“No!” Myranda said quickly. “I don’t want to use threats or force if I don’t have to. We should at least learn what we can first. Ask them what the nature of their alliance is.”
“They say the Children help them to learn new magic. They help make them stronger, and protect them. In exchange, the fairies keep their eyes and ears open, scanning the forest and the surrounding places for those who would hurt the Children. And the Children say all but the fairies, some… he thinks she said ‘dwarfs,’ and one dragon would hurt the Children.”
“The Aluall fear humans, elves, most dwarfs, and most dragons. Either they are not principally composed of those races, or perhaps they are outcasts…” Deacon mused.
Shah continued, as the other fairies were quite passionately listing off the details of their partnership with the Children, and Freet was hard-pressed to keep up. “He says the fairies who learn the new magic best are allowed to join the Children. They call them… some kind of bug. They want to know why you travel with dragons. They didn’t expect those who would threaten the Children of Whatever to travel with dragons. And certainly not with fairies.… They used a bad word for fairies. I don’t think they think very highly of us for traveling with you.”
“Because like them, we are allied. Tell them that we need to find our friend Ivy, and to stop further attacks and needless bloodshed,” Myranda said.
Freet launched into a lengthy exchange with the fairies, but he was having clear difficulty having his message heard as they all spoke at once around him. Many had grown bolder, darting about among Myranda and the others again, more with curiosity than hostility. Grustim kept his hand tight about a knife and his back to Garr’s chest.
“If these creatures attempt to attack us again, by my word, I shall slice each one in half,” he seethed.
“It won’t come to that,” Myranda said.
“Curious, from their behavior, I would have thought their war chief was some sort of leader, but he’s done none of the speaking. I wonder if their society has anything resembling diplomacy, or even a true hierarchy of leadership,” Deacon said.
“There must be some level of leadership and discipline. That level of combat coordination requires training, and training requires leaders,” Grustim said.
One of the fairies, who had been investigating Myn and Garr with the same wonder and awe that Freet and Shah had upon being introduced, suddenly pointed and cried something out. The fairies erupted into a frenzy, filling the air with the buzzing of wings and the trilling of tiny voices.
“What is happening, Shah?” Myranda asked.
“They saw the boxes and they’re yelling something about being kidnapped. I guess they tell stories about what the elves do down south. They’re all shouting,” Shah fretted, more than a bit frazzled.
“I can get them to listen,” Freet called. “Give me time!”
Myranda wavered between the feelings of helplessness and frustration at the thought that, for the moment, these rather chaotic creatures were their best chance at finding Ivy and determining the degree to which the D’Karon had infiltrated the North Crescent. The fate of so many hinged upon this information, and they were at the mercy of a language barrier and a tribe of creatures who were the definition of flighty.
Though the fairies were getting noisier by the moment, none were brandishing their thorns or otherwise acting in a threatening manner. Myranda flashed briefly to her time in Entwell, and Ayna’s proclivities when arguing with the other master wizards.
“Once a fairy, always a fairy,” she muttered.
Freet was making some progress, so Myranda held her tongue and hoped for some measure of order to be restored, but it would take some time. The whole tribe was flitting and darting about now, with the exception of those flanking the war chief and a few scattered among the lower branches.
Myranda gazed at the stationary fairies. The solders seemed as hearty and healthy as one could expect for their race, but the others seemed different. They had sallow expressions, withered physiques and wilted wings. They were the only of the fairies who didn’t wear the thorny armor. Strands of gray wove through their hair, though they seemed too youthful to have earned them. The specific nature of their diminished state was hauntingly familiar.
“Freet, ask what is wrong with these fairies here,” Myranda said. Her voice was unheard amid the shouting. “Freet, this could be important,” she repeated, raising her voice.
Still she was unheard. Myn drew in a breath.
“Stop,” the dragon bellowed.
Though the fairies did not understand the word, nothing spoken with that level of power and authority could be ignored. Silence descended upon them in the wake of the echoing command.
“Freet, these fairies here. What happened to them?” Myranda said quickly.
He asked. “They tried and failed to become the… bugs,” he reported moments later.
“The ones that help the Children? How does it happen?”
The answer was longer this time.
“They aren’t strong enough to carry one of the gems. They failed the test against the gem in the dry place,” he finally explained.
“A thir crystal…” Deacon murmured. “It would stand to reason. It would take a very special fairy to withstand more than a few moments in contact with a D’Karon gem. They are intrinsically mystical but don’t necessarily have the strength of will to resist being sapped dry of their strength.”
“Ask if they can take me to the gem.”
“They won’t. They say it is for allies only. A secret of the Children of Whatever.”
“If we can cure these fairies, the weakened ones, will that prove us to be allies?” Deacon offered.
“They say it cannot be done,” Freet said. “They are the weak ones. Each will be dead in weeks. Their fate is sealed.”
“But if we can do it, will they take us to the dry place to see the gem? Will we be allies?” Myranda repeated.
“… They say we will all be allies if we do that impossible thing.”
