The Book of Deacon: Book 03 - The Battle of Verril (23 page)

Myranda struggled to restore some measure of
clarity. She tried to remind herself that Epidime had brought her
father here for precisely this reason, that she was only playing
into his trap. It was useless. Half a lifetime of searching and
hoping had found their answer at the worst possible time, and her
emotions would not relent.

“Don't you have any questions for your dear
father, little one?” Epidime asked, Myranda's turmoil obvious to
him. “Don't you want to know how he was treated? What kept him
alive through those long years of torture and isolation? Do as I
say, what I know you want to do. Just come with me. I'll tell you
everything. It has been too long, my dear daughter.”

The tortured wizard longed to take his offer.
She knew that he was only trying to get her to betray the others,
but to hear the pleas spoken in her father's own voice burned at
her mind. As the first of the soldiers finally broke through, she
lowered her staff slightly. The protective wall was torn away,
revealing the battlefield that had been hidden. Myranda's eyes
turned. Fleeting glimpses of Ivy's tortured struggles and Lain's
continuing battle with Trigorah slowly filtered though the haze of
emotion. Epidime approached her as she was surrounded by soldiers.
She raised her staff again, her eyes filled with resolve. Epidime's
expression grew more sinister.

“You always were a disobedient little whelp,”
he hissed.

The clash began in earnest between Myranda
and Epidime. Nearby, Lain's battle was fairing poorly. On the
ground around him were a handful of soldiers unlucky enough to feel
the bite of Lain's blade. Others had quickly stepped in to replace
them, and they were growing more courageous. If this was not ended
soon, it would not end in his favor. As the sword clashed again and
again, Lain finally saw an opening. He managed a swift slash,
cleaving Trigorah's armor and digging deep into her shoulder. The
general lurched backwards. After a swift slice to the soldiers near
enough to intervene, Lain moved in for a final attack. Trigorah
swung her sword, despite the fact Lain was not within reach. A
ribbon of light arced forth from the blade. The assassin's own
blade was able to deflect the spell, but it collided with enough
force to hurl Lain backward, knocking the weapon from his hand.

When he landed, he was instantly buried under
a pile of soldiers. For a moment, they seemed to have him under
control, but suddenly there is the screech of steel on steel and
the soldiers scattered to reveal Lain, now holding the sword from a
fallen soldier. As he began to carve his way back through the
soldiers to get to their leader, Trigorah leveled the point of her
sword at Lain and spoke a few arcane words. Lain's pace slowed, his
motions suddenly subdued. His legs faltered, forcing him to drop to
one knee. A tremendous weariness came over him. Soldiers closed in
and restrained him, but he wrenched himself from their grasp,
managing one last charge at Trigorah. The general poured all of the
energy stored in her blade into the spell. Without Desmeres’ blade
to protect him from the magic, he was at its mercy. Finally, his
strength failed him, and he collapsed.

Deacon finally tore the crystal from
Desmeres’ grip and plunged it deep into his bag, shuffling the
other contents to be sure it was concealed. Without another will to
command her, Ivy's mind was finally her own again. Realizing that
she'd been captured, and still reeling from her chaotic ordeal, the
blue aura of fear surged up around her. The crystals embedded in
the net around her drew hungrily at the power, further terrifying
Ivy.

“What do I do?! WHAT DO I DO!?” she begged,
trying desperately to escape the net.

The soldiers restraining her were drawing the
net tighter and beginning to drag her to the portal through which
Ether's remains had been carried. The sight of the swirling form,
coupled with the thought that they wanted to drag her through it,
pushed her over the edge. Instantly she was a blaze of blinding
blue light. The net held, its crystals glowing brilliantly as they
drank in her power, but the men who had been restraining her could
not hold her back. As she desperately leapt toward the wall that
trapped them in the valley, they were dragged along behind her. She
collided with the shimmering wall with incredible force, the dozen
or so soldiers yanked along by the net smashing into it a moment
later. The mystical barrier rippled violently, but held. She
hammered on it with her fists, but fear had granted her more speed
than strength.

