“It wasn’t spirits,” Deacon said swiftly.
“You know so quickly?” Grustim said.
“Spirits do not come and go as simply as mortals,” Myranda said. “This area would still be vibrant with their influence if spirits powerful enough to do what must have been done here were to blame. If anything, the air and land here feel a bit muted, drained.”
She tightened her grip on her staff and took a breath. “And I know of at least one magic that could drain the strength of the land like this. This could be the work of the D’Karon.”
“No…” Ivy said. “But we got them all. I’m sure of it.”
“We were sure we’d gotten all of them in the weeks following the Battle of Verril, and then Turiel arose. Clearly, the D’Karon sowed the seeds of their treachery wherever they could,” Myranda said.
Deacon reached out to Myranda. Without opening her eyes, she took his hand. Their focus joined and deepened.
“This is not the work of a D’Karon, but there is the unmistakable stain of D’Karon techniques…” Deacon said.
“Perhaps Turiel did this as well?” Myranda said. “She’d learned to use their portals. And we do not know for certain what became of her after our last clash. She could have survived.”
“This isn’t Turiel’s handiwork. Turiel’s workings were powerful, but imprecise. This… this feels almost like the opposite. Profoundly weak, but so carefully refined the effects must have been exquisite. These are spells cast by those with poor mystic affinity, creatures who would have had to hammer the spells into their minds to produce any effect at all. I can feel the care and precision of endless repetition in the way the spells were cast.”
“If that is so, finding them will be difficult,” Myranda said. “They aren’t powerful enough to be easily tracked. And while having strong mystic skill isn’t an uncommon trait, having weak mystic skill means virtually any creature of any species could be responsible.”
“And the only spells I can feel the residue of all have links to stealth. Hiding their footprints, their scent. Veiling themselves. The only things those responsible for this care about are evasion and stealth.”
“In other words, they want to be ‘unseen,’ the way the lore keeper described,” Ivy said.
“Indeed,” Deacon affirmed.
“So the Aluall aren’t a legend. It seems like nothing is just a legend,” Ivy said. “But now that we know that, what do we do?”
Myranda released Deacon’s hand and leaned heavily on her staff. “There isn’t much to be learned from the residual magic. They cover their mystic trail nearly as well as their physical one.” She wavered a bit. “I suppose it has been some time since I’ve focused so intently. I’m wearier than I expected to be.”
“We’ve spent an awful lot of time traveling, and the trail is very cold,” Deacon said. “I think we should consider remaining in this town until tomorrow. We can have a meal and continue to investigate. It will also give us time to discuss what this discovery may mean.”
Grustim took his place upon Garr’s back. “Weeks since the attack. Little since. The trail is very cold. A few more hours won’t make much difference. All the same, if I were to attack a place to drive the people out, I would leave someone behind to ensure they didn’t return. We should assume we are being watched. And if our foes have a dragon at their disposal, we should be on guard.”
“Agreed.” Deacon nodded. “We shall need someone to keep watch at all times, even through the night. And we should secure food enough for a few days. The threat could only have come from the north, and thus we shall have to venture onward to get to the bottom of this. Already the forest is thinning and the land is becoming more arid. Even traveling by land, within a day or two, we’ll be well into the desert and game will be scarce.”
At the suggestion of hunting, Myn trotted eagerly to Garr’s side and set her eyes on the woods surrounding the town.
“I think perhaps it would be best if one of the dragons stayed behind, just in case—” Deacon began.
Myranda stopped him. “Go, Myn. Help Grustim and Garr bring back plenty of food, and eat your fill.”
Myn practically pranced into the woods beside Garr and his Dragon Rider. As they thumped into the distance, Deacon turned to Myranda.
“Are you certain it wouldn’t have been best to have Myn or Garr present to defend us if a dragon were to return?”
“They won’t go far, and I honestly wouldn’t have been able to bear the look on her face if we asked her to miss an opportunity to hunt beside Garr. She was so disappointed she couldn’t provide any of the meals aboard the ship,” Myranda said. “Ivy, gather some wood, and help the fairies gather enough food for a few days as well. Deacon and I will investigate the rest of the town and find a proper place to spend the night. Stay alert, and be sure to call out or send Freet or Shah for us if something seems amiss. There could still be danger about.”
“Will do,” Ivy said. “Come on, Freet, Shah. What do you eat, anyway?”
The malthrope bounded off into the woods, her new friends buzzing beside her. Deacon and Myranda paced deeper into the city, casting gems at the ready.
“When do you suppose we should send word back to the king about these developments?” Deacon asked, eying another carving upon the open door of a barn.
“Not yet. We aren’t sure of anything yet. Certainly not enough to be of use to them. If our clash with Turiel taught us anything, D’Karon magic does not mean there are D’Karon about. And if they have dragons and the means to move invisibly, that they only scared away the townspeople rather than slaughtering them suggests their aim may not be bloodshed at all. I’d like to understand the nature of the enemy better before we discuss what’s to be done about it.”
“Wise.”
“I hope Ether turns up something as well. I wouldn’t mind understanding our ‘allies’ a bit more either.”
