Chapter 3 (Part I): No Lack of Ambition

"For two centuries the dragon Syliva had been content to simply own a quarter of the free land in Caelia, and then, one night in the last summer of the Hylas's reign, she decided she'd set her sights too low."  
       - From Cassorla's History of Chrematism: The Rot Within a Country.

The inside of Syliva’s mind roared like an ocean storm. Her thoughts pounded against the inside of her skull, emotional swells rolling like waves through her whole body, and intense feelings of pure, instinctive rage occasionally splitting the darkness in her mind like lightning. This was a feeling she’d not experienced for decades.

She landed heavily on one of the castle’s parapets where her aide immediately came to attend to her, “Madame Syliva, what do you require?”

The woman… what was her name? Syliva didn’t remember; “you” was generally sufficient… the young, dark-haired woman tended to all the duties Syliva physically could not take care of – mostly anything involving small, human-sized spaces or writing implements. She was unfailingly courteous, but Syliva never mistook her politeness for anything but fear. On the other hand, that made her all the more worthwhile. On a bad day, she could always terrorize the little woman, remind her of her helplessness and inadequacy, and feel a little bit better about herself. But today… today that just didn’t seem like it would be enough.

“Why don’t you people kill each other?” Syliva asked the woman below her.

“I… pardon?” 
The stupid little thing was already confused. Maybe I should just get a new one. Syliva let out an exasperated sigh at the thought of the time that would be involved in finding or training another servant to be as adequate as this one, and decided to shelve the idea for another time. 
“You get in each other’s way all of the time," Syliva explained, "You squabble over scraps, sometimes completely meaningless ones, or - even worse - you fight over other people. You even fight over people’s ideas, as if they have any value at all. But you don’t just kill each other, even when it would be expedient to do so.”

“Oh, well… sometimes people do. They commit murder, they fight wars...”

“But those are the exceptions that prove the rule. Clearly you can kill each other, so why are most of you so hesitant about doing so?”  

“Because murder is wrong…?”

“Why?”

“Because a person’s life is the most valuable thing they have and if you take it from them…”

“Bah!” Syliva let out a sulfurous snort; smoke curled from her nostrils as she shook her head, “If you kill someone, it’s no trouble for them. They’re dead.”

“Then I guess… it’s a crime against the loved ones that survive them.”

“Ah… so if there were no survivors, then you would do it? Murder is wrong, but genocide is reasonable?”

“No! I mean… it’s still… it’s just wrong.”

“Hm. Well, I don’t understand why you would think so, but fine. You people do ridiculous things for ridiculous reasons. But tell me, why shouldn’t I kill someone?” Syliva growled as she lowered her long head and cocked it to one side to stare the woman straight in the eye.

“Madame, I was under the impression you had..?” her aide asked.

“Yes, of course… I’ll rephrase… why would I refrain from killing someone in front of other people?”

“Why would you be concerned with witnesses?”

“Yes… I didn’t used to be. I used to kill anything that pleased me, any time and any place.”

“You killed hundreds of people just a few weeks ago when you set fire to those protesters and burned down the university…”

“Hm… and it felt good, yes…” Syliva hissed, becoming lost for a moment in the memory. The smell and sound of the burning crowd had been delicious. Burning meat was always pleasant to the senses, but when a man or woman burned alive there were layers to it. Before the skin burned completely away, fat would melt, ooze out of the cracks, and fuel the fire. Then the bowels would burst from the heat, and bloody viscera would begin to burn. Syliva stroked the thick, broad plates of natural armor on her chest with one of her razor sharp fore-claws, “It felt good to exercise my power openly as I once did. So why would I allow some snotty little girl to mock me in front of a crowded market? Why wouldn’t I smite her for her insolence?”

Syliva had intended the question rhetorically, but the little human actually broke the moment of silence that passed with some insight.

“It would have made you look weak, madam.”

Syliva rankled at the idea of being considered weak, but she was well aware that the people that inhabited her kingdom were prone to misperceptions and bad judgment. There was an enormous difference between being weak and being seen as weak.

“How so?” Syliva asked the woman.

“Well, clearly it would have been no effort for you to kill this woman, so it wouldn’t really have proven that whatever she said to you was wrong, right?”

“I suppose so…”

“It would only prove that a woman was able to compel you to action through the use of her words.”

“Hmm…” Syliva’s tongue flicked as she contemplated that, “And there’s a fine line between compelling someone and controlling them.”

“Yes, madam, I suppose that’s true.”

“She insinuated that I had no real power in the kingdom. I could have struck her down, and yet she stood there and claimed I was powerless.”

“That does seem ridiculous, madam. Even without considering your incredible physical power, you have far more economic leverage than any other private citizen in Caelia… would you like me to bring you the books?”

Syliva motioned for her to stay, “No… it wasn’t 'power'… it was authority. She said I had no authority…”

“I suppose that technically you have no title…”

“And why not?” Syliva asked as she slowly scratched her lower jaw, “Two hundred years… I have a castle, a fortune, a financial empire… why don’t I have a title?”

“I always assumed you never found one necessary, madam. Why would you want one?”

“Why do I want anything?” Syliva asked, “Why the gold? The jewels? The weapons?”

“Because they have value…” but the woman immediately corrected herself, “to us, but clearly to you they would be of no consequence.”

“Yes, they are meaningless… and yet, I want to have them because they are there to be had. Power over your kind has the same appeal. To control a human or an elf, or a dwarf is in itself pointless, but all the same, that power is there to be had,” Syliva clenched one of her claws as she imagined herself crushing their little souls in the palm of her hand. 

“But you still command that power through wealth and force, madam.”

“But not through authority…” Syliva concluded, “There’s a difference.” Syliva leaned closer to the small woman; as dismissive as she was of lesser beings, Syliva was enjoying the conversation, for love of her own voice if nothing else. “Two hundred years ago, the king of this place confronted me in this very castle. I’d already routed his army through fear of my physical power, and turned his own kin against him with promise of money, but despite that, a small handful of people accompanied him into my chambers. Even when it became clear that they’d walked into a trap, that they had no chance at all of survival, they continued to follow his orders, and to fight to the death. You can’t compel a person to sacrifice his life for money he cannot spend, nor can you compel him to suicide by threatening him with death. No, these men were unswayed by gold or fear… so why did they fight me?”

“Love for their king?” the woman suggested, “Loyalty to their kingdom?”

“Heroic nonsense,” Syliva growled, “No… I think it was the title. Your kind is easily bent by words. You honor and abide by contracts and agreements that destroy you, because it says on paper you have to. Yes… it’s all about the words. He was the king, and so they were compelled to follow his commands, even to the point of sacrificing their lives.”

“Does madam wish me to draw up a royal patent? I’m sure we could retroactively declare your bloodline to be a royal lineage…”

Syliva chuckled, “That is an amusing thought, but no. I think we can do better than that.”

“Madame?”

“I want the people to give me the title. No, I want them to beg me to take it, yes. Let us retire to the courtyard. Fetch some writing implements, and summon my herald. We have work to do.”