The D'Karon Apprentice

by Joseph R. Lallo

  “May we please see to the matter at hand?” Ether said, her patience at its end.

  Ivy narrowed her eyes. “I already remember why I didn’t miss you.”

  “We had a word with Caya, Ether,” Myranda said. “She’s been in discussions with the Tressons, and there are stories of creatures appearing in Tressor that sound very much like D’Karon creations. There have been cloaks and dragoyles at the very least, or things of similar description.”

  “That is impossible. I spent months tracking down anywhere the D’Karon blighted our world with their treachery. I found and destroyed the last of their living creations six weeks ago. And none had made their way any farther south than this very city.”

  “Yes,” Deacon nodded. “I’ve been focusing on the task of detecting anything that has the feel of D’Karon handiwork, and there is nothing that would suggest any new spells or conjurings are at work.”

  “Nevertheless, the Tressons see the D’Karon creatures and the Alliance Army as one and the same. Their military and leadership have been doing their best to keep the news of the creatures a secret, but it is only a matter of time until word spreads, and that could mean a new start to the war.”

  “This does not concern me. It was never my goal to end the war. I was created to rid this world of outsiders, and I have done so.”

  “Would you agree that if there is even a chance that some D’Karon have been missed, then we cannot afford to ignore them?”

  “If there was a chance, then certainly it would be our obligation to seek them out no matter where they might hide. But there is not a chance. I am certain I have done my diligence. No D’Karon or D’Karon creation lives. Is that your only reason for summoning me?”

  “No. Regardless of your feelings on the subject, the rest of us are dedicated to preventing a new war if at all possible. To that end, Deacon and I will be touring Tressor as part of a diplomatic mission. The purpose of this tour will be to locate and identify the cause of these attacks. If they are D’Karon, we must eliminate them and make it clear they were not our doing. If they are not, we should do our best to help our neighbors to the south to be rid of them. In exchange for allowing us into their kingdom, the Tressons would like permission to tour our land, and they have requested the most honored among us to be their guides. You specifically were requested to escort them on their tour of the Ulvard region.”

  “I cannot imagine a greater waste of time. What possible reason would I have to agree to such a thing?” Ether asked.

  “Your queen as made this request of you. As a subject and defender of her kingdom, your solemn duty is to honor that request,” Myranda’s father said. His voice was steady, but the rumble of anger hid behind his words.

  “I am not a subject of this kingdom. I existed long before your kind arose and began drawing lines and carving away land for yourselves. I owe no loyalty or allegiance to your queen or any other. If that is all, I shall be on my way,” Ether said, turning to leave.

  “I told you she couldn’t do it,” Ivy said with a smirk. She tossed a boiled potato in her mouth, stuffing it into one cheek to speak. “She can’t handle this sort of thing.”

  Ether turned back to Ivy, shooting her a vicious look. “Do not think me too foolish to realize that you are trying to manipulate me.”

  Ivy sipped at a tankard of water. “Doesn’t matter if I’m manipulating you or not. It’s still true. To do this tour you’d have to deal with people. You’d have to treat them with dignity and respect. Answer questions and be patient if they didn’t understand. You’d have to be nice. And you can’t do that.”

  Myranda leaned back and tried to stifle a smile. There were always sparks when Ivy and Ether got together, but the malthrope had a special knack of pulling Ether’s strings in the right directions.

  “Don’t you dare presume to tell me what I cannot do,” Ether fumed.

  “I’m looking forward to being a diplomat. It’s all about chatting with people and trying to win them over, right? Who has more experience at that than I do?”

  “They have asked you to engage in this folly?” Ether said.

  “Yep! They asked for me specifically.”

  Ether practically sizzled with anger while the rest of the plates were set out. Finally she sat at the table and, as though doing so caused her physical pain, said, “What precisely would you have me do?”

  Ivy made a musical little hum of satisfaction as she tore away another bite of mutton.

