Chapter 12 (Part I): Pot Shots & Long Shots

The most reliable way to wound a dragon is with words, because no matter how well armored they may be, their hearing is flawless. Finding the right words to do it, though, can be a challenge. Syliva seemed to revel in the hatred of others, but desperately needed their respect.

-          Vircan, a popular Caelian satirist and Neo-Monarchist

When What’s-her-Name had notified Syliva that the recurrent thorn in her side was now standing outside the gates of her castle, Syliva had done her best to react slowly, lest anyone think she actually cared. By the time she wandered up to the battlements above the gate, however, the castle’s outer guards were gone, replaced by armored elves, and the woman was backed by a crowd of monarchists, neo-monarchists, and even defected Nationalists who were eager to hear a repeat of the exchange that had previously made a laughing-stock of the dragon. A portion of the Neo-Monarchists had even shown up with their faces crudely painted with garish white skulls to match a more stylized and refined makeup worn by the woman who stood waiting below.

The woman hadn’t rallied the entire city, but it may as well have been; many of the heralds’ observers were gathered nearby – even people from The Vulpine Post, and there were thousands of people gathered in front of the castle gates. The crowd was so large it would have been impossible for most of them to hear the exchange directly – they were simply there to see how the people in front of them would react. The last time Syliva had confronted a crowd this large had been when Caelus IV had tried to recapture his city two centuries ago, and her hand was stayed just as it was then; if Syliva were to unleash her fury upon them the city she reveled in tormenting would effectively be left a ghost town.

Despite the face paint, Syliva knew by her smell that it was indeed the same woman from the marketplace, “So the pretty little girl didn’t flee with her elf-friend after all,” Syliva called down from the battlement above the gate, “I must admit that I am somewhat impressed you've eluded my guardsmen for so long.”

Azraea stood out separate from the crowd on some boxes they’d stacked so she could be seen by as many observers as possible. Verax had replaced her purple dress with something that had comparable flair and a new black jacket. She’d expected him to treat the request as a vanity, but he’d said it was important to establish an image and “grow her brand.” The latter part sounded like it must have been a merchant thing, but given she was competing with something as attention-getting and memorable as a dragon, she was going to take all the advice he had in that regard.  

“You mustn’t blame yourself,” Azraea shouted back, “I’ve heard you’ve been quite busy since last we spoke. But, I wonder, what do you mean ‘your’ guardsmen?” Azraea asked, “I wasn’t aware you had guards. I thought they were the king’s men.”

“The king is dead,” Syliva puffed out her chest, “The kingdom’s guards serve me, for I am queen now.”

“Oh, then my condolences on your loss,” Azraea said, “It must be hard to be widowed so soon after your marriage.” The crowd chuckled.

“What?” Syliva gave her a look of confusion, “What marriage?”

“Well, surely you married King Hylas before his death, didn’t you? How else would you have become his queen?” Azraea explained sarcastically, to the laughter of the crowd.

Syliva shook her head, as if she didn’t quite comprehend that it was a joke, “I was never his queen.”

“Well, if you aren’t his queen, then whose queen are you?”

“Idiot girl, I am nobody’s queen!”

The crowd roared with laughter. The dragon’s blood boiled, but with Medes’ men assembled in the court yard behind her, she smiled, knowing that she could have the rabble-rouser stricken down in moments with but a word. Teeth and claws were wonderful implements of carnage, but there was something extra satisfying about using humans to kill humans.

“You’re very clever with words...” Syliva led into an insult, but Azraea interrupted her.

“I seem to be cleverer with your words than my own, actually,” she said, gaining more laughter, “perhaps if we keep trading them, we’ll both be better off.”

“Hnh…” Syliva ground her teeth again, “How about you just trade words with my dungeon master. I’m sure he’ll have many questions for you.”

“Really? About what?” Azraea asked, “If you have questions for me, wouldn’t it be simpler just to ask me yourself?”

