Hoard

He very nearly let her get away with it.

It was the posture and bearing; Kaln would have more instinctively controlled himself if confronted by a rampaging monster, but in that moment Emeralaphine was a stern, disappointed librarian—a kind of being with which he was well familiar, and to which he had a deeply-ingrained instinctive response. All that on top of her natural charisma—for despite her awkward failure to control her own expression, her long years of social deprivation hadn’t diminished the pride and self-certainty which gave her that regal bearing. Being impossibly gorgeous didn’t hurt, either.

Well-trained instinct reared up and Kaln almost succumbed, almost cringed and stammered and tried to justify himself. Fortunately, he recognized that reaction in time to control it before it controlled him.

Instead, he remembered his mission—that this conversation was about more than learning the ins and outs of godhood, but beginning to establish a relationship with her. The right kind of relationship, specifically. He remembered Izayaroa’s advice, Haktria’s lessons. What he truly needed here.

Seduction. Dominance.

“What did I do?” These realizations and near-misstep flashed through his awareness in an instant, and Kaln shifted to face her directly in a carefully controlled motion. He made his voice and his expression calm, wry, and generally unlike his actual feelings in that moment. “I had a transcendent experience which, by your description, was apparently unique and impossible to prepare for. I did what was necessary to ensure my survival and success.” He paused, deliberately, and put on a slight smirk. “And then I was attacked by the most powerful dragon to live on this continent in the last thousand years, and turned him into a fart on the breeze.”

“All right, husband, no need to grandstand.” Already, her entire demeanor was noticeably milder; she even smiled slightly. “I was there, after all; I’m not likely to undervalue your accomplishment. Naturally to have achieved such a thing as an inexperienced mortal must have involved some…compromise. We must simply deal with the situation in which we find ourselves. Tell me, then: to what gods have you already made yourself known?”

It was gracefully done, but there was no denying that she had backed down. In a way that allowed her to maintain her pride, of course, and Kaln was not about to deny her that. Emeralaphine was prickly enough already; he didn’t really want to learn what she was like when she felt slighted.

“There were…four, first,” he said slowly, frowning as he cast his mind back. “I stumbled into them completely by accident. The…process…caused my consciousness to expand beyond my… Well, I could feel myself sort of coming unglued. Dissipating, like ink in water.”

“Psychomagical ascension without pre-arranged safeguard,” she said immediately, nodding. “Then you have some perspective on why few try this and fewer still succeed, or even survive. It takes a rare consciousness indeed to go through such a thing and emerge intact. You said there were four?”

“Yes, they were just there as soon as I became aware of them. It was sort of like I was swimming in them; I didn’t so much encounter them as suddenly realize they were all around me. It’s…hard, in retrospect, to put any order to the memories. Like the difference between a written description and an actual event. I do specifically recall the presence of four very distinct personalities in all that power.”

“That sounds like the local pantheon,” she said, nodding with her eyes narrowed in a pensive expression. “Very well, husband, perhaps I was too swift to cast blame; it’s unlikely you could have undergone apotheosis within their domain and evaded their notice.”

“There are only four local gods?”

“Oh, there are countless little ones here and there, but only four who still hold widespread sway throughout the Evervales. The Valereld Empire had a sizable pantheon—larger than Rhivaak’s, in fact. But it’s as I was just telling you, husband: some gods can find themselves forcibly diminished by the culling of their flock. The fall of the empire and subsequent reign of Atraximos caused a lessening of the population, and an overall change in outlook. The local faiths which embody the kinds of virtues most useful to a people living under the constant threat of dragon attack flourished, while others faded, and their associated gods met similar fates. What was the nature of your interactions with them, specifically?”

He was brimming with questions, but the historical details could wait. She was right, this was the moment to iron out the immediate practicalities.

“They were mostly disinterested,” he said, still frowning as he worked to recall. “I remember…appealing to them for help. They refused without even acknowledging me…mostly. One of them addressed me directly, though.”

