Desmeres grimaced as he rummaged through a pouch at his belt. It was filled with glass ampoules that had held doses of his healing potion. Most had been shattered when he was thrown and had leaked out into the snow, but one small one had mercifully remained intact.
"This is precisely why I do not get my hands dirty," he muttered through pain-clenched teeth. "It is not a one-man job. When this is through, I must find someone to fill Lain's role."
He shattered the appropriate vial and poured it through the jagged hole torn in his armor and into the gaping wound. Instantly, the pain compounded as the imperfect elixir began to do its work. Desmeres stifled a scream and resolved to improve the concoction and produce some more effective armor before attempting something like this again. The agony faded somewhat, leaving an incompletely-healed wound, thanks to the undersized dose. After failing to pull himself to his feet, he scanned the ground desperately.
The battle was raging less than ten paces away, but he had no place in that. Simply by assembling the Chosen here and distracting them long enough to open the portal, he had earned the lion’s share of his fee--but it was in his best interest that the battle end in the D'karons' favor. For one, it would no doubt increase the size of his reward. Far more important, though, was the simple fact that if Lain finished this battle on his feet, Desmeres would not live long enough to collect. His sharp eyes spotted the crystal that would turn the tide and set about dragging himself toward it.
Myranda flexed her mystic knowledge, conjuring gale force winds, tremors, and bursts of force, anything that could occupy or immobilize the soldiers without killing them. Epidime, the only soldier on the battlefield with his face still obscured, stalked slowly toward her. When a final heave of magic scattered the men that surrounded Epidime, Myranda coaxed thick, woody vines from the ground in an interlocking ring around them. The soldiers on the outside of the wall immediately begin hacking at it, trying to break through. It was clear that it wouldn't hold for long.
"End this now, Epidime. I won't hesitate to do whatever it takes to stop you," Myranda said, gathering her mind for an attack.
She unleashed the spell, a potent example of the little training in black magic she'd received, fully expecting it to be deflected. Instead, her foe did not even raise his weapon, the crackling ball of magic connecting and throwing him backward into the wall of vines. His frail body bounced like a rag doll off of the wall, his grip on the halberd loosening. She seized the weapon with her mind, trying desperately to pull it from his grasp, but his spindly fingers tightened around it, the first hint of the unnatural strength that Epidime brought to his hosts beginning to show. Myranda charged in and grasped the shaft of the weapon with her free hand, readying a second attack.
"You chose poorly this time, Epidime. What is the matter? Have you used up all of the able bodies in the Alliance Army?" Myranda taunted, hoping to force him into a misstep.
"I chose this one for sentimental value," came the voice from behind the mask.
Myranda froze at the sound of the voice. There was a chilling familiarity to it. Without thinking, she released the weapon and grasped the helmet. Epidime thrust at her, knocking her backward, but her grip on the helmet held. It was torn from his head. As Myranda scrambled to her feet, the face she saw before her stopped her heart. It was old, but looked worn beyond its years. Gray streaks ran through the once-black hair, but the features, even twisted by Epidime's perpetual look of cold intellect, were unmistakable.
It was her father.
Myranda's mind was aflame with a thousand emotions. Tears came to her eyes. Joy, fear, anger, hate, and love all combined in a paralyzing chorus of voices in her head. A fiendish smile curled her father's lips, followed by a mocking laugh.
"What is the matter, my dear? This should be a joyous reunion, shouldn't it? After all, you sought me for years. Well, here I am," he said, cruelty peppering the voice of Myranda's loved one.
"You . . . aren't my father," Myranda replied, her voice barely a whisper.
"Oh, but I am. You look upon his body, and deep inside, his soul still resides . . . if only you could hear how it cries out for you, Myranda. Truly touching," Epidime said.
