Chronicles of a Royal Pet- Of Scales and Distant Shores Page 2

  I was indeed her eyes and her legs, letting her explore the world she only knew through paper and ink. And in return, Tara was a living encyclopedia, able to instantly retrieve vast amounts of knowledge and information thanks to her job as an automatic book sorting device in the Academy’s library.

  “I will find a way for you to have your own body,” I vowed under my breath. The sensation of phantom limbs wrapping around my ‘shoulders’ and giving me a comforting hug appeared, and I knew Tara had heard my promise.

  After spending more time just lounging on deck and swapping stories about my travels with a few of the sailors, I realized the sun had started to dip.

  “Time flies when you’re having fun,” I commented and Katherine nodded.

  “See? And not a single problem caused by your ‘upset stomach,’” she said, nudging me in the side. Of course, her size meant that her elbow dug into my waist rather than the place that would hold my ribs, had I been human.

  Her words then made me realize that she’d been correct! I hadn’t felt my ‘stomach’ giving me any trouble. I guess the issue really was all in my head!

  “You’re right!” I said excitedly. I picked her and gave her a spin before plopping her back down on the deck. I didn’t want to give her a reason to whip out her knives and try slicing me up.

  “Do that again and I will stab you,” she warned, dusting herself with a stern expression. A faint tinge of red slipped its way onto her cheeks, though, as the nearby crew laughed at her being lifted up and treated like a child.

  “Duly noted,” I replied easily. I wasn’t worried. It was all in good fun. And unlike most people, I could handle a stabbing or two without any issue. One of the benefits of being composed of gelatinous, magical slime.

  “So, what’s for dinner?” I asked.

  “Dried fish,” a sailor replied. “And hard tack.”

  “Neat,” I said, following after the man as he entered the small dining area below deck. Because of the size of the Striding Fish, the dining area doubled as our sleeping space.

  Tables and chairs were shoved into the middle for the evening meal, and then afterwards hammocks were brought out and the furniture shoved to the side.

  Speaking of that, sleeping among strangers had been unnerving at first. And strenuous. I had to keep my body in a bipedal shape throughout the whole night, which at first meant I had to stay awake for the entire time.

  Thankfully, Rosa and Tara came up with the idea of staying bipedal until the crew were all asleep, and then letting my body revert to its regular spherical shape. And, by covering up head to toe with a blanket, it was hard for outside observers to tell.

  And as long as I woke up when the other sailors did, I could quickly shift back into my humanoid form, slip on my robes and plaster on my illusory appearance, and be ready for the day!

  “Say, I was curious, what exactly are you shipping to Drakon?” I asked as dinner was served. Smoked fish, weak beer, and a brick masquerading as bread. Joy.

  “I mean, Katherine told me you were carrying coral and pearls and what not, but why would a colony want those things?” I inquired as I popped a piece of hard tack into my ‘mouth.’ I made sure to cut off my sense of taste as I did so.

  “Those are luxury goods, and will be bought by the rich folk over there. Probably the local governors and lords. They love shiny things. Like well-dressed magpies, they are,” Captain Roche explained through a mouthful of fish.

  “Don’t talk and chew, pops,” Coal, the captain’s son, complained. He then turned to me to explain. “Besides the stuff that’s always in demand with rich people, regardless of where you go we’re transporting seeds and other farming goods. Drakon might have been discovered four hundred years ago, but most of it is unexplored, and the colonists still need help with setting up towns and villages outside of the fortified port cities.”

  “Makes sense,” I mused, sipping at the beer. “I don’t really know about the so-called New Frontier, though. What can you tell me about it?”

  I saw Katherine perk up with interest as well and listen in. As for my Familiar, Rosa was busy swimming in a cup filled with watered down beer, but still lending an ear to the conversation.

  “Well, I assume you know about how it was discovered, right?” Coal asked as he gathered his thoughts.

