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

  “What did you do?” Myranda asked nervously.

  “What had to be done,” he replied, taking his sword back.

  “The nearest fort is northwest of here. It is one of twelve forts labeled Final Reserve. It seems to be a rather poorly guarded one,” he said.

  Lain looked over the map and set off quickly, the others having to scramble to avoid losing sight of him.

  “What has gotten into him?” Deacon called over the sound of the pounding hooves.

  “I don't know!” Myranda replied, trying unsuccessfully to look over the flapping paper without guiding her horse into a tree.

  She caught a glimpse of a name here and there. What could make Lain completely reverse his decision? What about these names could make him change his mind about taking Ivy to the south? Perhaps . . .

  “All of the names are Tresson,” she called to Deacon.

  “I fail to see the relevance,” he replied.

  “Well . . . we were heading to Tressor. We were trying to find people that he trusted,” she said.

  “Are you suggesting . . . these are the names of those people?” he asked.

  “What else would explain it?” Myranda asked.

  “No . . . no, that must be it . . . but there are so many!” he said. “Lain doesn't strike me as the sort to make so many friends!”

  “I don't think they are friends . . . I think they owe him,” Myranda said.

  “It doesn't matter, right? If they know about them, then I won't be safe there, right? I won't be safe anywhere, right?” Ivy said enthusiastically.

  She was happy, so much so that the faint telltale yellow aura began to appear. It was not the sort of realization that should prompt such a reaction, but it meant something very different to her than it did to the others.

  “And that means there is nowhere you can leave me! I have to stay with you!” she almost sang.

  “NO!” Ether cried.

  She shifted to her wind form and soared to Lain's side.

  “Tell them they are wrong! Tell them you've simply found a faster way to take her there! Tell them you've found a better place to leave her! TELL THEM!” she demanded.

  Lain kept his eyes resolutely ahead, offering nothing in reply but his deep, rhythmic breaths.

  “No. NO! I will take her! Entwell will be safe! Damn the waterfall, I can get her there! I will take her over the blasted mountains and down the cliff if I must. That thing must not be allowed to fight beside us! She is a liability! She is a threat! She does not deserve to be near you!” the gusting form cried in a mixed plea and demand.

  “If you could have done so… You would have by now,” Lain said, the strain of the sprint beginning to show. “I can only keep her safe … if she is by my side. She will only be safe … from the D'karon forever … if the D'karon are gone … forever.”

  Ether continued her begging, growing almost desperate, but Lain was silent. He led the others farther in those last few hours than they had gone in the entire previous day. They were heading toward a pass in the mountains just to the south. Oddly, the map indicated that it led to a large and vital road that ran the length of the mountain range. Myranda had lived all of her life in the north, and she had neither seen nor heard of this road even once. Even having seen it on the map was not enough to convince her. The cost and effort to keep a road through the mountains maintained made it an act of idiocy to even propose such a thing. When the group finally settled down to a long overdue rest at the mouth of the pass, Lain forewent the hunt, entering his trance and leaving the others to pick at the meager provisions and leftovers they had managed to set aside beside an equally meager fire. Typically Ether would take advantage of the flames. Instead, she sat sullenly beside Lain, her furious gaze locked on Ivy, who had pranced over and sat beside Lain, resting her head on his shoulder. Myranda was settling down for sleep when she noticed Deacon was leafing through a book rather than doing the same.

  “Deacon, that can wait. You will need your rest,” Myranda advised.

  “I know, but . . . I just can't put this down. It is so . . . new . . . so different,” he said, trying briefly to set it aside before turning his eyes eagerly back to the pages.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Now that Ivy has filled most of the gaps in my understanding of this language, I can read the spell book. I've . . . never seen anything that has even approached the subject matter that this book covers,” he said.

  “How can that be? I thought your colleagues were the best in their fields. How can there be something you've never seen?” she wonders.

