The Book of Deacon: Book 02 - The Great Convergence (6 page)

"What? No. You said that she never said a
word, but she sang, and that they would try to coax secrets out of
her," she objected.

Desmeres chuckled and pulled a sword from its
mount on the wall.

"Listen," he said, swiftly drawing it from
its sheath.

There wasn't a whisper of sound. He then ran
his finger along the flat of the blade. The immaculate metal
resonated with a crystal clear tone.

"There are more than a few blacksmiths that
would give their right hand to learn how I make these. Those are
the secrets I'm worried about. A fellow by the name of Flinn has
gotten wealthy off of one of my daggers…" he said, immediately
changing the subject. "Say, you know what I haven't made in a dog's
age? A staff. Lain doesn't use magic. Not a word of it. Frankly, it
doesn't make any sense to me, because he swears by that 'warrior's
sleep' they taught him back in the belly of the beast, and that is
deeper and harder to manage than any trance. I've made normal
staffs, but a casting staff would be a fine diversion. You say you
are a full master? I suppose that I would be justified in giving
you a piece of my handiwork, but . . . I just can't be sure. I
would have to see you in action before I made something from
scratch. I might not mind working on the one you've already got,
though."

Myranda shook her head in disbelief again. He
spoke of betraying his friend and having a relationship with his
enemy as though it was nothing, but the very moment that the
subject of weaponry was introduced, he latched onto it with
boundless interest. Before she could object, Desmeres had fetched
her staff.

"Good heavens. Have they still got Coda
making these? I could improve this immeasurably. There are at least
a dozen runes that could make this doubly resistant to hostile
spells. A few potion infusions. Yes. This could be a fine weapon .
. . Gracious, this is heavy. Did they give this to you?" he
asked.

" . . . No, Deacon gave it to me," she said.
She knew by now that attempting to bring closure to anything that
Desmeres wasn't interested in discussing anymore was useless.

"Well, Deacon must not be a weapon
specialist, because this is the wrong size, weight, and shape for
someone like you. The crystal could use work as well, but I haven't
got the equipment for that. Not here anyway," he said.

That was the last she heard from him for most
of the day. He retired to a corner of the weapon room and set
himself to work, flipping through books, selecting tools, and
carving at the staff. Myranda watched for a time. He worked with a
speed, grace, and enthusiasm that she admired. He must truly love
the work. Before long, though, her mind became fixed on other
things. She moved back to the dining room and retired to a chair.
Myn had finished shedding and looked to Myranda for attention. The
girl moved to the ground to better dote upon her friend. She patted
the little creature, whose scales were now as smooth and shiny as
the day she was born. As she did, she thought.

She thought back to her encounter with
Trigorah. It pained her to think of it. She was desperate to
escape. In her desperation she nearly killed the commander. Now it
was possible that all of this time they had been dedicated to the
same goal. If she had only turned herself over, all of this could
have been avoided. But then, if she had turned herself in then she
would not have helped to conjure the other Chosen in Entwell, and
she would not know nearly as much magic. She would not have even
been sure of Lain's place in the Chosen. Was it all part of the
prophesy? All part of the plan for the world that she would not
know the truth until she had earned it? So much hardship had come
since then… Her reverie was interrupted when Desmeres entered the
room.

"Ah, excellent, the dragon has shed her
skin," he said, gathering up the blanket and dumping the remnants
of the act into a bag. "This is a very useful and very rare
resource. I can think of a dozen or more things to do with
this."

"Then when you put down the blanket, you
didn't want to make Myn more comfortable, you wanted to make it
easier to collect up the shedding?" Myranda said, annoyed that yet
another seeming act of kindness was false.

"Yes. Would you stand up, please?" he
asked.

"Why?" she asked.

"I need your exact height," he said, offering
a hand to help her up.

Myranda reluctantly accepted the help. He
looked her up and down, eventually asking to see her hands as well.
Once he seemed satisfied with sizing her up, he told her so.

"Before you sit down, though, I imagine you
might like something nicer than the floor to sleep on. We haven't
got any beds, but there are a few bed rolls. One for each of us and
a spare. If that dragon of yours . . . " he began.

"Her name is Myn," Myranda interjected.

"If Myn can hold onto her flame, I would not
mind offering her the spare," he said.

"Myn likes to sleep on top of me," Myranda
said.

"Do you like for her to sleep atop you?" he
asked.

"I don't mind it," she replied.

"Then by all means let it continue. Sleep
wherever you find room enough on the floor to do so, though I would
not recommend directly below the entrance. It would lead to a
rather rude awakening," he said.

Myranda accepted the bed roll and set it up,
but she was not ready for sleep yet. She sat up longer and thought.
It was perhaps a few hours more, in the dead of the night, when the
door quietly creaked open and Lain deactivated the traps and
slipped back inside. Desmeres was too busy at his task to notice
the entry. Lain sat at the table in front of Myranda. He had
nothing new with him. The dragon leapt from her lap to his, eager
for the novelty of her other favorite creature in the world.

"Desmeres has shown me around," Myranda
said.

Lain shifted his gaze to her without
acknowledging her words.

"I have seen the books. The first two shelves
are all about your business. Desmeres would not tell me what the
third shelf's books were for," she said.

"Desmeres knows his place," he said.

"All I have to do is ask, you know. You have
made a promise to me," she said.

"So I have," he answered.

"Then tell me. What is the purpose? Most of
the pages do not even have names," she said.

"I am not interested in names. I am
interested in people," he said.

"Tell me what I want to know," she
demanded.

"Those are drops of blood. I collect one from
each person who owes me a favor so that I can identify them by
scent," he said.

"Owe you favors?" she asked.

"I have helped them in some way," he
said.

