The D'Karon Apprentice (7 page)

The man spat at her and hurled a barrage of
expletives.

“Yes,” she said excitedly. “
Much
less
formal language these days. And so much more colorful as well. But
really now, the year.”

“Why should I answer you?”

“That’s true, there
is
the easier way.
If I’d been thinking, I’d have gotten that out of your brother
before I let him wander off, but there’s always another person
about…”

She lowered her staff, bringing the bizarre
creature riding it unnervingly close.

“No! No, I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you
anything, just don’t touch me with that! It’s 157.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. No monarch
rules for that long.”

“Monarch?”

“Yes. Surely you mean one hundred fifty-seven
years since the coronation of the sitting monarch. If not, then one
hundred fifty-seven years since
what
?”

“Since the start of the war!”

“Which war?”

“There’s only been one war!”

“And it lasted one hundred and fifty years?
That’s absurd. Perhaps the easy way
is
best, eh, Mott?”

“No! Please!”

The creature clutching Turiel’s staff
released a throaty churring noise.

“Yes… I suppose you’re right, Mott. Someone’s
got to bury his brother. I hate to see the dead dishonored unless
they are being put to good use. I’ve wasted enough of your time,
young man. I’ll get my information elsewhere. Good day to you,” she
said. She started to walk away, but another churr from her
companion stopped her. “Oh, yes. You are right, of course.” She
turned back to the survivor. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask that you
keep this encounter to yourself. Until I feel otherwise inclined, I
would much prefer to move discreetly. If you tell others what
happened here, I’ll have to return, and there will be very little
reason for me to let you live.”

He nodded, terrified.

“Excellent, once again, good day to you.”

Mott chittered again.

“… What? … No, I’ve
told
you,
we
are going to find
Teht
. … Because she is late for
her visit and I’m concerned. … I’m sure she’s in the north. She
always had snow on her cloak when she visited. … Yes, we could open
a portal, but we are saving our power for the
keyhole,
remember? … Oh, learn some patience. The walk will do us good. It
will be nice to see what’s become of the world while we were away.
… Oh, you can
so
see. Don’t be so dramatic. If you want some
eyes, I’ll get you some eyes, but I’m waiting for green ones.
…
Because you’d look so
precious
with green
eyes.”

She sighed and lowered her staff slightly.
The body of the stricken brother shuddered and glowed, then
ponderously sat up, breath sliding from it in a voiceless moan. His
lifeless eyes slid open. She crouched and looked into them, then
nodded and raised her staff, dropping him limply to the ground
again.

“
There
. You see? Brown. You don’t want
brown eyes, do you? So common. …” She looked to the grief-stricken
younger brother. “His are brown too.”

She paced off to the north, chatting idly
with her pet.

“… Yes, I’ll get you some proper wings too.
Perhaps we can swing west. That’s where those riders come from,
yes? Some nice baby dragon wings and some green eyes, my little
patchwork pet. You’ll be darling.”

#

“And that’s it. That’s what happened,” he
said. “She killed my brother… that
witch
… And she told me
not to tell anyone. And then your men came and asked me, and then
they
told me not to tell anyone, and I…”

“That’s fine, sir,” Sallim said without
looking up from his parchment. “I have what I need from you.”

He sat silently for a few minutes, flipping
between the fresh parchment and some older ones, comparing details
between them.

“May I leave now?” the farmer asked.

“One moment… Yes… Yes this would appear to
match other accounts. I would say we are through here.”

“Other accounts? This… this woman has done
more?”

“That really isn’t any of your concern,
sir.”

“But… if it was known that she was dangerous…
if we’d been warned…”

“You’ll be happy to know that based on the
description, yours is the
earliest
encounter—which means it
is more likely five months than four. There could have been no
warning in your case. Now, if you would be good enough, just head
back through that door and inform the soldier that his orders
stand.”

“Um… yes, sir.”

“Esteemed Patron,” Sallim corrected.

“Err, yes, Esteemed Patron. I’ll be on my
way,” he said, standing and pacing toward the door.

When the farmer left, Sallim pulled out a
fresh parchment, this one a thin ribbon, and inscribed a message in
small, precise writing.

Another credible account, he wrote, the
first. Most detailed yet. As with the others, he will be held to
prevent further spread of information. As I write this, Northern
diplomats are crossing the border. Your time with the subject is
limited. I will be visiting personally in one week’s time. I expect
answers.

He completed the message and rolled it into a
tube, labeling it with the intended recipient, Commander
Brustuum.

#

“We must be getting close now, Myn. Dip down
and let’s get our bearings,” Myranda suggested.

Myranda was in her usual position astride the
base of Myn’s neck, holding tightly to the broad scales on either
side. Deacon sat behind her, his legs hooked over the base of Myn’s
wings and his arms about Myranda’s waist. Behind them, held in
place with a sturdy leather harness, was a small bundle of supplies
and equipment. Overall the load was somewhat heavier than Myn
typically carried, but not nearly enough to cause a problem.

At Myranda’s request Myn tipped her wings and
dropped down through the thinning clouds beneath her. The last five
days had held a tremendous amount of travel, but the journey was a
pleasant one. Repairing Kenvard was a monumental task, and one that
required their constant attention. With the mission to the south
requiring their presence, Myranda and the others had been forced to
journey north to meet with those who provided the stone and lumber
for the repairs, providing payment and explaining how the tour
would change matters. They’d also dropped off messages to prepare
some of the diplomatic stops for their requirements. Then it was
back south and to the front. There had been two snowstorms in the
days they had been flying, but above the clouds they were of little
concern. Flying so high made for a frigid journey, but a blast of
dragon fire, a good, heavy cloak, and a few whispered spells kept
everyone comfortable. Unfortunately, over most of the Northern
Alliance the clouds were thick enough to make it difficult to see
the ground even without a storm, so dropping through from time to
time was necessary.

