The Book of Deacon: Book 02 - The Great Convergence (12 page)

"You use big words. All o' you rich people
use real big words. You tryin' ta make me feel dumb?" he
accused.

Myranda swallowed hard. She couldn't help but
feel she was digging her own grave, but with nothing left but the
shovel she used, she had no recourse to continue digging.

"How dare you touch me? I am a Tesselor!" she
declared. She hoped that she was the only one to notice the tremor
in her voice.

She wasn't. Slowly a look of clarity came to
his eyes. It seemed even more out of place than the elegant
weapon.

"You are familiar. In the fear I can see it.
But who?" he said. There was an unusual smoothness, and an
unmistakable intellect behind his words.

"I have told you, I am Alexia A-" she began,
forcing the fear aside.

"Yes, yes, so I've heard. You play the part
well, but it is most assuredly not so. Blast, if I could only
remember. I was looking in the wrong place. Need to check again. It
was something with an 'M'," he said, almost dismissively, as though
he was lost in thought. He tapped the end of the halberd on the
ground.

A different kind of fear coursed through her
now. The fear of discovery. This man, as far as he knew, was
advancing very threateningly on a completely innocent person. If he
realized that she was wanted, there would be no escaping him.
Myranda's heart fluttered in her throat as she pushed forward with
the act.

"What are you doing here!? I feel I have
answered my share of questions and it is high time you answered
some of mine," she said.

The clarity and intellect dropped away.

"What am I doin' here? I was sent here by
Gen'ral Teloran. She said I was ta see what was goin' on here. Said
that when places like this get sold quick, some fella named
Desmee-res or somethin' is behind it. Said he would be tough ta
beat, might have a tough bodyguard," he said.

He walked to the door. For a moment Myranda
thought he might be leaving. Instead he closed the damaged door and
propped a chair against it to keep it shut. The burning in the pit
of her stomach flared unbearably. Whatever he had in mind, he
didn't want the other soldiers to see.

"Well as you can plainly see, there is no
person by that name here, nor is there a bodyguard," she said.

"Oh, I see that. No bodyguard. And here you
are, just like all o' the other rich people. Lookin' down yer nose.
Usin' yer big words. And no one ta fight yer fight for you," he
said, approaching her menacingly.

"I don't know what you are thinking, but you
can just stop now. I am a Tesselor. Do you have any idea what I can
do to you? What I can have
done
to you?" she threatened in
as convincing a way as possible, backing away until she reached the
wall.

"They won't do nothin' 'til you say, and you
won't be sayin' nothin'," he said, pressing the pole of the halberd
to her throat. "You won't be sayin' nothin'."

Myranda managed a gasp before her air was cut
off. She struggled and squirmed. Her mind raced as she fought
helplessly against the weapon. Behind her, just on the other side
of the wall, was Desmeres. She didn't know him very well, but what
she did know of him suggested that he would probably stay hidden
rather than offer aid. This was up to her. She tried to pull the
tattered and panicked remains of her mind together. She'd learned
magic, hadn't she? It wasn't just a dream, was it? Her staff was on
the table. In the state her mind was in, there wouldn't be much she
could do without it. Just as the gulp of air was almost spent,
Myranda managed to cast a spell of fire on the handle of the
halberd where the monstrous man gripped it. Her mind was in a
frenzy as she tried to channel her desperation into the spell.
There was a hideous sizzle and a horrifying smell, but barely any
reaction from Arden. Slowly a smile came to his face.

"Magic? HA! Pain? HA! Magic is nothing. Pain
I can ignore. Goodbye," he said, pushing the pole harder.

The world began to fade. She released the
spell. The black metal of the halberd was beginning to burn her
neck, and she needed what little of her mind was left to stay
conscious. Her vision darkened. Struggling was becoming more
difficult. Distantly, she heard a shuffle of feet. Desmeres had
finally decided to take action. He rushed behind the hulking man,
brandishing a rather meager looking dagger. With a neat thrust he
struck at Arden's back.

