The Book of Deacon: Book 02 - The Great Convergence (16 page)

Her thoughts weaved more and more deceptively
as her eyes ventured open. Instinctively she braced for a dizzying
rush of pressure that would shatter her concentration and end the
struggle. None came. The room was dark. Blue light pulsed dimly
from her collar and the halberd, illuminating the table beside
them. There were the potions, the bandages, the book, the dagger,
and a gold glove. The glove . . . had it been in the bag? She
searched through her memory and received a very strong yes as a
response. Furthermore, something inside of her urged that she put
it on. She reached for it . . . when had her hands been freed? The
thought dropped away unanswered. She stopped suddenly when she
realized that Epidime was staring, albeit through half lidded eyes,
directly at her. Surely he would stop her. She questioned why she
had even wanted the glove in the first place, and when Epidime had
moved from behind her to in front. The answers that came were
numerous. She ventured her hand out again but stopped. This wasn't
right. She had to stop this fiend from trying to invade her mind. A
notion forced its way to the front of her mind. The halberd.

"Yes!" she thought. "He uses it like I use my
staff. If I can get it away from him, he won't be nearly as
powerful. I may even be able to use it against him!"

She reached out, slowly. As she did, his grip
on the weapon visibly loosened. A feeling of alarm in the back of
her mind was brushed forcefully aside. Her hand, trembling in a
combination of exertion and fear, was nearly upon the weapon when
her fingers snapped shut around it of their own will. Her arm
quickly pulled the halberd away from Epidime's grip while the gem
within it surged powerfully. Myranda tried to drop the halberd, but
her hand would not obey. The gold glove she had felt the
inexplicable need to put on rose into the air. Now there was no
doubt that Epidime had been the source of her confusion. He was
much more in control than she was now. Out of desperation she
searched her mind for anything that might chase him from it. Her
thoughts were swiftly and forcefully torn away as soon as they
arose. She could feel the dark influence of Epidime's will slipping
past her defenses into the deepest reaches of her thoughts. Finally
she pulled together all of the will she had left and forced it to
the surface.

There was a brief, unnerving surge inward as
she removed her defenses, but immediately after came what she was
hoping for. Agonizing pain. By forcing her magic back to the
surface, she incurred the collar's effect. She cried out aloud and
in her mind, and from deep within her, a second voice cried out as
well. She felt the intruder's grip loosen just a bit, but it was
enough. She forced him from her mind. Before her she saw the eyes
of Epidime brighten back to life. She threw his halberd away and
redoubled her defenses. The pressure of his invasion was gone
though, in its place a loud grumble halfway between pain and
anger.

"Well, that was a new one. Teloran! Get in
here!" he cried.

Myranda hesitantly opened her eyes. He was
standing, pacing angrily with his halberd in hand. The door swung
open and Trigorah entered.

"Take her to a cell, I have had enough of her
for today!" he ordered.

"Have you managed to learn anything?" she
asked, gripping the wavering girl by her upper arm and hoisting her
to her feet.

"TAKE HER TO A CELL!" he repeated viciously
as he rubbed his neck. "AND HAVE SOMEONE CHANGE THE CRYSTAL IN THAT
COLLAR!"

Myranda was led up the stairs, where she was
joined by a pair of torch wielding Elites. She was suddenly acutely
aware of just how much effort she had put into her defense when she
found that getting her legs to cooperate was just a bit past her
mind's ability. The Elites fairly carried the ailing girl to the
nearest cell, one floor up. After being dumped inside, the door
slammed shut behind her and the jingle of keys followed by the
click of a lock could be heard. After sufficient time to gather the
strength to do so, Myranda raised her head to look around. The cell
was sparse, to say the least. A pile of shredded cloth in the
corner was likely intended to serve as a bed. The only piece of
furniture was a chair, though by the looks of the ankle and wrist
shackles attached, it was intended more for restraint than comfort.
She tried to stand, stumbling against the bars in the process. The
motion was accompanied by a jingle around her neck. She felt at it
to find that a chain ran down from either end of the collar she
wore and connected to a crystal larger than her fist. Just as
before, it hurt when it touched her, only now she could
feel
it leeching her strength away. There was, at least, one benefit to
the larger crystal. It provided more light. Without it, she would
have been in almost complete darkness.

