The City of Seven Arches, also known as Tammis to those in the Realm, is said to be sleeping along the Gray River. Others claim that the city is dying, for it is too far from anywhere to be of any importance.
The city was named for the architecture, an almost obsessive need to have arches everywhere. This obsession also led to seven immense bridges of marble, stone, and jade that reach over the Gray River itself to dig into the other side. Surrounding the walled city are other lands that all claim forced alliance to Tammis. Each one was conquered and dominated by Tammis and over the years, each one is slowly being torn down and rebuilt in Tammis' image.
The leadership of Tammis changes every few decades, from merchant lords to outright pirates and then back again. Five years before, an ancient Dragon-Blooded by the name of Enduring Strength of the Mountain invaded the city in the middle of the night, swarming through the elegant arches to slay the leaders of the town, a young council hoping for a “better life” for those in Tammis. The citizens barely rolled over in their sleep since life and politics didn't change from one day to the next, only the person on the throne.
Now, the city's future is once again balancing on the edge of a knife, but not from betrayal and murder, but from the very age of its leader. The days are spent in a hush, wondering if Enduring Strength would be the first, and maybe last, leader to ever die of old age while commanding the city.
Ember of the Passionate Flames did not consider any of the history of Tammis as she strode down the streets, ducking her head to avoid flowers hanging from one arch dedicated to a local god. The expression on her face was stormy and bitter, her hand clutching the immense dire lance in her hand as she glared at anyone who grew too close.
Following behind was a small portion of her troops, only a scale's worth, but still enough to bring silence from the people along the narrow roads as she stormed her way toward the center. While each member of her scale had on the surcoat of Tammis, Ember refused to wear it since the dark brown and bright yellow hurt her eyes more than she would admit.
The palace of Tammis was large and protected, with iron bars along every window, heavy wooden doors at every gate. The entrance she came up on, a smaller one leading into the kitchen and delivery area, was only guarded by four men with pikes. Seeing her, they snapped to attention as she walked past, not even saluting them back. They bit back their annoyance and watched as her soldiers formed ranks outside of the door; no reason to let common warriors in the lord's palace.
Ember made her way to the grand hall of the palace. Servants, each one wearing soft colors to identify their position and rank, scattered before her as she spun around corner and marched down the center of the hall. It wasn't until she stopped right before the two gigantic doors that she finally stopped. On the right was a carved relief of the city, represented by endless arches rising up over the Gray River. The other, a more recent door, was of the Wood Dragon fighting against the Raksha of the region, naturally he was winning.
Ember lowered her gaze to the two nervous guards by the door. Spinning her spear in her hand, she slammed the butt into the ground, denting the rug beneath her hand and then handed it over to one. His eyes showed his relief, but he remained nervous holding the heavy jade weapon in his hand.
She paused for another moment, pulling back her hair and making sure her jade chain was smooth against her body. She pulled her belt slightly tighter, accenting the narrow of her waist and curve of her hips. Her brilliant red hair flowed on its own with her nervousness, tiny strands rising up like embers in the heat even as she forced herself to calm down.
Finally reaching the only calm she could, she stepped forward and pulled open the door. It was late morning and the court was empty, except for the ancient man sitting on a recliner at the bottom of the steps. The throne itself was empty, a stark reminder that thrones aren't that comfortable, when you spend the day. She let a smile ghost across her lips as she entered the room, her boots sending a tattoo of noise across the room. As she drew closer, he looked up at her and smiled.
“Ah, my darling Ember.”
Ember knelt down in front of him, inches from the couch. He pressed a cold, rocky hand against her forehead for a second, then smiled.
“Rise, if you want.”
Ember obeys, her eyes examining him. He was old, older than the oldest mortal and it showed. His skin had the pallor of the granite itself, rough and veined, but there was still a flame in his eyes, like the ice-cold sapphire deep within the mountain.
“How goes your hunt, my daughter?”
Ember winched at the title. She had no blood relationship with Enduring Strength, but he insisted on treating her as his lost daughter, something that she never felt comfortable with, despite her position and the equipment he granted her.
“It goes poorly. I've sent runners to all the surrounding areas, but we have not found the beastman anywhere.”
He set down a book he was reading, Ember noticed it was a manual on war tactics of Lookshy, written easily thirty years before. He smoothed out the cover before speaking in his cracked voice.
“Do you still think he is a threat?”
Ember remembered the fight, the twisted creature that looked like some sort of humanoid bull, but with the fighting skill that tested her men to their very limits and found themselves wanting.
“Yes.”
The old man gave her a humorless smile, “Always the talker, my dear.” He paused for just a second, resting back with the weight of his age.
“Why do you come back?”
Ember steeled herself for her next words.
“I would like the Third Wing.”
The only sign of his surprise was his fingers brushing against the book. When he looked at her again, his gaze was solid, unyielding, and filled with caution.
“Why? If you cannot find him, then how would the wing help?”
“My talon was severely hampered by this beastman's attack. He managed to slay or incapacitate fifty men in less than twenty minutes. If he were to find one of the smaller villages, it would be a slaughter.”
“But, you still can't find him.”
Ember looked up at the throne, then back down at Enduring Strength.
“I will.”
A silky voice rose up from the door of the great hall, startling Ember.
“And what is this of a beastman in this area?”
