The D'Karon Apprentice

by Joseph R. Lallo

  “Myn, the keep is on the verge of collapse. We have to come out. I don’t know what’s happened to Garr and Grustim, but I don’t think anyone wants to see any more blood spilled today,” she said.

  “You’ll have no argument from me, though you may have difficulty keeping the commander safe from Garr,” called Grustim, unseen beyond the doorway.

  “I’ll see to him,” Myranda said. She addressed the Tresson soldiers between her and the outside, who were still stretched tight as bowstrings. “Either move forward or move aside, please.”

  Rather than risk being the first to venture out to a courtyard currently home to two dragons, both of whom had been out of control until recently, the men flattened themselves to the walls and allowed Myranda to pass. She stepped into the baking hot sun of the courtyard but found herself instantly in the shade as Myn stood over her and practically trembled with joy at seeing her again. The dragon reached her head down, eager for a scratch, but Myranda gently pushed her back.

  “In a moment, Myn,” she said, taking a few steps more, the injured commander by her side.

  To her left, between Myranda and the tent that served as the ailing keep’s temporary infirmary, stood Garr. He had his feet set wide, his claws dug deep, and his eyes fixed with burning intensity on the commander. Farther away, near the flaming remnants of the stable, stood Grustim, arms crossed and face serious.

  “What exactly happened? What is wrong with Garr?” she called to him.

  “The commander began making unreasonable and unwise demands of me. Opposing him would mean abandoning my loyalties to my kingdom; following his orders would mean abandoning the mission assigned to me. Rather than bring shame upon myself and my mount, I saw fit to relieve Garr of his duty. He is no longer my mount, no more mine to control than Myn or any other wild dragon. It would appear he was as displeased with the commander as I, and without the concern of breaking oaths, he was and is free to act on it.”

  The green dragon lowered his head, his snout drawing near enough to the commander to brush his injured arm. The commander looked defiantly back, painfully clawing at his side with his bad arm, searching for a sword that wasn’t there. Broiling breath, heated by barely contained flame, spilled around Myranda and Brustuum.

  “Garr, the commander is keeping things from us,” Myranda said. “We need to know them. That alone is reason enough to keep him alive.”

  He seemed unmoved by the appeal to reason, his grating growl thumping in Myranda’s chest as he peeled back his lips. Finally Myn had enough. She shuffled aside and gave Garr a firm butt to the side of his head, forcing his head up and away. He snapped toward her and rumbled something, curling his tail and fluttering his wings. Myn huffed something in return and looked him hard in the eye. The pair stared at each other for what seemed like a minute, then Garr shut his eyes and lowered his chin in a slow nod. The dragons parted, clearing the way to the infirmary. Myranda led the commander toward it. His raving was quieter still, barely a murmur, his mind a broken wheel spinning loosely on its axle. He merely shuffled, leaning heavily upon Myranda.

  The dozen or so soldiers who had been trying and failing to control the dragons cautiously emerged from the scattered hiding places they’d taken refuge in before the sudden influx of sanity brought by Myranda’s arrival. Some attempted to raise their weapons, but seeming to sense the motion rather than see it, Myn’s eyes flitted in their direction and the soldiers quickly thought better of it.

  “Myranda?” called Deacon as he stumbled out the door, his mind firmly turned to the task of keeping the stronghold standing.

  “I’m here, Deacon,” she replied.

  “Is everything safe?” he asked.

  “Safe as it is likely to be until we can sort this situation out,” Myranda said.

  He guided the bags that were drifting behind him out into the center of the courtyard and let them drop. His hands were shaking, and the hand clenched about the crystal was white-knuckled with his grip.

  “There are six men in the entryway. Are there any others within the keep I might have missed?” he asked no one in particular. When he spoke again, his voice was labored. “An answer, ideally a swift one, would be much appreciated.”

  “We’re the only ones inside,” said a voice from within.

