“Why?” Myranda said.
“If my time with Queen Caya has taught me anything, it is that no sane man attempts to plumb the depths of the whims of royalty.” He took a cleansing breath. “How, may I ask, are things in New Kenvard?”
“The reconstruction is coming along nicely. It is beginning to feel like a city again. Though…”
“Has something not gone well?”
“Turiel’s attack has not been without consequences,” Deacon explained.
“How so?” Croyden asked.
“She churned up the spirits of a very dark time,” Myranda said. “Some of them have been reluctant to return to their rest. I suspect, when the time comes to rebuild the palace, its halls may never feel quite empty.”
“I personally consider it an asset,” Deacon said brightly. “One of the things that made Entwell such a potent mystic environment has been the spiritual presence there. In communing with them, we can learn much, and if we can calm their torment, New Kenvard could become a beacon of mystic learning and focus.”
Croyden looked at Deacon. He masked his incredulity well, but not quite well enough.
“Have I said something unusual?” Deacon asked.
“I suspect I would be hard-pressed to find another person in all of the Northern Alliance who would consider the literal spirits of a catastrophe haunting the halls of their future home a positive development,” Croyden said.
“I see… Every day it becomes more apparent to me just how fundamentally my upbringing has shifted my point of view in different ways from those raised outside Entwell.”
Myranda held his hand and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “It helps to have an outsider’s eye sometimes. It lets you see the things we’ve become blind to.”
The small crowd of servants and onlookers murmured, then hurriedly parted as not one but two dragons descended from the sky. The first was Myn, landing somewhat heavily. The second was Garr, an armored dragon of green and yellow who landed with a lightness and grace that belied both his massive size and his raw strength. Unlike Myn, Garr had no semblance of formal attire. He wore the same battle-scarred steel helmet with ancient green enamel, a match for the distinctive armor worn by his Dragon Rider. He paced toward the hall with dignity and discipline. Myn lacked the same decorum, prancing around him like an excited puppy reunited with a playmate.
Croyden watched the dragons approach and sighed lightly. “If this kingdom becomes any more absurd, I suspect sanity will become a liability for me.”
When the dragons reached the entrance to the hall, the armored Dragon Rider, who had been practically invisible in his place atop the dragon, hopped to the ground and offered a reverential bow.
“Duke, Duchess. It is a privilege and honor to be called upon once again to serve my nation by your side,” said Grustim.
He lacked the diplomatic experience of some of the other attendees, and thus was not quite as skilled at hiding the underlying tone of voice that suggested the privilege and honor were tempered somewhat by inconvenience.
Myranda stepped forward and held out her right hand. He mirrored the motion, and each placed their hand on the shoulder of the other, a traditional Tresson greeting. Grustim greeted the others in the same way, then exchanged handshakes and bows as protocol required.
“Always fine to stand beside you, Dragon Rider Grustim. And for once without battle looming over our heads,” Myranda said with a respectful nod.
Grustim removed his helmet to reveal his dark-skinned face and sweat-soaked hair. “It is rare for a Dragon Rider to stand beside anyone outside of combat. We are soldiers, and we were never meant to be more.”
“It is the duty of any good soldier to rise to the challenges of their service. I certainly never imagined I would be hosting such diverse functions with any regularity.” Croyden gazed down the road that curved to the north. “At least the relevant parties are reasonably punctual.”
Myranda and Deacon turned to see the royal procession approaching. Queen Caya had curious tendencies for a royal, and nowhere did they show more clearly than when she traveled. Many nobles would assemble a veritable caravan. While she still sent Croyden ahead with anything deemed indispensable by ceremony or tradition, Caya had swiftly reduced her personal entourage to what others might consider an impossibly austere minimum. She kept her honor guard, of course. While impeccably equipped, they still had the bearing and demeanor of the rogue band of misfits they’d been when known as the Undermine. The only other addition was a small wagon stocked with certain supplies she made certain she was never without. Most prominent among these supplies were barrels of strong drink to share with any and all who were fortunate enough to have an audience with her. This, perhaps more than any other quirk, had made her frequent tours of the kingdom very popular with the people. Thus, while they were not officially a part of her procession, a short train of curious or thirsty locals followed like dolphins playing in a great ship’s wake.
“Trumpeters! Fanfare!” Croyden ordered the waiting attendants.
Myranda, Deacon, Ivy, Grustim, Garr, and Croyden arranged themselves and stood at attention. The trumpeters lifted their instruments to their lips. As the queen’s carriage neared, a hulking man with a worrisome ax rode ahead on a formidable steed and encouraged the locals to keep their distance. He was named Tus, and his reputation alone was more than enough to give any would-be troublemakers second thoughts.
The carriage stopped in front of the receiving line. The queen’s driver hopped down from his seat and opened her door. The trumpets blared.
“Yes, yes, enough of that,” Caya said, waving her hand and holding the other to her head.
The trumpets abruptly silenced.
“Your Majesty,” Myranda said with a curtsy and a grin. “Feeling under the weather?”
