“Is something wrong?” Deacon asked, he and
Myn stopping as well.
“I’ve just realized—I’m supposed to be a
representative of the throne and an ambassador for my people, and
I’ve been flying on the back of a dragon.” She shed her cloak and
tucked it under one of the straps of Myn’s harness. “I must be a
mess.”
She smoothed down her blouse and leggings,
both a great deal more formal than she was accustomed to. By
rights, on an occasion such as this she should have been wearing a
gown, but such clothes were not designed with travel by dragon in
mind. Instead she selected the finest alternative she could, each a
shade of Alliance or Kenvard blue. After half a lifetime of
wandering from town to town struggling to survive, the concept of
dressing for grace and elegance rather than practicality was one
she was slow to warm to, and the idea that someone might require
her hair or face to look a certain way tended to slip her mind.
“You look lovely as ever,” Deacon said.
“Though I suppose a bit windswept.”
Myranda pulled a blue ribbon from one of her
bags and conjured a simple whisper of magic to smooth the tangles
from her hair before she tied it back. When Deacon had stowed his
cloak, she helped him put himself in order as well.
“I’m not entirely certain I’m suited for this
aspect of diplomacy,” she said. “It’s never been something I’ve had
to concern myself with.”
“If appearance has any more than a cursory
impact on matters of state, then I would suggest the entire process
is badly in need of reassessment,” Deacon said.
Thus prepared, they continued on their way,
though with each step, Myn seemed more distracted. She sniffed the
air, her eyes wide with interest and curiosity. Ahead, the Alliance
Army soldiers on the north side of the border were assembling
themselves for the approach of three ambassadors, and a small group
stepped out of the Tresson guard post. Unlike Myranda, they had
arrived by carriage and therefore were outfitted in the full
regalia of their position. Each of the three emissaries wore
flowing, airy robes made from fine, thin cloth the same
yellow-orange of ripe peaches. The trim of each was a shade of red,
though Tressor was a single kingdom rather than an alliance of
them, so the shade here indicated rank. The deepest red was worn by
a tall, portly man with short salt-and-pepper hair and a full beard
that was more silver than black. He wore a tall, round hat made
from some sort of stiff cloth. His face was stern—not cruel or
angry, but serious and steadfast—and his skin the dark color of a
native Tresson. A step behind him on each side stood similarly
dressed men, also with short dark hair, but lacking the hat and
bearing trim closer to yellow than red. There was something about
them that Myranda couldn’t quite identify. Their presence was…
significant in some way.
As the Tresson diplomats approached, their
soldiers lifted aside the Tresson gate. The Alliance soldier did
the same. Myranda stepped forward to greet her equal. He lifted his
right hand, she did the same, and they clasped one another’s left
shoulder. With the gesture complete, Myranda held her right hand
out and he did the same, clasping it in a firm shake across the
border.
Myranda cleared her throat and, in her best
Tresson, stated, “It is my honor and privilege to meet you as a
representative of my people, and it is my profound hope that this
is merely the first step toward a lasting peace between our
lands.”
“May our children know only peace, but may
they never forget this war,” he said in response, in excellent
Varden. “I am Ambassador Valaamus. And you are the mythic Duchess
Myranda Celeste. It is truly humbling to know that the lives of
countless thousands of soldiers on my side and yours could have
been plucked from the jaws of endless war by someone so young, and
so lovely.”
He had an avuncular disposition that seemed
at odds with his serious expression, but nonetheless his words
seemed as sincere as they were impeccably pronounced. If his
pleasant and welcoming demeanor was an affectation, it was a
masterful one.
“You flatter me, Ambassador. I was but one of
those responsible. As much thanks can be given to my fellow
ambassadors. May I introduce Deacon?”
“The scholar! We have heard of you as well,”
he said, exchanging the shoulder clasp and handshake with him too.
“And this is the mighty dragon, Mine.”
Myn glanced briefly at the ambassador but
quickly resumed her curious sampling of the air. She had her
forepaw raised, as though ready to bound across the border to
investigate whatever it was that had caught her interest, but she
held her ground faithfully beside Myranda.
