The Book of Deacon: Book 03 - The Battle of Verril (25 page)

“Ah. Alive, I see. I was beginning to think
you'd been pushed beyond the breaking point,” he remarked.

“You would have let me die? I thought you
needed us alive,” Myranda replied in a hoarse voice.

“Not for much longer. Now that the four of
you are in our possession, we've found ways to utilize you to our
own ends. A few more weeks of harvest and we shall be prepared to
pass the point of no return. After that, your failure will be
assured, whether more Chosen arise or not,” Bagu explained.

“How?” Myranda asked.

“That is not for you to know,” Bagu said.
“All you need to know is that your life right now depends upon your
ability to fill these crystals. If you prove unable to do so, you
shall be disposed of.”

“And if I am unwilling?” she asked.

“Your cooperation is not essential. Even if
you hold back, you will have to sleep eventually, and when you do,
the crystals will drink what there is to be had from you,” Bagu
informed her. “At this point there are only three possible
outcomes. You can join us, at which point you will be restored to
health and given a place among the Generals. You may even be made
the overseer of this world.”

“I've seen what you do to the Chosen who join
you,” Myranda hissed.

“Trigorah's fall was unfortunate, but
necessary. She attempted to turn her back on us, and in doing so
shunned our protection from the curse of The Mark,” he stated. “But
if you will not join us, I suppose you shall simply have to wither
away to nothing as we leech away every last bit of your
strength.”

“And the last option?” Myranda asked.

“Suffice it to say that the final option is
mine to choose, not yours,” he stated ominously. “Now, since you've
been informed of how to cooperate, I shall give you an opportunity
to do so. I suggest you take it.”

He turned and marched off, leaving her in
darkness once more. A short time later food and water were
delivered to her. It was the same watery gruel she'd been served
during her last detainment. Myranda considered foregoing the food,
letting herself waste away rather than give them the power they
wanted. There seemed no way out. Even if she were to release all of
the strength she'd been able to keep from them at once, whatever
spell she cast would be leached away to nothing by the
overabundance of crystals before it could be of any use.

Myranda was languishing in despair as a form
approached her. No light was brought along this time, the presence
signaled only by the click of boots upon the floor. Something
clattered to the floor just outside of the bars, and a creak
followed. Slowly, a bluish light appeared in the heart of a gem
that had thus far been hidden. It was affixed in the head of a
halberd, and cast its light on the form of her father reclined in a
chair that had been placed beside the cage. Once he saw the pained
look of recognition come to her face, he let the light drop
again.

“So we meet again, my dear,” he said.

“Why have you come? Do you plan to make
another attempt at my mind?” Myranda asked weakly.

“Tempting, but no. Where is the challenge?
Besides, I am still busying myself with your father's mind. We've
been using him for quite a while, you know. Most of the nearmen
fight using maneuvers plucked from his head. But until recently the
facts of his life were of little interest. Quite the noble soul,
your father, did you know that . . . “ Epidime began.

“Stop it!” Myranda cried. “Is this why you've
come here, to torment me?”

“Partially. In truth, things have become
painfully
tiresome these past few days. With the Chosen all
either dead or in custody and the end in sight, I find myself
stricken with ennui. You've always been the most interesting to me,
so I decided, while they are busy securing my next target for
interrogation, I might have a word with you,” he said. “It might
interest you to know that Lain has nearly escaped no less than
three times since our little encounter in the valley.”

Myranda was silent.

“I believe we've worked out a way to keep him
in line though . . . “ he remarked.

“You know . . . If my end has finally come,
there is one good thing about it,” Myranda said. “You'll never get
the chance to grasp at my mind again. I turned you away once, and
you will never be able to redeem yourself. You will simply have to
live with the defeat.”

“There, you see? Fascinating. The motivations
behind such a statement are a delicious little puzzle. Was it
simply out of malice? Are you trying to goad me into an attempt, or
are you trying to trick me into releasing you?” Epidime replied.
“Not that it matters, of course. I sincerely doubt your path ends
here. You are the clever sort. That is why I like you. That boy of
yours, on the other hand . . . “

“You leave Deacon out of this. He isn't
Chosen!” Myranda said.

