The Book of Deacon: Book 02 - The Great Convergence (23 page)

"If that brute who tried to kill me at the
mines was Arden then I am convinced he is Epidime. I spent the last
two weeks struggling to keep him out of my mind," she said.

"Keep him out of your mind . . . so he was
attempting to read your mind?" Desmeres said, suddenly a good deal
more interested.

"Read is too gentle a word. He was forcing
his way in. He was trying to take it for his own," she
shivered.

"Are you sure Arden was the one doing it? Is
it possible that he was just an enforcer and the attempts were
coming from elsewhere?" Desmeres asked.

"The attempts were doubly intense when he
made contact. It was him," she said.

"Mind reading. It must have been Epidime.
Arden is Epidime. He had us fooled. He had everyone fooled,"
Desmeres said quietly to himself. "I am not accustomed to being
caught off guard with information such as this. Information is the
biggest part of my role in the partnership. This changes
things."

"How so?" she asked.

"Well for one, the contact I have in Arden's
organization has just become infinitely more valuable. And . . .
other things," he said.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing that might interest you," he
said.

"Why don't you want to tell me?" she asked,
having heard too many such responses to take them at face
value.

"Not to offend you, Myranda, but it seems
fairly clear to me that we are not likely to receive the rest of
the price on your head. Any attempts to secure it from this point
forward would be folly. Not that I am disappointed. The half that
they
have
given us more than triples the amount we've earned
on our three best years combined. However, since you aren't
terribly likely to join our cause, it does mean our bizarre little
partnership is nearing its end. Soon we will part ways. With that
in mind, you already know more about us than anyone alive today. If
we tell you much more, you may as well go into business for
yourself," he explained.

"I don't understand. When you were planning
to hand me over,
alive
, to the very same people trying to
hunt you down, you were willing to answer any question I had. Now
that you have given up on turning me over, you begin keeping
secrets?" she said. "Why? What was different then?"

"You don't want to know," he said, the
earnestness in his voice a warning.

"You know me better than that. Tell me," she
said.

Desmeres heaved a heavy sigh.

"It will strain our relationship. I would be
lying if I said that I hadn't become fond of you in the time we've
been working together. I would much prefer to leave on pleasant
terms," he said.

"Desmeres, you and Lain have been trying to
claim a ransom on my head for the better part of a year, and
despite that fact, you remain my two closest allies in all of
this," Myranda pointed out.

"Yes, twists of fate and quirks of incident
have certainly cast us in the role of protectors more frequently
than captors," he agreed.

"If I could come to trust you despite the
fact that I
know
you had only the worst intentions in mind,
what could you possibly say to 'strain our relationship'?" she
asked.

"You would be surprised," he said.

"Only if you tell me," she said, growing
impatient.

"Lain?" he said, raising his voice
slightly.

"Tell her," came his response.

Desmeres sighed again.

"The plan was to accept full payment and
exchange yourself and the sword at once. Lain would then follow the
courier to where you were taken and poison you," he explained. His
tone was not apologetic, merely anticipatory or the reaction he
knew would follow.

Myranda stopped walking. She was silent for a
time. Lain and the other Chosen continued on. Desmeres stopped a
few steps later. He turned to her.

"I warned you," he said.

"That . . . How could you even . . . ?" She
attempted.

"Is it really so much worse than merely
handing you over? We were doing so with the full expectation that
you would not last long once we turned you in. The poison would
have been a quick death, far better than anything that they would
have had in store," he offered.

"Are you still planning to kill me?" she
asked.

"Against all good judgment, the decision has
been made to let you live your life to its natural end," he
said.

"Well, I am glad that-" she began.

The ring of a sword being pulled from its
sheath cut her remark short. Lain held the sword to the neck of the
other Chosen.

"If you try that again I will do what it
takes to kill you," Lain hissed.

