The Book of Deacon Anthology

by Joseph R. Lallo

  "You should thank me. It is an important lesson in the art of war I have taught you today. Victory in a single stroke takes as much planning as power," Epidime mocked.

  A sudden and swift move from Lain quickly wiped the smile from his face. The assassin caught the edge of one of the cloaks restraining him with his foot and pulled his arm free. He then managed to force the second one backward into the pool of burning lamp oil from one of the shattered lanterns. It took quickly to flame and screeched through the air for a few moments before fluttering to the ground, motionless. In the distraction, Lain managed to regain his sword.

  The other cloaks, and a handful of surviving nearmen who had finally managed to navigate the city to their prey, began to descend on Lain, but Epidime stopped them with a thought.

  "Listen, Lain. I know full well that you would sooner die than be taken captive, just as you would sooner give your life than lose that of the delicate creature at your feet. Alas, my orders are quite clear. Until certain criteria are met, you must be captured alive. All of you. Perhaps I could subdue you. Perhaps you could defeat me. Neither could happen before your precious Ivy fades away. That is her very life pooling about your feet. Every drop of blood is one she can't spare. Use your logic, assassin. Let me have her. I will heal her, you will escape. We will both fulfill the more important of our goals. If not, then we both fail," Epidime reasoned.

  "Don't listen to him, Lain. Kill him," Ether ordered. She struggled to remain standing, straining under the weight of her own stony form.

  "She wants Ivy dead. You know that," Epidime countered.

  Lain's weapon lowered slightly. Ivy's eyes were locked on him, glazed and wavering. He drew in a slow, deliberate breath of air, eyes closed. He then exhaled, opening his eyes and tightening his grip on his weapon.

  "So be it," Epidime sighed, raising his weapon for the coming battle.

  He made ready to attack the stubborn hero, but something made him pause. Weapon still at the ready, he swept his eyes across the cityscape around him. A bitter wind was blowing, harder than it had been a moment ago--and then harder still. There was something else. A sensation. A presence. He shifted the halberd and gave the ground a sharp thrust.

  A wave of black force rippled out from where it met the earth. It flowed across the street in all directions. Just before it reached Ivy, something disturbed it. It parted, like the water in a stream about a stone. As it did, the merest glimpse of something else could be seen, as though a veil had been briefly blown aside by a gentle breeze.

  What followed happened with a speed few could comprehend. The fluttering black mist was drawn up by some unseen force only to be dispelled entirely, vanishing. A flash of light forced all to avert their gaze, and the icy wind surged, seeming to blow in from all directions at once. As Epidime struggled to regain his sight after the blinding flash, he beheld before him a pair of forms. Each was clad in a pristine white cloak, face hidden by the hood.

  One held the crystal-tipped end of a shattered staff, a bow over one shoulder and a quiver of arrows over the other. The second clutched a crystal in one hand and an odd, twin-bladed weapon in the other. A sadistic grin came to Epidime's face, in his eyes a hint of the darkness that lurked in his soul.

  "And then there were five," he said, his tone that of a monster unleashed. "KILL THEM ALL! NO ONE SURVIVES!"

  The foot soldiers rushed in, Epidime turning to the opening he'd blasted through the wall moments ago and dashing through it. As he did, he raised his weapon. A ribbon of intense light erupted skyward, splitting above the city and encircling the walls. Instantly, a shimmering barrier coalesced just outside the outskirts of the city. A trio of nearmen followed their master as he sprinted from sight.

  The staff-wielding stranger rushed to the side of the ailing Ivy. The other turned to the cloaks. A swift thrust of the crystal sent a bolt of light that struck the nearest attacker. In an instant, the cloak turned to glass, shattering as it struck the ground. A second cloak drew near, only to be struck by a second bolt that seemed to unravel the monster, leaving only a pile of frayed threads. A nearman was next, turned to stone by another attack. Behind the defender, the first figure crouched beside Ivy. The half dead creature struggled to focus her eyes on the white-clad form.

  "I told them. I told them . . ." she wheezed.