Elsewhere, Lain made his way through the soldiers on his way to Trigorah. They did not resist him, pulling back with their shields and weapons held defensively. The first real resistance came when another special contingent, bearing whips, nets, and other tools of entanglement, sifted to the forefront. Lain evaded them effortlessly, reaching Trigorah in moments. When the two warriors met, the surrounding soldiers pulled back. There was no exchange of words. Indeed, there was barely time for a heartbeat. Lain launched himself at the general, still mounted on her horse.
She managed to block the attack, but was knocked to the ground. Instantly, Lain was above her. Before he could manage a killing blow, however, one of the surrounding soldiers lashed at his raised weapon with a whip. He managed to evade the attack, but at the cost of a few moments. It was enough time for Trigorah to deliver a kick to her foe, staggering him. He recovered to find her on her feet. The warriors clashed swords again, again, and again. Each time, the gems that lined the general's blade took on a brighter glow. Soon, the weapon was burning with energy.
Lain was relentless in his attacks. At first, it was all that Trigorah could do to block each one. As the clash progressed, however, the force of her blows increased. Soon, she was knocking back her foe, each time offering a window of opportunity for her men to attack. They hurled nets, lashed with whips, and swung bolos. It was clear that their intention was not to strike Lain, but to separate him from his sword.
A bloodcurdling screech split the air. Where once there was a single massive dragoyle, now there were two. As the titans clashed, the soldiers below scattered. Earthshaking blows were traded, rocking the whole of the valley. Identical in every way, it was impossible to tell which of the beasts was friend and which was foe. The battle raged on, threatening to collapse the whole of the plateau into the valley below, until one beast forced the other to the ground, clamping its jaws on the head of the other and twisting its neck past the breaking point.
For a moment, all motion in the valley came to a halt. The eyes of Chosen and soldier alike turned to the massive beast. The monster moved slowly, taking two plodding steps away from the fallen one. The inky black hollows of its eyes swept over the valley. Suddenly, in a lightning motion, the enormous creature snapped its jaws shut on the nearest dragoyle, shaking it to pieces. Instantly, the remaining dragoyles took to the sky, tearing at their new target as arrows rained down on it from the soldiers.
Ivy's confidence was growing as the soldiers proved unable to lay a hand on her. She'd seen some of them out of the corner of her eye bearing nets, but they were swiftly and easily left behind. She'd managed to knock down quite a few of the soldiers, but she could not bring herself to truly attack them. These were not the teachers. They were only doing what they were told.
"Ivy," Deacon called amid the chaos. "Head for the wall!"
"Sure thing!" Ivy replied, grateful to have a direction for her efforts.
The skillful creature dutifully cleared the way for Deacon, who tried his best to keep his eyes trained on the crystal. As they drew nearer, something which added a measure more urgency to their trek became visible behind the wall of soldiers. Desmeres had nearly reached the crystal. Deacon desperately tried to break free of the cluster of soldiers around them, but each time it was only through the masterful intervention of Ivy that he avoided being struck down. The soldiers were under orders to forgo fatal means when facing the Chosen, but it would seem they were not similarly instructed regarding Deacon.
Amid his attempts to keep the crystal in sight and dodge the constantly swinging swords around him, the wizard dug madly through his bag.
Generally, he managed to keep it in a state of relative order, but in the rather brief time that he'd been too weak to cast any spells that had changed. Keeping track of the contents of a bag that was s
o much larger on the inside than it was on the outside without the aid of magic was exceptionally difficult, even knowing where things had been before. Doing so while under constant attack was impossible. He glanced up. Desmeres had nearly reached the crystal. Time was running out.
"Hurry!" he urged his protector.
In response, Ivy grabbed the nearest attacker by the wrists, yanked him from his feet, and hurled him at the remaining soldiers who stood in their way. After pausing briefly to marvel at the sudden showing of strength, the pair burst through the opening before them. Deacon sprinted as fast as he could toward Desmeres.
"What do we do now, Deac . . ." Ivy began, but suddenly her voice trailed off, her expression blank.
Desmeres breathed a sigh of relief as the soldiers surrounded Ivy and Deacon. The breath caught in his throat as Deacon managed to slip between them. He clutched the crystal tightly.
