The D'Karon Apprentice

by Joseph R. Lallo

  “I only speak with certainty.”

  “And how are you certain? How can you determine such a thing?”

  Ether released a mildly exasperated breath. “The same way you can determine if something is red rather than blue. When one is familiar with the finer details and able to perceive them, it is plainly apparent. May I continue, or do you wish to continue to interrupt me with your inane prattle?”

  Croyden crossed his arms and held his tongue.

  “As a necromancer, she regards any living thing as a source of energy and any dead thing as a source of raw materials. She can commune with the dead to learn what they knew, she can resurrect the fallen to serve her whims, and she may even have the ability to return herself from death if not properly dealt with. She should not be faced directly. Anyone near enough to make contact risks only making her stronger.”

  “Noted. Ranged tactics and mystics only. Would you be willing at this point to endure some of my inane prattle?”

  “If I must.”

  “Where did you go just now, what did you find there that inspired you to be helpful so suddenly, and why did you feel it necessary to enter the throne room to dispense this information?”

  Ether looked at Croyden evenly. “I am a creature of the world as a whole. Not a single kingdom. Not a single race. I serve as a protector for the world as a collective, and therefore I call no one part of it my home, despite what your military and government would choose to believe. But to the north of this palace… Lain’s End… that is the one place I would lay claim to. As near a home as any place in this world. It is my sanctuary, a place to be alone with my thoughts and to ponder what the past has brought and what the future may bring. She soiled it. Brought D’Karon magic to that place once more. And she soiled the memory of Lain himself. I cannot let that stand. And I realized that the same burning that I felt, I saw in you when I arrived.”

  She looked away, her words as much intended for herself as for him.

  “I have not been myself of late. I am troubled by things that should not concern me. With little choice, I’ve reluctantly sought wisdom from those who have been at the whims of such nonsense all of their lives. Mortals. They have made claims to understand my difficulties, and they have offered solutions that are as useless as they are foolish. They speak of family, and duty. You, though. You are different. You are an elf, and thus more than mortal. And you do not have a proper family and never have.”

  “Do not have a proper family?” he said. “I had a mother and a father… though I admit I was never introduced to the latter.”

  “He was and is a traitorous scoundrel. Your life could only have been enhanced by his absence. And your mother was worse, a traitor to not only her world but to her destiny. She got what she deserved, though far too long after the damage was done.”

  Croyden narrowed his eyes. “My mother was ceaselessly devoted to her kingdom. I shall brook no claims to the contrary.”

  “Your mother was Trigorah Teloran. She was Chosen, or at least was meant to be. But her devotion to the meaningless borders men draw between one another led her to turn her back upon her true duty and instead serve the very beings she was selected by the gods to defeat. At best she was a shortsighted woman with poor judgment. At worst she willfully embraced her world’s would-be usurpers.”

  “I’ve heard enough,” Croyden said. “Your advice regarding the proper tactics when defending against the necromancer shall be taken into account in our future encounters. Now please open this door.”

  “I am not through.”

  “You may not be through with me, but I am quite through with you, Guardian. I have tolerated your venomous tone for a good deal longer than I would have preferred, but when you insult the memory of my mother, you cross the line.”

  “You must lend me your aid,” Ether commanded. “I require your insight.”

  “Regardless of whether or not you require it, you most assuredly do not deserve it. And if your opinion of me is so low, one wonders why you would seek my counsel at all.”

  “Because you are brash, willful, proud, and blunt. You have no real family, you are in a position of comparatively great responsibility, and you have recently lost someone who could well be your only genuine connection to another individual. I see much of myself in you. And at this moment you and I feel similarly regarding the actions of the necromancer, but while you are apparently composed, I am very nearly at my wits end. You must share your insight into how to cope with such emotion.”

  “You see much of yourself in me… In an exchange positively fraught with disrespect and derision, to compare me to you is, by a wide margin, the worst claim you’ve made thus far. If your mind is causing you troubles, then I will happily leave you to them. Now open the door.”

  “My mind is all I have!” Ether growled. “You do not understand that, nor could you. I am not a creature such as yourself, a husk of bone and sinew playing host to a brief and ephemeral consciousness. I am little more than a mass of pure elemental energy bound together through sheer force of will. My will is everything. And I am losing my focus. This woman who plagues the both of us, the necromancer who threatens your peace and toys with the tools of the enemy… I should feel her presence. In the months gone by I have swept from one side of this land to the other, seeking out and crushing even the slightest remnant of their influence. Now there is a woman cutting a clumsy swath across the land with their teachings and I cannot detect her. In the past it would have taken a peerless will to evade me. Now this woman is but a vague sensation at the edge of my mind. I cannot focus my attentions sufficiently to find her, and if this lack of focus is allowed to spread, what then? Will I soon lack the will to maintain form? Will I once again be spread to the far reaches of this world, unable to gather myself together again? All because of this blasted plague of emotions that your kind has somehow foisted upon me? You must help me!”

