel nodded.

    ¡°Muriel taught me some of those matters, but when the war started most of the time was spent in bouts... and after-¡±

    Paul laughed against her, even without looking at him with either sets of eyes Jewel would have been able to feel how he shook his head. The way his lungs puffed was a nice sound. It soothed ¡®Gem¡¯ back into that fogginess of sleep after the sharper noise had briefly woken her.

    ¡°I think I¡¯d have been happier if I only had the one teacher, B-¡±

    Again he hitched on even the name. Others at least tried to ward off the ire of an ill tempered spirit. But Jewel¡¯s husband refused to ever even say her name now. Despite how often he now seemed to want too.

    Bathory¡¯s death had affected him in ways Jewel was still uncertain about.

    ¡°The woman ordered a small army of teachers to attend me throughout my life. She had me apprenticing in a dozen matters before... But after you won the war?¡±

    Jewel shifted around so she could lower her head to look into her husband¡¯s eyes levelly. In the dark of their room she saw his face clearly. The candles long since been put out. But it was hardly a strain to see the wetness in his eyes.

    Not with the brightness of a snow covered winter under the stars outside.

    The marvel of glass filled windows.

    ¡°After she declared you my betrothed, the teachers were different. That''s when I learned how to manage birds. And she had me all but apprentice with each of the heads of the staff in turn.¡±

    Jewel didn''t shift, but that brought a frown.

    Bathory had changed her son¡¯s life so much, all for Jewel¡¯s sake?

    ¡°Well, I hope that- Paul!¡±

    He was shuddering.

    The glitter of tears were suddenly on his cheeks. Still rounded softer then her brother¡¯s.

    ¡°S-she was such a vile woman! How dare she! How d-dare-¡±

    And that woke up Gem, but Jewel was able to have enough self control and concern for her husband to not let the distress and shock of the sound turn into her own wailing cries.

    It took a supreme effort to hold the sadness and panic roiling in her chest for those brief moments when peaceful slumber and contemplation between her selves suddenly sparked and burst into wakefulness.

    Paul¡¯s voice sounded like every word he said was having to be dragged out of his throat with a hook.

    But also like the very act of keeping them in was burning him up inside.

    The pain Paul was in struck Jewel and she could not prevent the urge from overwhelming in a new way.

    Her smallest self scrambled over her coils from the cushioning that she had fallen asleep into. Climbing near blind but for Jewel¡¯s older eyes and the absolute assurance of her two bodies¡¯ relative positions.

    Too short arms were soon wrapping around her husband¡¯s shuddering side.

    Followed soon after by Jewel¡¯s wing, the only limb able to reach where Paul was sprawled against her. Before she could even untangle what she wanted to say and which throat was supposed to say it he was speaking again.

    ¡°How dare she do anything right by me! How dare her awful vicious men to have done anything good for the people here!¡±

    The words struck a note Jewel had been feeling too.

    Jewel had no words to comfort him on this, she honestly felt the same. Was this what her Father had meant about the late countess?

    ¡°She taught her captains in common and noble law! Some of them were raised from orphans into the position! The captains were nobles in all but name! From Orphans to Nobles! The commoners mostly hated them, but she¡¯d- How dare she!¡±

    He sobbed and his hands shook.

    Jewel held him, nuzzling her smallest face into his side, tiny fingers clenching hard as she could as if she could squeeze what was hurting him out.

    Her left wing cradled her husband, gentle as an egg. He was fragile and delicate in the muscles, fingers and smooth skin that could flatten a dozen men by the wind they could move alone. But pressed just as firmly, just as hard as she dared for how fragile she knew his bones to be.

    With overwhelming might and childish weakness Jewel tried to comfort her man.

    Held him and gently rocked him as he cried.

    Finally finding something to do with herself. Voice coming out in a soft hushing tone, whispering a rhyme that she had not sung in so long.

    A gentle lilting tune that she had heard her Mother sing to sooth the panicking cries of an elder brother. Words and music that Jewel had then made in her Mother¡¯s stead when Alexander needed it.

    Lowering her snout to Paul¡¯s forehead and planting a soft whispering hush and a gentle kiss.

    Comforting him until his breathing evened out.

    And then in the exhaustion of it all a heaviness entered his voice.

    ¡°How dare she do anything right.¡±

    But some of the pain was missing at least.

    Although she was not even sure he realized he was saying it, the way his breathing settled right after into sleep suggesting he might not.

    Jewel and Gem held her Husband through the night.

    Until both of her bodies relaxed into sleep.

 10.3

    10.3

    The day before the longest night broke.

    With song and music and a suffusing cloud of spices.

    Jewel was only required to be present for the commoners during a mid afternoon speech and an evening feast which had grown out of any sensible meaning of the word. The Courts were forbidden from operation today alongside every other place of labor beyond the kitchens. So Smithson, Muriel and Paul would actually be attending with her.

    The entire keep was awash in signs of festivities, the smell of the cooking filling all the halls with the scent of sweet breads and festival cakes. Already candied treats were scattered all around and the animals that had been kept and fattened up on fruits and cream were slaughtered last night.

    The scent of fruit, meat and spices billowed through every room.

    This night was going to be an event that in some ways felt larger to Jewel than her own wedding.

    She was thankful at least her vassals and their households were not going to be in attendance, not even Kliatbatrn! Each lord and lady had an obligation to their own rites over winter. Or according to Paul, local festivals that had their own attendance and honors to give.

    Jewel missed the solemnity of the day in Rochford.

    Even the children dressing up as winter monsters were softer than this city.

    In Kaeketeh their rites were always done with an almost feral amount of revelry.

    To feast and dance and be merry in the darkest hour was their way.

    And no matter how much it discomforted her Jewel promised herself that she would be a better liege than Bathory.

    If Kaeketeh fought the dark with revelry then revelry they would have!

    At Muriel¡¯s recommendation all the men of the nascent Kaeketeh guard were invited to the keep to attend with honor for a meal. The plan was that this would turn into a tradition for the new guard and a sign of openness and favor towards the city and the commoners.

    When the Guildmasters heard of it they had insisted on all of them attending the prestigious and now far more open event. Apparently the late Countess Bathory had selectively used a single seat at her table to offer to her ¡®favorite¡¯ guild of the year. And then after the word spread the guilds would be attending the heads of the dozen temples of Kaeketeh had insisted on being present as well!

    Then the nobles (cousins, sons and otherwise of lords) from middletown complained there would not be room for the seats they had expected to receive as a matter of course. Which was apparently vitally important representation for Jewel¡¯s vassals and their houses.

    By the time everyone who needed to be honored were invited it was shaping up to be less of a feast and more a fair all of its own! And when word of this had reached gate town Jewel would have probably had to fly over the city and roar with the full force of her lungs to stop the new festivities!

    Kaeketeh had always practiced a festive air for the last half of the season of winter.

    But the massive party of the noble, rich and honored that had brewed up around Jewel was now being matched and mirrored by an uproarious surge of revelry as if somehow gate town had been offended by the impression of there being a celebration without them.

    For days merchants were sprouting up from the countryside like mushrooms!

    The surrounding villages had trickled and then poured into Kaeketeh in a torrent.

    Jewel was left baffled as to where all the strange mass of entertainers even came from! She certainly didn''t hire them.

    A crazed wildness seemed to have taken over the entire city.

    And it was all coming to a frothing head this morning.

    What had been mostly an event for the children in Rochford apparently took up everyone in the entire city of Kaeketeh.

    Young and Elder.

    Man and Woman.

    Jewel could already hear the songs and cheering in far older voices than she expected. Murmuring noise just barely past dawn!

    The wall fort would be opened up as a space for the commoner¡¯s revelry, the act this time at the recommendation of the guilds. The ¡®high winter fair¡¯ would be attended in the courtyard and rooms of Kaeketeh Keep itself. With the bridge acting as a minor impediment although no heavy guard was posted to block passage to commoners.

    All of that awaited her.

    But for this brief moment she had breakfast with her close council.

    With a nice and simple porridge!

    Jewel ate a whole pot herself.

    Paul took his with a few choice cuts of smoked and seared pig back. The fat dripping off crisped skin.

    Smithson had mirrored her husband, although he had also gotten some honey and cinnamon for his.

    Muriel was the only one that actually matched Jewel in having a sensible porridge.

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    Yet even the captain of Jewel¡¯s footmen took some butter in the boiled barley.

    Jewel pointedly did not bring it up.

    Muriel, Smithson and Paul had been working so incredibly hard in the common law courts and training up the new guard.

    They deserved some seasoning over breakfast if they wanted it.

    Besides Gem¡¯s stomach and tongue preferred the crisp pork cuts over boiled oats.

    There had been far too many memories of the awful sensation of throwing up (or worse) and terrible pain in her middle for Jewel to ever try again at eating boiled oats, grains or bread with little Gem¡¯s mouth.

    Jewel however enjoyed the hearty elegance of barley boiled soft and spongy. The flavor of the grain settled with all its tones and delights on her tongue, slipping back and down her throat hot from the fires of the kitchen. She drank her breakfast like she was back on the march, savoring it for the simple joy it was not watery bone broth with milk.

    The iron of the pot was still heated enough that two men from the kitchen staff had to heft it with clever wooden grips to shield them from the metal.

    And an extra board of wood was on the table to prevent it charring the fine cloth.

    After the entire cauldron had been drained she set it aside gently upon the stone so the metal could cool before the staff retrieved it.

    Jewel then politely belched, making sure to echo it through her throat so that all the staff could hear, then gently wiped her lips (which were still perfectly clean. Jewel had plenty of practice). Once fully settled she glanced around at her closest friends and confidants.

    Those she would share a table with this supper before the darkest night of the year.

    ¡°Are the kitchens fully stocked? I don¡¯t want to hear come evening that we run out of anything. Tomorrow¡¯s gift of feast leavings to the commoners should be as bountiful as we can manage.¡±

    Smithson nodded at that while Paul helped Gem to cut her particularly large slab of crisp pork back. Holding the knife was still a bit too tricky for her smaller self some mornings. But today Jewel mostly let him because he seemed almost as delighted as Jewel to have Gem fed a tiny piece at a time.

    ¡°There should be enough for at least a hundred households to eat well tomorrow, even if we had twice the number attending the midnight feast.¡±

    Good, Gem snatched up a bite of meat out of the air. She waited until Paul tossed another piece before turning to him with her larger face.

    ¡°Paul, are you sure that the courts will be fine? A whole season won¡¯t be a problem?¡±

    He nodded to her.

    ¡°Yes, all the worst cases were put ahead of anything without blood spilled or serious violation. It¡¯s all disputed fines for bakers and the like that we will need to bring the guilds into anyway.¡±

    Jewel nodded to him and let her husband get back to entertaining her smaller self.

    She had no idea why but snatching meat in her mouth tossed through the air was one of the most enthralling ways to eat breakfast her smaller self had ever tried.

    The rush of a tiny heart beating so joyously was enough to warm her flame.

    ¡°Then that should keep fine until the end of winter. Muriel, how fares the training of the City Guard?¡±

    Her captain considered Jewel, before nodding. Whatever sums and memories had been going through her once governess¡¯ head settled before she spoke.

    ¡°Jakub and five of the more veteran footmen are good enough at warcraft now to train others in combat, proper mustering, managing their gear and marching.¡±

    Her captain sighed heavily though and stared at her half finished porridge.

    ¡°But I need scribes and lawyers to assist me in getting them to match the duties that the old footmen were assigned. She had her men doing far more than just breaking up fights among peasants and holding troublemakers for a headman to judge them later.¡±

    Jewel sighed but nodded.

    ¡°I¡¯ll check if the keep has any staff who at least know their letters well enough to teach. But for the lawyer?¡±

    Paul huffed and turned to Jewel after tossing the last of Gem¡¯s meal into her waiting mouth.

    ¡°That will be trouble, we probably would be best to check in with the guilds. The only men left in the city versed in common and court law well enough are either bound by oath to one of the houses or paid in full to serve one of the Guilds.¡±

    Smithson nodded along, offering his own view. It was always the same since Jewel¡¯s curse.

    ¡°That would be for the best, I don¡¯t want to say I miss the cowards but...¡±

    Not a single trustworthy person versed in law and uncursed was willing to even entertain the journey to Kaeketeh. A few of the waifs probably would have qualified but she had already openly declared them unfit to serve Viznove and it was all far too soon for her to try to even bend that proclamation.

    Jewel huffed and looked around before finally nodding.

    ¡°Then I think it best we try and make inquiries to the guilds and the nobles attending tonight¡¯s feast?¡±

    Paul was nodding at that but Muriel and Smithson shared Jewel¡¯s frown at the thought.

    To enact law and order in Kaeketeh Jewel needed those at the root of it to be trustworthy. To be sound of judgment and aligned with her.

    And Jewel had yet to find a single one of those in the teeming pit of schemers and liars that populated half of middle town. Muriel broke the tension that had settled over breakfast with an exhausted sigh.

    ¡°After the seasons I¡¯ve had trying to manage these green boys and girls? I¡¯ll take that.¡±

    Jewel frowned harder but Muriel fixed a tired glare on her.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you frown at me little lady! If some lord¡¯s bastard or their sworn lawmen are teaching the basics of common law and I drill the recruits on it afterwards?¡±

    She gestured to one of the footmen.

    ¡°I think we could just spare that trust to a guild or scheming noble. Otherwise I¡¯m going to go gray, shriveled and frail before we have even a bare minimum of a core in the Kaeketeh guard to be self-sustaining.¡±

    Jewel nodded, which meant that there was going to be more work for all of them, but Jewel especially in the midnight feast to come.

    ¡°I¡¯ll seek out the least dishonest of the guests tonight. How many lawyers do you need?¡±

    Muriel huffed.

    ¡°If they were honest and trustworthy? I¡¯d say ten minimum... But with me needing to keep an eye on them scheming something with the recruits? No more than four. I don¡¯t have enough hours in the day to check more than that.¡±

    Jewel sighed and nodded.

    She focused hard on the warm joyous feeling of a full belly that was nearly making Gem glow with satisfaction.

    The Countess of Viznove really needed the simple pleasures of her smaller self right now.

    Even in a festival a Lady¡¯s work was never done.

 10.4

    10.4

    As the noon day sun reached its zenith Jewel began to notice the signs.

    Spiraling in curling loops of faux fire, a ritual was building. Not intentionally, not in any singular union. But in furtive spurts and starts they spun out briefly into the cold winter air.

    Flailing out in a thousand rhythms from just as many roofs and houses. Spilling from the hearts of those revelers in the streets around her. More flinging their lives into the air then giving a concerted effort to bind and weave something.

    The wildness of the ritual welled up in the wall fort¡¯s training yard. Amidst the festival tents, braziers and pastie peddlers. But more so it slowly built up over the streets of the city itself.

    It hung over the bridges and docks.

    It threw itself against the winter winds that still blew in spite of the sun¡¯s warmth.

    Kaeketeh was humming with ever growing power in a way that Rochford never had.

    Uncoordinated, without union, but breathing, swinging, moving by a hundred tempos and in its thousands of heart beats.

    And all through the day it had been building.

    Seeping in with her every breath, sliding down her throat, flowing up like heat into her wings and scales.

    It made her feel light.

    Saturated and fed while it mingled with her own wyrmflame in a way that had never happened before.

    Jewel could barely keep track of the crowds by the time she was called to speak for the day. But the way that the air was humming with it she found emotion and intent building in her throat anyway.

    The air was soaking in a veritable uncoordinated fury.

    There was joy in the people.

    But also a burning heat.

    A rage that boiled like water in a pot over a too hot fire. Restrained behind smiles and deep cupped indulgence.

    But that only smothered the yet unspilled scream of relief buzzing in the air. All of it was nearly drowning Jewel but instead of choking her fire, it burned all the brighter in her flame. Whether the searing was in faux flame or literal scent Jewel could not even quite say anymore.

    All she knew was that the festival air was filling her up like nothing ever had before.

    Jewel had planned a speech, she was meant to welcome and promise her vigil over winter, acknowledge and put at ease the people. But the spirit of the city already drunk and dripping with its furious revelry had been slipping into her every breath since breakfast.

    Maybe even longer.

    At noon she had only started to notice.

    But it was all rushing through her in a torrent now and she could barely even see or think for it.

    And now it was suddenly being released as words foreign and familiar.

    It echoed and mirrored her own pain, her frustration.

    All the labor she and her household put in.

    In the simmering rage for those that sought to bring pain undeserved.

    Yet there was so much more.

    She spoke but the words barely felt like her own.

    ¡°Kaeketeh, My city, you have suffered long in a fear you did not deserve. You have huddled in the dark.¡±

    Her voice was not at all restrained. The stones rumbled, the icicles rang sharply with her tone.

    She was speaking with the fullness of her entire throat, she could feel and hear it echoing back from the bones and hearts of those in the square. It was carried into the air far beyond.

    It should have been everything that was unlike Jewel.

    All she strained to not be.

    Beastly and wrong.

    But despite all its depth and resonance it still was hers. It still was the voice of a lady, a Countess.

    It was not, however, the voice of a girl.

    Jewel spoke with a fullness of womanhood in her tone she had not even realized could exist.

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    ¡°You have been ruled by fear, for your daughters, for your mothers, for your sisters. I have seen it in your streets, I have felt it in your river¡¯s waters.¡±

    She gave a deep, audible inhale, then snorted in a booming hoot that no man or beast without a throat and snout as voluminous as Jewel¡¯s could match.

    ¡°I heard it in your hearts, I smelled it on your breaths. Kaeketeh, My City, you have been shackled by your fear.¡±

    The people in the square were frozen. They could not even shiver. But Jewel could feel the fire they had frivolously spent like a thick cloud around them. It touched her flame and through it she touched theirs.

    Her words blew with a hot wind and it curdled and twisted and rode the lines of spurious, faltering sparks that their hearts had offered.

    Flew along and into them. She could feel the air itself like she felt the flesh of Gem.

    She was in their chests and throats as they breathed.

    ¡°You have been owned by your fear. It has dragged your fingers around knives, it has pulled blades into the flesh of your family. The rule of fear has pushed down your boots onto the throats of your fellows.¡±

    Their eyes were on Jewel, all of them, she could feel their ears drinking at her words as much as Gem¡¯s but the current, the anger, the hate, the pain of the city.

    Fury and rage wrapped in revelry and joy.

    Kaeketeh was nothing like Rochford.

    Rochford was practically a family compared to the city of Kaeketeh.

    This festering tomb of living strangers. This slaughterhouse for Bathory¡¯s larder.

    A teeming multitude of prisoners trapped together, chained and walled in by a terror older than Jewel.

    Fear and pain so deep it was all they could do to push back the dark each year.

    ¡°But you are free Kaeketeh. That which you fear is gone, The Blood Countess Bathory is dead.¡±

    Jewel should have offered reverence for the passed spirit. But the rush of the city and its heady waves of hate mingled in her own boiling need to release. All that had been unsaid burned beyond even a pause to consider saying such right off her tongue.

    It could barely flicker in her mind before being barreled over by the words she had wanted to scream from the sky to all the city for seasons!

    ¡±But it was not by my word, claw, tooth or breath that she was finished!¡±

    Captive to her every word, stilled in early evening light, just before the sun dipped past and behind the first pillar of the western firmament. They could not help but hear Jewel now.

    They had to listen.

    The satisfaction of finally being sure they would understand and know the truth made her scales shiver.

    All the criers, all the declarations before.

    No one believed her.

    And why should they?!

    The criers had been the mouths of the Blood Countess Bathory!

    But she had Kaeketeh held as assuredly and at attention as if it was somehow a beast in her jaws.

    She could feel it.

    They had to hear her.

    But the roiling fire inside her pushed on, the first crack dragging more words.

    ¡°It was by your own hands! It was by the will of Kaeketeh that the bloody countess was slain! By the act of a few who had been bent but unbroken under her chains of fear.¡±

    The shock and surprise mostly seemed to befuddle.

    They did not yet understand.

    But Jewel could make them see.

    ¡°It was by the act of a few guilty accomplices of the bloody countess that your fear was slain. By those that acted as her hands in the slaughter of Kaeketeh¡¯s daughters that she met her end.¡±

    That finally caught their attention. Faces turned to eye widened shock, others glared. But she could still feel it, the city was practically resting on her tongue.

    ¡°I have judged and sentenced them for their part in her reign. But it is still by the waifs that you were delivered this year from your chains.¡±

    The sun was dipping behind the pillar of the firmament.

    Its shadow began to sweep towards the city.

    When the darkness fell so would begin the longest night.

    An early evening and a start to the revelry.

    It was important.

    Jewel still felt the rush building, getting stronger.

    It was chaos and fury. A wildfire of ephemeral passion brimming over in the city, her city.

    ¡°Rejoice Kaeketeh!¡±

    The proclamation almost felt like thunder blooming in Jewel¡¯s throat for how it snapped in the burgeoning swell of fauxfire in the square of the wall fortress.

    ¡°Exult and be merry at last, for you are finally free!¡±

    She arched back her neck, this had not been the plan but there was too much wyrmflame filling up her body, trying to force its way into her throat.

    The last words breaking free even as white hot power was spilling from her lips, barely contained behind her teeth.

    ¡°The Blood Countess is Dead!¡±

    And then as the sun fully slipped behind the western pillar of the heavens and night fell she released a screaming torrent of anguish into the sky.

    A white hot column of purest wyrmflame.

    Carrying her own raging anguish and then dragging up the roiling hate and misery of decades of terror up and out of the city.

    Jewel could feel how the rush of it pulled on Kaeketeh¡¯s hearts and voices.

    A roar of thousands answering her own call.

    ¡°Long Live the Shining Wyrm!¡±

 10.5

    10.5

    Was this why her mother drank so deeply?

    Jewel apparently ended up swaying that night in a way that Paul claimed looked like she had finally managed to find a cup deep enough for her draconic constitution to succumb to the spirits of mead and beer. To be honest she could not remember very clearly what happened for most of the evening that followed.

    At least according to Smithson, Paul and Muriel her festive mood was actually a boon in discussions with the Nobles and guild masters.

    She had to take their word for it. There were disconcertingly no memories of any coherence to call up. But Muriel had some lawyers and clerks to aid in the training of the Kaeketeh guard. Paul had gotten the rest of the guilds to join the Butcher¡¯s and Sopper¡¯s in providing a kind of justice militia for patrols.

    There were several decrees waiting for Jewel¡¯s seal in the morning after which even suggested that the guilds had offered to partly relieve poor Paul and his council with a triumvirate of Guildmasters and possibly nobles.

    A kind of minor common law council that would convene after the winter celebrations.

    Jewel had only the fuzziest recollection of agreeing to this.

    But it seemed promising.

    In matters without shed blood or threat of violence a triumvirate would judge common law by unanimous agreement. Said trio could be no less than two masters of the guilds in good standing (but no more then one from each guild) with a Noble acknowledged for the role by Jewel or her nascent law council (Paul, Smithson and Muriel).

    It seemed good and she noted that most of the text was in Paul¡¯s fluid hand, so she trusted that whatever strange wyrmish nonsense apparently could relieve her of all sense and decorum was not overly influential on the matter.

    The last three days of winter celebration in Kaeketeh were only marginally better than the first.

    Jewel had found that as long as she kept either to flights over the city or early hours on the streets the ¡®vapors¡¯ of revelry in the city were not too incapacitating.

    But if she went out at noon, or fortune damn her after evening?

    Well she could feel it seeping into her.

    Jewel was now sequestering herself in the keep after sundown.

    Still she could not deny the feel of the city in revelry outside the walls at night entirely.

    It raged against the night.

    Against the dying light.

    Longer than even the darkest night the fervor continued.

    Softened by her words perhaps, more joyous than angry. But still jagged in fear.

    Jewel wished that her speech had taken on some kind of sorcery and magically resolved everything in Kaeketeh.

    That the words and some wyrmish nonsense had healed the city and all the people in it and left them whole and stable. Safe to be delegated to some city equivalent of a head man. But as far as Jewel could tell it did not even fully clear her name among the citizens!

    If this was one of the tales or ballads it would have.

    One impassioned sorcerous speech from the newly raised noble lord or lady.

    Many of the histories of Old Cantor even read like such.

    But either Jewel lacked that magic, or like with so many other things her books had left out important interstitial moments.

    Kaeketeh had finally had its wounds tended.

    But it was not yet healed.

    And now it was Jewel¡¯s hatching day.

    But she was absent from her father and mother.

    Jewel was not at Rochford. She had not seen Alexander for over a year, although her fool brother at least was occasionally sending letters.

    Blizzard-wrath was growing well and had shed his first coat of down. His flight feathers had mostly kept the white he was named for. Alexander expected the Gryphon would be fully fledged come spring and then the first training for flight and command would begin.

    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    In another year after that if the Gryphon grew as expected Alexander would be able to start gliding from the cliffs.

    That was when Blizzard-wrath would begin to try to climb and lift aloft with the burden of her Brother. If all of that went well without injury or incident Jewel and her brother would both be in their second decade when he was inducted as a full Gryphon Knight.

    Jewel yearned to fly with him.

    However the most critical and dangerous time for Blizzard-wrath¡¯s rearing would be over next half-year. A just fledged Gryphon while not yet strong enough to take off and be ridden could fly under their own power.

    The bond that would last the rest of Alexander¡¯s life would be complete.

    Jewel was going to make sure her fool headed brother made it to Rochford for her next hatching day.

    Even if she had to fly to the eyrie and drag him and his charge back home herself.

    As she penned the message on the tiny little scrap of vellum she had to pause.

    Paul had barely even met Alexander.

    The wedding had been a sea of politics and foreigners. Half of which had sneered at her brother for having Blizzard-wrath with him for the event. Jewel had only known he was there from the scent of him in the crowd so isolated they had been from one another.

    She¡¯d not even gotten a chance to see more than a bit of his hair or a flash of his smile and eyes between the rest of the guests.

    That really needed to be remedied, she added a few pointed words to the message scroll. Rolled it closed, melted the wax over a candle and then pressed the seal of Viznove to it. So Secured she called for one of the Keep¡¯s staff to take the now sealed scroll to the messenger pigeons to see that it was sent to the Rochford.

    From which her father could make sure the message reached the eyrie.

    Her nightly correspondence complete Jewel finally stretched, her wings touching the ceiling of the feasting hall while she extended her neck clear across the stone floors. Sending a twisting wave from her head all the way down her neck, both sets of shoulders and finally in a wiggly little rattle at her hips and tail tip.

    The motion made her skin shiver and tremble in waves up and down her coils. Some of the largest of her freshly grown scales almost rattled with the motion.

    But most important of all was the relief it brought her spine.

    She would not dare fly over Kaeketeh at the height of its revelry.

    Jewel could feel how the festive faux fire was filling the air clear to the sky.

    No, she would find some snow to roll in come the morning before breakfast like she had today.

    Paul finally spoke, having waited politely while his wife worked the aches of stillness out of her substantial body.

    ¡°They''re celebrating your hatching day tonight. That bonded woman of yours says their drinking and eating things lit on fire in your name. Word is some are disappointed you didn''t hold a public feast for them.¡±

    Jewel sighed heavily.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I should go out after the sun peaks in winter here. The feeling of it is far too tempting.¡±

    Paul laughed.

    ¡°So Dragons get drunk on a city¡¯s spirit of revelry?¡±

    Jewel shrugged both shoulders and yawned to her husband.

    ¡°It¡¯s never happened before in Rochford or Valasect.¡±

    Her husband¡¯s smile faltered a bit at that.

    ¡°What¡¯s your wizard friend say about that?¡±

    Jewel sighed even heavier and shook her head.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, Tsulogothulan has been away since they began the project of gentling the Ogien. I¡¯m sure there will be quite a lot of discussion when they return. Probably in the spring.¡±

    That seemed to surprise Paul.

    ¡°Wait, The wizard has been absent this entire time?!¡±

    Jewel could only stare at her Husband.

    ¡°Yes, since right before the final ceremony of fealty. Why did you think they had not been seen?¡±

    Paul just stared.

    ¡°I assumed they were just a summoning word away this whole time and you¡¯d been speaking to them in private like you usually do. They¡¯re a sorcerer! They can appear anywhere they want.¡±

    Jewel paused at that. Then considered more carefully.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s actually as simple or easy as any of the wizards make it look. Even when you can¡¯t see them a Wizard is actually present before they arrive. And if they are actually away they do not cover the distance as simply as you¡¯d think.¡±

    Paul stared at her then shook his head.

    ¡°Whatever, so you mean to say that there hasn''t been a Wizard waiting to reveal themselves in a dire moment all winter? That your sorcerous support was not simply a single word away?¡±

    Jewel stared down at her husband, unable to keep the exasperation from her tone.

    ¡°Of course not, why would you even think that?¡±

    Which was matched by Paul¡¯s own exasperated groan.

    ¡°Because that¡¯s what Wizards do!¡±

    Jewel could only laugh at that.

    ¡°I can assure you dear husband they most assuredly do not. Sorcerors just like to make you think they can.¡±

    The way Paul looked simultaneously betrayed and angry at what Jewel realized probably was a carefully guarded secret of wizardry tickled her wyrm flame so wonderfully.

    It was actually rather adorable!

 10.6

    10.6

    In Rochford Fallow Turn began when the snow finally cleared from the fields beyond the fort¡¯s walls.

    But Kaeketeh counted spring to have arrived when the river¡¯s ice was clear from the shores. Which came well before Fallow Turn began. Something Jewel had not realized until Paul had said he was returning to court.

    Jewel had been ready to spend several more days of the winter season avoiding the revelry of Kaeketeh. But apparently when the waters were clear regular work resumed. Labor was needed for courts, temples, fishing boats, guilds and apparently most important of all the barges from Kliatbatrn burdened with goods that would pass through Kaeketeh¡¯s waters for a fee in silver.

    There had also been a winter caught stag sent on the first barge down the river. Explicitly for Jewel to enjoy as a gift from her vassal. The flesh was still frozen through by winter ice when it reached the Kitchens.

    At least Jewel didn''t need to manage the stocks of firewood in the keep. The staff were well practiced in that and Jewel had managed to not curse any of them.

    Despite her misunderstanding the Countess had duties today.

    The keep¡¯s crier announced the first of her meetings.

    ¡°Presenting, Lord-son Simon, Of House Ogien, Second son of Lukas of Ogien. Resident of the Noble Isle of Kaeketeh.¡±

    Jewel nodded to the scruffy man, they were alone in the Kaeketeh hall besides the crier and a scribe to take down notes. She could not spare footmen or guards for ceremony and the noble man had come alone himself straight from midtown.

    He¡¯d sent the proper missive for a meeting with Jewel that very morning.

    By chance the second son of the baron of Ogien had been ahead of the other meetings.

    Jewel took a breath in, he smelled freshly scrubbed with water from the north end of the river Vas and scented soaps. Lavender if she was not mistaken, which suggested he knew something of her habits even if Jewel did not recall any relevant meetings with him.

    The man, almost certainly older than her by his orange tinted beard immediately took a knee on the floor before Jewel.

    It was a place that was well within reach of her teeth if she lowered her neck.

    That was either a sign of trust, ignorance or greater subservience.

    Most of the nobles in Kaeketeh stopped shy of being in immediate biting range.

    ¡°I thank you for this audience, My Countess Jewel of House Rochford, Lady of Kaeketeh and Valasect, Shining Wyrm of Viznove.¡±

    Jewel held her face precisely as her mother had trained her.

    Dignified and above shock or surprise.

    But within she felt some estimation rising of this Lord Simon.

    Most of the less attentive nobles made the mistake of calling her the Countess Bathory, or otherwise favoring Elizabeth¡¯s house over Jewel¡¯s father when trying to spread the titles thick with courtesies.

    Someone had been paying attention to the news of earlier meetings in Jewel¡¯s court.

    ¡°State your business for the court of Viznove Lord-son Simon.¡±

    The man kept his head lowered, his knee still bent to keep his head unnecessarily low. Jewel towered over all her subjects, they did not need to try so hard.

    But the decorum was appreciated.

    ¡°I am the second son of House Ogien, but my own first born son has now survived his second winter and is healthy. With the full support of my father as head of House Ogien I am here to offer terms of betrothal between your child immaculate, Gem of Rochford and House Bathory. To wed my son Lukas the 2nd of House Ogien, upon the time that he reaches majority.¡±

    He said all of that with a practiced voice which carried into the near empty hall.

    Jewel very nearly lost her composure.

    She had only just finished her own wedding barely more than a year ago!

    But long practice and the need to not shame her family and the responsibility of her station kept her poised. Only the faintest fluttering twitch of her wing fingers fidgeting at the tips.

    She focused on the situation, this was a proper offering and it would secure alliances. But She could still hardly even speak as Gem. And she already had a husband! But at the same time, a more secure alliance with her sworn vassals?

    No, this was too much and too fast, nevermind she was not even a year into her reign.

    Still to outright refuse immediately would be an insult all the same.

    Jewel spoke with a tight grip on her throat and breath.

    This was not the business she wanted to be dealing with on a day in court she had not even been expecting to have yesterday!

    ¡°The Court of Viznove and your Countess has heard the offer of Betrothal to bind the houses of Rochford and Ogien as one by ties of marriage. I will consider your offer with all due deliberation, Expect a response in four days time.¡±

    He did not lift his eyes from the floor before her the entire time she spoke.

    ¡°I thank you for your consideration my Countess, I will return to hear your judgment in four days.¡±

    And only then did he rise from his knee. Jewel noted he almost managed it without even a quiver of strain in his calves. But the tremor was there, Jewel made a mental note for when he returned in four days to insist he stand after giving the necessary gestures.

    She did not want the man to suffer unduly while she refused the Ogien family¡¯s offer.

    After another bow and a departure the next meeting was announced by her crier.

    ¡°Presenting, Freewoman Slavom¨ªra, Spinstress of the Weavers and Spinners Guild, Resident of the Noble Isle of Kaeketeh.¡±

    Jewel did not groan, but she very much wanted to.

    The Weavers and Spinners Guild had been finding every possible courteous way to ask that she march down into one of their warehouses and spin them a king¡¯s ransom worth of ¡®wyrmspun thread¡¯ since they confirmed that Jewel was the source of the highly prized variant of Rochford wool.

    It was never an outright demand, but the insistence of it was such that Jewel had been dreading ever agreeing to such ¡®leisurely circles¡¯ that had been offered despite how she might have once welcomed it.

    The strong backed and silver haired woman in a heavy woolen dress and knitted shawl they had sent today looked like she was more of the same.

    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    ¡°A fine first Vah Thaw to you Countess Jewel.¡±

    The old woman did bow, but the titles given and the tone were all at the bare limits of the courtesies.

    Jewel looked down at the woman before inquiring.

    ¡°What can the Court of Viznove do for you Freewoman Slavom¨ªra? or is this on guild business?¡±

    At least this one didn''t bother to fake a smile, she had a firm line and a bright light to her eye. The look on her face matched with the scent of the woman. A hint of apprehension and fear. But determination and intensity also billowed free from her skin.

    ¡°Guild business, and of an immediately urgent sort for the good of Kaeketeh but eventually concerning the well being of all of Viznove¡±

    Jewel caught on that, there was an intensity there. A genuine concern and tension. Jewel found herself leaning forward.

    ¡°Indeed? What grave concern do you bring for your Countess?¡±

    Slavom¨ªra took a visible moment to brace herself before turning her eyes to face Jewel straight on.

    ¡°Is it true that the Countess Jewel is intending to remain in Kaeketeh through onto the summer harvest festival?¡±

    Jewel blinked a moment but nodded.

    ¡°It is so, the troubles of Kaeketeh are such I do not foresee things being resolved until at least that time. Then I shall be traveling to the Capital of the realm to affirm Viznove¡¯s obligations as a vassal of the Realm of Cantor Reborn.¡±

    The woman¡¯s eyes did not leave Jewel¡¯s.

    ¡°And this will not allow you time to return to Rochford or Valasect at all through the year? Not even for a few days?¡±

    Jewel blinked a bit, the woman smelled worried. Almost fearful but also resigned.

    ¡°No, I do not expect it would be proper as your countess or lady to abandon the city until such that I could ensure it was secure. What is the meaning of this inquiry freewoman Slavom¨ªra? What business does the Guild of Weavers and Spinners have with whether I visit home this year? ¡±

    In answer the woman said something which surprised Jewel.

    ¡°Please I beg all forgiveness but if the Countess should be able to return home to her demesne in Valasect she will see to her responsibilities there and it will be as before her assumptions of the office of Countess and her seat here in Kaeketeh? Even if only for a season?¡±

    Jewel felt greatly off balance. The guilds had so far simpered and scraped and faked pleasantries and so many other things to make her life an absolute trial until now.

    But this woman was very nearly badgering Jewel with questions.

    Still it was honestly better than the constant false cordiality.

    ¡°Yes, if by some star-sent miracle the people of Kaeketeh, gate town and the docks included could be assured peace. I''d enjoy a good season or two home to see to my responsibilities in Valasect.¡±

    The woman before Jewel did not smile, there was no triumph but the scent of relief washing off her betrayed the hard face. The slightly stronger inhale through her nose suggested Jewel had somehow misstepped.

    ¡°The Weavers and Spinners guild pledges that the streets of Kaeketeh will be safe enough for your respite by Spring Seeding.¡±

    Jewel could not maintain her composure, but the woman simply continued.

    ¡°We will see by then that even a blind babe wearing a king¡¯s ransom in finery can walk into the darkest alley of gatetown and come out with a sweet in their cheek and a pocket full of Pfennig for the trouble.¡±

    Jewel boggled. What was this insanity?!

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry what?¡±

    Slavom¨ªra only nodded sharply.

    ¡°Expect a representative from the Merchant¡¯s guild to meet with your captain by the end of the day to see that every resource and guard available between our businesses is put to the task. They should have plenty of escorts waiting to tend to caravans available¡±

    Jewel gave up on all appearances of nobility, the absolute bafflement overwhelming her courtesies and position.

    ¡°No, explain, what do you want for all of this?! What does this have to do with the well being of Viznove?¡±

    The Spinstress looked up at Jewel carefully then nodded.

    ¡°Keep the tax on Wyrmspun cloth and crafts made of it the same for the rest of this year, go home in time for the shearing in Valasect and do whatever wyrmish sorcery or pacts with the stars goes into the making of that ridiculous wool of yours countess. This is my only request.¡±

    Jewel stared down at the woman expression slack, two guilds were willing to suddenly throw all of their support behind her in stabilizing the city so she would go home and spin?!

    Not even asking that she gave them any of it.

    Just go home and do something she honestly had wanted to do for most of this awful year?

    The first smile Jewel had seen on the woman¡¯s face slowly began to curl pale lips.

    ¡°The death of the Bloody Countess and your assumption of the county has thrown a panic through our lands and far beyond down the Vah. You¡¯ve been making the finest woolen thread in all known realms for years. There are those that have come to expect it even, But for seasons every scrap of this fanciful fabric abroad is long since gone.¡±

    The smile grew teeth, they were surprisingly sharp and predatory.