  The staff was lowered; a hushed voice whispered a few arcane words. Slowly, wounds began to close. Ether, still barely able to stand, dragged herself over to the pair.

  "Finally. Finally more of my own arise," she chanted.

  By the time she reached the others, the street was completely cleared of foes and Ivy was breathing the slow, deep breaths of a healing sleep. The defender turned--first with weapons raised at the approach of the shapeshifter, but lowered them quickly. The unused blade was slipped into the cloak, and the hood was drawn back to reveal a disheveled yet enthusiastic young man.

  "Ether, I presume. I cannot begin to--" he spoke eagerly.

  "Later, Deacon. The wall. We need to escape," the other cloaked figure advised. This voice was indeed familiar.

  As the young wizard nodded and rushed off, Ether's eyes widened.

  "You! How?" the shapeshifter gasped in an unprecedented showing of awe.

  The healer stood, pulling back the hood. There, before Ether, stood Myranda. Lain rushed to her and for a moment their eyes locked. Then each gave a knowing nod. The assassin scooped up the slumbering Ivy and followed in Deacon's path. The shapeshifter, perhaps realizing the look of shock on her face, regained her composure.

  "How can you be here? How did you survive?" she demanded.

  "I'll explain when there is time. Have you much strength left?" Myranda asked with concern.

  "I've more than enough," Ether lied. She attempted to straighten her posture but only succeeded in underscoring her fatigue.

  Myranda was not fooled.

  "I'll help you," she said.

  Ether tried to push the human away, but lacked the strength even to do that. Instead, she slipped back to her human form and leaned heavily on Myranda as they made their way after the others. They didn't get far. Her partner dashed up to her, panting.

  "It is no good. The power behind the wall is . . . incalculable. I've never faced anything like it. If we want to leave this place, we have to cut off the spell at its focus. We have to stop that wizard from maintaining it," he said.

  A sudden surge of mystic power drew the attentions of the trio. Each had become finely attuned to such things. Without another word, both Myranda and Deacon rushed off toward Epidime. Ether began to follow, but didn't manage more than a few steps before she nearly collapsed. Her limit had been reached. For now, all that she could do was wait. Slowly, she turned and trudged toward the side street just ahead. Lain was waiting there. His sword was held low but ready, Ivy resting on the ground at his feet. Every muscle in his body was tensed, ready to sprint the very moment that the glassy, shining wall ahead was destroyed.

  Myranda rushed into the courtyard ahead. Three nearmen blocked her path as Epidime stood before a mangled pile of defeated dragoyles. He raised his halberd and summoned forth the unholy glow that always accompanied his spells. The mass of ruined creatures before him began to shift and turn, waves of black twisting and crawling over its surface. The pieces rose from the ground, piling upon themselves.

  Deacon raised his crystal and set his mind to halting whatever it was that Epidime had planned. Myranda waved her staff and a swath of white energy cut across the nearmen. They shuddered and stumbled before collapsing in a flash of light and a burst of dust, leaving only a mound of empty armor.

  As Myranda turned herself to Epidime, it was clear that precious little had been done to impede the work of their foe. The last pieces of a fiendish puzzle were slipping together. The pieces of the destroyed dragoyles were cobbled loosely into a towering, mismatched titan. The heads had been joined side by side, strung together like beads on a necklace, jaws separated and hanging in a similar strand beneat
h them, affixed at either end. The limbs were attached end to end, fore and hind legs shuffled with little concern for their proper place, claws affixed one on top of the other until each leg ended in a tapered spike. The shattered pieces of torso were assembled into a mosaic just barely cohesive enough to accommodate the limbs, and the remainder of spare parts curled into a massive, lashing tail.

  "I've never felt a will so strong. The magic, the texture of it . . . It is different. Fundamentally so. There is only one way to end this," Deacon warned.

  He did not need to say any more, Myranda knew what had to be done. As Epidime climbed to his perch atop the hideous beast, the pair that faced him burst into action. So too did their foe. The spindly creature skittered across the ground like an insect, the jagged spikes that served as legs slicing into the hard stone and earth like it was clay. It moved ponderously, in long, slow strides, but the span of the legs and the lashing tail made it seem as though it was everywhere at once. Deacon and Myranda split up, hoping to divide the attention of the creature.

