The Book of Deacon Anthology

by Joseph R. Lallo

  When her eyes opened, the change was remarkable. She almost felt normal, as though the training had not occurred. It was difficult to say precisely how long the meditation had taken, but Myn was asleep on the ground beside her, meaning it had been at least a number of minutes. She looked across to Deacon. He sat cross-legged on the chair, his hands folded about his crystal, and his head down. As she stood, now steady enough to forgo the staff for aid, the dragon stirred and gave an angry stare at the still-present intruder. Myranda shook her head and decided to pull Deacon from the meditation as well.

  "Deacon. Deacon, I am finished, thank you. It was quite helpful," she said.

  The young man did not stir at all.

  "Deacon?" she called.

  In answer, Deacon released a raking snore and rolled his head slightly to the side. Myranda chuckled. She knew he needed sleep. Myn backed away cautiously at the noise, then moved in close to investigate. As the dragon realized that Deacon was asleep, she decided upon a proper method to wake him. She opened her mouth, ready to deliver a motivating bite on the leg.

  "Myn, no!" Myranda reprimanded. "Deacon is my friend. He is not going to hurt me or even try to, so you really should be nicer to him."

  The dragon let a short, sharp puff of air out of her nostrils and took on a sulky demeanor. Partly because she was scolded, but mostly because this meant she would have to share Myranda's attentions with another. This was something Myn was becoming very impatient with. Deacon's crystal slipped from his fingers and rolled past Myranda, who turned to pick it up. Myn seized the opportunity and gave Deacon a swift snap with her tail.

  "Ouch!" Deacon exclaimed, waking with a start.

  "Myn!" Myranda yelled, turning to see the dragon strut away with a decidedly satisfied look on her face.

  "Quite a lash on that one. Now I'll have to be careful around both ends," Deacon said, yawning and rubbing the sore area.

  "I think you should go get some sleep," Myranda said, handing him his crystal.

  "Oh, no, no, no. I couldn't sleep now. That meditation seems to have done you well. Perhaps you would join me? I have someone who I think you will want to talk to," he said, the sleepiness slipping away the instant he remembered what he had in store for her.

  "I suppose I am up to it, but are you sure you are?" Myranda asked.

  "Of course! Come along. We really ought to see him before dawn," he said, ushering her out the door.

  Chapter 23

  As the trio walked, Myn reluctantly walking beside Myranda rather than between her and Deacon, Deacon's excitement became contagious.

  "What is it you have up your sleeve?" she asked, as she was led to a portion of the village that had a small stand of trees. It was deep within the Warrior's Side.

  "Well, you have been permitted immediate Master-level training in all of our mystic disciplines, so I got to thinking. If it is agreed you have this remarkable propensity for magic, perhaps you will do equally well in combat. After all, you told me your father was a particularly successful soldier," Deacon offered.

  The smile left her face.

  "I don't want to fight, Deacon," she warned.

  "Now, now. Hear me out. I managed to coax the Elder into granting you the Master-level trainer of your choosing. We have a great many. I intend to introduce you to each and every one until you find the one you feel you might want to spend a little time with," he said.

  "I have no interest in learning how to hurt people. I want to help people," she said.

  "That is fair enough. I can respect that. It is an important thing to have value for life and the quality thereof for all living things. Still, there is a bit you could stand to learn. Particularly from some of our more senior experts," he said, urging her on.

  "No. I don't want to," she said, remaining firm.

  "Please. Just talk to one. Just one. I think you will change your mind," he said.

  Myranda sighed and continued on, slightly annoyed that the excitement she felt had been for something she found so hideous. As she approached a tall, thickly-leafed tree, Deacon motioned for her to stop. She studied the tree, which seemed awfully healthy for the time of year. If not for the unnaturally pleasant weather in this place, the tree would be a sparse husk.

  "I have a student here for you," Deacon called into the near-pitch-black branches.

  "No," answered an all-too-familiar voice.

