Myn replied with a glance at the nearest elf and a huff of irritation.
“Is this where they’re having you stay?” The air around Ivy flickered with the faintest of red auras. “A cage? They’re putting you in a cage?”
Garr touched lightly down onto the deck of the ship and allowed Grustim to dismount.
“They’re having the dragons sleep in cages!” Ivy said, charging up to the Dragon Rider. “Can you believe that?”
“It is not ideal, but we must endure it for the sake of the mission. Few understand how to properly deal with dragons.”
“You treat them like people, Grustim. It isn’t hard.”
“Not so. Dragons demand a great deal more respect than people. In a way, the cage acknowledges their power.”
The Dragon Rider directed his mount to enter the still-intact cage. Garr obliged, then turned and sat within, coolly observing his surroundings and awaiting a fresh order. Several of the crew leaped at the chance to have at least one of the dragons properly locked away. They heaved the heavy cage door shut and latched it.
Being treated as a prisoner did not appear to bother Garr at all. Myn felt differently about the situation. She stalked forward, ignoring the objections of the crew, and once again locked her horns between the bars. The latched door didn’t afford nearly as much leverage as the open one, but she was nothing if not persistent. A few seconds of creaking and groaning tore the door free. Myn let it drop to the deck, its twisted, bent bars causing it to wobble and rattle. She slipped through the empty doorway and coiled herself into what free space remained until she was squeezed pleasantly beside Garr, her head resting contentedly on his neck.
Ivy crossed her arms and looked to the dismayed crew. “There. Maybe next time treat all of your guests like guests and this won’t happen.”
“It was my understanding that you were an ambassador,” Grustim said. “This does not appear to be diplomatic behavior.”
“Part of being a diplomat is about making sure people don’t mistreat your friends. Lucky for me, most of my friends can take care of themselves. Oh! Speaking of diplomacy, we’d better find Myranda and Deacon. They’re probably waiting for us.”
#
King Mellawin sat at the head of a large table, which, like the rest of the ship, looked as nearly as nature intended as the function would allow. It and the chairs surrounding still smelled of sap and lush growth. Deacon sat to his right side with Myranda beside him. Silla and a handful of other subordinates filled seats to his left, and servants stood at the corners of the room. The room itself, though nothing compared to a dining hall of a palace, was still a great deal larger than anything Myranda imagined she would have found on a ship. Servants set the table with hot tea and assorted fruits, breads, and cheeses from across the sea as King Mellawin grew visibly impatient.
“Shall we wait for your malthrope friend? She does not seem to be the sort to deal with the more complex, intellectual matters I hope to discuss with you today,” he asked.
“If the task ahead of us concerns her, I certainly feel she should be present,” Myranda said. “She is every bit as intelligent and capable as we. To be perfectly honest, I would have preferred it if there were some way Myn could be included as well.”
“Lamentably impossible. Though my crew was handpicked for this trip, the matters to be discussed are not for their ears, and I simply cannot foresee anything good coming from attempting to find someplace private that is still accessible to that magnificent beast of yours.” He tipped his head, brushing some of his long hair behind his ear. “Ah, but I do believe I hear the malthrope coming now.”
“If you would, Mellawin. Her name is Ivy. I do wish you would refrain from referring to her by her species, even when she isn’t present. I can’t imagine you would be fond of the idea of Deacon and myself referring to you as ‘the elves’ behind your backs, nor do I imagine you would refer to us as ‘the humans’ either.”
“Yes, yes. Of course,” the king said. “A thousand and one pardons. It may be our most glaring fault that the people of my race are quite slow to change, but it is a failing I am keen to correct.”
Ivy stepped through the door, accompanied by members of the crew. Her eyes were wide with wonder as she gazed at the veritable work of art the ship was.
“Myranda, Deacon! Isn’t this place gorgeous? How do you think they got the branches to curve so perfectly to form all this? Was it magic? And—” Her expression hardened as though her mind had just caught up with her and reasserted her earlier indignation. “Did you see they wanted Myn and Garr to be in cages?”