    ¡°The price has only grown as the desperate and the rich scramble for what scraps they can get. Mockeries and imitations have cropped up, garments are being harvested and seams undone to refashion those already made.¡±

    Jewel boggled down at the woman.

    ¡°If the Countess simply returns home for a time to recover and enjoy the fine sheep stinking air and spin some of her provincial thread happily away from all these scheming idiots she finds so offensive? Well the countess could charge twice the tax on Valasect wool and every merchant in Kaeketeh could live for a decade on their profits from this year simply from knowing it was coming.¡±

    The woman laughed.

    ¡°So a pledge for a pledge? If the Countess promises to not raise the tax on Wyrmspun Valasect wool by a single Pfennig on the Grosz for this year only I can promise you the most peaceful and secure city in the entire realm before spring ends.¡±

    Jewel could not stop the scowl from coming to her face.

    The cheating peddler woman was playing a trick.

    Cheating her from the worth of wool Jewel had not even spun yet.

    Sheep that had not even been shorn.

    It left a nasty taste spitting and hissing in her Wyrmflame.

    But Jewel sighed, it was too much to hope that when spring fully broke the peace of winter would last.

    It would be years before Muriel thought that the Kaeketeh Guard could match what once was done by Bathory¡¯s Men. The offer was a bargain that Jewel could not in good conscience refuse.

    Getting two guilds backing the guard fully?

    Not just performing a few raids with armed near-bandit guild members or simply patrolling the streets looking for trouble?

    But proper trained guardsmen?

    All for the price of Jewel returning home and otherwise doing nothing else but what she had resigned herself to having to go without? She felt like she would regret this, but the very thought that it might bring peace to the city sooner?

    ¡°I will not depart for home until the city is secure and the people, waifs included are safe and settled.¡±

    Slavom¨ªra nodded sharply and offered a hand up to Jewel.

    ¡°A pledge then?¡±

    Jewel coiled and twisted until her own arm could reach and her claw could clasp around the Spinstress¡¯ own hand.

    The claws squeezing as gently as the wyrm could.

    Even touching the brittle bones and thin flesh felt like it might be too much.

    This woman felt like she was made of paper and twigs.

    ¡°If the guilds can deliver peace by the end of the first spring season, Viznove can wait until the next year to evaluate what a fair tithe on the sale and shipping of Wyrmspun Wool should be.¡±

    And with that the woman turned and left even before she was dismissed!

    Jewel felt a flutter of hope in her flame, but soon smothered it back.

    Settling back at her place at the head of the hallway.

    ¡°Crier, call the next audience.¡±

    She hoped she had not made a terrible mistake.

    But the very thought of her home?

    The chance to take a proper bath again?!

    Jewel had to take it.

 10.7

    10.7

    As she made her way down the frigid streets of Kaeketeh on its first day of ¡®spring¡¯ Slavom¨ªra wished her mother was alive to see this. She wanted to scream to the pale overcast sky and its slushy downpour that could not quite seem to settle on if it should be rain or snow.

    ¡°Look at me now Mother! Is this enough glory for you?!¡±

    Slavom¨ªra¡¯s mother named her for their supposed noble roots. Some king or queen who once ruled lands in the north eastern valley of the Ridgetail Mountain¡¯s vault.

    Glory of the land indeed.

    She wanted to leap into the slushy puddles of muck and shit like she had not since she was a child too young for anything but a simple infant¡¯s smock.

    But well intentioned or ambitious as her mother might have been, the Spinstress somehow managed to disappoint the woman until the day the old bat had died. Slavom¨ªra had at the only thing the matriarch of her family wanted.

    The Spinstress had not taken up a beau despite her mother¡¯s urgings.

    She had produced no grandchildren.

    That business seemed plenty handled by her younger sisters, Slavom¨ªra instead concerned herself with the business of keeping food on the table, wood in their hearth and a roof solidly over their heads.

    Still she wondered if this is what it felt like to have a new life growing in your belly. Was this wondrous joy what her sisters knew as their children grew? Ofcourse she loved her nieces and nephews.

    She doted on them even more than she had her sisters growing up.

    But was this fresh joy as light as that? The way it made her want to dance despite all decorum and hard earned respect of her station?

    Was a feeling like this what drove so many women to be mothers?

    Was this triumphant future opening before her mind¡¯s eye like a breaking dawn filling her up with a fiery joy what she had been named for? Was there some patron star in the heavens above that had been waiting until this ordained time for Slavom¨ªra to rise at last?

    Not that mother seemed as concerned about that as she should have been.

    The poor woman had worked such hours that the only reason her fingers didn''t bleed from the spinning was because the tips were tougher than leather from their calluses.

    Why it was only okay for her mother to work so hard for her family? the Spinstress never understood. She was the eldest, Father had died on the street when she was four. Which was the only reason Mother was in the Weaver and Spinners guild to begin with.

    But what had been a defeat and a failure for her mother was a triumph for her daughter.

    And said daughter now strode with purpose, pace fluid, shoulders back and resisting with every fiber of her being the bubbling joy that made her want to spin in the street and swish out her skirt like a debutante at a noble¡¯s feast. She could not of course, the Spinstress was a respected elder of her guild, one of her station did not spin in the street like a child.

    She was no longer a little girl following her mother into guild work after all,

    Slavom¨ªra suspected she had only been allowed to apprentice with the guild because her mother had thought perhaps one of the clerks or other male guild members would get her pregnant and force a marriage in a moment of youthful passion.

    Now a mistress of the very institution her mother had turned too out of tragedy. She swept open the door of the guild house for the Spinner and Weavers Guild.

    No such passion had ever come and Slavom¨ªra had remained in the guild, working first as a simple assistant carrying wool, flax or making twine and rope. Then as a proper spinner, and at last a full weaver. By the time she was twenty five and her mother had just about given up on Slavom¨ªra ever taking a man and they had moved into a fine house in midtown on the money she made as one of the heads of the guild.

    And shouldn''t it have been enough?!

    Her sisters had grown to adulthood with clothes so fine they were courted by men above their station and little Jarka even was taken on as the wife of a fourth son of a baron!

    Those two occasionally had to travel south to the Light¡¯s End port where the Vah spilled out into the great underlake beneath the southmost Ridgetails. But most of the time business with the Countess and her court had kept them in Kaeketeh.

    Slavom¨ªra grinned in the warmth of the guildhall¡¯s entry.

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    Ultha the novice clerk that had the looping letters of a noble upbringing but the hands and build of a mason shivered at the bite of the freezing wind let in from the outside. But he was bright eyed when he saw her face.

    Chort, one of the apprentices who was just about trust worthy enough to spin the good wool, turned from where she had probably been trying to flirt with the block headed scribe.

    Of the two of them the eleven year old girl was first to get the words out.

    ¡°Head Spinstress Slavom¨ªra! What news of the Countess?! Did you secure the deal?¡±

    Slavom¨ªra sighed at the girl, what she saw in the oaf that was nearly half again her own age and four times her weight in over built muscle she would never understand but a surprising number of the members of the apprentices and full Spinstresses of the guild were smitten with the boy.

    Still this was the guild, her guild! The apprentice and clerk, Slavom¨ªra had known both of them since they were practically babes.

    Her voice was sharp with authority and threat.

    ¡°If either of you spread word of this your time in the guild is over, I will see you thrown to the streets to starve. Do you understand? Not a word.¡±

    Properly mollified both of them nodded hard, and the warning drew a curious face leaning in to see what the commotion was. Slavom¨ªra let the joy of the moment fill her voice then, the way it was threatening to crack open her face with how wide she wanted to smile.

    ¡°We¡¯ve got it! She won¡¯t spin it in our halls but the hags and buffoons that thought we would ever get the countess herself into our guild were fools. I¡¯ve secured the production of Wyrmspun wool this year. As long as we get our partners in the Merchant¡¯s guild to get it out of Valasect we are going to be drowning in silver!¡±

    Chort blinked at that, her wide green eyes seeming to grow even larger. The slits of her pupils widening in the way that disquieted some.

    The apprentice had seemed a poor fit for the guild at first.

    Until they realized that she just needed to know how to hold the spindle for her build, once the girl got going she could bring even the poorest quality fiber into a fine thread. When Chort was older with the speed of her hands and eyes like that she would be a fiend with the loom.

    ¡°How¡¯d you secure that Head Spinstress?!¡±

    Slavom¨ªra finally let loose the joy that had been bubbling inside since she got out of the meeting that would define her very life. The laughter punctuated her words.

    ¡°That¡¯s the best part, All we have to do is get this fetid city out of her way!¡±

    That seemed to confuse the two youths, really practically children.

    But then again their new Countess was younger than Ultha.

    It was really simplicity itself.

    ¡°Our new Countess would love nothing better than to go home and spin a fortune for the guilds.¡±

    Slavom¨ªra had managed to pull through in Kaeketeh under the fear of the bloody countess. She had grown into a woman when other girls went missing.

    And now the new countess was a giant speaking serpent who could defeat armies and spin admittedly fine Rochford wool into thread and cloth that was cool in summer, warm in winter and shed mud and grease like the filth was terrified it would offend the thread¡¯s creator.

    Her own dress had only underclothes of the fabulous wyrmspun wool and it barely even needed to be beaten in the wash to come away clean and fresh!

    Over the years every scrap of wyrmspun wool in Viznove had eventually come through Kaeketeh and her guild.

    Slavom¨ªra had known what they had as soon as she felt it in her fingers.

    But such magic was a fluke normally.

    You got one or two enchanted skeins of wool, or flax, or some one brought in a treasured scrap of an elf-silk heirloom older than the foundations of the city.

    Slavom¨ªra and any guild or merchant treasured, hoarded and rarely parceled such things out when they came. Selling to lords and kings for exorbitant prices only.

    Yet the sorcerous wyrmspun wool kept coming.

    It might not be as perfect as a faewoven cloak. But unlike those astounding artifacts it was consistent. It was workable by mere mortal hands, and it kept its properties even when you cut and portioned it out.

    The threads could be used to make a stitch stronger than anything that had ever passed Slavom¨ªra¡¯s fingers before.

    And there was enough of it for minor nobles and rich tradesmen to afford it.

    The peasants in Rochford all were clothed in the stuff!

    Slavom¨ªra was close with the Merchant¡¯s guild. And she had a good head for sums. A single commission to the countess for yards of the richest cloth might be enough money to eat for years.

    But selling to the commoners and lower nobles was the kind of silver that had let Slavom¨ªra drag her family out of the filth of gate town and into the auspices of their fine midtown house.

    And then there was how the fabric and thread traveled down the River Vah and to the realms beyond.

    Silver soon flowed back up the river.

    There had already been a full year where that flow had been interrupted.

    The world beyond Viznove had gotten a taste of truly accessible magic.

    And now it was left hungering for its next bite.

    Ravenously starving for the blessing to return.

    Slavom¨ªra grinend so wide.

    Countess Jewel of house Rochford was practically spinning wool into gold and didn''t yet realize it.

    Even one year with it taxed as it had been would be all Slavom¨ªra ever needed.

 10.8

    10.8

    She had not believed it was possible, she was headed home in Spring Seeding!

    Jewel was quite certain there was none of the distinct and clear cuts that marked a miracle or other divine interruption.

    But in spite of the wyrm¡¯s careful watch no miracles were involved. The guild head Slavom¨ªra in fact did deliver on the promise of peace in Kaeketeh. Not only that but the Weaver and Spinners guild had been volunteering an almost constant presence amongst the common law court!

    The Merchant¡¯s guild and their near army of mercenaries and watchful men and women had formed up with Jewel¡¯s still nascent Kaeketeh Guard. In an arrangement closest to that of levy and footmen. As the numbers swelled with good veteran eyes trained to watch for thieves and bandits?

    Experienced men at both foreign city streets and long roads through wilderness?

    It was such a solid boon that Muriel was actually taking aside some of the most experienced guards among the Merchant¡¯s guild to assist in training in proper wakefulness and attention for long postings.

    And even more valuable than guardsmen the Merchant¡¯s guild opened their staff of clerks and lawyers to the courts of Kaeketeh and the training of the new guardians of the peace. Muriel and Paul still needed to oversee and test the loyalty and judgment of the recruits. But the burden of training being lessened had free¡¯d up the captain¡¯s time immensely.

    Muriel was not attending Jewel to Valasect sadly, but she did not mind.

    Jewel¡¯s husband had also pleaded to stay behind in Kaeketeh. Which stung as a bit improper but he had insisted that since Smithson had to go with Jewel and Gem he was best as her voice in matters of court and law.

    With all but Smithson and those footmen Muriel had sent home with Jewel it was a very sparse party traveling the far more soggy road to Rochford & Valasect.

    Dariusz and his family were almost a third of the retinue!

    But really it was not like there was any risk from bandits or lair spawn with The Shining Wyrm of Viznove defending against danger!

    Jewel¡¯s open wings offer what relief to her household she can. Shielding them from the near constant showers of spring in Viznove. The mud of the road caked Ox hoof up to the shin from the splashes and most everyone else had taken to riding. Jewel took up the extra burden of packs so they could still make good time without killing the horses.

    The sound of the rain left a lot of time to think, the way it roared down out of the sky drowning out all but Jewel¡¯s voice or a throat straining yell for anyone else. She considered the finances of the deal.

    Of what the promised price for Slavom¨ªra¡¯s involvement was?

    Well Jewel had agreed to not raise the tithe on wool, but only for this year! And it was a good thing she had too! After Jewel had gotten hold of the receipts that wyrmspun wool was trading for?!

    The cost of a single garment made even partially of Rochford wool tended by Jewel¡¯s touch would cost almost ten Grosz! If it was entirely cut of full Wyrmspun cloth the prices the Merchant¡¯s guild had recorded abroad could easily approach two Knight¡¯s Mark or more in wool alone!

    Nevermind the clothier¡¯s commission!

    At such prices the taxes on the guild in Kaeketeh were still going to make for a sizable portion of Jewel¡¯s income this year!

    Looking at the figures and sums, the endless pestering to have Jewel spin wool with the Spinners and Weavers¡¯ guild started to make a bit more sense. It also made the pledge Jewel had made to not adjust the taxes for just one more year far more understandable. This was an absolutely ruinous amount of silver that was not going to Viznove.

    Silver that quite literally came from Jewel¡¯s own labor.

    But she consoled herself, her lessons in stewardship assured Jewel the silver was not in fact leaving Viznove. The guilds were still part of her domain.

    And at the same time what it had bought her? With the patrols bolstered by the Merchant¡¯s and their mercenaries? With the buy-in from every other guild that could even begin to benefit from this arrangement?

    The Clothier¡¯s and Leatherworkers guild (Why were clothiers not in a guild with the Spinners and Weavers?!) had waived the price of repairs and stitching for any men or women serving in lawful patrols. Jewel had not been present for it but Paul said there were agreements to discount the wool that passed through the Weavers and Spinners guild to them.

    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    It was all incredibly confusing, at once it felt like the guilds had found some way to steal from Jewel her labors!

    But in another way it filled her flame with a sparking pride.

    Before she had even assumed her position as Countess Jewel was already enriching her people. And it was not through her acts during war!

    Jewel took a heavy breath and flushed her flame out through her entire body as she felt a foot start to sink past her elbow in the mire that had become of the road. A shifting coil and a quick call out to her party stalled the march.

    ¡°Hold! The mud is too deep to risk the horses here.¡±

    As Jewel pulled her hand free of the muck it moved and slid off her scales in a familiar way.

    A wide smile split her lips to reveal the shine of teeth.

    Dariusz brought his own horse (claimed from the Kaeketeh stables) unsteadily besides Jewel. He was not a well practiced rider. He spoke with a voice strained by the downpour.

    ¡°Can we go around?¡±

    Jewel laughed, and shook her head. There would be no need for that at all, although her friend was clearly really enjoying their theatrics.

    Well two could play at such frivolity.

    She spoke a word, a name, a feeling but barely at all a sound.

    Reeds blowing in a storm, rivers meeting thick choking roots and dropping heavy silt.

    It poured out of the wyrm¡¯s throat and echoed and joined the sound of the storm, echoing in it, filling the already laden scent of petrichor with the stronger hint of wyrmflame just burned.

    Jewel called out to the air, to the wetness in it, the subtle crawling feel of the air that she had slowly become very familiar with. The presence that had been swirling in the muddy puddle that had blocked their path

    And unlike how they appeared in places dry and barren of the swamps and mud of their element, Tsulogothulan slid out of a sheet of rain. As if it was a curtain or a simple passageway. Eye already fully formed and body and wide brimmed ¡®hat¡¯ splaying out and almost ruffling like feathers.

    ¡°Did my absolutely favorite lady and countess of Viznove call?¡±

    Jewel fixed her friend with a performative glare and a scolding tone with not a hint of malice.

    ¡°I¡¯m glad you are in a good mood friend, and I presume the work went well despite your delays but did you have to undercut the entire road with a mire to announce yourself?¡±

    The Weird of bogs laughed, a chorus of croaking frogs calling out loud enough to overwhelm the sound of rain splashing in puddles and leaves of the forest. The wet sucking of mud at feet closing off the sound as Tsulogothulan ¡®caught their breath¡¯.

    ¡°Of course! I am a weird and a sorcerer both my Lady, and blessings and thanks upon you! The working has taken very well indeed! The banks of the Ogien have widened and the shores churned over and wide with reeds and mire! I even left the side with the city properly deep to save on complaints for you!¡±

    Jewel nodded at that, it was good news. The messengers from Baron Ogien had been thankful that sorcery was being performed as promised, but the time it took had been longer than Tsulogothulan had initially promised.

    ¡°So is the work finally done? Or is this just a short reprieve to say hello? I¡¯m actually making my way to Valasect to enjoy a few of the summer seasons.¡±

    Her friend¡¯s eye glittered and shined under their wide brimmed hat, the pouring rain cascading around the brim of their ¡®garment¡¯ in curtains that shimmered like a column of ice so smooth was their flow. Only a small gap letting the violet gaze peer out.

    ¡°Oh?! Matters in your little city are settling out sooner? I was in fact just finished and turned to seeking you, but surprise here you are barely a pleasant two jaunts from my new shores!¡±

    Jewel nodded.

    ¡°Yes, and if you are finished with your service could you offer us another so I can get my party indoors before they melt in this rain?¡±

    Jewel¡¯s wings did a decent job held out like this to keep her entourage mostly unmolested by water.

    But the heavy air and the splash of mud and occasional billowing wind still got past just enough to make it more of a dampness than proper dry. Gem especially had to stay bundled up so intensely in front of Smithson that you could not see anything but the tip of her nose.

    The Weird of Bogs laughed again with a chorus of frogs and then the mud and mire swelled up around Jewel and the horses. Surprising Dariusz and his family by their shouts.

    Jewel offered her reassurance.

    ¡°Do not fret my charges, the sorcery will not harm you and we will be swiftly taken to our next lodgings! The good Weird Tsulogothulan will even wick away the damp and mud from your garments when we arrive!¡±

    That caught a glare of annoyance from the mentioned Weird but Jewel simply smiled and started skipping along on the swell of thick mud that was now ferrying them along the road.

    Served her friend right for nearly getting poor Oxhoof¡¯s leg broken!

    Apparently an excited weird was a slightly less considerate one.

    Tsulogothulan murmured in the churn of the raindrops.

    ¡°So did anything of note happen while I was splaying the banks of the feisty river Ogien into a wide and wholesome thing deep in the trough?¡±

    Jewel laughed, remembering what her husband had said when he found out the Weird was not present over winter.

    ¡°Oh my friend, where do I even begin?¡±

 10.9

    10.9

    Dariusz sometimes wondered what his life would be like if he didn''t take up the offer to serve the Shining Wyrm of Viznove as her master of kitchens.

    He certainly would never have learned what it was like to ride a horse as it was swaddled in mud like a feral cat restrained in a blanket. The way that the forest rushed past as a living river of earth and water sapped away the heat of his body.

    He, his wife and his dear children would never have learned what it was like to have that same cold, clinging, living swamp drag free of their skins like a sucking mouth as it drained every scrap of water and dirt off of their bodies and clothes. Leaving them cleaner in its passing then they had been setting out that morning.

    Dry but not at all warm.

    He probably would have still gotten to see a dragon joke with the inhuman black mass of a cyclops that smelled faintly of rotten eggs and heavily of cloying earth.

    His employer loved his mother¡¯s inn and her cooking. He probably would have eventually been in the tavern when Jewel came through. But he likely would have been at least a few steps distant from it.

    Dariusz however wouldn''t have been given the authority of a countess as her favored kitchen master to tell those at the very peak of his craft and well above him in any sane station how to prepare a stew! The very fact that Jewel had expected him to side with her in denying the Kaeketeh tradition of baked sweets?!

    That given his position Dariusz probably could do that?

    It was a heady feeling.

    His family had some means.

    His mother owned her inn¡¯s walls and roof outright (but not the land of course) and was esteemed enough to serve barons. The business with Jewel¡¯s family even before she became countess of all Viznove had made them a great deal of silver and earned acclaim.

    The bathing service that had been prepared for Jewel years ago was now in fact a very popular business in its own right for most of the year.

    His mother was very proud of the fine new stone building that had been made after the second year. An amenity available with a night¡¯s stay or that charged separately if guests had not monopolized it.

    Dariusz considered all of this as he cooked in a kitchen that was not his own again. Seeing to the proper seasoning and making of his family recipe, with modifications. The hearth had been piled high with firewood that was paid for out of his Countess¡¯ purse.

    The extra ingredients and even the accommodations had also been fairly paid for.

    It was all around better than his employer strictly had too.

    All of Viznove was technically Jewel¡¯s property. Every building owes rent or tithe to her eventually.

    Even the lords held their titles under a lease of vassalage despite their hereditary titles. That was the technical legality of it. But after he¡¯d listened to the staff in Kaeketeh and the gossip around that keep?

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.After coming into late evening meetings with a full pot of stew where he saw Jewel haggling with a noble like his wife at the market?

    Dariusz and his family were not serfs. They paid their fee on the property to Lord Petra. His mother was proud of that although some times Dariusz thought it would be easier to have taken up the offer of servitude to Jewel.

    Simply having a budget to purchase goods and being assured room, lodging and labor for the rest of his and his family¡¯s life? Tied their lives to the land and title of the now Countess?

    The simplicity of that had an appeal.

    It would have saved rent on the rooms his family used and it''s not like they were not following Jewel everywhere she went.

    But technically his contract with Jewel simply subtracted his rent due from every tenth¡¯s day pay he was given. And furthermore he was only paying rent on a room left empty in Valasect. Even when he and his family were occupying a full noble¡¯s guest room in the Kaeketeh keep he paid the same!

    If he and his wife were not working for Jewel?

    Well they would probably be running a stew house for travelers out of their window in the old home they had rented before his mother pushed him into a meeting with a dragon.

    The hand on his shoulder almost made him jump.

    But the familiar touch of the fingers calmed him before his shoulders could do more than tense.

    ¡°If you stir that pot any longer it will be a spoon soup as much as calf and vegetable stew. The lady¡¯s portion should be done enough so we can make a meal of it right?¡±

    Dariusz turned to smile with a strained wince to Eryka.

    Her smile was warm but also just as strained.

    ¡°Atleast little Cibor had a good time with it?¡±

    Their son did not turn when he was mentioned, staying intent on his task. But his father could see the slight tension in his neck.

    Dariusz leaned over to get a better look at where his eldest son was washing up the cutting board. Already sure and confident with a knife. His next oldest Jela was packing up what supplies would not be needed for tomorrow¡¯s breakfast.

    She was prone to distraction but could also be trusted to cut vegetables and the easier portions from a butcher too. The twins (his youngest) were still a bit too young for knife work but they were good at the wash and at just the right age to be especially eager to assist in anything their parents were doing.

    If he had not taken on the job to work for the now Countess of Viznove could all of them have worked like this for so long?

    ¡°I think you''re right dear, let''s get the portions for the lady and her party out then.¡±

    He and his wife took up position and then hefted the pot that would serve their employer, lady and countess. They had both grown strong under the constant exercise of the endeavor. Cibor and Jela bring up bowls to scoop portions for two far more reasonable servings and one small one with just broth and meat to serve little Gem.

    ¡°And then we can tuck in with the footmen? I¡¯m dying to try some of that peppered stag we were roasting!¡±

    His children cheered and across from him Eryka smiled while she carried her share of the stew pot¡¯s burden. After several hours of the warmth of cooking on a day that had seemed like it would be a miserable slog in wet and cold?

    Dariusz Ho?ankason came to a silent conclusion of his own wandering musings.

    He was happy with his employment to the Countess Rochford.

    Lady Jewel was a fine and fair lady.

    And her sheer appetite meant that there was plenty of work for his entire family in the kitchen without fear of it risking their livelihood.

    As he and his wife carried the steaming pot of stew that was only possible because they arrived three hours ahead of sundown?

    Dariusz thanked his stars for the blessing that was Jewel.

 10.i

    10.i

    The subject continues to express a capacity of sorcery and other acumen unheard of by any mortal practitioner.

    As noted earlier the subject presents a considerable capacity for language. Although not universal, it appears erratically and randomly, but with such a completeness it must be some form of sorcery.

    To date the subject has shown fluency in old cantor (in written form) and the local dialect of the Ridgevualic languages, as well as immediate fluency in Uloghai (of which until now only one speaker still lived).

    However there is a frustrating and inconsistent nature to fluency in knowledge of the speaking of language. It has been proved that the subject was uncomprehending of the southwestern dialect of the Freemen due to observations made and testimony there of.

    Although even in freemanish the subjects recites the sounds perfectly despite incomprehension.<sup>2</sup>

    What the common ground between which languages are understood by the subject and which are not remains elusive. Furthermore are the peculiarities which surround the subject when divinity is involved! And on this deeper findings have been made and verified.

    Unfortunately the first indication of this peculiarity was initially missed entirely.<sup>1</sup>

    It appears that in most cases of direct divine intervention, perception or even communication the subject and possibly all other Tyrant wyrms is inviolate. This nature has its outliers, the Veles is a known divinity and has conversed repeatedly while wearing a sanctified man.

    It is however so far consistent outside this one case.

    The Veles as a deity from my study holds strong associations with mountains, earth and springs. Such elements for the uneducated (as I was) are most commonly associated with old wyrm cults, which may be a factor in the difference between the nature of the Veles and its interaction with the subject vs other Star born.

    Further study will be needed on precisely what the relationship between Wyrms and the divine are. This researcher marks the recommendation to form an expedition with a priest or monk to engage with a feral wyrm and invoke a deity to verify how widespread this property is.

    In addition to these findings however is the far more important revelation.

    Another widespread working has been made by the subject!

    Furthermore this act also has finally verified a quantifiable and comparable limit on acts of sorcery for at least a younger specimen of the progressively inaccurate description of Tyrant Wyrm.

    By her own admittance it can be said that the complete transformation of eight hundred men (without disrupting the mind, character or memory thereof at all!) is comparable to a true expenditure of the power previously described by the subject as Wyrmflame.

    In all previous examples of workings and even the release of the flame anathema in quantities sufficient to annihilate thousands of soldiers a full recovery of ¡®wyrmflame¡¯ has been observed in less than a day. But the expenditure to permanently transform (however incredibly unintrusive and functional the result might be) proved to leave an impact on the stated reserves of the subject for an entire winter following the working!

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    This is the first indication of a proper boundary to the powers of the subject, Until now Sorcerous workings have consistently been performed that would strain a Weird anywhere but their own domain or otherwise prepared ground.

    But as already noted<sup>2</sup>  the subject has not even noticed any but an immediate strain on their abilities in such cases.

    Furthermore the transformation is incredible in how little was changed!

    Across the subjects that have been observed, full mental facilities, disposition, memory (in some cases even improved beyond what existed previously!), physical strength (despite reduced size, apparent build and weight!) and senses have more or less remained completely intact across the threshold of the working!

    Furthermore, although it would be best for one with a closer truth to verify (alas our contact with an expert in the truth of blood and flesh has been severed) by my own examination the ensorceled are genuinely younger in more than appearance!

    When compared to the closest comparable workings of my own truth and that of others known to me in the circle, a transformation which preserved even one of these aspects of a target completely would be noteworthy<sup>3</sup> .

    But to have all of them, with only the salient goals enacted?

    It speaks to a depth of precision and agility in the formation of sorcery that has henceforth not been fully exposed until now. As mentioned previously there has been evidence that a Sorcerous Wyrm can enact forms and changes which were at the limits of any other mortal practitioner.

    Observation and study of both the enacting of such wyrmish sorcery and the products of its working should continue!

    In addition to this while obligations of the contract of fealty required this researcher''s attention elsewhere a further sorcerous activity occurred and was conveyed anecdotally.

    The presence of a sufficiently devoted population in close proximity to the subject acting with the intent for revelry has been noted by the subject to have a sufficient impact on the facilities<sup>4</sup> of the Tyrant wyrm that an avoidance of such conditions was sought out.

    While this phenomena was unfortunately not directly observed by this author the subject spoke of feeling what this researcher surmises as a wild ritual of some sort acting on and filling their wyrmflame.

    Whether this is caused by the aforementioned depleted reserves or would occur even if the subject was ¡®full¡¯ on Wyrmflame is a matter of speculation.

    This author will request a chance to observe the subject during the next opportunity to investigate the phenomena directly for clarity.

    1 See the attached description of the first encounter with the subject and the early dawning miracle of the Silver Lady. The Wedding in Kaeketeh Incident, notes on the tree mother of Valasect and the transcripts of discussion with the Veles.

    2 See attached transcripts from the first summer festival dance, the aftermath of the war and slaying of the Weird of Fortresses, the working during the funeral services to said weird and the notes on the properties of Rochford Wyrmspun Wool and its enchantment.

    3 For practitioners and readers unfamiliar see the Argumentation between Jaksa the Red, Fizzbunches of the Alleys and Urul the Written on the shaping of mortal flesh. The numerous faults and failings which can befall a living creature under shaping by sorcery are too numerous to enumerate here.

    4 To quote the subject ¡°It made me act like mother after an entire day diving to the bottom of her cups¡±

    -Research Notes of Tsulogothulan Weird of the Uloghai Bog on the nature of the Tyrant Wyrm.

 10.ii

    10.ii

    The Shepherd can also recognize the weather by much better and more subtle signs than animals, for each day he must, at a suitable time, go out in the fields to lead his ewes to pasture.

    When Phoebus, who is by his brilliance lights up the whole world, shows himself in the morning in the east, the shepherd sees him turn and go all day in his round, making his course in raising himself toward the south (which some call Auster) and then dropping down little by little in the west.

    In making this course in our vault, he is drawn in a most rich and most noble chariot by four great and powerful steeds of such great value that no mortal man could calculate their worth.

    One of these noble steeds that draws the sun is named Eo¨¹s and he comes just at dawn, near the hour of tierce. Because these fine steeds appear in many colors, the shepherd should take note that if Eo¨¹s  appears red and fiery in the morning, this means rain and changing weather.

    If he appears more white, this is the sign of a fine day.

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    Travelers who wend their way are joyful when they see it.

    After him comes the second horse, named Etho¨¹s, who performs his duty for the sun near the hour of noon. When he appears with a pale color, that is the sign of a fine day.

    After noon the third horse attached to the noble chariot of the sun does service: this horse is named Pyro¨¹s. With his coming, the huge shining eyes of powerful Pyro¨¹s rekindle and flash so that human creatures cannot look on him for long. It is then that the bats do not fly because they cannot bear or endure such a great and noble light that is thrown out by the coming of the sun¡¯s rays as it makes its course.

    When these two horses Etho¨¹s and Pyro¨¹s, are too hot and fiery, they draw vapors from the earth and from the water by their great power and heat and make them rise in the air.

    If these vapors are raised up and not dissipated by any evaporation, they gather and turn into clouds formed by the particles of these vapors.

    These clouds, according to their nature, tend to lower and return to the center. Sometimes these clouds are transformed into rain, sometimes to wind, sometimes into snow or hail, depending on the season. Thus the shepherd can see that by the too great warmth and heat of the horses there comes a change in the weather.

    -Old Jean of Brie, a Shepherd of the Free Men¡¯s Lands.

 11.1

    11.1

    Jewel¡¯s tears could not contain themselves to only one pair of eyes. But her larger self had to persevere and not let the anguish overwhelm both of her hearts.

    She focused on speaking with her master of Kitchens with her larger self. He was after all finally speaking to her more than the bare minimum to do his duties.

    ¡°It¡¯s not that I dislike any of the other meals Dariusz. Honestly with how Gem¡¯s poor stomach handles grains they are much welcomed. But truly you don¡¯t find that the cooks in Kaeketeh keep a bit over-indulgent in the spices?¡±

    She was already having to leave Valasect again, even if there were good signs she could return later. But parting with her friends felt all the more final and forever. Gripping her chest with a terror of loneliness unending. A fleeting thought that somehow this would be the only time she would ever see any of them again.

    Dariusz¡¯ voice had for all of Gem¡¯s life never relaxed entirely into a casual tone.

    But finally after years of dutifulness she had found something that made the cook forget his station.

    ¡°They¡¯re Spices my lady! Unless you''re a pauper the point of spices in a feast is to use them! Viznove is the largest county in the Ridgetail mountains! And the second richest! Your feasts are meant to stand ringing in memory and lingering on the tongue for a lifetime!¡±

    Jewel had to listen to and banter lightly with her Master of Kitchens while also struggling through the wails that wanted to break through her smaller throat into an ear piercing scream.

    And it was so simple minded and meaningless!

    ¡®Gem¡¯ and the villagers had only known each other for a few seasons but returning to Valasect and all of her friends after their time apart had welled up in her so strongly she could not even put it into words.

    The feelings were so intense her larger self needed to brush away tears of her own as they marched towards Rochford proper. Which made bantering with Dariusz even more difficult.

    ¡°Of course Kitchen Master, but surely a pie is supposed to have something in it other than cinnamon and pepper! I¡¯ve seen and smelled people who bit into those before. Not one of them could I say actually enjoyed the experience.¡±

    She didn''t even know all of their names and yet the reunion and chance to ¡®speak¡¯ to the Valasect children was something she had not even realized she missed. They had new signs for her to learn since last they gestured and Jewel delighted in learning them. Some differences had also deepened between ¡®field sign¡¯ and ¡®forest sign¡¯.

    ¡°The staff of your vassals spread word in the servant passages and kitchens. Every one of them thought you were intentionally insulting them with your feast. Another wondered if the real reason the countess had perished was an elaborate suicide because the coffers of Kaeketeh had gone dry!¡±

    Jewel strained to hold her poise and serenity. Mother had taught her that hearing the common word was often far more valuable than most nobles appreciated. The court was but half of the craft of Intrigue. But she sometimes wished that at least one commoner that she convinced to speak freely with her had less upsetting things to say.

    ¡°I see, thank you Dariusz... But again surely it would be best if the dishes of a meal were palatable enough that half the guests were not pretending to eat it? Isn''t there some balance there?¡±

    Her Kitchenmaster quieted from that, and the distraction she had been using to try and shield both her hearts from the splitting pain of their departure was lost to Jewel.

    The almost tearing feeling of losing (even if she was absolutely not) her friends.

    Jewel turned her focus inward to the joys this last season had brought.

    Field sign was the closest to traditional Gryphon flight cant. Wide open armed motions from the shoulder and elbow, less with the wrist and hardly anything in the fingers.

    Forest signs though were much more localized. The motions were smoother, there were more uses of  signs that only took a single hand to make. Wrists and hand shape was making more precise details.

    The children in Valasect used both interchangeably and could follow it, but field handers tended to use forest signs a bit clumsily and widely.

    Forest handers were harder to follow across wide open spaces.

    In the fields they sometimes joked how the forest hands were ¡®mumblers¡¯.

    In the forest the field hands were said to be far too ¡®loud¡¯.

    Jewel loved learning all of it, and with all the practice she could feel her movements in her wrists, shoulders and elbows get all the more sure. The more she ran, climbed, tumbled and fell the easier her legs, hips and tail worked together as one.

    It had been a wonderful three seasons.

    From Spring Seeding through to midway in the Hungry Summer.

    But now she had to go again!

    Kaeketeh was awful, her larger self was overwhelmed with work and trials. Her smaller self was bored and had no one to talk to but Cibor, Jelan and Smithson! And only smithson was interested in learning how to use the modified Flight Cant Jewel used with the children of Valasect!

    The Kitchen children all kept cooking meals or playing among themselves in the keep courtyard.

    Words were so hard when spoken and it was not fair that she had to use them!

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    If she prepared herself for them beforehand Jewel could just about manage shaping Gem¡¯s lips and tongue with the correct timing for a few words. But the burden of habit was painfully slow to break. Especially when she still spoke like normal every day!

    The methods that Bethica had shown her how to use were as impossible for Jewel¡¯s larger jaws, tongue and throat as her more comfortable form of speech was for the smaller set.

    The tears continued to flow down Gem¡¯s cheeks but she otherwise did not cry out.

    Smithson spoke softly as he gently touched Gem on the shoulder, voice only raised loud enough to be heard by their caravan.

    ¡°Well I have to say I prefer pies you can actually eat and swallow. The amount of pepper and cinnamon in the ones at your wedding practically choked me with the burn of them!¡±

    Her larger self nodded at Smithson, the sting of the tears in her eyes blinked away. The subtle pull of wyrm flame flicking them from her cheeks before they showed overmuch. It was more than her smaller self could manage.

    Mention of the wedding brought even more memories of the looming isolation of the city.

    The time in the wedding had been frightening, if not for Smithson she would have probably never even left her chambers. It made going back to that city even now infuriate her heart til it thundered in her tiny chest.

    ¡°Exactly Smithson, what even is the point of food no one will eat?¡±

    She knew this was important! Both of Jewel¡¯s selves had to go to Kaeketeh. Her smaller self could only maintain her wyrmflame for a few days at best without contact with her larger self.

    To go without it was unthinkable!

    But her heart was too full with grief at leaving her friends again to care!

    Too full of fear of the wide cold city full of strangers.

    She might be away for another winter. Possibly longer if their time in the capital dragged. That did not feel too terribly long when she thought of it with her larger self. But the time gaped before her smaller self¡¯s mind like a terrifying set of jaws opening to devour her.

    Would any of her friends even remember her after that long?!

    Jewel huffed a bit in her larger throat. Annoyed with herself, she knew they would remember her. They were her friends and it was not like ¡®Gem¡¯ was forgettable. But the fear gripped her anyway.

    Eryka broke into the silence with a lilting sharpness of amusement.

    ¡°Husband, dear I¡¯ve heard you rage on these very same points before when you cooked with your mother for a noble guest at her inn. What is the harm in easing back from such noble foolery?¡±

    Her kitchen master''s cheeks reddened, shame faced at his wife¡¯s chiding.

