The pair had only been walking for a few minutes when the mountain let out a bone-shaking roar that each knew all too well. A blast of icy air was cast up from behind her as the way to safety was drowned in a flood of water. She quickened her pace while Myn practically jumped out of her skin, scrambling with renewed vigor along the glassy tube. When they had faced the flood last, it seemed to creep up at a few feet every minute. With any luck, she would be able to keep ahead of the rising water.
It was not long before it became clear that luck would most certainly not be with her. During their escape, they had thankfully been pulled from the basin of the waterfall before the falls had begun in earnest. Now she heard the roar of the mountain grow steadily. Before long, she could hear the restless rapids sloshing about behind her. They were not creeping along as she had hoped. They were surging. Myranda tried to quicken herself to a run, but the slick ground would not permit it. Finally, she stopped and strapped the bag of supplies to her waist. There would be no outrunning the water. Best, then, to brace herself for it. Myn, far from willing to meet her fate standing still, cast a pleading glance at her friend. When Myranda saw the terror in the beast's eyes, she knew the roaring water was upon them.
The wall of icy water met her with the force of a raging bull. She was swept along at a speed faster than she could run. Faster than a horse could run! A moment later, she collided with the familiar form of her dragon, and she held tight to the terrified creature with one arm as the other held firm to the staff. Amid the chaos of the water, she had precious little concentration to spend on light. What little she did have of her mind was devoted to a blur of spells aimed at keeping herself and her companion from being dashed apart against the walls. There was no telling how much of the cave was whisking by her, and her dim memory of the way she had come would be useless to her, even if she managed to survive the flood.
The unwilling trip she was taking ceased to be an upward one and doubled in speed as she found herself sliding down an increasingly steep incline. For a moment, Myranda wondered if this was a fortunate turn of events or an unfortunate one. As usual, fate made its answer to her prompt. The ground sliding along below her suddenly dropped away, and in an instant she was plummeting. She released Myn and tried to set her mind to levitation, hoping to stop her fall--but there was a reason this mountain had been so trying to wizard and warrior alike. Crystal-strewn rock mangled and twisted all but the simplest of magic. This spell, it seemed, was just a bit too complex to slip past the cave's confounding effect, as she soon felt her hold on the mystic energies scatter.
She felt a sharp pain in her abdomen as she collided with a wall. Instinctively, she reached out with both hands, clutching madly at anything that offered a grip. Somehow she managed to cling to the rough surface of the wall. For a long moment, she held firm, and slowly reclaimed the wind that had been knocked from her by the impact. The roar of falling water surrounded her. She opened her eyes, though doing so was ultimately pointless, as the staff she had released would give off no more light until she willed it to do so. Indeed, before she could even think of illuminating the cave, she would have to find the staff. Having dropped it into the chasm below when she struck the wall, there was a stronger likelihood of the staff finding her than of she finding it.
As she sorted through the limited options open to her, Myranda felt a nudge at her shoulder. The unexpected feeling nearly jarred her from the wall.
"Myn! Myn, you are all right!" she cried.
Of course, the dragon was once again in her element. She could scamper up and down these uneven walls as easily as along the ground. The dragon flicked her hot tongue in and out, licking at Myranda's ears, thankful for getting her through that torrent.
"Yes, yes. You are welcome. Now it is time to pay me back. I can't cling to this wall forever. I need you to find a tunnel out of here--or, at least, a ledge to recover on," Myranda said.
Myn flapped from the wall and into the air. For a moment, Myranda wondered how the dragon would be able to see in the utter darkness. A moment later, the creature cast out a column of flame, bathing the gray walls and frothing white water in yellow light. In the flash, Myn's keen eyes took in the wall. In another moment, Myn was beside Myranda on the wall again. With a few helpful taps of the dragon's tail to guide her, Myranda managed to inch her way along the wall to a ledge and pull herself up.
