The Book of Deacon: Book 02 - The Great Convergence (13 page)

There was a knock at the sitting room door.
Instantly Lain slipped out the back door, Desmeres followed,
whispering a quick recommendation that she answer it and call for
help if it was trouble. Myn was coaxed from the room. Myranda
picked up her staff and unsteadily approached the door. At this
point, she didn't know what to expect on the other side. Holding
the crystal at eye level and readying a spell in her mind, she
pulled the door open. It was Udo.

"Mistress Tesselor, what happened here! There
are dead soldiers all over, the entrance is a shambles," Udo
said.

"Udo," she said with relief. "Are you
alone?"

"Yes," he said.

"Come in. Please," she said.

He did so, and she closed the door behind
him.

"Udo. I . . . I have to go," she said.

"That much I might have guessed, Mistress
Tesselor," he replied.

"There was . . . I don't . . . it was the Red
Shadow," she said, formulating a likely tale in her head.

"The Red Shadow, Mistress?" he said,
stunned.

"Yes, he . . . he came to kill me. The Elites
had followed and fought valiantly, eventually fending him off at
the expense of their lives," she said, hoping that keeping it short
and simple would keep it believable.

"I didn't think he would come someplace like
this," he said.

"Where a Tesselor can be found, that monster
is quite likely to follow. I must leave, now, before he returns. Do
you suppose that you can handle this place by yourself?" she
said.

"Well, I don't know, I-" he answered.

"I know you can. Take care of these people,
and yourself. Now go," she said.

It was by far the worst she'd done thus far
at maintaining an image of wealthy superiority, but in the state
she was in it was quite the best she could manage. When he had left
with more questions than answers, Desmeres, Myn, and Lain
returned.

"Clever use of Lain's alias, but points off
for affection and concern. At any rate, we need to be as far from
here as possible before sunrise," Desmeres said.

"But, where will we go?" she asked.

"I might have a safe house near here that is
still standing. It is our best hope," he said.

"But, it is Trigorah that is coming! Perhaps
you could reason with her. She might be able to get you your money.
Then I could join her and-" Myranda said.

"Out of the question. That woman is going to
be seeing red when she arrives, most of which has been spilled from
the veins of her Elites. She will be utterly unreasonable. No, I am
afraid that you will have to come with us," he said, matter of
factly, though in essence this was a threat of kidnapping.

If Myranda had any more energy, she might
have argued, but after the clash all she wanted was to get as far
from this place as possible. She grabbed the simple cloth bag she'd
brought with her, changed back into the filthy but less conspicuous
clothes within, found a few horses, and was off. Myn and Lain chose
to run. They had made a brief attempt to locate the horses that the
soldiers had ridden in on, but the battle had caused them to run
off, so they reluctantly chose the only other ones available.
Thanks to the fact that the horses were draft horses, bred for
strength rather than speed, the pair on foot was quite able to keep
pace. They traveled east. Thoughts rushed through Myranda's mind as
she trailed Desmeres' horse. A strong wind stirred the loose snow
around them as they traveled, yet in the distance both ahead and
behind all seemed still. Why did it seem to follow them? The
Elites. Had Lain not killed them, they would assuredly have killed
her. After all, they were with Arden, and were willing to allow him
to do the same. She had convinced herself that the Elites, at the
very least, knew of her role in the discovery of the other Chosen
and would help her. Now it would seem that Trigorah alone knew.
Myranda wondered, did she really? Or was all of this a delusion and
the Army wanted her for another reason entirely? Indeed, did she
even matter? She had done nothing of value in discovering the
others since she helped conjure the other Chosen One, and that had
been Lain's doing, not hers. Was it a coincidence?

