A Tyrant, Sort Of

The Wither Witch watched her, tapping skeletal fingers in a rhythmic clicking motion. Aylin tried not to stare at the blackened bone digits. It was almost hypnotic. But staring would be rude. Though, for how bizarre the injury was—if it was even really an injury—the human woman seemed perfectly at ease with presenting it.

Maybe she did so intentionally, even. To intimidate her. Which was kind of working. Skeletal hands weren’t something she’d seen much of. Combined with the strangeness of the woman’s appearance—a human, also a first for Aylin—she had been put decidedly off-foot.

“My name is Aylin,” she finally said. “I’ve come here on behalf of my mistress, who would like to present an opportunity to you.”

[Don’t be too friendly,] Sable said. [Not antagonistic, but be firm.] Strangely, Aylin heard Sable sniff through the telepathic link. [Perhaps I won’t go straight to threats, but I won’t be seen as a groveler, either.]

Aylin got the feeling threats wouldn’t be the best strategy for dealing with this woman. Though assumptions could be dangerous, she felt it safe to make a few about a bitter, moderately high level necromancer living hundreds of miles from the nearest human territory. Aylin didn’t know much about her, but she suspected this was a woman without much to lose—and thus less likely to bend to threats.

“Mistress,” the Witch repeated, dragging the word out. “Your mistress. She sends a proxy? Doesn’t come herself?” She stood, the wooden dining chair scraping against the floor. Irritably, the Wither Witch said, “Then whatever she needs isn’t important. Go. Tell her if she wants something from me, she can come herself.”

Aylin remained seated. She hadn’t expected this to be easy, but this wasn’t an ideal start. “She can’t.”

A quirked eyebrow.

“Come herself,” Aylin clarified. With Sable’s telepathic prompting, she dangled an interesting tidbit, since it seemed unlikely the Wither Witch would entertain them, otherwise: “She can’t speak, except through me.”

As hoped for, it was a curious enough statement the Witch’s irritation faded, replaced with curiosity. Slowly, the mage returned to her seat.

That was promising, though Aylin had only captured the woman’s attention, not made any progress toward securing her as a tutor. Still, not being kicked out was a good first step.

“Can’t speak,” the Witch repeated. “Explain. And you said Chieftain Kirak sent you?”

“Pointed us your way. Our goals are our own.” The clarification was important. They weren’t Kirak’s subordinates sent on a mission. “Let me present my mistress’s request, first. She seeks instruction in the arcane, and is willing to provide significant compensation. You’ll find she’s a—“ person? She guessed that was the best word, “person of significant means.”

Offering the proverbial honey before the vinegar. Though neither Aylin nor Sable thought it wise to try to bully this woman, if their better-natured efforts failed, then Sable certainly wouldn’t be beneath more direct attempts at persuasion. 

First, though, bribery.

“Drop the mystery,” the Witch said, seeming annoyed. “You’re no good at subtlety. Just say what you mean. What is she? Not humanoid? You don’t mean she’s simply mute, I take it.”

Huh. The woman had figured that out easily, though it wasn’t a great mystery, either, after saying Sable couldn’t speak. She supposed it was a good thing her mistress’s arcane tutor would see through awkward attempts at secrecy. It demonstrated her as having a keen mind.

Still, Aylin flushed the slightest amount at the insult—at being called ‘not good with subtlety’. She didn’t have the same armor as during her interactions with the city of Skatikk. Without a dragon overhead, supporting her words, the Witch wasn’t a tenth as afraid to view Aylin for what she was—a classed individual, yes, but a young one, and clearly new to the mantle.

For that matter, even with a dragon overhead, Aylin doubted whether she’d be cowed. From their brief interactions, Aylin sensed the Wither Witch had a personality difficult to dominate. By anything, maybe.

[Should I tell her?] Aylin asked.

[She won’t be satisfied otherwise,] Sable mused. [Actually, I can tell this is pointless. I don’t think you’ll make much headway yourself. She’s going to be difficult.]

Not more than a moment after Aylin received the words, the ground thumped as something enormous landed just outside the Witch’s shack. Dishes rattled inside cupboards. The Witch’s head snapped in the direction, chair scraping against the floor as she bolted to her feet.

Abruptly, the scaly visage of her mistress peeked through the cabin’s window, serpentine white scales sparkling in the daylight, with a thick bridged eyebrow framing a predatory, crystalline blue eye. It was … quite the entrance.