“They do seem less… overtly virtuous than I would prefer. But we must remember that they have lived in relative isolation. What we perceive as good and proper may be very different from their own views.”
“Everything I’m hearing is painting a picture of the sort of people who believe their only rightful place is in command of those around them. With the exception of their trade with Tressor, it seems they have little interest in learning from or working with anyone.”
“But they did reach out to Tressor, and now they’ve sought our help. It is progress. Remember, these aren’t mortals. For them, change is a thing of decades, centuries. Lasting alliances take time to form.”
“And open minds to form them,” Myranda said. “I only hope we have enough of each.”
Chapter 5
Far to the south, a carriage rolled elegantly along a packed-earth road. As was the case with all things of elven make, it was more a product of nature than of engineering, looping branches curving elegantly and organically around one another to compose its form. Only those parts that required more strength than wood could provide had been fashioned from metal, and even the wood was used precisely and sparingly. The result was a vehicle that rocked and bobbed with every bump and furrow, always in subtle motion such that the relative unevenness of the road made little difference.
Inside, the king was delighted, managing to artfully keep the wine in his glass with practiced grace. Ether, in her human form, was seated across from him. Silla Lorekeeper was by his side. Ether’s arrival and “request” to accompany the king had been poorly received by his entourage, but Mellawin himself had been clearly delighted by the novelty.
“… And thus the sculptor began work on the third bust,” he droned, completing the third lengthy anecdote that Ether had been forced to endure. “But then, I don’t imagine you have requested my company to be regaled by tales of my discerning eye for detail and taste for quality.”
“No, I have not,” Ether replied.
“Ha! Such directness! Are you certain you are a diplomat?” he said.
“I am a Gua
rdian of this world, who, for reasons known only to fate, has been coaxed into acting as a diplomat. It is a trying experience, but I shall rise to it as I have risen to every task, however mundane.”
“Yes, yes. It is remarkable how frequently the truly great among us must rise to a task that is beneath us.” He sipped his wine. “Ah! Where is my hospitality? Here I am drinking wine from my personal reserve—the finest wine you are ever likely to taste—and not offering you any. Or perhaps some of our dried fruit? Also utterly peerless, I assure you.”
“I do not drink, and I do not eat,” she said with the tone of someone well past the point of frustration at having had to say so.
“As I’ve said, it was in deference to hospitality. I would have been remiss otherwise.”
“King Mellawin, by mortal standards you are extremely long-lived.”
“There are those who would not consider elves mortal at all,” Mellawin noted.
“I am not among them. Nevertheless, with age comes wisdom. And you are of an extremely advanced age.”
He nodded. “I have seen my people through nearly two centuries of peace and prosperity.”
“Your knowledge of your own land is plainly evident.”
“It is the purpose of a leader to know his people and his kingdom.”
“How is it that you have failed to amass any knowledge of any value regarding your massive neighbor to the north?”
“Well now. This is hardly a mystery, is it?” Mellawin sipped his wine. “You hail from the Northern Alliance—”
“I call no place my home.”
He rolled his eyes and stirred the air with his hand. “If we must hang upon semantics. You currently represent the Northern Alliance. And yet the Northern Alliance knew little of Tressor during the war. And we have done no small amount of business with Tressor, and they knew little of the Northern Alliance. Is it really so strange that we would have little insight into those places, in our eyes, too savage to venture into?”
“Tressor and the Northern Alliance were at war, King. You are not at war with North Crescent.”
“Ah, well, that remains to be seen, doesn’t it?”
“The events of the last few months do not explain a centuries-old lapse in attention.”
“Permit me to turn the question to you. You call no place your home, as you say. Why then do you lack deep knowledge of North Crescent?”
“My focus was elsewhere. It was evident to me, even when my mind and substance were spread thin, where the Chosen would appear.”
“It did not interest you, and thus you did not pursue knowledge of it. So it is for us as well. We all have only so much mind to dedicate to observation and consideration. Best not to squander it on places undeserving of our time.”
Ether drummed her fingers on the seat beside her and turned to take in the view. Celia’s advice echoed in her mind. The value of seeing what the world had to offer had not been immediately apparent to her at the time. But now that she’d spoken to King Mellawin, the folly of ignoring what the world had to offer was perfectly evident.
With regard to her mission, this made her question the sincerity of his replies. The man was full of bluster, but he did not appear to be a fool. Moreover, his words had the feel of the same frustrating dance around the point that so many humans in power used to avoid being backed into telling something others could prove was untrue. Her understanding of the way mortals thought was not as finely tuned as it might be… but she was quite certain that there was more to the story than he was admitting.
As for Celia’s advice…
“Perhaps I shall sample the fruit, King Mellawin.”
#
Several hours of investigation turned up little new information. Here and there, stronger traces of the D’Karon enchantments could be found, suggesting at least one of the practitioners had a degree of skill and power approaching that of a proper mystic. The pillaging and looting of the town had also turned out to be less complete than they’d first thought. There wasn’t much left behind, but many of the scraps remaining seemed unlikely to have been left behind by someone seeking wealth. Like the tiles, a pair of paintings had been left in one home. Several pairs of boots hadn’t been stolen in a cobbler’s shop, though every bit of leather and sinew had been taken.
