The Book of Deacon: Book 02 - The Great Convergence

by Joseph Lallo

  She was obviously fatigued. Wisps of red flickered about her as her weary soul reacted to the anger that was steadily building. Her eyes locked onto the sky above the fiery pit with far more certainty than Lain's. With teeth bared, she reared back and hurled her club. The weapon disappeared into the darkness before audibly colliding with something and plummeting back to the pit below. Slowly, a peculiar form descended into the orange glow above the pit. It was Demont, riding a dragoyle unlike any they had yet encountered. It was smaller, and more lithe in appearance. The wings were feathered instead of leathery dragon wings. The neck was longer and thinner, leading to a head that seemed to be a cross between the skull of an eagle and the skull of a dragon. It was clear that he was suffering greatly from the wounds he had received. His breathing was labored.

  "Your survival . . . concerns me. Your ability to locate me . . . is all the more troubling," he said. "At the risk of . . . angering my associates . . . I may have to take . . . a slightly more direct role . . . in your demise . . . KILL HIM!"

  The words burned at her mind. She turned suddenly and awkwardly toward Lain. She felt herself moving toward him. He held his weapon loosely, but defensively. He didn't want to raise the blade to her. A hatred greater than she had ever felt burned inside of her. She came to a halt. With great effort, she turned her eyes to the figure in the sky. She fought back into control of her body. Demont looked on with a stern face.

  "It seems . . . your soul is stronger . . . than the body. Very well . . . we shall control . . . the soul, then," he said.

  His fingers wrapped about the gem that hung from his neck. Instantly Ivy dropped to the ground, limp.

  "Rise," Demont commanded.

  Ivy obeyed on a fundamental level. Her body rose like a marionette on strings until it was level with Demont, high above the field.

  "Face me," he ordered.

  She obeyed.

  "Show me anger," he demanded.

  The red wisps of light began to flow weakly again as her face twisted into a look of profound fury.

  "More. MORE! I don't care if you have nothing left . . . FIND IT," he ordered, tightening his fist around the gem.

  Pain mixed with her expression and her eyes took on a powerful golden glow. Finally the full might of her vicious transformation spilled over. The first true outburst of its kind to be witnessed by Demont, it threw his mount backward with its force. When the beast he rode steadied itself, the display of power his creation managed brought a smile to his face.

  "The mortal soul may yet be a worthy plaything," he conceded.

  His smile was quickly wiped away when a blade burst through the neck of the beast he rode. During the moment of distraction, Lain had hurled his sword. The dragoyle's wings flapped a few times involuntarily before it crashed to the ground at the edge of the fiery pit. Still alive, fingers still clutching the crystal, the battered General pulled himself from the pile of rubble that had been his mount. He dragged himself away. As Lain drew near, he screamed an order to the still enthralled Ivy.

  "WHEN YOU LOOK AT THESE CREATURES, YOU DO NOT SEE CHOSEN, YOU SEE DEMONS! KILL THEM BOTH!" He cried.

  As she streaked to her task, he removed a gem from his pocket and shattered it on the frozen earth. A portal similar to the one that had brought him here opened. Ivy launched herself at Lain. He rolled to the side and she gouged a deep trench into the earth where he had stood. He sprinted to the slowly crawling General, but he disappeared through the portal moments before Lain could reach him. Ivy turned her attentions briefly to the stone form of Ether. She rose high into the air and rocketed at the motionless form, shattering it with enough force to cause the pair of them and a fair piece of the field to collapse into the burning pit. A moment later she emerged, crying in pain and clutching her chest, the mark meting out its punishment. When the pain subsided, she turned toward Lain. He pulled his weapon and made ready for the clash, knowing full well it was a fight he could not win.

  In a blinding streak of red light, Ivy attacked Lain. With the skill and precision of a lifetime warrior he blocked the attack, but the force was too much. The sword was broken in two, and Lain was hurled backward. Ivy recoiled in pain, the mark on her chest glowing brilliantly through her ragged clothing. Lain climbed painfully to his feet. Blood leaked from a dozen old wounds and a dozen new ones. His sword was out of reach. Ivy hung ominously above the ground, her gaze locked on Lain. Behind her, the raging flames seemed to darken. The fire was dying out.

