by Joseph Lallo
The words hit Myn like an order and she sprinted into the whipping snow on greatly restored legs to fetch a meal.
“Try to bring back enough for all of us!” Myranda called after her speeding friend.
“Just a friend . . . “ Tus said doubtfully.
Myranda looked over Lain, finally satisfied that all that could be done had been done. Her mind released from its most pressing concern, she decided the time had come to indulge her curiosities.
“Deacon, what happened to you? Where did they take you? How did you escape?” Myranda asked.
“Yes, I'd say you can spare a few moments to share the details now,” Caya encouraged.
“It was nothing, really. More their oversight than my action. They'd taken me to a small outpost. Demont wanted to retrieve both halves of Ivy's crystal, but finding something in my bag is difficult, so he wanted me alive until it could be found, just in case killing me would keep it from them forever. When he left, I realized that they had taken all of my equipment, but they hadn't taken my ring. I tried to get it off, but one of the nearmen caught me. Apparently he was under orders to confiscate any sort of mystic paraphernalia, because he actually removed the ring for me once he discovered it. The shackles were ideal for restraining hands. It would appear that they were woefully inadequate for restraining first a cluster of tentacles, then a three fingered talon, then a variety of other disturbing forms it managed to take before I located the ring and put it back on the first form that had a roughly finger sized protrusion,” Deacon explained.
“Eh, what's that? Tentacles?” Caya said, confused.
“It is really quite fascinating. You see, I had a bit of an accident involving chaos magic, and now it would appear that the natural state of my hand is to exist at some sort of variable probabilistic displacement from the norm that causes it to leap from one staggeringly unlikely configuration to another unless manually maintained at a more typical status,” Deacon said enthusiastically.
“That was supposed to be an explanation, was it?” Caya said.
“Because of a miscast spell, his hand changes shapes unless he wears the ring,” Myranda offered.
“Ah,” Caya nodded.
“I thought I'd just said that . . . well, at any rate, I realized that you were moving far too quickly to catch up to, and that things were getting out of hand. Caya turned out to be fairly nearby, so I sought her help,” Deacon finished.
“And the portal?” Myranda asked.
“Oh, yes. Desmeres tracked us down and provided us with some weapons and a good deal of literature about the D'karon's methods. They provided details enough to allow me to manipulate the entrances of their portals, once they were opened. The exit cannot be moved, it seems. Something about the target requiring an actively maintained focus,” he added, pausing for a moment of thought before adding. “Curious that there was no backlash when the portal closed. The notes indicated that there would be. Perhaps repositioning the entrance spilled off the surplus energy, or perhaps it happened on the other side due to . . . “
“Right, that's enough of that,” Caya said, cutting off what she had already learned was sure to be a labyrinth of terms and concepts no sane person would understand.
“Oh, uh . . . I stole their portal. I made it lead here,” he clarified.
“Right, stick to explanations like that,” Caya said.
Distantly there came the thunder of returning footsteps. Myn burst into the region of relative calm afforded by Deacon's spell. She was plastered with snow, her jaws stretched to their limit around what was likely the better part of a herd of deer. She dropped them near the fire and proceeded to pelt all around her with caked snow shaken from her head and neck. The complaints of soldiers wiping snow from mouths and eyes were quickly silenced by Myn's angry glare. Some of the more courageous soldiers attempted to help themselves to the kill, but Myn resisted, snapping at grasping hands.
“Myn! Be nice!” Ivy said, ducking beneath the protective creature to snag her share.
At Myranda's insistence Myn finally relented, but not before snatching up a hearty portion to place beside Lain. She then plopped to the ground and moodily watched the rest divided up among the soldiers as a larger fire was built. Myranda took a seat beside Myn, the dragon placing its head in her lap and unfurling a wing to lay over Lain.
“Thank you very much, Myn. That was very kind of you,” Myranda praised as she stroked the faithful beast's head.
Caya looked on in astonishment. She turned. Here her men cooked a meal provided by a dragon. There the flame complained and stepped away, becoming a woman. All around them a vicious blizzard raged while seemingly ignoring them. At the edge of this calm was a monstrous dragoyle head in the grip of a massive stone hand.