"Get him! GET HIM!" he ordered.
Ivy burst into motion, forcing her way through the line of soldiers and quickly closing on Deacon. Suddenly, a net was thrown over her.
"No, no! Let her go!" Desmeres pleaded to the soldiers who, having finally managed to capture her, were not inclined to release their prize.
It was too late. Deacon dove at Desmeres and tore madly at the crystal. As the pair vied desperately for control of the artifact, Ivy's mind was pulled in every direction. She bounced between Desmeres’s insistence that she escape and help to defeat Deacon, Deacon's insistence that she escape and save herself, and her own increasingly terrified thoughts.
"Give it up! It is only a matter of time before these soldiers realize that they need to come here and help me!" Desmeres taunted.
As the ruined body of the final dragoyle dropped to the ground, Ether looked over the battlefield. The creatures had taken a greater toll on her than she had anticipated. Taking the beast's form had left her with precious little strength. She found that the beast's eyes seemed to have a special sensitivity to the crystals she'd taken the form to avoid.
At the far side of the valley, Ivy was tangled in a net with dozens of the crystals knotted into it. There were a number of other such nets scattered among the soldiers. The only other sizable crystals she could see were those adorning the spears of the men who had managed to form a ring around her. If she was to have any hope of returning to one of her fundamental forms safely, she would have to eliminate the bearers of these weapons. Unfortunately, the soldiers quickly proved to be far less dimwitted than the dragoyles, and managed to evade her attempts at trampling them.
As the men continued to bait her and evade her, Ether could feel her strength quickly waning. She'd been trying to avoid using the corrosive breath of her form, lest she risk injuring the others, but now it seemed she had no choice. She opened the massive maw of the creature and began to heave out a great cloud of the miasma, but no sooner had the first wisp of it wafted forth than she felt a sharp pain in her throat. Instantly, all of the strength drained from her. She could feel the stony hide begin to give way, falling to pieces.
As she attempted to abandon the form, she felt the intense sting of a dozen crystals jabbing into her. If she were to change now, what little strength she had would be sapped away by the crystals. She remained in the defeated form, the slow realization of what had transpired dawning upon her. The soldiers had been waiting for her to resort to the beast's breath, hurling a spear into her mouth the instant it had opened. They knew that she would take on that form, and that she would have the same weakness. The dragoyles were easily felled in one blow by a precise strike to the back of the throat, and they had goaded her into revealing this flaw to them. It had been a plan, a trick, and she had fallen for it. Now, she was trapped within this helpless husk, a handful of the mounted soldiers already beginning to drag what was left of her through the portal.
Myranda struggled to restore some measure of clarity. She tried to remind herself that Epidime had brought her father here for precisely this reason, that she was only playing into his trap. It was useless. Half a lifetime of searching and hoping had found their answer at the worst possible time, and her emotions would not relent.
"Don't you have any questions for your dear father, little one?" Epidime asked, Myranda's turmoil obvious to him. "Don't you want to know how he was treated? What kept him alive through those long years of torture and isolation? Do as I say, what I know you want to do. Just come with me. I'll tell you everything. It has been too long, my dear daughter."
The tortured wizard longed to take his offer. She knew that he was only trying to get her to betray the others, but to hear the pleas spoken in her father's own voice burned at her mind. As the first of the soldiers finally broke through, she lowered her staff slightly. The protective wall was torn away, revealing the battlefield that had been hidden. Myranda's eyes turned. Fleeting glimpses of Ivy's tortured struggles and Lain's continuing battle with Trigorah slowly filtered though the haze of emotion.
Epidime approached her as she was surrounded by soldiers. She raised her staff again, her eyes filled with resolve. Epidime's expression grew more sinister.
"You always were a disobedient little whelp," he hissed.