“Oh?” Her gaze sharpened into a suggestion of alarm.

“Not that that one helped either,” Kaln said sourly, “just told me they didn’t want to get involved, but he hoped I succeeded. Then they all kind of…pulled back, so I couldn’t sense them directly anymore.”

“That sounds like the Jongleur,” Emeralaphine murmured. “The worst of the lot in terms of whose attention you could draw… Oh, he’s not malicious per se, but trickster gods are always trouble. Often more so if they like you than otherwise. We may have…issues with that. Altogether, though, the situation doesn’t seem unsalvageable.”

“What might they do? I mean, if these gods were inclined to intervene here, it seems like they’d have done so during the six hundred years Atraximos was rampaging around pillaging and burning.”

“You are not Atraximos,” she said pointedly. “Bear in mind, husband, that your unique power is currently strongest against dragons. Gods are an entirely other matter; no godling is a match for any god. You are not without a point, however. We are still here, and that will likely stay their hand in terms of direct intervention. A dragon is something even a god dare not take lightly, and six dragons should be more than sufficient to dissuade encroachment by four gods who have spent centuries learning to step carefully around us.”

“You don’t think the fall of Atraximos will embolden them?”

“It absolutely will, when they learn of it, but only by a matter of degree.” She smirked unpleasantly. “The people of these kingdoms are shaped by generations of caution, and while that has become their attitude toward life in general, they are keenly aware that we are the ultimate cause. Yes, the people and the gods of the Evervales will begin exploring this new dynamic, but they will do so with such hesitance that a few sharp rebukes will suffice to dissuade them.”

Kaln allowed his frown to deepen. “I’m not sure that’s something you should speak of with such…satisfaction. The damage you’ve caused to these civilizations is incalculable.”

That was a mistake, he knew it the instant he’d spoken. Emeralaphine’s expression closed down, and then a sneer curled her well-sculpted lips.

“You are young, husband, for which allowances must be made. I advise you to work on moving beyond these mortal sympathies. They will not serve you well henceforth. So, that was four. You said fourteen?”

“Right.” He was glad enough of the opportunity to change the subject—not because he was wrong, but because there was no way to win that argument, not with her. “Well, in my…beleaguered state, I did the only thing I could think of, and tried to return home.”

“Ah,” she said, nodding. “The Nine.”

Kaln nodded back. “They wanted nothing to do with me, either. Forcibly pushed my consciousness out of their territory and told me to sod off. I’m not even sure which one was speaking, they sort of… Well, they’re good at presenting a united front.”

“That is actually ideal,” she said, “despite how it probably seemed at the time. You were never going to escape the Nine’s notice in the long term, given your entanglement with Izayaroa. This way, you haven’t placed yourself in their power.”

Entanglement sure was a choice of word. “They keep tabs on her?”

“Of course they do, husband. I should think you would know that better than anyone.”

“Believe it or not, court scribes aren’t generally privy to details of the personal relationships between our immortal Empress and the gods of our pantheon.”

“Regardless,” Emeralaphine continued with a flick of her claws, “this is an old and unsurprising state of affairs. I don’t love the Rhiva pantheon taking even a tangental interest in my business, but I’ve learned to live with it, chiefly because they have had better sense thus far than to stick their little divine fingers where they don’t belong. I would expect them to adopt a conservative position, husband. You should be careful not to intrude upon their domain; so long as you don’t, they will likely stay out of ours.”

He couldn’t deny a slight pang at the thought, but answered her with a resolute nod. “It’s not as if I have anything to go back to, anyway. Except a prison cell.”

Emeralaphine quirked an eyebrow, and he just barely managed not to wince. Was that revealing too much? She didn’t pursue it, however.

“They might find it unexpectedly difficult to put you in one, now, and that would lead to a spiral of ever-greater complications. Best altogether that we avoid the issue. Very well, that makes thirteen. I suppose you have saved the worst for last?”

