The D'Karon Apprentice (46 page)

“And that duty, as you have said, is the
reason for your creation. In effect, the duty and the Chosen are
one and the same. This, I think, is why family is so important.
Family is something that you care about above even yourself. It is
perhaps the one thing in your life you would do anything for. And
the one thing that can be relied upon to do anything for you. It
takes you out of yourself. Opens the door to your heart and mind.
Lets you see that there is more to the world than the darkness that
may linger inside.”

“Foolishness…” Ether said, though in her tone
there was the slightest dash of uncertainty. “And even if this were
so, how does one develop such feelings for others? Surely one
cannot will oneself into caring for others.”

“No, I suppose most of us are lucky enough to
have blood ties and to be surrounded through our lives by those who
care about us, and who earn our affection in kind.”

“Blood ties… Yes… yes, if there is something
of yourself, literally a part of you in someone else… then the
connection would be inherent.”

“One would hope such a connection would come
in time to any who—”

“I require a child.”

Croyden blinked. “What?”

“If what you say is so, then the connection I
require can most simply be had in a blood relation, and as I have
none existing, the only solution is to create one.”

“I think perhaps you misunderstand my
meaning.”

“Give me a child,” she said firmly.

He coughed and took a step back. “I’m
sorry?”

“If you require, I would be willing to assume
a form to better suit your tastes.”

“Guardian Ether, flattered though I may be at
the suggestion, the decision to have a child is not one to be made
lightly. And as you say, I am ‘the queen’s plaything.’”

“A matter easily rectified,” Ether said, her
features subtly shifting until she was visually indistinguishable
from Queen Caya.

“It is not a simple matter of appearance,
Guardian. And I’ll thank you not to impersonate our queen. It is a
crime with a very stiff penalty.”

“I was led to believe that the act of
procreation is one endlessly sought by the males of each race. It
is curious that you would resist this opportunity.”

“There are any number of reasons I could
offer with regard to why I would actively avoid this opportunity,
the least of which is that no amount of shape-changing could ever
render you suitable for my tastes.”

“Absurd… though with the task at hand, the
months necessary to produce an offspring would likely represent an
unacceptable delay. Still, it is a matter to revisit when the
present crisis has passed.”

“For our own sake and that of any potential
child, let us hope that a better solution presents itself in the
interim,” Croyden said. “Now if you would kindly open the door so
that we may each continue with our tasks?”

“Of course. With this matter investigated I
shall return to the site of the clash with Ivy. It is doubtful the
necromancer has lingered, but there may remain some indication of
her further ambitions. I thank you for your insight. It at least
colors that of others with potential value. I may seek your counsel
again.”

She pushed the door open, shifted to wind,
and departed. Croyden stepped forward and watched the swirling form
vanish through the damaged roof.

“‘I may seek your counsel again,’” he
repeated. “A more ominous phrase I’ve never heard…”

#

Ivy and Celeste stood beside a fire as the
cloudy sky over the fort turned from golden to rosy. It would be
some time yet before the soldiers would return, but between the
provisions left in the soldiers’ things and some swift foraging by
Ivy, they were able to erect a tent to keep the worst of the wind
and moisture from them. Much of the time since then had been spent
in silent vigil. The stirring forms of Demont’s many creations
gradually became still, until they had one by one collapsed. With
little to occupy him any longer, Celeste became restless. Spending
years in a dank, frigid cell has a way of making one anxious to
fill every moment of freedom with something. Anything was better
than stillness.

He first gathered and organized the
provisions available, then sifted through the equipment that may
prove useful. Among them was a pair of short swords, as well as a
Tresson longbow and a supply of arrows.

“My fingers aren’t what they should be
anymore,” he said, testing the tension of the bowstring. “Of the
two of us, I believe you should be the one to handle the bow.”

“I really don’t think so,” Ivy said, shaking
her head. “I don’t think I know how to use one.”

“You don’t think you know?” he said. “One
would imagine such is a matter one would be certain of.”

