The D'Karon Apprentice (10 page)

“The duke and duchess,” Krettis said. “It is
a shame I couldn’t meet them during this journey. I would have
liked to conduct my first formal diplomatic reception with a more
traditional representative of the north.”

Ivy’s eyes narrowed briefly, then her ear
flicked. “Guardian of the Realm is one of the oldest and most
honored titles in the long history of the Alliance, and is regarded
by tradition as one of its most valued diplomatic positions.”

“Of course. My apologies,” Krettis said,
without a drop of sincerity.

Ivy gripped her fork more tightly and speared
some meat. She’d prepared herself to keep her fear in check. She’d
not expected to have to cope with anger.

“You say this is your first formal diplomatic
reception,” Ivy said, now not quite able to keep the irritation
from her voice. “I wouldn’t have known it to look at you.”

“In Tressor our diplomats are selected and
educated based upon the region to which we are to serve as
representative. Owing to your empire’s disinterest in diplomacy
until recently, I was not given any opportunities to ply my
trade.”

“Now that the D’Karon are gone, I think
you’ll find our people more than eager to mend the relationship
between our nations.”

“Ah, yes. The D’Karon. I wonder if during our
tour of your land I might meet any of these D’Karon. Perhaps in a
prison?” she asked.

“I’m happy to say that there aren’t any
D’Karon left.”

“I see. Rather convenient that you would
blame all of the atrocities committed by your nation on a group
whom you claim to have entirely eradicated in a matter of months.
And this coming from a nation that couldn’t even rid itself of…”
She paused, for the first time offering a flicker of regret for her
wording.

Ivy’s lip twitched and her fist clenched
tightly around her fork. Celeste put a hand on her arm. The
temperature in the room suddenly felt considerably warmer, but
through some miracle the red aura of anger did not flare. “Say it.
Say ‘malthropes.’ Brag to me about killing my kind.”

The ambassador sat quietly, her face still
steady, but her eyes betraying more than a bit of concern. Ivy
placed her fork on the table. It had been bent effortlessly by her
grip.

“I know that you hate me. You hate me because
I am a malthrope and you hate me because I am from the north. I’m
used to hate. I deal with it all the time. Hating someone comes
from not knowing them well enough, and you are here so that we can
fix that. But I think we both underestimated just how much needs to
be fixed. Mr. Celeste told me you’d treat me with respect and
decorum because that’s what diplomats do. You said this is your
first time, and I’m sure it shows that it is my first time, too.
Mistakes were bound to happen. I’m willing to set this one aside.
Peace is much too important to be shattered by a few angry words,
right?”

“Yes. Yes, of course I agree,” Krettis said,
taking a rather large sip of wine.

“But! Since we already broke the
respect-and-decorum rule, I don’t see any reason to adhere to some
of the other silly little bits of protocol. Everyone. Servants,
cooks, everyone. Pull up a chair. Eat. This is a feast after all.
Let’s enjoy it properly.”

Ivy tugged off her gloves and reached across
the table to heap her plate as the servants and underlings
reluctantly joined their superiors. Ivy took the leg from a turkey
and tore into it, chewing happily as she turned to Celeste. He had
an uncertain look on his face.

Ivy shrugged. “No sense being dainty
anymore.”

#

Across the continent, at a border crossing
south of Territal similar to the Loom River crossing, a pair of
diplomats and a sizable entourage of servants and soldiers were
waiting with increasing anxiety for Ether to arrive. They had been
informed of her agreement to attend, but owing to her unusual lack
of travel requirements, they didn’t know precisely when she would
arrive. All involved had assumed she would arrive a day or more
ahead of time in order to be briefed and properly prepared for the
introduction. Now the carriages of the visiting dignitaries were
visible on the road to the south, and the Guardian who was to greet
them had still not arrived.

Of those present, the most concerned were the
two diplomats, an old man named Gregol and a somewhat younger woman
named Zuzanna. Gregol was a rail-thin, hunched-over man who would
have looked fit to collapse under the weight of his ceremonial
robes even under the best of circumstances. In the face of the
looming political disaster, he was shuffling back and forth,
wringing his hands and stroking his beard.

