The Book of Deacon: Book 03 - The Battle of Verril (21 page)

“GET YOUR FILTHY CLAWS OFF OF ME!” Ether
cried, briefly taking the form of wind and slipping from Ivy's
grip. “I realize that weak, damaged bit of fluff that you call a
mind cannot long grip even the simplest of facts, but you said it
yourself in your own painfully simple way. I could 'look but not
touch.' There was nothing I
could
do.”

Lain stepped between them.

“Enough. There is something wrong,” he
said.

“Of course something is wrong. This beast's
descent into madness is finally complete!” Ether raved.

“No. I can't smell anything. Anything at
all,” he said.

The others looked nervously about.

“The wind is blowing and I can't hear it,”
Myranda said, holding up her staff.

She tried to sense something, anything about
her surroundings, but there was something preventing it, some sort
of force. Slowly she followed the flow of it. She could feel it
grow stronger. As she turned slowly to face its source, Ivy cried
out once more.

“Listen to me! She could have prevented it, I
know she could have!” the malthrope cried. “Why won't you listen to
me?!
I'll force her to tell the truth
.”

The maddened creature hurled herself at the
shape shifter, who again changed to wind to evade her.

“Ivy! Calm down!” Myranda cried, turning from
the search.

Lain too tried to get the wild creature under
control. At first she struggled, then turned her hostility to
them.

“Why are you helping her? She is a
murderer
!” Ivy screeched, throwing Myranda to the
ground.

The instant Myranda struck the ground, Ivy
cried out and clutched her chest. The pain dropped away to a look
of fear and confusion.

“What am I-I . . . .” Ivy stuttered, her look
growing more desperate as she seemed to be quickly losing a
struggle against something.

“Ether,” Myranda called out, climbing to her
feet. “Somewhere over there. Something is being concealed. I'll
hold off Ivy.”

The shape shifter swept toward the edge of
the valley from which they had come. When she reached the exit, she
collided with something. The collision sent a ripple through the
air, leaving a shimmering veil behind. The veil spread, revealing a
full wall leading high into the sky. She pulled back and dropped to
the ground, turning to stone and bashing at the wall. It wavered,
but would not give. Behind her, Ivy's frenzy had grown stronger.
The fiery red aura was threatening to overtake her. Just as Ether
was about to rush to the aid of her allies, she heard a sound. It
was peculiar, one she had heard before. At the same moment, Ivy's
rampage suddenly ended. In place of her frenzied screams for
revenge came impassioned pleas.

“Help me, please! You've got to put me to
sleep, or tie me down or something, I can't help it! I don't want
to hurt you!” the creature cried, fear and desperation in her
voice.

There was a second sound, the sharp slice of
an arrow through the air. Ether's eyes, locked on the point from
which the first sound had come, beheld an arrow streaking into the
sky, seemingly from thin air. Instantly she pounced upon the point
of origin. There was the splinter of wood and the sound of someone
falling to the ground. The snow depressed under the weight of an
unseen foe, and Ether quickly snatched up the enemy. As she did, an
engraved metal amulet with a broken chain dropped from mid air. A
moment later the struggling form that the talisman had concealed
faded into view.

“You! What are you doing here! What is this!”
Ether demanded.

In her grip was the throat of Desmeres,
Lain's infuriating former partner. He wore ornate armor; a handful
of amulets, each glowing brightly, hung from his neck. Ether tore
them from his neck as he clutched desperately at her arm, trying to
loosen her grip enough to draw in a breath. Instantly the effects
of the artifacts wore off. The sound of rushing wind, joined by the
crackle of mystic energy, rose up all around them. The scent of
their foe revealed itself to Lain and Ivy.

“Explain yourself before I squeeze the life
out of you,” Ether warned, tightening her grip.

Desmeres’ left hand held tight to Ether's
stony arm, while the fingers of his right crept to one final
crystal that dangled from his wrist. As he finally made contact,
Ivy's madness surged back, and the helpless creature threw her
friends aside, unable to resist the beckoning of the crystal. Ether
quickly clutched the crystal with her free hand, halting Ivy, but
also cringing in pain as it tore at her. She wrenched it free and
threw it aside. As Ivy struggled to understand what was happening
to her, the others recovered and ran to her side.

