The D'Karon Apprentice (22 page)

She unfastened the clasp and opened the case,
retrieving the contents. The crowd hushed a bit as she revealed a
curious and attractively made instrument. It was stringed, but
larger than a fiddle, rounder in the body and longer.

“This is called a lute. It is the official
instrument of Tressor. It wasn’t easy, but I was able to learn a
little something of theirs, and I will play it for you now. I hope
I can do it justice.”

Ivy was already having to raise her voice to
be heard and didn’t dare put off the performance any longer. She
slipped her hands from her gloves and began to pluck the strings of
the instrument with her claws. At first the unruliness of the crowd
completely drowned out the soft, tinkling tone of the strings, but
like a slow wave rolling out from her, the crowd began to
silence.

The song she played began as a simple one,
the tempo slow and the notes distinct. As the notes penetrated into
the crowd, her playing deepened. More notes joined in, complex
chords and rolling scales. Her fingers danced flawlessly across the
strings. Her face wore a look of concentration. The song grew
faster, and the audience’s attention solidified. As the tempo and
complexity of the tune both built, the spirit of the song subtly
changed. Whereas it had begun almost solemnly, it was growing more
vigorous, more jubilant.

Another change came about as well. As her
playing became more confident, and her audience more enraptured,
Ivy’s face brightened, a deep spiritual bliss coming over her. The
sounds coming from her instrument didn’t seem as though they could
possibly be coming from a single player. When she wasn’t strumming
or plucking, she was thumping and drumming at the body of the
instrument. Her foot kept a steady rhythm, tapping on the chair.
And then there was the glow. It was dim at first, barely
noticeable, but as the audience began to forget where the music was
coming from and instead embraced it, the golden aura began to
become more apparent. It was pure, triumphant joy. Bone deep and
utterly infectious. By the time the song rolled toward its
crescendo, the clientele and staff alike were enraptured by the
music.

A furious flourish of notes threatened to
shake the instrument apart, Ivy’s claws at times plucking all
strings at once. Then, like a wave crashing against the shore, it
was over. The silence of the audience was complete, such that the
buzzing of the strings was all that remained. When it, too, dropped
away, the crowd erupted into applause. Ivy jumped down and thanked
the crowd—shaking hands, getting slapped on the back, and nodding
her way through compliments until she reached her table.

“Yes! Thank you! It was my pleasure, really.
I’m glad you liked it. Certainly I’ll play more. I’ve got a fiddle,
so if you’ve got any local favorites, I’ll do my best. Just have to
get something in my stomach.” She looked at her table. “I hope I
did okay with it, Ambassador… Ambassador?” Ivy said.

Krettis had her hands over her mouth, her
eyes wet with tears.

“Is something wrong?” Ivy asked.

“I’ve… I’ve never heard it played so
beautifully,” she uttered, moved almost beyond words. “That was…
oh, how is it translated? ‘The Ascension to the Stars.’ It was
played at my wedding.”

“It was? Well, I’m so pleased you enjoyed
it.”

“How did you learn to play it? And alone? The
song is meant for three.”

“I’m not much of an ambassador, I know that.
But art, any sort of art, comes to me like breathing.”

“What was that light that surrounded
you?”

“It’s complicated. That’s what happens when
I’m truly happy. Other emotions have different effects. I try to
keep them down, but joy is one I can share.”

“I’ve never seen anyone win over a hostile
group so easily.”

Ivy took a seat and tore herself some
bread.

“I didn’t win them over. Maybe one or two of
them, but those were the ones who weren’t really against me, they
just didn’t know what to do with me. What I did mostly was distract
them, entertain them. They thought I was a wild animal before. Now
they think I’m a trained animal. It isn’t much, but if it helps us
get through the night without anger and hate, that’s enough. First
I convince people I’m not a menace. After that I can start working
on being equal.”

Krettis wiped some of her tears away. “You
may one day make a better diplomat than you realize.”