As the men slowly recovered and attempted to
secure the net around her, there was a burst of light. One of the
crystals, bathed in more energy than it could contain, had burst,
showering soldiers and Ivy alike with gem shards. The already
terrified Ivy's fear doubled as she tried to escape the crystals.
The net, still tangled about her upper body, was dragged behind,
along with the hapless soldiers who had managed to become entangled
as well. Soon other crystals began to burst, each time startling
the creature and sending her in another direction.

A streak of blue zigged and zagged through
the valley, parting the soldiers like a boat cutting through the
waves. Her frenzied path tore past Trigorah, colliding with her
weapon and sending the blade hurdling through the air. It embedded
itself in the cliff face high above them.

“Someone stop that beast!” Trigorah
ordered.

All available soldiers rushed to the task,
leaving Myranda alone with her opponent. She and Epidime had been
hurling spells at each other without relenting; hers intent on
separating him from his staff, his intent on simply defeating her.
The valley was scorched and aflame in some places, deeply frozen in
others. Now that there were no soldiers to distract her, Myranda
knew that she would not get a better chance. She focused intensely,
flexing all she knew of levitation and wrenching Epidime into the
air. Holding out a hand to guide her foe into the air, she spread
her fingers. Instantly Epidime's weapon tugged away from him,
threatening to escape his withered grasp.

“What do you think you will accomplish with
this, my child?” Epidime asked as he clutched desperately at the
halberd with both hands.

“I WILL break your hold over my father,” she
declared.

“Is that wise? After all, a decade in a
dungeon tends to wear on the body,” Epidime struggled to say.
“Perhaps your father is only alive because of my presence.”

Myranda hesitated, but just for a moment.

“I can hear his screams as you threaten to
pull his fingers from their sockets, and I can hear his thoughts.
The man has a greater will to live than you give him credit for,”
Epidime said.

As Ivy continued her terror driven rampage,
Deacon rushed to join his friends. He didn't get more than a few
steps before a painful blow from behind knocked him to the ground.
A pair of the soldiers tossed about by Ivy had managed to get to
their feet. When Deacon rolled to his back to face his attacker, a
foot was placed on his chest and the tip of a sword held to his
throat. Desmeres limped to where the bag had fallen and fetched it.
He gazed inside, rolling his eyes at what he found.

“Been to Entwell, have you?” he said. “I
sincerely doubt anyone out here could have produced one of
these.”

He reached into the bag, rummaging through
the warehouse worth of contents.

“I don't suppose you will be willing to
locate the crystal and stop that creature from killing us all,” he
said after realizing that finding it on his own was unlikely at
best.

“You are siding with the D'karon. How can you
dedicate yourself to a cause that threatens the very world you live
in?” Deacon replied as they pulled him to his feet and held his
arms behind his back.

“Right now I am primarily dedicated to
survival,” Desmeres replied.

“What does he mean? Who are the D'karon?” the
soldier restraining Deacon asked.

“If you are so curious, ask him . . . “
Desmeres said, immediately bashing the wizard with the hilt of his
sword, rendering him unconscious. “When he wakes up. We'll need him
to get the crystal back. Take him and the bag through the portal as
soon as you can.”

Myranda's strength was beginning to flag. So,
it seemed, was Epidime's, as his grip grew ever looser, and his
intellectual look had become one of desperation.

“You know . . . “ he managed to say. “You
seemed like a smart girl . . . I was afraid it wouldn't have come
to this. And you seemed weak . . . I was afraid you wouldn't have
lasted this long . . . “

“What are you talking about?” Myranda
asked.

“Don't worry . . . the answer is
forthcoming,” he replied.

The energy squandered in Ivy's mindless
rampage, as well as that stolen by the crystals, had begun to take
its toll. As she slowed, more soldiers were able to grasp the
threads of tattered net that streamed from her to slow her more.
Finally a second, then third net were thrown over her. The new
crystals finished what the old had started. The last of her surge
of strength was wicked away, and the creature collapsed.