  “Of course. The entire continent used to be protected by a powerful barrier, the Veil of Mists, which kept anyone from setting foot on its soil. It was like that for thousands of years, until the War of Fallen Gods four centuries ago. A massive backlash of magical power swept across Erafore due to the banishment of an aspect of the Void itself. The Veil fell apart in some places, and Drakon is now open to the public, so to speak.”

  I tapped my ‘chin’ as I spoke. “If I recall, it’s also known as the Land of Dragons because there are numerous draconic species living there. As well as a civilization of talking, bipedal lizards.”

  “Yeah, the Lizardfolk,” Coal said with a nod. “They’re the ones who supposedly raised the Veil ages ago. And they’re not really fond of humans, elves, and dwarves trying to live there without their permission. For now, there’s an uneasy peace between them and the colonists. Mostly because the Lizardfolk nations are based to the south and in the center of the continent.”

  “But our borders are starting to overlap, is that it?” I wondered, and this time it was the captain who answered.

  “Technically, we’ve invaded them by setting up settlements on the eastern coast of Drakon without their permission. But, since none of the Lizardfolk live there, they were content to let us be. Still, some of them are aware both sides will eventually meet, and so a few of the native nations are trying to send diplomats and such. Trying to decide on trade routes and establishing growth limits and what not. Honestly, it’s all a big mess.”

  Captain Roche gulped down the contents of his mug and shook his head. “But that’s probably not what you want to hear. Politics are not fit for a dinner table.”

  Everyone shared a chuckle at that.

  “What kind of environment can I expect?” I asked.

  “Heavily wooded areas along the coast, a honking big prairie in the middle that remains unmapped, and some hot jungles to the south. The latter two places are where most of the Lizardfolk live,” Roche said. “It has four seasons in some places, just like Orria, but it’s brimming with very dangerous wildlife. Lots of things there with dragon-blood, and what doesn’t have that has adapted to being just as deadly.”

  “And don’t forget the actual dragons!” a sailor interjected, slamming his hands excitedly onto the table. “Great, massive scaly beasties they are! Breathing fire, and ice, and lightning, and wind, and everything in between!”

  “Ah. Yes. The dragons,” Captain Roche said drily. “Thank the Divine Family they’re mostly just nuisances and not actual threats.”

  He turned to me with a serious look on his face. “Take my advice, however: don’t treat the dragons as mere animals. Many of the older ones are as intelligent as people. As long as you honor their territory and don’t try to take any of their possessions, you’ll be fine. They mostly dwell further to the west, or in the north. Although some do come down to trade in the cities.”

  “What on Erafore could they possible trade for? Or with?” Katherine asked, as incredulous as I on the topic.

  “Some trade information about the terrain for shiny things. Dragons are also a lot like magpies, come to think of it,” the captain mused, before shaking in head. “Others act as guards for smaller settlements in exchange for food, fealty, or money. Really, they’re just very big people with scales. Nothing like the jerks you get in Orria or Par-Orria.”

  “How do they communicate?” I inquired, curious.

  “Dunno, never heard one talk in person,” Roche replied. “I did hear they can speak just like people, or do a mind-to-mind sort of thing. Not sure how they do either, though. Just be polite, and you shouldn’t have any trouble.”

  “I’ll keep
that advice close to my heart,” I promised. Angering an S-ranked, multi-ton scaled creature capable of unleashing bursts of elemental breath is a good way to get smeared across the landscape.

  Even I would be vaporized by a direct hit from an irate dragon. Keeping on their good side would be the best choice to take while I stayed in Drakon.

  “Is there anything else I should be aware of?”

  “The Adventurer’s Guild is strong in Drakon. Lots of wilderness to explore and tame. You’ll find plenty of work there,” Roche said, nodding towards me and Katherine.

  “Good to know. Taking care of a Carbuncle is not a cheap feat,” I joked. Seeing the crew look intrigued, I made a smile ‘appear’ on my face. I leaned over conspiratorially.

  “This one time, Rosa tried to eat a loaf of bread, and ended up tunneling into it and getting stuck. She had to eat her way out. It was adorably hilarious.”

