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A Dreamed-Of Peace

Chapter 2

Sponsored by Repanbo

By Draconicon

The journey from the capitol to the Northern Lakes was long and arduous, not least from the company. From the start, Dashid remained as distant from Amari Mokri and the cheetah's token husband as he could, keeping to horseback and declining the offers of riding with them in their carriage. For all their hospitality, he knew their minds, their thoughts of debts and numbers. No, it was better that his family remain slightly apart. Not too far as to insult, but not too close as to give them the idea that the Rashid were taking part in their journey. They were traveling together, not with one another, and such distinctions were important.

At his side, depending on time of day, rode either Shiasu, Tabid, or Wistu. His general, his accountant, and his spymaster took it in shifts to keep him company, and to listen to his thoughts. All were willing to bend their ears to hear what he had to say, and should he wish to keep his thoughts private, they did not push.

At the far edge of the Inner Crescent, the land of the Mokri north of the Imperial Plains, Dashid, his family, and his retainers took their leave of the Mokri caravan. The proper exchanges were made, absolving debt - though with a pained look on Amari's face when she said such - and offering pleasantries for when they met again. Dashid shook his head as he spoke the words; he never pretended to believe that they meant anything.

As they parted, Shiasu, his son of gold and copper, rode up to him. The other dragon watched the departing felines and horses, shaking his head.

"They are going to be a problem, aren't they?" he muttered.

"Only if we make them so," Dashid said, shaking his head. "Come."

"It might be an idea to begin plans to fortify the border. Just in case."

"If there is conflict to be found, son, you will surely find it there."

"The Emperor is dead, father. Our standing with the throne will surely suffer. We have already been banished to the north, merely for who we are. Must we risk further punishment?"

"We are part of the Empire, my son. There is no reason to believe that the Mokri will risk their own standing to bring us down. We have little that they can profit off of. Remember what I've taught you, Shiasu."

His son nodded, though stiffly. Shiasu remained at his side in silence, and Dashid closed his eyes, allowing his horse to find the path before him as they traveled further north. The mountains loomed in the distance, and he knew that they would drain their strength to cross them. The great peaks that split the continent in half were barriers that were not easily crossed, even now, centuries after they were tamed by his family in their journey north.

But they were a barrier worth having.

My son, my general, he thought, shaking his head as he imagined Shiasu staring over his shoulder at the lands of the Mokri. The future is clouded, but war would clear it. Your eagerness to prove yourself will be your undoing. This, I foreseen.

The ancient eastern dragon sighed as he allowed the horse to lead him forward, his mount knowing the path. It would be his horse's last trip along this road, he feared; it was an aging beast, and he doubted that it could manage it next year.

Yet, in the dark-mind, the feeling remained that they would not be making this trip again for some years. Perhaps not in his lifetime, even.

I am old. That may merely mean my death, rather than the death of the Empire.

Yet, for all of his disdain for emotional displays, the great Dashid felt a tremor of fear in his heart as he thought of the death of the Empire.

He forced his hand to slowness as it reached for his pocket, sliding inside and tapping his fingers against the ring that rested within. The Ring of Swiftness, one of the seven Rings of State, and the one that had been entrusted to his family at the death of the Emperor. He stroked his finger along the outside of the band, feeling the faint patterns that were all but invisible to the naked eye.

To wear this ring was to embrace swiftness, and all that it was. To leap at speed from point to point, to maneuver faster than any army, to think at speeds unknown to the greatest tacticians. It was a ring of power, and a ring of pain.

The young fool, he thought, remembering the Emperor once more, the faint eyes of Hulro Jadar IV. The zebra had been in and out of the world, living within his own skull half the time, and spending the rest of the time barely speaking to those around him. There were those that blamed a madness that occasionally showed itself in the Jadar line, but those of the Great Families knew the truth.

It lies in my hand, he thought, running his scaly fingers along the band once more. A ring powerful enough to slow the world around you, at the cost of all that you are. You may flee all danger, but with what you leave behind, is that life worth it?

He shook his head, pushing the ring deeper into his pocket and pulling his hand free. He opened his eyes to find Shiasu pulling away from him, his son shaking his head.

"Leaving so soon, Commander-General?" he asked.

"It is Tabid's time. I will return tomorrow morning, father."

"Perhaps you will see what I see by then, son." Dashid smiled. "Think on it tonight. See it from all angles. Release ambition when you look upon the world, and you will see truth."

Shiasu shook his head, pulling at the leads of his horse. The gold and copper dragon rode away, picking up speed as he wheeled around the rest of the column. Dashid watched his serpentine son disappear into the line of retainers, even as his gold-furred son rode up to him. The stallion, taking much of his mother's looks, slowed and bowed his head at the older dragon's side.

