The Book of Deacon Anthology

by Joseph R. Lallo

  Weste looked upon Shadow steadily. “You feel you've earned it, do you? You and Leo are my best students. There is no doubt. If there are any in Entwell worthy of knowing this final secret, you two are. But what you are asking is more than just a simple lesson. It is the final lesson. It is the keystone, the crown. I share that secret only with an honored few.” His tone was solemn, even ominous.

  “Master Weste . . . Do you mean to say . . .” Leo began, his voice hushed.

  “What? What must I do?” Shadow asked.

  “The Lain Trial. Pass the Lain Trial and you will have this final piece.”

  “But if he fails it, he dies,” Leo said.

  “What he's asking for is perfection. Perfection is the most precious thing in the world, and it brings with it a price to match.”

  “Tell me what I have to do,” Shadow said, without hesitation.

  “It is very simple. You will have one month to prepare. When the month is through, you will enter the crystal arena. There, you will find an unfamiliar city. Somewhere in that city, there will be your target: someone you must kill, and who must kill you. Sama has long been after the title of Lain. He will be your target, and you his. Nothing is disallowed. You will not be held responsible for anything that you do during the trial. There are no rules, save that the killing blow must be delivered by you. The trial ends when one of you succeeds. The survivor will be Lain.”

  “And if I do this, you will teach me what I need to know?”

  “If you do this, you will know.”

  It was a difficult decision, but Shadow had learned long ago that it didn't matter if a decision was difficult. If it was truly important, if it needed to be done, then there was only one option.

  “I will do it.”

  #

  A month to prepare was generous, but it was worthless if he didn't know what he was preparing for. His first course of action was to follow Sama to determine what he had in store. As much as each of them had grown and improved in the last few years, Shadow still had little trouble following Sama closely enough to overhear his whispers.

  The older, more experienced warrior must have been planning for this moment for years, as he instantly plunged himself into the task of preparation as though he was working off of a carefully-kept list. He gathered weapons—and, more worrying than that, he gathered allies. One by one he approached friends and associates from among the stealth apprentices and the many other disciplines he'd studied in his years here. Many accepted. In the space of a few days, it became clear that Shadow would be facing an arsenal and a veritable army. Now he had to do what he could to balance the scale, and his options were limited.

  #

  “You are doing what!?” squealed Fiora.

  “It is called the Lain Trial,” Shadow said.

  “And you must kill someone?”

  “Or be killed.”

  “I don't—how could—” She darted around the clearing near her tree, her expression drenched in frantic anxiety. “Why would you do such a thing?”

  “Weste requires me to pass the trial before he will teach me to overcome my blind spot, and I refuse to leave this place while I still have that weakness.”

  “You—you're leaving, too!?” she cried. “You can't leave! You're my first student! And my favorite student! And my friend! I—I can't—ooh!” She literally sizzled with anger, flames flaring up around her until finally she charged forward and slapped him on the nose with all of her might. It wasn't even enough to make him flinch, though the heat of it stung a bit.

  After the outburst, she clenched her fists and pressed her arms tightly to her side. Her vicious breathing subsided, and she regained her composure. “I'm sorry, but you deserved that. Now, what can I do to help? I won't help kill anyone, but anything I can do to help keep you safe I'll do gladly.”

  “I don't know yet, but—”

  “We'll figure it out together, then. How long do you have?”

  “A bit less than a month.”

  “I'll cancel all of my lessons until we can see this through. I wouldn't be able to focus on them anyway.” She shook her head. “This is the last time I get myself mixed up with Warrior's Side madness.”

  With the fairy in tow, his next stop was the workshop of Croyden Lumineblade. The frequently crowded and bustling place was nearly empty, with only Croyden himself inside. On the work surface in front of him were six different whetstones, and in his hands was a curious weapon with a short, curved blade. He eyed the blade thoughtfully, then began working it against the third whetstone. It was a long moment before he noticed the pair at the door. When he did, he acknowledged them with a glance.

  “What brings you here, malthrope?” he asked in his own tongue.

  “I've agreed to take the Lain Trial.”

  “Have you? Against whom?”

  “Sama.”

  “I've worked with Sama. A fine swordsman. If he uses one of my blades, and I've made a few for him, you will lose.”

  “That is why I came. I want to know if you will give me a proper blade, one that will match his.”

  Over the years, Croyden had offered up master-level weapons of various types for Shadow to use in his training, but they had thus far been weapons that were already part of the elf's collection. Never had he offered to produce one of his masterpieces specifically for the malthrope.

  “What sort of blade?”

  “A short sword of some kind.”

  “How much time do you have?”

  “Three weeks.”

  Croyden shook his head. “That is not much time to make a proper blade.”

  “I will take anything you can give me,” Shadow assured him. “I just need something that I can be certain will stop his attack if it comes my way.”

  “To ensure such a thing would require blade tempered by the same intensity of flame. I use flame mages for that sort of thing, and I doubt you will find enough of them willing to help you on such short notice.”

  “I will stoke the furnace personally,” Fiora said.

