The Book of Deacon: Book 03 - The Battle of Verril

by Joseph Lallo

  One of his legs faltered, sending him stumbling back and shattering the stone on the ground. Epidime grunted in anger. Something was wrong. He could feel the spells holding the others at bay tapering off. He poured more of his will into them until they met with his satisfaction and attempted to approach his prey once more, but his leg would not obey. Just as a dim realization came to his mind, his left hand shot to his chest, claws closing about the gleaming golden badge hidden beneath the bandages there. He gripped the fingers with his right hand and attempted to pry them free, but slowly the golden disc began to pull away. Beneath it a brilliant gold light began to flare.

  “Think about this, Lain. This will only destroy you. You are doing my work for me,” Epidime urged, the beginnings of pain in his voice as the spirit of Lain fought to regain control.

  Still the fingers did their work.

  Epidime sighed in frustration and extended his right hand to the glowing pit in the center of the chamber, twisting the fingers into an arcane gesture.

  “It is my own fault, of course. I overextended myself. I shall have to resort to a somewhat less elegant contingency plan,” he struggled to say.

  There was a flash of mystic light in his eyes. Instantly the bowels of the mountain began to stir, rattling the whole of the chamber and producing an ominous rumble from its central pit. Finally the golden seal was torn from his chest and he cried out in a howl of pain that seemed to echo with two voices at once. He wavered and finally dropped to the ground. At the same moment the dark flames that tore at his allies wafted away. Myranda struggled to her feet and rushed to Lain just as the divine light of his mark faded to nothing.

  Lain was alive, but whatever vitality Epidime had brought to the tortured form had left with him. He was weak, drawing slow and painful breaths in a sort of half consciousness. Myranda tried to pull her weakened mind to the task of offering some sort of aid, but she hadn't the strength for the simplest of healing spells. Epidime's attacks had cut deeper than any physical attack could.

  “Is he alright? Is he . . . is he Lain again?” Ivy asked as she limped to Myranda's side, handing her the staff.

  The ailing Myn joined them a moment later, nosing the half-dead form of Lain. Her eyes were a swirl of sorrow, concern, and guilt.

  “He's Lain,” Myranda assured, sensing nothing of the influence that had tainted him before. “but he is hurt badly. He needs help, or I don't know how much longer he will last.”

  “Get him out of this place. Epidime has started something that I am not certain I can stop!” Ether declared, looking down into the growing glow within the pit in the chamber's center.

  “Myn, you can move far more surely than we can in this place. Can you get us to the outside?” Myranda asked.

  Myn responded by crouching low. Lain was loaded onto her back and the others joined him.

  “I will hold it as long as I can,” Ether said. “But go, quickly! It will not be for long!”

  With that she dove back into the pit. Myn launched herself out into the tunnel. Her sensitive nose following the scent of fresh air. Her injuries were many, but she forced the pain aside. She had a job to do now, and she would succeed. She navigated the darkened corridors with catlike grace. The crooked, roundabout path that had brought them here was abandoned for what seemed to be a far more direct and more traveled one. Before long the air began to carry the chill of the still raging storm outside. There was the sound of crushing collapse behind them, followed by a rush of hot air. Then came a long, low rumble. The roar grew steadily, growing sharper and more distinct. Soon it was joined by a hot wind and amber glow from behind. Not a moment too soon the group reached the frigid exit to the tunnel.

  The dark cave emptied into a tall, narrow valley. Snow crunched beneath Myn's feet, the icy wind instantly chilling her riders to the bone. The dragon leapt into the air and spread her wings, but the frenzied efforts to reach Lain had taken a considerable toll on them. After a few painful and abortive attempts to remain aloft, Myn resigned to running. Myranda huddled close to the dragon's back, holding Lain down. She trembled uncontrollably, her sweat soaked clothes already crackling in the mountain air. The cold managed to cut through the dizziness that clouded her mind, making her acutely aware of a very powerful and terribly familiar power in the air.

  “Faster Myn! Faster!” she urged.