"Good afternoon, father," he said.

"What do you see ahead, Tabid?"

Used to the sudden changes of topics, Tabid merely smiled. The stallion looked forward, silent for two breaths before speaking.

"I see a harvest that will sell well, with the uncertainty created by the assassination, followed by expenditures that will come from the tribals on our eastern border testing us. We will gain, lose, and perhaps gain again, depending on the opportunities that come from conflict," the horse said.

"And beyond the ledger?" Dashid asked.

"There is little I can see beyond the ledger, father. Such is not my vision."

"If you wish any place in the Northern Lakes after my death, you should find more to see than numbers."

"Numbers are what the Mokri see, father. What I see is opportunity."

He shook his head. Tabid was, as ever, competent and respectful, but he was also focused on his realm of authority, and no further. The accountant of the family, and a good one at that, but without reaching further, Dashid doubted that his son would become anything great.

They rode in silence, approaching the mountain range. The peaks soared overhead, and from experience, Dashid knew that they had several days of travel before they would reach the summits. It would stress the horses and likely their riders, but it was the only road over for miles around. Past that, it would require mountain climbing expertise to scale the peaks, and without greater equipment than they had, the mountains would defeat them, forcing them to leave most of their supplies behind.

Dashid called a halt when they reached the road at the base of the mountain, holding up a hand. Tabid whistled to send the halt further down the line, and the whistle was taken up by a rider yet further back. In short order, the whole line was halted.

Shiasu and Wistu came forward, dragon and dragoness joining their father. The last of his children, Wistu was blue-scaled rather than gold, and she rode with her head covered in a black cloth. Only her eyes peered free, and only the tips of her claws could be seen from her sleeves as she came to a stop just ahead of him.

"What do you see, father?" Wistu asked.

"Nothing..."

"An ambush?" Shiasu asked.

"Possibly. There is nothing to be seen, when there should be much."

"I'll deploy the men."

"Do so, and send Trasis with them."

Shiasu groaned, as well Dashid expected him to. If he had to deal with the cranky strategist as well, then he might have done the same. However, it was necessary. The men needed an officer among them, and Shiasu was too great a prize for potential kidnappers to ignore.

"And if you find anyone, save one for Wistu. That should be sufficient, yes, daughter?" he asked.

"Three would be preferable. One for a full example, and two survivors to compete for 'freedom'," she said.

"See to it, Shiasu."

"Yes, father," the gold and copper dragon muttered, twisting around. "Trasis! Someone wake the kobold up!"

As the Commander-General rode down the line, Dashid looked at the winding trail that led up the mountain, crisscrossing between rocky paths and forest trails, over a small waterway that ran down the side of the mountain before curling around and taking a different path. The boulders on the high peaks were well-entrenched, a danger no longer, but there were still potential places for one to lay an ambush, places where the enemies of his family might lie in wait.

He rested his hands on the pommel of his saddle, leaning forward as he stretched out his tail behind him. A part of him wished to follow the soldiers, to see what there was to see, but he restrained himself. He was old, now, old enough to make movement difficult and fighting less enjoyable. Perhaps, if he were a few decades younger. He chuckled. But if that were the case, he would have other problems.

In short order, Shiasu rousted a dozen men and the strategist to lead them. A slender, slightly droopy kobold walked with the young men, leaning on a staff and shaking his head. A few scales fell off as he marched forward, and the kobold grumbled as he glanced up, his eyes slightly unfocused for a moment before fixing on Dashid.

"You wake me up for this?"

"Consider it earning your keep, little one."

"I earn it daily! I chased off the rats from the cheese! I forced the surrender of the servants from the wine bottle! And the little urchins from my laundry. Always after my stuff..."

The kobold grunted under his breath, but rather than feel annoyance, Dashid couldn't help but smile slightly. There was something to the mad kobold, something to the way that he could not help but complain. Most would have dismissed him, but Dashid had seen, and so, he allowed Trasis his moments of insanity.

Letting the complaints trail off after a few moments, the serpentine, gold dragon gestured at the cliffs and trail before them.

"What do you see, Trasis?"

The kobold finally stopped grumbling, turning to look at the cliffs. He took his staff in both hands, holding it before him defensively, and stabbed the butt of it into the ground as he growled.

"Ambush. Waiting for us to climb. Two, three rounds up to make us lower our guard. Yes. Wearing orange, I think."

"Why orange?" Shiasu asked.

"Orange is an evil color. Disgusting."

"Anything else?" Dashid asked.

"Yes. Wanting to kill you."