    Smithson rubbed her smaller shoulder gently in her place propped up in the saddle ahead of him. Soothing Gem¡¯s trembling but silent tears without pulling attention to it. She was going to hug him when-

    Oh, nevermind she was already twisting around in the saddle despite his protests and squeezing her face into him, gripping at his sides with her short arms.

    Jewel''s larger self for her part was quiet, seeing the head of her staff and preparer of her meals muster himself.

    It all helped some, but now the tears were welling up from the shame of it. Less for her larger self, but still there. She needed to work her flame to keep her eyes seemingly dry. There was an appearance to be upheld.

    ¡°Your common born Smithson, though a Knight in all but land you might be. But you were not raised a noble. They are weaned from their mother¡¯s milk on spices. They expect it, they want the indulgence in the flavors, they want to be drowning the rest of us in it. A way to prove themselves our betters!¡±

    Jewel turned to look down at the hateful tone.

    She remembered the way the Countess had twisted Saffron into something horrible.

    How she then had used it for years, forced Jewel to eat it with every feast.

    Dariusz was shaking a bit, and his face was twisting with the shock of what he just said. But she could not see anything wrong.

    Even her common staff were admirably strong.

    ¡°Dariusz, Master of my kitchens, I am the Countess of Viznove and the law of the land. My vassals have sworn to me honorably. It is my word that says what food is befitting my table and not theirs.¡±

    Jewel knew she could be stronger than this. She remembered it, she was able to feel it right this moment. But at the same time she simply could not hold it all in. The best Jewel could manage was to avoid wailing.

    She was going to miss her friends so terribly.

    It had surprised her how much she had yearned for everything there was in Valasect.

    How gentle and simple it all was compared to Kaeketeh.

    Her larger self found more words and the way it pulled at her fire helped some.

    ¡°They have sneered down on Rochford. Looked down on my family and lands for being provincial.¡±

    At least she would soon be able to stay with her family in Rochford again.

    Jewel¡¯s sister was starting to speak properly!

    ¡°They have taken our care for our subjects and lands as weakness, as being simple and uncivil.¡±

    The thought of her sister who was simultaneously her junior and in some strange ways her twin or even elder in age finally calmed the tears. For most of the long seasons she had not gotten the chance to see Gwenn again!

    Heart finally turned from the pain of goodbyes Jewel could smile again. Both sets of lips curving upward. The fire in her chests flaring with the thought of her family.

    She turned back around in the saddle and wiped some snot from her delicate snout on her arm.

    ¡°But I think it is time that every lord of Viznove is reminded what it means to be a noble.¡±

    Her family would not be joining her in the journey to Kaeketeh.

    They had the rites of the summer harvest they needed to attend to.

    But Jewel needed to be in the city to prepare her own festivities, and the event that would soon host all of her vassals, Father included.

    Her smaller self firmed up a bit with her posture on the saddle.

    ¡®Gem¡¯ was sure footed enough that she could dance a carolla this year.

    Jewel was intending to have a dance in her own summer¡¯s end festival.

    And after that?

    They needed to make their way north and west to a skyway through the sheer cliffs.

    And from that out and beyond the Ridgetail mountains.

    She needed to be brave for that.

    ¡°They can suffer to have their food be palatable to a commoner¡¯s tongue.¡±

 11.2

    11.2

    It was hardly the trip of a day, but still Jewel was so glad to be in her family home. Fort Rochford greeted her from its stones to the raised boxes of good earth Samuel tended. And as she entered the feasting hall, the crier beamed as he called out.

    ¡°Announcing the Countess and Shining Wyrm of Viznove, Lady Jewel of Rochford.¡±

    They were not in fact making the full production of it.

    Smithson, Gem and Jewel were all entering as one group. But really they were all of this household in truth.

    The sheer joy of being here to see her family.

    Her Mother, Father and adorable little Sister Gwenn!

    The feeling filled her up.

    Bubbling over along her wyrmflame into little Gem¡¯s core.

    Jewel didn''t even think of it when she performed the sign. Making it with her smaller self¡¯s arms as she spoke with her wyrmish throat.

    ¡°Hello Father!¡±

    It Simply came to her hands and arms as soon as they entered the feasting hall. But It was only after her father stumbled over his greetings that she realized which hands she had used for the cant.

    ¡®Gem¡¯ was just so much easier to manage with her far more flexible shoulders and wrists.

    The confusion from Mother was also palpable, looking between Jewel and Father. He finally found his words and fixed Jewel¡¯s larger self¡¯s eyes with wonder and exasperation. Voice strained in a very familiar way. Although she had not heard it in many years.

    ¡°She learned Flight Cant?¡±

    Again the disbelief, the feeling welling up within her smaller self in a sudden rush. Driving one foot to stamp at the familiar stones.

    The irritation simmering over.

    She had spent nearly four years trying to explain this. To prove what it was that she felt and was and experienced.

    Jewel sighed heavily and then spoke and canted as one.

    ¡°We¡¯ve known it from the beginning. I¡¯ve said it again, and again, and again!¡±

    The surprise, the shock, the realization that she could prove it, that maybe finally she could make this fresh and confusing aspect of her life understood at last?!

    The feelings burned inside.

    It filled Gem¡¯s eyes with tears and made both of Jewel¡¯s faces scowl. It made her throat strain to not deepen to the fullness of her power. It made huffs and garbled birdlike warbles grow in Gem¡¯s throat.

    Father seemed taken aback somehow.

    Surprised.

    ¡°W-what do you mean?¡±

    What does she mean?! Jewel felt her flame flickering at the back of her throat.

    ¡°My daughter is me! Together we are one! But apart we are still me, All that she feels I will feel. All that I know she will know! It¡¯s different but even when apart we are one!¡±

    Again Gem stamped her foot. There was a roaring of blood in her smaller self¡¯s ears. As she signed she trilled and snarled. Cut at the air with the gestures so harshly she suspected it was getting hard to follow for her father.

    ¡°I¡¯ve told you this, I¡¯ve told all of you this! Over and over and over again! I¡¯ve said this and none of you understood! Well do you understand now?!¡±

    Her voice was strained, her gestures sharp and violent. Her father and mother seem shocked, surprised, worried.

    Smithson¡¯s hand landed on her shoulder. There was a tremble in his fingers before he squeezed hard. Digging his gloved hand into her scales.

    Jewel was breathing hard with both sets of lungs and no one else said a word.

    And then in the silence that she left them in a voice cried out in sobbing fear.

    Gwenn¡¯s wails filled the room.

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    ¡°Momma!¡±

    And suddenly like a strangling dowsing Jewel¡¯s fire and anger was gone.

    She took even a single step closer and even that made her younger sister throw herself against her mother. Wailing into the simple finery that was mostly worn for family dinners.

    That struck her silent and still with the undeniability of it.

    Jewel had terrified her sister.

    Her larger self was locked into sudden paralysis. But Gem heard her sister cry and was moving before either of them could even think through what to do.

    If one body moving frightened Gwenn the other would act.

    Her smaller arms wrapping around her Sister and Mother.

    Jewel was trilling softly, trying to pull her lips and throat to the task. But only managing soft soothing hushes.

    Actions being followed by Mother soon after.

    Leaving Jewel¡¯s larger self frozen, staring at her father, every muscle in her face trying to silently offer the pained regret and apology.

    Across from the familiar feasting hall was the very same expression on her Father¡¯s face. She tried to speak. Voice soft and gentle, as gentle as she could try. But even before a single word could be uttered Gem¡¯s smaller arms felt her sister tensing at the mere sound of the wyrm¡¯s voice.

    ¡°...¡±

    There was nothing she could say. Jewel had terrified her own family. Flesh and blood, her younger sister!

    For what?

    Because she was angry?

    Frustrated?

    Tired?

    Jewel turned as silently as she could, even as she hugged and snuggled and whispered soothing sounds to her deeply upset sister. She fled the room that had been about to host her in a family feast.

    She fled Smithson¡¯s hand. Dragging scales from his clenched fingers.

    She fled and hoped that when her connection broke she would be the one that remained to sooth her sister''s fear. But as the distance stretched and then the experience snapped apart it was only Jewel as her larger self in the hallway of Rochford. Left alone outside her own family¡¯s feasting hall.

    Alone.

    And again wishing that she was her smaller self just then.

    That she was small and non-threatening like her spawn. That it could be her comforting her sister after such a fright.

    That she was not the one who had frightened her in the first place.

    That she did not have to worry about cursing a thousand men with an errant word in anger.

    That her breath unrestrained did not unmake wizards, weirds and armies.

    That she never hatched as a dragon.

    Her flame was guttering lower and sparser inside, then it ever had except that one terrible day in the woods.

    When she had laid in the mud and almost let go.

    Jewel¡¯s heart stuttered in her chest.

    Her lungs emptied of air.

    The stone¡¯s voices were soft and gentle, welling up around her.

    Whispering without words.

    After all, she could stay with them.

    She did not have to breathe.

    Her heart did not need to beat or hurt so.

    Her mind did not have to think and worry.

    Her voice did not need to pass her lips ever again.

    She could just lay down here in this hall on the stones and never stir again.

    Gem was better than her in everything Jewel ever wanted to be.

    If she just laid down now and-

    ¡°Jewel... Are you okay?¡±

    A hand touched her still and slumped coils.

    Smithson¡¯s voice struck her flame alight like a spark igniting a dying hearth in winter.

    Jewel¡¯s eyes snapped open, her neck arched.

    Air filled her lungs as she gasped and then choked at how raw and starved they felt.

    Her heart aching in an entirely new way was forced back to beating.

    Her head was foggy and painful.

    Blood suddenly flowed again through her flesh.

    She had been still.

    Utterly still and silent.

    Her flesh felt cold. Not uncomfortably but in a way she could not remember ever having felt.

    Her voice was raspy and weak.

    ¡°Smithson...¡±

    And like he had for her as Gem Smithson embraced Jewel. His arms were just barely able to close around her coils at their thickest.

    Softly shushing and squeezing as hard as he could. Fingers gripping at her mane.

    He embraced her with all of his strength. His muscles quiver like a taut bowstring.

    To Jewel it was barely a slight pressure.

    The press of all his might against her scales and muscles and reigniting wyrmflame?

    Barely more than a soft breeze.

    But she gently embraced him back.

 11.3

    11.3

    On the road to Kaeketeh Jewel spoke to her Knight.

    And she would make him a proper knight this summer harvest festival. She¡¯d announce it with all the ceremony.

    Smithson had served her far and beyond any squire. He had stood in judgment by her laws for the common people. He had comforted and reinforced her. He was plenty old enough to assume the title.

    She would probably have to pay him in silver though. Even the thought of sending him away to manage his own manor made both her hearts ache in worry.

    It was not unheard of.

    A Knight for her household as countess. A member of her court. In fact she should probably make Muriel a Knight as well.

    So much to do.

    ¡°You Knew, you listened and you knew? You understood we were one?¡±

    Smithson shook his head.

    ¡°I didn''t but I don¡¯t think you have the right of it either, lady. Little Gem might be like you, might know what you know. But I¡¯ve seen how she runs, how she plays, how she sings and worries and frets. She is her own girl.¡±

    Jewel bristled, as her larger and smaller self together.

    But before she could retort Smithson gently rubbed her smaller shoulder.

    ¡°But that does not mean you are not blended together either. I¡¯d be a fool to deny my own eyes there. When one of you laughs the other is smiling long before. But when you are apart? Gem is different.¡±

    Jewel huffed and tried to explain something she herself could barely grasp beyond the absolute assurance of.

    ¡°When I am apart from myself I¡¯m free. Free and yet chained by my own whims. My smaller heart is overflowing with every fancy and thought or feeling. Every moment is sharp and clear and wells up entirely.¡±

    Smithson nodded to that, gently massaging her smaller self¡¯s back. Easing tension that she had not even realized was bunching up there around the shoulders. The soothing bled through to her own coils and loosened her wings from where they had been tightening up close.

    ¡°When I¡¯m together we are the same but the Lady of Rochford and Countess must behave properly. But there is more of me, I¡¯m complete, I¡¯m not as full... At least I was.¡±

    Her Knight nodded and offered a weak smile to her.

    ¡°Until Gem¡¯s tantrum raised the Shining Wyrm of Viznove to a fury?¡±

    Jewel huffed hard enough to blow the leaves in the branches arching overhead.

    Well... over Smithson and their party¡¯s head. Jewel could have raised her neck to scrape her horns in the leaves.

    She chose not too.

    ¡°I apologized to my father, mother and Gwenn.¡±

    Jewel frowned remembering the rest of that evening and the following morning.

    ¡°But she still startles when I¡¯m there.¡±

    Smithson continued to gently rub her back where she straddled the saddle ahead of him on Oxhoof.

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    ¡°if I¡¯m not... smaller.¡±

    The tears were welling up in both her eyes, but for once the pain was rising more from her wyrmish heart then her spawn¡¯s.

    Smithson was smooth with his right hand, slipping into a pouch at his side. She was not surprised by the treat of jerky brushing her spawn¡¯s lips but still she was startled and then hiccuped and snatched up the dried meat to chew.

    The absolute absurdity of how warmly that salted pork soothed her tears and pain soon brought a giggle and then Jewel and her spawn were laughing. Only ending in a doubled squawk of surprise when her Knight ruffled Gem¡¯s hair roughly. The feeling sending a shock up and down both her spines!

    ¡°There ya go. A quick snack is good for the spirit when you''re down.¡±

    Jewel rumbled in annoyance at how well his antics worked on her.

    ¡°I¡¯m not some child Smithson.¡±

    His fingers suddenly caught Gem at her sides and this time she was surprised. The laughter burst from both her snouts as he tickled her!

    ¡°None of that Lady Jewel! You are a Child!¡±

    Jewel gave a huff that blew in the breeze of the late summer leaves.

    ¡°I am a countess! This will be my eighteenth winter!¡±

    Smithson flicked one of Gem¡¯s ears and she flinched. Sudden tears welling up in both her eyes.

    ¡°Hey!¡±

    He met her wyrm eyes with a far more intense glare than she had expected.

    ¡°How do you expect people to believe when you claim you are one and the same with Gem if you keep denying what that means my Lady? No wonder your family was so confused about it.¡±

    Jewel blinked at him while she rubbed at her smaller self¡¯s ear. It really stung her spawn¡¯s ears like that. Her ears were sensitive!

    ¡°What do you mean I¡¯m denying it?!¡±

    Smithson turned back to look down at Gem, Jewel lifted her still tear brimmed eyes to glare up at him and stick out her tongue and hiss.

    His voice was soft as he brushed the tears from her eyes with a small bit of cloth. Not Wyrmspun, but simply felted regular wool. Soaking up the tears as he wiped her smaller self. The simple touch and care already stemming the tears.

    Jewel¡¯s larger eyes had to simply squeeze and shake them loose.

    ¡°My Lady Jewel you are indeed Countess and coming upon your Eighteenth winter.¡±

    She snorted from both snouts.

    He gently now tapped her on the tip of her shorter snout.

    ¡°But you are also only just coming into your fourth one little Gem. And only a fool could be blind to how obvious that is.¡±

    He fetched another snack for her smaller self and again Jewel was befuddled and annoyed how well that soothed her ire. The feeling of it welling up in both of her. Soothing the agitation and reminding Gem of the weight of exhaustion creeping in.

    She probably was going to doze off and leave Jewel partly addled for it.

    Smithson through long practice and familiarity with his charge shifted his arms and where they gripped Oxhoof¡¯s reigns.

    Embracing and supporting Jewel¡¯s smaller self so that when she inevitably dozed off she would not risk falling out of the saddle. The familiar comfort of his arms close in at either side and his hands in front of her adding to the annoying sleepiness that was suddenly settling.

    Her Knight spoke up then.But softly, so as not to keep her smaller self awake. His words were almost like a lullaby.

    ¡°You are my countess, Liege, Lady and the Shining Wyrm of Viznove Jewel. You are a Married woman and eighteen winters old. But you need to remember something else.¡±

    Jewel felt her smaller eyes closing.

    It had been too many feelings, too much travel, too much new and distressing for her small heart. As one part of her drifted off to sleep the other was left to hear his words clearly and consider their meaning.

    ¡°You are in fact also a child.¡±

    Jewel sighed heavily.

    ¡°My good Nurse Knight of Viznove. You are right.¡±

    Being a dragon was so unfair.

    Human women in their eighteenth year did not have to admit that they were also simultaneously still children!

 11.4

    11.4

    Jewel stared down at herself with deeply mixed feelings.

    She had long ago abandoned all hope that any finery would ever be feasible for herself.

    Her wedding had briefly rekindled the idea that she could commission gowns and drapes like had been made for her wedding. But checking the old Countess¡¯ ledgers on how much such a thing had cost in silver quickly disabused any such brief fancies.

    She had come to peace with the fact years before her ¡®daughter¡¯ hatched that she would more or less never be a lady who could dazzle with wearing cloth and embroidery.

    But now, here she was getting a chance to live out every single idle fantasy that had utterly been out of reach when she outgrew even her father¡¯s cloaks. She had embraced her husband with both sets of arms as tight as she dared when he suggested it.

    However, experiencing the burden of what might very well be a full bolt of constraining cloth and metal embroidery stitched together over her was making her consider that maybe her size enforced nudity was a blessing in disguise. Gem¡¯s chest felt squeezed just a bit too tight to breath easily.

    Her only recently acquired balance and agility felt so hampered that the only reason Gem could even stand was the sheer counterbalance of so many draperies.

    ¡°Grk¡±

    It was apparently the fashion for those courts in the realm that presented their youngest children to events?

    But no this was too much. She could hardly breathe. And the sleeves were far too overwrought. They made it impossible to move her arms or bend her elbows in a way that would allow flight cant.

    Jewel shook her head to the tailor that had once served Bathory.

    ¡°No this is too tight for my child, the chest needs to be loosened. And it¡¯s so heavy she can barely stand let alone walk or dance! Surely you can reduce the weight? And do something so she can properly move her legs and tail, And these sleeves?! No, no sleeves at all I don¡¯t think.¡±

    Jewel could smell the growing irritation of the tailor the longer she spoke. But he held his face firm and only nodded before clapping his hands and his assistants (two girls and a boy) undid the pins and temporary stitches up and down Gem, sweeping up each segment of dyed and embroidered wyrmspun cloth.

    She was almost ready to complement the man¡¯s professionalism before she heard his voice muttering to his three apprentices behind the closed door and down the hall.

    ¡°Oversized snake should have hired an armorer if she wanted the peasant bastard whelp ready to battle...¡±

    Jewel shook her head sadly, wasn''t that just a disappointment.

    She raised her right wyrm claw to get the attention of one of the staff.

    ¡°Please see that the Countess'' former tailor is informed that his services are no longer required. And thank him for his very sound advice to see if the armorer and leatherworking guild can properly garb my daughter for her courtly gowns.¡±

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    Paul winced at that but he and Jewel had agreed to keep their discussions on these matters until after sundown. In her absence he had cleared out a room in the keep big enough to house Jewel somewhat comfortably so at the very least she and Paul could sleep somewhere other than the main feasting hall.

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid Paul that your family¡¯s tailor insulted the providence of our daughter.¡±

    Jewel offered what she could before they would discuss this more deeply tonight.

    ¡°My wife, if it was not for your flame, scales, teeth, wings or vast strength the sharpness of your ears would be the greatest peril for the enemies of the realm.¡±

    She nodded to the complement, and as a sign that she would listen to him this evening.

    Another one of the staff was rushing off, probably to send for the appropriate guild masters so she could get a replacement tailor to garb Gem and her Husband.

    That was two hours in the day wasted. And it would probably take a few more before the guilds found her candidates to fill the position on short notice. Thurz¨®¡¯s letters warned about overly trusting the guilds in her cities.

    But Jewel so far found that at least for the moment their sheer greed worked out very well indeed for her. It was in the interest of the merchants, Spinners, Weavers clothiers and many more to make her rule of Kaeketeh as effortless and smooth as possible. Lest she have to turn her attention away from the working of Rochford wool.

    ¡°How was the Common Court this morning Husband?¡±

    He laughed then ran his hand along her coils where they looped around on the left of his father¡¯s chair. Letting his fingers drum along the most prominent of her scales right before the line of her mane sprouted.

    ¡°Better? Muriel, Smithson and I are only there for judgements on those crimes which shed blood, break bone or violate honor. And of those crimes are far fewer since last year.¡±

    Jewel nodded.

    ¡°Well that¡¯s good.¡±

    Paul nodded.

    Jewel felt a twinge from her smaller self and so made her way over to her husband, looked up at him and then let her brows raise and her eyes widen, while pressing just a bit of her bottom lip out and grasping up at him with her hands.

    He laughed at her and then leaned over to heft her smaller self up and onto his lap to bounce on one knee. Much to Jewel¡¯s satisfaction.

    ¡°I still don¡¯t think I believe you when you say there is one soul between the two of you.¡±

    Jewel turned to face her husband with both sets of eyes. Then ever so carefully, with a great mustering of attention she did what she had wanted to do to surprise her father.

    She said something with two throats.

    It had taken hundreds of attempts with Bethica¡¯s help over the summer. But Jewel managed it!

    Hours each day having to wrangle an entirely different throat, teeth and tongue all which seemed barely in a form meant to the task. Jewel honestly felt for what were certainly the spawn of Shialtza and their struggle with speech.

    Still the look upon his face as he heard the same word from both his ¡®daughter¡¯ and ¡®wife¡¯ was worth all the practice.

    If she had time to prepare Gem could speak.

    It would be Jewel¡¯s secret between herselves and Bethica that this was not actually Gem¡¯s first word.

    ¡°Fool!¡±

 11.5

    11.5

    Jewel mused on how similar she was to the isle she stood upon.

    The rock and stone broke the waters around them and held aloft a keep at a great height from the silty banks and depths of the Vah.

    The sun half eclipsed by the western peaks as it slowly slipped away from the vault of the sky.

    And here amidst a Festival as much made by her own command as the seemingly endless effort of the people around her Jewel felt like this island. Her neck well above all of them as they moved around her.

    Currents and eddies of conversation. All but three of her vassals in attendance, and of those that were not here a trusted heir or other representative was still present.

    Twenty-Eight households or entourages poured into the grounds of the Kaeketeh Keep.

    Hundreds of meals made for them all. The price for hospitality provided to so many was an astounding cost in silver.

    Not as much as that which was spent on Jewel¡¯s wedding. The accounts of Viznove would be bled dry attempting even half that so often. Bathory¡¯s death was still far too recent after the expenses had been made.

    But still it was the single greatest weight exchanged in silver Jewel had ever personally counted.

    And yet even with all the riches spent on this single day Jewel had followed the exchange. In tithes, tax and fee Viznove would fill her treasury once more by next year.

    The accounts going back years promised that she would make back this loss and more. And also despite her panic when she first saw the coffers on coffers of silver that were draining out of Viznove the silver itself did not go all that far.

    Just as paying a peasant in her demesne hardly was a diminishing of the wealth of Valasect?

    Viznove would lose very little treasure on this day and night of revelry.

    The fasting was about to break.

    And she knew from the grumbling stomachs that those who were not experienced in the traditional festival were suffering for it.

    But she was the Countess and she would have a proper Summer Harvest Festival.

    Even if it was a late one.

    Jewel had been surprised to learn that Kaeketeh did not practice the ceremony of the black wheat bread as Rochford, Valasect and many other ¡®provincial¡¯ baronies did.

    She had been even further surprised by the astounding price that was attached with importing the necessary grains to her bakeries. A good quarter of the expense in food went to that one indulgence.

    But it was the tradition and she already saw the signs in the crowd of who followed it.

    You could almost cut the vassals and their households in two by those that had anticipatory gleam to their eyes for what would come and those that held the small rounds with confusion waiting for the sign to eat them. There were whispers who grumbled and complained that they had to wait an entire day to partake.

    Jewel might have been lenient. Practiced something more local and less familiar to herself.

    But she had already missed the Dance of the Summer Harvest Festival once.

    Jewel was the Countess of Viznove, She was a married lady and the final law under no other than the High King himself.

    She could treat with the gods and be acknowledged like an equal.

    Guild masters bowed to her and offered riches so she might deign to spin wool.

    Her very words said in anger could curse thousands of men.

    So Jewel would have her summer harvest festival exactly as she wished it!

    Yes they were her vassals, ordered here by her command. Followed by their retinues and families further commanded by bonds of fealty.

    But so were the peasants of her demesne.

    And unlike with the people bound to the land by familial contract her vassals had sworn allegiance to her personally. In exchange for her power to protect them and her concessions to enrich their own vaults.

    All the endless haggling and dealing.

    All their whispering and conspiring that she caught them in and then mercifully forgave.

    They could all of them join her for a party and a dance for a single night at the end of summer and celebrate as she wanted too for once.

    So they fasted during the day.

    The temples were attended and Jewel and her vassals saw to their roles in such rituals as the gods of Kaeketeh required.

    The rest was a time for leisure with the only requirement that all who attended for tonight ate nothing and drank only water before the feast.

    A little hunger would do some of them good even!

    Now at last in the evening a bounty of sufficiently spiced noble fare alongside simple well made breads was filling tables upon tables in the open air of the courtyard.

    Here Jewel accepted a break from tradition, for the sake of her daughter and the palette of some of the guests. As a concession to her husband and the insistence of her master of kitchens.

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    Spices were in play and far more dishes than Rochford or Valasect had ever held for their summer feasts.

    Sweet honey glazed cakes and more traditional simple pale bread.

    A half dozen different Beasts slaughtered for the evening. Some served whole such as pig and the water birds. Others cut and glazed or ground into smoked sausages.

    For Gem¡¯s constitution, candied pork crisped in honey and pepper was made. Her daughter still could not stomach bread. And was a bit young besides to imbibe the black wheat. But for any man or woman of her court who could consume it the sacramental bread was in their hands.

    Tsulogothulan stood to one side as they had during Father¡¯s events. Watching intently.

    And then as the sun dipped behind the western mountains and cast a warm shadow over Kaeketeh the great bonfires were lit and she said the words.

    The speech was the same as it always was.

    ¡°The Hungry Summer has passed. And by your labors we have prospered!¡±

    Of the nobles looking up to her as she spoke, perhaps only half of them were ¡®provincial¡¯ enough to even know what Jewel was talking about. But these were the words her father had spoken every year he oversaw the summer harvest festival.

    ¡°Together we have hungered through the summer and lived. Together we have remembered those that could not be with us by our own hunger.¡±

    The words that her father had spoken ten days earlier for Rochford¡¯s own celebration. There he was among the crowd before her, his eyes seemed to be shining far more than was proper for a man.

    ¡°I swear to you as your countess and lady, that I will always hunger with you. That I will stand for you, I will strike back against all your enemies. Be they hunger or thieves, beasts or lairspawn, wyrm or despoilers.¡±

    The only change she made to the words was to acknowledge her own title. But as the words passed her lips Jewel felt her flames rise higher and stronger within her coils.

    Alexander stood proudly beside the pony sized Blizzardwrath. The Gryphon Eyrie finally had deemed his bond trained enough to travel without risking the lives of strangers. Her brother beamed up at her.

    ¡°I will guard you, I will be here, until my last breath! Let us now revel, for the hungry summer is over and we still stand!¡±

    She belted out the last part of the proclamation as her father always had, strong and full. Leaning into her deeper voice.

    Feminine yet commanding.

    ¡°Now Eat and Be Merry!¡±

    And she took up the relatively tiny round of black wheat bread. She bit twice for effect then swallowed hard and audibly. At the signal the musicians took up the melody of the carolla dance and nearly all her guests ate the black wheat rounds.

    And finally after over a year without it Jewel was able to dance. The nobles and their families were slow to immediately take to a proper carola. Many moved immediately to take up food at the feasting tables.

    That was fine.

    There would be a whole night for them to do their part.

    But the staff of Jewel¡¯s keep, her footmen and most welcome of all her family all were quick to join her. Father, Mother, Alexander and even little Gwenn were with her in the dance.

    Tsulogothulan moved with the music in a sinuous sway that as much mirrored the rhythm as it did the currents of the river itself around them. The way the faux fire moved in the air with the river was slow and sluggish to change at first. Sticky where Rochford and valasect had smoothly moved, familiar with the steps expected of them.

    But Kaeketeh¡¯s air was resistant and uncertain to the meaning of the dance and song.

    Jewel pressed on, she sang with the musicians. Her voice pulled at the confused air until it found the music within her.

    The Bog Weird moved with her and the rest of her guests and family together. A few hilariously bold noble men (and one woman) braved the clammy touch of the Wizard and were swept into a near boneless flurry of motion for their trouble.

    As Jewel danced more and more of her vassals and other guests found the feeling of the music as well.

    Settling around her and the bonfires.

    As the current built up Tsulogothulan drew up glittering arcs of clear water from their sleeves, tracing the motion through the air.

    Gem spun in skirts that were only just finished in their final stitch this morning. Hand in hand with Gwenn and another child who Jewel thought was probably Lord Sergej¡¯s son but she was not entirely sure. Her snout was filled with a heady cloud of smoke, spices and sweat amid so many moving bodies.

    The music was joined with a rhythmic call of frogs, crickets, the wind in reeds.

    The sky shone in silvery starlight.

    Jewel was above and over all of these moving and rippling crowds of people. But with just a soft dip of her sweeping neck she could flow and dance among them!¡¯

    She swam as part of them and moved with each, looping from one bonfire to another. The sharp sting of the herb bundles burnt in offering in each fire further mixing and blending the scents. She danced, the music flowed and slowly as the evening progressed she felt her vassals find the fullness of the dance.

    The sound of the river growing loud and the stars far above shining all the brighter.

    Jewel could feel the current of it all running through her every motion and that of her dancing throng of guests. The temptation to let it sweep her away and leave her exhausted come morning itched deep in her spine.

    It was ultimately Gem¡¯s young muscles which demanded she retire this time. Her spawn lacking endurance even when filled to near bursting with wyrmflame. The little legs and back could not sustain the carolla¡¯s demands for a full night.

    Her little eyes drooped despite every effort to avoid it. Her movements became clumsier and more sluggish. So a few hours into the evening Jewel bowed to her subjects and bid them goodnight as she retired to her chambers with Paul and Gem.

    Her parents and sister had fled to their guest quarters far earlier.

    Only Alexander was still dancing, Blizzardwrath chirping and bounding around with him. Both bursting with youthful energy. The Gryphon already far larger than her brother, taller than him half again when reared back on hind limbs.

    Alexander caught her glance as she said her goodbyes and she dipped her head with a smile.

    His own grin was bright as can be, his arm raised high to wave.

    It was just as well they retired early.

    Poor paul was mumbling something about the stars and constantly running his fingers over and over on her scales. It seemed that the black wheat had hit her husband very hard. But that was fine.

    She gently helped guide him to their chambers to sleep off the effects of the sacrament.

    It was a good celebration.

    It was not a whole night dancing like she had in her youth.

    But Jewel was a married woman, soon to be eighteen winters old and she had to see to her family.

    Even if both her hearts yearned to keep going until she collapsed in a heap.

    Maybe next year when Gem was stronger.

 11.6

    11.6

    Jewel found Smithson and her husband were less than enthused by how rapidly they had to depart after the late Summer Harvest Festival.

    But despite the discomfort and moaning her party was ready and already riding.

    Kliatbatrn, as the closest of her trusted vassals, would oversee the needs of Noble Law in Kaeketeh. She would have preferred to have another year with Paul to watch over the city and the courtly business of Viznove.

    But the High King had called.

    ¡°And you do this every year?¡±

    Paul shivered despite his thick traveling coat, the lingering touch of the black wheat apparently sticking with her husband longer than anyone else in the group. Jewel wondered if some of the less ¡®provincial¡¯ of her guests might also be suffering as he did.

    Smithson laughed with her. His voice reverberated through her smaller back.

    Making her spawn self acutely aware of her new travel clothes.

    It seemed absurd to make them so small but Gem had so far failed to manifest very much growth despite her age. Gwenn was now a good foot taller than her!

    Her recently declared attending Knight responded with a knowing smile.

    ¡°Just abouts yeah, don¡¯t worry just make sure you have enough beer and that you don¡¯t stare much at anything. I try not to look at my meals for a good day or two afterwards. It tends to keep crawling for hours the first morning.¡±

    Jewel sighed and chuckled along with smithson. She could not afford to see how the other guests fared due to their constrained schedule but imagined the soft among them might be dealing with something similar this morning.

    Alas they had to depart as soon as the sun rose or else she might risk missing her appointed summons by an entire season!

    Even at a solid march their party would take essentially the entirety of grain turn and then some well into debt season to reach the capital. If their itinerary was delayed in their travels it could be even longer. Which Muriel assured it very well could be.

    The march was a proper entourage.

    Jewel, Smithson (with Gem), Paul and Muriel at the head.

    Almost thirty Valasect footmen, Dariusz and his family, horse enough for all of them and then further hackneys and mules for their luggage and supplies.

    Joining them for this leg of the journey was also Father, Mother, Gwenn, Alexander and her family¡¯s household. Bromthil was taking up the rear with Father¡¯s footmen. Deeming that the actual threats would avoid ambushing a dragon, the Rochford footmen were also more experienced in woodland fighting on the road.

    Mother and Father were near the rear of the party, Mother with her usual after summer harvest wineskin. Her parents were usually quiet and slow each summer. And this year they had partaken of the black wheat twice in ten days!

    She had never felt the effects despite eating it every year.

    But like the bite of cold and the cut of fire Jewel assumed this was due to her wyrmish nature.

    ¡°Ugh! This is what every provincial lord goes through every year?!¡±

    Jewel hummed with a deep resonance before letting the words free from her throat.

    ¡°It is the way of Rochford, from the look of them none of the River baronies or shore demesne practice it. But within the interior and along the northern hills? Lord Mertod from Ox glen and Lady Petra of Ostara were familiar with what was coming.¡±

    Muriel nodded along with it.

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    ¡°They both host some of the largest fields of wheat and barley in Viznove and often have the longest raining season. The black wheat is a blessing of rain gods, The temples will give alms or silver for any heads or seed marked with the char of sky fire¡¯s touch come threshing. In the smaller villages the wise women also covet it and pay good silver or favors.¡±

    Jewel winced at the mention of the price of black wheat.

    ¡°Indeed! Buying enough for the sacrament of just the guests and bringing it to Kaeketeh was nearly more expensive than the spices for the feast.¡±

    They were making good time on the dry roads of grain turn.

    They should make Ho?anka¡¯s inn well before nightfall with the still long summer days. Jewel was looking forward to seeing her Kitchen Master¡¯s mother and how she would embarrass him.

    In Rochford they would resupply but the nearly thirty days expected of solid travel forbade any but a single night¡¯s rest. At least there was not going to be any mud or flooding expected in grainturn.

    Word was the roads should be clear to the Capital. Although if they made poor time they might be caught in a skyway in debt season. The chill of winter was said to never leave some passes. Although the Cantor road they took had been cut wide enough for two full armies to be able to pass one another, with carts and all!

    ¡°Is there anything for the aches in my arms and legs? I know I didn''t dance all that hard surely?!¡±

    Her dear precious husband continued to groan and complain just like a child after their first taste of a Summer¡¯s Harvest sacrament.

    It spread another chuckle through the crowd of Rochford natives surrounding him. Jewel was unable to contain the full bellied outburst of squealing delight that tore its way out of Gem and then echoed back from her larger throat.

    Her husband scowled a bit but his lips kept quirking towards a smile and for all his stated displeasure his eyes were joyful.

    Jewel finally got both forms of her laughter under control enough to speak.

    ¡°Apologies husband, but It¡¯s just most children in Rochford have gone through this very thing and complain just as you do. It¡¯s very endearing honestly. For you to complain as a grown man of seventeen winters!¡±

    Muriel for some reason started laughing and shaking her head at that. Muttering ¡°grown man¡± although Jewel did not know why. Still the jovial air continued, a good mix with the pre-autumn warmth of the day.

    Even Gem¡¯s slight frame could appreciate the way it was neither too hot nor cold. Soothing, refreshing, warming and pleasant all around.

    Just a lick of sweat to the air from man and horse to mingle and perfume the scent of the forest and dry dirt of the road. Moss and leaves exhaling faintly into the gentle wind of final summer amidst the hills and valleys of Viznove.

    Jewel flexed her wings as they came upon another clearing in the canopy. Offering sheltering shade for her party and invigorating sunlight for herself.

    A tall grassed meadow with a low hill of collapsed stone and long rotted timbres.

    Likely some old cantoran fort or perhaps other waystation.

    Small furry creatures left their scent on the stones there and when Jewel called silently to them she heard a sleepy fuzziness of many warm days just like this one. The voice of the stones murmuring and mumbling with the gentle wind. Trees sang and cheered to the sky, drinking the sun greedily for these last few days before their slumber.

    Moss hummed and burbled, in places hissing and complaining where a break in the canopy let too much brightness through.

    All of it a slow and steady chorus that welled up around Jewel.

    Following the steady slow beat of her feet and hands brushing the dirt of the path. Her coils rising and falling in a smooth wave almost drifting on the wind for how full and flushed she was in Wyrmflame.

    ¡°What thoughts consume you dear wife?¡±

    Paul¡¯s words startled her out of the steady rhythm and sway of the world. Causing her step to skip and scrabble a bit at the dirt. Her wyrmflame rising a bit too much to get a proper grip. Leading to a few flails in air before she released enough to land and gain traction again.

    ¡°Ah! Apologies dear husband, I was just listening to the forest.¡±

    He was quiet for a moment, almost long enough for Jewel to conclude her answer was enough and that she might resume her pass time. But then he spoke, softer voiced and with a hint of wonder.

    ¡°What does it sound like? To you that is?¡±

    Now it was Jewel¡¯s turn for quiet, considering the welling up of the world. The voices that were unheard and the wordless meaning.

    She considered what she couldn''t feel when alone as only Gem.

    ¡°Sleepy, the rocks, the stones, the dirt, the trees. They are calm, they move slowly. Like a sleepy griffon or great hounds. The youngest saplings and shrubs mewl for drops of sunlight, the eldest almost rumble and shift at their pleas. Some parcel sun through their roots to their progeny. Others stand and shroud the youths, smothering them even now.¡±

    Tsulogothulan spoke up in reply.

    ¡°Just So. Just So.¡±

    For some reason Paul was startled enough to drive his horse a few steps ahead.

 11.7

    11.7

    As they came out of the covering canopy of the High Forest Jewel stilled in her step. Eyes taking in the terribly familiar landscape.

    The bodies were years gone. Eaten by Gryphons, buried or burned. The Village had been rebuilt after a fashion, Herds and plantings had been made but the land was still scarred.

    Sorcery¡¯s mark had turned much good soil and farmland into tangled hillocks of stone riddled earth and clay or other even stranger and more twisted magical detritus. The Fauxfire in the air was still and yet what had been changed by the battle remained changed.