“If you like, I can navigate. Last night I
looked through my primer to refresh my memory regarding the
necessary spells,” Deacon offered, raising his voice against the
rushing wind.

“No. I think it is important Myn learns to
navigate on her own. We can’t always be guiding her. I’m not sure
how dragons do it naturally, but the least I can do is help her
along. Show her how I do it until she can find her own way.”

“Yes. It is something of a mystery how they
find their way in the absence of more traditionally human means,”
Deacon said. “Worthy of study.”

Myranda leaned forward to address Myn more
directly. “You see how much more green and lush the land is there
near the horizon? We’re getting close to Tressor. Those peaks there
are the southern fringe of the Rachis Mountains. That silvery
thread is the Loom River. We are to cross the border where the Loom
crosses it. The border is where the ground … darkens for a bit.
That’s the Crimson Band… where all of the fighting was
happening.”

Myranda paused for a moment, looking sadly at
the subtle but undeniable stripe of landscape that stretched as far
as the eye could see in both directions. It was darker in some
places than others, but even six months after the last major
offensive the land had not healed. Perhaps it never would. It was
said that so much blood had been spilled on that soil—both the red
blood of humans and the black blood of nearmen—that it had
permanently darkened to a rusty, sickly color. The war had lasted
so long it had left scars not only on the people but also on the
land itself.

She tried to push the thoughts away. “Make
sure to land well before that. They have requested that we cross
the border on foot. They will be waiting at a checkpoint on the
road just east of the Loom. Keep a look out for it, and land to the
north of it. Understand?”

There was a rumble through Myn, felt more
than heard, in response.

“You know something, Myn? Perhaps when you
learn to navigate, you will explain it to me. And sooner rather
than later,” Deacon called out to her, giving her a pat on the
side. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you’ve been more vocal lately.
Perhaps not verbal, but vocal. And you’ve always been enthralled by
Myranda’s voice.”

“She’ll talk when she’s ready,” Myranda said,
giving Myn a pat of her own.

Myn tucked her wings and dove more quickly
toward the ground, prompting Myranda and Deacon to hold tighter and
lean closer. The young dragon had a bit of a tendency to show off,
particularly regarding her landings, and it wouldn’t be the first
time she’d lost one of her riders and had to fetch them before
something tragic happened. As a matter of fact, it had happened no
less than six times to Deacon. It was enough to make Myranda
suspect that this was simply a new way of toying with him. When
they held tight and leaned low, though, the wind swept over them
with barely a flutter of their clothes. It was like they were one
with her, cutting through the sky as though they belonged nowhere
else. As the ground approached, Myn stretched her wings once more
and they caught the wind, swooping her upward and slowing her
descent. Myranda felt herself pressed firmly against the dragon’s
back with the force of the maneuver, and just as the pressure began
to ease, she felt the smoothness of flight turn to the gentle
rhythm of a trot.

“I think you might take that a little more
slowly in the future, Myn,” Deacon suggested, sitting up straight
and checking to be sure he hadn’t dropped anything.

“This is right where we need to be, though.
Excellent work,” Myranda said.

Myn stopped and crouched so that both wizards
could dismount, and the trio continued on foot. Without the chill
of the skies, the warmer southern climate became quite apparent.
This strip of the Northern Alliance just above the border was the
only part of the empire to truly experience all four seasons. The
sharpness of the change from the cold of the north to the warm of
the south was almost supernatural. Even a few days travel by foot
north and there would often be snow on the ground in the dead of
summer. Here, there was hardly a nip to the air, and green fields
filled the landscape behind and ahead of them. Bees buzzed in the
air, birds sang. There was life here, thriving. It was beautiful…
though one didn’t need to look far to see evidence of what had
happened here. Farmers had done their best to reclaim land on
either side of the border, but where their hoes and plows had not
been put to work, the ground was still churned up by hooves and
boots. Here and there the broken shaft of an arrow or a rusted
plate of armor jutted from the soil. Mixed with the scent of
blooming flowers and tilled fields, a sour, acrid smell tinged the
air. Life was trying its best to take this land back from the death
that had made its home here, but it would take time.

The crossing was just a few hundred paces
ahead of them along a packed-earth road, and already the serenity
of the sky was giving way to the tension of the surface. The border
was, for the moment, marked with waist-high stakes driven into the
ground every twenty paces or so. At some point in history walls
might have separated the two kingdoms, at least between some of
those cities nearest to one another, but the war had demolished
them, and both sides agreed it would not show confidence in the
continuing peace efforts if the first order of business was
erecting new walls. There was, however, a set of tree-trunk-sized
posts on either side of the wide road, and a heavy gate had been
mounted on both the northern and southern sides. With soft soil on
either side, no vehicle would pass here without the knowledge and
permission of the half-dozen soldiers on either side. The same went
for the nearby Loom River. The sharpened trunks of trees had been
driven into the riverbed, some quite fresh, others rotted by
decades in the water. The only difference between those placed by
the north or the south was the direction the points were angled. It
was worrying that after six months no efforts had been made to
remove them and make water passable by river traffic once more.

The other significant addition to the
crossing was a set of guard posts, small but sturdy buildings
erected on either side of the border to provide lodging and
supplies for those stationed here. The northern post was like any
other building Myranda had seen erected in the last fifty years:
thick planks cut from pine, solidly assembled and topped with
thatch. The construction was simple but strong and built to last.
The Tresson counterpart was subtly different. It was more ornate,
painted a warm red color and bearing carved doors and curved
accents on the corner posts. The roof had a shallower peak as well
and an unusual combination of thatch at the top and shingles at the
edge.

“Oh, my goodness,” Myranda said, stopping
suddenly.