The D'Karon Apprentice Read online

  The D’Karon Apprentice

  Joseph R. Lallo

  Copyright ©2015 Joseph R. Lallo

  Cover By Nick Deligaris

  http://www.deligaris.com

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Peace is a fragile thing. A long war drives a people. It works its way into the minds and souls of a nation, giving them something to live for, and something to die for. When the fighting ends, the prospect of what comes after—the rebuilding and the healing—can be terrifying. The horrors of war are too often more comfortable and familiar than the challenges of peace.

  What had come to be known as the Perpetual War had scoured the lands of the Northern Alliance and Tressor for as long as any could remember. Dark figures, the D’Karon, had risen to positions of power within the Alliance Army. Through this influence they had stoked the war like a furnace, burning away generations of the best men and women of both nations and weakening the world as a whole. It was only through the efforts of the divinely anointed warriors known as the Chosen that the D’Karon were finally defeated, but in many ways it was then that the greatest challenge began.

  After more than a century of fighting, peace was tenuous. Heroes once called upon to vanquish evil were now tasked with holding together the ragged edges of their world until the healing could begin. Too much blood had been shed and too many lives lost to allow war to return. But in a dark place long forgotten, a spark stands ready to ignite the war anew.

  #

  Somewhere deep in the arid wastes of the southern shore of Tressor, a woman lay sleeping. Hers was a deep, dreamless slumber, a slumber unbroken for years. The woman was frail and forgotten, a motionless bundle of ragged cloth and withered flesh. If undisturbed, she might never have awoken, sleeping blissfully until the end of time without troubling the world or its people. But this was not to be.

  Piece by piece her body flickered to life, like soggy bits of firewood sluggishly taking to flame. Her lungs took the initiative, deciding that shallow breaths were simply not sufficient. And so she breathed deep, quickly releasing it as a painful cough. Next her eyes grew weary of the darkness and slid open, feeding her mind images that it was not quite ready to comprehend. Her fingers twitched, her cracked lips parted, her dry tongue smacked, and slowly a word formed in her mind. It took several minutes of effort before it worked its way to her lips.

  “Thirsty,” she croaked in a voice from the wrong side of a grave, startling a nest of mice that had made a home in her hair.

  She slowly scraped together enough of her wits to sit up, stiff joints crackling with every motion. The light was dim, filtering in from the mouth of a low-roofed cave. She swept her eyes around until she found beside her a small cup caked with sand and dust. Beside it was a cork-topped wine bottle. It took three poorly guided grasps before she was able to close her bony hand about the bottle’s neck, and four tries to manage the complex maneuver of pulling its cork free, but persistence earned her a long swig of vinegary swill.

  One need dealt with, her body quickly alerted her of another.

  “Hungry,” she stated, her voice a shade closer to human now.

  Again she scanned her surroundings. There were empty bags chewed through by rodents and the bones of a dozen assorted animals that had been picked clean and bleached white. Nothing even resembling a meal had been in the cave for years. For a moment she contemplated climbing to her feet and seeking out some provisions, but having only just managed to work out how to use both arms at the same time, she felt the task of walking was one that would be easier to tackle on a full stomach.

  She picked through the mound of bones nearest her. Though it was an uphill struggle to determine the proper sequence of opening and closing her fingers that was necessary to grasp them, oddly she found identifying them to be utterly effortless.

  “Skull of a jackal. Where is the jaw? Here. Good, good. One of its legs too. Don’t need the toes. A few rat spines, yes. Ah, perfect, a serpent skeleton. Intact, save the head. That will do nicely.”

  Like a child with a new set of building blocks, she merrily began to fit the bits of carcass together. Under her breath she uttered arcane words, conjuring black tendrils that fused the bones to one another. After a few minutes she had assembled a creature that could only have been born of madness.

  The jackal skull sat atop the long, narrow spine of a snake. Ribs, femurs, and claws linked together into a set of six spidery legs that connected to the curving spine a third of the way down its length. The rest of the serpent’s spine formed a curled tail. She dangled the horrid concoction by the spine, eying it critically.

  “A motley bit of odds and ends, but it will have to do… Now, live.”

  Inside the hollow skull, darkness began to swirl and coil. The edge of the tail twitched, and the mismatched legs quivered. Two points of violet light sparked to life in the jackal’s eye sockets. She lowered it to the ground and watched it shudder, quake, and finally hoist itself to its feet, twisting its oversize head toward her and sweeping its tail in expectation.

  “Good. Now listen closely, Motley. You will fetch me food. Meat. Something large, lots of blood, lots of skin, lots of bone. Bring it quickly and I’ll be sure to give you the bits I don’t need.”

  The abomination pranced in place for a moment, radiating delight at the chance to serve, then rattled off toward the mouth of the cave. When it was out of sight, the woman ran her fingers through her scraggly white hair, combing away any other creatures that might have taken up residence.

  “Now then… to work. I suspect there’s much to be done.”

