The D'Karon Apprentice (67 page)

Myranda clicked the final and most
devastating of fractures back into place, causing Garr to shudder
and roar in pain. He coughed, sending blobs of his potent blood
spattering across the row of soldiers, stinging them terribly, then
drew in a deep breath for the first time since he’d been struck.
Slowly, shakily, he released the breath, and Myranda eased him into
a deep healing sleep. When he drew another breath, it was calm,
steady, and strong.

“There,” Myranda said, standing and placing a
hand on Garr’s head. “It will be a few days before he can stand,
but he is through the worst of it. I thank you for your patience.
If you will allow me, I will see to each of you in turn, or I will
submit myself to your custody. The choice is entirely yours. This
is your land, and I am at this point an uninvited guest, if not far
worse.”

The soldiers stood their ground, their
decision stalemated between her offer of treatment and the unspoken
but clearly understood threat of injury that hung in Myn’s gaze.
Finally, the lead soldier spoke, addressing his men.

“Gather those with the most dire injuries.
Let the woman work…”

They quickly did as they were told. Myranda
cast a glimpse at the closing portal, then turned her attentions as
always to those things that could do the greatest good now,
trusting that her friends could handle the tasks left to them.

#

Deacon stood with his back to the village
walls, watching what he could see of the portal as it gradually
closed. A shield spell of the sort that might actually protect the
village was a massive undertaking. He had the strength for it, but
only just. To give himself and the village the best possible
chance, he knew the wisest thing was to wait until the last moment,
so that he could devote his full strength to the shield itself
rather than squandering strength maintaining it prior to the blast.
Ether, on the other hand, had been quite busy. Shortly after the
soldiers had cleared the way, she’d shifted to stone and crouched,
driving her fingers into the soil and working her influence deep
into the ground beneath them. Piece by piece, rising in stout
columns and toothlike spires, a stone wall assembled itself. She’d
not rested for a moment, fortifying and strengthening every inch of
the wall.

“Deacon, Ether… whoa…” Ivy said, pacing
around the side of the village’s own meager wall and seeing Ether’s
handiwork for the first time.

“What is it?” Ether asked, her voice strained
as she hauled up a final pillar of stone, blocking up the small
sliver of an opening that had offered Deacon his view. This last
piece in place, she climbed atop the wall to view the portal
directly.

“The villagers have been moved to the other
side of the far wall,” Ivy said. “The soldiers are keeping order.
And no one tried to kill me while I was helping.” She cleared her
throat. “Not very hard, anyway. So… it won’t be long now…”

“No. Perhaps another minute. You should get
to safety with the others. No sense you risking your life,” Deacon
said.

Ivy shook her head. “We’re a team. We stick
together. … What do you think will happen if we fail? If the
village is destroyed?”

“I hesitate to think of the consequences. It
is almost a relief to know that if such a thing happens, I quite
likely won’t live to see the aftermath.”

“A few moments more,” Ether said. “Prepare
yourself.”

The shapeshifter dropped down from the wall
and pressed her stone palms against it. The pillars and spires
shifted, pressing together more firmly, as though the whole of the
wall was bracing itself for impact. Deacon held out his crystal and
dropped to one knee, muttering a quiet incantation to strengthen
the shimmering gold wall that spread forth from the heart of the
gem. With nothing else to do, Ivy held her breath and covered her
ears, watching though squinted eyes as the last of the portal’s
ragged edge dropped below the top of Ether’s wall.

Time seemed to slow to a standstill, each
pounding heartbeat an eternity. The air was for a moment alive with
energy, crackling with a power that made Ivy’s hair stand on end.
Then came the blast. The sound was terrifying, robbing Deacon and
Ivy of their hearing and replacing it with a dull hiss. The shock
of it rattled their bones and shook the very timbers of the
village. Cracks riddled the stone wall, but Ether redoubled her
efforts to keep the wall intact. Fragments were knocked away,
clashing with Deacon’s shield. In all, the blast lasted perhaps
three seconds, a brief time that was nonetheless far longer than
both Deacon or Ether had anticipated. Vicious winds kicked up
pulverized rock and soil, scouring the wall and shield and
consuming the city in a choking gray cloud of dust. Then, as
quickly as it had come, the blast ended.

