The Book of Deacon Anthology

by Joseph R. Lallo

  As he dropped the day's kill, Halfax focused upon a specific point among the trees at the edge of the clearing. There was nothing there . . . and yet . . .

  He took a step toward it . . .

  “Hal, thank goodness! You took a long time, I thought something had happened to you,” Jade said from the doorway.

  She was almost fifteen years old now. She'd worked her way through most of the books, and each new thing she learned, she tried. The recent book on farming had led her to expand her little garden, and she was very proud of her efforts.

  “Come around the back, I want to show you how good the strawberries are coming in.”

  The dragon cast a final glance into the trees before following.

  At the edge of the clearing, like a wisp of smoke caught in the breeze, a patch of forest seemed to sweep away, leaving a tall, lean figure where before had been nothing. It was an elf, and by virtue of his race, based on his appearance, he could have been age twenty or two hundred. He held in his hand what may once have been a walking stick. Now it was covered so utterly with intricate emblems and sigils that it seemed too delicate to support its own weight, let alone his. His face bore the vague look of irritation.

  “I do hate the lucky ones,” he muttered with a slow shake of his head.

  With that he turned and, with the same flourish as he appeared, vanished.

  #

  Far to the south, many days later, an aging woman looked to the door of her apothecary shop. It had been a busy day, and there would be no one else at this hour. She poured the contents of the mortar she'd been grinding at into a small glass jar. Carefully, the container was placed beside the dozens of identical ones that lined the shelves behind her.

  The air was thick with the scent of dried herbs and boiling potions, and every available surface was cluttered with scales, burners, glassware, and other tools of the trade. She made her way to the heavy door, pushed it shut, and drew the bolt.

  “Quite a business you have here,” came a voice from behind her.

  The woman turned to find the same tall, intellectual-looking elf from the forest inspecting one of the vials from the table. In his hand was the excessively carved walking staff.

  “How did you get in here!?” the owner cried, brandishing a heavy glass bottle from the nearest counter.

  “I don't intend to be answering many of your questions, so for your sake, I shall ignore that one. A far more pressing one shall present itself shortly.”

  “Get out of my--”

  “A useful service you provide the people of this town. A treatment for cutleaf poisoning. A tricky thing to treat.”

  “I . . . I do what I can,” she said nervously.

  “No, no, you don't. You do what you want to. The treatment is tricky. The cure much less so. It was difficult to find, but once you know what it is, it is simply a matter of taking enough of the right ingredients. In order to merely treat the poisoning, you would have to measure far more precisely.”

  “H-how do you know that?”

  “That is the question you ought to be asking, Damona. How do I know what I know? First let me tell you what else I know, then I'll tell you how. I would put the bottle down, if I were you. You are perilously close to making me feel unwelcome.”

  Shakily, she lowered the improvised weapon.

  “Your name is Damona Tienne, no middle name. The fact that you have been able to concoct both a functional cure and modify it into merely a treatment shows that you have a firm understanding of magic. The fact that you call yourself an apothecary rather than a healer or alchemist shows that you know that letting people know it is magic that you work would be hazardous. The fact that you reached for a bottle rather than a gem, wand, or staff shows that you are at best a talented amateur in the mystic arts. Further evidence of that fact can be found here.”

  The intruder crouched behind the counter, moved a floor board, and retrieved a thick and ancient tome.

  “You found this in a wizard's tower in Ravenwood. It, and some mystic paraphernalia, were all you could sniff out before you were chased out by the usual mob of angry villagers. The fact that you allowed yourself to be chased proves that you are a coward. This little scam you are running here proves something else. It isn't about helping people, because were that the goal you would have cured them. And it isn't about money, because even someone with your entry-level knowledge of magic could easily find more profitable pursuits.

  "No, this little game is about power. You like holding their lives in your hand. Power is why you ventured into that tower in the first place. And I know all of this simply by paying attention . . . which means anyone else with half a mind could do the same.”

