Valkyrie's Shadow

Chapter 6

『I…I love you, mother.』

『Nemel? What’s wrong, dear?』

Nemel Gran cut off the Message spell before a sob could escape her.

As a mage of the Imperial Army, she wasn’t supposed to use her mana for personal reasons while on the job. Regenerating mana wasn’t like catching one’s breath, and her mana consumption was scheduled around its projected use in her duties. Even outside of her duties, she was expected to return to work with a full mana pool.

Despite regulations, she had contacted her friends and family while en route to her destination. The flight from Arwintar to Engelfurt was four hours by Hippogriff, and she had taken the time to settle her personal matters before she arrived. Surely they would allow her this minor indiscretion. They were sacrificing her to a Dragon, after all.

Nemel miserably hunched over her mount as her Hippogriff winged through the slashing torrents of rain. The wind and wet lashed over her and, through her tear-misted flight goggles, she could only see a pitch-dark void that seemed just as bleak as her future.

Stupid General Ray and his stupid ambition. Stupid Imperial Air Service. Stupid me for joining it! Now I’m being fed to some Dragon like a stupid Princess from a stupid minstrel’s tale.

Except there would be no gallant Prince or Knight who would come riding to save her. Smart people did not do stupid things like attacking powerful Dragons. Even if there were people powerful enough to slay those Dragons, they had nothing to do with stupid Nemel Gran.

A good, stable, safe job that paid well. Was there such a thing? She had thought so when she signed up for the Imperial Air Service.

Back at the Academy, the army recruiter told her that chances of being injured in the air were less than being run over by a carriage in Arwintar, and an aerial mage avoided combat unless carefully calculated support was called for. All she had to do was serve in patrols and cast her spells. She could eat potatoes every day and live in relative comfort. Maybe her family would even give up trying to marry her off.

The moment she had received her orders, however, Nemel knew where she had screwed up. Every facet of the Baharuth Empire was steeped in imperial politics. The higher up one was, the worse it got. Whether it was the commoners, Merchants, Nobles, the military, or the Bloody Emperor himself, everyone was either a piece or a player or both. Nemel was a new officer in the Imperial Army. As a noble scion, she understood how the game was played. She was from a minor house and had no connections or wealth. With all this in mind, it was highly likely that she would be used in some power play.

General Ray was known for being cold, calculating and ruthless…and now it appeared that his ambition extended beyond the Empire’s borders. With Frost 19’s itinerary known well in advance, the General had been poised to make a move. Nemel’s contact with Frost 19 over the Katze Marches provided him with justification to send her out as an attaché, allowing General Ray to take the reins of the ‘operation’.

The personal risk that Nemel faced didn’t matter: if she was eaten, it was because the Sorcerous Kingdom was a nation of monsters and that was that. If she somehow survived, she was duty-bound as a soldier and obligated as a member of the imperial establishment to do her best for the Empire. General Ray would of course reap the benefits of any positive outcomes and, with enough exposure, word of his ‘excellent existence’ might eventually reach important people in the Sorcerous Kingdom.

If there was one way to get ahead in the Empire, it was to get in good with the Sorcerous Kingdom. Their nation had to do anything the Sorcerous Kingdom told them to, after all. Even so, it took a special kind of brave or stupid to try.

Nemel couldn’t even be genuinely mad at General Ray. Even if he hadn’t sent her, other pawns were most likely on the way from other factions in the Empire. They could come from other parts of the army or one of the more powerful Noble houses or some branch of the administration. To be certain, having someone from a department like the Ministry of Foreign Affairs take responsibility for an important foreign representative made more sense to Nemel.

She tried to imagine those in her class who aspired to a posting with Foreign Affairs. What would they do if they were flung at a Dragon? Instead of finding inspiration from the exercise, Nemel only shrank away from the idea of them getting eaten all the same.

It was still pouring when she arrived at the Engelfurt Aviary. She walked her thoroughly soaked and grouchy Hippogriff inside and handed him off to the Beast Tamer on duty. Nemel glanced nervously about, terrified of spotting a scaly white tail sticking out of one of the stalls. There was nothing of note, so she turned to address the Beast Tamer.

“Frost 19 checked in earlier, yeah?”

“Yeah,” the Beast Tamer replied. “Less than five hours ago.”

She looked around her again.

“Then…where?”

“Dunno, she reported in and left right after that.”

She…she…does that matter?

It probably mattered, but not in the way that people tended to perceive women. The Dragon might have Wyrmlings to feed. Nemel imagined herself being dangled over a nest of hungry ravenous baby Dragons like a worm in a Robin’s beak.

“Wait a minute,” she frowned. “Left where?”

“Into the city, probably.”

“WHAT?!”

