The Book of Deacon: Book 03 - The Battle of Verril (9 page)

“What is it?” Deacon asked.

“Names. Nothing but names,” she replied.

“Do you recognize them?” he asked, removing a
page as well.

“None of them,” she said.

Lain drew in a long slow breath and turned to
something in the distance. He removed his sword, sheath and all,
from his belt and handed it to Myranda.

“Do not follow,” he warned.

The others complied, Lain rushing into the
darkness. His motion was less measured than usual. His footfalls,
normally silent, betrayed his path with each pounding, crunching
step. They retreated quickly into the trees until they could no
longer be heard. What followed was a long silence. It was broken by
a horrible noise, like the roar of a beast mixed with a glimmer of
voice. It came again, the second time accompanied by a cry that was
vaguely human. Then more silence. When the crunching footsteps
returned, they were slower, less driven. Lain emerged from the
darkness. The anger was still clear in his eyes, but he seemed more
composed. He approached. His hands were coated with black, and more
of it stained his mouth, chin, and chest. He spat something on the
ground.

“Where is the nearest fort?” he asked,
prompting Deacon to swiftly begin digging for his map.

“What did you do?” Myranda asked
nervously.

“What had to be done,” he replied, taking his
sword back.

“The nearest fort is northwest of here. It is
one of twelve forts labeled
Final Reserve
. It seems to be a
rather poorly guarded one,” he said.

Lain looked over the map and set off quickly,
the others having to scramble to avoid losing sight of him.

“What has gotten into him?” Deacon called
over the sound of the pounding hooves.

“I don't know!” Myranda replied, trying
unsuccessfully to look over the flapping paper without guiding her
horse into a tree.

She caught a glimpse of a name here and
there. What could make Lain completely reverse his decision? What
about these names could make him change his mind about taking Ivy
to the south? Perhaps . . .

“All of the names are Tresson,” she called to
Deacon.

“I fail to see the relevance,” he
replied.

“Well . . . we were heading to Tressor. We
were trying to find people that he trusted,” she said.

“Are you suggesting . . . these are the names
of those people?” he asked.

“What else would explain it?” Myranda
asked.

“No . . . no, that must be it . . . but there
are so many!” he said. “Lain doesn't strike me as the sort to make
so many friends!”

“I don't think they are friends . . . I think
they owe him,” Myranda said.

“It doesn't matter, right? If they know about
them, then I won't be safe there, right? I won't be safe anywhere,
right?” Ivy said enthusiastically.

She was happy, so much so that the faint
telltale yellow aura began to appear. It was not the sort of
realization that should prompt such a reaction, but it meant
something very different to her than it did to the others.

“And that means there is nowhere you can
leave me! I
have
to stay with you!” she almost sang.

“NO!” Ether cried.

She shifted to her wind form and soared to
Lain's side.

“Tell them they are wrong! Tell them you've
simply found a faster way to take her there! Tell them you've found
a better place to leave her! TELL THEM!” she demanded.

Lain kept his eyes resolutely ahead, offering
nothing in reply but his deep, rhythmic breaths.

“No. NO! I will take her! Entwell will be
safe! Damn the waterfall, I can get her there! I will take her over
the blasted
mountains
and down the
cliff
if I must.
That
thing
must not be allowed to fight beside us! She is a
liability! She is a
threat
!
She does not deserve to be
near you
!” the gusting form cried in a mixed plea and
demand.

“If you could have done so… You would have by
now,” Lain said, the strain of the sprint beginning to show. “I can
only keep her safe … if she is by my side. She will only be safe …
from the D'karon forever … if the D'karon are gone … forever.”

Ether continued her begging, growing almost
desperate, but Lain was silent. He led the others farther in those
last few hours than they had gone in the entire previous day. They
were heading toward a pass in the mountains just to the south.
Oddly, the map indicated that it led to a large and vital road that
ran the length of the mountain range. Myranda had lived all of her
life in the north, and she had neither seen nor heard of this road
even once. Even having seen it on the map was not enough to
convince her. The cost and effort to keep a road through the
mountains maintained made it an act of idiocy to even propose such
a thing. When the group finally settled down to a long overdue rest
at the mouth of the pass, Lain forewent the hunt, entering his
trance and leaving the others to pick at the meager provisions and
leftovers they had managed to set aside beside an equally meager
fire. Typically Ether would take advantage of the flames. Instead,
she sat sullenly beside Lain, her furious gaze locked on Ivy, who
had pranced over and sat beside Lain, resting her head on his
shoulder. Myranda was settling down for sleep when she noticed
Deacon was leafing through a book rather than doing the same.