Ember snapped to attention and spun on her boots to stare at him. He was an unassuming man, like many of the endless functionaries she met in every city in every direction. He gave her a humble smile and came forward. He was wearing a simple robe with no signs of loyalty or allegiance anywhere. She almost dismissed him, but his brashness made the hairs in the back of her head stand up and the way he stepped up next to her, bowing the Enduring Strength.
Ember gave her master an inquiring look. Enduring Strength sighed and struggled to push himself up into a sitting position. Ember stepped forward and helped him, giving him support until he could sit up straight on his own. He gave her a brief smile of thanks, but it disappeared the second he looked back at the functionary.
“This is Tomas, he is…”
Tomas filled in the silence, “I'm an advisor, of sorts, for the Scarlet Throne.”
Ember had to resist the curl of her lips and the shiver down her spine. She said, “You are a long way from the Blessed Isle, Tomas.”
“Ah, but the safety of Creation is all of our duties, both here and on the Blessed Isle.”
“So, what safety brings you here to Tammis?”
He smiled broadly, resting his hands on his side. Ember noticed they were soft and the nails were polished, not a warriors hand nor one who made their living with the written word.
“Funny you should ask. I was, um, attached to a wing myself up until some weeks ago.”
Her eyes narrowed, but she didn't interrupt him. He shrugged and gave a sheepish smile.
“We were requested, by the merchant lord Rattin Grath, to investigate some rumors of an anathema in the area. In fact, said anathema had devoured the mind and replaced one of his pleasure slaves.”
“Really.” Ember tried to keep the icy tone out of her voice and barely did so. The smooth-talking man from the Blessed Isle was already annoying her, his mannerism and how he looked at her.
“Yes, we, as protectors of all of Creation, responded immediately, coming down from Varsi. We actually found this anathema, a blond woman in her twenties, and she led us on an ill-fated trip into the forests north of Tammis.”
He paused for a moment. When no one interrupted him, he cleared his throat.
“Unfortunately, while she was poorly equipped to defend against our wing, her sudden companion was not. A large, twisted monstrosity from the Wyld, no doubt. With the form of a bull made in human shape. He was very powerful, destroyed many men's lives, including thirty Dragon-Blooded who still felt the Wyld Hunt was something to be proud of.”
Enduring Strength grunted, “It is.”
Tomas grinned, “Yes, it is. Very important, but when an anathema is allied with a beastman, it is something of concern for all of us, don't you think?”
His question was directed to Ember who nodded slowly, watching her master from the corner of her eye.
“Of course.”
Tomas smiled and Ember saw the triumph in his expression.
“Naturally, I have spoke with Enduring Strength of the Mountain about this problem at some length. He has agreed to send an extremely talented warrior along with me to hunt down both the anathema and the beastman and make sure they never threaten Creation again.”
Eyes widening, Ember spun enough to look at her master in shock. He sighed and nodded.
“I was going to tell you,” He had the nerve to look almost apologetic, “but you already had plans. I'm assigning the Second Dragon in your command to find, hunt, and bring this anathema and beastman to justice.”
Ember sputtered, shocked and surprised, “I-I've never commanded a dragon before.”
“You have commanded wings, multiple of them, I seem to recall. And the Dragon-Lords all respect you.”
Ember didn't correct him. He coughed violently for a moment, then pressed down on his book. He pulled out a neatly written sheaf of paper. Ember saw the official seal of Tammis on it and felt her heart sinking.
“As of tomorrow, Ember of the Passionate Flames, you are in command of the Second Dragon of Tammis.”
She gave Tomas a narrow look but he just beamed back.
“And Tomas?”
“Tomas will be acting in an advisor,” the old man empathized the word strongly, “and nothing else.”
Tomas bowed again, “Of course. I have no skill in commanding warriors such as these, nor do I want to. My only job is to give advice, suggestions, and make sure justice is done.”
Ember felt trapped between the unyielding rock of her master and the machinations of Tomas. She snapped to attention and bowed to her master.
“I would be honored.”
He dismissed her and Ember took her leave, leaving the grand hall in the same manner she entered.
Tomas and Enduring Strength watched her leave. When the dull boom of the doors being closed no longer echoed through the hall, the functionary turned back to the ancient man.
“Shall we continue?”
Enduring Strength, his face devoid of amusement or even joy, nodded. Tomas smiled briefly and pulled out a long scroll covered in numbers and calculations.
“After some contemplation, I feel that your request for a trade agreement is more than reasonable. The woodcrafts of this region are well known and your architects would be greatly desired in most parts of the Blessed Isle. And the city would benefit greatly from the imports we can provide.”
“And…?”
Tomas shook his head sadly, “I'm afraid that your request for warstriders and the air ship are beyond my resources at the moment. Maybe if there was a pack of anathema, maybe, but for two, even with this beastman, it is beyond my ability to negotiate.”
Enduring Strength watched the man's face carefully.
“Even if he can destroy three hundred men, I don't-”
“Well, it was only a hundred warriors.”
“And the Dragon-Blooded?” Enduring Strength's voice turned icy as he held Tomas in his gaze.
Sheepishly, the functionary said, “It was sixteen, one of them was the Talon-Lord Waves of Corroding Water.”
The ancient eyes narrowed even more, “You seemed to have misstated the situation, Tomas.”
Tomas waved it off, “I'm sorry, the exact numbers must have slipped my mind.”
Enduring Strength repeated his favorite warrior's phrase, his icy, cracked voice not echoing in the grand hall.
“Really.”