Myranda smiled at the minor victory.
"Tell me, Ether, why did you have to take a simple form to recover? Why didn't you just step into a fire as you did before?" she asked.
"I suppose this was to be expected. I allowed you a single concession, and now you expect me to answer your every question," Ether said.
"You do not have to answer if you do not want to," Myranda said with a sigh.
"No, no. I shall answer. Perhaps if I address your ignorance, you will become a more reasonable creature. It taxes my strength to exist in the form of wind, fire, or water, and though I can exist as stone effortlessly, it requires great effort to move and restores strength slowly. With the whisper of energy that I had left, were I to shift to flame, I would have passed my breaking point and lost my form completely before I could be exposed to a pure enough or strong enough flame to recover. Had I turned to stone, I would have had to remain motionless for many months in order to regain the strength to change back. By taking the form of a small, simple creature, I can regain strength at an acceptable rate while not becoming completely helpless," she said.
"It doesn't require effort to be in the form of a squirrel?" Myranda asked.
"It does, but it requires less than it restores. Anything smaller or less complex than, say, a large horse, will allow me to recover," she said "Anything larger is taxing."
"Do you have to eat or sleep?" she asked.
"Only if I remain as a completely faithful replica of a creature with such impairments for a period long enough to incur such a price. I typically alter a form to remove such weaknesses," she said.
"Do you know what the creature knows?" she asked.
"No. I am privy neither to memories nor instincts of my form," she answered. Her tone indicated that her patience was flagging.
"If you do not have the instincts, how is it that you know how to move and behave in a new form?" Myranda asked.
"In the same way that one who builds a device knows how to operate it. I am exerting my influence over untold millions of component parts, each infinitesimal in size, to allow myself to assume such a form. Determining how the end result should function is comparatively no task at all," she said.
"What would happen if you lost form?" Myranda asked.
"Now I simply will not respond to questions to which you most certainly know the answer. You were present at the very ceremony that revived me from such a state," she snapped. "Honestly. How is it that you have survived so long if you do not even recall what little you have learned?"
"I did not realize that--" Myranda said, attempting to defend herself.
"Enough, focus on walking, lest you forget how to do that as well," Ether ordered.
Any attempts to foster further conversation with the creature were fruitless. Myranda resorted to one-sided conversations with Myn and herself to keep her weariness at bay. The sun was just beginning to rise, shedding some level of natural light on the mountainside.
Myranda, though relieved of the task of providing her own light, immediately wished that the darkness had remained. In the light of morning, it was clear that there was still a long way to go before she reached her goal.
#
Desmeres sat at a poorly-lit table in yet another of the many safe houses and store houses that he and Lain had maintained over the years. He scratched the last stroke of a very official-looking document and rolled the expensive parchment into a scroll. Heating blue sealing wax until it dripped onto the document, he opened a well-locked box and pressed the seal hidden within into the soft wax. When he took it away, what remained was the official seal of the king of the Northern Alliance. For such a seal to be applied by any hand other than His Royal Majesty's was a treasonous act, punishable by public torture and execution.
He laid down the document beside a half-dozen just like it, each identically sealed. As he did, he noticed a similar document had appeared and, though weathered, it also bore the seal of the king. This one, unlike those beside it, was not a forgery. Knowing that it had not been there a moment ago, he knew that only one person could have placed it there.
"How long have you been here, Lain?" he asked.
He stood and turned to find himself face to face with the man he addressed. The assassin did not answer.
"Managed to escape that shapeshifter, I see. Unless, of course, you are the shapeshifter . . . no. Somehow I feel that she would not have been able to resist the fanfare of a noisy forced entry," Desmeres considered.
"They are preventing me from performing my task," Lain said, his voice fairly shaking with anger.
"Yes, Lain, that is a fact of which I am keenly aware. I have dispatched messages to a half-dozen prospective sellers. All six returned, accompanied by a message from the king recounting the terms of his new policy. More disturbing than their return was the fact that they were returned to the entrance of the storehouse we had taken Myranda to prior to her capture by Epidime. I paid a man to find a courier to send the messages. Neither I nor he had been anywhere near that place at the time. We did not take the care to keep that girl in the dark, and now he knows far too much about us.
"Right now, I am attempting to send messages claiming special exception from the king's ruling. If they meet a similar fate, then I am afraid that we shall have to either move to Tressor and try our luck there or pose as emissaries of the king. That is, unless you can find a new way to spend your gold," Desmeres said. "Which I suggest."
"He is taking back their lives. The people I freed are being taken back," Lain said, his fury dripping from every word.
"Yes. That is regrettable. Nothing can be done, short of bringing the war to an end," he said.
"Then that is what must be done," he said.
"Lain. You and I both know that if such a thing can be done, you are the one to do it. At any other time, I would support you fully. But they are clearly trying to elicit precisely this reaction. The most fundamental lesson learned on the warrior's side of Entwell is to never give your enemy what they want from you," Desmeres reprimanded.
Lain pulled open a chest and began equipping himself with the weapons within.
"Lain, think about what you are doing. I am in too deep already. Until you come back to your senses, I am afraid you and I will have to part ways," he said.