“Worst, or maybe best,” he replied. “It was the last one who saved me. Reached out, gave me a helping hand… And a bit of a push, there at the end. I was right on the edge of completely disintegrating and she eased me back into…well, myself.”

“Worst,” Emeralaphine said grimly, her tail beginning to lash behind her. “That is a debt, husband, and such things have weight among entities that are more concept than matter. A god who has some claim on you is very nearly as bad as one determined to remove you from competition.”

“I’m not sure about that. Our interaction… That is, that form of communication is extremely…well, intimate. It was beyond even telepathy. It was like we were…immersed in each other. She made her intentions very clear; she wanted to help, out of compassion.”

“Ar-Kaln, there are many reasons people help one another, and compassion is indeed one. I dearly hope you are not so naive as to assume it is the only or even the primary one, however. Or are you somehow under the impression it cannot be faked?”

Kaln let his own expression fall into a frown. “I am deeply, personally aware of that, I assure you. In fact, she did ask a favor of me in return for her aid.”

Emeralaphine threw her head back in exasperation, raising both her claws as if she could grasp patience out of the air. “And somehow that was not the first thing you told me?”

“She wanted me to pay it forward,” he explained, holding on to his own calm. It was a well-practiced measure; Emeralaphine was not even close to the most frustrating person with whom he’d had to deal. “She asked me to…what was it… To remember what I owed to the kindness of strangers, and help others find safe paths to shelter.”

“Hm.” The dragon narrowed her eyes pensively. “We need to figure out exactly who this was. You said she, you are certain of that much?”

“Yes. It was… She had a distinctly feminine presence. To be honest, I can’t even articulate what that means, but I was certain of it at the time.”

“That much isn’t surprising. Gods don’t have a physical sex—or rather, they can have any configuration of one they choose when they bother to incarnate—and gender is mostly a mental construct built around an individual’s understanding of social roles. At that level of communication, that would be one of the clearest details she projected, without even trying. What else?”

“She sent me what I interpreted as an introduction,” he said slowly, letting his eyes drift away from her face as he focused back into memory. “It was just…imagery. Sunrises and sunsets, the desert, a fox—”

“Ah!” Emeralaphine’s focused expression resolved into triumph. “That would be Hii-Amat. Good, good, I was concerned some deity with an agenda had been prowling and pounced on an opportunity. But her domain is just…right over there.” She waved vaguely at the mountains towering over them; if Kaln wasn’t completely turned around by the passages of the ancient Timekeeper structure, she was indicating the direction from which he’d come, and the wide stretch of desert and savanna separating the Evervales from Rhiva territory. “If she chanced to be close enough to sense a mortal trying to ascend, it would be entirely in character for her to lend a hand. I maintain that this is a tie, husband, and one which we must seek to resolve as quickly as possible, for it is dangerous beyond description for any god to have a claim over you. This should be easily done, however. Hii-Amat is an ethnic patron deity; she only concerns herself with the Hiiri. That’s marvelous, for our purposes. Just find one of the tribes and do something nice for them, and you’ll be square.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to expend some of Atraximos’s treasure. Gods know I have no use for most of it…”

“The Hiiri are desert scavengers, husband,” she said condescendingly. “They want water, clothing, and food, not trinkets. But yes, we can undoubtedly come up with something suitable. Actually… This is one area in which the little brat might prove specifically helpful, for once in her life.”

“The little… Ah, yes, that’s your pet name for Vadaralshi.”

She snorted, slapping her tail against the pavement. “It’s been a good few decades, but the drakes used to be fairly sociable with some few select mortals, before their father found out and put a stop to it. I do recall Vadaralshi befriending some Hiiri. It’s probably been multiple generations for them since then, but a friendly dragon is the kind of thing that lingers in a nomadic culture’s collective memory. Unless the girl is somehow even stupider than she acts, she’ll remember how to approach them. Frankly, I don’t believe Vadaralshi is even as stupid as she acts, just because it’s hard to imagine any dragon could be.”

