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The first disruption to Myranda's comfortable routine came at the end of the first week. Just as she was heading up the stairs, a visitor came to the door. Three rounds of eager knocks had passed before Wolloff made it from his chair to the door.
"Finally," he said, pulling the door open to the familiar visitor. "I was beginning to think I was doing this for my health."
He took a pair of bags from the young boy at the door. As Wolloff hefted the bags and peered inside, the boy lingered, casting excited glances around the wizard.
"What's got you so antsy, boy?" he asked.
"Is she here? Myranda?" he asked.
"These bags seem a bit light, lad. Turn out your pockets," he said.
The boy heaved a sigh and did so. Wolloff inspected them, then grumbled about him finding a better hiding spot.
"Now what are you on about? Marna?" he asked.
"Myranda! She came here for training," he said.
"Oh, Aye. The girl. She has retired for the evening. Why?" he asked.
"I was hoping I could meet her. All of the other men are talking about her. She singlehandedly put the voice of the Undermine in everyone's ears and our name on everyone's tongues. She killed four so--" he gushed.
"Fine, fine. Spray your blasted hero worship in the girl's direction. DOWNSTAIRS NOW!" he bellowed.
Myranda came down quickly, having already learned that keeping Wolloff waiting was far from pleasant.
"This little urchin wants a word with you. Watch yourself. The brat has sticky fingers," he said.
She looked at the youngster at the door. There was something familiar about him. He was wearing a set of sparring pads, such as those worn by squires and apprentices in mock battle. Dirt had found its way, in large patches, to every piece of exposed skin. He couldn't be more than half of her age, and was overflowing with the misguided enthusiasm that such youth afforded. He offered his hand, and when she returned the gesture, he grasped it in a vigorous and continuous shake.
"Oof. Easy. The shoulder is still a bit sore," she said.
"Oh, right, the arm. From the fight. She told me! I can't believe I am meeting you! I'm Henry. And you . . . You are the one! You did it!" he blurted.
"Calm down. I am only a person" she assured him.
"Only a person!? Caya said, she's my sister, she said that it is your fault that all of these orders are flowing down from the top and, and messages are coming out so fast and so often that there isn't even time to use codes, and, and, we are learning where the higher up people are and what their names are and what they are doing and where troops are coming from, and, and that means that there are openings and that means that we can hit them and cause real damage! Not like we've been doing! We can really hurt them and that means we need all the people we can get, and she gave me a knife and this great armor and it is all thanks to you!" the young boy spouted, almost without breathing.
"Right, that will be enough, lad. Just run off and tell your sister that if any more of this silver finds its way into your grubby little mitts, I'll be asking for three bags next time," he said, ushering the boy out the door and slamming it shut.
"Saints alive! The mouth on that boy. His parents should have just dressed up a monkey and cut off its tail. At least then they would get some peace and quiet now and then. What on earth was that yammering about, anyway? Have I got a celebrity as a pupil?" he asked.
"I . . . seem to have become something of a rally call for the Undermine. The popular belief is that I stole an artifact from the army and eliminated the four soldiers sent to retrieve it. Now the highest levels are up in arms, which I suppose creates no end of openings for Caya and her people to attack," she said.
"Am I to take from your tone that you do not fit the role in which you have been cast?" he asked.
She shook her head slowly.
"I never killed those men. I only witnessed it, and even that was too much for me. I didn't steal any artifact. I found it on the body of a dead man and thought I could sell it. I never wanted any of this," she said.
"And how many people know that?" Wolloff asked.
"Only Caya, Tus, you, and whoever really did it," she said.
"Right, you keep it that way. If what you say is true, you've stumbled onto something that has finally gotten this group on its feet. It is therefore in all of our best interests that those whom you have inspired continue to believe what they have been told," he said, nothing but earnestness in his voice.
"Do you really believe in this cause?" she asked.