    And what had been rebuilt was not where it had once been. The village was now a collection of buildings clinging to A single cobbled road that cleaved through the valley where Fizzbunches had called it forth. Lost were the weaving, curving packed earth and dirt paths that had been before. And even what fields and fences had been restored after the trampling by armies and wizardry were scattered.

    Much land was still abandoned.

    There were patches everywhere that had been left fallow.

    In one the scrabble and shrubbery that grew there did so with a color and shape of illuminated manuscripts of foliage rather than natural vitality. With leaves that looked like dried parchment and colors that were pale, dead or unnaturally vibrant. Some even edged in the shine of gold.

    These splatters of the workings of Urul sprouted in single shrubs or in two places entire expansive murals of wild flowers and meadows.

    In other fields the grass grew red and glistening. Scattered across pastures in splashes and whorls. Arcs that mirrored where blood was spilled. Even from the edge of the forest she could  still smell the iron-rich tang.

    The touch of Jaksa the red.

    What once had been good ground to sow wheat, barley or peas were tumults of stone and building.

    Entire heaping piles of brick, rubble and shingle were contorted through once soft soil and twisted buildings tangled and wrestled one another where meadow had been. Some had fallen in their abandonment but scattered brick towers twisted and strained against fortress walls yet in places.

    Frozen in the throes of their battle.

    Only lightly wrapped in vines and living growth.

    The marks of Fizzbunches and Veoul.

    In other places the soil dipped low into divots and sudden chasms. Where soggy pools of swamp reeds sprouted. A great wedge of marsh marked where Tsulogothulan had held against the Weird of Fortresses.

    And so much more scattered across the lines of conflict. Where Jewel remembered the less obvious wizard¡¯s workings had touched sometimes it had merely been fire and was now mostly tilled over.

    But then there were sudden copses of trees. Grown far too large and pale for the time since the battle. White bark and crimson or yellow leaves. Old woods over tall for the few years since they sprouted.

    Amidst the trunks Jewel could see briars with thorns as long as a man¡¯s arm and nearly as thick. The lines of sudden trees crisscrossing the landscape like the gashes of a wildly swung knife.

    Euewyn¡¯s scars.

    And with all the ruin made of the land the signs of farm and people had diminished.

    When Jewel had first seen this valley the buildings of its village were almost three times the number that had since been rebuilt.

    And what structures were here now took on a mixed appearance. Wood timbres that seemed strange and a mix match. Brickwork and stone that was a medley of the solid hard stones of the fortress and the small little bricks of city buildings.

    The place of Jewel¡¯s first and last battle was stark.

    Made all the more so that except for one place her Wyrmdoom was the least ruinous mark upon the land. A slight furrow in the earth in a few places. Already evened out and made productive if the scythed bristle of wheat was anything to go by.

    But one of the towers of the fortress was still aborted abruptly. Some of its stones had tumbled in the years and seasons since to make its broken edge jagged. But otherwise the place Veoul had been slain.

    No one had acted to repair it.

    Jewel¡¯s only surviving mark on this valley was no longer a perfectly straight ending where wyrmflame had engulfed and unmade stone, timbre and wizard.

    It was a broken, damaged place.

    Jewel¡¯s words came to her unbidden, soft and fragile.

    ¡°There is so much left of the battle.¡±

    In the wake of one conflict a ruin had been enacted on what had once been rough but fertile fields.

    After surveying the desolation for longer than was strictly proper Jewel led her party onward.

    They walked on the straight smooth cobbles, one of Muriel¡¯s footmen had acted as vanguard and she could see that her banners were raised in welcome and assurance on the walls of the distant fortress.

    But moving along the far too straight and orderly way through the terribly still village bothered Jewel. What men and few women she saw stared at her with a deadness in their eyes.

    Something beyond fear.

    The eyes of rabbits who already knew they were caught in a snare.

    The ones who could not even raise the breath to scream in their despair.

    On either side Jewel could not deny what she saw. Pasture was abandoned, far overgrown beyond what any cow, goat or sheep would leave. Fields all over that had never seen tilling or planting for years.

    The buildings were carefully built. Thick walled for the harsher highland winters. But they were far from numerous.

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    There had once been a village here.

    Technically they might have rebuilt one.

    But now it was hardly a hamlet.

    Where armies and fortifications had been settled around the keep were now scattered buildings huddled close to the straight cut road.

    Like a single line of Kaeketeh¡¯s midtown had been dredged up in the midst of farmland.

    Fizzbunches¡¯ road had been claimed and slowly built around. But there was a presence to the shadows between those few structures that had been erected along this cutting path.

    Jewel could hear a mother cat nursing her kittens in the loft of one of the houses.

    A pair of toms wrestling and clawing at one another in a shadow.

    It was a sign of life but all but smothered by the still and staring peasants that did not labor as Jewel knew they should be. They watched her pass. All eyes upon her. Too afraid to let Jewel out of their sight.

    Standing outside their simple houses, or from within door frames. They all watched Jewel passing.

    The stink of fear and sweat choking the air around them.

    Paul whispered to her.

    ¡°Are we sure we are welcomed guests here?¡±

    Jewel nodded to her husband and spoke softly, the sound of her voice made the villagers tremble. But none of them fled, she almost wished they would. But even the children were stuck still as they stared.

    Her words made them tremble like leaves.

    ¡°My friend the Count of Arva promised our passage as guests in his lands and to accompany our party to the capital from here.¡±

    The old temple had been utterly destroyed some time in the fighting.

    In its place was something almost worse than nothing.

    These poor people barely even had a roofed-over shrine. Packed with statues and idols, many of which were cracked or damaged. A brief reminder of the original temple half torn asunder by the first strikes of Wizard Fire.

    Paul nodded to that.

    ¡°I don¡¯t recall hearing much respect f-from my mother¡¯s court for Arva. So I suppose he cannot be that bad.¡±

    She could only nod again, not wanting to spook these terrified peasants anymore with her voice.

    Jewel picked up the pace and no one in her party questioned it, the horses settling into an easy trot as they fled the too small village that was practically squeezing in as close to the fort¡¯s walls as the security of the fortifications would allow.

    Thurz¨® had promised to meet them here in the southernmost holding of Arva.

    But at the state of the village and the furtive and sparse population of peasants Jewel wondered how well this land could afford to host anyone.

    By her ear and sight there could not be more than a hundred able bodied men in the valley. Maybe twice that in children and women if she was generous and assumed more were in the woods beyond her sight.

    But Jewel was not hopeful of that, the woods around here felt wild and agitated by the presence of all but Jewel. Almost offended by any that dared touch the roots or press the branches.

    The trees around this valley smelled of biting autumn well outside the season for it. Random branches were already heavy in fiery colors a good season early. And in places thicker dark bark had fallen away to reveal the all too familiar silvery white of a certain Weird.

    Their party left behind the sad imitation of a village and its far too small and few households. Not enough women, far too few children.

    Entering into the no-man¡¯s land between the fortress¡¯ walls and the new site the peasants had set their homes. Jewel noted it would be a very short run indeed to get from even the farthest house and into the walls.

    The placing of the meager settlement speaking to a fear just as profound as the one held by the staring populace.

    Jewel could not find any words.

    It had been years, but in many places the scars of the battle were practically fresh. Scarred over in new growth maybe. In places stone and timbres had been salvaged.

    But on the whole the former battle felt like a just barely scabbed over wound.

    The world was duller and more subdued. Tangled and confused in the medley of abandoned workings and sorcerous signs.

    ¡°Ho Countess of Viznove! Be welcome to High Forest Castle!¡±

    Jewel was thankful when finally the footmen stationed at the fort called out to them. The Rochford and Thurz¨® banners set on equal prominence at either side of the gate. A sign of life and warmth after the disturbing, terrified stillness of the village.

    But that relief stalled as they made their way into the courtyard and she saw a far too familiar and entirely too smug black cat with a floppy red hat sitting prim and proper in the middle of the fortress courtyard with footmen in a line to either side of him.

    Eyes shining golden with delight.

    As her party approached Fizzbunches of the alleys, Esteemed Lord Sorcerer and Weird of the Demesne of Ghergeintat dipped his head into a bow that somehow made him seem more insulting than acknowledging.

    ¡°Jewel of House Rochford, Lady of Valasect and Kaeketeh, Shining Wyrm and Countess of Viznove. I Fizzbunches, Out of obligation and honor of my circle to fulfill our promise and pledge of protection to your father and family come to humbly escort you in your travels beyond the Vault of the Ridgetail Mountains.¡±

    If they were alone in the woods, or even indoors Jewel might have refused the smug cat outright for his offer.

    But in front of her party?

    In full view of all of these footmen of Arva?

    Just past the gate of her friend the Count Thurz¨® and on the eve before they would both depart for the capital together to see the High King?

    Jewel was the Countess of Viznove, Fizzbunches and his circle had been instrumental in the very victory she had won here. They were supposed to be fast allies and he comes out here in front of everyone declaring that he owed Jewel aid and assistance for this journey?

    If she refused it would be a sign of weakness.

    Mother¡¯s lessons clenched on her heart.

    If she showed such a blatant and public insult to her ostensible allies from a circle of Wizards it would weaken Viznove¡¯s position.

    And unlike in her youth Jewel was now certain Fizzbunches was doing this on purpose.

    She could not even afford to sigh in exasperation with so many eyes on her.

    Fortunately Gem¡¯s lungs could heave for the rest of her in exasperation.

    While her wyrmish throat and tongue worked to express all the grace and dignity a strong ally of a countess deserved.

    ¡°Lord Sorcerer Fizzbunches, I accept and welcome this sign of loyalty to our alliance. You may join me in my travels. Now shall we present ourselves to our host Count Thurz¨® of Arva?¡±

    The smug cat grinned with pearly white fangs and his eyes shined even brighter. And as he had before nearly eight years ago he spun in place and began marching ahead of them to the main entrance of the keep where arrangements could be settled for their welcoming feast and presenting to her friend¡¯s court.

    Jewel spared a glance for her party.

    Smithson was sizing up the Thurz¨® men. Muriel was arranging for the room and board of her footmen.

    Dariusz and his family had already slipped away to see to the kitchen things with whatever staff Thurz¨® had brought to the keep.

    The only one that was not already busying themselves was her Husband.

    Paul was making a face that suggested she and him would have things to talk about that evening regarding wizards.

    She wondered precisely what though? Jewel had told her husband about Fizzbunches before.

    She had in fact complained at length about the Weird of Ghergeintat and his manners.

    As Jewel stepped forward and her husband swung out of his saddle he leaned over and whispered only just loud enough for Jewel to hear.

    ¡°You never said that Fizzbunches was a cat!¡±

 11.8

    11.8

    The road to the sky pass was surprisingly gentle. Hugging the side of the rising mountains which marked the western vault wall of the Ridgetails. Turning north and then south again as their party slowly ascended.

    Thurz¨® had insisted that for today¡¯s leg of the journey everyone was bundled in heavy winter coats.

    And Jewel was thankful for that, Gem was dressed in the heavy coat the Weavers & Spinners guild had sourced for her. But even so she needed an extra scarf wrapped around her face to stave off the biting wind. Paul and Smithson too were bundled heavily.

    At first the smell of their sweat wicking through the wyrmspun wool spoke of discomfort in the Grain Turn heat.

    But as they ascended the wind¡¯s chill bite and the closeness of the sky and clouds sapped away heat and soon what had made them sweat now shielded their bodies from harsh sleet. At each turn was a wide round space with carved out pits for fires.

    ¡°Old Cantor sky passes, the Solar Empire carved to a standard grade and made certain that there was always a place a cart could be pulled aside at each switch back so as to avoid blocking the march of the army even when traversing from one vault to another.¡±

    Thurz¨® spoke like one of his many scholarly books. Which Jewel honestly found welcome. Paul was somewhat distant with her friend but he put in the effort.

    ¡°It would be a bit cramped for us to camp at only one of these. But they still have fire pits.¡±

    The count of Arva waved it off.

    Imre spoke up brightly, not even clutching at his talisman like he had during the welcoming supper last night. Jewel was still astounded at the height the boy had taken up in only a few short years.

    ¡°The north¡¯n crossin has a wide stone plain just afore the pass! Wide enough, a hundred thousand men and horses could camp! Father said so!¡±

    Count Thurz¨® chuckled and nodded to his heir.

    ¡°The northernmost sky pass in Arva is a long one, takes a full three days army march to cross under the worst of the sky bite. In the times of the Solar Empire they carved out fortresses to house and shelter the armies which took it. But now most caravans prefer to take longer routes to avoid the cold. And the shelters are mostly collapsed ruins¡±

    Jewel nodded herself  while she shook down with Gem in her multiple bundled layers. It was not just the simple small coat made for her spawn but also a heavy fur and another heavy woolen blanket.

    Smithson asked in a worried tone.

    ¡°But we shouldn''t be having to worry about that?¡±

    Her knight spoke over the somewhat burdensome luggage that had been made of Jewel¡¯s daughter. Glancing up at her larger face with questions at her well being.

    Jewel smiled softly to assure him Gem was fine.

    Thurz¨® laughed and shook his head.

    ¡°No, not at all. When we finally make the crossing the sky pass is hardly half a day¡¯s leisurely walk and easily less than that at a gentle trot.¡±

    Imre spoke up again, voice again practically singing with delight to contribute anything.

    ¡°It was cut well flat into the bones of the mountain!¡±

    The boy¡¯s father nodded along, smiling through his beard with pride that Jewel could not help but share. It was so nice to see the boy had kept his outgoing bearing despite his initial fright at Jewel.

    ¡°That¡¯s right my boy!¡±

    He turned back to Smithson with the warmth of his pride still curving his lips.

    ¡°We will be fine as long as we get a start on the pass with the sun still up.¡±

    Jewel nodded and they continued the slow trudge up the mountain. Turning north again as they reached another place set aside for travelers or wagons or whatever other purpose one might have for a flat place along their road up the mountain.

    The ascent was gentle but seemingly endless.

    It reminded Jewel a lot of the Eyrie and the way the roads to it climbed ever higher. So high up the air changed. The winds always blew harder the further up she flew. And along the close in stones of the vault wall mountain? The skywinds howled fiercer and colder.

    But what started as a constant breeze began to build by the eighth turn in their ascent.

    The winds grew beyond what even Jewel had felt at the greatest height she had ever flown. Pummeling down and over them against the rocks. Forcing her to hold her wings tight and hunker down among the horses lest her eyes and ears be battered by the rising fury of the elements.

    Conversations died down after three more turns. Despite the sun being blindingly bright at the peak of noon the air carried snow and frost which caught in Jewel¡¯s scales.

    She no longer even bothered leaving Gem¡¯s eyes uncovered. Turning her face from even the relatively gentle winds which were blowing along the path. Burying her eyes away into the shelter of Smithson¡¯s coat.

    Beyond the carefully sheltered lee of the raised walls around the path itself the wind now felt like a full winter storm, complete with a freezing sleet halfway between snow and rain. Even hunkering down as close as she could to the ground Jewel caught scathing blasts and flurries of prickling ice.

    The shelter of the road secured the rest of their party for the most part.

    But the howling winds grew ever stronger as they ascended. In another three turns the clouds closed in around them and billowed milky white fog over everything. Jewel¡¯s own snout was out of sight in front of her! The cold and wet was biting to Gem¡¯s skin despite her bundles and clinging with her face pressed hard into Smithson¡¯s coat.

    Thurz¨® and Muriel took turns keeping their party on route. Calling out loud and shrill to be heard over the roar of the wind. Voices smothered in the thick white that had claimed all vision.

    Moving up and down the party to make sure their ropes strung along the kit of every horse, mule and member on foot.

    When they reached the next turn the party was called to stop and everyone was further accounted for. The wind shifted in character as the diffuse whiteness of the sun moved slowly barely seen beyond the enveloping cloud.

    After confirming all were there Muriel had them set off again with more ropes and leads between the horses and mules. To better secure them as they marched near blind up the path. Here too the tall walls of the old cantor road sheltered them from disaster. Even if a rider did stray blind they would have to climb over a stone wall as tall as a man before getting over the edge.

    And then at last they broke free of the silvery fog. The light of sun suddenly flaring on each of Jewel¡¯s scales and baking down heavily on the cold bundle that had been made of Gem.

    For the first time in her life Jewel saw up close the place where the mountain walls touched the sky. She was not sure what she had been expecting but from every tale Jewel read and heard about the vault and her own flight she thought it would have looked different from this.

    Which was to say it did not look like anything in particular.

    There, just perhaps a few hundred feet above them the snow covered rock face of the mountain bent away as if there was little more than a simple hillock. As they furthered their ascent to the next turn about the edge of the wall grew closer but Jewel still did not see anything that she had not spotted from a distance.

    The walls of the vault of heaven did not look like anything but mere mountains. The pillars visible to the south, east and north were distant spires of rock still higher than they now stood. But for all that Jewel did not see any particular barrier despite being only a few hundred feet away.

    The wind began to die down as they ascended, growing to a kind of almost anticipatory stillness as they moved in the stark and sudden silence of the high place, that quiet was something Jewel marveled at.

    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.The world was here but also solemn and still in a way Jewel had never heard before.

    And then the  wind had fallen off entirely.

    Thurz¨®''s captain broke the near silence with a sharp yell.

    ¡°Hah! Perfect timing! We will be crossing between the breaths! Alright we stop for an hour and shake out your coats, you want them as dry as you can get before the crossing. Still air and sun or not!¡±

    As the rest of their caravan began to dismount and seek to remove the snow sodden outer layers of their coats Jewel turned to look over at the man, curious.

    ¡°Breaths?¡±

    Thurz¨® spoke up for his captain.

    ¡°The winds of the world, you recall? The currents between each vault and their rhythm through the day and season?¡±

    Jewel blinked a moment trying to recall the mention of such in the volumes of Historica naturalis Cantora.

    ¡°Oh! Yes the sky and deep winds! But why did he call it the breaths?¡±

    Thurz¨® smiled and looked over to imre who was attempting to shake ice and dew off of his outermost coat.

    ¡°Huh? what?¡±

    His father smiled warmly and prompted his son.

    ¡°Imre, can you tell the countess Jewel about the breath of the mountains?¡±

    The boy beamed at the opportunity and soon launched into his ¡®lecture¡¯.

    ¡°Oh! Ya! the mountains breathe and sing they do! But really slow and big like! With the morning it''s all whooo¡±

    The boy demonstrated by blowing out a very long and prodigious breath along with much whooshing noises.

    ¡°An then with the evening they breathing in and in and in and¡±

    He caught a bit of a choking cough there trying to inhale and speak at once much to Jewel and his father¡¯s amusement but he soon mastered his throat with a laugh and bit of a shame faced red to his cheeks.

    ¡°And then the mountains hold their breath all tight at the high-noon and middle of night.¡±

    The little heir held his breath tight to demonstrate that as well but soon had to return to breathing in a rush.

    Thurz¨® beamed at his son and clapped him firmly on the shoulder.

    ¡°Well said boy... Arva has many passes from the ridgetail vault both east and west and the winds howl in some places all but two hours each day and night. The old local tales even claim that the mountain¡¯s breath is that of some great and terrible mountain wyrm big as all the county of Arva.¡±

    Jewel considered that.

    ¡°It¡¯s not, is it? Some giant Wyrm?¡±

    Thurz¨®¡¯s smile for his son faded a bit as he considered Jewel.

    ¡°I¡¯ve made these trips many times as consul for the High King. There have been times that a pass was blocked by a sleeping mountain wyrm. But no I don¡¯t believe any such beast of such a size exists. Shepherd stories and mountain folk tales is all that is.¡±

    He turned to look ahead to the cleft in the rock face ahead and above them.

    Where they could see the same sky as always.

    Seeming no closer by the look of it despite its apparent nearness.

    ¡°It is merely the winds of the world passing from one vault to another. With if anything the breath of the earth herself.¡±

    Jewel considered the account of Pythra of Veracules.

    Seeing how unobvious the supposed border where one could actually touch the sky was, she better understood how it could be done by mistake.

    There was nothing to see, there was no indication at all.

    She had thought maybe it might be like water or the pristinely clear glass chalices she had inherited from Bathory. Some distortion or heat haze or something! Anything to suggest the great burden of the sky itself being held up by the mountain walls here.

    But where Sky and stone met there was simply the perfectly normal expanse of clear blue and the shining light of the sun.

    It looked hardly any different than open air that Jewel could have flown right over.

    The only thing that made this place seem any different then the elevations of the Eyrie and other highlands Jewel had been too was the abject stillness in the air.

    And the softened, almost muffled quiet to the world and its stones.

    The rocks here spoke of cold and ice and snow.

    But even more softly ¡®spoken¡¯ then any other stone Jewel had ever listened to.

    The ice was more familiar, its journeys mostly short and swift. But beneath the recent cover was old snow, venerable and settled.

    Not as old as the rocks but still left for many years at least undisturbed.

    But even that was almost muffled, lethargic.

    Missing some of the fluid animation winter snow had.

    Not inclined to ¡®speak¡¯.

    A quiet which was shared by Jewel¡¯s companions.

    The rest and shake out for everyone who needed winter coats was soon finished with very few words. The stillness of the air seemed to sap conversation as much as the howling fury of before.

    And then they were making their way to the cleft in the rock. Marching up a trail carved and then smoothed into the stone itself.

    Worn away by cart wheels, hooves and many, many boots.

    Years and years of travelers passing through these same places each leaving their mark and a hint of their passing even on these dulled stones.

    They ascended one last rise, coming closer and closer to the top of the vault wall.

    And finally here Jewel began to see it.

    The sky was as deep as ever.

    But the land? The stone? The expanse of the world far and below them and ahead and around them?

    That receded.

    Jewel would have stopped if such an arrest of momentum did not risk the health of the horses and the careful progress of the rest of the caravan.

    But she craned and twisted her head around watching it happen.

    The closer they got to the cliff face and that one carved passage into it the more the land of the Ridgetails and their valleys seemed to slowly bend and sink away.

    The closer they drew to the hewn rock passage, widened and worked by chisels and many hands to make room for two carts to pass one another the more the sky above and around them seemed to expand and surround.

    As they came closer Jewel marveled.

    The sky didn''t change.

    The sun always remained in its place in the heavens, familiar to her from any flight.

    But the land and stone sunk and shrank away. As if becoming incredibly distant. And as she got closer there was a tight smothering feeling. The air distinctly stopped in her senses at a sudden and sharp boundary.

    A boundary that she could not see.

    Jewel raised her head up to try and get a closer look. But it seemed to move with her.

    She raised her neck higher and felt the air following her face. But running very close to her scales. Pressing as if she was diving hard out of a flight, feeling almost like water clinging to her scales.

    Before she realized what she was doing Jewel had pressed her face into the sky.

    She felt cold and a hissing sizzling boil along her eyes and mouth. The air fizzed and scattered along her scales. But more billowed up around her neck.

    It made her vision cloud and go poorly focused.

    But for a moment she saw-

    Smithson, Paul and Thurz¨®¡¯s hands on her shoulders and flanks drew her back. She pulled her neck low enough the air no longer felt like it was boiling off her face. Her eyes still took several blinks too moisten enough for her to see clearly. Her ears suddenly rang from what had been the most profound and thundering silence.

    ¡°Jewel! Are you alright?! Lower yourself! What were you thinking?! Sky bite in the head can slay a man!¡±

    It took her a moment to realize who was talking.

    It was Thurz¨® and his tone was a panic.

    Well that would not do.

    ¡°Do not fret my friend, I¡¯m fine. And I apologize I thought I had not touched the vault yet.¡±

    The party stared at Jewel.

    Well Paul, Smithson, Muriel and the rest of Jewel¡¯s footmen spared a single glance then turned back to their duties.

    But Thurz¨® and his entourage were gaping.

    Jewel sighed and shook her head.

    ¡°Please do not fret so, I¡¯m fine and I won¡¯t do it again, now don¡¯t we need to make haste through the passage?¡±

    And with that prodding they continued making their way.

    Jewel kept her head quite a few feet below the upper edges of the pass¡¯s walls.

    But she had seen what was beyond.

    It had been like she had somehow been surrounded on all sides in an endless blue expanse of sky.

    Closer than she had ever felt to the sun itself and that comforting welcome warmth.

    But also somehow just as impossibly far as she had ever been.

    Jewel had reached out and touched the sky.

    And found it simply went on.

 11.9

    11.9

    Jewel wished she could say that the last few years traveling Viznove had allowed her to forget what this felt like.

    But that would be a lie.

    Even with her friend and peer Thurz¨® sending forth a vanguard to make arrangements.

    Even with the insistence of her Husband, A count, their combined retinue and all the footmen, the combined staff of both their entourages.

    Still with the weight of so many, Jewel found herself disappointed to be dealing with this again.

    ¡°Were the words of our vanguard not clear?¡±

    The ¡®Bishop¡¯ Kaim before her was not one of her subjects. Technically she and Thurz¨® were nothing more than guests unable to take any legal action in these lands. He was the appointed law of this demesne under the direct vassalage to the High King and his holdings of the relatively close capital.

    However there were expectations for traveling nobility and fellow vassals of the realm. And Jewel recognized his scent, he had been one of the god botherers present for her wedding.

    He already knew who Jewel was.

    She was almost certain he even spoke to her.

    Here in the Temple of Aul¡¯s Roost, he was a peer to Jewel and Thurz¨®!

    And yet here he was looking at her with a sneer she had expected to only encounter in complete strangers. No, it was somehow worse. He was not merely mistaking her for a thoughtless mute beast, he heard her words and was refusing to acknowledge her despite them somehow!

    ¡°The Vanguards arranged quarters for the rightful rulers of Arva and Viznove, their households, retinues, staff and animals.¡±

    He looked directly at Jewel on the last word.

    ¡°And I humbly offer such accommodations in the name of Aul, divine lord of beer, wine and the other spirits of fine drink. To all blessed by his touch.¡±

    Jewel narrowed her eyes at this.

    ¡°Then why do you bar my path?! I am the acknowledged Countess of Viznove, by rightful inheritance and god sworn vows of a marriage you attended.¡±

    The bishop¡¯s long draping finery flared out as a divine working roiled in the air around him. The sharp cleaving strokes of a god making its presence known to Jewel even though she could not see or feel it.

    The air twisting under its touch sign enough.

    ¡°You are a warbeast of the high king of the realm and nothing more serpent!¡±

    Jewel recoiled like he had struck her. But the sudden vitriol continued.

    ¡°This abomination of bestiality may pass in that barbaric march of the Ridgetails but I will not have a divinely forsworn wyrm corrupt the halls of Aul¡¯s house! Be glad you are permitted to even stay under the hallowed roofs of our stables accursed fiend!¡±

    Jewel was silent in shock.

    There had been whispered words. Foul and cruel ones made about her. But the sheer gall of the man to say that to her face?!

    As her host!?

    Jewel was utterly speechless.

    Thurz¨® however was quick, speaking up with a strained tone.

    ¡°Kaim, this is absurd. She is the Countess of Viznove! The fifth richest vassal of High King Mathias! You raised her banner in welcome beside mine!¡±

    The Bishop¡¯s face remained on Jewel, never taking his eyes off her even as he spoke to the count, an act of disrespect that nearly shocked her more.

    ¡°That poor boy forced into wedlock and bound to the beast by his mad mother is welcome, You as honorable consul and count of Arva is welcome. All the poor souls yoked to this monstrosity may feast in my halls. But the star accursed thing and its spawn will not set foot in Aul¡¯s sanctuary.¡±

    Smithson stood up straight, alerting Oxhoof of his tension, the mare standing at alert. His hands gripped Gem with his left arm while his right went to his sword.

    Paul was slack jawed in surprise.

    Jewel could only gape and stare with her husband. It was purpling towards dusk but they could  still make camp and a meal if needed, but to outright refuse her hospitality?

    Deny a Welcoming feast?!

    Thurz¨®, her years-long friend, spoke with an even greater strain to his voice.

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    ¡°Kaim! She is welcomed in all the realm by order of High King Mathias Himself! She is answering his summons as the Countess of Viznove! This is a breach of hospitality and an insult to the realm and both our counties man!¡±

    The presence of the divine lashed out even wider, billowing in a whirl of wind that smelled faintly of vinegar, spices and rising bread. He spoke softly again to the count but his eyes stayed on Jewel.

    ¡°My dear friend and ally under the high king, you do not need to cleave to the countess'' lies, Aul has assured me her curse is undone and she lingers not past death. And here on his lands all guests are held safe and fast against foul sorcery and violence, he will protect you at last.¡±

    Jewel stared at the Bishop, then to Thurz¨®.

    This was much worse than anyone had ever treated her in Viznove. Not even that merchant who had suggested-

    ¡°Kaim! This is not the time, you might have been at the wedding for her flowery show of force and whatever that was with the gods but I saw her actions in war! Aul is not going to stop her if you actually draw her ire! Is this because you don¡¯t have the room for her inside? We can make do with tent-¡±

    The quite possibly insane ¡®Bishop¡¯ interrupted the count!

    ¡°Gy?rgy! This horror unmade a thousand men into accursed fiends to celebrate her coronation then set them loose upon her city to despoil, burn and pillage! She bewitched and ravaged that poor boy to spawn an army the very night of that farce of a wedding! I thought perhaps you had the beast tamed and on a leash by your correspondence...¡±

    Jewel blinked a little then shared a look with Thurz¨® who had been struck absolutely still and silent in shock.

    The madman in finery continued.

    ¡°But it appears that you are too ensorceled to act! As you wrote the she-beast is obviously planning the overthrow of the realm itself! For the sake of the king, and all the souls under my charge and of the realm-¡±

    She turned to look at Paul and Smithson who were both equally confused.

    ¡°And by the goodness of Aul! Lord of the spirits, beer, hearth and all good drinks.¡±

    The roiling power of the divine welled up towards the just darkening evening sky. Drawing in motes of faux flame from the air and soil, filtering with a sour sweetness in the air.

    A strange light shined from no apparent place on the man and finally that drew enough attention for human eyes to spur action.

    Muriel and Thurz¨®¡¯s captain began to move, hands at swords but they and every footman that tried to step towards the Bishop with them suddenly staggered. Jewel boggled, nothing of the divine had touched them and yet they were struck?! But a moment of stumbling was soon followed by every man and woman that had moved to their defense toppling over.

    Jewel shifted forward to defend her men and captain before noticing no scent of blood or sign of death. They breathed calmly on the ground, curling up in the grass and dirt but to a last they were merely asleep.

    The Bishop was still staring at Jewel.

    Never having stopped watching her, his finery shimmering in sourceless light.

    ¡°No vile force of spirit, beast or man may break the pact of peace and hospitality on these grounds. Foul serpent of the underdark! I revoke your sorcery on these poor creatures you have bewitched! I release your bondage upon them!¡±

    Jewel blinked at the man then looked around at half their party lying where they fell.

    She gazed upon the way Dariusz and his family were huddled back behind the horses from the man and the billowing wind and faint light of something which illuminated his saggy finery.

    Her wyrmflame flared at the offense of this man and his god.

    She could feel the well of her power building up her throat, climbing to fill her mouth. He dared to strike down what was hers to protect?

    The annihilating flame built in her mouth ready to be released.

    Until the smuggest voice that she had ever heard spoke up at her feet.

    ¡°As the Count Thurz¨® so eloquently observed, dear Bishop Kaim of Aul¡¯s Roost, the only one who has trespassed on the sanctity of hospitality in these lands is you.¡±

    And with that the divinity in the air stopped with a sudden stillness.

    The light which unnaturally shone upon the man vanishing like a snuffed candle.

    The Bishop¡¯s eyes widened in absolute shock and turned at last from Jewel. Settling down at her feet where a black cat in a floppy red hat stood, primly between Jewel¡¯s forelegs.

    ¡°What?!¡±

    Fizzbunches flicked his tail.

    ¡°You are disturbing the peace of your god Bishop, that is very rude.¡±

    The bishop turned his gaze up to the sky. A vague scent of rotten fruit and the slightest feel of the divine shearing in the air above Kaim.

    ¡°Aul! Why!? This beast has-¡±

    And then mid sentence the man¡¯s eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed backwards in a heap fast asleep. Snoring just like Jewel¡¯s mother did when she was especially deep in her cups. The same scent was even billowing off of him although he had seemed completely sober before.

    Jewel turned to look at Thurz¨® who was rubbing his brow in a way she had never seen her friend take up before.

    ¡°So... what do we do now?¡±

    Fizzbunches looked around then sneezed heavily.

    ¡°Aul will favor us to see all these drunken fools put to a good rest in a soft bed to suffer his judgment in the morning.¡±

    Jewel blinked down at the cat.

    ¡°This god Aul also teaches to never waste a good feast or a fine drink. So after that is settled we¡¯d best make our way to supper lest he take insult. As a good priest of his teachings the Bishop and his fellow god botherers will certainly understand and oblige.¡±

    Jewel and Thurz¨® stared at Fizzbunches the Weird as he marched up to the monastery entrance. Not even bothering to avoid walking over the slumbering men in his path. Leaving a single sooty paw print over the Bishop¡¯s eye in his passing.

    ¡°Come along! I smell an absolutely divine trout baking in butter, white wine and sage.¡±

    Apparently the cat had a very close familiarity with some random god Jewel had never heard of.

    It had been far too tiring a day of hard travel and an exhaustingly confusing start to the evening.

    But atleast little Imre was laughing.

 11.i

    11.i

    Always split your shares fairly with your mates.

    Keep a Grosz handy for the city watch when you''re on spotter duty.

    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.Look both ways before opening up the way to the hideout.

    And most important of all...

    Never break a bargain with a cat.

    -Street Saying in the Trifold city of Ghergeintat

 11.ii

    11.ii

    Being the husband of a Tyrant Wyrm has yet to provide a single season I could ever call routine. When it is not the terrors of sorcery, the overseeing of common law court in my mother¡¯s

    When it is not overseeing common law in Kaeketeh then it is imbibing divinely ¡®blessed¡¯ sacrament for a provincial harvest festival!

    Then there is the confusion of my wife¡¯s spawn.

    And I still marvel at not using the term as an insult! Her own sorcerous confidant attests to the terminology and more. It is bizarre to experience! A child who is at least sometimes of one mind with one''s own wife.

    Furthermore is the fact that even when she is apart from her mother little Gem is the perfect spy.

    The potential there extends Jewel¡¯s already tremendous advantage in courtly intrigue to levels that make me a bit faint.

    Combine this with the hand language she can speak so fluently?

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    If I didn''t know Jewel so well I¡¯d think she was intentionally cultivating the means to spread her awareness to near omniscience within her realm!

    But no, although she is growing better in her grasp of such matters my wife is still far more a martial countess than anything else. And not even a general! Jewel cleaves strongly to the example set by her father and house.

    A flier and warrior first over a planner or guide for the army.

    If it would not risk the continuity of Viznove I¡¯d insist on attending her in the next war as her general of the land. But no it is best to leave that to those trusted and skilled among her vassals.

    A liege lord or lady must always be present in one¡¯s demesne to guide the people and see to such affairs. As my mother

    As Jewel¡¯s predecessor did before her I will stay behind to oversee my wife¡¯s county when war calls Viznove again. I fear that despite all the efforts to ensure peace through overwhelming threat that war is inevitable.

    Like two dogs and a scrap of meat the Realm and the Magarska Kingdom will always covet the lands between them.

    Until one is finally slain.

    -Excerpt from the Journal of Count Consort Paul N¨¢dasdy

 12.1

    12.1

    The Capital was visible days before they arrived.

    Jewel could scarcely believe that something so vast could even exist, nevermind a settlement!

    It looked like a small mountain of red roofs and white stone heaving up in a cleft at the very center of the vault. The first day she saw it she had not even realized it was a structure made by mortal hands.

    And that was before the descent began to fully drive home the sheer scale of it.

    Her first glimpse was after they cleared the ridges past Aul¡¯s Roost. The very edge of the massive depression which filled the entire sky vault. The descent began after that.

    Ever since that afternoon all the lands of the vault was spread out below them. Sinking away ahead and curving around in sweeping hills and cliffs. By Jewel¡¯s estimate the bottom of this land was twice over as deep in its valley as the highest pillar of the Ridgetail¡¯s vault.

    Her books said the locals called this land ¡®The Valley of Man¡¯.

    And just from the look of it she was pretty sure it was significantly smaller across its greatest extent than the Ridgetails at even their narrowest span.

    But what it lacked in breadth was more than made up for in that astounding depth. A dizzying pit sank forward into a curving near abyss. Rivers cutting deep into rolling hills, forest and farmland twisting into the earth along the many converging waters. All of which ran in wild paths into the very heart of it all before vanishing into what on the fourth day Jewel realized were wide overhangs above still lakes and raging rapids.

    And on, under and around those ledges was a city that seemed larger than all of Rochford combined.

    Burning Depths Ford, Capital of the Realm of Cantor Reborn crossed nine rivers before they slid into each of their own great overhangs or dived over with the shining mist of falls. The Capital palace rose up on what Jewel thought might in fact be a bridge for its very foundations!

    Pale white and red colors glittered, making a pearl of the vast city.

    Every morning on the road Jewel could see the Capital dressed in rainbow clouds.

    And speaking of mornings!

    Despite the dizzying depths of the Valley the sun warmed all the lands in golden radiance!

    The dawns in the Valley of Man confused and disturbed Jewel every day. The valley barely had stubs of mountains for its pillars! And what peaks there were only rose at the walls of the vault. Without any central support the sky bowed low over the capital. Sinking like an improperly raised tent! When they first caught sight of the city of Burning Depths Ford Jewel could not even see the far side of the valley because the sky and sun was in the way!

    It made the days disorienting and late afternoon travel a blinding affair. With the sun lingering dead ahead of their path in the clear sky well towards the evening.

    It was five days into their descent before the sun stopped seeming to dive into the city itself every evening and the far side of the valley emerged into visibility. Finally revealing in pale blue hues the far side of the Valley of Man.

    Jewel had marveled at the strangeness which no book had deemed pertinent to describe.

    But bizarre as a sunken sky might be it kept the shadows of the Vault walls from choking the fields. Every hill rise, canyon and dip in the valley she saw each morning was warmed nearly the same by the sun no matter their height.

    And further confounding to her the deeper into the valley they went, the better Jewel could see all of the Valley of Man around her. The dozens of routes from the Vault walls grow ever clearer. The roads and paths in every village, from the very lowest point of the Valley of Man where the Capital Palace stood you¡¯d have a commanding view indeed!

    Jewel suspected even from the streets of the capital she would be able to see every way an army could take to Burning Depths Ford as well as her own scouting from the air in the Ridgetails.

    It made a fortress of the entire vault.

    The heavens themselves offer cover of any given half of the valley from the other!

    And only the city itself could see all sides!

    Jewel and Paul had discussed it for the first few nights.

    It made the evenings easier.

    Against the lackluster if not actively hostile accommodations offered them.