“It’s Myn, actually, but yes,” Myranda
said.
“Ah, my apologies. I have only seen it
written. A fine specimen, and expertly trained.”
“Not trained. Just observant and eager to
please,” Myranda said. “If you don’t mind the observation, I’ve
seldom met a group who so gracefully handled their first
introduction to Myn.”
“Like many in service to the Tresson throne,
I am no stranger to the company of dragons. To that end, I suppose
it is best that I introduce our protector for this tour.” He turned
and clapped his hands, barking a sharp order in Tresson that was a
much better match for his expression. “Grustim, to my side!”
The hiss of heavy breath and the sound of
rustling grass came as a reply. The ground shook lightly as a long
shadow separated itself from that of the Tresson guard post. A
stout full-grown dragon slid from behind the post. It must have
been curled up behind the building, because now that it was
visible, it was astounding that the little structure could have
hidden it so completely. The beast was a bit larger than Myn
overall, but also of a
much
thicker build. Rather than the
red of Myn’s scales, this beast’s were a deep forest-green along
its back, and its belly scales were a similar but lighter gold
color to hers. Its snout was shorter and broader, its lower jaw
jutting just a bit further than its upper one and featuring a
bristly “beard” of downward-pointing horns. Its eyes were smaller
than Myn’s and set slightly deeper in its head. The two forelegs
had a wide, almost bulldog-like build, and the horns and spines of
its head were longer, more numerous, and more vicious. The same
could be said of the spikes running down its spine and along the
back of its long neck. Its most peculiar features, though, were the
accessories on its head and back. Strapped over its face was a
sculpted metal plate, something between a mask and a helmet. The
armor was covered with green enamel that was a precise match for
its natural color, and here and there silver scrapes and gouges
gleamed through the coating. A second bundle of metal nestled
between its neatly folded wings, this time made of a strange
assortment of overlapping plates of the same green color. When the
dragon had taken its position just behind the diplomats, this metal
bundle moved.
Gradually the form of an armored human seemed
to coalesce on the creature’s back, though it was quickly clear
that his armor was simply designed to match the hide of the dragon
so closely it had been difficult to tell where one ended and the
other began. The human smoothly dismounted with a jingle of plates.
For anyone who had never ridden a dragon in flight, the armor would
have seemed nonsensical. The helmet was rounded and flared out at
the neck, and the back plates shared a similar flared and
overlapping shape. The tops of the shoulders came to a pointed
ridge, and the belly was lightly armored with smooth plates and
thin mail. When standing, the plates jutted awkwardly out behind
him and seemed to offer little protection, but when riding low
against the dragon’s back, the gaps closed and he may as well have
been an extension of the beast.
At the first glimpse of the beast, Myn froze
in place. She then took a cautious step forward, subtly placing one
huge paw slightly in front of Myranda. She craned her neck,
stretching it forward as far as she could without leaving her spot,
and drew long, slow whiffs of the beast’s scent. Every muscle in
her body seemed tense, and her eyes were wide and locked on the
other dragon.
“You may be the first Northerners in two
hundred years to see a Tresson Dragon Rider without his lance in
hand. This is Grustim Terrim, the fourth Rider of Mikkalla and
Shaal’s Terrible Green Gristle,” said the ambassador.
“It is an honor and a pleasure to meet you,
Grustim, and you as well… I’m sorry, how should I address the
dragon?”
“You address dragon and Rider as one. I refer
to them as Grustim, you may do the same. Though for the purposes of
this tour, they serve as our escorts only and need not be addressed
at all. Similarly my attendants are merely record keepers and
servants for this journey. Consider me your host. But please, we
have reached across this line in the earth for long enough. Please
allow me to formally invite you to my land so that we can begin
this tour properly.”
