The Book of Deacon Anthology

by Joseph R. Lallo

  When Tus came back into view, he was dragging an average-sized man by the throat. The man struggled uselessly at the ham-sized hand wrapped almost completely around his neck, while Tus looked, if anything, disappointed that he'd not put up a better fight. When he reached Caya, he hoisted the man to his feet, released his neck, and spun him around to face the commander.

  "How did you find us!?" Caya demanded. "Did you follow the messenger!?"

  The scrawny runner, his face perpetually with the look of a scolded dog, froze at the words, sweat rolling down his face. Tus shifted his stone-faced gaze in the poor man's direction, managing to deliver an unmistakable threat of punishment without changing his expression at all.

  "No, I assure you the fellow is blameless," said the intruder roughly, as he rubbed his manhandled throat a bit.

  "Wait a moment. I know you. You're that fellow Myranda was traveling with. Devon," she realized.

  The mention of the hero's name sent a stir through the crowd. Myranda was the reason half of them had joined. It was the one name all of them knew for certain.

  "Deacon, actually," he corrected.

  "Right, right. Deacon. Have you come alone?" she asked.

  "Unfortunately, I have," Deacon replied.

  The crowd lost interest instantly and audibly.

  "Right--well then," Caya said, motioning to Tus, who clamped his hand on Deacon's shoulder. "That warrants an explanation, I'd say. You see, Myranda we trust, and people who travel with her we trust as well. People who travel without her . . . well, that is another matter. You can start with how you found us."

  Deacon winced at the grip on his shoulder.

  "I am a wizard, and I've had quite a bit of practice at locating people in the past few months. For a wizard, practice is typically all we need," Deacon said.

  "I've got more than a few wizards as enemies, my boy, and most have met me more times than you. Why is it that you found me and they didn't?" Caya asked.

  "Maybe they aren't looking," Deacon offered. A paralyzing pain in his shoulder informed him that it was not the correct answer.

  "Aspersions on my infamy aside, perhaps you'd like to tell me about Myranda. I first received word that she and an assortment of oddities were captured and moved to undisclosed locations, then that she entranced a demon dragon during an arena battle and escaped. Might you be able to verify?" Caya asked firmly.

  "I was one of the oddities captured that day. I can't say for sure about the demon dragon, but she has been able to escape, and I think she's been busy freeing the rest of them as well," Deacon explained.

  "I presume that you were one of the rescued, and yet you travel alone. Have you fallen out of her favor?" Caya probed.

  "I freed myself. I imagine she has been tracking down the others because she can't find me. I've been concealing myself to make sure Demont doesn't follow me, but she's been flexing some considerable mystic might, so I've caught glimpses of her. As for me, even if she could detect me, the others are far more important than I," he said.

  "Demont, you say. General Demont? That's a powerful enemy you've made for yourself," she replied, suddenly far more interested. "Let's hear it, then. Why come to me? And how did you manage to get away?"

  Tus released his grip, allowing blood to flow back into Deacon's arm.

  "My escape was somewhat complicated," he said, adjusting his ring uneasily. "Suffice to say that fully disarming me has a paradoxical effect."

  "I really don’t think that suffices at all," Caya said with a furrowed brow.

  "I’ll go into greater detail later. As for coming to you, I need to reach Myranda and the others, and I am not certain I can do so alone. She is moving very quickly."

  "Demon dragons move quickly," Tus remarked, eager to believe the stories about a hypnotized beast.

  "Err, indeed," Deacon conceded.

  "Needed a bit of muscle to see your way safely, did you?" Caya asked.

  "Well, if combat was my only concern, I might have managed on my own. My difficulties lie virtually everywhere else. I hail from a place very different from this. It has left me ill-suited to survival tasks," Deacon explained.

  "Can't handle the wilds?" Tus asked.

  "Not particularly well, no. The cities are no better for me, either," the wizard admitted.

  "Listen. I'm willing to lend you a few of my troops, myself included, if it will bring us to Myranda, but how do you expect to catch up with her?" she asked.