“You have only a few moments of breath left,
I urge you not to waste them,” Ether hissed.

“You can kill me . . . .” Desmeres croaked.
“But if I were you, I'd do something about that arrow.”

She turned. At the far end of the valley, the
arrow had landed. More of the same accursed crystals were affixed
to it. Whatever spell had been assigned to them, it was beginning,
and it was one of terrifying intensity. The shape shifter thrust
Desmeres against the shimmering wall behind him and shifted to
wind, streaking toward the arrow. She was not the only one to
notice, as Myranda was already rushing toward the quickly
manifesting spell. The air burned with the raw power of it. All of
the light near the gems seemed to wick away, leaving a midnight
black gash in the valley that began to swirl and churn.

Ether reached it first, but the force of it
began to push her back. She fought against the torrent of energy,
but began to lose ground. Finally she turned to stone once more,
dropping to the ground and plodding slowly forward. Myranda fought
hard, but the energy burned at her viciously. Behind, Lain left Ivy
with Deacon and stalked toward his prey. Desmeres was gasping for
breath, pulling himself toward the nearest amulet. He had only just
seen Lain out of the corner of his eye when he was pulled violently
from the ground. The furious assassin's eyes burned with rage as he
drew his former partner face to face.

“Lain. I can't say I was looking forward to
meeting you under these conditions,” he said.

“What is this?” he demanded.

“Business,” Desmeres replied.

Deacon steadied Ivy by the shoulders and
tried to look her in her wandering eyes. She was dazed, confusion
and fear vying for control of her embattled mind.

“Ivy, look at me, focus,” he said, shaking
her slightly. “I need you to calm down.”

“Calm down? Calm down! Deacon, my mind is
screaming things that don't make sense! How can I calm down? How
can I know what is even REAL!” she cried.

“Listen to me, do you know what is doing this
to you?” he asked. “Has this happened before?”

“I don't know what's doing it, but Demont did
it to me once. Only it was worse then,” she forced through the
fear.

That was all he needed to hear. The crystal
was to blame, the other half of the one he'd found in the workshop.
He turned to search for it. When Ether was dealing with Desmeres,
no less than a dozen crystals had been shaken free. Surely it was
one of them. As he tried to move toward them, he was pulled
back.

“Don't leave me alone!” Ivy begged.

Lain put a blade to Desmeres’ throat.

“What did you think would happen, Lain? This
had to end sooner or later,” he said.

“Tell me what you have done and how to undo
it, or it ends
now
!” Lain stated, drawing the blade a few
inches, prompting a trickle of blood.

“Well, they were not content to let you come
to them, so I had to bring them to you,” the elf said with a
smile.

As if taking the words as a cue, the building
spell chose that moment to reach its peak. A flood of energy burst
out, throwing Ether and Myranda back and knocking Ivy and Deacon to
the ground. Only Lain and his prey remained standing. Desmeres
managed to wrench himself from the grip and raise a blade of his
own. Lain swung his sword, but Desmeres’ own weapon blocked it.

“It is rare that one of my creations meets
one of its brothers,” Desmeres said. “But I can assure you, it is a
reunion of equals. A last bit of advice, old friend. Don't waste
your time on me. There are larger threats on the horizon.”

Lain raised his blade once more, but the
sound of thundering hooves drew his attention. Desmeres tried to
slip away, but Lain struck. The ornate armor proved no match for
the masterfully honed weapon. The blade found its way to Desmeres’
thigh, slicing deep into it before Lain finally rushed to the more
pressing task at hand. He turned to find the once empty plateau
filling rapidly with foes. Where once there had been only the
arrow, now there was a great shifting black ring. Outside of it was
the valley. Inside, as through he were looking through a window,
was a paved courtyard filled with troops and beasts. The army began
to flow through the portal.

Dozens of soldiers on horseback and dozens
more on foot rushed into the valley, every face hidden by a mask.
Six standard dragoyles, and one beast that would have been a
dragoyle save for the fact that it was easily three times their
size and lacked wings, followed. The formerly silent valley was now
filled with a deafening thunder of hooves and feet. Myranda managed
to pull herself to her feet, dodging sword and pike long enough to
retreat to Ivy and Deacon. Lain soon made his way to them as well,
Ether fighting her way in soon after.

