The D'Karon Apprentice (55 page)

“I was,” she said.

“As was I,” said Rasa.

“Really? I must say, to have experienced the
same force that leveled a castle, you both appear quite whole. And
as this occurred months ago, I would not have expected to find
bodies so free from rot.” She looked to Aneriana. “You, my dear,
are practically alive. How is it that you have been spared the
ravages of death? And how is it, though your soul is bound to
another, you answer the call of my spells as though you still had
one of your own?”

“We are Chosen,” said both of them
simultaneously.

“Elaborate.”

“To defend their world from the creations of
other gods, the divine powers of this world created or selected
five warriors,” Rasa said.

“We were to be two of those Chosen, but we
lost our lives, or our souls, before the five could be joined in
the Great Convergence,” Aneriana said.

“Our bodies remain, touched by the divine,
and thus spared true death while there remains a task to be done,”
Rasa said. “When you speak to us, you speak, in part, to the
divine, and are privy to some things known only to them.”

Turiel’s expression hardened. “Touched by the
divine… speaking for the divine… Yes… there is a power about you,
even in death. Pray tell, these ‘creations of other gods,’ have you
a name for them?”

“In my time held by them as a tool to be used
against my fellow Chosen, I came to know them as the D’Karon,” said
Aneriana.

Turiel released a breath and shut her eyes.
“Tell me, these… creations of other gods, must we assume they mean
us harm? Are we so fearful of the knowledge from beyond our world
that we must defend ourselves even from those who might bring us
wisdom?”

“No,” Aneriana said. “The Chosen were
forbidden to unite until the D’Karon made clear their intentions.
Only when the D’Karon had willfully taken the life of a native of
this world, purposefully and intentionally without heeding the
orders of another, could the final Chosen arise and the Convergence
occur.”

“As the D’Karon said would be necessary for
the adversaries to arrive. And a D’Karon did this?”

Rasa answered, “In the months prior to the
Convergence, the D’Karon known as Epidime assumed control of a
beast now known as a dragoyle. He took my life.”

Turiel narrowed her eyes. “Epidime… he
allowed this to occur?”

“He caused it to occur,” Rasa said.

“Why would he do such a thing?”

“I do not know. I cannot know,” Rasa
said.

“Aneriana. When Kenvard fell, you were
there.”

“I was. I was the target of the Kenvard
Massacre.”

She raised an eyebrow. “The target?”

“The D’Karon knew of the coming of the
Chosen. They knew of the prophecy, and knew if they could secure
the Chosen, the world would be without its strongest defense
against them. They found me within Kenvard and knew that the fates
of many Chosen would bring them together in this place. So they
laid waste to it to secure me.”

Turiel was silent for a long time. When she
spoke, it was with grim realization—and stabbing regret.

“The D’Karon… they slashed across this world.
Twisted two nations into war. They brought ruin to great cities to
claim single individuals. They manipulated the rules of a game
played at a cosmic level. They stand in direct competition with the
powers of creation. And I brought them here…”

“The D’Karon prey upon fear and anger. They
find those with needs that seem impossible. They called to you. You
were the first manipulation in the game,” Rasa said.

“Yes… This was all about my sister… I
committed…
all
of this… to bring justice and closure to my
sister.” She raised her eyes, determination beginning to show
through. The corner of her mouth rose into what could almost be
called a smile. “The lambs have been slaughtered. The butcher’s
work is done. All that remains is to make the stew. It would
truly
be a crime to bring about all of that for nothing…
I’ve come this far for a cause. The only proper thing to be done is
to take the final steps.”

“What you did centuries ago, you did not
knowing the pain and damage you would cause. What you do now, you
do with full knowledge of the consequences,” Aneriana said. “If
your love for your sister has driven you to these lengths, perhaps
the thing you should ask yourself is if she would have wanted
it.”

“No,” she said. “I think that is the thing I
should ask
her.
Regardless of what they’ve done, there is no
arguing with the ability of the D’Karon to reach beyond the veil. I
may have done things that did not serve this world, but
everything
I’ve done has served
my
purposes. I will
bring the D’Karon here, and I will seek their council to finish the
task that set me on this path.”

