“I appreciate your confidence, but I prefer to treat any mission with care and respect.”
“Of course, of course. Deacon, as the record keeper, I do hope you shall record the details of your exploits thoroughly.”
“I endeavor to be complete in my records,” Deacon said.
“Wonderful. If they are suitably heroic, I believe I shall commission a playwright to adapt them to the stage. Already songs are being sung and tales are being told of your triumph in the Perpetual War. My people deserve to have a thrilling legend of their own to capture their imaginations.”
“A play!” Ivy said. She licked a conspicuously fresh dose of wine from her muzzle. “That’s wonderful! I do hope you’ll let us see a performance. We’re only just getting things like theaters rebuilt in New Kenvard. Thanks to the war, things like plays and operas have almost vanished. I would love to see how you perform here, so that I can help build up our own theaters.”
The king raised his eyebrows. “Ivy, I do not know what surprises me more. That your people could survive without the spiritual nourishment of drama, or that you’ve waited this long to replenish it. Silla, make a note. When we return to the capital after the Chosen are off to see to the Aluall, we shall stage a special performance of The Swan and the Thistle. It will bring you to tears from curtain to curtain, Ivy. A masterpiece.”
“Perhaps we could discuss the mission itself for a moment before we plan the victory tour,” Myranda said.
“Of course, of course. Silla, if you would?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. As we discussed during the journey, from now until you have either succeeded or failed, the king shall return to our capital, Grandwinn. A sizable contingent of the royal guard has already bolstered the local defenses here and in the sister city of Rendif to the east. We have gathered all troops quartered within three days’ travel in all directions and put them on alert on the Sonril side of the isthmus in the event the border must be defended or an assault must be made upon an enemy.”
“All merely a precaution, as we all know that your victory is assured,” the king said.
Silla continued. “Our formal border is marked by a fortified wall a short distance to the north. No citizen of Sonril has ventured past it since the last of our investigation parties was menaced, and by royal decree no one shall until safety is assured. Thus, as we’ve discussed, you shall be traveling without escort. Ruins of both of the cities that were attacked are clearly marked on the maps we’ve provided. You shall communicate your findings once per week at the maximum.”
“Ah, yes,” Deacon said, “communication. I had been meaning to ask you how you intended to maintain communication. I have developed a method that has proved quite effective.”
“You’ve mentioned it. Your notebooks. Inventive though that solution is, our military would prefer to keep to established methods.”
“I presume, then, you’ll be providing us with ravens or other messenger birds of some sort?”
“Perhaps your own kingdom is limited to such options, but Sonril’s natural resources afford us a more sophisticated method than birds.” She signaled a servant standing near the doorway. “It is best we provide it to you now, such that you may develop some level of familiarity prior to your departure.”
“I am intrigued,” Deacon said. “Does it require much training to use?”
“For you? No. It is simplicity itself, but there are some procedures you’ll need to be aware of. While we wait for it to be fetched, I need to impress upon you to treat it with great care. Though it is not unique, this messenger pair represents a profound amount of time and expense.”
The servant reappeared, carrying a pair of tall, thin cases. Unlike the silver wood that was so prevalent elsewhere, these were stained dark. A lighter wooden inlay labeled each with a unique rune.
“‘Messenger’ and ‘Beacon,’” Deacon read.
“That is correct,” Silla said.
She set each case on the table. They were small enough that combined they could still comfortably fit within a decent-size pack with room to spare. She unfastened a small latch on the side of each case and flipped it open.
“Heavens…” Myranda said.
The shallow lids each had a series of thin slips of paper held with a cloth band along with an ink pot and quill. In the cases themselves stood a motionless figure, one per case, both fastened at the waist. One was a male, the other a female, each dressed in simple clothing covered with loops and bands. Delicate, filmy wings upon their backs dispelled any doubt as to what the creatures were. They were fairies, though their unnatural stillness made them seem more like dolls.
“This is a messenger pair,” Silla explained. “Compose your message, then unfasten both bands. The pair is linked. The male is trained to read the winds and know his place upon the Crescents. The female is trained for speed and an ability to locate one of a collection of beacon gems, one of which I carry. Once you provide the message and allow the two to converse briefly, the female will leave to deliver the message. At that point you may fasten the male’s band to return him to slumber. You can do the same when the female returns. Simple, but we’ve found it to be far more reliable and useful than magic, which requires training on both ends and can easily be fouled by those seeking to silence it, and falcons or other birds, which are not nearly as clever as fairies when it comes to defending themselves and evading capture.”
Silla closed the cases and handed them to Deacon.
“I don’t understand,” Myranda said, taking one and reopening it. “Did the fairies volunteer for this? Were they recruited? It seems an unsettling life, being carried around like equipment.”
Mellawin leaned back in his seat, bemused.
“You do understand that they are equipment, don’t you?” Silla said.
“That is absurd. Fairies are thinking creatures. Even horses and hounds are treated with care and respect, and fairies are as intelligent as you or I.”
