The Shining Wyrm

6.8

After Jewel’s performance there was a change in the mood.

Excitement, awe and a buzz of activity.

The other Knights, Gryphon Rider or not, made a show of their martial powers and the might of their arms and training. Father’s own demonstration of the true limits of his skill with the bow were as expected from him and drew politely impressed noises.

The other Gryphon Riders Jewel had to admit were far more maneuverable and swift in the air than Father and Zephyrvamp. Yet she had not seen one that could match the range, power and accuracy of Father with the Rochford bow.

When one of them made a remark that it was all the magic of his weapon that imparted skill he even offered to let every other party present make the attempt to withstand the pull of the family heirloom.

Only one had even been able to pull its string.

And his shot had not gone half as far.

The day was punctuated with elaborate and delicious feasts in the midday and then in the evening.

But Jewel kept catching eyes on her from all of them and hearing their muttered conversations about her.

Especially the Countess Bathory.

But also from Jaksa the Red. And all the other Lords and the Knights.

Those considering eyes were closer to the gaze of a farmer appraising horseflesh then was befitting a peer.

At first she was mortified by the thought that it was the petrichor stink of thunderstorms that always came out when her flame rose up high as was needed for a Wyrmdoom strike.

The exercise made her feel sullied and unclean and the lack of proper baths left her poorly equipped to resolve it.

For all her opulence, the Countess lacked anything like a properly sized bath for Jewel to wash away the stink of thunder.

She thought it was the smell of her that was getting the attention but Smithson assured her it was not and even helped her anoint fresh oils upon her mane and scales to be sure.

However, that did not stop the looks.

None spoke down to her face, or acted surprised at her manners.

There were no wrinkled noses in disgust.

And with a sinking feeling she realized what it was.

In spite of their flowery speech and finery it was the same as it had been on the road.

Somehow, none of them made Jewel feel any less like an animal in their eyes. Even when they were giving all the correct courtesy.

But still she felt that to them she was a beast.

A novel, even prized and valuable beast, yes.

But the way they spoke about her when they thought she could not hear?

They praised Father in his training and cleverness.

In his aptitude with taming and gentling her monstrous nature.

In how well behaved she was (unsaid was the implicit for a wyrm).

And even then, they still discussed her as lesser then even their footmen.

They wondered among themselves on how she would mature, whether she could remain tame on the battlefield.

The considerations on if she was to be seen tactically as loyal like a hound or gryphon and thus intractably tied to the life of her Father.

They made plans that if she broke the manner they might seek to put her down or drive her towards the enemy if the Wyrmkeeper should fall.

They traded favors and obligations on the possibility that perhaps Jewel was actually more like a warhorse in her loyalty and thus able to be parceled to another Lord in the event that her Father fell in battle?

They mused if one of them could rise to be the new Wyrmkeeper after Father. Or would it be a hereditary thing and only her brother would be able to inherit?

They murmured these things across the feasting hall from her.

In the hallways near her, in passing when they gathered together away from her.

The Countess Bathory thankfully never made any onerous musings like this or weighed in with anything so uncouth, she always referred to Jewel as a Lady, a person, an Inheritor of Titles and one of her valued subjects.

No matter whether Jewel was close enough most thought she could hear or clear around the bend of a hallway.

The Countess even mentioned to Jaksa the Red how she was going to officiate the title of Shining Wyrm as a noble rank. Equal to captain at the minimum once Father deemed ‘the lovely wyrm girl’ sufficiently experienced.

But it was ill comfort to Jewel, because although in the Countess’ eyes at least she seemed to be the equal of any knight, maybe even more than equal.

That was not as much an elevation as it might appear.

Jewel also heard and saw how the Countess viewed even the well-dressed lords around her as much like a piece of meat as they did Jewel.

Spoke to even Jaksa the Red (who seemed to be something of a confidant for her) like he was a tool, sometimes.

To the Countess, all were animals before her.

Most were lesser beasts than Jewel, yes.

But that was hardly much better.

After a whole day of this it was a relief to retire to her chambers.

And given the intensity of everything and the needling stares at all hours awake, Jewel was not even disturbed when Tsulogothulan arrived in a roiling pond that almost certainly utterly ruined one of the fine carpets that muffled the stones of her guest chamber.

In lieu of a bed the Lady Bathory had ordered half the room’s floor filled with pillows, cushions and thick carpets!

It had been a wonderful delight last night and it offered excellent and interesting hills and valleys to roll her coils across tonight as Jewel luxuriated.

In such a state did the Weird of the Uloghai Bog find her.

“My Lady Jewel, given present events, I have accelerated the plans to educate you on the nature of Sorcery both mortal and divine.”

Which was not exactly welcome news for Jewel.

“Lessons?! Now?! The day has been a chore onto exhaustion! Lords, Knights and war council muttering about me every waking moment, A day of peace please Tsulogothulan!”

But the Wizard (whom Jewel was definitely willing to call her friend now) simply shook that strange, almost featureless half-crescent of a nose and spoke as common and roundly as always.

“It cannot be helped, Lady Jewel. We will have far too few seasons until the war and you need to be prepared for the nature of this well before then. Do I have your permission to summon some assistance for our lesson so we can spare as many hours as possible for you to rest from the ordeal of the day?”

To which Jewel sighed but finally relented.

“Yes, whatever will let us get done with this sooner, my Esteemed Sorcerer.”

And Tsulogothulan spared no time after permission, producing a long knife from their sleeve and cutting a bright red gash down their forearm.

Spilling a crimson sheet of blood into the already sopping marsh that had been made of the carpets.

However the crimson stain hardly had time to even begin to soak the fabric before it bulged and swelled into a tumorous writhing mass and then unfolded itself into the continence of Jaksa the Red.

His lips were thin and he fixed Tsulogothulan with a disapproving furrow before speaking.

“I had just stepped foot in the guest wing. A working of this sort was hardly necessary, oh esteemed Weird.”

Jewel was far too tired to be perturbed by all of this and simply said the first thing that came to mind.

“Jaksa the Red, are you SURE you're a wizard?”