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Act 3 Epilogue

The grey plains, the 'subconscious' or whatever it was called, stretched on forever, such a place would have driven Irven mad with how illogical it became the longer he remained here, but he was thankful for something to focus upon. It gave him a sense of place, scale and normality.

Even if the subject of his focus was his tormentor and unwelcome mental guest, Arbachol Brevshket.

“So," the dragonman said with a sigh. “I believe you were going to ask me about my supposed 'experiments?' Appropriate, considering you're currently on the very bed on which you awoke when I was treating you before."

“Treating? You were toying with me! Experimenting!!" Irven stomped up to Brevshket, who blinked farther away, in arms reach one moment and ten paces the next.

“Use your words, you luddite," Brevshket said with a frown. “I will not hide anything from you, but your threats make you lesser as a man. Force is a means to an end, and I cannot be intimidated. Save it for those who are an actual threat."

“Fine," Irven growled. “But don't try to spin your words; it was an experiment. I woke up when you were cutting me open! Ever since then, you went from a teacher to a fucking tyrant! Constantly berating me and forcing me to be perfect!"

Bach just stared at him for a moment. “We operated on you because it was the only way to save you. You only awoke prematurely because of how potent your draconic strength had become already. Enough to disrupt anaesthesia but not enough to accept mana as a naturally building substance within you. You almost died from poisoning until we tapped it off and filtered the magic from your system through my own body, expelling the saturation through my spells and pumping the depleted blood back into you. You're my son, after all."

Irven winced. He felt like there should have been more of a shock, or that his world should have been shattered, but no. It was obvious, just as much as his denial had been futile.

“So it's true..."

Bach nodded. “I won't sit here and coddle you, boy. You were a result of happenstance. False passions, but that is irrelevant to what you became. None of the others I fathered fully exhibited your power. Do you recall Tibor's words about thralls? I did what I could, but they became subject to errant shards of draconic will and ego, the most feral aspects of a dragon that develop the quickest, which drove them mad. Violent. Learning to manage their conditions taught me much about how to help with your own development. And no doubt Caeris did little to assist them and simply turned them loose against him and his soft heart."

Irven felt defeated, yet kept his gaze firm. “And the beatings? The constant pressure to learn and perfect every damn thing?"

“While I'm sure you'll be disappointed that I didn't do it out of jest, nor out of hypocrisy after I just told you to use your words rather than fists to get your way, I had two main reasons. First, I needed you subservient to me until we could control that draconic ego that was budding within you, so that if you ever began to be ruled by your instincts, I could snap you out of it. I had to make you afraid of me, and the draconic instinct responds to force first and foremost.

“Second, I needed you capable, learned and able to respond to any of Vliechov's tricks in a split second. You would potentially face wizards more powerful than even I, soldiers as strong as Caeris in larger numbers... anything. If only I had more time."

Irven slumped. “You could have just told me..."

Bach scoffed. “One errant word of your draconic blood with Caeris hovering over your shoulder and she could have informed Vliechov. That I had made a scalecaster with no external signs of draconic heritage. A perfect agent to use against the oligarchy's enemies." He put his hand on Irven's left shoulder. Irven looked at Bach's clawed hand, then at his own and hated the common ground they shared that seemed to grow even stronger by the second.

“Why do you think Tibor's so paranoid about spies? Even Caeris is one of the their agents, but one who I thought I had converted to my cause. Evidently she's fallen back in with them, and claiming you as her prize is the proof. So much work has been undone because of my death, but it doesn't matter. You persist. You will succeed."

They both winced and looked as a red mass crackled past them.

“Another magical presence?" Irven glanced around, and another pulse made them share the prickle of pain. It intensified for a moment, then seemed to ease.

Bach narrowed his eyes. “Magic being pushed around a moving form, as any human disrupts it as it cannot enter their bodies readily, yet this particular human that can manipulate it, and does so, as if second nature. It seems a mage draws near us."

Irven thumbed his chin. “I don't remember there being any mages in Sodrascouden. An outsider?"

Bach nodded. “Almost certainly one of the Institute. Which probably means-"

“Someone from Vliechov," Irven finished with a grimace. “We have to do something."

“I concur," Bach said. “Yet you aren't in any condition to fend off an experienced mage alone." He then grinned. “But I have an idea..."

* *

“Stop pacing, kobold, you're tiring me out just watching you," Tibor said as Kayl limped around the Arcus cannon. They both watched the dawn from the Arcus cannon platform as Tibor took a sip of tea, which was topped up by one of the castle custodians, and Kayl put on her tinted goggles without missing an uneven step.