  (How could you reveal my shame like that?!) Rosa cried, flying out of her cup of beer and tackling my ‘head’ while the sailors laughed uproariously. (Betrayer! Traitor!)

  “Those are both the same thing,” I replied with a laugh. “Although this does remind me of the time you broke half a dozen plates at that pub in Tayber because you wanted to practice juggling.”

  “How does having your head tackle-hugged remind you of broken plates?” Katherine asked.

  “Simple! She made the exact same face when I told her she was too small to juggle dishes of that size,” I said, snickering as I recalled the indignant look she had shot me at that time.

  More laughs came, and as dinner ended, the sun set on the placid waves of the Bluestar Ocean. A fun day, I thought. Although I still needed to avoid being splashed with salt water whenever I could. I had yet to figure out a spell to protect myself from that horrid, shriveling saline solution that covered most of Erafore’s surface.

  Chapter 2: Fate Foreshadowed

  I woke up surrounded not by snoring sailors on a boat, but instead in a glass tank placed on a desk in a well-appointed study. Magical artifacts of all shapes and sizes decorated the room, and shelves sagged with tomes of an arcane nature.

  For some, waking up in a place they had not gone to sleep in would incite panic. Not for me. This was a common occurrence. For me, at least. I had developed a way to be in two places at once thanks to a combination of Astral Projection and the existence of a miniature clone of myself.

  I looked around, not seeing the man who owned the room. I must have been early. Or late. I blamed changes in the time zones. Sailing to the west made coordinating my arrivals back to Orria a chore. But at least I could project my mind into my clone at these distances. I’d been worried I wouldn’t be able to when I’d first gotten onto the Striding Fish.

  My musings were cut short as a man with a flowing beard and robe ensemble swept into the study, a thick, leather-bound book under his right arm.

  “Headmaster Arnolt!” I shouted, bouncing up and down in my glass tank to get his attention. He noticed me quickly and offered a small smile before scooping me out and placing me on the desk.

  “Jelly, good to see you. Or I suppose it’s ‘Jellik,’ now.”

  A grin crept across his mouth, a clear indication of his opinion of the name I took while disguised as a human. I huffed and jiggled from side to side in an approximation of a shrug.

  “I never claimed to be good at naming things,” I retorted, and he snickered in agreement.

  He quickly regained control of himself and sat down behind the desk, giving me an appraising look. I shifted under his scrutinizing gaze, feeling the power held within him.

  Arnolt Cantos, a retired X-ranked adventurer, and headmaster of the Royal Varian Mage’s Academy. Known as the Lord of Rituals, he had completed countless quests in his long life, but now chose to settle down and teach future generations some of what he’d learned.

  And I was one of the lucky few to be tutored by him in the mystical arts. He was gauging my growth. Even now, I still have no idea how he was able to appraise me so well without the use of magic.

  “Have you found anything?” I asked the headmaster after a brief stare down, a pleading tone entering my voice. Arnolt nodded solemnly, before sliding over the old, crumbling tome he held in his hands. I eagerly reached out with a pair of tendrils and opened the book. Carefully, of course, as it looked like it might fall apart from a sneeze even with all the preservation spells layered upon it.

  The words that confronted me were details of the War of Fallen Gods; to be precise it was a journal kept by an Inquisitor of Cathedral City who’d been hunting down agents of the World Rebellion.

  Inside the pages, I discovered a list of known members, and their abilities. I froze when I glimpsed a short entry about a black robed man wearing a silver mask decorated with a six branched and six rooted tree, and his power to control dead trees and plants.

  I looked up at Headmaster Arnolt, and he nodded. I dove back into the journal, trying to find everything about this figure. All the while, my mind was spinning with confusion. How could this man live so long?

  Sadly, most of the information about this mysterious man was limited. All this unnamed Inquisitor had uncovered was a codename, ‘Root,’ and that he was apparently very highly ranked within the World Rebellion.

  “Is this it?” I asked, disappointed.

  “I’m afraid so. At least, that’s all that exists officially.” Arnolt folded his hands across his chest and settled back into his stuffed armchair.

