The Book of Deacon: Book 03 - The Battle of Verril (27 page)

With the force of a week of blizzard focused
into a single moment, a blast of cold splashed against the ground.
The already icy ground frosted over and solidified. It spread
quickly, covering a growing blotch of the arena floor with white
crystals of ice. The creatures fought to pull themselves from the
ground. Some succeeded. Most did not, at best thrusting their heads
out of the earth and letting loose an unnatural squeal before
falling silent and still. As a spell that should have had the force
to freeze the whole of the arena three times over crept to a stop
under the influence of the crystals, only three worms remained.
Myranda tried to ignore the telltale dizziness warning her that
she'd reached her limit and grasped the sword tightly.

The crystals may have stopped the spell, but
they could not drink away its effects, as the icy ground remained
frozen. Myranda raised the weapon high and brought it down on the
first of the creatures, splitting its hide. She raised it again
just in time to force it into the gaping maw of a second worm. A
heartbeat later and it would have been her arm clamped in the
beast's mandibles. As the mindless worm shook madly at the prize
trapped in its jaws, the final beast threw itself upon her. Myranda
raised her shackled wrist. The monster clamped down on it, buckling
the metal and digging a deep gash into her forearm. She cried out
and tore the arm free, the ruined shackle still in the worm’s
mouth.

The sight of blood drove the crowd into a
frenzy that made that of the worms a moment ago seem tame in
comparison. Myranda managed a sharp pull that slid the slicing edge
of her sword along the mouth of the beast that had clutched her
blade. As it sliced one of the creature's many tongues, a white hot
streak of pain drove into its primitive brain. Its jaws opened.
Myranda pulled the weapon back and ended the beast with a thrust.
The final creature, curled around the shackle and tearing at the
chain, met a similar end.

The blood fell in fat drops as Myranda
stalked back toward the center of the arena, the crust of frozen
earth crunching beneath her feet. She clutched at the wound. It was
serious, but not fatal. It could wait. She continued toward the
remains of the stone wolves and the nearman. The armor was ruined.
No piece of it could be salvaged. She held in her hand the only
weapon the soldier had carried. As the heavy wooden doors creaked
open again, Myranda gathered up as many of the remaining spikes as
she could find. There were only a few that were whole enough to be
considered useful.

Now as armed as she could manage, Myranda
turned to the doors. Emerging were three dragoyles. Their sizes
varied greatly, each bearing scars from previous battles. Their
wings had been clipped. In all likelihood each had taken a dozen
lives in arena battles over the years. They shifted their gaze to
her. If Myranda had thought them capable of it, she would have
sworn that the abominations looked eager.

Another time, fear would have clutched her
mind. More than any other beast of Demont's creations, these
creatures had been the face of her fear. They appeared like grim
punctuation each time the D'karon flexed their might. Now, the girl
looked coldly upon them. She was numb. There was no room for horror
in her mind. There was simply no fear left. Memories rose through
the increasingly dense fog of her mind. The beasts had a weakness .
. . a very pronounced one. A single blow to the back of the throat
would end them. It was the trick used to defeat Ether. It was the
only hope she had to defeat them now.

The beasts charged her as one. She hurled
both spikes she held at once. The projectiles, released with little
force and no accuracy from an injured hand, soon redirected
themselves and launched at her foes under the influence of her
mind. One dragoyle chose that moment to snap its jaws open and
attempt a gale of black mist. The spike ensured that it was the
last mistake that the creature would make. The second spike drifted
off course and drove itself into the ground as the crystals did
their work. A shame, because this beast too had chosen the moment
for a blast of miasma of its own. With nothing to prevent it, the
beast billowed out a thick cloud of the corrosive stuff. A flail of
Myranda's mind brought a whiff of wind that pushed the poison
aside, just barely enough to miss her. As it sizzled and hissed at
the ground, the pair of beasts finally reached her.

Myranda dove aside. One monster thundered
past. Something that large moving that fast simply could not turn
quickly enough to catch her, but that wasn't enough to stop it from
trying. The result was an out of control tumble through the very
puddle of venom it had sprayed down just heartbeats before. Alas,
the second creature was nearly on target. It caught her with a
swipe of its claw that hurled girl and sword through the air to
collide painfully with the wall.

