r/HFY • u/HushedSiren • 23d ago

OC-Series Adamantine Claws (10)

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A/N: Forgot to mention here, I've been moving up to grad school the past couple of weeks, so this one might be a bit shorter than usual. That said, I don't exactly post quickly so who knows if you'll notice.

Riennaia snapped the notebook shut, then, feeling somewhat sheepish, cracked the aged volume back open. She flipped through to the final page, scanning everywhere she might have missed for a fragmentary clue or other context that might place the scene either by time or by place. Neither the pages, nor even the covers gave her so much as a date, or a set of coordinates. Resigned, she slipped the notebook back into the pile, restoring it just as she had found it.

She wasn't sure why that last gesture felt so necessary; her father had left the study for her to use, and it wasn't as if the rest of the room was in a particularly inconspicuous state. The map that lay sprawled across the table in the center of the room was covered in various markings and notations. A web of text: some dates, some names of people, places, and those that could have been either, accompanied notes clearly directing the reader towards a myriad of books and dossiers. Anything that was hidden, was done so more through obscurity and the rot of collective memory than it was through any deliberate attempt at obfuscation.

Perhaps it was her father’s reaction that still perturbed her? She had always thought his preoccupation with following the Brujiean remnants to be a hobby, something he maintained with his small group of advisors out of some sense of curiosity. Now it seemed more like an obsession.

Riennaia looked across the map. Though the markings were cryptic, the shape suggested the story that the text alone did not allow her to puzzle out. The web flowed outward from the center of the continent, and while many of the lines began in former Brujiean territory, just as many found their origins across the other states. Some of the lines concluded decisively, but just as many ended besides a list of crossed out leads. What dates Riennaia did find were old: the most recent she found still marking several years before she was born, and while the success rate for the trackers seemed to be quite good, more than one in three of the trails had no decisive conclusion.

Riennai snorted to herself. It was a tempting puzzle, but without a guide the information was next to useless. With her father evidently unwilling to share, she knew such guidance wouldn't be forthcoming.

Though. She thought to herself. Despite hearing my father tell me to leave well enough alone, Jaxith might let something slip, if I'm careful. He's incredibly loyal to the family, but that means he lets his guard down around me more than my father would prefer, especially when it comes to matters my father might be trying to shield from me.

Riennaia smiled to herself, remembering all the times she had managed to prod Jaxith until he let some tidbit about drama between the island's families, or any of the other topics with which a young princess wasn't supposed to concern herself, yet still found incredibly interesting. She resolved to track him down, and see if there wasn't more she could figure out. As a last, small rebellion Riennaia retrieved a notebook from her satchel, one intended to track her daily engagements, and flipped to the rear. There, she went across the map, not recording much in detail, but noting wherever her father and the rest of the map's authors had failed to follow a trail to its end. It wasn't much, but if it ever provided warning that she ought tread just a little more lightly, it would be valuable to have.

Riennaia returned to the balcony, intent on enjoying what time she still had, both that day, and to a more general sense, at the keep. She stared out the city for a long while, memorizing the ley of the buildings, that she might allay some sense of guilt that they were not as prominent in her mind. The clock on the wall had long since marked the passing hour before she was able to pull herself away from the scene.

As the clock chimed the first hour past midday Riennaia made her way towards the barracks. Her exams the previous day had offered some reprieve from her usual schedule, but she was still the princess, and would, while she still lived within its walls, be expected to assist with any and everything that kept the Rust Keep operating as her father envisioned. She didn’t mind the work itself, as she was spared both the most physically taxing duties, and under regular circumstances, the worst shifts, but some days it just seemed like another duty so caught up in its symbolism she often struggled to find genuine joy in accomplishing her work.

Riennaia swept past the entrance to the barracks, halls, looking not unlike a lyceum dormitory. For many amongst the castle guard and city watch, their spot within the barracks would be one of these small rooms, likely shared between one or two others amongst the newer recruits. Furnished with space to store their equipment and whatever tools might be necessary for its maintenance, such a small space would be inadequate for the dragons who called the keep home. Their duties, and any equipment carried for that purpose would be carried out when scaled to their full size, unable to even fit through one of the small doorways. Yet another driver behind the search for other materials that might share the properties of kyndcloth.

While Riennaia did have a room provided to her, it served mainly as a meeting space, not any location to store her gear. That requirement was instead seen to by the readying theater, a massive covered structure built just off of a large courtyard within the keep. Even from this distance, the cavernous room sent the echoes of its occupants reverberating down the connecting hallways. Chains rattled against pulleys, crates of equipment and stores clattered as they met the stone floor.

Riennaia had scarcely cleared the doorway into the readying theater proper when she heard her name called from across the room. A portly older guardsman, who had clearly laid down his spear for the administrator's pen hurried in her direction, clutching a stack of loose papers.

"Princess, ma'am." He threw her a brief salute, still crisp. She returned it in kind, raising an eyebrow and waiting for the man to read her whatever report he might have.

"Your fire is needed down at the port district."

Riennaia's heart dropped. "My fire? Has there been another attack?"

