Myranda wove her will with that of the staff, lending as much as she could spare to the weapon's mystic influence. As she did, its secrets began to unfold. She could feel the texture of the spell, see the runes that would coax it from a page, feel the thoughts that had created it. Slowly, she traced it to its roots, the fragment that somehow allowed it to draw its strength from the crystals. The rest of the threads of magic drew back to reveal it.
Quickly, she crafted a spell of her own that incorporated the stolen technique. A shimmering shield flashed into existence, forming a dome over the crystals. She gave her aching spirit a moment's rest. The shield held, but a shudder as a crystal splashed its contents against it assured the young wizard that it wouldn't hold for long. She turned to Ivy, knowing that now was the last chance to escape.
One last time, the black mist rushed in around the work of Demont. It twisted and roiled about the armor-clad form. A hand reached out from among the mist and grasped the hilt of the Sword of the Chosen. Instantly, the mist was swept away. He raised the sword defensively. Ivy grasped the blade, oblivious to the razor-sharp edge, and attempted to wrench it from his grasp. There was a glimmer of awakening magic and an intense sensation that had been felt only once before shot down Ivy's arm. She cried out in pain.
The voice seemed wrong coming out of the dark embodiment of malice. It was Ivy's own, riddled with agony and fear. Myranda looked to the fifth product of Demont's meddling. The image drove itself deep into her memory. She'd seen him before, though never his face. His was the soul that had selected her for this quest. His was the sword that had brought her such trouble. His were the rations that saved her life that night. Somehow, the swordsman that she'd found dead in the field so long ago stood before her now, alive.
A wave of brilliant gold light swept outward from the point where sword had touched flesh. It draped itself along the weapon, and along Ivy's arm. The creature, squealing in pain and a look of desperation in her eyes, released the weapon and rushed backward. The light continued along her arm, leaving white fur where black had been. She dropped to her knees on the now-mist-free floor and clutched at her chest as the Mark burned at her.
As the wave of gold reached the flesh of the swordsman, he grimaced in pain as well. A network of black lines that formed intricate strings of runes shone a brilliant blood-red. Enhancements, alterations, and other manipulations left by Demont reacted with the wave of divine energy. Thoughts and commands implanted by the D'karon generals burned and sizzled in his mind. That which was D'karon and that which was Chosen battled each other. Soon he was little more than a mass of shifting mystical lights in the shape of a man.
Ivy struggled to her feet. The burning was slowly dropping away, and she was once again herself. Her crimes against the Mark had been minor. She'd approached the swordsman, a fellow Chosen, in battle with hatred in her heart and every intention to kill him. Perhaps another day such an act would have drawn a far greater price, but there was precious little left of what the gods had intended in that warrior. Now the man who would have been the leader of the divine warriors was receiving a punishment that his slumber of death had spared him. Much of his mind, body, and soul were now replaced with D'karon. The Mark would not allow that. It burned at him, rendering away the tainted parts at the expense of the rest.
Ivy backed away unsteadily as she watched the swordsman consumed by the same divine fire that had destroyed Trigorah. Myranda rushed to her. The confused creature, recovering from the emotion that had seized control, looked desperately to Myranda for some sort of reassurance, but the wizard had none to give. A threatening glow on the other side of the room drew their attention.
The barrier Myranda had erected around the crystals had been intended to keep their power in, not to keep them from absorbing more. It was an oversight she might not live to regret. The mist may have been dispelled, but in the brilliant spectacle of the Mark's wrath, they had found a far greater meal. Another crystal burst.
It was one more blast than the weakened floor could stand. Ancient and decrepit stones, made more so by Ivy's mist, finally shattered, spilling the whole of the mound of crystals and a fair amount of the throne room onto whatever recesses lie below. Myranda could only spare a moment's glance into the widening hole, but what she saw chilled her: shadowy, vaguely human forms, bathed in the blue light of the fallen gems. She could not be certain, but it seemed that they were incomplete . . . as though they were in the process of being assembled. As the edge of the hole crept closer, she knew that this was a concern for another day. She grabbed Ivy and rushed to the door.