Myranda nodded. She thrust her staff into the soft earth of the forest floor and stepped to one of the branches where the weakened fairies were resting. Her outstretched hand frightened several of them, causing them to scurry or flutter away from her. One was either too brave or too weary to flee. The ailing creature stepped from the branch to Myranda’s hand. She was practically weightless, underweight even for someone her size. Myranda carried her carefully to the staff and set her atop it.
The fairy sat and looked almost defiantly at Myranda as the wizard raised her hands to either side of the crystal. There was an air of resignation to the creature, the sense that she’d come to terms with her plight and there was nothing more for her to fear. Myranda shut her eyes and looked upon the tiny thing instead with her mind’s eye. It was barely a glimmer amid far brighter embers, a soul drained of strength. To a trained mind, healthy spirits felt like flames of various sizes. Some were roaring blazes, like Myn or Deacon. Others were like a cozy fire in a hearth. Even the weakest was like a candle, casting some light and some warmth upon those nearby. This poor creature felt like a point of cold and darkness.
Myranda let some of her own strength flow into the gem, focusing and clarifying it. She could not simply force the magic into the creature’s soul. She could merely provide the nourishment her soul so badly needed and allow it to restore itself. When she’d done what she could do, she opened her eyes, watched, and waited.
At first there was little evidence of recovery, but the mere chance of it was enough to keep even the most scatterbrained of the fairies watching intently. When the change came, it came first in her wings. They straightened and strengthened, their wilted sag replaced with a much healthier sturdiness. The fairy stood and held out her hands, watching their drawn, shriveled skin recover. Her sunken features became plump and healthy again. A sparkle and liveliness came to her once-dim eyes.
It was really a wonder to behold. Fairies quite literally lived and die
d on the strength of their magic. A fairy with little mystic affinity might only live a few years. One with a strong soul and proper training could live longer than a human.
Myranda shut her eyes again and focused on the fairy’s spirit. It was burning bright now. Not as strong as the others, but vastly improved. The point of light darted upward. Myranda opened her eyes to find the little creature face-to-face with her, buzzing in the air with the unsteady but enthusiastic expression of someone taking their first steps after being bedridden for too long.
It was clear, even now, that a toll had been taken, but the only thing that truly set her apart from the others was the lingering streak of gray in her hair. She flitted toward the branches, where some of the healthier fairies buzzed around her, trilling with glee. Then she flitted back and grabbed Myranda by the fingers, tugging her desperately toward a branch where several of the other ailing fairies sat.
Deacon stepped forward as well. He set his focusing gem in the crook of a tree branch and a pair of weakened fairies climbed atop it. Freet and Shah flitted over to Myranda, whose staff had become the eager roost of three more of the ailing fairies. The healthier residents of the tribe were flying rings around her, trilling and shouting at the tops of their lungs.
“They say you are all friends of the tribe. They shall be your eyes and ears from now on, and will help in any way that will not injure their other allies. But only if you can cure all of the weak ones,” Freet said.
Myranda shook her head a bit. She could already feel the weight of a single restoration, and there were many more to be done. It didn’t matter. If this was what was necessary to take the next step toward finding her friend, then so be it. She would not fail.
#
Two hours later, Myranda and the others approached their destination. The Bramblebreeze fairies, as Freet had taken to calling them, were all on the mend, and the rescue of so many of their kind had completely eliminated any hint of the fear and hostility they’d shown toward the group. Now Myn had acquired a veritable crown of fairies among her horns. No less than a dozen of them had joined Freet and Shah there. Sheer persistence and stubbornness had even worn down Garr’s willingness to chase them away from his own brow. But the goodwill they’d earned was not without its cost.
Deacon, at Myranda’s request, sat in front of her while the rode. At first he’d been confused, but the reason soon became clear. She was terribly fatigued from the restorations of their new friends. Far more so than he or she had expected. If not for her tight grip around his waist, she might easily have been tipped from Myn’s back. The dragon, always mindful of Myranda’s needs, walked smoothly and slowly as they traveled, the better to keep her in place.
“Myranda, there are any number of things that could be causing this weariness, but it is crucial that you treat it with all proper respect. It could be as simple as an unfavorable affinity with local spirits. This is the first time either of us has traveled this far from the place of our birth and training. The nature of the land and its mystic makeup can often produce strange effects. But it could be more sinister. A D’Karon curse, a withering disease. It could be dire.”
“Deacon, I don’t care how dire it is. Until we have Ivy back, I will push myself as hard as circumstances require.”
Deacon was silent for a few moments. Then Myranda felt the calm, steady influence of his will upon her, sweeping her for injury in the same way they had searched Myn for ailments after she was poisoned.
“No,” Myranda said. “Save your strength for other things.”
“What harm is there in trying to learn more?”
“We need at least one of us to be alert and refreshed. If I need your help, I will ask for it. Your time would be better spent focusing on the task at hand. Search for Ivy; contact Ether and see what she’s found. Craft some means of speaking directly to the fairies. I am the least of our concerns.”
“… As you wish,” Deacon said.