"Well, it certainly wouldn't be the first time. And your proposal for flushing them out, Trasis?" he asked, almost feeling his son fuming behind him. To ask this mad little kobold rather than the Commander-General would grate, he knew, but he also knew better than to avoid using someone with experience. For all his training, Shiasu had too little to predict something like this, and he did not see without ambition or anger. "I am sure you have one."

"Wear green. Counters orange."

"Aside from that?"

"Wait. They'll have to come down; going up exposes them, coming down gives cover. Wait for night, they'll come."

"We're out in the open down here," Shiasu protested. "If we wait, then they'll just slam right into us and keep on going."

"Too small. Can't hide big numbers on those trails," Trasis said.

"We will go with our strategist's suggestion," Dashid said before Shiasu could complain again. "I would see if our strategist is still keen. And if not, we will see them moving if they try and pull out. Set up camp, everyone. And set up my special tent."

Dashid sat in the middle of his special tent with his legs crossed, his long tail pulled around him in a series of ever-reducing coils until the ground could not be seen. With his hands outstretched, each clasping a bowl, he breathed in deep, sucking down the smoke of his herbs. He closed his eyes and breathed deep, holding the smoke in his lungs, and this time, he ascended.

To see in the dark-mind was to see what one had already seen, allowing one to understand it better. To see in the light-mind was to see the world as it was, to be in the moment. To see in the other-mind, however, was to see what could be.

He felt himself rising, his eyes rolling back. Rather than the darkness that they normally saw, however, the great eastern dragon saw light, color, spinning patterns that rolled and twisted and meshed with one another. He gasped for breath for a moment or two, his heart pulsing and pounding in his chest before he got control of it once more. His claws clenched at the bowls in his hands, and he forced himself to keep breathing, to keep focusing on what he needed to do.

See...you must...see...

The visions began to split, becoming more distinct as some color took on form, and some form took on color. He could see the mountains before him and the tent was no more.

Orange blobs began to take form on the mountain, and he could see them in the trees, hiding, pulling on the bows that they carried. One, four, seven, a total of twelve of them, waiting for someone to climb the path to the peaks. There were others, in pairs, waiting further down the path, blobs of orange that were keeping watch on the lower bends. They were waiting to run, and numbered two, four, eight more.

A total of twenty men waiting to ambush his family and retainers. A small ambush, compared to some in the past, but still one that should not be underestimated. Dashid looked forward, seeing up the mountain, allowing time to pass. The white and red of his family marched up the path. Had they simple gone up, what would have happened?

Death, but not to all. Death to Tabid, caught for being at his side, and to Trasis, for sleeping. Shiasu would have escaped, leading the men forward, but at cost to half of them. War would have come, with his furious heir declaring war on the Mokri for allowing such a thing to take place at all.

Had they sent the men up, what would have happened? He was curious. He allowed it to play out, the what-if. The purple blobs of Trasis and the men pushed forward, and under the leadership of the kobold, they would have snuck up on the men in the trees. Casualties, again, with Trasis being injured by a bolt to the leg, and his fate uncertain.

And if they were to come down...

He waited for the surge of orange, but his vision did not continue. Instead, it went cloudy. The great dragon opened his eyes.

"Wistu," he whispered.

"I am here, father," she whispered from the outside of the tent.

"Speak truly."

"I have sought the love of two women and one man in my life. All have been found unworthy," she said, a secret that he had not heard before.

He saw it to be true in his half-gone state, and he nodded to himself.

"Enter."

The blue-scaled dragoness stepped inside, closing the flap of the tent behind her. In black, she was a shadow barely visible to him, and invisible to all others. She knelt, lowering her head.

"What have you seen?"

"Another blade of the Land of Whispers."

"Here?"

"Yes. It is too cloudy to be anything else."

The dragoness was silent, as she always was when he spoke. She looked at him, waiting, likely hoping that he had seen something else.

Yet, he had not. The Land of Whispers blinded all eyes that he knew of, save for their own. All he had was the knowledge that they would be involved if they remained at the base of the mountain. He slowly got to his feet, adjusting his robes with a shaky hand that quickly firmed again.

"What is our plan, father?" she asked.

"We move. Draw them out."

"And how do we do that?"

"By showing them who they want, of course..."

"Bad idea, gonna get shot, gonna get shot," Trasis muttered as the old kobold rested against his back. "Should be down on the ground, in a tent, but noooo, gotta go with the crazy old guy."

Dashid said nothing as he guided his mount to the edge of camp. Shiasu and Tabid had already been informed, and that meant that it was time to get their plan in motion. There was no guarantee that the Land of Whispers were not involved now, that they would not come regardless, but it was better to change a plan that was doomed than it was to hold to it and hope that things would change around it.