Nemel scrambled down the stairs. She stopped to address the officer on duty.

“Where did Frost 19 go?” Nemel asked.

“Well, hello to you too, Officer Gran.”

“Where?!”

The officer leaned back in his chair as Nemel leaned forward over his desk. Droplets dripped off of strands of soaked blonde hair, pattering onto its polished surface.

“Uh…the Angel’s Rest, I think?

Nemel ran out of the office. The Angel’s Rest was one of the best merchant inns in the city, located near its central plaza. Through the Darkvision conferred by her goggles, she looked for signs of a Dragon’s passing as she dashed through half-flooded streets.

The city blocks looked intact. There were no gouges in the cobblestone roads, no bent and broken magical lamps. She slowed down to examine the front of the Merchant Guild. There was no sign of any attempt to break in and plunder its vaults. At the late hour, the city’s thoroughfares were empty save for members of the watch.

She staggered to a halt in front of the Angel’s Rest, chest heaving as she bent over with her hands on her knees. The front of the establishment appeared to be undamaged, with no sign that a Dragon had forced its way in. She took a deep breath.

Nemel Gran, flinging herself into the Dragon’s jaws. For the Empire.

With that silent and less-than-half-hearted battle cry, she opened the front door, tentatively poking her head in.

Nothing broken, no bloodstains…

The tavern was mostly empty, with the staff busy putting away the tables and cleaning the floor. There were a few people who looked like they had too much to drink and an extraordinarily beautiful Elf who appeared to be trading with a local Merchant. A small pile of gold coins lay between them. Seeing nothing else of note, Nemel walked up to the proprietor who was updating his books at the bar.

“I require access to the back of your establishment,” Nemel told him.

The portly man frowned at her demand. As soon as Nemel pointed to her insignia, however, he waved her through. She went across the kitchen and out into the backyard, head swivelling back and forth as she scanned her surroundings.

Wagon, wagon, wagon, wagon…no Dragon?

The stables were full of horses. She hadn’t expected a Dragon to be in there considering how unbothered the animals appeared to be. Nemel went back and forth in the rain, moving amongst the wagons and checking under them. She looked up at the roof of the inn, just in case.

Back in the tavern, Nemel approached the proprietor again. She waved him forward over the counter, speaking in a low voice.

“Have…have you seen a Dragon?”

The proprietor straightened, frowning at her through his greying beard as if she were a madwoman. Nemel plopped her butt down on the nearest stool, cradling her head in her hands.

There’s a Dragon on the loose in the Empire. They’re going to blame me. I’m so dead. My whole family’s dead! The Emperor’s going to round us up and throw us into the Arena to fight monsters.

The Arena would make a killing. There seemed to be nothing that the people loved more than watching Nobles get slaughtered. She cast a haggard look up at the proprietor.

“I need a drink.”

“Aren’t you on duty, officer?”

Damn it all. The Eighth Legion was long gone and he still acted like there was a base in the city.

Nemel placed an elbow on the bar, resting her cheek in hand.

Members of the Imperial Air Service were, of course, schooled about the threats that they potentially had to deal with. This included Dragons. There was the Ancient Green Dragon that lurked in The Blister. Frost Dragons also inhabited the Azerlisia Mountains. There were Sea Dragons in the northern ocean and at least three Dragons in Karnassus. The Argland Confederation far to the northwest had powerful Dragon Councillors and an order of Dragon Knights.

Despite the vast majority of people never seeing one in their entire lifetime, the truth was that there were Dragons all over the place. And why wouldn’t there be? They laid clutches of eggs and became insanely hard to kill after reaching a certain age. Once they grew to that point, they just existed forever doing whatever they did. Dragons were a race whose numbers slowly accrued over time.

Since it was probably for the best that they remained out of everyone’s hair, the Imperial Air Service had a fairly simple rule when it came to dealing with Dragons: don’t piss them off. Sure, the best of the Empire’s fighting forces could deal with Adult Dragons – assuming they were dumb enough to stay on the ground, which they probably weren’t – but an Ancient Dragon could guarantee the end of the entire Empire.

She idly scanned the tavern again. Dragons were known to be cunning and some might be exceptionally skilled at stealth and subterfuge. Could it be that she was simply beyond Nemel’s meagre ability to detect? It wasn’t as if she was a Ranger or a Rogue. Nemel Gran was just a Wizard, like every Gran who came before her.

Several of the staff were trying to get all of the drunk patrons out. The Elf looked like she was just about done dealing with the Merchant.

“Thank you for your patronage, Dame Verilyn,” the Merchant said in a voice that was far too jovial for the late hour. “I will have your order prepared by tomorrow morning.”

Hehhh…that Elf is a Knight?

