The Book of Deacon: Book 02 - The Great Convergence (47 page)

Before long the slope eased and the smell of
burning firewood signaled their arrival on the outskirts of the
town. The darkness and blowing snow concealed it from their sight,
and more importantly, concealed them from the prying eyes of any of
the residents. Thus concealed, the time had come to decide what was
next. They each dropped their loads and crouched on the ground.
Lain silently thought while Ivy sat, the tattered remains of her
cloak pulled tightly about her.

"Why did we stop here?" she asked, shivering.
"I smell a fire over there, and I don't smell any of the teachers.
Maybe the people there would share their fire."

"The people will share nothing with us.
Listen closely. Do not allow them to see you. Our kind is hated by
the humans. They will do you harm as readily as any of the
D'karon," Lain whispered.

"But why?" Ivy asked, quickly adopting a
whisper as well.

"It is the way they have been taught. It is
the way it has always been. It is the way they all are," he
replied.

"Myranda doesn't hate us," she said.

"Myranda was different," he said. "Don't
expect to find another like her for as long as you live."

"Myranda was blinded by duty, compassion, and
naivety. She was that rare human who had true potential, but she
lacked the objectiveness to make the most of it. I am almost
tempted to mourn her passing, if such an act were not utterly
without purpose," Ether added.

Ivy shot an angry look at the source of the
voice. Pulling open the bag from where she dropped it, she tipped
it, spilling the contents.

"Oops," she said flatly.

The disembodied voice of Ether began to
object, but Ivy interrupted as though she didn't notice.

"Then why did we come here?" Ivy
whispered.

"There is a man here who may have the skill
to repair my sword," Lain said.

"Is he human?" Ivy asked.

"He is," Lain replied.

"So he is going to hate you, then. How are
you going to get him to help you?" she asked.

Lain was silent. He had yet to determine an
answer. Amid the whistling of the constant wind, the pile of stones
that had been rolled from the bag moved of their own accord,
clattering and gathering together into a mass. Suddenly they
shifted from solid stone to water, splashing to the snow below and
seeping in, melting a good deal of it. Eventually the pool seemed
to leap up, twisting itself into Ether's human shape before giving
way to flesh and cloth. The whole of the event had a labored feel
to it, as though she would have been better served by a few more
hours of recuperation before attempting it. Ether cast a vaguely
threatening look at Ivy, prompting her to flinch and raise her
hands in defense from a presumed act of retribution.

"Give the weapon to me. I shall see that it
is repaired," Ether said.

Lain considered the offer. Ether was not in
the habit of being helpful. This was clearly an attempt to curry
favor away from Ivy. The offer would have been a reasonable option,
were Ether as capable of blending as well socially as she did
physically, but such was not the case. Reluctantly, he retrieved
the two pieces of the weapon. This would not be without its
usefulness.

"I sincerely doubt that you are capable of
doing so. But until I can determine a more appropriate method, you
shall have your attempt. Listen closely. The smith is named Flinn.
You must speak directly to him. If the sword is allowed to be taken
by a go-between, it will not be returned quickly, if at all. Inform
him that payment will be rendered upon completion of the repair.
Under no circumstances should you reveal that you are Chosen, use
violence, or threaten violence. Most importantly, do not appear to
be anything more than a human," he warned.

"An act of the utmost simplicity," Ether
said.

She made her way toward the city. When she
was far enough that Ivy knew she would not be heard, she spoke.

"Do you really think she can do it? " Ivy
asked.

"No. But the scene she is certain to make
will serve as an adequate diversion. Stay here, and stay hidden,"
Lain said.

He vanished swiftly into the darkness. Ivy
giggled lightly, eyes trained in the direction of the town, eagerly
anticipating a furious Ether storming back defeated. Every so
often, however, something distracted her. Her ear would twitch, and
she would look over her shoulder. There was a sound occasionally,
just loud enough to be heard over the sound of the wind. A horse.
Ivy crouched a bit further behind the drift.