#

Little did Myranda know, she was not the only
one concerned with her place in the world. In a tiny darkened room,
in the depths of a trance, Deacon struggled over the same dilemma.
He was staring longingly into the motionless heart of a crystal in
the palm of his hand. Many days ago he had delved through his
writings and refreshed his memory on every aspect of the spell
called Distance Seeing. Much to his despair, this spell was as
hindered by the confounding influence of the mountain as most
others. Regardless of the monumental effort he'd put into catching
even a glimpse of Myranda, he found it impossible to locate her. He
spoke at length with anyone and everyone who might know more than
he, and the only piece of information that was even remotely
helpful came from the mouth of the Elder herself. If he wished to
see someone through the impenetrable veil of the mountain, the
target would have to make itself visible, like a beacon in the
night.

The problem with this solution was that there
was no way for Myranda to know that he was trying to find her. The
only way that he would be able to see her would be if she were to
execute some powerful spell at the very moment that he was
searching. From his point of view, this left only one option. He
must look for her at all times, dedicating a small part of his mind
to probing the outside world. This slowed his work immensely. Days
passed with no benefit, but he remained vigilant. Finally, he was
rewarded. A twinge at the back of his mind alerted him that there
was something to see. He plunged his mind entirely to the task of
seeking it out. Slowly, a flickering image formed. At first he
thought he had made a mistake. The woman he saw was dressed in a
manner he had only heard of. Elegant, even extravagant clothes. It
was not until the image reached its peak of clarity that he was
certain that it was Myranda he saw. She was pinned to a wall, her
life in danger. As she faded, so did the image. He watched
anxiously as she recovered and struck back, and finally was struck
by a strange magic he had never before witnessed. The image faded
with Myranda on the ground, joined by Myn and a man he did not
recognize. When it did not return, he released the spell.

He had hoped that seeing her again would have
eased his troubled mind, but the burning only increased to see her
in peril and not know that she had escaped. The few apprentices who
studied the prophesy were not convinced that Myranda's purpose was
as she thought. Opinions were split down the middle as to whether
she was more or less important than she supposed, and few agreed
upon the degree. Deacon sat in the darkness and thought. He could
not live like this. There had to be a solution. As always, he
turned to his books. There he would find something. There was
always something. He scanned page after page of volume after
volume, stopping only when the sun appeared to the east. An
unrested mind did no good.

#

With the sky lightening, the group could not
afford to travel any further. In order to improve their odds of
escaping detection, they had let the horses free and continued on
foot for the last few hours of night. They now found themselves at
the center of a treeless plain. There was no point in the plain
that could not be seen from one of the many nearby roads. The best
cover that they could manage was a low point between two gentle
hills. As long as no patrols passed on the western road, they had a
chance to remain unseen. There would be no dinner that night. At
least, not for her. They couldn't risk a fire, and she couldn't eat
meat raw as Myn and Lain did. The day was spent lying on the cold,
snowy ground, trying her best to sleep. She was left once again
with the inadequate robe from Entwell, now without even the stolen
blanket for warmth, which, combined with the wind that had yet to
relent, made sleep all but impossible. Again, this seemed to be a
problem only for her. Lain, as usual, did without sleep entirely,
as did Desmeres. Myn took up her usual spot and dropped off to
sleep instantly. Myranda gave up the fight for sleep and, much to
Myn's dismay, joined Desmeres, who was crouched watching the
horizon. He seemed to be smiling, an odd reaction given the
circumstances.

"What could you possibly be happy about?" she
asked.

"There is something on the way that may lend
us a hand," he said.

"A friend? I didn't think you had any," she
said.

"I said something, not someone," he said.

Myranda glanced about. She couldn't see
anything helpful, but she did see something ominous. It was
something in the color of the sky, and in the increasing sting of
the wind.

"A blizzard is coming," she said
nervously.

"Exactly. We will be safe in a blizzard," he
said.

"Safe!" she said in a stifled cry of
disbelief. "We are in the middle of a plain, no shelter in sight!
How will we be safe?"

"Safe from detection. It would take a
lunatic, a fanatic, or an idiot to try to hunt us down in a
blizzard. We might even be able to move across a road without being
seen," he said.

