The Book of Deacon: Book 02 - The Great Convergence (50 page)

As each waited, each thought. Lain traced the
path he would take to the south over in his head a thousand times.
The quickest, down the mountainside and due south along the foot of
the mountains. The safest, directly through the mountains to the
border. No. A compromise. Down the mountainside, across the narrow
strip of the lowlands toward Ravenwood, then south through
Ravenwood. The forest ran nearly to the border, it provided
excellent cover, and it would scarcely slow them at all. Ivy mostly
spent her time quietly fingering the bridge of the violin until the
wind picked up enough for Lain to permit her to play. Then she
would lose herself in song until the wind died down or she grew
tired. Ether made the occasional trip in the blackness of night to
find more wood, as Lain warned that if enough of the debris
disappeared it might draw attention. Mostly, though, she thought.
She watched Lain listen to Ivy's songs and she thought. She watched
Ivy sleeping and she thought.

Once a night, when Lain was hunting, he would
check on Flinn's progress. Each day, greater measures had been
taken to protect his workplace. Armed guards. Additional locks.
This mattered little to Lain. Slipping past such things had become
second nature to him. Each day he found himself inside, unobserved,
and watching Flinn work. On the sixth night it was clear that he
would finish in time. The sword was already in one piece again. The
edge slowly taking shape, the runes roughly etched. The remaining
work was superficial. Lain returned to their shelter.

"Tomorrow we leave," he stated.

"Are you sure? Can't we wait a bit longer?
Myranda can't be too far away now," she requested.

She had spoken of Myranda increasingly as the
days progressed. She was certain that the human was still alive,
that she was growing nearer all the time.

"We will be heading west, back toward where
we last saw her," Lain said.

She seemed satisfied. Lain never contradicted
her belief. He would need every ounce of hope it provided to keep
her moving quickly.

The day came. Lain had already delivered his
final request to the woman he now knew was named Jessica, informing
her to fetch the sword and leave it in her wood cellar. Suddenly,
as he was concealing the last of the evidence that they had ever
been there, he recognized a scent. He silenced Ivy and made his way
to the broken corner of the floor. Peering outside, he saw, almost
completely obscured by the swirling snow, a familiar form standing
beside a horse. Trigorah.

There was something wrong. She was alone. Not
a single one of her Elite was present. She was not even in her
Elite armor, dressed instead as plainly as any Northerner. The only
semblance of her rank was her weapon, clutched tightly in hand. She
suspected something. Lain remembered Desmeres' words. She hadn't
trusted him. She wanted to investigate the town he had dismissed.
Her lack of her status symbols meant that she was here on personal
business. Lain wasted no more time considering her motivations. She
was a formidable investigater. She would find him if he lingered
here.

The light of day had not yet faded. It would
be tremendously risky to venture out. The fact that Trigorah was
now so near made the retrieval of his certainly finished weapon
imperative. She was difficult to defeat when equally armed. Were he
to face her with only the poorly made daggers he carried, defeat
was distinctly possible. He looked to the others. His concern had
not gone unnoticed.

"What's wrong?" Ivy asked, wisely
whispering.

"Trigorah is here. We need to move," he said,
drawing a dagger. "Leave everything."

Ether shifted to wind and swept into the icy
gale above, returning and reforming.

"You need a distraction. I believe I can
provide one to your liking," Ether offered.

Lain turned to her, silent.

#

Outside, Trigorah surveyed her surroundings.
The townspeople all claimed to have seen nothing. The man called
Flinn could not be reached, and his assistant seemed nervous about
being questioned. That was more than enough to spark her interest.
Desmeres had been through here. He reported that Lain was nowhere
near. His previous report had stated with certainty that the
malthrope was heading up the mountainside. He had to be heading
this place. With a horse, Desmeres surely should have closed the
gap between them, even if he had to use the road. Either he had
gotten ahead of Lain and was too foolish to wait for his target to
arrive, or he was covering for something. Either way, this was
proof of his treachery.