“I may have overimbibed,” she muttered. “It wasn’t a problem until those blasted trumpets. Fanfare is delightful for the ego but murder when fighting the drink. Nonetheless, delightful to see you all. If you’ll give me a moment…”
She paused to gather herself, and any irritability or discomfort slid from her expression. She stepped from behind the carriage and turned to the crowd. “Hello, my people!” she crowed.
They raised their voices in response, their adulation washing over her. Caya stepped forward to address some of the nearest people directly, much to the chagrin of her guard.
“It is nothing short of miraculous how she holds a crowd in her hand,” Deacon said.
“I can’t think of a more important thing for a queen to be than beloved by her people,” Myranda said.
“I respectfully submit.” Croyden growled, “that a queen should also be wise enough to be of sound mind and body when meeting with the monarch of a foreign power for the first time in recent history.”
Myranda nodded. “As much as I’ve seen her enjoy her wine, I don’t know that I’ve ever seen her feel its effects before.”
“There are matters weighing upon her mind, though she has not seen fit to share them with me.” Croyden raised his voice. “Your Majesty! If you would come inside, there are matters to attend to.”
“Yes, Captain, of course,” she called over her shoulder. “Duty calls, my good people. Your queen must serve her subjects.”
She pivoted and stepped lightly toward the steps to the hall. When her face was out of the crowd’s view, the benevolent and enthusiastic expression she had affected faded somewhat, but it was clear she was still riding high on the love of her people.
“Anyone who says there is no cure for a hangover should try being adored by the masses for a while. It really perks a person up nicely,” she said. “Onward! Let’s see this new hall of ours.”
“There is a proper ceremony and order to—” Croyden began.
“I know that, Croyden, there is always a proper ceremony for this and an order for that. We’re nobles. It seems all that really means is that every waking moment is codified by some almighty book of protocol written gods know
when by gods know who, just to make things difficult. But I’ve come a long way, my head is throbbing, and I mean to get out of the sun. We’ll do the official ceremony when King Mellawin arrives. So says the queen.”
“Yes, Your Majesty…” Croyden rumbled with what little patience he had left.
#
The inside of the hall was as magnificent as the exterior. Most of it was a single massive room with vaulted ceilings. Tall windows facing east and west filled the room with sunlight. Chandeliers and sconces bearing white candles chased away the shadows in those places the windows couldn’t illuminate. Most impressive, though, were the murals. There were three. To the left of the massive entryway was a grim and foreboding illustration of the Battle of Five Point, the skirmish most considered the first true battle of the Perpetual War. A brighter and more triumphant painting on the opposite side of the door immortalized the Battle of Verril. On the far side of the room, a symbolic representation of the reunion of the North and South filled an entire wall with images of the greatest sights of both the Northern Alliance and Tressor.
“There! There I am!” Ivy said, eagerly pointing at a streak of blue and white rushing among the streets of the Battle of Verril painting. “I sketched this myself, you know. They did a wonderful job. And look. There’s Deacon above the bell tower. And Caya right there with him. And Myranda, you’re on Myn’s back! Oh, I wish they’d let me paint it myself…”
Floorboards creaked as Myn padded lightly through the massive doors, curling her neck to investigate the painting.
“Not bad, eh?” Caya said, nudging Croyden. “I become queen, and scarcely a year later we’re finishing halls large enough to host dragons.”
“Indeed,” Croyden said. “If you will all follow me, ours is the table at the far end. The platforms on either side are for the dragons. Our thanks to Dragon Rider Grustim for, after a fashion, sharing with us the proper means to seat a dragon.”
“My superiors are not in the habit of discussing our methods of care and treatment for our dragons. It was difficult to convince them to part with even so simple a piece of information,” Grustim said. “I assume Garr is to be seated to the right, beside me?”
“Indeed.”
Grustim turned to his mount and gestured with his head. The green dragon strode inside the building. His posture suggested he was more accustomed to navigating smaller, more cramped spaces when indoors. The platform waiting for him was built from thick timbers and bore a trough filled with cool water and a platter awaiting his meal. He plopped down on his haunches and respectfully awaited further orders.
Myn, on the other hand, was less inclined to wait for instructions. She plodded over to Garr’s platform—maneuvering with a grace and speed that suggested she was far more comfortable in human-built surroundings, and wedged herself onto the same platform. It groaned under the additional weight but held firm.
“Guardian Myn,” Croyden said. “If you would, the platform on the opposite side is for you.”
Myn looked evenly at Croyden, then settled down to get more comfortable. Garr shuffled aside slightly, but between the two of them, there wasn’t a spare inch of platform.
Croyden looked nonplussed. “The Tresson representatives are on the right, the Northern Alliance on the left, and the South Crescent here along the front. It has all been laid out to assure each representative is given their proper place and treated as indicated by protocol.”
Myn huffed a breath, blinked once, then deliberately swished her tail aside to curl it around Garr’s.
“Croyden,” Queen Caya said. “For now, I think ‘let the dragon sit where she wants’ is a worthwhile amendment to protocol. And good advice in general. Garr and Grustim are the only two Tresson representatives anyway. Putting another dragon on their side will even things out.”
Myn huffed again, this time with an air of self-satisfaction, then leaned against Garr contentedly.
