The D'Karon Apprentice (3 page)

“If the matter of Myn has been settled, I
can’t imagine what remains can be
too
troublesome.”

“Then you underestimate just how confounding
the nuances of diplomacy can be. Naturally they will not simply
allow us to come traipsing through their kingdom without an envoy
of their own coming to the Northern Alliance. It is something of an
exchange.”

“That’s a fine idea,” Deacon said. “The more
we understand each other, the better our relations will be in the
future.”

Caya grinned. “I’m
sure
that’s their
thinking as well. There will be three of them, and as we have three
kingdoms that make up our alliance, they intend to send one
representative to each.”

“Excellent,” Myranda said.

“And they have requested the honor of being
escorted in their journey by
our
most honored subjects, the
Guardians of the Realm and Heroes of the Battle of Verril.”

Myranda tried to suppress a smirk. “I
see.”

“Yes… With you, Deacon, and Myn in Tressor,
I’ll personally be hosting the envoy to what was Vulcrest, as it
won’t require us to venture far from the site of the talks. That
leaves only two Guardians of the Realm to go around.”

“Ivy and Ether…” Deacon said. “I’m not
entirely
certain Ether has the proper skills to be a
diplomat.”

“And while Ivy will no doubt be a wonderful
host, she…” Myranda began.

“Is a malthrope, and they don’t like them any
better in Tressor than we like them up here. They are
quite
aware, and insist it will not be an issue.” She took another drink.
“It’ll be interesting, and it won’t be without incident. But if
this world could survive one hundred and fifty years of war, we’ll
have to hope it can survive at least a year of peace.” She set her
cup down and clapped her hands. “Well then. With business settled,
let’s get a proper meal on the table and a proper brandy in our
cups.”

Caya turned to call for service, but Deacon
hesitantly raised his hand. “If I may?”

The queen turned to him flatly. “You
ransacked a horde of abominations to protect the city that I now
call my home. You needn’t ask for permission to raise a subject.
Speak up!”

“How will communication be handled during
this journey?” Deacon asked.

Myranda smiled and leaned back. “I’d nearly
forgotten!”

“I imagine the same way we always do. Each
envoy will have runners, and messages will be relayed. I understand
they use messenger falcons in Tressor.”

“Might I suggest an alternative?” he asked,
digging through his bag.

He produced a small, unassuming notebook. The
covers were made from thin leather without any noticeable markings.
The binding was at the top, and it was barely the size of Caya’s
open hand. Affixed to the binding was a length of string. Midway
along the string was a tiny silver bell, and at the end was a
smooth gray stylus. Caya flipped through the pages to find it
empty.

“I’ve prepared seven of these. One each for
myself, Myranda, Ivy, Ether, and you, plus some spares to be left
in central locations. I sent another via messenger to the capital a
few weeks ago, which should have arrived by now,” he said. There
was pride in his voice.

“I don’t imagine you are merely suggesting we
pass these pads between us with the messengers.”

“No, of course not. There would be no need!
These are much more convenient. Watch.” He arrayed the remaining
six on the table. “Write the word ‘all’ and underline it
twice.”

Caya looked at Myranda with a raised eyebrow
and received an encouraging look in return. With a few crisp swipes
of the stylus, she scrawled the word. Despite the lack of ink, a
clear black line followed the tool. When she’d drawn the final
line, the covers of the other books flipped open and the styli
rose, ringing their bells as they did.

“Now write something,” he said.

Caya scribbled her name. The other styli
quickly duplicated it exactly.

“It is the same enchantment I’ve used to
transcribe my notes, modified somewhat. You can address a message
to anyone or everyone that has one of these books. Simply write
their name, underline it twice, and write the message.”

The queen nodded in appreciation, though her
attitude was more like that of a parent humoring a child. “Clever.
I see there are only eight pages.”

“The book will never fill. There will always
be at least four blank pages, and the note you are searching for
will always be on the second page.”

She nodded again, this time a bit more
genuine in her interest. “We’ll certainly put it to the test with
this mission. Enough business. Let us dine!”

