by Joseph Lallo
“What are we going to do?!” Ivy begged.
Myranda looked over the heavy wooden portal. The spell sealing it had been weakened, but not nearly as much as the door itself had been. The lowest portion of the door was little more than sparse splinters held together by dusty gray fibers of wood. She gave it a kick and nearly half of the door dropped away in a rush of powder. Ivy did not need to be told what to do next. She scrambled underneath, poking her head back to urge Myranda to do the same. The young wizard lingered for a moment.
The light coruscating over the body of the swordsman was different now. It seemed darker, mixed with something less pure. And it wasn't weakening. The man's face was lost in a pool of light, but somehow she knew that if she could see it, it would be riddled with conflict, as though the D'karon part of him was actively resisting the divine power . . . or worse, feeding on it. She looked to the human Ivy had called Aneriana. A flicker of understanding . . . of purpose came to her eyes. She turned to the swirling mass of energy. It brandished the weapon, now somehow in control despite the turmoil that consumed it. Myranda slipped under the door as the pair rushed toward each other. The force from the clash, even from the other side of the wall, was enough to stagger the two heroes.
“Is she going to be all right?” Ivy asked, worry in her voice.
“She's bought us a precious few moments, we can't afford to waste a single one!” Myranda said, leading Ivy quickly forward.
She retraced her path through the castle's halls. Every few moments something between an explosion and an earthquake would shake the very walls, but they did not slow. Finally they reached the entry hall. Ivy's eyes widened at the site of Myn. The massive creature was bracing the shreds of what had once been a mighty door. Now it was little more than a collection of splintered holes through which the weapons of countless nearmen clashed and clanged.
“Is . . . is that . . . “ Ivy asked, slow to believe that this great creature could possibly be the little one she'd known.
She drew in a deep breath. Her nose wouldn't lie.
“It IS!” she cried, rushing to the dragon and throwing her arms about the creature's neck. “How could she be alive! What happened?”
“I'll explain later, just get on!” Myranda cried.
Ivy hastily obeyed, hopping to Myn's back right behind Myranda. Without a word from Myranda, Myn knew what to do. She backed away and crouched like a coiled spring. The ailing door gave way moments later, and a flood of soldiers was met instantly with a massive beast cannoning out against them. They were tossed easily aside and, after a few wading strides through the throng of attackers, Myn thrust herself into the air. Myranda again devoted her mind to deflecting the thick volleys of arrows that hissed toward them. So taxing was the task that she was only vaguely aware of the tightening grip Ivy had on her waist.
“Is she . . . are we . . . “ Ivy managed to gasp before fear took her words away.
The sight of the shrinking landscape beneath her burned her mind with fear. Only when they were out of bow range did Myranda notice that Ivy’s arms were wrapped painfully tight about her. She turned to see a brilliant blue aura and an unmistakable look of still mounting fear in her eyes. Myranda forced sleep upon the terrified creature, and not a moment too soon, as the crystals within the castle finally reached their breaking point all at once. The force from the blast was like nothing Myranda had ever felt. Even from so far above, the rushing wind and crackling energy rattled the heroes, knocking the now limp Ivy from her perch atop Myn. The dragon skillfully plucked up the plummeting form and wrapped Ivy in her tail for safe transport. Once Myranda was sure that Ivy was no longer in danger, she turned back to the spectacle, which raged on still. Brilliant columns of azure fire billowed amid a haze of blinding white light. What had once been the castle of her great land was now a settling cloud of shattered debris. Whole arches soared through the air. Ramparts crashed to earth, demolishing already ruined buildings.
The sight should have stirred memories of the massacre, surges of guilt that she'd caused this destruction in the place of her birth, or any number of other emotions. Anyone present could have explained why it didn't. In the presence of such power, chaos, there was simply no room for it in one's mind. Watching the landscape shudder. Seeing trees bend aside like grass in a breeze. Feeling the searing heat from hundreds of feet away. Feeling the rumbling roar in one's chest long after it had robbed the ears of their hearing. There was simply no time for thought or remembrance. It was all washed away in a tide of awe. It was a long moment before Myranda and Myn had the presence of mind to make their escape, but when they did it was with a speed none who would pursue them could hope to match.