"What the female said is true. You have been
tainted. You are not one of these
things
. It is only proper
that you and I join our minds rather than lower ourselves to their
level with language. To threaten my life betrays so much of what
they have done to you. It shows that these mindless primal savages
have managed to infect you with their temperament, and the
suggestion that I could even
be
killed reveals the ignorance
and weakness of mind you must have had to adopt to live among them.
That ends here. If you do not leave these beasts behind and join me
in our destiny then I will cure your attachment to them in the
simplest way possible," she said.

"That may well be the most subtle death
threat I have yet received," Desmeres remarked.

Lain's ears twitched.

"We do not have time for this. We have been
found," He said.

Before long the sounds that his sensitive
ears had picked up found their way to the ears of the others.
Hooves crunching on snow. There were at least a dozen men on
horseback. They seemed to be coming from all directions at once.
Myranda held her staff at the ready, preparing her mind for the
task at hand. In this battle, at least, she would not be helpless.
Desmeres unsheathed his pair of daggers. Myn unfurled her wings,
drove her claws into the icy ground, and bared her teeth. Only the
newest member of the group seemed unconcerned. After a few moments
the first of the attackers became visible through the trees to the
east. Even at this distance, he was clearly a nearman. The crude
blank visor covered an inhuman face Myranda had yet to see.

With a few silent steps, Lain seemed to
vanish among the trees. Myranda locked her eyes on the soldier. A
blur of motion swept past him, a strike from Lain nearly too swift
to be seen, knocking him from his horse. A pair of other mounted
soldiers appeared from behind and drew Myranda's attention. After
focusing briefly on the ground beneath her, Myranda thrust the tip
of the staff earthward. A minor wave of motion shook the ground. It
was enough to terrify the horses, who swiftly threw their riders.
Thinking quickly, Myranda intensified the spell around the base of
the trees nearest to the fallen nearmen. An avalanche of snow was
shaken from the branches, burying the enemies. Myranda turned to
find that three more were rapidly approaching from the north, and
four from the south.

Desmeres stepped to Myranda's back. Daggers
where not well suited to battling those on horseback. The other
Chosen One merely stood, her arms crossed, with a look akin to
boredom on her face. The riders began to circle around them. They
all bore spears. Two bore nets as well. The nearest of them hurled
his in an attempt to ensnare Myranda. She managed a brief burst of
wind that blew the net over its caster, tangling horse and rider
alike and sending them tumbling to the ground. Myn dove upon the
helpless soldier and brought him swiftly to an end. A faint flash
of light and scatter of dust as the armor caved in confirmed that
these were no humans they fought. A spear was hurled at Myranda.
She dove to avoid it. One of the other soldiers raised his weapon
to strike her before she could rise. Myn launched herself at the
rider, clamping onto the spear-wielding hand and shaking it
violently as she worked her wings to pull him backward. He
struggled against the dragon, at one point pulling free a handful
of scales in attempts at pulling her off. A second soldier
attempted to attack before Myranda could get to her feet. A gleam
of steel later and one of Desmeres' expertly crafted daggers was
protruding from the nearman's neck. The armor was empty by the time
it reached the ground. Desmeres rushed to the unoccupied armor,
retrieving his dagger and the discarded spear. Myn finally managed
to pull her target from his horse and finished him with a blast of
flame. Four soldiers remained. Desmeres and Myranda turned to
them.

The nearmen focused on the opponents in front
of them, neglecting the one who was behind. Before their mistake
was realized, Lain had taken two of them. The remaining soldiers
turned to face the warrior, and a half dozen more arrived before
Myranda or Desmeres could take advantage of the distraction. Myn
sprayed flame to keep the soldiers at bay, but they were quickly
growing more bold. At the edge of the battlefield, completely
ignored by the soldiers, was the other Chosen One. She stood, arms
crossed, as though irritated by the distraction.

"Help us!" Myranda pleaded.

"I do not see why you fight at all. You
should cease this at once," the being said.

Bizarrely, her words were heeded, but not by
those she had intended. The circling soldiers halted and pulled
back. Seemingly unimpressed by the event, the woman continued.

