An Arsonist and a Necromancer Walk into a Bar

Chapter 32 – Red Dragon, Blue Dragon

It took most of the morning for the authorities to return the city to some semblance of order. Over a dozen city blocks flooded with water that ranged from merely ‘hot’ to boiling. Perhaps a normal city might have handled it better, but Iscrimo was built to combat lava and Horrors, not sudden floods. Despite that, once the problem was found the sewers stopped flooding and they were able to contact the local mages guild to get the rest of the water safely removed.

Apparently what had happened was a near quarter mile of the sewers had been frozen shut seemingly overnight. Despite all this, nobody had any idea how this could have happened. Theories ranged from a freak accident to a new weapon devised by the Horrors to destroy the city.

In other news, Johanna was now grounded.

“I’m going to kill her,” Teresa spat, the woman looking more stressed than Palmira had ever seen her. “I’m going to wrap my hands around her throat and fucking squeeze.”

Palmira nodded along, pissed as well. They’d lost an entire morning because of that elf!

The trial was tomorrow, and they didn’t have enough time to waste!

“Not only does she refuse to help us, she actively sabotages us!” Teresa continued to rant. She stormed down the crowded streets of Iscrimo, Palmira following in her wake. “Why Ósma thought it would be a good idea to bring her along I’ll never know. Goddess, why couldn’t it have been Charles? Who cares if he’s a knight, at least he’s not an elf!”

Well, while the delay was awful, one good thing had come of it. Chiara had found some information over the course of the morning, which gave them a lead that brought them to the edge of Iscrimo.

Specifically, many of her mice had stumbled across foreign dwarves wandering the halls of the l’Insieme, all of them wearing a crest that denoted them as servants of Minister Ticino. And apparently, they’d been there for weeks, if not months now, entreating with servants and nobility alike.

She hadn’t figured out why yet, but that wasn’t important. What was important was that it seemed like a different group was also making their own investigation, or at least might know more than them. And if they could get any information off of them, then maybe this trial wouldn’t be as doomed as they were worried it would be.

Finally the two of them reached the edge of the city, a great cliff which overlooked the mountainside below. Black basalt fences ran along the edge, stopping people from falling off, only occasionally broken up by a path down. And further down the side of the mountain, they could see their destination.

The Pumilios Canton’s Embassy.

The Embassy rose off the edge of the mountainside like a cancerous growth. As a new building, it lacked the wear that much of the inner-city buildings had, and sat isolated from even the hill farms which flowed down the mountainside. It consisted of a great basalt platform surrounded on all sides by honeycombed marble pillars. Dwarves clustered around the bases like well-dressed ants, scurrying quickly to carry out their masters’ orders.

There was just one problem. There was no path down.

And why would there be? The Cantons were ruled by dragons. What need did they have for roads.

Teresa glared down at it, before clasping her hands before her face so tight that her knuckles turned white under the strain. “The Goddess guides,” she repeatedly hissed under her breath. “The Goddess guides, the Goddess guides.”

After an awkward minute of angry praying, Teresa let out a billowing sigh and turned to her. “Well, we aren’t getting there the normal way. How good are you at mountain climbing?”

Palmira, who had lived in a mostly flat city for most of her life, could only shake her head. “I don’t think I could climb down this hill, much less if I’ve got to carry Morte as well.”

“Right, I should have expected as much.” Sighing, the woman turned around, crouching down. “Here, get on my back, I’ll get us both down there safely.”

Palmira hesitated, before awkwardly climbing onto her back. Once she was secure, the Crusader spoke softly, her hands clasped in prayer.

“From Hell did three men rise. One who carried an eye of silver. One who carried a bloody spear. And one who carried a bramble crown. And from the dark depths they did bow to the Goddess and offer such Holy relics in succor. And in answer, the Goddess granted them legs of steel, so they might redeem themselves through a single great leap.”

And Teresa leapt.