  “Then I would vigorously encourage you to leave, because I do not believe I have the strength to prevent the collapse of the keep for much longer.”

  A few seconds passed before the first of the men ventured out. When he was not snapped in half by a dragon, the others followed.

  “Thank you,” Deacon said, lowering his arm and sagging to the ground.

  As soon as the glow in his gem faded to nothing, a deafening roar of clattering stone and splintering wood filled the courtyard. A cloud of dust and debris rushed up from every door, window, and gap in the lower walls as the tallest portions crumbled into themselves. The whole structure slumped into the ground, with the exterior wall falling last.

  The final rumble and clatter of stone and wood settled into silence, with all eyes looking to the pile of rubble that less than a minute prior had been a tall and proud stronghold. The eyes then turned to the one person who seemed to have her wits about her, Myranda.

  “If anyone is hurt, bring them to the infirmary. Deacon and I can tend to your wounds. When we are certain that no one is in danger any longer, we will address what has happened and what is to be done about it.”

  Chapter 7

  By the time the assorted injuries had been tended to, the punishing sun had begun to slide from the sky, leaving the now-homeless soldiers to shelter in the long shadows cast by the defensive walls. Wisely, much of the food for the keep had been stored against the wall in a sequence of long, low storage crates, no doubt in order to ease the difficulty of loading and unloading. The water came from an exceedingly deep well, so there would be plenty to drink. The firewood and lamp oil was also stored separately in the courtyard, so the most immediate consequence for the collapse was a lack of shelter. Though it would make for an uncomfortably cold night, it would only really be a concern during the worst heat of the day to follow, and for that there was time to prepare.

  Myranda wiped her hands and stepped out into the light. The worst of the injuries had been the commander’s own, and though he certainly would have preferred to suffer through them rather than even ask to receive treatment at the hands of either Myranda or Deacon, the duchess had taken it upon herself to mend the worst of his injuries and gently pushed him into a deep healing sleep that should take care of the rest before morning.

  “Was anyone else hurt?” Myranda asked, looking about at the Tresson troops.

  “The two men struck by Garr’s tail were in rough shape,” Deacon said. “But I’ve seen to them. How are the soldiers we treated upon our arrival?”

  “Sleeping comfortably. In a day or two they should be fully recovered as well.”

  For the first time since the walls of the keep had begun to shake, Myranda took a moment to appreciate all that had happened, and the significant results thereof. Though not told to do so, the soldiers had all dropped their weapons before taking to the shelter of the outer wall. Their expressions covered the range from barely masked fury to utter terror. Garr had settled onto his haunches, eyes locked on the infirmary tent that held the commander. The tenseness of combat had yet to leave his muscles. At a glance one could imagine the beast snapping back into a rampage at the slightest provocation. Myn, on the other hand, was quite at ease. She hopped to her feet and snatched up the remains of two enormous birds, trotting happily to Myranda and dropping them at the wizard’s feet.

  “Yes, Myn. They’re lovely. But where did you get them? We did tell you to stay inside, didn’t we?” Myranda said, scratching vigorously at Myn’s offered brow.

  The dragon gave a quick glance to her Tresson counterpart by way of an answer and rumbled with a purr of contentment at the attention she was receiving.

  Myranda turned to Garr. “You
have our thanks.”

  Garr ignored the comment, far too intent on glaring at the tent. His gaze was locked precisely where the commander was resting inside, despite the fact he couldn’t possibly know where the man had been placed. Myranda wondered what mix of senses allowed it. When Myn’s stomach gurgled loudly, she set the thought aside.

  “Myn, have you eaten at all?” she asked. “For heaven’s sake, as much as I appreciate you bringing me a meal, don’t forget to take your own share first. You’ve been doing far hungrier work than I.”

  The dragon pulled her head reluctantly away and snatched one of the birds, gulping it down with zeal before padding off toward the collapsed stable to drag over a burning timber.