Garr, trained from birth and every bit as military as his Dragon Rider, was subtle in returning her affection. A trained eye, though, would note the way his muscles eased and his claws flexed, proving he was every bit as pleased to share her company as she was to share his.
“Grustim, my boy,” Caya said. “I must say I was a bit surprised to learn the king of Tressor would not be attending or sending any other representatives. This is, after all, the first anniversary of peace between our lands. One would imagine he would be as eager to celebrate as I.”
“I am not certain anyone is as eager to celebrate as you, Caya,” Myranda said.
Caya threw her head back in a laugh. “You might be right at that, but the question remains.”
Grustim crossed his arms wearily. “The ambassadors sent their regards and their explanations. I am certain they are better suited than I to answer.”
“Bah. They wove some superficially true tale about prior engagements and the like. That’s the purpose of ambassadors. You can give it to me straight. Does the man not enjoy my company?”
“It isn’t my place to say, or to speculate,” he said.
She shrugged. “I’d expected as much. Word has it the king isn’t much for traveling. Though a single year isn’t much time to shrug off the weight of a century and a half of war, I choose to believe it’s more to do with a bad back than lingering bad blood between us. Tell me, have you met with King Mellawin before?”
“Few have.”
“So I’d gathered. Myranda, Deacon, I don’t suppose you spied our wayward representative from across the sea while you were flitting in on Myn, did you?”
“There was a sizable procession approaching from the east. I would be very surprised if it wasn’t the king. I suppose we can expect his arrival in two hours or so,” Myranda said.
“Fine, fine. Time enough to do a bit of brushing up on any quirks we are likely to face from the king. I’d very much like to make a good first impression.”
Caya and the others made their way to the first available seats. As if by magic, the moment they were seated, servants arrived with bottles of wine and pitchers of ale. Captain Lumineblade gave her a pointed glance.
“Out with it, Croyden,” Caya said, filling a tumbler with ale.
“Perhaps Her Majesty would prefer a glass of water, suffering as she is from the effects of whatever drink she imbibed in to excess last night.”
“The ale around here is near enough to water for me,” she muttered beneath her breath.
“Begging your pardon, Your Majesty?”
“I said Her Majesty will do as suits Her Majesty. And for your own sake, would you stop referring to me by the honorifics? Honestly. You are making me feel as though I am a crown drifting about without a head beneath it.”
Croyden fetched a passel of pages from a satchel on his belt. “I would have liked to discuss matters with Tresson dignitaries, if they’d seen fit to attend. The information we have of South Crescent is spotty, and all comes from well before the start of the Perpetual War. I’ve gathered a bit more from the Tressons in preparation for this occasion, but it is still quite limited. They keep to themselves.”
“Anything new since last we discussed them?”
“Not much.”
Caya sipped her ale. “Best to share it all anyway. If we are going to acquit ourselves well in this venture, we’d do well to ensure we are all working from the same information.”
“This will be fascinating,” Deacon said. “I’ve known my share of South Crescent elves, but most left for Tressor hundreds of years ago.”
“We will begin there, I suppose. South Crescent is home, primarily, to elves. A handful of human traders have set foot there, and there may be some dwarfs about, but all would be considered foreigners. We can expect a delegation entirely composed of full-blooded elves from some of the oldest and most storied clans in history.”
“Quite an asset to have our own Northern Alliance elf to help get relations off on the right foot.”
“No. They will not see things that way. As far as they
are concerned, South Crescent elves are the only elves. An elf native to the Northern Alliance, like myself, is merely a long-lost offshoot of some South Crescent family who has yet to visit his or her homeland. They will consider me one of them, not one of you.”
“Ah. Even so, I trust having you among us will reflect well upon us.”
“As much as anything could. If what I’ve been told is accurate, they have something of an obsession with their own superiority as well.”
“Not so different from the local variety of elves then.” The queen shook her head. “As well as half of the nobles I’ve known. What do we know about the king himself?”
“He has been in power since shortly before the start of the war. All we really know is that he brokered a deal after hostilities had been running high between Tressor and the Northern Alliance for a few years.” Croyden lowered his voice. “Our friends to the south were understandably vague regarding the nature of that deal, but it is reasonable to assume that South Crescent provided considerable support to the Tresson army in the form of weapons and supplies over the entirety of the conflict.”
“Yes…” Caya said, eyes narrow and face stern. “It will be interesting to see how they regard the people they have effectively been helping to kill for a few generations.”
“We have worked hard to heal our relationship with Tressor. I see no reason why we cannot foster a relationship with South Crescent,” Myranda said.
“Indeed,” Caya said. “I truly hope we can. The last time their monarch ventured across the sea, Kenvard, Ulvard, and Vulcrest were separate. I can’t imagine he would make the journey unless he felt he had something to offer and something to gain. And now that the war isn’t sapping every last bit of our resources, I wouldn’t mind a bit more trade. Do we know what they have to offer?”
“The Tressons have not been forthcoming about it, but we know the elves cultivate a variety of plants unavailable in any reasonable quantity on our continent.” Croyden referred to his notes briefly. “They are also skilled craftsmen and probably produced some specialty weapons.”
The Crescents Page 2