Nausea overcame her in an instant, her stomach falling as they suddenly found themselves hundreds of feet in the air, more than high enough to clear even the tallest of Iscrimo’s buildings. They hung in the air for a single, weightless moment.

And then they were falling again.

Palmira wanted to scream even as her voice was caught in her throat, the ground rising to meet them so fast that—!

Teresa hit the ground silently, not even a single speck of dust shifted by her landing. And then, they were in the air again.

Closing her eyes, Palmira decided to focus on just stopping herself from puking over the Crusader’s shoulder. Her grip tightened as her stomach fell and rose and fell—

And then they stopped.

Palmira practically fell off the older woman in her attempt to get off her, the taste of charcoal heavy in her mouth as she stumbled away.

Teresa grabbed her shoulder before she could make a fool of herself, and with another muttered prayer her nausea fell to more manageable levels. With that she was finally able to pay attention to her surroundings, and she blanched at what she saw.

They were surrounded by dwarves, in everything ranging from the ceremonial garb of priests to the ornate robes of northern nobility. And every single one of them was staring at them.

Teresa, with a confidence Palmira only wished she could replicate, ignored the staring and stepped forward. “We come to speak with the Minister,” she called out. “Minister Ticino, I believe? We were told we could find him here.”

There was a short lull—shorter than she expected, really, with an entrance like theirs—before the most priestly looking dwarf stepped forward, his hands wide in greeting and his face muffled behind the bushiest brown beard she’d ever seen. “Of course, visitors! I am Jacobson, son of Jacob! Might I ask your names…?”

“You may,” Teresa nodded sharply. “I am Teresa of Lycree, and this is my companion, Palmira di Firozzi. We’re here on behalf of the Firozzi Adventurer’s Guild as a part of the investigation into the Duke’s death.”

“You are?” both of the dwarf’s bushy eyebrows rose into his hairline. “I was not aware that this city hired foreigners for such important work.”

“We were hired by the defendant, to help clear his name.”

“Were you now? Hm, well, as foreigners ourselves, I suppose it’s not something we should stick our nose into. Please wait here, if you will, while I summon the Minister.”

“That’s it?” Teresa raised an eyebrow. “Just like that? You won’t even need to take our weapons?”

“Oh, no,” the dwarf shook his head. “That would be terribly rude to our lord, to assume that you could kill him with your little sticks. That said, please do not actually try to kill our lord—enough humans have successfully done so over the centuries that we prefer not to encourage it.”

She stared down at him for a moment, before realization came. “Oh,” she blinked. “I always forget you’re ruled by dragons. Very well, I swear upon the Goddess that we will not attempt to kill your lord, so long as he extends the same courtesy to us.”

“Marvelous!” the dwarf clapped his hands. “Well, I have other duties to deal with today, so I’ll leave you in the care of the Minister. May the both of you have a prosperous meeting!”

With that he left the two women alone on the great basalt platform. The noonday sun beat down on them as they waited, Palmira shuffling next to the more experienced adventurer, not entirely sure what they should be doing.

Clearing her throat, she asked, “Um, do you know how they’re going to summon—”

A bell rang from one of the towers. And then another, and another, until a dozen bells were ringing in tandem, bellowing out a deafening song from their steeples.

A moment later a shadow appeared in the sky, giving the two women down below only a brief moment to crane their necks to try and see it.

Then the red dragon descended, the blast of wind from its wings nearly knocking the two of them off their feet. The instant its feet crunched onto the basalt it curled around the entirety of the platform, encircling them with its long and chitinous body. Despite the instinctive terror such a creature incited, Palmira found herself somewhat underwhelmed.

In the end, it paled in comparison to the one from her childhood.

There was a moment of silence, as the two of them locked eyes with the dragon, neither of them speaking. Then, finally breaking the standoff, Teresa stepped forward.

