Story:DragonSoul/Chapter 2

= H eart of the Kingdom =

(Yuanchosaan)

A curse, a slam and a nasty screech rang out from the entrance. Without opening his eyes, the blond young man lounging in his chair sighed and called out in lilting tones: "Bailey, please leave your axe outside this time. It was exceedingly troublesome to get those stains cleaned out after your last visit." Lord Woton winced only slightly as he heard another crash, and relaxed back in the couch, carefully, but with an air of artlessness.

"It's your fault for having such a blasted narrow corridor," said Bailey, stalking into the room. From that clanking, it seemed his sister had brought the offending weapon along, Woton noted disapprovingly. And she would be wearing that abominably thick coat, from the stench of fur.

"My dear sister, if you insist on using the side entrance..." Woton began.

"Then you shouldn't mind if I mess it up a little. It's not like paying for it should be much of a worry for you." She looked at one of the elaborately carved chairs, grunted and pulled it over. "If you can afford this rubbish. You have scribbles over the wall that likely came from some ridiculous exotic place, but which a child could do. Who arranged this room, anyway? There's a vase around every corner to be knocked over."

"I leave the worrying about money to those who wish to be responsible, like you and our brothers. On the other hand, while the hall was being fixed, I was completely unable to use it. It was most frustrating. People like to see fresh blood because of its drama, and they like to hear of it far more than they like seeing it. Dried blood is absolutely out of the question: it is decaying, and thus far too real for the upper classes to bear." Pale green eyes snapped open and met glaring grey ones; Woton smiled slightly at the effect his words were having. Mad Old Bailey was seething at him, quite a sight even if she hadn't called upon her fabled storminess. Every inch of her dried-out face seemed to direct contempt at him from that imperious height. He waved a hand at her languidly. "Do sit down. It's the pinnacle of rudeness to remain standing, and it wouldn't do to have people think that I'm careless enough to accidentally permit something so rude."

Bailey sat down with a loud "harrumph" of annoyance. "I can't understand why we had to have this meeting in your house. My La Crosse residence would have worked just as well."

"The answer is obvious if you apply those oft-mentioned faculties of yours. Our eldest brother wishes us to meet before he heads to the capital, and thus we cannot go to his domain. Gabriel's duchy is riddled with spies, and his house in The Ives is their nest. As for Cressida's place, Jinan is too far for Frederick to justify a sudden journey. Since no one would ever wish to visit that freezing hellhole you call your realm, that leaves Fealhmere. Fortunately, my home is also the best decorated, and you are all cordially invited to join society here."

His sister snorted. "At least we're in no danger of spies here. None would bother me after I beheaded the last one I caught, and you never say anything worth hearing."

"You're quite correct." Woton gave a theatrical sigh. "Spies care only about the cost of things, and know the value of nothing. I discovered that to my misfortune when I invited one to dinner. She was one of the most boring guests I've ever had; it seems that espionage is far more tiresome than I had imagined."

A discreet knock announced a servant dressed in livery bright enough for a bird's plumage. He bowed deeply to the two nobles, and said: "Your Graces, announcing her Grace, the Lady Cressida."

He bowed again, then took a step back to hold the door open. "Now you see, Bailey," said Woton, "our youngest sister is one who knows how to arrive properly."

"I wish she had arrived less properly if it had meant that she could arrive more quickly," she sniffed. "I'd be delighted to see anyone aside from you after five minutes of your company. Your drivel is likely to rub off on me, and we don't need more idiots in this family."

The Lady Cressida entered in a gentle swirl of bright skirts, all elegant posture and coiffed golden hair. "My dearest siblings," she said tenderly, with a smile to match.

"The lovely Rose of Jinan. I'm so glad to see your beauty; all my flowers have wilted away due to the icy storm here." Woton sprang to his feet and executed an immaculate bow. She offered him her hand to kiss, and received it with demurely.

Bailey ignored her brother's jibe. "Darling Cressie," she cooed, enveloping the younger woman in a hug. "For once I find myself in agreement with Wot-Wot."

Once she had disengaged herself from her elder sister, Cressida sat neatly in the chair her servant offered her, smoothing her dress delicately. "I think it would be proper to have some tea now, while we wait. Shall I call my servants to retrieve some? Of course, I'll make certain there is some left over for Gabriel and Frederick," she added.

"Certainly, certainly," said Bailey. She waved vigorously at one of the serving men. "You heard her; get some tea- oh, you've already done so."

"It pays to have well-trained servants; those who serve reflect their masters. I try to treat them kindly," said Cressida modestly.

"You have a soft heart, which I can never hope for. It's admirable, I suppose," replied Bailey. She turned back to the servant. "Leave a bit for those who are keeping us waiting, as Cressie says it's proper to - irritating though it is. You'd think that our brothers were assuming I'd be idle otherwise, when I have paperwork to finish, my realm to oversee, my daughter to look after - not that I'm unhappy to see you, dear Cressie."

"It appears that Frederick and Gabriel are learning the art of being fashionably late - minus the fashion," remarked Woton. He laughed softly at Cressida's expression. "I'm sorry, my dear. My wicked disposition makes me so inclined towards saying the truth; it's a perfectly beastly habit. I shall try to curtail it for the sake of sensitive ears."

She sniffed, for a moment sounding exactly like Bailey. "I suppose that means you'll just be subtler in your barbs. That causes me great frustration, brother. They may go over my head, but I'll know you'll be saying them."

"Smile prettily while you say such things, and you will charm the world into thinking you're lying," he advised her gravely.

"Really, now. I simply wish for no one to be disturbed." Cressida looked delighted all the same, and she accepted the cup of tea with a beam.

"Two dollops of brandy in mine. Make them generous. Ta." Bailey took a gulp. "Ah! Much better. Now what do Freddie and Gabe want?"

Woton made a small noise of distaste. "I believe they wish to discuss the Drakenaer."

"Those lizard-men? Why would be concerned with the beasts? I have enough difficulty controlling the peasants without having to find trouble with another race."

"Elder sister." said Cressida stiffly. "They may look like lizards, but you ought to treat them with a little more kindness. I don't know why you don't keep a few, as inclined as you are towards productivity. You won't be disappointed."

"Hah! Lizards won't survive in the harsh cold of my realm. I find them inferior to humans; even peasants are better than they are."

"Yes, they are inferior, but you should treat them like dogs: not cruelly, but firmly. That will show the lower classes how to behave towards them, and we won't have needless bloodshed due to them being provoked. The peasants will also know how fortunate they are to be treated as human beings ought to be, and there will be less of a burden on them. It is most improper for high nobility like you two not to keep them." She took another sip of tea, nodding sharply.

"I dislike the cages we don't create for ourselves," said Woton quietly in reply. "I won't keep them."

"Ignore him. He's simply being his usual contrary self, Cressie. Still, I wonder-" She stopped abruptly as they were interrupted by another servant, this one a middle-aged woman in an austere black uniform with the Pelharm coat of arms embroidered on its breast. She curtseyed, eyes downcast. "I offer my sincerest apologies for interrupting Your Graces. His Grace, Lord Gabriel has arrived and wishes to announce his presence to his siblings." The maidservant retreated quietly to the corner of the room. Not an interesting one there, thought Woton. She fades from my mind almost immediately.

Lord Gabriel strode in with firm steps. Close to fifty, the duke remained a vigorous man with keen grey eyes and a strong voice. He nodded to his siblings. "Bailey. Woton. Cressida. It's a pleasure to see you again." Cressida murmured a polite greeting in return, and Woton inclined his head fractionally. Bailey simply raised her cup towards him.

"I see you've already begun the discussion without me," he continued. "Not waiting for Frederick to arrive before speculating on the Drakenaer?"

"I hope my elder brother hasn't resorted to listening at doors or to servants talking," said Cressida, frowning.

"A simple guess." An easy one, Gabriel thought. Few things can conjure up the same expression of disgust on both Bailey and Woton's faces.

"He's far too respectable for that. Between you and him, I will swiftly become equally reputable."

"Woton, it won't hurt you to be serious for a few hours," said Bailey. "We have business to discuss."

"That means wearing a mask, and we are what we pretend to be far more than what we tell ourselves we are."

Gabriel sighed. "I was hoping that perhaps their sniping would have been worn out by the time I arrived. I should have put more faith in their endurance."

Woton turned to Bailey. "Have you noticed how neatly our elder brother metes out praise and criticism? They're always in balance: one feels damned and flattered at the same time. Largely damned, in my case."