Tibor was out of his armour, now dressed in simple but warm clothing. He cradled one of the castle's mass produced bolters. He was pale and his breaths were shallow, but he insisted on watching the sunrise. Something about his soldier days, to make sure he survived another conflict by witnessing the sun and escaped St. Gareg's ghostly lamplight and passage to the afterlife once more. Stupid human saint worship.

The morning light had also revealed the presence of a contingent of soldiers, ten dragon-hunter arbalests and two trebuchets, complete with the gold standard of Vliechov, with the insignia of the six saints in two rows; Gareg's smoking lantern, Vanterre's roaring lion, Phoebe's blossoming lotus, Valarie's merchant ship, Dastor's lock, and Zoeli's blank eye.

Kayl hated them all, and hated the daylight, and every fucking human here, and beyond the walls. Her bile drove her. She needed sleep, but she hated this uncertainty most of all and continued to march incessantly until she heard news of Irven's condition. Her own wounds were many, but none were serious. Having treated Brevshket's draconic form for many years, the castle stewards and medical staff were well versed in draconic physiology. She would be fine, and was ready to fight again, if need be.

No... she was lying to herself; she needed time to heal. Just walking hurt. She couldn't take a deep breath as a wound on her chest kept stinging. It didn't matter. Irven was still in the clutches of humans that she didn't fully trust, recovering from his own ordeal and metamorphosis, and yet she once more had to admit that the healer was helping Brevshket as much as he was helping Irven. They were bound together, after all.

The biggest lie was that while she would be even willing to keep killing on command. Something that Kayl had been raised to do. Something she had performed for her clan without hesitation.

Kayl looked at the still wounded Paet, resting on a nearby table. He was in one piece, but only by a few fresh sprouts connecting the two halves, more like a weed than a mighty drenda. She had fed him an extra dose of her blood, but she was still weak in mana, so he wouldn't be able to assist her for a week or two. It was her fault Paet had suffered, and her failures contributed to Irven's condition. Even Tibor's injuries troubled her, and those of the mercenaries that remained, who would become the foundation of her mate's forces. They all needed time to get over the attack on Jorsviek.

As one of the least injured from the night's harrowing skirmish, Roat insisted on reporting back to Dragonlord Praevadi so peace could be arranged between Star-Sail and Sodrascouden. It would be the first peaceful arrangement between man and kobold in Star-Sail since before even Brevshket's time.

Of course, he also reported Caeris' death. Her mangled head was mounted in the doused brazier outside the front of the castle.

The remaining mercenaries, some fifteen survivors, were clearing the bodies from the courtyard down below, stripping them of anything valuable before piling them onto a fire. They occasionally looked up at the tower and gossiped amongst themselves.

Kayl didn't care if they were friend or foe any more. She would fight if needed, but for once, she prayed to the All-Dragon that this fragile peace between drake and man-kin would flourish.

“Good morning!"

Everyone flinched, gasped, muttered under their breath. All eyes turned toward the grand door.

One of the castle servants entered and bowed. “Forgive me, but I-"

“Hush, peasant! I shall introduce myself." A neatly groomed man, a bit older than Tibor, pushed through, dressed in flamboyant clothes and backed by two men in full, dark star-metal plate. He approached Tibor and Kayl, then offered a grand bow.

“I am Second Magister Stavolir Mirlic Kessler! As representative of the Council of Vliechov, I demand to speak to whichever muck-raker has deemed themselves the lord of Jorsviek."

Tibor limped to meet the man and armed his bolter. “You'll sooner meet the heel my boot, Vliechoven! Why am I not surprised that your filth would appear from the fucking fog moments after an internal skirmish? What fucking hole did you crawl out of, you blic?"

The man smirked, gestured to himself in mock surprise, then rubbed his hands together. “Come now. Ownership of Jorsviek may have changed, but the last time I checked, this miserable, desolate wasteland on which it resides is still Vliechoven soil. What I say, goes."

Tibor roared, “wasteland!? Only because you've raped our country for decades! Our mines picked clean! Our crops pillaged! Our best horses dragged to to the front lines and children sold on a pack of lies to fight wars overseas over old, pointless feuds! The very same lies that you sold to me as a child! If I could take back every life I took in your pek-dvolad of an army, I would! Maybe I should start correcting the tally right fucking now?" He slowly brought his bolter up and toward the man, only for one of Kessler's protectors to draw a star-steel longsword and step in the way.

Kayl limped beside Tibor, tugged on his hip until he lowered his weapon, then turned to the intruder and asked, “what do you want, man-kin?"

The man smirked down at her, then looked at Tibor again. “Strange company you keep. Growing so desperate that you rely on the scale-swine to bolster your ranks?"

