I have about 13 chapters of this, so perhaps it's time to start posting them here. This is, surprisingly, the sequel to the original Pax Draconica story.
There are a few unresolved issues about balancing the two main plot threads, but hopefully I'll be able to fix that soon.
Chapter 1 - FishMermul stared into the waters of the lake for a few moments and gingerly flicked out his tail, slapping the blue-grey appendage against the water repeatedly. After a short time, the surface rippled and began to roil until a large, sleek head popped out of the lake with a splash, rubbery skin gleaming like a wetsuit.
"Oh," the dragoness said, looking at Mermul disapprovingly. "What do you want?"
"Rude," Fiskul remarked.
"He's a frost-dragon," the water-dragon complained, shifting her gaze from the grey-furred dragon to the small, scaly black-and-red figure beside him. "Frosties love their pranks. Making ice floes and shit to try and stop us surfacing. It gets old very quickly."
"But I didn't," Mermul pointed out reasonably. "If that was my plan I'd have frozen it while you were trying to surface. In any case, I can no longer breathe frost."
"You lost your breath powers?!" the water-dragon looked horrified and her head backed away in case Mermul was somehow contagious. "But- but that's a gift from Father Alkrash Himself! What did you
do?!"
"It's complicated and you probably won't believe it anyway," Mermul sighed. "Lord Thurr guillotined me, and while I lay headless, The Great One chose me to be His champion against Thurr, and an emotional support dragon for Fiskul here. When I awoke, I had gained the power to heal the dying... but that new power had replaced my frost-breath."
"You're that Chosen One people have been talking about?!" the water-dragon looked surprised and unsure whether to believe him or not.
"Yes," the fluff-dragon said. "I miss being able to freeze things, as it's often useful. But I would never wish to give up the power to save lives. And... well, back in Arcaia, before everything went bad... I sneezed in the shower. That didn't end well."
"Why are you so surprised about this?" Fiskul protested. "It's been on the news! For the first few tendays Mermul could barely move for people wanting his autograph. And now some folks are trying to
worship him..."
"Well, I could point out that we don't get television out here in the middle of a lake," the dragoness replied, "...But actually I'd be lying. We have an Eidophor in that big building on the island, and we can also project films too. The
real problem is that we have to leave the water to watch, and it's just more comfy to swim, you know...?"
"So, does that mean you don't watch the news at all?" Mermul looked worried. "I mean, in some ways I don't blame you... it can be pretty miserable, but when Lord Thurr was threatening an invasion, I'd have thought that was something you'd need to know about, so as to prepare if the worst came to the worst."
"Indeed," the dragoness admitted. "We get newsreels with a compilation of important events from the last tenday or so. As you say, it doesn't pay to be
completely out of touch. But a the same time, we're more likely to be interested in things that affect us water-dragons than things happening further out. So yeah, we heard about the threat of war. But then we heard it was averted and kind of switched off."
"But-" Fiskul looked outraged.
"Shush," Mermul told them. "It doesn't matter. I'd take apathy over cult worship any day. Even the Chosen One's got things to do, right?"
"I guess you're right," Fiskul sighed, "But it seems so
ungrateful given that you
died to help save their tails!"
"I don't see many people lining up to worship you," the dragoness pointed out drily.
"It's mostly Fiskul keeping them away," Mermul said, craning his long neck to indicate the smaller dragon. "For all that they consider me some kind of messenger from Father Alkrash, they're not particularly keen on the Devourer, even though we're both in a similar position. We both get to see the Great One occasionally. But... well, I have to
die to get new instructions or prophecies or whatever from Him. And to be blunt, dying isn't a particularly enjoyable experience. Fiskul is a lot closer to Him than me, anyway..."
"But I look more scary," Fiskul added proudly.
"You're the
Devourer...?" the dragoness looked worried. "But if
you're here... Did we miss a newsreel saying the world is about to end?!"
"Nah. I've always been here," Fiskul said. "Going to and fro in the Eyrth and walking up and down in it. If you have a burst pipe, you'd call a plumber to fix it, sure. But ending the world doesn't work that way. I don't come when I'm called... I'm supposed to just lurk in the background until an apocalypse is needed."
The dragoness opened her mouth to reply, but before she could speak, a very small dragon had spotted them and came running over.
"Sea-dragon! Sea-dragon!" the dragonlet burbled. "Do the fountain thing!"
"Oh all right," the water-dragon grumbled, secretly pleased. She arched back her head and inhaled deeply, before blowing a jet of water straight up into the air. The youngster pranced and screamed with delight, and Mermul felt a sudden mischievious urge to freeze the water in mid-air. Of course, this would upset the other dragons and besides, he had lost that ability... But the temptation still remained.
"I admire your restraint," the dragoness said, glancing at Mermul while the dragonlet was apologetically retrieved by one of their parents. "I could see you wanting to play silly buggers with a frost-breath attack."
"It was tempting," Mermul admitted. "Might have upset the kid, though. And like I said, I can't. I can heal things, even raise the dead. But I had to get new freezers installed in the villa."
