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The Tiger and the Dragon: Act 5, Chapter 5
🕑 Added 2022-09-18 21:08:01 +0000 UTCHe’s here.
Draudillon rushed through the corridors of the Royal Palace, her slippered feet pattering against the polished marble floors. Her favourite shawl trailed from her elbows like a pair of gossamer wings. Maids and footmen stepped aside and looked curiously after her passage.
He’s here!
Her steps took her to the western annexe and brought her in front of the Royal Archive’s doors. She paused for half a moment before placing her hand on the door’s wooden surface and leaning into it. The scent of cedar and vellum flowed over her as her eyes roamed the interior. She could only see empty aisles between the rows of bookshelves, but she could feel him deep inside. Even from her bedroom, she could sense his coming.
In the archive’s central atrium, a tall man with long black hair stood in a brightly-coloured robe. A tome sat open atop his left hand. His chin rested atop the knuckle of his right index finger as his eyes scanned the lines of the page.
Draudillon’s face broke out into a wide smile.
“Papapapa!”
She dashed forward, wrapping her arms around his leg and burying her face in the exquisite fabric of his garb. The man looked down at her from his reading, eyebrow raised.
“What are you doing, little Wyrmling? Well, I suppose your great-grandmother did things like this, as well…you must be Draudillon.”
Draudillon looked up at the man and nodded energetically. He probably didn’t need to say that. She could sense who he was, and he could probably sense her.
The tome snapped shut. Her great-grandfather turned it in his hand, gaze tracing over the words on its spine. He turned his head up to look at the walls filled with books on the floors of the atrium above.
“The knowledge of a country,” he murmured. “So much, yet so little…and not a word of the truth.”
Her great-grandfather looked down at her again.
“Do you come here often, Draudillon?” He asked, “To this repository of…‘knowledge’?”
Draudillon nodded.
“Why do you come here?”
“To learn,” Draudillon replied. “But…”
“…but?”
“I like the stories more.”
“Is that so?” He raised an eyebrow, “Why do you suppose that is?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Her tutors always brought her to the archives to study. Learning how to be a Queen was important, but she always thought that there was something much more important. That was why she read so many stories.
Except those stories weren’t enough. Something was missing – something that words could not convey. At least not in any words that her tutors could understand.
Her great-grandfather put the book down on the table beside him. He knelt in front of her, placing a hand on her shoulder and looking into her eyes. A slight smile crossed his lips.
“I suppose that is proof of a sort,” he said. “Proof of my blood. For I love stories too. Would you like to know the answer, little Wyrmling? The answer to what you feel – what you understand – yet cannot put words to?”
Draudillon nodded. Her great-grandfather’s smile didn’t widen, but she saw it spread to his dark eyes.
“It is because stories are the most important thing in our world, Draudillon. Not knowledge, wealth or anything else that will fade with the turning of aeons. These books; these records and accounts…they feel empty because they are not the story itself.”
Her mouth fell open. It was so obvious – why hadn’t she figured it out sooner?
“Then where are the stories, papapapa?”
“Here,” her great-grandfather placed a palm on his chest, then placed that palm against hers. “And here. They are written in the soul, Draudillon. Every soul is like a book – its pages empty when a being is born. Those pages are filled with the experiences of one’s life: the true stories. At the end of that life, one’s soul returns to the World. We Dragon Lords are the curators of a vast and ever-expanding library: we exist to protect the World, and our watch…is eternal.”
Draudillon cast her gaze down at the floor.
“But I’m not strong enough to protect the World,” she said.
“No single Dragon Lord is strong enough to protect the World,” her great-grandfather’s smile tightened. “But I suppose you are very fragile as far as Dragon Lords go. But worry not: the World has granted us Dragon Lords a special privilege – one meant to help us perform our duty as its champions.
“What is it?” Draudillon asked.
“Primal Sorcery,” her great-grandfather answered. “The magic of the soul. The magic of the World. I believe many mortals refer to it as ‘the magic of Dragons’. Wild Magic.”
He straightened to his full height and held out his hand to her.