The dragon’s hunting had been far more successful. Myn had outdone herself, hauling in two large elk and some manner of very large rabbit that Deacon sketched before they’d prepared it, the better to document their journey. When they’d eaten their fill and prepared the rest for travel, Ivy volunteered to take the first watch.
She sipped at a cool cup of water and endured the lingering aftereffects of her overindulgence the night before.
“Never again…” she muttered, rubbing her head as she sat beside a fire they’d built in the town square. “That much wine just isn’t worth it.”
The sky was clear and the moon was full, so her sensitive eyes gave her a fine view of her surroundings. That was good news, because despite how eagerly she’d volunteered, the stillness of night and the possible dangers it hid worried her more than she was willing to admit. She glanced down and grinned. At least she had company.
Ivy had folded her cloak beside her, Freet and Shah tucked adorably into the hood as if it were an enormous sleeping bag. She rummaged in her small bag of personal items and fetched the pad and stylus Deacon had made for her. Like his books, this one would never run out of space, and the stylus needed no ink to mark the page. Unlike his, the stylus could also render things in any color she wished, making it exquisite for artwork when the inspiration moved her. He’d gone so far as to link it with his own book, such that every image she drew was duplicated in his book as well. She opened it to a clean page and set about sketching her new friends.
She’d nearly finished when something in the air gave her pause. She hadn’t heard anything, and a quick sweep of the area around her didn’t turn up anyone, but something felt… different. She twitched her ears and took a deep whiff of the air. No humans… No elves… but there was something…
Ivy set down her book and stowed her stylus. Her life had been one trial after another. In the time since Myranda had found her, she’d made her share of mistakes, faced her share of dangers. She’d come to trust her intuition, but right then she couldn’t make sense of what she was feeling. On one hand, the sudden appearance of a scent she’d not detected before set off warnings in her mind. On the other hand, there was something about the scent itself. She couldn’t bring herself to be frightened or concerned. Something buried deep in her mind urged her to follow where it led.
She paced slowly along the single street of the town, eyes wide and ears swiveling toward the slightest sound. Her heart pounded in her chest. Here she heard a grind of dust that could be a footstep. There she heard what might have been a fearful breath of someone hidden from view. Then… whispers.
Ivy didn’t recognize the language, and even with her sensitive ears she could only just make out the words, but there was definitely a voice. Now her intuition rang loud and clear in her mind. This was not a time for curiosity. Something was happening, and it should not be faced alone. She turned and dashed toward the others again, opening her mouth to call for them. The air between her and the campfire seemed to waft away, like reality itself had been nothing but a wisp of smoke. In its place, a figure appeared. Her heart nearly leaped from her chest at the sudden appearance, but as her eyes drifted to the eyes staring intently into hers, she could only a manage a single hushed word.
“How…?” she murmured, reaching out with her hand.
Her mind slowed to a crawl. She couldn’t make sense of what she was seeing. But through the shock and wonder, something else clawed its way to the surface. As haunting and familiar as this creature’s form and scent were, there was a more chilling familiarity, a violet glow from a crystal hidden in the folds of a sandy robe.
“No!” she cried.
She reached for the blade at her belt, but mor
e forms emerged from around her, more crystals burning with D’Karon power. She felt the pressure of vicious spells spearing at her mind. Flickers of blue and red flared around her as her emotions fought for control, but the mix of confusion and surprise were too much. Darkness claimed her. The last thing she heard before she slipped entirely from consciousness was the tiny voice of Freet groggily waking.
#
Myranda woke with a start. The ground was shaking beneath her, and the door of the house she’d selected to spend the night in was rattling on its hinges. It took her a moment to realize the rumbling was Myn, desperate to rouse her. Myranda threw the door open and rushed outside, staff in hand.
“What is it? What is happening?” she said.
Myn was on her feet, claws dug into the ground and tail thrashing. Her eyes were gleaming with fury and anxiety.
“Ivy…” the dragon uttered.
“Where is she? What’s happened?” Deacon asked, taking his place beside Myranda.
“They took her! They took her!” squealed Shah.
Both fairies had taken shelter huddling among Myn’s horns. Now they looked upon Myranda with raw terror in their eyes.
“Who took her? Where are they?” Myranda said.
“I don’t know. By the time we were waking, they were nearly gone,” Freet said.
“I saw a glimpse,” Shah added. “There were three of them, maybe four. They were dressed in yellow, or maybe tan. Just heaps of rags. And even looking right at them, I couldn’t really see them.”
“Were they humans? Elves?” Myranda said, already pulling to mind the spells that would help her scour the world around them for those responsible.
“I don’t know,” Freet said. “Like Shah said, even with them right in front of us, they seemed to shift and shimmer.”
“How long has it been?” Deacon asked. The gem in his fist was burning brightly. “There is a whisper more D’Karon magic than there was before, but nothing beyond that.”
The Crescents Page 12