“Your compassion is admirable, Myranda, but though they play at such things, they are but shadows of proper creatures.” The king said. “More so, they are so utterly abundant in our forests, if we did not find a use for them, they would become too bothersome to tolerate.”
“King Mellawin, though I can’t speak for her personality, I can say without reservation that my teacher of wind magic, a fairy named Ayna, is among the most knowledgeable and talented wizards I have ever met.”
“Exceptions notwithstanding, our ways have been refined and developed over hundreds of generations. Your purpose here is not to question thousands of years of tradition,” Silla said, her constant feelings of indignation drifting a bit nearer to the surface.
Myranda shut her eyes. “Of course. My apologies. We shall be certain to provide messages as necessary.”
Silla nodded. “Excellent.”
Deacon fetched one of his books. “In all our discussion, while you have underscored the fact that your knowledge of North Crescent is limited and your contact with the natives is nonexistent, I notice you’ve not discussed how you would like us to proceed when we inevitably encounter the natives. Are we to act as representatives of South Crescent?”
“Certainly not,” Silla said. “A small but crucial part of the reason we have tasked you with this rather than pursuing it ourselves is precisely that you are not representatives of South Crescent.”
“Then we are free to pursue diplomatic relations between North Crescent and the Northern Alliance and Tressor?”
The king set down his glass of wine. “If we have not been clear, then I am sure the fault is mine. We have no interest in relations with North Crescent, and nor should you. If we had such interest, we would have pursued them ages ago. Our ignorance is entirely intentional. It is a place of savagery. As we embrace the harmony and majesty of nature, they embrace its hostility and chaos. If and when you find those who attacked my people, bring them to justice. If you encounter anyone else, be prepared to defend yourself. There is nothing north of thi
s isthmus that I would consider even a parody of what we’ve created. You would be well advised to make your time in the North Crescent as brief as possible.”
“There is no corner of the world that is so lost to the darkness that we cannot find something to learn and admire,” Deacon said.
“You feel that way only because you have yet to venture into the wilderness to the north. It cannot be controlled, it will not yield, and it cannot be destroyed. Thus, it is best left to its own vile devices,” Silla said.
“I tire of such debate,” the king said. “You have your means of communication, all that remains is for you to investigate and, if needs be, eliminate those responsible. You may utilize any means you desire, and when you are through, you shall return to be lauded by my people for your heroics. Simplicity itself for warriors such as yourselves. Until then, eat hearty and enjoy the hospitality of our fair land.”
#
Myranda and Deacon arose early the next morning, ready to load their equipment onto Myn’s back and begin their journey. Grustim was already prepared, having foregone the soft beds and smooth sheets the elves provided in favor of Garr’s back. The pomp and ceremony of the night before had satisfied the king’s thirst for admiration and spectacle, leaving the morning mercifully free of formality. That was the most trying part of the entire night. So many prolonged introductions, so much rigidity and structure. The meal itself had been rather small and reserved by the standards Caya had set during her reign, but it had not been without its toll on some members of the party.
“Ugh…” Ivy moaned, clumsily lumbering down the gnarled root walkway leading from the quarters where she’d spent the night.
She was bleary eyed, her fur still lightly stained from the handful of glasses of wine she’d sneakily consumed during the meal.
“Are you feeling ill?” Myranda asked, realizing the state her friend was in.
“Elven wine… It tastes like honey, but my head…” Ivy moaned.
“I thought you were acting up a bit last night. Hold still, I should at least be able to ease the pain.”
“Was I acting up?” Ivy said, opening one eye to look at Myranda. “Did I do anything wrong?”
“You danced with the king,” Deacon said. “Silla didn’t seem pleased with the decision, but the rest of the attendees seemed entertained by it, as was the king himself.”
Ivy rubbed her eyes. “There are worse things than being entertaining.”
Myranda placed a hand on the ailing malthrope’s head and allowed some soothing magic to wash over her. It didn’t erase the consequences of the night before, but from Ivy’s expression it appeared to at least have allowed the worst of the pain to subside.
“I’m anxious to get moving,” Ivy said. “The air is so much fresher up there. I’m sure it will make me feel better.”
Deacon looked to Myn. They had left all but the bare essentials with the king’s escort for safekeeping. They had a bit of food and water, some extra clothes, and some very basic equipment. The plan was to live off the land to lighten the load on the dragons and speed their travel. With a desert and a temperate forest as the two most likely settings for their investigation, they dressed light, with Deacon, Ivy, and Myranda all wearing airy tunics and light cloaks. The dragon seemed impatient, her eyes scanning the handful of locals who had gathered. The onlookers were watching with the sort of interest normally reserved for a menagerie. When Ether rather windily arrived and coalesced before them, it caused a stir and even a condescending round of applause.
“I think we may as well be on our way,” Deacon said. “We cannot be of any further use to the king until we’ve reached the nearest of the two assaulted towns. I believe it was called Dusand. Even with Myn to carry us, it will be several hours.”
“Then let’s go!” Ivy said, scampering up to Myn’s back.