“Come, little Wyrmling. You have a purpose to fulfil. To fulfil that purpose, there is much you must grasp.”
An urgent knock roused Draudillon from her slumber.
“Your Majesty?” Salacia’s voice sounded through the door, “Your Majesty!”
“Mmph…just five more minutes,” Draudillon murmured.
“It’s an hour to noon, Your Majesty.”
Draudillon’s eyes popped open. She turned her head. Overcast skies lay beyond her window, bright enough to be as late as Salacia claimed.
She rolled out of bed, tripping on her white silk nightgown after a single step.
“Bpgph!”
“A-are you alright, Your Majesty?”
“I-I’m fine! I’ll–ahem, We will be right out!”
Her brow furrowed over the sound of her high-pitched voice. Looking down at her hands and feet, she realised what had happened.
Dammit, I used Wild Magic in my sleep…
Walking over to her mirror, she frowned at her reflection. She had become the Draudillon in her dream; an innocent child still filled with wonder over the mysteries of the world.
It wouldn’t do to walk out of her bedroom looking like a five-year-old, so she returned to her original self. Salacia lowered her head in greeting, a fluffy white towel in her hands.
“Good morning, Your Majesty,” she said. “My most sincere apologies for interrupting your rest. You’ve been working so hard as of late…”
“No more than anyone else,” Draudillon made her way over to the bath. “What did We miss?”
“The delegation from the Sorcerous Kingdom returned four hours ago,” Salacia said. “We cancelled the morning audiences, so they went out to inspect the city.”
“All of them? Corelyn usually spends her time in the archives…”
“Yes, Your Majesty. They said they would visit the exclave area before ‘exploring’ the city and seeing the Merchant Guild.”
Draudillon’s nightwear fell into a puddle at her feet. She went and lowered herself into her steaming bath. A sigh escaped her as she submerged herself up to her shoulders.
Corelyn stopped her research, so does that mean something happened back in the Sorcerous Kingdom? If she undertakes a major shift in her strategy…
Her court was still reeling from Corelyn’s offensive, so something like that would catch them off-balance or even throw them into chaos. It would ultimately depend on what she planned on doing with the Merchant Guild. If she was simply going to forge links with various industries, that was fine, but if the Merchants tried to get ahead of the nobility using their new ties, her court would almost certainly see it as yet another front opening up in their battle.
“Did anyone go along as an escort?” Draudillon asked.
“No,” Salacia shook her head. “Ever since we started preparing teams for the different cities, things have become impossible to keep up with. We can’t spare anyone to keep an eye on them. I can’t believe we haven’t located a single one of our Nobles yet…”
“You don’t believe your family would stand up to the Beastmen?”
Salacia sighed, her voice growing forlorn.
“Yes, Your Majesty, they would. Why must the world be like this? Why must good and brave people perish while unscrupulous and cowardly opportunists are allowed to survive? It all makes it seem like evil is predestined to prevail in the end.”
“It does seem that way, doesn’t it?” Draudillon stretched with a yawn, “That is probably why stories in which good and brave people succeed are all the more compelling. Though their valour is recognised, not everyone can be as they. To be a singular existence that can cleave through the realities that everyone else must wrestle with is not something one sees every day.”
“And those with the power to be those singular existences turn their backs on everyone else in pursuit of selfish ends,” bitterness filled Salacia’s voice. “Not a single hero has served our kingdom since the beginning of Your Majesty’s reign.”
“Oi, that sounds like you’re blaming Us.”
“M-my deepest apologies, Your Majesty!”
Draudillon rolled her eyes.
“We were just teasing, Salacia. It is doubtful that Our existence somehow prevents heroes from appearing.”
The more likely explanation was that they did have heroes in every generation, but they were killed before they could become strong. No easy way existed to identify that sort of talent. To retain it, a country would have to bind those individuals to them early in their lives. Otherwise, it was likely that they would become full of their own strength and unfettered by nothing but selfish greed and ambition.
In a world where power could take or destroy everything without its wielders facing tangible repercussions, it felt like a virtuous hero could only be found in tales.