"I don't suppose you might be able to find my staff. I let it go when I hit the wall," Myranda said to her friend, whom she imagined was sitting right before her.
When she held out her hand to give the creature a few rewarding scratches, she found that she was alone on the ledge. Myn was certainly eager to please. There were two or three more blasts of flame before she was joined again by a very pleased dragon clutching a staff in her teeth.
"Good, Myn. Very, very good," she said, feeling her way blindly to the dragon's brow and scratching it madly.
Myn squirmed with delight at the attention and dropped heavily into Myranda's lap, disturbing the large bag Deacon had provided her with. There was a metal clink, stirring thoughts of what Deacon imagined was a necessity. Myn deserved and required significantly more petting and rewarding before she allowed Myranda to indulge her curiosity.
She propped up the staff and brought about the light again as she looked through the bag. The first thing she withdrew was a page from a spell book. Myranda marveled at the torn edge. Deacon took better care of the books than he did himself, and yet when he learned that Myranda planned to find Lain, he'd torn this page free without a thought.
It was an old one, she could tell. Whatever it was that they used for paper in Entwell aged to an odd mahogany color. The black letters were difficult to read against the reddish paper. She carefully stored it away.
The metal clink was revealed to be a stout dagger he had provided. That would no doubt be quite useful. There was a small kit with bandages and potions. Thoughtful of him to include it. Finally, she found a stylus. There was no doubt. It was the very one that he carried with him at all times. She ran her fingers along the side of the pen, carefully feeling the point before stowing it with equal care.
Quickly she checked her tunic. Lain's tooth was mercifully still clinging to the inside of her waterlogged pocket. In a fit of anger during a training session with the warrior, she had managed to knock it from his mouth. He had presented it to her as a reminder of her anger. She removed the tooth from her pocket and fashioned a pouch for it from a bandage. Using a bit of thread, she hung it about her neck. With that done, she secured the bag again.
The time had come to find some way out of here.
Standing as best as she could on the somewhat precarious ledge, Myranda surveyed her position. There were numerous openings dotting the wall. Most were far too small to offer much in the way of an exit, and all were a fair distance up. Already the sound of the thundering water was that of a torrent falling upon a pool rather than hard ground. The water was gathering at the bottom of the crevice, and--though the level was still beyond the reach of her light--if the trip she had just taken was any indication, it would not remain so for long. She had to make the right choice the first time, lest she face a dead end with nothing but a wall of water behind her.
"Myn, I think this is another job for you. I need you to see if you can find Lain's scent. He had a head start, but I would wager that rush of water closed the gap for us," she said.
Before Myranda was through speaking, Myn had scrambled off, along the wall. She sniffed and flicked her tongue intently, traveling from hole to hole and sampling each. Shortly she returned and sniffed at the pouch about Myranda's neck.
"I'd feared as much. We are probably far from the safest or quickest route, so I would imagine there would be half of a mountain between us and Lain. Best to find a new plan," she said, patting the dragon for the effort.
Myranda set her mind to the task. Not having the benefit of Myn's sense of smell, she was not certain what sort of things would be reasonable to
ask her to find. Finally she made up her mind.
"I need you to find fresh air, or failing that, some sort of animal that can be found outside of a cave occasionally. If they need to find a way out, then we can find their way," Myranda said.
Instantly the dragon scampered off again. It just so happened that the creature had found just such a scent in her search for that of Lain. She maneuvered swiftly to a wide, low opening more or less directly above Myranda's head and slipped inside. Her head then reappeared, looking down expectantly, as though she was surprised Myranda had failed to join her already.
The wall had countless narrow, smooth-edged cracks. It was ideal for climbing. However, the abrupt trip and its sudden and severe end had left Myranda a less than ideal climber. More than an hour of slow, tentative ascending had passed before she pulled herself onto the ledge. What she found there did little to improve her mood. The roof of the tunnel ahead was so low she would practically have to crawl. With a heavy sigh, she set herself to the task.
