The Book of Deacon: Book 03 - The Battle of Verril (10 page)

“It
is
you. I should have known you
wouldn't have gone into hiding. Not the biggest thorn in the side
of the Alliance in the history of the war,” Caya said proudly. “Are
you being followed?”

“Well, very likely, actually,” Myranda
answered.

This prompted a cheer from the others.

“I knew it! Tus, you were right to demand
this woman as your wife,” she said with a smile.

Deacon's expression changed to a confused and
slightly anxious one.

“What brings you to my neck of the woods?”
Caya asked.

“If only I had the time to tell you,” Myranda
said.

“In a rush? Anything we might lend a hand
with?” Caya asked with a wink.

“No doubt we could use it, but the others I'm
working with are slow to accept others,” Myranda said.

“Assassins are like that,” Caya said, nodding
knowingly.

This time Myranda's expression changed as
well. How could she know about Lain?

“What . . . what did you say?” Myranda
asked

“I suppose you haven't seen them yet. Tus,
dig out one of the posters,” Caya ordered.

Tus revealed a large poster, dominated by a
sketch of herself, Lain, Ivy, and Ether's human form. Each was
accompanied by a brief description. A price was offered for the
capture of each, with the stipulation that they be brought in
alive. It was similarly made abundantly clear that they all were of
the highest of risk, and nothing should be held back in the pursuit
of disabling them. Myranda's eyes lingered on the entry for Ivy.
There was a sentence or two of additional information, which wasn't
surprising. What was surprising was the nature of the information.
It spoke of her history . . .

“These are showing up in every town and on
every sign post,” Caya said, interrupting her thoughts. “I've never
seen anything like it. Naturally we are trying to eliminate them.
The last thing you need is people knowing that you are working with
the Red Shadow, but even with half of the Undermine working on it,
they are going up more quickly than we can take them down. They
started showing up just a few days ago.”

Myranda gravely handed it back, but Caya
pushed it away.

“Keep it. We've got over a hundred of them.
These fine recruits were able to capture a black carriage filled
with them. Though I notice this fellow isn't featured,” Caya said,
indicating Deacon. “A new addition to Myranda's Militia? Or are you
a hostage?”

“I am with them, most assuredly. The name is
Deacon,” Deacon quickly answered, folding the proclamation poster
and slipping it into his bag.

“Well, Deacon, good to have you on our side.
If Myranda would choose you to fight the good fight beside her then
I am sure that you will be an asset. Speaking of assets, while I
appreciate that you may be better off without us for the time
being, I am afraid that the same cannot be said for us,” Caya said.
“We've only just managed to relocate Wolloff.”

“How did you manage that?” Myranda asked.

“Several weeks of convincing, and several
more of lugging books. At any rate it will be months before we can
have another mystic healer, and there is a limit to the work our
traditional clerics can do,” Caya said.

“Caya, I . . . “ Myranda began.

“I know that you've got yourself tangled up
in something a bit more important, but I think you can spare a few
moments to deal with the soldiers in attendance. And while you are
at it, perhaps we can partake of a sample or two of our current
treatments,” Caya said, pulling a flask from her belt.

Myranda nodded.

“I think I can spare a few minutes,” Myranda
said with a reluctant grin.

A few small groups of scout units were
gathered, bringing the number of soldiers to twenty-three. Not a
single one of them was in what Myranda would call good health. Arms
that should have been in splints and slings. Ankles that could
scarcely support any weight. Broken bones. Infected lacerations.
The telltale signs of many battles gone badly.

“How has all of this been happening?” Myranda
asked as she willed another rib into place.

“Even with you and yours distracting most of
the attentions of the soldiers behind the front, this is a very
dirty business,” Caya said. “You've been very deep in this. Perhaps
too deep to see or hear what has been happening. Not surprising. It
has been rather discrete. Supply lines are being choked off,
severed.”

“I suppose you should be very proud,” Myranda
said.

“Not
to
the AA,
by
the AA,” she
said. “Supply lines vital to the survival of
many
large
cities are being re-routed. The situation is getting serious.”

“Why would they be doing that?” Myranda
asked.

“We've intercepted dozens of messages
ordering it. None with a motivation, none with a destination for
the rerouted supplies. Have some, would you?” Caya said, sloshing
the flask in front of Myranda.