The heroes formed a tight circle, the
soldiers all around them working their way into formations and
holding their ground. A stillness came suddenly, only the odd
shuffle of feet breaking the tense silence. All weapons were held
at the ready, each side waiting for a move from the other. The only
motion came from the portal, as a pair of soldiers on horseback
appeared. The first was Trigorah, her gem-embedded sword held low
but ready. The other was not familiar. He wore light armor, with a
helmet bearing the same face guard that obscured the twisted
features of the nearmen from view. The man's build seemed light,
and he seemed far too frail to be on a battlefield. An infamous
weapon was strapped to his back, the accursed halberd, dispelling
any doubt as to who it might be.

“Attention, Chosen!” Trigorah's voice
bellowed with authority. “This, I assure you, will be our final
battle. Too long you have evaded us. Too long have you resisted us.
If it is your place to end this war, it is my place to see to it
that you do so with the Northern Alliance intact. I am going to
offer you this last chance to join our ranks. I beg you. Take your
place by my side and together we will see this war to an end within
the year.”

“Look at the abominations you've come to rely
upon. How can you be blind to what has become of the north. These
are the very beings we are charged with destroying!” Myranda
replied.

“Remove your helmets!” Trigorah ordered.

The soldiers obeyed. Myranda's eyes widened,
and her heart leapt to her throat. They were no nearmen. Every last
one of them was human.

“The nearmen are an unfortunate necessity in
these trying times, but they are too weak minded for this task.
Every last face you see is a son of the north. These are your
brethren,” she replied. “Dare you take their lives and call
yourselves heroes?”

Myranda licked her dry lips and swallowed
hard.

“It is the place of a hero to do what must be
done,” she said, resolutely.

“Truer words were never spoken,” Trigorah
said solemnly. “Men, capture if you can, kill if you must. This
ends today.”

In a flash, every last soldier was in motion.
Myranda crouched low and drove her staff into the ground, an
expertly guided tremor knocked the nearest soldiers to the ground
but spared her friends, providing a precious moment of safety. Each
of the heroes knew their target, save two. Myranda would face
Epidime, Lain would face Trigorah, and Ether would handle the
beasts. Ivy's eyes darted about, a sharp blue aura around her.
Deacon tried to gather some manner of spell, but his mind simply
had not recovered enough. As he drew the Gray Blade and a dagger
from his bag, he silently wished he'd spent a bit more time on the
warrior's side of Entwell. As he was about to launch himself into
the fray, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to find a
familiar pleading look on Ivy's face.

“Is this real? Is this really happening?” she
begged.

“I assure you. This is real,” he replied.

“Oh thank heavens,” she replied, a look of
relief rushing to her face.

With that she charged quickly into the circle
of soldiers. One of the men who had been knocked to the ground had
lost his sword, and deep in Ivy's mind she heard a call to take it
up, but she knew that the instinct was not her own. Her mind had
been the plaything of others already today. If she was going to
fight, she would do it her own way. For the moment, she was
unaffected by emotion. The mob of soldiers simply did not frighten
her as much as the manipulation of her mind had. Any speed and
strength she had was her own, but fortunately that was plenty. When
combined with her practiced grace, she was utterly untouchable. The
swords of a dozen soldiers were dodged with fluid motions. It was
nothing short of a dance, but when the way was closed, when there
was nowhere to dodge to, that was when the warrior within came to
the surface. A single, well placed blow was all that it ever took.
A soldier would be sent reeling, the force of her attack sending
him tumbling backward, scattering those behind him, and creating an
opening.

Deacon hurried after Ivy. Without his magic,
the Gray Blade was virtually useless, managing to do little more
than deflect the odd blow that reached him. He lacked most of the
speed and all of the grace of the warrior he followed, but the
chaos her motion caused created a wake just barely wide enough for
him to slip through. He didn't know where she was heading, what she
was planning. In fact, he doubted
she
knew. For the moment,
though, she was heading precisely where he needed to be. Before the
portal had opened, he'd managed to catch sight of what could only
be the crystal that had been controlling her. He rushed toward it,
almost invisible in the snow just this side of the wall, knowing
full well that if one of the soldiers were to find it first, Ivy
would become little more than a weapon.