Again, a simple nod was all Myn had to offer.
Grustim cast his eyes down and wrung his hands.
“It pains me to suggest it… I do believe
there has been treachery here… but in this instance the Alliance
may be the least of the evils.” He looked up. “Step aside.”
She lightly scraped her claws into the
floorboards of the stable, splintering one of them.
“What have I just said? The more you disobey,
the more difficult it will be to convince anyone that Myranda and
Deacon should be allowed to leave. You are only making things worse
for them. Now would you
please
step aside?”
Myn tipped her head, smacked her tongue
twice, as though these words were more acceptable to her, then
carefully adjusted herself to clear the door. When she turned to
face the exit again, she jerked her head back with a start.
Garr loomed in the doorway, eyes intently
focused on hers. He lifted a foreclaw to allow Grustim to step from
inside, then stepped down again when the Rider was clear, clawing
at the ground as he did.
Grustim released a scolding command. Garr
lingered for a moment longer before stepping back. The Dragon Rider
looked at Myn again.
“I do
not
appreciate the bad influence
you’ve been on Garr,” he said to her. “He’s never been this much
trouble.” He grumbled a new command, and Garr spread his wings,
thrusting himself into the air.
“Where is it going?” asked one of the
footmen, startled first by the suddenness of the departure, then by
the realization that the one dragon remaining in the fort was the
property of the enemy.
“I’ve sent Garr to hunt. I must speak to the
dragon’s keeper. Do not close the door to the stable,” Grustim
instructed.
“But we were ordered to secure the
beast.”
“And you have illustrated that you are not
able. Leave the door open and there will be no further trouble.” He
turned to Myn and repeated the phrase in Varden. “
No
further
trouble.”
Myn grumbled something that likely would have
been unrepeatable had it been in a human tongue, but folded her
claws in front of her and laid her head on the ground to soak up
some sun.
Grustim turned back to the soldiers. From
their expressions, they were more than a little awed by his
capacity to, from their point of view, coax dragons into following
his commands through sheer force of will. Again, it was a useful
misapprehension, and he wasn’t eager to disabuse them of it.
“I need to speak to the dragon’s owners,”
Grustim said.
The footman who had fetched him looked
uncertain. “I believe the commander would prefer to deal with the
prisoners personally.”
“I respect the commander’s wishes, but it is
a matter that if left unattended, could make the dragon more
difficult to control.”
As he spoke the final words, he gave Myn a
meaningful glance. The dragon, mischievously recognizing the need
for a bit of emphasis, huffed a curling streamer of fiery breath
from her nostrils. It was a gentle breath, doing little more than
producing a flare of heat and light, but even a gentle flame
bursting from a living creature was quite enough to make a firm
impression upon those who had never seen it before.
“Right this way, Rider.”
#
The damage to the stronghold was such that
most of the hallways connecting the left and right sides were
impassible. Only the entryway had been cleared, and only leading to
the last two fully intact banks of cells. As the soldier led
Grustim forward, then downward, he heard a voice speaking
impeccable Tresson echoing through the row of cells.
“You are taking me to the duke?” Grustim
asked.
“Of course. You said you needed to speak to
the owner of the dragon,” the soldier replied.
Grustim nodded. It was natural, he supposed,
for the soldiers to assume that Deacon was the master. In Tressor a
dragon, at least one owned by a human, was effectively a weapon of
war. War in this kingdom was an exclusively male pursuit. In all of
his interactions with the duke and duchess, however, it was
abundantly clear that she was the one with whom matters of any real
importance should be discussed. It was not until this moment that
Grustim realized how natural and obvious that had become for him in
their brief travels together.
As they drew closer, a few things became
clear. The first was that Deacon either hadn’t grasped the severity
of the sentence he was facing, or else greatly misunderstood the
nature of incarceration. He was chatting amicably with his jailer,
or at least attempting to do so, with no indication that he was
displeased or concerned about his imprisonment. Coincidentally, but
not surprisingly, the subject was precisely the one Grustim had
briefly been ruminating on.
“Really?” Deacon said, fascinated. “Not a
single woman in your entire army?”
“There may be one or two female healers…” the
jailer said. There was a weariness in his tone that suggested,
despite the rather brief time he had been in charge of Deacon, the
assignment had already begun to try his patience.
“But no one in battle? Why?” Deacon said.
“Because our army is made up of only the
finest warriors.”
“I apologize, but I fail to see how that
answers my question.”
“Men are clearly superior to women in matters
of war. We are physically superior, more mentally capable, and
overall better suited to matters of both combat and strategy.”
Grustim was near enough now to see Deacon
standing just inside the bars of his cell, head cocked to the side
and listening intently.
“That has not been my observation. Certainly
there are certain physical differences, which might broadly make
men and women better suited to certain tasks, but in almost all
cases I’ve found men and women quite capable of aspiring to a
stunning level of competence in their chosen tasks, regardless of
what those tasks may be. Have women routinely failed to satisfy the
requirements of your army?”
“We do not recruit or conscript women, nor do
we allow them to enlist.”
“Then upon what do you base your—”
“Duke, I do not mean to interrupt, but there
are a few matters that require your attention,” Grustim said.
“Ah, Grustim!” Deacon said far more brightly
than was suitable for a prisoner of war. “I was just discussing
some very interesting topics with Footman Turill.”
“No doubt. But I must ask some questions,”
Grustim said. He turned to the man who had escorted him. “You may
return to the entryway and await me there. When I am through with
the duke, I will need to speak to the duchess.”
The escorting soldier nodded and departed.
Grustim turned back to Deacon. When he continued, he was speaking
Varden. “In your own language, I feel, it would be more
appropriate.”
“We can certainly do so if you wish, but the
footman doesn’t speak Varden, so he would not be able to contribute
to the conversation,” Deacon replied.