"I agree with you once again. How strange that feels." She glared at first her younger, then her older brother. "Your last report about me to Frederick was composed half of phrases lauding my economic progress, and the other half lambasting me over my - what was it? - "worrying creation of an unstable system" and "refusal to restrain my natural temperament". Don't you care a whit for what I'm doing for you and the rest of the kingdom? I'm keeping you fed, and I'm doing it well, while you sit in your coastal perch overseeing politics."

"That doesn't detract from the fact that your attitude is unacceptable, Bailey. We have reputations to uphold as the house of Pelharm. I can't control what you do as a supposedly responsible adult, but I won't refrain from mentioning it in my advice to our eldest brother."

"Worry not," whispered Woton to Cressida, who continued to sit silently, sipping her tea as Bailey argued back. "I'm sure the reports you give of your duchy are so flawless that one would think they were fabricated."

Gabriel threw up his hands and groaned. "Enough! Please. I came to see my family, not to quibble over business. A glass of wine, if you will permit it, Woton. Let me relax for a moment."

"I will send you a report later, then. It will be discussed." Bailey's voice was steel. "Don't pretend you're here to see us, though. We're all here for business. That's the only reason why we'd deign to meet each other - except for you, dear Cressie." The young woman smiled at her. "At least, we'll find out what business this is when Freddie finally arrives. I can't imagine what he's doing, arriving this late."

"It is his prerogative," answered Gabriel gravely.

"Still, as I was saying before you arrived, I wonder what our brother wishes to tell us." The four startled as a resounding knock echoed through the house. "Looks like we'll soon find out."

The cry of a herald followed: "Announcing his Majesty, King Frederick of the House of Pelharm, ruler of Ithil! Long live the king!"}}

(Faethin)

The brooch was nowhere to be found.

"Lala!" Millie cried, already sitting on the cart. She had already sat there for nearly fifteen minutes.

Elladia began to grow frantic, searching everywhere and tossing to and fro rolls of parchment, heaps of quills and an occasional mouse that happened to be napping soundly amidst them. "I'm coming!" she cried, but Millie did not hear her.

"Lala!" her friend called again, not really frowning but growing increasingly annoyed. "Lala! Come on! We're going to be late!"

A few minutes of delay are not going to affect a two-hour journey that much! Elladia thought, annoyed at her friend's incessant cries; she was not going to say that out loud, though, for fear of upsetting her.

She had lost her brooch, her librarian's insignia, the night before: she had fallen asleep over one of her books and Millie had had to wake her and drag her to her room. The young chemist had semi-consciously complied yet held little memory of what had befallen on the way from the library hall to her quarters. Millie had sworn the brooch had never fallen off during the trip and Elladia had desperately searched her own room for it. The only logical conclusion was that the brooch had, at one point, fallen from her coat while within the library.

Roll after roll, book after book, manuscript after manuscript, the maester-to-be furiously scurried about the ancient texts with a cute mixture of care and haste. "Where could it be?" she said out loud, pouting. "Dear gods, where did I put that thing?"

"Looking for this?" A short, pudgy girl with a slightly hooked nose and an otherwise attractive face stood at the door, holding the brooch on her right hand while leaning against the doorway. "You ought to be more careful with these things" she said with a mischievous smile.

"Oh, Josephine! You found it!" Elladia cried, flinging her arms around her fellow librarian.

"That I did" she said laughing and trying to wriggle herself free. "Now hurry up and get to the cart or you'll have Millie ranting about how tardy you always are all throughout the trip. She'll be quite right to do so though, so chop-chop! Off you go!"

She's always telling me off, Elladia thought as she made her way to the back door. She's always talking about how frumpy I look on this robe or how withered my hair looks. She loved her friend, but Elladia grew incessantly frustrated with her constant scolding: Josephine was barely six months older than her or Millie, yet she loved to act like their mother, sometimes to the point where both girls would lose their tempers. But, whereas Millie would be quick to make her stop with a frown or a tantrum, Elladia would always have trouble conveying her more negative emotions. She had convinced herself that she did this out of a constant desire to avoid conflict - never because of excessive shyness.

"So there you are, little miss I-must-find-my-brooch-before-leaving", Millie said quite out loud, yet Elladia could not really tell if she was annoyed of just teasing. Millie could be quite unpredictable sometimes.

"I-I'm sorry about that," the librarian replied. "You know how this thing can save us a lot of trouble at the gates or even at an auction house."

"Auction house? Darling-girl, you're too shy to ask for a second helping at a dinner-party, even if it's held at the Library Hall itself. Wot makes you think you'd do well at an auction house? What makes you think for a second I'd take you to one? No, no, no, you look fine in one piece I'd like to keep you tha' way."

"I guess you're right..." laughed Elladia, blushing a little.

"All right, up you go. Right beside me, and don't even think of slinking away to the back, like Jo does. I swear, does that girl love to pretend I'm her cabby or wot? She's always slinking away to the back when we take a trip so she "can stretch her legs". Apparently, though, stretching her legs involves putting them on the back of your seat and waving at the people we meet.

"Okay, Millie, okay," Elladia said, laughing again. "Shall we get going?"

"Aye" her friend replied. "But don't you dare hurry me up, young lady. No' after what you pulled with that blest brooch of yours!"

Millie shook the reins and soon enough both friends reached the main road of Enissia, turning left to head for the southern gate. Keeping her right, Millie drove the cart past many stores and inns, the road full of peasants, farmers, merchants, pages and sometimes even soiled doves. The busy life of Enis' capital, capital to the whole kingdom, filled the great city with all sorts of sounds, pleasant and coarse alike, though sometimes at the costly expense of much-sought peace and quiet. The main road was a wide street in which two chariots would fit, next to each other, driving in a single direction and the road was a two-way street. This made crossing from one side of the city to the other a somewhat perilous task, for many and all sorts of chariots and horse-pulled carts transited throughout Enissia at any time during the day.

"I hope your wonderboy's information is good, Lala," said Millie, at length, after having exchanged curses with a rider that rode by too closely to her cart. "As much as I adore getting stuck on the main street, I'm still not sure I'm doing well at coming along."

"I do not doubt Mr Hale, Millie," Elladia said. "I've exchanged mail with him for the past three months, right after Josephine got obsessed with dealing ice-cream to well-behaved childrend. I assure you, he is honest, and a most interesting man."

"But you've never even met him, Lala!" said Millie, frowning. "And you know that mean folk wander about the outskirts of Enissia. I may blend in, with what these rags I'm always wearing, but you, with that cute little hat and shiny little brooch, you will stand out like a lighthouse on a storm."

"Yet Mr Hale mentioned something on one of his letters," said Elladia, remembering the passing mention Hale had done, a few days ago. "Something I'm sure I would find very, very useful."

"Useful for wot?" asked Millie, raising her left eyebrow. Elladia knew this meant utter disapproval from her friend.

"I can't tell you, Millie. You know that."

"Aye, aye, 'secret tool' and whatnot. Listen Lala, you know very well that you shouldn't be mingling with these folk, especially if what you're looking for is only an ingredient for one of those recipes of yours. These are dangerous parts I'm taking you to."

Elladia resented Millie's comment about her "recipes", but told herself that her friend did not know any better about the ancient art of Chymia. It was a poor comfort, but she had to manage with that. She did realise, though, that Millie had brought a valid point she had not considered before: that they were not heading for the best, safest of places. Somehow, she had not thought about that too much, having the odd feeling that Mr Hale would take care of her throughout her visit, ever so polite as he had been. Yet Mr Hale was in the business of making ice-cream, nay, working for a man in the business of making ice-cream. What kind of protection could he offer to a librarian in the middle of the outskirts?

The thought of finally getting her hands on some Stonesalt, though, was the thing that was driving her all the way to the outskirts of Enissia.

Upon reaching the southern gate, as was customary, a guard inquired as to their whereabouts. Usually, the short inquiry was merely a small nuisance to those leaving the city, but all Elladia had to do was brandish her librarian's insignia and state that she travelled on official matters pertaining the Library and the University. The guard nodded and motioned for the rest of his men to let the two friends pass. Millie had to admit to the usefulness of Elladia's brooch after the fact.

Scattered around Enissia lay several smaller villages that, while formally belonging to the duchy, were practically separate and isolated communities on their own: each village had a ruling constable, in charge of upholding the law and administering the community, and each constable reported to Enissia's council only once a year. Compared to the abundance and livelihood everybody seemed to enjoy within the city, the villages were very quiet and humble. Some of them, to the chagrin of many, were dangerous places, were crime ran rampant and the weak authorities were quite unable to maintain the King's Law.

