The Butcher of Gadobhra

"The mightiest of God-Emperors is vexed. We must take actions to appease him."

The second High Priest looked at the first and rolled his eyes in different directions, something he'd practice for years just for such occasions. "Vexed? His ranting is reaching a crescendo of epic proportions! Why would we do anything to slow him down?"

"He has never ranted like this before!"

"All the more reasons to do nothing, and enjoy the show. You fear for your miserable life? That is no reason to rob God-Emperor Arthramax of his ranting against the challenger! He will soon reach an enlightened stage where his mind ascends to rant with his ancestors and together they will find wisdom."

"And then?"

"And then we have a hundred slaves bring him food while we move away to a safe distance to preserve our miserable lives so we can serve him better in the future. But remember, it is not about us, it is about him. This is simply the best course we can follow to ensure that competent priests are alive to see to his needs. Let us review the great food trough and make sure it is enough. He grows and so does his appetite."

The noise from beyond the massive vault doors continued as the great feeding troughs were brought forward by nervous bearers and the priests retreated to a safe distance. Inside, Arthramax was venting his anger at the meagre offerings being made to his hoard. The walls bore the marks of his claws and his icy breath had frozen the gold to a depth of ten feet. Chillhands was hiding in a corner behind a thick shield of ice that grew thicker as the dragon's breath washed over it. Eventually the dragon ran out of energy to rant and plopped down on his cold, hard bed to take a rest. He enjoyed the chill, but hated how stiff his hoard had become. He spent the next ten minutes rolling back and forth to loosen things up for a good napped. Arthramax napped a lot these days.

Despite an endless supply of food and the power of an increasing hoard of gold, his wounds were slow to heal. The explosion that had trapped him beneath tons of rock had broken bones and bent scales. He was healing those, but slowly. One front paw was missing all but one claw, the wound he'd taken when his attempt to teleport was rudely interrupted. He could still see the face of the man with the huge mustache, large nose and goggles as he threw an arcane device at him. He wanted to add him to his enemies list, but didn't have a name. He knew the name of the monstrous foe that had given him the worst wounds, but after consulting with Chillhands, they had decided that listing the Butcher of Gadobhra as an enemy probably wasn't a good idea.

Those wounds had been substantial and he'd left a lot of him in that cold, deadly place. His nose had grown back, mostly, but the hindleg he'd lost was a pitiful small thing. The long rents in his hide were slowly growing a layer of small scales. It would be years before he was as invulnerable as he had been, and he worried about some archer putting an arcane bodkin into his heart through his weakened armor. There was precedent about such things happening. But he had an army now. No silly adventurers with a lost prince were sneaking up on him. His wings were mostly healed, but he really should get some exercise to make sure they worked correctly. He'd always taken such pride in his wings and they were the envy of every drake, dragon, or eel he's ever met. And, of course, a delight to female dragon everywhere. One look at his magnificent wings and they barely tried to flee his amorous embrace. Just enough to inflame his desire and assure them he was up to a long mating flight. That thought led to the one who'd gotten away. She'd been a cute little thing and he thought of her a lot. Someone needed to pay for that cowardly ambush. He had their scent, but not their names.

The worst of his wounds was his tail. It had lost two-thirds of its length, and tails were slow to grow back. It was embarrassing, but at least he could claim it as a war wound. The females were always impressed by scars from mighty battles. He'd have to slightly change the story when he bragged about his battle with the Butcher to better reflect his heroic retreat.

The steady stream of tribute had made life tolerable here where everything was too hot and the lack of female companionship made him long for the chilly winds and coy maidens of the North. When that steady stream was interrupted and became an uneven trickle life became harder. Finding out that a fat human dared to challenge him had triggered his rage and he had screamed at the priests each day, urging them to send more troops to kill the challenger and recover his gold. Just the thought of some grubby human running their hands over his shiny treasure drove him to anger. Screaming at the walls made him feel better, but tired him out. And it wasn't just the lack of new treasures that bothered him.

Rolling over one more time to get comfortable, he came to an uncomfortable conclusion. "I'm getting fat. Do you think I'm getting fat, Chillhands?"

A muffled voice came from beneath the icy shield, "Fat? Never. You have large bones and layers of splendid muscles. And if you have gained any bulk it's to fuel your Draconik Regeneration and promote faster healing."

Arthramax had thought of that himself. It was good to have someone else confirm it. Still, he should probably get some exercise, just to keep his wings looking magnificent. Heaving up his big-boned and muscular bulk, he waddled toward the doors, pulled them fully open. He was greeted by hundreds of his tasty followers bearing platters of food, and his troughs were filled and overflowing.

"Hmmm, I suppose I should fortify myself before trudging up those dreary stairs for my workout." He started to eat, and only quit several hours later when the last of the food was gone. He slammed his vault doors shut and sealed them with Sallowtail's Excellent Enchantment of Hoard Sealing. It wasn't perfect, and could be broken by a skilled Arcane Rogue but if the priests tampered with the spell, he would know. He yelled for his minion to climb onto his back. Allowing Chillhands to stay close and channel the cold of the outer void provided some respite from the heat of this place. Normally, a minion would never be allowed to ride a dragon, but these were special times. And he reminded himself he was no longer an ordinary dragon of the eighth tier, but a God-Emperor. Rules didn't apply to him anymore.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

The irony that the laws of gravity certainly did still apply to him was lost amid his puffing and wheezing as he climbed the endless stairs from his lair to emerge on the top of the great pyramid. His people were arrayed in the courtyards all around him, basking in his glory. He inhaled to roar and choked on the hot air. After getting control of his breathing, he carefully inhaled and managed a tolerable roar to his minions applause. Then he spread his great wings and leaped into the skies, flapping once, then twice, expecting to soar high into the air. To his dismay, started to fall toward the ground several hundred feet below.