“Deacon, that can wait. You will need your
rest,” Myranda advised.

“I know, but . . . I just can't put this
down. It is so . . . new . . . so different,” he said, trying
briefly to set it aside before turning his eyes eagerly back to the
pages.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Now that Ivy has filled most of the gaps in
my understanding of this language, I can read the spell book. I've
. . . never seen anything that has even approached the subject
matter that this book covers,” he said.

“How can that be? I thought your colleagues
were the best in their fields. How can there be something you've
never seen?” she wonders.

“Well, as you know, there are a number of
practices that my fellow wizards at Entwell frown upon. I happen to
be the foremost authority in . . . well, all of them. However,
there are two that we are explicitly forbidden to perform, or even
pursue beyond theory,” he said. “The first is any act that can
interfere in any way with past events; time travel and the like.
The second is any act that contacts another physical realm.
Summoning creatures, opening gateways, even communicating with
creatures on another plane. These D'karon . . . they have based
their entire practice around the latter of these forbidden arts.
There is a fragment of a spell for opening a path to some other
world that is presented with solemn reverence. It is almost a
prayer to them.”

“Why would such practices be forbidden to
you?” Myranda asked.

“It has been known to the elders of Entwell
that the threat that the Chosen were to face would come from
outside of this world. They believed that such a threat could be at
least delayed and at best prevented if it was assured that no
contact with other realms was ever made. Clearly fate would not be
so easily denied,” he said. “And now I am left with no knowledge of
how to combat such a tactic. Though I can determine the spell to
open such a gateway from what is written here, I cannot determine
how to close one. It is possible . . . that there
is
no way
to close one . . . “

“There must be a way,” Myranda said.

“I am not so certain. Do you remember when
Epidime escaped in the town? He opened a portal. It closed behind
him and sent out a shock wave. I don't believe that is an intended
effect of the spell. It felt like a backlash, as through the will
of the spell was pulled from it before it had time to complete.
That was merely the remaining magic spilling off in a raw form,” he
said.

“I don't understand,” Myranda replied.

“Neither do I, not entirely, but . . . once a
portal is allowed to fully open, I don't think that even
they
would know how to close it,” he said anxiously.

“Do you suppose that such a portal already
exists?” Myranda asked.

“Well, it looks from Demont's notes that the
nearmen, the dragoyles, everything that we've faced thus far, were
designed and produced in this world . . . but the generals
themselves must have gotten here somehow,” he stated gravely.

It was that chilling thought that would
accompany Myranda to sleep that night. It was not enough to
overcome her exhaustion, however. As the haziness of sleep drew
over her, she found herself in a familiar place. A dark field. No
sky, no trees. There was a cold wind rustling past her. Far in the
distance was a vague flickering light. She pulled her cloak closer
and hurried toward it. The ground became rocky and increasingly
entangled with black, thorny vines. After what seemed like hours
she came to the source of the light. There was a vast, tarnished
metal structure. It was hopelessly entwined in the vines, and here
and there embedded with broken glass. Inside, a flame barely clung
to an oily piece of cloth. She stepped back and looked over the
hulking metal device. It was twisted, almost unrecognizable, but
slowly it too became familiar. It was a lantern. Massive,
misshapen, but unmistakable. The cold grew more intense. She
stepped closer, trying to draw some warmth from the flame. Suddenly
there was a creaking sound. The vines began to creep over the form,
drawing it tighter. She pulled at them. Something told her that she
could not allow this to happen. This source of light could not be
allowed to remain in their grip. The thorns tore at her hands and
would not relent. The flame inside fizzled and sputtered, finally
sparking. An ember touched a vine and fire swept over it. The
others shuddered and peeled away. Inside, the fire flared, the
light suddenly blinding, filling the field.