She coughed up a glob of blood and turned her
blurred vision to the ground to search for her lost weapon as red
and white sparks flared behind her eyes. The pounding approach of
the creature that struck her rung in her aching head as her fingers
closed around the grip of the sword once more. Her ailing eyes
brought her a doubled view of the beast when she finally turned
back to it. The rising cries of the crowd were a distant hum, like
something underwater. Everything around her was moving in long,
drawn out streaks, stretching and twisting as the flow of time
slowed to a trickle. Instinct, luck, and fate tumbled into the
place of the mind that had been jarred loose by the clash with the
wall. The tip of the blade was raised. The beast's mouth was not
open . . . but likewise the beast did not slow.

When the creature finally reached her, it
could not slow itself. She thrust out the sword and released it,
rolling to the side with the same motion. The tip just barely
breached the creature's thick hide as the beast continued on
momentum alone toward the wall. The pommel of the sword struck the
wall, and a moment later, the tip burst from the back of the
beast's neck, driven through like a nail. The collision with the
wall shook the whole of the arena. A moment later the monster
sprang backward. In its uncontrolled death knells sent it in
lurching spasms toward its partner. The other abomination, still
sizzling from its roll in the miasma and unsteadily on its feet,
was rocked by the clash.

Myranda's senses crept back into her as she
struggled to her feet. The impaled beast twitched once more and was
still. The only remaining dragoyle climbed weakly from the ground.
Sizzling clumps of acid-soaked earth clung to its skin. A splash or
whiff of the black breath had no effect on the dragoyles. The same
could not be said for prolonged exposure, it seemed. It took a few
halting steps as Myranda limped cautiously away from the wall.
Finally, it collapsed.

The hero took stock of herself as she trudged
to the center of the arena. Her eyes stubbornly refused to focus. A
steady and constant ring was all her ears offered her. From the
feel of it, her shoulder and perhaps one of her ribs had been
broken. Thoughts flickered in her tattered mind, and if she had
strength enough for another spell, it would certainly be her last
one. She turned her head slowly, the brilliant glow of the well fed
crystals making it to her mind as bright blue blotches in a blur of
gray. A breath dragged a fair amount of blood along with it as it
swirled into her lungs and rushed quickly out again as an agonized
cough. She was out of strength, out of time and, no doubt, out of
luck as well.

Bagu smiled as he watched Myranda stand
unsteadily. The time had come. He motioned to a nearby guard.
Somewhere far below the stands there was the rumble of a sliding
gate. Out of the corner of her eye, Myranda saw motion near the
other door. Until now, her tormentors had been unleashed upon her
from the gates below the privileged seats of the Generals. She
shuffled until she was facing the massive wooden door. It crept
open inch by inch. Low, tooth rattling rumbles came from behind the
door. They were sounds that seemed to reverberate off of the very
sky and shake the air in her lungs. Sounds that spoke volumes of
size, of ferocity.

In a dizzying blur of motion, the doors were
thrown wide as something massive burst through them, its patience
at an end. Myranda's vision chose that moment to begin to clear.
Whatever it was, it was massive. Larger than the three dragoyles
combined. Its shape was the same. The image grew gradually less
fuzzy. A massive neck craned high into the air. Wings like the
sails of a ship unfurled. One was whole, the other hung in shreds.
Finally, the last of the haze drifted from her vision. This was not
mockery, nor imitation. What towered before her was a dragon of
nature's design. Onyx-black scales armored its belly, smooth and
with a faint gold sheen. The scales of its back were black mottled
with streaks of the darkest crimson.

Myranda dropped to her knees. There was no
use fighting now. Let it end, but let it end quickly. All she could
do was hold onto the last glimmer of magic she had. That, at least,
the D'karon would not have. The monstrous beast thundered toward
her, the very world seeming to quake with every step. She closed
her eyes. A few more titanic footsteps came, then a sound like a
dozen plows being dragged through the unwilling ground at once.
Myranda tensed. A rush of air knocked her backward. She hit the
ground.

