The D'Karon Apprentice

by Joseph R. Lallo

  “Highpoint is the oldest and largest town in the area, built as a fort when the kingdoms were separate, it has since stripped away its walls and grown far beyond its original limits. The Eagle’s Terrace is the centerpiece to the town, one of the finest inns in half the kingdom. It was considered as a possible host for the queen’s summit prior to the decision to temporarily restore Five Point.”

  Maka nodded and watched as the crowd, which had gathered as the carriage approached, was held at a distance by the imposing presence of a dozen guards. Most eyes were turned to the Tresson ambassador and his delegation, some with curiosity, most with far more vicious emotions.

  “Again I see your countrymen are not pleased by our visit,” Maka said.

  “With the exception of those who attended the queen’s coronation, you are the first Tressons to travel this far north in more than one hundred and fifty years. You are the first Tresson most of these have ever seen outside of a battlefield. Human emotions are stubborn and foolish. They linger long after their source has departed.”

  “Perhaps we should step inside then. I would not want to disrupt the peace of this fine town,” Maka said.

  “Agreed,” Ether said. “I believe there is some manner of formal greeting planned.”

  “Ambassadors!” Gregol said, unable to forgo the anxious hand-wringing that seemed always to rear its head when he had to deal with Ether. “I trust your ride has been a pleasant one?”

  “Yes, Ambassador Gregol. Thank you,” said Maka.

  “You need not ask that each time we leave the carriage. I am capable of conducting myself in the manner you have advised,” Ether said, the rumble of impatience in her voice.

  “Yes, oh Guardian, thank you. If you will step inside, we will begin our evening meal and offer Ambassador Maka the traditional—”

  “Very well,” Ether interrupted, striding toward the doorway.

  Maka followed, a strangely amused grin on his face. He stepped close to Ether as they approached the door. “You are aging your assistants by many years. They perhaps were not prepared for someone so willful.”

  “Then they were fools,” Ether said. “I am Chosen. The safety of this world owes itself to the strength of my will.”

  They entered the inn to find it, as would be the case for all formal meeting places during the trip, emptied of all but the staff who maintained it and the local officials who greeted them. Knowing the lingering hatred fueled by so long a war would be difficult to quell, the tour’s organizers chose to take no chances, minimizing contact with the public. Upon entering, there was a brief ceremony. A simple woven wreath of pine boughs was presented to each of the delegates.

  “These wreaths are an ancient gift of acceptance and hospitality. Woven from boughs cut from young trees deep within Ravenwood, they are symbolic of the embrace of the land and its people, welcoming you into our hearts. Take them with our blessings,” Ether said, the words spoken without spirit or sincerity.

  “Thank you,” Maka said with a bow of his head.

  The delegation continued inside to the dining hall of the inn. It was a grand place, three stories tall and built from stout wooden beams. The walls were white plaster, decorated with wood carvings and the mounted heads of deer, elk, bears, and moose. Five tables had been arranged in a semicircle before a fireplace large enough to heat the whole of the room with plenty of warmth to spare for guest rooms. Many such rooms wrapped around the chimney on the other side of the wall. The mantle was so tall one had to crane one’s neck to look at the great carving of the Ulvard crest mounted there, and the fire within the hearth was nearly as tall as Maka.

  Ether and Maka were seated alone at a four-person table in the center of the arrangement. The table to the left hosted Gregol and his counterparts among the delegation. To the right sat Zuzanna and her portion of the entourage. The outermost tables hosted the lesser members of the group, various assistants, servants, and record keepers.

  “Another fine meal,” Maka said appreciatively as soup and bread were set before him. He noted that none were placed before Ether. “I’ve not seen you take a meal since my arrival. Does this food not suit your tastes?”

  “I do not require food.”

  “No? Surely you must require some form of sustenance.”

  “I draw my strength directly from the elements, and at present I have no need to replenish myself.”

  “Remarkable,” Maka said, with genuine interest. He sampled the soup. “Delicious. I have not eaten so well in a great while.” He shifted in his seat, facing her a bit more. “We have spoken much of your land as we traveled, and I have spoken much of mine, but we have not yet discussed each other.”

  “It did not appear to be a relevant diplomatic matter, and I am taken to understand that diplomacy is—as often as not—about avoiding those things which need not be said.”

  “On this matter, I believe there can be no harm from gaining a greater insight.”

  “All the same. I have no interest in discussing such things.”

  “Very well. I wish only to do you the courtesy of sharing my interest.”

  Ether watched as he ate, the enjoyment clear in his wizened expression. Her mind began to drift in all-too-familiar directions. A thought arose.

  “You are old,” she observed.

  “Quite old, yes,” he said, again his lips turning up in a grin at the novelty of the statement.

  “Death is near for you,” Ether said.

  “Hah! I try to avoid thinking in such terms, but it is fair to say that more years are behind me than ahead.”

  “How do you do this? Why do you spend your time in this way if it is so precious for you?”

  “It is my duty to my land.”

  “Will this duty ever be fulfilled for you? Does it have an end?”