  Deacon stuck close to the buildings. He constantly tried to assault Epidime with spells of every type, but the diabolical wizard shrugged them off or worse, caused them to fade to nothing before they reached him. The beast he rode, if such a thing could rightly be called a beast, turned away from him, aiming its head at Myranda and its tail at Deacon. The disproportionately long appendage struck as though it had a mind of its own, one moment swinging in long slashes, the next gouging like a scorpion. It was faster than he was. Faster by far. Each strike was just barely turned away by a hastily erected shield spell, but the blows cracked it and warped it, as though something about the physical blow affected his magic as well. And the attacks were growing stronger.

  Deacon knew that if he hoped to gain an edge, he would have to slow it down. Immobilize it. But how?

  Myranda had far greater concerns. The heads, belching out their combined breath, sent great gales of the vile black stuff at her. Deft bursts of wind kept her safe, but the courtyard was quickly filling with the black mist. It pooled in sizzling puddles in the cracks in the street, and every moment there was less and less fresh air to whisk the danger away. The air around her became saturated. She could feel the sting on her skin. The ground was too dangerous. She had to get above it.

  With all of her strength she leapt into the air, mixing in as much levitation as she could manage. The leap turned into a slow drift toward the rooftops. The cracked and broken heads lunged, trying to snap her out of the air, but she tumbled backward. The creature tried to lunge again, but it stopped and pulled back suddenly.

  Epidime turned to see what held him. One of the creature's legs was embedded in the ground. The ground beneath the other hind leg seemed to slosh aside, losing its substance and parting like a liquid. The dark wizard realized what was next and commanded his creation to draw its leg free, but Deacon acted more swiftly, seizing the altered ground back again into not a mixture of stone and soil as it had been, but solid rock. The legs were held fast. As Epidime leveled his halberd to deal with this newcomer directly, an arrow hissing though the air and gashing his already badly injured arm reminded him of his primary target.

  The battle was going on too long. He needed to eliminate one of these heroes now. Epidime ordered his beast forward. The head strained and snapped at Myranda, who was readying another arrow. Great plumes of miasma erupted forth, only to be blown in curling clouds back at Epidime. The horrid stuff burned relentlessly at him, but he paid it no mind. Myranda was far too important a target for him to fail now. With a horrifying snap, the monstrosity's hind legs gave way, tearing free and allowing beast and rider to crash forward into the building Myranda stood atop. The weak walls buckled, the ancient roof splintered.

  Myranda rushed to the edge and dove to the next roof, losing her arrow. She landed on the sloped shingles, falling and struggling to grip the icy roof. Finally, she found a foothold and climbed to her feet, turning to the house that was crumbling beneath the unbalanced creature as it fought to gain footing on now incomplete legs. A flash of motion distracted Myranda. Through the broken roof, she saw a terrified woman scrambling to escape her failing house. Myranda's eyes swept over the town. The black acid was eroding walls, streets, and roofs. The poor people of this town were having their homes destroyed. Their lives were in danger.

  With bow in one hand and staff in the other, she closed her eyes and opened her mind, drawing hard at the clouds above as she had in her exam in Entwell. With knowledge and purpose guiding the action, not to mention a considerable increase in power, the clouds above darkened and multiplied in seconds. A moment later, there was a crack of lighting and a roar of thunder as a torrent came pouring down from above. Her eyes opened to reveal a terrible storm summoned up in a matter of moments. Water diluted and washed away the wretched black acid.

  "You've come far, Myranda. Quite far," Epidime allowed, taking note of this new display of skill.

  Myranda ignored the words of her foe and leapt from the roof, rolling to the ground. She could not let him destroy any more of this city. The battle would have to be fought in the open--and finished soon.