  “It takes three apprentices to keep it at the temperature I require.”

  “I'm no mere apprentice, Master Croyden, sir. I am a master in all but title, one of Master Solomon's most favored students! What's more, I am a fairy first and a flame mage second. My innate knowledge of wind combined with my well-practiced knowledge of flame makes me uniquely suited for this task. I'll do what you need. If this blade is going to be all that stands between my student and certain death, then I want to personally ensure it is properly made.”

  Croyden eyed the fairy uncertainly.

  Fiora glanced to a clay pot hanging on a hinged arm in front of the forge, which was currently cold. She flitted up to find it filled with iron ore. “Do you want a demonstration? Fine!”

  With a vigorous buzzing of her wings, she threw herself against the pot and swung it into the forge, then disappeared into the pot. An instant later there was a brilliant, piercing light from within, and wind began to rush in through the door, down through the chimney, and through any other hole it could find. The light and heat quickly reached painful levels. As swiftly as it began, it subsided, and a much less vigorous buzzing reverberated from within the forge. Out from within, on a hook still glowing, swung the clay pot. It was blackened, and the iron inside was a white-hot pool of liquid. She fluttered out from behind it and landed on the anvil, striding confidently across its surface with the sound of grease hitting a frying pan accompanying each step.

  “I trust that convinces you?”

  Croyden ventured a glimpse into the pot. The temperature was such that he couldn't get very close, but he didn't need to get close. A distant look came over his face as his eyes darted in thought. He turned to Shadow. “How long have you been here?”

  “Just less than four years.”

  “Less than four years. And in that time I've seen you take on straight swords and curved. Short swords and long. Two-handed, one-handed, hand-and-a-half. I've seen you use axes, knive
s, daggers, and picks. Staffs, flails, clubs . . . In four years I've seen you handle nearly every weapon we've got. You haven't always been the best. You may not be the best at any of them, in fact. But I've never seen anyone use so many weapons with such dedication. I've been making weapons for the finest warriors this world has to offer for longer than most of the people here have been alive; in that time, I've rarely seen someone with the potential you have. I'll make your weapon for you, but only because I want you to live long enough to let that potential flourish. Go. You'll have it in three weeks. There is a technique I've been tinkering with for some time, and your fairy may just have the skills necessary to solve my lingering problems. I'll send for her when I need her.”

  “Thank you,” Shadow said, turning to leave.

  Fiora flitted out after him, the air around her still wavy with heat. “I think I need a cool drink of water,” she said, noticing for the first time that the hem of her dress was smoldering. She brushed it out.

  “I thought you had difficulty with endurance,” Shadow said.

  “When we first met, I did, but then you turned out to be a slow learner and I spent a lot of long nights as a lantern. It paid off,” she said. “So what is next?”

  “There is only one other person who might help me.”

  #

  Shadow and Fiora found Leo in his own hut, which was nearer to the sea. He was sitting in a chair, eyes fixed on the horizon, with a dusty bottle of wine on the table beside him. Leo was nearly as austere and dedicated to his training as Shadow, but wine was the one luxury he allowed himself from time to time.

  When he saw the others approaching, he greeted them with a swirl of his glass. It was a short, ball-shaped glass with a flat bottom, and on the table beside him was a second just like it.

  “Welcome, friends. I only expected one visitor, or I would have fetched a third glass. Though I suppose that won't be necessary anyway.” He looked to Shadow. “I don't imagine you'll be interested.”

  “No.”

  “I'll have some. I've never had wine before,” Fiora said.

  Leo tipped the bottle and poured a splash into the second glass. Fiora, having cooled enough by now to keep the liquid from sizzling into steam, carefully tipped the glass down on its side, so that the wine was pooled within the curve of the cup, and had a sip.

  “It tastes like nectar that's been left a bit too long,” she noted.

  “Leo, I need your help,” Shadow said.

  “With the Lain Trial? Yes. I imagined you'd ask for it. Sama has been working quite diligently. He's recruited most of the rest of the apprentices.”

  “I don't understand why that is even allowed,” Fiora muttered. “We don't get help when we have our final tests over on the Wizard's Side.”

  “Stealth isn't only about the kill, it about building networks of trust. Amassing allies is just another part of the role of a spy and assassin. If he can convince others to help him here, then Sama could have done just the same outside. He's even asked me to offer any insight I might have on how you are likely to operate.”

  “Did you answer him?”

  “I did not.” Leo sipped his drink. “You know something, my friend? In all of our time as partners, there really hasn't been much in the way of conversation. Not the sort that goes in both directions, at least. You never really asked me about my past.”

  “I don't have time for stories.”

  “Well, it is now or never. You see, I believe I told you, my father was from Kenvard. Mother, she was from far, far south. They met before the war. I was born a few years before the war started. When things started to worsen, and the people of the north started to look upon her with distrust, my mother decided her place should be with her people. She didn't have any money, and thus she felt that father would be the one best suited to provide for me. I was left with him. This face of mine didn't make any friends as the hostilities heated up. Just a little too much Tresson in the features. Father was wise, though. He realized one day that with a bit of help, I could pass as a northerner just fine. And with different help, I could pass for a Tresson.

