“Oh, I’ve wiped my conscience clear, thank you.”
“The white wizards back home can certainly restore your hand to flesh and bone,” Deacon said. “A task that would require a fair amount of research for either Myranda or me to perform.”
Desmeres cocked an eyebrow. “Now that might be worthwhile. I assume you have permission from my current keeper?”
Myranda produced the writ Caya had prepared.
“I see… Isn’t the queen still in your very kingdom?” he asked.
“On her way back.”
“That you had to beat her here underscores the immediacy of your need, I imagine.”
“Quite so.”
Desmeres raised his voice. “What say you, Genera? Should I—”
“You’ve been asked by the king and queen of Kenvard to come to the king’s aid. The answer was yes a half hour ago!” she snapped.
“I would be risking my life.”
“For a good reason, and you are a difficult man to kill.”
“I will be away for months.”
“You’ve disappeared for weeks at a time before.”
“You would have to look after Dowser while I am away.”
She leaned into the doorway. “I shall endure the hardship.”
He looked to Myranda again. “Before I give my final answer, what happens, hypothetically, if I refuse?”
“We would find another way,” Myranda said.
“But Deacon’s journey through the Cave of the Beast is, at this point, an inevitability,” Desmeres supposed.
“It seems so,” Deacon said.
“Then I suppose I have no other answer but to agree,” Desmeres said. “It would be a terrible thing to let you wander about in that cave without a guide. You could get into mischief were you to take a wrong turn. When would you want to leave?”
“As soon as possible. I took the liberty of arranging for transportation prior to coming to your door. We will have carriages and provisions ready for us, courtesy of Queen Caya, within the hour.”
“Within the hour? Are we leaving so soon?”
“As soon as possible,” Myranda said.
“Not that I am complaining, but why are we traveling by carriage rather than having Myn drop us off?”
“Because the new king and queen of Ulvard are less willing to waive the formalities than Caya. They would prefer a dragon not soar through the skies of their kingdom without time enough to ‘prepare the populace.’ As if Myn hasn’t been a common sight in the Northern Alliance for years. As it is, even with you traveling via carriage, I will be working with Caya’s people for days more to finish the proper permissions and declarations to allow you to cross through Ulvard. I intend to do so while you are in transit.”
“Supper is nearly finished, if you would do me the honor of sharing a meal before you leave, Your Majesties.”
“Of course. I’ll have to see to Myn, briefly. But I would be delighted,” Myranda said.
“It will be interesting to learn more about you, Genera,” Deacon added. “Knowing Desmeres as I do, this is the calmest and most upstanding I’ve seen him. I can’t imagine we have anyone to blame but you. And owing to the tasks of resurrecting a kingdom, I’ve scarcely had the opportunity to speak with you for a few moments on our prior meetings.”
“Considering the circumstances of those meetings, I doubt the impression would have been as positive. As for Desmeres, he’s matured quite a bit on his own. But it wouldn’t be far from the mark to suggest the largest part of my trade is knowing how to handle unruly men.” She glanced aside briefly. “Though I’ve never anticipated discussing such things with royalty.”
“It should make for engaging dinner conversation,” Desmeres said. “Now let’s eat.”
Chapter 4
Several days had passed with Deacon and Desmeres taking turns at the reins. Deacon was dressed simply, save for his crown, which he still wore beneath a large hood. Desmeres was a bit less dedicated to keeping a low profile. In his case, his was not quite as infamous among the subjects of the kingdom. He’d had the questionable judgment of making his enemies at the very top. Myranda had evidently done her job, as when they reached the border crossing, the patrols allowed them through with little more than a gruff reference to “the men the runner was going on about.”
Now they were trundling somewhat unsteadily into the heart of Melorn Woods, headed toward the mouth of the Cave of the Beast. There was only a short distance left to go, but there was no telling how long it would take, given the density of the forest and Deacon’s lackluster skill at guiding the horses.
“You can snap the reins a bit to get more speed out of them,” Desmeres said, climbing through a hatch from the inside of the carriage to sit beside him in the driver’s seat.
“There isn’t much of a road here. I don’t want them to strike anything,” Deacon said.
Desmeres held out his hand. “Give me the reins. Novel as it is to have the king of Kenvard as my personal driver, I was under the impression there was some urgency.”
Deacon handed them over. Desmeres snapped the leather straps a bit.
“The horses have eyes, you see. They won’t run headlong into a tree unless they are particularly spooked or particularly dim.”
The carriage rattled along the uneven forest floor for a few seconds.
“May I be frank, Deacon?” Desmeres asked.
“I’ve never known you to be anything but frank.”
“Why are you trusting me with this?”
“You are trustworthy.”
“I am most certainly not trustworthy. I’ve betrayed the Chosen, I’ve stolen from three different monarchs. I am definitively untrustworthy.”
“Let me clarify. You are a self-interested man with very specific motivations and aims. This task serves those aims, so there is no danger of betrayal in this case.” Deacon looked to him. “You are predictable, which is as good as being trustworthy in this case.”
“That’s an assessment that requires a level of social insight of which I did not imagine you capable.”
