“Well, know that we’ve done all we can to rid
our world of them, and if we find that they have done any harm to
your people, we shall do all in our power to repair the damage and
find those responsible,” Myranda said.
“And if those responsible are indeed
operating under the orders of your crown?”
“I assure you such is not the case.”
“Your army then? You’ve already admitted that
the military was in the clutches of the D’Karon for much of the
war. What if your soldiers were less reluctant to abandon their
former masters than you?”
“If they are the allies of the D’Karon, they
are no allies of ours. They will be brought to justice,” Myranda
said with resolve.
Grustim watched the meat roast, and a heavy
silence sat over the campsite. When the leaden quiet was broken, it
was not with a word, but a growl. Myranda turned to find that
despite her clear reluctance to eat the food offered by Garr, the
rumbling of her stomach betrayed her.
“Are you ready to swallow your pride and eat
what they’ve given? Or will you continue to act like a child?”
Myranda said.
Myn thumped her tail angrily at the ground
once. Garr stood, looking to his Rider, then padded forward and
picked up the meal intended for Myn. She watched him warily. He
took a step closer and dropped it again, practically placing it
between her paws. A conversation began, one that was more felt than
heard. Deep, throaty vibrations Myranda hadn’t heard since her time
in Entwell when Myn and Solomon “spoke.” At that time both dragons
were much smaller. To experience such a conversation at full scale
was almost enough to rattle one’s bones.
When the conversation was through, a final
growl from Myn’s gut served as punctuation. She reluctantly curled
her head down and snapped up the meal.
“There, at least
someone
was able to
talk some sense into you,” Myranda said. She turned to Deacon. “Did
you understand any of that?”
“The language dragons speak to one another
isn’t quite like the languages you or I might speak, or even to the
one they might use to speak to a human listener,” Deacon said. “The
thrust of the argument was that there will be bad hunting where we
land next, and she would be still hungrier when we reach that
place. It is better to eat now than risk waiting. Myn felt certain
she would be able to seek out enough food and took some convincing
otherwise.”
Grustim raised an eyebrow. “You understand
Draconic?”
“I should hope so. I apprenticed in flame
magic under a dragon,” he said.
“Tell me, Grustim. Does Garr speak at all?
Any human languages?” Myranda asked.
“A Dragon Rider’s mount is meant to
understand him and to be understood by him. He needs no other
language besides that of his kind,” he said.
“Though I’ve done my best to do right by Myn,
I admit I don’t know much about dragons. Deacon knows a bit and has
assured me I’ve done her no harm in raising her as I have, but I
still worry. Should I be teaching her to speak? Should I wait for
her to learn on her own?”
“When things are not in a dragon’s nature,
they are best learned when the dragon
chooses
to learn. A
good dragon mount is rare because few take to the training
necessary.”
“I’m curious about your training, and
breeding. Though he spoke little of his past, I believe that my
fire master may have been brought from the same place that the
Dragon Riders—”
“Enough. I have agreed to escort you, not
share the secrets of my kingdom,” Grustim said brusquely.
“Yes… of course,” Deacon said. “My apologies
for overstepping my bounds.”
“Your meal will be finished soon. I suggest
we eat and get to sleep. The sooner we are rested, the sooner we
can continue south.”
“A fine idea,” Myranda said with a nod.
While each of the humans stared quietly at
the shifting flames of the campfire, Myn swallowed and licked the
remnants of her meal from her lips. She gazed at the remaining
portion of the gazelle that had provided the meat for the human
meals and licked her chops once more. Garr, lying beside his Rider,
watched her for a moment, then grumbled something. Grustim’s eyes
darted from the fire to his dragon. He gave a stiff nod and turned
back to the flames.
Garr stood and snatched up the remaining
meat. Myn released a heavy breath and turned away, then turned back
at the sound of the meal dropping to the ground at her feet. She
looked quickly upward and cast a measuring look at Garr as he stood
looking down at her. Finally she stretched her neck until their
noses nearly touched and flicked her tongue across his snout before
accepting the gift.
