by Joseph Lallo
Her cold tone was maddening. If what she said was so, then, if victory was possible, it may well cost more lives than it would save. The possibility had haunted Myranda. There was already evidence that as the fiends who controlled the Alliance Army grew more concerned, their actions grew more drastic. Their soldiers permeated the north. With the nearmen to consider there was likely two warriors for every civilian. If they were to seek the death of the Chosen at all costs, the devastation would be complete, even if the soldiers of the south did not sweep in to take the land they had been fighting for. Somehow Myranda had managed to convince herself that when the five were united they would be able to prevent this. Now a being better suited than anyone to know the truth announced that such a miracle would not come to pass. She wrestled with the implications.
"How? How can you know? How can you be sure?" Myranda demanded.
"I have spent centuries in a state of global awareness. I spread my mind to the far ends of the world with the sole aim of locating the other divinely gifted beings when they arose. Four beside myself surfaced. The murk and haze of time and space have since swallowed three again," she answered.
"Did you see them die?" Myranda asked.
"I grow weary of your questions. I spoke in hopes of dissuading you from your stated purpose. I have no interest in addressing the depths of your ignorance," she said.
"Perhaps you simply lost sight of them! Perhaps they still exist but have escaped your notice!" Myranda said.
"Nothing escapes my notice," the being fumed.
Behind her, Desmeres smirked at the remark.
"I will find them. There is still hope," Myranda resigned.
"Hope is a lie. Hope exists only for those who do not know the truth. For the truly intelligent there exists only certainty. Who do you think you are, human, to even suppose that you might contradict a being such as I? I who have existed since the first whispers of eternity. I who am among the first masterpieces wrought by the gods," the being spoke. Strong emotion flavored her words as she progressed, but she endeavored to appear as cold as she had been.
"Fate led me to you. Fate led me to Lain. Fate led me to the fallen swordsman. Fate gave me this!" Myranda cried, throwing down her staff and opening her scarred palm. "Fate has a place for me. Fate has given me a purpose."
The being lashed out, grasping Myranda's wrist and twisting it painfully to gain a better view of the afflicted hand.
"Blasphemy. Sacrilege. It is far better that I relieve you of this limb than allow the symbol of divine purpose to be squandered on so lowly a creature," she said, the malice of her words seeping through her cold exterior. As she spoke, the grip grew tighter, the twist more cruel.
Myranda dropped to her knees. Myn leapt to her side, baring her teeth. The young woman turned her eyes to the emotionless stare of the shape shifter. Slowly the mark upon her forehead, the very one she now punished Myranda for bearing, began to reveal itself. It had only been present when she was in one of the elemental forms until now. An instant before the enraged dragon would have attacked her, the being relented. She rubbed her own mark, her face revealing a glimmer of confusion and pain ever so briefly before her expression and the mark each faded to nothing.
"You are not worth the effort," the being decided. "That mark speaks nothing of purpose. It merely labels you as a curiosity. If anything you are a mistake, a failed attempt at greatness. The spirit of my fallen would-be partner, the swordsman as you called him, must have branded you as a message of his defeat. With that message delivered your brief, pointless role is fulfilled. I was quite aware of his passing."
"Because nothing escapes your notice," Desmeres repeated.
"Precisely," the creature agreed.
Myranda held her aching wrist and stood.
"How can the powers that be have made such mistakes? How can the very beings created and selected to protect the people of this world care so little about them?" Myranda asked.
"Emotion is weakness. It sensitizes you to the trivial and blinds you to the important. Only in detachment can decisions be made clearly. Only in solitude can all efforts be directed to the appropriate ends," the shape shifter recited like a mantra.
"Why do you even seek to save this world if you do not care about the people in it?" Myranda asked.
"It is not a matter of desire. It is a matter of purpose. Purpose is the rarest thing in the world. Few beings will ever be given a true purpose for existing. Fewer still will achieve it. I was placed here to perform a task of which I am uniquely capable, and so I shall do it," she answered.
