"I suppose I ought to eat and continue in the morning," she spoke quietly to her companion.
Myn seemed to want to get out from the blanket and retrieve a meal for her friend personally, but when she ventured a claw out into the bitter cold, she changed her mind and retreated back to beneath the covers.
The rations in Myranda's bag were many and varied. A rock-hard biscuit of some kind. Some salted meat. Dried fruit!? Myranda had heard that the best food was set aside for the troops, but aside from the apple that she had grown herself, the closest thing to fruit that she had seen in years was the awful wine that taverns served. That, she decided, would be for a special occasion. She chose some of the biscuit, ate it quickly, and propped herself against a tree to drop off to sleep.
In the morning, she woke and returned immediately to her task. Myn slipped from her blanket, stretched, and trotted off to get her own breakfast while Myranda gnawed on more of the biscuit. Myn returned with a rabbit and dropped it in front of Myranda. She prepared it as best she could. When she was through eating, Myn snapped up the rest.
Myranda deciphered more of the spell. It seemed that when she cast it, the item used to track the person in question would be drawn toward them. The strength of the attraction would indicate their distance. The duration would change depending on the will of the target. Myranda stood and removed the tooth from her neck. She held it by the strings in one hand and held her staff in the other. The spell was small but complex. She tried several times to cast it, with her final attempt prompting a tiny tug to the southwest. It wasn't much, but it was a start. Myranda wrapped the blanket about her shoulders, stowed the spell, donned the tooth, and moved to the southwest.
As days of walking passed and Myranda's stolen rations began to run low, she began to wonder what she was thinking. She couldn't enter a town with Myn, and the dragon simply would not leave her side. She could make do with the meals Myn brought her when the food ran out--but sooner or later, she would need warmer clothes at the very least. Even if she could convince Myn to wait while she entered a town to do business, she had no money, and no way to get any.
She remembered Lain's words. He had spoken of her as a creature of cities and roads, while he was of forests, mountains, and plains. Well, now she too was out of place in the world of humans. All the better, though. If this was where Lain was to be found, then it was where she must be.
Nearly a week of southward travel had led her to be comfortable with the sounds of the woods while she slept, though when a snowfall came, she missed her hood. Each morning she checked Lain's location with the spell. She knew that he would be traveling by night while she traveled during the day. This way, at least, he would not be moving when she cast the spell. It was becoming easier. He was getting closer. She had been heading almost entirely due south for the last few days. Lain had likely been keeping to the edge of the woods to remain unseen. Now, though, she checked to find that he was due west of her, traveling across the open plains.
Looking out across the plain, Myranda saw a thin, sparsely wooded area off in the distance. It was a bit less than half of the way between herself and the edge of Ravenwood, the massive western forest that was still visible at the base of the mountains on the horizon. The dangling tooth pointed her to the trees; they rustled with a stiff and constant breeze in the distance. Thus, she proceeded in that direction, carefully scanning for anyone who might spot her. For once, she was glad that the plains of the north were almost deserted. She hurried across the field as quickly as she could. As she did, she wondered why no roads led through this plain. There were at least five small towns nearby, yet the nearest road ran far to the west and circled completely around the plain to reach the furthest of the towns. A second road through this place would cut the travel time in half.
Myn seemed distracted. The slowly strengthening wind carried either the scent of Lain or something else, and it was making her anxious. When they reached the trees, Myranda noticed a handful of small brown creatures scurrying across the ground. Suddenly Myn froze. Myranda began to ask what might be the matter, but her voice caught in her throat when she realized the source of her friend’s concern.
There was not merely a handful of the little creatures. Behind them there were dozens, perhaps a hundred. Each had the small size and long body of a weasel, but their eyes seemed absent, with slight indentations where they ought to be. They had six legs, each tipped with a trio of short, stout, cruel-looking claws. There were clusters of them, sniffing madly at the ground around her footprints.
The pair was surrounded by the things, and more were popping out of scattered burrows by the moment. As they each sniffed the air, row after row of needle-sharp teeth were bared in anger. They did not like the scent of the intruder. The creatures approached one at a time. Myn tried to frighten them off, but as she pounced at them, they scattered, keeping just out of her reach. In moments, the two of them were completely surrounded.
A chill of fear ran up and down Myranda's spine as she held her staff ready. She decided a spell of fire would hold them at bay, but she would need a minute or two to produce enough of it to protect her, while the fear burning at her mind increased that time greatly.
"Myn, fire!" she cried.
Myn tried to obey, but somehow the things with no eyes were able to avoid the flames, only a few getting even remotely singed. The creatures were swarming about Myranda's legs. With no spells swift or safe enough to ward them off now, she swatted at them with the staff, knocking a few away. Just as the first of them sunk its teeth into the girl's leg, there came a piercing whistle. The small creatures scattered. An instant later, the blanket about the young woman’s shoulders was torn from her back.
Turning quickly to discover the culprit, she found Lain, dressed in the black tunic of Entwell, holding his white cloak in one hand and her brown blanket in the other.
"You!" she cried furiously.
Myn scampered to him, leaping about joyfully.