  “Well, as you know, there are a number of practices that my fellow wizards at Entwell frown upon. I happen to be the foremost authority in . . . well, all of them. However, there are two that we are explicitly forbidden to perform, or even pursue beyond theory,” he said. “The first is any act that can interfere in any way with past events; time travel and the like. The second is any act that contacts another physical realm. Summoning creatures, opening gateways, even communicating with creatures on another plane. These D'karon . . . they have based their entire practice around the latter of these forbidden arts. There is a fragment of a spell for opening a path to some other world that is presented with solemn reverence. It is almost a prayer to them.”

  “Why would such practices be forbidden to you?” Myranda asked.

  “It has been known to the elders of Entwell that the threat that the Chosen were to face would come from outside of this world. They believed that such a threat could be at least delayed and at best prevented if it was assured that no contact with other realms was ever made. Clearly fate would not be so easily denied,” he said. “And now I am left with no knowledge of how to combat such a tactic. Though I can determine the spell to open such a gateway from what is written here, I cannot determine how to close one. It is possible . . . that there is no way to close one . . . “

  “There must be a way,” Myranda said.

  “I am not so certain. Do you remember when Epidime escaped in the town? He opened a portal. It closed behind him and sent out a shock wave. I don't believe that is an intended effect of the spell. It felt like a backlash, as through the will of the spell was pulled from it before it had time to complete. That was merely the remaining magic spilling off in a raw form,” he said.

  “I don't understand,” Myranda replied.

  “Neither do I, not entirely, but . . . once a portal is allowed to fully open, I don't think that even they would know how to close it,” he said anxiously.

  “Do you suppose that such a portal already exists?” Myranda asked.

  “Well, it looks from Demont's notes that the nearmen, the dragoyles, everything that we've faced thus far, were designed and produced in this world . . . but the generals themselves must have gotten here somehow,” he stated gravely.

  It was that chilling thought that would accompany Myranda to sleep that night. It was not enough to overcome her exhaustion, however. As the haziness of sleep drew over her, she found herself in a familiar place. A dark field. No sky, no trees. There was a cold wind rustling past her. Far in the distance was a vague flickering light. She pulled her cloak closer and hurried toward it. The ground became rocky and increasingly entangled with black, thorny vines. After what seemed like hours she came to the source of the light. There was a vast, tarnished metal structure. It was hopelessly entwined in the vines, and here and there embedded with broken glass. Inside, a flame barely clung to an oily piece of cloth. She stepped back and looked over the hulking metal device. It was twisted, almost unrecognizable, but slowly it too became familiar. It was a lantern. Massive, misshapen, but unmistakable. The cold grew more intense. She stepped closer, trying to draw some warmth from the flame. Suddenly there was a creaking sound. The vines began to creep over the form, drawing it tighter. She pulled at them. Something told her that she could not allow this to happen. This source of light could not be allowed to remain in their grip. The thorns tore at her hands and would
not relent. The flame inside fizzled and sputtered, finally sparking. An ember touched a vine and fire swept over it. The others shuddered and peeled away. Inside, the fire flared, the light suddenly blinding, filling the field.

  Myranda's eyes opened. She was with the others once more. The dream had been intense and vivid. The dark field had crept into her dreams before, but she hadn’t had to suffer the terrible visions of it for some time. She quietly hoped she wouldn’t have to see them again any time soon. The chilling imagery made the icy forest around her seem warm and safe by comparison. Lain was finishing a freshly caught meal. Ivy was leaning against a tree, enthusiastically finishing her own share. Ether was finally in her usual place in the fire. Deacon had not moved. Pages were scattered all around him, his eyes rimmed with red. It was clear he had not slept.

  “Deacon. Have you been at that all night?” Myranda asked.

  “Hmm? Oh, you are awake. Well, it was day, not night, but yes,” he replied.

  “Have you found anything?” she asked.