  “When I feel I lack the strength or will to represent my land, then I shall retire from diplomacy, but that time has not come yet.”

  “And what then? What will you do when your purpose is gone?”

  “My purpose will not be gone. It will simply change. I shall devote myself to such things as matter most to me. To my family.”

  “Your family.”

  “Yes. I have three sons and four daughters, all married. Thirty grandchildren and twenty great-grandchildren, to say nothing of my nieces and nephews.”

  “Do these offspring require your aid and support any longer? Your protection?”

  “Oh no. My children are fine men and women. Quite able to meet their own needs.”

  “Then your task is done. There is no purpose for you to serve.”

  “When one has a family, one always has a purpose to serve. Sometimes it is enough simply to be near, to share wisdom, and share strength.”

  “Life is so insignificant, so fleeting. How do you continue on when you know that nothing you do, nothing you leave behind, will ever truly be important in the widest scheme? How do you cope with the knowledge that at any moment your life might end?”

  “How do we cope knowing that life may end soon?” He laughed. “What other choice do we have? And perhaps we are but drops in a great river, but we all contribute to the flow. Whatever the ‘widest scheme’ may be, it arrives at its destination in part because of us. That is enough. These are questions far beyond the depth of a simple diplomat. But it seems to me that such questions are asked of others only when they have first been asked of ourselves without a proper answer. Tell me, what brings you to ask them now?”

  “Nothing… It was foolish to ask.”

  “Nonsense. Why are we here if not to share of ourselves?”

  “Your answers will be of no use to me. You speak of family. I have none.”

  “We all have a family, Ambassador Ether.”

  “Not I. I was crafted by the gods, no mother or father. I have no siblings, save the lesser elementals who are to me what insects are to you. And I have no children.”

  “There are other types of family than those who share our blood. There is the fa
mily we choose for ourselves. Are there any you would call friends?”

  “There are those who I would call allies. I have no need for friends.”

  “Another phrasing then. Are there any who would call you friend?”

  “There are some.”

  “Then these are your family.”

  “But you spoke of family as those who need one another. They do not need me beyond tasks such as this, and I do not need them at all.”

  “I think on that the second point you are mistaken. Someone who speaks as you do of life and death, someone who asks the questions you ask? That is a person who needs family, now more than ever. Of these who would call you friend and who you call allies, is there one who is special to you?”

  “There was one who was my equal, one who, unlike me, seemed to seek these connections of friendship and family that you insist are so crucial… or at least one who would accept them. But he did not seek them from me.”

  “He spurned you.”

  “I offered myself as a target for his affections, and he chose not to do so. It is just as well. In time he would have seen that affection had no place in what we were. He and I were unique in the world, creatures crafted by the same forces that sculpted the very firmament, joined by a higher purpose and undiluted by impurity or mortality.”

  “Mmm… And you say he would have, and he was… is this special one no longer with us?”

  “It was foreseen that to defeat the D’Karon, our world would have to sacrifice one of the Chosen. He was the one to fall.”

  Maka nodded. “Then I understand. Ambassador Ether, it is a fine thing for you to host me in this journey, and I look forward to what remains of it, but may I suggest that when you are through, you return to these allies for a time.”

  “For what reason? My task with them is through.”

  “Perhaps, but I think if you were to speak to them as you have spoken to me, they would learn that their task with you is just beginning.”

  #

  Some time after they set out, Grustim and Garr returned with the fruits of their hunt. At the campsite they found Myn with her eyes shut, a purr of contentment rumbling in her chest as the wizards leaned against her belly and enjoyed the warmth of the fire in the coolness of night. Garr clutched three large gazelles in his teeth. Myn opened her eyes and watched him as he dropped them beside the fire, then Grustim hopped down to inspect the camp.

  “You build a proper fire,” Grustim stated.

  “We wouldn’t last long in the north if we didn’t know how to build a good fire quickly,” Myranda said. “Though Myn gets most of the credit for the hard work. Should I help prepare the meat to be cooked?”

  “I will see to it,” Grustim said, drawing his knife and getting to work.

  His skill with the knife was every bit a match for Garr’s mastery of the skies. Grustim sliced a share for each, fashioned spits to prepare them, and set others aside to cook and smoke more slowly. Garr sat patiently, his catch at his feet, until Grustim finished prepping the food to be cooked. When the Rider gave a low command to his mount, Garr snatched and swallowed his meal.

  “This one is for Myn?” Myranda said, indicating the prey that had been placed nearest to her.

  He gave a single nod.

  “Eat, Myn. You’ll need your strength for tomorrow.”

  Myn looked at the meal, then looked to Garr. With a sniff and flick of her tongue, she pushed it away with her nose.

  “Oh, don’t be stubborn,” Myranda said. “I know a big meal can last you days, but after the flying you did today I’m sure you’re starving. You’ll have plenty of chances to hunt for yourself and for me when we get back to Kenvard.”

  Myn flipped the tip of her tail back and forth and acted as though the meal was not there.

  “Grustim, what can you tell us about where we’re headed? The Southern Wastes?”

