Her final words were flavored with uncertainty, as though she were trying to convince herself of their truth.
“You didn’t have to attack them. You could have—”
“What? What could we have done? Should we have sent Reyce and some of the elders to speak to them? Do you really believe that would have led to anything but bloodshed? No elf would ever listen to reason if that reason was spoken by a malthrope. If we’d shown our faces, they would have slit our throats. On that, Boviss was correct. It could only be force. It could only be fear. We did our best to spill no blood, but… what had to be done, had to be done.”
“People died,” Ivy said.
“One… One life was taken. It burns at me. But if the circumstances were reversed, would the elves have shown such restraint?”
“But it hasn’t solved anything, Nehri. Now they have a reason to hunt you. They have a reason to find this place and return the favor. You’d better hope my friends find you first. They’re smart, and kind.”
“But they will not find this place, Ivy. Not your friends, not our enemies. Not unless we allow it.”
“We have dragons. We have wizards. We can fly, and see things no one else can see. Even if I didn’t know there was a city here, if we were soaring over and I saw a swath of the countryside withering like this, I would investigate.”
“You would not have seen it. This place cannot be found by any but those faithful to our patrons, those who speak their words and know their prayers.”
Ivy turned back to the village. Her eyes lingered on the monument in the center of Den. Now that her muddied thinking had had time to clear, the pieces were beginning to slide into place. The blight upon the land. The means of her capture.
“Nehri…” she said, hesitating for fear of the answer to the question on her mind. “What are your patrons called?”
Nehri bowed her head, her expression serene and sincere. “Our protectors. Our saviors. May our first breaths and last speak our undying loyalty to them. The D’Karon.”
#
Reyce and another malthrope dashed across dusty ground and between withered gray trees. The malthrope chieftain set his eyes firmly upon the cliff side. A freshly slain elk rested heavily upon the shoulders of each. The weight barely slowed them. When there was a job to be done, Reyce refused to let petty things like fatigue control him, and he expected nothing less from his fellow malthropes. The D’Karon magic could speed his motion and increase his stamina. Such things came at a price, but at a time when any delay could be disastrous, that price was a bargain.
He tightened his jaw as he traversed more and more barren land. Wind kicked up loose soil as he passed the first of the craggy alcoves marking the outskirts of his destination. It was a wretched place, a place no normal creature would choose to live. But then, Boviss had not chosen to live there. And if the dragon were a normal creature, Reyce would have no use for him. The stone beneath his feet shifted in color as he traveled. There were great swaths stained the brown-red of old blood. Shattered and powdered bones were scattered about, seldom intact enough to offer a hint of what beast they had once belonged to. Finally, there was the cave. It was a yawning maw in the mountain, turned from the sun such that walking even three paces past its mouth would cause an unwary traveler to plunge into inky blackness. The path thus far wound high into the cliffs. Now the air had a terrible chill, and it was so thin that even with the legendary endurance inherent to his species, Reyce had trouble catching his breath.
Reyce heaved the kill from his shoulders and paced to a shallow pond fed by a frost-covered trickle from between the rocks. As he slaked his thirst, a distant jingle rang out from within the cave.
“Another feeding. So soon. You spoil me, Chieftain.” The voice that thundered from the darkness was deep and resounding. Each time it spoke, its final words trailed off into a rumble that could grind stone to powder.
Reyce signaled the other malthrope to back away. “This is not generosity, Boviss. It is preparation. You may need to take flight again soon.”
