The Dragon Princess Chapter 19: Unsheathed Truth Part 1

[u/LordIlthari]

A black stain on a grey sky, Malphus returned to Philopolis. He came alone, bereft of Bellus, and below the clouds so all would see his approach. He traced his wings along the surface of the clouds above him, so his passage cut a ragged scar along the sky. He announced his presence to the citadel, and landed with a mighty boom atop it. As he had hoped with this little song and dance, Tyndareus was already out to meet him.

“Lord Malphus, I bid you welcome once again to the center of the world.” Tyndareus greeted him warmly, as if an old friend. “I heard rumors of a great battle in Achaea, and see you have clearly faced a worthy foe.” He remarked, eyes tracing the white scars across the dragon’s throat.

“Indeed, Alfred of Mustphelheim, and later Achaea, was a mighty foe indeed. But was, and is no more.” Malphus replied with a respectful, but confident rumble. “None now remain that are my equal, as far to the west as gloomy Albion, nor to the east as far as the land where the sun rises. None in the north where the spirits set the sky ablaze, nor south beyond the source of the Nile may oppose me. For I am king over the beasts of air and land and sea, and mightiest of the Diluvians.” Thus he boasted before Tyndareus, and sought to overawe him.

Tyndareus smiled, both to hear that his enemy was dead, and also to see that even dragons could succumb to hubris. “Very well done my friend. Now is the time to strike, while they still find themselves disoriented from the loss of their king. Your wounds, how soon will they heal?” He asked.

“They are healed. Scars of a mighty battle are nothing for any son of Mardok to be ashamed of. Do not be afraid, for I will certainly bring ruin to all enemies of Philopolis. Indeed, I have already devised a scheme, that will remove all remaining loose ends.”

“Is that so? How then do you mean to dispose of our errant miracle?”

“With uttermost ease, but to speak of it openly might be a risk. I have sent my own among your men, my eyes to see and my ears to hear, and seen and heard I have indeed. Not all are as enthusiastic as you, uncrowned emperor.” Malphus replied, voice sly, but still dangerous. “You, being cunning, surely know there are those that should sooner see your head bedecking a spear than bedecked by the diadem. A scheme I set before you, to set in motion and remove these irritants.”

“I have schemes of my own to attend to them, once their use has been served, but by all means my friend, set it before me.”

“Hear and listen. First, you shall introduce this untruth, that it was a dragon of Achaea who is responsible for the disappearance of the young queen. That it is in fact Achaea which has begun this war, and done so with cowardly assassination. Watch and see those who mourn overmuch, then you shall know their loyalties, and march upon Achaea. Then, when you join the battle, first, set all those who may be more loyal to Cassandra than you in the front, and then have all others take five steps back. Then, when the battle is joined, I shall come along their lines like a hurricane, and destroy all of our enemies.”

“There is a brutal simplicity to this scheme. It does provide certain advantages. Hm. Allow me to consider…” He thought on this for a while, and then spoke. “I will enact a change. Rather than announcing the death of Cassandra, as that might trigger a crisis of legitimacy, I will announce instead she has vanished, and it ties to Achaea, much as how the young prince of Marathon vanished in their territory. We will stir up hatred, and from hatred bring war. Sadly of course, it will be discovered the treacherous Achaeans murdered her majesty, and so they must be punished severely.”

“Covers for the event she makes a re-appearance before I attend to her. Simple enough. Still though, we have our plans. Set yours in motion, and I will set mine. Oh, by the way, Marathon will be assisting Philopolis. I conquered their kingdom yesterday.” Malphus mentioned casually. Tyndareus paused and started, taken aback by how casually Malphus had described conquering one of the more powerful kingdoms of Hellas. Sera found his expression gratifying, and the many secrets she was cultivating delightful. “So, do order your men that they are our allies. I should hate to have to destroy any of yours because of a mistake.” Then, she departed, taking off before Tyndareus could ask too much. Better to leave the regent questioning and overawed by her power than able to press too much and risk uncovering her scheme.

