The D'Karon Apprentice

by Joseph R. Lallo

  “Grustim, I want you to apologize to the duchess immediately,” Valaamus ordered. “And after the completion of your duties, you shall receive a formal reprimand.”

  “That really isn’t necessary. It is hardly the sort of circumstance he could have predicted,” Myranda said.

  “It doesn’t matter. The goal of this tour is to foster trust between our people, and Grustim is a soldier. He should have discipline and the capacity to follow orders.” Valaamus allowed himself a single irritated sigh. “Duke, Duchess, may I present to you the officers’ memorial. The flame within this shrine represents the resolve we have to carry with us the memory of these fine men. The ivy represents the tenacity of the Tresson spirit, clinging even to sheer stone and in time breaking it to dust. The copper symbols are invocations for luck, strength, wisdom, and courage. Each stone is carved with the names of thirty-six officers who served at least five years before falling.”

  Myranda bowed her head in quiet observance of the lives lost. “We have a similar monument in my city. It lists the names of those who fell in the Kenvard Massacre. The fallen deserve to be remembered.”

  “I hope one day that you might grant me the honor of a visit, and may no new names be added to either in our lifetimes. Now please, let us retire to the cabin for a meal and some business before we rest for tomorrow.”

  “Wait,” Myranda said. “Myn will need to be fed. Normally she would hunt, but I imagine it might not be appropriate to release her into your woods unattended.”

  “Garr needs to feed as well. I will escort her for the hunt,” Grustim said. “It is only proper that I make amends for my prior indiscretion.”

  “Does that suit you, Myn?” Myranda asked.

  Myn and Garr looked distrustfully at one another for a moment before she stood and stalked off toward the nearby woods.

  “Excellent. To business then?” Valaamus asked.

  Myranda and Deacon watched Myn trot into the woods, followed closely by Grustim and Garr. Satisfied that she could care for herself, and hopefully show enough restraint to avoid causing an incident, they followed Valaamus into the cabin.

  #

  Myn stepped lightly through the underbrush, moving with slow care. The air was heavy with the scent of prey, far more so than all but the best forests back home. This was fortunate because, if not for the bountiful hunting, she might have gone hungry. It wasn’t that the creatures were particularly elusive. Far from it. They were as plump and clumsy as she’d ever encountered. But today she was not alone. Today she had another dragon to contend with. And that man on his back… She found herself spending as much time watching them as she did searching for a meal.

  Not since Entwell had she had the chance to observe another dragon. She caught their scent sometimes, in the sky or in the mountains, but she’d never sought them out. It was enthralling to watch Garr move. His movements were smooth and confident, each step placed where the last had fallen. When prey was distant, he raised his nose high, sniffing and tasting the breeze, then dropped it low to sample the ground. When prey was near he moved low to the ground, tail straight, wings flat and tucked. It was all as Solomon had taught her. But there was more. At times the human on his back would make a very un-human noise, and he would hold. The human would then gaze about in the dim light, glancing at a broken branch or a nibbled-upon bush, then another grunt from the human would send Garr in a new direction. Often it wouldn’t be long after that a new scent would grow stronger. The human was helping him hunt. Myn didn’t know humans could do that.

  Other times Myn would step on a felled branch or dry patch of grass and Garr’s head would whip in her direction. And there were times when she’d made no such sound, yet she would still notice him watching her, just as she had been watching him.

  The pair wove their own way through the forest, snapping up a bird here or a rabbit there. Enough to make for enough of a meal, but nothing truly satisfying. Not when there was so much more appetizing prey to be found. It soon became clear that each of them had the same quarry in mind. There were deer about. Five of them. It would be a fine meal for whichever of them could catch a few. Alas, as always seemed to be the case, the most succulent prey was the most elusive. Myn tried and failed to catch one or two, and Garr did the same. After a third attempt she decided to make do with a few more of the easier targets when she noticed Garr catch her gaze. He was far across the forest, barely visible even to Myn’s keen eyes. He stalked slowly forward, his eyes on Myn rather than the prey. Deeper in the woods between them Myn heard the rustle of the deer moving away from Garr and toward her. Myn moved forward, taking a bit less care with each step. The prey now turned back toward Garr. Step by step, gradually, Myn and Garr drove the group of deer tighter together. It wasn’t until both dragons were nearly within striking distance that the deer finally panicked and bolted.

  Moving as one, Myn hooked left and Garr hooked right. Thundering through the forest, they quickly gained on the herd. Garr struck first, capturing two and startling the others directly into Myn’s waiting claws. When each had dealt with their prize properly, they snatched them up and padded toward each other. Garr dropped his catch on the forest floor and crouched, allowing Grustim to dismount. With a few quick slices of an ornate dagger from his belt, he carved away a slice or two for himself, then uttered a short command. Garr eagerly crunched up the rest of his kill. As Myn ate the first two of her catches happily, Grustim sat atop Garr, watching her.

  “I’ll say this for that Northerner… if she did raise you, at least she didn’t ruin you.”

