The D'Karon Apprentice

by Joseph R. Lallo

  “You are suggesting my aide falsify her report?” Krettis said, raising an eyebrow.

  “This whole journey was destined to be pushed through a sieve to remove anything too dangerous or too honest. All I’m suggesting is we move the sieve to between our mouths and her quill rather than between our minds and our mouths. We both know the sorts of things that might be dangerous, and we won’t say any of that. But you speak your mind, I speak mine, Marraata translates it into something the rest of the delegation will tolerate, and no one is any the wiser.”

  “This is highly irregular,” Krettis said.

  “Your people selected a malthrope to be your host. It was never going to be anything but irregular. So what do you say? Shall we secretly turn this carriage into a place of honesty? Or shall we chat about,” she glanced at her pages, “the fine quality of Alliance pine for the next few weeks.”

  “This is not wise,” Celeste said.

  “Maybe not, but at least it won’t be dull,” Ivy said.

  Krettis blinked once, then turned. “Marraata, I will personally review your records each night to ensure that they are suitable to be presented. Ambassador Ivy, your offer is acceptable.”

  “Excellent!” Ivy said. “So what’s wrong with the stops we’ve got lined up for you?”

  “They are toothless,” Krettis said. “You are showing us places of what you perceive to be beautiful or of cultural relevance, but they leave unspoken and unexplored the one thing that has dominated both of our cultures for generations. They ignore the war. To look at your itinerary, you would think that the war had never happened. And so long as we are being frank, your land is icy and windswept. There is little more to be learned of it. You could drag me about for a year and I would see little more than snow, rock, trees, and huddled people trying to keep warm. What you are showing me teaches me nothing. The one thing I’d hoped to learn is the truth behind the D’Karon, a group whom you dubiously blame for every life lost in the entirety of the conflict. Not once in your banquet did you offer evidence of them. Not once in your itinerary are they even mentioned. I see very little value at all in any of it.”

  Ivy raised her eyebrows and looked at Celeste. “It’s nice she’s taken so enthusiastically to the suggestion.” Her eyes shifted to Krettis. “Let me begin by saying that no one who sees the crystal lakes, frost-dusted forests, and majestic mountains of my home would ever for a moment suggest that the sights are not worth seeing. And those huddled people have scratched out a life for themselves in conditions that those of you in the warm, bountiful south could hardly imagine. We are iron hard, all of us. As for the D’Karon, I will gladly tell you of their treachery. I’ll tell you of the cage they kept me in, the experiments they subjected me to. I’ll tell you of the way they hoped to turn me against those who were destined to be my friends. They took our healers and sent them to die at the front so that those left behind would wither and weaken. You believe that we will not show you things of the D’Karon? Look around you! The ruin of this capital? That is their doing. My body, the whole of the war. The stories I can tell you, Krettis. You’ll learn plenty.” She huffed a breath. “Care to read that back to us, Marraata?”

  The aide scratched down a few final words. “‘Ambassador Krettis praised the landscape and expressed interest in the many sites described. Ambassador Ivy agreed to answer many questions and spoke highly of her own people and those of Tressor, noting the southern land’s bounty.’”

  Ivy grinned. “This is going to work out just fine…”

  #

  Myranda and Deacon loaded the last of their bags into the carriages used by the rest of the delegation. In the interest of lessening the load for Myn, they would be carrying only the essentials. They kept one shoulder satchel each, as well as Myranda’s staff. Grustim had a word with Valaamus, then approached the edge of the lake. He knelt to fill his water skin at the water’s edge, dictating over his shoulder to Myranda and the others.

  “To reach our destination will take no less than six days,” he said. “Garr will set the pace. Follow closely. We shall fly near the clouds. Dragon Riders over the heart of Tressor are a rare sight, particularly in pairs, but nothing the people will fret about. You will go nowhere without me as an escort. You will enter no place without my permission, interact with no one without my knowledge. To most of our land you are still the enemy. Your dragon and your items of wizardry are weapons of war. No diplomatic parties have been sent ahead to prepare the people. There will be no warm welcomes.”

