“Oh…” Ivy said, crossing her arms. “I thought it was something interesting…”
“Ivy, that isn’t a very nice thing to say. I am pleased she’s decided to join us,” Deacon said.
She grinned. “It will be nice to see how ‘diplomatic’ she can be.”
He raised his crystal, which pulsed lightly in what served as a mystical wave hello. It did the job, prompting the churning point in the distance to shift toward them. The sea beneath it calmed slightly as it approached, and when it was a short distance from the ship, an airy form became visible above it. Ether’s tightly coiled wind fluttered the sails a bit as she drifted over the deck, then set down. She assumed her human form and gazed evenly about as the deckhands reacted, quite understandably, with more than a bit of confusion and dismay over her sudden arrival. Two of them drew weapons. Ether seemed unimpressed.
Silla hastily stepped forward. “You will lower your weapons. This is Guardian Ether. She is a guest of the throne.” She fixed her hair, which had been stirred up by Ether’s arrival, and offered a bow. “Welcome, Guardian Ether. We were concerned you would not be able to attend. I wish you would have announced your arrival so that we could properly receive you. You’ll understand if we are unprepared for an honored guest to arrive while we are at sea.”
“It is just as well. I have no interest in such things,” Ether said.
“But you must receive the proper greetings!”
Silla turned and, in hushed, desperate tones, delivered some instructions to a nearby subordinate, who rushed below decks.
“Welcome aboard, Ether,” Ivy said. “How was your visit to your mother? Did she like her gifts?”
“Yes. Both the scarf and the buns were well received.”
“Those buns are so good,” she purred, looking to Silla. “We had them at the feast, remember?”
“I wasn’t entirely certain you would join us on this journey at all,” Deacon said. “What inspired the change of heart?”
“And why did you meet us in the middle of the sea?” Ivy added.
“Celia suggested there was value in experiencing the world and, furthermore, suggested I do so in the farthest-flung places I could find. The Crescents seemed appropriate. That you all would be there as well was reason enough to be present, as you frequently require my aid.”
The subordinate returned to the door, breathless, and signaled Silla.
“Ah, yes. If you will follow my associate, Guardian Ether, I am certain King Mellawin will want to meet you personally. The others have been formally introduced and have been educated on the task at hand. Surely you will want the same information.”
Ether turned to Deacon. “Is this entirely necessary?”
He nodded. “I think it would be best to oblige our hosts and share their findings.”
The shapeshifter’s expression hardened somewhat. “Very well…”
She followed the underling below decks. When she was gone, Ivy gave Deacon a nudge.
“She wants to see the world. She’s existed in the world since the dawn of time, but one little visit with Celia and she finally decides it’s worth being a part of it.”
“It is quite encouraging,” he said.
“Funny. It turns out all it took to set her on the right path finally was a mother.”
“Forgive the observation,” Silla interjected, “but the reputation that has reached us regarding Guardian Ether’s disposition suggests she can be difficult. We were unconcerned prior to meeting the rest of you, but now I wonder if perhaps I should be concerned.”
“She’ll behave herself,” Ivy said. “Put probably there will be some hurt feelings and bruised egos. You’ll never find anyone more full of herself than Ether.”
“I was more concerned about the potential for physical violence. I will remind you of the altercations between your dragons and…”
She trailed off as her eyes came to rest on a rather sizable stain on the deck. It was scattered with bits of fish and more than a splash of blood, the messy remains of the fresh-caught meal the dragons had enjoyed. She recoiled in disgust. “What have you done to the deck?”
“My apologies. Garr, Grustim’s mount, had a taste for fresh meat.”
“Is that how things are done? The base desires of unthinking beasts are humored, leaving the horrid offal of the butchery staining the deck of the royal flagship?”
Her voice as almost shaking, as though if not for profound self-restraint she would be screaming. Her eyes danced between Myn, who remained an obstruction in the middle of the deck, and Garr, who was lazing in the shade of his cage, licking the last of his meal from his chops. Grustim, who had been silently watching the exchange between Silla and the others, stepped forward.