Kaln decided it was time to steer the conversation away from Vadaralshi. “Then, if I understand your explanation, things with regard to the gods are not ideal, but not as bad as they could be?”

“Yes, that sums it up handily. The Nine of Rhivkabat and the local four are likely to stay out of your business provided that you stay out of theirs. The one goddess who has any actual claim on you is an amiable sort, and easily mollified. This is not cause for lax caution, husband, but for now the situation is quite tenable.”

“That’s a relief to hear,” he said, giving him a warm smile he did not feel.

It was the fifteenth god that worried him most—the one who definitely had a claim upon him. Kaln feared he would have to ask her help to deal with that, hers and the others’ besides. But…

It was not only gods he worried about having a hold over him. Even his short acquaintance with the dragons clearly showed they related to each other more like sovereign states than individuals; it was a network of interests and tensions with little intimacy or warmth. And he had to preside over this, somehow. His survival depended on minimizing their power over him.

“It is not urgent, then,” Emeralaphine said, looking somewhat more relaxed now. “Not something we can afford to ignore, but I believe there should be no problem if you prefer to take some time to…settle in. Even a relatively benign deity such as Hii-Amat is best approached only with care and a plan.”

“Might take me more than a day or two to coax some cooperation out of Vadaralshi,” he said gravely.

“In utmost sincerity, husband, I wish you luck with that. The best advice I can give is not to indulge her overmuch with coaxing. Vadaralshi, and indeed all three of them, will need to toe the line. And young or not, they are still dragons; they’ll toe that line when they are made to and not before.”

Kaln tilted his head, studying her face thoughtfully. “Are you not concerned about Pheneraxa, then?”

“My daughter is the most passive homebody of a dragon I’ve ever known,” she said with a sigh. “To the point I am somewhat concerned for her, but…oh, well. If her peculiar personality motivates her to linger around my lair past the age at which a dragon would normally go off on their own, then…at least I know she’s safe. And it is, after all, useful to have a youngling around. That’s why we are seldom in a hurry to chase them from the nest.”

“Useful?” He didn’t bother to disguise the way he perked up. Any tidbit of insight into draconic social relations was not only fascinating to him, but immediately germane to his very survival.

“They do the hunting,” Emeralaphine explained in an offhanded tone. She turned and began to stroll again, and Kaln slid into step alongside her. “Dragons mature at about the same rate as humans, at least to the point of adulthood. Two decades, give or take. They normally linger around their parents’ lairs for a century or so, absorbing knowledge and benefiting from their elders’ protection, before the desire to prove themselves overcomes their youthful uncertainty. That leaves a wide window in which they are more than capable of gathering food, and…whatever other trinkets we might like to collect. I don’t know how much you have bothered to study about the habits of dragons, husband, but if you have noted our tendency to vanish from the historical record for centuries at a time, that is why. So long as we have kids about, we prefer a…relatively passive existence, and the privacy it ensures. Atraximos was very much the exception in this regard. His depredations so overshadowed the relatively minor exploits of his offspring that I don’t think most people in these kingdoms even know their names. All they do outside the lair is snatch up mammoths and aurochs for us.”

“I…see,” Kaln said slowly. Naturally, this explanation brought up a whole host of ancillary questions, nearly all of which were some variant of why? Being well aware of his own natural inclinations, however, he had already resolved to absorb details piecemeal, over time, and not annoy his new family with a barrage of questions if it could be helped. Frustrating as it was, he needed to cultivate a very specific image, here.

If the three youngsters were accustomed to being treated as gofers, there would be some resentment built up. That was a lever he could pull. He needed more detail about the nuances of these relationships before he did so, however. To yank a lever without knowing what else it might be connected to would be foolhardy in the extreme.

“More immediately,” Emeralaphine continued in a brisker tone, “we must make a plan for your development.”

“Ah, yes. You were quite adamant about not studying magic. And your reasoning was most persuasive,” he added soothingly when she shot him a look. “What, then, should I be focusing on?”