“Minister Ticino, I presume” the Crusader spoke carefully, her hand on the pommel of her sword, but not drawing it. Yet. “I am—”

“I know who you are, human,” his voice was as uncanny as it had been back in the waiting room, the bones in her body rattling with each breath the dragon took. “There are only so many reasons a dragonslayer would step into my abode. I shall grant you a moment to speak your final words, before I silence you forevermore.”

What.

Palmira turned to Teresa with wide eyes. The woman herself winced, muttering to herself, “Shit. I didn’t think he’d know about that.”

“I need not ‘know’ such things,” he growled lowly, the aura of his rage forcing her to turn her attention back to his glowering form. “I can smell his death upon your soul. The Sin you have committed befouls you even now.”

There was a curse beside her, and the sound of a sword being drawn

Teresa narrowed her eyes at the dragon, nostrils flaring in rage. Then she raised her sword, Prima Luca emblazed along its glowing edge, and took a menacing step forward. “Look, Minister, I have been having a bad couple of days. My guildmaster was arrested under false charges, my inn flooded, I’ve had to spend hours at a time around fucking Johanna, and now some bug-faced lizard opens up our first meeting by declaring me a SINNER!?”

“Morte what the fuck do we do?!” Palmira whispered to her staff, eyes darting to look for a place to run away from the brewing fight. Unfortunately, the dragon’s body completely surrounded them, blocking any attempt at running.

Damnit all, this was not what they’d planned!

“My father died that day!” Teresa continued, her voice rising in volume with every word she screamed. “It wasn’t even to the dragon, either! It was to the damned Sultan’s armies not an hour before! And then, while I’m processing the death of my family and the loss of my home, here comes a big, blue, fucking dragon rising out of the sea to finish us off! So I did what I had to, and I drove my father’s sword straight through it’s oversized skull and painted the beach with it’s blood! So you had better take back your words, dragon, lest your blood paint the side of this goddessforsaken volcano!”

The dragon stared down at them for a long moment. Somehow, despite everything Teresa had just shouted at him, there was a strangely contemplative look on his scaly face.

“…A blue dragon, was it?” he hummed, the casual sound still enough to unnerve her. “You, dragonslayer. You said the one you killed was blue? With an oversized head? And it came out of the sea?”

“…Uh, yeah?” Teresa responded, now looking more bemused than furious. “I’ll remember the look of it for the rest of my life. It was a deep blue, the color of the night sky reflected on a still lake. It would have been beautiful, if not for the oversized jaw that made it look supremely stupid.”

Surprisingly, at that, the dragon laughed.

“Stupid, indeed!” he roared to the heavens, the pressure bearing down on them suddenly dissipating. “Ah, my apologies, human. I had assumed you slew a true dragon, not some lesser sea serpent! In fact, I should thank you, yes! The world is better off with one more of those despicable creatures dead.”

Ah. The dragon was racist. Thank the Goddess, they might be getting out of here alive.

“You’re… welcome…?” Teresa responded, the wind having been taken out of her sails. Her sword lowered as she realized there wouldn’t be a fight, and instead turned to Palmira, as though she would somehow know what was going on.

“Of course I am,” his voice, now a touch smug, echoed across the now silent platform. Lowering his head closer to them, he gave them a toothy grin, the slight opening of his mouth causing the temperature around them to rise several degrees. “Now, why did you humans come here again, if not to try and kill me?”

Teresa, who looked one step away from trying to do so anyway, harshly shoved her blade back in its sheath and instead merely glowered at him. “Well, as I was saying before I was interrupted, I am Teresa of Lycree, and this is Palmira di Firozzi. We’re here to discuss the recent death of the Duke of Iscrimo. We learned that you’ve been entreating with the Duke for months before this, and as fellow foreigners we hoped you would share with us any information you might have regarding the event.”

“Ah,” the jovial mood seemed to leave the dragon, and instead he sighed. “Of course you’re here for that.”

“So you do know something?”

“Everyone in this city knows something,” Minister Ticino scoffed. “And similarly, everyone in this city had a reason to want that man dead. Even those who grew fat and rich under his negligence were becoming tired of him. Unless you have something specific to ask, do not waste your breath with such broad questions.”