  “In a few days a group of Tresson representatives will arrive at a small, recently built border crossing directly south of Territal. A group of Alliance soldiers, a handful of servants, and a pair of ambassadors will be there as well. You are to be host to the Tresson delegation. A short list of points of interest has been selected, which the ambassadors and soldiers will ferry you between. During the trip the delegation will speak to you. You should treat them well and answer any questions they might have that will not endanger the safety of the Alliance,” Myranda said.

  “I am to play nursemaid to a gathering of self-important humans,” Ether said. “This is a task so thoroughly beneath my status and abilities it baffles me that I am expected to perform it. But if it will silence Ivy, then I will endure it.”

  “Thank you, Ether,” Myranda said, sincere relief in her voice. “I cannot express how important this is for the Alliance and its people. If war sparks between our lands, there will be much bloodshed and little hope for the Northern Alliance. Deacon has prepared some notes for you.” At Myranda’s mention, Deacon leaned aside to his bag and pulled free one of the small communication books, handing it to Ether. Myranda continued, “Your tour will take you up to the edge of Ravenwood, across the Low Lands, and into the Melorn Woods as far as the mouth of the Cave of the Beast.”

  “Would you require that I lead them as far as Entwell as well? What are the lengths of this foolishness?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Myranda said.

  “In fact, we would ask that you not tell them of Entwell unless pressed,” Deacon added.

  “Why?” Ivy asked, tearing free a hunk of bread that had been set on the table.

  “With the war at an end, it is entirely possible that the legend of the beast of the cave will bring new wizards and warriors, hungry for glory, heading to the cave to battle the beast again,” Deacon explained. “If near certain death with the tiny chance of a legendary reputation is enough to send people to their doom in the cave, imagine what might happen if people knew that it held a paradise filled with the best trained and most motivated fighters and spell casters in the world? The lack of a beast does not make the cave any less dangerous. There exists no map to reach the other side safely. Dozens could be killed, even hundreds. To have that happen on Alliance soil so soon after the war would be unacceptable. In time we can work to reintroduce Entwell to the rest of the world, but such a thing must be done carefully. Until then I must reluctantly agree that the legend of the cave should stand as is.”

  “And there is also the more practical concern,” Myranda said, cutting into her own meal as it was set before her. “It is likely that the Tressons would be highly displeased to learn that a secret village of astonishingly potent warriors is nestled within the mountains of the Alliance. Knowing a recent enemy may have access to centuries of accumulated mystic knowledge and an army of legendary fighters is not something apt to settle an already stormy political climate.”

  “I defer to your expertise on such matters,” Ether said. “The logic of such squabbles and their motivations escape me.”

  “What about me? What should I be doing?” Ivy said. She swabbed some gravy from her dish with bread, glancing to Ether. “They made me wait until you showed up before they told me any details, so we could learn together.”

  “Your task would be much the same as Ether. Deacon has some notes for you as well. Treat the visitors well, ask them questions. Because the queen is going to be at a rather important gathering at the border and conducting he
r own tour, there are precious few trained diplomats remaining to handle these tours. Given Ether’s… history of friction when it comes to delicate matters such as these, she will be joined by the two nobles best versed in Tresson affairs. My father will be helping you, Ivy.”

  “He will?” Ivy squealed, leaning aside to place a hand on the man’s arm. “I can’t wait! We’ve been in the city together for so long, and we’ve shared so many meals, but you hardly talk. I hardly know you. This will be a lovely way to get to know each other.” She eagerly snatched up the notes regarding her tour when Deacon offered them. “The distillery and brewery from Caya’s family?” She bounced happily. “I’ve never been there! Do you think they’ll let me sample some more wine when I’m there. I’d love to try some of their ice cider. And we’ll be spending time along the coast. It is so beautiful there! Oh! The first day is right here in New Kenvard. Can we have a big dinner? A banquet?”

  “I believe it would be expected of us,” Myranda said.

  “Eliza!” Ivy called out, just as the cook emerged with a final plate.