    None of their hosting lords or freemen owned inns had made a repeat of the fool Bishop at Aul¡¯s Roost. But even among those few Jewel had met before or that Paul or Thurz¨® had corresponded with, the receptions were strained.

    Some of that was just the sheer size required for Jewel to properly attend a Welcoming feast.

    Polite apologies that they simply lacked the space to host her.

    On more than four occasions there was in fact literally no room big enough for her to sleep indoors. More surprising was that there were two instances where their host didn''t even have a hall big enough to host Jewel for a feast!

    But even when such was the case there was none of the shock at her own eloquence she had come to expect in Viznove.

    Some of the inns had been beside themselves in apology!

    Proper arrangements were still made of course. Fizzbunches was eager to call up entire buildings, with feasting halls, tall ceilings, kitchens and sleeping chambers sized for a wyrm at the slightest prompting. He even performed the trick when they had to camp outdoors once. The Weird was as close to begging to spread his buildings around as Jewel thought the cat was capable.

    Much to the consternation of some of their hosts and how it left disparaging suggestions on their own hospitality.

    One time he had been halfway through dragging freshly cut foundations and black timbres into place when it turned out they did have room for Jewel. The look when Jewel had told him to put the new building away had been rather funny.

    It was even more amusing though when Fizzbunches casually gifted the resulting structures to use however the resident lords, ladies (and in one case an innkeeper) wished. If the City Weird was not so insufferably smug about it every time Jewel would have more genuinely thanked him.

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    But he was just so infuriatingly pleased with himself every single time he left another dark shingled roof and brick structure looming over a resident lord¡¯s manor house.

    Jewel had seen that look among farmer¡¯s cats whenever they left rodents at a farmer¡¯s door.

    And the way he preened when he had the opportunity again?

    However with each new manor visited the problem of insufficient space to house Jewel was less pronounced.

    Every lord and lady¡¯s house grew ever more opulent.

    And she was suspicious but their manners seemed to even grow improved, although many smelled even more condescending of her they kept it from their faces or tone.

    Although Jewel had discovered there were worse then such judgemental glares.

    Just last night the local Baroness had hosted them in a feasting hall that made Kaeketeh seem reserved.

    ¡°Only the clearest glass in my windows! all the way from Beleniece you know!¡±

    There had been shining copper everywhere!

    ¡°Fine stone! good marble quarried from right here in my own cliffs!¡±

    The knives and plates were pure silver!

    ¡°Oh my, have you seen the prices the peddlers charge for that Wyrmspun Wool?¡±

    Jewel and none of her party had offered to explain that it was called wyrmspun wool because she in fact had spun it. Apparently the idea did not even enter the Baroness¡¯ head.

    ¡°I had the clay for the shingles dredged from the best shores of the river Strekov!¡±

    The woman spoke like she had the wool she loved so much crammed into her ears for how little she could listen while speaking for hours on end. But she had at least shown interest and courtesy!

    An overwhelming, vapid kind of empty courtesy. But it was the best they had gotten the entire trip.

    Jewel had recognized her scent, and recalled some vague meaningless chatter from the wedding. But she left it to Paul to handle the social niceties, the majority of the wyrm¡¯s attention consumed then by what would be coming tonight at the end of today¡¯s journey.

    The looming towers and vast sprawl of stone and brick buildings slowly rising and extending to either side of their path the closer they came to the Capital.

    Descending terraces and passing tall tower forts.

    On the surface it was nothing of concern.

    A simple feast of hospitality.

    But after that there would be bargaining in private.

    Jewel had already experienced this from the side of the Liege.

    Now she would be doing it as the Vassal. The County of Viznove and Jewel¡¯s inheritance as Elizabeth¡¯s heir on the side of Bathory came with obligations from the High King.

    They came upon their road¡¯s gate into the Capital of the Realm of Cantor Reborn just past noon. The warmth of the sun sapped some by how low the sky dipped to the city. The crisp mists of fresh water mists billowing overhead and lightly wetting Jewel¡¯s scales in dew drops.

    The roar of rushing water and gentler burble of brooks filling in beneath the now familiar (if magnified) noise of far too many men, women and children in close quarters.

    At least Burning Depths Ford smelled better than Kaeketeh did even at a distance.

    Unlike Kaeketeh there was no production or clearing a path in the traffic of carts and other travelers ahead of Jewel. Their journey so far came to a stop behind a wagon packed to bursting in heavy sacks of wheat seed.

    The rough woven cloth bags piled high enough it was over Jewel¡¯s comfortable sight lines!

    And the commoners around her!

    Jewel found the whole experience strangely refreshing. Everywhere she had ever traveled in Viznove or the Ridgetails commoners would at least startle at the sight of her. It had held for most of their descent into the Valley so far.

    But here in a milling crowd slowly moving past the gates of the Capital?

    The crowd on the street gave her party some space, but for the most part there was hardly a wary glance!

    Curious considerations, but the interest remained simply that!

    It almost made her want to flare her wings and announce her arrival for the strange lack of a reaction! Instead Jewel turned to Thurz¨® as the wagon ahead of them moved forward another thirty feet. Almost a full body length for the wyrm.

    ¡°My friend, Count Thurz¨®. I am confused, Is it the custom in the Valley of Man for the peasants to be more polite than the nobles?¡±

    The count laughed and Paul for his part turned to look at Jewel with confusion.

    Smithson was helping Gem with a water skin as they waited.

    ¡°No Countess Rochford, but I¡¯ve spoken of High King Mathias¡¯s menagerie of warbeasts before, yes?¡±

    Jewel scowled at the reminder.

    Supposedly such was what her fate would have been without Bathory¡¯s intervention.

    ¡°You¡¯ve mentioned it before. And I have heard of such.¡±

    Thurz¨® nodded as they came to a rest again, the heavily burdened cart of grain ahead of them swaying on its wheels a bit disturbingly. Jewel craned her neck to the left and noted the team of four oxen pulling it.

    ¡°Well not to disparage your beauty, grace or mighty presence Lady Rochford. But the Menagerie is the pride of the High King and some of the more civil members of his collection are not even infrequent sights on the streets of the inner city.¡±

    Jewel stared long enough at Thurz¨® after that statement there was time that muttering began to quietly build in complaint about the ¡®star damned nobles blocking the way¡¯. It was quiet enough no one else in her party likely heard, but she jolted forward to catch up to the open space ahead of them

    ¡°They allow beasts to roam the inner city? I had thought-¡±

    Fizzbunches arrived on top of Jewel¡¯s head just long enough to snort out his own commentary!

    ¡°Not all who call the High King¡¯s Menagerie home are simple minded or unspeaking. And many are not held by such crude bondage as walls or stone. No chains of mortal made metal could hold a Sphinx.¡±

    Before Jewel could shake the insufferable Wizard loose he had already slipped behind one of his corners to somewhere else.

    But his words had turned Thurz¨®¡¯s face stoney.

    His words come out in a sharp hiss of a whisper.

    ¡°No one outside the king¡¯s inner circle is supposed to know that!¡±

    Jewel glared at where the cat was trying to sneak back from around another corner on the back of Paul¡¯s saddle. Just ahead of Thurz¨®¡¯s own horse.

    ¡°Well then the High King¡¯s inner circle should do a better job at keeping such secrets in confidence.¡±

    Jewel joined Thurz¨® in glaring at the smug cat as they waited for their turn to pass the gates of the city. The swaying tower of grain was swaying again as the line moved forward. Drawing another worried glance from Jewel. It was tied down tight but the way it still shifted was very distracting!

 12.2

    12.2

    Jewel tried to maintain her composure while she stood in the absolutely astounding opulence of the Capital Palace¡¯s waiting hall. Paul held the tiny hand of Gem, his thumb gently massaging her palm in slow circles. Helping to soothe both of her bodies with the regular motions.

    She squeezed his finger back with her slender fingers in thanks.

    It would only be the three of them at the High King¡¯s Table.

    Jewel had no idea where Fizzbunches had gone.

    Smithson was with Muriel seeing that the chambers set aside for the Viznove party were sufficient. Dariusz and his family had disappeared into the staggeringly vast expanse of hallways and floors almost immediately upon arriving in the courtyard of the palace.

    Led by a servant in finery fit for one of Jewel¡¯s more opulent vassals!

    The sheer wealth for even the dress of the Capital¡¯s staff made Jewel glad she mostly could do without such things as a Wyrm.

    She had already seen what might very well have been the annual tithe to Viznove enter the high king¡¯s feasting hall in embroidery alone! Well over a dozen parties before them so far and many dressed well enough to shame the late Bathory herself. Lesser nobles, priests and guild representatives. The lowest or least honored taken in first as was familiar and proper.

    But their wealth had belittled those that yet remained to be called.

    It spoke of the sheer riches that filled the Realm. For even its minor nobles to be so finely dressed.

    The vastness of the Capital still made Jewel want to reel under its immensity. Every building in Midtown, the wall fort and the Kaeketeh Keep could have comfortably fit within the ¡®grounds¡¯ of the palace.

    Said grounds being more than two thirds built upon stone arched bridges that hung over the widest incoming river of the many crossing waterways of Burning Depths Ford!

    And those bridges!

    A monument of stonework that each utterly dwarfed Jewel¡¯s Manor house. If it had taken a good portion of the labor of Rochford over years to make such a small work (quarried in place) as her house?

    Just how many men and how many years had been spent on just the foundational bridges of the palace?!

    How many barges had carried these stones from distant lands?

    And they were foreign stones, Jewel¡¯s every step told her the whispered tale, some recent and others long past of the different sky they had first felt when pulled free and apart from the mountains and cliffs they once rested in and under.

    Dozens of Quarries scattered across the world. Jewel had read of the scope of the The Realm of Cantor Reborn.

    She had done the sums and thought that meant she understood.

    But the palace alone dwarfed every estimation she had thought she comprehended.

    And then there was the rest of the city!

    A multilayered thing of canals, bridges and aqueducts! Old cantor stoneworks aged as the original solar dynasty held aloft entire rivers (complete with trade barges and fishing boats!) overhead.

    In places they arched two or in one place even three rivers deep, stacked one over another! The stone arches solid pieces of some sorcerous working. Shaped and called forth in place by long gone wizards. But even now the word of their sorcery is still echoing.

    The stones murmuring in their sleepy whisper of centuries passed.

    And even without the voice of the stones Jewel would guess a great age to these works. For around, under and between the solid wrought bedrock of mountain roots called to man made forms were other structures, airy villas and other stacked and packed houses which reeked of sweat and sleeping men.

    Bakeries and the grinding of millstones, the creaking wooden spinning of them coming from sluices cut off the sides of the ¡®raised rivers¡¯.

    The city was a tangled forest of stone and waterways.

    And everywhere were marvels!

    But most of all the Capital was full of people! Every street was packed with men, women and children. Rich nobles and poor commoners, peddlers and laborers in crafts Jewel could not even guess at. She was not even sure how many of them were in fact commoners so rich and embroidered were some of their clothing!

    And as in Kaeketeh where there were people there was noise.

    Noise and stink.

    In the Palace all of that was distant and thankfully muted.

    But the trip there had been like wading through a mire of scent and noise.

    The voices in foreign tongues chanting together with the heave of exertion. Shouts of foremen from docks well over Jewel¡¯s head!

    Sometimes they even were heaving burdens from a boat above by ropes and wooden frames over and down too one docked below! A bustle of bags, barrels, pots and even a few times Jewel could spot the despondent visage of a Mule dangling at least twenty feet over the street below!

    Jewel was thankful for the size of the Capital Palace and its wonderful enclosing stone walls. The friendly masonry was proud of her gratitude, perhaps firming up just that bit more in their mortar behind the white plaster of the room.

    Ready to hold up the high vaulted ceilings all around her for that much longer against their own weight.

    Just for the simple thanks she offered that they helped smother the sound and smells of a city so enormous it escaped all reckoning. Kaeketeh stacked on top of itself twelve times over was no match to the population, goods or buildings in a narrow slice of Burning Depths Ford!

    Jewel turned to consider some of those who were waiting with her in the chambers.

    Ranked close to her own due honor as a Countess by the simple fact they were still here awaiting the crier to call them.

    A man perhaps a head taller than Paul. Dressed in something that Jewel could almost say was the finery fit for one of the nobility in Viznove. But he had none of the colors of her vassals or their families. Neither did he have any sigils which she was Familiar with from the neighboring counties of the Ridgetails.

    He stood alone but had spared Jewel a single glance before dismissing her.

    Such confident seeming disregard to a wyrm spoke of character.

    His fear was welling up in the sweat under his clothes of course, but he did not show it on his face. A clear sign of bravery.

    The others had considerably weaker mettle.

    Their fear was open on their faces and when they thought Jewel was not looking (Gem was) they gave her furtive glances.

    Two of them had the look of local Barons to the Valley of man. That is to say they wore a ransom that would beggar Rochford in embroidered coats, gowns and furs. Which was an understandable custom. Sunlit the valley might be but shallow was the air between land and sky.

    The nights were harsh indeed.

    Three others had clothing and colors Jewel could not place at all.

    But when they spoke among themselves?

    It was the strangest thing Jewel had ever experienced in her life.

    Her mother¡¯s words, but on the lips and tongues of strangers.

    A disquieting phantom of memory.

    It was not exactly the same, but the sounds cut and aborted just as Jewel had long grown familiar. Who were they? She lowered her head down to her husband and whispered softly. Keeping her tone quiet to avoid disturbing any of her fellow guests for the welcoming feast.

    ¡°Paul, do you recognize the tongue they speak? Or their heraldry and colors?¡±

    Her husband turned from Jewel to look at the man and the woman. Considering carefully.

    ¡°I am uncertain, They could be from the lands of the freemen? Or the north folk, I¡¯m not well versed in the tongues spoken east of the heartlands of the Realm. Maybe their Saszon? Or from the tinhills?¡±

    Before Jewel could decide if she wanted to try asking the strangers from where they came the crier for the High King called out.

    ¡°His Royal Highness Mathias of House Stein, High King of the Realm of Cantor Reborn, Welcomes ?thelred the Second of House Gewisse and family to his table!¡±

    Jewel squinted with Gem¡¯s eyes to avoid being too obvious in her judgment. The strange foreign yet familiar speaking people certainly did not look like they were wearing anywhere near the finery fit for a visiting king.

    For all their strangeness the garb seemed honestly worse then what Paul was wearing and he was a Baron Consort!

    A brief revealing of the golden light of candles and roaring fires filled the entry hallway before again being snuffed out behind closed doors.

    Next came the gaggle of Barons which Jewel had already deemed unimportant despite their position with her. There had been a dozen others just like them ahead of her and she thought it likely this was purely a show of favor for their low ranking.

    But Jewel did not have long to look after them as they also passed the great doors of the High King¡¯s feasting halls. Only a moment past the doors closing entirely and hiding the scant view of brightly lit feasting tables the crier was calling welcome to the next actually interesting figure in the party and Jewel got to learn just who the strange man was.

    ¡°Lord Vladimer the Third of House Basarab, Prince in exile of the Vlach Lands!¡±

    A name and a place then, but Jewel was unsure of the exact providence there of. It Sounded like a Ridgetail name to Jewel. But she honestly could not say she recalled it amongst any of her peers. But there was an intensity to Paul¡¯s face that suggested he recognized it.

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    But again before they could even begin to consider speaking, she was called.

    ¡°Lady Jewel of House Rochford, Countess and Shining Wyrm of Viznove and her family!¡±

    The doors parted before Jewel and as custom and propriety dictated they strode into the space, Paul, Gem and Jewel herself.

    Gem¡¯s dress was a fine thing, made well fitting and embroidered and dyed in the colors of both her families. Striking black and red with silver thread to stand in for the Rochford sky.

    Loose enough in the sleeves, waist and skirts to let her walk, stand, bend or run as she was wont. It aided in the easy and practiced grace that Jewel had always seen her mother enter a hall. Gem now had a face held in a match with Jewel¡¯s own. Soft lipped but neither smiling foolishly nor scowling insultingly.

    An easy and carefully formed benevolence for all whose eyes fell upon her.

    She entered through double doors that were easily tall enough for her to comfortably enter and wide enough as they opened to barely need her wings to fold.

    The room beyond was a warm gold, orange and pale yellow in the veritable forest of candles and lanterns which gave it illumination. Making of the vast open expanse of hard black stone tiles like a clearing in a grove of trees.

    But instead of leaves their black iron branches held aloft flames and pure white candle wax.

    What she had thought were fires instead just incredibly dense clusters of burning wicks and white wax.

    Musicians plucked instruments Jewel found familiar and foreign and they added a delicate undercurrent to the mostly quiet murmuring of conversation.

    The height of the feasting hall was however the most impressive thing about the room.

    Jewel had long grown accustomed to every indoor space¡¯s highest point being one she could reach up and touch if desired.

    But here she would have had to leap to brush it.

    The ceiling of the High King¡¯s feasting hall was a vast thing. It arced overhead  so high that most of the curving expanse was lost in shadows despite the candlelight being almost as bright as noon day sun!

    But even so shaded it was not invisible.

    No it glittered like a woven tapestry of the night sky.

    Shining with hints of silver in the forms of the zodiac. Each of the seventeen animals was illustrated in glittering threads of gold and beads of shining silver. The Serpent, The Lion, The Storm, The Twins!

    They were all there, although some of the features embellished were strange compared to those Jewel had seen in her books.

    The twins were some kind of dog for one instead of the more familiar rabbits.

    From the glittering illustration the roof itself was shaped as all one curved piece and it was joined and supported by seventeen wide columns of solid stone which slumbered where they stood.

    Each securely rooted even deeper into more solid foundations that went arcing out beneath and from there all the way to the very bedrock of the earth.

    Jewel had felt this elsewhere the entire palace was not made all in one piece of uncut stone.

    Most of it was not.

    The walls and the stone arch of the doors she had just walked through were cut and shaped and placed between these columns. As were the walls set up to the ceiling. So too the balconies to either side where the musicians played and some kind of scented herbs were tended.

    But the High King Mathias¡¯ dining hall¡¯s main supports were all one single thing.

    Moreso the Dome and the wide bridge it extended from were all wrought together by sorcery many long centuries past.

    A part of a singular span of solid rock which crossed the river below.

    Jewel had to shake her head and turn her attention back down from the disquieting sensation of actually being dwarfed by a single room after so long.

    The arrangement of the tables and seating was different from how Jewel had seen before, either at home or staying as guests. Instead of having two long lines and one head, or some similar arrangement which extended them lengthwise the High King of the Realm was elevated with his wife and queen on one side of a partial ring of a table.

    The hoop of it was laden in fine silver dishes and framed by high backed chairs.

    The half ring of seated guests had a gap wide enough for Jewel to pass with her wings held tightly against her back, although not enough room to contain all of her without some rather severe coiling.

    At the king¡¯s beckoning Jewel, Paul and Gem approached. The eyes of the other nobility and important personages of the Realm following them.

    They stopped in the open space of the horse shoe shaped table. Surrounded on three sides.

    The nobility of the Realm appraised her.

    Thurz¨® was a welcome familiar face, although he was affecting a similar masked benevolence as Jewel. The High King had seen to arrange the empty space without a chair for Jewel on the Count of Arva¡¯s right. Only one place from the High King himself.

    The chairs for Gem and Paul were several places further down the line, next to the Lord Vladimer, in his Ridgetail seeming finery.

    ?thelred and his party were next after the strange prince.

    It was a very esteemed place.

    Jewel dipped her head, not so low as to suggest she had fully accepted Mathias as her liege. But enough to be a courteous guest to a king. Just as all of her prospective vassals had before her. Then spoke the words as was proper for her place as guest in his house.

    ¡°High King Mathias of House Stein, I thank you for this welcome to your home and table. As we have shared a meal in my family¡¯s home I look forward to sharing one in yours.¡±

    Jewel watched the crowd openly from the low vantage of Gem. It was harder than doing so from the height of her long wyrmish neck. But also far less overt. A child of Gem¡¯s stature was mostly ignored by adults.

    Or when her curious eye was noticed, even encouraged with smiles, rebuffed by blank stares or mocked by momentary sneers.

    Mathias beamed up at Jewel from his throne.

    ¡°And you are welcome at my table Jewel of House Rochford, Countess and Shining Wyrm of Viznove. Come join us and let us feast in welcome camaraderie tonight!¡±

    The only standout to her smaller self¡¯s scrutiny was the delighted wave of some older woman with gray hair and so many pearls hanging from her neck it looked like her entire front was a shimmering rainbow white of the beads.

    More interesting however was Jewel neither saw nor smelled surprise from her capacity for eloquent speech from anyone in that wide hoop of a table except the few foreigners.

    House Gewisse and their foreign yet familiar muttering were the most overtly wary of her. But in a bizarre way the court of the Capital of Cantor Reborn seemed far more comfortable with Jewel than any other table of strangers Jewel had ever met.

    Some still stank of their view of her. But they kept it to themselves.

    A few glares directed at the king when neither Jewel¡¯s nor Mathias and his closest seated subjects were looking made Jewel think that probably the restrained ire for her person was actually for the King.

    ¡°Now be seated my most honored guests.¡±

    That definitely caused a bristling to those who had gone before Jewel but she didn''t see why. Obviously the High King had already acknowledged he held her in greatest esteem for having her wait to be seated last.

    She nodded to the High King again, Both with her larger and smaller self as did Paul. Then each of them made their way to their places at the table.

    The High King Raised his hands.

    ¡°Now my Guests, tonight we have some true wonders to enjoy this evening. Some of which have come to us all the way from the Blessed Solar Lands and the Pantheon of Old Cantor itself!¡±

    Jewel turned to one of the side doors where the finely dressed staff were pulling the doors apart to reveal a cloth covered form. And then Jewel felt something in the world lurch queasily as the shape was slowly rolled into the room.

    The grinding of the stone cylinders and the faintest creaking of such nearly cracking under their burden drew some of her senses.

    But the strain of the stones bearing the object¡¯s weight was mostly drowned out by Jewel¡¯s disorientation. It was deeply disquieting, almost like the stone beneath her was sliding ever so slightly and slipping away beneath her. Whatever the sensation was though it ended when the object was halted in its motion (under great strain of the servants guiding it) in full view of all the seated guests.

    Visible but yet cloaked by a near black dyed cloth.

    It was just over ten feet across and eight tall. It had taken the muscle of twenty men to move and stop it. Each of which was now heavy in sweat according to Jewel and Gem¡¯s nose.

    The wyrm shifted uneasily, what had that been? There were no hints of faux flame or sorcery. No one at the table had reacted to anything happening at all. Jewel held back the desire to flare her wings. Even if the dining hall actually had the room for it.

    Gem had not felt anything strange either.

    There was something ominous that had just happened from the unknown object covered in black cloth.

    The vaguely familiar man spoke and his voice scratched at a memory.

    ¡°Esteemed guests of the High Court of Cantor Reborn! I Peter Bulchava present to you this treasure wrought by the greatest mysteries in crafted artifice! A work of divine blessing, sorcerous arcana and mortal artistry! Truly the singular and greatest achievement and wonder of this age!¡±

    And then with a sign from the High King and a flourishing bow by the oddly familiar man in shining finery at the side of the strange black rectangle-

    The drapery was thrown aside.

    And there before the entire dining hall and all its guests was an idyllic garden under a shining starlit sky. Not a tapestry, not an image. Jewel leaned her long neck to the side and confirmed that the clothing had not obscured some strange trickery or somehow blotted out the distinct feeling of faux fire.

    But no such artifice was present.

    It was like a section of the dining hall ten feet by eight had been cut into an open sky garden, with a glittering pool of water and a few trees.

    It however was not against a wall.

    It was by Jewel¡¯s judgment not even framed or backed by much more than two of Gem¡¯s hands in the width of wooden timbres!

    But to every one of Jewel¡¯s senses, not only did it look like the strange exterior garden under open sky was somehow simply sitting there in the middle of a definitely interior feasting hall? But she could feel the world of it going out into its own expanse of open air.

    However there was something unsettling and eerie about it.

    The strange garden and all its trees, shrubbery, water, stone, rock and shrub. Every single thing in that strange expanse that was visible to her. And felt beyond what could be seen?

    The silver haired man with finery so rich bowed to the guests and then took a few steps into the garden.

    Jewel stared, she could feel the dining room behind the garden¡¯s frame. The man was not standing in that space.

    No he was within the frame. Somehow a space outside had been framed and backed by wooden timbres, He continued to wander around then walked back out and bowed to one of the lowest esteemed guests on one end of the table.

    Asking to borrow an empty clear glass goblet from them.

    Then returned to the garden ¡®outside¡¯ and scooped a serving from the little pool of water. Carrying it back out into the feasting hall for all to see before he took a long draft from it and exhaled theatrically.

    Offering the glass back to the guest who bemusedly took his own sip before widening his eyes and downing the entire glass.

    There was delicate applause. But shocking to Jewel very little other interest. As if this was some simple act of sorcery.

    All around her were muttered meaningless and insincere praise.

    Jewel however could only stare at the glass, at the two men that downed the water and relished it. The water that yet clung to the glass, that still stirred and moved in their bodies now and wet their lips. That water and everything from that garden held in its frame scraped at Jewel''s senses.

    Everything from that strange place but the air itself was incredibly young.

    By the sunrises and sunsets it had felt she was certain it could not have been more than three years old!

    Genuinely youthful in a way Jewel had never ever felt from the world before.

    Jewel was so absorbed in staring at the impossibility before her she missed them bringing forth the first course of the meal!

 12.3

    12.3

    Adelyne wondered just what she was doing here.

    In Kaeketeh she had actually been useful. She knew those streets, she could speak to the guilds, dock workers, street rats, orphans and whores. The work was something she could tell was helping her lady and her city.

    But the capital?

    Trapped in the palace where the servants dressed like minor nobles themselves?

    Adelyne didn''t have any part in this.

    Worse still, while she was sitting in one of the servant¡¯s rooms of a guest wing almost as large as Kaeketeh keep itself, one of their traveling companions had decided to bother her instead of doing whatever it was sorcerous talking cats did in palaces.

    He¡¯d not spoken too, been in the presence of or really even looked much at Adelyne since they met up on the journey.

    But now he was speaking to her!

    ¡°Hello there child of Kaeketeh¡¯s streets. I think it is long overdue that we had a little chat.¡±

    Adelyne was familiar with cats.

    There were plenty who lived on the streets in Kaeketeh.

    There were also just as many who lived better than Adelyne had in the decadence of midtown. At least better until Jewel claimed her as a bonded woman.

    How the life of a pet and a bonded servant were so similar left a bad taste on Adelyne¡¯s tongue.

    So yes Adelyne was familiar with cats.

    But that did not mean she was comfortable with one that spoke.

    ¡°Uh, y-yes lord sorcerer sir.¡±

    Adelyne knew cats and she knew for a fact that they didn''t ¡®frown¡¯ like that. Not when they were displeased. A few did look unhappy all the time but that was not the same as a proper frown.

    Cat¡¯s had a way with their eyes and their tails and how they held their backs.

    Fizzbunches the Lord Sorcerer did those things as well.

    But he also could squish and bend his face in ways no cat ever could or would.

    He could smile.

    He could raise a single brow.

    He could look smug as well as surprised in ways entirely unlike a cat.

    He could also glare far more severely.

    ¡°Cease the mask little Muhtal, There are no airs between us children of the street. You''re no courtesan needing to shine yourself like false copper. There are business-a-do tween us to settle and silver heavy for your palm. Respect tween be our ilk you ken?¡±

    The cat¡¯s voice, who had never once been anything but the haughtiest of noble prattle any time Adelyne had ever heard it, sank from those cultured heights like a stone into the river vah.

    And it was definitely on the south side of the river at that.

    Where the piss and shit made a stink that was enough to water the eyes. That was how the lord sorcerer''s voice had changed in that single moment. Before she even knew what she was doing she responded with a snap as she would anyone else on the street who said as much.

    ¡°Laughs to that any deal with a posh tongue wizard.¡±

    The cat in a red floppy hat who was anything but that grinned with bright yellow eyes. Tail flicking in the way she had seen on more mundane beasts of his kind right before the prepared to pounce.

    ¡°Names slathered onto I might be so by fearful high shitters it true, but not my roots that sink low from above. Not by claws sharpened on high or purses heavy came I. From the gutter stink climbed I. In a hungry night was born me, in alleys did I beg and steal.¡±

    Adelyne boggled, it was not Kaeketeh slang he was speaking.

    It was not even any words or language she had ever heard. It was flowery, smooth, roiling and sonorous. It crept into a soft almost (appropriately) cat-like yowl sometimes.

    But under the words she did not know like the street and cobbles under her toes and the crowd wrapped around her in a cloak she knew every meaning clear as a knife in the dark. Meaningful and solid as a silver grosz plucked from a purse.

    ¡°So from my streets to yours I repeat myself little kitten. We¡¯ve business to balance.¡±

    Adelyne huffed then nodded to the wizard that was a cat and not. Was of the familiar street and imminently foreign.

    ¡°Fine, what you want?¡±

    He nodded to her and spoke with words that were actually legible. Convenient as the strange sorcery where she had still been understanding some foreign tongue before was.

    ¡°My associate tells me you¡¯ve spoken for your streets in Kaeketeh. And that it has done well for you and yours and the interests of the Countess Jewel as well. Tell me, what do you know of my business with your mistress?¡±

    His voice was smooth again, but even so it didn''t take on the snooty noble¡¯s words that sounded like midtown.

    It was a familiar street tongue.

    Adelyne huffed and dropped the awkward tone and fancy words that were such a poor fit for her. Although it galled how all of her work to try and sound like was proper has already proven a waste.

    ¡°I dunno, Your Lady Jewel¡¯s friend? She gets along well with that weird slinking bog thing that smells like farts.¡±

    The cat smirked up at her.

    ¡°I admit Tsulogothulan has endeared themselves far better with the Lady Jewel than was strictly intended. But no one but foolish prattling lords and ladies think there is any friendship between us.¡±

    Adelyne considered him. His voice was reminding her of how some of the older boys talked when she was a kid. Acting clever cuz he was bigger and older.

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    Full of himself but also canny.

    Watching out that the other kids in their particular alley got at least a bite to eat.

    Not well, not kind really.

    Adelyne had been bruised as much from those for things she deserved as not.

    ¡°I heard tell you lot of wizards were tight-knit and tied with her though.¡±

    The Wizard who was a cat nodded.

    ¡°Just so, but it''s by business with her father. And business of our own there too that we are so close. But a business I hear you might rightly understand.¡±

    He jumped up from the floor to the bed of that servant¡¯s bunk which Adelyne had found softer than any place she had yet slept. Which made sense, the servants in the palace were dressed like nobles, why wouldn''t they sleep like them.

    ¡°Tell me Adelyne, speaker of the street, daughter of Kaeketeh in all her filth and spite. Why did you risk the Countess Jewel¡¯s wrath abandoning your bonded labors?¡±

    Adeleyne opened her mouth to speak but before she could even start to say the words he was cutting her off.

    ¡°Not the clever lie we tell the marks streetdottir. What was your real business running out and risking your neck?¡±

    Her teeth hurt with how hard they met one another in her sudden terrified panic. The eyes of the cat were golden, but the light in them shined like a starlit knife in the dark.

    She found her words quiet despite them being alone in the room.

    It felt right, like there was a murmur of a crowd near them in spite of the eerie quiet of the palace.

    Like the candlelit room set aside for Jewel¡¯s servants was in fact an alley just a turn away from crowded markets.

    The simple stone floors feeling more like cobbles and the scent of wood, strange herbs and dry sweat replaced by rotten filth and dirt and smoke of a city, not Kaeketeh¡¯s city but one that had air that in spite of its foreignness tasted similar.

    ¡°The Lady Jewel would have been angry, angry with the fools on the street, angry with the entire city. She would have been angry and she would have done more of the same as she did with the bloody footmen.¡±

    Fizzbunches nodded to her, but despite him being a black cat sitting on a bed, well lit by clean candle light he gave the impression of one of the children she had been paying silvers for news on the street.

    The thought reminded her of the spark that had driven Adelyne to action.

    ¡°She thought she¡¯d made them children, She didn''t see the difference. She didn''t even realize what was going to happen. She wouldn''t have understood. And then she would have blamed them for doing what anyone would have found proper!¡±

    He was looking at her, and those golden eyes were not the gold of metal.

    It was the gold of cheap oil wicks burning pig fat off reeds.

    Or a sparse fire burning weakly on a cold night.

    Adelyne stared into those eyes and saw the warmth that only touched abandoned children and broken men.

    The fire tucked away in the corners for those that couldn''t even get a spot in the bunk houses.

    The words continued nearly without her wanting too.

    ¡°It woulda been a disaster!¡±

    And he nodded again. The fire of those warming coals vanished with a slow blink, and when they returned it was just golden yellow cat eyes again.

    ¡°Just so streetdottir, just so. And that Adelyne of Kaeketeh is my business, it¡¯s the business I¡¯ve called together a circle of wizardry for. That is why the labor of a year of my city has gone into the deals I¡¯ve made for the Baron of Rochford so far.¡±

    He spoke and there was in his purring throat the sound of soft and thin-shod feet on twisting alleys.

    His voice had an echo of a quiet night.

    He kept talking.

    ¡°Jewel is undeniably what the people in the Ridgetails call a Tyrant Wyrm.¡±

    Which was obvious to anyone in Kaeketeh. Even the blind, deaf and infirm knew that. Jewel¡¯s voice echoed in their bones.

    ¡°But she is not the first. And by the words I¡¯ve gathered from across your realm and beyond she may in fact no longer even be the only one.¡±

    Adelyne felt her stomach drop out inside her.

    ¡°We are all very fortunate that Jewel has turned out as docile as she is.¡±

    The thought was stuck in her head, harsh and catching, like a fisherman¡¯s hook. She stared down at the cat who sounded like strange and yet so familiar alleys.

    ¡°So tell me Streetdottir of Kaeketeh. Do you care to make a bargain for the good of Kaeketeh, her streets and all who walk upon them?¡±

    Her throat felt dry.

    The cat which could smile how no cat ever should stared up at her.

    Eyes like the dying coals which pushed back the chill burn of the night. Finally she found her voice.

    ¡°What¡¯s your catch? What¡¯s the price?¡±

    She wanted to believe if it was too much she¡¯d refuse. But the terror of not just Jewel but another wyrm like her?

    One considered less docile?!

    ¡°A simple trifle, serve your lady in the spirit that you have already. Speak for the streets, look where she won¡¯t see, think what she won¡¯t consider, be where she cannot go, listen in places where her overly rich blooded entourage cannot pass unnoted.¡±

    Adelyne glared at the cat.

    ¡°As soon as we get back to Kaeketeh I¡¯ll do that anyway.¡±

    The smile grew sharp, the teeth shined. Adelyne knew cats and those were not the teeth of a cat. They had the points but the look of them shined more like a man¡¯s then any feline creature.

    ¡°Oh you misunderstand streetdottir, this service would start immediately.¡±

    She glared harder at the sorcerer that was both a cat and not.

    ¡°Don¡¯t quite see how I¡¯m going to do that lord sorcerer. This is the bloody capital. I don''t know shit from silver here.¡±

    The servant¡¯s quarters grew both darker and lighter than it had before.

    The walls seemed to loom and bend.

    The ceiling felt like it had opened up over them.

    The stone of the floor felt like the seams had sunk away and the stones rounded into cobbles.

    ¡°Well that¡¯s where the nature of your payment comes from, daughter of Kaeketeh.¡±

    Adelyne looked around the room, at the simple walls, the too tall ceiling, the fine and tightly fitted stone floors.

    Her eyes told her one thing, but her nose, her ears, her toes in their shoes and the air on her neck all said something else entirely. She was by all sights in a well candlelit chamber fit for a dozen servants.

    But the air itself loomed and pressed in.

    The wind blew between strange buildings.

    The murmur of a crowd shifted and brushed around her.

    The Temple and the god botherers warned about prayer.

    They warned about pleas made openly with the heavens.

    They warned about the bargains that could be struck with the stars.

    Adelyne looked down at this cat, who could fill a simple room with the air of a city. Who could speak to her with words she did not know and still be understood because they spoke from the streets.

    Not the streets of her home, but somehow still the same streets.

    Familiar.

    ¡°Alright you bloody smug fuckface, What¡¯s the offer?¡±

    Adelyne was not sure if her grandfather would have approved or boxed her ears for this.

    She wasn''t sure if she was thinking before or after the trouble.

    But he was only asking her to do what she already wanted to do.

    Surely there wouldn''t be any harm?

 12.4

    12.4

    After the meal the welcome feast transitioned smoothly to the more public declarations and requests for the High King.

    First had been ?thelred who was amusingly there to request a defensive pact on the part of the Realm of Cantor Reborn to uphold his rightful rule in such a case as his cousins from the Northlands pressed a claim upon his realm within some kingdom within the vault of the Tin Hills.

    Mathias had not outright refused him, promising instead to settle the specifics of their business by no later than four nights hence.

    After that had been internal matters from the High King¡¯s Direct vassals, both those of a comparable station as Jewel and lower titles which Mathias had direct responsibility for regarding his local titles.

    It seemed most of those matters were settled officially in the open. Either by pre-arrangement or easily settled precedent.

    The reminder that a lord or lady had multiple responsibilities left a twinge in Jewel for how little she had been able to dedicate to the concerns of Valasect while Kaeketeh and Viznove consumed her attention.

    But the last of the immediately public matters drew not just Jewel¡¯s attention but a rapt consideration from Paul,Thurz¨® and quite a number of other guests at the table.

    The man who wore finery hardly different from Paul stood in the open space of the feasting tables. Kneeling low to High King Mathias. Far in excess of the honor given merely by a guest to their host.

    That was the supplication of a subject!

    ¡°Good Lord Vladimer, what brings an esteemed and exiled prince to the Realm of Cantor Reborn?¡±

    The man straightened up from his supplication with not even a tremor of strain or lack of grace. His wide eyes and sharp narrow mustache and beard framing shoulder length locks. There was an intensity to his eyes that made Jewel think perhaps his eyes did not quite fit in his sockets.

    ¡°High King Mathias, The Magarska Kingdom holds my homeland in thrall and my people cry out under their deprivations. My brothers have been held hostage to ensure that my father obeys them. I come to you to ask for support in raising arms to retake my homeland and free my family from the tyranny of your rivals.¡±

    Jewel did not outwardly show her surprise. Well not with her larger face or posture. Gem gasped audibly and widened her eyes.

    If Mathias agreed to this it would be a provocation towards war with Magarska for sure.

    ¡°Lord Vladimer, Prince of the Vlach Lands. I cannot promise the arms or armies of my Realm to your cause.¡±

    Jewel saw no outward sign, but the scent of this prince Vladimer suddenly stank of despair. The burst of it was enough to itch in her nostrils. Gem smothered her snout with a dinner cloth to muffle the sneeze. Her larger self had to settle for carefully cycling wyrmflame up into her nostrils and back down.