Myranda made a brief attempt to locate her next target, but her head was still swimming after the ordeal. Instead she used the flight to gather her mind. She directed Myn vaguely north and east. There was no telling where the others were, save the fact that they were in the north. If she kept to the center of the Northern Alliance she at least would not be far. With the power that had forced its way into her mind during the search spent, Myranda finally felt the night air in all of its painful chill. She sifted through the enchantments contained within her stolen staff, but it came as no surprise when no spell that could bring her comfort presented itself. It was meant to be wielded by a nearman, and they didn't seem to suffer from any of the effects of cold, or hunger, or fatigue. Myranda dipped into her own quavering spirit and cast a warming spell. Periodically Myn would huff a flame that sent a surge of heat through her veins. The creature did so in a practiced manner, such that the merest whisper of light left her mouth.
Now that the cold was dealt with, and hunger was a nagging concern at best, Myranda was left with the unfortunate task of sorting through the images that she'd been forced to thrust aside in the rush of battle. Those new buildings she'd seen in Kenvard. They were D'karon, that was certain. The D'karon had a way of stripping the soul from things, leaving behind only what was needed to perform the task. The thin smoke and vile smell that she'd encountered matched that of Demont's fort perfectly. That had been a place where the horrid beasts she'd encountered were manufactured. So then must Kenvard have served as a source for them. The brief flash of the catacombs beneath the castle forced its way to her mind. Nearmen, half completed, had stood in countless rows. The abominations had to be made somewhere. Kenvard must have been that place. Her stomach churned at the thought. They had extinguished the whole of a city, killed all of its people, and for what? To craft shallow replicas? To produce lumber to be cast into the flames of war to keep them burning?
There was another reason, though. To get Ivy. Myranda looked back to the sleeping form of her friend. She'd behaved very strangely when the woman stepped from behind the third door. Ivy had recognized her. Even more strangely, she had claimed that the woman looked “too old.” And after the hate had taken her over she remained concerned with the human's safety, calling her by name, Aneriana. The name echoed deep into Myranda's memories, taking her back to the days in Kenvard. Aneriana was indeed a name she'd heard often. It was certainly the name of a talented young girl that her mother had taught. It was Ivy's true name, the person she had been before the D'karon had claimed her.
Questions boiled in Myranda's mind. What had happened to Aneriana in the years since her soul was stolen? What had Demont done to her? What had he planned to do? And how was it that even without her soul she'd been able to stand up to the swordsman's raging chaotic form? For that matter, how had she known that she should? And what of the swordsman? What had been happening to him? How had they managed to bring him back? If anyone had any answers, it was the D'karon. There may as well be no answers at all. Knowing that only made the flames burn brighter in her mind.
The clouds above began to lighten. Myranda looked over the landscape sprawling beneath them. There was no sufficiently dense stand of trees to hide them for the day, and after the commotion they'd stirred up it was suicide to remain in the open. Finally, finding no bet
ter solution, Myranda guided Myn to a rundown barn a short distance from the edge of a small lake. After a glance inside to find it mostly empty, Myn cautiously slaked her thirst at the lakeside before slipping inside, keeping a watchful eye on the frosty surface. The dragon settled down and scooped both Ivy and Myranda into her embrace. Wrapped in the warmth of her friend and exhausted from the day's trials, Myranda slipped quickly into a deep sleep. Myn followed suit.
The short day was half over before Ivy, forced into sleep for the duration of the journey, finally awoke. She felt refreshed, and for the moment was mercifully free of her memories of the confrontation in the throne room. After a brief feeling of panic upon finding herself in the clutches of a dragon, she realized she was among friends. A careful, tricky bit of maneuvering extricated her from Myn's grasp and she stretched her sore muscles. She had a quick look over the dusty, disused barn, then turned to Myn. It was the first good look she'd had at the dragon since she'd returned. Myn was enormous now. A real dragon, not the baby she remembered. At the same time, though, everything she remembered remained. The same ruby hues. The same graceful lines. It was still Myn, still familiar, just tenfold the power, and tenfold the majesty.