The jingling shifted to a metallic grind. Thumping footsteps plodded toward the mouth of the cave. Reyce held his ground as a deep orange glow smoldered inside the cave, hinting at the hulking form within. Finally, the beast emerged, a dragon easily three times the size of Myn. He looked as ancient as the mountain itself. His scales were a stony gray, notched with the scars of a thousand battles and hard as iron. Along his throat and belly, the scales were broad, overlapping armor plates of bone white. Folded wings ran down his back and along the ground behind like the cape of a dark lord. His eyes were small, set deep in his wedge-shaped skull, and pure black. Powerful jaws formed a permanent, menacing grin, but for all of his power, his monstrous form also told tales of disgrace and captivity. Chains thick enough to anchor ships hung about his neck, dragging taut as he reached the light. One massive foreleg had been severed beneath the knee. In its place was a vicious iron replacement, spindly in comparison to its flesh counterpart, but tipped with a cruel, three-clawed parody of a dragon’s paw. Half his tail had similarly been sliced away in some ancient battle. A chain, twice as thick as what he wore about his neck, emerged from the remaining nub. It led to a spiked iron ball the size of a small boulder. He dragged the ponderous weapon with ease.
A final touch labeled him as something more, or something less, than an elder dragon. Streaks of red, too bright to be blood, traced out long stripes along his snout and face. The marks were fresh, but the ragged, feathered edges suggested they were merely the most recent iteration of marks applied dozens or hundreds of times in the past. If not for the chains, they might have resembled war paint. Bound as he was, they seemed more like markings meant to label him as a prisoner, should he be seen fleeing.
“Another flight. So the elves have returned. As I predicted.”
“No,” Reyce said. “But there are warriors from the south.”
Boviss devoured the whole of the first offering in a single messy crunch.
“Pawns of the elves then.” His stout tongue snaked from his mouth and lapped at the juices running down his chin. “The people of the trees are cowards. They would send pawns to fight for them. No matter. One army is as good as another.”
“It is no army. But it is not to be dismissed. They came from the south and set up camp in Dusand. Three humans, two dressed and equipped as mystics and a third dressed as some manner of knight. And two dragons as well.”
“Dragons.”
“A red one and a green one. Smaller than you, but clearly subservient to the others.”
“I have never known the elves to command my kind. But I shall deal with them. I have no patience for newcomers treading in my domain.”
“In our domain, Boviss.”
“Of course.”
“There was also a malthrope among them. We have brought her to Den.”
“Foolish. If she is of the enemy, she is to be killed.”
“I will not kill one of my kind. And besides. She may offer valuable information about the pawns of the elves.”
“No information offered is to be trusted. Only lies are offered. Do not trust wisdom that is given freely. Things of value are protected, secreted away. If you wish to learn from her, you must drag the information from her. Tear the information from her.” The dragon strained at his chain to crunch up the second offering.
“I will do no such thing. She could be a valuable ally. And what’s more, she is of the Sorrel line. She claims even to know of Teyn, the mate of Sorrel herself.”
Boviss dragged his iron claw across the stone, producing an earsplitting grind and digging deep furrows into the stone. “Sorrel…” he growled, flames rolling from his lips and nostrils. “Bring this new malthrope to me. Let me sample her scent. Let me taste her blood. I will tell you if she is truly of Sorrel’s line.”
“I shall do nothing of the sort.”
“Why do you come to me then?” Boviss snapped. “To make a paltry offering and taunt me with her name?�
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“I come to you because all is not in place for the task. We cannot afford to squander warriors upon these agents of the south. Already my force is too small to be certain of victory if things do not go according to plan.”
“Every moment you allow them to live, you risk the lives of all of your people. Nothing good has ever come to this land from the south. Nothing good will ever come from the south. Kill them.”
“If it were merely human mystics and knights, or a handful of elves, it would not be a concern. But the dragons trouble me.”
Boviss continued as though he’d not heard Reyce. “You should have allowed me to raze the cities. To consume the trespassers in flame. They would never have dared send anyone this way again. Elves have long memories. They remember their defeats, and shrink from those they cannot overcome.”
“I have no interest in slaughter, Boviss. I wish only that my people not wither and die while others snatch up the land that should sustain us.”
“Pathetic attacks. Harrowing the enemy with pinpricks when you could be crushing them underfoot.”