“Silla Lorekeeper, my kingdom has decreed that I must serve you for this mission. I am bound by honor and duty to do so. But I am similarly bound to care for my mount. I will not ask him to subsist on the food you have provided. And nor would I expect Myn to do so.”
“I see. Perhaps you could see to it that they do not create such a mess.”
“You sought the aid of dragons. If the steepest price you must pay is a smear of blood, consider yourself lucky it isn’t yours.”
Silla’s expression hardened. “That sounded disturbingly like a threat, Dragon Rider Grustim.”
He extended a finger toward Myn, who had finally stirred in order to plod toward Garr and slip into the cage beside him. The seas were rolling the ship a bit, but her movements were slow and graceful, absorbing the motion effortlessly, her claws clutching the gnarled wood of the deck.
“Every inch of those beasts is a threat, lore keeper. Do not forget that.”
Grustim stalked over to the dragon cage and leaned against it. He carved off slivers of his share of the fish and popped it, raw, into his mouth.
“And thus the wisdom of my concerns of violence is illustrated. I get the distinct impression Dragon Rider Grustim has great hostility for me.”
Deacon flipped through one of his books. “I am not entirely certain Grustim cares for anyone without fiery breath or a scaly hide. I suppose the state of mind necessary to thrive among dragons is different from that best suited to thriving among humans and elves. Tell me, this Deep Swell, have you—”
Silla turned away. “It is not a matter for discussion, and I must see to Guardian Ether’s meeting with the king now.”
She paced off into the ship. Ivy stepped up beside Deacon and crossed her arms.
“It seems like there’s an awful lot that they don’t want to talk about,” she said.
“All kingdoms have secrets,” Deacon said.
“I know. And it seems like the more secrets they have, the more trouble we have when we try to help.” She glanced about. “Do you think all of the elves from South Crescent act like this? Because if they do, I’m not sure I want to help them. I’m used to people treating me like I’m something they’d scrape from their shoe. People have been taught to think of malthropes that way. But these elves treat everyone like that. They feel like the sort of people who deserve what they get.”
“Now, Ivy, that is no way to think. If we all withhold our kindness and aid until others have shown us kindness and given us aid, then it will never begin.”
“Sure, but what if we’re nice and we lend a hand to people, and they continue to treat us awful and ignore us when we need help?”
“That is the risk we take, but we must never assume the worst of others. We live our lives assuming the best of our fellow creatures and doing all we can to help them, and we trust they shall do the same for us.”
Ivy and Deacon looked to the door to the lower decks, where Silla was berating one of her subordinates and directing him to clean the mess the dragons had left behind.
“But when they show you their true colors, do not ignore it,” he amended.
Chapter 4
Myranda and the others stood on the main deck beside the king and his entourage. They all watched as the ship eased
its way to shore. Everyone was eager for their first taste of land in too long, but none more so than Myn. She’d gone so far as to climb atop her cage to gain a better view of the shore, and from her tensed muscles and partially unfurled wings, it was taking considerable restraint for her to keep from abandoning the ship to seek refuge on solid land.
The ship had been within sight of land for some time, but it was not until they were just a few minutes from port that the city became apparent. At first glance, Twilus seemed to be little more than a particularly grand stand of trees. Myranda wasn’t familiar with the specific type of tree, but they grew tall and stout, with silvery bark and a complex forking structure. Their branches spread out as much as they reached up, most interweaving with the branches of nearby trees such that it was difficult to determine where one tree ended and another began. The size was deceiving as well. Without a point of comparison they didn’t seem much larger than what Myranda had found in the oldest sections of Ravenwood, but as they drew nearer and the workings of the elves became apparent, she realized even the smallest of them was twice the size of all but the largest trees she’d ever seen in the Northern Alliance. Tucked among the glade were pathways and bridges strung between the trees. The delicate catwalks were formed of mossy ropes and stout vines. Here and there a door set into the base of a tree or a gate beneath a natural arch of branches marked a home or shop. The only overtly manufactured part of the entire port town was the row of piers stretching out into the water.
