The final crystal was hurried out the door and finally notice was taken of the intruder. Only two nearmen remained, sloshing around the shallow water at the edge of the flooded room. As Myranda raised her staff to face them, she was quickly reminded that the gem structure was ravenous enough to limit her to the D'karon spells, but that was of little concern. She'd become quite comfortable with their use.
A bolt of black ripped through the air at her, but it was easily deflected. She clamped the crushing spell so frequently used upon her around her attacker and hurled him at the stone wall. The other nearman aimed a shot at the curved roof, his destructive spell punching a jagged hole through it. A second blast destroyed one of the wooden struts.
Impossibly, the whole of the island shuddered and tilted, sagging against the remaining struts. The door Myranda had entered through dipped below the waterline and began to gush water. Myranda scrambled through the icy water to the high ground at the opposite end of the flooding room. She regained her footing just in time to deflect another blast from the sole surviving nearman. The blast reversed neatly on itself and destroyed its caster. Myranda turned to a sharp hissing sound overhead. It came from the hole above her. Air was escaping. The island, which she now knew was certainly anything but a proper one, was sinking!
Outside, the sight of the sudden movement of the island cast a fresh spike of fear into Myn's mind. She couldn't believe her eyes. The waves were working their way up the shore. The water terrified the creature, but the thought of losing her friends terrified her more. She dove low, snatching up Ivy before the water could reach her. Working her wings for all they were worth, she skimmed across the water's surface to the shore, depositing Ivy there and charging back. The water would not claim Myranda.
The wizard splashed out to the crystal shell and climbed atop it, blasting at it with whatever the staff seemed capable of. Fractures curled their way around the bars, but they seemed to shrug off the worst of the damage. Below, one of the demon armors was scaling the sloped floor beneath the water. When it reached the shell, the various plates and straps of the armor spread and scattered, finding gaps large enough to slip through, reassembling around the amber glow on the other side.
Myranda worked at the shell. One bar broke, then another. Suddenly a grip, literally like iron, closed around her ankle and tore her from atop the crystal structure. She was tossed effortlessly aside.
Water that was cold as ice drained the feeling from her limbs as she struggled to reach some manner of foothold. Alas, the last of the floor was slipping ever deeper into the water, leaving little more than the peak of the crystal cage above the surface. The steely grip closed around her ankle again and she was yanked beneath the waves with barely a gasp of breath. Nearly blinded by the freezing water, Myranda managed to dodge the thrusting spear of the armor, but only just. She forced aside the agony tearing at her mind and summoned another blast. The gauntlet clutching her leg flew to pieces, allowing her to fight her way to what little air remained and take a much needed breath.
Myn crashed down on the sinking hunk of stone, clawing madly at the tiny hole she found. She felt the waves close around her legs and every ancient instinct and ingrained fear demanded she take to the air again. She denied them, finally breaking though. There was the wet snap of wood and the entire island seemed to drop out from under her, sinking into the depths. The terrified dragon flailed about in the water before managing to catch enough of the wind in her wings to hoist herself skyward. The former island drifted out of sight, the remnants of the sheet of ice that had been the lake's surface closing over it.
The last of the air slipped out of the widening hole. It was large enough to escape through, but Myranda turned her back to it. She still had a job to do. The icy water stung at her eyes as she gazed down at the still-intact shells of crystal. The remaining hand of the demon armor had caught hold of the edge of her cloak and she was being pulled into the darkening depths. A sizable chunk of the ruined roof drifted down beside her. Again, she called upon the vice spell, clutching it and guiding its fall. It broke easily through the first shell, but the armor creature that had stayed behind managed to deflect it from the smaller shell, the shell that held what remained of Ether. A moment later, the still-intact demon armor hurled its spear. The weapon hissed through the water like a harpoon and grazed Myranda's side.