“Yes, a misstep, to be sure,” Mellawin said. “This journey is nothing if not educational regarding the many ways in which your people differ from our own.”
Ivy’s expression softened a bit. “Myn ripped off both doors, though, and now she’s napping with Garr. Those two are so cute together.”
She plopped down in the seat beside Myranda. One of the servants stepped up to fill her teacup and artfully assemble some refreshments on her dish.
“Oh, thank you,” Ivy said. She wrapped her hands around the delicate cup and raised it to her sensitive nose to breathe in the aroma. “A hot drink will be lovely. Flying can really put a chill through you.”
“I can only imagine. And I only ever intend to imagine, as I certainly do not intend to try it,” Mellawin said. “Now that we are all present, shall we begin?”
“Grustim is getting changed out of his armor. It will take him some time to get here,” Ivy said.
“Grustim and Garr were invited for completion’s sake, as they were involved in the most recent acts of the Chosen. I didn’t see much value in including him initially, but my advisers insist that leaving Tressor entirely out of this enterprise would have been inadvisable. One must maintain relationships with one’s longtime allies, and so the Dragon Rider comes along. But we needn’t delay on his behalf. He is a soldier, his training is to follow orders, not to understand their origins. You all, on the other hand, have precisely the expertise to help intelligently devise an appropriate stratagem. So let us begin. First, my lore keeper will explain the historical underpinnings of this dilemma.”
Silla nodded. She dismissed the servants and what must have been the lowest-ranking pair of subordinates with a gesture, then fetched a small folio of pages from a satchel beside her chair.
“To understand the issue at hand, you must first understand the nature of the Crescents. Though they are a match in size, the North and South Crescents could not be more different from one another. South Crescent is nothing short of a paradise. It is almost entirely forested. It is chiefly populated by elves, and the only nation of any note is, of course, Sonril with Mellawin as its king. For our purposes, ‘South Crescent’ and ‘Sonril’ may as well be spoken interchangeably. In addition to the elves, fairies are present in abundance, and a small community of dwarfs dwells within the foothills at the eastern shore. All exist in service to, in partnership with, or in isolation from our people. It is a peaceful and uncomplicated arrangement and has served us all well for generations.
“The North Crescent is another matter entirely. It is a land of extremes, in all ways a dark mirror of our own land. Where we have foothills, they have forbidding mountains. A great desert begins just north of the isthmus that connects the two continents. Beyond that desert, if our records are correct, lay harsh forests and then a biting, frigid tundra.”
“If your records are correct? You do not know for certain?” Deacon said.
“All we have ever needed can be found within our own lands. We have seen little value in venturing far enough to the north to see for ourselves. Even if the land were inviting, its inhabitants would be reason enough to stay away.”
“Who lives there?” Myranda asked.
“This, at least, we can speak of with a greater level of authority. We’ve had minor encounters with each as their mindless wandering has brought them near enough to our lands to be a threat. The place is besi
eged with chaotic, uncivilized races of all sorts. Its mountains are home to dozens of warring dwarf clans. The forests and deserts are overrun with fairies even less civilized than those in the southern forests. And the north belongs to the dragons. Our history is littered with skirmishes against each of those wretched collections of barbaric tribes, but after being turned away by our warriors and wizards for so long, they finally learned to keep to their own borders. We’ve had no more than passing sightings of the odd swarm of fairies or dwarfish mining parties near our borders for well over two centuries, and none has challenged us beyond some simple blustery posturing. There is one exception, though until recently it was dubious at best. The Aluall.”
“What is the Aluall?” Myranda asked.
“If I recall correctly, in ancient Elven that can be roughly said to mean ‘Those things of flesh that cannot be witnessed by eye or ear’ or, more tersely, ‘the Undetectable,’” Deacon said.