Millie drove the cart into one of these. The village, named Pontus, was home to many lower-class and working-class labourers, tradesmen and merchants, both Hume and Drakenaer. The latter lived in marginal conditions but, oddly, were seldom slaves to Hume owners. By an excellent, yet unspoken, arrangement, both races coexisted peacefully in Pontus and if the conditions of the Drakenaer were generally poorer than the conditions of the Humes, this was because there were far more Humes than Drakenaer living in the village. The sight of a city cart drew the attention of many of the locals as Millie drove through the main (and only) street of the village. Some children, most of them dirty and dressed in rags of clothes, gathered around the cart and followed it amidst giggles and laughs. Elladia, instead of growing uncomfortable with the sight of unseemly folk all around her, grew ever more curious.

"See?" Millie said, half-smiling. "I told you, Lala. Your nice clothes make you stand out like a wine stain on a silk tablecloth."

"There was little I could've done, Millie," Elladia answered. "Besides, these people seem nice, not all brutish and thuggish like you made them out to be."

"Eh, my memory seems to've kept the worse from Pontus, I reckon," Millie said, looking around her. "I could've sworn this was a much meaner town back when I worked here.

"Anyway, where's that ice-cream shop of yours?"

"Three blocks to the north of the central park, number 493," said Elladia, reading from a small piece of paper she had produced from her pouch.

At length, they reached the central park. To the north there stood the town church, to the east the Constable's house, to the south the marketplace and to the west the courtroom. The park itself was small and a bit unkempt but Elladia saw many people strolling about and many children playing besides the fountain at the center. She could not help liking this sight. Millie drove past the people and into an alley that ran with the church to its right. The cobblestone road wound a little to the left, but the remaining trip was otherwise short, and soon enough both girls stopped before a colourful parlour with the words ''ICE SCREAM! :D'' painted above the doorway in bright colours. The number 493 was etched on the wall next to it.

"Well, here you go, little miss," said Millie, dropping the reins and leaning back, her arms folded behind her.

"Thank you very much, Mille," Elladia said with a smile. "It won't be long I guess. Mr Hale said the was a whole crate of the stuff back on their parlour, untouched. I think he should have it already made ready."

"Yeah, whatever you say Lala", said Millie, already drifting away into her nap. "Just be sure have this Mr Hale bring out the crate 'imself and put it on the back of the cart. Don't offer yourself to do it."

"But I..."

"I know you very well, darling-girl. You'd want to "save the man some trouble" or something and then put yourself on the pits by dragging tha' crate on your own. Remember, he's the gentleman, he's the one that does the tough stuff, and if he isn't one, make him one." These last words were accompanied by the gesture of opening her palm and then closing it quickly into a fist, as if she were squishing a grape.

"O-Okay," stammered Elladia.

The librarian climbed down the cart and headed for the door. Two knocks on it and, all of the sudden, it opened with a boom and out leapt an short, enthusiastic man, brandishing a smile and performing his sales pitch:

"Welcome! Welcome to Quentin's Confections, where "everyday" is actually "Sunday"! Looking for the creamiest ice-creams with the most delicious toppings today? Hello! We got ourselves a nice-and-good looking lady today! Can I help you to some ice-cream, cutey-pie?

"Er, hi," Elladia said, quite taken aback. "Uh, thank you very much, I-I'm just looking for somebody. Mr Calderone Hale?"

"Mr Calderone Hale?" repeated Quentin, obviously more interested in the title Elladia used rather than the fact that somebody was looking for Hale. "Well, young lady, you're in luck today, because, uh, Mr Hale is right here. Do step inside, miss...?"

Elladia had noticed how Quentin had struggled to contain the laughter when he pronounced the word Mr himself.

"Tomei," she said, raising an eyebrow.

"Right then, miss Tomei, do come in! Hey, Hale! Hale! Where'd you get yourself into? There's the loveliest of ladies looking for you! Hale!"

And out from the door next to them, carrying a big box full of delicious whipped cream, towered Calderone Hale. Elladia, who by no means had expected Mr Hale to be a Drakenaer, stared at him with her eyes wide open. Hale looked at her with her quiet, tranquil eyes, put down the box and asked: "Miss Tomei, right?"

"T-That's right," Elladia stammered.

"A pleasure to meet you, miss Tomei," said Calderone, putting his hand over his heart and bowing his head. "I'm Calderone Hale. Are you here to pick up your crate?"

Quentin had obviously not been notified of anything: "Crate? Crate? What crate?"

"The crate of Stonesalt we've kept, sealed, from when you tried to get into the business of fertilizers, Mr Hyatt."

"Oh, that crate!" said Quentin, rolling his eyes, obviously annoyed at some past memory. "Oh", he said, realising what was happening. "So you found a client that is interested in, er, acquiring our crate of Stonesalt?"

"That's exactly what I did Mr Hyatt."

"Old chap! Now that's what I call businessmanship!" Quentin happily said. Elladia was unsure as to the existence of such a word. "Excellent! Excellent! I'll be honest with you, miss Tomei, even though the crate is, I can certify, in excellent conditions, having never been opened, it's been nothing but a load for us, us having to move it around and around and around every time we need to accommodate new goods within our warehouses!"

"You mean our the old shaft on our backyard?" Hale asked, with what Elladia thought was the hint of a laugh.

"Hush, you! As I was saying, miss Tomei, you'd be doing me- us a great favour in taking that crate with you. I only have the single, tiny, and (I hope not) impertinent question of how much you agreed with my trusted partner here as the price for these goods...?"

Hale had, without giving Elladia the chance of asking to do it herself to avoid trouble, taken the crate, carried it out and put it on the back of the cart, startling Millie out of her nap; the girl had given afterwards a small eep! when faced with the Drakenaer.

"If, if I may say so Mr Hale," Elladia said, handing over the money in a leather pouch. "It, it is quite amazing what you've got here with Mr Hyatt."

"In what sense, miss Tomei?"

"You two seem, seem to be friends, despite - pardon me, Mr Hale, but it's the truth - despite your being a, a-"

"A Drakenaer? Miss Tomei, I assure you I'm perfectly aware and content with what I am. I am also quite content with the Hyatts and the job I have with them: they're good people. I like good people."

The Drakenaer let out a sigh, and Elladia saw how his quiet, tranquil eyes, for a split second, showed more than just that.

"Sometimes I wish there were more people like them, miss Tomei. If I may be allowed to speak, I'll tell you this: if everyone were like Mr and Mrs Hyatt, why, everything would be better!"

He looked back into the ice-cream parlour. "For everyone", he said.

"Now you'd best be on your way, miss Tomei. I hope you won't think of me as big-mouthed for what I just told you. I'm glad to've made business with you. If you ever require anything else, don't hesitate to ask, as Mr Hyatt is, shall we say, experienced in many fields of business. If something of interest pops in I'll be sure to send a courier to you."

He took a last look at the crate; Elladia, much afterwards, would swear he seemed to know something about its nature - and purpose. He said: "I wish that you'll do good with these goods, miss Tomei. Have a nice day, and thank you again."

(Werefang)

"And now he has me mixing paints." The girl lifted another spoonful of ice cream to her mouth. Carin couldn't help but smile as Feina spoke of her aprenticeship with such exitement. She had been in the city for three months now, studying to be a painter under Tobias Ferric. Ferric was not particularly well known but he did receive constant work as all artists were being sought by some noble or another.

Carin stiffened as a Drakenaer stepped out of the back with a box of cream topping on his shoulder. "You don't have to worry about mister Hale," Feina said, aware of her father's distaste toward winged Drakenaer. "He doesn't seem all that int'rested in the old customs."

"You're right, you're right," Carin admitted. Some of the tension in his back fell away. He and his daughter talked more about what they had been doing over the three months apart. Ferric had allowed her to return home for a brief visit.

By the time the girl was finished, Hale had returned to the back room. "Done," Feina chimed, picking up her bowl. Carin chuckled as the girl hopped from her seat and carried her dish to a counter set aside for used bowls. He stood, pushing his chair back under the table as Feina came scampering back. Carin's tail coiled, quickly yet carefully, about the girl's waist and lifted her, giggling, into her father's arms.

The wingless drakenaer kissed the girl on the forehead, below auburn bangs, before lowering her back to her feet. She didn't like being carried.

