Chapter Twenty-One

  “Welcome to Dragonhome. Capital of the Draconic Kingdom and, in my admittedly limited experience, one of the greatest cities in the world.” Torald said, his back straightened a little as he gestured toward the great high spires that loomed over high walls. From where they paused on the hill, it was possible to see over the walls… which meant the city was still probably a fair distance, though Ulbert couldn’t gauge exactly how far, his eyes remained keen despite his human appearance.

  As cities went, it was nothing compared to Tokyo. But it was very impressive as an example of medieval life. A great castle in the center looked difficult to scale, while the outer walls were obviously quite thick. Stone buildings seemed to be far more common than wooden ones, and if he were to describe it in a single word, Ulbert would choose ‘permanent’.

  That was it. It was as if the city had grown up out of the ground like a mountain. “Is it named that because the kingdom was founded by a dragon?” Ulbert asked, picking the most obvious question he could before Torald spurred his horse forward and the steady rocking motion of their bodies on horseback resumed.

  “No, m’lord. The story goes that a retired bard lived here, about a thousand years ago or so, and there was a tavern that he spent all his time at. He wouldn’t ever go home unless his wife came to fetch him, and she would ‘drag him on home’. Things happened, and the retired bard became the village chief, and went off to put down some bandits, things went poorly, and they sent a ransom note telling her to pay a ransom to get him back, to which she answered that she wouldn’t pay, but would ‘drag him on home’ anyway.”

  “Did she? Drag him home, I mean?” Ulbert asked, and Torald shrugged.

  “It’s an old story, who knows if there’s any truth to it, but supposedly yes, she did.” Torald said.

  “And that’s why they named the place ‘dragonhome’?” Ulbert guessed.

  “Oh no, that’s not it.” Torald chuckled, “See back then, bandits were all over the place, always taking ransoms and stealing, but when word spread about the village that wouldn’t pay but dragged hostages home themselves, the bandits started talking about it. It was referred to as ‘Dragonhome’ for short, and people started settling in the place the bandits wouldn’t raid. Eventually the bandits started working for the village that became a town, and the town became a city, the bandits their formal army, and eventually a dragon, attracted to the name of the place, slept with the royal descendants of a drunken bard and his feisty wife and… now it is much, much more literal.” Torald laughed as he finished his story, and Ulbert didn’t say anything immediately.

  When he did, he asked, “Is that true, or are you just making all that up?”

  Torald, he noted, had a good sense of humor, if one prone to longform story-like jokes, and this sounded suspiciously like the one about the slutty lizardwoman maid.

  “I don’t know if it’s true or not. But I didn’t make it up. We only really know about things from around six hundred years or so ago, before that, history is fragmented, uncertain, and lost to the mists of time. It’s probably not exactly what happened, but most old stories probably have at least a grain of truth to them.” Torald admitted, and Ulbert grunted his acknowledgement.

  “I have to say, m’lord, this is probably one of those times, I’m living out a myth in the present.” The knight said, a tint of awe in his own voice as the horse continued its steady plodding stride.

  “How so?” Ulbert asked and cocked his head behind the human he clung to.

  “You’re the demon hero who destroyed an invasion that would have ruined our country… arguably you may have even saved mankind. This all right in the same year that a great demon destroying another kingdom in the west is itself defeated. So we have a noble demon hero here, where they have an eternal demon villain there… I’m a mere knight, and I’m taking you to see the Queen for who can even say what grand reward? No matter what happens to us from this day forward, if there are people alive to speak of it, they’ll talk about this for endless generations. This will one day be a mythic age too.”

  Torald whistled long and low, “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that till today.” He said, and added, “If only my brothers were alive to see this.”

  The catch in his voice caught Ulbert’s curiosity. His own family life was a poor one, his siblings all struggling against one another to survive and get somewhere in their lives, and getting nowhere really. The struggle to have enough food, the struggle to find work and bring something into the household to ease their collective struggles, every setback one suffered felt like a personal attack against them all… the ‘slacker’ looked down upon and despised until they found new work…

  ‘But Torald doesn’t seem to have thought of his siblings that way.’ The thought was almost alien to Ulbert, and it bore questions. “You got on well with them, I take it?”

  “I did.” Torald answered, “I was the oldest of us, when our master-at-arms died, I filled in on their training, it turned into a permanent thing, teaching them to ride, to fight, how to use their armor, bodies, swords, bows. My younger sisters filled in on some of my duties to allow me to spend that time with them… we were very close.” He lowered his head and looked down at the ground in front of the horse’s hooves, “I was a good big brother, but as it turned out, I was a poor teacher. All of them perished in the beastmen invasion.” He clenched his hands around the reins of his horse, causing the leather to squeak in his grip.

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  “Foolishness. Forgive me, m’lord, I shouldn’t burden you with the story of my mistakes.” Torald said after a moment.

  “No… no, it’s fine.” Ulbert replied with haste, “You know, you really shouldn’t blame yourself. You could do everything right, and still lose. Encounter an opponent you’re not ready for, or be caught out because of someone else’s failure. Don’t mistake grief for guilt. If they died fighting, you taught them courage, and sometimes that’s the best anyone can do.”