“I would have translated it as ‘the Unseen,’ but I must congratulate you on your knowledge of our language,” Silla said. “For hundreds of years, the Aluall have been a superstition. They are said to lurk throughout North Crescent and punish those foolish enough to venture too far into that forsaken land. It was all rather childish, we believed. Nothing more than weak minds trying to explain away this or that minor misfortune. If a thing of value was misplaced, it was the work of the Aluall. If livestock vanished or ripe crops were stolen from the fields, they were taken by the Aluall. None had ever seen so much as a shadow lurking in the places where the Aluall had struck. There were no footprints. Hounds found no scent. They simply could not exist. That changed some weeks ago. Two small villages of our people, recently established a bit farther into North Crescent than any of our people made their homes before, were struck by creatures as undetectable as the Aluall are believed to be. And for once, even if their existence remains questionable, their actions are undeniable.”
“What happened?” Myranda asked.
“In the first attack, a life was taken. It was a town called Treadforge. Witnesses say that the air itself turned to flame and consumed a watchtower, killing the elf within. At the same time, every storehouse, every cupboard, every scrap of food vanished, as did the goods in the markets and anything else of value. The attackers also left behind a message, a warning that other attacks would follow and a demand that the people leave the village.”
The king crossed his arms. “It is not in the Sonril spirit to back down in the face of a threat, but what can we do against an enemy that we cannot see?”
Silla continued. “The people of Treadforge abandoned their homes and made their way to the second village north of the isthmus, Dusand. The following night, that village was also attacked in precisely the same way. No one was killed—this time the flames consumed only the gate, but once more the food and goods were taken. Many of the people nearly perished for lack of food or water as they retreated to the safety of our borders.”
“Since then, there have been no further attacks of that scale, but the Aluall have remained bold. Soldiers patrolling the abandoned cities have been robbed, as have scholars hoping to learn what mystic works may have been utilized by the Aluall. Finally, we were forced to abandon the cities entirely and fortify the nearest towns, Rendif to the east and Twilus to the west. The Aluall have yet to come that far, but it may only be a matter of time.”
“Forgive me if I presume,” Myranda said. “But it sounds as though your only evidence that these Aluall are to blame is the lack of any other evidence. I’ve learned all too well that every legend sprouts from a kernel of truth, but surely you must have found something solid for you to believe you needed aid from the Chosen.”
“Quite so, Myranda. Quite so,” Mellawin said. “Our scholars may be pestered and burgled, but one cannot steal insight from a wise man with a good eye. One of our mystics noted there was some semblance of evidence. It was in the form of… of… Silla, please explain.”
“We determined, though to a profoundly lesser degree, that there seemed to be a withering, weakening of the soil around the attacked cities that was quite similar to the afflicted soil from Tressor.”
“I see…” Myranda said gravely. “And as the D’Karon were to blame in Tressor, and in the Northern Alliance, you believe they might also be to blame for these attacks.”
The king nodded. “It stands to reason. Our land is every bit as remarkable and valuable as Tressor or the Northern Alliance. I dare say in most ways it is a good deal more so. It strains credulity to suggest that the vicious, otherworldly interlopers would invest centuries of their time and effort attempting to pillage and topple your own lands but leave ours wholly untouched. However! If they were to have lain dormant in North Crescent, nestled in a place so chaotic and wild that no civilized or virtuous people would ever tread there, then they just may have escaped notice. And now, with their defeat elsewhere, surely they have targeted our noble people as a final, desperate bid to defeat the forces of good in our world.”
“I follow the logic,” Deacon said. “Some of your conclusions require a bit of a leap, but I understand why you felt we could be of aid. If there exists the whisper of a D’Karon threat, it must be treated with all seriousness.”
“I only hope our own investigation determines that threat, whatever it is, is not of D’Karon origin,” Myranda added.
“Perish the thought, Myranda. Perish the thought that this crime is the work of any but our mutual foes. It is infinitely preferable to me that we discover Sonril and its people have finally come to blows with the enemies presaged by our scholars in the great prophecy. That, at least, would mean that my people have a place in history.”