“Offer me advice I can use or be silent.”
The dragon growled, sending cascades of stone crackling down from above the mouth of his cave. Reyce did not so much as flinch.
“You are watching them, I trust?”
“One of my best runners. They follow him closely. He has been instructed not to return while they are still a threat.”
“And if they find him?”
“He will lead them astray and give his life to protect the rest of us. As any of us would.”
“Very well. If you must continue in this weak-willed game, if you refuse to slaughter the lot of them, then my advice is simple. Find these agents. Learn which ride the dragons. And when you are certain, kill the Dragon Riders. No dragon is loyal to an elf or human cause. They shall not continue the hunt. And without them, the others are no threat.”
“But to kill the Dragon Riders I must get past the dragons.”
Boviss raised the steel paw. “And so you would have me reveal another of my secrets. The way to get past a dragon is to be small enough to slip through its claws.”
Reyce shut his eyes and nodded. “The wasps then.”
“Yes.”
The chieftain considered this. “So be it. Let this be a test. I will spare one wasp. If she can strike down their Dragon Riders, then perhaps they will show the wisdom to turn back. Two deaths are better than five. I thank you for your counsel. And I urge you to prepare. If this does not succeed, I fear the dragons will indeed need to be dealt with.”
“Then I pray for failure. It has been too long since I’ve tasted a proper battle.”
Boviss lumbered back into the cave. Reyce paced back to where his helper was waiting.
“Go back to Den. Tell Nehri I shall not return until late evening. I must pay a visit to the forest. And say nothing of what has been discussed here.”
His assistant nodded and dashed back from whence they came. Reyce took another long drink of water and made ready to begin a new journey.
“You have magic, do you not?” Boviss crept up to the edge of the darkness. “The crystals you rely so heavily upon.”
“I do.”
“And the wasps each have one. The better to follow your orders.”
“They do.”
“Then why do you prepare yourself to run to them?”
“That is not your concern.”
“The priestess would see,” Boviss rumbled, emerging enough for his grin to catch the light. “She would not approve of the wasps being called into use.”
“We spent many months honing the plan. She would see any variation as a rash decision.”
“You fear her judgment.”
“I have sought and received your counsel. We are through.”
Boviss emerged fully into the light, stretching his chain taut. “There are swifter ways to reach the forest.”
Chapter 7
Myranda and the others had been moving slowly and carefully in the days since Ivy’s capture. Without a definite destination and with no simple trail to follow, flight was out of the question. They had to move along the ground, eyes and snouts scouring the land and air for anything that might hint at a clue. Their journey had taken them across much of an arid plain, and now they were well into the southernmost fringes of a desert that occupied a fair slice of North Crescent. It said much of the elven view of the continent that despite its size the makers of the map the king’s people had provided did not see fit to apply a name to the region. It wasn’t like the great desert of Tressor, which was like an endless sea of sand. Here the dunes were in motes and clusters spread among vast stretches of burning-hot stone.
The dragons were coping well, suited as they were to extreme heat. The fairies were decidedly less adapted to travel through the desert. At least, travel at the speed and level that tracking the Aluall required. Shah had taken to buzzing about between Myn and Garr, almost without pause. She would linger in the shade of one dragon’s great body, flitting between its legs, then dart up and investigate what the riders were up to. The endless buzz of wings and Shah’s untrained sense of personal space made it a constant effort to suppress the urge to swat at her as one would an insect. Freet, on the other hand, had taken up a position between Myn’s horns, where he sat like a king surveying his kingdom.
Myranda had to keep her mind focused, in part to weave spells that would ward off the worst of the heat and keep the sun from roasting her, and in part to scour the spectral plane for the faint residue of D’Karon magics. The skill of the Aluall in moving without a trace was truly confounding. They’d spent days moving with agonizing slowness, earning only fleeting hints of the nearly nonexistent trail. It was only through constant scouring of both mystic and material evidence, as well as a worrisome amount of speculation and intuition, that they’d followed the trail this far. And every moment the trail grew colder, harder to follow.