For nearly a minute the dust hung in the air,
hiding the village from view. Deacon stumbled aside, bumping into
Ivy, who caught and steadied him. He touched his fingers to his
ears, willing a bit of healing magic into them to restore his
hearing before doing the same for Ivy. All they could hear was the
clatter of falling stone and the creak of abused wood. Deacon
squinted, looking forward. At the base of where his shield had been
erected was a row of shattered stone, likely what had been blown
free from—or perhaps all that was left of—the wall Ether had
summoned. A larger than average cluster of stones just ahead of him
began to shift, and the pieces pulled together into Ether’s
fractured form. When she was relatively whole she opened her eyes,
peering around. Rather than squint though the dust any longer, she
shifted to wind and summoned a gale, whisking it away.

Before them was the tattered ruin of Ether’s
wall, still standing in places, but mostly reduced to gravel.
Behind them was the village. Its own wall had more than a few
splintered holes, but it was still standing.

Deacon breathed a sigh of relief, then nearly
fell to the ground as Ivy tackled him in an enthusiastic hug.

“We did it! We did it, everyone!” she
trilled, squeezing Deacon tight.

He nodded. “Yes… we should see to the
soldiers and the people, treat any injuries they may have.” He
looked over their surroundings, eying the massive crater left by
the blast, the torn up, bone-scattered field, and the line of
Alliance troops waiting anxiously in the distance… and still well
south of the border. “And then we should head north. We’ve done
enough…”

The aftermath of Turiel’s actions was far-reaching.
For four tense weeks troops stood at the ready on both sides of the
border. Harsh words were spoken, vicious accusations made. Rather
than see her soar through their skies, Myranda and Myn were
escorted back to the border on foot, avoiding cities. Grustim was
recalled to Ifrur, the home of the Dragon Riders. He was replaced
by two other Riders, each forbidden from even speaking to the
Northern noble or dragon. Those Tresson dignitaries still within
the north were hastily recalled as well, sent south to meet with
their leaders and share what they had learned.

Heated debates and discussions continued,
Queen Caya and her wisest advisers meeting with any who would hear
them. The outlook was grim. Stories of Northern atrocities flooded
the ears of Tresson leaders. Many, even
most
were
apocryphal, imagined evils dreamed up by Tressons eager to see the
borders close and remain so. But among those vicious tales, others
began to emerge. Tales of kindness. Tales of boldness. Soldiers
spoke with respect of the things they had seen. They told of
Myranda’s compassion, even when it was a liability to her cause.
Truth was separated from fiction, and some of Tressor’s own
misdeeds came to light. Brustuum was found. Through him and those
who served him it was learned what he’d known, when he’d known it,
and what he’d sought to do with that information.

After all of the evidence had been weighed
and all with a voice had spoken, the decision was made. The
ceasefire would continue, the fragile peace would be spared. To
affirm the dedication to a lasting partnership between the lands,
it was decided that a massive hall was to be built at the border, a
joint effort between north and south to replace the temporary hall
at Five Point. To celebrate the breaking of the land on this
historic structure, Queen Caya proposed a grand banquet.

When the day of the banquet finally came,
Myranda and Deacon stood in attendance. They were outside, standing
with all of the other prominent figures of the north along the
Alliance side of the border while their counterparts stood
patiently on the Tresson side. The air was pleasant, the seasons
finally warming the border region. This made the many layers of
formal clothing that such occasions required somewhat more of a
burden than in prior talks. Croyden Lumineblade, who, among his
many other duties, served as the queen’s herald, was nearing the
end of a short speech that, for some at least, was evidently not
short enough.

“Myn, stop fidgeting,” Myranda whispered,
touching her friend on the leg.

