[Writing] Pax Draconica - Chapter 22 (23rd Oct 2024)

[Tapewolf]

D:

Yeah.  I didn't send this to the proof-readers until I had the followup chapter done too, and it's going to be a struggle not to post that one early.

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 22 - Lucky

"That leaves Tarnover," Lord Thurr said, rotating the map slightly so Fardon could see it better.  "I can't exactly ask you to have one of my cities so close to your own capital, so my proposal is that Tarnover becomes the new disputed territory, once I have annexed what we currently call that."

"...And what about all the people who currently live in Tarnover?"  Fardon asked, through gritted teeth.

"Well, they'll have to leave," the red dragon grinned.  "Otherwise the Hunters will probably slay them.  Assuming you mean our kind, that is.  If you are stretching the definition of 'people' to include the Small Races... Well, my troops need somewhere to hunt, right...?"

"You..."  Fardon began furiously.  Lord Thurr held up a clawed finger in a "shh" gesture, grinning widely.  At that moment a shout disturbed them.

"Lord Thurr!" the voice rang out.

The dragon lord glanced angrily at the doorway.  "I said we were not to be disturbed!" he hissed.  "Either get out, or state your business!  But it had better be important, or it'll be DragonSplitter for you!"

"Oh, it is important," the strangely familiar voice insisted.  "More than you could possibly imagine."

Lord Thurr froze as a frost-dragon entered the throne room.  "...The fuck...?!" he swore.

Fardon's eyes bugged crazily.  "Mermul?!  What the hell...?!  I thought you died!  Is it really you...?"

"In a sense," the blue-grey dragon smiled.  He looked like Mermul, but stronger and more confident, his body clean and free from injury.  "I am Mirmjolnar.  Mirmjolnar the Slain."

"What the fuck are you talking about?!"  Lord Thurr snapped, face twisted with disbelief.

"...But you can still call me Mermul," the blue dragon added, grinning cheerily.  "Well, my friends, anyway.  Mirmjolnar to you, Thurr."

"You're not him!  Mermul was a gibbering idiot!  A broken imbecile who almost wet himself in the guillotine!  So who the hell are you, and why are you here...?"

"But I am,," the frost-dragon corrected.  "And I am come to give you my thanks, Lord Thurr.  Because of you, I no longer have to fear death.  I no longer have to fear you."

"You. Are. Not. Mermul!!" the dragon lord screamed.  "That's Mermul!" he yelled, pointing at the impaled head.  "He is dead!  And you're next!"

Mermul gasped, a crossbow bolt protruding from his head and piercing his brain.  His eyes rolled and he fell to the ground with a massive crash, limbs quivering in death.  In the corner, Vinny threw up.

"Right," Thurr said, looking slightly rattled.  "That's that, then!  Pike this idiot's head next to Mirmjolnar, and shove the body out the way - we'll carve it up later with the rest.  Oh, and clean up Vinter's puke.  Now, Fardon... Where did we get to...?"

"I can't remember," Fardon lied, staring at Mermul's corpse in confusion and disbelief.  "But... It looked like Mermul!  If that wasn't him... who the hell was it...?"

"I don't care," Lord Thurr snapped.  "Just some wandering loony.  Your Mermul's wing was broken, he was all cut up and bleeding.  And he had no head last I checked," he jabbed angrily towards his trophy. 

Fardon shrugged his wings.  "You probably want to tighten up security if even a wandering loony can reach your very throne room," he said mildly, craning his neck to watch as two of the guards dragged the frost-dragon's carcass out of the room.

Lord Thurr scowled.  "Enough about the dead intruder!  Try and stay focused, knight!  This is an important matter for that self-proclaimed king of yours!"

"I can't shake the feeling that the intruder is more important," Fardon admitted.

"...Tarnover!  That was it," Lord Thurr exclaimed, looked pleased with himself.  "It's not like you're going to miss it, right...?  And if you want to build settlements on the edge of it, I'm sure I can turn a blind eye..."

There was a roar and a scream from outside.  One of the guards ran in through the door.

"The body!" he whimpered.  "It's..."

"Yeah, Sorry," Mermul said, padding into the throne room.  "I'm still using it.  Now, Lord Thurr, I don't believe we finished our conversation," he added in an accusing tone.  "Be thankful that I am a merciful dragon."

"Kill him!" Thurr screamed.  "Kill him again!"

Mermul staggered as the enforcers's tail-sword severed his neck.  The head tumbled to the ground, eyes glazing as it rolled to a stop, and his collapsed body lay twitching in a pool of bright blood.

"What the hell is going on here...?"  Lord Thurr demanded, as the head was piked next to Mermul.  "Am I having some kind of nightmare...?  Why is this happening to me?  I am the pinnacle of Alkrash's creation!  What did I do to deserve this...?!"

"About Tarnover..."  Fardon asked, stifling a grin.  Lord Thurr looked at him uncomprehendingly for a moment.  "Uh...?"

"Are you sure you're well enough to continue the negotiations, your lordship?" the knight asked, sounding concerned.

"Don't be impertinent!" the red dragon snapped, and then let out a yell of horror.  Mermul had grown a new head.

"...Must you keep doing that?" the frost-dragon coughed, a trickle of blood emerging from his mouth as he clambered to his feet.  "Don't you think it would be easier to talk this out?  By the way, I'd advise getting some sawdust.  My blood will make the floor slippery."

"This isn't possible!" the dragon lord whimpered.  "Only the... Of course!  You're not Mermul!  You're the Devourer!"

"But then... who's that?!" one of the enforcers wailed, pointing at the unconscious black shape in the corner.

"Once, I was Mirmjolnar the Slayer," Mermul said.  "You made me a monster, crushed out my empathy and compassion, left me even devoid of fear, save fear of your wrath."