  “He took me to an academy. Military. They decided I could be put to good use as a spy. I took to it quickly, and I was sent on over a dozen missions in the first year. I was so successful, they decided that I should take a more active military role. Assassinations. I did one, two, three of them. And then it struck me that I was killing people who looked just like my mother. It turned my stomach first that I could do this, and second that Father could have encouraged it. I decided to change sides. Even the score, so to speak. I should have known that it wouldn't be long before I felt the same sort of shame for killing my other half.”

  He took a long swig and placed his glass down.

  “Something that you realize quickly when you are a spy: your job is to lie. You are untrustworthy by your very nature. And thus even when you are faithful to a single country, the plans are always in place to eliminate you if you become a liability. I was not faithful. By the time I was working for the Tressons, I'd already betrayed a country once. They weren't going to wait for it to happen a second time. I had to vanish. I'd burned every bridge. Had no connections to anything. And everyone, everyone wanted to kill me. Sound familiar? At any rate, I didn't enter the Cave of the Beast because I was hoping to kill the thing. What would I do if I did kill it? Fame would be a death sentence. To be honest, I was fine with that. I'd earned a death sentence a few times over. But I was tired of being afraid of how it would happen. I wanted the creature to do it so that at the very least I wouldn't have to worry about being stabbed in the back.”

  He poured a bit more and took a sip.

  “I'm through killing, and I'm through worrying about being killed. I love the art of the assassination, but I hate the act. Why do you suppose I never went after the Lain Trial myself? Call me a coward if you must, but I won't take a side again.”

  “You'd send him in there alone?” Fiora said.

  “I am not sending him in there,” Leo said.

  “He's your friend and he needs your help,” she said.

  “Is a friend someone who rescues you when you get into trouble, or is it someone who helps you avoid the trouble in the first place?” Leo asked. “Not that it matters. Anyone who could remain dedicated to a lost cause on the other side of a mountain even after four years in a veritable paradise is far too stubborn to listen to good sense. So if you need help plotting, planning, training, or anything of the like, ask. But my allegiance to you ends at the border of the arena.”

  “That is your choice,” Shadow said. A breath of wind drew his attention to the north, where shortly there came into sight his adversary in this task, Sama.

  The man walked with the heavy, plodding footfalls of someone unconcerned with stealth. He was not even dressed in his uniform; instead, he wore the unremarkable tunic worn by those residents with no current focus to their training. It was a rare sight on anyone, and rarer still on Sama. He approached the group and stepped face to face with Shadow.

  “I understand you have been as busy as I have these last few days. Preparing. Good. That's good. I'll leave you to it, but first I want to thank you. I have been waiting for a chance to earn this title for more than six years. I've got a host of other masteries, but this one has always eluded me. It will be good to have it behind me and try something new. Pity I'll have to kill you to do it, but obstacles exist to be overcome. Good luck to you. But better luck to me,” he said.

  With that Sama departed. Fiora watched him go.

  “I'll admit I was a bit conflicted about helping you, since it meant I was working against someone else,” she said. “I'm less conflicted now.”

  #

  The month passed swiftly. Much of the time was spent collaborating with Leo to determine what strengths the others Sama had recruited might bring to the trial. After a week, Croyden delivered a “rough blank” of the weapon he was working on. It was the same length, weight, and balance as the planned piece.
With it, Shadow could practice how best to use the weapon—but he did so sparingly. Sama and his allies were everywhere, and every moment spent practicing in full view of them was tantamount to revealing his strategy.

  It wasn't until nightfall the day before the trial was to take place that Croyden sent for Shadow. The malthrope stepped inside the master's shop to find the completed sword laying on a cloth on his worktable. Fiora was with him, looking more than a little fatigued.

  To call the piece exquisite would fall well short of doing it justice. It was a single-edged blade. The blunt edge was mostly straight, while the cutting edge swept with a minor curve toward a subtle wedge-shaped point three-quarters of the way along the arm-length blade, then curving back to a point. It had a single-handed grip, covered with braided leather and ending in a flat pommel. Most striking about it, though, was the finish. The whole of the blade and hilt was soot-black, not the slightest gleam or shine glinting on its surface.

  “It is remarkable,” Shadow said. “It doesn't even look like metal.”

  “It isn't!” Fiora said eagerly.

  “What is it?”

  Croyden waved his hand vaguely. “The nearest I could offer you by way of comparison is pottery.”

  “Won't it be brittle?”

  “More brittle than iron or steel, perhaps, but with a harder, sharper edge. I've reinforced it where necessary. You asked me for a weapon that could match any that Sama might carry. This will do it, and without a shine to betray you in the darkness. An assassin's blade.”

  Shadow swiped it experimentally through the air. Sure enough, it performed just as the sample one had. He would be able to use it well. He looked over the almost featureless surface and discovered, barely visible at the base of the blade, two small marks. They were handprints, and below them was a trio of intricate lines of text. The first said “For Luck,” and the others were a language he couldn't read.