The D'Karon Apprentice (20 page)

“Perhaps we should step inside then. I would
not want to disrupt the peace of this fine town,” Maka said.

“Agreed,” Ether said. “I believe there is
some manner of formal greeting planned.”

“Ambassadors!” Gregol said, unable to forgo
the anxious hand-wringing that seemed always to rear its head when
he had to deal with Ether. “I trust your ride has been a pleasant
one?”

“Yes, Ambassador Gregol. Thank you,” said
Maka.

“You need not ask that each time we leave the
carriage. I am capable of conducting myself in the manner you have
advised,” Ether said, the rumble of impatience in her voice.

“Yes, oh Guardian, thank you. If you will
step inside, we will begin our evening meal and offer Ambassador
Maka the traditional—”

“Very well,” Ether interrupted, striding
toward the doorway.

Maka followed, a strangely amused grin on his
face. He stepped close to Ether as they approached the door. “You
are aging your assistants by many years. They perhaps were not
prepared for someone so willful.”

“Then they were fools,” Ether said. “I am
Chosen. The safety of this world owes itself to the strength of my
will.”

They entered the inn to find it, as would be
the case for all formal meeting places during the trip, emptied of
all but the staff who maintained it and the local officials who
greeted them. Knowing the lingering hatred fueled by so long a war
would be difficult to quell, the tour’s organizers chose to take no
chances, minimizing contact with the public. Upon entering, there
was a brief ceremony. A simple woven wreath of pine boughs was
presented to each of the delegates.

“These wreaths are an ancient gift of
acceptance and hospitality. Woven from boughs cut from young trees
deep within Ravenwood, they are symbolic of the embrace of the land
and its people, welcoming you into our hearts. Take them with our
blessings,” Ether said, the words spoken without spirit or
sincerity.

“Thank you,” Maka said with a bow of his
head.

The delegation continued inside to the dining
hall of the inn. It was a grand place, three stories tall and built
from stout wooden beams. The walls were white plaster, decorated
with wood carvings and the mounted heads of deer, elk, bears, and
moose. Five tables had been arranged in a semicircle before a
fireplace large enough to heat the whole of the room with plenty of
warmth to spare for guest rooms. Many such rooms wrapped around the
chimney on the other side of the wall. The mantle was so tall one
had to crane one’s neck to look at the great carving of the Ulvard
crest mounted there, and the fire within the hearth was nearly as
tall as Maka.

Ether and Maka were seated alone at a
four-person table in the center of the arrangement. The table to
the left hosted Gregol and his counterparts among the delegation.
To the right sat Zuzanna and her portion of the entourage. The
outermost tables hosted the lesser members of the group, various
assistants, servants, and record keepers.

“Another fine meal,” Maka said appreciatively
as soup and bread were set before him. He noted that none were
placed before Ether. “I’ve not seen you take a meal since my
arrival. Does this food not suit your tastes?”

“I do not require food.”

“No? Surely you must require some form of
sustenance.”

“I draw my strength directly from the
elements, and at present I have no need to replenish myself.”

“Remarkable,” Maka said, with genuine
interest. He sampled the soup. “Delicious. I have not eaten so well
in a great while.” He shifted in his seat, facing her a bit more.
“We have spoken much of your land as we traveled, and I have spoken
much of mine, but we have not yet discussed each other.”

“It did not appear to be a relevant
diplomatic matter, and I am taken to understand that diplomacy
is—as often as not—about avoiding those things which need not be
said.”

“On this matter, I believe there can be no
harm from gaining a greater insight.”

“All the same. I have no interest in
discussing such things.”

“Very well. I wish only to do you the
courtesy of sharing my interest.”

Ether watched as he ate, the enjoyment clear
in his wizened expression. Her mind began to drift in
all-too-familiar directions. A thought arose.

“You are old,” she observed.

“Quite old, yes,” he said, again his lips
turning up in a grin at the novelty of the statement.

“Death is near for you,” Ether said.

“Hah! I try to avoid thinking in such terms,
but it is fair to say that more years are behind me than
ahead.”

“How do you do this? Why do you spend your
time in this way if it is so precious for you?”

“It is my duty to my land.”