The two wove through the cluster of tables and opened the door...almost running into the finely dressed young woman standing outside. He vaguely recalled that she had been inside before, speaking with Hale. "Sorry, ma'am-" He caught the connotation and corrected with a quick "miss."

"What?" Elladia seemed not to know what he was referring to. Carin realized too late that it was not customary to apologize for something that almost happened.

"Uh, nothing. Nevermind." With a slight bow, he turned to go.

Two steps was all he took as he heard his daughter. "Do you live in the city?" Carin flinched at Feina's impertinence. He knew by the woman's clothes that she was noble, and nobles became dangerous when irritated.

His fears were unfounded as the woman replied calmly to what she knew was an innocent question. "Yes. Why do you ask?"

"We're headed that way too. If we go with you, my Dod can carry that box for you."

Elladia looked toward the Outcaste man, who nodded, saying "aye." Elladia was hesitant, taking a moment to think.

A moment was too long for the driver. "Tha's very generous. Well, if you're offerin' 'elp, I don't see why not." She gave Elladia a stern look to put down any objections.

After a sigh, Elladia said, "Fine, you two can ride along in back."

"Yay." Feina skipped to the back of the cart and held her hands in the air, shouting "up." Once Carin was in back as well, he moved his tail into Feina's grip and lifted her to the cab, before climbing in after him.

(DSS)

A muffled utterance of frustration could be barely heard through the heavy oaken doors.

"Ugh! These robes!"

The tall mirror on the wall reflected the rare face of a frustrated Noelle. Her normally straight hair lay frazzled around her red-tinged face, which was also starting to show light signs of returning freckles. Her magistrate robes, which were hued a putrid shade of dark magenta, she had half on, clutching the front of the robes to her chest, revealing a bit of the lacy chemise underneath. Just as she was gearing up for another go to lace up the back, a knock rang throughout the oaken doors and reverberated around her lofty room.

An oily voice slicked in through the crack between the doors. "Milady? I come bearing your new handmaid."

Noelle gave an inaudible sigh of relief. Walking up to the door, she spoke through the crack to the tuxedoed man on the other side. "Thank you. I will let her in as you leave, as I am indecent." Spying through the crack to see the servant man bow, turn heel and walk off, Noelle stepped back from the doors and called out for the handmaid to enter.

In through the doors entered quickly a young girl dressed in a traditional maid's uniform. She looked to be a few years younger than Noelle, but not older than eighteen. She had a lovely and fair face framed by straight brown hair, and was slightly overweight, but only just - a sign that she must have had a decent upbringing.

In her moment of taking in the appearance of the girl, Noelle had nearly forgotten about her robes which were slowly sinking downwards in her ever-releasing grasp, but she managed to snatch them up again before throwing a pleading look at the girl. "Could you please tie me up in back?" She asked in desperation.

The girl gave a short but polite curtsy. "Of course, milady."

Pulling her arms through the sleeves once more, she turned her back to the girl who at once began tightening the laces, bringing the the two sides together over Noelle's thin frame. When it was sufficiently tightened, and not too constricting, Noelle gave the signal to stop, turning once more. "Ah, I thank you." She said, peering once more into the mirror to see that her hair was still a mess. "These robes I guarantee you were designed with a much older woman in mind. I can't stand the color, either..." Quickly grabbing a brush from her bedside nightstand, Noelle proceeded to sit on her bed and tame her light hair.

"Oh!" Noelle quickly stammered. "Where are my manners? I forgot to ask your name!" She said to the handmaid, who stood still in the room. "What may it be?" She queried, giving the girl a warm smile, continuing her brushing.

The girl gave another curtsy. "My name is Felicity-Heather Regher. I am to be your new personal assistant after Ms. Hada's departure to serve your father, Princess. It will be my greatest pleasure to serve you."

The hairs on the back of Noelle's neck stood up as they always did at this last sentence. She wasn't too fond of the word 'servitude'. Firstly, it was a misnomer, as all the staff in the palace were paid workers, and secondly, Noelle disliked ordering others around. Though, as she had doted upon the matter before, with the extent of her busyness it was a relief that she had someone that she could trust with trivial matters that she simply had no time for. With the King and her father having been away for a few weeks attending to some business in another realm, it was astonishing how much new responsibility she felt.

Shaking off the awkward feeling, Noelle gave an inviting nod. "That is such a pretty name, Felicity-Heather! Though, my only concern is that it may be too long and formal...do you have a nickname or something else I could call you, possibly?"

The girl gave a quick smirk before answering. "Well, my friends back in Dendereaux called me 'Feather' for short. Would that suffice?"

Noelle grinned and nodded. "I like it! It's fun and whimsical." She tossed her brush aside, her hair having retaken its natural state, and grabbed a silver ribbon out of the drawer of the nightstand. Bringing it to the back of her head, she began tying it into a bow. "Also, you say you're from Dendereaux?" The capital of The Ives was also Noelle's hometown.

"Indeed." Feather replied. "I'm the daughter of William Regher, owner of the newspaper there. We must never have met growing up because-"

"We went to different, schools, right." Noelle finished.

"The Military Academy was that bad, hm?" Feather half-joked.

Noelle stifled a laugh. "Oh, you don't know the half of it. I must say though, I am impressed. A smart young woman from a respectable family such as yours with an attractive face like that? I have to ask, what made you decide to take up this job? It seems you could have any you wanted."

At this point, Feather unfolded her arms from her lap and looked down, unable to meet Noelle's gaze. "Well, you see, my mother has fallen ill..."

Noelle bowed her head. The bow in her hair was complete. "Ah, say no more. You are merely doing what any loving daughter would do, and that I admire."

Feather raised her face, a melancholy smile upon it. "Thank you, Your Highness."

"Think nothing of it..." Noelle replied, standing up. "I do wish for our time together to be enjoyable. As much as I regret losing Quill, as she was an old friend, I think her retiring to serve my father at our home is what's best for her, considering her age. There were certain tasks she was no longer capable of doing...there truly is no substitute for youth." She said with a sort of finality. Noelle had returned back to her mirror, checking to see if her bow was straight. It was. "Now, Feather, before I go I have one more favor to ask of you."

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"Could you please deliver cold water to the Drakenaer laborers outside? It is a hot day, and I am sure they could use some refreshment..."

Feather curtsied yet again. "As you wish. May I ask where you are headed?"

"Oh!" Noelle exclaimed as she made her way to the double oaken doors and pulled them open, gesturing to her formal robes. With an air of boredom she merely replied: "I have a trial to oversee..."

Upon hearing the announcement, Gabriel, Bailey, Woton, and Cressida all rose to meet their brother, the King.

Into the room strode a rather tallish man with a regal beard and a kindly old smile hiding underneath it. After taking a sweeping gaze across the room to account for all that should be present, he swung his arms wide open as to encompass them all. "Lo, my brothers and my sisters! How good it is to see you all again!"

Only Gabriel replied, who raised his glass in response. "Yes, and the same to you, Lord Brother."

Woton remained expressionless as he motioned to the last remaining open chair in the room. "Please, dear brother, take your seat so we may begin."

"Indeed." Chimed in Bailey, who was leaning forward in her chair, gazing intently at Frederick. "Most intrigued I am to discover the reason for this little get-together. Might it have something to do with the Lizardmen?"

Frederick nodded. "But of course, though nay directly. I shall cut to the chase: I've called us together to discuss about the idea of expansion, to be quite frank. As you all know, though the size of our Empire has remained the same over the last eighty years, our population continues to expand. And that in and of itself preludes to a whole host of related problems, such as the issue of our limited resources."

"Oooh, ooh!" Exclaimed Bailey, cutting across her brother like a sword through soft flesh. "I want some coastline on the southern ocean!"

"And I wouldn't mind correcting the odd shape of my own territory." Remarked Woton with a sharp sniff.

Frederick closed his eyes and exhaled deeply before continuing, letting the remarks of his siblings slide off of him. "Very well. Gabriel, Cressida, your thoughts?"

Gabriel gave a nod. "While I agree out of necessity, I would like to make to make it known I would like my fair share of any lands gained, being on the eastern coast and all."

"Like you need any more land." Shot Woton from across the room. Gabriel scowled.

"The plan is agreeable enough to me," inserted Cressida, "though, the matter of how to handle the scaly beasts response to a hostile takeover isn't one I'd fancy doting upon..."

"Fret not, dear sister." Replied Frederick. "A hostile takeover this shall not be. I've been leaning towards the thought of a completely diplomatic approach."