  She looked beside her and found a tall ivory staff. It was intricately carved with runes and sigils, and the top was set with a deep violet gem. She pulled the head of the staff to her lap and worked a simple spell. Inside the gem a muddy red glow pulsed, and she felt her thoughts grow sharper, if not more orderly. Yes… her name. She was Turiel. Her task. She was to prepare the second keyhole. Her masters… why had they not woken her? And why did something feel lost, something missing? She reached out, seeking guidance, but there was no answer.

  “Something has happened… I’ve slept too long… Need answers… Something must be done…”

  Chapter 1

  Six months after the city of Verril was freed and the Perpetual War had failed to live up to its name, life was progressing as usual in an icy little down called Frosnell. A thoroughly unremarkable city, it contained little more than a few cobbled streets crisscrossing a city center dominated by a thriving marketplace and a sturdily built inn called Merrimead’s Hearth. Though a part of the frost-bound Northern Alliance, Frosnell was far enough south to enjoy a growing season that could support more than just the hardy cabbages and potatoes of the more northerly farms. The market bustled with farmers selling their wares. With the end of the war, the slowly opening borders to the south allowed traders’ wagons to appear. They were a welcome sight to locals, none of whom had yet been born when th
e fruits of the southern pastures had last rolled through town. On a normal day these wagons, heaped as they were with exotic goods, would be the talk of the town. Today they were the last things on the minds of the townsfolk. Far more interesting was the ornate carriage drawn by four gleaming white horses that was approaching the town from the north.

  If there had been any doubt that the majestic carriage belonged to someone of great importance and influence, the escort of no less than six heavily armored men would have set it to rest. The largest of the escorts—a beast of a man who by rights ought to count as two—had taken a place of honor beside the carriage’s door. Children and curious onlookers gathered around the carriage as it reached Merrimead’s, but the guards kept them at a safe distance. When all was calm, the hulking guard opened the door, and out stepped a young woman layered in furs and dripping with jewels. She was the new queen and empress of the Northern Alliance, a woman named Caya. From the moment she showed her face, it was all her escorts could do to keep the locals at bay, a task made considerably more difficult by the social proclivities of the new queen.

  “Hello! Yes, hello! Is this your child? Such a fine, strong boy. I’m certain we’ll have a place for him at the palace some day!” Caya called, singling out villagers to greet. She turned to her largest guard. “Really, Tus. Need you keep them so far back? What good is it to be queen if I can’t interact with my public?”

  Tus didn’t reply. He was far too busy squeezing the grip of his weapon and staring down a man who he had decided was less than trustworthy. This opinion was based primarily on proximity. Anyone near enough to fire an arrow at the queen was someone he would prefer to see move along. It was his great fortune, then, that something even more noteworthy had appeared, steadily drawing the attention of the crowd.

  One by one eyes turned to the sky as a dark form drifted out of the bright clouds of midday. It was a dragon. The beast was massive, its body easily the size of an elephant and its wings wide enough to cast a shadow on half the market. Some of the townspeople reacted with fear, but more roared with excitement and wonder. This far from the mountains, there was only one dragon who would venture so near the city. Soon her crimson and gold scales were visible. The magnificent creature carried two passengers on her back, each dressed in fine, thick cloaks and huddled against the wind.

  Caya grinned as the form wheeled closer to the ground. It set down just outside the city. The queen set off toward the beast without a word to her guards, but in the few months they had been guarding her, they had come to know the queen better than to expect her to give them warning of her intentions. The best they could manage was to keep up with her. Tus caught up in two easy strides, then stepped in front to serve as a plow through the thickening crowd clustered about the dragon. The creature seemed to have much the same attitude of strangers as Tus, and a hard gaze from a mighty creature served as remarkably effective crowd control. Therefore, though quite curious about the dragon and its passengers, no one in the town was bold enough to approach it too closely. The queen, on the other hand, had no such concerns. Tus elbowed his way through the ring of spectators, and the queen slipped gracefully through the wake in time to greet the first of the passengers with open arms. She was a young woman, her hair deep red and her gaze warm and compassionate.

  “Myranda!” Caya said happily, wrapping her friend and ally in a firm embrace. “Don’t you know it is poor manners to upstage your queen?”

  “Always a pleasure, Your Majesty,” Myranda said when the hug was through, stepping back to offer a respectful curtsy.

  “Oh enough with that ‘Your Majesty’ nonsense. If you’re being accurate, it is ‘Your Royal and Imperial Majesty,’ but if you start calling me that, I’ll start calling you ‘Your Highness.’ And Deacon, my boy. How has the regal life been treating you?” She clasped his hand in a vigorous shake. “I’ll wager you’ve barely got time to scribble in that book of yours.”

  “Hello, Caya,” answered a young, studious man. He was somewhat disheveled from the flight, and he didn’t seem quite as at ease in his finery as Myranda. “As a matter of fact, I haven’t been able to record matters as thoroughly as I’d like.”

  “I doubt anyone could record matters as thoroughly as you’d like. But where are my manners? I mustn’t forget your steed! Welcome, Myn! Let us give you a scratch!”