Myranda awoke just before dawn to the familiar
feeling of a dragon’s paws folded over her and Deacon sleeping by
her side. Myn had barely made it through the meal the previous
night before scooping Myranda and Deacon close and dropping off to
sleep. Sleeping clutched to the chest of an overprotective dragon
might not have been the most regal way to spend a night, but for
Myranda it brought back some of the only pleasant memories of her
time battling the D’Karon. She tried to ease herself from Myn’s
grip without waking her, but the dragon pulled herself groggily to
her feet only a few moments after Myranda did, rousing Deacon in
the process.

The air was already warming with the rising
sun. With a river beside her and a climate that wouldn’t make such
a thing a death sentence, Myranda had the rare luxury of at least a
cursory bath while traveling, something that had been all too
infrequent when living off the land in the frigid north. Myn stood
guard, her extended wings offering a degree of privacy, then
reluctantly offered the same favor to Deacon.

Grustim, in an act Myranda could scarcely
conceive of becoming accustomed to, had slept silently in the same
position he’d flown, lying on his dragon’s back. Through the whole
of the morning ablutions he’d remained asleep, though Garr woke
shortly after Myn did and observed the morning routine, motionless.
The Rider didn’t awake until Myn gave the remnants of the previous
night’s fire a huff of breath to reignite it, and Myranda put the
set-aside portion of the previous night’s meal over it to warm.

“Good morning,” Myranda said. “Will you be
having some before we leave?”

“Yes,” Grustim said. He stifled a yawn. “I…
didn’t expect to be able to sleep so soundly.”

“Why not?” Deacon asked.

“Garr seldom allows it when other humans are
about. He becomes watchful of them, over-aware of them.
Distrustful.”

“Well I’m pleased that he does not feel
distrustful of us,” Myranda said. “Myn is the same way, but I think
last night she was simply too exhausted to do anything but
sleep.”

“Perhaps it was the presence of other
dragons. Or perhaps Garr has judged us to be of trustworthy
character. Solomon was always a quick and very accurate judge of
character,” Deacon suggested.

“Perhaps… Listen. When we’ve eaten and
resupplied our stock of water, we will set off. Based on Myn’s
performance yesterday, if she can follow without attempting to
pass, I think we can set a swifter pace today. We may be able to
reach our destination in four more days, perhaps a bit less.”

“Do you hear that, Myn?” Myranda asked. “Stay
close, but let Garr and Grustim lead the way. This is
important.”

Myn straightened up and padded over to the
wizards, looking steadily at her Tresson counterpart. The air of
challenge and rivalry between them seemed to have faded quite a
bit. Whereas previously there had always been tension in their gaze
when they regarded one another, each seemed far more at ease with
the other now.

The meal went quickly, and less than an hour
later they were in the air. Fields and towns swept by quickly below
them. At first it seemed that Myn was up to her previous antics, as
she seemed unwilling to trail behind Garr, but once she was able to
maneuver beside him, she fell into a steady, swift rhythm. Though
they were moving nearly as fast as the day before, the lack of
unnecessary jockeying and general misbehavior made it far less
taxing on both dragons. This permitted Myranda and Deacon to enjoy
the journey a bit more. More importantly, it let them discuss
matters.

“I’m concerned, Deacon,” Myranda said,
calling over the sound of rushing wind.

“Many things of late are worthy of concern.
What specifically is troubling you?” Deacon replied.

“Even if we were to reach the site of the
attack this evening, weeks have still passed since it happened. A
trail that is even a few hours old is difficult to follow. And we
don’t have much time to get new information to Valaamus.”

“Perhaps, but we may well find evidence, or
witnesses, who can tell us what we need to know, and if not, we are
no strangers to tracking the D’Karon. If the D’Karon are there to
be found, we shall find them.”

“And if they aren’t? It is one thing to find
something quickly, but how does one prove quickly that there is
nothing to find?”

“The truth will be revealed in time,” Deacon
said.

“But time is something we don’t have. If war
begins again…”

“It is a pity we’ve not yet heard from
Valaamus regarding… wait… one moment.” Deacon carefully loosened
his grip with one hand and rummaged through his bag. “We’ve been so
distracted, it strikes me I’ve not had a moment to check our pad.
It’s been tightly closed in the bag; if it were to receive a
message the stylus wouldn’t be able to move to alert us.”