Myranda turned to see Lain, Ivy, and Deacon
heavily restrained and being led toward the portal. Lain's eyes
were weakly open, but it was clear that he lacked both the strength
and will to so much as struggle. As she realized that she was the
last of the heroes that remained, her eyes turned back to Epidime.
The look of desperation was replaced by a satisfied grin. His
fingers closed tightly about the halberd and he launched a swift
burst of black energy at her. The wizard dove to avoid it, rolling
to her feet. Epidime dropped to the ground, not a hint of fatigue
or concern on his face. It had all been an act, a distraction to
keep her from helping her friends.

In a final, desperate act, Myranda summoned
an intense wall of flame. It weaved its way across the valley
between Myranda and Epidime, blocking off the rest of the soldiers
from those carrying her friends. The soldiers were then lifted into
the air and hurled over the flames to join their fellow warriors.
Myranda was not sure where strength she burned now was coming from,
but she was certain it was the absolute last she had, and it would
not last long. She focused on reviving Lain. There was a powerful
spell at work on him, one that would not be a simple one to
unravel. She set as much of her mind as she could spare to the
task. The familiar sound of arrows hissing through the air drew her
attention. She raised a hand and they stopped in mid air, hanging
over the fire. Just a few moments more . . . If Lain could be
raised then perhaps there was a chance. She felt Epidime's powerful
will pressing against hers, trying to undo all that she was doing.
The wizard redoubled her effort. The spells held.

“Myranda!” Trigorah called through the
flames.

Myranda looked through the burning wall. A
dozen of her men had arrows drawn back and ready to fire at
Myranda. The General pointed, and a single soldier trained his bow
on . . . Epidime. He motioned for a pair of soldiers to restrain
him, and when they had, he released the halberd. A look of
confusion, fear, and anger came to his face.

“Trigorah, you traitor! You've seen what the
Generals have done and you've done nothing to stop it! You've
allowed your men, our brethren, to be sent to their deaths on the
whims of demons! Fire the arrow quickly, and fire it true, because
I will
not
live in the world that your treachery has
created,” he raved.

Trigorah let fly the arrow. Myranda did not
think. She threw aside all other spells. The arrow was all that
mattered. She clamped her mind down on it. It halted, stopped dead
in its path a mere whisper from her father’s chest. Then came the
pain. The soldiers, under orders to take Myranda and the others
alive, had aimed at the staff she held. One shaft plunged through
her arm. As the intense pain swept through her, any hope at focus
was lost. Trigorah's men rushed to the fallen heroes. Lain was
still under the effects of the spell. Myranda's fading vision
locked on the general as she approached the unconscious
assassin.

“I have given so many years, and so much of
myself to catch you, Lain. First as an assassin, and now as a
warrior of legend, your capture has been the one thing standing
between me and my rightful place. And now that is over. In your
defeat comes your greatest contribution to this world. Presenting
you and the others to General Bagu will allow me to command the
front once more. This war will finally see its end. The north will
finally see victory,” the General proclaimed.

Epidime applauded.

“Yes, yes. A life's work completed. Alas, I
am afraid Bagu's trust in you is not what it once was. As such, it
will be I who must present the Chosen to him. You will await
reassignment,” he stated.

“What are you saying? I
earned
this,”
Trigorah replied viciously.

“You could not have achieved it without my
help. I should think that would imply we've equal claim to the
right to present them, and since I am your superior, it is within
my rights to claim the reward. Besides, that wound on your shoulder
proves to me you are not as valuable as we had believed,” Epidime
mocked.

“What difference does the wound make? Victory
is still ours,” she replied.

“Victory is mine, not ours. Now if you will,
return through the portal,” Epidime ordered, impatience mixing with
his tone.

“I will not allow you to take this from me,
Epidime. And neither will my men,” the General said, pulling a
dagger from her belt. “Soldiers, restrain General Epidime!”

For a moment, the remaining soldiers
hesitated. An impatient tap of Epidime's staff and a surge of its
crystal made their minds up. They turned, weapons ready, to
Trigorah.