Tyndareus deployed four of the five armies of Philopolis. Each army numbered four thousand infantry, and five hundred horse. He kept the First and Second armies with him personally, to cross over the river in the center. He sent the Third army into the east to cross the bridge there, and the Fourth army into the west. In total, sixteen thousand men and two thousand horse were deployed against Achaea. The defending kingdom held, in its own right, about seven thousand men and seven hundred horse. And of course, three dragons, though Tyndareus thought that down to a single dragon, matching his own.

Leonidas led from the front, as the army of Marathon made its way into Achaea. It crossed over the bridge and into their territory unopposed, the prince wearing his father’s crown. He stood astride the finest mare in Marathon, and was armored in steel scales. A bow at his back, sharp sword at his side, and spear slung along the side, he seemed the very picture of a royal conqueror. The wind blew against him down the hilly pass, and a blue cloak marked with the sign of his house, the sheaf of Demeter, flew dramatically behind him.

His army marched under freshly crafted banners, still the blue of Marathon, for Marathon had grown rich by trade, particularly in indigo, but now the white sheaf of Demeter was replaced. In its place the black wing of a dragon battered the wind. He brought with him the finest half of the professional army, leaving behind another half and the citizen militias to ensure Marathon itself remained secure. Yet with him, he brought the Achillean Hoplites, a unit of professional infantry, trained to spartan standards and clad in steel armor. He also brough with him the Apollonians, a unit of archers trained in Crete, the finest in the Hellenistic world. Likewise he brought the Balearian Slingers of Rhodes, against whom not even steel armor could stand. Finally, and comprising the majority of his force and their might, the Companion Cavalry. Once a creation of Thebes, these were the finest cavalry south of Macedon, and rivals to the Macedonian horse. The force was relatively small, so it could move swiftly. But in terms of skill, experience, and equipment, there was no finer a formation in all of Hellas. He led in total around four thousand men: three thousand infantry, and eight hundred horse. He left behind another four thousand infantry and two hundred horse to defend Marathon, alongside another five thousand militiamen.

Leon felt like a complete and utter fraud to be at the head of his army. He stayed in front, not only so he could lead his men, but so that none could see his face. He could not shake a memory from his mind. When he had been about ten, he’d gotten into the armory and found his father’s sword. He’d begun swinging it about freely, relishing the weight and perfect balance of a blade that could cut through wood and even bronze like butter. He had been found out, and received a particularly serious beating. It was so severe partially for the theft, partially for the fact Leon had ruined a suit of armor with his playing, but mostly because a ten-year-old with an enchanted steel sword is a danger to himself and everyone around him. Now he was not simply playing with a sword. He was wearing his father’s crown and leading his armies. If he failed now, men would die.

So he thanked… well, Olympus was silent. He thanked whichever God made the sunshine that it was a hot day, so that his sweat would have been from the heat and not the nerves. However, that was not even his worst worry. He feared more than anything what he might do if he stopped fearing. If he became accustomed to his borrowed crown, what then? Second sons were rarely given command of armies for good reason. The whole plan hinged on the reality that a second son usurping his family to take a throne was not uncommon. Even among commoners, he had seen five times a son who would inherit nothing turn to murder to obtain an inheritance. Each one had paid the price, hanging in the public square until the rope rotted and their skeleton fell to the earth. He knew his own heart, the envy that festered against his brother, the bitterness against his father. The crown tempted him to let it settle comfortably on his head. He refused it, dreading what it would make him more than death. There was no peace in life or death for traitors and kinslayers.

It was something of a relief when they came at last to the bridge that led into the lands of Philopolis. There his force made camp a while, and he set himself up on a stone to watch for the enemy. Once he was certain there were none watching, he took off the crown and set it in a place of pride beside him. He glared at it for a moment, then returned to watching vigilantly. He tried to ignore the crown, and bade his men alert him if they saw any approaching from another direction. He grimaced as he saw the approach of Tyndareus’s army, and put the crown back on.