  “Understood,” Myranda said. “Let us be on our way.”

  “One moment,” Deacon said, scribbling something in one of his pads.

  “What are you up to?” Myranda asked.

  “It strikes me that while we’ve been forbidden active spells to aid our search, perhaps passive magic would be acceptable. Simply opening our minds to the signs left by D’Karon magic. I’ve passed the question to Valaamus,” he said, stowing the book again.

  “Will he understand the question?”

  “His mystics seem capable. They will understand,” he said. “I apologize for the delay. When you are ready.”

  Grustim nodded once, mounted Garr, and pushed his helmet into place. Myranda and Deacon climbed onto Myn’s back as the Tresson dragon and Rider began to strut forward.

  Myranda was no stranger to soldiers and military discipline. There was undeniably something different about how a soldier moved. The same could even be said for warhorses, but until now Myranda had never seen a war dragon take to the sky. The training was apparent from the first glance. Garr moved with sharpness and precision. He had an economy of motion that could only have been the result of endless repetition. He brought himself to speed with short, swift steps. His wings snapped open and caught the wind. Two crisp flaps were all it took to get the creature airborne, and from there a long, slow flap began the rhythm that would pull him skyward.

  Myn watched the demonstration evenly, eyes narrow and neck rigid.

  “Remarkable what a difference some training can make,” Deacon said, appreciating the technique.

  Myn huffed a breath through her nose and bounded forward, her steps long and spirited. She unfurled her wings and held them out, catching the wind and taking to the air with a leap. Whether it was her intention to show off or not, she certainly took to the sky with a grace and confidence that was every bit the match for Garr’s precision. Once in the air, Myn worked her wings to close the gap. The two dragons rose high into the sky. Once they’d reached the proper height, they each caught the same breeze and settled into a soar.

  Myranda leaned back slightly, and Deacon went so far as to open his bag to fetch a book. Travel by dragon-back, at least as far as Myranda had experienced it, was mostly soaring. Myn’s great wings caught the air, and with the aid of a few warm updrafts she could fly for hours without once flapping. Normally the journey from this point on would be a leisurely glide through the sky, leaving dragon and rider alike to enjoy the spectacular view and brisk air. This time, however, Myn had different plans. Unsatisfied with trailing Garr, she swooped aside, then worked her wings until she was beside him.

  Garr turned his head slightly, eying Myn. The female dragon returned his gaze, then shifted it to Grustim. The Rider was watching through the eye slits of his helmet, almost matching Garr’s own helmet-obscured gaze perfectly. He leaned low and grunted an unheard order. Garr looked ahead and put his wings to work, increasing his speed. Myn accelerated to match him. Myranda and Deacon leaned low, the wind rushing by forcefully as the dragon gained speed.

  So began a very memorable flight. Myn and Garr went motion for motion, matching each other’s speed despite Myn’s slightly smaller size and much greater load. Garr dove and surged forward, but Myn mirrored the maneuver and inched ahead. Then came the swoops and rolls. Through intuition, training, or perhaps instruction from his Rider, Garr seemed to be innately aware of where the strongest updrafts and most useful tailwinds would occur. He dipped here, rose there,
darted aside, and tucked his wings, always to maneuver into a better wind and thus ahead of Myn. She wouldn’t have it, finding her way to the same breeze through imitation when possible and through sheer effort when that failed. It made for a rough journey for Myranda and Deacon.

  “I had… not anticipated this degree of maneuvering…” Deacon said, speaking between swoops. He had one arm tight around Myranda’s waist and the other hand clutching his casting gem in case his grip proved insufficient.

  Myranda adopted the same speaking patterns, holding her breath and bearing down when Myn decided a dive or turn was in order. “I think she… might be showing off.” She leaned a bit closer and gave Myn a firm pat on the neck. “Don’t push yourself too hard. We’ve got a long way to go!”

  “Perhaps not for today. Grustim seems to be motioning for a landing,” Deacon said, more than a bit relieved.