A lesser blade would have plinked uselessly
off of the thick plate armor, but this was one of Desmeres'
masterpieces. The narrow, sturdy point pierced the plate, the
leather, the mail, and easily an inch of flesh before its momentum
gave out. This surely crossed the threshold of pain to be ignored
and injury to be acknowledged. Sure enough, Arden released the
halberd with one hand and, with speed and power that even out of
this behemoth seemed surprising, knocked Myranda's would be rescuer
hurtling across the room and into a wall. The brief decrease in
pressure against her throat allowed Myranda a second gasp and a few
more moments of life.

She renewed her struggles and searched her
mind for something else that might ward off her attacker. Nothing
was forthcoming, and it was not long before she sensed the world
slipping away from her again. In a last desperate effort, she tried
to pry his fingers away from the weapon. As soon as her left hand
touched his right, he pulled quickly back. Myranda drew in a long,
pained breath. She scrambled away, or tried to, but the same absurd
speed that he had displayed before reappeared. In the blink of an
eye his expression turned from shock to anger and she felt his hand
latch onto her shoulder. His grip was like a vice. She fell to one
knee and cried out. In the distance, almost immediately, she heard
the shatter of glass and rising wind.

A flash of red and gold streaked across the
room and collided with the monstrous man. He was staggered by the
clash, and suddenly he could be heard grunting in anger. Myranda
crawled to the table and clutched her staff. Jumping to her feet,
she turned. Myn was there, her jaws clamped down on Arden's leg.
The teeth couldn't pierce through the armor, the pressure was more
than enough to cause pain that would cripple a normal man. This
brute seemed unaffected, merely frustrated by the sprightly
creature's heroic effort to both evade his attacks and throw off
his balance. Finally the bounty hunter caught the little dragon by
the neck.

"You put her down!" Myranda ordered.

She held her staff at the ready, and her mind
equally so. Arden threw the dragon with all of his unnatural might.
The little creature might have been injured, had she not struck the
recently recovered Desmeres first. The impact sent them both flying
backward and into a cabinet filled with expensive plates. Myranda's
anger flared. There was no point in keeping up the charade now. He
would kill her regardless. She summoned to mind a spell, a quick
burst of wind. It would bring this man quickly to the ground. Once
he was down, she would have more options, provided she could keep
him there.

Myranda knew that she was far from an
experienced spell caster, and this situation called for the one
thing she had yet to manage, speed. If this spell was to do her any
good at all, she would have to put all she had into it to ensure it
would have the strength it needed in the time she had. There were
two things she failed to factor in as she poured her mind like a
waterfall into the task. The first was the fact that she was
terrified, angry, and desperate. She had not yet learned the
discipline to keep these emotions from fueling the spell. Second,
the staff she held had been altered by Desmeres. The result was, to
say the least, sufficient. The wind tore through the room with the
scream of a banshee, pulling in windows and tearing open doors.
When it struck Arden, he was not merely knocked down, he was
launched. His massive body soared across the room and shattered the
chair propping the door closed, as well as the door itself. The
exit was not a clean one, as the tumbling body struck and
splintered the door frame. Arden spiraled through the night air and
rolled to a stop fifty paces from the doorway.

Myranda was trembling from the exertion and
the emotion of what had just transpired. She normally would be
helplessly spent after the monumental spell she cast, but still she
stood, winded and dizzied, but steady. Slowly, cautiously, she
walked through the doorway. Myn limped quickly after her. Desmeres
followed on his hands and knees. For a long moment, all was still.
The night itself seemed to hold its breath. Impossibly, Arden
stirred. First, he rolled to his knees, then stumbled to his feet.
He stooped to retrieve the halberd that landed nearby. Myranda held
still, waiting for what was next. With the weapon in hand, he stood
and turned to her. One arm hung horribly twisted. Calmly, almost
serenely, he popped it back into place with a wet snap audible even
from the doorway where Myranda stood. Once he was recovered,
Arden's face shifted quickly into a grimace of fury and hatred.

"Kill them! Kill them all! I order you to
kill these traitors!" he howled.