Teresa scowled, but it was not her but, surprisingly, Morte who spoke up. “What an elegant way of dodging the question. Blaming everyone so you can blame no one? You must be spending too much time around mere mortals to have grown such a shining silver tongue.”

The dragon narrowed his eyes. “Be quiet, staff, lest I use you as a toothpick.”

“Oh come now, Minister, I meant it as a compliment! It’s to your credit, really—most dragons get so used to the intoxicating strength inherent to them that they forget the soft power they could be capable of. It’s why we came to you and not one of the humans, you know? Nothing they could tell us would be as useful as what you could.”

Ticino sniffed, smug. “You speak sense, staff. But you speak silver as well. I am not a rotting elder so lost in his own delusions that he cannot tell when he’s being buttered up—so state your question, before that mouth of yours ruins my good mood.”

Palmira tensed, hands tightening around her staff. She had no idea where he was going with this, but she hoped he knew what he was doing.

Morte’s skull seemed to grin wider. “Who stands to inherit the throne, now that the Duke is dead? And how many servants do you think have been on his payroll?”

The dragon’s eyes narrowed, but he answered regardless. “That would be Ado Visconti, the son of Aventio Visconti’s brother, and cousin to the previous Duke. And as for his servants, while he obviously has some, he has yet to dig his claws that deeply into the city. Like the rest of his pathetic family, he preferred to live out in the countryside, in their sprawling villas.”

“Oh? So he’s as foreign to the city as you or me?”

“Hah! That’s certainly one way of putting it. Indeed, I doubt the human has ever even stepped foot in this city, much less had the prudence to secure it for his arrival.”

“Fascinating.” Despite the fact there was nothing there, it almost seemed like Morte’s empty eye sockets began to glimmer with intrigue. “Do tell me more, everything you could possibly know.”

--

“Do you really think it’s Ado Visconti?” Palmira asked Morte, frowning to herself. They’d spent several hours interrogating the dragon with increasingly less success. By the end, they’d more or less been forced to leave, lest they piss of the dragon enough that he changed his mind about killing them.

Now they were on their way back to the inn, having technically succeeded in their mission. Despite that though, she couldn’t help but doubt. After every moment of struggling to pull even the smallest confession from everyone else they’d talked to so far, that had felt far too easy.

“Oh, no, it’s probably not him,” Morte admitted shamelessly.

Palmira nearly tripped over her own feet, while Teresa’s head snapped towards the staff so fast you could hear it crack. “What!? Then why did you ask him so many questions about him!?”

“Because we don’t know who it is,” Morte continued seriously. “And with only tonight and tomorrow morning until the trial, there’s no way we’re going to figure that out. So, I figured, why bother? Whoever killed the Duke needs a scapegoat—so I say we give them one.”

Palmira stared at her staff, in awe of his audacity. “You plan to scapegoat the new Duke for murdering the previous one?”

“That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard!” Teresa snapped immediately after. “There’s no way anyone else would go along with that!”

“Unless, of course, somebody had spent the last day gathering blackmail material on all the nobles in the l’Insieme. Somebody who then coordinated with one of our friends to find as many people important to tomorrow’s trial to blackmail them into siding against the new Duke.”

“That’s where Anima went this morning,” she whispered, eyes widening. “Are you telling me you set all this up? Why the hell didn’t you tell us sooner!?”

“To keep you genuine, obviously. I had no idea what that dragon was like—hell, I didn’t even know you were a dragonslayer until he threatened to kill you—so I needed to get information without tipping him off. And, unfortunately, I think I did near the end, that scaly bastard. He was far too smug when we left.”

While Teresa took a moment to gather herself, Palmira found herself accepting the idea. “Well, it’s the only idea we’ve got left, so why not? I never liked the Visconti’s anyway.”

“That’s the spirit!”

“We’re so screwed,” Teresa groaned into her hands.