“Answer the question," Kayl snapped.

The Vliechoven man patted his guards on the shoulders, and they stepped apart. He then turned serious and asked, “is the master of the castle present? I believe it was a woman... Caeris Adissarr, a former agent of the oligarchy, if I'm not mistaken? We had talked before, after Provost Brevshket passed. She was quite amenable to our view on returning this backwater to the glory of Vliechov."

“She's dead," Kayl replied with a sneer.

Kessler pouted. “Oh, was that her head I saw on the way in? A shame. Her word was all that was keeping us from taking the land back by force."

“You could try," Tibor snarled and hobbled towards Kessler. “Vliechoven cun-"

One of the bodyguards to slam his mailed fist into his face and sent Tibor flat on his back.

“You won't kill me. You can't." Kessler stroked his well groomed beard. “I have a hundred of Vliechov's finest just outside, with drake-slayer arbalests equipped with explosive rounds. If they don't hear from me in the hour, we'll be testing the much vaunted impenetrability of these walls. Failing that, we also have trebuchets with enough 'lungfire' gas to ensure this place will be uninhabitable for a few weeks. So, back to the topic of ownership; if you have no leader, then I shall name myself de-facto-"

“I own this castle."

Kayl's heart skipped a beat as she looked beyond Kessler and saw Irven stood in the doorway.

He was dressed in simple robes. His left arm was tucked into them and out of sight, with the sleeve fluttering in the cold breeze, and he walked with assistance from Heun, who had grown larger from his feast of his blood during Irven's mana-burn, now a full six feet long and broader.

Kessler chuckled. “Allying with scale-swine and being led by a mere boy? Such desperation! And what's your name, child?"

Irven's eye twitched and he just stared at the man for a few seconds.

“Irven Brevshket."

Kessler snorted and guffawed. “You're Arbachol's son? Unlikely. I would ask what degenerate whore would subject herself to his foul, scaly hide, but I- hey, what are you doing?"

Irven advanced. He raised Heun, who unfurled and exposed one of Caeris' curved blades before wrapping around his master's arm, with his extra size also covering much of Irven's body, like a wooden cuirass.

Kessler's bodyguards stepped between Irven and his quarry.

“Irven, stop," Kayl said as she went to his side and wrapped an arm around his thigh. She whispered, in draconic, “we're not in any condition to fight."

“Listen to the vermin, boy," Kessler said, also in draconic, then continued in Vliechoven, “that the vile thing knows better than you speaks volumes to your clamorous incapability as a leader."

“You're right, Kayl," Irven said as Heun wrapped around his blade. “Of course, this isn't about personal combat, is it? You want the Arcus cannon, I assume?"

Kessler smiled, looked at the great and terrible weapon and nodded. “Yes. I hear you have no coil batteries, and we have no intention of letting you gather more. It's a useless trinket for you, but if you offer it to Vliechov, along with your unconditional surrender, and without a fuss, we shall consider letting you keep this over-designed pile of rock and the... 'quaint' lands around it as a vassal state under Vliechoven rule."

Tibor pulled himself from the floor with the support of his bolter. “How did you know about the coil springs, you fucker?"

Irven huffed and said, “Caeris was dealing with Vliechov. No doubt he has at least one spy here."

“Quite so," Kessler said. “I don't recommend a witch hunt to discover who is rightly helping us either. If my people come to harm, we'll consider it aggression against Vliechov."

“Well, it seems you hold all the cards," Irven said and walked up to the Arcus cannon. He then ran his hand over the cold metal surface. “But you're asking for something when you don't even know if it still works."

Kessler shrugged. “We know it works. We witnessed a discharge last night, and it looks in perfect condition."

Irven chuckled and moved his left arm inside his robe. The four arming mechanisms suddenly creaked and rattled, the internal springs usually powered by coil batteries whirring to life.

“What?" Kessler raised his hand, and a flurry of green sparks formed around his fingers. “How are- cease your casting or I'll incinerate you!"

Irven finished charging the coils, then sneered at Kessler. “Try me." He then pulled at the Arcus cannon controls, and the platform began turning towards the Vliechov forces outside.

“So be it!"

Kessler threw a bolt of magic at Irven, but it stopped short. It arced and crackled around a humanoid silhouette inches from his skin, but dissipated.

Irven then lowered the cannon as Kessler frantically tried to charge his magic.

“Stop him! Cut the bastard down!"

The two men advanced, but the moment the cannon finished aiming, Irven hit the switch with a flick of his wrist and the cannon fired on the Vliechoven encampment.