"What of the others who share the purpose? Isn't it your duty to be sure of their fate. Isn't it your obligation to find them if you can?" Myranda countered.
"It is not your place to question my decisions or interpret my role," she said.
The debate continued for the better part of an hour. The shape shifter, once unwilling to acknowledge Myranda's presence, was now determined to put the girl in her place. For Myranda, all of the confusion and disappointment caused by having her illusions of the heroes that would rescue the world dashed now had a target. Desmeres sat in quiet amusement as they argued. Myn was mindful of the shape shifter. Unlike in Myranda and Lain's spats, here there was a clear enemy. Many times the Chosen motioned as though she would strike the girl, but each time she held herself back. The creature mostly maintained her composure, but occasionally her anger would flare. Such bursts were brief, but notable. The ground would rumble in sympathy to her anger, and rushing winds could be heard even through the thick earth roof of the storeroom. The argument had not yet begun to subside when the sound of Myn clawing at one of the walls drew Myranda's attention. She approached the dragon and tried to find out what was the matter. The corner of the room she was in was pitch black.
"There, You see. You cannot ignore the plight of the lizard long enough to finish your pathetic point," the shifter remarked smugly.
"What is wrong?" Myranda said, ignoring the attack.
"It would appear something didn't escape her notice," Desmeres said, the constant grin widening.
"What . . . Lain. Where is Lain?" Myranda demanded.
The shifter glanced casually about to discover that the malthrope was indeed missing.
"I actually thought it was going to be difficult. I was confident that I could distract you, Myranda, but the newcomer was going to be tricky, and the dragon would have been next to impossible. Fortunately for me, you two turned on each other. He snuffed out the candle a moment before our latest ally first claimed that nothing escapes her notice. When she grabbed your wrist Lain made his escape. I suppose what she says is true. Emotion does blind you," Desmeres said, pulling open a sack hanging beside him and retrieving a heavily smoked piece of meat.
"The hatch never opened. I would have seen it," Myranda said.
"That may well be so, but then, Myn isn't clawing at the hatch, is she," Desmeres pointed out.
Myranda lit the candle again with a swift spell and investigated the wall. Before long she found where a secret handle was recessed. When she reached for it, Desmeres stopped her.
"I wouldn't. Not yet. You see, in case you haven't noticed, we make it a habit to trap all entrances and exits," he warned, chewing the leathery meal.
She turned impatiently to him.
"Here is what is going to happen," he began. "You and the shape shifter are going to go off and attempt to find Lain. She may succeed, but you will not."
"I have found him many times before," Myranda said.
"You may find this difficult to believe, but until now if you have found him, it is because he wanted you to. Because of the uniqueness of the situation, Lain was able to use himself as the bait to his own trap. Think about it. How have you found him before? The tooth? As you may have noticed, or more disturbingly, as you may not have noticed, that little keepsake went missing from your bag at about the same time as the book you borrowed. Lain wanted you to keep it as a memento, but such an item is a shade too danger
ous to us to remain in general circulation. All you have left is Myn. I'll admit, she would be a great help, but Lain above any other is savvy at disguising his scent. So you will leave and you will search and when you realize the futility you will try to find me. You will fail there as well. Finally you may choose to search for the shape shifter. I doubt you will be met with any more success there either. And so your days will be spent in fruitless wandering, much as they had before, until you abandon this quest you have imagined for yourself. I don't say this to dishearten you or to dissuade you. I say it because you are a woman of great potential and the world deserves better than to have such a life squandered," he said.
"The world deserves a future, and if Lain cannot be turned to his task it will not have one," Myranda raged.
The shape shifter allowed a hint of a grin show itself.
"Why aren't you furious?" Myranda demanded.
"Lain has illustrated that he is not so deeply altered by his time among you as I had first supposed. He has abandoned both of you. To locate him shall be a simple task, and without mortals to slow us, we shall strike down this threat at its roots soon enough," she said.