Myranda thought of lecturing him on the
dangers that staying still would entail, let alone traveling, but
she knew that her words would fall on deaf ears. She decided to
focus on her own survival instead. She pulled to mind a handful of
spells that might do something to warm her when the blizzard
appeared. It was not long before the storm began, suddenly and
intensely. There was a whipping wind and a wall of snow. Against
all logic, the group began to move on. The violent wind, as though
it had a devilish mind of its own, blew directly in their faces,
slowing their already snail-like pace. Lain's face, or what she
could see of it through the snow, seemed to have a minor look of
concern. It was barely noticeable, but no emotion left much of a
mark on him since he had abandoned the Leo act for his stoic
self.

"Keep an eye behind us!" Lain ordered through
the piercing wail of the wind.

"Why? There is nothing there but snow. The
same as in front of us and on all other sides!" Myranda replied
irritably. She sliced her staff half of its length into the snow
and used it as leverage to take another step.

Despite the meager precautions she had taken
against it, the cold had robbed her of most of the feeling in her
face and limbs. As a lifelong resident of the north, she knew the
difference between annoying cold and dangerous cold. The storm had
crossed the line. A few minutes more and the cold would do damage.
A few minutes after that and the damage would be permanent. Images
flashed in her mind of the foolhardy hunters she had known, and the
incomplete hands that served as a reminder of just how foolhardy
they had been. Periodically she would cast a spell she had pieced
together from Solomon's teachings to warm her enough to continue
for a few more minutes of travel. Myn would puff a few breaths of
flame for much the same effect. Desmeres made do with a sip from a
flask he carried, and Lain . . . Lain simply made do.

The fresh blanket of snow was already getting
thick. It was impossible to tell in just what direction they were
heading. Every way they looked returned the same white maelstrom.
Even the veritable sixth sense for direction that Myranda had
picked up from her life of travel in the sunless north seemed to
desert her. Their only hope to stay heading in the correct
direction was to keep going straight into the wind. That meant
trudging through drifts rather than walking around them. Before
long, every step was an effort.

"How far to the safe house?" she cried out to
Desmeres, trying to resist the urge to gulp the freezing air with
her mouth. One pure breath of air this cold would ruin her
lungs.

"I think that it is a small distance down the
road at the end of this plain. If we were still on horseback we
might have reached it in half a day! Now . . . " he trailed off.
Even
his
impenetrable confidence seemed to be wavering.

"Now we are going to die out here!" she
yelled.

"Now, now, we are not going to die!" he
called back. The tone of his voice made it seem as though he was
trying to convince himself. He was rummaging for something in the
pockets of his jacket.

"She will not die, because my orders are to
take her alive," came a voice from behind them.

There behind them was General Teloran. She
stood tall, with the ageless grace and unmarred beauty shared by
all elves, dressed in her full Elite armor. Only the helmet was
missing, torn away by Myn in a prior encounter and not replaced.
The wind, coming from in front of them, had carried no trace of her
scent. The snow and wind had concealed her approach. A thousand
questions flooded the minds of the group. Whether it was
fanaticism, lunacy, or idiocy that motivated her, Trigorah had
followed. The faintly glowing gems set in the blade of her sword
flickered, signifying that some sorcery had provided the means. For
a moment only the whistling of the wind could be heard as all
present stood anxiously waiting. The next sound was the hiss of
Lain's sword as he drew it free. He knew not to wait for threats,
for bargaining, for trickery. The pair simply clashed.

If one has never seen swordplay between two
masters, it is difficult to imagine the speed of it. Weapons were a
blur as they pushed each other's skills to the limit. Slowly,
obscured by the wind, snow, and sheer speed of the combat, the gems
on the sword seemed to be gaining in radiance.

"Keep moving! She is here for you!" Desmeres
ordered as he pulled his dagger from its sheath with one hand while
he continued to rummage in his pocket with the other.