The Book of Deacon: Book 02 - The Great Convergence (14 page)

"But we can end this now!" Myranda cried.
"There doesn't have to be any more fighting!"

Desmeres ignored her and cautiously
approached the battle. He stayed a few steps away, as though he was
waiting for something. Then there was a flash. The mystic energies
that had been building in Trigorah’s sword were released in a bolt.
Lain expertly maneuvered his sword to block the attack, but the
white-blue bolt seemed to shatter on contact with the enchanted
blade. Shards of light scattered in all directions. A fair amount
struck Lain, searing the white clothes he wore black. Only a slight
tremor in his limbs and a cringe on his face betrayed the savage
pain that was tearing though his body. He took a step back as
Trigorah took a hand from the blade and put it behind her back.
Desmeres quickly took Lain's place. His small dagger seemed no
match for the sword, but Trigorah readied her weapon as though an
entire army faced her.

"Desmeres. I thought you were more
intelligent than this. To be seen with that beast. He is an enemy
of the state. Even if there was not a standing order for your
death, I should kill you for associating with him," she said.

"You can try," he said, pulling out a small
vial from his pocket. At the sight of it she backed away several
steps.

"She is ours. It is treason to interfere with
the actions of the Alliance Army. Do not think that you can bargain
your way out of this," she warned, raising her weapon from a
defensive position to an offensive one.

"Oh, the bargaining is already done. The
price is set. I am simply awaiting payment. By now you should know
our policy. If you send a messenger with a knife in its hand and no
gold, we send it back with a knife in its back and no prisoner," he
said, breaking the top off of the vial with the dagger. "And I
don't see any gold."

The contents of the vial fizzled viciously.
Whatever it was that he threatened her with, it had evil smelling
fumes that fought through even the powerful wind to fairly scald
the noses of friend and foe alike. In one smooth motion Trigorah's
other hand came back into view. In the palm was one of the crystals
that had nearly killed them last time.

"I've got more men nearby. All I care about
is my mission, and my mission is the girl. I don't care if you, the
dragon, or the malthrope die. I may even get killed in the blast.
So long as the girl survives, my men will find her," Trigorah
said.

"Fine then. Let us just see whose toys are
more lethal, the Army's or mine," he said.

Slowly he raised the vial. Slowly she raised
her crystal. Slowly Lain backed away. When Myranda saw the assassin
replace his sword and begin to retreat, she knew that unless
something drastic was done to stop them, these two fanatical elves
would destroy each other. Without thinking, Myranda rushed between
them. She turned to Desmeres to beg him to stop and instantly found
an arm across her chest and a blade held offensively to her
side.

"What are you doing!?" Desmeres said.

Lain drew his weapon again.

"I am sorry, but this is something I must
do!" Myranda said as Trigorah began to pull her away.

Lain leapt forward, ready to strike Trigorah
down and reclaim Myranda. In less than the space of a heartbeat,
Myranda's head filled with a hundred conflicted thoughts. Finally,
in a move based more on instinct than reason, Myranda cast the very
same spell she had used to repel Arden the day before. The wind
doubled in force and reversed on itself. Thankfully, it was nothing
compared to the previous blast, but it was enough to knock Lain out
of the air. Trigorah managed to make it a few more steps into the
snow, enough to hide those who had moments before protected
Myranda, dragging her new prize along. A reddish form fought its
way through the swirling wall of white. Myranda prayed that Lain
had not made a second leap, for while she may have had the strength
to repel him once or twice more, she was not sure she had the
heart. Instead it was something far worse. Myn was following her.
There was anger, fear, and confusion in the beast's eyes.

"Myn, no!" Myranda said, tears welling in her
eyes and stinging her cheeks.

Myranda tried to gently cast the beast away,
but the charm that hung at her neck left her unaffected.

"Please, Myn! Stay with Lain. I am sorry. I
will come and find you again, I swear, but please, let me go now,"
Myranda pleaded with the creature. She could see Trigorah's hand
tightening around her sword's grip. If the little dragon drew much
closer, the weapon would not remain still.

