Valkyrie's Shadow

Chapter 1

“What makes a good story, papapapa?”

Draudillon looked up at her great-grandfather as he flipped a page of well-oiled vellum. The rich scent that rose from the leather-bound tome on his lap added to those in the air of the Royal Archive: the odours of countless other tomes, varnish and the slightest hint of woodsmoke from the crackling fireplace.

“A good question, little Wyrmling…or are you a Juvenile now? Those descended from mortals always seem to grow in the blink of an eye...well, no matter. We are learning about what makes a good story now, no?”

She shifted on the comfy couch beside her great-grandfather, turning her attention back to the tome. Contained within its pages was part of a tale that had taken place not long ago – at least by a Dragon's reckoning.

It was the tale of a peril that threatened the lives of hundreds of millions. A tale of brave heroes who rose and acted to bring that peril to an end. To the people of the Draconic Kingdom, that tale was known as the legend of the Thirteen Heroes. If she wasn’t mistaken, most of the region called it that. Which was strange, considering that there were many times more than thirteen.

They weren’t reading the story because the archive’s version was particularly well-written – it was touted for its ‘accuracy’ more than anything else – nor were they reading it for the heartrending tragedy brought about by the Demon Gods or the breathtaking acts of valour performed by the brave heroes who stood defiant before them. Rather than read it because it was a ‘good story’ by Human standards, her great-grandfather had chosen the tale because it was an example of what it meant to be a curator of a world filled with ‘stories’.

What most people didn’t know was that a Dragon Lord was responsible for bringing together the ‘Thirteen Heroes’, not only facilitating their formation, but also aiding them in a way that was uncommon for Dragon Lords. That was that part her great-grandfather focused on: the why and how and when that drove the acts of a certain ‘Platinum’.

Draudillon knew him to be her great-granduncle, the Platinum Dragon Lord, but the ‘Thirteen Heroes’ certainly did not. At least not until the very end of the tale. Neither did they know that they had been purposely brought together to counter a threat that was not of their world.

“Upon seeing the destruction wrought by the vile Demon God of Insects; the crops and stores eaten away by the ravening swarms of their dread foe, the heroes despaired. For it was then that they realised it was no mere monster they pursued, no mad Magical Beast laying waste to villages at random. Their adversary acted with purposeful evil: its goal was none other than the end of civilisation itself.

“What could the heroes do? Their strong arms could not rebuild all that was ruined; their mighty magics insufficient to conjure the food that was lost. They weren’t fast enough to keep up with the Demon God’s iridescent wings. Many wept as they saw the coming of the end: a bitter end where the people died, not by the hand of any Demon, but at the hand of hunger. Brother would turn against brother as desperation reigned and chaos ruled all.

“It was then that Platinum turned and addressed his comrades, his ever-stalwart voice echoing from within his shining armour. ‘We must go abroad,’ he said. ‘Far southeast, beyond the end of Syrillian Way. We must find allies who can directly contend with these vile Demons on their own terms. As things stand, our pursuit of these Demon Gods will lead to the ruin of the world.’

“And, so, the Leader boarded a swift galleon of ensorceled cypress and silver sails. Together with his closest comrades, he crossed the waves to distant lands, braving storms and pirates and the unknown dangers that lurked in the cold, dark depths. After overcoming many obstacles, they came to the necropolis of Inveria, in the shadow of Mount Keitenias, where the dread Vampire Lord Landfall appeared to bar their path.”

Draudillon swallowed. She reached for the glass of water on the table beside the couch. As she moistened her dry throat, a detail she hadn’t noticed before caught her attention.

“Papapapa,” she said, “it says that they sailed the Syrillian Way…does that mean they sailed from here? Was the Leader of the Thirteen Heroes born in the Draconic Kingdom?”

“That’s a very interesting question…”

Her great-grandfather flipped back to the very beginning of the story; to the parts that focused on the Leader’s origin.

“If it’s true,” Draudillon said, “maybe he left some descendants here? If we had some people who inherited his strength, they could help us against the Beastmen.”

“Well, I would be careful about that if I were you,” her great-grandfather said. “Mortals possessing strength beyond their ken are often full of themselves and pursue their own ends. This is especially true of humanoids. They are not instilled with purpose and driven by duty like us. You may find them asking for more than you are willing to give.”