Exertion of mind and body were squandering Myranda's last breath of air, and pressure squeezed painfully in around her. The inner shell still held strong. She ignored the pain and cold and held out her staff, groping with its spells for something to smash Ether's cage. The whole of the structure around her lurched as it struck the floor of the lake, sinking slightly into the icy mud. The shock was enough to dislodge a piece of the damaged roof. Myranda tried to swim aside, but the injured armor creature clamped her wrist in its remaining glove and twisted it viciously. The fingers opened of their own accord and her stolen staff floated instantly out of reach, rocketing to the surface. The stone pushed her to the tilted ground and pinned her there. It was all Myranda could do to keep from losing her last few moments of air in a scream of agony.
All that she knew of water magic flashed through her mind, but what remained of the enchantments protecting this place, and the crystal shell feeding off of it, prevented even the simplest spell from taking hold. Levitation and a dozen other spells fell flat in a frenzied panic of casting. Her lungs burned for air. Her chest heaved for it. The demon armors stood about her as her vision began to darken.
Then came the sound.
It was strange and far away, like thunder filtering though the fathoms of water. Myranda and her attackers turned their eyes to the surface as one. Thrusting toward them with waving motions that rippled along her whole body was Myn. Madness flashed in her eyes. She came down upon the ruins of the structure like an avalanche, snapping her jaws around one suit of armor in a maelstrom of bubbles and twisted metal and smashing the other apart with a wildly flailing claw. The beast quickly levered aside the stone that pinned her friend and snatched her up. Myranda gestured wildly at the shell of crystal. Myn cast a fleeting glance and whipped at it with her tail, reducing it to powder. She then planted her feet on the stone floor and thrust herself toward the surface.
The pair erupted from the surface, shattering a chunk of ice and soaring into the air. The dragon unfurled her wings and darted to the shore as Myranda gasped a burning cold breath of the icy air and collapsed into a fit of coughing. Myn belched out column after column of flame until the water that clung to her boiled and sizzled. She shook and rolled in crazed fear, as though the drops that nestled among her scales were at this moment trying to kill her. By the time she was through, Myranda had finished coughing and now lay in a trembling heap on the ground. Without the crystals near, her spells would work. Warmth and health were but a few whispered words away, but that could wait. She struggled soggily to her feet and looked to the lake.
The whole of the surface was surging with waves and churning ice. In the center, a small, clear mound of water had heaved itself up. It resembled a human form in the very loosest of terms, but stood perfectly still, in stark contrast to the stormy surface. Slits of light where the eyes should be flared. Slowly, the water around it settled to stillness. A circle of water centered around the form dropped flat and calm, and the circle began to grow. More and more of the lake was struck by the sudden stillness. With each wave that sunk to nothing, the humanity of the form became more distinct. Finally, the whole of the lake was a dead calm, smooth as glass--and, in the center, Ether.
She sunk beneath the surface, providing it with its first ripples. An instant later, her form emerged from the shore nearest to the other heroes. Now near enough to see, the expression on her watery face was far from the serene, complacent mask of superiority she normally wore. It was a mosaic of fear, fatigue, desperation, and--perhaps most out-of-place of them all--gratitude.
"Thank you . . ." the shapeshifter managed. Two more unlikely words had never
been spoken.
Ether dropped to her knees on the dusty pebbles of the shore. The rough gray texture crept up her legs, and in a few moments she was entirely composed of stone, motionless. Myranda made her way to the form and looked into its eyes, little more than orbs of smoother white stone set against the rest--but in them, she saw the flicker of power that she was hoping for. Ether was out of danger. All she needed was time to rest and a good strong fire. Indeed, that was all that each of them needed.
Chapter 21
Having baked the last of the dampness away and finally calming down again, Myn seemed to suddenly realize she'd been remiss in her duties. She bounded off toward the nearest forest, no doubt on the trail of a fresh meal. Myranda took the opportunity to look after herself. She willed the wound on her side closed and wicked away the water that was chilling her to the bone. With a few more words and a flex of her mind, her trembling subsided. For a moment, she smirked at how simple it was, almost an afterthought. It was not long ago that falling in the water without someone to start a fire would have been a death sentence. Now it was, at worst, an inconvenience, rectified in moments, even without a staff.
