“Quite so, quite so. A show of what I have to offer is called for.” Mellawin turned and gestured vaguely at one of his attendants lingering nearby. “Fetch the satchel.”
The attended hurried from the hall.
“One topic that has been discussed at length in the months since the remaining Chosen and the intrepid young Grustim defeated the misguided follower of the D’Karon… this… Turiel was her name. I always forget it. At any rate, the subject has been the expansion of the Southern Wastes. I understand Deacon and Myranda have investigated the topic as well.”
“Yes. Turiel’s attempt to open the—” Deacon began.
“Yes, yes. We know the tale. The important point is that significant damage has been done to the vitality of the land. Its strength has been sapped, and its ability to support life is terribly diminished.”
“Very much so,” Deacon said.
“What determination have you made about how to reverse this effect?”
“The land will heal itself, if nothing else,” Deacon said. “It took over a hundred years to do the damage, and it will likely take over a hundred years to heal from it.”
“Hmm, yes. But as Tressor is primarily peopled with humans, and as I understand it, the race has a distinct lack of patience for anything that takes more than one of their lifetimes to complete, there has been some interest in speeding the recovery, and no simple answer has been forthcoming.”
“None that is within our… power…”
Deacon trailed off and turned toward the doorway with interest. A moment later Myranda matched his gaze. The attendant entered holding a satchel not much larger than a coin purse. Both wizards watched it intently as the attendant delivered it to the table. Mellawin grinned at their reaction.
“My people had informed me you were both wizards of the highest renown. I suppose I would have been disappointed if you’d not felt the power of this before I showed it to you,” Mellawin said.
He tugged a plate from the place setting beside him and unfastened the thread cinching the satchel shut. The contents were anything but impressive. From the look of the stuff, Mellawin had reverently revealed a bit of dried tobacco. Deacon was visibly enthralled by the substance.
“Is that… dried moon herb?”
“Moon herb. I suppose that is one name for it. My people call it ‘nara leaf.’”
“I’m quite familiar with this. The tea of these leaves is profoundly restorative to one’s spirit. The plant is also the source of moon nectar,” Deacon said.
“Indeed. Again, if what I have been told is accurate, the city of Verril owes its freedom and safety at least in part to the less-than-judicious application of moon nectar.”
“I consumed a rather inadvisable dosage of it in defense of the city, yes,” Deacon said.
“Setting aside for a moment the question of where you acquired any quantity of the stuff, I am pleased to inform you that nara leaf is a small but well-cultivated part of the royal gardens. Some quality of the plant, not yet fully understood despite our great efforts, motivates benevolent spirits to gather themselves about this herb. We value it above almost any other product of the land. Every drop of nectar, every leaf, every stem, every pinch of soil is carefully collected and processed. It is my understanding that these D’Karon, or their agents at any rate, drank the land dry and left it a wasteland in this plane and the plane of spirits. This has caused the spread of the Southern Wastes of Tressor, and I must assume a similar blight has befallen much of the Northern Alliance. My court mystics believe, and I have every confidence in their assessment, that if this quantity of the leaves could be spread across an area the size of a small farm, within a year or two the blighted nature of the land would begin to recede. That, I suspect, is enough to satisfy even the most impatient and short-lived of races. It certainly beats the century or more you are currently anticipating.”
“How much of that substance do you have?” Myranda asked.
“Not enough to solve your problem overnight, or even over the course of the next few years. But more than enough to markedly improve the land both north and south of the border.”
“And how much will it cost us?” Caya asked warily.
“Pleasant to see there is at least one business-minded individual at the table.”
“The way I figure it, if you’ve been selling supplies to the Tressons for a century and a half, I’ve got to believe the income from the war effort has become a comfortable and reliable way to keep the coffers full. Now that peace has robbed you of that, you’ll either be searching for the best way to replace it, or the best way to start the war back up.”
“You injure me with the insinuation that I would seek to resume the horrific bloodshed that, indeed, had served as a valuable but distasteful part of our trade. My people are implicitly peaceful. That, as a matter of fact, is one large piece of the initial price I had in mind.”
“You want troops?”
“In a way. A very small number of troops, and very specific ones. I request that the Northern Alliance loan to me the Chosen, and Tressor loan Grustim and Garr.”
“Why?”
“There is a military aspect to the visit, but such details can be discussed later. There is no doubt a sumptuous feast awaiting us, and I have already prattled on far too long. Suffice it to say, it will be a rather small matter, well within your ample skills. The primary reason I request the aid of the warriors of myth and legend is one of popularity.”
“Popularity,” Caya said flatly.
“Yes. As I have said, my people are quite peaceful, so there is no war to unite us. And the trade with Tressor has kept us quite comfortably wealthy with very little effort. Through all of that time, I have been the king. I have had the most peaceful and uneventful rule of any monarch in the history of South Crescent. There are those who question precisely what role a king has in times of such peace and bounty. Pile upon this the matter of the prophecy passing us over, and my popularity is wavering markedly. If I were to return with the fabled Chosen aboard my ship, on the other hand…”
“It seems a rather frivolous reason to summon individuals with a great deal of work to do in their own lands.”