The Witch, reasonably, stumbled back in shock, cursing. Her hand raised instinctively, and Aylin felt the air tremble as she drew on mana. Aylin wondered whether this was going to take an unfortunately violent direction, but a second later, the Witch cursed a second time, then, with an annoyed wave of her hand, dispelled the growing effect.

Composed as she might have come off as during their interactions, the sudden arrival of a dragon wasn’t something that anyone could take in stride. Even the Wither Witch.

For a moment, the Witch stared disbelievingly out the window.

Then, to Aylin’s surprise, she recovered. Her shock traded for fury. “You’re standing in my garden, you fat lizard. Get out!”

Aylin paused.

The Wither Witch stormed out the front door, expression dark, stringing curses as she went.

[Huh,] Sable said. [She’s … passionate.] Her tone suggested she appreciated that, though, at a guess, the ‘fat lizard’ comment dampened it, somewhat.

Aylin followed behind the Witch as she burst out her cabin, amazed, and a bit worried. Maybe Mistress Sable wasn’t as bloodthirsty and capricious as the stories suggested, but insulting a dragon so directly? That couldn’t end well, right? Even if Sable hadn’t sounded too bothered, maybe more amused than anything.

Wrapping around the outside of the wooden hut, they arrived to Sable sitting there, on her haunches, a short distance away from a plot of dirt that lined the side of the building, packed with a variety of exotic looking plants. Surprisingly, Aylin noted, the small plot of land was mostly unruffled.

The Wither Witch noted this too, inspecting the beds of plants. “Well,” she finally said. “You didn’t trample anything important. Good. Do you have any idea how difficult growing anything is, out here?”

The Red Plains were arid and inhospitable, and so trampling some painstakingly grown plants—presumably used professionally by the Witch, not merely food—would be highly irritating. So Aylin sympathized, even if the reaction was still insane to her. Because insulting a dragon. Really. And how was this woman taking things so in stride? The fury had dampened, but not disappeared, and now she was glaring. Glaring. At a dragon.

Finally, the Wither Witch acknowledged the obvious. Except, not in a way Aylin would have expected her to.

“Dragons are extinct,” she said simply. “So what are you? An illusion?” She peered at Sable, as if verifying something. “No, I can tell you aren’t. Don’t sense anything. Didn’t trip my wards. How?” She tilted her head, mostly talking to herself. “So high level you can avoid them? No, I doubt that. Not here, in the Red Plains.”

[Is it good or bad,] Sable asked Aylin, [that she’s so unaffected?]

Aylin had no idea. This encounter was, in general, a bit bizarre. And that was saying something, seeing how her new life standard was being a dragon’s champion.

The Witch fixed her attention to Sable, frowned, then turned to Aylin and crossed her arms, visibly waiting for a response.

[You asked to speak to me directly,] Sable said. Aylin could intuit she was supposed to relay the words. [I am here.]

She fell into her role. She was an intermediary, now, a conduit for the conversation taking place.

“I did,” the Witch replied. She didn’t seem off-put that Sable had dodged her question about dragons being extinct. She paused, as if trying to recall the conversation inside the house, then sent another glance toward her garden. Seeing, again, that her plants were unharmed, she frowned and focused. “You need … instruction, you said?” She sounded perplexed.

[I could make it worth your time,] Sable said. [Though, perhaps, not immediately. I’m still gaining my footing in this region.]

“Worth my time,” the Witch replied slowly. She studied Sable for a long moment, then shook her head. “No, I can’t ignore it. Dragons are extinct. Don’t sense any illusions, though, so how is that possible? What are you?”

[I am what I present myself as,] Sable said, sounding annoyed—which Aylin mirrored in her own response. [There is little for me to say on the subject. What is impossible matters little to me, or this discussion.] She sniffed, then corralled them back to the relevant topic. [Beyond whatever reward you decide for yourself,] Sable said, [I would be a powerful ally to have in the coming months.]

Moreover, the unstated went, Sable would be an unpleasant enemy to have, should she refuse.

The Witch frowned.

“Dragons weren’t known for their diplomacy,” the Witch said. “Nor maneuvering of any sort, as that not-so-veiled threat of yours just demonstrated.” More scrutiny. “Dragons are dumb beasts. Doubly so for what would clearly be a juvenile.” She waved up and down at Sable. “And this is ignoring the fact that your species is, once again, extinct. So, I’ll ask one more time. What are you? Or more accurately, through what means have you concealed yourself? And why?”