(Yuanbit)

“Diplomacy centered around the Drakenaer,” continued Frederick. “The westward expansion is inevitable, as I said, so we would be best off encouraging gradual expansion of our peoples while taking care to retain some land for the Drakenaer. While respecting their sacred grounds, obtaining fertile land is necessary to promote the push west.” He paused for a moment, observing his siblings. An amused expression from Woton, mild hunger in Bailey’s eyes, interest in Gabriel’s, and Cressida’s were downcast: all as usual. The latter raised her chin slightly. “It is most…unorthodox, my brother. I doubt any extremes are enough to push us to this point.”

“Unorthodox? Many of our citizens on the westward border are so eager to procure this land that they have begun living amongst the Drakenaer themselves – how is that for unorthodox? We are already at the extremes you speak of.”

“Which gives us the reason for action, but doesn't decide the action itself,” said Gabriel. “I still have to ask: why?”

“That is precisely why we are here at the moment. You know I value your opinions – all of your opinions – and so I arrange this meeting so that we might reach the best decision. The answer to the “why”, at least, is easy enough to reach: do we really want a repeat of the war three hundred years ago? It’s taken us this long to climb back to some measure of prosperity. I will not see Ithil thrust back into slaughter and poverty once again.”

And here we see the assertion of the royal prerogative, thought Woton, making sure to keep the corner of his mouth crooked in a slight smile. Frederick does it so seldom, and so passionately, that we must forgive him for it. If the advantage of nobility is that bloodline can usurp ability, then I’m glad for once that the reverse is so in his case.

“Tch. I see you won’t be budged from this,” said Gabriel, receiving nods from the others. “We support you as always, but not without our own reservations. Besides,” he added, carefully looking only at Frederick. “not all opinions are equal in this case.”

Only those closest of him would have noticed the tension which vanished from Frederick’s posture. “Then we are agreed at least on what is important. That makes things so much easier.” For the first time during the meeting he smiled. With a smooth gesture he beckoned to one of the servants – a clerk, ready with paper and quill. “Now to the details. Negotiations with the Drakenaer will be difficult in two parts: one, the resistance of the general public to a seemingly passive and weak approach, and the resistance of the Drakenaer themselves.”

“Ah, the classic question of the presentation against the actual. Going by importance, let us look at appearance first,” said Woton. “We are nothing without our covers of scandal and virtue.”

The characteristic sniff was heard again. “In Woton’s case, the cover describes the contents perfectly. But if we were to dress up our approach in order to parade it past the public with approval…”

“Bailey! The legal procedures of this country are sanctified-“

Bailey cut across Frederick sharply. “Sanctified with a healthy application of legal lipstick. Isn’t that how most of the laws are “passed”, with some degree of euphemism? I know Woton wouldn’t get half the funds he receives for supporting this offensive ‘art’ he plasters all over the-“

“Your deprecation of Lord Woton is a vice I’ve come to expect of you, but I will not tolerate the slander of House Pelharm’s diplomacy! This issue is far too crucial to stain it beyond the public’s comprehension!”

“I…. I- ….” Bailey mouthed opened and closed weakly, as a fish out of water, which was a rather accurate description of Mad Old Bailey without something to say.

The silence held heavy over the room, moreso because Bailey was actually incapable of breaking it. Surprisingly, as Gabriel and Woton tugged their collars nervously, it was Cressida who smoothed it over, like a gentle breeze stalling the suicide at the cliff.

“May I make the suggestion that we think of the old adage, ‘to put oneself in another’s shoes’? I am not suggesting we lace up the boots of workmen, or drink of that foul common substance they call “coffee”. In fact, I believe that our dear brother and king’s clearly presents the obstacles to our strategy. The whim of more belligerent and territorial members of the public is a beast we owe some part of our livelihood to. To tame it, we must first find a way to tread more carefully around it.”

Gabriel coughed nervously. “And you are suggesting an appropriate path, Cressida?” The relief in his voice wobbled, as though the slightest spark might send the room ablaze in disagreement.

“I can predict what our lovely rose is going to say. Attract the flies with sweet nectar, spreading her seeds and taking root in their land.” Woton smiled and turned his attention toward his younger sister, until his older sister cut in with the subtlety of a rock.

“Woton, you do know the context of the word ‘seed’ in this situation, right?” Bailey pressed her right palm to her head.

“Forgive me. I did not suggest the type of double-entendre you are so fond of making.” Gabriel coughed again, with a much more confident tone. “Cressida makes a good point. With the Wilderness we are dealing with foreign policy, not domestic policy. Our hands are freer.”

“That seems satisfactory, then. I’m certain that we can consider this in more depth at a later date, but first we must determine if it will be necessary.” Frederick retrieved a folded piece of paper from his coat, speaking rapidly as he skimmed it. “I’ve already sketched out some initial arrangements. We require knowledge: Gabriel, that is your domain.” Gabriel nodded. “I’ll find out everything I can about the Drakenaer and what they’ll expect. We won’t go unarmed.”

“All the scholars in the capital are at your disposal, though you may find them working from moldy records rather than life. Now, Cressida,” he said, turning to her. “Jinan is where we will most likely start our expansion. You’ll be given enough soldiers to support you if the circumstances require it, but I won’t risk the upheaval closer to the capital. I don’t expect major trouble, for the Drakenaer will most likely be impressed upon seeing how you treat those living under your care, but it is nonetheless best to be prepared.

“Woton, you will go with her as our chief ambassador.”

“And what makes you think that the Drakenaer will be impressed by me as an envoy?” asked Woton, raising an eyebrow. “They only care for matters of unimportance, such as wars, battles and feeding. It would be perfectly monstrous to expose them to someone as unlearned as I in those subjects – it will be frightfully embarrassing for both parties.”

“You have a sword, Woton; use it,” muttered Bailey. Her voice was still slightly shaky, but swiftly regaining its strident tones. When insults to her brother were in order, one could be certain of her health.

Ignoring her, Frederick continued on: “I’m certain you’ll find a method.” He allowed himself a crooked smile. “Charm them. It’s what you do best. The challenge will probably be invigorating for you.”

“Quite so. The chief delight of charming a person is in proceeding from it being a challenge to it being effortless, at which point it becomes utterly tedious. As you will it, brother, if Cressida will acquiesce.”

“Of course I shall. Even if it wasn’t so vital, it is my duty to obey your word. I’ll do my best to serve you.” Anyone watching would have been mildly surprised that Cressida didn’t curtsey or end her words with “my lord”.

“Both of you must keep in constant correspondence with Gabriel. I want updates whenever possible; we will assemble a body of knowledge on everything the Drakenaer do.” Bailey took another gulp of tea-laced brandy. “And I?” she asked. If there was still the hint of a tremulous note in her voice, it sounded more like the rattle of a sword being drawn from its sheath than fear. It was a challenge.

“I won’t rule out the possibility of more warlike intervention being needed. Bailey, you'll be in charge of finding solutions in that case. We require an edge of some sort over the Drakenaer. I've already sent the letters off to every chemist, smith and engineer that we can spare.”

For once, Bailey only replied with a respectful nod and a quiet, “Consider it done.”

“Work with Gabriel closely as well.” In a gentler tone, he continued to all the siblings, “I won't draw out professions of service from you. I trust you all. Thank you for that.”

(Yuan)

Standing discreetly in one corner of the room, Quill Hada, Gabriel's head maidservant, listened to the discussion intently, unnoticed by the nobles. As the conversation turned towards the finer details of the plan, she slipped through the door and nodded to the servant on the other side.

"They'll still be some time, from my reckoning," she murmured. The retainer relaxed and nodded back to her, gesturing to one of the half-hidden servant passages. It was well that they would be some time, Quill thought as she hurried down the corridor, sidling past people laden with laundry, buckets, food and sculptures &mdash; some hired, some likely serfs, bound to the land and its lord. The number of things that had to be prepared; the sheer number of people who would have to carry, write and figure... She shook her head. No use boggling over it; she would have to work it out directly.

She stopped a man who seemed less busy, merely standing about staring distractedly at two other servants moving a piece of furniture.

"Hoy, Goodman!" called Quill. "Can you tell me where the clerks of Lord Gabriel have set up?"

She noted his quick scan of her uniform, particularly the emblem standing from its black cloth &mdash; a little more ornate than the usual, despite the dress's sombre design &mdash; before he looked at her face. Servants were all the same, even when they were dressed as well as this one. They knew that the first rule was to examine rank; it paid to serve those who could otherwise make trouble for you. It made for a dance as intricate as any noble ball.

