The Book of Deacon: Book 03 - The Battle of Verril (39 page)

Having baked the last of the dampness away
and finally calming down again, Myn seemed to suddenly realize
she'd been remiss in her duties. She bounded off toward the nearest
forest, no doubt on the trail of a fresh meal. Myranda took the
opportunity to look after herself. She willed the wound on her side
closed and wicked away the water that was chilling her to the bone.
With a few more words and a flex of her mind, her trembling
subsided. For a moment she smirked at how simple it was, almost an
afterthought. It was not long ago that falling in the water without
someone to start a fire would have been a death sentence. Now it
was at best an inconvenience, rectified in moments, even without a
staff.

She looked to the lake. Bobbing on the
surface, tossed lightly by the small ripples being driven by the
wind, was her stolen staff. She held out her hand and willed it to
her. It obliged with little effort. In the calm after the battle
she regarded it as if for the first time. A curious little thing it
was. Certainly not something she would have imagined the D'karon
putting to work. That, of course, was the point. It was a tool of
deception, meant for the hand of a deceiver. There was no gem,
nothing to mark it as a weapon. It seemed harmless, rather thin and
ancient looking. Gnarled and knobby in just the way a wizard's
staff ought to be, the sort of staff that a kindly old wizard would
lean on as he ambled through a village. It was comforting. It put
one at ease. It was a lie.

A closer look revealed placeless runes etched
over every surface that would hold a mark. The merest touch opened
a dark tome of spells. Spells that required no training, no
soul
to cast them. Just a whisper of words, the tiniest
thought. They were spells designed to destroy. Spells designed to
control. Even holding the thing made Myranda feel soiled. At the
same time, though, it held many keys to trials she and the others
had failed to overcome before. Spells to undo their locks. Spells
to drop their shields. Somewhere among the enchantments she felt
something very close to what she'd felt whenever one of the
generals vanished into the swirling voids. The very spell that
allowed them to move so quickly at times, to escape so readily. She
touched at the spell experimentally, but quickly withdrew. It was
different from the rest. It needed a target of some sort, something
specific. A simple point in space would not do. It seemed to crave
an indication of which of many doors she wanted to open. The
destinations were fixed, leaving her only to choose. Where those
doors led, however, she did not know, and the potential danger of
choosing the wrong one made choosing any one of them ill
advised.

The pounding steps of Myn returning pulled
Myranda from her thoughts. It had surely only been a few minutes,
but Myn dropped a young stag in front of her with the sort of pink
toothed contentment that betrayed a recently filled stomach.
Without a word of request, the dragon bounded off again to gather
wood while Myranda faced the task of preparing the night's meal
without a knife. Even with magic it was an ungainly task. Still,
she managed. Before long Myn was back to dump her prize on the
ground. She was new to the task of fetching wood, and it showed.
She’d brought an entire tree, dirt still clumped on its roots.

“Good, Myn, good,” Myranda praised, offering
the customary scratch. “Next time, though, try to find wood that is
a bit less green. Something that snaps without much effort.”

Such fresh wood should have been difficult to
light, but in the presence of a wizard and a dragon fire is seldom
a long time in coming. Soon a roaring fire was crackling. Ether's
statue of a body was heaved onto the flames, Ivy was situated
comfortably, and the food was prepared. The stone form of their
friend reddened and eventually shifted to flame, tearing at the
energy the flame far more hungrily than Myranda gnawed at the meat.
A few minutes allowed the shape shifter to regain her composure
and, unfortunately, her usual disposition. Her eyes came to rest on
the dragon and, despite being composed of flame, took on a cold
glare.

“The lizard has returned from the dead, I
see,” Ether said, as though there was nothing particularly
impressive about the feat.

Myranda nodded, swallowing her current
mouthful before adding. “She's got something to show you, as
well.”

Myn unfolded her wing enough for The Mark to
reveal itself. For a moment, Ether was silent. When she spoke, her
words shook with intensity.