"What are we going to do!?" Ivy begged.
Myranda looked over the heavy wooden portal. The spell sealing it had been weakened, but not nearly as much as the door itself had been. The lowest portion of the door was little more than sparse splinters held together by dusty gray fibers of wood. She gave it a kick and nearly half of the door dropped away in a rush of powder. Ivy did not need to be told what to do next. She scrambled underneath, poking her head back to urge Myranda to do the same. The young wizard lingered for a moment.
The light coruscating over the body of the swordsman was different now. It seemed darker, mixed with something less pure. And it wasn't weakening. The man's face was lost in a pool of light, but somehow she knew that if she could see it, it would be riddled with conflict, as though the D'karon part of him was actively resisting the divine power . . . or, worse, feeding on it.
She looked to the human Ivy had called Aneriana. A flicker of understanding . . . of purpose came to her eyes. She turned to the swirling mass of energy. It brandished the weapon, now somehow in control despite the turmoil that consumed it. Myranda slipped under the door as the pair rushed toward each other. The force from the clash, even from the other side of the wall, was enough to stagger the two heroes.
"Is she going to be all right?" Ivy asked, worry in her voice.
"She's bought us a precious few moments; we can't afford to waste a single one!" Myranda said, leading Ivy quickly forward.
Myranda retraced her path through the castle's halls, Ivy close behind. Every few moments, something between an explosion and an earthquake would shake the very walls, but they did not slow. Finally, they reached the entry hall. Ivy's eyes widened at the sight of Myn. The massive creature was bracing the shreds of what had once been a mighty door. Now it was little more than a collection of splintered holes through which the weapons of countless nearmen clashed and clanged.
"Is . . . is that . . ." Ivy asked, slow to believe that this great creature could possibly be the little one she'd known.
She drew in a deep breath. Her nose wouldn't lie.
"It is!" she cried, rushing to the dragon and throwing her arms about the creature's neck. "How could she be alive!? What happened?"
"I'll explain later, just get on!" Myranda cried.
Ivy hastily obeyed, hopping onto Myn's back right behind Myranda. Without a word from Myranda, Myn knew what to do. She backed away and crouched like a coiled spring. The ailing door gave way moments later, and a flood of soldiers were met instantly with a massive beast cannoning out against them. They were easily tossed aside and, after a few wading strides through the throng of attackers, Myn thrust herself into the air.
Myranda again devoted her mind to deflecting the thick volleys of arrows that hissed toward them. So taxing was the task that she was only vaguely aware of the tightening grip Ivy had on her waist.
"Is she . . . are we . . ." Ivy managed to gasp before fear took her words away.
The sight of the shrinking landscape beneath her burned her mind with fear. Only when they were out of bow range did Myranda notice that Ivy’s arms were wrapped painfully tight about her. She turned to see a brilliant blue aura and an unmistakable look of still-mounting fear in her eyes.
Myranda forced sleep upon the terrified creature, and not a moment too soon, as the crystals within the castle finally reached their breaking point all at once. The force from the blast was li
ke nothing Myranda had ever felt. Even from so far above, the rushing wind and crackling energy rattled the heroes, knocking the now-limp Ivy from her perch atop Myn. The dragon skillfully plucked up the plummeting form and wrapped Ivy in her tail for safe transport. Once Myranda was sure that Ivy was no longer in danger, she turned back to the spectacle, which raged on still. Brilliant columns of azure fire billowed amid a haze of blinding white light. What had once been the castle of her great land was now a settling cloud of shattered debris. Whole arches soared through the air. Ramparts crashed to earth, demolishing already-ruined buildings.
