A Bittersweet Change for the Master
How long had it been since Lakia last pondered Dragon Speech?
As the feast entered its final stages, Lakia too prepared at last to take her leave.
That was when it happened.
"Brothers!"
In the midst of the revelry a booming voice rang out and filled the canyon floor.
The eyes of the orcs watching the Reed Wrestling snapped almost as one toward a single point.
Only moments earlier two warriors had been heaving each other aloft in the center of the wrestling ground, testing their strength. Drinks had been circulating, great joints of meat sizzled and dripped fat over the wood fires, and young orcs had darted among the adults, shrieking with delight. Laughter had overflowed, the scent of liquor had drifted on the air, and the drums had never once fallen silent. It had been a peaceful day.
Every one of those sounds ceased in an instant.
Hundreds of orcs slowly turned.
On the broad path near the canyon mouth, treading the red earth, an orc was approaching.
It was the Security Chief, Nadigin.
He walked as he always did, back straight. His stride never wavered. His breathing was not labored. And yet his entire body was drenched in blood.
His black iron plate armor was so soaked in deep crimson that its original color was nearly impossible to make out; dark, clotted gore had dried in every seam of the thick leather. A deep slash from a blade scarred his right shoulder, and a long gash from a spear tip gaped open along his thigh. Blood still seeped slowly from the wounds.
He paid them not the slightest heed.
From the massive greatsword gripped in his right hand, red blood still dripped steadily. With every step, drops from the blade tip left small stains upon the dirt.
Behind him the security force followed at a measured pace. They too bore wounds large and small, yet none was as thoroughly blood-soaked as Nadigin. There was no need to ask who had fought at the very front.
Nadigin halted before the wrestling ground. He drew a single breath, then threw his chest wide and roared in a voice that filled the canyon.
"Brothers!"
That one word alone changed the light in every orc's eyes. Someone set down a cup. Someone rose, leaving the meat still roasting over the fire. The two wrestlers shoved free of each other and turned. Every gaze locked upon the Security Chief.
Nadigin slowly raised the greatsword. On the blade that caught the sunlight, still-wet blood gleamed scarlet. He drew a deep breath. Hot air hissed out between his fangs.
"The debt of grace."
His voice rolled along the canyon walls.
"I have repaid a little of it and returned!"
Grace. That single word held the day they had gained a home. The day they received land where their children would not starve. The day they won earth in which to bury fallen brothers. And the day they had been accepted not as enemies, but as a people.
Nadigin slowly lowered the sword tip.
"Humans came."
His voice was calm; he did not inflate the emotion.
"Daring to! Saying they would catch a dragon."
The faces of the surrounding orcs slowly hardened. Fangs bared. Thick hands closed around axe hafts.
Nadigin continued.
"They brought iron chains. They brought capture frames. They brought knives to strip the scales. They even brought bottles to hold the blood!"
Silence fell for a moment. Only the low breathing of the orcs remained.
Nadigin slung the sword across his shoulder and spoke one last time.
"So."
He slowly surveyed the canyon — the wrestling ground, the wood fires, the children who had been laughing and chattering, and the dragons soaring at their leisure above the cliffs. After taking every part of that scene into his eyes, he lifted the corner of his mouth the barest fraction.
"I did not send a single one of them back!"
In that instant hundreds of orcs raised their weapons as one. Axes pointed skyward. Maces flashed upward. Spear tips caught the sun and flared. Then—
Boom!
Hundreds of weapons struck the earth together. The entire canyon shuddered.
"Ooooooooh!!"
The roar exploded. Someone pounded a fist against his own chest. Someone shouted Nadigin's name. Old orcs rose from their places and laughed with fangs fully bared. Young orcs, not yet understanding everything that had happened, still flung both hands high and screamed simply because their brothers were cheering.
It was an orcish cheer woven of relief at having protected their home, pride at having repaid even a fraction of the grace they had received, and the vow to defend this land to the very end.
"…Ah. Lakia. Are you all—"
Kanefisara never finished the sentence. He was looking at her, cup still in hand. Only moments earlier he had been worried for her. Even if she had grown to hate humans, he had been certain she would never smile at the sight of orcs returning soaked in blood. At the very least she would sigh. Or she would gently chide them for killing too many. Or, failing that, she would fall silent for a space and then quietly instruct them to take prisoners next time. That was the Lakia he knew.
She had seen oceans of blood on battlefields. Yet she had never been one to praise the act of killing first. Even when the empire fell, she had sought the living before the victory. So Kanefisara had not doubted. This time would be the same.
"…"
Lakia said nothing. Her eyes rested on Nadigin — the armor caked in blood, the greatsword dark and wet, the wounds of the security force, and the carts drawn up behind them: iron chains, massive capture frames, knives forged to strip scales, saws for severing horns, glass bottles. Her gaze moved across them one by one, so slowly that she seemed to be verifying each item in turn.
Kanefisara watched her profile in silence. Her expression was unreadable. Lips set, eyes unwavering. Even the festival orcs gradually quieted. The cheers that had shaken the canyon only moments before had already faded, and Nadigin himself stood motionless with his greatsword lowered. He too was waiting — waiting to learn whether he had done well or done ill. That judgment belonged solely to the Mother of Dragons.
