Tears of the Dragon
Prologue
The glass shop was quiet in the early morning, the kiln fires banked and the apprentices still abed. Only a faint glimmer of predawn light filtered through the frost-rimmed windows as Malea made her way through the familiar halls to the private study at the back.
Isolde van Aidel, Glass Master and Valdis Maj’s secret spymaster, waited by the hearth, a steaming cup in her hands. Her long braid lay over one shoulder, and her sharp eyes softened as they settled on Malea.
“Thank you for coming out so early. Have a seat. We have much to discuss,” Isolde said, motioning to the second chair.
Malea took the seat and folded her hands in her lap, trying to still the nervous flutter in her stomach. Her journey to the far north began at first light tomorrow, and her heart beat with both anticipation and unease. Isolde seemed to study Malea a moment, then handed her the second cup of tea.
“Yours is not going to be a regular journeyman’s trial, Malea. You understand that.”
Malea nodded. “Yes, Mistress.”
“You’re not officially my apprentice anymore,” Isolde said gently, smiling softly. “You’re a journeyman gem cutter now. And a trusted agent of the crown. This journeyman trip will be a good opportunity for you to flex your skills in spycraft, as well as in your gem craft.”
Malea met her gaze, excited by the prospect of a secret mission. “What would you have me do?”
Isolde exhaled, leaning back slightly, the firelight glinting in her eyes.
“I have reason to suspect something dangerous is stirring in the ice-bound north. Diamond blades have begun to surface again for the first time in years. They are the only thing sharp enough to pierce dragon hide. If you remember your lessons, the King of Skithdron once bartered for such weapons with the warlord Salomar, who ruled the lands to the north and east, just beyond the Dragon’s Teeth. ”
Everyone knew the Dragon’s Teeth was a long mountain range that separated Valdis from Draconia.
The mountains were usually impassable except for certain times of year, for those who dared attempt the trip.
Of course, the dragons that had come to Valdis in the past years could make the flight from the capital city of Valdis Maj to Castleton, the capital of Draconia, in a matter of days, which had allowed for the alliance of the two large kingdoms.
Malea’s breath caught. “I thought the trade in diamond blades ended with Salomar’s death.”
“So did I,” Isolde said grimly. “But someone else may have taken it up again. I know there have been rumors of diamond cutters and blade-smiths being promised jobs in the north, then disappearing, never to be seen again. If such blades are being forged again, the source is unknown, but there are rumors of a warlord named Balreal among the fair folk. He is elusive and not much is known about him except that he has operations running in the far north to build a fighting force. You’re going to a region of our land that is full of new mines and, perhaps, old secrets.
I want you to keep your eyes open. Listen.
Watch. Befriend the miners and traders if you can.
Spy on them, like I taught you when you were still my apprentice.
If you hear the name Balreal, take special note, though I haven’t heard anything positively linking him to diamond blades, just regular fighters.
He took in a lot of the unaffiliated mercenaries we ran off from the wasteland years ago before it was annexed to Valdis, but so did others in other lands. ”
Malea nodded slowly. “And if I find out something important?”
“If it’s urgent—if lives are at stake—you can speak with the ice dragons.
A dragon can carry word back to me in a day or two, but only ask if the matter is grave.
We cannot abuse their goodwill, and they are not all of one accord.
Many still keep to themselves in small family groups.
They’re not like the dragons of Draconia, or even the snow dragons that partner with the fair folk.
Ice dragons seem to be much more independent of each other. ”
“I understand,” Malea whispered, already excited to have been trusted with such a mission.
Isolde’s expression softened. “You’ll do well, child. You’ve trained for this moment, most of your life. I know you’re ready for it.”
They stood together, the silence between them filled with unspoken affection. Isolde stepped closer and reached out, adjusting the scarf at Malea’s neck with a mother’s touch.
“One more thing,” she said softly. “If you find the diamond blades, or the people behind them, do not confront them. You are not a soldier. You are a shadow. Observe and report. Then return to me safe and whole.”
Malea swallowed hard and nodded once. “Yes, Mistress.”
Isolde kissed her forehead, then stepped back. “Go with the light, child. And come back safe. I know there are great things ahead of you, Mally, in both craftsmanship and spycraft.”
*
In the far north, hidden in a secret stronghold, the mage, Falkir, flinched as Balreal’s heavy boots echoed on the stone floor, each step punctuated by the clink of the jeweled rings on his fingers.
The warlord stopped before the mage’s worktable, leaning over the half-formed crystal that glimmered in the mage’s trembling hands.
“This?” Balreal’s voice was a low growl. “You call this progress?” He snatched the diamond from the man’s grip, holding it up to the light with a sneer. “It’s flawed. Weak. I told you I need perfection.”
“Milord, the process cannot be rushed,” Falkir stammered, his eyes darting to the glowing runes etched into the work room’s walls. “If I push the magic too quickly, the lattice will—”
“Shatter?” Balreal’s grin was sharp and humorless.
“You think I care if a few crystals break? I care about results.” He stepped closer, the warmth of his breath carrying the tang of spiced wine and steel.
“You’ve had weeks. My allies will not wait politely while you fuss over your precious lattice. ”
Falkir swallowed, beads of sweat forming along his temple. “I am doing all I can. The magic must—”
Balreal’s hand shot out, gripping the man’s chin hard enough to leave marks. “If you fail me again,” he said softly, almost gently, “I’ll feed you to the dragons and see if they prefer their meat seasoned with fear.”
Then, just as suddenly, the warlord’s expression shifted, his fingers loosening. He patted the mage’s cheek with a mockery of affection.
“But I know you won’t fail me, will you? You’re my genius. My artist.” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “And when the first bolt pierces a dragon’s foul heart, you and I will both become legends.”
Balreal turned away, tossing the flawed crystal back onto the table. It rolled to a stop against the mage’s hand, cold and perfect in shape, yet cracked through the heart.