"Why?" Ether asked.
Lain shifted his gaze to her but remained silent.
"Why does this creature earn your affection while I am denied it? I do not desire the feelings you squander on her to be spent on me for my own sake, but for yours. It makes no sense to cloud your mind with her. What about her could be desirable that I do not possess tenfold?" Ether asked.
"She is of my kind. The two of us may well be the last. I must protect her," he stated.
"She is not of your kind. I am. She has been twisted and warped to resemble your kind. Indeed, you are not of your kind. Not as you use the words, at least. You were not born of malthrope parents. Your father was a god," she scoffed.
"I am what my life has made me, as is she," he replied.
Ether considered his words, swiftly dismissing them as yet another symptom of the damage that his time among the mortals has done to his perception of himself.
"The one you call Desmeres was near. I saw him as I followed you. I cannot imagine that you were not aware," Ether remarked.
"I was," he replied.
"It surely was not a coincidence," she added.
"It was not. He is in league with the D'karon, posing as a Chosen and tasked with our capture," he explained.
"And he still lives? You can no longer deny that sentiment has robbed you of reason and good judgment," Ether accused.
"For the time being, he can be trusted to serve his own interests before those of the D'karon. That means leading them astray until the price they are willing to pay is high enough to suit him. In the meantime, I have robbed him of his means of locating me," Lain said, pulling the enchanted tooth that had hung about Desmeres's neck from his cloak.
"Very well," she relented.
"Listen to me. I tolerate you because in times of battle you fill a need that I cannot. You can deal out and defend against mystic attack. It is for this reason alone that you were not left behind. I do not require your advice. You need not audit my decisions, dissect my reasoning, or judge my motivations. Keep your critiques to yourself and I shall do the same," Lain warned.
Ether chuckled. "I have attained a state of perfection. I am intrigued what possible critiques you might have for me."
Lain was silent.
"Speak," Ether demanded.
Lain drew in a deep breath.
"You were given almost limitless potential and an eternity to hone it. That should have made you invincible. Instead, you wasted the time convincing yourself that you were already invincible. You continue to waste your power by using every last ounce of it at every opportunity. Not every battle needs to end in an ocean of flame. You can take the form of any man or beast you choose, but in virtually all cases you choose instead to spill off all of your strength funneling the wrath of the elements. Myranda had the merest fraction of your strength and she made it last. She achieved her task and still had enough left to escape until this last battle. You finish each battle scarcely better than Ivy. She, at least, has no control over it. You do it on purpose. Perhaps worst of all is your squandered stealth. You can appear to be a human until the instant you open your mouth, rendering the skill all but worthless. How can you have existed since the dawn of time and managed to stay ignorant of the behavior of the most influential creatures in creation?" Lain fairly ranted.
It was a rare showing of emotion, one that he regretted immediately. It was pointless. Nothing he said would be heeded. Ether remained silent. Lain pulled open the bag and ate his share of the rations. The sun was rising. When the short day was over, he would find something to replace it. For now, there was only waiting.
Time passed slowly. Each of the trio had learned to deal with waiting. In Lain's work, patience was quite often the difference between success and failure. He spent his time carefully analyzing all that his senses told him. Once, a small group of D'karon passed through town, but they did not linger. Desmeres had been true to his word.
Ether was well accustomed to waiting. She had found herself capable of nothing else for an entire era. As for Ivy, her memories were filled with anxious waiting for another torturous session. All she had to do was to think about the fact that she was free from that fear forever and this waiting seemed like bliss.
As each waited, each thought. Lain traced the path he would take to the south over in his head a thousand times. The quickest: down the mountainside and due south along the foot of the mountains. The safest: directly through the mountains to the border. No. A compromise: down the mountainside, across the narrow strip of the lowlands toward Ravenwood, then south through Ravenwood. The forest ran nearly to the border, it provided excellent cover, and it would scarcely slow them at all.
