The Book of Deacon: Book 03 - The Battle of Verril Read online

  Deacon grasped his crystal tightly and slowly scanned the area.

  “Nothing active,” he replied. “Those crystals have something potent in them, but I can't quite place what . . . wait . . . there is something more.”

  He raised his finger to the night sky. A black form against the faded gray clouds emerged a moment later, bursting from the clouds where he had indicated. It seemed close, judging from the size, but as the seconds ticked on, the bat-like form took up more and more of the sky. By the time the flapping of the wings could be heard, a horrifyingly large section of the sky was blocked out by them. It was a dragoyle, or at least, that was what it most closely resembled. The size was at least triple that of the largest such beast they'd yet faced, and it seemed far stouter overall. The neck was slightly shorter and much thicker, as were the legs. The tail was covered with spines that grew longer and broader along its length until they ended in a near morning star. Its head bore similar armor plating, and in place of the cruel beak that normally adorned such beasts, this one seemed to have a more jagged, tooth-like serration. At the sight of the creature the horses bolted, vanishing into the tunnel.

  Lain readied his steel. Ether shifted to her flame form. Both wizards held their casting stones at the ready. Ivy stared in open mouthed awe, not having gotten a firm enough hold on her wits to be afraid yet. The monster descended into the valley. The wind from the massive wings was a constant gale. When it touched down, it did so with enough force to shake free much of the snow that had clung to the steep slopes of the surrounding mountainside. Instantly the tunnel behind them was hidden in a cascade of rocky ice and snow. All were prepared for a monumental struggle. Oddly, once it landed, the massive creature held its ground, each foot planted just outside the stone platform, not making the slightest motion of hostility. Slowly, it lowered its head. As it opened its mouth, the heroes scattered, expecting a torrent of the wretched miasma the similar beasts had spewed, but none came. Instead, what looked to be a wooden treasure chest fell to the ground. Slowly, the chest opened.

  “Steady, everyone. Some sort of spell is activating. A weak one,” Deacon warned.

  A pale blue mist stirred from within the chest. Slowly it coalesced into the form of a man. Ivy and Myranda stiffened at the sight, and Ether's fiery hide flared. They had encountered this man before. It was the most senior of the Generals, Bagu. He appeared to be reclining in a chair that had not fully appeared along with him. As the mist took on the appropriate hues of his flesh, he stood.

  “You kept me waiting. This beast has been circling over the clouds for some time,” he stated.

  “Who is that?” Deacon asked, fascinated by the act of magic he was witnessing.

  “General Bagu,” he replied. “You must be the newest thorn in my side. The human foolish enough to associate with the Chosen.”

  “Incredible! An illusion coupled with communication . . . brilliant,” he admired.

  “Listen, Chosen. I am certain you know a great deal about me, but I assure you, I know a great deal more about you. I have been gathering information on some of you since before your birth,” he said. “I was concerned that you were functioning too well as a unit, but I realize now that I could not have been more wrong. You all fight for a single cause, perhaps, but your motivations are your own. I am the focus of your fury because you believe that my defeat will provide you with the goal you crave. You are mistaken. I do not stand between you and your desires, your own foolish beliefs do. I am the only one that can offer you all what you seek. And all I request in return is for you to lower your weapons and allow me to finish my work, or if you prefer, join me and see it to as bloodless an end as you like.”

  “Don't listen to him!” Myranda cried.

  “The wizard . . . What is it that you want? An end to this war, and perhaps a taste of revenge in exchange for the price your homeland had to pay. Do you really believe that this war will end simply by killing me? There will be others to take my place, I assure you, and others to replace them. You blame the D'karon for keeping this war alive, but it is your own people, and the people of Tressor that will allow it to continue. Join me and I promise you, this war will end tomorrow. I will issue the order to cease hostilities. Negotiations can begin. If you join me, the next drop of blood could be the last,” Bagu said.

  “You would never do such a thing,” Myranda replied.

  “Are you so certain? Certain enough to allow another few generations to be cut short rather than risk trusting me? Or have you let the assassin's pathological distrust poison your mind?”