  “Little to be said. Myn’s enthusiasm has brought us half a day closer than I’d expected. The Wastes are a region near the southern coast. Colder than the rest of Tressor. Little rain, and nothing grows there.”

  “Is there anything sensitive there? Something that might attract the D’Karon? Any resources? Perhaps temples or artifacts?”

  “Most years there is little at all. This season there may be some shepherds or goatherds.”

  “There may be?”

  “The Wastes grow and recede. For years they will seem to recover, the fertility of the land returning slowly. Inevitably it comes to an end. The life drains from the soil and the cycle begins again.”

  “Why would the D’Karon strike there?” Myranda wondered aloud. “If it is truly the D’Karon, then to focus on a lifeless place is unlike them. Above all else they seek power. If these attacks are their doing and are intended to restart the war, surely they would have struck somewhere in the heart of Tressor, or even the border where the war burned for so long. Attacks there would have left no doubt in the minds of your people that hostilities had begun anew. To strike on the fringe of your kingdom would only make sense if there was something of great value there.”

  “Of course, such thinking only holds if it is the D’Karon themselves,” Deacon observed.

  Myranda nodded. “Even if the evidence suggests the contrary, we can’t afford to take this situation lightly. We must be prepared for the D’Karon.” She looked at the Dragon Rider. “Grustim, if we find dragoyles, whether they are true works of the D’Karon or merely something like them, there are some things you should know about them and how to face them. They are massive creatures; their—”

  “You need not describe them, Duchess. I know them well. They are meant to be dragons, though they come as near the true creatures as a shadow comes to the man who casts it. They share their form, but little else. It is as though you made weapons of the great creatures we ride, keeping the claws, the wings, the strength, but stripping away the grace, the nobility, the soul…”

  “They are not our doing, Grustim. They are the work of the D’Karon.”

  He looked at Myranda, his expression unchanged. “Of course. A slip of the tongue.”

  “How do you know of them?”

  “The Dragon Riders have had many a clash with those twisted mockeries of our mounts.”

  “You fought them?” Deacon said. “From what we’ve found, and what we’ve learned from soldiers stationed at the front, dragoyles were not deployed at the front lines. And I admit I may have misunderstood, but it seemed to me that the Dragon Riders were not frontline fighters either.”

  “Not now, and never was it the intention. But once. It was decades ago, long before my time. The war was raging as hot as it ever had. Our king, the father of the man who now holds the throne, believed if the front line could only be broken, the tide could be turned. He demanded that the Dragon Riders be deployed en masse, targeting the weakest defense point. A dozen Riders descended and made a crucible of the battlefield. Our soldiers claimed more of your land on that day than they had in the months that preceded it. But then the sky blackened with your… with the D’Karon creations. They did not breathe anything so clean and pure as flame. They spat a choking black mist. We lost nine Riders that day, and four mounts… We still haven’t recovered our full numbers. It was decided that no matter the gains that might be had, the Dragon Riders were too precious to be squandered at the battlefront, but the stories of that battle, and of the hideous foes they fought, remain a part of our training.”

  “Well, know that we’ve done all we can to rid our world of them, and if we find that they have done any harm to your people, we shall do all in our power to repair the damage and find those responsible,” Myranda said.

  “And if those responsible are indeed operating under the orders of your crown?”

  “I assure you such is not the case.”

  “Your army then? You’ve already admitted that the military was in the clutches of the D’Karon for much of the war. What if your soldiers were less reluctant to abandon their former masters than yo
u?”

  “If they are the allies of the D’Karon, they are no allies of ours. They will be brought to justice,” Myranda said with resolve.

  Grustim watched the meat roast, and a heavy silence sat over the campsite. When the leaden quiet was broken, it was not with a word, but a growl. Myranda turned to find that despite her clear reluctance to eat the food offered by Garr, the rumbling of her stomach betrayed her.

  “Are you ready to swallow your pride and eat what they’ve given? Or will you continue to act like a child?” Myranda said.

  Myn thumped her tail angrily at the ground once. Garr stood, looking to his Rider, then padded forward and picked up the meal intended for Myn. She watched him warily. He took a step closer and dropped it again, practically placing it between her paws. A conversation began, one that was more felt than heard. Deep, throaty vibrations Myranda hadn’t heard since her time in Entwell when Myn and Solomon “spoke.” At that time both dragons were much smaller. To experience such a conversation at full scale was almost enough to rattle one’s bones.

  When the conversation was through, a final growl from Myn’s gut served as punctuation. She reluctantly curled her head down and snapped up the meal.

  “There, at least someone was able to talk some sense into you,” Myranda said. She turned to Deacon. “Did you understand any of that?”

  “The language dragons speak to one another isn’t quite like the languages you or I might speak, or even to the one they might use to speak to a human listener,” Deacon said. “The thrust of the argument was that there will be bad hunting where we land next, and she would be still hungrier when we reach that place. It is better to eat now than risk waiting. Myn felt certain she would be able to seek out enough food and took some convincing otherwise.”

  Grustim raised an eyebrow. “You understand Draconic?”