Lain crept lightly around the outskirts of
the city. He had never come to this place himself, but it was clear
which of the precious few buildings was the proper one. Already the
raised voice of Ether could be heard berating the young woman who
greeted patrons. Lain moved swiftly to the roof. There were no
windows to speak of, but near the sharply sloped peak there were
vents to let the smoke of the forges out. A screeching clash of
wills was taking place. Right now, all that he had to do was
listen. Observe. It would be a simple act to find Flinn and offer
him his life in exchange for this service, but he had long ago
learned that a task performed on pain of death tended to result in
a poor outcome. Indeed, confronting Flinn himself would end badly.
Men such as he conducted lives separate from the public. They had
go-betweens, front men. It was these individuals that must be the
first targets. Through them a proper meeting could be arranged. One
that would leave the primary target at ease, prepared.

As he listened, memories of a hundred such
nights flashed through his mind. Prior to his acceptance of the
assignment that led him to Myranda, this was the norm. This was how
he conducted business. The crunching footsteps of an approaching
horse prompted him to make a cautionary shift away from the road.
The wind blew toward the sound. He pulled in a long slow sniff. No
scent from the horse or rider, but amid the burning wood and
sizzling metal there was a familiar smell. One of the women inside.
The smell wasn't precisely familiar, but he had smelled one like
it. The blood wasn't the same, but the bloodline was. It was
difficult to determine which woman it was, but there were only two
inside aside from Ether. A moment later, after a blistering assault
by Ether on the human race as a whole and the greeter in
particular, the shape shifter stormed out, followed shortly by the
young woman. Her scent thus separated from the rest, he could be
sure. It was she. She, then, would be the target. The screaming
continued in the snowy road for a minute more before the young
woman finally slammed the door on Ether.

Clutching the blade of the sword in a furious
grip tight enough to prompt a dribble of blood, she set off toward
the edge of town where Ivy was waiting. As she did, a man on
horseback rode by her. The man's eyes lingered on the sword for a
moment. The glimmer of recognition was unmistakable. Lain's eyes
narrowed. The man's eyes were the only things showing, so bundled
was he against the cold. He wore a suit of armor, its surface
unmarred by a single nick or gash, only caked with the blown snow.
The helmet hung from his saddle, as the thick hood and scarf could
not be worn beneath it. Lain scanned the street once more. No one
in sight, and all doors closed. The man guided his horse to a small
stable behind one of the buildings. Lain leapt silently to its
roof. When the man emerged Lain leapt down and pulled him behind
the stable, dropping him on his back and placing a foot on his
throat. He pulled the scarf from his face.

"Desmeres," he hissed.

"Been a while," Desmeres croaked.

Lain removed his foot from his neck and
pulled his former partner to his feet.

"You have been following me," he said.

"You couldn't know that," he said, looking at
Lain incredulously.

"Do you deny it?" Lain asked.

"No, but you couldn't know that. Steps were
taken . . . unless. You felt it, didn't you? That bizarre
sensitivity to being watched. I'd forgotten about that," Desmeres
realized.

"Why are you here?" he demanded.

"Look at me, Lain. If it isn't obvious, I
have been remiss in my duties," he said.

Lain drew to mind what he had seen earlier,
but kept his eyes locked on those of Desmeres. The half-elf knew
him better that any other creature in this world, and at the moment
it was not clear that he could be trusted any longer. Aside from
the immaculate armor, he recalled a familiar shield had been
hanging from his side, and a more familiar hilt protruded from his
sheath. A sword hung, in its sheath, from his belt. It was
the
sword. The one that had begun this crusade. He was
dressed precisely as the fallen swordsman in the field had been,
the one he had found and watched Myranda approach. The one that had
sealed her fate.

"Why would you pretend to be chosen?" he
asked.

"Misdirection. Adding a dash of truth to a
cauldron of lies," he replied. "A highly effective tactic."

"To what end?" Lain asked, patience wearing
thin.

"To aid my new partners, of course," he
said.

Lain's hand went to the grip of one of the
stolen daggers.