  "We can't. But we can get ahead of her. I know where she's going to go next. If they have been hiding the others as they had been hiding me, then there is only one such place that she hasn't visited. After that . . . well, there is only one target that makes sense. Northern Capital," Deacon said.

  Caya considered his words.

  "What do you say, my brave warriors? Do we help the wizard? Do we go to the capital? Do we take this war to the very doorstep of those who prolong it?" she asked.

  The earth shook with the force of the reply.

  "There you have it, wizard. You have the Undermine. For now, you can fix up the men and women that need it, and warm yourself by the fire," Caya said, snatching up a bottle and placing it in his hand as she grasped him tightly across the shoulders with the other arm. "And put a little fire in your belly, as well! And when the sun rises, we begin the march!"

  #

  The cold night drew toward its end, the faint glow that the people of the north knew as a sunrise beginning to hint at the edge of the mountains to the east. Myranda slept sitting up, enfolded in Myn's front legs. Ivy was left undisturbed on the shore of the lake to sleep off her outburst.

  Out of dead sleep came a sharp gasp of air as the malthrope's eyes shot open and her claws dug into the ground. Her mind had done her the disservice of picking up precisely where it had left off, and it took a few moments for her to realize that she was no longer plunging through the sky toward the ground.

  When her heart stopped racing and she'd caught her breath, she climbed dizzily to her feet. Her eyes scanned her surroundings. There was the lake. She'd seen it from the air, so they hadn't gone too far . . . though it did look different. Myn and Myranda were sleeping beside her. But there wasn't anyone else. Had they failed to rescue anyone? She shook more of the sleep from her head and looked again. There was food for her and a fire. She squinted her eyes at an indistinct form in the flames, the sight bringing a frown to her face.

  "It was you we rescued," she said sulkily.

  Ether stepped from the flames once more and resumed her human form.

  "Who would you have preferred?" the shapeshifter asked.

  "Pff. Anybody," she said, crossing her arms and looking away.

  "The antipathy is mutual, I assure you," Ether replied, scooping up the raw remainder of the meal that had been set aside for Ivy. "However, the resurrection of that beast has dispelled any doubt--or hope, for that matter--regarding the Great Convergence. She is the fifth, and we had indeed been united. As such, we are, by dint of poor consideration on the part of fate, partners until the D'karon are defeated."

  Ether held out the food. Ivy eyed it suspiciously. Hunger got the better of her and she took it.

  "So does this mean you aren't going to be mean anymore?" Ivy asked, mouth full.

  "I will behave as I have. I will merely no longer anticipate your death with eagerness," Ether said.

  "How nice of you," Ivy said flatly.

  "It is the circumstances that have changed, not I," she replied.

  "The circumstances didn't change. Myranda told you that the . . ." Ivy began, struggling to remember the appropriate word. ". . . Convergence happened way back when Myn died. If you'd have listened to her, you could have been not hoping I die for all of that time."

  "Indeed. Her insight into the course of destiny has been somewhat more accurate than I would have expected," Ether admitted.

  "Yeah, because she trusts people. She believes in people," Ivy jabbed.

  "A practice that continues to conf
ound me with its success. I, for instance, would have never allowed your little experiment in constructive cowardice," Ether mused.

  Ivy furrowed her brow and ran the words through her mind again. If it had been spoken by anyone else, she would have asked what was meant by "experiment in constructive cowardice," but she would not give Ether the satisfaction.

  "When I fell from the sky, you mean!" she spouted triumphantly after a moment.

  "Indeed," she replied.

  "Oh, yeah, I guess that worked. I'm glad she let me do it, but . . . I don't think I'll do it again," Ivy said with a shudder.

  They were silent for a few moments. Ivy looked about once more, her eyes locking on the lake, considering it as she finished her meal. She remembered seeing it when she broke through the clouds. The terrifying proposition of falling to her death in its frozen waters had managed to cement the image in her mind. As she looked at it now from ground level, she could not shake the feeling that something was missing.