A moment later the corner of Lakia's mouth moved the slightest degree. At first it was truly minute. Kanefisara took it for a bitter smile, a hollow, resigned curve of the lips that said there had been no other choice.
But then—
"…Pfft."
A tiny laugh escaped. Kanefisara blinked. Lakia covered her mouth with one hand. Her shoulders trembled just a fraction.
"…Ha."
Another breath of laughter slipped free. Then—
"Haha…"
The laughter grew. For an instant she seemed to try to hold it back, biting her lip and bowing her head, yet it would not stop.
"Hahaha…"
Her shoulders shook hard. Silver hair spilled forward. She kept laughing with one hand pressed to her forehead. Kanefisara's eyes slowly widened.
…Surely not.
The thought had not even finished when—
"Ahahahahaha!"
Lakia's laughter rang out across the canyon. It was a laugh that only someone truly, purely delighted could make — loud enough to steal the breath, free enough to clutch the belly, as though centuries of stifled frustration had burst free all at once. She wiped tears from the corners of her eyes with the back of her hand and still could not stop.
"Hahaha… No…"
She barely managed to catch her breath, and every inhale only set her laughing again.
"A dragon…"
She laughed once more.
"Heh. Saying they would catch a dragon…"
Laughter erupted again.
"Those things…"
She pointed at the blood-soaked greatsword in Nadigin's hand.
"You killed them all by yourself?"
Nadigin did not so much as flinch.
"Yes."
The short answer set her laughing harder still.
"Ahahahaha!"
This time she doubled over at the waist, one hand clutching her stomach, the other braced on her knee, laughing for a long while. The orcs watching only glanced at one another. The security force looked equally bewildered. Even Nadigin, who until moments before had stood rigid with tension, blinked several times.
Kanefisara could find no words. For hundreds of years he had watched over Lakia. They had endured war side by side. He had seen her weep, seen her rage, seen her resign herself, seen her gaze quietly at nothing but the sky. But pure, unguarded joy like this — it had been a very long time. Perhaps it was the first time.
At last Lakia mastered her breath and walked up to Nadigin. She tapped the blood-drenched armor lightly with the back of her hand. A smile still lingered on her lips.
"Well done."
There was not a shred of hesitation in the words. They were utterly sincere.
Kanefisara quietly looked down into his cup. The wine within trembled finely. With a small sigh he smiled faintly.
"…Truly."
A low murmur slipped between his lips.
"You have changed a great deal."
The empire had never broken Lakia. Instead it had altered, from the deepest roots, the way she looked upon the world.
"Really."
Lakia slowly quieted her laughter and spoke. Traces of the smile still clung to her mouth; it was the same face that had been doubled over in mirth only moments before. Yet her eyes alone were not smiling at all. Those red eyes rested on the carts standing behind Nadigin — thick iron chains, shackles forged to bind a dragon's legs, capture frames meant to crush wings, knives for stripping scales, saws for cutting horns, glass bottles prepared to catch blood. Tools that presupposed the killing of a dragon.
Lakia stared at them for a long time without speaking. Her fingertips trembled the slightest bit. It was not anger. It was closer to hollowness. She had lived so long, witnessed the same scenes so many times, faced the same greed so often that even counting them no longer held meaning.
She slowly raised her head. Her gaze turned beyond the canyon, toward some distant place where humans still lived. Hundreds of years had passed. Kings had changed. Nations had fallen. Flags had shifted beyond counting. New countries bearing new names had risen, and the old empire had vanished like dust. People always said it was different now. That they would not repeat the old mistakes. That they had grown a little wiser. That a more peaceful age would come.
There had been a time, very long ago, when Lakia had tried to believe those words. The years, however, had given her only a different answer. The names alone had changed. The flags alone had changed. The greed remained the same. The fear remained the same. When they met a being stronger than themselves they never sought to understand. They never sought to keep it near. First they bound it. Then they carved it into pieces. Then they looked for ways to use it. That was humanity.
Lakia let out a long breath. A faint smile returned to her lips — not the smile of delight this time, but the laugh that comes when something is simply too absurd, too exactly as expected, so hollow it can only be laughed at.
She murmured softly.
"Really."
She paused. Her red eyes once more slowly traced the chains and the capture frames. Then, in a quiet voice, she continued.
"They never deviate from my expectations in the slightest."
A brief silence settled. The festival ground was still. No orc spoke. Kanefisara watched her, cup in hand.
Lakia gave a short, dry snort of laughter. It vanished almost at once. What remained was a gaze grown cold.
"…Disgusting things."
The words were soft, yet they spread colder than any wind that brushed the canyon. She no longer grew angry at humans. Anger was an emotion born only while expectation still remained. To Lakia now, humans were not even worthy of anger. They were merely beings who forever repeated the same choices, beings who never changed in the least — beings from whom even disappointment had finally vanished.
Lakia slowly turned to Nadigin. The cold set of her face eased a fraction. Then she spoke in a voice of complete sincerity.
"Well done, Nadigin."
There was not a trace of hesitation.
"From now on, keep doing exactly… just like that."
Watching her, Kanefisara quietly swirled his cup. The blue-hued Elven wine he carried rippled like a restless sea. Gazing blankly at that miniature ocean, he murmured a name no one on the continent knew.
"Did you know it would come to this, Bashumu?"