Chapter 88: DD3 Chapter 034 – Council Redux

Typh entered the kitchen and was greeted by an unanticipated wave of heat. Not for the first time, she silently bemoaned her lack of a fire resistance skill as she felt the warmth start to make a mess of her hair. The dragon carefully closed the door behind her and walked softly on the balls of her feet while she searched for Arilla amidst the pots and pans that filled her manor’s kitchens. 

The steady chop-chop of a knife against a wooden board stood out against the continuous noise of frying vegetables. As Typh navigated the cluttered room, intermittent bursts of activity arose from the stove whenever fresh handfuls of herbs or spices were added to the hot pan and their intense aromas escaped into the air.

“You’re late,” Arilla said. Her voice was outwardly calm, but it was heavy with a frustrated expectation that took the dragon by surprise.

“My meeting ran over,” Typh explained and she received a short, noncommittal grunt in response. 

It had taken her a while to actually find Arilla amidst the mess of stacked dishes and pots that towered precariously high above the granite countertops. While the majority of the meals Typh ate were cooked in this kitchen, it was her first time inside the room and she was unfamiliar with the narrow walkways. Food for the manor’s guards, staff, and a significant portion of Typh’s more formalised soldiers was also prepared inside this large room. Given how many soldiers remained camped outside the estate's grounds, the amount of food cooked here on a daily basis was truly staggering. 

Yet somehow, an even greater amount of kitchenware and utensils had been dirtied in the process.

“It’s absolutely filthy in here... Where is everyone?” Typh asked.

“I gave them the evening off,” Arilla explained while the dragon cautiously moved to stand next to her by the stovetop.

“Couldn’t you have done that after they washed up?”

“I could have… but they work late, and I thought you’d appreciate the privacy over clean surfaces,” Arilla replied. The king then handed over a somewhat fresh rag, which Typh then held sceptically between her thumb and forefinger.

“What’s this for?” the dragon asked.

“It’s for washing up, obviously. You should get started soon. We’ll need clean plates and cutlery if we’re to actually eat this,” Arilla said, gesturing to the mixture of diced vegetables in her pan and miscellaneous foodstuffs wrapped nearby on the counter.

“I don’t ‘wash up,’ ” Typh protested. “And there is going to be meat, right?”

“Of course, there is… One of the adventurers we brought with us carried a shank of some direbeast with them from the forest outside of Dolieis,” Arilla said. “Although, it looks like I’ll be eating it by myself if you don’t get started soon.”

“You’re serious…”

“Deadly,” the king said. “If it helps, you can consider it a punishment for being late.”

It helped. Although, Typh would never admit that. Still, judging from the look Arilla gave Typh, the king knew all too well the effect her words had on the dragon.

“I’m not that late,” Typh said as she tried to find some space to work.

“You are. What took you so long anyway?” Arilla asked.

“I was trying on dresses—”

“Gods, Typh—”

“—and underwear,” The dragon finished, and Arilla’s protests died on her tongue.

“Anything I’d like?”

“You’ll have to wait and see.”

The king chuckled, and for a while everything was just so. They playfully bumped their hips against each other and talked about a great deal of nothing. Typh inexpertly washed the dishes and Arilla cooked, eventually adding meat to the pan where it sizzled pleasantly in the carefully seasoned oil. If not for the oversized and overly messy kitchen, it was the picture of domesticity: providing a glimpse of the life the two of them were forever denied.

A stinging pain on Typh’s ass brought her out of her head, and looking over she saw Arilla standing there with a wooden spoon in her hand that matched the imprint on the dragon’s cheek.

“Stay present, Typh. We’re doing this for a reason, remember?”

“I know, it's just…” Typh sighed, and Arilla nodded.

“Go on then. A little work chat, then we move on to something pleasant,” Arilla offered.

“And if I don’t?” Typh asked.

Arilla waved the wooden spoon threateningly and Typh felt a rush of electric excitement run through her.