Syliva was vexed by being denied the satisfaction of promising Azraea various forms of torture, but the situation didn’t preclude it, so fine. “Was it you spreading seditionist propaganda with unlicensed printings?” Syliva hissed.

“Of course it was,” Azraea asked, “But I printed them on campus for educational purposes, so it would have been tax-exempt, wouldn't it? Or did that stop being the case after you burned down the building and killed half the college’s journalism students?”

Syliva ignored the accusation – such things were no longer of consequence, “Are you the one that has been attacking my men in the streets?”

“If you mean protecting innocent citizens from hired thugs, then I did my part,” Azraea said. The painted Neo-Monarchists cheered and whooped wildly, raising their fists in the air. She and Verax had been busy.

“And do you also admit to conspiring against the throne with agents of the Gnoman Empire?”

“No,” Azraea said, “I admit only to conspiring against you.” The crowd expressed clear surprise at her boldness.

“I am the throne,” Syliva said.

“Well, you might make passable upholstery, but I don’t think you’ve got what it takes to be a full piece of furniture,” Azraea said, cueing more laughter from the crowd.

Syliva growled, “And what of the elf you were seen with?”

“Kairumina Doro Asterigennithika?” Azraea asked, “The warrior who liberated defiance from your puppet despot? She’s returned there to join our ally, Thrakaduhl da Tharka, in preparing your destruction.” Azraea’s painted supporters cheered a sentiment that spread back through the crowd, even to those who did not hear the exchange, but simply knew that people they supported were also cheering.

The dragon was puzzled by the straightforward answer, “Why are you telling me this?” she hissed suspiciously.

“Well, my allies wanted to march on the city,” Azraea explained, “to rally the people of Caelia to our cause as we crossed the countryside. I was eager to have this resolved sooner than later, though, and it seemed that it would be quicker for everyone if you simply came to us. Unfortunately, since you spend most all of your time hiding in this little castle, someone had to come here and issue the invitation in person. Not a desirable task, certainly, but as their leader, I felt I should be the one to do it.”

“You claim to be the leader of this ill-fated insurrection, then?” Syliva asked.

“I am the leader of this insurrection,” Azraea said. The painted men and women in the crowd began shouting in support again, but died down when she started speaking, “I know that in some cultures deposing a tyrant would involve some sort of trial by combat, but let’s be honest with ourselves: this isn’t so much a coup de tat as it is simple pest removal.” Azraea’s supporters began shouting and screaming again. “And simple traps are usually the best way to exterminate vermin,” she added.

“How dare you!” Syliva roared.

“Oh, so it’s being called vermin that rattles you?” Azraea said, “I’ll admit, I wouldn’t have expected you to have self-esteem issues. I would have guessed you were, perhaps, a classic narcissist? But an inferiority complex? Well, I guess that actually explains a fair bit.” Azraea didn’t elaborate – it was the ambiguity of that insult that would get under the dragon’s scales.

Syliva seethed, fire flickering from between her teeth, “So, your friends conspire against me in the city of Defiance, thinking that they can destroy me with some clever trap, then? Some clever trap you and your Gnoman allies have conceived with their clever little scheming minds.”

“Oh, yes, they’re quite prepared to kill you. I’ve given them a standing order to do so. I’ll admit, I had some trepidation at first – after all, a few weeks ago it would have been murder, and we couldn’t do that. That’s illegal, remember? But now that you’ve decided you’re queen, killing you is just treason, and that is only illegal if we fail,” the crowd laughed at Azraea’s audacity in the face of certain doom, “Which, obviously, we won’t.”

“You couldn’t possibly be serious?” the dragon tried to feign a convincing laugh. “Any attempt to harm me would fail. None can overcome my power.”

 “So then I’ve failed to frighten you away from Defiance, then?”

“Yes…” Syliva was now more than slightly confused regarding the girl’s motivation, “Wait, you want me to go there... don’t you?”