"Then our partnership is terminated," he said.
"So be it," he said, turning to dispose of the six acts of treason he had just completed. "I could certainly benefit from a few years free of assassinations and espionage. If you survive, do see me about weapons periodically. Regardless of the state of your mind, your hand remains one of the few worthy to hold my creations."
He turned to find, not to his surprise, that he was alone once more. He shook his head slightly. It is a risk all beings face if they live long enough. The thing that you allow to define you will eventually destroy you. The passion to free those cursed by the life he had been burdened with had kept him focused for all of these years. Now it would kill him.
Someday, Desmeres's own passions might do the same.
The thought made him smile. He wondered what his price would be. What would he be willing to give his life for? He pulled from his pocket the tooth he had taken from Myranda and held it up. The price would have to be very high . . . Very high.
Chapter 17
Myranda trudged with eyes shut tight to keep the biting wind out. The walls of the valley funneled the already vicious gales into a frenzy of blown ice and snow. Ether was curled up in the hood, safe and warm. Myn puffed flame every few moments to ward off the cold. The only thing that kept Myranda's aching muscles in motion was the promise of what lay on the other side of this valley. Just a few more minutes and she would reach it. Just a few more steps and she would be there. Finally, the whistling in her ears died away and the ground sloped downward. Her eyes opened and her heart dropped.
Ahead lay a small, flat-bottomed ice field. In the center was a fort that would have resembled the one that she'd been tortured in ha
d it been complete--but it was not. It was a husk. Walls were crumbled inward like a fallen cake. Huge bricks littered the field around it, some at the bottom of craters. Some disaster had happened here, some earthshaking explosion. This must have been what had caused the avalanches. The tiny head of Ether's current form peeked out into the cold. She didn't say anything. She didn't have to. Her smug sense of satisfaction at the sight seemed to radiate out from her.
As Myranda approached the wrecked structure, her hopes flickered. The lower levels were intact. She managed to find a secure set of stairs and began to weave a route through the rubble. As she did, Myn sniffed curiously, intrigued by some scent within.
Soon Myn was moving so quickly, dashing between cracks and shattered pillars, that Myranda could not keep up. She was making her way further down into the intact floors. With a light conjured in her staff to guide her, the grim consequences of the cataclysm that struck this place became clear. Great mounds of nearman armor lay scattered along the walls. The force that had brought the former owners to an end had been enough to twist and char the thick metal. Here and there, the remains of a human could be seen. There was barely enough left of them to be recognized.
A chill shook Myranda as the increasingly intact floors became all too familiar. The design of this place was precisely the same as the fort of her interrogation. Empty cells lined the walls. Here and there, a chair bore the same restraints that had held her.
Myranda finally reached the lowest level. A large section of the ceiling had been torn free and was lying propped against one wall. Iron bars were embedded in the floor, but they were peeled back like flower petals. Myn sniffed at the edge of the propped-up ceiling. Quietly, Myranda could hear something from the space underneath. Was it . . . weeping?
Ether had heard it, too. She leapt to the ground and began to approach the sound. After a few steps, whatever was making the sound moved suddenly. Myn leapt back. Ether stopped.
"You. See what it is," she ordered.
Myranda crept cautiously to one side of the propped up slab, holding out the staff. The light fell upon a sight she would never have expected. Shivering, hugging her knees, and sobbing was a creature not unlike Lain. She was a malthrope, an adult, but there was something peculiar. She was covered in stark white fur, from the tips of her fox-like ears and muzzle to her toes. Her clothes were ragged shreds, fluffy white tail drooping pitifully through a tear in her trousers. When she opened her teary eyes, pink irises stared briefly at Myranda until they closed tight again in terror.
"No . . . No . . . stay away," she managed between sobs.
"Calm down. We aren't here to hurt you," Myranda tried to reassure her.
"It was the monster. The monster came again. I . . . I . . ." the creature said before breaking down and sobbing incoherently again.
She had the tone of a frightened child. Myranda tried to reach out to comfort her, but the poor thing scrambled backward to avoid the touch. She crawled quickly out from under the slab, where Myn approached and inspected her. The little dragon was not defensive as she usually was, but nevertheless the sudden appearance of the dragon terrified the pale creature all the more.
"No. I'm sorry. I didn't want to get out. I know I'm not supposed to get out. Look, I will go back. I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the creature stammered.
She edged around the dragon and ran into the darkness.
"No! Wait!" Myranda called.
She strengthened the light, hoping to catch a glimpse of where the creature was running to. There was no need. She had stopped in the middle of the room, crouching in the center of the ring of ruined bars.
"I didn't break them. The monster did. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I don't know where the chains are, or I would be wearing them. Please don't punish me," she pleaded.
"No. No. Stand up," Myranda said.
The creature quickly snapped up straight, holding her hands rigidly at her sides. Myn had grown curious again, approaching and sniffing at her. She began to tremble visibly at the dragon's approach, but concentrated on remaining standing perfectly straight.
"Calm down. This is Myn. She won't hurt you. Here, give me your hand," Myranda said.