  Myn thundered through the swirling snow of the blizzard, her mind resolutely focused on the most direct path down the mountain, but already the threat Myranda feared was beginning to form. It started as a ripple in mid air. A distortion amid the white wall of raging snow. The ripple darkened and spread, slowly at first, then surging. In moments the whole of the valley was blocked by a massive, churning black void. Finally the void cleared from the center outward. It revealed a torch lit courtyard, calm in spite of the blizzard in the valley. It was lined with row after row of nearmen and demon armors, and the hulking figures of five massive dragoyles. Myn skidded to a stop and began to back away from the army that faced them. The nearmen were marching through by the dozen, and one of the massive beasts strode out among them, followed by a second.

  The faithful dragon turned to the steep walls of the valley and began to scale one, the others clinging desperately to her back, but the massive dragoyle roared into the air and swiped at the comparatively tiny form, missing narrowly. Myn half slid, half climbed back to the valley floor, barely avoiding the shattered rubble knocked away by the attack. The ranks of troops were closing around them as Myn looked frantically for some means of escape. As she gushed gouts of flame at the soldiers nearest to her and lashed her tail at others, one nearman climbed atop a nearby outcropping. He shuddered for a moment, then addressed them with an unmistakable tone of confidence.

  “It always reduces to brute force, doesn't it?” declared Epidime in his new host, his voice ringing out with unnatural clarity amid the clash of sword on scale and the roar of fiery breath. “This time is different, though. There will be no offers of mercy. There will be no chances to surrender. This time you die.”

  He drew his sword, but quickly regarded it with disdain. Slowly his gaze turned to the hulking dragoyle. It opened its serrated maw and heaved a breath of miasma that whipped away uselessly in the winds of the blizzard. The smile broadened on his face. Suddenly the intellect left the face of the nearman. A moment later the largest of the dragoyles froze momentarily. The empty hollows of its eyes took on a distinctive orange glow and looked upon the heroes with intelligence and resolve.

  Myn plowed through the tide of foes that flooded the valley, but there was no place to go. Epidime charged after them, trouncing his own soldiers with little regard. Dozens more flooded in with every moment. Ivy flared weakly with the blue aura of fear as she held tenaciously to the dragon's back, but the transformation inside the mountain had left her with little more than the strength to remain conscious, and barely that. It was all that Myranda could do to keep Lain from being hurled from Myn's back into the bloodthirsty throng. There was naught but madness. Then came the sounds.

  The first was a crack like thunder, but from deep inside the mountain. A fault erupted boiling hot fumes as it ran down the mountainside to the mouth of the cave. The second sound was a hissing whine, almost beyond the range of hearing. It seemed to emanate from everywhere at once. Then more distinctly from the portal. The mountainside quaked again and deep orange molten stone erupted from the fault. It did not rush forward. It seemed to mound upward, rolling up itself and pushing the slope aside. Finally it settled into a towering figure. The arctic winds turned the surface onyx black in moments. It was Ether, her eyes radiating orange heat, towering even over the massive dragoyles. The still mindless beast charged her. She pulled back, white-hot molten stone showing through cracks when she moved, and sent the creature hurtling into the valley wall with a massive backhand.

  As the piercing tone grew louder, all eyes turned to the portal. The edges had turned from black to a feathery white. A third dragoyle was stepping thr
ough. Just as its forelegs touched the snowy earth, the edge of the portal surged inward. The window into the courtyard shrunk toward the center of the massive mystic gateway, in its place there came a new view, a view of a hilly countryside. Finally the edge of the portal passed through the dragoyle. The half that had made it into the valley fell away from the portal and writhed briefly. There was no sign of the rest. As the neatly bisected monstrosity came to a rest, a dozen wild-eyed warriors rushed into the valley from the portal's new target. The nearmen and armor beasts unlucky enough to meet them first were torn to pieces. Gleaming blades split the shields of their foes like clay as the frenzied troops carved a swath through the nearmen. Epidime launched himself at the new foes, but Ether brought down a crushing blow that knocked him to the ground. The other beast recovered and attacked her.