  "You know that when you were sworn as a Master, you were to take on at least one apprentice in order to pass on some small part of your knowledge. It is our way," Deacon reminded him.

  "Not her," the voice said, startling all but the dragon by coming from behind them. Both humans turned quickly to see the malthrope casting a vicious look at Deacon.

  Considering that such a short time ago he was near death, he was in remarkable condition, though from his posture, some injuries were still nagging him. His clothes were the same tunic as most of the others, but his was black. In the darkness of the night, sheltered by the shadows of the trees, he could take two steps back and disappear from sight.

  "I am afraid that she is presently our only student not currently engaged with another Master, and you are the only Master not tutoring at least one student," Deacon said.

  "And if I refuse?" he said.

  "I had a word with the Elder. She informed me that if Myranda chooses to study under your tutelage, you are honor-bound to provide it. You took the oath," Deacon informed.

  Now Myranda understood. This was the only way that she would be able to learn the truth from the one she knew as Leo. Deacon was helping her to force him to listen.

  "You still owe me an explanation!" Myranda demanded.

  "Do not do this, girl," he warned.

  "I choose him," she said.

  "You have made a terrible mistake," the malthrope fumed.

  "I have had enough of the lies. It is worth it to hear the truth," she said.

  "Excellent. Superb. I will inform the appropriate people. As a Master with an apprentice, you naturally have access to any resources you find necessary to teach. Myranda, on those days that you are not overly taxed by your lessons in magic, you will report here and take lessons in combat from our skilled expert. I will leave you two to get better acquainted for now and get some much-needed rest," Deacon said, walking away with a grin.

  The malthrope and the girl exchanged long, angry stares. Myn was aware of the tension, and confused by it. This was the first time she'd had the two of them to herself since they left the cave, but they were not the same. For a time, there was silence, but it was broken when the warrior turned back to the tree.

  "Where do you think you are going?" Myranda demanded.

  "I came here to restore my strength. I intend to do so," he said, fists and teeth clenched.

  "You owe me the truth, Leo--or whatever your real name is," Myranda said.

  "What makes you think I owe you anything?" he fumed.

  "I trusted you, and you betrayed that trust," she said.

  "That is no fault of mine. If you place your trust too easily, such can be expected," he said.

  "You have been lying to me since you met me," she said.

  "What does it matter?" he said.

  "I saved your life!" she said.

  "And I saved yours. You would have been dead if I hadn't brought you here. Those Elites are relentless. If you go where they can follow, they will follow. They would have captured you, brought you to their superiors, and made an example of you," he retorted. "You saved my life once, but by bringing you here, I have saved you a thousand times over."

  "Why then? Why save me if when you first met me it was you that wanted to capture me? And why did you release me?" Myranda asked.

  The malthrope turned away.

  "You have done nothing to earn what you seek, and you have nothing to offer in exchange. Were I you, I would become accustomed to mystery," he said.

  "Don't do this to me, Leo," Myranda said, almost pleading. "My life has been so empty. So uncertain.
You know everything about me. The fate of my home town. The fate of my family."

  "Seek sympathy elsewhere," he said emotionlessly.

  "I don't want your sympathy. I just want answers," she said.

  "Why do you want to know? Do you really think that knowing the truth will make you happier? I assure you, it never does," he said.

  "I don't care. I must know what you really are. I must know what you wanted with me, why you captured me, why you let me go, why the Elites were after you. What is your name?" she said. "I cannot bear the secrets any longer. If I must earn the right to know, then I shall. I will do anything. Just tell me what," she said. "I am asking you for so little."

  "Are you?" he said.

  The creature stood silent and cast a judging stare. After some thought, Myranda could see that he had come to a decision. He reached behind him and revealed a dagger. Myranda was a bit unnerved, but held firm. He then tossed it in the air and caught it expertly by the tip, pointing the handle in her direction.

  "Take it," he said.

  "Why?" she asked.

  "Take the weapon," he ordered.

  She did so.

  "Now use it," he said.

  "How?" Myranda asked.

