The Book of Deacon (42 page)

He returned to her with a bowl of the same
stew and a loaf of the same bread that she had eaten every day
since she arrived, save for the days that Myn would share some of
her fish. He handed it to her and pulled out a book. It was not the
one he usually carried. Instead, it was much older. As she ate, he
spoke to her.

"When you were telling me about yourself, I
was intrigued by your mark on your hand. It was familiar to me, but
I couldn't place it. When I discovered that Lain had the same mark,
I decided to look into it. I would like to read you a bit of this,"
he said.

"All right," she said.

He pulled open the cover and carefully
flipped to a point near the center of the book and began to
read.

"'A matter of land. Death too far south
brings war. The three lands of the north join. The line is drawn.
Generations fall to the blade of the enemy,'" he says.

"Why are you reading me a history of the
war?" she asked.

It was a tale known to depressingly few, but
the conflict that would become the Perpetual War began when, during
meeting of the continent's nobility, the infirm king of Vulcrest
grew ill. It was a long-held tradition that the kings of the north
would be buried where they fell. Most came to rest within the
catacombs beneath their palaces. On that fateful day over a century
ago, the king fell on Tresson land. The resulting demands that the
Tressons relinquish rights to the land beneath him would escalate
into a generation-spanning war.

"A history? Yes, today this would make a fine
history. But this was not written today. This was written nearly
two hundred-fifty years ago, a century before the war began. It
represents the life's work of our finest prophet--a man called
Tober. He is the only man who ever came to this place not to prove
himself, but because he knew what he would find. He spent his time
here perfecting this prophecy. He believed that if he could make
the development of the war clear to the finest warriors in the
world, then at least we could prepare. His only fault was his
completion of the prophecy so long before it was needed. By the
time warriors began to enter with tales of the war, the prophecy
had lapsed into legend. Upon reviewing it, many of the events he
told of have come to pass already. If the rest are to be believed,
then a very important time is coming. The end of an era," he
said.

"The coming of the Chosen," she said.

"Precisely. I looked further, and there is a
description of the Chosen. Listen to this. 'He will have the blood
of a fox, a member of a creature race. His skill with all weapons
will be unsurpassed in the mortal world,'" he said.

"Lain," she said, her voice an awed hush.

"Yes. And therein lies the problem," he
said.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"The prophet tells of three things that will
signify the Chosen when they arrive. They will be pure of soul,
divine of birth, and born with 'the mark.' The prophet speaks at
length about the mark, but he could never describe it," he
said.

Myranda looked to her left palm. The thin
white line of the scar still remained.

"He bears the mark. We do not know about the
rest, but he bears the mark. And so do you. But . . . the prophecy
does not speak of you. It does speak of 'a swordsman and knight, a
leader among men, who will carry an enchanted sword and bear the
mark upon all his armament,'" he said.

"The soldier . . . the one in the field. I
took his sword. But he was dead. How can that be?" she asked.

"The prophecy does not speak of his death.
The fact that you found the knight dead can mean only two things.
One, that neither Lain nor the knight are the Chosen spoken of in
the prophecy, and their appearance is a coincidence. The second,
and far more disturbing, is that Lain is the one spoken of, which
would mean that the leader of the Chosen was the one you came upon.
If that is true then . . . the Chosen will not be complete and . .
. the end of the war will not come," he said.

"But how can we be sure?" she asked.

"There is a way. The other three Chosen are
described as well. One is an artistic prodigy, skilled in all that
she puts her hands to. Another is a cunning strategist and tracker.
Finally, a mystic being of unimaginable might, awaiting the day
that the words of the others coax a return to the physical
realm.

"Soon there will be a blue moon. On that
night the mystic energies will be at their highest. That is the
night that we have made it our tradition to attempt to summon this
legendary being, but without the voice of a Chosen, our attempts
have always been met with failure. Lain was never made a part of
the ceremony in his time here, but will see that he is this time.
If he is involved . . . and we are able to summon the strength . .
. the mystic creature will return. If the being appears, then we
will know for certain that a Chosen is among us," Deacon said.

Myranda sat silently in the bed. She had
heard the tales. The tales of the Chosen. It was a favorite bedtime
story. She had pictured the Chosen as the pristine and perfect
knights that populated all of the other tales. Now Lain could be
one? How?

"You say if you are able to summon the
strength . . . there is doubt?" Myranda said insistently.

"The night of the blue moon is a night of
high magic, to be sure, and we are quite likely the greatest
wizards in this world. That having been said, the mystic creature
will be one of monumental strength, and we shall be tasked with
creating its physical form from nothing. There is no telling if
there is strength enough in the
world
to succeed," Deacon stated.

"This ceremony to summon the Chosen. May
anyone be a part of it?" Myranda asked.

"Anyone may observe. In fact, the Elder
specifically requested that you and the others do so--but
participation is limited to full Masters of war or the elements.
The rite is a dangerous one. A lesser level of training would leave
one at great risk," he explained.

Shortly after, Deacon left her to get her
rest, the revelations he'd spoken of churning in her mind.

#

It took another day for Myranda to recover
completely from the overexertion of the test. During that time, she
received several angry visits from Ayna, the air wizard who was to
be Myranda's second trainer. She reminded Myranda that she had been
specifically told to report to her on the day of the test, and now
three days had passed. She went on to accuse Solomon of sabotaging
her so that he could appear to be the only teacher capable of
producing such a pupil.

The harsh words swept over her without
effect. There were more serious concerns stewing in her mind. When
Myranda finally felt well enough, she ventured out to find Lain. He
was outside of his hut, as usual, engaging in some manner of odd
stretching exercise.

"I have been told to congratulate you," he
said.