The terrified creature swiftly obeyed, as though she were afraid that she would be chastised if she didn't. Myranda reached into her sack and retrieved a potato for Myn and placed it in her hand.
"Now offer it to her," Myranda said.
The creature held down the vegetable, shut her eyes tight, and tried her best to keep the rest of her body as far as she could from her fingers. Myn sniffed the treat, and swiftly snatched it up. She then licked at the fingers that had offered it. The malthrope couldn't help but smile and giggle at the odd sensation.
"There, see? She likes you. Now calm down. What is your name?" Myranda asked.
"You . . . you didn't tell me yet," she said.
"What do you mean?" Myranda asked.
"I didn't have to learn that yet," she said, tears beginning to flow again. "I swear, if the others had told me, I would remember."
"What others?" Myranda asked.
"The people . . . the teachers who were here before the monster came," she said. "Aren't you the new teacher?"
"No," Myranda said.
"Then you have to leave! You have to leave now! Only the teachers can be here. And the people who they bring. Did they bring you?" she asked.
"No," she said.
"Then leave. Leave now! Before they come back! They are--" She stopped suddenly, looking cautiously about and lowering her voice to a whisper. "They are bad people. They make you learn things. Even if you don't want to, they . . . they make you. They make you!"
She began sobbing again. Ether climbed to Myranda's shoulder.
"Well, will you accept now that there was nothing here worth finding?" she asked.
The weeping creature gasped.
"Who said that? They are here!" she panicked.
"No, no, no, it is just Ether--here, see! She is a friend," Myranda rushed to explain.
She grabbed the creature from her shoulder and held it out to the terrified one in front of her.
"If you do not release me this instant, I will incinerate you," Ether said with stifled anger.
The frightened creature's eyes widened in terror at the bizarre sight. She quickly ran to the slab of ceiling and crawled underneath it, screaming all the way.
"That thing talks like one of them! And it shouldn't talk at all!" she cried from her hiding place.
Myranda apologized to both Ether and the terrified creature. She shook her head at how quickly she had come to dismiss the new form of the shapeshifter as perfectly normal.
"I should have warned you. She is a shapeshifter," Myranda explained.
"I don't know what that is. Go away! I don't have to listen to you, you aren't my teacher," she cried in reply.
"Please. I just want to talk to you," Myranda said.
Something had apparently caught Ether's attention, as she scurried to one of the blackened stains on the floor.
"You probably haven't eaten in days," Myranda said, pulling some of the meager and practically frozen provisions from her bag.
"Go away. Go . . . you have food?" she asked, venturing a peek from her hiding spot.
"It isn't much, but . . ." Myranda began. Before she could finish, the creature had sprinted out and snatched the piece of salted meat from her hands.
She turned it and sniffed it, tentatively sampling it with her tongue. Suddenly, she tore it to pieces with her sharp teeth, sloppily speaking as she wolfed it down.
"This isn't--" Gulp. "--food. This is much better. Food is nasty wet stuff. It comes in a bowl and it has no taste. Also, there is--" Gulp. "--never this much of it," she said, making short work of the meat.
When she was through, she stared longingly at the bag the food came from.
"Do you want more?" Myranda asked.
"N . . . Yes?" she attempted, nervous of reprisal.
"Here," Myranda said, offering a
nother piece.
Without a word, she snatched it away and swallowed it down. Myranda offered her canteen, which was emptied in an equally desperate manner. When the creature was through she sighed and smiled, licking her lips and sitting down on the ground.
"I like you. You are much better than the teachers," she said.
"I like you, too. Now, can you tell me your name? What did the teachers call you?" Myranda asked, joining her on the ground.
"They called me very bad things. Things I don't want to say. There was a tag that they made me wear. What did it say? I . . . V . . . Ivy?" she said uncertainly.
"Well, Ivy, my name is Myranda," Myranda said.
"Myranda . . ." Ivy repeated thoughtfully. "I think they talked about you."
"The teachers?" Myranda asked.
"Yes. I don't remember, though. I hardly remember anything they teach me. That's why they're so mad all of the time," she said, shuddering.
"What is this place? How long have you been here?" Myranda asked.
"I don't know. I have been here forever, though. Longer than I can remember," she said.
"What did they do here?" Myranda asked.
"They kept me behind those bars and tried to teach me things. All sorts of things. They tried to teach me about places, and people, and things like that. And they tried to teach me how to fight. They did that a lot. I didn't want to. Then they brought in this man. He had a glowing stick like yours, only pointier, and he would put his hand on my head and make me know things," she said, shuddering again.
Dark memories of the soul-searing time she spent with Epidime flickered in Myranda's mind. In her simple way, Ivy may have been describing his torturous ability to manipulate the mind.
"This man, the one who forced thoughts into your head, what did he look like?" Myranda asked.
"He looked like a man. I don't know. He was big. I don't want to think about it," she said, shaking her head as if she could shake his image out of it.
"Ivy, what about the staff? What did it look like?" Myranda asked. "It is very important."
"It was . . . it was . . . a two-handed, casting type, hook-and-spike poleax, a style of halberd, best suited for battle mages and paladins," she said definitively, as though the words had been read from a text.
The Book of Deacon Anthology Page 65