Well, I suppose we have plenty of ‘heroes’ running around now – Undead ones, at any rate.
Draudillon rose from her bath and went to change into her outfit for the afternoon. Once that was done, she gave a satisfied nod to her reflection in the dressing mirror. The best part about having Salacia on duty was that, as a follower of The Six, her fashion sense was far more conservative than most.
“What does Our schedule look like for today?”
“There are some sundry matters to address over lunch,” Salacia said. “The first set of reports from our people in Blighthold have come in and the court would like to review the plans for our restoration efforts. Following that is a tour of the southeastern quarter. The journey to Seagate is tomorrow, so we have some details to go over later this afternoon. We moved the audience with Countess Corelyn and her party to this evening after dinner.”
Barring the tour, it felt like a strangely normal day. A part of her wondered if she was allowed to think that way.
“How soon before We can visit Blighthold?”
“I believe Ioena and the others have devised a way for your visit to come sooner than anticipated.”
“Then it’s time for lunch. We are famished.”
She took a deep breath and settled herself before stepping out of the royal apartments. On the way to the throne room, Sebas stood in his customary place. He reportedly still hadn’t eaten or slept since his arrival, so she was starting to feel sorry for him despite his claims that food and bedrest were unnecessary.
“Sebas,” greeted him. “We thank you for your hard work.”
“Your Majesty,” the Sorcerer King’s butler replied. “Good afternoon. You look especially well-rested today.”
“We feel especially guilty today,” Draudillon offered Sebas a self-deprecating smile. “Our people are working so hard, yet…tell me, Sebas, is this item that allows you to forgo rest sold in the Sorcerous Kingdom?”
“The version of the item that I carry is of limited availability, but other forms may exist…you may want to inquire with the members of Countess Corelyn’s delegation. They are all Merchants with extensive connections.”
Come to think of it, they never seem tired. Not requiring sleep…is that enviable or pitiable?
As an individual possessed of a Draconic bloodline, she leaned towards the latter assessment. Sleep was one of the great joys of life.
Captain Scavo and two of his men saluted as Draudillon and her entourage approached the throne room doors. She resisted the urge to tiptoe to see through the hole that was still there.
“Is Our court already present, Captain?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. The Prime Minister and several members of the cabinet. A few of their aides, as well.”
There were also probably several Nobles working their shifts as members of the palace staff, but that was never mentioned. Servants were supposed to be invisible during official functions, after all.
The double doors of the throne room opened and Draudillon made her way in. Conversation hushed and a dozen men and women offered their greetings in unison.
“Good Afternoon, Your Majesty.”
“Umu. Good Afternoon.”
She walked into the high hall of the Draconic Kingdom, passing between the lowered heads of her courtiers. After she settled into her throne, Ioena’s voice carried over the air.
“Her Majesty permits you to raise your heads.”
Draudillon put on a smile as a dozen attentive gazes fixed on her. A table was brought before the throne and lunch was laid out. An unexpected aroma rose from the bowl of oatmeal placed before her.
“Hmm…this is richer than expected,” she stirred the bowl with a silver spoon. “Are we going through some hidden reserve from our old stores?”
Her courtiers remained silent, avoiding her gaze. A few moments later, Sebas spoke from beside her.
“The honey and jam are from Corelyn County, Your Majesty. The milk and butter are from Gagnier Barony. Baroness Wagner obtained the cinnamon through her Merchant companies that ply the trade cities of the Great Steppe.”
Ah, that would explain it.
Draudillon’s gaze traced over the Nobles of her court. They were ashamed that they couldn’t provide a meal befitting their Queen. At the same time, they were resentful of those who could – especially since they were starting to see them as interlopers. The cinnamon was especially notable, as it was a spice usually reserved for royalty. One might say that the Draconic Kingdom’s Nobles were being bludgeoned into submission by the sampling of the Sorcerous Kingdom’s economic reach.
Still, what they were doing was rude. She narrowed her eyes at their sullen looks.