“I am a king. It is my prerogative to be frivolous. And remember that in exchange you will be given the right to purchase the antidote to the plague of your land.”
“We do not even know that this treatment will work.”
“I have in my possession two more such satchels. Consider the three of them a gift. You are capable of traveling quite swiftly, as both the Tresson and Alliance representatives have dragons to ride. I will be making a direct visit to the king of Tressor before returning to my ship. More than enough time for you to test the veracity of my claims. The effects of the treatment while subtle, begin at the very moment of application. If you find them to be worthwhile, I shall at this moment commit to the whole of the first year of treatments to be delivered immediately in exchange for a brief visit by these remarkable individuals and the timely completion of the tasks to be discussed later.”
Caya turned to the others, rubbing her hands together. “What do you say?”
“I do as I am ordered. If my superiors deem it a worthy assignment, I shall go,” Grustim said simply.
“I’ve always wondered what things were like in South Crescent. And I’ve never been on a long sea voyage before!” Ivy trilled.
“If we determine it will help both the North and South to recover from the D’Karon damage, I don’t think we have any choice but to oblige,” Myranda said. “Though I would prefer to know a bit more about these ‘tasks to be discussed later.’”
“Nothing that you haven’t done before. Some investigation, and if that investigation turns up something troubling, whatever steps are necessary to deal with the situation.”
“Will there be battle?”
“I certainly hope so!” Mellawin said brightly. “We don’t anticipate it, but to have the Chosen do battle on our soil? My people would be delight
ed! It would be a divine acknowledgment.”
Myranda looked at the queen, who offered a subtle but certain expression of encouragement.
“Again, if what you offer can ease the burden of our people, I don’t think I can refuse.”
“Splendid. Then we are in agreement! And to think that my advisers warned me humans were unreasonable and shortsighted.”
“And mine warned me that elves were self-satisfied and blunt.”
“Not all of us.” He laughed. “Just the best of us. Enough! Commence with the food and drink. I want to see what revelry the Northern Alliance has to offer.”
Caya raised a glass. “I’ll drink to that.”
#
Hours later as the ceremony was nearing completion, Deacon excused himself from the banquet and managed to encourage Myranda to join him. Much to the staff’s confusion, the duke and duchess of Kenvard discreetly asked to be shown outside through the servants’ entrance.
“Deacon, I appreciate that you are eager to test the capabilities of the nara leaf, but it may not be entirely appropriate to do so during the negotiations to acquire it,” she said.
They stepped lightly through the courtyard between the rear of the hall and its stables, which made for something of an obstacle course to avoid ruining some very stately shoes. Deacon was notably less careful in this regard, guided entirely by his curiosity and enthusiasm.
“I’ve never worked with these leaves in their dried state. It wasn’t my area of focus while in Entwell. Even if it was, the plant is so difficult to grow, knowing that it could be of aid in our current situation would have done us little good.” He spotted a patch of withered earth a short distance past the stables. “There. I can feel the damage done in this place quite clearly. We need to test.”
He held out his hand, and his gem obediently leaped into the air beneath it. A simple, weak spell wove into the left half of the barren patch of earth. Blades of grass reluctantly sprouted, struggling to flourish despite his mystic influence. When he was satisfied, he encouraged Myranda to hold out the bag of nara leaf and sprinkled the tiniest pinch of it onto the other half of the soil. A few rough rakes with his fingers mixed it in, and he resumed his spell.
The difference was pronounced and immediate. Grass rose in lush, thick tufts. A flower, its seed long dormant in the soil, extended from the ground and bloomed. Even a few fragments of dried leaf were enough for the magic to be restored, and thus for the life-giving nature to surge back.
“Look at it…” Myranda said.
“Like fertilizer, but for the soul of the land,” Deacon said. “I don’t believe it has enhanced the soil beyond what it would have been if not tainted in the first place, but it certainly wiped away the influence of the D’Karon… I wonder… The purpose of this proposed mission is to see if the D’Karon have had some sort of influence on North Crescent. If they have made a place for themselves there, that would mean that South Crescent and Entwell are the only places entirely untouched by them. And they are also the only places I know of with nara leaf. Do you suppose the leaf is somehow abhorrent to the D’Karon?”
“A question worth considering, but for another time. Even if there is nothing to be found, if lending our aid to Mellawin’s people can forge a relationship between the Northern Alliance and South Crescent, and will afford us access to these leaves to undo the damage to our land, there is no doubt in my mind what needs to be done.”
“Indeed. We should discuss terms immediately,” Deacon said. “The sooner we can shake hands on this agreement the sooner both North and South will recover.”
She glanced at his hands, now filthy from his experiment. “It might be wise, before shaking hands, to wash them. Mellawin may not find your enthusiasm quite as endearing as I do.”
Chapter 2
Myranda took a deep breath of the cool air rushing by. Myn seldom had cause to fly near the sea. It was a rare treat for her. Where land met sea, where desert met plains, where mountains met forest, these were the places the young dragon most loved to soar.
“There, I see the port,” Myranda called.