"Oh? I suppose that you murdered someone for
them and they have yet to pay you," Myranda said harshly.

"Now, now. That is an oversimplification of
the services that we offer," Desmeres said, drawn by the voices.
"We don't merely kill people. We also dabble in espionage. To wit,
I have here every dispatch that we have managed to seize from the
military through our various channels since you went missing. Allow
me to condense. Up until about six weeks ago, dispatches were
flying in every direction with inadequate and frankly rather skewed
descriptions of Myranda here. Separately, there have been
significant efforts put into reminding the populace of the evils of
malthropes. Then the messages began to taper off. By the end, the
rather thin selection of messages available all seemed to agree
that the primary targets of late are dead or of no more concern.
That is, of course, except for one that we managed to sneak a peak
at en route from Trigorah herself to General Bagu, urging that the
search not be ended until a body is found. I have reason to believe
that Bagu agrees. He may even have sent one of the other Generals
to give Trigorah a hand, although other dispatches seem to indicate
a second General has been involved for some time," he said.

"What does all of this mean for us?" Myranda
asked.

"For
us
it means that we will be
facing the Elite as a smaller, more focused, and much more powerful
group. Fortunately, thanks to Lain's less than subtle actions prior
to retreating to the Belly of the Beast, the Elite proper has been
reduced to a handful of men, and with the way the combat on the
front lines has been heating up, I cannot foresee many new members
anytime soon. The rest are just mercenaries in uniforms,
comparatively no threat at all. It also means that if we disguise
you a bit, we may be able transport you from one place to another
without rousing too much suspicion. So long as you don't run into
Trigorah herself, who knows your face," he said.

"But Trigorah is the one person I want to
meet. She is the one who can deliver me to the Alliance Army safely
so that I can begin finding the other Chosen," Myranda said.

Lain's gaze shifted sternly to Myranda.

"Yes. She has leapt to a rather lofty
conclusion about the AA seeking to help her join the Chosen
together," Desmeres explained.

"You agreed," Myranda said.

"I agreed it was possible. I also remarked
that it was not at all likely. I could have guessed that their
intentions for you are not quite hospitable, but there is no sense
guessing about one's intentions when we can read them in their own
words. From Bagu to Trigorah a few months ago. 'I cannot stress the
importance of this capture enough. As long as this target remains
out of our reach, the possibility of failure exists. We must have
her, if possible alive. She could be an invaluable resource.'
Capture, target, resource, if possible alive? These do not sound
like the words of a helpful and concerned party," he said.

"I don't care," she said.

"If you knew more about the people who want
you, you might. You need to learn just who is really after you. The
five generals are the ones most interested. Regardless of what you
may have seen or heard, the generals are not the sort of people
that you want looking for you. I know that you think that they have
the best of intentions for you and the world, but keep in mind that
if not for them, this war would have come to an end, possibly
peacefully, decades ago."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"There are standing orders from the generals
to kill anyone sent to broker a peace. There is every indication
that those have been the orders since the war began," he
explained.

"So I have heard . . . wait. This war has
been fought off and on for the past hundred and fifty years. How
could the same five generals be at fault?" she asked.

"They aren't human. At least, four of them
aren't for certain. Trigorah is an elf, as you know, but she was
the last to be made a general, well after the war began. As for the
others . . . I believe that they are D'karon," he said.

"D'karon? The inhuman creatures? The ones
that created those wretched Cloaks and . . . and the dragon thing
that killed the swordsman?" she cried. "I don't believe it."

"I don't expect you to. I only ask that you
keep your eyes open, and listen for these names. They are bad
people. There is a reason that few living men and women have ever
seen them, and that is because those who see them seldom live long.
The first is Trigorah. You know her well enough and she is, to a
degree, the least of your worries. She is the decent and honorable
sort and will only do what she is ordered to do. In the same vein,
she will
always
do what she is ordered to do, and since she
takes her orders from the other generals, she is capable of
anything. Next is Teht. You won't likely run into her, but you may
be brought before her if you get caught. She is fairly inactive,
spending nearly all of her time in research, experimentation, and
training others. A powerful wizard, and surrounded by many of the
same. Now, Demont. He is one you had best keep away from. He
doesn't seem terribly dangerous. A rather slight and weak looking
man, but he surrounds himself with the most vicious and twisted of
D'karon creatures, and they take his will as law. Beasts snap to
attention more readily and obediently than soldiers around him. He
likes to spend his time researching as well, but research of a
different sort. Many is the story I have heard of a patrol of
soldiers torn to shreds by a swarm of creatures none had ever seen
before while a man matching Demont's description watches. He tests
these creatures. More disturbing is the man he often brings as a
partner. Epidime. Nearly all of the information I have about this
fellow is contradictory. This much I am certain of: He is an
intelligence officer and a very good one, specializing in
interrogation. His skills in that area are the stuff of legend.
Those who come before him are never the same afterward. I have
spoken with one or two of his victims. They ended up telling him
things they didn't even know they knew. However, all of them report
to one man, Bagu. Don't be fooled by the name. He is a masterful
leader and, if what is said is true, every bit the wizard and
warrior to keep the others in line by fear or force," he said.

"I can't imagine them being as evil as you
make them sound," she said.

"It depends on your perspective. Frankly,
most of our countrymen should be worshiping them. I guarantee you
that without them, the North would have fallen to the south fifty
years ago. It is on the strength of the five generals that the
Alliance army has withstood so many years against a far larger and
healthier force. From your point of view, though, they are most
definitely evil. These are the men and woman who want your
freedom," he said.

"They want to help me, and the world," she
said.

"If you choose to believe that," he said with
a shrug. "Just remember, these are the most important and powerful
people in the north. If you meet them, consider every breath from
there after a gift. People don't tend to outlive their usefulness
around them."