  “Calm yourself, Ivy. You needn’t shout,” she said, setting the plate down before Ether.

  “I do not eat,” Ether said, pushing the plate forward.

  “Nonsense. Everyone eats,” Eliza said, tipping her head to the side. “Now what did you want, Ivy?”

  “We’re going to throw a banquet for Tressons! And you need to make pies and cakes…”

  “I do not eat,” Ether repeated, pushing the plate away again.

  “You are a guest in this home, Guardian Ether. It would be rude not to feed you. And you look just this side of death,” Eliza said, pushing the plate back. “A good meal will do you good.”

  “… and cobblers!” Ivy continued in excitement. “Apple and blueberry and strawberry…”

  “Slow down, Ivy. What’s this, the Tressons? Coming here? Did we invite them?”

  “They invited themselves,” Greydon said sternly.

  “I think it is an excellent sign,” Deacon said, turning to him. “Opening communication and sharing knowledge is always a fine way to build a lasting peace.”

  Ether’s face was becoming increasingly stern as the conversation grew louder and more vigorous.

  “I suppose I’d best make a list of ingredients I’ll need then,” Eliza said. She turned back to Ether, nudging the plate forward again. “Surely you could at least try it. If you don’t like it, I would be glad to prepare something else. I refuse to let a guest go hungry in this house.”

  Ether stood, a flare of wind accompanying her motion, causing the flames of the lamps to flicker. “I do not eat! Listen to my words, human! I do not require, nor do I desire, the seared flesh and softened plants that you seem insistent in foisting upon me.” The rest of the conversation silenced as all eyes turned to her. She snatched up the book from the table. “I will perform this demeaning task for you, but only on the condition that upon its completion you promise not to summon me again unless you are certain the D’Karon or some other threat worthy of my attention has arisen!”

  She turned to the door and threw her hand down, prompting a gale that heaved it open, then stormed outside. A second gust pulled it shut behind her.

  For a moment silence lingered in the room.

  “And meat pies, too,” Ivy said, turning back to Eliza. “Those ones with the beef and the onions and the carrots…”

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Myranda said, looking to the door with concern.

  She stood, leaving Ivy to continue to plan out the rest of the menu.

  When Myranda stepped outside, Ether was still walking along as a human, fist clenched tightly about the book.

  “Ether,” Myranda called, hurrying to her and bearing down a bit against the sharp drop in temperature from inside to out. “You are… shorter of temper than normal. And Eliza is right, you do look exhausted. Is there something wrong?”

  “Is there…” the shapeshifter began sharply. She paused to gather herself, then continued somewhat more calmly. “How do you do this, human? The noise and commotion? The tiny space, the smells of fires and other creatures. All of these little details and pointless problems. How do you tolerate that place? How do you tolerate being so set upon by such drudgery and triviality?”

  “How do I tolerate it?” Myranda said. “That’s my home, Ether. That’s what a home is. It is supposed to be filled with commotion, crowded with family and warm with the smell of food. I’ve only had it back for a few months, and I’m already dreading leaving it to go on this mission. I don’t know how I lived without it for so long.”

  “But you are Chosen! You are like me, or as near like me as all but a handful of creatures could ever be. You were meant for more than this! Even this ‘mission’ is little more than a chore to mend the lingering symptoms of the disease that we cured! Our job is done. Why devote yourself to this? It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore.”

  “It matters to me. And to a great many others,” Myranda said. She placed a hand on Ether’s shoulder. “Desmeres once said to me that a short life was a blessing because it would end before we’d seen and done all we cared to do. For the immortals, he said, a purpose must be found to maintain the drive to go on.”

  “I had a purpose, human. The grandest purpose that could possibly exist. I was the guardian of this world. And now that purpose is fulfilled. The world no longer needs a guardian. And I watched my equal die, human. If Lain could…” She stopped herself. “I shall be at the appointed place at the appointed time. Contact me if you discover the taint of the D’Karon in the south.”