“That’s not a great incentive to keep it brief,” Typh said. 

“I know, but I’ve had a long day and I might just be looking for an excuse?” Arilla teased, moving to stand behind her lover with the spoon conspicuously present.

“Have there been any issues with the muster?” the dragon asked.

“None so far. The word is spreading: the day after tomorrow, every combat classer loyal to our cause is to gather at the siege grounds for the final push.”

“I wasn’t expecting there to be any issues with that—I meant; have any nobles in the city raised an issue with the call to arms? The meeting to approve all of this isn’t until tomorrow—ouch!” Typh yelped, as the spoon bounced hard off of her ass sending a jolt of pleasure intermingled with the pain.

“Brevity, Typh,” Arilla warned. “I said no issues yet—and there won’t be—the nobles in Helion are the few who are passably loyal. The schemers will be busy trying to figure out how to modify the runes we taught them so they can talk to the Queen.”

“Which is why we need to move fast—-end this before they can come up with something—fuck off! I’m talking!” Typh yelped as the spoon once again left its mark.

“Do you actually want me to stop?”

“System, No! Just…”

“What?”

“Use the bigger spoon.” 

Arilla’s hands briefly moved over the small of Typh’s back as the king leaned over to exchange implements. After a delightful experimental thwack, the dragon knew that she’d made the right choice. 

Where she’d been struck, her skin felt flushed with warmth. It was overly sensitive in ways that shouldn’t have felt good but undeniably did. There was a sweet soreness whenever the fabric of her dress moved over her injured skin, and it was accentuated further when Arilla’s hands stroked and squeezed in the aftermath of her more aggressive strikes.

Typh needed to be spanked far more often.

“You were saying?” Arilla said.

“I was saying that we should be moving faster.”

“Two days is fast. We’re relying on adventurers—not a standing army. They need time to sober up and settle their affairs.”

“The nonhumans could be ready in hours.”

“Are you sure about that? I’ve read three separate reports about goblins waging war against each other inside Helion.”

“You read a report?!” Typh asked, and earned herself an enthusiastic spank for her tone.

“I read reports. Unlike you, I didn’t blow off my duties today to go try on dresses,” Arilla said.

“And underwear. Normally, you’d be more excited by that last part.”

“I’m ‘excited,’ it’s just… I can’t quite tell where this conversation is going… And I should really turn the meat before it starts to burn.”

“Let it burn, Arilla. We’ve both eaten worse,” Typh urged. “Now, do you want to see what I bought?”

“I thought you wanted to talk about work?” the king asked.

“I did, but that was before you got out the big spoon.”

Arilla laughed again and gave the dragon a series of hard swats that left her breathless and flustered. When it was over, Typh hiked her dress up over her hips and swayed enticingly at the woman behind her. If Arilla’s sharp intake of breath meant anything, then the combination of Typh’s softly glowing skin and the lace framing her rapidly reddening cheeks had the desired effect.

She struggled not to whimper when her lover’s hands resumed their much-appreciated aftercare.

“Two days, Typh. We can wait two days,” Arilla said, leaning over the dragon to whisper into her ear. “The disloyal nobles won’t figure out how to contact the Queen in time, the goblins will settle their affairs and join the adventurers for the muster. With our numbers and with the cannons on our side, we’ll overcome whatever she’s planning. The palace will fall, and you’ll rise up to sit beside me on the Terythian throne.

“Everything is going to be fine,” the king finished.

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“I know… but the anxiety is killing me. I’ve got the meeting tomorrow to look forwards to and then nothing until the attack the day after…” Typh complained. “I need to do something that isn’t just signing overdue paperwork.”

“I can think of a few things we can do together to pass the time.” 

“Such as?” Typh asked, but as Arilla’s lips travelled lower, the dragon soon caught up with her lover’s intentions.

By the time she stopped for air, dinner was thoroughly ruined.