Ivy mostly spent her time quietly fingering the bridge of the violin until the wind picked up enough for Lain to permit her to play. Then she lost herself in song until the wind died down or she grew tired. Ether made the occasional trip in the blackness of night to find more wood, as Lain warned that if enough of the debris disappeared, it might draw attention. Mostly, though, she thought. She watched Lain listen to Ivy's songs and she thought. She watched Ivy sleeping and she thought.
Once a night, when Lain was hunting, he would check on Flinn's progress. Each day, greater measures had been taken to protect his workplace. Armed guards. Additional locks. This mattered little to Lain. Slipping past such things had become second nature to him. Each day, he found himself inside, unobserved, and watching Flinn work. On the sixth night, it was clear that he would finish in time. The sword was already in one piece again. The edge slowly taking shape, the runes roughly etched. The remaining work was superficial. Lain returned to their shelter.
"Tomorrow we leave," he stated.
"Are you sure? Can't we wait a bit longer? Myranda can't be too far away now," Ivy requested.
She had spoken of Myranda increasingly as the days progressed. She was certain that the human was still alive, that she was growing nearer all the time.
"We will be heading west, back toward where we last saw her," Lain said.
She seemed satisfied. Lain never contradicted her belief. He would need every ounce of hope it provided to keep her moving quickly.
The day came. Lain had already delivered his final request to the woman he now knew was named Jessica, informing her to fetch the sword and leave it in her wood cellar. Suddenly, as he was concealing the last of the evidence that they had ever been there, he recognized a scent. He silenced Ivy and made his way to the broken corner of the floor. Peering outside, he saw, almost completely obscured by the swirling snow, a familiar form standing beside a horse. Trigorah.
There was something wrong. She was alone. Not a single one of her Elite was present. She was not even in her Elite armor, dressed instead as plainly as any Northerner. The only semblance of her rank was her weapon, clutched tightly in hand. She suspected something. Lain remembered Desmeres's words. She hadn't trusted him. She wanted to investigate the town he had dismissed. Her lack of her status symbols meant that she was here on personal business. Lain wasted no more time considering her motivations. She was a formidable investigator. She would find him if he lingered here.
The light of day had not yet faded. It would be tremendously risky to venture out. The fact that Trigorah was now so near made the retrieval of his certainly finished weapon imperative. She was difficult to defeat when equally armed. Were he to face her with only the poorly-made daggers he carried, defeat was distinctly possible. He looked to the others. His concern had not gone unnoticed.
"What's wrong?" Ivy asked, wisely whispering.
"Trigorah is here. We need to move," he said, drawing a dagger. "Leave everything."
Ether shifted to wind and swept into the icy gale above, returning and reforming.
"You need a distraction. I believe I can provide one to your liking," Ether offered.
Lain turned to her, silent.
#
Outside, Trigorah surveyed her surroundings. The townspeople all claimed to have seen nothing.
The man called Flinn could not be reached, and his assistant seemed nervous about being questioned. That was more than enough to spark her interest. Desmeres had been through here. He'd reported that Lain was nowhere near. His previous report had stated with certainty that the malthrope was heading up the mountainside. He had to be heading this place. With a horse, Desmeres surely should have closed the gap between them, even if he had to use the road. Either he had gotten ahead of Lain and was too foolish to wait for his target to arrive, or he was covering for something. Either way, this was proof of his treachery.
It had taken her three days to reach this place, as well as four days and all of her favors to elude the sizable staff tasked with keeping her occupied at the capital. That blasted General Bagu had confined her to the military command hall in the capital since his trip to the project facility. He wanted her on hand--or in hand. It was clear her skills were wasted there, but he didn't care. By now, her disobedience had certainly been noticed. The consequences might be dire if she did not return with the prize she sought.
She had spent many years in on-again/off-again search for the assassin she now knew as Lain. She knew that he was clever, skilled. But things were different now. He was not alone. If Demont was correct--and she had never known him to be otherwise--then Lain would have at least two others with him. One was the project. That limited his options for shelter, if he was still near. By her estimation, it limited them to one. She mounted her horse and set off for the edge of town, where she had been told the ruins of a house could be found.