"Pick her up," he ordered.
Before Myranda could object, Myn obligingly leapt into Myranda's arms. Lain threw his cloak about her shoulders and hurled her blanket into the mass of creatures who were already beginning to venture closer. The very moment that the blanket landed, the creatures converged on it, tearing it to ribbons.
"Quickly, this way. And do not speak until I tell you," he said, marching forward with purpose while the creatures were distracted.
Chapter 2
The pair moved quickly to a more thickly wooded bit of the field. Every few moments, Lain would cast a glance at the chaotic frenzy behind them. When a handful of the furry creatures stood on their hindmost legs and sampled the air, only to turn away and return from whence they came, Lain broke the silence.
"You should have stayed in Entwell. You were there for your protection," he said.
"For safekeeping, you mean. So that you could go about your murder without fear of anyone else claiming my ransom," she said.
"Yes," he said.
Myranda was given pause by the frankness of his answer.
"So, what noble plans have you got that are more important than ending the war?" she asked.
"I must resupply and meet with my partner. The Elites will have been busy. It will take time to rebuild," he said.
"I cannot say that I am sorry to hear it. You deserve every hardship and misfortune that this world has to give until you turn yourself to your proper task," she said.
Lain weathered the assault in stoic silence. Somehow, Myranda could not bring herself to continue to give him the berating she felt he deserved.
"Thank you, by the way," she said, her voice still stern.
Lain grunted in reply.
"What were those things?" she asked.
"Oloes. They will attack, kill, and consume any creature with an unfamiliar scent or sound," he said.
"Then why didn't a single olo pay any attention to you?" she asked.
"My scent is familiar," he said.
They c
ontinued until they reached a tall, sturdy pine. Lain looked over the roots. In several places, they looped up above ground. After close inspection of one root in particular, he grasped it, put one foot against the tree, and pulled with all of his might. Slowly, not just the root but a square section of ground began to tip up. He pulled and strained until the square, now clearly a thick, wooden trapdoor with a few inches of soil disguising it, stood on end. He then crouched low to the ground and carefully reached his hand inside, feeling at the walls. Myranda peered inside. The pale light that made it through the thick clouds did not penetrate far into the darkness. When Lain found what he had been probing for, a soft click could be heard from within the hole that prompted him to quickly pull his arm free. A blade swiped across the shaft, and the swishing sound and puff of air from the door hinted at many more that had gone unseen.
"Put her down. This is the place," he said.
"After those blades nearly robbed you of your arm, you are going inside?" she said.
"Yes. And once the oloes get a whiff of the blood trickling down your leg, it is going to take more than a loud whistle to scare them off," he said.
Myranda had forgotten about the creature that had managed to bite her. She did not relish the thought of facing those things again. Reluctantly, she looked into the hole. Myn hopped to the ground and peered in curiously as well. Myranda searched for a ladder of some sort built into the walls, but found none. She lowered her bag down an arm’s length and dropped it. From the sound, there was not much of a drop. She lowered her legs and slid into the opening, dangling for a moment by her fingertips before dropping a foot or two to a solid surface in the darkness below. Her eyes had only just begun to adjust when a light flashed in front of her. She scrambled back to the bag at the base of the opening and pulled out her staff, turning back in time for a second spark. This one lingered, as a lamp flickered to life, casting light on the room.
It was a small room. The walls were made of stone blocks, while the low ceiling was made of wood, with thick planks running across its length. Placed regularly through the room were sturdy support beams. There were heavy doors on three walls. The lamp was in the hands of a man standing in the open doorway opposite the entrance shaft. Its flickering yellow light fell upon a face with a look of confused recognition, a look that Myranda no doubt shared, as this was not precisely a stranger. After a moment of searching through crowded memories, each spoke the name of the other simultaneously.
"Desmeres?" she said.
"Myranda?" spoke the man.
Indeed, it was the odd fellow she had briefly met in a tavern when this great journey had only just begun. His youthful face, wild white hair, and expensive attire were unmistakable.
"I can't say I expected to see you here," he said.
Myn, hearing the voices within, darted down into the room and planted herself between Myranda and the potential threat. Desmeres took a step back.
"Well, now! That is yours, I trust!" he said, eying the intruding creature with amusement.
"Yes, yes. This is Myn," Myranda answered, eager to get it out of the way and have her own questions answered. "What are you doing here?"
"Well, for the time being, this is my home. A more appropriate question would be what are you doing here?" he countered.
Before she could answer, Lain dropped down. Desmeres glanced up, this time with recognition unmarred by confusion.
"L-L-L-L-Leo, right? Good lord, it has been ages! How has Sasha been treating you?" he said as though speaking with an old friend.
"Taken," he said.
"No! By who?" Desmeres said, dismayed.
"The Elites," he answered.
"Oh. I thought I'd never see the day," he said. "I trust she served well? A masterpiece, that one. She was silent when you needed her to be, but when she wanted to, she could sing. Shame on you for losing her. You'd better figure out how to get her back before they squeeze any secrets out of her, because if I--"
"Wait! What is going on here?" Myranda asked.