  Deacon wrapped his mind around the lashing tail, crushing his will around it like a vice and, with all of the effort he could muster, manipulating it. He had honed his manipulation skill to a fine edge. He could raise great stones, trees, anvils, but this was by far his greatest challenge. He managed to hold the lashing limb fast, but a will fought against his. He held his crystal out, straining to keep it still but slowly losing the tug of war. With a last, desperate twist, he managed to snare the tail around one of the grotesquely struggling legs still held fast to the ground and anchor it there.

  Epidime swung his halberd without looking, a blast of black energy slicing through the air toward Deacon. He managed to dodge, and apparently blind to the danger of it, scrambled between the beast's remaining legs, under its head, and back to Myranda's side.

  Lightning danced in the sky above him. Deacon called to Myranda.

  "We won't hit him with a single strike he can see," he affirmed.

  "Fine then. Let us strike at him with a thousand that he can see," she decided.

  The words were cryptic, but they rang clear in Deacon's mind. Myranda drew back an arrow and fired it skyward. It arced upward, nearly disappearing from sight. Deacon then thrust his crystal high, a filament of brilliant light tracing upward until it met the arrow at the peak of its flight. Instantly, a section of the sky turned darker than even the storm clouds. The patch of black spread like a swarm of insects, separating into hundreds, thousands of tiny specks. Arrows.

  The two heroes scrambled for the far end of the courtyard as the first of the rain of arrows struck. They moved in a wave, prickling the earth in an ever-advancing line toward Epidime. He raised his halberd defensively for a moment, but then let it drop. He turned a scornful eye to his foes, who now stood just ahead of where the first arrows had fallen. A handful of the plummeting shafts struck the head of the beast . . . with no effect. A constant stream fell upon him, vanishing just as they struck.

  "Illusions. You would think to deceive me with illusions?" Epidime scoffed, genuinely angered by the simplicity of the ruse.

  A moment later the grimace of anger vanished as an arrow, quite real, drove itself into his shoulder. It was true that the rain of arrows was false, but the one she had fired was not, and it had found its mark. Epidime gazed upon them with a look of calm, almost serenity as he pulled the arrow free. It should have killed him just as countless other attacks should have, but he stubbornly clung to life, a smile returning to his blood-tinged mouth.

  "When will you learn that it will take so much more than you have to defeat me?" he asked.

  Suddenly he began to cough and hack, his whole body heaving with the increasing outbursts. He closed his eyes and steadied himself on the creature's back as he struggled to regain control of his failing body. The sound of something hissing toward him through the air, alas, did
not go unnoticed. His mind reached out and slowed the projectile. His free hand rose up and snatched it from the air. He spat and opened his eyes. What he held was the broken head of a casting staff.

  "You threw your staff? Have you so quickly reached the bottom of your bag of tricks that you resort to this act of--" he began. He would never finish his sentence.

  With the target held firmly in the hand of her foe, Myranda turned her mind skyward and drew down the true attack. A blinding bolt of lightning tore from the clouds above and struck the weapon, continuing through the man who held it and the beast he rode. Myranda maintained the state of concentration as long as she could, prolonging the bolt for seconds. All was white around them, in their ears a continuous, deafening roar, like a clap of thunder that would not end.

  Finally she could manage no more. The lightning flickered away. She opened her eyes. The world was a haze. Even with her eyes firmly shut, the intensity of the lightning had robbed her of her vision almost entirely. There was little left of the beast that stood before them seconds earlier. Less still was left of the man--only a charred husk inseparable from the rest of the ruined rubble and the blackened halberd.

  Myranda recalled her staff. The crystal glowed white-hot, and the augmented wood smoldered, but her spell had done its work. It had delivered its payload to Epidime and been spared most of the damage.

  "That was . . . savage . . . and brilliant," Deacon admired, though his comment was unheard, the ringing in their ears easily drowning it out.

  Myranda wished her staff was whole, as the cost of the spell was high enough to leave her nearly for want of the strength to stand. And, yet, she didn't feel as though it was over. Around them, the sudden and complete silence following the thunderous uproar had inspired the bravest of the townsfolk to peek their heads from their shelters. Deacon tugged at Myranda's arm, drawing her attention and pulling up his hood. The wall was down. Now was the time for escape.