Kayl stumbled from the chaotic swirl of magic as much as everyone else covered their ears from the drone of the hammer-struck chimes within. The white cored, red tailed projectile struck the middle of the Vliechov camp, blasting chunks of siege weaponry, bodies, both whole and in pieces, and a large circle of the land in all directions as warm air rushed through the platform.

The knight's rushed for Irven.

Tibor brought his bolter up and fired on one of the bodyguards, but the star-steel bolt bounced off of his armour. Kayl tried to trip the other, but to no avail. They both attacked Irven.

But they never hit their mark. One bodyguard was repelled from the platform, through the air and into the trees in the blink of an eye with a telekinetically empowered thrust of Irven's arm. His left arm.

Everyone stared at Irven's turquoise scaled draconic limb, but especially Kessler, who gritted his teeth and seemed taken aback.

The second knight, pushed and spun aside from the force of his companion's launch, took a second swing. Irven met it with Heun's new star-steel blade, caught it in a bind with his right hand, then then grabbed the man's wrist with his left.

“Star-metal's a fascinating thing," Irven said and stared at the knight's longsword as the man squirmed and tried to pull free. “Once forged, it retains its shape by a solidified magical process unless affected by a similarly suspended blade or even a plate of metal, like that armour you wear."

“Let go of me!" The knight tried to punch Irven, only for it to stop dead an inch from his face as suddenly as if he'd punched a wall. A draconic headed shape flickered in a blink and faded just as quick.

“Most interestingly," Irven continued, “is that dragons, being creatures that are the origin of ambient magic, can handle and manipulate it just as easily as wrought steel. It counteracts the magic embedded in the steel and, while still able to pierce dragon scale and protect against harm better than regular steel, it loses its lustre."

Irven's clawed fingers began to dent into the man's protected wrist, earning a desperate grunt and even more frantic struggling as he tried to break free.

Irven chuckled. “Isn't that interesting? I certainly find it fascinating. All that desperate seeking for more and more star-steel, all be be rendered useless by a 'boy.'"

He finished closing his hand around the man's wrist, crumpling the star-steel and the man screamed in agony, then Irven released him. Blood oozed from the pulverised bone and flesh as the knight continued to qhimper, clutch at his arm and stagger back.

Irven then impaled the knight in a single, clean thrust in the chest with his sabre. He switched to his new, stronger arm and ripped the blade up through the knight's shoulder, who groaned and fell in a twitching heap. Irven then turned toward Kessler, who had soiled himself as he backed against the wall beside the door.

“Go home, little man," Irven said, “and tell Vliechov that Sodrascouden stands in defiance of their rule. We'll be expecting your assault. You will fail, but you'll try anyway. And if you don't? We'll begin taking back what you've stolen, inch by inch, mile by mile, until every last acre of Sodrascouden's lost glory is reclaimed. Then we will lay siege to Vliechov itself with an Arcus cannon for every last city under your rule."

Kessler ran as fast as he could in an awkward gait and a brown trail streaking along the floor along the floor.

Irven breathed heavily for a moment, then suddenly said, “someone catch me."

Tibor blinked. “What?"

“Catch me..."

Irven shook and began to keel over. Kayl managed to catch him at the last moment, straining but cushioning his fall. The silhouette that had formed around Irven from Kessler's magic attack remained where he once stood, a familiar form of a green scaled, dragon-like humanoid faded into view.

Kayl snarled, “what did you do to Irven?"

“He'll be fine," Brevshket said, “I simply reinforced his form with my own so he could focus on putting on a good show for those Vliechoven filth, but he's still recovering from the trauma of his change and learning the new depths of his power."

“What do you mean 'a good show,' Bach?" Tibor asked. “What is going on?"

Brevshket sighed. “I told Irven we couldn't afford to demonstrate any weakness, so he unleashed his full strength... obviously it was too much for him just yet. He needs time to get to grips with the powers. Still, we made our position clear. If we played too cautiously, Vliechov would have attacked sooner. This way, their rebuttal will be more severe, but it will take them time to mount an offensive. Time we shall spend ensuring Irven, and Sodrascouden, is ready."

He looked at Kayl as she continued to stare daggers at him, then Brevshket's form faded further, and he slumped.

“My son knows the plan. Combine your forces, drake-kin and humans, and take back our home once and for all. I have spent too much time interfering... and Irven has spent of my power as well..."

Brevshket faded in full. Tibor and Kayl stared at one another, then at Irven, the new master of Jorsviek, and the telltale sign of his draconic blood in the form of his draconic arm.

The new leader of the land. Son of The Corrupter.

Irven Brevshket.

End of Act 3