  As the titanic clash continued, Myranda looked through the chaos of snow and battle. On the other side of the portal, a look of complete concentration on his face, was Deacon.

  “Myn! Through the portal!” she cried.

  The dragon took off like a bolt. She bounded through the valley of clashing swords and battle cries, leaping from one clearing to another and knocking aside D'karon soldiers like a ship cutting through the waves. As she drew nearer, the rundown but maddened soldiers that had come to their rescue began to pull back. The nearmen pulled together and put up a final defense, their swords cutting notches into Myn's thick scales with every step. Behind, the thundering footsteps of a dragoyle were drawing near. With a final leap the group of heroes plunged through the portal, crashing to the icy ground on the other side and grinding to a halt.

  Myn turned to the portal. The ragged soldiers were making their way back through. The ground on the other side of the portal was shaking as the massive dragoyle pounded ever closer. Only a pair of soldiers were left on the other side. Myranda tried to steady her shaky nerves enough to recognize them. One was a massive man swinging an ax with one hand and a sword with the other. It could only be Tus. The second, then, could only be Caya. Tus reduced a swath of soldiers to powder and twisted metal, shouldering his way through to the other side of the portal. The dragoyle was so near the hissing breath could be heard even over the crashing of claws and howling wind. Caya leapt through the portal a half step ahead of the beast. Its head passed through the portal, scattering the assembled soldiers, but a stony black hand clutched it about the neck and brought it to a halt. The monster drew in a breath of icy air. Next would be a cloud of black death.

  Suddenly the portal snapped shut about the beast's neck and its wrangler's wrist. The two massive forms dropped to the earth, and rocked to stillness. After a moment, there arose a thunderous cry of victory. Warriors young and old slapped each other on the back and reveled in the thrill of the moment. Only one man was silent. His head was heavy from the exertion, but the concern he felt could not be set aside. He approached Myn. She'd settled to her haunches, her head resting on the ground as she heaved great clouds of exhausted breath. Her eyes regarded the approaching form with weary suspicion before she closed them and rolled her head lightly toward him. Deacon offered a vigorous scratch. Myranda half climbed, half fell from the dragon's back.

  “How . . . how did you find us?” she managed.

  “Myranda, I could find you anywhere,” he said, throwing his arms about her shivering body.

  She hugged him back, tears rolling down her face. For a moment the two stood, holding each other tight. Emotions flooded over them. There was so much to say. So much to hear. An eternity in that warm embrace would not have been enough, but each knew that there was more to be done. Reluctantly they parted. Ivy had made her way to the ground and was tugging at Lain. Together the three managed to lower their barely conscious friend to the ground.

  It did not take the eye of a healer to know that Lain was near the end. His breath was leaving his body in thin wisps. Clouded eyes wavered slowly and refused to focus. Every joint was swollen or crooked. Every muscle was shriveled or torn. Every inch of skin was blistered, bleeding or scarred. Myranda's numb fingers closed tighter about her staff. She tried to form the first incantations of a healing spell, but she couldn't shape the words. Her will was a tatters. Her soul was wrung dry. She simply didn't have anything left. Deacon placed his hand on hers.

  A cool steadiness smoothed the wrinkles of her mind. Neither she nor Deacon had much left to give, but together they amounted to something more. Slowly and deliberately, the spells were formed. Lain passed into a deep, healing sleep. Wounds were closed. Bones and joints clicked back into place. Swelling drifted away. It took great effort, and greater care, but the two minds working as one finally put Lain's broken form in order. He was by no means healed, but he would make it through the night.

  Ivy had been watching anxiously, but slowly the fear melted away. She knew nothing of healing, but she knew a proper slumber when she saw it. With her friend safe, she turned to the soldiers behind her. While the wizards had been doing their work the celebration had settled down. Now there was nothing but a powerful silence as every last warrior looked upon the spectacle before them. Myranda they had expected, and they had known of the others as well. No one had actually believed it. It had never occurred to Deacon that a dragon and a pair of malthropes might come as a shock to them, that perhaps they'd distrusted the Alliance Army's poster. He'd come to accept them, there was no reason why anyone else might not. Now there was the whistle of windblown snow and the cold stare of a battalion of warriors, some nervously gripping their weapons and worrying that they might have let the wrong group through.