  "Didn't there use to be an island, a little one, right in the middle of this lake?" she finally asked.

  "Something resembling one. Myranda's rescue destroyed it," Ether explained.

  "Really? I . . . I think that means that every place we've been held in, we've wrecked!" Ivy said, a smattering of pride in her voice.

  "If Myranda is to be believed, the arena was still standing when she left it," the shapeshifter corrected.

  "That's true . . . close, though. Maybe we can get another shot at that one later," Ivy chirped cheerfully, as she shifted energetically. "I'm excited. I want to go now! Deacon's next, or Lain! How long have they been asleep?"

  "Long enough," Ether decided. She told herself it was because she wanted to waste no more time. The fact that it was not until Lain's name was mentioned that she felt the urge to move forward was irrelevant.

  The shapeshifter marched up to the sleeping dragon.

  "Awake, beast," she stated, in a voice powerful enough for it to seem like a command.

  Myn's eyes hoisted open sleepily, focusing on Ether and narrowing into angry slits. Myranda stirred and managed to pull herself from the dragon's grip.

  "She has a name, Ether," Myranda reprimanded.

  The wizard crawled out from under the dragon's craned neck and found her staff. The sky was brightening.

  "We can't travel during the day, we will be seen," Myranda said, stifling a yawn.

  "Now that you are not limited to the ground, there is always cover to be had," Ether said, gesturing toward the clouds.

  "Well, Myn. Are you up to it?" Myranda asked.

  The great beast sprang to her feet and unfurled her wings. No sooner had Myranda and Ivy climbed onto her back than she was in the air. A moment later and the windy form of Ether was beside them. Myn wheeled and pumped her wings, spiraling higher and higher in a less than subtle attempt to out-fly her airy rival. As she did, Ivy held tight and closed her eyes tighter.

  "I thought you liked to look at the ground," Myranda remarked.

  "I do. I like the way it looks from up close and I like the way it looks from far away. It's in between I don't like," she explained shakily.

  The trembling creature didn't open her eyes until she felt the familiar damp chill of the clouds. When they emerged above them, she thanked the gods that she had. The sky was a tapestry, beginning in the deepest of star speckled blues and progressing to violet and purple, to red, orange, rose, yellow, and blue. The feathery tops of the clouds were fiery yellow and radiant gold. And the sun . . . it had never been so bright and glorious. The biting chill of the rushing wind was tempered by the warm rays that fell upon them unfiltered by the dismal blanket of clouds.

  Only Ether seemed immune to the wonder before them. She looked upon her fellow travelers with mild irritation, finally breaking them from their trance.

  "Why, might I ask, have you chosen to head in this direction?" said the shapeshifter.

  "I hadn't made an attempt to locate Lain or Deacon yet. I shall do so immediately," Myranda said, realizing her oversight.

  "No need. He lies in that direction," the windy form said with a gesture.

  "How do you . . ." Myranda began, stopping when she realized the answer.

  She could sense him already, without even putting her mind to it.

  "They aren't hiding him anymore," Myranda said, her voice edged with concern.

  "That's bad?" Ivy remarked in confusion.

  "It means that they want us to find him. It means he is the bait in a trap," Myranda said solemnly.

  "Oh . . ." Ivy replied. "Well, what do we do then? Find Deacon? Try to get more help?"

  "The other human is meaningless and there is no one who could hope to offer aid. Lain must be freed," Ether decreed, bursting off toward her target.

  With a word from Myranda, Myn was after the speeding form.

  Chapter 22

  It required a good deal more effort than before, but the dragon managed to keep pace with the determined shapeshifter. The golden sun rose slowly into the sky, but the beauty of it all was lost to them now. Tense minds were focused about the task at hand. Myranda ran a thousand possibilities through her mind, trying to work out what sort of dangers she might expect. Ivy breathed deeply and steadily, trusting that the others would know what to do when the time came. Myn's mind was a razor, the whole of her being focused on summoning all of the speed she could. She knew that Lain lie ahead and nothing in the world would keep her from him.