“Much as I would like to think myself most qualified to lay out such a program,” she said a bit testily, “there will be unnecessary tension in the household if any one of us presumes too much. Ultimately, husband, it must be you who decides the directions in which you will go. You should expect to be offered three competing agendas for your development.”

“I see,” he repeated, less truthfully this time. “If not magical, then…?”

“It’s as I told you, husband. The specific nature of your continuing apotheosis will be determined by the experiences you have as a godling. Any experience may be relevant, but the more emotionally stimulating, the more powerful. Right now, you are a being of flesh and blood, in the process of morphing into one of concept and power; anything you do may have an effect on your ongoing evolution. And…we are operating on an uncertain timeline. There is no set period this will take, and it undoubtedly depends on the nature of the course you chart. Potentially anything and everything you do from the moment of your first ascension until its conclusion will shape the god you become—as well as the magic you unleash into the world, and the realm you will create.”

“Ahh. And naturally, each of you has certain ideas about what sort of god you’d like to see created.”

“I would like to think all of us are mature enough to reach a compromise,” she said haughtily, lifting her nose. “Ultimately the decisions will be yours, husband. It is probably best not to accept any such advice uncritically, but none of us are fools. It would be unwise in the extreme to disregard the advice of any of your consorts.”

Kaln came to a stop; they had ended up moving barely a few paces, not even reaching the far side of this plaza yet. He reached out to take her hand again, curling his fingers around her cool scales, and Emeralaphine paused as well, turning to face him.

“I would never to anything so unutterably stupid,” he said. Quietly, gazing up at her with a solemn and sincere expression. “Even if it should come to pass that I do not follow your counsel on a given point, my lady wife, you have my word I will consider it with the utmost care—and with gratitude that you would grant me the honor. Never doubt, Emeralaphine, that I appreciate you.”

He lifted her hand again, opening her palm gently to lay a kiss upon it, never breaking eye contact with her. This afforded him the delightful spectacle of a flush spreading from her cheeks all the way along her pointed ears and down her neck; her extremely pale complexion seemed almost transparent.

“I, ah… Yes. Well, clearly. Of course, that is just sense for a man in your position.”

“You could not be more correct,” Kaln agreed warmly, enjoying the way she turned a shade pinker. Oh, this was fun. He’d never flirted with someone so easily riled before. It was absolutely fascinating how someone so ancient and learned could be so defenseless in some specific ways—what a sad dearth of emotional experiences she must have had, over her long centuries.

And more to the point, she was very clearly into it; he just needed to coax her into admitting that to herself.

“So, thanks to Atraximos, it seems that my nascent aspect is focused upon dragons. That’s…rather unusually specific, but it’s hard to find a real objection to it. Do you believe we should lean into that, or attempt to compensate away from it?”

“I understand the process to be purely additive,” she said, once again frowning in an expression of thought. “Unless I am gravely mistaken, it will not be possible to remove traits from your burgeoning aspect. If you wish to mitigate the focus of your aspect upon dragons, the necessary course will be to identify exactly what it enables you to do with dragons, and then…expand it.”

“I see,” he mused, frowning. “Hm. What I can do with dragons…forgive me, but—”

“Yes, so far that appears to be…whatever you might wish,” she said, again studying him narrowly. “You are impervious to any attack from us, able to seize control of anything we have made, and let us not forget your ability to simply snuff a dragon from existence. And if I am not very much mistaken, you seem able to perceive our presence and intent. Husband, I don’t think broadening your aspect beyond dragons will be possible.”

“Oh?”

“Gods are inherently beings of narrow focus; the universe itself seems to abhor omnipotence. Having stumbled onto what may as well be absolute control over dragons… To extend that would mean gaining absolute control over everything. If that were even slightly possible, some god would have done it by now.”

“So…dragons it is, then,” he said slowly. “Forgive me if I presume, but…that seems likely to antagonize any other dragons who learn of it.”