“Will this duty ever be fulfilled for you?
Does it have an end?”

“When I feel I lack the strength or will to
represent my land, then I shall retire from diplomacy, but that
time has not come yet.”

“And what then? What will you do when your
purpose is gone?”

“My purpose will not be gone. It will simply
change. I shall devote myself to such things as matter most to me.
To my family.”

“Your family.”

“Yes. I have three sons and four daughters,
all married. Thirty grandchildren and twenty great-grandchildren,
to say nothing of my nieces and nephews.”

“Do these offspring require your aid and
support any longer? Your protection?”

“Oh no. My children are fine men and women.
Quite able to meet their own needs.”

“Then your task is done. There is no purpose
for you to serve.”

“When one has a family, one always has a
purpose to serve. Sometimes it is enough simply to be near, to
share wisdom, and share strength.”

“Life is so insignificant, so fleeting. How
do you continue on when you know that nothing you do, nothing you
leave behind, will ever truly be important in the widest scheme?
How do you cope with the knowledge that at any moment your life
might end?”

“How do we cope knowing that life may end
soon?” He laughed. “What other choice do we have? And perhaps we
are but drops in a great river, but we all contribute to the flow.
Whatever the ‘widest scheme’ may be, it arrives at its destination
in part because of us. That is enough. These are questions far
beyond the depth of a simple diplomat. But it seems to me that such
questions are asked of others only when they have first been asked
of ourselves without a proper answer. Tell me, what brings you to
ask them now?”

“Nothing… It was foolish to ask.”

“Nonsense. Why are we here if not to share of
ourselves?”

“Your answers will be of no use to me. You
speak of family. I have none.”

“We all have a family, Ambassador Ether.”

“Not I. I was crafted by the gods, no mother
or father. I have no siblings, save the lesser elementals who are
to me what insects are to you. And I have no children.”

“There are other types of family than those
who share our blood. There is the family we choose for ourselves.
Are there any you would call friends?”

“There are those who I would call allies. I
have no need for friends.”

“Another phrasing then. Are there any who
would call
you
friend?”

“There are some.”

“Then these are your family.”

“But you spoke of family as those who need
one another. They do not need me beyond tasks such as this, and I
do not need them at all.”

“I think on that the second point you are
mistaken. Someone who speaks as you do of life and death, someone
who asks the questions you ask? That is a person who needs family,
now more than ever. Of these who would call you friend and who you
call allies, is there one who is special to you?”

“There was one who was my equal, one who,
unlike me, seemed to
seek
these connections of friendship
and family that you insist are so crucial… or at least one who
would accept them. But he did not seek them from me.”

“He spurned you.”

“I offered myself as a target for his
affections, and he chose not to do so. It is just as well. In time
he would have seen that affection had no place in what we were. He
and I were unique in the world, creatures crafted by the same
forces that sculpted the very firmament, joined by a higher purpose
and undiluted by impurity or mortality.”

“Mmm… And you say he would have, and he was…
is this special one no longer with us?”

“It was foreseen that to defeat the D’Karon,
our world would have to sacrifice one of the Chosen. He was the one
to fall.”

Maka nodded. “Then I understand. Ambassador
Ether, it is a fine thing for you to host me in this journey, and I
look forward to what remains of it, but may I suggest that when you
are through, you return to these allies for a time.”

“For what reason? My task with them is
through.”

“Perhaps, but I think if you were to speak to
them as you have spoken to me, they would learn that their task
with you is just beginning.”

#

Some time after they set out, Grustim and
Garr returned with the fruits of their hunt. At the campsite they
found Myn with her eyes shut, a purr of contentment rumbling in her
chest as the wizards leaned against her belly and enjoyed the
warmth of the fire in the coolness of night. Garr clutched three
large gazelles in his teeth. Myn opened her eyes and watched him as
he dropped them beside the fire, then Grustim hopped down to
inspect the camp.

“You build a proper fire,” Grustim
stated.

“We wouldn’t last long in the north if we
didn’t know how to build a good fire quickly,” Myranda said.
“Though Myn gets most of the credit for the hard work. Should I
help prepare the meat to be cooked?”

“I will see to it,” Grustim said, drawing his
knife and getting to work.

