visit and I’m concerned. … I’m sure she’s in the north. She
always had snow on her cloak when she visited. … Yes, we could open
a portal, but we are saving our power for the keyhole, remember? … Oh, learn some patience. The walk will do us good. It
will be nice to see what’s become of the world while we were away.
… Oh, you can so see. Don’t be so dramatic. If you want some
eyes, I’ll get you some eyes, but I’m waiting for green ones. … Because you’d look so precious with green
eyes.”
She sighed and lowered her staff slightly.
The body of the stricken brother shuddered and glowed, then
ponderously sat up, breath sliding from it in a voiceless moan. His
lifeless eyes slid open. She crouched and looked into them, then
nodded and raised her staff, dropping him limply to the ground
again.
“ There . You see? Brown. You don’t want
brown eyes, do you? So common. …” She looked to the grief-stricken
younger brother. “His are brown too.”
She paced off to the north, chatting idly
with her pet.
“… Yes, I’ll get you some proper wings too.
Perhaps we can swing west. That’s where those riders come from,
yes? Some nice baby dragon wings and some green eyes, my little
patchwork pet. You’ll be darling.”
#
“And that’s it. That’s what happened,” he
said. “She killed my brother… that witch … And she told me
not to tell anyone. And then your men came and asked me, and then they told me not to tell anyone, and I…”
“That’s fine, sir,” Sallim said without
looking up from his parchment. “I have what I need from you.”
He sat silently for a few minutes, flipping
between the fresh parchment and some older ones, comparing details
between them.
“May I leave now?” the farmer asked.
“One moment… Yes… Yes this would appear to
match other accounts. I would say we are through here.”
“Other accounts? This… this woman has done
more?”
“That really isn’t any of your concern,
sir.”
“But… if it was known that she was dangerous…
if we’d been warned…”
“You’ll be happy to know that based on the
description, yours is the earliest encounter—which means it
is more likely five months than four. There could have been no
warning in your case. Now, if you would be good enough, just head
back through that door and inform the soldier that his orders
stand.”
“Um… yes, sir.”
“Esteemed Patron,” Sallim corrected.
“Err, yes, Esteemed Patron. I’ll be on my
way,” he said, standing and pacing toward the door.
When the farmer left, Sallim pulled out a
fresh parchment, this one a thin ribbon, and inscribed a message in
small, precise writing.
Another credible account, he wrote, the
first. Most detailed yet. As with the others, he will be held to
prevent further spread of information. As I write this, Northern
diplomats are crossing the border. Your time with the subject is
limited. I will be visiting personally in one week’s time. I expect
answers.
He completed the message and rolled it into a
tube, labeling it with the intended recipient, Commander
Brustuum.
#
“We must be getting close now, Myn. Dip down
and let’s get our bearings,” Myranda suggested.
Myranda was in her usual position astride the
base of Myn’s neck, holding tightly to the broad scales on either
side. Deacon sat behind her, his legs hooked over the base of Myn’s
wings and his arms about Myranda’s waist. Behind them, held in
place with a sturdy leather harness, was a small bundle of supplies
and equipment. Overall the load was somewhat heavier than Myn
typically carried, but not nearly enough to cause a problem.
At Myranda’s request Myn tipped her wings and
dropped down through the thinning clouds beneath her. The last five
days had held a tremendous amount of travel, but the journey was a
pleasant one. Repairing Kenvard was a monumental task, and one that
required their constant attention. With the mission to the south
requiring their presence,
always had snow on her cloak when she visited. … Yes, we could open
a portal, but we are saving our power for the keyhole, remember? … Oh, learn some patience. The walk will do us good. It
will be nice to see what’s become of the world while we were away.
… Oh, you can so see. Don’t be so dramatic. If you want some
eyes, I’ll get you some eyes, but I’m waiting for green ones. … Because you’d look so precious with green
eyes.”
She sighed and lowered her staff slightly.
The body of the stricken brother shuddered and glowed, then
ponderously sat up, breath sliding from it in a voiceless moan. His
lifeless eyes slid open. She crouched and looked into them, then
nodded and raised her staff, dropping him limply to the ground
again.
“ There . You see? Brown. You don’t want
brown eyes, do you? So common. …” She looked to the grief-stricken
younger brother. “His are brown too.”
She paced off to the north, chatting idly
with her pet.
“… Yes, I’ll get you some proper wings too.
Perhaps we can swing west. That’s where those riders come from,
yes? Some nice baby dragon wings and some green eyes, my little
patchwork pet. You’ll be darling.”
#
“And that’s it. That’s what happened,” he
said. “She killed my brother… that witch … And she told me
not to tell anyone. And then your men came and asked me, and then they told me not to tell anyone, and I…”
“That’s fine, sir,” Sallim said without
looking up from his parchment. “I have what I need from you.”
He sat silently for a few minutes, flipping
between the fresh parchment and some older ones, comparing details
between them.
“May I leave now?” the farmer asked.
“One moment… Yes… Yes this would appear to
match other accounts. I would say we are through here.”
“Other accounts? This… this woman has done
more?”
“That really isn’t any of your concern,
sir.”
“But… if it was known that she was dangerous…
if we’d been warned…”
“You’ll be happy to know that based on the
description, yours is the earliest encounter—which means it
is more likely five months than four. There could have been no
warning in your case. Now, if you would be good enough, just head
back through that door and inform the soldier that his orders
stand.”
“Um… yes, sir.”
“Esteemed Patron,” Sallim corrected.
“Err, yes, Esteemed Patron. I’ll be on my
way,” he said, standing and pacing toward the door.
When the farmer left, Sallim pulled out a
fresh parchment, this one a thin ribbon, and inscribed a message in
small, precise writing.
Another credible account, he wrote, the
first. Most detailed yet. As with the others, he will be held to
prevent further spread of information. As I write this, Northern
diplomats are crossing the border. Your time with the subject is
limited. I will be visiting personally in one week’s time. I expect
answers.
He completed the message and rolled it into a
tube, labeling it with the intended recipient, Commander
Brustuum.
#
“We must be getting close now, Myn. Dip down
and let’s get our bearings,” Myranda suggested.
Myranda was in her usual position astride the
base of Myn’s neck, holding tightly to the broad scales on either
side. Deacon sat behind her, his legs hooked over the base of Myn’s
wings and his arms about Myranda’s waist. Behind them, held in
place with a sturdy leather harness, was a small bundle of supplies
and equipment. Overall the load was somewhat heavier than Myn
typically carried, but not nearly enough to cause a problem.
At Myranda’s request Myn tipped her wings and
dropped down through the thinning clouds beneath her. The last five
days had held a tremendous amount of travel, but the journey was a
pleasant one. Repairing Kenvard was a monumental task, and one that
required their constant attention. With the mission to the south
requiring their presence,
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