  Without another word, her form dissolved away, leaving only the notebook hanging in the center of a churning female form. She burst skyward. Myranda watched her soar away. She’d just slipped from sight when Deacon joined Myranda, throwing a cloak about her shoulders.

  “What was wrong?” Deacon asked.

  Myranda shook her head, eyes still on the sky. “A few months ago she was the eternal defender of a world. Then, in the same moment, her world suddenly no longer needed her defense and she learned she might not be eternal,” Myranda said. “I don’t envy her for the path she’s got ahead. I only hope she can find her way.”

  Chapter 2

  Deep in Tressor, on the eastern edge of the Tresson desert, a well-fortified estate was tucked away in a sparsely treed plain. Though utterly surrounded by troops, smiths, and other elements of a strong military, the estate was nonetheless luxurious.

  A pair of men on horses, one in the red and tan uniform of the army and the other in the rather shabby clothes of a farmer, approached the ivy-clad trellis covering the cobbled entry path. Four guards questioned the soldier, then showed him and his guest inside.

  As they walked through the halls of the estate, the poorly dressed man seemed stricken with both awe and anxiety. As he paced through the well-built and better-adorned halls, he clutched his hands anxiously in front of him. Paintings and tapestries covered the walls, each of them quite likely as valuable as his whole farm to the south.

  “Listen carefully. The man you are speaking with is a military patron. You shall refer to him as Esteemed Patron. Any question he asks, you will answer. Answer with all of the detail you can manage and speak only the truth, is that understood?”

  “Of course,” the farmer said quickly.

  “Good,” said the soldier. “Then this should go smoothly.”

  They approached a heavy door carved with an intricate depiction of a great battle early in the Perpetual War, the Battle of Five Point. The soldier knocked on the door.

  “Esteemed Patron Sallim,” he announced.

  “Speak,” came a voice from within, managing in a single syllable to sound profoundly arrogant and entitled.

  “I have here the man you asked to see.”

  “Send him in.”

  The soldier opened the door and ushered the shabby man inside, shutting the door behind him.

  Inside was an office that may as well ha
ve been a museum. Finished wood shelves lined each wall. Leather tomes, intricate figurines, and antique weapons were on display. Seated at a massive wood desk at the far side of the room, a glass window behind him open to the grandeur of the desert, was his host. He was a man a few years the farmer’s senior, neatly dressed in the formal equivalent of the lesser soldier’s uniform. He had black, tightly curly hair trimmed short and a relentlessly superior expression on his face.

  “Sit, sir,” he said.

  The farmer did so, treating the request as an order.

  “In the interest of saving time, I hope you don’t mind if I skip the pleasantries. I assume you have better things to do, and I know I do. I understand you’ve recently had a traumatic and unexplained experience on your land?”

  “I have.”

  “And how long ago was this?”

  “I… uh… about four months.”

  “About? You aren’t certain?”

  “It’s been… I’ve had to handle the funeral. Things have been…” he said, flustered.

  “It’s fine, sir. Would you say it is safe to say it is at least four months, or at most four months?”

  “At least.”

  “Very well. What exactly happened?”

  “I…” he began uncertainly. “I was warned not to tell anyone.”

  “Yes, sir. That warning came from my immediate superiors, through me. I assure you, I am the one to whom you may recount the events.” He opened a drawer and retrieved a stack of parchment, then dipped a quill in an inkwell. “Now please do so.”

  The farmer took a breath. “Like I said, it was about four months ago…”

  #

  Several Months Prior…

  It was nearly dusk and a weary pair of farmers was pacing back from the fields. They were brothers, and each was looking forward to a good meal and a long night’s rest. This far south in Tressor, there wasn’t much that would grow without a tremendous amount of work. Most fields were left to grow coarse grass and then were grazed by goats and sheep, but their family had made a good living growing hazelnuts for some years, and they were determined to keep the land producing. It simply took a bit more effort each year.