“I knew that he would get a rise out of you.
Demont wants me to take a look through his head. The old beast
wrangler seems to think there are some parlor tricks inside that we
might use. I suppose I shall get to that. He could be interesting
as well. After all, you seem to have grown rather attached, haven't
you,” Epidime thought out loud.

“Why! Why do you do this? What do you get
from torturing me?” Myranda cried.

“Why, to
know
, Myranda, to know,” he
replied. “That is all there really is in the end, my dear.
Knowledge. There is an awful lot of it, and there is always more to
be had. That is why I agreed to come along with these fellows. They
could take me elsewhere.”

“You aren't one of them? You aren’t a
D'karon?” Myranda asked.

“Well, naturally I am a D'karon. I wouldn't
be here yet if I wasn't. You see, I've noticed this about you and
the others. You've incorrectly interpreted that word's meaning.
I'll explain it to you one of these days. I'd explain it now, but
it might give you some insight into something that it is in our
best interests to keep hidden,” Epidime said. “But I digress, I do
what I do because I wish to know things. Not trivial matters like
the names of spies and the movement of troops and the sort of
things I dig up for them. I live for skills, and techniques, and
the nature of things. Look at emotion! I mean, love, happiness,
joy. They are not without their allure, but in the end they are a
bore. They just lead to more of the same. Things get really
interesting when you start to unearth things like anger, jealously,
sorrow, hate, worry, and lust! Once I set one of them churning
about in your mind, you start to do things that don't even make
sense to
you
. Things you don't
want
to do. Things
that you know are
wrong
. How can you help but be fascinated
in that? It is as though each one of you is not an individual, but
a spectrum, a society, occupying a single body. I need to test
these limits, to see how I can bring out the side that benefits me.
The more I learn, the more I become convinced that, given time, a
mere handful of careful manipulations could shape the whole of a
world
into any form you choose. I simply must try that, one
of these days.”

“You are mad,” Myranda stated.

“Am I? Do you realize how simple it was to
start this war? Do you even know how it really started?” Epidime
asked.

Myranda was silent. A devilish grin came to
Epidime's face.

“Oh . . . And I thought there wasn't a single
way I could leave you in any more anguish than I had found you in,”
he said. “Well, it is really a very short story. One hundred and
fifty or so years ago things were going quite well for your little
world. In fact, the King of Vulcrest was on the verge of hammering
out a mutually beneficial agreement with Tressor. He was not at all
well though. As you are quite aware, it is the tradition for the
kings of the three northern kingdoms to be buried beneath the
ground that they die upon. Thus, when the king suddenly became
weak, he was pulled away from the bargaining table and rushed to a
carriage, so that should he die, it would happen in the north. A
faster carriage was waiting just on the other side of the border,
and the king was being led to it when he collapsed. He was found
just a few paces on the Tresson side of the border. The government
of Vulcrest demanded that soil beneath their king be made a part of
Vulcrest. The Tressons refused. And so it began. Most of your
people do not even remember that simple tale, but there is a bit
that no one knew. I was the king's aide. Bagu was the driver of the
first carriage, and Teht the driver of the second. Members of the
D’karon were the only ones that witnessed his death… He died on his
own side of the border, but that is not where he was found. Oh, we
didn't kill him. His own failing health did that. All we did was
move him. And that was all it took. One hundred and fifty years of
war only required me to move him a few paces.”

Myranda dove at him, stretching the chains to
their limit and struggling weakly against them.

“You monster! You MONSTER! All of those
years. All of those LIVES!” she cried in a frenzy.