Myn led the way, thrilled to finally be so useful. Fortunately, the tunnel branched several times, eventually opening enough for a more comfortable posture. Also fortunate was the fact that Myn had chosen a tunnel that led steadily upward. At least if the water found its way to the tunnel, it would take longer to reach them.
Time passed slowly in the darkness of the cave. After enough travel to sap all but the last of the strength from her legs, Myranda began to notice the odor that had been pungent enough for Myn to follow all of this way. It meant that they were headed to a familiar chamber, albeit not the most pleasant one. Sure enough, another few minutes and the pair emerged into a chamber filled with quiet chattering and the worst of smells. This cavern was the home to a massive colony of bats.
Much to Myranda’s dismay, her stomach growled at the terrible stench. She had been, after all, on the brink of starvation when last she had entered this place. At the time, she’d been accompanied by Lain, and they had made a rather unpleasant meal of some of the winged creatures. Alas, without the forethought to bring food, Myranda hesitated to think what state she would be in after another day of travel. Despite this, she decided that the next meal she ate would be eaten with the sky overhead. Myn was not so choosy, and was in the air in a flash to snatch up a few mouthfuls, sending Myranda running for cover to escape a blizzard of bats.
Now that they had found their way to a point Myranda knew, she could find her own way. They walked until the girl could no longer manage it, finally resting propped against the wall. With the morning came two sensations, constant companions of a traveler of the north, that she had all but forgotten during her time in Entwell: Stinging cold and gnawing hunger.
She had picked up the habit of eating breakfast, something that no doubt had contributed to her decision not to eat the one thing she could manage. Were one of those bats to fly by now, she would snatch it out of the air with her teeth, so hungry was she. At least her mind had not been idle while she rested. The many bruises and tender spots from the first half of the trip were healed up, the product of her white magic training working its wonders while she slept--though, upon standing, she found that she was still quite sore from the exertion. She continued regardless. If she remembered correctly, there was no less than another day of travel ahead of her.
There were two significant additions to their trip, now that she had made it this far. First, the stream that had smoothed the floor enough to guide them during their entry had begun to flow, providing, at least, water to drink. Second, Myn's attitude began to lift, as she undoubtedly began to pick up the scent of Lain. The little beast was nearly as fond of the warrior she was tracking as she was of Myranda, motivating her all the more to find him quickly.
The cold of the cave increased steadily as they neared its mouth. Myranda cursed herself for not grabbing something warmer to wear before she left. There would be many long, cold days ahead of her if she couldn't find something more suitable for the northern weather. Worse, the tunic she wore was bright blue. The residents of the north almost exclusively wore thick gray cloaks. Her current outfit would stand out like a sore thumb. That was the last thing she wanted right now.
Hour after long, weary hour passed. The growling of Myranda's stomach fairly echoed off of the walls. Myn seemed to take a more concerned attitude now. There was something in the air that she did not like. Myranda marveled at how well she could understand the thoughts and feelings of her friend, even without words. Indeed, without sound at all. Solomon, a small dragon in Entwell, was the only other dragon she had really known, and he spoke both her language and one of his own, along with no doubt countless others. Myn rarely made a sound.
Myranda frowned at the thought that, perhaps, growing up beside a human was robbing Myn of something, some language native to her kind.
The worrying thought was still on her mind when, off in the distance, the faintest glow of daylight could be seen. Myranda's heart leapt, and she would have run if she’d had the strength. Instead, she crept along at the same pace, though wary of Myn's deepening concern. All of a sudden, Myn stopped and absolutely would not proceed.
"What is it, Myn?" she asked.
The little dragon's body went rigid, tail straightening and teeth bared. There was an enemy. Judging from how protective Myn had been in the past, it might have simply been anyone, but on this side of the mountain, anyone was as good as her worst enemy. She doused the light and moved near to the wall, attempting to remain unseen.