"We are Chosen. You are mortal. When
you
are faced with the trials that
we
must overcome,
death is the only possible result. If you survive this battle or
any other, it will be by our discretion, and every motion that we
spend to preserve your lives distracts us from our true goal. The
most useful thing that you could do would be to simply bring
yourself to an end more swiftly and spare us further delay. Turn
your weapons on yourselves," she declared.

The nearmen obeyed. Swords were drawn and
plunged into the chests of their wielders. In moments the entirety
of the attacking party was reduced to dusty piles of armor. Myranda
stood in open-mouthed wonder at the act. Desmeres scratched his
head for a moment before shrugging, collecting the trio of
liberated scales, handing them to Myranda, and gathering the reins
of three of the now riderless horses. Myn was content to simply
stand down without an explanation, and Lain seemed more interested
in concealing the armor beneath the snow than asking questions.

"What happened? What did you do to them?"
Myranda asked, confusion swirling in her head as she absentmindedly
stowed the scales in her bag.

As expected, the newest member of their group
had no intention of answering her. Desmeres led a horse over to
Myranda. Gritting her teeth and shaking her head, she mounted the
steed with her question unanswered. He offered the reins of a
second horse to the woman. She extended a hand and, rather than
clutching the reins, took hold of a single hair from the mane and
plucked it free.

A moment later the solid form of the woman
wafted away, replaced instead by an intensely swirling mass of pure
wind that held, briefly, its former shape. Quickly the swirling
form altered posture, assuming the four legged stance of the
animal. Limbs lengthened and narrowed. The overall form grew. Soon
the general shape of a horse stood where the woman had. The wind
suddenly intensified where the limbs met the ground. Steadily this
tighter swirl rose, leaving behind the solid approximation of a
horses hooves, then legs, then body. Before long a replica of the
offered horse stood before the original.

"Impressive. It wasn't strictly necessary,
though, was it? You could simply have ridden the original, couldn't
you?" Desmeres asked.

The animal gave no answer. There was the
possibility that she lacked the capacity to speak in this form. It
was doubtful. Somehow, the smugly superior look that had so marked
the face of the woman managed to persist in the horse. The effect
was absurd, an animal that showed weariness bordering on
frustration with those around it. When a passable job of concealing
the battleground had been managed, Lain, Myn, and the shape shifter
moved onward on foot. Myranda and Desmeres continued on horseback.
Lain's seemingly inexhaustible stamina allowed for a pace near
gallop for the horses. As they rode, Desmeres conversed with
Myranda as best he could.

"They follow orders," he said

Myranda's expression communicated her
confusion.

"The nearmen. That is what she did. She was
in the form of one of the higher ranking leaders. The woman she
killed. The nearmen were following orders. That is why they killed
themselves," he said.

"Would they really do that?" she asked.

"In my experience with them, I would say they
wouldn't have a choice. It was different once. There was a time
when they were just as you or I. Now, I doubt that they've a mind
of their own. They live, or more accurately die, to serve," he
answered.

Myranda was still attempting to come to terms
with such a horror of existence when they reached the empty section
of forest that apparently contained the hidden entrance to yet
another of the many storerooms and safe houses that Desmeres and
Lain kept. Lain reached down to a patch of ground rendered
featureless by a blanket of frost and ice that would never fully
thaw. Gripping what appeared to be an icy stone sunken into the
ground, he pulled open a hidden door. Myranda moved toward the
opening.

"Just a moment," Desmeres said, wrestling his
boot from his foot. He dropped the article into the hole. A rush of
air and quiet cluster of hisses emanated from the opening.

Slowly he lowered himself down. Lain sent the
horses running off in the direction that they had been headed
before entering. Vanishing into a swirl of wind again, the shape
shifter swept inside. Myn dove in after, and finally Myranda joined
them. A few weak flames flickered to life when the hatch was drawn
closed. The vault they found themselves in was barely the size of a
large room. Even before the five occupants had entered, it was well
crowded with bundles, chests, and sacks. There was scarcely room to
stand. The shape shifter settled back into her human form, arms
crossed and the smug expression bearing a shade more frustration
than before.