Dockworkers and a small receiving party marched to the longest and widest of the piers. Elven men and women dressed in finely woven, brightly colored garb welcomed the flagship of the fleet with music played on string and horn. Silla had carefully explained the precise order that all would disembark. First would be the king and his escorts, then Myranda and Deacon, followed by Ether, Ivy, then Grustim and the dragons. Perhaps not surprisingly, Myn’s desire to be off the sea and away from the boat superseded the elven protocol. She flapped her wings while atop her perch, causing a wave of panic and yelling. When she could wait no longer, she bounded from deck to shore in one ponderous swoop. Myn’s entire act of abandoning the ship was so smooth and so swift that by the time the line of archers had organized themselves enough to take aim, she was already solidly ashore and settled down to wait for the others.
Soldiers, archers, and dignitaries shouted orders in the oddly musical clamor of their nuanced language. It took a shouted command from the king himself to bring the crowd to order. A few more moments and Myn might have felt the bite of some very skillfully made arrows. Her relief at finally being off the horrid waves was such that she barely seemed to notice the threat the soldiers presented.
Once the stir settled, protocol fell back into place and the nobles and guests left the ship to be greeted by the elders of the town. A short ceremony conducted entirely in Elven welcomed them to Sonril. Deacon took it upon himself to translate for the others, and each stepped forward to accept a woven wreath of silver leaves. It was all very cultured. It did, however, lack the ring of sincerity. As reverent and respectful as their words and actions were, their eyes told a different story. All within view—and that included a few surreptitious onlookers hiding behind curtains and shutters as the Chosen toured the town—viewed the visitors with the combined wonder and revulsion of those seeing their first circus.
Officially, each of the visiting nobles was given an armed escort, but in light of Myn’s breach of protocol and the comparative threat she presented, most of them had gathered around Myn and Garr. This left Myranda, Deacon, Ether, and Ivy more or less isolated in the center of the procession.
“I’d expected a visit from their king to divide their attention a bit more,” Myranda said, “but we seem to have the dedicated interest of the townspeople.”
Deacon nodded. “Indeed. It is a bit like when we visit Tressor, in a way.”
“It is and it isn’t. In Tressor, at least in the beginning, I could feel the distrust. There is a healthy dose of that here, but more so, I can feel the curiosity, disbelief, and even a dash of disgust. It is a unique experience, being judged by an entire town simultaneously.”
“Not for me it isn’t.” Ivy stepped up between them. “This is how it always is for me. On good days, people are curious. On bad days, they’re angry. Sometimes they’re afraid, like they are when Myn shows up, but never so afraid that they run and hide like they do sometimes for her. At least the people here seem like they’ve got better manners than some of the towns in the Northern Alliance.”
“How so?” Deacon asked.
“They aren’t throwing things.”
Myranda shook her head. “We’ve got a long way to go, Ivy…”
“It’s fine. I’m the only malthrope most people have ever seen, or will ever see. People are supposed to stare.” She threw her arms over their shoulders. “It’s kind of nice to not be the only one getting looks like that. It’s different, isn’t it? You can see it in their eyes. They’re not wondering if they should trust that person. They’re wondering if you are even a person at all. But we’ll win them over. Just follow my lead. I’m used to this.”
Myranda smiled. “You’ve grown so much since we first met you.”
“I had to. We all had to, right? No one else was going to do what we could.” Her eyes brightened, and she sniffed the air. “Oh! I think they’ve got a feast prepared for us!” She clapped. “This is one of my favorite parts of big formal things like this!”