  “Very little. I . . . I have been able to determine that if counter spells do exist, they are not a part of their practices. They . . . do not undo their own work. They design spells to perform an action and complete. If an end is not implicit to the spell, the spell does not end. I've never seen anything like it,” he said.

  “There is no way to stop it?” Myranda said.

  “There are ways. The spell can be deprived of its source of power. It can be rendered incomplete. Perhaps . . . perhaps a counter can be developed, but it will need to be developed from nothing. And it will have to be cast with at least equal power to the original spell. Unless it is poorly crafted, which it quite likely will be. In that case it will require much, much more,” he said.

  His voice was shaky, nervous. It was as though his own words terrified him.

  “If that is what it takes, then that is what shall be done,” she said.

  “But the power it takes to open a portal for one is considerable. I may be able to muster it alone. If the portal is much larger, perhaps, perhaps, Ivy, Ether, you, and I might be able to work as one to close it. Much larger than that . . . “ he shuddered.

  Myranda placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “Deacon. When the time comes, we will do what we can. Fate will have to handle the rest,” she said.

  “Eat. We need to move soon,” Lain interrupted, dropping their share in front of them.

  It was a snow rabbit, and it had been roasted already.

  “Try it! Lain let me cook it! I think I did a very good job!” Ivy chirped.

  Myranda and Deacon ate their share. It was nearly raw, but edible. Nevertheless, both claimed that it was exquisite. Deacon’s own praise was carefully worded to avoid outright lying, but his diplomacy was greeted by a warm glow and warmer smile. Lain prepared himself and the others mounted, but before they could move out, Ivy turned to the south.

  “Do you smell that?” she said.

  Lain turned.

  “ . . . Stay here . . . join me where the pass opens to the road . . . use your best judgment and tell me what you learn. Ivy, Ether. Follow,” Lain said.

  Without further explanation, he took Ivy by the hand and led her quickly into the pass.

  “Wait, what's going on,” Ivy objected.

  “Just go with Lain. We will follow in a moment,” Myranda said.

  Reluctantly, Ivy did so, with Ether whisking windily behind.

  “What do we do now?” Deacon asked.

  “Wait,” she replied.

  It was not a long wait. The distant sound of hoof beats could soon be heard. There were quite a few. Possibly a dozen. Myranda waited tensely. The first of the strangers came into view. Myranda took her staff into her hand and took in a slow breath. As they drew nearer to the yet to be extinguished fire, Myranda heaved the breath out as a sigh of relief.

  “Caya!” she called out.

  “Myranda?” came the reply.

  Indeed it was she, the wild eyed, wild spirited leader of a rebel group known as the Undermine. The outlaws, as one of the few groups of northerners opposed to the war, had crossed paths with Myranda many times, and they tended to be of great help to one another. She leapt from the back of her mount to grasp Myranda's hand in a firm shake and give her a slap on the back. The others with her approached into the light. Among them was Tus, Caya's second in command who had the physique, disposition, and verbal prowess of a bull elephant. The others with them were new to her. They looked as one might expect, a mismatched group of men and women too old, too young, or too infirm to do battle. They were those who were not already snatched up by the Alliance Army, and every last one of them had lost too much to the war to stand by and let it continue. Curiously, despite the fact she'd not seen a single one of them before, they all seemed to recognize Myranda immediately.

  “It is you. I should have known you wouldn't have gone into hiding. Not the biggest thorn in the side of the Alliance in the history of the war,” Caya said proudly. “Are you being followed?”

  “Well, very likely, actually,” Myranda answered.

  This prompted a cheer from the others.

  “I knew it! Tus, you were right to demand this woman as your wife,” she said with a smile.

  Deacon's expression changed to a confused and slightly anxious one.

  “What brings you to my neck of the woods?” Caya asked.

  “If only I had the time to tell you,” Myranda said.

  “In a rush? Anything we might lend a hand with?” Caya asked with a wink.

  “No doubt we could use it, but the others I'm working with are slow to accept others,” Myranda said.