  The malthrope pulled up his sleeve and clenched his fist.

  "No," she said, dropping it to her side.

  "Cut me," he said.

  "Absolutely not," she said.

  "You said that you would do anything. Draw a single drop of blood and I will tell you every detail," he said.

  Myranda froze. This was what she wanted. She approached him, gripping the dagger firmly. It was a simple thing. Just a cut. It needn't be a large one, either. Just enough to show blood. She passed those words through her mind again and again as she tried to muster the strength. She put the blade to his arm and took a deep breath. Just a little pressure. Just a tiny push. Her hand was shaking. Finally, she dropped the weapon to the ground.

  "There, you see? It isn't in you to hurt another. Just as it isn't in me to reveal myself. If you truly expect me to betray who I am and tell what you wish, then I expect you to do the same," he said. "That is fair."

  "You are cruel," she said.

  "I am just. And to prove it, I will offer you a second chance. Show up for training tomorrow. I will be your opponent. For every solid blow that you land, I will answer a single question," he said.

  "I don't want to hurt you," she said.

  "I doubt that you could, even if you wanted to. But if you do not wish to receive my training, then have that obsequious wizard of yours tell the Elder that you waive your right," he said.

  Myranda turned away in disgust and left the creature behind. After a dozen or so steps, the lack of constant clicking footsteps behind her drew her attention. As she looked back to find Myn, in the darkness of the trees, she could just barely make out malthrope crouching, scratching the dragon's head. A moment later, he seemed to vanish from sight and the dragon came prancing to her side. Myranda crouched to scratch her head as well.

  "I wish I could see him as you do," she whispered.

  The sun was beginning to rise, which, in her new routine, meant soon it would be time for bed. After a swift detour to Deacon's hut to affirm that he indeed was asleep, Myranda found herself with time to herself without her guide. She walked about, trying to clear her head before she retired for the evening. Here and there, a curious villager would stop to speak with her, sometimes willingly speaking her language, other times lacking the patience to do so.

  Those who did speak to her seemed to treat her as a novelty or oddity, except for the handful who were her age, who had feelings ranging from thinly veiled jealousy to outright resentment. Mostly, though, she was ignored. Everyone here was passionately pursuing one interest or another, and they found in that pursuit all that they needed. By the time morning had come in earnest, Myranda had gone to bed, drifting off to a troubled sleep.

  #

  General Trigorah paced across a courtyard. There were soldiers here, standing at attention, but they were Demont's men, not her own. Cold eyes stared at her through slits in face-concealing helmets. She long ago had come to the conclusion that these men obeyed her not because they respected her or because of any chain of command, but because Demont had instructed them to do so. The fact made her uneasy in their presence.

  The doors of the low, stone building before her creaked open. A pair of individuals stepped out. The first was Arden. There was a dash of confusion and impatience mixed with his usual expression of mindless cruelty. Beside him was a young woman, one who Trigorah was unfamiliar with, clutching the halberd. She nodded at the general as she dropped a bag into Arden's hand with the telltale jingle of coins.

  "Excellent work as always, my good sir. I do so enjoy our associations. Keep your schedule open. I expect we shall need your services again quite soon," the woman remarked.

  "What're you lookin at, elf?" Arden barked at Trigorah as he passed.

  "You are wanted inside," the young woman remarked to the general, ignoring the outburst.

  General Teloran shrugged off Arden's glare and stepped inside, beginning her long trek downward. This was one of the various "deep forts" that the other generals were so fond of. All but the topmost level was below ground. Staircases were placed at alternating ends of each level, making the journey downward and upward a long and time-consuming endeavor by design. Wall after wall of cells passed by her as she descended deeper. Finally, she came to the final door and opened it.

  Inside, she found a tall, pale woman dressed in a black cloak embroidered with sigils of unquestionably mystic origin. In her hand was a silver rod, embossed in a manner similar to the cloak and topped with an expertly-cut gem. At the sight of her visitor, the woman's face lit up with an almost manic look of excitement.