Myn stalked, slowly and silently. When the mouth of the cave was near enough, Myranda saw what Myn had smelled. Not one but two of the Elites were standing dutifully at the cave's mouth. Elites, after all of this time!? A contingent of the small but legendary force of veteran soldiers had followed her here, but that was months ago. Surely they should have given up by now. Myranda's eyes darted about in near panic. They landed on Myn, who seemed ready to attack.
"Myn, no," Myranda whispered insistently into her friend's ear. "We can't. If we kill them, then when they do not report in, their superiors will know something has happened. Why else would Lain have left them alive? We have to get by them somehow."
Myranda quietly wished she had just an ounce of the stealth that Lain had. He had surely slipped by them with no trouble at all. Her mind turned to the spells that she had at her disposal. No disguise would do, and she doubted that she would be able to create one that was convincing, regardless. Invisibility would work, but Deacon had yet to perfect it, and Myranda had been less than successful at casting what little of it he had mastered. She had learned sleep, but simply dropping them into unconsciousness suddenly would be a clear indication that someone had passed. If she was to do this, she would have to do it with care.
Slowly, almost not at all, she passed her influence toward them. She made their eyes just a little heavy. With the utmost of care and restraint, she increased the spell. Slowly, slowly, ever so slowly. She noticed one of them waver, catching himself, and the other yawn. Slowly. One of the men moved to the wall to lean against it. A few minutes later, he slid to the ground to sit more comfortably. The other did likewise. In a few minutes more, the pair was asleep on opposite walls of the cave. As far as they knew, it had been their idea.
After reminding Myn to leave them be, Myranda walked past the unaware soldiers. Thankfully, there were no other soldiers in sight. There was, however, a two-man tent, a pair of horses, and a separate supply tent. Myranda peeked her head into the supply tent to find it mounded with all sorts of rations and equipment. The men had been stationed here for nearly half of a year, and they were equipped for months more.
She selected a coarse brown blanket from a stack of them near the back, and one each of the rations available, not bothering to see what, precisely, she was taking. She was far more concerned with her selections escaping notice. With the blanket wrapped around her and the supplies stowed in her bag, Myranda stalked off into the forest, directly away from the mouth of the cave.
Looking upon the
landscape was a grim reminder of the life she had left behind when she entered the cave. The world was overwhelmingly white. Any color from evergreen leaves, lichens, or sky was muted to a sterile gray by frost. The air had a biting cold to it, one that the damp tunic and rough blanket did little to turn away. She forced the unpleasant sensations from her mind and quickened her pace. When she felt she had moved far enough to avoid discovery, she cleared a patch of ground, threw together a pile of frozen wood, and conjured a smokeless fire. She sat cross-legged and allowed Myn to crawl onto her lap before wrapping the blanket around the two of them.
When their combined body heat had made them at least somewhat comfortable, Myranda pulled the spell sheet from the bag. She held it in one hand while petting Myn with the other. The dragon’s skin and scales felt more leathery than usual, and she had noticed that the little creature had a dingier color, but she could not spend any thoughts on that now. She had to focus on the spell.
The black letters on mahogany paper were barely visible in the light of the fire, but her eyes adjusted as the sun's light crept from the sky. Deacon had, alas, not cast a translation spell on this page, so she was left to her own knowledge to decipher it. While she had at least a loose understanding of the spoken languages of Entwell, the written ones had never been explained. This page, mercifully, must have been one of the few written by someone besides Deacon, because it was all in one language. Deacon had a mismatched patchwork language he tended to use when writing that took an expert to follow. Myranda wondered if perhaps that was the language he spoke when she was not around. Regardless, the spell seemed to be in the same alphabet as Northern. That at least would allow her to speak the words. Perhaps then she could understand them. She spent a fair part of the night sifting through the procedures described in the page until a particularly loud growl in her stomach actually woke Myn.
The Book of Deacon Anthology Page 45
