Marraata held out a large wooden case and slowly opened the lid.
“Ambassador, you didn’t have to…”
This time Ivy was silenced by what she saw. Within the case was an exquisite piece of craftsmanship. It was a lute, not so different in function from the one that Ivy had played during their journey. In form and quality, however, there was no comparison. This instrument was gleaming with polish. The deep red wood of the body was inlaid with designs cut from a wood that seemed almost purple. It was a work of art, yet something about the care and craftsmanship suggested that an equal amount of care had been taken to ensure it sounded as good as it looked.
“My great-grandfather was a luthier. This is one of three lutes he handed down through the generations. I cannot say I’ve ever taken up the art myself, but you played so beautifully. An instrument like this is meant to be played. Please. Take it.”
Ivy reverently took the instrument from the case and cradled it, plucking a string and shutting her eyes as the pristine note rang out.
“It’s… it’s beautiful.”
“All I ask is that you play ‘Ascension to the Stars’ for me once more.”
“Of course I will! Come on, let’s find a place in the hall for the performance!”
She led the others away. Appearing behind as though he’d been waiting in line, was Ambassador Maka. Myranda smiled and extended her hand in the Tresson fashion, but Maka held his hand instead for a shake.
“We are on your side of the border, Duchess. Allow me to greet you as a friend. I am Ambassador Maka.”
“Yes, of course. Ether has spoken of you,” Myranda said, shaking his hand.
“She has! Well then I am truly honored. In our time, she spoke of each of you as well. Guardian Ether, it is a great pleasure to greet you once more.”
“Welcome, Maka,” she said.
She spoke with the air of formality, as though the words were as mechanical and obligatory as a ceremonial bow. And yet, somewhere deep within her tone and expression, there was something more. The tiniest dash of respect. In another it would have been easily dismissed, but for Ether it was so out of place, Myranda couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow.
“When we last spoke, you were out of sorts. Your spirit seems lighter now. I wonder, has my advice helped?”
“Some. Time has been short, and there has been much to do. I have not… spoken to all I had hoped to.”
“I understand, of course. It is a trying time. But take it from a man,” he grinned, “for whom death is near. Do not take for granted that there will always be time to do so. When things are important, we must make time. If you will excuse me, I believe I am wanted inside.”
“Of course. I am sure we will speak more as the night progresses,” Myranda said.
“Perhaps we should head inside,” Deacon said. “Caya sounded as though she had something important to discuss.”
“Agreed. You go ahead. I’ll make sure Myn will be well enough without us.”
Deacon and Myranda looked to the border. Garr had not moved, through Grustim had dismounted. Myn, on the other hand, had scampered off toward where the carriages of supplies were stationed where she had quite impatiently been waiting to be noticed. The very moment Myranda glanced in her direction, she ducked her head into the back of a wagon and pulled it back out with a bulging sack clutched delicately between her teeth.
Myranda smiled. “Go ahead, Myn. But just one!”
The dragon leaped over the wagons, sack firmly in her grip, and pranced to the border. With all the enthusiasm of a puppy with a new toy, she set the sack down on the ground at Garr’s feet, nosing it forward and looking expectantly at him.
As Myranda paced over, Garr sniffed at the sack and raised his head again, disinterested.
“Grustim. I’m pleased to see you,” Myranda said.
The Dragon Rider turned in their direction. He was perhaps the only person in attendance who hadn’t dressed for the occasion, wearing instead his usual armor, which aside from light mending of the worst damage still proudly displayed the scars it had earned during their trials in Tressor. He nodded in greeting.
“Duchess,” he said.
“I trust things have been well for you and Garr. We never got the chance to express our gratitude for all you did for us.”
“There is no need. I did as the mission required.”
“Have there been any consequences?”
“My superiors were less than pleased with some of my decisions. There were reprimands, but as of a few weeks ago my debts are paid.”
“And Garr is well?”
“Your treatment was exceptional. He has recovered fully. Though…”
“Is there something wrong? Something I can help with?”
He shook his head. “Nothing you can help with.”
“Oh?”
He motioned to the pair of dragons with his head. Myn had torn the bag open, revealing some fine, fat potatoes. Garr settled to the ground and sniffed again. He flicked one into his mouth with his tongue, shuddering with distaste at the flavor. Myn twisted her head in confusion, then plopped down on the ground beside him, leaning against him and happily munching on the remains of the unwanted gift.
“Oh…” Myranda said.
“He is faithful to his duty. Does what is required of him as well as he ever has. Others notice no change. But when there is no task to be done, his mind is ever on her.”
“I think it is the same for Myn,” Myranda said.
“It is not a simple problem. A dragon mount may not choose his mate. Most do not earn a mate, and those who do are matched with one of the breeding mothers to produce the strongest clutch.”