“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Mister Orwell,” Dame Verilyn replied with a warm smile. “I look forward to seeing how everything works out.”

She has a beautiful voice, too. Some women just get everything. Why is there an Elf here anyway?

Most of the Elves in the Empire were imported as slaves from the Theocracy. This Elf clearly wasn’t a slave; neither was she a Wood Elf from Evansha. She didn’t even know what sort of Elf she was. Furthermore, the Empire wasn’t very receptive to non-Humans despite legally allowing them passage and residence. The only exception to this was for the Dwarves from the Azerlisia Mountains.

The Merchant pulled a cowl over his head before disappearing into the rain outside. With that, all that was left was the Elf, the tavern staff and some stubborn drunks. To Nemel’s surprise, the Elf came over to join her.

“Good evening.”

“Good evening.”

Despite herself, Nemel’s upbringing had her straighten to make a polite reply.

Dammit, why is everything about her beautiful? Is it magic? Some kind of enchantment?

The Elf’s silver eyes glimmered at her over a set of exotic features that seemed sharp, yet soft at the same time. From beneath the waves of her silky, frost-blue hair, ears that Nemel decided were rather short for an Elf poked out. They were only a few centimetres longer than the chopped-off ears of Elf slaves that Nemel found so painful to look at.

She was tall, slender and elegant, moving with inhuman grace. Her luxurious outfit was reminiscent of a dress uniform, making her look every bit the Knight that the Merchant made her out to be.

An impossibly fantastic Knight from a minstrel’s tale stood before her. Could she save Nemel from a Dragon?

“It’s been a week since we’ve last seen one another,” Dame Verilyn said. “Are you alright? You don’t look very well.”

Huh?

“I, er…I apologise for my rudeness, but I cannot seem to recall our meeting before.”

“You’re the mage from that patrol last week, yes? Either that, or there is someone who looks exactly like you.”

“Patrol…last week?”

Highway patrols flew over thousands of merchants and travellers every week. As distinct as the Elf’s appearance was, Nemel wouldn’t have taken any particular note of her, even through her magical goggles. Aerial patrols focused on detecting threats to traffic and rural settlements, as well as coordinating with ground forces in the territory.

There was also the fact that most people on the ground wouldn’t notice an air patrol thousands of metres above their heads, or even think to look. Highway patrols didn’t conceal themselves as potential miscreants actually looking out for them would be deterred from their activities, but it would still take an individual with substantial detection abilities to notice them casually. She couldn’t discern people’s strength at a glance like the Imperial Army’s scouts, but there was not even the slightest sense of personal power radiating from the Elf at all.

“Yes, it was just over the border to the southwest of here.”

Nemel’s eyes slowly grew wide as what the Elf was saying slowly sunk in. Dame Verilyn could only be referring to one thing. Did that Frost Dragon have a rider? There was no way to tell from below. No – if Dame Verilyn was the rider, then she would have seen the Frost Dragon in the aviary or during her panicked search.

She glanced over at the inn’s proprietor, but the man had disappeared somewhere.

“It’s late,” Dame Verilyn looked across at Nemel with her arresting gaze. “Perhaps you’re tired? Humans usually rest at night.”

“I’m exhausted–no, I mean, I’m Nemel Gran, an officer with the Imperial Air Service. I’ve been sent as a liaison…or an attaché? A-anyway, I look forward to working with you, Dame Verilyn.”

She lowered her head unsteadily. Did she screw up? Going by how the Merchant was treating her, Dame Verilyn was a Knight – a bonafide I-have-a-fief Knight, not the type of honorary ‘knight’ found in the Imperial Army.

Should Nemel have instead introduced herself as a member of the nobility? It was more correct to introduce herself as a member of the Imperial Air Service, but aristocrats varied widely in what they considered significant. Sometimes, introducing oneself professionally would have one treated with the respect accorded to the institution they represented. Other times, they were dismissed as a rank and file nobody.

“I see,” Dame Verilyn smiled. “In that case, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Officer Nemel Gran.”

Eh? I’m saved? Was I worrying over nothing?

“Since we’ll be together for the next little while,” Dame Verilyn extended a slender hand, “please come and join me in my room. I would very much like to get to know you more intimately.”

Before she could think about what was being said, Nemel placed her hand in Dame Verilyn’s. The Dragon Knight led her gently up the stairs. Nemel followed without resistance, a stupid smile on her face.

Wait. Waaaaaaait. Wait! What’s going on?!

If one were to ask Nemel whether she preferred men or women, she would have answered ‘men’ without a moment’s hesitation. The Elf holding her hand, however, was so supernaturally attractive that anyone would easily and happily fall for her. Looking up at the Elf–no, Dragon, Nemel sighed in helpless resignation.

She was going to be eaten, after all.

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