The Price of Temper

The air outside the High Cave was biting, filled with the sharp, clean scent of high-altitude pine and the metallic tang of impending conflict. Dawn had fully broken, painting the jagged peaks of the Wastes in cold, unforgiving shades of grey and bruised purple.
Theron returned with a small entourage—four younger Exiles, each armed with a long, heavy spear and cloaked in thick, dark fur that seemed to absorb the scant light. Theron’s face, etched deep with suspicion, was impassive as he motionly for the Queen to be moved.
“The Council waits,” Theron rasped. “The Dragon Guard will precede her. No weapons drawn. No magic activated.”
Jerrick stood like a granite sentinel. He locked eyes with the younger Exile who reached to assist the Queen. The air around Jerrick wasn't visibly warped, but the sheer pressure he exerted was palpable. The Exile froze, his hand hovering over the Queen’s furs.
This is the first test, Jerrick thought. The distraction begins.
He did not speak. He merely let the inner, caged power ripple—not a surge, but a low, simmering heat that made the Exile’s throat click audibly as he swallowed. Jerrick was allowing the edges of his control to fray, projecting the image of a deadly weapon barely held in check by the thin thread of his duty.
Theron, sensing the tension, stepped forward, placing himself between Jerrick and the young Exile. "Captain," Theron warned, his voice low and dangerous. "Do not push our hospitality."
Jerrick’s eyes flashed, his gaze holding Theron’s. "I am the Queen's Shield. I will touch her, and only I. You will not risk aggravating her wounds."
It was a blatant act of insubordination, and it worked. Theron saw the rage, the protective fury, but not the cold calculation behind it. He saw the Elder God’s temper—raw, irrational, and ready to explode. Theron nodded curtly, unwilling to risk a skirmish yards from the Council.
Jerrick walked over and carefully helped the Queen to her feet, supporting her weight without effort. She leaned heavily on him, her breath shallow, playing her weakness to perfection. Behind them, Kael settled the silent children, his hand steady on the hilt of his sword, his eyes fixed on the Queen, ignoring the provocation.

The Council Chamber

The Council Chamber was not a grand hall, but a wide, rough cavern lit by torches set into the black rock. A crescent of ten elder Exiles sat on simple stone seats, draped in the pelts of creatures Jerrick couldn't name. At the center sat a woman, older than Theron, her hair a startling white braid that coiled down her back—the Elder of the Council, Saga.
The air was heavy, smelling of cold stone, oil, and the deep, ancient resentment the Exiles held for the Dragon-kin.
Jerrick deposited the Queen gently onto a fur-draped slab of rock placed before the Council. He then took up his position slightly behind her and to the right, a looming silhouette designed to block the Council’s sightline and dominate their focus. Kael and the children stood ten feet back, near the entrance, their presence a silent reminder of the three generations the Debt had promised.
Saga struck the stone floor with a polished deer bone. The sound echoed harshly.
"We have verified the Debt of the Shard," Saga began, her voice a dry, toneless chant. "Queen of the Dragon-kin, we honor the promise of your ancestors. Safe passage and protection for three of your bloodline is granted. Now, we exact the price for your stay, the price of the Shard."
Jerrick felt the pressure building behind his eyes again. This was the moment.
The Queen coughed, a painful, rattling sound. "The Debt is honored, Exile Council. We came to you in our greatest need. I will pay the price." She met Saga’s gaze directly, ignoring the pain. "You will ask for the Cold Forges. I know this. You seek the method to bind the moon-steel that Atlas cannot touch, ensuring your dominance in the Wastes."
Saga’s lips thinned. "You are perceptive, Your Grace. The Cold Forges are the key to the future. Hand over the knowledge, and we will protect your lineage until the snows melt and the way is clear."
The Queen slowly shook her head. "I will not give you the Cold Forges."
A collective murmur rose from the Council. Jerrick could feel Theron tense behind him. The Queen had refused their primary demand. He instinctively allowed a spike of heat to emanate from his body, a brief, sharp pulse of aggressive energy that caused two of the torches near him to flare violently and briefly dim.
Jerrick felt the Elder God surge, pushing against the leash. He kept his hands clasped behind his back, his muscles screaming with the effort of containment. He was shaking, and he wanted Theron to see it.
"He breaks the agreement!" one of the Council members shouted, pointing at Jerrick. "No magic! Confine him!"
Theron did not move immediately. He was watching Jerrick, his face a mask of calculation. He saw the Captain struggling, shaking with repressed power, and he hesitated. The potential violence radiating off Jerrick was enough to momentarily eclipse the rage over the Cold Forges. The distraction was working.
"Silence!" Saga commanded, striking the stone again. Her gaze was fixed entirely on the Queen, calculating the audacity of the refusal. "You refuse to pay the Debt with the Shard you promised?"
"No," the Queen said, her voice stronger now, defying her injuries. "I refuse to pay a future price for an immediate need. The Cold Forges are leverage against Atlas. I will not relinquish that until I have secured your loyalty."
She drew a deep breath. "I will pay the Debt with something greater than future knowledge. I will pay it with immediate, undisputed territory."

The True Payment

The Queen then whispered the coordinates and the name of the fortress she had given Jerrick—a formidable stronghold on the southern edge of Dragon-kin lands, rich in minerals and long coveted by the Exiles.
"I offer you the Fortress of the Obsidian Gate," the Queen announced, loud and clear. "It is verifiable, material proof of the Debt. It fulfills the ancestral oath. It is yours, free of charge, with all the armaments, stores, and maps."
The Council erupted. The Exiles screamed their demands and confusion. They wanted the knowledge that would guarantee their future supremacy; the Queen was giving them a tangible, costly gift that fulfilled the old promise, but left their ultimate goal just out of reach.
"This is not the Shard!" Theron roared, finally losing his cool, spinning to face the Queen. "This is misdirection! We demand the Forges!"
"The Debt is paid in a Shard of the Mountain," the Queen countered, her eyes burning with intensity. "A fortress carved from stone, defensible and rich. I have paid the Debt. You have sworn an oath. You will not violate your honor by refusing a gift of this magnitude."
Jerrick watched Theron, whose attention had now completely shifted from Jerrick's controlled rage to the political fallout of the offer. The Queen had successfully created a diversion of assets—pitting the Exiles' immediate territorial desire against their strategic, long-term hunger.
Saga, the Elder, sat silently amidst the chaos, her cold eyes studying the Queen. She had been presented with a terrible political choice: accept a colossal, immediate gain, uphold the Exile honor, and risk eternal resentment from her Council—or violate the Debt and lose an opportunity they might never see again.
Jerrick allowed the final, minute tremor of his rage to subside, knowing his performance was complete. The Queen was safe, for now.
Saga lifted her hand, and the Council fell silent. "We will convene," she announced, her voice dangerously calm. "The Dragon Guard and his family will remain here. The guards will stand at the entrance. The Queen's injuries will be seen to by our healer. No discussion. We will return with our verdict before the noon hour."
As the Exiles filed out, Theron paused, his eyes narrowing on Jerrick. He had been played. He knew it, and he knew Jerrick was the shield that allowed the trick to work.
"You are fortunate, Captain, that your Queen is more cunning than you are violent," Theron hissed. "But the cost of a kingdom is never final. Enjoy the few hours before our true negotiation begins."