He stood aside and spread his arm
magisterially to the land beyond. Myranda stepped forward and onto
the soil of Tressor. Deacon followed. Myn remained where she was
for a moment, eyes still locked on the green dragon. When she
glanced down and noticed Myranda stepping past the ambassador and
toward the beast, she quickly strode forward and placed herself
between them. With her forepaw planted firmly in front of Myranda
to keep her from getting any closer, she extended her neck again,
sniffing at the foreign dragon.
“Myn, relax. No one here means us any harm,”
Myranda said.
The ambassador chuckled, somehow managing to
sound mirthful while the humor barely registered on his face, and
paced onward. Myranda tried to follow but had to step further and
further aside as Myn angled herself to separate her and Deacon from
the Dragon Rider and his mount. For their part, both the green
dragon and the Rider stood impassively, keeping an eye on the
newcomers but otherwise offering no indication of interest or
concern. When the others were far enough ahead, the Dragon Rider
made a barely audible sound in his throat, and his steed slightly
raised the forepaw nearest to him. The Rider stepped on and, with a
smooth motion of both man and beast, vaulted into place on the
dragon’s back. Myn kept careful pace beside them, never taking her
eyes from the pair.
“Our carriage will return for us shortly.
Horses, if well trained, will ride beside a dragon, but try as we
might we could not get them to calm when
standing
near one.
I sent them ahead,” Valaamus said.
“Yes, it usually takes a few days before any
new horses will ease themselves around Myn,” Myranda said.
“I hope you don’t mind a bit of walking while
we await their return.”
“Of course not. May I ask what has been
planned for this tour? We were not given many details. This all was
organized quite swiftly.”
“Yes, I’m quite curious as well. I’ve heard
of many wonders of this land,” Deacon said, pulling out his book
and stylus. “I attempted to find literature concerning your land to
prepare for this journey, but there was little to be found.”
“Is it any wonder?” Valaamus said. “If you
found any, might I politely suggest you disregard it. Those things
written of one’s enemies during war tend not to paint a flattering
picture. I hesitate to think what the common folk have read of you
and your people. It is that sort of thing that we hope to change.
But I ramble. When the carriage arrives, we shall set off
immediately to the first point of interest. With luck we will reach
it by nightfall. There we shall see the Memorial for Fallen
Officers and spend the night. The following morning we shall
discuss the remainder of the itinerary, as it is currently
somewhat… fluid. In two weeks time you will make an official
appearance at the capital for a banquet in your honor. From there
any further stops will be discussed and planned for. I apologize
for the lack of specificity but… well, the circumstances prohibit
it.”
“I very much look forward to the sights and
knowledge your people have to offer. I’m already most impressed
with your mystics,” Deacon said.
Valaamus glanced to him, his expression
unchanged. “Oh? Have you observed them in some way?”
“Only since my arrival, obviously,” Deacon
said simply. He turned to the ambassador’s two attendants. “I’m
particularly impressed with your suppression techniques.”
Myranda kept her expression steady, but with
Deacon’s words came a flash of realization. Now that he’d drawn
attention to it, it seemed obvious in retrospect. Everyone, whether
mystically inclined or not, had an aura of power about them.
Sensing this was among the first lessons a wizard would learn, and
shortly thereafter it became second nature. Both attendants at
first blush seemed to have the same subtle power to them that any
human might. But it was wrong somehow… like the shifting subtle
energy was an illusion covering something else.
Deacon turned back to Valaamus. “For a moment
I wasn’t certain your men were trained mystics at all. Quite
effective. It wasn’t an area of focus for me, but I would be happy
to discuss my own—”
Myranda touched his shoulder, quieting him.
“I think such matters can wait for our next visit.”
“Yes. Time is short,” Valaamus said quickly.
“Let us be sharp in our focus.”
“Yes. Of course,” Deacon said.
Valaamus gave his men a brief but significant
glance and they retreated a few steps behind the rest of the group.
In the distance, a form appeared on the road, turning the bend
around a small stand of trees.
“Ah!” said the ambassador. “The exquisitely
timed return of our coach. Let us be properly on our way.”
The ambassador quickened his step to greet
the carriage. Deacon stepped a bit closer to Myranda.