The D'Karon Apprentice (56 page)

She shut it all away. There wasn’t any room
for doubt. New Kenvard was her home, and it needed her. For too
long she had walked the north, and now the south, as her people
suffered. Now she had the power to do something, to change
something. Though she was forced to do battle when necessary, in
her heart she was a healer. Her purpose for the last few months had
been to mend the wounds of her world and to bring her homeland back
to its former glory. To her there was no higher calling, and if it
meant she had to give the last full measure of herself, then so be
it.

Myranda was roused from near unconsciousness by the
sudden shift forward and downward. Myn, her motions labored and
sluggish, was landing. It was impossible to know how much time had
passed. The depths of her concentration made the journey seem like
an eternity, and yet she was not cognizant of the passage of time.
It was at once an odyssey and an instant.

There was no doubt she’d reached the north,
however. Traveling by air was a brisk, chilling endeavor, but the
air of the Northern Alliance had a painful bite that reminded
Myranda just how quickly she’d become accustomed to the warmth of
the south. Worse, in her haste to leave, she’d not taken the time
to don the layers of warm clothing that would keep the frigid air
at bay. It was thus a task for her ailing mind to ward off the bulk
of the iciness.

“Myn…” she slurred, blinking away the tears
in her eyes and gazing down at the slush and snow coating the
fields below. “Are you well? Do you need to rest?”

The dragon’s pace suddenly quickened, as
though she were a student caught dozing off during a lesson.
Myranda knew the poor creature must be at the breaking point. As
hard as she’d worked to keep the dragon strong, Myranda knew that
the body could only go so long without real nourishment, and there
was no substitute for proper sleep.

Night had come while they were traveling,
though Myranda didn’t know if it was the first night, the second,
or even the third since she’d departed. She had the vague memory of
stopping briefly and only once, somewhere in Tressor she had hoped
would be far enough from prying eyes. At the moment, though, that
didn’t matter, because two far more pressing things were on her
mind. Below and ahead, the city of New Kenvard drew nearer, and it
couldn’t be clearer that something had happened there, and likely
still was.

Its streets were dark, the first sign that
something was wrong. There was an enormous amount of work to be
done to restore the broken city to its former strength, and the
people of Kenvard—
her
people—were more than eager to put
their hands to the task. The portions of the city that had been
repaired were lively and bustling deep into the night and woke
before the sun. There should at least be warm lights glowing in the
windows of the homes and businesses nearest to the gate. All was
dark and silent.

Beyond the obvious, there was something in
the air that only a wizard could truly appreciate. Compared to how
still and silent the streets were, the air hummed with an unnatural
energy. The city itself seemed to be restless, anxious. She could
feel raw emotion weaving through the very wind: anger, fear,
confusion. Some of the feelings poured from the residents, huddled
within their homes and certain that the dark history of the city
was about to repeat itself. Most came from elsewhere, hundreds of
minds and souls that seemed to know nothing else but fear and hate.
It was something she’d felt at the edge of her mind on nights when
the moon was full and the city was still; her carefully attuned
spirit was sympathetic to the lost souls drifting in this place,
but never had it been so sharp, so intense. Myranda felt as though
a thousand indistinct voices were screaming in her mind.

Myn touched down with a heavy gracelessness
that underscored the depths of her fatigue. Myranda tumbled from
her back, her thin summer boots crunching down into the crust of
fresh snow. With no evident explanation, an assortment of carriages
and wagons were abandoned near the gate of the city. As she and Myn
trudged closer, a pair of familiar faces from the town guard rushed
out to meet her.

“Duchess! There is—” the first began.

“Has anyone been hurt?” Myranda asked
quickly.

“No, Duchess. The woman arrived two days ago,
but few have even seen her. She… she hasn’t let anyone leave the
city. Everyone who approaches is able to enter, but the horses
refuse to leave, and even those who try to leave on foot can’t
summon the will to step more than a few paces from the walls. The
only damage that has been done is a farmer’s wagon that was
destroyed. He was not inside at the time.”