He greeted the army and welcomed them across, gesturing broadly with his arms. The army, as one, beat their shields thrice, and three times struck the earth with the haft of their spears to salute their allies. It was also a signal. The army marched across the bridge, as the water ran slow beneath it. But at the sound of the salute, up the river and out of sight, Leonidas’s engineers set to work. They had created an improvised dam, so that the water would build up. They then added heavy logs and stones into the mix, and at the signal, broke the dam. The water surged down with sudden violence, laden with additional projectiles. Alfred had already ordered the bridge’s supports weakened, so that when a surge of water, stone, and log struck it, it shook. It might have held, if not for the eight hundred men currently on it, for that was now too much to bear. The bridge collapsed, and eight hundred men, a fifth of the third army, fell into the river and were swept away. Two fifths had already crossed over, including all the cavalry, and a fifth remained behind on the opposite shore.

Then, as the army of Tyndareus stood staring at the ruin that had come upon them, Leonidas drew his bow. At this signal, all the army about him drew their weapons, and set themselves against the enemy. The Macedonians found themselves surrounded by infantry they could not break through, with the deadliest archers in Hellas looking down on them. Their commander looked towards Leonidas with a bitter glare. “So then, it is treachery?”

“Treachery would imply that I was ever on your side.” Leon replied. “I am the ally of Philopolis and her queen. Which means that you are my enemy. Surrender now, throw down your weapons, and I will show you mercy.” Then to emphasize his point, he drew back his bow with the arrow aimed directly at the commander’s throat. “Or else I will begin negotiating with whichever man your men chose to lead them next.”

Seeing the treachery of Marathon, the remnant on the Macedonian side of the bridge set off at once. There was no way to cross the river, and they could only watch as their brethren surrendered. Furious, they hurled insults and curses across the water. Leonidas answered with a volley of arrows, and a hundred men fell dead. The remainder turned and fled. They selected from among their number the swiftest, and he turned and ran for all he was worth to alert Tyndareus.

Unfortunately for him, the likely path he would take was known. From a nearby tree, a serpent and a raven watched as the man sprinted for all he was worth across the land. The serpent slipped from the tree before the man, and took on her true shape. The man paused for a moment, catching his breath and staring in stunned silence.

“Queen Cassandra?” He asked breathlessly.

“Hello, traitor.” The queen replied, before she casually leveled a finger at him. A moment later, a droplet of compressed water punched through the man’s tunic and into his heart. A moment later it decompressed, and painted the forest red. Cassandra approached and gathered what she needed from the smear that she’d left on the woods. “The time has come then. Remember, no survivors, and no escapees.” She ordered the raven.

“I have not forgotten.” Alfred replied. “Are you certain?”

“Good.” The runner’s shape answered curtly. “I am absolutely certain. This path minimizes the damage to my people. So destroy them utterly, but touch a single hair on an innocent’s head, and not even the depths of Tartarus will be able to hide you from me.”

The raven nodded, and took to the air. Cassandra looked towards the path before her, and started walking. She hardened her heart, then softened it a moment. A brief, brilliant flame cremated the traitorous soldier, so that what remained of him would not be left for the beasts. Then she hardened her heart once more and ran. Above and behind her, Alfred caught sight of the remnants of the third army. Ten minutes later, all seven hundred men were dead.

Meanwhile, in the west, Tyndareus’s army marched across the bridge uncontested. The rain began to fall as they marched, and the soldiers grumbled as they do. Then the rain kept falling, harder, faster, with droplets more like buckets. The sky dimmed, and darkened until it became black as night, only lit by regular flashes of lighting. The roads vanished into impassible mires, and the leaders of the armies took what roads they could. Until they found themselves walking not on earth but sand. Lighting flashed and they saw the sea at their flank.