Myranda's eyes opened. She was with the
others once more. The dream had been intense and vivid. The dark
field had crept into her dreams before, but she hadn’t had to
suffer the terrible visions of it for some time. She quietly hoped
she wouldn’t have to see them again any time soon. The chilling
imagery made the icy forest around her seem warm and safe by
comparison. Lain was finishing a freshly caught meal. Ivy was
leaning against a tree, enthusiastically finishing her own share.
Ether was finally in her usual place in the fire. Deacon had not
moved. Pages were scattered all around him, his eyes rimmed with
red. It was clear he had not slept.

“Deacon. Have you been at that all night?”
Myranda asked.

“Hmm? Oh, you are awake. Well, it was day,
not night, but yes,” he replied.

“Have you found anything?” she asked.

“Very little. I . . . I have been able to
determine that if counter spells do exist, they are not a part of
their practices. They . . . do not undo their own work. They design
spells to perform an action and complete. If an end is not implicit
to the spell, the spell does not end. I've never seen anything like
it,” he said.

“There is no way to stop it?” Myranda
said.

“There are ways. The spell can be deprived of
its source of power. It can be rendered incomplete. Perhaps . . .
perhaps a counter can be developed, but it will need to be
developed from nothing. And it will have to be cast with at least
equal power to the original spell. Unless it is poorly crafted,
which it quite likely will be. In that case it will require much,
much more,” he said.

His voice was shaky, nervous. It was as
though his own words terrified him.

“If that is what it takes, then that is what
shall be done,” she said.

“But the power it takes to open a portal for
one is considerable. I
may
be able to muster it alone. If
the portal is much larger, perhaps,
perhaps
, Ivy, Ether,
you, and I might be able to work as one to close it. Much larger
than that . . . “ he shuddered.

Myranda placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Deacon. When the time comes, we will do what
we can. Fate will have to handle the rest,” she said.

“Eat. We need to move soon,” Lain
interrupted, dropping their share in front of them.

It was a snow rabbit, and it had been roasted
already.

“Try it! Lain let me cook it! I think I did a
very good job!” Ivy chirped.

Myranda and Deacon ate their share. It was
nearly raw, but edible. Nevertheless, both claimed that it was
exquisite. Deacon’s own praise was carefully worded to avoid
outright lying, but his diplomacy was greeted by a warm glow and
warmer smile. Lain prepared himself and the others mounted, but
before they could move out, Ivy turned to the south.

“Do you smell that?” she said.

Lain turned.

“ . . . Stay here . . . join me where the
pass opens to the road . . . use your best judgment and tell me
what you learn. Ivy, Ether. Follow,” Lain said.

Without further explanation, he took Ivy by
the hand and led her quickly into the pass.

“Wait, what's going on,” Ivy objected.

“Just go with Lain. We will follow in a
moment,” Myranda said.

Reluctantly, Ivy did so, with Ether whisking
windily behind.

“What do we do now?” Deacon asked.

“Wait,” she replied.

It was not a long wait. The distant sound of
hoof beats could soon be heard. There were quite a few. Possibly a
dozen. Myranda waited tensely. The first of the strangers came into
view. Myranda took her staff into her hand and took in a slow
breath. As they drew nearer to the yet to be extinguished fire,
Myranda heaved the breath out as a sigh of relief.

“Caya!” she called out.

“Myranda?” came the reply.

Indeed it was she, the wild eyed, wild
spirited leader of a rebel group known as the Undermine. The
outlaws, as one of the few groups of northerners opposed to the
war, had crossed paths with Myranda many times, and they tended to
be of great help to one another. She leapt from the back of her
mount to grasp Myranda's hand in a firm shake and give her a slap
on the back. The others with her approached into the light. Among
them was Tus, Caya's second in command who had the physique,
disposition, and verbal prowess of a bull elephant. The others with
them were new to her. They looked as one might expect, a mismatched
group of men and women too old, too young, or too infirm to do
battle. They were those who were not already snatched up by the
Alliance Army, and every last one of them had lost too much to the
war to stand by and let it continue. Curiously, despite the fact
she'd not seen a single one of them before, they all seemed to
recognize Myranda immediately.