#
Lain whisked as swiftly and as silently as he could manage. In the distance, trudging back from Flinn's workshop was Jessica, bundled against the constant wind. She was carrying the sword. He managed to slip behind her.
"Your debt is paid," he whispered, pulling the weapon from her.
She gasped and flinched. By the time she opened her eyes, he was gone.
#
Trigorah came upon the shelter. There were three sets of footprints. Two led to the west, toward the steep slope. One led back toward the town. Distantly she could hear footsteps crunching their way unsteadily down the slope. In the wind, it was difficult to tell how many. She chose the closer prey, moving swiftly down the mountainside. Some distance down the mountain, the footprints split. Impossibly, two sets of footprints led in each direction, as though both of her targets had gone in both directions. To her left, the footsteps could still be heard. As she followed this trail, the two sets of footprints subtly spread to three. Illusions? No, this trail was real. She would have her answer when she reached its end. She doubled her speed. Soon forms emerged from the windblown snow. One was certainly Lain. Another was a woman. The last must have been the project.
The project was a variable. She was told that it was capable of all of the physical feats Lain was. Indeed, she'd been called into the facility of its design to act as an adviser on just what such traits should be emphasized. In addition, she had been briefed on its more unique aspects, but she had never been permitted to see it before. She would have to be on her guard. More so than usual.
"Halt!" she cried when she was near enough to be heard.
The three stopped and turned in unison. Lain stepped forward, fury in his eyes. The others seemed oddly calm.
"Lower your weapon, Lain. I am already acting against orders. Do not doubt that I will kill you and the others," Trigorah warned.
A savage growl erupted from him and he charged at the general. It was all wrong. His sword was held high, his body undefended. Even his motions seemed stiffer and slower than she knew them to be. With ample time to react, she blocked the attack and countered with a superficial slash across his chest. Blood flowed, but as it trickled down, it turned clear, then froze in the icy air.
His subsequent attacks were similarly fruitless, and those of Trigorah produced much the same result. Finally, she grew weary of the pointless battle. She thrust her weapon deep into the chest of what she knew could not be the true Lain. As soon as the first of the gems embedded in the blade touched his flesh, the afflicted area turned to water, crackling as it fell in the intense cold. As it did, the others recoiled as if they too had been struck. Soon the whole of the body had rushed to the ground, splashing all over Trigorah's ankles.
A moment later the other malthrope, the project, melted away. The woman smiled briefly before doing the same.
#
Elsewhere, Lain, Ether, and Ivy hurried down the mountainside. Lain was a few steps ahead of the others. Owing to some manipulation of her form, Ether had been easily keeping pace with him, but Lain turned when he heard the footsteps falter. A dozen paces back, Ether had stopped. Ivy was beside her, taking the opportunity to rest.
"She has found the first of the decoys," Ether managed.
Lain looked back; there was nearly half of a mountain behind them. The frost-covered tops of the evergreen forest below were now and again visible through the whipping snow. This diversion was working. If Trigorah could be delayed just a few minutes more, the wind would wipe their footprints away. The trail would be cold. His eyes shifted back to Ether. She seemed greatly fatigued, as did Ivy. Her eyes drifted to a tuft of fur caught on a nearby bush. Clutching it, she swiftly assumed the form of a doe, a shape simpler and faster on this terrain. Moments later the trio set off again with renewed speed.
#
Far behind them, Trigorah followed another set of prints to its end. There were the same three figures that she had watched dissolve away. The sole difference was a wooden box tucked under the arm of the project. This time, the woman she hadn't recognized before stepped forward to attack, while the project hid behind Lain, who held his weapon at a lazy ready. The attack was a weak one, or so it seemed. She raised her weapon in defense, but the blow shook her, as though the slow, backhanded strike had been made with a club. A resounding clang rang out as the next blow landed on her sword. Trigorah swiftly countered, the edge of her weapon barely chipping the arm that was each moment more visibly turning to stone. Before long, it was a living statue she faced. The blade struck again and again, but failed to sink into the rocky form.