“When the D’Karon were still…
making
me,” she said with a shudder, “they would force things into my
mind. Some of it stayed in place. Some of it didn’t. And the things
that stayed… I don’t like using them. I feel… wrong when I do. Like
I’m not the one deciding what I should do. It’s hard to control
myself.”

Celeste beckoned. “Here. You shall see
then.”

“I really don’t want—”

“Ivy, precision with a bow is a valuable
skill. Uncertainty or discomfort with any weapon, particularly for
one so often tasked with combat, is simply not something that
should be allowed to remain,” he said firmly. “Take the bow.”

She reluctantly did so, holding it gingerly
and regarding it as though she’d just been handed a venomous
snake.

“Do you favor your left or right hand?” he
asked.

“Left.”

“Then this bow will not be ideal for you, but
one cannot always depend upon one’s preferred bow. Give me your
right hand. The bow goes here. Seat it here, against your
thumb.”

He guided her hands swiftly but surely,
giving Ivy little time to object or fixate on her anxiety.

“These three fingers here, to grip the
string. These two will hold the arrow, so you want the gap between
them centered.”

His orders were simple and precise and came
in rapid bursts. Ivy couldn’t suppress a grin at how easily he
slipped into the role of instructor. It made her imagine him as he
must have been in his youth, training soldiers, or raising
Myranda.

She followed his instructions as precisely as
she could. When his words weren’t clear, or when she misunderstood
them, he would gently shape her grip or guide her stance with a
quick tap here or there. Before long she was fitting her first
arrow. He offered up a scraggly, ice-coated bush in the middle
distance as the target. She did her best to follow his
instructions, drawing the bow, sighting as he described, tipping
the bow what she judged to be the sufficient amount, and letting an
arrow fly.

It fell woefully short, striking the ground
and flipping through the air.

“It would appear you escaped having
this
knowledge forced upon you,” he said.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Ready another arrow. Your claws may be a bit
of a problem. I want you to try this grip instead, if you can
manage it…”

Again he coached her through a few minor
changes. As much as she’d wanted to avoid using the bow, for fear
of feeling a dash of the lingering control that Demont and Epidime
had so carefully woven into her during her time in their clutches,
now that she knew it was her skill to learn, she felt a flush of
pride with each improvement. Such improvements came quickly as
well. Celeste had many strengths, but two of his greatest seemed to
be his patience and his eye for detail. Each time she drew the
string, he knew immediately if she’d done it right or, if not, how
to fix what she’d done wrong.

“You’re a wonderful teacher,” Ivy said.

“You’ve not hit your target yet. You should
ready a fourth arrow. Remember, there is a stiff wind. You’ll need
to aim into it.”

She reached back toward the quiver he’d
helped her position on her back, groping blindly for the fletched
end of an arrow.

“Is this how you taught Myranda to shoot?”
she asked, finally snagging one.

“No… I taught her a bit, and my brother
taught her a bit more… but there was never much time for that. Her
mother wouldn’t have any of it regardless. Myranda was destined for
better things than to follow her father to war. … No, pinch here,
and hook your thumb.”

Ivy adjusted. “I hope… I hope you don’t mind
me asking, but… is there something wrong between you and
Myranda?”

“Of course not.”

“It’s just that Myranda spoke all the time
about how she always kept the hope that you might be alive. You
were always on her mind.”

“And she was always on mine while I was
locked in the Verril dungeon.”

“I imagine you must have been thinking of
her. So if the two of you felt so strongly, I would have thought
once you found one another again you would be inseparable. It seems
like you’re always handling something within the city and she’s
always handling something else.”

“Myranda has many responsibilities. I do what
I can to help her.”

“I know, and I know she appreciates it, but
there are times when I know you could leave something to someone
else. Sometimes you must be choosing to work apart from her rather
than with her.”