  Ether's mind was a torrent of conflicting thoughts and emotions. Lain's soul smoldered ahead of her, weaker than it had ever been, and yet she'd never felt anything so intensely. She needed to free him. The purpose, the one guiding constant in the eternity of her existence, should have been the first thing on her mind. It was the last. In its place, she felt a symphony of emotions, most for the first time, and all focused on him. Fear of what may have been done to him. Hatred for those who had done it. Vengeance, desperation, desire . . . A chorus of discord, but all in agreement on one single thing: Lain must be freed.

  #

  In the capital, the king lowered his withered form onto the throne, the crown heavy on his head. He looked to the portraits that lined the hall, paintings of his predecessors. Each head wore the same crown. For some, it had been a symbol of their leadership of the kingdom. That had been long ago.

  The land was ruled by no king now. There had been no ceremony, no coronation, but, nevertheless, the power had passed to the generals long before his own time. He turned to the heavy door to his right. Raised voices echoed from behind it. Names he'd heard spoken more and more frequently, and with more and more fury, were again ringing out. One name rang out above the rest. Myranda.

  The door burst open, the general called Demont rushing out. His superior, Bagu, called after him.

  "I don't care about anything else. Keep the Chosen from the capital! I shall punish you for your idiocy later, just make sure that they find Lain, and that they do not leave, understood!? Pull back your men from the front. Bring every available nearman to the capital immediately! We are too close to victory. There can be no more mistakes! I don't care about missing papers. I don't care about stolen crystals. Nothing matters but the gateway! Once it is open, all else will be an afterthought! Now go, you imbecile! Do as I say!" the general cried.

  A smile came to the face of the king.

  "Is something wrong, General? Feel as though things have slipped from your grasp? As though you've lost control? Perhaps you should seek my council. It is something I've had much experience coming to terms with," the king said.

  "Silence, old man," Bagu hissed.

  "I held my tongue while you controlled my kingdom thus far, because at least the land was protected, but I can keep silent no longer. I have heard you order Demont to pull back his men. What of mine?" the king challenged.

  "They will fight and die as their fathers did. They will learn what this war would have been if not for the aid of the D'karon," Bagu fumed. "It was not so long ago
that this was what you'd sought."

  "I'd sought for our men to lay down their weapons, not lay down their lives. If you will not aid in the battle, then the battle must be ended. If you will not support my kingdom, then what use are you? Get me a messenger! No, get me a carriage! I shall deliver the proclamation of surrender myself!" the king demanded, leaping to his feet.

  "I cannot allow that. The war is a necessary distraction," replied the general.

  "The war was your only purpose! I will not leave my kingdom in your hands! I will not forsake my people!" the King raged.

  Bagu's fists tightened.

  "Your Majesty, I've something to show you. Something that might make things clear to you," Bagu smoldered.

  He disappeared into his office, emerging a moment later with a sand timer.

  "Do you see this, my king?" he asked, holding the delicate glass apparatus to his face.

  There was barely a sprinkle of sand left in the top bulb, and it slipped through, grain by grain.

  "This is your world, Your Majesty. Those are the final moments of your people drifting away. When the last grain of sand falls, a gateway will open, and through it will flow my people. This world will be ours. Were I you, oh mighty king, I would busy myself with the task of proving why we shouldn't crush your people in their entirety. North, South, Tresson, Alliance. You will all fall before us, and there is nothing that can be done," Bagu explained with grim steadiness. "You can kill me. You can kill the other generals. It won't matter. The end is here."

  Bagu placed the glass on the ground before the throne and stalked back into his sanctum. The king collapsed into the throne, his eyes fixed on the silvery sand that remained. He'd known throughout his life that he had no real power, that his whole purpose was to give his people some comfort and hope. In his years on the throne, he'd heard many whispers, collected much information on these men that had ruled in place of the crown. He knew they were not human. He knew the men they commanded were little more than shells.