    Before he could begin to bow and bring the matter to a close the High King spoke up.

    ¡°However, I am moved by your entreaty. And there is an opportunity that The Realm of Cantor Reborn can offer you and a few of your chosen warriors personal power.¡±

    Jewel could only just stop either of her necks from snapping around to look at the High King. The look on his face and the tone in his voice is far too familiar.

    The prince however looked dubious.

    ¡°To reclaim the Vlach I will need force to slay an army. That is no trifle, not even for your esteemed war wizards and their magic. What power could you possibly offer?¡±

    Jewel felt a cold premonition.

    ¡°A Sufficient one for that, but its nature is one best discussed behind closed doors. It however will not come without a cost Prince of the Vlach Lands.¡±

    Prince Vladimer fixed his slightly bulging eyes on The High King. Then uttered with a conviction that further chilled Jewel¡¯s flame.

    ¡°I will pay any price to save my people.¡±

    And with that Mathias dismissed the man and the feast.

    She kept staring at him as the rest of the guests cleared from the room. The plates were cleared and the musicians dismissed.

    Some of the other vassals tried to remain but a firm glare from their liege sent them off.

    Eventually it was only Jewel (and Gem), Thurz¨®, Paul and Mathias himself.

    Even the guards and queen were dismissed.

    Jewel held her tongue as the cavernous feasting hall was made empty of all but them. She appreciated the trust it showed towards her by the High King.

    It spoke of a respect she was honestly not entirely certain she shared.

    ¡°Forgive my impropriety to you King Mathias, but I¡¯d request to speak plainly with you?¡±

    Jewel could feel how her voice was straining to deepen into a bone rattling growl. But she held her anger tight. She kept her flame stored and coiled up tight deep in her chest. Not even a hint of it loose enough to slip into her words.

    She kept her mind firmly off any strangely compelling options that might be offered up.

    She would not be performing another working by accident here.

    High King Mathias of House Stein, her yet to be acknowledged and acknowledging liege, coveter of monsters and apparently keeper of a menagerie of intelligent warbeasts met her gaze with smiling calm.

    His eyes ran over her in a way Jewel had never actually felt before.

    It made her skin want to shiver.

    Finally he spoke after a deep sigh.

    ¡°Please Lady Jewel, Countess and Shining Wyrm of Viznove, speak your mind. Although I suspect I already know what you wish to say, please let the air be open and clear between us.¡±

    Jewel knew her scales did tremble now, she knew that she could unleash terrible sorcery or unfathomable doom upon this mere man. She knew that she could very likely do something even worse although what it might be she was unsure.

    But the ruin that had nearly been made of Kaeketeh when she thought to enact justice burned in her memory.

    She would not make the same mistake again.

    But she could not keep her voice coming out more like the hiss of a bird then human speech.

    ¡°Did you just imply you would give those vile things that my predecessor made as a weapon of war for the Prince Vladimer¡¯s campaign?¡±

    Mathias smiled openly to her, she could smell the satisfaction coming off of him.

    Her friend Thurz¨® however smelled worried.

    The High King dipped his head to her, not a nod of acknowledgment but a proper dip of ascent to her as if she held a higher station then he!

    ¡°Of course not, oh Shining Wyrm of Viznove. It has been confirmed that such things as the late Countess Bathory¡¯s ritual created are just as vile and disloyal as warned. Bereft of any mortal fetters or decency. Unguidable and uncontrollable. As terrible a thing as she warned of.¡±

    Jewel felt relief rising up to overwhelm her.

    He had not a speck of guile or dishonesty to his scent, his voice was even and sure. The words rang true.

    Tension released her wings and neck from the posture they had taken.

    The sting of barely restrained wyrmflame settling so completely it almost caused her to collapse onto the table.

    Fortunately for the woodwork she could just about keep herself upright.

    ¡°This concern speaks well of you Countess, and it is in fact the reason that I insisted you attend to me here in the capital so soon. I have need of the insight and talents only you possess.¡±

    Jewel drew herself back to focusing on the High King, in the slight fog of her sudden relaxation the details itched in how neither Paul or Thurz¨® were smelling any more relaxed. It put a new tension in her spine, tugging her neck slightly back again into a slowly coiling stack of curves.

    She was puzzled over what his words could mean.

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    ¡°We have not even finished finalizing what my vassal contract with The Realm of Cantor Reborn will be, High King. Calling on my service so soon is improper.¡±

    Mathias shook his head, Thurz¨® still was smelling worried. It made Jewel even more on edge, like some kind of presence was lurking beyond her senses. Wait, what was that smell? No, not a smell, a feeling in another sense.

    Gem did not taste or sense it at all.

    ¡°I swear upon my Crown, Throne and Kingdom that this service will grant you a boon from me. If necessary I will offer an honorable release from my rule over you as my vassal and ratify Viznove as a sworn ally of my bloodline and the Realm of Cantor Reborn if that is the price you want for this task.¡±

    Jewel stared.

    Paul¡¯s jaw hung open.

    Thurz¨® was not surprised but his fear had not yet abated.

    Jewel finally found her voice, although it was so strained and tight it almost sounded appropriate for Gem¡¯s throat.

    ¡°I, What? High King Mathias! Are you certain?!¡±

    He nodded solemnly.

    ¡°Perform this service, offer your insight and counsel on but this one matter, answer for me a single question and it will be worth it. The security of my realm hangs upon your answer in this. So such a boon is more than worth it.¡±

    Jewel stared now with all four of her eyes.

    Not just a service but something as trifling as a single question answered?!

    ¡°Just an answer? To a single question?¡±

    The High King Mathias nodded, speaking softly.

    ¡°Your honest and true answer to a single question.¡±

    Jewel stared at the man who ruled all the Realm of Cantor Reborn. Who lived in a palace that she was fairly certain was larger than all her own direct holdings of herself and her family.

    Rochford Castle, Kaeketeh Keep, Valasect¡¯s Manor-House. Maybe even all the land of Valasect itself?

    All of them could likely fit in just the land covered by his palace!

    Nevermind his vast multilayered city and all the fields in the Valley of Man.

    An Entire Skyvault and vassals beyond.

    And he would offer her a boon for an honest answer to a single question.

    ¡°Your boon is offered regardless of my answer?¡±

    He nodded and Jewel felt somehow like she was falling. Even though she was entirely secure on solid ancient stone. Centuries since shaped beneath a shallow and comparatively youthful tiling of white and black marble.

    ¡°Very well I accept this service. What is the question.¡±

    In answer Mathias gestured, he stank of anticipation, and finally some anxiety. Thurz¨® still was reeking of a quiet fear.

    The doors to the feasting hall opened, no servant present.

    And standing there was a vaguely familiar figure.

    She was dressed in finery as the other staff in the palace had been.

    But as she walked into the room the strange scent that was not a scent tickled at Jewel¡¯s nose. Something she had never tasted in the faux flame or the nature of the world before.

    It had the etching marks of a god¡¯s touch to it. Sharp and harsh. Lashing through the woman from every side. Like a thousand knives had struck through her flesh clean.

    Every arcing swipe passed through her heart.

    She walked before them and then dipped into a low kneel before them.

    ¡°Jewel, Shining Wyrm and Countess of Viznove, Inheritor from the Bloody Countess Bathory. I present to you the product of long years of effort to refine and repair the calamity of your predecessor and her heaven profaned traitor of a wizard Jaksa the Red.¡±

    Jewel was over the table and between Paul and Gem as soon as the words fully settled before her. The light of her wyrmflame flickering and casting sharp shadows as it flashed on her tongue. Ready to be unleashed upon the sucking empty thing.

    But even knowing what it was, even realizing where the subtly familiar scent had come from the thing that looked like a serving woman kneeling before her failed to inspire the full horror.

    She dared not take her eyes off of it, she dared not speak for fear leaving her flame smothered even a moment by her lips would give the thing an opportunity to leap and slay her husband or daughter.

    But no action was taken, it did not suck air. The chest moved as if breathing. The heart beat as one should instead of trying to scrape every drop of blood into itself ravenously.

    Yet with every motion the shearing lines of a divine working sliced anew through it.

    With every heartbeat scarcely a scrap of flesh was untouched.

    The High King Mathias spoke with a breathless excitement in his voice.

    ¡°Tell me oh Wyrm, who can taste and know the world better than even the greatest Weird of sorcery. Tell me one thing.¡±

    Jewel did not see even a hint of a struggle from the thing below her. Not a hint of restraints or tension. She finally could confirm it was indeed subtly leaving the air that passed its lips weakened ever so slightly by its even and calm breathing.

    But nothing like the sucking void she had seen before.

    ¡°Tell me if my sorcerers and the intercession by the goddess Asherah have done what that fiend of a woman could not.¡±

    He leaned closer, smiling hungrily.

    ¡°Tell me, is it safe? Is it tame? Is it loyal? Have we forged something anathema into an acceptable blade for the realm?¡±

    Jewel stared at the thing, at the spiraled and flensing web of divine touches that lashed in and out of every single fiber of the body before her.

    She stared at the black pit within its heart that tugged at those shearing touches.

    The complexity of the working was more than anything she had ever witnessed. Dozens if not hundreds of times more than the touch that came from the ritual of the longest winter in Rochford.

    Its head was turned down to face the stone. It breathed slowly but there were no trembles of pain or discomfort in those muscles despite the tight posture held. It barely moved but for that slow breathing, the calm even heartbeat.

    Jewel commanded.

    ¡°Look at me.¡±

    And it turned up to face her, the lips were relaxed, the face almost slack. Almost vacant. The eyes peering up at her.

    There was not a single emotion and no scent of any feeling to the thing.

    It was beyond dead.

    It was absent.

    And those eyes met Jewel¡¯s

    The blacks of them shone faintly in the candlelight. There was just the slightest twist of their red irises pulsing. Constricting, squeezing and relaxing. Trying to drink in the light actively and ravenously.

    But it was constrained.

    The only betraying motion in the otherwise placid face.

    Jewel stated the truth, the obvious undeniable fact of the thing.

    ¡°You still hunger.¡±

    The thing that was perhaps once a woman¡¯s flesh did not smile, she did not frown, she simply spoke. No fear, no concern.

    ¡°Always.¡±

    Jewel tried to listen to the world, reason on just what the god working on her flesh could do, but she could only know so much. The world around the thing was weakened.

    But it was not as violent and abhorrent a presence as she had felt before.

    ¡°You will feed.¡±

    The god¡¯s working shifted, it tightened and splayed in and out. Not a single muscle moved in the thing before her. Not even the eyes shifted. Every motion forestalled by whatever divine working was in place.

    It spoke with just a hint of breathy strain, a touch of genuine pain in tone if not scent.

    ¡°O-only upon t-the blood of the deserving.¡±

    Jewel leaned closer, staring into the half dead face, at the strange writhing pulse of its blood. At the red eyes that could not help but try to swallow the light. The only hint of the ravenous pit that was tied and cut through in its chest.

    ¡°Why?¡±

    Suddenly the face lit up, a smile filling it, the eyes dilated so wide Jewel almost felt like the shine within was that of the stars above.

    ¡°Because I vowed to Asherah, I swore my soul to her keeping.¡±

    The words came free from the thing and in them was a voice that was true. Not just true but living, breathing, momentarily alive.

    Free of the sucking empty thing that used it.

    By her grace is my hunger chained.

    By her love may I rule my corpse.

    By her wrath shall this traitor flesh burn.

    For it is by her will alone that It now lives.

    So should It fail under her judgment,

    My hunger be undone and my spirit freed.

    And then with a fading whisper of that living voice one last sentence was uttered.

    ¡°To save my poor son.¡±

    Jewel stared at the thing.

    At the more than dead lips who had briefly spoken with a breath alive and real and vibrant.

    She could taste the living breath lingering with the words.

    But with every even breath it took after that life faded again.

    The High King Mathias of House Stein asked again, voice eager, excited, anticipating.

    ¡°Well oh Shining Wyrm? Is it sufficient? Can you approve of this creature?¡±

    Jewel stared at the thing, her thoughts in disarray.

    The weight of all the heavens felt like it was settling upon her wings.

    She wanted to say it was not enough.

    But the voice of a living woman had passed those lips with a vow that shook as true in the world and Jewel¡¯s own flame.

    A vow by a woman, Not the hungering thing.

    Instead of answering Jewel said the only thing she could.

    ¡°How did you do this?!¡±

 12.5

    12.5

    Paul and Gem retired to her sleeping chambers.

    Jewel deeply wished to follow them. But she could not rest until she had the answer that Mathias had asked for. Not at his insistence but her own. She could not sleep until she was satisfied that either the thing he had made was safe. Or had met her flame and been burnt into dust.

    However the hour was late, and not only Jewel felt the fatigue there.

    But Mathias and Thurz¨® still went with her.

    Led by the thing made out of the corpse of a woman. Less by providence of it actually knowing the way then that it remained in front of Jewel in easy reach of annihilation by wyrm flame.

    Although it eerily did seem to always move to the correct place ahead of the High King and Jewel as they traveled through the palace¡¯s halls. Obeying the command to stay in front of them without a hint of resistance or complaint.

    As they walked down the halls, exiting into open air gardens with the light of the stars pressing down on their little party the High King spoke. Tone calm and jovial.

    The only one who smelled of fear among their trio was now Thurz¨®.

    ¡°I am told that the work was difficult. My court wizard tells me that the original curse was one defined more by its absence and rejection of sorcery than an imparting of it.¡±

    They continued along the silver lit fruit trees and shrubs of the palace gardens.

    Jewel smelled the shallowness of the earth here.

    The way that the stone waited just beneath, supporting the weight of the palace grounds high enough over the flowing waters below that tall barges full of cargo could pass underneath.

    ¡°The labor of it was of course entirely necessary given the result? Wouldn''t you agree count Thurz¨®?¡±

    Jewel¡¯s gaze briefly passed onto the one she still felt to be her friend, but she held all expression from her lips or eyes. Not even letting her wings or neck flex at the spark of anger that he had known this was occurring and not shared it with her.

    He stank of anxiety but also surprise.

    ¡°My king, All I¡¯ve ever advised you was that the Countess Jewel is paramount to remain a close ally with the realm! I thought you agreed with me that her discomfort in Kaeketeh-¡±

    The High King interrupted the count.

    ¡°Yes, yes, which is why the labor to refine the ritual is so vital. And why I am willing to spend so much on a boon for the Lady Jewel to give me her answer. If the results of the ritual cannot satisfy the Lady Jewel there will be no point in using it.¡±

    Which left her unable to hold her tongue.

    ¡°If I answer that they are unsafe, uncontrollable, you won¡¯t use them?¡±

    Mathias grinned in the shining light.

    ¡°I will if you can swear truly you believe that to be the case.¡±

    She immediately tried, but her flame caught in her throat. The words did not come. There was a rejection. She wanted that to be true, but trying to declare it as such dragged on her flame. It felt like she was about to utter another curse.

    And it would not be a small one.

    In the stones, grass, water, air and sky the presence of the world stirred ever so slightly. Attention settling upon her before drifting away as she relinquished the desire in her throat.

    Jewel did not know that what she wanted to say was true.

    But she could make it so.

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    And the thought that she would do that to the thing that yet was not a woman but somehow could sometimes speak truly with her voice?

    The High King had not stopped walking, and Jewel hardly needed to even strain to catch up, so long her bounding strides could be. But she felt the attention on her regardless, in fact there were eyes watching her.

    Yet it was not human eyes.

    Jewel turned to look into the garden and boggled at what she saw.

    It was almost like a cat.

    But somehow one that was larger than any beast, even the Terror Boar itself.

    However it was also nothing like a cat.

    Its fur was entirely absent except for a long mane which hung in tightly woven braids framing its brow and jaw. Its eyes shining in the night with a silvery gleam behind wide pupils was somewhat like Fizzbunches. But the nose was squashed, stretched, the lips parted to bare flat teeth.

    When it spoke Jewel noticed how its tongue was far too thick for a cat, and the way it curled and hit the teeth reminded her of Bethica¡¯s lessons for Gem.

    ¡°Little boy is up far too late for frolicking. His mother will be very cross with him, off to bed with him, he should be.¡±

    It was only then that Jewel realized the cat was also wearing a great beaded necklace, hard fired clay large enough to be full vases for wine hanging around the throat and down between the forelimbs.

    Skin hanging loose at the sides in great crinkling wrinkles. Tail longer than even Jewel¡¯s father was tall with prominent vertebrae poking past the meat, sinew and wrinkled skin. The voice was much like a woman, although it growled and rumbled much as Jewel¡¯s own throat did. Deep like Bethica¡¯s.

    Two short wings with raven black feathers flexed from upon the creature¡¯s back.

    The High king sighed heavily in exasperation.

    ¡°Sphinx, my mother is many years dead and I am king now. I can be up as late as I need be.¡±

    The so named sphinx laughed and shook herself out then, lips parted over teeth bared for an eager hunt. The giant cat purring deeply.

    ¡°Little boy has grown closer to death, but he is still small and young. Though he no longer walks on four in his morning and stands on two within his noon, I smell his evening close, a third to stand he will have or none at all. A serpent and then no more.¡±

    The creature strode in slinking motion alongside them, staying to the earth and stone of the gardens it watched them both intently. Shoulder ever so slightly higher than Jewel¡¯s own when she stood on the ground. Although lower in her bounding steps.

    Mathias'' face flushed slightly before clearing his throat.

    ¡°Be that as it may sphinx, but I have business with the Countess Jewel that must be settled before I can retire for the evening.¡±

    The giant cat with dozens of tightly braided strands of mane huffed, its breath ripe with blood, hearts and liver. Looking up and over Jewel with a wariness before raising its nose to snort derisively.

    ¡°A great grandmother shows herself again. But not our great grandmother. Long past the evening of her are you. And in your slimmest peaking dawn as well. Cease keeping the boy up, he is out past his hour, he needs to be kept in his rest, his mother commanded.¡±

    Jewel blinked at Sphinx then turned to look at the thing that was shaped like a woman ahead of them, still walking as they all kept pace with one another.

    Mathias huffed and continued.

    ¡°Please don¡¯t pay the Sphinx any mind, it only encourages her. We have business to attend too and those who performed the work of this latest iteration of the ritual are this way.¡±

    The giant cat with the strangely round ears that Jewel could now see under the starlight was far too low on the side of her head for any other cat. The Sphinx rolling its eyes afterward and lightly batting a furless paw with black claws which shone in the night¡¯s silver radiance.

    ¡°The boy is still a boy until he can hunt properly, if he wanted to be a man he would catch what was brought and prove he can hunt without being coddled.¡±

    Mathias huffed and started walking more briskly.

    Only Thurz¨® had to struggle to match pace. The Sphinx continues to happily bound alongside them in the garden effortlessly with the obvious grace of her muscles under that pale loose skin. Jewel for her own part could simply step further with an adjustment of her wyrmflame.

    ¡°The boy has been given many suitable prey, many suitable tries! But the boy whines and yowls like a kitten barely weaned each time!¡±

    Jewel caught Thurz¨® laughing under his throat and shaking his head.

    Mathias¡¯ own shame filled the air as he silently marched them to another door, the guards stationed there opening and closing it without a word. Letting them into another wide, candle lit hallway.

    But the voice of the Sphinx still rang out, loud enough to be heard even behind the thick wooden door.

    ¡°The boy is out in an hour too late for frolicking, the naughty little boy¡¯s mother will be cross.¡±

    The High king¡¯s furiously blushing face and Thurz¨®¡¯s humored scent drove the rest of their walk to silence.

 12.6

    12.6

    Adelyne would mutter all of her hate for that smug little fuck of a wizard if she didin¡¯t feel the very tension in her every fiber how that would reveal her.

    Go take a walk in the garden before bed.

    She could feel where the palace guards and other staff¡¯s eyes landed. She knew when she was about to make a sound before she did. Like reaching the end of a slack of rope. Or pressing on a near frayed garment and sensing the point right before fibers broke.

    Go feel what has been given to you.

    At first she had been terrified, on the verge of panic that she would be caught and imprisoned. But then a bit of sense crawled up her spine and whispered.

    What would they even do if she was caught?

    The same way she could feel the muscles, skin and bone of her legs and feet straining against some invisible boundary with every step. The way that her skin, hair and especially her eyes could practically taste the gaze of the guards and servants in the palace like the heat of a fire before it burnt?

    She could feel an assurance of what she could say, what others might do.

    Even if she was caught she was the bonded servant of the Countess of Viznove, the most honored guest of the High King of the Palace itself.

    Adelyne would be escorted back to her chambers if found outside her place.

    It was a heady feeling indeed.

    The Wizard Fizzbunches¡¯ boon, spell, enchantment, whatever was something that soaked deep into her flesh and bone. Into her very thoughts.

    Even considering something she could feel its pressure when she approached its many borders.

    The straining envelope that warned her she would be known.

    That told her what she risked.

    After that the fear had slowly dripped away as the minutes and then hours flowed by. As she found she could simply step forward, stand, lean, shift.

    It was like how she had come to learn to move in the crowd.

    But so much more.

    Adelyne was not invisible. She was not even unseen.

    But it turned out if you moved the right way through someone¡¯s gaze?

    If you were already still when an eye went past you?

    With a light pressure in every thought, on every inch of flesh to tell you how?

    You could be far more than invisible.

    You could be Unnotable.

    As the night went on Adelyne¡¯s confidence grew. She practiced, she played, she slid past the guards and guests of the High King¡¯s welcoming feast as they departed.

    Never close to the Lady Jewel of course.

    The presence of the Shining Wyrm of Viznove to Adelyne¡¯s new found sense of discovery and perception? With Jewel it blazed like the summer sun or a blacksmith¡¯s furnace at even the thought of approaching her.

    There was almost no where, no when, no way within hundreds of feet of Jewel that Adelyne could safely sneak by.

    There were plenty of ways she could become safely ignored or accepted as present.

    Perfectly unthought of, like one¡¯s own tongue sitting in their mouth.

    But there was no path to sneak into one of those places without first entering the inferno that was Jewel¡¯s awareness of Adelyne.

    She would be noted and if she was somewhere outside of the expected time or place the route past the wyrm was impassable. For some reason even dwelling on trying to find a way to approach the Shining Wyrm felt like it was dangerously getting closer to the heat of her attention.

    But just that sense of where she would be seen or otherwise discovered by Jewel was a powerful tool.

    It made it astoundingly easy to track where her lady was.

    So Adelyne somewhat sideways took the advice of the smug fuck of a wizard who both resembled and did not resemble a cat.

    Confident in her newfound ability to always slip past notice by anything but Jewel herself.

    Which was probably the point when Adelyne had stopped thinking.

    Because once she was slipping into the cool Debt season air of the gardens it had all felt like there was not a hint of notice or awareness touching her anywhere.

    And then when she was halfway into the garden suddenly she was burning under attention closing in on all sides. Burying her in the undeniable constriction of being heard, being seen, being smelt and even tasted (and wasn''t that unpleasant).

    The immediacy of it froze her to the spot midway through the garden.

    Paralyzed her from bolting for the complacency that the wizard¡¯s boon had eased her into only going where she felt an opening to remain hidden. Which is what Adelyne would blame for why she did not even move as the terrifying monster sauntered up to her from across the garden. Eyes shining bright green in the dark of the stars.

    The black of the night slowly reveals the face of a woman with tightly wound braided hair.

    Something that despite the rictus of mad delight peeling back admittedly comely if foreign lips was utterly terrifying.

    That mouth had far too many teeth!

    Plus the face and head which bore it was almost as tall as Adelyne standing!

    It moved with a predatory grace, that reminded her a lot of the dancers and more high end whores. Bare shoulders slinking along in the dark. Just barely highlighted by the stars above and the sparse candles kept at the entrances to the garden courtyard.

    As it walked the grace of a human dancer slowly was lost, for it was not moving like any woman. Instead the shoulders and back arched and swayed in an obviously feline manner.

    The giant moved as Adelyne was far too familiar with after even the one encounter with Fizzbunches. And as the figure drew close enough for more than hints to shine in Adelyne¡¯s slowly adapting eyes the details grew more detailed. The clink of hollow clay brushing and striking one another giving dull music to the figure.

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    Those arms ended in paws, wider than Adelyne¡¯s body. A tail was swaying behind a sinuous back wider than a cart.

    Over the eyes of what she mistook for a woman¡¯s face were thin brows.

    The teeth were each the size of three of Adelyne¡¯s fingers across. But in such a massive mouth they seemed far too tiny and numerous.

    In the dark she could not judge the color of those eyes, beyond the way they shined.

    And finally with a face bigger then she was, close enough the proportional but utterly vast nose and its nostrils could billow her clothing back and carry the familiar sour sweet pungency of a predator¡¯s last meal.

    Then only once those eyes were close enough they had to cross to meet Adelyne¡¯s

    Then the monster speaks.

    ¡°The dawning grandmother¡¯s pet comes to my den! A fine hunter too is the little pet, swift, silent, unseen, young but bloodied too!¡±

    Another deep huff and then the smile that had been revealing of far more teeth and from so close what Adelyne thought was some kind of terrifying hook covered tongue spread beyond any sensible or sane measure.

    Not even a waif could peel back the flesh of a face to reveal the entirety of their jaws like that.

    And as she was becoming very tired of Adelyne made note how despite the face they sat within not a single one of those massive fangs were a human tooth.

    She was becoming far too acquainted with horrific magical beasts and their teeth.

    ¡°Is the little pet perhaps hunting the little boy?¡±

    There was a rumble there, a hungry growl, a deeply amused purr. The sound of it made every hair on Adelyne¡¯s body try to stand on end.

    The horrifying grin closed to a far more human smirk. Eyes closing half way. The silver green night shines almost entirely closed off. Eyes as big as Adelyne¡¯s head still crossing to keep fixed on her.

    That gigantic nose was still close enough she could reach out to touch it.

    If she had wished for death.

    She struggled for words.

    ¡°N-not hunting anyone, especially not any little boys.¡±

    The great head drew back, stopped filling the entirety of Adelyne¡¯s vision. Letting her appreciate the rest of the dark face in the dark. The fact that the thing which she was going to call a woman for her own peace of mind did indeed have a fine and full head of hair.

    Braided in locks as big around as her shins. Run through some kind of bands that just by the sound of it were probably made of some kind of fired clay.

    The clattering when two bands touched was like dishes.

    The more notable rattle of the now revealed neck showed what looked like several potter¡¯s entire seasons¡¯ stock had been made into necklaces. The dark kept Adelyne from discerning the color.

    But by star and distant candle light she could see that while the monstrous woman was definitely inhuman in posture and size. There were some assets just behind that necklace which Adelyne shared with it. Not on that scale, but if you had somehow made the girl herself bigger than four oxen and kept everything proportional she might have even been a bit heavier then the monster.

    With her eyes adjusting to the dark (and widened in such panicked terror) she was also starting to suspect that besides the braided hair the monster had not a single other speck of the stuff.

    ¡°Not hunting anyone. And especially not any little boys. How clever, how fascinating, what could it mean.¡±

    Adelyne started to speak in answer but there was a hiss like the most terrible of vipers and a fluttering that sounded like a flock of ravens taking flight.

    ¡°Not given up yet!¡±

    Which when the giant monster appeared to want silence what was Adelyne to do?

    Her teeth snapped shut almost hard enough to catch her tongue.

    ¡°The dawn mother''s toy moves as a hunter but is not hunting. She hunts especially not for little boys. She is caught in her hunt that is not a hunt when spotted in our den. And rightly freezes. The toy is not foolish prey, steps are too clever for that. But afraid now despite not being prey, so greatly afraid.¡±

    The words roll free with a deep rumbling undercurrent of a growl and the face looks Adelyne up and down, brows furrowing in thought, lower lip even sliding under the upper teeth to pinch a bit in thought.

    ¡°A hunt that is not a hunt, prey that is not prey. And especially not for little boys. The dawn mother¡¯s toy is full. But does not sleep.¡±

    The smile is wide, grinning in delight. A sudden surprised and delighted expression on the face.

    ¡°Ah! Curiosity, a hunt that is not a hunt. To see, to know, to find, to play!¡±

    Adelyne was still trying to figure out what the giant beast woman thing was going on about and just stared blankly, before offering a bit of a slow nod.

    The smile is smug and the lids close half way. The giant face suddenly immensely pleased with itself, before the entire thing rolls onto its side with such grace that Adelyne only barely feels the tremor of it in the ground.

    ¡°A win for me, and now it is my turn. But the toy is the dawn mother¡¯s and the little boy and his fathers and mothers earned with their own cleverness and tribute besides. Hmmm, a proper tribute is earned and owed! But the toy is sparse of flesh and owned besides.¡±

    Despite the thing rolling onto its side of the lounge in the dark, Adelyne did not in the least feel any safer from it.

    Finally whatever deep and incomprehensible mystery occupied it cleared.

    ¡°Ah, it is a very clever toy and a good huntress! I have been trapped! For my turn then an easy one, shall the toy knead my shoulders, groom my locks or feed me its least useful hand for my win?¡±

    Adelyne¡¯s back went shocking with a freezing tone and before she could even catch up fully to the implication she was shouting.

    ¡°Your shoulders, rubbing your shoulders!¡±

    The smile widened again and the great beast rolled onto her belly and ¡®stretched¡¯ out, her entire body flattening considerably. Tilting a little so one shoulder which was under the light of the stars bare and easily large enough for Adelyne to walk up and down.

    ¡°A win for the toy then. But now a prize is owed. The toy is owned until done. And then a service may be taken in turn.¡±

    Trembling a bit Adelyne walked up to the thing and then climbed up the bare shoulder. Feeling the muscles and vast bone beneath her shoes, before kneeling down into a crouch before trying to get a perch which she wouldn''t tumble off of.

    It took a while to get secure but apparently the pressure she could manage by leaning all her weight into both fists was enough for a happy rumble to shake up through her knees and feet.

    ¡°Uh, who are you? Do you have a name?¡±

    A deep burring laugh shook the chest and shoulder beneath Adelyne. The ceramic bands holding the braids and the necklace rattling together with sharp and dull chimes together.

    ¡°Easy one, and no more gifts for my next little toy, I am Sphinx, I am keeper, I am holder and grasper and imprisoner, I warden the ways as my mother, aunts and sisters did. As was commanded by grandmother Ammit. For this answer are you owned for another task, you shall rake my back until the itches are banished.¡±

    Adelyne spoke, but as soon as the words left her fool lips she regretted it.

    ¡°Why another task?¡±

    The loose skin beneath her rippled and a warning growl filled the cavernous chest beneath her.

    ¡°Not the little toy¡¯s turn!¡±

    Which froze Adelyne until the giant beast beneath her yowled at her lack of improvised massage. She dutifully obeyed the thing that had threatened to eat her hand for a reason she did not even fully understand.

    ¡°After the little toy will get the long rake and work over the back until the itching is done. Then the little toy will set her task.¡±

    After a silence of Adelyne working up and down a shoulder that was larger then she was and a demand for her to move to the other side to do the same the beast sighed heavily and then said in a contrite tone.

    ¡°Apologies due, the little toy of the dawn mother is due two tasks owed first. There has not been a partner to trade words in many years. Eagerness to slake such a thirst makes foolish kittens of us all. The toy shall receive the task owed before the rake scratching.¡±

    Adelyne reached for the words, feeling out the hint of that strange boundary, the things she definitely should not say. The way she should not let her voice settle.

    Beyond even the slight lilt of another question Adelyne could practically feel claws and terrible teeth.

    ¡°Plea- I mean, Explain what we¡¯ve been doing here so far with me.¡±

    She was very careful to not even seem to ask a question.

    If the giant monster (which apparently had proportionally tiny crow wings further back its spine) was anything like the cat it seemed to imitate the rumbling joy was a good sign.

 12.7

    12.7

    Jewel had met many wizards in her life. She felt that she had a good basis for judging them.

    The Court Wizard of High King Mathias managed to fit somewhere between Tsulogothulan and Jaksa.

    He mostly lacked enough wizardly strangeness to mark him as being a full weird. But he actually bothered to arrive in a suitably sorcerous manner when they arrived in the room where Mathias said the rituals were performed.

    A hot searing heat, the abrupt ring of metal upon metal. And then a flash of sparks sailing back from his form.

    He wore what Jewel at first took as heavy leather over his chest which hung in a skirt across his legs. A loop hung it from his neck and it was tied around the back of his waist.

    His legs were further covered in a shorter skirt of what again moved like leather, but as the scent of it settled off him Jewel corrected her original assumption regarding it. This was not anything of flesh or fabric. But a rich and solid iron.

    Rust Red and brown clothing. His skin was equally flushed, his hair a mix of deep black and a silvery shine. Face completely bare of any hair but bushy silvered brows.

    Every muscle seemed prominent and in many places along his arms were pits and scars. But instead of pale burnt flesh was the dull gray of metal. His eyes when he opened them lit the room with a deep red of smoldering embers.

    His shoulders and arms were as wide and long as Jewel¡¯s father had. But he stood hardly taller than Adelyne.

    ¡°My King, why have I been called?¡±

    His voice rumbled, whistled sharply and creaked in his chest. There was fire and heat to his breath. His pockmarked fore arms flexing at his sides, as if wanting to grasp something. His hands fingering at the garment at his front. The left hand finally succumbs to the desire and pulls out a delicate little hammer.

    He smelled like charcoal and sweat.

    ¡°The Countess of Viznove, Lady Jewel of Rochford desires an explanation of how my latest project was accomplished. She is performing the final evaluation on if we can afford to put them to use in the Realm.¡±

    The eyes which glowed with the heat of a furnace looked up at Jewel before nodding. A breath that was hot and whistling passed his lips somehow distantly howling.

    ¡°Fizzbunches and his circle¡¯s project? A delight to finally meet you Lady Jewel of Rochford.¡±

    He offered her a hand that even as he extended it the skin burned and pulled back with a bubbling almost tumorous upwelling of lumpy orange metal beneath.

    Jewel dubiously extended her own hand to grasp his forearm as one might a comrade. It felt a bit improper to accept that she considered him a brother in arms. But he had offered her the trust of it first and he sounded and smelled like a decent fellow.

    Worse first impressions had been made by sorcerers to Jewel.

    Two stand outs immediately come to mind.

    She spoke with the care and decorum her mother taught her.

    ¡°Whether the circumstances call for joy or sadness remain to be seen. And your name Lord Sorcerer?¡±

    His grip was firm, solid, like stone and metal. It felt proud but with no ill intent. Like a solid foundational stone bearing a great work. The heat of red hot iron pressing in and shaping to settle between her scales surprisingly soothing on Jewel¡¯s forearm.

    ¡°Erhard Ironhand, Court Wizard of the High King Mathias'' household.¡±

    He turned his furnace lit eyes from Jewel to the thing that was not a woman. Then was in motion, turning his back to her, smooth and efficient. Not a waste to any step. The flushed red skin of his hands returned as the hot metal receded.

    A finger reaching out to gently lift the chin of the thing that was once a woman.

    He spoke while it said nothing.

    ¡°A challenge this was, To turn the spillage and slag of another¡¯s work into proper form and art.¡±

    He flicked the thing¡¯s nose, which stared ahead impassively. A wave of heat, the only warning before every scrap of clothing on the hungry corpse¡¯s body, ignited in a white hot flare then extinguished just as sharply into a fine powder of ash.

    ¡°More a work of carving away from a whole thing than a melting or shaping. Striking the metal of the flesh until it cleaves apart and leaves the final result is what he did.¡±

    He circled the naked body, which stood, breathed, had a heart that beat and yet did not sweat despite the heat. Did not give up a single drop of water or air, only took in either and squeezed the life out of them.

    ¡°The original method was amateur work, Slow to reach the result, crude, trades a break in one for a weakening fault in another. First thing to do was to hone that, find how much it could be strengthened, how hard a blow it could be while not shattering the material completely.¡±

    Jewel listened but so far was not liking anything she heard.

    ¡°Needed to call in assistance from the heavens for that part. Took a month or longer without them. But find the right god? Can do it all in a single night, met more trouble there though.¡±

    For the first time since he¡¯d stripped the thing that at least looked like a woman the forge lit eyes fixed to the face of the corpse. Spoke evenly and directly.

    ¡°Will you obey the order of the High King or myself in his stead?¡±

    The thing that was not a woman spoke evenly and calm.

    ¡°Of course lord sorcerer.¡±

    Jewel noticed that the High King had been slowly stepping back from both of them, making his way behind his guards.

    Men in heavy armor who were already bracing behind heavy shields and arming themselves.

    Erhard stared straight into the corpse¡¯s face and commanded her.

    ¡°By the bindings made upon you, by the oath of the gods and the command of the High King Mathias and his power invested in me as his Court Wizard I order you to go to your son and tear his head fro-¡±

    And like Jewel had seen before in what was now her feasting hall the thing moved almost faster than any sense should have allowed. What had appeared to be an ambulatory corpse of a woman flared with a wrenching sucking void and divine presence.

    Both the terrible emptiness in its heart and the layered and enfolding lances of cutting divinity suddenly flaring in a whorl. But what was surprising is that in the time it took her to blink the Court Wizard had been struck so hard across the face he was thrown into the far wall. The sound of metal and flesh being wrenched and torn only fully settling after Jewel realized he had impacted.

    Stone was broken and as Jewel prepared to muster her flame to destroy the obviously feral thing she was halted by its words.

    The voice of a dead woman now living but a moment echoed from that throat. Drawn out with a most aching pain. But above all else a vibrant and inescapable truth of rage at the trespass, and in the settling cloud of an undeniably living fear and love.

    ¡°You will not touch him!¡±

    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    Jewel stared, the thing settling back to a quietude, the hungering depths in its chest slowly closing up again. The divine working that laced and lashed through it stilling to near un-notable levels.

    It turned to stare at Mathias, face ever so slightly twisted toward annoyance, the feral anger of before a vague blur of memory for how brief it had been.

    ¡°My High King Mathias, you do not truly command this do you?¡±

    There was not a hint of danger, remorse, or concern.

    Not even a single drop of feeling in the air, no scent released.

    The High King from behind his guards asked with a wide smile, not even a hint of concern in his tone.

    ¡°What would you do if I said yes? Despite all the sorcery riddled through you? Supposedly made by your own living words to vow that you would serve me in exchange for the restoration of your son to full health?¡±

    Her head tilted slightly, turning slowly to look at Jewel.

    Then back at him, face slack.

    ¡°I would either perish in flame or leave you and all your men smote upon the walls of this room, your blood wetting my hunger, and then I would acquire my son and we would depart the realm and travel until we were beyond your kin¡¯s reach. All who sought to stop us I would slay and then I would see that he grew to be a good man and found himself a wife and raised a family.¡±

    The words were a disorienting mix of dead flat statements and violently emotional cries. A living woman briefly being smothered by her own corpse as she spoke in turns.

    Mathias nodded and then spoke simply.