That much she already knew to be true. Unlike the heroic tales, the strong in reality often did whatever they wanted simply because they could and no one could stop them. It was as if they actively avoided doing the right thing unless extraordinary measures were taken to secure their cooperation, which was usually extraordinarily expensive.

No, it wasn’t ‘as if they did it’. They clearly did it to command the highest price for their cooperation. While Draudillon wasn’t much of a ruler yet, she knew a parasite when she saw one.

“If you do find such an individual,” her great-grandfather added, “be sure to let me know. I would be most interested to meet them. Now, where were we…”

They went back to where they left off. After a long, arduous battle against Landfall, the evil Vampire Lord was defeated and the heroes freed the Princess of Inveria. She was a jade beauty with hair like spun gold and eyes that glittered like precious rubies. The Princess was also a brilliant Sorceress who went on to become instrumental in defeating the Insect Demon God.

Draudillon sighed. She was a Princess – no, she was a Queen, now – and she was a Sorceress, but she was still weak. If only she was as strong as Princess Invern, she could…

“Wait a minute,” Draudillon frowned. “So ‘Platinum’ purposely had them go there to get Princess Invern? Because she would eventually be able to fight the Demon God of Insects?”

There was no way that anyone else would know that the perfect person to fight one of the Demon Gods was waiting to be rescued half the continent away. The heroes petitioned for the assistance of the Nine Celestials while they were out there somewhere, too.

“That’s right,” her great-grandfather said.

“I don’t get why he had to go through all of that,” Draudillon said. “The Platinum Dragon Lord is so powerful: he could have gotten rid of the Demon Gods all by himself.”

“He’s powerful now, but he was younger than you back when that filth corrupted the World five centuries ago. Alone, he was more than a match for any Demon God when they appeared, but you must keep in mind that there were many Demon Gods. Together, they would have been a real threat to him at the time.”

“Then what about the other Dragon Lords?” Draudillon asked, “If they were aware of the threat, then why didn’t they act?”

“If the Demon Gods had been much stronger than they were,” the Brightness Dragon Lord replied, “we would have. There are…rules of engagement, so to speak.”

“But corruption is corruption, isn’t it?” Draudillon said, “The more you let it fester, the more damage it causes.”

“That’s true,” her great-grandfather said. “But the scale is minuscule relative to the threats that we must face. You should also know that the World can change when beings of our power act directly. We abstain from affecting those changes unless we deem it necessary, for we, too, can adversely affect the stories of the World.”

“Like my great-granduncle.”

“Like my brother,” her great-grandfather nodded. “Cure Elim consigned millions to oblivion. He even sacrificed himself. But it was for the sake of the World: to prevent outsiders from corrupting the stories of countless trillions in the future.”

She didn’t even know what a billion looked like, never mind trillions. Dragon Lords were supposed to hold an all-encompassing perspective that Draudillon wasn’t sure she would ever be able to achieve. Just thinking about her little kingdom already filled her head to overflowing.

“So, how does this apply to my domain?” Draudillon asked, “I still don’t know what a ‘good story’ is.”

“The way that ‘Platinum’ did things is very much suited to you, I think. I would dare say that you are more suited to his methods than he is. If you are both prudent and shrewd, the magic that you use will be well worth the cost.”

“But how? I have to destroy souls to do anything powerful. How can anything be worth the cost of a soul?”

“I suppose that goes back to your question. What is a good story to you, Draudillon?”

“Uh…a good story is a good story. I would prefer that there be a happy ending, though.”

Her great-grandfather’s eyes glittered with amusement. Draudillon’s gaze shifted to the fireplace.

“I believe that is Draudillon Oriculus, Queen of the Draconic Kingdom speaking,” her great-grandfather said. “The good and gentle Queen who wishes happiness for her people.”

“What’s so bad about that?” Draudillon pouted.

“Does a ‘happy ending’ make for a good story?” Her great-grandfather asked, “One without conflict or any struggles? Or one where the conflict is laughably one-sided? One shallow in emotion and depth? Where every character is stripped of agency and arbitrarily set on paths not of their own making? Do you sit down after reading such a story and think ‘ah, what a good story that was’?”