She looked to the lake. Bobbing on the surface, tossed lightly by the small ripples being driven by the wind, was her stolen staff. She held out her hand and willed it to her. It obliged with little effort. In the calm after the battle, she regarded it as if for the first time. A curious little thing, it was. Certainly not something she would have imagined the D'karon putting to work. That, of course, was the point. It was a tool of deception, meant for the hand of a deceiver. There was no gem, nothing to mark it as a weapon. It seemed harmless, rather thin and ancient-looking. Gnarled and knobby in just the way a wizard's staff ought to be, the sort of staff that a kindly old wizard would lean on as he ambled through a village. It was comforting. It put one at ease. It was a lie.
A closer look revealed mystic runes etched over every surface that would hold a mark. The merest touch opened a dark tome of spells. Spells that required no training, no soul to cast them. Just a whisper of words, the tiniest thought. They were spells designed to destroy. Spells designed to control. Even holding the thing made Myranda feel soiled.
At the same time, though, it held many keys to trials she and the others had failed to overcome before. Spells to undo their locks. Spells to drop their shields. Somewhere among the enchantments, she felt something very close to what she'd felt whenever one of the generals vanished into the swirling voids--the very spell that allowed them to move so quickly at times, to escape so readily. She touched at the spell experimentally, but quickly withdrew. It was different from the rest. It needed a target of some sort, something specific. A simple point in space would not do. It seemed to crave an indication of which of many doors she wanted to open. The destinations were fixed, leaving her only to choose. Where those doors led, however, she did not know, and the potential danger of choosing the wrong one made choosing any one of them ill-advised.
The pounding steps of Myn returning pulled Myranda from her thoughts. It had surely only been a few minutes, but Myn dropped a young stag in front of her with the sort of pink-toothed contentment that betrayed a recently filled stomach. Without a word of request, the dragon bounded off again to gather wood, while Myranda faced the task of preparing the night's meal without a knife. Even with magic, it was an ungainly task. Still, she managed.
Before long, Myn was back to dump her prize on the ground. She was new to the task of fetching wood, and it showed. She’d brought an entire tree, dirt still clumped on its roots.
"Good, Myn, good," Myranda praised, offering the customary scratch. "Next time, though, try to find wood that is a bit less green. Something that snaps without much effort."
Such fresh wood should have been difficult to light, but in the presence of a wizard and a dragon, fire is seldom a long time in coming. Soon, a roaring fire was crackling. Ether's statue of a body was heaved onto the flames, Ivy was situated comfortably, and the food was prepared. The stone form of their friend reddened and eventually shifted to flame, tearing at the energy of the flame far more hungrily than Myranda gnawed at the meat. A few minutes allowed the shapeshifter to regain her composure and, unfortunately, her usual disposition. Her eyes came to rest on the dragon and, despite being composed of flame, took on a cold glare.
"The lizard has returned from the dead, I see," Ether said, as though there was nothing particularly impressive about the feat.
Myranda nodded, swallowing her current mouthful before adding, "She's got something to show you, as well."
Myn unfolded her wing enough for the Mark to reveal itself. For a moment, Ether was silent. When she spoke, her words shook with intensity.
"She counts herself among the Chosen. Well then--fate's mockery of me is complete. My exalted place at the zenith of cosmic import must be shared with a common beast," she fumed.
Myn's eyes narrowed.
"Myn saved your life and mine a few minutes ago. That fire, this food, and every day you and I live from now on are thanks to her," Myranda reminded.
"She is not without her usefulness. However, at least the other mindless beast is small enough to escape notice," Ether remarked, turning her gaze to the sleeping Ivy. "And the dragon will make us a target regardless of who sees us. There is not a human in this world who would trust such a monster."
Myn climbed angrily to her feet.
"Easy, Myn," Myranda said with little result, before turning back to Ether. "The whole of the north sees us as enemies already, and at least with Myn we will be able to move more quickly."