The sight should have stirred memories of the massacre, surges of guilt that she'd caused this destruction in the place of her birth, or any number of other emotions. Anyone present could have explained why it didn't. In the presence of such power, such chaos, there was simply no room for it in one's mind. Watching the landscape shudder. Seeing trees bend aside like grass in a breeze. Feeling the searing heat from hundreds of feet away. Feeling the rumbling roar in one's chest long after it had robbed the ears of their hearing. There was simply no time for thought or remembrance. It was all washed away in a tide of awe.
It was a long moment before Myranda and Myn had the presence of mind to make their escape--but when they did, it was with a speed none who would pursue them could hope to match.
Chapter 18
Myranda made a brief attempt to locate her next target, but her head was still swimming after the ordeal. Instead, she used the flight to gather her mind. She directed Myn vaguely north and east. There was no telling where the others were, save the fact that they were in the north. If she kept to the center of the Northern Alliance, she at least would not be far.
With the power that had forced its way into her mind during the search spent, Myranda finally felt the night air in all of its painful chill. She sifted through the enchantments contained within her stolen staff, but it came as no surprise when no spell that could bring her comfort presented itself. It was meant to be wielded by a nearman, and they didn't seem to suffer from any of the effects of cold, or hunger, or fatigue. Myranda dipped into her own quavering spirit and cast a warming spell. Periodically, Myn would huff a flame that sent a surge of heat through her veins. The creature did so in a practiced manner, so that only the merest whisper of light left her mouth.
Now that the cold was dealt with, and hunger was a nagging concern at best, Myranda was left with the unfortunate task of sorting through the images that she'd been forced to thrust aside in the rush of battle. Those new buildings she'd seen in Kenvard. They were D'karon, that was certain. The D'karon had a way of stripping the soul from things, leaving behind only what was needed to perform the task. The thin smoke and vile smell that she'd encountered matched that of Demont's fort perfectly. That had been a place where the horrid beasts she'd encountered were manufactured. So then Kenvard must have served as a source for them. The brief flash of the catacombs beneath the castle forced its way to her mind. Nearmen, half-completed, had stood in countless rows. The abominations had to be made somewhere. Kenvard must have been that place. Her stomach churned at the thought. They had extinguished the whole of a city, killed all of its people, and for what? To craft shallow replicas? To produce lumber to be cast into the flames of war to keep them burning?
There was another reason, though: to get Ivy. Myranda looked back to the sleeping form of her friend. She'd behaved very strangely when the woman had stepped from behind the third door. Ivy had recognized her. Even more strangely, she had claimed that the woman looked "too old." And after the hate had taken her over, she remained concerned with the human's safety, calling her by name, Aneriana.
The name echoed deep into Myranda's memories, taking her back to the days in Kenvard. Aneriana was indeed a name she'd heard often. It was certainly the name of a talented young girl that her mother had taught. It was Ivy's true name, the person she had been before the D'karon had claimed her.
Questions boiled in Myranda's mind. What had happened to Aneriana in the years since her soul was stolen? What had Demont done to her? What had he planned to do? And how was it that even without her soul she'd been able to stand up to the swordsman's raging chaotic form? For that matter, how had she known that she should? And what of the swordsman? What had been happening to him? How had they managed to bring him back?
If anyone had any answers, it was the D'karon. There may as well have been no answers at all. Knowing that only made the flames burn brighter in her mind.
The clouds above began to lighten. Myranda looked over the landscape sprawling beneath them. There was no sufficiently dense stand of trees to hide them for the day, and after the commotion they'd stirred up, it was suicide to remain in the open.
Finally, finding no better solution, Myranda guided Myn to a rundown barn a short distance from the edge of a small lake. After a glance inside to find it mostly empty, Myn cautiously slaked her thirst at the lakeside before slipping inside, keeping a watchful eye on the frosty surface. The dragon settled down and scooped both Ivy and Myranda into her embrace. Wrapped in the warmth of her friend and exhausted from the day's trials, Myranda slipped quickly into a deep sleep. Myn followed suit.