"I am catching up with my friend Leo," Desmeres said.
"You know him?" she said.
"Of course! I collect and craft weapons and he uses them. So, how has the business been? Any projects you feel like discussing?" he began.
"Never mind that. She knows," Lain said.
"Does she? How much?" Desmeres asked, surprised, but still with a sense of amusement.
"Enough," he said.
"Well . . . that's new," Desmeres replied.
"I suppose that it was no coincidence that you and I met in the tavern that day," Myranda said.
"No, no. Of course it wasn't. You can safely assume that each and every time I do anything, it has been meticulously planned out to benefit me in some way," Desmeres said, in a tone that made it difficult to tell if he was joking.
Lain pulled open one of the other doors and entered. Desmeres attempted to walk past Myranda, but Myn prevented it.
"Well, all right, fine. Myranda, would you do me a favor? There is a rope over there by the trapdoor. Give it a good strong pull. We've got to close the door and reset the blades," he said.
Myranda turned to do so. As she did, Desmeres continued to chat with her as though they were the best of friends.
"So, I recognize the old Entwell garb. Is that where you ended up?" he asked.
"Yes. How did you know about Entwell?" she asked.
"Born and raised there. Is my father still knocking about? He makes the master-level weapons," he asked.
"I don't know. I didn't meet any weapon makers except for . . . Wait, what is going on here?" she demanded. Desmeres had a way of making things seem so casual, she had nearly forgotten the ordeal that she had been through to get here.
"You just pull on the cord there and--" he began.
"Not that! Where am I? Why are you working with Lain? What do you really do?" she cried.
"Are we calling him Lain now? Eh, regardless. Just get the door closed, we'll join Lain inside, and all will be revealed. Well, some will be revealed. I don't want to make any promises I can't keep," he said.
Myranda sighed heavily and pulled hard on the rope. The heavy door began to drop shut, the weight of it apparently driving the machinery that reset the blades.
"Well done. This way, please. This is a bit of a reunion, so I've finally got a reason to open some of the vintage. That alone is reason enough to celebrate," he said.
They walked through the doorway to a larger room with various dried and smoked foods hanging along one wall. Along another was rack after rack of fine wine. Most of the rest of the room was littered and stacked with chests of various sizes. In the center was a table with two chairs. Desmeres lit a set of candles on the table and several lamps that lined the walls.
"As you see, we aren't equipped for guests. There is usually only the two of us here, if anyone at all. Pull up a chest or something to sit on. I dare say I've emptied quite a few waiting for this fellow to show up," he remarked, as he looked over the stock of wine.
Myranda did so. It was already quite clear that she would have no answers until Desmeres was ready to give them. The white-haired fellow opened a bottle and set it on the table, then set about finding enough glasses for all in attendance. After leaving the room, he returned with two heavy clay cups and one metal one.
"The honored guest gets the special glass," he said, setting it before her.
It was not until she watched him pour a splash of the wine that she realized that the chalice was of solid gold.
"Where did you get this?" she asked, admiring the work of art.
"I don't recall. Some people cannot afford payment in coins alone. I am willing to accept anything, so long as it is gold," he said, pouring the rest of the glasses.
Lain returned to his seat after fetching some manner of dried meat. Desmeres set out some cheese on a plate.
"To old friends and new ones," Desmeres said, raising his glass. Myranda joined in the toast, while Lain simply tore into his meal.<
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After sampling the wine, which was as subtle and delicious as any that she had ever tasted, Myranda set the glass down.
"May I please have some answers?" she begged.
"But of course. Just a moment, though. Lain, are we keeping any secrets for ourselves?" he asked.
"Use your best judgment," he answered.
"Oh, are we using our best judgment now? Because based upon your last few decisions, I thought the new policy was to try our very best to get ourselves killed and lose everything we have worked for. My mistake. Now that good judgment is the choice of the day again, perhaps things will get done. Questions please," he said. His words had been riddled with sarcasm, but still carried the necessary sting. Lain weathered them as though they were anything but rare.
"Who are you really? What exactly do you do?" she asked.
"I am this fellow's business associate," he answered.
"But he is an assassin. What could you possibly do for him?" she asked.
"Oh, not much. I make all of his weapons. I build, manage, and maintain networks of contacts and informants. I locate and contact prospective clients, manage cover businesses, handle finances, keep records, collect and negotiate payments. Basically everything but get my hands dirty," he said. "And in exchange, I get half of his fee."
Myranda frowned.
"So you are as much a murderer as he is," she said.
"Heavens, no! If there is blood to be had, it is entirely upon his hands. I merely point him in the most profitable directions," he said.
"And arm him," she said.
"Bah. We've had this discussion. A weapon is merely a tool, and I merely make it. He is the one who decides what to do with it," he said.
"But--" Myranda began.
"But, but, but. I have had decades to hone my rationalizations. They are quite solid. I suggest you ask another question rather than lecturing me," he said, not a drop of anger in the voice. There was a sense of his having done all of this before. There was that sense to everything he did and said, as though this absurd life he lived was mundane.
The Book of Deacon Anthology Page 46