“As with most things, I am relying upon the insight of advisers.”
“So Myranda is the one who has me figured out.”
“Chiefly. Though I must say we both had our doubts about that after visiting your home.”
“Oh?”
“The first unexpected matter was that you had a home. My experience with you to date has chiefly been crossing paths with you as you danced between strongholds, safe houses, and lairs of collaborators.”
“These last few years have been a tumultuous time for me. I have had deeper roots in the past.”
“And then there was the matter of Genera.”
“If you intend to speak ill of Genera, you are going find me far less cooperative with this little errand.”
“I wouldn’t think of it. She is a match for your wit and capability. You are well suited for each other. I simply hadn’t envisioned you allowing yourself to find happiness with anyone. You are self-destructively driven. I would have expected you to become restless. To sabotage yourself before you could settle down and become comfortable. Proof, again, that my social insight is lacking.”
“Don’t discount your insight. This little arrangement was not lacking for attempted sabotage, either purposeful or not. Genera is remarkably adept at shrugging off foolishness and speaking to the heart of the matter. I tell you. Youth and beauty are far too eagerly sought. Wisdom, my friend. Experience. They belong on the list, and youth is a small price to pay for them, so long as you can tolerate discovering just how many mistakes you’ve made along the way.”
“I am pleased to say I was blessed by the love of a woman who has them all.”
“We can’t all earn the love of a demigod.”
They rode on for a few moments more, but a turn of phrase bounced about in Desmeres’s mind until it found its way to his mouth again.
“Self
-destructively driven.” Desmeres held up his hand and clacked the fingertips. “Sometimes there are worse things than a little self-destruction. Losing the hand hasn’t been all bad. If you spend your life with potent tasks demanding your full attention, occasionally you find yourself without the time or inclination to think about anything else. Honing the shape of metal is meditative, but directed. It takes ages to do it properly, but if you seek to work to the level I do, a single errant swipe of a file could cost you the weapon. As I learned to work with one hand, or one and a half as the case may as well be now, I had time to think about these purposes of mine.”
“It is worthwhile to look upon where you’ve gone, and where you are going.”
“I let good things slip through my fingers, Deacon,” he said. “I let opportunities pass me by. Don’t get me wrong. Someday I’ll do what I set out to do. Someday I’ll make the finest weapon this world will ever have the good fortune to behold. And I will see to it that the weapon finds its way into the hands of the proper warrior to prove it so. It just shouldn’t have taken the loss of my hand to realize that there is more to a great warrior than skill. There’s more to a weapon than how well it is used. But if it is used for good, I don’t just need the right weapon. I need the right hero.”
“You’ve already armed the Chosen with your creations.”
“True, but… I am not certain I can explain it. The Chosen were destined to fight for the defense of their world. They didn’t choose. They were chosen. I fully admit it may be a crooked view of the world, but I want more than that. A man who cannot work is not lazy. One must have the means to work and choose not to in order to be a layabout. The same goes for heroism. The Chosen had but one path to follow. They could have failed, and if they had, we would have been consumed by darkness. But they could not turn away. Show me a person with two roads before them. One leads to safety for themselves, the other leads to triumph over evil. That choice is the last piece.”
“Interesting… And how does one find such a hero? The greatest challenge of this world has come and gone.”
“Bah. Evil always lingers. Choices like that are made a dozen times a day. But to find the one who would make the proper choice and would have the skill to wield one of my weapons properly… as with everything else in my life, if I can’t find one, I may have to make one.”
Deacon turned to him. “It is difficult to cut through your flowery language sometimes, but it sounds suspiciously like you’ve just suggested you wish to have a child.”
“The thought has crossed my mind.”
“Two more thoughts should cross your mind, then. The first, putting the weight of your own ambitions on a child is a terrible way to bring them into the world. And second, you already have a son. He’s the king of Vulcrest.”
“There is a boy who, by virtue of Trigorah Teloran’s slavish devotion to elven tradition, bears my name. Everything else he has become has been in spite of me, not because of me. Though he is, at least, evidence that I make for excellent breeding stock. But you have a boy of your own. How has that changed matters?”
“Night and day, Desmeres. Before and after. That boy is the rising sun, casting everything into stark contrast. You talk about drive? Purpose? Leo is everything. His happiness, his future—I would challenge the gods to give him the life he deserves. I would remake the world to keep him safe.”
“There’s more to life than safety.”
“There is. Doubtlessly so. No so long ago I asserted that very thing to the new king of Ulvard. There is so much to learn. So much to understand. But Leo is a child. He is my child. And so many of the people of this world are like children. They are unprepared for certain challenges, certain dangers. What is the use of learning if we ignore the most important lessons? Some things can only lead to sorry, to ruin. It is up to us to glean what we can of them, and to use that knowledge to keep the path to enlightenment open while keeping the path to destruction closed until people are wise enough to calculate their own risks. There is more to life than safety, but without safety, life is uncertain.”
“Precisely, and thus the two roads, and thus true heroism.”
Deacon shut his eyes tightly. He pressed his fingers to his head and shuddered a bit.
“Something troubling you?” Desmeres asked.