"This healing breath business," the water-dragon said. "I have never heard of such a thing. Can you show me?"
"Give me a fish," Mermul said. "That would make as good a demonstration as any."
The water-dragon disappeared below the surface for a few moments, and then reappeared, spitting out a medium-sized carp, which landed in front of Mermul with a wet slap.
Gingerly, Mermul flipped the dead fish so it was floating in the shallows of the lake, and then he closed his eyes and inhaled.
A pale blue energy flowed from his mouth, like a plasma. The dead fish spasmed, rolled over and darted suddenly into the depths of the lake.
"Wow," the dragoness said.
"It can have its drawbacks," Mermul said. "Being able to heal the living and the dead is a wonderful gift, but... Well, one time I forgot I can't breath frost anymore. I..." Mermul's voice faltered at the memory.
"He tried to freeze a side of beef," Fiskul added helpfully. "Shooing a live cow out of a pantry wasn't quite how I'd expected to spend that afternoon."
"What would have happened if you had cut the meat in half first?" the dragoness asked greedily. "Could you get two cows out of it?"
"We tried that later with a leg of lamb," Mermul said. "You get one sheep - nothing happens if you try to heal the other half."
"Pity," the water-dragon said. "Anyway... I have things to be getting on with. You summoned me for a reason, right?"
"Ah, yes," Mermul said. "Lord Varl is planning a new hydropower plant in the eastern valley. We would like your aid in assessing the hydrological impact of this scheme. As a minor lord, I'm nominally in charge of that region, so it falls to me to act as envoy."
"I see," the dragoness said. "I shall inform our leader that Lord Varl wishes to speak with them, and an envoy will be sent to him. Thank you for taking our kind into account in this matter."
"Thank you," Mermul said.
The meeting had not called for official dress, so Sir Fardon wore only his neck-pouch as he entered the throne room. A formal gathering would have called for ceremonial armour, and the brown dragon had mixed feelings about such gear. It looked fantastic, and was a real crowd-pleaser. However, it was also what he wore when carrying out executions, and the guilt of taking the lives of his fellow dragons weighed down upon him.
Sir Darving and Sir Narfus were also present, and also dressed casual. Lord Varl rarely donned armour except on special occasions, and wore only his usual jewellery. Most of it was decorative, but the bracer on one foreleg contained a potent spell of protection that rendered him nearly invulnerable.
Lord Varl twitched his red-orange tail as Fardon entered. Along with the two red dragon-knights, he was pondering a map on a large table, and he beckoned Fardon to join them.
"Arstrom?" Sir Fardon asked, taking in the map. "That is to the far northeast, isn't it? Not a safe place for dragons, from what I remember. And ruled by a series of... well, despots."
"That is so," Lord Varl replied. "Even there, Lord Thurr's reputation has sullied our kind. But it seems the tide may be turning, as we have received enquiries from their overlord."
"Now that Thurr no longer poses a threat, the ruler is apparently re-evaluating his relationship with dragonkind," Sir Darving added. "Even the anti-dragon zealot factions there have to admit that an invasion by Thurr was the big danger, not hostility from Taria. That at least, is what Lord Terror is saying."
"So they are opening their borders...?" the large brown dragon replied. "Interesting."
"Indeed," the dragon king remarked. "Their lord has invited us to send a delegation to discuss opening trade links, and to help prove to his people that dragons can be beneficial. I aim to send out such a mission next tenday, and I would like you to lead it, Sir Fardon."
"Trade isn't my strong point, your majesty," Fardon pointed out. "Presumably that side of things will be left to others?"
"Indeed. You will be there as my representative. The actual nitty-gritty of the negotiation will be done by others. But they will look to you for the final say, and of course for protection."
"And Tarnover...?"
"It will keep," the red-orange dragon reassurred him. "You have excellent underlings and they will be able to manage in your absence. If you are truly worried, I can spare one of my knights here to keep an eye on things."
"Hopefully that won't be necessary," Fardon said. "But... Hmmm. What do we know about this Lord Terror? Arstrom has had a long run as a feudal state, and to be honest, a name like that is... concerning."
"That is one of the things we would like to know more about," Sir Darving sighed. "I was in Trooland earlier this year. Those who have seen him say that he is a furre, but shows little sign of age. He looks to be in his mid-twenties, and has done so ever since he usurped the throne twenty-something years ago.
"Maybe he has some fancy enchantment," the red dragon craned his neck at Lord Varl's invulnerability charm briefly. "Or maybe he has dragon blood in him. But he has been making big changes recently, modernising his realm.
"Perhaps he is a tyrant like Yyrkoon was, and Marfour the Red before that. But even then, past performance is no guarantee of future returns, as the banks like to say.
"It wouldn't be the first time a despot has backed off, and opened up their society if the alternative is becoming a head on a pike. And you never know, 'Terror' may just be his family name. These are things we would like you to try and determine if you can."
"Just because we
can trade with Arstrom, doesn't mean we
should," Lord Varl added. "But hopefully you can help us answer that question."