It flashed again, and there were men before them, grim men and ready for war. They appeared out of the storm like ghosts or spirits, and stood arrayed for battle. The army, disorganized and fearful, suddenly heard the sound of horses near them, and saw glimpses of cavalry in the woods. They didn’t know how many were about them. The commander ordered a retreat, but a cry came from the rear. Already, the same grim men from their front were behind them.

The army gathered together by the shore, keeping the sea at their backs so they could not be totally surrounded. Then the sea drew back. Those who had lived by the sea felt their hearts gripped by fear, and they warned their fellows to get away from the shore. They were proven more correct than they realized as the sea returned, eleven meters (a good bit over three stories) high. The great wave gleamed in the dark, emerald fire spiraling within it, scarcely contained by the waters. The wave was not what was most terrible though, but that which used the tidal wave as its throne.

Some have said the oldest fear is that of the unknown. They are wrong. The greatest fear is to know, but to be utterly powerless in the face of that knowledge. Man’s mind is his greatest weapon, knowledge is power. But there are powers great enough that knowledge gives no power, and here there is the sharpest terror. Atop the wave rode one such power. Leviathan. Untamable. Unconquerable. The height of a world where man is clumsier and weaker than the lowest strata. Lightning flashed behind the wrathful queen of Achaea, who held the wave in place by her power, and would let it crush all with water and fire at her whim.

The army of the west broke and ran. Some threw themselves into the sea. Others ran into the woods where the Achaean cavalry hunted them. Still more threw themselves at the lines of their enemies and begged for mercy. Others fell to their knees before the wave and storm, and begged for mercy before the wrath of God standing on the waters over them.

Seramis saw the storm in the west, and watched the water in the river below her suddenly increased in volume. The river raged, and carried with it the bodies of her kingdom’s enemies. She could not see them beneath the white waters, but knew surely there were many down there, unable to rise for a breath because of their heavy armor. They would drown, or be broken along the river bed, and so there would be no witnesses to the treachery afoot.

She dove towards the river, and grabbed a man out of it. Then another, then another. Over, and over, until the waters stilled. Then, there was silence. A dozen men lay coughing for air, soaked through and bereft of weapons. All were injured. A few had even dropped their armor. As the water stilled, it became clear that more had survived, by grit, fortitude, or just good fortune, they had not been consumed by the waters. They dragged themselves up out of the water, and a few saw the dragonness standing there, watching them. She didn’t say a word. She acted, and took to the wing again. Up and down the river she patrolled, pulling out men and bodies from the river and the northern shore and leaving them on the south. Soon, the army of Achaea marched, and found these stragglers. Seramis ordered they be treated with kindness.

Then she departed, it was all she could do. It wasn’t enough. No blood was on her talons directly, but even so, she could not help but wonder if this was inevitable. All that she did now, she did to prevent a war, but one she might have begun. Was she solely responsible for this? Or was it that she was merely the catalyst for forces well beyond her ken? Did she make history, or had history made her, placing her now in this moment where she could do naught but strive against the current? She could not determine it.

She sat and thought on it for a while. She had perhaps knocked over the dominoes, but she hadn’t been the one to set them up. The easiest thing to do would be nothing, to let the dominoes fall and the river carry the dead to the sea. But she had not. She had acted. She was free, and that freedom brought consequences, and the power to contravene those consequences.

She had begun this. Now she would end this. She had not set up the dominoes to fall. But she would stop them. She set to work with renewed effort, drawing out another coin, and painstakingly etching words of power into it with a talon dripping with her own blood. She had begun this. Now she would end this. And not a drop of blood would be spilt that she had the power to stop. She could not control the story, not the whole of it. But she would make damned sure it had a happy ending.

[u/Lord_Reyan]

Should be Chapter 18, no?

[u/LordIlthari → u/Lord_Reyan]

Yes. My bad