  #

  Myranda and Deacon sat at a small table in an extremely private room within the cabin. They awaited the return of their host as he had a rather animated discussion with the two mystics who had accompanied them. A light meal had been set out on the table, and Myranda and Deacon had been instructed to start without the others. The food was tasty, but quite different from what they’d been accustomed to in the north. Rather than the rich, hearty meals that could sustain one throughout the day and warmed one from the inside out, the food before them was comparatively focused on taste. Much of it was extremely spicy, and all of it was intensely flavorful.

  “This truly is a beautiful nation. It is remarkable how sharply the land shifts in just a day’s travel,” Deacon said, dousing the lingering burn of one of the more potent entrees with a bit of wine. “And I’m truly intrigued by Grustim’s knowledge of dragons. Such a subtle thing, faint rings on a horn, can tell you so much. I imagine it could tell you not only how many years the dragon has lived, but how quickly it grew! At least in relative terms…”

  “They haven’t had us stop anywhere with citizens yet,” Myranda said. “I wonder if they are afraid of how the people will react to us…”

  Valaamus paced inside, a bit red-faced and, despite the table settings for his associates, alone. Under his arm was something rather substantial bundled in thick cloth. He lowered it to the floor with care and took his place at the table.

  “I apologize for the delay. Are you enjoying the meal? Have you sampled the wellindo? Delicious, made from stewed minced venison and seasonings. It goes brilliantly with the fig bread.”

  “Was there something wrong?” Myranda asked.

  Valaamus sat and grabbed a piece of the bread, spreading a dollop of spicy-smelling meaty paste onto it. “Another reprimand, I’m afraid. Please, if you would, shut the door behind you.”

  Myranda did so. The instant they had complete privacy, Valaamus’s demeanor changed. Suddenly his body language and tone of voice were a match for his stern expression.

  “Let me begin by assuring you most vigorously that you have the deepest apologies of myself and my kingdom for any perceived deception regarding my aides. As I’m sure you can understand, there was some… concern about inviting three of the most powerful warriors of our generations-old enemy into our kingdom. We did not want to appear distrustful, but at the same time we needed to be certain that no spells were worked without
our knowledge. It was an act of poor judgment on our parts to attempt to conceal our mystics, and I hope you will take me at my word that no harm was meant.”

  “I’m sure before this tour is through we’ll each have made our share of mistakes,” Myranda said. “In the future, let us err on the side of openness.”

  “Agreed… And it is for that reason, and again forgive me, I must ask about some enchantments my associates have detected.”

  “I am perfectly willing to discuss them,” Deacon said. “I tend to rely somewhat heavily on enchantments. I often forget the concerns some may have for such things.”

  “The first is…” he reached into a pocket within his robes to fetch a scrawled note, “some manner of connection, reaching outward in many directions.”

  “My stylus and the books I’ve fashioned. They are really quite useful. They operate by—” Deacon began eagerly.

  “My apologies but any words you might spend describing their workings would be wasted on me. You can discuss them with my associates after our business here is through. Now, something pertaining to protection of some sort?”

  “That would be my ring,” Myranda said. “Enchanted by Deacon upon our engagement.”

  One by one they worked their way through the list of enchantments and active spells that the pair had been using. Most Valaamus disregarded as harmless, but one was strange enough that he simply could not bring himself to understand.

  “I’m sorry, but how can a hand be ‘unpredictable’ as you say, and how can such a problem be solved by a ring?” Valaamus mused.

  Deacon looked uncertainly to Myranda. “I believe the simplest path to understanding would be to show him.”

  “Very well, but be careful,” Myranda said.

  Deacon grasped the ring and began to slide it off. “Please prepare yourself. This may be… unsettling, but it is entirely under control.”

  Valaamus watched with interest as Deacon removed the ring from his finger. For a moment there was no result. Then, slowly, the skin began to shift. It marbled with red, veins of discoloration widening until the whole of his hand was a mottled crimson. Wide, stiff scales burst forth, and his fingers lengthened. Just as it seemed stabilize into the claw of some horrid creature, it shifted again, returning to a roughly human shape but changing in substance to something between metal and stone. He allowed it to shift twice more before shutting his eyes and willing it back to normality. The demonstration completed, he slipped the ring back on.

  The diplomat’s face retained the rocky, stoic expression that never seemed to leave it, but his eyes were wide with shock and barely concealed disgust.

  “What in this world or any other was that?” he said.

  “It’s an affliction, the result of an imprudently cast spell. The details are complex, even by my standards, but suffice it to say my hand is not as stable as it might be. The ring is an adequate treatment.”

  “I believe… I believe you will have much to discuss with my aides. But that sets my mind at ease. As you’ve seen, we are quite adept at detecting magic. And as we have seen, you are quite adept at casting it. I hope you will understand but… we are recently enemies. The military has requested that you limit any usage of mystic power, and completely forgo anything that might give you insight further into our nation than we choose to show. I, of course, would never accuse you of espionage, but if the military were to feel the influence of your mind probing the land…”

  “I understand. Of course we agree,” Myranda said.