“Well, some of that might be fun for a while, but I think I’d be bored by the end. It definitely wouldn’t be a good story.”

“Then what about sad endings? One where people only suffer and evil always prevails? Where good simply loses by virtue of being good and everyone is left with a modicum of the freedom and potential that they would otherwise have?”

“That would be terrible!” Draudillon turned on the couch with a bounce, “A good story can have a happy ending or a sad ending. It can even have an in-between ending. What truly matters is what happens in the story itself.”

A slight smile crossed her great-grandfather’s lips.

“So it turns out that you knew the answer all along.”

“But that means it’s alright to let my people suffer,” Draudillon was aghast. “That it’s alright for them to be poor and hungry and get eaten by Beastmen. I don’t want that!”

“You may mould your domain in whatever shape you see fit. Mortals tend to come up with ways to inflict suffering on their own, so you don’t even need to go out of your way to cause it. The Draconic Kingdom can be as good and valiant as the heroic tales in this archive. Just know that the World may one day call upon that valour to form part of an even greater story.”

The book on her great-grandfather’s lap snapped shut and he hefted it in his hand.

“Remember what I told you when we first met, little Wyrmling?”

“That every soul is like a book,” Draudillon replied. “A book whose pages are empty when one is born. Those pages are filled with the experiences of one’s life. At the end of that life, one’s soul returns to the World.”

“So, as a curator of souls, what is a ‘good story’?”

“A soul that returns to the World, rich with the experiences of life.”

“Very good,” her great-grandfather nodded. “Souls return to the World in a state greater than in which they entered it. Thus, the World grows greater with every cycle of souls. If one sacrifices souls to ensure that the whole remains healthy and ultimately more fruitful than it would have been, then the result is well worth the cost.”

Her great-grandfather sighed, placing the tome on his lap and tapping his finger lightly upon it.

“The corruption of the World makes our work progressively harder, Draudillon. Mortals fall prey to that corruption ever more with each passing century, and life has become rife with bland, boring and shallow stories as a result. Hmm…consider the vignerons that toil throughout your domain. They do not only prune withered and diseased vines, but also healthy ones to ensure the best harvest. Our task is something like that.”

“Vines don’t have souls, papapapa.”

A laugh issued from beside her, and her great-grandfather placed a hand gently atop Draudillon’s head.

“You are a kind and loving Dragon Lord,” he said. “In many ways, you remind me of my mother.”

“I do?”

“You do,” his hand mussed her hair. “Your great-great-grandmother and her allies went to great lengths to help the World flourish because they loved all of the beings that call our world home. Many of the things that the people of today take for granted are actually gifts from her. Yet, even she understood that sacrifices are sometimes necessary. I suppose you will learn this in time. Experience is the best teacher, after all.”

24th Day, Upper Wind Month, 1 CE

“Your Majesty.”

A gentle voice reached out to Draudillon through her slumber.

“Your Majesty.”

She stirred and her eyelids fluttered open. Then her heart leapt into her throat when the wonderfully dignified visage of Sebas Tian filled her vision.

This can’t be healthy…

“The ship’s captain has informed me that we will be arriving in Blighthold shortly,” he told her.

“U-umu. Thank you, Sebas.”

Sebas bowed slightly before turning to look out at the sea. Draudillon rose from her comfy couch in the observation cabin of their vessel, joining him at the forward window.

It wasn’t the first time she had travelled to Blighthold by sea, but royal tours usually went overland. Since the way between Oriculon and Blighthold was still being properly secured and organised, however, the need to show herself to her people had them take the maritime route.

As she watched the city’s distant harbour slowly grow on the horizon, the lingering fragments of her dream cast a pall on what should have been a joyous occasion.

Experience is the best teacher, huh…

Life had provided her with experiences aplenty, but it always seemed that she stubbornly refused to learn from some of them. The reports of the toll exacted upon her country by the Beastman occupation were starting to trickle in, once again reminding her of the cost of that stubborn refusal. At the same time, the unwavering adoration of her people throughout it all twisted in her like a jagged blade.

Crisp steps sounded in the stairwell and the newly-minted Marshal Zorlu appeared. With things going as fast as they were, he didn’t have an official uniform tailored yet, but the tall lordling from Eastwatch still cut a striking figure.