“Of course I want you to go there,” Azraea said, “That’s where our trap is set. I was trying to bait you into going there by insulting you.”

“Do you think me a fool girl?” Syliva roared, “To rush headlong into such an obvious ploy?”

“A fool or a coward,” Azraea said, “I think we were all interested to see what would win out tonight.” People clapped and laughed. The crowd began chanting, “Syliva’s scared,” the alliteration blending with the hissing of the crowd and giving way to a thundering chorus of booing from the audience.

Syliva roared, silencing the crowd, “I FEAR NOTHING! All of creation lies open to me to do with as I wish. Nothing is denied me. No power can contest my own!”

“Except the power of my own words, which seem adequate to frighten you into hiding behind the walls of your safe little castle,” Azraea got cheers again.

“Your words have no power over me!” The dragon hissed, “Whatever game you’re playing, I will tear it down. I will kill you and your friends! Starting with you!” The crowd scrambled back from Azraea as the dragon churned up a stream of fire in her belly.

“Not buying it,” Azraea said coolly. Her heart raced, but she kept her body still and her voice even.

“What?” Syliva hung over her with smoke leaking from her nostrils.

“Honestly, I really don’t believe you’ll win. I mean, you can kill me, obviously. I’m right here in front of you, helpless and everything. But I know that if you go and take on my friends, you will lose.”

“I would not! I will not! I cannot be vanquished. You shall see!”

“I’ll see? I thought you were going to kill me, remember? I won’t get to see it play out. But that’s fine,” Azraea said nonchalantly, “Like I said, I know you’ll lose, and I’ll go to my grave happily knowing that we’ve already won.”

“Ha!” The dragon suddenly seemed to have a brilliant idea, “Guards!” Immediately the gates flew open and members of Syliva’s Blackguard rushed out to seize Azraea and drive back the front of the mob. The crowd backed off, unwilling to challenge the fully armed men while the dragon loomed overhead.

“You can wait here while I go fetch your friends,” her tongue flicked gleefully as she spoke, “we’ll see what quick words you have when I bring you their charred heads!”

“To the dungeons with her, your majesty?” One of the men asked.

“Yesss…” Syliva hissed, “Do with her as you wish, Captain Medes, but keep her alive, and leave her perfect little head intact. I want to hear her silenced by despair, and see the hope ebb from her eyes.” The dragon cackled and launched into the air, trailing a dark plume of smoke.

Syliva streaked towards the Ridge of Bloody Terror. It was always good to get out of the castle and stretch her wings. She thought perhaps she should do it more often in the future. After all, a queen should go amongst her people, and occasionally she should kill a few hundred of them to assert her authority.

Starting with these most recent pests.

For a school girl and her idiot friends, they’d proven unreasonably troublesome. She could have killed the human and the elf easily the first time she laid eyes on them but the people of Kingstown would have thought that made them right somehow. They would have thought Syliva was afraid of them. People were foolish like that. Syliva feared nothing, feared no one, no force. She killed out of hunger, out of boredom, or out of annoyance, but she’d never killed someone out of fear. It was unfathomable to her.

These troublemakers had grievously annoyed her, however. Just when she thought everyone clearly understood who was in charge, that girl had had the audacity to challenge her authority in front of a city full of impressionable idiots. If she didn’t turn their deaths into a spectacularly demoralizing demonstration of violence, word would spread and people might become less than wholly terrified by her presence. The next thing after that would be rebellions here and there, and even if she put down each one it would just spur on more.

Of course, it wasn’t the threat of being deposed that bothered Syliva. The problem was that rebellion was symptomatic of hope, and she had been so close to almost completely purging that from the little kingdom that she couldn’t stand the idea of letting even a smudge of it survive. Other dragons might have called her obsessive, even by their standards, but Syliva thought of herself simply as a perfectionist. The suffering of lesser beings was her art and she was looking to craft her masterpiece. These wretched little nuisances were posing a serious threat to what was an otherwise flawless piece of work.