    ¡°You will never be ordered to do such again and I will swear to my stars I will give no such order to harm your son. This was a test for the benefit of the Lady Jewel to show the truth of your nature.¡±

    And just like that all the subtle poise was gone, even the more overt hint of the divine workings or that endless hunger folding up and snuffing out.

    The thing that was both alive and not simply sood there.

    And then in another sudden strike of metal upon metal and a flash of sparks Erhard Ironhands was right in front of her again nodding.

    ¡°That¡¯s the impurity to it all, and the biggest fault in the working itself.¡±

    Jewel looked at the Wizard and then the corpse.

    ¡°Fault? What Fault!? Why did you order her to do something so horrible!?¡±

    Erhard walked around the corpse, looking at her like a shaped tool, one that he seemed annoyed by.

    ¡°Jaksa the Red did not set out to make servants, and there is nothing in the working that could be used to make such. These products are not tools, they are the cast offs of tools.¡±

    He prodded the chest of the thing as it breathed calmly in an imitation of life. There was a slightly more ravenous pace to it then had been before, a hunger to the paleness of the skin. A desperation to the way the nostrils were flaring slightly.

    ¡°Everything about it stems from violation, rebellion, refusal to give any more of what is taken, hunger to restore what can never be returned.¡±

    He spoke of something monstrous, horrific and somehow even worse than what Jewel¡¯s own senses had made of the things. It made her flame want to rise and slay the Countess Bathory and see her burn.

    The feeling was not sated that she already had.

    But the wizard continued, apparently ignoring her growing displeasure. Speaking with an even but fascinated tone.

    ¡°No chain of metal, sorcery or divinity could hold such a thing against its will without it tearing itself apart. We tried with beasts, criminals.¡±

    He just kept talking, intimating so many horrors in simple passing.

    ¡°We tried a dozen gods and their auspices to make tighter chains. No good, it just destroys them.¡±

    Jewel stared at the Wizard, then at the High King. Just how many of these things had he made in the years since he saw them and acquired the means?!

    ¡°Eventually we tried volunteers, and that gave the first hint of a way to finally shape this wasteful slag.¡±

    Jewel hissed out in horror.

    ¡°Who would volunteer for this!?¡±

    Before either Mathias or Erhard could answer, the thing spoke.

    ¡°My son was dead that night, the fever took him just like his father.¡±

    The voice of a grieving woman who yet held her tone with a solidness of iron and determination Jewel had heard before in the voice of her own Father and Thurz¨®.

    ¡°They swore that he would live again for a price, They swore he would be safe and want for nothing even if I could no longer care for him.¡±

    There was a tremble as the corpse¡¯s hands gripped closed.

    ¡°They called down Asherah with my spilled blood and the dead body of my son.¡±

    Jewel stared at the thing as its face twitched and tried to clench, at the eyes trying desperately to keep all of the world to themselves even as thick red welled at the corners and then began to slide down its cheeks in bloody tears.

    She could feel the void trying to keep all of that to itself and yet the voice of a dead woman could force it free.

    To make the dead cry.

    ¡°They took my health, my life, my love, they saved my son. He breathed, his heart beat, his life came back into him as mine went out.¡±

    There was a shudder up and down it. A sound that creaked somewhat like a whimper.

    ¡°And then as my son opened his eyes Asherah spoke to me, she offered me a way to remain for him, to be his mother still. Even as I died. She offered it to me as a vow.¡±

    Jewel found her words, the voice of the dead woman, the true words of her echoed in the room.

    Not the dead empty thing but a resonant echo. Bound into her hungering flesh and empty heart like marks carved in stone.

    ¡°What did you swear?¡±

    The thing turned to Jewel and spoke with the voice of a dead woman, smile momentarily forced into a radiance of joy, red tracks of her tears curling around her cheeks as her eyes practically seemed to struggle and strive to escape her sockets, bound by the divine markings etched deep into them.

    ¡°Asherah swore to me! She Swore that she would keep my dead flesh true to my heart or it would perish in my blood¡¯s fire.¡±

    And then the face¡¯s animation fell away, the muscles going placid, the skin soaking up and devouring the red liquid that had drifted down its cheeks. Flushing briefly before secreting it away deeper within the hungry thing.

    Erhard¡¯s voice is just as stern as before, but he sounds incredibly pleased in spite of it.

    ¡°That master stroke was mine. How do you shape rebellion borne of violation? How do you bend righteous betrayal? It¡¯s a gentle thing, not a forceful blow.¡±

    Jewel just stared numbly at the Wizard.

    He was proud of what he had performed here.

    He¡¯d taken a mother¡¯s love and used it to make some kind of sorcerous chain to command her revenant flesh? As she thought that, she could almost see the chain links of fauxfire, ringing true as much more than metaphor.

    ¡°Of course, such a method can only do so much. We can¡¯t force the nature of their vow. Tried that, even if they claim it is by their own will to give us their loyalty it never works. Is why she knocked me into a wall. She was the test to see if the countess'' old failure with the mother that ate her own child was worked out.¡±

    Jewel stared at the wizard.

    ¡°Did you fail with other women? Did one of them eat their child before this?!¡±

    Erhard scoffed.

    ¡°Of course not.¡±

    Jewel let her neck relax ever so slightly.

    ¡°All the ones that betrayed themselves like that burst into flames immediately, I do better work then that. Even when working with gods.¡±

    Jewel could only stare at the wizard.

    ¡°Now if that answers the Lady Jewel¡¯s interest in how the things were made, could she spare a moment to let me see some of her breath anathema? I¡¯ve got some samples I¡¯d love to see burnt in your fires.¡±

    Jewel stared down at the man with furnaces for eyes.

    Face stern and yet somehow childishly eager in the way the flames flickered in his sockets.

 12.8

    12.8

    The High King had let Jewel be badgered and fawned over in equal measure before he asked her if she finally knew enough to declare their efforts to tame Jaksa¡¯s horrors a ¡®success¡¯.

    She had thought about it a moment longer and then asked to speak to the ¡®product¡¯ alone and for new clothes to be acquired for it. That had disappointed the strange wizard and his obsession with watching Jewel burn things with wyrm flame and requesting to further touch her person (which she refused)

    Jewel promised them both that after she was done she would give her decision in the morning.

    Whatever uncertainty they harbored for the thing¡¯s loyalty did not extend to any concern about leaving it alone even after Jewel departed.

    And then she had been alone with it, deprived of more opportunities to watch her flame render iron, wood, stone, flesh and even stranger substances under the wizard¡¯s fiery scrutiny. Erhard had departed in a violent flash of ringing metal and sparks.

    What was the importance of how beeswax burned in wyrmfire raw vs shaped into candles?

    Jewel did not know.

    However after even a few questions speaking to the corpse of a woman she was already missing Erhard and his earnest if steely faced curiosity.

    ¡°How do you feel?¡±

    ¡°Hungry¡±

    ¡°No, I mean how are you?¡±

    ¡°I am here¡±

    ¡°Are you happy?¡±

    ¡°No¡±

    ¡°Are you in pain¡±

    ¡°No¡±

    It could take over a dozen questions to confirm anything, sometimes more! It spoke as little as possible, as if it wanted to keep every word locked up inside itself.

    It was such a chore to speak with!

    But as she asked Jewel kept finding hints and slivers of it, truths and heartfelt emotions.

    Fragments of the woman that had once lived beneath that skin, seen with those eyes, smiled with those lips.

    She learned a great many things and yet even as the hours slipped by she felt like she knew far too little. Just a pile of facts, and each of them requiring more litigation then any guild, noble or even an irritated farmer could muster!

    The woman¡¯s hair and eyes had not been red before the ritual that made it this, but brown and blue respectively.

    She was ¡®delighted¡¯ (only barely said with a spark of emotion) by her son¡¯s new found life and looked forward to all she could do to care for him with the full resources of the High King¡¯s palace at her disposal (extracted with fifty different monosyllabic answers).

    She was not nursing him before his death or presently. But would make her flesh allow it, although despite Jewel¡¯s protest she then seemed confused that the only thing that would come from trying to squeeze her own teat was blood.

    The answer had changed then, if her son needed milk she would find a wet nurse.

    The woman¡¯s name had been Franziska Millersdottir and it was embarrassing how long it took Jewel to ask that.

    Her boy was Leobwin Franzison (this only took four questions).

    She felt no pain or fear anymore.

    Franziska¡¯s corpse said as honestly as Jewel could determine that she felt nothing at all but the slight drag of her own hunger.

    She did not mind this at all, it simply was, like the color of her hair.

    No love, no hate, just the lurking hunger which craved to always eat, to swallow the life back that had been taken from it.

    So many questions, every question Jewel could think of to try and tease out the truth of just what Erhard, Mathias and the priests and other god botherers had done to the woman. To try and satisfy her judgment that the woman should or should not be.

    A dead voice, speaking with a dead tongue that yet breathed and ate and drank and performed so many acts like life. But shining through like sunlight breaking between cracked walls and stone was the light of the once living woman. Not the person herself as far as Jewel could determine.

    Stolen novel; please report.

    But there was something more than just the corpse and its hunger, something somehow held by sorcery and divine miracle.

    And for that she had to know the truth of what was there.

    She had to ask until she had an answer.

    It was a task that left Jewel feeling exhausted when she finally felt like there was nothing more she could extract from the corpse.

    The last thing she had determined was the paradox of the creature itself.

    It cared not at all for its own life.

    It did not care about anything.

    Not even satisfying its hunger. The hunger simply was what it was.

    But when in a fit of frustration Jewel presented the possibility that it might be destroyed?

    That had prompted an action.

    ¡°Will you swear to keep Leobwin safe?¡±

    Jewel stared at the empty thing which had stood there sucking air for long hours with no complaint. No obvious agency at all with its hunger so shackled.

    ¡°Why do you ask? You freely admitted you care not for him.¡±

    The thing shifted more than it had for most of the night. It dragged its tongue over its lips, looked up and down Jewel¡¯s coils with a calculating but starving gaze.

    ¡°It was my vow, He must live. Or I will perish and burn.¡±

    Jewel glared at the thing that refused to make this problem simple for her.

    ¡°You would already be perished, You don¡¯t even mind if you do, What does that matter to you?¡±

    And there was a proper pause there.

    It almost seemed to freeze, but the roil of the presence of divine and sorcerous workings showed something was happening within it.

    ¡°I cannot trust the High King Mathias to Protect little Leobwin. I gave my life to Asherah to save my son, But the High King would use his life to test my loyalty.¡±

    Every word was flat, not touched by that intermittent spirit of the dead woman whose corpse still stood before Jewel.

    It settled its roaming gaze to face Jewel, the hunger of its eyes, of its pores, of every part of it gnashing at the surface. The twisting sorcery and divinity in its flesh a tumult that seemed to strain at every fiber of its hunger.

    ¡°But you would have ended me before I could harm Leobwin. You were horrified by the king, by his wizard and his words.¡±

    The thing which should have been nothing but an empty pit of hunger, driven only to devour. Which sucked at the air to strip its vitality. The thing that felt like a terrible black pit of an ornament wrapped in a filigree of sorcery and divine decree before her?

    It begged for a child¡¯s life just because that had been part of the vow used to create it.

    The dying wish of the woman it had been.

    Jewel said the only thing she could.

    ¡°I would keep him safe if I destroyed you.¡±

    And like that it bowed its head, it kneeled, bits of its flesh and that black pit of a heart writhed.

    The hunger did not precisely want to surrender.

    Jewel could taste that emptiness lashing at any hint of giving in.

    But it was balanced by the miracles within it.

    They were like that for some time, Jewel was not sure for how long but the candles in the room had melted further than the low place they had reached when she gave her promise.

    In time the silence between them was broken by the thing speaking.

    ¡°If you are not going to end me, I need to depart. Leobwin will miss his mother if he wakes early. I will need to play with him and teach him and tell him stories and feed him today. And the days after. Unless you destroy me.¡±

    Jewel stared for a moment before finally responding.

    ¡°Go then, you have duties to your son.¡±

    And then it was gone, near silent, running into the dark hallways like a shadow of a bird in flight.

    Jewel ached as she uncurled herself from the tight confines of the chamber. Every one of her six limbs aching as she made her way through the darkness of the dead night.

    A glance to the stars showing she would have far too few hours of sleep before the trials of the next morning came. But she would take what sleep could be stolen from this awful night. The way was obvious, she could smell her own passing and had been given a tour once of the grounds.

    She was silent and lifted by wyrmflame when she finally found her family¡¯s sleeping chamber.

    She was as gentle and quiet as she could be slipping into the room and finding space around her husband and spawn in the dark of their bedroom. Settling as slowly and carefully as possible into the cushions.

    Breathing deeply and slowly.

    Matching her inner turmoil with the already restful dreaming of ¡®Gem¡¯.

    The evened breathing of her husband.

    What an awful day.

    What a terrible night.

    But Jewel could feel something in her flame unfettered and free.

    She had Mathias¡¯ answer regarding the poor woman and whatever terrible working of sorcery and the divines had been used to make her into that thing.

    A part of her hoped he would dislike her judgment.

    But as she drifted into dreams her lips and brows made a frown.

    He probably would not.

 13.1

    13.1

    That morning Jewel found the corpse that had been Franziska in the gardens of the palace.

    And she was struck with stillness at the sight.

    The thing that only looked like a woman was beaming, smiling with seeming delight. Fussing over a toddling child in an infant¡¯s smock.

    Her voice sounded animated, alive, gentle.

    Her touch was careful.

    But Jewel could see the way her eyes, nostrils and lips still trembled with a sucking hunger.

    She could smell and feel the pit in the world inside her chest.

    Yet there was not a single sign of any of the monosyllabic flatness to the figure before her.

    She watched the pair of them wander through the gardens until some matter had them leave further into the palace.

    Another monster in the High King¡¯s collection.

    Held by its own form of leash.

    The business for the Countess of Viznove in the Capital was done, the year was growing late and autumn would soon be fully arrived. There was at present no further business for her here and Kaeketeh despite assurances sent by bird to the contrary probably was secretly on fire.

    They would need to depart if they did not want to risk the sky way in full winter. Although Thurz¨® assured that the seasons had little sway on the temperature at such heights.

    So depart soon Jewel would.

    But they still had one more day before leaving for home.

    And she had found exploring the gardens which hosted the more ¡®tame¡¯ members of Mathias¡¯ menagerie equal parts soothing and disquieting. All the more for just how many of them could speak. Although most Jewel found were rather simple.

    When she had heard and thought of the menagerie before Jewel had imagined pens, cages, like some dogs or chickens were kept in.

    She had imagined dungeons and pits and chains.

    But what she found in the capital was gardens, open skies, attendants.

    Even the war beasts who could not be allowed free roam were carefully given guidance under open sky.

    The thing which Countess Bathory had threatened Jewel and her family with was a disturbingly peaceful place. A seeming paradise full of beings that while not precisely Wyrms were inhuman and different while still able to speak.

    It began to paint a picture of perhaps why simply being able to converse did not in fact garner respect from all the strangers she met.

    If the world had such creatures as these in it?

    A family of foxes with human faces that only sang in meandering and incomprehensible rhymes. Laughed and danced, but otherwise happily and bloodily ate mice like any hunting dog.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Something blinding white with solid violet eyes and a mane which never was still, four-legged and so saturated in divine intervention its every single hair and prominent horn cut the air itself apart in its passing.

    That utterly blinding white blade jutting from its brow seemed always just barely on the verge of calling the sky itself down.

    The cloven hoofed steps dragging flowers and ferns into bloom from its footprints.

    And speaking in a language only the small crowd of scholars that followed it could understand.

    The stink of dung and compost was almost chokingly thick in the grounds where it was allowed to roam. And the soil after its passing left a taste like old dry ash under fresh burgeoning life whenever it was moved elsewhere.

    Jewel had watched a wizened old woman and the white creature have an incomprehensible argument along one of the foot paths. She was not entirely sure of the providence of it but she thought it might be an attempt to stop it from stepping on the stones and damaging them with spontaneous plant growth.

    She did not know what words were spoken but there were far too many repetitions of the same utterances for her to judge this was a particularly complex discussion.

    The Sphinx was perhaps one of the cleverest beasts in the entire menagerie that Jewel had met. But even then after dealing with it a few evenings she was left somewhat disappointed. Speaking to the overly large cat with diminutive black wings made Jewel think more of what Zephyrvam might say if he had the throat and words for it.

    All of the beasts in the menagerie, whether dangerous or tame. All had in them a character that left Jewel disquieted.

    Bethica could argue circles around those scholars from what she had learned speaking to them.

    Celsus?

    Jewel actually might have to offer an invitation for some of them to try and match wits with the bull.

    No.

    There was nothing here like what Jewel expected.

    Neither fully simple beasts.

    But also not something she could say were her peers. Jewel felt more in common with peasants than these wards of the high king.

    Despite the insistence of the sphinx to refer to Jewel like she was somehow related to it.

    No.

    The gardens were pleasant but they were as much a cage and a dungeon as Jewel¡¯s nightmares had conjured.

    The shackles were not obvious but there were still chains.

    Jewel was troubled however by just how many of those restraints seemed to be the simple fact of making those in the High King¡¯s collection comfortable and happy.

    If Bathory had not intervened to keep her with her family and Jewel had grown up here instead of Rochford?

    Would she be so simple and content as the Sphinx?

    Perhaps able to speak, reason and so much more, but trapped by her own ignorance and complacency?

    Or perhaps like the terrible living corpse would Mathias have used her family and her love for them?

    Given them finery and opulence so they would act as the bars and chains for Jewel¡¯s imprisonment?

    Invisible fetters to placate her except for an occasional call to war?

    Would Jewel raised in the beauty and peace of this menagerie ever have chosen to live as she did now?

    Would she have even cared about the men she was called to destroy?

    A shudder ran up and down her coils at the thought of it. Her inner flame flared higher at the intangible threat. It reminded her of Tsulogothulan¡¯s words of Jewel¡¯s elder ¡®sister¡¯.

    The nameless Rat Wyrm who still lived content with her family of vermin.

    Kept small and happy and simple as any beast by circumstance.

    Jewel shivered again, felt the ripples of her scales rattling cross past one another up and down then ruffled her wings and shook her head.

    She could not wait to return home.

 13.2

    13.2

    The trip up to and back down from the sky way was surprisingly gentler and less severe then they had to suffer on the way to the capital.

    The Valley of Man¡¯s side in general seemed to have a gentler transition regardless of the time of year but well into autumn the Ridgetail side seemed to be somewhat calmed for the day they made their crossing and descent.

    Jewel was thankful for it.

    She didn''t like being swaddled like an infant and then further wrapped in what felt like an entire bolt of heavy wool and fur before being squeezed into the space in front of Paul. Oxhoof had not complained but she imagined the extra weight was not something the mare appreciated either.

    Both her selves could hear the heavy nicker whenever they stopped for the night and undid her saddle.

    But as much as the clothing against the biting chill of the pass was annoying, the cold was so much worse in her smaller body.

    No matter how much wyrmflame coursed through her flesh the terrible wind could sap every ounce of strength out of Gem. She was also thankful for the opportunity to be away from the capital and all the direct vassals and their preening and false (or even genuine) dotting on Jewel as her spawn.

    It had been a great boon to the work and training her mother gave her.

    No one expected even a wyrm spawn child of Gem¡¯s stature to listen quite so intently or understand so clearly.

    Nevermind that her snout was not just for show and mockery (or in a few peculiar cases actual praise and admiration). She lacked the full capacity of her larger mother-self¡¯s senses. But even diminished, she thought she probably had a better nose than a cat.

    Definitely better than some of those ¡®court hounds¡¯ some of the ladies in the capital carried around like surrogate children.

    They way some of them acted with the beasts Jewel might have thought they were some kind of accursed offspring of the poor women. But no her nose was quite clear on this, the dogs were simply dogs.

    A few of them seemed as tired of the whole affair as Jewel was with her own showing as a court child.

    They seemed to appreciate how Jewel as Gem gave them the benefit of their consent before she tried to touch them. Which had earned her praise from their ¡®owners¡¯ and snide remarks how a beast-touched child would get along with beasts.

    There had not really been many children in the palace itself.

    And the ones that Jewel knew of were far too close to the terrifying monster of a woman-corpse-thing her larger self had interrogated.

    And Jewel knew she could not tell the children why she didn''t want to go anywhere near the ¡®nice red haired lady and her son¡¯ so she just played at being shy and stuck close to Smithson or Paul when she didn''t need to be seen with her family somewhere for proprietary reasons.

    Was this how Alexander felt?

    Was this what Gwenn was going through already?

    She¡¯d put in the work to ask her sister/aunt/twin about it when they got back to Rochford.

    For now her larger self sighed heavily.

    ¡°It would probably be for the best that all of you learned the Valasect Cants.¡±

    Muriel raised a brow while soaking her travel bread ration in the trail-stew that Dariusz had taken to making when their route would not make it to a halfway-house or otherwise provide full kitchens for preparing the meal.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    It was surprisingly good and rich although apparently required some considerable preparation before departure to make it ready for travel. It allowed a good meal on the road.

    Paul and Smithson only nodded along. Although the count consort was more hesitant.

    Jewel explained as she shifted her coils nearer their campfire.

    ¡°It¡¯s so you can better communicate with Gem when we are apart. I can understand your words perfectly fine, but speaking is hard.¡±

    Her husband looked over at Gem. He¡¯d been a bit more distant with her since fully realizing the connection between wyrm and spawn. Not cruelly so, but it made Jewel miss when he readily embraced her without any hesitation.

    The way he touched Gem now was always with a near flinch, like she would burn him or something. The thought of it brought tears to her smaller self¡¯s eyes when she was alone.

    ¡°Wouldn''t it be better to further practice speech?¡± He turned to Jewel¡¯s larger self when he spoke. Even when he was ostensibly talking to Gem. Which was another thing that made something ache in her chest.

    Her fingers found their way to the gesture for ¡®stupid mean oaf¡¯ before she even could realize it was happening. Finding her smaller self was on the verge of openly wailing, Jewel focused on squeezing her eyes shut to try and hide the welling tears as she spun in her place in Smithson¡¯s lap and pressed her face against his chest.

    Jewel had to keep her tone even and calm in her larger throat.

    ¡°We will keep practicing Gem¡¯s speech, but it¡¯s not hard to learn a cant, and if you three know it we can begin teaching it to the Valasect footmen and perhaps even the Kaeketeh Guard.¡±

    Smithson considered Jewel. His hand gently rubbed her spawn¡¯s back.

    ¡°This is for more reasons than just so it''s easier for Gem to communicate.¡±

    Jewel nodded her larger head, letting her frustration with Paul stay hidden on the smaller face. They could have words in private about this, but the road was not the time or place for it.

    ¡°The Children in Valasect are using the cant to pass messages silently while in the woods, during hunts, and to gossip across entire farm fields without having to use their voices. They can have entire conversations even when non-fluent adults are among them.¡±

    Muriel hummed at that and nodded along.

    ¡°The ability to pass words silently has a lot of potential, Scouts definitely would have a use for it.¡±

    A voice that Jewel had completely forgotten about picked up from the place she had been sitting to the left of the wyrm¡¯s coils.

    Adelyne had completely slipped Jewel¡¯s mind. So quietly she was sitting there.

    ¡°I¡¯d like to learn this hand-talk the dragon¡¯s git uses too. Could be useful for my brats on the street as well. If country-softies can learn, it can¡¯t be too hard.¡±

    Paul huffed and glared at Jewel¡¯s bond servant.

    ¡°Teach this to those rats and they will be using it for thieving somehow before the day is out.¡±

    The maybe-still-thief snorted and flipped her nose at him.

    ¡°Course they will! Make em better at it too. But that¡¯s good! good silent thieves all over Kaeketeh working for the Lady¡¯s interests? All official like.¡±

    Jewel stared down at the probably-still-but-also-loyal-thief and sighed heavily.

    ¡°I was joking when I said Kaeketeh probably had a thieves guild.¡±

    Adelyne¡¯s grin in the dark somehow caught the firelight just right to make her teeth look sharper and her eyes almost seemed to have a waifish shine to them.

    ¡°Now that you¡¯ve brought it up my lady¡±

    Paul glared at Adelyne.

    ¡°This is absurd! A Guild is a prestigious and most importantly recognized and legal institution! You can¡¯t have an officially recognized Guild for Thieves! They''re a myth! A Tavern story!¡±

    Adelyne nodded solemnly.

    ¡°Of course there ain¡¯t no guild for thieves.¡±

    Jewel relaxed a bit at the admittance the world was not entirely insane.

    Adelyne¡¯s voice however froze her still.

    ¡°That¡¯s why we should start one!¡±

 13.3

    13.3

    Returning to Valasect was an incredible relief.

    Autumn came and winter was imminent and at least for the rest of this year Jewel would not be going to Kaeketeh. Lord Kliatbatrn and the guilds could live up to their obligations to her and keep everything intact over one winter.

    Jewel was going home to Rochford for the longest night.

    As Gem she was spending as much time as she could stand and Smithson would allow away from the manor. Running with her friends and the rest of the village whenever the days were clear enough.

    Swarmed with endless questions as she had been in the mid summer.

    But instead of inquiries to what it was like in Kaeketeh it was questions about the Capital. About what the sky looked like under another vault.

    When she spoke of the Capital, of its many overlapping rivers, the beasts of the menagerie, the food (and how awful and over spiced so much of it was), the Palace, the monsters and nobles she had met. Jewel was filled with a warmth that had nothing to do with her Wyrmflame.

    They shared their own adventures, the riddles and jokes they had made in the two Valasect cants.

    In the seasons since she had last signed with them the word for the two cants had changed again. Instead of Field and Forest cant it was now ¡°Close¡± and ¡°Far¡± cant. Jewel shared with them that the Footmen of the Manor and maybe also some people in Kaeketeh were going to learn the signs too.

    Some of the children were frustrated, but the promise that their parents were unlikely to learn it unless they joined Jewel¡¯s guard and that few from Kaeketeh were likely to ever visit was enough to placate most.

    ¡°Was there really a blood eating walking corpse at the capital?¡±

    Dorota signed swiftly and assuredly. Her brother Albert turning to watch her hands and Gem¡¯s as they ¡®spoke¡¯ between working with his carving knife at a block of wood.

    The fire of their hearth made for poor light to do such fine work Jewel thought.

    But it was better than the cold.

    To help keep him included she and his sister made their initial gestures wide enough to draw attention before pulling into the closer Valasect Cant for precise finger gestures. Gem¡¯s mouth giving a wide smile and a heavy trilling laugh.

    ¡°There was! And a giant hairless cat bigger than even Celsus!¡±

    Jewel was still learning the strange rules the children had made for ¡®shaping¡¯ out the sound of words (or more often names) that did not have an easy existing meaning in the cant. The rules were a bit arbitrary.

    But just to be abundantly clear as she twisted and wiggled her digits into what she thought the siblings used to refer to the bull while she also tossed her head and a quick finger point to the wall that joined their house with the cowhold. She hoped it was clear.

    Bethica and Celsus were weathering the snow together and had been pleased she was back.

    The sight of Bethica so heavily gravid this morning left its own warm joy.

    Hopefully the calf would not be born mute but they would not know until after the birth come spring.

    Dorota¡¯s eyes widened and she flailed a bit wider, her gestures going out into a very clear Far Cant. Gesture clear enough to be spotted across the clearing of her family farm.

    ¡°Bigger than Celsus! That¡¯s impossible!¡±

    Jewel snorted and shook her head.

    ¡°My mother is bigger than Celsus. You¡¯ve seen her during our visits!¡±

    There was simply no way in either Valasect Cant to even begin to explain Jewel¡¯s relationship with her younger self. Also Bethica had admonished her with an ear full (once for each head!) on not giving herself proper respect as both mother and child.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    So she did not bring it up with her friends.

    Besides, it was such a cozy time in the house!

    Dorota¡¯s own mother hummed as she gently worked on what was probably going to be a new winter coat for Albert if Gem¡¯s eyes were getting the sizing right.

    Wyrmspun wool of course, as most of their clothing was becoming.

    Although many of the adults still had underclothes and many old garments of the more mundane weave and thread Jewel had made sure every family had at least a blanket and every adult woman a shawl of the fabric.

    Her weaving work with the looms was still a bit rough, but it was barely even needed to have any woman in Valasect spin her own family¡¯s wool.

    They all insisted on it of course and Jewel heartily agreed, but the work was much less rushed in Valasect than Jewel remembered it being in Rochford when she was younger. She¡¯d been absent for most of the last two years but at least among the women of her demesne that had not made their acceptance of her any worse.

    Jewel and Dorota both worked at their own spindles between their animated whirling gestures. Dorota under the occasional glance of her mother, and Jewel to try and hone the lessons of a decade¡¯s struggle and the growing assurance of her younger muscles.

    She could feel the echo of the musical dance she did as a Wyrm. But it was so much fainter as her smaller self.

    ¡°Was it frightening to travel so far away?¡±

    Jewel nodded to her friend. Face becoming solemn.

    ¡°If I¡¯m with my mother it¡¯s not so bad, she makes me safe. But when I can¡¯t be with her I only have Smithson. And Smithson isn''t a dragon.¡±

    Dorota giggled, but she didn''t let it muss her gestures or harm the tempo of the spindle.

    ¡°But your Nurse-Knight is so big and strong! He¡¯s so tall and he has a sword! And a horse!¡±

    The girl was not even ten and already far better at managing the spindle than Jewel¡¯s wyrm self had been until just before the war.

    Jewel¡¯s efforts to match her as Gem were despite all her practice lagging behind.

    The way the wool passed her tiny fingers just didn''t feel right.

    Still the thought of Smithson and Ox Hoof and the absurdity of even comparing the so called ¡®Nurse Knight¡¯ to the martial prowess and assurance of her wyrm self?

    It made it very hard to avoid breaking up the thickness of the thread on the spindle as the giggles shook her shoulders. She had to focus on evening it out and stop signing until the thread had regained its proper consistency.

    Time that her friend Dorota was fine with giving.

    In the lull Dorota and Albert¡¯s mother took up a spinning song. One of the old winter chants that Jewel did not know the word¡¯s meaning for.

    It was a lot like the chant for the Longest Night. The words had the same kind of shape as them, but different specifics. And a softer, more round melody over all. Good pace for the drop of the spindle, the spinning twisting of the thread. The movement of wool slowly pinched as it passed through fingers.

    Gem¡¯s hands, small and still somewhat clumsy they might be. But every woman and girl Jewel had seen working wool into thread had nearly the same hands as her spawn.

    She should be able to do it far easier than her wyrm self.

    Jewel added Gem¡¯s own voice to the song after it had made three rounds. Songs were much easier than normal speaking. You could hear the word coming, the melody even let you know the shape you needed your throat, tongue and lips to meet and when.

    You didn''t even need to know the meaning of the words!

    Soon the whole household was singing with Gem, Albert¡¯s voice a good match for the two girls and woman. Not yet deepend by manhood.

    The time Gem had with her friend passed that way.

    Until finally Smithson had finished all the business he could afford to do as a delay and the sun was getting close to the peaks of the mountains to the west.

    Jewel insisted with halting words that the family keep the wool she had spun.

    ¡°M-mothar ss-spin m-many. Y-y-you k-keep.¡±

    Dorota¡¯s mother sighed and nodded but even with her less acute ears she could hear a mutter from the woman behind the door how it wasn''t right for a girl¡¯s family to not keep the thread spun before her first blood.

    Jewel shuddered in the chill of the winter wind before running to Oxhoof so she could get up and out of the snow which easily went higher than her knees and was still coming down.

    She missed the cold having no teeth for her.

    Her Nurse Knight offered a hand to boost her up into the saddle and soon she was up and out of the potential soaking wet of the snow.

    Gem huddled up above her Knight¡¯s shoulder on the horse. The lack of snow does not help with the winter wind. Smithson himself walked ahead, trudging the slowly frosting over mud of the path, the hackney mare familiar enough with the routine to follow along behind him without a lead or guidance from the diminutive rider.

    ¡°Did you have a good time with your friend today Gem?¡±

    His back was turned, looking ahead, which meant that Jewel would have to put the words together and sound them out in the right order with her spawn¡¯s cramped, mostly human throat and face.

    ¡°I-I D-Did!¡±

 13.4

    13.4

    Jewel was thankfully unsurprised to see her brother and the proud gryphon that Blizzardwrath had grown into.

    Alexander¡¯s beard had filled out since last she saw it, as was his frame and build, he looked the very vision of a martial lord. Beside him Blizzardwrath was confident and regal as Zephyrvam. With only a hint of the thick plumage of its mother.

    Her brother¡¯s bond was almost as tall as him at the shoulder. The feathers flutter over the muscular strength in each of the four talons in shoulders and hips.

    But there was still a childish motion to the head, it regarded Jewel with a hint of wariness that settled as soon as Alexander had lunged at Jewel to embrace her around her throat. Squeezing with all the considerable strength he could muster.

    He would not be strained by the pull of the Rochford family bow.

    Jewel¡¯s flesh however even when she relaxed every scrap of flame from it barely depressed against that considerable squeeze.

    ¡°Sister! It¡¯s so good to see you!¡±

    Jewel laughed deep in her chest, letting the sound shape and reshape up her throat. So her voice came out light, feminine, but with the timbres of a woman. Like Bethica¡¯s voice, a voice fit for a countess and a dragon.

    ¡°Brother! I thought you would have flown to Rochford! Why did you walk on Blizzardwrath like it was a horse?¡±

    Alexander laughed and at a gesture his bond leaped to join them, nuzzling at his shoulder and neck then after a few furtive glances at its bond also nosing and picking at Jewel¡¯s scales with a tentative beak.

    ¡°Father recommended it and I have to agree!¡±

    Jewel slowly offered strokes and scritches to the still smaller gryphon. Careful of the neck and ears just the way she was with Zephyrvam. The timidity soon melted into youthful enthusiasm and a delighted little cry as she reminded the still childish Gryphon that Jewel was family.

    ¡°The other riders might be able to burden their charges at this age and size. But Blizzardwrath needs more strength to carry my weight for more than a few hours. Perhaps next year.¡±

    She sighed heavily at that. Jewel had been looking forward to sharing a flight with her brother!

    ¡°However! That is precisely why we walked with only a few short bounds unmounted to keep Blizzardwrath from getting bored. I promised we would fly when I arrived, but he can¡¯t manage the weight of me for long so we walked.¡±

    Jewel sniffed at the Gryphon a few times before fixing her brother.

    ¡°It, dear brother, Blizzardwrath has not matured enough, their scent is unsettled either way.¡±

    Alexander stumbled a bit.

    ¡°It? You mean Blizzardwrath could end up female?! But all the instructors assured that he- it had matured to a fine drake-¡±

    Jewel huffed hard enough it billowed both her brother¡¯s beard and Blizzardwrath¡¯s feathers.

    ¡°Your sister¡¯s nose does not lie brother, Blizzardwrath has not settled yet. Which is fortunate as I expect it will grow quite a bit more for that.¡±

    He laughed and shook his head.

    ¡°Far be it for me to question such a regal snout as my hound of a sister!¡±

    Jewel frowned at the insult. But could not keep the grin from quickly splitting her face.

    ¡°Either way, the sex of Blizzardwrath hardly matters for the tack and rigging. You have your flying leathers packed?¡±

    At Alexander¡¯s nod Jewel nodded to her footmen to see to it.

    They obeyed swiftly and adequately. Smithson¡¯s own tutelage showing its merit and Alexander was responsibly watchful as Blizzardwrath stiffened at the approach of strangers. But the good mood and Jewel¡¯s own gentle grooming seemed to have soothed any apprehension from the beast.

    At her brother¡¯s confirming nod they unloaded the garments and began attaching the harness straps of Blizzardwrath¡¯s tack. Something which was obviously making the young Gryphon excited although it exercised the will and determination expected of its station very admirably.

    Merely ruffling its feathers in waves of delight that only slightly inconvenienced the footmen.

    Alexander rushed into the manor house to have his own riding kit and the rest of his luggage secured.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    Jewel sighed at that.

    Wherever her brother had picked up that habit of carrying the entirety of his travel supplies and luggage on his own back she really wanted to admonish them. He at least still marched with guard and horse. But besides the feed for the other animals on the hackneys he was always hauling his own supplies, burdened like a mule and jangling with camp material.

    It only took a few minutes for Alexander to get kitted for flight.

    When he emerged in his Rochford black flight leathers the excitement that had been barely restrained in Blizzardwrath was bubbling over into excited wriggles and little just aborted hopping and bobbing of the head.

    Finally, beak parted as her brother¡¯s bond began to trill in excitement, completely forgetting about Jewel and the two unfortunate footmen that were trying to check the ties.

    Jewel gently pressed the excitable gryphon down at its back, right in the place where the harnesses crossed. Where her brother would be tied down to secure him in the lee of the otherwise torrential winds which blew past a Gryphon in flight.

    A soft coo from her throat, a gentle soothing tone as she had heard Honeydown make over Blizzardwrath¡¯s egg.

    It was enough to snap the Gryphon to look at her with a stilled shock.

    Allowing the footmen to finish securing the main lines of the harness and settle them under the feathers, cinched close to the skin.

    Then Alexander was there and Jewel was no longer needed to keep the excitable beast still. The excitement went from a jittering motion to an absolute stillness of anticipation as its rider swung into position in the small between the wings of its back.

    Her brother scooted and shuffled himself around until the loose straps of his flight leathers were draped comfortably close to their complements. Out of the way of the primary flight feathers.

    Jewel fussed at the neck collar of his helm. Making sure it was properly secured while the footmen did their duty of joining the loose straps of his armor to the rest of Blizzardwrath¡¯s harness.

    Her brother took up the proper posture for a scout. Almost laying forward in his kit. No place for a gryphon bow.

    Something in her wyrmflame felt like it was overflowing inside her. Saturating not just her scales but the air immediately around her. The wind of Blizzardwrath mingled with that flow, already flexing the extent of the wake which would soon carry her brother up into the sky to join her.

    Finally there was no more to check and Jewel could only barely stand the wait anymore.

    It was still mid day, and even with the bite of winter they should both be able to manage a few hours in the sky.

    ¡°Brother, are you ready?¡±

    He responded to her in the now almost stilted looking pattern of traditional Gryphon Cant.

    ¡®Ready for flight¡¯

    Jewel responded with the Gryphon Cant for a clear and safe sky.

    Then the excitement of the moment overwhelmed both her, Alexander and Blizzardwrath.

    Gryphon and Dragon snapped their wings wide.

    The wind roared as the wakes of each reached full extension.

    Even still a fledgeling Blizzardwrath¡¯s was wider than Jewel¡¯s. But she didn''t mind, The first wing beat was only just starting to arrest the weight of her brother and his steed.

    Jewel was a full body length in the air before their second wingbeat.

    By the third Blizzardwrath was falling below her.

    The poor footmen had to crouch down into the ground to avoid being toppled in the wake of an ascending gryphon rider.