『Oi, you lot. You cannot be wilful brats anymore. Failing to convey gratitude where it is called for is unbecoming of Nobles of the Draconic Kingdom and a stain upon Our honour.』
As one, her courtiers paled. Draudillon turned to address Sebas with a warm smile.
“Please convey Our most heartfelt thanks to Countess Corelyn and her party, Sebas. It has been too long since such luxury has graced Our table.”
Sebas lowered his head in silent acknowledgement. Draudillon turned her attention forward again.
“So, Lady Yorsten,” she said. “What were you discussing just now?”
“The reports from our people in Blighthold, Your Majesty,” her Prime Minister replied.
A mirthless smile formed around the spoon in Draudillon’s mouth at Ioena’s tone. More facts to chafe at her courtiers’ pride.
So much of what they did depended on the generosity of the Sorcerous Kingdom. They survived off of their food and supplies. An Undead army cleared the land of Beastmen. Their transports delivered officials and rapid communication was only possible through them.
Her Nobles were young, talented and proud. They had come to the palace with bright futures ahead of them and seemingly everything was within their grasp. Now, they felt powerless. More importantly, they felt that they were having their place taken from them.
They were not incompetent, but desperation and rashness could result in the same outcomes. She needed to make sure that the pressure that they experienced wasn’t so great that they leapt into the void between themselves and their ‘competitors’ in some monumentally stupid attempt to make up for what they lacked.
Of course, understanding what the problem was was not the same as solving it. It was a constant battle to keep everything from buckling under the combined strain of their situation and most of it was out of her direct control.
“What did they say?”
“The Balik Family was more than happy to dump all of the bureaucratic work on our team,” Ioena reported. “Captain Sella is trying to figure out how to effectively deploy the army for policing duties. Captain Inserra is on his way back to the city and Highfort’s garrison should arrive late this evening. The staff from the Merchant Guild have gone to attend to their matters.”
In other words, they were just getting started.
“Did something happen that necessitates a change in procedure?”
“Our team’s report more or less confirms what Lady Zahradnik shared with us,” the Prime Minister. “We were discussing how we should go about restoring order.”
“Mmh…that should be the most straightforward part. Is something getting in the way?”
The first thing they would need to do was restore the provincial administration. While the loss of Nobles was painful, village chiefs were actually the lowest level of management. Even without a presiding Noble, they could still report to the nearest urban centre and the administration would continue to function that way.
Most villages likely understood who amongst them was most suited to fill the position. All that the team from the capital needed to do was make it official. Without their Queen’s blessing, a villager wouldn’t dare assume the role.
“No, Your Majesty,” Ioena replied. “It’s more that we believe we have misstepped.”
“Oh? How so?”
“Zahradnik’s rapid advance caught us off-guard and unprepared. Our initial reaction was to scrape together the bare minimum of what we needed to assume control as quickly as possible. In hindsight, we should have sent as many people as we could afford.”
Draudillon nodded. The group that they sent was composed of four Nobles and four clerks from the Merchant Guild. The clerks did not need to leave their assigned city, but the Nobles did. Two of them needed to stay in the city to oversee matters, leaving two to go around organising the villages.
It wasn’t the best way to go about it, however. The more Nobles they sent, the faster the province would get back to its feet. Furthermore, they would gain critical experience relevant to their situation and carry it over to their tasks in the next province.
She smiled inwardly as she took a bite out of her buttered toast. She had left them to figure things out on their own since it wasn’t an error that would result in immediate, fatal consequences. They were learning quickly and they weren’t afraid to admit their mistakes and propose corrections. At least to their Queen.
“Can the Nobles remaining in the capital handle the increased workload?” Draudillon asked.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Ioena answered. “The initial glut of work has already been handled over the past week. Now that we have a good grasp on operations in the capital, we’re streamlining processes to better match our capabilities.”
“How many people have you freed up?”
“One hundred thirty Nobles from the palace staff.”
The palace and its gardens would fall to dust and disrepair, but she could live with that for now.
“What about the Guilds?” Draudillon asked.
“We’re still awaiting their response,” Ioena answered.