  "Ivy. You do not want to do this," Lain said.

  Ivy lowered to the ground. It was unclear if she was tiring, or if there was some other reason. Her arms were at her sides, fists clenched tight. Lain stood firm as she approached. Her eyes looked upon a friend, but her soul beheld something else. Filtered through the suggestion of the General, the images reached her burning mind as twisted monstrosities. She felt nothing but the need to destroy them.

  "Look at me. Listen to me. Smell me. I am not your enemy," he stated.

  Soon she was nose to nose with him. The raw energy pouring off of her burned at Lain, but he didn't so much as raise a hand. It would do no good. The brilliant orbs of light that were her eyes peered deeply into his own as if they were testing his resolve. Flickers of truth fought through to her mind. She tested the air with her nose. She knew the scent. Her aura was beginning to dim, and the slightest hint of recognition was dawning on her face. She slowly raised a hand to touch his face. From the pit there was suddenly a low cracking sound. All eyes shifted to the source. Floating above the pit, drawing in the last of the flames, was Ether. The brilliance and intensity of the flame that made up her body was reminiscent of her first appearance, and every bit a match for the fiery red aura that surrounded Ivy. She held above her head a massive, flaming, blackened piece of wood. It was formerly the door of the fort.

  "Get away from him you BEAST!" she cried.

  "Ether, no!" Lain warned, far too late.

  The huge projectile sailed through the air. Lain dove aside and was showered by burning embers and ash as it collided with Ivy. Before the debris finished falling, Ether continued her assault. The symbol on her forehead burned even more brightly than the flame, but whatever pain it caused did not show past the anger on her face. She hurled herself at Ivy, raining blows upon her. Tumbling to the ground, Ivy absorbed a massive amount of punishment. Suddenly she exploded skyward, directly through the form of Ether. The flames scattered and reformed. Ivy shrieked as she peaked in her flight, the mark taking its toll swiftly. Ether shifted to wind and summoned an intense gale straight upwards. Ivy was pushed further and further up.

  "Ether, stop this!" Lain demanded.

  "She has proven once and for all that she is a tool of the enemy, a knife eager for a place in our backs. I cannot kill her, or it will mean my end, but I intend to see to it that she can never threaten us again," Ether raged.

  With that she shifted to flame. The whole of the mighty column of air she controlled changed with her. Ivy vanished inside the towering flame. Ether continued the assault. The churned up, snowy earth began to sizzle and boil. A single point, Ether's mark, shone through the flame. Suddenly the pain it was causing her became too much. She relented, covering the mark with her hands and crying out in pain. Lain's eyes turned skyward. High above, Ivy was plummeting. Her aura had dimmed greatly. She angled herself in the air as she fell, positioning her feet for a strike. Ether recovered just in time to for the blow to be delivered. Her fiery form scattered into a galaxy of embers. Ivy struck the ground beneath with enough force to form a crater, splashing aside a torrent of scalding mud and thawed earth.

  Now her own mark administered its punishment for her attack. Her fingers clawed at the shining point on her chest, an ear piercing cry splitting the air. Ether's form pulled sloppily together, the exertion now clearly showing. Through the pain, Ivy's eyes locked on her. Quickly the shape shifter changed to water. Ivy charged at her, but Ether vanished into the melted ice. Ivy skidded to a stop on the muddy ground
, looking furiously about for her target. The very water itself leapt up all around her, first coating her, then immersing her in a swell of murky melted snow. Ether's form separated from the mass of water that surrounded Ivy and quickly solidified into ice. The water around the raging malthrope followed suit. She thrashed about in it, her body slowly becoming immobilized. Her muzzle only just reached the edge of the water, peeking out of it, when the ice froze completely.

  Ether's mark smoldered on her head, a slight smile of satisfaction on her face. It vanished swiftly. She was not satisfied. She shifted to stone. Like a wave spreading out from her core, the water she held in place changed to stone. Soon nothing was visible of Ivy but her nose. Ether slouched, the strength she had drawn in from the flames already nearly exhausted. The mark on her head continued to burn at her as she began to walk toward Lain. Suddenly she stopped. She turned to the encased Ivy. Hairline cracks, crimson light shining through them, were spreading across the surface of the impromptu prison. Ether held up a hand and exerted her will. The cracks began to close. Her hand began to waver. The cracks opened again. Ivy burst from her bonds and dove upon Ivy's stone form. She hammered her with blow after blow, breaking the stone form down into smaller and smaller pieces. The mark on her chest crackled with power as it sought to punish her appropriately for her actions.