The dragon angled her head down and scanned the coast. An amber ribbon of beach turned steadily more gray and rocky as it wove northward. In the distance, the most southerly edge of the Eastern Mountains was just visible. The forbidding slopes and cliffs of those mountains left the people of the Northern Alliance without a single decent harbor in the Crescent Sea. That, among other things, was to blame for their utter isolation for the duration of the war.
Thread-thin roads traced their way toward a mottled patch of coast. It was too far below for the individual buildings or streets to be visible, but there was no doubt that the city below was Port Mataam. Ships drifted lazily on the churning waves, some throwing nets to haul in fish, others heading north or south with bounty from other coastal cities.
Myn spiraled closer. A trio of ships in the harbor stood out as utterly foreign in their design. The Tresson ships were artful, almost sculptural. These visiting ships looked as though they’d barely been touched by the hand of a carpenter. Their forms were smooth and organic, woven of thin branches, bound with vines. The masts were twisted, forked branches. Sails strung between them had the faded green color of leaves at the beginning of fall. One could almost imagine such things grew along the shores of South Crescent and simply drifted across the sea sometimes.
“It looks as though word of our arrival has not been adequately spread,” Deacon said, gazing down.
The dragon watched the people below as they raised their heads. Myn had flown over dozens of cities. As different as the people throughout the continent were, they all seemed to react in the same handful of ways upon seeing a dragon flying over their homes for the first time. Most ran for shelter and encouraged others to do the same. The rest stood in awe at the majesty and size of the beast casting its shadow across the land. There were perhaps only two cities on the entire continent that didn’t bat an eye at the comings and goings of dragons, and thanks to Myn, New Kenvard was one of them.
Myranda indicated a wide-open section of pier where a small assemblage of elves was loading things onto the deck of the largest of the three elven ships. As she was carrying Ivy, Deacon, and Myranda, along with some basic supplies, Myn’s landing was a bit heavier than it might have been. This didn’t bother Myn at all, but the shaking pier nearly pitched a pair of crew members into the water.
“My apologies!” Myranda called, hopping down from Myn’s back. “Is everyone all right?”
The elven crew surveyed them silently, then continued loading.
“Ah! You have arrived! And not a moment too soon,” called the king from the deck. “Come aboard, come aboard!”
“Look at the ship!” Ivy called, leaping from Myn’s back after enduring the landing with her eyes shut tight. “I’ve never seen anything like it! And look at all of those ships! And the sun on the water! The sea this far south is so different. I miss the twinkle of the ice, but the warmth and all of the birds—I’ve got to get a look from down on the beach. I’ll be right back!” She dashed off without waiting for an answer or permission.
“Not perfectly obedient yet, I take it?” the king called. “Still, that you’ve had any level of success in her training at all is quite impressive. But quickly, give the servants your things and come aboard. If you require, I shall have someone fetch the beast. My people will show you to your quarters for the journey. Oh, and do not trouble yourself asking them any questions. The majority of the crew has been instructed not to speak to you.”
“Why not?”
“Because you are nobility of the highest order! Only personal representatives of the king and his court are permitted the honor of informal discourse.”
“But what if we have questions or require guidance?” Deacon asked.
“Ah, yes… Stay where you are for a moment. Someone with the proper status will be along shortly. When your things are stowed, my people will show you to our communal meeting chamber.
There is much to discuss.”
Like Ivy, the king didn’t see the need to linger long enough for a reply. Turning to Deacon as he slipped from Myn’s back, Myranda said, “It seems King Mellawin has a rather firm view of hierarchy.”
“In both political and natural order,” Deacon said. “I fear if he does not adopt a more balanced attitude toward Myn and Ivy, this will be a very awkward journey.”
“To say the very least.”
A well-dressed and rather frazzled representative of the crown, who evidently had not anticipated the sudden need to meet with foreign dignitaries, rushed from the ship. It was Silla Lorekeeper. Her previously detached and disinterested attitude made the expression of borderline panic almost jarring in comparison.
“Guardians of the Realm and Chosen. I apologize wholeheartedly for any confusion or delay,” she said hastily, fixing her hair. “I was not made aware of the king’s instruction of the crew to avoid dealing with you directly and thus was not prepared to act in the capacity of a ship’s guide.”
“That is quite all right,” Myranda said. “It seems the king, if you will excuse the observation, isn’t well-versed in the finer details of such matters.”
“King Mellawin has traditionally employed a sizable and well-trained staff to carry out his orders. Having him present to direct them personally has been… disruptive. This way, please.”
She turned and paced back up the gangplank with as much grace and dignity as she could salvage. Myranda and Deacon followed, but as the gangplank was sized for humans and not dragons, Myn hesitated.
“Excuse me,” Myranda said. “I beg your pardon. A few questions?”
Silla turned, now once again wearing the weary expression that was so natural a fit for her features. “Yes, Duchess?”
“How shall I refer to you?”
“Silla or lore keeper, as you prefer.”
“Silla, what arrangements have been made for Myn during this journey?”
“There are cages for both Myn and the Dragon Rider’s mount, if and when it arrives.”
The Crescents Page 4