He paused, and there was the sense that the
silence was not to search for words, but to summon the strength to
speak them. “She grew into the woman she is today without me, Ivy.
I had a place in her mind through all of this, but not a place in
her life. She doesn’t need me any longer; it would be selfish and
pointless of me to impose myself.”

Ivy loosened her grip and turned to him. “You
don’t really mean that.”

“She’s a grown woman. What use does she have
for me any longer, beyond those ways I can help in repairing our
homeland?”

She shook her head, glancing briefly to the
fort to assure there was still nothing new to be concerned about.
When she was satisfied, she set down the bow and slipped the quiver
from her back.

“I think you could benefit from a bit more
instruction,” he said.

“Mr. Celeste, right now I think you’re the
one who could use some instruction. Tell me, what was Myranda like
when she was a girl?” Ivy asked.

“She took after Lucia… her mother,” he
said.

He took the brief interruption in his
teachings to pluck a tin mug from beside the fire. Inside was some
warm broth he’d prepared. He sipped a bit to take the edge from the
chill and his hunger.

“In what way?”

“Very studious. I was certain she would grow
to be a teacher as Lucia was.”

“She sort of did,” Ivy said. “She taught me a
lot. And she still does.” She stared for a moment. “When she was
young, when you’d come home after a long mission, how did she
act?”

Celeste gripped the mug tightly in his
fingers to warm them. “She was always so happy. The look on her
face could light up a room. Once, when she saw me through the
window, she ran out into the snow in her bare feet to greet me. She
was such a sweet little girl.”

Ivy placed a hand on his shoulder. “That
feeling doesn’t go away, Mr. Celeste. Did you remember many of the
other children back in Kenvard? The ones your wife taught.”

“Some. I was not home as often as I would
like.”

“There was a little girl about Myranda’s age.
A gifted artist and musician. Her name was Aneriana. That was me…
or at least who I was.”

“I do believe I’ve heard stories of a child
who was something of a painter and a musician. She played the
flute.”

Ivy nodded. “They say the flute was my
instrument.” She grinned and gave a hollow laugh. “I’ve tried. I
have a flute back in New Kenvard. It feels right when I try to
play, but it isn’t. These lips aren’t really made for the flute. It
is funny. When you’re a natural at something, it’s hard to learn a
new way to do it. I imagine I’ll get it eventually. But that’s not
the point. The point is, I have barely anything left from that
time. When the D’Karon took me during the massacre, they didn’t
want Aneriana. They didn’t have any use for her. The body was
worthless to them, and the mind even more so. They tried for years
to wipe it all out, worked as hard as they could to blank the slate
and leave me a clean canvas to craft their own weapon. They came
very close. Most of my memories are from my time in their clutches,
and even then just the last few months of it. But sometimes at
night, if I shut the world out and close my eyes, I can feel the
shape of the memories I lost. I get a flash of something. The smell
of my mother’s bread. A glimpse of my father’s face… they are the
most precious moments I have. Sometimes, I know I shouldn’t, but I
feel so envious of Myranda. That she has you. So don’t you dare
think that she doesn’t have a place for you anymore.”

The malthrope released a shaky breath and
wiped her glistening eyes. For a moment she and Celeste simply
turned to the fort to resume their vigil. The light was dimming
quickly. Within the hour it would be night again. By now Celeste’s
eyes likely couldn’t pick out the dark forms of the monsters on the
island. Before much longer, even Ivy’s sharp vision wouldn’t be
sufficient.

“Are we certain the sorceress is still
there?” Celeste asked. Ivy wondered if his question was born of
genuine concern or simply a desire to shift the subject away from
the sensitive direction it had taken. “There was little indication
of her arrival. She may have departed just as silently.”

“No… I can feel that she’s still there. I
can’t describe it exactly. But I’m certain she’s still there.”
Ivy’s ear twitched, and she glanced to her pack. “Oh! I think
that’s Deacon’s pad!”

She pulled open the flap and quickly found
the fold of leather and parchment. When it was free, the shuddering
stylus jumped to life and began to scrawl out a message on the
page.