“I’m… it is nothing serious. Just a flare-up. It rattles my focus a bit.”
“I’d expect to see the mountains crumble before your focus started to flag. I’ve never seen someone with their mind wrapped so tight so often.”
“Mmm…” He gritted his teeth. His crystal flashed and smoldered. After a second or two of a vaguely pained expression, he relaxed. “I apologize,” Deacon said. “What was the topic of discussion?”
“You were championing safety at the expense of freedom. I was firmly of the belief that freedom is more important.”
The rumbling carriage hit an uneven piece of forest and rocked. Deacon took the reins from Desmeres and tugged at them, slowing the horses a bit.
“On that point, we shall have to disagree.”
They continued along the road, a bit less jostled by the rough ground. Desmeres slipped a hand into his coat.
“I hear you’ve got your own coins now.” He revealed a copper coin. “I spent a great deal of my time outside Entwell working out how to get more of these. Another purpose of mine. When I was handed this coin, it was the currency of the Northern Alliance. Now it’s just the currency of Vulcrest.”
He turned the coin over in his hand. The copper was clearly quite new, but it didn’t take long for a patina of green to begin coloring it. The milky hue drew the finer details of the coin into stark contrast, with the tiny crevasses holding the color while the rest was polished by handling. From the red gleam of the high points of the coin, it was handled quite a bit.
“Quite the clever choice,” he said, flipping the coin facedown to reveal its back. “The Mark of the Chosen on the back of each coin. And you’ve kept that alive with your own currency, correct?”
“It seemed both proper to honor the Chosen and wise to engineer a means to ensure a mark is seldom far from hand.”
“Quite so. The burn of the mark is a fine test of one’s intention for the world. I don’t suppose you have any of the new coins on you?”
“I’ve learned that royalty is seldom called upon to pay directly for anything, but for the purpose of this trip I am carrying a few.”
“Good. I’d consider keeping one handy if I were you. You never know when you might need it.”
#
Myn spread her wings and soared through the sky, dipping in and out of the sea of clouds that blanketed the north. Myranda held on tightly, shut her eyes, and let her mind wander. Of all the things that had come from finding her place as one of the world’s defenders, this was among her most cherished. There was such freedom in taking to the sky, either with Deacon and the others or even alone with Myn as she was now. Puffs of flame sent warmth surging through Myn’s body. Myranda needed to summon the merest twist of magic to turn the icy wind into something brisk and invigorating. In this moment, it was precisely what she needed.
A queen and a warrior are two very different things. She’d never truly felt at home on the battlefield. The throne was, perhaps, a better fit for her. It was not without its trials. Difficult decisions and frustrating clashes with strong personalities filled her days. But today, at least, she had removed a heavy weight from her mind. Deacon was on his way to his people. She had no doubt he would return healed of his ailment and ready to rule by her side with a clear mind and an even hand. This dose of freedom was her reward for the achievement, which had taken days longer than she’d intended thanks to the endless requirements of the Ulvard Crown. And best of all, she was headed home to her son.
She leaned low and rested her head against Myn’s neck. “We’ve been through so much together,” she mused. “In a way, it started with you.”
A realization trickled
into her mind. “Dip below the clouds for a moment, would you?” she said.
Myn released a delighted little sound and tucked her wings. She sliced through the air in a graceful twirl, prompting Myranda to hold tighter.
“Easy!” she said with a laugh. “We’re not showing off for anyone.”
The dragon spread her wings again and burst through the bottom of the clouds, trailing streamers behind her. Myranda gazed down from the dizzying height. Ravenwood spread out beneath them. To the west, the Rachis Mountains rose up. Myranda scanned across the icy slopes.
“Yes… Yes, we’re not so far from where I first met you. And there, down below. I think I see Wolloff’s Old Tower.”
Myn curled her head to gaze at it. “What is wrong with it?” she asked.
“Oh, there’s nothing wrong with it, I was just… that’s… that’s odd…”
Myranda’s eyes weren’t as sharp as the dragon’s, so it took her a moment to realize that the shadow-shrouded little clearing with its rickety tower jutting out didn’t look quite like the forest around it.
“Let’s have a look,” Myranda said.
Myn cut her wings once more and eased into a slow spiral toward the place where Myranda’s journey into the mystic arts had begun. As they wheeled closer, the oddness of the clearing came into far starker focus. All but the southern fringe of Ravenwood was tucked into the Low Lands at the heart of Vulcrest. As such, the forest was well within the stretches of the kingdom that never truly shed its layer of snow. This time of year the best the thick wooded lands could hope for was a gray, slushy, incomplete thaw. For the most part, that was precisely what the forest showed. Tall pines sent globs of wet snow tumbling to the forest floor in the gusts of wind off the mountains. But the wizard’s tower was quite different. Myranda could see hints of green in the shadows of the surrounding trees. When she drew nearer still, little points of color revealed wildflowers. By the time Myn was flapping her wings to slow for a landing, the air itself was warm and heavy with the scent of spring. Elk and rabbits, eager to partake in this unexplained but welcome bounty, dashed from the clearing when Myn’s great claws crunched into the grass.
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