“Perhaps… perhaps she has been killed!”
Gregol fretted.

“She is an elemental, and a shapeshifter. I
am not certain she can
be
killed,” reasoned Zuzanna.

She was young enough to still have a few
strands of blond amid her head of gray hair. She supported her
weight on an oak and copper cane and, though equally concerned, was
a bit better at maintaining her composure.

“Yes. Yes! She can take on any form! Perhaps
she is already here! If any of you is Guardian of the Realm Ether,
please speak up!”

“Gregol, I believe she is approaching,”
Zuzanna said, pointing.

He turned his eyes to the western sky, where
the wail of wind was growing steadily sharper. There was a barely
discernible form approaching, but it grew more distinct with each
moment, coming as a tight rush of air wrapped about a small brown
book. When it reached them, all eyes watched in fascination as
Ether’s human form coalesced out of the swirling gale

“Guardian Ether, it is an honor,” Zuzanna
said, bowing her head reverently.

“An honor and a privilege,” added Gregol,
offering the same sign of respect. “We wish only that we might have
had the privilege sooner.”

“Oh? This is the time indicated for the
beginning of this tiresome errand, is it not?”

“Yes, but you have never performed a task of
this sort,” Gregol said. “There is style, protocol. There are
things you must do, and things you must not!”

“Then speak. Tell me the rules for this
insipid game,” Ether said.

“Might I suggest you begin by avoiding
‘insipid,’ ‘game,’ and other words of that sort when speaking of
diplomacy to other diplomats, great Guardian.”

“There simply isn’t time for either of us to
tell you all you should know. The carriages will be here in
minutes.”

“Then both of you speak at once,” Ether said
simply.

“How can you listen to both of us?”

“I am quite capable of splitting my
attentions sufficiently.”

“There are interactions we must rehearse,
things which will require your undivided attention,” Zuzanna
said.

Ether looked wearily from one of the advisers
to the other.

“Hold this,” she said irritably, handing the
book to Zuzanna.

When the woman accepted it, Ether stepped
away and, in blast of brilliant light and searing heat, shifted to
flame. The advisers stumbled backward, mouths agape, as the figure
of flames separated into two, then shifted back to flesh. Standing
before them was a pair of Ethers, each looking expectantly to one
of the advisers.

“Speak,” they said simultaneously.

Gregol looked to Zuzanna, then to the
approaching carriages. Given the choice between taking the time to
cope with what had just occurred and seizing the opportunity to
potentially give this mission a chance at success, he eagerly chose
the latter.

“You tell her what not to do; I shall tell
her what to do,” he said.

“Very well,” Zuzanna agreed.

For the others observing, what followed was a
bizarre and rather entertaining performance. Gregol, with a frantic
energy that increased as the Tresson delegation drew nearer,
spouted volumes of information about Tresson customs and beliefs.
He illustrated the traditional greetings, briefly gave points of
historic importance, and suggested fruitful topics of discussion.
Zuzanna laid out cultural taboos to be avoided, points of etiquette
to be emphasized, and sensitive information about the Northern
Alliance that should be politely declined for discussion lest the
defense of the Alliance be endangered. At nearly the same time, the
pair began to run dry of topics that could be covered quickly. It
was just as well, as the carriages were now near enough for the
rattling of their wheels to be heard.

“Simple enough,” each Ether said.

Again there was a burst of flame. A few
moments later a single figure stood before them. Ether took back
her book.

“I shall take your words into advisement,”
she said, walking forward to take her place at the border.

“Into advisement?” Gregol said.

“With all due respect, oh honored Guardian,
we must insist that you behave precisely as we have instructed,”
Zuzanna said.

“If you were treating me with all due
respect, you would not presume to insist upon anything. Much of
what you have described requires me to supplicate and demean myself
to an intolerable degree for no reason but to forestall an
inevitable squabble between arbitrarily divided members of your own
kind. It is a pointless exercise in futility, and I engage in it
only because it has been suggested that it is somehow beyond my
capabilities to do so.
Nothing
is beyond my capabilities. So
I have listened to your words, but I shall take from them only what
I choose.”