"Damn this hot, thick air and my big bones. This is so much more work than it used to be." He flapped furiously and called upon what cool air Chillhands produced to sustain his flight. The lizardmen in the main courtyard gasped as the God-Emperor descended towards them, only to suddenly level out, clip the tops of a few buildings, and then ascend into the skies. Such a blessing was unheard of and they cheered as Arthramax flew around the city once before landing heavily on the top of the pyramid.

"Enough exercise for one day. This is not the weather for flying. I wonder how long it will take the Council of Winter to conquer this far south? Ouch! Did I pull a wing tendon? I need to be more careful. And no two ways about it, I'm getting fat! I'll have to cut down on my eating and get outside more. Or maybe just walk to the top and back? It really is too hot outside."

He was still mumbling to himself when he made it back to his vault. His minions had been busy, and once again his eating troughs were full. "Maybe just a small bite to regain my strength...." He meant that, but it was so hard to quit eating once he started. Moderation was not a Draconik trait. As his appetite was sated, he spied two of his priests, hiding behind potted ferns.

"Attend me, Priests! Your God-Emperor demands a report on your capture of the treasure thieves."

They nervously moved forward, noting that the potted plants had proved insufficient to the task of going unnoticed. "All goes well, your magnificence. Our soldiers pursue them daily, and are only a few steps behind them. I'm sure that they will be captured soon."

"You said that last time."

The priests looked at each other, not expecting to get away uneaten. But they would try. "Actually, that was the last set of priests. You ate them yesterday, and good riddance to those slackers. It is only because of the Yellowcrest Tribe's lack of intelligence that the army units deployed to capture the challenger proved insufficient. Very soon, the challenger will have no where to run and we will drag him to you for a full day of mockery before we cook him for your dinner. We beg for only a little bit of time for our valiant forces to find him."

Arthramax stared at them, unsure if these were new priests or not. They all looked and tasted the same. They were lucky he was full enough to resist another snack. "So everyone keeps saying. A little more time, but it's been days! A week! Longer... I can't even count how many priests I've eaten. Are all of our soldiers in the jungle looking for the thieves?"

"Of course, your magnificence. Each tribe has sent their tithe of soldiers who can be spared for the task."

"SPARED FOR THE TASK! I knew it. I told you fools to send all the troops. Not some of the troops. ALL THE TROOPS. What could be more important than this?"

One priest kicked the other in the shin and pushed him forward as he hopped in pain. "This one will explain further."

Quailing at being given the honor of explaining, the priest did his best, "Spared is an unfortunate word...perhaps available is better? There are many of our brave warriors who have traditional tasks guarding the pyramids, keeping order in the slums, guarding the important villages, and other important tasks set upon us by former Emperors who have ascended to the Spirit Realm."

The dragon sighed. He'd seen this sort of miscommunication before. "As I thought. I said to deploy all of my soldiers, but what you heard in your little minds was 'all the soldiers it was convenient to send'. Send all of them. The ones guarding pyramids, the slums, the important villages. They aren't needed. You will send all the gold in such places to me. Then empty the slums. These lackwits are now in the army and will hunt the challenger. Do the same with the important villages. Problem solved, nothing to guard. Where else do we have troops?"

"Well, Sacred Hot Springs of Ixtathon, 47th Emperor."

"I don't need hot mud. Those guards are now hunting UncaVarn. Next?"

"The guards at the Golden Idol of Emperor Magator, 13th God-Emperor. We have over a thousand Krax warriors stationed there for the weekly adoration ceremonies."

"You should be adoring me. Toss the golden statue in my hoard and send the Krax to the army. Next? Wait...I'm bored already. How many more shines to dead God-Emperors have guards?"

"Fifty-Eleven."

"Fine, strip them of valuables, replenish my hoard, and send the guards to the armies. See how easy this is? And if we have any soldiers, anywhere, send them into the jungle to help with the hunting. After the thieves are found, we will assemble a great army and send it up the War Road to crush the forces of the humans!" Arthramax was feeling better and better. He should have taken charge of the army long ago. These idiots didn't understand how things needed to be done! He popped the priest in front of him into his mouth and chewed absentmindedly for a moment.

"And one more thing! I've decided that it's time to find a queen and begin raising a brood. A gaggle of young dragons is always a help at making sure things get done. I want reports on any dragonesses in the area, the details of their heritage, and a wealth report. Get to it. All this work has made me sleepy." As he lay down for a nap, a single golden cup with a broken handle fell from the tribute stone in the ceiling, bouncing off his head. He retrieved it and gave it a quick polish. He waited for more tribute to fall, but nothing came, not even the missing handle. He added that insult to the long list of insults that UncaVarn would answer for.