"Third door on the left, down that passage, Mistress," he replied, pointing to where the two furniture-laden men were struggling. "You might want to try going round on the right passage there instead, to avoid that lot. It'll loop into the same one, but be careful: there's some areas covered only by tapestries, and they hate it when we make too much noise as we go past." No need to mention who "they" were.

She thanked the goodman, taking one last glance at the toiling pair. Strange that there weren't any Drakenaer to help them. City Drakenaer were a common enough sight for her, even if the nobles liked to keep them out of the way. Perhaps, closer to the Great Wilderness, the Drakenaer were more bestial, and couldn't be put to civil use. She shivered, remembering nights huddled in the shadows of a corner, watching as the great shape of a Drakenaer stalked past, wings stretching as far they could when clipped. In the daylight, they mostly kept to themselves, but she couldn't forget how that lizard's tail had thrashed, as if it had been some frenzied living thing.

But that had been a half-tamed one who had fled, and everyone knew that the truly wild ones kept far out of the way of the Empire. Now they were simply servants to the nobles, same as anyone else. As ordinary as one could be with wings and scales, and the strength of many men. While you served, you were equal &mdash; less than equal, in the Drakenaer's case, who were lower than the lowest serf, but still prized as slaves. When you served, you felt a kinship with even them, until you could almost forget your wariness.

Quill did not forget it.

The corridor here was far quieter, with only the occasional maid scurrying along. It was the one lined with tapestries, she realised. She edged towards a beam of light piercing through a gap, putting her eye against it. To her surprise, she could see the room where the royal family were meeting, now poring over some great map. She watched the King point at some area on the map, earnestly murmuring to her Lord.

From the beauty of the youngest lady, to the grave elegance of the King: they were creatures made of ivory and gold, far beyond ordinary folk. When they stared at you, as that strange young man had done, piercing her with his pale green glare, you felt as if you were held in the balance, no matter how casual the glance. A single stroke from them could mean life or death, and you could never tell which it was until it was too late. The best you could do was to protect who you could.

Sometimes, though very seldom, Quill wondered what drove them. What made them move from aloof indifference to cruelty, or sudden kindness? It was different from the ordinary sort practised by the poorer people. In that way, they were as impenetrable as the lizards.

Well, it was no business of hers what they did when it came to imperial matters. They could order whom and whatever they wished. She finally emerged from the corridor, surprising the clerks who were relaxing by the fireside, idly chatting to each other.

"No orders from his Lordship as yet, but there's work to be done," she snapped. "I need someone to write an order for as much vellum as possible at the House, along with ink. You know which colours he likes for what notes. Bertram," she said one of the clerks, a gangly young man who seemed to be made entirely of angles, "you need to get whatever supplies we have here ready in his office. My reckoning is we move out in a few days, but there's nowt good to be guessing what they want, and even less if he gets mad at us for neglecting his tools." Not that would ever happen on her watch. "Also, send a request to have the Lilac, Viridian and Cerulean study rooms prepared at the main House for scholars. I think they'll be needed."

She felt a growing confidence as the clerks snapped to action, bustling about the room. No time to sit about and rest, though. Every scholar at his Lordship's disposal! It was time for her to get to work.

(DSS)

The hot sun was beating down into the central plaza directly outside of the palace in Enissia. The rays that weren't directly shining down onto the people below instead reflected off of the dark paving stones that made up the plaza and back onto the people. There was no escaping the heat here.

Or, at least on the majority of days, for the most part.

Today however, the central plaza was closed for construction and thus void of any people, save for the group of Drakenaer who labored on the building project. The new fountain that King Frederick had approved and secured with funds from the booming trade was half finished in only a week; one could see that the massive size of the base alone was going to make for a very majestic centerpiece.

"Man, they work fast..." Muttered a plump young maid who carried a platter full of empty wooden goblets into the scorching daylight.

Feather, who had charmed two young, burly manservants into rolling a barrel full of water for her out into the plaza, had to squint to see where she was going; not only had she been inside all morning and her eyes were not yet adjusted to the brightness of the sun, but it also appeared as if some of the laborers had removed their tunics, resulting in an even worse glare as the sun reflected off the scales of the more shinier subjects.

The Drakenaer however, who had no problems seeing, had mixed reactions to the sight of the approaching humans. A few merely wore expressions of mild confusion, while a lesser number quietly chuckled at the spectacle. However all fell silent when the three humans finally made their way over. Clearing her throat, Feather spoke. If she was nervous about approaching the larger group of Drakenaer, she didn't show it.

"Upon the royal command of Her Royal Highness Princess Noelle Pelharm of the Ives, you all are to take a short respite and refresh yourselves with a drink of water."

No response was had.

Her fingers tightening their grip, Feather had a moment of panic. "Damn," she thought. "Was I too formal?"

However, at that moment one of the Drakenaer spoke up, breaking the silence, apparently speaking for the group as they all now shared a similar expression. "Are you serious?" A gleaming, silver chested specimen asked. The tone in his voice wasn't all too friendly, causing Feather to clasp the platter to her chest and stepping aside to motion of the barrel.

"Indeed, you are welcome to the contents of this barrel, drink as much as you like."

A loud squeal could be heard as many clawed hands snatched the wooden goblets from the platter all at once.

(Faethin)

As the whole of the workers gathered around the bewildered servant, a crowd of curious townsfolk gathered around them in turn just outside the plaza. Many of them wondered at the sight of a royal servant, wearing the finer garments of a handmaiden, and many wondered even further at the fact that she was serving water to the Drakenaer, the lowly workers.

"Wot's she doing over there, waiting on the lizard-folk?" somebody asked. "And why is she pouring water for them lizards?"

"I don't know, I'm sure", said another. "Them lizard-folk can go for thirty days without a drink and still plough the earth! And this fountain's been going on for less than a fortnight!"

"Aye!" chimed a choir of townsfolk.

"That's perfectly wasted water then!" another voiced cried at Feather. "Wot's the princess thinking, wasting water on them lizards?"

"Donno, I'm sure", answered yet another voice. "But you know what? I could use a drink o' water myself! It's a hot day, it is!"

"Aye, so could I! Why should we waste this water on the lizards?" a third voice asked.

"Aye!" cried a group of villagers.

Two or three dozen villagers jumped over the fence and entered the square. Big and greasy-looking, the tallest villager approached Feather as the menservants unloaded their wheel cart to deliver more water to the workers. Unpleasant and foul-smelling, the man spoke to the handmaiden.

"Here lass," he said, reaching out for Feather. "Won't you be kind enough to share some of tha' water with us too?"

One of the menservants ran back to the frightened handmaiden and slapped away the man's hand and said: "You are never to lay hand on a handmaiden on pain of a score lashes. Turn around with these brigands and leave! Now!"

"Are you telling us we're not allowed to have some of tha' refreshment while the dirty lizard-men wash their filthy paws with it?" cried the man.

"This water was meant for the workers, by orders of Her Majesty Princess Noelle," said Feather, growing stiff and cold, yet feeling a shiver run up her spine. "If you feel thirst, you shall have to walk to the nearest public well and take your share there."

More and more townsfolk gathered about the handmaiden as her ears were being filled with words of outrage. The Drakenaer were eagerly having their fill of water, but some of them had begun paying attention to the crowd that had been forming all about them.

"You mean to tell us that the dirty lizards get to drink from the princess' hand and we're forced to drink from tha' pile o' mud you call the 'well'?" roared a voice.

"That is not - that is not Her Majesty's intent at all!" cried Feather, blushing. "She merely meant to give refreshment to her workers!"

"Yer no' supposed to feed the lizards 'fore us, lassie!" cried an old man leaning on a stick who had just crossed the fence with the aid of three more villagers. "Yer supposed ta care of yer people 'fore going on feeding them lizards! Here we are, yer people toiling under the sun and gathering goods for you and ourselves, and you decided to bring fresh water for the bleeding lizards!

"Aye!" cried in unison a dozen voices. One of the menservants stepped forward, trying to shield Feather from the incoming hail of harsh words and insults. The other one was struggling to free a path back to the palace. The guards at the palace's gate looked about them nervously, for there were only a dozen or so soldiers nearby and the townsfolk were quickly growing in numbers.

"We work under the sun all day long too, ye know!"