***

The rest of their evening and most of their next day, passed in a blur of tangled limbs, broken spoons, and muffled declarations of undying love. To call what they shared a welcome break from reality didn’t begin to do it justice, but like all good things, this too came to an end.

Typh emerged from their nest of twisted sheets and scattered clothes on unsteady legs. She summoned servants to draw her a bath and was able to thoroughly scrub herself clean long before Arilla finally crawled out of bed. The king quickly performed her own ablutions, and then the pair dressed in companionable silence. 

When they left their chambers, they found the manor was awash with runescribes. The normally reserved classers were scurrying about in a near panic as they made their last-minute alterations to the runes necessary for the evening’s meeting. 

The privacy wards encircling the estate’s grounds needed a rather large hole to be temporarily poked through them—hopefully, this would be done without causing any permanent damage to the expensive inscriptions. Each representative who wouldn’t be physically present tonight, required their own sets of scrying runes to both anchor the incoming spell, and to broadcast the meeting and everyone in it to cities as far away as the border. The formations were relatively easy to learn, but given the quantities of mana being used, the margins for error were slim. Small mistakes tended to have explosive results when performing any spellcraft on such a large scale, and with the extreme distances involved this certainly qualified.

The pressure on the runescribes to perform these new inscriptions was high, and it didn’t help that Typh’s runic script was so different to the dense, minimalistic runes that humans were so typically fond of. To fit in all of the arcane symbols, the council’s usual meeting place had been relocated from one of the manor's larger rooms to the main hall. There, dozens of tight, runic circles were painted onto the hardwood floors in alchemically treated wax. 

While the majority of the meeting’s attendees would be scrying in, over a dozen would be physically present. These guests required high-backed chairs instead of runework, along with all the creature comforts an important person would be accustomed to receiving over an hours-long meeting with minimal breaks.

Ideally, the runes for the scrying spells would be etched in gold or silver, but given the short turnaround and the runescribes’ unfamiliarity with the new magic, there was no time to carve more permanent runes. For this meeting, Typh would just have to hope that nobody smudged the wax on the floor, or spilled enough wine to disrupt the fragile scrying spells.

When Typh and Arilla arrived in the main hall, a great number of the nonhuman representatives were already present. There was a noticeable distance being kept between where they chose to congregate and the handful of human nobles who made up Arilla’s Privy Council. That distance was not a great start, but it was to be expected. It would change with time as it had changed for the petty nobles who lived in Rhelea, but that was a minor triumph that would have little bearing on today's events.

The number of seats in the room allocated to humans significantly outnumbered those given over to the nonhuman representatives. That disparity made it tempting to think that the human nobles were the most important faction to get onside, but while Terythia remained an ostensibly human nation, the coming battle would primarily be fought by the nonhumans and adventurers—the latter of which openly defied any attempts at formal organisation.

Someday soon the nobility would have to start pulling their weight. Otherwise, Typh would have to get over her squeamishness and give Madame Vanje’s suggestion about trimming the highborn branches some serious thought.

Including so many humans in the latest—and hopefully last—war council was an unsettling thought. The sheer number of added voices was going to make it extremely unlikely that anything of substance would actually be achieved. It also dramatically increased the chances that her plans would find their way into Queen Constancia’s court, but then again, amassing her forces was always going to be obvious, and her plans hardly hinged on the element of surprise. 

No, this was about complicity.

The greatest threat to Typh and Arilla’s reign was if the Queen ran. Typh didn’t think she would. The dragon had stared into the other woman’s calculating eyes and had seen the rampant ambition, but if she did… then Typh wanted to have done everything in her power to have alienated Constancia from the nobles formerly sworn to her husband’s reign. There was no better way to do that than to get them to agree to end her limited rule.

