The Hundred Reigns 140: Vouivre Delenda Est (6)

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The Beast Noble Crestone was the last one to be unaccounted for.

Shabram had spent years building up ties with shifter tribes in an attempt to locate it. The Crestone’s last known wielder had been the warlord Tellurian the Lionking, who had managed to briefly unite the region a hundred years past—the first time this happened since the Kish Empire’s heydays—and lead them against Gargauth, only to fall to the dragon’s claws. His heirs then killed each other over their inheritance, and the Class was lost.

Many shifters had tried to locate the Crestone since, including Borsh during the period of time where he tried to repel Endymion’s invasion of his homeland. Reports often told tales of great and strange monsters wandering the plains with a jewel glowing on their forehead, yet nothing concrete was ever proven.

“And you believe the Beast Crestone is here, in Telluria?” Simon inquired as they walked out of the sealing chamber. 

“There is a prophecy bestowed upon the beastmen by the Oracle after Tellurian’s demise,” Vouivre explained. “The Beast will crown whoever unites the tribes of Telluria under a single banner and lead them against Endymion.”

Which neatly suggested Tellurian had been yet another failed Oracle plot to unseat a sitting Overlord. Simon wondered how many warlords she sponsored until Balzam succeeded where all others had failed. “And you believe that fool?”

“Prophecies have power, and only the Overlord can interfere with them,” Vouivre replied with a hint of amusement. “Fate bends to ensure no one can keep the Beast Crestone for long until the prophecy is fulfilled. Even if you should somehow find it, it will keep slipping from your grasp.”

“It may escape us even if we obtain it, like the Paladin Crestone escaped your father’s stomach.”

“The Beast is no Paladin. It is a trickster and shapeshifter, and should appreciate the irony of the situation. A prophecy to defeat my father will instead empower his daughter.”

“I see.” Simon didn’t trust the Oracle’s prophecies, but he didn’t have much to lose by trying. He could always snatch the Crestone in a future reign should Vouivre’s intuition prove correct. “Then we must take control of all the remaining shifter tribes, including the Centaur Federation.” 

“Yes. The Beast Crestone has passed from one set of claws to another, waiting for a new master. It will reveal itself to me once all tribes in Telluria bend the knee.” Vouivre glanced at Pallian, who avoided her gaze. “How many false kish slaves can you create?”

“Many, but I need bat shifters for my magic to work since I cannot change the target’s type,” Simon replied. “Why not use your crystal instead?”

“Its polymorphy powers have little to no limits, that is true,” Vouivre concurred. The Two-Tailed Fish could transform any shifter into a draconic monster, so its polymorphy magic had none of the Brand of Envy’s limits. “Nonetheless, it will take me a few days to unlock its power, and I would rather put its energies towards creating dragonkin soldiers than waste time. We do have a little less than a year before demons crawl out of hiding.”

“I can lead you to my tribe, Master Simon,” Pallian suggested eagerly. He hadn’t forgiven his people for selling him into slavery, and he relished the opportunity to take revenge. “They will serve you.”

“Good,” Vouivre commented, sounding rather pleased. ”Gather as many beastmen as you can for immediate transformation. Once we have secured Telluria, we will move to subvert the tributaries at the empire’s periphery. Fablan is a non-factor, Scaland will rise in my name, and I am in discussion with Uyo goblinoids and scalefolk.”

“What about Bujan?” Simon inquired. That one’s neutrality across the reigns always surprised him. “Shouldn’t its scalefolk inhabitants rally to your cause?”

Vouivre growled in annoyance. “The mermaid queen, Melusine, has proved insufferably deaf to my generous propositions. She fears the Overlord more than me.”

“I am the Overlord,” Simon pointed out, as he sensed an opportunity. “I could visit her and secure her assistance.”

“True,” Vouivre confirmed. “Her vassalage would grant us control over the northern sea, blockade the empire’s western coasts, and let us strike Valendre from multiple angles. This would only leave the Berwick Islands as a major source of concern.”

Simon hid his distaste on that front. He knew from experience that Vouivre would eventually take the region by force in cases where Maublanc entered the civil war or committed forces abroad. He had to prevent an attack on the Berwick Islands.

“I am well-acquainted with Anna, Lord Paimon’s daughter,” Simon said. “I believe I might secure their support, or at least their neutrality.”

“Can you?” Casval asked with a skeptical frown. “I thought you had blown her off.”

“I can salvage that,” Simon insisted. “We should at least ensure Anna remains safe and sound when we take Beleth by storm. Lord Paimon will fight us relentlessly should anything happen to her.”

Vouivre stared at him with a hint of confusion. “Why?”

Simon blinked. “Why what?”

“What does harming Lord Paimon’s daughter have to do with losing his allegiance?” Vouivre asked. “Killing his spawn should show him the cost of opposing us.”

Did… did she not see the issue? “Anna is his only daughter,” Simon insisted, “He cares for her.”