“Have you seen the woman responsible? Is she
still here?”

“No one has been able to get close, but we
know that she is in the palace. There’s… something there. Duchess,
she had a… a
thing
with her. It just left the city. It was
enormous. I can’t begin to describe it. It moved through the north
quarter and over the wall.”

“Thank you. I want you,
everyone
to
get indoors, but everyone should be ready to flee the city. I’ll do
my best to deal with the woman quickly and calmly, but if the worst
comes, I promise you, I will find a way to free the city from her
grip so that the rest of you can escape.”

“Duchess, are you certain you are strong
enough to do this? Are you certain you don’t want the guard at your
back?”

“She’s a sorceress. I don’t want anyone
without a focused mind and the proper training to go near her. Keep
your weapons ready and defend the people, but do not attack and do
not worry about me and Myn.”

Before the guards had a chance to object
further, Myranda and Myn marched along New Kenvard’s main street.
In the old days the primary road curved around the edge of town and
wove back and forth, rendering the wide and open path as indirect
as possible in its route to the castle’s main gate. Myranda had
decided that in rebuilding the city, as a way of showing trust and
openness in the aftermath of the war, the street would lead
directly from the main gate to the palace gates. Her father,
mindful of the city’s defense, had not been fond of the idea, but
Myranda felt strongly that the best way to defend the city and its
people would be to do all that could be done to prevent another
war, and this would be yet another layer of motivation to do
so.

Myranda tried to gather her strength as she
paced along the short stretch of street that had been completed
thus far. It was a failed endeavor. She had barely any will left,
and from the way Myn’s tail dragged and her head hung, without the
strength Myranda had been sharing she was on the cusp of
collapse.

Only a few dozen paces farther and the road
gave way to churned-up, icy earth and scattered rubble. Myranda
worked hard to keep her footing, stumbling once and finding Myn
quick to lower her head to nudge her back to her feet. The
exhaustion was swiftly becoming a distant concern in the face of
the growing influence of swirling spirits. The air was thick with
unseen wills and minds. For Myranda it felt as though she were
trying to push her way through syrup. Even Myn, with her untrained
mind, seemed increasingly uneasy. It would take the merest flex of
her mind to render the torrent of spirits visible to her, but she
dared not. These souls, tormented and angry, were the men and women
of her childhood. But for the grace of fate and the hand of a
fallen ally, she would be among them. The task ahead was great
enough without seeing faces she’d last seen on the most horrific
day of her life.

As she climbed the mound of stones that were
once part of the palace’s outer wall, the press of spirits began to
assert itself in a way that Myranda could no longer ignore. Voices
whispered in her ears, half-understood cries of anger or pain.
Emotions that were not her own caused her heart to race and her
hands to shake.

Then, as she crested a second mound of stone
that ringed a mostly cleared courtyard that had at one time been
the palace entry hall, the force and emotion slipped away. It felt
as though she had slipped into the eye of a storm. Ahead of her,
Turiel was sitting in a chair assembled from rubble, joined by
several hundred tiny black strands.

The sorceress looked as young and vibrant as
she ever had. Myranda’s epic expenditure of magic and utter
physical exhaustion made it appear as though the black-clad
necromancer might be a year or two younger. Her thin black lips
were curved into an easy smile, and she was carrying on a merry
conversation with the empty space beside her chair. Her left hand
stirred the air, accenting words with broad gestures, while in her
right she clutched the black and white shaft of her repaired staff.
The fingers of this hand seemed paler and more delicate than those
of her left.

“No, no, I understand that, but you must see
things
my
way. They
were
right to do what they did.
It was an extreme measure, but as current circumstances indicate,
Aneriana
was
a threat to them. You would have done the same.
And I…”

She turned to Myranda and Myn, seeming to be
pleasantly surprised by the sudden appearance of the wizard and the
dragon. “Oh!” She turned aside again. “I
am
sorry. I think
you’ll see when the task is done.” She turned to Myranda again,
throwing her arms wide. “Myranda, Myn! It is so
lovely
to
finally meet you!”