"I made a dragon of you!" Thurr snapped.  "Gave you strength and glory!  Perfection!  And now..."

"Shut up,"  Mermul told him.  The dragon-lord looked stunned, and fell silent, mouth hanging open with astonishment.

"Once, I was Mirmjolnar the Slayer, devoid of empathy, compassion and fear.  In recovering, I became Mermul, and I could not yet control those emotions that had been denied me.  Now I am in balance.  I have been given a gift, and I must use it to end your evil reign."

Fardon made a strange noise.  Lord Thurr sat down like a dog and covered his eyes with a pained expression.

"'End my evil reign?'" the dragon-lord sighed.  "Seriously...?  Do have any idea how many times I've heard that?  I have a whole room lined with their heads!"

"Well, now you can add some of mine to your collection," Mermul said, gesturing at the two piked dragon heads in the middle of the room.  "But it is true, Thurr," Mermul added, fixing the dragon lord with eerily deep eyes, that spoke of a wisdom beyond mortality.  "I have been chosen."

Fardon began laughed hysterically.  "Mermul... The Chosen One!" he cackled.  "Oh my gods..."

"I am the one foretold, who will fell the evil tyrant and bring peace," Mermul added calmly.

"...Then what are you doing?"  Lord Thurr hissed, puffing himself up angrily and stretching out his wings to make himself look bigger.  "Why are you just standing there looking at me?!  If you're here to fight me, get on with it! DO something!  Attack me... And I shall teach you what fear truly means!"

Mermul shook his head sadly.  "But that would ruin the balance," he said.  "Attacking people is outside my remit.  Otherwise I could take over the world, and that would not suit Father Alkrash's plans."

"Then I will make you fight," Thurr grinned evilly.  "Narkath... kill Mermul for me!"

*  *  *

"Kill Mermul, my liege?"  Narkath asked eagerly.  "Any preferences?  Rules of engagement?"

"A duel to the death," Lord Thurr said, eyes gleaming.  "If you win, Narkath, I shall decapitate Vinter, and Sir Fardon shall be returned to Taria without his wings.  If Mermul wins, they shall both be spared."

"Fat chance of that," Narkath smirked.

Lord Thurr craned his head to face Mermul, and gestured at a weapons rack by the open space where spars and duels were held.  "If you are who you claim to be, you were my best assassin once," he said.  "Choose your weapon, 'Mermul'.  Slay my champion... or watch your friends suffer!"

Mermul sighed unhappily, and picked a shortsword with a wicked, serrated edge.  He weighed it in his hand and nodded.

"Begin!"  Lord Thurr commanded, an eager gleam in his eyes.  Fardon watched, appalled, as Narkath roared and pounced at the fluff-dragon.

Mermul flipped and the enemy dragon's claws missed, marking the tiled floor.  The frost-dragon leaped into the air, wing-assisted and landed behind his opponent.  Narkath's tail lashed out, and Mermul tried to dodge, but it struck him with a sickening crunch and he was knocked to the ground.

"Easy," Narkath gloated, as Mermul struggled to get up and slumped back to the ground.  The enforcer opened his mouth wide, and loomed over the frost-dragon's neck.  Mermul's blade suddenly lashed out, striking home with a horribly meaty sound.

Narkath's eyes widened with horror.  He gazed in disbelief at the pooling blood beneath his neck, and then the strength left him and he toppled over.  The big dragon's eyes stared with a pitiful expression of terror as his life ebbed away.

Lord Thurr padded over to the combat area, stunned not only by the sight of the dead champion, but by the insolent attitude of Mermul, who stood over his kill, fixing the overlord with an expression of casual disdain.

"You... You said you couldn't fight!"  Thurr gurgled.

"I am not allowed to attack," Mermul corrected.  "Defending myself, and protecting others...?  That is within the rules of engagement."

"...And yet, you killed a fellow dragon," Thurr said angrily.  "My loyal champion!  All his strength and magnificence, wasted!"

"Yes," Mermul said simply.  "That was regrettable, but necessary to protect my friends.  And it is what you asked for."

The blue frost dragon crouched down, and rolled Narkath's head over, the fallen dragon's dead eyes still bearing a glassy look of shock.  Mermul opened his mouth wide, and drew in a deep breath.

"What the fuck..." Lord Thurr goggled as Mermul breathed out a pastel blue force over the lifeless enforcer, not flame, frost, nor void, but something like a plasma that hurt to look at.

"Arise, Narkath," Mermul said quietly.  "It is not time."

The dragon coughed and twitched, the awful gash to his neck healed without even a scar.  His eyes focused on Mermul and he emitted a piercing wail of terror as he locked eyes with his killer.

"I suggest you choose your next lord more wisely," Mermul informed the bigger dragon as they backed away in fright, thoroughly cowed.

"You cheated!"  Lord Thurr choked.

"No.  I did exactly what you asked for," Mermul said.  "I slew your champion in a duel to the death, as you commanded.  Which really wasn't fair, since you pitted him against an immortal.  What did you expect would happen...?"

"But..."  Thurr pointed at the terrified enforcer.

"Oh, that.  Nothing was said about him staying dead," Mermul pointed out with a voice like steel.  "This is the gift I was given... where Fiskul breathes death and destruction, I breathe life and restoration."

"...And that will help you seize my throne...?"  Thurr looked disgusted.  "What are you going to do?  Heal me to death?"

"Narkath," Mermul commanded.  "As your vanquisher in combat, and in payment for your life... I demand your fealty!"

"Uhh...?"  Thurr looked utterly confused.

"My lord," the champion grovelled.  "My soul is yours for eternity.  What do you ask of me...?"

Mermul grinned wickedly, showing a row of perfect teeth.  "Narkath... Kill Lord Thurr for me!"

[Liatai]

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