“He just has to sire another,” Vouivre replied callously. “As the Commander and Lord of the Berwick Islands, he should have no shortage of mates. Submitting to our overwhelming power should be his most sensible course of action, especially without hope of relief from the mainland.”

She… she didn’t see the problem. Vouivre had so little empathy for others that she didn’t understand that killing someone’s only child would enrage them beyond rational thought; something even Louis would realize. 

Right, these two aren’t humans, Simon reminded himself. They are lizards who kill each other in the nest.

“She is his only daughter and descendant, his legacy… his hoard, in a way,” Simon said, trying to frame the matter in a way a dragon could relate to. “He cares about her more than his life. If we capture or accommodate her, we can pressure him. If she dies, all he will have left is his hatred for those who slew her.”

“What a quaint and counterproductive way of thinking,” Vouivre commented with a snort of absolute contempt. “But if you are right, we should capture her when we take Beleth to ensure her father bends the knee.”

“I will handle the matter personally,” Simon said with a tone that brooked no opposition. “Without your interference.”

“Suit yourself,” Vouivre replied dismissively. Thankfully, she was too apathetic to notice or care for Simon’s personal reasons in keeping Anna safe. “Binding the Two-Tailed Fish and harnessing its power will take a few days, so you have some time to settle your affairs before we begin building our army. My brother will help you with that.”

And he will report anything I do to you, Simon guessed. At least Vouivre was refreshingly direct about her intentions compared to the Cobweb. “And what will you do with this sunken capital?”

“I have no use for it now that we have excavated the crystal,” Vouivre replied dismissively. “I will loan—” She insisted on the word ”—you its facilities as a token of my appreciation after moving my troops elsewhere. You may make use of them as you see fit.”

“How magnanimous of you, to lend me the ruins after you have emptied them of their valuables,” Simon deadpanned. 

“I know,” Vouivre replied, completely missing the sarcasm. She soon transformed back into her dragon form and departed without another word with her crystal in hand. Dragons might be ageless, but not patient.

“I am glad we can be friends,” Casval said almost cheerfully. “I hoped I wouldn’t have to eat you when we first met.”

“Me too, Casval,” Simon replied, “Because I put friends above even family.”

Casval stared at him strangely for a while, but Simon let him stew on that lie for a time. He recalled how the dragon had not so subtly suggested they use the miasma crystal for themselves against his sister in a past reign. The seed of rebellion burgeoned in his heart. 

Vouivre had entrusted her mistreated brother with the task of keeping an eye on Simon, without realizing her abuse had created the same kind of resentment she hoped to exploit among Endymion’s vassals, or she thought the threat of her strength would cause him to behave. Simon would exploit her misplaced confidence in time. 

Either way, the alliance with Vouivre had gone better than anticipated, and staying in Beleth didn’t make much sense for Simon anymore. Besides the fact that he had blown off everyone at the Academy, he would need to focus on conquering Telluria, bringing Bujan into the fold, dealing with the Cobweb, and learning Vouivre’s secrets so as to better destroy her later. He couldn’t risk having Thalas stalk him at a critical time, nor waste time on civilian life. Still, he would need to revisit the city at some point to settle his affairs, ensure Anna and Tiella’s safety, and recover Belzemine once she returned from the capital.

All in due time.

“I am going to draw a line in the sand,” Simon warned his retainers through telepathy once he walked back outside. “I will soon depart Beleth for good to concentrate on my Tellurian campaign. Although I will eventually retake the Crimson Throne, those who stand by my side may soon be branded traitors to the usurpers in Marthrone. This may come at a cost.”

While the likes of Duchar or Pallian couldn’t care less, both Leonard and Meredith exchanged a worried glance. They were the ones with the most to lose, having families integrated into the imperial power structure or vulnerable should their allegiances become public knowledge. 

“If you stand with me, I promise that I will do everything in my power to ensure your families and loved ones stay safe,” Simon informed them, “but if my word is not enough, then I will allow you to depart. The brands you bear will ensure your secrecy.” 

“If I may ask, Your Majesty,” Leonard replied, “What you said about Prince Louis and the coming disaster–”

“It is all true. My brother slew my father in his own bed, and a second Doom will soon tear our world apart.” Including Leonard’s home of Uyo, if they failed to locate and defeat the Archer in time. “As much as I dislike it, working with Gargauth’s heirs is the most promising option to at least ensure part of our empire survives the disaster. Think on it.”

Unease and confusion settled on Leonard’s and Meredith’s faces as they pondered his words, while Duchar simply stroked his beard thoughtfully. 

“Is something the matter?” Casval inquired. “Why is nobody talking?”

“I am considering how to proceed,” Simon replied, which wasn’t entirely false as he focused his attention on Pallian, “You have served me well, and freedom is within your grasp. Are you certain you wish to serve me further? The path ahead leads to your people’s enslavement.”

“And a bitter irony it shall be,” Pallian replied with outright relish. The mere thought of avenging himself on his tribe left him foaming at the mouth with anticipation. “You have been kind to me, Master, granting me power, magic, and revenge. My loyalty is yours.” 