  “Hello!” Ivy said brightly, eager to break the silence.

  The response was the long slow slide of steel from its sheath and the crackle of hot stone cooling on the icy ground.

  “Um. I'm Ivy . . . “ she offered. “What are your names?”

  “Ivy? The prodigy?” asked a soldier doubtfully, recognizing the name.

  “Yes, yes! That's me! You've heard of me?” she said excitedly.

  A crackle coming from the severed head and stone hand that marked the former site of the portal drew the attentions of the soldiers. There was the hiss of steam escaping. It seemed odd to all in attendance that such a thing would not have occurred sooner, and odder still that it seemed to grow stronger with each passing moment. The steam condensed quickly into a swirling cloud. The cloud grew denser and tighter, finally taking on a very definite form.

  “Oh good! Ether made it too!” Ivy said, even glad to see her old adversary.

  Sure enough, a few moments more hissing revealed the human form of Ether standing beside the cracked obsidian husk that had once been her hand.

  Caya turned to Deacon and Myranda.

  “I would say that drinks are in order,” she proclaimed.

  Packs were emptied, producing a tent for every few men and enough rations for perhaps one in three. As short as the other supplies seemed to be, there was plenty of drink to go around, as a fiery wine and an assortment of other spirits served to settle nerves, warm blood, and dull pains. The soldiers first clustered tightly about Myranda and Deacon, eager to share tales of battle and triumph. They soon found themselves in a wide, cautious circle around the heroes. Myn, it turned out, had had quite enough excitement for one day and was slow to trust so large a group of strangers. As such, she took a seat beside them and cast a threatening look at any who ventured too close. With a bit of effort, Deacon managed to raise the spell necessary to shelter them from the worst of the storm once more.

  Ivy looked about uneasily from her seat beside her friends. The eyes of the soldiers seemed to be scrutinizing she and the dragon in particular. Ether took up a position among the flames, which caused a bit of a stir, but once the exclamation and surprise had dulled, the eyes turned back to their steady circuit between Ivy and Myn. She felt something was expected of her. Suddenly a thought struck her.

  “Deacon! Do you have my violin?” she asked.

  “I believe so,” he said, poking around in h
is bag until he was able to produce it.

  Ivy snatched it and the bow away from him and quickly struck up a tune. After the initial shock of yet another unexpected truth, the music began to take effect. The feeling came back to Ivy's fingers as they danced nimbly over the strings, the joy of playing filling her soul, and bathing those around her in a warm golden aura. The happiness was infectious, no doubt aided by strong wine on empty stomachs, and before long grizzled soldiers were clapping along, and the youngest among them were dancing. As the joy spread, the pain and strain of the day melted away. Injuries and aches that had lingered for years, pains that had simply become a fact of life, wafted away along with fatigue and sorrow. For a time Caya and Tus watched with satisfaction as their soldiers rejoiced, but before long their curiosities got the better of them.

  “Not entranced . . . “ Tus said flatly as he and Myn exchanged hard stares.

  “No, just a friend,” Myranda said, using the strength brought by Ivy's influence to speed its effects on Myn as Deacon did the same for Lain. “Why would you think she was entranced?”

  “The trouble with getting information quickly is its tendency to become a bit mangled during the trip,” Caya explained. “We had all assumed such was the case with the images the Alliance had distributed. Who would have thought the Red Shadow was really a malthrope as they said. It stands to reason, certainly, but one wouldn't imagine a monster like that being clever enough to avoiding capture for so long.”

  Ivy hit a sour note and stopped, glaring at Caya.

  “The tales about malthropes have had more than their share of mangling as well, I can assure you,” Myranda said.

  “Er, yes, so it would seem. No harm meant,” Caya said.

  With a satisfied nod, Ivy commenced her playing

  “I don't think they fed him at all. Lain is going to need food when he awakes,” Deacon said to no one in particular.