“I doubt that would help my focus,” Myranda
said.

“I can handle the rest. Enjoy,” Deacon
said.

Myranda looked at Caya.

“Don't make me force you,” she said with a
grin.

Myranda reluctantly took a sip. Caya tipped
the edge of the flask up, turning it into a sputtering gulp. It
felt like fire running down her throat.

“There. That's much more like it,” Caya said.
“A little bit of liquid courage never did any harm. And this
reunion, however brief, is one worth celebrating.”

Myranda coughed a bit more.

“You and I have a different idea of what
constitutes a celebration,” Myranda gagged.

“Perhaps. So . . . you really trust the Red
Shadow?” Caya asked.

The Red Shadow was another name for Lain.
More accurately, it was the name of a legend he'd constructed to
obscure the truth. Every assassination he'd performed, along with
no doubt hundreds that he hadn't, were attributed to the mythic Red
Shadow. Some saw him as a champion, striking down the wealthy and
corrupt. Others saw him as a terrible menace. All feared him.

“I do trust him. With my life,” Myranda
said.

“Just what is on the horizon for you?” she
prodded further.

“I don't know for certain. But he has finally
agreed that this war must end,” Myranda said.

“Mmm. Funny. The Alliance made a few token
gestures to stop him when he was a murderer on an unprecedented
scale, but now that he has turned his efforts squarely against the
war they plaster his face everywhere they can manage. It certainly
makes it clear what their priorities are,” Caya said with a sneer,
taking another swig.

She turned to look at Deacon with her
men.

“He certainly doesn't take his time. Just
finishing up. Well, I won't keep you from your task. I only have
one more thing to ask of you,” Caya said.

“You know I will do what I can,” Myranda
said.

“If this doesn't work, whatever it is. If you
find yourself without an ally and the war is still raging, come to
us. You are too valuable a person to be squandered on a single
attempt,” Caya requested earnestly.

“I intend to give all I have to this cause.
There won't be anything left if it fails,” Myranda said.

Caya smiled.

“Here's to giving all you have! May it always
be enough!” Caya said, raising her flask. The others joined in and
a long toast was tipped back.

She dug through her saddle bag and produced a
bottle, sloppily refilling her flask.

“Here,” she said, tossing the engraved silver
canister to Myranda. “I may not be with you at the moment of
triumph, but at least I can make sure you celebrate it properly.
Now go. I'll tend to the fire. Best not to keep the other enemies
of the state waiting.”

Myranda and Deacon bid farewell and mounted
their steeds to a cheer from the Undermine soldiers they left
behind. When they were far enough into the mouth of the pass that
he felt that they would not be heard, Deacon spoke.

“That large gentleman, Tus . . . he proposed
to you?” Deacon asked.

“I wouldn't call it a proposal. More
statement that I would be his wife,” she said.

“Has . . . has that happened before?” Deacon
asked.

“No. Why the sudden interest?” Myranda
asked.

“Well, I . . . . when you first came to
Entwell, it was hard for me to imagine what you'd come from. What
you'd left behind. You may as well have been born that day. I
suppose it is only natural that I am not the only man to realize
what a wonderful person you are,” Deacon said.

“It wasn't like that at all, Deacon. I'd just
helped him escape from a prison,” she said, trying to set his mind
at ease.

“I see . . . but. There
have
been
others. I mean . . . “ Deacon began.

“I've had a few associates, but seldom for
very long. When I was still with my Uncle I could barely get past
learning a boy's name, and since he died, well, I really haven't
been in one place long enough to get to know someone. What about
you?” Myranda said.

“No one. As I've said, I have known all of
the people in Entwell since I was born. They are like an extended
family. The thought of romance never even came to mind,” he
said.

“Really . . . I . . . never imagined I could
have that effect on someone,” she said, blushing.

“Well I . . . ahem . . . “ Deacon attempted.
“Er . . . I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. I
just-”

Myranda shook her head and smiled.

“It is alright . . . Deacon,” she said, her
face turning serious. “Did you look at the proclamation
poster?”

“I didn't. I was curious, though. There are
descriptions. Are they accurate?” he asked as he retrieved it.

“See for yourself,” she said.