The dragon stood, trembling from a mixture of
cold and anguish. Everything inside the beast told it to follow, to
save the one human she cared about, but that one human told her to
stay. If it was what Myranda wanted, then it would be done. The
noble creature stood and watched as her protector in her earliest
days slipped away through the snow. When Myranda was gone from
sight, and the faint sounds of crunching hooves through snow had
disappeared, she turned longingly to Lain, who now stood by her. He
did not follow either. Instead he looked on with uncertainty in his
eyes.

"Do not follow," said Desmeres as he made his
way to them. "Trigorah knows me well. She'll know that if she
doesn't pay we will come to get her. If she does her job, she will
know where to find us."

Looking to the vial, Desmeres tossed it into
the snow. It landed out of sight, but brilliant flashes of red and
blue managed to color the snow for nearly a minute as the contents
of the container took effect.

"That was the antipode vial. I'd never tested
it before. I intended it to invert the temperature of whatever it
touches. Interesting. It apparently continues to do so until the
mana is spent. Back and forth between freezing and burning. Can you
imagine how effective that would have been on a living target?" he
said, though Lain had continued in the direction of the safe house,
the dragon in tow. Desmeres stood for a moment, considering the
possibilities before following.

#

Myranda was thrown onto the back of a horse
and was being whisked along in moments. She and her 'captor' cast
nervous glances behind them even as four other Elites appeared out
of the rushing snow to join them. In minutes she had reached the
road that Myranda and the others had left their horses a day
earlier. As they continued along the road, an ominous form she knew
all too well emerged from the wall of white. A black carriage.
Trigorah leapt from the horse's back and threw open the doors.
Before Myranda could step in, the General turned to her.

"Staff!" she demanded.

Myranda gave it to her. It was quickly thrown
into the dark interior. Myranda took a step to follow it.

"No!" Trigorah quickly reprimanded. "Up front
with me."

She opened the door and shoved Myranda
inside. A soldier who had been standing guard by the door had
already climbed onto the horse she had ridden. Trigorah stepped up
on the running board of the carriage and turned to her men.

"Listen! We do not stop moving until we are
inside the fort! Speed will not be enough to protect us if that
beast chooses to follow! If there is even the hint of his
appearance, we face him together! The carriage will continue
without us! Do not face him alone! He has taken too many of your
brothers-in-arms! If that blade of his touches you, it will already
be stained with my blood, that much I can assure you!" she dictated
before ducking inside.

Once inside, she continued to issue
orders.

"Turn around and put your arms behind your
back!" she demanded.

Myranda obeyed. Her wrists were quickly and
securely bound.

"Now face me!" she ordered.

Myranda turned and a collar of sorts was
snapped into place around her neck. It bore a jewel much like the
one that was fitted to the end of her staff. As soon as it touched
her skin she felt an odd sensation. It was faintly painful, as
though someone was pressing on a half healed bruise. She turned her
mind to healing the pain, only to feel it increase to a sharp,
piercing burn that did not subside until she broke
concentration.

"What is this?" Myranda asked.

"A precaution. Unless you enjoy agony, I
would advise against using any sort of magic," she said.

The carriage lurched to a speed far faster
than the designers had intended. It rocked and bounced so
violently, Myranda felt certain it would flip over. As she tried to
remain in her seat in the passenger cabin, a space clearly intended
for one, she could feel the gaze of her captor. Trigorah's eyes
were locked on Myranda, almost burning with intensity. The sound of
rushing wind, pounding hooves, and creaking wood filled the cabin,
but still there seemed to be a painful silence that only a voice
could break. After all, Myranda had dreaded this woman, running in
fear from her and her subordinates. Now, only a short time after
deciding that she could be an ally, she sat beside her. Myranda
spoke.

"It was kind of you to allow me to ride here
with you. I have spent time in the rear of a carriage like this
before. It was-" Myranda began.

"Do not mistake caution for kindness. You
have escaped from me too often to be left unsupervised," she
said.