Aylin winced at the frank, nearly hostile tone. Though, fundamentally, she agreed with the Witch. Those same questions had been itching at her. She believed Sable was a dragon, obviously, but she’d noticed by now that Sable didn’t act how a dragon ought to. She didn’t think Sable was lying, though. Just that something odd was going on. A new breed of dragons, maybe. Hardly that strange, seeing how—as the Witch had just put it—the species had gone extinct.

Sable sighed, agitation growing to match the Witch’s. [I’m not concealing myself, nor am I lying about what I am. And while I came to you in a more congenial manner than I would most, don’t mistake me for patient.] A deep, bestial noise echoed through air as Sable growled, and it had the hair on Aylin’s neck raising. [I’ve given you respect. You will do the same.]

The Witch didn’t seem put off, which Aylin considered something close to stupidity. There was an inability to cowed, then there was being reckless in the face of a dragon.

“If you’re looking for respectful, you’ve come to the wrong place.” She waved her hand—the skeletal one—dismissively. “I’m not scared of you, even if you are a dragon. I’m dead in three months. What are you going to do? Kill me early? You’ll be doing me a favor. The Heaven’s only know why I’m clinging on as is.”

That statement, of course, made Aylin pause. Sable too. The Witch seemed amused by the reaction.

“Yes,” the woman said dryly, “this isn’t normal.” She waved her black skeletal hand a second time. “Flesh-eating magical viruses aren’t fun to deal with. It turns out my professors were right. I should have been more careful with my research.”

Aylin found herself vaguely impressed at the total lack of care in the words. A terminal illness—or whatever it was—and yet the woman genuinely sounded unbothered. A mask? Or resignation to her fate?

Sable inspected her, head tilted. The words had defused the irritation between the two. Though Sable wasn’t pleased with the development. Aylin wasn’t sure how she’d learned to read a dragon’s expressions, but she could. A dying woman was much harder to bully, so their plans had been, once again, complicated.

Eventually, Sable said, [Then it seems what you want from me, in return for your help, is clear. A cure.]

“Can’t be done,” the Witch said.

[You’re certain?]

“Yes.”

Sable raised an eyebrow. It was an odd expression on a dragon. [Truly an impossibility. As much so as a dragon’s existence, yes?]

The Witch narrowed her eyes. “If there is a way,” the Witch conceded, “then I don’t know how. And if it does exist, it’d take too many resources.”

[Resources,] Sable said dryly. She looked down at herself, then gave the Witch a pointed look.

The Witch’s expression turned sour. She picked up the implication. When it came to gathering resources, having a dragon as an ally would be a pretty good solution.

“Let me assume you aren’t an illusion,” the Witch finally replied. “Even so, you aren’t that strong. Too small. A juvenile. Not past level ten, almost certainly. Honestly, I might be able to take you.”

That was a statement that made Aylin pause. The Wither Witch felt powerful to her newly gained senses, but that much so? To fight a dragon, however young? Aylin couldn’t tell if it was bluster or not. That would make the Wither Witch powerful even for whatever foreign lands she’d come from. Nearly the strongest person in the Red Plains, even. Aylin doubted that.

Regardless, the Witch didn’t seem interested in this turning to violence. It hadn’t been a threat, but an observation. That gave the claim more credence, though.

“But yes,” the Witch said. “Very little is truly impossible. Perhaps my ailment is curable in some manner, but if it is, it goes beyond your capabilities.”

[My current capabilities,] Sable said. [You have several months, don’t you?] She sniffed haughtily. The implication was clear—in several months, Sable wouldn’t a young, bumbling dragon anymore. A tyrant of half the world, likely—or such was arrogant implication on her face.

The Witch considered that.

[And it seems to me,] Sable said, [to be your best path forward. A dragon’s aid? Or have you given up?]

The Witch scrutinized her. “Dragons aren’t persuasive. Dragons don’t strategize. Dragons take, they don’t form alliances. What are you?”

Sable shrugged. [I am what I am,] she repeated. [Regardless, does the deal interest you or not? I grow tired of this conversation.]

The Wither Witch crossed her arms, and the longest bout of scrutiny yet took place. Finally, she sighed.

“What kind of instruction, exactly, do you mean?”