  He looked her evenly in the eye, noting the flash of desperation mixed with the wall of arrogance that seemed to compose the bulk of her personality. If there was one thing he’d learned about her, it was that she seldom saw fit to misrepresent herself. She had far too high an opinion of herself for that. So her concern was genuine. It was odd to see even a flicker of vulnerability in a being so thoroughly certain of her own superiority.

  “And what would you have me do, Guardian? I have no secret to ease your mind. I cannot even begin to understand the source of your unease.”

  “Then at least explain why so many mortals offer up the same pointless advice. How can so many of you claim family as a source of strength and a solution for inner strife when the one being who might have been near enough to be considered family is the source of my troubles.”

  “How so?”

  “Lain. First he denied me his love, and then he was taken from me before he could see the error in his ways.”

  “Mmm… And this is the only source of your troubled mind?”

  “No. My primary purpose, the literal reason for my creation, has come and gone. In very real terms, I have outlived my usefulness. These two feelings are the seeds from which all others sprouted.”

  “And how have you attempted to solve this problem thus far?”

  “As I have solved all others. I have set my mind upon it. Reflected and meditated upon it. I have sought the solution from within.”

  “I think perhaps the nature of your difficulties is reflected in the words you’ve chosen. You are upset not because he did not find love but that he kept it from you, and not that he died but that he was taken from you. And when these feelings began to burn at you, you sought the answer in yourself. Have you ever, in all of your years, thought about anyone but yourself?”

  “I have until now devoted myself to my duty as a Chosen One above all.”

  “And that duty, as you have said, is the reason for your creation. In effect, the duty and the Chosen are one and the same. This, I think, is why family is so important. Family is something that you care about abo
ve even yourself. It is perhaps the one thing in your life you would do anything for. And the one thing that can be relied upon to do anything for you. It takes you out of yourself. Opens the door to your heart and mind. Lets you see that there is more to the world than the darkness that may linger inside.”

  “Foolishness…” Ether said, though in her tone there was the slightest dash of uncertainty. “And even if this were so, how does one develop such feelings for others? Surely one cannot will oneself into caring for others.”

  “No, I suppose most of us are lucky enough to have blood ties and to be surrounded through our lives by those who care about us, and who earn our affection in kind.”

  “Blood ties… Yes… yes, if there is something of yourself, literally a part of you in someone else… then the connection would be inherent.”

  “One would hope such a connection would come in time to any who—”

  “I require a child.”

  Croyden blinked. “What?”

  “If what you say is so, then the connection I require can most simply be had in a blood relation, and as I have none existing, the only solution is to create one.”

  “I think perhaps you misunderstand my meaning.”

  “Give me a child,” she said firmly.

  He coughed and took a step back. “I’m sorry?”

  “If you require, I would be willing to assume a form to better suit your tastes.”

  “Guardian Ether, flattered though I may be at the suggestion, the decision to have a child is not one to be made lightly. And as you say, I am ‘the queen’s plaything.’”

  “A matter easily rectified,” Ether said, her features subtly shifting until she was visually indistinguishable from Queen Caya.

  “It is not a simple matter of appearance, Guardian. And I’ll thank you not to impersonate our queen. It is a crime with a very stiff penalty.”

  “I was led to believe that the act of procreation is one endlessly sought by the males of each race. It is curious that you would resist this opportunity.”

  “There are any number of reasons I could offer with regard to why I would actively avoid this opportunity, the least of which is that no amount of shape-changing could ever render you suitable for my tastes.”

  “Absurd… though with the task at hand, the months necessary to produce an offspring would likely represent an unacceptable delay. Still, it is a matter to revisit when the present crisis has passed.”

  “For our own sake and that of any potential child, let us hope that a better solution presents itself in the interim,” Croyden said. “Now if you would kindly open the door so that we may each continue with our tasks?”

  “Of course. With this matter investigated I shall return to the site of the clash with Ivy. It is doubtful the necromancer has lingered, but there may remain some indication of her further ambitions. I thank you for your insight. It at least colors that of others with potential value. I may seek your counsel again.”

  She pushed the door open, shifted to wind, and departed. Croyden stepped forward and watched the swirling form vanish through the damaged roof.

  “‘I may seek your counsel again,’” he repeated. “A more ominous phrase I’ve never heard…”

  #

  Ivy and Celeste stood beside a fire as the cloudy sky over the fort turned from golden to rosy. It would be some time yet before the soldiers would return, but between the provisions left in the soldiers’ things and some swift foraging by Ivy, they were able to erect a tent to keep the worst of the wind and moisture from them. Much of the time since then had been spent in silent vigil. The stirring forms of Demont’s many creations gradually became still, until they had one by one collapsed. With little to occupy him any longer, Celeste became restless. Spending years in a dank, frigid cell has a way of making one anxious to fill every moment of freedom with something. Anything was better than stillness.

  He first gathered and organized the provisions available, then sifted through the equipment that may prove useful. Among them was a pair of short swords, as well as a Tresson longbow and a supply of arrows.