  “Well, what do you ‘unofficially’ know?” I demanded, annoyed at all the secrecy.

  “He is an S, borderline X-rank, mage who practices a very obscure form of Necromancy,” Arnolt explained after fiddling with his beard. “It is known as Arboralnecromancy.”

  “Bit of a mouthful to say,” I said, rolling the name around in my head, and discreetly asking Tara to look for information on it. She came back with no results. Definitely an obscure discipline.

  “Given its name, and what I’ve seen it do, this type of magic deals with reanimating and controlling plant matter, correct?”

  “Plants, lesser creatures like insects which are normally incapable of being reanimated, and bacteria and viruses,” the X-ranked headmaster elaborated. “It is Necromancy aimed at less complex lifeforms, but is extraordinarily difficult to master. Less than a dozen practitioners of this type of Necromancy have existed throughout known history. And this ‘Root’ fellow is one of the oldest and most powerful.”

  “‘Root?’” I asked. “That sounds more like a title than anything else.”

  “It is a title. Root, Apostle of the World Rebellion.” I stilled, shocked. A creeping dread seeping into my soul, and I shivered.

  “The World Rebellion?” I inquired warily. Arnolt nodded.

  “Yes. We have confirmed it. Everything you’ve told us about the person leads back to the World Rebellion. He is an Apostle of the cult, a rank just below the Hierophant in terms of power and authority. He was last recorded as confronting the Six Heroes during the War of Fallen Gods. He was not slain, sadly, and escaped death. And now, he’s returned. Along with the rest of his wretched cult,” the headmaster spat.

  “Does the World Rebellion have a way to control the lifespan of its members? Because he acted rather spry for a person over four hundred years old,” I commented drily.

  “It does, in fact, have a way to keep a person from aging,” Arnolt admitted. “The method is only vaguely understood, but suffice to say it requires a person to sacrifice their soul to the Void in exchange for eternal youth. Not exactly an option for sane people.”

  “I think pursuing immortality itself is a rather insane desire in and of itself,” I mused. “Although that might just be my lack of comprehension of ‘death.’ I am less than five years old, after all.”

  “Steering away from the topic of longer lives and vile cults, and getting back to the main point of Arboralnecromancy, it is a dangerous magic because it can revive and manipulate diseases. Can you imagine
if this cultist revived a strain of Grey Mark?”

  “Not really, never heard of that disease,” I said.

  ~Grey Mark was a virulent plague that swept through Orria about six hundred years ago. It had no cure. Not even Healing magic could stop its spread or halt its effects. It only stopped being a problem when everyone infected died during a rather harsh winter, which prevented it from spreading. The snow and ice killed the disease.~

  I held back a shiver at Tara’s explanation. Oh. That would be unpleasant. And if this ‘Arboralnecromancy’ could manipulate diseases, could it possibly mutate them? Make it resistant to the cold?

  The thought terrified me, and Arnolt seemed to sense my sudden bout of fear, patting me comfortingly on the top.

  “Don’t worry, we have contingencies in case of magically altered pathogens,” he assured me.

  “That’s a relief,” I murmured, relaxing under his touch. We stayed silent for a bit, trying to relax. He pet me fondly, and I was content to let him do so. Eventually he retracted his hand, and though I pouted, I knew we had more important matters to discuss.

  “So, what exactly can I do about him? If this cultist is really so powerful, why is he toying with me?” I asked, confused. “If he knows I’m part of the prophecy which speaks of me saving Erafore from him and his group, why keep me alive?”

  “Prophecies are funny, and annoying, things,” Arnolt said with a frown. “It speaks of three people, chosen by Nia herself, to act as the principle defenders of the world. And so far, you are the only confirmed Chosen One. If you were to die before the other two are found, it is entirely likely Nia will simply choose another person to take your place. And that could throw the World Rebellion’s plans into chaos if a new factor enters the field. Most likely those Void worshipping loons will test you to discover your strengths and weaknesses, but not try to kill you outright, so they can have an advantage when it comes time for the final confrontation.”