"Aye! Where's my share of the water? Why is the princess giving away my share of the water to the stinkin' lizards?"

"This is the third time this week the princess spills our water on the ground to wash the stinking lizard-folk!"

"Has she no lizards back were she belongs?"

"Let the stinking lizards rot in the sun and give us our water!"

Suddenly, there was a hoarse, ear-splitting roar that pierced the air about the square. The crowd jumped away from the workers and Feather dropped the platter that had held the goblets and would have fallen over herself if one of the menservants had not caught her.

"Millie!" Elladia cried, after having been startled into covering her ears. She had nearly been sent off the cart because the poor mare pulling it had reared and nighed after the monstrous roar had filled the air. "Millie! What was that?"

"Whoa! Easy girl!" cried Millie trying to get the frightened beast under control. "I don't know, Lala! It sounded like a roar. Over there! Look! I think the sound came from that crowd o'er the plaza!"

Carin and Feina quietly retreated into the back of the cart and covered their faces under their hoods.

"I wonder what might've produced such a roar," Elladia said standing on her seat and trying to peer over the crowd.

"An angry Drakenaer," Carin whispered ominously. Both he and Feina hunched and clasped their hands.

"I beg your pardon?" Elladia said.

"Let's take a closer look, shall we?" Millie said, before the librarian could inquire any further.

Both girls jumped off the cart, but neither father nor daughter moved at all. Both remained still with their faces under their hood.

"Wot's with you two?" asked Millie raising an eyebrow. "Don't you want to find out what's going on?"

Suddenly, Elladia saw, rising above the crowd and covered in tattoos and ornaments, a great pair of scaly wings that batted the air furiously. She immediately understood what had caused the noise, why Carin and Feina had hunched over and pulled down their hoods and were so reluctant to show their faces. She could educatedly guess what was happening as well.

"Millie, never mind what's going on," the librarian said. "Let's just make haste back to the University."

"No, wait, I want to know what the natter is about," her friend said, quickly striding towards the crowd and making her way through it.

"Millie, wait!"

Elladia, hesitated for a second and turned her gaze away from her friend and back to Carin and Feina. Carin had put her arms about his daughter and was holding her head to his chest. The timid librarian was tempted for half a moment to take the reins and dart back to the University, leaving her careless friend to fend off for herself whatever trouble she was bound to find - It would not have been the first time curiosity had gotten the best out of Millie. She instead took a deep breath, sighed and ran towards the crowd, not before grabbing her pouch from under her seat.

Elladia knew her insignia would be of little use amongst the gathering masses, so she had to push and shove her way through the crowd while looking for Millie.

"Wot did you say, you dirty runt?" she heard a fat, greasy looking man say as soon as she got to the front and stood near the center of the plaza.

"I said," a rather short Drakenaer with pale wings was answering, "that we are not lizards and we do not like being called that!"

"Well then!" the man said. "Might as well call you 'dog', we migth. Isn't tha' wot you lot are, after all?"

The workers had all now stood in a line behind the short Drakenaer, who batted his wings menacingly; yet none of them uttered hostile remarks at the townsfolk.

"Dogs, then!" the man continued. "Stinking, belching dogs and lizards who steal our water!"

"Hey!" Millie cried all of the sudden, emerging from the crowd and pointing at the man. "He's not asking you to call him 'prince'! He's just asking you no' to call them names! How would you like me calling you pig-headed, lard-face or something while you take a break?"

"Why you stinking little street rat!" the man cried, raising his fist and poised to hit the girl.

"Millie!" Elladia cried. The girl closed her eyes and covered her face, expecting the blow to send her down to the ground. The man did not get to touch her, though, as just at that instant the short, pale-winged Drakenaer sprung at him and dug his claws into his arm, deflecting it. The man let out a cry and with his free arm delivered a blow straight into the Drakenaer's face. At that moment Elladia lost all recollection of events as everything began happening too quickly. First, the workers, who numbered less than a score, charged at the man and began pulling him into a circle they had formed behind their line. The rest of the townsfolk had backed away at first, but in a matter of seconds they had become an angry mob and had drawn clubs and pitchforks. A battle was soon to ensue.

Elladia wriggled her way through the mob looking for her friend. She found Millie, confused and looking about her, and tried to pull her away out of the enraged townsfolk.

"Tha's the little street rat that pushed the Boss into the lizards!" a man cried pointing at Millie. "Get her!"

"Stay away!" cried Elladia, trying to reach for her insignia, but the moment she pulled it out and flashed it in the sun somebody snatched it away from her hand. It dawned on her that she would not be able to use her status to get herself and her friend out of this: stuck between the monsters and the mob, wondering uncynically who was who.

"Caught-cha!" she heard another man cry, and suddenly Millie was no longer next to her. Elladia turned to face this man and saw horrified how he yanked her friend away her and struck her in the face. Poor Millie went limp, blood dripping from her lip.

"No!" the librarian cried, but her cry was lost amidst the battle. Something harsh to the touch and wide and heavy as a board landed on her as she rushed to Millie's aid. Elladia learnt, to her further horror, that a wing had been chopped off from one of the workers and had been thrown at the jeering mob. Dark blood stained her robes. The man that had hit Millie had let her fall and she was about to be trampled by the ever-growing crowd.

Suddenly, her terror gave way to the madness of anger.

"You bastards!" she roared, while reaching into her pouch. "You base-born bastards, that is enough!"

And out from her Chemist' bag she produced a vial filled with a yellowish liquid. Looking for the man that had struck Millie, she found him a few feet away, reaching down for a club.

Elladia flung the vial at him.

The little vial crashed into his buttocks; it immediately began smoking. The man let out a cry of pain and threw himself to the ground, rolling on it. A searing, burning sensation crept into him as the vitriol ate away the fabric of his rags.

"Help! I'm on fire! Fire!" he cried.

"Fire!" somebody else echoed.

"Yes!" Elladia screamed. "Fire!"

I can give you some smoke as well, she thought.

The chemist again reached into her pouch and produced two bigger sealed glasses, each one the size of a small goblet. Grasping her chance as the crowd's attention was turned at the man, the Elladia uncapped them, mixed the two components and tossed the glass without a second glance at the same man, who by now was being hit with improvised fire blankets and covered in mud. Elladia took a deep breath and covered Millie's eyes and nose with her hand.

The glass travelled over the mob and accurately landed on the man's buttocks. Clouds upon clouds of blinding smoke erupted from the man; the smoke this mixture produced was far, far greater than the librarian's previous hit, and anyone who caught a breath from it was immediately reduced to tears as their eyes grew blindingly and painfully red. The man stood up and tried to run away, rubbing his eyes, but, jostled and shoved as he was (for nobody would come near him), he merely succeeded in spreading the tear-smoke all about the crowd.

As the crowd dispersed in all directions, the Drakenaer workers vanished into the alleys. On the ground lay Feather, with a sprained ankle. One of the menservants had carry the bewildered handmaiden back to the castle. The timid librarian emerged from the plaza and at length returned to their cart, dragging her unconscious friend all along. Elladia's face was covered in tears, despite her having kept her eyes closed at all times after the devastating use of her knowledge that had managed to save a few lives and scar a few others.

(Yuan)

"Lala..." a voice said gently.

Sitting on her bench, Elladia ignored it.

"Elladia, please pay attention to me." It was Millie, with a note of panic in her voice. "Darling-girl, you can't sit here forever."

"I hear you," Elladia said distantly. She continued to stare at the manuscript in front of her; not reading it, but simply letting it fill her vision. It was something about explosives &mdash; like the ones she had used that day. The pain had been etched into that man's features, drawing them into a hideous scowl. And there had been her voice, echoing and exultant above the conflagration. "Yes, fire!"

She couldn't quite remember how she had gotten home. One moment it had been confusion and violence, then the Drakenaer workers &mdash; Carin and his child &mdash; had melted away, leaving her alone. She had lugged Millie back until she woke up, at which point she couldn't take it anymore. Millie had supported her as Elladia alternately staggered about and wept. Somehow, they had managed to make it home, and now she was sitting at her usual study bench, a blanket around her shoulders.

Elladia still stank of ashes; she hadn't changed when she arrived home. At first all she wanted was sleep, but whenever she closed her eyes, she saw the smoke and fire again.

Dimly, she realised Millie had changed. The other girl was wearing a new set of staff robes &mdash; it must be day again, or was it still the same day? She'd lost track of time &mdash; and smelt faintly of soap, just detectable above the smoky scent.