Slowly Myn became aware, even in her sleep, that part of her precious cargo was missing. Her golden eyes opened and settled quickly on Ivy. After beaming a broad grin, the playful creature carefully stepped in and wrapped Myn's neck in a tight embrace, planting a kiss on her cheek. After lavishing affection for a few moments more, Ivy stepped back, a finger to her lips and pointing at the slumbering Myranda. Myn gripped the sleeping wizard a bit tighter and watched Ivy with interest as she prowled about the barn once more, rubbing her stomach absentmindedly.
Ivy frowned at an empty burlap sack and poked about in a few crates she found. She was hungry. More than hungry, she was starving. They'd offered little in the way of food while she hung from the chains in the castle, too fearful of loosening even a single one to feed her. Now her grumbling stomach urged her to rummage ever deeper into the recesses of the barn. She turned up a few half frozen potatoes and a head or two of cabbage that had held up fairly well. She tossed the potatoes to Myn, who snapped them up gratefully. After carefully setting aside half of what she'd found for Myranda, Ivy made quick work of the rest. It was hardly enough to satisfy her. She looked longingly at Myranda's share, but shook the thoughts away. Her eyes shifted to Myn. The dragon would probably be able to hunt something down, but she'd have to wake Myranda, and the two had done enough for her already. She sniffed at the air. There was something better nearby. Much better . . .
She fairly floated to the door of the barn to get another whiff. The smell was heavenly. Sweet and spicy and warm all at once. A small voice in her head echoed warnings to stay out of sight, but another smell silenced it quickly. She would be fast, she would be sure that she was not seen. She'd watched Lain move. It would be easy.
“You stay here. I'll be right back,” Ivy mouthed silently amid exaggerated gestures.
With that she was off, dashing out the door and across the open field outside toward the lone farmhouse nearby. Myn shifted uneasily, craning her neck in attempts to peek outside. When she failed to do so she carefully released Myranda and got to her feet, sidling to the doors and gazing out through the gap between. She glanced at the sleeping human, then back at the retreating form, shuffling nervously. It wasn't long before the anxious fidgeting was enough to wake Myranda. She looked about groggily. The expression of anxiety on the dragon's face, coupled with Ivy's conspicuous absence brought her to full wakefulness in a flash.
“Where is she?” Myranda asked sternly.
Myn looked again to the door. Myranda rushed to it, peering out just in time to see Ivy disappear into the farmhouse across the field.
“She knows better than that!” Myranda snapped.
She pulled open the door and stepped outside.
“You stay here. Don't leave unless you absolutely have to,” Myranda warned before rushing after Ivy.
It was broad daylight and the field was level. There was no way to avoid being seen by any prying eyes that might turn her way. The crops offered nothing in the way of cover, either, as the field was planted with potatoes on one side and cabbages on the other. The two vegetables were virtually the only ones that would grow in the northern soil, and varieties that would grow any time the ground wasn't frozen solid were the only reason most northerners hadn't starved long ago. In the past she'd wished there were more wheat fields so that there would be more bread. She never thought she would long for the cover that they could provide.
She reached the farmhouse. It was a humble place, somewhat rundown, with two floors. The door was slightly open. For a moment she considered sifting though her repertoire of spells for something that might help her to remain unseen, but by now the damage was done. The only thing that could help now was speed. She carefully pushed the door wide enough to slip inside. Instantly there was a gasp.
The whole of the first floor was one large room centered around a well stoked fireplace. Cowering behind a cupboard against one wall was a young woman who looked worn well beyond her years. Her eyes were locked on Myranda. Ivy looked up. She'd been hunched over a baking dish on the table, in the process of licking it clean. Her face was covered with its former contents, and bore a look of disappointment.
“Oh, you're awake. I was hoping I could get back without disturbing you,” Ivy said, as though she'd done nothing worse than nudge Myranda in her sleep.