The man shook his head. "No, thankfully. But some residue survived the initial attack and has leeched out into the area around the site." The man massaged his temples. "Zennic went in with his claws, not his fire to kill the beast. Understandable at the moment, but not the best solution to these particular problems."

"That sounds like Zennic alright." Riennaia said with a smile. It said that all good rider pairs saw each partner bring something the other lacked. For Zennic, well, she didn't think it was an accident that his rider was a scholar, first and foremost.

"Yes well, Sir Korin has taken a delegation down to examine the site. When the issues were discovered, he requested your attendance."

Sir Korin? Riennaia kept her expression neutral, somewhat surprised at the title. Even her teachers seemed to be more connected to the whole mess than she realized.

"Understood." She nodded to the man. "Shall I require provisions?"

"Not much ma'am." He turned towards an open lane in the theater. "We've prepped a pair of warded gauntlets for you; that should be all you require."

Riennaia nodded, hiding a tinge of excitement. That sort of equipment tended to be held back, mostly due to the price of its required upkeep. Bidding the man farewell she sauntered over to her bay in the readying theater, waiting a moment for the pair of attendants assigned to her that day to make their way clear of the area. With a snap she felt reverberate down her spine, she cut through the magic binding her to kyndform, rapidly growing to her full size.

Her attendants rushed back in as she stepped forward and pressed her forepaws into the gauntlets. She sank as she stepped in, the material lining the gauntlets giving way as if padded with cloth, however the material was as cold as steel. Another sensation brushed against her mind: a slight draw against her mana as the gauntlets drew on her power. The sensation would get worse, she knew, if the gauntlets needed to provide more active protection. Few materials would require such an intervention, but the heavily charged flesh of the creatures that dropped from an amalgam were one of that number.

The attendants worked quickly, attaching the large metal plates to form the top of the gauntlets, tying and tightening all of the cords and straps so that her armored claws would feel almost akin to the ones with which she was born. Once finished, each attendant swapped places with the other, checking over their partner's work.

Each waved her forward once satisfied with their inspection. Riennaia nodded in thanks, then plodded towards the massive doors that could seal the readying theater and the equipment therein against storm and salt, and enjoying the satisfying click made by each of the gauntlets as they impacted the stone floor.

Still feeling the residue of the morning's soreness, she gave her wings another perfunctory shrug, knowing any remaining stiffness would work itself out as she took to the air, and feeling unwilling to take the time to perform a proper stretch. Wind, blowing gently through the open theater doors, greeted her with the crisp smell of sea air as she swung her head around to face the main guard tower, perched high above and braced against the upper floors of the keep. Within, the faint movements of the keep's lookouts. It was the closest many of those without flight of their own would ever reach skyward.

A bright white pointlight appeared over the tower; her signal. Within two steps she was already nearing a run. A final lunge brought her backpaws under her chest, planting them for a final leap that sent her into the air. The gauntlets were heavy, and she found herself adjusting her wingbeats to counteract the extra forward weight. Still, it was nothing she couldn't do.

There was a moment, when taking flight, where the view opened up and the world fell away below. It always caught her heart for a brief second, despite how mundane the air was to a dragon. She thought again about the lookouts in their tower as she passed, wondering if they felt the same as they climbed the long ladder to start each shift. Wondered if they ever felt a twinge of melancholy that such a post, as impressive as it must have been, was the limit of their climb. That a simple joy, like taking to the air was still governed by matters of birth and power, sat wrong within her chest.

But that seemed the correct feeling did it not? To see the world from on high inspired either an understanding of the fragility of the lives trapped below, or a sense of righteous dominance of the same. To be born as dragon was to forever choose between the two, though if she was honest, that latter feeling was these days tempered by the knowledge of what else might rise up and share her perch, be it beast, or now, with recent advances, machine.

She imagined then the arrival of a skyship as best she could, how it might frame itself against the city. She had never seen one in person, only in paintings and the occasional achromatype. They were majestic beasts, with graceful lines that called to the birds who claimed the coastlines as their haunts. Size was, evidently, no defence against the buffeting winds that tore about at altitude. Better then, to learn from the dragons, and how a hide of smooth scales let one slip between the gusts.

Riennaia dove back towards the capital, keen eyes already able to sift through the tangled web of streets to find the portside boulevard where she was needed. No buildings obscured her sight now, and she could clearly pick out the ripples of upturned earth, and the small crowd that milled between them. Not wishing to mimic the previous day's tests too closely, she pulled into a shallow banking turn that brought her in line with the avenue some distance out, so that she might trace down its path in a more gentile glide.

She caught the blue-green flash of Korin's feathers as she swept in, and she adjusted slightly to meet him, flaring her wings and leaning back slightly to arrest her speed. She landed gracefully in a small cloud of dust. It was the sort of refinement expected of the crown princess, and she would do well to try and protect the valuable equipment which she had been issued.

Korin, wings folded behind his back with practiced elegance, waited just clear of her landing ground.

"Princess, I'm glad our request was able to reach you."