"Elladia..." she said again. Elladia was starting to get annoyed by how often Millie was calling her name &mdash; and her full one, at that. Didn't she realise Elladia could hear her? "You really must have a bath and go to sleep now. Wot on earth do you think you're doing here?"

"Researching. It's what I do." Research made everything all right. It always had, at least, losing herself in the knowledge gained by others. Not this explosives roll, though. She rolled it up again, taking her usual care, and placed it on her returns tray. Here was another one, also on chemistry.

"You've been up for more than a day here!" There was a stricken note in Millie's tone. "I'm begging you, you go to sleep now."

The scroll was on vitriol, a substance she had always found interesting. Now all she could think about was what would have happened if she had thrown it on that man's face. Vitriol would have melted that expression away, causing incredible pain &mdash; but she wouldn't have seen his face, merely the ruins of it, as it burned the water from his skin. She willed the image to melt away from her mind, but even vitriol couldn't do that.

"Please leave me alone, Millie," she whispered. "I'll sleep soon. When I'm exhausted. I can't at the moment. This is calming. Really." The words dropped from her lips with effort, one by one.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Millie hesitate. "I'll check up on you in an hour. Josephine will make you some herbal brew, and if you're not in bed by then, you'll won't know wot's coming for you. Don't give us such a fright like this, my girl."

In reply she said, "I won't", or perhaps she just mouthed it. Millie hesitated at the doorway for a few moments more, then disappeared.

Vitriol certainly wouldn't do. She added the roll to the returns tray, and grabbed another one. This one was about various compounds and their use in pigments &mdash; a safe subject, she thought. But here was cinnabar, a quicksilver compound born from the fires of volcanoes, useful as a poison. Lead bound in yellow as well, to drive the painters mad.

She felt a growing sense of panic. What was wrong with her? She'd never thought about these things before. Elladia shoved the painting manuscript away from her, and plucked a few more from the shelves. Now she didn't bother to read them carefully, just skimming along. Stonesalt: necessary for fertilisers, but could also be used as an explosive. Arsenic: to be used in smelting bronze, but highly toxic. Lifewater: washing away impurities, but again, volatile and prone to flame. Silver compounds...

When Millie returned, she found Elladia with her head buried in her arms, weeping. She carefully covered her up again with the blanket that had slipped the floors, and put the scrolls out of reach.

"A herald came for us. We've all got letters," she said quietly. Elladia stared at the letter in confusion &mdash; why was Millie giving it to her now? And who would want to see all of them?

"You can read it later, as you'll no' be understanding wot it says now. Bath and bed first," Millie insisted. Elladia nodded and tossed the letter onto her desk, letting herself be led without resistance out of the room.

(Faethin)

''Elladia sits down and places her cup of hot milk on a small desk away from the main scriptorium. A few desks away is Josephine, scribbling down some notes as she reads from an old manuscript by lamplight; Josephine and Elladia are allowed to take lamps up to the University's Library tower only after the latter successfully carried out a demonstration of a new kind of shatterproof lanterns, her own design, by dropping one out from the first floor. Millie, having saved the Library Tower for last so she could be with her friends at night-time, has finished her chores and is napping soundly over one of the scriptoria, a few desks away from Elladia herself. That whole section of the mighty Library is illuminated only by the three lamps that each girl carries.

As Millie softly snores and Josephine quietly scribbles, Elladia is pouring over a very old translation of an even older, lost book: "On the Flight of the Dragon-kin"'', as handed down and annotated by Maester Dorval of Jinan. The translation is incomplete, though, for two reasons: the original has been lost for a great time, and great sections of it are lost with it, and Maester Dorval himself at one point declares that the Old Language of the Drakenaer is still, in many ways, very difficult to render into Common by means other than paraphrases.''

She dearly hopes this will put her mind away from the memories of the previous days and the fear which both letters she received today entail.

[There] are too few of us. Too few. Under the Old Whisperers, too few; under the Nightfolk, too few; under the banners of the Starlit, too few. Tiamat-rako!. Our people is diminished, like a waning tide and a waning Moon, like the waning stars before a rising Sun. Yet [we] wan not before such Sun, but before a hopeless Shadow. Will Bahamut-an-evrae replenish our numbers if the Wingless drive us away? I think not. Nor do I hold any hope in my heart, for nothing may stop a waning Moon or a waning tide.

We [were] defeated. The Hyum-an-ruri have won, and only the stubborn and the blind refuse to acknowledge that. Bahamut be my witness, most of the folk that do so belong to the Nightfolk. They are preparing for a last stand, a final match between the Hyum and the Drakenaer, and after that, only dust. We clear the dust from our wings everyday, yet that shall not be so after tomorrow. No new Moon for the Dragon-kin. After tomorrow, when the Nightfolk are finally driven into the iciness the last of the Dragon-kin shall leave these lands and march West, into the wild, away from the Wingless.

[There] are too few of us though. The surviving tribes are as follow: the Old Whisperers, the Nightfolk, the Starlit, the Crimson, the Stealth-winged, the Moonlit and the Sunchasers. Gone are the Little Folk, gone are the Goldscaled, gone are the Woodarcs. Tiamat-rako!.

I have counted the stars in the sky, I have counted the leaves of the ground, and as I have counted the dead of our people, so I shall count the blades of the Nightfolk. I have no hope in their victory, and even though valour is always sung about and last stands are always the matter of tales, I cannot grant my blessing over their choice; [there] are too few of us, and now there shall be even fewer. But I will honour their valour, weak-hearted Drake as I am: I count five-hundred Roki, a thousand Irgaroki , four-hundred Nairyaki and five-score Rurikoki. Small numbers, smaller hope. Lest their valour be forgotten I have ventured myself to march with them, weak-hearted Drake as I am.

Our story must never be forgotten. The Hyum-an-ruri have defeated us, vanquished us and made many of us bow. Yet we remain. The Dragon-kin is strong. The waning Moon shall keep on wanning, and there shall be no new Sun. Nevertheless, that shall not stop a new day from beginning, when the Drakenaer shall return and lay a lawful claim on the lands that were unlawfully taken away from us. Hraetho!.

 [How did this come to happen? How did this come to be?] It came to happen, it came to be that the Hyum-an-ruri first came from beyond the water to the east, many years ago, armed with bright, cold steel. Yet enmity was not ever present in their hearts, and in time we learnt to live side by [side] [ Illegible ] [Greed?] was the driving cause of our hate, greed was the driving case of our anger. The Hyum-an-ruri were capable of great good, but also of great evil. They also breed in greater numbers during a single season. [We cannot?] [ Illegible ] [But we] are stronger, and faster, and our scales are hard yet light, our scales are true and we are winged, for Bahamut-an-evrae watches over us.  Who watches over the Hyum-an-ruri? None watch over the Hyum-an-ruri. Yet from the beginning their greater numbers overwhelmed us, their bright steel pierced our scales and cut our wings. The north, whence they came, was quickly lost as our folk hastily fled south, soaring the Woodarcs' numbers. Under the guidance of the Old Whisperers and sheltered by the Woodarcs we held those lands for very long. New bonds were forged and old tribes were melted into new. The Hyum-an-ruri feared us, and their only weapon had been, till then, greater numbers. Their captains, [however, were not] good, groomed from boyhood to be proud and reckless. Those captains, time and again, were foolish [enough?] [ Illegible ] [We defeated them], Once and another time time and again, with little loss.

Tomorrow we march, and tomorrow we fall. [There is] no hope in my heart, [there is] no hope for my kin. Let Tiamat-rako watch over his children, and whatever there is left of them after the Bahamut-an-evrae makes the sun set tomorrow.

''Elladia takes a sip from the warm cup placed on the adjacent scriptorium. She has grown sleepy and for the first time in almost two days she considers bidding her friends a good night's sleep and march off to her little quarters. Millie's lamp has already faded away. They must exit the library if they are to relight it, because any sort of unprotected flame is forbidden to be near the ancient tomes.

''In her pocket rest the two letters that arrived today, one from the magistrate's court and the other one sealed with the royal crest. She is to report to the magistrate's office the next day at noon, concerning the violent gathering of a group of townsfolk around a group of working Drakenaer and the subsequent, effective and sudden dispersion of of the mob by means with which nobody but a scholar trained on the arts of Chymia would be familiar. Elladia, still shaking a bit because of the cold and because of the fear, has quite forgotten about opening the second letter for the time being. }} END OF CHAPTER 2 Please do not continue to add to this chapter.