“She counts herself among the Chosen. Well
then, fate's mockery of me is complete. My exalted place at the
zenith of cosmic import must be shared with a common beast,” she
fumed.

Myn's eyes narrowed.

“Myn saved your life and mine a few minutes
ago. That fire, this food, and every day you and I live from now on
are thanks to her,” Myranda reminded.

“She is not without her usefulness. However,
at least the
other
mindless beast is small enough to escape
notice,” Ether remarked, turning her gaze to the sleeping Ivy. “And
the dragon will make us a target regardless of who sees us. There
is not a human in this world who would trust such a monster.”

Myn climbed angrily to her feet.

“Easy Myn,” Myranda said with little result
before turning back to Ether. “The whole of the north sees us as
enemies already, and at least with Myn we will be able to move more
quickly.”

“Yes, well, considering how slowly you all
recover, it hardly seems useful to be rushing to the next battle.
At least for you,” Ether countered, stepping from the flames and
easily turning back to her human form as if to hammer home the
point that days of torture could be erased in minutes.

Myn's scornful stare took on a predatory
depth once more.

“I'm a healer. So long as I am able, I can
see to it that we are all in fighting shape after little more than
a night’s rest,” Myranda offered. She felt strangely as though she
were arguing to be allowed to remain a part of the team, despite
the fact that it was Ether who had just been rescued. Likely this
was simply the shape shifter’s way of saving face after undeniably
owing her freedom to another.

“Mmm. So long as you are able. Of course,
that is far from a foregone conclusion at the end of a battle.
Indeed, one could scarcely deny that you are the weakest link in
our little ill formed band of . . . “ Ether began.

“MYN DON'T!” Myranda shouted.

The shape shifter turned to find the dragon
reluctantly frozen in place, her massive jaws gaping just above
Ether's head. From the mixed look of hunger and fury, there was
little doubt what her intentions had been.

“I assure you, beast. Had you swallowed me, I
would have created my own exit,” Ether warned, turning back as
though nothing had happened. “Regardless of the qualifications, it
would appear that you three have managed to escape where even I
have failed, evidence that the insight of the gods is not to be
doubted. Tell me then how it came to pass, and why it is that Lain
is not among us.”

Myranda began the tale again.

#

Far away, huddled around a similar fire, a
small band of different heroes plotted the events of the coming
day. A bottle was passed around that held a different kind of fire.
It passed first to Caya, a fresh scar striping the back of her
hand. Now it passed to Tus, leather armor against leathery skin.
Next it was passed to the shaky hand of a newcomer, a runner who
carried information. It then passed away to the shadows, from hand
to hand of the best of what little the north had left to staff the
Undermine: Men, women, and veritable children.

“So, what do we know?” Caya asked.

“There's a-a lot of action. A lot of
m-motion. The flow of troops to the front has stopped. They're . .
. coming back. Coming north,” He said nervously, as though such
news would get him a hand across the face or worse.

“Right . . . you know what that is called
boys? Desperation!” Caya cried.

A chorus of cheers erupted.

“The generals are losing control!” she
spurred on.

A second roar rang out.

“Our time is coming, my soldiers,” she added
in serious tones. “The times have been hard. Victories have been
scarce, but now the Alliance Army is gasping its last breath. Mark
my words, this war has seen its last winter!” she cried.

All in attendance raised their voices in
triumphant approval. More bottles were produced and passed about,
clinking together and lifting high. The hoots and hollers of the
tired, battered, rejoicing soldiers filtered through the dense
trees of Ravenwood. They'd been chased from these woods before, but
in a forest so large and so thick, there was always another place
to hide. Even now their shouts became lost among the trees within
barely a hundred places, and the light of their fire in half
that.

Caya smiled as she looked upon her troops,
their spirits riding high on her words. She'd never been the best
on the battlefield, but give her a man's ear and he'd fight the
gods themselves by the time she was through. As she basked in the
warm glow of the fire and the admiration of her followers,
something wiped her smile away. Despite the boisterousness about
her and the deadening effect of the forest, ears sharpened by well
justified paranoia had latched onto something.