It had taken her three days to reach this
place, as well as four days and all of her favors to elude the
sizable staff tasked with keeping her occupied at the capital. That
blasted General Bagu had confined her to the military command hall
in the capital since his trip to the project facility. He wanted
her on hand, or in hand. It was clear her skills were wasted there,
but he didn't care. By now her disobedience had certainly been
noticed. The consequences might be dire if she did not return with
the prize she sought.

She had spent many years in on-again
off-again search for the assassin she now knew as Lain. She knew
that he was clever, skilled. But things were different now. He was
not alone. If Demont was correct, and she had never known him to be
otherwise, then Lain would have at least two others with him. One
was the project. That limited his options for shelter, if he was
still near. By her estimation, it limited them to one. She mounted
her horse and set off for the edge of town, where she had been told
the ruins of a house could be found.

#

Lain whisked as swiftly and as silently as he
could manage. In the distance, trudging back from Flinn's Workshop
was Jessica, bundled against the constant wind. She was carrying
the sword. He managed to slip behind her.

"Your debt is paid," he whispered, pulling
the weapon from her.

She gasped and flinched. By the time she
opened her eyes, he was gone.

#

Trigorah came upon the shelter. There were
three sets of footprints. Two led to the west, toward the steep
slope. One led back toward the town. Distantly she could hear
footsteps crunching their way unsteadily down the slope. In the
wind it was difficult to tell how many. She chose the closer prey,
moving swiftly down the mountainside. Some distance down the
mountain, the footprints split. Impossibly, two sets of footprints
led in each direction, as though both of her targets had gone in
both directions. To her left the footsteps could still be heard. As
she followed this trail, the two sets of footprints subtly spread
to three. Illusions? No, this trail was real. She would have her
answer when she reached its end. She doubled her speed. Soon forms
emerged from the windblown snow. One was certainly Lain. Another
was a woman. The last must have been the project.

The project was a variable. She was told that
it was capable of all of the physical feats Lain was. Indeed, she'd
been called into the facility of its design to act as an adviser on
just what such traits should be emphasized. In addition she had
been briefed on its more unique aspects, but she had never been
permitted to see it before. She would have to be on her guard. More
so than usual.

"Halt!" she cried when she was near enough to
be heard.

The three stopped and turned in unison. Lain
stepped forward, fury in his eyes. The others seemed oddly
calm.

"Lower your weapon, Lain. I am already acting
against orders. Do not doubt that I will kill you and the others,"
Trigorah warned.

A savage growl erupted from him and he
charged at the General. It was all wrong. His sword was held high,
his body undefended. Even his motions seemed stiffer and slower
than she knew them to be. With ample time to react, she blocked the
attack and countered with a superficial slash across his chest.
Blood flowed, but as it trickled down, it turned clear, then froze
in the icy air.

His subsequent attacks were similarly
fruitless, and those of Trigorah produced much the same result.
Finally, she grew weary of the pointless battle. She thrust her
weapon deep into the chest of what she knew could not be the true
Lain. As soon as the first of the gems embedded in the blade
touched his flesh, the afflicted area turned to water, crackling as
it fell in the intense cold. As it did, the others recoiled as if
they too had been struck. Soon the whole of the body had rushed to
the ground, splashing all over Trigorah's ankles. A moment later
the other malthrope, the project, melted away. The woman smiled
briefly before doing the same.

#

Elsewhere, Lain, Ether, and Ivy hurried down
the mountainside. Lain was a few steps ahead of the others. Owing
to some manipulation of her form, Ether had been easily keeping
pace with him, but Lain turned when he heard the footsteps falter.
A dozen paces back, Ether had stopped. Ivy was beside her taking
the opportunity to rest.

"She has found the first of the decoys,"
Ether managed.