“Well, there’s no need to wait for them,” Draudillon said. “Send whoever is ready on the next transport to Blighthold. The rest can go later. You have all done well.”
A dozen young faces brightened in response to her praise. Draudillon’s eyes settled on the tall Noble standing on the right end of her Courtiers.
“Zorlu, inform Zahradnik about the changes.”
Emmad lowered his head.
“By Your Majesty’s will.”
So stiff...well, that's to be expected.
The son of House Zorlu had always carried himself like a martial Noble. Though Draudillon had just ordered the young man to pick up what he could from Zahradnik, that stern demeanour of his had magnified threefold. He hadn’t even met with the Baroness yet, as she had been away. His popularity in the court had similarly increased, though much of that was due to Draudillon’s calculations coming together.
Marshals held a military office, but they also needed the strength to stand firm against political influence and assert themselves in the court when necessary. Since he didn’t go out of his way to make enemies, the young man had many who thought well of him. Unfortunately, they weren’t the allies that he needed.
Even in the Draconic Kingdom, where external threats were ever present, the relationship between the military and the civilian sectors required constant maintenance. Both were required to maintain a healthy state, yet they tended to drift apart far too easily. Neglecting one seemed to invariably lead to the dysfunction of the other through external and internal issues.
She finished off her lunch and settled several small matters before leaving the palace for her scheduled tour of the southeastern quarter. Two squads of ‘militia’ led by two of her Nobles accompanied the three carriages of her entourage. Draudillon rode in the central carriage with Ioena, Salacia and Sebas while other members of ministries relevant to the quarter boarded the other vehicles.
Citizens called out cheerfully and waved as her procession slowly made its way through the city streets. For the most part, they seemed healthy and energetic, throwing themselves into the capital’s recovery efforts. Now that Zahradnik had given the all-clear, the overcrowding receded as refugees were sent to repopulate the lands between Oriculon and Seagate.
A distinct cocktail of odours seeped into the cabin after their carriage crossed into the southwestern quarter. In the Draconic Kingdom, the wind either blew in the direction of the sea or away from it, making the southwestern part of Oriculon the location for industries that issued emissions that the citizens found undesirable. Everything from Alchemists to Tanners made the place their home, though some industries had suffered greater losses than others.
They stopped in the largest plaza of the quarter and Sebas left the cabin first to join the inspection of the surroundings. When they deemed the area secure, a footman helped her to disembark. A great cheer arose when her shoes touched cobblestones still damp from the night’s rain. Men and women of every vocation in the quarter surrounded the plaza in their occupational garb, giving the reception a distinctly ‘industrial’ flavour.
Her other three ladies-in-waiting joined her, though all but Salacia had come in their capacity as ministers. In addition came her Ministers of the Economy, Rural Development and Transportation. They followed behind her as she made her way around the plaza, smiling at the crowd and inspecting the goods on display.
Tools, tools and more tools…what should I even say?
She didn’t like making a show of admiring things she had no clue about. She also didn’t like wasting other people’s time. Something did eventually catch her eye, however: in the centre of the plaza, displayed on a modest wooden platform, was a contraption made out of pure steel.
“This is…a plough?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Mazhar Forst, her Minister of Rural Development said. “The delegation from the Sorcerous Kingdom left it here as a ‘demonstrator’. I believe they plan on using it out in the fields at some later date.”
“Isn’t this too big to be a plough?”
“That’s what everyone says,” the Minister shrugged. “Anything beyond two furrows is not economically viable even with a team of draft animals. This plough has blades for six furrows. The artisans recognise the high craftsmanship of this tool, but they also dismiss it as practically useless.”
People with too much money and not enough sense sometimes commissioned ridiculous items of little practical value. Arms and armour that were politely referred to as ‘ceremonial’ were the most common culprits, though many of the wealthy who fancied themselves akin to the Boastful Sage came up with all sorts of junk. As shrewd as the Sorcerous Kingdom’s delegation was, however, she doubted that they would try to foist something useless on the Draconic Kingdom.