“Of course, oh Guardian,” Zuzanna said.

“Thank you, Guardian Ether,” Gregol said with
a bow of his head.

With that, Ether turned and awaited the
arrival of the delegation.

“This is an inauspicious start to very
delicate proceedings,” Zuzanna said quietly to her partner.

“To put it
very
lightly,” Gregol
agreed.

Ether stood, stone still and utterly quiet,
until the carriages reached the crossing and the delegation stepped
out for the formal greeting. As before, Tressor had sent an
ambassador and a pair of aides to represent their kingdom. Joining
them was a reasonable accompaniment of guards and individuals
fulfilling a half-dozen other minor roles necessary for a
successful diplomatic tour.

The shapeshifter stepped forward, toeing the
line of the border, and looked her counterpart in this exchange in
the eye evenly. The Tresson ambassador was elderly, older even than
Gregol. He had steel-gray hair contrasting with dark, almost black,
craggy skin. There were thin, intricate tattoos visible at his
wrists, and while his garb was similar to that worn by those
hosting Myranda and Deacon on their own mission, his was adorned
with a complex pattern of beads and embroidery.

Gregol sighed in relief as Ether initiated
the interaction as instructed, flawlessly executing both the
Tresson and Northern greetings and utilizing the proper style of
address.

“Ambassador Maka, may I formally invite you
and your delegation to enter the Ulvard region of the Northern
Alliance,” Ether said, stepping aside and sweeping her arm in a
mechanical imitation of Gregol’s suggested gesture.

The ambassador nodded and he and his people
filed through. Gregol stepped up and offered his own welcome.

“We are very pleased to have you here. It is
our hope that you will enjoy what little of Ulvard you will have
time to see during your journey, and may we all learn much of one
another. As per our prior communications, for the duration of this
journey we shall be using Alliance carriages, as the climate and
conditions of the road have rather special requirements for both
horse and carriage. You shall be joining Guardian Ether in the
first carriage, along with Ambassador Zuzanna and myself and two of
your aides. The rest—”

“No,” Ether said.

All eyes turned to her.

“No?” asked Gregol.

“The ambassador and I shall ride alone in the
carriage. The rest of you may divide yourselves as you please among
the remaining carriages.”

“Guardian Ether, this was discussed at length
prior to arrival of the delegation,” Gregol began.

“It was not discussed with me. Ambassador
Maka is my equal for the purposes of this tour. I fail to see the
value in crowding the carriage with subordinates and cluttering the
conversation with additional voices.”

Gregol stammered somewhat in searching for
the proper words to convince the headstrong elemental of the
crucial nature of protocol. He’d not yet found the appropriate
phrasing when the Tresson ambassador spoke.

“That is most agreeable,” said Maka. His
voice was more heavily accented than the other representatives, but
he spoke slowly and with great clarity.

“Ah! Ah, well then, splendid,” Gregol quickly
proclaimed.

A flurry of discussions and activity arose as
the individuals responsible for the smooth execution of this
journey clambered to adjust to this unanticipated change of plans.
Ether simply stepped up to the carriage, opened the door, and
climbed inside. When it became clear that he would require it, she
offered a hand to Maka and pulled him inside with ease.

“Driver, you may depart,” Ether instructed in
a raised voice.

“I am supposed to—” the unfortunate driver
began to reply, his voice muffled by the thick walls of the
carriage.

“Those individuals for which this tour was
designed and arranged are presently in your carriage. The other
drivers are aware of your itinerary. They shall meet us. Depart,”
she ordered.

The carriage jerked into motion.

“I admire your directness and pragmatism,”
Maka said, easing back into the overstuffed seats of the carriage.
“I have never understood why it is believed that great
understanding can only come from great numbers of people. Many
voices lead only to more confusion. This, two representatives
speaking as equals, this is the essence of diplomacy.”