“That is ideal.”
“Oh?”
“I have some questions. I appreciate you will
be inclined to answer at length, but please be brief.”
He nodded. “Not an uncommon request.”
“First, you seemed certain we would find
damage here. Why?”
“I was able to sense the casting of the
spell, and the nature of this D’Karon spell is such that it
unleashes a portion of its unconsumed energy upon completion.”
“Is it a willful attack?”
“No. The burst of energy is a consequence of
the D’Karon tendency to forgo counterspells or other means to
complete a spell without expending the energy poured into it. If
they had sought destruction, it would have been far more
complete.”
“So you would have me believe that what was
done here was done by accident?”
“Perhaps not by accident, but the destruction
was at best secondary to the purpose of the spell, which was to
travel great distances quickly.”
“Mmm… Is it safe to say if this agent of the
D’Karon had wished to destroy the stronghold, she would have done
so?”
“I cannot speak with certainty, as I do not
know anything of the person responsible, but if the opening of
portals is any indication of the knowledge and tactics available to
her, then it is quite likely the destruction of an undermanned
stronghold would be well within her capabilities.”
“Then why would she not?”
“I cannot venture a guess.”
Grustim nodded. “At the very least it would
seem wholesale destruction is not the aim.”
“I concur. May I ask, have you had much
headway in your discussions with the commander? Does he seem a
reasonable man?”
“We’ve not had much to say to one another,
but I am not confident he will be inclined to offer you leniency,
or even fairness, regardless of what we find to be the truth. You
are, in his eyes, still the enemy, and having captured you he won’t
likely give you up unless forced. This far from a command, an
official proclamation requiring it is unlikely to reach him anytime
soon, and it would be quite simple for him to ignore it or deny he
had received it.”
“That is… most disheartening.”
“I’ve been offered this opportunity to
discuss matters with you because of the disobedience of your
dragon.”
“Myn hasn’t done anything regrettable, has
she?”
“She has been willful. In light of her age,
the circumstances, and her lack of formal training, I would say she
has been showing remarkable restraint.”
Grustim glanced at the jailer. While he was
not showing any sign of understanding, he was beginning to appear
impatient, with the beginnings of suspicion showing in his
gaze.
“I believe the time has come for me to move
on to discuss matters with Myranda. You’ve been stripped of your
equipment, correct?”
“I have.”
“Am I correct in assuming that despite this,
both you and the duchess are more than capable of escape?”
“We are quite skilled in unfocused casting,
but we will not escape. We have surrendered. To escape after
surrendering would jeopardize the lives of any Northerners who
might surrender in the future. The precedent of Alliance members
surrendering only to later escape would encourage Tresson soldiers
to kill surrendering Alliance troops from that point forward. The
circumstances would have to be truly dire for either of us to even
entertain the possibility of escape.”
“A wise view. Let us hope that we can all
recognize dire enough circumstances should they present themselves.
A final question. Your pad. The one through which you’ve
communicated with the others to the north. Are there any tricks to
its operation?”
“Simply open it and read it. If you wish to
send a message, simply address it to the intended recipient with a
double underline and write it with the stylus.”
“And would you oppose my fetching it and
reading its contents?”
“By all means, do so, if you feel the need or
believe it will help. In fact, I’d been so distracted with the
prospect of what we might find here and how to plan for it, I’d not
thought to check if there were any new messages since after we took
to the air again.”
“Then perhaps the time has come to
investigate once more.”
Grustim nodded to the jailer and paced back
toward the entryway. The soldiers who locked up Myranda and Deacon
had wisely chosen to separate them as much as possible, thus
putting them on either side of the impassible portion of the keep,
roughly in the same cell on opposite sides. Unlike Deacon, who had
taken the opportunity to indulge his rampant curiosity, Myranda was
sitting quietly in her cell. Her jailer was similarly silent,
though his eyes were locked on Myranda, mindful of what she’d
managed in the courtyard and wary of what might happen if she chose
to put such arcane powers to work again.
“Esteemed Rider,” said the jailer, standing
and thumping his fist to his chest.
“Footman. I need to speak to the duchess.
Tell me, do you speak Varden?”
“I do, a bit.”
“And do you read it?”
“I do.”
“Do you know where the duke and duchess’s
things are being kept?”
“I do.”
“If you would be good enough, go and fetch
them for me. Their dragon has been misbehaving, and I believe there
may be some indication of how best to properly deal with her
disobedience among the duke’s things. In his pack you will find a
small booklet affixed with a bell. Bring it to me please. I will
look after the duchess until you return.”
“As you wish, Rider.”
His escort and the jailer went on their way,
leaving Grustim alone with Myranda.
“I’ll make this brief, Duchess. I’ve spoken
only briefly with Commander Brustuum, but I am not pleased with
what I’ve heard. There is little doubt that a great deal of lies
has been spoken about the woman responsible for this devastation
and the circumstances surrounding her escape. Much as it pains me,
I am quite certain the commander has told more than his share of
them.”
“Why would he lie about anything that’s
happened here?”
“I do not know. It is my intention to
confront him with those things I know to be false.”
“He doesn’t strike me as the stable sort,”
Myranda said.
“Agreed. And regardless of the outcome, there
will
be consequences. If there is even a kernel of truth to
what I’ve heard thus far, there can be no doubt that this attack,
purposeful or not, was perpetrated by a woman native to your
kingdom while our lands were observing a truce. That is an act of
war, and more than enough reason for troops to march once more. If
there is
no
kernel of truth, then a representative of my
military took Alliance nobility prisoner without cause, which is
more than enough justification for your people to resume the war
again. I can foresee no circumstance in which what has happened
here will not lead to more bloodshed.”