He unearthed the pad in question. The very
moment it was free of the confines of the pack it snapped open,
nearly flipping itself from his grip. The stylus then swiftly
traced out a series of messages, most minor notes from Ivy and of
little consequence. Buried among them, however, was a message from
Valaamus.

“‘You may use passive magic sparingly, but
only to track. Genuine evidence must be found to allay our
concerns,’” Deacon read aloud. He cleared his throat. “The message
looks to have been written some time ago. It seems the pad is not
without its shortcomings. Perhaps…”

“Later, Deacon. Let us… oh heavens…”

She felt a chill rush through her. Though
this far into Tressor the air was growing almost uncomfortably warm
for those accustomed to the north, here among the clouds it was
still brisk. The shiver that shook the young wizard had nothing to
do with the cool breeze, however. She’d only just begun to open her
mind, to allow the flow of magic around her to instead flow through
her. And what it brought was something she’d simultaneously hoped
for and dreaded.

“Deacon…” she said.

“I know… I feel it too. D’Karon magic.
Freshly worked… not more than a day ago,” Deacon said. “Portals…”
He shut his eyes. “One entrance point… two exits…”

Without opening his eyes he began to rummage
through his bag, pulling out a thick leather tome and flipping it
open. The whipping wind tore at the pages, fluttering them wildly.
He sliced the air with his hand, and it parted around him. His book
calmed, and he willed a stylus into his fingers, blindly scribbling
notes and tracing shapes.

“Grustim!” Myranda called out over the
howling wind. “Grustim! We need to talk. It is very important!”

Her voice couldn’t cut through the howling of
the wind. She shut her eyes briefly and reached out with her mind
to the gem of her staff, focusing her will through it and weaving
it into the air around them. Like a hot iron dragged across some
wrinkled linen, her mind smoothed away the flutters and whirls of
the wind around them, quieting the howl such that it fell into near
silence.

“Grustim!” she called again.

“You were not to work your magics within our
land, Madam Duchess,” he called gruffly.

“At this moment I believe the others who are
working magics within your land are the greater concern. Deacon and
I are certain a D’Karon spell has been cast. If there
are
D’Karon within your borders, they must be found and stopped
immediately,” she said.

“Through what means have you determined
this?” he said sternly.

“We can discuss that later, but please
believe me that there can be no doubt.”

“He, she, or they are no longer within your
borders… at least, not
solely
within your borders,” Deacon
said, eyes still shut and the formerly blank page now virtually
black with his hasty notes. “D’Karon magic has created two portals,
and there have been two incursions into the Northern Alliance. I am
still determining their exits, but one is certainly in the Kenvard
region, and the other certainly in the Vulcrest region.”

“We
need
to land and plot a course to
wherever these portals originated,” Myranda said.

“I’ll have it for you momentarily,” Deacon
said.

“It would not be wise to land now. We are
passing over the Mistraal. Many people call this place their home.
It may be difficult to find a place where we will not be seen.”

“I cannot impress upon you how important it
is to act quickly. These portals are not gentle spells, and they
are unmistakably D’Karon. If there was anyone nearby when the spell
was completed, I assure you, they are hurt.”

“How can you be certain this is a D’Karon
spell?” Grustim asked. “We have powerful sorcerers within our land.
You could simply be feeling some of their workings, could you
not?”

“Grustim, we have nearly lost our lives to
the D’Karon too many times. We are intimately aware of the texture
of their magics.”

“And this spell could only have been cast by
a person who had been steeped in D’Karon teachings,” Deacon said.
“With the defeat or departure of the D’Karon we knew of, it is fair
to say that
I
am at least
one
of the foremost experts
in their teachings. Or so I’d believed until now. Though I have
tried, I haven’t been able to master one of these spells accurately
enough to cast it, but this wizard has done so twice. This spell is
rougher than those cast by the D’Karon, but functionally complete
in a way that I have never been able to achieve. This is the result
of guided instruction, I know it. And I can only hope that we are
facing a group because, if this is an individual, we are dealing
with someone of frightening focus and power.”