  Garr did indeed seem to be pulling into a spiraling descent. Myranda and Deacon had spent so much time focusing on keeping themselves seated they hadn’t had a chance to observe the changing landscape beneath them. The lush green fields of Tressor, which had been spreading out as far as the eye could see when they started, now looked a good deal sparser. The green of the land was a shade closer to yellow, and a vast expanse of sand and stone loomed in the distance.

  A field sprawled below them near a wide stream. It would be a fine place to spend the night, and Grustim had likely selected it for just that purpose. Myn saw the potential as well and decided it was one last chance to show what she could do. As Garr approached the ground in an easy spiral, Myn tucked her wings and dove, darting toward the ground as quickly as a falling stone. At the last possible moment, she spread her wings again and turned her fall into a speeding glide, then from a glide into a run. She dug her claws into the dusty ground and slid to a stop a few strides from the river.

  “I hope you’re proud of yourself,” Myranda said as she dismounted and stepped back to observe her friend.

  Myn was heaving breath, visibly exhausted, but had a defiant gleam in her eye as she watched her rival draw nearer. He landed with the same crisp precision as his takeoff nearly a full minute after Myn touched down. The female strutted up to him, head held high, and swished her tail. Though she spoke no words, her body language made it clear that it had been a race, and she had won. Though a dragon’s expressions are difficult to read, Myranda had become something of an expert. Even with his helmet to hide all but his eyes, Garr was visibly irritated. It was worth noting that he was not winded in the slightest, his breathing as slow and steady as it had been when they left that morning. He stepped slowly to the riverbank and lowered his head to drink. Myn did the same, gulping almost desperately at the water.

  Grustim jumped from his dragon’s back and stormed up to Myranda.

  “Is that… did you… is that what you…” he stammered, hands shaking. “My superiors have asked me to speak with care, but care be damned. How dare you treat your dragon that way?”

  “I don’t understand,” Myranda said.

  “Look at her! She is exhausted! If you feel the need to illustrate the supposed superiority of your precious Alliance over my people, then that is to be expected, but to do so at the expense of your dragon is unacceptable!”

  “Grustim, I assure you, I required nothing of Myn. I asked her to save her strength, but she chose to do otherwise. Myn loves to fly, and I’ve always left the task to her to do as she sees fit,” Myranda said. “She didn’t do anything that Garr didn’t.”

  “Garr was carrying but one rider and has been conditioned for aerial maneuvers. I was attempting to keep him ahead of you, as I am expected to be your escort.”

  Myranda stepped up to Myn’s side. “Myn, look at me for a moment,” she said, worried.

  The red dragon raised her head from the river, licking the water from her chin with a curl of her tongue.

  “Are you all right? You didn’t overtax yourself, did you?”

  Her breathing was still heavy, but it was beginning to return to normal. She gave Myranda a nudge with her nose and dropped her head to the ground, angling for the usual affection.

  “You promise me you’ll behave tomorrow. Garr is an ally, not a rival. Understand?”

  Myn rumbled in her throat and gave a subtle nod.

  “Good,” Myranda said, scratching her on the brow. She turned to Grustim. “What shall be done for food?”

  Grustim glared at her for a moment, judgment in his expression. “The Dragon Riders are granted hunting rights in all of Tressor, but the same cannot be said of Myn. Accompanied, she might be permitted to hunt, but in light of her lack of restraint in the air I believe it best if she remains here. Grustim and I will fetch a proper meal. When I return I will ready a fire.”

  “I’ll see to the fire. Thank you,” Myranda said.

  The Dragon Rider tapped his mount. Garr raised his head from the river and huffed a breath of flame to sizzle the moisture from his helmet. He then helped Grustim to his back. Once the Rider was in place, Garr looked to Myn and Grustim to Myranda, then the pair dashed off into the fields. Myn stood rigidly and watched them go, her muscles tensed with the desire to spring after them.

  “No, Myn. We are in their land. We must honor their laws. If you must help, help me gather some wood for the fire.”

  Myn watched reproachfully as Garr bounded off into the distance, then padded along beside Myranda and Deacon toward a small stand of trees. With a slow rake of her claws, she stripped a large tree of several of its smaller branches, then clutched them in her teeth to carry them. By the time they had returned to the riverside, she’d caught her breath, though the occasional huff of anger still hissed from her nose.