"You know I am half elf, and thus only semi-mortal," Desmeres reminded her, more in an attempt to irritate her than anything else.
The shape shifter moved dutifully toward the small panel that acted as a door for the hidden exit and forced Myn aside. Desmeres quickly motioned that Myranda restrain the dragon. She just managed to do so before the door was forced open, prompting the same burst of hisses that had accompanied the opening of the surface hatch. The arm that had pushed the panel was now perforated with more than a dozen tiny needles. The shape shifter slowly withdrew and analyzed the arm.
"Pathetic," she declared as she shifted swiftly to wind, scattering the needles dangerously in all directions.
As Myranda dove for cover, the shape shifter swirled through the hatch and after Lain. Myranda quickly climbed to her feet to follow.
"Wait," Desmeres requested.
"You have stalled me long enough," she said.
The dragon vanished into the narrow tunnel beyond the hidden hatch. Myranda started to sidle along after her.
"You are right. I have stalled you long enough. By now even if you knew precisely where Lain went, which you don't, and even if he were standing still, which he isn't, you would either have to sprout wings or have a very fast horse to even hope to reach him inside of a few hours. A few minutes now will make no difference at all. However, if you will listen to what I have to say, a few minutes may well make all of the difference," he said.
"Go Myn. Make a trail I can follow," Myranda said.
She scarcely had to finish her sentence before the little dragon was out of sight. Myranda squeezed back out of the opening.
"Say your piece," she said.
"First, I would like to give you one last chance to make the correct decision," he said.
"And what might that be?" she asked sternly.
"Join us," he said.
Myranda turned to leave again.
"It is the only sure way to see Lain again," he said.
"I notice you didn't court the Chosen One for such a position," Myranda said.
"I had thought of it, but she is even more single-minded than you, not to mention that, despite being uniquely suited to stealth, she can hardly list subtlety among her many virtues. No, you are a far better choice. You have already revealed yourself to be an able negotiator, and you are quite capable of playing a role when properly instructed. Our clientele would be far more willing to confide in a woman. There are countless reasons. For you, there is the possibility for security, contact with Lain, and, not that you care, enormous profit," he said.
"I will not help you kill people," she said.
"If you must simplify it so, then why not view your own cause from the same point of view? What do you suppose Lain will have to do if you finally convince him to end the war? A great many very important people will have to die to cripple either army. Unless you suppose that Lain will turn to diplomacy. And no level of care taken will prevent the chaos of the war's end from claiming at least a few innocent lives," he said.
"If we can find the others . . . " she began.
"Yes, yes. The other Chosen will find a way, despite the fact that at least one is certainly dead, and two more are affirmed to be likewise by the only being likely to know. I think you know better than to rely upon miracles to do what must be done. Regardless, I have your answer. Let me just offer you a bit of advice. You see, as the Alliance Army never paid for you, and likely never will, it suits our purposes that you never find your way into their clutches. As such, I urge you to seek the Undermine. Their resources should be enough to keep you from the light of day long enough for Epidime to find a new pet target. The other generals stopped caring about you shortly after you were captured," he said. "Now go, follow. Take some supplies and good luck to you."
Myranda fetched her bag and supplemented its contents with some provisions. She also selected a heavy white cloak that hung on one wall. It was likely one of Lain's, as it dragged the ground when it hung about her shoulders. With the far warmer garment in place and staff in hand she set off into the passage. It was a tight fit. The tunnel was clearly a natural one, irregular in shape and claustrophobic. The barely adequate light from the storeroom lapsed quickly into complete darkness. She conjured a light in her staff and pressed on. Myn must have been far ahead. Not even the sound of her scratching claws could be heard. There was only one path, and it became mercifully wider, only to have the ceiling steadily lower until she had to crawl to continue. This was not like the cave. At least there the walls, floor, and ceiling had been solid. Here, great clumps of soil brushed loose with her every move, at times making her feel as though the whole of the tunnel would drop down upon her. Two long hours of painfully slow travel finally brought the night sky over her head again. She doused the light to a mere ember and held it low, so as to avoid notice. The claw marks Myn left in the snow were easy enough to follow. As she traveled, she thought.