  The dragon lowered her head until her chin rested firmly on the ground, offering up her brow for one-half of the customary reward for a job well done. Caya gave the creature a good firm rub over the eyes and a pat on the head for good measure. When she stopped, Myn’s beautiful golden eyes slid open with an accusing look, wordlessly suggesting that a few more rubs might be in order. Myranda happily supplied them as the queen turned toward the inn.

  “I must compliment you on your punctuality. I trust your journey was pleasant enough,” Caya said, stepping briskly through the parted crowd.

  Townspeople, still more intrigued by the arrival of the dragon than their monarch, attempted to close in again, trapping Myranda in the process. They quickly changed their minds when Myn released a satisfied sigh from Myranda’s vigorous affections. One tends to treat the breath of a creature with great respect when there is a better than average chance it could burn one to a crisp. When Myranda was through, Myn raised her head. The motion was more than enough to finally convince those lingering around them to view the spectacle from a safer distance. Myranda took advantage of the dispersing crowd to catch up with Caya, who had continued speaking as though there was no doubt her guests had remained beside her.

  “The trip was glorious, Caya. You really ought to let Myn give you a ride,” Myranda said.

  “Ah ha, no. Once on the back of a winged beast was more than enough for me. These feet stay on the ground.”

  “Is Croyden not with you?” Myranda asked, glancing to the carriage.

  The queen, as was to be expected, had quite an entourage, but the elf she had taken as an informal consort was notably absent.

  “Someone needs to see to the affairs of the palace. He’s really rather skilled at the assorted drudgery of leadership. That’s a military man for you. He did, however, handpick a keeper to look after me, see to my affairs, and see to it that I don’t do too much to embarrass the crown. Myranda, Deacon, meet Khryss.”

  She gestured to a gentleman emerging from the carriage. He had an uneasy look on his face, the expression of a man who had been tasked with “handling” a woman who was simultaneously the most politically powerful and most headstrong individual in half a continent. He was portly, exceedingly neat, and dressed in manner calculated to be precisely proper for an individual in his role. This included a fine robe that hung almost to the ground and an exquisitely made satchel hanging by his side.

  “Khryss, see to it that Myn is cared for while Myranda, Deacon, and I work through some matters of state. I presume that a meeting room has been prepared for us?”

  “The room, of course, has been waiting for our arrival, Your Majesty. The, err, the dragon…”

  “She is quite easy to care for, as I recall. Plenty of meat, plenty of water, and as many potatoes as you can get your hands on,” Caya said dismissively.

  Khryss looked uneasily at the beast, who had been staring hungrily in his direction since the mention of the words “meat” and “potatoes.” Myranda placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.

  “Myn, this man will show you where to wait for us. Behave yourself. I’ll be out just as soon as I can,” Myranda said. She turned to Khryss. “She’s quite sweet. You needn’t worry.”

  “But… do mind her tail,” Deacon added quietly.

  Caya and her associates slipped inside, followed by Tus and four other guards. The carriage was guided to the stables, and the locals decided there was very little to be gained by standing outside an inn while a hungry dragon was about. This left Khryss and a single guard alone with the beast. He looked up at Myn. Her head towered above him at the end of a powerful, serpentine neck. There was noth
ing threatening about her gaze… but it was most certainly locked on Khryss. He reluctantly turned from the creature and scanned the market, spotting a butcher shop not far from the inn. He turned back to Myn to find she’d lowered her head, meeting him eye to eye and rumbling hungrily.

  Khryss abandoned dignity, lifting the hems of his long robe to practically sprint to the butcher. He slipped inside to find the proprietor hard at work dividing an elk into steaks.

  “I need meat, good sir,” Khryss said quickly.

  “Certainly,” remarked the butcher without looking up. “How much?”

  Khryss pushed the door open to find that Myn had followed him. She peered inside with interest. Khryss eyed her shakily.

  “Rather a lot of it, I would imagine.”

  #

  Inside Merrimead’s, after Caya’s arrival and enthusiasm for an audience had finished whipping the clientele into a frenzy, the group was led to a small, comfortable room with a table and a few chairs. Oil lanterns filled the windowless room with a warm glow, and a secure brace hung on the door. The guards took up positions outside the door, with the exception of Tus, who joined them inside. A pair of servers set a tray of dried meat and cheese before them as well as a bottle of wine, a few plates, and a few tankards. With that, they were left to their business, the door firmly secured from the inside.

  “I don’t know that I’ll ever become accustomed to this,” Myranda said, taking a piece of cheese. “For so long I hadn’t a clue where my next meal would come from. Now I needn’t even ask.”

  “One of the few benefits of the title that lives up to its expectations,” Caya said after filling a tankard and draining it. “Though their spirits do tend to be a bit spineless. So Myranda, tell me, how are things in Kenvard?”

  “They are moving, albeit slowly,” she said. “My father is overseeing the reconstruction of the old capital. We both feel the people deserve a city to call their own once again.”