“Things are moving in curious directions,” she said, slowly processing the experiences of the day. “Half of me feels as though we are in over our heads. The other half is trying to figure out how to bring that monster's head home as a trophy. This is bigger than a war, isn't it? This . . . this is the prophesy, the work of fate. What else could bring such creatures together? You have my full support, of course. The call has gone out. My men will be rallying near the capital. They will help you in any way they can. That leaves us with two wizards, a dragon, two malthropes, a shape shifter, and a few dozen soldiers to assault the most heavily fortified city in the world against the generals, an endless supply of their men, and likely the people of the city itself. The scales are tipped, but the real question is, in what favor?”
When the food was finished cooking, the Chosen and soldiers alike feasted. The raging snow diminished slowly, finally to the point that Deacon's protection was no longer called for. As the warriors grew more comfortable with the Chosen and more deeply inebriated, questions were asked and stories were told, Deacon scribbling madly to record them all. Only Ether and Myn avoided the curiosity of the newcomers, each taking a place beside Lain and weathering the questions and stares in silence. The sun was beginning to appear again by the time the group sought to retire. The Undermine divided themselves among the available tents until only one remained.
“Take it with my blessings,” Caya said, holding the flap open.
“I couldn't. By rights it is yours and . . . “ Myranda began.
“We can argue about this, but I assure you, it is a waste of time. You'll find me rather obstinate on the subject,” Caya said with a grin. “Besides, Tus here tried to give his tent up to for Lain, but the dragon wouldn't allow it. Surely you wouldn't want both of us to be denied.”
“Myn, I really think you should let them move Lain inside,” Myranda said.
Myn looked to Myranda, slowly and deliberately lowering one of her paws gently over Lain, digging the tips of her claws into the icy ground in front of him. With that one simple motion it was made quite clear that she had spent far too much time away from him and seen far too much happen to him to allow Lain to be separated from her so soon.
“I'll stay out here with them, Myranda. You know as well as I do she'll keep us good and warm. Besides, after ending up in a cage again, then baking in that awful mountain, I think I'd like to spend a bit more time in the fresh air,” Ivy said.
“Yes, Myranda. I think you deserve a night of comfort. I'll stay out here with the rest,” Deacon said.
Myranda relented, slipping inside. Deacon took a seat beside the tent's entrance. Almost immediately Caya motioned for him to stand and pulled him aside. Tus joined them.
“I've listened to the stories you've told, and I've watched the way you act. This goes deeper than just lending a hand for you, doesn't it,” Caya whispered.
“What could go deeper than . . . “ Deacon began, confused.
“No, no, no . . . You're going to make me be blunt about it, are you? Fine, then. You love the girl, don't you?” Caya interjected with a sigh.
“I do. With all of my heart, and more every moment. How did you know?” he asked.
“It isn't subtle. Ahem . . . “ Caya
whispered. After a conspiratorial glance, she added. “Have you ever slept in a tent that big, Deacon? It can get awfully cold without two people in there.”
Tus gave him a slap on the back that knocked the air from his lungs.
“Keep your woman warm,” he stated.
“And for heaven's sake man, have a drink. You look pale as a corpse and tighter than a bow string,” Caya said, pressing into his hands yet another bottle of the seemingly inexhaustible supply of powerful wine.
He put the bottle to his lips. Immediately she tipped it up so that nearly half of its contents went down his throat or all over his face. After catching his breath, he stepped into the tent.
“Honestly! And to think I wondered why there weren't more wizards,” Caya snickered to Tus, before raising her voice. “You there, er . . . Ivy is it? Do you suppose you've got another song in you? I'd say the occasion demands it.”
In fact Ivy had already nestled herself against Myn, eager to get some real sleep, but almost reflexively she put the violin to her chin. The hilly clearing began to lilt with a soft, deep, soulful song. A song that crept into the background, weaving with the thoughts of those that heard it. It became a part of the surroundings, as in place and proper as the rising sun. Most of the camp drifted quickly into a well deserved slumber to it. To some, it served another purpose, but equally well.
