The D'Karon Apprentice (19 page)

Myn watched the demonstration evenly, eyes
narrow and neck rigid.

“Remarkable what a difference some training
can make,” Deacon said, appreciating the technique.

Myn huffed a breath through her nose and
bounded forward, her steps long and spirited. She unfurled her
wings and held them out, catching the wind and taking to the air
with a leap. Whether it was her intention to show off or not, she
certainly took to the sky with a grace and confidence that was
every bit the match for Garr’s precision. Once in the air, Myn
worked her wings to close the gap. The two dragons rose high into
the sky. Once they’d reached the proper height, they each caught
the same breeze and settled into a soar.

Myranda leaned back slightly, and Deacon went
so far as to open his bag to fetch a book. Travel by dragon-back,
at least as far as Myranda had experienced it, was mostly soaring.
Myn’s great wings caught the air, and with the aid of a few warm
updrafts she could fly for hours without once flapping. Normally
the journey from this point on would be a leisurely glide through
the sky, leaving dragon and rider alike to enjoy the spectacular
view and brisk air. This time, however, Myn had different plans.
Unsatisfied with trailing Garr, she swooped aside, then worked her
wings until she was beside him.

Garr turned his head slightly, eying Myn. The
female dragon returned his gaze, then shifted it to Grustim. The
Rider was watching through the eye slits of his helmet, almost
matching Garr’s own helmet-obscured gaze perfectly. He leaned low
and grunted an unheard order. Garr looked ahead and put his wings
to work, increasing his speed. Myn accelerated to match him.
Myranda and Deacon leaned low, the wind rushing by forcefully as
the dragon gained speed.

So began a very memorable flight. Myn and
Garr went motion for motion, matching each other’s speed despite
Myn’s slightly smaller size and much greater load. Garr dove and
surged forward, but Myn mirrored the maneuver and inched ahead.
Then came the swoops and rolls. Through intuition, training, or
perhaps instruction from his Rider, Garr seemed to be innately
aware of where the strongest updrafts and most useful tailwinds
would occur. He dipped here, rose there, darted aside, and tucked
his wings, always to maneuver into a better wind and thus ahead of
Myn. She wouldn’t have it, finding her way to the same breeze
through imitation when possible and through sheer effort when that
failed. It made for a rough journey for Myranda and Deacon.

“I had… not anticipated this degree of
maneuvering…” Deacon said, speaking between swoops. He had one arm
tight around Myranda’s waist and the other hand clutching his
casting gem in case his grip proved insufficient.

Myranda adopted the same speaking patterns,
holding her breath and bearing down when Myn decided a dive or turn
was in order. “I think she… might be showing off.” She leaned a bit
closer and gave Myn a firm pat on the neck. “Don’t push yourself
too hard. We’ve got a long way to go!”

“Perhaps not for today. Grustim seems to be
motioning for a landing,” Deacon said, more than a bit
relieved.

Garr did indeed seem to be pulling into a
spiraling descent. Myranda and Deacon had spent so much time
focusing on keeping themselves seated they hadn’t had a chance to
observe the changing landscape beneath them. The lush green fields
of Tressor, which had been spreading out as far as the eye could
see when they started, now looked a good deal sparser. The green of
the land was a shade closer to yellow, and a vast expanse of sand
and stone loomed in the distance.

A field sprawled below them near a wide
stream. It would be a fine place to spend the night, and Grustim
had likely selected it for just that purpose. Myn saw the potential
as well and decided it was one last chance to show what she could
do. As Garr approached the ground in an easy spiral, Myn tucked her
wings and dove, darting toward the ground as quickly as a falling
stone. At the last possible moment, she spread her wings again and
turned her fall into a speeding glide, then from a glide into a
run. She dug her claws into the dusty ground and slid to a stop a
few strides from the river.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” Myranda
said as she dismounted and stepped back to observe her friend.