    The snow of winter was a billowing storm that suited Blizzardwrath¡¯s name.

    Jewel was ahead, but her lightened body was soon failing to maintain her lead.

    The others¡¯ ascent only grew faster as her brother and the Gryphon gained on her in altitude. But she didn''t mind, even past the howling wind she heard the booming trill of Blizzardwrath¡¯s joy. Climbing with hungry devouring scoops of air past its wings as it fought with furious downdrafts to rise up to meet her.

    She saw the joyous posture in her brother¡¯s shoulders even as he was pressed close to the back of his bond, head nestled just right amidst the feathers so the wind blew around them in complement instead of fighting the currents.

    By the twentieth wingbeat Jewel was struggling to keep up in her ascent with the young Gryphon.

    And shortly after it was her turn to strive to win in a race with no purpose but the joy of flight in the crisp shining light of a winter¡¯s afternoon.

    Her arms spread and waved when she saw Alexander had lifted his head to survey their surroundings.

    ¡®This way, Come look, sightings!¡¯

    She really needed to teach her brother the more versatile Flight Cant she had made with Father and the other flyers of the Army. Probably also the Valasek Far Cant. Although not all of it would be legible at flight distances even with a Gryphon Rider¡¯s eyes.

    But for now the simple signs and gestures made with wings and arms would suffice.

    Her brother gestured agreement with her and Jewel spun and twisted in the air, swooping past the rushing arrow of Blizzardwrath before they could turn about.

    Laughing with the wind at the Gryphon¡¯s shocked cry of alarm.

    It would seem that Jewel needed to spend some time teaching Blizzardwrath in spars just as much as she had done so with Alexander.

    The thought of those exercises in the future filled her heart with an even fiercer light of Wyrmflame.

    Her voice filled the winter skies in the sound of Jewel¡¯s joy.

 13.5

    13.5

    Jewel missed supper in the Rochford feasting hall.

    Even sitting here at her family¡¯s familiar table it was no longer the same. She only spoke as little as she could afford to and the tension of propriety hung over everything.

    It was not for lack of warmth between her family. Alexander, her father and mother, all of them were just as warm in private. But one of her family shrank from Jewel¡¯s voice, turned away from her gaze. Hid in her mother¡¯s skirt when they passed in the hallway.

    Gwenn.

    Her sister was afraid of Jewel. And far too little time had been available to repair her trust. Instead of having time to reassure Jewel had to go to Kaeketeh.

    She had to go to the Capital right afterwards.

    Her dear sister was terrified of Jewel, but at the very least she still loved Gem.

    Which was why that despite sitting there in her family¡¯s hall and eating at the same table with all of her loved ones in attendance, she missed family meals.

    Because this was no longer a simple time to bond together as a family, it was an official dinner, it was the bare minimum that little Gwenn could stand. And not a moment more. Jewel would remember hugging her sister, she would remember comforting her, listening to her youthful fears.

    She would even recall how Gwenn worried over her, over Gem. Confided in secret how terrible it must be to have a monster have to take her away all the time.

    And Jewel¡¯s heart was too torn by those words as her smaller self to even begin to try and explain the truth. The very thought of making her dear sister somehow fearful of both of her selves cut sharper than could be borne.

    Even if she could manage the composure to speak anything coherent under that specter.

    So instead Jewel only imposed upon her sister exactly as much as was strictly necessary and not a moment more.

    She met with her family for meals that were studiously polite, with all the grace and gentleness of a countess. But Jewel was not a sister or a daughter in those dinners, she was not part of the family anymore.

    Not for Gwenn.

    Jewel squeezed her sister¡¯s shoulder with the diminutive hand of Gem. She saw the strained smile of her mother at that.

    Her sister was still frightened.

    Just like Imre had been.

    They sat, they ate. Alexander, brave, foolish Alexander seemed to be not aware of the situation at all. Then again their sister had seen less of him then Jewel.

    But what was simply shyness and uncertainty of the strange young man was still the strained effort of bravery from her sister.

    Jewel was proud of Gwenn, she could smell the girl¡¯s fear. But she faced it with bravery, with no more support than the presence of her mother. But it still stung, Jewel wondered if maybe she could ask Thurzo to visit so that Imre could share his ¡®secret¡¯.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    But she suspected her little sister was too clever for something so foolish to work.

    Empty words, spoken as sparsely as could be managed, passed Jewel¡¯s lips. Dead statements around the slightly less strained discourse. Her sister was slowly growing distracted from Jewel¡¯s presence by Alexander¡¯s boastful stories of the Eyrie.

    ¡°So then Blizzardwrath tried to swallow the entire goat! Nevermind it was only yay big!¡±

    He gestured with his hands just half again as wide as his own shoulders, inspired warm chuckles and a peel of laughter from Gwenn. Jewel could only smile with her larger self. But she joined with Gem¡¯s trilling laughter for the antics of the gryphon chick in past years.

    It was almost right.

    But as her father spoke up of the old tale of how Zephyrvam had behaved as a chick (he was afraid of rain for years!) Jewel saw her sister¡¯s gaze meet her own and then turn away to hide in Mother¡¯s dress.

    A soft squeeze and a whisper of comfort was offered and by the time that their father had finished his story Gwenn was again at least showing her face. Trying to focus on her plate of mashed peas and honeyed pork, but with a tension to her shoulders.

    Jewel eats only enough to not insult her family¡¯s table. Slowly lifting a haunch of ham to delicately bite off slivers of meat and softly chew and swallow them.

    No motion too rushed or violent. Nothing to remind her sister of her presence.

    With Gem she could be more properly feasting. Grasping the honestly a bit oversized haunch of pig shoulder with both little hands, tearing into the crispy honey of the skin with her many dainty teeth.

    Chewing and swallowing with the proper gusto of a feasting participant.

    Making faces with her sister to distract and amuse. All to keep her eyes off of the gently moving wyrm in the background. Trying to help keep up the facade of a family dinner alive.

    So much attention that even with two heads and two sets of eyes and two hearts to use in the effort it was slowly draining and exhausting Jewel to maintain it. Even the practice she had with the feasts in Kaeketeh or the meals shared in the Capital were not so hard.

    But every night at her family¡¯s table was a gauntlet.

    They were only ten days away from the longest night. She¡¯d set aside time to finally enjoy the winter season with her family. With all of her family, for the first time in years.

    This should have been joyous.

    It should have been an opportunity for her to play with Gwenn just as she once had with Alexander.

    In a way it was.

    As Gem she still could.

    But Gem was just one part of Jewel.

    And despite how much she wished for it she could not cut off the misery of the wyrm. Could not forget how even in the joy she had as her spawn there was another half of her yearning what she could not have.

    This could not continue.

    Jewel had to do something.

    As she swallowed a far too big mouthful with Gem¡¯s relatively minute jaws. Astounding her sister/aunt with the sheer volume that her neck could extend to pass food Jewel began to plot.

    At least until Gwenn took it as a challenge and nearly choked herself on ham trying to match Gem¡¯s own ability. Then her mother had to help clear the girl¡¯s throat with a heavy blow to the back.

    The momentary panic inspired laughter and comments at how brave she was.

    Mother brought up one of the many times Alexander had done similar trying to match Jewel¡¯s own capacity to devour supper.

    Which unfortunately drew her sister¡¯s gaze back to Jewel.

    Eyes fixing on the wyrm¡¯s lips.

    The jaws that could almost certainly finish off the girl in one bite if Jewel set her mind to it.

    Gem¡¯s arms were wrapped around her sister before she even realized it and gave her the firmest hug she could.

    Jewel could only shake her head, something had to be done about this!

 13.6

    13.6

    Adelyne walked through Rochford beside the rest of the noble family of her lady.

    And she marveled at the numerous ways she could feel to draw and divert attention. It was like dancing through a city of sheets hanging to dry. It was like sneaking through a building so abandoned that the spiderwebs somehow filled it.

    It was like slipping through a crowd made of ghosts untouched.

    It was all of those things and yet it was also walking just straight backed enough. Staying just to the right of her lady¡¯s hip.

    Not far enough behind the flick of the tail would draw sight to her.

    No, the place where she barely felt a single glance towards her was just close enough and just a few steps away to the dragon¡¯s side that she apparently simply wasn''t quite notable.

    Attention brushed her but not deeply, not sharply.

    There was also of course the dress, she was wearing the garments of the staff of Valasect. She was carrying a bundle of incredibly floral and rich smelling sticks and weeds and some other stuff. She had a reason to be standing there and as long as she stepped with a grace of ceremony to match her lady she was practically nonexistent.

    Rochford¡¯s way to celebrate winter seemed rather dour to Adelyne. Besides the children running around dressed as beasts. Wearing heavy furs that bent over their backs either under weight or pantomime of monstrous gaits. Crowned with elk horns or bones or the tusks of a boar.

    Besides that one bit of frivolity?

    Nothing!

    They didn''t even sing with any real merriment. They sang a dirge at certain houses, and when Adelyne listened to them it was more laments for fallen relatives at each house than any kind of celebration.

    These country folk were so depressing.

    If it wasn''t for the naked old man playing a fiddle at the bonfire in front of the temple all night Adelyne would hardly be able to call it any kind of celebration at all!

    She¡¯d stayed clear of the crazy man last time her lady attended. They said he was god-worn for this day and night and she was inclined to believe it. Madness that was! What kind of place invited a god down to wear one of their own?!

    And it did not always end well for the elder either.

    A star spirit riding you all night to play a fiddle and dance through the coldest and longest night of the year?

    Adelyne was surprised it took so many years in the role for them to die.

    But at least the weather was nicer in Rochford.

    So maybe there was something to it all?

    The winters were warmer here in this valley than in Kaeketeh. She thought she¡¯d imagined it the first time but after returning home for a proper Kaeketeh winter she was sure of it.

    Rochford and its valley in the middle-east of the Ridgetails had a warmer time of it than her city.

    They might only celebrate the one longest night (and barely could be said to celebrate at that).

    But perhaps all the gods bothering and chanting and singing in the temple had something to it?

    She was no priest, but the morning after had felt brighter last time.

    Maybe the man who was forced to dance and fiddle at the whim of the spirit wearing him like a heavy coat helped somehow?

    Adelyne stuck to her wizard granted gift, slipping beneath notice by standing tall and proper.

    Going where she needed to be.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!

    The thought of how badly she must have stood out last time she attended gave her gooseflesh up and down her spine.

    Only no-

    Someone was noticing her, something was taking her in not just by sight and sound or even scent.

    She felt attention inside her guts, she felt a touch of knowing contact through her bones.

    There was a presence brushing the inside of her skull so bad it itched!

    She could feel how bad it would be if she reacted, how much of the entire town would turn to her if she so much as flinched at the contact.

    But something was looking at Adelyne.

    And as the noble family of Rochford and her Lady greeted ¡®The Veles¡¯ as they had before Adelyne realized who it was.

    What it was.

    The guise of a simple man turned to her after having spoken to the baron and his wife, after exchanging barely three words with the Countess of Viznove and her husband.

    He stared at her with a smile of aching familiarity and tilted his head in a way she had missed.

    A way she thought she would always miss now.

    She stepped forward and the film of eyes running over her skin made her want to shiver but it was nothing against the way the thing saw her body from within and without.

    Adelyne avoided the temples in Kaeketeh, they gave little to beggars and less to thieves.

    Too much silver needed spending on the work of god bothering maybe.

    Children without proper parents didn''t get the attention of gods, she thought.

    Only explanation for anything.

    But Adelyne could feel the gaze of the thing behind the man¡¯s eyes now. The way it saw her like a tongue through the muscle and sinew.

    And it was moving like he did.

    Like her old grandfather Ginter.

    Smiling just the same way, nodding in just the way he used to when he was waiting for her to fess up to something foolish after he¡¯d gotten her out of a bind. She was standing before him, eyes going wet. Tears running tracks down her cheeks with what she¡¯d swear was just snow melt.

    And she was trying to speak but too many words lodged in her throat.

    Too much she never got to say to the man that had raised her, taught her how to live on the street. Who had barely anything to call his own some nights but split half a roll of bread with a starving worthless child anyway.

    She couldn''t ask a blessed damn thing like everyone was supposed to.

    But for some reason the attention of the village¡¯s eyes on her were all brief, slipping away as if she was somehow stripped naked before them.

    Like they were ashamed to intrude on what was happening.

    There was a keening noise in her throat, a wheezing thing that hardly could relieve the building pressure in her throat and chest.

    But at last a strange kindly old voice, that was not at all Ginter¡¯s but yet somehow echoed of him anyway.

    ¡°Adelyne, Little Addy, Foolish idiot of a girl. You haven¡¯t learned yet how to think before instead of after. Getting stuck into business over your head. But look at you swimming against the current anyway. Old Ginter is proud of you girl. Don¡¯t have a doubt about that. He¡¯s proud.¡±

    They were simple words, things she¡¯d already heard before.

    Things she had suspected.

    But it left her shuddering and gasping for breath to hear a stranger¡¯s voice somehow say them exactly how he would have.

    She couldn''t focus on slipping beneath notice. A gentle touch took the sacred offering of Viznove from her hands before she could drop it.

    A gentle but strong hand was at her back and holding her shoulder.

    But a void of inattention, of actively avoiding looking at her in this moment surrounded her. No one looked but they acknowledged her presence.

    It felt lighter and softer than sight.

    She stumbled and struggled to keep her feet. Her chest felt like someone had pried open her ribcage. She couldn''t breathe steadily. Her throat burned with the tears pouring out of her eyes. She couldn''t even see as they entered the temple.

    But somehow in that moment she found her voice when the strange foreign words of the song filled the space.

    As she sang and she cried for the loss of her grandfather Adelyne could feel a light inside her pushing against the dark. A fiery warmth of heat that had been absent last time she attended this strange country folk ceremony.

    She felt the weight of the hungry winter sky pressing down on her, but she pushed back against it with her voice.

    Not alone, but bolstered by everyone in that temple.

    Buffeted and sheltered beneath the wings of her lady.

    The Shining Wyrm of Viznove.

 13.7

    13.7

    Jewel stayed curled up on one side of the room.

    Being reminded of when little Imre had been terrified of her.

    But instead of a friend¡¯s son who she did not want to frighten, it was her own sister.

    She could feel the tremble in Gwenn¡¯s palm as she gently squeezed back reassurance to her sister/aunt via Gem¡¯s hand.

    The slowing growth of her spawn¡¯s body had not been overcome. Although taller than she had been, Gem¡¯s slender digits and minute palm was dwarfed by her sister¡¯s. But Jewel didn''t mind the disparity.

    It had let her hold onto a connection with the girl that she desperately needed.

    Even if it had been strained by absence.

    Gwenn was never at ease again around Jewel. Not after the night of her outburst. But she still treated Gem like a confidant.

    And it was through much assurance via Gem, struggling to bring her faltering words and jumbled syllables to the task (and a bit of careful lessons in Valasect Cant) that Jewel was able to inspire in her sister that no matter how large her wyrm self was Gem could protect her.

    That nothing her ¡®mother¡¯ could do would get past Gem.

    It wasn''t even a lie like the whole charade with the saffron. Although even that was somewhat true, Jewel hated the spice, but Imre had nothing to fear of Jewel eating him without it.

    Gwenn was not as afraid of her as Imre had been.

    But she was Jewel¡¯s sister, and even the amount that she shied away from Jewel now dampened her wyrmflame like a wet smothering blanket on hot coals.

    But she trusted Gem and she was a daughter of Rochford.

    She was brave.

    Jewel just wished she didn''t have to overcome a fear of her own sister.

    Gem pried the words from the uncomfortably short throat. She juggled every syllable on her tongue and teeth. It was clumsy, she tripped on the sounds. But for her sister she would do this.

    ¡°I-its alr-right G-gwenn. S-see?¡±

    They took another step, Gem was surer in limb and muscle then she had ever been, but Gwenn had already grown to a point that if she wanted to not move forward she could simply plant her feet and there was little Jewel would be able to do with her smaller self.

    Not without a running start.

    Jewel¡¯s sister took a shaky breath.

    She turned up to face the object of her fear, the thing she had confided about with her little ¡®niece¡¯ in private. Things said where no adult, not even the sisters¡¯ mother would hear.

    ¡°H-hello, S-sister.¡±

    Jewel held her face still, but it hurt to hear her sister struggling with words the same way she did with her spawn¡¯s speech.

    She spoke softly, keeping her resonance to a minimum,

    ¡°Hello Sister, thank you for coming. There is something I need to say.¡±

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    Jewel squeezed her sister/aunt¡¯s hand. Jewel was still not sure she agreed with Bethica that it was unfair to deny her spawn a place in the family that was her own. But for now it was better for her sister and that was all that mattered.

    ¡°W-What is it?¡±

    Gwenn shivered as she spoke despite how much Jewel tried to be gentle. But the girl firmed up after and even though there was a glint of tears to her eyes she faced Jewel head on with all the seriousness of a Knight meeting her on the battlefield.

    Barons, Counts and higher ranking men and women had faltered in meeting Jewel¡¯s gaze.

    She was so proud of her sister who still reeked of terror.

    ¡°I wanted to say I¡¯m sorry Gwenn, I spoke in anger and wroth to our father and I frightened you. It was petty and foolish anger. It harmed you and our family and I am ashamed to have done it.¡±

    Her sister trembled but Jewel could already see the mettle of Rochford on display.

    What in Alexander was often far too much foolish confidence. The bravery that saw them taking up the mantle of Gryphon Lord with every generation that had the opportunity.

    Not even in her Sixth winter and yet Gwenn faced her fear and nodded. Severe in a way that seemed surprisingly rare in adults, yet Jewel had seen that core of strength come through in more than a dozen youths.

    But it was still not quite enough. So she continued.

    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry sister, I never wanted to frighten you. I swear on my flame I will never hurt you.¡±

    She breathed the faintest touch of wyrmflame into the worlds. She could feel her fire swell and take root upon her bones and flesh. Cutting momentarily with a sting like hooks. But it was worth it. She could feel the the softness of the working sapping at her fire.

    Barely any at all.

    Gem took in more wyrmflame than this each evening.

    But the power behind the working did not matter compared to the solidity of it. The assurance.

    The truth of it echoing in the chamber.

    Gwenn finally found her words.

    ¡°Promise?¡±

    Jewel nods down to her sister and squeezes her left hand in both of Gem¡¯s.

    ¡°I Promise¡±

    The smell of fear fades and the determination and sternness fully takes hold on her sister¡¯s face.

    She marches up to Jewel¡¯s coils. Dragging Gem behind her, only stopping when she was close enough to touch the Wyrm¡¯s belly.

    Jewel¡¯s eyes never leave her sister¡¯s.

    The little girl who although a head taller than Gem was still barely even tall enough to see over the width of Jewel¡¯s belly had tears in her eyes and furious glare to her before she started screaming and kicking Jewel in the belly.

    It doesn''t hurt, the little foot is mostly bouncing off of the flex of her scales.

    Jewel was fine, their father could have struck her with a spear and done as much harm. But she gaped at her sister as the screaming got shriller and the foot was joined first by a clenched little fist and then the other hand pulled away from Gem¡¯s loose grasp.

    Soon her sister is screaming at the top of her lungs and beating, kicking on Jewel¡¯s belly as hard as she could. Unleashing a fury that would have been frightening if it was not entirely harmless.

    By the time Gwenn has screamed herself out and slumped against Jewel¡¯s belly to cry into the still impervious coils everyone in the household was either in the room or peering in through the door.

    Mother and Father standing back from their daughters. Alexander had also joined them.

    Muriel and Smithson are a bit closer.

    But no one dared to get too close to Gwenn or Gem.

    Jewel simply stared at her sister who, having exhausted her fury was now crying, pressing in her face and hugging as tight as she could into Jewel¡¯s belly. Just a bit up from the wyrm¡¯s waist.

    No one else in the room likely could make out the heavily muffled and soppy demand from her sister.

    ¡°Don¡¯t yell at daddy anymore, it''s scary.¡±

    The little girl wiped the snot from her face and then tried to dry her slimy palms off on Jewel¡¯s scales. But it mostly didn''t work. Wyrm scales were not very absorbent and Jewel¡¯s belly was too smooth to catch and scrape it off either.

    The Countess of Viznove had only one thing she could say to her sister.

    ¡°Of course.¡±

 13.8

    13.8

    The bridge between her sister and Jewel was not fully repaired. She was still hesitant sometimes when Jewel came into the room or raised her voice suddenly.

    But it was a start on mending.

    She practiced Valasect Cant with Gwenn as Gem. She spoke to her sister about what it was like to fly with their brother. Her sister was ultimately a very young child and Jewel had quite a lot of experience with Children.

    All the boar festivals and Gem¡¯s friends in Valasect made her confident in how to help sooth her sister¡¯s fears now that they had time together.

    Now that the first wall of terror had been torn down.

    Mother and Father had wanted to admonish Gwenn for her outburst but Jewel had insisted that no harm or dishonor was done to her.

    She¡¯d insisted that Gwenn promise that she would not act like that with any man or beast besides Jewel. She was soft spoken and gentle and although unwilling at first Mother and Muriel eventually agreed and then helped to further explain the need to her sister.

    Another exciting moment however was what she had found after the Longest Night¡¯s ritual was complete.

    Although it had taken a day for it to finish settling, Jewel¡¯s wyrmflame had once again fully replaced the lines of divine miracle and mortal sorcery that had taken hold in Gem¡¯s flesh. Even better, Gem could even gently shape, restrain or express the flame within herself!

    Even when Jewel¡¯s wyrmish body was not present!

    Tsulogothulan was making an effort to see if one of the few workings they had bothered to shape into a practicable spell could be enacted by Jewel¡¯s spawn. Some kind of test of the nature of Wyrmish Sorcery and how it may or may not differ from other methods such as wizardry, invoking of the divine and even simpler minor spells.

    ¡°Hmmm, no you need to spin the finger like this while twisting the wrist and splaying the other two fingers out.¡±

    The Bog Weird extended a hand not much larger than Gem¡¯s own and made the gesture that was not exactly different from Flight Cant but also not quite a match. When Jewel watched with her larger eyes she could feel the faux flame trying to catch and pull into shape like a thread.

    But it tangled in the wyrm flame that ran along Gem¡¯s own scales.

    Causing it to require slightly modified motions to compensate. Ones that Gem couldn''t quite make without Jewel¡¯s direct supervision.

    The second hardest part after managing to grasp something in your fingers that you could neither see nor touch was getting the shape of the sounds right. Uloghai was significantly harder than the tongues of the middle Ridgetail valleys.

    At least in Gem¡¯s mouth.

    And the spell absolutely would not work spoken in any language but Tsulogothulan¡¯s mother tongue.

    Jewel thought there was actually even more to that than merely the words themselves. As she watched the Weird performing the simple sorcery which could pull the water from the soil and air to fill a vessel.

    There was a subtle presence being left behind in the faux fire of the room before Gem was guided to move her hands through the very same air.

    When Gem said the words which were a Uloghai rhyme asking for rain to wet a thirsty throat the shape of the faux fire did not just simply move in the tugging thread, or form in the swirling net carried by her words.

    The act of learning the spell was not only a calling or changing of the flame within the world.

    Or even drawing on the wyrmflame that pulsed and moved through her own flesh.

    No, every repetition under Tsulogothulan¡¯s careful guidance was catching pieces of the flame in the air onto Gem¡¯s fingertips. Every proper recitation of the spell¡¯s rhyme drew some of that specific faux flame into her lungs before releasing it out again shaped by the words and tongue.

    And with every syllable and breath it stuck to Gem¡¯s teeth, to her throat.

    Something was happening that was more then Tsulogothulan¡¯s instructions suggested.

    There was so much to potentially get wrong in even this simple spell.

    Every slight correction by her friend for the actions, posture, breathing rate, rhythm, exact enunciation, tilt of her head.

    It left further traces of sorcery upon Gem.

    Jewel was not sure of the providence of it, she¡¯d only observed so many workings done by someone who was neither wizard, god, or a caller of either.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Her own sorcery felt almost invisible in how intuitive it was. Accidental as much as intentional. The acts of even Jaksa and the other lesser wizards she saw were direct and immediate, yet also seemingly subtle and inherent.

    Weirds barely even seemed to do anything but the workings themselves.

    There was the whispery, not words they might use to be specific, but as often an act from a weird could be a suggestive glance or undercurrent of meaning as much as a clear declaration.

    The spell that Gem was slowly working to enact by rote felt like none of these things.

    It was not even like the rituals she had seen performed in the temple.

    There was a precision to it.

    It reminded Jewel much of producing a full manuscript page. As opposed to the messenger script used for missives by birds. Or the even greater expedient of speaking.

    Also the acts were exhausting.

    Not in physical stress or any sapping of inner power.

    But in the sheer drudgery of the attempts.

    Gem had moved her tail in a way that Tsulogothulan had not agreed with and that had caused the air to barely grow damp around Jewel¡¯s spawn and her practice.

    They had not even managed more than a few drops of water on a plate for hours of effort.

    If she didn''t see the fauxfire of the sorcerous working herself and knew that Gem did not sweat Jewel would have been suspicious that the few drops of moisture on the earthenware plate were from simple exertion.

    Before Gem could take another try at calling water forth into a plate Smithson walked into the dining hall with a plate of honeyed pork.

    ¡°It¡¯s time for the littlest lady to have her mid day meal!¡±

    Tsulogothulan nodded at that, rolling their violet eye all over Gem, then with barely even a whisper of sorcery the drops of water were pulled back into the air.

    ¡°I think this is a good point to stop anyway, I don¡¯t think this spell is a good fit for Gem. I¡¯ll make another one that makes better use of her tail and that hand speech she knows. Being able to say the intent in both voice and fingers while you cast the net to draw the water so you call should make for a better working.¡±

    Tsulogothulan gave a sharp nod in emphasis.

    ¡°Also it''s a waste to not use your tail as well. It muddles this spell but it is a good appendage for swamps. We shall try again in the spring when there is more wet to the air as well. But this was a good first attempt with so little dampness in the air.¡±

    And then like that the entire figure splashed into the stones of the floor, seeping between them while soaking up all the faintly rotten water that had been dampening under the wizard.

    Jewel nodded to Smithson with her larger head while Gem was taking up her place at the table. Smithson settled in to have some of the pork himself with his dining knife. Dutifully ignoring how much buzzing excitement was overwhelming Jewel and manifesting in a kind of quivering anticipation in Gem¡¯s thighs and neck.

    ¡°So the little one, that is you are learning sorcery? Don¡¯t you already know sorcery?¡±

    Jewel huffs and shakes her head. Speaking with the throat she was more comfortable with. Also she might choke on spit if she tried to do something as complicated as words with how full of drool Gem¡¯s mouth had become.

    ¡°Wyrmish sorcery is different, And none of Tsulogothulan¡¯s spells ever worked at all for me when we tried before Gem hatched.¡±

    Smithson hummed.

    ¡°Oh. Is that why you were so upset on your twelfth hatching day?¡±

    Jewel huffed and nodded.

    Finally all the pork pieces were cut up into proper throwing portions and Gem¡¯s hips and tail could not help but wriggle. The new clothing was far more comfortable for her tail than the simple infant¡¯s smock had ever been.

    It didn''t get in the way of moving at all!

    Not even the tail!

    Smithson tossed a piece of honeyed, crispy pork into the air over Gem¡¯s head. A short lunge and the snap of her jaws closed around the absolutely star blessed crispy sweet-salt of Rochford pig roasted in honey!

    Dariusz was really perfecting the way to add a dash of spices to improve the nuance.

    ¡°So, if you could not perform any ¡®spells¡¯ I am assuming ¡®Gem¡¯ can?¡±

    Her Nurse Knight licked the honey from his fingertips and popped his own piece of candied pork in to chew before sending a few more through the air over Gem.

    Jewel just didn''t understand why this was so much fun. She¡¯d never wanted to snatch food out of the air before Gem had hatched. But the first time she¡¯d done it as her spawn the thrill of it had filled both her hearts with an unfathomable amount of joy.

    ¡°Yes, we first noticed a hint of it at the last Longest Night Celebration Gem attended in Rochford.¡±

    Smithson nodded, trading off feeding himself and her daughter.

    ¡°And she, that is you, can in fact do it?¡±

    Jewel nodded.

    Her once squire hummed and nodded before he began tossing the rest of Gem¡¯s mid day meal into the air for her to snap up with her jaws.

    The young Countess of Viznove would never have imagined that she could so viscerally understand the delight that hounds had doing this. The act of it felt incredibly improper, and yet her daughter, her spawn, her smaller self was undeniably having such a delightful time of it that she could not muster the effort to care.

    The feeling of contentment and happiness welling up in both her chests demanded further acknowledgement.

    It was tricky to get the words together right and time it so the voices spoke in unison. Even harder to keep the stumbles from Gem¡¯s tongue.

    ¡°Thank you, Smithson.¡±

    Jewel had long since learned what it meant when her knight¡¯s face flushed bright pink like that.

    But the memory of her youthful mistakes caused Gem to burst out into laughter.

    Jewel¡¯s lips merely smiled at how she was embarrassing him.

 13.9

    13.9

    It was the third day after the dawn of a new year.

    Jewel was nineteen winters old now.

    A Countess, A Lady and a Wife to a Husband she was pleased to know and have to support her.

    She was now even a mother in a strange and confusingly wyrmish way. A Woman of quite some regard, a mistress of a city and a Demesne. But also undeniably a powerful dragon. Jewel had cursed a thousand men in a fit of anger and frustration she could not take back. She had somehow found mercy and forgiveness for an empty husk of a corpse that had once been a woman.

    She had faced Guildmasters, Vassals, Nobles, Captains, Gods and High Kings and in many real ways she had to accept she had been victorious against each.

    But now she was out in what was becoming her family¡¯s traditional winter ride. Not really a hunt although even all these years later Alexander, nearly as tall as their father had brought his hunting bow.

    For the first time in so many years her entire family could be together for this day.

    Blizzardwrath and Zephyrvam were both warily eyeing one another as the small party made their way through the fresh snow. But the bond and scent of their riders kept the posturing between the beasts to a minimum.

    Gwenn was riding with Mother mostly bundled and held rather than actually supporting herself.

    She didn''t much like the cold despite her heavy winter coat and coverings.

    Gem was settled despite her size fully astride the saddle in front of Smithson. The fire caught in a fibrous weaving through her flesh, skin and bone warmed her substantially. Not enough to claim the imperviousness to winter¡¯s bite Jewel enjoyed.

    But it dulled the teeth considerably.

    Paul was in a heavy black woolen cloak. Jewel had spun its thread herself and she was pleased how well it shielded him from the bracing chill of the day.

    Her husband was mostly quiet, looking through the woods and considering the ice that hung from the branches, shining in bright hues within the morning sun¡¯s radiance. He occasionally would offer compliments for the stewardship of her father but didn''t dive deeply into the subject.

    The rest of her family more than filled in the clean air with jovial words.

    Jewel was interchangeably discussing Gwenn¡¯s trials as a young child and sharing pointers and anecdotes with her father and Alexander regarding the nature of aerial combat.

    As Gem she was also helping to teach Smithson the proper Valasect hand signs for the things they passed in their ride. Gwenn and her mother were also included when either paid attention. There was not much to really point out, Deer preferred to stay deeper into the woods in Rochford winter.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    But the small number of subjects seemed to help them learn rather than hinder them.

    Winter sky in Rochford was as seasonably clear as ever. The familiar intensity of the sun soaking into Jewel¡¯s wings. The crisp break of a night¡¯s frost beneath her toes and fingers punctuating the gentle conversations.

    Words and gestures passed between close confidants and family.

    The black charger her husband rode was nervous.

    Unfamiliar with these woods.

    Definitely not a foal reared in Rochford then.

    Paul remained quiet, although he contributed the few signs he knew.

    By the time the sun had climbed just past its zenith and they were having to turn back to home Gwenn, Smithson and Gem were trading turns playing the scouting game Jewel had passed her time with on the march.

    The vocabulary shared between them was small but Smithson and Jewel¡¯s mother both made enough mistaken ¡®pronunciations¡¯ to keep it humorous.

    By the time they were almost out of the woods Alexander and her father had joined in the game.

    Which strained the comprehension of Smithson but Jewel was able to keep the Gryphon riders to the easier or more obvious gestures shared between Valasect and Flight Cant.

    By the time they were indoors and everyone else (including Gem) was exulting in the warmth of the keep there was laughter between the family that Jewel could not have explained to anyone ignorant of the way one sign could look like another.

    There was sadly no wool or thread free for spinning or weaving, She had unfortunately cleared out all the Rochford wool available earlier that winter.

    But she was able to settle in with her sister, mother and daughter to fuss over the stitching on the wyrm spawn¡¯s finery. Wear from the road and the feasts in the capital had pulled stitches loose and some of the places it rubbed often against Gem¡¯s scales were already going thin.

    Between the four of them and their various skills in women¡¯s work portions were either padded underneath, frays closed and seams and thread that had come loose pulled gently out and then redone.

    Jewel knew she could have paid the guilds to do this work.

    But then what would she do with her family today?

    They spoke softly and gently with one another in the impromptu sewing circle. Enjoying the warmth of the fire.

    Working dutifully on the tiny little bit of delicate fabric between them.

    Supper came some hours later and though they didn''t even really begin to make progress on all the repairs needed Jewel thought much had been accomplished.

    They of course had a very hearty and delicious Stew made by Dariusz. At her own insistence she asked his family to join hers for this night. Jewel¡¯s size required the use of a substantial space within the Rochford keep anyway.

    Why not fill it with both their households?

    That of course brought the rest of the Rochford staff together as well. And while it was now a far larger and more crowded affair than her usual family dinner for that day Jewel felt none of the stiffness and propriety that had stifled meals with her family prior to this.

    Jewel smiled over all the friendly faces.

    On reflection she thought it had been a good celebration.

    She was happy.

    It was Jewel¡¯s hatching day.

 13.i

    13.i

    Acknowledgements and Research References:

    Chianina</a> & Tasting History</a>

    The Myth/Story of talking cows and them actually influencing Roman Republic politics was just too good to give up, originally it was gonna be a random world building blurb in the story but a wise friend found out I was going to do that and demanded that I write an actual talking cow.

    And that is why we have Bethica and despite the fact she and her marital troubles took up an astounding amount of words I thought I could use for other things in the story I¡¯m so glad I wrote her.

    Lateralization of behavior in dairy cows in response to conspecifics and novel persons.</a>

    Well Isn''t that a mouthful but I am nothing if not thorough. This ended up being such a fun tidbit about cow behavior that I just felt like it teemed with potential for cultural mannerisms in a variant of the animals fully capable of human speech.

    Select pleas of the crown</a>

    So when I needed to come up with what kind of crime were people going to court for in medieval times I spent quite a while trying to dig up legible sources and this was some of the best I could find. Fascinating stuff honestly.

    On Moral Duties</a>

    Hey did you know that Cicero¡¯s name is actually a nickname he chose/was chosen for him? And that it essentially means ¡®little pea¡¯? This work is probably familiar to the antiquity philosophy geeks in the audience. But for the rest I recommend reading this work. It can be enlightening.

    Word of warning though: having dug further into the politics of his era I¡¯ve come to the conclusion that Cicero was kinda an awful person to many, also a politician in Rome, but I repeat myself.

    The rest of this website is wonderful by the way, full of juicy historical documents in accessible translations.

    A Writer''s Perspective</a>

    So it turns out a lot of other writers have tried to tread the path I have gone down and made their own notes and observations.

    Taking these in with my earlier sources really helped save me from a few linguistic mishaps.

    For example, did you know that the word indenture used to be specifically about a kind of legal contract usually made for soldiers/mercenaries joining the army?

    I didn''t before I found it in this series which drew my attention to it and after some further digging to verify  in other sources that one of the likely etymological roots for indenture is because you would write a contract twice (or sometimes thrice) on the same piece of parchment, and then very jaggedly cut them apart forming a toothy but unique matching set of ¡®teeth¡¯ hence dental, hence indenture.

    Much more stuff also was useful from this site.

    Mental Health Matters</a>Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    It¡¯s a good idea when you want to reach for trauma, mental illness and other such instruments and systems for the purposes of your story that you know what you are talking about. That you bring humanity to the situation when you do. Or that when you choose to diverge from this you are doing it with your eyes open on what you are saying.

    Ottoman Empire</a>

    Really I feel like the cat is out of the bag on how this is a somewhat alternative history kind of fantasy story. Although I¡¯m not doing something so crude as adhering slavishly to historical events. I will have you know I have very carefully and intentionally selected personages from many centuries apart from one another and some kneading of other events and influences were called for by this.

    To be fair this is heartily in the tradition of fiction written back in the day as well, The story of king arthur is a very prominent example of such.

    Still I try to make sure this jigsaw of inspirations meshes together sensibly in a shared context and a coherent if new fantasy history.

    I recommend treating any references you notice as more of a use of archetypes and historical inspirations than guarantees for events or personality.

    The Medieval Shepherd</a>

    This is a really fantastic book and I¡¯m so glad I was able to find a relatively affordable translation like it. I recommend reading it, especially for the portions that I ultimately could not find a place for in this story. I found the early ¡®credentials¡¯ the ¡®author¡¯ gave for his source (an old shepherd) fascinating as it effectively was the life story of a fairly common man and his trials.

    Something we get a vanishingly small amount of details on in historical documents.

    Matthias, Holy Roman Emperor</a>

    I admit that the Matthias in this story has very little to do with the actual man, except for his political place in history. Although kudos for those that noticed the reference and properly identified what dynasty his is a stand in for.

    How do your Eastern Dragons Move?</a>

    I will freely admit for those my descriptions have yet failed to enlighten that Jewel uses all three of these as the situation/mood demands.

    Regelinda</a>

    I never got a place to really put this lady in the story, But her life was kinda fantastic, So you get to hear about her here too.

    Marco Polo, His Travels & Adventures</a>

    This is honestly a huge slog to get through and incredibly dull. I honestly think I failed to deliver the same tone that this book provided despite my desire to match it. However I think if I¡¯d cleaved that closely to the material here the story would have suffered for it.

    Modern Knight

    </a>This guy has a lot of fascinating explorations he has done on various things from a bit of a more down to earth perspective. Definitely recommend when paired with other sources for a bit of a sense of nuanced flavor for scenes in a period piece.

    Crecganford

    </a>Fascinating deep dives into folkloric roots and some of the theories of their origins. Honestly just pick one of the videos if you want to sit down and listen to a folklore lecture. Lots of ideas taken up from here but not all. A bit dry for some but if you really love my interludes this should be a treat.

    Fall of Civilizations</a>

    This is a wonderful series, but each of them are quite long, I admit that I mostly use them to fall asleep too but the approach and the depth of different cultural perspectives that each episode digs into is wonderful. Also there is a book if you prefer to read, but the voice acting (first in as close to the original language as possible and then dubbed over in translation) and music/audio ambience is a huge bonus for this series I think.