“Quiet!” she ordered.

Silence descended instantly. Somewhere in the
darkness around them there was the snap of a twig. The stand of
trees echoed with dozens of swords pulling free in unison. She held
out a hand. A bow was placed in it. She readied an arrow.

“Tus . . . find our visitor and bring him to
me, would you?” she requested.

The monster of a man stalked into the forest.
Tus may have been aware of stealth, but he'd never felt compelled
to employ it. His thumping footsteps sent little cascades of snow
drifting down from the trees as he passed, and despite the slow
appearance of his gait, the length of the enormous man's stride
carried him at what some would consider a run. He'd only just
vanished among the trees when there came the sound of a man's voice
choked off in mid sentence, followed by the plodding footsteps of
his return.

When Tus came back into view he was dragging
an average sized man by the throat. The man struggled uselessly at
the ham-sized hand wrapped almost completely around his neck, while
Tus looked, if anything, disappointed that he'd not put up a better
fight. When he reached Caya he hoisted the man to his feet,
released his neck, and spun him around to face the commander.

“How did you find us!” Caya demanded. “Did
you follow the messenger?!”

The scrawny runner, his face perpetually with
the look of a scolded dog, froze at the words, sweat rolling down
his face. Tus shifted his stone faced gaze in the poor man's
direction, managing to deliver an unmistakable threat of punishment
without changing his expression at all.

“No, I assure you the fellow is blameless,”
said the intruder roughly as he rubbed his manhandled throat a
bit.

“Wait a moment. I know you. You're that
fellow Myranda was traveling with. Devon,” she realized.

The mention of the hero's name sent a stir
through the crowd. Myranda was the reason half of them had joined.
It was the one name all of them knew for certain.

“Deacon, actually,” he corrected.

“Right, right. Deacon. Have you come alone?”
she asked.

“Unfortunately I have,” Deacon replied.

The crowd lost interest instantly and
audibly.

“Right, well then,” Caya said, motioning to
Tus, who clamped his hand on Deacon's shoulder. “That warrants an
explanation, I'd say. You see, Myranda we trust, and people who
travel with her we trust as well. People who travel without her . .
. well that is another matter. You can start with how you found
us.”

Deacon winced at the grip on his
shoulder.

“I am a wizard, and I've had quite a bit of
practice at locating people in the past few months. For a wizard,
practice is typically all we need,” Deacon said.

“I've got more than a few wizards as enemies,
my boy, and most have met me more times than you. Why is it that
you found me and they didn't,” Caya asked.

“Maybe they aren't looking,” Deacon offered,
a paralyzing pain in his shoulder informing him that it was not the
correct answer.

“Aspersions on my infamy aside, perhaps you'd like
to tell me about Myranda. I first received word that she and an
assortment of oddities were captured and moved to undisclosed
locations, then that she entranced a demon dragon during an arena
battle and escaped. Might you be able to verify?” Caya asked
firmly.

“I was one of the oddities captured that day.
I can't say for sure about the
demon
dragon, but she
has
been able to escape, and I think she's been busy freeing
the rest of them as well,” Deacon explained.

“I presume that you were one of the rescued,
and yet you travel alone. Have you fallen out of her favor?” Caya
probed.

“I freed myself. I imagine she has been
tracking down the others because she can't find me. I've been
concealing myself to make sure Demont doesn't follow me, but she's
been flexing some considerable mystic might, so I've caught
glimpses of her. As for me, even if she could detect me, the others
are far more important than I,” he said.

“Demont, you say.
General
Demont?
That's a powerful enemy you've made for yourself,” she replied,
suddenly far more interested. “Let's hear it then. Why come to me?
And how did you manage to get away?”

Tus released his grip, allowing blood to flow
back into Deacon's arm.

“My escape was somewhat complicated,” he
said, adjusting his ring uneasily. “Suffice to say that fully
disarming me has a paradoxical effect.”