#

Not long after their meeting with Caya, Myn
soared through the icy skies nearing New Kenvard. Myranda’s mind
was heavy with the task ahead, but even so she couldn’t help but
marvel at the view. The magic of flight, of traveling so far, and
seeing so much all at once, had never truly worn off. From above,
things were simple, beautiful. Patches of white snow striped with
gray roads and mottled frosty green forest painted the landscape.
Cities were mosaics, intricate and unique. Even her own home, the
devastated ruins of a place once known as the city of Kenvard,
seemed almost elegant from the skies.

The illusion faded as she circled lower and
more details became clear. The palace was little more than rubble.
Whole streets and quarters lay abandoned and decaying. The walls
were hastily patched in some places and wholly missing in others.
What few buildings still stood were cold, lifeless structures
constructed by the forces that had occupied the city after its
collapse. New Kenvard, the capital of the region of the same name,
was a broken city. The fact was made all the more tragic for those
who remembered what it had been.

Kenvard was once a grand place, at its peak
rivaling even Verril in size and importance. That was long ago,
before the Kenvard Massacre. There was some question of who was
responsible for the deeds of that day. Most believed it was the
Tressons, though in her battles Myranda had learned it was—as was
the case with so many tragedies in recent history—the work of the
D’Karon. Regardless of how it happened, the massacre had cost
Myranda her home and her family and claimed the lives of nearly
everyone she cared about. She was among the few residents of the
city who escaped. Now it was her task to put the pieces back
together, a process that had so far produced a neat and orderly
fringe on an otherwise decrepit ruin.

Myranda looked down at her city, smiling at
the activity and life that was returning, even if it was coming
slowly. At the southern edge, the city crews of workers bustled
clearing streets and rebuilding shops and homes. Myranda and Deacon
were Duchess and Duke of the region—a revival of the old title
granted as a reward for their role in shaking off the yoke of the
D’Karon. As such they were obliged to live in the capital,
something Myranda eagerly agreed to. The first building completed
was a cozy little home not so different than the one she had grown
up in. It was just past the southern gate, the first gate to fall
on the day of the massacre. It seemed only right that the healing
should begin there.

Myn touched down, her graceful glide turning
into a trot. Before she’d taken three strides toward the city, a
figure was sprinting gleefully through the gate to greet them. It
was a malthrope, though at this point it might be fair to say that
she was
the
malthrope. Her face was like that of a fox,
covered in snow-white fur, her lips twisted into a happy grin.
Peering out from that face were the warmest, most expressive eyes
one could ever hope to see, their irises pink and lively. She was
dressed in a slate-blue tunic and shawl with tan trousers, a
magnificent white tail swishing behind her. Even if she wasn’t
already the most visually distinctive resident of the entire
Northern Alliance, the prancing rhythm to her step and undeniable
joy in her every motion would have dispelled any doubt as to who
she was.

“You’re home!” Ivy shouted, bounding up to
Myn and throwing her arms around the dragon’s neck. Myn rumbled
happily in response. If she’d been a cat, it would have been a
purr.

“Ivy, we were only gone for a few days.”
Myranda laughed as she climbed to the ground.

Ivy quickly wrapped her in a tight hug. “I
know, but I missed you. There’s a lot to do, and my head is
spinning. Also, it hasn’t been easy making friends with the
workers. They’re all so busy and… well, they don’t know me like you
do. They’re still stumbling over what I am and not giving
who
I am a try.”

“Give them time, Ivy,” Deacon said.

“I know,” she said, giving Deacon his hug.
“The man setting up the tavern seems nice. He says he may let me
play the violin for the patrons, once he’s ready to open the
doors.”

“That’s an excellent idea,” Myranda said.

Servants rushed out to meet them now. It was
telling that unlike those of Frosnell, the people of New Kenvard
did not seem at all bothered or impressed by the arrival of a
dragon. Indeed, like all other things in the recovering city, it
had quickly been boiled down to a simple procedure so that it could
be dealt with easily and efficiently.

Two stout men wheeled out a sturdy barrow of
potatoes, stopping when Myn spotted them and quickly retreating. As
commonplace as Myn had become in New Kenvard, a dragon advancing
hungrily is the sort of sight that tends to convince one to err on
the side of caution. When they were clear of the food cart, Myn
opened her jaws and gently bit down on it just enough to clutch it
in her teeth. She then curled her neck up, tipping the tool back
and dumping its contents onto her waiting tongue, which curled
around them as she carefully replaced the barrow. She crunched away
happily at the treat while the servants took back the barrow.