  “And what of passive magics?”

  “We thank you for your cooperation. Now, poorly timed as this may be in the face of our recent agreement to forgo any further deception, I must now request a degree of discretion on your part for the matter we are about to discuss. You are, I hope, aware of the incidents that prompted our hasty assembly of this diplomatic exchange.”

  “The supposed D’Karon attacks,” Myranda said.

  “Precisely. Now, I know that neither your kingdom nor mine is eager to begin again what has so recently been ended. But if we determine that someone within your empire, or allied with it, has been attacking our people, then we will have no choice but to defend ourselves, and to do what is necessary to prevent further attack.”

  “Of course,” Myranda said. “And speaking as a citizen of a land that has been held prisoner by their dark whims since the start of the war, there is no one more interested than I in making certain that any seed of the D’Karon is snuffed out before it can blossom.”

  “It is heartening to hear that. Every attempt has been made to prevent the word of the attacks from spreading. Even my aides do not know the full details of what we now discuss.” He held up the item he’d brought with him. “Contained within this bundle is a small sample of two of the D’Karon creatures that attacked one of our most southerly cities. You may wish to complete your meal before we continue—I understand they are somewhat gruesome.”

  “I don’t believe we can justify further delay,” Myranda said.

  “Very well,” he said.

  They moved the food to the side of the table and placed the bundle of cloth down. Myranda carefully pulled the layer of cloth away. The bundle contained a few scraps of leathery flesh and some bone fragments, a skull and a vial of black liquid. A small stack of pages described the contents and included sketches based on the accounts of those who had personally encountered the creatures from which the samples had been taken. Deacon picked up the stack of pages and began to read.

  “‘The fact there are remains at all suggest these are at the very least not the beasts we have faced in our own kingdom. Many vanished into dust when defeated. Those that did leave remains didn’t leave behind anything that looks like this.’” Myranda leaned close to inspect the leather. It had a strong aroma, like something one would find in an alchemist’s shop. “Have these been treated in some way?”

  “‘Those who discovered them were forced to preserve them, as they were swiftly rotting,’” Deacon read. “That swatch is from this creature.”

  He slid a page over to Myranda with a simple sketch of a billowing form. It could easily be one of the cloak creatures that had so often plagued the Chosen, though there were subtle differences even in the sketch.

  “This flesh… the page says it came from the ‘cloak’ of the creature, but it looks to be leather. The cloaks we knew were certainly cloth,” Myranda said. “And this sketch shows claws along the edge of the cloak. It could be simply a misremembered detail, but the cloaks typically had no such things. When claws did flash into being, they were ghostly and faded to nothingness before reaching the empty void within the cloak.”

  “And the cloaks we battled did not rot. If they vanished, they vanished into dust, and if they remained, they remained as shreds of simple cloth. The page indicates that these fragments of bone come from the cloak-creature’s claws, and the beings we fought had no bones,” Deacon added. “We shall set it aside for study through mystic means when the cursory assessment is through.” He selected another page. “Now this, to all appearances, is indeed what we would call a dragoyle.”

  He shared the sketch with Myranda. At a glimpse it might first have seemed to be a dragon, but even drawn as it was based on descriptions, there were telltale signs of its unnatural characteristics. There were no eyes in the sketch, only dark sockets with gleaming points of light within them. The head lacked flesh and scales, appearing as little more than a skull. The sketch showed seams running along the monster’s hide, making it resemble a doll sewn together from scraps of cloth too small to form it individually.

  Myranda grasped the skull and raised it, turning it about in the light. It was white, or at least it might have been if it was clean. In its present state it was stained with brown and smeared with black. Ribbed horns curled down from the skull’s temples with a smooth, natural curve. They were joined by other irregular spikes that seemed to have erupted at random from the top, back, and sides of the skull. The jaws were lined with jagge
d bone. It looked broken, but the more intact portions formed cavities where teeth might once have been.

  “It is small for a dragoyle’s head, though we found beasts of many sizes… The color is wrong, too. The dragoyles we knew were black, or at their lightest a deep purple. The colors could have varied as well, though. This here… this looks to be dried red blood. That is wrong too. Dragoyles had black blood. And this seems to have once been teeth. The dragoyles had only serrated beaks. I cannot be certain, but this looks more like a ram’s skull that has been twisted into a new form,” Myranda observed.

  Deacon picked up the vial. “This, the page says, is the beast’s breath.” He tipped it side to side, watching the viscous substance ooze down the vial. “Look how it has pitted the glass. The page says this is not the first vessel the stuff has been poured into. It eats at everything it touches.”

  He eased the cork from the end, only for it to crumble away in his fingers. The scent that filled the room was sharp and acrid, and it conjured dark memories.

  “That is the miasma…” Myranda said, no hint of doubt in her voice. “I know it all too well.”

  “Have you known anything but these… dragoyles to produce such a substance?” Valaamus asked.

  “Nothing,” Myranda said.

  “And have you known anything but the D’Karon to utilize such creatures?”

  “They are a product of the D’Karon,” Deacon said.