  "General Trigorah, so good of you to come quickly," the woman said.

  "I try to be prompt, General Teht," Trigorah replied.

  Teht was unique among the other generals in that Trigorah did not dread dealing with her. This was partially due to the fact that General Teht, despite having been a general at the time Trigorah was promoted, was not granted the same royal privilege that the other generals enjoyed. As a result, Teht was Trigorah's one fellow general that could not give her orders. Another reason was that she was, in many ways, Trigorah's mystic counterpart, sent to the far corners of the kingdom on tasks not unlike her own.

  "Well, on this occasion I am most appreciative, as I've something quite exciting that I need to be off to. After all of these blasted trips south, I've finally been given something important to do," Teht declared enthusiastically.

  "South? You've been south? How far?" Trigorah asked.

  "Far enough. It seems as though that is the only place they send me. And always for the same reasons. Training. Give these spells to the casters on the front lines. Go have a word with that necromancer we've got down there . . ." Teht wearily complained.

  "So they have been sending wizards to the front lines. I've been telling Bagu that a few well-placed magic-users could make an enormous difference," Trigorah said. "How have they been fairing?"

  "Adequately. Status quo. Regardless, they've got me on a new project now. I'll be helping Demont and Epidime with something. Something major . . ." the general rambled.

  This was almost certainly why Teht was not given the same level of seniority as the other generals. She had a habit of speaking vaguely about things that were clearly intended to be high-level secrets. It showed a staggering lack of military discipline that often made Trigorah wonder how she could have ascended to such a position.

  "So I shall be spending my time in that mountain fort Demont keeps. You know the one. I shall have my own underlings. This is what I have been waiting for!" Teht continued.

  "I am pleased to hear it. When you were at the front line, did--" Trigorah pressed, eager for fresh news.

  "Never mind that. I've got your new orders here. I'd say they'll be keeping you busy. Epidime w
ill be loaning this fort to you so that you can carry them out. I believe you'll be getting a few of the wagons and your pick of the latest set of draftees to patch up the holes in your Elites," she interjected. She handed Trigorah a thick bundle of pages.

  "Elites are drawn from veterans, not--" Trigorah began.

  "Yes, yes. Whatever the source, you have your pick. I'm off," she said, raising her staff.

  Before Trigorah could object, Teht spoke a sequence of arcane words. Recognizing them, General Teloran hurried through the door and closed it. A moment later there was a thunderous clap. When the door was opened again, Teht was gone and the sparse furniture of the room had been hurled to the corners.

  Trigorah had witnessed the spell only once, and fortunately from a safe distance. She could not be certain what it was that she had seen that day, but two things were certain. The spell allowed its caster to travel great distances quickly, and it left the departure point in a terrible state. She'd since made it a point to retreat at the sound of those words. It was a technique that Bagu and the others tended to use only under great duress, but Teht used it at every opportunity.

  Such impulsiveness was a sure way to an early grave.

  Trigorah righted a chair and the table and set her orders out. They were familiar, and rightly so. She had written them. It was the list of citizens likely to have had an opportunity to make contact with the sword. The only additional information came in a single page added to the end of the report. Just a few simple words:

  In addition to current tasks, revise list and detain all identified individuals for questioning, release pending the acquisition of the sword.

  "All identified individuals." There were dozens, perhaps hundreds, and since she'd delivered the report, the Undermine had become involved. She scanned the pages again. Shopkeepers. Patrons of taverns and inns. Most of those she'd found were bystanders. Not that it mattered. She stowed the instructions with trembling hands. Orders were orders . . .

  #

  Back in Entwell, Myranda stirred. Despite her efforts to the contrary, the one who had betrayed her trust infiltrated her dreams. There was so much about him that conflicted. He had taken the lives of the soldiers with grim efficiency, yet he showed naught but tenderness toward the dragon. He knew precisely how to manipulate her. Even before she had told him about herself, he had known exactly what type of person she would have opened up to.