  “My fingers aren’t what they should be anymore,” he said, testing the tension of the bowstring. “Of the two of us, I believe you should be the one to handle the bow.”

  “I really don’t think so,” Ivy said, shaking her head. “I don’t think I know how to use one.”

  “You don’t think you know?” he said. “One would imagine such is a matter one would be certain of.”

  “When the D’Karon were still… making me,” she said with a shudder, “they would force things into my mind. Some of it stayed in place. Some of it didn’t. And the things that stayed… I don’t like using them. I feel… wrong when I do. Like I’m not the one deciding what I should do. It’s hard to control myself.”

  Celeste beckoned. “Here. You shall see then.”

  “I really don’t want—”

  “Ivy, precision with a bow is a valuable skill. Uncertainty or discomfort with any weapon, particularly for one so often tasked with combat, is simply not something that should be allowed to remain,” he said firmly. “Take the bow.”

  She reluctantly did so, holding it gingerly and regarding it as though she’d just been handed a venomous snake.

  “Do you favor your left or right hand?” he asked.

  “Left.”

  “Then this bow will not be ideal for you, but one cannot always depend upon one’s preferred bow. Give me your right hand. The bow goes here. Seat it here, against your thumb.”

  He guided her hands swiftly but surely, giving Ivy little time to object or fixate on her anxiety.

  “These three fingers here, to grip the string. These two will hold the arrow, so you want the gap between them centered.”

  His orders were simple and precise and came in rapid bursts. Ivy couldn’t suppress a grin at how easily he slipped into the role of instructor. It made her imagine him as he must have been in his youth, training soldiers, or raising Myranda.

  She followed his instructions as precisely as she could. When his words weren’t clear, or when she misunderstood them, he would gently shape her grip or guide her stance with a quick tap here or there. Before long she was fitting her first arrow. He offered up a scraggly, ice-coated bush in the middle distance as the target. She did her best to follow his instructions, drawing the bow, sighting as he described, tipping the bow what she judged to be the sufficient amount, and letting an arrow fly.

  It fell woefully short, striking the ground and flipping through the air.

  “It would appear you escaped having this knowledge forced upon you,” he said.

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “Ready another arrow. Your claws may be a bit of a problem. I want you to try this grip instead, if you can manage it…”

  Again he coached her through a few minor changes. As much as she’d wanted to avoid using the bow, for fear of feeling a dash of the lingering control that Demont and Epidime had so carefully woven into her during her time in their clutches, now that she knew it was her skill to learn, she felt a flush of pride with each improvement. Such improvements came quickly as well. Celeste had many strengths, but two of his greatest seemed to be his patience and his eye for detail. Each time she drew the string, he knew immediately if she’d done it right or, if not, how to fix what she’d done wrong.

  “You’re a wonderful teacher,” Ivy said.

  “You’ve not hit your target yet. You should ready a fourth arrow. Remember, there is a stiff wind. You’ll need to aim into it.”

  She reached back toward the quiver he’d helped her position on her back, groping blindly for the fletched end of an arrow.

  “Is this how you taught Myranda to shoot?” she asked, finally snagging one.

  “No… I taught her a bit, and my brother taught her a bit more… but there was never much time for that. Her mother wouldn’t have any of it regardless. Myranda was destined for better things than to follow her father to war. … No, pinch
here, and hook your thumb.”

  Ivy adjusted. “I hope… I hope you don’t mind me asking, but… is there something wrong between you and Myranda?”

  “Of course not.”

  “It’s just that Myranda spoke all the time about how she always kept the hope that you might be alive. You were always on her mind.”

  “And she was always on mine while I was locked in the Verril dungeon.”

  “I imagine you must have been thinking of her. So if the two of you felt so strongly, I would have thought once you found one another again you would be inseparable. It seems like you’re always handling something within the city and she’s always handling something else.”

  “Myranda has many responsibilities. I do what I can to help her.”

  “I know, and I know she appreciates it, but there are times when I know you could leave something to someone else. Sometimes you must be choosing to work apart from her rather than with her.”

  He paused, and there was the sense that the silence was not to search for words, but to summon the strength to speak them. “She grew into the woman she is today without me, Ivy. I had a place in her mind through all of this, but not a place in her life. She doesn’t need me any longer; it would be selfish and pointless of me to impose myself.”

  Ivy loosened her grip and turned to him. “You don’t really mean that.”

  “She’s a grown woman. What use does she have for me any longer, beyond those ways I can help in repairing our homeland?”

  She shook her head, glancing briefly to the fort to assure there was still nothing new to be concerned about. When she was satisfied, she set down the bow and slipped the quiver from her back.

  “I think you could benefit from a bit more instruction,” he said.

  “Mr. Celeste, right now I think you’re the one who could use some instruction. Tell me, what was Myranda like when she was a girl?” Ivy asked.

  “She took after Lucia… her mother,” he said.

  He took the brief interruption in his teachings to pluck a tin mug from beside the fire. Inside was some warm broth he’d prepared. He sipped a bit to take the edge from the chill and his hunger.