The young dragon stood faithfully beside
Myranda, dressed in her own version of formal attire. This meant
that the broadest of her scales had all been polished to a high
gloss, and around her neck she wore a blue sash that the wind had
wrapped around her like a scarf. From the moment they had arrived,
Myn had been highly distracted, constantly shifting her weight from
foot to foot and keeping her eyes locked on one of the
representatives to the south. In honor of his role in the events
that had transpired, Grustim had been invited to attend. That much
didn’t matter to Myn in the least. What mattered was that he, of
course, had brought along Garr. Not once had Myn let him out of her
sight since she’d arrived.

“You can say hello after the groundbreaking,”
Myranda added.

“Isn’t it adorable?” Ivy cooed, leaning
forward to speak to Myranda from her place on the other side of the
dragon. “Myn’s got a suitor!”

For her part, Ivy had once again donned her
glamorous gown in its three shades of blue. There had, notably,
been a few alterations to the design since last she’d worn it. The
hole she’d cut for her tail was now an embroidered and accented
part of the dress, and rather than the slippers that had initially
been paired, she wore a sturdier, but still elegant, class of shoe.
In what was likely done without the seamstress’s permission, the
fingers of the full-length gloves had been removed. It was a
modification Ivy had made a habit of applying to all of her gloves,
the better to play her instruments without removing them.

“I’m so glad she found a friend,” Ivy said,
turning to Ether beside her and clutching her arm.

The shapeshifter gently pulled herself from
Ivy’s grasp.

“I imagine it must be a pleasant for her,”
Ether said evenly, straightening the sleeve of a gown crafted with
calculated elegance.

For another person such an act would seem
rude, but Ivy grinned. It said a lot that Ether had been gentle,
and that she’d not sneered as she did so. After remaining so cold
and distant for so long, that Ether was even present for this
occasion spoke volumes of her growth over the past few months.

“… And so, it is with great honor that I
raise the ceremonial pick for Her Royal and Imperial Majesty, Queen
Caya, to break ground on the Alliance side of this grand enterprise
on her behalf,” Croyden concluded.

He took a polished copper pick in hand as his
Tresson counterpart across the border did the same, but the queen
stepped forward and stopped him with a tap to his arm. She was
dressed, appropriately for her role in a gown more exquisite than
any other on display. This had briefly not been the case, as Ether
had made it a point to arrive with a gown of such intricate beauty
that it was quite likely impossible for any seamstress to create,
but a few quiet words from the other Chosen had convinced her to
tone it down to mere magnificence.

“Croyden, I think perhaps
I
should
have this honor personally,” she said, smiling broadly.

Lumineblade released a flustered sigh,
replying in a whisper, “Your Majesty, tradition and protocol
dictate…”

She tugged the pick from his grasp.

“I would think by now you’d know my attitudes
regarding tradition and protocol,” she said, hefting the tool
appreciatively. She reached a satin-gloved hand up and plucked the
crown from her head, handing it to him. “Hold this. We wouldn’t
want a repeat of the
last
groundbreaking.”

Croyden nodded in resignation and took the
crown.

Caya nodded across the border. “Esteemed
Ambassador.”

“Your Majesty,” said the distinguished older
Tresson man standing opposite her, one of at least a dozen royal
advisers who had represented the Tresson king during the various
talks.

In unison, each noble struck his or her blow.
The Tresson ambassador’s strike was a feeble one, a symbolic swing
for a symbolic ceremony. Caya’s, on the other hand, showed
practiced form that suggested this was far from her first time with
a pick. She hoisted the tool up and swung it home, burying it
nearly the full depth of the head into the soil. The deed done, she
stepped forward and extended her hand across the border, placing it
on the shoulder of the ambassador and receiving one in kind, the
traditional Tresson salutation. She then stepped back and offered
her hand for a firm shake.

“There! An important job well started,” Caya
said. “You are all welcome in my land. Let our renewed dedication
to peace begin today!”

The rows of attendees began to break,
crossing the border and approaching their counterparts. Seeing the
motion, Myn looked insistently to Myranda and nearly pranced in
place.

“Go ahead,” Myranda said softly.

Myn trotted eagerly forward, parting the
crowd the way only a dragon could, and made her way to Garr. The
normally stoic military dragon, who perhaps in honor of the
ceremony had forgone his helmet, let telltale happiness flicker
across his expression. The two lightly butted their heads together
in greeting.