  While Myn assembled what soon became clear was a fair approximation of a cooking fire, Grustim stepped up to Myranda.

  “I must say, I would have expected the two of you to be more shaken by the collapse. I was concerned you’d be killed.”

  Myranda looked briefly at the pile of rubble. “It’s nothing we haven’t had to deal with before. It is embarrassing how often, in fact.”

  “Indeed,” said Deacon brightly as he stepped to Myranda’s side. “Our friend Ivy has pointed out we’ve seen almost every building that’s ever held us crumble to the ground. It’s something of a tradition at this point.”

  “Not the best habit to get into,” Myranda said.

  “Nevertheless, I must offer my profound apologies for the danger I placed you in. Without orders, he can be single-minded. It is a great relief that his thirst for vengeance didn’t claim your lives.”

  “Myn can be the same way,” Myranda said. “The two are quite alike.”

  “What happens to Garr now?” Deacon asked. “If I understand correctly, he is no longer your mount. And thus, I suppose, you are no longer a Dragon Rider.”

  “That is up to him. He is free now, and as such he may choose his own way. I’ve once before had to relieve him of his duty, and he saw fit to renew his oath to me. It is my hope he shall do so again. If not… a Dragon Rider’s life is a difficult one. It would be a lie to say I do not dream from time to time of being rid of it. But not until I’m through with this mission.”

  “Yes,” Myranda said, stepping to the packs that Deacon had gathered. “The mission.”

  She opened one of the packs and revealed a knife and some pots and pans.

  Deacon looked to the rubble once more. “As diplomatic ventures go, this hasn’t been a marked success thus far.”

  “Did you find anything that you can share? Are we any closer to understanding who is responsible and how to stop them?” Myranda asked.

  “Mostly what I learned was that Brustuum was lying. How much of what he said was a lie remains to be seen. But I have my suspicions,” Grustim said.

  Myranda began to prepare the desert bird to be cooked while Deacon found his book and stylus and made ready to record.

  “Please, share them,” Deacon said.

  Grustim closed his eyes to gather his thoughts. “Brustuum… he claimed to have had the woman for only a few days. I suspect it was far longer. Even if it was just a few days, he’d violated protocol by not sending word of her discovery. He was holding her here in secret. I don’t know what he had planned for her, but rather than keeping his men on hand, he sent them out… they’ll be returning before long. It will be telling when they do. Either they were off performing desert drills, in which case they will be carrying light or training weapons, or they were sent searching for the woman he had already found, in which case they will be heavily armed.”

  “We shall have many questions for him when he awakes,” Myranda said.

  “Did he say anything of any magic she worked while she was here?” Deacon asked.

  “Just that she escaped with two windows she opened through magic,” Grustim said.

  “That much fits… but I saw some… things. They were human. At least, they had been human. In the lower level cells.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Husks of men. Drained of life. They were the work of a necromancer, I’m sure of that,” Deacon said.

  “How many?”

  Deacon shut his eyes to remember the scene. “Eight in one cell, seven in another. I’m not certain if there were more. I was in a rather significant rush at the time.”

  “Fifteen total. Those would be the prisoners,” Grustim said. “What would be the result of rendering men into such a state?”

  “Those men would be her thralls, servants to her will. And a necromancer can gather a significant amount of mystic energy by draining life in such a way,” Deacon said.

  “Enough to mount an escape as she had?”

  “That would depend upon her level of training and discipline. But it should certainly get her close, in any case,” Deacon explained.

  Myranda set a portion of the meat over the flames to cook and joined the discussion. “How quickly could someone be drained in that way, Deacon? Is it possible she quickly sapped enough strength to escape while the guards were unaware?”

  “It is possible, I suppose, but surely it would have done her more good to sap the guards themselves. Unless those still outside the walls are better equipped, I don’t detect any enchantment that could have protected them. Though… is it possible she did attack some guards and we didn’t find them?”