“Here, here! The dry place. This is where they say the gem is,” Shah said.
She needn’t have troubled herself with pointing it out. The D’Karon influence upon the place was subtle but unmistakable. A single gnarled tree stood at the center of a dense cluster of thorn bushes. It had died long ago, and the bushes around it were all either dead or a twisted shadow of their natural state. The tree had a small knothole some distance up from the ground, and it was smoldering with violet light.
The recently restored fairies shrank from the sight of it, but the rest beamed with pride, as though it was some manner of monument they’d worked hard to erect.
“They say you may look, but you may not touch. That is reserved only for the Children of Whatever,” Freet said.
“Very well. Myn, if you would? Pardon me, please,” Deacon said.
He climbed to Myn’s neck. When she approached the tree and craned her neck, Deacon caused a flurry of departing fairies by climbing to her head.
“What does it look like?” Myranda called to him.
“Quite well done… but not of D’Karon make, I don’t think.”
“Not of D’Karon make? I wasn’t aware anyone but the D’Karon could create those vile things.”
“The secrets of the techniques are buried deep within their writings. Very selfishly protected. I only just discovered them recently, and we’ve got access to the general’s personal collections.” He raised his crystal and watched as the glow intensified. “Interesting…”
“What is it?”
“Evidence of their flawed make. They aren’t as greedy as their genuine counterparts.” He took his crystal away, and the glow faded. “And they do not hold to their stolen power as tightly either.”
“What does that mean for us?”
“It means they likely can’t be overfilled and made to burst in that way. They simply can’t consume energies to that degree. But it also means they never truly stop drinking in the power. Even when filled they still wick energy away from what surrounds them. It explains how a single gem could have damaged this tree without anyone draining it so that it can feed again. They are like a rain barrel with a leak, always making room enough for the next shower. In the short term, in small quantities, it wouldn’t make much of a difference. But on the scale of years, and in any reasonable quantity, this would have a pronounced effect on the landscape at least, and likely the people if they did not exercise extreme care.”
Myranda turned to Freet. “Ask if they know of any other places that are dry like this.”
Freet trilled to them. The answers came amid a flurry of anxious trills and uncertain looks.
“Slow down. Not so fast,” Freet said. “They’re arguing…”
The twittering and whistling became heated, then a single voice spoke up with authority. Freet translated.
“They say there’s something they call the New Place. It is one of the stories. None of the fairies here remember a time before it was here, but it is said they… it is said it appeared one day. A distant patch of forest that became dry in a single day. They have been told by the Children of Whatever they must watch it closely, and to tell them if any enemies find the place.”
“Will they lead us there?”
“She says… she says you are allies to the fairies, but they do not know if you are allies to the Children of Whatever. They can show you, but they will have to tell the Children of Whatever that you went to that place.”
“How will they tell the Children?”
“… The war chief can use the gem to send a message.”
“So be it. The Aluall know we are coming regardless. If they send more people for us, we will be ready for them. Every run-in we have with them is another chance to capture and question one of them. Tell them we agree.”
“What do you hope to find in the other place blighted by the D’Karon gems?” Grustim asked.
“Something. Anything. If they’ve arranged for it to be watched, there must be something to find. And even if not, if going there allows us to lure them into
another attack, we know their tricks now. Time is running out, Grustim. I know it. Something is happening…”
Chapter 9
Reyce peered down at the icy mountains drawing steadily closer. The mere sight of them turned his stomach, and not due to the dizzying height. These were the mountains where, until their assault upon Treadforge, he had taken the greatest chance and made the most regrettable concession to the safety of his people. It was here that he had enlisted the aid of the dwarfs.
Dwarfs felt no differently about malthropes than any of the other races. If he had come to them seeking aid, or even simple peace, it likely would have meant bloodshed. But the gifts of the D’Karon gave him a means to approach without revealing his race. The might of Boviss gave him power enough not to be ignored. That meant he could take advantage of the one thing that would blind a dwarf to all else. Gold.
A familiar stretch of mountain came into view. Once one had seen it, there was no mistaking it. Seven stone statues had been carved into the landscape. They were truly massive, rivaling the height of the tallest castles and built with the stout, powerful stature of a dwarf. The center dwarf was the largest of all, and was seated atop a throne the size of a cathedral.
As the ground neared, Reyce lessened the strength of the stealth enchantments upon him. He allowed Boviss to become visible. Having the dragon looming over a negotiation helped to keep it short and favorable. He allowed an indistinct shade of his form to become visible as well. Not enough for his malthrope nature to be known, but enough for a conversation to take place.
Boviss dropped down at the feet of the statue, hard enough to shake frost from its beard. Reyce stepped from his back and set his eyes on a door half-buried in snow in the base of the throne. There was no need to call. If a dragon touching down on one’s doorstep was not enough to summon someone to the door, nothing was.
Reyce hunched his shoulders against the biting cold. Den seldom had weather cold enough to warrant the kind of clothing suitable for the mountains, and he certainly didn’t intend to spend enough time away from his people to have heavier clothing made. His fur would do.
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