“Ivy, we need to leave, now,” Myranda scolded.
“I know, but you have to try some of this first. It is called cobbler, and it is the best thing in the world. I finished this one, but she said we can have the other one too,” Ivy said.
“Yes, yes! Take anything you want, just leave!” the woman cried.
Ivy stood and tried to remove a second baking dish from over the fire, touching it gingerly with her fingers before giving up.
“There must be a tool or something for this, right?” Ivy asked, looking about for the offending item.
“Ivy, leave it,” Myranda urged again, stepping inside and closing the door. “We have to-”
“Oh, look. She has one of those!” Ivy said, picking up one of the posters the Undermine had been tearing down.
That explained why the woman was just as frightened of Myranda as Ivy. She knew who they were. Myranda looked to the woman, who reacted to the gaze as one might to a raised weapon.
“Please! I swear to you I will not tell a soul. Just don't hurt me! I am the only one here! No one ever has to know,” she hurriedly assured.
“We do not mean you any harm. We just-” Myranda attempted to explain, only to be interrupted again.
“You aren't the only one here,” Ivy said, sniffing the air. “There's someone upstairs.”
The woman's eyes shot open.
“No! Please! Leave my father be! He is very ill! He's no threat to you! And without me he will die!” she begged, dropping to her knees.
“Ill? What is wrong with him?” Myranda asked.
“Please, please,” the woman sobbed. “We've done nothing to you.”
“No, you can tell her. She heals people,” Ivy explained off hand, looking over the poster critically.
“I may be able to help him,” Myranda offered.
“You . . . “ she began, her eyes flashing with hope before distrust rushed back in. “You just leave him be.”
“Very well,” Myranda said. “Quickly Ivy.”
“But the cobbler!” she objected.
“Leave it,” Myranda said sternly.
Ivy slouched and reluctantly followed as Myranda opened the door and moved quickly outside. They had gotten only a few steps into the icy field when the door was pulled open.
“Wait,” the woman cried.
The heroes turned.
“Can you . . . can you really help him?” she asked in a shaky voice.
“I can try,” Myranda said.
The w
oman opened the door. Myranda and Ivy entered.
“I knew you'd come to your senses,” Ivy said, picking up the poster again and taking a seat at the table.
Myranda was led up the stairs to the second floor. The steps were practically worn through by worried footsteps. At the top she found a number of doors. Behind one was a bedroom. A thin old man lay in a bed that clearly had not been empty in weeks. He was at death's door. His skin was gaunt, a sickly gray. Beads of sweat rolled down his face and dampened the sheets. The smell of illness permeated the air. At their approach his face turned weakly to them, clouded gray eyes staring past them.
“It started a month ago,” the woman said, nervously. “He was . . . “
“Working by the lake,” Myranda surmised.
“How did you know?” she asked.
Myranda pulled aside the blanket slightly and lifted his arm. It was wiry, but even shriveled by sickness as it was it seemed like it could pull a stump from the ground. She turned his hand. Nothing. She picked up the other. Nothing. Finally she uncovered his feet. Sure enough, across the ball of his foot was a hair-thin black scar. The woman's tears began anew at the sight of it.
“It isn't . . . “ she gasped.
Myranda nodded. Residents of the north knew it well. There was a plant called the cutleaf. It had broad leaves with hard, thin, upturned edges. It grew only near water, and was very rare, but it hadn't always been. For years people who worked the land had been trying to kill them off. The edges carried a powerful toxin. Even a few drops of it just under the skin was more than enough to ensure a withering death. The vision faded, strength was sapped away. The appetite vanished, and finally a burning fever set in. It was a terrible, slow, and certain way to die. As a child she'd heard the lecture a thousand times. Watch for them just beneath the ice, and if you aren't sure, stay away. In the winter the leaves would freeze, the ridges standing straight with a cruelly sharp edge. The larger plants could easily slice through the sole of a boot. It was likely what happened to the poor soul before her. The woman was beside herself with despair. Myranda placed a hand on her shoulder.