#
Deep in the heart of the capital Bagu sat, his eyes focused intently on the man before him. It was Greydon Celeste, Myranda's father. He'd been bound and set aside when the bait for their latest trap was put in place. Now the senior general watched the barely conscious form with seething attention. A shudder went through the frail body, its eyes opening wide, and for a moment he fought his bonds. When a sharpness and anger replaced the fear in his eyes, Bagu broke the silence.
“Tell me you did not fail AGAIN!” he bellowed.
“I failed? What happened to the portal? What happened to the rest of the troops?” Epidime countered.
“It shouldn't have come to that, Epidime. They were forced into your hands and you let them slip through! They should have defeated themselves!” Bagu raged. “You had every advantage!”
“Every advantage!? It was five against one! You pit me alone against four full strength Chosen and charge me with keeping a fifth in check and call it an advantage!” Epidime replied. “And then you somehow manage to turn our ambush into theirs! In the veritable eternity that I've been aiding you in these endeavors I have never heard of a portal being stolen! NEVER! When they reach the capital . . . “
“They will not reach the capital,” Bagu interrupted. “Because you and that other idiot are going to take every soldier, every creature, human, D'karon, or otherwise, and you are going to find them! You are going to end them before they can get here! The moment is hours away! They will not be allowed to reach this place before then!”
“You've lost what little there is left of your mind, Bagu! If we leave the capital and take the best men with us, then what will be left to resist them if they reach the capital before we find them!?” Epidime reasoned, his voice dropping to a steady, smooth tone. “Yes, there has been a failure. Mine or yours, it is unacceptable, but we must not let it coax us into a mistake we cannot recover from. We bolster our defenses here. We stop them where our defense is strongest.”
Bagu tensely wrung his fingers and considered the words.
“Yes. We harden our defenses here. The strongest will remain within our walls. Gather some of the dregs, the weakest of the dragoyles and the like, and send them out. At best we defeat them, at worst we soften them and learn their position,” he said, fury dripping from the words.
The bonds securing Epidime dropped away of their own accord. He stood and exited Bagu's sanctum with measured slowness, a grin coming to his face as he felt the general's anger smolder behind him. Bagu was always much more entertaining when he was angry. No one he'd worked with had ever reached the level of fury Bagu seemed to constantly hover around. As a connoisseur of the mind, it was something he enjoyed witnessing. He chuckled lightly, savoring the surge in anger it brought, before disappearing to issue the orders he'd been given.
#
The sun had not yet set when the small encampment of heroes showed its first signs of motion. The ragtag members of the Undermine were awakening expecting the customary consequences of too little sleep and too much drink. One by one they realized first that their heads were not throbbing nearly as much as they ought to be, and second that the artifacts of the impossible events of the previous day were still present. The sudden realization that Lain, Myn, and Ivy were not, in fact, just a dream prompted enough startled cries to rouse the rest of the camp to wakefulness. The last to emerge were Myranda and Deacon, each looking a bit more disheveled and a great deal more invigorated than the handful of hours of sleep would warrant. As the wizards blinked at the light and wiped sleep from their eyes, Myn leapt to her feet and padded over to them. After sniffing Deacon up and down and giving him a brief, accusatory look, she gave Myranda an imploring glance and led her quickly to Lain. As Myranda knelt over the still slumbering assassin, Myn curled her tail behind Myranda to give Deacon a sharp lash on the arm.
“Ouch!” Deacon exclaimed. “Now that you've grown I'd appreciate it if you were a bit gentler.”
“Why is he still asleep?” Ether demanded, a quite out of place look of concern on her face.
“We placed him in a very deep healing sleep. It isn't the sort of thing you wake yourself up from,” Deacon explained.
“That has never stopped him before,” said Myranda.