Myranda glanced back toward the town, and to the king’s entourage, which was beginning to assemble for his journey back to the capital.
“Ether, may I have a word with you?”
“What,” the shapeshifter said flatly.
Myranda stepped closer and lowered her voice, doing her best not to appear as though she were trying to keep others from hearing.
“It is fair to say traveling along with us as we fly atop Myn’s back will be a good deal slower than you are capable of moving, correct?”
“I am accustomed to enduring the limitations of mortals.”
“And you would no doubt be able to find your way to us quickly if we were to require your aid.”
“Is there a point behind this? You seem to be the human least inclined to waste my time in such a fashion.”
“The apparent ignorance the elves show regarding North Crescent is nothing short of willful, and any questions as to their motivation for such ignorance are met with evasion and dismissal.”
“The kingdom, and to a large degree the species, strikes me as dismissive and evasive.”
Myranda crossed her arms.
“You’ve said you came here to experience the parts of the world you have neglected.”
“As I was advised.”
“I think you should accompany the king back go Grandwinn. If they are hiding something about their history with North Crescent, it could be as important to this mission as anything we will find north of the isthmus.”
“You distrust their word?”
“I believe they understandably value their privacy, which may be at odds with the potential success of this mission.”
“And you would have me uncover the information they may be hiding?”
“I would ask you to tactfully pursue that information without endangering our relationship with Sonril.”
“Though my skills and strengths are beyond measure, I am told that I should not count tact among them.”
Myranda smiled. “I have faith in you. And to be perfectly honest, your attitude is near enough a match for theirs, I suspect you will fit in better than any of us.”
“I am a shapeshifter. Blending among lesser beings is one key among my abilities. Very well. I shall see to this.”
“Excellent. Thank you,” Myranda said.
She and Deacon climbed onto Myn’s back, Deacon behind Ivy and Myranda behind Deacon. He held out his hand, and a book leaped from his bag. Its pages spread to reveal the map of the land stretching north of the isthmus.
“Grustim, we shall lead the way,” he called.
The Dragon Rider nodded.
“Let’s go, Myn,” Myranda said.
Myn took a few long strides to judge the weight of her passengers, then spread her wings and caught the breeze. In the warmth of the sun, she had little difficulty finding an updraft to ease her skyward. The land opened out below them. As the subtle details of the town they’d left behind became less apparent, the elven works blending effortlessly with the countryside, the landscape took on the look of unspoiled wilderness.
“We shall need to take special care to follow the map closely,” Deacon said, layering a few more enchantments upon the book drifting beside him. “If these new towns are anything like the old, we could easily miss them.”
Myranda nodded, though she’d only half-heard him. Her mind was elsewhere. She rummaged through one of the packs strapped to Myn’s back beside her and fetched the first of the two “messenger” cases they’d been given.
“I do not believe it will be necessary to send a message back just yet,” Deacon said.
“It is not my intention to send a message. At least not of the sort you are suggesting,” Myranda said. She opened the box with care, wrapping a bit of her mind around the looser bits of equipment within the case to keep the wind from catching them. “The elves may feel it is appropriate to pack away these creatures as though they are simple things, but I needn’t humor them.”
The case she opened was the one containing the female fairy. Myranda gently removed the band holding her and felt a small but potent spell lift away. The tiny creature began to stir. Her eyes
opened, and her expression drifted through the same flashes of confusion and burgeoning awareness that came whenever one awakes from a deep slumber. After a moment she seemed to snap to attention, like a soldier realizing a superior officer was present. She glanced about, eying the blank pages in the lid of the case, then looked curiously at Myranda.
“There is no message. I simply thought you’d appreciate a bit of freedom,” Myranda said.
Confusion continued to dominate the creature’s expression, with a bit of concern creeping in at the edges. The fairy seemed to be scrutinizing first Myranda, then Deacon. Oddly, her glances to the open sky around her didn’t seem to be a source of much concern. She grabbed the top of the case and climbed atop it.
“I don’t think she understands Varden,” Deacon said. “Not much of a surprise. There isn’t much call for it here, the intended ‘usage’ for her was to carry written messages.”
“Can you speak to her?”
“Human anatomy is not well suited to fairy diction, but I can try,” Deacon said, turning a bit to speak over his shoulder.
He produced a few complex, trilling whistles. The fairy’s eyes opened wide with wonder and a tinge of terror. From her expression, you’d think she’d just heard a monster attempt a greeting. She squeaked a lilting response.
“She wants to know where the beacon is and why we haven’t written a message,” Deacon said.
“Try to explain it to her. I’ll free the male.”
When Myranda started to close the case, the fairy quickly dropped back inside and attempted to affix the band that would put her back to sleep. It took more than a bit of coaxing for Myranda to get the fairy free of the case long enough to close it.
The fairy buzzed between Deacon and Myranda. Myn soared with considerable speed, but a gentle bit of magic kept the worst of it from them and thus left the fairy to flutter without being whisked away.
The Crescents Page 10