Myn was heaving breath, visibly exhausted,
but had a defiant gleam in her eye as she watched her rival draw
nearer. He landed with the same crisp precision as his takeoff
nearly a full minute after Myn touched down. The female strutted up
to him, head held high, and swished her tail. Though she spoke no
words, her body language made it clear that it had been a race, and
she had won. Though a dragon’s expressions are difficult to read,
Myranda had become something of an expert. Even with his helmet to
hide all but his eyes, Garr was visibly irritated. It was worth
noting that he was not winded in the slightest, his breathing as
slow and steady as it had been when they left that morning. He
stepped slowly to the riverbank and lowered his head to drink. Myn
did the same, gulping almost desperately at the water.

Grustim jumped from his dragon’s back and
stormed up to Myranda.

“Is that… did you… is that what you…” he
stammered, hands shaking. “My superiors have asked me to speak with
care, but care be damned. How
dare
you treat your dragon
that way?”

“I don’t understand,” Myranda said.

“Look at her! She is exhausted! If you feel
the need to illustrate the supposed superiority of your precious
Alliance over my people, then that is to be expected, but to do so
at the expense of your dragon is unacceptable!”

“Grustim, I assure you, I required
nothing
of Myn. I asked her to save her strength, but she
chose to do otherwise. Myn
loves
to fly, and I’ve always
left the task to her to do as she sees fit,” Myranda said. “She
didn’t do anything that Garr didn’t.”

“Garr was carrying but one rider and has been
conditioned for aerial maneuvers. I was
attempting
to keep
him ahead of you, as I am expected to be your
escort.
”

Myranda stepped up to Myn’s side. “Myn, look
at me for a moment,” she said, worried.

The red dragon raised her head from the
river, licking the water from her chin with a curl of her
tongue.

“Are you all right? You didn’t overtax
yourself, did you?”

Her breathing was still heavy, but it was
beginning to return to normal. She gave Myranda a nudge with her
nose and dropped her head to the ground, angling for the usual
affection.

“You promise me you’ll behave tomorrow. Garr
is an ally, not a rival. Understand?”

Myn rumbled in her throat and gave a subtle
nod.

“Good,” Myranda said, scratching her on the
brow. She turned to Grustim. “What shall be done for food?”

Grustim glared at her for a moment, judgment
in his expression. “The Dragon Riders are granted hunting rights in
all of Tressor, but the same cannot be said of Myn. Accompanied,
she might be permitted to hunt, but in light of her lack of
restraint in the air I believe it best if she remains here. Grustim
and I will fetch a proper meal. When I return I will ready a
fire.”

“I’ll see to the fire. Thank you,” Myranda
said.

The Dragon Rider tapped his mount. Garr
raised his head from the river and huffed a breath of flame to
sizzle the moisture from his helmet. He then helped Grustim to his
back. Once the Rider was in place, Garr looked to Myn and Grustim
to Myranda, then the pair dashed off into the fields. Myn stood
rigidly and watched them go, her muscles tensed with the desire to
spring after them.

“No, Myn. We are in their land. We must honor
their laws. If you must help, help me gather some wood for the
fire.”

Myn watched reproachfully as Garr bounded off
into the distance, then padded along beside Myranda and Deacon
toward a small stand of trees. With a slow rake of her claws, she
stripped a large tree of several of its smaller branches, then
clutched them in her teeth to carry them. By the time they had
returned to the riverside, she’d caught her breath, though the
occasional huff of anger still hissed from her nose.

“I must say,” Deacon remarked. “Having been
the object of Myn’s ire in the past, it comes as a bit of a relief
to see her angry at someone else.”

“I thought she was through with this
jealousy,” Myranda said. She turned to the dragon. “You get along
so well with the people of Kenvard, Myn. You’ll have to learn to do
the same with the people of Tressor as well. Here, this is an
excellent place. You can drop the wood and break it up a bit,”
Myranda instructed.

Myn let what was probably Myranda’s weight in
lumber fall from her jaws and dragged her claws across it twice,
easily shredding it. Deacon and Myranda went to work finding stones
the proper size to ring the fire.

“There, scoop out a bit of a hollow,” Myranda
said.

The dragon clawed away the stubby plains
grass and then plopped down on the ground, lying on her side with
her head upright and alert.

Myranda released a contented sigh. “You know
something? The circumstances are trying, but… I do believe I missed
this. There is something so peaceful, so serene about readying a
camp for the night.”