Myranda looked the king in the eye. “I understand your desire to have your land ‘elevated’ by its inclusion in this terrible conflict, but the D’Karon are not to be wished upon your worst enemy, let alone your own people. They are a heartless, savage, soulless blight upon the land. They bring nothing but misery and suffering in their wake.”
He waved a hand dismissively. “Not since before my time have our soldiers been called upon to sharpen blades and draw bows for a meaningful clash. It is long past time we had a nice black-and-white conflict to prove our valor. Bring forth the evil, the morally corrupt, the malicious and vile. We shall face them unafraid. I have not called upon you to advise in that regard. What I ask is quite simple. Go forth into North Crescent. As none of our people have much knowledge of North Crescent beyond the most southerly reaches of its desert, there would be no sense in providing you with a guide. The attacks were clearly targeted at pushing us back, so I suspect sending along even one of my own people could easily trigger a fresh assault, but you are plainly not of Southern Crescent, so at the very least you shall cause some confusion. You shall unlock the secrets of the Aluall, and when you have done so, you shall instruct our troops and we shall fight beside you to vanquish these foes once and for all. Thus, our land will have played host to at least a postscript of the battles foretold in prophecy, and we can rest assured that the gods have not forgotten us.”
“And if the D’Karon aren’t to blame? If there is some other explanation?” Myranda asked.
“A pity, then, but so long as the attacks cease and my people know that the Chosen came to our aid, I shall be satisfied and your people shall have the treatment for your ailing land.”
“Will we get to see much of your kingdom?” Ivy asked. “If your ships are any indication, your cities must be gorgeous.”
“For the sake of expediency, we shall make port at Twilus, a city far from the capital and thus hardly among the grandest places within our borders. But rest assured, when you’ve completed your task, you shall be given a hero’s welcome and a tour of every magnificent sight Sonril has to behold,” Mellawin said.
“Great!” Ivy trilled.
“How long will the voyage last?” Myranda asked.
“I don’t trouble myself with such details. Silla?” Mellawin said.
“If winds are favorable and weather is good, the trip will take three weeks,” the lore keeper replied. “In that time, we hope to educate you as fully as we can regarding what little we know about North Crescent and its people.”
“Splendid,” Deacon said, reaching into his satchel beside him and withdrawing a book. “I relish the opportunity.”
The ship rolled gently to one side. It creaked and groaned, not with the rigid feel of a human ship, but with the same natural tone of a large tree shrugging off a stiff breeze. Mellawin picked up his glass, lest it spill, and the others followed suit.
“Ah. And so we are on our way. If I recall correctly, on occasions such as this it is traditional among many human cultures to toast, yes?” He raised his glass. “To our voyage! May it be the final step in bringing our beloved world fully into the light of a glorious new day!”
Each raised their glass in turn, then drank. Ivy, notably, drained her glass entirely, then gathered a few handfuls of the assorted foods on the table and stuffed them into her pockets.
“You don’t need me for anything else, do you? I want to see what it looks like to pull away from the shore!” she said.
Silla said, with a hint of exasperation, “Perhaps I was not clear, but it is our intention to educate you all, to the best of our ability, on the nature of North Crescent.”
King Mellawin repeated the dismissive motion. The bulk of his royal duties seemed to center on applying the gesture when confronted with information that didn’t please him. “Bah. What we know of that wretched place can be learned in an afternoon, and we both know our malthrope friend shan’t get much good out of it. Let the beast run along and gawk at the view. Steadier minds shall deal with the fine details.”
Ivy shot a brief glare of irritation at the king for his indelicate phasing, but as he was granting her exactly the permission she was seeking, she let it go without comment. She rushed out into the hall before the drudgery of diplomacy could deprive her of another moment of the glorious view. When her scampering footsteps vanished down the hallway, the king smiled.
The Crescents Page 6