  “Assassins are like that,” Caya said, nodding knowingly.

  This time Myranda's expression changed as well. How could she know about Lain?

  “What . . . what did you say?” Myranda asked

  “I suppose you haven't seen them yet. Tus, dig out one of the posters,” Caya ordered.

  Tus revealed a large poster, dominated by a sketch of herself, Lain, Ivy, and Ether's human form. Each was accompanied by a brief description. A price was offered for the capture of each, with the stipulation that they be brought in alive. It was similarly made abundantly clear that they all were of the highest of risk, and nothing should be held back in the pursuit of disabling them. Myranda's eyes lingered on the entry for Ivy. There was a sentence or two of additional information, which wasn't surprising. What was surprising was the nature of the information. It spoke of her history . . .

  “These are showing up in every town and on every sign post,” Caya said, interrupting her thoughts. “I've never seen anything like it. Naturally we are trying to eliminate them. The last thing you need is people knowing that you are working with the Red Shadow, but even with half of the Undermine working on it, they are going up more quickly than we can take them down. They started showing up just a few days ago.”

  Myranda gravely handed it back, but Caya pushed it away.

  “Keep it. We've got over a hundred of them. These fine recruits were able to capture a black carriage filled with them. Though I notice this fellow isn't featured,” Caya said, indicating Deacon. “A new addition to Myranda's Militia? Or are you a hostage?”

  “I am with them, most assuredly. The name is Deacon,” Deacon quickly answered, folding the proclamation poster and slipping it into his bag.

  “Well, Deacon, good to have you on our side. If Myranda would choose you to fight the good fight beside her then I am sure that you will be an asset. Speaking of assets, while I appreciate that you may be better off without us for the time being, I am afraid that the same cannot be said for us,” Caya said. “We've only just managed to relocate Wolloff.”

  “How did you manage that?” Myranda asked.

  “Several weeks of convincing, and several more of lugging books. At any rate it will be months before we can have another mystic healer, and there is a limit to the work our traditional clerics can do,” Caya said.


  “Caya, I . . . “ Myranda began.

  “I know that you've got yourself tangled up in something a bit more important, but I think you can spare a few moments to deal with the soldiers in attendance. And while you are at it, perhaps we can partake of a sample or two of our current treatments,” Caya said, pulling a flask from her belt.

  Myranda nodded.

  “I think I can spare a few minutes,” Myranda said with a reluctant grin.

  A few small groups of scout units were gathered, bringing the number of soldiers to twenty-three. Not a single one of them was in what Myranda would call good health. Arms that should have been in splints and slings. Ankles that could scarcely support any weight. Broken bones. Infected lacerations. The telltale signs of many battles gone badly.

  “How has all of this been happening?” Myranda asked as she willed another rib into place.

  “Even with you and yours distracting most of the attentions of the soldiers behind the front, this is a very dirty business,” Caya said. “You've been very deep in this. Perhaps too deep to see or hear what has been happening. Not surprising. It has been rather discrete. Supply lines are being choked off, severed.”

  “I suppose you should be very proud,” Myranda said.

  “Not to the AA, by the AA,” she said. “Supply lines vital to the survival of many large cities are being re-routed. The situation is getting serious.”

  “Why would they be doing that?” Myranda asked.

  “We've intercepted dozens of messages ordering it. None with a motivation, none with a destination for the rerouted supplies. Have some, would you?” Caya said, sloshing the flask in front of Myranda.

  “I doubt that would help my focus,” Myranda said.

  “I can handle the rest. Enjoy,” Deacon said.

  Myranda looked at Caya.

  “Don't make me force you,” she said with a grin.

  Myranda reluctantly took a sip. Caya tipped the edge of the flask up, turning it into a sputtering gulp. It felt like fire running down her throat.

  “There. That's much more like it,” Caya said. “A little bit of liquid courage never did any harm. And this reunion, however brief, is one worth celebrating.”