Myranda waved off a man attempting to take
her bag, and Deacon did the same. They set off toward the gate to
New Kenvard. Though much of the wall still showed scars of the
massacre, the gateway had been restored, carved stone forming a
sturdy arch. All that remained was to replace the iron gate itself
and the workings to raise it.

“Have you seen my father?” Myranda asked.

“The last I saw he was talking to the crew
trying to clear the main road to the castle. I think they sent
people to fetch him when we spotted you coming,” Ivy said, pacing
along beside them. “How was the trip? What did Caya have to
say?”

“Big news. We’ll be heading out again,
possibly as early as tomorrow,” Myranda said.

Ivy stopped and slouched. “
Already!
But you just got back!”

“It’s important. Once we get warmed up and
father is here, I’ll tell you all at once. Have you seen Ether? But
there’s good news. You won’t be lonely. Did Ether show up at all
while we were gone?”

“No. …
She’s
not the reason I won’t be
lonely, is she?”

Myranda smiled. “No. But we do need to
contact her. This involves her as well.”

Ivy looked to Myn. “I don’t know if I’m going
to like this…”

Myn lowered her head down beside Ivy and
huffed a contented breath, smacking her tongue a bit. Ivy gave her
a scratch.

“I guess we’ll see. Oh!” Ivy said, suddenly
realizing something she’d forgotten. “Come on, Myn. Follow me. We
finished your stable!”

Ivy rushed past Myranda and Deacon, the long
easy strides of the dragon easily keeping pace with her. “You too,
Myranda. And you, Deacon. It’ll only take a minute.”

She hurried along, Myranda and Deacon in tow.
Myranda smiled as Ivy waved a cheerful hello to a pair of
carpenters hauling some long planks.

“Look at her,” Myranda said. “A dragon and a
malthrope on the streets of a city in broad daylight. I was worried
the day would never come, that Ivy would always have to disguise
herself.”

“It would appear that a hero is a hero,
regardless of race,” Deacon said. “Though I understand she didn’t
fare so well in her visit to Bydell a few weeks ago.”

Myranda’s expression hardened a bit. “What
happened?”

“She didn’t tell you?”

“She said she enjoyed herself.”

“I’m sure she did, but she did it at night,
and behind closed doors. There was an… incident.”

“I
asked
you not to tell her,” Ivy
called back sternly.

“What happened? And why didn’t you want me to
know?”

“It was nothing. Some people yelled some
things. Some people threw some things. Most of them were children.
They didn’t know any better. Or old folks, and they’re too stubborn
to change. But never mind that. Look! We just finished this
morning!”

Ivy was standing beside Myranda and Deacon’s
home. Before the massacre, it belonged to a carriage driver who
delivered mail and supplies from Kenvard to the surrounding cities.
As such, attached to it was a rather large coach house. When
Myranda had left not three days ago, the front wall was still
missing and they had only just raised the struts to repair the
roof. Now it was complete, the air still strong with the smell of
fresh thatch and wet paint. The door was a bright, cheery red and
the walls were gray stone.

“It’s just the way I remember it,” Myranda
said, her eyes getting misty at the sight of an image from her
youth. “We would pass this coach house every time we entered the
city.”

“Look inside,” Ivy said, grasping the latch
and pulling it aside.

The inside of the coach house had never been
much to look at. It kept the carriage from the weather, sheltered
the horses, and gave the coachman a place to store his tools and
tack. The walls had been unpainted wood and stone, hung with
equipment or left to gather dust and flies. Such was no longer the
case. Much of the interior had been cleared. There was no longer
any sign of the stables or the workshop for fixing the carriage.
Now it was open and clear. Ivy had clearly been busy in their
absence, as a magnificent mural was painted on the rear wall
depicting Myn herself in various poses. The artwork was gorgeous
and stylized, like something from a storybook. Indeed it told a
story, showing her first as a hatchling curled in Myranda’s lap,
then standing bravely with her wings outstretched, much as she
appeared today, and finally asleep atop a pile of gold eggs nestled
beneath her.