"You are one of the Chosen," she said,
angrily.

"Not this again. I thought I was through
hearing this nonsense when I left this place the last time," he
said, readying his staff. "Prepare yourself."

"You finished your training here decades ago.
You were out there, in this war, with the power to stop it.
And
you
did
nothing!"
she
screamed, lunging at him with the weapon.

"It is the dream of a child. There are no
Chosen," he said, parrying her attack.

Myranda launched into an offense with a
ferocity that she would have never thought herself capable of. With
each block or dodge, she grew angrier. Visions of the war spurred
her on. Had he done what it was his destiny to do, she would never
have had to know war. Every hardship of her life would never have
occurred. Suddenly, it happened. Perhaps it was the long rest, or
the anger-fueled strength, or the unpredictability of her furious
attacks, but a blow slipped through, passing by his block and
striking him squarely in on the chest. In an instant, he swept her
legs out from under her and put the end of his staff to her throat,
his teeth bared.

Myn stood rigidly still, unsure what to
do.

"That's . . . one," Myranda managed.

Lain removed the staff.

"So it is," he conceded.

The vicious session continued. A handful more
hits slipped past his guard before the sun finally set. Myn was
beside herself watching the two finally attack each other in
earnest. Myranda mopped the sweat from her brow. Lain inspected the
site of one of the more powerful blows for blood or swelling.

"I count six," Myranda said.

"Five. I said solid blows. The third was
glancing at best," he corrected.

"Fine, five. Time for you to pay up. I know
that you have not been fighting to end the war as your destiny
would dictate, and I know that you are not a tournament fighter as
you said you were. For my first question, I want to know what you
really do," she said.

"Are you certain? I warn you, you will not
like the answer," he said.

"I assure you, I like the mystery even less,"
she said.

"Very well. I am an assassin. As a matter of
fact, you are quite familiar with my exploits," she said.

"Why would . . . no," she said as the answer
dawned on her. "You are the Red Shadow!"

Lain nodded.

"That is impossible--he is a man," she
said.

"A man who killed a wolf with his bare hands
and wears the bloody skull as a helmet," he said. "I started that
rumor myself. If I was seen, I couldn't risk being recognized as a
malthrope. Your kind would more easily let a mass murderer slip
through your fingers than one of my kind. So if the gossip speaks
of a man with a red wolf helmet, that it what people will see."

"And the Elites were after the Red Shadow.
That is why they were really after you," she said.

"They are a formidable force," he said.

"If you are an assassin, then why were you
after me?" she asked.

"This is your second question. The Alliance
Army hired me to locate the swordsman and retrieve both he and the
sword. I was also told that I was not the only one that would be
after him, and that if he was to fall before I found him, I was to
retrieve the sword and anyone who touched it and lived. That was
you. I was also to kill anyone who tried to stop me," he said.

"But those men who came to claim me. They
were of the Alliance Army. Why did you kill them?" she asked.

"Your third question," he said. "I must first
inform you that I did not kill four men that day."

"I saw you with my own eyes," she said.

"You saw me kill four soldiers, but they were
not men. Not quite," he said.

"I don't understand," she said.

"Somehow, I thought that you hadn't noticed
them yet," he said. "They have been around for as long as I can
remember, always wearing Alliance armor. At first they looked and
sounded just as men do, but even then there was the smell. It was
something . . . artificial. As time went on, they began to look
less and less like men. Now they must wear their helmets lest their
faces give them away. I do not know what they are, but I have taken
to calling them nearmen, and they have infested your army.

"It was four of those that I killed that day,
because they had come to collect you for themselves. They had been
sent out with the same orders as I. Had they brought the payment, I
would have let them have you and the sword, but they were
empty-handed and they had to die."

"Wait, wait? Nearmen? You mean that there are
creatures in the army that look human but aren't?" she said.

Lain began to open his mouth.

"That wasn't for you. I will not have you
wasting one of my questions by answering that. Two more . . ." she
scolded.

"Very well," he said.

Myranda looked at Myn, who had finally begun
to relax after the anxious battle.

"Tell me about her. She likes you, me, and no
one else. Solomon tells me he is sure that you were present at her
birth. What happened that day?" Myranda asked.

Lain sighed.

"When I saw the cloaks recapture you so soon
after I released you, I realized I had underestimated the number of
other agents that the Alliance Army had dispatched after you. If
you were to remain my prize I would have to keep you on a shorter
leash. I made certain that, once you left the Undermine
headquarters, I did not let you out of my sight. It turned out to
be a very good thing that I did, because you chose as shelter a
dragon's den. Even
your
nose could have told you that.

"I followed inside, and as fate would have
it, a large male had been on the way. You panicked, so I knocked
you unconscious, pulled you aside. If you had only kept your head
and slipped out after the male had passed, you would have been
safe. The dragons had no interest in you. After the female warded
off the male, I remained near. The last remaining egg hatched, the
creature inspected us, and deemed the two of us family," he
said.

Myranda's head reeled. There was so much she
had learned, and yet there was so much more to ask. What were those
cloaks that had captured her? He had spoken of them so
matter-of-factly, they must be as common as the nearmen that she
had only just learned of. And exactly what
was
Lain? She didn't know much
about malthropes, but she knew that they didn't live much longer
than humans, and yet he had been active for over seventy years.
There was only one question left . . .

"I will save my last question until next
time. And I intend to earn more," Myranda decided.

"As you wish. I must warn you though--thus
far, I have been limiting myself. It will not be so simple next
time," he said.

"And I must warn you, Lain, I will not let
this pass. You are Chosen, and I will see to it that you do your
duty. I swear to it. From this day forward I am dedicating myself
to the task," she hissed.