“Your Majesty,” he lowered his head, “the deck has been prepared for your presence. No changes to our schedule were required.”

“Thank you, Marshal. How are things out in Blighthold?”

“‘Nominal’, according to the Elder Liches. They don’t care much for reading the mood of the people.”

In a few short days under Baroness Zahradnik, Emmad Zorlu had become accustomed to communicating with the Undead from the Royal Army of the Sorcerous Kingdom. Just as she had calculated, none of the Nobles in her court thought much of it. Dealing with all manner of horrors was simply in line with what they expected of him. It was certainly not due to any insidious influence from the Undead or the womanly wiles of Countess Corelyn’s party.

As for the Countess and her party, it appeared that the Royal Court’s sense of antagonism toward them had plateaued. That, or the delegation from the Sorcerous Kingdom was preparing for another push.

No, they’re already pushing. My court just doesn’t recognise that they are…

She wouldn’t go so far as to say that it was a flaw as it was a product of the environment that the Draconic Kingdom’s administrative class had developed in. What mattered the most was maintaining stability, recovering from Beastman attacks and preparing for the next wave of Beastman attacks. The resilience of her people, from the highest Noble to the lowest commoner, was refined, forged and tempered by their difficult situation. Every single one of them was a fighter, which also meant they stubbornly resisted things like the nebulous change that Countess Corelyn’s party attempted to encourage.

Draudillon watched the trio of foreign Nobles engage in idle chit-chat with the members of her court. The sheer abundance of youth on the vessel made her feel old, even though she appeared younger than everyone else.

Should I do more to get things moving? No, I can’t interfere too much. Grr…they had better appreciate what I’m doing for them.

As her great-grandfather had said, experience was the best teacher. On the Draconic Kingdom’s end, her young court was not only inexperienced, but many of the lessons that they learned as Noble scions were likely no longer the best way to go about things. They needed to take the fundamentals delivered by those lessons and apply them to their new reality. It was something that her country as a whole needed to do, legally, economically and culturally.

The Sorcerous Kingdom’s delegation was also young and inexperienced, but their problems ran along different lines. By and large, Nobles from any country acted according to the will of the establishment. Depending on a country’s political situation, this might reflect the will of the sovereign, a faction, or a broad sense of culture. Usually, it was some mix of all three.

While the Sorcerous Kingdom was a new power in the region, its Nobles were still scions of Re-Estize. Compared to the aristocracy of the Draconic Kingdom, Nobles from both Re-Estize and Baharuth were more aggressive – or more accurately, pushy and entitled. She could only imagine that it was because they had been coddled by the Theocracy for so long. Countess Corelyn and her party weren’t purposely offensive in their behaviour, but the telltale ‘flavour’ of their upbringing resulted in a subtly abrasive approach.

With the apparent power of the Sorcerous Kingdom, this attitude would have served them well if their country’s foreign policy had been inherently antagonistic. The problem was that it wasn’t, so the combination of their behaviour, actions and the expressed objectives of their country sent all sorts of mixed signals. To the Nobles of Draudillon’s court, their supposedly benevolent intent became confusing, patronising and infuriating upon delivery.

The Sorcerer King had sent them with the understanding that the Sorcerous Kingdom was more often than not going to be the party dealing from a position of strength in diplomatic exchanges. Since they weren’t intent on simply conquering everything in their path, they needed a diplomatic arm that understood how to court lesser powers. Sending a corps of young officials to learn that in the Draconic Kingdom was a move by a wise and patient sovereign who was intent on building beneficial relationships that stood the test of time.

Of course, while they learned, all sorts of shenanigans would ensue. All Draudillon could do was keep a watchful eye on what was going on and sigh whenever something that couldn’t be helped happened.

Yes, they had better appreciate what I’m doing. I wonder if I could get a discount on that wine…

Draudillon left the cabin and stepped out onto the main deck. Her ministers and the foreign dignitaries bowed and curtsied as she passed them. The vessel – which was one of the Sorcerous Kingdom’s cargo barges repurposed to convey passengers – slowed down slightly as it smoothly glided towards Blighthold. She took her place on a raised stage positioned at the centre of the starboard side of the vessel, taking a deep breath as her ladies-in-waiting checked over her appearance.