“Well,” Myranda whispered to Deacon, “at
least some of us are starting to get along.”
#
A wet, dismal snow had begun to fall in
Kenvard as Ivy and her guest continued northward. Strangely, awful
weather like this always made Ivy happy. Perhaps it was because she
was more often than not warm, dry, and safe. Wretched weather
outside reminded her of how wonderful it was to be so. The pleasant
state of mind brought by the dismal weather was pushed far to the
back of her mind, however, as it had produced some unpleasant side
effects. The weather made the roads treacherous and put them far
behind schedule. It was deep in the night before Ivy and Ambassador
Krettis approached what would be their shelter. The lengthy journey
had been enough to take the fight out of both of them, which was a
welcome relief for the malthrope. Her many spats with Ether had
been nothing compared to the venom Krettis could sling when she had
a mind to, though the ambassador took care to make most of her
aggression passive, and all of it political. Thanks to their
agreement to speak their minds, Krettis had done little to veil her
theories of deception regarding the D’Karon.
“I must say, any people who could thrive in
the face of weather like this are worthy of
some
praise,”
Krettis said.
“This is nothing. I’ve seen storms that left
us knee deep in snow after just a few hours,” Ivy said, looking out
the window at the dim lights of the approaching city.
“You seem distracted,” Krettis said.
“I’m excited… and a little nervous,” Ivy
said.
“Why?”
“I’ve never been to Strom. I’m not always
well received the first time I come to a new town.”
“I imagine in this case you’ll be seen as the
lesser of two evils. A delegation of Tressons will surely draw more
scorn than you.”
“You’re talking to a malthrope, remember. Not
everyone has gotten the message that we aren’t to be killed on
sight anymore. And in this case I’m not just a malthrope. I’m a
malthrope who
brought
a bunch of Tressons to their
town.”
They rolled into town, and guards climbed
down from one of the other carriages, approaching the doors of the
primary carriage to escort the delegation to the small inn that
would host them for the night. The cold snow had done them the
favor of keeping the people off the streets, at least initially. A
procession of luxurious carriages entering a town peopled mostly by
port workers, fishermen, and salt-rakers was a curious enough sight
to coax a small crowd out to watch from the shelter of their
eaves.
“Let me disembark first,” Celeste said. “I’ll
try to keep order.”
Ivy sighed shakily. “It’ll be fine. I’ve been
through this a bunch of times.”
Celeste stepped into the horrid weather and
assessed the crowd.
“I don’t understand,” Krettis said, pulling a
thick rain cloak over her outfit. “You are a Guardian of the Realm.
Surely despite your species you would be revered.”
“When people tell stories, they tend to leave
out the parts they don’t like. They don’t always remember that
there was a dragon or malthropes or shapeshifters involved.” Ivy
donned a thinner shawl and slipped a wide-brimmed hat over her
ears. “One of these days I’ll have to have someone tell that
version to me. I’m curious who they replace, and how. Plus, most
people are slow to accept that the five generals were evil. It’s
caused some confusion, and when people are confused they don’t
always embrace newcomers like me.”
Celeste motioned for Ivy and the others to
follow. One by one they stepped out into the streets. Through the
impatient shuffling of the carriage horses, the sloppy trudge of a
dozen boots, and the steady plop and patter of snow Ivy knew that
the humans in her group couldn’t hear the reaction of the crowd,
but
she
could. Even with her ears squished beneath her rain
hat, she could hear the distant conversations hush, then the voices
turn harsh with whispers. And one didn’t need her acute hearing to
see scattered faces scowl in the light of their lanterns. Her heart
dropped a bit.
“Could you please grab the two cases under my
seat in the carriage?” Ivy called to one of the servants unloading
the bags for them. “I think I’m going to need them.”
Ambassador Krettis was by her side. Ivy cast
a look to the crowd and tried to judge their gaze.
“Well… good news for you. I think they’re
more upset about me than they are about you.” She sighed. “You
might want to walk a few steps farther back.”
“Why?” Krettis asked.
Ivy moved suddenly, pivoting around behind
the ambassador and snatching something from the air. It was a
stone.