Trigorah called to mind what she had learned of the opponent, the shapeshifter. She twisted the blade and struck with the flat. The shapeshifter's stone arm blocked the blow without budging. Quickly, Trigorah drew the blade along the raised arm. Gems were embedded in the blade of her weapon, designed to allow her to cast spells when the need arrived. Each time one of them came into contact with her opponent, the shifter shrieked in pain. Finally she pulled away, no longer able to withstand the horrid hunger of the crystals. The afflicted arm crumbled away. Soon after the rest of the shapeshifter followed. Before a blow could be struck against him, the decoy Lain wafted away as well.
#
Elsewhere, the trio of Chosen was well into the forest at the base of the mountains. Again Ether faltered. She did not have to explain why. Without words, they redoubled their speed. Due west. Already Trigorah was far too far behind to catch up, but she was not to be underestimated. She had the whole of the military at her disposal. They continued at a sprint for as long as they all could manage. Ivy was the first to slow. Ether matched her pace soon after. Finally, Lain relented. Every muscle in his body screamed for rest. Hunger had never bothered him, but he knew that if he did not eat soon, he would weaken. He could not afford it. He turned to the others. Ether slowly resumed her human form. Ivy was sitting in the snow, trying desperately to catch her breath.
"Wait here. I'll find something to eat," he said.
He swept into the forest. It didn't take long for him to find a boar. He brought it back to the others. Ivy sat cross-legged, wavering, as though she would soon collapse. Ether stood, an unfamiliar look of deep weariness on her face. She was clearly attempting to hide it, and failing pitifully. Lain threw the kill on the ground. Ivy looked at it wearily.
"Not hungry," she said flatly.
"Eat. You need strength," Lain ordered.
"I
'm just . . . tired. I need sleep," she said.
"Eat. And you. I'll gather wood," he said.
"Unnecessary," Ether remarked.
Lain cast a stern look in their direction. As was often the case, his eyes communicated far more effectively than his words. Each of his companions slowly complied. Ivy's fatigue was more than apparent. She ate with none of the enthusiasm she typically displayed. Her attentions pulled fully away from her food briefly as Ether shifted to flame amid more flicker and flare than usual. When he was certain that the others had done what they needed to, he did the same, partaking of his share of the kill and settling into the warrior's sleep.
#
Far away, inside the hardened capital of the frozen land, a familiar figure sat, impatiently waiting. Before him was a great desk, covered with maps detailing troop movements, mounds of dispatches from various messengers, and a large sand timer, grains slowly slipping through to a barely half-filled bottom. The heavy door opened and in walked Epidime, battle-scarred halberd in hand.
"You beckoned, Bagu," he asked.
"Sit," Bagu ordered.
With an impatient sigh, he complied, easing into the chair opposite the desk with exaggerated care.
"Did you think I wouldn't find out?" Bagu hissed.
"That depends on which of my myriad secrets you've discovered," he quipped.
"Where is she!?" Bagu demanded.
"Again, you must be more specific. I have a considerable amount of knowledge regarding the whereabouts of the female population," he replied.
"You know that General Teloran is limited to the confines of the capital! She is no longer here," Bagu fumed.
"Yes . . . was that not generally known? She had a word with Demont, then headed off to the southwest several days ago," he said, realizing now the reason for which he was summoned.
The room seemed to grow uncomfortably warm as Bagu bristled with anger.
"Damn it, Epidime, you will take this seriously. Trigorah remains a vital element in our plans. She must be kept under control," Bagu fumed.
"If you'd left the leash slack, the dog wouldn't have pulled," Epidime remarked tauntingly.
The Book of Deacon Anthology Page 81