Lain looked back, there was nearly half of a
mountain behind them. The frost covered tops of the evergreen
forest below were now and again visible through the whipping snow.
This diversion was working. If Trigorah could be delayed just a few
minutes more, the wind would wipe their footprints away. The trail
would be cold. His eyes shifted back to Ether. She seemed greatly
fatigued, as did Ivy. Her eyes drifted to a tuft of fur caught on a
nearby bush. Clutching it, she swiftly assumed the form of a doe, a
shape simpler and faster on this terrain. Moments later the trio
set off again with renewed speed.

#

Far behind them, Trigorah followed another
set of prints to its end. There were the same three figures that
she had watched dissolve away. The sole difference was a wooden box
tucked under the arm of the project. This time the woman she hadn't
recognized before stepped forward to attack, while the project hid
behind Lain, who held his weapon at a lazy ready. The attack was a
weak one, or so it seemed. She raised her weapon in defense, but
the blow shook her, as though the slow backhanded strike had been
made with a club. A resounding clang rang out as the next blow
landed on her sword. Trigorah swiftly countered, the edge of her
weapon barely chipping the arm that was each moment more visibly
turning to stone. Before long it was a living statue she faced. The
blade struck again and again, but failed to sink into the rocky
form.

Trigorah called to mind what she had learned
of the opponent, the shape shifter. She twisted the blade and
struck with the flat. The shape shifter's stone arm blocked the
blow without budging. Quickly Trigorah drew the blade along the
raised arm. Gems were embedded in the blade of her weapon, designed
to allow her to cast spells when the need arrived. Each time one of
them came into contact with her opponent, the shifter shrieked in
pain. Finally she pulled away, no longer able to withstand the
horrid hunger of the crystals. The afflicted arm crumbled away.
Soon after the rest of the shape shifter followed. Before a blow
could be struck against him, the decoy Lain wafted away as
well.

#

Elsewhere, the trio of Chosen was well into
the forest at the base of the mountains. Again Ether faltered. She
did not have to explain why. Without words they redoubled their
speed. Due west. Already Trigorah was far too far behind to catch
up, but she was not to be underestimated. She had the whole of the
military at her disposal. They continued at a sprint for as long as
they all could manage. Ivy was the first to slow. Ether matched her
pace soon after. Finally, Lain relented. Every muscle in his body
screamed for rest. Hunger had never bothered him, but he knew that
if he did not eat soon he would weaken. He could not afford it. He
turned to the others. Ether slowly resumed her human form. Ivy was
sitting in the snow, trying desperately to catch her breath.

"Wait here. I'll find something to eat," he
said.

He swept into the forest. It didn't take long
for him to find a boar. He brought it back to the others. Ivy sat
cross legged, wavering, as though she would soon collapse. Ether
stood, an unfamiliar look of deep weariness on her face. She was
clearly attempting to hide it, and failing pitifully. Lain threw
the kill on the ground. Ivy looked at it wearily.

"Not hungry," she said flatly.

"Eat. You need strength," Lain ordered.

"I'm just . . . tired. I need sleep," she
said.

"Eat. And you. I'll gather wood," he
said.

"Unnecessary," Ether remarked.

Lain cast a stern look in their direction. As
was often the case, his eyes communicated far more effectively than
his words. Each of his companions slowly complied. Ivy's fatigue
was more than apparent. She ate with none of the enthusiasm she
typically displayed. Her attentions pulled fully away from her food
briefly as Ether shifted to flame amid more flicker and flare than
usual. When he was certain that the others had done what they
needed to, he did the same, partaking of his share of the kill and
settling into the warrior's sleep.

#

Far away, inside the hardened capital of the
frozen land, a familiar figure sat, impatiently waiting. Before him
was a great desk, covered with maps detailing troop movements,
mounds of dispatches from various messengers, and a large sand
timer, grains slowly slipping through to a barely half-filled
bottom. The heavy door opened and in walked Epidime, battle scarred
halberd in hand.

"You beckoned, Bagu," he asked.

"Sit," Bagu ordered.

With an impatient sigh he complied, easing
into the chair opposite the desk with exaggerated care.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out?" Bagu
hissed.

"That depends on which of my myriad secrets
you've discovered," he quipped.