#
The great hall of Twilus, like so much else in the elven city, was at once familiar and foreign. All had gathered into a space beneath six of the largest trees in the town. Their branches had meshed into a dense, woven roof, giving it the curious feel of a cathedral borne of nature itself. The light of the setting sun filtered through the gaps in the branches, where it joined the glow of polished silver sconces to illuminate the festivities. King Mellawin sat at the center of a long, horseshoe-shaped table. His people and the gentry of the town sat along his right. Myranda and the other Chosen sat along the left. Considerable hushed argument had passed between the locals and the king’s spokespeople before Garr and Myn were permitted to enter the hall. Their presence displaced two full tables of locals and created a palpable feeling of tension among the rest of the attendees. This, if nothing else, seemed to be a source of profound entertainment for the king.
“Hah! You see!” King Mellawin said. “Look at them. Listen to their murmurings. All shall remember this day, the day their king brought the mightiest and most mysterious people from across the sea. I, of course, have the greatest of confidence that you shall ferret out the source of our woes to the north, but even if you fail, there shall be no doubt in the minds of my people of the lengths their king is willing to go for their safety.”
Servers approached, setting plates before each guest from the inner curve of the oddly shaped table.
“Ah! And how I envy you all. Today, you taste proper food for the first time in your lives. And the wine. The wine. I ensured that a dozen casks of the finest wine in my reserve was sent here in preparation for our arrival.” He stood. “We shall drink a toast! All of us. That is how great deeds begin among your people, is it not?”
Servants filled tall chalices before each of the guests. Ivy sniffed at it, then glanced uncertainly at Myranda. “Are we sure?” she said.
“Do not suggest that you would forgo a taste of our wine,” Mellawin said.
“Ivy’s abilities are such that drinking too much wine could be dangerous for—”
“Fuff! You do yourself a disservice and me a great dishonor if you turn your nose up at our wine. Drink deeply of our hospitality or I shall be personally insulted.”
Ivy sniffed again and licked her lips. “It does smell interesting. I’m sure one glass won’t hurt. I’ll be careful.”
The king reached for his glass, but he paused. His smile widened briefly, then vanished into a rather theatrical scowl. “Where is the steward?”
“Here, Your Majesty,” replied an anxious older elf with an inexpert grasp of Varden.
“Was I not clear when I stated that we should all enjoy this toast?”
“All of the guests have been served, Your Majesty.”
Mellawin pointed to the dragons. They were seated just beyond the edge of the table, each with a pair of troughs. One trough had been filled with water. The other was awaiting the meal.
“Do you intend the grandest of our guests to drink simple water? Wine for the dragons.”
Myranda turned to Grustim. “I defer to your expertise regarding proper diet for the dragons.”
“Wine is, on rare occasion, permissible,” he said.
“Then it is settled. Quickly! Serve my guests and let us begin this glorious enterprise in earnest.”
Servants hastily hauled away the water troughs, replaced them, and upended casks of wine into the troughs. The king stood and raised his glass.
“To the Chosen, to Sonril and revealing the mystery of the Aluall and making them pay for their crimes!”
All raised their glasses, then drank deeply. Ether, showing remarkable commitment to her goal of experiencing more of what the world has to offer, even joined in the toast. Ivy took the opportunity to drink a bit more deeply than the others, nearly finishing her cup lest she not be permitted another sip. As she licked at the stain on her white muzzle fur that the wine left behind, the king addressed Myranda and Deacon.
“Let me again apologize that we are not able to provide you all with a proper tour of the many gems of Sonril’s crown, but the length of the journey and the drudgery of diplomacy has squandered quite a bit of time. Until we know precisely who or what is responsible for the attacks to the north, I hesitate to waste any more time than we must before you commence your investigation.”
“Of course,” Myranda said, nodding in thanks as a plate was set before her. “There will be plenty of time for that afterward, provided we are successful.”
“I will not hear of the mere suggestion of your failure. You are the tools of the gods and fate. If those responsible are D’Karon, then this shall simply be the latest in your clashes with them, battles you were crafted in the forge of the divine to win. And if they are a lesser threat, then there should be no trouble at all in besting them.”
The Crescents Page 9