“The weight you carry upon your shoulders is
a great one. Any respite must be precious.” Deacon patted Myn on
her neck. “And the task
is
made easier with Myn’s help.”

Myranda pile the wood into a suitable
arrangement while Deacon placed the stones. “I suppose the
simplicity is a part of it. But… for so many years I roamed the
north looking for a place that I could call my home and dreaming
that I’d finally have a family to share it with.”

She stepped back and nodded to Myn, who
puffed a jet of flame until the wood began to burn.

“Then I found Myn. Suddenly those little icy
clearings or frigid alcoves weren’t places of solitude. In a way,
before I was finally able to return to Kenvard,
this
was my
home. Not any one place. Just a warm fire, dear friends, and the
firm knowledge that there were important things to be done the next
day. What more could anyone
want
?”

She eased herself down and leaned against
Myn’s chest. The dragon curled her head around to rest at Myranda’s
side. Deacon approached and sat by Myranda’s other side. Myn
quickly shifted to push her head between them. Thus situated, the
three waited, each of their minds turned to the tasks and riddles
of the day.

#

The sun sagged in the sky as Ether’s
delegation approached its first major stop. Their journey had taken
them through a very carefully selected strip of the Low Lands,
following the former border between Vulcrest and Ulvard toward one
of the north’s most notable features: the seemingly endless
Ravenwood Forest. It was a frosted green ocean of pines, scattered
with the occasional hearty oak, maple, or ash. Their destination
was a large, well-supplied inn called The Eagle’s Terrace in a town
known as Highpoint. As the name would suggest, Highpoint was
located upon a large hill in the otherwise flat expanse of the Low
Lands. This gave the town in general and the inn in particular a
fine view of Ravenwood in all of its glory.

“We have arrived,” Ether said.

“So I see,” Maka replied.

The pair had chatted for the duration of the
trip, though Ether’s asocial manner left Maka with the burden of
keeping the words flowing. He’d been quite up to the challenge,
asking questions, enjoying the answers, and offering his own
observations in exchange. Ether’s replies were flavorless,
bordering upon clinical. Invariably she spoke of the nation and its
society as though she were well outside of it, an observer and
nothing more. Nonetheless, her answers were thorough, accurate, and
offered a scope of perspective stretching centuries into the
past.

Ether stepped out of the carriage into the
street outside when they reached their destination. The town was
built in such a way that all roads seemed to lead to the inn, with
the main street sloping downward and angled for a clear view of the
forest in the distance. Maka stepped down from the carriage behind
her.

“Ravenwood,” Ether said. “The largest forest
in all of the Alliance.”

“Impressive. A rival for our own Great
Forest,” Maka said.

“Ravenwood supplies most of the wood for the
Low Lands, which spans the border between the Vulcrest and Ulvard
regions. It continues to grow, and has done so for many thousands
of years in spite of the harvesting. It could easily supply the
needs of a land many times the size of the Alliance without
decreasing in size. Several potent mystical leylines meet at many
points, fueling the energies of the place and making it a fine home
for wildlife and mystic entities alike. No human knows its interior
fully, with large swathes completely untouched by man.

“Highpoint is the oldest and largest town in
the area, built as a fort when the kingdoms were separate, it has
since stripped away its walls and grown far beyond its original
limits. The Eagle’s Terrace is the centerpiece to the town, one of
the finest inns in half the kingdom. It was considered as a
possible host for the queen’s summit prior to the decision to
temporarily restore Five Point.”

Maka nodded and watched as the crowd, which
had gathered as the carriage approached, was held at a distance by
the imposing presence of a dozen guards. Most eyes were turned to
the Tresson ambassador and his delegation, some with curiosity,
most with far more vicious emotions.

“Again I see your countrymen are not pleased
by our visit,” Maka said.

“With the exception of those who attended the
queen’s coronation, you are the first Tressons to travel this far
north in more than one hundred and fifty years. You are the first
Tresson most of these have ever seen outside of a battlefield.
Human emotions are stubborn and foolish. They linger long after
their source has departed.”