Myranda gripped her staff tightly and focused
her mind as best she could. Myn set her feet and spread her wings,
smoke and flame curling from her nostrils.

“Please, please. There is no need for that.
Myn, my dear. Mott dug up a gift for you.”

She tapped the staff on the ground. A coil of
black unwound from it and speared a large burlap sack sitting amid
the rubble behind Turiel’s makeshift throne. She guided the bag in
front of Myn and upended it, spilling some fresh potatoes onto the
ground before her.

“Naturally he would have liked to give them
to you personally, but I sent him on a bit of an errand. I really
think the two of you would make fine playmates for one
another.”

The dragon peeled her lips back in a snarl
and raked the offering aside.

“Turiel, tell me—” Myranda began.

“Myranda, please, sit down. You look fit to
collapse,” Turiel said.

She sent out two fresh filaments, but Myranda
slashed her own staff through the air, striking them down.

“As you wish,” Turiel said with a shrug.

“You speak to us as though you know us,”
Myranda said.

“I do know you. I know you precisely as well
as your dear friend Ivy knows you. I thank you for your kindness to
her, by the way. Many in your position could never have found it in
themselves to open their heart to someone so clearly molded and
colored by the enemy, but you took her in, guided her. I speak as
one with an unshakable appreciation of all the things the D’Karon
have crafted, but I truly believe the best of what Ivy is comes
from her soul and what you have helped her to make of it.”

“I am told you intend to bring the D’Karon
back to this world,” Myranda said.

“I mean to do so, yes, and it is quite likely
they will return to their agenda, whatever that might be,” Turiel
said. “This, I imagine, is not acceptable to you. I certainly
wouldn’t blame you. Unfortunately, this puts us at odds with one
another. It’s a shame. You seem such a sweet girl.”

“I can’t let you do this.”

“I don’t expect you to let me do it, and
normally I would be genuinely concerned. But the rather unpleasant
history of your homeland and my own particular skills have placed
me in a
very
advantageous position. I would ask you to stand
aside and let me pass, I really don’t want to hurt you, but I think
we both know it would be a waste of breath.”

“We defeated the D’Karon. We will defeat
you,” Myranda said.

“Myranda, you are no stranger to the ways of
magic. You must have felt the
presence
here. The people of
your home, the victims of the massacre, they are
angry
. They
are
fearful
. They thirst for
revenge
. You and I know
that the D’Karon are the real culprits, but these people went to
their grave truly believing that it was the Tressons.
Rare
is the spirit who can learn and grow after they release their grip
on the mortal coil. These are the imprints of a whole city that
wants nothing more than to see the blood spilled on that day paid
back in kind. And that is what I am offering. You’ve no doubt
noticed you’ve been spared their relentless chaos during our
conversation. Do you know why? Because I’ve
asked
them to.
And dark emotions are
dense
with power. It is glorious. I’ve
nearly drunk my fill of it, and there is ever so much more to be
had. Perhaps not enough to finish the keyhole, but we both know
where I can find the rest. When we’re through with our little chat,
whether you see the error in your ways or not, I’ll be on my way.
This is the endgame, Myranda. I’m so sorry. But I want you to know
that I don’t have any rancor or spite toward you.”

“Then
don’t do
this.”

“Most of it is already done, dear. The storm
of souls is roiling. The mystic power is all but fully harvested.
Nearly every victim of the massacre is unified in their desire to
see me march across the border and harvest what remains to be
collected from the spirits I’ll find there and the soldiers who
shall fall trying to defend it. Only one spirit seems opposed.
You’re shutting her out right now. In light of the other spirits
about, that’s a wise decision, but I’ve convinced the worst of them
to keep their distance. For your sake, dear, I think you should
have a word with the most stubborn of the spirits.”