The Elites! She had forgotten that he'd had
an escort. Myranda's eyes darted all about. No men charged her.
None even stood. Here and there, amid a splash of crimson, lay a
lifeless soldier. Myranda was both horrified and relieved by the
sight. Lain had not been idle while Arden had been inside. He'd
eliminated the entirety of the escort. When the bounty hunter
realized that no help would come, the unnervingly serene expression
came to his face once again. His eyes took on the clear, keen
intellectual look they had shown earlier.

"Yes, yes. Things are moving, aren't they?
The coming months will be quite interesting indeed. I am afraid I
must withdraw for the time being. One of you has got a nasty sting
that I was ill prepared for. Not to worry, the General will be by
shortly to collect," he said, turning to walk away.

"Oh no she won't!" Desmeres called out,
suddenly finding the strength to stand. He 'rushed' at the warrior,
though his hobbling gait was anything but swift.

Lain's silent appearance was considerably
more threatening, Desmeres' bravery intended only to conceal it. He
swept across the courtyard toward Arden, seemingly from nowhere,
and silently as the savage wind continued to tear across the plain.
Arden did not see him, he couldn't have, but still he raised the
halberd. The gem mounted in the blade darkened, almost seeming to
invite the black of night inside. He swung the weapon in a wide
arc. The gem left a dark scar across the air in front of him.
Quickly the streak of black rippled like a wave through the
courtyard, growing wider and thicker as it moved. By the time it
reached Lain it was like a wall. Lain stopped short and held his
sword defensively. The runes scribed on the blade burned like
embers and a narrow slice of the black wave dispersed away, though
not quite enough for Lain to escape unscathed. Myn, knowing that
her teeth and claws would have no effect on this, dove behind
Myranda for protection. The young sorceress tried to throw up a
hasty shield spell and brandished the staff as she had seen Lain
do. The black splashed against the pale, half cast shield, easily
shattering it. Her staff deflected a bit more, leaving only a wisp
of black that licked across her leg.

The sensation was entirely new to her, and
agonizing. Everywhere the black touched felt cold and numb,
unwilling to support her weight. Deeper, beyond her body and into
her soul, came a searing pain, like the black was eating away at
her very spirit. Unlike a normal wound that could be pushed aside,
this pain seemed to seize her mind and would not let go. It was
blinding. Slowly the affliction released her, though the numbness
did not. Myranda opened her eyes to find that she had fallen to the
ground. Myn, who had escaped the black wave, was on top of her,
lavishing the affection upon her that she had been unable to show
since the young girl had had to become a Tesselor. When the tide of
black subsided, Arden was gone. Lain, seemingly unaffected by the
onslaught, moved quickly inside the mansion. Desmeres had ducked
inside earlier and similarly was unharmed. He and Myn helped
Myranda inside. They huddled into the sitting room, the first room
that had a door to lock.

"Well, Arden has picked up some new tricks. I
didn't think him capable of casting a spell. It must be the new
weapon. Where in the world did he find a weapon that can do an
active mystical attack?
I
haven't even found a way to do
that!" Desmeres said, as lightly as though he were simply making
conversation, turning to Myranda. "Good work with
your
spell, by the way. I wouldn't have thought you'd have it in
you."

"Your weapons need work," said Lain.

Now that they were away from prying eyes, it
was clear to see that while it had seemed he had escaped injury,
such was not the case. One of his hands was curled like a dead
spider and shaking involuntarily. The fact that he was sitting
betrayed something wrong with his legs as well. Desmeres launched
into a defense of his weapon treatments, offering various excuses
for the incomplete protection from the spell, though eventually
admitting he would have to continue research in those areas.
Myranda was about to offer Lain help when she realized that she had
yet to deal with her own impairment, and was not sure how to do so.
She set her mind to this. As she did, Lain closed his eyes. His
breathing slowed, indeed, nearly stopped. Very slowly the shaking
subsided and his fingers uncurled. By the time Myranda had managed
to restore feeling to her own leg, Lain had recovered fully, and
his breathing was beginning to return to normal.

"We haven't much time to lick our wounds, I
am afraid," Desmeres said, looking nervously out the window.
"Whatever managed to spirit Arden away so quickly could
certainly-"