As each scrying circle flickered into life, revealing a well-dressed noble in their regal seats, Typh saw their awestruck expressions quickly being masked by their noble skills. Many of them had already seen this magic before—those who’d received a visit during Typh’s recent tour of the south—but this use of coordinated spellcraft erased any doubts about the runeworks limitations. This current configuration was rudimentary, and barebones, but it had the potential to completely upend the established hierarchies of Astresia. 

And Typh had given it away for free. 

She was hoping they’d recognise it was just the first of many gifts she had to offer if they stuck with her, but if they were too dumb to see that, then her victory over Queen Constancia would have to scare them into continued compliance instead.

The runic circles continued to fill up with nobles, who after a few moments of grandstanding started to cautiously engage in small-talk with those seated next to them. Those few who were physically present flitted between the noteworthy individuals who were essentially unable to leave their assigned spaces. Drinks and canapes were served and the entire thing took on a cordial atmosphere as powerful people who had few opportunities to socialise with their equals did just that, blending business with personal enquiries in the scheduled lull before the meeting started.

The nonhumans were similarly entertained, and in a few instances human lords who occupied cities close to the Dragonspines, or some other natural resource, were approached by nonhuman representatives. They broached subjects as wide-ranging as potential migration paths to and through their domains, to personal favours and offers. In many instances, the nobles looked distinctly uncomfortable, but they were unable to leave without breaking the spell and were effectively forced to remain present and listen. It soon became clear to all, that while scrying had innumerable advantages, it was still no replacement for being physically present in the capital.

When everyone who was coming had arrived, the meeting finally began.

Once they began talking, it immediately became apparent that the state of the realm was precarious. Each nobleman and noblewoman who spoke told similar tales of similar problems; magical beasts rising up, unprecedented levels of banditry, and an unending flood of refugees from the east—and increasingly, the south. Food was in high demand everywhere, and the cost of hiring enough mercenaries to protect their lands was quickly becoming ruinous. 

The natural solution to all of these problems was to make more liberal use of their class stones and to provide training and equipment for the new combat classers. While free classes for all was a law they had all agreed to obey by swearing fealty to Arilla, some of the northern nobles had been less diligent about following it. When their king asked to hear reports about how many classes had been distributed in various territories, several nobles visibly paled after the first received a tongue lashing so fierce that he nearly fainted. 

These problems aside, most of the actual debate was focused on Helion. Typh and Arilla’s demands of the human cities were actually very limited. Most of what the nobles found objectionable was to do with Terythia’s capital. Fortunately, Arilla was surprisingly well prepared. A timetable for returning confiscated property was quickly given and accepted, and then projections about Helion’s rapidly growing population were shared and used to justify the exorbitant construction costs. 

There was some talk of forcing the refugees back to the border, but Typh quickly put a stop to that.

Eventually, they moved on to the real reason for the meeting.

“We are here to discuss taking the palace, and ending the reign of the Pretender Queen Constancia,” Typh declared.

“Is that really necessary? She’s under siege and has made no moves to escape?”

“She should at least be given the opportunity to surrender.”

“Do you even have the numbers to take the palace?” 

“I can’t move soldiers from my domain to reinforce Helion, not until this monster surge quietens down!”

Many more highborn voices cried out in protest, filling the room with a storm of loud, if not particularly well thought out opinions. Typh’s nonhuman generals and representatives looked to her to intercede and she quickly ran through all the things that she could say that would persuade them of the necessity of it. The siege was obviously unsustainable. It was bad for trade, progress, and the nation’s security. She strongly suspected they only protested out of some lingering loyalty to the old way of doing things, but those days were dead.

Terythia had never been a democracy, and just because she had called this meeting to discuss her intentions, it didn’t mean she actually cared to hear their thoughts. Typh was a tyrant after all, and this conference of nobles only existed because it served her needs to have them involved in the Queen’s fall.