The short day was half over before Ivy, forced into sleep for the duration of the journey, finally awoke. She felt refreshed, and for the moment was mercifully free of her memories of the confrontation in the throne room. After a brief feeling of panic upon finding herself in the clutches of a dragon, she realized she was among friends. A careful, tricky bit of maneuvering extricated her from Myn's grasp and she stretched her sore muscles. She had a quick look over the dusty, disused barn, then turned to Myn. It was the first good look she'd had at the dragon since she'd returned. Myn was enormous now. A real dragon, not the baby she remembered. At the same time, though, everything she remembered remained. The same ruby hues. The same graceful lines. It was still Myn, still familiar, just tenfold the power, and tenfold the majesty.
Slowly, Myn became aware, even in her sleep, that part of her precious cargo was missing. Her golden eyes opened and settled quickly on Ivy, who beamed a broad grin and carefully stepped in to wrap Myn's neck in a tight embrace and plant a kiss on her cheek. After lavishing affection for a few moments more, Ivy stepped back and put a finger to her lips, pointing at the slumbering Myranda. Myn gripped the sleeping wizard a bit tighter and watched Ivy with interest as the malthrope prowled about the barn once more, rubbing her stomach absentmindedly as she went.
Ivy frowned at an empty burlap sack and poked about in a few crates she found. She was hungry. More than hungry, she was starving. They'd offered little in the way of food while she hung from the chains in the castle, too fearful of loosening even a single one to feed her. Now her grumbling stomach urged her to rummage ever deeper into the recesses of the barn. She turned up a few half-frozen potatoes and a head or two of cabbage that had held up fairly well. She tossed the potatoes to Myn, who snapped them up gratefully. After carefully setting aside half of what she'd found for Myranda, Ivy made quick work of the rest. It was hardly enough to satisfy her. She looked longingly at Myranda's share, but shook the thoughts away. Her eyes shifted to Myn. The dragon would probably be able to hunt something down, but she'd have to wake Myranda, and the two had done enough for her already.
She sniffed at the air. There was something better nearby. Much better . . .
She fairly floated to the door of the barn to get another whiff. The smell was heavenly. Sweet and spicy and warm all at once. A small voice in her head echoed warnings to stay out of sight, but another smell silenced it quickly. She would be fast, she would be sure that she was not seen. She'd watched Lain move. It would be easy.
"You stay here. I'll be right back," Ivy mouthed silently, amid exaggerated gestures.
With that she was off, dashing out the door and across the open field outside toward the lone farmhouse nearby. Myn shifted uneasily, craning her neck in attempts to peek outside. When she failed to do so, she carefully released Myr
anda and got to her feet, sidling to the doors and gazing out through the gap between. She glanced at the sleeping human, then back at the retreating form, shuffling nervously. It wasn't long before the anxious fidgeting was enough to wake Myranda. She looked about groggily. The expression of anxiety on the dragon's face, coupled with Ivy's conspicuous absence brought her to full wakefulness in a flash.
"Where is she?" Myranda asked sternly.
Myn looked again to the door. Myranda rushed to it, peering out just in time to see Ivy disappear into the farmhouse across the field.
"She knows better than that!" Myranda snapped.
She pulled open the door and stepped outside.
"You stay here. Don't leave unless you absolutely have to," Myranda warned before rushing after Ivy.
It was broad daylight and the field was level. There was no way to avoid being seen by any prying eyes that might turn her way. The crops offered nothing in the way of cover, either, as the field was planted with potatoes on one side and cabbages on the other. The two vegetables were virtually the only ones that would grow in the northern soil, and varieties that would grow any time the ground wasn't frozen solid were the only reason most northerners hadn't starved long ago. In the past, she'd wished there were more wheat fields so that there would be more bread. She'd never thought she would long for the cover that they could provide.
She reached the farmhouse. It was a humble place, somewhat rundown, with two floors. The door was slightly open. For a moment, she considered sifting though her repertoire of spells for something that might help her to remain unseen, but by now the damage was done. The only thing that could help now was speed. She carefully pushed the door wide enough to slip inside. Instantly, there was a gasp.
The Book of Deacon Anthology Page 111