His skill with the knife was every bit a
match for Garr’s mastery of the skies. Grustim sliced a share for
each, fashioned spits to prepare them, and set others aside to cook
and smoke more slowly. Garr sat patiently, his catch at his feet,
until Grustim finished prepping the food to be cooked. When the
Rider gave a low command to his mount, Garr snatched and swallowed
his meal.

“This one is for Myn?” Myranda said,
indicating the prey that had been placed nearest to her.

He gave a single nod.

“Eat, Myn. You’ll need your strength for
tomorrow.”

Myn looked at the meal, then looked to Garr.
With a sniff and flick of her tongue, she pushed it away with her
nose.

“Oh, don’t be stubborn,” Myranda said. “I
know a big meal can last you days, but after the flying you did
today I’m sure you’re starving. You’ll have plenty of chances to
hunt for yourself and for me when we get back to Kenvard.”

Myn flipped the tip of her tail back and
forth and acted as though the meal was not there.

“Grustim, what can you tell us about where
we’re headed? The Southern Wastes?”

“Little to be said. Myn’s
enthusiasm
has brought us half a day closer than I’d expected. The Wastes are
a region near the southern coast. Colder than the rest of Tressor.
Little rain, and nothing grows there.”

“Is there anything sensitive there? Something
that might attract the D’Karon? Any resources? Perhaps temples or
artifacts?”

“Most years there is little at all. This
season there may be some shepherds or goatherds.”

“There may be?”

“The Wastes grow and recede. For years they
will seem to recover, the fertility of the land returning slowly.
Inevitably it comes to an end. The life drains from the soil and
the cycle begins again.”

“Why would the D’Karon strike there?” Myranda
wondered aloud. “If it is truly the D’Karon, then to focus on a
lifeless place is unlike them. Above all else they seek power. If
these attacks are their doing and are intended to restart the war,
surely they would have struck somewhere in the heart of Tressor, or
even the border where the war burned for so long. Attacks there
would have left no doubt in the minds of your people that
hostilities had begun anew. To strike on the fringe of your kingdom
would only make sense if there was something of great value
there.”

“Of course, such thinking only holds if it
is
the D’Karon themselves,” Deacon observed.

Myranda nodded. “Even if the evidence
suggests the contrary, we can’t afford to take this situation
lightly. We must be prepared for the D’Karon.” She looked at the
Dragon Rider. “Grustim, if we find dragoyles, whether they are true
works of the D’Karon or merely something like them, there are some
things you should know about them and how to face them. They are
massive creatures; their—”

“You need not describe them, Duchess. I know
them well. They are meant to be dragons, though they come as near
the true creatures as a shadow comes to the man who casts it. They
share their form, but little else. It is as though you made weapons
of the great creatures we ride, keeping the claws, the wings, the
strength, but stripping away the grace, the nobility, the
soul…”

“They are not our doing, Grustim. They are
the work of the D’Karon.”

He looked at Myranda, his expression
unchanged. “Of course. A slip of the tongue.”

“How do you know of them?”

“The Dragon Riders have had many a clash with
those twisted mockeries of our mounts.”

“You fought them?” Deacon said. “From what
we’ve found, and what we’ve learned from soldiers stationed at the
front, dragoyles were not deployed at the front lines. And I admit
I may have misunderstood, but it seemed to me that the Dragon
Riders were not frontline fighters either.”

“Not now, and never was it the intention. But
once. It was decades ago, long before my time. The war was raging
as hot as it ever had. Our king, the father of the man who now
holds the throne, believed if the front line could only be broken,
the tide could be turned. He demanded that the Dragon Riders be
deployed en masse, targeting the weakest defense point. A dozen
Riders descended and made a crucible of the battlefield. Our
soldiers claimed more of your land on that day than they had in the
months that preceded it. But then the sky blackened with your… with
the D’Karon creations. They did not breathe anything so clean and
pure as flame. They spat a choking black mist. We lost nine Riders
that day, and four mounts… We
still
haven’t recovered our
full numbers. It was decided that no matter the gains that might be
had, the Dragon Riders were too precious to be squandered at the
battlefront, but the stories of that battle, and of the hideous
foes they fought, remain a part of our training.”