“Perhaps…” Aneriana said.

“No more ‘perhaps.’ No more judgments from an
empty shell. Rasa, you are dismissed.”

With those words, the reanimated swordsman
clattered to the ground in a heap of lifeless armor.

“And as for you, Aneriana. Something was
taken from me shortly before I came to you, and I have an uphill
struggle to victory. Mott,” she said, beckoning her familiar.

He trotted up and wrapped his tail around
Aneriana’s arm, pulling it out to her side. Turiel pulled her knife
from her robe and raised it high.

“I believe if anyone could benefit from a
touch of the divine, it is me…”

#

A desert is a harsh place regardless of the
hour. The pounding rays of the sun claim many lives, but the cold
of night is no less dangerous. Brustuum had marched through the
frigid night, blasted by a dry wind that had left his lips cracked
to the point of bleeding. The layers of bandages had spared him the
worst of the cold, and he’d since torn a few away to wear as a
mask, but now he was staring at a horizon reddening with the sun
that would offer the mercy of dawn warmth followed by the ordeal of
the day’s heat.

The former commander had marched without rest
with a very specific destination in mind. Grustim had followed each
step of the banishment ceremony, leaving him with the scar on his
cheek. No city and certainly no encampment of soldiers would take
him… but there was a chance. Things had been set in motion before
they had fallen apart. He knew things Grustim did not know. In the
distance, between two tall dunes to the east, dust and sand were
rising.

He quickened his pace as much as he could
manage and walked along the peaks of dunes to increase the
likelihood he would be seen. Ahead, the cloud of dust resolved
itself into a covered carriage with a pair of armed escorts. The
soldiers were swathed in light cloth, first to protect them from
the cold of night, and soon to protect them from the pounding sun.
Sharp eyes trained for desert combat took no time at all to spot
him, and calls went out for the carriage to stop.

They guided their horses to the foot of the
dune, then climbed down from their mounts and began to scale it. He
moved down to them quickly, ensuring his mask was still in place.
He would only have a few moments of their mercy before the finer
points of their training could seep to the surface. They would
check his cheek; they would seek his dagger of command. Finding
both no blade and the mark of banishment, they would turn him away.
He had to reach the carriage before then.

“Water,” he croaked, stumbling quickly down
the slope. “I need water and I need shelter.”

“Commander Brustuum?” asked one of the
soldiers, his voice familiar.

Brustuum nodded, in part as an answer but
primarily in satisfaction that his navigation and timing had been
sound. These were precisely the people who might help him, not out
of honor, but out of dishonor.

“What has happened?” asked the second
soldier.

“Northern treachery. The keep has been
attacked… destroyed…”

He lurched forward, exaggerating the toll the
desert had taken upon him, though only slightly. He needed them to
believe that he was at death’s door. The charade was enough; they
maneuvered him to the door of the carriage and pulled it open.

Inside, alone, was a man in military garb far
too pristine to have ever been put to use. He held in one hand a
pipe, and in the other a silver goblet filled with a spiced
wine.

“Esteemed Patron Sallim, Commander Brustuum
needs water and shelter from the winds. The keep has been attacked,
and he has been cast out.”

“Brustuum? Of course, of course,” Sallim
said, shifting aside to offer more space on the seat opposite
him.

The disgraced commander pulled himself into
the carriage with more energy than he’d shown in his journey down
the dune, and for a brief moment both soldiers disappeared from the
doorway to fetch food and water.

“Commander what could have—”

Brustuum leaned forward and tugged his
bandage down, revealing the crusted-over scar on his face. At the
sight of it, Sallim’s eyes widened and his voice dropped away.

“We need a word, alone,” he said.

“You are—”

“Bearing the same mark that
you
will
wear when the truth comes to light, so unless you wish to receive
it now, I advise you to listen carefully.”

A soldier appeared at the door, a skin of
water and a wrapped bundle of dried fruit in hand.