  Myranda was silent. Bagu turned to Lain.

  “And you, assassin. You don't even care about this war, do you? You want us dead because we threaten that precious little experiment behind you. Again, your blame belongs elsewhere. We did not kill your kind. It was the humans, the elves, everyone who saw them as inferior, as dangerous. If you kill every last D'karon, the murderers who took your people will still remain, and so will the threat to your precious race. You have accepted Ivy as one of your own, and she was not even complete. We created her, giving your kind another breath, and you seek to destroy us for it? Do as I say and I will have Demont resurrect your race. There will be hundreds, thousands of your kind again,” Bagu offered.

  “You didn't create me! I don't remember everything, but I know I wasn't always this way,” Ivy retorted, a flare of red surging around her. “Someone give me a weapon. I'll show him!”

  “The experiment. Your motivations are more difficult to determine. Do you seek revenge for being altered? Or do you simply wish to remain with the others because you have nowhere else to go? Regardless, you have nothing to gain by our defeat, and everything to lose. Everyone who knew you as you were is dead. If you seek answers, you need only return to our fold. We and only we can provide them,” Bagu reasoned.

  Ivy tried to reply, but her mind was suddenly awash with conflicting thoughts.

  “And what would you offer me, fiend? I have no motivation, only a purpose, and that purpose is to rid this world of you and your kind,” Ether interjected.

  “Yes, yes. The protector. Existing from the dawn of creation for one purpose alone, to fend off the threat to your world. And if you succeed, what then? If we are well and truly defeated, you are left with nothing. An eternity of hollow, meaningless existence. You can be more. This world is not the first we have sought. It will not be the last. As we pierce the veil, sweeping from realm to realm, you could have a new purpose by our side. You could be a conqueror. Or if you must defend, why defend just one world? Join us and when this world is ours, it will be yours to defend once more, and a thousand others besides. You are not our only enemies. There will be an eternity of meaning for you with us,” the General offered.

  “It doesn't matter what you offer. Fate is not so flimsy as to even allow the heroes of this world to be corrupted,” Deacon proclaimed. “The Mark will strike down any divine warrior that would betray its cause.”

  Bagu turned his gaze to the young wizard. “The scholar of the group, are we? Listen, human. We have been at this game for a very long time. We are familiar with the rules, more so than you could ever be, and we are equally aware of their exceptions. It is well within our power to accept you safely into our ranks. It has been done before.”

  “And what will you do if we refuse. Kill us? There are only four Chosen here. Without the five of us united, even if you could kill us, it would only delay our cause. New Chosen would arise. You are afraid of us. That is why you came to bargain with us. You are so afraid you wouldn't even come in person,” Myranda said, gambling that the General did not know as she did that the convergence had already occurred.

  “Afraid! You insignificant piece of flotsam! How dare you even think that you could instill anything but contempt in me? I have seen thousands more powerful than you crushed. You are nothing!” Bagu raged, before adding in a smoldering tone. “And as for not killing you? It is true we need you alive for now . . . but life is more loosely defin
ed than you might realize . . . “

  The image of the General vanished. In a swift and sudden motion, the massive beast burst into the air. Astoundingly, and mercifully, the dragoyle did not instantly bear down on them. It managed to heft its ponderous girth into the sky, spiraling higher and higher until its inky form merged with the equally inky clouds. For a few moments, where seconds ago it seemed certain there would be a titanic clash, there now was only an eerie stillness. The only hint that the unusual standoff had happened at all was the still open chest in the center of the valley. Myranda cautiously approached it.

  “Careful!” Ivy urged.

  Myranda, staff at the ready, peered inside. There were a few crystals, now dull and lifeless. No doubt they had enabled the message to be delivered. The only other things in the chest were an assortment of gold ornaments. There were two oddly shaped metal plates, a gauntlet, and a headband. She leaned closer. There was something familiar about them. The gauntlet in particular. She was about to pluck it out of the chest when she heard Deacon shout a warning.

  “Those spells are waking up,” he called out.