“Myranda. Known murderer and Tresson
sympathizer. Possesses training in the mystic arts, in violation of
Alliance law. Guilty of treason. The Red Shadow. Infamous mass
murderer, notorious assassin. Skilled warrior. Ether. Extremely
powerful mystic. Shape Shifter. Indifferent to mortal life. IV.
Highly volatile. Artistic Prodigy. Student of . . . Lucia Celeste,”
he said. “Was . . . was that?”

“My mother,” Myranda said.

“It can't be true,” Deacon assured here.

“Can't it? The rest is true . . . or at least
it is now. We know that she was something before they changed her.
And if she is a prodigy then she is one of the original Chosen.
Clearly they want us captured. There is no reason why they would
have felt differently then. Look at what happened back there where
we found Lain and the others. They fairly destroyed that city
trying to capture us . . . and she was in Kenvard, all of those
years ago. They did it then too. It was because of her, Deacon . .
. “ she struggled, a lump in her throat. “They
destroyed
Kenvard
. . . to get
her
!”

The tears broke through as she fought to keep
from sobbing.

“Myranda, please . . . Don't do this to
yourself,” Deacon pleaded.

“He knew just what to say. That line about my
mother. It does no good to anyone. No one who reads it will
remember her. No one will even know she was from Kenvard. But he
knew I would see it,” she said with a wavering voice.

“Who?” Deacon asked.

“Epidime. He was in my head. He knew just
what it would take. He knew I would make the connection and only I
could,” she hissed. “The other names. The ones from Lain's book.
They were his idea too. I feel it. His fingers. Manipulating all of
this. I can almost feel him in my head, even now.”

“What good does it do him to lead you to
this?” Deacon asked.

“Ivy . . . is the reason my family is dead!”
she replied.

“It wasn't her . . . “ Deacon began.

“I know, I know!” she interrupted. “It wasn't
her fault. She didn't know they were coming. She couldn't have done
anything to stop it. She didn't make the decision to stay. Do you
really think any of that matters? Do you think knowing that will
let me face her without feeling the pain all over again? How can I
fight beside her when I know, in my heart, that if it weren't for
her, everyone I love would still be alive? My life would not have
been cast away, all of those thousands of lives would not have been
trampled. When she was born . . . she doomed them all!”

“Myranda, this is just what Epidime wants to
happen! You can't let him control you like this!” Deacon urged.

“What do you know?!
How could you even
imagine how I feel
? All of my life I have been torn apart.
Adrift. I spent years blaming the soldiers who swept over us. The
soldiers who failed to turn them away, but none of it made any
sense. It was too quick, too big. Somehow, after so long, I'd
almost been able to get past it. Now to have it re-awakened! To
have the pain come back! And to have a
face
put on it! The
face of a
friend
! Do you really believe that I can just put
it
behind
me?” she cried.

“Myranda. I left all of the people that I
ever cared about behind when I came here. I know they aren't dead,
but they may as well be. I'll never see them again. Worse, I know
that those who do remember me will remember me in disgrace. But I
did it. I left them forever. And I do not regret it. Because I know
that coming here had a greater meaning. I knew that finding you
would make me whole, and helping you would save the world. That is
what the people gave their lives for. They aren't victims, they are
martyrs of this war. You must remember that,” he said.

Myranda's gaze hung low, her eyes too clouded
with tears to see. After a moment she looked up. There was an
opening ahead. The others would meet them soon. She wiped the tears
from her eyes, the icy breeze freezing them to the rough cloth of
the cloak. A few more minutes in the whipping wind and blown snow
brought the two wizards to that which Myranda never would have
believed could have existed. It was a road. Narrow, to be sure, but
better maintained than most she'd seen even in the days before this
mad quest. It was unlike anything she'd ever seen. Most roads
through the mountains hugged the mountainside or conformed to
valleys between, but this one was almost perfectly straight, and
nearly level. As the mountains rose up around it, it had been bored
down into them until it was a tunnel disappearing into the inky
blackness. From the looks of it, most of the road would be made up
of such tunnels. The road itself was made of gravel, and the fact
that it was not embedded in a solid mass of ice betrayed the fact
that great efforts must have been made to keep this path safe for
travel. The one prevalent feature was the pair of ruts that ran in
parallel along the ground, just the right distance apart to be
wagon tracks, and deep enough to have been the result of continuous
traffic.