  “But how did you find the book!?”

  “Ah, yes. That, I concede, required a measure of training. For future reference, there is a material called scatter-cloth which you ought to employ if you hope to conceal mystic items from the mystically adept.”

  “So you are a wizard, too.”

  “Yes. And in anticipation of your next question, I came with an offer. You want power? I've got a few tricks and trinkets I would be willing to give you.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, this, for one,” said the stranger, tossing his stick in her direction.

  Damona clumsily caught the staff. The instant her fingers closed about it, she could feel a power surge forth from the elegantly carved masterpiece. It was dizzying, intoxicating, a thousand times stronger than she'd ever dreamed she'd become. Just as she began to recover her senses and come to grips with her newfound might, the staff was pulled from her grasp. With it went every ounce of its power. In the wake of the veritable sea of magic, she felt like a hollow shell when reduced to her own level.

  “Give it back! Give it back!” she cried desperately, clawing for it.

  “Not to worry, you'll have it--and a bit of instruction to be sure you use it properly. I'll even toss in a few other items and an old pet of mine.”

  “What do I need to do?” she asked, eyes longingly locked on the staff.

  “That wizard's tower . . . It sits on the intersection of a few minor ley lines, has some useful permanent enchantments, and every corner is stuffed with books very much like the one you've stolen. That knowledge, combined with this staff, should be enough to make you one of the most powerful sorcerers in a generation. I think you should take it back.”

  “I don't understand. What do you get out of all of this?”

  “Well, people fear magic, but it has been so long since they've had to face it on a grand stage, I think it would be useful to remind them why they fear it.”

  “There must be a catch.”

  “A minor one. The tower has a current occupant who will need to be cleared away. A young woman--a mere girl, really--who has been fortunate enough to remain there unharassed for a few years.”

  “And she has been reading the books.”

  “Potentially, but that is at best your second concern. Foremost is the dragon. It is young, clever, and viciously dedicated to her defense.”

  Damona's entranced gaze was finally broken by this final point.

  “A . . . a dragon. Does she control it?”

  “If only she did,” said the stranger. “It would be like a child trying to swing a club. No, this beast defends her of its own accord.”

  A conflicted look seized her features.

  “And if I don't want to face this beast?”

  “Then I give my gifts to a more motivated party. And before the thought even enters your mind, if you were to take my generosity and forsake the task, I would be left with no choice but to retrieve my gifts. And I can be quite justifiably forceful when I feel I have been wronged.”

  “So I chase the girl and the dragon away, and the tower and staff are mine.”

  “Damona, if you think you can simply chase a dragon away, you have much to learn about the stubbornness of such animals. And as for the girl? Well, you were once a young woman chased from the ve
ry same tower, and now look what is about to happen.”

  “You want me to kill them.”

  “I want you to have the tower so that you can put a face on the fear your people already feel. To do so, you would do well to deal with its current residents in a permanent manner.”

  “If you are so powerful, why aren't you taking the tower yourself? Why don't you become the force everyone fears?”

  “My dear, I am already the force that everyone fears. It serves my purposes that others believe otherwise. If I were you, I would embrace that fact rather than questioning it.”

  “I see.”

  “Excellent. Then let the lessons begin . . .”

  Chapter 6

  Halfax and Jade stood at the edge of the ice and snow surrounding the tower. The girl's most recent interest was archery, and it was one that the dragon was eager for her to take up. Jade had learned much, and was already nearly able to take care of herself, but Halfax was still responsible for all of the hunting. Were she to learn to use a bow, she might learn to hunt for herself as well. With a bit of effort, the girl had managed to fashion a bow and some arrows based upon the description in a book about weapons of war. Now the dragon was coaching her in the proper methods of use.

  Strictly speaking, Halfax didn't know how to use a bow. He'd never done so, and likely never would. He had, however, been on the wrong end of one quite often. When it is the difference between an easy escape and a painful reminder, one soon learns when an archer is aiming the bow properly.