"Then you have become a tool of the D'karon,"
he said.

"Surely it doesn't come as a surprise to you.
Wasn't it to be expected? It takes the D'karon - indeed, the
entirety of the Alliance Army under their control - to equal the
skill and opportunities afforded by yourself as an individual. I
approached them and offered my services. Doing so without being
killed proved an interesting task. They were quite open to the
idea, once my allegiance was established. Another challenge, might
I add, but one I rose to. They eventually embraced my presence. All
save Trigorah. Still bears a bit of a grudge I am afraid. They have
her on a rather short leash, however. She's been removed from
active duty and confined to the capital. Odd. Regardless. I shared
with them a few choice pieces of information, and proposed the idea
of posing as a Chosen. I would appear to be on the side of the
Alliance, thus making the public less likely to believe that the
true Chosen might be opposed. In addition, it was believed that by
appearing to be a genuine Chosen One, my presence might flush out
the rest of you," he explained.

"Why follow me?" Lain asked.

"Why would they accept me into their fold if
not to find you?" he asked.

Lain drew his weapon and placed the blade
against Desmeres' throat.

"And tell me. What is it that you intend to
do, now that I am found?" he asked.

"Very little," he answered.

"Why should I believe you?" Lain asked.

"One would hope that years of partnership and
familiarity would be enough," Desmeres offered with a weak
smile.

The blade pressed harder.

"You aren't worth enough, Lain," he
added.

Lain twisted the blade slightly.

"I am serious. They have no interest in only
one or two of you. And they certainly don't want you killed. They
were sparse on the details, but they want no less than four of you,
five if possible, and simultaneously. And under no circumstances
must any of you be killed!" Desmeres said urgently.

Lain removed the blade.

"Why?" he asked.

"They wouldn't tell me. All that they did was
give me the names and descriptions of who to watch for," he said,
rubbing his throat. "You, of course. They know a great deal about
you. They also targeted the shape shifter, and something they
called 'The Fourth,' another malthrope. She was with you. And I
suspect the shape shifter as well. Conspicuously absent is Myranda.
If you were to ask me, I'd say their plan is to take on the full
force of the Chosen as a whole. I can't imagine why."

"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you," Lain
said.

"I could refer to the aforementioned years of
partnership, but more convincing is the fact that I have the
ability to feed disinformation to your many enemies within the
Alliance Army. They gave me an object through which I am told to
keep them updated on my actions. I recently informed them that I
would be checking this town for you. It might be useful to you if I
were to report that I had found nothing and was moving on. Less
useful would be a missing followup that might indicate the need for
closer inspection," he warned.

Lain considered the statement.

"I can't say I know what they have planned
for you. Having been in their clutches before, I imagine you know
what to expect. One would assume another capture would result in
more of the same for both yourself and the others," he added.

"How have you been following me? How is it
that I was unable to detect you?" Lain demanded.

"The D'karon mystics have a number of rather
unique specialties. Most wizards concerned with stealth deal
exclusively with attempted invisibility. The odd eccentric has
tinkered with rendering one's motions silent. Once accepted into
their cloister, I found volumes of runes and enchantments dedicated
to rendering one undetectable to all senses. Vision, smell, even
senses I have never heard of. Indeed, senses I cannot fathom. And
the crystals, Lain. The possibilities they afford," Desmeres gushed
enthusiastically. "They are truly inspiring. I have been able to
infuse your weapons with passive defenses, but these crystals can
fuel active, aggressive spells. And the techniques they have can
produce weapons so quickly. This sword is a replica of the
masterpiece the swordsman had carried. I managed it in days. Not
weeks, days! I have got a few blades in the works . . . it pains me
to be away from them. Revolutionary. One in particular belongs in
no hands but your own, Lain. When it is complete, you shall have
it. No one else could do it justice. It is the pinnacle of my art,
Lain. I don't care if it finds its way to my throat a heartbeat
after it reaches your grasp. This is a blade worthy to taste my
blood."