Several other tools of a similar scale were placed around the plaza. There was a disc harrow, a seed drill, gears for mills that were somehow all fashioned from steel, something labelled as a pump and a steel vehicle frame with different mountings lined up beside it.
“Are these all employed in the Sorcerous Kingdom, Sebas?” Draudillon asked.
“Many tools have been developed over the past year by House Wagner’s machining workshops,” Sebas said. “What you see on display here are those deemed suitable for use in the Draconic Kingdom. The heavy equipment is meant to employ Undead labour.”
Expressions of shock and horror blossomed all around them.
“Y-your Majesty,” Mazhar said. “I must respectfully state that there is absolutely no need for the Undead in our industries.”
“That’s right, Your Majesty,” Salacia nodded empathetically. “Our country has always managed to bounce back from Beastman attacks on its own.”
“The scale is a bit different this time,” Draudillon noted. “Not only have We lost so many people, but there will be a shortage of draft animals.”
“It’s true that those are issues we must face,” Salacia said, “but we can import draft animals from abroad, yes? The Sorcerous Kingdom is undeniably effective when it comes to fighting, but we need not rely on them for anything else. Our people will surely be up to the challenge!”
Draudillon examined the looks of conviction on the faces of Noble and commoner alike. How much of it was pride; how much, fear?
She was of the mind that too much change at once was not a good thing. Other things did not change as quickly and the development of a healthy society relied on progress in all of its aspects. Economically speaking, however, not utilising Undead labour was a lost opportunity with so much land to go around.
“Orban,” she said, “what do you think?”
“Our ministry does not have enough information to make statements with any confidence,” the Minister of the Economy replied. “I believe that Countess Wagner has arranged for a demonstration of these farming tools on the journey to Seagate tomorrow. There will be an opportunity to ask for the details then.”
At least he wasn’t adamantly against it.
The sheer surplus of certain commodities from the Sorcerous Kingdom pointed to how much the Draconic Kingdom stood to gain, but she doubted that Undead labour would gain much ground with her subjects so long as there wasn’t a need for it.
Their tour continued through the southeastern quarter, showing that many of the workshops in the city were already adapting to the realities the rural citizenry would have to face. Nearly every tool was hand-operated and even treadmills were being made.
“Are there any estimates for local production now that work is underway?” She asked.
“We’ll be behind, Your Majesty,” Orban said, “but not so much that we’ll be facing shortages. The tools used around the borderlands are meant just for this situation.”
Orban gestured to several wagons filled with wheel hoes – a farming tool invented in the Draconic Kingdom. Draft animals and other livestock could not be safely raised on the frontier, so the necessity for farming tools that Humans could efficiently use had given rise to the simple device.
Wheel hoes were something like a wheelbarrow without the barrow. In its place was a simple frame that could be mounted with various attachments. One could cultivate, furrow, hoe, plough, seed, weed and rake by simply pushing it around. Compared to conventional tools, one could do a day’s worth of work in a half-hour.
Draudillon could understand how Orban could be so confident about their prospects, as they were not misplaced. She just wished that they wouldn’t be so defensive about their position.
“Do you have anything like that in the Sorcerous Kingdom, Sebas?”
“I’ve never seen the like, Your Majesty,” Sebas replied. “It appears to be far in advance of the hand tools used in the north.”
The people surrounding them glowed with pride. Foreigners tended to look down on the Draconic Kingdom due to their situation, so it was a pleasant difference in attitude. Visitors from the Theocracy turned up their noses at labour-saving devices, saying that they interfered with the cultivation of strength. ‘Hard work builds character’, or so they said. Draudillon often wondered how they would feel about building character when a pack of hungry Beastmen could appear on the horizon at any time.
But those days would be behind them soon. At long last, she would be able to draw out the full potential of the Draconic Kingdom – the potential her great-grandfather envisioned when he raised its capital on the shores of the Oriculon.
“We believe that you may find many other things of interest in Our country,” Draudillon beamed. “Let’s continue, shall we?”
Comments
Thomus AEmilianus AElianus
It's good to get back to living Queen