“The Dragon Riders have a long history, don’t they? Surely this has happened before. There must be a solution.”
“There is, but as I’ve said. It isn’t a simple one.”
Myranda sighed and gazed at the dragons. Myn had finished the potatoes and laid her head contentedly upon the ground. Garr draped a wing over her.
Myranda smiled warmly. “Love is seldom simple. Will you be joining us inside?”
“In a moment.”
“Excellent.”
She paced inside Old Five Point, the strangely named temporary hall that this new hall would replace. It was a hastily built replacement for a structure destroyed in the early days of the war and it showed; much of its structure was rough-cut timbers and thin planks. The main room was large enough to accommodate the tables set up for the feast, and two smaller rooms off the main one offered privacy for such matters that required it. At the door to one of these rooms stood Croyden. He motioned for Myranda, leaning low to whisper in her ear when she arrived.
“Duke Deacon and Queen Caya are already inside,” he said.
Myranda nodded and stepped through the door. He shut it tight behind.
Deacon and the queen were seated at a small table. Caya was filling a goblet from a wine bottle, likely not for the first time.
“Ah, Myranda, lovely. I’ll make this brief, as there is a fine meal and good company waiting for us outside, and we are quite likely to be missed if we linger. The woman responsible for this mess… Turiel…”
Myranda shook her head slowly. “We’ve searched. Sent scouts to places she might have gone, scoured the Alliance mystically and physically. We’ve not found a trace. I suppose that you’ve asked means that the Tressons haven’t found her either.”
“If only. Some of them are doubtful she ever existed. What precisely happened to her?”
“I don’t know,” Deacon said. “I’ve poured over the workings of the spell and the ways it might have combined with the D’Karon aspects. The place… that… tunnel that formed between the portals. It shouldn’t have been there. The purpose of the spell…”
Caya raised a hand. “We haven’t got the time for you to attempt to explain. Myranda, perhaps you could summarize?”
“The spell should have made two places one for few moments. When both sides of the po
rtal shut, the portion between them simply ceased to be. At least, to the best of our knowledge.”
“She may have been destroyed,” Deacon offered.
“Mmm. ‘May have been.’ Not words I like to hear in reference to an enemy such as her. This may be a lingering bit of my Undermine instincts, but I prefer to have a corpse. If nothing else, it’s a fine bit of closure.” She sighed. “Keep searching. Keep researching. The sooner we can be certain of where she is or where she isn’t, the better we shall all sleep at night.” She drained her glass. “Now, before we venture out, there are one or two matters of state that should be discussed…”
#
Ether stood quietly in the corner of the main hall, arms crossed and eyes distant. Food was being set out, and off in one corner a few apple crates were being stacked into a stage of sorts under Ivy’s supervision. As she watched, lost in thought, a servant stepped up to her, bowing low.
“Guardian Ether,” said the servant, a young man.
She didn’t answer, merely shifting her gaze to him.
“I was told to inform you when your guest arrived.”
“Good. Show her in.”
He stepped quickly to the task, slipping outside and entering again guiding an older woman by the hand. She was dressed neatly, her outfit a faded and ancient blue, the gown of a woman who had set it aside for special occasions and had had little use of it for far too long. Her eyes were wide with wonder, sweeping the room and gaping at dignitaries and warriors she’d never dreamed she’d see. Then her eyes met Ether’s and instantly became misty.
Ether stepped forward and took her hand, dismissing the servant and leading her to the private corner in which she’d been standing.
“Guardian Ether,” she said, offering a reverent curtsy. “I… I don’t know what to say. How do I thank you for summoning me here? This sight, so many great people in one place… it is far too grand a sight for these old eyes.”
“Celia, you need not say anything,” Ether said. She paused, for a rare moment uncertain of how to properly voice her thoughts. “I… it has been said, by those I have learned are quite wise, that when our minds are not as they should be, when our hearts are heavy and the way forward is unclear, there is value in having someone in which to confide. Family. There are those I would call my allies. I am certain they would hear my words and offer their thoughts but… there are matters I would prefer not to share with those whom I would fight beside.
“I know that you feel a connection to me because the face I’ve come to call my own once belonged to someone dear to you. Though it is not truly a thing of blood, through this connection you are the nearest thing to true family I have.”
Celia reached out, intending to place a hand on Ether’s shoulder, but she held back, uncertain if doing so was proper for someone in so exalted a position.
“Guardian Ether, if ever there is anything you need to say, I could think of no greater honor than to be the one you confide in.”
Ether tipped her head. “You have my thanks.” She glanced up to see that Myranda was leaving the back room. “One moment.” She raised her voice and called, “Myranda, come here for a moment.”