  “No, hold it with your other fingers. Hook your thumb over them,” he instructed.

  “Are you sure? That feels awkward,” she replied, flipping through the pages of the book. “Ah, no, I see. It's called 'The Ulvard Grip.' It's supposed to help you hold it steady longer. Okay, I'll give it a try.”

  Jade strained at the bow, drawing back its string, and took aim at the target. After a few moments, she let the arrow fly. It hissed through the air and struck the makeshift target well off center.

  “I'm getting closer! Did you see, Hal? Halfax?”

  She looked to her protector. The beast had trained its eyes on a tiny, distant form in the sky.

  “Is something wrong?” She asked.

  “Get inside the tower, and bar all of the doors,” he ordered, without taking his eyes off of the rapidly approaching form.

  “What is it?”

  “GET IN THE TOWER!” he roared, the crackle of fire on his breath as he flared his wings.

  It had been years since she'd heard that tone of voice and seen that posture. Last time, it was because a bear had decided that she and Halfax were trespassing in its territory. Whatever that was in the sky, Halfax was certain it meant her harm, and she had never known the dragon to be wrong. She rushed back to the tower and shut the door tight, sliding the brace into place. After frantically giving the same treatment to the other entrance, she climbed the tower and watched anxiously as the form in the sky grew closer.

  It was a creature that, at a glance, seemed to be a dragon. The illusion didn't last long. Its basic shape was like that of Halfax, though a bit larger, but that was where the similarity ended. In place of scales was a rough, almost stony hide, coal black. It had no eyes, only deep hollows where they should be, and rather than a mouthful of teeth, it had a serrated beak.

  Jade realized that it perfectly matched the description of a monster Halfax spoke of in his nightly story, a beast he called a dragoyle. As it drew closer, Jade could see that it bore a passenger, a black-cloaked figure. Before she could make out any more details, beast and rider dipped down below the treetops, striking the ground hard enough for the frightened girl to feel it even at the top of the tower.

  Halfax stalked low to the ground, keeping a dense stand of trees between himself and the intruder. He'd never faced a dragoyle before, but he'd learned much from his mother. Most of what he'd learned told him that he did not want to tangle with the beast if he didn't have to. At the moment, it had not yet noticed him, so it was of little concern. The dragon focused on the rider. Its scent was unfamiliar, a human woman. She seemed unsteady on the dragoyle's back, one hand held in a white-knuckled grip upon the edge of an ancient-looking saddle. The other hand was held low, gripping something hidden from view. He felt something about her. It was not something that he could see or smell or hear. It was a sensation deeper than that. Something powerful, ominous.

  He kept pace as beast and rider crept forward, moving in a meandering path among the trees. They moved erratically, as though the rider was not fully in control of her mount. Under her inexpert guidance the beast stumbled and pitched, taking sudden steps and then overcompensating in the other direction. Cursing under her breath, the woman nearly lost her balance as the dragoyle shuffled into a tree. In raising her other hand to keep from falling, she revealed an ornately carved staff.

  The sight sparked a memory deep in the dragon's mind. He knew that sensation, the force growing stronger in waves. It was magic. She was a sorceress, and for him to feel the pressure of her will at this distance, she was a powerful one. Whether the power was her own or flowing from her weapon didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was that he had no defense against magic. His thick hide could turn away arrows and swords, searing fire and icy water. His claws could cleave the thickest armor, but fighting magic was like fighting the wind. There was simply nothing for him to sink his teeth into. His only hope was to get his claws into the mystic before she could bring her strength to bear. If he could reach her before she could gather a spell, she was flesh and blood just like anyone else. She would fall.

  Halfax thundered forward with a speed that would be startling even for a creature half his size. The spellcaster’s head snapped toward him, genuine terror in her eyes. A panicked word, unmistakably arcane, sputtered from her lips. The dragon's eyes narrowed, his muscles tensing in preparation for an attack, but her staff remained dim. Instead, the sluggish, unguided creature she rode suddenly seemed to come alive. At the sound of what must have been a command, the monster pivoted to face the thundering dragon and opened its black maw.