“They don’t always have very good aim,” Ivy
said.
Two guards descended angrily upon the man who
threw the stone, but Ivy called out to them.
“Leave him be. It didn’t do any harm,” Ivy
said.
The guards were less forgiving, barking
reprimands and threats as the delegation continued forward along
the packed gravel streets.
“How did you know to catch the stone?”
Krettis asked.
“You start to learn what to listen for after
you’ve been hit a few times,” Ivy said, disappointment in her
voice. “It’s been a few weeks since I had to do that.”
The city was one of the larger along the
Kenvard coast. This far north it had never been struck by direct
Tresson attack, though as the war had worn on it had seen its
strongest citizens lost to battle. That left the place with barely
half the population one would expect for a city of its size. Most
houses on the main street were stout, comfortable homes, but
peering down the side streets into the darkness of the night
revealed more than a few homes left empty for years. Some had begun
to succumb to the elements.
Celeste led the way into the inn. Not nearly
as grand as the one in Highpoint, it was nonetheless warm and dry,
which was a curse and a blessing. It was certainly a welcome
respite from the weather, but for those members of the populace
without proper heat in their homes it was a nightly gathering
place. Ideally the keepers would have cleared it in preparation of
the diplomatic procession as they had elsewhere. On a night such as
this it would have been cruel to turn the people away, and an
enterprising innkeeper is disinclined to turn away eager customers
on the best of nights. There was room enough for the guards,
servants, diplomats, and drivers, but only just. The inn would be
packed to capacity, and the Tressons would be rubbing elbows with
the locals.
All eyes turned to the newcomers as slush was
stomped from boots and wet coats were taken by the staff. Some
looked at the malthrope and the dark-skinned strangers with
curiosity. Most looked with distrust or distaste. Celeste shared
some words with a well-dressed man near the doorway, then addressed
the others.
“This man is the operator of the saltern. He
has assured us that tomorrow morning, when the weather has
improved, he will provide the promised tour. I recommend we take
our meal and retire early,” he said.
“I’ve been cooped up in that carriage all
day,” Ivy said, taking off her hat and flicking her ears. “I need
to do something to get the blood flowing a bit, or dinner will
never sit right, and I surely won’t sleep.”
“What did you have in mind?” he asked
warily.
“Who has the cases I asked for? Ah! There!
Give them here!” She turned to Celeste. “I smell good, fresh bread.
Make sure to save some for me. And a nice warm glass of cider for
after.”
She grabbed both of her cases and gracefully
navigated the obstacle course of tables and bodies, working toward
the large, warm fireplace that was inevitably the focus of any inn
in the north.
“Attention!” Ivy called out.
The rare eye that hadn’t been turned in her
direction now darted to her. Fifty or more people inhabited the
establishment, many well on their way to deep inebriation, and none
of them seemed happy. Ivy swept her eyes across the crowd and saw
everything from fear to fascination.
“People of Strom, I thank you for your
hospitality. For those of you who do not know, my name is Ivy. Some
call me Guardian of the Realm, and there are other titles that have
been layered on top of that, but I want you all to call me Ivy.
Today we are joined by our friends from the south. And they
are
our friends. I want you to treat them as such. I can see
that some of you aren’t thrilled about what’s going on right now.
Probably I’m the first malthrope you’ve ever seen, and those are
the first Tressons you’ve seen in a time of peace. I know that most
of you don’t know what to make of us. Well, if there’s one thing
I’ve learned since this all started, it is that things get a lot
easier once you know a bit more about each other. I’ve been telling
Ambassador Krettis and her people all about us, so now I’d like to
share a bit of them with you.”
Voices were beginning to rise, most gruff,
and rude words were beginning to flow. Ivy tried to ignore them,
stepping onto a spare chair to get her head up above the crowd. She
dropped a case onto the mantle.
“If you learn one thing about me, let it be
that I
love
art. Art of all sorts. That’s why I made certain
I got my hands on this before Krettis and her people arrived. It is
a work of art, and the best kind, because it helps to create
other
things of beauty.”