  Just why he felt the need to offer words of sentiment to Torald, Ulbert couldn’t have said, whether it was because Torald reminded him of some of his friends from the game, or the few he called friend in his former life outside the game… either way, the man shook in his armor and his sense of loss as fresh as if he’d just gotten word of their deaths that day.

  “M’lord is kind to offer those words, I will remember them.” Torald said, and Ulbert quickly shifted the subject.

  “You have sisters also?” Ulbert asked, and Torald’s good cheer seemed to return a little.

  “I do. Both newly married to other knightly houses. Their husbands are good men, good knights, veterans of the fighting in their own right, it is a shame I won’t see them for a very long time.” Torald said with a casual shrug.

  “Why not?” Ulbert asked as his curiosity propelled his questions forward.

  “When daughters are married in the Draconic Kingdom, it is always to the most distant available houses. This way no house is extinguished entirely when the beastmen invade. The eldest daughter goes west, the next goes south, the next goes north, and the last goes east. Any spares are married to eligible mates in the Slane Theocracy, as they are our country’s closest ally. That is a general rule of course, but exceptions happen.”

  “What about sons?” Ulbert asked, “Are they the same?”

  “No, sons are married to forge connections, usually to the army, our country is heavily militarized for… obvious reasons, and marriage is useful for that purpose. The eldest for the army, the second for land, the third for the civil service…” Torald’s explanation made a core amount of sense, but it contained a contradiction.

  “Then why were your brothers fighting too?” Ulbert pressed the question, and Torald’s answer was quick.

  “The line of Haroldson has always had men born with ‘talents’ of one sort or another, talents that usually emerge from battle. My family line is an exception to the normal marriage customs, all of us enter military service.” Torald’s explanation just begged yet another question, and Ulbert spend the better part of the next hour requesting an explanation on ‘talents’ and how they worked. Only when Torald’s somewhat limited understanding was completely relayed did the demon in disguise ask…

  “So what is your talent?”

  “The reason I’m still alive.” Torald said, and Ulbert didn’t need to see the man’s face to know he was smirking.

  Before he could ask for more however, Torald gestured to the looming gate, “Hold tighter, m’lord, I’ll speed the horse up, if you would keep your dignity by not falling off, don’t let go.” He said and spurred the horse forward, it wasn’t a mad gallop, but the looming great wooden gate that stood open and waiting, nonetheless drew closer by the second.

  “We’ll go straight to the castle from here, my men-at-arms should have alerted the Queen by now to your coming and how long it would be, I’m sure they’re expecting us.” Torald promised, and then offered what reassurance he could, “Just remember what we practiced, and m’lord will be fine.”

  Ulbert didn’t say anything back, he just held tight, and hoped for the best.

  “A body?” The fisherman asked as his comrade called for help.

  “Yes?! Why aren’t you more shocked?!” The thin fisher cried, his eyes wide and hands hastened to grab onto the sides of the little boat.

  The grizzled older fisherman let out a grim laugh, “Mviren, this is Sasbay. Lot of folks die here. Some folk go for a swim and get too tired to go back. Some folks fall off their boats and can’t get back in. Some folks, most floaters we find, them folks just hide under the water from the troubles of the world, or that’s how we say it anyway. Truth is, suicide is pretty common. The water is peaceful, and that’s what these folks want.” He pointed his rod toward the floating corpse. “Haul him up, we’ll take him to the priest for a proper burial, and then get back to work, Mviren.”

  “Ah… yessir…” Mviren mumbled, the others on the boat were laughing at him as he grabbed the pole again and tugged the body closer.

  “Oh, we got one rule.” The old fisher said, and as the body thudded against their little craft, Mviren looked up at him expectantly. “You caught him, so whatever he’s carrying, it's yours. Check his pockets first.”

  Mviren blinked at the coldness of the statement, even for the Draconic Kingdom, where life was brief and cheap, it seemed cruel. But then again…? The promising lure of the pockets was calling to him, what might be within? For a refugee, work alone was hard enough to come by, how much more so was a lucky extra copper… even if it had a grim bearer first?

  As he hauled the body up, he flopped it out on the deck with a sound and sorry thud, then crouched over the old man and checked his pockets, his finger closing on the unmistakable feel of a coin, a big one. Only one currency came in that size, though Mviren had never held it before, he’d seen it.

  He pulled it out and held it up. “A gold coin. My lucky day!” He said with glee, and shoved the coin into his pocket.

  The other fishers on the boat whistled. “Aye lad, how about you use some of that to buy us all a round tonight, that’ll still leave plenty for you, eh?” Senda said with a playful smile on his grizzled face.

  Mviren held the coin tight in his hand. “Nope. I’m going to use this to buy a little plot of land, start my own farm. Once I do though, everybody on this boat can come and eat at my table for the rest of your lives!” He promised, and slipped the coin into his pocket to the noise of applause at his promise of future generosity.