Myranda obliged.
“Myranda, this is Celia.”
Celia again curtsied. When she spoke, her voice was hushed. “The Duchess of Kenvard. It is an honor so far beyond me to have the privilege of meeting you.”
“Please, stand. There is no need for that,” Myranda said.
“It is my understanding,” Ether said. “That for favors of the sort I have requested, it is customary to compensate.”
“Oh, you needn’t—” Celia began.
“And to properly perform the service I have requested of you, only one reward seemed appropriate. I have little skill as a healer. In my existence I have seldom had the need. But Myranda is quite able in that regard. She has agreed to pay my debt to you with this gift.”
“I don’t understand…” Celia said. “I am not ill, not injured.”
“Just hold still. You shall understand in a moment,” Myranda said.
Myranda placed her hands to Celia’s temples. At first she offered no reaction, but when it came, it came in waves. Her eyes darted about, tears streaming down her cheeks. She sobbed once, then gasped, putting her hands to her ears.
“I trust this compensation will be sufficient,” Ether said.
At the sound of the shapeshifter’s voice, Celia looked at her, stricken with emotion. Without warning she threw herself forward, embracing Ether and sobbing openly.
“I… I never thought I would hear her voice again…” she said, squeezing tight. “Thank you. Thank you…”
Ether looked to Myranda, uncertain and uncomfortable. Myranda gave her a hard look. Slowly the shapeshifter returned the embrace, the gesture wooden and awkward.
“Yes… You are welcome. … And thank you…”
For a time there was only the din of the dining call, but a few moments later a voice cut through it all.
“Excuse me!” Ivy called. “Before we enjoy the delicious meal that has been prepared, I’ve been asked to perform a short song that has deep meaning to our friends from Tressor. I hope you all enjoy it.”
Celia, unwilling to release Ether from her embrace, simply held her tight as, for the first time in years, she heard music lilt through the air.
#
The feast lasted long into the night. It wasn’t until the first rays of sun were coloring the sky that Myranda and Deacon were finally able to get on their way. Myn bid a reluctant goodbye to Garr, then carried the wizards off.
It was only a short distance from Five Point to New Kenvard, at least by dragon-back. The trio arrived as the noon bells chimed. Myn, tired from the trip, quickly plodded off to rest. Myranda and Deacon entered their home, eager to see Greydon, but they didn’t find him there. In truth, they hadn’t expected to. Without words, they walked to the edge of town, out through the gates.
There, stretching along the southern section of the city wall, was a sequence of marble slabs. Each slab had dozens of names carved into it, the names of each man, woman, and child who had fallen with the city. The victims of the Kenvard Massacre. Before one of the slabs stood Celeste, his hands folded and his eyes cast toward the monument.
Myranda took her place beside him and turned to the stone as well. Carved into the marble, one name among many, was Lucia Celeste. Had the city not fallen, the family would have at this moment been celebrating her birthday.
She reached aside and took her father’s hand, lacing her fingers with his. Deacon clutched her other hand. There were words that could have been said, solemn hymns that could have been spoken, and deep truths shared. Instead, they stood in reverent silence. In some moments, family and togetherness are all that is required.
#
In a forest on the eastern edge of the Northern Alliance, just beside the mouth of a cave littered with faded warnings, the bushes shuddered and twitched. From between them trudged a beast crafted from the remains of many. His motions were sluggish, skittering, spidery legs faltering with every few steps. Nonetheless he raised his head, peering into the darkness of the cave, and released a low chitter. Taking a breath and gathering his strength, he pressed on, into the darkness of the Cave of the Beast…
#
Elsewhere, in a place without a name, there was only darkness. After a silent eternity in the inky void, a voice rang out, echoing through the endless expanse, speaking strong and clear.
“Sister… dear sister… what have you done…”
###
From The Author
Thank you for reading! If you liked this story, or perhaps if you found it lacking, I’d love to hear from you. Below are links to some of the places you can find me online, and if you’d like to be kept in the loop with important new developments and releases, consider joining my newsletter.
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Discover o
ther titles by Joseph R. Lallo:
The Book of Deacon Series:
Book 1: The Book of Deacon
Book 2: The Great Convergence
Book 3: The Battle of Verril
Book 4: The D’Karon Apprentice (Coming Nov. 12th, 2015)
Other stories in the same setting:
Jade
The Rise of the Red Shadow
The Big Sigma Series:
Book 1: Bypass Gemini
Book 2: Unstable Prototypes
Book 3: Artificial Evolution
The Free-Wrench Series:
Book 1: Free-Wrench
Book 2: Skykeep
Collections:
The Book of Deacon Anthology
NaNoWriMo Projects:
The Other Eight
The D'Karon Apprentice Page 51