Thousands of citizens awaited her on the wharf, though the fact that it wasn’t jam-packed was a telling sign of how many of the city’s residents had perished. Still, their ardour was undiminished – no, it was clear that their fervour was even greater than before. An emotionally-charged cheer swelled to a roar as the vessel slid into its berth. Flags, banners and colourful streamers waved wildly in the wind as she raised her hand and greeted her subjects with a ‘bright young queen’ smile on her face.

Eh…even my ministers are getting all caught up in it. You’ve been riding with me on this boat all night, dammit!

Not only had they accompanied her to Blighthold, but they went with her for tours around the capital province and had pretty much been with her since Oriculon was besieged by the Beastmen. What was so exciting? Well, she knew the answer to that. The world worked in frightening ways that she actively avoided thinking about most of the time.

Roughly a quarter of the Nobles sent to Blighthold the previous week awaited her at the bottom of the gangway. Despite the rush that accompanied their tasks in the north, they had all managed to bring along full sets of formalwear. The men and women welcomed her in a display of uniform elegance that was terribly out of place on a wooden wharf.

“Blighthold offers its warmest of welcomes to our beloved Queen.”

“Umu. You have all been through much, but brighter days lie ahead of us now. We thank you for your brave resilience in such difficult times.”

Her words, of course, did not just reach the line of Nobles, but also carried over the entire wharf through the use of an Oratory Skill. This proved to be a mistake, as the entire population broke down upon receiving her recognition and gratitude.

Geh, if millions of people cry wherever I go, the sea will turn salty! I have enough strange things to deal with in my life as it is…

“Maybe we can harvest all these tears and sell the salt–ow.”

Draudillon’s lip twitched at the whisper behind her. At least some people were unaffected by her influence as a sovereign.

“Our work awaits,” Draudillon said. “Shall we begin?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Ioena said. “The members of Highfort’s garrison await inspection.”

Behind the line of Nobles, five companies of soldiers were arrayed in parade formation. She immediately picked out Captain Inserra at the head of the company on the right and headed over.

Are they really that much stronger?

According to Baroness Zahradnik, each of the soldiers was as strong as a member of Baharuth’s Whitesilver Imperial Guard, which was stronger than its Royal Earth Guard. As Draudillon understood it, that also made each of Highfort’s soldiers only slightly weaker than a member of the Slane Theocracy’s Sunlight Scripture.

Except their equipment was mundane and their training was nowhere near as good. Most of them also weren’t magic casters. Humans were a race that relied heavily on equipment, magic and training, so it would be fair to say that they looked much stronger than they actually were.

She went from company to company, shaking the hands of their officers and offering her praises to the men. That was pretty much all she could do. It was nice to know that she had a good core of strong soldiers now, but the Dragonic Kingdom did not have the financial leeway to realise their full potential.

I can pay for their livelihoods, at least. Maybe there’s something else I can do. I’ll have to speak to Zahradnik about that.

Draudillon looked over her shoulder at Marshal Zorlu. The man had a strong sense of humility, so even if he was brave enough to speak to the Undead, he didn’t dare speak to experienced veterans as a superior. Baroness Zahradnik said it was a good attitude to carry, but Draudillon was certain that she was biased.

After her review of the garrison forces, her entourage boarded the carriages brought with them and proceeded through streets lined with adoring subjects. Great effort had been put into cleaning up the city, but she could see that only the planned route had been properly cleared. The majority of the city’s spare labourers had already left to populate the half-emptied farmlands in the north.

They disembarked at Blighthold’s city hall. Draudillon went between two rows of tall soldiers, ascending the polished stone steps to the building’s entrance. Inside the entrance, she found a thin, middle-aged man standing in the middle of the foyer.

“Nedim,” she offered him a smirk. “It’s been a while.”

“Too long, Your Majesty.”

“It seems that We owe your family much. You’ve even sent your men to help out with the rest of the country – your son included.”

“Well, Zahradnik has a way about her that makes it hard to refuse any proposals. Have you heard anything about how they’re doing, by the way?”

“A bit,” her smile turned mysterious. “But I should probably let them tell you about it when they get back.”

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