  Myranda looked up. One by one, the gems on each of the roofs were winking to life. In the space of a few seconds, the dim light of the cloud-obscured moon was replaced by the pale blue-white light of the gems.

  “Did you hear that?” Ivy gasped as Lain turned to the source of the noise unheard by the others.

  A moment later it came again, louder. A low rumble, like the long slow slide of heavy stone.

  “It can't be. They wouldn't,” Deacon spoke in a deathly hushed tone.

  The irregular rumble began to grow. Soon it mixed with a stirring from within all of the dozens of structures. A few of the doors rattled, shaking free their sheath of ice and straining against the mounded snow that had gathered at the base of each. More doors followed. Soon the cacophony of countless doors threatening to tear themselves from their hinges was deafening. Lain stood resolute. He'd come here to destroy it, to take away whatever it was that the D'karon hoped to hide here. To punish them. Ivy's breathing was growing faster, her thus far heroic grip on her emotion showing the first signs of slipping. As she backed toward the carriage, the only hint of shelter in the whole of the chaotic valley, she stumbled over the remains of the ruined soldier. There on its belt, was its unused sword. She scrambled to it, pulling it free and clutching it shakily.

  Finally, one of the doors gave way. There was a rush of stale, pungent air and a stir of choking dust and fumes. When the cloud settled, what it revealed was horrifying beyond all measure. The dead. Hundreds of them, some surely a hundred years gone, or more. The cold, dry air had reduced them to little more than bone and leathery sinew, but still they shambled forward. Most still wore some shred of the armor they had fallen in, the heavy plates of metal tugging at rotten straps. Nose and ears, if they remained, hung loosely from skulls, eyes long ago rotted way. Yet, somehow, each sensed the intruders and trudged their way.

  “By the gods . . . “ Myranda said.

  “The gods have nothing to do with this abomination,” Ether growled.

  Instantly she rushed at the shambling legion. They took eagerly to flame, their ancient flesh little more than kindling now for the flames of the shape shifter's form. Ether continued inside the crypt. With a rush of hot air and the mixed roar of a thousand unholy wails and the surge of a thousand flames, every last lumbering corpse inside took to flame. Myranda pulled what she knew of flame magic to mind, ready to unleash it on the next door that gave way, but from the glow of the crucible Ether had created, forms continued to flow. In flames, the undead continued. Even when the flesh fell entirely from the bones, the skeletons of the fallen continued their march. A second and third door crumbled away, unleashing hundreds more into the valley, a single one of them yet to be defeated.

  “Deacon. Do you know anything about this? The undead? Can you dispel this?” Myranda called.

  “Necromancers were few and far between in Entwell. I'll try what I know,” he offered.

  He raised his gem and mumbled a few words, thrusting the crystal outward with the last of them. A thread of light swept out from the casting stone. As the twisting filament struck the burning revenants that had already grown dangerously near, they dropped to the ground. It was as though whatever will had given them life had been pushed away, leaving them to crumble into misshapen piles of remains. A smile and a glimmer of hope flashed across his face as he prepared to unleash another volley, but just as suddenly as the half dozen or so that had been struck down had fallen, they rose again.

  “Blast it! Something is fueling the curse. It doesn't take a genius to determine what,” he said, looking to the gleaming gems that adorned the roofs. “There is no reason to assume that this spell is any different from their others. Interrupt the source, eliminate the spell.”

  “Then we have to destroy the gems,” Myranda said.

  That was all Lain needed to hear.

  “Keep Ivy safe,” he ordered, sweeping into action.

  Instantly he was a blur. Not bothering to evade the thickening hoard of the undead, his blade sliced through the ancient flesh like dry reeds, clearing a path that quickly closed behind him.

  “Ivy, stay close,” Myranda said, looking back to make certain she was not in danger. She was gone.

  Myranda turned back to see Ivy bounding after Lain. Was she afraid? She was terrified. Fear coursed through her mind until it seemed to flow through her very veins. It burned at every part of her. The aura that accompanied it was blinding. She'd never been so aware of the change, so deep into it without losing herself, but she couldn't let it happen. Her friends needed her. Not some mindless monster. Not some shivering little girl. They needed her. As she came to the first of the monsters that had once been men, she swung the weapon she held. Distant memories, her own yet not her own, barked orders to her body. Hold the weapon this way. Place your feet that way. It was training, some residue of what the teachers had forced into her mind. Her muscles moved of their own accord. The blade cut deep and true. The head of one of the corpses rolled from its shoulders.