The elder dragon reached for the base of his saddle, pulling out an unlit torch. He passed it back to the kobold.

"Light it, old one."

"Watch who you're calling old. You're older than me."

"So say the rumors..."

"Hmmph."

Trasis lit the torch, and light spilled about them, illuminating his white and red robe. The dragon held the torch aloft, swinging it from side to side. Up the mountain, he saw the light reflect off of angry eyes, and he knew that he had their attention.

"Seek ye Great Dashid, of the Radid? I am he, so come for me!"

His voice echoed as it once had in his youth as he cried out upon the mountain. The raiders changed course, rushing down the rocks, coming off the path and chasing after him. The rest of the retainers were coming to life, woken already by his children, but this was his distraction. Dashid swung the torch back and forth twice more before pulling on the reins of his horse, twisting it to the side and leading the bandits on a merry chase.

He kept to the base of the mountain, keeping rocks over his head as an overhang to discourage their arrows. More than once, the kobold strategist on his back hugged his belly, barely holding on.

"Bad idea, bad idea!" Trasis hissed again.

"Keep your eyes open. Anything?"

"Maybe. Something. Flickers to the right."

The mountain at their left, flickers on their right in the dark. He took a deep breath. This was going to be interesting.

"Tell me if he gets closer," Dashid said.

"What are you doing?"

"I am going to see..."

And the elder dragon closed his eyes, descending into the dark-mind.

Memory and instinct blended together, his old times at the base of this mountain, his many times crossing it held in perfect clarity in his mind. Without looking, he guided his horse to and fro, avoiding the whistling of the arrows, seeing them coming without having to see them personally. He heard the sound of footsteps, the cries of the pursuers. He heard the clatter of boots on rocks.

And then, he wrestled the horse around. Now, the mountain was on the right, and the plains were on the left, and his tail danced. The long, slender length darted to his waist, grabbing hold of a dagger before flicking up and over. The blade was still airborne when he flicked another one, and another. By the time he went for his fourth, the first blade had hit its target, the archer falling over, gripping a bleeding throat.

They gave too many signals for the dark-mind to ignore, but it left the light-mind blind. That was why Trasis was there. That was why -

"Down!"

'Down,' in this case, was not merely ducking. 'Down' was falling off the horse. The golden dragon fell and the kobold fell with him. Old Trasis swung his staff down, backflipping with it, and as Dashid lifted his head, he saw it.

The assassin of the Land of Whispers was already in the process of standing up from the dead horse. Blood ran down the beast's neck, his mount nearly decapitated. The assassin itself, a stranger in a gray tunic that ran down to its thighs and bandaged arms, looked at him. Its face was covered, with only slight tears in the gray to allow eyes to see through.

Snikt, snikt. The archers continued to loose their arrows from above, but where he had been rather than he was. The assassin looked up and seemed to shimmer. There were multiple of him, and then there was one again, with arrows all about his feet.

Dashid grunted, struggling to pull himself to his feet again. The gold dragon felt the weight of more daggers at his waist, but he knew the legends. No one could out-fight an assassin of the Land of Whispers. They were faster than darkness fleeing the light, and died harder than the beach against the rushing tides. To fight would serve no purpose.

Trasis hissed, pulling on his robe, but Dashid shook his head. He slowly pushed the kobold behind him, standing straight, facing the assassin with his head held up. The arrows fell about them, but they stood beneath the rocks, the assassin shifting to stand in front of him. No arrows could hit them, not here.

"I am the Great Dashid," the elder dragon said. "If you wish my life, then I cannot stop you."

"..."

"Ah...you haven't come for my life, then," he said. "But then...what? I cannot see..."

The assassin looked him in the eye for a moment, something cloudy, something empty behind those holes in the cloth. Then, as if deciding something, the assassin held out its hand, a scroll clasped between the fingers.

Dashid looked down at the scroll, only to have a dagger follow a second later, the assassin's knife pressed against his throat. He held his head up, not moving it.

"I see. Take the scroll, or die."

The assassin nodded, and Dashid slowly cocked his head to the side.

"This is your first mission."

There was a hint of surprise in the assassin's eyes. It was stilled quickly, but it was still there. The eastern dragon smiled.

"Ah...that is why you do not speak. You haven't killed a person; you haven't stolen a voice."

Trasis hissed at him, pulling at his robe once more, but there was something to the discovery that made Dashid feel almost invincible in that moment. He had discovered something that nobody else had ever known about the Land of Whispers. It was not that they chose not to speak. It was that they could not.

Not without someone else's voice.

The assassin started to pull the scroll away, but he grabbed it, squeezing it. The blade came back to his neck, but Dashid smiled.