Immediately the silence seemed to push the
tumult of wind and hoof back outside. Myranda spoke again.

"I know why you wanted to find me. I want to
help you," Myranda assured.

"I wanted to find you because I was ordered
to," she answered. "You can save your pleading and groveling for my
superiors, if you make it that far."

"Surely they told you why they wanted me.
Surely you asked," Myranda said.

Trigorah sat silently.

"You must have questions," said the girl.

"Many, but it is not my place to ask
questions. I am not the interrogator. You will meet him again soon
enough. After being assaulted by you, I am sure he will be pleased
to meet you again," she said.

"Again . . . Arden? Arden is the
interrogator?" Myranda asked.

The general was again silent. She reached out
and snatched away the bag that Myranda had dropped when she
entered. After pulling the dagger out and eying it briefly, she
placed it back inside and scowled.

"You do not have the sword," she fumed.

"No, I haven't had it since Lain first
captured me," Myranda explained.

"Lain . . . " she hissed. It was the first
she'd heard of her target's name.

Trigorah's scowl somehow turned even more
serious. Myranda could tell by her look that she was contemplating
how best to attain the sword.

"The only way to get the sword and stop them
from following is to-" Myranda began.

"Pay them. I know," Trigorah interrupted.

The General turned the idea over in her mind
again and again. To pay was to fail, to admit that she could not do
as she was ordered. And yet, the price had been so high already.
The best of her men and the better part of a year had been spent in
pursuit of this girl and the blasted sword she'd taken. Perhaps the
time had come.

"It must be done," she said.

"Excellent. Once you pay Desmeres, we can
attempt to convince Lain to-" Myranda planned enthusiastically.

"Quiet! Your future depends entirely upon
what the other Generals decide. I will deal with Lain when the time
comes," she snapped.

There was a defensive tone to her last
comment. Myranda had quickly learned how much General Teloran
valued duty. After spending so much time attempting to apprehend
Lain, it must have become an obsession.

"How long have you been after Lain?" Myranda
asked.

Again, silence was the only answer, a silence
that would not be broken for hours. The carriage stopped only once,
and only long enough to change horses. The cabin was hardly a
luxurious one, built to keep those outside out, and those inside
in. As a result there was barely a slit for a window. Myranda tried
to turn her mind from the hunger that had been steadily gnawing
away at her. Periodically she would glance at the General. The elf
sat stoically, her eyes always locked on Myranda, as though at any
moment the girl would mount an escape. Her armor, though no doubt
exquisite when it was first made, showed the wear of decades of
use. Here and there Myranda recognized a shiny gash in a plate as
one left by Myn. Trigorah adjusted a sagging plate on her arm, only
to have it fall away again. The belt that held it had been torn
through, as had whatever clothing she wore beneath it. Myranda
wondered how long ago it had happened, and if she was responsible.
Between the tattered edges of leather and cloth, bare skin could be
seen, as well as something else. Something that caught Myranda's
eye. There was a gold armband. It was not cloth, but a cuff of gold
that was clamped onto her arm in much the same way that the collar
was affixed to Myranda's neck. The sight of it stirred something in
her mind. There was something someone had said. Beware those who
wear gold . . . The look of recollection must have shown on her
face, for Trigorah broke the long silence.

"What is it?" she said, a demand, not a
question.

"Nothing, just . . . something an old man
said once," she said.

Myranda decided it was best to remain silent
for now. A combination of exhaustion and weakness from hunger
allowed her to drift off despite the uncomfortable bonds and
violent motion of the carriage. It wasn't quite sleep, but it was
better than nothing. Consciousness wavered in and out until she was
jarred out of the doze by the abrupt end to her journey.

"Close your eyes," Trigorah ordered.

"Why?" Myranda asked.

The door was flung open and the light stung
viciously at Myranda's darkness-adjusted eyes. Trigorah stepped out
and a pair of the attending Elites pulled Myranda into the
painfully bright light outside. She wavered briefly, forgetting
that her hands were bound when she tried to catch herself on the
edge of the carriage. Trigorah caught her and steadied her.