“Leave it on the floor and close the door.
Brustuum and I have matters of great sensitivity to discuss,”
Sallim said. “We do not continue forward until I say so.”

The soldier obeyed, sliding the provisions to
the ground and shutting the door behind them.

“What
happened,
Brustuum?”

“A Dragon Rider and some representatives from
the north. They came in search of the woman we captured, but she
had escaped.”

“Escaped! Brustuum, you assured me—”

“Enough! It could not be helped. She was a
sorceress of a far higher order than either of us could have
imagined. The Dragon Rider determined that we had kept her in
secret, and he knows… he knows much.”

“You did not tell him of my involvement, did
you?”

“I did not, but he is thorough. If he is
allowed to continue his investigation, he
will
learn that
you were aware of our capture of the sorceress. There will be no
hiding that you allowed this to happen just as surely as I.”

Sallim’s eyes darted about like a cornered
rabbit.

“This… this cannot be… This cannot happen. I…
this is
my
army. These are
my
soldiers marching this
sand. The horses they ride, the food they eat, it is paid for by
the gold of
my
family. Damn you, Brustuum, I will not have
my cheek branded by a dagger I paid to forge!”

“Keep your
voice
down, you fool!”

“What is to be done?” Sallim asked in a
panicked hush.

“They learned from me where we believed the
sorceress had been hiding in our land, and I believe they refined
that information further. There was a marked map, quite near Lost
Shepherd’s Point. I am certain that one or all of them will travel
there, likely to see to the spell that the sorceress had been
casting. We must go there. We must catch them there. If we find the
Dragon Rider, he must be killed. That, at least, will spare you
from further investigation and retain your rank and your life. If
we find only the Northerners, they must be captured. That will
prove that they had the darkest of aims for our land, as we always
knew they did. It will prove that what we did was the wisest and
best decision. It might well save us
both
from the
punishment I have earned, but more importantly it might spare our
land the touch of further Northern treachery and allow us to make a
final push to extinguish the Alliance threat once and for all.”

“Yes… yes, of course.”

“To achieve this, we will need the full force
of your reserves. Every soldier near enough to Lost Shepherd’s
point to reach it within a few days will need to be deployed
immediately. At best you will be facing a dragon. A worst you will
be facing a dragon and two potent mystics. Can you get word to the
proper individuals to ensure deployment?”

Sallim pulled open a case beneath his seat
and began to scrawl a message in a shaky hand. “I’ll send the
falcon to my quarters with orders to send the messages via mystics.
I can have cavalry in place, thirty to fifty men, in less than
three days, if the falcon flies fast and true and the mystics do
their jobs.”

“Then send them there, and we should head
there as well. If this is a moment of triumph, we should be on hand
to make it clear that
ours
were the minds wise enough to see
the danger where others dismissed it.”

“But from here it will take more than a week
for us to reach Lost Shepherd’s Point.”

“It is just as well. Even if we miss the
moment of glory, very shortly it will serve us both if no one knows
where to find us.”

“Yes… yes of course.” Sallim thumped the
roof. “I want us heading to Lost Shepherd’s Point,
immediately!”

#

Myranda lay low to Myn’s body, trying to hug
tight to her back just as Grustim did atop Garr. Her mind was
tightly focused on the task of keeping the dragon’s energy up. Her
eyes were shut, her breathing shallow. Myn could be trusted to find
her way, and every last scrap of concentration would be needed to
prevent the faithful creature from exhausting herself.

Only once before had Myn flown so quickly,
and it was after Myranda had been drenched with excess power while
attempting to destroy the open portal. Now she was casting her
spell not only without an overabundance of power, but without
sleep. Already the worst of the desert was beginning to give way to
the more vibrant farmlands of Tressor’s heart.

Doubt crept into her mind. What good would
she be if she exhausted herself to reach her home? Would
any
amount of speed be sufficient to be of any use? Turiel had faced
and at least
survived
both Ether and Ivy, two fellow Chosen
who were
more
than formidable…