There was nothing. Complete stillness. Even
the roar of the crowd faded to utter silence. Oblivion. Deep in the
back of her mind, Myranda questioned why. Why, if her end had come,
if she'd been thrust into the void, did the pain of her mortal form
persist? Why even in death did she feel the warm trickle of blood
down her arm? Then a hot wind rushed over her. A very real wind.
She opened her eyes. The head of the creature, the terrifying face
every bit as large as Myranda’s whole body, hung over her, staring
down. Another breath heaved from its nostrils and washed over
her.

As she waited for the horrible mouth to snap
open and bring the end she thought had already come, her mind
recoiled in anger. Those eyes . . . The torturous life she'd been
forced to endure was bad enough, but what demented agent of fate
would mock her in her final moment with them? How could the monster
that killed her have such beautiful eyes? Delicate slits in deep
gold irises. Eyes that seemed so emotional. Eyes that seemed so
insistent. Eyes that seemed so familiar. Those eyes . . . She felt
her mouth begin to move, a foolish hope fighting its way to her
lips. Myranda tried to pull it back. It was too late.

“Myn?” she whispered.

The eyes were suddenly alight with ecstasy.
The mighty creature threw back its massive head and released a roar
that was overflowing with the joy of reunion. Both minds were
flooded with powerful emotions and endless questions, but for this
moment, joy washed them all aside. Myn dropped her massive head
down for Myranda to scratch. The injured girl tried to reach the
spot atop her old friend's head but couldn't. The golden eyes
turned to her again expectantly, now seeming for the first time to
see the state her friend was in. Myn drew in a breath that carried
with it the acrid scent of Myranda's blood. The eyes changed. Fury
surged up from within. She turned her gaze to the generals. They
shot each other looks of anger and accusation. Finally, Bagu's
voice raised.

“All of you! Attack! Kill them both!” he
ordered.

The soldiers of the audience instantly leapt
to their feet. They flowed like a tide over the walls and into the
pit. The dragon's massive maw erupted with flame that licked the
ground and pushed back the soldiers. A low sweep with her tail
cleared the area behind her. Taking a step forward so that Myranda
was directly beneath her, she continued to defend her friend.
Myranda's aching mind pushed her confusion and joy aside. There
would be time for that later. For now, they had to escape. Her
vision was filled with Myn's black gold belly scales. Around the
edge, lit by the orange light of a burst of flame, she saw the
tattered remains of her left wing. A spell hurled by Bagu splashed
across Myn's hide and she recoiled in pain. Myranda didn't know if
she had the strength left, but it was her absolute last hope. She
swept together the scraps of her spirit and sculpted a healing
spell. Slowly the shreds of leathery flesh began to pull together.
The crystals tore hungrily at the spell, but Myranda continued.
Darkness began to creep in around her. She struggled to keep her
mind about her as the last of the ruined wing became whole.

Myn flapped her restored wings. Gale force
winds swept over the soldiers, knocking them to the ground. Long
unused muscles worked like never before. The dragon scooped up her
dazed companion and leapt with all of the force her massive legs
could muster. She rose skyward and set her eyes on the horizon. Icy
wind rushed past Myranda as she struggled to keep her loose grasp
on consciousness. Rooftops, treetops, and open field streaked by
her half-lidded eyes and shrank into specks below her. The dark sky
and Myn's dark form blended. The only sounds were the whistling of
wind, the heaving of breath, and the leathery flap of wings.

It wasn't long before the sound of other
leathery wings joined in. Myn peered back. Keen eyes spotted the
forms of a veritable fleet of dragoyles among the darkness. She
wheeled and soared high into the clouds. The black beasts followed.
Soon the world was a haze of gray as they swept through the very
clouds. Drawing on instincts developed over generations, Myn
maneuvered blindly yet precisely until the vast flock of dragoyles
was ahead of her. She could have then dropped below the clouds and
made her way to safety. She had other plans.

These men had stolen her away. They had held
her, tortured her, changed her. They had hurt her friend. Escape
was the last thing on her mind. She drew in close and puffed up her
chest. An intense column of flame blasted from her mouth, roasting
the riders of half a dozen of their attackers. The others scattered
and wheeled. She was twice the size of the largest of them. None
lasted long against her. Slashes of claws, whips of her tail,
blasts of flame, and devastating snaps of her jaws made short,
vicious work of every last pursuer.