  Deep in her mind, there was a surge of encouragement. Something urged her on. She swung again. Again. More of the creatures fell. She felt something grow stronger, the desire to strike at these foes growing like a mad hunger that needed to be sated. More of the lumbering bodies closed in around her, but she hacked and sliced on. The fear was slipping away. Everything was. With each swing she felt the desire to grow stronger. It was growing into a need.

  The leading edge of the horde of living dead was reaching Myranda now. The fire Ether had sparked among them was spreading, resulting in the far greater threat of mindless monsters swinging and clawing indiscriminately while consumed in flame. Ivy was now deep among them, some manner of frenzy they'd never seen before blinding her to the fact that there was no end to the foes she faced. All the while the flames leapt from corpse to corpse, drawing nearer to her. That sword would do her no good if she was surrounded by fire.

  There was a rush of flame and a radiant form burst out from the crypt once more. Ether hung for a moment, high over the valley. For the first time she could see that she'd done no good. Lain had destroyed a few. Even Ivy had, but the creatures she'd attacked still stood. A look of focus came to Ether's eyes. These creatures would fall. She tightened her fiery fists and gathered her mind. The flames began to rise. The light from them grew to an almost blinding level. She shook with exertion, but still the forms below stood. Great torrents of energy flowed out of her, fueling flames that burst high into the sky in great spires. The scorched stone of the crypt she'd set alight now began to glow around the edges. She cried out and funneled even more into the inferno. Fine cracks climbed like vines up the walls, crumbling the mortar and letting the white hot glow of the flames within through. Finally, the crypt collapsed, and so did Ether. The flames died down, now with no supernatural will to fuel them so. A great swath of the valley was blackened, the bodies that had bee
n crawling along it were little more than jagged broken bones and ash. The shape shifter crashed down in the center of the patch of scorched earth and, with great effort, managed to shift to her stone form.

  Lain reached the top of the nearest crypt. The doors of this one had not yet opened, but the fiery rage of Ether had melted much of the snow that blocked them. It would not be long before the creatures within were loose. He slashed at the large central gem. There was a flash of light and a crackle of energy and his sword leapt back, the gem untouched. A second and third strike were similarly repelled. He sheathed his sword and thrust his heel at the stone stalk the crystal was mounted on. It chipped. Another cracked the icy stone, and finally a third blow broke the short spire free. It plummeted to the hard earth. He ventured to the edge and peered over. The gem had fractured and gone dim, and a handful of the undead that were clawing their way up the walls to reach him grew still and dropped to the ground, but there were more to replace them. Quickly he rushed to a corner of the roof, ready to bash another free.

  The constant wail of the resurrected soldiers was growing to deafening levels as door after door was bashed to pieces by the relentless foes. Myranda waded into the mob, pulsing out waves of magic to scatter the legion enough to manage a few more steps. She had to reach Ivy. Deacon rushed in behind her. When he reached her side, he pulled the twin bladed weapon from his bag. Though he'd brandished it when Ivy was last rescued, he'd not yet made use of it. At first glance, it was not clear how he intended to do so now. The blades were barely a hand length each, curving slightly in opposite directions off of the ends of the weapon.

  “What good is that going to do?” Myranda asked, managing to hoist one of the undead into the air with a spell and launch it forward, clearing a few more steps toward Ivy.

  “A little trick Gilliam taught me,” Deacon explained.

  He released the blade. It hung in midair, now revealing a network of arcane designs on its grip. Suddenly it began to spin, in moments accelerating until the air hummed with its speed. He swept his hand forward and the whirling blade launched itself in a similar arc. The rotten flesh of the risen dead offered little resistance. By the time the blade finished its swing, every creature it made contact with was reduced to a writhing pile of limbs.