She barked a short, incredulous laugh. “To put it mildly! Yes, husband, that is going to be a problem, and our chief reason to maintain secrecy as long as possible. Dragons are, on average, less circumspect than gods. We will come under attack once more of our kind learn of this—and I cannot even blame them, since what we are attempting to do amounts to creating a sovereign over beings accustomed to thinking of themselves as the uncontested apex of sapient life. One who was not even a dragon to begin with! Oh, yes, there will be violence over this. The six of us, backed by your power, should prevail against most challengers, but…”

“But this will not be easy.”

Emeralaphine nodded. “I daresay this will be every bit as challenging as such an accomplishment deserves.”

“Then it sounds like I had better deepen my affinity with dragons,” he said, an idea dawning. “Right now, thanks to Atraximos, my powers seem mostly geared toward protecting me from dragons. But what if I could, instead of halting or destroying them…empower them?”

Emeralaphine stared at him. Her expression remained frozen, but slowly, her slitted pupils dilated as she absorbed the implications of this idea. Only after a few pensive seconds did she allow the smile to begin curving up her lips.

“Now that…that, husband, is a thought.” Her tail began waving behind her, rhythmically swiping through the dust and fallen leaves scattered on the plaza. “Yes… Yes! Oh, we can do this! And just think what you’ll be able to grant us…”

“By sharing experiences, then?” Kaln said innocently, once again caressing the scaly back of her hand.

She paused, blinked, and her cheeks went bright pink again. “Well, ah, I…yes, that’s true. I, ahem, gather you have already made quite the…head start, thanks to Izayaroa.”

“Hmm, I suppose so,” he murmured, affecting a casual and thoughtful tone. “I think I see a drawback in that approach, however.”

“Oh?”

“After all, it seems so far that what I’ve done is develop an increased affinity with Izayaroa. Unless your aim is to create a new Golden Emperor—which I don’t think she would appreciate either—it seems I had better…diversify my efforts.”

He again raised her claws to his face, gazing up at her through his lashes, and pressed a soft kiss to her palm.

She had gone bright scarlet.

“I…well…I…”

“At no point, Emeralaphine,” Kaln said softly, “ever, will I attempt to impose anything upon you that you do not desire. The dignity of your person is sacrosanct. Tiavathyris has been deliberately expressing receptiveness; I can seek her out next. At worst, you will sacrifice a measure of influence over the development of my godhead, but even if you should decide to eschew our connection entirely, my promise remains unwavering. You shall have an honored place at my side, and I will never mistreat, neglect, or coerce you. No matter how…comparatively slender our connection.”

He did not feel great about manipulating her. Dangling bait she desperately wanted was far more benign than any kind of coercion, but even so, Kaln didn’t think he’d have had the stomach for even that much, were he not sure she was actually receptive. She just had her pride, and a dragon’s sense of the way things should be, standing between her and what they both wanted.

As Haktria had taught him, the two parties in a seduction were not adversaries; the seducer’s task was to position them both as allies in a mutual pursuit, against whatever stood in their way.

“Oh, you do know how to get what you want, don’t you,” Emeralaphine whispered. She pressed her lips together in an expression of annoyance, but Kaln took gleeful note that she was still blushing, and her pupils were wide with interest. “Well, I cannot say you’ve made yourself an imposition so far. Especially compared with my last husband, my he wallow in whichever hell took him. Very well!”

She shrugged, spreading her arms in a gesture of confused pique. “I’ve never… That is, in this form I haven’t bothered to… Well, how does this work?!”

Kaln shifted smoothly forward, sliding an arm around her waist and pulling her against him. The extra foot of height granted by her digitigrade talons made the embrace a bit awkward; he found himself with his chin resting in her abundant cleavage as he gazed up at her, and could only guess how comical it looked from her perspective.

But that was all right; a little absurdity to make himself seem harmless, emphasis on her greater size to reinforce her pride, it would all make her more comfortable as he gently guided her into territory she had never explored.

“Allow me to show you.”