  Lain dove on Ivy's back. His prolonged touch was enough to break the General's control and make it clear to her that it was no enemy she was facing. Confusion swept in, mixing with the anger. Her strength was gone, her soul taxed to its limit. She pulled away from the mound of pulverized rock that had once been an ally. The fury began to drop away. Any dulling effects it had on the mark's effect went with it. A pure, intense pain burned at her chest, cutting her to the core. Just as her mind knew naught but anger before, now it knew naught but pain. It consumed her mind and pushed it past its breaking point. With neither the strength nor the will to remain standing, Ivy collapsed in Lain's arms.

  Lain lowered the unconscious creature to the ground. In the eastern sky, the first rays of dawn were coloring the clouds. He surveyed the surroundings. It looked as though hell had clawed its way out of the earth. Smoke still rose from a pit that buried a comrade far below. The smell of death rose from it as the carcasses of the countless failed experiments smoldered among the ruined timbers. His eyes turned to Ivy. She was alive, but only just. Unlike her other outbursts, Ivy was not spared the physical consequences of her battle. Scrapes, gouges, and burns littered her body. Her fists were smeared with blood. Swelling marked where attacks had landed. He bent to lift her to his shoulders, but the sharp pain in his abdomen surged as he did. Ribs were broken, and blood poured generously from gashes on his chest. It was difficult to get a full breath. The hand that had formerly held his sword felt like it was grinding when he moved it.

  He stood and found the two pieces of his sword. Tearing a few shreds of his clothing free he bound the tip of his sword to his broken hand, stiffening it so that it would heal properly and providing him with at least some measure of a defense. After stowing the rest of the blade, he turned once more to the pit. Slowly he approached its edge. He pulled in a painful breath. She was gone. Myranda. It was inevitable. She had grown immensely, learned much, but she wasn't ready. This was not the life she was meant to live. This was not the death she was meant to die. But she was heading for it the moment she took her first step out of her world and into his. Now she was dead. The fierce pain in his chest and hand reminded him of why he had found her again. If for nothing else, he needed her skills. Before they had been drawn here, they were on the run. On the verge of discovery. Even if the column of failing smoke rising into a brightening sky was not enough of a beacon, the towering column of flame Ether had chosen to summon would lend an urgency to the patrol's steps that would bring them here in no time. He was the only one left standing. And just barely. Without a healer, he might survive a battle, but he wouldn't survive long after. That was why this must not be a battle. More familiar tactics were called for.

  Already he could hear them coming. The pound of hooves. He moved far to the edge of the field, leaving Ivy far behind. The men must not reach her. His eyes focused on the approaching forms. Six soldiers, all with horses. The whole of the patrol had come to investigate. That was good. It meant these men were inexperienced. Proper protocol would have been to leave at least one behind to summon aid if the threat was great enough to warrant it. That would have complicated matters. Instead, once these men were down, there would be none to replace them for some time, and no message would be delivered. He readied himself.

  #

  The most senior member of the patrol rode tentatively. He had been ordered not to approach this section of the field. There was a wide radius around this place that was completely off limits, but news of whatever had happened here was surely enough for his commander to overlook the violation. He hadn't seen land so ravaged since he had last been to the front. Pausing briefly to scan the surroundings for some trace of the army that it must have taken to do this, his eyes came to rest on a handful of unidentifiable forms. The nearest was a prone figure midway to the smoking pit that seemed to be the center of the cataclysm that happened here. As he drew nearer, the form looked to be a malthrope. He hadn't seen one in years. It was an ill omen to find one here. Behind him, he heard one of his men separate from the others.

  "Halt!" he barked.

  All but one horse was reined in. The commander gritted his teeth and turned his horse. The rearmost of the men had fallen a fair distance back, and was slumped forward on his horse. The other men were rigidly at attention.