Myranda wavered slightly, then felt a hand on her arm to steady her.
“Is something wrong?” Deacon asked.
“Just a bit fatigued. I suppose the desert is taking a greater toll upon me than I realized,” she said.
“Do not push yourself. Your mystic endurance is significant, you should have no trouble with this level of conjuring, but one can never be certain of how one’s mind and body will react in times of great stress.”
“I’ve traveled through the desert before. And I have dealt with terrible pressure. I’ve never felt so weary so quickly.”
“You haven’t been a wizard as long as I have. Your training in controlling your emotions is less complete.”
“I can control my emotions,” Myranda snapped.
“Of course you can,” Deacon said with a deferential tip of his head. “I have every confidence in your abilities with that regard, even the edge to your response suggests the contrary.”
Myranda shut her eyes and took a breath. Deacon’s tone was free of accusation or condescension. She knew he was not attempting to chide her, merely making a somewhat graceless observation as he so frequently did, but Myranda still felt a flare of annoyance at the implication. The annoyance was compounded by the realization that her inability to push it aside was evidence that he was right.
Deacon pulled a canteen from their supplies and handed it to her. “Drink. And rest. I’ll take over on the tracking. You keep your eyes on the sand for physical clues that I may miss in my metaphysical search.”
She took the container and sipped at it. “Myn, do you need water?” she asked, leaning forward and placing a hand on the dragon’s neck.
Myn didn’t answer. Her predatory instinct was focused entirely upon the task at hand. She and Ivy had become quite close in their time together in New Kenvard. The pair were practically siblings. A single glimpse at the heartbreaking worry hidden behind her determined gaze revealed just how knotted up her heart and mind were at Ivy’s capture.
“Here,” Myranda said,
splashing a bit of water into her cupped hand. “Shah, Freet, water.”
The fairies buzzed up to the offered refreshment and drank deeply.
“There are very few flowers about,” Freet observed. “What shall we do for food?”
“Are you hungry?” Myranda said. “I am certain we can work something out.”
“I’m fine. I’m trained for endurance,” Shah said proudly.
“I don’t need to eat yet either,” Freet said defensively. “I am just planning for when I do need to eat.”
“There must be an oasis nearby,” Myranda said. “We’ll stop there for the night.”
“No,” murmured Myn, turning her head to offer Myranda an accusing glance.
“We’ll do Ivy no good if we collapse in the desert looking for her,” Myranda said. “This path has twisted and turned, coiled back on itself, and looped. I don’t care what sort of monsters the Aluall are. The distance they traveled to lead us on this chase would push anyone to the limit. They must have found some way to rest and recuperate. Their trail will lead us to it, and we shall restore ourselves when we reach it.” She raised her voice. “Grustim! You’ve taken to the air most recently. Have you seen evidence of a source of water?”
He called back, “There is a spring to the west. A few hours travel on foot will take us there. A few minutes by air. And just beyond the horizon is the edge of a forest. By air we could reach it by nightfall. And Myranda. Come this way. Approach from behind.”
Myn trudged over of her own accord. Any excuse to be a bit closer to Garr was welcome to her. When they reached the green dragon, the riders hopped down and Myn leaned against Garr, a forlorn rumble in her chest. In response, he leaned his head comfortingly against hers. Grustim stepped with slow care to a shallow impression in the sand, and Myranda crouched down.
“It is a footprint,” Myranda said. She glanced about. “A single footprint. None leading to it or away from it.”
“The third I’ve seen in as many hours,” Grustim said.
“Are they becoming careless perhaps?”
“Perhaps. But what concerns me is that we have found it. The wind is steady, constantly stirring the sand. Our own footprints fade within minutes. This one is not sheltered by stones or dunes.”
The Crescents Page 15