She thought about how quickly Lain had run the day before. He had wanted the others to follow then, and still he kept a pace that could match a horse. She then thought of the speed he had shown when he faced that woman in the field after Myranda had escaped. How long could he manage speed like that? As she thought, a growing feeling of hopelessness hung numbly in the back of her mind. Tears welled in her eyes and the cold air stung where they ran down her cheeks. Deep inside she wanted to stop. She wanted to turn around, find Desmeres, and accept his offer. She would be safe. Comfortable. Happy. She shook the thoughts away. There was a job to do. She wasn't doing it for herself. This was for everyone else, all of those who had lost their homes, their brothers, their sons . . . their fathers.
Myranda doubled her speed. The cold air stung her lungs with each huffing breath. Forward, find him. Find the others. End this. Her mind and body were turned so mechanically to the task that she didn't even notice as the sky grew rosy with the rising sun. She marched heedlessly across roads and through fields. In the distance a town grew near. Before long it was quite near enough for the residents to see the bizarre sight of a young woman in an ill fitting cloak encrusted with dirt marching, eyes earthward, through a snowy field. A memorable sight. A suspicious sight. Perhaps by luck, perhaps by fate, she escaped the notice of the townsfolk. Carried by legs that burned with fatigue, she finally reached the creature that had led her.
Myn was sniffing and licking at the ground, confusion and desperation on her face. Myranda could tell that she had lost the scent. Through some trick Lain had managed to wipe this last trace of his trail away. Myranda scanned the ground in the light of the morning sun as it filtered weakly through the heavy clouds. Downy white snow crusted with a layer of glassy ice, smooth and pristine, stretched out in all directions. Somehow there was not a single footprint to disturb it. Myranda's fists tightened. Her teeth clenched. Myn looked pleadingly to her.
"It is all right, Myn. You've done well. Now I must try," she said.
Slowly she lowered herself to the ground. Her legs seemed to protest, but she paid them no mind. Myn eagerly nestled herself in the warmth of Myranda's cloak as the young wizard pulled her mind together for a spell. It was one of the first she had learned in Entwell. She shut her eyes tight, casting her mind out and searching the essence of her surroundings. She had detected him like this when she was in The Belly of the Beast. She knew what to look for. Slowly her mind spread outward. The spirits of every person, every animal, every living thing around her gradually emerged from the darkness in her mind. She was first struck by how different those spirits seemed here than in Entwell. The flickering essences she felt here were to those of the hidden village as a candle is to the sun. The people of the world were weak, defeated. Their spirits were drained. Next she became aware of something she had never felt before. Scattered among the mild essences of the people of her world were presences that seemed wholly opposite. Whereas the other spirits seemed to radiate, albeit weakly, these others seemed like voids, drawing in the light and strength around them. The more her mind cast outward, the more she became aware of these blemishes on the landscape. They could only be the D'karon.
She focused further. Somewhere far away she saw a mass of bright, powerful souls. She looked to them. They clashed with similarly brilliant spirits, spirits that seemed no different. These were the men at the front line. The only spirited, truly alive members of her nation and they were one by one fading away, struck down. Elsewhere a cluster of the black spirits clashed with the light, nearmen clashing with men. She wondered if the Tresson soldiers knew that the men they battled were not men at all. Did they too vanish when struck down? She looked elsewhere. Suddenly she found something. There was an essence. It had the same intense quality to it as Lain's, but this was different than before. It was a measure stronger than the other spirits she had seen, stronger even than her own, and yet it seemed stunted, weakened greatly from what it could be. It was to the northeast, among the mountains on the coast. She focused more intently. She could almost feel its precise location.