Lain appeared to have recovered from the torture at the hands of Epidime. His physical wounds were healed, save for a burnt and swollen patch of skin around his mark and the lingering effects of starvation. His mind and soul were another matter. Epidime had left them in tatters, savaged and weakened. Myranda set herself to the task of coaxing it to the surface. As she did, the members of the Undermine attempted to gather around, but Myn quickly made it clear that doing so would not be tolerated.
Deacon admired the work Myranda was doing. White magic, where it was concerned with the mind, was a very tricky area. Every mind was different, necessitating a level of improvisation that was difficult to teach. Myranda, it seemed, had a natural knack for such things. Watching her carefully untie the knots left by the D'karon's actions was like watching a sculptor at work. He would have been hard pressed in a day to achieve what she had done in just these few minutes. It was best she be left to the task. He stepped between Myn and Ether. The dragon's anxiety was apparent, and though Ether had managed to regain her composure she too was clearly upset. Deacon placed a hand on Ether's shoulder.
“Remove your hand from me or I will remove it from you,” she stated in an even voice.
Deacon hurriedly did so. He turned to Myn and gave her a reassuring pat. She turned to him briefly, coiling her tail for another lash. Deacon cringed, but Myn relaxed her tail and settled to the ground, resting her head on the ground beside him.
“Lain will be alright, Myn. Myranda will have him on his feet in no time,” he said, scratching the creature.
Ivy wandered over and climbed on Myn's back, absentmindedly scratching the dragon as well. She leaned close to Deacon, an uneasy look on her face.
“Look at how the others are looking at us,” she said.
The Undermine did indeed appear to be surveying the heroes with a combination of fascination, disbelief, and distrust. Only Caya and Tus behaved otherwise, with the former seeming to be feeling little more than impatience as she awaited the completion of Myranda's treatments and the latter chiefly directing a blank faced stare at Myn.
“No one is talking to me any more. They were talking to me last night,” Ivy whispered.
“Last night they were drunk. First on victory, then on wine. It has a way of silencing some of the more insistent voices in the mind. I dare say those voices are speaking now,” Deacon said.
Ivy gave hi
m a puzzled look.
Deacon sighed.
“The average person can only tolerate things that are different in small doses. You and the other Chosen are something of an overdose,” Deacon clarified.
“Oh,” Ivy said. “I was afraid of that. Is everyone like that?”
“Mostly,” Deacon replied apologetically.
“That's going to have to change,” Ivy decided. “because I don't see us becoming any less different, and we're about to save the world. It'd be pretty silly if folks had a hard time accepting the people that saved the world.”
“Agreed,” Deacon said.
Suddenly Lain's eyes opened and his hand shot to his chest. Myn leapt to her feet so quickly Ivy had to grab on to avoid being thrown. His eyes had a desperate, crazed look about them. They swept over the faces of the Chosen around him. Myn nosed the jealously protected share of the previous night's hunt to him. With a disquietingly feral snarl, he tore into the long overdue meal, scarcely taking time to breathe. As the burning in his stomach subsided, a measure of his sanity returned. A hastily provided canteen was emptied into his mouth. Only when its last drops were swallowed did he finally seem to calm, surveying his surroundings as if for the first time. As he did, Myn crept forward and lay before him, placing her head on his lap.
“How?” he asked, as his stroking brought about a purr almost as formidable as her growl. It was the first he’d truly seen of the dragon since he and the others had believed her killed.
“She was touched by the divine. They brought her back to us, and made her what she is now. She's Chosen, Lain,” Myranda said.
“Another soul on the pyre,” Lain said solemnly.
He climbed to his feet, Myn reluctantly pulling aside. The eyes of the Undermine fell upon him, and the air was alive with tension. Lain was rigid and silent, as though the gaze of each and every soldier was boring into him. The soldiers felt a cocktail of feelings. Some admiration, most disgust, but all felt a measure of comfort. This creature they knew was deceitful and murderous. In short, he was precisely as they knew a malthrope should be. Amid things like an obedient dragon and a lighthearted, musical malthrope, finding a being that did not challenge their preconceptions was akin to meeting an old friend. Caya approached him, standing for a time with their eyes locked, measuring one another. Caya broke the silence.