She collapsed backward onto the chair,
finding that standing was not worth the effort at the moment. A
moment later her eyes came to rest on something that most
definitely was worth the effort. A bowl. A
full
bowl. She
leapt with a strength she didn't know she had at the food. When she
reached it, she found that food was a rather generous word for the
contents of the bowl. It was a substance that would have brought
dishonor to the word gruel. More correctly, it seemed as though
someone had mopped up a kitchen spill with a loaf of bread and
wrung it out into a bowl. Of course, neither this, nor the
possibility that the stuff was poisoned was enough to keep Myranda
from gulping it down without so much as a spoon. The sound of boots
clicking upon stone only just penetrated her hunger crazed mind as
she finished draining the bowl. When she was satisfied that she had
swallowed every last drop of the horrid stuff, she looked up to see
who had chosen to witness the spectacle. Standing before her was
Trigorah. The General looked down at the girl, forcing her to
realize she was still huddled in the corner where she had found the
bowl. With great effort Myranda stood, attempting to salvage what
little dignity that she might have left.

"Come to gloat?" Myranda asked.

"I don't gloat. Particularly at a victory
that is not mine. You have been asleep for ten hours. Epidime was
beginning to fear you might die rather than wake," she said.

"He was worried I might die?" she said. "I
would think he would have preferred it."

"Another perhaps, but not you. Seldom does he
encounter a subject that offers a challenge," Trigorah said.

"I am a challenge, am I?" Myranda asked.

"You resisted him for more than six hours.
You forced him out in a way that no one had before. For this you
have earned his interest," Trigorah informed.

"Well, I am honored," Myranda said
defiantly.

"Don't be. It only means that he will
continue to try. Harder and harder. And when he does find his way
in, I doubt he will take the time to leave your mind as he found
it. He might not leave any of it at all. Frankly, you will be lucky
if you've enough wits about you to remember to keep breathing when
he is through with you," Trigorah said.

Myranda drew in a deep breath.

"Come here. Give me your hand," Trigorah
said.

"No. Why?" Myranda resisted. Though she had
been drumming it into her head that Trigorah, at least, could be
trusted, the events of the day had shaken that belief.

The General held out a loaf of bread and a
canteen. Myranda snatched them away. A bowl of glorified water was
hardly enough to curb a days old hunger.

"Why are you giving this to me?" she managed
between swallows.

"I can't be sure he will feed you . . . you
deserve a chance," she whispered, leaning closer. "Listen to me. No
one has resisted him. He has been through my mind and a hundred
others. Whatever he wants to know, he
will
know. Just . . .
fight him. Do your best. Someone has to show him that . . . that we
can
resist."

"We . . . what do you mean? It is true? He
isn't human or elven or . . . anything like that?" Myranda
asked.

Trigorah cast a cautious look in either
direction before slipping silently back into the darkness. Once
again, Myranda was alone and in danger. It was hardly the first
time that such was the case, but this time was different. This time
it might be the last. She was in a cell, far below ground, waiting
for a fiend to make his next attempt at forcing his way into her
mind. She wracked her brain, desperately seeking some shallow hope
to cling to. There was one. It was possible that those who held her
would make the same mistake they had before, that they would not
pay the price on her head. That would bring Lain to rescue her
again. It was far from likely. The pair of Generals seemed to agree
on nothing but the fact that her previous captors must be paid.
That didn't matter. It was hope, a shining light at the end of the
tunnel to lock onto. Until then, she had to save her strength.
Epidime would be back.

A week passed in the most wretched manner
possible. She was restrained at all times. Each day she would be
fed a thin bowl of food by one of the guards whose faces were
hidden behind a mask and submitted to a variety of Epidime's
attempts. Most were marathon sessions that pushed each to their
limits. Others were short, subversive attempts under the guise of
all manner of other things, ranging from attempts to recruit her to
offers to release her. In a way, the worst part was that each day
she was moved to a different cell. A feeling of safety would have
been impossible, but now she was denied even a feeling of
familiarity. She was reflecting on this fact and trying to ignore
the horrible taste that was clinging to her tongue when Epidime
approached for the day's torture. This day promised something new.
Epidime had brought a second chair bearing similar restraints into
the cell.