  A dragoyle was not born; it was constructed. A living weapon designed to utterly destroy all that it faced. As such, it was not fire that the beast breathed. That would be too clean, too brief. Instead, the creature exhaled a wretched black cloud that curled forth, sizzling and corroding everything it touched. It was nasty stuff, but slower than fire. Halfax dove aside without missing a step, drawing in breath for his own attack.

  “Protect me, you blasted thing!” cried Damona desperately.

  A lance of fire erupted from Halfax's mouth, but the black beast reared and the flames splashed uselessly against its stony hide. The two beasts clashed. Massive swipes of stout, vicious claws revealed that the dragoyle was stronger by far than a mere difference in size could explain. Stone shattered to pebbles and trees splintered under the force of the blows--but such power came at the cost of agility. Halfax leaped and rolled, keeping himself a hairsbreadth from being torn apart. Every spare instant was spent attempting to pull the sorceress from its back. She had yet to put her staff to use, maddened eyes locked on the dragon and petrified limbs frozen in a death grip upon her steed's harness.

  Finally one of Halfax's claws came near enough to tear at her cloak. It was enough to pull her from her shocked state and push her to action.

  “In the air! In the air, dammit! Get me above this thing so I can rain hell on it!” Damona ordered.

  The beast did not heed until she managed to string together a sequence of awkward syllables that must have been another command. Then it extended its wings and lurched skyward, shearing the branches from the nearest trees. Rhythmic thrusts of the powerful wings filled the forest with gale-force bursts as it slowly hauled itself into the air.

  Halfax dashed into the shelter of a nearby stand of trees as another dose of miasma burst from the monster's mouth and swirled chaotically in the whistling wind. A smile came to the face of the sorceress.

>   “Yes! Yes, run! Run!” she cried madly, raising her staff high.

  In her voice, Halfax could hear a thrill, a confidence filling her to overflowing, a mad blood lust. She behaved as though she was invincible--but power wasn't everything. Experience was the difference between a deadly wizard and a dead one, and to his trained eye, Damona's inexperience was painfully clear. Her beast was strong, but it was slow and clumsy, even on the ground. Once in the air, it was all the monster could do to stay there. And she had raised her staff, the focus of her power, high into the air, making it a glaring and vulnerable target. The wings of her creature churned the air with an almost deafening roar, slicing sky and drowning out the beat of smaller wings. She began to stir the air with her weapon, voice forming twisted and otherworldly hexes. All the while, her eyes were trained at the ground, scanning the icy land below for Halfax, but he was not so foolish. He worked his wings, climbing as silently as he could until he was above her. Below, runes carved into the surface of her staff darkened. He began to dive, but a breath of wind from his wings betrayed him.

  In more a panicked reflex than a mindful maneuver, Damona turned and spat a word of magic. A moment later and his jaws would have been about her. Instead, a wave of darkness launched from the staff, forcing Halfax to dive to avoid it. The more nimble dragon cut expertly through the air, evading sweeping tail, slashing claw, and crackling spell. A ball of destructive black magic wove drunkenly through the sky, arcing downward. Where the bolts of energy struck the ground, stone was shattered and trees were pulverized. A single stray attack might level the tower with Jade inside. This needed to end--now.

  The noble beast grew more bold, and the wizard more desperate. Magic was taking its toll, though, and had she the mind to spare, Damona might have noticed that each blast leeched more color from her skin. Blackness was gathering around her eyes, and her nails were darkening as well. The spells were twisting her soul, draining her strength--but, as they did, her desire to strike down the dragon grew ever more intense. Fear turned to anger. How dare this beast presume to evade her? How dare it stand against her!? Her emotions were fanning the very flames that were consuming her.