"Yes, well, considering how slowly you all recover, it hardly seems useful to be rushing to the next battle. At least for you," Ether countered, stepping from the flames and easily turning back to her human form as if to hammer home the point that days of torture could be erased in minutes.
Myn's scornful stare took on a predatory depth once more.
"I'm a healer. So long as I am able, I can see to it that we are all in fighting shape after little more than a night’s rest," Myranda offered. She felt strangely as though she were arguing to be allowed to remain a part of the team, despite the fact that it was Ether who had just been rescued. Likely this was simply the shapeshifter’s way of saving face after undeniably owing her freedom to another.
"Mmm. So long as you are able. Of course, that is far from a foregone conclusion at the end of a battle. Indeed, one could scarcely deny that you are the weakest link in our little ill-formed band of--" Ether began.
"MYN, DON'T!" Myranda shouted.
The shapeshifter turned to find the dragon reluctantly frozen in place, her massive jaws gaping just above Ether's head. From the mixed look of hunger and fury, there was little doubt what her intentions had been.
"I assure you, beast. Had you swallowed me, I would have created my own exit," Ether warned, turning back as though nothing had happened. "Regardless of the qualifications, it would appear that you three have managed to escape where even I have failed, evidence that the insight of the gods is not to be doubted. Tell me, then, how it came to pass, and why it is that Lain is not among us."
Myranda began the tale again.
#
Far away, huddled around a similar fire, a small band of different heroes plotted the events of the coming day. A bottle was passed around that held a different kind of fire. It passed first to Caya, a fresh scar striping the back of her hand. Then it passed to Tus, leather armor against leathery skin. Next it was passed to the shaky hand of a newcomer, a runner who carried information. It then passed away to the shadows, from hand to hand of the best of what little the north had left to staff the Undermine: Men, women, and virtual children.
"So, what do we know?" Caya asked.
"There's a-a lot of action. A lot of m-motion. The flow of troops to the front has stopped. They're . . . coming back. Coming north," he said nervously, as though such news would get him a hand across the face--or worse.
"Right . . . you know w
hat that is called, boys? Desperation!" Caya cried.
A chorus of cheers erupted.
"The generals are losing control!" she spurred on.
A second roar rang out.
"Our time is coming, my soldiers," she added in serious tones. "The times have been hard. Victories have been scarce, but now the Alliance Army is gasping its last breath. Mark my words, this war has seen its last winter!" she cried.
All in attendance raised their voices in triumphant approval. More bottles were produced and passed about, clinking together and lifted high. The hoots and hollers of the tired, battered, rejoicing soldiers filtered through the dense trees of Ravenwood. They'd been chased from these woods before, but in a forest so large and so thick, there was always another place to hide. Even now, their shouts became lost among the trees within barely a hundred places, and the light of their fire in half that.
Caya smiled as she looked upon her troops, their spirits riding high on her words. She'd never been the best on the battlefield, but give her a man's ear and he'd fight the gods themselves by the time she was through. As she basked in the warm glow of the fire and the admiration of her followers, something wiped her smile away. Despite the boisterousness about her and the deadening effect of the forest, ears sharpened by well-justified paranoia had latched onto something.
"Quiet!" she ordered.
Silence descended instantly. Somewhere in the darkness around them, there was the snap of a twig. The stand of trees echoed with dozens of swords pulling free in unison. She held out a hand. A bow was placed in it. She readied an arrow.
"Tus . . . find our visitor and bring him to me, would you?" she requested.
The monster of a man stalked into the forest. Tus was aware of stealth, but he'd never felt compelled to employ it. His thumping footsteps sent little cascades of snow drifting down from the trees as he passed, and despite the slow appearance of his gait, the length of the enormous man's stride carried him at what some would consider a run. He'd only just vanished among the trees when there came the sound of a man's voice, choked off in mid-sentence, followed by the plodding footsteps of his return.
The Book of Deacon Anthology Page 115
