The Book of Deacon: Book 03 - The Battle of Verril

by Joseph Lallo

  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 shape shifter managed. Two more unlikely words were never 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.

  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 best 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 placeless 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 the flame far more hungrily than Myranda gnawed at the meat. A few minutes allowed the shape shifter 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 rem
arked, 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 shape shifter’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 shape shifter 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. Now 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 veritable 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 what 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 lifting 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 may have been 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.

  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 informing 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 the 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.