"If you do not wish to give your secrets, do not stand before a master of them," he said, leaning in until his neck pressed against the flat of the blade. The side scratched against his neck like a razor, threatening to cut through his scales, but he refused to retreat. "You stand before the Great Dashid. I see, and I see true, little voiceless one. You have offered me something, and I intend to take it...it, and everything else."

The assassin realized what he meant too late. Whatever he might have done came to nothing as Shiasu, Tabid, and Wistu arrived together, driving two swords and a dagger into the assassin's back. They had come to the same decision as he had; there was no point in keeping the assassin alive for study or questions, not when he was that powerful.

"Can't believe that worked," Trasis muttered.

"Nor can I," Shiasu said, sheathing his blade and kicking the dagger from the assassin. "Father, you could have died."

"I saw a path, clouded as it was. Sometimes, one must take risks."

"Yes, but - ugh."

Shiasu shook his head while Wistu knelt at the side of the soundless body. She poked at the arm, and then began the process of unfolding its tunic. Shaking his head, Dashid took command again, ordering the deployment of their men along the path, twenty feet back from bow-range. They would move again in the morning.

As Shiasu left to carry the orders, Trasis went with him. The kobold had been complaining about a lack of sleep for some time, and he was done in for the night. Despite himself, Dashid smiled slightly, watching as the kobold left. The little old man had been surprisingly helpful, if utterly cranky about it all. He would remember that. Loyal servants were always useful.

"Father."

He looked down as Wistu pulled her head back from the assassin's tunic. She shook her head.

"There's not much to be learned from his body. However, he was already nearly dead."

"What do you mean?"

The dragoness pulled the tunic out of the way, and all but the spymaster gasped as she revealed the body. It was scarred from head to waist, the skin ripped, shredded, reddened and darkened. Some were open and oozing, while others were scabbed but green, infected with something worse.

That explains why he didn't react in time, Dashid thought. He didn't have the strength to do it.

He looked down at the scroll in his hand. This assassin had come miles to find him, just to give him this. Near-death, the assassin had handed it over, and then seemed to think better of it when he had made his little discovery.

What did you want to give me? he wondered, looking at the scroll.

"Wistu."

"Yes, father?"

"Check this for poison, or other traps," he said, handing it over. "The paper, the seal, the edges...everything."

"It will be done by morning, father."

The blue dragoness bowed her head, departing. That left him and Tabid under the rocks, and his stallion son looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"What do you think they hoped to gain from this?" Tabid asked. "If the raiders belonged to him, that was shoddy work."

"They didn't belong to him. He just used them as a distraction."

"What do you mean?"

Dashid chuckled, shaking his head.

"As I told you before, my son. You must learn to see more than numbers and opportunities. If you missed this one, then you obviously aren't seeing enough..."

The gold dragon turned from the safety of the rock wall. The archers had been harried away, and it was time to go back to camp. There was much to consider tonight, particularly if Wistu managed to get the scroll safe before morning. If it contained what he thought it did, then there was the possibility of things becoming far more...interesting...than he had ever foreseen.

When they reached their palace on the edge of the great lake, he would have to spend a great deal of time in the divining rooms. There was much to unravel here.

He arrived at his tent to find a lion waiting. Dashid smiled slightly, but had to remind himself that this one was as much an agent of death as he was an agent of pleasure. The eastern dragon looked at him with a slow nod.

"You bring news," Dashid guessed.

"Perhaps," the lion admitted. "I admit, I'm not sure what to say myself of what I have."

"What is it?"

The lion, dressed in dark leather, pulled a scroll out from behind his back. He passed it over, and Dashid unrolled it. As soon as he saw the lettering at the top of the parchment, he cursed under his breath.

"From the shamans, hmm?"

"Yes. They're demanding a chance to speak with you, last I heard," the lion said.

"A fascinating coincidence that I am nearly assassinated and now they want to talk to me."

"Do you want me to have a chat with them first, Lord Dashid?"

"...No," the dragon said after a moment's consideration, rolling the letter back up. "No, I will speak with them upon my return. There will be questions that they'll have to answer, too, and I might as well allow them to think they are ordering my appearance."

The lion nodded, waiting for any further orders. Dashid considered order the lion to his tent; he had his fun with the feline once or twice in the past, and once he returned to the palace, his deal with his wife meant that his fun with others would come to an end until his next journey. It was a temptation, but one that he was forced to forgo.

Waving the feline away, he walked into his tent and removed his robes, lying down afterward. He crossed his arms behind his head, and felt the crackle-crackle of bones and joints complaining.

Age was...very annoying.

The End