"Not in the least. It is my honest belief that Caya and all of her high-minded dealings will be crushed underfoot at the earliest convenience of any detachment of the army. Nevertheless, this engagement with the Tressons must come to an end, and the sad truth is this: the pointless, flawed actions that the Undermine has taken are the only steps toward anything resembling peace in years," he said.
"There are movements toward peace. I am always hearing about missions of peace that are shunned by the south," she said, confused.
"Aye, you are always hearing about those things because that is what the propaganda mill is churning out. Don't be fooled, lass. They've got about as much truth to them as the yarn Caya is spinning about you. I spent many years in the direct service of many of the officials who are at this very minute wringing their hands over what to do about you. Not once in all of those years did I see, or even hear mention of, a single peace mission. Yet one step into the public and the tale of the latest diplomat slain at the peace table is on everyone's lips.
"The truth is this is a war without diplomats. A war without negotiation. And such a war can only end in annihilation. Worse, the decisions of the men and women who guide the fate of this alliance seem solely aimed at stalemate. I was released from my position when it was decided that it was simpler to replace a fallen soldier than restore a faltered one. Egad, do you realize that they've actually made it illegal to practice white magic in the service of anyone but the Alliance Army? Even Clerics and those wretched potion-making Alchemists are being shut down. They say it is to make certain that those most in need are treated first, but I cannot name one of my brother healers who has spent even a single tour alongside a front line soldier. And now even schools of magic are being pressured into dropping what little white magic they taught!" he raved.
"But why?" Myranda gasped.
"Your guess is as good as mine. Near as I can tell, they are trying to make sure people like the Undermine can't get treatment. Whatever the reason, the proclamations have been made. Since then, the healer's art has all but disappeared from our land. The only end that our leaders seem dedicated to is ruin, and indeed that may well be the only one that is possible for us. With that truth revealed, I made it my goal to bring us to that end swiftly, that from the ashes of our land there may arise something better," he said.
"I can't believe this . . . all of things I've heard about--the conferences . . . the meetings . . . the betrayals . . ." Myranda said numbly.
"Fiction. The only northerners the Tressons have met in decades are the ones they are clashing swords with," he said.
"But how? Why?" she managed through her struggling grasp of the latest revelation.
"Pride, stubbornness, honor, stupidity? Take your pick; it doesn't matter, the result is the same," he said.
His tone and composure were that of a man who had come to terms with these truths long ago. For the first time, Myranda began to understand the bitter, cruel exterior he had shown thus far. How could anyone who had learned what he'd learned in the way he'd learned it behave any differently? Wolloff grinned as he saw the look of pained realization come to her face as it had to his long ago.
"Sorry to burst your bubble, lass, but the truth is important. Unfortunately, wisdom and happiness are old enemies, and where one can be found, the other seldom lingers. You'd best get yourself upstairs. You've learned a bit more than I'd intended to teach today," he said.
She trudged up
stairs, the lessons of the day washed away in a flood of pain and sorrow. As much as she had loathed this war, she'd always assumed that the one common desire of the world was to bring it to an end. Wolloff was right. There was no reason that could justify abandoning any hope of peace in favor of destruction. And what of the people of Tressor? Had they made pleas for peace that fell upon the unwilling ears of the North? So many questions, and no answers.
So troubled was she by the new knowledge, Myranda did not even notice Myn creeping in for her nightly visit. The little dragon had no way of knowing why Myranda was so dejected, but it was quite clear to her that this was so. She climbed onto the bed beside Myranda and stared into her eyes. A tear of anger and sorrow rolled down her cheek. Myn sniffed it, deciding immediately that she did not like it. She laid her head on Myranda's shoulder. The two did not stir until long after day finished its slip to night. Sleep came, but it was shallow and fitful, offering little in the way of rest and naught in the way of dreams. That, at least, was a blessing, as the images of darkness and desolation that invariably filled her dreams might just have been more than the disillusioned girl could bear.