  "Soldier!" he growled.

  When the man did not react he rode up to the offender. Blood trickled down the front of his armor. His throat was cut.

  "DEFENSIVE FORMATION!" he ordered.

  The men struggled to pull their steeds into the appropriate configuration while the commander glanced desperately for what had struck this blow so swiftly. His men were nearly in place, forming a tight, outward facing ring with himself as the missing link. As he coaxed his horse into his place, something slipping beneath the horses caught his eye.

  "SCATTER!" he ordered.

  The form leapt up and yanked back the head of one of his men, pulling a blade that seemed to be an extension of its arm across the soldier's throat before dropping from sight. What manner of demon was this? The body of the murdered man was pulled from the saddle. He had been the marksman. The commander's sword was drawn. Whatever this thing was, it was behind the horse.

  "ATTACK!" he barked, charging past the horse.

  The men turned to him, but he was staring at the body of his fallen comrade and nothing else. The arrows of his quiver were missing. A clattering of wood drew his attention to his left. The fletched ends of the arrows, separated at their centers by jagged breaks, were just settling to the ground. Before he could spot what his men had, he heard a sound like an arrow in flight, but without the twang of a bowstring. One of the pursuing men lurched and fell from his steed. Then another.

  "RETREAT!" the commander ordered, far too late.

  The last of his men fell back, the frayed end of a broken arrow protruding from a joint in his armor. Then, as suddenly as it had come for his men, a sharp pain brought the darkness upon him. His work done, Lain drew in another pained breath. He was a monster. He knew that. Anyone who would hope to survive a life like this had to be one. That was why Ivy must be spared it. As his many wounds painfully reminded him of their presence, he set about raiding the supplies of the soldiers. The arrows had been easy to break. Too easy. He quickly discovered that all of the equipment and weapons were of similarly lacking quality. Briefly he considered taking one of the swords to replace his own, but until his hand healed, he would need a very light weapon. Each of the men carried a dagger. He selected three of them, and transferred any other useful resources he could scavenge into the saddle bags of the most able looking steed.

  Taking a deep breath, Lain lifted
Ivy to his shoulders and threw her across the horse. He made ready to mount the beast and be off, but a thought came to mind. His eyes turned to the pile of rubble that had been Ether. He wanted very much to be rid of her, but her power, however misused, was unmistakable. That power could be useful. More importantly, if she was still alive and he left her, she would most certainly try to find him when she recovered. If that happened, there would be a string of soldiers following her. Better to keep her where she would be able to do the least damage. He scooped up some of the largest pieces of rubble, one of which still bore the faintly glowing mark of the Chosen. Most of the rest of the remnants were indistinguishable from the dirt and stones of the field.

  He mounted the horse and headed to the east. With the patrol for that area dead, it was the destination least likely to offer any resistance in the immediate future. In less than a day he would reach the foot of the mountains. From there he would head to Verneste. There was a weapon smith there. He might be able to reforge Desmeres' blade. Lain would rather have found one of the storehouses to reequip, but he could not afford to encounter anyone before shelter could be found for Ivy long enough for him to recover. He set off.

  #

  Deacon glanced behind him nervously as he approached the crystal arena. Already the sound of angry cries and hurried footsteps revealed that his actions had been discovered. It was now or never. He stepped inside. The rosy light of dawn vanished as a magnificently starry sky opened overhead inside the arena. The stars bore little resemblance to what he was accustomed to. Azriel had a habit of conjuring up the sky that had been her nightly view in her homeland, rather than in this place.

  Azriel was the eldest wizard in Entwell. In truth, she was its founder. For hundreds of years she had made her home in a section of the hidden city that was composed entirely of the very gems that wizards used to aid their casting. It made spells effortless, and spared her the ravages of time. The centuries had brought her unparallelled knowledge in mystic arts, and her role as the final test for any who wished to be called a master of the mystic arts made her not just a figure of respect, but of fear among the spell casters of Entwell. In the distance she reclined, gazing at the sky lazily, a book of spells open and resting in her lap. She had striking white hair, a tall, slender frame, and a black robe decorated with white flames that moved and flickered as though they truly burned.