Epidime rose, taking his seat with him, and
left the enraged girl to her outburst. She strained at her bonds
until her strength gave out. With the crystals eating at her, it
didn't take long. As she became still, the hopelessness and
pointlessness of it all consumed her mind. Nothing mattered. She
hadn't the strength to save herself, let alone the others. And even
if she could, what was the point? Any world that could plunge
itself into a generations old war on such trivial pretext, and
allow itself to forget why it fought, scarcely deserved to survive.
All she wanted was for death to claim her. For the final darkness
to creep over her and take the weight from her shoulders.

Amid the darkness of her mind, a tiny part of
her resisted. Some insignificant corner of her soul scratched and
dug at her memories, desperate to find something to draw her from
the abyss. The events of the valley battle faded briefly into her
mind. One of the last things she'd seen was Deacon being hauled
through the portal. He was alive then. Epidime indicated he still
was. At the same time, her own father was at the mercy of Epidime,
enduring a torture she herself had only narrowly been able to
avoid. The two men that she loved most were both in the clutches of
the D'karon, and it was no one's fault but her own. Finally she
understood why the heroes of legend were meant to be solitary. It
was to shield others from this hell. To spare those not burdened by
divine mandate the wrath of the enemy.

That was why she had to fight. She could not
let them pay the price. She had to do something. Something that
could cripple the D'karon as they had crippled the Chosen. Saving
the world seemed hopeless now, but saving the two people in it who
meant the most, or at least avenging them? She had to try.

Slowly a plan formed. She tested the
crystals, seeing how much they could draw from her, and how
quickly. Carefully she practiced isolating just one gem. With
purpose behind her actions, the time began to pass more quickly.
She choked down what they offered in the way of food. If this was
going to work, she would need every ounce of strength she could
muster. When one crystal was filled almost completely, she choked
off the flow of magic and held it there. It wasn't long before Bagu
reappeared. He cautiously surveyed the room.

“I must say, you've managed to confuse the
nearmen. And I would be lying if I said I wasn't at least a bit
curious about what it is you think you are doing,” Bagu
remarked.

“I know myself rather well, General. I know
how much strength I should have by now, which means I know how much
I've given you. It is quite a bit,” Myranda said, her words
delivered carefully lest she allow her focus to falter.

“Hardly. It is the merest trifle when
compared to the amount we've been able to draw from Ether and Ivy.
You can be pleased, I suppose, that Lain has been less productive
than you,” the General mocked.

“Is that so . . . Well then, I suppose I
shall simply need to try harder,” Myranda said.

Instantly she reversed the efforts of her
mind. She forced her strength to the surface and into the single
gem. The studs in the shackles took on a blinding blue-white glow,
some of them bursting. The main gem swiftly took on a similar glow.
Cracks of more brilliant light ran across its surface. General Bagu
realized what Myranda was attempting and turned to force the gem
from its stand, but it was too late. The flood of power was too
much for the larger gem, and before he could tear it free, it
burst.

The blast was intense, hurling Myranda
against the bars of the cage and peppering her with broken shards
of crystal. It brought with it a tremendous, sharp clap, like a
dozen thunderbolts at once. The flash of light robbed Myranda of
her vision and her ears rang and whistled. As her vision slowly
began to return, it revealed a surreal sight. The largest of the
crystal shards were embedded deep in the walls, creating a fading
galaxy of light blue embers all around her. The chain that had been
attached to the crystal's pedestal was bent and twisted in the bars
nearest to the blast. The bars themselves were bent slightly inward
by the collision.

Myranda rose painfully to her feet, brushing
away the shards that had found their way to her flesh and limping
to the damaged bars to test their strength. With one of the gems
destroyed, the end of the chain formerly linked to it was loose,
completely freeing one of her arms. One by one she investigated the
bars until she found one that was slightly loosened. She began to
twist and pull at it when motion caught her eye. A form, as
embedded with crystals as the wall, was moving toward her. With an
inhuman growl, a hand reached through the bars and grabbed a hold
of her, yanking her to the limit of the chains that still held.
Myranda could hear the joints of her still restrained arm popping,
and the feeling of the half healed arrow wound opening again made
her cry out in pain.