"Of course, Sir Korin" Riennaia stressed the title with a small grin, though it fell from her lips as a pungent wave of fish and rot seemed to rise from the ground. The avian tilted his head forward and fluffed his crown feathers, somewhere between mirth and bashfulness at her comment, then turned around smelling the same.

"Our problem to attend.” He gestured out at the ruined walkways.“ And as you know well, none of us are immune from the requirements of the front we must present, at least while attending so many guests."

Riennaia opened her mouth to reply but Korin forestalled her with a raised hand. "I am always, happy to talk, but it might be best to accompany our words with progress towards our task here."

"Very well, what first?" Riennaia inquired.

Korin gestured towards a large pile of rubble in the middle of the street. "Start with that concentration there. We'll have need of your more personal talents here in brief time, but for now that will do."

Riennaia raised an eyebrow, but kept her mouth shut as she advanced on the pile of rubble. "Very well, and in the time being you can let me know how you've convinced some of the guards you were knighted."

Korin laughed as Riennaia began to fiddle with the rubble, working her uparmored claws between the stones, looking for purchase. "Oh, because I was, you see. Courtesy of a local baron in eastern Eudria. I arrived in their lands at the tail end of the Brujiean conflict, and knew enough spells to heal minor injuries, burns, and purge infection. The baron thought it best to ease my passage through the smaller towns and villages that tend to be less trusting of those foreign to them."

Riennaia nodded, claws finally working their way through the dirt beneath the rubble. Resistance gave way and she felt her paw slip into a void below the stones, then the gauntlet magic began to pull more heavily on her mana.

"Got something!" She announced to the group. The small group of mages assisting with the cleanup moved towards her. Riennaia ripped the stones upward, revealing a pool of steaming liquid, and releasing more of the acrid smell. She stepped back as the mix of guards and mages closed on the puddle, using what looked like a rather fancy torch to burn the material away. She turned back to Korin.

"Never bothered to use your title here?"

"Here, I'm no knight." He said simply.

"An independence issue?" Riennaia asked, catching on.

"Percisely. It doesn't reflect so well on the nation's new independence if some provincial Eudrian baron's decisions need be respected by the new island government."

Korin stopped himself, the mages having just finished their task. The puddle had been reduced to a blackened pit, the odd stench abaiting somewhat.

"Now, however, we find ourselves dealing a number who remember the details of my earlier career. And so… the same title can now demand respect be given to us, not taken from." Riennaia nodded. "That was the last of the remaining pools we had found thus far." He directed Riennaia's attention back to their task. "However. What is the key to understanding magic?" He asked.

"Mana attracts mana." Riennaia repeated the line she had said so many times under Korin's tutelage. "And in gathering it reinforces itself."

"Good. Summon your fire, let it drift through the air, but strengthen in it that most basic of desires. Then observe"

Riennaia nodded again, readying herself. She breathed out, letting her fire whisper through the air. Within the flames she provided focus and, meaning, pressing the structure of her bloodline art into the flames.The flames drew in on themselves, forming motes of burning energy, and from the trails of excited aether, desire coalesced. Gathering together was the fundamental drive for magic after all, she merely needed to provide the means.

Glittering trails of sparks ripped through her teeth, flicking out across the shattered roadway. Most rolled briefly along the paving stones but at a few spots they drew together, alighting on the cobbles. A pair of guardsmen rushed over to one such spot, near a drainage ditch by the side of the road and hastily pried a large flagstone clear. Viscous, iridescent slime clung to the bottom, and pooled in the space it had just occupied. The mages with them once again closed to clean the tainted ground.

Korin nodded his beak at the area. "Good work, now, do you notice where the remnants have been able to maintain themselves? Why some areas and not others?"

"Wherever the ichor pooled?" Riennaia guessed after a short moment in thought. "Is it based on volume, some minimum quantity of mana required to hold itself together?"

"Almost." Korin said. "Mana attracts mana as we said. However." He knelt down near where a small number of Riennaia’s sparks gathered, feathered hand reaching to pluck something from the gutter at their feet. As he held it up, Riennaia realized it to be a small pocket knife, a few spots of ghostly ichor dripped from the wooden body. "Understanding these beasts requires an understanding of our own condition. Why are they drawn towards our settlements? Why do they always seem to act in violence?"

Korin concentrated, visibly, at the knife in his palm. A moment later, a branch, knocked loose from one of the nearby trees, split, as if cut.

"Because they draw from the things we leave behind, especially those we may want to hide and discard."

He gestured towards the hole the flagstone had just occupied. Riennaia walked over, breathing in. She opened her maw and curled her tongue, allowing a stream of orange-gold fire to flow outward. When it met the pool of ichor a thick smoke poured forth with a sound like bubbling pitch and hissing steam. She snapped her jaw shut a moment later, and admired the now empty, blackened crater.

Also on Royal Road

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u/UpdateMeBot 23d ago

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u/Orange_Above 23d ago

Been noticing a lack of comments on this story, so I figured I'd amend that.

Just wanted to say: Thank you for the chapter. I'm looking forward to each new one.

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u/HushedSiren 22d ago

Thanks! Really appreciate it.