"Well, Myranda. I believe the time has come
to meet some of your neighbors. You know this one very well. He
hasn't stopped cursing your name since we found him," Epidime
remarked smugly as he forced a shaggy, blindfolded old man into the
second chair.

The old man hung his head low. Drooping in
the chair, he swayed slowly, almost deliriously. There was
something familiar about him, but she couldn't place it. A
scraggly, gray beard adorned his chin, and wiry gray hair ringed a
bald head.

"Well? This is the quietest I've heard you,
old man. She is here, in this room. Haven't you anything to say?"
Epidime said.

"I am waiting for her to speak," croaked the
old man. His voice was raw, as though it had been badly overused.
It, too, had a familiarity to it.

"Why?" asked Epidime.

"I want to know where her throat is . . . so
I can wrap my hands around it," he said.

The old man raised his head, revealing a worn
and soiled priest's collar.

"You are the priest. The one I met just after
I found the sword!" Myranda realized.

He lunged forward with all of the strength
his feeble body could muster. Epidime easily pushed him back to the
chair.

"I am. I knew that you would only bring
sorrow. Look at me! Look what you have done to me. You witch! You
wretch! Because of you, I will be spending the last years of my
life in this stinking, festering hole in the ground. I pray nightly
that you meet an end suited to your treachery! I take solace in the
fact that you were finally brought here! I hope you never see the
light of day again!" the old man spat with disdain. He leapt to
attack Myranda again, but Epidime held him back.

"Why is he here!? Why do you have him?"
Myranda demanded.

"For the same reason everyone else is here.
They may have touched the sword. The prophesy, if properly read,
holds that the sword will find its way into the hands of a Chosen
One. We
will
have the Chosen, but to be certain of that, we
must capture anyone who may have touched that sword," he said.

"You condemned us! ALL OF US! You carried
that sword like a plague and MADE CRIMINALS OF US ALL! CURSE YOU!
CURSE YOU, YOU WITCH!" he cried before his voice gave out and he
was left wheezing and gasping.

"I will give in. I will give in right now if
you will release them," Myranda said.

"Oh no. These captives will never be
released," Epidime said flatly.

"But why! Surely you read their minds! You
must know that they are of no use to you!" she cried out.

"Indeed," he said.

"Then you could have let them go!" she
cried.

"No. You see, we had to keep them here, if
for no other reason than the fact that any one of them might have
been very important to you, and thus a useful piece of bait,
without knowing it. It was a long shot, but it wouldn't have been
the first to pay off. As luck would have it, you are one of those
poor souls who cares about everyone. I was thinking that we might
empty out the nearest village to fill the remaining cells. What do
you think? Imagine the pressure that would put on you," he said
with a grin.

"Please, I beg of you. Release them and I
will let you into my mind," she said.

"If you submit to me now I will kill them
all," he said.

"What! Why? You wanted me to give in!" she
said.

"On the first day I did. Then you lashed out
at me. You
injured
me. That is rare. Very rare.
Unprecedented for your kind. Generally I would kill someone for
that, but not you. There was something special about you. You know,
I had everything I needed from you after the fourth hour of our
first session. Everything I had been asked to learn from you. You
have nothing new to offer me that my fellow generals might need to
know. I know Lain is Chosen. I know that another Chosen has been
summoned. I even know what it looks like. The things you needed to
protect were left out in the open, yet, when I had them, you
continued to resist. You continued to defend something within your
mind. You dared to believe that you could be stronger than me. For
that reason, you will be broken. If all I wanted was your mind I
would have struck in your sleep. I want to show you that you are
not strong enough. I want you to show me how strong you are. You
will be tortured, twisted, torn, and shattered. You will try your
best, and you will fail. You will be made an example of. And then,
when you finally haven't the will to resist me, I will leave just
enough of you to watch as I execute each and every one of these
people before your eyes," Epidime stated. Chillingly, his voice was
plain and calm, as though what he had said was to be expected.