The clash began in earnest between Myranda and Epidime. Nearby, Lain's battle was fairing poorly. On the ground around him were a handful of soldiers unlucky enough to feel the bite of Lain's blade. Others had quickly stepped in to replace them, and they were growing more courageous. If this was not ended soon, it would not end in his favor. As the sword clashed again and again, Lain finally saw an opening. He managed a swift slash, cleaving Trigorah's armor and digging deep into her shoulder. The general lurched backwards. After a swift slice to the soldiers near enough to intervene, Lain moved in for a final attack.
Trigorah swung her sword, despite the fact Lain was not within reach. A ribbon of light arced forth from the blade. The assassin's own blade was able to deflect the spell, but it collided with enough force to hurl Lain backward, knocking the weapon from his hand.
When he landed, he was instantly buried under a pile of soldiers. For a moment, they seemed to have him under control, but suddenly there was the screech of steel on steel and the soldiers scattered to reveal Lain, now holding the sword from a fallen soldier. As he began to carve his way back through the soldiers to get to their leader, Trigorah leveled the point of her sword at Lain and spoke a few arcane words. Lain's pace slowed, his motions suddenly subdued. His legs faltered, forcing him to drop to one knee. A tremendous weariness came over him. Soldiers closed in and restrained him, but he wrenched himself from their grasp, managing one last charge at Trigorah.
The general poured all of the energy stored in her blade into the spell. Without Desmeres’s blade to protect him from the magic, he was at its mercy. Finally, his strength failed him, and he collapsed.
Deacon finally tore the crystal from Desmeres’s grip and plunged it deep into his bag, shuffling the other contents to be sure it was concealed. Without another will to command her, Ivy's mind was finally her own again. Realizing that she'd been captured, and still reeling from her chaotic ordeal, the blue aura of fear surged up around her. The crystals embedded in the net around her drew hungrily at the power, further terrifying Ivy.
"What do I do!? WHAT DO I DO!?" she begged, trying desperately to escape the net.
The soldiers restraining her were drawing the net tighter and beginning to drag her to the portal through which Ether's remains had been carried. The sight of the swirling form, coupled with the thought that they wanted to drag her through it, pushed her over the edge. Instantly, she was a blaze of blinding blue light. The net held, its crystals glowing brilliantly as they drank in her power, but the men who had been restraining her could not hold her back. As she desperately leapt toward the wall that trapped them in the valley, they were dragged along behind her. She collided with the shimmering wall with incredible force, the dozen or so soldiers yanked along by the net smashing into it a moment later. The mystical barrier rippled violently, but he
ld. She hammered on it with her fists, but fear had granted her more speed than strength.
As the men slowly recovered and attempted to secure the net around her, there was a burst of light. One of the crystals, bathed in more energy than it could contain, had burst, showering soldiers and Ivy alike with gem shards. The already-terrified Ivy's fear doubled as she tried to escape the crystals. The net, still tangled about her upper body, was dragged behind, along with the hapless soldiers who had managed to become entangled as well. Soon, other crystals began to burst, each time startling the creature and sending her in another direction.
A streak of blue zigged and zagged through the valley, parting the soldiers like a boat cutting through the waves. Her frenzied path tore past Trigorah, colliding with her weapon and sending the blade hurdling through the air. It embedded itself in the cliff face high above them.
"Someone stop that beast!" Trigorah ordered.
All available soldiers rushed to the task, leaving Myranda alone with her opponent. She and Epidime had been hurling spells at each other without relenting; hers intent on separating him from his staff, his intent on simply defeating her. The valley was scorched and aflame in some places, deeply frozen in others. Now that there were no soldiers to distract her, Myranda knew that she would not get a better chance. She focused intensely, flexing all she knew of levitation and wrenching Epidime into the air. Holding out a hand to guide her foe into the air, she spread her fingers. Instantly, Epidime's weapon tugged away from him, threatening to escape his withered grasp.
"What do you think you will accomplish with this, my child?" Epidime asked, as he clutched desperately at the halberd with both hands.
The Book of Deacon Anthology Page 103