The goblin’s representative—an unfamiliar chieftain stuck at the level 49 species cap—was violently flung across the large table that everyone else was seated around. Muted gasps arose as the small form bounced and rolled twice before landing on his feet with a pair of knives drawn in his green hands. Facing him—and also standing on the table—was a [Knight]. A goblin knight, past the cap at a respectable level 74. 

The knight was old for a goblin, with deep lines etched around the corners of his face, but that was by far the least notable thing about him. He was clad in armour, the thick, heavy kind that goblins normally refused to wear. He was proud, stoic, and thoroughly dismissive of the threat the other goblin faced. The two charged forwards and clashed in front of their audience of notables amidst a noisy blur of green and steel. 

The representative moved fast. Relying on dexterity and youth to get around the knight’s defences. Of course, the knight wasn’t slow either, and he swung a long knife more reminiscent of a sword with equal speed at his lower levelled foe. When their blades met, metal screeched and sparks flew. The long knife scored into green flesh while the shorter daggers skittered off skill-empowered steel. Maybe on the streets of Helion where the traditionalists had numbers on their side it was a fairer contest, but here in this room, it was too one-sided to even be called a fight.

There were seven exchanges in total and each one left the goblin’s official representative bloody. He never gave up and died on his feet like a good little soldier. Typh didn’t know whether to be impressed or feel saddened by his loss, but the killing had silenced the nobles in the room and that was certainly a plus.

The knight left the corpse where it fell, and quickly retreated to the edge of the table. There, beneath the expectant and incredulous gazes of the entire room, he pulled out the now vacant seat, which Glorious the goblin [Queen] then sat upon.

“Apologies, Lord Sovereign,” Queen Glorious said.

“You’re forgiven, although do try to settle your disputes outside my manor next time,” Typh replied. “I believe you’ve unsettled my guests.”

The goblin grinned viciously with entirely too many teeth, and the dragon enjoyed the spike of terror that arose from the humans in the room. Goblins levelled higher than 49 were entirely unprecedented to them—yet another sign of the changing times. Although, seeing goblins with the human tags [Knight] and [Queen] were also new precedents that many would have disbelieved if the evidence wasn’t seated at the table. 

With a wave of her hand, Typh lifted the body from the centre of the table and brought it to her on a horizontal plane of golden light. Its torso was ripped open in numerous places, which made it easy for the dragon to find what she was looking for. With a manicured hand, she reached inside its chest and rummaged around until she found the creature’s liver. It was still warm to the touch and slick in her hand. She pulled sharply and it came free with a tear of wet flesh. Typh slowly raised it to her lips and took a bite, careful not to smudge her lipstick as she nibbled on the goblin’s nutritious organ.

“Queen Constancia is to be given no further warnings. She’s had multiple opportunities to surrender and she has scorned them all. When I said, we are to discuss this matter, I was referring to the battle plan. While I accept that the majority of nobles present in this room will not have the time to send troops, as important members of the realm and experienced commanders, it is only right that we have you approve of the plan,” Typh said, pausing to take another bloody mouthful.

“The battle plan is simple,” Arilla said quickly, speaking before anyone else could interrupt. “Our soldiers will gather around the edge of the siege grounds. We’ll bring the walls down, and once our runescribes verify that the focusing wards are inoperable, we’ll enter the palace’s grounds en masse. We should have enough iron-ranks to match Queen Constancia’s on a 2 to 1 ratio, with enough bronzes and pewters, for a significantly more favourable fight at the lower ranks. 

“Her steels are going to be an issue. Fortunately, they’re heavily unbalanced as they are almost entirely knight-classed, whereas we have the full variety of adventuring teams to call upon. With our numbers, we will win, although the true extent of our losses will be hard to predict. Now, are there any objections?”

Arilla finished and the room was completely silent, except for the distinct sound of Typh chewing.

“Good. Then tomorrow we muster our forces, and we end this civil war,” the king declared, and Typh could feel the tension in the room rise by the second.

In the morning the siege would end and the palace would fall.

System help them all.

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