  “I must say,” Deacon remarked. “Having been the object of Myn’s ire in the past, it comes as a bit of a relief to see her angry at someone else.”

  “I thought she was through with this jealousy,” Myranda said. She turned to the dragon. “You get along so well with the people of Kenvard, Myn. You’ll have to learn to do the same with the people of Tressor as well. Here, this is an excellent place. You can drop the wood and break it up a bit,” Myranda instructed.

  Myn let what was probably Myranda’s weight in lumber fall from her jaws and dragged her claws across it twice, easily shredding it. Deacon and Myranda went to work finding stones the proper size to ring the fire.

  “There, scoop out a bit of a hollow,” Myranda said.

  The dragon clawed away the stubby plains grass and then plopped down on the ground, lying on her side with her head upright and alert.

  Myranda released a contented sigh. “You know something? The circumstances are trying, but… I do believe I missed this. There is something so peaceful, so serene about readying a camp for the night.”

  “The weight you carry upon your shoulders is a great one. Any respite must be precious.” Deacon patted Myn on her neck. “And the task is made easier with Myn’s help.”

  Myranda pile the wood into a suitable arrangement while Deacon placed the stones. “I suppose the simplicity is a part of it. But… for so many years I roamed the north looking for a place that I could call my home and dreaming that I’d finally have a family to share it with.”

  She stepped back and nodded to Myn, who puffed a jet of flame until the wood began to burn.

  “Then I found Myn. Suddenly those little icy clearings or frigid alcoves weren’t places of solitude. In a way, before I was finally able to return to Kenvard, this was my home. Not any one place. Just a warm fire, dear friends, and the firm knowledge that there were important things to be done the next day. What more could anyone want?”

  She eased herself down and leaned against Myn’s chest. The dragon curled her head around to rest at Myranda’s side. Deacon approached and sat by Myranda’s other side. Myn quickly shifted to push her head between them. Thus situated, the three waited, each of their minds turned to the tasks and riddles of the day.

  #

  The sun sagged in the sky as E
ther’s delegation approached its first major stop. Their journey had taken them through a very carefully selected strip of the Low Lands, following the former border between Vulcrest and Ulvard toward one of the north’s most notable features: the seemingly endless Ravenwood Forest. It was a frosted green ocean of pines, scattered with the occasional hearty oak, maple, or ash. Their destination was a large, well-supplied inn called The Eagle’s Terrace in a town known as Highpoint. As the name would suggest, Highpoint was located upon a large hill in the otherwise flat expanse of the Low Lands. This gave the town in general and the inn in particular a fine view of Ravenwood in all of its glory.

  “We have arrived,” Ether said.

  “So I see,” Maka replied.

  The pair had chatted for the duration of the trip, though Ether’s asocial manner left Maka with the burden of keeping the words flowing. He’d been quite up to the challenge, asking questions, enjoying the answers, and offering his own observations in exchange. Ether’s replies were flavorless, bordering upon clinical. Invariably she spoke of the nation and its society as though she were well outside of it, an observer and nothing more. Nonetheless, her answers were thorough, accurate, and offered a scope of perspective stretching centuries into the past.

  Ether stepped out of the carriage into the street outside when they reached their destination. The town was built in such a way that all roads seemed to lead to the inn, with the main street sloping downward and angled for a clear view of the forest in the distance. Maka stepped down from the carriage behind her.

  “Ravenwood,” Ether said. “The largest forest in all of the Alliance.”

  “Impressive. A rival for our own Great Forest,” Maka said.

  “Ravenwood supplies most of the wood for the Low Lands, which spans the border between the Vulcrest and Ulvard regions. It continues to grow, and has done so for many thousands of years in spite of the harvesting. It could easily supply the needs of a land many times the size of the Alliance without decreasing in size. Several potent mystical leylines meet at many points, fueling the energies of the place and making it a fine home for wildlife and mystic entities alike. No human knows its interior fully, with large swathes completely untouched by man.