Very well. The die was cast then.

“Let us go, Casval,” Simon decided, “To recruit our chorus.”

—--

As befitting an army that received most of its funds from the slave trade, Vouivre’s troops could organize a slave raid in record time and with military precision.

The general in charge of these operations was, ironically enough, the very same marilith Dassein had once sent Simon to hunt for a bounty: Echidna Redhand, a six-armed lamia matriarch and leader of the eponymous scalefolk tribe. She very much resembled a crimson serpent with the torso of a fierce, six-armed woman with a wild mane of blonde hair, reddish skin, and pupilless, bloodshot eyes. Mariliths and the equally dangerous gorgons were apparently a throwback to the original form of lamias before they evolved to become more appealing to humanoids, and it showed. 

Pallian’s tribe had had the misfortune of being both nocturnal and less than half a day’s flight away from the sunken kish capital, with Pallian gleefully telling the scalefolk which caves his people lived in, then using a kish song to lull them all into a deep slumber. Three hundred shifters woke up collared and chained by nightfall. 

Simon was thankful Eole wasn’t present to see this. He tried to tell himself the shifters enslaved each other all the time, that this was a necessary step to ensure Vouivre could never do such things again in the future, but it still felt bitter; doubly so when the first new shifter slave thrown at his feet was a petite woman with pale blonde hair and batlike wings merged with her arms. She couldn’t be older than eighteen, and stared at him without a word and a kind of resigned acceptance in her reddish eyes that unsettled Simon… like she had prepared all of her life for this moment. 

“What’s the meaning of this?” Simon asked the scalefolk. 

“I’m told this is the chieftain’s daughter,” Redhand replied without any emotion. 

“So what?” Simon dared to ask, a sick feeling sinking in his gut.  

“When a shifter conquers another’s tribe, Master, it is customary for the winner to take one of the chief’s relatives as a bedwarmer to show dominance,” Pallian explained. “Usually a mate or child.”

Simon suppressed a scowl of disgust. “That won’t be necessary. You can leave her with the others.”

“Why?” Casval asked, sounding genuinely puzzled. “A princess would be a valuable trophy for your hoard and would help you attract a valuable mate during breeding season. My sister collects them like coins.”

Simon struggled to hide his distaste. “Your sister keeps a harem of shifter slaves?”

“No, no, she does not bed them, she keeps them in her larder for emergencies.” The fact that Casval said those words with the same emotion as a man discussing the weather was perhaps the scariest thing about him. “I suppose she will parade them around during mating season. Is that not how it works for you humans?”

“No, not at all,” Simon replied, squinting. “How do you… how do dragons reproduce? I thought you were solitary creatures.”

“That is usually true, but we gather every so often to breed,” Casval explained with his usual enthusiasm. “When we do, we establish hierarchy by the size and quality of our hoards. The more resources we have, the more we are respected and the greater our chances to find a well-bred mate.” 

“So the richer dragon attracts more mates?” 

“Yes, like humans.”

“That’s… more complicated than that,” Simon argued. 

“True, I recall that you allow the poor to breed with the rich sometimes. It destroys social cohesion if you ask me.” There was not-so-small hint of condescension in the dragon’s voice. “Anyway, the more precious metals, territory, slaves, and minions you have, the pickier you can be when it comes to your mate. Noble-born captives like princesses are especially prestigious. The more others want to take from your hoard, the more valuable it is.”

In short, a dragon’s love life was built on racketeering. 

“I see,” Simon decided before focusing on his new acquisition. “What’s your name, girl?”

“Persephone,” she replied with the enthusiasm of a pig waiting for the slaughterhouse to open. 

“Would you prefer to be in my bed, or my larder?”

A dreadful silence followed his declaration, with Meredith and Leonard biting their tongues while Persephone looked horrified. Even Duchar stared at him strangely.

“I was jesting,” Simon insisted, but only Casval laughed. This will be a rough week… “I have no need for concubines, but I will keep you as a retainer. Serve me well, and your people will survive, even thrive.”

The bat shifter didn’t particularly look relieved, but she seemed wise enough to see the writing on the wall. Her new tribe’s master was less cruel and callous than the scalefolk, so she might as well serve the lesser evil.

Either way, Simon’s plan was simple enough: apply the Devil Brands to the entire tribe, turn them into false kish, and then ‘recruit’ every tribe on his way back to Beleth. He would then relocate to the sunken kish capital after settling his affairs. 

The kish palace’s miasma could sustain demons, especially if he moved in his own miasma crystal where the Two-Tailed Fish used to be. He could refurbish it into a Dungeon easily enough and practice his magic there, away from prying eyes. 

“By the way, your joke wasn’t funny,” Casval admitted. “I laughed because you are my friend.”

“I know, Casval,” Simon replied with a sigh. “I know…”

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A/N: wrote this between TPR game reunions so a bit shorter than usual, but I have to say... this arc is starting to wake that black comedy itch I've had during Mask of the Jester King. Expect some moments of very dark humor.