  “He lost five guards. We know that much. If he’d lost more, he would have eagerly expressed his outrage at their loss as well.”

  “Well perhaps those five who were killed were drained.”

  “No. There are five fresh graves beyond the east wall. A Tresson, even a deceitful and traitorous one like Brustuum, would never commit a body tainted by magic into the earth. Our dead are offerings to the Great Ones. It would be an insult to knowingly offer a work of dark magic to them. That is why the prisoners were not buried, I’m quite certain. The unclean are to be burned, and there is no evidence of a pyre.” His face hardened. “He’s had plenty of time to burn them… And there are no other graves… He was hiding them… Just as he was hiding so much else.”

  “I don’t understand it… We will simply have to ask when he awakes and hope he is reasonable enough to answer,” Deacon said.

  “I’m through appealing to reason,” Grustim said, suddenly stepping toward the infirmary. “Can you wake him?”

  “He needs at least half a day to heal,” Myranda said.

  “If his mind is sound, or at least he can understand my questions and I can understand his answers, then the more broken the rest of him, the better it suits my purposes.”

  Myranda stepped in front of him. “What are you planning?” she asked firmly.

  “If Brustuum was hiding those prisoners, then either he could not protect them and was seeking to hide his failure, or he had plans for them. At best he is a fool undeserving of his rank, and at worst he allowed or encouraged a hostile mystic to commit abominations of gods and men upon them. In either case it is now clear that it is my duty, and also my pleasure, to do whatever it takes to find the root of his treachery.”

  “It looks and sounds to me that what you have in mind is torture.”

  “I will have my answers through whatever means he renders necessary.”

  “I cannot abide such cruelty,” Myranda said.

  “Then I suggest you turn away,” he said, stepping past her.

  She reached out to catch his arm. “There has to be a better way.”

  Garr, for the first time since Myranda had stepped out, let his gaze slide from the infirmary. His potent stare now locked on Myranda. More specifically, it locked on her hand, where it touched Grustim’s arm. The creature did not look on with anger or threat. He simply made it clear that he was now watching.

  Grustim pulled his arm roughly from her grasp and turned to her. “Listen to me, Duchess. You have a firm hand but a soft heart. That is a fine mix for a woman charged with mending a broken world, but in times of war sometimes a heart of stone is the only one that will do. You say
that you and others like you defeated the D’Karon within your own borders, and from what I’ve seen, you certainly have the ability. But if you were able to see your way through to the many unpleasant things that needed to be done, I must believe that there was at least one among your number who would do those things that a soft heart could not abide.”

  “… There was.”

  “And would you have found your way to this peace you seek to protect if not for those distasteful acts?”

  “Perhaps not.”

  “Then turn away and let the deed be done.”

  “But he is your countryman. You relinquished your mount rather than raise a weapon to him before,” Deacon said.

  “What I’ve seen and what I believe are enough to convince me he is undeserving of further consideration.” The Dragon Rider turned toward the men huddled against the wall and addressed them in their native tongue. “I have reason to believe your commander allowed your prisoner—a Northerner by birth, if the account is to be believed—to work dark magics upon prisoners of Tresson blood. Can any of you confirm or deny this?”

  The soldiers stirred and murmured a bit but gave no indication that there was any certainty.

  “Seven soldiers were injured, five of them killed. With the commander, that makes for an eight-man guard. Am I correct to assume that all of the men injured or killed were a personal guard of the commander’s own selection?”

  Now the murmur was clearly to the affirmative.

  “And if he were to commit acts unbecoming of a Tresson commander, is it proper to assume that these acts would be done exclusively by his most trusted men?”

  They gave another affirmative response.

  “And if through his choices or failings a Tresson commander should allow his fellow Tressons to come to harm, should he face judgment?”

  “Yes!” came the reply, this time in one voice.

  “And if through his actions he should choose to hide those choices or failings, what shall be done to uncover them?”